It was the day after I came to that decision about Grace, that I'd keep some distance between us, when I already started to accept that I was too hung up on her to put her out of my mind.
I had a meeting with Sam that evening—he had been in New York ever since they moved Rumlow back here, just to make sure things went smoothly. I knew why he thought I was especially interested in Rumlow. It was why he was humoring me, checking in with me like this. He thought I was worried about any old HYDRA ties. And I was. I'd be here anyway.
But there was a different sort of urgency to it now. I wanted him back in prison as soon as possible. It pissed me off that he could be out walking around, making her scared. And I still couldn't help it:
"What's he said about Grace?" I asked Sam.
The sun was setting. He met me a block away from the hotel he was staying out of, in an alleyway, with Redwing hovering obnoxiously over his shoulder.
"Not much," he answered, surprised. "Do you know Grace? Or did Nat tell you to ask about that whole situation?"
"Yeah, Romanoff asked," I lied.
"Well, tell her not much anything. He's either over it or he wants us to think he's over it. Maybe he's got a plan or something. But everything's under control."
I blinked. "Have you asked if he has a plan?"
He blinked. "Have I asked if he has a supervillain revenge planned for Grace?"
"Sometimes if you ask, they just tell you," I said.
"That's true."
"Just bring Grace up and see what he says. Or I'll come do it. Let me ask him."
"No way. I'll do it. You've got a crazy look in your eye."
"That's just how I look."
"No, it's worse right now. You're definitely lying to me about not knowing Grace."
"I just want this taken care of," I said.
"We're working as fast as we can," he argued. "Rumlow's got some connections still, but nobody's exactly itching to give up that serum or whoever's producing it."
"Have they taken other scientists lately?" I asked. "I haven't heard of any going missing. Could be anybody producing the serum, but if they've already got it now, I'm thinking that makes Grace safer. They don't need—"
"Can I ask you something, Buck?" he said tiredly.
"What?"
"Are we having a meeting about Grace right now? Is that what this is? You made me come out here and meet you because—"
"No. I'm just checking."
"How is she? Jumpy? She gets jumpy."
"Yeah, she's on edge," I said, because I thought that was probably true from what I knew about her. But I wished I had a better answer. The thought crossed my mind that it would be nice if people could ask me how Grace was because they'd know I knew, because she'd tell me things and I'd check on her all the time. Just a fantasy.
"Or," I added, rethinking. "Probably. I haven't talked to her since before I left for DC this week."
"How'd that go?"
"They got away with the vial," I said, although I was sure he must've heard.
"No, I know that. Steve told me. I'm asking how it's going for you. Since HYDRA's not as dead and gone as we thought."
"They never are," I said. "Sorta their thing. Cut off one head and all that."
"You know you can sit this one out?"
"Nah."
"Alright," he said uncertainly. "I mean, if they got the chance, you don't think they'd take you?"
"They're not gonna take me," I said shortly.
I would've carried a cyanide capsule on the last mission, just in case, but the problem was that I couldn't be sure what dose was high enough to take me out—if any. And if I tried and failed, I wouldn't get another chance. I'd find another way, though, if I had to. I had my mind back.
"That's all out of you anyway, right?" Sam asked. "They'd have to start all over. They're probably not after you any more than they are Steve."
I laughed humorlessly. "I'm not worried about it. Regardless."
He studied my face for a second. "The nightmares get worse after missions like that, don't they?"
"Yeah," I admitted.
He sighed. "All that stuff you did. With the names. Making amends. Being of service. Joining the Avengers. Saving people. Why do you think none of that has helped?"
"I don't think I'm good at smiling at people. Sometimes when I try to save hostages, they run away from me."
"I was gonna say you need to forgive yourself," he said. "You do smile weird, though."
"Listen—" I started, considering. "If I'm not there yet, if I'm not better yet. But I met someone—let's say I met someone. Isn't it more fair to her to not try to convince her I'm someone else?"
"Are you asking me if I think you should eventually talk about your PTSD with Grace? Unequivocally yes. When did you meet her?"
"No, that's not—isn't it better if I stay away from her? So I don't ruin things?"
"What? Are you hearing your—"
"Never mind. Look, I—thanks. For meeting me. I've gotta go."
"Staying away from her is ruining things, Buck!" he called to my back.
;
At the Tower, I left my bike in my usual space in the parking garage. I was going straight to the training room now to hit something.
Then I turned a corner and saw Grace, in the parking space closest to the door I needed to enter through, in a little pink skirt, bent over Wanda's beat up Volkswagen, the hood open as she examined the engine.
I could barely even process what was happening. Grace. Little pink skirt. Bent over. Fixing a car. This was a hallucination. This was a dream. I was dying, and this was the image my brain had conjured to send me off peacefully.
"I need to get this hose off," Grace said. I was so far away, I couldn't have understood her without the serum. She was talking to someone else.
I hadn't noticed Wanda was standing a few feet away from her. Which was strange. I was pretty observant.
But somehow, I couldn't think of anything other than Grace's ass, the way I could just make out the shape of it as the skirt draped down around it. Then I couldn't stop thinking about how, in this position, the skirt was only a couple inches below her ass, and that this one was pretty similar in length to the skirt she'd been wearing when I'd nearly fucked her, and that this was also pretty similar to the position she'd asked to be fucked in, and that maybe there was another universe in which I'd seen this sight before and flipped her little skirt up and—
"Bucky's over there," Wanda commented casually. Her phone was in her hand.
As I got closer, I realized Grace was specifically sticking her ass out, her feet as far away from the vehicle as she could get them, because she was trying not to get her (little pink) skirt dirty as she struggled to pull at whatever hose she needed to get off.
I was already dreading it—I couldn't believe Wanda hadn't called me over yet. I walked a little faster.
"So?" Grace demanded quietly. "I've got it."
I glanced over again right as she made a noise. The sort of noise that just meant she was pulling as hard as she could. But I was sick in the head, and I just knew it was also the noise she'd make if I picked her up and pushed her up against a wall or maybe if I flipped her over a little too suddenly or definitely if I jammed my cock into her.
I'd completely forgotten about the training room. I really just needed to get past Grace and get to my apartment to take care of things.
"Just ask Bucky," Wanda was saying, glancing up from her phone. "He's right there."
"I've got it!" Grace insisted under her breath, still struggling.
"No offense, but I don't think you do."
"Don't call him over here, Wanda. I'll quit helping."
"You know he can hear us, yes?"
"Keep walking, Twilight!" Grace called, her voice echoing. I glanced over. She'd stepped back to take a break. She wiped her brow.
I really wanted to help.
"Here, I'll do it," Wanda said.
I relaxed. Wanda could do it with—
"NOT THAT ONE!" Grace squealed. At nearly the same moment, it seemed like Wanda just panicked instead of stopping, and a hose came flying through the air, right at me. I caught it and looked back over.
"That's coolant," Grace said, completely drained, shoulders slumped. "That hose. It's the coolant."
Sure enough, there was coolant spraying out onto the ground. A lot of it. I headed toward them, the hose in my hand, resigned to the fact that I was going to have to talk to her now.
"Is there...a way to fix that?" Wanda asked.
"Yeah," said Grace. "Can you go to the lab and ask Tony for coolant to replace it? Tell him what happened."
Wanda nodded, still wincing apologetically, and hurried out.
I held the hose out to Grace once I was close enough. She took it. "Sorry," she muttered.
She was upset about more than the car. She bent her knees carefully to put the hose on the ground. When she was straightened again, she looked at my chest, not making eye contact. She was making herself look smaller, too, arms tucked into her sides.
"Show me which one you need off, sweetheart," I said finally, defeatedly.
That offer surprised her. She bristled. "It's okay. I'll have Wanda get the right one when she comes back. And don't call me sweetheart while I'm fixing a car. It's condescending."
"Sorry. I didn't mean it like that," I said shortly. "But Wanda's magic isn't sensitive enough. Let me do it."
"Are you sensitive enough?" she asked.
"To pull off a hose without sending anything flying? Yeah, I can manage it."
"I'm just wondering because you seem pretty insensitive, actually."
"I think you're just extra sensitive? That might be why you can't get the hose off."
I was afraid that was too far. I didn't mean it. But I wasn't sure if she could always tell.
She didn't seem hurt, and I nearly sighed in relief. But she did look a little shocked as she let out a shaky laugh. "You're really digging your own grave here. Epitaph being 'Captain America's sidekick: Sergeant Patriarchy.'"
"You're wasting time arguing with me. Move over," I said. "Show me what you need."
"I changed my mind. Corporal Toxic Masculinity," she amended.
"Did you just demote me?"
"Private Can't-Express-My-Feelings."
"Move over or I'll move you," I said seriously.
She sucked in a breath. Her body language shifted completely, less defensive, shoulders relaxing, making herself small now like an invitation. The second I said it, I regretted it. Because I knew she'd listen, and I knew that would do things to me, too.
"Yes, Sergeant," she said, moving aside while looking up at me, sweet, wide eyed, submissive. It was hard to tell if she was still making fun of me.
I was tense.
"Tell me where—" I was about to ask about the damn hose. But at the same moment, she took her hair out of its tie, shook it out, let it fall back onto her shoulders like a fucking princess.
She turned her attention back to me, staring up, waiting for me to finish.
"Tell you where what?" she asked, amused, aware.
I cleared my throat. "The hose."
"Oh yeah," she said innocently. "'Cause you were gonna help me."
"Yeah."
"'Cause it was just too hard for me to get off," she pouted. She reached out and held onto both sides of my open jacket, taking a step toward me so she had to crane her next to look at me. "Sometimes I just need someone to take care of things for me."
She was about to laugh. I wasn't.
"Grace," I muttered, a tired, half-hearted warning.
"I'm so glad you're here, 'cause I need you so—"
"Grace," I repeated, more forcefully. "Just ask me for it."
She rolled her eyes, let go, and stepped back.
"Steve says you're afraid to talk about your past with me," she said.
"Steve also says you bite people."
"He's right," she said. She stepped into my personal space again. "Put your thumb on my lips."
"So you can bite me?" I asked skeptically.
"When did I say I was gonna bite you?"
"What the hell else were you gonna do?"
"I was gonna bite you," she admitted.
So I did it. With my right hand, so she wouldn't hurt herself. And she looked so pretty like that, too, her lips, all pink and shimmery, with my thumb over them, my hand cupping her jaw. Fuck, I wanted her to be mine. I wanted her to actually come to me and ask me for help and ask me to take care of her and ask me for my cock.
I wanted to smudge whatever she was wearing on her lips, too, but before I could, she took my thumb into her mouth and closed her lips around it. Then she sucked gently. I felt her tongue flit over it.
Torn. Half erect. Willing myself to keep it together, but at the same time, foggy brained and starting to think it might be a good idea to pick her up, take her back to my apartment, bend her over the nearest surface.
I was about to move my hand so I could kiss her. I was really, fully, in that moment, about to try to fuck her.
Then she bit me.
Hard enough to feel it, but not hard enough to hurt. Just a small sting of her teeth digging into my skin.
"You're actually fucking biting me."
"I told you!" she said. I didn't move my thumb, though, and I could barely understand her.
"I barely even felt that," I said.
I took enough out so it wasn't past her teeth, so she could speak. But I kept it slightly pressed into her mouth, her lips still around the tip.
"I'm gonna do it again harder if you don't move," she said. I could understand her now, but could still hear that her speech was obstructed. My cock twitched.
"Do it," I told her.
"I'm serious," she said. "I wanna taste blood."
"Good. I'm waiting."
"I'm gonna do it, Bucky."
I heard footsteps approaching the door. Heavy ones.
"Okay, well, hurry, because I hear Steve coming," I told her.
Panic flashed over her expression. "Shit."
"He's getting closer."
"Stop pressuring me. I'm gonna do it."
The door swung open, ten feet away from us.
"Hey guys. What's, um, up?" Steve said uncertainly.
I guess he thought we hadn't noticed him, and would jump apart if he said something. Neither of us moved.
"I don't know how to explain this to you," I told him, not looking away from Grace. I didn't want to move. I didn't want to let the tension defuse. I was afraid if I let this moment escape, I wouldn't get another one.
"I'm so sorry, Steve," Grace said around my thumb.
"Alright," Steve said, as if he wished he hadn't asked. He left the same way he'd come in. I hoped he wasn't trying to go somewhere important.
"I don't like you," Grace told me when he was gone, her teeth nipping against me as she spoke.
"Why not?"
"Uhh." She gave me a wide eyed look like I was an idiot.
"Because of earlier? At Steve's?"
She did the look again, eyes wider, like I was even more of an idiot for asking again. She grabbed my hand and moved it for me, taking it out of her mouth. I let her do what she wanted, prove whatever she needed to prove.
She rotated my hand and sucked my index and middle fingers into her mouth instead.
"What the hell?"
Same look. Like it should be obvious why she was now looking up at me, taking my fingers deeper, letting me feel her mouth around them, lips tightening—
I grabbed a handful of her hair with my other hand to hold her still and pressed my fingers into her tongue so she couldn't speak. She moaned.
I shushed her, listening carefully to make sure no one else was approaching the door. It was so easy to drag her closer to me. I stooped down to mutter in her ear, "Tell me what you want. You gotta ask me for it this time."
I took my fingers out of her mouth and held her jaw in place. My hand was sprawled so it was over her neck, too, and I would've moved it off except for the way she whimpered when she felt it there. She was hanging onto me with both hands like she wanted to hold me there, nails digging into my forearm.
"I—" She cut herself off, breathing heavily. "I don't know what I want."
Fuck.
So I let go of her completely. Took a huge step back. "Okay. Well, let me know. I'm usually around."
She blinked, confused. Maybe even dazed. She stared at me in silence, concentrating, like she was trying to read my mind.
"Show me which hose it is," I said.
She pointed. I hovered my hand over it.
"This one?"
"Yep."
The hose she'd been struggling with came off easy. So easy. She was such a little doll. I handed it to her and went straight back to my apartment.
A/N: ❄️🚿 or 🧴🦾 ?