James Bucky Barnes, the former soldier, doesn't think he's got any gentleness left in him. But Grace Juniper Cunningham, the former child prodigy, strongly disagrees.
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"𝘐 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘐 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯."
"𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴�...
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"You can stay in here with me to work if you want," Bucky said, hands back in his pockets. "Since it's quiet."
I debated the offer in my head.
Pros: I get to be around Bucky
Cons: I have to be around Bucky
"Okay," I agreed. "Um. Thanks."
We sat on opposite ends of the couch, and he read through a hard copy file. When I'd worked here, I didn't think I'd ever bothered using a hard copy. I wondered if he disliked them digitized. It was endearing, but a little sad. I remembered the way he'd stiffened and avoided the subject when I'd asked him about the 21st century.
I tried to breach it again, more carefully this time: "Do you only use hard copies?"
"Stop looking at my file. You're a civilian." He turned purposely and tilted it up, so I could only see the blank exterior. He didn't glance up.
"Don't sit next to me with it, then!" I argued.
"You're sitting next to me in that skirt, but you don't see me staring."
Even though he hadn't even glanced up when he said that, I still pulled my laptop out of my bag so I could put it on my lap and hide the part of my thighs where my skirt ended. "Stop hitting on me," I said. "I'm working."
"Me too. Quit bothering me."
"I'm not doing anything!"
"Practically interrogating me about my file."
"That's not at all what happened."
"What are you working on, anyway?" he asked. He was suddenly curious when he looked up at me. "I didn't understand half the words on your screen earlier."
"Nothing. It's boring," I said, thinking about the article and how uninterested he'd be in a summary. "I was just gonna answer emails now. My students are all panicking about their finals this week. I have to give them pep talks. Everyone in academia exists in a panicked-but-functioning sweet spot."
"What do you say? In the emails?"
"It's always different," I opened my laptop, scooted closer so he could see the screen, and clicked on the oldest unopened email. "See, this is from Heather. She's gotten a B or higher on every exam, but she still thinks she's going to fail this one. Now I've got to tell her that even if she fails the exam, and even if she fails the class, it doesn't mean that she's not smart, and it doesn't mean she's not good enough. I have to say all this knowing full well that she'll get a B or higher."
"Good advice," he said, watching as I typed out a reply. He rested his metal arm on the back of the couch behind me, and I almost squirmed, struggling to focus on the conversation now.
