Patient Zero

patient zero

summary: you get an unknown virus, and Bucky is there to comfort you while you get the cure.

pairing: bucky barnes x avenger!reader

words: +1.5k

note: no warnings this time, just enjoy some fluff before i get in those episodes where i write heartbreaking things <3

It seemed like the room was spinning, shaking you until you felt again that urge to vomit that you hated so much. Your forehead, your hands, your back, you were completely covered in a thin layer of sweat even though the place you were in was quite cold. To counteract the effects, or so you had heard Banner say.

You hadn't moved from the corner you had made your new home since you entered the pod, mainly because moving involved a whiplash of pain throughout your body. It felt like your skin was burning, like you were on fire, and like your bones were breaking every time you tried to move. Just breathing was being a torture for you, and there were even moments when you purposely stopped inhaling in order to calm the physical agony you were going through.

You knew everyone was doing their best, but at that moment you just wanted to be able to hit them all so that they would hurry up even more.

You looked at your hands in your lap, one of your legs folded against your chest and the other stretched out on the floor. They were pale and trembling violently, and sweat glistened on each of your fingertips. You clenched them tightly, suppressing the exclamation of pain that wanted to come out of your mouth as you did so. It felt like you had hundreds of tiny needles embedding themselves in you at the same time.

“Don't move,” you heard Tony's voice, distorted through the speakers in the room, “We're almost there.”

You tilted your head to look at the mechanic with his back to you, with Banner in front of him and Dr. Cho on either side of him. The three of them were really focused on what they were doing, but from the distance you could barely decipher what it was.

They were making a cure, you heard from your subconscious.

Ah, right, the cure for the damn disease you'd caught and for which you now looked like a sack of jelly-like bones cowering from the world in one corner of the quarantine pod.

The mission was going well. They had captured the henchmen of the woman they were looking for and, although she had tried to escape, you had managed to tackle and handcuff her. Seeing her sitting on the floor against the wall, you remembered how you informed Steve that you had captured her and where you were. And just as you declared victory, the woman played her last ace up her sleeve.

“Next time, make sure you check the hands of whoever you capture,” she had said, and then you noticed a silver cylinder with a red button on it, which she obviously pressed without stopping to think about it.

The next thing you heard was the hissing and movement of machinery, and then a mist began to fill every space in the place. Although you tried to get out, it had already reached you and your throat quickly felt scratchy.

As you felt you were about to vomit your soul out, the woman added, “If you don't have the antidote, it's quite lethal. And, unfortunately, the cure stopped being produced a couple of months ago. Enjoy your last hours, child.”

And so you were locked in a glass capsule while the others tried to create an antidote before you died in agonising pain.

Just how you wanted to spend your weekend.

“Where is she?” you heard an agitated exclamation, and quickly recognised the voice.

“Bucky,” you said breathlessly.

You heard Tony's voice, scolding you surely, as you tried to move from the corner to get closer to the pod door. But you didn't move a foot when Bucky entered the lab. You watched his static figure for a few seconds in the doorway, blurry because you couldn't even see properly anymore, before he started moving to approach the side of the glass you were standing on.

“Honey, no, no, no, no,” Bucky repeated, his face contorting in concern, “Don't move, sweetheart. Hold still. That's it, like that.”

Getting back to your corner was martyrdom, but with Bucky's presence it felt a little more bearable.

“I'm sorry,” you murmured, having to strain to even speak properly, “I didn't mean to worry you.”

“It's okay, Y/N,” he assured you sweetly, his gaze sweeping over every part of your face as if he wanted to know how bad your pain was, “What matters now is that you stay as you are, try to move as little as possible. You have to save your strength.”

“I know,” you mumble, your breath escaping quickly, “I'm trying, but it hurts all over just breathing.”

“I understand, honey, but you're a strong woman. I know you can handle this.”

“You have more faith in me than I have in myself,” you commented with an attempt at a smile tugging at your lips.

“Well, one of us has to look out for you, and considering how little you care about your well being, that has to be me,” Bucky mimicked your smile although he fared much better.

You inwardly cursed that your vision was blurry and you couldn't get a good look at his features, or the beautiful smile he had just given you.

“What are you saying? If I care enough about myself.”

Bucky let out a short laugh, “Yeah, sometimes. Other times I have to make sure you've eaten or that you haven't gotten into some trouble by being distracted.”

“But those other times are very few. I don't need you as my babysitter,” you complained.

“Honestly, sweetheart, I don't know where you'd be right now if you didn't have me running after you.”

You let out a laugh, instantly regretting it as whiplash of pain shot through you from your chest to your lower back, and past all of your legs. Then a reflection of the pain began to throb in your head.

“Easy,” Bucky mused, stepping closer to the glass, “Tony's almost done.”

“Yes, kiddo. Hang in there a little longer,” you heard the aforementioned's voice, this time a little more agitated than last time.

You weren't even aware of how long it had been since you had inhaled that unknown substance until that moment, but it had felt like an eternity, especially locked in with that constant pain.

“Hey, Y/N, look at me,” Bucky spoke again. You looked up with difficulty as you took a big breath in through your mouth. For a moment of lucidity, you could observe his worried features once, his restless glittering eyes resting on every part of your face to make sure you weren't going through too much unbearable pain, “Remember what you wanted to tell me this morning? Before you left?”

You frowned, but quickly remembered that moment before you boarded the Quinjet with the others, your body jerking in nervousness and your hands clasped together so your fear wouldn't show.

“Oh, yes, I wanted to tell you that I love you,” you blurted out without thinking too much. Well, that had been easy, why were you so scared before?

Bucky felt the sound in the whole place stop for a few seconds. He watched your face, pale and completely oblivious to his anguish, unconcerned but discreetly contracted in a pain you were trying to hide. You were leaning with one of your shoulders against the white wall, as close as possible to the glass in front of him, who was sitting in a metal chair opposite you.

Your words echoed in his head, as if he had to repeat them to feel that you really meant them. He would never admit how much his breathing had quickened with your statement, or how fast his heart had begun to beat, or the warmth that had planted itself in his chest when you said... that.

He felt different. Like he had found something he didn't even know he was looking for; something he longed to have; something he felt he had been missing for a long time.

He felt different. He felt... at home.

“I love you too, Y/N,” Bucky mused, nervous for the first time, watching you closely with your eyes closed and breathing steady.

“I know,” was your reply.

Bucky raised his eyebrows and then frowned. Suddenly, he was fully aware of the noise of his surroundings, hearing Banner asking for a needle and Tony exclaiming that he had it in front of himself on the silver tray.

“What's that supposed to mean?”

Your lips curved unconsciously into a smile, which you tried to wipe off in time because of the pain it caused you.

“Don't give it too much thought, Buck. The important thing is that we've already said it, and before my death.”

“You're not going to die,” Bucky exclaimed quickly, his hands coming to rest in front of the glass.

“No one's going to die tonight!” Tony imprecated as he moved through the lab.

Bucky watched him get a white suit, surely to enter the capsule and avoid any possible contagion. A sigh of relief left him when he saw that Bruce had the antidote injection ready.

He turned his gaze to yours, finding you squinting to get a good look at him. A smile escaped his lips. You moved once more, causing a grimace of pain on your face that Bucky wished he could erase by pulling you into his body, but he knew that would only cause you pain. Just standing there watching you suffer was proving to be martyrdom.

“Do they have the cure yet?” you asked weakly.

“Yes, Y/N.”

“And what's taking them so long?” you raised your voice, intending for the scientists to hear you. Your chest vibrated in pain and you brought one of your hands to where your heart was.

“Try putting on one of these suits in less than three minutes. It's a Guinness record,” Tony spoke as he walked past Bucky, heading towards the double doors of the pod.

“Then I seriously won't die tonight,” you mused, staring at Bucky's blurred figure.

“No, honey.”

“I'll have more time to listen to you say you love me,” you commented with a smile, “And you'll have to get used to hearing it from me, because I'll repeat it until you're tired of it.”

“I don't think I can get tired of you telling me you love me, sweetheart.”

“That's good. That's... very good,” you blurted out forcibly.

“Okay, couple in love, injection time.”

Bucky watched you grimace as Stark knelt down beside you and took your arm as gently as he could, but it didn't stop you from still feeling a rush of pain.

“I'm not going after bad guys with biological weapons again.”

Tony let out a laugh, “Chances are you won't be getting out of here for a while. We need to see how your body reacts and if there will be any side effects.”

“What, aren't those studies supposed to be done first?”

“You wanted us to go through all that while you were here agonising over your death?”

You didn't answer the millionaire, but only because a sense of peace had just washed over your body, making its way through every part of you. You felt like you were lying on a cloud, when you were probably settled in the worst possible position.

“Bucky?”

“Yes?”

“Are you going to stay with me?”

“Always, sweetheart.”

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disappear

summary: when you disappeared from Bucky's life, he felt he had lost everything, until he realised that your presence was not the only thing that had disappeared.

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

words: +3k

warnings: just a little sadness at the beginning, but wait for it!

note: i don't know what got into me, but apparently my dream is gone and my head is racing with these writings. anyway, thanks for the support and enjoy!

Bucky spent weeks wondering why. Had he done something wrong? Had something he had said upset you so much? Had he become rude to you? He simply couldn't find a reason, and spent many nights just staring at the ceiling thinking that he was the cause of all his problems.

Because what other reason would you have for leaving if it wasn't himself? Maybe he wasn't enough, or you probably got tired of trying to understand him. Surely you found someone more stable, more alive, and you saw no reason to believe that Bucky deserved an explanation. Maybe he didn't even deserve that.

The only thing he had back was silence. The stormy silence that had been cured by nights spent together, talking, watching movies, doing whatever and coordinating so much that Bucky could only think you were made for him, and he was made for you.

But in the end, it seemed like he was the only one who thought that. Because you didn't hesitate for a second, when you surely had the chance, to walk out the door and never come back. You didn't even take your things with you, you just disappeared from his life without any kind of explanation.

The first few days were the worst. Confusion and denial took over his body so much that he went out every night to walk around the city, just to hope that he could find you somewhere, and that you could explain to him what the hell had happened, or what he had done wrong that had made you run away from him.

No one in the team seemed to know what had happened. They hadn't heard from you since the last time they'd been together, all having dinner at Stark's house. The last time Bucky had seen you. He couldn't get in touch with any of your family either, the only thing he knew about them was the city they lived in, but they used to move all the time.

After a while, hopeless and disillusioned, he had finally resigned himself. Something had gone wrong, or something had been missing, but he had failed your relationship. And he spent weeks like that, blaming himself for your surprising and inexplicable escape, and no one could ever change his mind. He withdrew into himself again, only coming out on missions or for the bare necessities; his presence souring as the days went by, hurt and pained by what you had done.

Bucky wanted to believe he didn't deserve it, but over time he came to believe that he did.

"Hey, Buck," Steve's voice woke him up, and he had to lift his head to look at his friend standing next to him, "We're heading back to the Quinjet now, you coming?"

Bucky watched him, sitting at one of the tables in the coffee shop in the city, the city where your parents lived. Or at least, the one he thought they lived in. Just thinking about it again, about you, about what had happened, fanned the flame of disappointment and the pain felt as fresh as the moment he realised you weren't coming back. Rubbing salt in the wound fell short of the feeling he felt at the mere remembrance of your abandonment.

"Go on, I'll catch up," he replied to Steve, who only pursed his lips and gave him a nod.

Bucky watched them leave, immersed in the storm of sensations he thought he had learned to tame months ago.

He looked down at his milkshake and sighed. Although a part of him, long before he had arrived in this city, believed he would feel hopeful about being there, the truth was that he had plenty of desire and reason to run.

But his body felt too heavy, and if he didn't believe there was a chance then he had no reason to be in a hurry.

He came out a couple of minutes later. The weather in the city was hot, which you always complained about because you couldn't wear a blazer for too long before you started hyperventilating or turned into a portable sauna. Bucky surveyed the buildings, feeling a strange, unwelcome familiarity run through his body.

He began to walk away from the cafeteria and closer to the team's rendezvous point to get back to Washington.

But he stopped a few moments later

At the intersection, everything seemed normal enough, at least as normal as it could be in a congested city like that. Nevertheless, he sensed something strange in the air, as if the wind carried with it the ill omen of an impending disaster.

He scanned his surroundings keenly and shrewdly, alert to register every strange movement and ready to defend himself if necessary.

But there seemed to be nothing to worry about, unless he considered a woman's fallen shopping bag across the street a threat.

Bucky watched her figure, his hands tingling with unfamiliar anticipation. He began to feel the need to walk towards her, to see her, to touch her... but no. He stopped in time. It had already happened to him several times to go after a woman who looked exactly like you, but only earned a reproach, a bad look and disappointment. It had been a long time since he had stopped looking for you, and he wouldn't start looking for you now.

But the woman turned away just as Bucky was about to continue on his way, and he froze in place.

It was like a mirage. There was no way in the universe that anyone could look that similar... no, it was impossible.

Bucky clasped his hands, his breathing quickening in anticipation of events. He felt a tingle run through his body, and he didn't know if it was the product of surprise or fear. Despite the high temperature of the city, Bucky sensed a chill and his body shrank, suddenly feeling exposed and vulnerable. The pain in his chest, the one he hadn't felt in months, had just returned fiercely, stealing his breath as he couldn't tear his gaze away from the woman who had entered that building.

He didn't even hesitate when he started jogging in the same direction.

He had begun to hyperventilate even before he picked up his pace, gripped by his fear and his expectations. If it was really you, what was he supposed to say? How was he supposed to act? Was he supposed to look angry? Was he supposed to ask for explanations? Did he still have the right to do that?

He went up the stairs two at a time, not even knowing on which of all the floors you had probably stopped.

But he didn't have to try very hard to find out. On the fourth floor, at the end of the corridor, you were standing in the doorway. Bucky felt his breath taken away. It had been so long...

Your hair was long, much longer than the last time he'd seen you, with slightly lighter ends and slight waves that ended at the small of your back. You no longer wore rings, your fingers, on the door frame, were empty of them. Yet you were still dressed in the same way he knew: casually formal, but not uncomfortably so.

Bucky felt he was seeing a version of you so familiar, yet at the same time so unfamiliar and alien to what he remembered. It was strange to him that he could tell how much he knew about you just by seeing you from afar.

Suddenly, without warning, you turned around, closed the door and started walking in his direction. You didn't realise anyone was there until you reached the middle of the corridor.

Your little smile faded, the same smile you always gave him from afar or on the nights you spent together, knowing and mischievous, but as soft and loving as only you could make it, and Bucky felt his heart faint.

A thousand scenarios ran through his mind. You walking back down the hall, him following you and ending up in an argument. You, trying to ignore him and him claiming you for what you'd done. You, walking away, ignoring his suffering, leaving him behind as you had done months ago, totally insensitive and oblivious to the agonising life you had forced him to live since you left.

Bucky imagined it all in those few seconds when you were looking into each other's eyes, you with a confused expression and Bucky surely with a sour and frightened expression, but he definitely didn't imagine what, in the end, came out of your mouth.

"Hi," you smiled at him, as if it was nothing.

Bucky felt himself short-circuiting.

"Are you looking for someone?"

He watched you, and couldn't even decipher what he was feeling, nor what was going through his mind at the moment. Your gaze on his wasn't rude, it wasn't contemptuous, it wasn't scornful; you were looking at him the same way you did when you first met: with your relaxed, gentle, curious features. And how the hell was he supposed to act in the face of that?

"Wait," you blurted out suddenly, your eyebrows raised and your smile widening into a very peculiar joy, as if you had just realised something, but it couldn't be what he was thinking. Why were you still smiling? "Are you Mark, the one from Tinder? Because if you are, let me tell you, you look very, very different. Although I don't think Sophie would mind in the same way."

You let out a laugh, and a feeling that Bucky thought was gone bloomed in his chest again. Adoration.

But he couldn't answer you. He didn't understand what the hell was going on.

"Are you Mark?" your corners turned down and you arched an eyebrow.

"Y/N," Bucky blurted out, as if he'd just seen a ghost.

Your face contracted in confusion.

"Do I know you?"

Suddenly, Bucky felt a discomfort sweep through his body. He didn't even stop to consider the situation fully, his mind was already scheming the thousand reproaches he wanted to make to you for leaving him. For leaving, and taking everything about him with you.

"I don't know what you're doing, but it's not funny," his voice came out rude and curt, reflecting the anger that mingled with the jumble of thoughts that were creating a dilemma in his mind.

"Excuse me, but I think you've got the wrong person. I... I don't know you."

"Of all the things I thought you might say to me, if we ever met again, I didn't think you'd stoop so low."

Your eyebrows rose in surprise and indignation. Bucky knew that look all too well.

"Look, I don't know who you are or what you're doing here, but I'm not going to let you talk to me that way."

"You don't know who I am?" Bucky exclaimed incredulously, "So that's how fast you forget two years together, huh?"

"But what are you talking about?"

Bucky was about to refute again. He came within an inch of blurting out everything that had been rattling around in his head for the past few months where his only company had been his shattered mind and deteriorating heart. He was angry, he was sad, he felt disarmed and vulnerable, his head was filled with words of hatred, resentment and bitterness... but he couldn't get a single word out. Not when you looked at him as if he had grown a second head.

Not when he'd noticed you clasping your hands at the sides of your body, leaning slightly forward, resting your weight on your right leg and scowling so hard it looked like it might stay that way forever. No, Bucky knew you well enough to be able to deduce the truth just by facing you, and at that moment, in addition to being angry, you were defensive, scared and confused.

But he couldn't understand...

"You don't... remember me?" was what came out of his mouth, trying to make sense of the conjectures his mind was coming up with. He hadn't even meant to say it, thinking out loud guilelessly.

"I think I said quite clearly that I have no idea who you are."

Your face, hardened with anger, remained fixed and determined looking in his direction.

Bucky felt like he looked like jelly, trembling and fragile.

Then, suddenly, your gaze softened. You opened your hands and settled into a more communicative position, more open to civilised talk.

"What is your name?"

He felt the sting of tears welling in his eyes.

"Bucky."

"Bucky," you repeated, savouring his name on your lips just as you had the first time.

His pulse jumped into a frenzy, and he had to clasp your hands so that the trembling in them would stop distracting him from thinking about the possibilities.

You were there. You really were there in front of him.

"I..." you spoke again, this time looking more nervous, "Well, I don't know how to tell you this tactfully, considering no one seems to have told you before. So I'll just say it. I lost my memory."

You lost your memory.

But... what the hell?

You must have sensed the big question mark on Bucky's face, because you hastened to add, "Three years ago I was in an accident on my way home. A truck hit my car for running a red light. I was in a coma for over four months and, when I woke up, I didn't remember what I had done with my life for the past five years. I didn't remember many people who claimed to be my friends, and I had a hard time re-adjusting to the routine I had already established."

You paused, waiting for the man in front of you to weigh and process the information.

"For my recovery, I came to live with my parents and decided to stay when I finished. They never mentioned anything about you. Do you live around here?"

"I live in Washington," Bucky replied automatically.

"Washington," you cocked your head, recalling the information your parents had given you, "Well, they just told me I used to live there before the accident, nothing beyond that."

Bucky was dumbfounded, trying to comprehend, analyze and correlate the facts only to realize that yes, there was no way you were lying to him just to get him off your back. And though he wanted to focus on the flood of guilty feelings that washed over him at the thought of spending months cursing your name only to find out now that you'd been in the hospital, Bucky could only focus on the last thing you'd told him.

Your parents hadn't told you about him. Absolutely nothing, not even about the rest of the team you'd fraternized with so much. Bucky would have preferred to say and believe it was a surprise, but it wasn't really.

Your parents never hid their contempt for your relationship with him. In the beginning, when you moved in with him, they called you every three days just to try to convince you to move back home with them, saying that a good-for-nothing like him couldn't give you what you needed, let alone what you wanted. You never listened to them, obviously, but those situations stayed in his head for a long time, and intensified after you disappeared from his life without a trace.

And now it made sense.

You hadn't abandoned him. You had an accident, you lost all your memories of him, and your parents took advantage of that heartbreaking situation to finally achieve their goal: to separate you from him for good.

And it hurt. It hurt like bloody hell. Not just what they'd done, but Bucky had spent days blaming you, cursing you, believing you'd gone to someone else who could give you more than him, finally succumbing to your parents' desire. And no, it wasn't possible for Bucky to know something like that had happened, but it hurt him that it hadn't been long before he'd begun to think the worst of you, as if you didn't deserve the benefit of the doubt.

Bucky looked up, not quite sure when in the midst of his musings he had lowered his gaze, and rested his eyes on your wary gaze. Even without knowing him, you seemed genuinely concerned.

"I'm sorry," you said quickly, "I have no idea why my parents didn't tell you."

"I can figure it out," he muttered bitterly.

You let out a snort and your expression quickly changed to anger, "I'm going to talk to them about it. I can't believe they were so inconsiderate."

Bucky couldn't help but let out a chuckle. You had changed, but not by much. You still looked like a little girl throwing a tantrum when you got mad, and him saying that about you definitely used to piss you off too.

"Did we know each other a lot?" you asked, the anger fading from your features to give way to intrigue.

"We lived together."

Your eyebrows rose in disbelief.

"And my parents never considered telling me?" you exclaimed, sceptical.

"I'm not surprised," Bucky commented, a bitter smile creeping onto his face, "They never approved of our relationship."

Your head jerked up, expressing a denial of your parents' behaviour.

However, the information you had just gained felt overwhelming. A few seconds ago, the knowledge you had of the five years wiped from your memory was that you had lived with your parents most of the time, and that you had recently moved to Washington shortly before the accident. Honestly, you found it surprising that your parents would lie to you just to keep you away from a man you apparently used to really love.

And just the thought that he must have spent all those months believing you had abandoned him, it made you feel an emptiness in your chest that surely didn't compare to the emptiness he must have felt, and only because of a deception. It's not as if you were now trying to get back together with him just by knowing that, you don't remember him, but you were sure that if he had known that, it might have been a little more encouraging, either to move on and forget your relationship, or to build a new one. But your parents wouldn't let you make that decision.

"I'm really sorry, Bucky."

"It's okay, it's all right, love."

Bucky blurted out the nickname he called you by most of the time without even realizing it, until he watched your face contract in surprise and discomfort.

"I didn't- I didn't mean it like that," he tried to excuse himself, "I mean, maybe I did, but it's not at all appropriate right now. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," you smiled at him through tight lips, and Bucky mimicked you.

His eyes stayed locked on yours, and though you certainly didn't remember anything of your time together, a warm feeling formed in your chest.

"So, we lived together."

Bucky smiled, "Yeah, we'd been together for ten months when we moved in."

"How long were we together?"

"Two years and three months."

You raised your eyebrows.

"Wow, that's definitely my longest relationship."

Bucky let out a laugh and you sheepishly joined him.

You played with your fingers, lacing and unlacing them in front of you, a nervous gesture that Bucky was quite familiar with. He was about to tell you that he could go away, leave it at that, and wish you a good life, but you beat him to the punch.

"How about we go down to the cafeteria?" you suggested, leaving him speechless for a few moments, "I mean, to talk. I guess you spent a bitter time not knowing the truth, I think the least you deserve is a little time."

At the time, Bucky didn't understand how he could have ever even considered that you would do something with the sole intention of hurting him. He got more hurt himself as time went on.

"Well, if you're comfortable with that, I'm fine with it. But if you want me to leave, that's okay too. I'll understand."

"No," you exclaimed quickly, "I don't have a problem. On the contrary, I have a lot of questions, so I hope you have the afternoon off."

Bucky remembered Steve and the rest of the team, making a mental note to write to him that he would return to Washington later.

His mouth widened into a smile, as you began to walk further towards him, heading for the stairs.

"As long as you need."

I definitely won't deny that

confessed feelings (3)

summary: Bucky finally confronts his thoughts and makes a decision.

pairing: bucky barnes x avenger!reader

words: +3.5k (this is the longest i have ever written!)

warnings: some bad words? i think there are no warnings this time. i just want to say that this is more from Bucky's pov, all his considerations, and at the very end the reader appears. i really don't know if that's a bit tedious, or if this is what you were expecting, but i still hope you enjoy it!

note: thank you so much for all the support, it has been overwhelming in the best possible way! literally your words inspired me and I was surprised to write this third and last part so quickly, so here it is!

Part 1

Part 2

Bucky Barnes was sure of three things:

1. That he wasn't good with words.

Bucky was a disaster at finding the right words, and in any situation or at any time, not for any specific thing. His passive-aggressive attitude was the product of a myriad of bad memories and experiences that, little by little, dulled the light in his eyes. The man he was in the 40s definitely no longer existed, he had died the day he had fallen off that train. The man he was now was nothing more than a vague and poor attempt to recover what he used to be, but without finding the right path and making mistakes at every step.

And that wasn't wrong. I mean, it's human to make mistakes, he used to repeat himself; but as time went on he found it a better escape to withdraw into himself rather than take the time to give voice to his thoughts and engage in a lot of emotions that, after so many years, felt strange and not worthy of his time.

After spending years carrying around guilt, remorse and helplessness, Bucky had given up on trying to find a way to communicate in any other way than by staring at people, mostly with a frown on his face. He found it better for people to believe that he was angry, or that he was bitter, simply so he wouldn't have to deal with small talk about feelings and things that made him vulnerable and, consequently, an easy target.

2. He was also not very good at expressing his feelings.

That was obvious, it went along with the first point. If Bucky avoided everyday talk even with most of his peers, he would avoid talk about his feelings even more. For him, it was like trying to swim in the desert trying to reach an oasis; a constant feeling of suffocation and hopelessness. Talking about his feelings was touching an unfamiliar wasteland; it had been so long since the last time that he didn't even know how to handle it effectively. And he used to be a Don Juan, who knew?

If he wanted to make a simpler analogy, Bucky was pretty good with guns, pistols and rifles, even knives and switchblades, but swords? That kind of extremely big, loud and much shinier knife? No, too ostentatious and pompous for his taste, as well as being too indiscreet. If there was something he didn't like doing, or didn't like talking about, why would he waste his time trying? If Bucky didn't know how to use a sword, even though it would surely be as simple as a knife considering the skills he possessed, knew and was familiar with, then why should he feel obligated to do so? After all, it was his choice, wasn't it?

Or maybe he was simply avoiding it because he didn't want to realise how simple it was, just as he didn't want to know that he'd wasted so much time just because... he was afraid. Afraid of doing it wrong, afraid of failing, afraid of disappointing, afraid of losing control again because he didn't know how to handle himself.

But no, of course he didn't feel that way, that would be fucking crazy.

3. But he was particularly forthcoming when it came to you.

This... Well, this was a prime example of what happened when you gave Bucky a sword expecting him to walk across a desert without a drop of water. He was lost. He was doomed.

When Bucky didn't know something or didn't know where he was going, he hesitated, he fretted, he panicked, and most of the time he would rather run away than realise that the wasteland stretching out in front of him was really a green screen that his deepest fears had put in front of him to frighten him, to distract him, to keep him hidden.

But, really, there was nothing in front of him. Only the very fear he refused to accept.

And he knew that made him a coward. For God's sake, he could take on thirty men armed with a knife, but he couldn't tell the woman he liked that he'd be happy to take her out to dinner. But did that fact encourage him to take the risk? Absolutely not.

And Bucky hated himself for it. He hated the part of himself that refused to talk to you because it was terrified, and he hated even more having the ability and strength to face it.

“You told her what?” Sam's exclamation jolted him back to the stage he'd been on for a couple of minutes. His gaze refused to meet Sam's and instead focused on your figure, sitting in front of the kitchen counter talking animatedly to Steve while you ate your favourite cereal. And he knew he had no right, he knew he'd brought this on himself, but he couldn't help the burning in his chest every time you smiled at him the way you smiled at Bucky. It was fucking painful.

And was that enough of an impetus for him to finally speak to you honestly? No, absolutely not. Fucking coward.

“Bucky, have you lost your mind?”

The aforementioned let out a sigh, noticeably exasperated. He averted his gaze to begin counting the bubbles that were accumulating around the rim of the full glass of Coke he hadn't even tasted since Sam had put it in front of him.

Wilson, noticeably grumpy, pushed the soda out of his sight and planted his forearm on the table in front of them, leaning forward allowing Bucky to sense the irritability emanating from him. Honestly, Bucky didn't think Sam would take it seriously when he told him, just to get it off his chest, but the man had breathed in sharply with his eyes fixed on him, as if he could suddenly see and judge his every mistake.

So this is why, Bucky mentally told himself, I just shouldn't talk to anyone anymore.

“Look, man, I know you're older than me and I owe respect to my elders, but what the fuck was going through your head when you decided that doing that was a good idea?”

Barnes rolled his eyes, “It's not to make a fuss.”

“Oh, no, no. You're telling me that you like someone, but to really like her, for a relationship, and then you tell me that you dismissed her that way like she was a piece of old cardboard. And not only that, but that woman is Y/N!”

“I didn't dismissed her away like-”

“Ah, ah, ah,” Sam interrupted him, raising his index finger and wagging it from side to side in denial, “You have serious commitment and communication issues.”

“Can you hardly tell?”

Sam lowered his hand, leaning over his forearm to observe Bucky's hard, impassive expression.

“Why do you think it's wrong that you like her?”

“Steve likes her.”

“No, Steve liked her.”

“No, he likes her. What he said was to not make me feel bad, but I can read between the lines.”

“Then you have lousy reading comprehension, Bucky,” Sam shook his head, “Steve liked Y/N, past tense. He told you there was nothing wrong with you wanting to date her, why are you reneging and twisting his words?”

“I'm not reneging-”

“Bucky,” Sam exclaimed, shushing him, “The problem isn't with Steve or Y/N, you're the one who wants to believe that all this drama you put together is necessary. Why?”

I can't tell him, Bucky thought, he's going to judge me. He's definitely going to. And who wouldn't? I would if I were in his place. For a moment, it frightened him how easily his mind played with his stability, leading him to believe, as it always did, that the problem lay with the others. That the others didn't understand, that they would never be able to understand what he thought or felt. It didn't allow him to see how much simpler and more bearable things would be if Bucky talked about them, if he could communicate, in that way that so terrified him, with others.

“Why, Bucky?” Sam insisted, and a pique of unease ran through the aforementioned's body.

“Damn it, Sam, will you just drop the subject for the hell of it?” Bucky raised his voice, gripped by his emotions, but instantly regretting it.

“No,” Sam shot back in the same tone of voice, “It's not right that you're always thinking of yourself this way. It's not healthy, Bucky.”

“In what way?” he asked sarcastically, letting out a short, unfunny laugh.

“The way you make yourself believe that you don't deserve any good. That everything that happens to you, a product of your own actions, decisions and fears, is some kind of punishment for everything they made you do in the past. And now you'd rather believe that Steve lied to you, that he didn't tell you the truth when he told you that he was moving on from Y/N and dating someone else, all because you want to hold on to the idea that you don't deserve it. That you don't deserve her. But, in case you haven't noticed, you're not the only one you're hurting with those self-destructive thoughts.”

Bucky watched him with a frown, his face feigning an expressionlessness that tried to hide the terror he felt at the mere thought that it was so easy for Sam to dig through his actions to uncover his worst fears. He felt exposed, vulnerable, an easy target...

“Maybe I don't fully understand what you are going through with this transition, but what I do know is that you are not going to get anywhere by letting your fears take over. If you keep this up, there's going to be nothing left of you in the end. You have to come out, Bucky, you have to believe that you really deserve what you have now, what you can have,” he said, and pointed discreetly into the distance at you, where Natasha had joined the conversation.

Sam's eyes were fixed on his, with a determination and confidence that made him wonder - why was he really telling him all that? Did he really want to make him feel better, or was he just pretending because he really cared more about what you felt than what he was going through? The things he was saying... they weren't strange, but they weren't welcome in Bucky's mind. What was he saying? That his feelings were valid? That was something new.

He was probably free of HYDRA's control, free of the Winter Soldier, but he wasn't free of the fears and doubts, he wasn't free of his subconscious, which constantly found ways to make him believe that everything good in his life came at a cost. No one could be so happy in such a short time without paying a price for it. It was impossible.

Wasn't it?

“Dude, just... think about it, okay? I can realize it's hard for you to push guilt and fear away from your decisions, but you have to do it, Bucky. You have to start trying so you can start living again. Believe me, there are a lot of good things you are missing out on as you ponder whether you are worthy of the good things you feel. But you are, Bucky, you have to know that, you can't let doubt become your guide. You are more than that.”

Bucky knew how to spot a person's lies like a pro. The way they moved, how they breathed or if they were sweating, even the way the words came out of that person's mouth were leading clues to make him conclude that someone was lying to him. But Sam... Sam wasn't. His posture was tense, his gaze stern but determined, his breathing calm and slow, normal, his face free of layers of sweat.

Sam wasn't lying to him, he wasn't messing with his mind. No one was messing with his mind but himself, and that made him think that maybe, just maybe, Sam was right. It sounded crazy, his subconscious was denying the possibility through a tantrum, refusing to let him believe that what Sam was saying was actually true, and that little dilemma made him realise something:

“That sounds like a long way off.”

Sam sketched a half smile, resting one of his hands on Bucky's shoulder, “I know she'll understand. Or better, if you let her, she can come with you.”

---

Steve had spoken to Bucky days before you left with the blond on your first mission after four months. And he remembered it perfectly, as if it had been that very morning, as he weighed Sam's words and the reality of Steve's words. He had intercepted him at the gym, the place Bucky had designated as his personal therapeutic place, where he used to spend most of his days. He knew he wasn't going to find you there because at that moment you were with Natasha, both of you in the equipment room as you helped the spy prepare for her next mission.

Yep, Bucky was avoiding you and very blatantly not trying to hide it.

“Hey, Buck,” he recognized Steve's voice echoing through the gym.

“Steve,” Bucky greeted him back, barely turning to watch him nonchalantly enter the place.

“I hear you've been talking to Emily these days.”

“Yeah,” Bucky replied nonchalantly, “She seems nice.”

“And what about Y/N?”

The pounding on the sandbag stopped abruptly as soon as Bucky heard your name leave Steve's lips. His brow furrowed and, coupled with the erratic rhythm his heartbeat had taken on, Bucky felt like this conversation wasn't going where he wanted it to.

“What about her?” he asked, suddenly defensive, and the blond didn't miss that.

Steve shrugged, cocking his lips, “I thought you'd try something with her.”

“I never said that,” he replied quickly with a frown, turning to look at his friend.

“Well, I assumed, after what we talked about last time.”

“You mean when you told me you liked her?”

“No, I mean when I told you that you didn't have to be self-conscious just because I told you I liked her before.”

Bucky didn't erase his gruff expression, but on the contrary, it intensified as he deciphered Steve's words that his subconscious knew, but hadn't allowed himself to parse the right way the first time.

“Whatever, Steve, she doesn't feel the same way,” the black-haired man turned his attention back to the bag, but didn't make a pretense of hitting it again. His mood had faded.

“You'll never know if that's true unless you ask her. What have you got to lose?”

“Time?”

“Please, Buck. I've seen you around her, she makes you feel good, comfortable.”

“She doesn't make me feel anything,” he exclaimed through his teeth, interrupting him, an angry flare flaring in his chest.

Steve sighed, finally deciphering his partner's reluctant attitude.

“You're scared of how you feel because she makes you think you really deserve it, aren't you?”

Bucky turned his face to look at him, but said nothing.

“She makes you feel like you deserve a chance. And now you don't believe it.”

Bucky hesitated for a few seconds, Steve easily noticing the dilemma inside him, but just as quickly as it came, just as quickly it went.

“She doesn't make me feel anything,” and he continued to pound the bag in front of him, harder and angrier than before, as if to make his decision clear.

Thinking about that conversation again made his stomach do a flip. It had taken him a long time to realise that his greatest fear was already a reality, that he had been wasting his time hiding behind a branch and being a bitter hothead because everyone already knew, everyone already knew him. The people around him knew more about him than he knew about himself, and even they knew that it scared him.

He hadn't even succeeded in trying to hide his fears from the world. All he had done was try to excuse his bad decisions behind them. Some soldier he was, huh.

Coming to that conclusion made him realise that you too were among that mass of people who knew him all too well. And now, two days after his conversation with Sam and sitting against the wall of the Quinjet returning to the Complex after a mission with you, Bucky still hadn't found the words to tell you all about the emotions that blossomed in his chest every time you were near him, or every time you smiled at him or told a joke that normally wasn't funny, but your sparkling eyes automatically brought a smile to his face that he didn't even bother to stop.

However, realising the truth did not mean that he was no longer afraid. On the contrary, he was terrified. Mainly because he knew you were going to be angry, and he didn't blame you, you had every reason to be. But he knew it would only make him more nervous and he wouldn't know how to handle his emotions in the environment. Now, time had run out for him. He could no longer postpone this talk with the excuse that he was still thinking. Besides, his fear was also justified in the future, in not knowing how to cope with a relationship, what commitment and trust were all about. Would he do it right? How did he know he wouldn't throw it all away the moment his insecurities took control of himself? Because of those doubts that wouldn't leave him alone, Bucky knew that the path he was taking now was one of vulnerability at its finest.

Your eyes, which at every turn tried to avoid his, had finally connected with his. Your expression was what it used to his, stoic and expressionless, and he definitely didn't like it. He already missed your smiling, animated gestures that contrasted too much with his, but in a beautiful way made him feel complete, even if he had spent days denying himself that just because he was scared.

“I...” he began, before you looked away again and they fell into another awkward silence, “I'm sorry. And I know you might not want to forgive me, and that's okay, I understand. I also know that you probably don't want to listen to me after- after what I told you, but I promise this will be the last you'll hear from me if you never want to see me again afterwards.”

You watched his clear eyes from a distance, his pupils slightly dilated that you could detail clearly thanks to your skills. He moved his thumbs over his clasped hands, in what you deduced was a nervous gesture you hadn't seen him make before, and you didn't know if it was because of that or the simple need to want to hear him, that you silently agreed without taking your eyes off him.

And Bucky understood, he was an expert at deciphering looks. Your looks.

“It took me a long time to realise that what everyone was saying was true,” he began, his gaze anchored on yours, “I've spent so much time locked inside myself with the memories, with the guilt, the remorse, the- the sadness, that now I feel like that's all I know. I can't acknowledge how you feel about me because I feel I don't deserve it, that's true. I can't accept that you love me even though you know what I did, that you know what I'm carrying on my shoulders, and that's something I'm going to have trouble getting rid of,” he watched your sad expression, “But I will, I know I can do it now.”

“And I'm going to apologise, probably forever, for trying to excuse myself behind lies just because I was scared. Steve was right, I'm terrified that you would make me feel like I deserve something good, just because I spent years believing I would live out a divine punishment for everything I did. I know better now, but... that doesn't make it any less scary.”

“My point is: I'll work on it. I mean, I want to. For you. For me. I want to accept what you give me openly and I want to have the ability to give you the same, and more, back. Because that's what relationships are all about, isn't it? Reciprocal affections. I know I'm going to make it, now I am... but I also know it's going to take some time, and I don't want to tie you down to the uncertainty of what may or may not happen in the future. However, it's your decision. But whatever you choose, I will always, forever, wait for you.”

Bucky watched you warily, his heart beating wildly and uncontrollably within his chest. At some point, he had leaned forward to get a better view of you, or simply to emphasize his words, so you could tell he really meant what was coming out of his mouth, and wasn't just getting the words out for the sake of it.

He noticed your flashing eyes, clouded in a couple of tears, and for a moment he paused to wonder if he had said something wrong. You didn't even answer him, and Bucky felt his body begin to sink into resignation.

You blinked a couple of times, trying to get a clear view of him, of his face and his expectant features. The hundred emotions coursing through your body at that moment left you in an ecstasy you couldn't describe, and you didn't really struggle to find what to say to him -you knew exactly what your answer was- you were simply stunned by the way he opened his heart and soul to you, knowing that he was entrusting you with something that, until moments ago, he treasured warily as his own and over which only he had power: his fragility, that vulnerable part of himself that he always hid from the world, exposed to you.

And you loved him. More than before, if that was possible.

You braced your hands to lift yourself off the ship's floor under his anxious gaze. You walked to close the space between you, and sat down again, this time, facing him. The way you looked at him made his world reel, wondering if he really had to go through so much to realise what he was missing; to realise that maybe he did deserve it.

Well, he had to erase that maybe, but he'd already said he was going to work on that, hadn't he?

“I can wait for you, Bucky. And I can walk you to the end of the world if you want me too.”

Bucky was the one who approached, knowing you were keeping your distance because you wanted to respect that he wanted to take his time. His hands, sheathed in his black leather gloves, cradled your face with a softness you could even feel through the rough material. A small smile took over his face, his eyes sparkling with the anticipation of a new possibility; a possibility in which he could be happy.

“Thank you,” he mused, pressing his forehead to yours.

Your hands wrapped around his wrists, holding him firmly but not too tightly, just to let him know that you were there, and that you were going to be there until he decided to walk away, if he did in the end.

His happy sigh brought a smile to your face, and the two of you stood together holding hands for the rest of the trip back to the Complex.

----

the ones who asked to me to tag them: @ladyfallonavenger @wanniiieeee

Trying to convince yourself to write like