AN: First off, thank you to my dedicated followers and commenters. I apologize for being MIA recently. Alas, life has been busy. There are some more answers in this chapter; however, my intention is to set the stage for bigger things to come. Thanks and enjoy!
"Buck, I am not a paper doll! I'm not going to shatter at a moments notice!" I huffed in irritation looking up at the immovable force blocking me.
"I am not going to ask you again. Get in bed. Now doll." His voice came out in a hrash whisper.
I could tell I trying his patience. But he wias also trying mine. I had been cooped up in my room for almost four whole days! I needed fresh air, and sunshine, and birds chirping, and alcohol, and pain medication. Probably not a good combo, idiot. This is why they took you off that medication so quickly. Honestly, I was just sick of being treated with kid gloves; I was healing, but I was sick and tired of being bed ridden.
"But Bucky!" I stomped my foot like a petulant little child trying to get their way. The Winter Soldier remained unamused. His metal hand reached out and gingerly grasped my arm, right above my elbow. It always fascinated me how something so clearly created for destruction could be so tender and reassuring. I was pulled towards my bed, a black and white cat contrasting my yellow comforter. I tried to step up into my fluffy prison, but I winced as pain shot up my side. Cold metal and warm flesh grasped my waist, fingers brushing against the small sliver of skin between my oversized sweatpants and my faded tank top that said Hey Y'all in rounded, curling letters. Just like the juxtaposition between Bucky's metal hand and human hand, my body responded in contrast: I shivered and flushed all at once. He eased me onto my bed, his breath hitting my cheek. I knew he felt what I was feeling, the push and pull of the attraction we clearly had for each other. He felt it too, right?
He tucked me in, his fingers lingering to push a loose curl behind my ear. He turned to leave.
"Wait!" He paused not looking at me, waiting for me to keep talking.
"Um… could ya stay? You see, I'm going crazy in here. I've already read 4 books… and I've resorted to talking out loud to Cilantro. I think I'm loosin it…" I half joked looking his direction bashfully.
"August. You've been talking to your cat since before you got shot," He arched one brow at me and gave me a devilish smirk. I laughed and petted my tuxedo cat behind his ears.
"Well, at least I haven't been hearing him talk back. Then we would need to worry. Uh anyways, I demand that you entertain me!" I exclaimed, waving my hands in the air as if a noble queen was beseeching her knight.
"What if I have something better to do, huh?" He moved to sit on the end of my bed. I scoffed and shook my head.
"What is better than talking to cute little me?" I joked waggling my eyebrows at him, reaching to touch his skin. He pulled back his arm, realizing my evil plan to coerce him into staying to talk to me. I paused, suddenly worried that maybe I had overstepped or that maybe I was reading too much into our previous encounters. I mean, I knew that in the least we were friends and at the most we were… something. But what if he doesn't actually like me and I am just feeding him my emotions through my power? He stood abruptly and moved with a fluidity that water would have been jealous of.
Standing next to my side he leaned closer to me. I could see the attractive stubble on his face, sky-blue eyes, powerful jaw, and mouth titled in a sinful slant.
"I would say kissing is better than talking," His voice was low and husky. Desire suddenly erupted in my gut. He moved closer, his nose barely brushing mine, eagle eyes watching to see how I would respond. My bottom lip quaked like a leaf about to fall off from a tree. His palms moved to lay flat on the mattress, not wanting to scare me away.
As his surprisingly soft lips met mine, I felt his raw emotion hit me. Want. Affection. Compassion. Determination. Guilt. The last feeling surprised me, but instead of pulling away, I bravely leaned in more. I felt like my lips and my fingertips were humming. It was like when the light kisses the earth right before the sun sets for the night. His hand came up and threaded in my hair pulling me even closer. I felt his legs hit the side of the bed.
All of the sudden he pulled away from me. I was panting rather embarrassingly, but was distracted by his quick movements. He had a confused look on his face as he looked down at the mattress. He stepped back and hunched over, grabbing something from between my mattress and bed frame. I gasped out loud. Oh Fuck!
In Bucky's hands was the file that I had borrowed from Maria Hill. The file on James Buchannan Barnes. The man who just had his lips sealed against mine. I gulped almost audibly as his hands opened the folder, his eyes scanning the text. He flipped pages, not once looking up. I tried to read his face, but it was indiscernible.
"Bucky?" I whispered nervously. He still didn't look at me, but started to flip more frantically through the file as if he was looking for something specific. He got to the end and seemed to let out a sigh of.. relief?
Silence permeated the room like colored dye slinking through clear water. I waited, nervous, scared, uncertain, confused.
"Why do you have this?" He still wasn't looking at me. I sat gathering myself, my courage, my answer.
"I wanted to know what they did to you. What parts you were missing. How I could help. I… I haven't read it yet…. At first I was pretty damn determined to read it, but then something… something held me back," I attempted to explain. He sighed again and moved to sit on the dge of my bed. His eyes meet mine finally, bubbling with emotion. Something was brewing behind those baby blues.
"Why do you want to help me?"
"I like helping people."
"That's the answer you're going to stick with?" He called out my vague excuse.
"Um, yes?" He gave me a stern look and looked at my hands. I could tell he was debating on whether or not to give me a chance to answer without my powers.
"Fine. I feel like…. I feel like we have a connection. The first time I saw you, I knew that you deserved my help. It's not out of pity or obligation to Steve or you, I just…. I just was overcome with this sense of.. familiarity?" I ended uncertain myself. I reached for his bared hand. The second our finger tips touched, my mind was zapped with an image. A flash of something.I ripped my hand back.
"That! What is that?" I exclaimed. His eyes widened a fraction. I would've missed it if I hadn't been paying attention. I stretched my fingers towards him again wrapping around his thick wrist. Another image zinged into my mind's eye. I felt his pulse quicken. I tried to focus, holding on with a tight grip.
I saw a young girl with messy, unkempt brown hair huddled in the corner of a poorly lit room. She sat on a hospital bed, a blood bag hanging from her. Her face, although drooping with exhaustion and pale like moonlight, was smiling.
I threw myself away from Bucky, not even acknowledging the pain of my fast motion. I was panting again, but in fear and confusion. A sweat had broken out on my brow and I felt as if I was going to hurl. None of this made sense.
"That was me! That was fucking me!" I felt like I was yelling, but my voice only came out in a whisper. Bucky moved towards me, acting as if I was a skittish, wounded animal.
"No! Don't fucking touch me!" He cringed as if I had slapped him across the face.
I tried to calm down. Tried to reel in my emotions. Tried to think. The memory (that's what it had to be) bounced around my head, swarming my senses. I rocked my body back and forth, breathing in and out.
Even in my pain and disorientation, one thing was abundantly clear to me. A horrible epiphany and realization settled in my soul.
"You are the one who took me."
A/N: More answers are coming soon my pretties!