One of the hallmarks of your presence was flowers.
You kept them everywhere in your apartment.
Now, Bucky wasn't a plant person. He didn't have a green thumb. He could barely keep the little cactus on the windowsill alive.
Very little of it made sense to him. Scientific names of flowers, why different plants needed different climates to survive, how you could tell the difference.
He could, however, listen to you talk about flowers and plants and all that other nature stuff all day, but it had very little to do with any interest in starting a plant nursery and everything to do with the way you'd glisten and gleam with your entire face lit up as you told him about your newest addition to your garden.
It was a little comical to Bucky. You didn't think you were very smart. He only wished that you could see yourself from his point of view when you rattled off dozens of scientific names of plants and flowers he had no idea existed, or when you would start explaining the long history of flowers being used as symbols in literature like it was common knowledge.
To be fair, it was easier for you. To keep a plant alive didn't take all that much effort for you, and on the very slim chance a plant died on your watch, you could always bring it back with a wave of your hand.
Because of that, you'd told Bucky that he didn't have to watch over your plants a million times. You told him that it wasn't a big deal and you didn't want to add another responsibility to his normal routine.
And usually, that was fine for Bucky. You normally were only gone a few days.
This time, he was going on day 22.
It happened every once in a while. A mission that wouldn't go right in spite of everyone's best efforts. You called him whenever you got a minute to yourself to keep him posted on how you were doing and how the assignment was progressing, but the separation was always taxing.
He knew you would always come back. In that he had faith. There really wasn't another choice but to have faith, he wouldn't and couldn't accept any other fate.
But it was always a little sad when the plants that adorned your apartment started to wilt, slowly drooping down day by day, going limp with lifelessness. Instead of walking by a windowsill filled with little reminders of you, he was haunted by the absence of you.
He noticed it on day 7. The slight drooping of leaves and stems as he walked around the apartment, your two pets following him around as he took in the slightly depressing sight.
His heartstrings were already strained from the absence of his person. And watching as one of the things you loved most in the world slowly wither away, he couldn't take it. But especially on day 10, when one of your more fickle plants, some kind of orchid or something, started losing its petals.
He didn't care about plants. Not in the slightest. But when he woke that morning to see orchid petals on the floor, horror struck in his heart as he gasped with sorrow.
All of day 10 and 11, he spent asking anyone who would listen about reviving an orchid.
He dragged Sam into his apartment, citing an emergency. And when they got to the apartment, Bucky gestured to the flower petals on the floor. He was so desperate, he asked Sam how he should fix it, figuring Sam had learned a thing or two about plants when you two lived together. Instead of anything remotely helpful, Sam looked at him strangely. "Don't you just water it?"
"No," Bucky sighs like Sam should already know this. "You can't just water an orchid."
"Why not?"
"I don't know."
"Look at you," Sam teases, nudging Bucky with his elbow as Bucky stares at all your slowly dying plants. "All domestic now, watering plants, massacring orchids."
"Why do I even bother asking you for help?"
"Honestly, no idea."
On day 12, he got to researching. Bucky still wasn't very good at the whole Internet, smartphone thing, but for you he was willing to try. He spent hours trying to identify your plants, writing down how each one needed to be cared for.
And he had to hand it to you, because you made it look so easy.
Bright and early on day 13, he got to work. Working his way through each and every plant in the apartment, cross-referencing his scribbled notes. He spent almost an entire day hunched over, checking the humidity points in the apartment, misting plants, drenching others, shifting pots so they faced the sun correctly.
His heart almost shattered when another petal fell that day. But he persevered, following his researched methods to a T.
And finally, when he woke on day 14, he noticed some slight improvements.
And by day 24, things were looking pretty good. Except maybe for an annoyed dog and cat that were looking at him like an obsessive crazy person. And Bucky could concede that maybe they had a point.
And he was so glad he was a slightly obsessive crazy person, because on day 25 you called with the best news he'd heard in the last 25 days: you were finally coming back home.
13 hours later, you were bounding into Bucky's tight embrace, chucking your bag on the floor to greet him, Alpine, and Max. He scooped you up into an overzealous hug that quite literally swept you off your feet. When he reluctantly put you down, you immediately caught sight of Bucky's hard work.
"Oh." You clutch your chest, your heart swelling with the sweetness and thoughtfulness of Bucky tending to all of the plants around the apartment. You knew firsthand how tricky, especially your lovely orchid. "You didn't have to do that."
"Ah," he dismissively waves his hand with a noncommittal grunt. "Was nothing."