For the Love of the Game

“Well, there’s your problem.” 

“What?” 

Natasha rolled her eyes. “You think that sounds pathetic. That’s not pathetic, Bucky, that’s love. And I’m glad you’re finally figuring it out, but y/n shouldn’t have to be with someone who’s ashamed of her.” 

“Ashamed?” Bucky questioned, an incredulous expression taking over his face. “Nat, I called my Ma to tell her about her—I’m pretty sure she expects y/n over for Christmas. I mean seriously, I talk about that girl to anyone who’ll listen. How could I be ashamed of her? She’s… God, I can’t even explain it.” 

“Right. You’ll tell everyone about her… Everyone except for Zemo.” 

“I know I messed up, okay? But it’s been days and she won’t even answer my texts. I know she’s reading ‘em.” 

“Bucky, go home. If Steve sees you here, he’s gonna be pissed.” 

Bucky groaned and knocked the back of his head against the wall. “You two were throwing us together a few weeks ago and now you have Steve escorting her home to avoid me.” 

“Yeah, well a few weeks ago you hadn’t made my best friend cry in a parking lot so…” she trailed off.

“Can I at least leave a note?” 

“Goodbye, Bucky.” 

“Is she coming to the interviews at least?” 

She slammed the door shut, the uptake of air rustling Bucky’s already disheveled hair. 

He knew that would happen. He had been loitering around your dorm for the past couple days—hoping to catch a glimpse of you, just to explain—but was met with Natasha’s bitter greeting each time. 

You wouldn’t answer his calls. You didn’t come to practices. You weren’t even following your usual routine anymore—Bucky figured that out after the second day he coincidentally took the path to class that passed your favorite coffee shop.

And he wouldn’t stop trying because this pit had formed his stomach the morning after the party. The night he ruined everything, it wasn’t there; the alcohol in his system had only allowed him to feel panic and regret. But when he woke up with the punishment of a pounding headache and the memory of your glistening cheeks, a seed had rooted deep in his gut.

It was eating away at him. It was as if the only way to quell the ache it left was to see you—to get you talking to him even if it meant you were yelling, even if you were screaming. He wanted you near him and he wanted you to forgive him, but he would forgo the latter if it meant the promise of you. 

But you were ignoring him, and doing a very good job at it. 

It didn’t help that the entire team was on your side. Even Peter, who had no idea what was going on, refused to text you when Bucky asked. 

He had shifted his eyes and stuttered out a meek response. Uh, I don’t know, man. Steve told me I wasn’t allowed to help you, and he’s the captain, you know? I wanna do it for you, but I really don’t want to clean the locker room again. 

Bucky knew asking anyone else would’ve been a lost cause; if the kid wasn’t helping him, the rest of the guys certainly wouldn’t. Not to mention the monumental lecture he received after the party, Sam and Thor still reeling from your upset state on the ride home. And he was pretty sure Steve was enjoying his new job as your personal bodyguard in between your shared classes. 

So yeah, he was on his own, but there was no way he was going to give up. 

Bucky’s palm pressed to the cool glass of the resident hall door, his skin leaving smudges that would be wiped away by the janitors if they were feeling generous. His gaze lifted over his fingertips as he accepted defeat—just for the day, he would come back again tomorrow—when he spotted you. 

A feeling akin to rushing water consumed his chest as he took in a large breath of air, and then he was dashing behind a wall, blocking himself from yours and Steve’s view. His heartbeat was erratic as he heard the doors swish open. He stared up at the ceiling when your voice resonated in the hall, his cheeks burning in unseen embarrassment.

“Steve, you can stop walking me home after class. I don’t think Bucky’s going to jump out of a bush or anything.” 

You called him Bucky. 

“You can never be too safe,” Steve replied, shutting the door behind you. He took a brief pause. “You know, Bucky’s an idiot, but I really do think he’s sorry. Guy’s beating himself up over everything.” 

You sighed and fiddled with the hem of your shirt. “I know he is, I’ve read his texts. But I can’t let myself do this again. I can’t get all excited and hopeful just to look like a fool. I know that’s what everyone’s thinking.”

Again? Bucky wanted so badly to ask you what you meant, but with Steve there, there was no chance. 

“Hey, no one’s thinking that. Bucky’d been talking about you nonstop for weeks, we thought he was all in.” 

He was all in. 

“Well, he sure made it seem like he was,” you mumbled. Bucky’s heart ached at the resignation in your voice. 

“I don’t think Bucky really knows what he wants,” Steve said, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. “I think he’s trying to figure it all out and you might’ve just been dragged into it.” 

Wow, some best friend Steve was. There was nothing Bucky wanted more than you—to just be around you.

“It’s fine, Steve.” You brushed off his hand with a small smile, moving to get your key from your bag. “I’ll get over it. I’ve done it before.” 

You’ve done it before? Surely you weren’t talking about Bucky. 

“You will, I know it. Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask you, what happened with that one guy? The one that was talking to you after class the other day?” 

Alarm bells went off in Bucky’s head. You wouldn’t move on that quickly, would you? Sure, the two of you were never technically together, but Bucky couldn’t be alone in the heaviness that weighed on his chest, could he? 

“Who, Quentin?” You asked. 

“Yeah, that guy. What was his last name?” 

“Quentin Beck. It was super weird, actually. He wanted to know if I’d come to some frat party with him this Friday, but I’d literally never spoken to him before.” 

The alarm bells turned into blaring sirens. Quentin Beck was one of Zemo’s closest friends. If he was suddenly showing an interest in you, that could mean…

“Well, what’d you say?” 

“I said no, obviously. You guys have a game this Friday, and I’m not exactly in the market for another jerk in my life,” you huffed out. Bucky felt himself relax a little. 

“You’re still coming this weekend? No one would blame you if you wanted to bail.” Bucky loved Steve, but he was about ready to kick out the first baseman's knees. 

“Yeah, I mean you guys are still my friends. Even if Bucky's being an asshole.” 

“What about tomorrow?” 

“Oh no,” you exclaimed, shaking your head. “There’s a big difference between a stadium and that tiny press room. I’m sorry, but there’s no way I’m going with him there.” 

Steve gave you a tight lipped smile. “You think you’ll ever forgive him?” 

Bucky held his breath. 

“I want to.” You shrugged your shoulders. “But the kind of relationship I want with Bucky just isn’t what he wants. It—I don’t know, hurts? To be around him I mean. The first time it was more of a crush, but this time… I started to want things that I shouldn't have.” 

“And what if he wanted those things too?” 

You let out a strangled laugh. “He doesn’t, Steve. I can guarantee that.” 

But he did. Bucky wasn’t exactly sure what you wanted, but he knew he would give it to you. In a heartbeat. 

Steve let out a regretful sigh. “Alright, well you just tell me if that Beck guy gives you any trouble. I’ll knock some sense into him. Now open the door. I’m gonna say hi to Nat.” 

The second your door clicked shut, Bucky was bolting out of the resident hall. The last thing he wanted was Steve spotting him being a snoop in the hall and making him clean the locker room for trying to bother you. He was Bucky’s best friend, but he was still the captain. 

Once outside, the bitter chill of a New York fall nipping at his cheeks, he thought hard about his next move. You wouldn’t talk to him—that much he understood—but it seemed to be deeper than the incident at the party. And you seemed so sure that Bucky wouldn’t be interested in a future with you, but you couldn’t be more wrong. 

He needed to find a way to talk to you, to let you know that ever since he started to notice you—to really notice you—he had been willing to give his life a complete 180. 

You had been a background character in his life for too long, always there, but just out of reach. And he was ready, so beyond ready, to man up and tell you that you were it for him—you made him feel worth something. 

He just really needed to apologize first. 

~~

You were tired.

You had three papers due and two midterms coming up, but more than that, you were tired of pretending you were over it.

Maybe it would be easier if Bucky would just leave you alone, but that guy was texting you from the moment he woke up, to the second he went to sleep. It had been manageable in the beginning. Little things throughout the day like: I’m so sorry, doll. Just please meet up with me so I can explain, and Did you really just have Steve walk you to class? 

When he realized you weren’t going to answer him, his texts got more general. He would text you about his day and how practice went. Your personal favorite was when he sent you a picture of some leaf on the floor with the text: this reminded me of you. 

Did he really think foliage was going to win you over? 

One of the days, he didn’t text you at all. You hated to admit it, but it made the ache in your chest hurt a little more. It went away right before bed when you got an email from Bucky’s school address, something along the lines of Lost my phone in a lecture hall earlier. Hope this isn’t too weird, but I wanted you to know I haven’t given up just yet. I guess email me back if you want. 

You almost did, just out of the sheer ridiculousness of it all. 

But you found your resolve again when Natasha’s watchful gaze caught you from her desk across the room. You had told her that you wouldn’t let him in again, and she was holding you to that. 

Because even though each of Bucky’s messages sent a heat through your body that only he could provide, he was bad for you. He set up dates he couldn’t remember and left you in the middle of New York humiliated. He led you on for days and made you feel like you finally had a chance with him, just to shatter the illusion at some grimey beach party. He made you feel like you were important—like you were the only girl he saw. And then you weren’t 20 minutes later. 

It would be easy to forgive him; to let him speak sweet words in your ear as he walked you through West Village with his arms around you. But it would be just as easy for him to mess up again, and maybe even have the decency to remember it this time. 

“He came by again today,” Nat said, pulling you out of your thoughts. “Asked to sit inside this time.” 

You looked over at her from your place on your bed. “Oh yeah? What’d you say?” 

“I told him to shove it.” 

“Were those your exact words?”

She smirked and looked back down at her phone. “Maybe not exact words, but the sentiment was still there.” 

“Well consider me grateful.” 

“Are you though?” she asked, fingers still tapping on her screen. 

“What are you talking about?” you asked, pulling up to your headboard. 

“I don’t know, you just always seem very… eager to see what he’s sent you everyday. And whenever I tell you he was here you get all giddy.”

“I do not get giddy!” you scoffed. “I just—you don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t” 

She mumbled out a half-hearted agreement and dropped her phone to fully look at you. “You don’t have to pretend you don’t care, y/n, and you also don’t have to keep ignoring him if that’s not what you want to do.” 

You were shocked. “What, you want me to forgive him? I thought you were totally anti Bucky? You yelled at him for like a half an hour when you found out what happened, why would you want that?” 

“Well for one, you keep calling him Bucky.” You dropped your head, the floor becoming very interesting. “And I’m not saying you have to do anything. I just mean that the other times he’s hurt you, it’s been on his terms. It’s clear you like the guy, and I’ve had to stand at that door and listen to him drone on about how much he likes you. If you want to see where it goes, you take control. You can tell him you won’t take his shit and that’s that.”

“And what if he just does it again?” 

“Then me and the guys’ll be here to pick you back up. And also kill him.” 

“Nat!” 

“What?” she feigned innocence, turning off the light for the night. “I’m here to support all your decisions—even the stupid ones—and also make sure you’re happy. If Bucky makes you sad again, he can be taken care of.” 

“You always get like this right after you get off the phone with your mom, you know that?” you giggled, nestling yourself into bed.

“Well, she is a Russian assassin.” 

“Yeah, sure thing, Nat. Goodnight.” 

Your phone lit up a few moments after you fell into sleep, the screen alerting you to the goodnight text you would see when you woke up. It would be just below the one that greeted you in the morning, like clockwork. 

~~

A few days had gone by and you found yourself sitting in English literature, just like every other Thursday. You didn’t hate the class per se, but you definitely didn’t enjoy it. The professor was nice enough, but he had you running off to bookstores for each new assignment instead of providing a clear syllabus from the start. 

“So as you can see, the relationship between Darcy and Elizabeth will be very interesting to dissect! You’ll need to pick up a physical copy before I see you next week, and I mean physical. None of that ebook propaganda in this class.” Disgruntled mumbles sounded off from the class. “Yes, I know, I know. Now pack up and get out, we are done for the day.” 

You grabbed your things and set off for the campus bookstore. Steve had plans with Nat today, so he wouldn’t be meeting you. You didn’t mind all that much; you had been telling him over and over that he didn’t need to walk you. 

Your shoes made gentle scuffs as you walked along the sidewalk. It was still early, so not many students were out; it was quiet enough to hear the rustling of the amber hues above you, the occasional leaf falling before your feet. It was a peaceful walk—the perfect juxtaposition to your raging mind. You were so lost in yourself, you didn’t hear the quickened gait making headway behind you until a voice was ringing in your ears. 

“God, can you believe that guy? Makin’ us get actual books when the one online is like $2.” You whipped your body around, eyes wide as you met Bucky’s nervous gaze. “Hey, doll. Want me to carry your bag?” 

“What are you doing?” Your brain was taking too long to catch up with your words.

“Uh, I’m going to pick up that book for class. At the bookstore.” 

“You aren’t in that class.” 

“I transferred in.” 

“It’s the middle of the semester.” 

“Special request to the dean.” 

You let your gaze trail over Bucky’s face. It was clear he wasn’t going to tell the truth, and the bookstore was only a few blocks away at this point. You repressed your urge to kiss the timid smile off his face, and turned to continue your trek down the concrete with a determined look on your face. 

He jogged to catch up to you. “So, how ya been? Haven’t heard from you in a while.” 

“Whose fault is that?” 

“Mine. Completely mine. If you’d let me talk to you I could explain,” he rushed out. 

“You’re talking right now, aren’t you?” you quipped back, steps never faltering. 

“You know what I mean, doll. A real conversation where you aren’t booking it in the other direction or have Steve hovering over ya.” 

“Steve doesn’t hover.” 

“What? All that kid knows how to do is hover.” You sent him a sidelong glance. “Okay, not the point. But I’m bein’ serious. Let me take you out to dinner or something.” 

Your body let out an involuntary laugh that you attempted to cover with a cough. “We’re not going to dinner, Barnes.” 

“Well, what about coffee? That place you like by the science building?” 

“How do you know I go there?” you asked, furrowed brows making him panic. 

“Uh, Sam told me.” 

“Right…I’m busy.” You pushed open the double doors to the bookstore, Bucky closely behind. 

“I didn’t even say what day.” He was so close to you, you could feel his presence on your back. 

You shrugged as you walked up a few stairs. “I’m busy everyday. Have to read Pride and Prejudice before next week, just like you apparently.” 

He grabbed the back hem of your sweater as you moved through a group of people, desperate not to lose you in the crowd . “What about tomorrow? After the game I can take you somewhere. We can ditch the team.” 

You sighed, finally in the back of the bookstore with the classical literature. “Why don’t you just let this go, Bu-James. Move on to some other girl.” 

“What?” he questioned, sounding pained. He released his grip on your sweater, but never left your side. “I don’t want another girl.” 

“Could’ve fooled me,” you grumbled under your breath. It was silent for a while after that, Bucky following you through the shelves as you searched for the novel. 

He spoke up again when you reached for your first book. “Everyone was lookin’ for you in the press room yesterday. Thor couldn’t get his tie on—I think he was expecting you to come and do it for him.”

“Thor’s a big boy, he can figure out ties on his own.” 

Bucky bobbed on his feet as he watched you. “Well, I was lookin’ for you too, you know. You’ve never missed a press thing. You’ve always been there to help.” 

You closed the book in your hand with a piercing snap. “Maybe it’s time you all learned how to help yourselves.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Nothing,” you breathed out, pretending to analyze the shelf above you. 

“Uh, right. Well, did you at least watch the clips?” His hand was making incessant motions on the back of his neck “They asked us a lot more questions since we’re closer to graduating. Uh, y’know, about what our future plans are.” 

You let out an insignificant hum, hardly humoring the overly anxious man behind you. 

He continued. “You probably didn’t have time to yet—that’s okay. Just say you’ll watch ‘em, yeah? Maybe just mine if you want, like just the end?” 

“Why’s that, James?” you quipped, finally turning to let your eyes meet his. His lips parted at the contact. “You talk about your grand plans to make the major leagues and screw every girl you see? Because I’ve already seen those interviews; you say the same thing every year.”

“No, doll, I told you already. It’s different—“ 

“If you tell me you’re different now one more time I’m going to transfer schools just to get away from you.” You spun on your heel and made for the stairs. 

“Hey, wait a sec.” His hand made gentle contact with your arm. It was light enough for you to break out of; he was allowing you to decide if you wanted to stay, never one to be forceful. 

You did, and the hope in his eyes was palpable. He seemed lost for words for a few moments, clearly never expecting to get his chance at an apology.

“Uh, listen,” he stuttered. “I know I completely blew it. I know I let Zemo turn me back into that guy you hate, and I’m sorry. I would take everything back if I could. I’d go back to that party and tell him to fuck off, if I’m bein’ honest. I was a coward and it doesn’t even matter why I did it because I miss you, doll. I messed up and I miss you. We never got our shot, and that’s on me.” 

“James,” you began, a rebuttal on the precipice of your lips. 

His hand slid from your arm to grasp at your fingers. “I know I’m an idiot and I don’t deserve you, and maybe if I could get you out of my head, I could accept that. But I can’t, doll—I haven’t been able to for weeks. So say you’ll let me make this up to you. Say you'll let me try.”

The shock on your face was clear as your eyes flitted between his. You knew from the effort he’d put in over the last few days that he was sorry, but not like this. Not so much that the regret and panic you had seen at the party had festered within him until it radiated off of his body in waves. Not to the point that he would track you down and follow you for just a chance at an apology. 

Natasha’s words rang through your mind, a reminder that being happy wasn’t always linear. That Bucky may be an idiot, but if you couldn’t get him out of your head either, then maybe this was worth it. Maybe he was worth it. You pulled your lip between your teeth and took a deep inhale. “I think that maybe—” 

You were cut off by a few things happening in quick succession. Loud footsteps ricocheted off the quiet bookstore walls, Bucky whipped his head around, and then your hand was promptly dropped. You looked down at it, and then back up to Bucky, who quickly caught on and reclaimed your hand. 

Not a great start. 

“Quentin,” Bucky greeted. He sounded stiff. 

“Hey, Barnes, what the hell are you doing at the bookstore?”

“Same thing you’re doin’ I’d guess. Buying books for class.” 

Quentin scoffed. “Yeah, no. I’m looking for chicks to come to the party tomorrow. Alpha Phi got suspended, so none of the girls can come. That knocks out like half our population.” His eyes moved to you, head tilted to the side with a sly grin. “Hey.” 

“Hi,” you replied, short and to the point. You weren’t interested a few days ago, and you still weren’t interested today. 

“I’ve already asked you, haven’t I?” 

You opened your mouth to reply, but Bucky beat you to it. “She’s not going. We have a game tomorrow.” 

“Damn, Barnes, possessive much? I think the lady can answer for herself.” He sent you a wink. 

“Yeah, she can, but she doesn’t need to. She doesn’t really… go to parties.” 

That made you scoff. Sure, you weren’t some party animal, but you also weren’t a stranger to the party scene at NYU. And something about the way Bucky was reacting was rubbing you the wrong way. “I go to parties.” 

Bucky turned to you, eyes flashing in warning. You blinked back at him. If he had something to say, he’d need to come out and say it. This felt like a repeat of last week, and you weren’t going to put up with his antics again. 

“Ah, see! She can speak!” Quentin raised his hands in mock praise. “So what’ll it be then? You wanna come to a frat party this weekend?” 

“I already told you, man,” Bucky cut in. “We have a game.” 

Quentin's gaze tracked down to your linked hands, a mischievous glint in his eye when he looked back up at Bucky. “She your girl or something?” It sounded like a challenge. 

Bucky squinted at the frat guy in front of him, sizing him up. He was trying to figure out the best delivery for his answer, but to you, it looked like hesitation. Again.

You dropped his hand. “I’m not. And my Friday actually looks wide open. Here give me your phone, you can text me the address.”

Bucky intercepted your reach. “Whoa, hang on, doll, what’re you doing?” 

“I’m putting my number in Quentin’s phone. So he can tell me where the party is,” you replied slowly, as if he needed an actual explanation. 

“Just wait.” He turned his body away from yours. “She is my girl. Well, she’s not, but she is. And she won’t be going to your party.”

You crossed your arms, brows raised. “Hmm, I’m pretty sure I can make decisions on my own, James.” 

Quentin let out a sardonic laugh. “I’m confused here. Is she your girl, or not? Cause I’d really like to know.” 

“Yeah, Beck, I’m sure you would like to know,” Bucky replied, his voice holding an edge. The pair stared at each other for a long moment, provocation clear between them. 

“Is there something going on here? Something other than a party?” 

“No,” Bucky brushed you off, reaching for your hand again. “Let’s just go.” 

You yanked yourself away. “No. Tell me what’s going on.” 

“C’mon, doll. Don’t do this here. I’ll explain everything later, I swear,” he hushed, eyes low to meet yours. 

You didn’t want an explanation later. Maybe if you were being more rational you would have accepted his proposal and followed him down the stairs, but you weren’t. The bitter sting of his two previous rejections were still lingering in your mind, and you wanted answers—answers you clearly weren’t going to get at the pace you wanted them. 

“I’m not doing this again, Bucky. Tell me.” 

Bucky.

He let his palm cup your cheek, quick with desperation. He was trying to communicate with his eyes; he was trying to convey too many things that he refused to say out loud. “I swear, later. Just trust me.” 

You can tell him you won’t take his shit and that’s that.

Your head snapped to Quentin. “Can you pick me up tomorrow?”