Little Ballerina (A WinterWidow Story)

Ch. 11 Can't Run From the Past

Steve decided to skip his run that morning, the sun was already up and he deemed it not worth his time. He really didn't feel like doing anything. He let Sam go on their run without him, he even didn't feel like watching a documentary with Peter. These swings had gotten better with time but they still came every now and again. But they were worse every time.

In his room he took out a book that contained almost all of his past. Natasha had helped him gather old pictures, newspaper articles and anything else they could find from his childhood through when his plane crashed into the ocean. He took the leather bound book out from its hiding spot in his closet. Sitting down on the bed, he opened the book.

The first image that greeted him was a side profile view of Agent Carter. He let out a sad laugh as he gently picked up the photo. It was taken at the base where he started his training. He could practically hear her shouting through the image. Oh how he had admired her, how she fearlessly carried on in a position where she was not treated fairly. But above all she had believed in him when no one else had. When he heard of the 107th's capture, she provided him with a plane to rescue them. Even before the serum, she never doubted him. She trusted him, he should have given her his coordinates, and maybe he wouldn't have spent 70 years in the ice. 70 years later and he still owed her a dance. A dance they would never have.

With a sad smile and a sting in his heart, he put the image on the bed next to him. The next photograph, was a black and white photograph of him and his best friend before he left for the war, Bucky towered over his small frame back then. Steve felt a pang in his heart. They were so innocent back then. So happy, the world had not hurt them yet. Steve so wished that he could go back and change it, save those happy boys from the heartache they would face. But he couldn't. And even if he could, he wouldn't. Some people just have tragedy in their blood, was what Natasha said when he brought this up to her when he first got out of the ice, all those years go. He laughed at the memory because after that she basically told him to suck it up and stop crying and move on with the times, he was pretty sure she had called him an old man too but he couldn't remember.

The next picture was of the two of them again but this time it was after he had rescued the 107th. Steve now stood taller than his friend, they were laughing at something when the photo taken. Their laughter forever frozen in this moment in his hands. As Steve looked at the picture, he squinted at it and his stomach dropped. Was that? Yes it was. There was bruising scattered from Bucky's temple to his jaw. How has he not noticed that? How had he not seen that his friend had been tortured and beaten? He had just been so happy to have his friend back that he didn't even consider what he had been through. He was just happy to see him, even though it didn't last long before that fateful day on the train.

He couldn't do it any more. The ache was too great. All he had lost and all he would never have it weighed on him, like he was Atlas, trying to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. Despite everyone telling him this weight didn't belong to him, he felt like it did, like he deserved all the pain he felt. He knew he should talk to Sam about this but he could never bring himself to do it.

He set the leather bound book down next to him and rested his head in his hands, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands. He stayed like that, trying to control his breathing and steady his heart rate when his door slammed open,

"Come on, man! Let's go! Something happened while they were out" Sam shouted from his position in the doorway.

Steve hardly lifted his head, he merely sent his friend a confused look, not able to actually form any words.

"Bucky, Nat and Rina. There were gunshots" he explained as simply as he could

At those words, Steve jumped off the bed and ran past Sam. His feet pounded against the hardwood floor as he made his way to the garage.