For the Love of the Game

So you picked it up, the screen quickly unlocking when your face met the camera. And just as quickly, you wished you hadn't looked.

You busy tonight? 

Come on Bucky. I thought we were friends again. :(

You said you would think about it! Completely ignoring me is not thinking about it. 

I’ll bring you a Christmas sweater if you come to the dorms rn ;) 

Uncomfortable tears pricked your eyes as you read each message; whether they were from hurt or anger, you couldn’t tell. Stephanie's name glared at you from the top of the screen, and the texts just kept loading. The more you scrolled up, the more there were. 

You didn’t take the time to read the rest—you’d seen enough. The fact that you had no idea he was still talking to her was enough to cut through your skin. When you heard the bathroom door open and the sink shut off, you knew what emotion to assign to your tears. Betrayal. Because Bucky had said he was done with those people. Not only the people, but the parties too. So why the hell was an old fling texting him about some dorm kickback? 

“I was thinkin’ we could get some hot chocolate before we head out,” Bucky called from down the hall. His footsteps got closer. “But you gotta make sure you wear those boots my Ma got you, because the sidewalk’s gonna be—” 

Your glistening waterline stopped him in his tracks. You had stood from the couch and had his phone hanging from your fingers. He took a step forward, and you took one back. 

“Doll? What’s goin’ on? You okay?” He eyed his phone, but his expression gave nothing away. The ignorance infuriated you. 

“I don’t know, you tell me, Bucky. You have somewhere else to be tonight?”

“Of course I don’t. Tell me what’s got you so worked up.” 

You huffed at the concern in his voice, tossing the offensive item on the couch without care. “Don’t think I need to tell you. You should already know.” 

Bucky took a cautious step forward, leaning down to grab it, but not breaking eye contact with you until he did. The screen lit up the confusion on his face first, and then continued to light up the panic. He scrolled down a little to see the most recent messages, and his eyes shot to you in alarm. 

“Oh, doll, this isn’t—”

“It’s not what it looks like, right? That’s what you're going to say?”

“Yes, but it’s not. She—we had to work on a project for a class.” The phone looked awkward in his hands; he held it out in front of him as if it were foreign. 

You let an unwanted laugh slip past your lips. “A project? That’s why you’re ‘considering’ some dorm party?” 

He tried to get closer to you, fingers extending in a fruitless reach, but you retreated just as quickly as the first time. His eyes bounced between yours at a head aching speed. His head shook, with furrowed brows. 

“I only said that to get her off my back s’all. I told you I was done with that.” 

“So nothing to hide then?” you asked, crossing your arms defensively. 

“No, doll, nothing. I swear.” 

You nodded, disbelief bleeding through your gaze. “How long have you been doing this project?” 

His eyes fell almost instantly. A long, damning pause settled across the living room. Bucky knew he’d been keeping this from you. He had been trying to avoid this conversation entirely; he thought that the project would be over long before you’d ever realize who his assigned partner was. 

Not because he was doing anything wrong, but because this didn’t need to be an issue. 

Except now, it was. 

“About three weeks.” 

The fridge hummed from the kitchen. Bucky still wouldn’t look at you, but he could feel your eyes boring into the top of his head. Until they weren’t anymore. You looked at the wall instead, dumbfounded. 

You were sure your lip would be bleeding by the time this conversation was over; it hadn’t left its place between your teeth since he walked down the hall. You didn’t know how to feel. Bucky obviously wasn’t cheating on you, but keeping this from you felt dirty, purposeful. 

“You didn’t think—” you started, tone dangerously calm “—that maybe I’d want to know about that? That you’ve been spending your free time doing classwork with Stephanie of all people? And that she thinks you’re friendly enough to send you texts like that?” 

He slumped. “Doll, I didn’t keep it from you to make you upset.” 

“Then why did you?” 

You were still staring at the wall, and Bucky felt the frustration build up in his chest. He groaned. “To stop this from happening! I love you, okay? Getting paired up with her was annoying. That's it.” 

“You still should have told me, Bucky. That’s what couples do. You find out you have to partner up with someone you used to sleep with and you tell the. other. person.” 

“God,” he grumbled, hand thrown into his hair in frustration. “This is exactly why I avoided this kinda thing for so long!” 

Dead silence this time; the fridge turned off. 

You looked over at him with wide, wet eyes, and your chest moved with greater breaths. Bucky looked back at you with an increasing panic. He didn’t mean to say that; he was just frustrated, irrational. He certainly didn’t mean to leave you standing with hanging limbs and a furrowed brow, doubting everything he had ever told you; everything he had whispered in your ear in between cool sheets. 

When your eyes fell to your hands, bottom lip trembling, he spoke. “Baby—” 

You didn’t let him get through his first voice crack. “I didn’t realize I was such an inconvenience.” 

“You’re not,” Bucky rushed. He caught your hands as he surged forward. “I didn’t mean that. Baby, c’mon, I didn’t mean that.”

He leaned his head down to catch your gaze, but you refused to grant him with it. He clutched desperately at your fingers—trying to pull you against his chest—but you yanked yourself away at the first tug. 

“I think I’m just gonna go home for the night.” 

Dread. “What—y/n, I swear I was gonna tell you about her, but I didn’t want you to get upset. And I didn’t mean what I said. I love you. Just come—” 

“No, James.” You pushed back his pleading hands, stumbling toward your bag by the door. “No, I need some time to think you keep grabbing me and talking and just—it’s too much.” 

You quickly collected your things, fumbling with your keys and kicking your shoes on your feet. All of your movements were jerky and you didn’t know whether to feel angry or sad or if you should just cry and feel them both at once. 

Bucky was behind you the whole time, beseeching you to stay, telling you he didn’t mean to. You weren’t trying to exacerbate the situation, but you really did need space. Just a few hours maybe, so that you wouldn’t say something you didn’t mean. Like he did. 

“I’ll call you when I get home,” you finalized, fingers gripping the cool doorknob. 

“Baby, it’s snowing. It’s not safe out there.” 

“Thanks for the weather report.” The door slammed behind you. 

~~

Bucky invited Steve over.  

He wasn’t sure why—maybe it was a childhood comfort thing—but Steve told Bucky he was an idiot. Bucky knew that. You still hadn’t called him. 

“I don’t know how you thought that was gonna go over, Buck. I mean Stephanie, really? 

Bucky threw his head back on the couch. “It’s not like I had a choice. The professor said we weren’t allowed to change partners. Trust me—I tried.”

“Yeah,” Steve huffed. “But you didn’t tell your girl? And then you go spoutin’ some nonsense about not wanting a girlfriend? C’mon, Bucky, that’s just one bad move after another.” 

“I didn’t mean I didn’t want a girlfriend, you punk. Obviously I love her. I just meant the whole mess of it all. Everything gettin’ all complicated and ugly.” 

“You did that.” Steve pointed his soda at the pitcher, accusing eyes thrown his way. “You’re lucky she didn't just dump your ass right there. Nat’s threatened more for less.” 

“My Ma’s gonna be so pissed at me,” Bucky sighed. “We were supposed to be at her house in an hour for Christmas presents. And she's gonna be even more pissed when she realizes why y/n’s not there.” 

“Again—” 

“Yeah, yeah. You don’t gotta rub it in, alright?” 

Steve threw his hands up in defeat and busied himself on his phone. Realistically, he knew Steve was going to be the hardest on him about this; maybe that’s why he invited him over. He deserved to be told off, honestly. Calling Natasha might’ve been the better bet for that one. Although Bucky suspected he’d be getting an earful as soon as you called him anyway. 

If you ever called him. 

A phone rang. Bucky shot up to grab his from the table. 

“It’s mine, man, sorry. Just Nat,” Steve sympathized, holding it up to his ear. 

Bucky tuned him out after that; the other couple had plans for the evening, and were probably just checking in with each other beforehand. But before Bucky could get too comfortable wallowing in his self pity, Steve shot up from the couch. 

“What? Where? Closer to you or to me? Does she want—okay, okay I’m going right now.” He turned to his friend, eyes wide. “I, uh, have to go.” 

“What? What happened, Steve?” Bucky rushed, following him to the door in a flurry. People really didn’t want to be at his apartment today. 

“Nothing. I’ll call you when I have more info, I just really have to go.” 

Bucky caught Steve’s arm, a firm grip intended to push an answer out of his friend. “Is it y/n?” 

He didn’t need a verbal answer; Steve had always been bad at lying. Bucky was pulling his shoes on the moment the first baseman’s eyes got shifty. His fingers fumbled with each lace, fear suddenly impairing his movements. 

“Buck—” 

“What happened?” He ignored the protests, grabbing his jacket and yanking the front door open as if his life depended on it. 

He could feel the hesitance behind him as he raced down the slippery steps to his apartment. Steve held his lies in his shoulders, and right now, the man was as stiff as a board. A small glance over his shoulder confirmed as much, but Bucky was more concerned with the conversation on the phone earlier. 

“Steve, I’m goin’ with you whether you like it or not so you better just tell me.”

“She got into a wreck. Something about black ice and a taxi spinning out, I’m not sure. Nat just said she was closer to yours than to campus.” 

Bucky took a beat. “And you weren’t gonna fucking tell me?” he raged. He had half a mind to smack his friend over the head. You were his girl—fighting or not. Steve should’ve told him. 

“Well, Nat just thought—” 

Bucky wasn’t going to let Steve finish a single sentence after that monstrosity he let slip. “I don’t really give a damn what Nat thought. My girl gets in a fucking wreck and you tell me, Rogers.” 

He slammed the car door shut with an angry grunt and let his body shake as Steve got in beside him. He was angry, but more than that, he was worried. He searched through his mind, trying to remember if he changed your tires for the snow, but of course he didn’t. You were going to do that next week. This week, Bucky was just going to drive your car for you—to be more safe. 

Yet another thing he screwed up. 

“Did Nat say if she was okay?” Bucky choked out. His hands were curled up on his knees, turning white from the pressure. “She is okay, right?”

Steve adjusted his grip on the wheel. “She didn’t tell me anything.” 

The seatbelt was digging into Bucky’s neck. He angrily yanked it away from his skin and felt a cold sweat wash over him. He was blaming himself. If he had just told you about that dumb project with Stephanie, you would have never left; never been driving your car on a slick road with no snow tires. 

His knee started to shake. You would be fine. It’s not like Steve was driving him to the hospital. But every possible variation of you being seriously hurt still played in Bucky’s mind like some horror movie, and his body started to shake along with his leg. 

“This isn’t your fault, Buck. And we might get there and she won’t want to see you,” Steve offered. He turned down another street.

“Just shut up and drive the damn car.” 

He did. Until he couldn’t anymore. It wasn’t hard to create traffic in New York City, but Bucky was used to the different kinds. Construction work, broken traffic lights, car crashes. This traffic was definitely from a car crash. 

He flung the door open just as Steve stopped behind a minivan, his old tennis shoes slipping against the ice. 

“Bucky—wait you shouldn’t just—” The door slammed on Steve’s speech. Bucky didn’t really care if you were mad at him, or if he was mad at you. If you were hurt or scared, there wasn’t any situation he could fathom that would make him stay away from you. 

The run to the scene wasn’t his most graceful; the ice beneath his feet made him slip on multiple occasions, leaning against parked cars to steady himself. You would probably laugh at him if you weren’t the reason he was running so erratically. 

He saw your car before he saw you—wrapped around a tree and completely totaled on the side. Luckily, it was the passenger side, but his stomach still twisted at the sight. And then he saw you, tucked into a blanket, sitting on the back of an ambulance with tear-soaked cheeks and a broken posture. He continued his sloppy run until you caught sight of him. 

“Bucky?” you called. Your voice cracked as you stood. “Bucky!”

He wrapped you up in him as soon as he could reach you. His shaky hand gripped the back of your head, while the other tightened around the blanket covering your back. He let his eyes squeeze shut when his nose pressed to your hair, a million thoughts racing through his mind with hardly any outlet to explain them. 

“You alright, baby? Scared the shit outta me.” 

You pressed further into him. “The EMTs said I was okay. Just a few scrapes and bruises.” 

“Oh my god.” You could feel his arms tremble as he pulled you back. “I’m so fucking sorry. All I could think about when I heard was how sorry I was. I was an asshole and I was wrong and fuck am I happy you’re okay.” 

“You—you can’t keep things like that from me. We’re supposed to be a team now Bucky, you and me.” 

The adrenaline from the crash was beginning to dissipate in your veins, and your teeth were chattering. Bucky’s lips were warm against your forehead, but very little was going to completely warm you under these conditions; when most of your cold was from shock. 

“I know, baby, I know. I’m still learnin’ but that shouldn’t have even been a question. Never again, alright? Especially when it leads to this. When my girl could’ve—” He had to take a long breath from his nose before he could continue, a panic sob threatening to rip from his chest. “I’ve wanted you so bad, for so long. I don’t wanna mess it up. And I don’t want to lose you.” 

His last words were punctuated by a tighter grip; he was grappling with the back of your head as he pulled you closer and closer, allowing himself to feel what he repressed on the car ride over. 

“Buck, I’m alive, okay? I’m here and I’m fine. Maybe with a few seatbelt burns, but I’m not dead.” 

“I hear ya,” he whispered, but his body began to sway against yours. “Just give me a sec to feel you, yeah?.” 

You closed your eyes and listened to the erratic pace of Bucky’s heart. There was still so much commotion surrounding you; firetrucks and police and the watchful crowd beyond the barrier. But Bucky needed to hold you, so you let him. You were only transported outside the comfort of his body when another hand found its way on your back. Steve, you gathered. 

“She okay?” he asked Bucky. The vibrations in his chest as he answered tickled at your cheek. “She still want to go back to the dorms? Natasha can’t get through traffic, but I can bring her back.” 

Bucky pulled back, gentle eyes fixed on you. “What d’you wanna do, doll? You want to go back with Stevie?” 

“No, I think I want to go to your mom’s.” Bucky opened his mouth to protest. Your cheeks were still glistening and your car was wrapped around a tree; Winnie would understand if you needed to take a raincheck. But you needed the comfort. “I think going there would make me feel better.” 

A sad smile. “Alright, doll, anything you want.” 

~~

Winnie Barnes was in a state. 

The second you walked through that door looking like a mess in Bucky’s overprotective arms, she had you whisked away. Your new home on her couch was surrounded by blankets and pillows and way too much hot chocolate. She had Bucky bringing in plate after plate of cookies as well, which he didn’t appreciate; he was still a little shaken by the day's events, and wanted nothing more than to be beside you.

“I’m going to put on the Charlie Brown Christmas movie for you, okay, honey? Bucky always loved that growing up.” 

“Ma, she doesn't—”

“I don’t want to hear a word out of you James Buchanan Barnes,” she shot out. Winnie had been informed of everything that happened. “You will sit down and apologize to that girl until you’re blue in the face.” 

Bucky grimaced, but took his place beside you almost immediately. He grabbed a cookie from one of the plates, side-eyeing his mom with caution. “I really am sorry, doll.” He passed the cookie to you, sliding his under arm under the blankets to wrap around your waist. “Couldn’t be more sorry, actually. Let me make it up to you?”

“God, you sound just like your father. The two of you have got nothing in those big heads of yours.” 

“Ma!”

This was exactly what you needed; family, Bucky, six-dozen gingerbread cookies. The day couldn’t have started out any worse, but the cinnamon and pine in the air of the Barnes’ home was enough to suck any heartache out of you. That, and the way that Bucky kept groveling, hands brushing at your skin and whispers directed at your ear. 

Whispers that were a lot more meaningful than the staged apology for his mom. 

When Winnie left the room for another bag of frozen peas for your barely bruised shoulder, Bucky tugged you closer. You were practically on his lap at this point, the blankets creating a barrier between you, but not enough to mask his touch. You giggled when his fingers met your waist. 

“There’s my girl,” he smiled against your cheek, a kiss pressed there for good measure. “I’m gonna try my best to only get that sound from you. No more crying, baby, alright? And I’m gonna mess up, but you gotta know I love you. Even when the brain in my big head isn’t working.” 

The opening piano of A Charlie Brown Christmas danced in the air as you whispered back, “I love you too, Buck. Even when your brain isn’t working.” 

That was the type of apology Winnie was looking for. 

She looked on fondly from the kitchen. Bucky Barnes really was like his father. In the best ways.