James Bucky Barnes, the former soldier, doesn't think he's got any gentleness left in him. But Grace Juniper Cunningham, the former child prodigy, strongly disagrees.
;
"𝘐 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘐 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯."
"𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴�...
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"Have you...heard from Bucky?"
"No," Steve said for the sixth day in a row as I hurried behind him, struggling to keep up as he walked down the hallway.
"He's been gone for like a week, and you don't know where he is or if he's okay?"
"Yes."
"Doesn't that...concern you?"
"Yeah. I hate it when he does this. But it's not unusual for him."
I groaned in frustration, but slowed to turn around. "Just let me know if you hear anything."
"No, Grace. Wait."
We both stopped mid-hallway.
"Um. Yes?"
"Just call him," Steve said. "I know I told you not to talk to him. But if you're this worried, just call him."
"I thought he wasn't answering his phone?"
"He will if it's you."
My stomach was in knots. I turned the corner into an empty conference room and shut the door behind me. I opened Bucky's contact in my phone and stared at his name.
I tapped "call."
It went straight to voicemail. It didn't even ring. I panicked.
"Hi," I said. "Um, I'm just calling to make sure you're okay. Please let me know. Or talk to Steve, if you don't want to talk to me. Or just, I don't know, text me anything. I'm really worried. Please."
Then I panicked again. Wasn't there an option to not send a voicemail? I pressed 1 to see—and I was right. There was. I deleted the voicemail so it wouldn't send to him and hung up.
So his phone was either turned off or dead. Steve hadn't mentioned that—he'd thought Bucky would see my call. It must've just gone off today, then. I felt sick.
I checked my phone all morning in the lab. I kept it next to me, waiting for him to call me back or anything. A couple of hours passed. I texted Steve: ????
He replied: I'll tell you as soon as I hear anything.
"You okay, kiddo?" Tony called over. Before I could answer, he seemed to read my mind, and added, "Don't worry. He's annoyingly durable. Trust me, I've tried to kill him. He takes hits like he's all vibranium."
"He's not, though," I muttered.
I couldn't focus anymore, even as I tried to get back to work. All I was able to think about was if Bucky was okay. Where he was, if he was in danger, if he was hurt.
I couldn't stop thinking about the notebook, either. I'd been carrying it everywhere. I'd read it over and over. I probably would've had it all accidentally memorized by now even if memorization didn't come easily to me.
