Saving Bucky (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

Chapter 59 - Training Wheels

The bullet around your neck has become a problem. 

Growing up groomed as a future interrogator, you were never given comfort items. No blankets apart from sheets and a comforter. No stuffed toys. No pictures. The closest you ever got was a lavender pillow spray. A scent to calm you after a hard day. But no things. 

Because people can form attachments to things. And things can be broken. Stolen. Lost. Used.

But as you find your hand floating up towards your neck once more, the bullet pressed firmly inside your palm as you enclose it entirely in your fist, you realize that you have a thing. The first and only thing that has ever meant something to you. 

The realization only took three days to settle in. It had only taken three days for you to grow so attached to the silly chunk of metal around your neck that just the thought of taking it off sends you into panic mode. 

So on it has stayed. Through sex. Through showers. Through sleep. 

And James has noticed. You try to keep it hidden - tucked beneath the collar of your shirt. But the damn habit of reaching for it catches his eye every time. Stupid, hyperalert super soldier. The thought of anyone, let alone him, knowing just how reliant you've become on feeling the weight of that bullet around your neck causes your chest to constrict. It makes breathing difficult. 

The bullet is a weakness. 

No one can know. 

It isn't safe. 

"Hey." You glance up at James as he calls to you, having lowered your gaze to the floor, deep in thought. "What's eatin' you, princess?"

"Nothing," you shoot back, tone a little too sharp for the innocence of his question. 

But he arches his brow and his gaze flits to the hand at your neck, once more clutching the damn thing. You drop it, tucking it back under your shirt. 

"Just antsy," you complain, starting to pace around the prop room. "We're not getting anywhere, James. I'm so sick and tired of not getting anywhere."

James chuckles, tossing down his pencil on the table as he crosses the room, reaching for both your hands and pulling your arms around his waist as he lets his own wrap around your shoulders, his cheek laying on top of your head.

"Sounds like my gal needs to get out," he purrs. 

"Your gal is gonna kick your ass if you don't back off," you growl, giving him a hard shove and stalking over to the couch, collapsing in an irritated huff. 

James simply watches you, head tilted in fascination as you drape a hand over your eyes. The silence seems to drag on for hours, but is likely only a few seconds until a set of arms are sliding under your body and lifting you in the air. 

"James!" you huff, frustrated that you hadn't heard him approach. "Put me down!" James laughs but doesn't obey. So you flail in his grasp, banging your fists against his back as you try to kick your legs. "Put me down, Barnes! Or I swear to God I'll-"

"You'll what?" he challenges as he carries you out the prop room door and down the hall towards the office. 

"I'll...I'll-" you stammer, trying to find a threat that's sufficiently intimidating, but doesn't go too far. 

You run out of time to think of your threat as James kicks open the office door and carries you straight past the old desk to the window covered in a piece of plywood. He sets you down and you smack his hands away as he tries to adjust the hem of your shirt. You adjust it yourself and watch as he grabs the plywood, pulling it aside. The fading light of day streams in through the broken window.