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Summary
Ash didn’t ask for Sam’s concerned looks, for weekends locked in the Tower like a damsel, for the internship at Stark Enterprises, for the revolving door of Avengers throwing her around in training and trailing her across campus and telling her to care. Ash didn’t ask for healing abilities that left her unable to touch any other living thing skin to skin. Ash didn’t ask for Barnes’ dumbass metal arm and the cool press of it against her forehead, the steady tap of its knuckles against hers.
If he could just stop hurting so much, maybe she could stop staring so much.
Maybe.