"Can't you just tell me how I should dress this time so I know for sure?" Bellamy asked Bucky as she frantically left her closet to find him waiting patiently in the living room. The first weekend of June had come, the second date here, and she was just as flustered as last time.
"You say that like you wore the wrong thing last time." He teased, casually tossing an orange in the air before he began to peel it, and raised an eyebrow. "Alright, alright, well…do you even own anything casual?"
"Ha, ha, Barnes." He was dressed in jeans and a black t-shirt, with a long-sleeved flannel—all new additions thanks to the McGraths. He still wore his baseball cap and would no doubt look very casual and fit right in with the crowds if it weren't for the glove he wore over his left hand.
He refused to give any information as to where they were going, but getting on the subway heading towards Brooklyn, she was able to figure it out on her own.
"It's a nice day for Coney Island," she commented nonchalantly beside him, watching the corners of his mouth turn up. "Should have worn a swimsuit underneath, perhaps." She was dressed in denim capris and a breezy tank top, with white boat shoes that Bucky had not shut up about. They both wore sunglasses and she knew no one would be able to recognize the man beside her. They especially wouldn't be able to recognize her, she almost didn't.
"We can always skinny-dip." He only seemed to say it to see the reaction on her face, and it worked; she jerked her head in his direction and earned a laugh in response. "Couldn't help myself. It's great. When I think of summer, I think of the boardwalk, and Nathan's hotdogs, and Luna Park." They both seemed to ignore another thing, another person, who should have been on that list.
As soon as they exited the subway station, it was more than obvious they were near the ocean. The famous sight of the upcoming rides flanked by the beach was something she'd seen many times, but never in person. Walking inside was almost anti-climactic for all the hype that surrounded it, but when she looked at Bucky, she could see great nostalgia in his eyes as he took in the sight of everything. She wondered how much had changed and guessed that much hadn't.
"So...you like roller coasters?" Bucky asked beside her, a smile beginning to grow on his face as he looked at one thing. Bellamy followed his gaze towards the Cyclone. It was impossible to ignore. Bellamy inspected the structure with caution.
"Well, hmm, I wouldn't really know." Bucky eyed her skeptically.
"You don't know if you like roller coasters?"
"I've never been on one. I've never even been here."
"What?" He scoffed. "Are you kidding me? You live in New York, you're from here, and you've never been to Coney Island?" She rolled her eyes. "Did you ever have fun before any of this?"
"Did you ever have anyone to tease before me?"
"Steve." He answered. "But that's the thing; only I was allowed to do it." Half of the playful banter had disappeared at the mention of his name. Bellamy slowed her walk, and Bucky slowed beside her.
"You know…I never really had a best friend growing up. It's nice that you had Steve to come here with, and I really appreciate you bringing me here. I know I'm not Steve, but…"
"Right now, there's no one else I'd want here. I have those memories with Steve, but it's time for new ones." He told her. "You do know I'm only messing around with you though, right?"
"Yes. But I mean, you're not wrong. I can't believe I've never been here either." But then she could, she never belonged at a place like this before in her blazers and S.H.I.E.L.D. badge. Bucky offered her the start of an encouraging smile, along with his arm.
"Better late than never. C'mon, let's go find out. You're not coming to Coney Island and leaving without riding the Cyclone."
"I'm beginning to second guess this." Bellamy mumbled, her voice sounding small—herself feeling small—as they got strapped into the cushioned seats of the Cyclone. It was an odd contradiction, feeling so comfortable and yet trapped, like preparing for death in the most luxurious way. Somehow Bucky kept his metal hand in his pocket with only one hand gripping the bar across their laps.
"You got nothing to worry about." She grimaced at him as the ride was sent into motion out to a sharp right turn.
"…How old is this ride again?" Her fear was doubling at an incredible rate as the ride crept upwards towards its first drop, and visions of being thrown from the car filled her head, along with the news headlines; woman dies riding the Cyclone for the first time in her life. Trying to settle herself came in an absurd form of mental gymnastics, reasoning that perhaps Bucky had enough strength in his arm to catch her from flying out.
"About as old as me," Bucky answered with a creeping smile. Bellamy blinked at him, and he sent a grin her way. "Hold on tight, darling." The drop was somehow still unexpected and cut off any reply she had, turning it to a scream. The rushing twists and drops never paused and the ride on its original wooden structure was a rough and bumpy one. The turns would throw her straight into Bucky with a whipping force, and she screamed more than she ever had in her entire life.
"Does anyone want to ride again?" The operator asked as they pulled back into the station. Bellamy was already shaking her head, eagerly waiting to get out, and Bucky laughed beside her.
"See, that wasn't so bad. It was fun, right? You're still breathing." He commentated nonchalantly as they got off. She followed him with weak knees and a turning stomach, and he laughed at her.
"Okay, so I don't think I like roller coasters."
"Hm. That's a shame. That new ride they just opened looks pretty neat." She looked in the direction he was staring towards the Thunderbolt. You could hear the screams from a distance.
"Can we…can we not?" She asked beside him feebly, and he laughed and offered his arm towards her, which she took again and used to keep herself steady. "Let's stay away from rides named after severe weather terminology."
"Sure thing. How about you pick then?"
Maybe she was just trying to get payback for whatever reason, but she picked the carousel next. Of course, they couldn't just not ride it, she reasoned; halfway having a ball wasn't going to cut it, after-all. Seeing him on an embellished pink and white horse looking quite large and out of place was more than worth it and as she laughed beside him on a green and white adorned one, his horse's partner, her spirit felt more alive than it had ever been in her life. A part of her wondered if maybe she was always supposed to be this person.
Walking together through the park with her hand in Bucky's like teenagers attached at the hip, she wondered if she had never met him would it feel like something was missing in her life? Would she have even allowed herself to realize it? The thought of never stumbling into this mess, this happy accident, in her life made her grip his hand tighter.
They rode the Brooklyn Flyer, the Seaside Swing, bought hot dogs at Nathan's, and even went back to ride more. Bucky teased her for liking "kiddie rides" but praised her for being able to ride them, since Steve apparently couldn't handle much of anything despite how hard he tried. The longer they spent there, she was beginning to see the hype about it. Coney Island seemed like the perfect place for lovers, for dreamers, to just get lost at the seaside spectacle.
The sun was beginning its descent and the lights of the rides were beginning to come on, changing the entire atmosphere like pulling open the curtains in a dark room. The air was more electric. They continued walking hand in hand, only looking, but after passing a booth with stuffed animals and a rambling carny salesman, Bucky stopped her and pulled her back.
"Answer the call, answer the challenge, just ring-a-bottle. Who's gonna be the big winner, step right up!" The man behind the ring toss booth was calling as Bucky pulled out cash from his pocket and handed it over. "Alright son, got 3 shots. Let's see what you can do." Despite being enhanced and good at many things, he couldn't get any rings around a bottle.
"Bummer," Bellamy commented beside him. He sent her a raised eyebrow.
"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't know you were the expert, city girl." She smirked at him with her arms crossed.
"If you're trying to challenge me, it's not working." He raised his hands in the air.
"Pardon me, of course, I forgot—you're not too keen for fun." Bellamy huffed.
"Oh, alright. Fine." They paid for another game and Bellamy took the rings, carefully focusing on the bottles. The first one hit the neck of a bottle and bounced off. Bucky tsked beside her. "Zip it, Barnes." She tossed the second one and it landed with the same fate. The last one she tossed actually landed around the neck of a bottle and she was perhaps more surprised than Bucky. "I did it!" She exclaimed, meeting Bucky's equally surprised face.
The man wasn't as surprised and only wore an expression of mild interest.
"You need more than one to win a prize, but congrats." He said. Bellamy's smile evaporated. Bucky suddenly looked angry beside her and stepped in front of her to talk to the man.
"Hey, wise guy, that's no fair—she got one. She deserves a prize."
"Well, why don't you win her one, Romeo?" Bucky frowned, but began pulling more cash from his pocket.
"Bucky, no, the games just rigged. It's okay." She tried to stop him, to no avail. This time he too only tossed one successful ring. He pulled out more cash. "Really, it's not worth it." With a determined shake of his head, he took the three rings once more.
"I'm winning you that goddamn bear." She covered her mouth to laugh as he concentrated intensely. This time, he successful tossed all three.
"Third time's the charm, kid. Congrats." The man said almost uneventfully as he unhooked a medium sized white bear with a pink ribbon and handed it to Bucky. "For your beautiful gal." The man's tone was almost mocking, but Bucky ignored him and wore a proud smile as he handed it to her.
She was so touched at the juvenile gesture, it felt so silly, she felt silly—she couldn't stop giggling as she took the bear.
"I cannot believe you." She mumbled, though she grinned up at him. He smiled back and draped his arm over her shoulders. "That was entirely unnecessary."
"Nah." He disagreed, smiling down. "Like the man said. For my beautiful gal." He stared back at her for a second, his now visible eyes shining, and she took a longer look at him. It all felt okay suddenly, better than okay. It was perfect. It was him. Bellamy leaned up on her tiptoes so she could kiss his cheek. He almost froze in place, and she took the opportunity to go straight back to banter.
"I've never seen you look so ridiculous." He snorted at her.
"Okay, you were the one with your tongue sticking out, at least I won." He teased back.
"After three tries!"
It was much busier now with the dark sky playing a backdrop to the dizzying lights. Bellamy and Bucky were walking along the boardwalk leisurely, but she couldn't ignore the lights and sight of the steadily spinning Wonder Wheel. It was grand and she just couldn't tear her eyes away.
"…Can we go on the Wonder Wheel?" Bellamy blurted out, earning a look of surprise from Bucky, before he gave her a grin.
"Getting brave, huh?"
"It's now or never…right?" His smile softened, and he agreed with a nod before he led her to the huge attraction with a hand on her back.
"I wonder why it's called Deno's Wonder Wheel now." Bucky said as they waited in line. The man scanning the tickets looked up.
"You never heard the story?" He asked, chewing gum. The two of them shook their heads. "Denos was a World War II cook. He got back and worked pushcarts and stuff, and then operated a restaurant on the boardwalk. Loved this place, especially the big wheel. He'd tell his wife, Lula, one day he was gonna buy her this here wheel as a wedding present, the biggest ring he could imagine, so that everyone could see how much he loved her. He bought it back in the 80's. Now it's a landmark."
"That's incredible." Bellamy marveled beside Bucky, who was now looking up at the ride more fondly.
"You're in for a real treat, the two of ya. Swinging or stationary car? Want excitement, get the swinging. Want a nice scenic view, get the stationary."
"Stationary." Bucky said, sending her a side-glance and a smile of sorts. "Maybe we'll save the swinging for another time."
"Sure thing, enjoy the ride." They were closed inside the car, sitting side by side. As they were sent into motion, Bellamy immediately peered out the side and watched as all the people and booths and lit up rides grew farther away.
"Being here, it almost feels like nothing ever changed." Bucky murmured from beside her, his soft voice more prominent with them suspended up in the air. "I can pretend I just got back from the war. That I just won a huge teddy bear for the most gorgeous girl, that I'm the luckiest guy in the world."
"Well," she spoke up lightly. "You're not the only one. And I don't think I'm pretending anymore, so that might make me worse off than you." He locked eyes on her, looking between her eyes. "I've never felt like this in my entire life." He took in a deep breath.
"Me neither," he admitted. He continued to search her eyes, and she felt his hand over her shoulder tighten against her. "Bellamy, how do you really feel about me?" Her heart was thudding in her chest, she could hear it in her ears over the sound of everything else. Her own words relayed in her head like some ominous foreshadowing. It's now or never.
Flashes of everything that had happened her life filled her head, from their first skirmish in her apartment, standing in the shower with their clothes on, volunteering, the coffee shop, to the rooftop in various shades of night and day. The last image was of him, sprawled out beside her on her bed as she read poems to him. Him waking the next morning, exasperated and confused as to why she let him sleep in her bed, insisting she deserved it more than him. How he told her she should be a writer, how he just seemed to think the world of her, always.
Bellamy didn't know anything about writing poems, but she knew one big rule in writing was showing, not telling. And she knew she could try to explain the way her heart always tried to escape her chest when their hands were tied together, or she could show him and it would explain it better than she ever could with words.
Her eyes now searched the both of his, darting between them and down, towards his lips. They were drifting upwards in the car towards the sky in their own world, and she was leaning in towards him, closer and closer. She watched his eyes change like TV channels, widening in realization, looking at her lips, a million questions swirling in them, before acceptance filled them. Then, longing, then nothing as they fluttered shut. She could feel his lips against hers, the lightest touch, like a feather ghosting over her skin, before the car came to a jerk and stop, forcing their eyes open and faces apart.
They were directly on top of the wheel, paused, and the moment was gone. Bellamy cursed in her head as Bucky turned away from her, his eyebrows furrowed. He removed his arm from around her shoulders and she cleared her throat, looking out the cart in the opposite direction, crestfallen and lips tingling.
"How long can this go on," Bucky murmured after a moment when they were back in motion, looking out the car. Bellamy swallowed. "At some point, Bellamy, we're going to have to face reality, you know. I'm a fugitive." He chuckled bitterly without any humor, is expression darkening.
"Well, that's not tonight." She told him, maybe out of her own stubbornness.
"Bellamy…" He began, but she shook her head desperately. He stopped himself, and then he nodded back to her, offering her a small apologetic smile that couldn't quite form. "Okay." He reached over and took her hand in his normal one, but she still couldn't forget what had almost happened.
Bucky squeezed her hand and she managed a small smile at the feeling, turning to look out towards the deep indigo colored night sky. Her thoughts drifted to thinking maybe in some alternate universe she had watched the same sky grow dark with a lighter heart and the lingering taste of a kiss on her lips.
"This view is incredible," she mused as they began to climb back down, pausing and rocking as it came to another stop. "You can see everything up here." They were moving again. Bucky's hand had slipped from hers, and she glanced back to him curiously, to find him frowning. "Bucky?"
Now their car came to a stop and they were supposed to get off, but he looked to be paralyzed.
"Bucky—" Bellamy began, only to get cut off by loud booming noises. The both of them jumped, and she looked around with growing alarm. There were fireworks over at the beach, drawing a huge crowd. When she turned back worriedly to Bucky, he was pushing past her and running. "Bucky, wait!" The fireworks drowned out her voice and she was forced to run after him blindly. Panic was building inside her as she pushed through the thick throng of people; if she lost him here it'd be impossible to find him.
The boardwalk was full of people, of lights, of sounds, of smells. A child crying over candy, multiple children running, a man smoking a cigarette, loud music playing, the smell of popcorn. Boom! Boom! The fireworks were the guitar solo in the convoluted scene before her.
The utter relief that washed over her at the sight of Bucky a little ways away from her was only momentary—he was frozen and staring at something she couldn't pinpoint, his eyes horrified and chest heaving as though he were having trouble breathing.
"Bucky," she called out gently as she came to a stop a little ways behind him, trying to catch her breath. He didn't turn. Nervously, she stepped in front of him, trying to intercept his vision. He only stared past her unseeingly, his head jerking as a firework fizzed. She was too late; he was trapped, triggered by something around them. Beads of sweat were forming near the top of his forehead, and he was entirely short of breath, starting to pant. "Bucky, can you hear me? Just talk to me, tell me what's wrong."
"I...I…" There were too many things around them going on, too many people. His eyes shut and his jaw clenched as the finale of the fireworks seemingly took place, exploding one after another after another. Down the boardwalk, if she could get him there, was an abandoned quiet bench.
"Here, Bucky, take my hand. I'm right here." He clutched her hand with ferocious strength and she winced as she began to lead him away, struggling with a large bear in her other arm, trying her hardest to find a clear path. "You're going to be alright, okay?" She told him, trying to give him something he could focus on. He gave no indication he'd heard and his breathing had gotten worse to the point that his grip was weakening on her hand and he was trailing behind. Pausing, she took his arm and put it around her shoulders again, her own arm struggling to wrap around his frame and continue to pull him towards the bench they were so close to.
When she got him there, she dropped the bear and helped him sit down before kneeling in front of him. There was a sheen of sweat on his face now.
"Bucky, I know you feel like whatever you're seeing is real right now, but it's not. You're not there, you're here with me. You're here with me." He gasped as if he were resurfacing from drowning before his eyes glued to her wildly. "Bucky, tell me what you see. Tell me exactly what you're seeing in front of you right now, and breathe." He blinked a few times before his eyes slowly peeled away from her, moving behind her head.
"There's…there's the pier. And, the water. The moon. And, and, the rides."
"What else? Do you see that empty water bottle over there in the sand?" He turned to the right where she pointed and nodded stiffly. "Now look at me. Do you see me?" He focused on her again and nodded after a moment, still trying to get into a natural rhythm of breathing. She opened her palms upwards towards him, and after a moment, he placed his own hands in hers, gripping them tightly again.
"I see you." He answered, starting to sound more like himself. The fireworks had stopped, and they heard clapping in the distance.
"Just breathe, okay? You're here with me right now. I'm right here. I'm right here." She said, squeezing his hands gently. She listened and waited patiently, until he was breathing correctly. "What do you need to do, what do you need right now?"
"I need to get out of here." He replied, and she nodded.
"Okay. I'll get you back. I promise. Come on," she helped him stand and placed her arm behind his back again. As they began walking, he placed his arm around her shoulders for the third time that night, and they likely appeared like an easy-going couple, tired out and content with a prize bear after a fun weekend date, but that couldn't have been farther from the truth. It didn't matter; all the mattered was getting him back someplace that felt safe.
"I can't…" his words faltered as he shook his head, frowning painfully at the ground. "I can't believe this happened. Again."
"Don't do that, Bucky." She told him sternly. "It's okay."
"We were having a nice time…"
"Stop. This is not your fault, okay? You have nothing to feel guilty about." He only sighed harshly. She never let go of his frame, not until they were on the subway and heading back. Bucky immediately buried his face in his hands, and Bellamy nervously held onto the bear, watching him with heavy concern.
Back at her apartment, Bucky merely said he didn't want to go in. She followed him silently up to the roof; he didn't tell her not to follow him, but he never invited her either. Up there, underneath the moonlight, he walked closer to the ledge and leaned his elbows on it, looking down towards the street. She stood a little ways behind him, glancing up towards the moon.
Bucky was brooding, likely lost in all the blame, losing himself in shame. It wasn't anything he hadn't gone through before, but she didn't want him to keep suffering in this way. She didn't want him to think this was still his fault, least of all that he was alone.
And so, Bellamy ghosted towards him like a creeping shadow, reaching his side and staring at his face as she reached out and placed her hand over his metal one. He looked down at her with what she could only describe as pain, and her hand over his suddenly wasn't enough.
She scooted closer to him and slid her hand behind his back just as she had earlier, but this time, she locked her other arm in front of him and clasped her hands together, her head resting against his chest as she hugged his frame tightly. His heart pounded steadily beside her ear, and she could feel him hesitating, before he placed his arm around her. They stood like that, him listening to the sounds of New York, her listening to his heart.
Time started to drift away, and she looked up at him, wondering his state of mind. He returned her look, before he wordlessly dropped his arm. Suddenly his hand was on her waist, both of his hands, and he was lifting her up to sit her on the ledge, as easily as if he were lifting a doll and placing it on a shelf. He leaned his elbows back on the ledge beside her leg, his head resting against her arm, staring back down wordlessly to the streets below while she faced the moon, but focused instead entirely on him beside her.
"Don't beat yourself up, Bucky." She murmured hoarsely, breaking their non-talking streak. With her opposite hand, she reached over and patted the top of his head. "Please. You've done so well these past months. I mean, your path to getting to where you want to be isn't going to be linear." He only blinked calmly.
"I know." His nonchalant reply scared her, the decided silence and lack of argument. Maybe it was progress, but she only wanted him to be completely honest in that moment. Hash out whatever he was feeling, even the ugly thoughts. She just wanted to help him.
"What are you thinking right now?" She pleaded. He finally looked at her.
"I'm thinking…that I don't know what I ever did to deserve the company of someone like you." Though she was caught off guard, she knew even if he was thinking that, there was something else there in his mind that he wasn't telling her. He wasn't admitting it. Still, she opened her arm out to him.
"You're just you, that's exactly it." She told him. "And I'm not leaving you up here alone." He accepted her invitation and walked into her, letting her wrap her arm around his neck while he placed his around her waist. It was a hug, or so she thought, until he proceeded to lift her up again and place her back on the ground, letting go.
"We'll go back together. It's been a long day, you need your rest." He told her, but wouldn't look at her.
Back in her apartment, she couldn't ignore the rising dread she felt in her stomach and walked over to sit on the sofa.
"I'm not really tired yet." Bellamy lied as she grabbed The Flamethrower. She'd never taken this long to finish a book before, but what with everything she had been doing, suddenly life was more interesting. Bucky said nothing as he sat beside her, sitting and staring blankly at his notebook pages.
Soon, the words were blurring on the page, her eyelids were closing against her will, and at some point she drifted to sleep.
Bucky knew Bellamy was undoubtedly exhausted. It didn't take her long at all to fall asleep beside him, book in hand, head lolled against the armrest of the sofa. He watched her for a moment, amazed but not at all surprised, before he took the book gently out of her hands.
When he had first found her asleep that night after dancing, his heart seemed to swell and he fell asleep beside her, watching how evenly her breathing was. Now, his heart felt like it was slowly splintering. Reluctantly, he stood and lifted her carefully up in his arms. She only sighed peacefully, not stirring once.
She still didn't move as he took off her boat shoes with a half-hearted smile, and pulled the cover over her body, tucking it around her chin. He took a moment to gaze at her, to look at the empty spot beside her, before he left her room.
On the way back out towards the living room, the study seemed to demand attention like the many rides they'd seen that night, and he was acutely aware now of the graduation picture that was no longer hanging on the wall. In the living room, the feeling followed, with the broken TV being the only thing he could look at other than the broken painting. None of it would ever be the same, because of him, not even her Grandmother's armchair that he had fixed. He had destroyed so much, and even though he had fixed some, he felt selfish for wanting to stay in between the same four walls as her.
Bucky took his notebook, now nearly full after many sleepless nights, and skimmed through the first few pages of memories, of his teenage summers and some moments of war, until he was at the back of the notebook. He had separated it out, the first section all coming from the before memories of his life, and the back section being the after. He didn't want to forget any of it.
He let himself read over a few of the last entries, stretching on the roof with her, pancakes for breakfast, building a puzzle of the statue of liberty with her. Bellamy was always her on these pages, she was the only her that mattered. Finally, he turned to the next empty page and scribbled down Coney Island with her. That was all he could write, the pen shaking in his hand, before he continued on.
I'm starting to think fate wants to keep us apart. Something good happens and I lose myself again. It's like a horrible shock collar, it reminds me what I am. I was stupid to think I deserved her love, that it could change anything about me. If I'm only capable of destruction, of being a weapon, a solider, then I'll be hers. I'll be her hell, her rage, her revenge.
The pen came to a stop. He stared at the words, his eyes closing, before he forced his hand to roughly flip through the pages to the last page of the notebook, a blank one. He knew this time he had to write something, but he couldn't make his hand move. With a harsh exhale, he pushed the notebook away and stood from the sofa, his head turning back to look down the hallway towards her bedroom.
With silent steps, he walked back, and stood at her doorframe, checking to be sure she was still asleep. She was, as peaceful as ever, unaware entirely in the eye of the tumultuous hurricane he was causing.
He silenced the storm in his head, just for a moment, and walked closer to her, kneeling down beside her bed and resting his chin against the mattress to gaze indulgently up at her sleeping face. Only in this state was her youth really revealed, all the serious lines smoothed out and sharp blue eyes hidden away. He stayed admiring her soft face unapologetically, desperately trying to etch her face into his head, wishing he could somehow sketch her likeness to a page in his notebook like Steve could.
Her golden brown hair cascaded into curls around her face, and as gently as he could, he reached his fingers out to stroke the silky strands back and away from her face. How misleading, he thought, for someone so steely to be made so soft. He froze as she stirred, letting out a peaceful hmm, turning her head directly towards him. He waited for the moment her eyes would open and catch him there, but they never did. Her breathing continued undisturbed, hitting his face every time she exhaled.
They were so close, for the second time that night. Suddenly he was back in the car on top of the Wonder Wheel, before the moment cigarette smoke hit his noise and dragged him back to HYDRA. He determinedly kept those thoughts from his mind and focused on the image of Bellamy, of her leaning towards him so bravely, of the way her eyelids had flickered shut, at the way her lips touched his just barely, but not enough.
It's now or never, she had said. She had also been the one to tell him they chose their lives, that he had no one else to tell him what do anymore. He stared at her face longer, feeling himself leaning closer, knowing he could lean in more and bring the sensation back to life. She would awake with his lips pressed against hers, and maybe she would kiss him back. Drape her arms around his neck and pull him closer. But behind his closed eyelids, he only saw her terrified face when he woke her from her nightmares, he could only hear her begging for mercy, he could only see her tear-stained face and wondered how many of those tears had fallen before he even knew her and yet had still caused. He held his breath and pulled back, feeling like he was suffocating as he stood.
On the nightstand was the Charles Bukowski book, along with a photograph, no the photograph. The only one of them that existed. It had been taken by Flora a Tuesday not too long ago, when they met the couple to tell them of the Broadway show.
"I'm no expert, but I can take a nice picture of the two of you. Smile!" Flora had encouraged, and with a flash came a little picture right out of the camera instantly. He was taken back at the sight of the colored image, there with her flashing an easy pearly smile beside him, and him struggling to smile, but trying. For her. He picked both the book and photograph up and hurried out of her room before he got swallowed in another wave.
The softness was gone, the harshness was back and his resolve came with it as he snatched up his notebook again and tore out the empty page. Now, the pen wouldn't stop moving as he furiously wrote, and wrote. When he finished, he didn't read it and instead went to her hallway closet where he had seen an empty backpack.
Bucky grabbed his cap and the notebook, sticking it inside the backpack with all the clothes he had. Lastly, carefully, he tucked the only picture of them away in the backpack.
He looked around the room, fixing the image of it into his head one last time before he started for the door, resisting the urge to stop by her room one more time. He knew if she were awake, if she saw him ready to leave and pleaded with him to stay every ounce of his resolve would crumble, and he would admit how he was starting to fall in love with her.
Admitting that wasn't going to help her. He didn't have anything to offer her worth having, she deserved something more than him. He had to walk out, he had to set her free and give her a real chance at a peaceful life and the opportunity to find herself. Maybe even happiness.
So he slipped out the door and didn't look back, even though he felt a growing sensation of panic filling his chest, like he had been divided and left something behind. Forgive me, forgive me, he begged as he marched on, for broken antiques and gravestones, and for everything he wasn't brave enough to be.
A/N: This was a long one, so thank you all so much for reading and please review!