INDY

Bucky was torturing me. He had to be. He knew exactly what he was doing with his well-timed kisses on the cheek. The hand placement when he walked past me and lightly touched my waist. And then there was the belt buckle incident.

One afternoon, about a week after our first date, I was sitting at the kitchen table putting together a puzzle while Bucky worked outside, fixing the gutters and other manly yard work. He was used to near-constant action, so he tried to keep himself as busy as possible. He came in suddenly, a familiar stormy look on his face and a big smear of wet mulch across his shirt.

He reached for his belt buckle (presumably to un-tuck his shirt), but it seemed to be stuck. I leaned my elbow on the back of my chair and watched in amusement, ready to ask how super soldiers hadn’t already been wiped out by accessories. Then he gave an irritated grunt and wrapped his vibranium hand completely around the buckle, squeezing until it crunched in his hand. Panels shifted across his metallic forearm in a graceful emulation of human muscle. When he relaxed, the buckle clattered to the floor, bent and twisted and nearly disintegrated in places.

I didn’t realize I was practically drooling until he looked up and I had to blink my overly wide eyes, snapping my slack jaw shut. I couldn’t focus on the puzzle after that. Or stop picturing that metallic hand… places.

Our nights were pretty commonly spent eating dinner together, then cuddling on the couch while we watched TV. It devolved into making out like teenagers more often than not. I grew very well-acquainted with Bucky’s tongue. I tried my damnedest not to push things farther. It got really difficult to reel myself in one night when Bucky pulled me onto his lap while he kissed me and I felt something stiffen beneath me. Something large.

Despite his offer to sleep next to me (but not with me), we were still sleeping in separate beds. I just didn’t have a lot of faith in my ability to keep my hands to myself. Hell, even when he wasn’t in bed next to me, I was thinking about him in the next room, wondering if he was thinking about me. Wondering what he did when he thought about me…

I’d never been this antsy in any of my previous relationships. But this wasn’t like any relationship I’d been in before. Bucky and I had bonded as coworkers, getting to know each other on a professional basis. Then we’d begun living together and learned all of each other’s quirks and habits, adapted to them, learned to live around them. We’d molded our lives around one another to a certain extent, already.

And then we’d become friends. Grudging friends, on Bucky’s end; I’d inexplicably wormed my way into his heart and he’d been as confused about it as I had. It was baffling, the switch. But it made sense in all the ways that mattered. We cared about each other. Deeply. We knew more about each others’ pasts than possibly anybody else. We trusted each other — the kind of trust that was earned through time and a whole lot of swallowing of our pride.

So maybe, on the surface, it was too soon. One date in and I was already fantasizing about how his hands would feel tearing the clothes from my body.

But in my heart… It was a different story. This was a man I could depend on. Someone who always had my back. A man I’d admired for the majority of my life, in one way or another. And now, he was staring after me with sly intent in his vivid blue eyes, leaving kisses below my ear, wrapping his arms around me without hesitation.

What we had between us right now was soft, sweet, comfortable, and I had no problem waiting. But I wanted to be closer to him. To shed the last little bit separating us and finally feel the connection I knew was waiting for us if we went further down the road we were currently tumbling down. I was patient. I could wait. But damn, was it hard when he looked like that.

BUCKY

Waiting is a good idea. Waiting is a good idea. Waiting is a good idea.

I was a grown man. I knew what happened in the natural progression of a romantic relationship. But in New York, I’d never allowed myself to get past vague imaginings about what Indy’s hair would feel like between my fingers or whether she would kiss me back if I put my lips against hers. Imagining further would have been like squeezing a lemon over a gaping wound. I should have figured that if I kissed her, if I told her anything regarding my real feelings for her, things would only snowball from there.

Now I was falling asleep to thoughts about the swell of her breasts over the edge of the tank tops she wore more frequently in the hot Texan weather. Or the way her slim hands fit against my body, nimble fingers I was used to watching fly across a keyboard squeezing gently along my muscles. Even the taste of her skin, the way it so easily bruised beneath my mouth, leaving dark purple marks that made my throat tighten when I saw them again later. My thoughts were becoming more and more… ravenous.

Her willingness to wait, her insistence that I needed to be ready for this to feel right to her, only made it worse. Because she cared. Beyond just what I could give her — protection, pleasure, companionship — she had always cared about me. Even when it made no sense for her to. There was something about that kind of instinctive kindness that drew me in like the world-weary old man I was.

Weeks went by during which we lived like a slightly awkward new couple, testing the waters. We kissed and hugged and curled around each other like cats. We teased each other and took care of each other and navigated this new stage of our relationship. My worries were surprisingly easy to shove into the background when she was there to take up every thought.

Finally, I could walk in the door, see her smile and bend down to feel it against my own. Finally, I could hear her voice and know that sweet, fond tone was meant for me. There was just one more thing we were both anxious to get to. Something I was worried about for more than one reason.

I hadn’t had sex in literal decades. What if it had changed? What if I was no good anymore? Would I even be able to… perform? I’d heard a lot of stories about PTSD really messing with a guy’s game.

None of that is even going to matter if you won’t let her see you shirtless.

We hadn’t moved on to the Main Event yet, but Indy was pretty comfortable with herself. I guess I would be too if I were young and unscarred and beautiful. She seemed to have no reservations about it when my fingers teased the bottom edge of her shirt, even encouraging me to lift it the rest of the way off.

Of course, when she had grabbed the bottom of my shirt, my hands had flown to grab hers.

“Not yet,” I’d told her.

Without any other explanation, she’d smiled knowingly, nodded, and pulled me back in to kiss me. I didn’t deserve her. She had to know she could find so much better out there. And yet, here she was. Knowing everything she knew. She never pushed for more, or questioned me when it came to my weird hangups. She seemed to know the reason behind most of it without me having to tell her.

She’s perfect for me.

It wasn’t the first time I’d thought it. I’d always felt it, to some degree. But now I could really examine the idea. Give it the consideration a normal man would. It finally felt safe to think about the antique ring sitting in the bottom of my old beat-up backpack full of memories. To imagine Indy in white, taking on a last name that nearly died out forever ago. At least, it didn’t feel so far out of reach anymore.

“Buck? You ready?” Indy called from the living room.

We had started taking walks through the state park we were residing in together — it was a good excuse to stretch our legs and get away from the cabin. As cozy as it was, our indefinite internment here had a tendency to make us both a little stir-crazy sometimes. Today, we were going hiking up the hills in the park. Indy claimed to know of a cavern we could get to pretty easily.

“Yeah,” I said as I stepped out of my bedroom, smiling at the pigtail braids falling over her shoulders beneath the baseball cap she wore. I tugged one of them lightly. “Ready when you are.”

She swatted my hand away without thought, catching my fingers and pulling me toward the door like we’d been doing this for years. We strode away from the cabin, down the long path through the park.

There were other people, some campers, some visitors, but we could barely see them in the distance. It was mostly grass. And some flowers. There were trees around, too, but not nearly enough to keep us sufficiently shaded. Probably why I smelled sunscreen on Indy; the sun was high in the sky and nearly overbearing in its intensity.

Small animals scurried across the path, or along the side of the trail every now and then, but always hurried on their way once they saw us. There were some rabbits, squirrels, armadillos, deer. I saw a snake hiding beneath a bush a good distance off the trail, but he didn’t slither any closer.

Texas was growing on me, a little. It was hot, but the air was at least clear. It was similar to Wakanda in that way. It felt like I could really breathe.

“We’re getting close now,” Indy said after a good hour of walking. There was an assessing, almost smug look in her eyes as she looked sideways at me.

“What?”

She shrugged, passing beneath the shadow of a wide cliff side. “You’re just not normally this… relaxed. It’s good to see.”

I grinned and put my hand on the back of her neck, pulling her gently to me. “You relax me.” I leaned in and brushed the tip of her nose with mine, enjoying the sight of her blush.

She seemed to like when I dredged up my old cocky flirting habits. It had been a long time, but they seemed to come back so naturally with her. Every urge and instinct that had been snuffed out before was rekindled. She made me feel alive again.

“Stop distracting me,” she murmured. She didn’t move away, just smiled at me, her eyes becoming hooded and drifting to my mouth.

God, if I’d known when I met her that she’d look at me like that…

“Lead the way,” I said, leaning in to get one quick, full kiss in before she turned and marched us forward.

After making our way about halfway up the slim trail that skirted the cliff side, Indy suddenly stopped and said, “We’re here!”

I glanced around. There was a good mile or so left on the trail, ending at the top of the cliff. On our right side was the cliff face. On our left, a yard of sloping land before a steep drop to the ground below. I could actually see our cabin in the distance from here.

“Um,” I scratched my head. “Not to question you, the former local, but… we are?”

She pointed to the cliff face on our right. A crack, wide enough for one person to squeeze through stretched partway up the cliff. My stomach clenched.

“Come on.” She grabbed my hand excitedly and stepped forward, sliding easily between the jagged edges of rock.

I tightened my hold on her hand, pulling her back. “W-Wait, wait. This is the cavern you were talking about?”

She cocked an eyebrow at me. “Yeah. There are crystal formations on the inside. A lot of people come here to see them. I used to do this as a kid. Are you okay?”

I eyed the opening. Indy seemed confident in it. I could trust her. I bit back rising panic and nodded, but it felt stiff. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

She didn’t look entirely convinced by me, but she nodded and turned back toward the crack in the wall.

It was a tight squeeze. Indy slipped through just fine, turning sideways and stepping lightly over cracks in the ground. She kept having to slow her pace to accommodate for my bulk. Sharper bits of rocks caught on my shirt, and in some spots I actually had to force my body through the thin passageway, taking chips of stone away with me.

Indy kept glancing worriedly back at me. She could probably hear how shallow my breath grew the farther we got in. Eventually, my hand began shaking around hers. I tried to stop it, told myself it was ridiculous to still be thinking about that goddamn machine. It had been years. And yet…

My own screams echoed through the room, heat and pain radiating like spikes through my head. I tried to pull at the cuffs that restricted my wrists, but there wasn’t enough space to gain leverage. I tried to remember something, anything, but everything was blank — with terror. With agony. With man-made cruelty.

“Bucky! Bucky, look at me!” Indy’s face was there in front of me suddenly. She was scared. Her hands trembled on the sides of my face.

I tried to make my arms draw her in. I wanted to bury my face in her hair and forget, but something in me had shut down. I could only blink at her from where I sat on the floor of the cavern. Either we had made it to Indy’s end destination, or she’d had to drag me semi-consciously the rest of the way here. Crystals of every size and texture grew like fruit from the walls of the cavern, geometric shapes that peeked over Indy’s shoulder. They were beautiful. I only wished I could appreciate that right now.

“What happened?” I asked mechanically.

She let out a nearly inaudible sigh of relief and let her hands drop from my face, to my chest. “You started shaking and sweating and… you were talking.”

My eyes narrowed at the concern on her face as she looked me over.

“I managed to get you walking. Otherwise, I never would have been able to move you on my own. You’re okay. Right?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I replied, feeling oddly numb.

She watched my expression a moment longer before leaning back on her heels. “Why didn’t you tell me you were claustrophobic?”

I furrowed my eyebrows at her. “Because I’m not.”

“Buck, the second we got in here, you started hyperventilating. You started talking about ‘the machine’ and freaking out. I think you are. And I think it triggered your PTSD.”

I scowled at the floor of the cavern, an unexplainable sense of shame filling me. She couldn’t even take me to a stupid cave to see some crystals without me breaking down like a nutjob.

“Do you want to leave?” she asked, putting her hand on my shoulder.

I didn’t know what I wanted. I couldn’t stand the thought of staying in here a minute longer, but… the idea of making Indy turn around and leave after just getting here was making anger rise in me out of nowhere.

“Fine. Let’s just… do whatever we’re doing.”

Her eyebrows drew together, but she nodded and stood, helping haul me to my feet. The way back was just as uncomfortable as the first time. By the time we squeezed back out of the entrance, even I could feel the storm raging across my face. Irrational anger was filling me, pressing outward on the confines of my genetically enhanced body. I felt like I would explode with it.

Indy turned and looked up at me, gut-wrenching sympathy in her face. Why did that make me even more angry? “Are you okay?”

“No. I’m not.” I don’t know where the bite in my voice came from, or why I was suddenly walking rigidly past her, but suddenly she was having to jog to keep up with my thunderous pace.

“Bucky,” she called, reaching out to grab my arm.

I shook her off.

“Bucky, wait,” she called frantically. “I-I’m sorry. I haven’t been here since I was a little kid. I didn’t realize it would be such a tight fit-”

“You didn’t,” I scoffed. “You’re supposed to be the smart one.”

I saw her flinch out of the corner of my eye, her footsteps falling behind me. Something in my stomach was imploding, something in my head screaming at me to shut up and calm down. But I could barely even slow the momentum of whatever was bubbling up in me.

“Just… leave me alone,” I growled, unable to turn and look at her as I marched away, in the opposite direction of the cabin.

She probably hated me now. That was fine. I’d been hoping eventually hatred would step in and overtake whatever she’d been feeling for me anyway, save her from me. Besides, right about now, I hated me, too.

INDY

After Bucky stormed off into the park, I stood rooted to the spot, guilt twisting in my gut as I stared after his broad frame with his shoulders drawn in.

What the hell just happened?

I knew Bucky’s PTSD was bound to rear its head again at some point. I’d been prepared for it. For speaking to him in comforting tones and running my fingers calmly through his hair. For shaking and sweating and panic. I — very stupidly — hadn’t expected it to strike at me.

Once I was able to move through the muted shock of Bucky yelling at me and ditching me on the trail, I made my way slowly back to the cabin. He’d walked in the opposite direction when he left, so I didn’t really expect him to be there when I walked in, but… the silence of the cabin, the emptiness, stirred up disappointment.

I sat dejectedly on the couch. Only this morning, I’d laid across it with Bucky’s head on my chest, our legs interlocked as we’d watched the news.

I couldn’t think of a time Bucky had been truly angry with me. Maybe before, when we had first met, and he still mistrusted every move I made. But not since. Not like this. It was an uncomfortable experience. I felt like I maybe wanted to cry, but my body wasn’t responding.

Indignance hovered in the back of my mind, too. How was I supposed to know he would react like that?! I’d never done anything to hurt him. Not on purpose. He had to know that still wasn’t the case this time.

After a while, I just couldn’t think about it anymore. I felt numb and distant from myself, from the problem. I’d been back at the cabin for an hour and Bucky still wasn’t back.

So I decided to stand beneath the hot water in the shower, scrubbing away the sweat from our hike, slowly unwinding the two braids that fell over my shoulders while I stared at the wall. He still wasn’t there when I got out.

I went to the workshop and tinkered with some bits of metal, hardly noticing what I was doing. Then, around 7, I made dinner. Ate. Put a plate away for Bucky in the fridge and cleaned up the dishes.

He never came back.

So I went to bed, a clog of tears in my throat that I thought might finally break through once my head hit my pillow.