Only If You Judge Me
“When have you ever backed out of a challenge, Wilson?” Y/n teases Sam before walking away down the dock.
Bucky’s brain is running a mile a minute, and his body has decided to shut down instead of going on a futile attempt to catch up.
And what in god’s name is a fucking Studmuffin?
Sam turns to look back at Bucky with a smug smile. “You alright there, Buck?”
“What was that?” Bucky asks accusingly, finally being able to turn the house lights back on and make his brain function.
“Fair game,” Sam answers while crossing his arms. “Seeing as you’re clearly not interested,“ he mocks.
Bucky’s being played. He knows he’s being played. And right about now he hates the players just as much as he hates the game. Well, fine… only one of the players. But he hates it, alright?
“I’m gonna—yeah,” Bucky looks over to where Y/n just walked away, and takes off in that direction, getting out of the boat.
He can hear Sam shouting something along the lines of ’Run Forest, run’ from behind him. But he doesn’t have time to pay attention to it right now.
Jogging along, he can finally spot Y/n sitting on the ledge of the dock, facing the water. She turns around when he gets close.
“Did I just hear Sam call you Forest Gump?” she asks with a teasing smile.
Bucky looks back at the boat where Sam is still visibly cackling. “I don’t know, did he?”
Her smile in her words makes him turn back. “Yeah. Yeah he did,” she answers. He walks over to sit on the ledge, with his back to the water, unlike her. He settles with her on his left, leaning back on his elbows. He doesn’t take his eyes off her, mostly because he really can’t. The sun’s shining over her, and even in the warm light she somehow still manages to look like the moon; like serenity and calm. She looks like a culmination of the peace Bucky’s been chasing since he fell off that damn freight car.
I wish I could hold onto you, like this; he thinks before he can rebuke himself.
“You should watch it,” she says, tucking her hair behind her ear. “You’ll love it.” Her voice has so much menace and her eyes are twinkling with mischief that he knows she means the exact opposite. But with the smile, she’s wearing he doesn’t know how to deny her anything.
So he pulls out his little red notebook from his back pocket, along with a small pencil that he always carries, and scribbles it down. “I’ll put it on the list,” he says.
“You mind if I…?” she asks, pointing at the thing. Hesitance is clear in every single one of her motions.
Like he said, he isn’t in the position to deny her the damn stars right about now.
“Only if you judge me,” he says genially, but he’s already handing it over to her.
She begins reading off with interest. “Who the fuck told you to watch Game of Thrones?” She balks, her nose scrunching up in disgust as if even the mention of it was a motivated attack on her well-being. “You know what? It doesn’t matter. Just don’t watch it. The finale was so fucking awful. Read the books and call it a day. You prefer reading anyway.”
Bucky can’t help the smile that makes its way onto his face at her antics.
She turns the page and before Bucky can stop her, her eyes fall on his list of names.
“Oh, sorry,” she hands the notebook to him sheepishly. Her eyes avoiding him as guilt creeps up on her.
“It’s alright, sweetheart,” he reassures her with a comforting smile because it really is.
She hums in response, unconvinced. And then there’s silence.
Bucky wants to say something to break it because it’s not like their usual silences that feel calming without effort. There’s discomfort here.
But she breaks it first, “You shouldn’t have Y/F/N Stark on there.”
Bucky exhales heavily, looking down at his feet. “It’s—I…” He pauses, putting his thoughts in order, and begins again. “My therapist thinks that my guilt over all the things that he did, that I was made to do… it’s eating me up from inside. And she’s not wrong there—I have nightmares to prove it.” He looks off into the distance, away from her. He can feel her gaze on him but he’s not ready to meet it just yet.
“So she suggested I try to make amends, to try an—and feel less guilty I guess.” He kicks his feet once, “Look, I underst—I understand that you don’t think the things I did were my fault. I appreciate it. I really do. But I remember it. I remember the feel of your bones breaking under my hands. I remember you crying out in pain. I remember the gasps you let out as I stepped on your throat.” He can’t stop himself, he lets his tears fall. The images of everything he mentioned are playing like a montage in his head.“I remember,” he lets out a shuddering breath. “So I need to—I want to make amends for it,” he states, finally getting the courage to look back at her.
And when he does, his breath catches. Not just because he’s crying but also cause he isn’t met with pity or condolence. He’s met with a look of pure understanding.
She waits for him to compose himself and then moves in closer to him, wiping away his tears so softly, Bucky almost begins crying again.
“I get it,” she says simply. “But you never hurt Y/F/N Stark.”
“Y/n—” Bucky begins trying to make her understand that separating him and the Winter Soldier might be easy for her, but it isn’t for him. But she cuts him off.
“—I’m not trying to disregard your process,” she assures him, waving away his rebuke. “If it works for you, I’m glad to participate… I just mean you never hurt Y/F/N Stark, cause whatever you did, you did not do it to Y/F/N.”
Bucky brows furrow in confusion.
But she just smiles. She turns, pulling up and crossing one of her legs and resting the other on top of it. “When Tony was a kid he used to watch some stupid show with Superheroes in them.”
“What does that have anything to do with—”
“Just bear with me, will you?” She chides with a smile and absolutely no heat. And again, he can’t deny her anything, so he turns towards her with his whole body, leaning with his left arm on the ledge. “His favorite hero was named ’Y/n’,” she explains.
Well, fuck.
“Few of the letters hadn’t made it into his brain yet, which meant he couldn’t say my name right,” she adds as things begin to click into place inside his head. “So he just took to calling me ‘Y/n’. At first, it was just him. But then after Howard and Maria… I decided staying in the shadows wasn’t gonna work anymore. So when I came out to the world as Howard’s adopted daughter, I couldn’t use my old name. So, I just took Y/n and ran with it.”
“Wait so—” Bucky tries but is cut off again.
“All the shit you feel guilty for; you never did any of it to Y/F/N Stark,” she concludes.
“Huh,” is all Bucky can choke out. "Will you tell me what it was? Your name?” He asks after a pregnant pause.
She snorts, “It’s pretty damn obvious if you think about it for even a second.”
So Bucky does think and he comes up with absolutely nothing.
“You’ll figure it out eventually, don’t worry.” She laughs. “Besides,” she says, jumping off the ledge onto the dock, “you’re supposed to cross it off, anyway.” She looks at him, bringing up her hand to caress his face. He hasn’t been on the receiving end of such a gentle touch in a long time, he can’t help but melt into it. “I forgive you, James.”
And fuck! Bucky didn’t know how much he needed to hear that until he does. His eyes fall shut, and his shoulders relax; letting go of a weight he’d been carrying for decades. He hasn’t felt relief like this is so fucking long. He feels the crushing burden fall and he lets out a small sob.
“Hey, hey. Hey, sunshine.” Both of her hands are on his face in an instant. She tilts his head up, with a guiding thumb under his chin. “That was supposed to cheer you up,” she says with a smile.
“It worked,” he replies with a smile curling up on his lips as well. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it, James.”
He lets out a wet chuckle. “You know you can call me ‘Bucky’ right?”
“What do you mean?” She looks confused.
“Y—you told Walker he couldn’t call me Bucky cause he wasn’t my friend… But yo—you can. You know that right?” He’s kind of afraid of the answer.
Her face contorts, and for a second his heart fucking falls to the floor. But then she asks, “You don’t like ‘James’?” Her hands fall off his face and he wants to ram his head into the goddamn wall for opening his mouth, to begin with.
Can’t keep a good thing going, can you Barnes?”
He stands up straight, worried, “No, no! I just meant, yo—” Spit it out, Barnes! Big boy pants, remember? “—You’re my friend.”
“I think I’m gonna stick to James,” she answers.
OUCH.
“Cause we’re not friends…?” He can’t stop himself from asking. He sounds so fucking helpless even to himself. He’s chiding himself relentlessly in his head. What do you plan to do, Barnes? Guilt trip her into being friends?
“No,” she answers.
Someone just stab him already! At least that would hurt less. Please. Anyone? Sam? Steve? Jesus?
“I just like ‘James’,” she adds.
Well, fuck times two.
But before he can do something like pull her in and kis—
“You guys plan on making moon eyes at each other for the rest of your lives or would you like something to eat?” Sam asks as he walks past them.
Y/n follows him instantly. “Ah, my hero,” she teases, “I was gonna die of hunger.”
“Oh, that would’ve been a damn tragedy. The woman who juices up on Thor’s thunder, meets her bitter end at the hands of bad hosting etiquette?” Sam’s voice is taunting.
The two continue to bicker while walking away. Bucky, however, takes a few moments to kick the shit out of his brain like an old T.V. to get it to work. Eventually, though, he too follows behind.
After grabbing some lunch—graciously made for them by Sarah—they pile out into the backyard.
Sam and Bucky throw the shield around a couple of times. Y/n leaves them alone to give them privacy to talk and goes to work on her motorcycle, which’s parked up ahead of them on the dirt road.
So, he and Sam talk.
And it’s a pretty damn good talk.
He says as much. To which Sam just chuckles in response.
Sam brings in his hand and Bucky meets him halfway, clasping it and pulling him close.
“You know Karli won’t quit,” Sam remarks.
He smacks his lips, still smiling. “Ah. You call me when you have a lead, and I’ll be there,” he promises.
They let go and Bucky leans down to pick up his bag, “Not necessarily as a team.” He slings it over one shoulder as they begin walking over to Y/n.
“Nope,” Sam agrees.
“We’re not that good.”
“Definitely not.”
“We’re professionals.”
“Definitely,” Sam agrees again.
“And, uh, we’re partners,” he adds, hesitating only a bit.
“Co-workers,” Sam supplies, clicking his fingers.
“But we’re also a couple of guys with a mutual friend.”
“Friend’s now gone,” Sam states.
“So we’re a couple of guys,” Bucky summarises.
“I can live with that.”
“Perfect,” Bucky nods.
They come to a halt, Y/n standing up from where she was crouching over at her bike. They turn towards each other.
“Does this mean we’re not friends then?” she asks, cocking her eyebrow.
“No! Course we are,” Bucky protests at the same time as Sam shouts out, “Of course we’re friends!”
She just cackles—having managed to fluster them both—while getting on the bike.
They both smile too.
“Thanks for the help, guys,” Sam says earnestly. “Meant a lot,” he adds.
Bucky pants him on the shoulder, “Of course.” While Y/n just gives him a warm smile.
He climbs up behind Y/n, taking the helmet she offers him and putting it on.
“See you around, Bossman.” She turns the key in the ignition. Revving up the bike, she turns the bike around.
“See you around,” he calls out as he walks away.
And then they’re off.