The World Keeps Changing

Chapter 6

I eventually emptied myself, tears wrung dry, and I began to be aware of my surroundings again. We had all ended up laying on the bed. My face was pressed into Steve's chest, clutching the lapels of his suit, my right knee propped up on his hip. He smelled like warm summer afternoons outside and fresh sage. My beanie was gone and he was petting my hair with one hand, the other arm under my head with the hand curled over my shoulder. Bucky was a solid weight at my back, spooning me, arms wrapped fully around my waist, his face pressed between my shoulder blades, muttering soft and soothing words I couldn't make out, but I felt like they were maybe Russian. I laid there for a long minute more, relearning how to breathe. I couldn't remember the last time I'd felt so warm or safe or cared for. I could have cried again if I had any tears left, just out of gratitude to these two sweet men.

"I'm sorry," I finally muttered, loosening my grip on Steve's suit jacket. I looked up at him.

His face was pained, his beautiful blue eyes shiny and red-rimmed with unshed tears. "You don't have anything to be sorry about, Cookie."

"Ugh," I thumped my head back on his chest, "don't call me that. That's a Stark nickname."

"Huh? I thought it was a Clint nickname. For those giant, amazing cookies you always make when someone has a bad day."

I chuckled. "Well, if it's that for you, maybe it's ok."

I had another moment of deep desire to just stay but pushed it down with another deep breath. "Anyway," I patted his broad chest. It was every bit as amazing to snuggle against as I'd imagined. "I'm back now. As much as I love a good group snuggle, I need to get going."

Steve nodded sadly and extricated himself enough to roll away and got up, moving into the other room.

"Bucky..." I rubbed his arms wrapped around my waist. The man at my back didn't move, except to squeeze me a little. "Come on, Bucky, this is uncomfortable now with Steve not supporting my head." His metal arm was a log under my waist that I was slumped over sideways.

"I understand what you meant by touch starved now." I heard his voice muffled against my back.

He loosened his grip enough for me to wiggle around ungracefully. I shimmied down to rest my cheek on his shoulder, wrapping one arm around him, my other folded between us, and pressing my face to his chest. It was also lovely, even if his arm and shoulder were hard under my cheek. "I'm glad you reached out for me, Bucky." I stroked his back a little and I felt him relax a little into me, some of the tension leaking away as he felt me return his embrace. "I think we both needed it."

He nodded and squeezed me again, pressing his face into my hair. "I still don't want to let you go like this."

I looked up at him, his face was wet with tears, too. He was being vulnerable, and my whole chest squeezed with pride for how far he had come in a few short weeks, and affection that he was showing this side to me. "Bucky..." I reached up and my fingertips combed the hair back from his face, like I'd wanted to do for weeks. Something flitted across his face, like he was fighting himself not to chase my touch. "I'm quitting a job because my boss is an asshole. I'm sure we can find a way to still visit. Steve wouldn't leave you hanging like that when you're finally connecting with people." I thumbed away the wetness on his cheeks, and his eyes closed, his breaths going shallow and tight in his chest. I pulled my hand away thinking that was too much for him, trying to play it off by moving on with a lighter comment. "Now, I need to get up and wash the hideously ugly cry I just had off my face."

He pulled me as close as he could, burying his face in my hair and he muttered something else in Russian. But, then he let me go and I slipped off the bed and went to the bathroom.