The Archangel (Avengers Fanfic)

Chapter Eight

Bucky and I were in an awkward stage in our relationship. We avoided each other as much as possible, avoiding eye-contact. Just because we didn't hate each other and had found common ground didn't mean we liked each other. To be honest, I didn't know how to do anything else except fight with him and now that we weren't, well, it was odd, it made me a little uncomfortable being in his presence. All of this, along with the starting of an inability to sleep through a full night without having night terrors made me not so fun to be around.

After around three days of this, Steve put an end to it. He forced us into continuous therapy, figuring that it was what's-his-name's doing that we were no longer at each other's throats. No one-and-done for us this time, I thought.

Walking into the therapy room was even awkward, we both got there around the same time and had trouble deciding who would go through the door first. Eventually, Bucky—being the gentleman that he was—just had enough and walked in first, the door nearly closing before I muttered, "ass." Pretty sure he heard me because he stopped the door from closing and held it open for me. "I take it back," I said, patting his shoulder awkwardly as I passed him.

We sat on the couch, on the far cushions though not the far corners and we were not sitting the same way like we were before, even the shrink noticed this. "Okay, something happened after the session, you guys aren't in sync anymore and it's almost more creepy than when you were."

"You could say that." Bucky sighed.

"So, what happened?"

"We had a heart-to-heart." I supplied, neither of us willing to divulge what was said. Each other were the only people we had trusted to tell and we weren't willing to break what little trust we had already built.

"But, you're not in sync?" Dylan or whatever-his-name-is asked. Bucky grumbled and I rolled my eyes, both of us irritated but not showing it in the same way.

"What do you think?" I asked bitingly, considering walking out right here, right now.

Daren leaned back and considered the two of us, "how much time have you been spending together lately?"

"We haven't." Bucky answered this time.

"Then, there's the problem. You two clearly won't open up to me or maybe anyone else, except each other—for whatever reason—so I'm giving you an assignment. You'll meet up once a day for an hour, however you want to spend that time together is your business."

"That's it?" I asked, slightly puzzled.

"That's it." Derrell confirmed. Simultaneously, Bucky and I glanced at each other and back again, repositioning ourselves into a nearly identical posture. "Never mind, it's still creepy," he muttered to himself. I cracked a smile, knowing Bucky held a similar expression. "That makes it so much worse." He averted his eyes and hurried from the room like he was dealing with a pair of psychos, which he very well was.

We both sat in silence for a moment, looking at the now empty chair in thought. "Could it really be that easy?" I asked.

Bucky commented, "An hour a day keeps the doc away, best not to question it. Speaking of which, our time isn't up yet."

"Good, I'm hungry, you can help me make tacos."

"Tacos, really? I took you as more of a chicken person."

I sighed in delight at the thought, "Ooh, chicken, that sounds good too," light bulb, "you know what, chicken quesadillas, that's what we're making, come on." I offered my hand as I stood up. He hesitated a moment before accepting it and allowing me to pull him to his feet.

I practically dragged him through the facility and back to the kitchen, not releasing his hand until I got to the fridge so I could pull out the ingredients. "I'm not so great with meat, so that can be your job," I said, taking out a package of chicken and pressing it into his hand, "and I'll take care of the rest."

I took out the rest of the ingredients, putting two tortillas on the stove with a dusting of shredded cheese on top, chopping up some onions, green peppers, and tomatoes while waiting for them to get golden brown. The meat finished quickly and Bucky added a good portion to each tortilla. "What do you want on yours?" I asked as I added a sprinkle of all three of the chopped vegetables to my tortilla and another of cheese on top of that.

"I don't know, same as you I guess," he said, gesturing to what I had done to mine. I did the same to his, added a tortilla shell on top and flipped them to the other side to brown the second tortilla. "Smell's good," Bucky commented as he leaned down to take a whiff. While we waited, I grabbed some tortilla chips and a few different types of dip.

Bucky cut the quesadillas into six triangles, like a pizza, while I grabbed us both a beer, my thumbs briefly turning to metal so I could pop the tops off without difficulty. I slid the beer across the counter to Bucky as he slid me my quesadilla, the chips and dip between us. I had recently found a fondness for spinach dip and queso sauce and I used both as I bit into my quesadilla, eliciting a quiet groan of delight. Bucky glanced up at the sound before taking a bite of his own.

"This is really good," Bucky commented after his first bite, "like really good."

"So it was a good idea?" I asked, my lips turning up around my beer.

He smiled and rolled his eyes, giving me a small nod, "Yes, quesadillas were a good idea. Dip's good too." He said, gesturing to the spinach dip and chips. "Overall, lunch was a great idea. Our time ended half an hour ago."

"I noticed that too, but I'm not in any hurry to get away." I wiped at my top lip and licked off the bit of queso that I had somehow managed to get there. "It does bring up the question what we should do tomorrow, though, and the day after."

Bucky took a drink from his beer, "I suppose we need to get to know one another."

I let a sly smile take over my lips, "s'pose so."