Chapter Text
Soul Marks
Bucky sighs, seeing yet another tattoo pop up on his skin. He knows better than to toy with people’s emotions, these days, but that hasn’t stopped the ink from appearing.
He is covered with little symbols and art, from all sorts of people. Bartenders, hookups, agents, even one from his lawyer. Some from the 30s, or 40s. Every time someone falls a little bit in love with him, he notices a new token.
Many of these marks are gorgeous or intriguing. He had a mark he left on every pretty or clever girl, back then. He hasn’t felt that way, since coming back, and is afraid his mark will be Hydra related.
He rarely notices when new marks show up, this one just happens to be on his forearm so he caught it appearing.
“Buck? You get our coffee?” Sam calls him from his thoughts.
“Yeah,” Bucky shakes his head and passes the cup. They are prepping for a mission debriefing, and he feels beat.
“Ah, too nice to a barista? I told you, smouldering makes ‘em swoon. What happens when you run outta room?” Sam jokes and Bucky cracks half a smile.
“Well, I just wish it meant anythin’.”
“Oh, so the man wants to settle down? I’ve got a way in for all the models for the show this weekend. Maybe we could hit a few after parties?” Sam is thrilled by the idea.
“Yeah. Maybe.”
“Yeah, the Bad News Bears attitude will really make them all hot for you.” Sam rolls his eyes as he presses for the elevator.
“Apparently,” he responds dryly.
“We will take you to the club tonight. I’ll ask Lottie, then you won’t be able to be in a sour mood.” Sam grins devilishly as Bucky checks them in for debrief.
—
“Buck, meet Agent 13. She was just saying she’s gonna show people the new software for our comm systems.” Sam casually introduces him.
Sam is nice. He loves to flirt, and socialize. But Bucky can tell when he thinks a girl is hot because he usually gushes over them more. He feels a bit bad for the woman, but knows Sam is interested in models and the like.
“Nice to meet you. James Barnes.” He shakes her hand, and sees her smile.
Probably another mark. Always another mark. He feels guilty for how he perceives her just because Sam didn’t hype her up. But she’s not 5’11 and 90 pounds in a magazine.
“I actually have a question. I… I just don’t really know how to ask. Is it alright if I test your arm?” She looks at him hopefully.
Is she flirting? Is she trying to get his attention? It’s a self absorbed thought, but being an Avenger, and the Soldier, he gets a lot of unnecessary attention.
Curious, he looks her over.
“I noticed from your sparring videos, the sensory input on this specific nerve seems to pinch a little. I thought I could modify it, it might have been knocked loose. We were just running analytics on fighting styles.” She says a lot, nervously.
“Sure.” He looks to Sam, who is chatting up a Natasha shamelessly.
Sam had rather shallow perspective on who he or Bucky should spend time on. He often lost interest in people quickly, if he was looking for a girl for the night. Bucky had asked, once, why he didn’t think to prioritize personality or get to know people.
‘If someone is charming or funny or smart, there is someone else who is all of that and hot. Basic human nature, Buck.’ That answer hadn’t really hit home for Bucky, but he found himself defining his interests more and more by Sam’s standards.
She tweaks a few things on the panel beneath Bucky’s arm. Thirteen smiles when she gets the adjustment she wants, and he frowns at her closing the panel again. He doesn’t feel any difference.
“Okay, push your arm out, like you’ve thrown a punch!” She asks him with a light in her eyes.
When he does, he doesn’t feel the painful pull in his shoulder. He’s been in enough pain for enough time, he never even noticed it when Shuri was running diagnostics with him. She has got rid of so much of his pain he hardly notices what is left.
Now that this sharp pinch and pull is absent, he feels a sudden and overwhelming sense of relief. It doesn’t hurt!
“Thank you,” is all he can say, quietly. How would she have known that?
“Buck! We are in. Lottie got our names on the list for tonight. Everyone is going. Let’s get this debrief over with so we can go see some models!” Sam interrupts.
“Sorry about him. One track mind. I’m sorry he didn’t invite you, I could probably try.” He feels guilty that she may sense her exclusion.
“No, it’s fine. I… I have a date. It’s fine. I’m glad your arm feels better. I can try to help if there’s anything else in the future.” She smiles briefly before moving back to her group.
Bucky furrows his brow, trying to shake whatever feeling of missing her just came up. She’s new. She is bright and she noticed pain even he hadn’t. What is that.
The meeting drills on, but Bucky wants to talk to her. Really talk to her. He wants to know how she could tell, and what else she noticed.
Maybe he has a friend. A work friend? He doesn’t really know much about that, these days. Sam attached himself to Bucky.
—
Bucky wakes on Sam’s sofa. He turns over, groaning at the light.
A shower. He needs a shower.
He grabs a towel, wondering when he will have his own place again. He has been struggling to live alone, and Sam is only part time in the apartment. There is a giggle from down the hall, and Bucky rolls his eyes.
The water scalds his skin, but as he reaches for body wash, his arm doesn’t hurt. The shooting pain up his back and neck doesn’t happen, and he could kiss the ground Thirteen walks on. As he looks at his arms to compare, he sees more marks. Damn.
“Fuck sakes.”
He admires some of the symbols or colours, at least considering them aesthetically pleasing.
The night had been a series of beautiful women. Some were funny, or getting their degrees. He spoke with a lawyer who modelled, an actress who was in med school, and some girls who were too drunk and high to be coherent. All of them were stunning and even though he was afraid they would hate him, they loved him.
It feels impossible to want this. Why doesn’t he want these women? Or if he does, he knows it’s to prove he can have them. He had a string of hookups once he was somewhat integrated. But they only left him feeling guilty and lonely.
As he gets ready for the day, he looks at his room. He struggles to keep things clean, or make the space his own in any way. The women like him because he’s famous and attractive, but he’s worried if they know him better they’ll reject him.
He wonders if being unattractive is worse. Hoping someone likes what’s inside enough that the exterior stops mattering. It seems unfair, when morality isn’t linked. But he’s still part of that system, interested in beautiful young women who like to call him “Sargent.”
—
She wakes the day after her date.
He had been easy on the eyes, if a little condescending. Maybe he was nervous. He kept looking at her as she ate, but he paid and was friendly enough.
She yawns and collects her clothes. He was the first date she had in ages, and she missed being physical. It was a lot, to miss out for long periods.
For the first time in years, she has a mark. She sees it just as she inspects her back for marks like hickeys or scratches.
A mark.
He likes her. Thank god. She finally found someone who likes her.