"I wanna know more about you," I told Bucky. "Not about me."
We had settled onto his couch. He'd pulled me onto his lap, my legs laying horizontally on the cushion. He had a metal arm around my back, circling a spot on my waist with his thumb, and he was so strong that I could just lean back against his arm, pressing my weight into it to get comfy. It didn't seem to bother him at all. I wasn't sure if he'd even registered that I was doing it.
"What do you wanna know?" he asked cautiously. I'd expected that. He didn't seem to like talking about himself.
"Whatever you wanna tell me."
"Narrow it down for me," he said. "I've been alive a long time. You gotta ask me something specific or it all jumbles together."
"Okay," I said. I knew what I wanted to ask about. I wanted to know more about the scars all over his torso—I wanted to know if they still hurt him. Something about the sight of them had broken my heart. But I kept the question broad. "Will you tell me about a scar? Is that prying? You don't have to."
To my surprise, he laughed suddenly. "I know just the one to show you, too. I don't think I ever told you about it."
"Oh?"
"This one?" He held up the back of his right hand. There were a bunch of small, white scars on it, but I assumed he was talking about the long, red one that stood out near his thumb until he added, "It's hard to see. The one on the knuckle of my first finger."
"Oh, yeah, I see." It was tiny. Almost gone. I wouldn't have ever noticed it if he hadn't pointed it out.
"That's from Miss Stewart in '29. Caught me with the wrong edge of a ruler when I was dozing off in class. She's dead now. I looked her up." I looked back at his face as he glared at the ground. "I hope you're happy, you fucking bitch. This is your legacy."
"Bucky?" I asked gently. "Are you talking to Miss Stewart in Hell?"
"Sometimes we have little chats like that."
He was definitely avoiding the topic I was really asking about. I squirmed, feeling guilty. "I'm sorry," I said. "I shouldn't have asked."
He sighed. "No, I'm sorry. I know you weren't asking about Miss Stewart."
"No, it's fine!" I said quickly. "Tell me more if you want. I hate her too."
He exhaled a laugh. "Thanks, sweetheart. I know you were asking about the ones by my arm. It hurts there sometimes, and you used to rub that shoulder for me. That's prob'ly what you were remembering."
"Oh, okay. I can still do that."
"Yeah, 'cause you're a sweetheart. But I'm fine. Don't worry about it."
"I'm actually extremely concerned about you."
"Yeah, you get like that."
"I always worry about you?"
"I've got a complicated relationship with my memories. But I'm telling you: don't worry about it. I'm the one who's supposed to be helping you with yours."
"I thought you decided you weren't going to?"
"I'm not. And I decided something else. Just now."
"Hm?" I urged.
"I want you to remember. Okay? I do. But—I really fucked up, baby. I didn't do things right with you. I pushed you away and I didn't trust you and I made you cry a lot. So I wanna do it again the way I should've."
I didn't know that. "Oh."
"Can I take you on a date tonight? It'll—it'll be our first one. Ever. I'm sorry."
I felt a little sick. "You made me cry a lot?"
"Yeah," he said. "I thought it was best. I thought I'd fuck things up if we—anyway, it was stupid."
I felt like I could cry now all of a sudden. "It really hurts me to think about it," I told him honestly.
"You might be remembering something. Maybe not the details, but I prob'ly just triggered something."
"There was a spider," I said. "I was in a closet crying, and Steve had to come get a spider for me."
"I only knew about the closet. But yeah."
"You didn't buy me breakfast like you promised."
"We weren't talking the whole way back. It woulda been awkward if we—"
"No, you weren't talking. I'd already said what I had to say."
"Please don't be mad at me, Grace," he said tiredly. "I really can't fucking take it. I'm sorry. I know. I just wanna do it right this time."
"Okay," I said, but I stood up, because everything felt different now. I felt stuck in this one memory. I couldn't think of any others.
Bucky stood up too. "Please go on a date with me tonight, Grace. I'll fix it. I promise."
"Okay," I said again. I'd put his dog tags in my messenger bag because they stood out too much against my sundress, and I didn't have a pocket to put them in. Now I wished I'd just worn them anyway so I could touch them now. I rubbed fours onto the back of my hand instead.
Bucky's eyes flickered to my hands. He crossed the room and felt in the front pocket of my bag, like he'd read my mind. He pulled them out and came back over to me.
"I'm sorry," he said again. He draped them over my neck and kept his hands there, pulling me toward him. He kissed my forehead. "I wish I'd done things differently. Please let me try again."
I nodded, my hand going for the dog tags immediately, eyes trained down.
"You look so fucking pretty like that," he said. "With my dog tags over your dress."
"Thank you," I said. "Again. For letting me wear them."
"I gave 'em to you in the first place, doll. I wanted you to wear them when I couldn't be there."
"Thank you," I repeated.
"Nah, thanks for wearing them. Keeping them safe this whole time," he said, and paused. "Is it bad if I tell you I just like you having my name around your neck like that? Is that bad?"
I shook my head. "I'll keep them on," I told him. "But I wanna go find Natasha. Do her tour."
"Okay!" he agreed, almost too readily, like he was overcompensating for disappointment. "Can I—when can I see you again?"
"Tonight?" I said. "I thought you wanted to go on a date?"
"I do!" he said. "I just didn't know if—okay. Yeah. Um, is it okay if it's late? It needs to be dark out. But I'll take you to dinner first. So maybe 8?"
"Um, sure."
"Will you be here? Or your apartment? You probably don't know, right? Just call me. I'll come get you."
"Okay," I said. I smiled at him uncertainly. "I'll see you then."
"Yeah—okay. I love you. See you. I love you."
I turned to leave, walked a few steps toward the door, heard him say that, and turned back around. He crossed the room to me quickly, before I could do it. But he didn't touch me. He jammed his hands into his pockets.
I tugged him down to me, kissed him goodbye, and left.
I went down the hall toward the elevator, not ready to call Natasha yet. I kept thinking about that day he made me cry, playing it over and over. It felt new and old at the same time. It stung like it was fresh, but it also ached weakly like it had healed over.
A door opened right as I passed, and Wanda stuck her head out. "You're thinking so loudly that I overheard it in here," she said.
"Um, sorry?" I said.
"Not a complaint. Just an observation," she frowned. "Are you okay? I try not to look in your head. But you remembered something bad? About Bucky?"
I nodded.
"Well, he is the worst," she said.
"I thought you wanted me to, like, date him. Or whatever."
"I do."
"Okay."
"It's complicated. He is the worst, but in a lovable way."
"Okay?"
"Sometimes when he processes an emotion in a healthy way, I want to pinch his cheeks."
"I don't think he'd appreciate that."
"He would not," she agreed. "Although if he's done something wrong now, I think he deserves a second chance. He's had a hard month. Even I processed your death more healthily than he did."
"What...um, what happened?"
"I went to the top of Mount Everest and screamed really loud. It's my safe space. I stayed for a few days. I lost my voice. Vision brought me food."
"Oh!"
"Or did you mean Bucky? He just killed people and pretended like you never existed."
"Killed—?"
"Bad guys. But still. Not healthy."
"Oh."
"He didn't go to your funeral. He wouldn't even talk about you. Or about anything, really. He was gone on solo missions most of the time. I don't know how long he would've been like that if you didn't come back. I don't know if he ever would've let himself heal."
"Oh."
"I invited him to Everest with me—a very generous offer, by the way, because I never let anyone but Vis join me—and he told me to fuck off."
I glanced back at the corner I'd turned down, where his door was down the hall.
"One second," I told Wanda.
She waited while I took my phone out and sent Bucky a text: Still your girl. In case you didn't know.
I looked back up at Wanda. "Sorry, I just—"
My phone dinged with a response already.
I love you.
A/N: :(