Eyes of Fire | Bucky Barnes

21

Bucky remembered his mother's eyes most of all — soft and kind and always safe. It was a certain kind of warmth Bucky hadn't found anywhere else. That was, until...

He wondered what her reaction would be - her little James growing up to live the life that he had. A glance at the mirror and he saw the lines, the scars laced with regret and guilt.

What would she think?

"Ma," a feather light touch to his cheek. Warm eyes brimmed with tears, love never left.

"Oh, sweetheart." A crack in her voice, he felt a lump form in his throat. "What happened to you?"

"I-" his own voice threatened to betray him. He couldn't look his own mother in the eye.

Her thumb swiped away a tear while her own cheeks stained. Hurt in her expression and he couldn't dare imagine seeing her happy anymore.

" 'm sorry," a sob. Arms wrapped over shoulders, he didn't want her to feel the metal. "I'm so sorry, ma."

He felt himself sink to the floor, bathroom tiles like ice against bare skin. His own arms trying to replicate a love that wasn't there.

Sobs echoed, breathing became hard and he felt so stupid because all he wanted was her.

"I'm so so sorry."

****

"I didn't have a nightmare."

Mumbles under his breath, always a push. It made lying easy — easier. If he further bent what was, then the words would be whispered quieter. She didn't need to know otherwise.

But who did he think she was, to think he could get away with lying to her? He didn't know what it was that made everything about him so... obvious to her.

He didn't have a physical tell, that was for sure, otherwise he wouldn't have made it as far as the Soldier as he had. Maybe it was because of all she did know about him already, all he'd burdened her with.

"James, you're not being honest with me."

"Your hair looks great today."

It did, truly. Her braids were twisted and twirled in an intricate pattern at the top of her head, today, gathered in a neat bun shape with different accessories hanging from various strands.

He said it for a reason, though. If he told her that the hazed memories still burned fresh — that his mother's hurt eyes were all he could see when his closed. He could tell her about every single nightmare he'd had in the past week, in detail, but then it would feel real, words would pull them from memories. But they already hurt enough where they sat.

"James." Said softly, fondly, with such genuine worry Bucky almost burst out of her skin. Her heart was a gift he did not deserve. Thinking about it drove him mad. "You do not have to tell me if you do not wish to do so."

The words were clumsy as they fell from his mouth. "I know."

She pushed him to a point — a border she wouldn't pass because she understood. Pokes and prodding but she kept her distance when necessary, kept him at the perfect amount of discomfort and comfort to have him spilling his guts.

"Then you should also know that I am here for you." She explained carefully, "For whatever ails you or worries you in a single moment. I am a shoulder for you to lean on."

She pushed to a point, but never further. Quiet conversations in a tiding sun, morning mist and stars hiding in the sky. Walks after lunch, tea on the corner. Tiny fragments of seemingly insignificance piecing into a comfortable warmth he hadn't felt in a lifetime.

"Every night." Knitted brows and blue eyes screwed shut, his head fell backwards. "This time, my mother."

Uxolo didn't question aloud if that was truly a nightmare, or a dream hidden under that mask of his that said he didn't deserve it.

"And the floor?" A push, but enough that it wasn't intrusive. "Did you sleep on it again, James?"

"Yeah." He confessed through a heaving exhale. "Familiarity, I think."

"I understand."

And then silence - comfortable yet heavy until eyes met and hers softened.

Reassuring squeezes to his hand, warm fingers grounding in a way that seemed too easy. Static in his chest but the welcoming kind, the type that made him feel.

She made this easy, and that scared him.