fugue // stucky

6. The Words

My hands fumble wildly for some loose change under my mattress. It's already noon and I haven't left for lunch with Steve yet. I just can't find money. I feel a sharp cold on my fingertip and grab, my palms incasing some coins and crumpled ones. I stuff it into my backpack and hurry down the stairs. I don't want Steve to think I'm blowing him off. My feet move faster down the sidewalk at the thought of him being disappointed in me.

The pizza place is about five minutes from here, but it's lunch break, and the streets are crowded, so it's more like ten. The tiny clock on my phone indicates it's already ten past noon. I groan and look up naturally, searching for a quicker transport. My eyes settle on an old rusty ladder across the street, leading to the top of an old five story brick building. I hop around pedestrians and cars until I'm at the base of the squeaky metal. I probably should check to see if it's safe, but my mind consumes me and I'm stepping upwards.

Metal on metal screeches as I quickly and rather roughly spring up the rigs. Before I know it, I'm standing on gravel on top of the building. I run to build up momentum and the bound effortlessly across the alley onto the neighboring structure. I smile thinking about how I sprang like this around the city last night.

I spot the small restaurant about five doors down and pick up my pace, it's probably quarter past. There's not ladder on the alley next to the pizza place, so I jump across, a little short on purpose, and tap my toes against the adjacent wall, propelling myself diagonally to the ground. The landing is easy to stick, and I quickly walk to the edge of the building, turning into the doors.

My jaw clenches as my eyes search for one face in particular. It lands on him, and I'm at ease. He waited. He waited for me. His face looks disappointed, however, like he doesn't expect me to come. I feel a happy glow in me. I can't wait to prove him wrong.

I stride across the floor and sit down at the stool next to him. He doesn't think much of it at first, probably thinking I'm just an invasive stranger. I keep my head down, thinking of a way to strike conversation.

"Tough day?" I mutter gruffly, trying not to sound like myself.

"Yeah. Date blew me off," he huffs and I bite my lip, stifling a loud laugh. I feel his eyes bore into me, trying to decode me. I let out a snicker on accident and he shoves me.

"Buck!" He huffs and I let out my held joy.

"Steve!" I mock, and push him back. A broad smile rests on his face, his teeth showing. I stare at him, engraving the image.

"So, date?" I smirk and he rolls his eyes.

"Wouldn't it have sounded weird if I had said, 'ninety nine year old amnesiac best friend that has a split personality of a soviet trained assassin blew me off,'" he bites his lip to suppress laughter and I join him.

"Yeah, whatever. You dig me, Rogers," I say. Wait? Why did I say that? I feel somebody else taking over. Someone else that's ninety nine years old. Bucky is here right now. I sigh contently and shake my head at my lap.

"You're the expert on pizza here, what should I order?" Steve looks over at me. The sun is high in the air right now, casting an angled light to hit the floor. It bounces off, dusting Steve's face perfectly. I look at his fluttering eyelashes and smile.

"We could share the managers special? On me," I nod and turn to the bartender.

"Gee, Buck, you sure know how to treat a man," he jokes and passes his menu over, his hand brushing mine. I stare at the contact, feeling odd. My head shakes, pulling me out of the foreign world of human contact, and I order a medium. I usually order a small for myself, and that's 9.59, including tax and a tip. This one shouldn't be more than three dollars more. I rack up how much money I have in my head. I should barely cover. I smile and high five myself, internally, of course.

"How have you been for the past- what- seven months?" Steve tries to strike conversation. I look over at him, noticing the tip of his nose turns down a little. I smile, folding my hands over the top of the bar.

"Laying low. I did spend all of my time in parks or museums, trying to piece things together," I hum, keeping everything light.

Steve nods, "yeah, I'd say the same for myself. I'm glad you're back, Buck. I'm really glad. Thank you for finding me, and for coming today. I thought you weren't going to show," he laughs.

"I'll always be there for you. What is that thing we say? I'm with you 'til the end of the line," I mutter, trying to use the line to bring a smile onto his face. I didn't realize how emotionally shadowed those words are until Steve's face drops completely, his eyes lost in sorrow.

"Or- or maybe I got it wrong-" I mutter quickly, turning my body toward him.

"No.. no, those were it," he says and his voice cracks, and he clears his voice to cover it up, "those were the words," he turns to me and smiles sadly.

I don't know what to do. Suddenly, 1930's Bucky is gone. It's just me now, trying to comfort this sad captain in front of me. My eyes widen and I put an awkward hand on his shoulder.

"You okay, bud?" I whisper, offering a squeeze. His hand rests on my thigh and I tense at the contact. This is completely foreign and I flinch my hand back, turning to face the bartender who's now bringing our pizza.

"Hey, look, Steve. Our food. Don't want to let this date go to waste, huh bud?" I awkwardly try to comfort him. I turn, smiling. He flashes a grin back.

His hand reaches for a slice, but the shakiness prevents him from grasping the pizza slicer firmly.

"I got it," I whisper, placing my hand on his knee and taking the device from his hands. I think he's having a PTSD episode or something. I feel awkward. I don't know how to help.

"Thank you, Buck," he nods and I push a piece of greasy goodness onto his paper plate. It looks good.

"How are things with SHIELD?" I try to strike up a lighter conversation. I hope he is okay. I hope my efforts aren't wasted. I feel terrible. This is my fault.

"Oh, things are okay. SHIELD had a fall during the whole helicarriers thing-"

"Helicarriers thing?" I ask. It sounds familiar.

"Way back last year-"

"Excuse me, I think I may have it written down," I smile, "these notebooks aren't just for novelty you know," I can't suppress the grin.

Pulling a random notebook out, I hope it has some relative information to our topic. I thumb through pages and pages, and Steve grabs my wrist, stopping me. My eyes widen at the contact and my entire body jerks, I drop the book onto my lap and stare forward.

"Sorry," I squeak and he furrows his brows.

"Wait, go back," he says sternly and I page a few papers back. His face lights up when he sees the photo I pasted from the museum.

"Thats always been one of my favorites," he hums, "it makes me calm."

I keep a straight face and search his eyes rapidly before ripping the page out and taking his hand palm up. Easily, I press the crinkled page into his palm. He stares at it then stares at me. Quickly, I'm pulled into a crushing hug.

My eyes blink rapidly and I tense, pulling away a bit, then relaxing, patting a hand onto his back.

"I really did miss you, Buck," he whispers into my shoulder. My mind rattles with awakening. I remember holding guns, shooting down men, choking people, jumping from buildings, getting injured, torture, brainwashing, shocking. I remember being kept in an icy yellow tube where they would only wake me if they needed someone dead. I close my eyes and breathe, wishing that I remembered Steve throughout all those years. He remembered me, but I couldn't remember him. I should've been stronger.

"I missed you, too," I lie through my teeth to help comfort the mess of a man in front of me.

---

it's about to be chris' bday!!! 40 minutes!! my bb :,)