Eyes of Fire | Bucky Barnes

46

"Fuck."

Bucky slammed the oven shut and reached up to silence the ear-splitting screech of the smoke alarm. He rushed to open the window above the sink, fumbling with the latch, then ducked as the gray plumes of smoke billowed out above him.

Things were out of control. He had opened the oven to a scorched baking tray, a wall of smoke and now the pot on the stove was about to boil over, and somewhere a timer was going off— fuck, indeed. He pulled the pot away from the burner, slammed the knob off, and pressed buttons until that godforsaken beeping stopped.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and focused on slowing his breathing while the room aired out. This was a stupid idea, it had always been a stupid idea. He could imagine the headlines: Notorious Assassin Bucky Barnes Killed In Kitchen Fire. House Belonging To Wakandan Linguist Destroyed.

It had already been late afternoon when Uxolo had wandered off to her room for a nap and this stupid, stupid idea popped into his head. It wasn't the first stupid idea he'd had that day; he'd run through thousands of them, struggling to come up with something he could do to get her attention. Because so far they had spent the day acting like everything was normal, but it wasn't. Not for him.

Not after he nearly cried when they'd been together the night before, like a fucking teenager losing his virginity. Not after she'd managed to unravel all of the broken pieces of glass he kept inside, and let each chunk pierce her skin with a smooth smile and even smoother laugh.

So many things could've happened that night, while he was losing his damn mind; anyone could've been just outside at any given moment, prime opportunity for someone — someone like him — to strike.

Uxolo had been her usual warm self from the moment they'd woken up, but something had been missing. Maybe there would always be something missing, he'd always have that hollow feeling because now that he knew just how good he could feel...

Maybe it was because of how sensitive he was— so fucking sensitive— after all these years, because he had never felt like this before. That had to be it. He'd never felt like this back then, not with the girls he met at Coney Island or the combat nurses in their tent or even any of those USO showgirls Steve introduced him to. He had never felt this need, this desperate painful demand that something inside of him equally detested the thought of.

Steve had always said that Bucky was fucking greedy. Maybe he was right.

Maybe it was just because he was greedy but he had to try, had to do something. He wanted Uxolo to feel like this too, and he needed to figure out a way to make that happen. He had to come up with something that would impress her, that would make her want to stay, even with him like... this.

Uxolo bolted into the kitchen, her socks sliding across the floor, jarred awake from her nap by the screeching alarm and odor of smoke. What she found was quite the scene— food that was somehow both half raw and half burnt, a slowly lifting haze of smoke, and Bucky leaning against the counter looking the most frazzled she had ever seen him.

"Are you alright?" She said cautiously as she sidled up to him. "What happened in here?"

Bucky didn't want to reply. Didn't want to think, didn't want to acknowledge his catastrophic failure.

"Nothing," he said coldly as he grabbed the ruined food and unceremoniously dumped it all into the trash.

"Oh, Bucky. You know being grumpy doesn't—"

"I'm not grumpy," He said, his frustration almost coming out as a whine. "I wanted to..."

He gestured at the kitchen, at the bouquet of flowers on the table that he had ordered as soon as she went to her room. He paid extra for delivery, raced to the front when they arrived, and by the time he got back the whole goddamn kitchen was almost on fire. He rubbed at his temple with his right hand and exhaled.

She looked at the flowers on the table for a moment, then at the ruined meal. Burnt, blackened vegetables stuck to the pan, the crisp puck-like remains of chicken— her eyes softened when she looked at him.

"Oh," Uxolo said when she realized, sounding like he had just knocked the wind out of her. Of course he did. Of course he disappointed her.

"I'm sorry," He sighed, stuffing his hands in his pockets, but when he glanced sideways at her, she didn't look mad, or disappointed. She— she looked like she was going to cry, but not because she was sad.

After some coaxing she managed to pull his right hand from his pocket. She massaged soft circles into his skin, setting off those fucking goosebumps again, but he still couldn't bring himself to look at her.

She said, "You are not telling me everything, Bucky."

"I...  I wanted to do something nice for you, alright," He muttered. He resisted the urge to tug his hand back, to hold himself together because he was unraveling, he could feel the threads in his palm that pulled loose as she stroked his skin.

"I wanted it to be like, uhh... Like a..." he couldn't get the words out past his teeth.

"Like a date," She finished for him softly, following his eyes to the flowers on the table, then to the singed dirty dishes that would need scouring if they were to be usable again. He nodded, his eyes cast down.

"It can still be a date," She mused. She had his attention now, his eyes finally focused on her as she pressed her lips against his cheek like a branding iron and he was sizzling, melting.

He felt the hot flush of pink creeping up his neck, settling across his cheeks. He bent down slightly when her hand moved to cradle his jaw, her thumb rubbing across his lower lip and Bucky was going to explode, just burst into tiny sharp shards, never to be put back together.

"But I ruined everything—" He mumbled, frozen in place. Each of her soft touches were blinding and he couldn't move.

"That is not possible." She brushed a piece of hair away from his face, her hand lingering on his cheek. An affectionate gesture, full of reassurance, though a smirk had formed on her lips. "I'm beyond ecstatic that you even tried all of this."

He slotted his lips over hers before she could get any more words out, before she could melt him any more than he already was.

"I just like you, thas'all," He murmured when he finally broke away.

He didn't know how to tell her that he'd never felt so blisteringly, searingly.... What even was this feeling? Whatever it was, he'd never felt it before in his life.

This was an entirely different beast. It was desperate, it was angry, it was— it was fucking terrified.

Because Bucky knew he wasn't allowed to have anything this good. He wasn't allowed to have anything this bright, this hopeful, this comforting. But he had Uxolo, somehow, and something deep inside of him knew what would happen next. It remembered.

"I like it when it's only you an' me," He said, because he couldn't tell her about these feelings that were entrenched in his brain, in the wires that had crossed because they were forced to cross. He couldn't tell her how he knew he was going to lose her, because they took everything from him, sooner or later.

But he had never let go of anything without digging his claws into it first.

He couldn't tell her that he knew it was illogical, that he knew no one was currently out to hurt him, but all the self-talk and calming techniques in the world couldn't erase the panic he felt. Because his subconscious remembered the grief, the loss, even though all he could remember was the pain of being wiped, of feeling even more numb than before with no idea as to why.

Bucky wasn't allowed to have good things, but god, he wanted them. So he dug his claws in deep, and Uxolo, the angel that she was, allowed it— hell, she encouraged it— because she saw his fear, and she knew.

"It can be," She said softly. She used the hold she had on his jawline to pull him in for another sweet kiss. "You and I. No matter who is around."