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A Bucky Barnes Winter Soldier Fic - The Constant	By : TheConstant1944 Category: Marvel Verse Comics > Captain America Views: 2391 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own any Marvel characters. They are solely owned by Marvel and MCU. No money is made from this story.

Chapter List
- 54
- 55
- 56
Chapter Fifty-Five
The Winter Soldier & His Constant - Hail Hydra!

He has been woken up and programmed. The programming was hard this time: they have added a new layer, one to try and see if it will extend the life of the programming. It has made him colder, harder, more dangerous, more violent. When he comes out from the suite he feels nothing but contempt for the whole world around him. The only ones who can save this world are his proprietors. Hydra.
Hail Hydra!
He returns to his quarters and meets the whore who looks after him. He is utterly dead inside. He knows his mission and that is all that matters.
Hail Hydra!
It doesn’t stop him from getting angry though. Angry and frustrated. He needs an outlet; they have found they need to leave that in so it works to help him achieve his mission, his goal. Until the mission is due, he needs to take his rage out on something or someone. After all, that is why he has his Constant, that is why she is his and no one else's.
Hail Hydra!
Despite the programming being hard on him, he is hyperactive and tense when he gets back to his room. At first, the Constant tries to talk to him but she can see the coldness in his eyes, it is even deeper than normal and she is wary, holds herself back. There is a disgust in his eyes for her and she flinches away from him when he gets too close and raises his hand. He looks at her and sneers.
Hail Hydra!
*
Breathing deeply, you push the blade further in and the Winter Soldier staggers back from you.
Blood runs down your hand, onto your arm. It drips to the floor. You push the knife in further, until the blade is buried deep within him. He watches it disappear into his stomach, feeling it enter him. His eyes are wide in disbelief. He looks at you, into your eyes. He is trying to ask you why as he staggers and drops to his knees, the weight of his body taking you with him so you are both kneeling. You push it further grunting with the effort, turning it as you do so that it will cause greater damage. Then, using all of your strength, you pull it upwards - hopefully into his heart.
His lips are blistering and you know the blade isn't all that is causing him agony. The drink you just gave him was laced with potassium chloride and it is burning him inside, the liquid bubbling through his mouth, down his throat stripping his skin and muscle.
He has made no effort to stop you. His hands stay at his side, it is because he is in shock. Shock that the only person he has ever trusted is you and it is you that is killing him.
He falls away from you, onto his back. As he falls the knife slides out of him and is left, bloody, in your hand.
You throw it away from you. You haven't finished yet. Your hands are covered in blood; a pool is gathering around where you are knelt. Where he is lying. His eyes are still open and his hands clutch at the terrible wound in his stomach.
You stumble up and backwards to the table where your cardigan lies. Under it is the loaded gun which you take up.
He should never have had you trained to use one.
You kneel back down, next to him. Your knees slide in the blood but you are steady. You have to be. You have to finish this.
He is looking at you trying to say something, trying again to ask you why. Blood and tissue run out of his mouth. The acid was a strong one and has already burnt away everything it has touched. The agony showing in his eyes is tremendous...but it is not just physical.
You have betrayed him.
You know the gun is loaded. You did it yourself. You place the barrel against his temple as you hear shouting outside the room. No. They can't get in yet. You have locked the door and placed a chair under the handle.
You think you hear the word why come from him. You look into the black holes of his eyes.
“For James,” you say, and then you pull the trigger.
The gun bucks in your hand and you are splattered with warm liquid. The bullet has entered his temple, burnt the hair there, blown through and taken the other side of his head away. Blood, gore, splintered bone, and brain matter lay across the floor and up part of the wall.
His eyes are still open but now there is no light there. Nothing.
They are breaking the door down and you are nearly out of time. You didn't mean to feel but you are crying now, your breath hitching in hysterical sobs. You get up quickly. He is dead but you cannot take any chances. You look down aiming the gun at the middle of his forehead and pull the trigger again. His body bucks. His face seems to collapse in on itself. You feel sick, dizzy, disorientated.
You stand up just as the chair gives way and the door flies open.
There are guards, soldiers. Stefan is there, and Eric Jakobs. You frown. Stefan and Jakobs? It makes no sense.
“My God, Freya, what have you done?” Stefan is horrified, looking from you to the Winter Soldier and back again.
You look at him; it feels so real. “Stefan?” You begin to cry. You did not think you would ever see him again.
“What have you done?” he asks again and steps away from you in horror. You are covered in the Winter Soldier's blood.
“No, it's all right,” you say, pointing to the dead soldier on the floor. “He asked me to do it. James asked me to!” You need Stefan to understand why you have done such a terrible thing.
It is for James, you did this for James.
Jakobs grabs you. “You stupid woman!” He holds you firmly and turns you around to look at what you have done.
You look down but it is not the Winter Soldier lying there. It is James.
His lips are blistered and blood has run out of his mouth. He is lying in a pool of blood and his right hand is still clutching his stomach where you plunged the knife in. Although you remember his face collapsing it is now somehow complete, just as it was in the field hospital but there are two terrible wounds where you have shot him. His left arm is just a stub.
And he is dead, a look of painful disbelief written on his features.
“No!” You shake your head, looking back at Stefan. “No, he asked me to, he wanted to die!” You look at James whilst you struggle to escape Jakobs' hold.
“No! No! It's not him, no!” You are screaming. How could you have been so wrong? How could you have hurt him so badly?
“Stop struggling!” Jakobs' voice is angry as his grip on you tightens. “Wake up!” He is shaking you and you are sobbing, screaming, and fighting him. Suddenly he slaps you, hard.
Only it is not Jakobs, it is the Winter Soldier. His face is in front of you, he is alive. He is the one who has struck you.
You are in your bed. The bedside lamp on the far side of the room is on and the Soldier is holding you, shaking you. You are covered in sweat which at first you think is blood, his blood; it runs down your face, between your breasts and makes you shudder.
“No...” You look behind you as, if you are still in the nightmare, as if you have still made that dreadful mistake. “I killed you, I killed you!” You are hysterical when you turn back to him. He is leaning over the bed, his hands grasping both your arms. He is the one shaking you. Neither Jakobs or Stefan are there, and you remember that they are dead. They died a long time ago. You still miss them both so much.
You look up at the Winter Soldier. He has only been out of cryo for two days, he does not know you yet. He is annoyed that your screaming has woken him but then he sees the look in your eyes.
You struggle to sit up, you are trembling and although he doesn't move away he does let you go and you touch his face.
“You're all right...you're alive...” You are weeping now, your hands so gentle on his skin.
He doesn't say anything, just continues to look at you. He frowns.
“Oh God, oh my God...” You cover your face with your hands and cry.
He doesn't know what to do with you.
“Go back to sleep,” he says gruffly. He releases you and goes to leave but you don't want him to. You need to touch him, need to know that he is alive. The nightmare always seems so real.
You catch hold of his hand. He tries to shake you off but your grasp is stronger than usual and you pull him closer. He cannot remember ever seeing you like this. Why do you seem to care? You are just a whore.
You rub his hand down your cheek and kiss the back of it. You can smell him, feel the softness of his skin. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” you say, still crying.
He just stands there, the look in his eyes so cold, barely tolerating your ravings. You let him go and make an effort to pull yourself together. You swing around so that you are sat on the edge of your bed. You don't see him look at your long legs, your nightdress has rucked up, your hair has come loose and falls over your shoulder and down in front of you.
You are still trying to pull yourself together, taking deep breaths.
He backs away from you.
“Go to sleep!” he says gruffly, with disgust. It is an order and you watch as he walks back to his own bed. He doesn't look back at you as he climbs in, switches out the light and pulls the sheets over himself, his back to you.
The same nightmare again. It's been a while since you've had it, but it is like a plague and always leaves you shaken and distraught.
You killed him. You killed him in the most vicious way.
And you know where it stems from.
A long time ago, when the Winter Soldier was still James Buchanan Barnes, he had begged you to kill him. After so many times of asking, you eventually agreed and the thoughts you had at that time of how to do it never left your mind as they were so horrendous. How do you kill someone whose body repairs itself at the rate his does? How do you kill someone who means more than life itself to you?
This nightmare has haunted you since then.
You lie back down, breathing through your mouth. Trying to get rid of the trembling, trying to get rid of the sight of his face as you betrayed him, sinking the knife deep into his belly. You clench your fists. It always seems so real. Both Stefan and Jakobs are there, and they are always horrified at what you have done because they know you, they know that you are not capable of violence against this man.
You hold your breath so that you can listen and you hear the Winter Soldier breathing. He has fallen asleep; he could sleep through a bomb going off if he believes he is safe. He doesn't know it on a conscious level but that is how much he trusts you.
You would do anything to be able to get up and get into his bed, to snuggle up to him, feel him next to you, alive and breathing.
But you can't.
Your body is drying, the sweat leaving you smelling of fear. Your hair is tangled and will take a million strokes of the brush next morning to untangle. You close your eyes and try to think of other things and eventually you fall into an undisturbed sleep. Your greatest fear allayed for another night. It doesn't matter what he puts you through, what they put you through.
You will never be able to hurt him. Never.
*
The next morning he ignores her as much as he can, still feeling nothing for her. She looks tired, her eyes bruised, and she is clumsy - nearly spilling her drink down her front. Her hands are unsteady.
She has tried to apologise for waking him last night, but he does not reply. She looks away, not wanting to see the coldness in his eyes. But he does find himself watching her; she finds it unnerving and it makes her even more clumsy. She is supposed to be one of his team of 'experts', but he thinks he knows there is only one thing she must be an expert in. The thought is not a nice one and she would be hurt if she knew what he was thinking. He knows she is only responsible as an exit point but it still rankles, how could she ever be given the responsibility of anything other than servicing him?
Then he looks away, details of his mission surging through his mind: things he must do, things he must remember, the finer details. He stands as a guard knocks on the door, opens it and shouts ''five minutes.” He nods and finishes dressing. On autopilot, she comes up and starts helping him and he doesn’t shy away as it seems normal to him for her to be doing this. Then he is fully dressed and ready to go.
She looks at him and for a moment he sees her hesitate, then she touches his arm and the look in her eyes is so genuine that for a moment he senses something. “I'll be waiting for you. Be careful.”
The feeling passes and he frowns at her. She removes her hand, and pretends to be picking up his gloves to pass to him but he saw the look on her face just before she turned away. He has that feeling again; a sense that he is missing something, something vital that he should know about her.
Then Adam comes for him and he walks away, but just before he leaves the room he turns once more to look at her, to take her face in, to memorise it. For some reason he couldn't explain, he doesn’t want to forget. He puts it down to the fact she will be his exit point on this mission so he is ensuring he remembers her, but deep down he knows it is more than that.
And then he is gone and his mind is fully on his mission. He is taken to the car that he will travel in, Adam and Abram up front, and Marat in the back with him. It is a long drive ahead of them and they will drop him near the point of his mission.
He has been told where the woman will wait for him once he has finished the task. Adam confirms once again that she will then bring him to where they are to meet the plane. The mission will then be completed. The Winter Soldier questions why she is needed, and is told that is the way it will be. She is a cover in case they are stopped. They will be seen as a couple out for a drive. Freya will have even put a picnic box on the back seat. It is that simple.
“Repeat back to me your mission parameters.” Adam's voice is firm and commanding.
The Winter Soldier stares at him, his eyes unchanging.
“Arrive at the drop-off point and walk one mile to target's house. Enter and terminate target. Locate files and ensure they are destroyed - all of them. Meet up with the exit driver two miles away. Join you at the plane.”
“Have you any further questions?”
“No.” The Winter Soldier's reply is final.
Adam nods, looks away satisfied. The new programming has taken full effect.
Hail Hydra!
*
Half an hour later they drop him at the side of the road in the middle of a wooded area and watch as he disappears into the trees. He is dressed in black tee-shirt, trousers, and jacket. His left arm covered. His black gloves finish his ensemble. In the exit car Freya has a change of jackets in case it is needed. The Winter Soldier carries a can full of flammable liquid. For weapons he has one gun tucked away, a knife, and two grenades. None of it is really needed as he could do the mission just with his bare hands but he is always prepared.
It takes him no time at all to jog to the house. It is a rundown red brick property in the middle of the trees. A rutted track leads up to the front door. It has definitely seen better days. None of this means anything to the Winter Soldier but he does take note of the car outside. It shouldn't be there. His target must have a visitor.
He listens. All he can hear is the wind and birdsong in the top of the trees. He edges closer and looks in the window at the front. All he can see through the dusty glass is a room with old furniture and a television stuck in the corner. It is empty of any people.
He silently goes to the back of the house and has more luck there. Looking through the kitchen window he can see a woman stood by the stove. She is making something, her back to him but even so he recognises her from the file. It is the old man's daughter. No threat. Easy to eliminate.
He tries the door knob quietly and it turns easily and slowly opens. The Winter Soldier makes no noise at all. She doesn't even know there is another person in the room with her. No sound from the rest of the house but he is expecting to find the old man upstairs in his study. The Winter Soldier knows the layout of the house, knows so many things about his target.
He quietly places the can on the floor.
Silently and swiftly he comes up behind the unsuspecting woman and the first thing she knows about it is when his hands are around her neck, pulling her back against him and then squeezing. Her hands fly up to grasp his own. She falls back against him and she rakes the back of his gloves with her fingernails. She cannot get a grip, cannot breathe, cannot scream.
He holds her steady, sure that he has her completely under his control and it will only take a few more seconds - but he has underestimated her, underestimated the strength of utter panic.
She flails, and her hand catches the saucepan of boiling water on the stove top. She grasps it desperately and hurls it backwards at the assailant behind her. It will not be enough to save her but the boiling water and the hot metal does hit the Winter Soldier and one side of his face suddenly feels like it is being burnt with acid.
He grunts as he feels the boiling water scald his bare skin, burning through the top two layers. Part of the metal pan has caught his cheek and bruised it. He feels anger surge up inside him as the pain hits him full force, but he doesn't let go of the woman. Instead he pulls her downwards to the floor and turns her so he can see her face. His hands tighten around her neck. He kneels on her chest and she can see a terrifying anger in the man's eyes. His face on the right side is bright red, blisters coming up on the skin but his eyes are the worst: there is such a madness there.
The saucepan lies forgotten now on the kitchen floor as he stares at the dead woman, his fingers still tight around her throat.
He breathes in. His mission: he must not get distracted, he must use his anger - not let it use him.
He takes his hands away. Her throat is crushed, her eyes glassy. She is dead.
He stands and for a moment his eyesight wavers and then partly clears, boiling water has gone into his right eye leaving it cloudy. His right hand touches the burns, they are painful.
His mission. He has to fulfil his mission.
Putting the pain to the back of his mind, he grasps the petrol can and walks through the house, climbs the stairs. The study door is open. He can hear a ticking clock which chimes the quarter of the hour. At the door he looks in. The old man is sat at a desk; the PC monitor in front of him full of writing seems at odds with the paper mess around it. The man is fully focused on it, but he catches the shadow of someone approaching.
“Ah, Helen, I thought you had forgotten my tea,” he says smiling, turning to speak to her. Only the figure before him is not his daughter.
Instead, it is a stranger clad in black. Half his face red and blistered. The man's eyes widen as he takes in the Soldier's features. The stranger is wearing a leather jacket and black cotton trousers. His hands are gloved. Long dark hair down to his shoulders, blue eyes that are colder than ice.
The Winter Soldier reaches forward before the man can move. In his hand is a sharp knife, but the man doesn't feel as it comes forward across his throat, splashing his blood onto the computer, across the shelf above the desk, across the books he has spent a lifetime collecting. Finally, spilling the rest onto the old carpet on the floor, a beautiful oriental rug he and his wife bought together when they were young, before life took her away from him. Now his life force bleeds out to cover the pattern and his body sags dead in the chair.
The Winter Soldier looks around the room. He is trying to ignore the pain which is making him feel hot, disorientated, angry, furious he let the woman injure him in this way.
He rifles through the filing cabinet against the wall. These are the files he is to destroy, but even if they are not he will not take any chances. He will burn the whole house to the ground. Nothing will survive. He pours petrol over everything, down the stairs, into the kitchen. The fumes aggravate his burns.
Next he turns on all the gas appliances. He can smell the stink of it. He opens the back door and goes out into the garden.
Everything seems so peaceful outside, so normal. He takes out a grenade, unpins it, counts to ten and then hurls it through the upstairs study window.
The explosion is terrific, the fire takes hold immediately and when he can see that there will be nothing left he turns and leaves. His task completed.
*
Although you are two miles away you hear the deadened sound of an explosion and you know it has something to do with the Winter Soldier and his mission. You try not to think about it, try not to wonder who he has killed this time.
You are standing outside the car, which you have backed up onto one of the tracks leading into the wood. All you need to do when he arrives is drive the car back up onto the main road and then deliver him to where the plane will be waiting. You will then all return to camp together. It all seems so simple but it is your first time out and you are nervous you do not know what to expect. They have been over the details, over the maps so that you memorised them. They have even given you a gun.
As it is a back road there is not a lot of traffic and no one can see you from the main road but you still find yourself sweating whenever you hear a vehicle drive by.
You do not hear him when he comes up. You are leant against the car and his sudden appearance makes you jump. The first thing you see is the wound on his face.
“Oh my God. Your face! What happened?” You reach out to touch him. The right part of his face is almost red raw, swollen, small blisters oozing fluid and you can see some of it goes down onto his neck. His right eye is cloudy. There are scratches on his face where he has run through the trees and they have caught the raw skin.
“Nothing!” he snarls and you miss the warning in his tone because all you can think about is that he is injured. You have a first aid case and cold water in the boot and you turn to get it.
His anger is overflowing. The burns hurt and he is still resentful that he allowed the woman to injure him. How did he let it happen? He wants to get into the car and leave. He strips of his leather jacket which stinks of petrol and throws it on the back seat and grabs the other jacket, a red and black checked cotton one.
“We need to see to the burns,” the woman is saying to him. She has the trunk open and a box in her hand, she reaches back into the boot and brings out a bottle of water which he snatches from her. He didn't realise he was so thirsty.
“No, wait, I want to use that on your face!” She tries to take it back before he can drink straight from the bottle; she doesn't want the purity of it compromised as she wants to soak a cloth in it to put up against the burns to cool the angry skin.
He hits out at her, knocks her away from getting the bottle, and tips it back to drink from it. He just wants to get in the car and to be driven away from this place. His ears are humming and his face is pulsing with pain. The woman looks upset. He follows her when she goes to the back of the car and he reaches up and slams the boot of the car almost trapping her hand in it.
“Just get in the car!” He grabs the case out of her hand and throws it away into the trees.
“But you're hurt, I need to...” she is saying something, but he has had enough.
Frustration and fury surge up through him and he hits out at her, hard. She stumbles back but he hasn't finished and he hits her again, this time so hard that she falls backwards onto the ground. It's as if he blames her for the pain, as if it is she who caused it. He feels himself losing control and he bends down and pulls her up by her hair, drags her along the gravel tearing her jeans and as she cries out as he hits her again, bloodying her nose.
Then he drops her. And his knife is now in his hand. He is breathing heavily and...
...you do not recognise this crazed creature in front of you. His eyes are wild, he stinks of petrol and tension, you can see he is so wound up, out of control. You do not know what to do, you have never seen him this bad. He reaches forward to pull you up again but you scoot back and put your hands out to stop him.
“Stop, you must stop, remember your mission!” It is all you can think of screaming at him. He keeps coming forward for a moment more and then he stops. He is breathing hard, still reaching forward with one hand, the other hand gripping the knife.
“No!” Your hands are trembling, and you watch as he snarls - as he decides he has had enough of you and turns away and walks back to the car. As you stagger to your feet you realise what is happening. He is getting into the driver's side and slamming the door shut.
He is going to drive off without you.
“No wait! Don't!” you yell, but he takes no notice. You move to get up on to your feet, your hand automatically wiping at the blood streaming from your nose.
The car starts and kicks up dirt and stones as he fishtails it back out onto the road. You run after it but it turns onto the road and by the time you reach the tarmac it has straightened and is driving away. You run to the road but it is picking up speed and is going too fast for you to ever hope to catch up with it.
And he looks in the driver's mirror, sees her reach the road. He is certain he hears her cry for him to stop. He is driving erratically; he needs to think but the pain and rage he is feeling is making it difficult to concentrate. He wants to get away, get as far away as possible, meet his team and be out of here. He presses the accelerator down to the floor and hears the engine roar, and soon he cannot see her in the mirror any more. He is sweating heavily, doesn't realise it but he is cursing, repeating back parts of his mission, his mind trying to escape from the pain of the burns.
“Breathe slowly,” his inner voice begins to tell him. “Calm down.” Slowly, his foot eases off the accelerator, dropping the car's speed to normal. But as he drives all he can see is the look on her face as he drove away from her: the shock in it, the desperation. Three miles up the road he slows and then applies the brakes. The car stops.
He leans forward, breathing heavily, leaning on the steering wheel. He needs the pain to stop. His programming is trying to calm him. He takes a deep breath, then another one.
A voice in his mind tells him to repeat his mission details and he does, calmer this time. Then he repeats them again and again and he can feel himself regaining control. He looks up and in the mirror. All he sees is empty road.
“Meet my exit driver and she will take me to the plane...” But she is not with him. He will have failed his mission if she is not there. “I cannot fail my mission...” His voice is quiet. The voice in his head is telling him what he needs to do.
“She is part of my team. She must be with me to complete my mission. I must go back to get her,” he says to himself. His heart is not racing so fast now, the pain in his face doesn't seem to be pulsing so much. He looks in the mirror so he can see his eyes and then he looks away again, he doesn't want to see.
He turns the car in the road and drives back the way he came.
When he finally sees her he breathes in deep. He had begun to think he had lost her and the feeling that had started to overcome him was panic. He tells himself that it is because he will not have fulfilled his mission, but deep down he knows it is more than that. The thought of her not being there is mind numbing.
She is walking along the side of the road. Her nose has bled from where he hit her. She has tried to wipe the blood away using her sleeve. Her palms are dirty and scratched. One of the knees of her jeans is torn and her hair is coming undone, the bangs a mess. As he pulls the car in next to her she stops and he can see she has been crying.
And you feel ashamed. You were not crying because he left you, but because you thought he wouldn't return for you. You did not know what to do. You have nothing with you - your emergency kit and gun are in the car, and you have no ID. You really are not made for this life but you have learnt a valuable lesson today.
The car stops and he gets out and comes around. Neither of you speaks. You get in the driver's side and he gets in the passengers. You want to help him, you want to treat his wounds...but you don't. You are here just to take him to his team. If he had life-threatening injuries it would be different.
When you pull up and Adam sees the state of you he asks what happened and you tell him nothing. You just shake your head. Both of you can already feel the heat from Zola's serum working on the Winter Soldier's injuries. You watch as the plane taxies around and you follow them onboard. This is your first time on an aeroplane but you feel no wonderment, you feel tired, sore and hopeless.
Hail bloody Hydra!
*
It is late when the Winter Soldier gets back from the debriefing, but you have waited for him. He was a lot longer than normal and you know why. You ask him if he wants to eat but you know he won't; Zolnerowich has already told you he was saw the Winter Soldier in the canteen eating, sat away from everyone else. He does that sometimes. You don't know why.
His face already looks better but he does need to change. You suggest a shower; he looks at you and you blush under that cool gaze. What is going through his mind? What is he thinking? You have already showered and changed into your nightwear. You ache all over and feel tetchy.
“I tell you what,” you mutter, tired and fractious. “You do whatever you want. It's up to you, I'm only here to pick up after you anyway.”
You put your hand up as if to dismiss him and then go into the kitchen, fetch a glass of water and then you turn out the lights. Coming back into the main room you see he has taken up your suggestion and you can hear the water running in the bathroom.
You want to sleep but you are feeling annoyed, unloved, sorry for yourself and you know there is another sleepless night ahead of you. What are you supposed to do? Just lie there and wonder how many future nights are going to be like this? It's not as if you can get dressed and go for a walk, or read a book or listen to a radio; there is nothing for you to do and sometimes that inactivity drives you almost insane.
The bathroom door opens and he comes in, towel-drying his hair. You can smell the soap and shampoo that follow him into the room, and you cannot help but watch him as he walks around with ease, getting ready to turn in for the night. For God's sake you're like a lovestruck teenager, you chide yourself, but it doesn't help. Instead you find yourself wanting to vie for his attention even though just a moment ago you promised yourself you would ignore him.
“We need to be in cryo by ten in the morning,” you say something just so you can talk to him, just so he will look at you.
He does so, and now you blush. He is naked except for a pair of shorts but you can see his body is interested in you, even if he is denying it. But he just nods and turns away.
“Can I get you anything?” Even you can hear a desperation in your voice, your need for his company is so blatant.
He doesn't reply and you know he won't. What is the use? Instead you put your light out, turn and pull the covers up over your shoulder. You close your eyes and try to think of other things but then you feel the bed dip slightly and you turn quickly. He has sat down next to you. His light is still on and you can see his face, his eyes. The damaged skin looks so raw, painful. You find it difficult to sit up as he is sat on your bed clothes but you pull them loose from the other side.
“What is it? What's wrong?” you ask and he places his finger over your lips. Then he stands and pulls the bed clothes up and slips into the bed beside you. The bed is small and you wonder whether or not to suggest moving to his, but you don't want to break the silence.
He is looking at you, his eyes studying yours, roaming over your face. His hand touches your shoulder and as he pushes you down you do as he wants. He bends and kisses your lips, then your eyes, then your forehead and as he does he moves his body over yours and your stomach clenches. You have missed him, you have missed his touch. He holds himself up to look at you again and you stroke his undamaged cheek. He turns his head to kiss your hand and one by one you watch in fascination as he sucks your fingers. Your other hand moves to stroke his stomach and you feel him breathe in as it brushes his cock. Then you reach up and draw him down onto you.
You only have a few hours left together and you do not want to waste them. He hurt you earlier today, frightened you - and now? Now all you want to do is comfort him. You are really so very lost.
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A Bucky Barnes Winter Soldier Fic - The Constant