warnings: mentions of torture and distress. canon typical violence. possible timeline errors with ca:tws. possible thunderbolts* spoiler at end if you haven’t seen it yet.
summary: a stolen widow tasked with accompanying the soldier, the two of you were together more than not. soft memories of a softer widow haunt his dreams. would he ever see you again?
author’s note: past memories in italics. another one thank u.
There were things that haunted him.
Anyone in his position would be followed down by their wrong doings. His actions and choices, even if not his own, would chase him to the ends of the Earth, not relenting until they had him by the throat. Or until the end of time. Till he took his very last breath.
One simply didn’t forget all the atrocities one committed - not in this lifetime and maybe not even in the next. At least not the extent of the ones he was guilty of. Blood soaked his hands. Even years after the mantle of the Winter Soldier had been striped, he felt he could never quite clean himself of it.
He could scrub and scrub until his hand went raw and his skin broke open. He would pick and clean between the plating of his replacement arm, searching for blood that once got caught between the divots. The action is rough and violent, the sturdy material of the plates being the only thing stopping him from ripping it to pieces.
He could never get clean enough.
In the after hours of their latest mission, he can only find himself feeling disgusted.His metal digits flex once and then twice as if checking to see if it is still real. It feels heavy on the left side of his body, weighing him down both figuratively and literally.
Somewhere from down the hall, Walker calls for him. “Come on, man. We gotta debrief and I want to go to bed. You’re keeping us all up.”
-
“You’re going to break something if you keep doing it that way.” There’s a voice from his left. It continues to talk at him as it sits besides him. “And if you do, we’re both going to be in trouble.”
He pauses in the middle of what he had been doing, removing the knife from in between the platings of his arm. The weapon remains tightly locked between his fingers for a moment or two longer than it should before lowering it. Not a threat. At least not one to him.
And he can at least recognize that you are not one in some regards.
With an outstretched hand, you wait as patiently as you can for him to place his in your own. After a moment of staring, he relents, gently resting his left wrist in the palm of your hand. He’s mindful of the pressure and of the weight behind it. The metal limb was more than enough to throw his own center of gravity off. It would be more than enough to cause some discomfort to your hand, even with him simply resting on you.
“You should be more careful.” Your voice is heavy in his ear. Your accent doesn’t quite fit your face - almost as if even that has been indoctrinated into you as well.
He’s not particularly listening to you. Even if he was, he does a decent enough job of looking uninterested.
Careful wasn’t a word in his dictionary. He could be discreet. He could be stealthy. But he couldn’t afraid to be careful at times. As long as the job got done, it didn’t really matter how it came to be. A few bumps and bruises were going to little to deter him - besides he has been through far worse over his lifetime.
You fish through your pockets, bringing up a rag to begin wiping at the metal, carefully running the fabric between the grooves in his arm. The smell is a rotten one, a mixture of both dried blood and oil to keep his arm lubed. You try your best not to let your upper lip curl up in disgust, choking back a cough as you do so.
“Does that mask of yours have scent blockers?”
“No.”
That causes you to lift your gaze up, watching him with careful intent. It wasn’t like him to have a conversation with you - let alone acknowledge anything you had said. There were far and few time in between the two of you even shared words. It was always short and two the point. For some reason, one this day, he has chosen to humor your rather useless question.
“I know that they wouldn’t.” You say, continuing your work. “I don’t think they would spend that kind of money on you or me.”
The Winter Soldier isn’t sure what you expect from him. Do you want him to laugh and chuckle at your joke or just brush it off like you had said nothing to him. Not that he even thought himself capable of those emotions anymore. So instead, he opts to sit in silence, watching as you tend to your work.
The movements of your hands are uncharacteristically gentle for someone like you. He has seen those very hands break bones without much effort. He has seen them choke the life out of several people without much of a second thought. He has witness them drip with blood, only to be wiped clean as if nothing happened in the first place.
The duality of your touch is not lost on him.
“There - all better.” You have cleaned him as well as you feel like you can. The cloth in your hand is practically drenched in both fresh and dried blood. There’s still a small crinkle to your nose, looking slightly disgusted by it, but you don’t have much else to say on the matter.
None of this was his fault.
-
Yelena only brings back those bitter memories.
Her suit is different. Not the same stark black that he can vaguely make out in his more pleasant dreams. More of a merc than a true widow, there are still some differences and similarities.
In those first few days of working together, he tried not to stare too much or too hard. Not that he really cared if anyone caught him. It would be far too easy to brush it off as him just being his usual grumpy self.
There are brief thoughts of if she knew you oe nor. Thought of if he brought you up, would she be able to confidently say she had any recollection of you. Then again you were a war prize for H.Y.D.R.A. Taken from a mission gone sour, you never returned to the Red Room. Their trackers were replaced with new ones. You were as effectively hidden as you could be.
Then there was the fact he could never bring himself to ask. Widows didn’t exactly live the most pleasant of lives. At least, he knew yours hadn’t been so the same had to go for everyone else.
Underneath it all are also the fears that you might not be alive after all. After that last mission had go horribly wrong, after his defection, he could only imagine that had not been kind to you. You would have been severely punished for your failure.
He knew what his own captors were capable of. He had vivid flashbacks to being held down, force to withstand torture. Forced to have his memory manipulated and replaced.
It kept him up late into the night that he never went looking for you. Now when he thought back on it, he knew he should have. The one person who showed him the smallest shred of kindness in those dark times had been so easily forgotten and tossed to the side.
He didn’t particularly enjoy lingering on those thoughts.
-
“Bucky.” His voice comes from somewhere to your side.
Your head whips to face him, brows pinching down together in thought. “What?”
There’s a brief look of confusion, his eyes going misty as they flicker around. It’s clear he’s searching for something. Maybe not something tangible but something looked far away in the back of his mind. The look disappears just as quickly as it had appeared, shaking his head from side to side as if to rid himself of the thought.
You chew quietly on the inside of your cheek, trying to piece together the meaning behind his sudden outburst. Bucky was a name - that much you knew. A rather unique one you could say you had never heard before.
“Is that someone you know?”
The Winter Soldier doesn’t response, frozen in place. His attention is back forwards, watching the highway with his usual intensity. There’s a subtle twitch of his brows downward, unconsciously reacting to your questioning.
“Is that your name?” Is your next question.
Despite what little information you did have on him, you knew no one would be named Winter or Soldier. It was almost tacky to put those two together. As cruel as life had been to you, you expected no one in their right mind would name their child that. Or maybe they would. H.Y.D.R.A. hadn’t been setting high standards for your perception of others.
This time his head turns to face you again. There’s a look of recognition that crosses his face. Even with his mask on, you can tell his expression as shifted underneath it, looking at you expectantly.
“That’s your name.” You say it a bit more firmly this time.
His brows jump up in what can only be described as surprise. The recognition turns into something more. Familiarity is what you eventually settle on. The confirmation seems to do something for him. As if he has been doubting why that name has been stuck in his head for so long. Ever since his run in with the Captain.
“Bucky.” You say, trying the name out for yourself. As odd as it feels on your tongue, it sounds so much better than the other thins you have been stuck with calling him. It feels softer. Gentler. Not all that befitting of the man armed to the teeth beside you.
“You know I’ve never really liked calling you Soldier.” You say, shifting a bit so you’re lying a little more comfortable on your stomach.
He doesn’t make any signs that he’s acknowledge your comment. He merely shifts himself around as well, adjusting the butt of the rifle on his shoulders. He does take the smallest of moments to look at you out from the corner of his eye. You aren’t paying him attention anymore either, merely focusing your gaze through your binoculars. There’s a soft upturn to your smile. It’s a soft expression that fits so naturally on your face.
“Bucky suits you.”
-
“Bucky.”
It takes him a moment before he’ll lift his head up from what he was reading. Mission reports of their last outing. Going over things helped keep his mind clear and his hands busy. “Yelena.”
“You’re going to owe me the favor of a lifetime.”
He feels his brows pinch together, unsure of what exactly she means by that. He couldn’t quite think of anything she could do that result in him owing her such a massive favor. If anything, it was more like she owed him one.
Was it not him that drug her out from the last situation she was in? If it wasn’t for him, she would have been stuck crushed under fallen rubble, left to die from the pressure of it on her lungs.
“I’m not sure what there is I could owe you for.” He mutters, turning his attention back to the tablet in hand.
Not that he really wanted to owe anyone anything. It wasn’t a feeling he particularly enjoyed. He had spent the majority of his life having to answer to the whims of another. The Void had brought back those thoughts in full force (as much as he denied having any trauma rooms to wade through.)
“You’ll see.”
-
“You’ll see.”
The Soldier lifts his head up, gaze flickering from the knife in his hand. He’s been quietly whittling away at a stick in his other, biding his time as the two of you wait. It’s always a grueling process. If the task had been given to anyone else, they might have split and left long ago.
The two of you had unfortunately been trained for things like this. Molded and formed into the definition of weapons. Patience wasn’t lost on neither you or him. Long days and nights could be spent hiding in the shadows and neither of you would have it in you to complain. Not that you had much of a choice. Biding your time was the better option, forced into keeping your opinions and thoughts to yourself.
He doesn’t make a move to acknowledge whatever it is you’re getting on about. For a widow, you were more talkative than he would have first imagined one to be. Whatever self thinking you have has yet to be beaten out of you. No matter how many times they tied you down, broke your fingers or ripped nails from their fleshy beds, you remind just as uncharacteristically vibrant as ever.
Compared to you, his own will felt weak at times. Like a caged dog beaten back into its corner, he found it baffling that you could stay so optimistic given your situation. Maybe you felt you couldn’t afford to completely bend the knee to the powers that be. They couldn’t strip you of everything you were worth. That would be giving them too much power over you.
Your gaze eventually meets his, giving him the softest of smiles. Your nose is a little more crooked then what he remembers. There’s signs of a healing bruises across the bridge of it, a scar following a jagged pattern across your flesh. Despite it, you still manage to give him the softest of looks, wincing ever so slightly as your skin stretches and pulls against itself.
The fingers on your one hand look a little more twisted as well. Two are bandaged tightly together in a makeshift splint, attempting to keep whatever inflammation there is down. Unsurprisingly, your dominant hand remains relatively untouched, mindful of the face it would be needed in order to complete the job placed at your feet.
“You sure do stare a lot.”
He quickly looks away, now staring down at his feet.
He does find himself curious to what it is your getting at. Though he doesn’t vocalize that in the slightest. A man of few words ever since the day the two of you had been paired together. You were less of a handler and more of a companion. Less of a companion and more of a failsafe if things ever got too out of hand. Someone to put the rapid dog down if he ever managed to tug too hard at his leash.
You recognize the look on his face to be wonder. There’s something almost childlike about him. A genuine curiosity for the world around him and specifically you.
“I just have this gut feeling is all.” You say. There wasn’t any need for you to explain it anymore. Not that you felt he was going to press you for any more.
Things did seem to be taking a rather interesting turn for him.
That Captain America seemed to have woken up something long since dormant in the Soldier and that felt like nothing short of a step in the right direction for him. There were brief flashes of the man you liked to imagine he was before all of this. Before the wrong people got their hands on him.
And if that meant you had to suffer in his place, you would opt for that. What did you have waiting out there for you?
-
“Bucky.” His name comes out so sweetly. It sounds like honey dripping.
He can feel his muscles tense up beneath his shirt, his legs freezing midstep. That voice. It would whisper to him softly in the middle of the night, between all the nightmares and horrid thought. A soft reminder that there had been some sort of light in all that darkness. Whatever that meant for someone like him
At first, he can’t bring himself to turn around. He’s sure he has to be imaging things. His head would do that too him every so often. It would bring up less than fond thoughts in the middle of the day, reminding him of things at the lowest point of his life. As much as he continued to heal and improve, there were still some things he couldn’t quite shake.
He felt it was just his imagination playing tricks on him again.
He’s put it off for as long as he can. After a baited breath, he finally manages to bring himself to turn on his heels. His gaze remains down at the floor for a moment before finally lifting up. And when he does? He feels as if his breath has been sucked right out of his lungs.
There you are, smiling at him.
It’s that same damn smile you flashed him time and time again. It looks gentler than it ever has before. You look as if you have finally found some sort of peace in your own life. Your shoulders don’t look nearly as heavy and your posture isn’t as tense as he remembers.
The widow jumpsuit is now replaced with every day clothing. You look comfortable. Relaxed even. It’s a look he can confidently say is deserving. Peace looked good on you.
The emotions he feels deep within his gut isn’t something he can find a word for at first. He eventually settles on relief. You are alive and well. No broken bones. No visible bruises. No major limbs are missing. You look to be in one piece. His gaze does eventually find the small scar across the bridge of your nose, crinkling his own up in a small subconscious response.
“Hey.”
It’s so stupid that a simple ‘hey’ is all he can bring himself to say. He wants to say how he’s happy to see you. That he’s thought about you almost every day since the last time he saw you. A widow that was far too soft and kind to him and for her own good. A widow who got herself in trouble for not keeping him on a tighter leash.
And then? You laugh at him. You laugh at him. It leaves him even more speechless than before. “That’s all you have to say to me?”
It’s around now that Bucky realizes the two of you have been surprisingly left alone. Yelena has opted to give the two of you some privacy. She has successfully manage to corral everyone else out of the room.
These sort of reunions were better to be done without the prying eyes of others. Especially the likes of John and Alexei. As much as she wanted to see how this all plated out, she could also recognize the importance of it. Later, she would give him hell for how his jaw partially dropped open at the sight of you. The way his shoulders visibly relaced. The soft breath of relief that left him at the time was laughable.
“You look…Good.”
You laugh even harder at him this time. The sound is enough to shake your body. “You’ve never been good at talking.”
He knew that was nothing short of the truth. In what memories he held of you, he had never done much of the talking. The mask prevented him for it at times. The muffled sounds he made didn’t make for much conversation and you opted to fill the silence with your own voice in his stead. Now that he has the free will to say whatever it is that he wants, he can’t quite find the words he’s searching for.
“You look good too, Bucky. You look healthy. Happy.” You say it with such sincerity. Like you are truly glad to see that he is in one piece and in as much peace as he could possibly be.
He takes a small step towards you and then takes one more. It’s a timid action. The movements are almost scarily unlike him in the way he approaches you. He treats it as if you are some fragile animal backed into a corner. Like you might tuck tail and run from him whenever the chance is presented to you.
Not that you had ever truly flinched away from him.
There had been a time or two where he lashed out at you, metal hand reaching for whatever clothing or hand it could get ahold of. There were far and few times you ever believed he would truly hurt you. Even in those moments as he held you down, as you fought back against him with every ounce of strength, you knew it wasn’t him talking. The Winter Soldier would win on some days.
Now you knew that you had little to fear from him.
In what communication you had with Yelena, Bucky was as well rounded of a person as he could be. Even with all his trauma and his pain, he was functioning as best as he possibly could. Not that the standards were set very high. What sort of standard could be held for a former assassin.
“Oh, come on. Don’t look at me like that.”
Your voice snaps him out of his thoughts. He realizes he has been staring at you a little too long. But who could blame him? For all intents and purposes, it was easier for him to believe that he was just seeing things. That his mind was simply making up that you were truly standing in front of him.
He would never admit it to the others but those rooms in the Void, one of them held vivid memories of you. Your gentle smile suddenly turning sour. They way your eyes went wide as you forced yourself between him and your handlers. It was your fault, you would plead. There was no reason for him to take the blame - not this time.
In those days, it didn’t matter who’s shoulder the blame fell on as long as someone answered to it.
That day, played over and over again by the Void, it had been you. You were snatched up under the arms, legs limp beneath you as you were dragged only but a few feet away from him. This would be a reminder. The first hit against you landed in the dead center of your face. It had been loud, the sound of cartilage snapping rang in his ears even days later. Despite the way blood ran down your face, you would nor waver or budge. You would take hit after hit without complaint.
“I’m sorry.”
“I am too.” You say back to him.
He can’t find what ever reason you would have to be apologizing to him. He should be the one begging for forgiveness. He didn’t go looking for you. Not that he was sure where to even begin looking for you. The one person that held some other type of control over him, other than his captors, was you. You would have been tucked somewhere far faraway from him. Had he gone looking, what would they have done.
Perhaps you wouldn’t be standing in front of him.
“Yelena tells me you’re an Avenger now.” You say, this time taking a step towards him. “That’s a big promotion.”
He gives you a nervous smile. His best attempt at one anyway. “Someone has to do it.”
“And that job falls to you?”
“I’ve had worse.”
You let out another chuckle. “It’s definitely a step up. The pay has got to be better too.”
Bucky thinks to himself for a moment or two, tapping his food against the ground in quite contemplation. It’s an anxious action, trying to self soothe as he debates his choices. Yelena couldn’t have brought you all this way for nothing. Hell, he wasn’t even sure where you called home. There was not telling how far you had traveled just for him to stammer over his words.
“Are you hungry?” He asks. It’s a clumsy question. After the words leave his lips, he feels as if he has just asked something rhetorical.
“I could eat.”
“Want to go get dinner?”
“With you?”
“Yeah…Yeah, with me.”
You smile once more, your head lazily tilting to the side. The expression you wear is almost unsettling. That look shouldn’t be reserved for someone like him. Not for someone who has committed the crimes that he has. Not for someone that once pulled your hair and busted your lip out of an anger that was not his own. How could you afford to continue being so soft with him.
“Yeah, I would love to.” You hold a hand out to him. “It would be nice to get to know this Bucky.”
And he, despite it all, despite all his failures and feelings, places his hand in your own.
warnings: nothing major. minor mentions of violence. not so secret secret wife. possible thunderbolts spoilers.
summary: bucky isn't coming clean about something. no matter how many times he's poked and prodded, he won't admit to his wrong doings.
author’s note: first fic in years. thunderbolts has done something to me. something short and sweet to kick it off.
Secrets would never make friends.
They would only create division. Discontent amongst the already wound tight group, leaving room for far too much speculation. While they had slowly come to accept each other, it was still an uphill battle even on good days.
Knives, for the most part, were kept sheathed. Guns were kept holstered. Communication kept this misfit band afloat. Secrets would only bring it down.
And Bucky Barnes? He definitely had a secret.
Yelena, as she would later claim, was the first to notice. It was the soft upturn of his lips. A type of softness that looked out of place on his usual annoyed expression. The crinkling around his eyes as he stared down at his phone. A soft, breathless chuckle that doesn’t sound like it should come from him.
Jokes about his age danced on the tip of her tongue. It was low hanging fruit. It was far too easy to poke jabs about how he might need to get a better prescription to see the text. Or, if he wanted, she could help make his text bubbles bigger. Those jokes would be better directed at someone with a confused expression.
John notices it a few days after her. This time that soft gaze of his isn’t directed at his phone but instead at you. Bob sits in between your feet, head tilted back into your hands as you work on detangling his hair. Self-care, as you preached to the rest of the Thunderbolts, was important. Something Bob was deprived of.
If looks could kill, John assumed that Bob would have been flat out on the floor. He should have been with the way Bucky was glaring.
His brows are pinched together, frown evident across his features. This time, there’s a quick downturn of his lips, quietly chewing on the inside of his cheek. Jealousy. An emotion John was surprised Bucky could even feel - let alone directing said emotion towards someone like Bob out of all people.
Now that he thought about it, the two of you have never been completely clear on the past. You came with Bucky. It was almost like a packaged deal, the two of you for the cost of one. Something or other about how to the two of you had been partner in the past. Whatever it was, John hadn’t been particularly listening to it. None of that felt very important at the time. Especially given the fact he hadn’t felt his little group would last any longer than a day.
The Void, and the subsequent voiding of New York, had been a far pressing matter.
Now, as John sits here, equating that expression on Bucky’s face to a man so bitterly jealous of the affection another man is getting, he can’t ignore the alarms sounding in his head.
-
Bucky could feel the stares from across the room. At first, he doesn’t want to look up. He doesn’t want to indulge them in whatever it is they have to pester him with today. As long as the city wasn’t on fire or flooding or both, he didn’t necessarily care in initiating conversation.
“Barnes.”
He groans, finally looking up. “Walker.”
It’s a relatively small exchange of works. Bucky knew he couldn’t look that busy with his phone in his hand. Even he knew his relaxed expression would do little convey that there was some pressing matter he needed to attend to. Nor did he think he could get away with claiming it was Valentina out of all people.
There was no way such a soft expression would be reversed for that woman. Besides, the way he was lazily thumbing through his texts conveyed it was someone he enjoyed talking to. When had he ever been thrilled to talk to Valentina.
“Who ya talkin’ to?” It’s a juvenile question. One that Bucky doesn’t even want to dignify with an answer of any kind. It would only add fuel to the fire he suspected was already burning. While they joked about how old he was, their conversations weren’t exactly falling on deaf ears.
“Your mom.” Comes Yelena’s response from across the room. A small chuckle from Ava’s direction follows shortly after.
“No no - she wouldn’t talk to him. She would have better standards than this rough around the edges Jesus look.” John, for once, does well not to let it get too under his skin. There were far more pressing questions to be asked. A simple ‘your mom’ joke wouldn’t derail him from his quest of truth.
John, after a second or two of thinking, can only conclude that it must be you on the other end. Those stupid little looks were reserved for both you and his phone when you weren’t in the same room.
“You two are married, aren’t you?”
Bucky rolls his shoulders back in a shrug, tossing his phone to the side. As hard as he tries to appear as he doesn’t care, it’s a poor attempt. “I think something as big as that would be hard to hide, don’t you think?”
“Yes because an ex-assassin would have such a hard time hiding something so important.” Ava calls. From first look, it hadn’t looked like she was listening in on the conversation from behind her magazine. Yet as her eyes flicker above the pages, there’s obviously a look of amusement and intrigue. “Let alone the ex-assassin.”
“If that was my wife, everyone would know. No one would keep me quiet.” It’s Alexei’s voice this time. He slouches father down into the couch, lazily tilting his head to get a better view of the T.V. His hands jerk up into the air, waving them around as he speaks. “What kind of man keeps his wife a secret?”
“Alexei - you don’t get a say in the matter.”
“‘Lena, what I say is the truth. He should be proud.”
“Yeah yeah yeah. Stop taking the attention off of Bucky and his secret wife.” John continues. “Where is she anyway?”
“The grocery store.”
“So you know her each and every move?”
“You just asked me where she was. Did you not hear her before she left? She’s getting food for all of us.”
"Oh yeah? You sure she's not out for just you."
“Besides you don’t keep up with the rest of us like that.” Yelena corrects. “Alexei was missing for days before you noticed. How did you not notice that?”
“To be fair, none of us really noticed it. The peace and quiet was almost too good to be true.”
“Ava - do not help him. He needs to tell the truth.”
Bucky huffs, rubbing his temples. Theses conversations were getting more and more exhausting by the minute. “There is no truth to tell. You guy are all making something out of nothing.”
“If it’s nothing, why are you getting so defensive over it?”
Defensive wasn’t the word he would have used. Protective maybe. Secretive perhaps. But never ever defensive. That would insinuate that he wasn’t proud of his life decisions. That he wasn’t proud of you. Defensive would make him come off as insecure and unsure. Two things he would never ever feel about you.
“Look - you better text her if there’s anything you want. I’m not going back out for anything any of you forgot.” And that, for now, is enough to halt the conversation.
-
The secret was becoming harder and hard to keep. It was beginning to bubble over more and more with each passing day. His glances were becoming a little too longing. The way you laughed at his jokes was a little too sweet. The two of you stole glances at each other’s lips a little too often.
Things eventually were going to come to a head. Unsurprisingly, one bad mission was all it needed. One time of him limping back into the tower was all it took for things to come undone.
It was supposed to be a simple mission. One that was supposed to be finished within a day. Maybe two at the maximum. By the time he, Yelena and John returned, you have been festering just long enough in your own anxiety to forget any safe guards put around your relationship. And that came out in the way you said his name.
“James Barnes.” His government name, missing only his middle initial. He considered himself lucky for that. At the same time it was a government name no one else was allowed to use.
He didn’t want anyone else muttering his name. No one else could compare to the way you said it so breathlessly. Even as you marched over, hands placed firmly on your hips, you still managed to say his name so perfectly. So much so, he forgets where he is for the time being. As well as those standing to his side.
“What?”
“Don’t you dare ‘what’ me. Look at you.”
He flexes his fingers a few times, trying to find his words. What could he say to get you to drop the topic. Was there anything? He knew how you could be. Insisting on worrying about each and every little mishap. Despite being s supersoldier, you never failed to drive home the point that each day could be his very last. He wouldn’t dare to leave you alone like that, would he?
“I know, honey. I’m sorry.” It slips out of his mouth before he can stop himself. A small attempt to cool you off has ruined months and months of guarding a very personal secret. One he didn’t want broadcasted on every news station and outlet.
Somewhere a few steps ahead of him, he hears a loud sputter. John has stopped dead in his tracks, slowly turning to face you. Even with all his bruises and blood crusted to both his nose and lips, it’s easy to see the shift in his expression. It first goes from shock to realization then to joy.
“I knew it!”
“You have got to be kidding me. You were right.” Yelena can barely bring herself to sit down, sliding down the nearest wall onto her bum.
“You owe me and Bob ten bucks.”
“When did Bob get in on it?”
Bucky can feel his head throb. The yelling going on all around him does little to help. To know the team was now placing bets on his love life caused his skin to crawl. What would be next? Were they going to start taking bets on who would die first?
At the same time, he can’t find it in him to particularly care all that much. He’s too busy trying to come to terms with your anger. Now that you’re closer to him, he can definitely make out all the creases to your expression. Anger. Disappointment. Concern. He wasn’t sure which one won out against all the others.
“How long?” Yelena asks.
“How long for what?” Bucky retorts.
If he had it his way, he would continue deflecting until the day he died. Even as you move to sit him down on the closest couch, with your hands already frantically working to strip him of what bloody clothing you can, he would continue to deny it.
“You called her honey.”
“I’m delirious.” He continues. “It’s the bloodloss.”
He was as stubborn as they came. With a huff, you cut your eyes at him, grimacing at both the sight and feel of blood beneath your fingertips. “Can this conversation not wait? You two look like you’ve had better days. Bucky is claiming he’s lost that much blood. Bob looks like he might puke - please sit down dear, maybe away from them.”
“How long has it been?”
“A while.” You reply, squatting down in front of Bucky to get a better look at his torso. The largest gash is enough to cause your stomach to churn. All in all, it wasn’t that bad of a wound. It was more so the fact of who the said wound was on.
“How long is a while?”
“Two years?”
“Actually it’ll be three in a few weeks.”
“Right…I forgot. I’ve been having to keep up with them.”
Three years. He couldn’t believe it. Three years of marriage kept so tightly guarded that the rest of the group had begun to think they were making it all up. That they had to be hallucinating there was something going on between the two of you. The gas lighting coming from Bucky needed to be studied - should be studied. His nonchalant nature he brushed everything off with was almost… Concerning.
“You lied to us.”
Bucky shakes he head from side to side, denying the accusations that are thrown his way. As much as he wants to argue back, to claim that he has never once lied to them, he’s far too busy thinking about your fingertips against his skin. He would rather the two of you be in your rooms, conveniently placed across the hall from each other. In the dead of night, room swaps were made, sneaking into each other’s beds like love sick teenagers.
“I’ve never really be very good at keeping secrets.” You say, motioning for Bucky to lift his arms. As he does so, you twist him this way and that way, searching for any wounds that might be hidden in the curves of his body. Satisfied when you find none, you allow him to relax.
“It was bound to come out at some point.”
Secrets weren’t ever going to last very long in this tower anyway. The close proximity you all lived together would make things like that difficult. High stress situations were bound to cause things to come to a head - whether you liked it or not.
“Now that that’s out of the way - why aren’t you wearing a ring? Are you ashamed?”
Bucky can only sigh. There were far worse things than his secrets being exposed.
