Chapter 1
Bucky hates flying. He just doesn’t understand why humans had to invent something that places them somewhere they don’t belong. Bucky would like to have his feet on the ground at all times possible, thank you very much. Unfortunately, if he wants to partner with the Wakandan engineering department to finally start his dream of designing versatile prosthetics using vibranium, he has to fly all the way from New York to the aforementioned country. Ever since he came back from Afghanistan missing an arm and bogged down by PTSD, it’s been his goal to help his fellow veterans and anyone else who needs a prosthetic. After 5 years of being in school he’s only one round trip away from achieving it.
***
To his utter delight, his meeting with the engineering department went off without a hitch. They were extremely receptive to his designs, even having some suggestions on how to improve them, and the meeting ended with reassurances from both parties for definite future collaborations. Although Bucky is absolutely over the moon that everything worked out so well, he’s dreading the flight back to New York. The trip to Wakanda was bearable because he was so nervous about the meeting that he forgot to be nervous about the fact that he was willingly placing himself in a metal death trap, but now that it’s over and done with, the nerves come back in full force.
The closer he gets to the airport, the more sick he feels. His hand starts to tremble once he catches sight of the terminal, his legs feel like they are going to collapse while walking to his gate, and by the time he’s made it through security, he feels like he’s going to cry. Instead, since he doesn’t really feel like nor have the time for a public breakdown, he haphazardly gathers his luggage and heads to the nearest airport bar for some liquid courage.
Once he slumps onto a bar stool at one of the airport’s many overpriced breweries, he gives the bartender a strained smile and orders a gin and tonic. As soon as it’s slid down to him, he hastily gulps it down, relishing the sweet, slightly herbal taste of the gin, and tries not to think about how in just a little under an hour, he has to board his plane.
It’s not that he’s scared of flying, he just doesn’t like it. The airports are almost always crowded which he never has a good time with, everything is overpriced, and the airplanes always shake and rattle in the worst ways even though everyone assures him it’s natural for them to do that. It might sound like he’s scared, but he’s not. Really, he’s not. He’s just...he’s just…. Ok, so maybe he is scared of flying. He knows it's mostly irrational, that people fly every day, and that he was in a war for god's sake, but just the very thought of boarding the plane scares the crap out of him.
He sits at the bar for a couple more minutes, gulping down another two drinks to calm the nerves creeping over him like insects. He’s not exactly sure that having more alcohol is a good idea, but once he feels the positive effect it has on his panic, he disregards those errant worries. By the time he has to leave to get to his boarding gate, he has drunk 3 gin and tonics total and is feeling much more positive. He’s just the right side of tipsy and is confident that everything will be fine.
However, as it usually goes when alcohol is involved, everything is in fact not fine. As soon as he reaches the boarding gate and spots the plane through the window, he’s overcome by a bout of nerves so severe his hand starts to tremble and his mouth rapidly dries out as though he hadn’t been drinking just 10 minutes before. The blood in his ears begin to pound, mirroring the rapid beating of his heart, his vision goes spotty, and he sways slightly where he stands.
He has just enough clarity to stumble and collapse into an empty chair as he dimly realizes that he’s having a panic attack. His throat closes up and oh god, oh god, oh god, he can’t fucking breathe! He desperately tries to regulate his breathing and calm down, but with every breath, it feels like his chest is being constricted by an iron band. Despite his valiant efforts to get his panic attack under control, he just can’t seem to break away from the chilling tentacles of fear that are enveloping his mind.
He’s just about given up hope of being able to calm himself and has resigned himself to just having to wait it out, when he faintly registers someone trying to talk to him. His attempts at concentrating on the rumbling voice coming from his right instead of the cramping in his stomach at the thought of boarding the plane are fruitful, and he is just barely able to catch the last part of the stranger’s sentence.
“-you hear me? I need you to breathe with me. Can you open your eyes?” Huh, Bucky didn’t even realise he had closed his eyes. When did that happen? After a bit of struggling, he pries them open and is greeted by the blurry sight of two reassuring looking blue eyes that belong to the person kneeling in front of Bucky’s chair.
“Hi, my name’s Steve,” the stranger supplies. “Do you think you could breathe with me? Just in slowly, that’s it, aaannnd out. Good job. And one more time?” As hard as it is, Bucky tries his very best to concentrate on what the blue eyed stranger-not a stranger; his name is Steve- is saying and follow his instructions. After a minute of regulated breathing and concentrating on the face right in front of him although his vision is still so bleary that he can’t really make out any features, he’s finally able to take a proper breath and his heart stops trying to beat itself out of his chest.
It takes a bit, but, with some more support from Steve, Bucky feels strong enough to grip the seat’s armrest and shakily rise to his feet. He turns so that he’s facing Steve and opens his mouth to thank him, but his brain shorts out when he actually gets a good look at the guy. Apparently as well as being extremely kind, Steve is also ridiculously good looking with thick blonde hair that looks perfect to run one’s fingers through, a five o’clock shadow that is unfairly sexy, and the bluest eyes Bucky’s ever seen; if Bucky wasn’t still trembling and exhausted from his panic attack, he’s 100% sure he’d be making some kind of move on Steve. Hell, just his biceps alone make Bucky want to swoon like a damsel in distress, which, truth be told, he kind of is in this situation.
Unfortunately, unlike most damsel in distress characters who would have responded to their knight in shining armor with something coy and seductive, Bucky’s mind is devoid of all intelligent conversation and he ends up giving an inane introduction in return.
“Uh, hi, my name’s Bucky. Thanks for helping me out there,” he says, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. “I probably held you up from your flight, so sorry about that as well.”
“Oh, hey no, it’s totally fine. I understand how scary panic attacks can be and I didn’t want to leave you in that situation if I could help,” Steve cheerfully responds. “I hope you’re feeling better now and thanks for asking about my flight, but it’s yours I would be more concerned about. Will you still be able to catch it?” At his words, Bucky feels the panic flare back up and he hurriedly checks his phone. As luck would have it, he still has 10 minutes before boarding is supposed to start, so he has just enough time to gather himself and his belongings before having to make his way over to the boarding area.
“Thankfully I arrived pretty early so I think I’ll just make it if I leave now,” explains Bucky as he turns around to gather his various bags.
“Oh, hey, let me help you,” Steve offers as he helps Bucky gather his things. “So, where are you flying to?”
“Uh, actually just back to New York, on flight 235 I think.”
“Oh, no way! That’s my flight as well.” Steve glances over at Bucky, a blinding grin splitting his face. “Maybe we’ll be sitting close to each other.”
“Yeah, that would be nice,” Bucky murmurs, a similar smile starting to emerge. As they make their way to their gate, they continue chatting, topics ranging from family to sports, and even briefly to the heavy subject of Bucky’s time in the military. Bucky relishes how easy it is to talk to Steve; it’s as though they’ve known each other all their lives when in reality it's been at most 15 minutes. Perhaps he should be slightly concerned that he already feels so comfortable around Steve since he’s a complete stranger, but there's just something so comforting and wholesome about him; he has such an ‘aw shucks’ attitude that Bucky finds maddeningly endearing. Plus, Bucky’s just proud of himself for not completely fucking up while talking to such a gorgeous person, especially considering that the gin and tonics he drank early have affected him more than he originally thought.