[He spends two years avoiding Steve, not wanting to be saved—sure there's nothing worth saving—and trying to disappear to bear his penance. There’s little surprise when it’s gone in a flash as soon as he sees Steve’s face again.
How easily he caves. He feels hollow as he goes through those familiar motions, the looks, gestures, and smiles he give masking every bit of his shame. And he has no choice. Every cell in his body compels him to, and he can’t refuse because there’s no way to say no to something that matters more than the air in his lungs. Everything he worked for to redeem his sins—his failures—gets lost somewhere behind them. Atonement is loneliness and solitude, but Steve rewards him, gives him a real breath to breathe that fills the hollow with mercy he doesn’t deserve.
He hates that he loves every second.
Grass is softer than he remembers, so he likes to feel it against his back while they watch the sun cast shadows across mountains. The light damp of dew settles into his clothes and skin as he lays and remembers how beautiful the sky is no matter what happens underneath it. Steve’s words float by like a cloud, and his eyes close as meaning comes.
Humphrey Bogart. A crowded room. La Marseillaise. He hums the first two bars in his head to see if he remembers it. He sees himself with the Howling Commandos belting it out joyfully with—for—Dernier after they’ve heard about the Liberation of Paris.
Bucky turns and opens his eyes to watch the pencil.]
You think they’ll mind if we put a sign on the door again?
[’Private Session’, like last time, so it’s just the two of them and their memories. He doesn't talk much with T'Challa, but he knows Steve worked something out with the guy while the doctors were patching up the stump Tony had left him with.]
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How easily he caves. He feels hollow as he goes through those familiar motions, the looks, gestures, and smiles he give masking every bit of his shame. And he has no choice. Every cell in his body compels him to, and he can’t refuse because there’s no way to say no to something that matters more than the air in his lungs. Everything he worked for to redeem his sins—his failures—gets lost somewhere behind them. Atonement is loneliness and solitude, but Steve rewards him, gives him a real breath to breathe that fills the hollow with mercy he doesn’t deserve.
He hates that he loves every second.
Grass is softer than he remembers, so he likes to feel it against his back while they watch the sun cast shadows across mountains. The light damp of dew settles into his clothes and skin as he lays and remembers how beautiful the sky is no matter what happens underneath it. Steve’s words float by like a cloud, and his eyes close as meaning comes.
Humphrey Bogart. A crowded room. La Marseillaise. He hums the first two bars in his head to see if he remembers it. He sees himself with the Howling Commandos belting it out joyfully with—for—Dernier after they’ve heard about the Liberation of Paris.
Bucky turns and opens his eyes to watch the pencil.]
You think they’ll mind if we put a sign on the door again?
[’Private Session’, like last time, so it’s just the two of them and their memories. He doesn't talk much with T'Challa, but he knows Steve worked something out with the guy while the doctors were patching up the stump Tony had left him with.]