Saving Steve (Steve Rogers x Reader)

Chapter 52 - Not So Prickly After All

Your legs don't carry you far. Once you reach the end of the hall, rather than going left to the prop room you turn right and slip into a small room you discovered earlier in the week. A small costume shop, cluttered by rack after rack of old dresses, shirts, and other materials. Crates of shoes line the side of the room, and a large sewing table sits against the back wall.

You flip the switch, and that familiar loud buzzing fills the room as a dim yellow overhead light flickers, bathing the space in an all-too-familiar tawny glow. Taking a deep breath, you spot the small two-seat couch over in the corner near a folding screen, daintily painted with small butterflies and leaves.

You sink into the couch, ignoring the dust that covers your pants and makes your eyes water. Burying your face in your hands, you focus on slowing your heart rate and clearing your head. Four counts in...hold for four...four counts out.

Once your hands stop shaking, you reach them into your pockets, pulling out the three little magnets. Their wide, painted eyes look up at you, but you struggle to find any joy in them. Instead, they just remind you of how Steve had smiled when he surprised you with them. It makes you wonder if Steve used to do little things like that for Peggy.

Rearranging them on your palm, you put them in what feels like the right order. The cactus with one prickly green arm raised in a wave, a red and white flower on its head, reminds you of Steve. The next one, a shorter cactus with long lashes and a timid blush reminding you how smitten you had been with Steve when you first met.

You then run your thumb over the last one. The grumpy cactus. The one with a furrowed brow that makes you grin. Despite its surly demeanor, this cactus's spikes are the shortest, and stick out every which way. And there's a bright blue flower on its head, dynamically contrasting it's prickly expression.

Lining all three up in your palm, you can't help but feel like they're a pretty accurate depiction of your small little group.

You wonder what Peggy's would look like.

*Knock* *Knock* *Knock*

You look up at the closed door and your heart sinks.

"I'm fine Steve," you call out. "Please, just...I need a little bit of space."

"C'mon, Boots. Open up," the voice on the other side calls out.

Bucky. Not Steve.

You look at the door, debating on whether or not you want to let Bucky in. You know it would take barely a sneeze for him to break it down if he really wanted in. The fact he's knocking means he'll walk away if you ask him to.

But you don't.

You stand from the couch and walk over to the door, hitting the handle and letting the door swing open as you walk to the sewing table in the back of the room, taking a seat and rolling your magnets around in your palm.

"Buck," you say quietly as he steps inside and closes the door behind him.

"Whatcha got there?" he asks, eyeing your hand.

You open your palm as Bucky approaches, showing him the little round, painted magnets. "Steve bought these for me last week," you say quietly.

"Hmm," he hums, eyeing you as he drifts over to the sofa you had sat on before.

"What do you want, Buck?" you ask, your eyes flitting to his.

Bucky opens his mouth, but quickly closes it again. A concentrated look comes to his face as he seems to be organizing his thoughts. This isn't the first time Bucky hasn't been able to find the words he wants right off the bat. You've seen this behavior before - in kids at the shelter who stutter. They just need an extra moment to prepare before speaking. You wonder if Bucky had a stutter when he was little.

"He didn't ask to live, you know."

You knit your brows together at Bucky's unexpected assertion. "What are you talking about?" you ask.

"Steve. He didn't expect to walk away from that plane crash," Bucky answers.

You cross your arms and return his stare, seeking understanding. The expression on your face must tell Bucky that you're not understanding, as he sighs gruffly and tries again.

"They only thawed him out five years ago, Boots. But...to him it'd been 71. Even I got to see the world change - catching little glimpses here and there. I knew time was passing. Steve didn't."

You bite the inside of your cheek, as that hurt - that pain in your chest - grows. Poor Steve...to go through all that alone? Unbearable.

"And that dame in his book?" Bucky says. "He loved her. But never thought he had a chance with her. Until the serum. His body changed and he finally thought he was going to have a shot. Then he went into the ice, with her in his ear."

A tear slips from your cheek imagining what those last moments for Steve must have been like.

"She died. Recently."

You gasp and look up at Bucky, tears falling freely down your cheek.

"She...she lived? All this time?" you ask.

Bucky nods and leans forward, elbows on his knees as he speaks.

"He got to see her. One last time. But you don't...you don't recover from something like that," Bucky says quietly. "Those drawings are his way of remembering who she was. He had to mourn the loss of an entire life he never got to live."

You take a shuddering breath and wipe your eyes, shocked by just how painful this feels to you. You didn't know her, and yet the pain of her passing sits like a weight on your chest. And you hurt. You hurt for Steve.

"Hey."

You look up at Bucky who taps the cushion next to him on the sofa. You stand from the chair and walk over, taking a seat next to him as he shifts and angles his body to face you.

"Don't let those sketches miff you, Boots. He's nuts for you."

A smile tugs at the corner of your mouth as you look up at the soldier, and remember something he told you once upon a time. "You said...you said he looks at me the way he looked at her. Were you serious?" you ask.

"Yes," Bucky answers swiftly.

"Does he have room?" you ask. Bucky furrows his brow, not understanding your question. "For both of us. For me and her," you clarify. "Does he have room?"

Bucky takes in a deep breath and exhales as his cold blue eyes stare straight into yours.

"Yeah. Yeah he does. That punk's got a bigger heart than anyone I know. It gets him in trouble. Almost as much as his tiny brain."

"Hey," you laugh. "He's probably listening you know."

Bucky smirks and reaches into his pocket, pulling out a small clear case. A single pair of orange earplugs noticeably absent.

"Made him promise," Bucky grunts.

Warmth spreads from your chest through your fingertips as Bucky grins at you, and shoves the case back in his pocket.

"Thanks, Buck," you whisper, dying to reach out and hug the man.

But you know that wouldn't go well. So instead you glance down at the magnets in your hand and pluck up the prickly cactus with the blue flower on its head between your fingers, reaching over and sticking it on Bucky's metal arm.

"What the hell?" he asks, jerking away and reaching for the little magnet, pulling it off and looking back at you, startled.

You laugh beneath your breath and shake your head, rising to your feet. "It reminds me of you," you say with a small smile. "Prickly. But soft on the inside. And even though they scare me a little with all those needles...this one makes me smile."

You give Bucky a small grin and move to the door, ready to talk with Steve. But before you slip out, you glance back at Bucky in time to see him stick the little magnet back on his arm, a grin on his face.