9 

FATHER

'𝕀'm sorry,' Luna said, barely a whisper. 

She was mortified at the scene that had been caused by her son and how with mere words, the friendship between Bucky and her had been snapped away. She couldn't believe it had happened, something so silly that had managed to complicate the pavement between them. She held her breath as she spoke again, shaking her head. 

'It's just⁠—' she breathed out. 'Just so absurd.'

She glanced at him, finally and couldn't help but marvel at his familiar glory. Every semblance Bucky held to her El'vira was shocking and she fought hard against her restraint. There was nothing more that she wanted than the feel of his lips against hers, tasting what she had missed for five years. Stupid, she mentally scolded herself right after. 

This wasn't her Eli. This was her neighbour, her friend: Bucky. Nothing more and nothing else. What they had was platonic and it was best to keep it that way. Best not to complicate it with foolish condolences and inadequate manners.

Bucky's blue eyes were molten with twinges of humiliation doting his cheeks. He pushed the hair behind his ear to grant her a small smile. 

'It's okay. He's a kid.'

Her lips stretched to a grateful smile and Bucky shrugged. Luna downed the remnants of the drink in her hand and looked around his apartment. It was just like hers but well-managed. A techier television, a more organized kitchenette and meagre bedroom with not much amenities. Kit was put down for a nap on his sofa, obviously, beat from the pressure he was put through from dawn. She smiled at her son, noticing how delicate he was despite the far-reaching power ingrained in him. 

She also placed a short stack of notes at the edge of the counter, her eyes taking in the battered form with intrigue. She started to wonder what he wrote in there - was it a log? Did he write about his day?

'I know what you're thinking,' Bucky cut into her thoughts and she snapped her gaze back to his. 'It's not a diary.'

'It was the only thing you had on you when you moved in,' she gave her notice. She grasped it was not a diary and if it were, he wouldn't place it out in the open for everyone's eyes. He pursed his lips in appreciation. 

'It's a journal. I have trouble keeping my thoughts intact. So whatever disbanded memories I recollect, I... I scratch it down.'

'You seem to remember quite a bit,' she murmured, judging the size of the growing papers. Bucky laughed through his nose, shaking his head.

'Not even close,' he shared. 'It's the bad ones that⁠—'

'⁠—that keep coming back,' she finished for him. She looked him dead in the eye. 'I know how you feel.'

'You don't,' he said, his voice edging to a growl. This woman could never relate to a small percentile of the things that he had caused and that befell him. To live with it, above all, was the most frustrating part.

'I watched my planet burn and do nothing but escape like a coward,' she said, her eyes burning with intent. The gold in her eyes suddenly seemed to have come alive, Bucky's intrigue rising a fraction. 'I could've helped them all. But I chose to survive.'

Bucky fell silent.

'That's what it is. Survival of this fittest,' she laughed scornfully. 'I chose to defend Ka'rier and dishonour my people. All for the sake of vestige. Don't you see it? We're the same. Starting over from whatever we have left.'

'I have nothing left,' he choked out, speaking through his teeth. 'You've got a son. You've got a balanced mind. All I have is a programmed brain and the liberty of escape.'

'You have yourself,' she stated firmly. 'It's time you got a grip. Moved on and start new with an absolved mind.'

It was bitter to fear the truth. Bucky felt his hand clench over the table, hanging his head to conceal the terse gritting of teeth that curated the anger. This alien woman thought it was simple. So simple to reach absolution when the only domination in his life was resistance to the pain. He couldn't run from it ever.

'Bucky.'

'You know nothing about me,' he hissed at her.

Her features remained unfazed. 'I wasn't⁠—'

He looked at up at her eyes which had turned sympathetic, her buttery amber eyes gleaming brighter than the lamp over their heads. He hated that this woman was making him feel vulnerable all over and succumb to something he never wanted. He was angry, he was afraid and he hated it. In contempt for hurting her back, he lashed out with the first words that hit his tongue.

'Kit saw his father in his nightmare,' he shared darkly. 

The past few hours had passed like thousands of camera shells per second displayed at once. Bucky watched Luna's perfect features turned down, her breaths shallow as she struggled to compose herself. A gradual tear dribbled down her chin as she fought to let her words take flight.

'He' her voice was breaking, 'he lives?'

He took in a breath, censuring. 'Yes.'

The realization of Bucky's actions laved over her and her features twisted into pain. He heard it; a soft cry that left her as she palmed her mouth.

'Luna,' he regretted instantly, his heart clenching and skipping a beat. 'I didn't⁠—'

Luna raised a hand to silence him, her golden eyes glossier than the last second. Brushing a knuckled under her eyes to wash off the tears, she rose up loudly from the chair, storming to the couch where Kit was sleeping and gently pulling him into her arms. 

Bucky made a move to stop her, rising from the chair to stick out his arm and blocking her exit. He didn't know what to say, his fear stopping him from a necessary apology. He blurted out the next best.

'I didn't mean it.'

'I did,' she whispered regardless. 'I meant every word I said.'

He didn't say anything more as she pushed his arm out of the way, to walk across the hall and let the door shut softly behind her. He refused to let this feeling of persecution take him over, willing to make this most normal thing to have happened.

His mind was numb and the world that was so close around him yet seemed so far away. He despised this loss of stability and having to go through because of one stupid secret from his neighbour. Not one of his excuses to push away the hurt worked against making him feel like shit. Because when morning came, it was as if they never existed.

By morning, the Shears were gone.

★