Spirit in the House

Chapter 8

In the fifth month of your coma, your spirits declined. So to speak. Your chances of survival were very slim.

Bucky didn't visit you often, he was afraid he might run into Peggy. But every time he visited, he always placed a soft, lingering kiss on your forehead and you could feel the gentle pressure of his lips against your skin.

He never mentioned that to you, so you never commented on it.

Bucky would read books to you, watch movies with you until he fell asleep on the sofa, too tired to move. Most of the time, he was trying to fight off sleep so he could stay with you a little bit longer.

He was slowly falling in love with you and you were completely clueless because you were too caught up in your own thoughts. He was smart, funny and downright adorable. You tried to push your feelings aside, but it was too late. It was a doomed relationship. Who would want to date a ghost?

You looked down at Bucky. He was fast asleep on the sofa, his lips parted as small puffs of air escaped. God, you wanted to kiss him so bad. You sat by the window and watched the light grow brighter until the sun came shining though the bay windows. Soon, the streets were packed with people hurrying about their business.

Bucky woke up with a start. He visibly relaxed when he saw you sitting at the window. "I thought you were gone."

He crossed the room to sit next to you. When you didn't acknowledge his presence, he drummed his fingers on the windowsill.

"What's wrong?" You turned you head to glare at him and he gave you an embarrassed smile. "I mean... apart from the obvious."

You looked at the clock above the television. "You're gonna be late."

Bucky had an appointment with the Police Department shrink. It was the only way he could have his job back.

"Shit!" He stood up and started running towards the bedroom before he stopped in his tracks. "Wait, are you okay?" You forced a smile, but he saw right through it... so to speak. "You sure?"

"Yeah, go Bucky. I'll be fine."

"You don't look fine."

"Go," you urged, a tell-tale quiver in your voice.

Bucky stayed silent, standing in the middle of the living room.

"Come here."

He extended his arms as if he wanted a hug and smiled at you, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Your heart fluttered in your chest as you walked over to him.

"You can't hug me, Bucky."

"We can pretend."

"You're going to be late."

"So you better hurry and wrap your arms around my neck."

You put your arms around his neck, careful not to touch him. His hands hovered close to your hips and for a second, you really believed that you were real. The illusion was perfect, but it was just that, an illusion.

"I'm scared," you admitted, avoiding his eyes. "I don't want to be alone."

"I know." He placed his hands on each side of your face as if he were cupping your jaw. "I'll stay with you."

When you took a step back, your arms went through his neck and chest, making him shiver. Bucky didn't seem to care, but you still mumbled an apology.

"You have to go. It's too important." You crossed your arms and turned your back to him.

"Nothing is more important than you."