War Torn || Civil War

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Undimmed By Time

Music is "This Love" by Taylor Swift.

Picture is Sebastian Stan in I'm Dying Up Here.

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CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE: Undimmed By Time

{February 3, 2016 -- One Month Later}

W A K A N D A

"I pushed open the door to a small café in Brooklyn, New York City. Of all the places to get a good milkshake in all the world, there's no better than Rossi's Café, owned by the great chef Roberto Rossi himself. For some people, it was the smells that got them to come again: fresh fries, cold ice cream, and burgers. For others, it was the aesthetics of the brand new 1942 hardware. For the rest, it was the live jazz music played every Friday night.

"For me, however, it was the cute waiter slash cashier that worked Monday through Friday from seven in the morning until two in the afternoon. Though, this wasn't his only job. He had three: a employee at Rossi's, a store clerk at the local department store from three until seven on Monday through Friday, and a theater manager on the weekends.

"'Why would someone have three jobs at once?' you might ask. Well, he had a 'little brother' of sorts to look after, and more often than not, he was a very sickly boy. He also had a little sister who had no parents anymore. The twenty-five year old balanced three jobs, all while getting himself a degree at college, because he didn't want either of them to worry, especially in that time of war. He was selfless and kind like that.

"Rossi's in Brooklyn: that was where this story began a very long time ago."

The first paragraphs of the finished manuscript smiles up at me from the small desk. I can't help the wide grin that's plastered on my face as I run my fingers over the pages, feeling the bulk of it in my hands.

It's finished. The first part of my life, the manuscript I never finished about my time in the War, is finally complete.

I hear a rustling in the bed behind me, and when I look over my shoulder, see Bucky reaching out for my side of the mattress. He's half awake, groaning against the sunlight streaming through the window. I can't help but chuckle at him, at his dark, disheveled hair and scrunched up nose.

"Good morning, Darling," I breathe, leaving my manuscript on the dresser and crawling back under the covers with him.

Bucky responds something incoherent and buries his face into the pillow to escape the light. I brush the hair from his forehead with a sigh. I've been fighting this thought all morning, ever since I woke up before the dawn.

Today's the day. Today is the day I've been dreading for almost a month.

Today is the day we go under the ice.

I shiver at the thought, pulling the blankets tighter around me. I hear a sigh, then feel a familiar right arm slither around my waist, pulling me back into a warm chest. I smile, curling up around the arm that holds me.

Bucky groans and buries his face into my hair. His legs tangle around mine, a clear and obvious sign that he's fighting the coming hour just as much as I am. But it could also be that he's enjoying the mornings, before everyone else wakes up, as he always does. I have to agree that they're my favorite part of the day.

Some things never change.

His voice is rough and deep with sleep, close by my ear. "You're up early," he mumbles.

I nod, carding my fingers through his dark locks. "I wanted to finish the manuscript before today."

"Did you?" His eyes squint open, finally meeting mine.