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lightning-writes · 4 months

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good heart (faulty machine of a man) - 21/30

fic summary: bucky meets someone at therapy

chapter summary: Bucky and Rue have a snowy moment (alternatively: Rue defends Bucky)

word count: 2367

tags: post endgame, pre tfatws, slow burn, canon divergent, canon compliant, au

warnings: panic attack, mention of weapons

a/n: this chapter will give you whiplash, but the slow burn is burning friends! hope you enjoy and happy new year!

P.S. SPECIAL AUTHOR'S NOTE AT THE END

AO3 MASTERLIST X

“Do you think it’ll snow?”

Rue and Bucky are walking to yet another store, not having much luck in finding gifts for her co-workers from the restaurant. She told him she’d bought the ‘big gifts’ already and had some smaller gifts to buy.

(She also mentioned she’d bought his gift weeks ago, which falters his steps.

The last gift he’d ever received was from Steve, the notebook in his pocket. It’s nearly full now, a shared memory between friends, brothers.

Before that, the only other kindness he’d received for decades was his new prosthetic from the Wakandans. He could argue it was an investment, but Ayo’s skill of breaking the brainwashing had put him forever in her and Wakanda’s debt.)

“It feels like it,” he mutters, mind still stuck on their previous conversation.

(It took a few minutes after she mentioned a gift for him to ask what she wanted for Christmas. She had laughed, waved him off, and said she didn’t need anything. When he pressed, she’d shaken her head and said any gift is a good gift.

This had his brain racing through all the small details he knows about her, cataloging all the things he could get her… but his brain is firing blanks.)

“I hope so,” he hears the smile in her voice without looking at her, “we haven’t had a white Christmas in a while.”

The city is always busy, but it’s the Saturday before Christmas. The place is a maze. When the space narrows, Bucky allows her to step ahead of him, keeping an eye out. Busy streets usually lead to hidden dangers.

“Hey,” she nudges his arm with hers. He finally looks over to her earnest gaze. “I know you’re a quiet guy, but what’s going through that brain of yours?”

“Nothing,” he says too quickly. She narrows her eyes.

“Bucky, don’t make a big deal about the gift thing, please. I’m getting a gift for Greta… it’s not that serious.”

It’s a minor hit to his ego, but he also knows she’s downplaying it. “Easy for you to say.”

She rolls her eyes and takes his hand. It’s his prosthetic, and she startles away from it.

“Sorry,” he says immediately, tucking it back into his pocket.

“No, you’re just cold,” she says with a laugh. Surprising him, she reaches into his pocket and takes his hand out again. “I have… a weird question.”

He glances at her, studying his metal hand in hers. “Go on.”

(Admittedly, Bucky realizes she could easily ask him anything about the metal arm, and he’d tell her. Maybe it’s because he’s started to trust her. Maybe it’s because he can’t remember the last time someone willingly touched the prosthetic without making it weird or clinical.)

“Does your arm make you… cold?” He watches her grow more sheepish as the seconds pass. “Like, because it’s metal and attached to your body? I mean, are you always cold… or…?”

He laughs at the incredulity of the question. Her accosted look is dramatic. He laughs as he explains, “No one's ever asked me that before.”

(His grip on her hand tightens as they pass through unyielding pedestrians.)

“It doesn’t now, but it used to… my other arm, from…”

“Hydra,” she whispers close to him. He nods.

“Besides, with the Serum, I tend to run a little hot,” he dodges someone walking the opposite way, steering Rue out of the way as well, “so it was never really an issue.”

“Well, it’s too cold for me,” she lets go of his hand with a chuckle, “so I’ll…”

Bucky hears it before he sees it.

The tinny, metallic clatter.

It’s an IED, it’s a grenade.

His muscles react before he does.

His body pushes Rue out of the way, tumbles, and he lets his body hit the ground first, landing so he shields her head with his metal arm. His body is rigid, but his heart is wild as he waits for the explosion.

(He doesn’t even register that his hat’s gone flying or Rue’s matching heartbeat thudding against his chest, her breath panting against his face.)

The explosion never comes.

He chances a look over his shoulder to see… a hubcap, wobbling to a pathetic halt.

“Bucky.” He looks down at Rue. He watches her alert gaze soften. He feels her arm, pinned beneath him, worm its way up to cup his face. “Hey, we’re safe.”

“I…” He pushes away from her immediately, resting on his knees, “Sorry, I–”

(Panic is a tidal wave, freezing his thoughts and the words coming out of his mouth, and it crashes into embarrassment.

He’s drowning, he’s drowning.)

“Hey, James, it’s okay.” She’s on her knees now, too, studying him. He feels her hands on his thighs, pressing into them as she gets close to his face. “James, we’re safe, okay? Breathe with me.”

“Wow, you really saved her from that hubcap, dude,” a laughing voice says behind them. Bucky suddenly remembers they’re in the middle of the sidewalk, painfully aware of all the people pouring around them.

(And their staring eyes are crushing his chest.)

There’s a young guy, younger than Rue, younger than Bucky was when he’d been drafted. He’s wearing a baseball cap, so Bucky can only see the shit-eating grin on his face.

“Can you kindly fuck off, please?” Rue says with a saccharine tone, but her features are configured in a way Bucky has never seen before.

Mean and hateful.

(Even when she’d threatened that person in the restaurant, her face had been neutral, and he could tell her words had been measured and calm. This is something different.)

“Why, so you can coddle–” The guy turns his cap backwards, showing the realization filling his eyes. Bucky’s blood drains from his face. The guy’s phone is out and aimed at him in seconds. “You’re the fucking Winter Soldier.”

Rue’s on her feet before Bucky can react. “Stop recording us.”

(Bucky’s mind flashes back to the information the Toad gave him, Rue’s history of getting into fights, inebriated or not. He wonders if this streak of anger is making its appearance again, after many years.)

“Yeah right, bitch.” He scoffs, pushes her aside. She stumbles. To his phone, he narrates, “Who knew the Winter Soldier was such a pussy?”

Rue’s already in motion when Bucky gets to his feet.

She snatches at his phone, but the guy steps out of reach. “I said, stop recording us.”

He puts the camera on her face now. “Look at this, the Winter Soldier’s little whore–”

Rue gives him a hard shove, knocking him back into the crowd, and his phone flies out of his hand. Without hesitation, her heel slams into it. The sound of glass grinding beneath her boot is surprisingly loud in the busy night.

“What the fuck!”

He lunges at her. She’s already swinging, her rings glinting in the city lights, but Bucky grabs her waist. She catches Bucky off guard when she drops her weight and bounces back to deliver an open-palmed hit to the guy’s jaw.

She’s holding a knife now.

Bucky’s knife.

The guy must not have seen it because he’s going for a punch - but Bucky catches his fist. He bends the arm backwards, to a degree he knows feels like it’s breaking without the damage.

(Under different circumstances, if his brain hadn’t been rewired, Bucky’s very aware that, with all the adrenaline in his body, he would have killed this guy for less.)

A crowd is forming, and Rue is yelling, “It must be so exciting to livestream a street fight, but god forbid one of you helps a man being publicly ridiculed!”

(Someone yells, sarcastically, “Looks like it’s being handled!”

But Bucky’s more focused on this man’s elbow being on the precipice of shattering with one swift move, and the color bleeding from this kid’s face).

“Stand down,” Bucky says, an intentional growl, low enough for only him to hear. Finally seeing Bucky for the threat he is, the guy nods, a frantic bob, and Bucky releases him. “Get out of here. Now.”

“Bucky…”

He looks to Rue, who offers his cap, and finally scans the crowd of people. Now aware of the cameras, Bucky tries to obscure his face and gently pulls Rue away from the scene. She protests, mad he’s not standing up for himself, but he assures her it’s not worth it.

“James,” she hisses as he ushers them through an alley. She snatches her arm out of his grip, her face red. “That guy deserved every minute of that.”

“So?” His words have no heat. He doesn’t want to fight her. “I don’t need the public to see me as being… aggressive.”

“I’m sorry.” Her eyes well with tears, but he sees they’re frustrated ones. “Sorry,” she repeats, “I’m just really disgusted by humanity right now.”

(He doesn’t know what to say to that. He is, too.)

They stand in the alley as wind howls through. He’s reminded of the first time they met, in an alley, but it was him in distress. He remembers her patience and her humor.

He rubs her arm for comfort, cautious to whether she even wants to be touched right now. As he lets his hand slip from her, her hand catches his and holds it tightly.

“Are you okay?” she asks quietly. He purses his lips, thinking about it. “I mean, from the flashback or whatever that was. It must have been scary.”

“I thought it was an explosive,” he explains. She nods, like she knows. “I guess I still have some work to do.” He taps his temple. “This thing’s still has some loose wires.”

“You’re capable.”

(She smiles, and it catches in his chest like wildfire. The stark contrast of the tough Rue ready to fight and the soft Rue looking at him like this… it’s jarring.)

Then, he extends his other hand expectantly.

Rue’s face pinks when she realizes what he’s waiting for. Lifting a sheepish look up to his gaze, she places his knife back in his hand.

“What exactly were you going to do with this, hm?” he teases.

“I don’t know,” she gives a weak laugh, avoiding his eyes. “I just wanted to be prepared?”

“You were doing fine without it.”

He puts his arm around her and leads her back to the main sidewalk. Like a blessing, no one is paying attention.

////

When she drives him home, Rue announces she had brought some Christmas decorations to help make his apartment feel festive. She says she can’t stay to set them up tonight, but she’ll help him next week. She does, however, give him the task of setting up the fake Christmas tree by himself.

(Bucky sees the long case in the trunk of her car and frowns. Why would Rue have a sniper bag casually in her car? When he opens it, fake pine leaves tickle his hand, and he huffs a laugh at his ridiculous assumption.)

After carrying two suitcases full of decorations into his apartment, Bucky walks Rue back to her car.

“So, I’ll see you next week,” Rue says, hip leaning against her car. “Vick says she’s making eggnog for you.”

Bucky frowns, confused, saying, “She doesn’t even know me.”

“She knows about you. I–” She’s looking up at the inky sky, squinting against the streetlight pooling them in light. “Bucky… it’s snowing!”

(He knows. He sees the way the flakes fall on her dark hair like glitter. He sees the way her eyes glow with wonder. He sees the pure joy on her face.)

He has to clear his throat when he finally says, “You were right.”

When her eyes land on him, the moment is suddenly charged. There’s a buzz in his chest and in his head that mutes rationality. He imagines what bystanders might think, walking past, seeing their gazes tethered to one another, unwavering, covered in snow, hovering close.

(Would they make correct assumptions, of two friends teetering on the edge of something more…?)

Rue reaches up to brush some snow off his hair, his shoulder, and her hand stays there. He feels planted in place. She takes a step closer, nearly closing the gap between them, only her other hand resting on his chest stops her body from being pressed against his. A gust of wind blows through the street with a rush of snow, and with it, Rue tiptoes to press her mouth to his.

The kiss is… searching. Knowing. Warm and affectionate. He barely registers how her cold nose brushes against his cheek. He’s only aware of her hands, her lips, her tongue. He doesn’t move to hold her or to be closer. He just matches her kiss for what it is.

(But when she makes a small, pleased noise before pulling away, all he wants in those few seconds is to catch her in his arms, to hold her so impossibly close, to kiss her so deeply.)

“I…” Her eyes linger on his mouth as she wipes her bottom lip with a deliriously cute smile. Her nose is pink, and so are her lips. “I couldn’t waste a fresh snow kiss.”

“Okay, ‘Lorelai’,” he murmurs. He revels in the way her eyes light.

“What, is Gilmore Girls another one of your guilty pleasures?”

“No…” his laugh is low.

(The street seems so uncharacteristically quiet. He’s afraid of ruining the moment. He’s afraid of scaring her away.)

“But it is on around four in the morning.”

(She has to know, right? She has to know that she has, somehow, infiltrated all of the walls he’s built around himself. She has to know that the look she’s giving him right now, eyes lit with mirth, is piercing through his chest and seizing his heart. She has to be aware of it, at least… right?)

She laughs, and he feels her hand slipping from his chest, from his shoulder. She looks up at him, through her thick and snowy lashes, a quiet look passing over her face.

“I’ll see you next week?”

(Did I screw things up? Her tone asks.)

“I sure hope so.”

(Her smile is so bright and beaming, and he can’t look away.)

A/N: HAPPY NEW YEARS GUYS! I know the story is still before Christmas, but at least we got a kiss ;) Thanks so much for the support throughout 2023, I really appreciate all the love! Here's to finishing this fic in 2024 lol !

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lightning-writes · 4 months

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🕯️Manifesting writing inspiration, comments and kudos and success for all the writing girlies this year 🕯️

#fic writing #writing

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lightning-writes · 4 months

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good heart (faulty machine of a man) - 20/30

fic summary: bucky meets someone at therapy

chapter summary: Bucky visits Rue at work (alternatively: Bucky prepares for Rue to join him for Christmas)

word count: 1211

tags: post endgame, pre tfatws, slow burn, canon divergent, canon compliant, au

warnings: none

a/n: introducing a new side character! (also, get ready for part 2 very soon! happy new year folks!)

AO3 MASTERLIST X

Rue: soooo 10:23 pm

Rue: I just found out Vick is going out of town w Frank for Christmas 10:25 pm

Rue: and mikey and giselle are going out of town too 10:26 pm

Rue: so ig i’m having a solo christmas this year 10:30 pm

Bucky: I’m sorry 10:33 pm

Bucky: I’m also having a solo christmas 10:35 pm

Bucky: you could come here for christmas 10:49 pm

At the time he’d gotten the text, Bucky had been at his kitchen table, cleaning his usual gun. Now, he’s in the lamp aisle of a nearly empty store on a Friday morning. Just the thought of Rue potentially being in his space forced him to finally furnish his apartment. He’d been really unprepared coming into the store, and now, he’s even more overwhelmed than he would admit.

(When she doesn't answer in the morning, he feels… both embarrassed and disappointed. An odd and unfamiliar combination brewing. Was he overstepping by inviting her?)

An employee approaches him with a casual, “Hi, is there anything I can help you with today?” which immediately launches into an incredulous, “Wait, you’re–!” when he bothers to look at Bucky.

(He’s still not used to being recognized in public. He’s used to people knowing about him, assuming things about him, but them recognizing his face? He suddenly feels naked without his mask. Panic seizes him for a moment, freezing his thoughts and his words)

“Uh,” Bucky scratches the back of his neck, trying for a smile. Raynor would be both proud and devastated. “Yeah, but I’m just, uh… trying to shop.”

“Right, right,” his eyes are wide and buggy as he tries to compose himself, “sorry for freaking out, but an Avenger–”

Bucky looks around, “Uh, yeah, let’s not–”

“Right, right,” the employee repeats, shaking his head and his hands - like he’s getting ready to run a marathon. “Okay, sorry, sorry.” After a deep breath, he hits Bucky with a slightly less crazed smile. “Okay, so did you need help finding anything?”

(His inner Russian voice says, You’ve been compromised, Soldier, get out of there.

Bucky buries the flight response.)

“Yeah, actually… I, uh, am trying to decorate my apartment.”

“Any specific pieces or styles you’re looking for?”

Bucky and the employee, Chris, walk around the store. Bucky has the duty of pushing the cart while Chris adds items in it. He determines Bucky likes both vintage and modern styles, “leaning on the side of rustic”, to which Bucky just nods and lets Chris navigate the shopping. Chris takes the selection process very seriously, crossing his arms and judging, humming and pondering aloud, confirming with Bucky what his “space looks like” and if it “matches his vibe”.

By the time they’ve finished, Chris has a full cart too.

He rings Bucky up with his employee discount, a veteran’s discount, and free delivery for the bigger items.

While Bucky is grateful for Chris, he knows he can never show his face again in the store. He has a feeling Chris is going to tell every person he knows and meets how he’s met an Avenger.

Rue: i’d love that 2:32 pm

////

The next day, Bucky is doing research in bed when he gets a text.

Rue: hey i have to do some christmas shopping, wanna go? 7:30 am

Bucky: sure 7:39 am

Rue: wow you’re up early lol 7:48 am

Rue: meet me at waterway after work, 5pm 7:49 am

Rue: gotta clock in, see you later 7:51 am

////

“Table for one or are we waiting for the rest of the party?”

(The hostess at Waterway Brewery, a young, green-haired woman, looks eager for him to say yes, he’s dining alone. He sees the way she’s looking at him - attracted to him and trying to place where she knows him. He hides a little under his cap, feeling his face settle into a disappointed frown.)

“Actually, I’m waiting for Rue.”

The woman nearly pouts. “She has two more tables she’s waiting on. You could have a seat at the bar until she’s done.”

The hostess unnecessarily walks him over to the bar and tells the bartender to put two drinks on her tab for him. Bucky gives a tight lipped smile when she leans into him, telling him to flag her down if he needs anything. Her perfume is too heavy.

He orders a vodka shot and a beer on tap as a chaser.

From his spot at the bar, he sees Rue. She’s chatting with a table of six customers, all young men. He sees the way she keeps her interactions clipped but warm. He almost looks away until he notices it. The closest person, eyeing her legs in her skirt, leering at her a little. Bucky keeps his grip on the beer glass in check… so he doesn’t crush it. As she’s leaving with their payment, the customer grabs her ass.

Bucky’s on his feet.

The bartender notices, follows his gaze, and says, “Stand down. She’s got this,” with a knowing look on his face.

(Bucky’s body reacted before his brain connected to his feelings. One thought is danger. Another is protect. Amongst the frenzy of his thoughts and the impossible restraint, a secret option stays in the background: mine.)

The defensive feeling in his chest is rising, blurring his vision, nearly makes him miss Rue’s quick reflexes.

Rue catches the young man’s hand before he can snatch it back, and she has it bent back unnaturally, one swift move away from breaking. The customer yelps, and his friends at the table are stunned into silence. Rue leans in, saying something Bucky can tell is threatening, before releasing her grip, smiling, and pivoting her way out of the situation.

She comes over to the cash register behind the bar, her brow furrowed. Her eyes are focused on her work until the bartender nudges her and nods to Bucky.

Her face splits into a relieved smile.

“Hey!” She glances at the bartender, to see if he noticed her excitement, but he’s on the other side of the bar, serving someone. “I’ll be, maybe, fifteen more minutes?”

“I have a drink to finish,” he raises his glass. He nods over to the table she just left. “Do you need any help with that?”

“Nope, it’s handled,” she chirps in a strategically neutral voice. He remembers it well, from the earlier days of their friendship. She reaches for his untouched shot and throws it back. Her whole face scrunches, and he laughs. “I’ll be quick!”

When the party of six leaves, and the other table, a family of three with a toddler, Rue hip checks him as she passes, going through the kitchen double doors. She reappears with a long burgundy coat, a scarf, and combat boots. He notices her bare legs and frowns.

(He also notices her hair in a neater ponytail and the makeup she’d touched up.)

“It’s cold out there,” he comments as Rue links arms with him, quickly ushering-slash-rushing him out the door. She gives a curt wave to the green-haired hostess before they’re pushed into the city. She takes a deep, dramatic breath of air.

“They’re tights,” she finally says, pulling at what he now sees is nude fabric on her legs and not her skin. “They’re double lined, I’m fine.”

(Not many things shock Bucky - he’s been around for more than a century - but he stares at her legs for longer than appropriate and not for sinful reasons.

Sorcery, he thinks.)

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lightning-writes · 4 months

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good heart series - master post

Welcome to the expanision of the good heart series! So far, we have the following:

good heart (faulty machine of a man) - in progress (21/30 chapters)

Tumblr Masterpost AO3

fic summary: bucky meets someone in therapy

& & & & & & & & & & & & & & & & & & & & & & & & & & & & & & & & &

good heart (easy smile) - in progress (3/?)

AO3

fic summary: Ruby David meets Bucky Barnes at work (alternatively: a companion fic to good heart (faulty machine of a man) from Rue's POV)

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lightning-writes · 4 months

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good heart (easy smile)

fic summary: Ruby David meets Bucky Barnes at her job (alternatively: a companion fic to good heart (faulty machine of a man) from Rue's POV)

Read the first 3 chapters on AO3

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lightning-writes · 4 months

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good heart (faulty machine of a man) - 19/30

fic summary: bucky meets someone at therapy

chapter summary: rue calls bucky (alt: nothing platonic happens after 12 am)

word count: 2150

tags: post endgame, pre tfatws, slow burn, canon divergent, canon compliant, au

warnings: none

a/n: we love a flirty bucky x rue moment! also some ruby lore!

AO3 MASTERLIST X

The clatter of his phone vibrating on the wooden floor makes him groan. Who the hell is calling him after midnight? He rolls over and sees the bleary image of Rue’s face.

Panic rises in his chest as he stands. He answers the phone with an alarmed, “Hello?”

“It’s a video call, friend, get me away from your ear.”

Bucky holds the phone out to see Rue in a bathroom. She has the phone propped behind the sink, rubbing something onto her face, and she looks down at the phone.

(He first notices her exposed stomach from the cropped tank top, then her pierced nipples again. He can’t presume her intention, but he doesn’t know which Rue’s getting tonight. And it makes his ears hot.)

“Jesus Christ, James,” she startles him out of his thoughts. The phone is in her hands now, her face close to the screen. “Look at those pectorals.”

Bucky looks down at his shirtlessness. Automatically, his hand flies up to cover himself.

In a muffle tone that he can only believe is to herself, she mutters, “I mean, I knew you were jacked, but goddamn.”

(Bucky has no idea how he should feel about this statement, but it certainly does make him feel something.)

She sets the phone back down and begins to braid her hair. To him, she says, “Vick has Frank over, so I thought I’d call you. I’m just getting ready for bed.” She peeks down at the phone. “Were you sleeping?”

“Kinda.” He wasn’t, but his answer is more acceptable than saying he was trying to find a comfortable spot on the floor of his nearly empty living room. “But, it’s fine.”

“Great.” She applies something else to her face, taking her time rubbing it into the skin. “I just had half a bottle of wine, so be prepared for that.”

(He makes a non-committal noise, wondering what drove her to drink.)

“Anyway, what’s up, how was your day?”

“Uh, fine?” He walks into his dark bedroom and finds a shirt. He doesn’t even have a lamp; he has to turn on the bright overhead light and frowns. He sits on his bed with only one pillow left. “How was yours?” he asks, unsure.

He watches her walk from the bathroom to her bedroom. She sits on the bed with a huff, and he notices the shelves above her headboard. Dried orange slices and small twinkling light hang from the bottom shelf, and he sees a plant vine that nearly brushes her head. Under the shelves, there are photographs taped to her wall, some people, some landscapes. He sees the shine of a still wrapped condom when he averts his eyes.

“Glad you asked.” She calls attention back down to her. “So, you know how I work at Waterway? Well, so did Maeve, until we broke up, so everyone working there knows our story and mostly everyone knows about the whole Dean situation. So, apparently, Maeve just posted her engagement to Instagram, and literally, Bucky, I kid you not, everyone on staff asked me about it. If I was sad about it, if I’d seen it. As if I didn’t block her on all my socials already! You’d think they’d have more decorum, but obviously not!”

“I’m sorry,” Bucky offers. He got lost in the rant for a moment, but he finds his way out by the end.

She plows through his sympathy. “So, I went– wait, are you… against hooking up or anything?”

“What?” He’s confused by the sharp turn of conversation.

“I mean, being from the 1940’s and all that,” she says impatiently, “I don’t want to offend you with my sexcapades.”

“You won’t,” he nearly laughs. “Trust me.”

(She pauses for too long a moment, and he wishes he knew what she was thinking.)

“Okay, so I went to this lesbian bar I’d gone to with Maeve once, and tried to hook up with someone, but I had no luck - I bet the loser vibes were just emanating off me - so I asked Vick if we could have a girls’ night. And she’d said yes, but then canceled at the last minute!” She brings the phone close to her face again, to whisper, “Frank asked her to dinner, and she thinks he’s going to propose soon, so I guess she’s jumping at every opportunity? I don’t know, I don’t believe in marriage.”

“Didn’t you prop–”

“Anyway,” she says dramatically, giving him a hard look through the screen. He suppresses a grin. “So, while they were out - which I’d like to point out, it was ten o’clock when this happened - Dean came over, like he fucking knew I was alone and rejected, and he dropped off my stuff I’d left at his apartment. And I told him I’m not returning shit because it’s not like I’m keeping fucking tabs on all the belongings in my house!”

Bucky notes how much she swears but doesn’t comment on it. Instead, he asks, “Is that a normal thing to do?”

“Have you ever watched a ‘90’s sitcom?” Rue scoffs. She’s now laying in her bed. She brushes the end of her braid over her face idly.

“Actually–”

She doesn’t let him finish. “So, after he left, I had my wine, I did my skincare, and I called you – lucky you!”

“Lucky me.” He tucks his arm behind his head. She watches him with another expression he can’t place. “Aren’t you tired, after all that?”

She sighs, her mouth twisted in a rueful smile. “Honestly, my brain won’t shut up.”

“I can’t sleep, either,” he confesses after a beat.

(He’s tempted to tell her he can come over or they could go somewhere, but he doesn’t want to fluster her, like she’s been.)

“Give me a house tour,” she declares unprompted. She’s laying on her side, giving him a playfully stern face. “You’ve been to my place, but I’ve never seen yours.”

“You didn’t give me a tour.”

“You didn’t ask for one.”

He rolls his eyes, schooling his amused look. “There isn’t much to see,” he admits.

“I demand entertainment, Barnes,” she pounds a fist into her bed.

(His brain stalls when she calls him by his last name.)

Bucky gets up and turns the front facing camera to his bedroom. He has a dresser, a laundry hamper, and a nightstand. He doesn’t give commentary as he enters the living room, showing his TV, still on, his record player, its speakers, and his small couch. He discreetly kicks away his sleeping setup on the floor as he moves to the kitchen. Rue watches, quietly, drinking from a cup with a familiar bird logo.

“That’s it,” he suppresses a yawn as he sits on the couch. “I told you, not much to see.”

“Oh, but it definitely entertained me,” she says. She looks sleepy, too; her blinks are slower. “Were you watching something?”

“Whatever’s on at,” he checks the time, “at two in the morning.”

“Hmmm,” she hums. He passes a hand through his still shower-damp hair. She then sits up. “Wait, did you get a haircut?”

He’s startled, fingers still combing through his hair. “...uh, yes?”

“You know, if I knew calling you was just going to be a thirst trap, I would have prepared better.” She pauses. “A thirst trap is–”

“Yeah, I actually know what that one means,” he interrupts.

(He briefly wonders what she meant by prepared. He also wonders how long they’ll continue this dance. WIll it end in a grand finale or will the song scratch to a stop?)

She gives him a curious look. “So, you know what you’re doing.”

He shrugs, “I’m just existing.”

“Well, exist less hot when I’m too drunk.” She flops back, dramatically throwing a hand over her forehead. “You know, this is what got us into the Thanksgiving mess in the first place.”

“Is that right?”

“It looks nice, your hair,” she ignores his comment, “I mean, it looked nice before, but…”

She yawns. He yawns.

There’s a long stretch of silence between them, and Bucky wonders if he should be the responsible one to call it a night.

“Can I tell you a secret, Buck?”

“Are you sure you want to do that? In light of the Thanksgiving incident?” She gives him a flat look, and he gives her a soft smile. “Yeah, Rue, I want to hear your secret.”

“I’m… miserable.”

(Her whisper breaks him.)

“I’m miserable, and I deserve it.” She wipes a tear curling down her cheek with the end of her braid. “I’m miserable, and I deserve it, and there’s nothing you can say to make me think otherwise.”

“Okay,” he responds too casually. She gives him a sharp look. “You know, if you were calling to have a pity party, I would have prepared better.” She tries to mask her amusement blooming behind her mad features. “I would have put up a banner… or maybe, some balloons–”

She huffs. “Okay, I get it.”

“I think…” Bucky pauses, eyes avoiding the screen to fully form his thoughts. “You don’t deserve to feel miserable.” He looks at her then, and shrugs a shoulder. “If you did, you wouldn’t.”

“Go on.”

He chuckles. “If you did deserve it, if you really were a bad person, I don’t think you would feel so miserable. Your misery is… it’s your guilt. I mean… you know what you did wasn’t great, and you actually feel bad about it.”

“All right, big boy, we get it. You go to therapy.”

“You studied therapy,” he counters.

(He pointedly ignores her ‘big boy’ comment.)

“Yeah, okay, but it wasn’t like it was my first choice,” she retorts. “Listen, I didn’t want to tell you this before because I know you have paranoid tendencies, but it seems like I’m a sinking ship and, apparently, a glutton for punishment, so I’m gonna tell you–”

“That’s a big preamble for you telling me you almost worked for Shield.”

Rue props herself up with her elbow, again, staring at him so intensely, it almost looks like the video is frozen.

“How could you have possibly known that? That’s super confidential.”

(Bucky had left the gym immediately after receiving the call from The Toad. He met with him at Red Hook Pier, in the rainy night, because better safe than sorry.

“Soldier,” the Toad greeted him in Russian.

Bucky hands him the envelope thick with cash. “That’s not me anymore.”

He hands Bucky the envelope of information with a knowing look. “You will always be a soldier, even if you aren’t the Winter Soldier.”

“Anything I need to know?”

“How do the Americans say it,” he says in English, accent thick and stumbling, “‘The call is coming from inside the house’?”)

He just says, “I’m a former spy.”

“You don’t even know my last name,” she protests.

“Is that right, Ruby David?” he challenges.

He watches realization spread across her features. “Okay, fine, I should have guessed you’d do this. Re: paranoid.”

“Prepared.”

“Distrusting.”

“Vigilant.”

“So, what else did you find?” she asks abruptly.

He’s quick to answer, “What are you worried I’d find?”

“Not worried.” She fiddles with her braid. “Just… curious. I’ve been pretty much an open book, other than the Shield stuff.”

To be fair, she’s telling the truth there. Aside from standard information about her and her family, Bucky mostly found information about her rebellion throughout high school, skipping class, failing class, getting caught smoking all over campus. He saw she’d been arrested at the age of twenty for protesting and a string of bar fights. She also had a long list of lovers, ranging from her age to much older, in quick succession. She’d been paid for her relationships, something the Toad called a “sugar baby”.

Her history with Shield had been brief and mostly one-sided. She’d done a lot of research into finding out whether they actually existed and how she could join them. When she’d been accepted, she had started training… and had backed out a week before initiation. It aligns with what she’d said about taking in her brother.

By the time Mikey had moved out, Hydra would have been outed, and Shield had dissolved.

(Bucky had been there for that one.)

“Yeah, you’ve been pretty honest,” he finally says.

She hums, eyes blinking slowly. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

Bucky is picking up the bedding from the ground and transferring it to his bed as her eyes are downcast. He settles into bed and sighs. “I get why you didn’t. I wouldn’t have told me either.”

Her lips quirk a soft smile. And she yawns again. And he follows. A hush falls between them, just the sound of them breathing. Bucky feels his eyelids grow heavier. The glow of the TV outside casts a dim glow into the bedroom,

“I should get going,” she finally sighs. “I have work at seven tomorrow morning.”

“In three hours,” he corrects.

“Fuck.” She turns on her side. She repeats, “I should sleep.”

Bucky mirrors her. “So, go to sleep.”

“You first.”

Bucky closes his eyes and pretends to snore. He hears her surprised giggle, and he catches her biting her lip as she gazes at him.

“Stay on the line.”

“Okay.” He switches his phone to his other hand. “Good night, Ruby.”

“Sweet dreams, James.”

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lightning-writes · 4 months

Text

good heart (faulty machine of a man) - 18/30

fic summary: bucky meets someone at therapy

chapter summary: bucky changes (alternate: bucky gets a haircut)

word count: 1160

tags: fluff, post endgame, pre tfatws, slow burn, canon divergent, canon compliant, au

warnings: none

a/n: a lil fluffy peek into bucky's day (no rue this chapter, but NEXT chapter, only rue)

AO3 MASTERLIST X

“I’m going on vacation for the rest of the month,” Raynor had announced during their last session. “And I think, to kill two birds with one stone, you should try a support group again.”

“What two birds?” he’d asked.

“Therapy and company,” she’d explained easily. Like she’d known he’d have something to say about it. “Support for the holidays while I’m away, and company because I don’t think you should be alone going into the new year.”

(She’d given him space to object. He knew what she was looking for - a confession. Before the session, she’d witnessed him and Rue laughing, more than amicably, and while she didn’t ask about it, he knew she wanted to.)

“Fine.” He’d crossed his arms and given her a pointed look. Daring her to ask. “But I’m not going to a grief group.”

Now, he’s almost gotten through an entire session in a veteran’s group. While some of the stories were meaningful to him, the current climate of the war and the front lines were just removed enough that it didn’t trigger him. Even when the older veterans, the ones who might have seen the tail-end of his war, share their nightmares and losses, Bucky can endure it.

(And it feels like a goddamn Christmas miracle.)

A woman approaches him after the session, extending a business card. “Uh, hi.” She’s probably a little older than Rue, maybe Raynor’s age. He recognizes her as one of the people who had shared. “I’m Ana.”

He doesn’t even look at the card; he’s studying her. “Bucky,” he offers.

“I…” She lapses into a nervous laugh. “I know this is weird, but I noticed you messing with your hair a lot while I was up there… and I cut hair, so…”

“It’s that bad, huh?” His tone is flat, but she laughs, more confidently now, and he runs a hand through his hair again. He starts to feel self-conscious, but it doesn’t go far. “I honestly haven’t cut it since…”

(He doesn’t say since he’s been the Winter Soldier - it’s not like Hydra had cared about his appearance - but she fills in the blanks with whatever makes sense to her.)

“A lot of veterans don’t… keep up with their appearances,” she says gently. “I mean, I’m sure it took a long time for you to regrow your buzzcut.”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he says, “I kinda like the long hair.”

“It suits you.”

(For once, a woman is not giving him flirty eyes. They are kind but not motherly. She sees him as a person and not an object. She understands.)

“Look, I just started working at a new salon,” she interrupts his thoughts, “and I’m building my clientele. I’m actually on my way over to work now, if you want to be my first client of the day?”

////

Ana had tried to wash his hair, but as he lowered himself to the lip of the sink, he felt anxiety scrape up his chest. Flashes of the Hydra Lab, the excruciating pain from electricity coursing through his skull, his jaw, his throat. He’d shot back up and started to make hasty excuses to leave, but she had reassured him, gently and patiently, that it was okay.

“A lot of people seize up at different parts of the cut,” she had explained. “Sometimes it’s the clippers, sometimes it’s the wash. Each person’s experience is different, and we’ve all been through a lot. I’m used to adapting.”

She had him stand and flip his head over the sink instead. She’d needed a step stool to be able to work the shampoo and conditioner through his hair. As she chatted casually about her clients, which she revealed are usually from the support group, he sunk into the feeling of her fingers moving against this scalp and the easy cadence of her voice.

(Familiarity has always been a trigger for danger, but he realizes Ana is a lot like Rebecca. When their parents died, his spunky younger sister had shifted her attention from her own endeavors to helping others. He knew it was a crutch, in the same way he’d readily thrown himself into his civic duty. Ana reminded him of Rebecca, not necessarily in a sisterly way, but in a safe way.)

When she had him under the cape, she’d told him what she was thinking for the cut, confirmed that he’d liked her ideas, and she’d detailed every step of the cut before executing it. She painstakingly only used scissors for the haircut, carding her fingers through his hair meticulously.

“Okay, so, for your facial hair, we have options.” She’d dusted off the cape with a brush before planting her fists on her hips. The rest of the shop had been pretty much deserted, except one barber and customer toward the front. “I could use the clippers and bring your hair down and leave, like, a shadow, or I could use the blade… but it’d have to be a clean shave.” She laughs at his horrified look. “Okay, okay. The other option is just shaping up what you have going on, nothing off the length. I can do that with the blade, but it’d be much faster and easier to do it with the clippers.”

“I trust you.” The words are out of his mouth before he can consider them. Even she looks slightly shocked. He doubles down, “Do what you think is best.”

“I’m partial to the facial hair,” she says, unraveling the electric razor. Again, her words have no usual subliminal context. “We’ll start with the razor for the shape up, and if it becomes too much, we’ll kick it old school with the blade.”

(For the briefest moment, at the end of the process, Bucky wonders what Rue will think.)

////

George lets out a low whistle when he sees Bucky walk through Fogwell’s doors. He’s putting on his coat while Bucky is taking off his.

“You clean up nicely, kid. Got a hot date or something?”

Bucky laughs, “Thanks, sir, but it’s nothing like that.”

“What did I tell you about calling me ‘sir’,” George swats Bucky with his hat before putting it on. Bucky laughs again. “You got a job interview or something?”

“No, I met a hairdresser,” Bucky says. “At a veteran’s support group. She offered a free haircut, and I figured it was time.”

(He feels like information is just flowing out of him today, like water from a faucet - and the handle is jammed open. His heart says, it’s okay it’s just George, but his brain screamed, you’re in dangerous waters, Barnes.)

George gives him a look he can’t place. He takes both of Bucky’s shoulders and gives them a squeeze.

“You’re doing good, kid.” Bucky is seized by a feeling he hadn’t felt in a while. Something like pride, something like gratitude. “You’re doing good.”

(When George leaves, Bucky gets a call. In Russian, on the other end of the life, he hears, I have the information you requested.)

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