Not Accepting The Proposal
He didn’t know how long he stayed at the bookshop, he helped stack books for his sugarplum fairy, now physically older than him, and that was a sad sight. Someone who’d been like a little sister to him, wheeling around, older than him.
He’d learnt that her children and grandchildren were out in the world accomplishing big things, out at universities and getting married. That no one stuck around to inherit the bookstore and that she was only keeping up with the rent because of her son's law firm. She was the only one left to run the shop and she often had to close early, because she couldn’t keep up, not that there was much business.
So James stacked books, reminisced about the old days and served the odd customer. After her shop had closed for the day, he mentioned going back to an empty apartment and apparently that wasn’t going to fly for Dotty, so she invited him back to her place and offered to cook for them both.
James took her up on the offer, he could use the company of someone his age, even if she was technically younger than him. But the shared experience, the grief of what he’d never had and the promise of warm food and an even warmer house was enough to get him to agree. It wasn’t like he had anything to do that evening, or any evening for that matter.
He pushed her wheelchair out to her older car, helping her inside before stashing the wheelchair in the back seat. While he knew that she could do it, his 40s mentality was kicking in and soon enough he was cracking jokes and complimenting her, making her blush like she was 6 again and he was still the charming 21 year old who bought the Hobbit and flung her around in his arms.
She asked if she could stop at the store to buy some ingredients for dinner as she hadn’t had any time to go shopping that week and since James didn’t have a car and she was graciously feeding him like he was some stray kitten, he had no problem pulling up outside the grocery store.
He helped her into the wheelchair, making jokes and reminiscing about the old days while doing so. For once, it felt like a weight had been lifted off his chest and he could breathe. He was trying to remember the last time he’d felt that. He certainly hadn’t felt that when he was the soldier, or with the Howlies. Although it was better sometimes, he couldn’t remember a time when it hadn’t hurt to inhale, when he hadn’t felt Steve’s pain or been scared out of his mind by the guns and bombs or not fighting for his life.
The last time was probably in the bookstore, when he’d forgotten about the little runt he’d taken it upon himself to protect, because his mother was over and he had Dotty on his shoulders running around the store dodging amused and annoyed customers alike. The regulars who had a fondness for the young man and this little girl and the odd, wealthier customer who had stumbled upon the shop and turned up their nose at the improper behaviour.
Dotty and Bucky didn’t care, having too much fun. For her, Bucky would have done anything. He learnt how to sew for her and often made her new clothing with scrap pieces of fabric, calling her ‘his princess’ as she danced around in her new, shoddily made outfits. But her parents were thankful and she never seemed to mind. Looking back now, he thinks James would also do anything for her. He might not be the same man, but she was still the same little girl.
She didn’t hesitate to call him James, despite a lifetime of calling him Bucky, understanding clouding her eyes. She let him push the trolley, following after him in the wheelchair and encouraging him as he ran down the aisles, gathering a few stern glances from people. But this was Dotty’s regular store and the manager always laughed at her antics, so she wasn’t about to be kicked out.
They grabbed some meat, bread and some more garlic before heading to the checkout. Along with a few snacks and more ingredients for dinner, they were quickly served by a cashier who was cooing about what a good grandson James was, making them both snicker under their breath, before thanking her genuinely.
“You’re old enough to be my father.” She laughed, despite looking years older than he did. “If you had me young, anyway.”
“Didn’t stop you proposing.” He teased back, putting the groceries in the boot.
She flushed red at the memory before countering with, “you didn’t have to accept.”
“And crush your hopes of being Mrs Bucky Barnes?”
“Excuse you, it’s Mrs Dotty Barnes, I’ll have you know.” she laughed, sticking her tongue out at him, as though they were young again.
To anyone else passing they looked like an odd pair, but for them, it felt like the most natural thing in years.
They pulled up at her house, Dotty hadn’t moved out of the family home and James was feeling more relaxed in a familiar environment, helping her out of the car despite her protests that ‘I am old James, not an invalid’. He brushed off the comment, just lugging the groceries inside and setting them down on the counter.
A few minutes later, Dotty was rolling out the pasta on the bench and James was sitting on the couch, having been effectively dismissed from the kitchen when he tried to help. Instead she sat him on the couch, shoved some fabric into his lap along with some thread and needles and gave him a list of measurements, then told him to “go wild”.
He hadn’t sewn for years, he occasionally had fixed up a Howlie uniform when it was needed, but his handlers had handled his repairs when he was the Winter Soldier and since then between the end of the world and the blip and the deconditioning, he hadn’t had any time to sew.
The repetitive motion of sewing the pieces of fabric together and cutting pieces to the right size and shape lulled him into a relaxed headspace. He remembered doing it for small Dotty and he felt at home once again, a feeling he’d never thought he’d experience again.
He’d only started on the bodice when Dotty called for dinner, the underskirt laying next to him on the couch, a collation of scrap fabrics ready to be covered in something colourful and beautiful and totally Dotty.
James hadn’t had a home cooked since the Wilson’s and before that, even longer. He tried not to dwell on the past as he sat in Dotty’s house at present, however, it was hard not to when he was sitting in a literal time capsule, as if mocking him. ‘Hey this is what you missed, this is what you destroyed in others’.
Dotty didn’t allow him to get in his head for too long, asking way too invasive questions about his love life, about any special girl, or guy (with a wink, nudge and a sigh close to how he used to sigh about Steve).
He blushed red, unable to get out of telling her with her withering grandmother’s stare that made it impossible not to tell her, despite the fact that she was like a little sister to him. The little sister gaze and ferocity of a grandmother curled into one, and he’d folded like a bad hand, spilling all his secrets to her.
She laughed, recalling the comics she used to read about her favourite guy, teasing him about liking Captain America so much, at this James resembled more closely the tomato passata for the pasta sauce than he did the pasta.
After dinner he insisted on doing the dishes as Dotty turned on the radio, playing a familiar song that they used to dance to in the shop, James didn’t realise that he could still listen to his favourite songs. Although he supposed it made sense, given all the technology in the world now.
The song crackled to a finish just as James was putting the finishing touches on the bodice of the dress as a familiar string of notes came on and Dotty, who’d been in her chair all day, hobbled over on a cane.
“Oblige an old woman?”
James grinned lopsidedly at her, the song was fitting at least for his own heartbreak. They swayed, Dotty propped up in James’ arms, once again looking the peculiar couple, had a stranger had looked through the window. It was nice and if Steve could go back and have his dance, then sure as hell, James could as well. He helped her back into her chair as he felt her knees almost give out, despite his sturdy grip on her.
They sat in relative silence as she dozed off in the armchair and James stayed up sewing, watching over her as almost a guard dog would, heart aching that he wasn’t there. She woke the next morning at 6:00, the sun streaming through the living room window and waking her with the light. On the couch where James had previously sat the night before was a beautiful dress and a note.
Shucking off the blanket, she knows she hadn’t gotten herself the night before, she hobbles over to the note, reading his chicken scratch, referring to a conversation they’d had the day before.
‘If opening hours are at 8, I’ll be there at 7:30, see you later Dot, just need to check on my apartment. -James’
She just smiled, making her way to the kitchen for some tea.