Eddie is a Hero

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“Hey, Sunshine,” a voice said from beside you, a familiar voice engulfing your senses. You ignored him as he slid in beside you, body lingering almost too close as his arm found purchase on the bench. “Does your brother know you’re out?”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, willing the flush to die down from your face before turning to face the man who lingered behind you, stumbling at the familiar, teasing smirk. There Bucky Barnes stood in all his glory, dressed head to toe in his regiment uniform. You swallowed dryly, trying your hardest to keep your eyes glued to his face.

“No, he doesn’t,” you said to him cautiously. ‘And it’s going to stay that way, Barnes.”

You moved to poke him in the chest, and he laughed.

“Baby Rogers, out on the town,” Bucky teased. “Who would’ve thought.”

You groaned, shaking your head, before turning in the stool to face him, not realising just how close the man had been standing when your legs pressed against his. Bucky raised an eyebrow, the smirk on his face widening before he started to drag his gaze slowly over your form. You felt your chest tighten as he took his time, faltering at the sight of your bare legs before snapping out of it, shaking his head as he took a step back.

You felt yourself deflate as Bucky turned his head away, seeming like he was desperate for a getaway as he seemed to look anywhere but you.

I knew he didn’t like me, but I didn’t realise he found me that repulsive.

You turned to the counter, moving to grab your glass off the counter, but Bucky was too quick. He snatched it away to take a slow sip, your throat going dry as you watched his lips make contact with the delicate glass yours had been wrapped around mere minutes ago. He frowned as he put the glass down, looking at you accusingly.

“You shouldn’t be touching this stuff, Sunshine,” he said with a glare. “You're too young for this.”

You scoffed slightly at that; it was always an age thing with him and Steve.

“I’m twenty, James,” you said. “I’m not as innocent as you guys seem to think.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Is that right, Sunshine?” Bucky then moved to whisper in your ear. “If that’s really the case then-”

Whatever Bucky was going to say was cut off when Daniel appeared back at your side. “Sorry I took so long- Barnes?”

Bucky straightened, looking your date up and down with a clenched jaw. “Sorry,” he said stiffly. “Do I know you?”

“Daniel Miller,” Daniel said, reaching out a hand. Bucky looked at his outstretched hand like Daniel just slapped him before sourly moving to reciprocate it. “We uh- we went to school together. I was two years below you.”

“Right,” Bucky said, snatching his hand back faster than they had made contact for. “Tell me-” he leaned against the counter next to you, looking the man up and down dismissively. “-don’t you think you’re a little old for her?”

You looked at the man, abashed at his blatantly disrespectful manner.

“James-” you hissed, but he just ignored you, looking expectantly at Daniel.

“I-uh-” Daniel stuttered, tugging anxiously at the colour of his shirt. “I-”

“Don’t answer that,” you were quick to say, sending an apologetic look towards Daniel. “And stop being so, so horrid, Barnes.”

Bucky’s face fell slightly at that but was quick to cover up the disheartened look with a smirk.

“Come on, Sunny,” he said. “You know I’m only teasing.”

You rolled your eyes before turning to face Daniel. “I’m so sorry about him, Danny. Someone has seemed to have forgotten his manners today.”

Daniel scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, cheeks flushed. You sighed, turning back to glare at Bucky.

“It’s really okay, nothing taken to heart, Doll,” Daniel said. “Would you like another drink or-”

Daniel started, but Bucky was quick to interrupt him. “Actually, Sunshine just promised me a dance,” Bucky said, tilting his head as he observed Daniel. The younger man faltered back. “You don’t mind, do you?”

You crossed your arms over your chest indignantly, preparing yourself to have a go at Bucky, but Daniel stopped you. “Of course not, no problem here.”

Your shoulders slumped at the disappointing reaction from your date, already deciding that there wouldn’t be another date.

Although that had already been decided the second Bucky had slipped beside you with that devastatingly handsome smirk.

 You bit your tongue, letting Bucky escort you away from Daniel and towards the dance floor before you spoke up, looking at Bucky with a sharp glare.

“Seriously?”

“What?” Bucky asked with feigned innocence.

You let out an irritated sigh as you moved to wrap your arms around his neck, craning your head to look at him. “You know what.”

Bucky’s façade crumbled as he started to laugh. “Come on, Sunshine, you have to admit it was a little funny,” he said. “He looked half scared to death.”

You sighed with irritation as you peered upwards at the man. “You know this makes me look horrible, right?” You asked Bucky with a frown, causing his smile to falter.

“You could never be horrible, Sunshine,” Bucky said. “Nothing you could ever do would be even close.” His eyes met yours with a soft expression, and he moved a hand up to push a fallen strand of hair away from your face. “Danny? Seriously?” he added after a long pause.

Your face flushed. “He’s a friend,” you argued. “And he’s a good friend, James. There was no reason to embarrass him like that.

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry,” Bucky relented, making you smile with small victory. “It was a joke, no need to flip your wig.”

You two fell silent then, swaying to the sound of Lena Horne, your fingers relaxing enough to purchase on the on the back of his neck.

“You know, I think you did a favour though,” Bucky said, hands tightening around your waist in anticipation of you pulling away.

You glared at him but stayed in his arms, still swaying. “And what does that mean?”

Bucky scoffed. “He’s clearly not right for you.”

“And you know what’s right for me then,” you asked, lips pursed.

Bucky hesitated for a moment. “No.”

“I just know that it isn’t him,” he continued. “You shouldn’t lower your standards just to impress some guy.”

You looked at the man, appalled, stopping all your movements as your face heated up. “Well, excuse me if I wanted to feel pretty for a night,” you hissed, pushing his hands away from your waist. “It might come as a shock to you, but some boys actually want to go out with me, Barnes, even if you find me unappealing.”

As you stepped away, Bucky was quick to grab you, spinning you back around into his grip. “Come on, Sunshine, I didn’t say all that, and you know it,” he said, frustrated. “I just meant that if he was actually man enough, he would’ve stopped another man from snatching you away. He’s a boy-” Bucky pulled you closer, so your chests were nearly pressed against each other’s, “-and you need a man.”

You swallowed, feeling small under his intense gaze. Bucky opened his mouth but cut himself off with a shake of his head. After a moment, the pair of you looked away, letting the tension simmer down and die.

“So, you heard then?” you said, trying to stifle the awkwardness. “Back from you know.”

Bucky looked back at you, conflicted, before dragging his gaze around the bar.

“Yeah, I did,” he said. “The 107th regiment. I leave first thing tomorrow.”

You found yourself deflating, swallowing back the lump in your throat that threatened to break free.

“Oh,” you said, unable to voice any of your thoughts. Bucky, reading the change in your disposition, tried to cheer you up.

“Come on, Sunshine. “Don’t be like that.”

“I have no idea what you're talking about, Barnes,” you said steely, refusing to meet his gaze.

“Yes, you do,” he said softly, stopping both of your movements to tilt your chin up, forcing you to look at him. “It’s a good thing, you know?”

You glared at the man. “How is it a good thing?” you asked, before relenting at the almost pleading look on his face. “I just wish you two weren’t so adamant on fighting for the country, or whatever. It’s not safe.”

Bucky laughed. “Really? It’s not safe?” he teased. “Is that why you're so bothered, Sunshine?”

“Yes,” you said in displeasure, gnawing on the bottom of your lip.

“Are you sure?” Bucky said, pulling you closer than what you would deem appropriate for a public setting. Although you were pretty sure nothing about his actions had been appropriate. He leaned in further, lips ghosting over the shell of your ear. “Or are you maybe feeling a little selfish?”

Your face flushed, and Bucky snickered a little at your unease before offering you reprieve. “Look, I should be heading off soon. I have plans tonight.”

Your stomach dropped in disappointment, knowing what he meant by that.

“But I can walk you home first.”

You shook your head adamantly. “James, I’m fine-”

“Ah, ah,” he tutted, pressing his finger against your mouth. “What kind of man would I be if I let a doll like yourself walk home alone?”

“Okay,” you said after a moment. “But can we at least finish this dance first?”

A smile broke out across his face. “Of course we can, Sunshine.”

He then moved to spin you around, pulling a laugh from you, grin widening as he heard it. When you were back to facing him, you shifted to rest your head on his chest, knowing that it would be the closest you could ever get to him. He rested his chin atop your head, arms wrapping around you as if you were the only thing keeping him tethered.

As the song slowly came to an end, you moved to rest your chin on his chest, looking up at him.

“Promise me something, James?” you asked, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

A flicker of emotions crossed over his face, too quickly for you to read. He moved his hand up to brush your cheek, before moving to touch your hair.

“Anything,” he whispered, only loud enough for you to hear. “Anything for you, Sunshine.”

You chewed on your lip, hand moving to fiddle with the collar of his suit.

“Don’t forget me,” you said, although it came out as more of a question.

“I could never.”

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Not that he knew you. That was the cruel logic of it all. To Sergeant James Barnes, you were nobody. Nothing but a nurse he'd been introduced to twice, and forgotten both times. A face in a crowd of pretty faces, but by no means the prettiest.

You had stopped being able to feel your own face somewhere around the third song, no longer pretending to smile.

"You gonna dance, or you gonna be a wallflower all night?"

You turned. One of the girls— Doris, or maybe it it was Lilian, you weren't paying attention— was smiling at you with the social grace that women in this time seemed to possess effortlessly. They belonged in a way you never would. You gave her something that was probably a smile.

"I'm alright watching."

"Watching him, you mean." She followed your gaze to where Bucky stood in his dress uniform, left arm braced against a pillar as he leaned down to murmur something into the ear of a redhead who laughed like he'd hung the moon. "Half the room's watching him. Don't feel bad, sweets. He's real generous with the old charm."

Generous! You laughed to yourself, that was certainly one word for it.

You'd been in 1943 for eleven days. Eleven days since the machine in your lab had done whatever it was that it did. There had been a surge of power, a blinding flash of light and the smell of ozone that still hadn't left your nostrils. You had woken up staring at a strange sky, in an alley between two buildings you didn't recognize.

Eleven days later, you had talked your way into a nursing post with the competence that only came with training from a program that wouldn't exist for another sixty years.

The first time you had seen him, you hadn't been able to move. You almost walked past without a backward glance. The thing that had gotten your attention wasn't how he looked, it was his voice. It hadn't changed. What had changed was how freely he laughed

It was all you could think of as you lay on a narrow rented bed and stared up at the ceiling, thinking: He's here. He's alive and whole and here, and he has no idea who I am.

You'd thought seeing this version of him would be a comfort.

You'd been so stupid.

So there you were, contemplating your existence, a woman out of your own time. And you realized that the thing nobody told you about time travel was that it was mostly waiting.

You had managed to track down a physicist— a nervous, but brilliant scientist who was well ahead of his time and happened to work for Stark Industries and liked to carry out experiments in his basement.

When you'd described the machine, he had gone very pale and very quiet and then become very interested. He offered to help you. He thought it would take weeks. He speculated a great many things, and every one of them required you to stay close to the war effort, close to the base, close— by fate or by accident— to Bucky-freaking-Barnes.

You should have quit, but you needed the money and a place to stay. So you saw him. Constantly. At the mess, in the corridors, at these godforsaken dances the other nurses dragged you to. And every time, the same knife went in.

Because Bucky Barnes flirted with everyone.

You watched him do it like a case study you had a vested interest in. In a way, you did.

He flirted with Lilian and Doris and Elizabeth, with Marian and Margaret and even Sandy. He flirted with the girl who sold cigarettes and the middle-aged woman who ran your boarding house who flushed like a school girl every time he tipped his cap.

He flirted with the same energy that other men breathed— unconsciously, effortlessly and with enthusiasm. With the whole world except you.

With you he was polite. God, the politeness was utterly devastating. Every 'ma'am.' Every 'miss.' Every nod.

Once— and only once— he caught you looking at him for too long across the mess hall and you had noticed a flicker on his face. It wasn't interest, no you knew his expressions well enough, it was something closer to confusion. Almost as though he couldn't quite figure out why this particular nurse kept staring at him like she was drowning.

You'd looked away so fast you'd spilled your coffee.

So here's the thing you could quite wrap your head around. It was the splinter which kept digging it's way deeper. He was still Bucky. Before the fall. Before seventy years of ice and torture. Before his free will had been ripped away. It was still him. The same kind man you loved.

And this man had looked at you and felt nothing.

"You look like you're thinking too hard," Lillian said. "Never a good idea at a dance."

"Sorry." You forced a smile and made yourself relax. "Long shift," you lied with a shrug.

She patted your arm sympathetically and drifted off in the direction of a corporal who had been eyeing her from across the hall. And then you were alone. Again. Listening to Bucky laughing at something across the room, his eyes crinkled and nose scrunched. You had to close your eyes.

In the present, you told yourself, he loves you.

But did he?

This thought was the poison of the past, the reason the past eleven days had hollowed you out and given you reason to doubt. Because you'd met your Bucky broken. You'd met him after— after the Soldier, after the torture, after the long slow work he had done to put himself back together, with therapy and effort and the kind of hard-won stillness that made his rare smiles feel earned. Your Bucky was quiet. He was careful. He loved you the way a man loves the shore after a shipwreck— grateful, fierce, like something he'd been afraid to hope for.

When you thought back, this stillness had always felt like the depth in your relationship. That his quiet devotion was the shape of a man who had survived far too much to be careless with his heart. That when he reached for you in the dark, when he said your name with reverence, when he told you that he loved you, it was the truest thing in him.

Only now you'd seen the before.

Now you'd seen who he was when the world hadn't broken him yet.

And that man— that carefree, radiant, flirtatious man— he wouldn't have looked at you twice. That man had a type, and you were watching him charm her across the dance floor right now, and it most decidedly wasn't you. It was never you.

So what did that make what you had back home?

It was the ugly thought. The one that had been circling your brain in different iterations for the last eleven days.

He's with you because you were there.

Because you'd been kind to him at the worst point of his life.

Because you were willing, and steady, and you'd stayed when staying was hard.

Because a drowning man doesn't check whether the hand pulling him up is the one he'd have chosen.

He grabs what's offered.

You were what was offered. Convenient. Present. Undemanding.

Not chosen. Settled.

You believed it completely, while standing in that dance hall. It sank deep into your bones, like the weight of something you'd always half-known and finally let yourself see.

"You're that nurse."

You startled so badly at his voice that you knocked your purse off the table. Bucky was standing in front of you— right in front of you, close enough that you could smell the pomade and the wool of his uniform. And he was looking at you with that faint, puzzled crease between his brows. He bent down and retrieved your purse without a second thought.

"I— yeah. Sorry. Yes. I'm a nurse."

Brilliant. Very cool. Totally nailed that response. You mentally face palmed yourself.

"You keep looking at me." He said it plainly, without judgement. "All week. At the mess, and now here." He paused, studying your face. "Do I know you? From somewhere? I feel like I oughta, and it's drivin' me half crazy tryna figure it out."

You don't know me yet, was the thought didn't say. You won't know me for another eighty years.

"No," you managed in a flat tone. "You don't know me."

He studied you. And for one horrible, hopeful second you let yourself imagine that something would spark between you. That he would recognize something buried deep inside himself, the one who would one day become the man you loved. That he'd feel it, the way you felt it. The impossible gravity that existed between you.

He didn't. You watched him not feel it. He just gave you a small, courteous, sorry-can't-place-you smile and the last shred of hope shattered in it chest.

"Well," he said. "You alright? You look a little—" he gestured vaguely at all of you, "—pale. Rough night on the ward?"

You laughed dismally. "Something like that."

"You want some air? You look like you want some air."

And there it was. Not attraction. Kindness. The reflexive decency of a good man toward a woman who looked unwell. He'd have offered the same to Doris or Evelyn, to the redhead or the blonde, to anyone really. You knew it, and you took it anyway, because you were weak and you loved him and this was the closest he'd stood to you in eleven days.

Outside, the night was cold and wet and smelled of the harbor. Bucky lit a cigarette, offered you one, seemed unsurprised when you shook your head. For a while neither of you said anything.

"You got somebody?" he asked finally, and your heart lurched dangerously. "Back home, I mean. You got that look. Like half of you is somewhere else."

You laughed and it came out wrecked.

"Yeah," you said. "I've got somebody."

"He treat you right?"

He loves me like a man loves the thing that saved him, you thought. And I don't know anymore if that's the same as loving me for me.

"I don't know," you said honestly. "I used to think so. Now I'm not sure he'd have picked me. If things had been different. If he'd had… options. I think maybe I was just… the one who was there."

Bucky was quiet a moment. When you looked at him he was frowning— not the usual puzzled frown, it was something more thoughtful.

"That's a helluva thing to carry," he said. "You wanna know what I think?"

He looked at you, barely waiting for you to answer before he continued.

"I flirt with every dame in that room. You've seen me, don't pretend you haven't." He gave you a rueful half-smile. "It's easy. Don't cost me a thing. You smile, they smile, everybody has a nice night, nobody gets hurt. It's—" he searched for the right word, "—it's cheap. You understand? It's the cheapest thing I got."

You stared at him.

"You know what's not cheap?" he went on, looking out into the night. "The stuff that costs you something— and that's not the girl you charm across a dance hall. That's the one you'd still want around when there's nothing charming left in you. When you're scared, or sick, or done things you can't take back."

He exhaled smoke. "A fella who's had it easy, he'll flirt with anybody. Don't mean anything. But a fella who's been through the wringer, and he still reaches for one particular person—" he shrugged, "—seems to me that's the only kind that counts. The rest's just… noise."

You couldn't breathe.

He didn't know how deeply what he'd said had resonated with you. He couldn't have. He was just a kind man being kind to a sad woman outside a dance hall, offering the accidental wisdom of someone who'd one day live every word of it. But he'd reached across eighty years and removed the splinter from your heart.

A fella who's been through the wringer, and he still reaches for one particular person.

That was your Bucky. Not a drowning man grabbing for the nearest hand. A man who had been through the absolute worst the world could do. A man who had every reason to be closed and cold and careful with the little warmth he had left. And instead who spent it, deliberately, expensively, on you.

Not because you were convenient. Because when everything cheap had been burned out of him, you were what remained. You were the thing that counted.

The flirtation you'd been grieving wasn't the love you knew. It never had been. It was the noise. And your Bucky had gone silent with everyone else in the world and still turned, in the dark, toward you.

"Thank you," you whispered.

Bucky looked faintly bewildered. "For what? I didn't do anything."

"You'd be surprised," you said, tears slipping down your cheeks before laughing at the way he was hastily patting his pockets for a handkerchief with the flustered gallantry of a man way out of his depth

And for the first time in eleven days the ache in your chest had somewhere to go.

The scientist sent for you nine days later. You had pulled yourself away from the pub, one last glance at the Sergeant before you scurried away under the cover of darkness.

The machine hummed and the basement reeked of ozone. Suddenly your heart was pounding and you were looking back at the strange world you were leaving. At the war that hadn't broken him fully yet. At the still charming boy who would become, through unspeakable years, the quiet man who loved you.

I'm coming home baby, you told him, across the space-time continuum. I finally understand what I'm coming home to.

With that vow, you stepped into the light.

When you opened your eyes it was day and you were back in your lab, surrounded by your things and there— there was already someone crossing the room toward you at a dead run. Someone with a metal arm and a face raw with grief and terror that lasted twenty days. Someone who caught you and held you like the shore holds the shipwreck.

"You're back," Bucky said into your hair, over and over, wrecked and reaching only for you. "You're back, you're back, you're back."

"I'm back," you said. "I know exactly where I am."

It was high school when you got pregnant; the father was a friend...or he claimed to be. You'd known him so long that you'd assumed he'd never do that to you, never use you like an object...why would he ruin such a deep friendship? But he did... You got pregnant and became the talk of the town, the girl no one wanted to be around because she "couldn't keep her legs closed."

Eddie was always there for you; he'd always tell people to fuck off when they got too close or bitched about you breastfeeding at school, even though they couldn't see anything cause he'd covered up Ella with his jacket. Eddie was there for it all, the birth where you squeezed so hard he was afraid that you'd crush his hand into dust.

"Okay, Killer. Careful there, that's the hand I play with." He had said before, earning a groan of pain from you, and that shut him up because he quickly realized you had been in pain. Eddie stayed all night in the shitty chair beside your bedside to watch over you and your little girl.

The nurse had asked if he was the father, and before you could say anything, he signed his name on the birth certificate. Of course, this wasn't random or overstepping; you had spoken to him extensively about the fact you didn't want her birth father on the paper; he didn't deserve it. Eddie was more than willing.

The endless nights in the small "home" that you two share after she was born, where Ella would scream and cry at night, but he didn't wake you unless it was for feedings because you "needed the rest," no matter how much you insisted. Eddie would get up every day regardless of how tired he was and go to work without a single inch of a complaint. This wasn't something you discussed because he'd always act like it was so natural. Eddie taught you it's okay to want help, that you should demand it when it comes to the people that claim to "care" about you.

That was years ago though, and nothing has changed for the worse, but he's on tour now. You and Ella are at home because she has school, but without fail, no matter how late the night gets or how tired he is, without fail he calls you to check up on you both. "How's my beautiful girls?" "How's your day been, Baby?" "How'd her soccer game go?" "They won?! Oh my god, I knew they had it in them."

A few months on tour actually passed by quickly, thankfully, and he's now pulling into the drive as he blasts his music.

"Daddy! Daddy's home!" Ella screams with her eyes already watering at the thought of him. Eddie and Eddie had never put labels on any of your relationship, never told her not to call him Daddy, and you never corrected him when he had started calling you Babe or a brush of the hand against your back had become a kiss on the lips, making out or having sex when Ella was out.

Eddie scoops her up with one arm, his other hand dragging in a suitcase. This suitcase was not full of his own things. No, that one is still in his truck. This suitcase is all the things he's bought for you and Ella. A bear, bubbles, a yo-yo, a doll, and so many other little toys he's found in the shops while he's missing his girls. Ella, of course, jumps down from his arms and gets into the bag as she's done before.

"Daddy, what is this?" She holds up a little square box, and he stiffens a little; this is not how he wanted you to find out he had gotten you a ring or that he wants to marry you.

"I- Um...I guess now's as good as any time." He grabs the box from her and kneels in front of you; you're already in complete shock...not only is he home, but he's going to ask you to marry him. "Bear with me, the box is kinda a pain to open, Honey." He fiddles with it for a good few minutes, awkward but so very cute. "Ah okay, got it." He opens it, and it's a bat-shaped ring.

This is something you'd offhandedly mentioned when the TV had turned to those all-night infomercial types where they try to sell things to people. You had been wrapped up laying against his chest, one of the few nights that Ella slept in her own room since she sometimes psychs herself out and then she can't sleep.

"Look at that one, you want an old granny ring, Baby?" He had asked as a joke as he ran his hands through your hair, down your back, and down to your ass before going back up your body.

"No, God. I want something unique like a bat or something. Like most women get these big diamonds and shit, and I can only imagine how upset I'd be if I lost it."

"Hey? Earth's down here..." He waves a hand in your face, and you focus back on him. "Will you marry me or do you wanna wait until the state declares us married because we've lived together so long?" Eddie jokes with a nervous smile. Of course he's sure the answers yes but there's always the off chance you say no.

"Yes! Oh my god. Yes!" You kneel with him, kissing his face softly as he slips the ring on your hand.

"Mommy, I get to be flower girl?" Ella had been your friend's flower girl, and she had loved it so so much. Your friend had commented about how maybe Ella could be flower girl again once "Mommy gets married." And I guess that's now.

"Yes, of course." You reassure her. I guess forever with him is official, even if forever started ages ago when you sat next to the "weird" guy in high school who never has and never will judge you, the same way you won't judge him. DND campaigns, rock concerts, very odd yard decor, and everything else. He's been Ella's dad and your lover way before either of you fully knew what it meant. Forever would never be enough time with him, but it sure is a great place to start.