Back to Barnes // the winter soldier

19: zombie robot

      Odd of two weeks passed and I developed an ill-feeling demon by the name of anxiety. I didn't tell Bucky, for I didn't want to bother him, but I assumed he knew something was up when I came in from work on Sunday unable to breathe and sobbing nevertheless. This continued for quite a few days, where I would have episodes during a meeting as my thoughts caught up to me and every face I saw, noise I heard, thing I felt was all Damon. Once I felt my throat constrict and hands begin to sweat, I excused myself from the room and went to gag, sob, and hyperventilate in the closest empty room.

Regardless of Bucky being well prepared to wake in the dead of night to secure my shaking form with an his bionic arm and use his flesh hand to brush my messy hair away from my sweaty forehead while telling me it was just a nightmare and he was right there, I couldn't help but feel alone. So . . . dreadfully alone.

That Wednesday morning, Bucky gently shook my left shoulder. "It's moving day." He whispered loudly, filled with excitement for me. "You know what that means?"

Yeah, actually, I did. The assurance that I would see Damon at some point. I yanked the covers up to my chin. "Nope, I'm not up for it. Maybe another day."

Bucky chuckled in the same hushed tone, placing a gentle kiss on my temple. "As much as I adore you and would love for you to recharge, you have work to do. You said you had to be up by four and it is now six."

I covered my face with my hand, facing away from him and sighing. My performance was my apprehension played off as silliness, which seemed to be working. He chuckled again and removed my hand. I turned my upper body to wrap my arms around his neck, closing my eyes and grumbling. He rested his forehead under my jaw, insisting I get up.

A bit dramatically, I rolled onto the floor and mumbled a whatever. Through my mind ran different ways I could avoid Damon but alas, there was none. Maybe Fury would pair us differently, though; maybe Steve could convince him. I just had to get my butt up and moving and then I could find out.

As Bucky pulled from what he could turn into four outfits and changed in the room, I grabbed slacks and a button-down and escaped to the bathroom. Once I finished dressing, I realized something: This had not changed. I dressed the same for work, every single day. My relationship status changed, my attitude changed, my co-worker changed, my boss and his pet superhero changed, my mental health changed, and soon my residence would change. What had not changed was my dress clothes and their fit. That had yet to change. And in that moment, I wrapped my arms around myself as if the royal purple shirt was a shield of some sort. And that only further backed up my statement on my mental health.

With a sigh, I dropped my arms and began to work on my hair and makeup.  I zombie-d my way through that and left the bathroom, watching as Bucky clumsily tripped into the bed as he tried tying his shoe. I gave him a "great job, idiot" and a slight smile as I slipped on my heels.

He huffed. "The entire room is completely empty-" He was right on that. I moved everything into the 'copter's the night before. "-and I manage to trip over the one thing here."

I directed another small smile his way and asked him to fetch me the box under the bed. In order to remain within Fury's rules, I had to keep Bucky cuffed when he was not in the room. Thankfully, the other half of that deal - the ugly human muzzle I had to put on Loki a few years back - was cast aside after Steve assured him that this would not be necessary. Nevertheless, I had to think back to when Bucky first came to stay in my room, refusing to lay down or close his eyes for long periods of time - his unique set of issues that came with PTSD. Now, I had never asked him if restraint would set off an alarm in his head, but I would soon found out.

He pulled the open box out from under the frame and stared at the handcuffs in wonder and worry. He remained still and silent for a few moments, then straightened his legs and brought them over to me. I was about to take them from him before he yanked his hand back. "On one condition."