"He was looking for me, wasn't he."
He was waiting by the window just as she suspected. Iris had barely closed the door before he spoke, his voice nearly a snarl. But it was also miserable. Iris tried to ignore it, pushing past the crushing sensation the tone sent through her. She looked down to the crumpled card still in her hands. It took her a moment to flatten it, though the creases remained, harsh on the once crisp, thick paper. The distance between the door and the window felt like a mile. But Iris walked it anyway, silently setting the card next to the small black journal on the sill beside James.
"Yes, Bucky. He was looking for you." His head snapped up to her, a desolate expression flashing across his face. Her admitting she knew that name—his name—was all the confirmation he needed and she knew it. She tried to smile, but her lips didn't quite seem able to obey her, not knowing as she did what was going to come next. His jaw clenched as he turned abruptly back to the window, his eyes only half seeing the street outside. Then with an angry sound he pushed away from the wall, brushing almost angrily past her.
She just watched him as he took a handful of steps into the apartment before stopping, the tension in his shoulders and back betraying how on edge he was. A shuddering breath broke the silence and it surprised Iris to realize it had come from her. She took first one step, then another until she stood behind him again. She reached out, but couldn't quite bring herself to touch him. Her fingers closed into a fist of her own, retreating to clutch at her aunt's sunflower. Her stomach was beginning to ache with her anxiety.
"You're going to leave, aren't you." Her words were quiet but there was no hiding the bitter sadness in them. If anything he tensed further, his head dropping for a moment before he turned back to her. Her eyes were beginning to burn, but Iris was determined not to cry, clenching her own teeth together to keep her chin from trembling at the impulse. "Please stay," she bit out, the two words a plea and a demand all at once. His face crumpled and regret flickered in his eyes before a restless, anxious energy seemed to rise up in him, washing it away. He stepped away from her, skirting around her again to return to the window. The expression baffled Iris at first, but as his mouth opened to speak only to snap shut when he began shaking his head, she somehow managed to put a name to it.
Self-preservation.
His agitation clear on his face, James began to pace, his metal hand flexing and fisting compulsively as he thought. He didn't wear the gloves around her anymore, so the metal gleamed in the sunlight seeping into the apartment. Iris dropped onto the couch, watching him with bewildered eyes, trying not to show how freaked out she was by his reaction.
"I've been here too long," he muttered, "I've been so stupid. I know better...I knew I should have moved on weeks ago—"
"Then why didn't you?" The question was out of Iris' mouth before she could stop it. He shot her a look that was equally dejected and condescending, as though she should know why. As soon as she thought that, she did know. "Because of me," she whispered. Her eyes dropped as a feeling of guilt threatened to close her throat. She looked up again as he stilled, reaching down to flatten the card on the windowsill with his flesh and bone fingers to read it better, his face stony and cold. Iris forced back the sudden welling of self-pity, annoyed with herself for giving in so easily. She didn't want to give him up. She wanted to fight for him.
She'd fallen in love with him.
She started at the realization.
When the hell had that happened...she shook her head to clear the thought away. She couldn't think on that now, though it certainly added an edge to her pain at the idea of him leaving. So she changed the subject. Sort of.
"Why is this guy after you? Is he government? He didn't quite look government; maybe military." James looked away from his covert surveillance of the street below to fix her with an unreadable stare.
"You're assuming there's a misunderstanding; that he's a 'bad guy.' He's not. His friend is not. They're 'good guys.' They're trying to find me because I'm a 'bad guy.'" A bleakness edged into his tone. Iris got the impression there was more to what was going on, but she wasn't interested. She was too caught up on his rather troubling assertion. Hearing him refer to himself like that made her angry.
"Firstly, I haven't assumed anything. Secondly; a 'bad guy?' I don't buy that, James. And neither should you!" His gaze hardened when it flicked back to her again but she pressed on anyway. "It's always more complicated than that." She stood, coming to stand beside him, easing herself between him and the wall so she could look up into his face. Tentatively she reached out to lay a hand on his arm. He tensed. Iris hid a sigh, continuing as calmly as she could. "I've never bought into the whole 'good guy' or 'bad guy' thing. Things are never that simple." The look he gave her this time was dark; metaphoric dark.
"In this case, it is that simple." She was completely taken aback at the way he snarled it at her. "I'm not a good person, Iris! I'm a monster. They're after me for good reason." But Iris' own temper, relatively insubstantial as it normally might be, was building. She firmly shook her head, meeting his glare with her own.
"I don't believe you."
"I told you what I am," he snapped, "You have no idea this kinds of things I've done." He wanted to snap at her? Fine. She could snap and snarl right back.
"Could one of Tony Stark's suits be considered morally accountable for the damage they cause? No. They're machines. They do what they're programmed to do. Yes, you told me and yes, you're right; I have no idea what all you've done. But I do know one thing. What they did to you? They stripped you of your humanity, made you little more than a breathing machine. You may have done those horrible things, but it's the ones who gave the orders who bear the blame for what they forced you to do. And yes, James, if you had no control, no will of your own, no way to say no, it was forced.
"There is no way you can argue otherwise." Even stunned as he was by her passionate outburst she could tell he didn't believe her. She could also see in his face when he realized he wasn't going to be able to change her mind on this. She saw it in the way his steel-blue eyes grew veiled. So instead he switched tracks.
"They can't be allowed to find me, Iris. They can't. I can't let them." The look she gave him was one of pure incredulity, though she knew her own hazel eyes were likely flashing with irritation as well. He practically growled, his hands running up and over his head as he turned away from her, swiping his dark hair out of his face as he fought to rein in his own frustration. He turned back to her again, glaring at her. Iris couldn't help the way she flinched at the harsh, desperate look in his eyes, her back brushing against the wall.
"Iris, I can't protect you from them. They'll use you—they'll kill you—to get to me. That's why I need to leave." Iris stared at him in bewilderment.
"What? James, you're not making any sense! Use me? Kill me?" He flinched at the words but she plowed on, forcibly ignoring the tremor of fear fluttering in her chest at how utterly serious he was that her life was in danger, "you just said these were—were 'good guys'! Sam, whatever his name is, said they want to help you. Why on earth would 'good guys' want to kill me? And how would that help them get to you?" James blanched but his agitation grew, ratcheting up another notch. His eyes were nearly wild with it.
"Not them, them, the ones Steve and this Wilson guy want to keep me from. The ones who want to use me as a weapon. I can't protect you from them," he said imploringly, his voice cracking under the strain, "and I can't protect you from me." Iris' eyes widened, shocked into silence by the blatant terror in his eyes. The fury building within her died at the look in his eyes. She just couldn't maintain it in the face of that much panic and dread.
"You don't need to," she whispered, "you wouldn't hurt me, James." His eyes slid shut; he wanted to believe her so desperately it seemed to physically hurt him.
And then his hands were slamming against the wall on either side of her, the wall cracking and yielding beneath the force of the blow. His arms caged her in as he loomed in front of her, his gaze bizarrely devoid of feeling yet still, somehow, tormented. Iris jerked, her pulse thundering in her ears at the shock of how quickly he'd moved. But strangely she wasn't actually afraid in the slightest, no matter the feral, opaque gaze he had fixed her with. Whatever he was trying to prove with the violent action, the implied threat, she didn't believe it.
"You wouldn't hurt me," she repeated softly, not allowing herself to shrink into the wall...nor to lean into him. She could feel the heat pouring off his skin and she suddenly wanted more than anything to melt into it, to prove through her touch that she trusted him; it was an assurance he'd always believed more than words before. But she didn't drop his gaze. He grimaced at her assertion, grief and self-loathing breaking through the savage look to dominate his features.
"I could. I would. If I heard the wor—if they activ—if the order were given—" he broke off, snapping his mouth shut at the words threatening to tumble out. "It wouldn't matter how I feel about you. I wouldn't be able to stop myself." Only then did her eyes widen with shock. There was no exaggeration there. Only cold, hard fact. It was a glimpse past the barricades he'd erected to keep his past in the past; to keep it from her. More than that, it was a glimpse at the feelings he always fought to keep under tight control. Right now, that control was all but gone, she realized. And it was his fear for her that was causing him to lose it.
But it wasn't so much fear or horror or even what he'd said that shocked Iris, but rather what it all meant; he cared about her as much as she cared about him. This was a man who had no choice but to let few people get close and even fewer in. This was a man who didn't allow himself to feel—who, until not long before he'd come into her life, hadn't even been allowed to feel. A flash of horror did go through her then as she was met with the first true realization of the sorts of things hidden in this man's past. But it wasn't horror at him, but for what had been done to him. She couldn't even begin to guess, much less fathom it.
And what she'd seen only scratched the surface.
He was trying to scare her away, she realized as she registered the determination and the despair in his eyes. Well, she wasn't about to be scared away. Not when he needed her.
She reached up then, brushing her fingers along his clenched jaw, as though her touch could ease the tension there. "Please," she whispered, "stay." His eyes widened and his breathing grew ragged with shock as her fingers stilled, resting flush against his cheek.
And then his hand, his flesh one, closed around her wrist. A war raged behind his eyes as his arm trembled, caught between pressing her hand closer or shoving it away. A pained sound vibrated up through his chest, sending a shiver through Iris as he leaned closer, his forehead brushing against hers.
And then he was gone.
A/N: Thanks for reading!
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