Recipe for Romance: A Bucky Barnes Story

20: Broken Promises

           

Hours later I'm in bed staring at the brightly lit screen of my computer. I'm into the second season of Friends already and it's nearly 4 am. Nat and Wanda took me home at 1:30 AM just after I got the text. I wanted to stay out still, but I just couldn't do it. My dad had successfully implanted his negativity and daunting threats into my head where I couldn't pluck him out. There's not a lot in this world that bothers me, but he certainly does.

I take another bite of soggy corn flakes. I like eating cereal at night, especially when I'm feeling emotional.

After a while I grow bored. Thankfully I'm tired enough to retire. Lazily I dress for bed in a pair of fuzzy sleeping trousers and a loose Disneyworld jumper. I brush my teeth, toss the cold cereal, and then crawl between the silken pink sheets. My head hits the pillow and for the last time tonight I pick up my phone. I'd texted Laurie back finally just so she didn't worry and assume the worst—eventually prompting in a call to 911, or worse, my mother. Bucky's still out on the town, I think. I just saw Sam's snapchat story where I could vaguely spot Bucky's growing beard in the background.

Sadie: Goodnight, hon. Be safe tonight. And keep an eye on Sam and Steve. See you in the morning xxx

I turn the phone over on my extra stack of pillows. It only takes another minute for it to buzz. Momentarily I'm terrified at the proposition of it being another text from my father. To say the very least, I'm utterly relieved to see that it's dear Bucky who's messaged me back so fast.

James: Sweet dreams. Hope you had a good night... I'll see you tomorrow, doll.

A sigh slips from my lips. I put the phone away then turn around onto my side. I feel pretty shitty about not telling Bucky that in fact my night was ruined and all I wanted on our cab ride back was to call him and beg him to meet me home.  Of course I don't tell him any of this. I don't think I would've told anyone if Wanda hadn't sensed my thoughts and Nat wasn't such a goddamn super spy. They pried a bit of information out of me in the cab, but I mainly kept quiet. I did apologize for ruining the night, though. They both told me not to worry and that it wasn't ruined at all—we did have quite a good time while it lasted. Besides, none of us wanted to be out too late anyway.

I fall asleep to the sound of NYC's streets from outside my cracked window. When I awake the next morning it's to my alarm I've got set so that I can be up in time to make breakfast for Tony when he's come out of his first meeting. I rise with a grunt. No one's texted me, thank god, and so I take to gathering up my things for a shower. I wash, dry, and dress in less than thirty minutes. I even have enough time to put on makeup before the one hour mark hits. Set up with an arm load of dirty laundry I venture out into the rest of my apartment.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

I yelp—accidently flinging my dirty clothes all over the floor of my living room. Wide-eyed I gape up to the man who stands in my kitchen waiting for me. Bucky's let himself in.

"Buck—what are you doing here?"

"I'm here because Nat told me what happened last night. You didn't say anything, and I was worried." Those beautiful azure eyes of his narrow a bit. His weight is leaning against the side of my counter—his big palms splayed on the granite. He looks like a marble statue dressed in a white t-shirt.

"Did Friday let you in?"

"No, I guessed your code." Bucky seems to want to roll his eyes, but he keeps his composure. "You wouldn't answer your phone and I wanted to talk to you before you went downstairs. I figured you wouldn't mind."

I shake my head. "I—I don't. I guess I'm just confused how you figured it out...?"

"It was easy, Sadie. It only took a couple of tries. You're a history buff. You spent an hour last week talking about Abe Lincoln. The year he died? My third guess. It didn't take much for me to figure it out." Bucky stalks around to the other side of the counter: the side closer to me. "Stop changing the subject, please. Just tell me what's going on." He stares at me with so much intensity that my heart hammers clear out of my chest. At my lack of response Bucky only grows more impatient. He makes his way into the living room. He comes to stand in front of me where I can smell his familiar scent and feel his warmth on my skin despite the lack of contact. "Sadie, what the hell is going on?" His voice isn't mean, but it certainly demands a response.