#itsinthewoods

Bucky and Natasha move as quickly as they can. The carrier is firing up as they come, doctors and nurses standing by at the hatch. They help move Steve onto the gurney, his eyes still shut. They begin cutting at the rest of his outfit, Bucky backing away. Sam is further up with people working on him. Bucky asks them to take care of them, but all he gets are solemn nods as Natasha redirects him. Gently guiding him away from his friends. 

“You need to be looked at. I will go get the Doc. Rhodey is already on his way back.” She says quietly, as he watches them work on them. How are both of his friends strapped to gurneys on a helicopter? And he was just standing here, unharmed.

Bucky is already shaking his head and walking off the carrier. “Stay with them. Keep me updated. I got to go get her.” 

Natasha's lips thin, but she goes back in without argument. The carrier's doors close as he heads back towards the rubble. He can feel every cut, scrape, burn, and bruise. The metal in his arm screeches and clicks as he moves. In the distance, Rhodes was coming back in from dispatching the drones. The drones that no one had known about, intel had been basically useless. Get the hard drive off an old computer in an empty warehouse. In and out. 

His teeth grind; now, both his friends had been crushed by a building. You'd been shot, and the hard drive was long gone. Bucky’s first mission with you, and it all went up in an explosion. It was all bullshit. All of it. Someone was going to answer for it. 

Coming around the corner, he is surprised to see you sitting on the edge of what is left of the building. Your body is crumpled, barely sitting upright, blood leaking out onto the ground in taps, but you didn't seem to notice. In your hands was one of the drones, a drone that you'd taken out on your own. Fingers running over the top of what looks like a logo. He moves over to you in quick strides, knowing that he needs to get you back to the tower. You needed a doctor, and were probably going to argue about it the whole way. Doctors make the worst patients or some shut shit.

“We got to go,” Bucky says your name, coming to stand near you. “No time to argue.”

Holding up the drone, you point at the logo, it's the Avengers A that's been shattered and has two slash over it forming an X. Bucky takes it and looks at it, not recognizing it. 

“What does that mean?” You ask, your eyes are out of focus, skin pale. He could hear how fast your heart was going, breath slow, you were going to crash hard. How had you even made it out of the rubble?

“We'll take it with us, I'll gather up any whole ones,” Rhodey says, having landed beside both of you. He has one of the large drones under his arm, already reaching to get others. 

Bucky traces over the symbol. The paint is rough; this was sloppy. “This is the people looking for us.”

You go to stand and nearly hit the dirt. Bucky catches you, holding you up. The heat from your body pushes against his, your trembling as you try to keep your feet under you.

“I am so out of shape,” You laugh, wavering even more. Eyes glaze over as you try and look at him. “Let's get outta here.” 

Bucky couldn't agree more. He grabs you and lifts you up with an indignant squawk. Positioning you so that one arm is under your thighs and across your back, to avoid your knee and backpack. You immediately tell him to put you down, despite wrapping your arms around his neck. He just grunts and walks towards the quinjet. 

“You're hurt.” You nearly pout; it would be adorable in any other situation. Right now, he just needs you safe. “I am capable of walking.” You protest more, throwing your head back in indignation. “This is embarrassing. Let me go.”

Bucky stops and turns to look at you, a deep sigh coming from his chest, which makes a broken rib twinge. “Please. Let me do this.”

That shuts you up; all the pain is already fading. He can feel his skin knitting back together, bruises fading, bone cracks mending. He would be okay. Steve and Sam would be okay. He just knew that, had to know that, and carrying you in his arms was the glue holding all that hope together. 

He gets to the quinjet, walking in and carefully sitting you down at the workbench. With one movement, he turns off all the screens, the way you'd taught him. He peels your med bag off you, digging through it to find what he needs.

“I can-” Bucky holds up a hand to stop you. He was not letting you argue with him, doctor or not; you were a mess. Practically sliding off your chair.

“Can I look at the wound on your left collarbone?” He asks, trying to keep himself level. Seeing you covered in blood makes him want to tear down the world. Instead, he tries to focus on tending to your wounds.

“Yes, you can.” Your voice is small, fingers curled and twisting in your lap like you can't stop yourself from moving. 

He carefully pushes your shirt down just enough for him to look at it. Carefully removing the gauze injection, he cleans it, grabs bandages, and covers the entry and exit wound. You barely flinch when he does it. Face slack, breath coming in slow, ragged breaths, adrenaline come down was coming. 

“Can I patch your legs?” Bucky asks, your eyes move to him, then down to your legs. Brows furrowing like you didn't remember injuring your legs. 

“Oh.” You whisper, fingers running over the torn skin. “Yeah. I don't think my hands are steady enough.”

“I got it. Can I cut the pants?” Bucky asks, worry settling across his chest, the weight pushing into his stomach. There wasn’t time to let it over take him, he needed to take care of you. 

“Yep. Gonna be hard to get to them otherwise.” You crack a small grin, waving as Rhodey comes on board, dumping a mostly intact drone and half a dozen parts on the ground. Along with the large one, which has a fist sized hole through its body.

“You both good if we take off? Really don't want to see if anyone else shows.” Rhodey asks, going to sit in the pilot seat. Already starting the lift off procedure, buttons and switches are being flipped. 

“Yeah, let's go,” Bucky replies, having already removed the legs of your pants. The wounds on your legs were deep, jagged edges, and still bleeding. 

Your right knee was black and purple; it was incredibly swollen and looked uncomfortable. You were staring off towards the back of the jet. He was pretty sure you were trying to hold onto whatever strength you had left. The fear crawling in his neck tingles. 

Bucky cleaned each wound as carefully and efficiently as possible. You flinched a few times, but kept still as he put bandages where needed and liquid stitch on those that were deep. Trying to stitch on the jet wasn't ideal, plus he didn’t trust his shaky hands. He double checked that there were no other wounds and made a makeshift knee brace for your leg. A groan left you, your finger clenching and unclenching. 

“That one's a bitch.” You mutter, placing one hand over top of the knee gently. “That might need an xray. But I just want my bed.”

Bucky chuckles, removing gloves and dumping everything into the medical waste bin. “When we land, you're getting seen by a doctor.”

You have already slouched into one of the chairs. Trying to curl up in some way. “Says you, that arm sounds like a meat grinder.”

Reaching over, Bucky pops off the arm and chunks it onto the workbench. Rubbing his hand against his shoulder. You were right, his arm hurt like a son of a bitch, the plates were catching and tripping sensors that caused pain to shoot into his neck. The hand had been partially melted by the plasma cutter, and it still tingled like an electrical current. Having it off was the first relief hehad had since the place collapsed.

Digging around, he found a blanket and wrapped you in it. Along with some kind of vitamin water. You thanked him and took a swig with a grimace. Bucky settles beside you, his own blanket over him. One vitamin water down, he grabs another and hands it to you. Your hand finds his, and you squeeze it, eyes closed as you rest against the chair. 

The day washes over him, the realization that his best friends were in medical care, nearly dead, hurts. Steve had been one floor down from them. Maybe thirty feet when the bombs had blown. Sam had shielded them both from the explosion, encasing them in his wings. Which had led to him being skewered on his own equipment. You had come running without hesitation, towards danger and hostile drones. Been shot and almost killed. If the shot had been an inch lower, it could have become a sucking chest wound, or worse, hit your heart. He'd seen the indents on your tact-vest, if the gun had been more powerful, you'd be dead. 

He squeezes your hand, the emotions a flurry in his mind. When his phone beeped, he dug it out and opened it.

Nat: Steve and Sam are in surgery. 

Swallowing, he clicks it off, carefully lifts the armrests, and pulls you fully against his side. He squeezes you close to him, emotions threatening to boil over. You shift slightly, wincing before settling against him with a soft sigh. You move and snuggle close, arm draped over his chest, head pressed under his chin. Bucky never wanted to let you go. 

“Will be there in about twenty-five minutes. Try to sleep.” Rhodey says over his shoulder with a knowing nod. 

There is a whirlwind of fanfare when Bucky and you land. You protest being looked at before Bucky, but he has you sitting in a wheelchair and being ushered away in moments. Another nurse takes him to a small room, and he is looked over, begrudgingly. There is no sign of damage beside his arm not functioning. The plating over his pectoral muscle and across his shoulder seemed to be intact and undamaged. The arm is something he is positive he can either fix or it can wait until you're up for it. 

Quickly, he heads to his room, putting his arm on the stand. Bucky strips out of his gear, checking his phone before having a quick shower. 

The shower feels like a betrayal to his friends. Why did he get comforts while everyone was suffering? Gritting, he made it quick and cold.

Shower done, he uses his busted arm, pain and all, to get dressed. He then removes his arm, and slips a hoodie on one-handed. Boots back on and out the door, across the hall to your room. He grabs a reusable bag you kept by the front door and starts filling it. A big fluffy blanket you loved, a pair of oversized pajamas, slippers, tooth brush and toothpaste, and the makeup wipes you always used. Then he raids the kitchen, grabbing the gummies you kept hidden, along with a bag of your favorite chips. A power cord for your phone, the book you'd started, and the water bottle you carried around every day like a stuffy. It was probably over kill, but he wanted you to feel comfortable.

Once Steve and Sam were out, he'd grab some stuff for them to. Being laid up in a medical bay was boring, worse than watching paint dry. Especially for two soldiers who never stopped moving. 

Leaving the room he makes a beeline for the elevator and is intercepted by Nat.

“You heading to the med floor?” She asks, sliding in beside him. Natasha looks equally as clean, with a pair of fuzzy pink slippers on. Carrying two bags of stuff, most of which looked like Steve's.

Bucky nods, feeling weird without his arm; it wasn't worth the pain. Being without was not something he was used to, but something he had to deal with for now.

“The shrapnel in Sam didn't damage anything major. Well deadly. One of his lungs was punctured, and he broke a few ribs. But the worst is actually his arm and one of his feet were crushed.” She tells Bucky, adjusting the bag in her hand. For the first time since he'd known her, he could tell she was nervous.

“He almost got killed protecting me, again,” Bucky felt bile rise in his throat, jaw clenching at the thought. “Steve was a level below us.”

Natasha sighs, her posture stiffening.“Steve isn't out of the woods. The doctors we got are the best, and Stark pulled his strings. Between them and the serum, he'll recover.”

“We don't know that yet.” Bucky nearly hisses, the anger sitting in his chest threatening to spill out.

“Buck.” She turns to face him; she doesn't reach to touch him, but her voice softens. “Have hope, even a little. They need that from us.”

Bucky looks away, trying desperately to shift focus. To not break down, he could feel his body trying to shake.

“The symbol we found?” He asks, knowing that Rhodey had already sent the info off to Stark.

“Homegrown group. Called the Enders, or Deathheads. Well organized, well funded, and looking to tear down the Avengers.” She states with an eyeroll, a snort, leaving her like she couldn't believe the stupidity.

“US citizens attacking the people trying to help them?” Bucky asks, matching her snort. Had to be the stupidest thing he'd heard this week. 

“From what little we found, they look at the Avengers as a tool of suppression that the government is wielding to control the country,” Natasha grumbles, the elevator doors open. The two were moving out and down the busy hallways.

“So home grown group. Looking at taking us down. How does that relate to Doc?” Bucky wonders out loud, following Nat. Watching the faces of medical staff who won't look at them directly.

“She's got detailed medical knowledge on all of us. If they were looking to develop weapons against us, she would be key.” Natasha points out the obvious answer. 

It makes Bucky's blood run cold. You had been a target; they'd never meant to kill you. Just maimed enough to take easily. They hadn't expected you to fight back. Not just fight back, but take out their drones. But now Bucky had their names, and nothing was going to stop him from tearing them apart. 

He goes with Natasha to check on Sam and Steve's progress. It made him nauseous to think about, knowing that Steve was getting pieces of metal removed from him. Sam didn't have the serum to fall back on; a crushed foot and broken arm could disable him permanently. The voice that whispered it was all his fault was loud, and getting louder. There were too many what ifs, close calls, and why hadn't he seen it?

Then he was walking into a large observations room. One wall was a entirely plexiglass, another monitors showing what was happening in the room. In the middle was a dozen chairs were residents could sit an observer the surgeries. It was thankfully empty.

On the other side of the plexiglass lay Steve. Surrounded by a dozen or so doctors, nurses, and techs who were moving like one. The sound for the room was turned off, but Bucky could see their lips moving, tools, blood bags, suction, and gauze all moving in silence. He saw three rods on the table, they were blackened at each end, a deep rusty red from the blood. They had done the two in his chest first and were now working on the one in his arm. The monitor is beeping steadily. 

A person came out of the room, looking like they had just de-scrubbed. 

“The worst is over,” The woman says, standing just inside the doorway. “His body was trying to push the metal out by the time he got here. His system is working fast on healing, but there is a lot of damage done. We won't know how long he will be out. The level of drugs we are using to keep him under is dangerous; it's likely his body will keep him unconscious for a day, maybe two. But we need him to rest for as long as possible, or risk more internal damage.” They take a moment to make sure it sinks in. “It will be another few hours before everything is done. We will keep you both apprised."

“Thank you for the update on Steve. Is Sam recrecovery?” Natasha asks, looking towards a door on the far side of the room. 

“I am not aware of his status. If you go to the observatory two down, they will have information.” She replies quickly, before leaving out the door she came out of.

Bucky takes the lead, leaving this room and moving two down. Opening the door, it's clear that Sam is no longer there. Natasha goes out into the hall, Bucky following behind her.

A tall man who looks incredibly disheveled and tired glances up at them.

“Sam is just out of surgery. You need to both,” The doctor looks between Bucky and Natasha. “Need to give him time. His foot will need another surgery or two. His arm is now held together with metal.”

He runs his hands into his hair several times. “He's lucky. Very very lucky.”

The man sighs and walks away.  Leaving Bucky and Natasha standing there waiting for direction.

“I am going to go wait for Sam. Your girl is two hallways over, private wing, room 664.” Natasha says, gesturing at a door that leads to the main halls. 

Bucky sighs, before the ‘your girl’ hits him in his tired face. “She isn't my girl, ‘Tasha.”

She snorts, arms crossing. “I've never seen you leave a wounded Steve Rogers' side. But you did, for her.”

Bucky groans, rubbing at his face, “Well I don't think she feels the same.”

Natasha starts walking. “Never know unless you ask her, Tin-man.”

Down the hall, Bucky was directed to your room by a Shield agent. Natasha's words echoed in his head. 

You were lying on the bed, knee propped up by two pillows. IV in one arm, with a bag of fluids, eyes closed, breath even. He stood there for a moment, listening to the sound of your steady heartbeat. How the medical gown moved against your skin, the gentle taping of the fluids into the IV.

“If you're gonna stare, the least you could do is say hi,” You mumble, one eye opening to look at him.

Bucky huffs and comes into the room. “Thought you were sleeping.”

“I know you can hear my heart and lungs.” You reply dryly, shifting on the bed with a stiff groan. 

He moves over helping you adjust the pillows as you scoot over. You finally get comfortable and pat the bed beside you.

“You need to rest,” Bucky comments, grabbing a chair to sit beside you. Placing the bag on the floor, you eyeball it.

“And you don't?” You pester, eyebrows raised accusingly. Patting the bed again, more instantly. “Besides you're one arm down, plenty of room.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, but does as you ask. Dropping the side rail, he unties and kicks his boots off before sliding in beside you. He grabs the blanket and pillow out of the bag. The pillow is tucked underneath your head, and the blanket is draped over you. It's awkward with one less arm, but he makes it work. So that he is lying on his side, facing towards you, legs tucked away from your knee.

"You didn't have to bring this," You say, sleepily as he tucks you in.

He shrugs, shifting more on the bed. "Least I could do."

Watching you for a second, you looked exhausted. You glance over at him, a crooked smile on your face as you watch him back.

“We got a name,” Bucky says softly, scared to break the silence. It felt so fragile to be lying next to you. 

“Who?” You ask, your voice just as quiet. Eyes wandering over his face, no longer glazed, but tired. 

“Enders. Homegrown terror group. Aiming to take out the Avengers.” He lays the facts out, keeping it simple. Certain that there would be plenty of meetings on this topic.

You groan and rub at your face. “Figures they'd be locals.”

Bucky huffs. You smell of disinfectant and dirt, but he still wants to snuggle closer. Pull you tight against him, tell you that as long as he is alive, you'll be safe.

“How'd you take down the drones?” He asks, instead of doing something he'd regret. No matter what Natasha said.

“The sensors,” A grin stretches across your face, proud of what you have accomplished. “If they go off without my input, they won't register as much. But I can max them out, and they'll take down most small craft.”

“Were you going to tell us they could do that?” He chuckles at how smug you look. Mind boggled by how you had turned a nickel-sized sensor into drone killers. 

“I wanted to test them, not like what I did. Before explaining it to you.” 

“So, you launched them at drones without any testing?”

“I had done small scale tests with success.”

Bucky rested his head on  the mattress. “Not sure if you're insane, or a genius.”

“Both.” You say, pulling the blanket over your shoulders. Staring up at the ceiling. “They were going for you and Sam. I had to try. That and I brought a rifle, I am not your crack shot, but I would have figured it out.”

Bucky shakes his head. He reaches forward with his hand, tucking a stray hair from your face. Your eyes follow his movements.

“Saved us.” Bucky whispers, looking directly at you. You're so close, yet the distance feels like you're miles away. He wants to be closer

You shrug, like it was nothing. Eyes scanning over his face again. “What I signed up for.” 

You shift, glancing down at him. He can feel the tension radiating off of you, neither of you moving. He swallows and reaches for you, hand soft as he goes over the top of your stomach. You move slightly as he brings himself closer. His chest pressed against your side, your head tucked under his. 

Bucky's eyes close, breath shuddering out of him. If you weren't injured, he'd have squeezed you closer, rolled you on top of him, and never let you go. 

“I am still here.” You say, softly, your fingers tracing patterns on his arm. “Steve and Sam will be okay. It's gonna be okay.”

Tears start to fall, and Bucky can't stop them. His chest squeezes as his breath is sucked in. Clinging onto you like you're his only tether to this world. You whisper softly to him.  Fingers tracing patterns, gentle and soft over his skin. Telling him to let it out, to hold on, that you got him and you're not letting go. The more you speak, the more he weeps; a dam has broken, and there is nothing holding them back.

Tears for memories he'll never get back, for faces of family erased, the blood on his hands. For Steve, who was iced and stuffed in a suit, trying to do the right thing. For Sam, protecting him despite not being a super-soldier. He cries for Tony, trying his damndest to right his wrong. Nights that never ended, torture that wouldn't stop. Years that were lost to ice and pain. The terrified look on Natasha's face when she saw him, how she curled in on herself when she talked about the red room. All of them were so damaged and destroyed by a world that didn't care.

There is no wailing or sobs, nothing loud. Just hot, wet tears that won't stop. They sting his eyes and make his nose run. Wetting your pillow and the top of your head.

You don't let go, holding onto his arm as you continue to murmur warm words. He can still smell the dust of concrete and disinfectant on your skin and hair. Can hear your heart pumping, strong against your ribs. You're so solid and yet so breakable. Everyone could be ripped away in a moment. 

The tears finally stop, and Bucky feels foolish, weak for breaking down. For being the one who couldn't keep it together. When everyone else was injured and he wasn't. He tries to move away, but you hold on to him firmly.

“Don't even think about it. You stubborn asshole.” You mutter, reaching to grab a box of tissues and hand it to him. 

Bucky takes several cleaning his face and nose. Leaning back so your head is more level with his. Eyes tired from the endless crying. He couldn't remember the last time he had cried or released any emotion.

Your fingers are warm under his chin as he looks at you. Bucky searches for hesitation, disgust, fear, anything to give him reason to leave. Instead your fingers just brush along his jaw. So warm against stubbled skin, making him want to lean closer.

“Stop,” He breathes, your hand moving away quick enough to burn.

“I am so sorry,” You reply, looking away. Body curling away from him, the way it should be.

Bucky is already moving away when your hand reaches out to touch him softly.

“Don't go,” Bucky can hear the pain in your voice. “You deserve kindness. None of this is your fault.” You don't beg, just asking for him to stay. “I can't do this alone.”

Bucky wants to argue, feels the bite in his throat. A weapon he could use to tear you down, push you away. Maybe enough for you to stay away. 

The smallest of voices whispers that you won't stay away. You'll give him space, but keep coming back. Like when you gave him a key to your lab, your room, even to your touch. That no matter how much he hates himself, you won't hate him. 

He knows he should leave, that he doesn't deserve you. But the way your eyes shimmer, how you hold him when no one else will touch him. Making him feel human, like maybe he could deserve to be cared for.

Bucky caves, curling back onto the bed. You pull his hand back over your stomach, resting his head on your chest. He feels your fingers thread through his hair. The ache still lingers, but for now, he will take this comfort.

You woke up to an empty hospital bed. James had been beside you most of the night, the two of you curled up under the fuzzy blanket he'd brought for you. The doctors had insisted you stay closed and monitored for at least one night. It was overkill, a fractured kneecap, and one bullet wound didn't seem like much considering your colleagues' fates. 

Natasha had stopped by sometime around two am to tell you both that Steve was stable and out of surgery. Sam was also stable and apparently irritated that he couldn’t be moved to his own room. You'd been surprised she hadn't roasted you or James for being snuggled together under the blanket. She almost looked relieved at the sight.

You guessed that James would be with them. Which left you figuring out how to get out of the bed and over to either a wheelchair or a pair of crutches. Putting a lot of weight on your left arm was painful, and your knee was in a brace that meant you couldn't bend it much. You didn't want to call a nurse, but falling on the floor wasn't exactly ideal either.

“I will cuff you to that bed,” A woman’s voice has you looking up. She has on a white coat, a security badge tucked in her pocket, and a tablet in hand. “I know ‘Doctors make the worst patients’ is true, but you’re not getting out of that bed without assistants.”

Sitting back against the pillow, you sigh, “I just want to go see if my friends are okay.”

The doctor says your name, and she comes close enough that you can read her name tag. Dr. Tamalin. You tuck that info away, as you do not recognize her.

Dr. Tamalin says your name and title, “l will have a wheelchair brought in, and crutches. But first, I want to check your vitals and the bullet wound.”

“Do you have clearance to be in here?” James is at the door and to your side in moments, having appeared out of the air. His body is a tightline, eyes dark as he looks the doctor over. 

The doctor pauses and hands the tablet to James, showing her clearance. “Mr. Barnes, you can see I have clearance there.” She gestured to the top of the tablet. “I just wanted to have a chat with the Doctor and stop her from making an early escape.” 

James hands the tablet back before going out and wheeling a chair in with crutches on it into the room. Then sits beside you, his hand finds yours, his eyes locked on her. You squeeze his hand and let the doctor work.

It took less than fifteen minutes for the doctor to go over everything. You are given strict instructions to put no weight on your knee until you are cleared by a doctor. Also, to limit the use of the crutches for the first week. With that a you are prescribed a heavy dose of antibiotics and painkillers. The wounds on your knees were inflamed, and the bullet hole had torn through muscle, so it was vital that you stopped any infection from setting in. 

James watches her leave, the scowl on his face hadn’t left, and he refused to let go of your hand.

“Something is wrong with her,” James grumbles out. He lets go of your hand and stands. 

You nod, “Yeah. I’ve never seen her before today.” 

James is up, moving the chair closer to you. “Can I help you into the chair?”

“Oh, umm, yeah. I don’t think I am strong enough to lift myself up yet.” The admission hurts; you are going to need someone to help you for at least a few days. 

He doesn’t hesitate to lift you up, your arms wrapping around his neck as he carefully sets you into the chair. Then move over to lift the knee support up, resting your leg on it gently. You try not to twinge at the feeling; any movement sends pain into your knee and hip. James grabs the blanket and drapes it over you. 

“Alright, let's go pester Sam,” James chuckles, leaning forward and kissing your forehead. The soft press of his lips on your skin, surprising you with how natural it felt. As if he had done it a everyday.

You both freeze for a moment, James having stepped back and is staring at you like you had thrown a grenade at him. 

“Shit,” He whispers, his face going pink. 

“Wait, don’t-” You try and find words, cause he just did that.

“I–it just-umm.” Bucky tries to find words, his hand running into his hair several times. 

“It’s okay.” You finally say, holding your hand out for his. He finally stops and carefully takes yours; you can feel him trembling. “James.” His eyes finally look up at you. 

“I didn’t want it to happen like that,” He whispers, eyes locked on yours. 

A smile twitches across your face, “Don’t take it back. It’s really okay.’

Chewing on his lips, he nods, but you know there is more on his mind. You lift his hand up to your lips and kiss his knuckles. His eyes watching as you kissed his skin. 

“Will this change things?” The way he asks, voice on edge, waiting for the shoe to hit him. 

“I think things changed a while ago,” You reply, squeezing his hand softly. “This place isn’t exactly normal.”

He leans forward again and kisses your forehead again. You lean into it, tryingbto savor the moment. “Please don’t tell Sam.”

You cackle, face flushing, as he steps behind you to wheel you out of the room.

Part 13

I LOVE EVERYONE OF YOU

Author note: As always, thank you all for the love and support it means the world to me!

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***

Bucky was trying, he swore he was, he didn’t mean to be always looking for you. To be finding his way down to your lab more often than not. It wasn’t like there was much for him to do; many missions were classified as being too close to orgs that might be looking for him. Or too dangerous, which was really laughable considering who he was. So he had taken to spending more and more time with you. You taught him things, about his arm, and how neurolink equipment worked. 

You endlessly fascinated him with a constant stream of knowledge and information. Like a sponge, Bucky was absorbing anything he could get. The two of you had the same clearance now, so there was no need to hide anything from the other. He knew the basics of his arm, how to fix parts of it, but you were teaching him how to fix it on a much deeper level. Even supplying him with his own toolbox, and a collapsible arm stand that he could take with him. Making doing any fixes much easier. 

Max even let him come to the workshop now and showed him how to smooth out metal, bending and folding it with different heat. How to polish and oil it to keep it maintained. The prosthetic had never worked so smoothly. He would often test it in the gym and during missions he was allowed on. Testing the limits of it, seeing how far he could go before it stopped working. The tungsten addition is heavy, but the added strength outweighs that. 

You had also helped him with strengthening exercises, targeting specific areas that helped hold his arm in place. Initiall,y you had gotten him to see a physiotherapist, who was helpful, but seemed to get nervous easily around Bucky. Not that he was surprised, most people got nervous around him. Sam had teased him that it was his aura that was throwing them off. It didn’t help that Bucky didn’t like the man touching him; he really didn’t like anyone touching him, besides you. So you had started to aid him with them. The physiotherapist still created the plans, monitored the progress, but you adjusted his movements and positions. 

The best part was that there was progress; the focused exercises were helping. His body wasn’t reacting as negatively to the new weight anymore. You had been so excited to see progress so quickly, watching your eyes light up had made his whole week. He’d do just about anything to see you light up like that daily. 

Which is what had led him here; he was standing outside your room, wondering if he was taking things too far. If he were being greedy to constantly be seeking you out. Swallowing, he almost decides to turn away. To leave. You had to be getting sick of seeing him all the time. Being much too kind to actually tell him that you needed space. 

The door opens, and there you are. Hair in a quick braid, oversized hoodie covering your shoulders, looking up at him with bright eyes that made his heart skip. He hadn’t heard you behind the door, too lost in his own self-deprecating thoughts to hear you walk up to the door. 

“James?” You stand with the door half open, staring up at him. God, he could get lost in those if you let him. Head slants like you’re trying to figure out what is going on in his head.

“Uh, you weren’t at the lab,” He states, like that would somehow explain why he was standing in front of your door.

You blink for a few seconds before opening the door up more. “You want to come in?” 

“Ah, if you’re going out, it’s fine.” He stutters out, not sure what to do. You often left him like this; it was always his choice either way. 

Shrugging, you leave the door open, a silent invite for him to come in. “I’ll get food ordered up. I am sure you're hungry.”

He steps in, looking back at the door before closing it with a firm click. “Ahh, yeah. Whatever you're having, I’ll have.”

Your room has been filled out more, you’ve snatched book shelves from different spots, and covered as much wall space as you could. Plants have been moved from your apartment to the windows here. You had carefully placed them all to get the perfect light needed. Natasha had done a good job, but you’d been in the building long enough; you wanted them with you. Bucky admired your dedication to them; despite your hectic work life, you took time for them. 

“You okay?” You ask, standing nearby. You always left space, always, never got too close, never crossed any boundary unless he was okay with that. Sometimes that was with sign language, he hadn’t learned much. Okay, yes, no, unsure, basic things, but it helped when his mind decided to silence his voice. You would often send him videos on how to learn basic signs.

He nods, “Yes.” Hesitation was still thrumming through his veins, like he wasn’t supposed to be here. Even if he’d come over half a dozen times before. 

Eyes following him, your lips purse, “James, why were you outside my door?” 

Just spit it out, he groans inwardly. “I-I-was looking for you. So I came here, and then I felt like I shouldn’t have come.”

“Why?” You’ve sat down at the dining table, another new addition. The place felt more like a home every time he came over.

Bucky doesn’t move, just standing there, the awkwardness seeping into his bones. Even after countless days spent together, he still found himself falling over his own feet. “'Cause it’s your home. You don’t ever have anyone in here. Except me.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want anyone in here,” You reply, pushing a chair back for him to sit in. “Even if I didn’t want anyone here, you’re not just anyone.”

The heat on his cheeks makes him want to look anywhere but at you as he sits down. He was a super-soldier, not a school boy, it didn’t help. “Cause I am a friend?”

You nod, smile flickering again, and he wonders why you always hold back on smiling. It’s something he started noticing, that you wouldn’t always let yourself smile all the way, like you were worried your enthusiasm might scare him away. 

“Yeah, we’re friends. Which means you can come and visit my home whenever you like.” You finish, watching him carefully. “I already got you access, asked Pepper a while ago.”

“Access?” Bucky doesn’t know if you mean what you’ve said. His hand folding and unfolding in his lap, he never knows where to put them.

“Yep, you put your hand on the new fancy scanner and you can come in.” You pause for a second, “Maybe knock first.”

“What, why? I mean-yes-I will always knock, but why give me access?” His heart rate is picking up, unsure what to think of this new news. You’d given him a key to your room. Technically, you could manually lock it so he couldn’t get in without a master key, but that was besides the point. 

“Same reason I gave you access to the lab. We are both grounded until further notice, kind of living in each other's pockets. Figured you’d find your way here sooner or later.” The words come out smooth, but he can hear how your heart picks up, how your breath tries to even out. You're just as nervous as he is, which makes him feel less uncomfortable.

“Is this like hugging?” It sounds ridiculous as soon as it’s out of his mouth. 

This time, you actually smile, which shouldn't make him smile, but it does. Oh, Bucky was in up to his neck, Sam was going to tease him until he was dead. 

“Yeah, kinda like that. I am giving you permission to come and see me.” You add, your heart rate slows, you sit in your chair, shoulders relaxed, legs crossed.

“I was thinking of moving to this floor.” Bucky is surprised by his own admission. Not sure why he decided to let out that bit of information. 

It was true, he was considering moving up here. He had intended on taking his time, finding a place on this floor, but not to close. This floor was where he was spending most of his time already, that, and the elevators still bothered him. So many people who got stuck with him, and had staring problems. 

There was also the small detail that he had started to sleep in the rec room. Bucky was certain he hadn't been discovered yet, Sam and Steve would have made a stink about it if they had. Even Natasha would have scolded him for sleeping on a sofa instead of a bed. The others, he wasn't certain, and Stark had been too busy to be around. He couldn’t sleep properly; he needed to know you were safe. That no one was coming for you. So, he slept up here. 

Brows furrowing, you lean back against the chair. “Thought it was too noisy up here? Too many people, making too much noise.” 

He tries to shrug it off, but he can't lie to you. Super-soldier or not, you and Steve both had a way of looking through him and seeing the lie. “I-uh-just thought it would be better to be closer. And elevators.”

“Cause you're tired of sleeping on the couch in the rec room?” You reply, a smug look crossing your face. 

Bucky knew when he had been caught. 

He froze, mind reeling slightly, hand rubbing at his jaw as he tries to come up with an excuse. You were much better at sneaking around than he gave you credit for.

“It's okay, James.” You say quietly, waving your hand as if brushing his worries away. “You're not the only one with insomnia and light feet.”

Swallowing he fidgets with his fingers, right hand tracing patterns over his metal one. Deciding that he might as well tell you why. “I was worried."

You nod, like you expected that, but let him keep talking.  

“Couldn’t sleep. Sleeping up here was better.” He wants to get up and start pacing, but makes himself hold still. The silence stretching between you, he didn’t know how else to explain it.

“Is it because of what happened?” You press, eyes following his movements. Always assessing and watching, if he didn’t know better, he’d think you could read minds.

“Yeah.” Bucky finally replies, how you had figured him out so quickly baffles him.

You nod, looking around the place for a second. “Well, why don’t we move you up today. Pretty sure the room across the hall is empty. Least you can have somewhere comfy, and I can bother you more.”

Bucky's heart lurches. You just accept him, no hesitation, no being creeped out by him always needing to be closed. Just acceptance and willingness to help. A few moments ago, Bucky had planned on leaving and hiding himself away somewhere. Now he had a key to your room, and possibly a place just across from you. 

***

There wasn't much to move; you had managed to organize a few others to aid in the moving of the large items. Just as you suspected, the room across from yours was empty. It took a few hours, but Bucky was now your neighbor. 

You'd caught him a few days after you had been grounded, sleeping on the sofa in the rec room. Then again, the night you both watched movies together. There had been no reason to confront him about it. If anything he seemed to be sleeping well up there. More rested than when he had been sleeping several floors below. 

To be fair, you had felt better knowing he was on the same floor as you. Knowing if something was wrong, he'd be there almost instantly. There were other Avengers here, but their hours were odd. So, him moving across from you just added to the layer. Pepper had already programmed you to have access to his room, she'd just hummed with a raised eyebrow when she heard he was moving. Oh, the rumor mill was running in this place, not surprising, people needed something fun to keep them entertained. 

Natasha had already been keeping you well informed and doing her own digging. She was a spy after all, and was very curious about how your metal-shadow was doing. You never had much to tell; you hung out with him in the lab. Had movie nights, where he'd complain about the inaccuracies of what was happening. You'd yet to introduce him to Grey's Anatomy, which was sure to induce some groans from both of you. Natasha didn’t seem to ever be happy with any answers, poking and prying more. Now with him living across the hall, she was going to be having field day.

She was one of the other consistencies in your world right now. The two you trained three or four days a week, sometimes more. It had helped; you looked forward to sweating out your cabin fever. As well as other frustrations, you refused to look at. It wasn’t just a workout, it was training, testing reflexes, pushing the body. You had never enjoyed the gym, mostly because of gym culture. But this had purpose, and was actually enjoyable. 

As for the rumors, you'd let them. Let them talk, gossip, and come up with stories. You and Bucky were friends, and if that got them all bothered let it. The relationship you both had was between the two of you. The urge to dismiss it as being like any other relationship always hung there. You knew that it should be kept there, but it was impossible to classify it as that, because it wasn’t. Doctors and patients didn’t hang out on each other's couches, watch terrible movies, and eat way too much takeout while trading notes on books. You hadn’t even had an official appointment with him in weeks.

For once, you don't push it away. Nothing in this tower was normal. Relationships here were not normal. So, you let it be, let it happen. Because for right now, you felt something close to warmth, something that you would not push away. Letting it happen, however it was supposed to. If you too stayed friends, that would be okay, if things changed, then you’d deal with that then. The one thing you refused to do was put any sort of walls or boxes around things; it was just you and Bucky, however that unfolded. 

“Thank you,” Bucky says, quietly, the two of you had gotten Thai food. Both curled up on his sofa with books. Some throws you had brought over covering both of you comfortably. 

Steve had been kind enough to go with Natasha to the library and get you a good stack of new books a few days ago. You and Bucky pretty much read at the same pace and would swap books so that you could comment on them afterwards. A tiny book club.

You hum a reply, flipping to the next page. “Thank you for asking me. I know that can be difficult. To ask for help.”

He shifts on the couch. You can tell he wants to say more, but you let the words hang in the air. As always letting him communicate or show you what he needed. This was how you both learned to talk to the other; it wasn’t perfect, and there were often missed signals. Sometimes, frustration would leave you both needing some time, but you both always came back and tried again.

“Could-” You watch a million expressions cross his face. If you took your time, you could almost read his mind with how expressive he was. You’d think, being a world-feared assassin, they’d be subtle, but they weren’t. Not with you.

“Could I lie on your-” His ears go pink as he stares at the blanket covering your legs. 

“Lap?” You ask, trying to piece together what he was looking for. Trying to keep your heart from spinning out of control. Having learned that he could hear your heart and lungs if the room was quiet enough. 

He nods, before looking away, focusing on the blank tv screen. “Is that-Is that okay?”

Grabbing the edge of the blanket you move it off your legs, you place them down onto the floor and shuffle closer to him. You tried hard not to hesitate or worry about it. Just going with the ask, trying not to look closely at how it made you feel. Oh damn, did it make you feel so many things. “Yeah, that’s fine.” 

Bucky sat there for several moments staring at you. It was like you had removed your top. Despite the subtle changes, how you would give him hugs without words when he needed them. Would gently curl yourself against him when you shared movies. Casually touching elbows while doing dishes in the kitchen. He still seemed baffled by you being okay with him touching you. 

He finally moves, putting his book on the back of the couch before carefully moving. Tipping slowly sideways, he adjusts so that one arm is underneath him, legs swinging up onto the couch. Bucky’s head slowly comes down and rests on just the edge of your legs. You can feel how stiff he is, moving slowly you grab his book and carefully hand it to him. Then you place your arm along his side. Resting it gently, making sure he doesn’t feel trapped. 

“You good?” You ask, trying to keep your heart from thumping. He was warm, chest moving steadily, body slowly relaxing. 

He nods a little, holding the book firmly closed. You start to move your hand up and down along his arm softly, hoping it comes off as comforting and not weird. Relaxing your own body, and letting your back sink down, feet relaxing against the carpet. Focusing on keeping your mind clear and not racing.  

The book gets put on the floor, he carefully tucks it under the couch, afraid of it getting stepped on. Bucky moves so his face is more on your leg, a small sigh escaping him. One hand carefully pushes just under the edge of your thigh, the other hand resting on your knee. The man was always mindful about where he put himself. He was always a gentleman, almost painfully so.

Without thinking, your hand comes up and runs into his hair. Watching his eyes flutter closed at the sensation, you’re surprised when he just leans into it more than pulling away. You card through it, feeling the silky threads under your fingers, it was incredibly soft and thick. It was now long, going down over his shoulders. A few strands of grey could be seen poking through, catching the lights just right. 

There was no hard data about how cryosleep effects aging, combine that with the serum, and the results could be anything. It did seem to slow the effects of aging, but without long standing information, you didn’t know. It made your heart clench, thinking about it, about how many unknowns Bucky had to face daily.

“Do you like it long?” You ask softly, your own book placed onto the arm rest of the couch. If you were honest, you couldn’t remember the last paragraph you had read four times. 

Bucky eyes flutter open, glancing up at you, “Always been long.”

You think about that for a second, knowing that he had never had control over his appearance. Never had control over anything. “But do you like it?”

He shrugs, eyes going back to looking at the threading of your pants. “Never really thought about it.”

You continue to card through it, nails gently scratching against his scalp. He lets out a soft sound, mouth snapping closed like he caught himself. A chuckle escapes you as you repeat the movement. Watching him lean into it like a cat, eyes closing, a soft hum in his chest.

“If you ever want it cut, I am sure I can find someone who can.” You say quietly, making small circles as you study his face. “I do think it suits you. You have fantastic bone structure.”

A small rumble leaves him, the corner of his lips curling up. “You calling me handsome, Doc?”

Your heart jumps, and you roll your eyes, knowing full well he heard what just happened. The hand under your thigh squeezes slightly. “Are you surprised? Need to get you a mirror.”

Another huff leaves him as he snuggles closer, the fingers on top of your leg drawing you closer to him. “I’ll just have to take your word.”

Sighing, you keep playing with his hair, letting him hold onto you closer. Wishing that he could see himself the way you do. See the man who looked for comfort without knowing how to ask, the man who always held the door even when people stared at him. Never spoke one negative word about those who still saw him as a killer. How he always checks on everyone first after a mission. The way he wants to learn about all the new tech he can get his hands on. How he reads new books, even if he thinks some of them are ridiculous. 

You smile, head leaning back against the plush couch. The weight of his head on your thigh, his breath growing deeper as he slipped into sleep. Soon, you knew, you’d follow him, and there was not a chance you’d wake him up. 

***

The phone was blaring, Bucky hit the floor with a thump, his brain trying to figure out where the hell he was. It was so dark here, and it smelled like Thai food. He had fallen asleep, deep, deep sleep, something that never happened. His face still pressed against the carpet, he slaps the phone off. Making a note to change it to something less annoying. Pulling it towards him, he glares at the too bright screen. Why was everything so bright? Wasn’t it supposed to auto-adjust or whatever?

Pushing through the notifications, he saw a message asking for him to come to a meeting with Fury and Tony this afternoon. Great. Probably another time wasting meetings about leads that went nowhere. He knew that if there had been updates, Steve would have already let him know. 

“James?” Bucky nearly had a heart attack at your voice, trying to see you in the dark. 

“Jesus,” He coughs, pushing himself up off the ground. Braining trying to catch up with what had all happened the previous evening. He finds the curtains and pulls them open enough to let some light in. 

You blink, sleepily picking up your phone, groaning as you stretch. Fingers easily flicking over the notifications. “Shoot, must’ve fallen asleep.”

Bucky stands there, feeling unstable on his feet, your hair was a mess, eyes blinking at him. You rub at your eyes, stretching and yawning, looking like you could just go right back to sleep. It was tempting to just cover your back up and tell you to sleep. You had no right looking absolutely adorable in a way that seemed to go against religion. He would have happily become a follower if you had asked. 

“Yeah-uh-I must have fallen asleep too.” Bucky rubs the back of his head, trying to shake all his sleep crazed thoughts from his mind.. He moves over to the small kitchen and busies himself starting coffee. Just keep your fingers busy, Barnes. “C-c-coffee?”

“Yes, please, shit my back is sore.” You huff, shuffling a little, feet bare on the carpet. You come around to the back of the couch, you stretch forward, almost touching your toes, and then backwards with a loud pop.

Bucky is trying really hard not to stare at the way your body moves. How a soft moan escapes as the bones settle where they are supposed to. He has to turn himself and stick a finger in the coffee; it burns, but stops his traitorous body's reaction. It was way too early, and he was not prepared to deal with all these feelings. 

“I think I have creamer in the fridge.” He swallows, sliding a cup towards you. 

Snatching the cup up, he watches you lean down and rummage through the fridge. You find the creamer, grabbing it, and putting some in your cup. Stopping and staring down at the small container like you were offended by it.

“When did you get creamer?” You ask, fingers scratching against your ribs. Bucky having to remind himself to stop staring at you. 

He takes a deep drink of his coffee, letting the burn fortify him into speaking. “Sam brought me some, he likes it too.”

Bucky was certainly not going to tell you that he had seen you use it and had gotten it in the last grocery order, before stashing it into his fridge. 

You hum, taking a sip of your cup, eyes rolling a little at the taste. “Did you sleep okay?” 

“Yeah,” He drinks more, happy it’s not burning anymore. “Really, good sleep.”

Leaning against the counter, you yawn. The way you are just in his space, belonging here with ease, no fear or worry, just slipping into his life. It felt like you had always been there. What scared him the most was how much he wanted you to be here. To stay here, with him. 

***

Bucky sat beside you in a meeting room with Tony and Fury. It was a small space, no windows, two doors, only a few floors down. There was zero surveillance that he could hear, and a couple of unhooked cameras in a corner. The place was off the record in every way. He hadn’t known there was a place here without surveillance; Stark was notoriously snoopy.  

You'd both been asked to come down; it was to update both of you on the stalker situation. HYDRA, along with several dozen other acronymed baddies, had been crossed off. The masked dickhead had disappeared, and there was no sign of anyone. Everything Bucky had already scoped out, whoever it was, was someone that hadn’t been on their radar. A group off the grid, but smart enough to hide their tracks well.  

A team had been put together to go through every person who had come and gone through the tower over the last few months. Tony had made an efficient AI to aid the team. It helped narrow down anyone with a concerning background. It had revealed just eight unknown persons. All of them had different faces, builds, and fake identities. They were well crafted enough to get by with basic background checks. As soon as they left the tower, they'd vanish. Fury was infuriated, pacing around, yelling about how the hell could we have the best tech in the world and not be able to find them.

Bucky could imagine hearing Steve muttering about the amount of cursing being thrown around. Tony was mostly wobbling back and forth in a chair, answering any questions Fury would spike at him. They'd gotten nowhere, and whoever it was had vanished once you and Bucky had stopped going outside the tower. Which meant that both of you would be let out of lockdown with conditions.

You had already mostly moved into the tower, there were just a few things left to bring over, and cancelling your lease. Which Tony promised to reimburse you for. On top of that you'd continue self defence training with Natasha. Being military trained meant that you'd taken to it naturally. You'd been uncomfortable with the tracker on your phone, and carrying a personal safety button. Only relenting when Tony had explained that all the other high level operatives carried them. 

That’s when Bucky stops paying attention, once they have confirmed that you would be safe. Now his mind was adrift, as it often was lately. He would take in the info, but most of it felt like fluff at this point. You were writing things down on your tablet, eyes reading over the notes, before glancing over at him. Yep, he needed to stop staring. 

Looking down at his own tablet, which was off, and he hadn’t used it the entire time. Mostly because he kept thinking about you, and now you were permanently in the tower. His neighbor, just across the hall from him. Which meant you both could continue to hang out. You could keep coming over, and he could come to your place. It was too easy to be around you, and you gave the best hugs. Didn’t mind touching him at all, or him touching you. Something he was enjoying way more than he ever thought he could. Cuddling between friends was normal, perfectly normal.

The term friends echoed in his head; it fit, but it also didn’t fit. It felt like when Steve used to stuff his shoes so he could get on amusement park rides. Or how his arm would function, but get snagged on a bent piece. It worked, but it could work better. 

“I think it would be beneficial for the Doc to start going on missions.” Bucky is brought back to the surface with those words. “She can observe how the different tech works, how the team functions, plus get on ground training.” He can feel his brows furrowing, “So you know what we are up against,” Fury says as he paces back and forth. Bucky is suddenly very unhappy with this change of subject. 

“In the field?” Bucky states, sitting a bit straighter in his chair. “On missions?”

You turn and look at him, eyebrows raised, “I did two tours and worked as a medic in some of the most targeted areas. I think I can do observations from a helicarrier, or a safehouse.” 

Bucky crosses his arms, looking at Tony, who is already scheduling things on his watch. “Don’t look at me, Loverboy. I wanted her on missions months ago.”

“Plus, it should draw out whoever is looking for you both,” Fury huffs, sitting back down in his chair, scowl on his face. “Guess having an ex-HYDRA tool is dangerous. Who would have thought?”

Bucky didn't say anything, used to Fury's dismissive tone. He'd learned early on that the director still held a grudge for the Winter Soldier nearly killing him. He really didn’t blame him, brainwashing or not. It just solidified how Bucky already felt about himself; he brought danger and harm wherever he was. The Winter Soldier's shadow still hung over him like a blade of shadow. 

“Is that how you talk about all your team members, director?” You say, Bucky looks up to see you glaring daggers at the director. He had never seen you pissed off before. “Did you really just call him a tool? I know James won't say anything, but that's ridiculous. He is a human being, and one that went through untold bullshit and is trying to do better.”

Fury's mouth hung open, everyone’s mouth was hanging open. “Well, shit. You got some balls on you, Doc.”

You looked like you were going to toss the entire table. Bucky almost wants to see that. “No, just sick of the people like you, treating him as less because of his past. Like anyone in this fucking tower doesn't have an equally as bloody past.” 

The whole room was quiet. Tony had lowered his glasses, hologram on his watch circling. Bucky, having to suppress a laugh, you had certainly taken everyone by surprise. There was a whole lot of spark in you if you were pressed right. 

“Am I wrong? Would you have said something like that to Cap or me?” You glared at all of them, arms crossed, faces twisted with anger. 

Even Tony had been rendered speechless by your words. Which was a difficult task for the playboy.

Fury lifted his hand in surrender, still staring her down. “Okay, okay, maybe let's not burn the place down.” He turned to Bucky, “I apologize. That was wrong of me. I’ll do better.”

Bucky just nodded, still a little stunned. “Uh-thank you?” 

Tony coughs, “Well, now that we know who wears the pants in this room. We should get Doc clearance for the next mission.” 

***

Part 11

I LOVE EVERYONE OF YOU

Author note: This one was fluffy, and a little shorter.. cause umm stuff is coming next 😬 The tower won't stay quiet forever.

@biaswreckedbybuckybarnes @riki-785 @overwintering-soldier

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💞 Reblogs, comments, likes, make my whole world go round. Thank you all for continuing to read my work. I get excited to post every time. 💞

***

Bucky’s heart was pounding in his chest. You were on the damn quinjet. A low risk mission, nothing even hinting at active agencies, but something that Steve, Bucky, and Sam could run with you on board. 

You had been thrilled and spent a few days prepping sensors, new ones that were no bigger than a nickel, and coated in colour-changing paint. The data you could get off them would be invaluable, you'd explained to Bucky.

Each of them would have a dozen, Bucky having an additional five on his arm. An AI system would monitor them in sync with each suit's Stark system. It would provide a wide selection of data that you could comb through after the mission, along with monitoring vital spikes on anyone's suit. The data would be able to be used to adjust any of the products and equipment you and Stark created. Bucky had spent many days learning about this with you in the lab. Listening to how excited you were to get out of the building, as Bucky's heart twisted in his chest until he felt nauseous.

You'd done a mission breakdown beforehand. Learned call signs, safety protocols, and how to turn on the auto flight if things went haywire. Knew where safehouses were in the area, and how to call for assistance. Bucky disliked all of it, mostly because you took to it like second nature. Immediately falling back into the military-like structure you were trained in. You seemed giddy to be able to use your knowledge of both tech and the military to assist with missions.

Bucky was beside himself, inside himself. He knew you were more than capable of taking care of yourself. All tactical requirements had been met above standards. But it was you in the field, not safe in an office or lab. Gun in holster, nano-tech tact-vest on, it didn't matter. The potential for things to go sideways was still there, hovering over him.

“Buck, you look like you're gonna puke.” Steve nudges him in the elbow. Bucky hadn't realized he'd be staring at you. Too lost in all the way you could possibly get hurt.

The punk had been all over him when he found out Doc was coming on the mission. Didn't help that Sam had seen you and Bucky leaving Bucky's room one morning. The man had, of course, come up with the conclusion that you were romantically involved. Bucky had thought about removing his tongue, even if the idea made his heart ache in ways it shouldn't.

Bucky grunts and looks back down to his glove covered hands. Trying not to let on how tense he was. He was failing.“I am fine.” 

“Sure.” Steve leans closer so he can whisper. “So it's not about the Doc coming with us?”

Without thinking, he flinches, turning to look at Steve, whose face cracks into a smug smile. So much for playing it cool.

“Shut up.” Bucky growls, glaring at Steve, who breaks into laughter. His blonde head tipped back, like his reaction was the funniest thing.

“Knock it off, you two,” Sam calls back. He sits in the pilot seat, guiding the machine to its location. Looking over his shoulder to send a glare, that only served to make Steve laugh harder. “We are twenty minutes out.”

You stand from your chair, you'd mostly been fiddling with the work bench on the jet. Walking over to the front of the craft, you barely wobble with the crafts movements. In your hand is a piece of metal that has the sensor docked on them.

“You first, considering you're piloting this thing." You say, nudging Sam with your elbow like old friends. Bucky couldn't help that his eyes never stopped following you. A magnet following its pull.

“That's very considerate of you,” Sam glances back at Bucky, winking at him, with a smirk on his lips.

Your brows furrow, but you don't ask questions; instead you get him to stand. Bucky watches as you carefully place the sensors on his back and arms. Before moving to the front, it makes his fingers twitch. 

He swallows, was he jealous? The feeling of his ears going red confirms it. Fuck. Shifting in his seat, he slides down, trying not to watch Steve, who could most definitely hear his heartbeat change. 

“Don't say anything,” He threatens his friend. Steve snorts, covering his mouth with his hand. 

You don't even look up to focus on syncing everything up with the new system. As always, the picture of professionalism, never letting yourself get dragged into drama. 

“All set, it shouldn't interfere with your Falcon system.” You tell him, fingers tapping at the tablet. “Curious to see how your body handles the weight.”

“Never had a problem before. But always room for improvement.” Sam replies, flexing and moving his body with the new tech. “Can't even feel them.”

“That's the idea. I can take whoever wants to go next.” You give a polite smile to Bucky and Steve. The mask you used for work firmly placed on. He had the urge to see if he could get it off. What would make you slip up?

Bucky hesitates with his thoughts, and Steve gets up before him. Glancing back at Bucky, little punk, strutting up like he has something to prove. You again seem oblivious to any of them. Bucky isn't sure if that is a good thing or not. 

“Which arm do you primarily use for your shield?” You ask Steve as you set up more sensors. 

Steve looks down at his arms like he forgot they existed. Suddenly flustered, which gives Bucky a pleased sense of satisfaction.

“I-uh-use-ah-both?” He stands there scratching his head. “I do use my left more for the shield, mostly.” 

You nod, “I will place equal amounts on both.” Sticking them on efficiently, your brow furrowed slightly in concentration. “I am going to do the back of your calves and top of your thighs.” 

Bucky's left hand grips the armrest like his life depended on it when you drop into a squat in front of Steve. A groan rings out from the chair. Your head peers past Steve’s legs, eyebrows up. Cap also looking back, with the same questioning look.

Bucky lets go of the chair as you set back to work. He swallows, heat flushing up his neck. As he looks away. Jesus, get a hold of yourself, he mutters. Feeling like a teenager getting caught with a girl for the first time. 

You and Steve make small talk while Bucky tries to get the image of you on your knees in front of Steve out of his head. That was not something he needed to think about, or even want. You. Are. A. Friend. His brain was being an asshole; you did not think of him like that. Right? So he needed to do the same.

“Less than ten till landing.” Sam calls back, wiggling his eyebrows knowingly at Bucky.

Bucky straightens himself out knowing that you'll be working with him next. Trying to get himself to relax.

“Those are all reading properly, except this one,” You say, your hand on Steve's right arm. Fingers pushing into the cloth. Bucky watches as you take it off and put it back on the metal docking plate. “Hold on.” You walk over to the small workbench and grab a second set of sensors. “Okay, there we go. Just syncing.” Your fingers hover over the tablet. “You're good to go, Cap.”

Steve nods, “Thanks, Doc.” He goes to sit by Sam but stops, turning back to you. “What happens if one of these falls off?”

“It's programmed to self-delete within fifteen minutes of being off the body or port. It also notifies me if it’s been removed, so I can destroy it remotely.” You reply, fingers flying over your tablet.

“Did you just stick a dozen little bombs on us?” Sam turns to look at you, Bucky nearly laughing at the concern on his face.

Chuckling, you shake your head. “No, they are loaded with micro-emps. The most you'd feel, well, hear, is some static. Mostly. They don't technically carry any data, just transmit, but we don't want them falling into the wrong hands.” 

As you speak, you grab two more pallets of sensors, walking back towards Bucky. “But if you're uncomfortable with them, you're not required to wear them.” You stop and make eye contact with Sam. 

“I trust you,” Sam nods, firmly, before turning back to the controls. 

Bucky blinks, and you're standing near him. He stands without being told. You place one of the docks down on the armrest, opening up your tablet.

“Prosthetic first,” You say quietly, popping off five sensors. They make little clicking noises as each one is removed.

The suit he wore had no arm on the left side, making it easy for you to access the arm. He moves it so it's in front of him, palm up. Your touch is light but firm. Pressing each sensor into the appropriate spot. Your eyes are fixed on what you are doing. He can't help staring, noting each feature of your face. Wishing he were half the artist Steve was, as he tries to commit your face to memory.

Even if he was wiped again, Bucky knew he'd remember you. Shaking his head, he looks away. Yeah, that was not normal. He was going to mess this up, one of the few good things he had.

“You okay?” Your voice was soft, quiet enough that only he could hear it over the sound of the engines. The mask slips off as your eyes find his; he can see you searching and trying to get a read on him.

Swallowing, he nods, staring away from you. Worried he would say something stupid. Focusing on an old mark on the metal wall. A scorch mark from a pissed off Thor. Not the way your eyes tried to find his or how your fingers linger longer than needed on each sensor. 

“Your heart rate is high,” You reply, moving behind him to put several sensors on his back around his shoulders and neck. 

Coming back around, you have two sensors still on a pallet. “James.” Fuck, the way you said his name wasn't fair. Like you cared about him more than anyone else in the room. 

“I am fine. Just stay in the quinjet, please," He got out, words digging into his throat like they didn’t want to come out.

Your face hardened again, and you finished putting the sensors on. God, he hated how easily you could switch on and off. He pushed that away as he felt the jet start to land. You moved over to the workbench, throwing all the sensor data onto several screens with a hand movement.

***

Despite James’ efforts, he was as subtle as jacket up dodge in New York with truck nuts. The man had left a handprint where he'd squeezed the armrest so hard. That actually got a chuckle out of you. Steve had nearly lost it, gesturing at it with a snort as he walked out tof he jet. Sam howling, something about Bucky needing to blow off some steam before missions. 

Shaking your head, you watch all the screens, the AI highlights any noticeable changes. You and Stark had created it in all your downtime, using the data you had gathered, and you had fed the algorithm to create unique profiles of each Avenger. That way, as the team ran missions, it would know what irregularities to look for.

Both Steve and James held lower heart rates than Sam. James’ was usually ten beats lower than Steve’s. Except for today. Today, his heart rate was fifteen beats higher per minute than normal. Even once he got off the jet, it stayed high. It wasn't as high as you'd seen it before, but you kept your eye on it. Wondering if it was because of you. Part of you didn't want that, and another part was flattered.

“Falcon to base,” Sam cracked onto the com line. 

“Base to Falcon, you're clear. Skies are blue,” You reply, letting him know that things were all clear. 

You had a basic overhead map of the place that showed each team member's location as a different icon.

“Cap to base,” Steve tuned in, line clear.

“Base to Cap, you're clear to go, ground is dry.” The code words felt odd on your tongue, but you stuck with them. Watching the screens with care. 

“Winter to base,” James calls out, your heart beating faster, hearing his voice so close in your ear.

“Base to winter, you're clear, grass is frosty.” You answer, that one had to be the worst. 

It felt like a dig at James. Whether the crew realized it, they always associated him with the Winter Soldier a lot. It was something you wanted to bring up to him, ask him if it bothered him. You had a strong feeling he just went with whatever was given to him. When it came to others, he could be a rabid dog, but he'd rather take a beating than argue with someone over himself. Fury is a prime example of that.

A notification pops up, your eyes flicker to that screen, seeing a blue dot pop up near the entrance to the building. It’s a floor up, near a window, according to the maps program. The bird icon is moving above it in figure eights.

“Cap, eleven o’clock, one up, through a looking glass,” Sam calls out as he circles overhead. 

“Copy”

You watch the little shield icon move, the arm icon stopping just at the edge of the gate. There is a concrete barrier there that provides excellent cover. James' heart rate drops significantly as he stops. His muscles relax, arms bracing, his breath evens out. 

There is a sharp thwack over the coms, and the blue dot falls out of the window. 

“Disabled.” James’ voice cuts through the coms. 

It has no right to make your heart flip. How you felt heat bloom in your stomach seeing how easily he did the job.

Your eyes keep scanning, you watch Sam’s feed, remembering him saying that he had no issues with weight. The reading disagreed with that statement. His upper and lower traps were showing strain. His rotator cuffs also showed some discomfort. His heart rate kept steady, but the sensors were showing elevated nerve reactions. You'd bet money that all his enzymes were elevated.

“Huh,” You mumble out, writing notes down on your tablet, adding a note to run a test for creatine kinases. Because Sam was not enhanced, long-term use of the Falcon suit at its current weight could cause muscle breakdown if it wasn’t monitored.

You quickly scrolled through his previous blood panels. Surprised to see that they all came back in range. It was possible that he had a mutation that gave him the ability to handle the excess stress.

“Entry has been made,” Steve’s voice crackles across the coms. You close that, making a note to test for mutations later. 

“Winter, your ears on?” Sam asks, your body going stiff.

Ears meant James’ specialized earplugs, the ones meant to keep out any sound aside from coms. 

“Roger, Falcon.” James’ voice cracks on, it’s slightly muffled as if he is moving quickly. “Entry.”

Heart rates and breathing are up all around. What kept drawing your eyes was how quickly James’ prosthetic reacted. Steve had always been fast, at any tests you’d run, but James’ in the field was like nothing you’d ever seen. Whatever he'd been doing in the lab had been at quarter strength.  The arm moves like flesh and blood, smooth, effortless, cutting through whatever was in front of him. He out-moved Steve effortlessly. It was scientifically breathtaking. 

Steve’s readings suddenly spike, words blasting across the coms, running over one another. There are more bangs and cashing, which makes your heart pound. You keep quiet, watching how the sensors start to fire, but nothing is screaming wounded or dead. But stress, lots of stress. Sam had landed and was moving into the building. James was on the stairs, as more noise echoes in your ears, with Steve just a floor down from them.

“Package acquired,” Steve says, his voice incredibly calm considering his heart is pounding. 

“Building clear. Falcon, how's the sky?” James asks, you can hear small puffs of air as he sprints up the stairs to the top floor. 

“I hate both of you,” Sam comes on, which prompts chuckles from everyone. His icon stopping near James’ on the roof.“Sky is clear, you’re welcome.”

You snort, highlighting several indicators. Making notes, waiting for them to start their way back to the quinjet.

A loud bang echoes through your headset. Causing you to wrench it off your head in pain. Groaning at the ringing that now spears into your ears.

Every one of your screens is lighting up, and an endless cycle of screaming alarms fills the air. You start clearing the notifications, headset slamming back onto your head.

“This base, come in, this is base, what happened?” You call out into the void of silence. Nothing.

Eighty percent of your sensors are marked as being removed or damaged. Heart rates are dangerously high, oxygen levels tanking, nerves firing higher than seems possible.

“Someone come in, Falcon. Cap. Winter.” Your voice is shaking. They aren't dead, but they are wounded. Severely. Some of the levels are dipping dangerously low, particularly for Sam.

You click over and hit the alert button on the wall. This would send an SOS back to the tower. Then you flick the coms over to the emergency channel.

“This Carrier Delta-Bravo-Four-Nine Six, Team Charlie is down. I repeat, team Charlie is down. Lost contact at seventeen forty-five. Need assistance immediately.” You relay into the headset as you grab the backpack med kit, shoving several trays of sensors into it, and a fold-up backboard that attaches to the aide. 

“Carrier Delta, this Patriot coming in. I am on route now. Please keep me apprised of any new info.” He radios in, your heart slowing a little knowing Rhodey was coming.

You’ve already shouldered a rifle, checking that you had extra clips for both your weapons. Then, exiting the door before Rhodey could finish. You tap your headset to main coms.

“This Doc, can anyone hear me?” You say calmly as you start to sprint toward the building. Feet and legs are rapidly moving. In the distance, you hear the unnerving taptaptap of automatic rifle fire. 

“D-n't co-e. D-r-on-s.” The voice is choppy through the damaged headset. Words barely able to be heard over your panting breath. As more gunfire cracks open the sky, the team is being fired upon.

You slow down to a jog; the place is located in a run down commercial area. It leaves you with concrete and half fallen down buildings to hide behind.

“Roger, I am coming to you.” You reply carefully, moving through ruins. “Patriot is on route. Patriot, we have drones.”

“Roger.”

You duck behind some rubble, looking at your phone that swings from your side. Blue dots have now swarmed the area, there are at least a dozen plus.

Swallowing, you pull out your sensors, and the drones appear to be low to the ground, searching for anyone left in the rubble. You remove a dozen from their plates, placing them in groups of three per pocket.

“This is stupid,” You mutter, lighting up everyone to blow. What you had told Sam was only partially true. They would blow if off the plate, but you could adjust just how big the emp was. It wasn't enough to knock out large areas, but drones would be fantastic targets, if you could get close enough.

“Doc-” A static laced voice cut through as you made your way down towards the collapsed building.

“Doc here,” You spoke quietly, watching as a drone buzzed by the opening. They all had weaponry and cameras affixed to their oval bodies

“Falcon is down. It's bad.” You could barely tell that it was James. The coms are still a broken staticy mess.

“I am within meters,” you reply, diving behind a blown-out car. 

“I can't locate Cap.” 

“If you can move Falcon, focus there. Cap's vitals are stable.” You reply, as you start to take aim. A slingshot would have been better than your piss poor arm.

Swallowing, you step out and take aim at a small swarm of drones that are moving around one area. Three sensors in hand, tablet in the other, you pitch them and tap your tablet. There is a split-second delay, and then six drones drop to the ground.

You are already moving back. The drones having taken interest, you ready the next set. Standing.

Pain roars through your left shoulder as you pitch the next set. Your body is already in motion as you tap the screen with what little mobility is left in your arm. Three drones hit and drop.

“Patriot, I am hit. Nine drones down.” You gasp, managing to tuck yourself against the barrier before more can see you. 

Looking down, blood is pouring out of your shoulder. Your vest having taken most of the impact of the shots. It's not lethal, but it hurts like a bitch. Without thinking, you grab the tablet with your right hand and set up the next set of sensors. With several deep breaths, you stand and let out a scream. 

Every drone turns and heads toward you. Shots pepper the ground in front of you. Forcing yourself to wait before tossing your makeshift weapons at them. One tap of your tablet and they come falling out of the air. The one closest to you stops firing, but careens directly into your legs. It knocks you off your feet with a whump. 

You lay there for a moment, staring up at the sky. Blood is still coming out of your shoulder, chest aching like a car ran you over, and a deep pulse just above your knees. The world blurs for a moment.

“Doc, I am twenty minutes out. Your vitals spiked.” Patriot comes through, awaking you.

“I am fine, drones down.”

You moan, getting yourself up. The wound had somehow missed your chest cavity and wasn't impacting your ability to breathe. Movement of your left arm was limited; it could have been way worse.

Dropping the rifle you slide off your med bag, digging around and finding a large syringe. This was going to hurt like a bitch.

“I got Falcon,” A voice crackles, James. You desperately needed to get to them. 

“How did you take down the drones,” Rhodey asks, sounding surprised.

You take the syringe and stick it into your wound, depressing the plunger quickly. A ragged cry is ripped out of your throat as liquid gauze is deposited into the wound, completely filling it. The pain makes your vision blur, head spinning. 

“Keep coms clear, just get here.” You spit out, venom in your voice. There was no time for this; every second counted.

Pain keeps you conscious, giving you fuel to take stock of your legs. Superficial laceration cover your upper thighs; one of your knees is disproportionately swollen. You force yourself up anyway. 

Despite it all, your bag is on. One foot in front of the other as you jog towards the faint signal of your teammates. Every step sending pain radiating through your leg.

The once four-story building now lies in a neat pile of rubble. This was a staged, planned demolition. The drones only solidified the theory.

“Doc, you have another set of drones coming. Along with a helicopter. Thirty minutes.” Natasha's voice comes through, your brain barely registering it as you come to the edge of the mess.

Taking stock of the destruction, you look for a way to get in. The building was thankfully without power, which meant less chance of fire. You started to crawl over rubble and shout.

“Winter! We got less then thirty to get out.” Your voice is hoarse, but you push through. The knee is on fire, making the climb over rubble painful. Sweat slicking against your palms, behind your knees, and down your back.

None of it mattered; your brain laser focused on the task at hand. One pile of rubble, to the next pile, heading to the beacon on your screen. Repeating your shouting over and over. Every glint of metal, every flash of light has you turning.

“Doc.” Your head turns directly left you barely see the glint of a metal hand reaching out.

Stumbling and falling over yourself to get to him. Pants catch on rubble, your shoulder screaming,  as you move towards them. Finally, you find James, holding onto the crumpled form of Sam.

Sam has a large laceration on his head, and one arm bent in the wrong direction. Shattered pieces of his wings are spread all around you like a bomb has gone off.  

You come and kneel beside him. His heart is pumping but it's slow and oxygen low. Digging into your kit, you get gauze to slow the head wound. Handing a splint to James who starts working immediately. A neck brace goes next, and you grab the backboard.

“We've got to get him out. Patriot will be here soon, the rest of the team is on route.” You relay to James, who just nods. 

The two of you go to lift him and reveal the extent of the damage on his back. The pack that houses his wings is crushed and embedded into his flesh. Folds of the wings stick out at odd angles, blood drips down metal and plastic shards. You take it in and then reassess.

“Oh,” You gasp, before carefully placing him on his side, prone. Making sure he isn't against anything broken. His heart rate is steadier, but it isn't good.

“Patriot, can you lift Falcon?” You radio in, your heart vibrating.

“Yes, give me a location. Two minutes.”

“There is a bright orange backboard. His back is covered in sharpnel.”

“Roger, we have medicarrier flying in.”

“We still have drones coming in. The helicopter has turned back. We are twenty out.” Natasha's voice makes you want to cry. Thanking every god, help was on its way. 

“Roger.” Is all you get out.

You cover Sam in a blanket and make sure the board is visible from above. James is up and moving, he is also covered with cuts, bruises, and is leaking out of holes dotting his thighs and one arm. The vest and his arm took the brunt of the gunfire. Your mind is playing the scene of the drones hovering low over the rubble.

“James,” You call to him as you approach the faint beacon of Steve. He is already healing, but if it hit a major artery-

“I am fine. We have to get him out.” He says, cutting you off, his voice low and even. 

There is no time for debates or reconsideration. You had next to no time before more hostiles would be here. The spot the beacon is coming from is covered in rubble.

“Cap! Cap! If you can hear us, try to make some noise.” You call out, James starting to peel back bits of rubble.

His arm is operating, but you can hear how it clicks and whirls. Plates smashing together in ways they shouldn't. You start to move what you can. Barely feel your body screaming at you to stop, as you keep digging for Cap. One hand over the other. Breathe and repeat.

Behind you, the sound of Rhodney landing has you turning for a second. He has a make-shift sling that goes over Sam's limp form. Far off, you can see another carrier coming in

“Come on, Cap!” You yell as more rubble starts to fly. Vision doubling, you shake your head, trying to focus on the task at hand.

Fingers digging into drywall, concrete, and metal. Slashing through your gloves as you and James continue. Sweat pours off your forehead, dripping into your eyes, you blink as they burn. Wiping dirt and blood over your face.

Stopping breifly to catch your breathe you hear faint scratching.

“Hold,” You say, both of you freezing. “Can you hear him?”

James’ head cocks, and he moves in a slow semi-circle point at a spot. “Right there,”

You both double your efforts, the sound of whirling blades in the distance spurring you both forward. More rubble goes flying, metal clicking as you dig in. Mind blank except for digging, moving, pushing, repeat. 

James finds what looks to be a landing of a staircase, and the two of you push it up. With a gasp, you see Steve. He is wedged against the concrete, several lengths of rebar through his body. His chest barely moves, hand tapping against concrete over and over. Blood leaks from his mouth and nose. Face mask tattered and smeared. 

“Steve” James moves, coming to kneel down by his friend. 

You move over and grip Steve's hand, as you awkwardly crouch beside him. He squeezes back slightly, mouth opening to gasp for air. 

“It’s bad, Steve. You don't bother hiding it; this is far beyond the scoop of the bag you have. “You have rebar in three places along your legs. Two in your torso and one in your arm.” 

“I am not sure I can move you without causing you to bleed out.” You try to explain, shifting so that you aren't putting weight on your knee.“The team is close.” You squeeze his hand, reaching up to remove dirt from his face. Pushing the mask off, looking for any signs of head trauma.

“Hard. To. Breathe.” Steve gasps out, James staying beside him. 

“Save your breath, buddy. Gonna get you out of here.” James reassure him, you are not as sure as he is.

“Do we have a laser cutter? Or anything like that?” You ask, your fingers sliding around where the rebar is. “I think if we can cut the rebar, we can get him out.” 

James shakes his head, “Nothing on the ship.”

“Widow, do you have something on board we can use to cut rebar?” You radio in, praying they have something. 

You could touch almost every piece. Removing him from the rebar in the field would kill him, at least according to your calculations. Super serum or not. Six holes would overwhelm his system. Your head swam trying to find solutions, the weight from the day pressing around you like a rain cloud.

“Plasma cutter on route,” Natasha replies, her voice clearer now that she is close.

Looking down at your tablet, you can see groups of drones coming in. Your heart drops; you'd left your rifle at the entrance. Handgun holstered and one spare clip won't get you far.

“We got incoming.” You press into the coms, hoping that there will be someone able to assist.

Turning your head to scan the sky, you can see the drones coming in. They are larger, organized into sets of six. With guns as big as your body hanging off of them.

“On it, Doc.” Rhodney radios, as he zips over your head towards them.

The wooshwoosh of blades lets you know the crew is landing. Looking behind you to watch the carrier land just outside the blast zone. James is already up and moving across the rubble. He makes it look easy, steps sure like he is walking on a beach and not the remains of a building. You can see someone sprinting to him from the carrier.

Steve squeezes your hand. You turn back to him, hand brushing sweat from his brow. His usually clear blue eyes look cloudy, his face pale under the dirt. 

“Save it, Rogers.” You reply, keeping the wobble out of your voice. “You're not getting out of this that easy.”

He lets out a wheezy chuckle, nodding gently before resting his head back. You keep holding his hand, your tablet showing his steady, slow heartbeat. His oxygen sitting in the low eighties making you nervous. It had gone up, but was still sitting in the low eighties.

The crunch of rubble getting closer has your ears perked. Natasha and James are now bounding towards you. They move fluidly, with practiced ease, James clutching a backboard, Natasha with a bag on her back.

They slow and come to a stop near Steve. Natasha's face didn't move as she took him in, a small crease appeares between her brows, the only sign of distress.

James was already laying out the backboard, having moved to the other side of Steve. 

Nat drops her bag and opens it pulling out a metal handle. She hands the laser cutter to you, explaining the three buttons quickly. Top one was on/off, the square one is to adjust the length, and the bottom was a knob that adjusted the heat. 

Then she pulls out a syringe and injects it into Steve, you don't ask. Steve coughs up some dust, but is mostly still. An O2 mask slotted over him, neck brace on, along with a blanket laid beside his body. 

You start testing out the laser by cutting the metal that sticks above him, leaving only a few inches out. It cut through metal without issue, but it created a lot of heat and left the metal hot to the touch for about thirty seconds. Which meant you'd have to cut and wait before putting him back down, or put something under him.

“Okay, James, you're going to help me. I am going to need you to hold up Steve. Once the bar is cut, we need to place something between his flesh and the metal. The metal will be hot.” You remove your vest and long-sleeve shirt. Nat and James follow you in devesting what clothes they could.

“I am going to do his legs first. Then the arm and his torso last. Once he is free, he has to be strapped onto the backboard and moved to the carrier. They cannot wait; the only thing keeping him alive right now is the serum.” You relay quickly, James sitting beside you now. His face is a blank mask as he listens.

You start with his lower left calf. Cutting away as much of his suit as possible. Then James uses his left hand to press Steve's flesh up and away from the bar. 

Steve groans. His eyes flicker back as Natasha squeezes his hand and whispers to him. 

No hesitation, you cut through the metal in one motion, grabbing a vest and shoving it under his now free leg. Left goes the same, Bucky lifts, Steve grits his teeth, you cut. Clothing is shoved underneath. You move to his left arm and see James’ hand is smoking. His brows furrowed.

“Is it burning you?” You ask James as he goes to move Steve.

“Cut.” James hisses as he goes to lift Steve's left arm.

You want to argue that you don't want to hurt him. Not that other options are presenting themselves, so you cut and shove clothing underneath. Steve is whimpering as you rest his body back down. 

The torso was the worst area. One had punctured through his left side directly below his pectoral muscle. It was scarily close to his heart. 

“This is going to suck,” You warn, as James lifts, and a scream leaves Steve. It echoes in your mind and ears.

You cut quickly and slide the vest under him. Heart hammering in your chest, you quickly move to his right lower abdomen. This was the most center of all of them, just right of his naval. A scream sits in the back of your throat as James rolls his friend again. Steve cries and then passes out. You cut and let him go back down. 

“Backboard, and then you two run. Do not wait for me.” You get out as James and Nat get Steve’s now limp body covered with a blanket strapped to the board. 

They are up and moving swiftly over the rubble. You sit for a moment, knowing that you need to move. Shock would be creeping up, and you didn't have time to take it all in.

***

Part 12

I LOVE EVERYONE OF YOU

Author note: The next chapter is written... along with a new series and long one shot that's dark. More to come 😘

@biaswreckedbybuckybarnes @riki-785 @overwintering-soldier

@alex-cheraya @hiddlebatchedloki @alex-cheraya @justyna4a

@ficmeiguess @vunblr @kimberly-stocks @rue963 @shameless-klutz

@feynightlight @humblechumbble @buckysgirl-12 @aureliaborea @nialhero-blog

Waking up next to you was still new for Bucky. You often would be in his worn shirt and shorts, wrapped up in a blanket with your hair tousled. It didn’t feel real, that you’d sleep beside him on purpose. Choose every day to be beside him. Your eyes flutter open, brows scrunching when you see him staring. Grabbing the blanket, you drag it up over your face with a groan. 

“It’s too early, the sun isn’t even up,” You grumble under the covers. 

Bucky ducks under the covers with you, looking at you in the small tent he’s made. “You can keep sleeping,” 

You huff, wiggling closer and kissing his nose. “But you’re awake, and I could use breakfast.” 

He moves closer, tucking an arm under your waist and dragging you against him. A small squeak leaves you, as you tuck yourself against his side. Leaning down, he kisses your forehead, down your nose, and across your cheeks. Giggles escaping out of you, as you roll yourself so you're facing him. His hand cupping your cheeks and kissing you, your hand rests on his chest. It feels perfect, normal. 

Then his phone is going off. 

You groan as he pulls away, tossing the blanket back so he can grab his phone. Steve’s name flashes on it. Bucky debates whether to answer it or not. You wave a hand, already starting to get out of bed. 

“Hey, Steve. Morning,” Bucky sighs, watching you disappear into the shower. “Better be good.”

“We got intel, can be off the ground in an hour if you’re ready to go?” Steve states into the phone like it isn’t five am. 

Bucky groans, rubbing his face, “Okay, I will be ready to go.”

He hangs up the phone and is already moving to the closet. Grabbing new clothes and throwing them on, already deciding to skip breakfast. Bucky felt annoyance creep up his neck; he’d really wanted to spend a morning with you. 

You pop in, dressed, hair wrapped up in a towel, still looking half asleep. Taking him in, you let out a small huff, which he knows is you being disappointed. 

“It’s a half day mission, I’ll be back before dinner,” Bucky says, coming over to stand in front of you. 

“And I am still not cleared.” You cross your arms, flopping down onto the bed. “I know. I know. It’s fine.”

Bucky crouches down in front of you, his hand gently resting on your knee. It was still in a brace, you were moving around more, but still needed an arm crutch for any long periods.

You look at him, eyes a little hazed, “Just struggling, I’ve hit a block with the builds. The emps are not sizing up properly. And I was excited to maybe get to spend the day with you.”

His heart flutters; he knew you were working hard. Too hard, according to Dr. Tamalin. She was hell bent on making you rest, and you were determined to get stuff done, one way or another. 

“Sweetheart,” He says softly, taking your small hands in his. “You are doing so much already. You need to heal, take the day off. For me.” 

You grumble, “Fine. I got to finish book three anyway.” He grins, kissing your forehead again. “Plus, I can give Melody a break from Sam.”

That made him laugh, “I am surprised she hasn’t quit.”

“I think she likes him, in a weird way.” You grin, standing up and wrapping your arms around his neck, kissing him. “And when you get back, me and you, dinner.”

“Chinese food?” He asks, kissing you back, trying to ignore how warm you made him feel.

“Extra spring rolls,” You promise, “Now get out there before Steve comes to find us.” 

Bucky grins and takes off out the door. 

You’re sitting in Pepper’s office, it’s stunning, with big windows on two sides, everything perfectly organized. A sprawling abstract painting in gold and red on the other. It was both opposing and comforting, in a way Pepper could only pull off.

“Nice to see you, Doc,” She says with a smile, closing the tablet in front of her. “I am guessing you’re here to talk about you and Bucky?”

Sitting straighter, you nod your head. “Yes, I wanted to touch base with you about it.”

She blinks a few times, swiping something away from the screen beside her. “What about?”

“Is the relationship going to affect my position here?” You ask bluntly, not bothering with poking around the bush. It had been weighing on you for some time, and you were surprised that Pepper hadn’t brought it up before.

Pepper goes to speak, stops, and then sighs, “Do you feel like it is affecting things?”

Confusion crosses your face, not sure what to think. You instead reply honestly, as you always had with her. “No. I believe I can maintain a professional relationship, particularly with his prosthetic. That said, I would ask that we have a doctor on standby to deal with any major injuries.”

A smile crosses her face, “Dr. Damian Miller has signed on, along with a couple of others. We made arrangements when you were cleared to go on missions.”

Your mouth opens. Pepper, as always, was one step ahead of you. “Oh.” Shaking your head with a small laugh. “Of course, you have it covered.”

Pepper chuckles, “Doc, you’re a key part of our team. We wouldn’t be the same without you.” Flipping open her tablet, she types a few things in. “Nothing in this tower is,” She waves her hand in the air. “Typical. And I doubt you’d be one to abuse your power over Bucky. Anymore than Tony would with me.”

“Neither of us would dare.” You grin, a knot that had been sitting in your chest relaxing. “I really appreciate this, Pepper.”

“Of course, Doc.” Pepper replies with a small smile. “Don’t be a stranger.”

Downstairs, you and Sam have the lab mostly to yourselves. You were supposed to be relaxing, but after a particularly devastating chapter, and Sam falling asleep under a book, you both decided some lab work won’t hurt. He was in a walking boot, with his arm still wrapped in a cast; being able to move was a lifesaver. The man was losing his mind, not being able to move.

Now you had the layout for Rhodes’ suit in front of you, the emps seemed to affect his suit the most. Starks seemed fine, Sam would have minor glitches, but Rhodes would fall out of the sky for a solid thirty seconds. Which could be a death sentence. It needed to be figured out before your large emps could be used. That was if you could get them to cooperate with you. 

Sam was currently flipping through his own suit, adjusting things, and showing different paint colors that he prefers. His wings are a full rebuild; there had been little to gather from the rubble. Getting his input was helpful; he understood the tech a lot more than he let on. Pointing out different flaws and issues he had run into. You’d also both agreed to look at strengthening the wings; you really wish you could get your hands on some vibranium right about now. Extra weight was concerning, and genetic testing hadn’t shown any mutations that would help his body deal with the strain. 

The doors open, and Lily walks in, along with a couple of other lab techs who you suppose have clearance. Sam watches her as carefully as you do, the two of you trading looks. The list of cleared techs was a work in progress, and often didn’t update as fast as people were cleared. Limited staff would kick you in the ass. You mentally note to ask Natasha about the techs. 

You flip through the different wiring, insulators, and padding that could be used for Rhodes' suit. It felt like a band-aid, you needed to know what was drawing the emp to the suit. That would be the solution. Clicking through some tabs, you send some of the info to Max and Stark. 

“Hey,” Lily comes over as you close up your email. Sam is using a stylus to sketch out rough ideas of different wing designs on the other side. You hesitate, but Sam gives a knowing nod. “Was wondering if there was anything I could do to help you?”

“Umm, not sure,” You say quietly, checking your phone quickly. “Just going over some redesigns. Do you know anything about Rhodes’ suit?”

Lily looks at the diagram in front of you, flipping through a few of the pieces, she zooms in on the power source.  

“Yeah, Stark wanted to update the power source,” She says, pointing at the piece. “It’s the only one like it, and we used lighter insulated wires. Trying to save weight.” 

“Huh, I remember that. I didn’t think he actually installed them,” Sam says, sliding over to look at the layout.

You zoom in on the piece, “Huh, that could be the problem.”

“The problem with emp killing the suits?” Lily asks. The hair on your arms standing up. The emps were still under wraps, and you didn’t know if Lily was cleared to know. 

Sam stands up, concern crossing his face, as he wobbles over and closes his own tablet

“Yeah, something like that.” You reply, not nearly as smoothly as you wanted. 

“Ms. Romanoff cleared me a few days ago,” Lily gives a small smile, looking over at Sam. “I hope that is okay, for both of you.”

“We need four people updating that damn clearance list,” Sam mutters, but his body loosens at the words. 

You rub the back of your neck, still unsure about whether to trust her or not. “Yeah, just a lot going on lately.”

“Like you and Mr.Barnes.” She adds, highlighting a few different components that should be replaced. 

Sam’s eyebrows shot off his face, mouthing wow, and walking away from the volatile situation. You are glaring at him for abandoning you. 

“That’s a personal matter, and I would like to keep things professional.” You add, feeling your cheeks flush at the comment. 

Lilly snorts a little, the attitude you remember poking up.  “Hard to keep things professional when you are dating the patient.”

“Lily, please.” You say, feeling anxiety curl in your stomach. Sam is spinning around to face her like his leg isn’t in a cast. “I know it’s not conventional, or normal, and crosses several lines. But nothing has changed.”

“I am not sure that’s appropriate for a lab tech,” Sam grumbles at her. 

She was quiet for a moment before closing the scans out, “I am doing my doctorate, thank you. Besides, it’s all cleared by the board, so really, nothing is stopping you.”

“Lily, did you come here to help? Or to pick apart my life?” You point out, feeling the exhaustion prick at the edges of your nerves.

“Apologies.” Lily swallows, finally backing down.“I would love to help.”

You and Sam trade glances, but let it go; some people were just odd. 

Vance was kind enough to bring up the Chinese food for you; you had bought him a box of ginger beef with a large bowl of wonton soup for his troubles. Coupled with a sizable bag for Sam. You busied yourself laying everything out on the counter and eating a spring roll for good measure. James had messaged you letting you know he was close, you’d already gotten a towel and fresh clothes out for him. A pot of coffee put on, and some tea for you.

James knocks before coming in. He is covered head to toe in dust. His hair up in a bun, there is an outline of where his mask and goggles had sat. A grin twitches at his lips when he sees you.

A laugh breaks out of you. He looks ridiculous. “What happened?”

“Landed on drywall,” He sighs, looking down at his boots. “Well. Through drywall.”

You snort, grabbing a kitchen towel and wetting. Coming over to wipe at his face. “You were picking up an informant. Not building supplies.”

He shrugs as you wipe his face and down his neck. “He spooked when we showed up.”

“Did you manage to get him in? Or did he turn into a puff of dust?” You tease, happy that dust won't get into his eyes. 

“Yeah, he is in a room for the night.” James sighs, taking his boots off and making sure they are on the mat. 

You walk towards the bathroom, James following behind you. “Okay, towels, that body wash that smells like forest you like, also some shampoo and conditioner to try. Steve mentioned it, think Nat-”

James’ fingers turn your head to look at him. Leaning down, he captures your lips with his, moving so that your back is against the wall. A gasp escapes you as he pushes forward, teasing a groan out of him. His tongue pushes against your lips, and you let him in, tasting the dust, protein bars, and him. James’ hands holding you close, your own hands coming to rest on his shoulder. Going up and tangling in his hair. Your breath catches as your body arches against his. Shuttering, feeling the solid mass pushing back against you. 

James finally pulls back, his eyes watching yours, mouth slightly open. Your flush under his gaze is so intense and yet soft. 

“Missed you,” he says quietly, your fingers tracing over his face. 

“Missed you too,” You reply, giving him a quick kiss. 

The two of you stand there for a moment. Listening to the water run. You fight the urge to start removing his clothes. To peel him out of each piece of clothes and touch him everywhere, let him feel how much you'd missed him. A shuddering breath leaves James. He kisses you gently this time. 

“Gonna shower, then we can eat.” His voice is gruff, and you can hear the need behind it.

You let him move away, a bit of disappointment resting in your chest. “Yeah, sounds good.”

Bucky leans his head against the cold tile. Trying to will his body to calm down, the sounds you made when he kissed you. He shivers; he needs to get out of the shower and go eat dinner with you. But he is currently standing at attention, and no matter how cold the water was, it was not going away. 

“Fuck,” Bucky hisses, turning the water to something comfortable. 

Maybe this would be a good thing, and he won't make a mess in his pants like last time. His hands grab his cock, biting into his cheek as he strokes himself. Remembering the feeling of you underneath him, how you pushed back against him. The way you gripped onto him, the heat pressing from your center. It felt so good to be so close to you. Head tipping back, he lets the thought run through his mind as he touches himself. Grinding his teeth to keep from making any noise. His hips work with his hand, the slick of water providing enough lube for him to feel his peak coming. Mind wandering to what it would be like to see under your clothes, to hear you fall apart under him. 

Bucky's mind stutters as his orgasm rips through his body. Hand pumping, at the thought of your hips tipping up, mouth open with bliss. Groaning low in his throat, his hips stutter to a stop. Breathing in deep gasps that makes his chest hurt. Eyes closed, he absently cleans himself off before shutting the water off. That post-release spell has him feeling dirty; you were just on the other side of the wall.

Stepping out of the shower, Bucky was greeted with clean clothes. Soft black sweatpants and a long-sleeve red henley. You had an uncanny way of picking out clothes that he'd want to wear. The care you took with him, had always taken with him.

She cares about you, buddy, don't let her slip through your hands. 

Steve's words rang in his head as he gets dressed. Adjusting so that his dog tags rest against his chest. He had to believe that you wanted the same thing, that this wasn't some elaborate ruse. Or a dream. That and you won't wait forever. 

Coming out, he saw that you'd laid out plates. The smell of food makes his stomach grumble. The craving for food, real food, had become more prevalent in his life. You love cooking for him or ordering food he likes. Helping him try foods he had never heard of before. Food wasn’t just for energy anymore; it was also for enjoyment.

“Hey, handsome,” You say, getting up and limping over. 

The brace is still locked onto your knee. A reminder of how fragile you were. Tough, stubborn, and smart, but still very fragile.

The two of you set out to eat food. You ask him about the mission, and he asks what you did for the day. Huffing that you and Sam had gone to the lab, neither of you could sit still. At least you hadn't done any building, and it sounded like Natasha had cleared a few lab techs to help you. Everyone was still very on edge about the mole, but the world kept spinning. People needed to be saved, and nothing was stopping that. 

“I think I will drop the rest of this food off in the kitchen. I am stuffed,” You hum happily, rubbing your stomach.

Bucky stretches, the day settling into his body. Landing on a pile of drywall, with the informant on top of him, had jarred his bones. Not enough for him to bruise, but enough that sleep was singing his siren call. 

“You look wiped.” Your fingers come to cover his metal ones. He tries to pull them away, but stops himself, and you squeeze them.

“I wouldn't say no to bed,” Bucky smirks at you, eyelids heavy. “Especially if I get to sleep beside you.”

Your eyebrows go up, “No ifs about it.” 

He watches you get up, holding your hand out. His brain is spinning with a million things as he links his fingers with yours. The need pooling into his guts like a snake, pushing the thought of sleep out of his mind. He follows you to the bedroom, clicking the door closed behind him. 

Watching you plug your phone in, hair coming down, how you peel your socks off. The way your body moves under the loose clothes. You turn and meet his eyes.

“Do you like what you see, Sergeant?” You ask, a playful smile crossing your lips. 

Bucky flushes, ducking his head at the words. The way his title rolls off your tongue makes his mind glitch. “Yeah. ‘Tis hard not to stare, with a pretty girl in the room.”

You move towards him, placing your hands on his chest. “Look who's talking, handsome.”

Part of him wants to walk back, deflect, not believe what you're saying. But there is no hesitation in your voice. Your eyes are wide and dilated, the same need that has him aching to touch you reflects back at him. Bucky had seen this a dozen times since you had shared a date with him. And he’d always turned it away, shrinking back from his own desires. From your desires. You never pushed, never made him feel bad. Would just crawl into his arms and let him hold you until you both slept.

“I want,” He swallows, struggling to find words, to not let the need radiating off both of you overwhelm him. “I want to make you feel good.”

“Okay, we can do that.” You say, in a playful tone in your voice. “Do you want me to guide you? Or do you want to explore?”

“Ahh,” Bucky stands still, having no idea what to do. His memories of intimacy were scarce at best. “Both?”

You nod, always seeming to know what to do next. “That can be arranged.”

Walking back, you stand closer to the bed. “First, we are wearing too many clothes.” You gesture for him to come over to you. “What do you want to take off first?”

Bucky just stares at you; he's caught glimpses of you. Bare legs, the wound on your chest, but never naked. Never completely bare to one another. 

“Umm shirt?” He stutters out, trying to keep himself composed. Already feeling like he was tripping over emotions, as his body was eagerly taking an interest. 

“You can take it off me.” You say, like it's a simple gesture. As if his heart isn't beating out of his chest at just the offer. 

He comes close to you, hands running down your side. Feeling you quiver as he gets to the hem of your shirt. Your reactions always catches him off guard, how excited you were for the simplest of things.

Bucky forces himself to slow down and take it all in. Hear the way your breath catches, heart speeding up, eyes always on him. Grabbing the edge, he lifts it up, watching your skin be revealed in front of him. Doing his best to slide it off without catching your hair. 

You stand in front of him with just a simple white bra on. Eyes following his movements as he takes you in. He reaches forward, stopping before touching you. Bucky always waits for you to give permission, just as you do with him.

“You can touch me, James. Don't need to ask, if I want it to stop, I'll tell you.” You say quietly, gently taking his wrist and guiding his hand to your skin. 

He could feel his breath get tangled in his chest. Your skin was so soft under his rough hands. Dragging his finger pads over, he watches gooseflesh break out, your eyes never leaving his face. Coming up to your shoulders, he runs his hand over the satin finish of your bra strap. Bucky pushes it down your arm, letting it fall. Trying to quell his hesitation, he leans down to kiss your shoulder before going down along your collarbone. Letting his hands run along your stomach to your back, up to undo your bra. Fingers shaking as he does, having never done it before with you.

You let out a small shudder under his lips as it drops to the floor. The touch of your fingers under his shirt makes him still as you drag it up over his head. Taking your time to pull it over his head and untangle it from the plating of his arm. 

Tipping back, he looks down at you, hands resting on your waist. Your hands run along his stomach, tracing each scar and mark. Brows furrow slightly as you mapped them. He wonders what you see in him. To always look at his body like it's new.

Trying not to let his mind run, Bucky leans down to kiss you, pressing you against him. The skin to skin contact making him feel like liquid warmth was pouring onto him. He pushes his tongue into your mouth, walking you a few steps back to the bed. You let yourself fall onto the bed, Bucky stopping to look over you. Hair fanned out, breast moving, hands reaching for him. He kisses you again, but continues down. 

He felt more in control. The long day, coupled with the release in the shower, makes it easier for him not to lose himself. It was still so much. Your smell, taste, and the noises you made went straight south. Making his cock twitch and leak, thankfully not enough for him to come too early, this time.

Your hands tangled in his hair, nails itching gently against his scalp. His lips trailing along your jaw, then down your neck. He lets his tongue come out and lick along the salt of your neck. Which prompts a whimper above him. Your fingers are holding him there. Bucky grins at that, letting himself lick and kiss around your neck and collarbone. He wants to memorize every bit of you, carve it into his mind so that he will never lose it.  

“Fuck, James,” Your body arching off the bed. Pulling back, he looks at you underneath him. Your fingers moving from his hair to trace over his lips..

“That feels good?” He asks, already knowing the answer. 

You giggle, “No, it's horrid. I think you gotta try again.” 

Bucky chuckles back, letting a small smile flicker across his face. “Maybe try something different?”

Your eyebrows go up as he dips down, trailing over your skin below your collarbone. Then lower to lick across your breast, your reaction is instant. Breath hissing between your teeth, he looks up at you. Legs straddling yours, he opens his mouth to nip at the tender skin. Your stomach sucks in, your hands gripping the sheets, eyes rolling back. 

Sitting back a little, he uses his warm hand to gently cup your breast. Thumb coming up to rub over your nipple. Your hips move up, and he can feel how warm you are there. Pushing up against his own need, but that wasn't what he wanted right now.

Your eyes close as he takes your nipple into his mouth. Going on instinct he sucks on it, teeth rubbing over the skin. A whimper leaves you, breath stuttering at the attention. His own body was taking interest, that tight band of pleasure pulsing in his groin. Bucky pulls off, switching to the other nipple. Your hands now move up and down his body, gripping into flesh. Fingers digging as you groan, body moving under him. He has to pull back, trying to stop his reaction to the noise and movements. 

“Do you want my pants off?” You say quietly, hand going down to run over the waistband of your sweats. 

Swallowing, Bucky isn't sure he wants you to take them off. The idea makes the heat in his stomach intensify. Your fingers come up to his face, pulling him back to the present with your touch.

“Only if you want to.” You say softly, you were so in tune with him. As if you could hear what he thought.

He moves so he is on his side, facing you. “I want to make you feel good.” Trying to hold it together. “If you touch me. I am not going to last.”

A smile flickers over your face; it wasn't mocking, more unsure of what to do next. “You don't have to last, James. This is for both of us.” 

He worries at his lip, hoping he can explain what he wants to do. “But, tonight I want you to also-” His mouth opens and closes, not sure what to say. 

“You want me to have an orgasm?” You ask, your face so straight it was almost comical. 

Bucky sat up for a moment, stunned by how clinical you could be about something so intimate. “Yes. I want to do that for you.”

You nod, “Alright, I can guide you. Just got to take these off.” 

“Oh, ah, do you want to?” Bucky stutters, feeling like he should be covering his face. 

“Or, we can stick with touching over top of clothes? If that's better for you?” You stop, waiting to see what he'd say. Always taking into account what he thought and wanted. 

Bucky is just staring at where your hand is, how your breast moves with each breath. Your fingers are tucked under the material, ready to push it down. There would be no barrier between you both if this happened.

“Umm. If you're okay with it.” He says, before deciding to just take off his own clothes. Feeling absolutely ridiculous that he was being so hesitant.

It's impulsive, but he can't take the suspense hanging between you two. He grabs the waist of his sweats and underwear, pushing them down as he raises his hips. You do the same, laughter finally breaking the tension as clothes go flying. Both of you are lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling in a fit of giggles.

It’s gone quiet now, and Bucky can feel his cock twitch on his stomach. How had he ended up here? With you lying naked beside him, despite the fact that he was on the edge of falling apart. 

Your hand touching his metal arm has his arm twitch away. It doesn't faze you, your fingers gripping tighter onto the metal plating. Not saying anything, you just run your hands along the arm up to where the metal touches his skin. You move along his collarbone, down his sternum. His eyes closing as he tries to keep himself still and in control. Fingers moving up and back down his metal arm. Taking your time and not rushing him.

“Do you want to touch me?” Your voice makes his skin break out in gooseflesh. Offering yourself to him, like it wasn't snapping every line of control he had. 

He really wants to touch you, not with his metal arm. Which you seemed to know instinctively. Holding the metal but not guiding him, it would feel wrong to touch you with that hand. The part of him that had done nothing but hurt and destroy. Your body started to go tense, waiting for him to stop, to ask for things to end. He knew you wouldn't even hesitate to just cover both of you. Curl into Bucky's side and tell him that you care for him. You both could try another time, or not at all. 

Part of him wished he could just take what he wanted. Or have you do the same to him without asking. But that had never been you, never been how you operated. From day one, you'd made sure to never do anything he didn't want. So he finally turns to look at you, trying not to hide himself under the blankets. Even though he knew you wouldn't look at him with disgust. You never had, just fascination and adornment. Like he was something special and worth looking at. 

“Hey,” You say, a small smile on your face, keeping your eyes on him. Even as his eyes traveled over your body. 

“Hi,” Bucky replies, trying hard not to stare, but he couldn't keep his eyes from looking over you.

You're so beautiful, every bit of you, sculpted from light and calm. Body marked by various wars he didn't know the story of, yet, and the work you had put in the training room. He could spend the rest of his life lying here mapping out every piece of you. If you let him, he’d never stop worshiping you.

Fingers still shaky, he reaches and touches the skin of your hip. You turn so you're more on your back, hand slipping on top of his and guiding him down towards your center. The urge to pull away made his chest tighten, but you never slowed. Just move him to rest on your pubic mound. 

The sound of your heart picking up made him hesitate. It was pounding so fast, your breath coming out in small controlled breaths. If it had been another situation, he'd have thought you were injured. Instead, you directed his fingers to spread over the soft skin. Each of your fingers are positioned over his, directing him on what to do. He could feel how warm you were, how you trembled when his fingers rub along the outside of your core. Your hips are tipping at the contact. Bottom lip drawn into your mouth as he let his fingers touch. 

His eyes flicker back and forth, between watching you and seeing what his fingers were doing. It was like he was out of his body, watching from far away. Getting to do something he'd never thought he'd earn. Following some instinct he thought long gone, he slides his fingers down over your pussy. Letting out a groan as he feels wetness gliding him downwards. 

“Jeez, is that just from me?” He whispers, moving so that he can watch your face. 

Letting go of his hand, you bring his face to yours, kissing him as an answer. He lets his fingers follow the curve of your body, dipping between the folds, seeking out the heat and wet. 

“Move up, just a bit,” You ask, breathlessly, and he follows the instructions by moving his finger tips up and rubbing over your clit.

Your reaction is instant, hips shifting to press against him. Bucky leans down and kisses you, taking in your reaction and repeating the movement. His whole mind focuses on you, on how you react. Rubbing over the sensitive bud, moving in circles. Increasing as you gasp into his mouth. Studying the noises you make and adjusting accordingly. 

Breaking away, he kisses down your neck, sucking at your collarbone. Keeping firm, consistent pressure on your bud. You whimper, body writhing against the bed as he moves lower. Fingers pushing against the wet heat there. Groaning as he presses inside, you're so wet that his finger slides in with only a small amount of resistance. 

“Fuck, you're so warm, so wet,” He mumbles, before latching onto your nipple. 

Back arching, you push against his finger. He revels in your reactions, trying to memorize how this all feels. How you smell, and taste against his tongue. His thumb goes up and grazes your clit.

“Oh, yes,” You moan, one hand in his hair, the other clenched in the bed sheet. "Keep doing that."

Bucky adjusts his hand, thumb rubbing against your clit, finger inside sliding in and out. Mouth sucking and licking at your breasts. He can feel your body react as he adds a finger. The whole thing has him rutting against the bed, searching for some friction against his aching cock.

A stream of affirming words tumbling out. Your head is tipping, and your body is tightening. Bucky picks up pace, before he takes a risk, biting and sucking at your breast enough to leave a mark. The combo has your body arching into him. 

“OhgodJames,” You stutter out, your body clenching around his fingers.

The noise you made was music to his ears. He pulls back to look up and watch you crest. Your face flushing, body shaking as he keeps working you until your thighs slide shut. Lips swollen from biting at them, skin covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Bucky had never seen anyone look so beautiful. A bit of pride swelling in his chest, knowing that he had brought you pleasure.

As gently as he can, he removes his fingers from you. Looking over the wetness that coats them. Turning back to you, your eyes half closed. Watching him as your breath evens out. He leans up and kisses you slowly. Your hands cup the back of his head, pulling him against your body.

“Damn,” You grin against his lips, “You’re very good at following instructions.”

Bucky lets out a chuckle, “Got a good teacher.” He kisses across your cheeks and down your jaw. 

“Mmm, it’s your turn,” You push at his shoulders, Bucky not moving, more than content to just stay right here.

“I am good,” He murmurs, rubbing his face against the side of your neck.

You huff, pressing against him harder, “James, please.”

He lifts his head, staring down at you, eyes wandering over your flushed face. Hands pushing against his chest, his own body twitching at the idea of having you touch him. 

“You don’t have to.” Bucky murmurs, meaning every word, fingers tucking hair behind your ear. 

Eye narrowing at him, you push against him again, and he finally rolls over. “You just made my toes curl, Barnes. Let a girl have some fun in return.”

Bucky lets himself lie back against the sheets, feeling completely exposed and raw in front of you. He could feel wetness pressing against his lower stomach from where his cock was leaking. Your hand resting against his chest, assessing how he was sitting. 

“Do you want to show me?” You ask quietly, your eyes on him, as your finger tips brush over his skin slowly. 

He shakes his head, voice caught in his throat, lost in the fog of your gaze. Tilting your head, you look away, eyes going down over his chest. Involuntarily, Bucky’s stomach sucks in, trying desperately not to hide himself away from you. 

“You’re so handsome,” You murmur, leaning down to kiss at the seam where the metal and flesh meet. “All scars and marks, the history you carry with you. I want all of you, nothing hidden.” 

The way your words fall across him, nothing but care and love behind them. It eases the panic moving up his throat. As you shift so that you press closer to him, the softness of your body comforts him like nothing else. How it made sleeping easier, made being exposed to you okay. 

Your hand finds its way lower, ghosting over the curl of hair there. Hand steady as you run your fingers over the top of his leaking cock. Bucky swallows, air sucked through clenched teeth, as your hands work down to the base. Heat is crawling up his chest, and he has to close his eyes; he can’t look, wanting to hold on.

Then you’re gripping onto him, moving so that you can use both hands. One cupping his balls, and fuck, it feels so good. His whole body reacts as you start to stroke him.

“That’s it,” You lean forward, gently kissing him. 

His mouth opens, and he feels like he can finally move, reaching up to hold your face, as he feels his own release coming like a freight train. Your hands are moving exactly the way he needs them, fingers so soft, using his own slick to guide your hand over hot skin.

“I-I am,” Bucky pants, his hips moving on instinct pushing up into your hand. 

You grin, kissing him deeply, hand picking up pace on his cock, the other pulling and rolling his balls just right. The tingling crawling up from his spine and pushing through, making him gasp.

“Let go, James. Just let go,” You whisper, before nipping and sucking at his lips.

The words have him pushing over the edge, eyes rolling into his head, as his body goes tight. His hand clenching against your skin, holding on as his hot release hits his stomach and thighs. The whole space narrowed down into the feeling exploding over him. Bucky’s whole body is tingling with the sensation. Your hand slowly down, and guiding him through the last of his orgasm. 

Eyes pushing open, he slumps against the bed, body melting against the sheets. You hum your approval, kissing his cheek, staying there for a moment. Body curled against his. 

“I am going to go get us each a cloth,” You say softly, before moving away. 

His hand comes up and rubs against his face. It feels so different, so good, no guilt plaguing him, no sense that he had done something wrong. Just a sense of peace. Letting out a small breath he relaxes against the bed, head turning as he hears your footsteps coming. 

“Hey,” You smile, your eyes bright even with the press of sleep close by. 

“Bed,” Buckley murmurs, before grabbing the towel and cleaning himself off, then tossing it onto the laundry pile. 

You snuggle in beside him, not bothering to get dressed, just pulling the covers up and over both of you. His metal arm slides over your skin, it feels like sin to touch you with it, but he doesn’t want to ask you to move. 

“You’re allowed to touch me with your arm,” You whisper, pushing one of your thighs up and over his. “I know you don’t like it, but it’s okay.”

Bucky huffs, hating how transparent he was to you. How you just knew things. 

“You always know,” he replies, kissing your forehead, and pulling you tighter to his side. 

You sit up a little and look at him. “Cause I care about you, I want you to be comfortable.” He felt his brows pull together. “But that isn’t going to always be easy, and there are going to be things that make you uncomfortable. Things you don’t want to do, cause it triggers you. That’s okay too.”

He nods, trying to find words, “Means a lot to me.”

“It’s the least I can do,” You kiss him softly, the two of your foreheads leaning together. “I’d do anything for you.”

Part 15

Author note: Thank you for all the love, sometimes, I get lost in the sauce of things and wonder if it's worth writing. But the kind comments and reblogs really help.

This was very Bucky focused, it just felt like it was what was needed. To have him explore the emotions and enjoy what he is doing with them. The next chapter is going to be intense. So hold on to your butts.

<3 Tag list <3

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@mypainischronicbutmyassisiconic @bckysdoll @nonyabusinesswhatmynameis @levisungjingwoo2099

You had given James a week of medical leave, mostly cause you wanted someone to keep Steve from wandering the medical floor all day. Also, because you wanted him to try and recover from the mission, you’d gotten permission from him to talk with Stark and Banner about possibly looking at some custom earpieces. Something that could block out sound and make it harder for something like this to happen again. They’d agreed, Stark had already set about looking into the necessary tech. 

It felt like a step in the right direction. Being proactive and working with each other instead of tiptoeing around each other. You’d also have interviews lined up with several therapists and psychologists who could hopefully become part of the team. You’d already heard groaning about it, but had held fast that this was needed to benefit everyone. Banner and Thor included. 

The weekend had been uneventful, you’d pretty much slept. Banner had firmly told you that you’d be escorted off the premises if you showed up at the tower over the weekend. You’d still spent a good amount of it slogging through papers on the latest biotech, learning about cybernetic eyes that were starting to see in colour. Not to mention the regeneration serum coming out of China, it hadn’t been tested on humans yet, but the applications could be revolutionary. 

You opened your phone, looking at the messages, checking emails. Part of you hoped that maybe James would text you, did he even text? Face scrunching, you were almost certain he still had a flip phone. Closing out your phone, you cover your face. What the hell was wrong with you? He was your patient, a traumatized, tortured, mess of a man, who needed care and support. Not your weird heart flips, and gaze that lingered too long on the way his shirt fit him. Groaning, you bury your face into your bed pillows. Nope, that was a line you were not crossing. 

Tomorrow you’d go back to work the same way you always did. Hire some therapists to talk to the dysfunctional group of heroes that lived there. Fit your vets with a device that could be life-changing. Do your job, like you were being paid to do.

“Professionalism.” You said out loud to no one. “And not losing your medical license. Very important.”

You lay on the bed looking up at the ceiling. At least you liked going to work now? That had to count for something. Right?

***

Natasha sits across from you, her hair is down, long and red, arms crossed as she watches you carefully. You were currently going over her notes, she’d been shot in the left thigh, and the right side just under her shoulder. 

“Would you be interested in doing physio once the wounds are healed?” You ask, typing away, Natasha shrugs a little, head tilting. 

“I won’t say no,” She replies curtly, fingers rubbing over the soft grey sweater. You were pretty positive it was Steve’s, but that was none of your business. “How long you going to sideline me for, Doc?”

You worry your lip, trying not to let her eyes burrow too far into your soul. “Your thigh got the brunt of it. I saw the limp you had, should be using crunches or a chair to move around.”

“I am getting around just fine.” She replies, looking towards the scan of her thigh on the screen. “It didn’t hit the bone. I’ve had worse.”

“Yes, you have and I know normally, they’d just have you back out into the field as soon as you were on your feet. But I like to see you all not kill yourselves while I am here.” You raise your eyes at Natasha, mirror her by crossing your arms over your chest. It was not easy facing down superheroes and telling them to take it easy. “I am not trying to be a hard ass, I am trying to make sure you’re in the best form. Avoid unnecessary harm or casualties.”

“Well, I can’t argue with that, Doc.” Natasha resigns, her hand rubbing over the spot where she’d been shot. “You're refreshing.”

Your mouth opens and closes, not sure how to take that, “Thank you.” Looking down at the keyboard in front of you. “I do care about all of you. I am not sure what I expected from this job, but you all feel closer to family than patients.”

Natasha has a small smile play across your lips. “Don’t go getting soft on us now, Doc. But it hasn’t gone unnoticed what you’re doing for us, it’s been a long time coming.”

Stomach twisting, you nod, “That means a lot. I would like to give you at least another week before physio, and then we will go from there.”

She nods, “Slot me in, I’ll be here.” You nod, and she gets up going to the door. 

Pausing, she turns to you for a moment, “Whatever you are doing with Barnes, keep it up, it’s working.”

Your heart shouldn’t lurch, but damn did that feel nice to hear. 

***

“I am not sure why I am here, Doctor of Earth.” Thor sat across from you. It was weird seeing him in sweats and a hoodie. Dark sunglasses over his eyes, his fingers constantly moving over the hem of his pocket.

“Pepper, likes to make sure we have up to date info on all of our members,” You reply, going over his blood work. Eyes narrowing, his cortisol levels were off the charts, well off the charts if he wasn’t a god. “Have you been dealing with some stress at home?”

Thor shifts in the chair, lowering himself down; you could see how uncomfortable he was. “Nothing that I cannot handle.”

“Thor, what is going on? The last time your levels were this high, Loki blew up half the city.” You press, if anyone thought Bucky was stubborn, Thor was a whole different level. 

“Something is wrong at home, in Asgard.” He states, again shifting uncomfortably in the chair. “I will handle it.”

Rubbing your eyelids, you try to figure out what you could do. He was a god; your medicine did almost nothing, and you were almost certain he was depressed. The conflict with Loki was hitting him harder than he was letting on. 

“Do you want to talk to someone?” You throw out, knowing full well he was going to shoot it down. “I have a really lovely therapist who has signed on.”

His arms crossed, eyes going over his glasses, a huff leaving him. “No, I am no mere mortal. How would anyone understand what is happening?” 

“Okay, it’s there if you change your mind. Sometimes talking about it helps,” You reply, so much for standing your ground. A sudden thought comes into your mind. “You could always go bug Tony about some attack bots. Maybe smashing things would help.”

He sat up a little, eyes peering over his sunglasses. “I think I would enjoy that, Doc. That is a good idea. I shall go do that!” 

You chuckle watching him get up, punching at the air before disappearing out the door. Well, you definitely made his week. 

***

The next few weeks fly by, and you end up clearing the whole team to get back to work. Natasha is on light duty and intel only. She gave you a glare but didn’t argue. She also seemed not to mind the physio therapist, despite Steve’s side eyeing him. Speaking of Steve, he had huffed about doing follow-up x-rays, but agreed after you let him go without physio. You were pretty certain he would have tossed the physiotherapist if he had ended up going. Sometimes you had to make compromises to avoid losing any more hair. 

Now you were stuck in a budget meeting. A large glass conference room that looked out over the city, you could see the hallways, and the helipad. You were certain they’d pick this spot on purpose. A way for your boss to flex his muscles.  Stark didn’t much care about how money was spent, as long as it went to something worthwhile. Whatever that meant. 

Who cared was investors, the board was very specific about who got how much, so budget meetings it was. Budget, paperwork, and red tape aren’t exactly your forte. You’d heavily leaned on Bruce to help you navigate the complicated process. He’d been more than happy to show you how it all worked; you definitely owe the guy several beers at this point. Especially after he went over the powerpoint for you.

Looking around the table, your eyes land on Stark. Stark, who had most certainly not taped pictures of the eyes to his glasses, Pepper occasionally nudging him when he started snoring. The meeting was nearly concluded, and the investors seemed more than happy with how your veterans program was moving. The murmur of them using the prosthetics for military applications made your stomach turn; you would be advising your veterans of that. Whether it affected your funding or not. You would not let your patients go in uninformed to any meet and greet with privately funded military companies. 

“Well, if the veteran program keeps up, we may look at expanding it come next year.” A balding man across the table leered at you; something about him made you want to gag.

You smile politely, hoping that your face didn’t give away your thoughts, “I am always open to broadening my research.”

“I bet you are. Been quite the star around here.” Another man says, his eyes staring directly at your chest. Which was hilarious considering you were in a lab coat for once. “Wish Stark had hired you earlier.”

“Now, now, gentleman. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” Pepper chimes in, giving them a firm look. You now also owe Pepper wine. “Our Doctor has a lot on her plate already.”

You give her a small smile, thankful that Pepper had stepped in. Looking out through the large window, you see the crew walking down the hall from the helipad. Watching for a moment, you see that James is carrying his arm in his hand, his face a storm cloud of unsaid words, body leaning slightly left as he walks. 

“If we are all done here, I have some work to get to.” You say quickly, gathering up all your notes and files into your arms.

“Oh, taking off so soon,” Stark leers, watching you from above his glasses. 

The urge to flip him off is shoved down; instead, you turn and give him a polite smile. “You know where to find me, Mr. Stark.” He winces, but lets you go.

You take off down the hallway, hoping that you can maneuver the maze to catch up with James. Scurrying through the various halls, you turn through a door and watch as the elevators close. 

“Damnit,” You mutter under your breath, hitting the button to go down. 

One of the elevators comes up, and you are in as soon as the doors open, rapidly hitting the button to your floor. You nearly hit the floor for James’ room, but decided against it. “Boundaries, boundaries,” you mutter to yourself. 

The floors go by slowly, fingers tapping on the edges of the files. Wondering where he would have gone to your office. You hit the clinic floor and nearly topple out of the elevator, scurrying down towards the office doors. Rounding the corner, you see him standing by the door, hand still hanging on to his prosthetic. His shoulder slump, tact gear stretched across him. The little heart jump had nothing to do with the fact you’d never seen him in full uniform. 

“Hey,” You say quietly, like you hadn’t just run out of a meeting and down the elevator to get to him. “What happened to your arm?” 

James looked down at his arm he was holding, and then back at you, his face still an unreadable mask. 

“Thanks,” He says. You blink a few times, trying not to act shocked. “I can’t fix it.” His words are clipped and short, like they hurt to say. 

“Oh, not a problem. I got most of the afternoon free.” You say with a small smile, moving forward and unlocking the office door. 

He follows behind you, his present making the space feel small, placing the arm on your desk with a thud. You place your stuff down, sliding files back into place, firing up your computer. Looking towards him, you see him pacing around the room, his footfalls are almost silent. How could someone that large make almost no sound? Was he sweating?

You sit in the chair, rolling over to look at the arm. It was dented, right where the elbow joint was. Not just dented but squished, like a pancake. Pen taping around the different points. You use both hands to turn it over; the underside doesn’t look as bad, but this was not going to be a quick fix. 

“You said a tank rolled over this?” You ask, moving back to your computer to see if there was a lab free. 

He finally sits, right hand moving up to run over his left side, nodding at your question. You see him wince, just a small scowl that disappears in a blink. There is definitely sweat breaking out over his brow, was he in pain? A list of questions forms in your mind as you watch him.

Glancing back at your computer, you see the lab schedule, lab D is open, at least part of the lab was open, there would be others in there, but the equipment you needed would be available. 

“I am going to take this to Lab D. I have the three-dimensional prints in my medical room next door. I can use that as a template. This may take some time.” You say quickly, booking the lab. “Did you get injured when the tank rolled over your arm? I can take a look at it now, make sure everything is fine.”

James sat there, still as stone, right hand clenched hard enough that his knuckles had gone white. 

“Are you okay?” You swallow, moving over so that you are closer to him.

He fidgets, now that you are looking at him over you can see marks covering his chest. The tact vest had been shot several times, and there was blood splattered across it. The glove on his right hand was torn, and the knee on his left leg was also ripped. 

“James,” You move over closer, you don’t touch him. Something was clearly bothering him more than he was letting on.

“It’s fine.” His words clipped, as he got up and walked out the door, so quickly you didn’t have time to ask him to stop.

You sit for a moment, blinking, unsure why the man had stormed out. Your first instinct is to go after him, but you stop. If he needed space, you’d give him that, he would find you if needed. 

***

Bucky stood in his bathroom, the steam had covered the mirrors, and he would prefer it stayed that way. He knew the mirror would only reveal the damage he could already feel. The pain was excruciating, and the warmth had helped until he got out of the shower. 

It did help that doing things without an arm was difficult. He was certain half his body was not cleaned properly, and he was also certain that getting clothes on was not going to be any easier. He’d be wearing sweats and a loose shirt until he got his arm back. 

The arm hadn’t always been there, but he had never learned how to live without it. It wasn’t like HYDRA had classes on being a normal human being. No, he’d learned how to take a part of a gun one handed, and gut a person with one hand. Yet, putting on clothes wasn’t on their list, or doing his hair, or talking to another human. He was a weapon. The word etched into his mind like a brand.

The counter creaked under the squeeze of his fist. 

He couldn’t hear over the coms; the new earpiece he had been given was still buggy as hell. Digging them out, he taped at the side of his head, hearing someone scream. His head turned, the dust clearing enough for him to see an agent being dragged away by some six legged monster, a tank was headed towards them. She had a dagger dug into one of its arms, but it wasn’t slowing him down; she was thrashing, trying to get out of his grip. 

Without thinking, he was down off the stack of shipping containers, his heart thumping as he watched what was unraveling in front of him. Sam was diving down scooping out agents, and Steve was currently tearing through the roof of the spacecraft. He didn’t know where the others were, his focus narrowing down to what was ahead of him. 

Hand on his weapon, he levelled three shots in a cluster at the creature’s head. It shook it off, turning to look at him, its face splitting to reveal tongues and teeth as it roared at him. The girl in its clutches was thrown towards the spaceship, her head hitting the ground hard enough to knock her out cold.  Bucky didn’t stop, walking in a steady, easy pace, bullets focused still on the thing's face. All it did was annoy the creature. 

Switching over to knives, he flips a dagger into his hand and throws it. It hits directly into the thing's maw. A scream cries out. He breaks into a sprint, the girl is going to be crushed in a moment if he doesn’t move fast. He manages to slide, throwing his arms forward and pushes her out of the way. His body curls in on itself, but it’s too slow. His arm malfunctioning and freezing, he feels the tank crushing his arm. It rips a scream out of his mouth. Pain flares as his socket is twisted and pulled off his body. It feels like it takes hours for the tank to go over his arm; he comes out the other side with a whimper. 

He can feel the countertop piece in his hand, sharp enough to cut into his palm. The steam has faded, and the bruising around his limb shows. The limb is swollen and purple. Muscles around the metal plate were strained, veins red, flesh hot to the touch. The metal plating around his shoulder is rippled; if he presses on it, pain blossoms up his neck and into the back of his head. 

“Fuck,” He whispers out, this wasn’t something he could fix on his own. No different than the arm, he needed help.

He thought of the look on your face when he’d gotten up and left. How confused you looked when he just stood up and left. The pain had been excruciating, his arm was broken, and half the aliens had disappeared into the forest. All he had wanted was for you to fix the arm, just for one thing to go right. The arm that won’t even fit because his limb was the size of a watermelon. It wasn’t your fault that he had been too slow, or that a tank had run him over, or that he was in pain.

Yet he still left you there. The one person trying to help him. 

Looking one more time at his wrecked left side. He didn’t have a choice; if you got the arm working, it won’t slot back into the sock properly now. So he either went and saw you and got it all fixed, or nothing. 

“Godamnit,” He grumbles, leaving the bathroom. 

***

Lab D was as expected; there were two other groups in there working on projects. The space was huge, a large open area where one group was testing out what looked like nano-suit tech. It was not going well. They had covered most of the floor space with mats. Which were now being used by the suit test dummy, who was being thrown into it over and over. He would try to activate the suit; it would cover part of his body and then slam him backwards when he’d get nervous and clench his fist. They needed someone who was much less twitchy. 

Another group had a defunct ironman suit laid out that they were slowly taking apart and piecing back together. It looked tedious and time-consuming, something that you almost wish you could be doing. Your mind was a mess. 

The prosthetic was far more damaged then your initial assessment; the joint looked completely crushed and would need to be refabricated. This wasn’t simple or fast, and James was already upset. You’d also noticed that the pins that latched his prosthetic to his residual limbs were broken, which meant that the limb was more than likely injured. Not that James had told you that. 

You placed his prosthetic on the table, closing your eyes and trying to refocus yourself. Trauma did horrid shit, you still had nightmares, still had flashbacks. There was no timeline for how trauma was dealt with, especially complex trauma like James was going through. 

“Just keep showing up,” You say quietly, as you start to unload your cart. 

Placing the arm on the table carefully, you’d need to get it apart so you could send it to the fabricators downstairs. Hopefully, they had something stronger than titanium down there; your mind drifted to vibranium. Steve’s shield was made of it, but you didn’t know of any other sources. You could possibly add tungsten to the titanium, just to the joints, adding the metal overall would make the limb too heavy. Just adding the joint weight might be too much. There were too many unknown factors. 

“Whoa, is that the winter soldier's arm?” A much too chipper voice chimes in, you turn her, a smaller girl with brown curly hair and big green eyes. She immediately zoned in on the arm, her hands going out to touch it. 

You stare at her for a moment too long, trying to digest the words she had said. “I am sorry. I would prefer if you used his name.”

The girl is looking over the whole thing, the way she is pressing and moving the metal has your fingers twitching. She goes to pick it up, and you nearly shout at her. “I didn’t know he even spoke.”

“His name is James Barnes,” You say firmly, moving so that you are standing in front of the prosthetics. Shuffling her out of the way, you didn’t want her touching the prosthetic anymore. “He is a patient of mine, and deserves some respect. He isn’t a tool to be fondled.”

She scowls at you, arms crossing over her chest. You felt that your face had said more than your words. “Well, he isn’t my patient.” She says loud enough for the rest of the room to hear. “Besides, I have studied cybernetic tech extensively. I could help with this.” 

You look at her name tag, Lily, and you try to keep your face neutral. Most of the room was now staring at you. “Lily, whether he is your patient or not, they all deserve respect. Would you call Dr. Banner, the Hulk?” Your voice was louder than needed, “Or Mr. Stark, Iron Man?”

The test dummy hits the wall with a thud, and someone gasps. Lily takes a step back, folding in on herself as she looks around the room, her cheeks stained pink. 

“I apologize, Doctor," She says, your name quietly. “If there is anything I can assist you with, I will be just over there.”

You watch her walk away, the room still looking at you. The urge to yell boo sits just under your tongue, but you instead move back to what you actually need to focus on. You start placing all the pieces out in front of you, the three dimensional print in the center. Now to take the actual prosthetic apart, sans nosey interns.

***

Bucky stood in a pair of jeans that he’d struggled far too long to get on. A loose-fitting black tee that was baggy enough to hide the swelling. There had been a lot of cursing to get it on. Not to mention the shoes, he was investing in something that he could slip on after this. Clint had mentioned crocs, though the name alone sounded awful. Who names footwear crocs?  

He stood outside his room and had no idea what to do. The pain had dulled to a roar; maybe it would fade. Then the shirt rubs the wrong way, and his head swims, the world turns slightly, and he is grasping the wall. 

Grumbling, he makes his way to the elevators, trying hard not to move his shoulder at all. He hits the elevator button several times harder than necessary. The binging noise makes his head throb, vision blurring. The pain was almost debilitating at this point. 

The doors open to an elevator full of people. They all stand there and look at him. How did so many people have access to the floors up here? He just waits for the doors to close, his forehead resting against the cool metal. Counting to ten, he hits the elevator button again.

***

Lab D is quiet, the lights are dim, everyone else has left for the day. He pads down the hall and stands just outside the doors. You're standing with three tables side by side, his entire arm spread out across all three. There are dozens of sticky notes, your tablet is perched on the rolling stool nearby. He watches as you card your hand through your hair, you grab the inner structure, it looks very similar to how a human bone would look. The joint is a mess, something that will have to be completely rebuilt. 

He turns and leans against the wall, letting out a breath. An intern walks by with a scowl on her face, eyes not connecting with his, clutching her folders tighter as she walks by him. He grits his teeth; now he has to go in there and tell her that there was more damage done. That he was more damaged then he already was. 

“James?” You are leaning out the door, bags under your eyes, brows furrowed as you look at him. 

He pushes off the wall quickly, trying to act like he hadn’t been spiraling less than a minute before. “Umm, yeah, I-I wanted to see how you were doing with the arm.”

“Oh, come in then.” You say, still looking confused as you hold the door open for him. 

He walks in and is struck with how many working parts are laid out in front of him. “Whoa, that’s a lot of parts.” 

A sigh comes out as you pace the length of the tables, “Yeah, there is. The tank did a number on it. The biggest issue is rebuilding the joint.” You point at the piece of metal. “There is some nano fiber damage, and these metal cords.” You pull up three that are snapped. “They act like tendons, and they are also trashed.” 

Bucky’s mind raced; this was not going to be fixed tonight, or hell, even this week. That didn’t even cover what he hadn’t shown her yet. His jaw works as he took it all in. 

“I already have Max downstairs fabricating the new skeletal pieces. I have one being made with titanium and one with added tungsten. I want to make it stronger, but I don’t want to add weight.” He watches you move back and forth, your fingers running over each piece carefully. “We’ll need to do some test runs on it. I also noticed there were pins broken inside. Did you hurt your limb?” 

He looks at you for a moment, “Umm, yeah. I was gonna mention it, it's nothing major.” That was a lie. “Maybe tomorrow you could look at it.” He was certainly not sleeping with the pain he was in.

Your arm crosses over your chest. “You think I am gonna sleep?” The words are thin, not anger, but sadness. “Also, you’re sweating, which I’ve never seen before.” 

Bucky freezes; he doesn’t know what to do, his feet start moving backwards towards the door. You see it and reach out, he grimaces, but stops moving. 

“James, you’ve been ignoring me since you got back. I can tell you’re in pain. If you don’t tell me what’s going on, I can’t help you.” You state plainly, he looks at you, the way your brows are furrowed, lips chewed to hell, and searches his face for answers. 

He looks down at his feet as he pushes his shirt up to reveal his limb. 

***

Your mouth falls open, the residual limb is purple, swollen twice its usual size. Reaching forward, you stop for a moment and look up at him. He is still staring at the floor, clearly upset and in pain. 

“We need to go to my clinic, I need gloves, and possibly an x-ray.” You say quickly, mind a whirlwind. “And before you get upset, I will do everything I can to avoid the scan. But I need to look at this closure and possibly make some phone calls.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything, just drops his shirt sleeve and waits. 

You move so you’re facing him, reaching over and grabbing his right hand. Despite his flinching, you squeeze it. 

“James, stuff like this is going to happen. It’s all part of having an arm like yours.” You say quietly, you try to find his eyes, but he won’t look at you. “I know you saved the life of an agent, which almost cost you your own.” 

He tries to pull away, but you won’t let him. Hoping that the squeeze of your fingers can somehow ground him. 

“This is gonna suck, I am not gonna lie to you.” You say flatly, “But I need you to trust me, okay?”

He doesn’t move, his fingers twitch around yours before squeezing them. You let it sit, needing some sort of validation that he was going to be alright. If his limb was this swollen still, after over six hours, there was something severely wrong. Your mind had already started picking up names of people you’d need to phone, and tests you needed to run. 

“I-I,” Bucky’s face twisted like he was trying to find the words. 

You hold up your hand and make an okay sign, “You can just do that.”

Bucky stares at it for a moment, and you let go of his hand, but then he makes the sign. 

~*~*~*~

PART 6

Author's note: I already have the next part written, but I am adjusting and writing it. May post it early 🤭

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***

Bruce, Tony, and you had pulled out every favor you could think of to get a team together. It was close to one am by the time everyone was brought together into the operating room. Steve had come down as well, despite the queasy look on his face. Bucky was a mess; his heart rate was high, blood pressure should have killed him, but the serum was doing its job; he was sweating buckets, and hadn't stopped trembling.

He had outright denied going into the operating room for over an hour, it had taken you having every member of the team sitting down across from him. He didn’t even say anything, just glared at them. Two of the nurses had been dismissed when he said he didn’t like how they smelled. Tony looked like he might spontaneously combust, but you and Steve had finally convinced him to go into the operating room. It was another thirty minutes to get him onto the operating table, but he was there. 

“It's going to be okay,” You say quietly as you get Bucky laid down onto the table. Steve stood beside him, gripping Bucky’s right hand in his. “We aren't going to hurt you. Just need to get the damaged metal fixed, and open the area that's squishing your left limb.” 

Bucky nods, eyes staring far away at the ceiling, he’d been completely mute since he entered the room. You can feel him building walls and pushing whatever he needs down and out of his mind. It was not good, or ideal, but you’d deal with that later. There was nothing you could give him short of an elephant tranquilizer to help ease his anxiety. You’d asked several times if he wanted to be put under and he had outright refused. 

Steve had mentioned that it gave him some sense of control. He could still get up and leave, he could still stop things. So you’d let it go, instead focusing on using a nerve block. This wasn’t ideal, but it was the best you could do. Under no circumstances were you going to cut into him without pain management. 

You had brought in an anesthesiologist, Caitlin, that you were close with. She was one of the best in her field, and was not impressed that you'd called her at eleven at night for an emergency call that you couldn't explain. She would be doing the nerve block, you'd explain in great detail how fast his metabolism was, and how the serum made surgery complicated. She just sighed, then barked orders at a couple of medtechs to get more of everything. 

She had a rolling table with everything laid out, and a nurse on standby. Caitlin had kept herself out of Bucky’s line of sight; it wasn’t out of fear, but to keep him comfortable. 

It had taken about half an hour to debrief everyone on the situation. To explain why things had to be done the way they needed to be done. Everything had to be said out loud; if ‘stop’ was said by anyone it stopped. Egos had to be left at the door, or things could go sideways. You stressed that Bucky wasn’t a threat, but that he was scared and in a lot of pain. 

Bucky is placed on his side, a curtain of material put up so that just his left side was exposed, and he wasn't able to see anything. His whole body was rigid, breath coming in short, shallow breath. You'd placed IVs, anything else that needed to touch him, telling him exactly what you were doing and where. The machines were beeping loudly, and you'd instructed them to be muted. Silence and some soft music was it. Bucky was already a mess, and loud noises made it difficult for him to relax. 

You came around the paper blockade to see Bucky. Steve had been given a chair so he could sit directly in front of his friend. Crouching down in front of them, you take a few breaths. 

“So, we're pretty much ready to go. Caitlin is going to numb the area, I am going to be right here as she does that. Once you're numb, we will start to remove each piece of metal, they'll be cleaned and given to Tony. He will either fix it up or cut a new one. Once we have the metal off, we are going to remove any broken metal and fix up any torn skin. Then we will do a quick x-ray.” Bucky tensed up more.

“You won't even know it happens. We just need to make sure that the bones underneath are healing.” He nods his head, eyes still far away, body painfully stiff. You shove down the need to comfort, to soothe, now is not the time. “Once all the metal is fixed and your limb is cleared to heal, we will put everything back on. If you feel any discomfort tell us or Steve.”

“Any idea of time frame?” Steve asks, he looks pale, blue eyes not leaving Bucky’s face. You were torturing both of them; that’s what it felt like anyway. 

Your jaw clenches, “We will go as quickly as safely possible. Once we start, we will need to keep going.” 

Caitlin narrates everything she does; her voice is smooth and calm. Bucky doesn’t even flinch when the IV goes in, or when the machine whirrs to life. Steve squeezed his hand as he breathed with him, Bucky’s blue eyes more a dull grey now. 

Your mind turns off as you start to work on James’ shoulder. Having just disassembled his arm, you know how the metal slots, the way you have to turn them to unlatch them. It was like a complicated metal puzzle of connections, slots, and space. Slowly revealing metal lace work below. 

As each piece is slipped off, you hand them to a nurse. In another room, the sound of machinery rattles the walls as Tony starts to work his magic. You could only hope that they’d be easy enough to fix. 

Under the metal is a crisscross network of more metal embedded into the skin. It takes your breath away, the brutality of it should be called inhuman, but you know that to be false. The swirling, gnarled skin, mixing of metal, wires, and flesh in a way that shouldn’t be possible. It’s ghastly and ugly, the scar tissue stretched tight around metal. Broken pieces and pins are visible, blood and fluid are leaking out from the sections that have been torn open. The bruising is dark, a clear sign of deep trauma. You could tell the metal was getting in the way of the skin and muscle healing. 

You step back and let the surgeon, Dr. Damian Miller, one of Starks' guys, come in. He carefully looks over each piece of metal, noting the ones that have damage. His nurse rolls over a cart with tools, you can see him processing the next steps, before he goes to start. Adjusting the light so he can see clearly what needs to be done.

“James, I am going to cut in now so we can remove the broken rods. You should just feel pressure.” Dr Miller says out loud, you're grateful he does as you asked, detailing the steps to keep Bucky calm.  

“Stop,” Steve’s voice croaks out from behind the screen, “He can feel it.”

You turn to Caitlin, who is already working, there are a tense few moments as she adjusts the level of medication. “Apply pressure, now.”

You move so that you can see Dr.Miller, Steve, and Bucky as the doctor pushes against the swollen skin. Bucky makes the okay sign, and you go back to the other side. “Clear,” 

The surgeon is incredibly careful but efficient, he removes the pins, which go down directly into reinforced metal bone. Cleaning and cutting some of the jagged wounds left behind by the metal. He makes sure the skin is able to be easily sutured and given the right environment to heal. You can hear him muttering under his breath about the barbaric nature of what he is seeing. You can't disagree. It’s much worse than you had imagined. 

“I need an x-ray to make sure there is no other damage.” He states stepping back after he finishes removing the last of the visibly broken pieces. You are grateful that somehow none of the wires are damaged. 

“We are going to take a quick x-ray, James. This is the weight vest.” You tell him everything, the vest is put on, and the x-ray rolled in. You get the tech to take a dozen images. “Okay, all done. Mario, as soon as you have them, put them up on the wall.” Mario nods, already working on getting the images up for you. 

“The residual limb is already looking better.” The surgeon says, manipulating the limb as x-rays start popping up onto the screen. His eyes are already on them. You watch him carefully cut the metal ring off the swollen limb. “I think we should forgo the metal cuff ring that attaches the prosthetic. It isn't directly attached to the flesh, just the metal framework, so that it can be put back on once the swelling goes down.” 

“That can be done,” You reply quickly, nodding in agreement.

You both stop and look at the x-rays. Your breath caught in your chest, the metal was extensive. They had reinforced the bones and vertebrae, and they had also added metal mesh over his pectoral muscles. The ligaments had been thickened; they had even, somehow, rerouted veins. If it wasn’t for the serum Bucky would be dead.

“Well, that-” Dr. Miller pauses, swallowing as he looks over the x-rays. “That's a lot. But, no broken bones. We will sew him back up and get the metal slotted into place.”

***

Bucky can hear everything and feel almost everything, but there is a blank spot on his left side. It’s the first time since he can remember that there is no weight, no heaviness, nothing. Like it’s been removed, but yet there is still pressure. Not enough to be uncomfortable, but enough to remind him that soon he’d feel everything again. Soon all of it would flood back, and there would be more pain, at least for a while.

Steve squeezes his hand, like he knows something is wrong. “They’re almost done, Buck. Tony knocked that out fast. Looks good as new.” 

Bucky can hear his friend's heart pound, could smell his nausea, the man was exhausted and holding on by a shoestring. Swallowing, he tries to breathe, to not think about how many people have seen what had been done to his body. How he was just taken apart piece by piece.

It was terrifyingly personal, something that he would have never let happen under any normal circumstances. With you there, though, you’d gotten him onto the table. You’d dealt with all quirks, letting him look over every person going into that room. Made sure he felt safe, dragged Steve down to help keep him grounded. 

The entire time, your heartbeat is steady, how you handled the situation with such clinical cuts, it was so cold. The coldness, you’d shut down, shifted away. Any warmth he had felt had vanished as soon as you started working. He didn’t know how to feel about it. Even when you’d come to check on him, it was like the spark in your eyes was snuffed out.  

He watches as you come around the barrier, your face a mask, something he’d seen before. How many doctors had the same expression, that same look as they worked on him. As they cut into him, inflicted pain, strapped him down, and listened to him scream until his voice gave out.  

“We got everything sorted, your residual limb is still swollen.” You say quickly, the other medical staff start to take down the barrier. “But the serum is doing its job. By the time the prosthesis is put together, we will be able to put back on the coupling ring.”

Your eyes didn’t meet his, his brain flashing back to your usual Wednesday coffees. How you’d smile when you’d talk with him, how your eyes always looked at him. Not through him, or searching, just looking at him, like he was whole. Why was it so different right now? 

“What you thinkin’, Buck?” Steve squeezed his hand as the nerve block catheter was removed. Bucky winces at the tug he feels under his skin. 

Bucky slowly sits up on the table and swinging his legs so he is on the edge, the medical personnel moving around the room in a blur. He is handed a shirt, which he carefully puts on. His left side is still partially numb, but he can slowly feel the tingling of it coming back. Steve is still waiting for an answer. He gets up and nods towards the door. Getting up, Bucky’s legs wobble, he uses the table for a moment, before following Steve out into the hallway. Glancing over, he sees you hug Tony, a small smile on your lips, before you turn to start typing on your tablet. 

Outside he slumps into a much too small plastic chair beside Steve. “Something is wrong.”  

He rubs over where the metal is, pulling his shirt back, he can see it. None of it is warped or dented; it's smooth, flat, the plates blending in with each other perfectly. He’d never seen them move so easily before. 

“Your shoulder hurt? Doc said there might be some residual pain, but it should fade as you heal.” Steve says, grabbing him a bottle of water.

Bucky shakes his head, watching as a few of the medical staff leave. They give him a nod, even a small smile. ”No, the Doc.” He says your name quietly. “She’s different.”

Steve’s brow furrows like he doesn’t understand. “What do you mean? She just pulled together a team out of thin air to fix up your arm.”

Shifting uncomfortably in his chair, he takes a sip of water and keeps an eye on the door. Wondering if maybe exhaustion was finally catching up to him. “It’s like she changes. She is so cold when she is working, like she isn’t in the room.”

“That’s compartmentalizing Buck.” Steve says with ease, a small smile twisting on his face. 

“What?” Bucky asks, glaring at Steve’s smug face. The word is familiar, but he can’t quite remember the meaning. 

“It’s just like when you go quiet when things are getting tough,” Steve says, “She just does it more mentally.” Bucky is still looking at him like he is speaking gibberish. “The Doc puts all her emotions in a box, in her head, then she tucks those emotions away. That way, she can do her job.” 

The doors open and you walk out, your eyes heavy with exhaustion, hair tied up in a tight bun, body tight like you hadn't relaxed in days. Tony followed after you, stopping to look at the two guys.

“You did good in there,” Tony says with a stiff nod, his face twisting as if it doesn’t know what to do. “Your - ah - shoulder feeling better?”

Bucky’s jaw clicks, but he nods, “Yeah, um, thanks.”

Tony nods, his lips a tight line, “We’ll make sure your arm is fixed up in short order. Got my best guys on it.”

He didn’t wait for them to reply, just walked down the hall in a stiff form.

“Think that’s a compliment, coming from Stark,” You say with a small grin, watching him go. The light slowly comes back into your eyes.

Bucky nods, he doesn’t know how to feel about all of it. Tony seemed to actually care after seeing what had been done to him. He’d never disliked the man, but he wouldn’t have called him a friend either.

“You should try to rest, James,” You say quietly, you look at Steve, “Both of you, I will be working over the weekend, Max, Tony, and me will be working on your prosthetic. Make sure it works. If you have any discomfort or notice any issues, you have my number.” He could see the way you started to relax, your eyes softening, warmth coming back to your face.

“Thanks, Doc,” Steve says with a grin, clapping his hand on Bucky’s uninjured arm. “I’ll make sure he gets to bed in good time.”

You nod, eyes connecting with Bucky once more, holding for a moment, before walking away towards the elevators. Bucky’s eyes followed you, his shoulder had started to ache just as he lost sight of you.

“You still think something is still wrong?” Steve teases, bumping his elbow with Bucky’s 

Bucky turns to him, glaring slightly, rolls his eyes at Steve before getting up. “No. I don’t.”

***

“Why did you do this?” Bucky was sitting on a stool, his left side covered in blood and gore. You could hear the blood hit the ground, the taste of metal stringing your nose. His residual limb had been crudely cut off, the bone exposed, flesh hanging off of him. “Why?” 

Your heart was pounding in your chest, you tried to go to him, to explain, but he kept moving away from you. No matter how much you tried to get to him, to tell him you didn’t do this, you couldn’t get there. It was like your body had been weighed down, the floor holding you back.

“How could you do this?” Your body is spun, and now you can see Steve standing in front of you, his hands covered in blood, staring at you. His usual blue eyes are now red with tears. A star had been carved deep enough into his chest that you could now see bone. His shield is on the table beside him, pieces cut out of it, his hands grasping the sharp edges. 

“I didn’t,” You reach out again, tears streaming down your face. Trying desperately to help him, but unable to move. “I don’t know what happened.” 

The world zooms out, and now you are standing in the operating room. Your gloves are covered in blood, a pile of metal lies on the floor, and a stack of body parts is on the table. There was so much blood, splashed onto everything. Bucky’s body lay on the table, his right arm had been removed, body was barely covered by a sheet. Blood seeping through the white fabric in various places.

His eyes snap open, and you’re suddenly inches from his face. “Why?”

You gasp into the cool air of your room, struggling against the blankets that feel more like bonds. A scream echoes across the room as you finally get out of bed, landing on the floor. Kicking and crawling until you find the window frame. Throwing it open, you gasp in cold air, the sound of the cars driving by, the yelling of strangers below. Your chest was heaving, trying to suck in as much air as you could. 

“It’s not real. It’s not real.” You say over and over again, trying to push the mental images out of your head. The warm splatter of blood could still be felt on your hands. The metallic smell of blood still lingered around you. “It was a nightmare. You didn’t hurt him. He is okay.”

You slide down onto the cool floor, trying to ground yourself. Five things you can see: the light from outside, the bed sheets, your hands, the wood floor, and the water stain on the roof. Four things you can touch, three things you can smell. Your breath starts to even out, heart slowing down. You push your tongue to the roof of your mouth, forcing yourself to breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth in counts of five. 

“Fuck,” You curse out, you don’t dare close your eyes, too scared to see the remnants of the dream. Despite the tugging of sleep pressing against your eyelids.

Finally, pushing up, you walk over and grab your phone, you open it, and pull up youtube. You find your favorite show and throw it onto the tv, turning the sound up a little louder than was probably acceptable for four am on a Monday morning. They could file a noise complaint. 

Once that’s on, you get up and turn on all the lights in your tiny studio apartment. Enough to push any shadows out of your mind. Next kettle is on, you were going to be downing as much coffee as you could drink. You step into your tiny bathroom, washing your face roughly and forcing yourself to get dressed. Next, you open up your laptop and pull up a dozen tabs. 

“You still having nightmares, Doc?” Your whole body goes cold at the low, gravely voice. Eyes looking up over the laptop, you see him. Conner. 

He is dressed in his fatigues, his back to you as he looks out at the city. The tall man’s figure fills up one of the windows, his rigid shoulders and close cropped hair. 

“You’re not real.” You whisper, looking back down at your laptop. Pulling up the files on the newly built arm. 

“You see one tortured soul and you are back here.” He is sitting beside you now on the bed. Which is impossible because the bed doesn’t indent, there is no heat, or smell. But he is still speaking, even if his words don’t match how he had sounded. 

You can see the blood leaking out from what is left of his right side, the IUD had ripped most of that side away. Leaving a bloody, gory hole, that no amount of gauze could fix. It didn't matter how much pressure you put on it, he would die.

“You aren’t real, Conner. You died that day, and there was nothing I could have done about it.” You say firmly, doing your damndest to try and focus on the youtube video you’d seen a hundred times. 

He chuckles, the blood drips, but doesn’t actually hit the bedding. See, not real, you tell yourself again. 

“Yet you’re working with Stark. The same Stark that provided weapons that killed most of us.” He grits out. The Conner you had known wouldn’t have spoken with such venom; he was a kind man. With a heart too big for this world, this wasn’t Conner. It was a trick. 

You snap, grabbing a book from your bedside table you huck it directly at his head. Nothing happens for a moment, the book goes through him and clatters on the floor. Then he is gone. Your body collapses against the bed, you hadn’t had vivid hallucinations like that in years. The tv was still blaring, your kettle was boiling, and your laptop was half open. Your brain ran away without your consent. 

You hadn’t spoken to anyone about your hallucinations; dozens of sessions of EMDR and clearance from a psychologist had made it a thing of the past. Conner had died in your arms on your last deployment; out of all the people you watched die, he had stuck with you. Probably because you had fallen for him, it was one sided thing. You had never even brought it up, but you always took the time to make him coffee on his night watches. To keep his stitches perfect, let his hand linger longer than it should. But that had been it. 

When you held Conner, he had reached up to you, his finger gently brushing across your cheek. He’d smiled, and then the light had faded from his eyes. The tears burn your eyes like they had that day, so much left unspoken. Things that you’d never get to tell him. The what ifs had haunted you for years after that, enough that Conner had become a regular hallucination for you. CPTSD induced hallucinations. 

The feelings flowed through you in heaves, tears, and coughs streaming out of you. You let it happen, you let yourself feel everything, the longing, the horror, the sadness, the deep ache of loneliness. When did you end up feeling so lonely, so empty? A shutter stutters out, and you finally grab some tissue, wiping your eyes and blowing your nose. If there was one thing years of therapy had taught you, it was to feel all those feelings. Even the uncomfortable ones.

“I am sorry Conner. Wherever you are, I am sorry I couldn’t do more.” You say out loud to the empty apartment. “I am sorry, I never told you how I felt.” 

***

Bucky sat on the table, the zipper on the shoulder of his shirt was unzipped. It gave you and Max access to his arm without him having to take off his shirt. You had given several of them to him this morning, stating you wanted him to be comfortable. Your eyes had been red rimmed, and he could tell that you’d been crying. He hadn’t said anything, just accepted them, then put one on for this appointment. 

Max was his usual surly self, not saying much, just fussing over the arms that he had helped make. The three they had were not complete; it was the wrist and hand, the metal bone, and then the piece that connected to his residual limb. It was to test for weight. The first one was just titanium, the next one had ten percent added tungsten, and the last had fifteen percent. They had also redone the pins inside where it attached, instead of being ope,n they were covered and wouldn’t be rubbing against his sleeve anymore. 

“So, once we know the weight feels okay, we will be able to rebuild everything relatively fast. Have your arm back by Friday.” You say quietly, he watches you closely as you pull up all the sensor data. You’d been different, quieter, you couldn’t meet his eyes. He thought of Steve and wondered if you were still boxing things. 

“Hold still big guy,” Max said gruffly as he brought over one of the arms. He slid it in place, turning it so that the pins clicked in.

Bucky couldn’t move it like his normal arm, but he could feel it and lift it some. He moved his neck back and forth, rolling his shoulder, feeling the way it hung off of him. He slides off the table and walks around, feeling how it swings and moves.

“How does it feel?” You sit back watching him, your hands fiddling with the sensors that you hadn’t attached yet.

Bucky walks over, so that he is standing beside you, “Feels the same. A little lighter.”

“Do you mind if I stick these on?” You hold up the sensors, small white sticky discs of some kind. Your eyes watching how the arm moves.

He nods, and you attach them along the metal plate across his chest. Up onto his shoulder, along his spine, and then down over his chest. Your fingers light, barely touching his skin, moving with practiced skill. You made sure they were all attached and then got him to move again. 

“Doesn’t seem like it’s adding any additional stress,” You reply, hands moving over your tablet quickly. “Let’s try the next one.” 

Bucky unclicked the one arm and slotted the next in place, Max placing the removed one gently onto the table. Bucky could feel the weight of this one; it wasn’t a lot, but enough that he was leaning more than normal towards that side. He did the same movements, rolling his shoulder, moving the arm up and down, simple movements. 

“How’s that one feeling? Your body is keeping up with the additional weight, but if you’re uncomfortable, you need to let me know.” You ask, marking down more notes and circling different sensors. Eyebrows scrunched together in that cute way when you were trying to focus. “Do you mostly feel it in your back?” 

Bucky rolls his shoulder, and he moves his head side to side. He feels a tension in his back just under his shoulder. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was present. Something that might build over time if he wasn’t careful. 

“It’s heavy, not bad,” He says quietly, looking down at it and turning it back and forth. He was curious what it would feel like when it was fully working. 

“Okay, let’s try the next one. Though, I think it’s going to be too heavy.” You say, quietly, as Max attaches the next arm. 

Bucky feels it even more this time; he groans slightly as he tries to move it. The leftover of his arm is struggling to do the most basic movements. He can feel his left side being drawn towards the ground, his muscles straining. The urge to remove it suddenly pushed forward. 

“Off, now,” You say, moving quickly over and grabbing the arm, you turn it and twist it and pop it off. The weight hits you and you nearly fall to the floor. Bucky grabs your hands with his free one and drags you back up onto your feet. Your fingers tangled together, your eyes locking onto his in surprise.

“Sorry,” You swallow,face flushing red, eyes moving away, as he helps you put the arm back on the table. “Your body did not like that.”

“It was too heavy,” Bucky replies, trying not to stare at how pink you’ve gotten. Max looking over at both of you with a raised eyebrow. Bucky glares at him, and he goes back to pretending to work on something. 

He watches you take a breath, the way your body tenses up and relaxes with the breaths. You go over to your tablet, typing away, shoulders too tight. 

“We will scrap the fifteen percent one. I-” You pause for a moment, “I mean we- will rebuild the ten percent added arm, then we will test it.” You speak quickly, Max grabbing the third arm and taking it over to a bin with scrap in it. 

Bucky nods, getting up, “When do you want to meet again?” 

You look up from your tablet, a small smile crossing your face. “Wednesday, maybe after we have coffee in the morning?”

The way you said it was so casual, like Wednesday coffee wasn’t anything more than that. His heart twisted, his fist clenching and unclenching. Of course, you were his Doctor, a friend. 

“Okay,” Is all he says, before making his way to the exit. Trying not to let the storm of his own mind cloud the room. 

***

Max holds up the now defunct arm, moving it back and forth in his hand. “Do you want me to hold onto this? Like a backup?”

You are still scrolling through your notes on your tablet, my a buzz with information. “No, if anything, we should be remaking the titanium one or looking for other stronger, but lighter alloys to add.”

He puts the arm on the table, already starting to take things apart. “We could drop the tungsten down to five percent, even that would increase the durability of the joint.”

“Tank durable?” You ask, partially in jest, as you circle a few concerning readings. Looking up, Max rolls his eyes at the comment. 

“He likes to throw himself in harm’s way,” Max murmurs, just facts, no resentment in his tone. “Never seen someone go through so many tactical vests in my life.”

You stop looking back at Max, watching him carefully. “Yeah. He does that.”  James was always throwing himself in the line of fire; they all did. But James really seemed to do it more than the others.

Max came over and placed the hand and top cuff onto the metal table. Moving around the place with ease. You suddenly felt out of place, despite having worked here for the last three days. 

“The tungsten was smart,” Max says suddenly, fiddling with a piece of metal.“If we ever get our hands on vibranium, he’d be unstoppable.” Pausing, you watch him move and pick up the all titanium arm, “Think with your approval, Stark would do it too.”

“What do you mean?” You ask, your stomach feeling heavy at the words. Trying to piece together what Max was telling you.

“Probably need a fail safe, but if we ever found more of that metal,” He puts his finger in the air, “Then again, Stark probably wants to make a suit first. Greedy fucker.”  

“Why would it matter what I had to say,” You press more, trying to quell the feeling in your stomach. 

Max turns, looking at you, face confused, like the answer should be obvious. “You’re his tether. He would never have come down here before.” He waves his hand towards the door, which you have just now realized has several scratch marks on it. “Just broke in and stole the tools he needed, though he did always return them.” He pauses, pulling out more of his tools. “Damn, you got x-rays and did surgery on him.” The images pop on the screen. You cringe at the metal embedded on the screen and in your mind. “With these.” He taps the screen. “We actually have a shot at making his arm better now.”

***

Bucky was regretting taking the stairs to the gym; his muscles were aching, his brow was covered in sweat. He had been avoiding elevators; they were small, cramped, and everyone kept staring at him. It made his skin crawl; he didn’t want people to look at him. Besides the stairs was good cardio, or something.

He stopped at floor thirty, maybe he’d just camp here, avoid everyone. No one took the stairs anyway. Could throw a pile of blankets on the floor and no one would even know.

“Don’t like the elevators? Or are you hiding from Stark?” Clint looked down at him from the floor up. Face curious as he looked at Bucky over.

Bucky looked up and glared at him, one of the few people who could sneak up on him. It didn’t help that his heart was thundering in his ears, fucking cardio.

“Cardio.” Bucky huffs, and starts stomping up the stairs towards Clint. 

Clint doesn’t move out of the way as he approaches, just stands there, arms crossed, looking at him like he was trying to read his mind. 

“The arm still bothering you?” Clint asks, straight to the point, keeping his feet grounded like he was bracing for something. The typical Clint stance.

Bucky keeps looking at him, trying to get him to move with his mind. When he doesn’t move he slumps a little, leaning against the wall in defeat. 

“No.” He shakes his head, “Moves better than ever.”

“So, what is it?” Clint pushes, mirroring Bucky but against the railing. 

Bucky grumbles, not knowing what to say, life felt way too complicated. His arm, work, hydra, aliens, and you. It was all so much. He had wished for days like this, for days with purpose, days filled with things besides orders, and being on ice. But now, he almost longed for some rigidity. 

“Is life always so much?” He asks, the honesty comes out more cracked than he meant. He’d always liked Clint; the man was non-judgmental and far more understanding than anyone gave him credit for. Plus, he usually kept stuff to himself. 

Clint’s eyebrows raise, he lets out a controlled breath, “It’s hard, not having a routine, a framework to follow. You just get de-iced and dragged here, and they just expect you to work. Like your past isn’t still there.” Bucky nods, fidgeting with his fingers. “It’s hard to move away from living in survival mode. But what you want matters.” He leans forward and presses his finger against Bucky's chest. “That’s what matters.”

Bucky stared down at Clint's finger for a moment before he pulled it away. The words sinking in, he had never taken the time to really think about what he wanted. All he had been focusing on was the next mission, next debriefing, just to keep moving. 

“Also, thirty-one flights is enough cardio, big guy. Take the elevator.” Clint smiles and waves at the door before moving to go by him. “And take a shower.”

***

~*~*~*~

PART 7

Author's note: I have ideas, and plans.. and I can't wait to get it to y'all! Thanks to everyone who reads, comments, and reblogs. I am over the dang moon to have people who enjoy reading it. More to come soon!

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@biaswreckedbybuckybarnes @riki-785 @overwintering-soldier

@alex-cheraya @hiddlebatchedloki @alex-cheraya @justyna4a

Bucky sat on a lounge in the main entrance to the building. Sam and Steve were late for the morning run. He didn’t want to go for a run; he would much rather be asleep, or drinking coffee, or doing anything but running. Yet it made Steve happy, and he usually kept pace with Sam, which was a much easier pace than Steve’s breakneck one. It also meant Sam could fill the air with his many grievances that he always had.

Glancing down at his watch, he gave it another fifteen minutes, then he was going to go and curl back up in his room. Or maybe see if Nat would come with him to the library, he needed some new books. Get something newer, Nat had mentioned that he might like something called Dune. He wasn’t sure how much he’d like it, but he could never say no to Nat. 

The door beeps and he glances towards it, he’d sat himself so he could see the whole space without moving. You come in, hair up in a messy bun, bag thrown over your shoulder, moving quickly towards the elevators. Front doorman not even watching as you strode through. He remembers the bag, how the corners were worn, the leather soft, something that you’d had for a long time. You had replaced at least one zipper, and several ties looked newer than others. You cared about details, keeping things just so. Despite your messy exterior, you ran things tight and neat.

He didn’t bother looking at his watch again, just getting up and moving towards the elevators. His heart pounds, but he does his best to ignore it, trying his best to not look like he was stalking you. He didn’t know what he was doing; he should have been avoiding you. Yet, every time he saw you, he wanted to be closer to you. So, for once, he was doing what he wanted to do. 

You were different, determined, stubborn, and took no bullshit from anyone. Accept from him, he’d notice you would chastise the others for missing appointments, beraide Sam for damaging his wings. But with him, things would slide. You’d rearrange appointments, give him multiple sleeves when he lost them. Never comment on how she was the only one who could get blood out of him without sedating him. Never gave him hell for his half assed repairs on his arm. Instead, just showing him how to do it himself, even giving him tools to use to do the repairs. 

“Mornin’,” He grunts, standing beside you, trying to keep his posture relaxed. It wasn’t working, his left hand clenching and unclenching. Posture as rigid as ever. 

You look up, brows scrunching, “Hey, James.” Shifting a little, he notices you almost lean towards him, fingers wrapping around the strap of your bag. He swallows, trying not to mirror how you slant towards him.

“Do you want coffee?” He asks, words spilling out more hurriedly than he meant. What the hell was he even doing? Mouth had moved before he had been able to overthink it.

Blinking a few times before you look down at the mug you were carrying. Of course, you had brought your own coffee, Bucky mentally berates himself. Couldn’t have tried something else. Like what? Get breakfast? 

“Sure, I could use a top-up.” You say he can hear how tired you are. Lately, he’d seen you in the tower more and more. Not that he had been watching or anything. Banner had mentioned that it seemed like you lived in the tower more than your apartment. He was surprised Tony hadn’t offered you a room in the place. 

The elevator dings, and you both get in. You click the button for the cafeteria, moving to stand close to him again. The silence between you it wasn’t awkward, but not comfortable either. Something was stretching, moving, bending around you both, and Bucky wasn’t sure how he felt about it. He wasn’t sure he wanted to look too close at it, or it might disappear. 

“Did you go for a run?” You finally ask, as the floors ding by, hands still clutching at the bag straps. Knuckles going white as you squeeze it tightly.

Bucky shakes his head, willing words to come up. Now was not the time to go mute. “Not today. Steve and Sam must have got caught up.” 

You nod, humming slightly, eyes glance over to him. “Steve really does love to run. You know you don’t have to go.” 

“Steve just likes to run, and Sam wants to be Steve. It’s supposed to be good for you. So I go.” Bucky sighs, not sure why he was being so open to you. It was like that, you were easy to talk to, well, as easy as it ever was for him.

You chuckle, a small smile brightening your face.“It’s a good thing Sam has wings, has to be able to beat Steve at least one thing.”

A small chuckle escaped past his lips before he could stop it. His mouth slamming shut a moment afterwards, the moment was mercifully covered when the doors open to the floor. 

You both move down the hallway, there are few people milling about. He tries not to notice how most won’t even look at him, some muttering under their breath as they hurry away. You don’t seem to care, going over to the small sink in the cafeteria, you rinse out your mug before grabbing fresh coffee. Adding one sugar and two cream. Bucky just grabs one black, storing how you take your coffee in the back of his mind.

The two of you move over to a small table where Bucky can see the whole room. He sits so that you are between him and a wall. It was a habit, he thought, and good practice. 

***

You felt uncertain as you sat beside James, not sure how you’d ended up here. It hadn’t gone unnoticed how he’d sat himself between you and everyone else. It wasn’t that you were unhappy; the last appointment had gone well, but this was different. Searching your memory, you couldn’t even think of a time you’d see him sit down, beside, when he’d been eavesdropping. The man was always moving, and doing something. Thought you had seen him around more in the last few weeks.

“Why’d you get into this line of work?” James breaks the silence, sipping on the coffee, his eyes never stop moving around the room. Assessing the place, seeing things that you won’t even know to look for. 

Putting your cup down, you try to figure out what to say. Deciding just to be honest. “My Dad was a double amputee, hand and leg.” His eyebrows go up at the admission. “He struggled so hard, it made me want to help others. Taught myself how to make prosthetics, do molds, casting, all of it. ” 

“So you then joined the military?” He says quietly, his head turns slightly before the elevator dings, eyes scanning the newcomer.

“To be a medic, and hopefully earn my way through medical school. I knew that biolinking and cybernetics would be the future.” You sigh, fiddling with the mug in your hand. 

“Your Dad must be proud” He says as he quietly watches everyone move around the space.

“Yeah, maybe. I wouldn't know.” You answer, trying not to dwell on the fact that your Dad would have hated that you served. Not to mention he would be pissed that you worked for someone like Stark. 

“Lost contact?” He presses, this is the most words he’d spoken to you since you met him. 

“He died.” You say softly, apparently today was the day of confessions. Body held tight, waiting for him to reply. Looking over, he’s staring at you, the way your heart lurches should be illegal. Tears form but you look away before they grow into anything more.

“He’d be proud,” James says quietly, looking back towards the room.  Sitting there like he hadn't just pressed balm on an old wound.

***

The next four Wednesday went by the same, James would be in the lobby, you’d both go and sit to have coffee. Sometimes, you didn’t talk at all, just enjoying companionable silences, people watching. It was comfortable, simple, in a way that didn’t need naming. Occasionally, he’d reveal small snippets from missions he went on that weren’t classified. It’s nice, normal, probably the closest thing you’ve had to a friend in a while. 

It was toeing the line of professionalism, but for once, you let it slide. It was James, and he had wormed his way into being someone you cared about. It was just coffee, among companions. You tried not to let the what ifs sink too deep into your mind. If distance was needed, you’d cross that bridge then.

This morning is different; he hasn't been in the lobby like usual. He’s always sitting on the edge of the couch, like some gargoyle. Today he wasn’t, and the stab of pain under your ribs that had no right to hurt. 

You choose to sit for a few minutes, waiting to see if he’d show. When he didn’t, you’d gone up to the cafeteria, wondering if he’d be there. No such luck. It shouldn’t have stung; you knew that. It shouldn’t have hurt like you’d been stood up at the prom. But it did, and that was dangerous. 

Grinding your teeth, you get into the elevator, you flip through your tablet. Noting that there was no mission out, everyone had come back yesterday. All you had were a few appointments with those injured and lab time with two vets. You mentally tell yourself to be professional, that you could not be looking at things so closely.

Closing the tablet, you get off and head straight to your office, heart pounding a little more than you’d like. The room was cool and clean, the two large palms you’d bought made the place feel a little more like home. 

“Get yourself together, he doesn’t owe you or anyone anything,” You chastised yourself as you got busy opening up files and downloading any information you needed. 

Scarfing down your coffee, you shift focus, your mind wandering away from the brooding super-soldier. Steve would be here in about thirty minutes, and he was definitely going to be moaning about not using his arm for a few weeks while it healed. 

***

“You stole my running partner,” Steve says, sitting across from you, one arm in a sling, eyes narrowed as he watches you read his notes. 

“James is a grown man, Steve.” You say quietly, zoom in on the hairline fractures that cover Steve’s right radius. “I am going to ask you not to use that arm for a week. We will do a follow-up x-ray next Wednesday to see if it’s healed.”

“Did he ask you to go for coffee?” Steve presses, shifting in the chair. You’d found some that were reinforced and padded well. Thor had approved. 

Sighing, you click the files closed, “Are you asking me as a friend or doctor?” 

His eyebrows raise, he shuffles again, the sling clearly bothering him. “Both?” Sighing, he rubs at his face with his left hand before standing and starting to pace. “He’s just never-.” His hand waves wildly in the air, like that will make the words magically appear. “Bucky has a routine, a plan for his day; he doesn’t deviate from that.”

You sit back, wondering if you are somehow straining their friendship. Brushing that aside, you let him speak his mind. Hiring a therapist and psychologist for the whole crew is moving up the priority list. 

He paces a few more times, “It’s good, Doc. Surprising, but good.” You relax a little at that, leaning back in your chair. “Have you guys gone out, outside of the office?”

Your brows furrow, “Steve, we get coffee. As friends.” You emphasize the last word clearly. “I am his doctor, he is my patient. It’s coffee.” 

Steve stops, his eyes looking over you as if assessing if you’re lying to him. He sits down, fiddling with the strap of the sling.  

“Right, just coffee.” Steve stares back at you, his blue eyes following yours. “Is that normal for doctors and patients?”

You groan, hearing your own inner thoughts out loud was grating. “No, but neither is seeing the same patients multiple times for various injuries.” Stopping, you realize how defensive you sounded. “Am I overstepping Steve?”

“No.” He said simply, his lips flicking into something like a smile. “I am glad Bucky has someone like you. It makes a difference.” He sighs. “Just hope he is okay.”

You blink a few times, waiting for him to tell you the rest. “Is there something I should know?”

“Mission went sideways,” Steve’s mouth thins, eyebrows drawn together. “He’ll be okay, just needs time and space.” He nods his head as if convincing himself of what he is saying.

***

You’d just gotten into the apartment, cursing the four flights you had to climb. Perks of living in a building that was older than most of its occupants. It was almost three am, and your phone was ringing. Digging around in your bag, you realize it’s your personal phone. Picking it up, you saw an unknown number flashing on the front. Your heart is stuttering in your chest.

Flicking open your phone, answering. “Hello?”

There are roughly twelve people who had this number, and one of them was James Barnes. 

“Doc?” A quiet voice answered back, hoarse, rough like he hadn’t slept in days.

“Yep, it's me, James. Do you need me to drop by?” The words come out in a tumble as you turn to start down the stairs. Already finding your car keys, and thanking whoever was above that you had a good parking spot close to the building. 

“Umm.” He went silent on the other end. You are sliding down the stairs as fast as you can, hand pushing against the metal of the door to outside. 

“It's all good, I am already on my way. What floor are you on?” You mentally groan at yourself for not getting his info beforehand.

It was quiet on the other end, you opening the trunk of your car making sure your first aid bag was in there. Unzipping it, you take a quick stock of what you have. Before throwing in several bottles of gatorade and a handful of protein bars into it that you kept tucked in the back seat. 

You pull your work phone out and scroll down to Steve’s number, hovering over it. If you had to, you would phone him and get the floor and room number. 

“Floor eighty-two, east wing, room eight-eight-five,” He says softly, before the line goes dead. 

You’ve never driven so fast in your entire life. Several yellow lights are flown through, you roll through a stop sign and just hope the cameras don’t catch you.

The doors slide open, and you’re through them in moments, scanning your bag and going through the body scans. Vance, who worked the night shift, looks up at you from behind his large desk. His brows scrunching as you all but run to the elevators. 

“Something I should know about?” He asks, his hands already on his walkie. 

You shake your head, “No, Vance.” Thinking for a moment, “just had an idea pop into my head.” 

His eyes narrow, but you don’t waste time; you scan your card for the express elevator and wait for the doors to close. Despite it being one of the fastest elevators in the world, the seventy-plus floors seem to take hours instead of seconds. 

Turning east, you move down the hallway as quickly as possible. The halls aren’t as well lit as other areas, most of the doors are popped open, like no one else lives on this floor. Some have plastic covering them, others have big DO NOT ENTER stencilled on them in yellow and red. You try not to dwell on the fact that Bucky had taken up residence in what appeared to be an unoccupied wing of the tower. 

Your stomach twists, wondering if part of this was to do with Stark. He always seemed a little put off by the soldier. If that was the case, you’d be having some very choice words with him.

Stopping in your tracks, you backtrack, realizing you must have missed it. Turning back, you find it, the numbers are barely staying on, room eight-eight-five. Stopping in front of it, your heart pounds, unsure of what you’d find on the other side of the door. An image of Bucky’s shoulder bloody and mangled pops up. Pushing that back, you raise your hand and knock twice. Trying to be firm, but hopefully not aggressive. 

Hearing nothing, you knock twice more, leaning so your ear is almost pressed against the door. Nothing. Reaching forward, you grab the handle, and turning it, you are surprised when it opens. 

***

Bucky was surprised you’d answered, much less offer to come over. It didn’t feel real, the concern that laced over your voice, like you cared about him. You did care, right? 

He stares at the phone in his hand, wondering if he should phone back. Tell you not to bother coming, that he was fine. He’d call Steve or Sam instead. Something tugged in the back of his mind, you would come anyway. You won’t have taken his half-ass excuse. He places the phone on his nightstand, back pressed against the wall. Trying to ease his racing mind, the thought of the mission flashing in front of him.

The mission had not gone as planned. They needed files, stuff on paper that had never been uploaded. There was supposed to be maybe one or two staff still in the desolate place, nothing that they couldn’t handle according to the intel. 

As soon as they had made their way into the room, Bucky had known something was wrong, Steve’s shoulders had gone stiff, and Nat had immediately moved forward, quiet, silent. Sam is checking in over the coms. It wasn’t a bank of file cabinets in the room; it was cryo-chambers. Seven of them, tubes still hanging, wires snapping as power ran through them. Fresh blood smeared across the floor. 

“It’s a trap,” Steve had spoken into the coms. It had crackled, and then everything had gone to hell.

A dozen HYDRA agents came up from their left and right, armed to the teeth, and opened fire. Nat had taken out two before they fired, Steve’s shield going up, Bucky stepping behind Steve, hand already on a gun. 

Then the speakers began to play, Bucky had heard the first russian word. His eyes went wide, cold crawling up his spine. He covers his ears, Nat and Sam screaming into coms that he needed to get out. Without thinking he ran towards the door, the next word coming out. Bullets fired all around as he tried to make his escape. His mind started to scream, body fighting against him as he moved towards the stairs. The cold ache pulse through the wound, his arm freezing up, he could feel it coming. The darkness crawled up his neck, trying to grab a hold of him. His breath was barely coming out, panic shooting through him, the words digging into his skin.

The glass in the stairwell goes dark, Bucky thrown off guard, doesn’t duck as Sam pushes through the glass. His wings spread wide like a guardian angel, he’d grabbed Bucky and dragged him out of there. Glass decorating both of them as they are pulled into the air. 

Sam had dropped him outside the building in the dust before going back to grab Steve and Nat. Steve had hurt his arm, Nat had been shot, and Sam was pissed. Bucky felt himself start to shut down as he limped his way towards the helicarrier. He didn’t want to shut down, wanted to say he was okay, that the words hadn’t affected him. His shaking hands betrayed him. He needed space, room; he couldn’t breathe. Everything was too loud and sharp. 

Sam was yelling at one of the SHIELD agents about almost getting everyone killed. Steve was trying to calm Sam down as Nat was being looked over by the medics. It was too much. The echoes of the words, the yelling, the sound of the machine's blades thumping inside his mind.

As soon as the doors had opened back at the tower, he had fled. No debriefing, no going over what went wrong. Didn’t matter how much Fury and Tony had shouted for him to go back. He’d left. The urge to run out doing anything else. So he hid in his room, on a floor no one else used. Somewhere that was quiet, just the sound of the climate control and his own heartbeat. He had fended off the dozen texts he’d gotten, saying he just needed space, rest, a moment. It worked. 

Yet when the night had come again, and the itch had grown. He’d taken the arm off and put it back on. He’d used pens, hangers, the edge of the door to scratch at the scar. It hadn’t helped; he wanted it off of him. He wanted them out of his head, to not be a liability. A threat. He was back standing in his closet, reaching for a knife when he found your card. The card he’d placed on top of the hidden weapon, to remind him of your kindness.

Now you are stepping through his door, like he hadn’t been a moment away from carving into himself, again. Bucky makes himself get up, the baggy clothes feeling uncomfortable on his frame as he stands there looking at you in the doorway. 

You have a large bag over your shoulder, your clothes looking like you hadn’t changed; your hair dishevelled like you’d been running your hand through it a hundred times. He wants to say something, but his words are locked in his chest somewhere. Instead, you step in, close the door. Your eyes scan over him, he had changed from his bloody tactical gear, and none of the wounds had needed more than a bandage. 

Clearly satisfied with what you saw, you move over to his small dining table, dropping the bag down close to it. Digging around, you pull out two gatorades and a bunch of protein bars. 

“Sit,” You say, tone even, but forceful. 

He moves over, sitting down, his body feeling like a heavy weight. You uncap one and slide it over, along with a protein bar.

“You look like hell,” You say firmly, opening up your own bottle. “When was the last time you ate?”

Bucky doesn’t say anything, just taking a deep drink of the sweet liquid. It felt like his voice had been ripped out of him. 

“I am signing you up for ASL. Help when you have a hard time talking.” You say quietly, ripping open a protein bar. “The mission didn’t go well, I take.” 

“No,” He whispers out, taking a bite out of the bar. The words cutting into him, admitting the problem out loud, hurt.

You nod, sitting back into the chair, posture relaxed. Waiting. It reminds him of Steve, how he’d always wait for Bucky to find his words. He puts the bar down, trying to figure out how to explain what happened. Why he had phoned, why he was sitting here at four am across from you. 

The story comes out in a ramble; he isn’t even sure if he gets all the details right, but the gist is there. The words, the way they’d still affected him, despite how far he’d come. How the trap had more than likely been set for him, to trigger him back into being the Winter Soldier, to turn him against his comrades. His voice is ragged by the end of it, hands trembling, as he finally looks up at you. He blinks a few times, eyes burning with unshed tears. Ones he refuses to let fall.

Your eyes aren’t wide, no shock, or fear. They are soft, understanding, just listening, like he didn’t just admit to almost going back into the killing machine he is. He looks too long, searching for a reason to put you at arm's length. Something that would give him reason to tell you to leave.

Your hands carefully reach for his hands, let them linger over top of his, giving him permission to leave. When he doesn’t, you carefully cover them, not holding them, just placing them on top like a promise. 

“James,” You say quietly, making him look back up at you. “You’re still here. You didn’t hurt anyone or yourself. You called me, that’s progress.”

He swallows, unsure how to feel about this.“It could have gone wrong, I could have slipped-.”

“But you didn’t. Your team had your back, and you reached out when things got to be too much.” You reassure, squeezing his hand. “Trust is not easy, and it is so easy to slip back into old habits.”

***

You let go of James’ hands, sitting back a bit. If brains made noise, his would have been whirling like a steam engine. His whole body was a taut line of muscle and confusion; he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Except this time, there was no shoe to drop. No one was mad at him; there was no discipline to be had. If anything, his team was worried about him, wanted to make sure he was okay, that he was safe. Steve and Sam had stopped by your office twice that day to ask if you’d heard from him. Nat walked by and looked in without a word. He had people who cared for him, more than he understood. 

“What if something happens? If I slip back, they get hold of me again.” James says quietly, like a secret he doesn’t want to let out.

Take a breath, you think about this for a second, you haven’t really thought about it. It had never been on the front of your mind, despite his lengthy history. You always felt like now that they had him, they’d always be able to get him back. Especially with the bond he had built with Steve and Sam.

“Do you think Steve would leave you? Sam? Me?” You add the last one, not sure how you felt; but hoping that it helps him see that there were people in his corner. 

He swallows, grabbing the bar wrapper and folding it, “I-I don’t know.”

You nod, years of never having anyone would do that to a person. “But, I know.” You let the words sit in the air between you, not pushing, not forcing him to say he believed. Just the words, the truth. “You aren’t alone in this anymore.”

The two of you sat there for a moment, Bucky still folding the bar wrapper over and over again. When his stomach growls, loud enough for you to nearly break into exhaustion-induced hysteria. He cracks, too, his face splitting into the first smile you’d seen from him. 

“Okay, we need pizza, and probably some beer.” You chuckle, “Cause I am not watching your stomach eat you.”

~*~*~*~

Part five

Author's note: Things are progressing and I have an idea where things are going to go. That said, it is still very slow burn, both of our characters have some issues to be sort out. Plus there is the whole doctor-patient thing *ahem*. More to come soon.

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Tag list (commment to be added) :

@biaswreckedbybuckybarnes @riki-785 @overwintering-soldier

@alex-cheraya @hiddlebatchedloki @alex-cheraya @justyna4a