It's just a papercut... (Drabble)
Summary: Mission one-on-one with Bucky? It's been done before. So why is this one different? Why is he acting weird and not letting me storm off in a rage at his cold shoulder? Also, was the one bed necessary?
Pairing: Grumpy Bucky x Avenger Reader (Enemies to lovers)
Word Count: 7000+ (It's a long one...)
A/N: I've been spending a lot of my time on Character ChatGPT AI, and a secret agent conversation made me say, " Yeah, I need to put this into a Bucky fanfic." So here we are🥰 Did it turn a lot more emotional than I planned? Yes. Do I regret it? No. Enjoy, my loves!!
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"Jesus! The goal is to survive the mission! And from the likes of it, bullets aren't even going to be the thing that finishes the job!" I shout over the whipping wind as Bucky maneuvers through cars in the foreign country while outrunning the guards we just escaped from on a motorcycle he stole in front of a shop.
"Shut it!" he shouts back, taking another sharp turn that has me clutching on as if one wrong blow of the wind will have me ending this chase with a case of road rash on my entire body. "I'm losing them."
"And likely me with them," I grumble, and he shoots me a quick look in the rearview mirror, showing that he heard my remark and didn't care for it.
I look behind us and see one of the jackasses we were running from has joined us in motorcycle theft, and I curse under my breath as I come up with a plan.
"Goon, five o'clock!" I announce as I dig into my boot for a small handgun I keep hidden.
Bucky looks around and clocks him. His teeth grit together as he kicks the speed up, weaves through a few cars, and turns down a new street, but the man following seems to be just as skilled in bike chases.
"Still on you!" I shout and let out an annoyed groan, realizing that at some point in our mission, I'd lost my backup weapon.
"I see that!" Bucky groans, and as we pass a fruit stand on the street, he knocks it over with his metal hand, causing a traffic stop and the motorcyclist to have to drive over apples and pears, making him lose his balance some.
However, it wasn't effective enough. "I got it," I sigh as Bucky takes another sharp turn, and I clutch onto him. "Do me a favor and try and stay straight for longer than 3 seconds!" I complain, and he complies, although begrudgingly.
I point my fist towards the bike, and as the man makes mean eyes at me, I wiggle my fingers at him with a grin before shooting a taser shock out of the widow bite Nat gifted me.
They shoot across and cause his entire bike to seize at the overload of electricity. He flies off the bike as it stutters and gives Bucky and me a clean escape down an alley.
A few alleys later and a quiet spot away from the chaos that had just ensued, Bucky and I hop off the bike and hide it behind a dumpster. I catch my breath as I throw my backpack over my shoulder and watch as he covers the bike more with the lid of the trash before grabbing his own pack.
"We need to lay low for the night," I note, adjusting my backpack and looking into the dead-end alley.
He sighed, taking in the area, and I could see the pistons firing in his head. "There's a hotel not far from here that'll work. Not shitty, but also not anything fancy." He immediately starts stalking away, not waiting for me to follow.
I huff in annoyance as he leaves me, and I fasten my backpack, buckling it across my chest before jogging to catch up with his long strides.
We don't say much as we get to the hotel- both of our minds coming down from the adrenaline and running through the last pieces of the mission.
While in the lobby of the hotel, I get a call and move to take it, seeing it's Steve checking in, and I leave Bucky to handle the check-in process.
"Got it. We'll head to the airport in the morning," I nod and turn around to see Bucky confirming something with the clerk, and I turn back to the phone.
When he finishes checking in (fake IDs with real payment thanks to Stark's ways), he turns and waves his hand toward the elevator in a quick hand gesture.
"Yeah. We're fine," I note, feeling a stitch in my side but not wanting to check just how bad the damage is until I'm behind a closed door. "He's being a dick as per usual," I chuckle lightly as I start my walk to the elevators. "No, Steve. I don't need you to call him and reprimand him. You know-... Seriously, Steve. Leave it... I said it as a joke more than anything-" He cuts me off again, ready to always put Bucky in his place with the cold shoulder he seems to love to give to only me.
When I make it to the elevator, where Bucky is holding the door impatiently for me, I quickly say, "Losing you! Getting in an elevator so I can't-" There's a protest on the other end. "What was that? It's cutting out." I say in stuttered beats to play it off before hanging up. "Steve says hi," I say to Bucky as I lock my phone and shove it in my back pocket.
"Sure," he says back, and I'm not sure if it's unconvinced or unbothered... or both. Either way, his face is still stoic.
"You really need to lighten up," I sigh in a deep breath, annoyed that he never relents his tough guy act around me.
"Don't feel like."
"Do you ever?"
The elevator is silent. The only sound is the mechanics of the metal box moving up. It eventually dings, and as I go to step forward, I grimace slightly so as I step wrong, causing pain to go up my side, but I quickly brush it off.
"What was that?" Bucky says behind me as he steps off the elevator last.
"What was what?" I ask, looking carefully at the room numbers and acting ignorant.
"That look. You flinched."
"Yeah, no," I shake my head. "Your eyesight must be getting worse with age."
"My eyesight is fine," he grumbles, pulling my arm back as I pass the room, realizing he never told me the number. "We're here," he turns to the door and presses the key card to it. The color changes from red to green, giving us access.
"I call the shower first," I shout, shoving him out of the way and unbuckling my backpack as I rush into the bathroom, shutting the door behind me and locking it.
All I hear is an exasperated sigh on the other side and a shuffle of footsteps as he shuts the door, locks up, and moves into the room.
I let out a sigh of exhaustion and relief to be done for the day and move to warm up the water. If there is one thing I've learned about going on missions with Bucky, it's that the man's superhearing is just an excuse for him to be nosy. He listens to almost EVERYTHING.
So, with the water running and him hopefully distracted by the hotel views, I undress and focus on the shower. As soon as I took my shirt off, I was shown exactly what I worried was the problem.
Down my side is a semi-jagged cut going up my rib cage. Close to four inches long, if not less, but angry and red. I hiss and quickly bite my lip to muffle my pain. It's not bleeding anymore, which tells me it's not deep, so with the proper cleaning and care, it'll be fine in a few days. I use my time in the shower to clean it and wash the rest of the day away with it.
When I come out, I rummage through my bag for a first aid kit. I usually pack a travel-size one, given the job, but I can't find it. I change into a pair of clean shorts and a tank top I packed (light and takes up minimal space) before checking in the mirror to make sure my cut wasn't prominent through the light-colored tank. When I feel comfortable enough that Bucky won't ask questions, I straighten and fight the soreness that's taking over my body now that I'm not going 100mph.
I walk out, and when I see that Bucky is lying back, arms over his eyes on a king-size bed, I immediately take in the fact that it's the only bed in the room. The sound of cheers from baseball on the TV is quickly tuned out.
"Um," I start, hands out as I assess the space. "What's this?" I ask.
"A bed," Bucky answers simply and sits up tiredly as he looks at me, leaning back on his forearms. "You ran straight into the bathroom before I could tell you, or you saw for yourself."
I cross my arms and flinch when I graze my cut but quickly roll my shoulders as if the full-body soreness was the only issue.
"Well, did they not give us another option or maybe a second room we could have-"
"What was that?" he cuts me off.
"Hm, what was what? What do you mean-?" I look right at him and furrow my eyebrows, hands on my hips.
"You made that face again."
I roll my eyes. "I'm sore," I shrug, scoffing and even I know I'm a horrible actress right now, so I don't make eye contact.
"That's not a sore grimace. That's something else," he sits up straight now and tilts his head down, assessing me in almost a predatory way.
"Stop that." My arms move from my hips to my chest and around me, and my discomfort only makes a smirk appear. "Stop. It's weird."
"No, what's weird is why you're being so weird," he remarks with a sassy face.
I blink at him a few times, feeling much less intimidated thanks to his comeback. "Good one," I said, turning and going to his backpack now.
"Hey, what are you doing?" He stands quickly from the bed and looks at me over my shoulder as I unzip his bag.
"I think I put something of mine in here. I can't find it in my bag," I note, dunking my hand into his things. He steps up, pulling my shoulders to get away.
"Stop going through my stuff. You're worse than Sam," he notes, tugging me away, although gentler than how he is typically.
"I just need-" I feel the small plastic box I'm looking for and tug it out, quickly holding it behind my back. "Nevermind. I found it."
"What are you talking about-"
"Nothing! Just give me one minute. I need to brush my teeth," I jab a thumb behind my shoulder as I walk backward to the bathroom, his steps matching mine. "I'll be out in five minutes," I note quickly as I turn on my heel and run back into the bathroom, shutting the door behind me and locking it again.
Instead of seeing the door handle budge like I expected, he bangs a fist on the wooden barrier.
"Y/N, open the damn door! What the hell did you take out of my bag?"
"My toothbrush!" I lie. Why didn't I say toothpaste? That would make so much more sense... "I must have gotten our bags mixed up when I packed them." I cringe at myself.
"How could you do that? Yours is brown, and mine's black," he notes.
"A very dark brown," I argue, lifting my tank top and sitting on the bathroom counter to get a better look in the mirror of my cut. "Just give me a second-"
"You're being weirder than normal," he groans in frustration on the other side.
"Yeah, well, get used to it," I hiss as I put the sanitizer spray on it and bite my knuckle to suppress the pained groan I want to let out. "Jesus," I mumble under my breath, but the next thing I know, the door is swinging open, and Bucky's staring at its handle that's hanging on by a thread before back at me. "Hey!" I look at the door and back at him. "They're going to charge us for that."
His eyes immediately go from annoyed and over it to concerned and confused.
"What the hell is that?" He points at my stomach, where I'm frozen on top of the counter, shirt lifted, showing my entire torso and cut on full display.
"A paper cut." Dear God. What the hell happened to my logical excuses?
His concerned face drops some, and he deadpans from my injury to my eyes before marching to me and turning me at my shoulders to face him and get a better view.
"When did this happen?"
"Wild guess, but likely when the guards we fought to get out pulled a knife on me and played dirty," I sigh, realizing I wasn't talking myself out of this one anytime soon. "But that could be a stretch," I add.
He again looks up at me from my injury with an incredulous and agitated look.
"Let me see," he sighs, bending down to get a better view and looking at the injury from a head-on angle.
"It's just a scratch, Barnes. I'll be good as new after a little disinfectant and ointment. Nothing a bandaid can't fix," I brush off, turning on the counter to grab the kit.
He stops me in my turn by placing a hand on my knee and turning me back around to where my legs hang off the counter. I'm sitting with him in between my legs.
"They used a serrated knife," he notes, taking the first aid kit out of my hand and opening it, instantly getting to work as if I wasn't doing it myself two seconds ago.
"Um, excuse me, but I can-"
"I know the things you can do, Y/N. You don't have to tell me," he says sternly, grabbing gauze and another bottle of something I didn't know the contents of and tipping it onto the gauze before bending down again. This time, his eyes found mine as he looked up at me from his now crouched position. "This is going to sting. That sanitizer you were using before is shit. This one actually does the job," he notes, and I'm a little stunned by the turn of events. "Ready?"
Never in my life did I think Bucky Barnes would be this gentle and considerate with me, but I'm not going to stop a good thing from happening.
"I don't think it can hurt more than the knife itself," I smirk and nod when he gives me a look. "Yeah, yeah. Do your thing, Doc." I gesture to him, looking up at the ceiling as I prepare for the sting.
I don't feel it instantly, and just as I'm about to ask what was taking him so long, the cool liquid hits my cut, and I hiss, grabbing his wrist in a tight hold out of instinct to hold him back. "Jesus H. Christ," I grit through my teeth. "What the hell kind of acid did you just put in-?" I let out a slow breath through my lips and quietly say, "I'd pick the knife again. I'd pick the knife again. The knife for sure."
"It's Banner-strength disinfectant," he says with a stupid little prideful smirk, yet is dabbing the cut ever so gently as I hold his wrist. His touch is soft, but the sting is anything but. "You grabbed my first aid kit. I had him make it since you tend to get hurt easily, and we're not in the cleanest country." He's fully concentrated on my cut.
"What?" I asked, surprised, grabbing the kit's container and seeing that it indeed was not mine. I brush over the fact he had Bruce specifically make it and pack it for me as I look over at my bag, still slumped against the wall from my rush to take a shower, and realize I must have forgotten mine.
"Relax. Tensing doesn't help," he adds, bringing his free hand to my thigh and giving a light squeeze to distract me. I hiss again as he pads over an agitated area.
All sense of humor drops slowly from his face, and he gives me a look. "Y/N, why didn't you tell me about this as soon as you knew? This was not far from being infected in a way that could have been a lot worse than just an irritating sting."
"When was I supposed to tell you?" I sass, throwing my head back on the mirror as I focus on anything but the sharp stings. "As soon as we got off the bike, we headed here. You didn't say a word to me, and I was in my own head. Honestly, I didn't even realize it was there until we were checking in and I was on the phone with Steve. Adrenaline must have kept me from realizing it."
He mumbles something under his breath, and I hear the word, reckless in the middle of it.
"Watch yourself," I warn, kicking my leg a touch, skimming his rib cage. "There can easily be two injured people in this room."
"No need for both of us to get stupid injuries," he grumbles.
I scoff and shove his hand away from me, jumping off the counter as he stands and glares at me.
"Sorry for getting stabbed," I sneer up at him, stepping into his space. "I'll make sure to ask the assholes shooting and swinging at me next time to keep the knives at home. Oh! Or better yet," I exaggerate. "I'll tell them my partner said I'm not allowed to get into fights with men triple my size, so if they can just play gentle so I don't end up with any battle scars, that would be greatly appreciated." I smile wide and fake before dropping it and brushing by him to the bedroom.
I catch the tail end of his eyes rolling before I hear him stomping behind me.
"I need to finish patching you up. If it's not done properly, you can get sick." He comes up behind me, but I stop abruptly, and he runs into my back before holding my shoulders to steady himself. I turn to him, not breaking the space.
"I know how injuries work, Barnes. This isn't my first time in the field, although I'm sure you believe otherwise," I scoff in anger. "Just," I put my hands up, stepping away in frustration and groaning. "I'm going to get some air," I try and push past him to leave, but his hand wraps around my arm and holds me shoulder to shoulder by his side before I can get my feet past him.
"No. You're going to let me finish patching you up. Now..." he stares at me with his Sergeant's eyes. "Sit. Down." I struggle to fight my stubborn retort, but he sees it brewing and raises an eyebrow in challenge.
I groan in protest loudly and pull my arm out of my grip before moving to the edge of the bed and sulkingly wait for him to finish his job- that I didn't ask him to even start, by the way!
"Good girl," he mutters with a smartass smirk, and I take a breath in to yell something at him, but he goes back to the bathroom to grab the kit we left behind.
"Cyborg headed-ass, caveman, son of a bit-" I mumble, and he comes back in, shooting me a look that says, 'really?'. "Oh, sorry, did you hear that?" I say with fake regret.
He rolls his eyes and crouches again by my knees to get a better angle at the cut, and I lean back, my hands flat against the comforter as he works quietly, and I stare up at the ceiling, trying to ignore the warmth of his hands on my stomach when he's been nothing but cold to me.
As he's patting the tape over the piece of gauze he fashioned over my cut, I look at him calculatingly. He notices my gaze on him and awkwardly starts putting his things up, sneaking glances at my stare here and there.
"What?" he finally asks. "Stop staring at me."
Instead of an answer, I just stare harder and raise an eyebrow, tilting my head to the side as I analyze him deeper.
"Cut it out," he growls, standing and moving to put the kit on the counter. "You're creeping me out."
I let out a single laugh and shake my head before lowering my tank top and looking out the window. "You're so fucking confusing," I state, standing as I straighten my clothes.
"I'm confusing?" he asked rhetorically. "You're fucking confusing."
"Come up with your own lines," I throw an exasperated hand out, waving him off. "I'm getting air."
I don't know what provokes him, but he steps in front of me, his towering figure shadowing over me.
"No," he says, looking at me sternly.
"There wasn't a question mark at the end of that sentence, asshole," I sidestep him and move to the door. I manage to open it maybe a foot before it's slammed in my face, and I feel Bucky's chest pressed to my back. I look up, and his hand is splayed flat on the door.
"I said no," he says lowly. His voice is just over my shoulder, and I hold back the shiver that threatens to take over my body.
"And I said, fuck off," I say just as lowly, looking up at him, tilting my head back. "Move."
"We need to talk."
"And I need to put a good three blocks of this city between us so I don't add another person to the stabbed today club. I'd rather stay on Steve's good side." I jut my arm back to elbow him in the ribs, but he dodges it with a huff of an annoyed laugh.
"Real mature," he sasses, and I can see a touch of playfulness in his features, and that makes me even more furious.
"You're one to fucking talk!" I turn and shove him in the chest, and he relents, putting his hands up in the air as I shove repeatedly in vexation. Each shove and each curse I send his way has him taking one slight step back with a grin. "Stop smiling!" I grunt as I push him harder, and he laughs. He fucking laughs!
My eye twitches, and my hits become more forceful. Nothing close to what I'm capable of, but I'm not looking for a full-on brawl. I just want to smack him enough to wipe that stupid smirk off his face.
"Y/N," he says calmly in between hits to his rock-solid chest. A chest, I'm sure, will give me bruises if I keep this up.
"No! You don't get to talk!" I point at him after shoving him one more time and successfully making him falter a few steps back at the power behind it. "I'm walking out of this room to get some air, and you're going to stay right fucking there. Right there!" I point to the floor under his feet. "And not keep me from leaving this God damn suffocating room. Got it?"
I know my eyes are wild, and I know the emotions I'm feeling are written clear as day on my face because his sly smirk falters, and he takes a deep breath in, hands still up in surrender.
"I'm sorry," he mutters out as his gaze falls to his feet.
"What?" I ask, shocked and slightly out of breath from exerting myself.
"I'm sorry," he says a touch more clearly as he clears his throat and looks up, hands coming down and eyes avoiding mine.
I blink a few times and throw my hands up. "I can't do this." I let out a breath and turned back to the door.
"Y/N, please don't," he says, and I stop. I surprise myself, but I stop, turning back to him slowly.
"Why?" There's a long pause that follows my question, and I wonder whether Bucky even knows why he's asking this. "Genuinely Bucky... Why are you so insistent on me staying in this room right now?"
He runs a nervous hand over his beard and shifts his weight to one foot as he throws one hand up in a single wave.
"I don't need you getting hurt again," he states, still avoiding eye contact.
My eyebrows narrow in confusion, and I cross my arms, popping my hip to the side as I stare at him. "We're in a hotel. Not a battlefield."
"It's better we stay in here than wander around. The guys who were after us are likely still hunting us, and it's best we don't show our faces in public spaces," he notes.
Ok, that's a logical reason, but something tells me this is a more emotional reason on his end. He's not sharing everything, though...
"Ok..." I drag out and look at the balcony. "Then I'll go out there."
I walk promptly to the balcony, surprisingly not being stopped by him as I brush past him and jiggle the door handle, finding it stuck. "Fucking hell," I grumble under my breath as I pull the handle and push it up and down to try and get it to work.
A hand comes behind me and takes the door handle for me. I stare at it, not turning to acknowledge how Bucky expertly pushes it just right for it to open.
"I had the same issue," he says, pulling his hand back and nodding his head to the bathroom. "I'm going to take a shower." He steps back, quiet and sinking back into his usual stand-offish behavior, but now with more nerves and awkwardness.
I give a grunt in acknowledgment and shut the balcony door behind me before sitting in a shitty lawn chair. I don't turn to see if he's still standing there watching me, but instead, I focus on the city view in front of me. It's not a well-off country, so the views aren't more than rundown buildings and vendors in the street shouting for people to buy their things over their neighbors, but it's fresh air away from the man that makes my blood boil.
Fifteen minutes later, I feel a little calmer. Although still annoyed, I'm more confused than anything. Why the hell was he acting so strange, and why do I feel like some kind of serious conversation was going to-
"Y/N?" I hear the door open with a creak and turn to see Bucky with wet hair, a change of clothes, and soft eyes focusing on the door that's obviously broken. "God, this place has gone down in quality," he notes, leaving the door cracked as he comes onto the balcony with me.
"Been here before?" I ask, turning back to the view ahead.
"Once like 8 years ago," he nods and moves to stand by the railing, his arms crossed over the edge of it, and his gaze now focused on the same place mine is. "Must have gotten new management."
It's silent for almost five minutes after that. No words, no looks, no sounds. Just silence outside of the city noise. I debate, standing and going back into the room if he's going to continue to go radio silent and not explain his strange behavior earlier, but just before I stand, he speaks up.
"I don't know why," he says, and a crease forms between my eyebrows. He continues to stare off into the city. I wait a few moments, and he continues. "I don't know why you stress me out more than the others."
Great. So that's how this is going to go.
I stand and silently move to go back into the room, but his hand clasps around my wrist.
"Please, just let me find the words," he asks, and I can hear the plea in his voice.
I look back and up at him and his eyes are in the puppy dog form I've seen only a select few times. Ones that have never been directed at me but have held no truer emotion than requisition.
"Ok..." I drag out, moving back to the lawn chair and sitting quietly as he drops my wrist almost hesitantly and leans against the railing, fidgeting with his hands. I've never seen him like this, so I give him the space.
He takes a deep breath through his nose and closes his eyes before just unloading everything.
"I don't like seeing you get hurt," he starts. "I mean, I don't like seeing any of my friends get hurt. It's no decent person's interest to watch friends and family get harmed, but it's like a nagging in my head. No," he shakes his head, trying to find the right words. "It's like having pins and needles surrounding your lungs, and every time you try and take a breath to come down from the terror- the pain of seeing them hurt- the needles poke and stab. Making it nearly impossible to take a deep breath and ground yourself. And that's only a part of the pain that comes with it."
I stare up at him. My eyes are likely wide as I take in what he's saying. He glances at me once before looking back at his hands.
"I know I'm an asshole to you. I know that," he says, cringing as if the truth behind it hurts him. "I don't know why. At least, I say that to make myself not think about it longer than I can probably handle, but I've talked to my therapist about it, and she says it's a protective technique my brain finds more plausible than just dealing with the confusing feelings I have towards you."
My eyes shift back and forth as if trying to understand the words.
"Feelings towards me?" I repeat. "Like annoyance?"
"No," he sighs, and then he chuckles a soft laugh under his breath. "Well, yes. Sometimes you can be annoying, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't find it endearing most of the time."
My eyebrows raise at that. Where the hell is all this coming from?
I shake my head in disbelief and lean back in my chair. "Barnes, you're giving me a bit of whiplash, and I'm not sure-"
"I like you."
My mouth is still open from where my sentence was going, and I blink once. Then twice. Then, a third time, as I tried to understand if I just heard him right. Because if he meant it as a friend, I'm shocked. But if he meant it otherwise... I'm hallucinating.
His eyes find mine, and this time, he doesn't look away. He keeps eye contact, and I can feel him trying to read me.
"I-Is there more to that sentence?" I ask, my brain trying to make sense of the situation and short-circuiting ultimately.
"Yes, but from the looks of it, you're still trying to translate those three words."
"Good observation," I nod, pursing my lips and sinking into my chair.
"I've been known to make them," he smiles a tight-lipped smile. I'm actually grateful for his quip at this moment.
"Bucky, you have to understand that those words don't make sense with how you treat me-"
"I know, and I'm sorry," he pushes off the railing and steps forward just in front of my chair. "God, I'm so sorry. I don't even know why it's taken me this long to apologize for the way I've acted this long, but for some reason... When we were fighting today, I saw a man get the jump on you. I was seconds from leaving my own fight and coming straight to you to handle it for you, but you quickly turned the situation around. It wasn't the first time I'd seen you in that scenario, yet something about it..." He pauses, looking up at the sky, throwing a hand through his hair. "It freaked me out. It freaked me out far more than it has in the past."
He looks at me in a sincere way and moves to sit in the busted up, rusted, and metal patio chair that looks like it very well could have been here when he came 8 years ago. It creaks as he turns it in and angles his body toward mine. His elbows rest on his knees, and he looks down at his hands again. And as he talks, I realize he's breaking it down not just for me but for himself—these emotions and sudden changes.
"Maybe it's because I knew if I didn't get to you, you were on your own. We didn't have a backup. I couldn't call Steve or Nat, or Wanda to come in and help where I couldn't. And then the actualization that if I couldn't get to you, if no one was there to back you up, there was a chance I'd end up regretting everything all because I can't seem to come to terms with my feelings." His eyes find mine again. "And then that cut," his eyes drag from mine down my torso to where my knife wound lays under my tank top. "It was like a final piece to knock some sense into my head."
He looks at me, and I can't explain it, but I want to hold him when he looks at me like that.
"Seeing you hurt reminded me... You're human. You aren't invincible even if you can take on three men triple your size attacking you at once. It's a skill I'm glad and impressed that you have, but it doesn't guarantee someone won't get the jump on you again, and I'm not sure I can handle that."
I stay in silence for a moment, taking in the information and processing it all. I must have been quiet for a while because a soft "Y/N?" makes me look up from where I've been staring blankly at the balcony.
"You ok?" he asks gently, carefully.
I nod and run a hand up and down my arm from a slight breeze blowing with the sun setting in the distance.
"Trying to..." I started, but I didn't know what words were meant to follow. "I'm a little shocked," I say, eventually looking at him.
"I can't say I blame you. It's a 180 from our normal conversations," he takes a deep breath and smiles softly at him. "Do you need a minute?"
I shake my head. "No..." Then I scrunch my nose. "Well, maybe."
"That's ok," he nods, sitting back in his chair, and it weakly groans in protest. He takes in the fact my legs are up to my chest now, and I've wrapped my arms around myself. "We should go inside. It'll get cold soon." He stands and motions for me to head in first, then offers a hand to help me stand up.
I look at it before taking it, standing, and walking in with my arms still around my middle. As soon as we're in, I turn and catch us both off guard by being chest-to-chest with him after he shuts the balcony door. I don't move, though, and neither does he.
"Since honesty seems to be the theme of the night," I look up at him. "I've always admired you..." His face softens at that. "But I'd be lying to both of us if I said how you treated me didn't affect that original feeling." He nods in understanding and slightly cringes to himself.
"I wouldn't hold it against you."
"Why did you- Why did you not like me at first?"
He shrugs a touch, but there's no uncertainty behind it. "I saw you as young and naive. I saw you as someone who seemed to make almost anyone love you, and all you had to do was exist around them. I think a broken part of me was envious and confused by that trait, and I used it as a reason to be hateful to you instead of taking advantage of the kindness you freely give and allowing myself the gift of that. I didn't think I deserved that." He sighs, his hands going into the pockets of his sweats. "I convinced myself that your kindness was nativity when I've learned quite quickly that you're anything but naive."
I sigh, nodding my head as I turn and move to sit on the edge of the bed. "You wouldn't be the first person to misinterpret my kindness. It's why I tend to fall into becoming a stubborn ass when people don't appreciate that kindness. Hence why I haven't been the perfect person in this relationship myself," I motion between us. "I should have recognized where you could have been coming from and continued to kill you with pleasantries, but you didn't seem to respond well to it."
"It wasn't your job to recognize that or fix it. It was mine to stop being a stubborn ass myself and talk to you rather than make assumptions," he shifts on his feet. "I thought I was self-preserving when I was actually self-sabotaging. Something I'm still working on recognizing."
"It's a process," I sigh, knowing the steps well enough myself. I consider the conversation and take a deep breath, relaxing in my spot as I come to my conclusion. "Bucky?" He looks at me, hopeful and attentive. "I forgive you."
I watch as his body stiffens at the declaration before slowly relaxing.
"I don't expect you to just be fine with everything I've done the last-"
"Many years?" I chuckle, lighting the mood. "Yeah, but why would I want to waste any more time when I get it? I get your reasoning, and I can't say I blame you."
"But you should blame me," he moves to sit on the comforter next to me, our knees brushing.
I shrug, turning to face him better. "But I don't." He starts to talk, and I cover his mouth with my hand. His icy blue eyes looked down at the motion before back at me. "I swear to God, Barnes. You take two steps forward, and it's like you feel guilty for making progress and regress." He flinches slightly at my words, and I feel I struck a nerve. "Sorry, I shouldn't-" I take my hand back.
"No, you're right. It's something I'm still working on. I mean, small things are easy to accept and move on, but this," he gestures to me. "A part of me doesn't believe I deserve your forgiveness after the caseload of shit I've given you, but-"
"But it's my forgiveness to give, so I'll decide if I want to give it..." I look at him as if waiting for him to connect the dots. He smiles and nods as he looks down at his hands. "You catching on?"
"I'm catching on," he looks up at him again. "Thank you."
"You're welcome."
We look at each other for a little while, and the atmosphere is new. It's not tense. It's not awkward. It's not uncomfortable. It's like we've come to a point we've been actively avoiding for years, and it turned out to be a really nice point.
"So..." he starts, and I decide to break the seriousness of it all.
"Why is there only one bed, Bucky?" I ask with a look meant to lighten up the mood, turning and patting the comforter we're sitting on.
He looks at it with me and smiles with a laugh. "It wasn't intentional, if that's what you're asking."
"Feels a touch intentional. Not letting me leave the room or demanding I stay close kinda plays into the fact you'd be forced into sharing a bed with me. Another way to secure my proximity," I tease.
"Or..." he drags out, and his hand comes up, pushing a wayward hair behind my ear and casually taking his hand back. "The receptionist told me they didn't have any two-bedroom rooms available right now because there is a festival in town this weekend, and they're booked up."
"Seems legit, but not sure if I believe you," I grin a touch bashful and look around at the room as if I'm surveying it and not slightly melting at his touch.
"Believe me or not," he shrugs, standing and stretching. "Either way, we're sharing a bed tonight, sweetheart." He winks. He fucking winks at me and moves to the other side of the bed, getting his side ready for sleep.
This new side of him is not one I was ready for, but seeing it makes me think about what I haven't gotten to experience sooner. So I say that.
"I knew you were a lady's man back in the day, but I never thought I'd see the flirt you were rumored to be," I turn in my spot on the bed and look at him from the end of the bed.
"I don't flirt with everyone," he says, throwing the blanket back and adjusting the pillows.
"Well, yeah, obviously, but-"
"Just people I'm attracted to," he says, cutting me off with a telling grin. "And to women, I'd like to have flirt back."
My mouth drops, and I let out a laugh. A genuine laugh. "Was that a move? Did you just make a move on me?" I smile like a teenager at him, partially in disbelief and partially in interest.
"Did it work?" he chuckles, sitting on the edge and scooting into the bed but not fully getting in it.
I shake my head with a smile and laugh again. "Honestly, I have to say yes."
His smile widens at my confession, and he leans back on the headboard, two pillows propped behind him.
"So you're saying I have a chance if I keep it up?"
"Don't get ahead of yourself, cowboy. It's not going to take just a flashy wink and a flirty comment to get my attention fully. I like to be sought after."
"Good to know."
"Is it?" I ask incredulously with a smirk as I move to my side of the bed and throw the covers back enough to sneak under them.
"Can't give away all my plans," he shakes his head, and I turn off my bedside lamp.
"Wouldn't want you to. I like being surprised," I lay down and nuzzled into my pillow before turning on my side and looking up at him. "Must say, your surprise tonight was a pretty good start."
"You think?"
"I think," I nod and debate on my next idea, but I decide what the hell? Who's it hurting? "Feel free to say no, but if we are sharing the same bed, I tend to be a cuddler unconsciously, so if we-"
"Yes," he says simply a large grin he doesn't seem to care to hide marks his handsome features. "Yes, please." He nods, moving under the blanket.
"That answer was a little too fast to believe that this hotel didn't have other beds."
"I don't know what you mean," he shimmies under the blanket, and I feel his leg brush mine.
"Listen, normally I wouldn't, but I learn I sleep best when I'm with another person, so-"
"You don't have to give me a reason, doll. I'm happy to lend the support." His arms are quickly wrapped around my middle and I'm turned to where my back is pressed against his front and I'm not going to lie... It's a perfect fit. "Night, Y/N."
"Night, Bucky." I smile putting my hands on his around my middle and laying back into him.
This was a good start to something possibly more...
Want to keep reading? (Part 2 of 2)
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