Haven [Marvel | Bucky Barnes]

Chapter 16

It was small. It was dark. And it had a faintly unpleasant smell—somewhere between musty and something else not quite definable beyond neglected—that made his nose wrinkle involuntarily in disgust.

It wasn't the worst of the abandoned Soviet and HYDRA safehouses he'd been in during the months now that he'd been hopping around Europe.

But it was far from the best.

It took every ounce of effort and will he had not to think about a skinny little townhouse he'd left behind that, while perhaps not in the best of condition, was still lovingly tended and cared for to the best of its owner's abilities.

He couldn't let himself think about the townhouse because it inevitably led him to thinking about her.

But the comparisons forced their way into his thoughts anyway.

His backpack fell with a low, muffled thud on the grimy, wood-planked floor as he let loose a resigned breath. He couldn't help but make comparisons. The kitchen was little more than a fridge, a sink and a small countertop stove in an area barely larger than the single sagging mattress little more than a stride-length away. The wallpaper was floral, faded and flaking; it wasn't even peeling, but disintegrating on the walls. He didn't even want to look inside the tiny bathroom to his left.

It was nothing like the cozy space she had made for herself, her very presence making the small apartment she'd lived in warm and inviting with its smattering of hand-me-down furniture and outdated décor. Even the sparsely furnished apartment he'd been renting downstairs before he'd begun virtually living in hers had been infinitely nicer than this place. Compared to this matchbox of a place, her home had been a mansion. It had certainly been better kept. She'd made sure of that. She'd taken such pride in taking care of her aunt's place. It had been welcoming because of that care and that pride. Because of her.

It had been his refuge. His sanctuary. His haven.

His home.

All because of her.

He choked back his heartache at the involuntary thought, trying to push it aside as it surfaced yet again. Her home had become his home before he'd even let himself believe or even consider that he could actually have someplace to call 'home' ever again. The feeling surfaced at every abandoned and forgotten safehouse he'd stayed in in the last several months. But it was hitting him harder here. Maybe because now—for the time being, at least—he could stop running. His hands fisted, the mechanisms of his bionic arm giving off a metallic groan as he fought back the heaving waves of guilt and the longing that gnawed in the pit of his stomach.

He'd regretted leaving almost as soon as she'd been out of his sight. Hell, he'd regretted leaving before he'd even left, before he'd actually made the final decision to leave... Even now, the image of her falling to pieces on her front steps and the stifled sound of her sobs as she fought to hold them back haunted Bucky as some of his worst memories did. He'd wanted nothing more than to abandon his reasoned and rational resolve to move on in favour of the persistent and unrelenting instinct to stay. He'd wanted nothing more than to rush to her side that day and pull her into his arms, the apologies he would have laid at her mercy surging forward even as his body had taken him farther away from her.

He'd wanted nothing more than to stay.

But he'd forced himself to keep going, to keep moving, no matter that his head, his heart, his conscience and his instincts were warring with each other over leaving her.

Even here, in this cramped, dusty little apartment, they continued to war, leaving Bucky even more torn and ashamed than the day he'd left.

He shouldn't have left her.