"Is this the best you can afford? A tiny townhouse in outer DC? Is the Captain America brand patented? Or do you just like living like you're not the greatest hero alive?" I asked, waddling into Steve's house with my arm wrapped tightly around Bucky's torso.
Steve looked at me like he was eight years beyond done, and pointed to the door we just walked through. "If it's not good enough, you know where to go." He turned and walked into the kitchen.
I looked at Bucky, who was smiling and peeling off his red Henley while I didn't move my arm. "I never liked him. He can't take a joke." I whispered, causing Bucky to chuckle and Steve to point his finger at the door again from inside the kitchen.
His little house was nice. Very, very nice. He had moved there in 2014 after being forced to leave his apartment when Bucky attempted to kill Fury, just before we took him in. It was admittedly even nicer than his fully-furnished apartment. Before this we lived in a big house in the middle of nowhere, and before that a disgusting safe house in the middle of nowhere, and before that Bucky lived in a cell and I lived in a flying suite. We'd been passed around a lot in the past two years, and being anywhere that wasn't public was good enough, but I had to speak into the silence, and joking was how I handled it.
Bucky asked Steve for a change of clothes and Steve told him to take anything he could find. Buck placed a kiss on my head and went upstairs in search of clothes that weren't bloody and wet. I sat on a couch and squirmed into a comfortable position, peeling off my sweat-soaked boots.
Steve came out of the kitchen with a bottle of water and wordlessly pointed out the remote. I took the water and waved off the silent suggestion. Neither of us really knew how to interact with each other. Steve just sat down and folded his hands, looking at a wall.
Before Bucky was in the picture, our work relationship with just that: work and only work. I never did combat, even though I ached to, because I wasn't an Avenger. He never worked with the prisoners, he had bigger things to take care of. When Bucky came, Steve became a nagging child, only talking to me when he needed updates or when he was standing behind Fury with his arms crossed, basically sneering and three seconds from sticking his tongue out at me. We never formed a relationship outside of work, then never formed a relationship that didn't revolve around Bucky. Why? I don't know. Two war-torn soldiers should have a lot in common, and we did, but that made things boring.
Steve cleared his throat, uncrossing his ankles and crossing his legs. I looked at him weirdly. What a girl. I then quickly changed my position, because my knees were probably a yard apart.
"So," He sniffed, looking down at his hands. "How has everything gone? . . . Since he . . ." He waved his hand around as if to gesture. "Since he rescued you."
I nodded, looking at the coffee table and sitting up straight. The awkward tension was palpable. "Um," I cleared my throat. "Not great, if we're being honest. I was out for a few months, apparently only waking when I was hellbent on chewing his face off, but whatever. When I did wake up, I thought he kidnapped me because he looked like a lumberjack and there was pee on the floor . . ." Steve kind of chuckled. "Uh . . . Neither of us knew what to do for a while there so we kind of just padded around a lot. We were irritable four-year olds for a while there too."
"Tell me," He started, voice low and intentionally calming. "how does ignoring the problem make you feel?"
I laughed halfheartedly and glanced at him fleetingly. "What are you, some kind of shrink?"
"Then we grew up a bit and he forced me to gain control of my powers." I inhaled deeply. "Which is silly to think of now because the old man has no control over his." We both chuckled over this.
"My little super soldier. Muscles like steel." He whispered as I pulled my arms into my chest and let him squeeze me. "I'm so happy you're awake."
I didn't respond. He was alone in that.
"But now that we're both awake-"
I groaned. "No."
"C'mon. We need to do this. You need to learn how to control it." He mumbled, lips now against my neck.
I wiggled in his embrace. "Don't be cute when I'm angry at you."
"How did you learn to control it? Or, wait," Steve held up a hand. "You'll have to elaborate on that. What's it? What'd they do to you?"
I inhaled again, shrinking into the couch. "Second question first, they wanted to turn me into an anti-Bucky. A weak, sickly example of what they would do to the world if they didn't listen. They being Hydra, of course. But it backfired. They injected me with deadly doses of BDNF and ChR. BDNF to induce hysterical fear and ChR to identify the fear as whatever they showed me. It made me palpable, it made my brain mush. They would inject me with it, then put me in a room and show me all these scenes of war and death and gore to make me this zombie full of fear. But, again, it backfired. Instead it did the opposite. It messed up my amygdala. I have no flight option anymore, it's just fight. Well," I shrugged. "Only when it comes to combat and Hydra and blah blah blah anything else that's bigger than a bug on the floor."
"First question second?" He continued.
What was taking Bucky so long?
"Well, like I said, it made me angry. Heightened strength, stronger pain tolerance, and the inability to think of anything but the fight. However, Bucky and I both knew that wouldn't go very well in normal situations, so he tied me to a tree and made me angry. In basic terms. So I had to learn to control my anger. It feels like a burning brick in my chest. My fingers go numb and my muscles tense and I want to throw up. So over the course of . . . however long it was, I learned to control it. Kind of." I held up my hand, every vein lit up a brilliant violet.
His eyes bugged at that.
I smiled a little, looking at the pulsing ribbons. "I shake a lot, as you've probably seen. " He nodded. "It just means I'm trying to control Her. Amygdala, that is. Clint and Buck named it Amygdala. Because they're creative men."
Steve nodded. "Well . . . I'm glad you're here."
I nodded back. "Thanks."
We went back to a slightly lesser discomfort.
"Thanks, uh, for letting us stay here." I bite the inside of my lip. "I'm kind of at the end of my ideas here. I don't know what I would've done." I laugh halfheartedly.
"Maisie, you have a lot going on, I see that. Think of it as my way of repaying you for all you've done for him. My best friend went from a shell who was determined to kill me, to a functioning human again. And he loves you, he doesn't have to say it for me to know. You've done something for him to love you like he does, and whatever it is, I'm thankful for it."
"She's really hot." Bucky called from his seated position at the top of the stairs. "That's why."
I laughed as he walked downstairs, coming over to sit next to me with a big smile. He was in sweatpants and a tank top branded in script with 'Brooklyn, New York'.
"Some things don't change, then." Steve stated more than asked.
I looked at him inquisitively. "What do you mean?"
As Steve opened his mouth, Bucky covered my ears. "Nothing! It's nothing!"
Laughing, I pushed him off of me and looked back to Steve.
"He tried to date everyone in art school. All of them. Flattered them with compliments on their symmetry and the color of their cheeks and how he could never draw such a beauty." Steve covered his mouth with his hand to keep from laughing. "Real art school punk flirting. It was awful to watch."
Bucky dropped his head to my shoulder as I choked out breathless laughs. He groaned an apology and attempted to make up for it with a kiss in the nape of my neck. I pushed his head up and looked him in the eye, my hands cupping his cheeks.
"I kissed every junior and senior boy in my high school." I finished with a great inhale. "All of them. At least all you did was flirt, right?"
Steve butt in while Bucky recovered with big eyes. "He landed maybe one or two of the girls he flirted with. He was the only one who thought he was smooth."
I sputtered a horrific laugh and looked back to Bucky. He groaned yet again.
"I did. I flirted with every girl and kissed three," Bucky glared at Steve. "But now it's not so bad knowing about you."
My jaw went slack. "Excuse you! Different times! You were a slut in the thirties and I was a slut ten years ago!"
Bucky covered his laughing by pushing his face into my chest and wrapping his arms around my torso. He punctuated his laughter with groaning.
Steve's laughter dulled, brought back by memory of actual responsibilities. "Okay," He stood up. "I should probably show you your room."
We nodded and followed him upstairs, Bucky's finger through my belt loop all the while. Steve showed us a neatly furnished guest room and pointed out the bathroom down the hall, then said he'd find us new clothes soon and quickly reminded us that we could eat anything we wanted, just leave the Oreos alone. I nodded and shut the door after Bucky thanked him.
I laid on the bed, my legs dangling off the edge. It smelled like Steve. It was a nice smell, but one that brought back weird memories.
Bucky did as he did in the Barton's house, looked out the window pensively. I tucked my hands behind my head and watched him as he ran his flesh thumb over the plates in his metal one.
We hadn't ever properly . . . been together. When we did, it was fumbled and short-lived. There had never been a point in our marriage where we weren't paralyzingly anxious. Now . . . I wanted more of him. Constantly I did, really, but I never thought to talk about it. Not that I needed him to show me he loved me, because I knew wholeheartedly that he'd give his life for me, but I loved how he felt, how he held me like I was breakable, how he looked at me like I was Venus, twitching hands and dilated eyes conveying how nervous he was every time he looked at me, like he was witnessing love for the first time every time. I never got enough of that.
"James," I called quietly.
He stiffled a laugh at the name, looking at me with his teeth grinding on the edge of his finger. "Yes?"
"Come kiss me."
"No please?" He asked.
I sighed as he smiled. "The last time we properly kissed like we weren't eleven was months ago. Just kiss me. Please."
Wordlessly, he came over and laid down next to me, rolling onto his side and holding my cheek in his flesh hand. I looked at him and he looked at me. As his eyes dilated, my stomach filled with angry Irish men, pounding their way up my throat. As if Bucky could tell, he smiled. Maybe I was eleven. Maybe I'd never get over how I loved him.
"Kiss me like it's the last time you ever will." I mumbled, breathing in his heart-stopping scent, noticing the grey in his eyes.
He gingerly kissed me. Like I was all he'd ever known, like he was stopping time, like he had nowhere else to ever be, like it was the last time. Softly and tenderly, a smile pressed against mine. I ran a hand through his hair, fingers pressed to his scalp, heart fluttering over the noise it elicited from him.
He cradled his left arm under the small of my back, pulling me closer to him. His lips moved to my jaw and then to my neck, peppering soft kisses that pulled giggles from me. I didn't think my heart had every raced that fast before. I ran my hands down his arms and squeezed, rewarded by a chuckle on my collar bone.
"Oh shut up," I smiled, cheek pressed against his head.
"I love you." He mumbled as he returned to my lips. "I love you so much."
I reveled in how soft his lips were. I wondered if they'd always been that way. I nodded halfmindedly. "Mhmm," I hummed, dodging a kiss by placing one on his jaw.
"I love you so much it makes my stomach hurt." He continued. He groaned and laughed at the idea. "I love you so badly, Maisie."
I nodded, cradling his cheeks in my hands as he leered above me. I didn't have half the mind to respond, so I just held him closer.
"I'm sorry I don't show you the love I should. The love I should show you, like the goddess you are." He smiled against my lips. I choked out a laugh at the delusional title. "You beautiful, amazing woman . . . How did I get so lucky?"
I gingerly kissed him longer than he was allowing. He bit my lip ever so slightly and elicited a laugh from me. He never had to kiss me to show me he loved me, I knew full well that I had this man wrapped around my finger, but the way he showed his love, the way he did so physically, was good enough to desire more than just words or the promise of a life.
"I love you too, James." I whispered, pulling away. He opened his eyes and gave me a lazy smile, ruddy cheeks making my heart flip. "I never expected any of this to happen, and looking from the outside, you would wonder why I stay . . . But it's you. It's always you."
He pulled me into a gentle embrace, hanging true to hoping he wouldn't crush me. His face pressed against my neck, my chest tightened, wrapping my arms around his neck.
We were silent for a moment, then he mumbled something into my neck.
"What?" I let go, allowing him to move back into the position he held when he first laid down.
He inhaled. "I just realized that I really want purple babies."
I let out a loud laugh as I nodded, pulling him closer as he went back to spotting kisses down my neck.
"I love you, I love you, I love you," He chuckled between deep breaths.
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.