Chapter Text
On nights you can’t sleep, you go on runs. The compound offered tracks and plenty of machinery, but there was just something about running in the brisk night air that helped calm you down. When you were first brought on to the team several years ago, you found yourself frustrated constantly. You used to smoke a lot more back then, but Sam never liked that you picked up the bad habit years ago. Steve helped a lot, Sam even more so when you had trouble voicing what was wrong, but Steve taught you to box. To take that anger and frustration and put it somewhere better. Sam offered to run with you and then all three of you ran together. For the most part. The team should have an officially branded track team with how much you all run.
On top of never really having a proper sleep schedule from becoming an avenger/agent, nightmares and anxiety plagued your mind. A full eight hours was never really your thing anyway, which made having a constantly changing schedule easier. It probably wasn’t a good thing that the deep chill helped ground you most nights, but with how frustrating your week had been, the run isn’t helping. The pain of hitting sandbags wasn’t any better, but you healed quickly with some forced experimentation you had endured. The gym was always empty in the early hours of the morning, so you jog your way up to the building, walking through the quiet halls to find the gym occupied for once.
“Steve,” you’re breathless still, trying to even them out. “I didn’t expect to see you up this early.”
“Neither did I.” He swung a bag around, hooking it up to the chain with no effort. All the men in this building were giants, while you were perfectly average sized in your mind. It pointed a lot of jokes your way, and jealousy toward them. They always seemed to shut up when your strength either matched their own or exceeded it. “Nightmares again?”
“More like avoiding them.” Turning, you ignore his bright blue eyes. The same ones you saw when you were promised you were safe, and actually believed it. There wasn’t going to be any convincing him to let you stay and be even more sleep deprived. “You can’t say anything, Rogers. You’re awake too.”
“Yeah, I’m starting my day. What’s your excuse?”
“It’s only–” checking the time on your watch, it’s nearly five in the morning. Had you really been at it that long? Your legs were only just starting to burn. “Jesus, I think you wake up earlier than my grandpa.”
“Hilarious,” he deadpans. “Have you slept at all?”
He put his hands on his hips, and you know you’re in trouble. Those kind eyes burrow into your soul, past your perspired skin and tired muscles. Through your own tired eyes that felt heavier by the second. You knew you wouldn’t be able to get away with lying. You can feel how tired you must look. Steve’s been dealing with you for too long to know when you’re lying, a heavy sigh from him making your chest tighten with guilt when you only respond with silence. Sometimes you’re afraid the stress you put him under is going to actually make him look like the hundred something year old he is. You know you can be hard headed, but you couldn’t help it. For years you had fought back against the man who kidnapped you, so you weren’t suddenly going to stop with Steve.
“I can’t make you sleep but I’m just asking you to get some today.”
“No, yeah, of course,” you mumble, only half promising.
“Y/N.” His voice is stern now, wanting a full promise.
You groan and roll your eyes. “Fine. I’ll get some sleep today. Promise.”
“Thank you.”
Quickly, you pack the rest of your things away in your duffle bag before bidding Steve a good morning. Sleep hadn’t really been on your agenda today but you supposed you could squeeze it in somewhere. Maybe between training and your college level lessons. Getting taken so young, you hadn’t been able to finish high school or start college. Your kidnapper, who you only call Kirsh, had given extensive lessons in multiple languages and forced you to learn many fighting styles to become his own personal assassin, but that was all you learned for years. So you eventually got your GED and took online classes. It was easy when you could butter up to Tony about wanting to expand your mind. He really didn’t need any convincing since he knew you were extremely smart. What truly convinced him, though, was when you called geometry arbitrary when you first arrived, which nearly made his heart stop (again), so he threw as much money at you so you’d never say something like that again. Even if you still sort of hated math.
Before returning to your room for a shower and to check your loose schedule, you stopped by the kitchen for some food. Running as long as you did had worked up quite the appetite. You find you aren’t alone when entering. At the dining table is Bucky, a book in one hand and a spoonful of oatmeal in the other. The sight of the mush makes you want to gag, so you quickly turn away to the fridge. There isn’t much in terms of breakfast items in there, so you swipe one of Natasha’s yogurts. You’ll pay her back after letting her know so she doesn’t wrongly interrogate someone. As you pass by him again, you try stealing a glance at what book he’s reading, and you realize it’s one of your cheesy romance novels.
“Where’d you find that?” Nearly six months of working around him and that’s the first thing you end up saying of your own volition? It sounded way too accusatory in your own ears.
But Bucky just hums thoughtfully, eyes stuck on the words, and spoon halfway to his mouth. “Coffee table.”
The two of you are friends but somehow entirely not at all. A better word would have to be co-workers. You have Steve in common, and your work. Your past as well and despite everything you had been through, Bucky can’t wrap his head around how you’re so bubbly all the time. He hasn’t voiced this concern, but Steve can always see it on his face, trying to reassure him that you’re just trying to appear okay. It only annoys him more that he comes off so grumpy, but it never seems to phase you. It nearly took you three months to realize Bucky actually didn’t hate you. There was a long adjustment period when you were brought in, making you empathize and your endless patience gave him a lot of leeway. He avoided most of the team as much as he could, so your interactions were fairly limited.
“I thought Sam was kidding about your lack of social skills.” You can’t help but tease. All you’ve seen from him are deep glares or bored neutrality. You’re actually unsure if he can make more than two expressions.
“Funny, Steve said something similar about you.” There’s a slight pull on one corner of his mouth, making your face burn in both embarrassment and annoyance.
“I guess we’re both rusty, then.” You mutter, crossing your arms over your chest defensively. In the short few years that you’ve been mostly on your own, you thought you’d gotten better. Apparently not. New people like this were still hard. “Maybe we could… help each other out.”
Placing the book open faced on the table, Bucky’s eyebrow raises a fraction, and you take it as him being intrigued.
“I mean,” you straighten your posture, his words totally not getting the best of you. “I’ve gotten more practice in than you have. You’re more than welcome to come by my room any time and grab anything you’d like. I actually own a lot of books. Almost too many.” Having been given free will, you had gone a little crazy on the book buying. It was a comfort you remembered from before it all. “It’ll help catch you up on pop culture.”
“Sounds like I’m just getting help. What’ll you get in return?” He didn’t want to be someone’s project.
“I dunno.” You shrug noncommittally. “A friendship?” He doesn’t look too pleased by your wording. “How about acquaintances?”
“We’re hardly even classified as co-workers.”
“Look, just think about it, alright? I’ve got shit to do before this meeting and-“ you brave looking him right in the eye. “What’s so bad about a few books? Learning cool new slang, or references. You’d be a hell of a lot cooler than Steve. He’s catching on, but still the old man around here.”
Before he can give you a straight answer, you leave him to think in the kitchen alone. You felt for Bucky. Adjusting from nearly a decade of grooming and murder had left you feeling lost, so you can only imagine what several decades of re-programming felt like.
After your shower, you sit on your bed, a linguistics textbook in your lap. Picking school back up in your early to mid-twenties proved difficult, but after a lot of work, you passed a lot of the random classes you signed up for. You weren’t necessarily an official student at any college, more of a constant auditor. Tony told you a million times if you wanted to get a degree, it was never too late, but you’re a part of the team. It didn’t make sense getting a degree when you saved the general population as a full time job. Sometimes the world.
Several paragraphs later, your eyes begin to feel heavy and you’re regretting trying to study on your bed. The worry seems to disappear as you slowly let the needed sleep take over. Like you’re laying down for the first time in days. It’s warm and comforting, your limbs growing heavy until you’re completely gone.
It’s a sharp knock on your door followed by the soft voice of the AI that startles you awake. The textbook that had previously been resting on your lap gets flung onto the floor with a loud thud. It doesn’t help your racing heart as you stumble out of bed, no idea of the time or why you’ve been interrupted from sleep.
“Everything okay?” Sam asks, more curiously amused than concerned as you open the door.
“Yeah, I-“ rubbing sleep from your eyes, you glance behind yourself. “I accidentally fell asleep, I guess. What’s up?”
“You’re late for the briefing.”
“Fuck!” Your eyes widen, realizing you had completely slept through lunch. Now you can see the worry starting to bloom over Sam’s features. “Seriously?”
“If you need to sit out on this one—“
“No,” you say firmly, closing the door behind you. “No, I just needed some rest. I’m fine.”
Steve is in the middle of his spiel when you two walk in the conference room. He gives you a brief nod before returning his attention back to the rest of the team. The only seat left in the room for you is beside Bucky, who always chose to sit as far back as possible. In his lap is your book, facing open as he subtly reads it from being hidden underneath the conference table. You cover your smirk behind your hand and when you look back over to him, he’s looking right at you. Moving, you pretend to zip your mouth shut and throw away the key before trying to focus on what Steve was saying. You know Bucky hasn’t been out in the field since his return, so he got bored during these meetings but Steve sometimes gave him something to do.
“That should be all,” Steve concludes after a while. “Any technical or tactical questions can be directed to Bucky.”
When he doesn’t seem to react to his name, you kick the leg of his chair subtly, bringing his head back up. He blindly nods along to whatever Steve said and the meeting is adjourned. The room empties quickly but you hang behind to grab a few words with Steve. It’s stuff you already know, having been planning this mission for awhile, but you don’t want to disappoint him. As he leaves, you find Bucky still sitting, patiently waiting for you evidently as he doesn’t follow his best friend out. Slowly, he stands and walks around the table, never breaking eye contact. He slides the book toward you, glancing down at the same time as you before looking back up.
“I have conditions.”
“Of course.” You hadn’t expected any less, but his silent stare had left you feeling a little intimidated. “But I’m not here to torture you, Barnes.”
“You put me on that tiktok app, I’m breaking your phone.” Just as you open your mouth to ask how on earth he knows about that, he continues. “No social media. I want my privacy.”
“You at least should do the big three. Ya know, Facebook, insta, and Twitter. You don’t even have to use your real name. Make a fake account.”
“No.” He’s unamused.
“Okay, fine. Facebook’s for old people anyway. Two and I won’t even follow you on them.” Folding your arms across your chest, you don’t back down, but he stands his ground further by deepening his scowl. “God, one and you don’t have to follow me either.”
His eyes soften at your tone, the guilt of being a grump coming back. It’s hard to put his trust in someone he barely even knows. Someone who is being way too nice and patient with him.
“Fine.”
“Alright. Lemme see your phone.” You hold out a hand expectantly.
He blinks once.
“I don’t have one.”
“What?” You balk. “In all the buildings in the world, how do you not have a phone here? I at least assumed Tony made it a living requirement.”
“Haven’t needed one.” He shrugs a shoulder, indifferent to your shock.
“Alright, let’s go.” There’s an attempt at pushing him along to the door, but he doesn’t budge and you don’t feel like wasting too much physical energy. “Come on, encino man. We’re going to order you a phone. Consider this lesson number one: the magic of online shopping.”
It isn’t much of a lesson as you do all of the shopping, picking out the best phone for him, while he peruses for a different book. The large bookshelf is pressed against the farthest wall of the room, but you own so many books, you’ve had to resort to stacking them on the floor next to it. He focuses on what’s shelved, knowing there’s time to get through them before moving to what’s on the floor. When you place the order, he argues with you about you using your own money to buy his phone, but you put your foot down, refusing his offer of paying. Eventually he leaves your room, grumbling about how hard headed you are, but you were just happy to see him leave with a book. Before you can revel in your victory for too long, F.R.I.D.A.Y. reminds you to get ready for your upcoming mission, even though it isn’t for another day.
It fucking sucked to say the least. Everyone’s cover got blown pretty quickly, meaning someone got word of your arrival. You get your ass kicked good, but you keep the heat off of Steve long enough to get what they came for. Back at the compound after a debriefing, you promise to fill out a more detailed account of what happened when your head isn’t throbbing anymore. He lets you go with a pat on your back and a ‘you did good, kid.’ You rush outside, pulling out your secret stash of cigarettes at your secret spot, and take the large drag you desperately needed. Fuck, you think as you breathe out, what a shit show. Just as you get halfway through, you hear a door open nearby, causing you to curse under your breath, and try to stub it out quickly before tossing it far. Trying to get rid of some of the smoke, you wave your hand wildly in the air. Bucky turns the corner and you play it off as if you were waving to him.
“Steve said I’d find you out here.” He’s got a jacket on even though you’re positive he doesn’t need it.
“Just…” clearing your throat, you try to come off as natural as you can. He probably wouldn’t care that you smoked, but he doesn’t know that you do it in secret and then accidentally rat you out to someone. “Decompressing with some fresh air. What’s up?”
“Well,” he reaches inside the pockets of his jeans and holds out a phone. “I’m here for your number.”
“I thought you used to be all Mr. Smooth.” You tease with a shit eating grin and if it wasn’t so dark, you’d actually believe there’s a blush dusting his cheeks. Taking the phone anyway, you start adding your information. “Surely you can do better?”
“Ah,” he laughs sheepishly, and runs a hand through his hair. When he looks up through his eyelashes, you see how he was such a ladies man. “Could I?”
“You know when you text you don’t have to be all formal?” You double check while handing his new phone back, instead of answering lamely with the same sheepish laugh. “You know something like ‘my dearest y/n’ and ‘with love, James Buchanan.’”
“Just for that, I’m changing your contact name.” He pockets the device, while trying to look annoyed but you can see the brightness in his eyes. You feel successful that you made the grump smile.
“Oh, you know how to?”
“Okay, I get it.” Both of your laughter dies down, and you’re left in heavy silence, Bucky clearing his throat as his lips dip into a frown. “You should take care of that.” He gestures to his own forehead, but you know the gash he’s talking about.
“Should take care of everything, really.” The longer you stand, the more aware you are of how sore your body is. As he nods, you start to head back to the building but turn back at the last second. “Hey, um, you’re doing good, you know?”
All he can do is nod, avoiding your eyes, but you know it was something you wanted to hear that first year. You don’t know everything, definitely haven’t experienced everything he had, but you have enough in common that you desperately want him to get better. Hope that you can make him smile just like he had. He looked like the Bucky from the photos you had seen. It made you feel like a huge sap, trying to feel so hopeful. With a soft smile, you turn for the building and leave him outside, missing the soft smile he gave in return.