"Steve's here," your voice carried from the living room.
Bucky had already heard the gravel crunching under tires in the driveway, but he appreciated you warning him either way. He was already dressed and ready to go as he made his way down the hall. Steve had called during the week after completing his mission, knowing Bucky had been concerned. During the course of the conversation, Rogers had brought up the idea of going out with Sam to a restaurant not too far from your house. Bucky had been reticent at first. The places you had taken him to were quiet, low traffic, but still managed to put him on edge. A bar and restaurant were by nature neither of those things. He thought about saying no, a concept that was still strangely empowering in its newness despite it becoming easier to accept, but in the end, he agreed. Putting it off wouldn't help anything. And he trusted Steve to watch his back and make sure nothing got out of hand. Still, Bucky had felt the minute, cold thrumming of nervousness through his muscles since he woke up that morning, training harder and faster and fiercer to abate it.
When he reached the living room, Bucky found you at the front window, peaking out into the oncoming evening to watch Steve's approach, and he moved to join you there. Reaching his hand out to pull back the curtain further brought him close to you, which did little to help his accelerated pulse as the skin of his cheek itched at the memory of the fleeting, scotch-fueled kiss you'd given him a week ago. That, he pushed to the back of his mind, though he could feel your eyes turn to regard him. Probably smiling. God, you smiled at him so much more than he deserved.
"Go through your wardrobe rotation already, old man," you asked, laughter in your voice confirming his suspicion as you nudged your elbow into his ribs, light and playful.
He looked over at your bright face and managed a smirk for you, despite his somewhat raw nerves. "We're going out tonight. Thought I'd dress decent."
"Oh yeah?" Your smile widened as you turned to face him, like you were proud of him. It made Bucky's chest feel big despite himself, even as your fingers reached to adjust his collar, stilling something inside him. "Where to?"
"No clue," he shook his head slightly while your hands worked. He'd come to accept, maybe even enjoy, the gentle fussing you did over him. Sometimes your touch could calm the wild storms or muddied waters in his brain, like it did then. And he could almost imagine himself worthy of your little affections.
"Bet you guys'll have fun though," you offered pleasantly with a final smoothing of the fabric at his shoulders. After a quick once over, you gave him a satisfied nod. "You'll have to tell me all about it when you get back."
It occurred to Bucky then that he rarely saw you leave the house for anything aside from errands in the months since he had come to stay with you. Come to think of it, what with his weekly visits to see Steve, he had become the more social one, especially since no one had been coming by to check on him any more. And a wonderful gal like you not having a night on the town once in a while seemed like a damned travesty. A knock on the door pulled him from his thoughts, and you patted his chest reassuringly before brushing past him to answer it.
Turning to watch you, he saw your eyes widen in surprise as you started laughing. A split second later, Sam Wilson was crowding through the door, arms opened wide and you fell into them easily, swaying back and forth as you exchanged pleasantries. He couldn't rightly begrudge you the joy you exuded at the sight of your friend. It had been a month or so since he'd last come around and Sam seemed to be one of the few people you had contact with. Still, something scratched at the edges of Bucky's common sense at the sight of you so quick to wrap Wilson up in a hug, face bright and happy. He may have bristled more than he would ever admit.
That was all swept away quickly, though, when you rolled your eyes at Sam's smart comment and looked past him to usher in Steve. Wilson came toward Bucky with a genuine smile and an extended hand that he took with no hesitation. Or course, their initial dealings with each other hadn't been on the best of terms, but Sam didn't seem to hold too much of a grudge, more understanding and sympathetic that Bucky felt was warranted. Maybe Wilson trusted Steve as much as Bucky did. Rogers always had that way about him, instilling a certain loyalty in those around him. And Steve obviously trusted him, as did you, so Bucky was willing to give the guy a chance on such high recommendations. Not to mention Wilson's not so subtle attempts at trying to help Bucky along with the recovery process.
Over Sam's shoulder, Bucky saw you and Steve chatting in the doorway. There was an amused, sarcastic tilt to your lips, Steve nodding with a grin like he'd been caught out before clapping your shoulder, familiar, friendly. It was good to see the both of you become more comfortable with each other. Though a part of Bucky feared for the remaining shreds of his sanity should the two of you ever realize just how alike you could be. Stubborn, sass-mouthed, and prone to recklessness; you two little shits might put him in his grave. Just the thought of it had him trying to suppress the grin that threatened to take over his face.
"Bucky, you didn't tell me Sam was going too," you chided, that sweet, playful look on your face as you trailed in behind Steve, branching off to lean against the back of the couch.
He offered an apologetic shrug, feeling guilty at his own thoughtlessness. Before he could begin to think of something to say, you were giving a gentle shake of your head, unconcerned, and glanced between Steve and Sam. "So, where you fellas headed? If you don't mind my asking, that is. Don't want to endanger any top-secret, boys-only operation."
"Actually, Sam suggested a place a few towns over-" Steve stopped short at the harsh, obvious clearing of Sam's throat. Bucky watched Steve turn a curious eye to the man between them before it moved to him, but he was just as clueless.
"The Hall," you asked, tone serious. It drew Bucky's eyes back to you, with your arms crossed, giving a disapproving look at Sam's weak attempt to seem innocent.
"Okay, yes. The Hall," Wilson nodded. At Steve's questioning gaze, Sam offered up sheepishly "We used to go there with her sister."
All Bucky could do for a moment was stare daggers into the side of Wilson's head. He had thought Sam got the name Falcon from that fancy flying suit, not for being an absolute fucking birdbrain. Steve looked none too pleased either, shooting you a dismayed frown. Concerned, Bucky glanced your way. He knew your sister was still a tender spot for you, he couldn't fault you for that. The memory of tears in your eyes, pain in your voice over a shoebox of pictures, made Bucky's chest tighten. So help him, if Sam had brought that out again with an inconsiderate act… But he was a little surprised, relieved even, to find a grin tugging at the corners of your lips, your eyes rolling almost sentimentally.
"Three of the biggest badasses in the world concerned about little ole me, huh," you snorted gently. The room eased with the sound of your reassuring laughter. "Guys, seriously, it's fine. I was just giving Sam here a little shit. The Hall is a great place to hang out. Best wings around. Oooh, and those rarebit fries? Mmmm… to die for!"
Sam leveled you with a gentle fretting expression that you seemed to recognize. "You sure? Because if it upsets you, all you gotta do it say so."
"Honestly, it doesn't," you assured with a bright smile. Almost as an afterthought, you pointed at Bucky and Steve with a smirk. "In fact, now that I'm thinking about it, that old jukebox they have there probably has songs these two geezers would know. They'll love it."
Bucky gave an entertained huff, both at your familiar banter and Steve's look of wry amusement. He knew Rogers was just as appreciative of a wisecrack as he was. Unexpectedly, Bucky found himself growing uneasy under everyone's eyes. An unconscious fidget had his thumbs hooking in his belt loops, though he realized there was really no need to feel so nervous. The whole group seemed to be having fun, just as promised. Seemed a shame not to keep it going for everyone. And he'd heard the tinge of excitement in your voice when you'd spoken about where Steve and Sam planned on taking him.
"You should come out with us," he suggested when his gaze found yours, ignoring how taken aback the other two men seemed to be.
"Oh, Bucky, that's sweet of you," you demurred, blinking quickly in your own shock. He caught that sweet flush creep across your skin, that phantom itch of memory lighting over his cheek again, as you continued. "But I don't want to impose on your guys' night out."
Bucky's eyes darted to Steve, who understood in an instant, offering a bright rebuff and welcoming gesture. "No imposition at all. Really, we'd love for you to join us."
With a roll of your eyes, you swatted your hand their way as if to wave the idea off in a thin objection. "Would you guys just get out of here?"
But Steve and Sam, who caught on quick, formed a united front with Bucky on this one. Wilson even crossed his arms with an unconvinced raise of an eyebrow, mocking your earlier stance with him. You clucked your tongue, motioning toward your clothes. "Come on. Do I look like I'm dressed for a night out?"
"We'll wait," Sam shrugged after barely a moment's thought.
The annoyed look you gave Wilson as you tracked his nonchalant movements to sit on the couch amused Bucky to no end. Even more so when your jaw dropped at the sight of Steve joining in on the fun, picking his way around Sam's legs to perch at the far cushion, and Bucky could tell by the expression on his face that if he looked you in the eye he'd lose all semblance of seriousness on the matter. But there was still a twinge of worry in Bucky's mind as he passed you on his way to the armchair. Concern that you might flat out refuse this attempt at convincing you. He really did want you to join them, if not just for your enjoyment, then for his own selfish reasons he was too chickenshit to admit in that moment. It was too difficult to just ask, because he knew he had no right to. So, he went with smug snark, a language the two of you both knew well and used often recently.
"We could probably both use a night outta the house, doll," he offered up with a half-grin when he paused in front of your playfully aggrieved face.
A second later, Bucky realized he probably never even needed to say that. You saw right through him, like you so often did. You knew exactly what he was asking for and your immediate response was gentle concern and understanding, acceptance. And he didn't know whether to be in awe of you or to chafe at his own transparency. He looked away before you had a chance to reach for him, hardly willing to give up the charade as he flashed you a devious smirk before continuing toward the armchair. Once there, he dropped himself into the seat, dramatically plopping his feet on the table. Stretching his hands behind his head, he raised an eyebrow at you, banking on you accepting the unspoken dare.
You did. Bucky could tell, despite the glare you shot Steve and Sam, who avoided your gaze, your hands propped on your hips. There was no real bite to it, even when you shook your head in resignation and gave a heavy sigh, though you mustered plenty of good-natured sass when you spoke. "Fine, ya jerks. I'll get changed to go out, but I'm gonna take my sweet time doing it."
As you turned to head for your room, your eyes caught Bucky's to linger a split-second. He smirked, recognizing the light he saw there, excited and indulgent. Then you started to beat a slow retreat down the hallway and he had to force himself to look away from the deliberate sway of your hips. Straightening up to put his feet back on the floor and sit properly, Bucky frowned when he caught Steve staring at him with a strange expression. A curious, knowing smirk on his face, almost like the cat that caught the canary. Seemed apropos that Potato would pick that moment to saunter in from the kitchen, tail swishing in the air as she announced her arrival with a soft mrrr.
"It was real nice of you to invite her out with us, Buck," Steve said, smiling, as the cat bounded into Bucky's lap.
"Yeah, well, I should've thought of it sooner," he grumbled a little. He scratched behind furry little ears, setting the cat to purring hard against his chest. "Though you two assholes should have thought of it from the start. Especially you, Wilson."
Sam at least had the decency to look guilty when he nodded. "You're right. Guess I just got so used to her saying no for so long, I figured it would be the same this time. Plus, I wasn't entirely sure how she'd handle the idea of going there."
"Handled it pretty damn well, considering," Bucky bit out, harsher than he intended. He knew Sam wasn't trying to upset you, and apparently hadn't. With a small snort, Bucky continued in a lighter voice as he looked up at Wilson. "But she's going now. Hopefully, she'll have fun."
"I'm actually kinda surprised she caved," Sam chuckled a bit, leaning back on the couch to glance between Steve and Bucky. "Hates having plans sprung on her."
Bucky saw Steve nod in understanding even as he gave his own thoughtful hum. The cat in his lap shifted, drawing his attention. She reached up to paw at his chest before headbutting him under the chin. When she settled back on his lap, she started batting at thin air, obviously begging. You'd made Bucky promise not to be so liberal with the treats since her vet visit, though one or two now wouldn't hurt. He was just reaching for the little bag on the side table when he heard Sam say "You know, I think she really likes you."
"Potato's a good cat," Bucky replied, giving the furball a considering look as he started handing over a treat. He couldn't help the smile the crept on his face as he watched her gnaw dramatically. "Stupid name, but a good cat. I think she only likes me for the food, though."
"Yeah," Wilson crooned, barest hint of laughter to his voice. "The cat."
Bucky looked up to eye Sam sharply, realizing he must have missed something in what was said. But before he could make sense of the mocking tone, Bucky was distracted by Steve's uneasy fidget in his seat. In a glance, he could tell Rogers was trying to find a way to bring something up he wasn't sure how to voice. Bucky couldn't pin point how or why he was so sure of it, except that he had the vague recollection of that awkwardness. Not on some superhero though. No, on a five-foot-four slip of nothin who was only ever sure of anything when he was throwing a punch at the nose of someone decidedly bigger and meaner. Bucky tilted his head at him, brow raised, waiting, though he was pretty sure he knew what it was about.
"Have you given any thought to what we talked about," Steve finally spat it out after a short sigh.
Exactly as expected. Maybe part of why he'd wanted you along was a hope of avoiding this topic. Fat lot of good that did. Bucky cringed a bit, shaking his head as he looked back down at the cat. "Yeah, I just… I dunno. After all the shit I done? Hell, I can't believe Wilson or Romanoff, or anyone for that matter, would be going along with that idea."
"Hey," Sam interjected, friendly, but gentle. "I told you before, man. It was no meet-cute, but I'm pretty much over it."
"And no one expects you to jump right in to it," Steve added, trying to sound reassuring. "Meet the rest of the team first, then we'll go from there."
"Thor's been asking about you, by the way," Wilson smiled. "Says he's willing to spar again, any time you like."
"Thor," Bucky snorted derisively, though he cracked his own grin as he looked between the two on the couch. "How many big dumb blonds do you need on that team, anyway?"
Sam's hand flew to his mouth to hide the shocked, amused face he was making, even as Steve nodded with a long-suffering sigh. He looked up at Bucky with a thin smirk, though there was still some mirth in his voice when he replied "Y'know, I'd like to hear you crack that joke with him. Think the shield's bad? Try a magical flying hammer to the ribs."
Bucky chuckled despite himself, admittedly relieved the subject had been changed so smoothly. The movement jostled the cat, who decided to hop down from Bucky's lap and skitter off toward the window to look out into the night. Steve and Sam's accompanying laughter died down about the time Bucky heard a noise from down the hallway, your bedroom door opening. Turning in time to see you closing the door, he caught sight of you done up prettier than he'd ever seen before. Absolutely gorgeous. He smiled, feeling a quick stutter in his chest, until he saw your brow furrow. You sighed and hooked your fingers into the hem of your skirt, lifting the fabric up your thighs.
The action didn't reveal much skin, but it still managed to light something on fire in Bucky's brain, muscles tensing in his core, lips going dry at his gentle gaping, a warm fluid tug low in his gut. You adjusted the satiny strap of your garter belt and he remembered the distant, phantom slide of silk stockings and even softer skin wrapped around his waist. The taste of lipstick in his mouth. His hands winding through locks of hair, ignoring the sharp dig of bobby pins in his palms. And he remembered the feel of you pressed pliant against him, warm and sweet. The sound you'd made in the darkness as you settled in his arms echoed through his head.
His eyes were riveted to you, even when your skirt fell back into place and you looked up at him he couldn't look away. The flush blooming on your face at being seen didn't help either. In fact, it made it worse, because he wanted to know just how far down your skin that color crept beneath the collar of your dress. Jesus, if you were his girl, he would have already been halfway down the hall to find out. It was your cringing smile and silent offering of sorry that finally sobered Bucky a little when you made your way toward the living room. As though you'd done something unspeakable or repulsive when he was the one who should, and was, feeling ashamed for his voyeuristic stare.
"You okay, Buck?"
The concern in Steve's voice finally pulled Bucky's attention. He'd forgotten the other two men were there for a few moments. Licking his lips, Bucky cleared his throat with a nod. His voice was still a bit hoarse when he replied "Yeah. Fine."
He stood quickly as you were about to enter the living room, ridiculously trying to remember his manners at this point, shoving away his wildly inappropriate thoughts. It seemed automatic in Steve to rise to his feet as well, though Sam was off half a beat trying to keep up. They both turned to look at you, though neither seemed as stunned as Bucky had been. Steve smiled, but Wilson was grinning mad before covering it in a mask of weariness.
"Okay, who are you and what have you done with my friend," he asked in mock accusation, head cocked back as he pointed a finger at you, though it didn't hold for long.
You straightened a little taller then, shoulders back and head up. More confident. And that smug, knowing smirk on your face had always looked a little too good on you if Bucky were being honest. "Oh, please. As though you boys are the only ones who know how to dress for a night out."
"Okay, okay," was Sam's laughing response, hands up in the air in playful defense. Then he brought his palms together with a sharp crack before rubbing them furiously and glancing around the room. "What are we standing around waiting for? Let's get the hell outta here."
Wilson made for the door and Steve moved to follow, though you and he shared an exasperated look across the couch. Bucky fell in line behind him, grabbing his jacket on the way out to hook over his shoulder. Waiting just outside the door for you was customary, even if the others seemed all too eager to be on their way. It gave him some peace of mind to watch you lock the place, as did sticking close to you once you had both left the relative safety and familiarity of the house. Though, when you glanced over your shoulder at the waiting car before flashing him a weak smile, he began to worry that his presence there was making you too uncomfortable.
"Sorry about that impromptu show in the hallway. Didn't know you were looking," you said, somewhat light, as you leaned in close to keep your voice low, stashing your keys in your purse.
Hell, he was the one who should be apologizing, not you. Bucky thought about telling you just that, and to follow through with it profusely, but you seemed more amused than ashamed now and he wanted to keep it that way. Matching your tone, he smirked. "Definitely not the worst thing I ever seen."
He was rewarded with the astonished expression on your face that pulled into a bright smile. You shouldered into him, a playful, familiar gesture you often used when the two of you were comfortable together. Bucky grinned, happy he hadn't upset you, though you did give him a devious scoff. "Ass."
When he noticed your ankles seeming a little unsteady as you turned to the stairs, Bucky quickly folded the jacket over his right arm before presenting his left elbow. "Here, let me help."
You beamed at him, laughter dancing in your eyes as you hooked your arm around his. "You trying to be a gentleman, Bucky Barnes?"
"Nah," he shook his head a bit, easing you down the steps carefully. Couldn't rightly call himself a gentleman after those thoughts he'd had. The gesture had just seemed the right thing, the natural thing to do. Of course, being arm in arm with a beautiful woman didn't hurt matters either. "Just wouldn't want you to roll an ankle in those heels, is all."
With a gentle chuckle, you leaned in close to him again. "Ugh, thanks. If I fall on my ass in these, Sam will never let me hear the end of it."
Bucky smiled wide at the thought, trying and failing to suppress the quiet laugh. Ah jeez, what a sight that would be. He helped you down to the last step, brushing some fallen hair from his face. You probably could've made the rest of the trip on your own, even with the treacherous looking gravel in the drive. Better safe than sorry, though, especially if you were worried about appearances. Besides, it wasn't much different then you taking hold of his hand when you walked together.
He ushered you along carefully, arm still hooked with yours for support. Steve was already belted in and Sam just lowering into the seat behind him when the two of you got to the car. Anticipating your move, Bucky grabbed the car door first, opening it for you smoothly. You eyed him a second with an arched brow and a smirk. Sure, it was gentlemanly of him, but he still feigned innocent confusion with a little shrug. Luckily, you slid into the car before the grin broke over his face. When you were settled in, he closed the door gently before getting into the front passenger seat.
Steve had the car in gear and was nearly to the road when the quiet was broken by Sam's violent coughing fit. Bucky flashed Steve a curious look before turning to see what was going on with Wilson. You had a very unimpressed expression on your face, even as Steve asked "Everything okay back there?"
"Oh yeah." Sam waved a hand in front of his face, clearing his throat as a shit-eating grin slowly emerged when he looked at Bucky. "Must be the dust kicked up from all this chivalry."
Jokes, huh? Bucky grabbed his seatbelt, but made a point of leaning back between the front seats as he buckled in. Eyes narrowed at Wilson, unblinking, just enough to make the man a tad uneasy while he fixed the shoulder strap. Then, with a snort, he deadpanned "Not my fault the guy with amnesia's the only one who remembers how to treat a lady."
Silence, thick and tense, overtook the car for a moment. Bucky could feel Steve's eyes burning a hole in the side of his head, but his stayed on Sam a moment, watching Wilson's mouth fall open in shock. But you cracked into a laugh that proved infectious as he turned to look out the passenger window. Soon, Steve's and even Sam's chuckles were added to the raucous sound. A little proud for causing it, Bucky watched the dark outline of the trees that passed and smiled to himself.
The car had already hit pavement by the time everyone had settled down and Steve asked "So this place we're going, The Hall? What sorta name is that?"
"Used to be an old dance hall," you replied and Bucky could hear a gentle tapping on the fabric of the seat before the sound of you unbuckling your seatbelt. Looking over, he found you leaning over the center console between him and Steve, reaching for the music player connected to the radio. There was a mischievous little grin on your face when you added "Probably back from when you two shits were spring chickens."
"She usually like this?" Steve flashed him an amused look over your head. Sometimes, Bucky was reminded that his friend had not spent near as much time with you, but there was still appreciation in Rogers' eyes.
Bucky smiled down at you before answering with a glib shake of his head. "Can't take her anywhere. But she's a decent cook, so I let it slide."
You shoved at his shoulder playfully, mouth half open as though you'd been somewhat offended despite your smile. It was enough to make him laugh under his breath while you handed the music player back to Sam behind you to finish your explanation. "Anyway, it was a dance hall, but went abandoned for a long time. A few years back this whole area went through one of those revitalization deals where people were buying up old buildings to renovate. So, someone turned it into sort of a bar and grill. But they liked some of that historical appeal, so they left part of the dance floor intact and kept the jukebox."
That sounded a lot like that cafe you loved in town, which Bucky was sure had been a soda shop at one point. First it, now an old dance hall turned restaurant. He was starting to wonder if you just had an affinity for older things made new when you were moving to sit back in your seat, buckling in again.
Then Sam's voice chimed in "Food's pretty damn good, drinks are even better. Music's not the worst either. Could use a little more MoTown, but nothing's perfect."
"Speaking of music," you implored and Bucky could hear the friendly impatience in it, no doubt directed at Wilson, who was fiddling with the device in his hands.
A scarce few moments passed before Sam seemed to settle on something and the car filled with music. Some of it sounded familiar to Bucky, songs that had been on the radio or that you'd played at the house to help catch him up some. The ones he recognized the most and found his fingers drumming along with against his knee were ones he'd heard you sing along to, excited and wild, never quite as bad as he teased you about being. Though this particular evening, you and Sam sounded like you were trying one up each other, crooning loud and sometimes purposefully obnoxious. At one point, Bucky glanced back, amused, but poised to say something smart, only to see Sam reach a hand out to grip your chin, pretending to serenade you. There was something too casual about it for Bucky's taste and there was a single, sick thump in his chest before you shoved Wilson's hand away from you with an annoyed expression. He turned back in his seat before that irrational scratch in his brain could take hold, ignoring Steve's gaze in his direction.
Still, the music seemed to make the ride go faster and soon Steve was pulling up at The Hall. There were too many cars, Bucky noticed. Too many people. That thrumming agitation started to rise in him again as the car rolled on in search of a parking spot. It was almost a block down when he heard a seatbelt being undone before he felt the familiar, delicate weight of your hand on his left shoulder. He looked over to find you smiling kindly at Steve. "Think you could let me out here while you find a spot? Don't want to walk too far in these heels."
Rogers nodded slightly, checking his mirrors as he came to a stop in the roadway. "Sure."
"I'll go with her," Bucky decided quickly, unbuckling himself as well. No way he was going to leave you to negotiate the block alone, at night, in those heels that you'd complained about. If the cool night air and some quiet time with you helped bolster him before going inside, then that was just an added bonus. He checked over his shoulder to make sure you were staying put in your seat before he got out.
Clutching the jacket in his left, Bucky opened your door and held his hand out, another instinctive thing, it seemed. You swung your legs out easily and your cool fingers slid across his palm to help pull yourself up to your feet. He felt you give a gentle start, but didn't have time to ponder it much before another car began coming up the street. Guiding you out of the way, Bucky closed the door and tapped on the roof to let Steve know you both were clear. Sam must have decided to stick it out and keep Steve company as they drove off.
It had rained earlier that day and there was a wet chill to the air now that the sun had gone down. Bucky saw you duck between two parked cars, hopping up onto the curb to avoid the water pooled at the edge of the street. He wasn't too far behind, putting himself between you and the road, though he paused at the distant sight and sound of people outside the bar's doors. Barely a moment after Bucky adjusted his cuffs tighter down, swinging his jacket over his right shoulder, your fingers found their way to entwine with his metal ones. Just like any other time you went out. And just like any other time, he felt a little of that anxious tension ease as you walked together.
"Probably gonna be loud and busy in there tonight, judging from all these cars. You sure you're good with this," you asked as you squeezed his hand tighter.
"I'm in good company," he answered with a smile, grateful for the gentle way you always checked in with him.
It was a welcome weight against him when you pressed in close, left hand tucking around his elbow as you nodded in understanding. With a grin, you said in a low, but reassuring voice "Okay, but you know the drill. One word and I'll have you out of here. Even if I have to fireman carry you back to the car."
Bucky couldn't help the sudden bout of laughter that roared out of him at the very idea of it. Just trying to imagine it made his cheeks hurt from grinning. Jesus, you were just too much sometimes. He shook his head in amusement, though he surprised himself hearing a bit of his old accent in his voice. "Sweetheart, there's no way you're gettin me off the ground, let alone carryin me anywhere."
"Never underestimate a woman in heels," you replied haughtily, though his metal arm registered the shiver that went through you when a gust of wind whipped by, causing you to hug in closer to him. "I'm a lot stronger than I look, you know."
"Lot colder than you look, too. C'mere," he scolded gently, clucking his tongue as he stopped to hand over his jacket. Crazy person, forgetting how chilly you usually get. "The hell didn't you bring a coat, huh?"
"I'm fine, Bucky, really. It's only a little further. Besides," you gave a little sigh, reaching up to gingerly press your hand to his chest. Your touch rode the line where skin and metal met, drawing his attention there. But your voice was gentle when you continued. "You should be wearing it. The cold bothers you."
The conversation in your bed, when you were tucked under his arm in a fashion, fingers sliding softly over thick scar tissue. Your voice had been filled with so much concern when you asked if the arm hurt. He had confided in you that it sometimes still ached deep when he was cold. He ran hotter than the average person and this night wasn't cold. Cold was being frozen and thawed between missions. Cold was water training in a bitter Siberian winter and trekking back to base in the same wet clothes. But even if the temperature had been bothering him, there was no way he could feel cold when he looked back up at your sweet face. With the sudden sentimental warmth filling his chest and the fact that you gave a single shit about him, he could travel through a goddamn frozen tundra and back, smiling the whole way.
"I ain't cold right now, doll. Honest," he assured, opening the jacket up for you. "Now c'mere, let me get this on you."
"Fine," you rolled your eyes as you slipped your hand into one sleeve. Flashing him a mischievous smirk, you flicked a fingernail against the metal of his left hand to produce a small tink. "But only to indulge you playing the knight in shining ARMor."
"Hoooo, kitten's got claws, huh," Bucky teased, easing you into the other sleeve. As he pulled the jacket closed around you, he cocked his head back to give you a once over. It was much too big, but something about the way your eyes sparkled out from just over the top of the collar made him grin. "There now, don't you look like all kindsa trouble?"
And you really did, to Bucky, anyway. Especially when you tipped your chin up to stick your tongue out at him with your blushing cheeks. He tried not to think about how easy it would be. A sharp tug of the lapels still in his hands, a duck of his head, and his lips could be on yours, kissing away the carefully applied color with both your faces half obscured by that high collar. The mental image actually made his own cheeks grow just a little hot, but he tilted his head toward the restaurant, trying to shake the thought away. Instead, he satisfied his need for closeness by guiding you along, hand just above the small of your back.
Most of the puddles left behind by the rain had been easy to traverse. A few Bucky quickly guided you around and a few he held your hand for balance as you hopped over. Nothing too difficult until you both came upon a rather large one not far from the doors. You hesitated at the edge and he watched you thoroughly assess the situation. He couldn't help but smile at how carefully you seemed to be considering your options, though judging by the look on your face, you were reading it as mostly hopeless. A simple, if mischievous, idea came to him at the same time you started turning toward him, so he quickly put it into action.
"What are you– no, no, NO," you protested, but it was already too late. Bucky slipped his hands inside the jacket, fingers gripping into your sides, and easily hauled you off the ground. Letting out a muffled squeal, your nails dug into his bicep as he carried you through the puddle to set you down safe and dry on the far piece of sidewalk, not minding a bit about his hand-me-down shoes.
"Oh, you fucking asshole," you sputtered out a guffaw and shoved at him.
"What," he feigned innocence, trying to hold back his own laugh. "Just helped you across. Didn't scare ya, did I?"
"You startled the shit outta me, that's all," you countered, a little growl to your voice. When you pushed at him again, he let himself fall back a bit, feeling a grin come on when you jabbed a finger into his chest in a good-natured threat. "But I owe you for that. Don't know when or where or how, but I fucking owe you for that, Barnes."
Damn, but there was something about that wicked glint in your eye, especially when you were being a little feisty or aggressive with him in a playful way, like it didn't matter to you at all that he was so much stronger or lethally trained, you'd still give back everything he gave and take him to task for it. All Bucky could do was chuckle under his breath at your delightfully foul mouth, folding his fingers with yours again to pull you gently toward the door, wondering what you could possibly do for retaliation. The loitering crowd had already headed inside, exposing the sounds of the bar to the night air before the door shut behind them as he stood beside you to wait for Steve and Sam. Though, it wasn't long at all before he could pick out the sounds of their voices approaching.
"Hey, sorry it took so long guys," Steve called out once they'd rounded the corner. Bucky saw his eyes flash to you before giving him a cheeky grin, probably about you wearing his jacket. "Ready to head in?"
Bucky moved to hold the door open for everyone, wanting a moment before stepping into the crowded bar. But he was none too thrilled to see Sam swoop in close beside you. The ambient noise from the bar made it difficult for him to make out the quick exchange, though Wilson seemed to be teasing you about the jacket before you berated him with an elbow to the ribs. Sam moved on, unphased, to turn a flirty smile to the hostess while you paused and turned back to look at Bucky. He stepped up beside you, scoping out his surroundings and taking mental notes of anything important. No doubt Steve and maybe even Sam had done the same thing, but old habits and all that.
Wilson and the hostess led the way, the former pointing out a specific table as you handed Bucky back his jacket with a grateful smile. As the young woman left to help the next customers, Bucky watched the three of you pull a decidedly unsubtle maneuver in an attempt to leave the most strategic position at the table open for him. This somehow managed to leave Steve across from him, Sam on his right, and you on his left, in the most vulnerable spot. That didn't set very well with him, but there were few options and at least he could keep an eye out behind you. Without acknowledging the little dance the three of you performed for his benefit, he hung his jacket on the back of the chair and plunked down.
There was plenty of time to go over the menu, you and Sam explaining what everything was and giving recommendations. Bucky went with one of your suggestions. You knew the foods he liked and he doubted you'd steer him wrong. Plus, he was a little glad you'd helped narrow everything down for him, squashed a little of that overwhelmed feeling the lively atmosphere was giving him. When the waitress finally arrived, a girl with a professional smile, she introduced herself as Meg and dropped a hand on Bucky's right shoulder. The unfamiliar touch, coupled with his already agitated state, chafed at him, but he recognized it as non-threatening and forced himself not to shrug it off rudely. It wouldn't be nice to cause a scene in front of everyone over something as innocuous as a little flirt for a better gratuity. He could endure it. Though he did almost childishly reach for your hand after you gave your menu back and the girl walked away.
When the food arrives, the three of you were chatting, Steve looking especially happy as a clam to be having a fairly normal night out with friends, and Bucky did his best to concentrate and be engaged. Sometimes his attention was pulled to a loud laugh or a hard scrape of a chair across the floor, but he still caught all of you checking on him every once in a while. Despite that, Bucky found himself keeping an eye on you, too. It actually helped him focus a bit, the concern that this place might bring upsetting memories to the surface for you. But you seemed to be doing just fine, even sharing reassuring smiles with Sam across the table that Bucky did his best to ignore. Obviously, Sam was just as concerned as he was.
At one point, when everyone was practically finished eating, Bucky saw your eyes haze over a bit, unfocused, head tilted a little as if listening. A good memory, he surmised from the way the corners of your lips began to curl up. He wondered briefly if that was the expression he had when he remembered things. If so, then maybe he understood a little better why you always smiled at him then. It was hard for him not to do the same as he watched your grin widen. Steve and Sam seemed to catch it too.
Your eyes turned to Wilson, excitement in your voice. "You remember what song comes next, right?"
Sam tilted his ear up to listen, a soft, nostalgic smile spreading his face with a nod. "Yeah, I remember. The Four Seasons Can't Take My Eyes Off of You."
Bucky realized there was a whole other conversation going on between the two of you when you asked "For old time's sake?"
He shared a confused look with Steve as Wilson made a great show of pushing out his chair to stand. Crossing behind Rogers, Sam stood beside you with his hand held out graciously. He flashed Bucky a smug little smirk before saying to you in an exaggerated, proper voice "It would be rude of me to refuse a lady a dance."
"Well, if a lady asks you, tell her she has to wait her turn, because I asked first," you chuckled as you took his hand. Bucky felt himself bristle inside again at the easy way Sam pulled you to your feet, almost like rubbing it in his face. But he pushed it down when you smiled back at him, then at Steve. "We'll be right back, gentleman."
With that, the two of you were off, hitting the dance floor as a song began playing that Bucky didn't know. He watched Sam wrap a hand around your back and pull you in as you began to sway together. Taking a swig of his beer, Bucky tried to wash the acrid taste from the back of his throat as the lyrics began.
You're just too good to be true
Can't take my eyes off you
You'd be like heaven to touch
I wanna hold you so much
"Those lyrics strike a chord," Steve asked from across the table in a teasing tone.
Bucky glanced over to find a wide grin spread across his friend's face. The little shit was laughing at him! He glared in response before looking back at you and Sam, taking another gulp of his drink and wishing like hell he could still get drunk. He could see you chatting, laughing at whatever clever thing Wilson may have been saying to you and his stomach lurched a little.
The warning expression did nothing to lessen the amusement in Steve's voice. "Jesus, Buck, since when do you let someone else dance with your date?"
"She's not my date," Bucky countered, turning back to him again. Then, after another drink, he grumbled a bit. "Besides, she's already picked someone to dance with."
"Sam's good," Steve said with a thoughtful shrug. His eyes darted to the dance floor before giving a wicked smirk and tilting his head that way. "But I think she's considering other options."
Confused by that statement, Bucky turned his gaze where Steve had looked only to lock eyes with you. You had been watching him for who knows how long, but he caught your lips quirk into that sweet smile of yours. When that flush bloomed across your cheeks, you looked away, caught out and so cute Bucky found it difficult to breathe around the constriction in his chest for a second.
"Do me a favor, Buck," Steve spoke again. The teasing tone was gone, replaced with something sentimental and caring and sad that pulled Bucky's attention back to him. "Don't ever pass up an opportunity to dance with someone you care about."
Peggy Carter. Steve had told him everything that had happened after the train, and good lord if all of that regret wasn't written on the blond's face in that moment. He'd been crazy about Ms. Carter, more than half way to love if Bucky's broken memory served him at all, only for it to end like that. But Steve managed a smile through it all and offered an encouraging nod toward the dance floor. Bucky looked at him a moment longer then glanced over to you and Sam, remembering how he'd made excuses when you'd asked him to dance with you last week, before he nodded in kind and rose to his feet, determined.
Sam had obviously noticed his approach, eyes going a bit wide and a smile tugging his lips as he spoke with you and danced some more. Bucky was just stepping into the dancing area when Sam spun you sharply, oddly, as he twisted out of the way. Your eyes widened a little in surprise, whether it was from seeing him or from the shove Sam gave to the middle of your back, Bucky couldn't say. But you were suddenly moving toward him quickly to crash solid against his chest. The force nearly sent you stumbling and out of instinct, Bucky caught you around the waist and hauled you back up against him, the unexpected little surprised gasp you gave sending a shiver up his spine.
"Nice save," Sam commended with a sly smirk that garnered an exasperated expression from you. "What are you doing up here, though, Barnes?"
"Was gonna ask to cut in," Bucky replied before looking back at you. He licked his dry lips, determination faltering a bit. "That is, if the lady doesn't object."
You rolled your eyes, waving Sam off as you smiled. His nerves settled when you offered up your right hand, though apparently you couldn't help teasing him. "So, did the steps come back to you during the week?"
"Nah," Bucky smiled a little, shaking his head as he gingerly took your hand in his metal one and let the fingers of his right slide down to the small of your back. "But I figured I couldn't be any worse at it than Wilson."
This earned him a laugh from you as he started to guide you along to the music. Though, it seemed he spoke too soon. He was uncertain of the music and felt wooden. You had to half lead with every turn. But you still seemed to be having fun, holding back a smile whenever he snorted at his missteps. The song didn't last much longer though, and Bucky was at least glad he hadn't managed to break anything on you in his clumsiness. He was just starting to realize he'd have to part with you when he noticed the confused look on your face. Following your gaze, he saw Steve and Sam walking away from the jukebox, smug smirks in place as they avoided the dance floor.
Suddenly, the place was filled with familiar strings and Bucky gave a musing hum as you looked back at him, face so close your breath warmed his cheek. "I know this song."
"The Way You Look Tonight," was your keen response. Ah, that was it, from Spring Time. He thought sure he'd seen it, but he was distracted by your smile. "Did you wanna take another turn?"
"Well, I'm no Fred Astaire," he grinned, already feeling more confident as began to lead again.
"That's alright. I'm no Ginger Rogers," you teased back as you moved along with him.
Someday, when I'm awfully low
When the world is cold
I will feel a glow just thinking of you
And the way you look tonight
Yes, Bucky was much more confident with this song. The vague recollection of dancing to it with another girl or two tripped through the back of his mind, but it was different with you, though he'd be hard-pressed trying to explain exactly why. Maybe because it was just so sharp and real in the moment. The way you just let yourself go with him, body pressed warm to his as you trusted him to move you this way and that. You'd let out a dizzying little giggle when he surprised you with a turn or spin, clinging to him tighter. You looked so bright and happy, happier than he'd ever seen before. And Bucky loved it, absolutely loved it, that he was able to help you feel that way. Though he could've kicked himself for saying no last time, when you probably could've used it most. Maybe you had been right. Maybe there were still good things he could do.
"You do look beautiful tonight, all dolled up like this," he said gently when the lyrics had stopped for the moment. He was fairly certain he'd let himself get sidetracked from telling you before, but it was the truth and you deserved to hear it. Hell, you looked beautiful every day.
"You don't clean up so bad yourself, hot stuff," you laughed quietly, reaching up to tuck some hair back that had fallen from behind his ear. It was a tender little action you did so often that usually calmed him, but when your fingers curled around the nape of his neck, he couldn't call the rapid beat of his heart calm.
The music began to swell, and before you could move your hand away, Bucky pulled you flush against him to spin with you a few more times. He felt the heat from your cheek on his and worried his stubble might have burned your skin. If he had known the night would turn out the way it was, he would have shaved. But you didn't complain or pull away as the song drew to its close, much too soon in Bucky's opinion. Slowing with the tempo, he eventually pulled you both to a stop as the last notes were dying off, until you were both just standing in the quiet. He had a sudden hope that another song would start so the two of you could just keep on dancing.
"You see," you teased, sounding a little breathless as you smiled at him. "Not quite as bad as you expected, huh?"
"S'pose not," he smirked back with a shake of his head and a glance over you face, flushed with exertion, eyes sparkling. "Didn't step on your toes, did I?"
"Not enough to break any," was your shrugged, mischievous reply. He chuckled even as you stepped back from him, the slow drag of your fingers down his right arm making him want to pull you back in again. "C'mon, I could use something to wet my whistle after all that exercise."
With an amused snort, Bucky nodded and laced his fingers with yours to lead you back to the table. Steve and Sam were sitting there, pretending to make small talk at your approach. Bucky knew damned good and well they had been watching, especially when Steve raised an eyebrow over the beer he was sipping from.
"Mighty fancy footwork there, Buck," he snickered once he'd set the bottle back on the table.
Bucky sat down, in an exceptionally good mood, and volleyed back across the table. "You had a lotta practice in the last 75 years, Stevie? Or 95 for that matter?"
Sam was trying to hold back a laugh and you hid a smile behind the straw you were drinking from. Both seeming to wait with bated breath. But Steve knew a friendly razz when he heard one and this one tickled him well enough he threw his hands up in surrender. "You got me."
When Rogers let out a big, genuine laugh, so did the rest of the table. After it finally died down, you rattled the ice in your otherwise empty glass. "The server been around recently?"
"Not in a while," Sam replied with a shake of his head, taking a swig of his own. "But it's pretty busy."
You sighed a little, putting your hands on the table to push onto your feet. "Well, gentleman. If you'll excuse me, I'd like to go freshen up. I'll see if I can't find her on the way back."
After you were met with shrugs of indifference, you left the table. Bucky watched as you wove your way around other customers to disappear into the little hallway that led to the restrooms. While you were away, Steve and Sam got into a discussion about alcohol that Bucky had no current interest in. Though he did hear something about Asgardian liquor that sounded like a topic he might want to revisit later. For the time being, he was perfectly content remaining in control of his faculties. By the time Bucky looked up to find you leaving the restroom, the waitress still hadn't shown up.
You seemed to realize this, flashing him a smile before turning toward the bar. Figuring you were going to just order another round of drinks on your own, Bucky excused himself from the table with the intent on helping you carry them back. Steve and Sam shared a look, but made no objections as he stood. He was picking his way around a group at a standing table when he saw Meg coming from what he assumed was the kitchen with what looked like Styrofoam clamshells in hand. She seemed to notice you approaching and started to smile when some asshole at the bar grabbed hold of her.
Bucky was forced to pause a moment, waiting for someone to scoot their chair out of his way so he could pass, which worsened the ire that had risen in him over the sight of the struggling woman. But when he caught sight of your face, having seen the action yourself, his throat tightened in fear. You were gonna do something stupid, he knew from the twist of your face. He'd seen it before, though not on you. Your feet were already carrying you, too hellbent and righteous to see the guy was bigger than you. Probably outweighed you by a good fifty pounds at least and had who knows how many inches or feet on you, but enough you could easily be at his mercy. Bucky stopped being quite so polite as he moved through the crowd.
He watched you pull up on the guy, saying something hotly. Judging from your features, whatever he shot back was as unpleasant as his actions. His hands gripped the waitress's ass and Bucky was pretty sure he saw you lose your mind for a split second. Dodging people as quick as he could, heart beating frantic, desperate to reach you before anything happened, he saw your nails dig into the guy's shoulder, whipping him around. With his grip loosened, you shouldered your way between the two, shoving the waitress out of reach. Yet, the moment he realized the drunk was reaching for you, something shifted inside Bucky's head.
Cold fury flared inside him, all his senses sharpening to acute focus on his main objective. Any obstacles in his way were quickly neutralized. People shoved and he barely registered their cries of protest, didn't care. Chairs were tossed aside, with or without their occupants. A long table stood in his way and without hesitation he leaped onto it and made his way across the top with zero regard of the dishes rattling and breaking under his feet. All there was in his brain, all he could see or hear or smell or think, was that pile of shit putting his hands on you, trying to hurt you. Nothing was going to stand in his way to rectify it.
On his approach, he saw you spin in the guy's grasp, bringing your elbow sharply across his nose to cause a spray of blood. A proud, but vicious little thought flittered through his head. Good girl. Yet when the asshole's hand shot out, knocking you backwards to the floor, his brain scrambled even worse. There were no real thoughts left at all. Just a mission. Just a target. The crowd parted ahead of him.
No set mission parameters. Method of termination at his discretion. No conventional weapons readily available. Bare hands would suffice. Pure, crystalline rage pumping through his veins. Correction; bare hands were preferable. When the already bloodied fucker tried to get mouthy, the sound was drowned out by the gears of his left arm buzzing into overdrive. Metal fingers shot toward the expanse of the target's throat, well below full power. Snapping a neck was too quick, too painless. Instead, he used the momentum to drag the entire body to slam against the far wall. His grip constricted at the choked noise that bubbled from the throat beneath his grasp, hands clawing feeble and unfelt at metal, fear dancing through bloodshot eyes, even as his own growling voice filled his ears.
"Ты ее касаюсь, я раздавлю твою трахею."
He raised his right arm, fist clenched white-knuckle tight, prepared to strike. Further obliterate nose, shatter jaw, cave in skull. But a hand touched his elbow, making him hesitate. Then there was another voice, not his, female, close but muffled. Familiar. He kept his eyes on his struggling target as he listened.
"Bucky… it's me… hear me? Look at me, Bucky."
Fingers loosening a hair's breadth, he made out the sound of footsteps, two sets out of sync by a fraction, stopping abruptly behind him. Something moved in his peripheral vision, a hand pressing into his chest, gentle, and he broke visual contact with his target to find a face, warm and bright and beautiful, but concerned, eyeliner deadly sharp and painted lips that began to speak again.
"Bucky, let him go. It'll be alright. We'll take care of him. Just put him down."
You. It was you. Bucky dropped his right arm slow, hand going lax as it fell to his side. His metal fingers sprang open, letting the target.. the man, asshole that he was, slide down the wall to a heap on the floor. Someone - no… Sam. Sam rushed over, checking vitals no doubt. Your name tumbled from Bucky's lips in a desperate question. The fog in his brain was starting to dissipate, but a last little jumbled remnant slipped out. "мое солнышко."
Suddenly, it felt like he couldn't breathe, not enough air in the whole world to fill his frantic lungs. Images of what he'd done flashed through his mind. The still-fresh memories of searing hatred that flickered back to life for a split second at the thought of you being manhandled. Plates smashed beneath his boots. People shouting. Fear. Not just that night in that bar, but how many other times in how many other places? Though rarely with his bare hands and this time… this time no one had given him an order.
Your hand slid across his cheek, voice trying to soothe. "Shhh, shhhhh. Bucky, breathe. C'mon, breathe."
What had you seen him do?
Sam's voice rose from behind you, as if in answer. "Guy's alive. Conscious, but pretty banged up. Broken nose, bruising at his neck, but he seems to be breathing okay right now."
He had to get out of there. Had to get away from the situation, from you. Too much. Too much going through his head. Pulling away, he turned to bolt. But he nearly crashed into Steve, who grabbed his shoulders carefully. "Buck? You alright? Let's get you outside, get ya some air."
Steve was already pulling him through a sea of horrified stares before he could fathom a reaction. Though he had started to come back to himself already, when he burst through the back door into the alleyway, cold damp air finally help ease the fire in his lungs, his brain was still scattered. Fear and rage and self-loathing were eating him up and he needed to focus. He pushed Steve out of the way, finding a trash dumpster near the door. Gears in his left arm winding up in a sickening whir, he launched his fist at the image of the drunk's face his mind had painted on the front of the industrial metal bin. Another strike at Pierce's face though he knew the bastard was dead. Strike. Rumlow's. Strike. His handlers. Strike. The men who called themselves doctors. Strike. The trainers. Strike. Zola. Over and over again, every face he could remember that had ever made him lose himself. Even his own.
"Buck," Steve's voice rang in his ears, approaching cautiously. "Bucky, you gotta calm down. It's gonna be okay."
"Okay," he managed to bark out in disbelief, finally noticing the large dent he'd put in the dumpster. "You think this is gonna be okay?"
He rested his hands on the edge of the dumpster, letting his head fall between his arms as he leaned, catching his breath, more from exertion now though some panic lingered in his brain. Steve was still at a respectable distance when he spoke again. "Buck, that wasn't you…"
"That's where you're wrong, Stevie," he spat back, bitter and angry as he shook his head. Sweat dampened tendrils of hair smacked into his face and he didn't care. "That was me. No one gave me an order. I wanted to kill him. Strangle him slow, crush his skull with my bare hands. Because he touched her. Because he could've hurt her. That's what I've got in me now."
"Something in you was triggered," Steve began to explain, but the lip of the dumpster crumpled under a sudden metal fist.
"Yeah, triggered like a loaded fucking weapon," Bucky roared back, spinning toward Steve, though he had no violent intentions. "Is that what you want training your new recruits? Is that what you want watching your back or the backs of your teammates while on a mission? A weapon with a hair trigger and a nasty disposition? A monster? Huh? Is that what you want?"
Steve didn't seem to have an answer then. Only a sympathetic look that chafed against his anger, wore down the sharp edges of it until he gave a ragged sigh. He leaned back against the now-damaged dumpster, letting the weight of everything sag him down. So many things running through his head. The incident replaying through his mind. How you had stopped him from jamming his fist into the man's face.
"She saw everything, didn't she," he asked, looking up at Steve. Rogers nodded, looking a little distraught over having to deliver the news.
Bucky scrubbed his hand over his face, shaking his head, heart sinking as he remembered the way you looked as he twirled you on the dance floor. Jesus, it felt like ages ago as opposed to a mere 20 minutes or so. "She was having fun. Probably scared the shit out of her. God, how is she ever gonna look at me again? She was the only one who hadn't seen…"
"Give her some credit, Buck," Steve offered gently. "She's not some delicate shrinking violet. She's dealt with things before."
That might have been true, but the idea that you would shy away from him ate Bucky up inside. "I thought I was getting better. Maybe this is what I get for thinking I could be anything other than what they made me."
Again, Steve didn't seem to have a response. He only reached out, settling a hand on Bucky's shoulder, squeezing gingerly. Bucky didn't have the heart or desire to shrug it away. A few silent moments passed, everything replaying again and again on a constant loop in his brain. From the moment things had shifted in his brain to the moment Steve was pulling him away. But then the door to the alley flew open, breaking the stillness and causing him and Steve to both start in surprise as they looked up.
"Bucky," your voice rose a bit frantic, eyes searching as you took the iron wrought stairs to the asphalt faster than you probably should have in those heels. When your eyes fell on him, you sounded almost relieved. "Bucky."
Bucky felt like a deer in headlights, unable to move or think, as you ran toward him. There wasn't a trace of fear or hesitation in you, though your eyes were tinged red, like you'd been crying, as you brushed past Steve on his way to join Sam at the door. You crashed into Bucky, full force, though it barely swayed him, throwing your arms around his neck. For a moment, he wasn't sure what to do.
"Oh, Buck," you whispered soft near his ear, concerned. Your voice broke a little. "Are you okay? I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry…"
He didn't want to question it. Maybe later, but not now. Right now, you weren't afraid. Right now, you were pressed against him warm and sweet. He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you a little tighter. Burying his face in the crook of your neck, he let the scent of you soothe the ache in his lungs. Let his mind still a moment as you babbled gentle, incoherent things and your fingers carded through his hair.
But it couldn't last forever, no matter how much he wanted it to. He remembered his surroundings and why he was there. That asshole had tried to hurt you. Worry shook him out of his daze and he gripped your hips to push you out to arm's length. There was a surprised look on your face as he started to pat and prod you gently here and there. "He knocked you down. Are you hurt?"
"I'm fine," you reassured, though he kept on with his inspection. "Bucky, I'm fine. He didn't hurt me."
"Why," Bucky suddenly found himself asking, voice strained as he cupped your face in his hands. His fingers were steady, but something inside him was shaking like a leaf as he looked into your wide eyes. "Jesus, sweetheart, why would you do something like that, huh?"
"What else was I supposed to do," you asked, brows knitting. "Didn't you see…"
"I seen it," he nodded, thumbs slipping haphazardly over your cheek bones. "But you could've gotten one of us. Me or Steve or Sam. We would've done something. You didn't have to put yourself in danger."
"Bucky, I wasn't …" you began to argue. So goddamn stubborn!
"You had to know," he cut you off a little harsher, a little more desperate than he meant to. "You had to know I'd do anything to protect you."
Your face crumpled then, just for a second, striking Bucky dumb in the process. Then you took a deep breath to compose yourself, your exhale ragged and a little wet. Reaching up, you circled your fingers around his wrists to pull his hands from your face, giving him a weak smile. "I'm sorry I worried you, Bucky, but I didn't need to you to protect me. If I couldn't survive getting knocked on my ass once in a while, I wouldn't still be here."
Bucky opened his mouth to speak, but wasn't sure what to say. It didn't seem to matter to you anyway. You slipped the fingers of your right hand between his metal ones, still undisturbed by them, and tugged him along toward where Steve stood talking with Sam, who held Bucky's jacket in his hands. Wilson tilted his chin in acknowledgment as the two of you approached.
"Sam talked to the owner," Steve informed Bucky quietly. "He's not gonna press any charges. Just asked us to pay for any damages and meals he's gotta comp for customers. Shouldn't be a problem."
"Gotta love being bankrolled by the richest guy in America," Sam joked quietly, obviously trying to ease things a little.
Bucky still grumbled, though he appreciated the effort. "Stark gonna have a problem with that?"
"Doubt he'll even notice," Steve answered, shaking his head with a small huff of laughter. "Drop in the bucket for him. Probably still less than what he spends on a night out."
"And the guy," Bucky asked. The image of a bloodied face, body dangling from his metal hand flashed through his head again.
"His buddy's taking him to the hospital," you replied, surprising Bucky a little. "He's already on probation, so it's not likely he's going to call the cops. Plus, the waitress threatened assault charges if he did."
"Everyone else was just star struck at seeing Captain America and friends taking out a bad guy," Sam added jovially as he handed Bucky's jacket over. "Though a few were a little worried you might have been Banner."
Bucky squeezed his eyes shut with a heavy sigh. What a mess. What an absolute fucking mess he'd managed to make of the evening. And the three of you left to clean it up. He wasn't even sure why the hell any of you bothered.
"Hey, man," Wilson asked in a soothing voice, drawing Bucky's attention to him. "You keepin it together okay right now?"
He nodded, exhausted, and glanced over at you. "I just… Just wanna go home, is all."
You gave him a gentle smile and squeezed his hand a little tighter as the other two gave noises of approval. Steve went to get the car and when he rolled up, Bucky got into the backseat with you. The drive back was long and oppressively quiet, everyone ill at ease for good reason. He let you handle awkward good-byes to Steve and Sam before they headed home themselves. Once inside the house, Bucky ignored your concerned looks, let the cat follow him into his room, and shut the door behind him.
