mcu: "how silently" (Steve/Bucky, G)
Jan. 7th, 2015 05:14 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fannishlissIt’s not Christmas any more. It’s Epiphany now, the season of the star, the magi, the gifts, the long journey through darkness, a promise of dazzling light.
Steve remembers Christmas eves long gone, standing peaceful by his mother’s side — the beautiful, high tones of the boys’ choir, the echoing organ, the smell of candles — the cold of a stone church and the warmth of a crowd — the feeling of mystery, how one life long ago had irrevocably changed the world.
The church is dark and mostly empty, just another winter night, long and cold. Candles flicker near the altar. Without the sun to light them, the stories of the stained glass windows are silenced.
Steve kneels in a pew, trying to quiet his thoughts, if only for a while. He hasn’t sought confession since shortly after he woke up; he’s died and been reborn in a new age; one of his team mates has been worshipped as a god. Times have changed and so has he.
But kneeling in a quiet place is good for the soul, so he tries.
He has so much to be thankful for, he keeps reminding himself. Now more than ever, he has friends he trusts to watch his back: Natasha, Sam, Tony, Bruce— he’s not alone, and he’s deeply, deeply grateful for that.
But he has his petitions too, feverish, desperate demands that circle and circle and never quite fall silent:
keep him safe
let me find him
bring him home
dear lord, please, just bring him back to me, I’ll…
Sam tells him bargaining is a stage of grief, but he’s so deep in denial he can’t even admit that he’s grieving.
The old tunes, the old words, circle through his head, like weird, warped soundtracks to the painful images he can never unsee:
in the bleak midwinter, frosty wind made moan, earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone
his best friend’s face, frozen like a sculpture behind a pane of ice
let all mortal flesh keep silence, and with fear and trembling stand
the terror in his eyes, his deadly fist
Steve, on his knees, is begging. Bring him back, please. Oh, please.
Steve is rapt in the fervor of his prayer, on his knees, wringing his hands. The church is so quiet, not a footstep, not a rustle of cloth.
Then, he hears a breath.
how silently, how silently, the wondrous gift is given
A voice, tentative: “Steve?”
And all Steve’s prayers are released, flying upward like a flock of doves.
Steve’s eyelids flutter open, and joy enters in.
Steve remembers Christmas eves long gone, standing peaceful by his mother’s side — the beautiful, high tones of the boys’ choir, the echoing organ, the smell of candles — the cold of a stone church and the warmth of a crowd — the feeling of mystery, how one life long ago had irrevocably changed the world.
The church is dark and mostly empty, just another winter night, long and cold. Candles flicker near the altar. Without the sun to light them, the stories of the stained glass windows are silenced.
Steve kneels in a pew, trying to quiet his thoughts, if only for a while. He hasn’t sought confession since shortly after he woke up; he’s died and been reborn in a new age; one of his team mates has been worshipped as a god. Times have changed and so has he.
But kneeling in a quiet place is good for the soul, so he tries.
He has so much to be thankful for, he keeps reminding himself. Now more than ever, he has friends he trusts to watch his back: Natasha, Sam, Tony, Bruce— he’s not alone, and he’s deeply, deeply grateful for that.
But he has his petitions too, feverish, desperate demands that circle and circle and never quite fall silent:
keep him safe
let me find him
bring him home
dear lord, please, just bring him back to me, I’ll…
Sam tells him bargaining is a stage of grief, but he’s so deep in denial he can’t even admit that he’s grieving.
The old tunes, the old words, circle through his head, like weird, warped soundtracks to the painful images he can never unsee:
in the bleak midwinter, frosty wind made moan, earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone
his best friend’s face, frozen like a sculpture behind a pane of ice
let all mortal flesh keep silence, and with fear and trembling stand
the terror in his eyes, his deadly fist
Steve, on his knees, is begging. Bring him back, please. Oh, please.
Steve is rapt in the fervor of his prayer, on his knees, wringing his hands. The church is so quiet, not a footstep, not a rustle of cloth.
Then, he hears a breath.
how silently, how silently, the wondrous gift is given
A voice, tentative: “Steve?”
And all Steve’s prayers are released, flying upward like a flock of doves.
Steve’s eyelids flutter open, and joy enters in.
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no subject
Date: 2015-01-09 07:14 am (UTC)It’s Epiphany now, the season of the star, the magi, the gifts, the long journey through darkness, a promise of dazzling light.
I adore how you explain the spiritual meaning of the holiday along with the literal story elements.
Without the sun to light them, the stories of the stained glass windows are silenced.
And with this Bucky's absence is emphasized. Steve is so alone--on his own journey through darkness, with no promise that he'll find Bucky, the dazzling light he wants... except the sun will eventually come up, so it's possible Bucky will show up too. I'm so glad he did in this!
no subject
Date: 2015-01-09 10:13 pm (UTC)I think Steve and Bucky are compelling because they are wounded, and Steve's search for Bucky is the search for wholeness-- both for Bucky and for himself -- and that wholeness is explicitly about love, pure love. It grabs me pretty hard!
For my study class this week I am reading Psalms, and the ones where the psalmist is overwhelmed by his enemies remind me of Steve. Plus the keyword "shield" comes up a lot. :D
no subject
Date: 2015-01-09 01:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-01-09 10:13 pm (UTC)Yes, I almost always give a happy ending. :D