Steel And Spider

Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

Bucky never thought he'd see the day when the White Widow, the most feared and formidable weapon in the entirety of Hydra, would be breaking down in front of him, or accepting a hug. Bucky never thought he was really good at hugs, he just assumed the metal arm made for some awkward discomfort, but that didn't seem to matter to Mat, who had twisted his hands into Bucky's old t-shirt in an effort to keep himself quiet.

Bucky said nothing, still processing what Mat had just told him. Bucky didn't know what the Readjustment Centre was, but knowing Hydra, it was likely nothing good, and remembering the way that Mat avoided that particular subject entirely, it was definitely nothing good. But even the rest of what he'd said...Bucky thought he'd had it hard being mind-controlled!

He knew what it was like to feel completely out of time and separate from society, but at least, when he'd woken up, he'd known who he was and where his place in the world had been. And he'd had Steve, too. But Mat...to be isolated among your own people, to be raised with the ideal that you're nothing more than an object to the world you live in? Bucky couldn't even imagine what kinds of things Mat had had to go through, what he'd been forced to live through, the help that he would've sorely needed, but never got. What sort of nightmares must keep him awake at night.

So Bucky just sat, on the edge of the Avengers tower, with a beautifully deadly ex-assassin crying into his shirt. He carefully raised a hand, setting it gently on Mat's thick, bone-white hair. It was softer than Bucky thought it would be, and fluffy, like he'd showered recently and it was only just dry. Without thinking, Bucky began to stroke his hand through Mat's hair, down the back of his neck, and over his spine. Over and over, the motion working to relax Mat and eventually, his hitching breaths calmed and his iron grip on Bucky's shirt eased.

He sat back, wiping the last of the wetness off his face. "I'm sorry," he muttered, staring at his statue-still hands, where they rested in his lap. "I shouldn't have broken down like that, it's just...kind of overwhelming, I suppose. Everything's been changing so fast, it's hard to process."

"It's alright," Bucky muttered, never having known how to handle situations like this. Steve had always been the better at it out of the two of them. As if sensing this, Mat glanced over at him and laughed softly.

"Neither of us are very good at this emotional thing, huh?" Bucky gave a smile, relieved he wasn't the only one who felt awkward. "I mean, when you spend your whole life cut off from ever feeling anything, suddenly the...freedom is just a little too much. You don't know how to handle it all."

Bucky looked at Mat, really looked at him, at the pink hue of his eyes reflecting the starry sky, the fluffy, messy flop of his snowy hair, his porcelain-pale skin hinting at the smooth glide of muscle, but also the overwhelming tiredness Mat was feeling, and the lonely tilt to his soft lips. Bucky wanted to kiss him. He cleared his throat and looked away instead. "You know, you don't have to handle it all. You can let other people help you, Mat. Let us help you."

Mat looked over at Bucky, and after a moment, he sighed heavily. "I don't think I'm ready for that yet. Maybe someday, but for now...having you is enough." With those parting words, Mat gathered up his little notebook and wished Bucky a good rest of his night before disappearing back inside.

Bucky sat there, blush colouring his ears until Jarvis spoke up. "Mr. Mat has returned to his room, sir. He seems much more calm now."

Bucky jumped. "Jesus, Jarvis! How much of that did you hear?"

"I heard nothing, sir. I was preoccupied in another area of the tower until now."

Bucky raised his brow. "Aren't you everywhere?"