𝒑𝒖𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒕 || s. rogers & b. barnes

8||; 𝒋𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒔 𝒃𝒖𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒂𝒏 𝒃𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒔

It was black and white, an old photo, from World War II...

...and both Steve and one James Buchanan Barnes were grinning in it.

Barnes looked - Jesus, so lively, so full of life and energy and happiness, a stark difference to how he was now, seventy years later, ruined by HYDRA and the fighting.

Just like her.

The kettle whistles, diverting her attention. Irina sets it off the burner, turning it off and taking out two matching mugs from an upper cupboard. She places the tea bags inside, pours the hot water, and sets up the tea the same way she always does.

Once done, she sets one mug on the counter over Barnes, and takes a seat at the island to sip on her own.

Because she can't go back to her room yet.

As she waits for her tea to cool, Irina gazes ahead, keeping her eyes trained on the photograph. "He likes running," she says bluntly.

Barnes doesn't say anything, doesn't react in any way, but she continues. "Does it every morning since he can't sleep. Runs for miles to help get his head straight, keep it focused. Sam goes with him. They make a time of it. A game. And it works," she murmurs. "It helps."

Her eyes slide down to look into her tea, feeling the steam rise and warm her face. "He leaves at 4 or 5, usually gets back around 7 or 9. It varies, but it's always those times. Always every day," Irina blows gently into the cup, then watches the beige liquid swirl.

"Just a thought. If you can't think straight, can't sleep...try that. Do it with Steve, do it by yourself... Doesn't matter, as long as it's helping. As long as you feel like you can make it through a day. Like you can work like a proper human," she says.

There's a shift, and Irina slowly looks over as Barnes' figure stands up, and he turns around, leaning over the island and grasping the mug, peering down at the tea inside with a thoughtful look shining through the nightmares.

Irina can't help the way her heart speeds up anxiously, the new development baffling, but definitely not unwelcome.

After a moment, he looks at her, brilliant blue eyes gazing at her through dark locks with a thankful look. "Thank you," Barnes murmurs.

The ends of her lips flick up into a half smile. "Hurt people hurt people," she murmurs. "But with the Avengers, no matter how hurt we are, how damaged inside and out we are...we help people. And you, James Barnes, are one of the most hurt people I've met..."

Irina slowly reaches across the island, placing her hand just over the metal one that rests on the countertop. Barnes stiffens, staring down at the contact in a silent panic, but then, his eyes soften, cracking inside and out as he keeps caribbean blues trained on her slender fingers encasing his own.

She keeps her eyes trained to his face. "... And I will do everything to make it right with you. With myself, too. No matter what, I will be here to pick you up and help piece you back together, if you'll let me," she promises, voice as tender, soft and earnest as Steve's had been when he'd made the exact promise to her, in their home, their apartment.

"Just give me the word."

Barnes is quiet for another few moments, merely staring down at their hands, before he intakes a trembling breath and slowly slides his eyes up.

Caribbean blue meets whiskey brown.

Barnes' bottom lip wobbles, and he purses them, giving a small, jerky nod.

"Yeah..." he punches out in an exhale. "Yeah...okay."

𓆩*𓆪