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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Bucky's POV
I knew it was Grace at Steve's door. Even if I couldn't have heard her soft footsteps, I would have known her from the set of four light knocks.
I didn't know why I told Steve to stay there, that I'd get it, but I immediately regretted it. I hated the way her face fell at the sight of me.
"Um, hi. Is Steve here?" She sounded uncomfortable. Her eyes were wide and expressive. Easy to read. Bright and green, flecks of grey. I had trouble bringing to mind the exact shade while I'd been gone. I tried to memorize them now, but gave up. It didn't matter.
"Why are you looking for Steve?" Why would I ask her that? She could be on her way to Steve's bed and it still wouldn't be my business.
She held up the container in her hands meekly. "...I made him cookies."
She was so fucking cute. I wondered if Steve thought that too. He'd better have felt lucky that she was thinking about him, that she was showing up at his apartment.
I opened the door wider for her to come in.
"Grace! Hi!" Steve smiled at the sight of her, standing up from the couch. He glanced between the two of us nervously.
I walked into the hallway and shut the door just so I wouldn't have to look at her.
"Nice to see you too!" I heard her offended voice yelling at me from inside, followed by her footsteps heading toward Steve.
I sat down on the floor when I was back in my apartment and leaned against the door.
Nobody ever asked me if I wanted to join the Avengers. They gave me paperwork, sure, but that was a formality. Nobody said, "Do you wanna sign this? Do you wanna keep fighting?"
I wasn't sure if they didn't feel the need to ask because they just assumed I'd want to keep fighting, because that's what I do, or if they didn't ask because I didn't have a choice, because I owed so many debts.
I would've said yes anyway, but it would've been nice to make the decision. Just to prove I had a thought of my own in my head.
That was my problem. I never thought. I forgot how to sometimes. I never should have tried to fuck her—I should've committed the nervous little brush of her lips, the one she initiated, to memory and ended it there. I knew I was bad for her, and I told her as much, but I took it too far because I'd wanted to.
It had consequences, like making her expect things from me—a text, a date. I wondered if she'd expected to be my girl eventually. That had been my intention before I really thought. I'd been trying to make her my girl before, and now I just regretted convincing her I was a whole, complete person who she could expect anything from.
I wasn't going to let her think I was soft, or whatever it was she wanted me to be, just to disappoint her later on.
I couldn't sit there during that meeting before we left, listening to Fury talking about targets and weapons and missions and orders, without flashes of the Winter Soldier's memories interrupting images of her in my mind. It went on for the whole mission, too, disturbing every peaceful thought I had until I couldn't really picture her face anymore. I could barely conjure up a blurry version of her.
