Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Stark was bound to be livid. As soon as F.R.I.D.A.Y told him we were gone, we were dead. We’d probably be hunted down and rounded up like a flock of animals, only to be sent to the house for slaughter.

It was well past midnight, and if we were lucky we’d still have a few more hours until he awoke. Until then, we needed a breather before we attempted the trek back home.

We were well into the financial district of manhattan, and had originally been a few miles away from Brooklyn. We had been working a case Peter had overheard about while patrolling the neighborhood, and we thought it would be small enough for us to manage. We hadn’t realized the gang wasn’t isolated to one district, but instead had leagues hidden throughout many of New York’s smaller business’. It was meant to be a simple rounding up of Tony’s old toys, the ones that had gotten their way into the black market after the compound had been obliterated. Much of it had been stolen during the rebuilding process of the compound. Tony wasn’t exactly worried about many of the items that had been lost. To him, nothing was truly ever priceless.

The unfortunate thing, though, was that he wasn’t the only tech genius in manhattan—and far from it. Workers working on the renovation of a local apartment building had talked about the money they had made selling off stolen Stark tech, and of course he came to me to help him with it. Especially since he wasn’t planning on involving Stark.

It didn’t go well, I could tell you that. Peter ran out of web fluid a little way into the night (which is stupid, because he’s part spider or whatever), and with as many cronies out there as there turned out to be, it wasn’t safe for us to try to walk home. We had gotten a good amount of the tech back, though, so we were pretty proud of that.

So that leads us to here, stuck in the middle of Brooklyn, sleeping on Bucky Barnes’s couch.

Bucky hadn’t seemed to mind very much. He’d opened the door to see a haggard Peter and me leaning against his doorframe as if it were our life support. He’d simply took a step back and opened the door further. He didn’t talk as Peter slumped down onto the couch. He was out within seconds.

Bucky had left for a short while, but came back with an oversized sweater for me to wear. I’d forgotten about all of the blood on my shirt—mostly from Peter’s bloody nose—but I thanked him and slipped it on after he had left the room. He didn’t come back by the time I had collapsed on the couch besides Peter. I was out before I had the chance to look for him.

It had only been an hour or so, maybe more when I woke up. A gentle tune was coming in from the kitchen, a soothing oldie that played from an old record player. It hadn’t been what woke me, I was simply not much of a sleeper, but I got up slowly so as to not wake Peter.

A lamp from the room over illuminated much of the kitchen. The bright orange light from the street past the window lit up the rest. A record spun on a stereo, and leaning against one of the counters was Bucky sipping from a steaming tea. We made eye contact as I stood in the doorway. I took notice of the boiling water on the stove and made to join him.

The cabinet near the sink was were I usually found the mugs. I had helped him and Steve put the place together when Bucky had first gotten the apartment, after all. When I opened the cabinet, though, I hadn’t expected to be met with glasses lined up on the shelves. Wordlessly, I turned to him. He had already been looking at me from over the lip of his mug.

Taking notice of the open cabinet, he leaned his body off of the counter. Behind him was a rack of mugs hanging from their handles.

“I rearranged,” he said, his voice smooth from the hot drink.

I nodded and reached behind him. Before I could grab ahold of one, he brought out another that was hidden on one of the lower rungs towards the back. I took it from him and nearly jumped.

It was MY mug.

The mug I had gotten myself with a dorky Harry Potter decal that I had bought because it simply made me happy. How did he still have it?

“Where did you get this?” I murmured. “I thought it got destroyed with the compound.”

“I’m sure it did,” he said under a breath. “Not much survived that.”

“Then what is this?” I stammered. This mug had kept me company during so many sleepless nights. I had actually missed the thing.

“I was looking for new serving ware when I came across it. It’s not the original,” he mumbled.

I was grateful for it, anyways. I thanked him and found myself grinning as I turned to fill it with hot water. Noting the tea bags on the counter, I tore one open and placed it into the mug to steep. I leaned against the counter to look at him while the tea bag worked itself.

I fiddled with the hem of the sweater before he spoke.

“Are you alright?” he interrupted. His arms were crossed over his chest as he seemed to be looking me over. I hadn’t expected the concern. Maybe a quip or a comment or two, but not the inquiry.

“I…uh—I’m fine.”

“Would you tell me if you weren’t?”

Odd. I didn’t usually go to anybody when I wasn’t doing okay. It was kind of the unspoken code amongst the Avengers. You kept your mouth shut and kept the conversation light until another one was needed.

I hesitated for a moment. I didn’t really know what to say. I kept my eyes on his in hopes of gaining some sort of insight. He simply kept his eyes on mine as he waited for an answer.

“I don’t know,” I mumbled. I decided that now was a good time to distract myself with my tea. It might not have been finished, but I needed to have something between me and this conversation.

“I’d prefer it if you’re honest with me.”

I nearly choked on my tea after hearing that. His tone was serious but so sincere at the same time. His expression was blank, but his eyes displayed a hidden emotion behind them. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.

“Fully honest?” I asked.

It took him a minute, but he nodded.

It wasn’t the honesty he expected, but I gave him a truth anyways.

“Thank you for letting us stay. I don’t think I would’ve been able to keep Peter and I alive if you hadn’t.”

He averted his gaze, then. He dropped his eyes to the island in front of him and took a long drink.

“You don’t need to thank me.” He shook his head. “I’d prefer you safe.”

“I…I appreciate that.”

He continued looking down at the island, as if lost in thought. The muscles in his jaw flexed as he readjusted himself on the counter.

“I remember this song,” I say, lifting up a leg to sit atop the kitchen island. He watches as I swivel back onto the countertop, only flicking up his eyes to mine once he noticed my stare. “I missed it.”

When Bucky had lived with Steve, I used to come over and help Steve mark off all of the movies he had written on his list. We’d take turns making meals, oftentimes sharing recipes we had learned in our youth (Mrs. Roger’s pecan pie was killer, by the way); Mine were never as good. We’d watch the movies as we cooked and ate. When the night was done and we’d be cleaning the kitchen, Steve would put a record on and dance while we did the dishes.

Bucky took a moment to warm up to it, but after a while he had joined in. After one of the songs had finished and turned into a scratchy silence, I walked into the room to turn it over. I found him exchanging it for one of his own. Eventually he started to join us in the kitchen as we talked and danced. I think he liked seeing people enjoy his music.

“I’m surprised you remembered it,” he said, smiling.

“How could I not? Remember when Steve slipped and broke one of the chairs? Probably one of my finest memories.”

He laughed. “How could I forget?”

I smiled with him as I took a sip of my tea. His blue eyes seemed to grow lighter as he looked into mine. I’m sure they had terrible eye bags under them. Maybe even had a bruise or two.

“Do you miss living with Steve?” I ask. “It seems kind of lonely here.”

“In a way.” He sighed. “I miss the company, though. Especially when you’d come over for movie night.”

“Really?” I said, surprised. “I thought you were annoyed by us.”

“Never,” he said under a breath. His smile was tight as he glanced down to his mug. He set it to the side before putting his hands at either side of him. “I wish you’d visit more.”

“I—”

Wow. I had not expected that at all. He had always seemed so distant when Steve and I would hang out. As if he were merely observing from afar. Even during Tony’s parties or get together’s, he tended to stay towards the corners.

“Next time you come, I wouldn’t mind it if you didn’t show up covered in blood,” he grumbled. “Though, I do like seeing you wearing my clothes.” He smirked.

A hot blush crept over my cheeks. My grip on my mug tightened. I crossed a leg over the other, trying to occupy myself.

“In this line of business, it’s kind of hard not to,” I joke.

He pursed his lips and attempted a at smile. I knew that the joke upset him.

“What were you and that kid thinking?” he asked. He was trying to sound sincere rather than upset, but I could hear the slight anger in his tone.

“What do you mean?”

“From what I can tell, you two were getting into something you probably shouldn’t have,” he pointed out. “I’m sure Stark would not have agreed to this.”

“Well, he didn’t, because we didn’t ask,” I add, humorously. My laughter was a stale attempt at lightening the thick tension in the room. From the looks of it, it didn’t work.

He blew out forcefully between puckered lips. “Does he know that you’re out?”

“I’m sure F.R.I.D.A.Y. has figured it out.”

“But he’s not F.R.I.D.A.Y.,” he asserted.

I frowned. “Do you think he’s my warden, or something?”

“No,” he reinstated. “No, that’s not what I mean.”

“Then what are you trying to say?”

He sighed. He rubbed at the scruff of his jaw and uncrossed his leg from over the other. The breath he took was long and shallow.

He’d closed the space between us within a matter of a second. His firm grip uncrossed my legs and laid my thighs on either side of him. He stepped between them, trapping me between him and the counter.

“I’m trying to say that I care,” he muttered. His pale blue eyes darkened. “About you.”

My lips parted of their own accord, and a gentle gasp escaped. His eyes flickered down to them, and his pupils dilated exponentially.

“You’re your own person, and I am fully aware of that. I have no power over you in any way possible, but I can’t help but want to keep you safe.” He lowered his chin and strong arms wrapped around the small of my back. “You do what you want, but know that it will kill me to see you get yourself hurt.”

I swallowed. My heart was thrumming loudly in my ears. If it had gotten any louder, I was sure he’d be able to hear it. Maybe he could, with the super human strength and all, but the idea of it made my stomach turn over.

“…It will?” I muttered. This whole thing was so surreal, I couldn’t help but question it.

“Yes,” he breathed out. He slid a hand from my back and up to my side, stopping it to hold my jaw. “Promise.”

I knew he was wanting to kiss me. From the way his eyes kept swiping over my lips, to the firm grip he had on my waist, I knew that what he was saying was the truth. The idea of him harboring these feelings for me was absurd. He was such a quiet, reserved person, and seemed to be the kind of guy to live his life from watching others experience theirs. I must have been wrong, because from the way he was looking at me, the life behind his eyes was bewitching.

I found myself nodding to what he had said. It was a nod of understanding, but I think I knew it was more than that.

As if he knew it too, he leaned in, holding my chin between his forefinger and thumb. His mouth moved slowly, slanting over mine in a soft kiss. His lips were sweet and tender, and they opened slightly to kiss my bottom lip. With a groan he pulled me closer to him by the backs of my thighs, one of his hands landing on my hip while the other tangled in my hair.

The song was mere background noise as the kiss deepened. Our bodies moved together as we shared our breaths. My teeth sunk into his bottom lip and the grip on my hips tightened.

He pushed my body harder into his, and my legs squeezed against his sides without much thought. The hands wrapped around me released and slid to the tops of my thighs, and moved until they surrounded the backs of my knees.

He lifted them to rest higher on his hips and wrapped them firmly around his waist. My blush deepened, but I put my arms around his neck and kissed him deeper.

Suddenly, the phone in my back pocket buzzed, and I jumped. Bucky pulled back and gave me an odd look before watching me pull my phone from my pocket. The name popped up on my phone made me curse.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, his voice breathy.

I answered the phone before telling him, hardly acknowledging my legs locked around his waist.

“Hi!” I spoke into the phone with pseudo bravado.

“You… Little… Brat.” Stark’s voice on the other end was harsh in my ear. I could hear the iron man suit from the other end of the line. The fired thrusters were a faint thrum in the background. I knew then that this wasn’t going to end well.

“What’s up?” I asked, ignoring his tone. I leaned back on a hand to channel the attempt at casual dialogue. Bucky’s eyes were still on me as I tried not to sweat.

“Don’t play dumb,” he barked. “I know you’re in that apartment with the kid.” He grumbled, “I can see your heat signatures.”

“You can?” I quickly unfurled myself from Bucky. In a flash I was off the counter and fixing my clothes. He watched my flustered act, concerned.

“Yes, kid. Now get out here before I break Casanova’s windows.” Stark finished off with a flurry of jabs claiming that ‘I was his responsibility’ and how ‘he had trusted me to keep Peter safe’.

His voice trailed off into a dull background noise as I noticed Bucky’s bruised lips. Had I done that? Thinking about it only made me want to hang up on Stark and go back to kissing him.

Flickering my eyes to Bucky’s, I noticed that he was still watching me.

“Stark?” Bucky asked, raising a brow. He must’ve heard him on the other line.

Stark yelled, “Is that him?” His tone made me flinch. “Put him on the—” Pulling the phone from my ear, I ended the call before he could finish.

“We’ve gotta go,” I tell Bucky, too embarrassed to look him in the eyes. I hurry into the hallway and yell, “Peter, Stark found us out!”

“What!?” Peter’s groggy voice called from the other room. Frantic movements followed after his ringing voice.

Bucky’s thumb came to my chin, gently holding it before turning me to face him.

“I’ll be here,” he muttered, lowly. He placed a chaste kiss to my lips—one that was far shorter than I wished it could be.

When he pulled back, he gave me a tight smile, saying, “Don’t be a stranger.”

The smile only deepened when he saw the red hot blush rush over my cheeks. When Peter came rushing into the room, he politely pulled away before he could notice our proximity.

He was breathing heavily and blatantly flustered, and taking pity on him, I stepped towards the hall.

“Can we leave now?” Peter hissed.

I grab his shoulder comfortingly and give it a squeeze. Turning to Bucky, I catch his smile. I give him a small one in return, speaking a soft, “Soon.”

There was a twinkle in his eye. A brightness I didn’t think I’d ever seen in them. The idea of being the one to put it there made me feel warm inside.

“Soon,” he says back, and I grin.

The adoring look he gave me made me falter in the doorway, but Peter gave me a harsh tug. Peter pulled me through the apartment door and down the hall, but as we approached our impending doom, all I could think about was him.

Chapter Text

It was long past reasonable hours to visit someone. A feeling of guilt tried to overwhelm me, but it was not enough to stop me from standing outside Bucky’s apartment door.

Blood was seeping through my fingers and dripping onto his doormat. No matter how hard I pressed into the bullet graze at my hip, it wouldn’t stop. I was about to work up the nerve to knock when the door swung open. Bucky stood on the other side, the color in his face draining as he saw my condition.

I swallowed, giving him an attempt at a coy smile. “How’d you know I was here?”

“Nat told me you hadn’t checked in,” he said, not taking his eyes off my hard-to-ignore condition. “What happened?”

“Snitch,” I grumbled. “It’s just a bullet graze.”

Bucky pursed his lips at my comment but backed up, giving me room to enter his apartment.

I hissed as I hobbled through the doorway, catching notes of fresh balsam and gunpowder as I brushed past him. The kitchen lights were off, but the warm glow of the lamp light guided me into his living room. I stopped in its center, considering my messy state and the pristineness of his barely used couches. I went to sit somewhere else, but Bucky gently sat me down before I could object.

He stepped away to search his bathroom cabinet for medical supplies. I removed my bloody hand to get a better view of the graze.

It was pretty bad. The laceration was deep enough to cause cavitation into the muscle, but not deep enough to cause any damage to bone. If I weren’t still high on adrenaline after the fight, I’d likely be crippled with pain.

I returned my hand to my side as Bucky returned with a bottle of bourbon and a box of supplies. He noticed my confused look and responded, “for the pain,” as he unscrewed the cap and handed it to me.

I chuckled and brought the bottle to my lips. I swallowed down a long gulp before hissing through my teeth. The taste burned down my throat and settled in my stomach like acid. “The taste never gets easier,” I gritted out, using the back of my hand to wipe away what was left on my lips.

He didn’t laugh; instead, he took the bottle and downed a swig before setting it aside. His eyes didn’t meet mine; they just stared at the bloody wound at my hip. His jaw clenched, and the muscles in his shoulders were taut.

“We're going to need to take those off.”

I mentally blamed the heat blooming in my cheeks on the alcohol and muttered, “Yeah, let me just–”

I grunted as I attempted to lift my hips. Every movement felt like fire through my muscles. I shifted my weight, but even the slightest adjustment made me dizzy with pain. My waistband wouldn’t budge for me. I cursed under my breath, sinking back onto the couch with a groan.

Bucky’s movements were slow as he pulled my hands away from my waistband. He was gentle as he lifted my hips, using his free hand to pull at my pants until they rested at my ankles. I tried not to react to the cool air of the living room against my bare skin.

He moved to my shoes’ laces. After diligently loosening the shoes, he grabbed onto my calf to pull them off of my feet. His calloused hands were rough against my bare skin.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I muttered, feeling useless and oddly pampered as he worked on the other shoe. He opted not to answer, continuing with his work.

My stomach did an odd sort of turn. I couldn’t decipher whether he was annoyed or lost in thought. “Is everything alright?” I asked, suddenly feeling more exposed than I already was.

He sighed, keeping one hand on my calf while the other rubbed at his brows, “I wasn’t joking when I said I don’t like you coming here covered in blood.”

The butterflies in my stomach instantly turned to rocks, and I went to sit up. “I can leave–” I began, but he pushed me back down by my shoulders.

“Thats not what I meant,” he growled, then began pulling the pants from my ankles and setting them to the side. “I think you like to see me miserable over you.”

I nearly choked on my tongue but stopped myself. “I promise that’s not what’s happening.”

He ignored my statement and instead said, “If you’re getting this hurt on cases, why are you doing them alone?” He poured saline on a cloth as he chided, “Or with some kid?”

I shrugged, then hissed through my teeth as he applied it to the graze. I took a pained breath before sarcastically saying, “builds character.”

He gave me a short, narrowed glare. “Character building should not end up with you bleeding out on my doormat.”

I had nothing to say to that, so I kept my mouth shut.

I watched as he pushed saline to flush out the wound. It catches in a cloth, and I can’t help but think about how he’s probably done this hundreds of times before. Knowing how he was treated when under the control of Hydra, I was sure he had no one but himself to take care of his wounds. Empathy swelled in my chest. I brushed it off before he could notice it settle on my face. I didn’t think he would’ve appreciated it.

He threw the empty saline and rag into a bloody pile of used supplies. Applying a fresh square of gauze and tape, he slid his hands over my hip, ensuring it was flush with my skin. Obvious goosebumps rose in his hand's wake. Either he noticed or he naturally looked like he was restraining himself by moving his hands to his thighs.

His eyes slowly roved from my hip to meet mine, and I forced myself not to look away from his intimidating gaze.

“Thank you,” I breathed. I moved my hands to grip the edge of the couch as I leaned forward, “for helping anyway.”

“Anytime, doll,” he said. His eyes were framed with a shallow smile. He leaned forward, using his hands to frame either side of mine, “Though I'd rather be making you dinner, not patching up bullet wounds.”

I laughed. “I think I’d rather that, too.”

His hands slid further down the couch, stopping to rest on the curve of my waist. “It’s a little late for dinner now, but we could always shoot for tomorrow night.”

“Tomorrow? Two nights in a row is an awful lot of me,” I joked.

“It’ll compensate for all the times you made me worry about you.” I instantly felt the heat rising in my face. I couldn’t chalk it off to the alcohol now.

“You really don’t have to do that,” I said.

He answered with silence as he stood. He cleaned the mess of gauze and used supplies from the floor before heading off into the kitchen. When he came back, he had our mugs in his hands. Hot steam billowed from their centers, and the usual tea tags hung from their sides.

“Are we still on Star Trek?” he asked, handing me my mug.

I chuckled, taking it from him. “Star Wars.”

“Close enough.”

Bucky sat down beside me, his metal arm resting against the back of the couch. The heat from the tea in my hands didn’t compare to the warmth radiating from him. I took a slow sip, letting the floral notes settle on my tongue.

He sighed but didn’t argue, instead reaching for the remote. The TV flickered to life, casting a soft glow across the room. The opening crawl of Star Wars rolled onto the screen, and I sank deeper into the cushions.

Bucky didn’t start the movie right away. I felt his gaze on me, studying me like I was another battle he had to navigate. Finally, he exhaled, shaking his head.

I took another sip of tea and let myself enjoy the moment—wounds, worries, and all.