The World Keeps Changing

Chapter 15

'Cause I just couldn't open up, I'm always shiftin'

Go find yourself a man who's strong and tall and Christian

Pushing past the limit, trippin' on hallucinogenics

My cigarette burnt my finger 'cause I forgot I lit it

'Cause I carried on like the wayward son

And now through and through, I've come undone

And now I am just but the wayward man

What with my bloodshot eyes and my shaky hand

'Cause I carried on like the wayward son

And now through and through, I've come undone

And now I am just but the wayward man

What with my bloodshot eyes and my shaky hand

Pushing past the limit, trippin' on hallucinogenics

My cigarette burnt my finger 'cause I forgot I lit it

"Hallucinogenics"

By

Matt Maeson

Bucky withdrew after that, not unfriendly, or angry, and he still came to help me with prep sometimes, when he wasn't training or on a mission. But the touching stopped. No more hugs or head kisses. No putting his arm across the back of the couch, inviting me to curl against his side, or pulling my legs into his lap when we watched a movie, which we only ever did as a group activity now.

The first time I laid my hand over his to get his attention for something, and he just squeezed my fingers briefly before moving his hand away, the grief twisted in my gut and my throat. It wasn't harsh or cruel, but the boundary was laid. I nodded, and I knew he could see the sadness in my face for a moment before I smiled and acted like I hadn't been summarily rejected by my best friend. It was like the kitchen had gotten bigger, he would rarely even touch my back or my arm when he moved behind me in the kitchen now. We still talked, we still cooked together, I still loaned him books, we still played the short description sci-fi game and watched movies, there was just an impenetrable wall between us when we did it. If we both had a bad night, we stretched out at opposite ends of the couch in the commons to watch British Bake-off, the comfort quilt spread between us down the length of the couch. He never came to my suite and I never saw him in a sleeveless shirt, could never see if he had been digging at his shoulder. But, he told me he had started seeing a therapist, and it was helping.

Bruce had also started therapy. He would come out for meals more often than he used to, and sometimes we would go out for a walk, though I still often took meals down to the lab and coaxed him into a break with conversation. A couple of times he needed to let Hulk out and we sat out on the observation deck while they cooled down from whatever frustration that work or Tony was giving them. Natasha tended to join us if she was around. In a show of progress, they at least weren't waiting until they reached a point of crisis and Bruce seemed far less tired when he came back. I was developing a theory that Bruce's post-shift exhaustion had a direct correlation to how hard he and Hulk were fighting each other.

I took up crochet again because I needed something for my hands to do in the evening if Nat wasn't there to have her hair played with (because she was in the Lab, flirting with Bruce was my theory).