Saving Bucky (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

Chapter 18 - Out of Place

You have to hand it to Tony Stark - he sure knows how to build a safe house. 

You lean against the wall of the golden tile shower, letting the warm water rinse the last of the strange, pearly-blue soap from your hair and body. You wrinkle your nose at the sagey-scent. It's strong. But strong is good. It's been four days and Barnes still hasn't given you back your meds. Without them, the memory of all that sweat and blood from the fight in Gabe's office lurks too close to the surface of your mind.

But the soap helps. 

To be fair, it's not like Barnes has really had a chance to give them to you. After your little talk with Natasha, you've gone out of your way to avoid him. You aren't sure why you've felt such a strong aversion to being in the same room with him, but every time you catch a glimpse of the soldier around the ranch, a sudden panic seizes you and you flee. 

An utterly ridiculous, nonsensical reaction. And yet every time you see him your heart begins to race slightly, and your headache grows. 

Letting out a frustrated sigh, you turn off the water and quietly hum that soft melody as you wrap your body in the fluffy white robe that hangs on a hook near the shower door. Approaching the mirror, your eyes catch on the massive bruise above your heart. It has turned a deep purple, nearly black. And it's knotted in the center, spreading like spindly spider legs across your chest - a reminder of the fist that had nearly split your sternum in two.

Your fingers grace its swirls and edges. It's almost beautiful. 

Until you accidentally press too hard. 

"Shit," you hiss, pulling your hand away and wincing.

Frustrated, you abandon the bruise and march into your bedroom - a small guest room on the far end of the house as far away from the kitchen as possible. You slip on your black tank top and sweatpants, now blood-stain free thanks to the laundry machines near the garage. Checking the small clock on the bedside table you discover it's nearly midnight. Good. Barnes should be gone. He's been leaving the safe house every night at dusk, and doesn't return until dawn. Why, you aren't sure. But you don't care. It's the only time you feel comfortable enough to venture out into the kitchens - where he's set up camp - to get food. And you're stomach has been growling since late morning. 

Throwing open your bedroom door and continuing your humming, your bare feet slap against the marble floors. You already feel better knowing you're alone in the house and on your way to a meal. 

Until you round the corner, and realize that unlike that past four nights, you're not alone this time. 

The second you step into the foyer you spot Barnes through the archway in the kitchen. Shirtless in the dim light of a single lit lamp, he hovers over hundreds of papers spread out across the long kitchen island, and he rolls something small and metal across the knuckles of his right hand.

The moment you see him, you freeze. Your hum gets caught in your throat.

And he looks up. 

Ice-blue eyes meet yours for the first time since arriving at the safe house. You can't breath, and that familiar headache makes itself right at home. 

For a moment, in the stillness, you expect him to lunge. To attack. But he doesn't. He remains still as stone, and the two of you simply watch each other, frozen in the weight of each other's presence. His eyes flit over your body for a moment, and his brow twitches. But then he returns to scanning the documents before him while rolling that metal piece over his knuckles.

You consider speaking. Saying...something. Anything. But if Barnes had wanted to converse he'd have opened the conversation. So you keep your mouth shut, and ignore that voice inside you that screams at you, telling you to run back to your room.