16. Ghosts
Dear Bucky,
I'm not an emotional man. Never have been. Emotions showed weakness, at least that's what my education on the streets of Brooklyn taught me. You remember what I was like when my mom died. I think you cried more than I did.
These last few months have been like the Cyclone going on in my heart and my head. I'm trying to make friends, trying to make a life, but it's hard. Sometimes I feel like I'm out of my mind. The other day the nurse across the hall came out with her laundry as I was coming back from SHIELD HQ and we both stopped and stared. She was wearing scrubs and clogs (which is what I guess nurses wear these days) and holding her basket, and her hair was down and for a moment I thought about my mother. The nurse wasn't upset or annoyed, and she seemed to know me more than a casual neighbor should, and I just kind of stared before apologizing and ducking back into my apartment.
And then this morning Natasha came by my my office at SHIELD HQ and asked if I had plans for lunch. I asked what she was up to. She said it was nothing. I didn't believe her, and when I called her bluff she didn't deny it. I get wary of Natasha because she's a spy and she's so secretive; but by the same token, she never pretends she's not a secretive spy gathering intel with every breath she takes, so I guess I can respect that.
Remember when we were kids and used to love going to the museum? Washington is great for museums. Part of being the nation's capital and all that. Natasha said the Smithsonian has a great cafe, and I'm always up for eating (gotta love the super soldier metabolism), so I went with her. What she didn't tell me was that the curated a new exhibit all about me.
I didn't expect any of it, Buck. I didn't really think what it would be like to see those faces again: Dum Dum and Monty, Gabe and Jim…
They got some old newsreel footage of us, too.
Tears are strange. They come from nowhere, no matter how hard you try to hold them back. Your eyes get hot and then wet and your throat starts to close up. You stand there blinking, clenching your jaw and your fists and hoping that controlling all of those parts of yourself helps you control the flow of tears building up. You breathe.
So I just watched and breathed. It was that time we were making plans to take out the Hydra camp in Greece, I think. I made some god-awful joke about the Greek gods and goddesses. You laughed and shook your head and told me to leave comedy to the bears. That was one of the few times you'd smiled since I rescued you. It was one of the few times you ever really smiled after that. Whatever Zola had done to you left you a different person. I never held it against you, and I still don't. I just want you to know that I noticed. You weren't alone, even if you never wanted to talk about it. I guess I just have to get that out for my own peace of mind. Not that it really matters to you anymore.
It was like watching a ghost, Buck. It was like Scrooge seeing the shadows of his past: so alive, so obvious, so clear, but so unable to do anything.
But worse than any of that was looking over at Natasha. I was hoping she wouldn't have noticed me on the verge of tears.
She was pale and her face expressionless. Even when she's aiming for no expression, she has some sort of expression. She caught me glancing at her and I watched her face change. "Your friend had a nice smile," she told me.
"I used to tell some really awful jokes," I told her.
"Used to?" she asked me, and we rushed through the rest of the exhibit. She didn't even want a latte from the cafe after. Natasha always wants a latte. She told me she was cutting back on caffeine. I'm not sure I believe her. We headed back to work, and she was back to chatting about any and everything, while not really saying anything at all.
Saw the blonde nurse again when I got home. She was bringing up groceries. I helped her; that's the gentlemanly thing to do, right? When I got inside I caught a glimpse of myself in a mirror and I had that same look like Natasha had at the museum. Like I'd seen a ghost.
Coming back has been hard. But I think it would have been easier if people stopped trying to remind me of my past.
Haunted,
Steve