tequila equals confrontation
While you ate pasta on the couch, the wind outside violently shook the trees. The sounds the wind created made anxiety begin creeping into your shoulders as you stared outside. The snow had begun to fall while Bucky was cooking, coating the ground with white, wet slush. Deciding a distraction was needed, you grabbed the remote to turn on the TV but at that moment, the power shut off. Plunged into blackness, you both held your breath, waiting, as the backup generator clicked on and dim light lit up the living room. Looking around, you couldn’t hold back a few loud, shaky breaths in an attempt to calm yourself down.
“You alright?” Bucky asked you, concern etching into his face.
“It’s fine, I’m fine, don’t ask me again,” you said too quickly, angry at yourself for showing him any sort of vulnerability.
“No need to bite my head off, damn,” his concern evaporated, transforming into annoyance.
You slowly turned to him, your anger now darkening your eyes.
“I need a drink.”
Stalking over to the kitchen you scrounged for something, anything to get your mind off the wind howling in your ears and the annoying, stupid, handsome man sitting on the couch. You found tequila. Pursing your lips you recall the few times you’ve drunk tequila and all you found is agitation and anger. Maybe you should look for something else to calm your nerves.
“Are you gonna keep staring at the bottle or are you gonna come over and share?”
Alright. Agitation and anger it is.
You stalked back to him, throwing yourself on the couch. Cracking open the bottle, you take a long, deep swig, liquid falling out of your mouth and dripping down your throat. The burn going down your esophagus created immediate relief as you wiped the excess liquid off your skin with the back of your hand. Turning to him, you caught his eyes latched on your throat, tongue between his teeth as he hastily looked up at your sudden movement. Blushing, he snatched it from you and did the same.
This is how you sit for the next 10 minutes. Each taking swig after swig. You could feel your anxiety leaving your shoulders as the alcohol slowly took effect. The wind didn't make you tense anymore and the man next to you didn't feel quite as intimidating.
The tension in the room was thick, so of course, you had to make it worse.
“I’m assuming you remember the last time we were in this cabin,” he sputtered at this, tequila falling from his mouth as he looked at you. With a quick nod, you keep going before the nerves took over,
“Me too. I was hoping for the rest of my life I wouldn’t have to remember what happened here, and what happened afterward. I did a pretty good job at repressing that. But now here we are, alone together again.”
His eyes burned into the side of your face, intently listening to every word as you pushed on.
“I’m still angry at you, Bucky. I’m really fucking angry. I don’t understand why, after you fucked me, you left me,” you noticed him wince and turn away, “that was a really fucked up thing to do. When we woke up I was expecting something to come out of that night, not even a relationship or anything but something. But all I got was you looking at me with contempt and confusion like you didn’t feel all the same things I felt that night.”
At this point, he sagged down further into the couch. He wasn’t looking at you anymore so you peeked at his face, noticing his eyebrows were furrowed, his mouth shut in a thin line.
“You didn’t give me an explanation or any semblance of why you would shut me out and it really, really sucked. Like really fucking sucked. You remember once we got back to the tower I kept coming to your door for the next few nights, right?”
He gave you a slight nod, and you saw his eyes soften.
“Bucky, even though I was expecting something, I wasn’t trying to force you into anything, you know that, right?”
Another slight nod. Hoping your questions would draw out more small responses, you pressed on.
“Was it the relationship? Did we go too fast?”
“No Jordan-“
“Was the sex not good or something?”
“Jesus, no let me-“
“Did you regret it? Oh God, that’s what it is, huh? You regretted it, damn-“
“No, Jordan I didn’t regret it, and still don’t-“
“Fine, then was it me? Am I not good enough for you?”
“NO! Definitely not, you’re talking nonsense.”
“THEN TELL ME WHY BUCKY,” you cried out, voice echoing through the house. You looked in his eyes, searching for answers, desperation painted your face, and remorse filled his. His jaw twitched, his teeth ground together. He turned away.
Taking a deep breath at his silence, every emotion swiped off your face,
“If you’re not going to talk to me, fine. I’m not going to sit around here and try and drag it out of you. Thanks for dinner.”
Standing up, you grabbed his empty bowl and started the dishes. Forcing your feelings down you turned the water all the way up, burning your hands as you washed the sauce away.
With your back to Bucky, you don’t see the internal battle he was having on the couch. He clenched and unclenched his fists, taking deep breaths as the storm in his head brewed. He knew he needed to just spit it out, but it was too fucking difficult. “Feelings aren’t something to be ashamed of,” he heard Steve’s voice ringing in his head, “you know how empathetic she is, just talk to her.”
He remembered how kind you were to him when you first showed up at the Avengers tower 5 and a half years ago. Everyone, except Steve, would walk on eggshells around him, scared and intimidated of the ruthless Winter fucking Soldier. He carried that shame with him, a heavy burden on his shoulders, and then you showed up and soaked it all out of him.
5 AND A HALF YEARS EARLIER
Bucky sat alone against the wall in the furthest corner of the common room, not his choice but no one seemed to want to sit next to him. Everyone waited anxiously for Tony to arrive with the news he had been hiding for the last few days. Steve and Natasha shared the love seat in front of the TV, Wanda and Vision sprawled on the floor in front of the bookcase, and Bruce and Sam were thumb wrestling on the couch.
He heard you before he saw you. Tony’s footsteps sound down the hallway along with barely-there ones walking right behind him. As the door swung open, Bucky stared. You were not at all what he expected.
You stood a few inches shorter than Tony, dressed in tight, black combat clothing, your thick, wild hair blending into the fabric. He immediately noticed the abundance of freckles spread across your entire face, stark in contrast to your pale skin. Bright eyes sliced through the apprehension in the room as you took in everyone’s eyes on you. You were so petite, but as you took a step forward, Bucky saw the strength radiate off you, your thighs tensing as you walked up right next to Tony. Hands clasped behind your back, he saw your strong shoulders flex underneath the fabric of your shirt, chest jutting out. He didn’t think anyone could match Tony’s confidence, but here you were, commanding the room.
“Everyone, this is Jordan, she’ll be joining our team as our designated pilot, but don’t underestimate her. Her other skills basically match Natasha’s so I wouldn’t get on her bad side.”
Bucky watched the blush creep up your neck, the only sign that you were nervous, and you gave a small wave,
"It’s a pleasure to meet you all, I look forward to working with you.”
Bucky held his breath as your eyes wandered to his, expecting you to falter at the sight of the infamous Winter Soldier, but your eyes almost… softened? Now that he wasn’t expecting.
Steve immediately walked over to you, formally introducing himself and each of the others followed suit. Bucky watched from afar as you gracefully made conversation and said something that made Sam and Bruce laugh. Natasha walked up to you with poise, commenting that she finally had a worthy opponent to spar with, and Bucky’s stomach twisted at the noise that left your lips, your laugh filling the room as you shamelessly agreed. He turned to leave the room, embarrassed by the feelings you gave him when he heard Natasha say,
“Well, except maybe the Soldiat over there, he’s the only one that puts up a fair fight.”
Bucky tensed and turned back towards the room, all eyes on him as he eyed you warily.
“Ah yes, the famous James Buchanan Barnes,” he noted that you didn’t refer to him by his assassin surname and you didn't look at his metal hand peeking out from under his sleeve. The tension in his torso relaxed slightly.
You walked over to him with a kind smile on your face and asked, “so, what should I call you? James Buchanan Barnes is a mouthful and James is too formal for me to be honest with you.”
Everyone’s eyebrows slightly raised at the thoughtful question as they looked at Bucky. He was surprised you even asked him as no one had thought to when he showed up a few months ago. They either called him Soldiat thanks to Nat, or Barnes, which he didn’t really like but didn’t want to come off as harsh correcting them.
With an unfamiliar warmth spreading through his chest, he noticed you had blue eyes.
“Bucky. You can call me Bucky.”