Captain America and Bucky Barnes Imagines

13. STEVE: In the Shower

Words: 2.5K

Warnings: nudity duh

Your aching body propels you into the compound and pushes you past all of your strangely quiet friends. None of them say a word as you hurriedly go on your way; desperate to get away from the smell of blood and leather. Your heart hammers loudly like it did just a few hours ago back on that battlefield. What had started as another normal mission ended with a dead child cradled in your arms that you'd pulled from the wreckage of a flipped car. You'd tried to save them—you tried to pull the blue minivan out of the way with your powers, but it'd been too late. It'd been crushed beneath the cement awning of a building before you could stop it.

The team knows what's given you that hollow look in the eyes. Clint was the first to find you knelt on the asphalt after the battle was done. Steve, on the other hand, was the only one who was able to pull you up from the carnage. He'd hooked those big warm arms around you to pull you to your feet—the sound of siren's and a devastated mother's screams being all you could hear in your blood-clogged ears.

As fast as you can you run away to your room on the seventh floor. Wanda's already outside of her apartment—the one across from yours—when you fumble to open the lock. She's got a look on her face that tells you she's feeling something deep and dark inside of you and it's worrying her.

"Y/N..."

"Not now, Wand." You don't bother saying anything more before closing her out into the hall. You slam the door and then march straight for your bathroom; you nearly feel dead yourself when you manage to lock the washroom door and lean against the wall. That's when the tears willingly start to fall after being held hostage for so very long. You didn't want anyone on the team to see you cry. They already see you as the baby; they don't need any more reason to coddle you.

Your fingertips burn like fire while you strip yourself of the blood-drenched uniform. The soggy black spandex puddles on the floor near your feet while you sniffle and shiver. At the back of your mind all you can think about is the dead weight of that small little boy that nestled into your lap... his eyes blown wide and skull cracked open down the middle. There'd been no saving him or his big sister in the backseat.

The water from the shower comes out freezing cold. The painful shivers that wreck your body help to numb the internal pain. You quickly cover yourself with thin dew before slumping down onto the floor of the stall where you can draw your knees to your chest in a huddle. The water lightly splashes you from down here; caked blood rushes off of your legs and feet from where you've been hit by debris.

You're in there for an hour before something rattles the door. It sounds like a knock, but you're not entirely sure. There's a muffled voice on the other side.

You sigh. "FRIDAY, who's that?"

The computer responds with, "Captain Rogers, Agent Y/N."

You run your hands down your cold, numb face. The water is still frigid as ice. "What does he want?"

"He's showing concern for your wellbeing, Miss. He appears to be upset."

You close your eyes to the persistent noise of Steve Rogers knocking on the locked bathroom door. You can just barely make out the sound of his gentle voice on the other side... "Y/N? Are you okay?"

"Should I send him away, Miss?" Friday obediently asks.

You shake your head—bits of water splashing around. "No, it's alright." You pause before saying, "Let him in."

The loud click of the door's lock coming open startles both you and Steve. He stands back staring at the thing before ultimately turning the knob. He lingers in the doorway, swallowing stiffly before gently stepping in. "Y/N?"