Bluebell

Chapter 2

Zaya had closed up shop by the time you got back, so you headed straight upstairs. It was going to be a long night of watching movies and waiting up for Bucky.

After changing into comfortable leggings and a tank top, you settled into bed with some popcorn and the remote. It was around 11 when you dozed off.

A breeze gusted over your face, and you woke silently. Peeping your eyes open over the covers, you spotted the shadow of a man hovering over your bed.

In less than a minute, he was on the floor and you were holding a knife to his throat.

"Y/n! Y/n, stop! It's me!" He groans, causing you to pull back, recognizing his voice.

"Bucky! Jeez, you scared me. Where have you been?" you ask, rushing off of him and helping him to his feet. You both sit down on the bed.

"I was ambushed. They knew I was coming." You wait for him to continue. "There were 15 of them, all well-trained agents. I fought off most of them, but one of the last ones came up behind me," he rotated his metal arm, straightening and re-aligning it.

"Are you hurt? Don't lie to me," you squinted in the dark, trying to glimpse any blood. He shied away, and you stood, pulling him to his feet. "Come on."

He follows you to the living room, where the dim fire in the fireplace casts just enough light. His eyes wander, analyzing the space. A vase of bluebells sits in the center of your small dining table. A plush couch and a rocking chair make for all the seating in the cozy room.

His hair hangs limp around his face, and his eyes have shadows under them. His black shirt is torn halfway open and he grunts when he moves, hiding a limp. You gently push him to sit on the rug and get the first-aid kit from above the fireplace.

"Take that off."

"What?" he asks, surprised. You sit down and open the plastic box in your lap.

"You heard me, take it off. All of it. Leave your boxers on, if you want." He slowly peels the shred of his shirt off, and painfully drags his grey pants down his hips. Biting your tongue, you try to focus on the various cuts and scratches instead of letting your eyes roam.

You untie his boot laces and remove his socks, placing them by the couch. Buck inhales sharply.

"Sorry, your fingers are cold." You grin and hold your cold hand against his leg. He swats at you, and you grin wider.

"I've missed having fun with you and the rest of the guys."

"Oh, so patching up your best bud is fun to you, huh?"

"You brought Tony with you? Where is he?" you look around, joking.

"Very funny, haha," he laughs sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

You get back to work. A large gash on the back of his calf looks the worst, so you begin with that. Bucky grimaces as you pour cold water over his leg to clean it.

"You won't need stitches for this one, but it's going to be pretty nasty," you tell him, handing him a blanket to grip, "and don't wake the neighbors, please."

You apply some antiseptic, wrap his leg tightly with a white bandage, and call it done.

"You're so beautiful when you're concentrating, you know that?" Bucky murmurs, and you glance up sharply.

"What? Have you seen my concentrating face? It's all..." you scrunch up your face, and he laughs.

"No, really, I'm serious. It's cute," his laugh fades, and he tilts his head to the side, studying you. Blush burns your face.

"Shut up, taking care of you requires my full attention, you trouble maker," you warn sternly.

Picking up his right hand, you examine him again. His left is relatively fine, seeing as it's made of vibranium, and his right has a few scratches and bruises, but they'll heal on their own. His chest, on the other hand, sports a shallow cut from his left shoulder a few inches down.

"Oh, mon chéri," you croon, glancing up worriedly. He shrugs but winces at the movement.

"I'm a supersoldier, doll, I'll be fine. Give it a day or two," he waves you off and moves to kneel.

"Hey, did I say I was done? Turn around, show me your back."

"No, it's fine-"

"No, it is definitely not fine. Turn around, Barnes, or so help me God..." he obeys and turns around, hands surrendered in the air.

"I like your place. The flowers are a nice touch," he comments, distracting himself.

"They're bluebells. They symbolize gratitude and unwavering devotion. Bluebells are my favorite flower," you reply scanning his back, shoving more inappropriate thoughts away.

A small cut to the right of his neck catches your eye. After cleaning, you smooth a bandaid over it.

"I'll be sure to remember that." Bucky turns, holding his face inches from yours, and you inhale sharply, taking his scent with you. Pine trees, a little blood, and smoke. You close your eyes and exhale shakily.

"James..."

"Hmm?" he answers, his voice washes over you like warm water.

"Kiss me."