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Believe it or not, Bucky Barnes tried to not think about his past.
Though his efforts to make amends were a work-in-progress, and his name was brought up in the press more often than he preferred, Bucky Barnes tried to think about his past as little as possible.
The first time you called him James was the first time he had liked the way it sounded. You had smiled at him, sweet and welcoming, as Sam introduced the two of you.
“It’s nice to meet you, James.” God, did it fall off your tongue in the nicest way. “Thank you for looking after birdbrain over here.” You giggled at Sam’s distant-sounding protest.
Bucky cracked a sideways smile, not being able to stop himself. “You can call me Bucky, doll.”
Your smile morphed into a sort of smirk, cheeks warming at the nickname he gave you. “Is that what you prefer?”
He hadn’t given it much thought anymore. He knew James as the person who enlisted in the military, the person who fell from the train following Captain America into the throws of war. James was the person who was Hydra’s plaything, the assassin, the monster he was so desperate to forget. Bucky was the charmer, the best friend of Steve Rogers, the swing dancer who had a habit of punching bullies(justified obviously).
Now, he didn’t feel like either. Going by Bucky was the easiest option, since it was the part of him he was desperate to gain back. Talking to you however, he didn’t think he cared what he was called anymore.
He gave you a soft grin, one that may have held a bit more meaning than flirtation. “I don’t mind either, you can call me whatever you want.”
—
The first time you called him by any kind of nickname was the day they went to Madripoor.
“Sammy! Buck!” You called their names as you waved big at them from the small airport hangar.
Bucky tried to slow his heart as the pair walked closer to you. Sam let out a chuckle next to him, a teasing smile thrown his way. “Hope you don’t mind the extra company, Buck.”
With a frown and a grumble, Bucky widened his gait, the toe of his shoe catching on Sam’s, causing him to trip up momentarily. “Don’t call me that.”
He reached you first, allowing his smile wider further than before. “Hi Y/N, what’re you doin’ here?”
You placed a gentle hand on his left shoulder, rubbing back and forth. “It’s good to see you too,” you chuckled. “Sam told me what you guys are doing with Zemo. He thought I might be able to provide some kind of help, right Sam?”
Sam walked up with somehow both a smirk and scowl on his face and pulled you into a quick hug. “That’s right, though I might’ve invited you along so that I’m not the only one putting up with his old ass.”
Bucky scoffed, trying to ignore the lack of warmth from your otherwise occupied hands. “Are you sure about this, doll? This is probably gonna end with all of us on a watch list.”
You nudged his shoulder, your own smirk gracing your features. “As if I wasn’t on one already.”
The boys both chuckled, before Sam spoke up. “Speaking of watchlists, he’s here.”
Boarding the private jet that Zemo just happened to have, Bucky tried to keep his eyes on you the whole time, even as you sat in the leather seat between him and the window.
“I’m sorry, I’m just fascinated by this - I don’t know what to call it,” your brows furrowed at the sentence, at the faint smirk that rested on Zemo’s face. “But this part seems important. Who is Nakajima?”
Bucky was out of his seat in an instant, metal fingers gripped tightly around his throat. Zemo’s face wiped itself of any amusement. Bucky spoke into his ear low and gruff, but it could easily be heard throughout the plane cabin. “You touch that again and I’ll kill you.”
He snatched the notebook back into his and heavily sat back down into his seat, hand wound tight around the small journal
Your fingers reached across his lap and wrapped around his clenched metal fist, thumb rubbing soothingly over the back of his hand. “Just ignore him, sweetheart. You and I both know nothing that man says is worth anything.”
Bucky looked down at your joined hands, then glanced up at you with a small smile. He gave your hand a couple of squeezes, and tried to focus back on the words being said throughout the rest of the plane ride.
—
The first time you called him “baby” was during their fight with John Walker.
Madripoor and Latvia had been filled with silent stares, small smiles, and soft words . Fleeting “friendly” touches ensued as well - Bucky’s hand on your back drawing small circles, your gentle grasp of his hand or arm when he clenched his fist.
Bucky talked to you about Yori, about his too soft mattress, about his too shitty of a therapist, his want to get a cat. You told him about meeting Sam, your agency background, your agreement that he should totally get a cat. And now, you just wished you could have that again.
Walker was too strong, landing solid hits on both Sam and Bucky that could easily start slowing them down. He had lifted the shield over their bodies too many times, clearly holding on to the same psychotic fury he had when he killed the Flagsmasher.
To this point, you stood frozen in watch. You weren’t there when the fight started, and between Sam and John’s current focus on Bucky, you weren’t sure which side needed the most aid.
John had flung Bucky into a nearby metal utility pole for Christ’s sake, and a cry wretched itself from your lips. You ran to his side as he laid on the ground unconscious, metal arm cackling with untamed electricity.
“Bucky,” you murmured as you checked his spine for any breaks. You could hear his breath, as shuddered as it was after an impact like that. You moved him to lay on his back, palm pressed to his cheek. “Bucky, honey, come on, wake up.”
You tapped his cheek a couple of times in slight panic, other hand unconsciously combing his hair back. A couple of moments passed before he groaned and huffed out a cough. “Bucky,” you sighed a breath of relief, eyes near tearing up as the tension left your body. “Are you hurt, baby?”
He sat up with a grimace, another groan leaving his lips. “What the fuck?”
“He took the serum,” your hands had yet to leave his face. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
He looked up at you with a wincing smile, still bright enough to make your heart stutter. “I’m okay, sweetheart.” The red gracing your cheeks could be easily based on the intensity of the fight, but it was unsaid knowledge that wasn’t the case. He touched the hand holding his cheek as you swept a thumb back and forth. A grunt from the fight crashed them both back to reality. “He’s gonna kill Sam.”
You stood up, pulling him with you by his metal arm. Bucky swung his arm around to recalibrate before jogging forward. “We gotta get the shield. Be careful, don’t let him pin you.”
____
The first time you kissed him was in Louisiana.
You giggled from the picnic table as you watched Bucky dodge Sam’s nephews, cake in hand, as they tried to tackle him for his arm, as well as when several of the children pleading to hang off of it.
He sat next to you on the bench of the table, shoulder pressing into yours as you basked in Sam and Sarah’s storytelling. Bucky shared some bittersweet stories about Steve, drawing smiles from everyone listening. Each laugh had you leaning into him a bit more, but a complaint could not be heard, especially when your hands brushed under the table.
The evening continued on like that into the early night. Bucky entertained the masses, looking a lot like the charmer he used to be. Sam reminisced with his community, taking many photos with his local family.
You sat on the pier, leaning back against the wooden bench as the sun set over the water’s horizon. You could faintly hear laughter behind you on the dock mixed with the sound of the stereo’s music drifting over. A smile grew on your face as a presence made its way towards you, shoes scuffing against the wooden slats. A soft hand rested on your shoulder and sent warmth through your body. “Care for some company, doll?”
You flashed Bucky a smile that had him weak as you turned back to him and patted the space next to him. He sat down close, thigh pressed against yours, shoulder to shoulder yet again.
“What’re you gonna do now, Buck? You think you’re gonna stick around?”
He sighed, staring down at his metal hand in contempt. “I don’t know,” his hand clenched in his lap. “I’ve been following orders for a long time now. Might be good for me to work with someone, not for. Even if birdbrain has a habit of getting on my nerves.”
You reached across his lap and gently unfurled his fingers. He wished the pressure he felt against the metal was more tangible for once, more definitive. “You should do whatever makes you feel the most free, sweetheart.” You slipped both of your hands around his, rubbing small circles with your thumb. “Whether that be with Sam or doing something else. You deserve it.”
Bucky’s eyes drifted over your face and observed its features - the small smile that curled around your lips, the kindness in your eyes. “And what about you?” he spoke softly. “Will you stay?”
You looked up to him and searched his eyes with a hopeful grin. “Are you asking?” you chuckled, using one of your hands to comb his hair back behind his ear, thumb resting on his cheek. “If I’m needed, I’ll stay.”
Bucky puffed out a breath that he didn’t realize he was holding. “Well ya know,” he threw a bright smile in your direction. “Sam’s gonna need you here so he doesn’t lose his mind.”
You chuckled, leaning a little bit closer. “And you? Do you need me?”
Bucky took in the space between you, the way your breaths mingled, foreheads near touching. “Yeah, baby,” he allowed himself to fully lean in. “I need you.”
You kissing him was like coming up for air, or finding water in the middle of the desert. It was salvation, it was required for him to have in order to survive. Your lips were soft, tasting faintly of the beer you had earlier. His mouth moved against yours like a magnet following them wherever they went. His hand drifted to your waist, moving you somewhat into his lap as you both smiled into the kiss. When you finally broke apart, it was only for the need for oxygen to fill your lungs.
You giggled from above him, heads pressed together. Your hands locked themselves around his shoulders in an embrace that forced him to stay where he could feel the pant of your breath across his skin, not that he was complaining. “I guess I’ll stay then.”