Chapter 4
In January of 2046, Steve was jolted out of a deep sleep by a shriek of pain.
He soaked washcloths in cold water, and laid them on Bucky’s brow. He covered him in warm, woolen blankets when the shivering got too intense. He grasped Bucky’s hand, and held his fist to his own mouth and bit as hard as he could to not cry out in tandem with the screams. He knew what this felt like, and he hated it, but God he was so damned relieved. He bent over and kissed Bucky gently on the temple, then squeezed his eyes shut as another wave of muscle contractions made their way through Bucky’s body.
***
He texted Sharon a few hours later.
He hadn’t stayed in touch with many of them--barely any. But he’d always liked her, and he trusted her. When they first found the house, he let her know they were alive and well, then passed along the address. The first Christmas they spent in the burning desert cold, she sent them a box, full of cookies and pies and a letter--handwritten!--detailing the official retirement of their old friends.
She didn’t ask after him, or Bucky. She knew he’d reach out if he wanted. She was good like that--independent, self-sufficient.
You were right.
He waited and watched the rise and fall of Bucky’s chest under the thick blankets. His skin was damp with sweat, but he was breathing easier now.
His phone beeped, and he looked down in surprise, not expecting an answer back so soon.
Sharon: I’m always right. I can’t do much from here, do you need anything? Want me to call it in and report?
Steve smiled. Sharon was always uncompromising in her modesty, or lack thereof. It was a bit like talking to Tony--only Sharon was actually helpful. He thought for a moment longer, then gently released Bucky’s hand and stood up, moving towards the open window. The sun was just barely cresting the horizon and it showered the land in soft pink hues. Steve could see the horse pasture, and the barn from the window--but he couldn’t see Adolin yet, who would still be deep inside the wooden stables. He’d need to get outside soon and muck out his stall, feed him, then continue about the myriad of small tasks he completed every morning to keep the land fertile and the farm going.
The myriad of small tasks he completed to feel human--to feel the ache in his bones each night, and the soreness in his muscles.
We’re fine. I made it to the other side, and Buck’s always been stronger.
He sent the message, then grimaced.
How’s Tony?
He went to the kitchen to fill a glass of water, and walked back to the room, setting it softly on Bucky’s nightstand.
Sharon: He’s still pissed at Barnes. Doesn’t think he had any right to make that decision for you. Hasn’t gotten over it.
He’s gotten even more disagreeable in his old age.
Sharon: Haven’t we all.
There was a short pause, and Steve reached over to smooth back wet curls from Bucky’s forehead.
Sharon: He misses you, Steve.
He didn’t know what to write back to that.
Sharon: I don’t know what kind of crazy stuff he has rigged up with his heart right now, but he probably doesn’t have much longer left. He’s old. He trusted you. He wanted to fix the serum so when he was gone, he knew there would be someone left out there saving the world. You deserve your ending. No one disagrees with that. Just let him know that his won’t be in vain.
His mouth felt like it was stuffed full of cotton and his chest felt like there was something wrapping tightly around, constricting his air.
I’ll call him in a few days. Once things settle down here again.
He slumped down in his chair and cradled his head in his hands, breathing deeply for a few moments. There was a morning chill coming in through the windows that smelled like horses, and frost, and ever so faintly of wet dirt. He shook his head and reached for his phone one last time.
Can you pass along our address? To Tony. And Natasha? And whoever you think might need it. I trust you. Thank you for everything.
He looked up and Bucky’s eyes were open, slightly glazed over, but watching intently.
“Buck!” Steve shot up out of his chair and over to the bed.
“Watch it, punk.” Bucky spoke weakly and reached out towards Steve’s face, then paused--his hand outstretched in front of him.
“I have...that scar, the one near my pinky? From when we were kids and--”
“--you were scaling the decks back behind the tenements and you got a rusty nail through the finger?” Steve finished Bucky’s thought and grinned reaching for his hand and taking it between his own. He rubbed his own pointer finger over the small scar, and looked down at Bucky.
“The serum?”
Steve nodded and couldn’t help the smile of joy that appeared. “You ready to grow old, together?”