Can you see the beauty inside of me?
What happened to the beauty I had inside of me?
- "City of Blinding Lights" by U2
Part Fourteen: We thought we knew you, James Barnes
The next few days go by too fast for Bucky's liking. He understood now that when he was anxious, time seemed to never be on his side.
He was cuddling Darcy in her bed and then he was suddenly at his condo for the first time in weeks, packing for Cannes. He knew he could pay someone else to do this, but he didn't want people touching his stuff. He'd reached a new level of awkwardness. He felt like people could sense how fucked up he was on the inside.
Darcy was the only one he'd told about the diagnosis. Steve would know eventually, he just didn't have the resolve to tell him just yet. Wanda knew he was seeing a therapist, and his mom finally spoke to him a couple days ago about the hospital. It sounded as if she wanted to ask him more, but she was too scared to. He just hoped she didn't think he stepped in front of that car on purpose.
He didn't know where to start with his suitcase. He needed shirts, a couple suits. Swimming trunks, underwear, toothbrush and other things. He decided to keep the beard but trimmed it, making it neater. His bruises were gone from the accident but he still had a mark on his brow from where that bodybuilder punched him with his ring.
He got the stitches out that afternoon, when a nurse visited his condo. The paparazzi had been warned not to approach the house or his vehicle. Bucky was tempted more than ever to just board the whole place up, jump a fence and never come back.
The press were talking about him every day. Every story was pulled from some friend of a friend or an acquaintance from movies sets long ago. Some of the stories were semi-accurate, others were just blatant lies. According to some magazines, Bucky had several illegitimate children scattered around Los Angeles. He was also apparently part of a drug ring and bought millions of dollars' worth of coke so he'd have stashes wherever he went. Then there were the stories from some cousins in Brooklyn that showed Bucky more than ever that human decency was on its last legs.
Problem child. Reckless, toxic. Attention-seeking heartbreaker. Juvenile delinquent. Lapsed Irish Catholic boy. High school dropout. Big shot. Asshole. Drug addict. Sex addict. Deadbeat daddy.
Some of it sent him reeling, because a lot of the family sources people were referring to were cousins he hadn't seen since before his father even died. They had no idea and were probably paid by RKB to leak it all.
Bucky used to pay distant relatives for no good reason, until it got to be too much. They'd get into debt and he'd help them out, and before checks could clear they'd be off again, spending the money they never had. Bucky knew he spent his money sometimes like it was burning a hole in his pocket, but none of them even asked how he was, never even cared.
He couldn't remember when exactly it happened, probably just after The Winter Soldier came out, but one cousin asked him to buy their family a house, and Bucky couldn't remember the last time they had spoken about anything besides what he owed his family, just because they were related. He burned many bridges in the meantime, but these stories they were telling now were so far from the truth that he didn't recognize their version of James Barnes at all.
It was easy to not recognize himself, and not be able to tell anyone who he was. He was thirty-two, he was born and raised in Brooklyn. He was a Pisces, six-feet tall and liked watching movies. There wasn't much else, and whenever people described him it was like – he couldn't explain it. But they were wrong, positive or negative. Maybe that was what Betty Ross meant by identity issues. Maybe that was his version of BPD.
He was second-guessing each choice as he stared into his suitcase. He knew his usual outfit of white t-shirt with jeans and boots would not be appropriate, especially for the red carpet.
He hadn't done a press tour in so long. How had he ever managed to do those before without feeling like he could collapse from the way his stomach kept twisting? He didn't want to cry anymore. He didn't want to die.
He didn't want to –
He slammed the suitcase shut, sighing. He rubbed his eyes, suddenly exhausted. He took out his phone from his back pocket and scrolled through the contacts.
He couldn't have Darcy worrying about him anymore than she usually was. She was over at her place now, trying to sleep before their flight the next day.
He dialled, his heart racing.
"Hey."
"Hey," he replied, trying not to sound too desperate too soon. "I meant to call. I just – I just haven't felt like it, buddy. I'm sorry."
It was just early enough for Steve to still be up. Bucky glanced at the ceiling, waiting.
"That's okay, Buck," he replied.
Bucky fought the urge to burst into tears, feeling his throat tighten just the same. He rubbed his face and scratched his hair.
"I'm trying to pack for the trip."
"You going with Darcy?" Steve murmured. When Bucky made a vaguely affirming sound, Steve sounded pleased. "That's good, bud. I'm happy for you."
"Steve, I love her," he blurted, and then he let out a sigh. "I'm gonna fuck this up."
"Fuck what up?" Steve asked.
Bucky sat on his half-empty suitcase. "Everything. I don't know what I'm supposed to say when people ask about everything that's been going on. But I have to go, I promised her and Stephen."
"It's gonna be okay, Buck," Steve said.
"Yeah, but –" Bucky stopped himself, almost confessing the new diagnosis. He shook his head. "I don't want to talk to anyone. I just want the shit to stop."
"Bucky –"
Bucky cut him off. "I want to ask about you, okay? I… need to."
Please don't ask me what's wrong.
There was a brief silence, and Bucky could picture Steve shaking his head, lost for words at how stubborn he was being.
Darcy's version of him was the closest to the truth. She knew about the suicidal thoughts, the therapy and pill binges. Steve only knew that Bucky took a break from everything for a little while, and Darcy was helping him through it.
Eventually, Steve answered him.
"I'm having a launch in July. Publisher is pushing for an earlier release. It's gonna be huge."
Bucky tried to remember the last time he actually read something Steve illustrated and cringed a little to himself.
"That's great, man. I'm happy for you. You need to send that to me."
"I did."
There was a beat, when Bucky's heart sank and he tried desperately to place whatever package that might have been. It was probably somewhere amongst his trash. He got up from his seat and walked down the hall to the kitchen, eyes searching for a clue.
The package was under an empty pizza box. All the while, Steve was silent on his end while Bucky ripped the thing open with his phone pressed between his shoulder and ear.
"I got it. I'll read it on the plane tomorrow."
"You don't have to. I get sent a bunch of those to give to –"
Steve was making excuses for him and Bucky couldn't stand it.
"Steve, I'm sorry for being an unsupportive piece of shit."
Steve let out a disbelieving laugh.
"Buck, you were the one who donated a million dollars to that tiny theatre I go to. You helped me pay off my student loans."
Bucky didn't like people mentioning that sort of stuff. It only pointed out that he was desperate to be helpful for people, using his money to make himself feel better.
"I should read your stuff."
When they hung up, Bucky went back to his room and narrowed his eyes at his suitcase. He glanced down at the book in his hands, seeing a dark-haired man with a cigarette dangling from his lips, his cold stare a vivid blue.
Bucky read the title. There Is A Light That Never Goes Out. Steve had signed it, leaving a note, a single word beside the autograph:
Jerk.
Bucky got a private jet.
Paparazzi were at the airport and he tried his best to keep his head down, earphones in as he walked through LAX. He was driven by security to the jet.
He was running late because his nerves kept him under the covers for too long that morning, chain-smoking his way through a whole pack of cigarettes.
He gnawed nicotine gum as he took the stairs up to the cabin two at a time. He ducked his head in where a flight attendant stood, smiling at him.
"Thank you," he murmured. "Sorry."
"No problem, Mr. Barnes," she replied. She waved him through and he glanced around, taking off his backpack.
"Hey, babe?" he called out.
A few seconds later, Darcy appeared by the bathroom doorway, smiling at him.
She walked over, his hands on her waist the second she was close enough to him to reach.
"Hey, baby," she murmured. She gave him a kiss, her nails running up to scrape at his scalp.
He was so happy to see her, so relieved. She looked well-rested, unlike him. They sat down, sharing one of the couches as the captain began to make announcements.
"This is nuts," Darcy whispered, her feet up. She kicked off her shoes. "I can't get over how boujee this is."
Bucky didn't know how to answer that. He knew he had too much money. Nobody in the world needed that much money.
He made a sound in the back of his throat and Darcy tilted her head toward him, pulling his arm around her shoulders.
"I'm not complaining," she added. "I like the leg room."
Bucky chuckled.
Darcy looked around nervously when they left the tarmac, briefly muttering "Wait, am I afraid of flying?" before she grabbed Bucky's hand and squeezed the hell out of it.
Once they were stable, Darcy got up, walking around. The flight attendant served them coffee and showed them the entertainment system.
Bucky told her to take a break and she obliged, while Darcy flicked through the movies available. She chose Clueless and let it play in the background while Bucky started reading Steve's graphic novel.
Darcy kept glancing over his shoulder at the pictures.
"That's beautiful," she murmured, pointing at a watercolor of the Brooklyn Bridge. "Is that Steve's?"
"Yeah," Bucky said. Truth be told, he was blown away. Steve had grown exponentially as an artist, and there was so much heart poured into it as well.
"He looks like you," Darcy added, nodding at the man with the cigarette.
"Hmm. Wonder where he gets his inspiration," Bucky muttered. He kept on reading for another hour. The story flew by, he was so absorbed in it.
He finished it, letting out a gush of breath as he put it down. He needed to buy ten more copies, just to get it out there.
"Fuck," he whispered. Darcy caught his eye, her head tilting. He picked it up, pushing it toward her. "Read it. Read it now."
"What, it's that good?"
He nodded, and Darcy took it.
He watched the rest of the movie while she read, occasionally looking over to gauge her reactions. Her eyes widened, and she bit lip.
"Bucky… this is incredible," she murmured. "Seriously."
She went on, getting right to the end before she spoke again.
"You should show this to Stephen."
Bucky was thinking the exact same thing, and he smiled at her.
"What?" she said, smiling back at him. He leaned in to kiss her and Darcy chuckled. "You're so easy to please."
Their noses brushed and Darcy pressed her lips to his, closing her eyes. He was able to forget everything whenever he was with her. He didn't have to think about another twelve hours on this plane before getting to France.
Her tongue pressed against the seam of his lips and he let her in, groaning a little at the heat of her kiss. Darcy drew back, just as Bucky was about to trail a hand under her shirt.
"We shouldn't," she murmured. "Right? We shouldn't."
She glanced at the door, most likely thinking of the staff beyond.
"Up to you," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her jaw. He kissed her neck and Darcy bit her lip.
She took a second before she called out, "Can we get a blanket?"
The flight attendant appeared, going to the cabinet above their heads before handing them a fluffy maroon blanket, and Darcy murmured her thanks.
"We're gonna nap," she added.
Her cheeks had gone pink. Darcy probably had no idea how often people had sex on planes. Bucky had several times, and not all of them were in private jets with plenty of room to properly move.
They were left alone, the lights dimming. Darcy took a few moments to gather herself, and Bucky caught her chin to look her in the eye.
"We don't have to do anything," he said. "We can just sleep."
"Shh," she replied, and then she kissed him.
He was so turned on by her sudden determination to have her way with him, pushing down her leggings and panties as well as his sweatpants. She climbed on top of him, the blanket covering their lower halves. She licked her hand and stroked Bucky.
"Fuck –"
This girl. She caught him off-guard somehow. How many times had they done it now? He didn't know. Still every time he could catch his breath. She sank onto him, one hand pressed against his mouth to smother his moan.
Pot calling the kettle black, Darcy moaned behind her clenched teeth as she set the pace. Bucky's feet were planted firmly on the floor but he felt far away.
He found her clit, feeling her cunt grip him tighter, drawing him further in. He fought the urge to flip them and fuck her into the couch.
This was about her and her pleasure. Darcy began to huff against his lips as she rocked, as he pushed up into her.
She shuddered, going still as her nails bit into his scalp. She whimpered, and Bucky took over, lifting her up and down.
"I'm gonna come," he hissed.
There was the same tug, that promise of something so sweet. He would be thinking about his come being inside her for the rest of the day, until she showered when they got to their hotel in Cannes.
He grunted, hips losing rhythm as he came, his lips pressed to Darcy's as he screwed his eyes shut.
They stayed like that for several seconds, until Darcy drew back, pushing back his hair and staring down at him.
"You sleepy now?" she murmured, and he nodded.
She finally climbed off of him, quickly pulling clothes back on while Bucky did the same. The air smelled of sex and he shook off any shame almost instantly.
Flight attendants had seen much worse. They tried to be semi discrete about it and there wasn't any mess from what he could tell.
He fell asleep with his head in Darcy's lap.
Cannes was nine hours ahead of L.A. It threw everything off. They left L.A. around 9 A.M. to land at around 6 A.M. the next day.
He knew that beyond the cabin things would change. There'd be cameras, press asking questions. As they were halfway through their flight, Darcy asked about what they were meant to say about themselves.
There were always rumors about who Bucky was dating. Most of them were just rumors. He didn't want the press to have half a chance to attack Darcy. He felt protective of her, which was why he agreed with Darcy when she said she wanted things to stay private.
Whenever he was around her, all he wanted to do was touch her, so now he'd need to take several steps back and try to keep himself contained. Easier said than done.
They walked down the steps separately, Darcy choosing to leave after him. He had a car waiting for him and his bags were already been sent to his hotel. He put on sunglasses and did the same routine as before at LAX.
"Welcome to France," one reporter said with heavily accented English. Bucky gave a half-smile and cameras clicked.
"Thank you, I'm glad to be here."
He didn't answer questions about Rachel. Apparently people were still wanting to know about how upset he was. He didn't think about her much anymore, if he was honest.
"Will we be seeing anyone with you on the red carpet?" an American reporter asked, her phone near his face to record his response.
"Just the other people from the movie."
He didn't answer much else, and he could see some people were a little annoyed at his tight lips. He felt sweaty from the nerves of it all, but he was sure he was just coming across as an asshole and not a wreck.
He got to the hotel and didn't know whether to sleep or not. He had a few hours before the first press interview.
He wore a black floral shirt and some khaki shorts and boat shoes. He had no idea what the brands were, so good luck to anyone trying to get that information out of him.
He got a call on the landline after he spritzed some cologne and he picked it up.
"Monsieur, monsieur –"
It was Darcy, putting on her best French accent. Her voice was too distinct, giving her away almost instantly.
"Hey, baby."
"You ready? You got someone coming to get you?"
There was a knock on his hotel door.
"Uh-huh," Bucky replied. "That you?"
He put down the phone and walked over to the door, pulling it open. It was Stephen, with a blonde woman on his arm.
He definitely had a type.
"Hey," he said. "Darcy's just on the phone –"
Strange sauntered in, the woman on his arm looking bored.
"This is Veronika."
She said something in German and Bucky gave her a half-smile. He walked back to the phone and picked it up.
"We'll meet you down there. Stephen's here."
When he hung up, Stephen handed him a vape.
"Something to take the edge off."
Bucky stared down at it. "I'm guessing this ain't nicotine."
Strange only gave him a feline smile and Bucky hesitated, giving Veronika a sidewards glance.
"I'm Bucky, by the way," he said, and she nodded.
"Yes," she replied. "Stephen has very good-looking friends."
She gave him a deliberate stare, her eyes traveling up and down. Strange didn't look bothered by this at all, just gave her hand a little pat.
"No, darling. He's not interested. And neither am I."
Of course Bucky would be proposed a threesome with his director while he was holding a weed vape in a hotel room. Of course.
Bucky gave a little laugh of surprise, before putting the vape to his lips and taking a drag. He held it, handing it back to Strange.
"Ready?"
"Yeah," he rasped, exhaling.
As they arrived at the hall for their first press conference there was a buzz all around. People kept turning and pointing, staring at Bucky as he walked up to the long table teeming with microphones.
The scene hit Bucky so suddenly, and then he remembered that drag he took. The thoughts collided, that he was probably a teensy bit high and watched by hundreds of eyes. His stomach twisted and he held his breath, following after Strange to sit down.
Darcy was there, and she caught his eye. She wore a yellow sundress with a matching headband, looking like a brunette Sharon Tate with her 60s makeup and beehive. Bucky probably stared at her too long, being the last one to finally take his seat.
"Hello, welcome everyone."
The French host spoke about rules in both English and French, and Bucky did his best not to look like a deer in headlights as cameras continued to click.
"Just a few more seconds for pictures and then we'll begin."
Having Strange between himself and Darcy was probably for the best, since all he wanted to do was hold someone's hand, but so many people would most likely see it.
"First off, I want to congratulate you all on being here today, given what we have already heard about this film," the first reporter said. "You began shooting in January and only wrapped weeks ago. When was this film in the can, so to speak?"
"About forty hours ago," Strange replied instantly.
Everyone laughed, except Bucky and Veronika, who was standing in the back somewhere looking at her phone. Bucky forced a smile. There was a rapid translation to French and more laughter.
He figured he wasn't that high, he just felt like he had just woken up from a nap, the world around him trying to right itself.
"Mister Barnes, may I ask about what drew you to Stephen's work?"
He didn't know where that voice came from and his eyes snapped up from the table, looking around. A silence fell over the room, everyone waiting.
He was high.
He finally spotted the woman holding the microphone.
"I was told he wrote the role for me."
There was a pause, and he cleared his throat.
"I mean, I saw Ache and Bone soon after my agent asked about The Death of a Marriage and I like… couldn't stop thinking about it. Like, it was phenomenal."
The woman nodded. "And then?"
"Well, I did the movie."
There was scattered laughter and the room moved on, Bucky passing a hand over his face. Luckily there were more questions for Strange than for anyone else. Bucky listened and watched his director speak eloquently about interpretations of various painters, films and other influences for his creative flow. He zoned out a lot.
"Miss Lewis, what was your process for this particular role?" one reporter asked, and Darcy lit up.
"Oh, God… I mean, how does one prepare for a Stephen Strange role?" she asked, and began to chuckle. She glanced at their director, a fond smile on her face. "He told me to forget whatever I thought it was going to be like. And also I needed to go into the woods and run around naked."
Bucky hadn't heard that story before. Stephen just told him to meet ex-cons and spend a lot of time thinking about his childhood, the latter he never did.
Darcy's eyes met Bucky's for a brief second and her smile slipped for a second, as if she'd just noticed something.
"And did you do that?" the reporter prompted, as the audience laughed.
"What do you think? That's my answer," Darcy said, turning her head to smile. "I'll leave that up to you."
Once the press conference finished, they filed out for more photographs, and Darcy was between Strange and Bucky as photographers had them pose for several minutes.
Bucky touched the small of her back for a second, which was innocent enough. Darcy tilted her head toward him to smile up at him.
"Your eyes are red," she said through the smile, and Bucky tried his best not to react.
He looked ahead at the cameras instead, his heart beating faster.
He returned to his room and waited, wondering what Darcy would do. He'd done the wrong thing within hours of them arriving. He couldn't be trusted.
He opened the door after ten minutes of waiting to see Darcy standing there with Strange at her side, her hands on her hips.
"Hey," Bucky said, but she walked past him with a huff.
Strange met his eye. "I wouldn't."
Once Bucky closed the door again, Darcy rounded on them both.
"What is wrong with you?"
"We're in France," Strange replied, his accent switching to English. "Your co-star was nervous."
Was she about to spill the beans about the pills? Bucky felt his heart in his throat.
"My mistake, okay? I take full responsibility, I should have said no," he said, and Darcy's face softened for a second, her eyes darting back and forth.
"Bucky –"
"I did it. I'm an adult," Bucky said. He had already dealt with some of the side effects, eating a chocolate bar with an unfamiliar French label that he found in his minibar.
"You don't want to get high, Darcy?" Strange asked, and Darcy threw him a withering look.
"What, you think you're the caterpillar from Alice in Wonderland?" she snapped. "Who are you? We're here to promote your movie. If we don't because you two can't stay sober during interviews -"
"Darcy, it won't happen again," Bucky said.
It was like her party all over again. He was sure he'd blown it, and she'd be ignoring him, acting civil only around the cameras, and then she'd never speak to him again after Cannes.
His expression must have changed, because Darcy came toward him, hands clutching his face.
Bucky was suddenly aware of a whole other pair of eyes on them and he shook his head, wanting to hide.
"You okay? Hey, look at me." He did eventually, and Darcy narrowed her eyes slightly. "I'm not that mad. I'm just stressed out. I'm sorry I scared you."
"You could use some weed, darling," Strange said, looking fascinated as he watched them.
Bucky turned his head slightly to look at him, and Strange went on:
"How long has this been going on?"
Bucky glanced away. He wasn't going to dignify that with an answer. He was in no condition to. Darcy just let him go, her hands falling to her sides.
"A while," she said. "And I don't want to exploit it."
"Well, I think people will draw conclusions eventually, especially after the premiere tonight," Strange said. He promptly took out his vape pen and stuck it in his mouth, smirking. "Caterpillar, indeed."
Darcy set her jaw. "If you tell anyone –"
"How perfectly boring, of course I won't," Strange interjected coolly. He took a deep drag and let it go through his nose, assessing them both. "Bucky, do you love her?"
Bucky met Darcy's gaze.
"Yes, very much," he said instantly, and she looked touched. "I want to scream it from the rooftops, but I don't want people talking about us."
"I'm not ashamed," Darcy said, touching his hand.
"I know you're not, baby," he said. He looked back at Strange. "I should be semi-sober this festival. But you were right, I am nervous."
Strange's face changed, and her nodded, very serious.
"A lot is riding on this," Bucky added. "I'm done if this doesn't work out."
"It will," Strange said, leaning forward slightly, whispering as if they weren't alone. "And I am touched that you care this much, Bucky. Truly, I am."
He looked at Darcy.
"And my Natalie. Darling girl."
"Where's Veronika?" Bucky asked suddenly, and Darcy snorted beside him.
Strange took a second to scan his brain while he vaped.
"Skulking around somewhere."
"So surprising that you've been married four times," Darcy muttered. She thread her fingers through Bucky's.
"Three, because technically the second one was more of a common marriage thing we did in Namibia," Strange said, squinting slightly at the memory. "I must go back some day. Be one with nature, and maybe hallucinate a bit."
Bucky and Darcy's eyes met and Bucky pressed his lips together to stop himself from laughing.
The movie was not what drew the enormous crowd that night. Bucky knew it was because he was in the news. He still had that mark on his forehead. He still was trying to get May to negotiate a better deal with RKB.
He tried his best to push thoughts of the industry aside as his feet landed on the red carpet and he began to walk up to where Strange stood, his hands in his suit pockets.
Bucky wore a sharp navy suit with his Aviator sunglasses still on. One last time he'd do it; pretend to be Jack. What would Jack do? He'd most likely love the attention, and act like he belonged despite the nerves in his stomach.
Bucky wet his lips and took of his sunglasses. There were screams, cheers. Different languages yelling out to him. He put up his hand, and eventually made it to Strange's side, giving him a nod.
On closer inspection, Strange wore a dark suit as well, with a black shirt and tie dotted with tiny golden stars. He wore a pair of small purple sunglasses and regarded Bucky as he shook his hand.
"It's all downhill from here," Bucky said, but the Brit just rose an eyebrow.
"You'll see."
"I don't have a choice, do I?" Bucky said. He rarely ever saw his own films out of choice. He'd often slip outside to smoke the second the lights were shut off.
"Grumpy, sober Bucky," Strange muttered, but he was only teasing.
There was a red shape in the corner of Bucky's eye and he turned his head, Strange following his gaze.
"Holy shit."
"Indeed."
Darcy was a vision in red, the same dress he saw her try on two weeks ago. She'd transformed since the press conference, her hair now in long chocolate waves that cascaded down her back. Her eyes were lined with smoky grey and black. Her nails were a deep blood red, and her lips looked stained with some type of berry.
She was like sex on legs, and Bucky just stared and stared as she came over. She gave Strange a kiss on his cheek, and then moved toward Bucky.
He wanted to lift her up to the heavens, kiss her everywhere, take her aside and tell her everything. He was so lucky.
He was so lucky.
"Hey," she breathed, and he caught her in a hug, hands splaying along her bare skin. "You look so handsome."
He pulled back, kissing her cheek. She squeezed his hand. No-one could deny that they were close, and certainly there would be rumours, but it was funny that they were hiding in plain sight, beaming at one another while hundreds of cameras clicked away.
"You look like a princess," he replied, and she smiled.
He couldn't even mouth it, I love you, but he squeezed her hand to make his point and she nodded, squeezing back.
They turned toward the cameras, still holding their hands, until it was time to go inside. Bucky's heart was racing. The next two hours could make or break his career.
He gave Strange one last glance before the film began.
"See you on the other side," Strange murmured, and Bucky gave a nod.
He knew he could trust him.
The opening shot was of Jack walking down the lane between two houses with his toddler Lily on his hip. Bucky recognized that it was him up on the screen, but it felt different.
There was no soundtrack, just sounds of the cars in the neighbourhood, and Lily murmuring something occasionally in baby talk.
"You hungry?"
"Nah."
"Well, too bad, I'm the boss."
Someone behind Bucky laughed, a little titter. Bucky remembered improvising that on the day. The toddler playing Lily was named Alice, and she giggled a lot.
"What if I ate you, huh? 'Cause I'm hungry."
Jack leaned in to nip at Lily's fingers. She squealed.
"You don't need all these. What if I just have one, huh?"
The scene cut, to the same lane again, but Jack was following Natalie down the street. It was the first scene they ever shot, and Bucky could remember how nervous he was that day.
"How come I've never seen you around here, huh?" Jack asked Natalie.
She looked closed off, reluctant to give him much to work with.
"Let me guess," he said. "You wanna be a star."
She glared at him, but Jack didn't seem bothered.
"Sweetheart, look at you. You got that star quality," Jack went on, and Natalie gave a short laugh, shaking her head. "What, that doesn't work on you?"
"How often have you tried this method?" Natalie asked, and Jack paused in front of her. "Or, let me guess – you've never got this far before?"
"No, I never tried it before – but, I'll be honest with you, I never wanted to."
The shot lingered on Natalie's face, and she smiled again as he went on.
"I see someone like you walking past my house, I'd be a fucking idiot not to introduce myself."
She broke into a smile, a real one. She tried to hide it, ducking her head to mumble, "Go away."
"God, you're gorgeous," he said, and she glanced up, blushing. "I could stare at you for hours, I mean that."
When they kiss for the first time, there are shots of their hands, and then their lips. There was never a wide shot of the moment. It felt as though Strange was deliberately concealing it. It was a glimpse of an intimacy, as if the cameras were only sneaking snatches of it.
There was the lingering shot of Natalie's hand gripping the fence with their panting breaths the only sound, and then the screen went black.
Back to the present, and Jack was sitting with Lily and Natalie in the kitchen, eating lunch. Natalie's foot was resting on part of his chair, and she occasionally checked that their little girl was eating her food. Again, Bucky felt as though there were moments captured as if by chance, that the audience was looking in on a private life, something tender.
There was a knock, and Jack got up to answer the door, and Mike is there.
Bucky missed Clint Barton suddenly. It was a pity that he couldn't make it to Cannes, but he was up to his neck with HBO projects.
"Hey, man," Mike said, and Jack looked taken aback.
"Shit, when did you get out?"
They laughed together and he pulled Mike into a hug, hands patting backs as they laughed.
"Good behavior."
"Fuck, what's that?" Jack said, and Mike laughed. Lily made a noise somewhere in the kitchen and Mike's face changed.
"Shit, that your kid?"
"Yeah," Jack breathed. "You wanna meet her?"
Mike came into the kitchen and Natalie's eyes widen.
"Oh, my God. Mike?"
"Hey, Nat," he said, beaming at her, and then Lily. "This Lily?"
Lily looked at him cautiously, and Natalie touched her pudgy arm.
"It's okay, honey. It's Mikey, Daddy's friend."
There were snapshots of their evening together, and Lily's put to bed, Mike sitting at their table. He gave Nat a glance and looked at Jack.
"Your little wife, man."
"Hey, emphasis on wife," Jack said, but he was smiling.
He pulled Natalie toward him and she sat on his lap, smiling down at him. He kissed her, turning his head to Mike.
"You got a job coming up?"
Natalie's face slackened. "Hey, what did I say last time you were here? No talking about jobs in my house."
Jack glanced at her, frowning. "Calm down, alright? It's Mike."
"He was in fucking jail, Jack," she retorted. "And our kid's in the next room sleeping."
Mike just nods, hands up.
"I'm sorry. I just wanted to say hello. Jack, if you're interested, we have some cars that –"
"No!" Natalie all but yelled. She glanced at Jack. "You promised the day we got married. You promised."
It was as if they were no longer in the same room with Mike. The camera zoomed in on Natalie's eyes as she said it, showing her tears beginning to build up.
"Hey, you think I want to do that shit?" Jack yelled, right in her face.
Natalie recoiled. She bolted down the hallway.
"Where are you going?"
"Fuck you!"
There was another flashback, and Bucky felt his stomach drop. There was a tension that set into the audience already, because the yelling was so jarring, so confronting. Bucky's stomach dropped as he realized they were about to see the first sex scene.
There were hushed murmurs as the first shot of Bucky standing naked by the bed appeared on the screen above them.
The entire screen is filled with those two seconds of his flaccid dick and Bucky closed his eyes. He had no idea how he would react, and now he knew. He swallowed, his knee starting to jig up and down once he opened his eyes.
It looked like they were having sex. Bucky knew everything that went into it, he even saw the dailies and dubbed over it as well and it looked real to him. If it appeared that way to him, what would the audience be thinking?
Some people gasp in their seats as the scene cut to them rutting together, their faces pink as they panted. It was the shot of Darcy on top of him, with her bare chest in one brief shot.
Strange was true to his word. The nudity was not gratuitous but the sex scenes were undeniably realistic in sound and look. Bucky glanced beside him at Darcy, who was biting her lip in her seat, her face unreadable.
Bucky had no idea how long the scene went on for, but when it was over he finally looked away from Darcy back at the screen.
For a fleeting moment, he considered pulling the fire alarm if there was one around. Then he saw a single frame slip in during another scene. A barely detectable shot of Natalie and Jack covered in blood speeding down the highway.
There was a murmur in the audience. Did anyone else see that? Bucky felt himself smile for a second. Everyone was hooked.
As the film progressed, there was the mounting drama of Jack returning to a life of crime, with sex scenes in between their everyday lives. It was a love story. It was undeniably love on that screen.
Their chemistry poured into every shot. No wonder he fell for Darcy so fast, she made every scene between them so believable. He fought the urge not to keep looking at her in the dark.
Natalie was a real woman. Bucky did not credit Strange for writing her. He just handed Darcy the blueprints and she brought her to life, she made her as memorable as Alabama in True Romance.
The attempted rape scene was hard to watch, because it was one long take of Natalie's face for the entire scene. It was difficult for Bucky to distinguish between the two, because he had seen Darcy cry out of character. He'd seen her in pain as both Natalie and Darcy.
They used some of the original dialogue from Darcy's audition for Natalie in one of the climatic scenes when Jack found out about Mike, thinking Natalie slept with him. He was heartbroken, screaming at her. Bucky hated filming that. It was a tough morning. Natalie only whispered back to Jack that Mike tried to rape her, after saying she didn't want to be in love anymore.
Jack stabbing Mike to death had to be a shock, but it was part of their descent, part of the death of the marriage. The innocence was lost. Jack only killed Mike because he was overcome by his own powerlessness in the situation, the madness that came from him not being able to defend his wife. At the last moment, Mike grabbed Jack, and began to throttle him. As he held Jack down, he grabbed the bloody knife and stuck him twice in the gut.
Natalie burst into Mike's living room with Jack's gun he had stashed at home and shot him in the chest. Mike does not die as fast as expected. Natalie crawled over to Jack, and he pulled her toward him, Mike lying on the floor, struggling for breath.
"Someone would have heard that."
"Why the fuck did you do that?" Jack hissed, kissing her hard. "Huh?"
She sobbed. "He was killing you."
"You'd be better off. Lily'd be better off."
"No – Jack, please."
Natalie just sobbed, while the camera was set on Mike's blank face. Jack winced, and his face is pale and sweaty.
"We have to go," Natalie said, Jack's face in her bloody hands. "Baby? We gotta go."
They reached the last scene. Jack is limp against as they speed down the highway, Natalie sobbing through clenched teeth, hyperventilating. Bucky knew then that Jack was dead. Otherwise Natalie would have gone to the hospital.
The last shot was of Natalie's face like stone, with the roar of the engine the only sound. She was no longer crying, just speeding away to meet the horizon.
There were three frames that appeared in flashes, of Jack and Natalie pressed together, making love. It was the moment Bucky made Darcy laugh in between takes, when Strange had already called cut. The fact that Strange had decided to use that outtake as part of the story made Bucky's stomach flip.
A song began to play in the background, as tears fell from Natalie's eyes. The screen cut to black, with Strange's name under the title. It only occurred to Bucky then that there was no introductory credits.
The theatre erupted in applause.
Bucky looked at Darcy beside him and saw her eyes were full of tears. It meant it was over. It meant everything was in the hands of other people, and she could rest. She glanced at him, and he pulled her into a hug while the theatre was full of a standing ovation.
He buried his face in her neck and felt tears spring in his eyes. When he drew back, Darcy touched his face, brushing away a tear with her thumb.
"This is your first Cannes?"
"Yeah, we're both virgins," Bucky replied, and Darcy beside him made an 'ohh' sound, shimmying her shoulders.
It was their eighth interview that day. After the premiere, people couldn't stop talking about The Death of a Marriage. Bucky had to keep checking his phone because Wanda was still desperately trying to manage everything back in L.A. He should probably hire a new assistant, and a business manager.
It was easier to meet strangers with Darcy next to him. Everyone was kind, and only occasionally would someone dare mention RKB and the contract dispute, but Darcy often jumped it, redirecting it back to the film.
"This movie…" the interviewer's eyes widened as he moved forward and Bucky waited for him to elaborate.
"Yeah?"
"We thought we knew you, James Barnes."
Bucky made a face. "Oh, yeah. I mean, maybe."
Darcy snorted.
"You got something to add, babe?"
"Nothing. I'm waiting for sex scene questions."
They were doing open flirting in front of the cameras and press. It was harmless and fun. It made things better. Bucky didn't have to pretend she wasn't his friend.
The interviewer nodded, laughing. "Well, that we can't get over, either."
"I'm so glad," Bucky replied, shaking his head. "I was hoping for more questions."
"Not sexy at all? That process?"
"Can I curse?" Bucky asked, looking at the camera behind the interviewer.
"Yeah."
"Fuck no, baby," Darcy sing-songed, before Bucky could say another word.
They laughed together. Bucky took another sip of his coffee. He'd lost count and he might have had five today already.
"It's horrible," Bucky elaborated. "I don't think people realize that. It's like the least sexy thing you can possibly do."
"Darcy, do you have something to add?"
Darcy made a face. "I mean, yeah. It's like a sweaty, orchestrated dance of constant despair."
"But good film making."
"Right," Darcy said, shaking her head.
After another hour of interviews, Darcy was beginning to deflate and their conversations were turning more juvenile.
At one point, a male interviewer complimented Darcy's dress, which was sky blue and hugged every curve.
"Thank you," she said. "Do you ever just…?"
She looked at Bucky, and he gave her a quizzical look.
"What, babe?"
"Do you ever just look in the mirror and immediately come?"
Bucky let out a bark of a laugh, and then dissolved into a giggle. He bent over, losing control as the interviewer shook their head at Darcy.
"I can't say any of that on camera?" she whined. "Goddamn."
Bucky was laughing so hard that he felt tears in his eyes. He kept going, until he was breathless, groaning a little as he wiped his eyes.
"Ah, fuck," he said. "What if you lived in a house with oil paintings of yourself –"
"And you were just overcome?" Darcy finished, laughing. She glanced at the interviewer. "I am so sorry. We're just losing our minds."
"Oil paintings that you painted of yourself?" Bucky added, and he began to laugh again.
"Bucky!" Darcy groaned, because she couldn't stop laughing, either.
"I'm sorry," Bucky said, and the interviewer was a good sport. They eventually got through it, and they broke for lunch.
They found Strange at a table with several journalists, all of them hanging on his every word, the only person who didn't belong there was Veronika.
Darcy nudged Bucky and nodded at the blonde woman.
"She's like this weird blend of constant intellectual boredom but she's easily aroused," Darcy murmured. "You agree?"
"She come onto you, too?" Bucky muttered, and Darcy snorted.
"Why is she even here?"
Bucky shrugged. He felt his phone buzz in his pocket. Darcy pointed to a table and he nodded, taking out his phone to answer it. He saw on the display that it was Wanda.
"Hey, some news just came in that people might ask about."
"What is it?"
He'd stopped hoping for anything positive. He didn't want to be disappointed, and Cannes was a good distraction.
"RKB and three other studios are in a bidding war for the movie."
Bucky tried to process it all, and he watched Darcy take her seat and smile at him.
"Bucky?"
"Yeah, I'm still here," he managed to reply. "They're trying to get back at me."
"I think they'll use it as one of your remaining movies under contract."
Bucky closed his eyes, sighing. "No, I don't want that."
It would make things easier long-term but he didn't want them anywhere near Strange's film. He passed a hand over his face.
"I'll talk to Stephen."
"It might be a blessing in disguise," Wanda said. She sighed on her end. "But I know you don't want this. It's not up to you."
"I know."
"Are you okay?"
"Sure," Bucky lied. Darcy was looking at a menu, probably trying to practise her limited French. She was so sweet, and all he wanted to do was take her on a real date, somewhere by the shore.
"Bucky –"
"Thank you for that update," he interrupted. "And thank you for being understanding. I need to talk to Stephen. I'm sure you'll know before me how this shit turns out."
He hung up, rubbing his eyes. He wanted a cigarette.
The film won the Grand Jury Prize.
For Bucky it was unexpected, but Strange seemed validated, stirred up by the moment enough to hug Bucky and Darcy in front of hundreds of cameras.
People wouldn't stop talking about Darcy and Bucky being naked together, but that was understandable, considering Bucky's dating past. One blog said Darcy was his type because she had a pulse, and that made him chuckle.
He found a moment to catch Strange in his hotel room. Luckily, Veronika was nowhere to be seen. He carried Steve's book in one hand, a cigarette in his other.
Strange let him in, and he does not seem ready to sleep at all despite his favorite velvet robe.
"RKB want the movie," Bucky began, and Strange nodded.
"Naturally."
"I don't want them touching it," Bucky said. "And… I know you might have some leverage with that decision."
"The film is entirely my own," Strange said, a hand on his chest. "But you should know that it's growning by the hour."
"They want to fuck me over."
"Not everyone wants to fuck you, Bucky Barnes," Strange said drily, and Bucky glared at him. "A little joke. I know what you said."
Bucky sighed. "I don't want my… Just, think about it."
"I already did," Strange replied, shrugging a shoulder. "Which is why I'm turning them down. Even though they offered me three million more than everyone else."
Bucky's eyes widened.
"Don't you dare tell anyone I have a heart," Strange said, pointing at him. "That type of shit getting out would mean I'd get eaten alive, and you know it."
Bucky gaped. "Thank you."
"Shut up," Strange said, rolling his eyes. He glanced down at the book in Bucky's hand. "What's that?"
"My buddy Steve's new book. I want you to have it."
Strange snatched it, eyes roving across its front cover.
"Do you have any idea how many people pitch to me their books?"
Strange waited for an answer, but Bucky shrugged.
"A lot. But this guy I know – WAIT!"
He flipped it over, reading the back.
"Holy shit, why did you never tell me you knew Joseph G. Stevens? Didn't he write that Batman arc, with the time travel? Oh, my fuck."
His accent kept switching and Bucky felt himself smile.
"Read it now. It's an advance copy."
Bucky sat on Strange's bed as he devoured the book. He read faster than Bucky expected, every once in a while laughing at something, or gasping.
Once he finished, Strange pinched the bridge of his nose and put the book down. He took several moments for himself as Bucky lit a cigarette on the balcony and smoked it in silence.
"How -?" Strange cut himself off. He cleared his throat. "You spend this entire festival not talking to me about this book?"
"I was busy," Bucky retorted.
"You… prick," Strange muttered. "I'm gonna have to buy the rights."
He narrowed his eyes at the night sky.
"You have to be in it," he added, and Bucky's eyes widened.
"No. It's based on my life. His and mine."
"Then you have to do it," Strange retorted, one hand up. "You have to. But we can't call it that name, obviously."
Bucky shook his head. "RKB are gonna sue me, and no-one will touch us. No-one will finance anything I'm in."
Strange's eyes lit up. "Brilliant! We start our own company, then."
"Stephen, I have no experience being a producer –"
"Fuck off," Strange interrupted, waving a hand. His American accent vanished. "You are one. You did more in The Death of a Marriage that any of my arsehole producers have ever done before."
Bucky pressed his lips together, conceding. He took one last drag of his cigarette before he mashed it in the complimentary ashtray.
"I'll think about it."
"Good," Strange said. "And what about Darcy?"
Bucky blinked. "What?"
"She read it? She should be Cassandra."
Bucky had thought about it, but he wasn't about to pressure Darcy into doing anything just because they were together. Cassandra was a combination of three different girls that Bucky dated or fooled around with in high school before he dropped out.
Bucky ducked his head, chuckling. "Yeah. But –"
"You'll think about it," Strange finished, looking more like Veronika, and very bored.
Bucky chuckled again, shaking his head.
"What about you, what now?"
"Well, I need to purge myself of all earthly bonds before writing my next film, even if it's based on a book," Strange said, eyebrows quirking. "So I'm going to disappear for a few months."
Bucky nodded.
"And you?"
He shook his head. "I dunno. I want to take a break. Stay here. Maybe Darcy will let me take her around Paris or something."
Darcy met Bucky in the lobby of his hotel which was a block over from hers. She wore another sundress and no makeup, and she smelt of maple.
"I just had breakfast," she said, and he hugged her to him.
He wanted to kiss her so badly but there were people milling around, watching them. Darcy could probably read his mind, smirking up at him.
"Boo," he mumbled, staring at her mouth.
She just kept her arms wrapped around him, waiting for him to speak.
"Where's Stephen?"
"He left last night," she replied. "Veronika was with him. He said 'if you don't hear from me'… and then just exited stage left, I guess."
Bucky gave a small smile. "I think that means if we don't hear from him, he's dead."
"Is he serious about that jungle thing?"
"Probably."
They lapsed into silence. Darcy looked around, sighing. She watched the people watching them and her face changed once more.
"You okay?"
She bit her lip. She looked like she was about to cry.
"Hey," he said, his hand coming up to cup her face. "It's okay."
"I feel… really weird," Darcy mumbled.
He took her by the arm and they walked to the elevator. He knew people would take pictures of them leaving together but she deserved privacy.
They reached his room and he sat her down on his unmade bed. She began to cry, her face in her hands.
"It's over and I miss it," she mumbled. She sniffled. "My manager is getting all these offers and it's like… everything I ever wanted. But I don't – I don't want things to change."
"Darcy," Bucky began, but she shook her head.
"I asked for this. My brother's fiancé is a nurse. I could have been a teacher. My mom went crazy the day I told her I was leaving Bryn Mawr for L.A."
She shook her head, her hands in her lap. Bucky knelt on the floor, looking up into her eyes.
"It is scary," he said. "But you deserve people congratulating you for the movie."
"You're biased."
"Probably," Bucky admitted. "But I'd be a fucking idiot if I never told you how proud I am of you. How happy I am we did this together."
She whimpered, more tears falling.
"I mean it," Bucky said, his voice changing at the end, his throat tightening. "I love you so much."
He leaned forward, his face resting on her knee and Darcy stroked his hair as she sniffled.
"I don't want to go home."
Bucky looked up. "We don't have to."
Darcy swallowed, wiping her eyes. She nodded. "Okay."
They had a month in France. The hopped from Cannes to Paris, they trekked through Normandy. They walked through pebbled beaches and he kissed her at every chance he got.
He ignored the Internet, but their relationship was out. Darcy's team was asking when she'd be back, and what they should do about Bucky, how they were going to deal with that bad publicity.
Darcy would sometimes be screaming into her phone, so upset that someone was telling her to let him go for the sake of her career. Bucky hated that she'd already been through so much for him. She'd hang up, shaking all over as she paced the hotel room while Bucky looked at the floor, telling her he was sorry.
He missed the appointment with Dr. Ross, and Darcy was upset. They argued, and he knew he was in the wrong. He knew he needed to work on himself, but he wanted to keep running away with her, keep pushing reality away as they drank red wine at sunset.
"Bucky, I'll be okay," she said one night, their last night in Europe. She curled herself around him, tucking her chin onto his shoulder, pressing a kiss to his skin. "I promise."
"Please don't leave me."
He said it without thinking. He didn't know what to blame, but he regretted instantly. It made him sound so pathetic, and so manipulative. How dare he say that to her?
"I'm not going to," she replied, hugging him tighter.
"I'm sorry, ignore me," he hissed. "I'm just – I'm sorry. I'll be fine. I'm sorry."
He hated how he sounded. A man does not do that to a woman, makes her suddenly accountable for his happiness. He was a piece of shit.
"Please. Just forget I said it."
The next morning as they made their way through the airport being escorted by security, Darcy was bombarded with all sorts of graphic questions.
They were lucky Bucky wasn't about to start swinging. He promised Darcy he wouldn't react. As they got to the jet, Bucky began to gnaw at his lip.
"I can't come with you," he blurted.
"What?" Darcy said, looking horrified.
"I should go to Brooklyn. Just for a little while. Steve's book, and everything. My mom worries –"
"Babe," Darcy said, as Bucky still held his carry-on. "I swear I won't leave you."
He shook his head, feeling his face flush. "It's not that. I'm not pushing you away."
She nodded, though to Bucky she still seemed unconvinced.
"When I get back, I want you to move in with me," he said.
He'd thought it every day since he left the Hilton weeks ago. He just hoped she would be on the same page as him, the same stage of their relationship.
Darcy's eyes snapped up to his.
"Really?"
"Yeah," he breathed. "Is that okay?"
"Yes," she said, and she kissed him. "Are you kidding me? Where are we gonna go?"
"I want to buy somewhere new," he said. "I don't want my condo anymore. I hate that place."
Darcy laughed, suddenly teary.
"Are you sure?"
"Are you sure?" he threw back.
She just smiled, overwhelmed. "Oh, honey. Now you have to leave me in L.A.? When all I want to do is sit on your face?"
He began to laugh, pulling her into another kiss, his bag falling to the floor.