Tell me about Jack Keagan

Chapter 4

Bucky didn't make a habit of knocking on other people's doors, even after making peace with everyone post-arrival. He didn't blame people for not immediately wanting to spend time with him. He made himself hard to reach on good days and could be quick to disappear on others. Steve understood this and Wanda, having been a HYDRA experiment herself, could relate to his need to be alone sometimes. The others tried, but they wouldn't really understand. How could they even begin to put themselves in his shoes and survive what he did? Jack was the person who he thought would relate to him the most, their paths being so crossed. This is how he justified it to himself, anyway, as he stood at Jack's door, waiting for her to open it.

Inside her room, Jack turned down the old iPod dock she had picked up at the second-hand store and looked over her room before walking to the door. It was a bit more personalised than before, with the speaker on the bedside table and a pink glass lamp on the other, a green upholstered velvet armchair near the window, and a on the wall hung a painting Tony was going to put in storage apparently called "The Deep" by Jackson Pollock. The bookshelf was becoming less barren too, boasting titles recommended by Tony as important, but not important enough that he himself would read them. Tony had taken a shining to Jack, and she appreciated it.

When she opened the door, she was surprised to see Bucky there, wanting to come in and talk to her. She sat down next to him on her bed, both facing the window. Out of the corner of her eye she could see his face, clearer than the nights. He could look menacing if he wanted to. He had a chiselled look to him, his sharp jawline and cheekbones made Jack see the magnetism Sergeant Barnes would have carried. Anyone else would have assumed that he just looked neutral or bored, but there was a tenseness in his mouth and whiteness of his knuckles alluded to something different. He was anxious about something. Jack didn't push him to speak, just let him sit and shift himself around before sitting next to him, giving herself space to face him with one knee on the bed. Finally, after seemingly calculating his words in his head, Bucky spoke quietly, nerves showing in his voice.

"You said you'd tell me what I did to you and I didn't wanna ask but it's driving me mad."

Jack wondered if she spoke softly to everyone, or just to her. Was there any part of him and who he was that was just for her to see, or did she not have that kind of place in his heart? She hadn't wanted to upset him, but she knew she had no right to conceal the truth from him if he asked for it. Inhaling deep, she began.

"They gave you a knife."

Before he could ask for more, Jack stood up and lifted her top enough to show a scar on the side of her abdomen just above her left hip. It was big enough for him to know it was done with a bowie knife, creating a sunken recess in her skin around the scar. Bucky reached out his hand and grazed his thumb-tip over the thin, pink line before pulling back, horrified.

"You knew how to miss my important organs, and it was a clean stab. I think you were ever so slightly awake in there to do it so accurately." She reasoned, tugging her shirt back down and taking her seat. Bucky looked at her with a slight expression of confusion.

"How could you not hate me for that?" He asked, keeping eye contact. Jack shrugged.

"It could have been worse. I was lucky to get you. None of the others would have let me go with only that damage."

"Lucky." He repeated, a one-sided smile appearing for a moment. Jack watched him for a moment, before facing the window. Outside in the afternoon sun, the grounds shone like a gold ocean, people walking in between buildings in black breaking up the uniformity of the grass and cement.

"Have you given any thought to what I proposed to Steve?" She asked, keeping her eyes on the window. Bucky nodded, his hair shifting with every movement. He could see them reflected on the glass, taking the opportunity to get a look at Jack. Bucky had no clear memory of what she had looked like when she arrived at HYDRA, but he knew that she would have been underfed, overworked and subject to plenty of traumatic violence, meaning she would have been quite lithe and breakable-looking. The woman next to him, he observed, whilst covered as always in the same tee and track pant combination she almost always wore, was more full-figured. He could see her thick thighs and wider hips, and the lean musculature forming on what parts of her arms she did show. He felt uncomfortable looking at her in such a way and trained his eyes elsewhere, embarrassed.