Chapter Text
The sound of New York traffic bounced around the summer air, racing through the streets and seeping into a small, barren apartment that housed a rather frustrated tenant.
Sitting on the floor, his weight resting on the wall, Bucky sighed as he stared at the unsent message on his phone. His teeth worried at his bottom lip as he read the message he would send to Sam.
Hey
Bucky groaned, running a hand through his hair, dropping the phone in his lap. Sighing, he looked at the message again; the conventions of modern technology weren’t complicated, but texting was so bleh. He’d rather sit across from someone, struggle through the new lingo, and share a meal, a beer, and some laughs. It was easy, not that he was blessed with the easier things in life, but at the very least, it was familiar, and that had to be worth something.
It had been a few weeks since Bucky last saw Sam, and it had been quiet. So quiet. The high Sam’s celebratory cookout by the dock had given him was slowly fading away. Almost two months later, the cool temperature of his hardwood floor, the non-stop drip of his bathroom sink, and the groan that sounded from his floor with each step he took made his ears ring. A desperate itch for company crawled over him. Solitude had been the only thing he’d known for so long, and yet it was suffocating him. It was odd, although it seemed he and Sam were constantly at each other’s necks. It was nice being around him, someone he could talk to and joke with. So maybe he missed Sam. What’s the harm in that?
Standing up from his spot, he stared down at his and Sam’s text thread. It was empty, aside from a few basic messages from Sam. The unsent message stared up at him, taunting him.
With a wince, he pressed send.
He had to put the phone down, or else it’d burn through his hands. Rushing to his kitchen island, he placed the phone on the counter. It had already been sent, with a little gray “Delivered” sign illuminating under the message. Pacing he stared at the phone, waiting and waiting before promptly turning it off.
This was ridiculous. He turned on his phone again, staring at it as his fingers clinked against the granite countertop.
With a shake of his head, he walked to his barren bedroom, picking up one of his few duffel bags to dig out a jacket. It was about time for a walk. Maybe when he returned, there’d be a nice response for him. Sam was a busy man; it would take him a while. In the meantime, he could go on a walk, find some elderly people to help, go birdwatching, try one of those restaurants that he keeps seeing ads for in the paper, anything. Distractions were nice.
Tugging on his jacket, he made his way to the door, picking up his keys and wallet.
Shutting his door, he paused, gripping his doorknob with way too much expectancy. His ears tuned in to hear if his phone made even the tiniest noise. Groaning, he quickly locked the door, shaking his head at his antics as he descended the flights of stairs that led him outside.
Summer was in full swing, and it was clear as Bucky exited his apartment building. The sidewalks were full, and traffic was already hell for midday. Patting his pockets, he searched for his earphones, sighing at the mental image of his phone waiting on his kitchen island. Sighing at the busy scene before him, Bucky began his journey.
Bucky spent the next few hours helping anyone he stumbled upon who seemed to need it. He helped an old couple cross the street, caught an overtly excited dog that had broken off its leash, and spent some time helping a newlywed couple shuffle furniture into their home. Went to a bookstore and found a book on making friends. It would probably molt in the little plastic bag the clerk placed it in, but it was a start. Tedious, mindless, exhausting objectives that left him feeling accomplished and of use.
Heading to his usual deli, Bucky let his mind wander back to his phone. It had been about four hours since he had left it waiting for a response from Sam. Surely, he’d have responded by now. Right? What if he was busier than he thought? He’d rot away if he had to stay in the apartment with that phone for too long.
“Wassup David,” he nodded to the homeless man who usually camped near the step of Jones’ Deli.
“Hey, Bucky,” the old man groaned, wiping the sweat off his brow. “Everything good with you?”
“Just another day,”
Stepping into the deli, he gave Janice a smile, an older lady whose red hair gradually gave way to the plight of age. An amendment not yet amended, she was the sole reason he came here every week. She made his usual: two toasted 12-inch subs with rotisserie chicken, lettuce, tomato, pickles, jalapeños, mustard, and mayo, just right. Each time. It had to be an art form.
“Hi, Janice,” Bucky grinned as he walked up to the cashier, already fishing out his wallet. “You know my usual.”
Janice gave him a quick glance, pale, wrinkled lips stretching into a thin smile. She strode over to make his sandwiches, making them with a speed and precision that only came with years of experience. Sliding his sandwiches in the toaster, she turned around and fixed him with a mock glare. “Long time no see, Sergeant Barnes,” she drawled, folding her arms in front of her.
Bucky shook his head, “Not you, too,” he huffed, “It’s just Bucky. You know this.”
Janice chuckled, turning to pull out his now-toasted sandwiches. “Well, when your only regular customer shows up on the news fighting alongside Captain America, they seem a little bit more important than they ever let on.”
“Still the same, Bucky, Janice,” he whispered, chewing at his bottom lip as she approached the register. She gently wrapped his order up like a present before stuffing it into a bag.
“Whatever you say, Bucky Barnes,” she sassed, ringing him up, gladly accepting the cash he held out.
Taking his order, he made his way out of the deli, giving Janice a cheery smile and a wave before he left. He handed David his second sandwich before tucking his other into his jacket as he navigated the busy walkways. New York had always been a busy place, but in this modern day, it was overwhelming. There were so many people, so much noise, and so much light at every corner. The city that never sleeps had really earned its title. This wasn’t the Brooklyn he grew up in, but it was all he’d ever known.
A normal person would take the subway instead of walking all the miles that Bucky did to get back to his apartment. He bypassed hundreds of homes and businesses on his way, taking in the individual cadence each one offered. He found solace in this, and besides, the subway system nowadays was horrible.
About 30 minutes later, he had arrived at his apartment building. After climbing eight flights of stairs, he was finally inside. Walking to his kitchen island, he placed down his sandwiches, pulling one out of the bag to dig in and ease the rumbling of his stomach. Taking a bite of his sandwich, he glared down at the phone, pacing back and forth while he ate.
It had been enough time, he thought as he snatched the device off the counter. Clicking on the power button, he quickly skimmed his notifications.
Sam 4hs ago
Hey Buck!
Bucky groaned, shoulders slumping, as he mentally facepalmed. Sam had texted back not long after he left. Clicking on the message, he debated what he should say. It had been four hours. Should he apologize? He typed out an apology before quickly deleting it. He had to think. How do real conversations work? What comes next? Nodding to himself, he typed out his message.
How are you?
After pressing send, he placed the phone on the counter. Letting out a long exhale he took another bite of his sandwich, forcing his eyes off of his phone to grab a water bottle from his fridge.
Taking a sip of water, he tried to keep his eyes from wandering over to the phone. Distracting himself by removing his jacket and throwing it into his room, but still when the phone gave a soft ping, he practically bolted to it.
Sam now
I knew your texting skills were bad, but damn, man.
Sam now
I’m good, Buck.
Bucky chuckled at the message before quickly searching up ‘hbu.’
I’m good, thanks for asking, and I'm sorry I was a bit busy.
How’s everyone? What are you up to?
The two fell into an easy back-and-forth while texting, Sam catching him up on everything he was missing in Delacroix. While Bucky hadn’t much to report, he liked reading Sam’s news. Something about it made his chest warm in this funny way as he read the words that popped up on the screen.
Gradually, Sam’s replies slowed down. He had mentioned having to pick up AJ and Cass from basketball practice and theatre lessons, respectively. So, he pocketed his phone, grabbed his sandwich, and plopped down on his sofa. He picked up the TV’s remote to flip mindlessly through channels until he found something that seemed mildly interesting. He stopped at some soap opera he was sure he had watched while waiting for his turn with Dr. Raynor.
Bucky relaxed on the couch, eating away at his sandwich, losing himself in the pure drama of the soap opera.
By the time he finished his sub sandwich, he was in a trance. The lead surgeon, Tyrone, had been sleeping with the new mysterious nurse, Brianna. But Tyrone was married, and his wife caused this massive scene at the hospital. The next day, Tyrone’s wife was found dead. And now Tyrone is being investigated for suspected foul play.
Shaking his head as the officer began his investigation, he shouted, “He didn’t do it! It was Brianna!”
His phone gave a long shrill from inside his pocket, stopping his rambling in its tracks. Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he quickly answered it.
Taking a deep breath, he spoke, “Sam?”
“Bucky!” came Sam’s cheery voice over the phone. “There are some people who have been really, really wanting to talk to you.”
Some shuffling occurred over the phone before two voices drifted over the phone. “Hey, Mr. Bucky,” came AJ and Cass’s voices in unison.
Bucky’s face split into a fond grin. Reaching for his remote to mute the TV, he said elatedly, “What’s up, guys? “How’s school? How’s basketball? How’s theatre?”
The two boys broke out into an excited ramble. They were slightly overlapping each other at times.
“Mr. Bucky, are you coming to my birthday party,” asked AJ, “It’s May 29th!”
“Or my play? I’m going to be the cowardly lion!” asked Cass right after, “It’s June 15th!”
“Come on, guys. Bucky might be busy—you can’t put him on the spot like that,” Sam’s voice said in the background.
“I’m not,” Bucky blurted, “I’ll be there.”
AJ and Cass’s excited gasps made him beam as they shouted the good news to Sam, who chuckled at them and promised that he had heard. Shuffling occurred over the phone before Sam’s voice drifted through the line.
“I’m glad you’re coming, Buck,” Sam said, his voice falling into something short of a whisper.
Something inside of Bucky gave an uncharacteristic stutter, and suddenly, the room was at least 10 degrees hotter than moments before. Standing up, he walked over to make sure the thermostat was still working.
“Um,” Bucky started, fiddling with the thermostat, “I wouldn’t miss it. I’ll have to get them presents.”
Sam gave a low chuckle, “You’re already trying to one-up me, huh?”
Bucky let out a small laugh, leaning back on the wall, adjusting the phone at his ear. “Of course not,” he teased. “I would never.”
Sam tutted over the phone, the sound of the boys playing and horns and cars dashing drifting through the speaker as he went silent. Finally, he spoke, “Can’t wait to see you, Buck,”
Bucky stilled, eyebrows raising before he choked out a quiet, “Same,”
The two delved into silence, and Bucky scrambled, a bit too eager for the call to last a bit longer. “Isn’t there some law against being on the phone while driving?”
He winced as the words left his mouth; great, let’s recite laws.
Sam hummed before saying, “You got me there,” the clicking of the turning signal said. But you aren’t supposed to leave people on delivered for six or more hours, so I guess we’re both breaking a few rules.”
“That’s not a rule,”
“It is,”
“According to who? Because last time I checked-”
“I’m telling you, Buck, it’s a rule.”
“You know, back in my day, sometimes we had to wait weeks sometimes for a response, Sam? Are a couple of hours too much for these young kids?”
This made Sam chuckle, and he could practically see how his eyes rolled along with it. Silently conceding to his point because admitting he was right out loud wasn’t an option, the car shut off, and the seats unbuckled. Sam yelled after the boys not to run as they raced out of the truck. “So, when should I expect to see you in good ‘ol Louisiana?”
Bucky pondered the question, a more significant part of himself wanting to say he could leave now. He could be there the next afternoon if he hopped on his bike. But that’d be too soon, too eager. Next week was too far away; he could already see himself becoming stir-crazy as he waited, pacing his apartment and counting the minutes until he could bolt out. The weekend wasn’t too far away; he could wait. “I could make my way down starting Friday morning, maybe?” he prompted after a moment.
“Then you’d be coming in the middle of the night, Buck and the drive is about 20 hours, which, may I add, is basically 24 hours.”
Bucky started to speak; a long drive was nothing to him; he could handle it.
“A plane. And if you argue with me, I’ll give the phone to Sarah, and she’ll set you straight.”
Sighing, Bucky relented, “Ok, ok, I’ll get the ticket.”
If he was in the passenger seat of Sam’s truck, he might have seen a smile unfold right in front of him, and he wasn’t a master in the book on Sam Wilson. But he could see it. It wasn’t that usual smile everyone noticed. The one where his eyes brightened, and his little gap showed itself. It was smaller; he’d seen it when they got the engine to start on the boat or that smile that showed when he watched everyone at the table enjoy something he cooked.
“Good. I’ll set the couch up real nice for you,” Sam’s voice said over the phone.
The two settled into a comfortable silence. Everything that could be said had been said for now.
“Alright,” Sam started, “I have to help the boys with homework tonight, but… talk to you soon?”
Nodding to himself, he answered, “Of course…and I’ll see you soon too, Sam,”
With that, they exchanged their goodbyes, and as the phone call ended, the pseudo silence of his apartment surrounded him once again. For once, in the few weeks he had been gone from Delacroix, he could say he was genuinely excited for the days to come.
Detaching himself from the wall, he took a quick look around his barren apartment. Making his way around the small studio apartment to get rid of the trash he’d accumulated. He was on autopilot as he plucked the trash in the garbage, turned off the TV, throwing his blanket on the couch. Turning to examine his handiwork before his body guided itself into his tiny bathroom. Staring in the mirror, he ran a hand over the scruff of his rapidly growing beard. Before he knew it, a smile had stretched across his face, happy in all the right ways.