Soft Robotics ✧ Bucky Barnes

(access[1.17]);

"What? Do I look like Rumlow?" he asked.

"Maybe a little."

"I don't look like Rumlow."

"If I was murdered by one of you and there was a witness, the description they'd give would be very similar. You'd both be in the line up."

"But I have the arm, though. That's usually the description people give of me."

"You're wearing long sleeves. I didn't even see it."

"I don't look like Rumlow," he repeated.

"You're both also grumpy and confusing and kind of mean to me," I reasoned, just thinking out loud now.

"Am I mean to you?" he asked, even more concerned.

"I just mean that he was always very hard to read. He'd save me from getting beaten up and then not discuss it at all."

"I thought you said you weren't afraid of me," he said quietly. "Why are you comparing me to Rumlow, coming up with hypotheticals where I kill you?"

Oh no. He was hurt.

"I'm not afraid of you! Really. My brain just connects everything to Rumlow right now."

He sighed, not seeming convinced. "I'm sorry, doll. I didn't mean to scare you."

"Please don't feel bad," I said. My fingers toyed with the strap of my sundress anxiously. "How long have you been out here?"

"A while. All morning. I wanted to talk to you."

"Why?" I asked coldly, letting the strap of my sundress snap back into place as my anxiety turned into frustration.

"What do you mean 'why?' You ran out of my apartment last night and then told Romanoff to say you were dead."

"I'm going through some things right now."

"Can I help?"

I shook my head and looked at the ground. I didn't want to tell him that I was already developing feelings for him, that I didn't want to make matters worse by lingering and letting myself pretend that he wanted what I did.

"I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings by leaving," I said, making myself sound detached, uninterested, like I was the cool, unemotional one here. I tried to sound like Nat would in this situation.

He didn't step any closer to me this time—he reached out, held my waist and tugged me toward him gently. I stepped closer to him.

"You didn't hurt my feelings, doll," he said, sounding defensive.

Had my tone worked? Hanging out with Nat was like spy training.

"It just seemed like maybe they were a little hurt when you were banging on Nat's door last night," I said. "My mistake, I guess."

"I heard you leave, and I thought I did something wrong. I was afraid you were upset with me. Are you upset with me?"

"I don't know," I said, folding my arms over myself. There was barely room to fit them between us. "I guess not."

He paused, and I could feel him analyzing me. I squirmed.

"Do you regret it?" His thumb rubbed my waist through my dress.

The closer I got to him, the harder it was to be Nat. I shook my head and trained my eyes on his shoulder, not trusting myself to speak.

He noticed the shift, too. He was watching me carefully. Gently, he touched my jaw and tilted my chin up, making me look at him, before returning his hand to my waist.