You were his wife in the 40's through thick and thin, sickness and health, richer or poorer, and through all of the twists of life. Even 70 years later you continued to love him, and stay by his side.
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Once I got off the plane, luggage in hand, I took the long way home, by foot.
I couldn't risk hailing a cab, and have the driver see my face for too long of a time. So, in my four inch stilettos I walked the busy streets of Bucharest.
The Basarab Overpass gleamed gold in the teal dusk light. The last remnants of the sunset shimmering along the bridge.
Romanian rock bands of the '70s, and '80s could always be heard from the many shops, and radios of the urban folk. Powerlines perpetually seemed to cut across the sky like the lines on notebook paper, and numerous trolleybuses rode down the crammed streets.
The night life of the Romanian city was awakening, and some were already ready getting a head start on the evening's festivities as they hunted for bars, and clubs. The city a never ending rager once the sun went down.
Bucharest was a capital that was modernizing with each passing day. The old, dilapidated side meshing with the new eclectic version. It was a growing metropolis that was still ebbing away from it's past.
I found myself back home again at the large domicile that went up, and up for stories. The thin, ramshackle apartment building once used as a safe-house, and it was clearly along in years.
It wasn't exactly what one would call a nice place to live, it wasn't even safe, but once inside my own flat I knew he'd be waiting for me, and that was all the home I needed. Bucky was my home.
I slid my key into the lock, and went on in, now out of breath from the flights of stairs.
Again, the apartment looked like a ruddy flophouse inside. Complete with water damaged ceilings, dingy carpet floors, peeling paint, chipped walls, and household appliances from the early '90s at best. The place smelt of mold, and drywall.
There wasn't much either, a tiny bathroom, a dining table with two chairs, a couch, and an old mattress on the floor. All the windows were sealed off with sheets of newspaper so no one could look inside, and dust spread along every surface.
It was poor living conditions, sure, but I didn't mind so long as I had my husband.
"Hello, gorgeous." I heard him say, and immediately I was smiling.
"Hello, handsome." I greeted, slipping off my heels, and suit jacket before I rushed over to him, and hugged him tightly.
I felt Bucky's arms wrap securely around my waist as he buried his face into the crook of my neck, relishing in my return.
"I missed you, Doll..." Was all he said, and I pulled him down to my level before capturing his lips with my own.
I knew he wasn't okay when I was gone. He never was okay, but he at least had a break whenever I was with him because to Bucky, I was a reminder. A reminder of something good in his life. To him many times, I was all he had. The one light that could ward off the darkness.
I unbuttoned by white dress shirt to my camisole underneath, settling in.
"How was Steve?" Bucky asked.
"He was fine," I told him. "Stressed, I guess. He's not going to sign the Sokovia Accords, and neither am I."
"You okay with that?" I heard him question, and I peered over at the open stack of notebooks sprawled out along the bed.
With a nod I moved on to the next topic, swiping one of the diaries.
"What did you write down today?"
Over the past year Bucky had been writing down every memory that he could remember. Everything, no matter how minuscule, or inconsequential. Just any scattered fragments of himself, or his life. He'd rush to jot it down in fear he might forget again.
Bucky was always prepared in that sense for something to happen, for something to go wrong again, and he cherished every memory he wrote down.
"Oh, today's log is all about our Honeymoon," I mused with a grin. "Springtime in Paris, 1938. We had a lovely suite there too, didn't we? One we hardly left."
I could feel his smile against my skin as he pecked my bare shoulder before slipping my dress shirt fully off, and pinning me to the bed.
I bit my bottom lip, and guided his metal hand to my hips, allowing him to slide my camisole up.
The cold metal against my skin making me shiver, but I always had to convince him that I wasn't afraid, and that his arm didn't bother me.
"Are you sure you're alright, Doll?" Bucky said, and I just peeled his shirt off of him.
Gently, I pressed my lips against his scar where his skin met the prosthetic. My mouth grazing against the jagged edge.
"Yes, I am, James. You don't always have to be so cautious every time." I coaxed, and he moaned at my touch, my hands sliding down his bare toned chest.
"I will always trust you... And, I'll always love you..."
"I'll always love you too..." Bucky whispered before kissing me passionately, his hands running along the curves of my body.
This was one of the good moments, and I never took them for granted.
