64Plums
Steve was grateful that he'd found Bucky when he did. The winter had come in bitterly cold, and as the temperatures dropped and snow piled up outside, Steve couldn't imagine his best friend enduring the cold out there on those streets alone.
But he wasn't alone. He lived with Steve, in the little apartment outside D.C. proper, and he generally made himself scarce and quiet if he could. Steve's task was to slowly, gently, lovingly coax him back out of that shell.
Spring dawned bright and sunny, and Bucky was adjusting. It's not so much that Bucky didn't understand the concept of wants and needs—nor that he'd forgotten how to express them. It was more that he knew these things, but years and years of torture and mistreatment had taught him to be afraid of speaking out.
So Steve had done his best to create an environment where it was safe, and even rewarded, for him to make his needs and opinions known. And Bucky was responding.
To an untrained eye, it might have been hard to spot; but to Steve, it was visible in the little things. It was the choices of color on cake frosting, the choices of books to read off of Steve's shelf, the choices of little things to do in his spare time—whether that was to play darts or write in his notebooks or sit by the window and watch people go by.
Bucky even showed preferences in the clothes Steve gave him, wearing some pieces as often as they were clean and hardly touching others at all. (Steve had yet to deduce whether this was because of comfort, familiarity, a sign of favorite colors, or some other factor, but he was determined to find out.)
And fruits. Bucky definitely had preferences in fruits.
"Steve?" he'd asked one day, stalking up silently behind him as he always did.
Steve would never get tired of hearing Bucky start conversations. Nor would he get tired of hearing his own name in his best friend's voice.
"Yeah, Buck?" he answered, turning around in the armchair to face him.
Nor would he get tired of saying that.
Bucky nodded mutely at Steve, acknowledging the reply, then turned and stared into the kitchen.
Steve couldn't see the kitchen from where he say, so he stood up, careful not to make too much noise and startle him. "What are you looking at, Bucky?"
He stood at his friend's side, and Bucky kept looking. Steve matched his gaze and studied the empty kitchen, trying to figure out what had changed and caught Bucky's attention.
"Oh, the fruit bowl?" guessed Steve.
The ceramic bowl was visible from where they stood. It had been mostly empty for several weeks over the winter, save maybe a few bananas. Steve had restocked it recently with oranges, apples, pears, and a bunch or two of grapes. Bucky was sure to have noticed the difference.
Bucky turned and fixed Steve with the serious, slightly petulant look that meant he wanted an explanation.
"Yeah, fruit's in season now," Steve explained. He shrugged one shoulder. "Stores carry it cheaper now that they don't have to import it from so far. It's usually in better quality, too."
Bucky had started to duck his head slowly. Steve smiled. He knew what that meant.
"Was there something you wanted, Bucky?" he asked, keeping his voice low and warm.
Bucky looked up.
Score.
"Name it," invited Steve. "I can run out and get almost anything now."
Bucky nodded, his eyebrows furrowed. He stared at his flesh hand and curled it in, as if approximating the size of the fruit in his hand. "Um..."
He shook that hand as if trying to jog the memory. "Puh..." he mouthed, then reacted to some kind of internal question. "Purple...?" he asked slowly, acting as if he'd like more words to describe it.
So, purple, and about the size of a small apple. "Plums?" guessed Steve.
Bucky's eyes lit up. "Plums," he whispered eagerly.
I want plums!
Now that put a mile-wide smile on Steve's face. He brought home a whole bag of plums later that day and watched, not wanting to interfere, as Bucky sniffed each one at the stem, then picked out three and washed them.
He looked so normal, just taking care of himself and rinsing off the little fruits one at a time, that Steve could have cried.
He leaned on the open doorway to the kitchen and felt like he stood on the edge of a blissful little world that wasn't his to touch, watching as Bucky sat down at the kitchen island with his plate of plums.
Steve didn't dare move. If Bucky remembered his presence, what if it burst the little bubble of normal life he'd finally gotten to touch?
Bucky bit into the first plum.
Steve would never forget the tiny smile that appeared on Bucky's face. He would never, ever forget it, and he swore then and there that he'd do anything to put that same smile back on his best friend's face, even if he had to do those godawful USO shows all over again.
He loved that smile.
From that day forward, the fruit bowl always had plums.
A/N: Welcome to Tales from the Apartment, your daily dose of Bucky being amnesiac and adorable and Steve loving his friend entirely too much. I have a bunch of story fragments like this one that were too small to be their own stories or one-shots, so I think I'm gonna compile them all here.
I am posting from Malaysia, where the FanFiction site is banned (eep!), so I'm using the app instead. My apologies if there are any format issues.
No promises for a consistent update schedule, but I'll get them out as often as I can. (If you can think of something sweet and everyday for Bucky to react to, drop a suggestion in the reviews, and I just might write it.) I hope you enjoy!
