James Barnes was pissed and he was itching for a fight.
He ran his fucking mouth when he shouldn’t have; he knew that. He knew you had made a plan for a night out with the whole team. But god, it had been the day from hell. He just wanted some peace and quiet and to sit in a blazing hot shower before collapsing into bed with you. Instead of just saying that, he popped off at the mouth. He said he was tired of you always trying to humanize the Avengers. These outings were a waste of goddamn time. Bucky didn’t think the sentence had fully left his mouth before you slammed the door of your shared apartment in his face.
One week it was a group cooking class. Another week it was one of those classes where you get tipsy and paint stuff. This time, it was a roped off VIP area of one of the hottest clubs in New York City. Now, he was sitting between Steve and Peter in a booth of an insanely loud dance club. He was wearing a charcoal gray suit. And he didn’t even get to touch you.
Instead, he watched you pass around shots to the team. All while very carefully ignoring him.
“Truly,” Tony Stark declared, raising his glass. He was wearing one of his signature 1000$ suits. “No other people on this Earth that I’d rather drink $300 vodka with.”
Natasha smiled slyly over her shot glass. “That’s great because you’re footing the bill.” A group of men from outside the rope line was staring hungrily at the back of Natasha’s fitted black dress. Bucky was certain she’d already clocked them and formulated a quick plan if they got too excitable.
A wave of raucous laughter rolled through the group. “In that case,” Sam sticks his hand in the air and waves a curvy cocktail waitress over. “3 more bottles please!”
The song changed abruptly. Bucky leaned forward and said your name across the table. “Doll, please.”
You stuck your tongue out at him. Then gave him the finger. Just for good measure. You, Natasha, Wanda, Sam, and Thor migrated to the dance floor with a cheer. “Madam, do you think they would play the Funky Cold Medina?” Thor asked, waving at a pretty brunette sitting at the bar.
“You’re a god, Blondie. They’ll do whatever you want.” You smiled widely at him, looping your arm through Wanda’s.
Steve looked quickly from Bucky to the interaction you’d had with Thor. The complete polar opposite. “What did you do to her?” He accused, mouth hanging open. He was twisting a bottle of designer label beer that he’d only taken a single sip out of.
“Well,” Bucky began, avoiding their gaze. “I said something stupid.”
Peter laughed shortly, just once. He, under the watchful eye of Tony Stark, was drinking apple juice. “I mean, that part was pretty clear.”
Bucky grimaced, his metal fingers wrapping tightly around his glass. “I tried to apologize-“
“Too little too late, my metal handed friend!” Tony declared from across the table, peering over his ridiculous sunglasses. He was sitting cross legged, half hanging out of the booth.
“She told you?!” Bucky cried, incredulously.
Tony’s smile grew, looking a little bit like the cat that ate the canary. He loved being in on the secret. “Well... she told Pepper and then Pepper told me. You really screwed the pooch on this one.” Pepper Stark was the matriarch the Avengers family. They all seemed to find their way to her office in the middle of a crisis. Tony leaned forward. He set his glass on the polished table, head tilted. “You really said you were tired of these little outings? That they’re a waste of time?”
Peter and Steve groaned in a symphony of disbelief. “You what?” Steve exclaimed.
Bucky began to attempt an explanation to his closest friends. He had simply wanted to stay home with you. His body was aching and you were the only person who knew how to rub the spot where your metal arm met your shoulder to soothe it. It was dumb. He felt dumb. But he only managed to spit out, “I didn’t-“ before Thor and Sam came sauntering back to the table.
“Listen, Buck.” Sam leaned over the table, resting his elbows. “You finally blew it with the new girl.”
Thor nodded vigorously. “Yes. I do believe she is rather perturbed with you. Quite.”
It was at about that time that Bucky realized you were suddenly alone in the middle of the crowd. Thor and Sam were busting his balls. Wanda and Natasha were enchanting the bartenders while waiting for drinks.
You were all by yourself.
He started to shove Steve out of the booth so he could approach you. The idea was two fold. He could talk to you and apologize without any other teammates butting in. There was also a small part of him that needed you within reach. Bucky had spent so many years losing anything he cared about that letting you be out and about without his protection felt like tempting fate.
“She’s fine, Bucky. Let her cool off.” Steve said. He remained firmly planted in his seat. “What’s gonna happen with The Avengers here?”
Right.
But then.
Then Bucky watched as a bald, muscled moron shimmied his way toward you. You hadn’t noticed it yet; you were too wrapped up in the beat of a song he didn’t recognize.
Steve, noting the stern set in his best friend’s shoulders, followed Bucky’s gaze. “She’s fine. She took care of herself for a long time before you came along, Buck.”
The bald idiot grabbed your hand and you laughed, finally realizing his proximity. The muscle in Bucky’s jaw worked dangerously. You slipped your hand from his and continued to dance with a good natured smile. The unspoken message was simple and clear. We can dance but don’t touch.
The man tried again, leering at the way your body looked in the sumptuous black dress you wore. He moved in and grabbed your hip roughly, hooking his other index finger into the strap of your dress.
Steve moved in sync with Bucky, each man launching himself out of the booth and towards you. Steve was fast - as anyone would expect Captain America to be - but Bucky had blind rage on his side. Bucky shoved through an oblivious couple as you punched the man as hard as you could in the jaw. He knew it wasn’t going to work as soon as he saw the wind up. Your fist wasn’t tight enough; your arm was at an odd angle. When your first two knuckles connected with his face, you let out a howl of pain.
Steve pulled you away, putting himself in the middle of the scrum. Bucky immediately went for the son of a bitch with the grabby hands. He sent him flying to the ground with one knock of his shoulder. “You keep your goddamn hands to yourself.” He spit out each word. His metal hand flexing into a menacing fist.
“Bucky, it’s time to go,” Steve said, eyes scanning the crowd. This little incident was sure to make the papers the next day. They needed to leave before the photographers showed up.
Bucky whirled around, chest heaving. You were hunched over and keeping your right hand close to your body. His muscles were tight and aching to beat this idiot into a bloody mess. The pain on your face felt like a knife to the chest. “Take her and go,” Steve told him. “Now.”
Bucky moved on autopilot. He wrapped one hand around your upper arm and directed you through the quickly departing crowd. His gaze raked across the faces, in Winter Soldier mode, looking for any other source of danger. He was beating himself up. He should have made Steve move. He should have intervened sooner.
It wasn’t until you were both sitting safely in a chauffeured town car that he turned and really looked at you. You were cradling your hand and watching him warily.
Another reason to beat himself up. You thought he was going to be upset with you. “I’m sorry,” he said softly.
“I know,” you replied. There was a beat where you allowed one tear roll down your cheek. “I’ve watched you do it enough that I thought I could... I don’t know how to punch someone.”
Bucky smiled just a little, gently taking your broken hand in his. “We’ll have to practice after your cast comes off.”
Your eyes widened. “What?! No! I’m fine! It doesn’t hurt that bad!” You immediately rejected the idea of anything that would make you even weaker standing next to Bucky. You regularly stood with America’s Mightiest Heroes. A cast on your broken hand would make it abundantly clear that you were only a human. Nothing mighty about you.
He reached over and wiped another tear. “Doll, you need a cast.” You groaned. Bucky laughed. He leaned down and pressed his lips to your first knuckle, the touch feather light. “Your hand is broken and I need your hands healthy.”
You laughed, a musical sound that made him smile in return. You knew how much he loved your back rubs. “Take me home, Buck.”
Bucky gestured to the driver. “Hospital first.” He kissed a soft line up your arm, ending his progress in the smooth nook of your neck. “Then home.”
You let out something between a sigh and a moan, shuttering against his hot breath. A cast for a few weeks might not hurt. “Deal.”