Bucky's Anchor

Chapter 51 - Alone Together

There are days when Bucky disappears into himself, when the weight of his past feels too heavy for him to carry, and no matter how close I try to be, I feel the distance growing between us. I see it in the way he moves around our small apartment—quiet, deliberate, like a ghost trying not to disturb the world around him.

It breaks my heart to see him this way, especially after everything he's worked through. Some days, it feels like he's making progress, like he's finally letting go of the Winter Soldier and embracing the man he's becoming. But then there are days like today, when the guilt and the memories are too much, and he pulls away from everything, even from me.

I find him sitting by the window, staring out into the city with a distant look in his eyes. His posture is rigid, his shoulders tense as if he's holding the weight of the world on his back. I watch him for a moment, unsure if I should approach or give him space.

But he's been alone for so long. I don't want him to be alone anymore.

"Hey," I say softly, crossing the room to sit beside him. He doesn't look at me, doesn't acknowledge that I'm there, but I know he heard me. His hands are clasped together in his lap, knuckles white from the pressure.

I sit quietly beside him for a moment, letting the silence settle between us. "You don't have to do this alone, Bucky," I whisper, reaching out to touch his hand. "You don't have to carry this all by yourself."

He still doesn't respond, but his hand relaxes slightly under mine. I take that as a sign and gently rub my thumb over his knuckles.

I want to tell him about the baby, about the new life growing inside me. I want to share that joy with him, but how can I, when he's drowning in the shadows of his past? When he's so closed off, so locked away from the world?

So I keep quiet for now, waiting for him to speak.

Eventually, he lets out a long, shaky breath. "What if they see me for what I am?" he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "What if... what if they see what I was?"

I know he's not just talking about me. He's talking about the world—about how he's been trying so hard to fit in, to make amends, but there's always that lingering fear that people will see the monster he believes himself to be.

"They won't," I say softly. "Because you're not that person anymore. You've changed, Bucky. You've fought to be better."

He shakes his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "Sometimes it doesn't feel like it," he mutters, his voice filled with self-doubt. "Sometimes, it feels like I'm still him... still the Winter Soldier."

My heart aches for him, but I don't know how to make him believe that he's more than that. I don't know how to make him see what I see—the good, the love, the strength in him.

"I see you," I whisper, squeezing his hand. "I see you for who you really are, Bucky. And I love you."

He finally turns to look at me, his blue eyes filled with pain and uncertainty. "I don't deserve you," he says quietly.

"You deserve so much more than you think," I reply, holding his gaze. "And I'm going to keep reminding you of that until you believe it."

---

I refuse to let him drift away from me, from the life we're building together. Over the next few days, I make a conscious effort to be present with him, to be his anchor in the storm he's trying to weather.

Some nights, I sit beside him in bed, reading aloud from whatever book is on my nightstand, even if I'm not sure he's listening. Other nights, we watch the TV in silence, my hand resting on his arm, a quiet reminder that I'm here. I'm always here.

One evening, after dinner, I find him sitting on the couch, staring blankly at the wall. I can see the weight of his thoughts pulling him under, dragging him deeper into that place where he feels like he doesn't belong. I walk over and sit beside him, curling my legs underneath me as I gently rest my head on his shoulder.

"You don't have to say anything," I murmur. "I just want to sit with you."

He doesn't speak, but his body relaxes ever so slightly, and I take that as a small victory. I can't force him to open up, but I can be here for him, holding space for him when the world feels like too much.

"I know it's hard," I say quietly, "and I know some days are worse than others. But you're not alone, Bucky. You're never alone in this."

His hand shifts slightly, moving to rest on top of mine, and I feel his fingers slowly intertwine with mine. I close my eyes, letting the warmth of the moment wash over me.

"You're the only thing keeping me from falling apart," he whispers after a long silence, his voice raw with emotion. "Sometimes, I feel like I'm hanging by a thread, and you're the only thing holding me together."

Tears prick at the corners of my eyes, but I blink them back. I don't want him to see how much his words affect me, how much they break my heart and fill me with love at the same time.

"I'm not going anywhere," I whisper. "I'm with you, Bucky. Always."

There's so much more I want to say, so much more I want to share with him—the baby, the future we're going to build together—but now isn't the time. Not yet.

"I don't know how you do it," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "How you stay with me, after everything."

"Because I love you," I reply simply, squeezing his hand. "And I know that underneath everything, you're worth it. Every bit of it."

He turns his head slightly, just enough to press a soft kiss to the top of my head. "Thank you," he murmurs, his breath warm against my skin.

It's not much, but it's enough. For now.

---

There are fleeting moments when I feel like I'm reaching him, when he lets his guard down just enough to let me in. It's during those quiet times, when the world slows down and we're alone together, that I see glimpses of the man he's trying so hard to be.

One night, we're sitting on the floor of the living room, a pile of takeout containers spread out between us. It's late, and the city is quiet outside the window. Bucky leans back against the couch, his eyes half-closed, and I can see the weariness etched into every line of his face.

"You should sleep," I say softly, reaching out to brush a lock of hair away from his forehead.

He shakes his head, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "I'm fine."

But I can see the exhaustion in him, the way his body aches from the constant fight against his own mind. I want to ease that burden, to take some of the weight from his shoulders, but I know that's not something I can do for him. He has to carry it, even if it's heavy.

Instead, I shift closer to him, resting my head in his lap. His hand comes to rest on top of my head, his fingers gently stroking my hair in a way that feels so tender, so intimate, that it makes my heart ache.

"I love you," I whisper, closing my eyes as I relax into his touch. "I don't think I say it enough, but I love you, Bucky."

He doesn't respond right away, but I feel his hand still for a moment, as if he's processing my words. Then, he leans down, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead.

"I love you, too," he murmurs, his voice low and filled with emotion. "More than I can ever say."

I feel the tears well up again, but this time, I don't try to hide them. I let them fall, knowing that this moment—this quiet connection between us—is what we both need.

For now, it's enough.