Don't Hide | Bucky Barnes |

18

"I don't think that's the best idea" he answers, sitting up slightly to look in my direction.

"Why?" I ask, not wanting to pry too much. He sighs, glancing down to his metal arm quickly.

"I can't even trust myself," he begins, looking up to me with a pained look in his eyes, "I don't even fully know who I am"

Sympathy burns within me and I stay silent, allowing him to continue taking if he wants to. I've never liked breaking into someone's confessions, I feel like those are the times when we should just listen.

"I work better alone, that way I can't hurt anyone." He continues. I nod, letting his words sink in. I pause for a moment, letting the silence of the room give my mind time to come up with a proper response.

"Sometimes," I begin cautiously, biting my lip as the words come, "Being alone is what hurts us most"

Bucky lets out a humorless laugh, fully sitting up and leaning forward. His eyes find mine, almost challenging me.

"That's easy for you to say, you don't have a murder switch in your brain." Bucky announces. I huff, the slightest bit of frustration settling inside me.

"Bucky, we all have our demons," I begin, standing up from the bed, "You're just gonna let your's keep you from doing something I know you want to?"

He stands too, his jaw clenched.

"Stop pretending like you understand what's going on in my head because you don't" he warns, pointing a finger in my direction.

"Then help me understand!" I exclaim, taking a step forward. He shakes his head at me, turning slightly away and then back.

"You can stop pretending like you care about my life now, I'm just your stupid mission," Bucky grits, stepping closer to me. This time I laugh dryly, crossing my hands over my chest defensively. For some reason, his words sting.

"Why is it so hard for you to believe that you might actually have a friend?" I ask, my heart burning, "Or that there's some people out there who look at you and see something worth saving?"

Bucky takes one more step towards me, the proximity between us minimal.

"I don't want saving, I don't need a friend, I don't need the Avengers," He growls, his blue eyes sparkling, "And I don't need you"

I swallow, trying to hide the fact that his words cut deeper than I expected them to. My arms drop from my chest, my expression no longer heated. I stare into his crystal blue irises for a moment longer, a bit of guilt filtering into me. I can't help but feel like I pushed him too hard, and that's nobody's fault but my own.

Still, his words hurt. And I can't figure out why.

"Okay," I mumble, stepping back. His eyes follow me as I turn from him and grab my suitcase, quickly putting in the things I need to before zipping it up. I stand, pulling the case with me as I walk and sling my backpack over my shoulder and slip my phone into my pocket. My heart burns in my chest to leave, a large part of me not wanting to walk out that door.

Bucky Barnes may be unhinged, but who hasn't been at some point? He's understanding, surprisingly gentle, and has a playful side that cracks through when his guard drops.

I can't help but wonder why it hurts me so much to leave all of that.

"Where are you going?" He asks, his voice strained. I look over to the soldier, examining his borderline-emotionless face.

"Home. My mission's over." I answer, walking towards the door. I swing it open, pulling my stuff out with me. I pause, sending one last glance over my shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Bucky"

"For what" he grits, not meeting my gaze.

"For pushing you. It wasn't my business anyways" I respond gently, making sure to not leave without apologizing for my side of the fight. No matter how much anyone yells at me, I'll always own up to my part in an argument. I make sure to keep my voice strong and my chin lifted.

"Good luck" I announce, observing the man once more. He still doesn't look at me.

Then I turn and leave.

•••••

Bucky Barnes

"I'm sorry Bucky"

Frustration courses through me. I can't bring myself to look up at the blonde woman who stands just outside my apartment door.

"For what" I ask.

"For pushing you. It wasn't my business anyways" I hear her respond. This only heightens my frustration. I can't place if it's because she can't help but be kind or because I know that I should be the one apologizing.

"Good luck"

Not soon after the statement, my door shuts.

I huff, walking over to the small kitchen and banging my metal fist down on it.

"She's so...so...aggravating!" I exclaim to myself, huffing. I stand for a moment, thinking over her words.

How could she find something worth saving when I don't even see it?

My mind keeps whirring as I walk over to my bed and sit down on the edge, placing my head in my hands. I can't stop thinking of how continually kind she is, but how she stands firm at the same time, and how she's about as stubborn as an ox. A part of me finds the deafening silence in my apartment suffocating without the bright woman.

It's good that she's gone, though, because she was bound to get hurt being around me anyways. At least she's safe from me, now. It stings, though, knowing I had to shove her away to do it.

More importantly, why do I care?