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Time always passed
so
slowly in times where you wished it would just
hurry.
Not even an hour ago you received a text, a single line, that set your heart to shatter in one fell swoop — it was from Stevie, normally cheerful and hilarious in his messages, though not this time.
Buck’s in a state, make sure to be careful.
That single line, as vague as it was, set it
all
into motion.
You rushed around your living room and bedroom, preparing a space for Bucky to come down from his adrenaline high. Pillows and blankets flew through the space while you prepared and mulled over what was to come, who he would be when he walked through the front door.
Holidays were a time for happiness, miracles, even.
But sometimes, that wasn’t enough — especially for those on the front lines to see the ugliness of what transpired on a constant basis.
Just as you finished throwing Bucky’s favourite blanket onto the bed, you heard the front door handle turning with a
click
, and you dashed to the entryway as he opened the door. The hinges creaked while it swung open to welcome home a weary, worn warrior.
A deep slump set Bucky’s shoulders downwards, heavy with the weight of his sorrow, and his face was lined and blotchy; eyes red from the tears that were yet to fall.
Steve’s text could not have prepared you for the sight of him, the
state
of his devastation.
“Oh, Bubs,” you whispered, looking him up and down; the more you saw, the more your heart broke. “Come here, honey.”
Bucky looked at you and grunted, chucking the car keys in his hand into the dish on the entry table. “Can’t–” He cleared his throat. “Need– Need to shower first. I can’t let you touch me when I’m–”
“Alright, that’s okay,” you soothed, and you pointed towards the bathroom. “I’ve set up a warm towel—your favourite pyjamas, too. I’ll be in the bedroom, and I need you to yell if you need me, okay?”
His boots fell to the floor with a loud thump as he shucked them off. There was no verbal answer to your offer, but you caught the incline of his head while he trudged past you, and accepted it as an acknowledgement.
The bedroom was dimly lit. Your back rested against the headboard of your bed, and you held the TV remote in your hand — Bucky’s favourite Christmas movie played in the background quietly, a backdrop to the echoing silence broken only by the sound of water running.
Twinkling lights caught your attention, and you looked towards the Christmas tree in the corner of your room; soft yellows and whites reflected in the snowed pane that overlooked the city below.
You sighed heavily when the water eventually shut off, and Bucky appeared in the doorway. His eyes, normally ever bright and soft, were dark and stormy grey — drowning you in the pain and undeniable guilt that swirled in them.
The whites of his eyes were reddened from the tears that no doubt cascaded with the water from the shower, but he looked no better for the release.
Slowly, you opened your arms, extending them out in a silent offer of comfort.
Bucky padded towards the bed, his right hand rubbing at his eyes. The tattoos even looked dull and gloomy with his pain. “‘M sorry, Peanut–” His voice was strained and hoarse. “I didn’t mean to–”
“Ah, ah,” you interrupted, frowning at him. “Come here—let me hold you for a little while.”
His feet shuffled over the carpet, and he put a knee onto the mattress. “But– Are you–”
“Get over here so I can hold you.”
There was no further argument or hesitation — Bucky’s body lay next to yours, over the covers, and you sidled closer until his head was over your thighs and chest over your knees and shins. His breath came in shuddered gasps, and you knew he was holding the waves back; barely able to keep afloat.
“Bubs,” you whispered, threading your fingers through his damp hair. He sniffed. “Baby—it’s okay, I’ve got you.”
“I couldn’t–” Bucky rasped, his hand gripping your calf, pawing at it in a fit of desperate sadness. “I
couldn’t,
fuck– They didn’t–”
“Here,” you breathed, taking Bucky’s hand in yours — it was frozen to the touch, but his fingers clasped yours as though you were a lifeline, the only thing that tethered him to the reality he sorely wished he wasn’t experiencing. “I have you, my love; you’re okay.”
The dam broke and Bucky choked on a sob — his shoulders heaved with the violence of them. You stayed as a buoy, rubbing your other hand up and down his back and across his shaking shoulders to ground him, offering the only comfort you could conjure in that moment.
For a while, he lay over you and released the tears he held close, and only when his sobs quieted to sniffles did you dare speak again. “You with me, Bubs?” you asked quietly, scratching over his scalp with your fingers.
“Mm,” he hummed, and he squeezed your hand. “‘M here.”
The roughness of his voice made you sigh as you leaned down to kiss his temple, lingering closely to stare into his puffy eyes.
“Good,” you whispered. “I need my warrior here with me so I can take care of him.”