Whiskey | 18+ {Bucky Barnes}

Chapter Eight

Hello Loves!
It took me a while to write this chapter; I had to do a lot of planning and research.
I hope you all enjoy it!  Again, I write with a mixture of comic books and the MCU, so please keep that in mind.
-Sif

Thanksgiving

Bucky's loud and annoying alarm went off at seven-thirty. He wasn't even sure why he bothered setting the alarms because he was always up hours beforehand anyway. He has been awake since two-thirty this morning. After two cups of chamomile tea and a hot shower, he had been able to relax enough to write in his journal, a habit he had picked up several years ago when he could scarcely remember his name. Turning off the offending alarm, he turned back to his journal to finish his thoughts. At first, he didn't like keeping a journal of his nightmares; he didn't want to relive them repeatedly. But he found that writing them down helped; they weren't swimming around in his head if they were on paper. He carefully closed the worn leather journal, a gift from Steve last Christmas. He slid it under a stack of papers on his desk, scrubbing his face with his right hand. He then checked his watch, and it was almost eight.

Entering the kitchen, he was thankful everyone was still asleep or anywhere but the kitchen. Dropping two pieces of bread in the toaster, he moved on to the Keurig. He loaded the pod into the machine, added the water then started it. He would never admit it, especially to Sam, after showing Bucky how to use it. He hated the damn contraption; what happened to a good old-fashioned way of making a cup of coffee? But he had to admit, a fresh hot cup of coffee in under five minutes? No boiling the water, no steeping the grounds, and no straining? He wasn't entirely unreasonable. He decided that he was getting one whenever this whole serum debacle was over, but he would hide it from Sam.

Toast in one hand, a to-go thermos of coffee in the other, he stood in the parking garage as he looked between his motorcycle and the truck; with a huff, he reluctantly walked towards the truck. He was ready for winter to be over with; he despised the cold. Despite not enjoying the compound much, he loved the drive there and back. Having always been a fan of the scenery, he appreciated the wide-open fields and small farms littered along the way into the city. He smiled when he noticed the trees from his trip into the city with Erica yesterday. He remembered her going on about fall being her favorite and winter being her second favorite time of year, the cool nights, the colors, sweaters, bonfires, fresh apples, cinnamon baked goods, ciders, and warm nights the fire. Christmas lights were her favorite; she spoke of many evenings walking around New York looking at all the lights. Decorating was one of her favorite things to do; she went on about her Grinch-themed Christmas tree she had a couple of years ago. He smiled to himself at how she got so excited talking with her hands; it was adorable.

After a pit stop for gas, he decided he couldn't take the quiet anymore. Opened the playlist Erica had sent him filled with songs she recommended he listen to. He also had a list from Sam and Steve; he trusted Steve more than Sam after the whole Backstreet Boys incident of twenty twenty-four.

The Reaper by Blue Oyster Cult filled the cab; Erica had a thing for classic rock from what he gathered. He didn't mind; music today was much different than what he grew up listening to, even as an adult. But it wasn't long before he found himself thumbing the steering wheel to the beat of the music.

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Bucky parked in front of a sizeable pale-yellow house with a navy-blue door and shutters, white trim windows in suburban Brooklyn. Bushes lined the sidewalk up to the front door, following along the side of the house under the windows while thick luscious vines crept along above the windows. The trees in the front yard were starting to fade from their usually vibrant green to reds, yellows, and browns.