Her Bodyguard

8. When You're Sad

Steve put the flower down on the grass. As his fingers brushed over the green blades, he felt the cold wetness of morning dew seep into his skin. That white flower and the green grass were the only hints of color here. He knelt down, not caring whether his knees got wet or not. His pants were black, anyways. No color would be able to overcome that blackness.

White. The color of purity and cleanliness and everything that was good in this world, everything untarnished by black, by crime, by hate. She was white.

Steve stood up with a shaky sigh and shaky hands. 

It felt wrong to fall in love with Natasha. Too fast, too soon.

∙∙∙✩∙∙∙

Steve felt eyes on him. Without looking to his left, he knew that he would be there. Bucky, his calloused fingers tapping nervously on the driver's wheel, dark eyebrows furrowed in pity. It was a scene he was familiar with by now. As always, the two of them were silent for the majority of the ride, until they reached Steve's house. Bucky let out a small sigh as the car came to a halt.

"Well, we made it, didn't we? We've gotten through five years - that means we're pretty much through the five stages of grief, right?" Five years. Five years without her. Bucky's joke was half-hearted, he knew. He also knew that a half-hearted joke was the only way Bucky could ever cope with her death. But this didn't stop Steve from feeling hot anger spreading from his brain - or was it his heart? - over the rest of his body. As if it had a mind of its own, his fist clenched up, the picture in it crumpling up as well. Before he could stop himself, his fist was colliding with the dashboard of Bucky's car. Once, twice... five times. One punch for each year she was gone now. Bucky stayed silent until Steve raised his fist a sixth time. 

"Hey, look." He grabbed his arm a bit harshly, but his voice was soft. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I can't help it. It just... it just comes out sometimes." He took Steve's fist, and carefully pried the tense fingers away from the palm. The crumpled up piece of paper stood, desolate and lonely, just above the marks that his fingernails left on his skin. 

Steve carefully straightened out the picture. He wanted to cry. Why couldn't he cry?

"She really was beautiful, wasn't she?" Bucky said as he leaned over closer towards Steve. Steve studied the picture once more, as if there was any more to study about it. He had memorized it in all - the silky curls, the cherry lips, the chiseled cheekbones, the steely eyes, and the creases surrounding her smile. 

Steve only nodded in response, then pocketed the picture. He cleared his throat, forcing himself to put a small smile on his face. "Thanks, Buck. I'll call you later." He avoided eye contact as climbed out of the car, but he was stopped before he could shut the car door closed.

"Wait." Steve forced himself to look at Bucky's eyes. They were noticeably puffy, and red around the edges from crying. He never knew they could hold so much pain in them. "Take a few days off of your new job. You're not in the condition to work. And if your boss doesn't understand that, well then, he's a douche." Steve smiled just slightly after realizing his friend's small mistake.

"She," he corrected, then continued as Bucky raised an eyebrow in confusion. "My boss is a she." 

"Ah, my apologies." Bucky slightly bowed his head, then brought it back up with a brighter eyes. "Well, if she doesn't understand, then she's a douche. Happy? Good, I'm glad to see you smiling now, for real. I'll call you when I get home."

Steve waved his hand in acknowledgement as his friend rode off. 

As the car faded out of view, he took his phone out to check the time. Instead of looking at the big numbers at the top of his screen, however, his eyes wandered down to the string of notifications below.