Chapter 3- It's Like A Dark Paradise

Bucky's been numb since the moment Steve left.

He had crawled into bed, took one last look at the picture next to his bed and drank until he passed out. The vodka had swirled around in his brain until he could no longer see straight, could no longer keep his blurry eyes open.

Next thing he knows, his eyes are fluttering open, and an all-too familiar voice is yelling at him.

"What the fuck did you do, Bucky?"

Bucky groans, unable to handle the sheer intensity of the voice in his ear.

"Huh?"

Bucky takes a second to remember what happened the day before. It's hard to think about, the way Steve's face contorted in disgust. Disgust at Bucky's behaviour. But Bucky can't say why he's doing it. He just can't.

"Steve called me yesterday, crying, asking me why I bothered to send him here yesterday. He didn't tell me the specifics, but I got enough."

"Enough to pin all the blame on me."

Natasha frowns. "That is not what I said."

"So the 'what the fuck did you do, Bucky?' was just an expression?"

She sighs softly. "I just want to know what happened."

Bucky strains himself to remember the catalyst of that dreadful day, wondering what had come first. "Steve saw some drugs. And it caused an argument. Obviously. So I didn't exactly do much of anything. He completely overreacted."

"Bucky…"

He throws his hands up in the air. "Fine, maybe it was both our faults. I should've cleaned up, and he should've stayed long enough to hear me out rather than running…again."

Natasha brushes hair from her face and clasps her hands together. "I suppose that's fair."

Bucky nods with a scowl. "Damn right it is." And then, softer: "What are you going to tell Steve?"

Natasha purses her lips and shrugs. "Exactly what happened here. Look, Bucky, Steve is too polite to tell anyone this, but I can see this is wearing him thin. The only reason he hasn't moved out of state is because he loves you so damn much. And we know you're going through something, but if you want him back you need to start trying to deal with it. Is that what you want?"

"To deal with it? Or to get Steve back?"

A small smile flickers onto her face, as though she's seeing the old Bucky for just a second. It's not long enough to concentrate on it, but it's there and that's what's important. "One is generally conducive to the other."

Bucky feels a chill pass through his body. "I want him back, Nat. I want to go back."

Natasha shuffles a little closer, heart beating quickly. "I know that it's not what you want, but you can talk to me. About whatever happened between the two of you. About what happened to you."

Bucky sits deathly still, blank-faced. His heart too thuds violently in his chest.

Natasha blinks a tear from her eye. "I know that something must have happened to you, and not Steve. The signs are there. He's depressed, but you're…broken. You're my oldest friend and I hate seeing you like this knowing there's nothing I can do for you.

"And I know that things take time and you'll process whenever your mind and body trust that you're ready. But in the meantime, please look after yourself."

Bucky loses it at those words, the last four Steve spoke to him before he had left.

Please look after yourself.

He throws himself forward, muffling his violent sobs in Natasha's lap. Her fingers thread through his hair and for a second her touch is gentle enough that he could pretend they're Steve's. He remembers the sensation all too well, but with the nice sensations come the ugly ones, the garish truths that always lurk around every corner, just waiting for Bucky to say "Fuck it" and welcome back his unholy vices with the sharp, crisp sound of a line of cocaine disappearing into his body.

It's how he deals, and it's worse doing something while knowing that you shouldn't be. There's no adrenaline rush of doing something taboo, just the painstaking guilt that whips across his body like a tornado.

And now he's letting his emotions go, unable to piece together the gloomy, emotionally bereft façade that he's been carrying around with him for the past five months.

Natasha's tender hand rubs a small circle into his back, the other still tangled up in his freshly-washed hair. She listens as Bucky unleashes some anguished noises that are truly agonising for her to listen to. She collects herself, knowing that she needs to be there for him in this moment more than any. After everything they've been through together, she'll let him cry for as long as he needs to. She quickly takes a moment to congratulate herself for not bringing Clint along to this particular session.

Bucky feels no embarrassment when he lifts his head and sees the tear stains he's left. It's Natasha, they can do anything in front of each other and there's no judgement, especially not in cases like this. If it were anyone else, Bucky would have apologised profusely and pulled himself together.

"Thank you."

Natasha just nods, not knowing precisely which words will help at this moment in time. Her presence is enough for now and her encouraging smile.

"Nat, I…I'm not sure Steve is going to want me back."

Natasha pulls her lips into a tight line. "He'll get over the drugs, Bucky. He knows you're hurting, it just caught him off guard."

Bucky fidgets, unblinking. "Not that, because of what happened. It was bad and I know I really hurt him. But I want you to know that I did not want to. Ever. It was complicated. There was no way Steve wasn't going to get hurt."

Natasha's known Bucky for long enough that she knows that this isn't an invitation to ask him about the situation with Steve, but more a reassurance that Bucky's intentions were pure, and that he still loves Steve. Which she already knows from the goofy smiles that come from the frame on his bedside table.

"I can call him, Bucky. Set up another meeting."

Bucky sniffles, reaching for the tissues he wisely knows to keep on hand. "I really want that, but I don't know how I'm going to keep myself from blowing it again."

"I know this might be the hardest thing you could possibly do, but try and be honest with him. You know Steve, you know how annoyingly accepting he is. You've both had time to process whatever happened and to see what life without each other is like. You're both miserable, and willing to work it out. Just be honest."

Bucky knows that Natasha's version of 'be honest' and his version are different. Hers include hypothetical honesty with no real bearings about what he would be owing up to. Bucky's version includes reaching into the deepest part of his soul and ripping it open, letting the madness spill out all over the place until Steve inevitably runs away again. And Bucky wouldn't blame him, he would probably do the same.

He knows that's not what Natasha wants to hear, so he settles for a "I'll try" whispered under his breath.

"How's tomorrow?"

Bucky nods sharply. "Could you also tell him that I'm sorry about yesterday?"

Natasha lightly shakes her head. "I think that's something you should tell him."

"Right. Thanks, Nat. I love you."

Natasha ruffles his hair. "I love you too, Bucky. I'll text you with a time."

And with that, Natasha cracks open his window and slips out of it, leaping onto the grass below.

Bucky still doesn't understand why she doesn't just use the door. He's about to give up trying to figure that one out.

With thoughts of Natasha's information delivery swirling around his brain, Bucky decides to go through everything she told him.

Fact One: Steve was crying when he called.

That could have been mere hyperbole, but Bucky knows Steve better than anyone, he definitely would have been crying. When Steve's emotions run too high, he just weeps. Happiness, anger, sadness, disgust, disappointment, bitterness. Bucky stops there before he lists any more adjectives in his mind that apply to how he had made Steve feel yesterday. That's not a particularly enjoyable door for him to open.

Or maybe that had showed how much Steve still cares for him. There's an optimistic part of Bucky's brain that has dealt with the past few months and tries to deliver rational information to the other, more cynical parts of Bucky's brain, which reject it immediately. But for a fraction of a second, there's a lifeline; a port in the storm where Bucky can have just a second of believing that he and Steve can recover from their situation. And then the darkness sweeps that optimism under the rug and uses the rug to suffocate him. Then it's back to negativity, the disbelief, the resentment. Of himself and Steve, which he knows isn't fair to the other man. It's just the way that it is.

Bucky, with no help from his brain, decides to settle on Steve's overwhelming disgrace and anger causing him to overflow with negative emotions and cry on the phone to Natasha, wondering why she had bothered to send him over to Bucky's in the first place.

Then Bucky arrives at Fact Two: Steve hadn't gone into specifics.

Hadn't that been what Natasha had said?

Steve had chosen not to tell Natasha about the drugs for whatever reason that might have been for.

He cares for you, dumbass, the shiny, happy, part of his brain is chanting, like the only rose in a bed of thorns.

He's probably just ashamed of you, the dominant section pipes up when it gets the chance. Bucky takes that irresistible feeling of darkness and latches on it, running wherever the thought train takes him. He didn't want to tell Nat because he didn't want to remind himself that he ever loved in the first place. Someone who breaks down and is too weak to start back up again. Steve isn't one to dwell on things that make him unhappy, and you're one of those things. You were always going to be, you're such a fuck up, Bucky.

Bucky grits his teeth and slaps his palm to his forehead. The voice is silenced momentarily. But it'll be back, precisely at the time Bucky needs it the least. That's just how it works with him now.

When he has room to breathe, Bucky stands and the makes the bed. He doesn't know where he's headed, but it feels nice to have something look organised to make up for the chaos that crackles in his mind.

He takes a walk through his apartment, surveying every tiny inch of it for incriminating things that Steve won't want to see tomorrow. He's made sure that every tiny morsel of cocaine dust is gone from the table, as well as every other one of his hotspots. He even vacuums twice, just to make sure.

He goes to bed that night only thinking of Steve, praying that he would be in a good headspace tomorrow. He's going to bed sober for the first time in a while, and wonders if that's going to make much of a difference to his overall demeanour. He just hopes to not have any nightmares tonight.

Even though he knows that once Steve knocks on his door, it's all going to mean nothing because Steve will be the only thing he's concentrating on.

He takes a deep breath.

"This is going to be okay," he mutters to himself as his eyes droops closed, his lips twisting in mid-sentence as his brain sends him to sleep.

With no alcohol pumping in his blood, Bucky will have a restful night.

He will dream only of Steve.