Light
Trigger Warnings: Prevailing theme is of a continuous trigger for bad memories, fairly brief paragraph about what the trigger brings up, but nothing too heavy. Exploration of feeling anxious and what helps Bucky talk himself down.
Click.
For the first month of being together, that noise consistently set Bucky's teeth on edge.
He'd of course grown so good at hiding his reactions to things that he never let on, he never visibly jumped, he never snapped, he never lost control. He'd simply search out the sound, and once he spied her nearby, he relaxed.
Click.
He had a handle on it and that's what mattered. She didn't know, and it didn't affect her. The last thing he wanted was to stop her going about her everyday life.
Click.
Of course that month was a bit blurry, they were yet to agree on their "start" date. They blended so seamlessly from friends to lovers that it almost didn't matter. It was as if one moment they were strangers, and the next, it almost seemed like they'd always been together.
Bucky noticed though, the first day when the line was drawn in the sand. The before and after was in a coffee shop.
It was perhaps date number four, five if they counted the library trip as a date. She liked to count it and he liked that she counted it, so basically it was date number five.
They entered the coffee shop at about 2pm, expecting a quick stop, on the way to the park. But then they'd found the table in the back corner, tucked away under a small window. That precise location comforted them both in different ways which paved the way to a perfect fifth date.
Bucky could see the door and everyone in the place, everyone that came and went, and also they were next to the small kitchen, which contained a door that led out into the adjacent alleyway. So he was able to relax into the corner of the bench, his arm draped around the back of her, as she sat with her elbows rested on the table top, her feet swinging underneath them.
And she had the perfect view to people watch, a state she was used to slipping into by herself, and also nobody could possibly watch her without her knowing it. So within half an hour she had relaxed into their spot, eventually nestling herself into the crook of his arm, the warmth of the sun hitting the back of their heads from the high vantage point of the window above them.
They both got so comfortable that they settled into a rhythm with each other, as if they had melded into one. As soon as they finished their coffees, Bucky stood to go get more drinks without asking, knowing without asking that she wanted to stay longer. He returned with a pot of tea for her, and another cappuccino for him, finding her typing on her phone, her brow furrowed, her tongue caught between her lips.
He didn't have to look to know she was writing something, her thumbs were typing faster than he thought possible, and she barely noticed him sitting back down at all. Bucky also knew not to interrupt her writing, and he didn't mind at all; they were already comfortable with each other's silences. So he carefully made her first cup of tea, and sat back to begin drinking his own coffee, his fingertips brushing her shoulder blade as he moved his arm back around her.
Several minutes passed by, and he took a leaf out of his girlfriend's book and started people watching. He quickly realised why she liked it so much, and felt a calm spread through him, much like the feeling of warmth spreading through you if sat in one space on a summer's day.
Click.
He had drifted so far into his mind in the past twenty minutes that he didn't have a chance to brace himself against the noise, and this time she felt him jump, his arm touching her as it was.
He remembered her setting her camera on the table top and asking him if he was ok, her tone curious and bordering on laughing; of course she didn't know at that point why the noise of a camera shutter would affect him. But that first time he'd managed to brush her off, leaning forwards to see what she'd taken a photo of. And moments later, she tucked her camera away back in her bag, and that's when he learned she didn't go anywhere without it. From that moment on however, he had always managed to stay focussed, never allowing himself to slip up again.
That photo was the wallpaper on his laptop, which he paused to look at now, sitting in her front lounge. She'd captured the sunlight arching through one of the coffee shop windows, glinting off the rim of her teacup, the flowers in a vase on the table behind the cup. Every time he saw it he felt a hint of that same warmth in his chest, and it made him think of the rest of that date. The walk through the park, the smell of the fresh cut grass, her hand held in his, and the taste of her lips when he kissed her goodbye when they reached her front door.
He still hadn't told her about the camera shutter noise; the way it made his mind spiral to things in his past. A gunshot at a Hydra base as he followed Steve into battle. The clash of metal debris falling around him as he stared across at Steve through the fog of the collapsing warehouse as they faced down Red Skull. The sounds the drills made when Hydra fixed on his arm for the first time, him drifting in and out of consciousness the entire time.
Click.
But this time was different. Again his attention was so tucked away he hadn't kept himself braced and he jumped as the sound issued from the door way, and he turned his head in time to see her lower the camera, her eyebrow arched as she moved towards the couch to join him.
"I didn't ask the first few times because we were only just getting to know each other, but it keeps happening." She placed the camera on the coffee table, and sat down next to him, tucking her feet underneath her.
Bucky took in the concerned expression on her face then leaned forwards, moving the laptop from his knee onto the table as well; he knew her well enough already to see from the expression on her face that she wasn't about to let this go. And he did owe her an explanation.
So he told her, about when his mind drifted, and how he constantly braced himself, and how sounds like that affected him. And during him speaking, her own expression changed, he realised from thoughtfulness to realisation, and when he finished she smiled at him.
"I thought it must be something like that." She picked the camera back up, flicking on the screen.
"I started to stop myself from taking photos around you just because I had a feeling, but I couldn't help myself this time."
She turned the camera, showing him the photo she'd taken of him. The glow of the laptop lighting his face, his hair falling from where he'd tucked it behind one ear, and the small smile that had overtaken his features. A smile he realised, that had been brought on by looking at the photograph she'd taken in the coffee shop.
Bucky gently took the camera from her, moving it back to the table, then lifted her legs and pulled her across the couch towards him. His hands drifted up her legs and settled on her waist, and he pressed a kiss to her lips, before pulling her into a hug.
She curled against him, her legs over his, nestling her head under his chin. They both laughed a little as they both sighed simultaneously, and Bucky smoothed his hand up and down her arm.
"Hey," He started, hugging her body to his chest, "Please don't stop taking photographs."
He felt her cheek move against his collar bone as she smiled.
"Ok, as long as you're sure." She told him, her fingers playing with the string on his hoody.
"I'm sure about you, doll."
His eyes found his laptop again, and imagined they were back in the coffee shop, and as soon as he focussed on the weight of her against him, and thinking of the warmth of the sun of that day, the smell of the roasted coffee beans, that feeling of calm began to edge out the small dregs of panic remaining in his chest from the camera shutter, and the world began to right itself once more.
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