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Steve had given him the box of letters the day before, but he’d stayed up the whole night pouring over each and every one of them. The Winter Soldier did not cry, but Bucky Barnes, he wept.
Well, the baby’s finally here. I have a picture of her I’m putting in the envelope. She’s so beautiful. She has my nose but everything else is yours...
The picture was black and white and not taken professionally, but he could understand what she was writing about. He’d never thought that babies were very good looking, just little wrinkly things, but he could safely say that the baby-his daughter- looked just like him.
Your sister and I finally scraped together enough money to buy a plot in the cemetery where your parents are buried. It wouldn’t be kind to leave you without a resting place. You have a little headstone with your name on it right next to your mother. Little Rebecca’s been old enough to talk for a while now, and she wanted to bring some flowers. You would have loved them. Pink and red…
Oh dear god. He hated the thought of everyone thinking him dead for so long. It was scary to think about, the headstone probably still there some seventy years later. It was his, yet here he was.
I love you.
His heart ached every time an envelope contained only those words. She’d mourned him. She’d mourned him and hadn’t moved on. yet perhaps, if she had, and had started a new life, well, he wouldn’t know what to think now.
There had been a blurry picture of little Rebecca’s first birthday, After I took this photo I spent an hour bathing the baby. I don’t know how, but she’s gotten cake all over the kitchen. The picture of her fourth was more in focus. Rebecca saw the cutest stuffed bunny in the Macy’s window a few months ago. I’ve been saving every penny since, but your sister and Steve’s mother helped me out a little. Rebecca was so happy, she hasn’t put the toy down since we gave it to her. I wish you were there to see it.
He wished he could find her. Someone Steve knew could have connections, and find out what had become of that little girl. He’d have to find her. She’d be in her seventies, by now, but it didn’t even matter if they couldn’t meet face to face. An online picture, or a glance into a store window would do.
Rebecca wanted to play in the snow today. It’s the first time it’s snowed all winter. I watched her from the stoop. She built the most lopsided snowman I’ve ever seen in my life.
We were out there for hours. No frostbite, though; a good thing. She’s got a little bit of a cough, I’m going to slather on a bit of Vicks and let her sleep in my bed tonight.
The next letter, he saw, came three months later.
I haven’t written in a while. Forgive me. Little Rebecca passed away last month.
He had to stop after that letter. He fought the urge to rip it up, slamming it on the bed beneath him. Suddenly he didn’t know what was worse, the brainwashed life he’d endured, or the life he was reading through the pages.
I don’t know if it was you last night, or my drunken mess who moved your slippers…
I can only imagine what your reaction would be if you saw me these last few years…
There’s too many ghosts here...
It’s been decades since I wrote to you last…
I want you to know that I don’t hate you for what you were turned into…
I don’t think I’ll be able to see you again, truth be told. Bucky, I’m dying. The doctors say I have a few weeks left at most…
He hated this. He wished he’d never opened the box of letters. Naivety would have been better. He would have been able to live inside the fantasy that she had moved on without him, and lived a life after him. He didn’t care if he lived, but to know that she hadn’t-
~
He took a breath, looking at the sign of the door. 5C. This was it.
The nurse, obviously not recognizing him, scribbled notes on a clipboard, and told him to go right in. There would be a button on the side of the bed if any problems should arise.
Before he could form the words to any questions, she turned, her heels clicking on the waxed tiles of the floor. Now he was alone, unsure.
He couldn’t do it. He shouldn't. His hand was already on the handle, but he couldn’t open the door. Every step closer was a step closer into a pit of despair. His chest ached for the both of them.
The longing won, forcing him to take a deep breath. Pushing aside the ache, he opened the door.
There she was. He stopped, for a second, to just look. She was framed by a hospital bed; starched white sheets. A side table stood beside her, empty save for a small cup of water and a pill bottle.
But her eyes were still the same. Her hair, once dark, was a great many shades lighter, but still long, like he remembered it. This was still her.
“I’ve missed you, Bucky."