But if the chance remained
To see those better days
I'd cut the cannons down
My ears are blown to bits
From all the rifle hits
But I still crave that sound
- "Giving Up The Gun" by Vampire Weekend
Part Seven: I'm a fuck up
Bucky drove for close to four hours before he had to stop for gas. He was wide awake with the wind slapping his face, but even he had his limits.
He parked his Buick out the front of a motel that boasted free Wi-Fi and he pulled on his navy cap to keep himself less exposed. Thankfully the parking lot was close to empty and he slipped into the entrance where a middle-aged woman sat staring at her TV stuck on a wall.
She barely glanced at Bucky when he asked for a room, and he shelled out the cash, shoving another hundred or so dollars into the tip jar before taking a key.
He parked his car with the top finally back up and he let himself into his room, flipping on the light. The bed was old. The fixtures were all cracked. There was some mold in one corner of the ceiling and the tap in the bathroom was leaking.
He didn't have any other clothes with him so he kicked off his shoes and lay down on the bed. It was probably the worst place he'd stayed at in over a decade and it was comforting to know that. He took out his phone and saw a new message.
I wish you stayed.
Darcy was probably drunk when she sent that. She was halfway there when he left her place. He checked the timestamp and saw she'd written it only ten minutes ago.
His fingers hovered over the keys. He was tempted to reply something witty, but what was the point? He didn't know what use that would be to him when he wasn't in L.A. anymore.
He put his phone down and rolled onto his side and closed his eyes.
He drove. He got a coffee and a doughnut from a little truck stop on his way out from the motel. His server recognized him instantly, freezing up as he gave her a small smile. She seemed mortified, and he knew he wasn't enjoying the situation much, either. If he wasn't famous he'd be just any other customer and he wouldn't have flustered her. Then the other server there took a photo of Bucky without asking and he sped off down the road without looking back.
He stopped to piss by the side of the road and felt his phone buzz in his pocket.
Hungover :( So stupid. Can I come over and watch a dumb movie with you? Something super, super lame. Please?
He ignored it, feeling his stomach flutter. She was hungover and she wanted to hang out with him but he wasn't capable of even cheering her out of that situation. That's what friends did. He wasn't a friend. He didn't feel like himself anyway, driving miles and miles. He liked pretending he didn't exist. He wasn't Jack the romantic husband or James Barnes the asshole movie star.
He drove with the top down again and felt his phone buzz again a few hours later. He pulled over when he decided he should find something else to wear. He still had the white shirt on from last night and he didn't shower that morning.
He ducked into a convenience store and could only find a XXXL so it wasn't the best fit but it was clean. He popped the label off it and changed on the side of the road. He finally looked at his phone again to see he'd missed Wanda calling him, as well as another text from Darcy.
Your car's not here. Bucky?
More question marks to follow. Bucky deleted the message to tamper the rising guilt. She'd showed up at his house. Maybe ignoring her would make her stop doing that, and he'd finally have some peace.
God. She wasn't annoying. It was all him. He just couldn't take being Bucky around her when he was better as Jack. He liked that she showed up like she belonged there among his stupid shit in his stupid house.
He should probably tell her he was nearly through Utah, but telling her that was sure to worry her and that was the last thing he wanted. He thought about telling her he was busy with another girl but he wasn't that callous, never with her. He hated that she probably got an Uber all the way to his house with no sign of life when she showed up.
Letting her down now was easier. Easier than later when she figured him out like Rachel did, or Samantha, or Sophie, or Delia... All of them, even the ones whose names escaped him. She was about to join a long list of disappointed women who deserved so much better than what he ever gave them.
He rubbed his eyes. He'd stop once he reached Colorado.
He woke in another hotel. This one had no mold but the TV didn't work. His phone's battery had to charge while he slept and he glanced at it, seeing a new message.
Wanda was asking about Time Shell again. He shoved it away and ran his hands through his hair, sighing. He remembered taking that job because he thought it would be forgettable, something he'd pass the time with. He knew how bad it was once he read the script but he wasn't able to back out. He knew he still owed the studio two other pictures, and he had no idea how he was meant to do that.
He should have already prepared for this months ago. He knew some guys who had the next five years of their lives mapped out. Bucky never did that until the studio snatched him up, and then it was suddenly a seven-picture deal. It was a wonder that they never made him sign anything in blood.
I'll call you about this in a couple days.
The second he sent it the grey bubble popped up indicating she was typing back, and then it stopped abruptly. Bucky waited, but she didn't keep typing.
When he made it through to Indiana a couple days later Bucky still hadn't replied to Darcy's messages. He didn't know where to start. He only decided where he was going by his third day of driving. He'd considered just driving until he got to Nevada but it was easier to keep going. He didn't want this impulse decision to turn into a Leaving Las Vegas type situation.
How was he meant to explain himself? All he'd done for days on end was drive, drinking crappy coffee and not shaving. His backseat was a mess of receipts and plastic bags from food and clothes purchases. He managed to find a Walmart and wore his hat and sunglasses inside when he grabbed several white shirts and some Little Debbie snacks.
Passing through Pennsylvania, he briefly considered finding Bryn Mawr but the idea of being close to Darcy without actually her being there felt like a creepy thing to do. He thought of her last text which simply read Where'd you go baby? and his stomach churned.
He knew what he was doing was kind of bad but he was either doing this or sitting in his condo dulling himself with pills while sulking. If someone was to ask him why he did it this way, he didn't know how to justify any of it because he seemed out of control.
He forgot what day it was. He forgot what day he started his journey. All he knew was that he hadn't stopped for long each time he had to, and then he'd arrived in New York.
He knew if he was a decent son he would have called his mom first to make sure she knew where he was, to make sure she didn't worry. She'd be over the moon if he said he was visiting. But he wasn't that guy. He'd come to hide, so he went straight to Steve's place first.
He drew up in front of Steve's apartment building and looked around. Girls walking in pairs with their coffees. Kid on his skateboard that stopped and stared. Men in suits. There was life everywhere. It was baffling that life seemed to just go on no matter what.
He hadn't been home in nearly two years. When he called Steve he was in the middle of eating his lunch, and Bucky could picture him at his desk doing so.
"What's up?" he mumbled with his mouth full.
"I'm downstairs."
"What?" Steve began to cough as if he'd accidentally inhaled something. Maybe a sesame seed. Steve usually ate two sandwiches for lunch and he liked grains. "You serious?"
Bucky looked up at Steve's floor and a hand pushed aside the curtain and a man was staring down at him, eyes wide. He had a pair of glasses on and he whipped them off.
"I'll come down."
Bucky hung up, letting out a shaky breath. He and Steve were close as brothers but there was still the ever-present fear of rejection. Steve was the most authentic person he knew and he was always skeptical about the things Bucky told him about L.A. life.
Steve took barely more than a minute to come down stairs and open the front door. When he arrived, Bucky could see his hair was longer and he had a beard.
"You look like shit," Steve said, and Bucky let out a short laugh.
"You, too," he replied, but he was lying.
Steve pulled him into a hug and Bucky let him dictate it, only pulling away as Steve did. Everything felt so weird. Bucky was reminded of so many things his life wasn't anymore when he thought of Steve, and being home brought it all to the front of his mind again.
He followed Steve inside, their footsteps echoing as they climbed the staircase. Bucky missed that sound and didn't know it until just then. Maybe he should move into a studio apartment.
Steve's place was the same as always. Paintings everywhere, none of them his own. Steve worked in graphic design and illustration and Bucky's eyes traveled over to his desk in one corner that was covered in papers and inks. There were three different lights and a magnifying glass to see his work better, and Bucky saw his pair of glasses again resting next to an empty coffee mug.
"Since when do you need glasses?" he asked, and Steve glanced over at the spectacles and crossed his arms.
"I'm long-sighted," he replied, a small smile playing on his lips.
"So… reading glasses?" Bucky said, eyebrows raised.
Steve didn't need any more help looking like a massive dork. At least the glasses weren't the hipster RayBan ones.
"Yeah, I mean…" Steve shrugged. "We're thirty-two now, bud."
Bucky grunted. He didn't need a reminder. His dad had him when he was thirty-two and he wasn't a mature adult by any stretch of the imagination.
"You drove here?" Steve asked.
"Yeah," Bucky replied, attempting a shrug.
"From… California?"
"Yeah," Bucky said a little sharper. He crossed his own arms, looking down at his boots and sighing. "I just finished the movie and I wanted a break."
"Right, 'cause taking a plane to New York is harder," Steve said, making Bucky glance up at him.
He made a fair point but Bucky hadn't looked forward to this brotherly concern Steve always had, and he didn't come all this way to be interrogated but maybe he just had to pay that price for some peace.
"I don't like airports. Flying is easier, but I don't like the whole… airport thing," Bucky muttered. "The cameras, and people askin' for photos and shit."
"Okay," Steve replied. Bucky was surprised he hadn't mentioned a private jet, which he could definitely afford, he just didn't like them. It felt gross to do shit like that.
"No-one knows I'm here," he said. "Just you."
"Buck," Steve began, but Bucky cut him off.
"I was going nuts. And that shit getting out is bad, so I had to leave." Bucky bit his lip. "It… got weird."
He couldn't admit to the pills. Steve would blow his stack and tell his mom, and he wasn't going to some rehab center in Reno. He hadn't had a pill or any alcohol in days and he didn't crave it.
"Weird like sad?" Steve said.
Bucky nodded. It must be like trying to communicate with a child. It made sense. Bucky was a thirty-two year-old boy.
"You have been depressed," Steve added. Bucky made a face at that.
"I'm not depressed."
"Okay," Steve said again. "How long you stayin'?"
Bucky shrugged. "I haven't got plans."
"You wanna call your mom?"
Bucky narrowed his eyes at him. "Fuckin' punk."
"Jerk," Steve replied, turning away to walk back to his lunch on the kitchen counter.
The visit with his mom was awkward. Bucky knew it was his fault. He didn't have excuses as to why he hadn't visited her in so long. He didn't know how to explain why he chose to drive all the way to New York instead of flying. Steve didn't mention the epic car trip so neither did Bucky.
Once they left his mom, Steve tugged him by the elbow down the street in the other direction.
"You wanna get dinner?" Steve asked, and Bucky felt his stomach tense.
He didn't want people seeing him. He was enjoying pretending he hadn't gone to L.A. all those years ago.
"I dunno," Bucky said. He didn't know how to ask if they could head back because he was anxious.
"Come on," Steve said. "Just one drink?"
Bucky felt Steve's gaze soften as he waited, recognizing his distress.
"We'll get takeout."
The days blended. Steve worked during the day while Bucky watched TV or read in the spare bedroom. At night Steve would get them something to eat or make something. Bucky did the dishes but kept to himself for the most part.
On Bucky's fifth night there, Steve stuck his head into the spare room to check on him. He wore a flannel shirt and smelt like some fresh cologne and leather.
"Going to an opening," Steve said. "You want to come?"
"Why?" Bucky grunted, sullen. Steve's face fell.
"I dunno," he replied. "I thought I'd try."
"No, thanks," Bucky muttered. He glanced back at his book. "But have fun."
Steve faltered, hand still on the doorknob.
"I'm fine, punk," Bucky added. He looked up and tried to smile. "Enjoy yourself."
"Okay," Steve said.
He sounded tired of him and Bucky didn't blame him. He'd gone past toddler into teenager mode, brooding in his little nest at the back of the apartment. At least he wasn't smoking in bed.
Once he heard the front door close Bucky lay his book down, sighing. He checked his phone, seeing Wanda left him a Voicemail. His correspondence with her was sporadic at best. Maybe he should do something for her, something useful.
He was on the cover of Variety talking about The Death of a Marriage. The interview itself was hardly invasive, just a puff piece that meant Wanda wasn't going to tear her own hair out.
Bucky might get sent a script. He gave her Steve's address but knew he had no desire to return to California. Maybe he'd spend the rest of the year there. He could see the snow for once.
They took two photos of him to use for the magazine – both in black and white with his new facial hair and rumpled sweater with its sleeves pushed up to his elbows. His hair was a mess but he smiled because the photographer made him laugh. He didn't know what about, until the Internet shitstorm that followed after it.
He was recorded badmouthing Time Shell. Bucky blamed his lack of sleep and yo-yoing mood on such a stupid choice. If only he had pills to blame for that. Usually an actor had something to fall back on but Bucky said out loud "Time Shell should never have happened. We should have burned that one".
The interviewer recorded him saying it on his phone. It wasn't a misquote, there was no context that had to be explained, especially when Bucky added: "It's not surprising considering what else has come out of that studio".
Bucky went underground after the interview was released. He scrolled through endless gossip sites repeating his words. He only answered Wanda's call because Steve was her friend.
"I don't know where to start," she said, as Bucky covered his eyes with a hand, laying on his bed.
"I don't know, either," Bucky muttered. "You should drop me."
"I should. I really should, because I can't understand it," she said. She let out a sigh and Bucky blinked at the ceiling.
"I'm not sorry I said it."
She probably expected him to apologize to her. She sounded exasperated.
"This isn't about them insulting your artistry by making a shitty movie," she snapped. "You signed a contract and were legally obligated to promote the movie they paid you to do. You're now exposed to a lawsuit because of you saying all this. You knew what you said was being recorded –"
"I didn't plan for some fuckin' fire for you or anyone else to put out," Bucky retorted. "I felt suffocated. Constantly preening for their fuckin' bullshit stories with zero worth –"
"You signed up for it! No-one made you. And thirty other guys wanted your job, that I know," Wanda said. "You'll be lucky to get a fucking Coke commercial now. You're done."
"You shouldn't be in this business," Bucky said, his voice rising.
"Neither should you, then! But you are. And you hired me."
There was a pause and Wanda sighed again.
"You remind me so much of my brother."
Bucky blinked. "I didn't know you have a brother."
"He's dead," she said, which made Bucky's heart sink.
He reminded his agent of past traumas. He really was a catch. There was silence from her end.
"I'm a fuck up," he blurted. "I'm sorry. I'll pay you out for the rest of the year. But you've done all you can."
"Bucky –"
He hung up on her, getting off his bed and walking out with a cigarette between his fingers. He smoked on Steve's balcony, watching the people go by.
He rested his head against the wall of the building and sighed.
Two days later, a Sunday, Steve ducked his head into Bucky's room.
They hadn't spoken about the Variety interview. In fact, Steve had been unusually quiet about his concern for Bucky. Maybe he'd reached his threshold and soon he'd be asking Bucky to leave, or at least pay rent.
"I'm going to the gym," he said, and Bucky looked up from his book.
"Sure."
"I'll be back in a couple hours."
Bucky nodded, wanting to end the conversation as soon as possible. He'd read the same sentence four times now while he waited for Steve to leave.
Steve just tapped the door frame once and departed. The apartment was always so quiet without him and Bucky hated that he missed him that badly, even when he just left to live a fraction of his life somewhere else. He hated how pathetic he'd become. His quiet neediness was all he had.
He put down his book and considered getting up, but the kitchen felt so far away and by the time he got there he usually didn't want anything.
He closed his eyes, trying to will himself to move.
There was a distant knocking and Bucky's eyes snapped open. He decided to ignore it. If it was one of Steve's neighbors Bucky didn't want it to get out that he was staying in Brooklyn. If it was Steve he'd probably forgotten his keys.
Bucky waited, but there was no voice to accompany the sound. The threw his legs over to climb out of bed, walking down the hallway and into the main area.
The knocking started up again and Bucky looked around, wondering what to do. He grabbed a cardigan Steve left over the back of a chair and threw it over his bare chest. He reluctantly went toward the door, hoping it was some old woman without a television that might not know his face.
He pulled the door open and froze.
Darcy was standing there waiting for him, her hand still raised to knock the door yet again. She pulled it down to her side. She didn't smile at him.
"Hi."
"Hi," Bucky replied.
Steve had to have something to do with this. It reeked of him, Darcy just showing up like this. No wonder he didn't press him about joining him in a workout. He planned on Bucky being here so Darcy could catch him.
"You gonna let me in?" she said finally, and Bucky remembered he was staring at her.
She looked good. She wore a beanie that she tugged off as he let her pass. He kicked the door shut and saw her looking around, inspecting.
"When did you get in?" Bucky asked.
"Just now."
She didn't carry anything but her handbags. Bucky didn't know what that meant. Was she planning on leaving as soon as possible? Did she jump on a plane without thinking too much about it?
"How long you been here?" she asked, and Bucky looked away.
"Two weeks."
"Steve said you drove here," Darcy added, and Bucky felt his stomach twist.
The whole thing made him seem like some over-dramatic loser with no impulse control. She was the last person he wanted to see. He didn't know what to do with himself, he just couldn't look at her anymore, couldn't take her eyes staring back at him.
"Yeah."
"You ghosted me."
He blinked. "Yeah."
She seemed pissed off. It made sense. She suddenly moved toward the kitchen area, looking through the refrigerator. She took out the carton of eggs and looked around the cabinets for a fry pan.
"What are you doing?" Bucky asked.
"What does it look like?" she snapped. She threw him a sharp look over her shoulder. "I'm making you breakfast."
"You don't have to –"
"Oh, shut up," she snapped. "Sit down."
She set to work and Bucky did as he was told, sitting at the kitchen bench on one of the stools as he watched her. Before he could ask her any questions she began to speak again.
"After the Variety thing I called Wanda, and then she passed my number on Steve. I knew if you knew I was coming you'd most likely make a run for it."
She fried two eggs and grabbed the loaf of bread from the counter and made toast. When she placed the toast and fried egg on a plate and put it in front of Bucky, he stared at it.
She sat down beside him and fiddled with her fork, waiting for him to start.
"You know, you should really eat that," she said.
"Why'd you come here?" Bucky asked.
Darcy blinked. "I should have known something was off."
Bucky shook his head. "I never told you."
"I don't have to be told to know you weren't feeling so good," she retorted. She stabbed her fried egg and the yolk spilled over. "I should have followed you when you left my party."
"You tried," Bucky murmured. His eyes met hers.
"I didn't try hard enough."
"That's not…" Bucky swallowed. "Don't do that. It's not your fault I ran away. It's not your job to look after me. It shouldn't be."
Neither of them touched their food and Darcy put her cutlery down, taking Bucky's hand in hers and squeezing.
"What about all those times you've been there for me?" she whispered.
Bucky shook his head. "That's not the same."
"What, you're about to tell me that wasn't real?"
Bucky bit his lip. "No. I just – I'm a mess. Just a dumb fucking mess and it's not something you want to worry about."
"Too fuckin' late," Darcy snapped.
Bucky clamped his mouth shut, nodding.
She began to eat and Bucky copied her. They ate in silence and when Bucky took her plate away and put it in the sink he ran some hot water to clean up. He heard Darcy's stool scrape loudly against the floor.
He felt hands on his stomach and he almost dropped one of the plates he was putting in the drying rack. Darcy's fingers ran under the cardigan along his bare skin, and Bucky felt it like an electric shock to his cock.
She pressed her chest against his back and wrapped her arms around him. He moved back from the sink and closed his eyes. There was a neediness to her touch and it broke his heart, because he wasn't going to make her happy. He just couldn't.
He carefully took her by the wrists and unfurled her arms, pushing them down to her sides. He went back to the dishes, scrubbing at them at putting them aside to dry.
"I was so worried about you. When I called Steve, he said he was worried about you, too."
She sounded choked up and Bucky let out a shaky breath, wishing his heart would stop hammering so much. He needed her to leave. He was seconds away from making a massive mistake.
"Darcy."
He turned around and saw she was crying.
"I'm not pretending," she whispered. Her voice was hardly a whisper. "I should have told you on our last day on set."
"Told me what?" Bucky asked. He couldn't help himself.
Darcy blinked, more tears falling. She took a long sniff, chuckling without mirth.
"That I miss you when you're not around. I miss you all the time."
He felt hot all over. He turned to toss the scrubbing brush in the sink and took one step to pull her flush against him, his hands on her hips.
He tilted his head to brush his nose against hers. Neither of them dared shut their eyes. Bucky didn't want to miss a second. He could smell her shampoo and whatever she scrubbed her face with. She smelt of apples and musk.
He opened his mouth slightly and Darcy copied. The tips of their tongues met and Darcy gasped, her breath hot against Bucky's lips. Her hands were against the skin of his bare chest, gliding up and down. They finally kissed and Bucky closed his eyes. Darcy whimpered as his tongue pushed into her mouth, a sign of his undeniable hunger for her. There was no-one to watch them, no-one standing by to tell them to stop.
They rode the wave together, Darcy's hands gliding up to reach his hair and tug at him. He pushed a leg between Darcy's thighs and she gripped him harder.
"I'm not pretending. I wasn't pretending at the grocery store."
He realized then that the kiss he had with her when they did their little acting exercise was real. It was the one that made him freeze up. Then, he'd tried his hardest to not be aroused but he didn't have to now. He could feel he was hard in his sweatpants.
Darcy drew back. "Did you hear what I said?"
Bucky let go of hips and her face fell. He then knelt on the floor and Darcy's eyes widened.
"Yeah, I heard you, baby," he murmured. His hands went to the button on the front of her jeans and he popped it open. He pulled down her fly, aware her eyes would never leave him. His hands slipped around to the sides of her jeans and he pulled, tugging them down to her knees.
Darcy helped him, managing to kick off one of the legs and then the other. Her panties were polka-dotted and Darcy's cheeks were flushed with her eyes still wide.
He meant it the first day of the shoot and he meant it now, too. She was gorgeous. Her big blue eyes, the way her skin glowed. He ran his hands along her legs and she shivered, biting her plump lower lip.
Her pulled down her underwear and saw a neat triangle of dark hair on her mound and he sucked in a breath. He could smell her scent. He could see her pink little pussy peeking out and he licked his lips.
"Don't do that," she groaned.
Shit. He'd taken it too far. He was about to get up when Darcy added:
"I'll come too fast if you stare at me like that."
He chuckled, pressing a kiss to her thigh. He stood, scooping Darcy up to place her on the counter and he knelt down again so he was eye-level with her crotch.
"You want to draw this out as long as possible?" he asked, and Darcy whimpered as he pushed her legs further apart.
"Fuck. I can't think with you down there."
He hadn't even touched her yet and she looked wet down there. She was glistening, just from a few kisses. It wasn't meant to be this good so fast. She was so responsive, her back arching as his fingers glided up to meet the apex of her thighs.
It was like a dream. Some fantasy his mind concocted and he'd be waking up alone in his bed any second now. His fingers ghosted over her slit and Bucky swallowed. She was warm and silky. He leaned forward and licked his lips again, waiting.
"Bucky," she murmured. Her hand gripped his shoulder.
This had to be real. He'd die if it wasn't.
He put his open mouth on her pussy, and he closed his eyes and breathed her in. His tongue darted out to taste her, and she was there, she was inside his mouth and he knew her then.
"Fuck," he groaned, not bothering to try and contain himself. He put a hand up to grab at her, giving her ass a squeeze while his other hand gripped her knee.
She made a high exhale as he tongued at her. He pulled back for a second to see a wet drip of her come out and he went for it again, this time his two fingers pushed inside her as he licked up one side of her clit and down the other.
She's tight and wet around his fingers. He sunk into her and was wrapped like a glove and he groaned once more. Above him, Darcy's breath was getting heavier, her thighs starting to shake. His cock was aching in his pants now. He kept going, working his tongue against her clit as his fingers began to pump slowly. Her muscles contracted and Bucky could tell she was close.
"I-I-I…"
She couldn't quite say it but Bucky didn't let up, feeling her pulse around his fingers, her whole body seizing up above him. His chin was wet, from her and from his spit and he loved it, knowing he got her there. He pulled back, wiping his mouth with his hand as Darcy panted.
He stood up, his hips meeting her thighs and she drew him into another kiss, more languid than the others. The silence between them was strange. Bucky watched as Darcy slowed her breathing, her eyelids heavy.
"You tired?" he murmured, and she nodded.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
She probably didn't sleep much on the flight over. He crashed back to Earth the second she hopped off the counter, pulling her jeans back on. Suddenly separated he felt scared.
He didn't know how to tell her he needed her. Instead, he tugged her toward the couch and she rested her head against his shoulder.
"You sure you don't want me to -?"
"It's fine," he murmured into her hair, kissing her.
She went quiet again and he knew she'd fallen asleep.
