Story: Trust Issues

Pairing: Bucky/OC

Rating: T/M

Summary: People say that the trust of the innocent is the liar's most useful tool. He trusted too little. She trusted too much. Turns out, both of them were doing the wrong thing.

Chapter 9

Now I've got you in my space, I won't let go of you.

The apartment was peacefully quiet. Steve and Natasha had gone out somewhere, probably to dinner, Camille was sulking in the guest room, and Bucky was lying on the couch in guise of sleep, trying to process previous events of the day.

Even though he had become slightly more acquainted with the modern world, Bucky still found certain things to be just plain odd. For example, when Steve had dragged Bucky out of the apartment in order to take him to where their favorite bar used to stand, the two men found themselves standing in front of a large venue that boasted a neon sign portraying the image of a nude woman lying seductively inside of a large martini glass.

Unfortunately, the place was closed.

Bucky didn't remember ever going to any bars with Steve. Hell, the only thing that he really remembered about Steve was that they used to be best friends and that they had fought with each other, apparently to what was the end of the line.

And that was so strange to him. Perhaps it was due to the fact that he had been brainwashed into becoming a ruthless assassin for seventy years, but feelings of loyalty for personal reasons were odd to Bucky. They were confusing. He had been loyal to HYDRA, but that was different to him. HYDRA was an organization, and it was either that he was loyal to them, or he died. But the loyalty that he apparently had towards Steve was different.

He should've known better than to attempt to remember his past before he went to sleep.

Bucky tossed and turned fitfully in attempt to get comfortable, almost falling off of the couch that in reality was quite too small for him. However, he didn't dare ask Camille if he could have the guest room.

Oh God, Camille.

Bucky's eyes snapped open and he groaned out loud in exasperation. The icy brunette hadn't spoken one word to him since she had plucked him off of the streets and quite literally dragged him back to Steve and Natasha's apartment. Hell, the only time Camille had actually acknowledged him was to shoot him an evil glare when he dared to reach for the coffee pot at the same time as she did. He understood why she was angry, he realized that. But he didn't anticipate how angry.

In the distance, a toilet flushed, and Bucky heard footsteps coming down the hallway into the kitchen. The lights flicked on and the fridge opened.

"Steve?" Bucky asked hopefully, thinking that maybe Steve and Natasha had come home.

"No." A hoarse female voice replied, "They're still out."

Camille had retrieved a bottle of water from the fridge and taken a seat on top of the counter. She looked haggard and sweaty with tendrils of hair sticking to her skin, and her complexion looked unusually waxy and pale.

"What's going on?" Bucky asked before he could stop himself. His words seemed to hang in empty space before she answered.

"I was just vomiting my innards out in the bathroom," she snapped, "Sorry that I didn't invite you."

He stood up from the couch and walked into the kitchen, leaning against the counter across from her and ignoring her hostility. "You okay?" he asked tentatively.

Bucky watched her then. She didn't look at him, only studied the plastic water bottle she was holding. Her white knuckled hand further clenched around it, and her entire body tensed. He braced himself for the scathing remark that would probably follow.

There was no scathing remark.

"I can't have kids." Camille replied quietly. Her shoulders sank. "I found this like, file about me. And I didn't know."

"That's… wow. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry." He replied, unsure of what to say, unsure of whether to console her or back away very slowly.

There was silence between the two. They both remained still and unmoving as statues, avoiding each other's eye contact.

"I mean, it's not like I even wanted kids," Camille broke the silence, clenching her fists, "I just didn't know that I couldn't have any…"

"I'm sorry; it must be hard for you." Bucky replied, still unsure of what to do. Camille's body language was extremely aggressive, but the words coming out of her mouth were blasé and hollow.

"Obviously no one saw it fit to inform me of the fact that I can't have any fucking children." Her voice rose shrilly. "I mean, I can't have kids. I didn't know I can't have kids, did you know that I can't have kids, because wow, oh, I sure didn't, I mean, it's not like I was ever informed." She paused to take a breath, "Whatever." She managed, sounding like an upset teenager.

"So let me get this straight," he began wearily, "You're upset that you can't have kids, but you didn't want any anyways?" He frowned at her, "I feel bad but—"

"No," she cut him off, "I'm pissed off because I'm finding out things about myself that I don't even know."

Bucky stared at her for a solid three minutes, feeling a slight edge of irritation becoming prevalent. "You're serious?" he asked flatly.

"Well… yeah." Camille said, narrowing her eyes.

"And how do you think I've been feeling lately?"

He turned on his heel and returned to his place on the couch, leaving Camille sitting dumbfounded on the kitchen counter.

A/N: I'm sorry, I'm the worst. This is a really poor excuse for an update, especially after how long I've been gone. Oh my God, I'm sorry. Read and Review, I guess...