Yesterday, Tomorrow, Today

The brush scraped through the paint atop the canvas, blurring the edges of one color into the next. The portrait was finally coming together. He glanced up at the reference photos taped to the frame of the easel. 

The woman in the photos wasn’t looking at the camera, she didn’t even know she was being photographed. That was good. It ensured that her expressions were authentic. He wanted to capture her just as she was. 

Rose smiling at the market, Rose with headphones on riding the subway, Rose kneeling to tie her shoelace, Rose walking out of her apartment building, Rose waiting for the subway, Rose undressing in her bedroom. His jaw clenched. That photo was his favorite. She’d been so relaxed, so unguarded in that moment. He’d kill to have joined her in it.

But his flower had another man in her life now. 

His fingers tightened around the brush. The handle groaned in protest. He dumped it into the water glass and jumped up from his stool. Paint-stained hands ran through his hair, yanking at the roots. 

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. There wasn’t supposed to be someone else. It was supposed to be him. She was meant to come back to him. He was giving her space after her fiancée died. His flower was grieving and it was the polite thing to do. Apparently he’d waited too long. 

He paced back and forth in front of the easel, the same worn path he’d paced for years.

And what was worse, he couldn’t figure out where the man had come from. One day Rose was alone and the next she wasn’t. It was like he’d appeared out of thin air. It had been okay at first. He wouldn’t begrudge Rose her friends. But this guy…he wasn’t just a friend. 

First it had just been his hand around hers as they walked down the street. Then it turned into his arm around her shoulders. And now…

He whirled around, glaring at the opposite wall. Photos lined it from floor to ceiling, he couldn’t remember what color paint was underneath it all. But it didn’t matter. He preferred to look at his flower. 

His eyes wandered across the kaleidoscope of photos, catching on a recent one. A scowl twisted his face. 

Rose in her living room and that man with her, on her couch, touching her skin, kissing her lips. 

A furious breath rushed from his lungs. He forced his eyes back to the canvas and his anger cooled slightly. It was the only image in the room that showed Rose looking right back at him, smiling at him. That’s how it was meant to be. He was sure of it. She would come to realize it too.

"Don't answer it," Bucky rasped as the phone continued to ring. 

Rose sighed, leaning her forehead against his chest. "I have to, it's probably Sam.” 

She made to get up but Bucky's arms locked around her. 

"Don't go."

Rose smiled up at him and placed a quick kiss on his downturned lips.

"I'll be quick.” 

She wiggled out of his arms and rolled off the couch. Rose leaned down, rummaging through their clothes, which lay in a heap on the floor. 

"Besides, if I don't answer he'll think I died and keep calling, over and over, either until I finally answer or he sends a SWAT team to my apartment. Either way, Sam Wilson will not be ignored," she laughed. 

Hands slid over her hips as she dug through the clothes in search of her phone.

"Aha!" Rose held her ringing phone up in triumph. 

Bucky tugged her hips backwards and she landed in his lap with an oomph. His arms circled her waist and the long-dormant butterflies in Rose's stomach went berserk. Bucky buried his face in her neck and a wave of ridiculous happiness washed over her. Rose bit her lip to keep from grinning like an idiot as she reached back and ran one hand through his hair, pressing the phone to her ear with the other. 

"Hello?"

Bucky pulled Rosemary a little tighter into his hold as she answered the call and ran his lips across the curve of her neck. He didn't know who Sam Wilson was or why she jumped to answer his call while they were laying naked together. He didn't like it. But if her answering this one call meant that Bucky could have her to himself again, he'd ignore the territorial instinct burning in his gut.

"A break in?" The crack in Rosemary's voice snapped Bucky from his thoughts. 

He lifted his head from her shoulder. Her sweet smile had vanished. Bucky tuned his hearing to focus on the voice coming from her phone.

"If you could come down to the station now we'll get some details and file a report."

"Yeah," Rose’s shoulders trembled. "Yeah, I'll be there as soon as I can." She ended the call and her hand dropped limply into her lap.

"Rosemary... "

"It wasn't Sam," she croaked.

A cold hand stroked down her back. "Who—"

Rose sprung to her feet. Bucky's hands fell away from her skin. 

"I've gotta get to the police station," she said. 

She yanked her dress on and searched desperately through the pile of clothes for her socks. 

"Rosemary," Bucky called out. He could see it, she was panicking. 

"I have to go. You should stay here," she mumbled. 

Rose yanked her socks on and tried to make a run for it. But Bucky was there in the doorway, blocking her only exit. 

"Rosemary," he said sternly. Her eyes darted from him to the door he was blocking. "Look at me," he demanded.

She stubbornly refused, instead bouncing on her toes, trying to flatten her wild curls down with her hands, and looking anywhere but at him. Bucky pulled the hair tie from his wrist and held it out to her. Rosemary's fidgeting stilled. She reached hesitantly for the hair tie he'd offered. 

Trembling fingers wrapped around his and her watery eyes finally met his. 

"There was a break in at my apartment," she whispered. 

Cold rage seeped into Bucky's veins. His teeth ground together. Rosemary's fingers twitched against his. Her heart was beating faster than it should be. 

Bucky swallowed down his anger and squeezed her hand between both of his, offering whatever comfort he could. "I'm going with you.” 

Her shoulders slumped and Rosemary nodded. 

Trusting that she would stand still for a minute, Bucky let go of her hand and dressed quickly while Rosemary pulled her hair into a haphazard knot. He laced up his boots and carried over her sneakers. 

Bucky knelt in front of her and lifted Rosemary's feet, slipping the shoes onto her feet. He was tying the laces when her small voice broke the quiet. 

"Bucky—" 

He glanced up to see that she was already looking down at him, pale and petrified.

"I'm scared," she admitted.

Bucky gripped her hips and pressed a kiss to her stomach. Her hands tangled in his hair as if on reflex while his thumb rubbed a circle on her hip. 

"I know," he mumbled into the fabric of her dress. "I'm here." 

Rosemary sniffled. Her fingers curled tighter in his hair. "Okay," she mumbled after a long moment. "Let's go." 

Bucky stood. Her hands slid down his chest and disappeared. He grabbed his gloves, threw his jacket over her shoulders, and they left the studio together.

Rose and Bucky sat side by side in the police station, watching Officer Fleming shuffle papers around his desk. Rose had asked Bucky to stay outside like last time. He'd refused. Instead he'd marched into the station at her side and remained there, tense and silent, as the officer laid out the situation. 

"So unfortunately there's not much we can do for now," Officer Fleming said. "There were no witnesses, no surveillance footage, nothing we can really admit into evidence aside from the crime scene photos." 

Rose's nails dug into the arm of her chair. Déjà vu hit like a wave. Her in this chair, Officer Fleming behind that desk, telling her that the police can't do a damn thing to help. A gloved hand curled over Rose’s and she snapped back into the moment. Bucky squeezed her hand and for a moment the weight sitting on her chest felt a little lighter. 

Rose sighed, rubbing at her eyes with her free hand. "Is there anything you can do? This is probably the same creep who sent me those photos. Wouldn't a break-in be considered an escalation or something?"

Officer Fleming rocked back in his chair, not looking at her. "Well, technically since this is the first report being filed, it's gonna go down as the first offence." 

Rose stared at him. The officer didn't meet her eye. 

"When I came in here the first time," she began quietly. "You refused to file a report, because you were so sure it wouldn't become a bigger issue," Rose's glare narrowed. "Are you still convinced this is mild stalker?" 

Officer Fleming had the good sense to at least look ashamed. 

"Look," he began. "I made a call based on what I saw at the time. It didn't look serious enough to file—"

Bucky's hand curled tighter around hers. The leather of his gloves creaked. 

"But I can admit I was wrong." Officer Fleming folded his hands over his gut, leaning back in his chair. It wasn't an apology, but Rose suspected she wouldn't get one of those any time soon.

"Fine. Can we go now?" she bit out.

"In a minute," Officer Fleming sighed and sat forward, clicking a couple buttons on his keyboard. "I just need a few details for the report. Where were you at the time of the break in?" Rose's jaw clenched but she swallowed down her anger. 

"At work." 

Officer Fleming raised a brow at her. "At 8 o'clock at night?" 

"I own an art studio. We've been living there since the photos were delivered to my apartment." 

The officer's eyes flickered over to Bucky but he didn't say anything. "Name of your business?"

"Mantelillo Restorations." 

"And you've been staying there this whole time, no visits to your apartment?" 

"No, we haven't gone back since the photos." 

"Okay..." Officer Fleming typed for a while on his computer, very deliberately ignoring Bucky’s glare. "Who is the apartment listed under?" 

"It's my apartment," Rose said. 

Officer Fleming sniffed, clicking a few keys. "Alright. And your full name for the report?" 

"Rosemary Irene Pierce."

Bucky's hand stiffened on top of hers. Rose covered his fingers with her other hand and squeezed. She wanted to get out of there too. Officer Fleming finished typing and leaned back in his chair. The springs creaked beneath him.

"Okay, you're all set. We'll send a patrol car by every so often just to check on the area, so you should be good to go back to your apartment." 

"Like I was good to ignore the creepy photos delivered to my doorstep?" The officer shifted uncomfortably and sighed. "We're doing all we can, Miss Pierce."

Her jaw clenched. "Of course, Officer Fleming."

She stood, pulling Bucky with her out of the station before she exploded in the officer's face. Yelling probably wouldn't get her very far anyway. Cops and 'emotional' women didn't mix well. 

They paused outside the precinct. Rose pulled Bucky's jacket tighter around her and took a minute to steady her breath. When she opened her eyes Bucky was looking at her strangely. She reached out, brushing her fingers over his gloved hand. His fingers twitched but didn't reach for her as he normally would.

"Back to the studio, I guess." She sighed, wishing she could feel the warmth of his touch.

"No,” Bucky's voice was quiet, firm. 

Rose's eyes darted over his face, searching for an explanation. "No?" 

"We go back to the apartment." 

Rose's heart thudded uncomfortably. "But—"

"No more hiding.” He glanced down at her and something in his face softened. Bucky tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Rose leaned her cheek into his palm.

"You should feel safe in your home," he rasped. "I'm gonna make sure you do."