Certainty (A Bucky Barnes Fanfic)

━◦○◦Shot: You Can't Name Him Snowy◦○◦━

episode one-shot - First Christmas Together

Feeling awkward was something Bucky still wasn't used to. In the forties, he had been introverted, quiet but known as a "charmer" nonetheless. He had learned how to make the most of what others said and respond more with his expressions or laughter than actual words. But when captured, all the skills he relied on to make up for his quiet nature were stifled. He had rarely spoken in those seventy years, masked, an animal without need for connection.

So he hated stumbling through conversations and groups of people, hated it more now that he was settled. Thankfully, the people of Delacroix were talkative enough that he could get by. His wife, neighbors, and therapist also helped, but it was . . . disorienting.

Bucky leaned back against the couch and shut his mouth. It took more effort than he liked to hold back a sigh. Shamara looked over her shoulder at him, smiling so softly, his chest tightened. She wore her typical gym trainer clothes--loose tee-shirt over leggings. And she was late to work, thanks to him. He fought to maintain eye contact.

The previous night had put his awkwardness on painful display. He and Shamara had gone to her work Christmas party, mostly staying outside so Shamara wouldn't have to suffer the noise. But her coworkers had been uncommonly talkative. They talked more the more eggnog they had. Shamara rambled, and Bucky managed to keep smiling. Yet when asked simple questions, he had only a word of response. Though Shay and her coworkers continued without noticing, he'd been left with a familiar sinking in his chest.

"You talk with me," Shamara turned back to the mirror on their mantel, twisting her hair up. "And Sam and Sarah and the boys and the Wakandans and Flor . . . "

"I should receive a gold star in social capabilities," Bucky gave her a look.

She shrugged, unfazed by his sarcasm, "I wouldn't go that far."

He shook his head, his gaze falling to his hands. Resting on his bouncing knees. They were in their winter-decorated living room, the Christmas tree glowing in the corner. Paper snowflakes made by the Wilson boys covered every window space. Shamara had gone a little crazy when the Christmas decorations first filled the stores. Tapestries, ornaments, signs, banners, and every other possible Christmas branded thing scattered through their house. He loved this woman.

A slight rattle made his legs still as Shamara set down her comb. Her footsteps drew across the room, but he still couldn't look up.

"Ya amar," her fingers slipped under his jaw, but she didn't try to lift his head.

She didn't have to try. She continued tracing Bucky's bearded jawline, moving both hands to his face. Bucky leaned closer and shut his eyes with a harsh inhale.

"Why does this burden you so?" Her question was soft, without judgment.

"I can't let go of all I used to be, Shay. I'm sorry," he wasn't really sure why he added the apology.

Maybe because Flor's warned about his tendency to get drawn into two ditches of coping mechanisms--two things most comfortable. He either withdrew and shielded like he had in captivity or powered through like he was still the boy from Brooklyn.

"Bucky, most beloved," Shamara pulled his head against her. "No more shame."

"Easier said than done," he slipped his arms around her.

"And that's why we're in therapy, babe."

Bucky managed a chuckle, then groaned, "I just . . . there's just this massive, massive gap between the Bucky Barnes of Brooklyn and the one of today. And that gap is so . . . disjointed that it feels like a nightmare now."