From Darkness

The night air felt like ice. The sky was clear, and the stars were bright. My fingers were frozen, and my lungs ached from crying. My chest still felt heavy, breathing was difficult. Then I finally heard footsteps on the dirt behind me. I expected Bucky, but it wasn't. The steps were too soft, and the hand that came to my shoulder was gentle. She knelt down beside me and gathered me in her arms.

My mom told me that everyone mourned differently. And like most things in my life, I grieved alone. I didn't like people seeing me cry. I hated it so much I rarely even did that alone. But sitting there in the dirt after everything that had happened, I couldn't stop it anymore. It was as if it had all built up, and the dam finally broke from the pressure. I clutched at her, sobbing, and she held me like a mother. With her arm around me and her hand cradling my head as she cried alongside me.

I heard footsteps in the dirt again. She shook her head, and they stopped.

"We should take him home," she said. "We'll figure it out there."

I didn't know what he'd been about to say, but he held back. She stood up, and then Bucky replaced her at my side. He took my arms and guided me back to my wobbly feet. And once I was standing, his hands were on my cheeks. He rubbed his thumbs under my eyes: one bare and one gloved. I looked up at him, and all those emotions came flooding back. All the things I'd been trying so hard to hold in. Not just pain and fear. I gripped my fingers in his sweater and remembered what Ivan said to me before we left. Not to make the same mistakes. Not to waste my time.

So the words, "I love you," slipped out in a whisper before I could stop them. If he was shocked, he didn't show it. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to my forehead.

"I know," he said. "And I love you too."

Then he wrapped his arm around my shoulder and led me back to the car. He took me to the front seat and allowed Dana to crawl into the back. He made sure I was seated and then went to take his place behind the wheel. I shut my eyes and listened to the sound of Dana quietly sniffling in the backseat.

The older woman must have heard the car on the road before we even reached the property. She was already waiting for us out front when we came into sight. Bucky took the car right to the front, and I stepped out the moment we were stopped. Dana cried the entire ride back, and my stomach felt sick and hot like I was going to vomit.

I wondered how things would have played out if I hadn't shot him. If we'd come to this place and Ivan and Dana could have rekindled whatever they'd had before. They both could have had a chance to be happy. But I took that away from them. All because I'd lost control and got my hands on a gun.

"Dziaucyna," the older woman said as I walked up the door. She held out her hands, and I went right to her. She moved my hair back and held my face in her hands, studying me. She knew what happened without any of us speaking. "Come," she said.

She pulled me into the house and over to the kitchen table. She put her hands on my shoulders and pushed me down into a chair. I plopped down in defeat. She'd purposely sat me with my back to the door, so I couldn't see Bucky carrying Ivan in like a baby again. She went to make tea, and then I felt him touch my back as he took the seat beside me.

"I murdered my own father," I told him as I studied the pattern on the tablecloth.

He pulled me against him, and I melted into his arms. I dropped my head to his shoulder and buried my face in his neck. Then it all came rushing back again—another wave of misery. I took a gulp of air and sobbed. He held me close and didn't let me go, even when she came back with Dana and four mugs of tea. I didn't care that they could see my crying. Hydra wanted to break me, and it seemed like they finally had.

"What should we do?" Dana asked quietly.

"It's up to Jo," Bucky told her. She stroked my back, comforting me even though she was hurting too.

"He needs to go home," I said, sniffling against Bucky's neck and soaking his sweater in tears. "My mom and grandma will want to have him home. It's where he needs to be."

"How do we do that?" she asked.

"Stark," Bucky replied. "We find a way to get a message to him. Jo and I will disappear."

"We'll keep him here for now. I can contact Stark. I'll tell him that I never saw either of you. You haven't been here long anyway. I'll just say Ivan came injured and alone."

"You think you can handle lying to him? He's good."

"You forget I've been running from Hydra for the last thirty years. I've dealt with men scarier than Tony Stark."

"It might work," I said. "But we might not be able to come back here. Stark will keep tabs on them once he knows who they are."

"That's not a problem. You said we're not in danger anymore. Not in as much, anyway. Having Stark on our side might be a blessing. I can handle him."

"Then we should leave as soon as possible," Bucky continued. "Find a place to lie low for the rest of the night. Get Stark here as soon as possible."

"Where will you go?"

"I haven't decided. But it's probably best if you don't know." I trusted her not to spill to Tony, but I also trusted Tony to try to make her. She sighed heavily.

"Just know that you both have a place here. If you ever need to come back. You'll be welcome. We'll find a way to help you," she said.

"Thank you."

"I'll get some things together for Johanna."

"I appreciate it." They both left us alone, but Bucky made no effort to move. He held me as I clutched at him like he was all I had left. And given that everyone I did have, for the most part, was across the ocean, he kind of was all I had left.

"Dziaucyna," the older woman said as she returned. She sat down beside me in the seat Dana had vacated. I pulled away from Bucky, and she took my hand to place it on top of a book she'd set on the table. She told me something in Belarusian that I couldn't understand.

"It's a cookbook," Bucky translated. "Family recipes. She wants you to have it. You're her only grandchild." I squeezed her fragile fingers.

"How do I say thank you?" I asked him.

"She understands that word."

"I know, but how do I say it?"

"Dzaikuj."

"Dzaikuj. Babulia," I repeated to the best of my ability. She smiled and took my face in her hands. She said more words that I couldn't make out, but she knew Bucky would translate for me.

"She's sorry this visit was so short, but she's glad to have gotten to know you. And she wants you to come back and see her again." He paused to listen to whatever she was adding to it, but he didn't translate. She turned her eyes on him expectantly, and he stuttered to get the words out. His body had gone tense and uncomfortable. He really didn't want to say it, but she prodded him until he did. "And she said—when we have children—she wants to meet them." When not if.

"Oh," I replied. That's all I could get out. He leaned over and told her something that seemed to satisfy her. She got up, wobbling on her feet, and said something else as she walked off.

"She's going to find some pictures for you."

"Alright." I waited for her to leave before talking. I was still leaning against his chest, wrapped in his arms. He didn't seem to want me to move, and I definitely didn't want to. But I was glad I couldn't see the expression on his face. "What did you tell her?"

"I just told her what she wanted to hear. Sometimes that's the best way," he admitted.

"Yeah." He finally shifted so I had to move to let him go. He ran his hand up my back again, and I went back to studying the book in front of me. It was utterly incomprehensible to me.

"You should say goodbye," he told me. "To him." I nodded.

"I know."

I sniffed and held the book in my hands as if it were precious to me. I couldn't read the words, but Bucky could. I was never skilled in the kitchen. In fact, I pretty much hated it. But I'd cherish it anyway. And maybe I'd learn how to make the things they liked just to honor them in some way.

I knew almost nothing about Ivan, I realized. Not who he really was. I hadn't even started calling him by his real name until that morning. I didn't know what he liked to eat or what his childhood was like. I'd always known him as my commanding officer. He'd only been my father for two months. And I'd never been given enough time to ask him. It was my fault that I never could.

Bucky stood and kissed the top of my head before he helped me up. I clutched the book to my chest as he led me through the kitchen to the cracked-open bedroom door.

"Are you ready?" he asked. I shook my head, staring at the dulled wood floor instead of him.

"No."

"If you don't do it now, and we leave, you'll never get another chance." I nodded.

"He's not really in there anymore. I never believed in that kind of thing."

"Me either. Not anymore." I took a deep breath. "But you might regret it if you don't do it now. You'll never get another chance to take it back. And I do know a thing or two about not getting second chances."

"I know."

"Do you want me to leave you alone?" I shook my head slowly.

"No."

"I'll be with you."

He pushed the door open, and I followed him in. Ivan had been returned to his place on the bed. Under the blankets and propped up against the pillows, he looked like he was just sleeping. But his face had gone from splotchy and red to pale. When I sat down to take his hand, it was already going cold.

I didn't know what I could say. Bucky said I should say goodbye, but it didn't feel right. We said what we wanted to say. He made sure of that because he knew he wasn't going to make it. So the only words I could think of were apologies. I had to take deep, full breaths just to find my voice. But it was no use. I was glad Bucky couldn't see my face from where he stood behind me. I didn't want to be alone, but I didn't want him to see me fall apart.

He told me that I might regret it if I never said the words. I'd never get another chance to say what I needed to say. Even if he was no longer there to hear me or argue with me. So I sniffed back tears and took another deep breath. I squeezed the cold, lifeless hand.

"I'm sorry, Dad," I said. "For everything." Then I leaned forward and kissed his cheek. When I stood, I pulled the chain with the two gold rings from my pocket and over my head. I tucked it into the front of my shirt, and Bucky's hand went to my back. He kissed my head.

"My little sister is alive," he told me. I looked up at him.

"What?"

"She lives in San Diego. I went to see her once. But she," he shook his head, "she looks different. A little old lady now. I couldn't—I couldn't bring myself to talk to her. I don't even know if she knows I'm alive."

"Do you wish that you had?" He took my hand and brought it to his lips.

"I don't know how much time she has left. Or if I'll ever get another chance to talk to her. I regret it every day." Then he pulled me to him and kissed my forehead.