Chapter 2
It had been weeks after Bucky had shown up at Steve’s house. He hadn’t seen him since. He couldn’t, it was just too painful. He was perfectly fine pretending like none of this had happened. They had talked but the only thing going through Bucky’s head was how old his friend had gotten. His mind kept focusing on the coughs, the slow walks and the slightly trembling hands. To be fair, he wasn’t doing so bad for a 186 year old man but that didn’t really matter. He just wasn’t his Steve. Not anymore.
Bucky was currently sitting on his couch, a bag of chips in his lap, as he watched some teen show that was on TV as he heard a knock on his door.
Chips in hand, Bucky stood up and lazily walked over to the door and peeked outside to see who it was. He glanced over to the table where he kept one of his knives. He didn’t keep them on him at all times anymore, which was progress.He knew the man standing on the other side of his door was no threat but after all those years as the Winter Soldier, being too careful was something he had yet to figure out how to shake off.
Bucky knew what Sam was going to say the second he opened the door.
“He’s gone,” was all his friend said as they stood face to face.
Bucky just nodded, stepping aside to let him in. They sat down at the kitchen table. Sam was watching him like he didn’t know what to say. Bucky didn’t either.
Minutes passed and neither of said a word. Bucky kept his head down, staring intensely at the fruit bowl like it was the most interesting thing he’s ever seen.
After a while Sam cleared his throat and started talking. “Bucky, uh… I know this is probably too soon but Steve asked me to give you this before… before he passed.” Sam reached into his jacket and took out a piece of paper. As he put it down on the table, Bucky could see it was a letter. It was faded, probably a couple decades old. Sam looked at Bucky for a while, trying to make out a reaction. After working at the VA he knew grief too well and he knew that even if Bucky didn't show it, he was mourning Steve, and for the second time this year. “You don’t have to read it now, or at all if you don’t want to. He just really wanted you to have it. I was with him when he… He gave it to me just before - well, you know.”
Bucky didn’t respond, simply reaching for the letter and putting in in his pocket.
“Uh. Yeah, okay,” Sam muttered, shifting around on his chair uncomfortably. “I guess I’m gonna leave you alone now.” Bucky didn’t respond. He didn’t know whether he wanted Sam to stay or not. “Okay.”
Bucky just sat there for a while after his friend left. Sam probably thought he was in shock or something. Bucky didn’t know if he was. He knew what he should be feeling: Grief, Anger, Pain… But truth be told, he wasn’t feeling much at all. He lost Steve and Bucky knew that was true but it didn’t feel like he lost him today at all. He’d lost him the second he stepped onto that platform and disappeared. The man that had returned was someone entirely different. The man that had died today was not Steve and it didn’t feel like he just lost a loved one. He just lost someone. It was confusing.
He pulled out the letter. He couldn’t bring himself to opening it, so he just stared at it for a while. It was Steve’s letter to him. Steve who was now dead. Steve who said that they were always going to be there for each other. Steve who’dleft him behind. He was gone. And he was gone for good. Steve left even though he promised to stay by his side forever. Till the end of the line. Clearly.
He put down the letter, grabbed a drink and paced around his apartment for awhile. He sat down, stared at the letter some more, then got up again and proceeded to do anything that didn’t have to do with dealing with whatever this was. He did some laundry, had a nice conversation with his favourite neighbour Mrs. Reynolds in the hallway, had another drink and decided to finally look for that pair of sunglasses he’d lost a couple weeks ago. He threw the couch cushions on the ground, hoping that they somehow ended up underneath but he couldn’t find anything besides some cash and a crazy amount of popcorn. He sank down onto the couch, staring at the cushions. Memories rushed back to him. Memories from before he joined the army. Steve and him, making makeshift beds out of pillows so Bucky could stay by Steve’s side during rough nights. He remembered being so uncomfortable that he had a hard time falling asleep. He’d spent nights watching Steve sleep, feeling good knowing he was safe, knowing he was going to be there for him if he wasn’t. He had forgotten.
He reached into his pocket, pulled out the letter and ripped it open before he could change his mind.
Bucky,
So much time has passed since I last saw you. 50 years to be precise. It will be another 30 until I get to see you again. I hope I can find the right words to tell you how much you still mean to me, how much you’ve always meant to me. You were the best friend anyone could have ever wished for. Maybe that’s why I never had the balls to tell you what I’ve always wanted to tell you.
I never wanted to leave you behind. I’m sorry about that. I wish I could’ve told you how I felt sooner. I suppose there is such a thing as waiting too long. I’m sorry about that too. But you have to agree that history wasn’t exactly in our favour. Maybe in another life.
I want you to know that it’s not because you were not good enough. I’ve realised over time that it might have seemed that way. Please don’t hate me. I couldn’t live with myself if you did.
Leaving you was probably the hardest thing I ever had to do. Living a life without you in it is unbearable at times. But I knew it would be easier than being by your side, knowing I can never fully have you. I don’t regret my decision but I do wish things could’ve been different for us.
I don’t know if you ever felt the same way. I want to imagine that you did.
Forgive me,
Steve.
He read the letter many times. Tears were streaming down his face and Bucky didn’t try to stop them from coming. He was confused. None of this was making sense. Maybe he‘d had too much to drink and this was some sort of sick dream. There was no way in hell Steve had ever felt the same way. It was not like Bucky could ask him about it anymore though. This letter was all he had left of him.
Steve had added something underneath the letter with a fountain pen. The time had washed it away almost completely, leaving nothing more than a faint trace of three words.
I love you.
Bucky reread them until the tears in his eyes blurred his vision. He was definitely feeling things now. He was feeling so many things. Anger, Sadness, Pain, Hope, Joy and… Love.
“You always were a goddamn idiot, Steve Rogers, but you have to be shitting me with this one.” He sighed. He had fucked up so bad.