Back To Brookes // back to barnes bk2

18: left hand free

     I ran back to the apartment as fast as I could. I may have sprinted at an inhuman speed, but Amygdala only did so much to keep me upright as I practically lunged up the stairs to our floor. Bucky was home. If Bucky was home, that meant good things happened. Bucky was home from Germany. Something good happened. Bucky was home.

I rounded the corner toward the hall, skidding to a halt when I saw the two men in front of me. Bucky looked back at me with a sad, sort of fake smile. Steve looked at me with pursed lips. Except he didn't look at me, he looked kind of beside me - he didn't want to make eye contact. I just kept looking at Bucky. There was complete silence in that dimly-lit hallway. I breathed in deeply, sort of rocking back on my heels. I had cried so much over the past month. If I hadn't, the few tears in my waterline would have spilled over.

"Where's your arm, Buck?" I whispered hoarsely.

His left arm was gone. His metal arm was just ... gone. That shit didn't just pop off. His arm was destroyed. All that remained was a bandaged shoulder.

He opened his mouth to talk, but nothing came out. After staring at him for a few more seconds, I stumbled over to the door and unlocked it, opening the door for the battered men. They dropped their go-bags. Steve didn't have his shield. My mouth hung slightly slack. What the hell.

It was pitch black outside. Our tiny kitchen was barely lit by the light under the microwave. Bucky leaned against the table, his hand - his flesh hand, the only hand he had - gripped the table. Steve backed up against the oven, dispersing the aforementioned light. It got darker. It stayed quiet. All that could be heard was my heavy, paced breathing. Both men avoided my gaze.

I wanted Bucky home so badly. I ached for him. I missed his belly laugh and his hugs; I missed the way he held me as we fell asleep, and how he nuzzled his nose in my neck to make me laugh. I missed talking to him about nothing. I missed talking to him about everything. I missed my husband. I wanted him home so badly. But at that moment, I felt shame in wishing he was still gone.

I went to Bucky. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and buried my face in his hair. I let out one sob. Bucky hugged me back with his one arm. He exhaled deeply, like his bones were breaking under the weight of that held breath. I ran my right hand down his bandaged shoulder; he instinctually flexed under the touch.

Funny, isn't it? He always hated his metal arm.

"What happened?" I asked quietly, afraid of the answer.

"Stuff with the Accords got worse," Steve answered. His voice was level and calm, compensating for the rest of the energy in the room. "It got personal between Tony and me."

"It was my fault." Bucky chimed in. His fist unraveled, he pressed the pads of his fingers into my ribs, pulling me closer. I kept my eyes shut, just holding him.

"It wasn't your fault, Buck. You had no choice." Steve responded weakly.

I pulled away from Bucky just enough to see Steve to my left. "What do you mean?"

They looked at each other as if words couldn't communicate the complexities of what they saw.

"Well, we went to Germany. There was a huge battle. Bucky and I escaped but ... we left a lot of men behind." Steve nodded faintly. "Do you remember how you found out that Hydra was experimenting? Not just with the zombie drug but with more super soldiers like Bucky?" He questioned, finally meeting my eyes. I nodded. "When we escaped the battle in Leipzig, we went to where they were storing the remaining experiments in Siberia, but Tony was there too. So was the man that pretended to be Bucky, the guy who blew up the conference in Vienna. His name is Zemo. He killed all the other experiments."