Red meets Blue

Chapter 9: Bucky

How long has it been? 90 years? 90 years since I saw him. Well, I've seen pictures and on TV as everything, and I guess I saw him a while back. Like, when I tried to kill him. But I mean as me, it's been 90 years.

Am I still me, though? I'm not the Winter Soldier and I'm not James Barnes, so who am I? Will he still want me like this? Am I still his friend, his Bucky?

God, I hope so.

It's hard to dwell on these dark thoughts on a day like today. The sun is shining like the clouds are never coming back. I can see a robin perched on a tree branch, hopping back and forth impatiently, like it's waiting for something. It pauses, and then flies away suddenly, abandoning its post.
Same, bird.

Oh my god, why did I let Barry drag me into this? This was a horrible idea. I'm a hermit for a reason, dammit. He's gonna hate me, he's gonna be disgusted with who I am and what I've done....

That's it. I'm leaving. I'm gonna get in the car,  I'm gonna turn around and he won't have to see me. Yep, I'm doing it. I don't deserve-

"Bucky?"

I whip around at the sound of my name.

"Steve..." Oh god, it sounds weird just saying his name again. And seeing him too. Still just as tall, and blond, and all Captain-y. God, I remember when he was up to my shoulder. It's the other way around now. I laugh to myself. He looks so nervous. Why is he nervous? I'm the one who should be nervous. I mean, I am nervous. Uh oh. Neither of us have said anything for a long time.

Barry looks almost as uncomfortable as I feel. "So uh, should I go...?" Steve looks over at Barry like he just remembered the kid existed. "Yeah, I'll go." He turns and walks back, tripping over his feet as he goes. Barry glances back, all casual like he's not checking if he pulled it off. Don't worry kid, no one noticed.

Oh no. He's looking at me now. Should he talk first? Should I? Do we run into each other's arms? Alright, looks like he's going to start. 

"Buck..." I love that. It's a nickname for a nickname, it's so unnecessary. I used to hate it when he called me anything but 'Buck'. He swallows, and takes a breath. "How've you been?"

How've I been? How have I been? Oh, I don't know, it's pretty terrible being brainwashed and tortured for 90 years but hey, can't complain. C'est la vie, and all.

"Right. Sorry. Stupid question." He mumbles. My heart sinks farther than I thought possible. This is stupid. We can't even hold a conversation now. I wipe my eyes quickly and take a breath, trying to calm down.

"Look, this isn't...I mean...." I break off uselessly. "I should just go. Tell Barry thanks, will you?" I don't bother waiting for a reply. Chin up and shoulders back, I turn my back to him.

"Wait!" I look back. "Don't go." He pleads. "Please don't go."

I'm shaking. It's hard to breathe, I think I might throw up, and every instinct is screaming at me to run. Well, not every instinct. Something is keeping me here, and something is pulling me forward. I take a step towards him. I can hear my heartbeat in my ears, my legs feel like they're about to give out. He responds with two steps my way. Whatever was pulling me has left, and now I'm just stuck; tense and shaking. It's like he can read my mind; he moves closer still. Carefully, gently, like approaching a wild animal.

Oh my god. He's really here. I can feel the heat radiating from him, I can smell his shampoo. It smells like some kind of flower. I think that's my favourite smell. I missed blue eyes and blond hair.

He reaches out towards my face. I flinch away automatically, and he pulls his hand back quickly. A shadow crosses his face. Oh god I've done it. I force myself to look up, and suddenly it's like I have tunnel vision.

There's a pause, like the moment just before you hit the water after a dive.

I don't know moves first, all I know is that Steve has his arms around me and I've got mine around him and he's so warm and solid and here. It's tense for a while; Steve holds me so tight I think my other arm might fall off. My fingers are digging into his back, my face is pressed into his shoulder. I don't think I'm breathing and I'm pretty sure I'm crying a bit. Then we relax into each other. It's like 90 years of pain and tension fall away, and I can breathe again.

I could've stood there for a thousand more years, but Steve pulls away. He parts his lips, but no sound comes out. We both laugh, shyly, and Steve wipes his eyes.

"Hey, you."

"Hi." The Cheshire Cat couldn't smile wider than me.  A balloon of happiness starts inflating in my chest.

Another pause. My anxiety rises, and I have to say something. "I, uh, I don't really know what to-" Great, my words are coming out all rushed and stupid.

"Me neither." He admits. "Why don't you, uh, come inside?" The balloon deflates.

"Steve...I can't do that. I should be alone." He looks at the ground, sniffs and looks back at me. His eyes are all hard now, jaw set; like he's got the whole world against him but doesn't give a damn. "I can handle being on my own."

"The thing is," He replies, a slight smile pulling at his lips. "You don't have to."

A memory flashes before my eyes. Black suits, a spare key, and a skinny, little blue-eyed punk. My heart leaps at the return of another part of myself. Steve takes my expression as agreement. He leads the way back to the house, looking over his shoulder every so often, checking to see I'm still behind him. Like I'd be anywhere else.