December // A Winter Soldier Story

41

ｊａｎｕａｒｙ ２１ｓｔ， ２０１４

３４°

ℬ𝓊𝒸𝓀𝓎

He doesn't sleep for days. Steve tries to convince him, even begs him, to lay down and try. But he won't. He knows that when he puts his head on that pillow, he will pass out, and the nightmares will come. He will be forced to relive everything all over again.

It has been two weeks since he last touched her skin, but to him, it feels like either yesterday or a lifetime ago. He sits in a chair by the window and stares outside. There is snow on the ground again, a couple feet, and it looks grey under the overcast sky. He can't stand the sight of it, but he also can't look away, because it reminds him of her. He'd only ever known her in the snow; the winter will forever be tied to his memories of her.

Unblinking, body shaking, all he can do is keep his head turned towards the window. Steve hasn't seen him move in hours besides the new shaking habit he has developed. He barely eats, barely does anything except stare through the glass, like he's waiting for her to come back. Steve tries to coax him into doing different things, but is largely unsuccessful.

All he does is sit, watch, think. Wait for something, though neither of them know for what.

The one thing he will do is go on walks. He took one for the first time just three days after she'd grown cold, because the thoughts had become too much and he needed to find a way to quiet them Since then, it's been the only thing that has made him feel better. Steve is always worried he won't come back, but Bucky repeatedly assures him: he made her a promise. He won't break that, no matter how much it breaks him to follow through with it. It's during these daily conversations that Steve is reminded of just how truly good Bucky is.

He wraps himself up before he goes out for these walks, donning a hat, a coat, a scarf, snow boots. He enjoys the temperatures, but he's not looking to harm himself by getting sick, so he is careful. These items also help shield his identity. He is still a wanted man, and probably always will be.

He walks from Steve's apartment in Brooklyn to a local park every morning, just as the sun has begun to peek over the horizon. Before the world has rubbed the sleep from its eye, and before the noise of the city has grown to a roar; when it is quiet, and peaceful, and still.

It's the closest thing he can get to the way she made him feel.

Here, he will let himself close his eyes, and think of only the good. The good. Like when her lips would pull back in a smile, or when she would glance at him with as many thoughts and emotions as there are stars in the sky. The way she would quiet the voices in his head. How her soft skin felt under his rough, calloused hands; how brave she was, how selfless, even when she was in pain. The bright sound of her laugh that filled his entire heart in a way that it hadn't been filled in decades.

Like how she gave him a reason to live. Ironic, because now that she is gone, he almost wishes he could give that gift back - but deep down, he knows that he doesn't want to be done with life yet. He misses her every second of every day, but he had his life stolen from him and has only just got it back. He wants the chance to live it, in a way that honors her and all she sacrificed to give him the chance in the first place. If she isn't fated to live, then by god, he will live for them both.

If he believes hard enough, the breeze on his face feels like her hands, cupping his cheeks and holding him steady. It is in this second of peace that his shaking momentarily stops. He basks in the feeling that she is here, with him. He can almost hear her talking about how he is not the monster they made him, that he can be anyone he wants to be now that he's escaped. That they did it, they got past Hydra, they're free. Except she is not free in the way he wanted her to be, and his own freedom is dampened by this fact.

He sits and watches the world from a different view here than from Steve's apartment. There are kids that come here when the day starts to warm up to run around, and he is fascinated by watching them. Their innocence is pure and unbridled; they take joy in how their bodies move and fly, in how there is so much of the world to explore and admire. Bucky wishes he could see in that way again, where everything is beautiful and there's nothing to fear. That's how he imagines she saw things.

But every morning, these feelings of wonder and peace eventually end, and in the moments that follow he struggles to stop the tears from rolling down his cheeks. Thinking about her brings him joy, but to really feel the hundreds of emotions she stirred in him, he knows she would need to be here. Her presence alone was filled with an energy that he'll never get again, and this thought threatens to strangle him with hopelessness.

The walk back from the park is always hard. There are a lot more people outside on the streets when he is leaving, and he is uncomfortable when he is surrounded. Even worse, leaving the park makes him feel like he is leaving Lea all over again; he struggles to keep his emotions in check so he doesn't have a breakdown on the middle of the sidewalk. He keeps his face hidden - along with the tears that every now and then escape and run wild down his cheeks - until he is at the front door of Steve's building.

When he steps in Steve always has something warm waiting for him to eat. If it weren't for Steve, Bucky knows he wouldn't be eating. He is thankful that Steve is helping him keep the promise he made to Lea by forcing him to care for himself.

Most days since Lea's death have been like this: peace, misery, warm meals, shaking. Two weeks after she went cold, though, something is different. Both Bucky and Steve can feel something changing.

Bucky returns from his walk around noon, and just as expected, Steve hands him a full plate after he sheds his snow gear. Gratefully taking the food, he makes a beeline for the spot at the table that has a view out of the window. It is when he has begun eating and is pondering through the vast array of thoughts in his head that Steve tries once again to get him to open up, hoping that today might finally be the day he talks.

"What did you think about today? At the park, I mean," he suddenly asks, making Bucky jump ever so slightly. He'd been so caught up in his own thoughts that the unanticipated sound of Steve's voice had triggered his reflexes.

Steve had asked this question many times in the last two weeks. Always, the answer appears in Bucky's mind, but then the words get caught in his throat and he chokes on them. They weigh more than he can carry, but he struggles to let them out.

This time, though, something has changed. He swallows a spoonful of soup, and words flow out of him before he even realizes he has spoken. "How much I miss her." Immediately after speaking, it occurs to him: he has so much to say. And he is suddenly dying to say it.

Steve freezes in his spot in the chair. This is the first time Bucky has spoken more than one or two words in days, and the first time since the attack that he has mentioned Lea. In fact, since Steve hadn't been with Bucky while he'd known Lea, he's never heard him speak about her before at all. He is shocked and relieved - perhaps two weeks was all that was needed for something inside of Bucky to finally give way.

He takes the bait, pushes a little further. "What do you miss about her?"

And with that Bucky is a waterfall of memories; everything that made Lea who she was comes spilling out of his mouth in a way he has never spoken before, in a rapid torrent of desperation and relief. He tells Steve about how smart she was, how brave she was, how she had somehow broken through the Winter Soldier with just a few words and more kindness than the Soldier deserved. About how she'd given him a home when he'd been hopelessly lost and afraid and couldn't reach Steve. How she'd saved his life. How she had never once given up hope, and how that faith in the world around them had given him the strength he'd needed to finally escape Hydra's clutches.

All things he has been thinking about for weeks, but that haven't made it past his lips until now.

At some point tears slip out again - they are like the tide, inevitable, impossible to control - but he embraces them and the emotions that come with them because at some point while he is speaking to Steve, he realizes something: before her, he didn't cry, because he didn't feel anything. The Winter Soldier did not feel emotion. And with a start it occurs to him that although he is feeling an extraordinary amount of pain as a result of her death, at least he can feel.

With this realization, the tears become a gift. Something else to make life worth living.

Once again, he can never thank her enough for it.