Hello lovely humans! Here is part 5 :)
Stay safe out there xx
oOoOo
[-Bucky-]
Steve was still fighting.
The pale green and yellow rim around his eye had mostly faded, but it was noticeable enough.
As was the way that other than a slight sunburn on his nose, he was paler than he should be. And skinnier, his cheeks thinned and his eyes dull.
The idiot was not taking care of himself.
Eliza knocked her hand against his. "How do you think that went?" she asked, eyes on their footsteps as they walked side by side down the path, Chips nestled in his other arm. The sun was golden and heavy, sinking gently into the horizon.
Bucky sighed and looked down at her. "Could have gone better," he admitted quietly.
"What happened? I thought you said you'd thought of things to ask him about."
Bucky grimaced guiltily.
He had. He had done nothing but think of what he could say to Steve ever since Eliza had looked at him point blank one hundred and seventy hours ago and said, "you are going to see Steve at least once, Bucky. I can't stand either of your sad puppy dog eyes following me around any longer. It's driving me nuts" and had left the room before Bucky could protest.
He had written them down in careful letters in his notebook.
Are you my friend?
Are you really a bad dancer?
What colours makes you smile?
Nothing had seemed quite adequate, though, when he was sitting so close to him, close enough to reach out and touch if he let himself. Stevie: so similar and yet so different from what the voice whispered to him.
Were you going to let me kill you?
Did I love you?
Did you…?
But he had not been prepared for the guilt.
Heavy and sudden and crushing, it had landed on top of him and reminded him that he was the Asset, fist of HYDRA. He was not Steve's Bucky.
Not anymore.
"I was not ready," was all he could come up with to explain the squeezing in his chest.
Eliza grabbed his hand. "I'm sorry for pushing."
Bucky shook his head, silently disagreeing. "I had to try."
"Will you try again?"
Bucky looked down at the crushed petals under their feet. He thought of Steve's sad eyes, hunched shoulders, distracted gaze. Thought of the prickling heat that pushed against the backs of his eyes when Steve had said Bucky, like it was something his soul wanted him to remember.
"I do not know."
[-]
It was not hard to find where Steve was living.
It was an old brick house, narrow and small, with a neat front lawn and a small patch of plants in a garden bed: herbs, vegetables, and succulents.
Bucky believed that to be an interesting mix of plant life to cohabitate one spot.
This apparently did not occur to Steve, as he always appeared either in the early mornings or just as the sun was setting to generously water the vegetables and prick his finger on the same spiky cactus- as though surprised each time to find that yes, the spikes hurt- and did not seem confused in the least by the gardening choices that had been made (though his shoulders slumped a little and he always looked down the street with a distant gaze, like he was searching for someone who was not there).
The lettuces, Bucky had noticed, were in a very satisfying colour order.
The voice whispered that that probably had something to do with Steve and his stupid (brilliant) art brain.
There were also two more individuals staying with him in the house: the Widow and the Falcon.
Bucky remembered sending the Falcon off the side of a hellicarrier, his wing wrenched off in his metal hand. He had felt a knot in his stomach untwist slightly when he first observed him alive (though status: injured- side incision, 40 cm long; struggling to walk and sleep). He was, as far as Bucky could ascertain, non-threatening to Steve. Especially in his weakened state.
The Widow, on the other hand, was a very serious threat.
But she smiled at Steve as often as the Falcon did, her guard let down and easy. Bucky also knew she was on Steve's team and had fought with him against the Asset on the bridge, so he did not think that she would harm him willingly.
He had watched her take down armed men with nothing but a small knife and a smirk, and it made him feel better to know that someone so dangerous was defending Steve when he could not be there.
Because he should not be there.
He looked through the window again and saw Steve curled up on the couch with a mug of coffee, wrapped in Bucky's bright blue oodie. Just like yesterday.
(Bucky had not added the house to his regular surveillance route. That would be being bad. And he was trying to be good.)
He watched Steve sigh and flick his gaze towards the window. His heart clenched, and he turned away before he could get caught.
He was not following Steve.
He was just… making sure that Steve's shed was as safe as Bucky's. Steve needed to stay warm.
That was all.
[-]
Rain was thudding against the windows, a constant drone, and Bucky decided that it was a good day to make Katherine's new orange and poppyseed muffins.
He would make them for the old lady across the road, Janice, who sometimes waved at him when he walked Chips.
He would make them for Sarah and for Jake.
He would give some to Katherine and Miles, so that she could see how the recipe went.
He would leave a couple for Eliza and Aiden (and Chips).
Bucky nodded to himself, rising to his feet, and walking to the kitchen. "A good idea," he muttered determinedly.
He methodically pulled out all the mixing bowls and ingredients he would need, running his finger carefully down the back of the old receipt that had the recipe scribbled across it.
Flour, eggs, oranges, caster sugar…
He lined the ingredients up in the correct order on the benchtop, frowning in concentration as he sifted and stirred and dolloped.
Then he folded himself onto the floor in front of the oven and watched as they rose in the yellow light, eyes transfixed, waiting for the sugar to harden and the waft of oranges to fill the room.
[-]
Note to Bucky: orange and poppyseed muffins- delicious.
If a Tupperware container of six ended up on Steve's front porch, it was not Bucky who had left them there.
(Stevie needed to eat more.)
[-]
The spider was mesmerisingly accurate in its measurement of silk, weaving back and forth between two branches, sunlight catching the subtle shimmer of the growing web.
Bucky lay his head back down into the tall grass and picked another daisy near his face, threading it into the small chain to complete the loop. He draped it gently over Chips' head, where she lay stretched out and sunning beside him. Her ears twitched once, twice, then she closed her eye and rested her chin back on her paws, too lazy to care.
Bucky smiled at her before picking another daisy to start a new chain for himself.
Late spring had announced its arrival with sweet air and a warm change that set the mornings less frosty, and the sun lingering a few more moments before its farewell in the evenings. The trees were already starting to lose blossoms, green cluttering branches and making everything look at once overgrown.
Bucky ran his flesh hand lightly across the tops of the blades of grass at his side, and then paused to break a couple and bring them to his nose, breathing in the vibrant smell. He thought he might never get sick of all the smells the Earth had. He did not think he had had so many to explore while he was with HYDRA. The Sleep did not smell like anything. And his room had only smelt like urine.
Bucky thought this was much nicer, and he caught himself hoping that Steve had ventured outside into his own backyard on such a lovely smelling day.
Not that he would know if Steve was outside or not. Because he was not supposed to be following Steve. And today, he was being good.
But he also knew that Steve had not left the house, except to water his plants, yesterday.
Nor the day before that.
But he would not know about today.
And it would stay like that.
He frowned down at the crushed daisies between his fingers.
It would.
[-]
Katherine looked delighted at the heaping box of muffins he brought to her front door, smiling wide and eyes glittering in excitement.
She waved him inside and sat him down and pushed a cup of tea into his hands and told him to tell her of any improvements to the recipe he had made.
Bucky blinked in silence for a few moments, collecting his thoughts, before giving her a proper and thorough run-down of his experience.
Quarter of a cup less flour.
A heaping spoon of brown sugar.
Extra orange zest.
They made another batch of thirty-six muffins in her bright, sunny kitchen that afternoon, before Katherine had to leave for the hospital. The house smelt of oranges and joy, and even Miles grinned and laughed at the flour all over Bucky's face as he bit into a still-steaming cake.
After cleaning the kitchen and setting everything back to perfect (so that Katherine did not have to worry about dishes and work and Miles), Bucky carefully packed a container for Steve and the Falcon and the Widow to drop off during surveillance the next day.
(He had not seen Steve today. He thought he was doing quite well, really.)
There were twelve, this time.
[-]
The characters in his book walked a lot.
Bucky wondered why they did not just take the flying creatures all the way to the place where they could destroy the ring.
The journey seemed, considering this, vaguely pointless.
But Bucky thought it was thrilling, anyway, and he read chapter after chapter after chapter by the light of the small lamp in his shed, casting a small warm glow that wrapped him up and took him away, away, away.
[-]
Eliza was looking at him suspiciously.
"What have I done?" Bucky asked, unsure, as he passed her a cup of tea and sat on the couch beside her.
They were watching Finding Nemo, and Bucky very much liked the shark. He hoped Eliza would not stop the movie because he had done something wrong.
"What haven't you done?" she responded, scoffing slightly, and smiling into her cup of tea. "A certain highly confused and distraught looking blonde dropped in to my café today. Any thoughts?"
Bucky kept his eyes on the frozen image of Bruce. "…No."
Bucky could feel Eliza's eyebrow raise.
"He's missing you," she said lightly, pressing play on the controller.
Bucky sipped from his own mug and squeezed a cushion to his chest to cover the ache that gaped there suddenly.
"Did he get my muffins?" he asked quietly.
Eliza sighed, smiling in exasperation and fondness. She leant against his shoulder. "He sure did."
[-]
"What are you doing, Bucky?" Aiden asked, face scrunched in confusion.
Bucky backed hurriedly away from Aiden's closet, dropping the hat and scarf onto the floor behind him.
Aiden looked at the scattered items pointedly.
"Nothing," Bucky said, stoic.
"Sure," Aiden drawled, eyes narrowing. "I'll leave you to it, then."
Bucky let himself release his breath only when Aiden left the room, and then dropped into a crouch to gather the fallen mission items. The scarf was thick enough to cover the lower part of his face when he wrapped it around, and the hat would do for tucking up most of-
"There's sunglasses on the dresser, if you want them, too," Aiden smirked, poking his head back inside without warning.
Bucky startled upright and nearly got his footing tangled in the jumpers from the upended drawer that were strewn at his feet. He glared as Aiden chuckled.
"I might even be able to dig up some fairy wings, if you're real lucky."
Bucky crossed his arms over his chest and tried to look unimpressed. Aiden just grinned and knocked his hand against the doorway twice before waltzing away, singing a tune quietly under his breath.
I do believe in fairies, I do! I do!
Bucky blinked.
He did not know that Aiden believed in fairies.
He thought of Peter and Wendy and Neverland and the second star to the right, outside his window.
Maybe he should.
It warranted more investigation later. But for now, there was a mission.
The Falcon had recovered enough to walk, and had been doing slow laps of the park routinely.
Without Steve.
Bucky tucked the scarf and hat under his jumper, and at the last second, snatched the sunglasses from Aiden's dresser, too. Then he snuck through the house, out the back door and jumped the fence onto the street. He wrapped the scarf around his neck and pulled it over his mouth, and tucked his long hair up into the cap. The sunglasses made everything look dark, which was not optimal, so he hooked them into the front of his shirt for later.
It took him ten minutes to slink through suburbia to the park near Steve's house, and he picked a tree that had adequate leaf cover and swung himself up amongst the taller branches to wait.
He would confront the Falcon. Warn him to watch Steve's six the next time they were called in to fight, because Steve was clearly not good at protecting himself (neither was the Falcon. See: exhibit A injury. But someone was better than no one when it came to Steve.) And, with his disguise, the Falcon would not know it was Bucky, so he would not tell Steve.
He might also ask him what was with the succulents and the herbs and the vegetables. If he got the time.
Through a small gap in the green, Bucky observed the Falcon walk painfully slowly down the path, limping a little to favour his right side.
Twenty seconds behind estimated time of arrival.
He looked determined, a grim set to his jaw, but he was clearly still recovering, and the walk was draining his energy. It was probably for this reason, Bucky thought, that the Falcon barely flinched when he dropped silently out of the tree right as he walked beneath him.
The Falcon stopped walking, looked at Bucky with his scarf and his hat and now his sunglasses, and blinked. Once. Twice. Three times.
"Hey Barnes," his voice was warm, but edged with a wince, more likely to do with his injury than with Bucky himself.
The sunglasses did not work, then. Noted.
"Falcon," he responded flatly.
"Fancy seeing you here on this lovely day."
Bucky tilted his head slightly to the side, eyes darting past the Falcon to observe the vast array of green grass and icy blue sky, white clouds stretched across like a splash of paint.
"It is," he agreed, frowning. It was lovely. But that was not why he was here. "Steve is with you."
The Falcon's eyebrows raised high on his forehead. "Not right now, he's not."
Bucky huffed and rolled his eyes because, yes. Clearly.
The Falcon blinked again, looking like he wanted to be shocked, but couldn't quite muster the energy required. "Steve knows you're in D.C, doesn't he?"
"I saw him twenty-seven days ago," Bucky affirmed. (And almost every day since, but the Falcon did not need to know that.)
The Falcon shook his head wryly. "Makes sense that he suddenly wanted to stay put."
Bucky did not know what that meant, but he charged on with the Important Things.
"You fight."
The Falcon raised a questioning brow. "Sometimes."
"With Steve, I mean. You fight with Steve."
The Falcon suddenly looked a little more wary. "Not against him, I don't."
Bucky realised that the Falcon thought he was going to hurt him because he thought he was fighting against Steve. He rolled his eyes again. Stupid Avengers.
"You are an Avenger," Bucky clarified. "With Steve."
The Falcon relaxed infinitesimally. "Oh. That's kind of classified, but yes."
Bucky nodded. "Steve is stupid."
"Excuse me?" The Falcon's eyes were wide.
"Steve is stupid," Bucky repeated, wondering if the Falcon was also stupid. "He needs someone to watch his six. He is reckless."
"Oh," the Falcon fell quiet a moment. He licked his lip thoughtfully. "Well, you're not wrong there."
"You will watch his six," Bucky insisted.
"I'm not exactly fit to be in combat right now," the Falcon huffed around a laugh, gesturing to his side.
Bucky nodded. He knew. "Then Steve does not fight until you are recovered."
"Good luck convincing Steve of that. What will you do if I don't agree?" he narrowed an eye.
Bucky took in a quick breath. He did not want to threaten the bird man, but he would if he had to. "I was hoping that you would do it because you are Steve's friend."
The Falcon nodded slowly, musing this over. "Okay, Barnes. Okay. I'll do it. I'll make sure I watch his six."
Bucky released his breath. Nodded. "Thank you."
"Steve hasn't mentioned seeing you. Did you ask him to keep it a secret?"
Bucky scrunched his eyebrows in confusion. "No." Steve probably did not tell his friends about Bucky because he had realised that Bucky was not his Bucky. His chest ached a little.
Ignore.
"But do not tell him you saw me today."
"Why not? He's been miserable. And it makes a whole lot more sense, now."
Bucky did not want Steve to be miserable. He thought the more he left Steve alone, the quicker he would feel better again. "Do not tell him," he repeated sternly.
The Falcon held up his good arm in surrender. "Alright, alright, I won't meddle."
Bucky felt his shoulders relax slightly and loosened his stance. He also took off the sunglasses because they had not worked, and they made everything look a little bit off. He and the Falcon were standing facing each other, and Bucky was not sure what to do next. Sarah was always moving, flittering around, and saving him from feeling awkwardly rooted to the spot. This man did no such thing.
He was just about to turn and leave silently when the Falcon held a hand out towards him. "My name is Sam, by the way."
Bucky looked at the hand. Oh.
He knew how to do this.
"I'm Bucky, pleased to meet you," he smiled slightly and shook Sam's hand firmly.
Sam looked confused. But no cats were hissing, so he did not think he had done anything wrong.
"I will go now," he announced. "I need to feed my cat."
That did not look like it lessened Sam's confusion any.
"Wait," Sam said before Bucky could turn. "Do you have a safe place to go?"
Bucky nodded. "Yes."
Sam frowned a little. "Okay, good. Hey, if you ever need to talk about anything… anything at all, you can talk to me."
Bucky was not sure why Sam would offer his time to Bucky when he was Steve's friend, but his brown eyes were kind and a little bit worried and they reminded him of Aiden, so he thought that he would not mind talking to Sam.
Sam was too close to Steve to risk it, though.
"Maybe," was what he settled on, before turning and jogging off quietly down the path.
It was one minute past Chips' lunch time, and he had run out of cat food.
[-]
The fluorescent lights lit up the many, many brands to choose from, colourful and organised and in stark contrast to the dreary grey floor.
Bucky squinted at the ingredients list on the back of a box of tuna cans, and finding nothing that looked too suspicious, added it to his basket and wandered across an aisle to find more flour and sugar.
Cinnamon.
He also needed cinnamon.
The young boy at the checkout grinned brightly as he unpacked Bucky's basket and scanned the items through. Bucky was not sure if he was supposed to grin back, so settled for a smallish tilt of his lips.
"Twenty-six fifty, please," he said brightly when the last item had made the high beeping noise. It reminded Bucky of something, but he could not put his finger on it, only that it set his teeth a little on edge and made him cringe against a non-existent pain.
Bucky dug out a fifty dollar note and handed it over.
"Thanks!" the boy's smile was so wide Bucky worried it would split his face in half.
"You are happy," Bucky noticed.
The boy's smile softened a little in embarrassment. "It's a nice day," he shrugged, looking flushed.
Bucky did not like how he had made the boy become shy. He had liked seeing him happy; it made him feel lighter. "It is a lovely day," he agreed earnestly, hoping to bring the grin back.
The boy laughed a little. "Enjoy the sunshine." He handed Bucky's items and his change over in a paper bag and Bucky nodded, promising that he would, and walked out the sliding doors.
It was another lovely day, summer creeping slowly, slowly closer.
Bucky walked down the street, trying to make himself smaller in the crowd as he weaved through groups of loitering shoppers. Chips would be very hungry by now, so he hastened his feet a little, doing his best not to knock into anyone walking in the other direction.
He was almost at the end of the strip of shops when he heard it.
Bright chords, a lilting melody, the feeling of breathing in, and breathing out with the rise and fall of a song.
It was.
It was beautiful.
Bucky paused his steps and looked around, arrested and spellbound. His eyes felt hot in a sudden and overwhelming rush, like he was about to cry, but that did not make sense.
There.
A man, old, with white hair and a face lined with deep grooves, pushed and pulled at an instrument in his lap, fingers dancing across buttons on the side.
An accordion, the voice whispered.
The man pulled the instrument apart, filling the bellows, and Bucky felt his breath draw in. Then he pushed, changed the chord.
Out.
Bucky took a few steps closer, and situated himself behind a wide pole, just out of the man's line of sight. Not that it looked like the man would see him, even if he were to stand right before him. His eyes were closed, and his mouth was twisted in a strange wistful sort of smile, his head tilted as though he were listening to a melody that was not the one he was drawing into being. Bucky thought maybe he was playing along with someone that no one else could hear.
He leaned his weight forward against the pole a little, eyes wide and wet and fixed. A tear fell down his cheek and he quickly swiped it away.
He felt…
His heart was thudding, but not in the way it did when he was scared. It just felt full, heavy and slow, like when he had read Jo's poem in Little Women and did not know what to do with all the emotions that were far too large to fit inside of him.
He hummed a little, picking up the tune and feeling it reverberate deeply in his chest; watched the old man's face, relaxed and weathered and very lived in. He looked like he could play forever.
Maybe he would.
Another tear fell.
Inside he felt…
Stillness.
He felt still. Roiling and rushing and overwhelming, but underneath it, like a deep sea, a stillness. An absence of something in his gut that he had not realised he had been carrying around until it was quiet. Quiet.
He closed his eyes, breathed in deep. The voice said listen, listen, listen.
[-]
The tell-tale sound of the accordion told Bucky that his Pa was home.
He smiled, feeling cold air flow through the gap where his front tooth used to be as he sucked in an excited breath.
"Pa!" he yelled, running down the stairs.
Pa smiled warmly, pulling and pushing the accordion in his lap, already leading into a jaunty tune that filled the walls and tangled with the sun filtering through the lace on the windows.
"Little James," Pa sung, his voice warm, rich, full of love.
"I'm not little," Bucky frowned, crossing his arms, even as his feet jittered with the need to dance along.
"Big, grown-up James," his father sung through a laugh, grinning widely.
Bucky nodded. That was better.
The music trailed up a scale and fell again, the beat steady and sure.
Bucky bounced on his toes. "Ma!" he called. "Ma!"
Ma poked her head into the living room, a dusting of flour was on her forehead and her hair was loosely braided. Bucky thought she was the most beautiful woman in all the world.
"Ma!" he ran to her, throwing his arms around her legs and looking up at her face. "Dance?"
Ma laughed loudly, crouching down to tap him gently on the nose with her finger. "I would be honoured, James."
He put his bare feet on top of her shoes and rested one hand around her waist, the other gripping her hand, and she waltzed him around and around and around and Bucky laughed until he thought there was no breath left in his body.
The accordion rose and fell, and rose and fell, and breathed in and out, in and out. And Bucky imagined it was playing to all the world, and that all the world was singing back.
[-]
Bucky watched and watched and watched the man until the jangle of coins landing in the hat at his feet stopped coming, and the street quietened down in the lull before the night rush.
The paper bag was gripped tight in his fingers, grounding him to now, but his eyes were seeing a different man, a different smile, hearing a different voice.
Pa.
How had he forgotten Pa?
He wanted to reach out and grab the wisps of music floating past him, tuck them into his chest where they would be safe.
"We could make believe I love you,
Only make believe that you love me..."
[-]
Chips was not pleased.
Mrow.
"Sorry, Chips," Bucky murmured, crouching down to run his hand along her soft back. "But I bought your favourite tuna."
She blinked her eye and walked away, tail straight up and indignant.
Bucky huffed. Dramatic.
Just like Steve.
[-]
It was another week before the media showed up like cockroaches, scuttering along the streets in a mass of cameras and notepads, crowding the doorway where Eliza stood, hands on her hips and a deep frown on her face.
"You are blocking customers from coming in," Bucky heard her tell one of the reporters. "Please, can you leave?"
"Reported sighting of Captain America, currently declared a fugitive, frequenting this very spot! Right in our Capital. This is the first anyone has seen of him since the war against the robots that devastated New York-"
Bucky glared at the back of the talking head. He felt like he wanted to crumple the camera the man was talking to in his metal fist, but he thought that would not be a person thing to do, so he refrained.
Just.
"-The once-loved hero has turned to the dark side, Karen, and it is not looking good for him-"
Bucky spun away, leaving the café and a grumpy looking Eliza behind him.
He would check on her later.
Right now, he needed to find Steve. Why do they want you, Stevie?
People were stopping all down the street, craning their necks to have a look at the commotion. Bucky slid through them without knocking anyone over as best he could, breaking into a run when the crowds thinned towards the edges.
He sprinted along the train lines, taking shortcuts through parks and backyards (and stuttering apologies to affronted looking dogs) until a familiar brick house with a small garden bed came into view.
Bucky scaled the same tree he always did that gave him a good vantage point of the front window into the living room. He cast his eyes carefully around the area. Up and down the street, along the roofline, behind the bushes. No cameras.
Yet.
He could see Steve inside, absently scratching a pencil against a book, a plate of untouched food beside him.
Bucky frowned.
He settled his back against a branch, drawing his knees to his chest, and balanced with perfect stillness.
The low thrum of cicadas echoing over the dusky purple sky sounded like silence.
It was going to be a long night.
[-]
It was cold, the full moon offering nothing in the way of warmth.
He wanted his blankets.
But he gritted his teeth against the urge to let them chatter and kept watch over the dark house.
[-]
Balancing in the tree with a blanket wrapped around him turned out to be more challenging than he had anticipated.
But Bucky did not want to spend another night in the cold.
Once was plenty.
He sighed.
He needed a new plan.
[-]
"Can you believe them? The audacity!" Eliza scoffed, stirring the scrambled eggs with vigour. "Messing with people's businesses just because Captain America orders a coffee? They've been there all week, the vultures."
Bucky hummed, fingers fiddling with the settings on the new camera he had bought from the tech store. He could not figure out how to link live footage to the small, cheap laptop he had picked up. He squinted back over at the manual.
"And all he's ever done is put his life on the line to help these people. It's outrageous."
"He is a fugitive," Bucky murmured, quietly cursing Steven Grant Rogers and his pension for landing himself in hot water.
"For what!?" Eliza exclaimed, hand and spatula flying, and with them, a splattering of eggs. "Anyone with half a brain could see he's being set up."
Bucky looked up from the manual. "Who would do that?"
Eliza scrunched her nose. "I don't know," she admitted. "But it doesn't take a journalist to figure it out."
Bucky thought of Steve and the goodness that seemed to leak from his pores. She was right. It made much more sense that someone wanted him silenced, and was using a lawsuit to do it.
The thought made Bucky deeply uncomfortable.
Who was after Steve?
He looked back to the camera, flicking through the video settings. Maybe he could not stop people from coming after Steve.
But what he could do was make sure no one got close enough to hurt him.
[-]
Bucky made sure the container of cinnamon donuts (fresh and crispy, and Bucky was maybe a little bit proud of his efforts) was placed neatly on Steve's front porch, before he set to securing the camera in the perfect position.
It took longer than he thought it would to get the perfect frame, and by the time he let himself down from the tree, Sam was standing on the front porch, holding the container in his hands, mouth a little open.
Shit.
Bucky froze, eyes locked with Sam's.
Sam raised a slow hand. "Hey Barnes."
Bucky raised a slow hand back. "Hi Sam."
Sam looked pointedly at the camera sitting innocuously in the tree. "Some might consider that stalking, you know."
Bucky tensed, ready to bolt at any sign that Sam would attack.
"But thank you for the donuts," Sam continued, still in that calm voice. "I'll make sure I don't walk through the house without pants on."
Bucky did not really know what Sam's pants had to do with anything, but he thought it might be one of those privacy things that Eliza kept reminding him about.
People wore clothes.
It was rude to look at people with no clothes on.
Bucky nodded. "That would be best," he told Sam seriously.
"You gonna come inside and say hi?" he asked after a small pause, gesturing with the donuts through the open door behind him.
Bucky shook his head, words evaporating from his tongue. No. No, Steve could not know. Steve was supposed to be forgetting.
Sam shrugged. "Suit yourself." He turned and went back inside, muttering something that sounded like one of these days and relics under his breath.
Bucky watched until the door was fully shut, then slunk away.
Back in the safety of his shed, Bucky connected his laptop to the security camera feed, smiling to himself when it presented an image of the front door and part of the window and a good chunk of the entrance points to the yard.
His view was suddenly obstructed by the Widow's face, close enough that she must be right in front of the camera, up the tree. She tapped a finger against the glass, blacking out his vision momentarily.
"Hey Barnes," she smirked.
Bucky stared back, wondering if she would rip the camera from its place and make him come up with a new plan (he hoped not. He was getting tired of new plans). But she just grinned, catlike and knowing, and gave a small salute before disappearing out of sight.
Bucky sat back, blinking a little in shock.
Maybe both the Widow and Sam thought that Bucky was on Steve's team.
They would be right, but it was a reckless assumption to make, all the same.
What if he was the bad guy?
(He was the bad guy, he reminded himself.)
But his camera stayed put, and Sam kept his pants on, and Steve sat by the window every now and then, half his face cut from the frame, pencil to paper. And the voice would whisper Stevie and Bucky would ignore the ache in the pit of his stomach and focus instead on the details. The line of Steve's jaw, or the scrunch of his eyebrows when he made a mistake and had to look around for the eraser that had been there only moments before. The secret smile in the corner of his lips when he liked something on the page, and the bigger smile when Sam knocked his shoulder and told him some story that had him laughing and shaking his head, shoulders shaking with the force of it.
And, most importantly, Bucky could watch for intruders, wrapped up in his blankets, on his rug, with Chips on his shoulder, gnawing at his ear.
[-]
Another camera was added, this time to the back of the house, covering some of the angles that the first camera missed.
This time, Natasha thanked him for the cream buns he had left, her voice tinny through the cheap speakers of the laptop.
Bucky munched on his own cream bun, thinking he really may have outdone himself.
He would have to tell Katherine.
[-]
The blind over the window was often pulled down, now that the media had been sniffing around town. Bucky though that pulling the blind down was Smart and a Good Thing.
The voice tried to tell him that he missed seeing Steve.
But it was fine.
It was Good.
[-]
Bucky lingered a little longer in the front yard after he had dropped off the fresh pumpkin scones.
He told himself it was because he was curious about how the zucchini plants were coming along, and whether the succulents had been over-watered, and what parsley smelt like (note to Bucky: Good), but the voice told him he was stupid.
The door remained closed, and the blinds stayed shut.
[-]
The collection of short stories about the bear and the pig and the kangaroo gave him a lump in his throat that he could not dislodge, and swallowing only shifted the burn to behind his eyes.
"We'll be friends forever, won't we Pooh?" asked Piglet.
"Even longer," Pooh answered.
Bucky looked at the laptop, the house dark and safe and still.
"Even longer," he whispered quietly to the screen.
[-]
"I saw Steve today," Eliza said, deceptively causal as she crocheted another row of yellow stitches.
Bucky snapped to attention. If Eliza had seen Steve, then that meant that Steve had gone outside. Where it was dangerous.
Stupid man-child.
"Where?" he demanded, then cringed at his harsh tone. "Sorry," he amended softly.
"Not at the café, so you can stop stressing," Eliza smiled at him, graciously ignoring his rude outburst. "I ran into him at the park. He was with that other Avenger guy-"
"Sam."
"Yes," Eliza nodded. "Sam."
"What did they say?" Bucky asked, too curious to not know. He also thought he should check back on his footage. He had not noticed anyone leaving the house.
And that meant that anything could be slipping through the cracks.
Stupid, stupid.
"Well," Eliza shrugged, starting another row of stitches. "Steve thanked me for all the food. Sam pretended to look confused for all of two seconds before Steve told him that he already knew that Sam knew that you were around and leaving food, because apparently, Sam is a terrible liar. Steve introduced me as the-person-that-Bucky-is-taking-over-the-city-with, then Sam said you're a good baker, and Steve asked how you were feeling and if all the food meant that you wanted to see him again. And that was about it."
Bucky held his breath. "What did you tell him?"
"I told him I didn't know," she looked at Bucky pointedly from across the room, and Bucky stood up straighter. That look meant that Eliza was about to say something that he did not like but needed to hear. He did not think he liked that look very much.
"Bucky, I love you, so I'm going to tell you the truth," she started. Paused. Grimaced sympathetically. "You can't keep dragging him along like this. He's expressed wanting to meet you, and be in your life, and he's giving you space, but you need to make a decision. It would be the kind thing to do, to decide, no matter which way it went. He needs to know what you're thinking." She took a deep breath, eyes locked on his so that she knew she had his full attention. "So I'm asking, do you want to see Steve?"
Bucky swallowed nervously and put down the saucepan he was washing.
Yes.
No.
Yes.
"I do not know."
Eliza worried her lip. "I understand that, Bucky. But you keep acting like you do know. And it's confusing Steve. It's not fair on him."
Bucky looked at the floorboards, feeling small and useless and more than a little stupid. He did not mean to confuse Steve. But he did not know how to not confuse Steve. Should he stop making food?
But then what will he eat?
He was not entirely dense; he knew that Steve could make his own food. But it settled something inside him to give him food. To make sure he was eating something that tasted like love and care and made him smile.
He did not realise he was starting to shake until Eliza put down her crocheting and walked over to him, gently leading him to a couch and sitting close beside him. She gripped his hands in hers.
"I know it's the hardest thing," she whispered. "But what could really be so bad about being friends with him again? Help me understand."
Bucky shook his head wordlessly. "It would not be bad for me," he whispered. "It would be bad for Steve."
Eliza furrowed her brow. "Why on earth would that be the case?"
Bucky tried to slip his hands away, but Eliza held them firm, warm and steady.
"I am not who he remembers. So I thought…" he licked his lips, heart thudding in his chest. He thought, he thought, he thought. "I thought it would hurt him less if he forgot."
Bucky had to admit, listening to himself say it loud made it sound strange. He himself had the patchiest of memories- could not even tell when information the voice told him was real or not- and yet even he could not forget Steve. Could not even imagine it, now that he had him back in his mind.
So why did he expect that Steve could forget him so easily?
Maybe it was because he thought he was worth forgetting.
(Are you loved?)
"It sounds silly out loud," he admitted, slumping his shoulders, still shaking slightly.
Eliza wrapped him up in a hug that was exactly the right size. "It doesn't sound silly at all," she murmured. "It's okay to be scared. But I promise, Steve does not want to forget you."
"How do you know?"
Eliza laughed a little against his shoulder. "Because he has a matching set of your puppy dog eyes."
Bucky sighed and squeezed Eliza a little tighter, pulling out all the strength he could from her. "I do not want him to be disappointed. I think it would…" he paused, pain lacing through his stomach. He thought he was staying away from Steve to protect Steve, but really… "I think it would hurt." The tears that fell into Eliza's neck took him by surprise. He squeezed even tighter, trying to hold them back.
"Oh, Bucky," she sighed, carding her fingers gently through his hair. "I know it's a risk. It's always a risk. And it can only be your choice. But I don't think Seve is gonna drop you; I don't think he's gonna walk away."
Bucky let Eliza's words plant a small seed of hope in his gut- small and invisible and so far, worthless, but there, all the same.
He wanted to be like Pooh and Piglet and Christopher Robin. He wanted it to be true that friends could last even longer.
Even longer than the end.
"Do you want to see Steve?" the question was quiet in the still room, after Bucky had stopped shaking and his tears had stopped coming and they had fallen back into the couch cushions, curled up and staring idly out the window at the pinkening sky.
Bucky breathed in the apple scent of Eliza's hair. "Yes," he said, small and barely there. His heart started racing again at just the thought, and he pressed a hand to his chest to slow it down. "But let me do it."
She squeezed his bicep, where her arm was wrapped around his. "Of course."
[-]
Dear Sam,
Please tell Steve to come to the hot chocolate shop at 1400 hours this Wednesday.
Only if he would like to see me. Tell him he does not have to.
Also, your washing is dry. It will rain this afternoon.
From,
Bucky
P.S. the banana bread tastes better when it is toasted.
[-]
Bucky watched anxiously from beside the neighbour's house as Sam picked up the note from his doormat. He glanced his eyes over it and then bent down to pick up the paper bag with the banana bread inside.
"What am I?" Bucky heard him ask the cake. "A telephone?"
[-]
The bell jingled and Bucky straightened, eyes darting to the door.
It was just Isaiah, coming in with the milk order.
Bucky slumped back into his chair and blew out a breath. He glanced at the clock on the wall opposite him.
The large hand ticked slowly past the twelve.
Steve was late.
But he would be here.
"You sure you don't want your drink now?" Jake asked, wiping down the table next to his.
Bucky shook his head. Steve would be here. "No, thank you."
Jake smiled supportively at him, looking towards the door himself. "I'm sure he's just running late," he encouraged.
"Yes," Bucky agreed. He drummed his metal fingers against the table, where Chips tried to pounce on them. She rolled onto her back; his thumb caught between her front paws. Bucky stroked her belly gently as she gnawed on the side of his hand.
"You think he will be here, don't you, Chips?"
Mrow.
Bucky nodded, reassured, and let his eyes wander back to the clock. He breathed in deep. And out. Made a conscious effort to relax his shoulders from where they were winding up towards his ears.
This was maybe-probably-definitely a terrible idea.
Steve did not want to see him.
Steve did not even know who him was.
He rubbed a sweaty palm over his jeans.
In. Out.
Steve has been asking about you, the voice reminded him.
He would be here.
And if he was not, that was fine.
It was fine.
Bucky would keep making food so that Steve could eat something tasting of care, and he would keep watch over the house and chase off the reporters, and he would warn Sam again, just in case he had forgotten his promise. And he would also warn the Widow- though getting too close to her sent a shiver down his spine. Dangerous.
Bucky would be okay if Steve did not come. He had so many people that he liked to see, already. Eliza and Aiden and Sarah and Jake and Katherine and Miles and Janice and Trav.
Steve did not-
He did not-
He did not need to come.
It was fine.
The front door tinkled again as Isaiah left to get more stock from his truck.
Oh, and Isaiah, he added to his list. Though he had never talked to Isaiah, he knew his routine well, and thought that the man was a quiet and determined spirit.
He was always on time.
Steve was three minutes and forty-two seconds late.
Bucky let out a sigh and lay his chin on top of his hands, coming eye level with Chips. Her green eye blinked slowly back at him and she nuzzled her face against his cheek. He scrunched his nose as a smile was drawn unwillingly to his face.
"I love you," he whispered to her.
Meow. He was glad she knew.
He pressed his face into the soft fur on the side of her neck and breathed her in, trying to calm his nerves. It would be fine, it would be fine, it would-
The door jingled again as Isaiah came back, the sound sending an involuntary jolt of anticipation through Bucky's body that had Chips jolting with him.
Footsteps walked across the linoleum, though they did not sound quite right.
He looked up in shock just as the chair across from his was dragged out and a giant blonde super-soldier lowered himself gingerly into it. There was sweat on his forehead and in the hollow of his neck, and his eyes kept dancing from Bucky's face to the rest of the room, as though he could not think of a safe place to look. He was smiling nervously, throat working as he swallowed.
Stevie.
Hi heart thumped in his throat.
Stevie, Stevie, Stevie.
Relief felt warm and true and light. Right in his chest, nestled next to his heart.
He was here.
Steve was still flittering his gaze around nervously, and Bucky watched him wipe sweaty palms on his jeans the exact same way Bucky himself had just done. He felt something tweak inside of him, amusement maybe, something that made him want to smile and tease and tell him you are an idiot.
He took a breath in; it smelt like coffee beans and cocoa powder and sounded like Frank Sinatra over the crackling speakers.
"…Hi," Bucky offered, a tiny thing thrown into the distance across the table.
Steve's eyes stilled, locking on his. His mouth was half-way open. His eyes were blue and hopeful and impossibly pretty.
Bucky watched him let go of the air drawn tight in his lungs. Watched him run his gaze over Bucky's face, his arm, Chips on the table, who was staring up at the newcomer curiously.
And Steve smiled, shaky and wobbly and brand new to the world.
"Hi," he replied.
oOoOoOo
"When you wake up in the morning, Pooh," said Piglet at last, "what's the first thing you say to yourself?"
"What's for breakfast?" said Pooh. "What do you say, Piglet?"
"I say, I wonder what's going to happen exciting today?" said Piglet.
Pooh nodded thoughtfully.
"It's the same thing," he said.
- Winnie the Pooh, A. A Milne
oOoOoOo