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It's only been an hour since Bucky found out that technically you didn't live at the compound, well you didn't exclusively live at the compound. It shocked him to find out that you had your own place away from the Avengers, it was even more shocking that no one else knew anything about it.
"Why do you even care?" Steve asked with a knowing smirk on his face.
"I don't care. It's just-" Bucky trails off, not really knowing why he cares so much.
"You care about her," Steve offers.
"I-" He tries to tell Steve that he couldn't care less. That it's not like that and he just thinks its suspicious- though he's not quite sure anyone would believe there's anything suspicious about you. The words taste bitter in his mouth, it's such a bold-faced lie that he can't choke out the words anymore. He keeps picturing your face hearing the lie and even worse the face you’d make if you actually believed the lie. If you believed that he doesn't care about you.
Steve smirks at him. "Told you. You got it bad."
"Shut up, Steve."
"I don't think she meant to keep it a secret. Why don't you just ask her about it?"
For days he stews, he even considers following you like some kind of stalker, but you don't leave the compound at the end of the day. For days, he waits for the perfect opportunity and it never comes. Eventually his curiosity and inexplicable urge to know more about you wins out. So he swallows his pride, walks up to you and asks you about it. Of course, he asked you about it and you just shrugged not really understanding what the big deal was.
And just like that, you offered to show it to him. It leaves him wishing he'd listened to Steve's advice days ago.
He, of course, jumped at the offer, wanting to check the place out for himself. The rational part of him knew that you could take care of yourself- that it wasn't that big of a deal. Most adults lived on their own, and you were an adult.
Done.
It wasn't any of his business.
But for reasons he couldn't even admit to himself, he felt so protective over you.
So the two of you took the subway to an old run-down neighborhood and he watched as you smiled and waved at every single person that spared the two of you a glance. All the while he grimaced and glared at every single man that looked at you.
When the two of you finally make it to your apartment, you turn on the lights and the two of you walk in. You have a singular coat rack in the corner and some scattered furniture. The walls are completely bare- still that off white color that landlords paint everything. There's a small couch and a table with 2 mismatched chairs. Bucky takes your coat and hangs it on the coat rack. You don't miss the shock on his face when he sees your bare bones apartment. "It's...not what I expected?"
You laugh, completely understanding what he's saying. "It's a work in progress. You're actually the first person who's ever seen it."
"You haven't had this place long?"
"No, I have. I just didn't have much when I joined the team. There was never really time after that."
"Being an Avenger does seem to take up a lot of time," he agrees.
You chuckle again. "It's a work in progress, collecting things. I don't have a lot of stuff." You see the confused look on Bucky's face and decide to fill in the gaps for him. "I wasn't allowed possessions, to have anything really- before, I mean. When SHEILD found me it was me and the clothes off my back."
"I'm sorry, Doll."
"Don't be. It's nice getting to walk around New York, getting to figure out what I like and...it's just nice," you shrug. "Now for the tour," you beam, gesturing to the small apartment that Bucky can entirely see from the entrance. "This is it," you laugh.
"Is there any security in the building?" Bucky asks, nosing around the place.
"I don't think so. But I do have my own security system!" you exclaim.
"That's good," Bucky sighs in relief. "Can I see it?"
"It's right here," you gesture to the glass of water and plant sitting on your table.
Bucky frowns immediately. "That's a glass of water. And a plant."
"No, that's my security system. No one can get past that," you state with confidence.
"I could get past that," he deadpans,
"I don't think you could," you retort, stubbornly crossing your arms.
"Alright, I'm going to pretend I'm a burglar, and you're going to try and stop me," he says, already walking toward the door.
"No," you shake your head, grabbing his arm and pulling him back.
"Why not?"
You wryly smile. "Because I don't want to hurt you."
Bucky just rolls his eyes and keeps that serious expression on his face. "You won't hurt me."
"Okay," you sigh in defeat. "But it's not my fault if you get hurt."
He rolls his eyes one last time before he walks out of the door and gives you a second to prepare. When he figures he's given you enough time, he bursts through the door, enough to startle you, but not enough to actually break the door.
He can very easily say he was not expecting you to take him down the fast. The second he's made it past the entryway, you've nailed him against the wall with icicles. And the moment the shock passes, he's thankful that this is just a t-shirt and not his favorite leather jacket that he hung up on the coatrack.
He looks down and sees the plant he insulted had wrapped around both his legs restraining his movement. "And then I call 911."
"Okay, you were right," he begrudgingly admits.
"Thank you," you nod proudly, winding back the plant and plucking the icicles from the wall.
"Come on. I want to show you my favorite part of the house," you say, pulling a still stunned Bucky toward the small door in the corner of your apartment.
Your favorite part of the house is your music room slash library- a mostly empty library, but you have the most beautiful ornate wooden bookshelves lining 2 of the walls. When Bucky walks in, he's kind of shocked. It's a complete contrast of the living room. This is what he expected. The walls are painted a pastel yellow. You've got a blue record player with a shelf full of vinyl records both new and used next to it. And a small, used piano and guitar in the other corner.
You have a brown leather couch tucked into the corner of the room next to the mostly empty bookshelf. He sees a lot of children's books and as his eyes trail down the books get longer, more mature. Most of the books are classic works, not the fluffy romance that you once claimed you exclusively read. He walks over to the shelf full of vinyl and flips through it. He sees a wide selection, so wide that it almost seems random.
You walk over to the shelf when you see Bucky looks particularly interested in your collection. You remain quietly, hoping that Bucky likes this room as much as you do. He offers you a reassuring smile, but says nothing. His eyes drag over everything as he walks over to the piano. "You play?"
"No." You shake your head. "Not yet anyway. That was mostly because I greatly lack any impulse control."
"Impulse control?"
"I'd never heard music- before. The vinyl, it has a little bit of everything- at least I think it does. Steve, Sam, and Tony gave me a list."
"You'd never heard music before?" You shake your head silently. He looks back at the shelf and pulls out a pink record, with an eyebrow raised. "Those guys recommended Disney soundtracks and Taylor Swift?"
You chuckle, "No, that was all me."
"What else? I want to know more."
You continue thumbing through your own collection, not quiet able to meet Bucky's eyes. "There's not much to tell. I was kept in a room. Maybe 6x6- most of my life? You know, people will ask me how I didn't go crazy or why I didn't fight back- and I didn't know," you shrug sheepishly. "I knew other people existed. But the outside world? Other people? I didn't know. I didn't know about any of it."
"How'd you learn to read? To speak?" Bucky asks. As soon as the questions leave his mouth, he realizes that it sounds like he's interrogating you more than trying to have a conversation. "I'm sorry. I'm just really curious about you."
"It's alright. There was one person- a lady. I don't know what her job was who she was, but she was the nicest to me. She's the reason I learned to speak- she taught me most of the alphabet. And one day, she just stopped coming- I didn't see her for a while." You chew on the inside of your cheek thinking about her- more specifically, the last time you saw her. The apologetic smile coming from her busted, swollen lips. How the guards dragged her into your room, she could barely stand and you could tell that she'd been severely beaten. She mouthed her apologies and smiled at you one last time before they put a bullet in between her eyes. You watched in horror as she slumped to the ground in front of you, her blood covering your face. They dragged her body out, but they let you sit with her blood for days.
"Did you ever find out whatever happened to her?"
You forcefully exhale. "Yeah- I know...They, uh...they caught her. She was trying to smuggle in something for me... And then they shot her for it."
"How are you so happy- so kind?" Bucky asks absentmindedly, wondering what the world did to deserve an ounce of the goodness you brought into it. What he did to deserve being in your sun-drenched presence.
You swallow the knot in your throat. "It's not easy, but when I think about her- I don't think about the way she died. I think about how brave she must have been. How kind she was to help me. Plus, I think it helped not knowing. Not knowing about the big world outside."
"How could that possibly help?"
"When I was found, I didn't know anything. And suddenly, I had a whole world to explore. I was completely free for the first time in my life. I got to see the sun for the first time. I got to hear music. Eat real food. Everything is so new- so exciting. And all the bad things they just don't seem so bad anymore."
"Perceptive," Bucky comments, slightly in awe of you.
"Thank you," you smile. "So do I have the Barnes' seal of approval?"
He playfully rolls his eyes. "You don't need my approval."
"But that's why you wanted to see my place? Right?"
"I wanted to make sure you were okay," he sheepishly admits, one hand rubbing the back of his neck.
You're a little shocked by Bucky's admission considering he's never been that forthcoming with you. "Well that's very nice of you."
"It's nothing."
"No, no, it's not," you insist. "It means a lot to me."