A/N This is just a short drabble that I penned down one day and afterwards posted on tumblr. It's more of an introspection, but I'm new to this fandom and I'm still trying to grasp the feel of the characters. Hope it didn't turn out too bad. There will probably several drabbles posted in this series until I figure out the writing style I'm going to use for this fandom and manage to flesh out the characters as in character as possible.
For those of you following Wolf of the Shire, I am very sorry for the delay, but I promise I have not abandoned the fic. My muse is being finicky and I am a bit stuck at the next chapter. Also, with my Bachelor's thesis occupying my time, I have not had the time to dedicate much time to fanfiction. Once July comes, I promise I will rectify the matter.
Disclaimer: Don't own anything. English is not my native language. Everything is movie canon.
His memories are like a jigsaw puzzle trying to put itself together while missing several key pieces. He remembers more than several months ago; he remembers more than he had ever remembered during the past seventy years. But his memory is still incomplete. There are still gaping holes in his mind, holes that were once filled with memories, good or bad, that are now lost, perhaps, forever.
For now, Brooklyn is starting to shape itself in his mind. Some are pieces of his childhood, some are from his adulthood. He sees himself before being drafted, laughing, dancing, catching the eye of dames. He sees himself in the day when his numbers were called out trying to hide the tremors of his soul under a cool facade... The faces of the Howling Commandos come in his mind as do snippets from their time together. He remembers Howard, both during the war and in those last moment before the car crashed and the light was snuffed out of his eye forever.
But at the forefront of all the memories that come back to him is a chant - Steve, Steve, Steve. He has more memories with Steve than he has without him. Steve and himself as children in the orphanage. Steve, wreaked by fever, sweaty and pale. Steve wheezing for breath, and himself begging to be able to steal several more moments with Steve. Begging for it not to be the end, to have more time…Standing vigil at his side, trying with all his might to keep him alive... Trying to make ends meet in a shabby neighborhood in Brooklyn...
And then his numbers were called and for the first time in almost forever they were no longer Bucky and Steve. They were just Bucky heading off to a war he did not want to fight, and just Steve remaining behind when all he wanted was to go fight said war. Just Bucky and just Steve separated by an ocean…