Summary: In which there are revelations and feels. :D
Notes: Title from "Nothing's Gonna Hurt You, Baby" by Cigarettes After SexThis time, it was just a drive by. Or something like that.
There was a power vacuum in Harlem now – or at least that's the way it was perceived. When there were shifts, when there were changes, there were always tests, and now they were on the floor of the diner, shattered glass and plates all around them, her tucked under his broad frame, his hair curtaining their faces. There was a cut on his cheek from the explosion of the window, and without thinking, she reached up to trace the skin around it.
He went very still; his eyes had been on the other patrons of the diner, on the window, calculating, and her motion seemed to pause him for a minute, but he didn't look down at her. It was another half-second before he did.
He was pressed flush to her.
"Are you OK?" they said in unison. Bucky blinked. Claire made a face.
"Eugh, God, are we destined to be this precious for the rest of our lives?"
A ghost of a smile haunted his face before he got up, then took her hand, pulling her to her feet as well. Brushing glass and ceramic shards off her clothes and out of her hair, she turned her attention to him; he was still taking stock of the room.
"This happen often around here?" he asked.
"Just lately," she said with a sigh, looking regretfully down at their lunches. "There's some organized crime shit going on that hasn't been quite resolved yet, I guess."
He watched her as she brushed off his shoulders.
"You ever think about moving?" he asked.
"To where?" she countered, glancing up at him, taking a closer look at his cheek now.
"I dunno, somewhere people aren't shooting up your favorite lunch spots," he said.
"What, like the suburbs?" she asked, arching a brow as she reached for her bag. "Not my style."
Stoically, he stood as she plucked the glass from his cheek and cleaned it up; it was already healing by the time she got to disinfecting it, so she didn't bother with stitches.
"Gimme a second, OK?" she asked, tilting her head toward the other patrons; sounds of distress and pain surrounded them, and Claire was already moving toward them by the time he'd nodded his assent.
He waited for her as she moved around the diner, checking to see who needed help. No one had been shot, thankfully – it had been a warning, and they'd gotten lucky. There were a few cuts and scrapes, but those were easily handled with a first-aid kit and a few jokes to cut the tension.
It wasn't long before they were on their way down the street.
"I don't know how to keep you safe," he said finally as they walked.
"It's not your job to keep me safe," she replied, casting a sidelong glance up at him. He scowled at her, his jaw going tight.
"Then whose job is it?" he asked, looking back at her.
"Mine, last time I checked, seeing as I'm a grown-ass woman responsible for her own decisions and actions," she replied.
"Last time I checked, soulmates at least tried to look out for each other," he said. She cast a glance up at him, lips pursed.
"So does that mean the next time you disappear for three days, you're gonna run it by me first?"
He huffed a breath, running a hand through his hair.
"I'm not tryin' to pick a fight with you, Claire."
She took a breath, looking forward as they walked.
"Yeah, I know," she said finally, exhaling heavily. "Fuck, why can't anything about this be easy?"
He licked his lips.
"I'm with somebody."
Anyone else might have missed it, but he caught the slight irregularity in her step, the almost-trip, the glance up at him and the set of her jaw.
"OK," she said, after a few seconds. "Me too."
He did not skip a step. He didn't skip a beat. He kept walking, his gaze stonily ahead as irrational, blade-sharp red flooded his brain.
Of course she was with somebody. She was an adult, and adults had adult relationships. They got romantically involved. They dated. This was a thing that normal people did. He'd done it, when he was normal. And even now that he wasn't normal, he was with Steve, because this was a thing that even not-normal people did, he guessed.
But Claire was supposed to be his.
It was the first time the thought had occurred to him in that context – in a sense of possessiveness, of jealousy.
Fuck.
"… so how long?" she was asking.
"What?" he asked, casting a glance at her.
"How long have you been…" she let it trail off, he guessed to let him fill in the blanks.
"Just a few months," he said. She wet her lips and nodded, looking ahead.
They walked in silence for a while. He didn't want to ask. He didn't want to know. It was better if he didn't know.
"What about you?" he asked.
He couldn't stand not knowing.
"Same-ish," she said; she sounded casual, guarded.
A few more beats of silence.
"He a good guy?" he asked. "Treat you OK?"
She half-smiled, looking off into the distance.
"Yeah," she said. "Yeah he is, and yeah he does. What about yours? Is it good? Serious?"
He nodded.
"Yeah, it's good. And… serious."
"So… so maybe this is one of those platonic things. Maybe we're just… connected, but it's not sex or love or romance or whatever," she posited. He thought he read some kind of tentative relief in her voice, in her face, in her posture.
"Maybe," he said evenly.
Maybe. Except he was dreaming of her, and sometimes it was her smile, or her laugh, or the furrow of her brow when she was digging her heels in and telling him off. But sometimes it was the scent of her hair, the softness of her skin. Sometimes it was her twined around him, him rocking or rolling or slamming into her and the exact sound of her coming, sometimes a crashing bellow, sometimes quiet, breathy cries, and usually the look of her afterwards, a smile he hadn't seen in person, hooded eyes telling secrets only she knew.
Fuck.
Her hand had slipped into his, and he almost stopped short at the contact, at the feel of her slender fingers sliding between his broader ones, so different than Steve's. He wasn't sure what to do, so he gave her hand a light squeeze as she stroked her thumb over the back of his.
"We can take care of each other," she said, looking at him again. "I mean, we can do our best, right? We have to keep doing what we're doing, but we can watch out for each other. Stay in touch. Not disappear, right?"
His smile was slight and subtle and a little wry as he nodded.
"I'm not that great at not disappearing," he said.
"Well, you're gonna have to work on that, cabrón," she said firmly. "I'm not tryna have an aneurysm worrying about you when I have all this other shit to deal with already."
He huffed what might have been a laugh through is nose.
"Does that mean you're gonna try to steer clear of drive-bys and warzones?"
"No," she replied. "But I'll try not to be a dumbass about taking risks if you do."
He smirked.
"I guess I can try that."
"Good," she said, giving him a smile that wasn't like the one in his dream, but was more earnest, more genuine than any he'd seen before from her. It set something off in him, melted something maybe, warmed something.
Fuck.
Notes: Next: Claire and Misty, and maybe some plot advancement!
As always, come see me on tumblr at something-pithy!