Moments in Time

Tree Line

Bucky stared at the trees. They were like overgrown friends - unbending, strong, amiable. They sighed dismally in the breeze that was picking up, heralding a storm later that day. Clouds were slowly building to the north, waiting for the pressure inside them to be released.

Bucky leaned back, the branch behind him feeling solid and sturdy at his back. He loved the way the trees rustled so responsively to the wind, almost like a murmured conversation between them - intimate, secret. It reminded him of the way he and his best friend were - had been.

His eyes squeezed shut as his chest gave a sharp pang. He bit his lip hard, trying to distract himself from his thoughts. Things weren't the same - they could never be the same again, and he wasn't sure what to do about it. He did his best to act like everything was normal, fine - but nothing could be further from the truth.

It's not that he begrudged Steve his independence - he was beyond happy about that. He was grateful that he wouldn't die of an asthma attack at any given moment, or choke up and quit breathing because of his allergies. He loved the fact that Steve was big enough to fight for what he believed in, and could stand up for himself. He couldn't help but smile when people saw Steve for who he really was, instead of being overlooked or pitied.

But Bucky hated feeling replaced, or like an old, broken toy. He felt...shelved - neglected, unappreciated. He felt like there was a divide between him and Steve now. Because Steve wasn't just Steve anymore, he was also his commander, Captain America.

And yeah, Bucky could make nice speeches, he could slap Steve on the back, and maybe even half - ass a joke, but he couldn't talk to Steve. Not really.

After Azzno Bucky had a hard time talking anyway. He liked his space, he needed his quiet time away from his teammates. Everyone wanted him to tell them what happened, but he wasn't ready to reveal the horrors of those closed off cells. The sickening screams of the seventeen other test subjects that hadn't made it, the needles, the cuts, the callousness of the scientists who experimented on them so cruelly.

Bucky shook his head, desperately trying to clear it. He didn't want to think about the three weeks of torture he endured. He needed to get back to camp before too long anyway, and he couldn't afford to be lost in his own head. His teammates were starting to become suspicious of his mental state as it was, and he couldn't risk confirming them.

Bucky squinted, watching as a familiar form made its way into the treeline. Towering shoulders, blond hair, bright blue eyes, and those velvety pink lips. He'd know them anywhere - Steve.

Steve looked around, trying to pinpoint where Bucky was, failing to see him behind the thick foliage the brunet was hiding behind. Bucky, not being completely heartless, finally whistled at him, giving away his location.

Once Steve's lumbering frame had shimmied up the tree and was sitting in a secure place with a good view toward his friend, Bucky returned to his previous occupation.

"The boys said you took off again," Steve mentioned, casting a concerned look at Bucky. "You've been doing that a lot lately. Are you okay?"

"'M fine," Bucky shrugged, briefly glancing down at Steve from his higher perch.

"...It's just...You've always been there for me, Buck, and I want you to know I'm here for you too. If you ever need to talk - " Steve earnestly pressed.

"Steve, please," and something in Bucky's tone was so brittle, so fragile, it arrested Steve's attention. "Just stop. I can't - not that."

Bucky's eyes fluttered closed for a second, and something in his face took on an aged look. It wasn't in the contours or ridges of his features - he barely had any at age twenty six, except for laughing lines...it was more in the bone weariness his whole being exuded, as if his life had been sucked out of him.