Yesterday, Tomorrow, Today

Rosemary's hand in his was warm, her grip firm. She held on all the way home, all the way up the stairs, and even through her front door. When they were inside and the door was firmly locked, Rosemary let go of his hand. He missed the warmth as soon as it was gone.

She dropped her bag and keys and kicked off her shoes, leaving them piled by the door as she shuffled to the living room. The soldier removed his own boots, placed them on the rack by the door along with Rosemary's sneakers, hung up her bag, then followed after her. 

He turned just in time to see her fall face-first onto the couch. One of her legs was bent oddly over the arm of the couch while the other dangled over the edge, her knee grazing the rug. He watched the rise and fall of her back as she breathed. Rosemary suddenly let out a groan and pulled her face out of the couch cushions. She turned her head, caught sight of him standing at the threshold of the living room, and sighed.

"Come here," she called softly.

It was not an order, but he obeyed nonetheless. The soldier marched forward and came to a halt in front of the couch where she lay. Rosemary heaved herself upright and pulled her legs up onto the couch. Her arms wrapped around her knees and she dropped her face to the fabric there. Tired eyes looked up at him from beneath dark lashes. A strange feeling tugged at him, low in his stomach. 

Rosemary reached out a hand to him, palm up, and the tugging feeling turned into a pull. He closed the distance between them and laid his hand in hers, waiting to be reprimanded if the action was incorrect. But Rosemary just squeezed his hand and urged him closer.

"Sit down," she mumbled.

The couch dipped under his weight. He might not have even noticed if the action hadn't made the couch cushions bend, which caused Rosemary to lean a little closer to him. Her sock-covered toes pressed against his leg, warm even through all the layers separating his skin from hers.

"Why did you follow me today?" There was no anger in her voice, only a quiet sort of resignation.

"You went out alone."

"Yes I did. I wanted some time by myself. Why did you follow me?" she asked again. 

His brow furrowed. He had already answered the question. "You can’t go out unguarded."

Her fingers stiffened against his.

"What do you mean? Why can't I?" she seemed as confused by his answer as he'd been by hers.

"The initiative."

Rosemary swallowed. "Can you tell me what the initiative is?"

"The handler is to be guarded at all times." 

"Handler...is that what you think I am?" her voice quivered. He turned to look into the deep brown of her eyes and suddenly, he wasn't certain of the answer. But it didn't matter what he thought.

"Yes," he said.

Rosemary’s breath stuttered. "And what does a handler do?"

This was strange. He'd never spoken like this with a handler before. They never asked questions, only gave orders.

“Ensures the mission is finished."

He watched tears pool in her eyes. She blinked them away, turning away from him to take a couple shaky breaths. The living room curtains fluttered as the air conditioning unit turned on with a quiet whirr.

"I need you to listen to me very carefully, okay?" Rosemary turned back to face him, her cheeks were a blotchy red. "I am not your handler. I am not anyone's handler. I’m a person, just like you. I’m not somebody who gives orders."

His mind went cold. There was no mission. No mission meant...

He couldn't suppress his shiver.

"Your name is Bucky Barnes," Rosemary's voice broke through the thin crust of ice over his awareness. "You are a person and you get to decide for yourself what you want to do in life. I decided too, a long time ago. My name is Rose Pierce and I'm not your handler, Bucky, but I'd like to be your friend. Can we be friends?" 

“My friend...”

"Yes, Bucky." 

"The man on the bridge...he said he was my friend."

Her grip on his hand tightened. "You’ve mentioned him before. Is he someone you know?"

He had to look away from her. The hope in Rosemary’s eyes was painful. His gaze darted to the floor when he thought back to that day—the last mission.

"I think I used to."

Something scratched at the back of his mind, a memory. It was quiet, muffled by the steel door that he could never seem to break through, that he was scared to even approach. But he felt it there in his mind, holding back something massive, a flood of information that he did not have clearance to access.

"Do you want to know him again?" Rosemary asked. 

"I…don't know."

"That's okay." Rosemary pulled their clasped hands closer, cradling them against her chest as she traced his knuckles with her other hand. 

"You don't need to decide right now, For now Let's just focus on you." She let out a heavy breath. “Bucky, I really appreciate that you're trying to guard me, it's very nice of you, But it's not something that you need to do. Not if you don't want to—"

"I want to."

Rosemary blinked up at him. Her tracing of his knuckles stuttered for a moment before she resumed.

"Okay….Okay. Thank you." 

The little smile she gave him lit a fire in his gut.

"But I think we need to talk about the difference between guarding me and hurting other people."

He looked at their clasped hands, his brow furrowed.

"You can't hurt people if they haven't hurt me. That's not okay. That man in the store today—"

"He was going to touch you."

"Yes, but not hurt me." She sighed and lowered their hands to her lap. "You can't attack people like that. You just…can't. If he had actually hurt me in some way, that would be a different conversation, but he didn't and you hurt him for no reason. Do you understand?" 

He understood. He did not agree.

He looked at her, at her reddened cheeks and soft brown eyes, at the pretty dress that offered no protection, and at the ruffled hems of her ankle socks. Rosemary had no armor, no leather uniform to save her skin from scrapes, no guns strapped to her back, no knives sheathed at her hip. He glanced down at her hands, at the delicate fingers holding his, and it truly hit him.

This woman, who lacked the physical strength to open a jam jar, who seemed to be a magnet for unwanted attention, had a different kind of strength in her. 

"I'll protect you," he vowed in a hushed voice.

Shock flitted across her features before relaxing into something gentler. "Alright, you can protect me," she indulged him. "Just...ask me before you hit anyone. Okay?"

His jaw clenched momentarily. Not having the liberty to act quickly would mean she could be injured. But he could not—would not—deny her.

"Okay.”

Her answering smile was brighter than morning sunlight. The kiss she pressed to his check was unexpected and searing and...nice. It was nice. 

"Thank you, Bucky.” 

That night Bucky—that was his name—found himself laying on the couch, unable to sleep. The sheets that Rosemary had laid over the cushions were soft and cool, and smelled like her laundry detergent. They smelled like her.

And she was down the hall, behind a closed door. He could not stop thinking of the two windows in her bedroom. Two points for easy ambush.

Bucky threw off the blanket and sprung up from the couch. He trailed through the apartment on bare feet, wearing the pajamas she'd bought for him, and stopped at her door. Did she close it to keep him out?

His left hand clinked against the doorknob as he turned it. The hinges creaked so quietly that only he could hear.

The bedroom was dark. Rosemary lay somewhere amongst the piles of over-stuffed pillows, breathing softly.

The tension in Bucky's shoulders thawed. Sleep, warm and welcoming, finally tugged at him.

Bucky's back slid down along the door. He crossed his arms over his bent knees and watched the barely-there rise and fall of the pile of blankets on Rosemary's bed. Soon enough, her steady breaths lulled him into sleep.

He found himself back on her bedroom floor the next night. And the next. And the one after that. He could not seem to sleep anywhere else. 

"Man it's freezing in here," Steve said, his teeth already chattering just a few minutes into their ride home.

"Well what'd you expect?" Bucky laughed.

He shrugged off his button-up and laid it over Steve's shoulders, leaving him in his sleeveless undershirt.

"Bucky I don't need—" 

"Shut it. Your ma will kill me if I bring home a Steve popsicle."

Steve grumbled but settled down. Neither of them wanted to face the wrath of Sarah Rogers.

Goosebumps crawled along Bucky’s arms but he sat without complaint, not wanting to show that the cold of the freezer truck they’d hitched a ride in was affecting him too. Really, he just felt like a schmuck and wanted to make up for it somehow. 

He’d spent the better part of their afternoon at Rockaway Beach wasting money at the darts stand, chatting up Dot. He’d wanted to impress her, but after he missed his first shot she'd latched onto his arm and begun rooting him on. 

Well, that turned out to be a better deal than just winning outright, because the more times he missed the bullseye the more she'd giggle and beg him to try again. She really wanted a stuffed bear.

Before he knew it, Bucky had blown all the money in his pocket, only to realize that Steve had spent his money on hot dogs. At the end of the day, between the two of them, they had no tickets for the train home, one very disappointed redhead, and four hot dogs with everything on 'em. 

They ate the hot dogs while hunting down a ride home.

"Almost there," Steve said.

Bucky glanced up and saw the familiar New York skyline coming into view. He'd never get tired of seeing it.

"Bucky?" 

The freezer truck hit a bump. The motion rattled his brain.

"Bucky, wake up." 

He looked around for the voice, not knowing where it was coming from. Steve sat beside him, completely oblivious.

"Buck—" 

His eyes sprung open.

Rosemary was sitting at the foot of her bed, the thick blankets bunched all around her, watching him.

"Are you okay?" she asked hesitantly.

No, he wasn't okay. His head felt like a pressure tank with no release valve. Bucky grit his teeth and pushed up from the bedroom floor.

"I'm fine," he said.

Rosemary watched him for a moment, not looking convinced, but eventually her shoulders relaxed.

"D'you want breakfast?" she asked, getting up.

"Anything but hot dogs," he mumbled.

"What?"

He shook his head. "Nothing."

Rosemary's head tipped to one side as she scanned his face. She wouldn't find anything, not unless he wanted her to. She seemed to realize this and looked away, reaching instead for the door knob.

"How about waffles?" She asked, leading them down the hall. "There's nothing better than Sunday morning waffles."

Bucky didn't answer, but she knew him well enough now to take silence as confirmation.

"Waffles it is. Here, help me with the batter.” 

She pressed a large metal bowl into his hands and began digging through the cabinets for ingredients. Rosemary was climbing the kitchen counter, reaching for the waffle maker stored on the top shelf—and Bucky was hovering a half-step behind her, ready to catch her if she fell—when her phone began to ring.

Rosemary glanced over her shoulder, the waffle maker cradled in her arms. "Damn it."

She clambered off the counter top, somehow keeping both herself and the gadget in one piece, and went to the living room to answer her cellphone. Bucky watched as she sighed at the screen, clicked it, and pressed the phone to her ear.

"Hello," she said.

"I had hoped you would get past your tantrums when you grew up, but it seems I was wrong," a sharp female voice snapped on the other end of the call.

Bucky stood in the kitchen and listened in.

"And I had a lot of hopes too. I'm sorry that we've both been disappointed."

The other woman scoffed. "Shirking your family responsibilities is one thing, but not showing up for your father's funeral? And then ignoring all my calls and messages since? Really, Rosemary, I don't understand where we went wrong with you."

With each word, Rosemary curled further and further in on herself. Her bare feet shuffled aimlessly along the rug. She’d never looked so...breakable.

An urge to shield her burned hot in his chest. Bucky concentrated on her, willing Rosemary to turn so she would see him silently asking whether he could rip the phone away and break it. For some reason, he could not force his mouth open to say the words.

Frustratingly, her back remained turned.

"Yes, well that's the issue isn't it? You never understood, never bothered to try." Her voice came out raspier than usual.

"When will you accept that you have a duty to fulfill as part of this family? Your father was a good man who only asked one thing of you, and you've continuously spat on his wishes and his legacy—"

"And when will you understand that I don't give a damn about my duty or his legacy!" Rosemary exploded, her body quivering. "I'm not going to prostrate myself for a family that never wanted me. And I'm definitely not going to stand around having press conferences about the oh-so-great life he’s lived. The man was a bully and a bastard. As far as I'm concerned he and his legacy can go to hell."

"Rosemary Rebecca Pi—"

The phone call cut off. Rosemary tapped a few buttons and threw the phone down on the couch. When she turned, her eyes were ringed with red, but she had a wobbly smile on her lips. 

"Let's make waffles."