Bucky's Anchor

Chapter 13 - Glimmers of Hope

The days in the safe house passed in a haze of cautious routine. We were in the eye of the storm, waiting for the world outside to settle just enough for us to make our next move. Steve was often away, gathering intel or meeting contacts to figure out our next steps. That left Bucky and me alone more often than not.

I was acutely aware of his presence at all times. Bucky was a quiet shadow that moved through the house with the stealth of a man who had spent years evading detection. I could hear him in the early mornings, the sound of his boots against the creaky wooden floors as he paced the living room, unable to sleep. His restlessness was palpable, like a storm that refused to break.

One evening, after yet another silent dinner, I decided to break the pattern. We needed to start moving forward, even if it was just in the smallest way.

I found him sitting in the corner of the living room, staring at the empty fireplace. The room was dimly lit by the soft glow of a lamp, casting long shadows across his face. He looked like a statue, frozen in a moment of deep thought.

I cleared my throat softly to announce my presence. "Mind if I join you?" I asked, keeping my voice light.

Bucky looked up at me, his eyes guarded but not as hard as they had been when we first met. He gave a slight nod, which I took as permission. I sat down across from him on the floor, tucking my legs under me.

For a moment, we just sat there in silence. I didn't want to push him, but I needed to start somewhere.

"So," I began cautiously, "what did you used to do for fun?"

Bucky blinked, looking at me like I'd just asked him to explain quantum mechanics. "For fun?" he echoed, his voice skeptical.

"Yeah, you know... fun. Things you used to enjoy," I prompted, trying to keep the mood light. I wanted him to remember a part of himself that wasn't tied to pain or orders.

He was quiet for a long moment, his brow furrowing as if he were sifting through memories he hadn't accessed in a long time. "I used to go dancing," he said finally, his voice distant. "Back in the day... before the war."

I raised an eyebrow, surprised. "Dancing? Really?" I couldn't quite picture the Bucky in front of me gliding across a dance floor.

A faint, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "Yeah," he said, a hint of warmth in his voice. "Steve and I... we'd go out sometimes. He was always a terrible dancer. I'd have to drag him out there, but it was fun."

The image of a young Bucky and Steve, carefree and laughing on a dance floor, was almost surreal. It was a glimpse into a life that had been stolen from him, a life filled with normalcy and joy. I found myself smiling at the thought.

"I would have liked to see that," I said, picturing the scene in my mind. "I'm a pretty terrible dancer myself, so I probably would've fit right in."

Bucky looked at me then, really looked at me, like he was trying to gauge if I was joking or being sincere. For a moment, I worried that I'd overstepped, that I'd pushed him too far into the past. But then, to my surprise, he chuckled—a soft, rusty sound like he hadn't laughed in a long time.

"I somehow doubt that," he replied, a hint of amusement in his voice.

I raised my hands in mock surrender. "Oh, trust me, it's true. My high school prom was a disaster. I think I stepped on my date's feet more than I actually danced."

He laughed again, and this time it sounded a little more natural. "Maybe you just need the right partner," he said, his eyes flickering with a softness I hadn't seen before.