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“Bucky?” Your voice cracked, still thick with sleep. “Why are you on the floor?”
“I…” Bucky started but his words failed him. He couldn’t find a way to tell you about it without feeling like he was gutting himself, without bringing the images right back up to torment him all over again. The vulnerability left him trembling, dog tags clinking quietly against his bare chest with every heaving breath.
But he didn’t need to say it. You just nodded and sat down next to him on the blanket he had spread out on the hard floor. Remnants still prickled at the back of his neck, images and echoes of gunfire and that wide open emptiness that cracked his chest on every mission, but he got some small peace from your presence. He felt just a bit safer at the feeling of your knee pressed to his lightly. You didn’t probe him about it, didn’t try to weasel out details, and he was thankful. Instead you offered him your hand and in turn, offered your quiet support, and he gratefully slid his fingers up your palm to curl with your own.
The pressure of your fingers holding him was grounding, kept him in the reality of what was actually happening around him. He wasn’t in that building. He didn’t have a gun in his hand. He wasn’t trapped behind a wall in his own mind. He was at home, sitting cross-legged on his living room floor. He held your hand in his, the softness of your skin against his a sharp contrast to the imagined bite of gunmetal.
He was right there. So were you.
Your thumb slid up and down over his as you tentatively started speaking. “I used to click my tongue to keep myself grounded after nightmares.”
Bucky glanced at you, eyebrows raised. “Really?”
“Yeah, I know it seems silly, but it worked for me more often than not.” You said with a small chuckle. “Sometimes I would have to tap if the clicking thing wasn’t working. It drove Tony crazy. He always said he could hear it all throughout the compound, but I think he was bullshitting. And if the tapping didn’t work, I would do sprints until my legs couldn’t hold me up anymore.”
Bucky took a long, deep breath the way his therapist taught him during their first session. Your voice was so calming. “Keep talking?”
“Of course.” You murmured. “It’s cheesy as hell, but they do get easier to deal with. The nightmares, I mean. The more you work at it, the less… vivid they are. I still get pretty bad ones every now and then, but even those are a little easier to come down from.”
“I hope you’re right.” He said.
“Well, you’re in therapy - even if it’s mandatory, you’re still showing up. Still putting in the effort. You’re sleeping semi-regularly, eating somewhat healthy. Trust me, you’re doing better than you realize. It takes a minute for you to ease out of survival mode, so it can be hard to tell how far you’ve already come.” You squeezed his hand lightly. “I’m proud of you, Bucky.”
A breath caught in his chest as he turned to look at you where you leaned your head back against the wall. “What did I do to deserve you?”
“Well, you did save me from getting shot that one time.” You teased and Bucky laughed quietly, a genuine one that seemed to surprise you. “But seriously. You’re a good person, that’s all you have to do.”
“No, I’m not.” The laugh turned self-deprecating. “I don’t have to tell you that, either. I know you’ve read the files.”
“That wasn’t you. That was Hydra.” Your free hand pressed against his bare chest, right over his heart. “This is you. You aren’t what they put in your head. You’re the person who went out and bought me a new coffeemaker in the middle of the night when mine broke so I wouldn’t have to go without caffeine the next morning. You’re the person who's mowed Mrs.Franklin’s yard twice a month since her husband passed. You’re the person who is working their ass off to get better.”
There weren’t words. He didn’t have them, the ones that could tell you how much he appreciated you, how much you meant to him. So he covered the hand you placed on his chest with his own, wishing he could actually feel you, but the prosthetic had its limitations with the enhancements given by the vibranium. You nodded at him, a quiet acknowledgement of his thanks.
Silence fell over you both. It was a comfortable one, not the heavy, oppressive silence that curled around him in the moments after waking. Your hand fell away from his chest, much to his disappointment. The skin against skin was comforting. A moment later you shifted onto your knees, ready to stand and seemingly leave him there, and Bucky tightened his grip on your hand instinctually.
“Please… don’t go.” His voice was small.
“I’m just going to get you some water. I’ll be right back, I promise.”
And you did. You returned less than a minute later and handed him a glass of cool water, watching him take a few sips until you were satisfied, and then stole a sip for yourself. Bucky couldn’t help the small smile that found him at the sight as you settled back in next to him and offered him your hand once more. He took it, but didn’t interlock your fingers like before. Instead he lifted your hand to his face and pressed your palm against his cheek, eyes falling closed at your cool skin against his warmth. Your thumb rubbed small circles along his cheekbone and when he opened his eyes again, you were looking at him almost thoughtfully. Impulsively, Bucky tilted his head slightly and kissed the delicate skin of your wrist and he could hear your breath stutter in your chest.
“Bucky…” You whispered, worry suddenly played across your features.
“I talk about you in therapy, you know.” He whispered, his heart jumping in his chest at the prospect of telling you about it, admitting his vulnerability. “I told her about how you make me feel… seen. And safe. I told her about how I always think about you. About… kissing you. And making you laugh.”
You swallowed, the sound louder in the resounding silence of three a.m confessions. “And what did she say?”
“That she could tell I was in love with you before I would even admit it to myself.” He whispered the words as if breathing them to life would make the very earth crumble at his feet.
“I couldn't live with myself if I got in the way of your healing.” You said and his heart soared in his chest. You weren't rejecting him, weren't pulling away in disgust or fear. No, you were putting his needs first - or rather, what you perceived his needs to be.
“Part of my healing is supposed to be building relationships, you know.” There was a small smile on his face at the very thought of it - of falling asleep and waking next to you each morning, of finally getting to kiss and touch you like he craved for so long.
“So… we take it slow?” You said and Bucky watched your eyes flick down to his lips before meeting his gaze again, your body leaning closer as if drawn in by the very gravity that held you to the earth.
“Yeah, we take…” Bucky leaned in, meeting you halfway, your lips a hairsbreadth apart. “...it…” You brushed your nose against his gently and he sighed contentedly, eyes finally falling closed. “...slow…”
The first press of your lips to his was soft. It was something he hadn’t felt in a long time, the simple pleasure of a kiss, and the fact that it was you only made it all the better. He relaxed against you, pulling you closer by a hand on your waist and angling himself to deepen the kiss. Your gasp against his lips was addictive, something he could happily spend the rest of his life seeking out.
A shudder ran down Bucky’s spine at the feeling of your hand sliding up from his cheek to tangle in his hair, the short cropped style barely enough for you to grab onto. Fuck, you felt so good, he could lose himself in you without regret, could drown in the bliss that washed over him and -
He pulled away gently, offering one last peck against your lips as a parting gift, and pressed his forehead to yours to catch his breath, to calm himself down. He had to go slow and going slow decidedly was not dragging you onto his living room floor and finally letting his hands roam underneath your soft pajamas. You chuckled quietly and that was what got him to lean back and look at you again, dumbstruck by the dazed, happy look on your face.
“You’re good at that,” You whispered, earning you a bashful laugh.
“So are you.” Bucky sighed, the heavy weight of sleepiness gathering at his shoulders. “I need to try to go back to sleep… join me?”
“I think this floor would kill my back, sweetheart.” You teased and holy shit, his heart soared in his chest.
Sweetheart. He was your sweetheart.
“I was thinking we could share my bed, but if you’re gonna tease me -”
“Don’t even finish that sentence, Barnes.” You surprised him with another kiss before climbing to your feet, your hand reaching out to pull him up with you.
He couldn’t help but feel amazed at the sight of you climbing into his bed, settling right into his rumpled sheets and looking up at him expectantly. He wasn’t going to leave you waiting, not when he finally got you right where he wanted you. You yawned as you brought him closer to lay his head against your chest and he melted right into you. Bucky curled his arm around your middle, effectively bringing your bodies completely flush against each other.
“You’re so warm, Buck.” You mumbled, sleepiness already warping your voice.
Bucky just hummed, his own exhaustion finally seeping back into his body now that the remnants of paranoid tension eased away at the steady sound of your heartbeat reverberating against his ear. Your hand rested against the top of his head to tease at his hair once more, and it was that gentle affection that had his eyes falling closed. At peace for the moment, his mind let him fall back into sleep, knowing that when the nightmares inevitably found him once more, he would have you there to help guide him back to where he belonged.
Right in your arms.