Chapter 14
Then
Bucky rolled over in bed. He was used to waking up alone, but for the last few weeks, he’d been waking up in Steve’s bed.
“Good morning,” said Bucky.
Steve grinned back, sleepily. He looked so beautiful first thing in the morning. A literal fucking angel. His hair fell over his eyebrow, his stubble brushed Bucky’s cheek as Bucky kissed him awake.
After Bucky had broken down in front of Steve, told him about everything he’d endured under HYDRA, he’d felt lighter than air. He’d gone home with Steve that night, and they held each other. Steve had cradled him like a baby, rubbing his forehead, whispering soothing words as Bucky cried incoherently, letting loose the dam of emotions that Bucky had tried hard not to flinch away from Steve’s touch. But it had taken weeks until he was comfortable. Until he realized that when Steve touched him, he was safe.
Now he felt like he was living in a idealized version of his reality. All of his fears and insecurities were somehow lessened. He had stopped taking the sleeping pills he’d become so dependent on. He wasn’t drinking as much. Sometimes he went a week without any nightmares. Even when the nightmares came, when he was sleeping next to Steve, they seemed less intense. Sometimes he’d wake up to Steve holding him tight until he stopped shaking, mopping his brow, caressing his hair. He would apologize to Steve for waking him up, but Steve would shush him, hold him closer. I will always be here for you, Steve would say. I’ll never leave you.
“You’re amazing,” Steve breathed now, kissing Bucky’s neck.
“I love you,” said Bucky.
He had never thought he deserved this kind of happiness, and he had never let himself believe he would have it.
Every now and then, doubts broke into his consciousness. He started to think about the things he’d done, which were coming back with alarming clarity. Steve and Tony Stark had sorted out his presidential pardon, and he didn’t need to fear jail. But it wasn’t as easy to release himself from his own punishment. He was keeping a list of names. People he had to make amends with. But whenever he thought about talking to someone, he just felt sick inside. Maybe he didn't have to face the people he'd hurt. Maybe he could just keep living this life with Steve forever. Maybe he would get that happy ending that he’d never dared to imagine.
Now
“Hey,” said Nat. “You still with us?”
“Of course,” he said. “Yeah.”
“Seemed like you went somewhere else for a second.”
“It’s just,” he gestured down at his Glock. “Every time I pick up a weapon, I feel like him. Like the Winter Soldier.”
Natasha put a hand on his arm. “You’re not him anymore. You’re you. There’s a difference.”
“Not much of one. If I’m hurting people either way.”
“This is not murder. It’s survival. And you heard Zemo. This guy is a terrorist. A gun smuggler. Not exactly a hero.”
“Yeah, that’s what I keep telling myself,” he says.
“Are we ready?” Sam asked over the radio.
“All good. We’re in position.”
“He’s coming out the east entrance,” said Zemo through the radio. “Clear for entry in about 5 minutes. Hold until my word.”
“Copy,” said Nat. She and Bucky were positioned at the side of the building. The plan was to get in and get out with minimal attention. He and Nat would enter the hotel room and secure the exits. First choice method of assassination was asphyxiation. Easy to clean up, to make it look like suicide. Poetic, even. The world would believe he died just like his wife.
Second choice was a bullet. Haverly was into enough criminal enterprises that it would be easily dismissed as a message from an ongoing turf war. But shooting a man was trickier, messier. Louder. Bucky hoped it wouldn’t go that way.
This is wrong, he couldn’t help thinking. He’d been feeling it ever since Zemo arrived in the apartment. He wasn’t supposed to be doing this anymore. Wouldn’t it be easier just to let this Haverly guy come for him? Either he’d make it out or he wouldn’t. But going in like this, assassinating someone…it wasn’t what an Avenger would do.
Nat took the lead. They holstered their guns, pulled hoods and jackets up to disguise their features. Nat’s hair was pulled back. She looked like any other woman on the street. Bucky’s metal arm was covered, his gloved hand in his pocket.
“Going radio silent,” said Bucky
“Copy,” said Sam. “Hey Bucky?”
The use of his nickname jarred him a bit. “Yeah?”
“Stay safe. Remember, you’re still you.”
Bucky didn’t say anything for a moment. He felt a lump growing in his throat. “Over and out,” he said, then turned the radio volume dial all the way down.
Midnight
Bucky blinked hard, trying to get the sweat out of his eyes.
The man had him by the neck, squeezing the life out of him. And the worst part was, he was glad. He wanted it to end. Wanted this sordid history that was his life to be over. Death would be a relief.
“Bucky!” He heard someone yelling. Who was it? Steve? No. Steve was dead. And he had no other friends.
He closed his eyes, let the blackness wash over him. He was free.