Bucky's Anchor

Chapter 64 - A Quiet Reckoning

It had been days since the confrontation with John Walker, and Bucky still hadn't said much. He had spent hours cleaning the blood from the shield, every brush stroke deliberate, as if he were trying to scrub away the weight of what had happened. I watched him in silence, feeling the tension radiating off him, unsure how to reach him.

I wanted to tell him about the baby, to give him some kind of hope for the future, but it felt like the wrong time. He was already carrying so much on his shoulders, and I couldn't add to it. Not yet.

Instead, we found ourselves on a quiet walk to the docks where Sam was working on his family's boat. The sound of the water lapping gently against the hull was a strange comfort. It was calm, peaceful even, in contrast to the storm that had been raging inside Bucky since everything with Walker and the Flag Smashers.

Bucky didn't say much as we walked. His hands were stuffed into his jacket pockets, and his eyes stayed focused on the ground. I kept pace beside him, my heart heavy with the words I wasn't sure how to say. He needed to talk to someone, someone who could help him carry the weight of this new responsibility.

When we reached the docks, Sam was there, knee-deep in boat repairs, looking up just as we arrived.

"Hey," Sam called, wiping his hands on a rag. He gave us both a nod, but his eyes lingered on Bucky, concern etched into his features. "You here to help me fix this mess, or is there something on your mind?"

Bucky hesitated, glancing at me before stepping forward. "We need to talk," he said quietly, the words heavy with an unspoken burden.

Sam nodded slowly, understanding passing between them without the need for more words. "Let's walk," he suggested, gesturing for Bucky to follow him.

I stayed back, leaning against the boat, watching them from a distance. This was a conversation Bucky needed to have with Sam, not me. Still, my heart ached watching him struggle, wishing I could ease the weight he was carrying.

---

I couldn't hear every word, but I could see the way Sam listened intently, his arms crossed as Bucky spoke. Every so often, Sam would nod, his face thoughtful, but he didn't interrupt. He just let Bucky talk.

After what felt like an eternity, Sam spoke, his voice low but firm. I caught snippets of it as the wind carried their voices toward me.

"You've been doing this for you," Sam said, his tone direct but not unkind. "But it's not about you, Bucky. It's about them—the people you've hurt."

I saw the way Bucky's shoulders tensed, how he crossed his arms as if trying to protect himself from the impact of Sam's words. It wasn't easy to hear. It was clear he had been running through the same thoughts over and over again, and now Sam was challenging him to think differently.

"How do I make it right?" Bucky asked, his voice barely audible, the vulnerability in his tone breaking my heart.

Sam stepped closer, resting a hand on Bucky's shoulder. "You start by listening," he said gently. "By letting them know you understand the pain you caused. And sometimes, Bucky, there's no closure. Sometimes you just have to live with that."

Bucky nodded, but I could see the turmoil in his expression, the way his fists clenched as if trying to hold on to something—anything—to make sense of it all. He had spent so long trying to atone for his past, but now it felt like every effort he had made had come to a screeching halt.

Sam wasn't giving him easy answers, but that's what Bucky needed. He needed the hard truth, even if it hurt. And maybe, just maybe, this would help him find his way forward.

---

After a while, the two of them walked back toward the boat, their steps slower, more deliberate. There was something different in Bucky's expression now—less tension, more resolve, though the pain was still there, simmering just beneath the surface.

I smiled at them both as they approached, trying to offer some comfort even in the small gesture. Bucky sat down on the edge of the dock, his hands resting on his knees, staring out at the water. I sat beside him, close enough to feel his presence but not touching him just yet.

"You've been trying to find forgiveness for yourself," I said softly, breaking the silence. "But maybe it's about offering that to others, even if they never forgive you."

Bucky looked at me, his eyes tired, his voice thick with emotion. "What if I can't?" he asked, his words filled with a pain that ran deep. "What if I'm not strong enough?"

I reached for his hand, squeezing it gently. "You are strong enough," I told him, my voice steady. "You've already come so far, and you're still here. You're still fighting. That's what matters."

He stared at our joined hands for a moment before nodding slowly. "I've been doing this all wrong," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I've been trying to erase my past, but I can't, can I?"

I shook my head, smiling softly at him. "It's not about erasing the past," I said. "It's about finding a way to live with it, to grow from it. And you're already doing that."

Sam had wandered off, giving us some space, and I was grateful for that. This moment felt important, like a turning point for Bucky. He wasn't alone in this fight anymore. He didn't have to carry the burden of his past by himself.

For the first time in a long time, I felt hope. Not just for Bucky, but for us. Maybe it was time I shared my own news, gave him something to hold onto for the future. But not now. Not yet. He wasn't ready, and I needed him to get there on his own terms.

"I'm trying," Bucky said softly, his voice filled with a quiet determination. "I'll try."

"That's all I can ask," I replied, smiling as I rested my head on his shoulder, my hand still holding his. "One step at a time."

As we sat there, watching the sun set over the water, I knew we were on the right path. The road ahead wasn't going to be easy, but together, we could face whatever was coming. And soon, I'd be ready to tell him about the baby. But for now, I'd hold onto this moment, this fragile sense of peace.