Sweet Nothing

He couldn't have made it more clear that he didn't want to be here. He didn't want to be away from you while you were still nursing an intense wound from a mission gone awry.

And he especially didn't want to be at some stupid summit with cameras constantly flashing in his face.

So the moment he could, he bustled home, ignoring pleasantries, niceties, and all attempts to get him to converse with unfamiliar names and faces.

He didn't care that he seemed more abrasive than normal. He didn't even care that his abrupt exit wasn't good from his recovering reputation.

Even Sam knew better than to tease him about his rude departure.

All because he'd spent the last twelve hours at some summit meant to discuss all things Avenger related with government officials, plans for the future, goals on major assignments, improvements to reconciliation and rebuilding strategies.

There was no other way to put it, he was over it.

From prior experience, Bucky knew that these things usually just turned into one big free for all for governments all over the world to tell them what the Avengers were doing wrong. An endless cacophony of voices imploring that they should be doing more.

"You need to make yourselves more readily available to the public," a Senator admonishes Steve and Tony. "We're tired of being passed off. With how many times you've declined to intervene, what exactly is it that you people do in day?"

"With all due respect, we are still people. We do what we can with what we can, but the reality of it is that we still have to determine what crises are, for lack of a better word, Avengers level crises," Steve tries to explain. "There are other, very capable authorities that can handle situations when we can't."

"So you're triaging our lives?" the Senator accuses.

"No, of course not!"

"That's sure what it sounds like!"

Bucky just sighed to himself as this conversation volleyed back and forth, over and over again.

Some people swore that the end was coming.

Others believed that the Avengers were the sign of the end, a team of evil incarnate.

Some swore that the Avengers were all up to something.

But the panel, the highly publicized Avengers panel to take place at the summit, was probably the final nail in the coffin.

Not a seat had been taken before chaos broke out. People pushing and shoving to get the first question in, trying to get the latest story, to get the best pictures to sell. It was maddening.

About half the summit still referred to him as the Winter Soldier.

The other half Sergeant Barnes.

But one thing the room could mostly agree on, Bucky still couldn't be trusted.

And quite honestly, without a hand to hold his, without someone whispering sweet nothings in his ear, he took it a little more personally than he should've.

In rooms like that, trust was not the commodity everyone wanted. Trust didn't exist to people like that. It was exhausting being in a room where people didn't say what they mean nor mean what they say.

He'd sat perched on the stage, offering grunts and one word responses to questions hurled at him.

He could count on one hand the number of questions he'd gotten about anything Avengers related.

The press would ask about his violent past, ask about his ties to HYDRA, about his victims. It was an endlessly invasive cycle of elected officials, ambassadors, and press reporters asking him to bare his soul and unpack all his worst trauma with a microphone and camera shoved in his face.

As if that wasn't enough to drive any person crazy, he'd also gotten so many questions about you. Bucky just didn't understand it, the compulsion to dig in and pry about a personal relationship.

Sam, the good friend he was, took some for him, but even funny little stories and jokes couldn't satiate a crowd like that.

"Can we expect news of a proposal any time soon?" a reporter bellows.

Bucky did his best to contain his huff of annoyance and its accompanying eye roll, "Do you honestly think I'm gonna answer that?"

"Bucky," Sam whispers under his breath, nudging him in the ribs. While these events weren't Sam's favorite either, Sam knew the importance of trying to keep the team in the public's good graces, which sometimes meant keeping his friends in line, "Behave."

"That was me behaving."

Sam awkwardly chuckles at the reporter, "He's gotta ask for my blessing first."

Bucky just shakes his head, deciding it was for the best to stay quiet.

It was times like these that Bucky had to admit to himself that he wasn't cut out for this.

And so, he couldn't get home fast enough.

All the frustration, anger, and resentment, it all disappears when he finds you in the kitchen humming, a dog and cat begging for food at your feet.

"Alright, alright," you whisper, dropping a small piece of your food on the ground, one for the cat, one for the dog. "But you can't tell!"

He sighs in relief, smiling to himself as he sidles up from behind you. "Tell me what?"

You jolt a little at the unexpected touch, but quickly relax at the sound of his voice. You cranes your head backwards against his chest, smiling up at him, "Tell you how much we missed you today."

"You're a terrible liar," Bucky laughs. Pressing a kiss to your temple, he sweetly whispers, "And you're supposed to be resting."

He wraps his arms around your waist from behind you, careful to avoid your bandaged ribs. You smile and hum in contentment, "I feel a lot better. Promise."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Bucky gently spins you around, now face to face with you. You look up at him, immediately noticing the worn expression hiding behind his soft smile, "How did it go?"

He dismissively shakes his head. He didn't care to bring any of that into the one place he felt at peace, "I don't want to talk about it."

You nod, gently running your fingertips over his cheek and down his jawline, "I understand."

"'M just happy to be home," he murmurs into your hair. "Happy to be with you."

There was nothing else he needed, nothing else he wanted except to be in his sanctuary with you. All he wanted was the quiet, peaceful hum of sweet nothing.