Bucky Barnes One Shots

38. City of Broken Promises (Part II)

"You're staring at me," James pointed out, attracting your attention.

You looked up to where he sat on the bed, empty boxes of chocolates surrounding him. He was a mess.

"Yeah, well, you're ugly," you said, standing up, "it's hard not to." You walked over to the bed and began collecting the empty boxes to throw them away.

"Are you okay?" He asked, grabbing your wrist lightly as you reached for another box.

You nodded, your eyes meeting his.

"Don't lie to me, please." He added, not making a move to release your wrist.

"I was just thinking—"

"Thinking about what?" James questioned, his brows furrowing.

You shrugged, letting out a sigh, "It's been a year."

He arched a brow, "Yeah?"

You closed your mouth and breathed out from your nose, closing your eyes in frustration. Sometimes this man could be so oblivious.

"It's been a year since I met you—since we've been friends. You told me everything, remember? But you haven't remembered anything new. The last time you remembered something was the day we met, when we were sitting on the steps outside of that brownstone. You had remembered being in the war—before Hydra found you."

James released your wrist and watched it fall to your side, his eyes now averted from yours.

"You think I don't know that, (Y/N)? I can't even remember my damn full name. I can't remember my family, my childhood, hardly anything, but I remember Hydra. There's a reason why I don't talk about it anymore; I don't have anything else to say."

As you looked at him, his shoulders now slouching, his head hanging low as his blue eyes were dimming, fixated on your hand by your leg, you realized that he was still broken. He was just as broken as he was the day you'd first met him. Nothing had changed. You hadn't done anything to help him, other than being his friend.

"I'm sorry, James. I really am." You said softly, hoping he'd bring himself to look at you—to see the reassuring look on your face that reminded him everything would be okay.

"Don't apologize for things that aren't your fault, please." His eyes met yours again, pleading with you, though his voice remained smooth.

"But I made you a promise that I'd help you remember who you were," you sighed, sitting next to him on the bed.

He ran a hand through his hair, shrugging, "This is the city of broken promises, doll. Don't feel bad. You tried your best."

"James," you spoke up again, only to have him shake his head in response.

"I don't want to hear it again. You are always saying you're sorry for things beyond your control." He clenched his jaw, staring at you. "The war wasn't the only thing I remembered."

"I can't help it. You're my friend; I worry about you." You explained, taking his metal hand in yours. "And what do you mean? What else did you remember?"

His blue eyes trailed down to your hand, watching you trace the lines in the metal of his fingers. He sucked in a breath, your actions somehow relieving his stress, "I had a friend. His name was Steve."

You swallowed, continuing to trace the lines on his hand. He'd never spoken of anyone from his past; he'd claimed he didn't remember anyone. By now, whoever Steve was, there was a good chance he was dead, if not suffering from Alzheimer's or close to death.

"I promise I'm fine, okay?" He muttered, his voice cracking.

You let out a sigh, your free hand moving to smooth back some of his hair away from his face. You could see the worry lines etched faintly into his skin from years of pain, and as his eyes met yours again, you could still see the sadness within them that he had always tried his best to conceal.

"But this is the city of broken promises, James, and I know you're not okay." You could feel tears welling up in your eyes; you felt so much of his grief now that you'd known him for so long.

James, without warning, leaned into your touch, his lips brushing against yours—something they'd never done before.

"But as long as I have you, I know that one day I will be."

And he pressed his lips to yours in a sweet, sad kiss that you'd never expected from him. Months and months of friendship had passed and he'd never once hinted towards having any feelings for you; he had never hinted towards anything romantic between you at all. But maybe that was just it; he hasn't realized that his feelings were there—that they'd grown deeper with time.

Maybe he had been too busy trying to remember the past that he had never had the time to consider his future. . .with you. . .until now.

• • •

BTW I published the first chapter of my new Steve Rogers fic, Valor! It's gonna have loads of 1940s BUCKY in it, too sooooooo.... p.s. it'll probably take quite a while to write but hopefully since it's summer I'll have time to write when I'm not working.
— Mar