Hell Bound

Thirty-Six

"MP3," Bucky said from my side. He was breathing hard, though not nearly as badly as I was, and this was the first coherent word I'd heard from him in a while.

"What?" I asked, turning onto my side to face him. We were lying sideways on the bed, and his legs were hanging over the edge of the mattress.

"The MP3 player. Do you think he got it?"

"I forgot he was here, to be completely honest."

"So did I."

"Well, I'm sure it was the first thing he went for after I came up here to find you." He smiled. He apparently found this very amusing.

"He made breakfast," he reminded me. I pinched my eyes shut.

"Aw, man. Now we have to get up." He reached out to stop me from getting out of bed. Even though I had made no attempts to do so. The metal was shockingly cold against my bare skin.

"Don't go?" I lifted his hand and slid my fingers between his. He shifted his attention to them.

I was going to tell him that we had to go back down there eventually. Or let him know that I didn't want to. But instead, I ran my fingers over the back of his so I could feel all the ridges and plates and smooth metal. He didn't pull away, and I couldn't tell what he was thinking.

"Can you feel me?" I asked.

"I don't know," he admitted. Then he looked back at me. "I feel something, but it's not the same. It's like knowing that you're there but not really feeling you. The signal is there. And the memory of feeling. But it's not like when you touch my skin." He turned his gaze back to his hand and spread his fingers. The plates shifted to accommodate the movement. It was almost seamless. Just the tiniest bit of mechanical stiffness. He didn't release me.

"It's become part of you," I observed.

"I suppose so," he murmured. "But I don't think it's ever been used this way before. Wasn't made for this."

"What way?" He glanced at me and moved our hands. He touched his finger to my chin but kept mine locked in his. The sensation was odd but not uncomfortable. As if I'd accepted it as part of him too.

"It's a weapon," he told me. "It wasn't meant to touch someone like this." I moved closer and ran my hand up his arm. "Don't leave," he repeated. I smiled.

"I know for a fact that you have a spectacular recovery rate, but I don't. I don't want to leave, but I'm starving. I didn't eat before I left. And I've had a very—exciting morning." He groaned and dropped his other arm over his eyes.

"Fine," he said with a sigh.

He sounded so grumpy. I couldn't help but kiss his lips before climbing out of bed. His metal arm dropped to the mattress, and he didn't move until I'd already found something to wear. I sat down beside him. The notebooks from his backpack had spilled out onto the floor when he dropped it. I could see little color-coded tabs sticking out of pages. Some looked more worn than others. As if he'd spent hours scribbling and agonizing over the pages.

"Hey, Buck?" I asked, putting my hand on his solid chest. Mostly just to see the way his skin tensed whenever I touched him.

"Mm?" he replied lazily.

"Can I ask you a personal question?"

"I'm lying completely naked on your bed, Johanna." I laughed and smoothed his hair back to kiss his cheek.

"Believe me, I noticed. But that's not what I meant." He hesitated.

"You can ask me whatever you need to, but I can't promise to answer."