[ WWII AU ] a ghost story

[from_the_outside]

It's been almost two years since she's been home, and little by little, the grief has gotten easier to live with.

It hasn't gone away. But she's able to focus on her job, watch movies, chat with friends, sleep most nights. She still dreams about him, but the dreams are tinged with wistful longing and only sometimes does she wake up with tears on her cheeks. She can't have his picture out in this apartment, Kate's apartment, but it's safe in the mountain house, along with his last letter to her, and she has a scan on her phone to look at when the long day is over and she's in bed, the stars from the lamp he'd given her filling her dark room.

Steve has helped, more than she could ever explain, and she hopes she's helped him in return. Aside from a few deeply classified missions here and there, they haven't worked together all that much, but she still sees him almost every day. In the halls, she's undercover as his mild-mannered neighbor, Kate, but in her secure apartment they can talk over anything, everything.

And it works. Every day is a little easier. They lean on each other when they need to, and they spend hours remembering and reminiscing about Bucky, talking shop, chatting about how Steve's fitting into the future. It's nice. She still misses Bucky, an ache that never really goes away, but they can both breathe through it, work through it, live through it.

She's on her way up from the basement laundry machines when she hears a familiar step in the hall, and has to smile to herself – first her own, then Kate's sweeter, more open one. "Hey, neighbor."

Comments

[marvel_npc]

"Hey, neighbor." Steve's own smile is a little strained, he knows, but he's certain she'll forgive him for it. "Laundry night, huh?"

She's drilled him in operational security when it comes to keeping her cover in the building, but no one should bat an eye at this.

"You know, I was just thinking of making a cup of coffee. Want one?"

[from_the_outside]

"You know, that sounds great, but..."

She shrugs, making a show of her basket of clean clothes. "I really should fold these right away. But I've got a decent coffee maker, if you'd like to come keep me company."

[marvel_npc]

"I won't say no, if you're sure I wouldn't be in the way." It's as sincere as anything. Stressed or not, wanting her opinion or not, she might have been looking forward to a quiet night and he's got no right to upset that.

[from_the_outside]

"I'm sure." Over the last two years, she's gotten to know Steve as well as she's ever known anybody, and these days the slightest shift to his expression might as well be him yelling at the top of his lungs.

He seems tense. And coffee isn't exactly a code – or, not an official one – but it does tend to signify when one of them needs to talk. She gives him a slightly arch look and lifts her basket, illustrating her lack of free hands. "If you could get the door – ?"

[nerves_of_ice]

He'd made his way through the various underground systems and tunnels beneath the city without difficulty. When he reaches the branch point, he hesitates, his thoughts a whirl of chaos. After a full five minutes of indecision, instead of taking the branch that leads to BaseOps, he takes the one that brings him back to the apartment building - hers and his, his prisoner and one of his targets, the place the Director had fled to. Maybe he'll find some answers there.

Bucky. The name means nothing to him. It isn't even Russian, is completely nonsensical in that language, so how could it be his? He's well aware that he doesn't remember things between assignments; something to do with the science that makes him what he is, an unavoidable side effect of the cryostasis perhaps. It's not like anyone's ever explained it to him; he's a weapon, he doesn't need to know. What matters is the mission. That's all.

So how could they know him? Both of them, the woman and the man; both calling him by the same name, both stunned by his face--

It doesn't make sense. He has to learn more. He has to find out what it means.

He makes his way into the basement of the building and up the stairs to the woman's apartment to begin his search.

[from_the_outside]

In the end, they'd decided it would be best if Steve made the call and offered to meet, with Nat standing by to translate or cajole in Russian. Sharon stands nearby, her arms wrapped around herself, her face throbbing where the tape had ripped off her mouth.

Steve takes a deep breath, then looks to Nat and nods. She nods back, then lifts her phone and presses first the call button, then the speaker icon.

[nerves_of_ice]

He studies the little ceramic in his cupped palm. It's a lamp, he thinks, if a tiny one. The small candle inside should send light through the shapes cut into it, painting a moon and stars on whatever's around it.

That's all it is, though, as far as he can tell. There's no hidden compartment, no data chip, no pressed-paper message. Nothing but pottery and wax.

The Winter Soldier turns it over again and again in his fingers, then shoves it absently in a pocket and forgets about it as his phone buzzes. But no - it's not his own contact device, he realizes; it's the woman's phone. Adrenaline surges, bringing everything to sharp focus as he pulls it out and looks at the screen. The number's very, very familiar.

He presses the speaker icon to accept the call, and waits in silence for someone to speak.

[from_the_outside]

It was Sam who had come up with a new place for them to meet. "It's out of the way," he promises. "Ain't nobody goes out there anymore."

The out-of-the-way location he offers turns out to be an old dam, either no longer in service or mostly ignored. He flies her there while she tries to push down everything that keeps trying to flood up: fear, anger, hope, memory.

So many memories.

She's nowhere near through the shock, she knows, but she can push past it, through it. She can focus on the mission. SHIELD needs her. Steve needs her. Everything else can come later.

[marvel_npc]

He drops down at the end of the dam through the cover of the trees and lands her as gently as she can. She looks pale and trembling, and he's pretty sure it's not because of their flight.

"They'll get here soon," he says, gently. The lady's got grit, that's for sure, but she's been through a hell of a lot today. "As fast as Steve runs, they could almost have beaten us here."

[from_the_outside]

"Steve's injured," she reminds him, and that hits her all over again, like those bullets had smacked into her torso and not his. "He heals fast, but not that fast. And we've got to get those bullets out of him."

[from_the_outside]

She'd expected to stay at the hospital with Steve, waiting by his side until he wakes up. He'll need her, after all this, the way they'd needed each other when she first fell back into her own time two years ago.

What she hadn't expected for Sam to point the doctors at her, too, and to wind up with a saline tube in one arm while she listened to a litany of stern advice about how to recover from the head trauma she recently received. Even arguing that she could stay and rest in Steve's room wasn't good enough, but Sam finally took some pity on her. "Stay at my place," he told her, handing over his keys. "There's food in the fridge, and the guest room's comfy."

Her other option was to go back to her – Kate's – apartment, and the idea of sleeping there tugged a knot of dread into her gut, so she'd accepted.

But she still needs clothes, so she'd stopped at the apartment on the way, anyhow, and found herself wandering around it, going from room to room. The lamp is back on her bedside table, where she'd set it that morning before heading to the Triskelion, but she can hardly look at it.

SHIELD is gone. Who knows where Bucky went, or if he'll ever be back. Steve is badly injured, and she's not feeling so hot, herself. She blinks, and realizes she's been sitting on the edge of her bed, staring into space, for – she checks the bedside clock – close to half an hour.

Maybe that doctor wasn't so off about the head injury, after all.

[nerves_of_ice]

The city is in shock. He can't let himself feel anything about it, but it's useful for intel and for moving around undetected. The cache had everything he needs to start out, and he hits a couple of the others as well to make sure he's well supplied for going on the run.

Bucky stashes his tactical gear and the weapons that he can't immediately carry on a rooftop along with a small black knapsack that'll serve as a run-out bag, tucks a few things into his pockets, and rejoins the crowd on the streets as a civilian. He drifts with their movement, not lingering too long or hurrying too quickly, and watches the news through every public display or bar TV he can find.

It's enough. It tells him the name of the hospital that Steve's been taken to - some reporter was pretty resourceful, looks like, although they haven't been able to get to him because of security procedures. He lets himself draw a breath of relief at that. It also tells him that they don't know who he is, not yet. There's a lot of coverage of him, but most of it doesn't show his face clearly if at all; just his arm, and various acts of blood and death.

Still, he has to be cautious, and he will. When he enters the hospital, baseball cap pulled low, he's carrying flowers he'd stolen from a corner stand and he goes to a different floor entirely. He manages to lift a nurse's security badge and locks himself in an empty room to access the medical records. Sorting by recent admissions helps him find how they're listing Steve, and also tells him that Sharon had needed treatment herself.

Steve's in bad shape, he reads, jaw set and the look in his eyes grim, but he's stable and expected to make a full recovery. Sharon was treated and released, he sees, and allows himself a single shaking breath of relief.

He expects to find her at Steve's side, but what he finds is a quiet room on a guarded hallway. He steals a doctor's white coat and makes his way along the hall anyway, thinking to duck inside for a moment, only to spot Sam Wilson planted in a chair at Steve's side instead. There's no sign of Sharon, and Steve's still unconscious.

Instead of starting a fight by trying to see him, he retreats to the hospital basement and leaves as quietly as he'd come. There's one other place he knows that he can check, to start. It doesn't take long to make his way to the apartment building. He examines it carefully from a distance while he pretends to study the display in a bookstore window, and concludes that it's not under guard.

He considers going back in through her apartment window and decides against it. Instead, he climbs down from the roof to the hallway window and slips inside there, then takes a deep breath and knocks softly at her door.

[from_the_outside]

She'd meant to get up, but had only drifted off again – fully conscious, simply not thinking. Observing. Feeling. So when a knock comes at her door, she startles into awareness.

Who would come here? Fury? Nat? It can't be Sam – not unless, unless something happened at the hospital. She reaches for her phone, only to remember once more, belatedly, that she doesn't have it anymore.

She'd lost one sidearm in the wreckage of the Triskelion, but there's another strapped to the bottom of her bed. Sharon reaches down for it, then silently slips through the apartment to the door. The shadow of someone standing outside is just visible in the crack between the bottom of the door and the floor.

Coming right up to the door to check through the peephole would give her position away in the same way. If it's HYDRA, she should simply run. But if it's Nat, or Fury...

Sharon softly moves to the side of the door, taking care not to let her own shadow flicker along it, and presses herself to the wall, then reaches for the knob with one hand. On a silent count of three, she wrenches the door open and spins to aim her Kahr at the figure outside in the same breath.

If it's Nat or Fury, they'll forgive her. If not... well. It's time for her to get off the back foot.

[from_the_outside]

Only Sam's warning gets them to the hospital in time to see Steve before he checks out. Unsurprisingly, he's not thrilled about still being there, but Sharon takes advantage of his unwillingness to cause trouble for the nurses and shoos Sam and Nat out the door to get them all coffee. "Hey."

Slipping into the room, she closes the door behind herself and gives him a sweet smile, then comes around to the chair where Sam had spent the night. "How're you feeling?"

[marvel_npc]

"A little sore, but okay." Steve eyes her, a little warily, hoping she's not going to take the doctors' side. "I don't need to stay here another night."

[from_the_outside]

"Don't worry, Cap," she says, fond and amused as she comes to sit by his side. "I'm here to help bust you out. Just as soon as all the paperwork is done."

[from_the_outside]

Only a direct order from Aunt Peggy could have kept them from heading to the mountain house as quickly as possible. They manage to restrain themselves for thirty-six hours, and that's as much as they're willing to give.

(It's actually quite a bit harder to get out of the city than they'd anticipated, but they'd have managed it, she's sure.)

Steve grows more and more tense the closer they get to the house, and she can't blame him... but she's also not certain that relief is the right word for what she feels when they get inside and see evidence of usage: a pan, plate, and silverware, cleaned and set to the side of the sink; a coffee mug. She listens, but hears no sound from up the stairs.

If he's inside, he's hiding.

[nerves_of_ice]

He'd ditched the first stolen car, then the second, between D.C. and New York, laying the trail in that direction just on the off chance Steve might think he'd head back to Brooklyn. After that, he picks up an old but serviceable motorcycle at a used car lot, paying cash, and heads to the Virginia mountains.

It's his second full day there, and it feels like a dream. He'd think it was one, except all his actual dreams are nightmares. He'd wandered through the house like a ghost, looking at all the pictures in the giant downstairs living areas and exploring the various wings - multiple wings, what the hell - as carefully as he could in order not to disturb anything. He'd retreated from the more formal wing quickly, feeling a little better about sticking to the kitchen, the room beyond with its couches and fireplace and armchairs and windows, and the bedroom he'd picked almost at random at the end of the hallway. It had seemed like a mostly unused guest room, as far as he could tell, and he figures he won't hurt anything by being there.

(It had been easy to figure out which room was Sharon's. He'd left everything untouched and undisturbed, but he'd allowed himself to walk through it, studying the signs of childhood memories that were left visible, and had spent a solid five minutes staring at his own framed photo on the bedside table before he left, closing the door behind him.)

The woods are peaceful, undisturbed by any signs of people. He traces his way through them until he finds a small river, and follows dim flickers of memory to a cave without letting himself think too much about it. He's retreated to the clearing by the water again this afternoon, this time bringing a cheap composition book and a pen with him. Maybe writing things down will help him get his thoughts in some kind of order.

[from_the_outside]

She sends Steve to look outside, figuring that if Bucky catches sight of him and runs, Steve's a lot more likely to catch him than she is. And, besides, Steve won't know if anything in the house is different from how she'd left it.

A few things are. Here and there, she finds small evidences of someone being here: a towel in the bathroom, a quilt in the guest room that wasn't folded back quite the same way.

(She can't resist leaning down to breathe in the scent of the pillow, even though it only makes her heartache worse.)

He seems to have taken over the guest room, so she sets to searching, looking for anything he might have brought with him.

[nerves_of_ice]

He doesn't know what time it is. Late, he's sure of that. He'd stayed with Steve while Sharon had gone down into the town, and when she returned, they'd focused on other things by some kind of unspoken mutual consensus. He'd moved among them like a ghost, each step uncertain as though walking on knives, and tried as best he could to be what they needed.

He's dismally aware just how much of a failure it had been in that regard, but he doesn't know what else he could have done. Should still do. What to do next.

He'd talked Steve out of staying in the same room with him, somehow, and made something up about not - not being able to sleep with anyone else around, anymore. He's not sure Steve was completely convinced, but he'd let it stand. It had also spared Sharon from even having to even think about the question, which is the absolute fucking least he could do, all things considered.

He'd sworn up and down that he'd be here in the morning, and shut the door to the guest room. There he'd waited in silence until he didn't hear any further noises in the house. He didn't try to sleep; he couldn't. The last thing anyone needs is to be woken by his screams, if he can't get the nightmares under control.

He waits until it's as late as he can before he slips out of the room and down the hall, moving as stealthily as possible. The back porch will do. There's chairs there and on the grass beyond, and a clear view of the night sky. He can watch the stars while he waits for dawn.

[from_the_outside]

She wonders if Steve's managed to fall asleep. She certainly hasn't; not knowing that Bucky's just down the hall, not when there's still so much more they need to do for him. Even the candelight stars from her lamp don't soothe her the way they usually do; nor does his photo, smiling at her from the bedside table.

Getting a glass of water is as good an excuse as any to wander out of her room, robe over her tank top and shorts, but once she's downstairs, a glance out at the back porch distracts her. Very quietly so as not to startle him, she opens the door. "Mind a little company?"

[nerves_of_ice]

Stars or not, he's hypervigilant and aware enough of everything going on around him to have noticed the shadow cast by her soft approach. He's ready when the door opens, and doesn't jump.

Bucky turns to look over his shoulder at her, then tips his head at the next chair over as an invitation. "I don't mind," he thinks to clarify.

Not that he could likely protest even if he did, but he doesn't. He thinks he doesn't, anyway.

"Did I wake you?"

[nerves_of_ice]

He'd promised to try to sleep, and so he does, lying down on the bed and staring at the ceiling above him with his mind an incoherent whirl until his eyes close. He jerks awake no more than an hour or so later, cold sweat breaking out all over his body as he bites back a scream.

Bucky quits the bed for the corner, where he can sit on the floor with his back to the wall, arms around his knees, and stare up at the night sky through the window. He counts the stars visible through the glass over and over until the first light of false dawn spreads through the dark.

Good enough. He sneaks out of the room and down the hall to the kitchen. Making coffee will give him something to do.

[from_the_outside]

Sleep had been all but impossible with his kiss still burning on her lips, and the number of times she'd almost gone to knock quietly on his door must have numbered in the double digits. But she had slept, finally, still exhausted from the fight and the stress of everything that happened in DC. She's not a supersoldier, there's only so much she can push through.

But she wakes early with the sun, and with the scent of coffee lifting from the kitchen. Sharon gets up and dresses in some comfortable workout clothes, then ties her hair into a ponytail and heads downstairs, barefoot.

Just seeing him there is like a dream come true... no matter how nightmarish the rest of this is. She can't stop the way her eyes shine or how she smiles when she comes into the kitchen and sees him. "Good morning."

[nerves_of_ice]

"Good morning." He trades contemplating the slow curl of steam from his mug for watching her approach instead. "You're up early."