Reckless Love

But missions were never just fine, at least not really. They clung to you by the gunpowder in your clothes, adrenaline under your skin, and the faint tremor in your hands you can’t seem to get rid off.

Which was probably why neither you nor Bucky had gone to your rooms.

Instead, you ended up in the kitchen.

At… whatever time it was. 12AM? Maybe 12.30. Either way, it was late enough that the compound had gone eerily quiet. The lights were dimmed and the world narrowed down to the hum of the refrigerator and the buzz of the overhead lamp.

Bucky set the Chinese takeaway bag on the counter like it was precious cargo. “Got you your favourite.”

“You didn’t have to,” you said, leaning back against the opposite counter, arms loosely crossed. Your voice was softer than usual, and Bucky took note of that. 

He shrugged, already pulling containers out. “You forgot to eat before the mission.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no aggression behind it. “I had a protein bar.”

“That doesn’t count.”

“It does if I say it does.”

Bucky glanced at you, the corner of his mouth tugging up. “Yeah, well. You’d say anything counts if it means you don’t have to admit you’re wrong.”

You huffed out an amused laugh.

There it was, that comfortable rapport you and Bucky got going on. It always came there, no matter how the mission went. It was… nice, for lack of a better word.

He slid one of the containers toward you without asking.

Your favorite, the wonton soup.

Of course it was.

You looked down at it, then back up at him. “You remembered.”

He didn’t look at you this time, focusing instead on unwrapping his own food. “You order the same thing every time.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is.”

“It’s not,” you insisted, but your voice had gone softer again, almost thoughtful. “Sometimes I get the other thing.”

“What? The egg drop soup?” Bucky finally glanced up, lifting an eyebrow. “You complain about it every time you get it and say you should’ve gotten this instead.”

You paused. He did have a point.

His mouth twitched up again only barely, like he was trying not to let himself smile too much.

And then, because you couldn’t help yourself, you smiled too.

You both settled around the small coffee table on the corner of the room, the one that was technically too small for two people but somehow always ended up being shared anyway. 

Bucky leaned back slightly in his chair, stretching one arm along the backrest beside him. The metal of his other hand rested on the table, fingers tapping once, then twice.

“You did good today,” you said after a moment, stirring at your soup more than actually eating it.

“So did you.”

“I almost missed that shot.”

“You didn’t.”

“Almost.”

“Doesn’t count.”

You huffed softly, glancing up at him. “Right,” you muttered, looking back down, even though you could still feel his eyes on you.

A moment passed in silence, until it was too uncomfortable for either of you to bear.

“You didn’t have to—” you started again, nodding toward the food, like you needed to circle back to a safer topic. “—do this.”

Bucky leaned forward slightly, forearms resting on the table now.“It’s just food.”

“It’s not just food,” you took a bite full of wonton, then swallowed, “and you know it.”

He did. He could’ve just heated up frozen pizza. Or put on some fries in the new air fryer Val got. Instead, he went through all the effort to get you your favourite takeout. 

He shrugged, “You were running on empty.”

You laughed, almost in disbelief. “That’s not your problem.”

Bucky can only smile. “Yeah,” he said, “I know.”

You looked up again, and he was already looking at you.

And for a second it felt like something that had been brewing between you for months might actually be said. It’s almost as if one wrong move might break it, or fix it, or—

You nudged his foot lightly under the table.

“Eat your food, Barnes,” you said, gentler now, but with that teasing edge still. “You’re gonna get all grumpy if you don’t.”

He tilted his head. “Already grumpy.”

“No, you’re not.” You nudged him again. “Not when you’re with me.”

You didn’t even know what you meant by that, but he didn’t move his foot away.

Instead, his eyes dropped briefly to where your feet touched under the table, then back up to your face.

“You worry too much,” he said.

You nodded your head. “Someone has to.”

Bucky let out a huff, almost like a laugh.

By the time the food was gone, neither of you had moved much.

Your containers sat empty, pushed off to the side. The common room had gone quieter, if that was even possible. 

Bucky was still leaning back in his chair, one arm hooked over the back, the other resting on the table. 

It was getting late. You should go to bed. You didn’t, though.

Bucky cleared his throat. “Uh—”

You looked up.

He was already looking at you, but the second your eyes met, his gaze flicked away, suddenly shy. His fingers tapped once against the table.

“You, uh…” He shifted slightly in his chair. “You wanna watch a movie or something?”

The words came out a little too nervous to be casual. It was like he was aiming for easy and landed just shy of it.

“Okay,” you said. 

His shoulders dropped just a fraction.“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

“Okay,” he repeated, like he needed to hear it twice.

—

That was how you ended up on the couch.

The TV lit up the room in soft blue light as the menu screen flickered to life.

Bucky handed you the remote. “Your pick.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “That’s a trap.”

“It’s not a trap.”

“If I pick something bad, you’re gonna judge me.”

“I don’t—” he started, then paused. “I don’t judge.”

You just looked at him.

He sighed. “…Okay, I judge a little.”

“Exactly.”

You turned your attention back to the screen, scrolling through options.

Rows of movies passed by. You hovered over one— Hachiko, a dog movie. 

Bucky leaned slightly closer to see. “…No. The book is better.”

You turned to him. “I didn’t even pick it yet.”

“You were thinking about it.”

You scoffed. “You don’t know my thought process.”

“I do.”

“Oh, do you?”

“Yeah,” he said, a little too confidently. “You pick something sad, then pretend you’re ‘fine’ the whole time.”

“I am fine.”

“You cried at that other dog movie.”

“Airbud was emotional!”

“The dog was fine at the end.”

“That’s not the point!”

Bucky chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re not picking that.”

“Oh, so now I don’t get to pick at all?”

“You can pick,” he said, gesturing toward the screen. “Just not that.”

You stared at him for a second, then hovered over it again just to get on his nerves.

Bucky leaned forward instantly. “Don’t.”

You grinned, pretending to press the button dramatically. 

“Don’t.”

You clicked away at the last second, satisfied.

“Wow,” he muttered. “Real mature.”

“Thank you.”

You kept scrolling and paused over one of the Peter Jackson Hobbit movies. 

Bucky leaned in to you, close enough that you could feel his warmth, the brush of his arm against yours.

“Are you kidding?” he said.

“You didn’t even read which one it was!”

“I don’t need to,” he said stubbornly, “the books are better.”

“You’re fucking impossible, old man,” you said, faking an annoyance. 

“You have terrible taste.” He didn’t really mean it. 

You sunk back on the couch. “Whatever.”

Five minutes later, you were still scrolling.

Five minutes turned to ten minutes. Then fifteen.

Lego Movie? Pass. Lego Batman? Pass. Alien? Meh. Predator. Seen that too many times. 

“This is getting ridiculous,” he muttered under his breath.

“You keep vetoing everything,” you shook your head. 

“Everything you pick is concerning.”

You turned to him. “You suggested a documentary about trains last time.”

“It was interesting.”

“It was two hours of trains, Bucky.”

“They were different trains.”

You stared at him. He stared back.

“I’m not watching that again.”

“Your loss.”

You rolled your eyes, then kept scrolling to another row… another.. 

And then—

You stopped.

You slowly turned your head toward him.

“No,” you both said, in perfect sync, though neither sounded convinced.

You looked back at the screen, before looking back at each other.

“Okay, but…” you started.

“It’s a stupid choice to make,” he said.

“I know.”

“It’s really stupid. We could do better”

“I know.”

Then, quieter, like he was giving in despite himself, he broke the silence. “…You wanna watch it?”

Your smile spread immediately. “Yeah.”

He huffed. You pressed it and the movie started.

Paul Blart: Mall Cop 2.

Sam had made him watch the first one after all. He had pretended not to like it, but it became one of his guilty pleasures. 

It wasn’t longer before you slapped a hand over your mouth after you snorted at a scene. “I’m sorry.”

Bucky shook his head, already smiling. “No, no. it’s—”

Another ridiculous scene played, and you both lost it.

At one point, you leaned into him without thinking, your shoulder pressing fully against his as you laughed.

Bucky froze for half a second, before relaxing into it.

His arm shifted slightly, not quite around you, but close. Close enough that if either of you moved just a little more…

But neither of you did.

The movie played on, ridiculous and dumb and perfect in a way neither of you would admit out loud.

—

The movie had been playing for, what— thirty  minutes? Maybe forty.

Bucky couldn’t tell anymore, because he was now frozen. 

Just two minutes ago, he was laughing at a corny joke saying something stupid about segways, when he realised you weren’t answering.

He looked to the side and saw that you were leaning on his human shoulders. 

He hadn’t dared move, hadn’t even trusted himself to breathe normally. He was hyper-aware of everything: the warmth of being so close to you, the weight leaning into his arm, the faint scent of oil you couldn’t quite get out of your hair. Every nerve in his body felt like it had been switched on at once.

Your head tipped.

And before he could even process it, before he could decide whether to panic or not… his mind supplied helpfully, that you were asleep.

You were asleep on him.

Bucky stared straight ahead at the TV like it might detonate if he looked away.

Okay.

Okay, this was fine.

An adorably small exhale left you, and your head slid just slightly more onto his shoulder, settling there.

There was a very important decision to make here.

He could wake you.

That would be the normal thing to do. It was the reasonable thing to do. He should gently nudge you, say your name, pretend his heart wasn’t currently trying to punch its way out of his chest.

Or…

He glanced down, carefully.

Your cheek was pressed against his shoulder, your face relaxed in sleep. You were peaceful. Comfortable. With him.

He wasn’t stupid. He knew your past and the mental toll that came with it. He knew you were paranoid and hyper vigilant— you told him that yourself. Once, you even told him people made you uncomfortable and uneasy. 

But evidently, not him. 

His throat went dry.

Or… he could not wake you.

Bucky reached very, very carefully for the remote and paused the movie. The screen froze mid-scene, some convention that Blart was currently attending in the background.

He set the remote aside like it might make noise if he wasn’t cautious enough.

And then he stayed. He didn’t move. He didn’t breathe in too deep. And he didn’t even dare adjust his human arm, even though it was already starting to go a little numb.

At some point, your breathing evened out into that steady rhythm of deep sleep. You shifted slightly, and Bucky tensed, worried you’d wake, but instead you just settled more comfortably against him.

Your lips parted just a little.

Aaaand you were definitely drooling on him.

Bucky still did not move.  If anything, his shoulders somehow squared further, like he was bracing himself against the concept of ever disturbing you.

Time passed, and Bucky didn’t even check the clock. His arm had long since gone numb, pins and needles creeping down into his fingers, but he refused to shift even an inch.

This was fine. He’d survived worse with Hydra, cryo, decades of nightmares… He could surely survive being a human pillow.

The door whooshed open at around 3 AM. 

Bucky didn’t react. It wasn't unusual for one of the team members to get hungry and raid the kitchen before everyone else was awake. 

“Hey, Buck…” Bob’s voice cut off mid-sentence. “…What are you doing?”

Bucky stared straight ahead at the frozen TV screen. “Watching a movie.”

Bob walked further into the room.“The movie is paused.”

“We’re uh… taking a break.” Bucky was obviously trying to whispers 

Bob looked between the TV and you.

Then he looked back at Bucky, sitting ramrod straight like a statue, arm clearly trapped but making absolutely no attempt to fix it.

Bob raised an eyebrow. “How long have you been…?”

Bucky hesitated. “Not long.”

Bob glanced at the clock, knowing you came back from the mission  little less than four hours ago.. “Are you sure?”

“Maybe an hour,” Bucky gulped. 

Bob just chuckled. “You’ve been sitting there, not moving… For an hour.”

Bucky said nothing.

“Your arm is literally dead, isn’t it?”

“I can’t feel my fingers.” He admitted dryly.

“And you’re just… okay with that,” Bob tilted his head curiously.  

“Yeah.”

Bob let out a small innocent laugh, reaching for sweets in the jar on the table behind them. Bob knew Bucky, and he knew you. He knew that Bucky was very particular about his personal space, and he hated the invasion of it. This, however, was less of an invasion and more of a please come into my space and stay there forever. “Have you tried telling her you’re in love with her?” He suggested, trying to be helpful.

Bucky’s head snapped toward him so fast it was almost alarming. “I’m not—”

Bob just gave him a surprised look. “You’re not?”

“I’m not,” Bucky insisted, quieter now. “I just… she fell asleep, that’s all.”

“She’s drooling on you.”

Bucky could feel the heat on his cheeks. “I noticed.”

“And you still haven’t moved for an hour, maybe more.”

Bucky looked down at you.

Your face was soft even in sleep, completely unguarded. 

Something in his eyes shifted, and maybe, he was realising that what he felt for you was… affection.  Then he looked away again.

“I didn’t want to wake her,” he repeated, more quietly this time.

Bob stared at him then shrugged “Yeah,” he said. “Sure.”

Bucky frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” Bob turned, already heading toward the kitchen. “Absolutely nothing.”

Bucky watched him go.

Then, he looked back at you.

You shifted slightly in your sleep, pressing just a little closer.

Maybe, he thought, it would just be easier to take Bob’s advice and tell you he was in love with you. 

Maybe you loved him back. 

Maybe… maybe then he would get to watch over your little snores everyday. 

And then, it would’ve been worth it. 

Maybe.