Bucky Barnes One Shots

12. If Bucky Were There

Setting: 1943

You held the thick, white paper in your hands so tightly that your fingerprints were most likely imprinted in the letter.

Dear Miss (y/l/n),

I have been asked to express my sincerest regrets in informing you that as of last month, Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes was declared 'missing in action' behind enemy lines. As of yesterday, I am terribly sorry to inform you that Sergeant Barnes has been presumed dead.

There were far more words below what you'd read, but none seemed to matter after you'd read the final sentence.

Bucky? Dead? No, that couldn't be, because if it were true, surely you would have known—you would have felt it. Right? A piece of yourself would have unknowingly died along with him, even before you'd come to the realization that the hole in your heart was because the love of your life was no longer breathing—his heart no longer beating.

Nothing could stop the tears that flowed from your rosy, round cheeks. If Bucky were there, he'd be wiping those tears away with the back of his soft hand, worry lines disrupting the smooth skin of his forehead.

If Bucky were here, you thought, I would be crying tears of joy, not tears of heartbreak.

If Bucky were there, you'd have few worries in the world. Your biggest worry would be,
"When are you leaving again, Buck?"

He'd shake his head in refusal to ruin your happy moment, his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you dangerously close to his body. Your eyes would lower, unable to see the truth in his eyes that whispered,
"Tomorrow, doll."

Your gaze would focus on his lips, soft and as pink as the bubblegum from the front counter at the place over on 5th Avenue in the city. His lips would be curved into a sly smile, one he only wore around you. His breath would smell like mint mixed with hot cinnamon. His jawline would be smooth to the touch thanks to a clean shave.

You would get lost in studying his face and then he'd squeeze your side gently, catching your attention again.

"Are you gonna stare at my lips all day or are you gonna kiss 'em, doll?" Bucky would smirk, pulling you closer to him, his soft mouth melding with yours.

If Bucky were there, the only thing you'd truly be sad about was knowing you'd have to say goodbye again.

You hated watching him leave.

You hated the war.

You hated the letter.

You hated the sickening feeling in your stomach as you pictured him in pain.

You hated the fact that no matter how desperately you wished James Buchanan Barnes would step through the doorway of your apartment and wrap his arms protectively around you, you would never feel his warmth again.

You would never hear him call you 'Sweetheart' or 'Doll' one last time.

You would never hear him say anything one last time.

You would never hear his sweet, low voice again, and it was the worst feeling you'd ever experienced in your life.