Chapter 15
Bucky was unable to get out of bed. He’d walked home on autopilot, Soldat sensing his distress and remaining mercifully silent. He even tried following Bucky into his bedroom to cuddle with him. He supposed that’s what service dogs were for. He knew Soldat was trying to be comforting, but he just wanted to be alone. He’d scared Steve off, probably for real this time. He recognised a brush off when he saw it, and Steve’s sudden departure left a sick feeling in the pit of Bucky’s stomach.
Why did he think it was a good idea to just unload like that? He hated himself so much. It wasn’t fair on Steve, especially in his place of work, and now he’d ruined any chance of being with the guy. It was so typical of him to do this. Steve was even starting to flirt with him. He groaned again, burying further into his duvet, pulling the blankets over his head in defeat. Soldat whined outside his door, claws scratching against the wood. Bucky felt a pang of guilt as he listened to his dog. He was so toxic he couldn’t even keep his dog happy. What chance did he have with other humans?
He cursed Natasha for ever suggesting the art class. It would’ve been better for everyone if he never left the house. Then the only person he’d be hurting is himself. How unselfish of him. It was far too easy to blame all this on Natasha, so Bucky allowed himself to do just that for a few minutes. It didn’t really make him feel better. He rolled onto his back and faced the ceiling, hoping to find some answers in the off-white plaster.
After staring at his ceiling for what felt like hours, he was startled out of his reverie by his phone ringing. It was Nat’s ringtone, so Bucky knew he had to answer it. Well, he didn’t, but he would if he wanted to avoid death. For the first time in a long time, Bucky considered whether that would be a viable option. Ignoring the phone and hoping Natasha would kill him so he didn’t have to face his shitstorm of a life. He decided that it probably wasn’t worth it. Natasha would just find a way to bring him back and kill him again for even considering it. He sat up, rubbing his face tiredly, feeling the sticky residue of dried tears on his cheeks. Huh. When had he started crying? Feeling very much like he shouldn’t shrug something like this off and doing it anyway, Bucky picked his phone up and pressed it to his ear, grumbling a hello.
“James? Where are you?” Natasha’s voice sounded off, and if Bucky hadn’t known her as long as he had, he’d say she was crying, “Steve texted when you didn’t answer your door or phone. Are you okay?”
Steve had called? Bucky didn’t remember that. He pulled the phone from his ear, feeling disorientated. He could still hear Natasha’s voice in his ear, talking to him levelly, but he recognised the underlying frustration at him. He didn’t want to make her angry too. Bad enough he’d lost one friend, there was no reason to lose another. “What do you want Nat? I’m at home, I’m safe, no plans to change that right now. Is that enough to reassure you?” Bucky didn’t know why he was behaving like this, but he really didn’t need Natasha’s sympathy or empty reassurances right now.
“No, James, didn’t you hear what I just said? Steve’s looking for you, please call him. I know what happened, but please don’t pull the same shit you always do. Answer the phone when he calls you, talk to him like an Adult,” Bucky could literally hear the capitalisation, “and then call me when you’re done, I need to know what’s happening.” Nat hung up without ceremony, leaving Bucky reeling from the sudden silence. He glared at his phone, hoping that it would somehow reach Natasha.
Bucky was a fully-grown, reasonably well adjusted adult. This is why he absolutely did not shriek and throw his phone down onto his bed when it started ringing loudly, the horrifically upbeat notes of Cotton-Eyed Joe blasting from the speaker. Fucking Clint. This was not the first time he’d changed his ringtone, and Bucky didn’t for a second believe it was the last. The only ringtone he didn’t dare mess with was Natasha’s, and that had more to do with her threats than Bucky’s. He cautiously picked his phone back up and peered at the screen. Steve. Fuck.
“Hello?” Bucky winced at how raw his voice sounded. There was absolutely no way Steve wouldn’t know he’d been crying. Hopefully, he’d be courteous enough to ignore it.
“Bucky! Oh thank god, I was getting so worried. I wanted to apologise for earlier. I didn’t mean to leave you after you said all that. I really did have to get back to work. It didn’t occur to me what that must’ve looked like until afterwards, but I promise you nothing you said could change how I feel about you. You’re amazing, Buck.” Bucky couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He was sure (like 80%) that Natasha had phoned Steve and told him to say this, if only to stop Bucky overreacting like he had been. The other, more logical 20% was telling him Steve meant what he was saying. He elected to listen to that part of himself (for once) because it meant he got what he wanted. Steve was continuing to chatter in Bucky’s ear, apologising for his behaviour.
“Steve?” Steve trailed off, an expectant silence replacing his apologies, “Listen, can we do this face to face? I need to see you.” Bucky’s voice still sounded rough as fuck, but he ignored it, “if you’re busy or whatever, don’t worry about it. I was thinking we could talk? Maybe order pizza or something.” He kept his tone light, trying not to show Steve how desperately he wanted to see him.
“Uh, sure. Yeah, that sounds good. I can be at yours in twenty?”
Bucky nodded, then slapped himself mentally. “See you in twenty.”
“See you soon Bucky.”
As soon as the phone hung up, Bucky started to panic. Steve was going to be there in twenty minutes. Bucky looked like shit. Actual, literal shit. His eyes were red, his cheeks were tacky and his hair...well the less said about that, the better. He needed a shower, like, an hour ago. He sighed, realising he’d brought this on himself. He hoped the panic about how he looked would distract him from the dread threatening to overtake him at the prospect of Steve’s arrival.
While he was combing his wet hair into something that vaguely looked like style, he tried his hardest to not think about the conversation he was going to have with Steve. Of course, trying not to think about something is a surefire way to think about it in excruciating detail. What the hell was he going to say? Sure, Steve had apologised and reassured Bucky it wasn’t him, but Bucky had years blaming himself for other people’s opinions. Even before the accident, he’d been a people pleaser. He tried to change himself to fit other people’s perceptions of him, and it was slowly killing him, even then.
He shook his head as he pulled on a pair of black sweatpants, choosing comfort over looking good. His arm was on full display underneath his white t-shirt. He knew he’d done that to serve as a reminder to Steve about how damaged Bucky was. He wanted to go into this completely open. No hiding anything. The thought of that was enough to terrify anyone, but Bucky knew this was something he needed to do if he wanted to keep Steve. And he did want to keep him. He just hoped Steve wanted to keep him too.
He was just starting to make himself some coffee when the doorbell rang. He placed the pot on the kitchen table and walked slowly towards the door, trepidation building inside of him. He breathed out slowly, reminding himself it was just Steve. A wave of deja vu swept over him as he realised this was almost exactly the same situation as last week (god, was it only last week? So much had changed) except this time they were going to be having an actual Adult conversation instead of just doing art. His nervousness was warranted. Totally warranted. The thought didn’t help at all, and he took one more breath before opening the door.
Steve looked like Bucky felt. His eyes were red behind his glasses, and he was literally drooping. His entire being screamed remorse, so loudly that Bucky was temporarily deafened. It took him a few seconds to stop staring at Steve and step to one side, inviting him in. The blizzard had subsided somewhat, but Steve was still bundled up in about eighty layers, which he immediately began disposing of as soon as he stepped over the threshold.
He hadn’t looked up at him. Steve was steadfastly looking at the ground, and it was driving Bucky crazy. He needed Steve to look at him, even just to gauge his reaction to what had happened. He cleared his throat, and rejoiced when Steve visibly jumped, looking up at him guiltily. Bucky knew how to play this, “I was gonna make some coffee, you want any?” he was striving for casual, but even he knew he’d missed the mark by about a mile.
“Coffee sounds good, thanks Buck.” Steve grinned, too tight to be completely genuine, but Bucky considered it a win. He also ignored the pleasure elicited from hearing the nickname only Steve used.
“Right. Okay, I’ll just, uh… Make yourself at home. I’ll be back in a sec.” He entered the kitchen, bracing his hands on the table as he leaned forward and tried not to scream. It had never been this awkward between him and Steve. Granted, they hadn’t known each other all that long, but it was never like this in the time they had known each other. He had well and truly screwed this up.