#winterphysics

+

 He spends the evening rifling through the pages of his notebook. His mind shuffles through the faces like an old film roll. Then he hits replay after his initial check. 

 Again. 

 Again. 

 Again. 

 He combs his fingers through his hair as he leans against the wall of his apartment. He lets out a small sigh of relief. 

 No connections to her are in the book. 

 +

 It becomes a habit for him every Thursday.

 Leave Dr. Raynor’s office. Walk through the lobby. Make eye contact with the brunette woman, whom he still can’t seem to place. Consider acknowledging her with a grin. Decide against it. Look down at the ground. Leave the facility. 

 He realizes he’s capable of acting more- human? Normal? Like an actual functioning adult in the twenty-first century. Dr. Raynor kindly reminds him of it every session, and yet, the creeping feeling of self-doubt never fails to get the better of him. 

 Yesterday. 

 Today. 

 And probably tomorrow. 

 +

 She’s not in the waiting area the following Thursday. 

 His feet pick up their pace to exit the facility that day, seeing as he has no real reason to take his time. His chest twinges in disappointment, despite having no good reason to. He doesn’t even know her name. In fact, the only real thing he knows about her is that she meets with a therapist on Thursday afternoons. Like him. 

 Which meant she was working through some stuff. Like him. 

 As he approaches the door, his eyes focused on the ground, the force of a body slamming into him nearly knocks him on his ass. His hands instinctively rise to steady the person apparently in a rush today. Then his breath catches upon realizing who is standing between his outstretched arms. 

 Her eyes are red-rimmed, cheeks puffy, and when she lifts her head to apologize, she suddenly begins to aggressively wipe away the tears streaming down her cheeks. Embarrassment mixing with the despair she is clearly experiencing. 

 He stammers. “I—are you ok—?”

 Before he can finish his question, she pulls back and cuts him off. “I’m so sorry—I really have to—“ 

 She stumbles around him and disappears past the receptionist and down the hall without another word, leaving him feeling confused and concerned all at the same time. 

 +

 He spends the next week worrying about her. 

 It’s better than worrying about his own demons. 

 Strangely, it gives his brain a small sense of relief.

 +

 Dr. Raynor has to reschedule for Friday. 

 He leaves flowers at the receptionist desk and tells them they’re for the brunette woman who comes in at 3. 

 He hopes she gets them. 

 +

 She’s approaching him before he has the chance to register her appearance in the lobby. Her small, yet self-assured frame blocks his exit to the double doors. She’s speaking and he immediately picks up that she uses her hands to get her point across. 

 “Hi. I just want to apologize for what happened a couple weeks ago. I hope I didn’t cause too much damage to—,” her right hand does a sweeping motion across his chest. “Anyway... my name is Jane. Jane Foster.” The woman extends her hand, eyes finally meeting his directly. 

 She’s nervous. Hesitant. 

 He takes it in his gloved, vibranium hand and gives it a gentle shake. “James. And don’t worry about it.” She smiles and he returns the effort out of politeness. 

 She drops his hand and brushes a loose piece of hair behind her ear. “Well, it was nice to meet you James. I better head—“ She finishes her sentence by pointing in the opposite direction, toward the hallway of therapist offices. 

 He gives her a nod, stepping out of her way. Jane starts past him and before she can get too far, the words slip out of his mouth. 

 “Would you want to maybe grab a drink sometime?” James can’t help but inwardly cringe at the awkward bluntness in the question, however there’s no going back now. 

 Jane turns and bites down on her lower lip. “Yeah,” she replies. “Yeah that would be nice.”

 +

 James sits on his makeshift bed in his apartment living room, scrolling through the contacts on his phone list. Sam. Shuri. Dr. Raynor. Clint. His apartment manager. 

 And now Jane Foster. 

 Dr. Raynor wasn’t kidding when she chastised him for only having ten contacts. At least he had added one name to his list. 

 They were meeting tonight at 8 pm. She suggested a small, trendy downtown bar that had a bizarre name he couldn’t prounounce. He wonders if this date was going to be like all the others. 

 Fake. Stiff. Unbearable. 

 A small part of him tries to insist that Jane is different. Sure, he can’t logically reason how he knows this, yet he can’t shake the feeling she is different in some way to the other women he’s met since his return. 

 +

 He’s right. 

 She’s unlike anyone woman he’s ever met in the twenty-first century. 

 It’s not hard to get Jane talking about herself, and once he does, he spends nearly the rest of the evening listening to her talk about her work with space. 

 He learns she’s an astrophysicist and she’s in New York working at the Simons Foundation. She disappeared during The Blip too and now she’s trying to make up for the 5 years she lost. Jane’s passion for learning more about the universe captivates him. She shares some of the theories she has about other universes that may exist and he’s left in awe as she paints pictures into his mind of periwinkle planets, alien lifeforms, and methods of possibly meeting them. 

 She doesn’t get the chance to ask him many questions, which is a relief.

 Her laughter is light, the alcohol clearly easing the weight of the world that she wears like a prisoner around her shoulders. He doesn’t know what she was like before whatever shit got to her, but he enjoys seeing Jane this way. Carefree. 

 He asks if he can see her again. 

 She says yes. 

 +

 She texts him about an upcoming Celestial event. A telescope will allow you to see Saturn’s rings and moons all night if the sky is clear. 

 He buys a telescope and sets it up on the roof of his apartment building and spends hours watching Saturn from his point on Earth. It makes him feel like a small speck in comparison to everything beyond this planet. He wants to find out more of what this life has to offer before it’s too late and it reminds him of his effort of making amends for his past sins. 

 Clearly he still has a lot of work to do. 

 +

 She admits that she did some digging and she knows who he really is on their third date. He supposes he’s not too surprised at her inquisitiveness, but her declaration suddenly makes him feel entirely exposed and vulnerable. 

 They’re sitting in the corner of a quiet coffee shop and James eyes the nearest exit because his chest is contracting and the air is not meeting his lungs like it should. His heart hammers in his chest as hard as his metal fist did against the cryogenic cage Hyrda imprisoned him in time and time again. 

 “I have a friend who is pretty skilled at finding out about people,” she continues lowly, toying at the ceramic coffee cup. “I just—didn’t feel right lying to you about it. You looked familiar when I saw you in Dr. Raynor’s office that first day.”

 He tries to relax the muscles in his neck and shoulders. “No, I understand. So I guess you know I’m pretty messed up then?” He had never personally seen his own file, however it wasn’t hard to imagine what it contained. 

 Jane let out a breathy laugh, as if she couldn’t quite believe what he said. “Aren’t we all, James?”

 +

 The weather is nice enough to start meeting in Central Park and they begin taking strolls around the park during her lunch breaks every day. They play a game where he gets to ask her a question about her past and then she gets to ask him a question about his past and they have to answer honestly. Maybe it’s reminiscent of his meetings with Dr. Raynor, yet James is willing to open up because Jane is too, and he recognizes it’s not easy for either of them. 

 Sometimes they only get through one question, the memories being too painful, and in those moments, their fingers tentatively find the others. It’s reassuring, this insignificant brush of skin against glove, and James suddenly wishes he wasn’t wearing the gloves. It’s been too long since he’s felt the touch of another against his bare skin. 

 He decides to take the right one off when he’s with her. James makes sure he’s standing on her left side for their walks and his heart flips in his chest when she unexpectedly intertwines her fingers with his. She gives him a squeeze and he returns it, an actual smile ghosting the corners of his lips.

 Maybe his eyes are playing tricks on him or maybe it’s just the sun, but he swears he sees a faint blush creeping up her fair cheeks.

 +

 She invites him over to the apartment the foundation is paying rent for after her therapy session. Jane insists that she is more than capable of making something for the both of them that tops the usual take out they have a habit of settling for when they hang out together. So he can’t help but let out a chuckle and a teasing comment when he walks into a smoking kitchen and the fire alarm beeping wildly while a flustered Jane is scrambling to turn off the oven where a blackened chicken resides. 

 They end up ordering their usual take out.

 At the end of their sushi dinner, Jane sets her empty container on the coffee table in front of them and leans back into the armchair, tucking her feet beneath her. She’s oddly quiet and he stares from his spot across on the couch. Her brown eyes gaze distantly out the wall-length windows, her brilliant brain lost in thought. 

 He doesn’t mind the silence, of course, yet he feels a tug to pull her back from wherever she’s gone off to. “Do you ever dance?”

 Her lips curve upward. “Only if you count when I’m by myself and I have the radio blaring.” 

 James smiles at the mental image of a goofy Jane, throwing her arms and legs about in no particular rhythm. “Back in the 40s, I was known around the town for my swing dancing moves,” he informs her casually with a cock of his eyebrow. 

 She laughs, shooting him a mock expression of awe. “James Buchanan Barnes, I had no idea you were such a man of many talents.” 

 He nonchalantly shrugs and then practically bounces off the couch, extending his concealed, left hand to her. “It’s time you learn a move or two today, Ms. Foster.” 

 They rearrange some of Jane’s furniture around to make an adequate amount of space that won’t end in destruction. He begins by teaching her the basic steps, leading her slowly through each one until she insists she’s ready to go on to the next. He finds it ironic that out of all the damage Hydra did to his brain, he can still remember one of his favorite weekend activities from when he was a young man. Well, he’s still pretty young compared to his friends who were with him at the time. 

 If he’s being honest, Jane was born with two left feet, but she is determined to try regardless of her uncoordinated legs. By the end of the night, he gives her the name of a song to play on her Bluetooth speakers and they’re dancing away, Jane doing her best to keep up with the beat and James laughing every time she steps on his feet again. 

 He’s convinced he could stay in this moment forever. 

 +

 She surprises him by taking them to a jazz and swing dance club. 

 He swears he’s in love with her by the end of the evening. 

 He kisses her for the first time when they’re standing on the doorstep of her apartment. 

 +

 James is leaving Dr. Raynor’s office, ready to get as far away as possible from the head spinning forest wallpaper he’s stuck in front of every session when her words stop him in his tracks. 

 “You’re helping her, you know.” 

 He’s never said her name when they discuss her in his sessions. He assumed Jane saw Dr. Raynor too, seeing as she was connected to the superhero world, yet she’s never told him and he’s never asked. 

 He looks over his shoulder at the older woman, his hand still on the doorknob. “Actually, I think it’s the other way around.”

 +

 He has not made love to someone since before he was drafted into the war so when an evening of drinking and card games turns into take off one article of clothing every time you lose a game, James begins to sweat. He has a feeling he knows where this is leading when she’s seated on top of him, clad in only her undergarments, her hips grinding into his mercilessly. 

 It turns out she’s not a very good card player. 

 His mouth is connected to her neck, breathing a trail of wet kisses up to her ear where he bites down softly on the tip of her earlobe and she lets out a tiny whimper that nearly ends him then and there. 

 Her hands wander under the hem of his long-sleeved shirt and he freezes when she starts to tug the material upward. She senses his apparent discomfort and stops, looking down at him. 

 She’s picked up on the fact that he’s sensitive about the metal arm. “Sorry,” she whispers. “If you don’t want to take it off that’s—“

 He knows he’s ready. He knows it’s time to stop living in fear about what others will think of the hideous seam binding the vibranium to flesh. “No, I do. Just give me a second.”

 He sits up and she shifts off of him, unsure of his next move. It takes her by surprise when he sweeps her off the ground in a single motion, carrying her to the bedroom and placing her carefully on the mattress. His hands go to either side of the hem of his shirt and he tugs it off, standing bare chested before her, his silver dog tags resting against the rise and fall of his heavy breathing. 

 She stares, drinking him all in. The defined muscle. The trail of dark hair leading below the waistband of his underwear. The scars from years of battling ‘the enemy.’ Then finally, his metal arm, the leather glove still secure on his left hand. Jane rises to her knees, taking both of his hands and tugging him closer to which he does not oblige. 

 He wants her desperately. Wants to put his mouth all over her. Wants to hear her say his name. Wants to feel every inch of her on his skin. 

 “May I?” she asks, glancing down, fingers ghosting his skin. He nods and suddenly she’s running her fingers over his chest and her fingers sear, burning him, making him feel more alive than he’s felt in the past 80 years. 

 He allows her to touch every inch of him, noting how she studies the outer workings of his arm in true Jane-fashion, and when she decides to replace her fingers with her lips instead upon reaching the seam of his shoulder and arm, he lets out a moan. James is certain this woman will be the end of him. 

 He loses himself in her in more than one way that night. When she takes him, he begs her to call him ‘Bucky’ because he’s tired of acting like the name of a man he never had been in the first place. 

 He falls asleep that night to the memory of her voice whimpering ‘Bucky,’ ‘Bucky,’ ‘Bucky’ as if it were a prayer on her lips. 

 There are no nightmares. 

 +

 Dr. Raynor comments on his unusual openness at their next session. 

 She doesn’t even have to threaten him with the notebook that day. 

 +

 “Vulnerability is the essence of connection and connection is the essence of existence.” - Leo Christopher 

 +

 Longing. 

Rusted. 

Seventeen.

Daybreak. 

Furnace. 

Nine.

Benign. 

Homecoming.

One. 

Freight car. 

 The string of phrases are weaving their way into his skull and he’s trapped. There’s no escape from their cruel entrapment. He must obey. He was engineered to carry out the missions. No, he doesn’t want to obey. Fight back. Fighting makes it worse. Fighting means pain until he can fight no longer. 

 Obey. Must obey. The mission. See that it’s carried out to completion. No witnesses. No survivors.

 Bucky jolts awake in her bed, beads of sweat pooling across his brow. He’s gasping for breath and everything that’s touching him only makes his heart beat faster. He yanks the blankets off of him and sinks down against the wall facing the bed, trying to take in his surroundings and focus on what’s real. Hydra can no longer control him. He is no longer their puppet. 

 He pulls on the dog tags around his neck, using them as something to stabilize his unstable mind. His eyes slide open and he sees her sitting up in bed, watching him silently, her brow twisted in concern. 

 “Just a bad dream,” he comments quietly, inhaling through his nose, pausing, and exhaling through his mouth. 

 She remains unmoving for a moment. 

 “I get them too. Sometimes it feels like the aether is still inside me. Controlling my mind. Forcing me to bend to its wishes.” He’s only heard bits and pieces of her time on Asgard, Thor and Loki’s home planet. It’s still strange to think about the life that exists beyond Earth. 

 He wants to tell her more about Hydra, but he doesn’t. 

 “Think I’m going to stay down here for a little longer. Is it weird that I find the floor softer than the bed?” 

 “We all have our ways of coping,” she muses with a half smile. 

 He wonders what hers happen to be. 

 +

 They spend many nights together watching the starry sky from his apartment rooftop. Jane sits between his arms, pointing out the major constellations, sharing ancient stories of how they got their names. 

 Bucky listens to her words, her voice, drift through the close space they occupy. His eyes grow heavy with tiredness, his chin resting on the crown of her head. 

 He could listen to her talk about space until the end of time. 

 +

 “Are you ever going to answer him?” Jane inquires casually, settling down beside him on the couch. She grabs a blanket and tosses it over their legs. 

 She doesn’t have to say his name to know whose she’s referring to. His name appears on his phone screen nearly every day. “Maybe,” he responds indifferently. 

 Jane gives him a look that tells him she’s not going to let this one go. “He’s clearly worried about you. How hard would it be just to update him about how things are going?”

 He wants to answer with ‘nearly impossible,’ however he has a feeling she won’t drop it if he lets the words slip.

 “Just think about it, okay?” Jane must have picked up on the fact it was going to be a losing battle. 

 He nods. 

 +

 “You sent the flowers that day in the office, didn’t you?” Her breath catches sharply when he bites down on her inner thigh, then immediately tends to the bite with his lips, moving them closer and closer to his objective. 

 “Yes,” he reveals, that day in the office, far from what he’s currently fixated on. She whimpers his name once he finds his source. 

 +

 He can’t remember the last name he’s felt this angry. Bucky paces back and forth in his apartment, trying to calm down, trying to think rationally. 

 She’s leaving. 

 She’s going back to London. 

 Her work in New York was only temporary and she has no choice but to go home to continue her research with her colleagues. 

 The time he assumed they had left together has vanished. She promises they will keep in touch. She’s only a phone call away. 

 It’s not the same though. 

 It’s not the same.

 +

 “You’ve helped, you know,” she murmurs, nestled cozily in his arms. Her fingers play with his dog tags while he stares at shadows on her ceiling bedroom, trying with all his might to will her to stay if he just never lets her out of his grasp. 

 His eyebrows knit together. “Helped create more problems in your life?” he teases and she retaliates by giving the dog tags a tug. 

 “When I came back to New York, all I wanted was to be able to talk to someone about the shit life has thrown at me. That’s part of the reason I started seeing Dr. Raynor,” she admits, nuzzling deeper into his hold. “You listened and you cared, Bucky. I don’t know what I’m going to do in London without someone who actually gets it.”

 He wonders the same thing. 

 +

 On the day she leaves, he finally decides to text Sam back. 

 She was right. 

 Sam was worried about him. 

 He chooses honesty over the typical response of ‘I’m fine’ for once. 

 I’ve had better days, he writes. He’ll tell Sam more about it when they see each other again. 

 +

 It’s a Thursday afternoon when he sees him sitting in the chair next to her old spot. 

 He’s about his height (Bucky’s taller, of course). Black hair, cut close to his head. Brown eyes. And a smug smile that makes him want to punch it right off his face with his metal fist. 

 Sam rises from his seat and goes in for a hug. “Long time, no see, grandpa,” he jokes, pulling back and poking him in the chest. 

 Bucky rolls his eyes, a grin breaking across his face. “Yeah, yeah. Missed you too,” he says, pushing him away and starting toward the doors. 

 “You’ve got a lot of explaining to do. But it might have to wait until after we take care of business,” Sam states, trailing after him. 

 He wants to protest. Sam’s the last one he wants to talk about the events of the past few months with, but he’s got no one else left. 

 Bucky figures he’ll have to settle for him.