Chapter Text
In the poorly lit street, Sharon didn’t notice, but Bucky did. A drop. Then another. Blood slipped from the cotton Sharon covered her wound with and onto the pavement beneath their feet. He realised she had put on a brave face and that her wound was a lot worse than she was letting on.
“Alright, look. Can we get out of here please?” he said with a slight nudge to her arm and a soft edge to his voice.
Sharon nodded and leaned off of the car. She wouldn’t admit her step faltered, even though it so clearly did. So, Bucky wordlessly placed his metal hand behind her back, barely touching but ready to catch her if she faltered all the same. He nodded at Sam as they made their way out of the jammed street.
“I didn’t forget my promise,” Sam called out behind them.
Sharon turned around and nodded.
“Where are you staying?” Bucky asked.
“Keep walking. We’re almost there,” Sharon replied.
Bucky rolled his eyes. He frequently found himself doing that in her company. He contemplated how Steve put up with her, but then realised the Sharon Steve knew was not the Sharon that walked in front of him at this moment.
They stopped in front of her hotel room and Sharon pulled a key card out of her pocket and tossed it at him. While he figured out the door, she leaned on the wall next to it and took a deep breath, still holding the cotton over her wound.
“You sure you still don’t wanna go to a hospital?” Bucky asked as he opened the door for her. She stood upright and just groaned at him with a look of disgust. Inside the room, she walked to the dresser and tossed a kit on the bed.
“I came prepared,” she said and plopped on the armchair a bit too suddenly, a decision Bucky swore she regretted as a low throaty groan erupted from her lips.
“Jesus, Sharon!”
Bucky stripped out of his leather jacket and opened the kit. It was more than just a first aid kit. Larger and complete with surgical instruments, some of which he’d never seen before.
“I’m not exactly an expert,” Bucky tried to reason. It was still not too late to make a trip to the emergency ward.
“I’m an expert,” she said, bottle of vodka in hand. When the hell did she find that?
Sharon took a massive gulp and stood up, grabbed the kit from his hand and slipped into the bathroom, leaving the door slightly ajar.
“You can leave now! Thanks for the walk!” she called out from behind the door, followed by a small grunt.
The woman was, simply put: impossible. Sighing in defeat, Bucky put his jacket on and decided to leave. She clearly had everything under control and if she didn’t, well she was too stubborn to argue with.
“Fuck!” she yelled, the curse echoed throughout the room.
Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose and cursed under his breath. He tossed his jacket on the bed for a second time and knocked on the bathroom door.
“Sharon, I’m coming in,” he announced and she hummed. He swung the door open and found her sitting at the edge of the bathtub.
Bucky darted for the sink to rinse his hands with soap before taking into account that her shirt was carelessly tossed on the bathroom floor. He crouched in front of her, grabbing the needle from her while keeping his gaze respectfully trained on her wound and not the rest of her.
“Where’s the bullet?” he asked and she opened her fist to show the bloody casing in her hand. He nodded and their eyes briefly met, before Bucky began stitching her up. Not a sound, not even a tiny flinch as he pierced her skin with the needle and sew her wound. That’s when he noticed the scar above her belly button. Jagged line. Definitely a stab wound. He then spotted a scar on her left forearm, more faded but present all the same. He noticed another vague line that disappeared beneath her bra, and that's when Bucky realised he’d been staring at her scars for too long and blinked away. Sharon threw the bullet in the trash can and brushed passed him after washing the blood off of her hands.
Bucky stood in the bathroom alone, staring at his feet. When he did turn around, Sharon was putting on a shirt. He took the scars on her back into account. And she knew that he had noticed them all as well.
She’d been here through it all. If anything, those scars were testament of what she had endured the past five years. While him and Sam were snapped out of existence, she’d stayed behind and gone through it all.
Without a word, Bucky put on his jacket for the third time that night and made it to the door.
“Hey, wait.” Sharon called out. Bucky turned to face her and nearly smiled, she had the bottle of vodka back in her hands. “Thanks.”
He gave a single nod and a small awkward wave with his flesh hand and left.