The Soldier's Return (A Bucky Barnes Post-Civil War Fanfiction)

16

I step out of the commercial airliner and into the airport, clutching my backpack tightly. I breathe in the cool Paris air, looking around. My stomach growls softly, and I sigh. I leave the airport and start walking until I come to a brightly-lit street. It's around nine in the morning, and I decide I need to find a small hotel room to rent out for a week or two. I brought a few thousand euros, and I only have those because T'Challa insisted we all have what he called emergency funds.

Passing an open-air market, my hunger gets the better of me. I purchase a loaf of bread, some cheese, and a container of beef jerky. None of it is overly expensive, and I figure it'll be enough for me to eat for a few days. I have to budget my money carefully until I can get a job.

Walking into a small hotel, in well-accented French, I ask the rate for two weeks in a room with one bed.

"Est-ce que tu vas bien?" she asks, concerned. She must notice the bags under my eyes.

"Oui, je veux juste dormir," I reply with a wave of my hand. "Ma voyage a pris beaucoup d'heures."

She nods and tells me the cost, which I think is less than usual due to her sympathetic gaze. I pay it, grabbing the key and going up to the small room. I unlock the door, and I'm surprised at the room's nice quality. The queen-sized bed is neatly made, the television on the wall across from it having a clean, fingerprint-free screen. I peer into the bathroom, and it's sparkling white. I put my backpack on the foot of the bed, and I turn on the lamp on the desk for added light.

I place my bag of groceries on the desk, and I notice the small coffee-brewer. I figure I'll make use of that later, and I get to work making myself a small snack. I eat rather quickly before grabbing Bucky's hoodie from my bag and laying down on the bed for some much-needed rest.

•••••

BUCKY'S P.O.V.

"Let's just think this through," Steve says calmly. "Give her time. It's only been two weeks."

"Two weeks too long," I grumble. "Steve, I have to go after her. Like you said, it's been two weeks. She's been by herself for two weeks. What if she's hurt or-" I stop myself. What if she's been having nightmares, and I haven't been there to comfort her? What if she needs me?

"Just give it one more week, and then-"

"Then nothing!" I yell, standing up. "I can't go another week without sleep, Steve! I can't go another week without her!"

"Bucky, what are you talking about?" he asks, concerned.

I shake my head, closing my eyes. All the nightmares echo in my mind. Every single night, I'd wake up within an hour or two of going to bed, trying not to scream from the flashbacks taking the form of nightmares. I'd reach out for Claire, but then I'd remember that she's gone. She left.

She left me.

"I-I can't sleep without her," I say softly, running a hand through the hair Sam always says needs cut, but Claire always says she loves. "I haven't slept more than an hour each night, and sometimes I don't sleep at all. I need her, Steve. Please. Just let me find her and bring her home." Let me bring her back to where she belongs: with me.

Steve sighs defeatedly. He gestures to the door.

"Go."

••••

CLAIRE'S P.O.V.

I sit at a table on the outside patio of a café. My cup of espresso is nice and hot, but the air is filled with a comfortable breeze. I'm starting to feel like I'm fitting in here, especially as my French has become better. It's only been around two weeks, and I'm missing Bucky more than anything, but I think I'm doing pretty okay.