Chapter Title: Sarah
Author: Sam and Dani
Story: The Omega Trials: 09 of ?
Series: The Omega Rights (part two)
WARNING: Death of a minor character. Please skip this if you cannot handle active death, funerals, or the grief related aftermath . Next chapter picks the regular mood back up again; and we are posting Chapter Ten at the same time to help relieve the pressure on our readers. Thank you.
Note: There are seeming discrepancies between the movies and this story from here on out, as things in the Omegverse push the boys to do things differently than in Universe 616. Thank you for your understanding.
Setting: AU: October 2 - 19, 1936: Brooklyn, New York, United States of America
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Translations:
Leanbh - Baby - Irish Gaelic
Seamus - James - Irish Gaelic
Cariad - Love - Welsh
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Setting: AU: Friday, October 2, 1936: Brooklyn, New York, United States of America
Slipping the key back out of the lock, Bucky gave the door a small push and let it swing open. He swept his arm into the tiny apartment and said "Well, here it is, Steve. End of the line . . . for now."
Bucky's new living space appeared small, even for Brooklyn standards. A tiny, hole-in-the-wall corner room, combining a living and kitchen area with an odd little alcove dead ending in the fire escape window. Next to the window sat a commode, only separated from the main room by a shower curtain hung on a rickety track from the ceiling. The only sink in the place was the old, rusted kitchen sink. No shower or tub existed in the second floor space, meaning the occupant had to pay to use the owner's back room shower downstairs behind the pawnshop or had to make due with an old wash tub and heated water from the stove or sink, dumped in with buckets. The bedroom stood against an outside wall with the only other window, over-looking a drop into the pawnshop dumpster below. The apartment's sole radiator occupied a spot against the bedroom wall under that window.
The small blond eyed the miniscule space as he stepped into the apartment. A smile tugged at his lips as he thought about Bucky having his own place, finally some separation from the hectic lifestyle that the brunet had when living with his family.
Running a hand through his hair, Bucky looked over the apartment as his friend walked into the small living-dining-cooking area. "I know it ain't much, but the rent's reasonable and the heat and electricity and water come included. He couldn't find any takers, which is why I got it." Bucky stepped in and shut the door behind him then shrugged. "The best part is that you're only two blocks around the corner and Mam's three more on top of that. I'm real close to everyone." He look at his friend intently. "So, what d'ya think, Steve?"
Smiling brighter, Steve turned and looked up at his friend, "I think it's great, Buck. I'm real proud of you."
"Well," Bucky smiled back "it does need cleaning before I can move in." He looked back over the layout and nodded. "So, want the tour?" Bucky took a few long strides and pulled the draped shower curtain aside to show the toilet. "Privy," he said then took two steps to open the only door in the place, "and bedroom," he finished. Then he shrugged again. "Mam said I can have my bed and of course I get my desk and chair Tata helped me build. She's gonna give me a setting for the table and a pot to start with so I can cook, too."
The blond smirked, "Well we can't go without a bed, now can we?"
Taking a deep breath, Bucky stepped over to Steve and placed his hand on the smaller man's hips, pulling him close. "Yeah, about that. You can move in with me, you know? It's small, but I think we'd be fine."
Chewing on his bottom lip, Steve thought the offer over. Living with Bucky would be amazing, but he had his Momma to consider. Releasing a deep sigh, the blond shook his head, "I don't know, Buck. Momma's been tryin' to hide how sick she's gettin'. Just last night I saw blood when she coughed into her handkerchief. I should stay with her, make sure she's doin' alright."
Instantly, Bucky stiffened and let his hands drop, eyes worried. "God, Steve . . ." He dropped his voice. "You think maybe she's consumptive like her patients?" He cared about Sarah Rogers very much and didn't want her sick, either.
Steve felt his throat tighten just at the mere thought that his Momma could be that sick. "I hope not . . . I don't know what I'd do . . ." The blond let his voice trail off, not wanting to even think like that. "But I should stay with her, help her feel better."
Bucky pulled Steve into a fierce hug, dropping a soft kiss to his forehead. "Of course you gotta, Stevie. I'll help as much as I can, too." He gave his best friend a worried smile. "Need to get a doctor to visit her? She'd do it if you asked her to, you know. Your Mam won't refuse you anything."
"I know, I know." Steve spoke softly as he nodded his head, " I was just hopin' that she'd get better on her own . . . that it wasn't anything serious."
"Coughin' up blood, Steve?" Bucky shook his head, giving his friend a gentle squeeze. "That's serious."
"I'll get a doctor to do a home visit first thing tomorrow." Steve stated, hoping that the doctor would be able to tell him that nothing was wrong with his Momma, that she'd be just fine.
With a sigh, Bucky dropped his right arm, pulling Steve into his side with his left. "They don't usually do house calls on a Saturday, Steve. You'll have to wait until Monday . . . and you'll be in school. I can go check on her during my lunch break if you want?"
"You'd do that?" Steve asked.
The tall brunet looked down at the smaller blond and shook his head, grey-blue eyes sad. "You even need to ask, Stevie? Of course I will."
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Setting: AU: Thursday, October 15, 1936: Brooklyn, New York, United States of America
The headmaster of the high school himself went to Steve's mathematics classroom. He cleared his throat as he walkes into the room, the busily working students occupied by a competency test on learned material. The professor in charge of the class met the headmaster at the door and spoke quietly enough to be near inaudible. Finally, the professor turned.
"Rogers, you've received a message from home. Please gather your books and accompany the headmaster. I'll make sure Miss Barnes brings your assignment to you." He seemed a nervous man, but his brilliant mathematician's mind appeared to be unsurpassed in the local school system.
Without question, Steve got up and walked out, actually leaving his texts forgotten in the slanted basket attached to the underside of his wooden desk. He mutely followed the headmaster to the man's office. Inside, the headmaster stopped and stood, stiff-backed, hands clasped together behind his back. With a soft frown, he intoned, "I received a message from a former student, James Barnes, that a doctor requires you urgently at home . . . a medical emergency, I believe."
Knowing how the man always droned on at the most inappropriate times, Steve cut the headmaster off before the man could begin again. "Thank you, sir." And, startling his school master, the eighteen year old blond fled the office and the high school, running all the way back home.
Steve knew Bucky would have been with Sarah for his lunch hour, so the messenger didn't surprise Steve in the least. Rather, heart filling with dread, Steve tried to deny to himself the real reason Bucky had gotten involved: Sarah Rogers, Steve's mother, had gotten much more ill, or had . . . hopefully not . . . please, God, no . . . died.
Gasping for breath, Steve ran up the steps and let himself into his apartment, seeing Bucky sitting at the kitchen table, watching the door intently.
The brunet stood. "The doctor's with her, Steve. He asked me to send for you." Bucky shoved his friend towards Sarah's bedroom, reaching to close the outside door.
Nodding to his friend, Steve ran into Sarah's room and stopped short.
Sarah looked far worse than she had just that morning. Her skin had become almost as pale as the sheets and blood flecked the pillow, her nightdress, and her lips. A hacking, gurgling cough shook her body, more blood coming up as she weakly moved her hand in an aborted effort to get her soaked handkerchief to her mouth.
Steve instantly pulled out his own handkerchief, striding to his mother's side to wipe her mouth, cheeks, and chin with all the love and care he felt for the woman who'd birthed him and raised him - - alone. "I've got you, Momma," he breathed, wheezing as his lungs tried to seize from his run.
Nodding to the youth, without saying anything, the doctor left the bedside of the woman he'd been seeing everyday for the past two weeks. With a firm hand to Steve's shoulder as he passed, the doctor seemed to convey the helplessness of the woman's condition.
The young blond had to wonder if he could have done something for her if she'd only told him sooner that she hadn't been well.
Sinking onto the chair by her bedside, Steve took his mother's hand. "Momma, I'm here now. You can rest."
Opening her pale blue eyes, blonde hair so like her son's limp with a sheen of sweat, Sarah rasped harshly, "Leanbh . . . Steven . . . I love you with my whole heart." She coughed and Steve wiped her mouth.
Tears welled in his large blue eyes. "I love you so much, Momma! You need to rest." He carefully stroked her hand.
"Seamus is a good man, Steve. He'll be good to you." She moved her hand to pat at Steve's weakly, though she seemed desperate to communicate with her son.
"Momma," Steve tried to protest, but his mother silenced him with a look.
"You should love each other, Leanbh. You're good together. But, you have to take care of Seamus. People will take advantage of him . . . hurt him . . . he's too good. Don't let people know . . ." She coughed, body spasming, and Steve slipped an arm around his mother, holding her, supporting her.
A long time passed before Sarah lay quiet, gasping in her son's arms as he bathed her face with a cool washcloth from a bowl on the nightstand. He dabbed the blood from her lips. Steve leaned protectively over the delicate woman and kissed her forehead gently. "I love you, Momma," he assured her, unable to answer to her implications.
She opened her eyes once more and smiled. Slowly, in a voice nearly gone from the coughing spells and weak with restricted air, Sarah said, "Be brave, Leanbh. Be good." Lifting a shaking hand, strength almost spent, the mother touched her son's cheek. "I love you, my Steven."
He clasped her hand in his and rubbed it against his cheek, keeping his eyes fastened on hers. "I love you, Momma," he told her for the third time and still it didn't feel like he'd said it nearly enough.
But it would have to be.
The woman in his arms, the one person who had been there his entire life, through all his illnesses and childhood mishaps, seemed to sigh and grow heavier against him. Her pale eyes dimmed and stared fixedly ahead, at nothing. Letting out a sob, Steve closed her eyes then hugged her fiercely close . . . and cried.
A very long time passed before Steve realized Bucky had come into the room and held him just as close.
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Setting: AU: Sunday, October 18, 1936: Brooklyn, New York, United States of America
With special permission, the deacon allowed the funeral of Sarah Rogers to take place on a Sunday. The crowd of mourners was small but had loved her well, and no one left unaffected by the sight of her son, small and thin, standing next to his best friend, creases in the shoulder of his suit from bearing the casket for his smaller, weaker friend. They stood, alone among the crowd, as Sarah's casket was interred beside that of her husband, Joseph. Silently dispersing, the women of the Barnes family having arranged the reception for the mourners, those present at the graveside made their way back towards the church, but neither Steve nor Bucky made it to the feast of grief.
Rather, walking straight out of Holy Cross Cemetery, past the church's receiving rooms, Steve Rogers headed towards his now lonely apartment, his best friend following silently behind. The small blond kept his head down, watching feet that had ever felt too large for his slight frame. Fighting the sight-blurring tears, he trudged wearily up the steps to the apartment and fumbled in the pockets of his over-sized Sunday suit, looking for his key but not finding it. Finally giving up, Steve clenched his hands and let his head hang down, fighting the tears that threatened to rip from his chest and throat and pour from his eyes to ravage his face, his lungs, his heart.
Behind him, three steps down, giving Steve space but not leaving him alone, Bucky called out "Mam would've looked for you after . . . she'd want to make sure you got a good meal or fifteen." He paused, hoping to break Steve's silence; the man had refused to do anything for the three days it took to arrange everything, which Bucky helped him do - - almost a repeat of a couple of years previous.
The blond sighed heavily, not daring to look at his best friend, because he knew that as soon as he did, he'd break down. "I know, I'm sorry. I just kind of wanted to be alone." Steve murmured, staring intently at a small pebble by one of his shoes.
Nodding, though his friend still didn't turn, Bucky called softly, "Stevie, I was gonna ask . . ."
Steve huffed out a small breath, still not raising his eyes as they burned with tears. "I know what you're gonna say Buck it's just . . ."
". . . could put the couch cushions on the floor, like when we were kids." He'd tried understanding, and careful, and supportive, and now Bucky was so desperate to break through Steve's grief, he tried for funny and nostalgic, "It'll be fine. All you gotta do is just shine my shoes Maybe take out the trash . . ."
Seeing the stiffening of his friend's shoulders, and the way Steve desperately searched his pockets yet again, Bucky sighed, walked up the last few steps, and kicked over the old brick hiding Steve's spare key. He bent and picked up the small, cold piece of metal. Standing, almost flush to Steve on the tiny stoop, he held the key out and said "c'mon . . . " Bucky's voice came out soft, almost pleading
Taking the key from Bucky's outstretched hand, Steve sighed again. "Thank you, Buck." Finally Steve willed himself to look up at the brunet, "But I can get by on my own."
Looking the smaller man right in the eyes, Bucky firmly said, "thing is, you don't have to. I'm with you till the end of the line, pal." He put his hand on Steve's arm and gave the muscle a soft squeeze.
The smaller man bit his bottom lip, not wanting to break down completely. Steve nodded his head softly and turned to open the front door with a shaky hand. The door opened with an audible creak, and Steve froze. The apartment that had held so many happy memories with his Momma now seemed so empty and cold. Nothing seemed to be the same without his Momma's warm voice welcoming them home.
Bucky stopped short when Steve halted. He kept one hand on the door and merely waited for Steve's next move. It wouldn't be easy, the brunet knew, but Steve was a stubborn man and maybe he'd make it through like he claimed.
Steve, whose whole body seemed to start trembling, suddenly turned around and crashed into his friend, wrapping his arms tightly around the brunet's waist. The blond let out a loud sob as he buried his face into Bucky's chest. "What . . . what am I gonna do?" Steve wailed before breaking down into hysterics.
Grasping the smaller man tightly to his chest, Bucky gave Steve a fierce hug. He tugged the other man, walking backwards out of the apartment and swung the door closed. Still grasping Steve, Bucky locked the door and pocketed the key. "You're coming home with me, that's what," he ordered softly, firmly.
Straightening slightly, Steve wanted to protest, but he felt so drained . . . so tired. Instead he pushed himself further into Bucky's side and let out another sob.
Bucky wrapped his left arm securely around his best friend and led him carefully down the stone steps. Once on the street, the tall brunet turned the small blond and guided him two blocks down and around the corner. "C'mon, Stevie, up the stairs or I'm carrying ya," Bucky whispered.
Numbly, Steve forced his feet to climb the stairs that led up to Bucky's apartment. His legs felt as if they were made of lead, and he wanted nothing more than to curl into the brunet's side and cry. His heart ached; Steve didn't know what he'd do without his Momma, without her loving smiles and knowing wisdom.
Once on the top step, Bucky reached around Steve yet again, unlocking the door with his own key and pushing it open. He guided the blond inside, kicked the door shut, and turned his friend to face him. "C'mere, Cariad," Bucky murmured, pulling Steve against his chest and holding him tightly, resting his chin on the top of that soft blond hair.
Pulling away slightly, Steve looked up at Bucky, tears falling down his cheeks. The blond pulled Bucky's face down into a desperate kiss. He needed Bucky right now, his whole life felt like it was falling apart at the seams, but he had Bucky. Steve knew he'd always have Bucky.
After a long, soulful kiss, Bucky lifted his face. He closed his eyes and let his forehead touch Steve's, cupping the blond's face in his calloused hand. "C'mon, Stevie, you need some sleep. Bed's this way," he murmured. Letting Steve's face go, Bucky immediately wrapped his arm around him and guided the blond into the tiny room where the bed sat pushed against the wall, away from the radiator.
Carefully, Bucky unbuttoned Steve's jacket and untied his tie. He tossed them onto the old desk squeezed in by the door. He unbuttoned Steve's dress shirt and slid it from his shoulders, pushing the suspenders down to leave them hanging from their clips on the man's trousers. "Stevie, baby, finish undressing so you can go to bed," he coaxed.
Steve, almost feeling thankful for Bucky's orders, did as the brunet said. With shaky fingers the blond unbuttoned his pants, he sat and leaned over to undo the laces of his shoes before kicking them off. Once his shoes were off, Steve lifted his hips slightly so that he could slide out of his trousers.
As Steve took off his pants, Bucky hurriedly undressed then turned back to the other man. "C'mon, Cariad, under the covers before you get sick on me." He pulled back the covers and climbed in, next to the wall, patting the bed beside him.
Quickly sliding his briefs down his slender legs and pulling off his socks, Steve crawled over to Bucky's side and curled up next to him. The blond let out a quiet sigh as he rested his head on the brunet's chest, the steady beating of Bucky's heart provided a grounding comfort.
"I'm here, Stevie. I'll always be right here for ya . . ." He cuddled Steve close, stroking his hair and dropping soft kisses to the man's head, neck, and face, but mainly, the brunet just held him tightly until Steve drifted off to sleep. Bucky remained cuddling him securely, holding his best friend so he wouldn't awaken alone.
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Continued in Chapter Ten: Life's Changes
