Only For A Moment

Chapter 31

There was so much more to discuss, you both needed sort out this mess that the two of you were. He had wanted to keep going, try to convince you that you were wrong about him but you wouldn’t have it. And you were right, that had been enough for tonight. 

Back inside, you both settled back into what was becoming comfortable silence… and distance for a bit. The lack of tension between you was surprising, to say the least.

Bucky looks down at you from his spot on the couch. The copy of Frankenstein you took today laying open against your chest, head tilted toward him, face relaxed in sleep. Finally, he didn’t want you to have an entirely sleepless night, especially on his account. He had to admit he was happy you trusted him enough to fall asleep in his presence… even if he thought it was unwise.

Your words were still ringing in his ears. My monster sees your monster. She’s not afraid. Neither am I.

Some part of him knew he was always a smart kid. Everything he’d read about himself said he’d been an excellent student, something he’d doubt if he didn’t vaguely remember that, and as it stood he had a deep well of advanced knowledge Hydra put in him. Even with all that… he just couldn’t understand how in the hell someone could see him, really see him, and not be disgusted or at least terrified. Here you were though.

Here you were and how in the hell he was going to protect you… from himself. Any other threat he’d obliterate without a second thought. But The Soldier…

Leaning his head against the back of the couch he extends his right arm flexing it with a wince. It would likely be fully healed by Friday but for now, it still hurt like a bitch. He’s grateful for it though. It showed him you wouldn’t hesitate to do what you had to and gave him some verification that you did have tactical training. But…

He had been holding onto some form of control that time. Playing a tug of war with the monster and sort of winning. If he hadn’t had control… well, you wouldn’t have stood down, would have fought through that monster to get to him. And lost. Fuck…

All those years ago, your fierce determination to go down swinging, had reminded him of Steve. Indomitable. That was the word for people like the two of you. He envies that. The will to go on, to keep fighting, unfailingly. Honestly, if he didn’t know Steve was still out there somewhere, likely looking for him, he wasn’t sure he’d be here. Pretty certain he wouldn’t be anywhere but, hopefully, oblivion… Though the former altar boy in him can’t help but think that’s not exactly what would be on the other side. Regardless of what would come after he checked out, he knew he had to make things right with Steve before the end. That was the only absolution that mattered. Was… his eyes drift to your sleeping form once more and a smile involuntarily curls his lips.

As far as he knew though… you didn’t have that. There wasn’t anyone left. Yet here you were, still trying to keep going, refusing to be beaten. However admirable it may be there was something else that went hand in hand with that indomitable spirit. Pure, bullheaded, stubbornness. It was one of the first things he remembered about Steve and it’s what was going to make this hard.

Only four days in and he knew any suggestion he made regarding the subject of your safety where he was concerned would be met with a fight. He couldn’t pretend he didn’t like that about you though.

A small sound comes from the bed. Quickly he sits up, ready to wake you if a dream was disturbing your sleep, but your face still looks relaxed, your breathing normal. His hackles lower just a bit. Maybe you could sleep in shifts like he used to do with the Howlers… except instead of Nazis you’d be looking out for ghosts.

You roll to your side, facing him, and your book tumbles from your grip. Quietly, Bucky leans down and grabs it, marking the general spot he thought you were at and sits it on the floor next to you. The blanket is tangled in your legs leaving a portion of your hip and torso exposed where your shirt rode up.

His chest constricts. Desperately he wants to feel your skin under his hands again, you didn’t flinch from his touch at all, it fascinated him. More than that he wants to make you feel as good as he had… Jesus, was it really last night? He pushes it away. Bad idea Buck, he can’t help but think.

No matter how much he wanted you, and the ache in more than his chest right now was a solid testament to just how much, he couldn’t allow himself to, not again. Too many risks, too many possibilities that he will lose control, flash to one of the countless unwanted encounters he’d experienced through the decades and you’d go from his lover to his enemy in an instant. Hell, it had almost happened last night.  

He sighs and settles back on the couch, closing his eyes and letting his mind wander. A plan… some way to keep you safe, something you’d agree to, because if you wouldn’t listen to reason he couldn’t… wouldn’t allow this to go on. Better he leaves, better to be alone, than risk you.

As the sun just barely starts to brighten the windows there’s the whisper of a plan playing around the edges of his mind. You’re still sleeping on the bed but suddenly your knees jerk up, placing you in a loose fetal position as if you’d been kicked. 

Bucky shoots up to wake you but waits just a moment, he doesn’t want to assume and wake you from sleep for no reason. People move in sleep, maybe him seeing you as being in pain was just paranoia… when a small groan slips from between your lips he no longer cares if he’s wrong.

Laying his right hand on your shoulder he shakes you gently, “Y/N?” You don’t respond but your brows knit you whimper. “Doll,” he shakes you a little harder, “Come on, doll wake up.” Your eyes shoot open, though your body doesn’t move. It seems like your taking in the scene, evaluating reality.

When your eyes fall on him he offers what he hopes is a comforting smile. At that moment you seem to light up a bit, a soft, drowsy smile curling your full lips. God, you were something else. You look happy, happy somehow to see him… could he really make you happy…

Your hand reaches up and delicate fingers trace his features, “Thank you,” your voice raspy with sleep. He takes your hand in his left and places a kiss on your knuckles. Maybe he couldn’t have you the way he wanted but he couldn’t resist these small gestures.

“Guess waking you up was the right thing?”

“Definitely,”  you sit up and lean back against the wall, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

“You don’t have to get up,” he doesn’t like how little sleep you’ve gotten.

You shake your head, “If I go back to sleep it’ll just be there waiting.” Your big eyes turn to him and you offer a solemn smile. Drawing your knees up you wrap the blanket around you, sighing heavily.

Bucky wants so badly to hold you in his arms, to say that he’d be here waiting too, that he’d wake you again, he’d keep you safe. After last night though saying he’d keep you safe seems too close to a lie.

Instead, he says the next best thing, “I’ll make us some coffee.”

Chapter 32

“I’ve gotta take care of some things today,” Bucky says over his second cup of coffee. You’ve drug the dining chairs to the balcony and are watching the sunrise, it’s chilly but pleasant, the peace feeling so far from the scene that took place here the night before.

“Ok,” it was such a vague statement you feel awkward prying for details. Nervously you make the liquid in your cup spin in a slow counterclockwise motion.

“It’s nothing bad, promise.” When you look over at him he smiles, “Just a day labor thing I pick up every now and then.”

“Oh!” You honestly hadn’t thought much about how he made money.

He laughs, “We can’t all be master thieves.”

It’s a joke, it stings though. You had never wanted to be a thief, had worked your ass off so you didn’t have to be. Of course, he didn’t know that. “You know thievery isn’t my main skill set.”

He squeezes your thigh gently where his left hand’s been resting as if to assure you he didn’t assume it was. “What is?”

“Well if we go off my bachelor’s degree, costume design with a nice and useless sociology minor.” His brows raise. “Didn’t know your girl was college educated did ya?” It slips out, something you’d just say casually before, ‘your girl,’ but you know it means something else here.

Those eyes narrow a bit, a smile playing on his lips, but he says nothing about it. You divert, “Not that either of those is worth shit to me now…” you think. “Maybe thievery is currently my main skill set.” You shrug.

“Nothing wrong with doing what you have to.” He looks out at the lightening sky, “I was always good with my hands. Easy enough for me to find something under the table that doesn’t ask many questions.”

“Did you used to do stuff like that?” You look at his profile, lit by the rose gold morning his eyes seem grey. Something like a smile lifts the corner of his mouth, he looks down and the few strands of hair too short to be pulled up fall into his face.

“Yeah,” he tilts his head to look at you, “dock work, construction, anything that would pay really.” He flexes his right fist, “Even entered a few boxing tournaments, won too.”

“Boxing?”

“Yup. What else was an Irish Catholic kid supposed to be good at?” He picks up his mug and drains it. “Even taught Steve how to fight. Lord did I regret that later.”

You’re reminded of what he said last night about Steve, it had bothered you, “Can I ask you a question?” You’re hesitant, afraid to open some old wound, “About Steve…”

He looks at you, studying for a second, “Sure, can’t promise how well I can answer…”

“If it’s too personal I understand…”

That gentle laugh, “Nah, it’s just that… I just don’t have it all back yet is all. There’re still some blank spots.” You nod, pausing, weighing the pros and cons of posing this. “But,” he says, “talking to you seems to… help somehow.” His smile is far more impressive than any sunrise.

You sigh and dive in, “Last night… you said he did something stupider than dying…”

“Yeah.”

“What… exactly did he do?” You take a sip of coffee.

“He went and became Captain fucking America.” You choke on your mouthful and spew into your mug coughing. He laughs, big and ringing. “Don’t drown on me.”

“I just. What?!” You wipe coffee from your chin.

“I thought you knew that. You went through my books on Friday.”

“Yeah. But, I honestly didn’t look that far into it, got too freaked that you and I had the same taste in pizza and flung the thing across the room.”

He laughs, “What, hundred-year-old assassins can’t have good taste?”

“Look it was a lot to wrap my head around in a short amount of time.” You say jovially smiling at him, “I was focused on the information about the guy I chained to the wall, not the other characters.”

“Tried to chain anyway,” he winks at you. “Guess we didn’t make it into your history books.”

You shrug, “I vaguely recall some mention of Captain America from school but to be honest the whole golden boy image didn’t exactly catch my attention.” He nods in agreement and before he can say anything something else occurs to you, “Wait!” You glare at him, “How in the sweet holy fuck did I remind you of Captain America of all people!?”

He shakes his head smiling, holding up his hands, “No. No. I said you reminded me of Steve. Steve Rodgers and Captain America aren’t synonymous. At least not to me.” A little laugh escapes him, “Steve was a 90-pound stick of a kid who could hardly breathe most days but he’d be damned if he let that stop him from trying to face down every asshole in Brooklyn.” He seems to darken a bit, “Captain America was a propaganda poster boy to sell war bonds.”

That was the image of Captain America you had in your head. Cheesy star spangled images from some battered public school history text. Then less overworked but none the less poster worthy images of him after The Battle of New York you saw when you were catching up on everything you’d missed while Hydra had you. Nothing in there felt like anything someone could connect to you.

That distant look is on his face and he leans forward resting on his knees, “I remember… seeing him for the first time after. My unit had been captured, Hydra had us, they were already trying to make… him.” The sound of metal shifting, “Steve barreled in there like some fucking berserker, against orders, to pull me out.” You like Steve Rodgers already.

“He was huge, in comparison to the kid I left in Brooklyn anyway. I couldn’t believe it, thought I was hallucinating. But no, that was him. Same bullheaded ass I had known most of my life, running into fights he didn’t have a chance in hell at winning, no regard for his own safety, just now he had the body to back it all up.”

His fists flex. “I was furious. Steve was supposed to be safe, unfit for combat, and the only thing I had to worry about was him getting the shit kicked out of him at home. Now I had to worry about Nazis and Hydra and… I couldn’t keep him safe from all that.”

A hollow laugh slips out, “Guess that’s always been a thing of mine…” He looks at you, trying to smile, sitting up, “Trying to keep people I care about safe even when they’re too stubborn to let me.”

Not sure what a good response to that is you slip your hand into his metal palm and lean into his solid shoulder. For a second he doesn’t move, and you wonder if this is too much contact, then his hand wraps around your own. Slowly he buries his nose in the fluff of your hair and breathes deep. Silence wrapping around you both.

Once the pinks and oranges of the sunrise fade to blue skies you head inside. Bucky goes straight for the closet and begins rummaging around without a word. You fill both mugs, wrapping your cold fingers gratefully around the warm porcelain.

He walks back and holds his right-hand open, palm up, “Here.” At first, you don’t see what’s there but then, laying flat, there’s a key. Tentatively you lift it with your power and set his mug in his hand. The key hovers for a second before you pluck it from the air, expression questioning. “It’s not like I expect you to stay locked in here like it’s some ivory tower while I’m out,” he flashes you a smile.

A key. To this place. To his place. Suddenly it feels heavier in your palm.

His eyes are on the coffee in his mug as he says, “This is… well if you want it to be…” He looks up at you with those goddamn gorgeous sapphires and says, “your home too.”

You wonder if he knows what those words really mean to you. It may have been a while ago but he had a home once, one with a family who he loved, a city that was always his. Home was always so fluid a concept for you. Constantly shifting, crumbling, or being ripped away. Home felt like love, a thing you wanted deep into your bones but that you were terrified of because it could be gone so quickly. Still…

“I…” Despite your efforts your voice cracks, betraying your emotion. Instead, you just nod. He lets out a breath, like he had been scared of your answer, sets his cup on the counter and plucks yours from your hand.

The look on his face is so happy and relieved. When he pulls you into his arms you feel safe and warm, and wanted. All the things home should be. You realize that this place is one thing but it’s him, he is home. And goddamnit you would fight like hell against anything, even the ghosts in his head and your own, to keep him.

Chapter 33

Bucky’s mind has been in overload since the flashback so it’s nice to be on the bike, to lose himself in the feeling of the wind on his face and the sound of it. One thing keeps slipping into his thoughts though. Louder than the bike, sweeter than the wind sliding over his skin. The look on your face this morning. 

He’d been terrified to give that key to you. Unsure what you may think of it or if you’d even want to share a space with him after… But the way your eyes filled, the way you smiled, how you cuddled into his chest like it was the only place you wanted to be. It was better than any reaction he imagined. 

About an hour outside of the city he begins to feel a bit guilty. Lying to you wasn’t something he was fond of but he knew if he had explained what he was really doing you’d protest. Plus, it wasn’t entirely a lie. He did do day labor here and there and he intended to do some labor today. 

He pulls off the main road onto a dirt track. The open fields to either side were both peaceful and unnerving. No cover here. If someone were to- No, he wasn’t going to go down that dark train of thought. He has a plan, he’s going to see it through. 

A small outcrop of trees rise to the right and he veers down the barely visible driveway. 

This was where he first hid out when he made it to Romania. Finding it felt a little like luck. No one had lived here for years but the old house was still sound. There wasn’t electricity or running water but he had done without those things in the past. Trees grew around most of the property providing plenty of cover. The best part was the solitude; there weren’t people around for miles. He needed that for the first couple of months, and would still retreat here when things in the city or in his head overwhelmed him. 

Pulling the bike up to the side of the house he hops off, shifting the rucksack to his left shoulder. He avoids the trip wires and various traps as he makes his way to the back door. Setting the overstuffed bag down he unlocks the door and disables the trip wire it automatically set off, more than a little pleased he doesn’t have to replace the battery just yet. 

In the old kitchen, he sets the bag on the table with a thud and begins unloading it. He pulls out some cured meats, crackers, protein bars, canned vegetables, dry pasta, and an unholy amount of coffee.

Nervously, he runs his hands through his hair. Maybe he should have brought some nicer things. Wine? Did you even like wine? 

He laughs a little at himself, the sound somewhat startling in the quiet place. This wasn’t some romantic getaway. Romance… wasn’t even on the table. This was about sustenance and there was enough to keep you both comfortable for a couple of days, plus he’d bring more tomorrow. 

There’s still some wood by the stove, and likely plenty in the barn out back. Bucky walks through the small one bedroom house pulling sheets off the ramshackle furniture, making sure no water got in anywhere, disarming the window trip wires to slide them open and let fresh air into the stuffy space. With the house sorted he heads out back for the real work. 

The corral is a good size for what he needs and the bushes surrounding it are almost his height providing a bit of extra coverage. It is, however, sporting a miniature forest. He heads to the barn and gears up with some of the old tools and gloves. 

Hours later he’s got the coral cleared of any overgrowth and debris. The area is tilled leaving the ground soft. Perfect for a sparring area. On one side he’s set up some makeshift targets with slats from the partially destroyed fence. He’d need to bring something to mark them with tomorrow. 

Back in the barn, he heads into one of the two stalls slipping his finger into a knot in one of the floorboards. Half the floor lifts to reveal a large metal locker. He opens it just a crack to disarm the trip wires that would set off the bombs inside the box before opening it. 

After finding this safe house getting armed was all he focused on. The small arsenal had been easy enough to come by, well, easy for someone like him. He triple checks the ammo and knives. Plenty of different kinds for you to practice with. Sighing he grabs a knife and sits back leaning against the wall of the stall. Absentmindedly he flips the blade in his right hand, skillfully spinning it and twirling it. 

You were going to fight him every step of the way on this. If he was being honest with himself he’s not too thrilled about it either, the risk of hurting you is high. But he’d trained others in the past, as the soldier, and not injured them too badly. That he remembered… he remembered almost everything about being the soldier. It was almost the ultimate cruelty he thought. Leaving him with the monster, making him fight to find the man. 

With a swoosh and a thud, the six-inch blade buries itself into the opposite wall. He stares at the quivering handle for a second. 

“What the hell are you doing, Barnes?” He asks aloud. His left-hand drags across his face, smooth metal fingers scratching at the scruff of his beard. 

Some other part of him, the part that isn’t quite Bucky but isn’t exactly the monster either, once again whispers that he shouldn’t try this, should let you go. He stares down at his metal palm curling it in. Hydra’s fist. 

They took everything from you when you’d already suffered and fought enough in your short life. What right did he have to even think of touching you with hands that had shaped the century for them? Hands that helped make their destruction of your life, of your family, possible. None. He had no right. 

He promises himself right then, after he knows you can defend yourself against anything, even him, he’ll go. It was the good thing to do. Not like it would even begin to wipe away the bad but… it was better than what he wanted. And what he wanted… he couldn’t have. 

His eyes burn. Clearing his throat he pushes the emotion away. He plucks the knife from the wall and replaces it, rearming the locker and putting the floor hatch back. Back in the house he resets all the security trips and locks up. 

The sunset is colorless to him on the ride back. His jaw so tense it hurts. The selfish boy in him doesn’t like this choice he’s made. No part of him likes that he won’t tell you this last piece of his plan. That’s ok though. It’s what’s best. 

In the elevator, he thinks that maybe you just won’t be there. Just maybe you’d have come to your senses and flew the coop while he was gone. It would hurt worse than that fucking chair he knew but… 

As the doors slide open he hears music spilling from the apartment. He tries to tamp down the smile on his face but can’t seem to manage it. Hating himself a little at how happy he is that you’re still here. 

For a moment he stands outside the door just listening to you sing along to some song about a killer queen. It sounds ridiculous but he kind of likes it. Or maybe he just likes the joy he can hear in your voice. 

He knocks loudly so he doesn’t startle you, “It’s me.” He opens the door and steps in. 

Inside he’s hit not only with the level of the music but a smell that slams into his brain like a bullet. Apple pie. It literally knocks him off kilter. He leans against the wall, holding his face in his left hand, wrapping his right arm across his chest. 

So many images flood his mind. His hands, but smaller, both flesh and bone, working the pie dough in the kitchen while his Ma sang some old Irish song. She was pregnant with… Mary maybe? He and Steve running to their place after a fight when they were still just kids. Ma cleaning their cuts and giving them each a slice before his Pa got back. His Ma giving him a pie wrapped in one of her good linen towels, tears in her bloodshot blue eyes… his eyes… to give to Steve’s Ma after his Pa passed. On and on and on. 

He doesn’t even notice that the music has stopped. Can barely feel your gentle touch on his right forearm, the caress of your delicate fingers on the back of his metal hand. A hand that…Thank god his Ma never… He realizes he’s… crying. 

“Bucky?” Your voice makes the images slow. 

He swallows a sob as he moves his left hand. You’re hovering just a bit so your face is level with his own. Those gorgeous eyes, big with worry. Your bottom lip caught in your teeth as you try to suss out what may have happened. Tenderly you move some stray strands of hair from his face and wipe at the tears. 

He takes both your hands in his own, “I’m ok, doll… sorry.”

You shake your head, “You don’t have to apologize.” Your tone is so sincere so… kind, “And you don’t have to be ok.”

A smile softly curls his lips, “I know. But,” he clears his throat, his emotions settling, “I really am.” His lips graze your palm, a part of him wincing, remembering his promise, his plan. That’s not right now though. Right now you’re here and he’s home. 

Chapter 34

The feeling of his lips on your palm sends shivers up your spine. You want those lips, that mouth… everywhere. But it’s far from time for that.

No matter how much you think you can’t pinpoint what may have set him off. Maybe something out on the job today? Too many people?

“Buck…” You can’t seem to form the words, not wanting to pry but your concern sits heavy in your chest.

He smiles, you’re surprised to see it reach his eyes, “The pie,” your brows knit in confusion. “I… my Ma used to make apple pie all the time… the smell just… caught me off guard is all. Lot’s of memories.” Gently he strokes your face with his right fingers, “Good memories.”

You can’t help but smile even though your heart is breaking for him, “Do… do you want some? Made fresh coffee too.”

“Yeah, that’d be great,” he looks down at his dirty clothes. “Let me change first.” Lowering yourself to the floor you move out of his way.

When the bathroom door closes you stare at it for a second worry eating at you. Even good memories could hurt… especially when they were linked to loss. You knew that all too well. It kills you a little that it hit him so hard.

This just solidifies a thought you had earlier in the day. He needs a phone if he doesn’t have one. If he had one you could have told him you were making a pie. It would have been passing to you but he could have mentally prepared maybe. Not to mention the less innocuous reasons to have a way to contact one another.

You’re moving the tall stack of CDs and the laptop from the table when he comes out. The white tee strains over his chest as his muscles subtly move under the fabric while he dries his hands on a small towel. Its hem skims the top of the loose jeans slung low on his hips. You swallow hard and turn back to your task.

“What’s all this?” He asks with a smile.

“Your musical education.” You set the laptop and CDs on the counter by the stove before turning to get you both pie and coffee. “Or the beginning of it.”

He laughs a little picking up the top CD, Queen’s greatest hits. “I liked whatever you had on earlier.”

“I should hope so,” you turn back to him smirking, “if not we would be having some serious problems. Queen is non-negotiable.”

“Noted. Here,” he comes over and grabs the plates with a slice each, carrying them to the table.

You follow with the coffee, “I haven’t made pie in years,” you sit across from him, “so don’t judge it too harshly.”

A half smile lifts his lips, “I have no doubt it’ll be amazing.” He reaches across the table, his fingers grazing the back of your hand wrapped around the mug, “Thank you.”

“It’s just pie,” he rolls his eyes playfully, “but you’re welcome.”

He takes a bite, eyes closing as he savors it, and you anxiously wait for feedback. When his eyes open, he catches your stare. He laughs, “Are you gonna watch me eat the whole thing?”

“Just nervous,” you grumble, shoving a bite in your own mouth, mostly for the distraction. Honestly, it’s pretty damn good.

“It’s great just like I knew it would be, and you,” he points with his fork, “are ridiculous.”

“I thought you said ‘amazing’,” you say over a mouth full.

This earns you a laugh, “It’s amazing. Better?”

You shake your head “I suppose.” 

For a bit you sit in comfortable silence, enjoying the treat. You chase a large bit of flaky crust with a gulp of coffee before asking, “Do you have a phone?”

He raises a brow, “That’s out of left field. But… No? Haven’t had a need… Why?”

“Thought it may be good for us to have some way to get in touch. Like if one of us runs late or if there’s pie waiting,” Or if the group of Nazis who tortured us for years shows up. You know you don’t have to say the last bit. It’s implied.

He nods, “Good point.” Taking another bite he looks pensive. “Phones are easy to track though.”

“Not if you set ‘em up right,” you pull yours from your back pocket. “If anyone tracks this it’ll ping them to Africa. Hacked it myself. We can do the same to yours.”

“Sounds good. Should come up with some shorthand too. Make sure we can communicate a lot of info quickly if we need to.”

“Definitely. Tomorrow?”

“I got more stuff to do on the job,” you notice his eyes avoid yours. Interesting.

“Ok, I can grab one, get it set up.” You stand to wake up the laptop, “For now though, it’s time for school.”

By 10pm you’ve made a simple meal, the whole pie is gone, and you’ve given him a thorough history lesson on why Queen is inarguably one of the best bands of the 20th century. He sees the appeal, though some songs, such as Bicycle, give him pause. Now you’ve moved on to Fleetwood. Another non-negotiable.

His head is resting on the arm of the couch, body stretched out, legs dangling off the other end. You’re on the floor, back against the couch. Gently he runs the fingers of his right-hand through the short crop of your hair as the album Fleetwood Mac plays. Rhiannon is wrapping up and you’re half a world away in your mind, spinning on a rooftop with ghosts. His voice, soft and drowsy, pulls you back to this little apartment in Romania.  

“This makes me think of you” Bucky’s fingers pause, and a smile warms his half-closed eyes before he yawns.

Your heart tightens a little. Nix would call you Rhiannon sometimes, he knew what you could do so anything witchy he’d lovingly associate with you. You aren’t at a place to divulge this though, it’s too real, too personal.

“You look tired.” He nods. You were already in a pair of leggings you’d bought earlier and a tee, perfect sleepwear. “Come to bed,” you grab his hand and gently tug him in the direction of the mattress but he doesn’t budge.

“I’m ok here,” you give him a look. He is not a small man and it is a small couch.

“You are not.”

“Really, this is fine.”

You sigh, if he didn’t want to share a bed that was fine but there’s no way you’re letting him sleep like that. If he even can. “Don’t be ridiculous. Sleep on the bed, I can take the couch, I’m shorter.”

“Y/N-” You roll your eyes, cutting him off by wrapping your power around him and lifting him just a touch. His eyes meet yours, awestruck.

“Don’t make me move you. I can,” you smirk.

“I almost want to make you,” he grins mischievously, “just to see if you really can.”

You raise an eyebrow. Without ceremony, you will him up and let him plop hard onto the mattress with a thud. It was always easier when you were doing it for fun. He looks genuinely surprised.

“How do you think I got you in my squat after knocking you out?” His head is on your pillow and you yank it from under him with your power sending it floating to the couch.

He laughs, “I didn’t think about it honestly. It’s pretty damn impressive.”

“I know,” you wink. “You gonna sleep in your jeans?”

“If I say yes are you going to threaten to strip me?”

“Don’t tempt me.”

He reaches up from his spot on the bed and gently rubs the back of your calf with his left hand, fingers squeezing slightly. For a second you think he is going to tempt you, your mouth practically waters at the thought, but a shadow covers his features.

“I think I can handle that,” he gives you a halfhearted smile before getting up and going to the bathroom.

Disappointment wraps around you. Picking up your copy of Frankenstein from the table you cozy yourself on the couch. You finished it earlier today but had started again, from the beginning immediately. It had been a while since words had brought you a strange sense of comfort like this.

Bucky comes out in just his boxers and you force yourself to not stare, to not want what he so clearly wasn’t offering. He walks over to you and you allow him a warm smile. Something is troubling him, you don’t want to add your worry and disappointment to his shoulders.

When he cups your upturned face in his hands your heart skips a beat. His eyes are more grey, stormy though not cold, and you can’t quite read the emotion in his face. Instead of trying to make sense you cover his hands with your own and just savor the feeling of his touch.

He leans down and you hold your breath, hungry for his lips. But they only press against your forehead tenderly. Now you can read the emotion on his face as easily as the book at your side. Sadness and disappointment.

“Goodnight, Y/N.” His smile is tight, his eyes glistening. As he pulls away it takes every ounce of strength you have to not pull him to you, to not kiss him, hold him, try to calm the sea of hurt in him.

“Sleep well, Buck.” He doesn’t say anything else, just lays down with his back to you.

You flip the light off, no longer in the mood to read, and lay down too. For a few minutes, you watch the steady rise and fall of his breathing, your mind working over everything. 

He had been distant since his flashback. Every touch extra gentle, almost every action thought out. Then, despite all the kindness he’d shown you, he seemed shocked you accepted the key to his place. It’s as if he’s just waiting for you to run screaming… You realize that’s exactly what he’s waiting for.

“Bucky,” your voice is soft, not wanting to startle or wake him if he is asleep.

“Hmm?” Drowsy but still conscious.

“I want you to know, I meant it before. I’m not afraid of you…” Silence thunders in the space. You know he heard you…

“I know,” his tone is measured. Relief floods your system for a second before he follows with, “I’m scared enough for the both of us.”

Chapter 35

The next two days come and go quietly.

Wednesday evening, you give him the phone you set up. On his break, he’d written out some simple shorthand for you two. They’re all easy to remember so you thank him for it.

Bucky convinces you to go to Mr. Goldstein’s without him, Thursday, as he’s not quite done at the job site he’s on. You agree. It’s the longest conversation you have and it’s less than five minutes.

It’s not the silence that eats at you… it’s the distance. He doesn’t touch you. Not even in passing.

By Thursday night, you’re aching. You went years without a kind touch, hadn’t even given yourself space to miss it in the months you’d been free. Now, after a taste, the absence of it tears a hole in your chest.

Friday morning dawns grey. Your sleep had been light, waking up just as a dream would start so many times you wondered why you tried to sleep at all. 

When you look over at the bed he’s not there. You shoot up, fear settling cold in your stomach. What if he was-

That’s when you hear the coffee pot gurgle, smell the warm comforting aroma. Immediately you release the breath you didn’t even realize you were holding. After a second you hear soft familiar notes coming from the balcony. 

Fleetwood. Rhiannon.

Two days of silence, of distance. Now he’s listening to a song he said makes him think of you… Ok. You know you’re rusty on the whole, human interaction thing, but you’re pretty sure even past you would be confused right now.

Once the coffee has brewed enough for two cups you fill your mugs, grab your jacket, and head out. Bucky turns to you as the door opens, a soft smile playing on his lips.

“I didn’t wake you did I?” He asks. Stevie Nicks’ voice croons out, ‘Dreams unwind, love’s a state of mind,’ as the song comes to a close. Much to your surprise, it begins again. He moves, a little too quickly to pause the music.

You hold out his mug, “Nope.” He doesn’t stop the music just turns off repeat. 

As he takes the mug, Over My Head begins… ‘You can take me to paradise. And then again, you can be cold as ice.’ You can’t help but laugh a little inwardly, Thanks, Fleetwood.

He takes a deep drink, “Thank you.”

You shrug, “You made the coffee. I just delivered.”

You’re approaching the bar for conversation set by the past two days. Expecting nothing more than silence you sigh and lean against the wall, staring out into the cloudy sky.

“So…” he clears his throat. You look back at him, brow cocked with surprise. “Do you have any plans today?”

“Thought about going to Cișmigiu Gardens to read and catch some sun before it gets too cold but,” you gesture to the sky, “obviously not happening.”

His eyes hang on the clouds and he nods, sipping his coffee. You look back out. A few minutes pass, you’re lost in your thoughts. When he breaks the silence you feel yourself jump a little.

“Would you go somewhere with me?”

You turn back to him, utterly confused. He’s hardly speaking to you but he wants to go somewhere… Whatever. You’ll bite, “Permanently or?”

“No, no,” he shakes his head, “just a few days.”

“Where?” It’s not that you don’t trust him… you’re just nervous to leave the safety of the city.

“Someplace safe, kind of off the grid.” His expression is soft.

Maybe this was what he needed. Just to get away and he’d be more comfortable, so he could tell you what was going on. Maybe this was how you plot a path forward. 

“Ok.”

“Seriously?” He looks so shocked that a little giggle pops from your lips.

“Yeah, I’m open to a mysterious get away. Why the hell not?” You finish your coffee. “When do you wanna go?”

“Um… I mean as soon as you can be ready we can go. Try and beat the weather.”

An hour later you’re packing your duffle. He slides his laptop, notebooks and some books into his bag. Seeing the books reminds you.

“Oh!” You go to a bag by the door. “I pulled these for you at the shop yesterday.” You hand him a few volumes of collected American poets.

He smiles, the truest smile you’ve seen in days, as he looks them over. “You didn’t have to. I didn’t even help…”

You shrug, “I know but I thought you’d like them.” When his eyes meet yours your mouth goes dry, “Plus, Mr. Goldstein insisted that we haven’t taken enough books as payment.”

Bucky huffs a small laugh, “Well, thank you. These are great.” He tucks them in his bag.

There were a couple of books you had grabbed for yourself in the bag so you bring those too. You shrug your leather jacket over your tee and he gives you a once over.

“Think you’re gonna want to dress a little warmer than that.” He goes to the closet and fishes out a thick burgundy sweater. “Here.” You slip out of the jacket and tug the sweater on. It smells deliciously like him.

“Do you have any other hat?” he gestures to your baseball cap.

“No?” A beanie sails your direction.

“Gonna be a windy trip.”

“Oh?”

“You’re not against motorcycles are you?” He tugs a beanie over his hair.

A broad smile fills your face, “You really should have begun this whole trip pitch with the motorcycle thing. Can I drive?!” Your excitement is bubbling up but you don’t care.

He laughs and your heart rises, “Maybe on the way back.” His hand runs through his hair as he looks at you, a smile lingering on his lips. “You ready?”

“Totally,” you wind your scarf around your neck and sling your duffel over your shoulder.

-

Bucky’s heart is thundering in his chest as you follow him to the parked bike. A part of him hoped you’d say no, take away him having to do this… But no, of course, you would say yes. You even seemed excited… Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe you’d go along with it… What came after though… He pushes the thought away.

You offer to strap his bag to your back along with your duffel and he hands it to you with the helmet he got for you yesterday. “Here.”

Your brow ticks up. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.” His tone is stern.

“You do realize the chances of me getting hurt,” the helmet floats in your hands, “are slim?”

“Just put the damn helmet on, Y/N.” You roll your eyes and give in.

He swings a leg over the bike and starts the roaring engine. When he looks at you a smile is spreading over your face. You look down right giddy. It makes his heart skip a beat.

“Well, you comin?” He can’t help but smile too.

“Fuck, yes.” You climb on behind him.

A touch of disappointment curls in his gut when you hold onto the seat and not him. The distance between the two of you the past few days had been hell. He was nervous, not wanting to lose his gumption to do what he knows he has to.

After he sets off, swerving through morning traffic, though, you adjust your grip. Strong arms wrapping around his waist, your chest pressed against his back. God, it felt amazing.

“Is this ok?” You ask close to his ear sending tingles down his spine.

“Of course,” he says slowing at a light. As he makes your way out of the city you settle your cheek against his shoulder. He likes to imagine that you’re smiling.

Once out of the city the roads open up, the countryside flanking you. For a bit, he keeps his pace steady. Then he opens the taps, the bike roaring under you.

“Hell yeah!” You yell behind him picking your head up. His laugh is ripped away by the wind.

Your grip releases and you let out a joyful whoop. He spares a quick glance at you. While your lack of a hold on anything fills him with nerves, the image of your arms spread wide like a bird, reveling in the feeling of the wind in your face makes him think of that Rhiannon song.

He couldn’t get it out of his head. The line, ‘Wouldn’t you love to love her?’ had felt like a blow to the chest when he first heard it. Because he would give absolutely anything to just be able to love you. Right now though, it’s the line about, ‘a woman taken by the wind,’ that rings in his head.

Turning forward his face settles into a scowl. Suddenly it’s taking all he has to keep heading the direction of the house. To go through with this. Once more you hold on to him. Somehow the feeling of your presence steadies his resolve. He has to keep you safe. That’s what matters.

Too soon the turn off comes up. Internally he sighs, knowing you’ll let go once the bike stops, knowing he’s one step closer to goodbye. When he guides the bike onto the hidden driveway his heart plummets to his stomach.

Silence rings for a second as he shuts the bike off. You let go and stretch.

“Well, this is not what I was expecting,” you had no idea.

“Follow me exactly,” he says, tone gruff as he get’s off the bike.

“… ok?” He turns to you as you take off the helmet and set it on the seat. Pulling the beanie off you rub at your buzzed hair nails scratching your scalp. Your expression questioning.

“Security trips,” understanding dawns on your face at his explanation.

“Would it be better if I just…” Your body rises straight off the ground about a foot. Damn, it was still the most amazing thing he’d ever seen.

The smile on his lips is involuntary, “Sure. Still, stick close.”

“You got it Sarge.” He chuckles a bit, shaking his head as he turns to lead the way.

Once the trip on the door is disarmed he gives you the all clear and you lower to the floor of the back porch, looking around. He’s happy the shrubs hide the corral and the tell tale targets inside.  

Most of what he needed done to train you he’d finished half way through Wednesday. Really he’d came back on Thursday to do things to the house. It was kind of ridiculous but he wanted you to be comfortable… if you decided to go along with his plan that is.

Even though he didn’t know really what you liked he got some wine and whiskey. Every kind of snack food he could think of. He’d made sure the furniture was as dust free as possible, even gotten new linens for the bed and a topper for the old mattress.

So there was more light than just the lanterns, he’d strung white Christmas lights from the ceiling in the living room and bedroom, plugging them up to batteries he’d rigged. Knowing you liked baths he even brought some bath salts that smelled like flowers. You’d have to boil water for the tub but if you were sore it would be worth it.

You walk into the kitchen and take the room in a smile making your eyes squint. “What is this place, Bucky?”

“A safe house,” he takes the bags from you leading you to the bedroom. “This is the first place I came after I got to Romania. The city was… too much. I’ve been in Bucharest for the last few months but I keep this place up just in case.”

“Smart,” you nod looking around. “You’ve been here all week haven’t you?” He looks away sheepishly, tugging his beanie off to run a hand through his hair.

You take a few steps toward him, “You could have told me that. It’s not like I would have been mad.”

He struggles to meet your gaze, “Yeah… well… just… come with me…”

-

The look on his face is like a kid who’s just been found out. Anxiety overwhelms the feeling of warmth the ride over and being here had built in you. What the hell is he talking about?!

Cautiously you follow him out the way you came. There’s a smallish barn and some shrubs out back, nothing that screams shameful secret to your eyes. He heads for the shrubs and you hang back a bit on the porch.

“Come here… please,” he won’t meet your eyes but you do as he asks.

“Bucky…” He doesn’t say anything else just walks around to the side of the shrubs to reveal a circular open area. Maybe a corral once.

It takes a second for you to realize what you’re seeing. There are targets set up around half the ring, all varying degrees of difficulty, and an area like a boxing ring roped off. Suspicion rankles.

“What the hell is this?”

“There’s more,” he heads toward the barn.

“No.” Your feet remain firmly planted outside the entrance to the corral. “Tell me what’s going on right now.“

“I can show you-”

“Tell me, Bucky.” His avoidance is pissing you off.

“Look, I just want to be sure you can… defend yourself.” His left hand drags halfway through his hair, freezing at the back of his head when he finally looks at you.

“From what?” Your tone cracks like a whip. He looks away and you storm over to him. “From what, Bucky?!”

“From me!” He bellows arms spreading wide. “From the Winter fucking Soldier! Who the hell else, Y/N?!”

You shake your head, already so sick of it. “I’m not doing this.” Turning you begin to walk back to the house.

“Ok.” He sounds strangely defeated and yet relieved. “Then you keep the bike so you can get back. The apartment is yours too.”

His words almost take your breath away and you freeze. “What?” It’s just above a whisper as you slowly turn to face him.

“I won’t keep putting you at risk. I can’t.” He shoves his hands in his pockets.

“So that’s that huh?” He shrugs. “No consideration for what I may want?”

“What do you want, Y/N?! To be in danger constantly, to-”

“I want you.” Your voice cracks just a bit at the confession.

“You can’t.” 

“Have you or want you?” You’re shaking all over. “Because you get a say in whether or not I can have you, that’s your call. But I get to chose what I want.” He looks away but you press forward, “For the first time in seven years I have a choice. Don’t you fucking dare try to take that from me.” Your voice is low but it hits like a bomb.

His gaze shoots to you, pained, as if you’ve slapped him. Hell, he’d likely be more ok if you had physically struck him. His mouth opens as if to respond but snaps shut.

“We both get to chose what we want. You have a choice, choices, agency. Don’t let your fear take that away…”

A bitter smile curls his lips a touch. “Fear? You really want to talk to me about fear?”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“You’re scared too.”

You throw your hands up, “Of course I am! Every goddamn day I’m afraid they’ll come for me, or now, you. But I am not scared of you.”

His tone is almost taunting, “No. You’re scared of yourself.”

You feel yourself go dark inside, “Fuck you.”

“Why? Because it’s true?” He takes a few steps toward you, the sky above grumbling, mirroring your frustration and rage. “You are so scared of your power, so scared of how strong you really are-”

“Shut up, Bucky,” you back away, your blood beginning to boil.

“And it’s not just because of them. You’re scared because your whole life you’ve been in hiding, pretending to be less than what you are-”

“Shut-”

“Never pushing yourself, never truly reaching your potential because being different made you a target. You were taught to be afraid of yourself to view your gift as a curse.” 

Your heart clenches, “It is.” Your voice is rough with emotion. 

“No, it isn’t. It makes you stronger. It makes you better.” His expression softens, “You’re special, you’re incredible and-”

“And because of that, nearly everyone I love is dead!” A wave of energy pulses from you and pushes him back a bit. You stride to the side and past him, toward the barn.

“That isn’t your fault.”

“Isn’t it?!” You whirl around as another rumble drags through the sky.

“No. It’s theirs. But you can use what they forced on you and what you were born with to make sure no one ever hurts you or anyone you care about again to make sure I-”

“Don’t kill me?”

“Yes!” His brow knits and eyes squeeze closed for a second, “There are so many nightmares in my head, Y/N,” his eyes look like the sky. “I can’t live with another.”

“So this is all about helping you sleep at night?”

His tone is gravel, “It’s about knowing you can fully defend yourself, it’s about making you unafraid to use everything you’ve got to survive and thrive because you fucking deserve to live with less fear, Y/N!”

“Why?” After the distance and silence of the past few days, you can’t help but wonder. It seemed so easy for him to pull away and now this…

“Why what?” He sounds exhasperated.

“Why do you care about what I deserve? If it’s just about avoiding another nightmare why keep me around, why go through the trouble, why-”

“Fuck,” he growls turning away.

“Why, Bucky?!” You know it’s only been a week. You know this whole thing is fucking insane. But your lives are insane. A mess of trauma and survival. You also know that if he’s not doing this because he cares, because he-

“I love you,” you almost don’t hear him his voice is so low. “I love you,” he says louder, with more conviction. “I shouldn’t… but… I do.”

Your heart both soars and plummets. It’s comforting, reassuring, but at the same time… “This isn’t how you treat someone you love…” You approach him slowly, “You don’t stop talking to them or touching them for days at a time. You don-”

He shakes his head, his face a mask of pain, “You want me to touch you?”

“Yes,” you breathe out.

“You want me to touch you with these hands…”

Fat drops of rain begin to fall. You look up at the sky and suddenly he’s on you. He twists your right arm around, painfully pinning it between your bodies, his left-hand wrapping around your throat. Adrenaline surges through your body and you worry about losing control.

His mouth presses against your ear as he growls out, “Do you have any idea what these hands have done? I do. They’re the clearest memories I have.”

As his hand tightens around your throat you feel your power slither over your skin, an invisible barrier. With hardly a thought from you, it explodes, breaking his grip and causing him to fall back.

“What happened to not comparing body counts?” He goes to jump up and you catch him in the middle flinging him back. “Do you think my hands are clean?”

Just as he’s about to right himself you feel the slick earth under his feet. Feel the particles of sand and water, the blades of grass and their tiny fragile roots. Gripping them with your invisible hands you tear the ground from under him sending him to his knees.

“Answer me,” you press down on his shoulders keeping him on his knees. “Do you really think they made a weapon and locked it away?”

“No,” he growls looking up at you, the wild glint in his eyes no doubt matching your own.

“Good,” you release him. He’s on you again before you can think. Your back slams into the ground, you try to pull away but his hands grip you flipping you over. He pins you with a knee to your low back, arms held at the wrists by your sides.

“But I made it possible for them to grow. Because of me, of what these hands did, they were able to take everything from you.”

You try to force him away from you, it only lifts the both of you for a second causing his knee to slam into your spine as you both hit the ground again. You hiss in pain, he immediately releases you and you wrap your sense around him sending him flying into the wall of the barn.

“God you’re fucking dramatic,” you quip as you approach him. When you’re close a sardonic smile rises to his lips. His hands press against the wall and with a shove he pushes himself to the side falling out of your invisible grasp.

He’s behind you and though you try to sense him he’s too fast. Without warning your footing is gone and you fall to the side. Bucky’s left hand grabs you by the throat and lifts you off the ground like you’re nothing, slamming you back against the wall.

Desperately you try to kick him off, your power lost somewhere in your initial panic. Pressing his body into yours he pins your legs and effectively holds some of your body weight so he’s not choking you as bad. You go for his face with your left but he dodges, catching your wrist and pinning it over your head.

“Come on,” he breathes, inches from your face, his wet hair sticking to his forehead. “You’re stronger than this. Don’t use just your power, use everything.” His fingers tighten on your throat and with a hard thrust, you force your knees up between your bodies.

He expects you to kick him away, his grip loosening so he doesn’t hurt you when you force him back. Instead, you lock your legs around his hips, holding him tight against you. Your right arm slips under his left and around his neck. Grabbing the hair at the back of his head you pull his face the short distance to your own and kiss him hard.

You don’t know what you expect him to do, all you know is you can’t go another second without it. When his mouth opens to you, when he groans, kissing you back, you’re shocked. His left hand releases your throat. He reaches back to your right hand, grabbing your wrist and pins it over your head beside your left.

Pulling away from the kiss for a moment you press your forehead to his. Rain is pounding against you both the sky roaring. You look into his storm cloud eyes as you both blink away the water.

“I love you too, Bucky. I love all of you.” You feel his breath stutter in his chest. His eyes clench closed and he ever so slightly shakes his head ‘no.’ “I love you.”

“You can’t,” his voice cracks, and his hands release your wrists, moving instead to cup your face. “You can’t.”

You wrap your arms around his middle, holding all of him close. “Yes, I can.”

His kiss is warm and deep, such a contrast to the cold rain on your skin. Your hands grasp at his soaked and muddy hoodie. Lightening tears through the sky and thunder booms as the storm picks up. He moves his grip to your thighs without taking his mouth from yours and carries you into the barn.

These are, with good reason, one of your least favorite places to be. But with him, you hardly register. Bucky sets you down on top of a workbench against the far wall as his mouth trails kisses down your neck. Your breath hitches and your hands desperately tug at his clothes. If you cant touch his skin soon you think you’ll go mad.

Bucky’s hands are just as desperate. Clumsily they peel your jacket away from your body tossing it to the side, untangle your scarf and let it drop. Your own hands uselessly grab at the hem of his shirt, slide under to feel the tense muscles of his abdomen.

For a second he pulls away, grabbing the hoodie, shirt, everything and in a swift motion, he pulls them all over his head. You swear you hear some fabric tear in his haste. The clothing lands with a thud somewhere to the left of him and you stare openly at his heaving chest. His lips are slightly parted and his pink tongue darts out, licking his bottom lip. You almost whimper with desire.

He catches the neck of the sweater he loaned you and the tee you have under in both fists. Pulling your face to his he kisses you, tongue filling your mouth as he yanks, tearing both pieces of clothing effortlessly, pushing them away from your body so you’re left in nothing but your chest bindings.

Deft fingers unhook the safety pins without looking and he slowly frees you. You take a deep breath automatically, always happy to have them off. His fingers drag down your sides and his mouth wanders from yours to your collar bones, kissing, stubble scratching, setting your nerves on fire. When he gets to your chest you’re already panting.

The tip of his tongue circles your nipple and this time you do whimper, grabbing at his hair, pressing his face closer to your flesh. He sucks and then his teeth playfully clamp on the sensitive peak. Your head falls back and you moan, the mix of pleasure and pain everything you used to desire… maybe you still do.

In reaction his hands at your hips jerk you forward, slamming you into him. He’s rock solid through the fabric of the denim and you grind against him, feeling your own moisture rivaling the storm outside.

You pull back on the hank of hair in your hand and he groans just a little, eyes meeting your own. “I want you, Bucky,” you sigh out.

An impish grin lights up his eyes, “What d’you want from me, doll?” His voice is like velvet. His left hand slides to your crotch and presses into you.

“You,” you groan grinding against the solid metal.

“But what?” His tongue wets his lips before caching the bottom one in his teeth.

You pull his face to yours kissing him hard before growling into his ear, “Fuck me, Bucky.”

That flips a switch. A low rumble vibrates in his chest and he pulls you off the bench. Thunder crashes, you can see the lightening through the slats in the wood of the barn. But you’re attention is on the man littering your chest with kisses, undoing your jeans, tugging them to your ankles before spinning you around.

There’s no feeling of fear, no anxiety about your scars, nothing as he leaves hot damp kisses on the cold flesh at the back of your neck. You hear his own denim come undone and turn, wanting his kiss. He grabs your hips, lifting you slightly as you brace yourself on the bench. His mouth catches your gasp as he plunges into you.

It had been so long since you’d felt this and wanted it, welcomed it. The delicious ache as your walls stretch around him sends tremors through you. You reach back and grasp the back of his neck as he buries his face against yours.

“Y/N,” he groans thrusting hard into you, his teeth sinking into your shoulder. You cry out in pleasure pushing back into him, wanting more.

“Yes!” You gasp when he places a matching bite on the other shoulder.

His cool metal hand slides between you, up your spine, over your scars, the feeling delicious. Between your shoulders, he presses you gently down, your chest against the bench. He greedily grabs your ass and fucks you until you feel like you’re about to explode.

“Bucky, fuck! I-” Before you finish he pulls out, you whimper. He plants a kiss on each ass cheek, all over your back tasting you, sucking your flesh, nibbling like he wants to devour you; before holding your shoulders, lifting you, and turning you to face him.

Cupping your face in his hands he kisses you sweetly. Dropping down he frees you of your boots and jeans, you kick them to the side. He kisses just above your pussy before just barely sucking at your clit. Your hands grasp behind you to use the table for support.

He stands, licking his lips, grinning. Grasping your hips he lifts you up, you wrap your legs around him and kiss him quickly, tasting yourself on his lips.

“I just wanted to see your face, doll,” he whispers in your ear before sucking at your earlobe. You pull his face back.

Your eyes lock as you lower yourself on to him, his hands and your power steadying you. Small sounds of pleasure come from you both as he enters you. His brows knit but his gaze doesn’t falter.

“I love you, Y/N,” his pace picks up and you moan. “I love you,” he pants.

Your walls squeeze him, “I love you too.” He groans, low and feral, fingers digging into your flesh. Your fingers tangle into his hair, head falling back as he fucks you.

“Y/N…” You look back to him. “I’m…” He thrusts harder into you, “Oh fuck, doll.”

“Wait,” you press his forehead to yours, “Wait for me.” He nods subtly. Desire coils in your abdomen and you hold tight to him. Your eyes flutter closed.

“Look at me,” his voice is hardly audible over your breath, your heart, the storm raging outside. Your eyes pop open, looking into his, now burning blue.

“Buck…” Your body is on fire, “Now.”

Both of your bodies rock with the force of this, your faces buried in the others neck crying out. 

Then there’s nothing but your labored breath and the rain.

Chapter 36

You’re both trembling, refusing or unable to let the other go. Bucky feels his knees begin to buckle but the strange tingle of your power across his skin keeps him from sending the two of you crashing to the ground. Slowly he lowers to his knees, you still wrapped around him.

He doesn’t even realize he’s crying too until he hears you let out a small sob. Fear blossoms. Did he do something wrong? Did he hurt you? But when your face lifts up from the crook of his neck you’re smiling.

Wiping at your eyes you laugh a little, “So sexy,” you sniffle. He shakes his head and rests his forehead on yours. The two of you sit there for a while, allowing the release of tears, allowing yourselves to be exposed like this.

The whispers of his original plan play at the edges of his mind. Feeling you here in his arms like this makes him wonder how he thought he could just walk away from you. Now… he knows he can’t. It’s possible that scares him more than leaving ever did. The things he could do to you…

“I love you, Bucky.” Your voice is soft and low, it brings him back from that dark place he was slipping into. “I love all of you.”

He can’t help the smile overtaking his face. No, he can’t leave you. What he can do is make sure you’re able to protect yourself. That part of his plan he’ll keep.

“I love you too.” Thunder cracks loudly and you jump just a touch in his arms. “Let’s get to the house.”

“Sounds good.” You gather your clothes and slip into your boots, “I’m assuming there’s no one around to see.”

“Just me,” he traces the curve of your shoulder with a metal finger, watching the goosebumps rise on your skin. “Come on, let’s get soaked again.”

“Not necessary.”

“Huh?” He looks at you and there’s a smug smile on your face.

“You haven’t seen all my tricks.” You nod toward the door and he follows you. The rain is falling in sheets. You hold your palm up over your head for a minute before walking forward. He hangs back watching in awe as the pelting rain spins away from you like magic.

“Are you comin’?”

He laughs, “I guess you never have to worry about an umbrella.”

“Yeah well, it’s not really inconspicuous.”

The two of you walk briskly to the covered porch, not a drop of water on you. “Honestly, that’s incredible.”

-

Maybe it’s the look of wonder on his face but you can’t help the desire to show off just a little bit.

You used to do this when you were a kid. All that time alone forced you to get creative with your entertainment. Holding your palm out flat before you your power reaches out into the rain. It’s falling fast but each drop is its own little thing, you can feel the smooth edges, the way to water trembles. Slowly you begin pulling them to you. Drop by drop they build in the palm of your hand until there’s an orb of rainwater hovering there.  

Bucky’s jaw is slack. “That’s… wow…” He barely touches the ball of water. It ripples but doesn’t falter, your power holding it in place. “Beautiful.” Willing it to rise in the air you let it bob for a second before sending it splashing into his face. You burst out laughing at his look of shock.

“Oh, that’s how it is?” He shakes his head sending water splashing.

“Yup.” You quip. Laughing he lunges for you and you dodge him bolting into the house.

He’s hot on your heels as you round the dining table, letting him think you’re cornered. As he comes for you his arms grab nothing but air. Giggling as he stares up at the corner, you’re pressed against the ceiling.

“That’s cheating,” his voice lilts with joy.

“There are no rules here, Sarge.” You push yourself off the wall propelling toward the living room. He jumps up and gently catches you by the ankle, pulling you down.

“Ha!” He bellows as he pulls you to him, hands moving up your legs, grabbing your ass.

“I guess you win?”

He kisses between your breasts as you slowly sink down, “I’d say so.”

“Huh, well then,” instantly you drop hard to the ground and he loses his grip. Sliding down you slip between his legs laughing all the while and bolt to the bedroom.

You intend to slam the door shut but instead, he grabs it. “Not fast enough.” He holds you by the waist and pulls you tight against him, kissing you hungrily.

He takes a few steps forward, pushing you further into the room. Once by the bed, you pull away, kicking off your boots, plopping down and sprawling languidly. His eyes are burning with want as he takes you in, gnawing on his bottom lip.

“Come here,” you open your arms, your body already demanding him once more.

A crooked smile ticks up the corners of his mouth as he slips free of his unbuttoned jeans and kicks off his boots before laying on his side next to you. Despite the cold rain and his still damp skin, he feels warm against you. Already you can feel how hard he is, his cock pressed against your outer left thigh.

You hold his gaze as you lick your palm before grabbing him, stroking and twisting, catching a small bead of precum forming at the tip of his cock with your thumb and swirling it around his tender head. Immediately his breath is ragged, mouth open just a touch. He pulls your face to his, kissing you hard as he thrusts into your hand.

Scooting to your side you release him, pulling his hips to tug him to the center of the bed. You rise to your knees and push him to his back. Running your hands over his body, you’re amazed at how every inch of him is delicious to you. Had you ever wanted anyone like you want him?

You straddle his hips and slowly lower yourself onto him, watching his face contort in pleasure as he enters you. He grips your ample thighs, fingers digging hard into the flesh. Your hips roll, your walls squeezing him tight. The groan that slides from between his lips lights you up.

Lacing your fingers between his metal ones you tug his hand up, lifting it to your mouth. Delicately he caresses your lips as you hold his fingers there. Your tongue flits out, licking the pad of his middle finger before sliding it into your mouth, the metal a fascinating sensation.

“Y/N,” he sighs out, hips thrusting up, deeper into you. Releasing his hand you run both of yours down the metal of his arm, leaning forward to kiss the scars on his left shoulder. His body trembles a bit beneath you, and you trail kisses up his arm as you rise back up, sighing at the feeling of him.

“You’re beautiful, Bucky,” you whisper as you look down at him. He blinks hard eyes glassy.

The barn was desperate, hungry fucking. A need you both had that had gone unfulfilled for so long. This right now… this is love. Slow, open, intimate, love. Every kiss is unhurried. Every touch lingering. The rain against the windows the perfect music.

You each kiss every scar on the other, willing the pleasure of the present to override the pain of the past. Your bodies fit together like you were made for this, made for one another. When you finish it’s not loud or earth-shattering. It’s just the two of you, holding the other, at the center of your own world.

After everything you had both suffered. The horrors you’d witnessed and committed. This moment of sheer beautiful bliss felt like the universe whispering a soft apology for all that had transpired and anything else that may come later.

Chapter 37

“No.” Your tone is hard and final.

Bucky lets his head drop to the kitchen table with a thud. “Y/N…” He groans into the wood.

“I’m not fucking doing it Bucky. I’m not going to fight-”

“It’s not like I’m suggesting we duke it out until we’re both bloody.” You don’t say anything else, you just stare at him with a stubborn expression.

Sighing he pushes away from the table and walks to the door, bracing himself against the frame, attempting to gather his senses. After a minute he hears you stand, your arms wrap around his waist and you lean against him. Tenderly he pats your arms before covering them with his own.

“I just need you to be safe, Y/N…” He lifts your hand to his lips, placing a lingering kiss on your knuckles.

“I know,” you whisper between his shoulder blades, forehead resting on his upper back. It’s not the response he was expecting.

“Then why-” He turns to face you, words freezing on his lips. Your face looks crumpled, eyes glassy brow furrowed. “Doll?” His fingers caress the scar on your right cheek.

Your eyes flutter closed before you take a shaky breath, “I’m… Bucky I’m so tired of fighting… I’m… I’m just tired.” When your eyes open and meet his he thinks he may shatter.

Cupping your face in his hands he swipes away the tears that trickle down your cheeks with his thumbs. “Can we… pretend, just for a few days maybe that this is all there is?” His hands slide to your shoulders and you lean into his chest, “Just us… just this… no one potentially hunting us, nothing to run from, nothing to fight…”

“Of course we can, darlin’.” He holds you tight and sways you a bit in his arms, pressing a kiss to the soft crop of your hair. “Of course we can…” It breaks something in him how little you’ve known peace in your life… If he can give you even a little… maybe training could wait.

“Hey,” holding you at arm’s length he tilts your chin up. “Can you bring the mattress to the living room?”

Your eyebrow ticks up and he smirks, “Uh… ok.”

“Trust me.” He pecks your forehead and pushes you in that direction. As you lift the mattress he heads to the fireplace in the living room. The rain may have lessened but the cold has settled. In just a minute he sets the dry wood crackling.

“Put it here,” he gestures in front of the fireplace. You settle the floating mattress down staring at him with a crooked smile.

He pulls you to him, hands sliding under your sweater. “Bucky…”

“Shh…” His body hums from the little sound you make at the feeling of his breath on your ear. “Trust me.”

He undresses you and then himself. While he could and would happily take you once more that’s not his goal here. Kneeling on the edge of the mattress he pulls you down into his arms. Cradling you against him he lays you both down on your side, your back against his chest facing the fire.

“Rest,” he breathes into your ear. “We have all the time in the world.”

-

For a while, neither of you sleep. You just revel in the heat from the fire and Bucky’s body pressed close to yours. Listen to the sound of the fire crackling, his steady breath. Eventually, though you both drift off into a deep sleep.

When you wake a few hours later it’s late afternoon. You haven’t moved and he’s still out if his light snores and steady breathing are to be believed. You’re a bit stiff from having been in the same place for so long but you feel more relaxed and rested than you have in… well years.

You let your power slide over your skin between Bucky’s arms and your torso, lifting just enough so you can slide from his embrace without waking him. He groans just a touch before turning onto his stomach and settling back to sleep.

A little smile curls the edges of your lips as you watch him for a moment. The afternoon light and the glowing embers of the fire painting every shadow golden. He looks so peaceful so… well beautiful. You wish for a moment that you could take a photo, capture this forever…

Duh. You do have a camera. Quietly, you pad to the bedroom and pull your phone from the bag. The screen may be cracked and the camera low quality but you snap a picture anyway. Maybe you’d delete it but for now, it feels good to have saved this.

Back in the bedroom, you slip into leggings and a thick oversized sweater before fishing out your copy of Anne Rice’s Servant of The Bones. Without a sound you creep outside, curling your power around the old door hinges to keep them from squeaking.

Despite the storm earlier, the sunset is blazing bright and beautiful, pinks and oranges and reds. You breathe in a lungful of clean rain washed country air. It doesn’t quite smell like your childhood but it’s so close. You had forgotten how peaceful being away from the city could be.

Softly you laugh a bit at yourself as you sit on the steps of the back porch. You ran as far away from rural life as possible. Ran to lose yourself in the noise and people and smog. It was true you found a new version of yourself there. Someone who couldn’t sleep if it was too quiet and who didn’t mind that there was rarely a peaceful spot in the city. Someone relished in a packed and reeking subway car because it was so unlike what you’d known before.

But you never actually lost the child who would wander for hours in the woods, fish for crawdads in the ditches after a rain, or pick dewberries in spring and fall. 

She was always in you when you ran off to the beach in the middle of the night to watch the water and be alone. Or when you’d lay on the roof after a nightmare wishing you could see the stars. You feel her here now in the quiet of this old abandoned farm, the soothing sound of the breeze through the trees, in the smell of the rich damp earth. It’s good to have her again. Good to know even after everything she’s still here.

You hear the floorboards creak in the house but don’t feel the need to drag your eyes from the scene before you. It was just Bucky, no need for worry or fear here. He takes a seat behind you, thighs flanking you. You lean back into him. He’s solid and comforting. A low contented hum vibrates through his chest as his arms hold you close.

“It’s beautiful here.” You lift his right hand, turning it over, studying the callouses.

“Mhm, better with you though.”

You laugh softly, leaning your head back to look up at him. “Sap.” His smile is so gentle as he meets your gaze and plants a kiss on your forehead.

His lips are still pressed to your skin as his whispers, “I love you.”

For a moment you hold one another’s gaze, both seemingly awestruck. “I love all of you.” Bucky’s emotions are just at the surface, his eyes close and you see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows hard.

Your head falls against his chest once more and you sit in comfortable silence, soaking in the beauty of the moment. Honestly, you could have stayed there forever. But after a while, your stomach growls in protest at being ignored.

“Come on,” Bucky stands, extending his hand to you. “Tomorrow’ll have another sunset.”

You’d intended to eat earlier before he brought up the ridiculous notion of ‘training.’ Now you actually take in the spread. He must have been bringing things in all week. Wine, whiskey, bottles of water, snack food, vegetables, canned goods, fruit are all stacked on the counter and open shelves of the kitchen.

“Plums?!” Greedily you grab the dark purple fruit. It’s just soft enough to tell you it’s perfectly ripe and you bite in. The taste floods your mouth and you groan in pleasure.

Bucky laughs a little as you sit on the table top, “Guessing you like them.”

You nod, swallowing a large juicy bite. “Plums and peaches are my favorite. When I was a kid someone was always selling them on the roadside. You could get a ton, fresh from some old man in a pickup, for next to nothing.” Taking another bite you remember making yourself sick once eating fruit, getting sticky in the summer heat. “Probably the last good ones you’ll find until spring.”

He leans next to you, biting into his own deep purple fruit. “Cheers,” he holds it up and you touch them together giggling.

“I got anything that could keep without electricity,” he motions to the kitchen, indicating the lack of a refrigerator. “The stove works but it’s wood burning.”

“That’ll be a new adventure.”

It’s not one you take that night. Instead, you crack open a bottle of wine and leisurely eat bread, crackers, meat, cheese, and fruit in front of the fire. Bucky plugs the lights into their battery casting the space in soft warm light. Simple though it may be, it may be the best meal you’ve shared.

You open another bottle of wine, neither of you really feeling the effects of the first, and curl up on the couch your legs in his lap. As you pass the bottle between you he massages your calves.

“Mmm,” you hum handing him the bottle, “that feels amazing.” He casts you a warm smile making your blood sing far more than the wine.

“Did you spend a lot of nights like this?”

“What’d you mean?”

“Before… everything. Ya know firelight, peace and quiet, wine?”

He snorts, “You do know I grew up in Brooklyn right?”

“Well yeah but… I figured it was different then, I guess.”

His head falls onto the back of the couch as he looks at the ceiling, a smile on his face. “I’m sure it isn’t the same Brooklyn anymore… But, at least when I was there, peace and quiet weren’t two things that went along with most any part of the city.” You giggle a little. “What?”

“I don’t know if I’ve ever noticed it before but you have a little bit of an accent.”

“Do I?” His eyes sparkle when they slide to catch your nod. A small laugh huffs out, “Good.”

He takes a long drink, gesturing to the fireplace with the bottle. “Light a fire like this in the tenements, likely to light the whole damn block up.” The bottle turns in his hand, “Wine though. That was a part of plenty of long nights. Though I always preferred whiskey.”

“Hmm,” you take the bottle and drink. “that doesn’t surprise me. If I get to chose I’m a gin girl myself.”

“Ooooh,” he croons. “classy.”

You laugh, “Hardly.”

A contented sigh curls from between his lips like smoke. “I always had to find peace and quiet though… three sisters and my parents then a cramped apartment with Steve.” He shakes his head, “Enough to drive a man crazy.”

“Where’d you go?” You reposition to lay your head in his lap. He sets the empty bottle to the side, fingers scratching your scalp. If you were a cat you’d be purring.

“The beach at night I’d-”

“Sit out and watch the water.” Your smile is huge.

“Yeah. How’d-”

“I’d do the same. All the time.”

With a feather-light touch, the fingers of his left hand trace the bow of your lips, the curve of your chin, down to your collarbones. “We’ll go back one day,” his voice is low, heavy with the weight of purpose, “I promise. We’ll go home,” his voice cracks a little, “together.”

Chapter 38

The next morning Bucky wakes up to the sound of rain softly pattering on the windows and your head resting on his chest, warm skin pressed tight against him. In his early morning haze, it takes him a minute to realize that this isn’t a dream.

A lump rises in his throat as he looks at you, remembering his promise from the night before. He wasn’t sure how he’d fulfill that one… Hell, half the governments in the world likely had a damn good reason to want his head, how could he do something as risky as going back to the States. Still… he’d find a way.

There’s no way to not wake you. Ever so gently he lifts you a touch, sliding to the side and settling you onto the pillow.

“Bucky?” You breathe out, eyes still closed.

“Shh,” he whispers in your ear. “Go back to sleep baby doll. I’m not goin’ anywhere.” He waits until he can tell you’ve drifted off before he gets up.

In the bedroom, he slips into sweats, a tee, and a thick cardigan. He hates the cold. As soon as you’re awake he’ll build the fire up again. Maybe watch some movies… or read… or… well, anything you damn well pleased. A smile curls his lips at the thought.

Calling on every stealth skill he has he quietly lights the wood laying in the iron stove in the kitchen. You’d want coffee but he didn’t want you to wake up before it was ready.

As he fills the large percolator with bottled water a familiar buzzing starts in his head. In the months since everything in DC he’s gotten used to the signs of his brain forging lost connections. His hands pause and he lets it happen.

Memories of a different kitchen flicker in his mind, small and cold and shabby. The thought that the apartment is too cold and that Steve will get sick rolls in his mind. He’ll heat the place up but first coffee. Two flesh hands grind the coffee, fill the percolator, and do all the small tasks they do every morning before he goes to work. It’s familiar. He can smell the stove, hear a cough come from Steve, feel the worry for his friend coil in his gut… Then it fades.

He’ll write that down when he’s done. Even the smallest things mattered to him. If there were a thousand notebooks filled with every detail he could muster of his life so be it. Bucky wasn’t going to let anyone make him forget ever again…

Setting the percolator on the stove he creeps to the room to grab the notebook labeled “Home.” He leans against the counter by the useless sink and begins to write. The smell of coffee scents the air and his eyes sting a touch from tears he won’t let fall as he works his own brand of necromancy on himself.

He’s so lost in this for a bit that he doesn’t hear you get up.

“That smells amazing.” His gaze shoots to the opening of the kitchen. You’re wrapped in nothing but the blanket, face still soft from sleep, head leaning against the trim. He swallows hard and you seem to register something.

Concern hardens your features and you quickly stride up to him. “Bucky are you ok?” Your free hand cups the side of his face. Smiling he turns to kiss your palm.

“Yeah. Good memories, promise.” Your brows knit but you nod in acknowledgment.

He moves the coffee to the warm spot on the stove to stop the brewing before tugging you into his arms. Unresisting, you nuzzle your face into his chest causing his heart to skip a beat.

“You’re gonna get cold in just that blanket,” he speaks into the crown of your head, loving the soft feeling of your hair on his face.

“Hmm…” Both your hands grab his ass causing the blanket to fall from you. He laughs a little as you look up at him. “I think you can help me fend off hypothermia.”

“Oh?” He smirks.

Your eyes wander down to the front of his tightening sweatpants, “Yeah. Pretty sure.”

You hook your fingers into the elastic band of his sweats and lower to your knees while tugging them down. When you look up at him with those big beautiful eyes his breath catches. He thinks to tell you that you don’t need to do this, that he doesn’t deserve this and… A smile lights up your features as your nails dig softly into his thighs. Once your tongue flits out, catching the small bead of moisture at the tip of his twitching cock, there’s no room for thoughts outside of you, of this moment right now.

As your lips slide over his head, tongue tracing along it, a groan tumbles from his slack mouth. You take all of him in eyes looking up and holding his gaze. Your pupils are huge, eyes sparkling with mischief.

When you slide him out of your mouth after a bit he almost protests. Before he can practically beg you not to stop you grip his cock, hand gliding up and down twisting just a bit. He thinks it’s enough to drive him mad… until you tilt your head down and drag your tongue along the seam of his sack.

“Shit!” His head falls back, hands gripping your shoulders. Gently you trace his balls with your tongue, taking each in your mouth causing his knees to tremble. “Baby…” He moans.

You return your mouth to the head of his cock, your hand still working his shaft. Your free hand cups his balls and he feels his knees to truly begin to give way. “Christ,” he pants hips thrusting forward as his hands reach behind him for the counter.

The ancient linoleum counter cracks beneath his grip but he could care less. “Doll… fuck…” His thighs tense, as a wet sucking sound meets his ears. Your pace picks up, a finger sliding just behind his balls, pressing up. He moans low.

“I…” The words die. “God, fuck…” The corners of your eyes crinkle, clearly amused. “Y/N,” he feels the tension in his abdomen, his body drawing tight like a bowstring ready to snap. Another maddening sound. “Bab- Y/N… if you… I… I c-can’t.” He can’t believe he’s stuttering. But had this ever felt so good? Even before?

He’s about past the point that he can hold back. Right on the verge of coming but you stop dead and lean back on your heels wiping at the moisture dripping down your chin. You smirk up at him as he stares trembling, dumbfounded. Shock waves pulse through his body, cock throbbing, desperate for release.

Bucky can’t help but smile at your self-satisfied expression. Gripping your shoulders he pulls you to your feet, stepping free of his sweats as he backs you into the wall. He kisses you hard, pushing his weight into you, the feeling of the flesh of your abdomen against the hard length of him almost enough to make him come. Almost.

“That was just mean,” he rumbles in your ear before nipping at your neck. You shudder beneath him. He wants to feel you but… His left-hand slides down your body and between your legs. You gasp, satisfaction blossoming in his chest. “Two can play at that game sweetheart.”

His middle finger slides over your already wet slit and a satisfied hum vibrates through you. When the metal presses against your clit you cry out, head falling against his chest as your hips grind against him.

“You like that?” He purrs.

“Yes,” you sigh turning your head against his chest, looking at him with hungry eyes.

With a smirk he stops for a second, loving the little pout on your lips. He kisses them, catching the bottom one in his teeth while his index and middle finger slip further down to slide into you. Your moan fills his mouth, sweeter than honey. 

Slowly he fucks you, sucking away your shuddering breaths with his kisses. The cry you release as his thumb finds your clit sends goosebumps over his whole body.  

“Fuck,” you groan.

“Not gonna come already are you?”

“I… I…”

“Hmm?” He holds your fluttering gaze as he works in a third finger, fucking you hard, stretching you open just a bit. A feral sound tears through you as your head falls back against the wall. He curls his fingers just a touch and your eyes clench shut.

“Oh… oh god…”

He grabs your chin with his right hand, “No, not him,” he growls. Your eyes shoot open burning with lust.

“Bucky…” you moan.

“That’s better,” he smirks, loving the sound of his name on your lips.

“Bucky, please…” He feels your body shudder.

Smiling he presses a kiss to your neck before whispering, “No.”

He pulls his fingers from you. Before your whimper fully exits your mouth he’s gripping your hips and lifting you. Your legs instantly wrap around him and he plunges inside you.

Both of you cry out in pleasure. Your tight slick walls squeeze him and he just about loses it immediately. But he wants to feel this, feel you for a bit longer.

“Y/N,” he groans before covering your mouth with his. You meet his pace, hips rolling, the tingle of your power lashing over his skin in the most amazing way. Desperately he tries to hold back.

“Harder,” you plead, hips thrusting hard against him. He holds your gaze, concerned. Your fingers tangle in his hair and tug a bit. “You’re not gonna break me.” With strength that almost matches his own, you yank his head to yours and kiss him hard then pull his hair back to break the connection. “Fuck me, Bucky.”

Knowing you won’t fall he releases you and braces his hands on the wall. Your hands slide under his shirt, nails dragging down his back eliciting a deep groan from him. You feel so amazing, your expression urging him to give you everything.

Your lips tangle together as he slams into you. His forehead rests on yours as he fucks you hard. Words beyond you both at this point, your sounds of pleasure a language all your own. He hears he plaster crack under you, feels his fingers sink into the wall. And he couldn’t give a single fuck.

He feels you tighten around him, his abdomen clenches. Holding your burning gaze with his own you nod and that’s it. Groaning he comes, bliss flooding every cell of his body. Your cry making his heart soar.

-

You’re completely certain that you have never in your whole entire life came that hard. It feels like every hair follicle on your body is zinging with electricity. All your muscles are trembling. And… the way he’s looking at you…

“I love you, Bucky.”

“I love all of you, Y/N.” A broad smile tugs at your face.

“Hey, that’s my line.” You peck the tip of his nose.

The sound of metal gears draws your gaze up and to the left. His fingers are buried in the wall to the second knuckle. As he pulls them free a chunk of plaster falls to the ground. Laughter bubbles from you both as he settles you onto the ground.

You turn and observe the wrecked wall. “Could have been worse,” you look back to him, “we could’ve gone through it.”

Another laugh bellows from him, “I guess you’re not wrong.”

“Think that coffee’s still good?” You glance back to the percolator on the stovetop.

He shrugs, “Passible.”

“Good enough for me,” you lift on your toes and kiss his cheek.

It’s a peacefully gloomy day outside, the sun never really making an appearance. That’s just fine with you. The two of you stay in comfy clothes and watch some of the movies he brought along, including Freaks. Naps are had, books are read, there’s no rush to anything.

By the time evening rolls around you are begging for this sense of peace and safety to never leave.

You sit curled on the couch watching the fire crackle in the hearth, listening as the rain falls outside, and sipping the whiskey in your glass. You may really love a good gin and tonic but the warm liquor is perfect right now. Music suddenly joins in with the other soothing sounds of the night.

Turning you see Bucky smiling, leaning between the kitchen and living room. “Can’t let you fall out of practice.” He holds out a hand, “Dance with me?”

His hopeful expression fills you with warmth. You set your glass down on the little side table and meet him halfway.

“Ok, I make you no promises.”

He laughs, “We have plenty of time to get it right.”

You don’t know how long you dance together. Sometimes you try to keep form and do it right but others you sway or do whatever you feel like laughing all the while. By the end, the steps feel so easy, you don’t even think of them.

“You’re a natural,” he coos into your ear as you lean your back to his chest.

“Hardly. Just had a good teacher.”

After another night of amazing sleep, you feel… like yourself. It’s so strange.

The sun comes out and you both decide to go for a long walk. You don’t feel uncomfortable but you do keep sending your power out, testing what you can feel. Nothing but foliage and animals rustling around you. After a while you stop, allowing yourself to let your guard down fully and simply enjoy this.

That night you curl up next to Bucky, comfortably tired. A gentle smile on your face.

“Thank you for this, Buck.”

You feel his pause as he processes. “You’re welcome, doll.”

-

Bucky has already grown used to the feeling of your power on his skin. You’ll send it out when you want to try to reposition without waking him or disturbing him much. He’d never tell you that he notices because he kind of likes the warm tingle.

Suddenly it’s not the gentle caress he’s used to. It’s also not on his skin. Bucky feels it… inside of his body. It wraps around his lungs… and constricts. Gasping his eyes shoot open, adrenaline shooting through his veins.

One second you were in his arms then you’re gone. He wants to focus on that but he cannot breathe. No matter how hard he tries to force his lungs to expand they can’t, this invisible force has them in a vice grip.

Just before darkness blots out the slight glow from the embers of the fire he’s set free. Desperately he gulps down lungfuls of air coughing. His eyes search for you but in his panic he misses you.

“Y/N!” He wheezes out.

Then he sees you, pressed up against the ceiling in the corner, frozen. You look like a ghost there, expression wild, visage unearthly barely lit by the orange glow from the hearth.

“Doll?” He whispers, trying to keep his voice steady. “Come down it’s-” He doesn’t finish before you propel yourself from the corner, faster than he’s ever seen you use your power before. You’re heading for the door.

Jumping up he catches your ankle, much as he had when you were playing around a couple of days ago. This time instead of a smile and laugh though you shriek, not quite a scream and not quite a growl, kicking at him. He manages to pull you down to him, holding you tight.

“Shh, Y/N, it’s me. You’re-” A muscle in his abdomen seizes. The pain is worse than a blow and so unexpectedly intense he can’t contain the scream. Despite his best efforts, he loses his grip on you, staggering, clutching at his gut. If he didn’t know better he’d think he’d been shot.

You back up against the wall, staring in pure terror. Your power lashes out the floorboards shake, the house groans, the fire pokers clatter to the floor and embers stir in the air like fireflies. But the intense pain fades to a dull roar and… you’re not running.

“Y/N, I know you’re scared. Listen to my voice, focus on me.”

As if in response your head tilts to the side and an iron poker careens through the air embedding in the wall. For a split second, he gapes at the trembling makeshift spear. He just needs to get to you.

Holding his hands up in surrender he steps slowly toward you. “I am not going to hurt you. You know that.” Your brows knit as if you’re trying to understand, eyes blinking hard.

The house stops shaking and he thinks he’s getting through to you. Then your eyes imagine a threat that isn’t there and he loses you once more. He hears the old heavy couch scrape across the floor as you try to push it between you, pin him back with it. Moving in time he jumps over it, ignoring the throbbing in his abdomen.

“Y/N, baby please…” As he approaches you terror shoots through your features and you dodge, heading back into the bedroom, pressing yourself into a corner. A low keening rises from you and he thinks his heart may truly shatter.

Your terrified sound is punctuated with words now. “Please… please don’t… please.”

Bile rises hot in his throat. His own mind picking out a variety of horrible things you could be begging to no happen to you. Images of Pierce and Rumlow flash. The things they did to him… what would they have done to you.

Now isn’t the time. Shaking his head he tries to clear the images, swallow the sick feeling in his throat. He kneels across from you trying to make himself smaller, less threatening. Inch by inch he pulls closer to you.

“Y/N,” your face is pressed into your knees, “look at me. Please.” Slowly your eyes rise up, wide and wild with fear. “Ok. Feel what’s real. Feel me…” He holds his right hand out. Hope surges in his chest when you tentatively take his hand. Your other feels out the rough wood of the floor.

“The other stuff, it’s not real.” He twines his fingers with yours. “Focus on what you can feel.”

“B… Bucky?” He can see some of the panic drain from your face.

“I’m right here, baby.” His thumb strokes the back of your hand. “I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

Your eyes clench shut, “I… I…” Words fail you.

“I know,” he whispers. Every part of him aches to hold you in his arms but he doesn’t want to startle you or trigger you in some way.

He looks down at your fingers curled tight around his own, your knuckles white even in the darkness. Suddenly you jerk your hand away. Looking back at you he sees your eyes lock on something in the darkness behind him. You begin to rise, knees still pressed to your chest.

Hoping it’s the right thing his arms immediately wrap around you, pulling you close to his chest. You fight him just a touch, unfurling in the process until you’ve turned to have your back against his chest. Still, he holds you tight.

“There’s nothing here but us, Y/N. Nothing.”

“No! I-”

“If they were here do you think I’d let them, anyone, hurt you?” You relax a small bit, but he can feel your heart thundering. The words tumble from his lips, “You’re safe with me, Y/N. Safe.” He holds you even tighter. “I will never let anything hurt you again.”

You make a small sound and a flashlight from the bedside table flings across the room. “There’s just us, baby. Just me. Feel me.” Your trembling hands latch onto his forearms. “That’s it. Feel me.”

As your fingers trail up and down his arms, studying, focusing, you begin to violently shake in his grip. He can feel tingles of your power, nothing like before, but almost like shock waves after an explosion.

“I’ve got you.” He presses his lips to the crown of your head and lifts you into his arms. You let him, your own arms wrapping around his neck, face hidden in his chest.

Gently he sets you down on the bed before going to build up the fire. When he releases you your hands grab for him desperately. His chest constricts.

Cupping your face tenderly he assures you, “I’m not goin’ anywhere. Just gonna start the fire. Ok?” You nod a little.

In minutes he has the flames up, pouring light and heat into the space. You begin to look around the fading shadows for any signs that your nightmares had come true.

“See?” He sits next to you. “No monsters but me.” Your glare is reproachful but he takes it as a good sign and smiles a little.

Gently he traces the scar on your cheek. You grab his hand, studying it, holding it tight, tremors still rocking you. He doesn’t dare move wanting to let you come back to yourself at whatever pace you need.

You release his hand and immediately pull his tee that you’d worn to bed over your head. He’s so unsure of what to do or say. Your mouth opens but nothing comes out. Frustration flashes in your eyes. Instead, you grab both of his hands and pull him to you. Unresisting he moves, allowing you to show him what you need from him.

Slowly you both fall to the bed, you urge him on top of you. He’d give you anything but…

“Y/N…” You shake your head no as he rests on his forearms above you, your legs wrapping around his hips. He can’t deny it feels good to just have your skin pressed to his… then he understands.

“I… just… want to… feel…” You struggle to get the words out.

Bucky looks down into your eyes, “Of course.” He kisses you softly. “I love you, Y/N. All of you.” He winks playfully and you smile a little. It feels like a victory.

Chapter 39

When the sun finally peeks through the windows you’re on your side, face hidden in Bucky’s chest, bodies pressed as close as you can get them.

He kisses the top of your head. “Do you want coffee, doll?” You shrug, unsure you want him to let you go. He squeezes you, “Come on, we can watch the sunrise.”

Bucky releases you and sits up. For a moment you feel untethered without his skin against yours. Until you look at his torso.

“Oh god, Bucky!” On his left ribcage and near the middle of his abdomen are large dark purple bruises, the faintest touches of green on the outer edges.

“I’m ok, Y/N,” he insists. You ignore him knowing what could be under them. Gently you lay your hands over the bruises, sending your power into him. You hate this. Hate that you can do this. But-

“Y/N, what are you-”

“You could have internal bleeding, or a cracked rib, or a clot, or-”

“I am fine, baby,” he tries to move your hands away but you don’t let him. Your sense seeks out anything that could be life-threatening. You’d only ever used this to harm… “Can you really feel if somethings… wrong?”

You can’t look at him, just nod.

“That’s incredible.” You want to tell him it’s not. It’s monstrous. Being able to feel inside of someone like this makes you feel less than human… you don’t though because he’d stop you and you need to be sure you didn’t hurt him more than what was obvious.

Once it’s clear that he really is ok save for some nasty bruising you sigh and sit back on the bed, your head falling into your hands. “I could have killed you…” It’s barely a whisper.

“I shouldn’t have grabbed you like I did. I-”

“I could have killed you, Bucky!” You snap.

“Ok. And I could have killed you the other night. We’re even.”

You stare at him, jaw slack. Even.

“Y/N…” He moves to stroke your cheek. You slap his hand away and shoot to your feet, turning your back to avoid the hurt in his eyes.

Your mind flies back to your determination to survive when you thought he’d come from Hydra to collect you, to his statement a couple of days ago about using everything you had in you to fight for yourself and those you love… He’d been so right then—about your fear.

For thirty years you’d been terrified of so many things but the first true thing you’d learned to be afraid of was the person in the mirror. All that fear meant you never learned to control this force which somehow lived inside you, not really. Hydra had sharpened its edges but didn’t necessarily teach you how to wield it; you were their weapon after all, not your own… Now your lack of control put the man you loved at risk. Maybe if you could control it, control your strength, your body and this…

“Bucky,” slowly you turn to face him braced for any emotion to be written on his face but the patience you see there. Your words catch in your throat, momentarily overwhelmed.

Tender hands cup your face as his lips press gently to your own. Some of the tension immediately melts away. 

You loved him, it still made your head spin but to the marrow of your bones, you knew this truth. Reluctantly you break the kiss, looking into his eyes, warmer than their slate blue color had any right to be.

“I want you to train me.” He blinks as if trying to clear his vision, expression disbelieving. “What I did…” Your hands hover above the bruises.

“Doll, you weren’t-”

“In control,” you cut him off. “I know. That’s the problem. You barely put a scratch on me the other night because you can control yourself, you understand what you can do. I’ve never been in control.”

“I’m not exactly qualified to help you figure out your ability, Y/N.”

“I know. But if I can understand the rest of… me better… maybe I can sort that part out on my own.”

His lips curl, arms crushing you to him, “I know you can, baby.

Spitting mud from your mouth the next morning you’re beginning to regret this whole idea entirely.

“You gotta get up faster than that, darlin’.” You shoot him a sidelong glare and pull his feet from under him.

He falls but to prove a point is up and in fighting stance in a blink. Bastard.

Groaning you stand. “Can we please take a break?”

“We’ve only been working for two hours.” His cocky smirk makes you want to punch him in his beautiful face, “You can’t tell me you’re already tired.”

It felt so much longer than two fucking hours. You’d thought yesterday afternoon had been tough—running, testing your strength, pull-ups, other physical activities you loathed. All that was nothing compared to sparring with Bucky, it was like being against a machine, even with him holding back.

You roll your eyes putting your tired body back into position. Before you’re fully ready he has you in a chokehold, this time without restraint.

Your breath cut to just a trickle, your power begins to rise but you press it down. Control, you want control.

“I know they taught you to fight,” you struggle to break free and fail. “I saw it when you got away from me on the balcony,” his voice is low, breath hot and tantalizing on your ear. “But you’re only able to think like a fighter when you’re panicked. That’s not gonna work.” He loosens his grip just enough to keep you from passing out.

“What they did to you didn’t just affect your body, it changed your brain too.” He kicks your feet out, catching your legs between his own as he lowers to his knees, effectively trapping you. “You think faster, absorb details better, but you aren’t used to it so you push back unless you’re in fight or flight.”

Darkness presses in. Panic explodes in the back of your mind causing you to lose your grip on your power. It beings to push against Bucky’s hold on you as you flail.

“No,” he growls closing the few inches you’d placed between you, grip once again tight on your throat. “Think. They trained your body but not your mind, you’ve gotta use everything together to be in control. Think, Y/N.”

He said it like it was so simple but… Maybe it was. With effort, you force the curtain of panic to the side. Instead of holding tight to control though—you let go, allowing your subconscious to take the wheel without fully getting out of the car.

In an instant, your brain buzzed with information. Consciously you push away the bits relevant to your power and instead focus on nothing but what you can do with your body. The out is suddenly so clear you’re embarrassed you didn’t see it before.

Bucky’s arm may be around your throat but he’s not truly restraining your head, instead keeping your left arm pinned with his own. Your head slams back into his causing his grip to give just enough so that your right arm can slip through his elbow breaking his hold, allowing oxygen to fill your lungs. Pivoting your body forward with all your strength you manage to gain enough leverage to slam you both backward. His grip releases fully. Shooting to your feet you press your boot to his throat.

Blood pours from his nose but his smile is bright. “Good job, baby.”

A day later he looks back at you, perched on the kitchen table, with an exaggerated expression of concern. “I have terrible news, doll.”

“What?” Your brows knit.

He holds up the empty coffee canister, “We’re out.”

“Well, that’s just unacceptable.” Honestly, pretty much everything was gone. “I cannot be expected to work in these deplorable conditions, Sergeant.”

“I wouldn’t dream of asking it of you.” He strolls before you, kissing your lips. “You ready to head back to the city.”

You look around the sparse kitchen before sighing and wrapping your arms around his waist. “Yeah…”

“We’ll be back soon.” He pulls away, tone light, “Besides, you’re nowhere near done training.”

“Much to learn you still have,” you say in your best Yoda voice. A laugh bursts from you at his confused expression. “My god, you haven’t seen Star Wars. We have to fix that.”