The man with the gloves [bucky barnes ff]

27

TW FOR THIS CHAPTER: su!c!de (I'll put a trigger warning just before the scene as well)
-
Bucky's POV

"What is this place?" Her eyes widen as she analyses every corner of the shop. Everything is rusty, old and most of the furniture hasn't been renewed since the 40s but it's still a nice store. I knew she'd love it.

"It used to be a hangout for veterans, back then." I explain to her, trying my very best not to accidentally mention me being one of those veterans. "My grandfather told me that back in World War Two whenever they got home from military camp they all met here, talked about their experiences, blowed off some steam."

"It must've been comforting to talk to others with the same experiences and traumas." She mumbles and greets the elderly women at the counter.

The store isn't really big. There are about four shelves of books and between them there are little round tables and chairs where you can sit and order a café or something else to drink. "Back then it wasn't a book store. It started to become one after the war when people were so poor that they needed to sell everything they owned. The owner of the store used to love reading so she bought it from them. And then slowly her collection became bigger and bigger until she turned this place into a book store."

"So all of those books are from the 40s?"

"Most of them. Those two shelves are. You can only lend those or read them here." I point at the two shelves at the very front. "But the ones on the other shelves are free to take."

"Take? You mean buy?"

"No, take. You take one book, and leave another. It doesn't matter what sort, if it has blemishes, if it's broken, has water damage whatsoever. Every book is worth something. I don't know, but I like that idea." I smile at her and smile even more when I notice how mesmerised she is by everything. Whenever she smiles she has those small dimples, they are not very obvious so you couldn't possibly see them if you aren't paying attention, but they are there.

"I like that idea, too." She walks towards the shelves with the older books and reads the covers before taking one out. "Have you been here before?"

"A couple of times. When I was... younger."

"Ever left a book?" She asks, flicking through the pages.

When I see what book she's holding, I silently laugh. "Jane Austen? Really?"

"Hey, I like her books regardless of the fact that we have the same last name." She opposes, before putting it back and looking at the other books.

"No, I never left a book." I lie, scanning the shelf, and taking the book I was looking for. "But my grandfather did. Here."
I gave that book to Lydia, that was the owner's name, when I was eleven; before I went to military camp. It was the only thing that I had left from my parents and the only thing I didn't want to sell so my sister could afford going to boarding school. I gave it to Lydia, knowing that she'd keep it safe and I told her that I'd get it back after serving.

"What kind of book is that?"

"Grimms' Fairy Tales." I answer. "It was my favourite book as a child."

She opens the first page and her head instantly shoots to my direction. "You know German?"

I nod.

"You're lying."

"No, I am not."

"No way, oh my God. What other language do you speak?" She wonders.

"I understand Russian, Romanian and a bit of Japanese, too." I worked for Hydra, so I picked up a few things from each language.