Peggy's coffin is dark scarlet, almost painfully dark in the vast greenery of the cemetery. The contrast hurts the eye, but the sun shines so brightly it morphs the dark colour into something more tolerable.
S.H.I.E.L.D. might be gone, but the loyal ones have come. Peggy was not a simple agent, after all: she was a founder. Steve only realized how huge it was exactly when he saw the car of Tony Stark in the parking lot in front of the cemetery. A few minutes later he saw the late Iron Man himself. They exchanged a meaningful look before he moved on to let Sharon know that he was there.
On the gravestone it says 'Margaret "Peggy" Carter', and Steve can't find it in himself to take his eyes off the golden letters. He sees something entirely different there, and the people surrounding him know it as well. The priest's words are distant but the birds' chirping fills his head and his mind feels like swimming.
Sharon makes her speech and Steve glances at the faces all around them. Many start crying, and, once she finishes, he hears the words 'she is so strong' from at least three people. A relative holds her hand as they start to lower the coffin into the grave and their eyes meet.
"They keep telling me how strong I am," she tells him a few days before, her fingers lingering on a glass of whiskey. It's late and he should be going. He is too exhausted to listen to his common sense, though. "How do they know? Do they see it in my eyes? Is it written all over my face? Am I strong, Steve?"
Steve looks at her carefully.
"You don't feel strong."
She keeps her eyes on him for a few more, long moments before she laughs weakly and shakes her head.
"No, I don't."
He lost people too, so he knows.
"People expect me to break down, to cry and be miserable, right until they won't feel empathy for me, only pity. They want to make it easier for themselves, because they have no idea how to comfort someone who just lost a relative or a friend."
The alcohol fogs her mind and there are tears in her eyes when she looks up. Steve doesn't say anything, he simply shares the comfortable silence.
It's the same comfortable silence, looking at each other over the grave. He knows what's on her mind so he only gives her a small smile, careful not to seem insensitive. She smiles with her eyes, then, she looks down at the coffin.
"Take care of yourself," Steve kisses Peggy on the forehead two weeks earlier, his brown leather jacket in one hand, the other hand on Peggy's face. She inhales, keeping her eyes on Steve as he backs towards the door with a small smile. If he seems heartbroken, if she caught the sadness in his eyes, Steve is more than grateful that she doesn't mention it.
"I don't think I will be here for much longer," she decides to say just before he could disappear in the corridor. Steve stops in the doorway, blinking slowly. "But if I had to die tomorrow, I would be glad I saw you one last time, Steve."
He gives her a watery smile, a protest already forming on his lips. He wants to tell her that she speaks nonsense, but the words aren't coming. He stares instead, for a long, long moment before he speaks, something entirely different than what he originally wanted to say.
"Next Saturday, at the Stork Club. 8:00 on the dot," he tells the gravestone, his voice barely beyond a whisper. "Don't you dare be late."
He drops the rose on top of the many others, then he turns and nods towards the workers. They walk towards the grave with shovels.
After the reception, he leaves, purposely passing by the grave. It's complete, and it's beautiful.
When he gets home, the apartment is swimming in a silvery afternoon glow. He takes off his shoes and drops his tie on the couch, glancing into the kitchen curiously. Bucky is standing there with his back to him, wearing sweatpants and an A-shirt. (It took him a long time to put an A-shirt on in front of anyone. Everyone was patient.) He is opening a bottle of water, and Steve watches the line on his shoulder where his skin and the metal meet.
"Hey," he says quietly. He has no idea why he speaks so carefully. It's not like Bucky didn't hear him, even before he took out his keys to open the door.
Bucky glances at him shortly, then, after a moment of staring, he turns back to the bottle and starts drinking it out. Steve sighs.
So it's one of those days.
"That's what horses eat, Rogers." Natasha's voice doesn't even startle him, he just turns his head to look at her. She is coming down the corridor, most likely from the bathroom. Despite her teasing, she gives him a comforting smile, sitting down at the isle in the kitchen. "How are you?"
Steve feels the sad excuse of a smile creeping onto his face and he shakes off the suit, laying it on the couch as well.
"Do I say fine, even though I just came from a funeral?"
Natasha doesn't answer and Bucky walks out of the kitchen without a word. They hear the door of his room closing and Steve sighs, sitting down next to Natasha. He drops his face into his palms.
"How is he?" he asks silently, but she hears him just fine. She sighs a little and he can't see anything beside the darkness behind his closed eyelids.
"He talked a lot," she answers. "About some crappy television show he was watching last night. At least he knows it's crappy."
Steve makes a sound that should've sounded like a laugh. It didn't.
"He also told me about a book he was reading, and that you took him out to grocery shopping yesterday."
Steve raises his head and takes a deep breath. Exhaustion and unshed tears burn his eyes, but he just stares up at the ceiling and pretends it's from pushing at them with the edges of his palms too hard.
"I did."
"He told me he left you."
Steve makes that miserable sound again and he mentally scolds himself for not being able to hold it in. He smiles a little but it never reaches his eyes.
"He did."
Natasha doesn't say anything but Steve can feel her eyes on him. It's like standing under spotlight and she probably notices that too, given that she suddenly looks away and studies the counter instead.
They have been through the same conversation so many times already, it's getting boring, even for Steve. For 6 months now this has been happening. Rejected attempts to spend more time together, to talk, to do things together. The last time they spoke more than three words in private, Bucky told him he would've liked if the other team members came and visited regularly. He likes them.
Apparently, he doesn't like Steve.
And he could deny it as much as he wanted, but it hurt like hell. Nowadays, he doesn't even try to deny it anymore.
"I offered him to live in the Tower," he murmurs slowly, repeating a conversation they had not even two months ago. "I offered him in the beginning, I offered him when he wanted to spend time with you guys, and I offered him yesterday. Each time, he stared at me blankly before he went to his room and shut the door."
He feels the taste of bitterness, something irony in his mouth, and he shakes his head a little.
"He doesn't want to move out," Natasha says patiently and Steve looks at her, as if she is joking.
"Well he doesn't want to stay either."
"You don't know that," Natasha looks at him carefully and Steve lets a strange snort leave his mouth. He means it as a chuckle, but at least it's not as pathetic as the sound he was making so far.
"You are not wrong with that. I don't know anything about him."
"It's hard now because you just lost Peggy." The hand on his lower arm feels warm and strange but he doesn't move, he just looks at her delicate fingers for a moment before looking up into her eyes. "He needs more time to recover, and so do you. You need each other. You are healing him, Steve."
I feel like I'm losing two instead of one, he means to say but his tongue is too heavy in his mouth so he keeps silent instead. Natasha tells him that Bucky is trying, and Steve wants to believe, more than anything. How would he know, anyway? Maybe Bucky is trying, Steve just doesn't know anything about him, that's why he can't see.
He saw many things and he lived for long enough to know that, just because you can't see something, it can be there. It was the same way that Steve realized that he was in love with his best friend since he was thirteen years old.
It is one thing that, when he realized he wanted to start trying, it was already too late, because Bucky couldn't see it.
Because Bucky was dead.
That evening, Steve picks up the box for the first time in who knows how long.
He keeps it in his room, in the bottom of his drawer. It's small enough to fit in there, and now it's in his lap as he curls up on the couch, with a cup of tea next to him. He would rather drink an entire bottle of whiskey, but they ran out. So tea it is.
He opens the box tentatively, making sure that his every movement is slow and careful. He smiles as he looks down at the content of the box, as if he didn't see these things at least a hundred times already. He takes the stack of letters from the bottom. It is the reason why he decided to open the box in the first place and, as he runs his fingers over the top of the stack, he can feel how old the paper is. He can smell it, he can touch it, and with a great breath, he opens the first one.
"If there is anything you don't need, just leave it there. We will take care of it later."
Steve has never heard the Colonel speak with such gentleness, but all he can do now is to make a mental note of it. He nods, his entire being numb. The Colonel leaves after a few more moments of silence and, once he is out of the door, Steve takes a tentative step towards the bed. It's now stripped bare, a bag placed on the floor next to it. He knows there are clothes in there, but there are clothes on the bed as well, and a wooden box.
He sits down on the bed, unaware of tears welling in his eyes. Or maybe he is aware, he just chooses not to acknowledge it. Alcohol can't make him drunk anymore, but he appreciates dizziness just as much.
He stares down at the bag for a few minutes, then, he continues staring at the clothes next to him. These are uniforms, clean and never to be worn again. Steve runs his fingers over the material at first, then, he raises one sleeve and inhales its smell.
His tears run free and he can't even bother, he just keeps the sleeve close to his face for what seems like hours. Metal, cologne and something bittersweet that Steve cannot quite place. It's so Bucky, it feels like he is being kicked in the chest repeatedly. He lets out a sob and drops the sleeve back onto the bed, wiping his face quickly.
The first thing he notices when he decides to open the wooden box is an old baseball with a faded signature on one side. He finds he is crying again, his throat narrow and his chest on fire as the takes the ball between shaking fingers. He remembers Bucky catching this, the proud look on his face and the yell, the pride. He caught it for Steve, but Steve just took it to be signed and brought it back to Bucky, telling him to keep it.
It was the first time he really wanted to kiss that stupid, happy grin on Bucky's face, but he smiled instead, pretending to be thinking about something very deeply. Indeed, he was thinking about something. Only Bucky had no idea that it was him, all along.
Next, he finds a watch, a penknife and a picture with a young girl on it. It's crumpled on the edges, but the sweet angel named Rebecca Penny Barnes is smiling just as innocently as ever. Brown locks, her pretty, round face, dozens of freckles and full lips. Steve faintly remembers how their mother looked like, but he has always been sure that both Becca and Bucky resembled Winifred more than George. The memory of Bucky and Steve putting Rebecca on that train, the sight of Bucky running until there was no platform left and then just standing there, watching the train disappear in the distance - it still played in Steve's mind like it was yesterday.
No wonder he kept a picture of her, even in war. Precious, beautiful little Becca. Bucky loved her more than anything.
He puts the picture back and digs deeper.
Under a bunch of empty papers, there is a stack of envelopes with letters in them. They aren't addressed, and Steve doesn't quite know what to do. He wipes his eyes with his sleeve, then, he takes out one letter, only one.
There were many girls in Bucky's life back in New York, he could easily write to any of them without the intention of ever sending it. The more he repeats it to himself, the more he believes his own persuasion, yet, he is still in the process of opening the envelope.
It gets too personal and I stop reading, he vows, satisfied with himself for still having some of his manners, even though he is utterly heartbroken and is holding the last belongings of his best friend in his hands. Bucky would hate him for this, perhaps.
When the letter slips out of the envelope, Steve shushes the voices inside his head. He freezes as he reads the first line.
"What are you reading?"
Steve jumps in his seat, immediately tucking the letter back into the envelope as he recognizes Bucky's voice. He is standing behind him, but Steve feels like he is breathing right into his neck.
"Just old letters. From Peggy."
The lie falls from his lips like he has been thinking it up for occasions exactly like this, but he is not sure why he is lying. He tells himself it's because the letters would upset Bucky, and it's not like he would care anyway. He would let it go, yes. That is what he keeps telling himself, as if he is already suspecting that it's not going to happen.
Bucky stays silent for a while and Steve turns his head towards him, watching him. Bucky is still in his A-shirts, his arms hanging next to him, and Steve knows he is staring so he drops his glance to the floor. He is listening to Bucky's even breaths before his best friend returns to his room.
Steve can't shake the guilt for lying into his face.
The next day when he gets back home around 5 o'clock, he knows Bucky touched the letters. Even though Steve almost managed to believe that his friend would remain disinterested, a small part of him has been expecting this to happen all day. Steve takes a deep breath and, after collecting himself, he knocks on Bucky's door, asking about some Chinese for dinner. Bucky is not in the room, and the window is open.
Steve wonders how many of the letters Bucky read or at which one of his friends Bucky ended up this time. The doorbell rings around eight. It's Sam, and he is raising his hand with a satisfied smile. Steve can smell Indian and he lets Sam in, with Bucky in his tail. Their eyes don't meet, and Steve swallows the lump in his throat.
"Where are you two at catching up with pop-culture?" Sam takes the food out of the plastic bags. They sit in the living room, Bucky is bringing another bottle of water. He glances at the empty seat next to Steve on the couch, but he settles next to Sam instead. Steve swallows again.
"I've been listening to a lot of... indie, maybe that's what it's called," Steve answers thoughtfully, reaching out for a napkin before taking the first bite of his food. "Also, Happy told me to watch Downton Abbey so I'm at season 2."
"Not disappointed in you, Rogers. I bet you are binge watching it every night," Sam laughs and there is something so honest, so kind in his eyes that it makes Steve smile, even though he feels like it's the last thing he would really want to do. "What about you, James?"
Bucky is thinking for a moment before his eyes light up. Steve is still smiling as he studies him.
"We are watching Friends with Natasha and Supernanny with Tony."
Sam flinches and Steve could swear he saw the flicker of a smile appearing on Bucky's face for a split second. It's gone just as quickly.
"No, dude," Sam shakes his head with exasperation, taking another bite of his food.
"Just the other day, we watched Star Wars with Clint. Apparently, Bruce would have preferred something lighter, but Clint didn't want to hear any of that," Bucky explains patiently and raises the fork to his lips, licking off the gravy that's left in the corner of his mouth.
Steve feels the bitterness that started out as a small spot in the middle of his chest spread all over his body so he looks away, digging at his chicken instead. He feels Sam's gaze on himself and it's heavy, almost heavier than what he can bear.
When Steve sees Sam out after dinner, there is silence in the air between them that none of them tries to break. Steve is tired of the sad looks everyone is throwing at him, but he can't blame Sam.
"Hang in there, Steve. It's going to work out." He places a hand on Steve's shoulder and Steve gives him a small smile that doesn't reach his eyes. Then, Sam is gone, and Steve is back in the kitchen where Bucky is setting the dishwasher off. It quietly whirs in the silence of the kitchen and Steve is staring at the counter.
"If you want to read the letters, all you have to do is ask." Steve goes for it, another attempt to make conversation, to actually talk about something. Anything. He can't stand the silence that follows, but he is not letting go. "How about I give you one each day?"
So it won't overwhelm you, is on his lips, but he thinks better of it and just looks up at Bucky instead. He is offering something, a routine, a chance. He desperately wishes Bucky will take it.
The minute of complete silence after his words feels like an eternity, but Bucky eventually presses his lips together a little tighter, looking into Steve's eyes.
"I would like it better if you read them out loud," he murmurs, then, his gaze is gone and he is staring into the sink instead. Steve feels his lips parting in wonder, but he gets a good hold of his surprise. Bucky adds, "For me."
It sounds more like routine now, especially when Steve takes the offer.
After the first letter, Bucky disappears for a week. Steve doesn't sleep, not even when Tony calls that Bucky is fine. Steve feels like a true idiot, but he doesn't say anything about it to anyone. He goes to work every day, expecting to step into a flat that's not completely empty in the evening. Steve has to come to terms with the fact that loneliness is worse than anything he has ever encountered before. Being alone is fine, but being lonely - that's different.
The seventh day is the worst, but that night he finally goes to sleep for two hours. When he wakes, there is a gun pointed at his forehead, and Steve swallows.
"Bucky," he mutters, his voice hoarse with exhaustion. "Put the gun down."
He doesn't move but Bucky's hand tightens. He remains silent.
"I shouldn't have agreed to reading you those letters," Steve continues. Suddenly, the heat under the blanket feels unbearable. "I'm so sorry, Bucky."
You weren't ready, he wants to say but decides not to, yet again. He wonders if he will always have these thoughts, but then Bucky drops the gun and it lands in Steve's lap. Even in the dark Steve can see the black clothes Bucky is wearing, the foggy look in his eyes. He came home as the Winter Soldier.
Steve watches as Bucky leaves, his movements like a robot's. A minute later he is back, with a letter in his hand. He holds it out for Steve and Steve stares at his hand, then at his face. Bucky is serious, grief is visible in the creases between his eyebrows, then, he sits on the ground next to Steve's bed.
It's 3 in the morning and Steve clears his throat. He reads.
Dear Steve,
It's a short one this time. I feel like one of those fancy poets, writing in the trenches. I ain't no Isaac Rosenberg, though. That's more like you, Stevie.
We are in Italy. Honestly, I didn't think it would rain so much. The guys are a pain in my ass, but they can drink. I know what you'd say but in the midst of all this shit you would keep looking for booze too, trust me. With them, I don't even have to look that hard.
I'm so happy you are at home, Stevie. You have no idea what it's like out here. That clip they show before the movies? Bullshit. I only imagine you being out here and I want to drink more. I shiver at the mere thought. I couldn't bear the sight of you crawling in shit and blood and mud and dirt, being stepped on and your arm blown off and-
No, Stevie. You stay at home, good ol' Brooklyn. And one day, just one day, I might get home and we will buy those huge pretzels from that sweet Irish girl in the market. I will buy you one, just stay at home.
Stay there and wait for me.
- Bucky
"They said the Godfather is a classic."
Bucky breaks the silence so suddenly that Steve almost drops his fork. They eat on the balcony and the sunset is warm on Steve's face. Bucky wears a T-shirt and rests his jaw on his knee, staring at his empty plate.
"Who said?"
"Clint and Bruce," Bucky answers on that same, quiet tone. Steve sets his fork down, blinking gently. "Maybe we could watch it after the letter."
It is a routine that Bucky would never forget about and, even though he doesn't say, Steve wouldn't either. He is fairly sure he saw the Godfather popping up while browsing through Netflix the other day so he smiles a little and nods. There is a gentle expression on Bucky's face, but it's not a smile. Steve accepts that.
It's only after they have watched the movie that Steve is cleaning up the kitchen and Bucky is reading the letter again. It was a longer one, more detailed, probably written not too long before their unit got captured. Bucky reads it over and over again, sitting with his back to Steve, and Steve keeps one eye on him as he starts the dishwasher. He approaches slowly afterwards, quietly, and standing behind Bucky he catches sight of his hands trembling. The letter nearly slips through his fingers and Steve sits next to him, taking it from him gently.
"Bucky," he whispers. Bucky is staring into space, somewhere way too far for Steve to see. Who knows what he sees.
"I wanted to die," he murmurs lowly. Steve's heart skips a beat, but he doesn't move and he doesn't speak. "When I wrote this, I wanted to die."
It's a memory, Steve can see that. Like a movie, rolling inside Bucky's head, it all plays out. Steve is wondering whether he should do something or not. He settles with the latter, for now.
"Someone asked me the day before if I had a wife, children. I said no, but I told them nothing else. We had a false alarm not much later that day, we lay on the ground. A letter slipped from my bag."
Bucky tenses and Steve's hand stops midair above his shoulder. Bucky is still staring with empty eyes, but Steve finds it harder and harder to only listen and not do anything.
"They read it. They said nothing, they just laughed. That night, they came to me, 7 or 8 of them. They called me names, they wanted to beat me, to cut me. Another alarm saved me, not a false one this time. Some of them died that night."
Steve feels dumbfounded for a moment. He is shocked, his throat is narrow. Bucky is looking at him now, waiting for a response, but Steve's heart is beating way too rapidly to come up with anything reasonable. He gives a light smile after a minute.
"I saw you beat larger mobs than that. If the alarm saved anyone, it was them."
He knows it sounds stupid but he can't help it. He wants Bucky to argue, to tell him that it was not high school, it was not a bunch of angry kids trying to take his lunch money. He wants Bucky to yell, to make him understand what war was like. What people were like. He wants Bucky to call him naive, inexperienced. He wants Bucky to call him Stevie.
Instead, all Steve gets is a small smile. Then, Bucky leaves for bed without a word.
That night, Steve draws instead of sleeping. He draws Bucky staring into space.
"What are you gonna do when he finds out he loved you?"
Steve glances at Natasha, confused. It's dark in the back of the plane and Steve watches Natasha fix her parachute on her back. He feels lightweight for a moment.
"I'm pretty sure he knows he cared," Steve shrugs. Ignore the heartbeat, Rogers. "He knows we were friends. I'm not reading those letters to him for nothing."
"You and I both know that's not what I meant and it's completely understandable that you decide to ignore it," Natasha sighs deeply and Steve remains silent. "But you have to accept that he is not going to stay in the dark for much longer. Sooner or later, he is going to realize why he wrote those letters to you. And what's even more important: why he didn't send them."
Steve stays silent for long minutes. It feels like an eternity as he stares at the floor, the noise of the plane filling his mind. In all these years, he has never thought about why Bucky never sent the letters or why he wrote them in the first place. Steve convinced himself it was only to comfort himself, to not feel so lonely anymore. He has always known what loneliness had done to someone, he experienced it even now, even when Bucky was sitting right next to him, staring through him. Writing those letters must've helped him.
Now, according to Natasha, they might've been written for an entirely different reason after all.
"You do know that yesterday was Supernanny evening at Stark's, right?" Natasha raises one eyebrow with a cunning smile and Steve feels his cheeks heat.
As he jumps from the plane, he faintly hears Natasha saying something about "character development".
He gets home late at night and the flat is dark. He assumes that Bucky is sleeping in his room so he doesn't expect seeing him stretched out on the couch once he passes by to go to the kitchen. He is sleeping peacefully, the letter resting on his chest, and Steve feels his throat narrow again. He squats by his side and watches, his best friend taking lazy, even breaths, his chest rising and falling in perfect rhythm. His dark, wavy locks are all over the armrest of the couch and Steve can't help himself. He touches them gently, his fingertips tingling under the sensation of the touch. It's soft. Softer than he imagined, and Steve smiles.
Then, Bucky opens his eyes and Steve's smile drops. The next moment he is on the floor with Bucky on top of him, metal fingers wrapped around his throat.
The Winter Soldier is choking him for a few seconds before he recognizes Steve and he snaps his own hand away. He seems terrified as he pushes himself off of Steve and he crawls backwards until his back hits the wall. Steve sits up slowly and coughs, watching the horror in the deep blue eyes. The metal fingers are squeezing the letter now and Steve blinks, trying to catch Bucky's gaze. It's erratic, and so is Steve's heartbeat.
"Forgive me," Bucky murmurs and Steve leans his back against the couch.
"It's okay, Buck," he says and he wishes his voice didn't sound so exhausted. He jumped out of a plane and killed people not completely three hours before, and now was not the best time for loneliness to start poisoning him again. If only he had the power to make it stop with a snap of his fingers. "It's okay."
He lets his head fall back slowly. His neck cracks a little and he closes his eyes.
"Can I read it to you?"
The question comes unexpectedly and Steve looks at Bucky, wonder written all over his face. Bucky is still tense, like an animal ready to attack any time. Steve is not sure if he will not think of himself as the prey.
Steve swallows hard and gives a little smile. Then, he nods.
Steve has come home with injuries before. Bucky never seemed to care before. Now, he does.
He sits Steve on the bathroom table and tends to his shoulder. It's a clear shot, not too deep. Steve could deal with it and patch it up in five minutes but Bucky doesn't seem to or want to hear about it. The warm touch of his fingers against his skin makes Steve's stomach ache and his chest warm, but none of these is unpleasant. He watches his best friend work, focusing with eyebrows creased, and he can't help himself smiling.
Bucky is beautiful. He had always been, and it might be the loss of blood, but right now, Bucky is truly magnificent. So Steve smiles.
"I might remember what he went through, but I'm not him," Bucky says silently and Steve's face drops.
"What are you talking about?" He truly doesn't understand, and Bucky keeps cleaning the wound. It hurts a little, but Steve doesn't care.
"I share his memories, I share his face, I share his name. But I'm not your James," Bucky shakes his head a little. His cold metal fingers touch Steve's skin and Steve shivers, goosebumps covering his whole body. He convinces himself it's from the unpleasantly pleasant touch, not the bitter cold inside him, the poisonous loneliness he has been fighting so far. "I read the letters so I can remember more. Have a past. But I'm not him."
"I know," Steve says maybe too quickly. Bucky is looking at him now. He finished patching him up, now he is just standing impossibly close with the needle in his hand. Steve looks away, feeling too awkward all of a sudden. "Why are you telling me this now?"
Bucky hesitates for a moment before he answers.
"Because I know that when you look at me, you see him. You buried him a long time ago. The dead don't come back."
He takes the warmth from Steve's chest when he leaves. They don't read letters on that evening.
Bucky is out at Tony's on Supernanny marathon when the doorbell rings. Sharon is standing in the door, her blonde locks held up in a nice ponytail, a file in one hand and a bag of Chinese in another. Steve smiles and lets her in.
"It wasn't exactly easy, but it took my mind off things so I gotta thank you for that," she settles at the isle in the kitchen, handing Steve the bag of food. Steve loses interest in it soon once Sharon opens the file and pushes it towards him on the counter. "She died in 1985, in Lewistown."
Steve swallows, running his glance over the page.
"Did she have a family?"
"She had a husband, he outlived her. He died ten years ago. They had a stillborn son, and they didn't have any more children afterwards."
1943. James William Walkers - stillborn. Steve's throat suddenly feels way too narrow and he closes the file, taking a deep breath. He feels the sympathetic gaze of Sharon on his face but he doesn't look at her for a minute. He just thinks and digests, until he can muster up a decent thought.
"She was always such a nice girl," he feels a smile tugging at his lips. "Like, not just simply 'nice', but truly, very kind. Helpful, generous and just a very good person. I can't believe she didn't get to have children."
"After the war ended, she started working at an orphanage in Washington. They took in children who lost their parents because of the war. They raised many of them as their own." Steve looks at Sharon, only to find her smiling kindly at him. "She was a really nice person indeed. The least we can do is introduce her to James again."
Steve knows she's right and when she takes his hand and squeezes it lightly, he squeezes back with a smile. She is really beautiful, and Steve is very grateful.
When they eat the Chinese and Sharon leaves, Bucky comes home. He usually sneaks in through his bedroom window, but now he is using the door. His keys tingle and Steve hears his steps approaching.
He seems tired when he shows up at the kitchen door, but his eyes are shining when he glances at Steve. He had fun.
"Hey," Steve says. Bucky nods and stands there for a moment longer before he walks over to the fridge and takes out a bottle of water. He shows his back to Steve as he opens it and starts drinking.
Steve watches his movements under the black hoodie, his metallic fingers shining in the kitchen light.
"Do you have plans for tomorrow?"
Bucky visibly tenses but he finishes drinking before he turns to look at Steve. There is something on his face beside the confusion, but Steve can't put his finger on it. They stare at each other before Bucky speaks on a low voice.
"Why?"
Steve pushes the picture he hid under his palm towards Bucky and he looks down, his eyes widening. He reaches for the photo and takes it, looking at it closely. The photo is old and brown, battered, and Bucky's hand trembles for a swift moment. Then, he is placing the photo back on the counter, letting go of it like it just burnt his fingers.
"Steve," he blurts, his voice sounding nearly desperate. For a moment, Steve thinks he made a mistake. He probably hurt Bucky, he did something very wrong, something irreversible. Bucky doesn't continue, though, he is just staring down at the picture like he is looking at a ghost.
Steve swallows hard.
"Her name is Becca. Rebecca Penny Barnes." His words are careful and Bucky's taking deep breaths, as if he is keeping himself together consciously. "She was your sister."
Bucky looks at him for a moment that feels like years, decades, millennias. Steve has never seen this many emotions on that face before and Bucky seems terrified, relieved and desperate at the same time. It's like he is asking for help and standing with pride and independence in front of Steve at the same time, and all Steve can do is look at him, offering a small smile.
Then Bucky says, "Tomorrow I'm free," and Steve's smile widens, ever so carefully.
He never reveals the letter that is also hiding under his palm.
The sky is very blue when they find the grave in the cemetery. The black, marble gravestone is looked after, to the great ease of Steve. He worried it would be abandoned, given that no close relative was alive anymore. It seemed there was someone anyway.
On the stone is, with golden, graven letters: Rebecca Penny Barnes, a wife, a mother, a daughter and a sister. Steve watches Bucky's face carefully, but they don't speak a word. They stand there, in utter silence. Steve gives Bucky the flower, and Bucky places it on the ground. Steve hesitates, waits for questions, but then he just decides he would give Bucky a moment alone. A few minutes later Bucky joins him and they walk back to the motel.
Long hours pass and Bucky barely speaks a word. He goes to take a shower and Steve is watching the television. When he grows bored and enters the bathroom for a moment to place his toothbrush on the sink, he sees Bucky's metal arm laying on the ground. He stares at it for a second before he leaves, feeling the burning gaze of Bucky on the back of his neck.
"I will go and get some dinner. Any special wishes?"
Bucky, fresh out of the shower, stands in the doorway to the bathroom and stares. He is wearing a bathrobe and Steve is ready to go, keys in one hand and his wallet in the other. He doesn't seem bewildered when he notices that Bucky's left arm is missing, or that he holds it in his right hand. He keeps his eyes on Bucky's face, but he can't read anything from his expression. It's completely indifferent. Maybe it disturbingly is.
"I will have whatever you have."
Steve eyes him for a few more seconds before nodding and leaving with a small, reassuring smile. Outside, he takes a deep breath and swallows before he gets in the car and drives.
The girl who serves him at the Chinese restaurant is extremely kind and smiley, and Steve goes back to the motel with a grin on his face. He took an extra four of fortune cookies so he could please Bucky with something. The car is filled with the smell of food when Steve stops in the parking lot. When he opens the door to climb out of the car, he hears the first noises.
And then, he hears the scream.
When he steps into the room, he can't see the attacker for a moment. He only sees Bucky, wrecking the furniture, out of his mind, breaking and destroying everything that he can reach... with one hand. There is sweat running down his temples, his hair is stuck on his face and there is a mad flame in his eyes, his dark eyes that were so impassive not too long ago.
Way too impassive.
And when those eyes are on Steve, he realizes that there is no attacker.
Steve spots the metal arm, now broken in two or even more, when Bucky grabs the front of Steve's shirt and pushes him on the ground. Steve can feel some of his bones move to all the wrong places, but he is too shocked by the sight of the completely wrecked room and the arm not too far from him to actually defend himself. He is expecting hits, the taste of his own blood in his mouth, but all he hears is heaving and all he feels are trembling fingers on his neck. There is no pressure, he is not choking. It feels like Bucky is holding onto him, and Steve looks up at him slowly, eyes wide with despair.
He doesn't speak for a while, he just silently watches the tears fall from Bucky's eyes and land on his own face. Then, Bucky shuts his eyes and screams, from the top of his lungs, so painfully that Steve can't quite distinguish Bucky's tears from his own.
"Please." Bucky places his palm on Steve's chest, his head hanging low, his shoulders shaking with sobs. Steve takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, closes his fingers around Bucky's. The hand under his is ice cold. "Please, Bucky. Please."
Some muffled Russian words come as an answer, and Steve swallows.
He waits until Bucky passes out.
"Why don't I have a plane like this?"
Steve raises his head. He has been feeling like waking up from a year long slumber for the whole day - interestingly, only whenever Stark started speaking.
"Because you are not as cool as Coulson?" Natasha offers, but all she gets is a death glare.
"If I didn't work on this particular arm right now, and maybe, just maybe I would be working on yours, you would get a Care Bear on your shoulder instead of a star," Tony raises one eyebrow but, if anything, Natasha seems only more amused. Steve would grin on any other day, but right now, he just sighs with exhaustion.
"A shield, Stark. Not a star, a shield."
"I didn't know that patriotism at this level was infectious, Rogers. Should I be glad you refused my offer to live in the Tower?" Tony chuckles at his own joke. "Oh come on, that was a good one."
Steve rolls his eyes but it doesn't wipe the smug grin off Tony's face. Steve still has doubts if Tony truly can concentrate on multiple things at the same time, but he doesn't argue. Tony tries to fix whatever was left of the metal arm, and that alone is enough for Steve to make an attempt and trust him. It's like putting Bucky's life in Stark's hand, and that does require quite the amount of trust at the moment.
Or at any moment, to be frank.
"Well, our guest won't talk to me more than five words, but he is all over the place for Skye." Every head turns towards the door where Coulson enters. At Natasha's snort, Steve can't help the smile that crawls on his lips. "They are watching Friends together."
"I'd count that as a win," Natasha shrugs and reaches for some blueberries but Tony snaps her hand away. It's her turn for a death glare, but Tony just goes back to work in silence. 'REVENGE TAKEN' is written all over his face in capitals.
"From what I gather, I think Skye is a lot like Bucky's sister," Steve murmurs, face buried in his palms. He can't even see the others, but he feels their eyes on the back of his hands. "Both on the inside and the outside."
"After this little mental breakdown, I'm pretty sure it won't hurt him to get new friends," Natasha ponders. "I think it was all he needed to put two and two together."
Steve creases his eyebrows, looking up at her with confusion.
"What do you mean?"
"He broke down most likely because he realized how much he was missing out on. His entire family is dead, he figured that out for the first time in years. Understanding that you had a family, getting back the memories only to realize that they are all dead... No one is taking the realization away from him anymore, no one is wiping out his memories, so he can deal with them. Like a normal person would."
"He is never going to be a normal person," Coulson shakes his head a little and Steve would like to differ, but he can't. He finds it unnerving, but he really can't.
"He can try," Natasha turns her head towards him, a faint smile playing on her pursed lips. "Trust me, he is on the right track. Steve's got him."
"I like the kid," Tony notes casually, speaking for the first time in long minutes. Steve looks at him, a little bit surprised, but Tony doesn't look up from his work. "He is a good kid. Don't let him get hurt, alright, Rogers?"
Steve can't find the words to answer, but Natasha does it for him.
"He won't."
And this time, her smile is very much real and wide.
Once they arrive back in Washington, it takes a long time to convince everybody that they are going to be fine. Steve does most of the talking, as always, but in the end they manage to get home without anyone tagging along. They don't talk much on the way back to the flat, but Steve feels Bucky's gaze on him more often than not.
It's a relief to step into the apartment, to walk into the kitchen and take a deep breath. While Bucky goes to his room to change into more comfortable clothes, Steve finds himself thinking weird thoughts, like getting a dog or stocking up on food so he won't have to go grocery shopping for a month. Then, he realizes that he is simply nervous, even though he can't find the reason why. He swallows hard and drops his bag on the couch.
He is standing in the middle of the living room, staring out of the window when Bucky returns. He has an A-shirt on again and Steve lets his gaze take in the sight of him. His metal arm is still a little bit battered, but the shield on the shoulder is proud and colourful. Bucky himself seems tired, but his face is different than before. A good different.
Steve is staring but it doesn't seem to bother Bucky. Not anymore.
"What did Tony say about your arm?" Steve steps closer, hands in his pockets.
"He said he is going to design me a brand new one. It will take a week or so."
"Didn't he want to paint it red?" Steve feels a smile tugging at his lips, and Bucky actually returns it, although he is still way too shy for a real smile. Steve feels his heart skip a beat at the sight.
"He did, but he changed his mind. He muttered something about communists."
Steve laughs out loud while Bucky fixes his gaze at one point on Steve's chest. He looks small for a moment, smaller than Steve has ever been, and it places a strange feeling in Steve's stomach. Warmth waves over his body again and it's nice. Really, truly nice.
"Do you remember that Christmas Eve in '32?" Bucky's voice is quiet and low, but his gaze doesn't move. "That was my first Christmas Eve away from home and you had pneumonia."
"Double. I don't know how I survived," Steve finds himself chuckling, even though it wasn't the happiest part of this memory. Still, the passing of time just makes everything a hundred times more beautiful than how it really was. Also, the fact that Bucky remembers would make him bring down the stars from the sky anytime, even with a double pneumonia. "Ma bought us ties. You put it on your forehead."
"Becca tied it for me every day after I went back home," Bucky continues, amusement ringing from his voice. "She felt guilty for giving me away to Father."
Steve is still smiling when he feels his eyebrows crease with confusion.
"She gave you away?"
Bucky nods, his face almost innocent as he finally glances up at Steve.
"She told Father that I liked you. It was because of that that I had to leave. He would have killed me had I stayed."
From Bucky's lips it sounds simple and obvious, but Steve's jaw remains hanging for long minutes while Bucky carries on with the story. He is talking about Becca, his family, New Year's Eve and school, and his words are gradually fading away around Steve. He is staring, without Bucky even noticing.
This is probably the first time that Steve really, truly looks at Bucky. He notices his face, his eyes, his lips. The light freckles by his nose, the nostalgic look in his gaze, the way his lips slightly curl up at the corners. It's not a real smile, but it means the world to Steve. It might not be the old Bucky, he might never go back and be him, but he has that touch of James Buchanan Barnes all over him, and Steve swallows.
It's awkward when Bucky stops talking, realizing that Steve isn't listening to him anymore. Instead, his eyes are wide and his lips are parted in shock, and Bucky bows his head somewhat. His cheeks are slightly pink.
"Are there any letters left?" His voice is small, quiet. Steve feels like waking from a dream and he just hastily nods, closing his mouth in recognition. His fingertips are tingling and his eyelids feel way too heavy all of a sudden. Despite his drumming heartbeat, he feels content.
He is longing. He knows he is longing, he is just too afraid to admit it.
If there is a moment in every person's life when everything comes together, when suddenly everything makes sense, this is the moment for Steve. He convinces himself he has nothing to lose, although he knows exactly that everything is on the line. Then, he just shushes his mind and leans forward.
Bucky's lips are warm. Warm, soft, everything Steve imagined them to be, yet, Steve can't find the courage to taste them. Bucky is not breathing and Steve finds some strange comfort in closing his eyes - he can't do anything with his arms, though. He doesn't know what to do, but he decides he wouldn't pull away.
At least not for another few seconds, just to make sure he really tried.
His stomach drops when he feels the tentative touch of Bucky on his shoulder, after who knows how long. His best friend is pulling Steve closer now, and Steve finds some spirit deep inside. He licks inside Bucky's mouth, with some fear at first, but there is nothing he can do to stop himself from sighing into the kiss when he tastes him. It's like the combination of everything he had ever found wonderful about Bucky, in one single touch. It's a long, slow kiss, but beyond doubt the most perfect thing Steve has ever experienced.
And just like for so many other things, Steve can thank Becca for this, too.
Dear Steve,
Do you remember that school dance when you desperately wanted to ask out Sophie Goodman? You told me you even practiced dancing at home, with your Ma. I kept laughing but you seemed so determined, I even helped you. We went to the dance and you went up to Sophie, but she already had a partner and told you to get lost - of course, in that very sophisticated way she always talked to guys like you. You know, sugar coating that she wished you got the plague or something. You were really disappointed and decided not to dance all night. You were sitting at the tables, sulking. I told you we could go see a movie but you didn't even speak to me. I think you were truly heartbroken.
Everyone left the dance and you were still there, like a lost kid waiting for his Ma, and I asked the band to play one more song for you. I asked you to dance with me. I was very nervous because it was as close as I ever got to fess up, but you looked at me with those big blue eyes of yours, like you lost your tongue. And then I realized that you weren't looking at me, but at Sophie who was standing behind me. Make-up all smeared, shaking, her dress a complete mess. She looked miserable when she told you her gorgeous boyfriend dumped her, and that she was sorry for being so rude. (So she did know that she was a real jerk! What an unexpected twist!) She was crying really hard and you stayed back to comfort her, I think you two even danced. I didn't see because I left and I decided I would never speak of that night again.
The next day we met, I was happy that you said it wouldn't work between you two. I know I was a dick for feeling like that, but I did believe you would deserve better. I didn't feel selfish.
Now, here is Agent Carter. You know, maybe she is the one you deserve. Maybe she is better than Sophie Goodman ever was. But if you told me it couldn't work between you two? I think I would be a little bit happy.
I am selfish, Steve. I am greedy, I am insatiable. All this because I am yours, but you are not mine. Because you could look at me with those huge, blue eyes of yours, like I meant the world to you, just like you do to me, but there would always be someone standing behind me, right? Someone stealing that dance.
You deserve someone much better than me. This is why I'm not giving you these letters, ever. And if you somehow find them... Well then. Don't be mad. You have every right to be, but it ages you.
Oh shut me up finally.
"Are you coming or what?" Morita's head pops up in the doorway and Bucky looks up, bewildered. He hides it well, though. "Rogers won't let them start taking the photos until you're there. Get your ass over there, Barnes."
"Get out," Bucky laughs and Morita disappears with a grin. Bucky looks back at the letter and his laughter fades away. He stares for a moment before he grabs the letter and crumples it between his fingers.
The letter ends in the trash and Bucky grabs his jacket. He leaves without looking back.