Love and Winter (Bucky Barnes) Hiatus

3 - the metal of his arm

Chapter 3

He didn't sleep much that night, but that was not new to him. The cat had mercifully stopped hissing at him every time he moved, which was good for the cat because he had seriously been considering throwing it out into the hallway.

A sudden noise made him leap out of the chair, his head whipping around to try to locate where it was coming from. After a couple of seconds he realized it would have to be a phone or an alarm, and that it was coming from Reagan's jacket. Picking it up gingerly he reached into the pocket and pulled out something he knew was a telephone, but the little box of technology still amazed him. He recognized the name flashing on the screen. Blaine was the man she worked with at the pub, so lifting the phone towards his ear he pressed the accept button, figuring that would make him able to talk to the man.

"Jesus, Reagan... Finally! Where the hell are you? I've been messaging you for over an hour! Oh my lord... did you-"

"Uh... Hello." James said, effectively cutting of the other man.

The silence on the other end of the line unnerved him for a long time before he tried again; "hello? Can you hear me?"

"Who the fuck is this, and what have you done with Reagan?"

"I put her to bed," James deadpanned, realizing after a couple of seconds of stunned silence what that had sounded like. "I mean she was sick, so I got her home and then into bed, where she has been sleeping since last night. By herself." He decided to omit the fact that he had stayed in her room and basically ogled at her the entire night.

"Alright..." Blain's voice sounded calm, but in no way like he was just going to trust him. "And how do you know Reagan?"

"We met at your workplace," James replied, "we have been talking to each other for a while now, and I was on my way home when I saw her. I knew she had been feeling sick for a while, so I offered to walk her home but she had a really high fever so I ended up having to carry her. I figured I would stay the night and keep an eye on her since she lives alone."

"Oh, well I guess that is alright..." Blaine said, "can you tell her to call me when she wakes up? I'll cover her shift, but I'd like to hear from her in case..."

"In case I am a murderer?" James almost smiled at the irony. "I'll get her to call you."

"Good. If I don't hear from her I will come by this afternoon."

So he would have to be out of the apartment before that, James thought; knowing he had to be careful with who he showed his face to - let alone talked to.

"I'm sure she will be up before that, if she gets any worse I will make sure to call you," James promised, despite having no clue how to operate her phone.

*    *    *

When noon came and past and Reagan still hadn't woken up, James started to worry slightly. Getting up from the chair where he had been sitting quietly since the phone-call he walked over to the bed where he leaned over her to feel her forehead again. She was still warm, but nothing like she had been last night.

Figuring he would bring in a fresh wet cloth to help her body get rid of the remaining fever, but was stopped when her voice suddenly sounded across the room;

"James?"

He whipped around towards the bed, his eyes meeting her bleary ones as she struggled to sit up in the bed. Hurrying over to her he helped her up into a seated position, placing two pillows behind her back.

"What are you doing here?" She croaked.

"I helped you home last night, after you fell over due to your fever. I had to change some of your clothes because you were soaked through and shivering, but I swear I did not look at you."

Her chuckle surprised him, making his eyes flash upwards until they met her mismatched once more.

"I'd be a bit disappointed if you didn't sneak a peek to be honest, I probably would. But thank you for letting me keep my modesty." She paused for a while, before her eyebrows furrowed, "how did you know where I live?"

"Uh, you told me. I managed to get it out of you before you passed out."

James tried his best to look calm and collected, and it looked like she bought it. Suddenly her eyes widened and she started trying to get out of bed.

"What are you doing?" James asked alarmed, placing himself in the way so she couldn't get up, "what is wrong?"

"What time is it?" She asked frantically, "I need to go to work!"

"Pft," he snorted, "you're not going anywhere while you are this sick."

"But I need to-"

"No, Reagan."

Her face distorted with distress and anger, "you can't just come in here and-"

"I already talked with your co-worker. Which reminds me, you should probably call him back because he is halfway convinced I am going to murder you."

She frowned for a long moment; "you talked with my co-worker?"

"He called your little telephone box, I think his name was Blaine?"

"Telephone box?" He heard her mutter silently to herself, making him want to curse, of course it wasn't called a telephone box just phone.

"I'll get it for you," he mumbled, hoping it would distract her from his blunder.

Finding the device where he had put it earlier he handed it to her, both of their eyes falling down to his metal fingers at the same moment. With widened eyes he pulled his arm back the moment she had taken the phone. His feet moving him backwards almost subconsciously as he moved his left arm behind his back.

Reagan's eyes lowered slowly, focusing on her phone instead of James - who felt like he was about to start hyperventilating.

He quickly pulled on the glove, concealing his fingers and hand from view. He could barely hear Reagan speaking over the commotion inside his head, his eyes shutting as he tried to take calming breaths.

"James?" Two slightly warmer than usual hands suddenly took hold of his normal hand. "Are you alright?"

His blue eyes flashed open meeting her worried mismatched ones. She was kneeling in front of him - making him realised he had crouched to the floor; her face slightly pale and shiny due to the effort of getting out of bed.

"Hey... Where is your mind taking you right now?"

Slowly he pulled his hand away from hers, his eyes falling to the ground once more.

"It's a prosthetic, right?" Reagan continued talking quietly, her calm voice reaching in through his muddled thoughts; "were you in an accident or...?"

"Military accident," he managed to push out. "Lost my arm at the shoulder."

"Firstly, I am sorry about the accident. Secondly, you don't have to hide this from me, alright. Why would I care if you have a prosthetic? Do people give you trouble because of it?"

"I don't really show it to anyone," he said softly, his fingers twisting uncomfortably in his lap.

"Would you mind if I saw it?"