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Kate’s always particular about touch, it’s something Bucky can relate too. A stranger might mistake it for a nervous sort of shyness, the way she skirted around others, careful not to make contact, dropped handshakes like they were hot coals, and shrugged off the hugs and pats and grasping fingers of unfamiliar people, but Bucky’s not a stranger to Kate, not anymore.
Kate was good at lying and excellent at pretending everything was fine, in fact she was almost good enough to fool Bucky if he wasn't paying too close attention (with a little less flamboyance Hydra would love to have an agent like her but Bucky tried not to think about that too often). He noticed her peculiarities almost immediately though in the same way he counted every exit when he entered a building and couldn’t help but automatically categorize the nearest objects from most to least deadly.
At first he thought she was doing it for his benefit and it was all he could do not to scream with white hot rage and shame. He wasn’t fragile, he wasn’t going to break how could he possibly get anymore broken than he already was? and he didn’t need anyone tip toeing around him. It burned him up inside for weeks, a wretched bitterness in his throat, barbed words always on the tip of his tongue but never making it past his lips, until one day by accident he walked past Kate and his elbow knocked against her back.
She was absorbed in her laptop, had been for hours doing research for one of her cases when Bucky made to move around her, reaching for the coffee pot. He’d gotten used to Kate by then, slowly but surely acclimating to her presence. He was no longer hyper aware of her, counting the centimeters between them, so he didn’t even think when he brushed past her. He probably should have realized, if he had been looking for it he would have seen it, but he wasn’t and so it was a surprise when she started at his touch. He could hear her sharp intake of breath, saw her shoulders tense and he froze as well.
“Why don’t you top me off while you’re at it, huh?” she said finally and Bucky could see that her hands were clenched but her voice was steady.
The tension that had been knotted in his chest for what seemed like forever melted away and it was like coming up for air when he had been drowning. Bucky filled Kate’s mug without a word but running through his mind like a dazed mantra was only one thought; she knows, she understands.
He started to notice more after that. The way Kate never got into an elevator alone, how she made them cross the street when they were walking Lucky or grabbing a coffee and she saw more than one man coming their way on the sidewalk. They never talked about it, not out loud, and Bucky respected that. He didn't press her for an explanation when she made them wait with a teenage girl who was alone at a bus stop and she didn't ask him why he showed up on her doorsteps some nights shaking. They didn't need to put it into words, it was simply there, this silent understanding, an unspoken camaraderie between them and it helped, knowing that there was at least one other person out there who got it.
Now when Kate greeted him she wrapped him in a tight hug, like she was afraid she wouldn't ever see him again and Bucky always hugged her back, holding her just as close. He couldn't tell you when it happened exactly or what had changed, just that one day Kate came rushing in, in a whirl of chatter and motion, plopped down on the couch and flung her legs over his lap and Bucky had instinctively pulled her closer before he even realized what had happened. It was like a comet suddenly coming crashing down to Earth. They had drifted into each others orbit by chance and it had been so wonderful compared to the empty void that had come before—the way they circled each other, close, but never coming into contact—that he hadn't realized until that moment how badly he had wanted them to collide.
She didn't flinch away when their hands grazed anymore or jump when Bucky grabbed her knee to still her restless legs and he reveled it in it. She let him be close to her, she allowed his touch, and the very thought filled Bucky with a warm glow. Her touch became a constant to him and he would always return her little gestures, small slight touches, a gentle reminder to the other: I am here, I am with you, you are safe. When Kate let her head rest against his shoulder as they watched infomercials at three am after both of them had given up on sleep he intertwined his fingers with her hair and she nestled closer; when she accidentally caught the tail end of a news story about some poor girl and dropped the cup she was holding Bucky was at her side, pressing the cool fingers of his metal hand into hers, anchoring Kate to reality. When the noise and clamor of the city were too much Bucky buried his head in Kate's lap and she rubbed his back until he could look up again; when Bucky started to shake and his vision blurred and all of the voices of his past were rushing through his mind Kate was there, her arms draped around his shoulders as she hummed soothingly in his ear. And surprisingly it was enough, just to be with one other, to feel the warmth of the others presence, to be there.