Summary: Of all the things your heart used to know, things it years to remember, Bucky Barnes is at the top of that list.
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Bucky softly swallows the air that seems to get more sparse as he thinks, truly thinks, about his latest conclusion. "I just - I think it's time."
His hands fold together, he hunches over, barely able to tear his eyes off the ground.
"I can't tell you what to do here, Buck."
"I know."
"Do what you think is best."
"Best?" He bitterly chuckles. "There is no best. I just - I'm hurtin' the both of us by holding on. And I don't want to hurt her anymore."
"You don't have to explain yourself to me."
"I feel so guilty every time I look at her." Bucky lightly gasps for air. "And God, I - Sometimes, I think that maybe that's the reason I'm the only one she doesn't remember."
Steve grips Bucky's shoulder, "Buck... it wasn't your fault."
"How do I let her go?" Bucky brokenly whispers. "How do I mourn the love of my life when I know she's right there, she's alive?"
Steve finds himself at a loss for words. There was no answer. Nothing he could say. It was a truly impossible situation. "I'm so sorry."
He shakes his head, clearing his throat, "I should go talk to her."
"I think she was in your - in her room."
Bucky winces at the correction. It wasn't their room anymore. Now, it was your room. He'd given you the space to try to regain that void in your memory.
And yet, it's all so painfully familiar. It's muscle memory. Walking to your room. Knocking on your door. The only difference is now, it doesn't feel like coming home, it feels more like the procession to his own funeral.
"James..." Your tone is flat, unsure as you open the door. He hates the guilt glistening in your eyes. He sees it every time you look at him. He hates that he's the one that made you feel that way.
When it first happened, when he first realized that he was nothing but a blurry figure dancing through your memory, he tried telling you.
He tried filling every detail of your epic love story in your mind. He tried forcing himself back into your memories. Nothing brought back the look of love and adoration in your eyes.
He offers a heavy smile, "Hi. Can I come in?"
You nod, stepping away from the door to allow him into his former home. The place looks the same, with the notable exception of the traces of him.
You settle on the couch. He sits on the small loveseat, perpendicular to you. "How are you?"
He licks his lips, offering a small shrug, "I start therapy in a few days again."
"Oh."
"What about you?"
Your voice is far more curt than you intend, "I didn't remember anything if that's what you're asking."
His heart stammers, "No. That's not what I meant."
"Sorry, I didn't sleep very well. Not that it's an excuse."
"Nightmares?"
"Just the same one." You're not sure how much detail he cares to hear, but the way he waits for you to continue is almost a comfort. Your eyes squeeze shut as the memory plays on a loop. "I - I don't remember the mission. Just bits and pieces. I was alone. On the rooftop. And then I see the HYDRA agent's face. When they push me. That's where the nightmare starts... I fall. It's dark. I can hear someone screaming my name. And it's over."
"You weren't alone on the roof."
"What?"
"I was on the roof with you. We were scoping out the area. They came out of nowhere."
Your eyes widen. It clicks. The sound of the voice screaming after you. It almost perfectly matches the timbre of his voice. Only now, his voice sounded strained, tried. "You were screaming my name."
Bucky nods, "I jumped after you. I didn't make it in time. I found you laying in your own blood."
"I'm sorry, James."
He hates the sound of his name so formal leaving your mouth. He can't help himself as he speaks, "You never used to call me that."
"Oh?"
A sad smile tugs at the corner of Bucky's mouth, "You only called me James when you were upset. Or when I was annoying you."
A light chuckle leaves your lips, "What did I call you when you weren't annoying me?"
"Bucky. Buck." He shrugs. He swallows the knot forming in his throat, his voice wavering, "A lot of pet names. I pretended to hate it, but I didn't."
You look up to see tears shining in his eyes. His voice breaks as he continues on, "You called me Sarge when you were joking or being flirty."
You reach forward, squeezing his hand. A tight knot forms in your throat, "I'm sorry I can't be the girl you remember."
He looks down at the warmth of your hand resting on his. He's acutely aware that this is the first time you've initiated contact with him since you forgot him.
He swallows back his tears, "You didn't take off your ring."
"It didn't feel right to." You start sliding the ring off, "I should probably give it back."
He immediately stops you, "Keep the ring."
"Steve said it was your mother's. I couldn't."
He shakes his head, his heart clenching with pain, "I won't need it."
You rest your hand on your chest. Your heart yearns to remember him, to remember his place in your life. It was right there. Like a word on the tip of your tongue. You could feel the memory of him glowing in the recesses of your memory, glowing as dim as an ember.
You were so close, and yet, it wasn't enough. "I want to remember. I so badly do."
He stroke a stray hair out of your face. Sitting this close to you, he takes a long moment to memorize every detail. The slope of your nose. Your eyes. Your lips. He knows he'll never be this close to you again.
He had to stop hurting you. He had to stop hurting himself.
"I know."
You rest your forehead against him. It feels both so foreign and so familiar all at once.
"Can I - Can I kiss you?" he asks. "Just one last time."
You nod, your heart shattering at the sound of the hurt in his wavering voice.
His flesh hand rests against your cheek. Your breath shudders, dancing across his lips. His nose brushes against yours. Once. Twice. You find yourself leaning forward, closing the distance. His lips brush against yours hesitantly at first. You can't help but notice the way they mold against yours perfectly.
The song that vaguely echoed in the back of your mind gets louder and louder, echoing with thoughts of him. The memory of him rattles against your skull, begging you to remember.
Your hand moves from its place on the cushion to his shoulder. Slowly, it creeps down to rest just above his racing heart. You hum against his lips, pulling yourself away from him.
You look up at him, your eyes shining up at him like they once used to. "Bucky?"
