Work Text:
Bucky wasn’t too pleased about the current state of his life, but it was better than prison, and it was much better than Hydra. He didn’t want to share what kept him up at night, or be honest about his nightmares. He especially didn’t want to face the people he hurt whilst he was the Winter Soldier and tell them the truth about what happened to their brother or mother or son. He was happy leaving the past in the past, trying his best to forget about what he did all those years.
Bucky thought that therapy was making him worse— the nightmares were more frequent, he hadn’t slept in a bed in weeks— but everyone told him it was just ‘part of getting better’. He sure didn’t feel like he was getting better.
His therapist had suggested a routine to keep his mind from wandering to things that’d keep him up at night, and so far, it was the only thing that helped him.
Monday’s he’d do his laundry in his apartment block’s shared laundromat and clean his place. Tuesday’s he’d go on two walks— one just after he woke up to go grab a coffee from the one coffee shop who could make it how he liked it, another in the evening before he planned to try sleeping to wear himself out and hopefully get a good nights sleep. Wednesday’s he’d get lunch with Yori and occasionally chat to the girl who worked at the sushi place. Thursday’s he tried to catch up on media, just like Steve did. He’d sit and watch a movie or two, listen to an album and end up turning it off long before it finished, or sometimes pick up a book that claimed to be a ‘New York Times Best Seller’.
Friday’s were his least favourite because his therapist would always push him to talk through a traumatic memory and the session would run much longer, his therapist choosing to do it on Friday’s so that he ‘had the weekend to recover’, but every day was the weekend for Bucky. Saturday’s and Sunday’s he’d look for the odd job posted up on a community board to keep himself occupied.
This routine worked well for him. It was simple, reliable, and took hardly any effort to execute. Sure, his life was a little boring, but there’s only so much you can do when you’re not allowed to work.
However, recently, his therapist had given him the task to make amends to the people he’d hurt in life and forgive the ones who hurt him. At first, he made a sarcastic comment asking ‘How am I supposed to amend the dead? You want me to go see a shrink?’, but eventually agreed to do his best and follow the three rules that’d been set for him. Something about no violence, he can’t really remember.
Just like any other week, Saturday had rolled around and he could finally find some work to do. Usually Bucky got better sleep after helping people out with things they couldn’t figure out themselves. Maybe, in his mind, it cancelled out the horrible things he’d done under Hydra’s control. He really should’ve been crossing names off the list of people he needed to make things right with like his therapist had asked, but it could wait until Monday.
He knew it would be easier to find work online, but he still didn’t fully understand then internet and he wasn’t about to accidentally sign himself up for morning hot yoga again. His eyes scanned the bulletin board: ‘Plumber needed.’ and a phone number written underneath it— not his specialty, but he’d consider it. ‘Looking for a dog walker, two beagles. $15 for an hour walk.’ He took the tear-off strip with contact details on it for that one. ‘Just moved in, need help unpacking and assembling furniture. $60 for a day’s help. Apartment 310, call this number if interested.’
That did interest him.
He knew how to assemble furniture, and he could carry heavy items with just his metal arm. The apartment was just a few doors down from him, his being 304. Plus, sixty dollars in a day was more than he’d ever made from a day of helping out.
He opened his phone, typing in the digits listed on the flyer and let the number ring. Once. Twice.
“Hello?” You chimed, sounding a little out of breath. You were probably trying to move the furniture yourself and were obviously struggling.
“Hi, is this uhh-“ He’d already forgotten the apartment number, ”this the right number for apartment 310? I saw your flier, I’m happy to help…if you still need help.” Bucky offered. He hated speaking to new people over the phone, it made him awkward. Well, more awkward than he already was.
“Yes! I’d love your help. When are you free?” You asked, the smile on your face evident in your voice. Bucky couldn’t help but smile a little at your enthusiasm towards getting help.
“I’m free right now.” He offered.
“Oh, perfect. Come over whenever, I’m currently piecing together an Ikea shelf.” You laughed dryly, “See you soon!” Then you hung up.
Bucky stood in the stairwell for a minute or two, walking slowly back and forth from the elevator to the stairs. He hadn’t pressed the button yet; and it was only when someone walked past him he realised how strange he probably looked, but fear crowded his mind.
Once before, he’d done work like this for someone, and after they saw his left arm and realised who he used to be, he was kicked out immediately with no pay. He understood of course; sometimes he stared in the mirror and wished he could kick the Winter Soldier out of his home too. He didn’t want to make you feel unsafe or uncomfortable, assuming you were alone, which is why he hesitated to hit the elevator button.
Eventually, he did, of course. The walk to room 310 felt strange. For nearly five months, Bucky had only ever gone as far as 304, and never even knew there was a corner leading to 310— secluded. As he rounded the corner, for a second he wasn’t sure if his eyes were playing a trick on him. He knew you, or at least used to.
Everything was still the same about you— your hair maybe a little longer, or was it shorter now? He couldn’t tell. You looked happier, less exhausted than he remembered. Back then, you’d only just stopped working as an assassin, so he wasn’t surprised you seemed happier now.
Quietly, he called out your name, thinking you didn’t hear him and was about to call out to you again, but your head whipped around. Immediately, your brows furrowed, placing down the heavy box you were trying to move from the kitchen to what Bucky assumed you’d make the lounge. You stared at him for a moment, the expression on your face telling him you weren’t sure if you knew what you were seeing. Briefly, your gaze flicked to his left hand, and when you spotted the leather glove matched to the leather jacket, you knew what he was hiding.
“Bucky.” You sighed, a smile starting to creep across your face. For some reason, Bucky expected you to be mad at him. Sure, it’d been nearly ten years since he broke into your home, five for you if you’d been blipped, but he knew all too well about holding grudges. You treated him with kindness back then, he wasn’t sure why he expected any differently. “You… got a haircut.” You laughed.
Bucky smiled, only just reaching his eyes, in response. “Yeah. Court said I had to fix my life if I didn’t want to end up in jail for all the… Hydra stuff. Figured a haircut was a good place to start.” He explained, slipping his hands into his jacket pockets and walking into your apartment, dodging the boxes randomly strewn out.
“It suits you. Are you doing better? Stopped stalking people?” You asked, putting your hands on your hips as if you were an unimpressed teacher scolding a misbehaving kid, but you couldn’t fight the smile on your face.
Bucky huffed a laugh, “Yeah. Just… figuring out what to do with my life, I guess.” He shrugged.
“Well, you could start with assembling the shelf I’ve definitely butchered.” You offered, and Bucky gave a stern nod before wandering over to the shelf that had a tilt to it you weren’t sure was supposed to be there.
To you, Bucky had hardly changed. Of course, he was much less frightened to be in your apartment, but he was still just as talkative as he used to be— which meant maximum two sentences at a time. He seemed calmer now, too, like less was plaguing him. You were sure he was still struggling, judging by the way he was wearing a leather jacket whilst it was midday and hot out just to cover his arm, but he seemed like he’d gotten used to the memories now.
Whilst Bucky got to work, you told him all about your life and he told you about his— or rather, what he could remember of it. You explained how you even ended up working for Alloy in the first place, and Bucky explained why he was stalking you all those years ago. You told him about your new job, your old job, and your even older job, and he let you ask about the army and what he missed from the fourties’. You played your favourite albums for Bucky and he winced at some of the lyrics he heard, and in return he gave you some songs to listen to later on.
Amidst assembling furniture for you, Bucky occasionally moved the heavier boxes of things like: books you hadn’t read since you were thirteen but couldn’t bring yourself to get rid of, some kind of stone garden decor you spotted and liked despite not having a garden, and stacks of way too many pots and pans for someone who lived alone.
It was strange, being around you again. Of course, it was only one evening he really spent time with you before, but you were the first person to remind him what it was like to be treated like a person after being treated like an animal for so long. You weren’t someone he’d forgotten about, he just never expected to ever get the chance to really thank you.
“I never… thanked you properly before, did I?” He brought up, slowly standing from the floor he’d been sat on trying to figure out how the hell to piece together a bed frame with storage underneath.
You looked over at him, putting down the salt lamp that a friend had gifted you which you didn’t actually want but couldn’t bring yourself to sell or donate, “You don’t need to, Bucky. This is more than enough— I never would’ve gotten this all done today if it wasn’t for you.”
“You’re the reason I managed to stay alive, you know.” He continued, “I wore the clothes you gave me for months, I couldn’t really afford much else. Even after I got myself jeans and a new jacket, I still wore the henley. I probably would’ve gotten hypothermia from my clothes that night if you didn’t give me dry ones. Helping you out with your apartment is the least I could do.”
“I’m glad you’re still here. I wondered how you were all these years— if you were even alive.” You replied, wishing you could hug Bucky. You didn’t want to try and end up scaring him off, remembering how much he hated being touched all those years ago. “Why don’t you stay for dinner? For old times sake, I could make you pasta.”
Bucky agreed, sitting down on the couch he had earlier screwed the feet onto, looking around at the way everything was coming together. He’d probably come over again and help you out some more, but for now he was happy with how much the pair of you had managed to pull together in just one afternoon.
Eventually, you managed to figure out how the stove worked and cooked enough pasta for about five people, but at least now you wouldn’t have to make lunch or dinner the next day.
You and Bucky sat on the couch, letting the music you’d both long forgotten about quietly hum in the background. You hadn’t sorted out any stools for the bar in your crammed kitchen, so dinner would probably be eaten on the couch for a few weeks.
“Y’know, this could be a real career for you.” You spoke up, breaking the silence between you two.
“What could be?” His brows furrowed.
“Just... this.” You waved a hand around, gesturing at the apartment. Maybe you should get a job at a removal company. Or maybe there’s a job assembling furniture.” You explained.
“I build a shelf and attempt building a bed-frame and now I’m supposed to be a carpenter?” He asked rhetorically. Really, he found it endearing that you thought he was good enough at this to make a career out of it.
“Just throwing ideas into the wind here.” You shrugged, taking another mouthful of pasta.
“Maybe I’ll keep it in mind.” He smiled before going back to his food.
Bucky helped clear up after dinner, stalling for as long as he could by asking over and over again if you were sure you needed no more help tonight. The sun had set, and despite not wanting to leave, he knew he’d have to eventually.
He said goodbye and you thanked him for all the help, mentioning something about hopefully seeing him around. Just as he was about to shut the door behind him, you called out to him.
“Hey Bucky?” He hummed in response, reopening the door. “Do you maybe wanna grab a coffee sometime?”
He thought for a second before replying.
“Does Tuesday work?” He offered, and you gave a smile and nod.