Saving Bucky (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

Chapter 89 - Dead Man's Switch

You pace the carpeted floors of Shuri's office, waiting for a signal to come out. It's been at least four hours since James had remanded you to Steve's protection, but you haven't heard a peep from the lab. 

You wonder if Steve is as nervous as you are. 

Glancing up, Steve still leans against the same wall, his arms crossed against his chest - the exact same position he's been standing in since he locked the door behind the two of you. The moment you catch his eye he looks away. 

That's weird.

You go back to pacing, and feel Steve's eyes on you once more. Your gaze flits to his, but the second you catch it again he looks away. 

Your skin prickles in a strange anxiety. 

"You okay, Steve?" you question, stopping your pacing.

"Yep," he answers, adjusting slightly as he looks down at his feet.

You hesitate for a moment, taking in his slight frown. "You sure?" you ask quietly.

"Fine," he says. 

"Mhm," you hum skeptically.

Steve looks up and shrugs, a silent yet somewhat aggressive 'what?' implied. 

Oh, you think to yourself, reading the irritation in the subtle pull of his face. Steve's angry.

"You're mad at me," you observe. "Why?"

Steve scoffs and shakes his head. "I'm not mad."

"You are," you shoot back.

"I'm not."

"You look mad."

"I don't get mad."

"Everyone gets mad, Steve."

"You don't get mad."

"That's because I tend to skip mad and go straight to pissed," you smirk. 

Steve doesn't react. In fact, his expression is oddly neutral. It makes your stomach churn as you wonder what's got him acting so out of character. You quickly review your actions from the past few days.

"Is it because I took James' side up in the apartment?" you ask gently, walking over to Shuri's private desk and sitting at the swivel chair - facing him directly. 

Steve's jaw tenses. 

Bingo.

"I told him he should listen to you," you say. "You heard that, right?" Steve doesn't speak. Instead he tucks his arms tighter across his chest. You sigh. "It can't be anyone's choice but his on how to proceed, Steve."

Steve's teeth grind together for a moment. Like how James' nose tends to twitch when he's thinking, Steve grinds his teeth. A habit you've noticed as of late. So you wait. Until finally Steve speaks. 

"He used to do this when we were kids," Steve grumbles. "He'd work himself to death to get us through the colder months. Especially when I was sick."

"That was different, Steve."

"No, it wasn't," Steve seethes. "It's the same damn thing!"

Your eyes widen in surprise at Steve's profanity. On the scale of curses it's relatively mild. But Steve doesn't curse in front of others. So you let him speak.

"Besides, how would you know?" Steve snaps. "You weren't there." You flinch, but Steve doesn't stop. "Buck doesn't know how to put himself first," he says. "He never has. He always thinks he's gotta provide. Gotta be strong. Gotta tough it out. That's never changed. H-he...he...," Steve trails off, tears in his eyes, fist clenched. "Buck would work doubles," he says - voice barely more than a whisper. "He'd work 16 hours a day, six days a week. Seven if they'd let him. His hands'd be bleeding and his lips would be peeling. He'd lose feeling in his feet and his hands. But he wouldn't stop." Steve's lips trembles. "Then one night he didn't come home."