Red

Part 21

Mallery

Bucky sits on the edge of my bed, hands clasped, looking down at his feet. He hasn't said anything in the five minutes he's been sitting there as I've fluttered around the room, trying to occupy my hands.

When I can't stand it anymore, I move to stand directly in front of him, lifting his chin up so he can look at me. "What's the matter?"

He sighs, leaning into my touch. "I want to ask you something, but ... it's a delicate topic, and I'm not really sure what we're doing here."

I nudge him gently so he scoots over and climb onto the bed next to him. "You're gonna show me your arm. I'm not sure what's going to happen after that." I reach for his hand, lacing my fingers with his metal ones. "I do recall asking you not to use the kid gloves with me."

"And I remember asking for them." He huffs, looking up to the ceiling. "I'll show you. Of course, I will, but I still want to ask you something." I wait patiently for him to speak, but instead, he strips off his shirt.

Reaching over with his right hand, he grabs mine to guide me to his arm. "There's a secret release just here." He pushes our fingers together, and his arm pops off and falls into my lap. It's surprisingly light. He told me it was, but I still expected some substantial heft to it. I look up to his natural arm and gasp softly.

His scars are wide, jagged, red lines that stretch to the front of his shoulder and back across the blade. I reach out a trembling hand to lightly trace my fingers over the angry reminders left raised on his skin. Bucky lets out a shaky breath as my fingers ghost along his skin.

"Does it feel better having it off?" I ask as he takes his arm back and locks it into place.

"Sometimes." He looks over at me. "Like I said, sometimes, I sleep with it off, but mostly, it's just a part of me."

Picking at the hem of my shorts, I clear my throat. "What did you want to ask me?"

"It can wait for another time. Why don't we order some dinner?" He moves to stand but, without his shirt, I know exactly where that release is, and I hit it before he can leave my bed. "Mal!"

"Sit down. Ask me the question." My voice is firm. We're on a precipice here, and I'm almost positive I know what he wants to ask me.

He locks his arm into the socket again and glares at me a little. "It isn't important now."

"It was important five minutes ago." I poke him in the arm, and he sighs.

"Did John ... uh, did he ever ... did he force you to ... Fuck, Red." He slaps his thighs before standing to pace in my room. "I can't ask you, even if I'm dying to know. It's not morbid curiosity; I want to know how gentle I have to be with you. I swear, if you say yes, I'll get into Rikers one way or another, and when I get my hands on him—"

"Never," I state firmly and maybe too loudly. He whips around to look at me. "John's thrill was getting his way by fear and intimidation. He would do his thing, and then he couldn't always ... perform. I was with him for over two years, and I think we maybe slept together a dozen times."

"So, he never ..." He leaves the questions hanging in the air, and I shake my head. "He tried once, early on. I fought back then. He didn't try after that."

Bucky lets out a huge breath and sighs. "You said 'show me everything', and I panicked a little."

I stand carefully and cross the room to him. "This is me asking, Bucky. This is me telling you I'm ready." His arms move instinctively around my waist, and he leans down to press his forehead to mine.