For someone who's spent almost ten years in near complete solitude, Amel is surprisingly charming and personable.
This becomes very clear when Tony, having given up on trying to convince her to become his next experiment, though Bucky is certain he's only biding his time, decides to gather the rest of the team for an impromptu dinner at his penthouse.
Four days have passed since Amel's sudden arrival, during which time the others had been gone on respective missions. They're home now, all except Natasha, and appear to be completely smitten with the little she-wolf, much to Bucky's disliking.
Toward the end of the evening they practically corner him. And there's no hesitation or reluctance in their curiosity regarding Amel.
"Can she fight? She looks like she can fight. That's hot."
This from Clint whose pale blue eyes are moving with open interest over the set of bare brown legs stretched over the arm of Stark's armchair, bare feet with their blood-red nails, Wanda's idea apparently, swinging. He takes a long pull from the bottle of beer in his hand. Spares Bucky a brief, inquisitive glance before returning his attention to Amel.
Bucky merely grunts in response.
A heavy hand at his back has him tensing before Sam steps into his line of vision, a sly grin taking up most of his dark face.
"Well, who'da thought Bucky'd have a thing for chocolate, huh?" he says on a laugh.
They're only teasing him. Giving him a hard time. No different than any other time they're all gathered in the same room. He knows this, but he can't seem to get his head to come to terms with it.
There's a throbbing in his temples and a heavy knot in the pit of his stomach, both of which have been there since he and Amel arrived and he watched Tony pull Amel into a much too friendly hug. What's more, he called her 'Furball' and she'd laughed, as if they'd known each other forever.
He's being crazy. Overreacting. He knows.
Still...
Tony peers at him from the corner of his eye. Says absently, "Maybe she'll shift for us again."
A blast of anger shoots through him and, suddenly, all eyes are on him when the glass he's been holding shatters in his hand. He blinks as what remains of the dark liquid inside drips over his flesh fingers and splatters onto the carpet.
"Aw, come on, Frosty," Tony whines, waving a hand in his direction. "I just had that cleaned!"
He looks up. Locks eyes with a concerned-looking Amel, and immediately turns and storms off to the kitchen.
He isn't surprised when Steve comes after him. Finds him standing over the sink picking slivers of glass out of the cuts that are already beginning to heal on their own.
"You ok, Buck?" he asks, sidling up to him.
Bucky spares him a glance, his hand at his mouth now, teeth working at a particularly stubborn shard which has embedded itself in the thickest part of his palm.
"You seem a little tense, pal."
Silence still. There's blood on his tongue. The taste sends a flicker of remembrance through him, vague and distant as usual and, as it's been since the morning he woke with Amel curled over him, the feeling, the memory, is gone in a flash, having never fully formed. Leaves him empty and frustrated.
"What's goin' on with you, Buck?"
He's finally managed to get the glass out of his palm. He spits it into the sink. Runs warm water over the cut. Watches a thin ribbon of blood circle and swirl down the drain.
"Everything's fine, Steve," he grunts.
Steve, of course, is not convinced. "You know the guys are just giving you a hard time, right?"
"I know."
He does. He really does, but he can't explain it. Can't explain this feeling of separation that seems to be going on inside him these days; this feeling of being present, but not entirely. It's like watching himself from a distance.
He can't seem to control his emotions when it comes to Amel, because there's something inside him that moves when she's near. Something that beats and throbs and twists inside his mind. His body. And he thinks it's The Soldier waking up and that terrifies him.
In the mornings, he wakes to find her there, pressed in at his side and, for a moment, everything feels right. Then, it all changes, and his body fills with that heat. With that strange something more. And he almost remembers. Watches uneasily as his metal hand reaches for Amel. He can't stop it. Is aware of a small part that doesn't want to.
She doesn't startle when it touches her. Even in her sleep, she smiles and pushes in closer to him, as if she has nothing to fear of him. As if at his side is the safest place in the world.
Her sigh of contentment is the most beautiful sound he's ever heard, and a voice inside him tells him to touch, to taste, to take, because she's beautiful and she's ours.
Ours…
Steve is saying his name now. He looks up. His friend is watching him closely. Carefully.
Steve cares. Steve would understand. Steve can help.
He wouldn't, the voice, so familiar now and so very like his own, whispers, low and thick and startlingly clear, as if there's someone else standing right next to him, speaking softly into his ear. He would never understand. He'll think we're crazy.
And, Bucky, in spite of everything, has to agree.
It doesn't make any sense. None at all. He can't explain it. Can't find the proper words to express this feeling of being split in two, out of control, without risking being locked up and monitored again.
"I'm fine," he says again. Tries to convince himself as well.
Steve doesn't believe him, but he doesn't call him on it. Instead, he turns and leans his hips against the sink. Looks back toward the kitchen doorway.
"How are things with Amel?"
"Good."
They are. Sort of. If he discounts the fact that he thinks he's going crazy.
Steve arches a pale brow at him. Curious. "You're remembering?"
He shakes his head. Feels the disappointment rise in him. The agitation and impatience.
"Nothing solid. No."
Steve takes a breath. Releases it through loosely parted lips. "And, Amel?"
For Amel, there's quietly wavering hope. He sees it in her golden eyes, especially in those early moments of waking. Hope when she tells him of things of the past, shared moments that echo in his brain, but don't completely connect.
And he sees the flame die, as well, whenever she absently reaches for his cybernetic arm and he, fearfully, pulls it away. Because he doesn't want to touch her with this...weapon. Is afraid to hurt her, especially with how unsteady he's feeling these days. Is certain she deserves more than a half amnesiac with more issues than years he's been alive.
He is not The Soldier. He is not her Soldier and, eventually, hope won't be enough.
He hangs his head. Curls his hands over the edge of the sink and sighs.
"She's not mine" he mutters. "She belongs to… him."
He senses rather than sees Steve shift.
"You really like her?"
He pauses. Thinks on it. "I do."
She makes him feel safe. Makes him laugh. Smile. She's sweet and rough around the edges. Unapologetic. He desires her. He likes waking up next to her; he hasn't had a single nightmare since she arrived and started sneaking into his bed at night.
He knows she's a woman who sees past all his darkness. And he's terrified that, after all the work he's done over the years in an effort to get back to being some semblance of himself, some semblance of a human being again, the darkness isn't too far away.
He's afraid of losing someone he never really had in the first place. Of not being what she wants.
It's all so crazy.
"Hi."
She's there's suddenly, and Bucky turns to see her standing in the doorway, a soft smile curling at the corners of her her full lips. He wonders how long she's been there. How much she's heard.
Steve straightens. Nods her way. "Hi there, Amel."
She returns his nod. Lifts a small hand to rest against the doorframe. Cocks her head to the side as her eyes slide over Bucky.
"You ok?"
He nods.
Her thin brows furrow momentarily. She moves forward, her bare feet almost silent against the hardwood floors as she pads over to him.
"I smell blood. Lemme see."
She reaches for him and he allows her to take his hand in her soft one. Her skin is warm, slim fingers curling under the back of his as she lifts it for examination. The fingertips of her other hand slip smoothly over the rough skin of his palm, the cuts that are pink and raised and almost completely healed.
When she looks up him again, she smiles lazily, and there's that familiar tightening in his chest. There's a hint of red wine underscoring her cool earth smell. He wants to kiss her.
"Are you drunk, Amel," he asks, offering his own smile, at ease and comfortable enough in her presence to be able to tease. He finds the thought of a drunk Amel very amusing.
Her nose scrunches up. "Wolves don't get drunk. I'm just… pleasantly buzzed." Then, she hiccups for good measure.
He laughs. God, this feels good. Right.
"I'm ready to go when you are. Hawk-dude doesn't believe I can take him and I'm not one hundred percent against proving him wrong."
He nods. Realizes she still holding his hand and how reluctant he is to let go. Stares at her a long, thoughtful moment.
"Ok."
Another soft, endearing smile lights her pretty face. Then, she's pushing into him. Rising up on tiptoe and pressing her forehead into the curve of his neck before sliding her cheek across his chest.
"Thanks, Bucky."
And, with that, she's gone, offering Steve a little wave before she saunters out of the kitchen.
Steve is smiling when Bucky looks at him, an odd little smile that he doesn't understand and makes him feel just a little uncomfortable.
"What," he asks, defensively.
"She just marked you, pal," Steve replies, shaking his head as if he can't believe how dense his friend is being.
Bucky still doesn't understand. "What are you talking about, Steve?"
Steve chuckles. "I did a little research on wolves. Wanted to get to know a little more about Amel. Marking things with their scent is another way wolves stake claim on something. Another way to mark their territory. And, she just marked you as hers."
He laughs again. Shakes his head. "If that doesn't mean she likes you, I don't know what does."
Bucky stares off in the direction Amel disappeared.
This isn't the first time she's done that. He is amazed. Enamored. Takes a slow breath to pull in more of the scent that's clinging to his skin now. Some of the anxiety trickles away at the thought that Amel might actually, really want him. And want him enough to physically stake her claim on him.
But, then, the irritating, haunting voice is back. Sets him on edge once more.
Ours….