The Hurt And The Healing: Bucky X OC

Chapter Ninety: Thank You For Your Service

Bucky sat on the ledge of the portside as the others laughed and celebrated. Sam was at the helm, carefully steering Paul & Darlene into deeper waters while Cass and AJ tried to spell everyone's names with sparklers and Mara and Sarah sipped their drinks with smiles on their faces. Mara looked up from her conversation with Sarah and waved for Bucky to come and join them, but he shook his head with a smile.

Mara mouthed, "sunrise?" to him, worry on her lovely brow.

"All good," he mouthed back, making her relax slightly. Sarah said something to her that drew back her attention and she turned to face her friend, already laughing at the joke. They were good together, if a little terrifying. But Bucky and Sam both needed someone to keep them in line, and the women in their lives were more than up to the task.

Bucky turned and looked out over the sunset painted waters, letting his mind wander and his fears come so he could deflect them. Everytime he tried to drown his demons they learned to swim, so now he waited for them to come to him. He'd always preferred hand-to-hand combat over interrogation tactics.

The words of his letter to Sam cam to mind, and he closed his eyes, able to see the words on the page as if he were still writing them.

Of all the happy occasions to be mushy, birthdays were generally the most social acceptable. Second to weddings and the birth of children, which Bucky did not see in either his or Sam's immediate futures. So when he had decided to give Sam a real gift he knew he would have to precede it with a real card. And he told himself that he welcomed the opportunity. That this was his chance to say everything he needed to without actually having to say it. He even had a special session with Dr. Grover to work through his feelings so he would not waste it. So every word was right.

But then he had been faced with a blank paper and the words had vanished like smoke on a cold night. All his careful planning and strategizing proved to be useless, and it took him the full two weeks leading up to the party for him to finally wake up in a cold sweat at three in the morning of the Fourth of July and write the words that would not stop ringing in his head until he exorcised them onto paper.

Sam,

We both know I don't talk well, so rather than making you listen to me ramble on for five minutes I am going to think this through and write it down. Bear with me.

When Steve told me he was giving the mantle to you, I genuinely believed you were the best man for the job. I did not know you well, but I knew the praises Steve gave you and that was more than enough to convince me. And, selfishly, I knew Steve would finally let go of the role if it was in your hands.

It was that selfishness and my own ignorance that blinded me to the incredible burden we were forcing upon you. The only person who knows the weight of that mantle better than you and Steve is me, because I had to watch it nearly crush him. Add in the fact that America is as racist today as it was in the 40s and the new found pressure of being a hero in a galaxy bigger than we realized, and you've got yourself a shitstorm of bad. And we dropped you into it without a parachute.

You were right to give up the shield. I know I said some awful things when it happened, but you were right to do it. It wasn't your shield then. It was Steve's. In my mind, in America's mind, even in yours. You knew the truth I was too stubborn to see and you did the thing I was too cowardly to accept. I should have been there for you, before you gave it away and after. Instead I was there for my own rage and grief. I know Steve was like a brother to you and his illness hit you hard. But he was my everything. All I had left in this world. And I made that shield into a symbol of him. Of what we had. So when you let go of the shield I was forced to remember that Steve was gone. That the shield was just a hunk of metal. And that I was alone.