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.
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"𝘐 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘐 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯."
"𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴�...
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"You're o—" I started to say 'okay,' ready to sigh in relief, but I cut myself off when I swung the door open and saw him, bruised and covered in blood that I couldn't even find an origin for.
"Why'd you call me?" he asked immediately, not addressing the concern that must've been on my face.
"Are you bleeding?"
"Grace. Why did you call me?"
"Why is there blood on you?" I pressed.
He sighed and glanced around the hallway. "Can I come in? Or can you keep your voice down? I actually broke in through a window downstairs, so—"
"You broke in?"
"I didn't damage anything. No one can tell. Why'd you call me?"
"I—come in," I said defeatedly.
I stepped aside and let him pass me. When I looked back at him after closing the door, his eyes were trained on the notebook, which was laying open on the couch, but he tore away to look at me again. "You called me. Twice," he said.
"Um, three times, actually."
He pulled his phone out of his pocket just enough to look. "Okay, yeah. Three times. Why?"
"Let me look at you," I said. "I can't talk to you without knowing if you're hurt."
His eyebrows scrunched as he realized something, studying my face urgently. "You're worried. You were worried."
"Can I look?" I pleaded.
He nodded stiffly and sat the bag he was carrying—the one I knew he took with him on missions, which meant he must have come straight here—onto the floor. He shrugged off his jacket and tossed it on top of the bag, and my face felt hot suddenly.
"Show me?" I asked.
He just nodded again and lifted his shirt up so I could inspect a wound on his side. My heart sank. "What's that from?"
"A bullet."
"You were shot?"
"Grazed."
"I don't know how to—you need a hospital," I said.
"Nah." He pulled his shirt back down.
"Yes you do! You were shot. I don't know what to do. What the hell am I supposed to do?"
"It's fine, baby. That's why you called? Have you been like this the whole time?"
"There's blood on your face," I said. "Is it yours?"
"Hm? I don't know. It's fine," he said. He ran a hand over his cheek ineffectively.
"I'll be right back," I told him.
"I didn't mean to worry you, doll. I didn't know you were gonna get like this," he called as I went into the bathroom.
I came back out with a washcloth. "I don't know what to do. I don't have a bandage or anything."
