Originally Posted: 01/20/2022
"I don't know why you agreed to that in the first place," Sam grumbles. "It's grunt work. Stupid grunt work. Grunt work that the grunts make gruntier grunts-"
"Yeah, yeah, I get it. It doesn't matter, I agreed to it over a year ago. I was still trying to figure out my place here."
Sam shrugs. "I guess. How'd she take it?"
"Who?" Bucky asks, though he knows exactly who Sam's talking about.
"Don't play dumb with me," Sam retorts, elbowing Bucky in the ribs. "Seriously, I can't imagine she'd be okay with it."
"Why not? You don't think she'd be happy for me finding a purpose here?"
"Am I chopped liver to you? All the missions we've gone on- nothing, really?" Sam quips. "And I'm sure she would...or she'd try to be happy for you. But that girl has severe abandonment and attachment issues, which brings me back to how she took it."
Bucky remains silent, ruminating on the very good points Sam just brought up.
"Oh no," Sam gasps.
"What?"
"Tell me you told her- that you talked to her about this." Bucky sighs, grabbing another beer for himself. Sam shakes his head at the idiot in front of him. "You mean to tell me you didn't tell your- for all intents and purposes- your girlfriend that you're leaving for 15 months?"
"You're leaving for 15 months?" you whisper from behind Bucky.
"Doll," he gasps, cursing your light as a feather footsteps. He whirls around just in time to see your smile slowly drop into a frown. He's never seen you look this upset before, and it breaks his heart.
"I should let the two of you talk," Sam awkwardly excuses himself, before bolting out of the very tense room.
"You're leaving?" you whisper, feeling a strange tugging sensation at your heart and your throat.
"Yeah," Bucky ruefully sighs, grasping the back of his neck. "I'm going on a mission."
"What kind of mission?" you whisper, feeling your jaw tighten.
"Undercover."
"That's- that's cool," you quietly offer, an unbearable sadness growing in your chest. "Going undercover- that'll be fun."
"I'm not going undercover. I'll be the contact point for the people actually going undercover."
"Oh."
"Yeah."
When you finally find your voice, you can't keep the words from spilling on your mouth- all the fear, all the sadness. It pours out of you. "Wait, you don't have to go right now? You can stay for a little bit, right?"
Once you see the apologetic look on his face, you have your answer. "Or you can take me with you- and I can cheer you on from the sidelines. Or just sit in the background, right? You don't have to leave me." You pause for a moment, tears welling in your eyes. "You don't have to leave me."
He sighs, not able to look at you. "Doll..."
"No, don't. Please don't. Just don't go. Please don't- I know it's selfish to ask. Just...please. I can take a lot...but I don't think I can take this," you frantically admit as your throat continues to tighten.
"Doll..." he tries again.
"No," you scramble for the words. The right words that'll make him stay. "I'll do better. I'll be better. I promise, just please don't leave me...No one's ever stayed this long before. Please. You can't leave."
"I have to," he trembles, still not able to meet your pleading eyes. "I have to go."
You shake your head, trying to pull yourself back together. This isn't right, the way you feel. Bucky isn't yours- he's not a possession. Let alone one you have any right to hold on to, and yet you still don't want to let him go. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't be making this harder for you," you state, wiping the tears away. "This- This is wrong- It's my problem, not yours."
"I, um, I should let you go. I have- I have to go anyway," you stammer, turning on your heels before Bucky can squeeze in a single word.
Instead of going straight after you, he gives himself, and you, a little time to calm down. Then he goes searching for you. It's not long before he finds you in your room. He tries opening the door, but FRIDAY declines entry. "I'm sorry, Mr. Barnes, she's asked to be alone at this time."
"Yeah, well this is an urgent problem, so let me in."
Then he's opening your bedroom door. You're hunched over, sitting on the foot of your bed. Like all the sunshine has drained from the room, for the first time ever, he walks in there and it doesn't feel like home.
"I just want to be left alone right now," you mumble, clutching the photograph that you plucked from your wall.
"You never want to be alone," he responds, slowly walking closer to you.
You want to tell him that you've never had to pull yourself together like this before. You've never had to fight every instinct of your being to keep yourself upright. You've never felt this burning, aching sensation ruminating in the center of your chest. It feels like more than sadness- it's worse. Something you don't even have the words to describe.
"What do you have there?"
You think back to that very first night.
"You look great. You have that classic beauty thing working for you- you don't want to overstate that," Nat repeats, putting the final touches on your look for tonight.
"It should be you going."
"Steve and Sam both agreed that you're ready for this. Trust yourself. And Bucky will be there with you all night," Nat reminds you.
"But what if they're wrong?"
"They're not. I think you're ready too- and I'm never wrong."
"Really?"
"Really. Now go, Bucky's waiting for you," Nat shoos you out of your own room, staying behind to clean up the mess the two of you made from getting you ready.
You nod, slowly walking out of your room and down the hall where you see Bucky standing there in a tux.
"God damn," Bucky wheezes, seeing you walk down the hall. It's a different look than your colorful t-shirts and sundresses. You stand there in one of Nat's dresses, and it feels like all the oxygen has left Bucky's lungs.
"You look so nice!" you compliment, walking up to a still frazzled Bucky.
"Thanks," Bucky chokes out.
"Look at the two of you. It looks like you're going to prom," Nat coos. "I stole this from your room. Just one for your first recon mission?" she asks, holding your Polaroid in her hand.
"What's prom?" you ask.
"Picture first," Nat demands. "Then I'll tell you after your mission."
"Fine," Bucky huffs, standing rigidly a foot away from you.
"Can you two move closer together?"
He shuffles a little closer, but you don't miss a beat, sidling up right next to him. He gently places his hand on the small of your back, shuddering at the feeling of your warm bare skin.
Once the pictures are taken, every fiber of Bucky's being wants to bolt out of the door hoping that this mission will be over sooner rather than later. Still like the gentleman he was raised to be, he offers you his arm and helps you into the car.
"You're nervous," Bucky states once he's finally composed himself enough to speak to you. He sees the way you're fidgeting in the passenger seat and picking at the material of your dress. "Don't be nervous."
"I'm not very good at this- I'm better at field missions."
"This is a field mission," he chuckles.
You roll your eyes, a playful smirk on your face. "You know what I mean. I'm not good at the talking, mingling- people usually can tell there's something wrong with me."
Bucky frowns, his eyebrows furrowed. "There's nothing wrong with you."
"No, I know."
"Do you?"
"I'm just not good at this kind of thing. I don't even know why Steve wanted me for this one, it seems like more of a job for Nat. She's good at talking to people, talking, dressing all fancy, and being incognito. Me? Not so much."
Bucky knew exactly why Steve picked you for this mission. The more innocuous reason was to show you that you were capable of the same things that everyone else was. But as Bucky's meddling best friend, Steve was relentlessly finding ways to push the two of you together. "Well you certainly did great at the dressing up part."
"Really? I feel kind of silly."
"You don't look silly." Then it's silent. And he knows you're back overthinking your role in this mission. Even though he's never the one to initiate affection with you, he grabs your hand without even thinking. "You know, I don't want you to be like everyone else- you're great the way you are. I like you the way you are."
"Yeah?" you ask, your voice filled with hope.
"Yeah."
He nudges his head to the polaroid in your hand. "What'd you have there?"
"Photo," you mumble.
"I remember that night," he tries.
But you interrupt him, not able to take a trip down memory lane with him right now. "I don't really feel like reminiscing with you, Bucky."
"Bucky?" he repeats, hating the way his nickname sounds in your mouth. You've only ever called him James before and while he'd never admit it, he liked that you were the only person that called him by his real name. "You've never called me that before."
"James," you correct. "I'm sorry."
"You don't need to be sorry," he softly replies, putting his hand on yours. This time you jerk your hand away. "Doll, please talk to me."
"Why didn't you tell me?" you whisper, keeping your eyes down and hands tucked on your lap.
"I forgot- honestly I did. And then, I just- I don't know. I'm sorry I didn't say anything."
"What's going on?" Steve whispers seeing Sam pressed up against your door.
"They're fighting- it's not good," Sam tells him in a hushed tone.
"They're fighting?"
"Well right now she's yelling at him, but I can't hear because you won't shut up," Sam hisses.
"Should we be listening to this?" Steve says as he joins Sam to listen in on the conversation. "Why are they fighting anyway? They don't fight- correction, she doesn't fight."
"He didn't tell her he's leaving today."
"Oh, boy."
"Yup."
"And I'm mad at you!" you shout at Bucky. Sam narrows his eyes at Steve, realizing he just missed an integral part of the conversation talking to Steve.
"You're mad? You're never mad."
"Well I am! I'm so angry with you," you fumed.
"Because I'm leaving?"
"Because you're leaving- because you didn't tell me. Because-because how am I supposed to be okay without you?" Your chest heaving at the unfamiliar emotions raging at you. "I'm mad because I'm going to miss you!"
"And I know you'll be okay!" you exclaim.
"But I won't- because I'm going to miss you so much that it hurts," you shout. "And I shouldn't be telling you this. It's not fair to you," you begin to finally wind down. "But that's how I feel. And I've never felt like this before and it hurts- it hurts too much."
"Well normal people get angry- they..." then he trails off, realizing the words that just spilled out of his mouth.
"Normal?" you quiver, flinching away from Bucky.
"I didn't mean it like that," he quickly assures you, reaching for your hand, but you once again reject it. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, but I swear I didn't mean it like that."
"Man, all our hard work- down the drain," Sam mumbles in defeat, still leaned against the door to eavesdrop.
"You know, I came here for a reason. She's late for our mission," Steve tells Sam.
"I won't lie to you," Sam whispers. "I came to tell Bucky he's running late too. But I wasn't about to interrupt that."
"So you stayed and decided to listen in?"
"Exactly! You have fun interrupting them though."
Bucky rips the door open wide, knocking Sam over and leaving Steve frozen in the doorway. "We can hear you, you know!"
You're wiping tears from your eyes, turned away from all three men. "I'll be there in a minute. Sorry, Steve."
"You don't have to-" Steve begins to object, but you turn around, shaking your head.
"It's fine. I'll meet you at the jet," you insist.
"Alright," Steve nods, walking off.
"Buck, we gotta go," Sam mumbles, feeling the heaviness and sadness permeate the air.
"Right," Bucky nods.
"You go," you nod, trying to pull a smile on your face. "Be safe. Have fun."
You're about to bolt out of the room, but you don't. You turn around and wrap your arms around Bucky. He doesn't even have a chance to respond before you're scurrying off.
"That was painful to watch."
"Yeah, it was," Bucky sorrowfully whispered, watching you walk away from him.
Your mission was a complete blur. It was successful, you knew that thanks to your debrief, but you couldn't really remember anything except that you'd just said goodbye to your favorite person. Most of the team begged you to stay and have a pizza night with them, but it was to no avail. You kept a smile on your face telling them you were tired and not very hungry. So you dragged your feet back to your room. And as you walk in, your eyebrows furrow in confusion. You left your picture on the bed, not on the desk. And as you move closer there's a new note written at the bottom in Bucky's handwriting.
'Normal (nor-mal) n. 1. People that are not as extraordinary as you are.'
And it makes your heart ache for him even more.
Then it's Friday night, your designated movie night with Bucky. And it hurts that he's not here. You're sitting in front of a dark screen, debating on whether you even feel like watching anything without him.
"It's movie night, right?" Steve asks, suddenly standing in the doorway.
"Yeah."
"I know what you're going through," Steve offers. "I know you miss him."
"Yeah," you exhale. But you're not sure if they do understand. They weren't there for all those little moments, all those times Bucky's been there, they didn't read the note of the Polaroid picture, you're pretty sure they don't know just how much you miss him. But maybe they did, maybe this was what people felt when their other half was gone. But then you're wondering if other people have another piece of themselves in another person. Was it normal to give someone what felt like the most important part of you?
"But I'll watch with you if you want."
You nod. "Sure."
But even though you're an overly affectionate person, even though you've nestled against the entire team before, this time it doesn't feel the same. Steve's taller and it makes your neck hurt to lean against him. He doesn't make sarcastic remarks about the characters and comment a million ways that their conflicts could be resolved in under 30 minutes. He doesn't sigh when there's a cheesy line or a plot hole that isn't covered.
He just isn't Bucky.
You can't even focus on the movie- all that's glaringly noticeable is Bucky's absence and you feel it everywhere. And you still can't bring yourself to regret becoming so attached to him.
"I'm going to call it a night," you state, only one episode into your watching session.
"You sure?"
"Yeah. Thank you for watching with me- I'm just getting tired."
Then it's a week later. Bucky's called three times, and each time you've refused to speak with him, mostly because you can't. You can't listen to his voice because then it all starts to hurt again. Your throat tightens and jaw clenches. It's an ugly feeling, it's so complicated and messy that you don't even know how to unpack any of it. So when Sam silently offers you the phone, you shake your head at Sam, the knot in your throat still as tight as it was the day Bucky left. You've told Sam what to say. That you're busy. Or not here right now. And like everyone else on the team, you tell Sam that you're fine.
"She's not here. Sorry," Sam mumbles, torn between two of his closest friends.
"Come on. I know she's there. Just let me talk to her," Bucky pleads. Sam turns around to try to force you to talk to him, but you've already rushed out of the room.
"Sam, please. I know she told you not to tell me, but please I need to know- How is she?"
He sighs, finally giving in. "It's not good. She's keeping it together mostly, but she's not herself. She's not sleeping, eating, being her normal sunshine self- but what's a sunshine without her grump, you know? I've known her for a long time and to be honest, I've never seen her like this. She misses you- a lot."
"I miss her too."
"How are you? For real?"
"In hell," Bucky grunts. "I shouldn't have agreed to this. I didn't think it'd be this hard to be away from her, you know?"
"I know. She sneaks her way in, but once she's there, you never want her to leave." He pauses, unsure of what to tell Bucky. "Listen, do you want to be there? Without even thinking about your girl, do you want to be there?"
"No," Bucky replies instantly. "No, I don't."
"So then leave," Sam responds without hesitation. "Leave and come home- while you still have someone to come home to."
Once he's off the phone with Bucky, he goes to check on you. He gently cracks open your door, gently knocking to alert you of his presence. You're sitting there, staring at the note on the Polaroid picture.
He comes to sit with you on the edge of your bed. "You okay?"
You rest your head on Sam's shoulder when he sits next to you. "It hurts, Sam. It hurts so much. I feel like I can't breathe, like my throat's actually going to close up."
"You miss him," Sam simply states.
"Is this because I have attachment issues? Do I get too attached to the wrong people?"
"No. There's nothing wrong with missing Bucky, it's only been a week. Give yourself a chance to adjust- it'll get better. I promise."
"Really?"
"Really."
The next day, you're in the kitchen, trying to find your footing without Bucky here. After Sam's words last night, you decided you were going to try to adjust like Sam said you would. You decided to try one of your favorite activities- baking. You awkwardly made your way into the kitchen, bumping into things, dropping ingredients on the floor, and just completely off-balance.
You catch your reflection in the reflection of the fridge, flour on your face and in your hair and a frown that rivals Bucky's infamous stoic expression. Then you see him in the reflection behind you.
"Bucky," you exhale, whirling around to look and also slightly worried that you're hallucinating his return 15 months too early. He takes a few steps forward, and without thinking you reach out and touch his shoulder. And it's him, he's there.
He's really there. Standing right in front of you.
"What- What are you doing here?" you ask, the corners of your lips already pulling up.
"I forgot something," he replies, taking another step closer to you.
You try to keep your smile from dropping, turning away from him in hopes that he won't see the disappointment and heartbreak on your face. "Oh."
He grabs your arm, turning you back around and without wasting a single second, his lips are on yours. His hand moves from your arm to your waist, pulling you even closer to him. The kiss itself is filled with an intense desperate need. And he refuses to let you go until you need to breathe.
"I forgot to do that," he whispers against your lips, gently kissing you over and over again.