"Are you hurt?"
Bucky's voice was gruff, low, almost animalistic. It's been forever since I've heard him like this. He had a sharp exterior when we first met, and it took months for his walls to come down. But he's softened; I can hear it, I can feel it. His rough edges aren't gone, but used differently. The callouses on his hands certainly haven't faded, they can't with the job we have, but his touch is lighter, careful not to scratch me. To suddenly see him as he was years ago is shocking.
"No, no," I managed to stammer out, splayed out on the street in the middle of New York City after being thrown by the lastest criminal Bucky and I had to stop. Some dumbass who found his way to advanced bioweapons and wanted someone to test them out on, that someone being random civilians in a coffee shop. But the fight was worth it in the end because not a single life was lost.
My head was pounding, and the beaming sun high in the sky wasn't helping. Bucky's face looked blurry, and the world seemed to spin around me. It felt like my brain was banging against the sides of my skull. But I can worry about that later. I pressed my fingers to Bucky's cheek, a jagged and bloody cut lining his cheekbone. "You're hurt. We have to get back to the Avengers Tower so Bruce can patch you up."
"Are you sure you're alright?" He ignored my words, his eyes constantly scanning my face and body for potential injuries. "Don't lie to me."
I grabbed onto either of his shoulders to steady myself in an attempt to stop the spinning. I had to swallow hard before I could say, "I think I have a concussion." As I pointed this out, I became painfully aware of the stabbing pains in my back. I gave a small shout as the pain shot through me, gripping onto Bucky's shoulders tighter.
Bucky stood before I could speak, picking me up with his metal arm behind my back and his right arm under my legs. He didn't say a word as he ran over to his surprisingly undamaged motorcycle a couple of blocks away. For a few seconds, he switched back to his gentle and caring self as he deposited me on the front of the seat, then sat behind me. He brushed my hair back for a second, whispering in my ear, "You'll be alright." Then he roared the engine to life and shot down the street, fists gripping the handles so tightly, I was afraid he'd break them in half.
I couldn't speak or think or breathe as he zipped down the crowded streets of New York, narrowly dodging yellow taxis and public buses, attempting to get us to The Avengers Tower as quickly as possible. I was able to momentarily be distracted of the pain as wind cut across my face. I hated being cheesy and sentimental, especially considering this is nowhere near the closest I've been to death, but this reminds me of our first date. He drove me far from the city, so far you couldn't see the skyscrapers or bright lights, to a small field surrounded by trees. He set up a projector with pillows and blankets so we could watch his favorite movie, Casablanca.
My daydreams were cut short by the engine suddenly dying and Bucky picking me back up. I started to say, "You don't have to carry-"
"You might've broken part of your back or spine. I'm not risking you paralyzing yourself."
He was most likely right, so I didn't argue with him. Tony caught sight of us as Bucky carried me through the central part of the tower, headed for the medical wing. Tony chased after us, looking down at me then to Bucky, "Barnes, what the hell happened out there?"
"That bastard you sent us after had bioweapons." Bucky motioned down at me, "Sent them flying. I think they have a spinal injury."
"Well, come on, then. Let's get 'em to Bruce."
Once we arrived at the medical wing, Bucky explained to Bruce what happened, lying me on the nearest bed. Bruce nodded at the information silently as he started to examine me. I wanted to speak, but my throat was thick and dry, and words couldn't form. The pain would fade then come back strong, hitting me a truck.
Half an hour later, Bruce concluded that I broke three ribs, and I was lucky they didn't move out of place; if they did, they could have pierced my lungs. He spent about ten minutes tightly wrapping bandages around my upper torso, leaving just enough room to breathe comfortably. And I did, in fact, have a concussion.
"I'm giving you some morphine to ease the pain," Bruce smiled at me as he inserted a needle into the side of my arm. "You should start feeling better in a couple of days, but you won't be completely healed for at least two weeks. I need for you to take it easy until then."
"When have I ever taken it easy?" I joked, my throat still sore. I was only able to speak after drinking a glass of water.
Bruce chuckled quietly, "Funny, but I'm serious. No missions for two weeks, and I want you to come to me for an exam before going back out."
I smiled at him, "Whatever you say, Dr. Banner."
He returned the smile, "Alright, I'll give you two some space."
A sigh escaped my lips as Bruce left the room. I turned my attention to Bucky, who sat on a chair at the side of my bed. Brushing my fingers against his now bandaged cheek, I said, "See? I'll be alright. You can't freak out every time I get hurt. It's basically our job."
Bucky let out a deep breath, the tension in his brow starting to fade. He placed his hand over my own, keeping it pressed to his cheek. "I know, I know. It's just hard to control my emotions when I see you hurt."
"I know," I mimicked him. He scooted his chair closer to my bed, and I started to run my fingers through his hair. "You're okay, right? Just the cut?"
"Yeah," He smiled up at me, and I finally relaxed. It's been hell seeing him so distraught, so I'm grateful he's back to his old self. "The second you're feeling better, I'm taking you out. Anywhere you wanna go."
"Anywhere with you is good enough for me."
I was pretty much bed-ridden for nearly a week, for every time I tried to stand up, my head pounded in pain, and my legs were weak. But on the third day, I could walk to the kitchen, with Bucky holding my arm in case I got dizzy, to eat breakfast. Bucky insisted I sit at the breakfast table while he fixed a bowl of cereal for me. He wanted to cook an actual breakfast, but I couldn't stomach anything more than cornflakes.
Natasha was already at the table and looked up at me when I sat next to her. She rubbed my arm, "Hey, you feeling better?"
"Yeah, Nat, thanks," I smiled at her. "I'll be beating up bad guys and getting thrown across the city in no time."
"You're starting to sound like Tony," She laughed, taking a sip from her smoothie.
"What about Tony?" Tony asked as he walked into the kitchen, staring down at his smartwatch.
Nat smirked at me, then told Tony, "We were just talking about how smart and rich and handsome you are."
"As you should," He laughed quickly to himself, clapping his hands together.
Bucky set the bowl of cereal in front of me, then sat in the chair to my left. I gave his hand a quick squeeze, saying, "Thanks, babe."
"Aw, babe," Tony mimicked me. "That's adorable. Can I give you a cute nickname, too?"
"Piss off, Tony," Bucky was half-joking, half-serious. "You don't get to speak after being so head-over-heels for Steve."
Tony's face went pink, and he started to leave the room, "Piss off, Barnes."
I laughed into Bucky's shoulder.
"Anywhere you want," Bucky whispered into my ear, pressing a kiss to my hairline. He's reminded me about fifty times that he'll give me anything I want and take me anywhere I want. Every time I say anything and anywhere with you.
"Just take me on a ride, Buck," I murmured back to him. "My favorite place in the world is the back of your bike."
"Hmm, sugar," Bucky pulled me into a kiss, his metal fingers cupping my jaw. I've always adored the feeling of his metal against my skin. When both of his hands are touching me, the mix of skin and vibranium, warm and cool, is unlike anything I've ever experienced. I feel drunk on the feeling of Bucky, and I hope to never be without it.
Bucky separated from my mouth, taking a second to catch his breath. "Alright, let's go on that ride."
Air whipped against my skin as we soared through the dark city, lights whizzing past me. I gripped on tightly to Bucky's waist, pressing my face into the crook of his neck, his stubble scratching against my face. His leather jacket was cool under my hands, and I rubbed my thumb against his torso.
We came to a stop, and my skin prickled from the sudden change. We were raised over the city on a tall hill overlooking the tall buildings, surrounded by trees. The once bright lights were now on the horizon, almost twinkling like stars. I could just make out the Avengers Tower in the distance, and I could only see the faintest outline of the giant "A." Bucky shut off the engine, then hopped off his bike.
"Are we here?" I asked, getting off of the bike slower because I was still a bit sore. "Wherever here is?"
"Yup," He flashed me a toothy grin. "Wanted to get you away from everyone else; have you to myself."
"That's very romantic," I started, "but it sounds like you're going to murder me."
Bucky's hands started at my waist, then made their way to my back pockets, pulling me closer. "Aren't I?"
"Hmm, of course," I murmured, carding my fingers through his hair on the back of his neck. I pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth.
Bucky kept his eyes closed for a few seconds after I pulled away because, as he told me the first time he did this, he needs to savor the feeling of me.
Ten minutes later, we're laid out on a blanket, just as soft as the grass. I rested my head in Bucky's lap while he read a book of poems to me. He's quiet, gentle. He holds the book in his left hand, stroking my cheek with his right. I know he does this because he's still self-conscious of his metal arm, but I try not to push him into doing anything he doesn't want. Instead, I'll occasionally remind him that his arm doesn't bother me; it's simply another part of him that I love.
Bucky kept his voice low; we were so far away from other people, there was no need to raise our voices. Every few poems, he would switch languages, and no matter how many times I hear him speak anything other than English, I adore it just as much as the first time.
"Tu cabello, tus ojos, tu mirada: No dejo de pensarte, entera eres mi pensamiento, desde tu ternura hasta dulzura. Entera eres mi sueño: No dejo de extrañarte, Y no puedo dejar de amarte." Bucky would whisper a line of the poem, then translate it to English. "Your hair, your eyes, your gaze: I can't stop thinking about you, for you are my thought, from your tenderness to sweetness. Whole you are my dream: I keep on missing you, and I can't stop loving you."
"That's beautiful," I murmured up to him, making eye contact.
"It reminds me of you," He responds simply. "You are my everything."
The smile that grew on my face was so wide it started to hurt my cheeks. "Your old-fashionedness is showing."
"Maybe, but you just bring it out of me," Bucky said. "If you want old-fashioned, there's a poem in here from my last year in the forties: 1942."
I sat up, crossed my legs over one another, facing him. "Yes, please, my 103-year-old boyfriend."
"You say that like I'm old or something," Bucky grinned, flipping through the thick paper-back book. The corners were frayed, the cover ready to fall off, and the pages were wavy like they had been submerged in a bathtub and dried in the sun. "Found it."
"I'm all ears," I replied, ready to hear it.
"That clear first morning after, maybe turned sixteen, I first stayed up all night and woke from waking to see the sun break open, happening to the simple world." He took a pause, quietly clearing his throat. "There were people there, who slept while I was waking, and were waking while I woke. I was where they were. There were men waking to coffee and lunch boxes, women tending the coffee and making the lunches."
"That is old-fashioned," I chimed in.
"Hush," Bucky said through his laughter. He cleared his throat again, focusing again on the words in front of him. "They were me. I was there, being young. And being young, woken by how the sun's old storms tug men awake, I woke again: back in the dark, the dark yet ahead of the sun, where I had been, and would be. There were waves slowly breaking, roller lugging men to sleep, on a transport lost at sea."
Neither of us spoke for a few seconds after he finished. I let the words wash over me, almost trying to absorb them into my skin, into my brain. I repeated what he said a few minutes ago, "It reminds me of you."
"Of me?" Bucky asked like he never would've connected them together.
"Yeah," I answered, finding my words. "You were young and fresh, ready to face the world in the army. Then eventually, you were forced into the dark realities of the world. But now, you're back into that soft place of comfort."
Once again, Bucky didn't speak for a moment, and when he did, his voice was the quietest it had been all day. He wasn't upset, but more in disbelief, "I've... I've never thought about it that way. Ironic that I read it obsessively before... everything that happened."
I smoothed my fingers over his cheek, cupping it in my hand, "You alright?"
"Yes," Bucky said simply, pressing a kiss to my forehead. He kept his hand over my own, so I wouldn't remove it from his cheek. "I just realized you were the one who brought me out of that darkness and into safety."
"Barnes," I affectionately called out as Bucky passed the kitchen.
He reeled back, peeking his head through the archway then leaning against it. "Yes, doll?"
"Come taste this," I motioned him other by waving my hand, holding a metal spoon in the other. "I'm making dinner; butter chicken and naan. Everyone's been eating so much junk and fast food lately, we need some real food."
"Sounds good," Bucky pursed his lips, making his way over to me, then took the spoon out of my hand. He took a small sip of the butter sauce, paused for a moment, then said, "It's actually pretty good. But I'd add some more salt and paprika if I were you."
"Well, you wanna come help considering you know so much about cooking?" I asked, smirking at him.
Bucky took Tony's apron from the hook on the pantry door, which read "kiss the genius," tied the string around his waist, and said, "Absolutely. Be prepared to see a master in action."
I put my hands up in mock-defeat, chuckling. "Oh ho ho, I didn't realize we had a master in the building. Please, kind sir, show me your ways!"
He joined my laughter, pulling me close by the collar of my shirt and pressing a quick kiss to my lips. "Anything for you, poppet."
I sat on a barstool at the dark granite counter, resting my head in my hand with my elbow on the counter. Watching Bucky cook was as fascinating as everything else he does. He has a confidence about himself, showing he knows exactly what he's doing and why he's doing it. He took the chicken breasts out of their container one at a time, skillfully cutting them into chunks. After heating a wok coated in olive oil, the chicken was sizzling away, ready to be coated in sauce.
"You gonna help me, or are you gonna sit there looking pretty?" Bucky asked after a few minutes, grinning up at me after finding a pan underneath the sink. "I honestly wouldn't complain if you wanted to keep sitting there; I love a nice view."
I hid my face in my faces for a second to hide the red spreading across my cheeks, then responded, "It's your unlucky day. I'm going to help by making the naan."
"Rats," Bucky said sarcastically, snapping his fingers. When I stood to join him, he grabbed me by the waist, holding me in place while he studied my face. It was like he wanted every detail of my face ingrained in his mind. He spoke again, his words soft and sincere, "You're beautiful, you know that?"
"Aw, thanks, Buck," Steve interrupted, taking a bite out of a green apple in his hand.
"Kinda ruining the moment here, Rodgers," I stated, reluctantly pulling away. I said to Bucky, "Why did we think it was a good idea to live with, like, twenty people?"
Bucky shrugged silently, then turned his attention to the sizzling chicken, pouring in the butter sauce.
Steve interjected, pointing a finger at me, "I'll have you know I'm lovely company."
"Of course you are, Stevey," I patted his shoulder. "I'd never want it any other way."
"I would," Bucky muttered to himself.
"Shove off, Barnes," Steve said.
"Learn to swear, Rodgers," Bucky retaliated.
"Boys, boys," I jokingly lectured, "there's no need to fight."
Bucky, pulling something out of the fridge, said, "There's a lot of reasons to fight. Including our job."
"Good point."
Nearly an hour later, dinner was finished, and, along with Bucky, we were able to gather at least a few of the other Avengers to the dinner table. Us, Steve, Tony, Natasha, Bruce, and Peter, who had run all the way from his home to join us.
"Looks amazing, you guys," Peter beamed, grinning at us.
"Thanks, kid," Bucky said with a curt nod.
It's been months since I've even sat down to eat real food for dinner, let alone with the other Avengers. I could never ask for anything more than what I have at this moment. Soft lights overhead, accompanied by the warm cookie scented candles Bucky insisted on lighting, surrounded by my closest friends, talking and laughing about everything and nothing. We'd make fun of each other and, in the same breath, make sure everyone is okay. This could last forever and I wouldn't complain.
"How's school been, malyutka?" Malyutka is one of Natasha's nicknames for Peter; it's an affectionate nickname from Russian, roughly translating to "little one."
"Not bad," Peter shrugged, trying to quickly swallow his naan so he didn't have to talk with his mouth full. "It's been pretty busy studying for end-of-term exams and also filling out college applications."
"College applications?" I exclaimed, laughing softly. "It seems like only yesterday you were worried about freshman year."
"Starting to sound like an old lady," Bucky joked, nearly dropping his glass of water as I whacked him on the shoulder.
"Oh, shut up," I said.
"But, yeah," Peter interjected, trying to get back on topic. "I just finished one of my essays yesterday for my application to Stanford Tech. I had to write about someone who inspired me to overcome challenges in life."
Tony smirked, leaning back in his chair, "It's so hard to inspire the new generation-"
"I wrote it about you, Mr. Barnes."
Tony choked on his drink, and the table had a hard time containing their outburst of laughter. The only one not laughing was Bucky, who stared at Peter with the warmest smile I've ever seen, his bottom lip quivering ever-so-slightly. Once the laughter died down, Bucky asked, "You wrote your college application essay about me?"
"Yes, sir," Peter nodded, almost seeming afraid that Bucky was offended by this. "When I read the question, y-you were the first person I thought of. Ya' know, basically getting shot forward in time-"
"I was shot forward in time," Steve added.
"Yes, but you didn't lose your arm during it," Bruce explained, taking a sip of wine to avoid Steve's side glare.
"And," Peter stammered for a second, seemingly having a million thoughts rushing through his head, "you were mind-controlled! That's insane! And even after all that, you were able to become your old self again and join the good guys!" He motioned around the table as he said the good guys.
"That's," Bucky paused, trying not to let his voice crack. "That's really nice, Peter. I couldn't even begin to express to you how much that means to me."
Bruce raised his wine glass, "Well, this calls for a toast. To Peter; here's hoping you get into Standford Tech."
"And to Mr. Bucky for joining the good guys," Tony added slyly.
The bedroom around me was dark, the air still and almost noiseless. I could just make out the walls and furniture, but I didn't need to; I mostly kept my eyes closed or on Bucky. The only sound I heard was his soft breathing. He laid on top of me, resting his head on my chest, wrapping his arms around my torso. I rubbed my hand up and down his back, the fabric of his hoodie catching under my nails.
It had been quiet for so long in our bedroom, I thought he had fallen asleep. But after half an hour, he pressed a short kiss to my collar bone, then looked up, studying my face. I could barely see him in the darkness, but he seemed to see me just fine.
Bucky started to run his fingers through my hair but quickly switched to his right hand after realizing he had been using his metal arm.
I let out a breath. "You don't have to do that, you know? I like your arm."
He looked away, suddenly finding the bedside table very interesting. He had a tendency of shutting down, unable to talk, when something upset him. Over the years, I've had to find ways to coax him out of his shell.
"I'm serious," I sat up, causing Bucky to readjust into a sitting position. Taking his face in my hands, I said, "Look at me, okay? I love you, James. Nothing is going to change that."
"But-"
"And I want you to understand," I cut him off, taking his bionic hand. "I don't love you in spite of your arm. I love you with your arm. I understand that you're insecure because of it, and that's okay. But I love you, James Barnes. I love you, I love you, I love you. I'll say it a million times if I have to."
Bucky stared at me hard for a few seconds, and I could see tears sparkling from the moonlight streaming through the window. His voice cracked as he spoke, "I love you, too, doll."
"I know that, Buck. This isn't about me right now." I paused, kissing him. "Please tell me you understand I love your arm."
"...I understand."
"I want to hear you say it."
He paused, looking down at the bedspread underneath us. He needed a second to gather the confidence to speak and to make himself believe the words were true. "I understand that... you love my arm."
I sighed happily, the tension leaving my shoulders. Trailing my fingers on his right arm, I kissed his palm. "Good."