Chapter 1
The room was coldly lit. And some unfinished tension was still stuck inside Sam. The encounter with the cops was an unlucky and uncomfortable one. He was just glad he was not the one behind bars at the moment. Although sitting here and waiting for Bucky was not a whole heck of a lot better. Sam had managed to get a seat close to the front desk, and in view of the entrance/exit for when Bucky eventually, hopefully got out. A woman with a bag over her shoulder and a frantic look in her eye entered the room. Although she seemed relieved when the door closed, her steps to the counter still had a speed to them. Her heels were click clacking against the concrete floors, her hair bouncing in the opposite direction. When she arrived at the counter a voice called after Sam from behind him and so he turned.
It was Dr. Raynor, Bucky’s therapist. After introducing herself, John parades in yelling that he has freed Bucky from his mandated sessions. Although Dr.Raynor seems very displeased by this fact, he does prefer not having something like this happening again. When Bucky enters, Sam can’t help but see in the corner of his eye that he is embracing someone.
—
“Hi, I’m here to see a James Buchanan Barnes please?” Ever since getting the call from Dr. Raynor about Bucky missing his session you had felt an unease in your day. Especially since you did not know how much information you should have given out to the bossy woman. Now that they had finally found him, and given you his location you could breathe, but then the mysterious text message had used the word apprehended and police precinct which elicited a new kind of fear. Were you going to need to get him a lawyer, were you going to be able to see him? Excusing yourself from work a little early, you drove straight to the precinct which was in a whole nother town.
“Uhm I’m sorry miss I’m unsure if I can grant you visitation at this time,” the man seemed genuinely sorry, but the irritation overcame you nonetheless. You could not help but sigh, this was not how you imagined this day to go. The worries started to poison your head. What happened for him to end up at a precinct? What caused him to skip out on a session? Why on earth could you not see him? With a deep breath you tried to muster up the most warm voice you knew.
“Is there any possibility for me to see him today? And could you give me the reason for his arrest?” Your interlocked hands clenched as the man behind the desk shut down the questions in lieu of asking for your connection to the detainee. As you were about to explain through gritted teeth that you were the partner of the arrestee, the buzzing sound of a door interrupted your conversation.
Turning to the right, you met your boyfriend's furrowed eyes and finally let out a sigh of relief. Angrily strutting as he followed the officer in front of him, James did not see you immediately. You let your elbows rest on the counter while waiting for him to turn his head and recognize you. “Boy you are in for it,” you thought when his slightly shocked and increasingly guilty face met yours. He moved closer to rest his hands to the left of you. You simply gave him a death glare while he signed some paperwork from the man you just spoke with.
“James,” you called. When he finally stood up, you could not help but hug him, just to make sure he did not feel totally unsafe in the conversation to come. Breathing in his perfume, and feeling his hair under your fingers helped you realize that he was alright.
“What’re you doing here?” he asked with earnestness when you pulled away from each other. Your right hand held onto his metal arm, your subconscious’ way of making sure he was not going to run away again.
“What do you think?” You lashed out. “When my boyfriend skips a court mandated therapy session, the state usually wants to know why,” you slightly pinched his arm to tether yourself. His eyes just stared intently into your own. Your annoyance began to build up. “Dr. Raynor called me,” you relented. “She wanted to know where you were,” he only looked up in annoyance. “And so do I,” you tilted your head to gauge emotion. “By the way!”
In response Bucky only moved his head slightly to the side, making it out like telling you would be too difficult. “This isn’t the right time,” he explained as he looked off at a small group of people talking a bit further away from us. A vein in his neck popped out more than normal but he did not seem angry, more inconvenienced.
“Well, do you think there’ll be a right time?” You snapped, the panic you had felt now rising to the surface. A lump in your throat formed, and it became increasingly hard to breathe. “I mean, where were you James? What happened to you,” the fear struck out from your words.
Bucky registered your franticness and moved closer to you in worry. His hands were now softly caressing your back, trying to nurture you into breathing. “What if you died, and I didn’t know,” you whispered out hoarsely.
James’ grip on you tightened when he heard. “Hey, no one is dying,” his chin nestled into your hair. You let your hand fidget with his jacket collar as his words washed over you. “I was out with Sam, trying to get some information for the mission,” he spoke softly yet informatively. “Please don’t worry about me, I can’t take it if I’m the reason you’re worried.”
You looked up at him, prompting him to release you. Studying his face, you could see he did not have any bruises, and his eyes were the same grumpy icy blue that you loved. When his hand softly caressed your cheek, you let out a sigh of relief. The nerves that had overtaken you ever since you got in your car, slowly began to tingle and then fade out. “Thank you,” you breathed. You finally felt strong enough to stand on your own again. You hit his arm, “But if you do that again I will kill you,” your finger pointed at him pointedly. Bucky could only look back in shock at the fact that you would hit him. “And what’s this about skipping therapy? I thought we agreed it was a good thing,” you let your right side lean against the desk again.
“Be honest James, did you really forget that you had therapy today?” Your lips formed a line. “Yeah James, did you?” One of the men from the group James had watched earlier entered our conversation. As if on queue, Bucky’s demeanour squared up. “Don’t call me that,” he moaned with his eyes still staring at the ceiling.
The newcomer tilted his head. “What?” He shot out. “I can’t call you Buck, but I can’t call you James either?” he seemed just as much annoyed as he was amused. You could sense there had to be some sort of familiarity. A sort of familiarity that could only mean one person, and by the twitch of Bucky’s eyebrow your theory had to be correct.
“Sam Wilson I presume?” You asked, biting your lip in hope that you were not wrong.
Shaking your hand with a charismatic smile, he answered. “Yes I am, but I’m afraid I don’t know who you are.”
Before James could answer for you, you mirror Sam’s expression. “I’m his barber, couldn’t you tell?” Your remark earns a wholehearted laugh from Wilson. He is surprised you are so quick to irony. Bucky reenters the conversations. “She’s my girlfriend, alright?” he explains annoyedly whilst shrugging his shoulders. You can tell this is a conversation he does not want to be having.
Before the two acquaintances can catch up any more, Dr. Raynor decides to barge into the conversation as well. “James, condition of your release, session now, you too Sam,” she begins, then starts spearheading her way down a corridor. The two men both grunt in response. You are simply glad that you dodged the bullet. “God, I don’t like her,” James murmurs in agitation. “Neither do I,” you relent to him, earning the oh so small smirk. Forcing a chaste kiss to his cheek, you inform him that you will stay there until he is done. “So don’t run off,” you joke, with a hint of seriousness still trapped. You offer Sam a drive home as well, which he accepts. After they both leave, the only thing you can do is wait. And fantasize about dinner.
The boys come back out after what felt like seconds. They both seem annoyed, and hurt, basically on worse terms than what they were before. “Godamnit,” you mutter under your breath. Even though most of the stuff you hear about Sam are complaints, you still treasured the fact that James had one actual relationship to someone other than you. He still has not met your friends, and it worries you that he does not have many of his own, other than that old man down the street.
When you all meet the fresh cold midnight air, you are met by police sirens not much far from you. At the front end of that car stands two men, one who you recognize as that new Captain America. What was his name? John? From your two companions' faces, you can tell this encounter is not a wanted one, or even a friendly one by the looks of the new Cap. A’s sidekick.
“Look I’m sorry but this is government business, I can’t have civilians getting to know about all this,” John starts with as you walk over there. His tone already annoys you. “And what am I going to do about this Javert? Shout it from the rooftops?” Your arms cross as you enter a defensive stance. One of Bucky’s hands meets your back.
“Look man, it’s not like she is going to tell anyone,” Sam says, sounding equally as tired as you feel. John holds up one hand in surrender.
“Fine, anyways.” They begin to exchange information about the case or mission or whatever it is they have been working on. Tensions rise between the four men, you are just happy for the little free show.
“Things are really intense for you aren’t they Walker,” your boyfriend stares into the increasingly angered man. You can’t help but bite your lip trying to hold in your amusement. You have always loved James’ petty side, but it does not come out often. After a thinly veiled “We don’t like you,” from Sam followed by an even more thinly veiled threat from Walker you finally begin to see an end to this tedious day. As you walk to your car, a tension filled debate falls over the two men. You hug yourself a little to fight off the small cold you are getting. “I’m sorry, who is this him we are talking about?” you bite out through gritted teeth.
They both look at each other, sharing a knowing glance. “So you’re just gonna go sit in a room with this guy?” Sam asks with exasperation. There is still that tiredness, you can tell he does not really want to give much energy to arguing.
After a calculating silence, a whimpered “Yes” escapes Bucky. They both stop for a second. Seemingly a staring contest starts between them before Sam opens his mouth.
“Okay then, we’re gonna go see Zemo,” and with that every fiber in you shakes. You breathe in heavily through your nostrils. You bite your lower lip so hard, your upper teeth almost clash against your lower teeth. You tilt your head back so you can stare up angrily at the sky. “Of course!” You yell out. “Of course you are,” you turn your head back down to both of them, a narrowed expression overcoming you.
—
“James?” After the sound of the door closing you hear a low hum in recognition from Bucky. “Please catch me,” after that you dramatically let your legs give out. Feeling gravity drag you down slowly is a lovely contrast to the fast mess that has taken over your mind. The ruckus has been painful ever since you had to take the stairs to your apartment and you used all your energy up. Feeling his strong hands hold your shoulders tight, coupled with the slightly concerned mutterings that meet your ear in response all seem to lull you into closing your eyes. “I’m fine,” you exclaim, resting your head against his neck. You take the opportunity to breathe in his scent, taking a mental picture of how it feels to have him hold you.
“You sure?” he asks worriedly, with a gruff to his tone. After a calculative silence, a heartwarming request rejoins. “Do you want me to carry you?” he asks, and by his tone you can tell he is smirking. Your smile turns lopsided at the request. You let one of your hands stroke against his cheek.
“Yes please,” you say and immediately you feel your body hoisted up. Before you know it, you are in the bridal pose. The position makes you laugh gleefully. “Where would you like to go honey?” He asks overconfidently. “Oh just put me in our bedroom dear!” You say back in the best transatlantic accent you can muster. You feel your back hit the mattress and Bucky’s hands slowly retracting away from you. Holding onto his neck, you drag him down towards you, forcing him onto the bed as well.
“What’s this?” He asks warmly. “We need to talk,” you answer deadpan.
“Oh.” You let your hands lock around his neck.
“What happened today?” you try to muster with an as unjudging tone as possible. You scan him for any uncomfortable reaction. He simply stops, closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.
“I don’t know,” he relents, letting his forehead touch yours. His warm breath fans your face. You try to meet him where he is at.
“Was today an accident? Or did you deliberately skip out?” you croak out softly. You want to be safe in your perception of him, and although he did mostly meet the therapy with begrudgement. He still went to the sessions, and came back seeming to have listened.
“Accident,” he musters out, matter of factly. You choose to believe him, he sounds genuine.
“Alright,” you respond. With a deep breath you continue. “Are you happy now that the sessions are not mandated? Or do you still want to meet with a therapist?” you furrow your brows a little in anticipation of his answer.
“Happy. That they’re gone,” he continues, not moving an inch. You can only sigh in response, but you understand the struggle of forced meetups. You collect your thoughts.
“After this.. eh- mission, what’re you going to do?”
“I don’t know.” he relents. His head falls a little closer to the mattress. “Can I say that? I don’t know?”
You huff, “Of course you can say that, this isn’t a game show,” a small smile begins to tug at your face.
“It feels like one, I’m all tingly,” he raises his shoulders up and down to try and shake the feeling.
“Tingly? What’re you, twelve?”
“Hey! I thought this was a,” he chuckles. “safe space.” He shakes his head side to side from a tinge of embarrassment. You laugh, granting you a small warning look from the man in front of you. Your mouth dries up a little from the shock. “It is, it is- I'm sorry,” you push your cheek forward to meet his.
“Yeah, you better be,” he says jokingly, his nose bumps into yours as he speaks.
“Or what?” you ask with as dead a tone you can muster. “Or else…”
Bucky pushes your back up against the mattress. Now towering over you, he slowly begins to let his head sink down. “Or else I’ll split up every pair of socks you own,” he says mischievously. The statement itself shakes you to your core. “You… are… evil,” is all you can muster as you think about such a decrepit situation.
“I’m warning you,” he plays out eerily, staring up at you from the crook of your neck. You stare right back at him.
The calm of the situation overtakes you. He has a twinkle in his eye, coupled with the soft gaze enveloping it. You can feel the scruff from his chin slightly graze your skin. His shoulders are resting up against your chest. You breathe, and at the same time you can feel him breathe too. But just as so, his baggage weighs on you as well, not as much, but the pressure is still there. “Alright white panther, how about you use that energy to make me some dinner,” you scoff, proceeding then to patting him on the head. He pouts for a few seconds, looking like a stray cat before beginning to get up.
“It's actually white wolf,” he mutters as he walks over to the kitchen.