WinterIron one shots

Ghost of a soldier

Word count: 2490

Summery: what happens when Bucky sees a man on the edge- and how does tony react when he was saved by a ghost of a man

because I'm ill and ant attention.

Also I really love this chapter - I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed  writing it!!
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Bucky's steps echoed on the old wooden bridge as he tightened the straps on his backpack and tucked his face further into his scarf; it wasn't all that cold outside, but he hated it anyway, hated the sight of his breath in the night air and the ache in his fingers and toes, the sting in his sinuses when his scarf slipped down. This time of night this part of New York was deserted; an old train trestle, barely used, crossed the river and was usually a good place to get some peace and quiet for a night's sleep.  Under his feet the water lapped quietly at the pylons and in the distance he heard a ferry horn calling out through the darkness.

            He was watching his footing on the slick slats of the trestle bridge when the sharp smell of whiskey made his nostrils flare.  Looking up, he made out the shape of a man sitting on the edge of the bridge, barely visible by the ambient glow of the city's light pollution.  Bucky's steps slowed; he'd never seen anyone else here before and felt almost resentful that someone else had found his spot.  And this guy had no business being here, wearing a suit with his expensive shoes lined up neatly next to him.  As Bucky watched, the man took another drink from a bottle and shivered once, sharply.

            Bucky approached slowly, making sure the guy could hear him coming, and said, "Hey," feeling a little self-conscious at how raspy his voice was.  He cleared his throat and tried again. "What are you doing?"

            The man glanced over his shoulder at him and shrugged as he turned to look back over the river.  Reflexively Bucky looked out at the view as well; it wasn't the best, because the glittering lights of the city were blocked out by the warehouses and shipyards that lined this part of the river bank.  There were no stars, of course, but there were ships moving out in the darkness, their lights reflecting on the waves.  "Just thinking," the man said eventually. 

            "Mind if I join you?" Bucky said, surprising himself.  When the man gestured with the bottle at the spot next to him, he sat down, bringing his knees up so his legs didn't hang over the edge.  From this height it felt like the river was pulling on him, waiting for him to make a wrong move.  The thought of going into the cold water made him queasy, bringing up unpleasant memories that Bucky quickly shoved away.  "Thanks," he said as he reached for the bottle, taking a swallow, wincing a little at the burn as he handed the bottle back.  "So.  What are you thinking about?"

            The man finished off the bottle and screwed the lid on with impressively precise movements, considering how much he reeked of alcohol. He leaned over and dropped the bottle into the water, watching as it splashed and floated away.  "That," he said flatly.

            "Ah." Bucky shifted a little, until he was confident that he could grab the man and keep them both on the bridge if he had to. "Why?"

            "Well, I guess the easy answer is that I'm dying anyway," the man said, leaning back and wrapped his jacket closer around himself; Bucky unwrapped his scarf from around his face and draped it over the man's shoulders. The man smiled a little and thanked him.  "So it seems better than doing it slowly, right?  But the real answer is that I'm just...tired."

            Bucky wanted to say, Buddy, you don't know from tired, I got ninety years of being tired, but as he studied the man next to him, the lines on the man's face, the stubble on his jaw and the defeated slump of his shoulders, he felt a sudden stab of empathy. "Dying, huh?  What is it? Cancer?"