Chapter Text
The Zimnij Soldát, Winter Soldier.
Ex- Hydra assassin, a lethal killer.
A young man with no memories and crippling night terrors, guilt eating away at his very soul. Nothing more than a puppet.
When he first stepped through those elevator doors, he kept his head down. He was ashamed. About everything, about what being the Winter Soldier had done to him, about his lack of control over his own body whilst he did another man’s cruel bidding. He even felt guilty about a chocolate bar he stole in 1929, aged 12.
He refused a handshake from everyone. He squirmed away from Steve’s outstretched arm, threatening to envelope him in a bone-crushing hug.
Steve’s worried eyes never left his brainwashed best friend, they followed him around the room like lost puppies.
“So this is the Bucky Barnes, huh? Nice to finally meet you. Capsicle, here, never shuts up about ya,” Tony joked.
Bucky smiled slightly at this, tearing his eyes from the floor to look at each Avenger for a fleeting second. He physically relaxed, not as tense as he was, and Steve released the breath he didn’t know he was holding in.
“I, uh, thank you s-so much, I mean I-uh I-“ Bucky was at a loss for words.
Clint was quick to save him by interrupting. “Don’t mention it. Now, you want something to drink? Eat? You name it, Tony’s most likely got it. I ain’t ever seen fridges stocked like his, let me tell you.” Bucky and Clint had walked on to the kitchen, deep in conversation.
Steve’s gaze followed the pair as they walked down the corridor.
“I don’t know what I was so worried about,” he said as that signature, gleaming white smile spread across his face. Natasha playfully punched him on the arm, “Told ya Cap, didn’t I?”
You were the newest Avenger, after Bucky of course.
You’d been a part of S.H.I.E.L.D, a PA, before you had some radioactive gunk turn you into some sort of a superhuman thing. Not that you were complaining – there were some perks to it.
Not only did you get to hang out with the likes of Natasha Romanoff (!!!) and genius-billionaire-playboy-philanthropist Tony Fucking Stark, you also got some killer, low maintenance abs that appeared overnight. Didn’t disappear no matter how much you ate or how little you exercised. Truly what dreams are made of.
You weren’t really the confident type though. Didn’t really put yourself out there. You avoided Tony’s parties like the plague and kept your appearances at social gatherings to a minimum. You and Bucky were similar like that, neither really being a people person. You both got used to each other’s silent company after a while.
So when Bucky wandered around the almost empty Avengers Tower, it didn’t come as a surprise to him when you told him that everyone else had gone out to a bar someplace and you two were to fend for yourselves. Nor was it a surprise to you when Bucky sat on the sofa across from you, gazing in a confused manner at what you were watching on the TV. You settled into a comfortable silence with yourself half-watching the TV and him staring intently at it. You highly doubted they had Say Yes to the Dress in the forties.
What did shock you was when, out of the blue, Bucky broke the quiet with an… odd… request.
“Hey, uh. (Y/n)?”
You hummed in acknowledgement, looking up at him, raising a questioning brow.
“Can y- do you think, uh- could you maybe..? Jesus, Barnes” he cursed to himself, “I uh, I need a haircut, and I was wondering if- it’s fine if you don’t, I me-“
“You want me to do it?”
His blue eyes met your own (y/e/c) ones and you felt your stomach tie into those nervous knots that always appeared when he looked your way. Bucky quickly broke the eye contact and sheepishly nodded.
“C’mon then, Buckaroo, what are we waiting for?” you smiled warmly at him as you hopped off the couch, stretching a hand out for him to take. He looked at it, almost scared to hold it. He took a deep breath and reached for it. Your fingers, touched sending shockwaves coursing through your skin and your heart was racing, a thousand beats per minute. You were surprised he couldn’t hear it.
You made your way through the labyrinth of Tony’s tower, leading Bucky to your floor’s bathroom. Out of some hidden away cupboard, you retrieved some clippers you’d found when you had first moved in, which seemed so long ago. You turn to look at him seated in front of the mirror.
“So how do you want it?”
You winced as the clippers buzzed loudly in your shaking hands, the first bits of hair began to fall away.
That night, Natasha, Tony, Bruce and Clint wandered back with Steve trying his damned hardest to keep them all from falling over themselves, what with his super serum body stopping alcohol having an effect on him. At least that gunk shit didn’t take away your ability to get drunk. And for that, you were thankful.
Steve’s eyes almost fell out of his head when he saw Bucky’s hair. It was like looking into the past, back to the good ol’ days when there was no such thing as aliens and war wasn’t a threat to his and Buck’s friendship.
“Daaayyuum, Soldier, you sure do scrub up nicely,” slurred a fairly intoxicated Natasha.
“Aww, what?? No man bun?!” Tony sat huffing next to Clint and Bruce on the sofa, muttering to himself – something to do with wanting a hipster in the tower. Nobody took any notice.
“I just wanted to thank you for uh-“
“Think nothin’ of it, Bucky. My pleasure,” you say, trying not to blush, thinking about how little distance there was between you as you made yourself breakfast.
You could feel him looking at you, his heavenly, ocean-blue orbs boring a hole into the back of your skull. You turn your head around quickly and he looks away, flustered? You rid your mind of the thought and concentrate instead on the boiling kettle. James Buchanan Barnes, the womanizer, could NEVER be flustered. Bucky being flustered was like saying pigs could fly. It just didn’t happen (other than the time Stark had strapped jetpacks to pig at Clint’s farm, but that doesn’t count).
You broke the increasingly awkward silence that had settled between the pair of you.
“Tea?” you say, gesturing towards the kettle. He nods a little, so you take that as a yes.
Now, sadly, that radioactive crap didn’t improve your conversational skills. Long, dragging, awkward silences got to you. You could never control yourself, you had to keep talking or you’d panic. And that never ended well.
“So…”
Think, (y/n) think!
“Y’know, banging your head against a wall burns 150 calories an hour? And if you lift a kangaroo’s tail off the ground it can’t hop? Not that you’d ever do that ‘cause it’d probably beat the livin’ crap outta you but, I mean, someone’s got to have tried it. Same with milking a cow, like what the hell was that person doing to the poor animal and why the hell did they th-“
Your frenzied blabbing was cut off by a pair of soft, chapped lips pressing against your own, and an alarmingly cold object pressed on the small of your back. You couldn’t form a coherent thought, your brain was too busy trying to catch up on what the hell was happening.
You understood that the cold thing was, in fact, a metal arm, Bucky’s metal arm to be exact. And the mouth currently attached to yours belonged to him as well. And those were definitely your hands on the back of his neck, and he was definitely the one to initiate the kiss because there were no mistakes, no nose bumps, no forehead crashes. It was perfect.
“Snowflake and (y/n), sittin’ in a tree, K-I-S-S-I—AH SHIT WHA-“
You broke apart to see Steve with his hand clamped over Tony’s mouth, the pair of them fighting on the floor, rolling about.
“Watch out, boys. Don’t want to go starting a civil war, huh?”
“Shut it, Katniss.”