Necessary Good, Unnecessary Evil | No rest For Wounded Souls [Bucky Barnes]

The Right Way

"Life is about choices. Some we regret, some we're proud of. We are what we chose to be."
-Graham Brown

****

Nova's POV

My phone ringing wakes me up, interrupting my sleep.
I should really answer that, but I can't bring myself to move a muscle.
The three rounds last night really knocked me off, my body still sore for all the activity.
We should have taken it easy after our nine hours flight, but who am I kidding?
Bucky and I can't keep our hands to ourselves, and sometimes I feel like a teenager with her first boyfriend.
Bucky hums, moving behind me. "Your phone," he mutters, his arm still resting on my waist.
"I know," I groan, keeping my eyes closed and my face buried in the pillow.
Bucky pulls me closer, and I feel his stubble tickling my skin as he rests his face against my back. "Are you going to answer it?" He asks, leaving a few kisses on my shoulder.
"I can't move. I'm too tired." I mutter, feeling him moving behind me and standing up, bending over me to look at my phone.
"It's Tony." He says.

I turn over, pulling the covers over my shoulder. "I'll call him back later."
"You sure?" Bucky wonders, laying back down again.
I open my eyes, seeing his profile as he stares at the ceiling.
His sharp jaw is covered with a bit of beard, and his pink lips are relaxed.
He looks so good in this light, so calm, that it's relaxing just to watch him breathe.
"Yeah. I'd worry if it was Nat, but Tony is no harm." I scoff, bringing my hand to his cheek.
I need to touch him to make sure he's real. No matter how close we were just a few moments ago.
"God, never send that woman to voicemail." Bucky chuckles, looking at me.
I nod my head. "Exactly."

His eyes move across my face, calmly studying me.
He's not my first time since this happened with Steve. But Bucky's the first one with whom I actually share a relationship.
I don't even remember my first time, and I don't want to. Maybe it's one of the few things I don't mind Hydra erasing from my memory.
He's my first real relationship.
God, I'm in a relationship?
"I'd pay good money to know what's going on in that head of yours." Bucky breathes, leaving a kiss on my nose.

I press my lips together, hesitating. I'm not sure I want to start that discussion, but I know I'm going to overthink it and end up feeling insecure. "How many relationships did you have?" I ask, anxiety anticipating his answer.
Bucky frowns, taken aback. "Huh?"
I sigh, looking out the window behind him. "Like, how many girls did you date for more than one night? Like an actual relationship?" I hint, seeing him shifting onto his side, propping his head on his closed fist.
"You want to know how many girls I dated?" He falters.
I shrug, shifting my gaze to him, "Boys too if there are any,"
Bucky licks his lips, breathing deeply through his nose. "Man... Why do you want to know?" He asks, perplexed.

My lips move, but words fail to to appear.
Insecurities start to make me regret this conversation. Why would I want to know that? 
"I'm curious," I say, "you had a whole other life before we met."
Bucky sighs, nodding his head. "I don't know. It was a long time ago. I haven't dated since the forties." 
I keep staring at him trying to do quick math in his head. "Two, maybe."
"Just two?" I ask, surprised,
"You asked for girls I had seen more than once." He chuckles, scratching his cheek.
I hum, trying to decide if I should ask more about that.
Hell, why not? We are already here. "What about girls you only saw once?"
Bucky groans, probably uncomfortable. Maybe I should just drop the topic and let it go. "I don't know. I didn't really keep count."
My eyes widen a little, but I force myself not to show anything.
I have no reason to be jealous, but then why do I feel like throwing up?
I could become one of those girls whose name he doesn't even remember.

"Why are you upset?" Bucky mutters, stopping me from spiraling into nonsense.
"I'm not. It's not like I didn't know you were pretty active back then." I say, dragging myself and bringing up the sheets up my chest.
"You make me sound like a whore." He scoffs, sitting up.
His back lies flat against the bed headboard, his puffed chest rising and falling rhythmically.
I frown, trying to understand if he's being serious. "What? No, no. Bucky, I'm not saying that. I was just thinking about it 'cause all of this is so new to me. I don't know how this works. I have no experience." I splutter.
He tilts his head, staring at me. "You seem to have everything figured out, always doing the right thing, saying the right thing," I mumble, looking at my hands, suddenly feeling embarrassed. I do act like a damn teenager.