Words On My Skin

Chapter 22

Eight days.

You hadn't seen Bucky in eight agonizing days.

Okay, you couldn't act like you'd been agonizing for that long... you were unconscious for two of the eight days.

The medical team had apparently kept you drugged up and unconscious, because they were doing some work on your neck with something they called 'The Cradle'. It was, apparently, some magical machine that some scientists made that heals tissue and all the science-y medical mumbo jumbo that you didn't understand.

What you did understand?

Your neck had nearly been crushed by the vibranium hand of The Winter Soldier. You were lucky that the damage wasn't permanent, and that science was a lot further along than you'd realized. All that was left of your wounds on your neck was a large, hand-shaped bruise... and a sprained wrist... and a stitched-up gash on the back of your head... and a Bucky-sized hole in your heart.

He wasn't there when you'd woken up.

Steve was there.

Apparently, your soulmate had stolen a quinjet and immediately left the country – going straight to Wakanda to get his head back together. Not that he'd been there to tell you any of this. He'd left the compound before you'd even made it to the medical wing, days prior.

When you woke from your two day nap, you'd been hysterical – much to your embarrassment. You'd burst into tears, gasping awake and calling out for Bucky. Steve nearly had a heart attack, before the nurse had threatened you with more sedatives. Guilt bled through the bond, so you knew that he was aware that you woke up, but it was overshadowed by the empty feeling in your chest.

You just wanted him back home.

Was that selfish?

He came back on day six, which was two days after you'd been released from the medical wing and allowed to be back in your own room. The only reason you knew he was back, was because of FRIDAY. You'd tried to talk to him, tried knocking on his door, tried calling, texting... anything.

He was avoiding you.

"Hey... It's me. Again." You sighed, leaving another voicemail on Bucky's – new – cellphone. "I can feel you when I call, so I know you see me calling. I'm... I'm not mad at you. Not even a little bit. It's not your fault. We've been under a lot of stress, lately, and... I understand. I just... we promised each other that we'd communicate more, and..." You inhaled a shaky breath, tears welling up in your eyes as you stared at the off-white walls of your office. "I need you. I miss you. I..." The tears fell down your cheeks as your voice cracked, leaving hot trails down your cheeks, dripping off your chin. "I love you, okay? Please... talk to me."

You hung up, wiping the tears off your face with the back of your hand, careful to keep your makeup un-smudged.

He was still ignoring you...

GOD DAMMIT.

A small surge of anger shooting through your veins and boiling out any sadness. The phone that had been in your hand was launched across the room before you could even comprehend your actions, bouncing off a canvas painting of some bullshit flowers – ripping the material. Both items fell to the floor, disturbing the immaculate cleanliness of your office.

There was only so much stress-cleaning and burying yourself in paperwork you could do. You were officially caught up with every stitch of paperwork, you had every appointment scheduled for the next month, the entire Christmas party was planned and ironed out, your room was spotless, your bathroom was spotless, your office was spotless, the kitchen... You'd stress cleaned the kitchen well over three times.