3: trigger happy

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      "Figuring it out" was easier said than done. For both of us. Bucky had no idea how exactly to go about being my hero as he intended. Through his recovery, he wasn't paying attention to what I was doing, and hadn't a clue as to how to help me. He knew certain topics could make me anxious or angry enough to set me off, so he fumbled over his words so often he began to stutter out of habit. It didn't go well when I started asking questions. He mumbled and tripped over his words frequently. He began to just stop talking; didn't say a thing unless it was small talk. He didn't know what else to do. I couldn't blame him.

I attempted to put on a tough face for the first two days. I tried to mentally work through events and the conversations I heard and the people I saw and I drew nothing. I couldn't get past so many mental barriers. I could only think so far before I could feel my heart rate pick up and I had to focus on calming down for countless minutes. So I sat in bed with a blank expression and focused on meaningless things. My gaze drew patterns into the wall, my chilled feet curled until they cramped, my arms remained crossed under my head even though they went numb.

We didn't know what to do. I didn't know what was going on in full because I could only think so far without getting worked up. He couldn't say anything without feeling like I would react like neither of us wanted me to. I silently lived in a grubby, one level house and tried not to question it.

Yes, I knew why we were there. I knew how we got there. I wanted to know how Bucky had been living like this, me in tow, for seven months. He had looked skinnier but, especially on a super soldier metabolism, he had to have eaten. He didn't own the clothes he had been wearing, and I didn't own the clothes he had given me.

I was hesitant to ask anything, though. Bucky hadn't slept, hadn't spoken, and looked generally vacant since one morning after a particularly messy fit of mine. I didn't know exactly what to say. Apparently, neither of us did.

While he was asleep three days later, and I was wide awake and feeling strongly dejected. I had gotten up to look in the three doors I had yet to ask about or figure out just to keep my mind away from the important things. The first one was a kitchen and laundry room. A small, rectangular room with machines packed into it tightly. There was one small counter in the back with cans and boxes of food stacked tightly there. As I picked them up to examine, I wondered how he had acquired them. The house was definitely too old and too long forgotten for them to have been previously there. I concluded he must have bartered or stolen them. I still didn't blame him.

The second door was a small but weirdly clean bathroom. The shower held the products I had kept in my bathroom on the carrier - the products Bucky had used when he stayed with me. There were two towels folded on the sink and one slung over the shower rod. I began to wonder how lonely seven months in silence was.

I walked out and shut the door behind me, about to open the double-doors closest to the fall, when Bucky's sleepy voice alerted me.

"It's way past one in the morning." He muttered, his eyes were closed but he was facing me.

I shrugged, shaking my head. "I've had enough time to sleep."

He opened his eyes slightly. "Sleep doesn't add up. Why are you awake?"

I looked at him, then slightly below his face on the pillow. My back pressed against the wall, hands clasped behind me. As dull as my emotions had been the past few days, I was feeling purely defeated when I couldn't think of an answer. Fighting back frustrated tears, I looked at the floor and pursed my lips.

He groggily sat up, pulling his feet under him to keep them from freezing. He didn't say anything for a moment while I breathed heavily, trying not to lose control and start sobbing.

"Tell me," He started, voice low but pointed. "how does ignoring the problem make you feel?"

I laughed halfheartedly and glanced at him fleetingly. "What are you, some kind of shrink?"

"You're not convincing me of anything, darling."

The room was dark, the only light coming from the moon through the window. I thought he wouldn't be able to catch my pinched eyes and clenched fists.

What I was feigning fell away. I slid down the wall and covered my face with my hands, breathing out slowly as I tried not to sob. I felt horrible. Decidedly despondent.

"Right now," I looked up at him. "I don't know what else to do."

"Honestly, neither do I." He responded. "But that doesn't mean we give up. I wish I could tell you it's going to be okay, and I wish I could hold you and protect you from them - whoever they are, and I wish I could go back in time and stop myself from ever getting you involved in this shit." His voice had raised slightly as he grew upset. "But I can't! And I'd give my life to see you happy and away from harm but I can't! We're stuck this way now! And I'm going to stumble my way through it until I can safely say I'm not fearing for my life anymore but until then I have someone else to take care of and I'm doing all I can to make things as great as I can for you like you did for me but you need to give me something to work with, sweetheart. I will fight with everything I have but I need you to do the same. I need you to stop avoiding this and acting like what's going on right now is no big deal. I need you to let me help you. I said it once and I'll say it a million times over: We'll get through this. But I can't do it without you."

As his words sunk in, I closed my eyes and sighed. If I kept up this lying front and refused to confront the hell in front of me, we'd never make progress. We couldn't even think of going home until I got myself under control. Bucky had his own monsters to deal with, and if I refused to help myself I would never be able to help him. I was harming us both.

I stood up and crawled into bed beside him, pulling the thin covers over my cold body. Bucky breathed a sigh of relief and laid down on his side, looking over my face and smiling tiredly.

I grabbed his flesh hand and held it in both of mine. "Promise me."

He linked his pinky with my right one. "I promise."


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