LET MY GUARD DOWN (BUCKY BARNES)

2. THE OFFER

You never called Bucky back. You had nothing that you wanted to say to him. He'd been a fucking bitch to you, and that kind of behavior did not warrant a response. He'd hurt you. And you didn't want to talk to him ever again. So you quietly deleted the voicemail. Deleted his contact information. Deleted any messages that you had kept around for when you wanted to sit around and feel sorry for yourself. You didn't want anything to do with him ever again. You didn't want him anywhere near your life. He hurt you, and he needed to live with the consequences of his actions.

You went on with your life. You continued your teaching career. You tried to bury him from your life. But it was hard. It was so fucking hard. So many things reminded you of him. You had kept most of your belongings when you moved across the country, selling only the things that were too bulky, too heavy, to move with you. And you couldn't look at anything without the memory of Bucky Barnes seeping into your mind.

When you laid in your bed, you could still smell him on your sheets from the nights when storms would rage outside and bring the storm inside Bucky to the forefront. When you would cradle him against your chest, run your fingers through his hair. Trying to shush him, bring him some semblance of comfort in his time of need. And, when he finally calmed enough to fall back asleep, you would hold him even tighter. A quiet reminder that you were there for him. That you wouldn't leave him. That you were with him for the long haul.

And when you made yourself dinner, you couldn't stop yourself from thinking of all the times the two of you would be cooking in your kitchen back in D.C., when you would try to keep the air light and comfy to stop him from slipping back into his dark space. You'd turn on some music, usually cheesy Taylor Swift songs, and pretend a spatula or whisk or whatever utensil you had nearby was a microphone to sing into. And he would laugh, then pick up a utensil of his own and sing into it, totally fucking up the lyrics just to make you laugh. Then, other times, he would turn on 40's music and spin you around the kitchen while your food cooked. When he would hold you close, like he was scared of letting you go.

And when you curled up on your couch, your favorite throw blanket pulled up under your chin, you thought about the movie nights you would have at his apartment. Where you'd share a bowl of popcorn. When you would playfully slap his hand when you reached for a handful of popcorn at the same time. And he would laugh, throw a piece at your nose and you'd pretend to be offended. And you'd throw a piece back, which he would then catch perfectly in his mouth. When you spent more time trying to get on the other's nerves than actually watching the movie. Just enjoying each other's presence, holding onto those moments out of fear that they would slip away faster than they came along.

It was hard to forget those moments. They meant so much to you at the time. And they still meant so much to you. As much as you wanted to say that Bucky meant nothing to you now, there was still a part of you that knew that he meant everything to you. Well, perhaps not everything. He still had hurt you. And people who hurt you did not mean everything to you. But, he meant something. Even if it was a relatively small something, it was still more than nothing.

But you tried to focus on your work. Put your energy in making lectures, grading papers, being a mentor to your students. But you found it hard. You'd fallen into teaching out of a desperation to get away from your life in D.C., and you'd never really considered if it was something that you enjoyed. And, a year into this job, you learned that, while you weren't horrible at it, it was not something that brought you fulfillment. Your students liked your classes, your colleagues were accepting of you amongst them. But it didn't spark joy, if you could borrow the phrase from Marie Kondo.

So, earlier, at the start of your second semester at the university, you began applying for jobs elsewhere. And, in your search for something that would make you happy, you saw an opening at the Smithsonian. They were looking for archivists and you had remembered once thinking that that was the dream job. That if there was anything you had to do for the rest of your working life, that working at the Smithsonian, or any museum really, would be a good thing to do. It wouldn't make you hate your life. It wouldn't leave you dissatisfied.

You submitted your application, not thinking much would come of it.

And then you got an interview.

And then you got a follow-up interview.

And then you were offered a job.

And then you weren't sure what you wanted to do.

It was your dream job, most definitely. But it would force you to move back to Washington, D.C. And that wasn't something you'd considered before, when the idea of working there was still some far off dream. But now that dream was tangible, and you had to come to terms with the fact that you'd be moving back to city Bucky lived in should you accept the offer.

Should you accept the offer?

Would it be such a bad thing if you turned the offer down?

It was your dream job, yes, but you weren't sure if you could stand the chance of living in the same city as Bucky again. What if you ran into him? What if he found out you were back and tried to talk to you? What if you broke down? What if you forgave him easily? What if he only enraged you, and ruined the whole experience?

You weren't sure that your heart could take it.

But it was your dream job. It was something you'd dream about for years. People often talked about not turning down jobs because of a guy, because you wanted to move away with your dream man, because you were certain he could provide for you. But what do you do when you feel compelled to turn down an offer due to heartbreak? Because something a guy had done made you scared to deal with the emotional impact accepting that job could bring? Should you still ignore the guy, risk hurting yourself? Or do you build your walls up? Protect your heart?

But, then you remembered that putting walls up was what got you into this mess. What broke your heart in the first place. What inadvertently sent you packing across the entire fucking country. And you knew that you could not let the man who broke your heart control your actions any further.

Bucky Barnes would not control your life.

You were taking your life into your hands, and you were going to do what made you happy. You would not allow him to hurt you anymore.

You accepted the job offer, and you didn't look back.