CALL HER | Bucky Barnes

5

GRACE

When I'd found the flowers and the note in my office, I'd locked my office door, sat down at my desk, and cried. I couldn't really put my finger on exactly why I was crying. It was a combination of things; it was the AC/DC song I'd heard on the way to work, the Good Morning America segment, the bright red hair of a woman on the subway. It was the constant worrying about Wanda. I'd never felt so alone before the Blip, and one little nice thing, one indication that somebody gave a shit about me, was enough to make me lose it.

I thought about what Nat would think. I'd texted Bucky, complete with a "🥰" that would have made Nat gag mockingly. The thought made me smile, and then it made me tear up again.

It was all I could do not to cry on the phone with him later that day. It would be just like me to drive someone else away by having a mental breakdown. I was pretty sure the one I'd had in front of Bruce was the reason he always said he was busy when I asked him to get lunch nowadays.

The next day, I skipped a meeting so I could talk to Bucky.

"When you asked me to call you sometimes...was that a 'once a day' sort of 'sometimes,' or more of a 'once a week' thing?" he asked when I picked up.

"More of a 'whenever you get a minute and it's not a bother' sort of thing."

"Talking to you isn't a bother. Everything else is."

"Thanks, I'm honored," I said. I actually was. My stomach was setting off confetti cannons.

"Are you busy?" he asked. "I was gonna wait until it was evening in New York, but it's hard to know in advance when I'll be able to call you."

"No, I can talk!" I said, pressing send on the email I'd been typing out with an excuse as to why I couldn't go to the meeting that started in five minutes. "Where are you—or wait, you probably can't tell me that, right?"

"Best if I don't, but I say that while knowing you could trace this call if you were really that curious."

"I don't have clearance to do stuff like that legally anymore," I said. "But thanks for the completely unearned trust in me that I won't."

"Calculated risk. I really wanted to call you again. I keep getting distracted thinking about you. Just wondering how your day is going and what you're doing and shit."

Ohmygod. "My day's okay. I'm in my office answering emails. Are you satiated now?"

"Not really. Wish I could see you. But I guess that'll do," he said, and continued incredulously, "How many emails are people sending you that you have to designate time for that?"

"So many."

"Can you just not have an email address?"

"No. They give you one when they hire you."

"What happens if you don't respond?"

"They send you progressively more passive aggressive ones until you do."

"But...you could just ignore them, right?"

"I feel like you don't understand my job," I said, endeared. He sounded his age.

"Yeah, I didn't go to college. Can you tell?"

"That's not what I meant!"

"I did take an art class with Steve once, though. Does that count? I'm trying to impress you."