Dating Game ☆ Bucky x Reader

Chapter 9

You sit there in shock and swallow the bite of pancakes. You drop your head back into your hands and sigh heavily trying to process everything. He wanders back into the kitchen and piles two plates with food before sitting them on the coffee table and going back for a couple of glasses of orange juice. He sits down on the other end of the couch, as far as he can get from you, and talks between bites. "Ask your questions. I'll answer what I can. But first, take some Tylenol before your headache gets worse. I'm sure you have one. And toss me the damn bottle too, all your shouting made mine hurt. It's on the end table beside you."

You blink and look, sure enough, there is a bottle of blessed pain reliever sitting beside you and a bottle of water. You rub your temples because the light is making your head pound and side-eye him a bit.

"What? I figured you'd have a hangover. You need food, water, and Tylenol. I figured it was best to be prepared," Bucky says before crunching down on a piece of bacon with a shrug.

You shake your head a little in mild amusement before downing two with a gulp of orange juice and handing him the bottle. "I am so confused." comes out of your mouth before you even think about it.

He nods slowly and lets out a long labored breath. "Okay. First of all, I didn't kill those people. I mean...I have killed people. Just not those people. I - I don't do that anymore," Bucky says through the fall of brunette hair that came cascading down into his face when he nodded. "It's a long story. I'm just gonna have to tell you to trust me. If you don't trust me, trust Natalia - Natas - I mean, Natalie. Dammit, that woman has so many names it's hard to keep them straight."

"Wait, what?" You pause with your fork halfway to your mouth.

"Shit, she's going to kill me. Natalie isn't...Natalie. That's what she uses when she's hiding. For me, she will always be Natalia Romanova. To everyone else who knows her, she is Natasha Romanoff and she has and always will be my saving grace. She went underground with me as soon as I did. The easiest way to hide is to blend in when they expect you to run. So...here I am. Here we are." His words were shaky at best.

"Okay, so let me get this straight. You - who the news has been calling the Winter Soldier for weeks, who the news has been saying is a dangerous unpredictable assassin, has been shacking up with the Natasha Romanoff - the very not blonde Avenger that I didn't know has been my best friend for months? Was the story she gave me about just wanting to get you out of the house even true?"

Surprisingly, the man sitting beside you flushes an amusing shade of crimson and gives you an uneasy half-smile. "That is probably a story that she needs to tell you, doll."

"But I'm asking you, though," you respond, still a little frustrated and more than a bit frightened.

"Yes and no. Natalia just...likes to try and help in her own annoyingly pushy kind of way. I will, however, let her explain what's going on on that front, ok?"

You huff with indignation at his non-answer and gesture in the general direction of his left arm. "Can I see? I mean, you don't have to, of course."

Bucky winces a little, still not quite used to looking at his arm as anything less than a burden. You hear an almost imperceptible groan escape his lips at the thought.

"Oh! No, it's okay. You really don't have to. I'm sorry. I didn't think..." Your eyes widen and you quickly apologize, having asked before you thought the question through.

"Will it make you less afraid?" he says in a soft voice before angling his body toward you and holding his left hand out palm up.

You pull his metal hand carefully into your own much smaller hands with apprehension. You scrutinize his face before taking a closer look at the silver plates that make up the prosthetic. The sections along his forearm shift back and forth almost as if it's an unconscious nervous tic. You idly trace the lines between the metal plates with your fingertips.

"Can you feel that?" you say quizzically.

"No. Well...sort of. The same way anyone with a prosthetic can trick their brain into feeling something that isn't there. It's a strange sensation," he responded while shoving another forkful of pancakes in his mouth. He was trying not to be anxious but he was failing.

"So...how does it work, exactly?" you continue to question.

"I dont know and I dont want to know." He abruptly pulls his hand back from your grip. His brows knit together and he sighs. Bucky moves his metal digits around in front of his face as you watch, still fascinated. "No. Don't look at it like that. It's not a toy, it's not interesting, it's a weapon. That's all I'll ever be. A weapon." He balls his hand into a fist.

You frown hard at his words, reaching for his hand. He pushes up off the couch with a pained and panicked expression on his face. You only barely hear the clatter of the plate as it hits the floor.

"Hey! No, no, no! Sit back down. If you don't want me to touch your arm, I won't," you say. He shakes his head and continues to back himself towards the door like a cornered cat.

"I-I really should be here. I shouldn't have stayed. I shouldn't have told you any of this. I sure as hell shouldn't have gone dancing last night. I knew this was a bad idea and I don't know why I let that сука talk me into this." You sit there in complete shock as he stumbles his way to the door, grabbing his things along the way. "Enjoy your breakfast, doll. It was nice to meet you. Sorry but it has to be this way."

And out the door he went...leaving you stunned on your couch with your mouth still hanging open as if you had something, anything, left to say.

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The day passes silently. You clean the pancakes off the floor, you tidy your apartment, you run out of things to fidget with to distract yourself.