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( HOW COULD I EVER LOVE SOMEONE ELSE? )
Aug. 1st, 2021 01:59 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
disparagedBucky's been haunted by ghosts before. The majority of them tend to take up residence in his mind, refusing to give him a moment's rest. He figures it's deserved. Given that they'll never have a chance to rest again, it only makes sense that's the penance he has to pay.
But as he pulls Sam's truck to a stop and cuts the engine, he's not quite sure what—or who—he's seeing standing on the porch of the Wilson family home. He'd ensured to catalogue every little thing he could pick up belonging to those that Steve had held dear. Sam and his inability to stand still, and the way that he hid his insecurities and worries about never being good enough behind his loud voice. Sharon had reminded him so much of Peggy, but she had been a softer force in comparison to her aunt. And Natasha… always seemed so familiar despite being as slippery as a fish and a chameleon. The moment he seemed to get a good read on the red of her hair, she'd cut it short and dyed it blonde. She never seemed to stick around long enough for him to get a handle on her.
He's slow to get out of the truck and even slower to slam the door, purposefully letting it make a sound loud enough to either make her disappear because she's a figment of his imagination or inform her that someone's home. When she doesn't disappear… All he can think of is perhaps they'd gotten it wrong.
It's stupid and it's strange, but given the Big Three and what he's witnessed and been through over the last handful of years alone… Someone not being dead when they were thought to be is something he knows all too intimately and well. It still manages to take him by surprise.
With his brows furrowed and his eyes narrowing, he's slow to walk up the familiar dirt path to the front porch steps. Although he seems disarmed—there's no gun in sight, and all he has in his hands is a calico bag that seems to be bursting—Bucky prepares himself just in case. After Walker and Karli, he's learned he needs to be prepared for anything.
"Uh, hey." Poignant, very earth-shattering. Sam would have a better idea of what to say in this moment. He's the wordy one; Bucky's the one who stares. Sam knows what to do; Bucky follows him, always at his heels. But he can't walk backwards and drive to fetch Sam from the docks—Natasha's already seen him.
"Sam's not here," he says absently.
And that's what he does—he stares at her with a slight crinkle to his brow.
But as he pulls Sam's truck to a stop and cuts the engine, he's not quite sure what—or who—he's seeing standing on the porch of the Wilson family home. He'd ensured to catalogue every little thing he could pick up belonging to those that Steve had held dear. Sam and his inability to stand still, and the way that he hid his insecurities and worries about never being good enough behind his loud voice. Sharon had reminded him so much of Peggy, but she had been a softer force in comparison to her aunt. And Natasha… always seemed so familiar despite being as slippery as a fish and a chameleon. The moment he seemed to get a good read on the red of her hair, she'd cut it short and dyed it blonde. She never seemed to stick around long enough for him to get a handle on her.
He's slow to get out of the truck and even slower to slam the door, purposefully letting it make a sound loud enough to either make her disappear because she's a figment of his imagination or inform her that someone's home. When she doesn't disappear… All he can think of is perhaps they'd gotten it wrong.
It's stupid and it's strange, but given the Big Three and what he's witnessed and been through over the last handful of years alone… Someone not being dead when they were thought to be is something he knows all too intimately and well. It still manages to take him by surprise.
With his brows furrowed and his eyes narrowing, he's slow to walk up the familiar dirt path to the front porch steps. Although he seems disarmed—there's no gun in sight, and all he has in his hands is a calico bag that seems to be bursting—Bucky prepares himself just in case. After Walker and Karli, he's learned he needs to be prepared for anything.
"Uh, hey." Poignant, very earth-shattering. Sam would have a better idea of what to say in this moment. He's the wordy one; Bucky's the one who stares. Sam knows what to do; Bucky follows him, always at his heels. But he can't walk backwards and drive to fetch Sam from the docks—Natasha's already seen him.
"Sam's not here," he says absently.
And that's what he does—he stares at her with a slight crinkle to his brow.