14 Thanksgiving

Biggie trigger warning here. This chapter contains explicit mentions and descriptions of suicide. If this is dangerous for you, please proceed with caution. -BB

It happened at Sam's house, when Thursday rolled around and Steve showed up, trailed by friends and carrying a store-bought pumpkin pie. Sam had a large family and he lived by this park with this tiny frozen lake and it looked so innocent. No one would have trusted it with the weight of a man, of course not, but it certainly looked frozen enough. At least around the edges.

But more about the lake later, because this was where Steve brought Sharon to meet Bucky. He prepped her beforehand, making her promise.

"Be kind," Steve said.

"Of course!" Sharon exclaimed.

"I mean it, Sharon. Even if you have to be overly gentle, don't be harsh with him," he said. Sharon frowned at Steve.

"You make it sound like I plan on going in there and interrogating him," she said.

"I'm covering all my bases," Steve replied dryly. "And no mentioning this whole Winter Soldier ordeal, okay? "

"Steve," Sharon said. "I know how to be polite. You don't have to remind me."

"Fine," Steve said, but he still wanted to convey to Sharon how fragile Bucky was, that he deserved to be treated well, but words failed him.

Sam greeted them all warmly at the door and Steve watched to make sure that Bucky was smiling and that he looked comfortable and Natasha had strung her arm through his and was leading him and Steve felt a certain level of relief because he could trust Natasha to help Bucky. Now, Steve just had to wait for Sharon to show up, which wasn't that long, and she came up and smiled at Sam and hugged him and came in and Steve grabbed her quickly and brought her over to where Natasha and Bucky were standing.

The introduction went well. As she had promised, Sharon was polite and kind. She shook Bucky's hand and smiled, told him she'd heard so much about him, and Steve couldn't help but wonder if that didn't hold some sort of double meaning, but as long as Bucky didn't hear the dig, he supposed he could deal with it later. Bucky smiled back, made some comment about Sharon being good to Steve and Sharon laughed and Steve thought for one moment that maybe everything was going to be okay.

And everything was okay, for maybe an hour as everyone ate and talked and got along and Steve noticed Sharon eyeing Bucky sometimes until Steve nudged her, not gently, and hissed, "Stop."

"Just watching," Sharon replied.

"Yeah, cut it out," Steve said back.

Steve realized that day, put it into words in his head, that he could love Sharon except for two things. One was Peggy. And the other was Bucky. The first was his problem and maybe one day, he would stop yearning for her and mourning their lost relationship. He knew it was his issue. But the second was her problem and Steve knew that if Sharon didn't stop blaming Bucky and soon, then this would never work and he wouldn't even try.

The day continued normally until some of Sam's nephews went out behind his house near that frozen lake to throw a football and no one really took much notice until they heard screaming.

The house erupted in fear and people piled outside frantically, and Steve with them, to find the source of the screams and it was growing horrifyingly quiet.

"He fell in, the ice broke," the kids were shouting, pointing, and Steve could see out on the lake, near the edge, a dark spot, a crack, and he was running to it before the kids were even finished telling their story.

Steve hated ice.

He stepped onto the edge carefully and listened for cracking sounds, but there was nothing. He heard Bucky scream his name behind him. Steve stepped gently, with caution, and crouched down near the hole and the cold was like heat in the sense that he could feel it rising up and grabbing at him in thick waves. He felt goosebumps rise on the back of his neck. He was only wearing a windbreaker. He didn't know what he was doing.

Peering over the edge of the crack, Steve could see dark water and he got closer and he could see the outline of a form, someone kicking, hands flailing, and Steve got on his knees and plunged both arms into the water.

Steve sucked in a breath that brought the cold inside him, right into his heart. He remembered cold like this. Cold that froze, that stopped him, that hurt like he was burning to death, stabbing his flesh with the violent, violent cold and he hated it. Steve felt arms, hands, and he grabbed and began to pull. It was harder than Steve expected and he had to forget for a moment about the fragileness of the ice as he hauled the child out of the water and flung him to the ice beside him. Steve could feel the sleeves on his jacket freezing. His hands were bare and they felt as though they had been skinned. He didn't want to take another breath because it brought the ice inside him, but he had to and he shivered and he hated it.

The child next to him scrambled, shaking violently, and began to drag himself to the edge of the lake and Steve began to hear Bucky's screams again, but then, across the lake, just farther than the middle, Steve saw what had brought the child across the lake in the first place. Their football sat there on top of the ice.

Steve didn't know what he was doing.

He stood and held his freezing arms at his sides and peered over his shoulder at Bucky and saw Natasha next to him and Bucky was screaming at him so hard his face was going red and Sharon was standing behind them with her hands over her mouth and Steve looked back forward at the football and he didn't know what he was doing, but he began to walk towards it.

"Steven Grant Rogers!" Bucky roared. "GET BACK HERE!" There was panic in his voice.

Steve thought it was a miracle that he managed to reach the football. He picked it up and heaved it across the lake and then he heard the cracking that he had nearly expected. He looked down and he could see veins splitting across the ice under his feet. He heard Russian across the lake and they definitely were not the words 'yes' or 'good', but Steve couldn't tell what they were beyond that.

He saw the lines appearing under his feet and his first thought was move, but his second thought was, but…

What if I just stood here?

This was the defining moment where suddenly, time slowed down, the world stopped, and everything was, for a brief moment, clear. Steve stood there, staring as the cracks seemed to split too slow in the ice and he waited patiently for them to spread far enough. He considered lifting his foot and driving his heel into it, but he knew he didn't have that kind of time anymore.

Would it be a quick death? He didn't particularly care. He'd died a slow death once before, and he could do it again. After all, he'd served his purpose. It didn't matter anymore.

And this was Steve setting things right. He should have been dead so many decades ago and his living now was on time borrowed. Now, things would be okay and that knowledge lent Steve so much relief, more than he'd felt in years. It was all going to be okay. He almost smiled.

The ice gave way under him quicker than he'd thought it would as time came rushing up to meet him, time and sound and feeling. He was hit with it. It was like he was falling suddenly and his arms went up above his head and he gasped, even though he was expecting it, and the water consumed him.

The cold was unexplainable. He was surrounded in the burning, flesh-peeling cold. He could already feel himself becoming stiff. He couldn't hear the Russian anymore and Steve wondered if maybe he had made a terrible mistake.

There was ice.

There was water over his head and under his feet and all around him.

And Steve was holding his breath.