Chapter 1
“But… How long will you be out?” You fidget with your fingers on the table, before grabbing the cup of coffee and taking it to your lips to try and conceal your uneasiness.
“ I’m leaving in a few hours and it’ll be two or three days, tops.” Steve answers with a shrug, “Easy peazy,” He smiles, chewing the impressive amount of pancakes he has just filled his mouth with.
“If it´s so easy, why do you have to go?” You place your cup of coffee on the table again, with a little more force than necessary and his brows furrow at the act, which you deliberately ignore to continue questioning the man in front of you, “You can send anyone of us, instead. I can go, why don’t you send me?”
“Well, the fact I consider it easy, doesn´t mean it is to other people.” There´s not a trace of arrogance in his tone, only honesty and even a little bit of humility only Steve Rogers can pull off, which makes you sigh in defeat. “Besides, you’ve been here for what? One week after over two years away and already wanna leave again? What’s this really about, Y/n?” He points and shakes his fork at you, frowning questioningly.
“What, I can’t be worried about my workaholic and overloaded Captain, who deserves a break every once in a while?” You lie, grabbing some pancake from his plate with your own fork, hoping stealing his food would divert his focus.
He looks nothing but unconvinced, eyeing you suspiciously, “Not when I´m talking to the most workaholic person alive, and-“ before he could inquiry you further, you hear the door, catching his attention as well as he looks past your shoulder. You hold your breath upon the voice you hear.
“Hey, Punk, you’re still here-” You don’t dare to turn around, but can picture the discomfort taking over his expression on finding you there, too.
At the silence that follows his entrance, you glance at Steve, returning his apologetic look with a sad smile, before the chair scratches against the floor with you standing up, “Stay safe, Steve.” You dismiss taking your dishes to the sink in favor of leaving the scene as soon as you can.
Bucky steps aside for you to pass through the opened door, answering your mumbled good morning with a slight nod, none of you daring to exchange glances. The door swings behind you as you force a steady pace to get to you have no idea where.
It’s been like this ever since your return. Awkward, uncomfortable, silent, painful…You thought two years would make it better, would erase everything which had devastated your life together, or the life you thought you had together and you could, at least, have some cordial or even a friendly relationship. But it hasn’t been that way, there is still the same, if not more, sorrow, anger, resentment. It is all there, growing with each day, refusing to let go, consuming you, building a thick barrier between you both, leading your mind to replay over and over that dreadful day two years ago.
But all of this isn’t enough to make you not worry about him, apparently. Because as soon as Steve mentioned he had a solo mission coming up, your thoughts ran to your ex-boyfriend. Who would be there for him when the nightmares arrived?
You knew they were back, you saw this often on the rapid glances you dared to steal in this last week, glimpsing the dark circles deepening his still devastatingly gorgeous blue eyes. They had stopped, when you were the one to spend the nights with him, calming him down, running a soothing hand over his trembling chest, whispering sweet nothings on his ear. They would go away, until, towards the end, they stopped entirely.
The end…
Your feet end up driving you to your new room. On a new floor. You know your old one is vacant and wonder whose idea was it to relocate you on another room instead of the one on his floor. Some smart person, for sure. The thought leads you to your current concern, with Steve away the floor would be totally empty and he would be alone with his night terrors.
Letting yourself fall face down on your bed, you stay like that for a while, before rolling over and placing a hand over your forehead.
You know what do.
It was a terrible, terrible idea, which could easily lead to catastrophic results. Mostly for your heart. But what choice did you have, really?
“Friday,” you listen to the prompt response from the A.I, “Would you please wake me up if- I mean, when you notice any kind of distress in Bucky´s sleep?”
You frown, finding very odd the unusual silence from the always efficient AI before the tentative answer, “Are you sure, Miss Y/L/N? Considering your history with Sergeant Barnes…”
An inevitable curse leaves your lips aimed at Tony Stark for creating such a clever and sensitive program, if you even could call her that, “I am,” you lie, “Just don´t tell anyone, please.”
~~~~
“Miss-”
“I got it, thank you, Friday.” You´re still awake, rolling between your sheets, when the first warning of the night arrives.
Barefoot and in your pajama set, you don´t think twice before taking the elevator up to his floor. The overwhelming anxiety manifesting in your sweaty cold hands and tight jaw. An ice cold wave rushes through your chest to your limbs. It´s been so long since you´ve done this.
You find his door locked. “Friday?” you call, and you hear the unlocking sound before the doorknob gives in your push.
The whole apartment is pitch-dark as you cross the small living room towards his bedroom. When you get there, the sight before you wrenches a gasp from your lungs. His sheets are a complete mess, the borders already out of the mattress as he tosses and turns. Small whimpers slip out of his lips and, as you cautiously walk over to him, you see the desperation twisting his expression.
For a split of a moment, your mind drives you back to the very first days. Ironically enough, this was how you started getting closer in what felt like ages ago, with you not being able to stay quiet and sleep peacefully with the sounds of deep, deep mind torments behind your room.
A particularly loud cry blurs your memories, pulling you back to the similar present. You weren´t exactly sure of what you would do when you asked Friday to wake you up, but now, it´s second nature when you hurriedly drive yourself closer, but when you climb on his bed, you do it slowly and carefully, conscious of what a sudden awaken could cause, including to your physical health.
You lay down facing his side, getting a better look of his scrunched up expression and clenched jaw. His chest heaves as his hands grip on the sheets and his legs squirm. Aware of your own unstable breathing, it´s like you´re a spectator of your own actions when you do what you always did. You place a timid hand over his chest and the familiar warmth rushes through your veins, his skin is as hot as you remember and it takes all you have in you to not envelope him in your whole body, to feel every bit of him.
The single touch is enough to make the movements of his limbs and chest calmer, but his anguish is still evident on the incoherent mumbles and droplets of sweat falling from his forehead, which encourages you further, despite your own fretfulness.
“Hey,” you whisper, leading your mouth closer to his ear, hoping it wouldn’t be enough to wake him up, but to call his attention out of whatever terror is taking over his mind, “It’s ok. You’re ok. You’re safe,” You don’t notice but your hand gently draws circles around his chest, “It’s not real, it’s just a dream. I’m here, I…” this used to be the part when you said you loved him, “I… I missed you.” You gulp, not being able to help your own tears as you continue speaking softly to him, noticing the rushed heartbeats that only he was ever able to arouse in your chest. You can´t decide at this moment whether you to be scared or comforted by this well-known feeling.
You smile when his expression becomes softer, a little bit at least. His breathing is fully back to normal and his muscles are finally relaxed. You weren’t sure you would be able to help after so long, after everything… But despite it all, you’re glad you did. If there´s one thing you´re sure of it’s that he doesn´t deserve that kind of suffering, that kind of pain, no matter what he may think about the matter.
Before you would leave to your room, you allow yourself some time to take him in, which it has been impossible in the last week, since you ran from his presence and avoided looking, really looking at him, being certain he´s been acting the same when it comes to you.
He has cut his hair, which is odd to your eyes, you longed for his long locks, even if you’ve never admitted it to yourself through this last year. Under the touch of your hand, you feel he’s even more bulked, and you wondered how many hours he’s been spending in the gym. There’s a light scruff growing on his sharped jaw, defying you not to lay a kiss upon it…you breathe him, his scent, closing your eyes…still the same shampoo. Your gaze lay upon his completely peaceful sleeping face again. You really missed him, there’s no way to deny it anymore, at least not to yourself.
Deciding to leave before he would wake up and catch you in the unexplainable position, you remove your hand from his chest, and draw out one last glance at him before quietly turning to leave his bed, sitting up and letting your legs fall to the edge.
“Y/N.”
You freeze. Your eyes shut and a grimace twists your face. Ignoring the best you could your racing heartbeats and the tremble of your hands gripping the sheets, you open your eyes and tilt your head to look behind you.
He’s still peacefully sleeping, unmoved, except for his metal hand touching where you’ve been touching on his chest. You let a relieved sigh out of you.
“Y/N…Y/N.”
Nothing but faint whispers, but they’re efficient to make your heart pounding all over again. Is he dreaming of you? Is he sensing your presence? You want to move and leave him to his privacy, before it would be too late, but your body doesn’t seem to respond your commands as you keep staring at his sleeping form. Until you hear it.
“I’m sorry, baby…I’m sorry.”
The simple and unconscious words are enough for you to choke on a sob and storm out of his bedroom, allowing yourself to cry in your bed for the rest of your own restless night.