January 7th. Diary Entry 1
It's been months since I've seen even a rumor of Buck. He's vanished, eluding all of our best efforts, but I'm not going to give up on him. It's just like he told me. I'm with him until the end of the line.
Steve lifted his pen from the small leather bound notebook. He couldn't see well enough to write further. He took a deep breath, blinking until the tears threatening to fall disappeared. Bucky would be found. At any cost.
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Steve stood outside Tony's front door, his hand raised to press the bell, when Tony's voice came through a miniscule speaker above the button.
"Hey Cap!"
"Hi, Tony," said Steve haltingly. He hadn't finished convincing himself he truly needed Tony's help. "Can I -"
He was cut off. "You need intel on your hubby, right?"
Steve was silent for a moment. "Bucky?"
"Yeah! Your prehistoric boyfriend."
"He's... Do you have anything on him?" Steve could feel color rising to his cheeks.
"Come on in, I'll show you."
They met in Tony's lavish foyer. Tony grinned and handed Steve a manila folder. "Here. This is everything from the last few months." While Steve stood speechless, Tony removed a small tablet from his pocket. "Jarvis, I need the window. Darken it."
Obediently, Jarvis darkened the massive wall - like windows. With a small flicking motion, Tony sent the files he'd pulled from his device to the windows, using them as a massive screen. Steve gaped as Bucky's face filled the screen.
"How did you find this?" Steve's voice was barely a whisper.
"Pulled a favor here, hacked a few laptop cameras there, hijacked some security cameras and presto! I found your man."
"Where is he?"
"Never left New York. He's still in Brooklyn"
"Tony, why didn't you say anything?"
"You didn't ask, my fossil friend."
Steve shook his head. "How... How can I thank you?"
"No thanks needed. You should have asked sooner."
Steve nodded his thanks instead.
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The streets of Brooklyn hadn't changed in the 70-some years since Steve had visited. Children still played in the streets, running about and getting underfoot. He ducked his head as a memory came unbidden to his mind.
Bucky playfully nudged Steve. They sat on Steve's steps while they waited for the baseball game on the radio to start. They were playing Philadelphia in a minute or so. "What's eating you, Steve?" Bucky leaned back on his elbows and stretched his legs out. Steve followed suite.
"I dunno Buck." He gave a shrug. "I got a feeling, you know? It's a strong feeling."
"What's the feeling?" Bucky's head lolled back and he moved his eyes to Steve. He'd always liked how Steve's lower lip pouted out when his face was relaxed.
"I like -" The announcer came on suddenly, the radio static crackling to life.
"What's that Stevie?"
"Nothing, Buck." He turned his face from his friend. He couldn't say it now. He couldn't tell Bucky how much he liked him.
"Alright." Bucky's eyebrows inched into a frown. It had sounded like Steve was going to say - no. Steve couldn't return his affection. He was Stevie. He was Bucky's best friend. Bucky carefully eased his face into a laid-back smile. His confession would have to wait.
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Steve returned to the present. He was in front of his old apartment. He smiled. It hadn't barely changed. The old wood door was still the same. The scratch he and Bucky put on it while moving in was still there. It looked more worn than it had, but the same scratch was still there. It was an odd thing to notice, but it gave Steve hope. Maybe, when he found Bucky, they could live together again.
Suddenly the door opened. A tousled blond head poked out, blinking sleepily. "Oi, wot yeh doing outside me door? Scram, ye bum," said the man.
"Sorry," said Steve, rapidly backing up. "Just reminiscing."
"Reminisce somewhere else!"
"Sorry!" Steve practically leapt down the steps. It was a pity such an unpleasant man owned it now. He had many wonderful memories stashed in there. Once he reached the ground, he looked up at the sky. The sunset was one of his favorite things. Watching sunsets with Bucky was something they did often when they lived together.
He could make it back home just before dark if he took the train.
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January 10th. Diary Entry 2
Bucky is in Brooklyn. How could I have missed it? Here I was halfway across the globe searching every HYDRA outpost I could find and he was home. I'll find him soon. I have a hunch that he's near.
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Steve woke at 6:00 AM sharp. His body clock didn't need any prompting. He drowsily got up and stretched, taking a luxurious yawn. Another day of searching for Bucky was beginning. He showered and dressed, making himself breakfast. He made a habit of reading the news before going running. Steve always spoke to Sam, if he was there. This morning was one of the rare mornings there was no Sam. Steve ran his laps and jogged home. He cleaned up, grabbed a bottle of water and 20$ cash, and left.
Steve returned home, his legs aching for respite. He'd patrolled the streets of Brooklyn, keeping a sharp eye out for Bucky. Any sign of long, unkempt dark hair and broad, well-muscled shoulders and Steve would discreetly tail the man until he was able to glimpse his face, at which point the man would turn out to be anyone but who he was looking for. He turned on the news and leaned back on his couch. Heaving a sigh, he closed his eyes.
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January 15th. Diary Entry 3
I forgot how many memories Brooklyn holds for me. Here and there, memories of Bucky and me will pop up. A snippet of a conversation by the diner, a friendly hug by the library, and walking down the sidewalk shoulder to... Head. He was always taller than me. When I mentioned it, he'd always tell me I would grow. He'd always say maybe someday I'd be taller than him.
I wish he could see me now. Here I am, 90-some years old and still running after him like a lovesick schoolgirl. I miss him.
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Steve woke, his instincts telling him something was wrong. He slowly eased out of bed. With every sense on turbo, Steve padded lightly down his hallway. He entered the kitchen. Nothing out of the ordinary. He flattened himself against the wall before peeking into the living room. Steve jerked back in surprise. He checked again. There was a form curled in the corner, on the floor by the couch. He approached it slowly.
"Who are you?"
The form shifted and the outline of a head became visible.
Steve tried again. "Who are you? Why are you here?"
The form wobbled before feebly hauling itself to its feet.
Steve's mouth dropped open in shock. He couldn't believe it. "Buck?" His voice was barely a whisper.
Bucky raised his head at the sound of the man's voice. Where was he? The last thing he could remember was waking down the sidewalk, then he saw a tall blond man across the street and everything went dark from there. He faintly remembered flashes of pain and trying to do something...
He'd been trying to find his way home. He could barely stand, let alone try to formulate thoughts or remember his actions. Everything was a blur since the helicarrier. Brief flashes of running, dark streets, and pain were everything his exhausted mind could conjure. He swayed. The blond man stepped towards him and Bucky nearly fell trying to move away.
"I won't hurt you," said the man. "You need rest."
Bucky tried to say no, to say his current condition, while not optimal, was acceptable, but the sound that escaped his mouth was a strangled grunt.
"Please. Let me help you."
Bucky glared at the man as he walked slowly across the room, beckoning for him to follow. Bucky warily edged after him, keeping to the wall for support. Something tugged in the back of his mind, nearly pulling him off-balance. The man in front of him surfaced in his mind, smiling and removing straps from Bucky's body. He can't hear what the man says, but his strong arms help him upright and support him as -
Bucky felt himself lowered into something soft. He opened his eyes and saw the man again. This time, much closer. The man's arms were loosening their grip - the same warm, strong, comforting arms - and he didn't want them to go. Before the man was too far out of his reach, Bucky stretched out his human hand and grasped the man's shirt.
"Dont..." Bucky's voice quavered. "Please..."
Tears formed in the corners of Steve's eyes. "I'm here Buck. I won't leave." Steve took Bucky's hand from his shirt and grasped it firmly in both of his. Bucky's hand was cold and clammy. Bucky lifted his weary gaze to the man's face. The man was crying.
Bucky lifted his metal hand without thought, but as soon as it entered his range of vision, he dropped it.
This time, he was aware of his eyes closing.
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January 16th. Diary Entry 4
He found me. He doesn't remember me, and I'm pretty sure he doesn't remember bring Buck, but he's here. He found his way into my living room before he collapsed. He seemed exhausted. I led him to my room, but he passed out on the way. When I picked him up and set him in my bed, he woke back up. Just as I was taking my arms off him to leave he grabbed my shirt. He asked me not to leave. I think the blackout may have been a memory returning to him. Before it, he wouldn't let me near him. Afterwards, he didn't want me to leave. I held his hand until morning. I fell asleep there, next to him. When I woke, he was still unconscious.
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January 19th. Diary Entry 5
Bucky hasn't woken up. I'm debating taking him to Tony or to a hospital. It's been three days. I'm starting to get scared.
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Steve closed the little book with a decisive snap. He stood, leaving it on the table. Hanging his head, Steve ran his fingers through his hair. He really ought to shower. He sighed and lifted his head, resigning himself to making breakfast. He cracked and scrambled three eggs while a song came to mind. The tune barely registered in his sleep-deprived mind before it was coming out of his mouth. He'd almost forgotten the lyrics of this song. When they lived in the old apartment with the scratch on the door, he and Buck would sing along to any version of the song that came on. His personal favorite was by Nat King Cole. The tune filtered through the dust in the back of his mind as it and the familiar lyrics came to the front. His voice eased into song like an old piano shaking off dust.
"Stars shining bright above you,
Night breezes seem to whisper 'I love you,'
Birds singin in the sycamore trees..."
Another husky voice joined him. "Dream a little dream of me."
Steve turned sharply, nearly dropping his pan of eggs. His smile nearly split his face. "Bucky!"
Bucky, leaning against the door frame, smiled through parched, pale lips. "It's me, Steve-o."