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spine-buster · 7 years

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Chapter 18 - The Beginning and the End of Everything (Finn Balor)

@wrestlewriting @thegenericluchadora @fan-fiction-galore @anerdysouthernbelle @spot-of-bother @amaranthine-reign @baleesi@flnnbalor @smuppies @sarahmatthews7 @daintymissdevitt @newjapan@corey-renee @running-ropes @balorsomega @karleedaniels27 @kazuchika@ileana0300 @alexahood21 @imnobodiesbitch @fembxt @heelturn-timesten@kaitlynwwefan @50shadesofadamcolebaybay @50shadesofkennyomega @chasingeverybreakingwave @thyestean-feast @thecandicej @devittsbalor@sp00kylesley @danahart @sietefinns @kaydee-kayyyy@powerbombshell @swedish-strong-style @blondekel77 @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @nickysmum1909 @houndofjustice-imagines @wwesmutdonedirtcheap @wweximaginesxd @indywrestlinglover-life @mandi512 @kakakatey @ourscratcheddreams @sleeplessandcynical @thewriterformerlytaggedas

“Ferg! FERG! Hold up!” Matt Bloom’s voice roared out as he watched Fergal stumble around the ring, using improper footwork and getting up too slowly. He had been doing it for the majority of the drills and the run-throughs of his move sets, and Matt was getting more annoyed by the minute. “Cut it! Stop!”

Fergal let out a yelp of frustration as he and Rami stopped their sequence. “What?!” Fergal demanded of his mentor.

“The fuck’s wrong with you?!” Matt screamed, raising his hands to his sides. He had no idea what had gotten into Fergal and why he was being such an ass. He’d had a sour attitude the moment he stepped foot in the PC. “You’re gonna injure Rami if you keep this shit up!”

Fergal looked over at Rami, who was huffing and puffing and stretching out his neck, trying not to look at Fergal. Fergal shook his head. “He’s fine,” he huffed, trying to absolve himself of any wrongdoing.

Matt was beside himself. He’d never seen Fergal like this, ever. Not even when he was a young boy in the dojos in Japan. “Hey Ferg, if you’re gonna have that attitude, do me a favour and fuck off,” he shouted angrily, pointing towards the set of doors. “I’m fucking serious. Get the fuck out of my ring. Now.”

Fergal didn’t waste another moment, dropping and rolling out of the ring in frustration. He heard Rami do the same but didn’t bother to look back at his friend as he made his way through the set of doors and into a break room, where the talent would sometimes hang out. Luckily, it was empty, allowing Fergal to curse in frustration and hammer punch the countertop in the kitchen.

Finally looking behind him, he saw Rami enter and close the door behind him. The look on his face was not one of happiness. Fergal knew he was disappointment more than angry. Rami hardly ever got angry. “What the fuck is going on?” Rami asked, in a much more pleasant voice than what his face portrayed.

“Nothing’s going on. Can’t a guy just have a bad day?”

“No no no. You’re Fergal Devitt. You don’t have bad days. Or at least, when you do, you don’t act like this,” Rami said. “What’s wrong?”

“I said nothing.”

“Did something happen with Gemma?”

Fergal seethed. At his reaction to her name, Rami understood the root of the issue. “What happened?”

“Nothing.”

“Ferg, tell me what happened.”

“Nothing. Happened,” he stressed. “Nothing happened. That’s the whole fucking point,” he said on the couch, watching as Rami followed him and sat beside him.

“Explain.”

“I asked…I asked her when we were going to make things official, after Chas’s birthday. And she said she didn’t think it should happen because I was going on the road again soon. I told her it doesn’t matter what she thinks should happen, it’s what we want to happen. And I asked her one more time if she wanted it to happen, and…she stayed…silent.”

“Fuck,” Rami muttered. “Have you talked to her since?”

“No.”

Rami shook his head. “Fuck fuck fuck.”

“The thing with Gemma is that she’s stuck in her head a lot,” Fergal felt the beginnings of a rant happening. He liked to think he understood Gemma more than most. “She thinks too much about everything. She likes to be in control of everything, and I get that, I do. But ever since she was told she couldn’t play hockey anymore, she’s felt like she’s lost control – of her life, her emotions, her career, everything. So she tries to control what little she can. The biggest thing she tries to control is people. Because she knows if she can control them, they can’t hurt her like hockey did. But she doesn’t seem to understand that the people she surrounds herself with don’t want to hurt her. We are never going to hurt her.”

Rami let out a long sigh. “This seems a lot more complicated than I thought it was.”

Fergal shook his head. “You don’t even know the half of it.”

“For two people who’ve seen each other practically every day since last August, this must be killing you, though,” Rami said. “I mean, it’s obvious that you care a lot about her, and that this is killing you.”

“Is it that obvious?” he asked sarcastically. “Because it’s apparently not obvious to her.”

Rami nodded his head. “I get it. But she’s got a lot going on right now, Ferg.”

“Of course she is, but the one good thing that can happen in her life, she’s pushing away,” he complained. “I don’t get it. It’s not like this is all one-sided, that this is all me.”

“I don’t know what to say, Ferg. I don’t know her as well as you do,” Rami said sympathetically. “But the fact that you two haven’t talked in a week is unheard of. This…this situation needs to be fixed. It isn’t healthy for either of you.”

“You’re right,” Fergal nodded his head. “But she needs to be the one to fix it. She’s the one that got us into this mess, she’s the one who has to get us out.”

“Communication is a two-way street.”

“I’m not calling her.”

Rami face-palmed. Fergal was being more stubborn than he anticipated. With that type of attitude, Rami wondered if this would ever get resolved. “That’s not a good way of looking at it.”

“If she can’t see that what she did was wrong, I can’t help her. She’s gotta…learn? Is learn even the right word here? She’s gotta realize she can’t treat people that way. She can’t control every situation how she wants to. She can’t control every outcome of her life. She has to learn how to deal with things not going her way.”

“I don’t think that’s it,” Rami shook his head. “I actually think she has learned. She got the biggest shock of her life when she was told she couldn’t play hockey anymore. That was her biggest learning experience – that things might not always work out the way she wants them to; that she did all this work, she dedicated her life to hockey, and it was taken away from her,” Rami tried to explain as articulately as possible. “She’s scared, Ferg. She’s scared shitless that she’s made all this progress with you by her side, that she’s done so much work to establish a friendship or a relationship with you, and she’s scared it might get taken away from her too.”

Rami’s words hung in the air like a heavy cloud. He was right. Gemma was acting out of fear – fear of having something else ripped away from her. Fear of losing something else she loved. If she pushed him away, it wouldn’t hurt as much; if she kept him close, it would eat her alive. She was trying to control the situation because she didn’t want to be scared of its outcome; she was controlling the situation because she was fearful of what the future held, either way.

It was Fergal’s turn to let out a heavy sigh and bury his head in his hands. He felt Rami give him a pat on the back in support. “What am I gonna do?”

“Talk to her, Ferg. Talk to her.”

Gemma had been depressed all week. She had lost much of her appetite and her sleeping became erratic – between the crying and the overthinking, she was a self-made mess. She had been keeping up with her physiotherapy but half-assed everything; when she’d get home, she’d lie in bed and not do much else. She hadn’t seen Fergal at the centre all week, and assumed he voluntarily chose to spend his days at the Performance Centre, in the ring, instead of with her. She didn’t blame him. She didn’t know if she’d be able to forgive herself for what happened last week, and she didn’t know if there would be an opportunity to fix it. She wondered, too, even if it was fixed, if things would ever be the same between them. She knew if she were Fergal, she wouldn’t forgive her. She had caused too much pain at this point, and she wasn’t worth it.

Now was one of the rare occasions she left her bed. She dragged herself into the kitchen, retrieving a frozen meal from her freezer that she popped into the microwave. Looking down at her phone, she saw no new texts from Fergal, like she had been hoping all week. Again, she didn’t blame him. She was the one who put them into this situation; it should be her to get them out of it, right? That’s how the world worked? The only thing flashing across her screen was the last text message sent from Jane about four hours ago.

For the love of God, call him please.

Gemma had decided against it then. What on earth could she possibly say to him to make him forgive her, she thought. It was clear she was a mess. It was clear she had no idea what she was doing with her life, no direction and no solutions to the problems that currently plagued her.

Despite her feelings of helplessness, her fingers managed to find their way to his name in her phonebook, pressing dial. The phone rang and rang until she got his voicemail. She hung up. She tried again. And again. And again. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t live with herself knowing the pain she caused him. Without overthinking, for once, she grabbed her jean jacket and keys and opened her apartment door, leaving her microwave to beep in silence when the meal was finished. She’d walk to his house if it meant she could speak to him and make things right.

She knocked hard once she had limped her way over to his apartment. She’d gotten a few stares and polite nods along the way, but that didn’t concern her anymore. The only thing on her mind was Fergal. What she used to be so self-conscious about was now an afterthought.

He opened the door, and she saw the look of confusion on his face before it turned to irritation. She knew this was all unexpected. Hell, she still didn’t know what the hell she was doing, or what she was going to do. “Hello,” he said, his voice completely monotonous and devoid of any discernable emotion.

“Can I come in?” she asked, her voice small, knowing full well he could slam the door in his face at any moment.

She was shocked when, after a few moments of serious contemplation on his part, he moved so she could step in. When both of her feet were on the front hall mat, he moved quickly so he wasn’t so near her, walking back in to his apartment with his back to her. She slipped off her shoes and watched him for a few moments. He looked like he didn’t care; that her showing up was a nuisance to him and his plans for the evening (which it probably was). “H…How are you?”

His eyes finally met hers, giving her a bothered look. “Could be better.”

“Yeah…” she nodded her head, looking away. God, this was going to be harder than she thought. She was going to fuck this up. She was going to fuck this up royally. “Um…we need to talk.”

Fergal shook his head. “No. We don’t need to talk. You need to talk.”

“Right, yeah,” she looked down at the floor. “I uh…I need to talk. Right. Where…where do I even begin?”

Fergal stayed silent. Gemma realized she was going to have to do this all on her own. Again, she didn’t blame him. She really did need to explain herself. “Okay…uh…maybe I should start by saying that I didn’t come here with a plan. I didn’t come here expecting you to forgive me, or for us to like…I don’t know, be friends again. I know you’re mad at me and I understand why you are.”

Fergal looked down at his feet. “Why do you think I’m mad at you?”

“It’s not because I rejected you,” she answered him. “I mean, it is because I rejected you but it wasn’t the action of rejecting you. It was the reasoning behind it.”

“You’ve given it some thought, I see,” he said sarcastically.

“I have,” she nodded her head. He was being cheeky with her. He had every reason to be. She just wished it didn’t make her so emotional. “It’s all I’ve been thinking about this past week. I’ve barely eaten, I’ve barely slept. All I could think about was how much I hurt you.”

“Good,” Fergal couldn’t help but say. “You’re finally seeing how much pain you can cause others.”

She knew she had caused him pain, but hearing him say it made her emotional. “I do, I have,” she said, her voice cracking. “I feel like from the first day we’ve met until now, all I’ve ever done is cause you pain. And last week, when you said you wanted to be with me, I…” she sniffed, wiping the tears that had already fallen down her cheeks, “I couldn’t understand why you’d want to be with someone like me.”

She noticed his face soften a little bit at her words. “Gemma…”

“We both know how much of a mess I am,” she continued. “That’s the one thing that’s been consistent from August until now. And you…you deserve the world, Fergal. You deserve someone who isn’t so emotional, so angry…you don’t deserve someone like me. And I can’t wrap my head around why you’d want a mess like me.”

She saw his Adam’s apple bob in his throat. His cheeks flushed quickly and his eyes became red in almost an instant. “Gemma, I’ve only ever been honest with you from the beginning…”

“I know you have, and I’m being honest with you now. I don’t think I deserve you. I don’t want to be the person bringing you down…I refuse to be that person. And I feel that’s all I’m going to be to you. I feel…I feel like a liability,” she finally admitted.

“No,” he said firmly, finally rushing towards her and embracing her in a strong hug. “Don’t you ever – Gemma, I don’t ever want you thinking that.”

“I can’t help it,” she mumbled into his shoulder. He felt her tears on his neck and pushed her away slightly to look her in the eye again. “I have so many problems. So many issues I need to work out, and I don’t want to drag you along with those. You deserve to be happy.”

“I am happy when I’m with you,” he said firmly, not wanting to cast any doubt. “God Gemma, can’t you see that? You drive me nuts sometimes but I’m the happiest whenever I’m around you.” She shook her head at his words, unable to believe them. He wiped her tears with his thumbs and held her face in his hands. “Gemma. Please. You have to listen to me. You have to believe me. I like you Gemma. I like you for all the things you are and all the things you’re capable of doing.”

“I don’t feel like I’m capable of doing much, Ferg…” she whimpered. “I can’t…I’m useless. I can’t play hockey anymore.”

Fergal furrowed his eyebrows. “I don’t see you as just a hockey player, Gemma. Some jersey with with a number on the back and a giant maple leaf. I see you as a human being. A human being capable of so much.” He knew he’d have to reiterate his point. “I want this more than anything. I want you. I want all of you.”

He couldn’t hold it in any longer. He dipped his head down and kissed her passionately, tasting her salty tears. He didn’t let go of her, and his lips didn’t part from hers until he felt like what he was doing was hammering the point home.

When he became breathless, he pulled away, but still stayed close enough to feel his lips graze hers as he spoke. “Do you want to make this work?” he posed the same question to her as he did a week ago.

She nodded her head.

“Can I have all of you?”

She took a deep breath. “Yes.”

#finn balor #finn balor fic #finn balor fan fic #finn balor fan fiction #finn balor fanfic #finn balor fanfiction #wwe #wwe fic #wwe fan fic #wwe fan fiction #wwe fanfic #wwe fanfiction #baeoe series

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the-chubbiest-dumpling · 7 years

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Endings and Beginnings: Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven: Recovery

Summary: You’re just an ordinary 25-year-old photographer working in a small studio in downtown Toronto. Your life is as normal as it could possibly be, except the fact that you are given an opportunity most people only dream of.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 13 124

Warnings: Swearing. There will always be swearing.

A/N: Wow I wrote a lot.

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Epilogue

Tags: @shamvictoria11

The first thing you realize when you wake up is that you have dry mouth. And one hell of a headache.

You painfully stretch your legs and shut your eyes even tighter as you shift in your bed. You can hear the beeping of hospital equipment, and a light muffling sound. It’s too bright behind your eyes to open them, but you know you’ll have to. You shield your eyes with your palm, and blink several times to clear the sleep and crust from your eyes. You groan loudly in the back of your throat, changing your position to sit up a bit.

Your entire body feels like lead. You’ve never felt this drowsy and exhausted in your whole life. Working for eight hours plus a two-hour workout plus an unintentional all-nighter doesn’t even come close to this. This is on a whole other level of fatigue.

When you gain control of your sight, you look around, and see multiple people in white lab coats coasting around. You can’t tell which ones are doctors, nurses, or surgeons. They all just kind of mix together. You still feel kind of dizzy, so nothing is blending well together at the moment. Your ears feel stuffed, so you plug your nose and pop them. A doctor notices you’re awake, and makes his way over to you.

“Welcome back, _______,” he says, sitting down next to your bed. “I’m glad to see you awake.”

“Y-Yeah,” you reply, your voice raspy. You clear your throat and swallow, but it still doesn’t feel right. You scrunch your nose in discomfort. You delicately touch your face, and feel a tube going up your nose.

Is this a feeding tube?

He flips through the chart he has in his hands. You’re just remembering now that you got shot in the leg. You pull the covers back to inspect it while the doctor speaks.

“The wound was surprisingly clean. There was no exit wound, so we needed to perform surgery to remove the bullet. You lost about two pints of blood. You required a blood transfusion, which happened to end two days ago. You also needed a feeding tube and an IV to keep you alive. Seven days without food and water can be pretty dangerous. We’re going to remove it soon, since you’re awake, but your IV shall remain there until I say otherwise.”

You nod in understanding. But, really? You need a feeding tube? It makes sense, but it doesn’t mean you like it. It’s uncomfortable as ever, and what happens when you sneeze? It’s taped to your nose, but will it blow out still? How far up your nose is it? The doctor continues on as you have a small moment of dissatisfaction.

“I got the full report of your situation from a… Miss Knox. She mentioned that you had alcohol in your system before morphine was administrated to you.” He pauses to give you a look. You don’t even notice. Your bandages are more intriguing. He continues on. “Morphine and alcohol are a dangerous mix. You experienced dehydration, an irregular heart rate, and blood pressure changes. You could have fallen into a coma, stopped breathing, and died. Do you understand, miss _______?”

You stop inspecting your injury and silently complaining to yourself when the doctor says that. You look over at him, a range of emotions crossing your features. You could have died? You know one thing for sure now: you’re never drinking again on a mission. Or, at all. If it comes to that. You look down at the mattress and nod. He notices your change in expression. He sighs and sets his clipboard down.

“I do not mean to worry you, miss _______,” he says. “You could not have known. It is not your fault. But I am obligated to tell you the truth. And truth is, if you didn’t get here when you did, you could’ve died. When you were brought to us, you were already unconscious. I feared that you had already slipped past the point of bringing you back. I will skip the medical jargon and break it down for you. Before your surgery, I managed to stabilize you. The side effects of the morphine and alcohol were taking too much a toll on your body, and I was afraid of what might happen in the case that I treated your gunshot wound first.”

“Death?” you guess aloud, shifting in your bed again. You’re feeling all sorts of aches and pains in your lower back now. A small price to pay in order to recover.

“Yes,�� he affirms. “My team also stopped the bleeding long enough for me to do my work. It’s a hell of a process to go through, making sure your patient doesn’t go into a coma or die. But you did neither, which I am eternally grateful for. It’s very assuring to see you awake and moving around. But you won’t be doing much of that for a while, I’m afraid.”

“Am I paralyzed?!” you say out of shock, clutching the sheets.

“Oh no no no,” the doctor reassures you. “You still have mobility. I’m saying that you will need a pair of crutches for some time before you regain your strength to walk on your own again.”

“Oh.”

Walking around by the likes of crutches? Of all things? Can’t they just give you a wheelchair or something? Crutches are hard on the armpits and a bitch to deal with. You would know. Breaking your ankle back in grade seven wasn’t the most pleasant experience. And now you’ll have to relive it all over again. But he said the IV will need to stay in you until he says otherwise. Does that mean you’ll have to drag it around with you while you’re trying to walk? Or maybe he means it’ll stay there long enough for you to recover somewhat and then you’ll be using crutches. Whatever he means, it sounds awful.

“Perfect,” you say indignantly.

“You will also take part in rehabilitation sessions to improve your mobility. A few weeks until you’re able to walk on your own and the wound has fully healed.”

Double perfect.

All of this, just because of a bullet wound. And morphine and alcohol, apparently. You yawn widely and scratch at your eyes. You can’t tell if you have a headache, or if it’s a hangover. Or if it’s from the morphine and whatever else kind of sedatives they gave to you. Which ever way, you just know that you’re tired and annoyed.

“Anything else I need to know?”

“Because you were unconscious for seven days, your body is going to need time to heal. I would like to keep you here for a few more nights to keep an eye on your well-being. Your bandages will need to be changed on a daily basis to avoid infection. My staff shall take care of that until I give you the go-ahead to change them on your own. And when you do, I shall provide you with instructions on how to properly apply a new dressing. Do not rush–I repeat–do not rush yourself. Recovery takes time, so you will remain here at the compound until further notice. I will prescribe you some medication for the pain when you’re out of that bed.”

“Awesome,” you say sarcastically. “That it?”

“Mr. Stark asked me to inform him when you woke up. He shall be here momentarily.”

“Oh goody.”

This isn’t going to be pretty. You didn’t tell Tony, nor any of the team that you went on a mission. Sam is the one that received that crucial piece of information first. Then everyone came out and started arguing about it. All you remember is acting like an idiot while everyone had their moment of craze. You mentally prepare yourself for Tony’s scolding. He can be on-point with his reasons sometimes, and it pisses you off when he’s right. He’s one of the most hot-headed, rude, antagonizing people you’ve ever met. But you also know that he’s a person that always tries to right his wrongs. And it’s hard to hate him when he’s like that.

It’s no surprise when you can see him walking down the stairs; the whole med lab is made up of glass walls and doors. You can’t tell what kind of mood he’s in. He’s wearing one of those neutral expressions that makes it seem like he’s mad.

Oh yeah. Resting bitch face.

His eyes are on you the whole time, never breaking eye contact. He crosses his arms as he stands at the foot of your bed. You back up a little in your bed, slightly worried that he’s just going to explode and let you have it. Your eyes trained downwards, he finally speaks.

“How ya feeling?”

Whoa. You were not expecting sentiment.

You peek at up him. He’s completely serious, though his expression has softened. A little. You shrug and face him fully.

“Can’t complain, I guess,” you answer. “I’m alive and awake.”

“But how are you feeling?”

Does he mean it as in how am I feeling about myself going out alone to a solo mission without telling anyone? Does he want me to tell him how happy or angry I am with myself about the whole thing? Or does he actually want to know how I’m feeling right now?

You take the safest route.

“Okay,” you reply.

“Good. Because starting today, you’re on house arrest,” he says, pointing a finger at you.

“Oh, come on, Tony,” you whine, rolling your eyes.

“What were you thinking, taking that mission on alone?”

“Mr. Stark,” the doctor starts calmly, already knowing where this is going. “I would prefer it if miss _______ not be put under any unnecessary stress until she’s fully recovered.”

Tony acts like he didn’t hear him and keeps going. The doctor decides to leave the room until you and Tony have cooled down.

“But I wasn’t alone! I was–“

“But you thought you were alone, didn’t you? He sent you in there, alone, and didn’t do a damn thing until the very last second. You could’ve died in there, _______. Do you get that?”

“Yes, in fact, I do!” you yell. “Firstly, it’s a solo mission for a reason. Secondly, I know I could’ve died! I knew the risks! I know I could’ve gotten my back blown out and been paralyzed or killed if that other agent hadn’t stepped in and done something! I know, Tony. I know. But you know what? I’m here. I did all I could do. I thought out all the possible courses of action to take at the time. I thought of the people in the club. I knew it would kill me if one of them got injured or caught in the crossfire. I acted on my own, and did the best I could to keep myself from getting murdered, along with agent Knox. And it turned out okay! I’m fine, agent Knox is fine, and we arrested a couple of criminals to boot! So don’t talk down to me like what I did was the most horrible thing in the world!”

Your chest is heaving after letting your anger pour out from you. Letting Tony be on the receiving end of your fury only satisfies you somewhat this time. Your headache is a major bitch, and yelling doesn’t help it at all. You sigh and run a hand through your hair. The side effects of the morphine have worn off, but they’re still hanging on by a thread. You’re sweating more than you should, and you feel your mouth go dry again. The pounding dizziness in your skull is the most irritating, and you wish you could just go to sleep again. But you need to reassure Tony that everything is okay.

Breathing through the pain, you raise your head and look tiredly at him.

“I’m fine, Tony,” you say gently. “Can you not just be happy about that and worry about the collateral damage later?”

You know you’re right. You just hope Tony agrees too. He likes to put the details out in the open, and keep them there, open for discussion at any given time. He’ll subtly–and annoyingly–remind you about your blunders and past mistakes to scramble your way out of making a similar decision to the former ones you’ve made.

For his sake, he better not do it this time.

His shoves his hands in his raggedy jeans and looks at the floor, then back to you.

“All right, fine,” he agrees. “I’ll let it go this time. But the next time that this happens, don’t expect me to sugarcoat things and laugh along to your story and make memes out of it. Yes, I know what memes are. You’re talking to the leading innovator in technology, here. Come on.”

That makes you smile more. Hearing him joke about things that are actually funny makes you feel better about everything. It doesn’t stop the physical pain, but it warms your heart. Tony Stark. Big guy in a suit of armour. Annoying, snarky, and witty, but still caring and compassionate. Truly a two-faced bitch.

“Cap and the others visited you during your unexpected trip to the land of the unconscious,” he adds, pulling up a stool. “Day in and day out. Checking to see if you’ve moved a finger or if you’ve had a leg jerk. Wince, groan, cough. Anything to indicate that you were still alive without relying on the beeping of the machines.”

“Oh,” you say. You expected that to some degree, but Tony’s making it sound like it was a life-or-death situation for the team if you didn’t pull through. “I hope I didn’t worry them too much…”

“Worry?” Tony repeats, smiling slightly and shaking his head. “Listen here, Hell’s angel. Rogers held a full conversation with you as if you were answering him. Wilson even joined in at some parts. Wanda and Nat would tell you about their day. Vision would… come to think of it, I don’t really know what Vision did. He just stared. But like, into you, y’know? Anyway. And Barnes just sat with you. Stared a lot too, like Vision. So I’d say ‘worry’ is an understatement.”

“You forgot something,” you mention.

“What’s that?”

“You.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you. What’d you do? No offence, but you don’t seem like a person to bring me tea when I’m sick or sit down and talk to my unconscious body.”

“What gives you that idea?”

“So you are.”

“Are what?”

“The kind of person to sit down and talk to my unconscious body.”

“You got it all wrong. See–“

“It’s not a hard question, Tony.”

“There is no question, _______.”

“Yes there is.”

“Then what is it?”

“Did you, or did you not, do something in similar fashion like talk to my unconscious body?”

“Fine, alright! Yes! I did! Happy now, you zombie?”

At the end of your bickering with him, you nod in satisfaction.

“I am,” you confirm. “I know it may not matter to you, but thanks. I hate worrying people, but I appreciate you and everyone else watching over me.”

Tony folds his hands over the end of your bed and nods, muttering a small “yep”. You smile more. Another thought comes to mind.

“Speaking of which,” you say, twisting the sheets between your fingers. “How mad was everyone?”

Tony taps his thumbs together as he thinks out-loud.

“Ummmmm. You ever see Banner go berserk?”

“N-Not in person no…”

“Rogers was about this close to going on a manhunt with the wrath close to that of Banner in his green rage monster mode.”

“Yikes…”

“’Yikes’ is right, kid.”

He gets out of his stool and starts pacing the room.

“Everyone had their own moments of anguish over this, but he’s the only one that almost got physical about it. Hearing that you might fall into a coma and die isn’t exactly what someone wants to hear at one in the morning. It could potentially trigger deep-seeded emotions. Barnes on the other hand… he was the complete opposite. Distant. Kept to himself. Didn’t know what to think or do. Like it was his first time seeing a person with a gunshot wound. But who knows what goes through his head.”

“You don’t say.”

The thought of Bucky being ambivalent about his feelings makes you a little sad. Tony’s right; who knows what he’s feeling? But it’s nice to hear that he was worried. Everyone else too of course, but… him especially. What a bias you’ve created.

You sigh and lay back against the bed, and hiss when you can feel the prick of your bullet wound. You lift up the blankets again, and delicately run your hand along the gauze. This is going to be a pain to take care of.

“Stings, doesn’t it?”

“No doubt. It didn’t hurt at the time because I was high on adrenaline, but damn. This sucks.”

“Don’t worry,” he says, opening a desk drawer and pulling out some peanuts. “I’m sure the team will be more than willing to carry you up and down the stairs.” He tears open the package and pops a few in his mouth. He holds some out for you, but you turn them down. Food isn’t on your mind at the moment. It’s sleep. You yawn again and cover your mouth. You lay back down comfortably and pull the sheets over your chest.

“Get some rest, kid,” Tony says as he backs out the door. “You’re gonna need it for when Cap sees you.”

“Thanks for the tip.”

Tony travels back upstairs to let the rest of the team know that you’re awake and well, but going back to sleep. You know it’ll piss some of them off, Steve especially, but you’re exhausted still and need some real sleep. Being under doesn’t necessarily mean you’re asleep. So now, you’re going to take control of your own conscious, and fall asleep on your own accord. You wave to Tony when he reaches the middle of the stairs, and close your eyes, hoping that when you wake up, you’ll feel that much better.

The next time you wake up is four hours later, about midday. It was a terrible feat trying to fall asleep with all the bright lights on, but sometime during your sleep, someone was gracious enough to dim them for you. Truly, a kind soul.

You feel better, only in the slightest. Your headache has slowed to a dull thud in your head, and you don’t have dry mouth. A few positives to start your day. You’re alone, you notice. All the medical staff must be taking a break. That’s not too bad. Gives you a minute to relax without anyone asking you the same questions over and over.

You stretch your arms above your head and yawn, then scratch around your hand where the IV tube is. Despite its job to give you nutrients and sugars, it’s not the most comfortable thing to be piercing your hand. And apparently, your stomach isn’t very comfortable either.

It growls loudly, disappointed that it has nothing to digest. You sigh sadly, wondering if you’re allowed to have solid foods yet. Or even liquid-y solids, like pudding and ice cream. The doctor said that you had been unconscious for a week, and needed a blood transfusion and an IV drip. That would certainly do the trick to make you hungry as hell. The feeding tube is still in you, so you have no idea who to call to take it out.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.?” you call out weakly.

“It is good to hear your voice, miss _______,” the A.I. says.

“Yeah, me too.”

“What can I do for you?”

“Can you call one of the doctor’s back?”

“Certainly.”

F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s voice rings overhead, delivering the message, and you wait for the doctor to come back. Considering your circumstances, he should be here on the double. But since you’re doing well, he may take his time. You fiddle around with the many tubes protruding your body in the meantime, and also think about all the therapy you’ll have to endure. Within a few minutes, your doctor returns with a smile on his face.

“Miss _______,” he greets you as he enters the room.

“Doctorrr… Markson,” you greet back after squinting at his nametag. He takes a seat beside you and folds his hands together.

“How are you feeling? Better?” he asks.

“More or less,” you say, giving a non-committal wave of your hand. “I was just wondering if you can take the feeding tube out yet? I know you mentioned removing it earlier, but I just wanted to know when.”

He looks at the time on his watch, then flips through a few papers from your charts. He nods his head at what he reads and looks at you.

“I believe it would be alright to remove it,” he says, making you smile. “Hopefully the IV will only stay in until tomorrow. After I remove the tube, I shall bring you something sufficient to eat.”

“That’d be great.”

He sets the charts back down and washes his hands, while you sit up and bend your good leg. You can still move your wounded leg, but the best you’re going to do right now is wiggle your toes and bend your knee little by little so your thigh doesn’t feel that much pressure. As Dr. Markson dries his hands and puts on his gloves, you can see and hear Steve running down the stairs, followed by Wanda and Natasha.

Here we go.

You muster a smile for them, because you’re genuinely happy to see them. Steve has concern written all over his face; and he has a right to be. He didn’t get to see you when you first woke up, and was a little peeved that Tony was first in line. But now, he pushes that all aside because he’s so relieved that you’re okay.

“Heyyy guyyyyys,” you say as they walk in.

“_______,” Steve says, speaking before anyone else. “How are you feeling? Are you alright?”

“I’m okay, Steve,” you reply truthfully. “Maybe a little off-balance still, but otherwise, I’m doing pretty good.”

He smiles that dad smile that warms your heart. You can never be mad at Steve when he throws his charm in the mix. He’s just too soft and selfless to be angry at.

“Does it hurt?” Wanda asks, crossing her arms and looking at the floor.

How are you so adorable?

“Not as much as it did before,” you smile sweetly. “The painkillers are taking care of that.” Wanda nods and smiles back quickly before letting her expression drop again. She’s content that you’re conscious and seem to be doing fine, but it really took a toll on her when she saw how still you looked on your bed. You were the closest thing she had to another sibling, and she’d be damned if she lost you too.

“That was quite the show you put on,” Natasha quips, taking a seat in a corner of the room. “For not using a gun, it was remarkable you got out of there alive.”

“You saw?” you question. “How?”

“Coulson had surveillance for the duration of your mission,” she explains. “He deemed it as an instructional video to examine your mistakes.”

Goddamn that Coulson.

“I see,” you say, irritated. “I probably should’ve expected that, with him being a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent and all. So secretive and conniving.”

She nods in agreement and leans forward in her chair, elbows resting on her knees.

“It’s good to see you again, _______,” she says.

“Likewise.”

“Excuse me.”

Everyone’s attention is drawn to Dr. Markson. He snaps his gloves on and stands beside your bed.

“I am about to remove _______’s feeding tube,” he explains. “I would advise you step away to give her some room.”

Wanda and Steve nod, backing away against the wall to give you some space. You sit up more and face Dr. Markson as he prepares to take it out.

“I will warn you now to be prepared for gagging, coughing, and overall general nasal discomfort as I remove the tube,” he says.

“Awesome,” you say with a nod.

He gives you a protective pad, and you stuff it in the front of your gown. He unpins the tube from your gown, and loosens the tape securing the tube to your nose. You raise your hand and give the top of your nose a little scratch, the tape itching your skin. He then turns off the suction, and disconnects the tube from the syringe. He pinches the tube near your nostril, and tells you to relax as he pulls it out. You close your eyes as he does, not wanting to see a four-foot tube come out of your nose. You wince as it all comes out, and gag a bit when you can feel it hit your throat. You stick your tongue out in disgust, and cough a bit to rid yourself of the remaining taste. Nat, Wanda, and Steve smile in amusement.

“Well that wasn’t nasty at all,” you comment as Dr. Markson cleans the end of your nose. He disposes the tube, removes his gloves, and washes his hands again. You get used to having a clear nose, and repeatedly rub the end of it to try to settle it back to normal.

“The irritation will wear off well within a few minutes,” Dr. Markson assures you. “Your nasal cavity should feel fine after that.”

“Thanks,” you mutter, now tapping the side of your nose to get rid of the feeling that the tube is still in there. For now, you breathe in and out evenly, trusting your body to get rid of the leftover irritation.

“I’ll go bring you your food now,” Dr. Markson says.

“Okay.”

He leaves the room to go to the cafeteria, leaving you under the watchful eye that is Steve Rogers. Natasha and Wanda have already settled down, and are just grateful that you’re still there with them. Steve, however, gives you a stern look.

“Why would you do that, _______?” he asks. Straight to the point. Might as well lay it out in the open again.

“Because I wanted to,” you sigh, getting sick of repeating yourself. “I got offered a solo assignment and I took it because I wanted it. I knew the risks involved and I was successful in taking down multiple criminals in the process. The civilians got out unharmed, as well did agent Knox, along with myself. Yes, I was shot in the leg, but I’m fine now, Steve. And I don’t wanna keep repeating myself a thousand times. I already got read the riot act by Tony.”

Steve sighs and wipes his hands down his face. Leaning against the glass, he gives you an amused look and crosses his arms. Even he can’t be mad at you.

“Look, _______,” he starts. You know this is the beginning of a lecture. “I admire you for wanting to go out on your own and do missions by yourself. But next time, let us know, okay? That way we won’t have a row when you come home bloody and unconscious.”

“I will,” you agree. “But you better not think about stopping me if I want to go. No matter how dangerous it is, I’ll make the decision myself if I want to go or not. Missions from S.H.I.E.L.D. seem shoddy enough with everything they didn’t tell me, so I’m keeping my eye out for that.”

“That’s a girl,” Steve smiles. Just then, Dr. Markson arrives with a tray of typical hospital food for you: jello, milk, and pudding. You raise a brow, but otherwise say nothing. It’s simple enough to eat after having the feeding tube removed. And you’d like to keep it that way.

“We’ll work our way up until you can eat larger portions,” Dr. Markson says as he notices your reaction. “For now, you’ll be eating puréed foods and small meals until further notice. In your case, it shouldn’t last for more than two days.”

“Fantastic,” you retort, picking up your spoon. You decide to eat the pudding first. The jello has more taste to it, plus it’s fun to eat. You’d prefer water over milk, but getting protein is important too. You wiggle your feet as you eat, smiling widely as you get to eat something real since your little accident. Your small moment of peace is only slightly ruined when you see Sam coming down the stairs. You swallow what you chewed and shamefully look down at the bed as he walks in.

He’s a mix of disappointment and relief. He can’t believe everything that transpired within a week since your return home. He’s glad, of course, that you made it out alright. But he’s going to lecture to you too before he gets to that.

“I can’t believe you lied to me,” he says, shaking his head at you. “A late night fast food run doesn’t take four hours, _______. Then you don’t bother to tell me anything between the time that your mission was finished and the drive back to the compound. Not one phone call telling me that hey, you got shot in the leg and need the surgeons to be ready, or that the mission was for S.H.I.E.L.D.? You really scared me.” He grips the foot of your bed and heaves a sigh through his nose.

“I didn’t really lie,” you defend quietly. “I got you your food.”

“That’s not the point, _______,” he snaps back. “You lied to me about where you were going. At first I thought I’d go out looking for you when two hours went by. But I thought ‘nah it’s cool she can handle herself’. Meanwhile you’re getting shot in the leg and almost dying.”

Now you feel really guilty. Sam was the one to come find you bloodied and beaten, on the verge of death. It makes sense that he’d be the most guilt-ridden about not going after you when he should have. You stare at your tray of food in humiliation for making him this upset.

“Sam, I’m–“

“However,” he cuts in, raising his head with a toothy grin on his face. “It was pretty awesome to see you give two grown men a well-deserved beating. It was kickass to see you like that, Spyro.”

Your lips quirk up into a smile, and soon you’re giggling from how impressed Sam looks with you.

This is how it should be.

“I mean, at first I was a little worried while I watched the surveillance video,” he admits, taking a seat in a rolly stool. “I could tell that you hadn’t done a mission before where you had to flirt your way in.”

“Hey!” you laugh.

“What? You’d honestly rather die than play it up with the likes of someone like him.”

“Yeah, I would have. But I did the best I could.”

“The best you c– Listen, Spyro. I got nothin’ against ya, but seeing you try to flirt was about as impressive as a dog standing on its hind legs.”

You cross your arms and pout, but you can’t really make a comeback because he’s right. Your game is so weak; Wanda would probably have done a better job. In fact, she’d probably make it out of there without as so much as a bruise. You shake your head. What’s done is done, and thinking about how everyone else would do it won’t get you anywhere. It’ll only generate envy and contempt towards your teammates. And no one needs that.

Sam keeps talking about how he reacted while he watched the video, and even goes as far as bringing it up on screen to show you. You cover your eyes and shake your head, not wanting to see how badly you embarrassed yourself. But you watch it anyway, with Wanda, Nat, and Steve in the room. Steve manages to get a few laughs in; you do as well, but your heart skips a beat when Vision comes strolling in from the ceiling.

“Vision!” you yell, a hand over your chest.

He stands off to the side once he’s finished his dramatic entrance, giving you a head nod in greeting.

“Miss _______.”

“Vis,” Wanda says. “You gotta stop doing that.”

He looks back at her, then to you, then to everyone else in the room. He recognizes his troublesome habit and addresses it.

“I apologize,” he says. “I was not quite aware of where I would end up.”

“Just… stick to doors, Vision,” you tell him.

“Understood.”

You smile at each other before Sam rewinds the whole video and begins it again. However, one minute into the footage, another guest makes their appearance.

“I look away for two seconds and suddenly there’s a party?”

Your shoulders slump and a playful smile creeps onto your face. The whole atmosphere of the room seems to change from hearty laughter to a teasing exasperation. Steve is always the most expressive when Tony walks into a room. His smile could fall completely, turn serious, or could even throw a few wise cracks around. This time, since everyone is in the med lab solely for you, Steve’s good-natured humour remains, and welcomes Tony in.

“Doesn’t seem fair when you don’t get first glance, does it?”

“Well I already got first glance, first talk, and first lecture. So I beat you there, Cap.”

“Sure did.”

“So what’re we doing?” He turns to the side and sees the footage of your mission. “Oh. This is always a good watch. We starting from the beginning? You sure you know how to work that, Wilson?”

“I got it.”

Sam, once again, starts the video from the very beginning, and everyone settles in to watch it as Dr. Markson observes from afar. They all give their own commentary, along with snarky tips from Tony. You eat your pudding and jello, and almost snort out your milk when someone says something too funny. There’s definitely enough banter to go around, and plenty of embarrassing moments for everyone (Tony) to use against you for shits and giggles. Having everyone here with you is great and all, but there’s still one person missing.

Bucky.

You know you can’t ask where he is out-loud without ruining the mood. And if you do, Wanda might give you another look that makes it seem like she knows something you don’t. And you feel like Steve would give you a similar look; or maybe a soft smile. He’s good at those. For now, you keep your mouth shut and let your friends make fun of you while you silently ponder where he is.

It’s as if a portal opened up out of nowhere. When Bucky came out of his room from having a nap, everyone had disappeared. The kitchen, living room, training room; they were all empty. he ran his metal hand through his hair and wondered where they would all go. Granted, he didn’t really care; he enjoyed the peace from time to time. But this was just weird. As he keeps wandering around, F.R.I.D.A.Y. takes note of his confusion and enlightens him.

“The team has gathered in medical laboratory, Mr. Barnes,” the A.I. announces. “They are visiting miss _______ as she is awake.” Bucky looks up at the ceiling, and all around, wondering where the hell Tony installed this thing. He taps his fingers on the counter, nodding his head. He pulls the corner of his mouth, wondering if he should go down. If he does, he absolutely knows he’s going to break up the party. The giant elephant in the room, though there’s not even a problem. He’s still new to people actually being nice to him and not trying to blow his brains out or slit his throat.

Biting his bottom lip, he looks down the hallway to the stairs. He’ll go and have a quick look. If it’s too crowded for his liking, or if he feels he’s unwanted, then he’ll go straight back up the stairs and to his room. Without having an argument with himself, he struts down the hallway and finds his way downstairs to the med lab. Having only been there once, he remembers the way. When he reaches the door that leads to the basement, he creeps along the wall, and peeks through the glass window. The only thing he sees are the glass stairs leading down to the laboratory. He grabs the doorknob, and quietly opens the door, listening in.

“No no no. You see. You should’ve torn a part of your dress to wrap around their faces.”

“You honestly think I’d have the time for that, Nat?”

“I’d say you had a sufficient amount of time, since you were dilly dallying around while talking to that guy.”

“Oh give me a break, Sam. Why don’t you try wearing a dress and try to discreetly rip it while talking to a guy that has a face that looks like someone tossed it in a blender?”

“That’s no excuse.”

“Oh ho ho. I do not need the sass on that from you, Tony. You gave me enough.”

“She’s right, Tony. What she needs is reform. And flirting lessons.”

“Steve. Honestly.”

“I agree.”

“Not you too, Wanda!”

“I’m sorry, _______. But I’ve seen better flirting from animals biting each other.”

“Now now, everyone. Miss _______ has been through quite enough. She does not need any further insults being directed at her.”

“Thank you, Vision.”

“However, if I may make one suggestion–“

“You may not!”

Everyone erupts in laughter as your face contorts to a mixture of frustration and amusement. But even you can’t stop laughing. You’re kind of lucky that you got shot in the leg and not the abdomen; otherwise you probably wouldn’t be able to laugh like you are right now.

Bucky’s mouth is in a tight line by the time everybody is laughing. He quietly closes the door and sighs. He knows, he knows he wouldn’t be able to walk in there without having at least one or two faces fall upon his arrival. And since he’s made the decision to go back upstairs, he won’t have to see it. But it’s good to hear that you seem to be doing okay.

He returns to his room, firmly closing the door shut and flopping on his bed. His brow furrows as he stares at the ceiling. He wonders if he should pay you a visit later, when the team has left and won’t notice him skipping back down to you. It’s only one in the afternoon. Should he wait a few more hours, or until nighttime when everyone is in bed? But then there’s the most important factor: you. Would you be asleep? Bucky knows you need your rest; you got shot in the leg for Christ sakes. He’d want some peaceful rest too. But you seem like a night owl to him. Maybe it’d be okay?

He shakes his head when too many thoughts come crashing together at once. He reaches under his bed and pulls out the iPod you gave him with the most popular hits over the past few decades. He hasn’t stopped listening to the playlist since you gave it to him. It was a nice gesture on your part, but he didn’t realize how much he’d actually appreciate it. Hearing songs from his childhood (from the fragments he can remember) to his teens and adulthood was a godsend. And even though his mind was constantly played with and erased, the melody of the song and the lyrics would strike a cord in him, old memories and emotions surfacing. Some nights he would let a few tears slip out because it felt so familiar to him, but he couldn’t pinpoint the exact moments in his life where a song would make him feel so emotional. And he hates it. But, in all honesty, the power of the song overcomes his hatred no problem. Even more so, because you did it because you wanted to. You didn’t want anything out of it; you just wanted to help him.

With an affirmative grunt, he’s made a decision. He would go visit you later that night, where he could speak to you in private. For now, he’ll attempt to have another dreamless sleep.

Back downstairs, the team has settled down some after getting their teasing out of the way. You’re still wiping away a few tears because you were laughing so hard. Tony has since closed the surveillance video, since he got his mocking words of praise out of his system. You managed to finish your meal, and set your tray aside to enjoy the company of your friends.

“Okay okay okay,” Steve starts. “In all seriousness, I’m proud of _______ for taking things into her own hands. She fought well, thought on her feet, and got a few arrests under her belt.”

“Oh my god, Steeeeve,” you whimper, covering your face in your hands. You cannot take him seriously sometimes. His puppy dog behaviour and big dad smile makes your heart melt every time.

“Hey, I’m just laying down the truth for ya,” he says, smiling widely. “I’d say we give you a couple cheers for your hard work.”

There’s a few groans, which only makes Steve laugh and egg them on.

“Come on, guys. You know she deserves it. We don’t have any drinks, but I think a few congratulations are in order.”

You just shake your head and grab your milk carton, raising it up in the air. Steve claps a hand on your shoulder, and squeezes.

“Congratulations on your first successful solo mission, _______.”

There’s a chorus of “congrats” and “good job”s. You happily sip on your milk, your cheeks turning pink from slight embarrassment. You look up at the ceiling when F.R.I.D.A.Y. joins in on the conversation.

“Miss _______, you are receiving a Skype call from Maeve.”

Your stomach drops, and your smile disappears. You’ve done a decent job at keeping Maeve up-to-date on things going on in the compound, with yourself, and everyone else. It’s been a week, and you haven’t had the chance to call her. She’s probably freaking out right about now.

“Shit,” you whisper to yourself. The thought of Maeve letting you have it is more terrifying than getting shot in the leg. Your heart beats uncomfortably fast and hot in your chest.

“You alright, kid?” Tony asks.

“Yeah,” you wave him off. “I just… I haven’t spoken to her in a week because of me being here. She doesn’t know what’s been going on.”

“Would you like some privacy?” Steve asks.

“Ye–Actually, no,” you reply after giving it a quick thought. “No. You guys can stay. I think she’d like it. Take her attention away from being mad at me.”

The team looks at each other, but you pay them no mind. Maeve is the only one who knows about you being here; everyone else, including your family, has no idea what you’ve been doing. And you’d like to keep it that way.

“Miss _______. Shall I accept the call?”

“Everyone get over here,” you say first, waving your arms. “Come on, come on!” The team does as they’re told, and surround your bed. Once you think everyone is in the picture, you tell F.R.I.D.A.Y. to accept the call.

“On screen, F.R.I.D.A.Y.”

“Skype call on screen.”

When the call is accepted, all you see is the empty living room of your shared apartment with Maeve. You cock your head to the side, wondering if the screen is frozen.

“Maeve?” you call out.

“Oh! Look who finally decided to pick up the phone!” she yells from the kitchen. “I can’t believe you! You know I was actually worried, right? I thought huh, maybe she just wants some time to herself, or she’s on a really long mission. But a week, _______? Really? And not a single update?”

“Uh, Maeve–“

“And don’t even get me started on the fact that you haven’t sent me any SnapChat updates! Absolutely nothing! No workout rooms, no briefings, not even goddamn food! Did you get hit in the head again?”

“Meave–“

“I bet you did. And that’s why you haven’t been showing me those glorious pe–“

She stops herself when she finally comes into view and sees just who she’s been talking to. You give her a bashful smile and a little wave.

“Surpriiiiise!”

You’ve never seen Maeve so awestruck before. Her mouth is gaping open, she’s frozen in place, and she keeps moving her eyes left and right, but not her head. You’re a little awestruck yourself.

“Maeve? Maeve?”

“_-_______?” she stammers, walking closer to her laptop. She sits down and sets the computer in her lap. There’s a long moment of awkward silence, with you expecting more of a reaction, while everyone else is confused. Maeve covers her mouth with one hand, and finally speaks again.

“You’re… you’re in a hospital bed. What the hell happened? Is this why I haven’t heard from you?”

You’re honestly sort of surprised she’s not freaking out more about seeing The Avengers, but you guess you’re her priority right now.

“Uh, y-yeah. I got shot in the leg and–“

“You got shot in the leg?!” she screams. “Holy shit, _______! How did that happen?”

“I went on a mission alone,” you answer, taking it slow. “The mission was a success, but I got shot in the leg in the process. And I sorta… I was unconscious for a week because of some alcohol and morphine problems, but I’m okay now! I can’t walk by myself for a while, but it’s all good.”

She snorts and makes a bunch of incoherent noises, shaking the laptop screen.

“All good? All good?!” she yells, exasperated. “You’re in a hospital bed, _______! You got shot in the leg and you’re in a hospital bed surrounded by every… one.” She’s just realizing now that not only is she speaking to you, but also Sam, Steve, Tony, Wanda, Natasha, and Vision. She stops rambling and gives a wave to the camera.

“Uhhh. Hi! I-I’m Maeve.”

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” Steve smiles. “Well. On screen, anyway.”

“Y-Yeah, same here!” she squeaks. Now she’s getting excited. Her eyes flit all over the place, smiling more and more at each face she sees.

“I’m just–wow. It’s so awesome to see everyone like this. Well, not like this this, because _______ is confined to a bed and all. You know what I mean. Just… wOW. I can’t believe this! _______, I’m really happy that you’re okay. And I’m sorry for yelling. I just–“

“Don’t even worry about it,” you interrupt, holding up your hand. “You can have your moment.”

Sitting back, you let Maeve talk to the team. Tony is a little adamant about it because he doesn’t really like outsiders prying into the compound and The Avengers’ business, but since it’s your personal friend, he’s not being as stubborn about it. The conversations go on for well over an hour, and you can’t believe it. It almost feels kind of nostalgic, the whole situation reminding you of when you would get together with your friends and talk the night away. Sharing stories, gossiping, and just plain enjoying each other’s presence. It’s a nice reminder to make you relax and be thankful for what you have.

“And man, you would not believe the pictures she takes,” Maeve continues, making you blush.

“Stop bragging about me already,” you complain, rubbing your forehead.

“Please, do,” Tony adds, giving you a smirk.

“Shut up, you,” you snap back.

“I hate to break up this reunion,” Dr. Markson speaks up, after remaining silent the entire time. “But _______ is going to need a lot of rest tonight. Tomorrow she starts her rehabilitation lessons, and I would advise that she be well rested to be prepared for it.”

There’s a loud chorus of “aww”s from everyone, though Tony’s is more sarcastic than anything. Though he did enjoy this little get-together, the doctor is right. You need your rest.

“Okay, everyone,” he announces. “Time to wrap it up. Let’s go.”

Wanda and Natasha come over to give you a hug, Sam gives you a firm handshake and a back clap. Vision nods his head, Tony waves, and Steve gives you a kiss to your temple before they all file out. You wave enthusiastically, and laugh when Maeve gives them all a giant goodbye. She gives you a pouty smile when it’s her turn to bid you farewell.

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay?” you tell her. “After I do my therapy. Hopefully I don’t fall down the stairs.”

“Knowing you, you probably will,” she chuckles. She smiles sadly, and rests her cheek on her knee. “I hope you get better soon, _______.”

“Mm. So do I,” you agree. “Slán go fóill.”

Bye for now.

“Slán go fóill, mo chara.”

By for now, my friend.

She ends the Skype call, and then you’re surrounded by silence again. Dr. Markson fills out a few papers, and you have nothing better to do. You’ll be confined to your bed until tomorrow, but you’ll be damned if you go to sleep again. You’re too awake to do that. You see a remote sitting on one of the desks. Might as well ask.

“Dr. Markson?”

“Hmm?”

“Can I get TV in this room?”

“Of course.”

He turns around in his chair, grabs the remote, and shows you how to use it, since it’s Tony’s technology. And even some of that you don’t understand. He shows you the basics, the TV being projected on the glass wall in front of you. A regular TV would do you just fine instead of having so many projections coming on at once. After fiddling around with it for a few minutes, you settle for a movie that’s half an hour in. You sit back and relax, but you feel something funny going on in your stomach. You lift the sheets, looking at your lower half.

“Um,” you start, not knowing how you should say this. “Can I… go to the bathroom? Or is that being taken care of?”

“Hmm? Oh,” he smiles. “Yes. A Foley catheter has been draining your bladder since your accident. I’ll take that out tomorrow as well, before your rehab session.”

You nod your head and put the sheets back down. Having your insides being taken care of isn’t all that bad. Especially this; you don’t know how well you’d fair trying to walk to the bathroom to do your business, let alone trying to sit down. A blessing in disguise.

Reclining your bed to a good TV watching position, you keep the remote by your side, remaining still and silent when Dr. Markson does a few check-ups on you. You can’t really complain; he and his team saved your life, so you’re going to keep your mouth shut until someone asks you something. For now, you sit back and watch your movie.

Back upstairs, everyone goes to their own separate spaces, but Steve immediately goes to see Bucky in his room. He looks behind him to see if anyone else is coming. When there isn’t, he knocks on the door.

“Buck? It’s me.”

When he doesn’t hear an answer, he knocks again, only louder.

“Buck? You in there?”

He hesitantly opens the door, peeking inside. He sees Bucky sitting cross-legged on his bed, back hunched over, earbuds firmly in place. Steve opens the door wider and smiles, leaning against the doorframe. Steve slaps his hand on the wall a few times. Bucky jumps and tears the earbuds out and looks behind him.

“Steve,” he half laughs, half scowls. “Don’t do that.”

“Hey well, I tried knocking,” Steve counters. “You didn’t hear me.”

“Guess not.”

Steve looks down at the iPod in Bucky’s hands, staring curiously at it. Bucky takes notice and holds it up.

“iPod,” he says, turning it in his hands. “Plays music.”

“I know,” Steve says. “Better than the radio, isn’t it?”

“Leaps and bounds better, I’d say.”

“Where’d you get it?”

“_______ gave it to me.”

“Ohhhhh.”

Bucky tilts his head to the side and narrows his eyes at Steve. He knows that kind of “oh”.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothin’,” he says. “Just nice to hear that she’s getting you invested in the latest technology too. I’ve had my share, now it’s your turn.”

“I guess,” Bucky sighs. “This is it for now.”

As Bucky scrolls through the songs again, Steve crosses his arms and observes his best friend. He seems really invested in his new iPod; it must be why he stays in his room for so long, only coming out to get food or to train. This image of Bucky not being afraid of technology warms Steve’s heart. A baby step for Bucky, but it’s a step nonetheless.

“We missed you down there,” Steve says. “Why didn’t you come?”

“I didn’t want to make the room come to a complete stop with me in there,” Bucky explains, leaning against the wall.

“No you wouldn’t, Buck,” Steve retorts. “_______ would’ve loved to see you there with everyone. And so would I.”

“I dunno, Steve,” he shrugs. “I’m not quite there yet.”

Steve sighs, knowing as well as Bucky that he’s right. Even though he’s been here for a little while now, he hasn’t gotten into the groove of things. Tony and Sam put him on edge, and he doesn’t want to risk anything else horrible happening while he’s thrown into the mix.

“Okay,” Steve says softly, halfway out the door. “Will you see her sometime, then? For her? I’m sure she’d appreciate it, and love to hear about how much you’re loving your gift. Maybe even keep her company for a while until she gets back on her own two feet.”

Bucky looks up at him and is about to protest, but he just pulls his mouth to the side. He was going visit you anyway, but he might as well let Steve know. He’s asking, anyhow. Playing babysitter doesn’t exactly sound that exciting to him, but someone’s got to look after you when everyone else is away on a mission. Who knows. Maybe he’ll enjoy it. Finally, he nods firmly, then plugs his earbuds back in. Steve takes that as his sign to leave. He closes the door softly, smiling to himself. He decides to go to the kitchen to make himself some victory lunch, silently wishing Bucky the best.

When seven o’clock rolls around, you’re told that it’s dinnertime, and then bedtime right after. You’re tempted to keep watching TV until your show is over, but you’re not in the mood to hear parent-like remarks coming from the medical staff. Sighing in defeat, you turn off the projection and put the remote down on the desk beside you. Reclining the bed to a comfortable eating position, you accept the dinner tray and start eating your mashed potatoes and cream corn.

Once you’re finished, you give the tray back to one of the nurses and put your bed back into a horizontal position. Yawning, you rub your eyes and shift a little farther down your bed, careful not to disturb your wounded leg. It’s been quite interesting, sleeping on your back. And when you say “interesting”, you mean shitty. No amount of turning your head from side to side is going to save you from the hell that is complete horizontal positioning. With no other choice than to just endure it, you close your eyes and idly wave goodbye to Dr. Markson as he takes his leave.

“Rehabilitation will be at eight o’clock tomorrow morning,” he says, halfway out the door. “Be ready.”

“Mm. I will,” you reply sleepily.

“Goodnight, _______.”

“Night.”

Dr. Markson dims the lights as he turns down a hallway and out of sight. If anything should happen to you during the night, they have 24/7 surveillance and alarm systems to warn them if anything serious is going on. You’re in the safest place in all of Los Angeles, and all of the Avengers are above you, if needed. Most likely not, but it’s a soothing thought. After several shifting attempts, you manage to fall asleep on your left side within the hour.

Around nine o’clock, Bucky decided to pay you a visit without being noticed, clad in his sweat pants and white tank top. But when he got downstairs, you were already asleep. He debated whether or not to stay, since he didn’t want to disturb you. However, he pulled up a chair beside you anyway, and silently watched you sleep peacefully.

That was an hour ago. Now, you’re twitching more in your sleep, your brows furrow in frustration, and your lip quivers. You’re sweating hotly, and grasp the sheets in despair. Your harmless dream has turned into a haunting nightmare, and your body is reacting accordingly. Bucky watches on, knowing that countless times he’s slept like this: fearful and aggravated. He always woke up in a cold sweat, dazed and confused about where he was. From time to time he’d get lucky and dream a dreamless sleep, but those were rare occasions. There’s too many horrors in his mind to poke and prod at him when he’s supposed to feel safe.

In your dream, you’re at club Death Row, with Marko Snyders standing over you. He had already shot and killed agent Knox. Your ears are ringing from explosions outside the club, and from hitting your head on the floor. Your vision is hazy, your body weak, your mind frail and vulnerable. Everything seems to move in slow motion; from Marko waving his gun, to the two bodyguards leaving with agent Knox’s body. You start seeing double, and the club glows red. You reach your arm out for agent Knox, and Marko laughs in your face.

“Sorry, darlin’. You ain’t gettin’ out of this one.”

He starts backing out of the club, and holds up your lighter, lighting a flame. You try to scream, but no noise comes out. Trying to stand won’t work either; your body is firmly planted to the floor. Just as Marko is at the door, he drops your lighter and the whole room goes up in flames. You keep opening your mouth to call for help, but it’s just utter silence. You’re helpless as the fire catches you, engulfing you and the club in a roaring fire.

Your body reacts terribly to this, as you cry yourself awake, and jolt upright. You cry out in pain from stretching your leg too quickly. You hunch over and hold it delicately, breathing hardly. Looking up, you take a moment to remember where you are. Bucky remains in his seat, but is ready to take action if need be. You put a hand over your chest, and breathe deeply to calm yourself down. Something feels off, so you look to your left.

“B-Bucky?” you stammer.

“Hi, _______,” he says calmly. “You alright?”

Your gaze moves from the floor, to the walls, and ceiling. Then you look down at the hospital bed, your gown, and the electrodes attached to your chest.

Right. I’m in the compound. Recovering. I’m alive.

Coming back to earth, you take deep breaths as you gently rub your temples. Bucky leans his elbows on his knees, holding his hands. You wipe the tears from your face, and lay back against your bed again. Having Bucky witness you crying yourself awake from a nightmare isn’t anything less than embarrassing. Though you suppose it’s alright; he’s probably woken up in a similar fashion before. He could empathize. After calming down from your breakdown, you turn your head to face him.

“Hi,” you say quietly.

“Hi,” he replies.

You look at the time on the wall to your right, then back to Bucky.

“What’re you doing down here so late?”

He clears his throat and avoids eye contact with you for a moment. It’s a little strange to visit you while you’re asleep, but he wanted to visit you alone. Without the judgmental eyes of certain people. Seeing as you clearly already know the answer to your question, he answers truthfully.

“I came to visit you.”

You smile softly, but it turns into a full-on grin the more you look at him. He smiles back and turns to the floor, licking his lips apprehensively.

“Thanks,” you speak up, saving him the embarrassment at the fact that he came so late. “Better late than never, right?”

“Better late than never,” he agrees, smiling shyly. He eyes all of the medical equipment that’s keeping you alive at the moment. You tilt your head to the side as he does so. You look at the machines with him, then down at yourself. You huff a laugh.

“Y’know,” you start, regaining his attention. “I’ve never had to stay in a hospital bed this long before. I mean. Yeah, I had to sit on one for when I broke my ankle and fainted after giving blood but… this sets a new record.”

Bucky shakes his head, but a small smile curves at his lips. You’re so different from everyone else; so carefree and titillating. You say strange things at times, just like now, and he finds it extremely amusing, but also a little weird. But hey, aren’t they all?

You laugh at his reaction and continue on.

“All these things,” you say, gesturing to the machines in the room. “I’ve never had this many things attached to me. I had a feeding tube in me not too long ago. It was so nasty when the doctor took it out. I could feel it coming out of my stomach and up my throat. I gagged so hard. I’ve never been so grossed out. But I still got my IV tube, though. Gotta get those sugars and nutrients. Ummm. I had a blood transfusion, and a Foley catheter is emptying my bladder for me. Pretty convenient, if you ask me. Saves me the trip to the bathroom. Theeee microwavable dinners aren’t too bad, but man. What I would do for some of Wanda’s chicken paprikash right about now.”

Bucky nods along the whole time, not daring to interrupt you. Listening to you drag on about the pros and cons of hospital care keeps a tender smile on his face. Your enthusiasm is infectious, and he’s definitely caught it. No matter how hard he tries, he can’t not stop smiling. You sigh at the end of your rant, and he takes that as his turn to speak.

“So how’ve you been, other than what you just said?”

“You mean about getting shot in the leg?”

“…More or less.”

You shrug indifferently. Peeling back the sheets and pulling up your gown, you show him the giant gauze wrapped securely around your thigh. You pat the skin above it, and cautiously move your leg around as you explain.

“Firstly, and I think this goes without saying, that getting shot at is terrifying.” You look at him, and he nods in agreement. Smacking your lips together, you play with your gown as you share your experience with him. “I don’t think it helped my cause that I drank so much. The nerves were getting the better of me and I just needed to relax. I don't know if this is true, but I bet it was a factor that because I drank so much, I was a little slow on things. At least for my mobility and reaction time. Anyway. I managed to get the target to me, and kept him talking and distracted, long enough for me to almost get him out of there. Almost. I don’t know how, but he knew that I was there for him. He put a gun to my back, and my dumbass didn’t bring one because I thought I wouldn’t need it. Rookie mistake there. Nearly got blown to bits if that other agent wasn’t in there with me.”

You pause to stretch your neck and sigh tiredly. Bucky thinks him being here is keeping you awake from the rest you need, and asks if you want him to go.

“No, no,” you say, shaking your hand. “It’s okay. I didn’t really talk to any of them about this. They just watched the video.”

“Video?”

“Yeah. Coulson had surveillance cameras in the place. Didn’t bother to tell me about them.”

“Would it… would it be easier for you if I watched it instead?”

“Probably, but. I feel like if I don’t talk about it now, then I won’t get another chance. It’ll be pent up inside me, and I’ve done that way too often to know how much it hurts not to say anything.”

Bucky thins his mouth into a tight line, knowing exactly what you’re talking about. He never wants to talk about anything that he’s been through. Past, present; it doesn’t matter. The only willing person to listen is Steve, and even then he can’t bring himself to tell him anything. Being his best friend, he thought he’d be able to. But the horrors he’s done and been through are terrifying and ugly enough to keep his mouth shut. He doesn’t want anyone else to go through what he did, and talking about it is only going to include people in his fears and repulsion. So he’s not going to open up any time soon.

“Okay,” he finally says. He pulls his chair a little closer and leans in, willing to listen.

“Thanks,” you mumble. You get back on track, digging your fingernails into each other. “Sooo. Yeah. The second agent. Didn’t tell me that either. Though it was deemed a solo mission, I was hoping there’d be at least one other person on the inside to guide me. Um.” You rub your forehead, trying to remember exactly what happened. It was seven days ago, and being hyped up on morphine and alcohol at the time isn’t the best combination. Especially when it comes to remembering things. Even though you watched the video with the team a hundred times just a few hours ago, your mind is still a little hazy.

“You know what. I’ll just show you this part instead. I can’t quite remember the details.”

You tell F.R.I.D.A.Y. to pull up the video again, and play it from the part that agent Knox holds a gun to the back of Marko’s head. Nodding in remembrance, you talk over the video to give Bucky the run down about what went on in your head.

“Having a gun pressed against my back isn’t the most pleasant thing in the world,” you say, eyes fixed on the screen. “Honestly, I almost started crying because I was so scared. But agent Knox came in and helped me out. She took care of him while I had the heavy task of taking down two grown men. I didn’t think I’d be able to do that either, but I did. Surprisingly. Nat gave me gun lessons, and did some self-defence training, but I couldn’t remember all of it. I did what I did from what I could remember from YouTube videos I watched instead.”

He turns to you in confusion, having not heard that name before.

“It’s a uh, video-sharing website. I’ll tell ya about that later.”

He nods in understanding and turns back to the video like you do.

“Obviously, I had to act quickly. No time to think. Just do. I had guys the size of Steve to overthrow, and I didn’t think I’d make it. Seeing his gun scared the life out of me. And I’ve never been so high on adrenaline either. I guess it kinda kicked me in the ass to get myself moving and out of danger. All was well until–“

You stop to let Bucky hear the gunshot.

“I get shot in the leg. I didn’t really feel it at first. Kinda felt like something was weighing me down. Well, obviously, because I’m on the floor.” You wave yourself off and cross your arms as you watch the rest of it. “Everyone got a little tense while watching this part. They know I don’t die, but when they saw it for the first time… I felt kind of guilty for making them look so worried. But they got over it, because I took my opening and lit him up.”

Bucky’s eyes light up in surprise when he watches you set Marko’s arm and face on fire, then swiftly put yourself in front of agent Knox to protect her. You quickly pick up your lighter and surround Marko and his bodyguards with flames as agent Knox picks up the discarded gun and keeps them from moving also. The video ends when all the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents come filing in and make the arrests. You click your tongue as the video fades off the screen.

“Soooo yeah. That’s how my first solo mission went.”

“I think you did pretty well,” Bucky comments without missing a beat, now staring at the blank glass wall. “A good strategy, no hostages, no injured civilians. Despite the execution being a little sloppy, you came out alright, doll.”

You blink in surprise when he calls you that again. You could get used to it. He doesn’t seem to mind using it either; that, or he’s silently screaming inside for letting it slip out again. You don’t dwell on it though, and just let your cheeks and ears go bright red in embarrassment.

“Thanks, Bucky,” you say. “It really makes me feel better about myself when someone tells me I’m doing things right.”

“No problem,” he says, giving you a firm nod.

“Mm. But the story doesn’t stop there I’m afraid,” you scoff. “A gunshot wound doesn’t usually make you fall unconscious.”

“So, what happened?”

“Well. I told you I was drinking, right? Very bad move on my part. Getting shot didn’t help me at all. When all was said and done, I was going to go with some paramedics to get treated. But me, again, being a dumbass again, said ‘no, just get me the morphine and I’ll be on my way’.”

“And why’s that?”

You take a shaky breath, laughing a little as you scratch the back of your head and peek up at him.

“I had to make a McDonald’s run.”

That certainly earns you a reaction. His eyebrows raise, his eyes widen, and his mouth drops in utter astonishment. He cannot believe what you just said.

“A McDonald’s run,” he repeats. “You declined medical attention for a gunshot wound because you had to go to a fast food restaurant in the middle of the night?”

You nod.

“Are you serious?”

“Well I kinda lied to Sam about where I was going,” you explain. “So I said I was going there instead and I asked if he wanted anything. I had to go pick it up, Bucky. The man needed his nuggets.”

He sits back in his chair and runs a hand through his hair. He gives you the side-eye, trying to look cross, but he just ends up laughing to himself and shaking his head.

“You sure are something,” he says, letting his hand fall in his lap.

“I’m getting a lot of that lately,” you say. “Though I take it as a compliment.”

“You should,” he jokes. After getting over his initial shock, he gets you back on track.

“So you got the nuggets and then what?” he questions. “You wanted to go for a late night swim, too?”

“No!” you laugh. “’Course not. I just didn’t want to come home empty handed, is all.”

“Riiight,” he nods. “Because having a bullet wedged in your thigh isn’t as important as four little nuggets in a box.”

“He wanted twenty nuggets, Bucky,” you tell him.

“Twenty?!” he damn near yells. “This guy wanted not four, not ten, but twenty chicken nuggets? Who the hell does he think he is? Either he’s stupid or greedy. I’m betting on both.”

“Oh come on,” you chide. “I’d want twenty nuggets as a late night snack too! Can you really blame him?”

“…Yes.”

You laugh out-loud at his response. This is probably the most Bucky has spoken to you in one sitting, other than the plane ride back from Wakanda. Before he would just grunt and have one-worded answers. But now he’s a chatterbox. It’s a great relief to see him in such a calm, blissful, chill mood. He must be having a good day.

“Okay, anywayyy,” you start, getting back to the story. “So I go with Coulson to McDonald’s and get Sam’s order then drive home. I was drugged with quite a lot of morphine I’d say, but I vaguely remember pushing myself out of the driver’s window to threaten the person working at the window to give me all the kid’s toys or I’d burn the place to the ground…”

Bucky stares at you blankly. You shrug.

“Yeah. So that was me. Then he dropped me off at the compound, I went upstairs, and everyone was yelling. Then I fell unconscious. Into you. Sorry ‘bout that.”

“’S no problem.”

He thinks about mentioning what you said to him before you passed out, about him helping you with the mission, but he keeps his mouth shut about it for now. He’ll ask about it later. Maybe.

“Still… Then the real problems began. Out cold for seven days, all because of a bullet? I don’t think so. Apparently, injecting morphine into an alcohol-stained system is very, very dangerous. The doctor told me that I could have fallen into a coma and died. Not exactly what anyone wants to hear, but luckily it didn’t happen. It must’ve been a mess, though, trying to stabilize me and treat my wound at the same time. But he and his team managed to do it. A week and a blood transfusion later, I’m here. Alive and well. For the most part. I got rehab tomorrow, so that should be fun.”

“Sounds like you had a hell of a time,” he comments, now staring at the gauze wrapped around your thigh. “I imagine the pain wasn’t what you were expecting, either.”

“I didn’t know what to expect, to be honest,” you reply. “I know that different sized bullets all have their own pain threshold. Like, a shotgun won’t give you the same amount of pain as a pistol or revolver. I got shot with a semi-automatic handgun, and it stung like a bitch. When I first woke up, the painkillers were doing their job pretty well, but whenever I move my leg I can still feel it. No more rigorous activity for me for a while.”

“And it looks like I’m your new playmate,” he remarks.

“What do you mean?”

“Well. Since you’re out of commission for the unforeseeable future, I’m the only one you’ve got to keep you company.”

“Ohhh.”

This is some of the best news you’ve heard all damn day. You don’t show your excitement, because you don’t want Bucky to see just how thrilled you are about it. Instead, you smile fondly.

“I’m looking forward to it,” you tell him.

“So is Steve,” he adds in.

“I imagine,” you agree. “He kept telling me that I need to have someone with me so I don’t get too lonely or whatever.”

“Sounds like him.”

You nod in agreement, leaning back in your bed and closing your eyes. You throw an arm over your face, and cough quietly, suddenly feeling boiling.

“Heh. Is it hot in here or is it just me?”

Sweat drips down your neck, your back, and down your legs. Waking up from your nightmare caused you to break out into a sweat, but you pushed it aside to talk to Bucky. Now that you’ve said what you wanted to say, your attention is back on your bodily problems.

Bucky watches you take short breaths, and kick the sheets away because you’re so uncomfortable. He looks at his metal hand, wondering if he should help you cool down. That’d be okay, right? He’s not going to hurt you, and that’s never going to be his intention when he uses his left arm. He purses his lips in anticipation, ready for you to smack him away. He slowly gets out of his chair, and hesitantly extends his metal arm over your head.

“_______, can you move your arm?”

You flop it down on the bed without saying a word. Bucky swallows nervously as he gently presses his palm against your forehead. You gasp at the contact, but sigh from how much better you feel.

“Oh god, that feels so much better,” you say, placing your hands on top of his. Shivers go down your spine the more you touch his arm. You keep your eyes closed so you don’t feel weird about manhandling his arm to cool down. Bucky can’t move without letting you go, and since you have your eyes closed, he takes this short time to look at you.

The way your hair sticks to your forehead and neck as you continue to sweat. Your chest rising and falling in short breaths. The shakiness of your fingers as you clutch his arm. The way your good leg twitches every so often, and how you bite your bottom lip from the occasional pain from your wound. He absentmindedly brushes his thumb along your forehead, and tilts his head to the side as he watches you calm down. When you’ve had your fill, you squeeze his hand and finally peek up at him.

“Thanks, for that,” you mumble, taking his hand away. “Though I imagine your hand’s all sweaty now.”

“It’s okay,” Bucky says, retracting his arm. “As long as you feel better.”

“Trust me, I am.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

You pull the blankets back up to your knees, and shift your body again until you’re in a comfortable position. You smile at him, happy that you got to be able to spend this time with him. Bucky stands up again as you fiddle with your fingers, taking that as his leave to go.

“Later, skater,” you call as he starts to leave.

“Goodnight, _______,” he returns, smiling. “Good luck with your rehab.”

“Thanks. See ya tomorrow, couch buddy.”

He nods as he walks out the door, making sure not to produce any additional noise as you try to find your way to sleep again.

E/A/N: I don’t know when I’ll post the next chapter, since I like to have several chapter finished in advance so I don’t have to rush anything. Chapter Twelve is done, and I’m just starting to write Chapter Thirteen. I have a few more plot ideas in mind, so all I have to do now is put it all into words 😂 Thank you to everyone that has stuck with me so far, and I hope you’ll be with me ‘til the end of the line ❤️

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