Questions
In her dreams Bucky follows the patterns of the person the real Bucky seems to be. He's kind and sweet and in love. Good and strong and protective.
But sometimes, sometimes memories creep in. Memories of anger and yelling. Of fear. But somehow she can never see his face. And so she doesn't know if it's him or someone else. She doesn't know if it’s real or just a dream. Because she doesn’t want to believe that this person could inspire those feelings in her. She’s come to care for him.
A couple weeks have passed in which Y/N runs the gym and talks to prospective members in her father's old office and Sam watches over her shoulder. Bucky comes by every day, at one point or another, and they talk before he goes about beating in a punching bag. Sometimes she'll watch him, if it’s after hours. It feels familiar and good. She likes the way his muscles move, the smooth fluidity of it mesmerizing. And somehow she finds herself wanting to draw.
"Did I draw you often?"
He pauses in his punching and turns, breaths coming a little hard. Sweat drips down his forehead and a few strands of long hair have come loose from his bun. "All the time. The only thing you liked to draw better was nature, especially birds and trees." Y/N nods and puts her pencil back to paper. The soft, calming sound of graphite tracing across paper echoes through the room. Her sketchpad is balanced on her knees as she sits in a chair near to where Bucky trains.
But he doesn't go back to punching and she looks up. "You okay?"
"Fine." His eyes are soft. "More than fine."
She looks back down, keeps sketching, as a blush coats her cheeks. Her own artwork amazes her, her hand somehow remembering something that her brain didn't. It felt like someone else's hand creating because she doesn't know how. She doesn't know how to draw and yet...
"I have two questions for you."
"Okay." He hits the bag lightly with one fist and then starts to unwrap his hands, plopping down on the floor in front of her chair.
She keeps drawing, tilting her head to the side as she concentrates. "I keep dreaming of a place. I like it there. Until I don't."
"What do you mean, babydoll?"
"I mean...It's nice. The light is nice and soft and everything is calm and I feel safe. It's outside and there are trees and a creek. But then...it gets dark and I realize I can't hear the birds anymore or the creek and there's a shadow at the edge of the tree line, watching me. And then I feel exposed and alone. And-,"
The sharp tip of her pencil snaps against the paper. She looks down at Bucky who looks stricken. "It's a real place isn't it?"
He nods and she opens her mouth to ask something else, a million questions running through her mind, when he cuts her off. "Please don't ask me to tell you about it. I will and I'll tell you the truth but not-not yet."
"Okay." Her voice is a low murmur. The urge to take his hand and soothe his anxiety is overwhelming and so she sits on her own to stop from reaching out. "Okay."
“What’s your other question?” Her resolve to keep her hands under her thighs only lasts a few seconds as she watches his chest rise and fall, the dampness of his flushed skin, the bright blue eyes with tired circles beneath them.
She sets aside her sketchpad and now useless pencil, before leaning forward, elbows braced on her knees, head in her hands. For a moment she just watches Bucky finish unwrapping his hands before he starts to stretch. “It’s more of an opinion question.”
“Shoot.”
“What do you think about using your senses to help remember things?”
For a moment he doesn’t say anything, just winces as he stretches his left arm, the joints popping excruciatingly. Something in her cracks at the pained expression on his face. Y/N stands and moves to sit on the floor behind him, carefully beginning to massage his shoulders. It feels familiar and she knows it’s something she used to do often. For a moment Y/N wonders how Bucky is even coping when clearly they used to rely on each other so much for comfort and tenderness. “What do I think about it?” His voice is blissful, happy as she continues rubbing his back. It feels good to be touching him, she wants to wrap her arms around him. “I don’t know. Why do you ask? Is one sense-,”
“I don’t know. I just think that stimulation and variation helps. Like Sam made spaghetti last night and when I got a whiff…I remembered something. Or like when I looked at you for the first time I remembered something.”
Bucky leans into her hands, “What did you remember when you looked at me?”
“It doesn’t matter-,”
A desperate edge comes into his voice, “Please? You remembered something real about me. Something I didn’t have to tell you.”
“I only remembered you holding my hand, leading me somewhere. It was sunny and warm. You were smiling and young.”
He seems satisfied and nods, a slight smile on his face. “So what are you asking me?” He pauses. “You want me to…I don’t know...trigger you?”
She shrugs. “Maybe.”
“Sam makes spaghetti for special occasions.”
“Yes,” she agrees, massaging a knot in his shoulder.
“So…”
She takes her hands away from his back. Bucky’s shirt is drenched in sweat and yet she hadn’t been disgusted by it. In fact she sort of wants to lean forward and press her forehead to his back, breathe in the scent of him, pluck that shirt off of him and taste his skin.
Y/N jerks back and stands. “Uh,” suddenly nervous fingers start tapping against her thigh. “I, uh, Natasha and Wanda came to visit.”
“Oh.” His voice is hard at the mention of the pair, turning to look up at her.
“You don’t like them?” She carefully avoids looking at him, fighting the desire threatening her.
Bucky stands slowly, Y/N taking a few steps back just to be safe. Just to keep herself from reaching out and trying to touch him again for purely selfish reasons. “I like Wanda. Natasha and I…she’s always, in my opinion, poked around where she has no business poking around.”
Y/N looks at him carefully, at the set of his brows and the slope of his nose, his sharp jawline and pouty lips. Handsome features all carefully arranged into a hard expression. “What do you mean?”
“I mean she spies and meddles.” He sighs, “She’s your friend though. And she’s a good one.”
“Did something happen between the two of you?” He doesn’t answer right away, instead stares at the floor. “You said you would-,”
He reaches out and silently asks for her hand. Hers go inside his, fingers tightening around hers almost painfully. “-tell you the truth. And I am. Yes. Something happened between us once. Only once.”
She frowns and takes her hand away from his. “But…you said we’ve been together since we were fifteen. It had to have happened forever ago. So why would it matter?”
His mouth opens and closes a few time but nothing comes out as Y/N’s heart pounds and she starts to panic. Because he lied. She can see it in his eyes. “Y/N,” he says carefully, keeping a firm grip on her hand as she tries to pull away. “Listen. I didn’t. I didn’t lie.”
“Okay.”
“I…W-we kissed, me and you, when we were fifteen but then we got scared. And nothing else happened for a while and so…Natasha-,”
“You don’t have to say anything else.” She isn’t upset with him but she does feel sort of tired, sort of exhausted with how little she remembers. Instead she just picks up her notebook and pencil and walks away. “Gotta lock up,” she says as she grabs her purse.
He follows her, grabbing his gym bag from the floor and wincing all the way out of the building. They’re the only two left and so he waits for her to lock the gym so he can walk her home. “Are you upset?” Bucky asks, sounding very apprehensive.
She gives him a funny look, “Why would I be upset?”
“I just…I mean-,”
“Had I been upset the first time it happened?”
His voice suddenly goes into a hard growl. “No. Not about Natasha at least.”
“I sense a story behind that anger.” Even though his anger scares her, she makes her voice lofty and inquisitive.
For a while it’s quiet as they walk down the deserted street together but she doesn’t push. Really, with his mood darkened for the moment, she doesn’t want to push. “You started dating someone else because of a rumor someone started about me.”
Y/N frowns. If he was her best friend, wouldn’t she have asked him about the rumor? She asks him as much but he shakes his head and refuses to look at her. “Well then who was it?”
“Who was who?”
“The person I dated.” He stops and breathes hard. He closes his eyes. “Bucky?” They’re outside of her building now.
He shakes his head, anger radiating from him, and Y/N takes a few steps back. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
But something in her rises up. That old fire that had been choked out when she forgot everything. “Why won’t you tell me?”
“Because he hurt you, Y/N!” He shouts suddenly. “He fucking hurt you okay? And I don’t want to think about it.”
Her heart feels like it might be beating out of her chest as she starts scrambling for her keys in her bag. “I, uh, keys. I, um. Goodnight I guess.” Everything feels tight and constricting, and the feeling of a scream about to tear out of her throat is rising in her. Because she can feel a memory about to come upon her and she doesn’t want that here, now. In front of him. Finally locating the keys she turns toward her building and shakily tries to open the door. It doesn’t go well.
He’s calling her, saying her name gently and apologizing, when he touches her shoulder. She jumps and yelps, practically falling in the now open door before she slams it shut and runs up the steps to their apartment. Sam had a date and so the apartment is empty. It takes her a few minutes to open that door as well, frustration and fear clouding everything she does, making everything hard.
She only barely makes it to the couch, tears on her cheeks.
~
“Doll?”
Y/N looks up from her notebook where she’s sitting on her bed writing, and gasps. He’s got bruises on his jaw and cheekbones. “Bucky!” She darts across the room and pulls him into her room, closing and locking the door firmly behind him. “You’re lucky dad isn’t her to see you!”
Heavily he sits on her bed. “I’m sorry.”
She stands in front of him and presses her hands to either side of his face. “What have they done to you now?” He doesn’t answer. “Please, Buck, let me help you. You don’t have to stay with your parents. You can live here.”
Shaking his head he pulls away from her hands and tilts to the side on her bed. “No. I can handle it.”
“There’s no ‘handling it’ Buck! They hit you! They-,” she’s cut off when he pulls her down next to him on the bed to lie with him.
Bucky buries his face into her neck. “Shhh, don’t worry about it.”
“Bucky-,”
“I’m sorry I kissed you.” Her breath catches and her heart shatters. “I’m sorry I ruined everything.” She shushes him and presses her hands into his hair. “I…what…fucking Stark said wasn’t true. I would never do that to you.” She wraps her arms around his shoulders. “I didn’t kiss you on a dare. This has been the worst week of my life, being away from you. And now I hear you finally agreed to go out with Rumlow.”
She shakes her head and tries to pull away from him. “Just go if you’re going to-,”
“No, no, god, Y/N please. Just lie with me for a second. Please.”
When he kisses her hair she pulls away and sits up, unable to handle affection from him at the moment. His face falls, hurt flooding his features. “The only reason I believed that rumor was because you didn’t speak to me after. You ran away. And I was left alone. And then I hear about this dare and...What was I supposed to think? And now you’re sorry it happened? Sorry you kissed me?” Her voice is small and wounded. She turns away. “You broke my heart. You acted like nothing happened the next day at school and I thought-,” she stops and bites her lip.
“Y/N please…”
“You can stay here if you need to but I don’t want to see you.” She stands and pushes his hands away when he tries to reach out to her. “So you stay here in my room and rest because I don't want you to have to go home to them and I’ll be in the living room. Stay as long as you want and-,”
He sits up, his skin pale and ashen, “It doesn’t have to be like this. I was afraid and-,”
She backs away. “Take as long as you need Buck.” Her voice cracks horribly.
“Babydoll-,” she spins around and rushes out of her room.