#so yea. she um. she. died. sniffles. ngl i thought she was already dead from the prev update so this STUNG | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wienerbarnes · 4 years

Text

Telephone Line

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 1,449

Warnings: pretty sad ngl but not angst, mentions of death, mentions of cancer, these warnings sound bad but i promise its just kinda sad lol

A/N: ngl even i dont know where this came from lol but ill prob make a pt 2? if the idea i have strikes enough material for another part. enjoy anyways tho!

MAIN MASTERLIST

A deep orange hue shines through the cracks of his blinds as Bucky looks at the new shiny exterior of his new iPhone. Being too reckless on a mission led him to a cell phone cracked in two, resulting in him having to spend four hours at the Apple store all the way in Manhattan, quite a ways away from his apartment upstate.

Low trumpets flow softly through the speakers of his record player, a bold blue box that Sharon gifted him this year for his birthday. He hums to Marvin Gaye as he goes through the device in front of him, setting up account after account, typing in password after password. Gaye was a few decades after his time, but he won’t let it show in front of Sam how much he enjoys his music.

He downloads the mindless puzzle games he had on his previous phone and is thankful that the contacts that were in his old phone were able to be transferred for him.

He locks the phone and sets it aside before taking out the small sketchbook from the drawer in his desk. He also grabs a pencil from the cup sitting on the corner of the wood and flips his book open to a fresh page. A new hobby Bucky’s picked up since Steve’s passing.

His real passing. Not the one everyone sold to the world in order for him to live the rest of his life in peace in a cabin far away, probably crowded in trees and flowers; perhaps the house is where a rainbow begins or where the sky rains golden droplets. Bucky wouldn’t know, he never visited after seeing Steve as an old man after he returned the stones.

There wasn’t anger; Bucky and Steve spoke about his plans before he left and Bucky was happy for him, he was finally getting the life he deserved after so much time spent doing the “right” thing, and not what he wanted. It was a situation of feeling… weird and awkward around this new Steve. It was a completely different Steve with different experiences, different memories. A family. Kids and grandkids and great-grandkids. Photos probably hung on the walls of the house of people he wouldn’t recognize. He always wondered what happened to him in Steve's timeline. In other words, he wonders if Steve rescued him from Hydra and spared him the eighty years of torture. He wonders if there’s any pictures of him in Steve’s house. For Bucky, it became, “I’ll go visit him another day,” until, well, there weren’t any more chances.

A sketch of what he can remember Times Square to look like from this afternoon appears on the paper. Rough lines shaping out tall buildings and people, small squares to outline the pavement, bigger boxes to indicate the shapes of the numerous cars that filled the area. He reaches for his box of colored pencils in the side-drawer of the desk when the generic ringtone of his new phone belts out loudly.

A number that isn’t saved into his phone appears on the screen. A Brooklyn area code. Maybe all the contacts didn’t transfer themselves.

“Hello,” Bucky answers after swiping his right pointer finger along the slide bar.

A hitch of feminine breath is heard before a few seconds of silence, before the three beeps signaling the caller hung up. Probably an accident.

Bucky goes to pick up his pencil again before the tone is heard once more, the same number on the screen. An eyebrow quirks upwards and he answers the phone again.

“...Hello?” Bucky says once more. Again, he’s met with silence before being hung up on. Maybe not an accident, maybe a prank caller. I’ve had the phone for maybe six minutes and this is already happening.

The same number calls for a third time and Bucky debates even answering this time. He lets it ring three times before answering.

“Hello?” He asks, met with silence. “Listen, I’m not in the mood for prank callers, so if you don’t mind-”

“Who is this?” A quiet feminine voice finally answers through the speaker against his ear.

“Who is- What do you mean who is this? Lady, you called me first!” Bucky responds, already exasperated with the conversation.

“How did you get this phone number?” She asks, voice shakier than the first time she spoke.

“I got a new phone and they gave it to me? How else do you get phone numbers?”

“No, no, no. You don’t understand. This-this is my husband's number. It can’t be your new number!” The woman responds, voice cracking this time.

“Okay, okay, hey, relax. Maybe there was a mistake? Maybe your husband received a different phone number?” Bucky offers, not really wanting to play Tech Support as he draws to wind down his day before dinner.

“No! There wasn’t a mistake, my-my husband is dead! This was his phone number and-and-and I call it everyday once I-I get out of work! How did you get this number, why did they give his away?!” Pants and shaky breaths are heard between almost every other word as you start audibly crying on the phone.

Bucky’s eyes widen, not expecting that explanation. Great, a fruit gave away her husband to me.

“Hey, okay, take a breath.” Bucky suggests, and waits for her breathing to become a little more regular before continuing. “I’m sorry they gave me your husband’s number, it was randomly selected. I mean, I hope it wasn’t the last thing you had of his voice?” Bucky tries to offer.

“Of course it’s not,” You reply, voice sounding calmer now. “I just wasn’t expecting them to give away his number like that, it stayed for a few weeks so I thought,” a humorless chuckle, “I thought they’d let me keep it.”

“I’m really sorry about your husband. I, uh,” Bucky hesitates, questioning if he should be telling this emotionally unstable widow about his personal life, but continues anyway, “I recently lost someone important to me, as well. My best friend.” Bucky confesses, fingers toying with the circular edge of the back of the colored pencil.

A pause, “Can you tell me about him?”

“He, um, was a good guy. Real selfless. He was uh,” Bucky thinks of how to talk about Steve without actually leading to the fact that he’s talking about the former Captain America, “He was a bit older than me, and he passed away from health problems. Heart problems.” Bucky comes up, technically not a lie, his heart did stop when he died.

A small sniffle, “My husband passed away from lung cancer. The doctors told me there was no other hope for him; he needed a machine to help him breathe and a bunch of tubes in him to help him do everything else. So I asked the doctors to just…” You trail off.

A sudden deep sigh escapes her, the raspiness of her voice heard through the speaker and flows into his ear, “Sorry, I probably sound like a crazy person right now, calling her dead husband everyday just to hear his seven second voicemail.” You apologize, another humorless laugh following your words.

“I don’t think you’re crazy. I think you’re just trying to cope the best way you can. You miss him.” Bucky objects, still toying with the purple colored pencil in his hand.

“Um, yea.” You respond, probably not even expecting Bucky to actually listen to your rambling.

“What’s your name?” You ask.

“James.”

“Of course it is,” You mumble, eyes closing on the other side of the call.

“What was that?”

“I said, of course it is. That was my husband’s name, too.”

A sympathetic smile pulls at his mouth, even though you can’t see it.

“Listen, if you even want to call again, I don’t mind. I can either listen in silence, or we can talk, or, whatever you want. It’s okay.”

“Thanks, James. That’s nice of you.” You say, voice watery, but Bucky doesn’t mention it.

“I’ll, uh, let you go, James. Sorry for any bother.” He can tell you’re struggling to hold back tears with the way your voice is straining.

“No bother at all. Have a good rest of your night, okay?” Bucky bids her, hoping she will, but accepting that there’s a good chance this poor woman will be in tears for the rest of her evening.

“You, too.”

A couple seconds of silence follow before the call ends. Bucky sighs, locking his phone once more. He picks up the pencil in front of him, ignoring the small tremor in his fingers, and presses the pencil to the paper.

He thinks about her for the rest of the night.

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