Work Text:
Wall Between Us
“Hey,” I said, crossing my arms as he dumped his keys on the counter without even looking at me. “What’s with the cold shoulder? Something happened at work?”
He let out a breath, short, annoyed. “I don’t want to get into it. Will you just… go do something productive instead of grilling me about my job?”
I blinked, the sting immediate. “Jesus Christ, Bucky… just say you want me to stay the fuck away from you.”
He froze mid-step, jaw clenched tight, shoulders stiff. “That’s not what I said.”
“No, but it’s sure as hell what it felt like!” I snapped. “God, you don’t talk to me, you barely even look at me anymore, and when I try to check in, you bite my head off. What the fuck am I supposed to think?”
“Can we not do this right now?” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’ve had a long day.”
“You always have a long day,” I said, my voice cracking just slightly. “I used to be the person you’d talk to. Remember that? Before all the political speeches and the committee meetings and the press briefings, you used to actually talk to me.”
He shook his head, eyes dark. “You think I like this? You think I don’t miss... everything we had before all this?”
“Then why are you pushing me away?” I asked, softer this time. “If you’re drowning, Bucky, why won’t you let me help?”
“I can’t afford to be that Bucky right now,” he said under his breath. “You don’t understand how much is riding on what I do every day.”
“No,” I snapped. “I probably don’t. But I do understand what it feels like to sleep next to someone who doesn’t even say goodnight. I know what it’s like to sit across from you at dinner and watch you not eat, not speak, not…….be there. ”
He stared at me, breathing hard, chest heaving like he’d just been running. But he had no comeback. Just silence.
“I need space,” he said finally.
I nodded, the silence between us deafening. “Yeah. I figured…... You want me to back off? Fine. You win.”
---
I didn’t say another word. I just turned around, grabbed my phone and keys off the table, and left.
The door clicked shut behind me, but it echoed in my chest like a slammed vault. Like something final.
Brooklyn was loud and alive as always, the world spinning as if nothing had happened. People laughed outside bars, dogs barked on their evening walks, and the hum of traffic buzzed in my ears like static. But I felt disconnected from it all, like I was watching life through glass.
I pulled my hood over my head and shoved my hands into my pockets. The cold bit at my fingers, but I welcomed it. At least it gave me something to feel besides this ache in my ribs.
Bucky and I have been through hell together. Literal warzones, emotional landmines, late nights clinging to each other like lifelines. I thought that meant something permanent. I thought we were unbreakable. But lately…. It feels like I’m holding onto a ghost.
And the worst part? He’s still alive. Still right there.
I walked past the corner coffee shop where we used to sit on Sunday mornings. He’d drink his black coffee in silence, and I’d read out headlines from the paper just to make him smile. I slowed for a second, like some sad little habit made me think maybe he’d be inside. Waiting. Regretting. But the window seats were empty.
I kept walking.
The city lights shimmered in puddles on the pavement. A group of teenagers ran past, laughing, bumping into me with an apology that barely registered. I kept my head down and turned onto a quieter street.
I need space, he’d said.
“Space”. As if the emotional chasm between us wasn’t already big enough.
I stopped at the edge of a small park. Sat on a bench without really meaning to. My legs just gave up.
I stared at the ground, the wet pavement glistening under the streetlights. Somewhere far off, a saxophone played faintly, probably a busker making the most of the evening crowd. It was the kind of sound that should’ve felt romantic or peaceful.
But all I could think about was the silence in our apartment. The tension. The loneliness of sitting across from the man I loved and wondering if he even wanted to be with me anymore.
I wiped at my face with my sleeve. I didn’t even realise I was crying until the tears made everything blurry.
Maybe he does need space. Maybe he’s buried so deep in trying to save the world again, this time through politics, that he doesn’t realise he’s losing what little pieces of peace he actually had. Maybe I’m one of those pieces.
Or maybe… maybe I’m not.
And that thought cut deeper than anything else.
---
I don’t know how long I sat there on that bench, staring blankly at the cracked concrete beneath my feet. Long enough for my hands to go numb. Long enough for the city to start blurring around the edges.
And then it hit me.
The grief of it all.
Not just tonight, not just the argument. We’ve had those before, lately more than I ever thought we would. No, this felt deeper. Like mourning something that’s still breathing but slipping through my fingers anyway.
We used to be untouchable. When we were together, it was like the world quieted down just for us. Like the universe held its breath and gave us space to exist in our own little corner of it.
Bucky always made me feel like I mattered. Really mattered. Not just loved, but cherished.
He’d wait patiently while I flipped through five different menus, trying to pick where to eat. He never sighed or rolled his eyes when I changed my mind for the third time about what film to watch. He’d just smile, lean back with his arm draped around the sofa, and say, “Whatever you want, doll. We’ve got time.”
God, I used to hate how indecisive I was. I’d spiral over the smallest choices. But with him, I felt safe to stumble a little. He never rushed me. He made me feel like there was never a wrong answer as long as we were together.
He gave me confidence I never had before. Held me steady without trying to fix me. He spoke to me like I was delicate, not weak. His voice would dip just a little when he said my name, like I was something sacred. Like I was his.
But now…
Now he barely looks at me when he speaks. And when he does, it’s not with patience. Not with warmth. He spits words like venom. Sharp, bitter, cold. Not even anger, really. Just…… exhaustion. As if every syllable is another weight on his shoulders, and I’m the one handing them to him.
He used to treat me like I was precious.
Now, I think he sees me as a distraction.
Not just invisible but obstructive. Like I’m something he has to step around. Something in the way.
I know he’s stressed. I know this job is breaking him apart in places he won’t let anyone see. I see it in the way his shoulders stay tense even when he’s home, the way he stares blankly at the telly without hearing a word, how he jumps when his phone buzzes at 1 AM, and always answers.
So no. I don’t blame him.
I blame myself.
I must be selfish to want more from him right now. I must be weak to crumble just because he doesn’t have the energy to hold me the way he used to.
He’s trying to save the world, and here I am falling apart because he forgot to say goodnight.
What does that say about me?
Maybe I am a burden. Maybe the soft place I once was for him has turned into something sharp, something that only cuts deeper when he tries to lean on it.
I thought love was supposed to be stronger than this.
---
I felt my phone buzzing, pulling me out of my mind where I’d wandered too long in.
My fingers were numb when I pulled it out of my pocket. I wasn’t expecting anything, maybe a news alert or something. But there it was.
Bucky.
My heart stumbled in my chest.
For a second, I didn’t want to answer. I was bracing for it. That clipped tone, the frustrated sigh. I imagined him telling me I was being dramatic, immature, making things harder than they needed to be.
I hovered over the screen for a breath too long, then answered.
“Hello?”
There was silence on the other end. Then, a slow, heavy sigh.
And when he finally spoke…. it wasn’t what I expected at all.
“Hey, doll,” he said softly, the word like a balm over every bruise I’d been carrying.
I closed my eyes. Just hearing him say it in that voice, the one he used to save only for me, nearly undid me.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.”
My throat tightened. I didn’t trust myself to speak, so I didn’t. I just let him keep going.
“I’ve been... not myself. And I know that’s not an excuse. You didn’t deserve any of it.” Another sigh. “I don’t know how to do all of this without pushing people away. But I don’t want to push you away. Not you.”
I swallowed hard, pressing the phone tighter to my ear.
“Please come home,” he said, almost a whisper. “ I just want you here.”
For a moment, all I could do was sit there, stunned by the softness I thought I’d lost.
I finally found my voice, quiet and shaky. “Okay.”
---
I made my way back to the apartment, my footsteps slow, hesitant. I didn’t know what to expect when I walked through that door. Part of me still braced for another cold silence, another distance I didn’t know how to cross.
But when I opened the door, Bucky was already there, standing in the hallway like he’d been waiting.
His eyes landed on me instantly. And for a second, neither of us said anything.
Then his gaze dropped to my hands, still tucked in the sleeves of my hoodie, trembling slightly from the cold. His brow creased, and he moved towards me slowly, carefully, like I was something fragile.
He reached for my hands, gently pulling them from my sleeves. My fingers were stiff and flushed pink, the skin cool to the touch. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.
He just cupped my hands in his, his thumb brushing softly over my knuckles. Then he brought them up between his own, rubbing small circles with his palms, letting the warmth from his skin bleed into mine.
No words. No explanations. Just quiet care.
He held my hands like they were made of thin glass, like even the smallest pressure might break them……..and maybe they would’ve. I felt so close to breaking.
I looked up at him. His eyes were soft, uncertain. Like he was waiting for me to pull away.
I didn’t.
His voice came, finally, low and rough with emotion. “You were out there too long. I should’ve come to get you.”
I shook my head. “I needed to think.”
His thumb paused over mine. “Did you think about leaving?”
The question hung between us like smoke, intangible but impossible to ignore.
I hesitated, then answered honestly. “I thought about what it would mean if I did.”
His grip tightened slightly, just enough for me to feel it. “I don’t want that. I don’t want to lose you.”
“You were already losing me,” I whispered. “And I don’t think you even noticed.”
His eyes closed for a beat, jaw tense. He brought our joined hands up to his chest, pressing them over his heart like he was anchouring me there.
“I notice now,” he said. “Too late, maybe. But I see you, doll. I do. And I’m sorry I made you feel like anything less than the most important thing in my life.”
And for the first time in a while, I felt reassured.
I let him hold my hands to his chest, feeling the slow, steady beat of his heart beneath my fingers. But even then, there was a wall between us. I felt it. Like he was holding me close, yet keeping me out all at once.
“I’m not mad,” I said softly, eyes on his chest, not his face. “I’m just… worried about you.”
He stayed silent, but I felt the tension in his shoulders. Felt his thumbs stilling against my skin.
“You’re not sleeping. You’re not eating. You barely talk to me anymore unless we’re already arguing,” I went on, my voice fragile, but firm. “And I know it’s because you’re carrying too much. I can see it, Bucky.”
I looked up at him then, my throat tightening. “But you won’t let me carry any of it with you.”
His eyes flickered. Pain, guilt, something he tried to hide, but I caught it before he looked away.
“I used to be the person you leaned on. The one you’d talk to when things got heavy. I felt like I had a purpose in your life, not just someone you loved, but someone you needed.”
His jaw clenched at that, but I didn’t stop.
“I miss that. I miss us,” I whispered. “I miss feeling like I could ease your mind, even if just a little. Like I mattered enough to help carry the weight with you.”
His grip on my hands tightened, but still, he didn’t speak. So I kept going, even if my voice trembled.
“I don’t want to be a background piece in your life, Bucky. I want to be part of the fight, even the hard parts…… Especially the hard parts. I want you to let me in when something’s wrong. I want to be useful to you.”
I paused, took a breath, then added quietly, “I just want you to be honest with me. Even if it’s messy. Even if it’s ugly. I don’t need you to be perfect. I just need you to let me in.”
The room was quiet again, but this time it wasn’t heavy with distance, it was heavy with emotion. Like the words had split something open, finally putting a crack in the wall between us.
Then he looked at me…… really looked at me. And in his eyes, I saw everything he hadn’t said, everything he couldn’t. It was all there, aching and unsaid, like a scream trapped in his chest.
He didn’t say anything at first.
But then he pulled me in tight. Tighter than he ever had before. Like he was afraid I might disappear if he didn’t hold on hard enough. His arms wrapped around me with a quiet desperation, and I felt the tremble in his breath as it left him.
It was like that moment when you drop something precious…..a ring, a key, something irreplaceable and it clatters across the pavement, spinning, sliding dangerously close to the grate of a storm drain. That split-second where your heart stops, your breath freezes, and all you can do is pray it doesn’t fall through.
That’s what he felt. I could tell in the way his chest pressed to mine. In the way his hand cradled the back of my head like he was afraid even air might hurt me.
Like I’d come dangerously close to slipping through the cracks. And now that I hadn’t. Now that I was still here, in his arms..…. he could finally breathe again.
So he just held me.
And I let him.
---