Who Am I? » [Stucky]

125. My Dumb-Ass Hero

Bucky left the apartment the next day feeling freshened up, reinvigorated, motivated with his health replenished. He took a leisurely stroll to the hospital, taking a refreshing trip across the luscious green of Central Park with a bag of supplies for Steve in his hand. Every strip of grass was crowned with a glassy bead of dew and sprouts had begun to erupt from the ground, piercing the skin of sloppy boggy mud and emerging into the sunlight. Buds were emerging from the twiggy appendages of trees, some already uncurling to reveal the natural treasure stored within.

Pudgy pigeons who munched on the refuse litter of human beings chattered above, perched in trees, cawing out their tuneless cries, communicating across the green space.

The sun was shining above him and cradled him with its warmth, the pure golden rays striking him and caressing his skin. Sunlight had been a liberty he had been forbidden for so long. No longer was he to suffer the hostile iciness of Bangor, Gaspe or Ukraine. He was at home.

Life was being breathed back into the city. Spring was being heralded by the vitality of the park, painted green as the new season was born.

Before he stopped off at the hospital he took a detour to a quaint nearby florists. The clear glass windows had the ‘Interflora’ logo stamped across it; the image of Hermes the winged messenger leaping in a balletic manner with a bouquet brandished in his hand. A Blue awning hung over the immaculate transparent double doors, shading the interior and an advertisement sign was propped up outside displaying deals on flowers.

Bucky gave the leaden glass door a shove and it scraped open. He was immediately hit with the overpowering floral scent: sweet nose-tickling pollen. He looked curiously about the veritable rainforest of flowers stored within; vibrant eye-aching colours with luscious petals, some with stalks that seemed to curve, other upright. He was lost as to what Steve would like and the vast variety only served to complicate his task more.

“Can I help you, sir?” A meek voice drifted to his ears. It belonged to a wide-eyed petite young woman with loose curled blonde hair that drifted to her shoulders. She could see he was out of his depth.

Bucky’s head whipped up from where he was cluelessly staring at the trove of deluxe plants. “Uh… Yeah…” He stammered, looking pitifully muddled. “Sorry…” He apologised, a sheepish smile on his face.

“What is it you’re looking for, sir?” She gave him a sympathetic consoling smile.

“I just want a nice bouquet of flowers…” He breathed, his cheeks highlighted in pink.

“For what kind of occasion? Because different flowers mean different things. Have you anything in mind at all?” She came and stood by him.

“I dunno… Roses? That’s romantic, right?” He laughed at himself and bit at his lip apprehensively.

“Yes, that’s very traditional, a little old fashioned.”

“My partner’s a little old fashioned…” Bucky giggled in agreement.

“Or you could get a whole selection of flowers. We do custom bouquets here, of varying sizes. Pick whatever you want and we can decorate it and string it together for you at the till,” she explained, her blue-green eyes kindly staring at the flustered man before her. “What are the flowers for? A birthday? A date?”

“Get well soon… Uh, apologies… Just some way of saying ‘I love you’…” Bucky sighed deep, glad of the assistance.

“You’ll want peonies, Chrysanthemums, roses and hyacinths…” She clucked her tongue thoughtfully and squinted with consideration. “In reds, purples and pinks…”