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Bucky never really had much opinion on rain before the war. In the city it cooled things down a little, made the huff and puff of industry easier to breathe. But on the battlefield it made everything much more dangerous. It made it easier for enemies to get close, the sounds of their boots muffled by the constant hush of the drops falling through the air. Made the terrain more treacherous, the ground less stable and harder to move across.
Now he regarded it with resigned annoyance. In the city of today it served much the same purpose, to cool and clear the air. But now it also brought an ever present ache, one that had only gotten worse the longer he was alive. Old wounds flared up, even ones whose scars had long since faded would give him trouble. But worst of all was his left shoulder, where vibranium and flesh came together. That ache was impossible to ignore, a deep teeth grinding ache that wouldn't go away, no matter how much advil he took.
But Bucky never complained, never told anyone just how bad it could get, how much he wanted to dig his fingers into the joint and just rip the whole thing out. He didn’t tell Steve, didn't tell Nat or Tony even when they noticed his discomfort. He’d just brushed them off, downplaying his pain until they stopped asking.
…
It was April in upstate New York, and like the three days before it was raining. Bucky knew before he was fully awake because his shoulders and neck were stiff from being drawn taught, trying to relieve the ache in his socket. If it didn't make him feel useless he’d spend the whole day in bed trying to sleep away the constant weight in his bones. But it did so he forced himself up, his face drawn into a scowl that persisted even as he made the trip into the closest town.
The little bookstore was quiet, not that it ever got above a murmur between the stacks. But today was especially slow, and the constant drumming of the rain against the windows was the owner's only companion. She was curled up in an old threadbare armchair tucked between crafting and cooking when the tiny shop bell chimed and she looked up. Bucky stood there, his back pressed against the open door as he shook the water off of his umbrella before leaning it against the door frame and stepping inside. Marija smiled as she tucked a receipt between the pages of her book and stood. As her hand found her cane Bucky's eyes found hers and he gave her a small half smile. Even in the dim light of the bookstore her amber skin seemed to glow with health and Bucky couldn't help but admire her as she approached.
The even step thunk, step thunk, on the worn hardwood floors seemed to rouse the shop dog from where he was snoozing behind the counter. Because with a yawn, he trotted out to sniff at Bucky's rain soaked boots.
“Is your shoulder acting up again?”
Bucky hummed as he patted the wiry gray head of Gruñón who was quickly losing interest in him. “You could say that.” His gaze flicked back up as Marija stepped through an open doorway and into the tiny kitchenette behind the counter. As he straightened back up her red skirt drew his gaze down to see she wore a heating brace on her bad ankle. Bucky kept an eye on Gruñón as he carefully stepped behind the counter where the dog had retreated to. Gruñón watched him, his brown eyes bright, but he made no move to intercept Bucky so he continued until he could lean against the doorframe of the little kitchenette. The old frame creaked in protest at his added weight but Bucky didn't react, he’d leaned against it so many times he no longer worried that it’d give out.
“Looks like your ankle’s giving you problems too.”
Marija looked over her thin shoulder at him, her small glasses were slightly fogged as one heavy black eyebrow arched above the rim. She continued to stir the small pot in front of her, the milk steaming away. “When isn't it?” Bucky just shrugged and watched her work in the small space. Eventually the milk was simmering and Bucky leaned forwards to open the little cabinet above the stove to pluck two hot chocolate packs from an open box. Together they poured and mixed their coco with Bucky leaning around the doorframe since there wasn't enough space for two.
When they were finished Bucky picked up the two chipped mugs and walked back to where Marija had been seated earlier, careful not to trip over Gruñón who had a habit of laying right where Bucky was walking. Once he was in the little corner Bucky used his foot to drag over a creaky wooden chair which he sat in as Marija approached. Only once she was comfortable and her cane was hooked on the edge of the chair did Bucky hand her a mug.
This was their routine on days like this, they’d curl up as far away from the cold window as possible with a hot drink in hand and just sit. Usually they read, with Marija tending to customers as they wandered in but sometimes they talked. Their conversations were the highlight to Bucky’s days, her soft voice a soothing distraction from his aches. But today they read, each holding their own dog eared book as time ticked by and the rain continued to fall.
…
Bucky wasn't sure when he fell asleep but the feeling of his book being tugged out of his loose grasp woke him, but he didn't open his eyes. His head was resting in the crook of his right elbow which he’d laid on the arm of Marijas chair. He felt relaxed, more so than if he’d stayed in bed. It was a lot harder to pretend to be asleep when Marija wrapped a heating pad around his left shoulder with gentle hands but he managed, even though he wanted those hands to stay on him, to brush against his exposed skin with the same gentleness she showed everything.
Next to him Marija settled back down, a smile on her full lips as she gazed down at the slightly scruffy man that meant so much to her now. She propped her book back open and let out a contented sigh that was swallowed up by the hush of the rain that always meant Bucky would be back at her side.