Thin Ice- Pink Floyd "The Wall"
Momma loves her baby If you should go skating
And daddy loves you too.
And the sea may look warm to you babe
And the sky may look blue
But ooooh Baby
Ooooh baby blue
Oooooh babe.
On the thin ice of modern life
Dragging behind you the silent reproach
Of a million tear-stained eyes
Don't be surprised when a crack in the ice
Appears under your feet.
You slip out of your depth and out of your mind
With your fear flowing out behind you
As you claw the thin ice.
Steve stands before him with impossibly wide eyes and a pale face.
"Bucky?" He speaks with such sickening hope. He steps closer and the Soldier turns his face. He had begun to remember this man in snapshots. Nothing coherent, but the memories were deep and aching, and went back so long, before- he thinks- before all the Hydra bullshit. The soldier wants to respond. The words Hey, Punk come to mind, but they don't make sense and get caught in the back of his throat. He chokes them down and settles for a jerky nod of acknowledgment.
"God, Buck," Steve is looking at him, looking at his restraints, looking at his face. His brow is crinkled and his eyes water. He takes a step closer and the Soldier stiffens. He knows this man- Steve- but he's still too close. He feels too real, and a nagging feeling is telling him that this man should not be alive. That he should've died long before the newspapers even said.
Steve pauses, holding himself back with that same broken look on his face.
"Do you know who I am?"
This is a direct question, and the Soldier can't help but turn his head to look at him when he answers.
"Steve Rogers" he barely makes out in a whisper. The man nods encouragingly wanting him to continue. "You used to be smaller…" The Soldier pauses when Steve sucks his lips in biting on them brows pulling up in the center. The Soldier doesn't want to upset him, he doesn't want to cause this man anymore pain.
"Yeah, Bucky. I did used to be smaller."
"We lived in Brooklyn. Somewhere," he tries to move his un-cooperating hands to indicate a smaller space "It was cold in the winter, and too hot in the summer. We had to leave the windows open all the time." The man was still nodding the affirmative, looking pleased, even with wet eyes. "We were… we were…" the soldier pauses again. Nothing in his memory can supply the word for their relationship.
"We were friends, Bucky... We are best friends." And then something in Steve seems to sink in and he moves all the way to the bed and undoes the straps. And it's still odd looking up at him so vulnerable.
All he knows now is pain and static. Please…Please….Please repeats in his head while his lips whisper his name rank and serial number. He can give them his identity, but he can't tell them what they want to know. Hell, he can't even remember what they want to know. He just want the buzzing in his head to stop, and then, through the fog Steve's face is there, pulling him up and out of hell.
As the straps are pulled away the Soldier finds he still can't move his arms comfortably, but he shift his shoulders down into the soft mattress all the same. Steve pulls up a chair from across the room and pushes it near the bed. He sits down and leans forward looking expectant.
The Soldier racks his brain for what to say or do, Steve is obviously waiting for another response. His breathing increases as if sucking air will let him drink in good answer to whatever the unasked question is. Steve's hand tentatively comes out to reach his shoulder. The Soldier's eyes grow large watching it. Steve's hand is not fast enough to cause damage, but maybe he has something hidden on his palm that can shock or stab. He tries to stay still but still ends up leaning towards the opposite corner of his bed.
"Are you okay?" Steve's hand comes down on his shoulder, heavy and warm, and not a punishment.
Bucky nods "yes" because he is okay. He's the most "okay" he's been in a long time.
"I was so worried about you, ya jerk." Steve's hand was warm on his shoulder as they sit in the mud somewhere in France.
"Yeah, well, I would have found my way out- still no reason for you to risk your…" His hand waves around indicating Steve's new body…"life." He smiles jokingly, but inside he's still so amazed and grateful, and maybe jealous, that his emotions are all tightly coiled in a warm ball around his stomach and up to his throat.
The Soldier opens his eyes realizing that he had squeezed them closed. Steve's hand is still heavy on his shoulder. His eyes concerned.
"Are you hungry? Tired?" Steve asks. "Bruce said you were malnourished, and we pumped you full of antibiotics and stuff when you got here to ward off infection- so you might be sleepy still."
The soldier just stares. He's never been asked his opinions regarding his well-being. He stares at Steve warily. Just as he knows him he knows he won't be harmed by him. But he can't shake the years of forever that make him swallow his voice and words and thoughts like thick, sour vomit back down.
"Jarvis, can you please have some chicken noodle soup brought here?" Steve asks the air. His chin tilts towards a blinking red light in the corner. The light is nondescript. Non-invasive, and while he ignored it at first, he recognizes it for what it is now. He is being recorded. That never bodes well. He goes stiff. Is this a trap? Is he still in the hands of Hydra- was Steve working for them the entire time? Was this a test of his loyalties? They did that, before he thinks.
"No, no, no" the soldier whispered pushing back to the side of the bed closest to the wall.
"Buck… What's wrong?
"You…you...tricked me" muttered the Soldier. "Steve is dead." He stated the words calmly. He had been made to repeat them for years.
"No, I'm not dead. Buck. I should have died. So should have you. But we both survived. We're safe now. You're in the Avengers Tower. Tony Stark owns and runs the place. We are here as guests. We're going to stay here until you get better."
"Please, no soup. Please…" the Soldier doesn't know why he's begging. But he can't help the words pouring out of his mouth. "Please, please…"
"Buck, you're okay. Just lay back down." Bucky looked like he was about to cry.
"I'm sorry, please…"
"Okay. It's okay. Just close your eyes. I'll tell you about us, and about you."
Not knowing what else to do, Bucky closed his eyes.
"Look try to sleep, Buck. When you wake up, we'll get you something to eat."
Bucky makes a keening sound in the back of his throat, but keeps his eyes closed. Steve starts talking. He talks about playing ball together between light posts, about the buttery taste of Bucky's Momma's biscuits, about Mr. Holland in primary school- who wouldn't let them sit together, so they learned Morse code to tap across the room by clicking their pencils against the edges of their desks.
He told Bucky about how Gosh Darn grateful he was that first fight when he got pushed down-and stayed down, and just when it seemed like the end Bucky had leaped in to save the day…
"Look, I know that you never thought much about it - you're such a good guy and all, Buck… but you were the best part of my life." Steve was talking head bowed now, gripping his best friend's hand. Bucky was either asleep or very good at acting asleep. "If it's alright with you, I'm just gonna sit here for a while." Maybe forever, "We're going to get through this." Steve nodded to himself, eyes pinched and emotions raw. Yep. No matter what, they were going to get through this.