"I'm sorry…"
It's nearly dark. Hardly anyone comes out to this cemetery anymore. The last burial here was over 30 years ago. He's alone with three worn slabs of stone.
The last hints of sunlight are just fading into long purple shadows over the ground. If not for the city's lights, he imagines the stars would be emerging soon.
"First it was Tim, then Dad... then me…" He scrubs a hand roughly over his face, hearing his own voice breaking. "You just couldn't catch a break, could you?"
The wind picks up and he thinks it may rain soon. He doesn't much care if it does.
"Worst part is, I don't even remember your face anymore. I don't remember what your voice sounded like… what color your eyes were. You're just… a blur. ...And you damned well deserved better than that."
He kneels down in front of the stone, setting a couple of envelopes and a handful of lilies over the weathered plaque. They half cover the faded words. Loving Wife and Mother still shows dimly in the dying light.
"Steve drew somethin' for you." He says softly, leaning back on his heels. "I don't know what it is, he didn't show me." He swallows the lump in his throat. "And...I found a picture of us from when I was still… me. Before I … before I left. Thought you might wanna have it."
It's only a Xerox copy from an old history book, back when people outside of museums still cared about Bucky Barnes. It's nothing, and he knows it.
He feels stupid talking to the air as if this woman he no longer knows will somehow hear, but he knows Sam would approve. That keeps him talking.
"It's dumb… I remember you always liked lilies, but I couldn't'a said what your name was to save my life." He sniffles loudly, rubbing his sleeve across his face. "I feel like I just lost somebody, but I can't remember who… and you've been dead for 50-some years." He sinks back against the cool ground as the first drops begin to fall, head in his hands. "It's the stupidest thing." He says around the tears.
He takes the long way back the borrowed car. Walks the dark streets like he never left them, though everything has changed since he saw them last. He finds himself standing in front of the dirty old shell of what had once been a dirty old apartment building.
Had once been home.
He counts the windows, ignoring the broken glass and missing panes.
Three across, two down. That had been his bedroom once. Now it is a burned out ruin.
He turns and keeps walking.
Steve is waiting for him at the car. He's paid his own silent respects to his parents many times. There's little new for him to say to them these days.
One look at Bucky's face tells him not to ask. They climb in in silence. The radio music feels garish and unwelcome, so he switches it off. Bucky curls into himself in the seat, fixated on a random spot on the dashboard.
Steve drives. They don't talk.
I did warn you it would be a little dark.
Next chapter should be less heavy.
