One Night In Brooklyn | Bucky Barnes 1940's

Friday - 7.32 PM

Friday - 7.32 PM

The first hour felt so strange. Neither of them knew quite what to say. Where to start.

It was nice that the apartment hadn't changed much. It felt safe. He could almost pretend that a year hadn't passed. That he hadn't gone back to the war. That he hadn't fallen off the train. That he wasn't scared to touch her because he wasn't sure if it would catapult him into a panic or not.

His coat hung in the hall, his jacket was placed neatly over the back of the chair.

"Should we go on a walk?" She whispered, her voice felt calming, soothing. It had not sounded quite right over the phone. A bit too static. But hearing it now, it sounded just like he had remembered.

"oh, no it's fine. I'm fine" he swallowed hard. "Eloise...I–" He began, but his breath caught in his throat. He cleared it and decided to continue. Eloise moved her chair closer, placing her hands in his.

"I'm sorry" he whispered. He kept his gaze down, his thumb stroking the inside of her wrist slowly. He tried to focus on the softness of her skin. But there was a burning behind his eyes. He closed them hard, trying to push it back inside.

"For what?" She moved closer, her hand finding his face.

"I–" He had to stop to choke down the tears. "I promised you I would come back. I almost broke that promise. I don't– I thought about you. The second it happened. The moment my foot slipped. I thought about you" He was breathing harder now. "I'm sorry" He pressed her hands to his lips.

"It's okay. You're safe. That's all I ever wanted. And you're here." She whispered. She gently untangled her hands from his and placed them on his thighs, trying to duck down low enough, close enough to catch his gaze. He reached for her face, his thumb brushed against her cheek. She held it in place. Their eyes locked on each other. There was so much to say. But no words could ever amount to the feeling that Bucky had in his chest.

"Eloise..." his eyes searched her face, slightly glossy.

"Yes?" She whispered.

"I never wanted to be a soldier" he managed, his breathing heavy with regret and anger.

"I know. I know." She got to her feet and he wrapped his arms around her immediately. Bucky pressed his face against her body, it rested right below her chest. He could hear her heartbeat with every breath she took. She was real. She was here. Without being able to stop himself, he could feel the tears seeping into the red fabric of her dress. He felt the air he had been gasping for finally expand his lungs and the weight lifted slightly.

"You're not. You're not anymore." She stroked his head gently, holding onto him tighter than he was holding onto her. He wanted to believe her. He wanted to let her voice and her flowery scent and the sound of her heartbeat take him away from it. From all of it. To remind him that he was home. He was safe. That he wasn't a soldier. But it wasn't true. It would never be true. He was a soldier. He had been a soldier. He would always be a soldier.