It was an ordinary shoebox, and Bucky didn't give it a second thought as he moved his things into Steve's apartment. It was old, worn and much used, and it sat in the corner of the otherwise empty closet of Steve's spare room. The first few days living there, Bucky didn't even notice it. He was too busy reclaiming his memory. It was an old, ordinary shoebox, but what was inside was far more than ordinary.
The first time Bucky saw it was when he was looking for his new shoes- the sneakers Steve had bought him so they could go running together. It wasn't the right box, so he didn't open it, just moved it on top of a few other boxes to keep out of the way while he searched. He didn't even think it was anything- Steve and Tony had bought him so much stuff that they were sure he 'absolutely needed,' he supposed it was just another pair of shoes. The obvious wear on the box was a little odd, but hey, shoes were shoes. He'd never cared much about stuff like that- Steve was the one that always made sure they were both dressed well.
The second time Bucky saw it, it didn't even register. He was in a hurry, grabbing his suit from the closet- some idiot had decided to attack New York. Again. And Steve was going after him. Bucky may not have had all his memory back yet, but he remembered enough to know Steve would need his help. He wasn't the Winter Soldier any more, but all that training had to be good for something. The hem of his shirt caught on something and he tugged it, sending a pile of boxes cascading out onto the floor. Bucky threw the shirt on and ran out the door.
The third time Bucky saw the box was when he came back from the fight. Steve was in the hospital, along with Clint. The nurses assured him they would be fine, but Bucky couldn't stand being in that hospital. It reminded him too much of when they had been kids, and Steve had been near death too many times to count. Natasha had noticed, and all but forced him to leave. He'd left her, Tony, and Thor watching over Steve and Clint, and come back to their apartment and gone straight to his room. That was when he saw the mess he had made, and the old shoebox open on the floor, letters scattered around it.
Deciding that it must be something of Steve's that had accidentally gotten put in his room, he started to clean them up, shoving them back in the box. Then one of the letters caught his eye- the envelope had no address on it, just his name, Bucky, in Steve's messy scrawl. It wasn't sealed. In fact, none of the letters were. He checked. They were all addressed to him, with dates written in tiny letters in the upper right hand corner. He sat down and began to sort them out. The oldest was written in 1944, the year he had 'died.' The newest was from 2013, a few days after the fight on the helicarrier. Bucky picked them up with the box and took them all over to his bed. With shaking hands, he opened the first envelope, the one from 1944, and carefully took out the yellowed paper.
Dear Bucky, it read, the name almost illegibly smeared by what looked suspiciously like a tear. Several lines were scratched out, as if Steve had tried to write something and then decided against it. After that there were only two.
I'm sorry I couldn't save you.
I love you.
It was signed with Steve's beautifully loopy signature, the one Bucky had always teased him about when they were in school. He stared at it, as if the swirl of the S would tell him the secrets of the universe, while his world rocked out from under him with those two simple, tear-smudged lines. I'm sorry I couldn't save you. And I love you. I love you. I love you.
Suddenly, decades worth of memory assaulted Bucky. Watching Steve talk with a girl in the school yard and feeling a burning jealousy he couldn't begin to explain. The other guys talking about girls in the locker room, but Bucky just couldn't understand what was so great- he'd never met a girl he could talk to like he could Steve. Steve laughing at him as he was chased by half the girls in their school. Feeling a bit betrayed when Steve asked a girl out for the first time, and guilty over his relief when she said no. Asking a girl to a dance himself, and spending the date wondering why the other guys all said it was so great. Watching Steve across the room, and wishing for something he knew was forbidden. The first time he slept with a dame, biting his lips when he came so he wouldn't yell Steve's name. Seeing Steve look at him, out of the corner of his eye, with such a sad look on his face that Bucky began to hope. Being drafted for the war, and leaving Steve behind.
Being rescued- by Steve! But it wasn't Steve, not as he'd known him. No, his rescuer was tall and strong, with the body of a god. Realizing that, whatever hope he may have had before, this Steve was so far out of his league he may as well fall in love with a star. Watching Steve and Peggy, and knowing what was going to happen. Steve catching his hand, before that last mission, and asking to talk to him when they got back. Falling, and thinking that at least this way he'd never have to see Steve marry someone else. Waking up, and there was Steve, his Steve, bloody under his fingers, and knowing he'd lost him forever. Waking up again, in the hospital, and there was Steve, holding his hand by his bedside.
Today, seeing Steve lying broken and bloody in the street, the rage welling up in him, driving him to destroy the one who had hurt his friend. Seeing Steve in the hospital, and knowing- such awful knowing- that he was still in love with him. Knowing it, and knowing that there was no hope.
And now, here was this letter in his hand, and, written in Steve's handwriting, were those words he'd lost all hope that he'd ever hear. Bucky wasn't quite sure he believed it. And hard on top of that thought, he saw the significance of the first line- I'm sorry I couldn't save you. Steve had been blaming himself for Bucky's death when he wrote that letter. Maybe… maybe he hadn't been thinking straight when he wrote it.
Bucky looked at the other envelopes, and carefully picked up the second letter. This one was dated three days after the first, and the envelope had a much thicker feel to it. Inside were several pages of writing. Bucky drew them out and began to read.
Dear Bucky,
This is silly. You're never going to read this, but Gabe says it might make me feel better, so here goes. I still have the letter I wrote the day you died. I was going to burn it, but maybe I'll save it for now. I don't know why. Maybe I'll burn it and this one when I'm done. I don't know. I don't know why I'm doing anything any more.
I- God, Buck, I miss you. It's only been three days, and I still can't believe it. I don't want to believe it. Do you know what I was going to do, when we got back from that mission? I'd asked to talk to you after, and I know you probably thought I was going to ask what you thought about me and Peggy. The look on your face… you looked like you expected bad news. But it wasn't. At least, I hope it wasn't. Maybe it was. I don't know. Anyway. What I wanted to talk to you about didn't have anything to do with Peggy, or any dame. It was- god. Writing this is just about as hard as talking about it would have been. Worse, because now I can't even watch your face to see what you think. If you're reading this, wherever you are, I hope you forgive me. I know it's wrong, but I just couldn't keep it in anymore.
See, there's a reason I never wanted to go out with the dames. There was already someone I wanted- someone I couldn't have. You. I'd watched you for ages, and sometimes I thought maybe you wanted me too. But then you started with the dames, and I thought that meant you had no interest in men. In me. I tried to ignore what I felt, and at first it was difficult. As time past, it got easier. And then I took the serum.
I told you that the serum amplified everything. Well, I do mean everything. Emotions too. Everything came so strongly, at first it was hard to cope with all of it. Anger was the hardest, I thought. I never liked being angry, and now, when I am, I get so angry. But I got it all under control. Or so I thought. Then I saw you again, and even seeing you lying there on that table, while I was furious someone would do that to you, I was also overcome by how much I loved you. I knew then, I wouldn't ever be able to control how I feel about you. It's too strong now. I tried. God, Buck, I tried so hard. I wanted to want Peggy. She's a nice gal, and I think, if I hadn't ever loved you, I could love her. But you were always first, and always will be.
So I was going to tell you. I was going to tell you everything, and see what happened. If you hated me, at least you would know. At least I wouldn't have to fight this feeling anymore. I wouldn't be left wondering 'what if'. I would- what's the point? Whatever I would have felt or done, it doesn't matter. You're gone. You're gone, and people don't come back from the dead. I can't ever tell you how I feel now. Maybe it's for the best. Maybe I would have lost you anyway, after I told you. I don't know. I do know that I can't stop loving you, and I probably never will. I'm going to love you until the day I die. And maybe, when that day comes, you'll be there to meet me.
This was a bad idea. I don't feel any better at all.
Love,
Steve
Bucky blinked back that time, Steve had been in just as much pain as him. All Bucky's posturing, going out with a different girl every week, had been hurting Steve as badly as the knowledge of what he couldn't have was hurting Bucky. He'd been so good at deception, everyone had believed he had no interest in Steve, including Steve himself. Grief and regret rose up to choke Bucky, squeezing tears from the corners of his eyes. All the time they had lost, all the pain, and it could have been prevented if Bucky had just been brave enough to say something. He picked up the next envelope and pulled out the letter- dated two weeks after the last.
Dear Bucky,
So, I'm writing again. Gabe keeps insisting it's a good idea, and I know I have to do something. The others are worried about me. They don't say it, but I can see it in the way they watch me. They don't leave me alone anymore either. Dernier's on watch outside my tent right now. I think they're afraid I'll kill myself. I guess they have a right to be afraid.
I won't do it. I know that. But I won't say I haven't thought about it. About just letting go, letting someone else worry about all this. But I'm the only one that can take the Red Skull, so until he dies I can't stop. And I'm not going to stop. I promised myself I wouldn't, not until all Hydra is dead or captured. They killed you. They have to pay. After… well, we'll see. Nobody's going to need me, once this war is over, you don't need soldiers in peace time.
The words made Bucky's blood run cold. Steve had contemplated suicide? Steve? Bucky had never thought him capable of that. But then, he'd never known that the serum had amped up Steve's emotions, either. And now, with a similar potion running in his own veins, now he knew how it felt. His anger had been amplified, turning fury into a killing rage, and bitterness into hate. It was hard to get a grip on, some days. Confusion had nearly paralyzed him, and guilt had nearly drove him mad. But Steve had been with him, had taught him how to cope. Looking back, he realized that Steve had been patiently helping him to control his heightened emotions with the ease and practice of someone who has been through the same thing. And the love… yes, that too was stronger. But it had always been strong, and he'd trained himself not to notice it. It was the easiest of his emotions to control, because he'd been controlling it for so long.
Looking at Steve's letter now, Bucky wondered if Steve had understood what was going on- if he had known that his own feelings had become his enemy here. He'd known his love was stronger. Had he understood his grief was worse as well? Bucky didn't know. He continued to read.
I've been pretty busy lately. Zola gave us some good leads. I won't say his capture was worth it, because it wasn't- not to me. But we do have more information than ever before. We're taking out Hydra bases every other day, almost. I think there might actually be an end to all this soon.
You'd have laughed at what I saw the other day. Howard Stark was running some sort of experiment- you know him, he can't keep still. If that man ever has kids, I think I'll move as far away as possible. I don't think I could handle more people like Howard around. Especially kids.
Anyway, he was doing something with the water pump that supplies the camp. I'm not sure what. All I know is that we heard this giant explosion, and out of the steam comes Howard- covered in mud. The guy looks at me and grins. "Success," he says, and walks off like nothing happened. The next time I saw him, Phillips was yelling his head off at him, and Howard just sat there and laughed until he ran out of words. He was still wearing mud from head to toe. I almost turned to you, to see you grinning that stupid grin of yours, but then I realized I'd never… well. I wanted to end this on a happy note.
I think maybe this writing thing might be good for me. I'll try and keep it up for a while, and see what happens.
Love,
Steve
Bucky chuckled at the image of Howard covered in mud. He remembered a similar occurrence with Tony, only it had been an explosion in the labs, and Tony had come out covered in green slime. Bucky hadn't understood the brief sadness in Steve's eyes when he turned to see Bucky laughing at Tony, but now he did. He'd been thinking of seeing Howard covered in mud. And of wishing Bucky had seen it too.
He flipped through the rest of the letters, all similar to the ones he had just read. Sometimes Steve wrote as if he was talking to Bucky at the end of the day, relating things that had happened, or stories about people they both knew. Sometimes he talked about his emotions, how much he missed Bucky. Some of the pages had smudges where tears had marred the ink. Some picked up new tear stains as Bucky continued to read.
Letters ranged from every other day to one a week, depending on how busy Steve had been. It was a large stack, but Bucky wasn't even half through when he came to the last one dated before 2011. It was short, just one page.
Dear Bucky, it read,
This is it. We're finally going to get the bastard. I don't know what's going to happen tomorrow, but I do know this. Schmidt is going down. It won't bring you back, and it won't make up for all the evil he's done, but he'll face justice, one way or another. I promise you, he will not be responsible for any more deaths.
I don't think I'll be coming back from this fight. I can't say why, it just feels like this is the end. So, in case that's really true, I'm going to give this box of letters and a few other things to Howard, to keep safe for me. Maybe I'll be seeing you soon.
Love,
Steve
Well, that explained why the box was safe, and in Bucky's possession. Howard must have kept it, and maybe Tony gave it back to Steve after he was revived from the ice. Steve must have kept it in the spare room, and forgotten about it once Bucky was back. He'd thought maybe he was going to die, and planned accordingly. An insidious voice inside of Bucky whispered that maybe he'd planned to die in that fight. Maybe the next letter would reveal the truth. Bucky drew out the sheaf of pages from the first envelope from 2011.
Dear Bucky,
Well. I didn't die. I crashed the plane into the ice, fully expecting to. Instead, I woke up almost 70 years later. The future is strange. There's too many lights, too much noise. Everything has some sort of technology in it. People have television in their homes- television with color! There's this thing called the internet. It's like a sort of virtual world, where you can find anything. I've been using it to read the news, trying to catch up on what happened. I missed a lot. Well, 70 years in ice will do that.
The war ended pretty soon after we destroyed Hydra. They say we won, and I guess that's true. Germany got rebuilt, after. America occupied Japan and rebuilt it, too. We've still got a lot of military over there, on bases in Okinawa. I've been studying the aftermath of the war. America came out on top, the most powerful country in the world. Russia rose up soon after, and our countries engaged in a 'cold war'- cold, because it was mostly fought without armies. After that, America got into a few 'conflicts'(as they call them- it still looks like war to me.) This latest one started after radicals and terrorists attacked New York. I guess I might get pulled into it, now that I'm up.
That won't be for a while yet. They have me in mandatory 'therapy' right now, to help me cope with waking up in the future. I'm not sure what help a therapist is going to be, but the brass says I have to go, so I go. My therapist is nice enough, you'd probably hate her though- she's a doctor, after all. She says I should write down my thoughts, that it will help. She suggested writing letters to people, saying the goodbyes I never got to say, things like that. I think I'm just going to keep writing to you for now. She knows I'm writing this letter, but she won't ask to see it. That's probably for the best. I wonder what happened to the box of letters I left with Howard. I might write his son, and ask.
Oh, that's something- Howard had a son. Remember when I said, if Howard had kids, I'd get as far away as possible? Well, I was right, that would be a good idea. Tony is… well, I haven't met him, but he's all over the news. Wears this shiny red suit that flies, calls himself a 'superhero'. The guy has an ego the size of the sun. He looks a lot like Howard though, and I hear he might even be smarter, if that's possible. I don't know if Howard ever talked to Tony about us, though. They say he never stopped looking for me.
I miss him. And Gabe, Dernier, Falsworth, Morita, and Dum Dum. Peggy, too. Hell, even Colonel Phillips. Everyone is gone now. Well, Peggy's still alive, but she's in a nursing home. She's got some kind of mental disease. She might not even remember me. I haven't been to visit yet. My therapist says I should, but I'm not sure.
I miss you most of all. I see something, and I wonder what you would have thought of it. Or I learn something, and wish I could tell you about it. I could always talk to you. I don't have anyone to talk to anymore. I don't think I want anyone to talk to. I couldn't take getting close to someone, only to lose them again.
You'd like the future, I think. Everything is much easier. More expensive, too, but we get paid more. I wish you could see it. Some days, I wake up, and it feels like you're right there next to me, and I can open my eyes and shake you, and you'll groan at me, and tell me to sleep for five more minutes. But then I do open my eyes, and you're not there. God, I wish you were here.
Love,
Steve
Bucky had to take a minute, after he finished reading that letter, to wipe his eyes and get his thoughts in order. It was harder than he thought. Steve sounded so lonely in that letter, so sad. While Bucky had known what waking up must have been like- he'd even talked to Steve about it some, he'd never realized just how hard it had been on his friend. He turned to the next envelope, and continued to read.
Dear Bucky,
I bought a loaf of bread for $5 today. $5! That's normal now. I'm still getting used to it. I keep thinking someone added an extra 0 to the prices of everything. Gasoline is over $4 a gallon in some places. They said that's recent. A few years ago it used to be $2 or $3.
I got my own apartment this week. Just the living room is larger than our whole apartment back in the '30's. I've got two bedrooms, plus a kitchen and the living room. We wouldn't have to share a room anymore, if you were here. We wouldn't need to share a bed either, the heating system is enough to keep anyone warm, even on the coldest nights. And there's air conditioning to keep it cool in the summer too. Though maybe, if you were here, we could still share the bed. I dream about that sometimes, about waking up and finding you here, alive. In those dreams, you love me the same way I love you. And we… I'm not going to put that in writing. It's too private, even for a letter no one else is ever going to read.
Bucky blushed. He could bet he knew what Steve wasn't going to write was pretty sure he had his own dreams that were very similar. He turned his eyes back to the page.
Before I moved, I had another session with my therapist. She had to give me clearance to be on my own. I guess there was some question over whether or not I crashed the plane on purpose- if I'd been trying to kill myself. She asked me if I was. I honestly can't remember. I don't think so, but I do remember being relieved that it was all going to end. I remember wishing you were with me, and wondering if I'd see you when I died. But I don't think I intended to kill myself. I did what I had to do, to save everyone else. I'm expendable- no one was waiting for me to come back, or rather no one needed me to come back. My job was to save everyone possible. The best way to do that was to put the plane in the water. That's what I remember, and what I told the therapist. She didn't seem convinced. She said we would be talking more about it. I don't know what more needs to be said. I did what I had to do. Thats all it was.
I have orders to go out, not just sit in my apartment or in the gym. So I go running every morning. It's good to get out of the apartment, and see the city. But it doesn't feel like home. Maybe if you were here, it would, but then, if you were here, I probably wouldn't have crashed the plane in the first place. You'd have thought of some crazy way to get us out of it, just like all those stupid stunts you pulled when we were kids.
Got to go- Director Fury is calling.
Love,
Steve
PS- you'll never guess what arrived this morning. My old shoebox full of the letters I wrote to you in 1944. It came with the other things I'd asked Howard to take care of, just showed up on my doorstep this morning. The note was from Tony Stark's secretary, Pepper Pots. She said she'd found my things while helping Tony find something in his dad's lab, and thought I might want them back. She sounds like a nice girl. I'll have to think of some way to thank her.
Bucky read through more letters, all along similar lines- talking about the present, reminiscing about the past, very little mention of emotions beyond missing Bucky and their old friends. Occasional mentions of new people crept in. Director Fury featured in some of Steve's anecdotes and rants alike, and after the Battle of New York, Natasha and Tony's names appeared often. Steve wrote about moving to Washington- New York was just too hard, too much like and also unlike their old home. He did better in DC, there were fewer mentions of his sadness or longing for the past.
At some point, Sam's name started entering the letters. Steve said he was more help than the therapist had ever been, and Bucky agreed- he'd had Sam as a therapist after waking up, and the man had certainly helped him a great deal. Bucky felt jealousy creeping over him, as it did at times when he saw Steve and Sam together, but there were constant reminders in every letter that the one Steve loved was Bucky. His friendship with Sam was a good one, a strong one, but it didn't replace what he'd had with Bucky. Steve even wrote as much, in a letter dated shortly before the battle with Hydra in DC.
Sam is a good man, he wrote. And a good friend. I think you would like him. I hope you would like him. He's probably my closest friend now. He's not you, and I wouldn't want him to be, but he fills a hole that was left in me after you died. I don't love him, not like I love you. But I think he could be my best friend, if I let him. I need a friend, he says, and he's right. He can't replace you, and I wouldn't want him to if he could. You'll always be my best guy, Buck. And my only love.
Bucky blinked back a few more tears after that, before he could continue reading. The last letter was written shortly after the fight on the helicarrier. It was written with a shaky hand, and there was no greeting. It was short, only a few lines. But every word of it was engraved on Bucky's heart just the same.
You're alive! it began. Something happened to you, you're not in your right mind. But you are alive. And I will get you back. I won't be writing any more of these letters. What I have to say, I can say to you once I find you. And maybe, after things have settled down, and we're used to each other again, I can tell you what I meant to say the day I lost you in 1944. I love you.
Love,
Steve
Bucky folded the paper and put it back in the envelope. Then he stretched, and worked a kink out of his neck. He'd been reading for hours, with only small breaks in between. It was almost dawn. He'd be able to go see Steve soon, and hopefully bring him home. Before then, there was something he wanted to do. He got up and went to the desk, pulled out a pen and paper, and began to write.
—
A mostly-recovered Steve returned with Bucky to the apartment that afternoon. Bucky fussed over him a little, making him lunch and watching him eat, bringing him coffee or an extra blanket, keeping a close eye on his face to be certain he wasn't in any pain. Eventually, Steve stood up and headed for his bedroom. Bucky watched, knowing what he was going to find when he looked at the bed. The shoebox, it contents neatly sorted and bound together with string. And, next to it, one more letter. He'd spent several hours on it that morning, trying to get it just right. Only when he'd finally been happy, had Bucky taken it into Steve's room to leave on the bed.
A few minutes later, Steve opened the door slowly, moving as if in shock. There were tear tracks on his face, and more tears leaked from the corners of his eyes. Bucky stood, crossing the room in a few short strides to stand before him.
"This…" Steve weakly gestured with the letter he held in his hand. "Did you…?"
Bucky reached out, wrapping his fingers around Steve's. The letter drifted to the floor beside them, unnoticed.
"Yeah," Bucky smiled for Steve, squeezing his hands. "Yeah, I did. What're you gonna do about it?"
Steve met his eyes, and for one endless moment, Bucky held his breath. Then he heard Steve say, so quietly it almost didn't reach his ears, "This." And then Steve leaned in, bringing their mouths together. The kiss was gentle, hesitant at first. Then a low moan rose up in Bucky's throat and he pushed, harder, more insistent. Steve surrendered to him, lips parting to let him in, and what Bucky did next had him groaning in pleasure.
They broke apart finally, when they both needed to breathe. Bucky looked up into those heavenly blue-sky eyes, and said the words he'd been longing to say for over eighty years. "God, I love you, Steve Rogers."
"And I love you, Buck. Forever."
What happened next, well, let's just say it was a night eighty years in the making.
The next morning, when his knocking went unanswered, Tony opened the door to the apartment with the spare key he'd stolen months ago. The snores from Steve's bedroom alerted him to the location of his friends, and he crept forward, intent on waking them. That's when he came across the letter on the floor, next to a few scattered items of clothing belonging to both men. Always curious, he picked it up, read it, then set it carefully on the table. He then left the way he'd come in, shutting the door behind him. If anyone had been around to hear, they would have heard Tony mutter "It's about time."
The letter, in Bucky's careful writing, remained on the table all that day, until the evening, when Steve and Bucky emerged. Then it was carefully folded, and placed in the box with the letters from Steve, to be saved and reread by both men too many times to count. It said:
Steve,
You're a punk. You could have told me how you felt, or at least left this box where it would be easier for me to find it. Or, hey, just given it to me. Saved us both some heartache. I've been wondering whether to tell you how I felt for months, and here you were, hoping I'd find out how you feel from a box of letters in the bottom of my closet. So I say again, you're a punk.
I love you too, you jerk. I have since we were kids. Now you know. I'm waiting in the other room for you to come do something about it. So come on. Come get me. I dare you.
Love,
Bucky