Secretive - Bucky Barnes

39 || On Ice

[Nova]
About an hour later, both James and I find ourselves seated in his room. We changed environment for privacy purposes, or rather, to make James feel more save by telling me. He made truth of his former warning, me finding my spot in his lap once again, both of us already in night clothes. With his arms wrapped around my tiny frame, I fear concentration will be focussing on something else again; his warm chest in my back giving me shivers, his strong heartbeat pounding rhythmical yet fastened, his head resting on my shoulder, voice tickling my ear and sending further goosebumps all over my skin, vibrations through my spine.

The current situation is like ecstasy. James's presence, so near yet so far, makes my head spin and turn and tremble, sometimes makes it hard to breath from the overwhelming. It is like before all the chaos took place in our lives; the both of us cuddling on a bed, something made of pages in my hands. The nighttime is not really reducing the current state of nostalgia, and I feel James wheeping in it, too. We are both calm, no matter his cocky move from before, both swinging in a bubble of perfect harmony, secrecy, privacy. For once, I can forget about his betrayal temporarily, just for the night, knowing everything will come down at me in the morning yet ignoring this fact to fully enjoy the present state, like a man knowing of his death penalty the next day but blossoming on his last.

When James continues the story of his life, his baritone notes chime through my body, it reacting in the way an instrument might. Nothing that possibly could get me out of my inner peace, out of the dozy state he puts me into. Even his story, taking me with into his world for once and not the other way around, seems far distant, happened somewhere at some time I cannot quite put a finger onto, with yet all the information right below me. Like a faint dream, or rather, a faint nightmare.

»We got into the train, Steve and I fighting off some soldiers of Schmidt's. They had these strange weapons, running on some blue fuel or power or whatever we couldn't quite decipher, but fought anyways. I already told you that a hundred times, I know, but it really is important. We got far, but there has been this blow causing a hole in the metal of the wall, the train still running at its best. Steve jumped in front of me, his shield blocking its power from hitting us, but with the force, his shield flew back towards that hole. I knew he needed it, for it has been, as you know, the one weapon he insists when battling, always has been, so I turned to reach for it. The soldier causing the scene then got a kill order for me, and I had no choice but take the shield for myself with Steve, from the former blow, having crashed the opposite wall. I fired back, but with the second shoot of that soldier and this blue, strange magic, the second it hit the shield I was holding, my feet lost ground. I hadn't had expected the strike to be so powerful, and I flew out of that hole in the train.«

Managing to hold back a gasp, however managing to stay calm and breath regularly with my heart running a marathon, suddenly our bubble feels not as safe anymore as it has been, the hand of mine that is not taking notes strokes sideways James's thigh, across my hip and right onto the hands of his grabbing his arm steadily around my body. He gives away, only grabbing the cybernetic arm with his flesh hand now – which is quite warm, by the way, since he turned on the regulator Tony designed -, while his metal hand grabs mine, fingers intertwining. He may not feel it the same way as I do, but I know he is looking down at our hands, his lashes tickling the skin of my cheeks with the movement of his eyes. And for once, I think the fact I am holding his prothesis means more than it would holding his real hand.

»I managed to grab some pipe-like handle, because the blow had sent the metal door to the outside, still hanging on the train itself. Steve came after me while I tried my best moving towards him, proceeding hand over hand towards him. Sad thing is, I've had a good breakfast and have been quite too heavy for that door-thing; the handle broke from the wall the moment I reached out for Steve, and I fell into the ravine.« His voice trails off the farther he gets, becomes a quieter whisper with every of his words.