Project 1940S

Chapter 26

The pinging of my mother's ringtone made me sigh again, the same message she'd asked five times now showing up on my screen. 

: ​🇼​​🇭​​🇪​​🇳​ ​🇩​​🇴​​🇪​​🇸​ ​🇸​​🇨​​🇭​​🇴​​🇴​​🇱​ ​🇪​​🇳​​🇩​? ​🇼​​🇭​​🇪​​🇳​ ​🇦​​🇷​​🇪​ ​🇾​​🇴​​🇺​ ​🇨​​🇴​​🇲​​🇮​​🇳​​🇬​ ​🇭​​🇴​​🇲​​🇪​ ​🇫​​🇴​​🇷​ ​🇨​​🇭​​🇷​​🇮​​🇸​​🇹​​🇲​​🇦​​🇸​?

I felt bad for my mom who I had been ghosting. She was not aware of the restraining order I'd taken out on Donny or Brock, so she didn't understand why I wasn't answering her 'come home' text messages. Plus, Clementine was coming back home (only God knows why) and the fact I wasn't coming home with her (as of yet) was concerning to them. 

Heimdall was against me going back home, which meant that Bucky and Steve were against me going back home as well. Heimdall said that while he didn't know if anything would happen upon going back, it was an uneasy risk. 

And then he went back to fucking Asgard. 

Asshole. 

Despite Heimdall, despite Donavan, despite Brock. . . I was truly thinking of going back. I felt sick in my stomach when I thought of not going back home. I wanted my parents to meet Steve and Bucky. I knew they wouldn't approve of the relationship, but I needed them to know what I was going to do with my life at least. And that would be better in person, though not necessarily fun. 

I couldn't bring myself to actually answer her message though, finally turning the phone off and tossing it to the side. I rolled over off the bed, leaving the room. 

Steve was in the kitchen, grading papers with a look of concentration of his face so intense, that I was pretty sure he had no idea I was even in the room. I padded over to him and he looked up at me, smiling a little. "Hey Princess." 

"Hi." I whispered, reaching out for him. He dropped the red grading pen, reaching out and taking me into his arms, cuddling me against his chest. Steve always seemed to understand exactly what I needed, and always gave it to me without asking. 

I felt warm and safe here, tucked away against him. I closed my eyes, pressing my face against his chest. 

"You okay?" He whispered softly, his breath tickling my scalp. 

"I think so." I murmured, unmoving. He sat there, holding me for a good five minutes before I finally shifted, reaching up to kiss his cheek and got off his lap so that he could continue grading. I left the kitchen without another word and found Bucky fast asleep in the living room on the couch, his purple pen still tucked between his flesh fingers. 

They had both been working late hours, so I wasn't surprised that he was exhausted. I wanted to move him just a little, lay him down in a more comfortable position, but I knew better. For one thing, I could never actually move him- not by myself. And for a second, Bucky had begged me not to be the one to wake him if he needed to be woken up, as he was afraid he'd be in a panic and hurt me. 

Despite not believing this, I didn't want to hurt him either and knew that if I went against what he'd asked of me, he wouldn't be pleased. I hesitated, and then grabbed a blanket, gently letting it fall loose of its folded position, before putting it over him. I slipped the pen from his hand, putting it down on the rest of the papers. 

There wasn't anything I could do for the awkward way he was laying. Not without waking him. So I simply left the room and headed back to my bedroom, flopping back down on the bed uselessly.