A Bolt from the Blue

Chapter 16

He knew he shouldn't but Steve couldn't help feeling engrossed in his unofficial investigation. "Obsessed" was the word Bucky, who didn't know how (or actually, couldn't be bothered) to say things by half, had used.

"Why do you care so much about this?" he exclaimed, not so pleased to watch his best friend replacing the chasing of a ghost by yet another.

"Why don't you?" Steve retorted.

Bucky remained silent but they both knew what the answer to this question was.

Bucky had moved on and let his past behind, and more so than Steve.

And how could he not? Bucky had nothing from the past he felt the need to grasp on. He had his family, who had given him a bigger family, he was a fully respected officer and he had a girlfriend; an unknown secret agent from an old mission was the least of his worries.

All Steve had ever had belonged to the past, and more importantly, had been ripped off from him, and grieving was a harder process for him than it had been for James. And solving this cold case was a way to come to peace with his lost life.

"I think you're afraid to let go of 1942," Bucky said matter-of-factly, perhaps a bit bluntly as a way to confront him to reality.

Steve folded his arms and snorted as a defense mechanism. "Why would I be afraid of letting go?" he protested.

Bucky looked him deep in the eye, already remorseful of what he was going to say next. "Because that would mean letting go of Natalie."

Silence, one so heavy it banged against Steve's eardrums. He began to understand why his friend had endeavored to show as little interest to the investigation as possible, as a subtle attempt to slow down his 'enthusiasm'.

Bucky looked hurt and apologetic for stirring painful matters.

"I know it's hard but you got to let her go, Steve, you gotta. You need to close this door. That's what she would have wanted you to do."

His best friend's words rang into his ears and soon her own words echoed inside his head.

"You have to let me go, Steve. You need to forget about me."

Those had been her exact words before she walked out of his life. He could hear them just as clear as the day she had voiced them aloud.

"I need to finish this, Buck." Perhaps it was the determination in his voice -or the despair in his look- that made Bucky yield in and nod silently.

And this conversation was never brought up again.

They didn't really the discuss the case again. The rare times James would try to show interest and ask questions about the evolution of the case, Steve would always find a way to shut it down by answering vaguely or moving on to a lighter topic. Not out of resentment, but to respect Bucky's decision not to dwell on into the past.

Steve eventually received the box containing all the physical evidence from the case. And as he looked at the long, blood-tainted hairpin through the plastic pouch he was holding between his fingers, he thought of what the report said. According to the autopsy report, after analyzing the blood on the object and examining the wounds on the dead HYDRA soldier who had been collected at the bottom of the bridge he had fallen of during the train ride, the medical examiner had concluded that the hairpin had been planted straight into his right eye.

Steve tried to play out the scene in his head, and as he remembered it himself. He could still clearly visualize himself banging madly behind the metal door with a heavy, slab made of steel he had found nearby, trying to decipher something from the blurry and indistinct figures moving around through the cracked glass of the little square window. The two figures in motion were absolutely unidentifiable - and never would he have guessed one of them was female, he had felt like going mad thinking one of them could be Bucky, fighting all alone and him being stuck outside, watching it all unfold helplessly. So he had relied on his hearing: many groans and muffled whimpers from pain. Then the two figures eventually stood still and it seemed one of them slowly hovered slightly higher than the one it was facing as if it was being lifted off the ground, fighting to break free with little, shaky motions.