A Birdie Lost in Time | Bucky Barnes

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It wasn't surprising how hours seemed to bleed into days.

On their second day in the apartment, Marlow had convinced Bucky to wander around the neighbourhood again, and when he returned—all rosy cheeked and radiating cold—he'd seemed... more of the Bucky that Steve had told her about. Sarcastic, cheeky, smooth. He was Bucky, but that was Bucky. Really Bucky.

On their third day, he stopped at a bookstore, apparently grabbing a dozen books at random because he was confused when he opened a purple hardcover to find it a story about a tween taming a horse in some southern state. The other books were interesting enough; one a murder mystery, another a high fantasy, and she'd skimmed the backs of a few more, but only took the one about space travel that piqued her interest.

But then days bled into weeks.

It was snowing full force outside and Marlow had lost herself to her thoughts once again, letting the coffee that rested in her hands get cold. She contemplated warming it up, whether she should move from where she was sitting on the floor, wrapped in a blanket beside the balcony door, but she was comfortable.

And then the click of the deadbolt signalled Bucky was coming in, but a moment later, heavy footsteps shook the floor and a knot of discomfort grew within her. The door all but slammed shut and her eyes snapped to the hall, waiting, however naively, to see Anthony round the corner.

Of course, he didn't; it would be next to impossible for her mother's boyfriend to walk through that door, but as Bucky did, she was surprised to see how angry he looked.

She'd never seen him angry before.

He was stiff as he stalked in, ripping off his jacket and tossing it on the couch a moment before his eyes landed on her. He froze, watching her before a look of guilt overcame is face.

"Sorry," he muttered, looking as if he was trying to make himself appear smaller by angling himself away, only leaving his right side visible to her.

She was confused before she realized she was watching him with wide eyes, probably looking like a scared cat.

He thinks I'm afraid of him.

She shook her head. "Are you alright?"

His face tightened. "I'm fine."

Oh.

His words were spoken with such a tone of finality that she snapped her mouth shut and dropped his gaze, looking instead to her coffee.

Bucky let out a curse before sighing. "Sorry—I, the therapy session was—it doesn't matter, I'm sorry," he hissed.

She knew what that was like. Being in a session before people started nattering at her, asking questions when everything felt overly loud.

"It's alright. I understand."

"Doesn't mean I should snap at you. I think I just need a little while to cool down. She... I don't know if she's a good therapist or not, if other people like going to her, but Christ, she's smug. And pushy. And apparently has practiced ignoring what people say because I told her over and over that I'm fine. I'm working through it. But according to her, I'm not."

"Oh?"

"Yah, she says that I'm removing myself from my past—like somehow that's a bad thing," he huffed.

"It's not a bad thing?" she pressed, folding her arms over her knees. She wasn't enjoying his ranting per say, but she was slightly entertained at how open he was being. And how worked up he was when he was usually so collected.