Prelude Four
“How do you light this?”
Serena raised a brow when Alya came storming over to her in the last place they met, a little ways away from school. The weather was getting warmer and warmer and the wooden bench was becoming a nice hangout spot for the two girls who, but all rights, were becoming fast friends despite them verbalizing the opposite.
She couldn't believe that this was the same girl that she fought a few years ago.
Still, she was keeping her at a good distance just incase Serena decided she wanted to revert to her old ways.
“Thought you didn’t smoke?” Serena eyed the box of matches the younger girl was holding out to her.
She didn't want to pressure Alya into doing something she didn't want to do. That's not why she offered her the cigarettes in the first place. They were just a way to calm her down whenever she was feeling overwhelmed.
In all honesty, it was probably a waste of cigarettes because she didn't believe for one second that Alya would ever start smoking.
And Alya thought so, too.
But after the day she’d had, a cigarette didn’t sound so bad.
If only she could figure out how to light the damn thing.
“Give me those.” The blonde rolled her eyes, snatching the box from her and digging into her pocket for a lighter. “It’s easier when you’re not afraid to burn your fingers. Put the cigarette in your mouth.”
Alya looked around to see if there was anyone nearby that knew who she was. When she saw that they were surrounded by strangers, she pulled a cigarette out of the box and stuck it in her mouth, garnering a laugh from Serena.
“The other way.” The blonde plucked it from her mouth and held it out so the filter was facing the right way. “Geez, you’re green.”
Over the course of the next few weeks, Alya began to realize that she had indeed found a companion of sorts in Serena. They didn’t speak about their personal affairs, but there was something comforting about having someone beside her while she was at her worst.
But Serena couldn’t ever take the place of Riona.
Having both girls around was like having a person in each ear.
One whispering for her to do the wrong thing, while the other whispered for her to act like she had some sense and do the right thing.
One of them grew stronger every time she placed a cigarette in her mouth.
Though the nicotine truly did help with her stress levels, she had a significantly lesser amount of stress now than she did before.
Her father had been fully pardoned of all charges and was granted full custody of her. Alya thought that the judge having the power to grant a man custody of his own child was laughable, but she also understood how Bucky seemed from the outside looking in.
He wasn't Sergeant Barnes.
He was the Winter Soldier. A man credited with countless assassinations, a violent machine that others feared would fly off the handle at any given moment.
Someone who, despite being drafted to go overseas and fight for his country, could not be trusted.
Alya chalked it up to being young, but she could never see him that way.
When she looked at Bucky, all she ever saw was a man.
A man who looked out for the sickly Irish kid no matter how old they were.
A man who was drafted and taken as a POW, kept in a foreign land for over seventy years. The man that her mother fell in love with and trusted with not only her own life, but the life of her child.
A man who, despite being tortured for decades, managed to keep his heart and the gentle look in his icy blue eyes.
A man who was her father.
No. Alya didn't think she'd ever see what they saw.
Now that there was no threat of her being taken away from her father, she was smoking freely, doing nothing to hide it whenever she wasn’t in school or at home.
She made sure to walk around a little in order to get rid of the smell, never smoking so much that it would seep out of her pores. If she ever came home with that scent wafting from her clothing, then her father and her uncle were sure to catch her.
And since everything was calming down, she was allowed to go to and from school by herself. Which was lucky for her, because with his enhanced senses, Peter would probably smell her from a mile away.
So anytime they chose to commute together, Alya made sure she didn't smoke.
She’d gotten some strange looks due to her newfound activity, but no one ever tried to stop her. They only grumbled about how quickly children seemed to be rushing towards adulthood these days.
She wasn’t sure if she was addicted yet, but she didn’t feel as if she was.
There were no sweats or chills, or irritability when she didn’t get her smoke. Smoking wasn’t even an enjoyable pastime for her. She hated the smell, she didn’t like how it got all over her clothes. And she hated how it stayed in her nose even hours later.
But for some reason, Alya smoked anyway.
Whether it was because she wanted to fit in or because she was just a sorry, empty shell of the person she used to be, she didn’t know.
As she sat on the bench she usually frequented, she didn’t bother pulling out her cigarettes or her matches, opting to just sit in the cold and let herself feel it.
She wanted to feel something.
As she sat, she watched everyone pass by her, giving each one of them their own story the way she used to do when she was younger.
The woman with the flowers was probably headed to surprise her husband at work. Alya noticed that men were always the ones giving the flowers, but they never received them, maybe that woman was thinking the same thing.
Her attention was suddenly drawn to the left of her when a child, who couldn’t be any older than five, tripped over her untied laces.
“Mama!” The pint-sized brunette cried out once she hit the ground, fat tears rolling down her face.
A woman with the same color hair and eyes as the child immediately bent down and made sure that she wasn’t injured, using the pads of her thumb to wipe her tears away.
It reminded Alya so much of Natasha that she didn’t even notice her own tear slipping from her eye.
Sitting in silence, she took a drag and wondered if that big gaping hole in her heart would ever be filled again.
“Are we really back to square one?”
Alya looked up at Imogene and shrugged her shoulders unsure of how the woman wanted her to answer that question. She knew that staying silent wasn’t going to help her, but she didn’t feel very much like talking today.
“There’s obviously something bothering you right now, but I won’t push you. We can just sit here.”
Alya felt herself nod before she opened up her schoolbag to take out her math homework. These days, she was really enjoying math and all its complexities.
Math presented problems that she could solve and there was something oddly comforting about that. She couldn't solve the problems she had in her own reality, but the figures and facts on paper had solutions. And as she worked, she felt more relaxed. Relaxed enough to open up a conversation. “They pardoned my dad.”
The road to the pardon was a long and strenuous one and now that it was all over, Alya couldn't help but wonder one thing.
What happens now?
“How do you feel about that?”
“I’m glad for him. He didn’t do any of that stuff anyway.” She told her therapist, hiding her true feelings. “And now they can’t take me away.”
Not that Bucky or Steve would ever let something like that happen, but Alya was tired of fighting.
“Is that something that you were afraid of?”
“Yes, but I’m not anymore. He won’t let them take me again.”
“Oh, I see.” Imogene immediately understood. “You were afraid that this would be like the last time you were separated.”
She'd been briefed on Alya's past, early or otherwise, and while she was sickened that so many terrible things happened to such a little girl, knowing all of that was helping her to help Alya.
It must have been so jarring for Alya to have all these things happen to her in short amount of time with misplaced memories all jumbled up inside of her head just waiting to make it to the forefront of her mind.
“Yeah.” The twelve year old nodded, staring hard at her college-ruled notebook before glancing up at the painting on the wall behind Imogene.
While she wasn't an artist, Alya did like to look at different pieces of art and this one in particular caught her eye the minute she'd first stepped into the office. It was of a young girl with long brown hair and a light flowing dress that reached her calves. Barefoot with her shoulders squared, the young girl was staring straight ahead, giving anyone that looked, her back.
What intrigued Alya about the painting, was what the girl was looking at.
At first, it looked like she was staring at miles and miles of green grass and flowers.
And she was, but Alya believed that there was something more to it.
She was staring at her past, her present, and she was looking ahead towards her future. A future that was full of so many different flowers and birds, and other beautiful things.
A warm sun, blue skies, and a cool breeze to even out the odds.
She was on her own, but something told Alya that she wasn't alone.
She was in her happy place, surrounded by things that she loved.
It reminded Alya of that empty plain in Wakanda.
A safe place.
“General Dreykov took me away from him once and I didn’t want it to happen again.” She began to speak again once she'd stared at the painting long enough.
“Have you spoken to your father about this?”
“No.” She shook her head. “We don’t really talk…..I don’t know how.”
Alya and her father’s lack of communication was by no means his fault, she wasn't blaming him for any of it. He tried his best to engage her in whatever he thought she’d be interested in or whatever might have been on her mind, but she just wouldn’t budge.
She was keeping him at a distance.
And it wasn’t because Alya didn’t like him.
This was such a big adjustment for her that she just didn’t know how to be around him.
It took her so long to be comfortable around Natasha and the rest of the team and now she had to start all over again.
It wasn’t easy.
“That’s understandable.” Imogene smiled gently. “The two of you don’t really know each other. You and your mother were very close and now it’s difficult to let someone else into your heart.”
“Yeah.” Alya’s eyes widened when the woman put exactly what she was feeling into simple words.
“Think of it this way, when you met your mom for the first time, you were reserved around her, right?”
Now that a few years passed, intricately detailed memories were slowly beginning to fade. Alya didn't completely remember everything that happened over the course of that time, the same way that most kids her age didn't remember everything that occurred when they were small children. But she remembered that she'd been seven years old at the time and very, very untrusting.
"I think I'll keep you." And she remembered Natasha's exact words the day she'd been brought back to the Tower after running away.
Five words that started the butterfly effect that changed both their lives for the better.
“You were in a new environment and you’d just been through something very frightening. So, subconsciously, you built up a brick wall to protect yourself from getting hurt again. And from what I’ve heard, it took a very long time for that wall to come down, didn’t it?”
“Yes.” Alya put her pencil down and closed her notebook to give Imogene her full attention. “I didn’t even start calling her ‘Mama’ until a long time after we became friends.”
“And that’s completely natural.” Imogene assured her. “But this time around, instead of getting stuck in your own head, why don’t you try letting your father in so that he can help you break down those walls?”
“I don’t know….”
“Those walls are a great way to keep out the hurt, but they also keep out every bit of love your family is willing to share with you. Just think about it, okay?”
“Hi, Buddy.”
“Hi.” Alya greeted her father as she stepped into the Brooklyn apartment they shared with Steve. She noticed that he was in the kitchen making a meal and from the smell, it was sure to be delicious.
His long dark hair was pulled back into a bun and around his body, was a black apron. And it was there for decoration, because whatever he was making wasn't messy as evident by the lack of stains decorating the garment.
Alya figured that Steve was either taking a walk or out getting last minute groceries because she didn't see him. It was something he did periodically in order to give her and Bucky some space to be alone.
She didn't like it when he did that for one reason.
The more he left them alone, the closer they'd get, and when they finally found a new normal, Steve would move out.
It was something that terrified her more and more every single day.
And she wasn't afraid to be alone with Bucky, she was just afraid of losing Steve.
“How was therapy?” Bucky asked nonchalantly, stirring what looked like a big pot of homemade soup.
As a condition of his own pardon, he himself had to go to court-mandated therapy. He wasn’t too enthusiastic about it because he preferred not to talk to strangers, but he knew that if he showed a negative attitude towards it, that would rub off on Alya.
And Imogene was very good at what she did, therapy was really helping Alya whether she noticed it or not. She smiled more, she held her head higher, and every day, it was getting easier to get out of bed.
“It was fine.” Alya's eyes flickered over to the couch to find Steve lounging in his pjs, which was something she’d never seen him do when someone else was in the kitchen. He didn't like the idea of someone working hard while he sat around and did nothing to help. “Is he sick?”
“A little.” Bucky chuckled. “He’s got a bit of a headache.”
“What, did you tie him down to the couch?” Alya’s eyes widened. “How’d you get him to sit still?”
“You know, I can hear you?” Steve grouched from his place in the living room. He was splayed across the length of the couch on his back, a wet washcloth over his eyes to block out the light so it wouldn't irritate his senses. “I’m perfectly capable of sitting still on my own.”
That elicited twin looks of disbelief from both father and daughter.
“I threatened him with bodily harm.” Bucky joked.
“Oh.” Alya nodded, stepping into the kitchen and picking up her cat when she moved towards her. “Hi, Mischief. Are you hungry?”
Of course, Mischief only licked her paw in response, not having the decency to even look at Alya when she asked her the question.
“She’s good. I fed her some tuna.”
“So that’s why she’s in the kitchen.” Alya giggled. Unlike other cats, Mischief didn't spend much time in the kitchen. She preferred to stay away from the noise and the heat, which was why Alya found it off to see her in the heart of it. “She likes you now.”
But the tuna made it all make sense.
“It only took a couple of months.” Bucky teased. Mischief was truly a one-person cat. She was friendly and gentle with everyone, but Alya was her person and at the end of the day, her bed was the one she hopped into. No one else would ever come close. “I told you I’d win her over. When I give her some salmon, it’ll be over for you.”
But the treats Bucky would continue to give her would make him a close second.
....At least, that was the plan.
“I don’t think so.” Alya disagreed with him. “She knows who gives her the best cuddles.”
“You’ve got me there.”
Alya could only giggle and scratch underneath Mischief's chin, satisfied when she heard those soft little purrs of contentment. “What kind of soup are you making?” She asked, peering into the pot to find a bunch of veggies boiling in some kind of broth and cream.
“Your grandmother’s potato soup.” Bucky told her, taking the wooden spoon he was using to stir and scooping up some of the food before holding it out to her, blowing on it to cool it off.
When Alya thought there was no danger of burning her tongue, she opened up her mouth and allowed her father to feed it to her with a grin. “That’s really good.”
If there was one thing that Alya liked, it was soup.
And this one was so good that she was glad that the recipe was a part of the family.
“I’m glad you like it. Steve’s not gonna eat all this by himself, so I’ll put some in the fridge for another time.”
“Another time?” She tilted her head in confusion, wondering why they weren't going to eat with Steve.
“Oh, did I forget to tell you?” Bucky grinned mischievously. “We’re going out tonight.”
“Where?”
“Go put on something nice and you’ll see.”
“We’re gonna have to go shopping and get you some dress shoes one day.”
Alya looked down at her Doc Marten covered feet and giggled.
After putting on a nice blue sweater with a shirt with a Peter Pan collar and a clean pair of jeans, Alya shoved her feet into her old pair of boots that have clearly seen their days.
The tips of the black leather were scuffed, the heels were a bit worn down, and it looked like the shoes themselves wanted to fall apart at the seams.
At least her little peacoat distracted from them.
“I like my shoes.” She grinned, hopping over a crack in the sidewalk. “I’ve had ‘em for forever!”
That wasn't exactly true.
Natasha bought those shoes for her when she was eleven because she grew out of the first pair and was upset that she couldn't wear them anymore.
Alya had already outgrown this pair, forcing her toes to scrunch up inside of them just so she could wear them outside.
Bucky noticed the funny way she was walking, but he didn't comment on it. Instead, he made a mental note to find a place that sold the exact same shoes so that she could get them in a bigger size.
“I can see that.” He smiled, momentarily freezing when she slipped her hand into his to do more jumping, despite the discomfort the action was causing her feet. “Is there anything you feel like eating?”
“Pizza!”
“Let’s save that for Friday.”
“Okay.” Alya nodded in understanding. After all, why get dressed up just to eat a slice of pizza? “What about Italian?”
She liked Italian food, she didn't know anyone that didn't.
It was a safe option for the both of them to enjoy.
“I can work with that.”
Alya remained quiet as she allowed her father to lead her to what could be considered a hole in the wall. But she knew from experience, that a little ‘hole in the wall’ made for a very, very good meal.
By the time they'd gotten to the restaurant, her feet were killing her and she wanted so badly to throw her shoes as far as she possibly could.
But she was too stubborn to say anything.
Steve told her not to wear the boots, but she didn't listen and now she was paying for it.
“After you.” Bucky opened the door and ushered her inside.
“Thank you.” Alya smiled politely and tried not to limp, waiting for him.
It was a small place, but it was very intimate.
The tables were decorated with perfectly white tablecloths, the menus were laminated and pristine, and the lights were a little dim. Still bright enough to be able to read the words on the menus, while being low enough to set the ambiance.
“Oh, hello!” An Italian man greeted them as soon as the door closed, making Alya take a step back in surprise. She felt her father place his hand on her shoulder with a gentle squeeze of encouragement. The man's accent was thick and authentic, and he seemed friendly enough, but Alya still felt the need to take cover with Bucky. “How are you tonight?”
“Hello.” Bucky shook his hand. “We’re doing alright. Are you open?” He asked, subtly drawing attention to all the empty tables.
“Yes, yes!” The man beamed. “Tonight is a slow night for us. Table for two?”
“Yes, please.” Bucky nodded.
The man lead the way, placing two menus on a small table by the window for them to look through. “Sit right here and find whatever you want to eat.”
As he continued to speak, Alya found that she was growing to like the man a little bit. He had a nice smile that went all the way up to his eyes, making the corners crinkle. His bushy eyebrows added to his friendly look, along with the crinkles by his eyes.
“What do you want, Babydoll?”
At first, Alya thought she wanted spaghetti and meatballs, but after thinking about it, she felt that order might be childish or too predictable.
But as she perused the menu, she didn’t feel brave enough to order anything new, so she just pretended to keep looking.
“You don’t see anything you want to try?” Bucky, to his credit, was very in tune with his daughter’s emotions and sensed her trepidation. Trying new foods could be a daunting thing and it felt a lot better to stick with something that was familiar. “How about this, you order something you know you’ll like and I’ll order something you’ve never had before and we’ll share.”
“Okay!” Alya brightened at the sound of that.
And in return, she'd share some of her food, too.
“What would you like, Topolina?” The kind man asked.
“That’s what my brother calls me.” And as if the man’s joy was contagious, Alya’s eyes lit up. “Cept he calls me ‘Myshka’.”
“You know Italian?”
“Sí.” She nodded. It was one of the languages she was taught in the Red Room, but she never used it unless she was talking to her Uncle Tony. “Spaghetti e polpette, per favore. (Spaghetti and meatballs, please.).”
“Arrivando proprio per te, Pollicina. (Coming right up for you, Thumbelina.).” Though Alya didn’t seem upset at being called ‘Topolina’, now that he knew it was something she and her brother shared, he decided to call her something else out of respect.
“Grazie.”
“And for you, sir?”
“Salmon Puttanesca, con penne per favore.” Bucky smiled, handing him both menus.
“And anything to drink?”
“A lemonade and a glass of red wine, please?”
"Can I have wine?" Alya took the chance to ask.
"You can have a sip of mine if you eat some veggies." Bucky acquiesced with a reasonable stipulation.
He wasn't crazy enough to let her drink an entire glass of alcohol. Not just because of her age, but also because of her small stature. But he didn't see the harm in allowing her to taste a little bit of it.
And he'd rather her experiment a little now while she was safe with him, than to be presented with the opportunity while she was with friends.
Alya’s toothy grin didn’t leave her face even when the friendly Italian man walked away. Instead, she trained it on her father, who smiled back.
It was the happiest he’d seen her in months.
“Alright, we have spaghetti and meatballs for the little lady.”
“Thank you.” Alya beamed as the plate of food was placed in front of her, along with her drink.
The presentation was wonderful. Her spaghetti was twirled around so meticulously with a few meatballs placed around the mountainous looking pasta and a single one at the top.
Alya almost didn't want to touch it because she didn't want to mess it all up.
“And Salmon Puttanesca for the gentleman with red wine.”
“Thank you.”
“Is there anything else I can get for you?”
“Yeah.” Bucky nodded. “Your name, please?”
They'd spent all this time speaking to this man and they didn't even know his name!
“Oh!” The friendly man laughed. “Lorenzo. You are Sergeant Barnes, yes?”
“Yes.” Bucky was hoping he wouldn't be recognized, but couldn't complain because he didn't actually do anything to disguise himself.
“And who do you have with you today?”
“My daughter, Alya.”
“What a beautiful name for a beautiful girl." Lorenzo complimented.
"Thank you." Alya's cheeks burned lightly and her body sank a little in her chair, not liking the fact that she was now in the center of attention.
Lorenzo caught onto it relatively quickly and chortled in amusement. “It is nice to meet you both. I will let you enjoy your meal.”
“Thank you.” Bucky almost laughed at his daughter's unnecessary discomfort as Lorenzo left them to it. The more time he spent with Alya, the more he noticed the similarities between her and Natasha. Both were beautiful in their own right, but they could take an insult a lot better than a compliment.
“You think Uncle Steve and Peter would like it if we brought something back for them?” Alya asked, swirling her spaghetti around absentmindedly before taking a bite and sighing when her taste buds felt the familiarity of something they loved.
She felt bad about going out to eat while Steve was at home with a headache. Sure, the potato soup was the soup to end all soups, but it wasn't the same. She didn't want him to miss out on this nice food.
Anytime he went out somewhere and got food, he always came back with something he knew she'd like and she wanted to return the favor.
“You remind me to order something before we leave, okay?” Bucky winked.
He was amazed at her and Steve's relationship.
That little scrawny kids from Brooklyn grew up and stepped in to take care of his child for him.
And by the looks of it, he'd been doing an excellent job.
Bucky saw the way Steve and Alya looked at one another and the never-ending snuggles didn't slip past him either. He was so glad that in his absence, Steve and Alya found each other.
Everyday, he was watching the two people he loved most, love each other.
“How’s therapy?” Alya asked randomly.
She was genuinely curious.
After having met his therapist, Dr. Raynor, she decided that she didn't like the woman very much. She was cold and crass, and Alya got the nearly uncontrollable urge to stomp on her foot the next she saw her.
She tried to push that thought out of her head, because she didn't think her father would be happy if she followed through with it.
“It’s alright.” He shrugged. “How’s school?”
“It’s alright.” She gave him the same answer, making him chuckle.
His laugh made her feel a little queasy inside. Like her stomach was tying itself in knots.
She really wanted to tell him about how she was smoking, but she was afraid and she didn't know how. The longer she waited to come clean, the further into the lifestyle she fell.
“I noticed you don’t do anything after school. Making any new friends?”
"I still have my old ones." Alya's mouth began to run dry, forcing her to take a sip of her lemonade.
When she put the cup back down, she nearly told him everything, but she didn't want to ruin the mood of the evening.
There was a time and a place for these things and this was neither.
"You'll adjust." He assured her, cutting up a piece of salmon. “In the meantime, try this and see if you like it.”
When Bucky held his fork out to her, Alya allowed him to feed her the food, chewing and trying to keep her features neutral.
There was nothing wrong with the food, there was something wrong with her.
The weight of the pack of Marlboro's felt like iron in her pocket and it was getting heavier and heavier. Right now, there was no desire to go out and take a drag and she was grateful for that, but she knew she would feel better if she just told her father what he needed to know.
But against her better judgement, she pushed that nagging guilt down and promised herself that she'd tell him eventually.
When she was ready.