Lost and Found - Bucky X-reader Pt. 2

As the meals began to be served, you closed your laptop, stashed it and stood up to stretch as best you could. You looked down at Bucky and frowned. He was turned away from you slightly, peering up and down the aisle.

“Everything all right?” you asked.

“Hungry, that’s all.” He flopped back in his seat and lifted his shoulders before dropping them again. He watched you sit, then took his cap off. “Guess I don’t need this now, seen as you know who I am…” His hair was almost black, but was clean and surprisingly shiny to say it had been hidden for who-knows how long. He ran his fingers through it and watched you sit down.

You smiled and straightened your back, “Good. Now let’s start again. I’m [name].” You held your hand out to him.

He frowned, then cautiously shook it. “Bucky, I guess...”

Nice to meet you, Bucky, I guess...”

He laughed, despite his best efforts.

“I made you laugh. Yes!” You clenched your hand into a fist and pulled your arm down, in celebration. “So…”

“So…?”

“What brings you to London?”

“I…erm, well…I have some business to take care of, up in Scotland. This was the only flight option.”

“Oh, right. Dare I ask what kind of business?”

“I wouldn’t if I were you.” He looked at you, expecting your eyes to shift or show some kind of sign that you wouldn’t press the subject, but you were visibly intrigued. “Listen, [name]…” He twisted round to face you, his knees touching yours. “I told you I’m not a good man…”

You chewed your lip, your eyes flitting between his face and your knees. “Yes,” you responded, finally, “What about it?”

“Well, I have…oh, never mind. Forget about it.”

“Hey,” you sighed, placing your hand over his, “How about we make this flight our window of opportunity, huh? You can tell me anything you want, and vice versa, no judgements.”

“I can’t, it’s too…”

“No. Judgements.” You lowered your face to glare at him. “All right?”

He nodded. “All right. You want me to just…talk, or do you want to ask me a question?”

You took a deep breath and tilted your head to one side. “I know this is a loaded question but…why are you the same age as you were in all those photos at the exhibition?”

“You know why Steve looks the same?”

You nodded. “Frozen under the ice for 70 years.”

“Pretty much that.”

“Really?”

“I don’t remember everything, but I’m certain that I was frozen by them…”

“Th…them?” You shook your head, confusion written across your face.

He rolled his lips and nodded, “I was captured, many, many years ago. The date they said I died…I think that was the day they found me.”

Your hand covered your mouth as you shook your head. “I…I don’t know what to say.” You gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze and lowered your head, “I’m sorry to hear that, Bucky.”

“It was a long time ago,” he stated.

“And that’s what this issue in Scotland relates to?”

He nodded again. “Yes. I have vague memories of being taken to a facility up in the Highlands once, away from prying eyes. I plan on, erm…” He coughed and wriggled in his seat, offering a quick glance over his shoulder before continuing, “I plan on shutting the place down, if you, errr, get my meaning.”

“Wow,” you sighed, with a shake of your head. “I…wow.”

“So how about I ask…”

“I’m sorry to interrupt sir, but chicken or vegetarian?” the flight attendant asked as she brought the trolley to a stop beside him.

Bucky kept his head low, his eyes away from her, “Chicken p…please,” he mumbled.

“Certainly.” She handed him the tray of hot food and looked in your direction, “And for you, ma’am?”

“The same, thank you.”

Another miniature bottle of white wine and half a portion of chicken Alfredo later, and the mood had changed, morphing into a slightly happier atmosphere. Being desperate to shift the subject away from himself, he told you about his lack of pop culture knowledge, so you tried your best to fill him in on the good stuff, “…And then there’s Star Wars, and Prince! Oh my goodness, you need to listen to Prince! Purple Rain…ugh! I adore it! And of course,  I would not be a very good Englishwoman if I didn’t tell you to listen to The Beatles, The Stones, The Who…we had a lot of bands that started with ‘The’, didn’t we?”

“Sure seems like it,” he laughed, taking a bite of his lunch and savouring every mouthful. He took a gulp of water and placed his fork down. “So, as I was about to ask earlier, before our food interruption. You’ve gotten to know me a little better, so can tell me a bit about yourself?”

You sank into your seat and clasped your hands together, “What would you like to know?”

“Tell me about your family…I’m intrigued to find out how such a good woman came to be sitting beside me.”

You scrunched your face to try and hide your blushes, then nodded, “Okay. Well, I was born and raised in a tiny little village in Yorkshire, which isn’t anywhere near London, in case you were wondering,” you winked. “Mum and Dad owned an antique shop in the nearby town, and I guess that’s where I discovered my love of history. Spending every school holiday with my elder sister Joanna, playing hide and seek in the stock room, piled high with old cabinets, bookcases, mirrors…it was fascinating.”

“Sounds it. Where are your family these days?”

“Well, Joanna works in New York City…took over the family business a few years ago and sort of expanded it. Now it’s one of the biggest antique and auction houses in the western hemisphere.”

“That’s incredible,” he smiled, “Are you close?”

“As close as we can be, living on different continents,” you laughed, your voice cracking as your emotions threatened to escape. “It was a wrench, having her move all that way, but we Skype whenever we can and I visit whenever I’m in New York.”

“Do your parents get to visit her often?”

“Mum does, but Dad…he erm…” You sniffed, and stared up at the reading lights above you. “He died, just over 2 years ago.” A tear trickled down your face, and you wiped it away, still looking up.

“I’m so sorry, [name],” he said in a low voice, his hand coming to rest on top of yours, “I didn’t mean to make you sad.”

A spluttering laugh escaped your lips. You collected a napkin from your lunch tray and dabbed at your eyes, “It’s all right. It’s good to talk about our sadness sometimes, right? All part of the healing process, or so they say.”

“So they say…” He blew a stream of air out through his lips and nudged your shoulder, trying to cheer you up, “What about a boyfriend, though, or husband? I’m sure a beautiful woman like you has them lining up.”

You stared at him, catching his gaze and holding it with an intensity he’d never seen before. You bit your lip as a few more tears rolled down your cheeks. “There’s no one.” You pulled your eyes away and picked up the fork on your tray, pushing some left over vegetables around the little foil container. “Just me.”

“No, that can’t be right…”

“How it’s always been, really. I just wanted to focus on my career…and by the time I realised I wanted something more for myself, it seemed like everyone was taken.”

He reached out, wiping a tear away with his right thumb and taking your hands in his. “Having spent only a few hours with you, I can see how much of a wonderful person you are, [name], and I’m certain you’ll meet someone who will be perfect for you.”

“And here I thought I was helping you.” You laughed through your tears again, as he gave your hands a gentle squeeze. “Thank you Bucky…you are a good man, you can’t deny it.”

He gazed at you, your hands still together and time standing still. His cheeks were rosy, but as you pulled him a little closer, he composed himself and smiled. “Looks like we were both in the right place at the right time.”

“W…what do you mean?”

“Erm…Just being a shoulder to cry on for one another…” He let go of you and leaned back into his seat, his head slamming back against the headrest.

“Oh…yes, yes of course.”

The flight attendant returned to collect the lunch trays. This time, Bucky actually looked at her, offering a small smile of gratitude before turning to take yours out of your grasp and handing it to her. She nodded and threw you a warm smile, visibly pleased that the situation earlier had calmed down considerably.

You’d noticed something, but it was a difficult subject to approach the subject. You looked at him and chewed your lip, considering whether or not to ask a question that was beginning to burn inside you. After ten minutes of quiet contemplation, you leaned over and, without thinking, lowered your head onto his shoulder. He turned to look at you and you were sure a faint smile flashed across his face.  

“Everything all right?” he asked, feeling strangely calm.

“I’ve been thinking about something…but I don’t want to upset you, or put you in a difficult position…”

“Oh geez, that sounds ominous,” he smirked. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“Well, earlier on…when you were comforting me and you took my hands…” you whispered as you fidgeted with the TV screen controls, your head still resting against his shoulder. “Y…your left hand…the bandaged one…”

“Yes?”

“It was cold…freezing cold, in fact, so I…” You took a deep breath and looked up at him, “I felt for a pulse...”

“It’s a prosthetic.”

“It is? Then why bandage it up?”

“It’s, erm…an unusual one, specially made. I’m currently spending only my third full day in normal civilisation for decades and I’m pretty sure my appearance would freak a lot of people out, so I cover it.”

You pulled back, catching his eyes, “I wouldn’t freak out…”

“I’m beginning to realise that,” he said. “But still, this way is better for being out in public.”

You rolled your lips, nodding in acceptance. “Fair enough. I’ll stop bringing it up every few hours now, I promise.”

“That’s okay. No judgements, right?”

“Right.”

“So, do you…erm…would you like to…” He lifted his shoulder and patted it with his right hand, “Use me as a pillow, again?” He blushed.

You bit your lip and dropped your head to one side, giving him a side-eyed glance. “You sure? I did it without even thinking about it…an old habit, I guess. Forgot that we’d only known each other for as long as we’ve been up in the air.”

He laughed, a full, genuine smile lighting up his face and accentuating his features. You were certain you felt your heart skip a beat.

“I’m sure,” he whispered, the look on his face showing his own surprise at the admission. “I…I don’t know what it is about you, [name], but I feel…safe with you. I’ve felt the tension and stress kind of…” He looked up at the curved ceiling, searching for the word, “It’s sort of melted away…”

“It has?” you breathed

“Yes. And seen as we’ve only got a few hours left together on this plane, I thought it might be nice to just…rest.”

“I would like that.”

“Good, but how about we just…” he motioned for you to switch sides, so you stood up, shimmying between him and the seats in front, his hands falling momentarily on your hips before he quickly pulled them away. “Sorry.”

You didn’t say another word, as you both settled down into your new seats. He unfolded a blanket emblazoned with Britannic Air’s logo, and, as you shuffled over to him and placed your head against his shoulder, draped the blanket over you. Your eyes fell closed immediately, your body relaxed as you nuzzled against him. What is happening? Why doesn’t this feel strange? I guess he needs human contact…I guess I do too. Actually, I know I do…Am I so desperate that I would latch onto a complete stranger for comfort, and warmth?

After a few minutes, the main lights went off in the cabin, and it wasn’t long before the faint sound of someone snoring near the front began to drift around, mixing with the soft lighting and adding to the sleepy atmosphere. Despite trying his hardest to remain awake, Bucky’s eyes slowly fell to half-mast, then, when they felt as heavy as iron, closed completely. His head came to rest against the top of yours, and the hours rushed by, both of you engulfed in a peaceful sleep for the first time in many years.

Almost exactly 7 hours and 5 minutes after taking off from Washington Dulles, the plane touched down at London Heathrow. You both woke slowly, stretching and smiling at each other. It took a moment for either of you to realise that you weren’t moving anymore, and that most passengers were now stood up around you, leaning on seat backs with their bags in hand or thrown over shoulders, impatiently shuffling as they waited for those pesky first class and business class passengers to get away. Geez, am I this much of a pain, usually?

You rose to your feet and turned, offering a nod of thanks to a bespectacled man who stood back to allow you access to the overhead compartment. You reached up to grab your bag, but Bucky got there first, gently tugging your small case down and placing it in front of your feet.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your eyes watering from, you assumed, the last remnants of your tiredness. You watched as he pulled out a heavy black rucksack, just as the line started to move ahead of you. “Here we go then.”

“Here we go,” he echoed, planting his hat back on his head before shuffling forwards and down the aisle. The flight attendant who had visited your seat each time, was standing by the exit. Bucky offered her a small smile and a nod of his cap. She bid him goodbye and turned to you, smiling broadly and raising her eyebrows.

The walk up the jet bridge and into the wide, glass and steel corridor was quiet. As you shadowed the crowd, pulling your wheeled case at the side of you and following the bright yellow signs to Arrivals, a knot twisted in your stomach. The path continued for what seemed like miles, twisting and turning, taking you up escalators and along travellators before the 10-foot high ‘Welcome to London’ sign appeared in front of you. Imagery that you would normally find cliché; the Union Jack flag, English Bulldogs, red telephone boxes and pretty much anything royal family-related, all overwhelmed you as you and Bucky came to a standstill. Home.

He took your elbow and tugged you to one side, out of the way of the other passengers. “So, erm…I have to go this way,” he frowned, pointing in the direction of a door with a sign saying ‘Non-EU/British Citizens’.

“Yeah, I guess so. And I’m…” you bobbed your head towards another door. “I’m that way…”

He slapped his passport and travel documents against his left hand and rocked on his heels. “Well, it was…it was good to meet you, [name]. Really good.”

“You too, Bucky. It was an…experience.” You both laughed, averting your eyes downwards.

“I’m sorry again, for scaring you…”

You held your hand up, “No, please don’t be. We were both a little tactless at times, but it’s all right, we’re human.”

“I guess we are,” he smiled. As a voice called out an announcement over the loudspeaker, he stepped forward, his hand reaching up to your cheek. You shuffled closer, the awkwardness palpable, just like your initial meeting 7 hours earlier. He placed a kiss on your cheek and instantly pulled back, his face rosy. “Goodbye, [name]. Thank you for not judging me.”

“I…never would,” you said, choking on your words. “Goodbye, Bucky. Good luck in Scotland.” You stood frozen to the spot, staring at each other, until you plucked up the courage to make the first move, taking a step backwards and giving him a small wave before turning and wandering off towards Passport Control.

---

You must have stood at the bend of the carousel, awaiting your luggage, for 20 minutes before a large neon pink case pushed its way through the opening at the other end. As a rainbow assortment of suitcases, holdalls and musical instrument cases made their way around the bends, you huffed, shifting your weight from one foot to the other, your hands on your hips. “Come on, please,” you muttered to yourself, “I just want to go home and sleep.”

Finally, you spotted yours; a vintage brown leather case, covered in stickers from all of your travels.” I’m the cliché,” you chuckled, reaching forward, misjudging the speed of the carousel and nearly falling onto it.

“Whoa, whoa…” came a voice, rushing over and taking hold of the bag and your waist and pulling you both to safety.

You looked round. “Bucky!”

He smiled as he held you close. “Fancy continuing our conversation?”