before the storm / bucky barnes

iii. To Hear Your Voice Once More

          BUCKY likes to think he's settled into his new house quite nicely.

He had gotten an allowance from Tony to find a house, keep himself fed. And alive. All that fun stuff.

Bucky's left arm is full with a large paper bag holding an assortment of groceries. As he approaches his front door to the small, quaint house that mimics the house Cassandra described to him almost a year ago, he fumbles in his pocket for his keys.

As soon as he unlocks the door, he drops the keys on his kitchen table – which he had found useless as he usually just eats while standing anyway – but he can't help but continuously recall how much Cass had dreamed of a grand wooden dining table. This regular sized one seemed to suffice.

Bucky hums to himself as he places the paper bag next to his keys, shakily sighing as he slips his shoes off. He let his mind wander again.

"FRIDAY..." Bucky hums at the small, Google-Home like speaker in the corner of his kitchen that blinks 6pm as he begins to pack away his groceries. "Play jazz playlist."

And before FRIDAY can respond, he quickly slips in a "please," for good measure.

Bucky has never been more careful in handling an inanimate object, his right hand placing the eggs ever so carefully in the fridge.

As soon as he has packed away all the groceries, the paper bag is folded up and added to the pile of them found in the corner of his pantry.

There's a journal sitting at the corner of the bar, adjacent to the now-cold mug of tea Bucky could hardly finish this morning.

This isn't the same journal Bucky had almost launched through a window the night before his departure from New York, no. This one was fresh, this journal held life between it's pages, hope, love.

It was what he would use when he wanted to talk to Cassandra.

It only took a quick second for Bucky to decide he would make himself another cup of tea before nestling himself on his quaint little balcony, left by himself to appreciate the sun and write to his love once more.

Bucky begins to brew himself a strong cup of black tea, accompanied with an assortment of fruits from the farmers market a short distance from his home.

Bucky daintily pops a few blueberries in his mouth as he carefully walks his tea to the small coffee table outside, the journal tucked cosily under his arm.

He places the tea to the left of the clean book that he places on the edge of the table, and takes a small sip as his fingers curve through the pressed marking of For Cass. inscribed elegantly at the journal's bottle right corner.

He could barely write Dear Cassandra at the top of his page, an abrupt knock on his door assured him of such.

Bucky leaves his mug to go cold as he cautiously approaches his door, Cass' journal tightly help in his right hand.

Steve's outline can be faintly made out from behind the frosted glass, allowing Bucky to calmly open the door to embrace his friend he hasn't seen in upwards of six months.

"We need you to see something," is all Steve says upon pulling away from the hug.

"See what?" Bucky asks, peering around behind Steve, to which Steve merely cocks an eyebrow up. Bucky exhales harshly from his nose after putting two-and-two together.

"I'm going to New York?" He questions, a lump forming at the back of his throat.

"You're going to New York."