Steve nodded to the SHIELD agent assigned to watch over Bucky's room, indicating he was relieved from his duty. The low ranking operative nodded back and headed off as Steve let himself into the room and sighed. Today marked two weeks since the procedure. Fourteen days.
It felt more like fourteen years.
His chair was waiting for him. He had been by to visit Bucky every day, and had long given up on sliding the uncomfortable chair back into the corner. No one else was coming. He sat down, and pulled out the book he had tucked under his arm. It was an old, battered copy of "Orphans of the Sky," by Robert Heinlein. He flipped to the page he had ended with yesterday, and began to read.
Several chapters later, he closed the book with a sigh and set it on the table. He folded his hands under his chin, and rested his elbows on the stiff hospital bed where Bucky lay. He looked peaceful, which was a tiny comfort to Steve considering how difficult things had been after his reclamation by SHIELD.
Why did he keep ended up here? Watching over the sleeping, weak bodies of those he cared the most about.
Thirteen months ago, he had been reading and watching over Peggy like this. Watching her frail body slip away; surrounding by children and grandchildren; all who were thankfully accommodating to having her old boyfriend hover around. She passed quietly in her sleep, and Steve couldn't help but regret that they never once got the chance to have that dance.
Perhaps that was the curse of being forever trapped in a young man's body. Despite the world having aged around him, Steve sometimes had to remind himself that even discounting the years he spent in the ice, he was barely over thirty. But he felt so much older. He had seen the world completely change; he had seen war and loss and betrayal to degrees most people would never have the opportunity to. He had loved, and lost, and died, and resurrected. And he showed no outward signs that his body was aging, at least not to the degree someone who had been through as much as he had.
He was usually thankful. He knew he was truly unique among humanity; it allowed him to face down foes and protect the country. After all, if he hadn't come out of the ice, he would have never found Bucky again.
Bucky.
He looked over his face. The nursing team Pepper set up had been doing well to keep him clean shaven and bathed. He did truly look peaceful, and Steve dared think, almost happy. Steve had watched him as he slept before the procedure; even in sleep his eyes darted behind his closed lids, and he often cried or screamed or winced while he dreamed. Unspeakable nightmares that Steve could only guess at, as Bucky had refused to talk about them. But the words he would utter... it couldn't have been pleasant.
Steve found himself regretting all the things he didn't say when Bucky went into the chair. Perhaps it was simply machismo, or the awkwardness of having Tony and Bruce hovering around when they spoke to each other. But the reality that Steve might have said his last words to Bucky was killing him inside. He did the same thing with Peggy. Making a date he knew he couldn't keep instead of having to face the reality that he was about to die. He should have told her he loved her.
And now Bucky. Bucky who had looked after him when he was just a skinny, sick kid from Brooklyn. He could have been like all the other big kids - calling him a fairy and pushing him around. Their words sometimes hit harder than their fists, but regardless of the assaults, Bucky was there to look out for him. He never fully understood why. Bucky was popular and handsome and favored by all the ladies. The only thing he ever got for being Steve's friend was a few rude remarks about Steve being his 'girlfriend.' But regardless of his motivations, Steve was always so thankful.
Knowing Bucky would be there to back him up gave him the courage to keep fighting. Perhaps without Bucky there giving him confidence, he would have learned to run instead of fight back. His dogged stubbornness was infectious. It was Bucky's influence that gave Steve the will to apply for enlistment five times, as much as Bucky probably didn't want to take credit for that one.
Yes, he wanted to serve his country. But he also didn't want to be left alone. He didn't want to be left alone in Bucky's tiny one room apartment. He didn't want to have to fill his days wondering if Bucky was alive or dead as he fought a war Steve desperately wanted to join. He wanted to fight. For his country. For what was right. And he wanted to know Bucky was going to be there, back to back with him, making sure he came out of it ok.
Taking a deep breath, Steve reached over and took Bucky's right hand. It was warm, but rough with callouses from decades of weapon handling and injuries. "You're going to come back, right?" Steve found himself asking, his voice thick with emotion.
He squeezed his hand, closing his eyes and praying. He prayed over him everyday. He silently begged God to bring Bucky back to him; that Bucky deserved to be happy and to live a life free of the horrors he had seen.
Sometimes, Steve even prayed that if Bucky wasn't going to come back to him that God would at least take him. Take him peacefully and let him rest by His side and wait until the day he could see him again.
But this. This waiting. This purgatory. It was tearing him up.
"It will be worth it," Steve said to Bucky. Mentally, he figured the lug was just being stubborn. "It will be just like the old days. Tony's going to be holding another Stark Expo, soon. Wouldn't that be fun? I'll even set up the dates this time. There's this nice girl named Lillian. She has a lip-ring, but I figure maybe you'd be into that." He forced himself to smile.
"Or just the two of us. Whose gonna say anything? Right? I can see you now, just daring them to say something. Give to give you a reason to kick their ass in. Don't lie, Bucky, I know you liked getting in fights sometimes. I don't think it was me who liked getting punched." He knew it was stupid, but a part of him was still disappointed when Bucky didn't answer.
His smile faded, and he let go of his hand. He looked at the clock and tried to convince himself he wasn't needed elsewhere. "I'll see you tomorrow, buddy," he said, reluctantly as he rose. Before he left, he made sure the blanket was straight and his hair was out of his face. Just in case.