Bruised

Chapter Seven-Memories and Promises

Chapter Seven

Memories and Promises

*Bucky's POV*

"What was that?" Steve asks first just after Percy and Stark disappear around the corner into the building. A storm of emotions roils in my chest and regret floods my mouth. Ah, fuck.

"I was asking if she wanted a normal family. To see...to see if that was the better option for her."

"Without the rest of us?" Steve asks and raises his eyebrows. I turn to him, surprised. My head shakes as irritation rises up in me.

"Tell me she isn't affected the most by my choice."

"Because of a promise you shouldn't have made." Natasha posits, moving beside Steve with disappointment in her jade eyes. "For once I agree with Stark. You can't play around with a kid's emotions."

"I'm not," I answer instantly with a little too much venom. Natasha's eyes narrow. Damn, why can't I hold my goddamn tongue?

"Whether you meant to or not, you still did. Stop lying to yourself about it." Her arms cross over her chest as Steve places a hand on my shoulder. Great, he's about to tell me something I don't want to hear as well. Despite that, I look over at his blue eyes.

"This is a decision to be made by all of us. We'll discuss it, like I said, after court. But Buck," his hand squeezes my shoulder to cement his words, "make sure you know what side you're on before then." Another moment passes before I nod, shrug his hand off, and head into the building. I decide to take a day for myself since I'm relatively confident no one is going to let me around Percy anyways. After shrugging on my leather jacket, I head to my bike and head out. The corner of my mouth lifts at the memory of Percy's uncertain face at the prospect of riding it, then her enjoyment thereafter. Then the weight of my decision falls on me again and my mouth is a firm line.

At first, I'm not sure where I'm going. I just drive until I hit a familiar street which takes longer than I thought it would, but when I do, I know exactly where I'm going.

I park without taking my eyes off the building, my eyes scanning every brick with nostalgia staining my tongue. Quietly, I move around to the back and head up the old fire escape. Black paint comes off on my hands just like it always has and I grin. Thank god some things never change. Once I reach the fourth floor I slip over to the window that was always loose. I cage my eyes as I look through the window and find it completely empty. Not even a single piece of furniture. My hand reaches down to my boot and grabs a knife, slipping it in the crack and wiggling the lock to the side. A soft click celebrates my success and I tuck the knife away before shimmying the window open and dropping in.

My quiet landing echoes through the room, as does the soft thunk of the window closing. Slowly, I turn to face the space housing some of my fondest memories. They've redone a lot of things. Re-plastered the walls, put in new equipment and counters in the small kitchen, put in new hardwood floors, repainted the door. But some things are still unchanged. The windows are the same shit windows they've always been, brick fireplace in the same place, kitchen cabinets the same wormy chestnut. I take a deep breath and sigh. I'm thankful it doesn't smell the same. I head into Steve's old room and smirk. It's been painted a soft baby blue, much better than the chipping and faded yellow it once was. There's new molding around the door and I hesitate a moment before affixing my left hand to it and ripping it off.

Hopefully, I wipe off the dust and splinters of wood. Long faded writing is still there. Little lines and numbers beside names. It starts off as just Steve. His mom had lived here before us and she cataloged Steve's every inch as he grew, my name eventually coming into the mix once we met and became good friends. Sadness pricks my heart when I see where her handwriting changed to mine and Steve's when she died. A soft sigh echoes in the room from my lips. God, I wish she could see how he turned out. We'd kept it going for a while just because it seemed wrong to stop the tradition. My lips curve up at the thought of making marks for Steve now. It'd be near to the top of the door. I crouch and my fingers glance over where Percy's name would go, intermingled with Steve and I's. Another sigh leaves my lips, but this time for a different reason.