there's too much room between them. the world swells cold and bucky would shiver if he weren't already numb. an offset to what has already festered, his mind is in several places and none of them are here. none of them sit with steve, several paces away, looking at a landscape still new to him. still open and awe inspiring. the feeling will wear off, eventually, he imagines. it has to him. each tree is a reminder of a brother's brains exploded against the bark. no patch of grass will ever look green again. some days, it's all red. darker than the palm of a pinkened hand, turned over and eyed for the way his fingers can't quite turn a fist inside. pins and needles and that need to move.
he almost doesn't hear him, back there.
steve's moving, not quickly, but fast enough to warrant how he flinches. stays forward-facing, eyes tracing the outline of a cloud soaked sun. it'll be setting, fully, soon. they'll dip into darkness and everything will feel.. appropriate. honest. bright lights of brooklyn are years to the wind. he's exhaling and..
" steve.. " bucky's voice is tired. it sags with his shoulders and, once turned, he starts his appraisal at the toes of shined boots. legs are long now.. his hips just as slight. at the broadness of his chest is where steve's the most changed, he thinks. alarmingly changed. god, his stomach is rolling.
he's gotten closer and for a second, hair-split and floundering, he almost retreats. almost recoils from the heat of that stare and the implications within it. out here, in the open, far enough from eavesdropping ears, he shouldn't be concerned. no one would care enough about the exploits of supposed friends when the sky opens in fire swarms and the impending bullets of dawn already promise their pepper. and bucky isn't concerned.. not by that. sitting in judgement has become a new norm over the years. his c.o. would argue he'd gotten too well adjusted, in fact.
it's steve who is different. with his chin raised and his stance certain. any closer and he'll have to look up to him. crane to see that expectation. the disappointment. he's waiting for the second shoe to drop and it is, instead, held in a viced grip.
" don't make it sound like it's that easy. " he deserves a nice girl. a pretty dame who looks at him with want and respect. steve deserves the happy life, white picket fence and a gaggle of babes all giggling at his knees. he'd deserved it long before his back was straight and his cheeks full. and that.. that guilt is why bucky can't let go. his belly lurches and it takes him looking away, off to the summit of a nearby range, to dredge up words that sit awkward and heavy. " you an' i both know it's what you should do. " that isn't an answer, deliberately. there are no words in english or any other language his tongue doesn't know, that could form to make clear his intentions. so he swallows them instead. leans a still-bruised shoulder against the sturdy barrel of an oak and goes idle. " especially for a woman like that. "
picking at the bark, it crumbles to the snow beneath, buried in his shuffle. another victim of his nerves. they aren't children anymore, hiding behind a veil of innocent intentions and the prospect of make-believe practice for their futures. what a joke..
" you'll regret it, " temple, now, the roll to scratch his forehead is thoughtless and grazing. it's self-sabotage to stymie his want to round. face this newest foe — his cowardice — and bare his teeth. give steve what he wants ; doesn't he always ?
just because he wants it, though, that doesn't mean he should give it. hands aren't empty, his palms are slick with clammy resistance, rubbed at his hips before he thinks to slip them into hopeless pockets. find something to twist between his fingers. wring the life out of a coin what's face he'd already wiped clean. " i shouldn't be the one to tell you what to do, steve. " since when had he listened, anyways ?
