Chapter Text
The summer sun beating down on the rooftop you’re saddled on has had you sweating bullets for the past hour, but the arduous task keeps your mind as occupied as you want it. So in a sense, coming out here to help Sarah fix some houses in need of repairs out in the neighborhood was exactly what you needed.
“Mrs. Williams brought out some lemonade and snacks for when you guys feel like coming down!” Sarah points back from where she stands on the ground shouting back for you to hear.
Grinning, you take away your focus from the nail gun long enough to nod before going back to the shingles at hand. From the jovial atmosphere going on down there, one would imagine this whole gathering of people was for a barbecue or something. Though you suppose that so many people helping out like this is the norm for this neighborhood. You aren’t complaining either. The people are so welcoming that you can’t really see this as labor.
You’re just out here giving a helping hand to some great folks.
“Working hard?”
Releasing the trigger on the nail gun, you sit up straight to shoot Sam a droll stare. “Harder than you, Mister I’ll-carry-the-shingles-and-you-nail-them.”
Even with Sam having climbed to the top of the ladder you used to get on the rooftop, you still find a reason to raise your voice over the music booming out of speakers down below. It’s hard to pinpoint who exactly’s got their Bluetooth connected with how it keeps jumping back and forth between hard 80s rock and awesome 50s pop. Whoever it was, you thanked them from the bottom of your tired heart.
Rolling your eyes at Sam as he climbed up onto the rooftop to seemingly help you, you continue on with nailing down the roof shingles while humming ‘Killer Queen’ under your breath. The two of you work quietly for a good minute with only the usual banter here and there when suddenly Sam brings up a topic you aren’t all that open to discuss just yet.
“Have you heard from Bucky lately?”
The nail goes in crooked with the head jutting out at an angle. You click your tongue but with ease, pluck it out with your fingers before going back at it again.
“Can’t say I have,” you say.
“He’s been out a whole lot in the past few weeks and barely comes back to the compount.” Sam’s stating the obvious at this point. It’s not like you haven’t noticed the absence of those heavy footsteps leaving his room to exercise early in the morning or sneaking around late at night sometimes for a late night snack.
“He’s a grown-ass man, Wilson,” you snide. “Wherever he’s gone off to, he’ll be fine. Hey!” A couple of kids messing with the speaker jump at hearing you shout down at them. “What are you lot doing? Put Frankie Valli back on.”
‘Sherry’ starts over again before the kids scurry away. Humming under uour breath, you return to work but realize you’ve finished up the last of the shingles in the box you carried up with you. Heaving a sigh, you point back at the boxes you left on the ground to Sam.
“Wanna make yourself useful and bring ‘em up for me?”
“I’m doing my own work too, y’know.”
“Like what, turning oxygen into carbon dioxide? ‘Cause if so, you’re doing a mighty fine ass job right about now, Cap’n.”
“Ha ha, very funny.” He’s grumbling on his way to the ladder and you thank him as he reaches it. Before his head disappears below the rooftop though, Sam calls out to you yet again. “Seriously, though. It’s not that I’m that worried but we’ve got a mission in a few days and I want the whole team there.”
“What? Am I not enough back-up?” you ask, peeved and with a hand on your hips while balancing the nail gun with the other.
Suddenly, your finger slips and the gun shoots off, the nail digging straight into the roof beneath you. Your eyes go wide but never turn down to look st what happened while Sam’s incredulous look is only accentuated by his raised eyebrow.
“Look, just give him a call and gives him the details. If he’s answering anyone, it’s gonna be you.”
You didn’t want to, but if Captain is asking, you really didn’t have a choice.
That afternoon, just as dusk began hitting the horizon and reflecting back from the ocean in beautiful hues of warm oranges and yellows, you played around with your flip phone, opening and snapping it close while mustering the strength to dial the damn number.
The past two weeks had been a rather peaceful for you and your wrecked heart. The fact that Bucky was spending less and less time in the small compound you three as a team shared was as much a blessing as it was a curse.
At least it was to you with your condition.
“Two hours before the next erasure. Prepare the mission’s necessary information for the next 24-hour cycle.”
Unlike the other soldiers, your mind suffered much greater damage from being exposed to the super soldier serum. Damage it never recovered from mostly due to the fact that, as a subject after Bucky’s time, Hydra had more than perfected the mechanism with which to reboot you. A program no Wakandan technology could fix.
And it happens automatically every 24 hours.
So long as whatever it is you want erased is out of your sight during that time, it will cease to exist to you once the time elapses. It and everything associated with it.
The fugue it leaves behind is bad but isn’t the worst part. By far the worse is the feeling of emptiness any erasure leaves behind. Almost like there’s a puzzle so obviously incomplete in your head but it’s also your mind that’s convincing you that the pieces missing don’t exist and that you shouldn’t bother searching for something you won’t find.
Now, all that keeps you away from completely forgetting everything about who you are and everybody you ever knew is a flimsy old photo album—Steve’s idea. They’re nothing more than a bunch of polaroid pictures, old and new, with bits of writing to help clear up the fog in your mind.
It ain’t much but it helps you remember your life up to that moment every time the clock resets.
And it also makes forgetting something all that easier too. At least, so long as you didn’t see them every day in the flesh like you did Bucky or Sam. For them, you didn’t need old polaroid pictures to keep your memory of them fresh. Simply seeing them every day, if only for a minute and with a simple exchange of words, made their memory permanent for that day. It made the impact of their existence in yours real again.
Now, though, Bucky’s was tenuous at best. And even when it pains and frustrates you the fact that you feel that emptiness crawling its way back as his memory fades the longer he stays away, there’s also a sense of relief.
Relief that the emptiness also takes your heartache away.
Just this once after all these weeks won’t bring it all back, you assure yourself. Sam needs us together for this one.
And that mattered more than whatever little bit of pain seeing Bucky could bring you.
Trekking through the shore, you pick up a few stray rocks from the floor and dial the number, placing the receiver against your ear as you distract yourself by skipping pebbles. He answers on the first ring.
“Hey.”
“Hey, Bucko,” you say, keeping up with your cheerful tone despite the fine line on your lips. “We got a mission coming up in a couple of days. Sam told me to let you know.”
Bucky clicks his tongue on the other side of the line. “I thought that’s what he was spamming me with calls about.”
“Huh, how the tables have turned.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s usually me who’s blowing your guys’ calls off.”
“Watch it, you almost sound too proud of yourself there.”
You chuckle at his tongue-in-cheek remark but the laughter dies when you hear something in the background of other line.
Someone else’s laughter–a woman’s. But it doesn’t come close to hurting as much as hearing the way his quiet chuckle fills the brief silence afterwards.
The way your chest tightens makes you feel sick and it doesn’t let you dredge up a single word out of your throat. Thankfully, Bucky, oblivious as ever, changes the topic quickly enough.
“I’ll meet you guys at the hangar. Just text me the time and day.”
“Okay.” There’s no strength left in you to even feign your voice anymore.
“Alright. If that’s all—give me a sec,” Again, that laughter. You can’t bring yourself to hate it no matter how much you wish you did. “If that’s all, I gotta go. I’ll see you then.”
“Yeah…see you.”
He hangs up first. You can’t do much else except leave your phone hanging there by your ear for a moment while you let the pain settle. A pain you knew you shouldn’t be feeling anymore.
It’s been a few weeks. You’d forgotten little bits and pieces and it’d helped to lessen the pain. But why is it that this—hearing him laugh, hearing him happy—just makes it so much worse than before.
It’d be so easy to just erase this feeling altogether.
The dark thought that suddenly floats to the surface of your mind makes you pause. Never in your right mind had you ever thought about such drastic measures. Nothing before this had ever made you think that erasing something completely from your brain was the answer. The fact you had the knowledge of how to do it never once crossed your mind as a possibility because…forgetting is bad.
The fugue, the frustration, the emptiness. All the things you hated about the 24-hour protocol were never the better alternative.
Maybe not before, but it would be so easy.
…
“No.”
You have to physically shake the idea out of your head. This isn’t the answer. It shouldn’t have to be this way. No, this is just a simple heartbreak. Even if your feelings get thrown away, they’re just transitory. It’s just a dumb crush that’ll go away with time. It’ll hurt, yes, but it’ll dull and eventually disappear. Doing something as drastic as personally toying with your own mind to erase it isn’t the answer.
“I’ll be okay. Everything’s going to be okay.”
Going on a mission is the best thing that could’ve happened to get your mind out of things. You’re very much yourself while out in the field and kicking ass really helps you get out of that depressive hole you’ve dug up for yourself. Letting loose, however, meant being a liability sometimes. Getting hurt is a given too, something that neither Bucky nor Sam appreciate.
Thankfully, the mission doesn’t take very long. Before you know it, you three return to the compound and after a quick shower, you’re ready to care for your injuries when Old Grumpa over here took the first aid kit from your hands and gestures towards the kitchen stool.
“Get up there.”
The rough tone means business and you don’t protest as you take a seat and he lifts the back of your shirt to check the bigger injuries you sustained out there. Your shoulders tense a bit at the soothing cool touch of his metal hand against your bruised skin. It’s always been fascinating to you how gentle he can be with it. Even now as he tends to you in silence, the way his fingers gently brush against your tender back careful not to hurt you any further give you a sense of comfort that levels your breathing into a calm rhythm. Picking up your legs and hugging them against your chest, your back slowly curves against his hand as his fingers splay against your reddened skin chasing away the pain.
“You need to stop jumping in like that.”
The deep timbre of his voice threatens to lull you but you blink the sleepiness away and smile, touched by his concern. “One of us had to bait ‘em out.”
“That’s what Redwing’s for.”
“I didn’t want him to get smashed to pieces again.”
“Sam can get a new one.”
“I like Redwing though,” you retort, “He brings me snacks when we’re out in the field.”
“No, Sam gets you snacks and has Redwing deliver them. Two different things.”
This time when you quip back, you glance over your shoulder and grin back at Bucky. “Sam’s not the one bringing them, so he’s not the one who’s giving them to me in my eyes.”
“It’s a damn robot,” he counters with the hint of a smile pulling at the corners of his lips.
“You take that back!” Your words and the way you gasp so dramatically have him laughing from the absolute absurdity that you are.
This is something you miss very much.
Just the two of you sharing some friendly banter—you driving him up the wall and Bucky losing his patience by the second. But even if you do annoy him from time to time, he’s admitted himself that your little bits of quirkiness are very much welcomed. You’re pretty much the only thing he’s got left in the world from his past, and even when that past wasn’t at all savory, the fact that you both could get away from it and live as you do now is a good reminder that nothing is impossible. And that even people like you can find and deserve happiness.
“There. All done.”
Thanking him under your breath, you spin on the kitchen stool you’re on and examine his face. He’s bruised too and a particular scratch that stands out from all the others takes your attention. You’ve never been one for personal space, so the fact that you so seamlessly reach out and touch the cut across his cheekbone without even a word doesn’t faze him in the least. Reaching back to the first aid kit that sits on the countertop between you, you take a little drop of the ointment he put on your back and gently apply it with your thumb as your hand rests upon his cheek to steady it.
“Got a bit bruised up yourself there, Sergeant,” you say with an airy chuckle. Going with your gut, you jump off the stool and grab him by his forearms to pull him towards it. “Here, take a seat and I’ll—”
“James?”
He tenses under your touch for a split second before pulling away from your grasp. The action is so sudden that you’re left there slightly stumped as Bucky steps back to walk around and behind you from where that voice came from.
“Sam? You let her in?”
“Yeah, sorry. I saw her in the security feed when she rang the front door.”
Sam’s here too? When did he get there? Though that’s beyond you, you don’t want to turn to ask. Not because of him but because of the other voice you heard the first time. You don’t want to put a face to that voice.
“I’m sorry for intruding,” the sweet voice says. “You weren’t answering your phone and you said you wanted to talk about something, so I got worried. I’ve been waiting outside since you told me your work finished early. Did I interrupt something?”
“No.” Your shoulders fall and your chest is so tight that you fear it’ll stop your breathing. “No, I was just bhelping my friend take care of some injuries.”
“That’s fine but look at you, James. You should be taking care of yourself first.”
“Yeah, you’re right. C’mon, let’s go. Thanks, Sam. I’ll see you guys later.”
The door clicks open behind you and you cradle your arms against yourself, expecting him to leave without a word. But when he calls back to you, you’re so frozen in place that all you can do by that point is a glance back over your shoulder barely catching a glimpse of those steel-blue eyes that gaze back at you.
“Take care of yourself, okay?”
“You too, Buck.”
The answer is automatic—monotonous. If he senses something wrong with it, he doesn’t say. Bucky simply leaves, the door clicking shut after them. You hear Sam’s footsteps approach and you know where this is going. The same place it’s always gone.
“If you’re going to say something, this will be the perfect time to keep it to yourself.”
Bluntness is never something you resort to, but you’re way too tired of it all to bother hiding the pain that resurfaced and that wracked you so violently just seconds ago anymore. You’re hurt and you just want that to play its course.
Uninterrupted.
Pity would only make it worse.
Thankfully, Sam appears to understand that. His footsteps stop and he never reaches you.
“I’m tired,” you say softly before walking down the hall and into your room.
Closing the door behind you, you slide down against it and let the tears fall at the pain that you know now will permanently live within you.
It shouldn’t hurt this much. There was never anything between you two more than friendship. This one-sided thing was always simply that, one-sided. A small bit of adoration and infatuation that became something you never dreamed would be this painful to have.
Nor how overwhelming it would be to simply live with it.
I’m tired. Much too true. You’re much too tired of being hurt by things you can’t control. By dumb emotions that you knew you’d be much better without.
Your gaze lifts at the thought and you spot the photo album laid open on your desk from that morning’s exposure. The sight of it beckons you up and to it as you skim through it. Everything you saw today would stay with you for the next 24 hours. There’s nothing that’s going to change that. And as you look through them again, you realize there’s so many of him. So many traces of him in your life that now cause you nothing but pain.
I’m tired…but I don’t have to be.
The fix is easy if you’re strong enough to do it. And at this point, your heartache is motivation enough.
Packing everything that you’ll need, you give Sarah a call as you’re walking out of the compound a few minutes later and into the garage to get to your motorcycle. She doesn’t ask much as to the reason for the late call, especially after you give her the simplest explanation that you can think of that’s not completely untrue.
“Alright, that’s fine,” she finally says. “I’ll leave the door open for you.”
“Thanks a lot, Sarah. I’ll see you in a bit.”
You think it’d be easy getting from the compound to her house. Uneventful. Things just had to go and prove you wrong though.
“Isn’t it a little late for a joy ride?”
Bumping into Bucky is definitely the last thing you expected. At this point, however, you’re more than decided as to what you’re going to do, and not even seeing him now will change your mind.
“Just a quick one,” you assure him.
“What’s the backpack for then?”
“Just going around the block to deliver some stuff I forgot to return. Don’t really feel like doing it tomorrow, so I’m just gonna get it over with and do it right now before going to bed.”
“If you don’t want to tell me, then don’t, but don’t lie to my face.” You scoff at his words; he always knows. To your surprise, he doesn’t pry any further as he lets out a rather exasperated sigh. “Look, I’m not going to ask. Just be careful out there.”
“Sure thing, gramps.”
The motorcycle revs to life underneath you as you straddle it between your legs and prepare to place the helmet over your head. It’s as you stand there and hear his footsteps head up to the front door though that a thought crosses your mind.
With what you’re going to do…you’re never going to get a chance to do this again. Not with him anyway. And knowing what you’re going to do gives you enough courage to speak up.
“Bucky?”
He stops just short of opening the door as he turns to you as you stand just a few feet away on the driveway. Your heart’s beating a mile a minute but you’re determined to see this through.
For your own sake.
“I love you.”
Bucky stops for a second.
“…what?”
“I love you.”
Your heart doesn’t stop beating like you thought it would. It’s racing like a bat outta hell, yes, but it’s not stopping. It’s beating still, with an unexpected flutter at finally admitting to him what’s been strangling you for so long now.
“I know it doesn’t make sense and it’s not the right time. But I don’t think there ever will be. So yeah. I love you, Bucky. As more than just a friend. And even though you don’t feel the same…I just wanted to tell you.”
By the time you hear him running towards you, you’re already cruising along the driveway and shooting off into the street towards Sarah’s. He could easily chase after you and stop you, but you know he won’t.
And frankly, it won’t matter anyway.
“There you are.” Sarah welcomes you into her home this late at night with a long hug before letting you go and pointing out towards the backyard. “Everything you’ll need is out there.”
“Thank you,” you reply with a weary smile.
“You sure you’re okay doing this alone?” she asks.
“Yep,” you say with a pop of your lips. “Don’t worry, I won’t burn down your house. I promise.”
“Not what I’m worried about, sweetheart, but alright. Take your time.”
You thank her as she leaves before making your way towards her backyard where the bonfire pit sits at the far end of a grassy patch. Putting the backpack down, you busy yourself with igniting the small logs in there. Once you have it going, you take a seat on the nearest lawn chair and face the fire pit with your photo album open.
It’d take a while, but you’d surely find all the photos that would ever bring back these wretched feelings. One by one, you pick them out and with a heavy heart toss them into the fire to kindle the flames in the pit and douse the ones within you. Photo by photo, each memory turns to ash, and though it pains you now to see them crumple up into nothing, you know it’s for the best.
All this is for the best.
Hours later, the last of the photos you think can be used to expose you to those feelings again burns in the embers. They’re dying by now, but they’ll be enough to burn the last thing you still have left. Closing the photo album, you put it back into your backpack before taking out the stuffed otter you fished from out of your closet. You hesitate briefly as you hold it in your hands and smile for a moment.
It was a fun date.
Hands shaking, you do what you have to do—what’s best for you—and toss it into the fire. This one, you don’t have the heart to watch burn. Instead, you turn down to your phone and set a timer.
The timer with ‘24:00:00’ shines brightly back at you as the darkness of the night is starting to fade away into the early morning. 5:31 am hits the clock and your head splits with momentary pain that leaves just as quickly as it came. Once it’s over, you start the timer and watch the countdown begin.
Taking your backpack, you head out of the backyard through the outside gate and climb onto your motorcycle.
“Now,” you rev the motorcycle to life as mumble to yourself, “What to do for the next twenty-four hours?”