When he'd been younger, smaller, Steve had never expected to bond anyone; certainly not any of the girls he'd gone on dates with, usually dragged along with Bucky and whatever pretty dame he had on his arm. He hadn't quite expected to live long enough to find one. Back then, it was always supposed to be the girl you ended up married to, and if it wasn't, you at least kept up the polite fiction. Maybe things would've been different if he and Peggy had more years together. He'd started to wonder after he met her.

He could hardly imagine a polite marriage, a conventional bonding. The thought seemed to bear no relation to the hurt and rage, the overwhelming joy and relief that came with holding Bucky in his arms. It was like nothing he'd ever felt before, like more pain than he knew what to do with. Bucky was looking at him closely, searching him as though he could look inside of him, see him stripped and unguarded, and Steve looked helplessly back, aware that he could no more have torn himself away than torn off a limb.

"I guess that's one way it could happen." He scrubbed a hand briefly over his eyes, then redoubled his grip on Bucky, bringing him a little closer. "I've never--I don't know much about it either, Buck. I haven't been bonded before."