[ 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

[from_the_outside]

"Okay."

She curves a hand at the side of his throat, cupping his jaw. "Okay."

[nerves_of_ice]

"Sorry," he says, yet again, and tries not to let self-loathing rise up to swamp him. "Sorry. It's just - do you want me to explain?"

He's honestly not sure.

[from_the_outside]

"If you can, yeah."

Who knows where the boundaries are? He certainly doesn't seem to.

[nerves_of_ice]

“Okay.” He takes a second to think about it. She needs to understand, given that she’s worried about pushing him, but if he can manage that without inspiring pity or disgust, well… that would be better than the alternative by far.

“They made me a weapon,” he says, after that brief silence. “A - a tool. A thing. The asset. Not - not human. That has… effects. Not just on me. Not exactly.”

[from_the_outside]

She shakes her head at him, not understanding. "What do you mean, not just on you?"

[nerves_of_ice]

"People treated me as that," he says, softly. "Nothing more." With one exception that he doesn't know how to explain, or even if he should.

He looks up at the sky again, trying to find something to hold on to in the stars, unwilling to see the look in her eyes change as he explains. "No conversation other than mission parameters. No touch. Nothing that wasn't medical or experimental or for the program or the mission."

[from_the_outside]

It's a special kind of hell to put a man as charming and friendly as Bucky had been through. "I'm sorry," she murmurs. "I can see why you're not used to it."

[nerves_of_ice]

"So you're not - you're not pushing. It's not - I don't mind, I don't, I-- but you shouldn't have to feel like you have to, or, or--"

He's making a mess of this, and he can't seem to stop the words from pouring out of his mouth with no coherence or sense to them.

[from_the_outside]

"I don't feel like I have to," she promises. "Bucky, do you have any idea how much I wanted to be held by you even just one more time?"

[nerves_of_ice]

His rambling explanation cuts off as though sliced with a knife. Bucky looks down at her, eyes wide and wondering.

Carefully, he tightens his right arm around her as he searches her face to be sure.

[from_the_outside]

"I lost you." Her gaze stays steady on his face, though a little desperation cracks in her voice. "I was never going to touch you again, or see you again."

She takes a deep breath. "And the best way for me to erase those memories of when you came for me is to replace them with memories of better touches."

[nerves_of_ice]

"I'm here," he whispers. The way her voice shifts tears at him. "I'm here, Sharon."

He doesn't raise his left hand, thinking it'd be cruel to subject her to that, but he can run his right hand lightly back and forth over her side and try to comfort her that way, so he does.

[from_the_outside]

"I'm so glad you are," she whispers. "Just let me hold onto you for a while, Bucky."

[nerves_of_ice]

"As long as you want."

Carefully, he curves his right arm a little further around her, tucking her a little closer against him.

[from_the_outside]

She curls against him the way she used to – and not even quite like that. It was rare that they held onto each other just for comfort and support, without passion feeding into the mix.

After a moment, she glances up at him. "Can you not feel me through your left arm?"

[nerves_of_ice]

He goes very, very still. "I thought - you shouldn't have to be subjected to, to that."

Again. He strives to keep his tone matter-of-fact without making it empty.

"It doesn't - it doesn't have nerves." Pain would interfere with operation, after all. "Just pressure sensors, some haptic feedback to identify damage and contact intensity, that kind of thing."

[from_the_outside]

"I'm not scared of your arm."

As much as she hates that he'd lost his original left arm, as much as she misses having both his arms around her, as much as that arm is a symbol of the evil men who kept him hidden away for so long –

It's not the arm that worries her.

[nerves_of_ice]

He doesn't know what to say to that. After a moment, he lifts his left hand from where he'd still had it planted against the ground and turns it palm-up in front of her for her perusal.

[from_the_outside]

She slips her left hand beneath his and curves her palm and finger against the cool metal of his hand, then runs her finger tips over his palm.

"It looks heavy."

[nerves_of_ice]

"It is. Some sort of titanium-steel alloy, I think." He holds his hand still for her exploration with no sign of difficulty or sensitivity.

[from_the_outside]

She nods, and lifts his hand to place a kiss to his metal palm. "I'm sorry about your arm," she murmurs, as she lowers his hand again.

[nerves_of_ice]

The gentleness of her gesture nearly undoes him. His hand hangs in the air for a second or two in an agony of indecision before he carefully places it beside her leg, on his own - just to be sure.

"It was ... strange ... waking up with it the first time," he murmurs. For a number of reasons. "But I'm pretty much used to it now, I guess."

[from_the_outside]

"I bet." He walks a little differently, she'd noticed. It must have something to do with the weight of his arm, the not-quite-natural feeling in it. "Does it hurt?"

[nerves_of_ice]

He looks down at his arm as if he might find the answer there. "I don't really notice it any more."

[from_the_outside]

Whether he means the arm or the pain – and she thinks he means the pain – it's an answer that makes her stomach clench in sympathy. She reaches to set her palm at the place where the metal joins his shoulder and chest. "I wish you hadn't had to get to that point."