Steve’s gaze lingered on the eyes closed behind icy mist. For the hundredth time, he wished that the pale skin would feel warm again and that those eyes would open to reassure him of a friend never lost in time, still there by his side. He hoped for the certainty blooming in the blue. The certainty that there was something there that could keep Bucky from listening to the cruel words burned into his mind.
It was a wonder that this soul was alive. Asleep, but alive. To him, this was the most precious gift. To have his friend in his life again.
In this moment, he felt the hole in his chest again which he had buried months ago when he had stood and watched Bucky’s nostrils flare with one last calm breath before the cold sleep took him. The hole of loneliness.
In the past days, Steve had felt himself drawn to that sterile chamber repeatedly, in which his friend slept in the cold. It confused him. Hadn’t he made his peace with the situation? Yes, there had been the initial pang of pain. He had hated to let Bucky go. But then he had learned to respect his decision. In fact, he now even admired his friend’s courage to dare to hope for a better future for himself. A future worth the wait.
So for months, he hadn’t entered this room. He had even left Wakanda to return home and attempt to shape his own future out of the old memories and fights. If Bucky was able to think of a future, he should do the same. Also, he felt guilty to succumb to the feeling of being lost in this time again. He owed it to Bucky to try and go on. And to give him the peace he needed to heal.
Besides, he felt a new purpose in hunting for a way to chase the ghost of Hydra’s words away, once and for all.
But today - he had returned with empty hands. His palms were cold with guilt as he gently touched the glass spreading over Bucky’s silhouette. Why did he come back here?
The staff had welcomed him back as an honored guest, no questions asked. The king was not present at the moment and Steve had asked not to inform him about his visit. So he did not have to answer his questions – relieving because he wasn’t able to do that for himself.
He felt empty but at home too.
Some digits blinked at the side of the machine and caught his attention. 08/03/2017.
How could it already be 2017? How could he be alive and remember to have breathed almost a hundred years ago?
A breath a hundred years ago.
He stared at the red digits again. It was March. 2017.
Bucky had been born in March - March 10, 1917.
He had started breathing exactly 100 years ago in two days.
Was that what had drawn him back to his side?
He had the feeling that this had to mean something. That this was important. Still, he couldn’t determine why that was.
Memories of birthdays long past flashed through Steve’s mind.
This was a day on which he had always felt he would be able to say thank you for everything his friend did for him. Maybe not with words. But he had always taken his time to celebrate this day. Had worked harder to be home early. Had put on his bravest face although his breath kept rattling when the winter would not let in spring. He had saved a few coins for some sweets, fruit or good quality cigarettes. For the movies or a beer and a dance where he had watched Bucky waltz and sing with the dames. But he also remembered how some smiles had been reserved for him, a wordless thank you, accompanied by the brightening of the blue of Bucky’s eyes.
And now it was that look Steve was longing for, assuring them both that everything was worth breathing through the hardships. Longing to celebrate their friendship again. And hoping that his own mind would stop spinning if they could just talk again without being afraid.
He took a few steps back and sat on the lone chair in front of the chamber, the only one in the room, set up there for nurses or – he guessed for himself – he was the only visitor. He put his face in his hands and listened to the soft whirring of the machine. It reminded him of a clock ticking in a kitchen that no longer existed.
He was startled out of his thoughts when his phone beeped and vibrated against his thigh. Another message he would probably not reply to. Still, he fished it out of his pocket and glanced at the display. Now, Sharon’s avatar picture had joined Sam’s and Natasha’s. They were wondering where he went. If he was okay.
He put the phone back, although he knew he was being unfair to his friends. After he had managed to save them, he stuck around for a few weeks to make sure they would be okay. But then he had needed to be alone. So much had happened. He had lost Peggy. He had his friend back and lost him again. They were there for him but still that didn’t feel enough. Not Sam’s jokes, not Natasha’s concern or Sharon’s tenderness – he couldn’t give back what they needed and right now, they were not what he needed.
He needed Bucky back. He was the only person who really helped making sense of the life he was living, his soul torn between remembering a long distant past of poverty, friendship and war and this hectic present of fighting overwhelming enemies and dreading to lose grip on who he really was supposed to be. He wanted to tell him that that was what he meant to him.
He had to wake him up. He had to try. Was it tender or cruel? Was it another one of his selfish decisions that someone else would have to pay the price for?
If he wanted to do this, no one could stop him – they trusted him with Bucky’s life. They had made it his decision to make.
Still, if he was to wake him, he needed to talk to someone about it.
Reluctantly, he left Bucky alone for one more time to find the head of the staff taking care of Bucky. He found her in her office, going through some papers which she put aside when he knocked and stepped inside.
“What can I help you with?” She always was kind and composed, with a lingering smile. Steve was glad it was her who was looking after Bucky; he could trust her easily. And now it was encouraging that it was her with whom he had to talk this through.
She offered him a seat opposite to her which he gladly accepted as well as the glass of water she poured him. Nervously, he held it in one hand while he dried his other palm on his pants.
“What is on your mind, Steve?”, she finally asked him to speak so he did. He told her that it would be Bucky’s birthday and that he could not bear to let him sleep through this moment. She seemed to understand his motivation but kept a professional expression on her face, even when emotion seeped into his voice. He stopped and simply awaited her reply.
“His condition seems stable from the data we have – so he should physically be fine after waking up.” Steve breathed out deeply with relief which put a small smile on her lips. “We will keep him under thorough medical supervision of course.” The doctor was again aware of their lack of experience with this procedure. Although she knew they were the best to care for James Barnes, there was still the possibility of a critical situation.
“Also” — she met his gaze sternly — “we cannot predict how he will react...how mentally stable he may be. Sometimes he seems to be dreaming, despite the life-haltering mechanisms of the cryo procedure. And he might be disappointed to learn that we have not yet found a promising therapy to remove his conditioning completely.”
Steve swallowed and decided he would at least attempt to explain what he hoped to achieve. “Speaking of a therapy…”, he phrased carefully. “I was wondering whether it would be helpful to wake him up to make new, positive memories. He can still decide to go back to sleep…but maybe it helps to add positive experiences which he can process as well when he is unconscious?” He did not like how desperate and not thought through this sounded; especially because he had almost no knowledge of psychology and was talking to a scientist. “I am not sure. I don’t want to do him any harm…”
“You know him well”, she mused, taking off her glasses. “We cannot tell if it might break through the mechanisms. Still, we know that positive memories and social interaction help trauma victims. He has barely had time to talk about what happened to him or to enjoy the company of a friend…If he can process the disappointment of being woken without receiving a definite cure and adapt to this place, I think it would do him good…”
They were both aware it would be just another experiment Bucky would be subjected to. But it seemed worth a try, there was a hope of actually helping him.
“Thank you…”, Steve said quietly. He was agitated and felt like he needed a bit more time to think. But did he have time? “How long will it take for him to – come to?”, he asked and put the empty glass on the table, leaving some wet stains on the wood.
“We expect it to be about twelve hours for him to become fully conscious.” She knew why he had asked, could read it in his nervous expression. “So take your time to think it through again. Mind that from a medical perspective, not much is to be said against it. If you are sure, we will be able to initiate the process in time”.
He nodded and looked at his fingers which he had curled up in his lap. Then he took a deep breath and rose. He thanked her again for her advice. “I will see you later.” When he had made his decision.
***
Steve gently pressed his palm against the designated pad on the machine which immediately recognized the lines of his hand. A high note confirmed the authorization to proceed. He then stepped back when the machine hissed loudly close to his ear. As they opened the cryo chamber, the cold seeped into the room and made Steve’s body shudder at the memory of the ice.
He trusted the staff that was ready as soon as the hood slid back. They carefully undid the straps holding the motionless man inside and supported him immediately so he would not fall.
Steve tried not to look too closely at the strange immobility of Bucky’s limbs that reminded him of a dead man. They lifted him carefully upon a stretcher to move him on to a bed that had been waiting for him since he returned to the ice. They quickly attached some monitoring patches to his frozen skin. Steve then hurried to tuck him into a thick blanket that would protect him, while the warmth of a big heating lamp would attempt to seep through the months of cold. While the frost had spread through him in seconds, they would only allow it to leave the body slowly to keep it safe.
Steve did not shrink away despite the pain it left in his chest when he touched the damp smooth skin, the stump that made the helpless man he ached to care for seem even more vulnerable. He realized he had held his breath only when there was a first flicker of a waking heartbeat on the screen. Still, it would be hours until it would turn into a steady pulse, he knew that. So he pulled up a chair next to the bed and settled into it. He would wait.
After they had taken care of everything, the nurses left again. They would return later to regulate the heat and check on Bucky. For now, they had left the room in a silence that was cozy and nervous at the same time. Someone brought him a book but he did not touch it. There was enough to read in the still face in front of him. Lines of pain, worries, now smooth with sleep and erasing cold. He seemed peaceful. It made Steve feel guilt tear at his breathing. But he kept a smile on his lips because that was what he wanted Bucky to see when he would eventually regain consciousness.
And so he did.
The look on Bucky’s face was an echo of the moment in which Steve had saved him so long ago: confusion shifting back into focus, painful sadness and pure joy of recognition. “Steve.”
But again, it was the hurt confusion that remained.
“Sshh…”, Steve put a soothing hand on the chest that was now drawing breath on its own. “Take it easy…everything’s fine, you’re safe…”
Bucky’s lips trembled with words he was yet too weak to utter. He believed Steve; his friend could feel how his breath and heartbeat calmed under his protective palm. There was no need to fight now. No one dragged him up, but instead he was allowed to drift back into the exhaustion the ice had always left in his limbs. He could succumb to it now and close his eyes again.
“Yes, get some more sleep…”, Steve encouraged him with a relieved smile in his voice.
***
When Bucky woke up the next time, he felt stronger. The thought “more like myself” sneaked into his mind but he chased it away – he wouldn’t know what it meant. Not when he was barely awake and just alert because he was trained, intended to be ready for a fight even after months in the ice.
He abruptly opened his eyes so he could hold on to the reality of the room around him. It was peacefully quiet and warm. And there - of course - was Steve, sitting by his bedside, waiting for him to catch his glance and to assure him that he was fine.
His searching gaze was greeted by a timid smile.
“What day is it?” His voice was raspy, made rough by the melting ice crystals in his lungs.
Deep inside, he already knew that it was too soon to be saved. So he was awake for a different reason than a cure. He closed his eyes to stay one moment in the dark safety behind his lids. Safer than Steve’s voice, his hand on his arm?
“It’s March 10th 2017.” Steve’s voice was as heavy as his touch.
Too early…
“I am sorry Bucky….I….”, Steve tried. But there were almost no words to express his urge to not be alone on this day. His hope that he would be able to change something. His joy and pride. His loneliness. So he stopped and waited.
The silence made Bucky open his eyes again and he looked at his friend’s grave expression. No matter how long he had not been himself or asleep – he had recognized the date. It was the date he had sometimes loved and sometimes hated for the gift of life.
“Happy Birthday, Bucky….” Steve’s voice was shaky and rough with true and insecure smiles. He looked him into the eyes but then his gaze wavered quickly and he looked away. “I thought we should be together today and celebrate…After all, I am the only one who remembered to come by. Couldn’t allow you to sleep through your 100th birthday pal, not an option.”
The joking helped, no matter how clumsy it was.
Bucky swallowed hard, closed his eyes again to hide the fear and disappointment. He gathered himself for a moment, sensing Steve’s tense anticipation. For some reason, he felt touched by his friend’s insecure eagerness. So he tried again. He opened his eyes another time and was surprised at how quickly some affectionate amusement tingled in the corner of his mouth, a memory of old times. Bucky decided to play along – just to entertain Steve’s faith and smooth the crinkles on his forehead. “Not sure I am up for dancing…”, he mirrored the smile and tone of the other’s joking. He demonstratively lifted his arm, which felt heavy and still a bit weak.
“I thought…we could start with just…having some cake later?”, the blond suggested before quickly adding: “…if you feel up for that…”
“I might be an old man…but you know you got me at the word ‘cake’.”
He tried to sit up, but it was difficult to push himself up with only one arm in this condition. Still, they both lost no word about it and he managed without any help. While Steve held back any offers, Bucky knew he would be at his side to support him whenever he asked. But after a while, he managed and could take a sip from the glass of water his friend had quickly poured him instead of watching him struggle.
Before they could resume trying to maneuver towards some conversation, a nurse came back. She had been notified of the change in her patient’s condition and it was now paramount for her to run some checks if he was safe and sound.
Although she did not address it, Steve knew that she would not be content with having him here. Reluctantly, he accepted that he would have to give them some privacy and leave them be for a while. Despite his worries, he said: “I will give you some space and come and pick you up for the party when you are dressed and ready, okay?” He rose and gave Bucky’s scarred shoulder a squeeze. His friend did not reject the touch but looked up at him and nodded instead. His concentration to speak was fading for the moment, but he managed a short “See you…”, confirming that he wanted to face this day.
Steve rewarded him with a smile. It was easier to leave now. Also, now that he had made this promise of cake, he would have to find a way to fulfill it in this strange place.
Just a few hours later, they were seated on the couch in the room that had been prepared for Steve when he would come to visit. The room was spacious but kept simple. Light flooded in through the glass door which led to a plain roof terrace.
They were both quiet, alternating between feeling tense and comfortable in each other’s company. It helped that they could concentrate on eating and enjoying the birthday cake Steve had indeed managed to procure. Steve took a mental note that he would go to the kitchen the next day and find the ingenious cook who had managed to put together this cake and had made it taste so much like the home they both missed. It had the note of cinnamon in it that Bucky’s mother had one time surprised them with. The fresh fruit they only tasted so seldom when they were kids and had felt like kings when licking off the juice from their fingers.
Now it felt like heaven to be together and share this moment, the taste.
“Remember the cake I once tried to make?”, Steve tried to share some of his memories.
Bucky finished chewing before he answered. He ate slowly; he wasn’t sure how his stomach would react to food. But still he savored each bite. And also, it gave him time to leave the droning mess of his thoughts and return to be in this moment with a smile. “Oh God”, he tried a grin. “Why do you have to remind me of that – out of all things…” He shuddered involuntarily at the memory of the sticky mess Steve had presented him with so proudly. “I am so happy I have this now.” He lifted his plate and scooped up some more cake onto his fork.
Steve smiled at him, closed his eyes for a second when Bucky declared himself happy. It was only for a second maybe, happy to have food – but it might be that even this single second was worth being awake.
After they had finished eating, which had given them something to do and talk about, the room fell silent. It made Steve uneasy because with the silence, the fear of having to explain his decision and not being able to justify what he had done returned. Still, he got himself to allow them to quietly sit here a while longer. He watched how Bucky’s gaze trailed into nothing, the light from outside gently warming his face. He seemed to enjoy the sun. „You wanna get some fresh air?“
Bucky lifted his face to look up to Steve who had already stood up. He just looked at him, studied his face as if he was retracing a memory there.
“Sure.”
Steve offered him a hand to pull him up and after a second of hesitation, Bucky accepted it. Steve held his slender fingers, which were a bit sticky from picking up the last crumbs of cake from his plate. And they still felt a bit clammy – which might be caused by the cool air conditioned temperature in the room, he tried to immediately correct himself. He would feel no longer cold, he would be fine. Still, the heat surrounding them as soon as he had led his friend outside came as a relief. The African air settled heavily around them, it almost felt as palpable as silk. He felt how he immediately broke out into sweat, even without moving too much.
The terrace was not equipped with any furniture. “Is sitting on the floor okay for you? Or should I fetch a chair?”
“Floor is fine…”, Bucky mumbled, and drew back his hand. Making decisions, even the simple ones, still felt difficult and Steve, being as eager as he was to make him comfortable, confronted him with constant decisions. He walked to the railing on his own, took a deep breath and looked over the misty treetops. He took in the sight of the jungle around them, the silhouette of the giant panther guarding this retreat. It was an icon of safety but also a reminder of war. He would not allow the latter, not right now. When they arrived, he had barely spent time outside – he was too afraid of being discovered, did not trust his own mind for a second. For now, this feeling was gone, the angry shouting in the back of his thoughts muted to a whisper. He closed his eyes and just breathed.
In the meantime, Steve sadly took in his asymmetrical silhouette and walk that was so used to balancing against a weight no longer there. With a sigh, he decided not to disturb him and quickly went back inside to fetch something to drink and a blanket to sit on. Coming back, he put it on the platform in the middle of the terrace. He still did not interrupt the silence but made himself comfortable.
It took another few minutes before Bucky finally joined him. He stretched himself out on the blanket and rested his head on his right arm, eyes to the sky. He had expected to remain confused, even frustrated at having been woken up, but now – he felt calm. Like it was worth it to have opened his eyes for a few moments and to just breathe humid, warm air instead of dry frost. So he did not ask Steve any questions about why he had really woken him up. For one, because he knew the answers to them were unsettling Steve who obviously seemed to struggle with the boldness of his decision and Bucky was confident that Steve would open up about his worries sooner or later. Second, because he felt the questions fade away until he felt no need for demanding words any longer. Instead he soaked up the chirping calm of the surrounding forest, the presence of his friend at his side and the taste of shared memories.
Steve’s thoughts seemed to have wandered a similar path. “Remember what we used to do on your birthdays? Sit on the roof and stare at the clouds…”
“Or behind the window when it was raining cats and dogs again…or even snowing…”, sighed Bucky. Of course he remembered. He had the feeling he still lived in the past which for him was dark except for those memories of times spent with Steve, dots of light in a shadowy realm.
For now, his friend wanted him to dwell in the bright spots. “I think it was the best way to celebrate. Simple…I wish I had brought my deck of cards so we could play.”
“It’s …fine like this…”, Bucky dared to admit. “Doing nothing.” To just be here. He wanted everything to be quiet and calm, no demands to this moment, asking nothing from each other. Unmoving, he watched Steve, who had sat up as if he was about to get up and fetch said cards, relax a bit and cross his legs. Bucky knew that Steve was looking at him, but did not meet his gaze. Instead, he resumed looking at the sky. He followed a bird with his eyes, which was movement enough to distract his unsteady thoughts.
Steve occupied himself with examining the pattern of the blanket to not keep looking at Bucky. He did not want to overwhelm him with his own need for talking. So he just let him rest in their silence again, keeping an eye on him protectively. He did not realize that he was tense, alert. Bucky, on the other hand, seemed to notice. After a while, he said: “I am fine Steve…really. I am not mad at you…”
To Steve, the assurance came as a relief, but still he could not shake his behavior. Inwardly, he thanked Bucky while he realized that this was not what was wrong. No, instead, he was scared to the core that this moment would break, that Bucky would be gone again soon and it would break his hope. But he decided that Bucky didn’t deserve to be bothered by these insecurities in a moment in which he really seemed to be content. So he granted him a weak “okay”. Now it was his turn stare at the treetops to let the deep green surrounding them settle around the fears on his mind and muffle them.
Bucky was surprised that he felt strong enough to take his turn to lighten the mood, which continued to feel a bit strained. So he lifted his arm and pointed at the sky. He did not have to look long before he spotted what he was looking for. “That one….it looks like….a cat maybe?”
He felt the surprised expression on Steve’s face before he looked at him to see the little smile that followed it. That was what they had used to do. He quickly joined in the game. “No…definitely not a cat.” The cloudy formation was already scattering. “In this place, it has to be a panther, doesn’t it?”
“And what is it supposed to tell me about my future?”, Bucky complained in good humour. “I definitely prefer having a cat than a panther at home.”
Steve gave a small laugh. “Oh – you are starting that again. The gypsy stuff...” He nudged Bucky whose answer was a reproachful snort. “You always thought it was funny.” Just a moment later, Steve’s voice was serious again. “I think that’s why I woke you up”, he said suddenly. “To show you what the future can be like.”
Bucky’s face grew hard, almost scornful in a matter of seconds. He had been able to play a game of the past, but not to really see any further than this moment. He didn’t want to. He couldn’t. He grew tense, hating the feeling of urgency Steve’s words had provoked. They hunted him, pressured him to make decisions. Although he had tried to picture himself in a room that was somewhere else for a second, not yet decided, he was suddenly angry. “You mean despite war and an empty flat and running?” That was what the clouds should have shown. Agitated, he sat up as well.
“No – I meant – that it means making new memories. Something that could…chase away the past…”, Steve tried again hurriedly. He knew it would always linger in the back of their minds – but maybe they had a chance at this. “Maybe if you find the perfect moment to…live for – it…the words will lose their power…” His voice was shaking with hope.
“You think all of that would be strong enough?” Bucky’s anger stayed and his breathing picked up. He stared at his hand – a shaking fist lying useless in his lap. He couldn’t bear the look at it, he couldn’t look at Steve. He was scared to hit him. Rage was the emotion they had left him with. Awake, even without the words. Proof that hope was a fool’s hope. “Never…”, he almost spat the word. “What should be stronger than what they have done?” Still – hadn’t he committed himself to sleep again with the hope for an answer he was now denying both of them? He couldn’t feel that lost feeling of fragile confidence again.
“There has to be something…The past doesn’t have to be your anchor”, Steve insisted. “What memory would ever be strong enough, Steve?”, Bucky repeated. A bitter laugh wove through a question that sounded more like a plea. Steve wanted to give him an answer he could believe in. Which could be his stone number one on which he could build his future. That answer would be what he had woken him up for. Steve grew quiet and just looked solemnly at the other man without really being aware that he was doing so.
“What are you looking at?”, Bucky half snapped, half joked, trying to calm down. He sensed that something was behind that look, that Steve wasn’t just zoning out in some daydream like he used to do when he felt safe and happy.
“You…”, was the honest, quiet answer. “I am looking at you. Because you are here...and that’s not just some memory of the past. We are actually here. Together.” Steve couldn’t help his hand from quickly touching his friend’s arm.
Bucky swallowed a sassy remark along the lines of “you’re just being sentimental” and remained silent. The hope in Steve’s eyes was painfully beautiful. Instead he felt himself shudder under the touch. He drew in a few deep breaths. This touch that had always been a promise that they had each others’ back. Like right now. Steve was here to protect him. To make him feel alive. To draw him out of the mess that was his mind and aid him in assembling the pieces until he was whole again.
Bucky’s heart clenched with gratitude that quickly washed the previous anger away.
When Steve’s hand lingered, he put his own on top of it. “Thank you Steve…”, he said quietly.
Steve closed his eyes in relief. He allowed himself a deep breath, steadying himself. Then he waited for the fearful ache in his chest to disappear. But the heavy pulse continued to whisper to him as it had always done – unintelligible pleas he had never learned, never understood to listen to.
Bucky’s hand on his felt like an answer to the loudest of his pleas: Please. Stay.
The longing remained and demanded a shape of words. Steve wanted to give in to this demand; he felt he needed to be bold right now, as honest to both of them as he could be. That he had to speak a truth that he was just barely grasping himself.
But words were still incomplete, incoherent and helpless to express what he seemed to have been feeling for so long it had come to rest unspoken in his heartbeat. Maybe because the emotion was too strong, too surreal, not suited for times like these, people like they were. The soldiers they were, living in a war that might never really come to an end. Time had so often been nothing more than a fleeting blur. Life had been so fragile it could have ended in a faltering breath, in an explosion. Their eyes had always kept watch over each other, their hands had held each other steady. He knew now that together, they had always defied time’s force for breaths at a time. It could remain that way.
Bucky observed how the man beside him grew very still and quiet. When Steve opened his eyes again, they were large and warm with feelings rushing through him. He seemed silenced by the apparent turmoil going on inside of him. Steve’s eyes had been a mirror of his own, speaking his heart in a confession that was now fluttering in Bucky’s chest – just brighter. The other’s gaze towards the future was clouded by a few shadows less. The longing in his expression was as desperate as his – but more innocent. Not tainted by years of hiding and bloody forgetfulness.
He saw how Steve moved his lips, trying to say something, to explain to him. But words were not necessary. To assure him of this, Bucky carefully squeezed his hand. He understood. It had been love and loneliness that had asked Steve to wake him up. It made him feel something heavy and warm rush through his own heart. He knew the name it carried, that it had been there for so long. Maybe it was what he needed. Them being together without being scared. Like they were now. A promise that they had nothing and everything to prove. He felt himself reach for this promise. Slowly, although it could be the only thing keeping him alive when he was so scared he felt like drowning. He wouldn’t be alone again. Could that be enough for him?
He couldn’t reply, his chest tight with struggling emotions, but he was able to muster the courage to hold Steve’s gaze and to let his own be the answer.
Steve felt tender affection shiver in his chest, his heart throb with a longing to plead that his friend would not fall, sleep again, not leave him behind - alone once more. And he knew, hoped, that if he could give the promise of his enduring devotion to him, it might be enough for Bucky to stay. Carefully, he moved the hand that was now protected under Bucky’s gesture until he could entwine their fingers. Then, even more carefully, he lifted their hands so he could hesitatingly let his lips rest against the warm skin. „This is my gift to you“, Steve whispered, suddenly certain. “Something for you to remember, to hold on to when you decide to come back for good.” This was all he could, all he wanted to give to him. A moment in which time stopped running through their fingers, in which it stopped trying to drown them. A moment in which everything was perfectly still. Still and perfect.
And for this moment, Bucky dared to accept it, to lean closer and find peace in a shared breath, warm with hopes which fought the ice.