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Step One: Stand There Like A Ghost, Shaking From The Rain
He stands there like a ghost, shaking from the frosty nighttime rain. The rain beats against your porch, still the bright blue color Bucky painted it all those months ago.
He extends his hand to knock on your door, but falters just before contact.
Bucky’s eyes flutter shut with a long, deep breath, his hand still hovering an inch away from the door. The thought flashes through his mind: does he have any right to do this? Does he have any right to be here?
What if you've moved on? What if you hated him? What if you couldn't forgive what he'd done?
There was only one way for him to find out.
He musters up every ounce of courage and nerve he has left in him. Fighting aliens, evil organizations, postponing the end of the world, it all feels so trite compared to this.
It takes far more bravery for him to show up here after so long. He knew this place like the back of his hand. It was a place he once called home. And admittedly, he didn’t handle his departure that well. He wonders if you did. Once you realized the he wasn't the person you thought he was. He didn’t have the courage to say that to your face either.
He often found himself picturing you waking up alone on that fateful morning.
How long did it take you to find that note on the dining table? The table that you'd shared so many candlelit dinners, the table with those flowers he used to buy you each and every week. Was that vase still there? How long did it take for those flowers to die? Did you let them wither, remaining right where he'd left them until each and every petal fell, or did you throw them out the second you realized he wasn't coming back?
How long did that take? He wants to know that, too. Did you hold onto hope? Did you know right away?
He often pictures you sitting at that table, those withered flowers before. He pictures quiet tears. You weren't the type to sit and wallow. No, that wasn't you.
He doesn't know. He doesn't know anything. All he knows is that out of all the bad things he'd done, the worst is what he did to you. He'd spend forever trying to show you how you sorry he was.
And then he knocks.
His heavy hand reverberates through the house. His lips squeeze shit. His hair is drenched from the rain. Droplets of rain streak across his jacket.
He can hear your feet shuffling over the hardwood floors. It's late. Were you sitting in your chair by the window?
There's no time to wonder anymore. The knob rattles for a moment as the deadbolt clicks open.
He braces himself for all the answers to the questions that plagued his mind for the last six months.
You softly gasp when you see the ghost occupying your doorway, shivering from the rain.
As quickly as it emerged, the shock dissipates into something much more intense.
Rage lights up your face, anger flickers in your eyes. You fold your arms over your chest, closing your sweater to protect yourself from the frost. Or maybe it was a foolish attempt of protecting your heart from the man who tore it out six months ago.
“Are you insane?” you furiously demand.
Step Two: Say It's Been A Long Six Months
“I- I,” Bucky falters, fumbling for the right words to say to you after a long six months, “I- It’s been a long six months.”
You scoff, tugging your cardigan closed once more, "It's been six months and that's all you have to say?"
"I - I-" Bucky stammers, his eyes wild as he takes in the sight of you for the first time in six months. He drinks you in like a man that spent the last six months lost in the desert.
"Go home, Bucky." With those words, his eyes stop raking over ever detail of your face. You begin to shut the door, only for his hand to reach out and stop you. He hardly uses any physical effort, he knew that wasn't fair. And if you really didn't want him here, using his super soldier strength wouldn't change that. "What do you want from me?"
"Please," he begs. "I had - I knew what I wanted to say."
You look up at him expectantly, quirking an eyebrow at him, challenging him to say whatever long winded speech he'd prepared for this occasion.
"It's been a long six months," Bucky repeats. He'd gone through this moment time and time again. He'd played it over and over. And suddenly, all those words were gone. None of it resides in his head anymore. Bucky's got a sneaking suspicion that all those sweet words weren't going to win you over either way. All that's left is the truth of why he left you all those months ago. He gulps. "And I was afraid, alright? I was afraid."
"Afraid? Afraid of what?" you demand.
"Afraid of - of us, of the life we were building." He suppresses the wince that forms on his face the moment those words leave his mouth. He wasn't scared of the life you were building together. He was scared that he would ruin it, ruin you. "I wasn't - I was dangerous. I am dangerous, but now I can trust that I won't hurt you."
"You already hurt me."
"Please," Bucky implores. "I just want to talk. That's it."
You always were weak when it came to Bucky Barnes.
You were weak when you saw that damned smile and brilliant blue eyes on that very first night.
You were weak when saw those dimples and heard the hint of his old Brooklyn accent on your first date.
And a Bucky Barnes standing in the pouring rain, shaking from the rain, begging you to hear him out?
"You have five minutes."
Step Three: Remind Her How It Used To Be
You turn on your heels, not allowing yourself to watch as Bucky enters your home, the home you once shared. It hurts far too much.
Your eyes squeeze shut when you hear the door click shut behind you.
Bucky trails behind you, the sound of his heavy boots against the hardwood floor the only thing breaking the tense silence.
His eyes take in every inch of the house.
It was almost exactly as he left it. His stuff was no longer scattered throughout the living room. His jacket left a half empty coat rack. Sunspots scattered the wall where old pictures of the two of you used to hang.
He starts to lose hope. All those pictures were gone. Any trace of him was gone. Maybe you truly had moved on.
That's when an old picture catches his eye.
It sits on the mantle above the fireplace.
He walks right up to it, making no attempt to hide his unabashed staring.
It takes a moment for you to realize what Bucky's staring at. When you meet his eye line, you feel a mix of sadness and embarrassment.
You could never bring yourself to take down that final snapshot of happier days. That certainly didn't mean that you wanted Bucky to know that. You stand just behind Bucky, looking at the photo for a moment. It's always been one of your favorites. A simple picture, really. One of Bucky's eyes squeezed shut as you press a kiss to his cheek. His wide, boyish grin. The bright crystal sky as your backdrop.
For that moment, it's easy to pretend that everything is back to normal, that everything was now okay.
But it's not.
Everything is not back to normal.
You reach over him, gently resting the frame face down, "I meant to take that down."
He continues staring at where the frame was just sitting. He can still see it all in his mind. He remembers it like it was yesterday. "That was a good day. The picnic, walking up and down the boardwalk, God, even the weather. It was perfect, every minute of it."
Step Four: Tell Her How You Must Have Lost Your Mind
"You don't get to do that," you sharply interject, refusing to allow him to remind you of how things used to be. "You left! You left without a trace. I had no clue where you went. If you were okay. I wasn't sure whether to hate you or be scared for you. You left all alone and never told me why."
"It's been a long six months," Bucky says for the third time. It never gets any easier, knowing what he had, what he lost, and what it cost. He just needed to get it off his chest. He needed you to hear it just once. He just wasn't sure what this was for you: reconciliation or closure. "And I felt- I felt like I was losing my mind. I had to be sure the Winter Soldier was gone. Really gone."
"And you don't think I would've understood that?" Your eyebrows pull in, your face furrowing with anger all pointed at him. You furiously point at yourself, "Or that I could've made that decision for myself? We were supposed to be partners. We were supposed to share our life together. You broke my heart, Bucky."
"There wasn't a single day that I didn't think about you."
You scoff, "That doesn't make me feel any better."
"I needed you safe. I was drowning and I couldn't drag you down with me. I vowed to always protect you, even if that was from myself. I was a wanted man. I was waking up every night never sure if I was Bucky Barnes or The Winter Soldier," Bucky admits, his voice wavering with the confession.
"What?"
"I'm so confused. I was scared that one day you weren't going to wake up next to Bucky, or worse, that you weren't going to wake up at all."
"And why couldn't you have told me that? I loved you with everything I had and you left me a note. A note, James. A note that said you were sorry."
"I woke up next to you that morning, and I knew. I knew that was the last time. I knew if I waited for you to wake up I'd never leave. If I looked into your eyes and told you I was leaving that I wouldn't. I was weak. I was a coward." You look stunned. No word leave your mouth as tears begin to well in your eyes. Your fists clench tightly at your sides like you're trying to hold onto to whatever resolve you have left. "I know. Believe me, I know that I have no right to show back up here. I know that you don't owe me anything. I just - I lost my mind. I know what I lost when I walked out that door, and I'll be damned if I didn't fight for you the way I should've six months ago."
"I just - I need a minute."
Step Five: Say I Want You, For Worse Or For Better, I Would Wait Forever and Ever
Before he can say another word, he watches as you scurry off into the bathroom, leaving him standing there in the middle of your living room.
His eyes trail over the room again.
That vase.
That old ceramic vase, the one that used to hold his flowers to you, still sits in the center of the dining table. It's empty now, but it's there. And for whatever it's worth, it gives Bucky some hope, some ounce of hope that he can still get the girl.
He reaches out for the picture frame, picking it back up.
He hears your tentative shuffle as you make your way back to him. His voice is low and strained, "I'm sorry. For all of it. I'm sorry for how I left. I'm sorry I broke your heart. If you give me a chance, I want to be the one to put it back together."
"Bucky..." you sigh.
"I'll wait. Forever. Longer if I have to."
"Bucky," you try again.
"No." He shakes his head, refusing to let this be his last moment with you. He'd give you time if time was what you needed, but he wasn't a man that made the same mistake twice. "I let you go once, I'm not going to do it again."
You remain silent for a long moment. You stare up at him. It's all there. Everything you kept locked away for six months. You loved him. You wanted nothing more than to be in his arms.
And despite all the anger and hurt, you want him to be the one to put your broken heart back together.
"I'll go. Give you some time to think."
"I don't want you to go," you find yourself admitting. "Say it again."
"I'll wait. Forever and ever, if that's what it takes. Let me be the one to put your heart back together."
And that's how it works.
That's how he got the girl.