Nine months. It had been nine months since he got out. Nine months since his whole world view was decimated, nine months for him to re-learn the world. It was a big milestone. He looked out onto the world he never thought heâd be a part of, and he felt... incomplete. A month ago it would tell you it was his arm causing it, that the prosthesis didnât cut it. But recently heâs come to accept it, to almost cherish it. After all, it was state of the art, and a symbol of his new freedom. So that wasnât it.
Bucky had been musing on this feeling for a few days now with his recovery and accountability partner, Nat, over the phone. She suggested getting a date, or doing something that made his body more his own again. Reclaiming it. Nat had done that for herself in her own way, but Bucky wasnât exactly ready to do anything as big as Natâs reclamation just yet. And thatâs when Nat mentioned body modification.
âLike, tattos nâ shit, right?â He had asked, washing his one plate from dinner while on call. âYeah, that sounds like a good idea...â
And thatâs how he found himself standing outside the doors of the tattoo parlor across the street from his place. It was easy, Nat had told him. You went in, talked about what you wanted, they might send you home to think about some suggestions, then you come back with your final decision if they sent you off, and youâre ready to go. So as nervous as he was, he took a breath and walked in, pretending to know what he was doing. It didnât work well and he just ended up looking afraid. He did have something simple in mind for his first one though, and thatâs what kept him from backing out.Â