Chapter Text
You sat within the safe walls of your apartment, watching the rain batter the windows outside. It had been raining all day, far heavier than the city was used to at this time of year. Thank god you’d been working from home today, commuting would’ve been a bitch. You peered outside to watch the small flood in the parking lot beneath your window. Water steadily rose as it licked the bottom of car tyres, and you prayed that would be the worst of it.
You’d been anxious all day as you watched it get worse out there, watched the puddles spread and the flower baskets soak. You kept thinking about the cemetery, how the grave might be faring in these conditions. The hardy stone would be alright of course, but what about the candle holder? The ornaments? The flowers?
It would all probably be fine, normally bad weather did little else but move a few things around at the gravesite…but you couldn’t remember the last time it was this bad. It made you nervous thinking about it as the wind picked up.
It wasn’t like you could go check it out now, driving in this mess would be a nightmare and a death wish.
You moved away from the window and made yourself a cup of herbal tea as you tried to think about something else. Anything else.
So, you thought of Bucky.
You weren’t really sure how it had happened, how he had weaved his way into your head. Initially he had just been the guy at the cemetery, the one you tiptoed around after you’d inadvertently pissed him off that first time you met. He was there doing his thing; you were there doing yours. Sure, he was handsome. But you hadn’t really given him much thought beyond that. Although you had thought it was nice to have some actual flesh and blood company out there for a change – even if he was just as quiet as the permanent residents of the cemetery.
But ever since the incident with that obnoxious man with the phone a few days ago, he’d been creeping in more and more. You didn’t know why; you barely knew him. But he often popped into your head when you least expected it. His big blue eyes…the slight poutiness to his lips….the way his hair framed his face-
A loud crack of thunder shook you from your thoughts.
You winced as you sipped your tea, flinching at the lightning bolt that followed. The weather was kicking up a gear.
You turned away from the window, taking brief comfort in the warmth of the mug in your hands. Your mother used to say there was no point worrying about things you couldn’t control; they’d still happen regardless of how you felt about it. Which was true…but you could never brush things off in same the breezy way that she always had. You often thought she’d have something similar to say about you visiting them. ‘You should be out there living! Not worrying about us! We aren’t going anywhere!’ you could practically hear in your head. Although sometimes it was hard to remember how her voice sounded. And you knew it would only get harder to hear it as time continued its relentless march…
You were sure everything would be fine.
…But you’d go visit the cemetery the second the weather improved. Just to be sure.
🍂
The rain continued all night. Your sleep was broken and stolen by the continuous thunder. Frequent lightning flashes had illuminated your entire bedroom and forced you awake each time you had drifted off. Even without that going on, you weren’t sure if you would’ve managed to rest, the anxiety churned and churned in your stomach as you worried about what you’d find when you got to the cemetery. At least it was the weekend, and you didn’t have to drag yourself into work in this state.
Logically, you knew you were overreacting. It wouldn’t come as a shock if anyone had told you that. Your parents would not be disturbed by the rain, their stone was built to withstand far more than some rough wind and water. Everything else at the site didn’t matter in the big scheme of things – some flowers, a few ornaments – nothing expensive, nothing irreplaceable.
But you’d put so much effort into maintaining it.
You hadn’t been able to control your parents’ deaths, but you could control their gravesite. Not the weather of course – but you could maintain it, bring flowers for it, keep it nice and neat. Grief often meant chaos, but this was something orderly and manageable that you could oversee.
Most of the time, anyway.
You woke up feeling groggy, almost like a hangover, but were relieved to see the rain had finally stopped. You rushed through your morning routine, showering, dressing and then shovelling down breakfast, practically running out of the door with your car keys in hand.
The drive over was tense, the anxiety heavy in your belly like a stone as you got closer to finding out what awaited you.
You parked up and dashed through the cemetery, hugging your coat close to your body as you zipped closer to your section. You were disheartened to see a few branches had fallen off trees along the way, petals from different flowers strewn across the grass. It didn’t fill you with confidence.
As the grave came into your eyeline, you were surprised to see Bucky already there - hunched over and moving rapidly. You couldn’t work out what he was doing from that distance.
As you drew closer, you realised he was crouched over your parents’ grave. You stiffened, unable to grasp what was going on.
He must’ve sensed you coming as he suddenly stood up and turned to face you. His large body stood like a shield between you and the grave as you tried to peer past him. You could see the concern written all over his expression.
“Hey, hey…it’s okay…but…” he warned gently, his blue eyes somehow still intense but softer than you’d ever seen them.
You attempted to manoeuvre him out of the way, stressed now as your heart pounded in your chest. What was he trying to keep from you? Of course you were fruitless, it was like trying to move a brick wall. He grabbed your arm with his gloved hand and held it tightly, but not painfully, to still you. You were surprised at the swell of comfort his touch brought, but you were too worked up to really let it calm you.
“There’s been some damage from the storm…but it’s okay…” he told you cautiously.
“Just let me see…” you practically hissed, your eyes welling with tears.
He sighed in defeat and reluctantly stepped aside, dropping the hold from your arm.
You gasped as he revealed the grave. The flowers were ruined, ripped apart by the storm and strewn about, countless petals littered across the plot. The little vase you’d kept them in had fallen in the wind and cracked against the headstone, shards splintered along the glass. The candle holder had met a similar fate, the ornaments no longer resembled what they had originally. The whole thing was a complete mess. Worse than you had imagined.
“Oh!” you whispered in shock as you knelt over the debris, not even sure how to start cleaning up this mess. Your heart sank entirely. You knew it was an overreaction, but it almost felt like you’d let your parents down somehow. Even though none of it was your fault, and they surely wouldn’t care even if they’d been here. You picked up the broken candle holder and held it up futilely, as if it would somehow magically come back together.
“I…I have some garbage bags in my car. I’ll get one,” Bucky said quietly.
He disappears, although you barely notice. You’re back on your feet again, your eyes flitting over to the Barnes’ plot. The flowers Bucky had previously laid against the stones were wrecked just like yours, but that was the extent of the damage. That’s because he was sensible and didn’t cover the graves in stupid, breakable trinkets like you did.
You felt a wave of self-loathing wash through you and found yourself unable to look at the mess any longer. You stomped away quickly; your eyes squeezed shut. You practically ran back to your car and started the ignition before you fully knew what you were doing. Suddenly you had driven home, and you were back at your apartment. You managed to fight back the tears until you were home and safely behind closed doors, embarrassed to be crying over something so silly.
After some time had passed and you wiped your eyes, you had a horrible realisation of Bucky’s last words to you – he was going to get a garbage bag for you! And you’d run off! God, he must think you’re a total freak. Mentally unstable. Or incredibly rude, at the very least.
You sighed, taking a deep breath. No more of this. Time to put on your big girl pants and woman up. Bucky was trying to help, and you’d run away like a spooked rabbit. Seeing the grave in that state was upsetting, yes, but it was fixable. There would always be more flowers and more candles. Like you’d already told yourself, your parents weren’t exactly going to be disturbed by a little rain.
You’d had your little wallow, but action was the best solution.
You checked the time. Bucky would be long gone by now, but maybe you could leave him a little note apologising for rushing off. You felt embarrassed about how you’d behaved, trying to push by him to get to the grave when he was only trying to help. You felt like you were always fumbling, always doing the wrong thing in front of him. But then…you felt like that in front of a lot of people.
You grabbed your kit plus a few extra supplies and headed back to the cemetery. You knew yourself well enough to know that staying home and doing something else would only mean your mind drifted back to it later. Get it done, then you can move on.
You drove back over to the cemetery, better prepared this time. Or so you thought. As you approached the grave, you certainly weren’t prepared for what you found.
“Bucky?” you asked with disbelief.
He was still there, hunkered over your parents’ plot. As he stood you gasped, the candle holder was in his hand – now completely intact.
“I always keep superglue in the trunk of my car so…” he trailed off sheepishly.
As he stepped aside, he revealed the similarly repaired vase at his feet, and one of the ornaments. You just stared at them open-mouthed.
“I couldn’t save them all, I’m sorry,” he continued, “but at least some of it is salvaged. And I put aside the broken stuff for you in case you wanted it as a keepsake or something”.
“You…you did all that?” you whispered, “for…me?”
He shrugged again like it was nothing. “Well…yeah. I know how much this place means to you…and I was a total jerk the first time we met. Walt up at the office told me last week that you had taken care of my parents’ graves, but I’d just assumed it was the staff here. And here was me thinking you were messing around with it. I was out of line. So, the least I could do was…” he nodded over to the recently repaired objects.
You were unable to hold back your smile, the grin stretching across it lighting up your entire face. You rushed forward, enveloping Bucky in a bear hug. “Thank-you,” you whispered to him.
He stumbled slightly in surprise at the sudden contact but caught himself and let out a light-hearted chuckle, “yeah…you’re welcome”.
He hugged you back, and the two of you just stayed like there for a while. You both allowed yourselves a moment of comfort in the other, both orphans, both grieving in different ways and mourning different lives, but still connected by bereavement and feeling untethered after losing your roots and foundations. The…friendship, could you say? That had developed between the two of you over these last couple of months had been a surprise, but it was certainly welcomed.
You both pulled apart, slightly embarrassed, when you spoke again.
“I’m sorry I got upset…it’s dumb I know, they’re just silly stuff. You didn’t have to do all of that…”
“No,” he cut you off. “It’s not dumb. It’s important to you, you put a lot of work into this place. It’s okay to be sad about it”.
You nodded, smiling at him. It was such a relief that he just got it. He understood.
“Would you…uh…” he cleared his throat, “…maybe wanna get a cup of coffee with me, sometime? Maybe meet somewhere outside of a cemetery. With living people. You know..if you want to…”
You beamed ear to ear, “yeah. Yeah, I do want to”.