Chapter 26: A Fresh Start
"How was the ceremony?"
"It was actually…really nice," Bucky said. Those two hours were probably two of the best he'd had in the past year. Being there with all those people who knew him was the closest he'd felt to Steve in a long time.
"I'm glad to hear it. Do you have any pictures? I'd love to see the plaque."
"Sure." Bucky showed her the picture.
"It's beautiful."
"Yeah." Anything with Steve's face on it was beautiful to Bucky, but this plaque especially so because it represented all his accomplishments. Bucky wished they could spend the rest of the session just talking about the ceremony, but he knew that wouldn't actually help him. He took a deep breath and confessed, "I had another panic attack."
She didn't seem the least bit perturbed by that statement. "Talk to me about it."
"I have these yearly oncology check-ups. You know, to make sure I haven't relapsed or developed long-term side-effects from chemo. I skipped last year, though. Steve and I used to go together, and it was just…way to soon. But I did go last week. And I had a panic attack."
"What triggered it?"
"Putting my hand in water." Saying it out loud made it sound so stupid. "I know that doesn't make much sense, but—"
"James. You don't have to rationalize your triggers to me. Yes, I would like to talk through and break down why it was triggering, but do not trivialize your own experience because you think I won't understand."
"Okay."
"So let's break it down."
"My veins suck," Bucky began. "I've got a lot of factors working again me in that department. So pretty much every time I get blood drawn it takes multiple pokes and they have to either put a heat pack in my elbow or soak my hand in water to help dilate them."
"That sounds really frustrating."
"No kidding. Anyway, I guess I was just scared of having to get poked a bunch of times. It's not that it even hurts that bad, but it's irritating."
"How did you calm down from the panic attack?"
"My friend Tony was there. I asked him to come because I knew this appointment would be stressful. He talked to me and helped me steady my breathing. They asked me if I wanted to go home and reschedule, but I didn't want to do that, so I got my hand back in the water and kept talking to Tony and it worked out okay. Nurse got the needle in on the first try."
"Good."
"It was a huge relief. Sometimes it takes six or seven."
"Ouch."
"Yeah. I'll take that over port accesses any day, though."
"Are you at all worried about the results of these tests?"
"A little bit. It's been so long that I'm not super worried about relapse anymore. But secondary cancer is still a real possibility. And honestly? That used to feel like the scariest thing in the world, but now I feel like it can't possibly be worse than what I'm already living."
~0~
Natasha purposefully didn't tell any of the Avengers that she was moving until it was only a week and a half away. She knew they'd try to plan a going away party if they had the time, and she didn't want them to make a fuss. So, she took away any chance they had at planning and executing one. The only person who knew about the job in Houston beforehand was Kate.
She should've expected she wouldn't get away with it easily. Most of her friends told her they would've liked to know sooner so they could've thrown her a party, and no matter how many times Natasha said she didn't want one, they didn't really listen. They always celebrated special occasions, but she didn't want this moving halfway across the country for a new job to seem like a special occasion or she'd grow sad about it. Pretending it was nothing important helped her stifle the part of her brain chanting, "Your life's never going to be the same again, you're leaving behind everything you know."
Besides, it was nothing she'd never done before. The transition from New York to Texas at this stage of her life was bound to be easier than the transition from Russia to New York with zero English skills and near-terminal leukemia. In fact, whenever Natasha hesitated about anything, worrying about its difficulty or her ability to handle it, she compared it to those first days at Gravesen. It made everything else so much less scary.
Though there was no big going away party, Natasha still made sure to visit everybody. She wished Wanda good luck with the rest of her pregnancy and the birth of the twins, encouraged Nick to keep climbing the ranks at SHIELD, made Bruce and Parker promise to continue to send adorable toddler videos, and assured Bucky that he could make Russian food as good as hers if he just put his mind to it.
"That's bullshit. Nothing I make is ever gonna taste like yours," he contested. Her visit with him lasted far longer than anyone else's. Natasha refused to think of it as a last visit—mostly because it wasn't—but it would still be a difficult transition not to drive up here every Monday. For both her and for Bucky.
"I'm not even a particularly good cook. A little bit of practice and you'll catch up to me."
"Cooking has never been my strong suit. Steve always did the complicated dinners. When it was my turn to cook, it was always breakfast for dinner or plain grilled chicken and steamed vegetables."
"Honestly? I think that's more than most men your age know how to cook."
"Yeah, I know. But I'm still going to complain about it because I can."
"That's fair enough. You know I will still check in on you, right? I might not be able to physically visit every week, but we can still talk."
"I know I'll still get to talk to you, Nat, but you can't bring a man food every week and not expect some backlash when you take that away from him."
She laughed a deep and satisfying laugh. "I'm gonna miss you so much." Natasha had promised herself she wouldn't say anything like that because it felt too much like a forever goodbye kind of statement, but with Bucky she just couldn't help herself. No amount of phone calls could replace what they'd built over the past year. She was going to miss those two-hour drives here and back, knowing that all that time stuck in traffic was worth it for the distraction she'd be providing Bucky—and herself—from the gnawing abyss of grief.
Bucky refused to let her leave without a hug. Natasha fought back tears throughout, and luckily won. There was nothing quite like a Bucky hug. Steve once told her that Bucky somehow got better at hugs after he lost his arm. She didn't have the knowledge to compare the two, but she could confirm that he was amazing at hugs.
Packing up her apartment didn't take all that long, with Kate's help. After living at Gravesen for months with none of her own belongings except what fit inside two suitcases, she'd retained a minimalist nature. All of it fit neatly in her car without much hassle.
"Show 'em who's boss," Kate told her.
"I think I'll show them I'm a good employee first, but I'll keep that in mind," she replied.
"How many hours of true crime podcasts did you download for this?"
"Thirty, just in case there's traffic."
Kate clapped her on the shoulder. "Nice."
The road trip consisted of over twenty-five hours of driving, which Natasha decided to split into three days for safety. Kate helped her plan the route and book the hotels and everything. Hopefully, Hawkeye would forgive her for making him spend that many hours in his carrier. Having never embarked on such a long solo road trip, Natasha was nervous but excited. Between podcasts and calling her family and friends on the phone, she passed the time pretty easily. Hawkeye only started to complain on day three, and Natasha appeased him with plenty of treats once they arrived at their destination. She had barely a day to move in before reporting to the hospital for her first day on the job.
Immediately, she fell in love with the patient population. She got to shadow one of the senior nurses and get introduced to all the people she'd be working with on both sides of the bed, as they said. Natasha got the lay of the land very quickly, as her superior noted. "I've always been a fast learner," she remarked. Among those things that she quickly learned was that, while most of the nurses got along beautifully, the charge nurse was the kind of person you didn't dare step out of line in front of. And she had a very loose definition of stepping outside of line. She wanted things done a certain way, even if Natasha's years of experience as a patient and a nurse told her there might be a better way.
Every job has its shortcomings, she told herself, and tried to focus on everything she loved about this place. In such a big city, the patients and their families came from diverse backgrounds, giving her a great opportunity to utilize her language skills. Natasha got to use her German, Chinese, and Russian in her first two weeks on the job, and nothing made her happier than watching the parents' eyes light up when they realized they wouldn't need to struggle with a foreign language or work through a translator app to understand what was happening with their child and communicate their concerns.
It was worth it to be so far away from her family to see that look of relief as often as she did. Back at her old hospital, she was lucky to see it once a month. Still, it stung to see Bucky and Kate and everybody only on a little screen instead of in real life. Natasha missed hugs. She was already counting down to her first trip back to New York.
~0~
Nick got the call the second week of August. They had a group of dogs who just graduated from training, ready to meet potential partners. He'd already told his boss that he might need time off on short notice when he got the call from Guide Dogs for the Blind, so it was relatively painless to call in say that he had to go. Depending on how things went, he could be in California from anywhere from days to two weeks.
Nick packed his bags with enough for two weeks, in the hopes that things would go well, and got Dawn to agree to drive him to the airport. "Should I buy a blanket to throw over that backseat so you don't get dog hair all over in on the way back?" she asked.
"I don't know for sure that I'll be coming home with a dog," he said.
"Probably a good idea just in case. Are you excited?"
"Hell yeah."
The trip through the airport only reminded him why he wanted a guide dog in the first place. Dynamic crowds existed in almost every area he walked through, and only some of them recognized his white cane and knew to keep out from under him. He did find signs in Braille, but most of them were for bathrooms. Nick always reserved asking for guidance from sighted people as a last resort, but in this case he had to swallow his pride and admit he needed it.
The person behind the desk was overly cheerful and offered to walk him to his gate. Nick graciously accepted. Though the woman was kind and patient, she had clearly never guided before, and Nick had to gently remind her not to pull at his arm. Overall, the experience was neither traumatizing nor comforting. Nick's disability meant he boarded first, and he settled into his seat—an aisle seat, since windows offered him nothing.
He kept his ears out for people wanting to sit next to him so he could stand up and allow them to pass. The plane soon filled with the sounds of suitcases clunking in overhead compartments and voices talking about everything from layover times to family drama. "Hello. I've got the seat next to you," someone said. It sounded like an older woman.
"Okay." Nick stood up and let her shuffle into the middle seat before sitting back down.
"Is it really that bright in here?" she asked.
"What?"
"You're wearing sunglasses inside."
"Oh. Yeah. I always wear sunglasses," he said.
"I've never liked talking to people when they wear sunglasses. It's hard to tell if they're even looking at you."
Definitely an older woman then. Only people of a certain age said such things so casually. Nick didn't know whether to bristle or laugh. He never had any idea if people were actually looking at him when they spoke—sometimes he couldn't even tell if they were talking to him, if they neglected to make it obvious. And with or without his sunglasses, he'd never be able to look at this woman. If she didn't like it, she could just stop talking to him. Instead of being surly, he decided to sympathize.
"Yeah, I also have a hard time knowing if people are looking at me."
The woman didn't respond. She was probably looking at him in confusion.
Nick had to ask for help again getting his luggage from the carousel at the airport in California. Once he successfully escaped the airport with all his belongings and his sanity intact, he was driven to the facility by one of their employees. Nick sighed with relief when he arrived and was shown to his room by someone who clearly did have experience guiding the blind. Navigating new places required so much brainpower that it exhausted him.
The next morning, he was introduced to the instructor who would be matching him and the other people at the facility with their dogs. He gave a very similar spiel to what Nick had heard over the phone and read on the website already. Everyone there spent a few minutes getting to know each other. Some of the people in the group were brand new to guide dogs like him, while others were on their second or third dog.
Once they met all the humans in the class for this session, it was time to meet the dogs. Nick's excitement grew as he heard the telltale sound of toenails on hardwood floors. A trainer introduced himself and the dog, a yellow lab named Soren. "Nice to meet you both," Nick said, though in his opinion it was much nicer to meet the dog. Soren was an absolute sweetheart, nestling against his leg and letting him scratch behind her ears. They spent the whole day together, learning the basics of caring for a guide dog and getting familiar with the equipment. Nick and Soren didn't set up for actual guiding until day two, and that's when the problem presented itself.
Nick never noticed people's height anymore, except for the select group that he occasionally hugged. In that same vein, he never really thought about his own height either. Other people told him he was tall, but it only ever really mattered when he hit his head on things. And apparently now, when his stature meant he took long strides. Soren didn't walk fast enough to keep up with his walking pace. Neither did any of the other dogs that hadn't already been matched to other people. Nick was crushed.
"Don't take this as an omen that you will never get matched," they assured him. "Lots of people come here for the first time and don't leave with a dog. We want to make sure we pair you with a dog that will suit your needs to the best of our ability."
Nick hoped that day came sooner rather than later.
~0~
Bucky hadn't cut his hair in over a year. He didn't remember the last time he went to the barber, but it must've been before Steve got sick. Now, it reached his shoulders, easily as long as it had been before cancer took it all. For a long time, he liked not recognizing himself in the mirror. Between the long hair and thick beard, he looked nothing like he used to, which was good because he felt nothing like he used to. However, Bucky couldn't tie it up with one hand, and soccer practice in the summer heat grew miserable. It was time for a change.
He made an appointment with a new barber, because he was terrified of being recognized at the place he and Steve used to frequent and being asked about his husband. "What are we looking to do today?" a gruff old man asked him when he sat down in the chair.
"Just buzz it all," Bucky said. He wanted to shave it close to the skull and start over.
The man nodded grimly and got to work. Bucky kept his eyes closed through most of the process. Last time a person shaved his head, that person was Steve, in Bucky's bedroom on Thanksgiving Day. He spent the duration of the haircut reliving that memory. As far as reasons to shave his head, losing it to chemo was better than this. These locks of hair had grown with him through the hardest fucking year of his life, and he wanted them gone.
He nearly cried when he looked in the mirror for the first time. Without curtains of hair framing it, his face looked thinner than before, his cheekbones hollower. "What do you think?" the man asked.
"I love it."
Bucky went home and shaved his face clean for the first time in ages. The weight of grief remained heavy in his heart, but at least his head was no longer laden with it.