After She Left

when you left

"I want you

Yeah I want you

Cause nothing comes close

To the way that I need you

I wish I can feel your skin

And I want you

From somewhere within"

Seafret's "Oceans"

When another return letter arrived from Romania, Bucky stuffed it inside of his jacket pocket and took the steps two at a time to his apartment. The weather was sweltering, and for the first time in a long time, Bucky peeled off his gloves and jacket, wearing only a simple white t-shirt. His Vibranium arm was exposed for the world to see, but in the safety of the walls of his apartment, he didn't have to worry about it. Taking small steps to accept the arm was a part of him, even if this arm wasn't made from HYDRA, the injury, the first replacement... they all had been.

And they all reminded him of O.

Stepping onto his balcony, a spacious one with a somewhat nice view of the city, Bucky sat down on the camping chair he pilfered. Buying patio furniture wasn't on his to-do list anytime soon, and this canvas camping chair was more than he needed. No tables, no four-person outdoor dining set, no barbeque would ever be needed. It wasn't as if he was going to invite people over.

He had one friend, and he wasn't even certain he could call Lillian his friend yet.

They crossed paths a few more times since his night over there, but no one incited another meeting. Perhaps they needed to be impromptu, 2AM trysts.

Opening the envelope, he flipped it open. Sunlight beamed down on the off-white paper, making it hard to read the scribbled words for anyone other than a super soldier. His eyesight would be top notch for much longer than most peoples were to begin with.

"Bucky,

I'm sorry for your loss. I don't know why that leaves me feeling so gutted. Perhaps it is the state of the world; those who came back are displaced, despite what the world is trying to do for them. Those who found their place in those five years are now tossed out, being sent back to once war-torn countries.

When they were gone, we were told to move on. Sure, we were given the chance to mourn, but it wasn't long before they demanded we hurry back to work, keep the economy going – which wasn't hard despite what some thought. We were overpopulated, and at half-capacity, we still functioned. We functioned better. But the power-hungry wanted more. They will always want more.

Forgive me, I'm rambling.

Have you found peace since your return? You probably know better than the rest about holding onto your loved ones but... Do you have any? I read up on you and... well... I don't mean to be blunt, but without Ophelia... do you have anyone else?

If not... Consider this and olive branch.

My name is Daciana. But people call me Daci."

Bucky chuckled at the note. It was as if Daciana and her nickname crossed over oceans and continents to remind Bucky he was still alive. That he was still breathing. That he survived before O and he survived after O. But both those times he had something else. Someone else. He had Steve before O, and it wasn't as if his life had been hard before the war. Not in the sense that he knew now. After O he had Wakanda – T'Challa and Shuri, Ayo who helped him overcome his brainwashing.

Then he had O again and things felt right, for a bit.

He flipped open his phone with his eleven contacts, scrolling for a split second before reaching the S section. His thumb trailed over Sam.

Sam understood the loss, to a significantly lesser degree, but he still got it. And Bucky knew he was making things worse in his own head by pretending as if others hadn't lost their best friends, their lovers... Sam had lost his best friend, then he lost Steve just as Bucky had. Dr. Raynor's words that Sam was qualified at addressing trauma, particularly PTSD, and that he would be a good friend to have by his side... Well, they were starting to add up.

As he opened the one-sided text conversation, he pondered what to type.

Buzz.

A news article popped up on his feed on his phone. It was alarming how these things snaked their way in. They seemed to always know what he was thinking, what was on his mind.

Breaking News! Sam Wilson hands over Captain America Shield to the Smithsonian.

Bucky was out of his seat in a split second, back inside his apartment, TV turned on. The volume was loud enough that it could be heard through the walls. He watched the live footage of Sam handing a very important part of Bucky's life to a museum. His heart sunk into his guts. Rage rippled through him as he clenched his hands against his side, then he staggered back a bit, as though the wind had been knocked out of him.

His storm-blue eyes darted around, seeking Ophelia's ghost.

When him and Steve talked about giving the shield to Sam, Bucky hadn't hesitated to agree with the decision. Now... Now it was clear Steve had made the wrong decision. Panic settled into his bones, rippling through him with a force that made him lean against the wall, then slide down it.

His last connection to Steve was gone.

And Ophelia's ghost was nowhere to be seen.

Tonight is the finale, and I intend to finish writing this story possibly by the end of the weekend. 

This book is a total mess, so I apologize to those of you who are still here LOL

It's a first draft, which since publishing "RED" I realized how much better books are when you let them sit and grow and change before showing people. But that's fine, I don't mind tossing my first draft fanfics up here. Just know I might go in and edit it once it's done.

Anyhoo, comment your thoughts!