#goodbye note

Ah, such is the life of a lady working in Dock 1. You were part of the inventory keepers, noting when supplies arrived and where they'd go. Paulie the shipwright gambler, kept getting flustered over every little thing about your appearance when you two ran into each other during the same shift. At first, it bothered you, and if it weren't for Paulie seeming to be one of Iceburg's favourites, you would've tried drowning him. Then, someway, somehow, he grew on you.

"Oh please, I won't be distracting anyone." You wave your pen around dismissively. "Besides I even got bending down covered, I'm wearing shorts underneath, see."

You tease him and lift the hem of your dress to show him your black shorts. Paulie's nose exploded blood out, steam flying from his face. Giggling, you drop your dress' hem back down.

"I think you broke him, [Y/n]," Kaku commented, walking up to you.

"He'll be fine. Whatcha need?" You turn to your other co-worker.

"New shipment came from the West Blue," Kaku informed you, leaning closer to add, "Devil Water Pose."

Devil Water Pose... Devil Wanted Poster...

Looks like another assignment has been added, which means your time at Water 7 is closing. Who knew Nico Robin would come here...

"Got it." You nod, keeping your smile. Kaku tips his hat and leaves to help other workers.

"What was that about?" Paulie asked, lighting up a cigar and raising a brow at you.

"Oh, Kaku just let me know about some supplies that just came in. I should go mark that." You spin away, finding it hard to face Paulie.

Paulie stares at your back, mildly puzzled. Something felt off, you don't leave in a hurry like that, especially in high heels. Maybe he's just overthinking.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You sigh, sitting at the bridge near Galley-La, clipboard in hand. Clicking the pen several times, trying to brush away writer's block, you stare at the paper underneath all the pages you stuff into the clip. If only you had more time to write this.

"What got you all bummed out?"

"Ah!" You flipped the papers down to hide the final page. Looking up, you see him. "Paulie, you scared me."

"Sorry," he apologized and leaned back against the railing of the bridge. "You gonna tell me what you were writing?"

"A love letter for you," you tease.

"Don't joke about that!"

You giggled, amused by his flustered state, until you looked back at the clipboard. Your mood goes back down. "I... I am writing a letter, I'm just not sure how to write it."

"Who's it for?" Paulie inquired, puffing out some smoke.

"...Someone I care about, I won't be able to see them for much longer."

"How come?"

"Work reasons," you answered, keeping it vague.

"Shame."

"Yup..." You stare at the water canal, biting back your tongue.

"Why don't you take the day off tomorrow to spend time with them?" Paulie asks.

"He'll be busy."

Paulie grumbles beside you. "What a chump, leaving soon and not bothering to spend time with you."

You giggle at the irony. "I don't blame him, Paulie. It's just how things are." You hear the man huff beside you before you continue. "Besides, he probably doesn't realize I care about him... I... I've been a little distant, you know."

"Shouldn't matter if you've been distant, it matters if he cares about you. Otherwise, you're just wasting your time." Paulie put out his cigar. You hum, acknowledging his words, even if your dilemma is different. A hand rests on your shoulder, you glance at Paulie. "If means anything, all of us at Galley-La care about you, [Y/n]."

"Thank you, Paulie." You wrap your arms around him, catching Paulie off guard. If things were different, maybe you would've given more than a hug. "Thank you for caring about me."

Paulie halts his emotions, sensing there's more to your story than you're telling him. He returns the hug, not understanding why it feels like you're saying goodbye.

And he won't know, until he reads your letter after you're gone.

Stepping over the threshold into her apartment, Y/N drops her bags to the floor with a tired groan. The rain still pounds down outside, the sound echoing through the building. As a personal assistant to Tony Stark himself, Y/N’s working life is extremely busy. And since The Blip, she’s busier than ever, constantly being pulled into meetings with little time for herself. For the past few weeks, she’s been away at a conference with the surviving Avengers, working on a solution to The Blip. This is the first time she’s had to breathe in about a year. And that also means it’s the first time she’s been home since it all happened, since her boyfriend and some of her best friends turned to dust.

And she’s never felt so alone.

Of course, Y/N knows that dating an Avenger, let alone the Winter Soldier himself, comes with its own risk. Especially the risk he may never come home. But although it’s always been at the back of her mind, seeping into her every thought whilst he’s away on a mission… Bucky came back safe so many times that the worry dissipated. Foolishly, she believed he was indestructible, and that he’d always come home to her.

Until he didn’t.

Tears spring at her eyes then, and she furiously tries to wipe them away. She’s done enough grieving over the last year. Enough hoping that he’s coming back, only to end up disappointed. There’s only so much pain you can take before you can’t go on anymore. And Y/N crossed that line a long time ago.

The red light on her answering machine blinks back at her, and she sighs, rubbing her temples and closing her eyes, hoping that when she opens them, the light will be gone. But no matter how hard she tries, it’s still there, and she groans. The last thing she wants to hear right now is more “I’m sorry to hear about Bucky” and “We understand how much it hurts, but he’s in our thoughts.” Nobody will ever understand how much it hurts. Even the other Avengers. 

Because Bucky isn’t just in her thoughts. He’s everywhere. He still occupies the empty space in her bed, his laughter still fills the halls, his singing echoing from the shower. He’s the whisper in the wind, the faint scent of his cologne whenever she enters a room, and that still clings to her clothing like a safety blanket. He’s the shiver up her spine, the faint feeling of a hand holding hers, an arm wrapped around her waist.

It’s like he never even left.

Y/N presses the button, bracing herself for the onslaught of messages to come. “Hey sweetheart. It’s me-” As soon as she hears her mother’s voice, Y/N deletes the message. She’ll deal with her and her incessant questions later. She means well, of course, they all do. But the last thing she wants is to be pestered, reminded of her pain over and over again. They may mean well, but there’s nothing they can do. There’s nothing anyone can do. The other message is boring, a message about her car’s extended warranty that gets deleted almost immediately.

But when she hears the voice in the next message, she collapses to her knees. “Hey doll.” Bucky speaks. It's the first time she’s heard his voice - actually heard it - since he left. As soon as she hears him speak, she can see the smile on his face, and hear the laughter in his tone. Her presence always brought a smile to Bucky's face, even on his worst days. Because he loves her. …Loved her.

Hearing Bucky’s voice again, so soon after losing him, causes all her pent-up emotions to erupt, a year's worth of pain spilling over. As the first of her sobs break through, Bucky’s voice continues. “Just checking in to see how you are and keep you updated. Steve and the others are here…”

“Why didn’t I answer the call? I could’ve stopped them!”

“... and we have a game plan now to stop this asshole. Before you know it, I’ll be back home in New York with you, my favourite girl.” Her chest heaves, and she sobs even harder. “I miss you so much, though. The guys keep pestering me about it, but I don’t care. I love you, Y/N, and I want the entire world to know.” That sends her over the edge. A painful, anguished wail rips through her, the sound filling the room. Y/N’s full body shakes, and she clutches at her chest. “I hope you’re doing well and staying out of trouble.” Bucky chuckles. “Keep me updated. But I’ll see you soon enough, anyway.” 

“Why didn’t I answer? Why didn’t I answer?!”

“I better go, Steve’s shouting at me. Think the mission is about to start.” 

Y/N sits up, trying to grab the phone to dial Bucky’s number and tell him she’s still here, that she still loves him. Hoping that he’s there on the other side, waiting for her.

“Bye doll. See you soon. Love you always.” And then, the line goes dead, the dull beeping noise going right through her. Picking up the phone, she dials Bucky’s number, holding it to her ear as her heart pounds.

“Please… please…” she begs. "Just answer me Bucky... please."

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

“Hey! This is Bucky. I can’t talk right now, and I don’t really know how these things work.” He chuckles, the sound forming a small glimpse of warmth in her belly, and Y/N even laughs softly too. She was there when he recorded that message, her best efforts to teach him the wonders modern technology still not sinking in. Not that it matters now, though. None of it does. She just wants him back. “So I guess if you leave a message, I’ll call you back?”

And he always called her back. Even if it was a day, a week or even a month late. Bucky always called her back. But he won’t call back. Not this time. 

She tries to speak, to say something, anything, to Bucky's voicemail. If there's even a chance he could hear it, she wants him to know how much she loves him, and how much she misses him. Yet she can't say anything through her tears.

When the call disconnects, Y/N sinks to her knees, huddling into a ball as the sobs rack through her entire body. 

She’s alone again. 

And she always will be.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Dear Mom,

I’ve started this letter so many times that I’m sure permanently smeared ink will be embedded in my skin.

There was an outline, a plan even for this letter. I’ve structured it over and over to get it right. But I suppose there is no right way to say goodbye, is there?

Well, I’ve spoiled it. This is a goodbye letter of sorts. I’m not really sure who I’m saying goodbye to anymore. Which mother will be reading this piece of paper?

Will it be the mother you were before I turned nine? I miss her, you know. You were so sweet in the beginning. I still hold myself at night to remember your presence. I know Sam loves to touch, but you were big on touch, Mom. You taught us how to be gentle and leave gentle markings.

Do you remember the night you first read “Mi Burro enfermo” to us? I remember it—every single second. I remember you holding me tight, letting my chubby fingers touch the crinkled pages. Sam was pressed into my side, and you held us both, kissing our heads as Sam read to me. You would correct her ever so gently and praise her every time she got a word right. I think I was three. Even that young, I remember it all.

What happened there? When did you stop reading to us? Where did the mother with the kind hands and the sweet smile go? Why did you stop making our lunches and taking us to the bus stop?

Why did you start drinking?

I mean, we were not enough anymore? Mom, I was six. Six years old and helping Sam drag you inside so you didn’t freeze out on the front lawn. I remember learning how to make you throw up, just in case you stopped responding. Sam had to teach me to call 911 and check for your pulse. I was six, Mom. Six!

Did you ever think of us, what this would do to us? God, I know having a child born from a serial killer is terrible, but isn’t child neglect worse? I don’t know why you did this to us. I wonder every single day if I deserved that. You were my mami. I love you. Why couldn’t you love us?

Why couldn’t you love me

I know I cried a lot. I know I was noisy. I know I was too much. But I was a child—a baby. I didn’t know better. I just wanted my mami to love me again.

But your jealousy, god, I can still see it now. You always talked down to me as if I would always be around and be your little pawn. All I wanted was to love you. I wanted to love you and be loved back. But you pushed my love away like it was a loaded gun- and pushed me down time and time again. All you did was hold me underwater, breaking my resolve until I was a shell of myself.

Dad leaving was tough. I know. I saw. But I lived that too- I was there. I was eight years old, mom eight! I know he left, and I know he hurt you, even if you didn’t love him like you loved Billy. But why couldn’t you ever think about us?

First, you left me, then Dad, then Sam. You had to know that Sam going was the final straw. You had to hear me cry and scream, and break things. I know you saw me, red-eyes and shaking, begging for someone to stay. I remember those nights when I begged you to love me again. I was thirteen. God, was I stupid.

It really was no surprise that I would run. I’m just surprised that it took me so long. I mean, it's clear that I’m a masochist, constantly begging for love from empty people. I just can’t believe it took me this long to buck up.

But it was because of Sam. Never you. Don’t ever get that twisted. I never would’ve left if it wasn’t for her coming back. I was invested, Mom; I was going to stay in that stupid little town and take care of your sorry ass. God. I’m so glad I’m writing this now to tell you goodbye.

That’s right. Yeah. I’m leaving with Sam. We’re going to be far away from this hellhole of a town. I will never step foot in this town again, and I will never walk back into this house.

I don’t care what you think. If I wrote this a year ago, maybe I would feel guilty. But all I have left for you is rage. I can’t give you my sorrow or hurt anymore. It’s just red-hot rage.

The questions I have for you won’t get answered. I know that you were never keen on tying up loose ends. But don’t worry, your questions will never be answered either. I’m done with you.

Fuck you, Mom. Fuck you for all you’ve done to me.

Yet, I still love you. You’re my mom. I have a big sister who means more to me than you’ll ever know- but you’re still my mom. You’ll still be a part of me.

But you will never touch me again. Ever. Sam will make sure of that.

Goodbye, mom. Good luck.

Don’t forget to stick your fingers down your throat.

Love

From, Tara.

Putting the pencil down, Tara sighed deeply, her eyes closing. She roughly rubbed her face, trying to push the worry out of her skin. There was no reason to carry it around anymore.

Down the hall, she could hear Sam shuffling about, collecting the last of Tara’s bags.

“Are you ready to go, baby?” Sam called, lightly knocking on the door.

Flashing a smile at her big sister, Tara nodded.

“Yeah, I’m coming,” Tara calls back, hastily shoving the letter into an envelope.

Staring at the blank envelope, she pondered what to write. Christina felt too formal, but mom didn’t feel right. Taking the pen out, she scribbled a quick word on it and stuck the pen behind her ear.

Mami

As she left the room, she stared at the propped up envelope, wondering if it would ever be read.