Disabused
„So, I was wondering,“ you started as you plopped down on the couch, trying to sound nonchalant, „My office summer party is this Friday and I was wondering,“ you snatched a piece of pizza – self-made this time – from the plate quickly, more so that you would have something to hold on to than out of hunger at this point, „I was wondering whether you’d like to come.“
He gave you an uncertain look. “With you?”
“No, with Gladys from human resources. Yes with me you dummy.” He huffed indignantly in response, causing you to up your game and bring forth your arguments. “Come on, champ, you’ve been brooding and holing yourself up in here all week. It’ll be fun, I promise – there’s food and shitty pop music and lots of drunk people who can’t dance. They even have a bouncy castle, it’s all kinds of brilliant …and I don’t want to go alone.” You put on your most pleading puppy eyes and a beaming smile. “Please? I promise we’ll go if you don’t like it. The moment you say you’d rather leave, we’re out of there.”
“I’m not going anywhere near a bouncy castle.” He grumbled in resignation.
“We’ll see about that.” You smirked, eliciting a sigh.
“What will you even tell them about who I am?” he opted to change the topic slightly, hoping to steer it away from childish games.
“Oh I thought I’d introduce you as my housekeeper.” You teased. He gave you a long, blank look, but relented eventually, sighing dramatically and trying to hide a little smirk. You beamed right back at him, happy that Stage 1 of your plan had succeeded. James was slowly growing into being more at ease around people, but this was still a big step up from going grocery shopping or walking the short distance to the public library, or even the crowds at the Air and Space museum. Nevertheless you felt confident and turned to your piece of pizza with renewed vigor.
The following day, after cleaning and putting away the dishes from breakfast as per usual, James got dressed and made his way over to the library, seeking to exchange Crime and Punishment for a new read. With the seasons slowly changing from spring to summer it was getting harder to hide the arm, but he could still get away with a light jacket. Becky followed on his heels like a puppy. It was strange how the cat’s presence instantly made him feel more at ease. As he walked, his thoughts turned to the upcoming party. He’d agreed mainly to please you, and to a lesser extent to challenge himself, but still the prospect of having to interact with a whole bunch of strangers was daunting. At least he wouldn’t have to worry too much about any of them being HYDRA, since every employee had been thoroughly screened in the weeks after the Helicarriers went down, and by one of the people who’d been with Steve no less, who was now head of security or something of the sort for the whole company. Honestly, he was impressed that you had gotten through without revealing anything about him.
Becky curled up in a large flowerpot by the library’s entrance, soaking up the sunlight and meowing a quiet go-ahead to him like a parent dropping off their kid at school. He gave a small, amused snort and pushed open the door.
The middle-aged librarian gives his hair her customary disapproving glance as she takes the book he is returning. It’s only for a second, and she never says anything, but he catches it nonetheless, and for some reason it bothers him again, as it hadn’t in the weeks prior. Perhaps it’s because of your office party. He knows he looks kind of unkempt like this and he doesn’t want to be the cause of you making a bad impression, but so far the mere thought of having someone get close to him with anything sharp is enough to send him flying. Maybe if you could do it, he muses as he wanders through the aisles and absentmindedly runs a hand through the shoulder-length tresses, in that case maybe he could manage. Part of him wants to regain that piece, too, even if it’s just a cosmetic, outward aspect of Bucky Barnes to have a proper haircut. HYDRA had been neglectful of him in that regard among many others; it really wasn't in any way practical to keep his hair that long and not even tie it back during missions, the only possible advantage of that being that it might obscure his face out in the field (then again he'd had the muzzle-mask for that). Except he could still feel uncaring hands grabbing it by the fistfuls, yanking his head back sharply at any given time and straining his neck nearly to the point of snapping, for any imaginable offense, or just because. If there was a way that didn’t involve scissors he would gladly take it, but he knew that wasn’t really an option. If he indeed did muster up the nerve to have something done about it he would have his hair short enough that no one could grab it, he resolved while crouching down to retrieve a copy of A Tree grows in Brooklyn from one of the lower shelves. He takes the book and makes up his mind, meeting the librarian’s subtly challenging stare with what can almost pass for a smug grin.
“I don’t suppose you know how to cut hair?” he asks quietly over the dinner table, making you look up in surprise. The expression quickly dissipates into one of bemusement.
“You’d be surprised what I know and can.” You reply simply, making him smile a bit over his bowl of pasta.
“I’m beginning to think there isn’t much that you can’t do, actually.” You give a short, mirthful laugh, glad to see what a long way he’s come already since falling in through your window.
“You have to learn to get by when you grow up a poor orphan in San José. I’m not a professional, but I think I can make it look half-decent. Why’re you so eager about having it cut all of a sudden though?”
He drops his gaze with a bashful tint to his cheeks and mumbles something unintelligible into his pasta.
“What’s that?”
“I said, I think I ought to at least look presentable on Friday. Wouldn’t want to embarrass you.”
After dinner, James still insisted on having his hair cut, so you both repaired to the bathroom. You could tell he was still a bit nervous, but he sat down on the stool without hesitation, purring cat in lap. In any case, he was considerably more relaxed than he’d been those few weeks ago when you pulled his stitches.
“Honestly, I’m surprised you trust me to wave scissors around your head.” You said, readying yourself to make the first cut. You had his long hair gathered up in a ponytail in one hand and the scissors loosely grasped in the other, ready to stop in case he changed his mind.
“You’re the only person I trust.” James replied, suddenly solemn. He met your eyes in the bathroom mirror and gave you an almost imperceptible nod. You gulped.
“Wh-what about Captain Am- Rog- Steve?” you stuttered nervously, correcting yourself a few times in between.
“I barely know him. I know I used to, but what is that even worth now? I can’t trust someone I hardly know anymore.”
“You… we could try to get in contact with him. Might be good for you.”
He gave a non-committal shrug in response.
“He probably recognized you when you fought.” You pressed on, for once resolved not to give in. You felt this was important. James’ expression told you that your assumption was spot on. With a satisfied smirk you raised the scissors and snipped off the ponytail, eliciting a small surprised gasp.
“He’s probably looking for you as we speak.” You went on as if nothing had happened, handing him the strands of cut hair, which he took in a daze. You began to fashion his mop of dark brown hair into something resembling an actual haircut, muscle memory allowing you to settle into the activity without problems. Meanwhile James looked like he’d been put on pause and didn’t say another word until you asked whether or not this was short enough.
“…Sorry, what?” he focused back on the cat lying in his lap, momentarily confused as to why he was holding a chunk of dark brown hair in one hand.
“I said, is it short enough like this?”
He looked at the mirror, seeing a stranger and you affectionately running your hands through his hair, fluffing out the newly cut tresses. He blinked, then blinked again. He felt your fingers, felt the nails scraping lightly along his scalp, and yet it still seemed unreal.
He raised a hand to his head, fingers skimming lightly across yours as the realization finally hits home that the man in the mirror is indeed him and not a ghost from some long-forgotten past.
“It’s perfect, thank you. I can’t meet Steve.” He doesn’t even stop to breathe between the two statements, making you blink in surprise.
“Umm… why?”
He takes a deep breath, letting his hand fall into his lap and drawing Becky, who appears to be blissfully asleep at this point, closer like a child hugging a stuffed toy.
“He was my last mission. If I see him again my programming might kick in. I can’t risk that. I can’t hurt him again. I almost killed him the last two times I saw him. I already broke my promise…” his voice trails off, and he gets that distant look that tells you a memory is replaying inside his mind’s eye. You hold back a scoff and the urge to tell him that those ‘last two times’ were when he was still under HYDRA’s control, not to mention that the second of those times he managed to break free. Instead you ask softly: “What promise?”
“Huh?”
“What promise did you break already?”
“I had to promise his mother on her deathbed that I would take care of him. ‘You’re his best friend. If he’ll listen to anyone he’ll listen to you, James. You know how he is. Please try to keep him out of trouble. He has no one else left when I’m gone.’” His voice had gotten more and more agitated with every word, and now he visibly deflated, falling silent with hunched shoulders. You tentatively wrapped your arms around him from behind, resting your chin on top of his head.
“I see,” you said, warmly, “I’m just saying you can’t hide forever. He’s gonna find you eventually; that’s how these things go.”
He scoffed, shifting unwillingly on his seat but clasped a warm hand around yours and gave a light squeeze.
“And another thing: you dragged him out of that river. You decided not to go through with your mission, you jumped into the goddamn Potomac River and you pulled him out. Don’t ever forget that, okay?”
“I’ll try.” He promised with a small voice.
“And another thing-“
“Yet another?” at last a cheeky grin stole itself onto his features again, and you made a face at him in response.
“Yes, dipshit, another another thing: when that moment comes I’ll be right there beside you.”
“Because that’s what friends do?” he questioned fondly, tilting up his head so he could look you in the eyes directly instead of just through the mirror. You grinned.
“Yes, because that’s what friends do and I am your friend.”