Who Am I? » [Stucky]

87. Hope and Isolation

“He’s a ghost, Steve… I told you that the first time we spoke about him… I get that you’re hopeful, and I don’t want to numb or kill that hope; but I want to be realistic with you. Tony and Bruce will try their hardest to seek him out, but so will Bucky, to avoid detection. I don’t want you to be upset if they can’t find him. But do maintain hope,” Natasha explained to him, her eyes reflecting a vacant, well concealed sadness.

Natasha, Clint and Steve sat around in Steve’s flat, all scattered across the islands of sofas grouped together in the living room. Clint and Natasha sat cuddled together, Clint’s arm thrown around her waist and his hand drawing random cursory shapes onto her hip.

Steve’s blue eyes, having been sparkling with newly ignited hope fell solemn. His lips twitched into a slightly curve as he attempted to force a smile onto his blank face and then he frowned deeper.

“Don’t lose hope, buddy,” Clint instructed, trying to instil a sense of renewed and educated enthusiasm into him. “Never lose hope. What’s the point of living without hope?” Clint’s eyes looked shiny with a thin film of tears gathering there. Sure, he and Bucky hadn’t gotten off to the best of starts, but they had gotten to know each other like brothers. He’d been part of the team and Clint had felt the sting of his absence too.

“I know… But Bruce and Tony are the best search team I have. I know I’m going to start searching the city. I’m going to revisit all the places he’s spoken about, all the places he’s familiar with, places I’ve seen him before. If there’s one thing Bucky is, it’s sentimental; he’ll retrace his steps and hide up somewhere, I know it…” Steve’s eyes looked clouded over with thought and he stared through the couple before him, his mind elsewhere, gallivanting on his own private plain of thought.

“That’s a great start. And I can promise Nat and I will join you if you do go on patrols, and we’ll certainly be keeping our ears and eyes out for you…” Clint managed an empathetic smile for Steve, even though his heart was crunched up in his body. He reached forwards and patted him on the knee a couple times.

“Don’t ever lose hope Steve,” Natasha demanded, her voice instructive and borderline threatening. “Never lose hope.”

~

Steve hadn’t truly realised how completely alone he was until he was sitting alone in his flat. He was isolated. He was forbidden the rudimentary commodity of another’s company. He was no longer accompanied by the presence of another, there was a lacking of soul or feeling within the empty walls of his home. He longed to hear a sound to break the maddening silence of the void. He yearned for the comforting touch of another being. He was eager for the presence of another. Yet he was completely alone.

His home was still wrecked, but the trashed wreckage was like an ode to Bucky. It had his mark on it, like a graffiti artist has their tag or a cat with their scent. It was a reminder of when he did occupy the gaping space surrounding him.

The house full of furniture and objects felt empty. There was too much space in every room, the walls seemed to gape and slack, and the space in between was a void, unfilled and soulless. The wind seemed to howl through the harrowing space, like a ball barrelling down a bowling alley.

The flat felt cold. A chill touched every reachable surface, it coated every unheated wall, it licked every icy floorboard and covered every trinket and trunk. The whole flat was lacking in heat. Everything was stone cold and grey. It was like the colours had been drained from the apartment. What had once seemed vibrant and bright now seemed monochrome and bland. The colour had been drained from his home.

The welcomed bird song no longer drifted into his flat, and he was no longer awoken by their morning salute to the sun. Their melody was tuneless, made up of coarse crows and scratchy squawks. No longer did they flutter outside his window, no longer did their beat of wings draw near or their eyes gaze into his.