Reach For Me - Not good at this - 9
Masterlist
-Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10
Pairing: James Buchanan Barnes/Bucky x You/x reader (afab) no use of y/n
Word count: 6.8k <- jesus
Synopsis: He smells like soap, something musky, and metal. His hair tickles your cheek as he curls closer to you
MINORS and AI dickbags GET OUT. I am not in control of how you interact with my work. My work is not to be used for anything.
Rating/Warning: Missing limbs, prosthetic, hurt, angst, ptsd, flashbacks, long silences, brooding, physical and mental trauma, swearing. (If I miss anything, let me know)
All mistakes, grammar, and plot holes are my own.
***
Floating in front of you are the x-rays of James’ left side. You had been able to get FRIDAY to take the two dimensional images and piece them together onto the scans you already had of his body. You’d then taken MRI images of Steve and layered those in to get an approximate muscle structure. It wasn’t a match. James was broader, and he had more muscle mass on his shoulders and back from carrying the limb. But it helped.
You spun the projected image with your hand, still getting used to the interface. The way you could manipulate and move things without feeling them was odd. At least with the touch screen there was sensation; this was all by eye. Stark, of course, made it look second nature and mock you appropriately.
Zooming into a section, you look at how the metal has been interlaced with the spine. It looks impossible, like they had taken the vertebrae out, reinforced in with metal, then put it back in. Removing vertebrae was possible, but to do this degree was not heard of. Not like this. They’d also woven fiber into his muscle tissue. At first, you’d thought it was nano-tech, but it wasn’t; it worked similarly, but was less adaptive and forgiving. Because of the serum, the muscle tissue and bone were always healing. The implants and area always having some inflammation, because the body was trying to reject it.
Swallowing, you zoom in on the area, nano-fiber replacements would mesh better. In all of Stark’s trials, the rejection was just twenty percent. The titanium over the bones seemed to be the most stable; it wasn’t perfect, but the body wasn’t actively trying to get rid of it. Problem was, you had no idea how you would go about replacing the mesh, not without intensive surgery.
Letting out a breath, you moved over to the residual limb. This had its own issues. Despite his regenerative abilities, you can see signs of bone and joint degradation around the rotator cuff. It wasn’t severe now, but over time, it would get worse.
Typing on your tablet, you plug Bucky in for physiotherapy, adding notes about touch and consent in bold letters. It wouldn’t fix things, but it might help to target the area. The more strength it had, the longer it would be able to keep functioning. If it keeps getting injured, removing or replacing it may come into place.
You turn off the image. Right now, you weren’t even sure if you could get James to come in for an appointment, much less surgery. For now, you need to refocus on building trust again. Try to hopefully reconnect with him, despite your downfalls. The ache that had been sitting in the middle of your chest pulsed.
The image of him smiling in the cafe came back. How he talked about the book he was reading. Was he even still reading it? Maybe, that would give you a way to talk to him. Something you both could identify with.
Looking at the clock, you realized it was already well past five, you wanted a shower and change of clothes. Maybe half an hour with a book so that you could stop your mind from buzzing and eating at you. It was getting ridiculous, really. You were an adult and a doctor who was good at your job. Somehow, you needed to let things go and move forward.
***
After a shower and fresh set of clothes, you felt a little better. You’d already decided that you were going to stop hiding. No more sneaking around, avoiding everyone else, it ended now. Dinner usually appeared around seven, and it gave you an excuse to be present.
Despite feeling like the crew was avoiding you, you had to make an effort. Even if it was met with silence, hiding in your room was not helping anyone. Your own mental health was suffering, and if you wanted to do your best, you had to do better. So here you were walking down the hallway, hoping not to make a complete fool of yourself.
Approaching the kitchen, you can hear chatter already. Your heart pulses, but it doesn't stop you. Emboldened, you walk into the room to see familiar faces. Steve is sitting on the counter with a salad size bowl of cereal, Sam is sitting on a stool near Steve, eating what appears to be spaghetti. Nat sits beside Banner with their own plates, a low hum of chatter and laughter. Rhodey gives you a small wave as he scoops his own out.
“How’s it going, Doc?” He says with a smile, “Banner, made us some dinner, feel free to help yourself.”
You smile back, your heart slowing a little, “It’s going okay. Yeah, I'd love to have some.”
Moving over to the kitchen, you listen as the group talks, some about missions, others about different tech you didn’t know about. It is simple, easy, and for the first time in ten days you don’t feel like an impostor in the tower.
Sitting down on one of the sofas near Nat and Bruce, listening to the two of them talk about various levels of radiation. How the body would react differently depending on temperature and skin exposure. It was a little over your head if you were honest. You marveled at how well Natasha seemed to understand it, adding helpful commentary to Bruce’s musing.
“Haven’t seen you in a minute,” Steve says, sitting on the arm of the sofa as you eat some of the pasta. His giant bowl gone, he would never admit it, but you were coming to realize he was very fussy about what he ate.
Your eyebrows go up, “I am in the same place I always am. Well, now I am here all the time. Waiting for Tony to tell me that I am logging too many hours.”
“You were already logging too many hours. Making the rest of us look bad,” Banner poked at you with a small grin.
“Says the man who stayed up for four days straight fixing earpieces,” You volley back, eating a few bits of food.
Bruce huffs, crossing his arms, Natasha elbowing him with a smirk. “She’s not wrong.”
“I wanted to make sure they worked right,” Bruce mutters, you always appreciated how much time he spent on making sure things worked right.
Steve chuckles, “Between Tony and Fury, we’ve had our work cut out for us. Why we haven’t been around as much.” He stares off towards the city outside the windows. “Nothing concrete yet, but we crossed HYDRA off the list.”
You try to think of any other acronymed names that could be causing issues. Surprised that it’s not them.“Not HYDRA?”
He shakes his head, lips pursing as he thinks about it. “Doesn’t appear to be. Think they are still licking their wounds after their last failure.”
“Huh,” You chew on the bottom of your lip, mixing the food around a little. “I am sure you’ll figure it out. At least you can cross off one name.”
“Oh, we will find them,” Sam replies, coming over to flop onto one of the sofas. Putting his feet up onto the cushions and crossing his arms. “Bucks been digging in, trailing after every hint of a ghost. Never seen him so focused. Terminator levels.”
Steve gave a grunt, still looking at the skyline. “Even got one of Fury's minions to set a laptop up for him.”
You put your plate on the coffee table, your stomach turning enough that you weren’t hungry. Looking up, you can feel people watching you. Nat’s eyes narrowed at the conversation.
She gets up and comes over to sit beside you. “You doing okay?”
“Yah, I suppose,” You reply, simply. “This is nice, having dinner together.”
“Wanted to make sure you were settled in a bit,” Rhodey comes over, kicking Sam’s feet off the couch to sit beside him. “Can take a bit of getting used to. Not having your own place.”
“Oh, yeah, we play nice with the Doc. Meanwhile, I got my car’s steering wheel ripped out of my hands, and my suit's wings ripped off. Y’all didn’t even call me.” Sam groans, throwing his hands up into the air.
“I was in the hospital!” Steve huffs, shooting a glare at Sam. Which just makes the man’s smile wider.
Natasha groans at the banter, “Acting like it was days, instead of hours. You got a new car and a new suit.”
“Not as nice as the car you picked Steve up in,” Sam quips back, crossing his arms and putting his feet up on the coffee table.
“It was a rental, WILSON!” Nat responds back, throwing a balled up napkin at him.
You let out a snort of laughter as the whole room erupts in various debates, and stories of how they ended up in the tower. It actually makes you feel better about your own situation. Stalker was pretty tame, at least your place wasn’t bombed or raided.
“Did you really have your steering wheel ripped out of your car?” You ask Sam as the chatter dies down a bit.
Sam nods, almost smug about it. “Yep, in the middle of the road, too. That was before tall-and–metal got out from under HYDRA.”
Tilting your head, “I remember reading about that. Didn’t realize it was you guys.”
“Yep. Turned out to be a good guy under there,” Sam says, while nudging Rhodney, his eyes going to the door and following someone in.
You already know who has come in; Steve is up and moving, confirming the guess. The urge to get up and run out of the room makes your thighs tingle. Nope. Reminding yourself that you are an adult and not a teenager. These were your colleagues and maybe friends? So you were going to deal with whatever awkwardness like an adult.
By staying right in your chair, and not making eye contact.
Natasha looks over your shoulder, giving a small wave to the guys. “You know you’re welcome here anytime. Can even come training if you want.”
“Thanks, I might take you up on that. Be a good way to get out of my head.” You try to shrug it off; maybe a workout would help you shrug off some of the tension you are carrying.
“So what’s been going on in that head of yours?” She asks, seeing right through you. Damn spy anyway.
You swallow, looking at her, “It’s nothing. I am tired, and-” Huffing, you cross your legs, arms wrapping around your middle. “As painful as it is to admit this. It’s been an adjustment, and I felt -.” You look around briefly, happy no one seemed to be paying attention. “I felt out of place here. I am just a doctor, but also I should have taken more precautions. I feel like I let you all down.”
Natasha snorts, “You couldn’t, and you haven’t.” She pats your leg. “Steve jumps out of helicopters without a parachutes. Sam flew towards a rocket last month. You are in great company; none of us take precautions.”
A small smile crossing your lips, feeling a little better with her reassurance. Looking back, you see James and Steve talking in voices too quiet to be heard. Brows furrowed with whatever the conversation is.
“You should talk to him,” Natasha says quietly, watching your face carefully. “I know he’s missed you.”
Turning, you see James making an escape out of the kitchen with a plate of pasta and a massive water bottle under his arm. Giving a quick thanks to Natasha, you get up, following him out into the hallway.
“Hey,” You call out, your slipper clicking on the floor as you move down towards the elevators. “James.”
He doesn’t turn around at first, his head down, plate in hand. It’s not until you say his name, again, that he turns to you. You notice how his eyebrows go up, a look of confusion on his face. Glancing behind him, he looks at the elevators and then back at you.
“Hi,” He says quietly, as you come closer, he takes a step back. Body tense as he looks you over. “You’ve settled in.”
The words feel dismissive, were you not supposed to have settled in?
“Uh-” You try to relax, but your arms are already holding your mid-section. “Actually, this is the first time I had dinner with everyone. Been a midnight bandit.” Trying to laugh at your joke, but it comes out flat. “I haven’t seen you lately.”
James’ brows furrowed, he looks down at his food and then back at you. Letting out a small sigh.
“Been busy,” His brows scrunched like he didn't believe his own words. Eyes darting around the place, like he is expecting people to break through the ceiling. “Could we talk?”
“Yeah, uh-my room is just down the way.” You reply quietly, turning and heading towards your room. Looking back to make sure that he is following after you.
You open the door and let him go inside first. Once inside, you close the door behind both of you, not locking it, wanting him to feel like he could leave.
“I am sure you’ve been busy, with everything going on.” You ramble, sitting down on the couch. “Just felt-” Swallowing, you try to find words, throat suddenly dry. “Things have felt off? I didn't see any of the team this week. But, I know it’s cause they were all busy, and I think they didn’t want to overwhelm me. I am probably overthinking this.”
James' face stays the usual mask. “You are.” He sighs, looking around the mostly empty place before sitting on the sofa beside you, plate balanced on his knee. “I didn't think you'd want to see me.”
“What? Why? You kept me safe, James.” You reply quickly. “I am here, because of you.”
“Exactly. You wouldn’t have been in this situation if I had just left you alone.” James replies, words cold and firm like ice. His eyes staring straight ahead of him.
Your whole body goes still, breath caught in your throat. “James, you can’t know that. You matter to me, and you’re my friend. I wanted to help and get to know more about you. We are in this together-”
“That’s the problem.” He cuts you off so suddenly it sends pain into your chest. “This is dangerous. Being near me is dangerous.” He whispers your name with the last words.
Gritting your teeth, you clench your fist. “Well, too bad. This whole tower is dangerous, with you or not. Aliens could come in the front door and send demons from another planet to kill us.” Your words come out low, but forceful. “I knew the risks with this job, and I knew who you were. What you went through. That didn't stop me from wanting to help, to be more than just another white coat.”
You see him swallow, looking away from you, his eyes watering. Reaching out, your fingers hover over his on the couch cushions. He flinches, and you move them away, not wanting to push it.
“You matter to me. To the team. That isn't going to change.” You want to cross the line to wrap him in your arms and kiss his forehead. To tell him it would be okay, and keep saying it until he believed that. God, you were such a mess.
“You don't know that.” His voice cracks as he says it. Tears nearly spilling out from behind the ice walls of his eye. Nose scrunching as he pushes them back.
“I do. And everyone on the team would say the same thing.” You reply as calmly as possible. “Even if they didn’t, I would back you. What happened to you wasn’t your fault.” Looking up, you watch him, his eyes downcast, brow furrowed. His hands clenching in the sofa. “I don't have any expectations, or wants, or anything. Besides maybe open communication. But I also understand if you need space. You're already dealing with a lot.”
He looks back at you, watching you. There is a deep part of you that missed his present, companionship, how easy it was to just be near him. You missed it so much it hurt, and had kept you up at night, and he did not need to know any of that.
“I don't want to hurt you,” James whispers, still focused on you before looking back at the door. Your body tenses for him to leave; you'd accepted that fate, even if it hurt. Unwilling to let your own wants affect his decision.
He gets up, walking over to your kitchen instead of the door. Depositing the plate and water bottle on the counter. Standing still like he didn't know what to do. Head down, hair falling over his face.
“I am not good at this.” The words are so soft you almost missed them. “I don’t know the rules, or lines, or whatever, I am not supposed to cross.” He starts pacing, hand running through his hair. “You’re the first person outside them that-” He stops, glancing up at you for a moment. “That seems to care.” Swallowing, he leans back against the counter, face a cloud of emotions. “You were upset and I left, cause I didn’t know what to do. I never know what to do, ever.”
You move from the couch so that you’re perched on the back, facing him inside of looking over it. Staying quiet, you let him talk.
He stops crossing his arms, “What do I do?”
“I can’t tell you what to do; there is no manual.” You reply, “You do what is instinctual, what feels right. As long as the other person is okay with it.”
“How do you know?” James asks, the amount of earnestness behind his words sounds painful.
“You don’t, instead you ask or talk with them. You learn what is okay and isn’t okay.” You reply, hoping that you’re making some sort of sense. “Humans are complicated creatures, and we are also very simple; food and sleep can keep us alive. But communication, comfort, friendship, it’s also something that keeps us human.”
James looks down at his shoes, “Human.”
The resolve to not reach across the chasm that is between you is cracking. How he is slumping in on himself, trying to make himself smaller. An unstoppable super-soldier trying to find a way to be human again.
“The night after the library and coffee. I was upset, not at you, at myself,” You try to reassure him. “You asked what to do, I can tell you what I would have liked then?”
He looks up at you, eyebrows up, making his forehead wrinkle.
You walk forward a few steps, trying to keep space for him to leave. “I could have really used a hug then.”
Swallowing, you hold your arms up. The need to comfort finally breaking out, whether it was you or for him, didn't matter. You just cared about him, this broken man who was just trying to navigate a world that wasn't built for him.
His eyes take you in looking at you, analyzing your arms like they might turn into weapons.
“I am not going to bite you.” You say, almost chuckling at how something so simple seemed to baffle him.
He moves slightly, arms moving as he tries to figure out where to put them. Shaking your head, you move forward one hand snaking under his right side the other up and over his left shoulder. Wrapping around his solid frame, your face pushes against his chest as you hold onto him. For a moment, he is frozen, and you wonder if you've made a mistake. Taken things too far. Then he relaxes.
One hand sits in the middle of your back, and the other over your shoulder. His head falling against the top of your head with a soft blow of air. The grip tightens a little to match yours, his face pressed into your hair. You try not to notice when he takes a deep breath, smelling you. As if you didn't smell him too.
He smells like soap, something musky, and metal. His hair tickles your cheek as he curls closer to you. You don't let go, content to just stand there wrapped around him. Feeling him slowly melt into your arms. When was the last time someone had given him a hug? It twisted something in the middle of your chest. When was the last time someone hugged you?
He slowly let go, head still lowered, cheeks red, eyes not meeting yours as he backed up. The image of a kicked puppy came to mind as he leans back against the counter.
“Was that-” James swallows, his voice horse, “okay?”
A small smile twitches at your mouth, but you keep it to yourself.
“Yes, James,” You say quietly, the moment felt so delicate, like a spiderwave of spun glass. “Can hug me whenever you want. It's a normal human need.”
His eyes finally meet yours, “Like, right now?”
The giggle couldn't be contained this time. You saw a smile flicker on his face at the noise. What you would do to see him smile again.
“Yeah, you can hug me, again.” You say, the words barely leave your mouth before he is wrapping his arms around you again.
James squeezes hard enough to knock the wind out of you. Arms going under yours, wrapping around midsection in a bear hug. He pulls you off your feet and against the broad mass of his chest. A squeak pushes out as he holds you.
You are immediately dropped, and he holds you at arms length.
“Shit. Did I hurt you?” His eyes wide as he looks you over. Hands landing on your shoulders as he searches for damage.
“No,” You bite your lip to stifle more laughter. “Just caught me off guard. Lifting me off the ground."
“Oh,” James swallows, backing away slowly, “Sorry.”
“Don't be, what I said still stands.” You reply, patting his shoulder.
***
Bucky felt lighter and slightly ridiculous because of that. Apparently, hugs were a cure all, and he had no idea how to feel about that. He had currently run ten miles, making Sam groan the entire time while the treadmill thumped underneath them. Steve had doubled the miles and was more than a little smug about it. Bucky couldn’t really blame the kid, when you grow up not being able to do much activity, running was freedom.
“What-” Sam takes a deep breath. “Has-” Gasp. “Gotten-into-you.”
Bucky chuckles, throwing a water bottle towards him, Sam grabs it out of the air, still bent over at the waist.
“Felt good,” Bucky shrugs, taking a deep swig of water. The cool feeling brings some relief to his parched throat.
Steve moves to the mats, stretching with ease. “Haven’t seen you in over a week and now you're here outpacing Sam. What, you finally talk with the doc?”
Moving over to the mats, Bucky stretches beside Steve, not bothering to answer the question. He was always a nosy little shit, not that Bucky minded, but he didn’t have an answer for him.
“Oh, he talked to her,” Sam says with a grin, sitting down on the mats. “Saw the two of you sneaking off to her room.”
“It’s not like that,” Bucky rolls his eyes, rolling his shoulders and stretching out his arm. The metal clicking and whirling as it responded to the movements. He didn’t always like how Sam put emphasis on things, usually on things being more romantic than they were.
Steve takes a staggered stance, hands neatly wrapped in tape, “So what is it like then?”
Bucky took a lazy swing, which Steve missed easily, using his leg to try and take out one of his friend’s knees. He moves easily, avoiding it, as they start their usual routine around the other. They were good at this, at matching each other's blows, and anticipating what the other might throw.
“Books,” Bucky replies, as he grabs Steve’s arm, pulling the man towards him. Steve turns with the pull, so that Bucky’s at his back. Seeing thi,s Bucky goes low and tosses Steve easily over top of him.
Steve lands with a roll and a grin, already popping back up onto his feet, “Books? Seriously?”
Sam steps onto the mat, two against one, Bucky gets low eyes darting between the two of them. This wasn’t a new thing; Sam wasn’t enhanced, so he would often partner up with one of them. Today was pick-on-Bucky-day.
“Yeah, you should read some,” Bucky replies, Sam takes a swing at his left side which is shrugged off easily. He knew better than to actually grab the metal arm, or risk denting a wall.
Cap goes low to take out Bucky’s legs, managing to connect, and Bucky goes to a knee, breaking his hold. Sam goes to take Bucky’s right arm, instead, Bucky drags him into a roll, as he did to Cap. Sam locks down, wrapping his arms around Bucky’s neck. There is a scramble for a moment, Bucky kicking his legs out to pin Sam to a mat. Sam squeaks but tightens his grip on Bucky’s neck. Steve moves over to try and flip Bucky off Sam by grabbing a foot. Instead, Bucky pulls his foot back, plants it, lets go of Sam’s arm, and flips himself back up to standing. Easily breaking the man’s hold.
“You're pretty spry for almost being a century old,” Sam teases, sweat having broken out across his forehead.
“I read, plenty,” Steve chuckles as he and Sam circle Bucky again. “And I am not blind.”
Bucky sees Steve’s plan to jump him and rolls out of the way. His fist comes up and connects with the man’s stomach at a quarter of the force, barely knocking the wind out of him. The distraction has Sam moving up from behind, a leg goes around Bucky’s right and arm under his left tips and flips Buck. He groans as his face hits the mat, Sam getting his right arm up behind him and pins.
A grunt escapes the large man; he huffs, left arm flexing with a click. He plants it into the mat, moving a leg, he tries to push Sam off of him. Steve joins in, barely pulling the left arm back. Growling into the mat Bucky goes limp.
Sam lets go with a satisfied grunt, “Goddamn, finally got you pinned.”
“Two against one,” Bucky snorts, pushing his hair out of his face.
“Plus you're partially blind with the hair,” Sam retorts, causing Steve to laugh.
Bucky flips them off before sitting on the mats with his water bottle again. Taking a deep breath, he could have tossed them off, but he kept that to himself. Full measures only came out in the field, training he kept it as close to human as he could. Steve was the same, he knew his friend was pulling punches. It wasn’t just about combat training, it was also team building.
Steve sat down beside him, “I mean it, what's going on with you and the Doc. And don’t say books.”
Sam has flopped out in a starfish shape, waving his hand in mock defeat. “Don’t worry, my head is ringing too much to hear anything.”
“She’s helpful,” Bucky says quietly, fingers fiddling with the strap on his bottle. What the hell was he supposed to say to these two? “Easy to talk to.”
“Easy on the eyes too,” Sam says, his eyes closed as he catches his breath.
Steve shushed him, “And you wonder why he doesn’t say anything.”
“Dude, I didn’t know he talked for like a month,” Sam jests, throwing his hands up.
A towel flies across the room, “That’s cause you don’t pay attention, Wilson.”
Bucky groans and pushes himself up, looking at the rack of weights, ignoring the two friends now bickering. They always teased him; it was part of the friendship, he was used to it, enjoyed it even. He didn't know what to say about you, not really. It wasn’t like anything much had happened since that evening. You hadn’t asked anything from him, just communication, and to come see you if he needed anything. He was hoping to stop by this afternoon, maybe see about trading books.
“Buck?” Steve asks, his brows up as he stands beside him. Bucky glances over at him. “You disappeared for a minute.”
“Mmm” Bucky replies, with a small sigh. “I am good.”
A notification goes off on his two friends' phones, both of them moving to grab them from their areas. Bucky trying to ignore the fact that his wasn’t going off.
“Looks like we are on call,” Sam says, scrolling through the phone. “Need to get movin’.”
***
Not being on mission graded at his nerves, knowing that his friends were out there battling something without him, didn’t sit well. Bucky was still a new recruit, but they had come to work together well. It made him feel useful and less like a prisoner in the place. So he showered, cleaned his room again, and decided to do what you’d asked.
He went down to your office first; you didn’t spend a lot of time there lately. Especially if the rest of the team was off site, so when he knocked and you didn’t answer, he wasn’t surprised. So, he went a couple floors up to your, now, private lab. This small room was where you spent most of your time.
Knocking, he hears the door lock unlatch, he goes and pushes it open. You sit just on the other side, a pair of well-worn jeans hugging your figure, with an oversized sweater snuggled around you. You look up with a small smile, he likes it when you smile at him, your face not masked or guarded. Just you.
The lab was small, two large metal tables in the center, a work bench on one wall, and a laptop and monitors beside it. You had several three dimensional prints of his arm on another wall, along with diagrams and layout charts of the pieces. Beside that were also layouts of Sam’s Falcon wings and Rhodney’s suit, along with mock-ups of Clint’s hearing aids and his earplugs. Everything was neat and organized.
“Nice to see you,” You say, gesturing to another rolling chair. “You doing okay?”
Bucky sat on the chair and spun for a moment, taking the space in again. “I don’t like being left here.”
You click your laptop shut, leaning on the table and watching him spin. A small chuckle escapes, and you roll over so you’re near him and spin with him. The two of you spinning in circles until the room was moving. Laughter echoing out across the space.
Stopping, you lean against the table for a moment, a grin spreading across your face. Your eyes are still wobbly like you got off a teacup ride. “Well, I am glad you’re here. Could use the company.”
Bucky nods, looking at the work station, he sees several print outs of his arm. He slides down so that you have room to join him.
“I am okay company,” He says quietly, moving back and forth on the chair. “Are you looking at my arm?”
Sliding over, you pop your laptop open and show him some of the files. A model of his left side pops up from a small disk on the table. You zoom in, flipping through three-d images to show what the inside of his body looks like.
“So this isn’t exactly correct,” You carefully explain how you sliced all the pieces together. “Steve’s body is close to yours, but not the same. It just helps give me an idea of what we are dealing with.”
Bucky lifts his hand, but then hesitates, “Can I?” He gestures to the projected image in front of him.
“Yeah, of course.” You say, letting him zoom and move through the different layers and zones.
Bucky stops on one, zooming in on the mesh netting. “Is this in my muscle?”
You nod, “It's a type of fiber enhancement. Making the muscle stronger so that it can handle the weight of the prosthetic. I thought it was nano-tech, but it’s something else.”
His fingers go up to the metal plating on his own body, looking at it, he could almost feel it sitting in the muscle. Scrolling through the images, he could see where it was. Spanning across his entire left pectoral muscle, and down over his sternum. On his back was the same, connecting into his spine, up his neck and down his shoulders.
“I didn't know there was so much.” Bucky whispers, a sharp pain hits the left side of his neck. Groaning, his hand goes up to rub against it, the light blurs, and he can hear doctors speaking in Russian in the background. The place spins like it did when he was moving the chair.
“James,” Your hand is warm on his, he wants to pull it away, scared he might hurt you. Looking at you, he doesn’t see fear in your eyes, just worry. “It’s okay. Tell me what is happening?”
He grits his teeth, wondering if he should tell you. “I can hear someone speaking Russian.”
“Do you know what they were saying?” You ask, his mind barely registering the words. It’s like he is looking at the room through a fun house mirror. “Any images?”
He shakes his head, glancing over at the door as the world starts to straighten up. The urge to run settling deep in his bones. Would it come back? Was he going to slip back into the Winter Soldier? Chest squeezing, lungs clenching, the room narrowing into nothing. He can’t breathe.
“James,” You drag his chair so that he is facing towards you, “You're having a panic attack.”
Sucking in a breath through his teeth, his heart pounding in his chest like it was going to explode out of his chest. Was this a heart attack? Was his body shutting down?
“Look at me,” You raise your voice just slightly, enough to have his focus shifting. “Look at me, James Barnes.”
His eyes snap to yours with the use of his last name. Your face is calm and focused, as you place both your hands gently on his forearms. He knows you should be scared and shouldn't be touching his arm. He doesn’t want to hurt you.
“What can you see?” You ask, and he stares at you. “It’s just a panic attack.”
His mind focuses on those words, panic.
“I don’t panic,” Bucky grumbles, moving his hands away from your grasp.
A snort leaves you, “You were struggling to breathe, and your heart rate was so fast I could see it in the vein on your neck.” You gesture to the side of his neck.
Bucky crosses his arms, not wanting to admit that you were indeed correct. The irritation of it had snapped him out of the spiral.
“Five things you can see, four things you can hear, three things you can touch, and so on.” You keep going, Bucky still doesn’t feel convinced .“It’s a grounding technique, meant to help you get out of the spiral.”
Grumbling, he does not log that away for future use, nope. He shifts his focus back to the floating diagram. Which you shut off before he can start to look at it again.
“I was still looking at that,” Bucky mutters, looking up, you have a small smirk on your face.
“The projection that just triggered you? No.” You state, closing your laptop. “It’s nearly nine, no one else is here.” You get up, stretching, his eyes drawn to how your sweater rides up. “I say we take over the kitchen and living room. Find some terrible horror movies to watch.”
Bucky’s eyes snap to your face. He is still protesting, “I don’t panic or spiral.”
***
Halloween 1978 is playing, James has a giant bowl of popcorn in his lap, brows scrunched in more concentration than you’ve seen him have. You had tried to steal some popcorn, and he had been incredibly offended. So now you had a bowl of your own popcorn, a large blanket draped over you. Someho,w it was always cold after eight in the tower.
“The amount of blood is ridiculous,” Bucky mumbles, while picking out a few kernels to eat. He flinches when the soundtrack jumps up.
“Most people don’t have hands-on experience,” You tease, throwing popcorn at him. He grumbles but grabs the pieces and puts them into his bowl.
“A body has five liters of blood in it,” Bucky states, throwing popcorn back at you. Which you inelegantly try to grab with your mouth. “Think they’d figure that out as they cover the entire room in it.”
“That’s why it’s a movie, it’s not supposed to be believable.” You counter, eating a few pieces of popcorn before giving up and putting it on the coffee table. Grabbing another blanket to go over your shoulders. Trying your damndest not to shiver.
“Cold?” James asks, shifting on the couch and putting his bowl beside yours.
You shift a little in your cocoon, “I am always cold, and swear FRIDAY drops the heat in this room on purpose.”
FRIDAY: The temperature is kept at a steady sixty-eight degrees fahrenheit Doc.
“Even the AI is sassy,” You wrap the blanket around your head, letting out a small shiver.
James scoots over and tosses his own blanket over your legs. You watch him, curious to see what he would do next. He lifts his arm and gestures with his other hand.
“Wha-?” You ask, feeling completely confused. James never initiates contact. It was usually you puzzling out that he needed a hug, or his arm squeezed for comfort.
James drops his arm, and turns back to the gorefest. “Nothing.”
You felt yourself frown, knowing that was not true. “No, it wasn’t nothing.”
He just shifts further into the couch, you huff, staring at him. Hoping that he would speak, which was really pointless. The man would outstubborn a mule.
Grabbing his hand, you lift up his arm and promptly shove yourself underneath it. He was a heater, you knew that from being around him enough, but this felt different. Body froze for a moment before relaxing, his hand staying on the back of the couch. You shift and move a little, tucking your legs up onto the couch, wrapping the blanket tight around you.
“You can ask, you know?” You murmur, quietly shifting so your head wasn't resting directly on the metal plating.
“Nothing to ask for.” He mutters, shifting a little, his heart beat picking up.
You roll your eyes, “You are a terrible liar for a ex-spy.”
His body stiffens, “Spy?”
“I am teasing, not a spy-spy. You’re an Avenger, and were a spy? Well, I don’t know if you were a spy, or what exactly the classification was. Okay. I am shutting up now.” You move the blanket to cover your face.
James' chest shook as a small laugh escapes him. “I think they considered me an assassin. Was good at blowing things up, and shooting people, not really spying.”
“Fine.” You throw up your free hand, “You are a terrible liar for an ex-assassin.”
“Who said I was ex?” James teases back, his hand coming off the back of the couch to rest on your side.
Mocking a gasp, you look up at him. “James Barnes, did you just make a joke?”
His eyes narrow at you. “I've made jokes before.”
“Not with me,” You reply, hands fiddling with the edge of the throw under your chin.
“I am almost a century old, can't blame me for being rusty,” His chest rumbles with words, the movie closing out.
“I got two jokes in one night.” You do a fist pump. “Do you want to watch another one? Or are you movied out?”
James hums, fingers taping along your side. “Sure? But maybe not like this one.”
“Have you heard of war of worlds?” You ask, grabbing the remote to flick to the menu. Quickly searching for the show, Tony had everything you could think of watching.
Bucky hums, fingers resting on your hips, “The radio play?”
“Well, they took that play and turned it into a movie, several movies actually. This is the latest one.” You reply, listening to him sigh at that.
“Is nothing sacred anymore?” He groans as you click on the title.
“No, unfortunately, if they can make a dollar off Tom Cruise they will,” You reply, the opening credits start. The warmth radiating from him makes your eyelids heavy. “It's not the worst movie.”
“I don't know if I should trust your judgement,” James replies dryly, his fingers splaying over the blanket, just over your hip
“I expect a full critique when it's over,” You tease, the two of you falling into quiet silences as you watch the show. Eyes fluttering close, the warmth of him comforting you.
***
Part 10
Author's note: Thank you for everyone who continues to read, reblog and comment, It's truly appreciated. I keep writing cause you all enjoy it so much. I've been having a hard time with my mental health and this story helps, being able to write helps.
Tag list (comment to be added or removed )
@biaswreckedbybuckybarnes @riki-785 @overwintering-soldier
@alex-cheraya @hiddlebatchedloki @alex-cheraya @justyna4a
@ficmeiguess @vunblr @kimberly-stocks @rue963 @shameless-klutz
@feynightlight @humblechumbble @buckysgirl-12 @aureliaborea @nialhero-blog
@puffins13 @heartsforseo @local-crazy
