'𝐈 𝐖𝐈𝐒𝐇 𝐈 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐁𝐄 𝐀 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐄, 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔.'
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Even if every memory from 1917 comes roaring back to you, being a former Hydra assassin means you can never get a break. Since Beverly is on a mission of redemption, she respo...
The last two years have been pretty hectic. It started off with Bucky and I trying to mourn the deaths of all the loved ones we had lost, together. We continued to live in Wakanda for a few months, but eventually, decided that we wanted to move on with our lives. We moved out of the country and decided to go back to our roots. After a lot of internet searching, we eventually found an apartment that we wanted from the start. It is in Brooklyn and the same apartment that Steve used to live in the 40s. There are a few adjustments to the apartment, but apart from that, it is exactly what we wanted. The layout is the same, but they have modernized it a little bit.
Speaking of Steve, we brought him, along with his caregiver into the apartment when we moved in. He was shocked when we stood outside but was overall happy that we were living in his apartment. He sat in his wheelchair, eating lunch with us, and telling us a few memories that we shared in every room. Eventually, though, he had to leave due to his curfew and was wheeled out of the apartment by his caregiver.
Speaking of Steve, unfortunately, he passed away a few months ago. He wasn't alone and was in no pain. He passed in his sleep and was properly taken care of by respectful workers at the elderly home. He was buried beside his parents and had a lovely memorial service. Bucky and I, along with all the remaining Avengers went to his funeral and were able to catch up with each other afterwards. Bucky and I told everyone about moving out of Wakanda and into Steve's old apartment. We learned about a few of them retiring, and starting their own, well-deserved lives.
I unlock the door after spending a few minutes to find the keys. I have gotten into the habit of losing my keys, and then placing them in a new place, thinking I would remember where I put them, and then losing it again. This time, I found it in my bra. Don't ask why I thought that was a good hiding place, cause I don't have an answer for you. Anyway, I shove the key into the keyhole and push open the door, walking into the apartment.
"Bucky!" I call out. "I'm back from therapy!"
After being pardoned by the government, they made it mandatory for Bucky and me to go to therapy. At first, I was okay with it. I was nervous to talk about my past, but I knew it would be helpful. But, after a few sessions, I quickly learned that she is a shit therapist. She is rude, dismisses my feelings, and makes me feel stupid for my emotions. But, because it is mandatory, I have to put up with it. I made it a small game that every session, I would make it a hard job for her. And, I learned that she is also Bucky's therapist, which she uses against us. She compares our progress to the others, and when we don't meet her extremely high expectations, we get belittled.
"Bucky!" I repeat.
No one answers me, and I am put on edge. Usually, when I walk into the apartment, I see Bucky in an apron, cooking us dinner. Or just in his sweatpants, being a needy little shit. He is lucky he is hot. But, right now, there is no reply. I don't see Bucky at all, and that scares me. He always lets me know when he leaves the apartment, and I didn't get a text at all. Today is his day off, and usually, he would be chilling in the living room with a book. Like a reflex, I lift my palm, my powers emitting from my fingertips. The grey glows, reflecting on the polished floorboards. My nerves build at the static sound coming through our crap TV, but, I quickly relax when I see Bucky sat on the floor in the fetal position. He is angrily glaring at the TV screen, his fists holding his legs up. I can see the muscles in his arms prominently through his long-sleeve shirt.
I'm confused for a few seconds until I see the 'Good Morning America logo on the screen, which intrigues me. But, that curiosity quickly turns to anger when I see a random man, sitting in a chair on a stage, wearing Steve's uniform. He has a cocky smile on his face, and his hair perfectly groomed. I walk to stand behind Bucky, but he doesn't budge from his seat.
"John, I think the first thing that everyone wants to know is, what is it like being Captain America?" The reporter asks him.
The crowd cheers him before he has even said a word, but that isn't what I am concerned about. He is wearing the uniform as he deserves it, and his chest puffed out with pride. The pride that he hasn't earned. It hasn't even been a year since Steve passed away, and they are already trying to replace him. Honestly, I am surprised that Sam isn't sitting up there. He was given the shield before Steve passed away, and that was the last that we heard of it. I always thought Sam would make an amazing Captain America.
"It's the greatest honour of my life." John gets serious. "But, I'm just a little shocked. How did a guy like me-"
"Oh, wait." The reporter interrupts him. "A guy like me? Somebody's being a bit too humble." She pulls out a sheet of paper. "For those of you who aren't familiar with John's resume. John Walker," She reads from the paper. "First person in American history to receive three medals of honour. Ran rs-1 missions in counter-terrorism and hostage rescue. The government studies your body at MIT and you tested off the charts in every measurable category. Speed, endurance, intelligence-"
"Look," He interrupts her. "Here's the thing, I'm not Tony Stark,"
"Damn straight," I whisper.
"I'm not Dr Banner," He continues. "I don't have the flashiest gadgets. I don't have super strength. But, what do have is guts. Something Captain America always had, always needs to have, and I'm going to need every ounce of it. Because I got big shoes to fill."
His words go muffled when my eyes catch something on the end of our coffee table. I slowly sit down on the couch behind Bucky, seeing him tense up at whatever words are coming out of John's mouth. He is leaning on the front of the coffee table, and his shoulder is touching a photo frame, standing proudly on the edge. It's a grainy, old photograph of a young Bucky, a skinny Steve, and a smaller me. We are all smiley widely, our arms wrapped around each other, and staring at the camera. We stood in Bucky's backyard, and Rebecca crouched in the background, picking flowers and trying to make a daisy chain.
The photo used to make me feel nostalgic, but now is making me feel wretched. It pains me that we lost Steve so soon, and we didn't all get to live our lives out together. We would all be standing in our living room right now, Steve still Captain America, and enjoying each other's presence. I still understand why Steve left to be with Peggy, but it doesn't mean that I like it. It wasn't exactly in his character, but Steve did always surprise me. he was unpredictable but in a good way. And that's why he was Captain America. The true Captain America.
