When a mission goes sideways, you and Bucky find yourselves holed up in a cramped safe house with no backup, no extraction, and no space - not even to breathe. You're injured, he's worried, and the tension is thick with more than just adrenaline.
There's only one bed. One blanket. One long night.
You're not sure what's more dangerous - the HYDRA agents outside, or the feelings threatening to surface inside.
644 words
The safe house was smaller than expected - one room, a barebones kitchenette, and a bathroom with a door that didn't close all the way. You dropped your bag onto the couch - the only other seating besides the floor - and let out a sharp breath.
Bucky was pacing near the window, checking the blinds every few seconds. "Still clear," he muttered, more to himself than to you. His jaw was set, his fingers locked in that tense, coiled posture that meant he was wound too tight to rest.
Your shoulder burned from where the bullet had grazed you, the fabric of your sleeve now sticky with dried blood. You winced and tried to roll it out. "Good," you said, trying for casual. "Maybe we can actually relax."
Bucky turned. "Relax? You got shot?"
He crossed the room in three long strides. Before you could wave him off, he was already reaching for your arm, inspecting the torn fabric. His touch was gentler than you expected. "Should've let me check this earlier."
You sighed, resigning yourself to the inevitable. "It's just a scratch, Buck. Barely grazed me."
"Doesn't look like just a scratch." He didn't wait for more protest. "Sit. Don't argue."
You sat with a huff, unbuttoning your shirt and sliding it off your injured arm. "Wasn't arguing, nurse."
You caught the way his eyes briefly flicked to your bare shoulder before he cleared his throat. His fingers were cold and careful, dabbing at the wound with antiseptic that stung worse than the bullet itself. "Sorry," he murmured when you flinched.
Once it was wrapped, he looked up, his expression unreadable. "That should hold."
"I'm fine," you said. "I'll rest when we're extracted. Gotta stay awake in case someone followed us."
He didn't love that answer. You could tell from the way his jaw clenched.
"You're not invincible," he muttered. "But fine. Just let me keep an eye on you. I'd rather not drag your unconscious ass outta here."
You smirked. "Good luck with that. I haven't been in one piece in a long time."
Bucky gave a low chuckle. "Guess I'll just have to work harder to keep you together, then."
He eased onto the couch beside you, careful not to jostle your arm. "You don't have to do this alone, you know. Not anymore."
"I've been doing this for decades, Buck," you muttered. "I can handle myself. But... I appreciate the help."
There was a pause. Then - quietly - "I care about you."
You blinked. "You... care about me?"
His cheeks flushed. He ran a hand through his hair, suddenly the most awkward version of himself.
"Yeah. I know I didn't make it obvious. Back then I was still... figuring things out. Didn't really know how to show anything."
"Well, you didn't."
"I know."
You shifted uncomfortably on the couch, trying to avoid the sudden weight of everything hanging in the air. The silence turned thick, heavy. You couldn't meet his eyes.
"Yeah. Gotcha," you murmured. "Just - damn, my arm hurts."
Bucky inched closer, brows furrowing. "Let me help you get comfortable."
"I'm okay," you said. "Just need a minute."
He nodded, gently draping the blanket over your legs. Then, hesitantly, he opened an arm to you. A silent invitation.
You tucked yourself into his side without a word.
He wrapped his arm around you slowly, carefully avoiding your shoulder. "You take all the time you need. I'm not going anywhere."
The safe house was silent. You could hear his heart beating beneath your ear.
"Buck?" you said after a while, voice small in the dark.
"Yeah?"
"I care about you too. I just... can't think straight right now. Between the pain and the adrenaline and everything else." You paused. "That make sense?"
He didn't answer at first.
Then his thumb brushed over your arm. "Yeah," he said softly. "Makes perfect sense to me."
