Bucky's POV
Bucky paced his room.
He knew that he must be slowly going insane; one day he was going to be officially crazy, if he wasn't already.
It was unfortunate for his friends and Marjorie. They could do better than him.
Bucky sighed.
He couldn't do anything about it now, though. They were already too attached to him.
He had to adjust his sleeping attire to include a shirt because he didn't really want Marjorie to see his scars. And... he wasn't sure if their relationship was ready for that.
Bucky really felt like he was taking advantage of her, even though helping him with the nightmares was her idea.
Marjorie seemed so innocent compared to him that he felt like he was corrupting her.
She did not see it that way.
It was clear that Marjorie did not believe—no, refused to believe—that Bucky was not a good person.
The way she was around him, it was almost like she didn't associate him with the Winter Soldier at all; almost like they were different people.
But Bucky was not like Bruce. He had no 'other guy,' no alter ego. He was the Winter Soldier, willing or not.
Nothing could ever change that.
Steve had said it wasn't him; that he didn't have a choice. But...
Wasn't there always a choice?
And even if he hadn't had a choice, his hands were still covered with blood. He had still hurt and killed all those people.
Marjorie deserved better.
Bucky continued his depressing chain of thoughts until Marjorie arrived, teleporting into the center of his room.
"Hi," she said casually, as if this was a normal occurrence. She was wearing soft light-gray pajamas that were for some reason covered with yin-yang symbols. Her sleeve had slipped down her right shoulder, revealing the strange scars, like something had sliced up her arm and it hadn't healed quite right.
The scars didn't take away from her beauty; if anything, they added to it. Her skin was so pale that you could barely see the thin white lines, but they caught the light in an interesting way.
Nothing like the torn up flesh around his arm.
Bucky wanted to know how she had gotten those scars.
Marjorie sighed tragically and threw herself in his bed, curling around him so she was pressed against his side, his metal arm around her waist.
This was very surprising, and Bucky swallowed nervously.
"I just finished Chain of Iron, and it ended on a horrible cliffhanger!" she explained. "And the next book doesn't come out for a year!"
Bucky smiled; she was so adorable when she talked about books. "Which one is that again?"
"It's in The Last Hours series. It's the sequel series of the prequel series of The Mortal Instruments. But you have to read the sequel series of the original series before it, because it has spoilers, but not until you've read the prequel series."
"... If you say so," he said doubtfully. He wasn't sure how she kept that straight in her head. Then again, she had skipped 4 years of school for a reason.
Marjorie seemed to be perfectly at ease and natural, curled up against him like she did so every day. Maybe he was the only one who felt this strange awkwardness.
Bucky determined that feeling awkward was illogical.
It made zero sense to be afraid. This was Marjorie, she wasn't going to bite.
"How did you get this scar?" he asked, lightly running his fingers on one of the worst gashes on her shoulder. It was small, only one to two inches long.
Marjorie shivered unconsciously and Bucky wondered if touching her with his metal hard bothered her. He frowned and put his metal hand back by his side, but that felt odd, so he draped it across her waist carefully.
Marjorie hesitated. "... It's not a very good story. It would make you upset."
This was probably true. But it was also true that he was probably imagining something worse than what actually happened.
"I already guessed that. You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."
Marjorie didn't respond for a minute, and Bucky assumed she wouldn't tell him when she quietly said: "My mom threw a wine glass at me."
Bucky grinded his teeth together.
He had been imagining worse, but hearing it—especially from Marjorie—was still terrible.
Marjorie resumed her casual tone, which was somehow worse than her sad quiet one, because it said that she had accepted this as okay. "I probably needed stitches, but I didn't know how to do them, so that's probably why they scarred."
"You didn't have anyone to help you?"
"No," she said, sounding confused.
Bucky's jaw was still clenched. Marjorie's childhood was so messed up.
It made him want to stab someone.
Anyway, Bucky didn't think this experiment would work.
Not that he didn't think Marjorie would help with his nightmares, but that he didn't think he could fall asleep with her there.
She was pressed against his side, under his arm. It made his heart beat unevenly.
He wanted her so bad that it hurt.
"You're not asleep yet," Marjorie noted.
Bucky blinked. "It's hasn't even been ten min—"
"It won't work if you're not asleep."
Bucky sighed. "I realize this."
"...Do you want me to knock you unconscious?"
"What—No!" he exclaimed.
Marjorie frowned and fidgeted with the collar of his shirt.
She had a short attention span. Supposedly, a Gen Z thing.
Bucky wondered if that meant she didn't feel the tingling electricity everywhere they touched.
As soon as the idea popped into his head, he could not stop thinking about how Marjorie probably did not like him as much as he liked her.
This stung worse than if he had poured straight alcohol and lemon juice in a deep cut.
As much as it hurt, it was probably a good thing.
He was not good for her.
It would be better if Marjorie didn't care about him; better for Marjorie's safety.
It hurt a lot though.
But Bucky would stay and protect her as long as she wanted him around.
And despite Marjorie setting his nerves on fire and his spiraling thoughts, Bucky eventually fell into a peaceful sleep.
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Shadows and Secrets (A MCU FanFic)
FanfictionThere are many different types of dangerous, and Fury knew them all. Or so he thought. But new secrets and villians are rising to the surface, and it's harder than ever to stop the leaks. The Avengers are no longer everyone's heroes, and to some, t...