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“What’s up my dude?” Natalia says as she walks straight into Bucky and Steve’s apartment. Bucky cringes at her words. He might be old, but there’s no way that’s a normal thing to say.
“Just- No.” Bucky shakes his head but moves in for a hug anyways. It’s nice to have physical contact with someone. Steve has been gone for a few days on a mission and Bucky hasn’t even talked to anyone.
“Did he tell you to watch me?” Bucky asks, narrowing his eyes at her as he pulls back.
“Why do you think that?” Nat asks, feigning innocence.
“He fucking did.” Bucky says with a sour chuckle. He wished Steve felt like he could talk to him about it rather than going behind his back. It’s nice to know he cares, but Steve could just say so.
“Please don’t be mad at him. He just cares a lot about you.” Nat says in her soft voice that no one can withstand. Bucky sighs loudly.
“I’m not. I just- I can take care of myself, you know?”
“I know you can. But you don’t have to.” She holds his shoulder, looking into his eyes.
A memory flashes on the insides of his eyelids. Bucky is the one reaching out for Steve’s shoulder telling him he doesn’t have to do it alone. He remembers how desperately he wanted to help his friend. It didn’t matter to him that he knew Steve would be able to take care of himself.
Flashes of their life hit him like a ton of bricks. They were just two young men trying to find out who they were and their place in the world when their lives were ripped away from them. They lost so much.
Bucky snaps himself out of it. He just insisted he’d be fine on his own. Dissociating and having flashbacks isn’t exactly his definition of fine.
“Where did you go?” Nat asks as he refocuses on her face.
“Nowhere too bad.” Bucky smiles. It was good memories, mostly.
Bucky sets up camp on the couch while Nat cleans up the apartment. It’s not messy by any means, but to her anything other than perfectly tidy is messy. She needs the place to be spotless, like an interior magazine where all sign that anyone actually lives there is nonexistent.
He turns on the tv and gets out his notebook. He writes down all the flashbacks he has, good or bad. It helps him let them go rather than obsess over them. Having the tv on in the background helps him relax as he writes down the memories.
His hand moves over the page, as if on auto pilot. He doesn’t feel what he writes. Perhaps that is a good thing. If he started feeling the loss, he would never be able to stop. There’s too much. More than enough to fill multiple lifetimes.
He sighs, leaning back against the couch cushions. Nat is in the kitchen, scrubbing at non-existent spots on the counter. Boredom settles over him. He’s sat on this couch for three days and done nothing but wait for time to pass until Steve gets back. He’ll be gone for another few days, and Bucky can’t keep doing nothing for much longer.
A mischievous smile spreads on Bucky’s face. He rips out an empty page from his notebook, slowly so it doesn’t make too much noise. He curls it up and throws it at Nat. She is unprepared, jumping as it hits her back.
“What was that?” She asks, glancing at him over her shoulder.
“Nothing.” Bucky plays innocent, his nose buried in the notebook again. Nat sighs dramatically, moving on to put away the dishes.
Bucky waits until he sees her shoulders drop, telling him she’s back in her zone. He waits a couple more minutes before he rips out another page, curls it up and throws it at the back of her head.
This time she picks it up from the floor and throws it back at him without a word. Bucky holds back a laugh, waits a few minutes, and throws the piece of paper back at her. This one Nat catches, her hand suddenly behind her like it’s purely instinct.
“Stop.” She drags the word out in a whine as she throws it back at him. She tries to act annoyed, but Bucky knows how much she enjoys these moments. She stays facing him, not trusting he won’t attack her again.
“Never.” Bucky says dramatically and throws it back at her. She catches it and picks the other one up from the floor and walks over to him with her arms raised, ready to attack at any moment.
“Not so tough now, are you?” Nat says, the smile clear in her voice. Bucky squeals, raising his arms to protect his face.
“Don’t.” He laughs, as she comes closer. “Not the face.” He jokes. Nat throws the paper at him before throwing herself on top of him.
“Say you’re sorry!” Nat is so close to his face he can feel her breath.
“No, never!” He barely gets out through his laughter.
“Say it!”
“No!”
They wrestle on the couch. Nat pretends to hit him, and Bucky tries to protect himself. His stomach hurts from laughter. He relishes in these fun moments of normalcy.
“The Avengers have done it again.” Comes from the tv. This catches both of their attention. They stop dead in their tracks, turning to look at the news reporter on the screen.
“The seventeen hostages held in a small town outside of Birmingham were found in an abandoned, rusted freight car at daybreak, one hour ago now.” Bucky’s heart starts raising, a sick feeling settling in his stomach. Who even uses words like freight car or daybreak anymore? He sounds like he’s trying to use the most complicated words no one will understand.
Bucky tries to laugh, but all the laughter has drained out of him. Nat is still on top of him, trapping him as the queasiness grows and settles in his throat.
“After nine long days, they get the homecoming they’ve been longing for.” Images fill his head. Longing, rusted, seventeen, daybreak, furnace, nine, benign, homecoming, one, freight car.
The nausea explodes in his chest, spreading onto his limbs, pulling him under. He pushes Nat off him, too harshly and she flails for anything to hold onto as she falls to the floor. Bucky doesn’t have time to care as he’s up and running. Out of the living room, through the hall, up the stairs, down the hall, and finally, into the bathroom.
He drops to the floor, heaving over the toilet. He’s shaking like a leaf, breaking out in cold sweats. His head pounds loudly in his head, the bathroom fan hurts his ears, the tv keeps humming from downstairs.
His throat burns, chest heaving, stomach contracting as he brings up the little food he’s eaten today. He tries to keep his eyes open, haunted by the images flooding him when he closes them.
Everything is too loud, too intense, too painful.
“Bucky, hey, you’re okay.” There’s suddenly a small, comforting hand on his back.
“Nat.” He chokes out between the heaves, trying to ground himself. He can feel himself slip; he doesn’t want to disappear.
“Yeah, it’s me. You’re okay, you’re safe, just breathe, Bucky.”
Bucky takes a gasping breath, feeling it fill his chest. He starts sobbing. How did his day go from so good to so bad so quickly? Why did the news anchor feel the need to flash his vocabulary? He could’ve just used normal words that people understand, that doesn’t trigger Bucky.
Nat flushes the toilet for him, helping him turn around in her arms. He buries his face in her neck, curling up with his arms around his chest. Somehow, he feels smaller than her as she surrounds him with her body, protecting him and comforting him.
“Steve will be home soon.” She says, hugging him even tighter. She knows just what Bucky needs, and Bucky needs Steve. She’s seen Steve help Bucky in many of these situations and knows just what to do, but she can’t be Steve. She doesn’t smell right, or feel right, even if she does exactly the same things Steve would do.
“The mission is over, he’s probably on his way already.” She tries to comfort him. But Steve is so far away. He’s in England. It’ll take hours for them to fly back, even with a Quinjet.
“You’re okay, Bucky.” She says over and over until he starts to calm down. One by one he can feel his muscles relax as they let go of the panic. His mind starts to clear up, and he tells himself he’s in his home in Brooklyn, where he lives with Steve, in 2023, and no one can hurt him.
He’s safe, he’s okay, he’s in control. And Steve will be home soon.