Only For A Moment

Chapter 40

The last six months had felt endless but the last six weeks were a blur.

Somehow, every morning, he woke up and you were there in his arms. Every day, even the bad ones, he felt the comforting touch of your hand. Most days, he heard your laugh and the ones where he didn’t he was lucky to be there to dry your tears.

He did, despite everything, feel lucky. Every time you caught him staring at you, a little blush rising to your cheeks he felt it—every time you let him touch you, wanted him to touch you, he felt it. Bucky still struggled to wrap his mind around that feeling. To be lucky, after all this time. To be… loved.

Whether it was the passage of time or your presence in his world, he was remembering more and more every day too. It also meant feeling more though and there were times he hated it, times he almost longed to be empty again. It seemed easier than this aching.

Walking down the cold Bucharest streets—filled with happy tourists and locals, lit with Christmas lights strung from anything that would stand still—was one of those times.

All he could think was how his sisters and ma would have loved this. Or… well, the sisters he remembered would love this. The kids who loved Christmas, who couldn’t wait to go ice skating or for the first snow—he’d never know what the women they became would like.

Tears sting his eyes before he pushes the emotions away. It didn’t do any good to dwell on what he’d never know when there was so much he was still trying to remember. Best to focus on the now.

Right now, he was out to get your afternoon coffee.

You’d been watching Mr. Goldstein’s shop while he visited family for Hanukah, even before though you’d been spending some time most every day in the cozy place. Bucky had made a habit of bringing you coffee at least once a day. It made you smile and it was a good excuse to check-in.

Typically he brings you something simple from a local shop but today he wants to get you something special. He’d teased you when you’d groaned in longing after seeing a sign for some peppermint concoction at Starbucks, it sounded disgusting to him—peppermint decidedly did not belong in coffee, but he didn’t have to agree to surprise you.

As he stares at the Starbucks, teeming with bodies, he almost decides against this. He’d been better at crowds recently, you both had, but that was together.

“It’s just a coffee shop, Barnes,” he grumbles to himself. “Get it together.” With that, he takes a deep breath and dives in. It takes nearly a half-hour and what feels like a few years off of his overextended life to get two drinks.

Once outside he takes a few huge gulps of crisp air to try and calm the chaos in his chest. Unfortunately, it does the opposite. The icy cold of the air filling his lungs sends flashes of cryo slicing through his consciousness.

Not real, he tells himself. That’s not real. Not now.

With effort he forces himself to focus on what is real. The smell of the chocolate and peppermint rising from your coffee cup, the sound of the traffic, the laugh of a group of people somewhere to his left, the heat from the coffees slowly seeping through his gloves.

Slowly he opens his eyes. They don’t betray him, revealing only a bustling Bucharest afternoon. Huffing in relief he pulls his scarf over his nose and mouth, wanting to feel as little of the cold against his skin as possible before he heads toward the bookstore.

The now-familiar bell above the door tingles in welcome. You’re not behind the counter, instead, he’s greeted by Victor’s demanding meow.

“Hey, pal.” Gently he scratches under the large orange cat’s chin, earning a loud purr.

There are a few people milling about, Bucky can hear your softly accented Romanian from the children’s section. He peeks around the corner to see you kneeling next to a little boy, advising him on his selection.

You seem to sense his gaze and look up, your beautiful eyes lighting with a smile. Just seeing you chased away the coldness and anxiety that had crept in. He nods and turns to the counter, setting his backpack down, leaving you with your littlest customer.

Sipping his coffee he takes in the other patrons. Assessing people was second nature to him now. They all appear to be just average folks, out doing a little holiday shopping. It doesn’t allow him to let his guard down but it does feel good to know there’s likely no threat nearby at the moment.

Victor stretches languidly as soon as Bucky takes a seat on the stool, his warm lap clearly a preferable bed to the papers on the countertop. As the cat moves he can’t help but see what the feline had been hiding. On various scrap pieces of paper and unwanted receipts are sketches of figures, doodles, a few more detailed drawings of clothing pieces.

Steve would leave similar things around their apartment. Sketches and art supplies littered everywhere, to find Steve you could practically follow the trail. He remembers… one Christmas Steve drew Bucky’s Ma a portrait of him and the girls. Ma had loved it but when she saw that Steve wasn’t in it too she made him put himself in it before getting it framed.

Quickly Bucky reaches into his bag, disturbing Victor in the process. The cat throws him a sideways glance, making his way to the back room. He’d bring him some tuna tomorrow to make up for this egregious offense, but this was a memory he didn’t want to risk forgetting.

After a few minutes, your warm hand settles tenderly between his hunched shoulders. He still shivers with pleasure a little every time you touch him.

“Hey,” your voice is low, lips curled into a soft smile. He wished he could kiss you, the thought distracting him from realizing there are customers approaching the counter.

“Sorry!” He hops up to move away, slightly embarrassed.

You tick up an eyebrow, “Yes, I expect a full written apology for daring to sit here.”

He rolls his eyes, smiling despite himself.

“I wanna pay!” The little boy you’d been helping demands, looking up at his mother, a clearly pregnant young woman.

“Ok, ok,” she laughs handing him a few bills.

“You made a good choice,” you tell him. “I bet your new little sister will love this.”

“Yeah!” He beams with pride as you hand him his change and the book he so carefully chose. His mother thanks you and they head out.

Bucky picks up your cup to distract him from the tightness in his chest, “Here.”

You eye the Starbucks cup before taking a sip. A giggle bursts from your lips causing concern to bloom. “Is it the right one? It was the only peppermint thing they had.”

“It’s perfect. You just swore it was an abomination so I’m surprised.” You take another deep drink, “Thank you.” Behind the counter, you give his thigh a squeeze.

The three other people make their selections and cash out within the next 10 minutes. In that time Bucky makes his way about the shop, making sure things are in relative order so you can leave faster.

Once you’ve locked the door and pulled the shades over the large window he immediately tugs you to him, hungry for your kiss. Instead of feeling your soft lips, he’s met the cardboard of your coffee cup.

“You can kiss me only after you try this.” You give him a mischievous smirk.

“That is far too high a price,” he tries to snake his head around the obstacle.

“Nope,” you scoot to the side, holding the cup between you. “No sip, no kiss, for… 24 hours.”

“Ya know, I feel like I’m being punished here.” Obstinately he crosses his arms.

“Your call.” You flit your tongue out to wet your full bottom lip, clearly teasing him.

“You drive a hard bargain, woman.” Begrudgingly he plucks the cup from your hand and takes a sip. Damn. As much as he wanted to hate it he had to admit that it was very good, a little sweet maybe but hey, it was Christmas.

“So?” You eye him expectantly. Rather than answer he takes another drink, this one much larger than the last. “Hey! That’s mine.”

He holds it above your grasp, “This is your fault. You insisted I try it.” When he goes to drink it again nothing comes out. There’s still plenty in the cup but the liquid doesn’t budge. You’re holding up your right index finger, directing just enough of your power to the coffee to keep it from moving.

Behind you, his own cup hovers in the air, tilting bit by bit on its side. “Put the peppermint mocha down and no one gets hurt,” you say with mock severity.

“No need to get crazy.” Holding his right hand up in surrender he sets your cup down, his follows suit.

“Smart man.”

“Sometimes.” Unable to wait a moment more he kisses you until you’re both breathless—everything in him going quiet.

You make a satisfying sound before patting him on the chest and pulling back. “I gotta close up.”

“Mmm,” he hums, leaning in to nibble your neck.

“Bucky…” He grabs your ass with both hands. “Not in front of the cat.” He pauses, looking down at an indignant Victor. You both stare at the cat for a moment before bursting into laughter.

“Wow, way to ruin the moment, pal.” Victor lets out a loud meow before winding his way through both your legs. With a sigh Bucky leans down, gathering the orange beast in his arms. Immediately he’s gifted with loud contented purrs.

You smile at them both tenderly, “You’re cute.” Lifting off the ground a touch you kiss his cheek.

“Will you feed him while I get things ready to go?”

“Sure. Let’s get you some grub buzzkill.” Victor meows in approval.

The sun is just peeking above the horizon when you turn the key in the lock of the shop.

He wishes he could hold your hand, keep the warmth of you close, as you make your way home but with you still in what you call your ‘street drag’ it’s best you don’t. There’s no need to draw undue attention to yourselves. Even so, you walk as close to one another as possible.

The route home runs by the main area of the Christmas Market. You pause, taking in the lights sparkling in the growing dark.

“Wanna walk through it?”

He hates to deny you anything but the thought of this makes his stomach drop. “Uh, if you really want to.” Absently he scratches under his scarf.

“Another night. Let’s get you warm.” He smiles at you, thankful you think it’s just his dislike of the cold keeping him from wanting to be among all those happy families.

Always a woman of your word you do get him warm, in every imaginable way—your body against his, a hot delicious meal, even hot cider. Even so, as he holds you in his arms that night, he can’t shake the sadness.

-

The closer to Christmas it gets the darker Bucky’s mood seems to become.

He doesn’t have to tell you for you to understand. You’d never really had the ideal All American Christmas experience but you suspect he had sweet memories of the holiday, likely quite a few he was still struggling to remember. It must make the loss worse.

You try to avoid the topic. There’s no talk of gifts or anything like that. Unfortunately, the city is practically a winter wonderland which doesn’t help. Still, you do your best to steer clear of the more festive areas.

“Will you and Grant be celebrating the holiday with family?” Mr. Goldstein asks as you open up the shop on the 22nd.

“We… don’t really have much in the way of families.” It was better than saying that they were all dead but was a bit of a conversation killer nonetheless.

“Ah.” He groans a little as he takes his spot behind the counter. “Will this be your first Christmas then.”

“Yeah,” you sigh, “he’s not really, uh, feeling it.”

Mr. Goldstein nods knowingly, “It’s hard to move forward. When my wife passed it felt like we’d never celebrate the same, but the kids and I made new traditions. I’m sure you two will as well.”

Your hands freeze before shelving a book. He was right. True, your childhood hadn’t had many great holiday memories but hadn’t you made plenty of wonderful ones with friends? Why couldn’t you and Bucky do the same?

“Can I ask a favor?” You turn to him, breath held.

“Of course, zeeskeit.”

“Could I borrow your car?”

The morning of the 24th you make your last trip to the farmhouse.

Over the last few days you’d been bringing back ornaments, lights, a tree, only the good holiday movies, basically all the Christmastime necessities you could think of. Now you were finishing up with enough food and coffee to fuel a small army. Mr. Goldstein, being fully in on the plan, had even been pulling books he thought you’d both like so you had plenty of reading materials.

You only had a couple of hours to get everything perfect. If Bucky showed up to the shop before you got back he’d be suspicious.

“Get it all handled?” Mr. Goldstein asks with a grin when you rush back into the shop.

“Yup!” Your face hurts a little from smiling.

“Well,” he tosses the car keys you’d just given him back at you, “what’re you still doing here?”

“What?” You stare at the keys then him.

“It may snow. I don’t want you kids on that bike.” He smiles at you and you can’t help but fling your arms around this gentle soul.

He lets out a good-natured laugh, “Not like I’m going to need it.” With large warm hands, he pushes you back, “Go on. You two have a Happy Christmas.”

“Thank you!” You yell over your shoulder as you run out.

When you walk into the apartment a couple hours early Bucky jumps up from the couch, concern written all over him.

“What’s wrong?!”

“Nothing,” you say smiling. “It’s Christmas Eve. Mr. G kicked me out a little early.”

“Oh.” He forks his fingers through his hair, “I coulda come by and walked you back.”

Taking his face in your chilly hands you kiss him deeply. “No need.” Looking into his eyes always overwhelmed you, “I love you Bucky Barnes, all of you.”

That earned you a smile, “I love you too, sweetheart.”

“Now,” you playfully pat his ass before heading to the closet to grab his duffel, tossing it to him. “Pack a bag.”

Dumbstruck he stares at the bag for a moment, “What?”

“Pack. We’ve got somewhere to be.”

“We do?” He still doesn’t move, “Where?”

“It wouldn’t be much of a surprise if I told you.” Grabbing your own bag you begin shoveling sweaters inside. Looking over your shoulder he still hasn’t moved.

“Bucky?” He looks out of sorts, “Babe, are you ok?”

“Yeah,” he looks down at the bag, “yeah. I just thought… Well, I thought we’d have Christmas tomorrow… maybe.”

“I thought you weren’t into the season?” It takes everything you’ve got to not spill the beans with your heart turning to mush in your chest.

“I…” He wrings the bag in his hands. “I don’t know.” Biting your lip to keep your mouth shut you rush over to him, wrapping him up as he drops the bag.

He cocks a crooked smile, “I got you something. Not… It’s not much but…”

You cover his face with kisses making him laugh in confusion. “What’s that about?” He plants a kiss of his own on your lips.

“I just like you is all.” You bend down grabbing his duffel, “Why don’t you just let me take the lead and put your gift in here, promise I won’t look.”

With the car loaded you head out of the city.

“The farmhouse?” He looks at the dark building, then back to you.

“Can I trust you to wait here until I come get you?” His eyes narrow a bit. “Please,” you coo sweetly.

“I’m scared to see what you’re up to woman,” he smiles. “Fine.” He crosses his arms a smile at the corners of his mouth as you bolt from the car.

First off, you methodically handle the traps and alarms then kick on the generator. You’d wanted to put lights on the outside of the house but decided it was best to not, a safe house wasn’t very safe if it was glowing like a beacon. Instead, you focused your efforts inside.

Colored lights joined the white ones Bucky had draped to light the space previously. Over the mantle, you’d draped evergreen garland and two stockings were laid on the kitchen table to be put in their place later. In the corner to the left of the fireplace, a decent tree waited patiently for decorations. The mattress, still in front of the fireplace, had been piled high with blankets and pillows you’d purchased and thrifted to make a warm nest for you both.

You turn on the space heaters and light the fire you’d laid earlier that day. Before heading out to get him you hit play on the old battery-operated boombox you’d brought. Perry Como’s “No Place Like Home for The Holidays” fills the silence. It wasn’t much, but you hoped it would make him happy.

Stepping out onto the porch you quickly close the door behind you. He sees you and gets out of the car.

“Want me to grab the bags?” He asks.

“Sure.” You shrug trying to seem casual. He trudges up the steps with three bags in hand. Once on the porch, he pauses, head cocked listening.

“Y/N… what’re you-” Not letting him finish you open the door, stepping inside, arms spread wide.

Bucky’s jaw hangs open as he crosses the threshold, the bags clattering to the floor. Without looking back he kicks the door closed, wide eyes taking in the space.

“Merry Christmas,” you say softly. Hardly seeing him move, he scoops you into his arms, lifting you from the floor kissing you thoroughly.

“Thank you, Y/N. Thank you so much.”

Raking your fingers through his hair you study his expression. While his eyes glitter with tears his smile is warm enough to chase the lingering cold from the space. How was it possible to love someone this much?

You press your lips to his forehead, “Come on. That tree isn’t gonna decorate itself.”

Bucky lights the fire in the oven and you make cocoa with plenty of marshmallows and crushed peppermint before tackling the tree.

As you unwind the lights and plug them in, he pauses, seeming to be fascinated by the colored bulbs before he lets out a little laugh. He delicately lifts one of the large glass drops with a metal index finger and thumb.

“What is it?” You rest your hand on his forearm looking up at him.

“I… I remember the first time we had lights on the tree.”

“Really? Was it a big deal?”

Looking at your mildly confused expression he laughs, “I’m old as hell, remember?” You roll your eyes. “But yeah, it was a big deal.” He pauses, eyes focused on the lights.

“Pa almost didn’t get ‘em but Ma really wanted them so he gave in. We thought it was somethin’ special. Steve and his Ma came. My Ma made gingerbread…” He trails off and you swallow the lump in your throat.

“You should write that down.” You reach out to take the lights from him.

“Yeah,” his voice cracks a bit handing them over.

He grabs the right notebook from his bag and you curl up beside him on the old couch, your heart feeling like that animation in the Grinch.

And Y/N’s heart grew three sizes that day, you think to yourself.

When he’s done he reaches over, pulling you into his chest, burying his nose in your hair.

“Tell me more about what Christmas was like for you… before.”

“I can tell you and decorate at the same time,” he kisses you briefly and tugs you from the couch.

He does. Bit by bit you decorate the tree, bit by bit he pulls pieces of himself back from the void. Each time he grasps something that he’d lost the decorating would pause so he could document it. After almost two hours everything is done but the star.

“I feel like you should do the honors, doll.” Reverently he hands you the slightly tacky thrift store star.

“Why, you can reach it easily?”

“Like you can’t?” He cocks a brow, smiling.

“Point.” You take the star and rise from the floor, coaxing your body horizontal so you can get the best angle on securing the tinsel covered thing to the treetop. Once it’s done you sink back down. Before your feet touch the ground he pulls your back to his chest, nuzzling your neck.

“My very own Christmas angel. How lucky am I?”

You laugh, tossing your head back to kiss his cheek, “Don’t know that I’ve ever been called an angel in my life.”

Sighing contentedly you look at the tree. “That’s a damn fine tree.”

“Almost.” He releases you and digs in his bag, pulling out two nicely wrapped gifts and setting them under the tree. “That’s better.”

“Two?! Bucky…”

“Don’t give me too much credit, they go together.”

Narrowing your eyes at him you send your power out to nab the gift you had for him. His wrapping job puts yours to shame.

“Y/N… didn’t you do enough?” He gestures around.

“Hey, all of this is mutually beneficial.” He shakes his head with a smile. “Besides, it’s small.”

“So,” he asks slipping his hand in yours as you both take in your handy work, “were you a Christmas presents in the morning or on Christmas Eve type?” Your joy falters for a moment, not wanting to make things awkward for him but not wanting to lie either.

“Well, umm…” You shift uncomfortably, “If we did presents, it just depended on my mom’s mood or what her boyfriend wanted.” Truthfully, most Christmases growing up didn’t involve presents. Those were for good kids.

“But Nix and I would do presents on Christmas morning.” A smile rises to your face even though your heart aches.

“One year we had our close friends stay the night Christmas Eve. He and I dressed up like a mom and dad from the ’50s and bought a ton of terrible thrift store toys for like $15, wrapped ‘em, and put them under the tree then woke up the ‘kids.’” You laugh at the ridiculousness, “They had no idea what was going on but still played along. We had the best time.” The lights of the tree blur a little from the tears in your eyes.

“We’ll do them in the morning then.” When you look up at him his expression is tender and understanding. You nuzzle into his chest, breathing in his spicy smell.

The two of you spend the rest of the evening and night eating junk, sharing stories, and getting him caught up on some of the necessary Christmas films from the last decade. Unsurprisingly, he loves “It’s a Wonderful Life” but you have to admit you didn’t expect him to like the classic animated ones like “Rudolph” but he does.

Christmas morning dawns with the smell of coffee and the warm comfort of his arms.

“Ready?” Bucky is practically bouncing with excitement as he passes you your gift.

“Yup!”

“One.” His metal finger glints in the firelight. “Two. Three.” On that mark, you both tear into your presents.

Tears sting your eyes as you stare down at a large sketch pad and a set of art supplies.

“I saw your sketches at the shop. Thought you’d like something to really work with.”

“It’s perfect, Bucky. Thank you.”

He opens the front of the composition book, the first of three, that has ‘Love’ written on the front. His eyes scan the first page, written in your hand, and turns his own tear-filled eyes on you.

On the first few pages of that one, you’d written out a highlight reel of your story up until now. Not just the events but the way he made you feel, the little things that meant the world to you. The rest was blank for him to fill. The one beneath it was titled ‘Present’ and the third ‘Future.’

“You spend a lot of time looking back. But… I thought you may want a place for-”

“Us,” he says with a smile.

“I was going to say happiness, but that works.”

“Same thing.” He pulls you to you for a kiss. “I love you, so much, doll.” He tastes like home, “So much.”

Chapter 41

Bucky can feel their hands on him.

Calloused. Rough. Soldier’s hands. Hands like his.

His muscles ache with the effort it takes to not fight back. It’ll only be worse if he does. They’ll only do worse.

Quiet. Still. Give them nothing. No reaction.

Don’t let them know how it breaks something in him. Don’t let them see the pain.

When he hears the insidious crackle of the shock baton though he can’t help but wince. Desperate as he is to say no, to beg, he doesn’t. It won’t matter if he does. 

As the arc of electricity meets his skin he wakes up.

Slowly his eyes swivel in their sockets, taking in what they can of his surroundings. He knows this ceiling by now with its familiar water stains. Knows the faint glow from the bathroom providing just enough light to remove deep shadows. Even knowing where he is doesn’t allow his muscles to release.

Instead, he lays there, frozen, unable to take a full breath, or calm his heart rate. Some part of his mind still screaming that this is just another trick, that somehow they’re just waiting beyond his vision to come back and howl with cruel laughter as they-

Movement to his right. Sheets rustle followed by a soft contented sigh. In the small bed, your skin rubs against his.

Immediately Bucky’s muscles release. Tentatively he draws in a deep breath, his lungs almost burning with relief. Ever so carefully he moves to face you, fighting back a cry of joy at being free to move, to live, to be here with you.

You’re asleep on your stomach, your face turned toward him. In the soft light sneaking from the cracked bathroom door, you look incredibly serene.

There’s nothing there to indicate the battles you’ve fought or the ghosts you keep locked inside, nothing directly speaks of your strength both physical and your will to keep going. There are a few freckles where the sun was lucky enough to kiss you as he does. There are the softest of laugh lines, he likes to think of the joy you must have felt for them to have found their way into your skin, he likes to dream of adding more in time.

Sleep doesn’t return to him that night. For once, that’s just fine with him. Memorizing your features so that nothing, not even that fucking chair, could strip you from his heart gives him a sense of peace. Watching over you, ready to chase off any nightmare that would dare disturb you makes him feel like he has a purpose. And despite being conscious, counting your breaths and noting your soft sleep sounds makes him feel oddly rested.

It’s far from the final sleepless night he has but it changes things. From that night onward, if he wakes without disturbing you he falls into this ritual.

Another night.

Once again the feeling of unwanted hands tears him from sleep.

Only now the paralytic fear slips from him a bit faster. There’s a face to study, someone to protect, a count to keep.

Bucky turns cautiously as he always does but when his eyes light on your face he’s met not with your serene sleeping face but with loving yet haunted eyes.

“Hey,” your voice rough with emotion. “Did I wake you?”

For a moment he considers lying. After all, he can see the ghosts now see the weight of everything etched into the shadows on your face, what right did he have to add to your burden… He can’t bring himself to do it though.

“No. I—it was a dream.”

Your brows knit as you gently touch his cheek, “I’m sorry I didn’t catch it.”

“What’d you mean, doll?”

“I… If I can’t sleep I figure one of us should get some rest so I keep a lookout.” You let out something akin to a laugh, “Kinda creepy I guess.”

All the times he’d been woken from the beginnings of a dream by your tender touch fill his mind. Each time he’d thought that you woke from a noise he made or maybe he lashed out. How many instances had you just been keeping your own vigil?

His chest may burst, from heartache or love he’s not sure. Tugging you close he presses his lips to yours—savoring the way you yield to him, how your bodies fit together.

“It’s not creepy,” he says before kissing your forehead as you tuck your head against his chest. “Or if it is I don’t care.” He feels your body shake with a little chuckle.

“I’m happy to have you watching over me.”

“Always, Bucky. Always.”

Chapter 42

A metal left arm wraps around your throat applying enough pressure to be a problem. 

“Sloppy form today, baby doll,” Bucky purrs into your ear making you shiver despite the heavy spring heat.

“Get off me,” you croak. 

He releases you with a laugh. Lifting the hem of his white tank he wipes the sweat from his forehead revealing a taste of that defined and ridiculously enticing body. 

Your teeth dig into your bottom lip to keep your jaw from hanging open as you hunch over, hands resting on your knees. You were attempting to catch your breath, how dare he make it that much harder. 

“Enjoying the view?” He asks, a dark brow raised above a good-natured smirk. 

Reaching out with invisible hands you push him to the ground, pressing his shoulders down so he can’t immediately rise. You stride over to him, legs flanking his torso. 

“If I am?” You ask, staring down at him. 

Mischief sparks in his blue-grey eyes. “Couldn’t blame you I guess.” You adored him like this—confident, maybe even bordering on cocky, and above all, happy. 

He reaches up, taking hold of your knees he knocks you off balance sending you toward the ground too. Your power reacts faster than your mind, cushioning the fall so you land soundlessly sitting lightly on his chest. 

“Hmm…” His chest vibrates under you as his fingers hook into the waist of your leggings. “What if I just-” Without effort the stretch fabric gives way to his whim, tearing along the front seam and down the crotch.

“These are a problem too though,” he presses his fingers against your quickly dampening underwear. Holding your gaze he shrugs a little and with a tug, they’re in shreds too. 

Grabbing your hips he tugs you forward forcing you up on your knees before threading his arms under you. Bucky takes firm hold of your ass and lifts his head, placing a kiss against your pelvic bone. Desire floods your veins causing you to shiver. 

The look of hunger in his eyes sucks the breath from your lungs before his tongue even finds your clit. When he languidly tastes you all you manage is a low rasp, air sucking back into your chest. 

His lips and tongue tease you, strong fingers move from your ass to your thighs, gripping them tight. You tangle your fingers in his hair, holding him against you as your head falls back, your eyes closing against the blue of the sky. A rumble of satisfaction from him is felt beneath you rather than heard. In response your hips lift up, desperate and wanting. 

“Bucky,” you croon looking down at him. Playfully he nips at you eliciting a deep moan. He keeps up until your breath is ragged, your lashes flutter, and you take in a sharp breath. 

You’re on the razor edge of an orgasm when he stops cold. A second later you’re on your back, the grass tickling your neck. 

Bucky hovers over you before kissing you hard. He breaks the kiss, leaving you panting, his lips tracing a path to your ear. 

“You want this, baby?” His voice all smoke and gravel as he presses his covered cock against you.  

“Yes,” you barely manage. 

“Gonna have to get the drop on me first.” He moves so fast you’re almost in shock—that only lasts a moment though. 

“What the fuck?!” You scream after his retreating form. All you get in response is a bellowing laugh. “You mother-” cutting yourself off you bolt after him at full tilt, your whole body running on unreleased tension, desire, and just a bit of pure annoyance. 

Of course, your damaged leggings start to fall from your hips forcing you to wind a bit of your power around them to keep them from tripping you up as you pursue him. All you’re focused on is catching him, he’s so fast though… 

It happens without you thinking about it—your power snakes down from where you’re attempting to keep your clothing together, wrapping around your burning legs all the way to your feet. Suddenly each stride sends less of a shock through you, just your toes landing on the earth, and then you jump. 

Your power pushes against the air with force, propelling your body further than your sheer strength could ever manage. Sailing above him you spin around to look back at his shocked face. Despite your frustration with him you can’t help but laugh. 

Smiling, he pivots, clearly challenging you. 

All you’re really focused on is him and your body reacts accordingly, cutting him off with a speed that surprises even you. Every turn he makes, you counter, hovering consistently about eight feet from the ground. 

For a moment you take him in as he stops moving, assessing his new, and unexpected position. He looks so frustratingly sexy with strands of his hair falling from his ponytail, sweat making him glisten, and his eyes glittering with both awe and desire. You want him, more than you’ve ever wanted anything and anyone. 

Once again your power acts seemingly of its own accord to give you what you want, coiling around him. He tries to fall out of it by moving past your range as he’s done in the past only to find himself fully cocooned in a gentle yet firm embrace. 

Suddenly, you drop about a foot as a flash of pain shoots through your head. May be stretching things a bit thin, you think. Not wanting to plummet the rest of the way you lower yourself to the ground in front of him. With one last pulse of power, you pull him to you, lifting on your toes to kiss his slightly agape mouth. 

“Got you,” you purr, pulling the hair tie from his already loosened ponytail. Feeling the tingles of another shock of pain you release him before it hits. 

Bucky smiles down at you, “Guess you want your prize?”

“Damn right,” you grab him through his shorts, squeezing firmly. His lids flutter a bit and he presses back into your grip. 

A small noise slips from you as he lifts you into his arms before kneeling. Tenderly he lays you in the soft grass, covering your neck and chest with kisses. Your legs wrap around his hips and he pulls himself free of the shorts and boxers. 

You make love under the blue spring sky. Every movement unhurried, every kiss slow and sweet. When you both cry out in pleasure as you come there’s no one to hear for miles. In this moment you feel like the only two humans on the planet. It feels like heaven. 

Even the ride back into the city and the press of people near the pizza place couldn’t ruin the high you were both riding. 

Back at your apartment Bucky finally says it. 

“Y/N… you fucking flew today.” You shove a bite of pizza in your mouth and shrug. “That it?” His expression incredulous. 

“I mean,” you swallow, “it wasn’t quite that… I just, well…” You look past him, trying to think about what it felt like. “It was like when I float. I use the air as leverage—there’s always something to push against, dust, moisture. For some reason I was able to do it faster today is all. I didn’t focus on doing it just focused on you.” 

He raises a dark brow, “Guess we know what motivates you.” Leaning back in his chair he glances down at his lap. 

“Don’t be smug,” you toss a balled-up napkin at him earning you that ringing laugh. 

When you walk into the shop on Wednesday you’re a little bruised and very sore. You don’t mind it though. After every long weekend spent training hard at the farmhouse you feel stronger, more in control. 

The morning is filled with your standard tasks around the shop and discussing the reason you find Shakespeare’s histories exhausting with Mr. Goldstein. A few customers wander in, Victor lounges in the open door enjoying the warm air. It’s the kind of day that sometimes lets you forget your past and just be present in this life. 

Mr. Goldstein sits behind the counter in the early afternoon, contentedly sipping coffee and reading while you perch in the store window, your own book set aside to keep your hands free for the cat purring in your lap. Music hums from the radio on the counter. A contented sigh winds its way through your lips as your eyes slide closed. 

Mid-song the DJ cuts in, “We interrupt the broadcast for an urgent report. An unknown attacker has taken Sokovia. It… We’re receiving reports that the city is…” The man’s voice shakes, “The city is—I can’t believe I’m saying this—Sokovia seems to be under attack by some kind of… robots? The American force known as The Avengers is said to be at the scene.” 

Much to Victor’s disapproval, you shoot up at the last bit. The Avengers meant Steve, could mean- Before you’re able to finish your thought your phone vibrates in your pocket. Bucky’s text is short, but you feel the weight hidden in the words: Home. Now. 

Ice fills your veins, rendering you immobile for a few seconds. 

“Zeeskeit?” The term of endearment drips with concern.

“I… I gotta go. Will you be ok to close up?” 

“Of course,” he rises slowly. “Do you have people in Sokovia?” 

“Sort of,” you look back at your phone, hands beginning to shake. Sokovia was close, too close. “I’ll be back tomorrow.” 

“Ok.” He sets your backpack on the counter, a hand extended. You grab the bag and take his hand, “Take care of each other.” 

All you manage is a nod and a tight smile before running out the door. 

When you burst into the apartment you’re hit with the smell of smoke. Bucky sits at the kitchen table a cigarette that’s more ash than anything else in his right hand. He doesn’t even look up at you, his eyes glued to the laptop screen in front of him. 

“Bucky?” You call softly. 

With noticeable effort, he drags his gaze to you. In all this time you’ve never seen him like this. His eyes red-rimmed, scared, hurting. A muscle ticks in his jaw as it does when he’s angry. His brows knit like they do when he’s concerned, and his shoulders slump in a defeated posture, while his left hand is in a tight fist resting next to the computer. 

Dropping your bag you close the distance between you quickly. He doesn’t move just turns his eyes back to the screen as you pluck the cigarette from between his fingers, stamping it out next to four others on a plate. 

You don’t try to get him to speak or explain as you move behind him. Wrapping what you hope are reassuring arms around his neck, you place a kiss on his cheek before resting your chin on his shoulder. 

It’s impossible to not be horrified by what you’re seeing. Four different feeds play on the screen. All of them show something that’s difficult to believe. 

Bit by bit an entire city rises from the earth. Another shifts every minute or so, revealing various views of a city being flooded with terminator rejects. The other two seem to be live feeds from people in the city, running, shaky, the sounds of screams providing a steady soundtrack to the horror show before you. 

Every now and then there’s a flash of that signature shield, a moment of movement laced in dirty red white and blue—easy enough to miss if you’re not looking but you notice them, their appearance signaled in the way Bucky’s body tenses every single time. 

Soon it becomes clear someone has managed to rally forces to evacuate the civilians judging by the enormous helicarrier seen from a ground shot of the now impossibly high city. You feel relief until Bucky speaks. 

“They won’t all make it. Too many targets…” You know that there’s only one he’s truly concerned about. There’s nothing to say, all you can do is hold him tighter. 

After a bit only feeds from the ground play on the screen. In horrified silence, you stare as the city quite literally explodes in the air and the feeds go dark. 

For a moment neither of you move or even breathe. All you can think is that there’s no way to know, not yet. 

Bucky explodes from his chair, sending both you and the table skidding back in opposite directions. His body shakes, fists balled up at his sides. Desperately you want to pull him close but you know it wouldn’t be welcome affection. Instead, you stand back, unsure of what to do. 

You think he’s going to scream, slam a fist into the wall, something, anything other than what happens. One second he’s a pillar of potential rage and the next he hits his knees with a thud. 

Not caring about what may or may not be welcome any longer you rush to him. Lowering yourself to the floor in front of him you pull his hands into yours, forcing them to open from the fists he still holds. 

“He may be fine. We don’t know.” He doesn’t look at you, just keeps his gaze fixed on the grain of the wood floor. 

With all those cell phones someone had to have eyes on the carrier. You pop up and immediately begin putting your own skills to use. They’d be trying to keep as tight a lock as possible on things but if you know what you’re doing… Your fingers fly across the keys, your breath held, hoping against all there is that you find what he needs. 

It takes a minute longer than you’d like but, finally, you’re able to dig up something. The image isn’t the best, it’s of a family clearly sending out a photo to let loved ones know they’re ok, but in the background, you can see him. Alive. 

“Buck!” His name bursts from your lips. “Look,” taking the computer you bring it down to him. Meeting you halfway up he takes it from you, staring at the screen. “He’s ok. He made it.”

“Goddamn punk,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. Hands shaking, he passes the laptop back to you before running his right hand over his face. 

Despite his clear relief that Steve was one of the survivors of the battle, the tension doesn’t leave Bucky over the next several days. 

You stop by the shop each day to check in but you don’t linger, not wanting to be away from home too long with Bucky in this state. Mr. Goldstein, as always, doesn’t pry, accepting your vague reassurances that you’re both ok and offering kind words every time. 

Conversation is sparse; which isn’t uncommon with you both, silence is easier when you’re wrestling with something, and you’ve each taken to given the other space when they need it. However, this is different. He keeps following the happenings in Sokovia, with an intensity that worries you, never saying a word as to why. 

The Avengers hadn’t been spotted in the region since the battle, all that was left now was clean up. Because of this, you couldn’t wrap your mind around why his focus was so drawn to the situation. 

Saturday morning you awake without his warmth next to you. It was something you expected, though knowing didn’t make his absence ache any less. He hadn’t withdrawn like this in so long. 

Before you call out his name the coffee pot lets out an exasperated gurgle. With a yawn you pad into the kitchen where a note beneath your coffee mug informs you that he’d stepped out, he’d be back later. You try and fail, to drown your worry in caffeine spending the better part of the next hour restlessly shuffling around the apartment, unable to focus on anything. 

When the door finally opens it takes all your resolve to not rush him. 

He kicks the door closed behind him, arms laden with groceries. Your brows knit in confusion, this was a Sunday thing. 

It had become your routine—Sunday morning load up on supplies and head to the farmhouse, then the rest of that day and Monday and Tuesday you spent training. The other days of the week you’d work at the shop and he’d do odd jobs as they came up. There was comfort for you both in this steady, yet unofficial, schedule, for him to break it made your heart kick up an uncomfortable rhythm. 

“We’re going to the farmhouse,” he says. 

It isn’t that you’re against the idea but you withdraw from the note of command in his tone. “Oh? We are?” You ask, hands settling on your hips as you watch him lay out groceries on the table. 

“Yeah. I stopped by the shop and let Mr. G know.” You say nothing, challenging him silently to turn and look at you, he just continues, “May be a few extra days.” 

“Huh. Guess I must have blacked out when we made this decision.” Your emphasis on we, doesn’t go unnoticed judging by the way his shoulders visibly tighten. It does, however, go unacknowledged. 

He pulls the last few things from the grocery bag before resting his palms flat on the table, head hanging, shoulders drooping. Despite your urge to do so, you don’t place a comforting hand on his back, don’t softly call for him. You know him well enough now to know he’s about to drop the act, he’ll apologize and you’ll talk it all out. He just needs space. 

For a minute, you watch as he takes in deep breaths, getting a grip of himself. You’re comfortable waiting, knowing this is about to be over, finally. 

“Get packed,” he says without throwing you even a side glance before grabbing the packs by the door. 

You don’t move. All you can do is stand a little slack-jawed at his behavior. When cold grey eyes finally look at you a shiver climbs down your back. 

He picks up your duffel as he walks back to the kitchen, pressing it to your chest. “I said pack,” his eyes bore into you until you grasp the bag in your hands. 

“We leave in forty,” he tosses over his shoulder as he begins to load up the packs with groceries. 

Too shocked by his demeanor to protest you numbly head into the bathroom and shower quickly. He’d never spoken to you like this, not even at the beginning when he’d been so scared… 

How could this be the same man who, just a few days ago, had been brimming with playful confidence and charm? The answer you didn’t want to acknowledge is that, just maybe, he wasn’t. 

You try but you can’t shake that thought on the journey to the farmhouse. It makes you antsy, causing the ride to be almost unbearable. As soon as he pulls up to the house you bolt from the bike anger and anxiety causing a storm to roll in your chest. 

You pay him no mind as you stalk toward the back door, effortlessly avoiding the trips and traps. All your focus is on quelling this emotion, on keeping it together, that you don’t hear him come up behind you. 

In an instant, he has you in a headlock, metal arm tight around your throat as it was the other day. This time though… he’s only holding back enough to not snap your neck. You slam your power slams back into him. It’s not enough to break his grip but it’s enough to allow you a few precious gulps of air before he’s on you again. 

He says nothing. No explanation, no taunt, just silence. Even his breath is measured and steady. You’ve never been afraid of him… until now. 

You force another wave of your power back using it to gain enough leverage to send you both to the ground. Jabbing your elbow into his ribs a few times he lets go gasping and you bolt away from him. 

Bucky doesn’t run after you, his pace is steady, determined. He told you before to only run when you have to, it tires you out too fast and that’s energy that can be better spent elsewhere. Taking a deep breath you slow, turning back to face him not too far from where he’d taken you in the grass a few days ago—a lifetime ago. 

The day around you is another bright and beautiful one, it’s almost offensive. 

He stops a few yards from you, cold stare chilling you despite the warmth. A few moments stretch into what feels like an eternity as you assess who will move first. 

Steeling yourself you go for it, heading for him at a dead sprint. Bucky doesn’t move—a few feet away you feign to the left before kicking away from the ground and veering right. It’s too fast for him to correct and you take advantage, landing a kick to his right shoulder sending him stumbling. 

Moving to land another blow he catches your calf in his metal grip flinging you away. 

This whole flying thing is new and you can’t get your bearings as you hurtle through the air. Who knows how far you would have gone had your back not met the old immovable wood of the barn with a crack. 

You can’t even cry out, can’t breathe in. Your ribs ache, your head is spinning, and there he is stalking toward you.  

Crumpled on the ground looking up at him feels like a nightmare, one you know the ending to already and you brace yourself for impact. 

No, you think shaking your head in an attempt to clear your vision. You have no idea what is happening but he is not this man and you won’t be so easily beaten. 

As he approaches you steady yourself. Just as he’s in range to strike you slip beneath his fist sliding around him landing a blow to the side of his neck then pull his knees from under him. He falls forward just a bit. Before he’s able to catch himself you spring back wrapping your power tight around his shoulders to slam him with all your force into the ground. 

Bucky cries out in pain causing your chest to constrict. But as he arches his gaze back there’s no tenderness in his eyes. 

This shakes you. Your hold on him wavers just enough for him to break free. Taking advantage he flips and rushes you. Barely, you manage to deflect his right hook at full force, your forearm screaming in pain as you do so. Pushing his body back a bit with your power you kick him with all your strength in the solar plexus. He gasps stumbling back. 

“Enough!” You scream. The wave of energy from you cocoons him as it had before but instead of tender you squeeze like a boa constrictor and press him to his knees. He struggles against you with all his strength sending shock waves through your mind and body. Still, you hold tight. 

“I said enough.” Your voice a low resonant growl as you force him from his knees to his back. Standing beside him, staring down, you meet his cold eyes with your own burning rage. 

“Good,” he sighs, all the fight flooding from him. 

“What?”

“You beat me. That’s good.”

Shaking your head you step back from him, your power releasing. Your breath comes in rapid, shallow gasps, doubt and anger and anxiety flooding your system. 

With a groan he sits up, rubbing the side of his neck where a bruise is already forming before slowly rising to his feet. Finally, he looks at you, and it’s him, it’s your Bucky staring at you with regretful eyes. 

It doesn’t soothe you though. This wasn’t an outburst, wasn’t some repressed trauma or lapse. This was calculated, planned. 

Fuming you close the small distance between you. With every ounce of your strength you slap him across his face, palm stinging. His head flies to one side and then the other as you slap him once more. He does nothing, just stares at the ground as he spits blood from his mouth. 

“Fuck you,” is all you can manage through clenched teeth as you raise your hand again. This time he catches your wrist in his right hand, holding it firm, as his eyes meet yours. 

“I had to know,” he says as though that explains everything. You shake your head, not trusting yourself to open your mouth. 

“If I had given you any warning it wouldn’t be the same… I had to know that you were ready if you needed to be.” 

You pull your wrist from his grip, “And if I’d lost?” A part of you already knows what he’s going to say. You swallow the lump in your throat, steeling yourself.

“We’d just need to work harder.”

Blinking at him in disbelief, once more fully thrown by his behavior, you open your mouth but nothing comes out. Based on how he was behaving, you had expected him to pull the same bullshit he had months ago and tell you that he couldn’t be with you, that the danger was too great and other drivel. Surprised or not you’re still furious.

“Let’s go inside,” he turns toward the house. 

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” you spit. 

Bucky’s breath audibly catches. He runs a hand through his hair and turns back to face you. Sighing he sits cross-legged on the grass, rubbing his chest where you’d kicked him. 

“That’s fair,” he looks up at you, eyes desperate. “Can we talk here then?”

You shake your head looking away, “I think I’m past talking.” Your whole body begins to shake, “You…” The words stick in your throat but you force them out, “I was afraid of you. I’ve-”

“Good,” he says softly. “There are parts of me you should be afraid of, Y/N. I needed to-”

“Remind me?!” You explode turning to him once more. “Do you really think I need a fucking reminder of what you’re capable of when I know what I’m capable of?!” 

The energy flows from you effortlessly. You reach your arm out to direct it with pinpoint accuracy, just an extension of your body. Your fist tightens and you can feel the fabric of the neck of his shirt even though you’re at least six feet from him. 

“Do you?” You ask once more in a low rumble before lifting him up, his feet dangling, and tossing him back. He doesn’t fall flat, righting himself and landing in a crouch. 

“No,” he says, staying low, only lifting his face to yours. “I needed to be sure that if I came at you full force, you’d be ok. I needed to know that you’d kick my ass if necessary.” The corner of his mouth ticks up in an attempt at a smirk. 

“Why?” Your voice cracks, and you lower yourself to the ground. 

“Because,” he walks over and sits directly across from you, “The government’s of the world and the goddamn Avengers just descended less than a thousand miles from here and all of them have a reason to want my head.” Your brows knit and you look away. Tenderly he reaches for your hands and you let him take them. 

“Please look at me, Y/N.” You do. 

He gives you a sad smile, “It’s easy to try and pretend that this,” he raises your right hand to his lips leaving a lingering kiss, “is all there is. That we could build a life without fear… But Sokovia reminded me that it’s not real.”

“No,” you shake your head like a child denying an obvious truth. “We can be happy. We can-”

“We can be. Hell, with you I am.” His thumbs rub soothing circles on the backs of your hands, “But we have to be smart. We have to have a solid plan. Because…” He stops, his eyes squeeze shut. 

When he opens them he looks down at your clasped hands continuing, “Because, if someone comes for me I… the chances of them taking me in to try me… Well, weapons don’t usually get due process, they get put to use elsewhere.”

“You’re not-”

“I am. To them I am.” 

You hate this, hate everything about this. You hate it because you know he’s right. Both of you had been existing day to day for the last seven months on the thin hope that the worst you had to worry about was your own ghosts. 

Sure you’d been training but even that was laced in a certain kind of intimacy. Other than passing mentions of the great vast ‘they’ who could come for either of you at any time, you didn’t discuss particulars. It was a Pandora’s box of fear neither of you wanted to be responsible for opening. Once you laid out a plan of escape, of attack, a worst-case scenario, then you were letting them into this life you’d built. You hated it, but it needed to be done. 

“If someone comes for me the likelihood of them turning me back into him is higher than anything else. If… If I’m that I won’t be able to keep myself from harming you. That’s why I needed to know.” The shame on his face makes your heartache. Still, you’re confused. 

“Do—do you think they’d send you after me? That they’d really take you in just to send you ba-”

“They just need the words.”

You shake your head, “I don’t understand.” 

“You didn’t have…” His breath is ragged suddenly, hands shaking in yours, “There are… wo-words.” You give his hands a reassuring squeeze, “Say the right words in the right order and… I’m not… I can’t…” You nod letting him know you understand, even if only a little bit. 

“Maybe… maybe they won’t work… maybe I’m strong enough but…” His eyes are wide, “I won’t risk you on a maybe.” 

“Ok,” you breathe out. “Ok.” 

“Do you… did they have words for you?” You shake your head. “That’s good.”

Good, you think as you take in this man before you. How many years had it taken them to break him? How much effort did they have to extend to make him the monster they wanted? Was it really good that you had broken so easily that they didn’t need more creative methods to bend you to their will? 

“I’m sorry,” his voice pulls you from that line of thought. He looks broken, “I know this is hard. But,” he takes a deep breath, “seeing Steve reminded me—reminded me of what I can do to someone I care about in that state.”

He’d never spoken about what happened at the Triskellion but you knew enough. After you got free of Hydra you’d needed to understand what led to your opportunity to escape–scouring the Hydra files and any information you could find for weeks. You knew Bucky was a tool they used in the attack, you knew Steve Rogers was found on the banks of the Potomac beat to hell but still breathing. 

“I almost-”

“But you didn’t,” you cut him off. “You didn’t kill him. I have no doubt you could have but you didn’t.” 

You take his face in your hands, his eyes close, “I understand why you did this. I do. But I want you to remember that you held yourself back then. And I’ll remind you until the end of my days that you were able to break through and save a woman you didn’t even know too—knowing what they’d do to you for defying them.” He opens his eyes and searches yours. “You are always in there, no matter what.” 

He sighs, “Sometimes. And sometimes I get control too late to matter.” 

“So what’s the plan?” You ask, not wanting him to linger on that particular slice of darkness.

His lips curl in a half-smile, “We’ll figure that out.”

“No more orders and surprise attacks?” 

“No. From here on out we do this together. I promise.” 

Chapter 43

Sweat drips down your back, soaking through the tee shirt you wear. 

You realize, for the first time, that this is the only significant piece of clothing you have on. Suddenly you feel exposed. Tucking yourself tighter between the wall and dumpster you tug at the hem in a vain attempt to summon more fabric. 

These efforts come to a screeching halt as a pain you can’t name sears its way through your skull. Clutching your head tight you crumple into the fetal position, mouth open in a silent scream. 

You think, for a moment, it will pass quickly but no… It feels like lightning burning in your brain. And it just will not stop. 

Silently you begin to bargain, beg anything, any force that can hear your silent plea to just make it stop. If it doesn’t… you think you’ll die because nothing can sustain this level of suffering for long… Can it?

This continues for minutes… Hours maybe, you don’t know, but it’s long enough that you forget what the absence of it feels like. 

Once the pain fades to a dull roar you can’t move, don’t even receive the relief of a deep breath, your chest only able to lift the smallest bit. Despite this paralysis, your entire body buzzes with the overload of sensation that’s now flooding your perception. 

It is almost worse than the pain. You could understand that, pain is pain, but this… The grains of sand beneath your nails each feel like shards of glass, the bits of rock beneath your raw feet gnaw and cut, insects in the dumpster to your left devouring the garbage, a microbiome of disgusting-

A skittering noise distracts you from everything else for a moment. Glittering eyes peek at you as a small screech claws at your eardrums and a large rat runs from beneath the dumpster—before it can touch you its flung across the alleyway by some invisible force, hitting the opposite wall with a sickening squelching sound. 

Your eyes dart in your immobile skull for whatever made that happen. 

Deep in the recesses of your fractured mind, something tells you with unwavering certainty, you did that. But that doesn’t make sense you can’t, couldn’t. You… A name flutters through your mind but you can’t grab it. Who’s…

Realizing it was your name—your name you can’t remember, can’t grasp—causes panic to seize you sending your heart into a wild rhythm. Your breath picks up to meet the new demands and the paralysis flees you. As your body loses rigidity you fall forward, hands flat on the filthy concrete.

It’s too much. Everything is too much. You’re aware of the cells of your skin, of the dirt slipping between them, aware of the smog in the air, of the particles that make up the earth. Aware it seems of even the spaces between… everything, vibrating particles everywhere overwhelming you. 

Shouldn’t be feeling this much, not right, not right, is all you can think. Not right, not right. The face of an angry man fills your vision.

“Demon!” He bellows from your memory. 

Your mouth opens to scream but instead your stomach clenches and you hurl. It doesn’t stop until you heave and heave, abdomen aching with the effort. Once your body concedes that there’s nothing left inside you to purge you collapse on your side, right cheek skidding against the ground. 

Something stings, something sharp. You hiss, righting yourself slowly, you touch your cheek, your fingers coming away sticky and red. 

You stare at the color, another man flashes in your memory. He’s not angry though, he’s… worried. His eyes are kind and—tears flow freely down your cheeks, the salt stinging the cut even more. 

Angry you slam your head against the wall at your back. That man, you know that man, his name, his name is… 

“Fuck,” you growl through clenched teeth, surprised at the roughness of your own voice. 

You don’t know who you are, why would you know him?

-

“Y/N?!” Bucky gasps bolting up in bed. 

You fell asleep in his arms, he knows you did, but you’re not beside him. 

He listens but there’s no noise from the cracked bathroom door. His eyes frantically search the space until he realizes the back door is open. 

Relief rushes through him, muscles instantly relaxing. You’d probably woken up and stepped out for some air with your headphones on. Stretching, he slowly rises from the bed, making his way outside. 

The moment he’s in the doorway his body goes stiff once more. You’re not there. 

A million possibilities flood his mind, temporarily rendering him immobile. 

No one could have come in. He’d know, he’s sure he’d know. Unless… Maybe if they’d triggered him… He studies his hands, praying there isn’t the least bit of red or discoloration of any kind on them. Noticing nothing he cautiously approaches the balcony edge, steeling himself before looking over. 

Blessedly, you’re not down there in a heap. Of course you wouldn’t be, your body would survive, ability reacting on instinct. 

“Get a grip, Barnes,” he chides out loud.

The door wasn’t broken or tampered with and the locks, he walks to the front door to be sure, were still in place from the inside. All your things were still there meaning… Meaning you were somewhere in this city alone, underdressed, and likely terrified. 

In minutes Bucky is out the door.

-

You haven’t moved as the cloudy sky lightens with sunrise. Maybe you should move.

Why would you move? Where could you go? Did that matter? The sun would come out and make the garbage stink more and you were beginning to see a red smear on the wall across from you… it scared you. Those were good reasons to move… Plus you were no longer perceiving every single particle around you, so that was helpful…

Before you’re able to make your decision a door opens somewhere toward the front of the alley. Tension coils within your body. 

A woman lifts the lid of the dumpster, not noticing you at first. When she does she begins shouting in a language you don’t understand. She’s angry, fists raising, you’re afraid, backing up and up until you’re in the corner with nowhere to go. 

You cover your ears and close your eyes, the woman’s shouts hurting your head. You want her gone, want her to stop. 

She grabs your chin and your eyes shoot open. In a flash of rage, you push her back with all your strength sending her careening into the side of the dumpster with a clatter. 

Forgetting her anger you rush to her. She’s breathing, heart beating, no blood. 

Good. That’s good. Right?

That’s right. The other woman wasn’t so lucky. The one who’d taken you to her hotel. The one you killed… No… No, you’d done worse than just kill her outright. 

Being the monster you were, you felt with invisible hands inside her body, without her even realizing it, until you found just the right spot in her brain… then you’d simply gripped the thin membrane of the blood vessel and tore through it with an ease that terrified you. You’d lingered there, staring at her writhing form, her terrified gaze, until her body stopped moving and they’d come, to tell you you’d done well… But it hadn’t felt like a victory. 

The sound of the door again, someone calling out. Panicked you run to the corner and jump, easily landing on the roof above. 

For a moment you stand, shocked. 

You should go somewhere, somewhere safe and warm, and that name… kind eyes. That pain shoots through your skull once more, not as strong but enough to knock the wind from your lungs. 

Won’t think about that. 

Survive. 

-

By midday, Bucky thinks he may actually lose his mind.

Despite his extensive skill set, he was no closer to finding you. There just wasn’t a trail to follow. 

He’d checked in with Mr. G, in case you’d been to visit, doing his best to assure the old man that there was nothing to worry about while internally he was screaming. He’d been to all your favorite places even went to your old squat hoping something in you would have led you there but nothing. Not the barest trace of you. 

The city feels oppressively overcrowded in a whole new way as he navigates back streets and alleyways. Feeling sick he checks police scanners, calls hospitals, checks morgues. Nothing, for that he’s thankful. 

As the sun sets he begins to make his way toward the apartment, unsure of what else he can do. 

-

Y/N. That was who you were. It felt right, felt good, knowing. 

You’d spent the better part of the day hiding in one location or another, trying to stay out of sight, scared of every person you saw. Being able to navigate on rooftops from time to time helped with avoiding people. Though sometimes whatever kept you aloft would falter when your mind would get distracted with a passing thought or memory.

When you’d remembered your name with certainty the ground flew up to meet you so fast as you tried to jump from a four to six-story building, you thought you’d meet your end, splattered like that rat. But you’d caught yourself, barely, though not before painfully wrenching your ankle. Still, a wrenched ankle was better than a shattered skull.  

The pain brought clarity each time, cutting through the fog filling your mind. You’d considered causing more pain, maybe then things would make sense, but you’d ultimately dismissed the idea. No sense in breaking yourself. 

Besides, something in you said you were heading the right direction and that was enough for now. What exactly you were heading toward wasn’t exactly clear and focusing on it for any length of time made your headache. Not that it mattered much. Everything hurt, what was one more little thing? 

You peek out of the narrow ally you’d been limping through, waiting for the perfect moment to sprint across the street. The window opens, no one around, you bolt. 

Your ankle screams in protest as you run, each shock of pain makes you remember little things though. A home, somewhere, it was close… Brooklyn? 

The thought of Brooklyn sends a whole new ache through you. Just as you enter the alley you’d been aiming for a sob rips through you leaving you gasping. Not paying attention you step on something sharp and tumble to the ground in a heap. 

It feels like your chest is being crushed as their faces fill your memory. Nix and Marcus and Abby. Your family. Your dead family. Dead… because of you. 

“Hey,” someone asks from behind you in a language that isn’t English, though you understand it still. “Hey, you ok?” 

No. You weren’t. Everything is wrong and broken. You don’t say this though, unable to stop the tears. 

“You alone?” Another voice asks. You can’t answer, can hardly breathe. 

“Looks like it,” the first voice says.

“Hey,” the second voice says, coming to stand before you. He grips your shoulders pulling you up. “You understand us?”

You hiccup a sob but manage to nod. 

“She’s kinda pretty,” the first man says. 

“Maybe after she soaks in bleach.” The second man looks you over, you’re too tired to pull away from him. “You wanna come with us?”

“No,” you croak. It surprises them both to hear you speak no more surprised than you are at your conviction. There was a home here. Somewhere, someone with kind eyes. You know this, you just have to find it. 

“Leave me alone,” you push his hands away. 

“Junkie, bitch,” the first man grumbles as the second lifts you by your short head of curls. 

You’re exhausted in every way a person can be and the thought of fighting back seems like so much. But as soon as you meet his eyes, brimming with malice, you find it in you to push this power in you against him. It’s not particularly strong but it forces him to release your hair. 

Staggering back you brace yourself, your body remembering movements your mind can’t quite connect to. 

The first man tries to hold your arms to your sides but a flicker of your power prevents him from gaining purchase for long. The other swings at you and you counter, a too strong punch to his ribs leaving him gasping. But… you’re so goddamn tired after a day of running with no food or water and your ankle paired with a cut on your other foot makes your stance shaky at best. 

You cry out as the second man hits you from behind with something hard, sending you to the ground,  leaving your head spinning and ears ringing. One of them, you can’t tell which, lifts your head up by your hair.

Some part of you feels detached, as though this is happening to someone else. Another feels a slow hot rage begin to rise from the darkest parts of you and you know that once it surfaces you will kill these men… You don’t want to kill anyone, not again. 

“Please…”

“Yeah. Beg, bitch. See if that helps,” the one you punched, snarls, taking a stance in front of you. 

“I don’t want to hurt you!” 

They. Laugh. The anger roiling in you surges. 

“This bitch is-” The man before you is suddenly gone, flung against the wall like a rag doll by a large figure you can’t quite make out before the one holding your hair let’s go in surprise and you fold forward for a moment, unable to remain upright.

“We didn’t do anything!” The man chokes out, fear slurring his words. You turn and watch as the hulking figure corners the simpering man. 

“She was-” Before he can say another word a hand wraps around his throat. Slowly he’s lifted from the ground, kicking, gurgling, hands clawing in vain at an arm—an arm that you know is solid metal and very deadly. 

Memory slams into you and you gasp as the disassociation flees you. There isn’t time to feel the emotions thundering through your body though, he will kill this man. 

“Bucky,” you croak, voice cracking with relief. He doesn’t move, focused with terrifying intensity on his target. Standing on trembling legs you step toward him and lay a hand on his shoulder as the man’s thrashing begins to still. 

“Bucky,” he flinches, registering you. “Let him go.” 

“He. Hurt. You.” Bucky growls out each word. 

“Not like I could have hurt him. Don’t kill him. Please.” You didn’t want him to have more blood on his hands either. His grip loosens and the man crumples into a half-dead heap in the alley. 

Tragedy averted, whatever willpower you mustered to keep yourself upright flees your body. Despite the warm summer air you begin to shake, violently. Swaying back, Bucky catches your shoulders before you plummet onto the concrete. 

-

Bucky takes you in, quickly. His white tee you’d slept in is filthy with sweat and grime. Your right cheek has a shallow cut that seems to have already started to heal but that clearly bled judging by the flaking smear of dried blood. Looking down he can tell that your left ankle is badly bruised and swollen while there is blood on the side of your right foot. Then there’s the way your body is shaking in his grip, indicating shock. 

“Y/N,” he says softly, searching your eyes for answers he isn’t sure you have. 

“I…” You trail off, voice dry and raspy. “I was lost.” Your glazed eyes flutter and he feels your knees give. 

Without hesitation, he scoops your trembling form into his arms. The way your hands grasp at his shirt your face burrowing into his shoulder makes his heart ache. He understands well enough that you don’t mean that you were only physically lost. You’d lost yourself for a time. 

He steps around the body of the unconscious man he’d tossed aside heading toward the mouth of the alley. The movement jostles you just a bit and a small whimper meets his ears. 

“Did I hurt you,” the fear grips him as he assesses his grip on you, worried he held too tight. A hollow huff that may have been an attempt at laughter shakes your body in a different way, you suck in the air a little, tilting your head up a bit to him. 

“No. Everything just… hurts,” you say in barely a whisper. 

Anger at every person who ever hurt you in your life burns like a volcano in his gut. Even so he coaches his expression to be soft. 

“Let’s get you home.” 

Where he found you, was only a few blocks from the apartment. He’s grateful for it, despite his efforts the movement clearly causes you more pain—he’s also certain he’s never been more grateful for what Hydra did to him, without his enhanced senses he’d never have heard you, may never have found you. 

By the time he closes the door behind you both, your consciousness is hanging by a thread. 

“Stay with me baby,” he kisses your forehead before he sets you as gently as he can on the couch. Still, you groan. 

He pulls a thick blanket from the closet to wrap you in. As he moves to wrap it around you your head shakes a no. 

“Your body is in shock, Y/N.”

Clarity lightens in your eyes. “That makes sense,” you lift one hand, seeming to study the tremors. As you do the lamp begins to shake on the table. Both of you stare for a second as your power rustles things around the apartment like ripples on a lake. 

“May I?” He doesn’t want to force it on you but… Thankfully he doesn’t have to. Pulling you from the couch for an instant he swaddles you tight in the warmth of the blanket before settling you back on the couch. Instantly things around you stop their ghostly movements. 

“I’m going to get you something to drink,” he plants a kiss on your forehead before heading into the kitchen. 

The cracked state of your lips suggests that you’re deeply dehydrated. Just water wasn’t going to cut it. Though it may take a minute longer he heats water on the stove for a moment before mixing just a bit of salt and honey into it.

“Here,” he crouches in front of you, “sip this.” Bucky lifts the mug to your lips. You swallow, your face scrunching up at the taste. “I know, but you need the salt and sugar. Just try to finish it.” He manages to get the whole mug into you. 

Thankfully your shaking has slowed some. Tenderly he tucks a shaggy curl back into your mop of hair. How he loved these curls.

“He’s going to be ok, Y/N.” 

Mr. Goldstein had spent the last week in the hospital. He’d insisted it was nothing, just a bit of cold. It wasn’t until his daughter had come into the shop that you’d learned the truth–cancer, she’d told you, and not his first run-in with the disease either. The news had rocked you both. Bucky didn’t doubt that the fear of losing someone else, someone you loved, had triggered what you’d just gone through.  

You say nothing, just look away, gnawing on your bottom lip. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he says with a soft smile. You nod and he unwraps you from your blanket cocoon. 

Unresisting you allow him to remove your filthy tee and slip your underwear off before he places you in the empty tub. As he wets a rag in the hot water pouring from the faucet to begin cleaning a day’s worth of city grime from you he starts to hum a tune, hoping the sound will soothe both of your frayed nerves. 

With a light touch, he inspects the cuts and scrapes on your feet, knees, and hands. The only one that’s deep enough for a slight pause is on your foot, but even so, he doesn’t think it will need anything more than a bandage. 

Your body wasn’t the only thing that needed attention. Grabbing a pitcher from the kitchen Bucky slips free of his jeans, as to not get them wet and perches on the corner of the tub, repositioning you between his legs. Slowly he pours hot water over your short thick curls. 

As he takes his time coaxing out the tangles, his humming shifts to lyrics. Singing isn’t something he did often, just when he was alone from time to time and now when you’d wake up particularly shaken from a dream. Once, he’d sing all the time but finding his voice had been tough. Seeing your lips curl a bit in response goads him on though. 

When he’s rinsed your hair, running your comb through your curls, he’s singing the final lyrics of an old love song:

I see your face in every flower
Your eyes in stars above
It’s just the thought of you
The very thought of you, my love

As he finishes you sigh and rest your head on the inside of his thigh. 

“Thank you… for finding me,” your voice is less raspy but he can hear your exhaustion in every syllable. 

Gently he coaxes your head to look up at him, “I will always find you.”

Chapter 44

Bucky’s Journal - Love

For once I can’t sleep and it’s not because of something horrible. I’m just happy. 

It’s been a year since she slept in my bed that first night and never left. A whole year. 

Never thought this could happen, didn’t even think about love or happiness when I decided to keep living—to fight back. Too hard to think about those kinds of things because they seemed so impossible. But here she is, still in my bed, sound asleep and happy. Or at least I hope she’s happy. I think she is. 

This morning I made her breakfast, like the first morning we spent together. Y/N hadn’t realized the day, didn’t expect her to. I wrote in another journal the date so I’d remember (like I do everything haha). She had that smile on her face that scrunches her eyes, and her hair was all over the place from sleep. She was radiant–she’d roll her eyes if she knew I wrote that. It’s true though. 

I suspected it for a long while but now I think I really know that I’ve never felt this way for someone before. Sure there were dames I liked, I remember some of ‘em. Good women, a few I even wondered about marrying–wouldda made Ma happy to see that. But none of ‘em came close to Y/N. Maybe it’s everything we’ve been through but I just don’t think it’s only that. There’s a spark in her. She’s different. 

And goddamn she’s mine.

Bucky’s Journal - Present

Mr. G has been on the up and up. Says the fall always makes him feel like a new man even if it makes his bones ache. Wonder if I’ll ever be an old man with achy bones. 

Y/N watched the shop and he and I went for a stroll in the park close by. He had his little motorized scooter, even though he hates the thing said he’d feel bad not using it after his daughter got it for him. 

Told me in his old age he’s realized something he wished he knew when he was young, I’ll try to get it down just as he said it.

“Life is just a series of brief moments, happiness, joy, pain. We look at everything like a big portrait but it’s the moments that matter, in the end. We only have each thing for a moment. I wish I’d known that. I would have paid closer attention to the good moments and let the bad ones rest.”

He looked so tired after that, like the bad ones were winning out in the battle for his attention. I wanted to tell him I knew, understood what it was like to have so many bad ones that it’s hard to focus on the good but he thinks I’m young enough to be his grandson. Seems strange to say I understood. 

But he’s right. All these journals all this time spent just trying to catch even a fraction of a moment I’d forgotten. Piecing myself back together with them, bringing myself back to life with nothing but moments. I know how valuable they are, but the bad ones they matter too, can’t let them rest. 

Bucky’s Journal - Future

I wonder what our future could be. It’s hard to imagine too far ahead. Just not knowing what may be right around the next corner. It makes it hard. But she wanted me to think about the future when she gave me this. Maybe she meant just mine but there isn’t a future for me without her in it. 

I just wish I could get an idea of what that would look like?

If this was 1945 I know exactly what I’d want. I’d marry this woman in a heartbeat. Take her dancing, maybe at that real swell place in Harlem–bet that’s long gone. Go to the pictures with Steve and Peggy—they would have been good together if they had a chance. (Hope he’s found someone.) Maybe try to get us a brownstone, always wanted one. Fill it with a couple of babies. A little girl with all her momma’s moxie and those bouncy curls—a little girl with enough backbone to make her aunt Jo proud and me worried. 

But that doesn’t matter. Can’t have what doesn’t exist. 

When I think about the future now all I see is uncertainty. Only thing I know I want is her to be safe and happy—no matter what that means.. I’m thinking the first step is to move on from here. Been here too long, longer than I planned. I just don’t know how to tell her, don’t want her to feel like she’s losing another home. 

Bucky’s Journal - Love

I fell in love with her again today. Is that possible? 

She was baking (scones and biscuits, they’re some of the best things I’ve ever eaten I swear) wearing nothing but one of my tees—it had flower dusted on it but she didn’t care. Her headphones were in, listening to something she clearly liked a lot ‘cause she was bouncing around the kitchen, curls spinning, body floating up from time to time, mouth moving to the lyrics, just smiling. That spark, my god it was just brighter than I’ve ever seen it. I think this must’ve been what she was like before—bold and confident and happy. 

I almost got up and grabbed her, wanted to kiss her so bad but I just couldn’t. My mouth was dry and my right palm felt sweaty. Felt like a nervous kid just gawking at her. So I just let the moment play on until she noticed me. Took a while thankfully, she was so caught up. 

When she kissed me she tasted like coffee and some of the dark chocolate chips she’d snuck while baking. She almost always tastes like coffee. Fuck, I love it. 

This is one of those good moments. There are so many with her. But the more I have the more I know that a million moments won’t be enough. 

Bucky’s Journal - Future

I finally told her.

Almost a year and a half in one place is too long. For now anyway. One day, hopefully, we can find a place to stay. To make a home. 

I laid out that the longer we stay the easier it is for someone to identify us—didn’t say I really just meant me. Even with her record I have no doubt there are more people sniffing for me than her.  

She’s reluctant to leave Mr. G. He’s back to his old self pretty much though. They have his condition stable and his kids are checking in more often. I haven’t met them, best to not, but she says they’re good people. Makes sense given who raised ‘em. 

Ultimately, though she said home was where I was, she didn’t care where we went. I don’t know how I became such a lucky bastard.

I’ll figure out where will be best, safest. Or safer anyway. 

Bucky’s Journal - Present

This woman. This incredible woman. 

I’m sure she’s sick of me by now but I can’t stop telling her how goddamn amazing she is. 

Yesterday we were heading back from the market and this piece of shit left arm just went ape shit. Couldn’t move it beyond weird twitching it was doin’ on its own and the pain. Fuck I thought I was gonna die, truly, thought it would stop my heart. Dropped everything I was carrying and doubled over. 

If she was panicked I never noticed. It’s kinda fuzzy but she got me behind a building away from people and used her gift to try to figure out what was happening. I know I didn’t make it easy judging by how torn up my shirt and hoodie were, must’ve clawed at them—done that in the past I remember, tried to claw the damn thing off. But she found something loose that seemed off, shoved her belt between my teeth for me to bite down on and fixed it. Just like that. 

Nearly passed out. Honestly not sure how she got me home exactly but when my head cleared she was wrapping my shoulder in hot towels—the muscles still hurt from the tension but would be worse if not for her. 

I don’t know what I did right to deserve this one. But I’m grateful. 

Y/N’s First Journal Entry

Bucky suggested I start this, said writing helps for the things you can’t find the words for. Maybe he’s right. I haven’t had a journal since I was 17. Keeping one when I was with mom was too risky and even after I didn’t want to write down things, it was like writing it made it real. And I just didn’t see the point.

Still feels like writing this down will make it too real. But I just can’t–I don’t want it to be real ya know? I can’t say this out loud either though ‘cuz if I do I think that’ll do me in, I’ll break and idk if I’ll get it back together. I can’t do that. I need to be solid for Mr. G for Buck too. 

He’s dying. Mr. Goldstein that is. Fuck. It just… I’m just tired of losing people. I know he’s lived a long full life but I’m selfish I’m not ready and I just. Can’t. 

This isn’t helping. 

Bucky’s Journal - Present

She begged me for more time. She didn’t have to. I feel bad that she thinks she did. Leaving now wouldn’t be right, not after everything Mr. G has done for us both. Wouldn’t even dream of it. 

She’s looking after the shop, I’ve been spending most days there too. Sure she thinks it’s just to be close to her which is nice but I think we both feel closer to him there. I try to avoid the hospital, don’t want too much face to face with his kids—too risky—but I’ve made it by a few times. He’s still him but he seems… smaller maybe? 

I feel guilty. Hearing about his kids from Y/N and just seeing him. Kinda glad I didn’t have to watch my own Ma and Pa go but that means the girls went through this without me and I — well I just never thought about it. Should have. 

New Years was last week. It wasn’t a happy one but we were together—sometimes that’s all we can hope for. 

Thought I knew what the future would be but now… just can’t tell. 

Y/N’s Journal

He’s gone. 

He knew it would be soon and asked Bucky and I to come by. He said he didn’t want us to be there at the end but wanted to remind us to take care of one another and that we’d made this last stretch a damn good one. Said this wasn’t goodbye, in fact he said he wouldn’t hear it. He’d see us later. 

He’ll never know. I hate that he’ll never know. Not who I really am not what he’s done for me for both of us all this time. I hate it. I hate that he’s not going to come in here today with a pretzel and coffee not gonna sit on his stool with Victor. Hate that he’s gone. 

I don’t even know why I’m writing this. Other than my mouth just doesn’t want to work.

Feel like we’re both just stuck in our grief. Not withdrawing though. No. Just hard to put this into words. Out loud. 

I suppose I should be grateful, happy this sweet old man took two weird people in without question. Not a damn word when I went from looking like a boy to clearly presenting more as a woman. Never cared. Just cared that we were ok. 

I am grateful. 

I just wasn’t ready. 

His kids are closing the shop. Makes sense. They’ll take care of Victor too because we said we couldn’t. This is my last day in this shop. 

I’m so tired of losing people.

But I’ve got Bucky. He makes me wonder if there isn’t some kind of god out there, maybe trying to make up for shitting the bed by giving me him—giving us each other. I know he’s hurting too but he seems so unshakable. I’m lucky to get to love him. I just have to focus on that right now. We have a future to look forward to and a promise to keep to Mr. Goldstein—to take care of one another. 

That’s a promise I swear I will never break.

Chapter 45

“How about Vienna?” Bucky pipes up.

“Huh?” You ask, looking up from your sketch. 

“Vienna. It’s a large city, not high on anyone’s radar.” His slight smile makes you long to kiss him. Walking over to his spot on the couch you lean down, pressing your lips to his. He tugs you into his lap, holding you close.  

Without Mr. Goldstein, the city felt somehow colder even as winter melted into spring. Leaving was no longer just the logical choice, it was the easiest one, and of course, Bucky had been thinking of your next step this whole time. 

“Vienna sounds lovely.” Honestly, you didn’t care where you both ended up, as long as you were together. 

“Perfect,” he purrs. 

Throughout the next two weeks, the two of you get ready yourselves to leave. Books that aren’t sentimental are donated, same with any home goods you can do without. Most other things are taken to the farmhouse, for safekeeping and future sorting. In no time the apartment feels barren–but somehow it’s good, a clean slate to leave from. Another new chapter… but this time you won’t be starting off alone. 

The sun rises, brightening the paper-covered windows but you both linger in bed, wanting to hold onto this little slice of peace for just a bit longer. Wanting to revel in the peace and comfort of familiarity before heading into the unknown. 

Tomorrow you’d head the farmhouse, staying there a few days before moving forward to Vienna. While you’re both ready, moving on was still bittersweet—this had been your home, after all, the place you found one another. 

“So,” Bucky leans on his elbow, staring down at you, “I’ll go to the market and you’ll take care of laundry?” You groan dramatically and roll over onto your stomach. 

“Come on,” he goads, “I did the laundry last time.” His lips press into the skin at the top of your spine and you shiver with pleasure. In response, he presses closer to you. 

“Hmm. I mean fair point but…” You encase him in your power and pin him to the mattress on his back, sitting up to straddle his hips. He stares, a little awestruck at his sudden position change. “I think the market will still be there later.”

“And the laundry?” He asks with a wink grasping your hips and settling himself within you. 

“Sure.” He moves inside you causing you to gasp. “Whatever, just keep doing that.” 

Eventually, you both manage to get dressed, however reluctantly. He slips into that red henley that made his eyes look somehow bluer and your mouth actually waters. 

“What?” He asks, catching your hungry stare. 

“Nothin’,” you say hopping up from the couch passing by him to wait by the door. 

“Liar,” he whispers into your ear as he grabs you, holding your back to his chest. You laugh, your head falling onto his shoulder. 

“Maybe,” you kiss the rough stubble of his jaw. “Come on, doing things was your idea old man, chop-chop.”

In the entryway to the apartment building, he goes over the list as you shoulder the laundry bag. 

“Anything else?” He tucks a loose curl behind your ear. 

“Plums,” you smile kissing his cheek, “if they have any good ones.”

“Got it.” He tilts your face up before planting a tender kiss on your lips, his blue eyes making your heart skip. “I love you, Y/N.”

“I love all of you.” You playfully push the bill of his blue baseball cap down covering his eyes. “Don’t forget the plums.” He laughs and smacks your ass playfully as you turn to go. 

As the laundry spins in the washer you crack open your now well-worn copy of Frankenstein. Though you hope on the familiar words will soothe the anxiety that change inevitably brings, you can’t seem to focus on them. Instead, you let your head fall back, focusing absently on the flickering muted screen of an old staticky TV in the corner. 

At first, you think you imagine it because… that couldn’t be Bucky’s image. Just a blurry photo and your mind, distracted as it is, is just filling in the blanks. But then you see the words flashing on the screen.

Blinking hard you shoot up from your chair, unwilling to believe what your eyes are clearly seeing. His name. His fucking name. Wanted. For…

“Fuck,” you breathe out. Too fast to be even remotely perceived as normal, you push past the people by the door to the laundromat and run home, laundry forgotten. 

Rounding the corner onto your block you barrel into a police officer trying to keep curious onlookers at a safe distance.

“Sorry, Miss. It’s not safe here. Please stay back.”

“You don’t understand,” you say, trying desperately to keep your voice even. “I live here. I live here.” 

He only shakes his head, “You will need to just wait. I’m sorry.”

Unwilling to waste any more time you walk away, telling yourself over and over, Do not run. Do not run. Running would be suspicious and you need to look like just anyone else right now. Throwing a cautious look over your shoulder you duck down a nearby alley. 

With trembling hands, you pull your phone out and stare at the word knew you’d see. The one word that brings everything crashing down around you:

Burned.

All those months ago the two of you had laid out plans, one for every conceivable horrible occurrence. Each one had it’s own code word and plan of action. Each one had been drilled over and over until the steps and stages of each came as easy to you as breathing. 

You know what you’re supposed to do. You know you’re supposed to trash your phone. Head to the apartment for supplies if possible. If not cut and run to the farmhouse. From there a 48 hour window for the other party to arrive. If they didn’t… you disappear and hope to find one another again, hope that fate was kind once more. Hope… 

There’s the sound of splintering glass and crunching metal parts as you crush your phone in your hands, both from duty and the rage that’s beginning to burn through you. Dropping it to the ground you bend down to pluck the sim card from the heap and crush it as well for good measure. 

Step one done. 

It’s the only step you intend to take. 

Reaching into your bag you fish out your scarf and tie it around your face—best to not be recognizable. Strapping your backpack on, you focus and propel yourself onto the roof above you, and then drop to the back of your building. 

A lone swat agent notices you and yells at you to stand back. You don’t hesitate to land a blow straight to his throat, rip off his helmet off, and slam his head into the wall rendering him unconscious. Every movement is fluid and measured. Not an ounce of energy wasted. Bucky would be proud. 

You’re almost to the side entrance to your building when you hear something on the opposite roof. Moments later the thundering sound of a chopper cuts the air before bullets begin to rain down. Fear clenches your chest. They have to be shooting at him. 

Without a thought for the chaos above you, you slide into the parking garage next-door where Bucky’s bike waits. You don’t have the key but it’s easy enough for you to use your ability to force the starter to turn. Wheels squealing you peal out just in time to see Bucky running, being pursued by a person in black and… Captain America himself. 

Ignoring them you pull up next to Bucky. 

“Buck!” You call out, hand extended. 

He throws you a sidelong glance, eyes winding in fear and maybe a flash of anger before he reaches for you. Your power just barely latches onto him while helping you control the bike one-handed. 

The person in black kicks the back wheel of the bike causing you to lose your hold on Bucky and sending you skidding into traffic. It takes all your concentration to not crash and keep a line of sight on Bucky as he drops down into the underpass. 

“Goddamnit,” you growl, throwing the bike around to find a way into the fray. 

Soon the noise of the bike echoes alongside the other cars as you swerve between them, desperately attempting to catch up. The squealing of tires up ahead pushing you forward. 

You’re sure you’re close when some fucker with wings is pulled down by the person in black. Hope blooms for a moment before a blast sends part of the roof plummeting down ahead of you. Barely avoiding it you bring your bike up just outside the rubble. A few curious citizens exit their cars and creep closer, phones out, to get a view of the scene before them. 

A small sound slips from you as you watch what could only be considered a firing squad draw on them all. No one else should have heard it but Bucky did. He turns, searching for you through the dust. Before you can call out to him you’re being driven back with the other civilians by the police. 

No, you silently say to yourself. No. 

Grabbing the bike you thunder out of the underpass and circle around, breaking every known traffic law, to get to the exit you know they’ll need to take in order to get out. You make it just in time to catch the end of the motorcade. 

Hanging back enough to not lose them but to remain suspicion free you follow.

You haven’t the slightest idea as to what you’re going to do—but you’ve never been able to save anyone else you loved, no one was going to take him from you. 

-

The containment unit they put him in was well insulated. The only sounds are his own ragged breath, hissing slightly when the electric current passes through his left arm sending pain reverberating through his body, and the gentle hum of the electricity itself. If it wasn’t for the movement of the truck Bucky wouldn’t be sure if they were transporting him still or if they’d arrived to whatever hell they deemed appropriate for him this time. 

Two categories of thought run over and over through his head, only interrupted when he feels the sway of the vehicle cease from time to time. 

There was Steve. Steve had come for him. Not to bring him in, not to take him to task for what he did, nothing like that. Steve had come to warn him, had come to help him even though there was no way for him to know for sure whether or not Bucky was innocent, he couldn’t help but grin a little at that. 

And then there was you. Love and anger and fear all pulsed through him in equal measure when he envisioned you on the bike, reaching for his hand. He should have known you wouldn’t run, should have known you wouldn’t listen to reason, follow the plan. 

Bucky supposes that he should be thankful you didn’t rush into the line of fire to stop his arrest, you had that much sense at least. It was little comfort because he knows without any doubt that you’re trying to find him now—he also knows the massive target that places on your back. 

He thinks he wants to be mad about this. Thinks he wants to tell you that you’re being needlessly reckless. He thinks these things because they’re easier to focus on than the stabbing sense of pain and longing that overcomes him when he wonders if he’ll ever even see you again—ever hold you in his arms, feel your lips, hear your laugh. 

His head thuds back into the seat he’s strapped in, gnawing at his bottom lip in an attempt to keep himself from screaming because… Because the fact is, before you he’d have accepted this, wouldn’t have fought back at all, just taken it and let whatever would happen come, now that isn’t an option. 

He hears Mr. Goldstein’s voice in the back of his head talking about the good moments… Bucky focuses on all the good ones with you, all the little things that brought him peace and happiness. 

There is a way out of anything. He will find it. Find you. 

All he can do for now is wait. To break out now could be a greater risk to both you and Steve. And, despite Steve’s warning, they were indeed taking him in alive so that meant something had already changed from the intel Steve was provided. They wanted him alive…

The realization makes his blood run cold. 

-

You’d been riding for almost 20 hours. It made the trek you’d undertaken after escaping from Hydra feel like a pleasant hike. 

The constant vibrations from the bike had left your lower body numb and maybe a little raw while the rest of you was exhausted from lack of sleep, food, and an overload of stress. Each time you had to stop to refuel or pull farther back to avoid notice your body buzzed with panic, afraid that you’d lose the motorcade entirely. 

You don’t though. Without fail you hone in on the backside of the motorcade, the flashing lights guiding you in the darkness.  

When your tired mind realizes that you’ve entered Berlin a familiar sense of dread settles over you. This was where you’d come after Hydra, before Bucharest. This was where you’d thought you’d be safe. And this is where you learned that being free did not mean that your fight was over. 

It seemed fitting that this road would lead you back here then. Back to this reminder. Because here you were—still fighting. A deeper sense of exhaustion washes through you as you wonder if the fight will actually ever stop. 

The motorcade slows as it approaches what appears to be a government facility of some kind. You pull the bike down a side street ditching it without a backward glance and casually make your way toward the buildings. 

There’s a flurry of activity, everyone scrambling now that the Winter Soldier was on the premises. Good. 

The chaos allows you to slip through the crowd like a shadow—unsuspecting, unnoticed, unimportant—and tail a group in swat gear. They begin to disperse, each to their own assignments until you’re only on the heels of one. 

He seems more nervous than the others, distracted, a telltale tick in his hands. He rounds a corner into a quiet corridor and you follow only a few steps behind, constantly checking for any signs of others.  

Hydra taught you how to do this, how to send out your power like an extension of yourself, feeling for things and people in your area. But this power was not theirs—it never was—this is yours and you will use it. All the little tendrils of power you send out touch nothing that seems organic. Just the person before you, unaware of your silent steps behind them. 

Using a key card the officer opens a door marked as ‘Exit.’ You send out a bolt of your power to hold the latch as the door closes behind him. 

Silently you crouch by the door, assessing, your senses honed in on this individual. There’s the sound of steps down one flight and then they stop, a sigh, the click of something like a lighter. Pushing the door open just a bit you catch a whiff of cigarette smoke. Perfect. 

You open the door casually. The man having a, no doubt, forbidden smoke frantically tries to hide his transgression rather than check if you’re someone who should be here. Too bad for him. 

It takes maybe a minute. He was a strong man, you can feel that in his struggle, but you were stronger. With his head locked in your arm, you use your power to cut off his air and blood flow just enough to render him unconscious quickly. You carry him down one more flight of stairs to be far from any quick lines of sight and quickly strip him. 

The clothes are slightly too big but it’s fine, you leave him his boots and don the helmet to better disguise your features. Curling him into a ball you cover him with your jacket and hide his face with your cap before heading out the door you’d entered—braking the lock to make his discovery, hopefully, take a little longer. 

Of course, you know fuck all about this building but if you had to hold a super soldier, underground would be best. You stand casually by an elevator and punch a button. A blonde woman huffs up next to you, looking down at a file folder seeming more distraught than happy at what’s happening around you both. Curious, you think but try to not pay her too much mind.

You focus your attention on the door instead, crossing your arms as if annoyed at the time the elevator is taking. Finally the doors open and you both step in. She’s by the keys and presses her number, scanning a security badge. 

You can feel shrewd eyes assess you before she speaks, “Are you assigned to Barnes?” Her German is perfect but clearly accented. Not a native. 

Forcing down the lump in your throat you nod and answer in German, “Yes.” You make a scoffing sound, “Last minute assignment. Needed a woman to meet the diversity requirements.” 

Her eyes roll and she shakes her head, “And let me guess the men left you to figure out where to go on your own?”

“Exactly.” You’ve never been more grateful for the patriarchy. 

“Assholes,” the woman grumbles in English and punches another button. 

“Thanks,” you point to what you assume is the floor you need. 

“Gotta lookout, right?” She smiles. Before stepping out she looks back at you, “I don’t think he’s what they say he is. For what that’s worth. Make sure they aren’t too harsh.” 

Words fail you and you only manage a nod. She gives you a sad smile and exits, leaving you alone. 

Did she… know somehow? Your mind races to try and locate where you may have seen her before but you’re certain that you have never met. How could she know? Maybe she didn’t. Maybe there really were just people who could look past the bullshit. 

You don’t have much more time to mull it over. Three floors away the power cuts sending the elevator to a shuddering halt. A cold foreboding settles across your shoulders but your heartbeat stays steady, thrumming in time with the red flashing light. 

Every instinct screams that this is wrong. It was too convenient. Too perfect. 

Your power confirms that the elevator has stalled between floors. Sliding it between the doors you use that and your strength to pry them open and shimmy out into a corridor filled with people scurrying like rats. 

At first, there’s nothing but noise but you narrow in, catching bits of the frantic chatter. 

“Breached containment.”

“Rampage.”

“The Winter Soldier is loose.” 

Your mouth feels desert dry. You’d been heading for him before, knew roughly where to find him. Now…

“What the fuck are you doing officer?!” An angry, official-looking, man grabs your shoulders. “He’s heading up, now’s no time to freeze. Go!” He pushes you against the flow of bodies and you start to run. 

They were running from him… Why…

You turn a few corners and head up a flight of stairs until the space opens up into a bright lobby. The beautiful day outside the windows is a stark contrast to the chaos unfolding before you. 

Desperately you try to assess what’s going on, try to grasp it. He’s fighting off every person who comes at him with a cold ferocity. 

Part of you screams to rush in but you know it’s best to read the room, the last thing you want is to get in his way. But as soon as you hear the gun go off, see him land a hard blow to who you suspect is Tony Stark–remembering seeing his face on magazine covers and gossip shows in the past–your feet move, unable to hold back any longer. 

The woman from the elevator rushes Bucky. You catch her in your power and drag her back. She gasps in surprise, righting herself quickly. Throwing yourself between him and her you catch her kick, grabbing her leg and spinning her around sending her to the floor. 

“What the hell!” She exclaims scrabbling to her feet. 

“Sorry,” you shrug countering her next blow with your power before landing a right hook to her jaw and a lung crunching blow to her sternum. She stumbles back into a heap. 

Bucky has Natasha Romanoff punned to a table, her throat in his metal grip. It only takes a second for you to realize that if he continues he will kill her. 

“Bucky stop!” You grip his shoulder trying to pry him off of her. 

He whirls on you. He just doesn’t realize, you tell yourself. Quickly you fling the helmet away before dodging a swing. 

“Buck-” Metal knuckles graze your cheek, flashes of your first encounter searing through your mind, as you sway back to avoid the full blow. 

Before you can recover he’s got you in his grip, lifting you from the ground. You use your power to keep your body weight from making the bad situation worse, trying to keep blood and air flowing from beneath his metal fingers when you understand with earth-shattering clarity… Bucky isn’t in control now. 

No.

You know this is why the two of you trained so hard. This specific worst-case scenario. He wanted you to beat him back, hurt him so badly that he couldn’t hurt you worse. But… you just can’t.

“It’s me,” you croak, reaching your hand out to touch his face. “Bu-” there isn’t enough air in your lungs to finish his name. Through the growing haze, you see just a moment of horror flash across his face. Recognition. It’s enough. 

You find yourself sailing through the air, body careening with Romanoff, who was heading for another volley. She grunts under you, rolling you over and pinning you beneath her. 

“Who the fuck are you?!” She snarls. 

“No one,” you snap, butting your forehead into her nose and tossing her aside as a man sprints up the stairs on Bucky’s heels. 

He’s there, just beneath the surface, he’s trying. You just have to get to him.

Still gasping for air you pursue them. You try and fail to send your power out to the man but your head is reeling. Before you realize it’s happening you’re tangled in them as they tumble down a flight of stairs. 

The three of you right yourselves and you place yourself between Bucky and this man. He has to be enhanced, his blows coming rapid and fluid. Bucky doesn’t seem to be viewing you as an enemy any longer, instead, you both move together, fighting like one unit, deflecting his strikes with almost beautiful precision.  

He moves to attack you but Bucky catches it with his left arm. Impossibly the man holds him back. Head clear you push a blast of power between them. Bucky stumbles a bit before he jumps over the railing dropping down. As you move to follow the man lands a hard blow to the back of your skull. 

Blackness envelops you and when your vision clears and they’re both gone. 

Groaning you lift yourself up leaning against the wall—the weight of the last 30 hours thundering into you, threatening to suffocate you. The two of you should be at the farmhouse by now, curled together, getting ready for a new life. But no. 

Focusing on that was going to get you nowhere. You’d promised to take care of one another… 

Your eyes sting, “Mr. Goldstein,” you whisper to the eerily quiet air, “if you’re looking out… help me find him… Please.” Your voice cracks and you take a shaky breath before rising on trembling legs. 

Unsure of where to go next you head out into the courtyard, teeming with nothing but panicked people. Well… almost. 

A familiar-looking man hovers near the edge of the courtyard, a bastion of calm in the chaos, clearly observing everything happening around him. Finally, you place him, he’d been arrested along with Steve and Bucky in Bucharest. Even so, there is no telling if you can trust this man, but if he can get you to Bucky-

The crowd erupts in fresh screams as the sound of a crash echoes across the complex. Both of you rush to the edge of the river only to see the fractured pieces of a helicopter sink. 

Every muscle in your body wants to jump in. He’s in there! Your heart screams—but your gut says, Wait. 

Carefully, you slide your gaze over. The man doesn’t seem to have noticed you, but he seems to have seen something else. You glance back but don’t notice anything significant. He turns on his heel, walking purposefully from the courtyard. You cast a desperate glance back to the river before following him, your gut winning this fight. 

You follow him on foot on a long, winding, route. Each step, each moment you think he’s come to his destination only to continue on, each time you narrowly escape his keen observations leaving you more and more exhausted. 

You’re so close to breaking that when he finally enters a dilapidated building in an industrial complex and doesn’t exit you nearly weep—you may not know if Bucky is here but you do know your body cannot take much more. 

Ignoring the chill rising up your spine as you hear helicopters overhead, you slip into the building silent as a shadow, only the tips of your boots touching the ground just enough to allow you to pivot if needed. 

Steve and the man are in a room away from the main space judging by their raised voices. It was pure luck, there were few spaces to hide in the open building, had they been there you’d be seen. Still… If you’re going to wait them out you need a place to hide Thankfully, most people rarely, if ever, thought to look up. 

Praying your power holds out you push yourself from the ground and perching above the doorway to the room they occupy, listening. 

“He tried to kill us!” One of them bellows. “I get trying to repay some kind of old debt or something. But you pulled him out, I’d say you’re even.”

“I get it, Sam,” Steve says, voice low and thick with emotion. 

“Do you?” The person you assume is Sam growls out. 

“Yes. But I can’t just… He wouldn’t leave me behind, he’d never-”

“Steve…”

“I just need to know. I need to know if he…”

“The odds aren’t looking good man,” Sam sighs out. “You really think that’s gonna hold him when he comes to?”

When he comes to… Those words light a fire in your veins, chasing away the bone-crushing exhaustion from a moment before. 

He is here. He’s right here. You almost rush down to him but sense wins—he was there, unconscious. Sure, you may be able to fight these two off but you couldn’t get you both to safety if he was dead weight. Plus… when he woke would he be himself…

You hear shuffling from the room. Panicked, you push yourself up a bit higher, using the old pipe as support, and guide yourself to a far corner, toes resting on the pipe, body curled against the rafters. And so you wait. 

Sam and Steve make rounds of the building a few times, never thinking to look up just like you suspected. As you wait you see two different versions of Steve Rogers. 

When Sam is around he’s solid, seemingly unshaken by what’s happened. Donning the mask of a leader without thought. The moment Sam goes into the other room though… the mask is gone. Steve looks smaller somehow, shoulders slumped, pace less measured. His fingers run through his hair over and over in a nervous tick. Just like Bucky, you think with a smile. 

It feels like an age before Sam calls to Steve sending your heart into your throat. Steve sprints into the room, following Sam. 

Silently you return to your place above the door. A small pained noise hits your ears causing your heart to seize. Bucky… Patience, you coach yourself to keep from doing something stupid. 

“Steve,” he says in a huff. 

“Which Bucky am I talkin’ to?” Steve’s voice is cold, the mask back on. There’s a pause and you don’t dare breathe. 

“Your mom’s name was Sarah…” Your body tenses. “You used to wear newspapers in your shoes,” Bucky says, a soft laugh coloring his tone. 

Tears sting your eyes and you feel yourself breath just a little easier. It’s him. He’s alive and in control and… he is yours. Steve may want answers, may even be willing to help, but you don’t know them and don’t trust them. You’re going to get the two of you out of here no matter what it takes. 

Dropping down you fling Sam across the room, with a blast of power that surprises even you, before they even realize you’re there. 

Steve, caught off guard rushes you—he doesn’t get far. You grab his ankles and with a flick of your wrist, you send him to the ground, his own momentum working against him. Sam was up again but you pin him easily enough as you slam a wall of force down on Steve to keep him down. 

“Y/N!” Bucky gasps as you hurry to his side. 

You can’t speak, scared that you’ll lose focus, already feeling the tingle of pain in your skull from using so much power. His arm is caught in a vice of some sort. Groaning you use your hands to pry it open just enough for him to get loose. Steve slips your hold and lunges but you manage to push him back. 

“What the fuck is this?!” Rage rumbles in Sam’s words. 

“Bucky?” Steve looks at Bucky behind you, eyes begging for answers. 

“It’s ok,” Bucky says, voice steady behind you. His arms wrap around you, pulling your back tight against his chest. “It’s ok,” he says again, breath hot on your ear. “Let them go, Y/N.”

“No,” your voice steadier than you anticipated. “We need to go, we have to-”

“It’s ok, doll,” he coos, like you were waking from a bad dream. Steve’s eyes are on Bucky still, some silent communion taking place because Steve nods before Bucky says, “We can trust them, it’s ok.” 

But it wasn’t. Nothing was ok… Pain cracks through your skull, your power recoiling as it thunders back, and you shudder. His grip loosens and the other two men don’t move as you turn in his arms. 

“Bucky,” your voice cracks. 

“It’s ok,” he repeats, his kind eyes studying your face, “I’ve got y-” Gentle metal fingers trace the bruise forming on your cheek and wander down to your throat. “Who…” Realization dawns with horror on his face as he pushes you away stumbling back. 

“It wasn’t you,” your voice soft. It feels like the oxygen in the room has been replaced with tension. You place a hand on his arm and he pulls away, it hurts worse than any bruise. 

“Wasn’t…” he shakes his head, tremors tearing him as he collapses onto the floor, back to the vice that held him a moment before. He turns desperate eyes to Steve, “What did I do?” 

Steve looks at your own desperate expression, begging him to be kind. “Enough,” he says. Bucky’s eyes squeeze shut, his head hitting the metal behind him with a painful thud. You fall to his side, taking his face in your hands, trying to force him to look at you. 

“You didn’t-”

“I knew this would happen,” it’s barely a whisper, his eyes refusing to meet yours. “It’s all still there, everything Hydra put in my head.”

“And you’re still there too. You. Bucky Barnes,” your voice is strong now, needing him to hear you. “You stopped yourself from killing people, from killing me. You fought-”

“I hurt you,” his eyes finally met yours, the pain there threatening to swallow you both. 

“I’ve hurt you, remember?” Your hand rests on his abdomen where purple bruises once bloomed darkly after you lost control during a flashback. 

“This disfunction is touching but who the hell are you?” 

“Sam,” Steve says, warning in his tone. You glare at Sam over your shoulder before Bucky coaxes you to sit between his legs, clearly wanting you both to remain as non-threatening as possible. 

“What?” He gestures at you and Bucky. “It’s a fair question considering both of them have thrown my ass across a room today.”

“He has a point,” Steve looks to Bucky. 

You sigh, “Y/N. My name is, Y/N.” Silence hangs for a moment. 

“Like Cher? Just the one name?” Sam crosses his arms and cocks a brow at you. 

“Yeah,” you smirk up at him. “Just like, Cher.” 

Bucky’s arms tighten around you, his focus on Steve, “She’s my girl.” You see Steve’s face soften. 

“So the assassin has a girlfriend and I can’t even get a date?” Sam rolls his eyes shaking his head.

“Have you considered, or rather reconsidered, your winning personality?” You snipe back, watching Sam fight a smile.

“Are you both done?” Steve looks between you and Sam. 

“For now,” Sam sighs, sitting on the floor as well, his back to the wall. 

Steve runs a hand through his hair, “What did that guy want with you Buck? The doctor.”

“I… I don’t know.” A tremor runs through his body behind you and you give his forearm a comforting squeeze. 

“I need you to try and remember. He attacked some of the most powerful people in the world for the opportunity to get 10 minutes alone with you. We need to know why.” 

“He said he didn’t know,” you bristle. 

Steve doesn’t acknowledge you, “Bucky…” 

“He… He wanted to know about… Si-Siberia.” Bucky’s voice is strained, as though reaching for this information is painful. “Where I was kept…” You shift in his hold so your back is pressed against his inner thigh to be able to see his face. 

“Why?” Your brows knit. Of all the things-

“Because… I’m not the only Winter Soldier,” he says, eyes glued to the middle distance, unable to meet anyone’s gaze. 

Your body goes stiff, blood cold, as he lays out the story. Flashes fill your mind when he speaks on the serum they pumped into the agents—blue and burning and… running through your own veins. Without thinking your fingers wander to the track marks on your arms, tracing them over and over again while Bucky describes what these other soldiers are capable of. 

Sam and Steve huddle together talking. Bucky’s warm fingers catch your hand, “It’s because of me. Like I said. They were able to do this to you because of me…” 

“You were Hydra,” Steve turns on you both, voice dripping with venom. 

“No,” Bucky says. 

“You said those people were Hydra-” Sam starts.

“I’m not fucking Hydra,” your voice shakes. “I wasn’t one of them. They… they took me.” 

“Why?” Steve’s expression is cold, distrusting. 

Your jaw clenches as you send Steve stumbling back several paces. “That’s why,” you growl. 

“You trust her?” Steve asks Bucky. 

“With my life,” Bucky says. The certainty in his voice makes your heart sing. 

“I think the question here is do you trust him?” Sam asks Steve, voice laced with disbelief. 

“I do.”

“So some heartfelt sharing and just like that we’re supposed to be cool? That makes sense.” 

Sighing heavily you run your hand over your face, feeling the weight of exhaustion beginning to press in once more. “I think a fucking Hydra death squad being let lose is a more pressing matter than who trusts who don’t you?” 

“She’s right,” Steve says. He walks over to Sam, taking a seat beside him. “We need a plan.” 

“You plan things now?” Bucky asks, a note of humor coloring his words. Sam issues a knowing scoff causing Steve to glare at them both. 

“Whatever the plan we should sort it out in a better place than this.” You say, looking around the space. “Like maybe a place with a door that locks?” 

“Open to suggestions,” Steve says. 

“I think I noticed some shitty hotels not too far away.” You try to think of the buildings you passed on your way here. 

“In case it slipped your notice we’re kind of being hunted,” Sam says. 

You grin, “You guys are being hunted. I’m not.” Steve’s smile mirrors your own.

“Absolutely not,” Bucky’s tone is no-nonsense. 

You spin on him, “Do you have a better idea?” His jaw flexes as you stare at him. “Didn’t think so. We need to get out of here to someplace where we can sort this shit out and I’m the only one here who’s face hasn’t been plastered across news channels around the whole damn world.” 

His eyes narrow, “What exactly do you think we’re gonna sort out? You’re going to get the hell out of here and we-” he gestures to the other men-“will find a way to-”

“The hell you will!” You shoot to your feet, staring down at him in shock. “You just said some psycho is planning to unleash a bevy of Hydra fuckery onto the world and you actually think I’m going to run off like some damsel?!” 

“Y/N-”

“Don’t. There isn’t anything to discuss. I’m in this. We are in this.” 

“Oh I like her,” Sam says with a smile. Bucky gives him a murderous look but doesn’t argue further. 

Despite Bucky’s protest you’re soon ditching the top of your stolen tactical gear in favor of Sam’s leather jacket and sneaking off into the growing afternoon shadows. 

First thing you need is cash. 

It feels like old times as you slide into a dim pub, already filling with patrons fresh off from work, and effortlessly slide a few wallets and money clips out and away from their owners. You ditch the wallets, cards, and IDs in the bathroom trash and move to head out before your reflection catches your attention in the mirror. 

The circles under your eyes are practically purple in the light, your hair a tousled mess. You sigh heavily, resting your hands on the sink as your stomach roars. No time for that now. Instead, you drink from the faucet long and deep, splash some water on your face, and get back to the tasks at hand. 

It’s full dark by the time you pull up to the warehouse. 

When you see Bucky he looks like he’s about two minutes from razing Berlin to find you. 

“What took so long?” He grumbles once you’re inside. 

“Oh, I’m sorry. Could you steal cash, a car, get food, and find the most questionable hotel in Berlin faster? I’ll be sure to let you do it next time.” Behind you Sam snickers. 

Bucky pulls you into his arms. “I’m just happy you’re ok.” You look up, giving him a weak smile before resting your head on his chest, your eyes begging to close. 

“Are we clear?” Steve asks. 

“Yeah.” You nod toward the exit and they follow, Bucky taking your hand in his. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Sam says, gawking at the beat-up Beetle waiting for you all. 

“It’s a classic,” you say over your shoulder. “Plus, no one is gonna look for two super soldiers and a… Bird… Guy, in this.” 

“It’s Falcon,” Sam throws at you as he rounds the car to pry open the rusty passenger door. “Bird Guy,” he mutters under his breath, folding himself into the back seat. Steve chuckles a little as he somehow shoves himself in beside Sam. 

Before Bucky releases your hand you sway a bit. 

“Baby doll?” He steadies you, hands on your shoulders. 

“Just tired,” you say, doing your best to sound nonchalant. His eyes brim with concern. “Seriously. I’m ok. I’ve got you.” You place your hand over the steady thrum of his heart. 

He shakes his head, the corner of his mouth rising a bit, and lowers his lips to your forehead. A knocking on the small back window of the car hits your ears. 

“Not to ruin the moment but…” Sam says. You both laugh a little before climbing into the car. 

“You boys comfy back there?” You ask, looking back at them through the rearview mirror. 

“Yeah-” Steve’s knees jam into the back of Bucky’s seat- “plenty of room to spread out.” 

“Still a punk,” Bucky huffs pushing his seat back a little farther. 

The three of you stand in the doorway to the hotel room, giving yourselves a moment to acclimate to the stale smell. 

“Getting scabies is the perfect way to top off this shitty day,” Sam sighs out. 

“It’s been more than a day,” Steve says dryly. 

“Rogers. Shut up.” Sam shoulders past you all. “I’m taking a shower.” He’s in the bathroom for about thirty seconds before he exits. 

“On second thought, dealing with my stink is the least you all owe me.” He immediately face plants on the nearest bed, the cry of old springs filling the room. 

“Maybe the other bathroom is better,” you say opening the door to the adjoining room, Bucky silently trailing behind you. It’s equally musty but the bathroom doesn’t look like someone died in it recently. You’d certainly showered in worse. 

“This one isn’t so bad, Sam,” you call out to him.

“Nope,” he says, voice muffled. “Too late.” 

Steve shakes his head at Sam’s prone form as he sits on the edge of the other bed. Relief floods his features as he lifts the receiver on the old phone, it must actually work. His eyes run over you and Bucky, hovering by the door to the other room, then back to Sam. 

“I’m gonna make some calls. You guys get some rest and I’ll get you when we’ve got enough intel to start putting together a plan.” 

“You sure?” Bucky asks, wrapping an arm around your waist. 

“Yeah,” Steve smiles. The two of you turn to leave. “And, Y/N…” You turn back to Steve. “Thank you.” His words are filled with sincerity and hold so much more than their simplicity would suggest. 

“I think I owe you at least a few.” You glance up at Bucky. Steve pulled him from the river and likely did more that you didn’t know. Something tells you that you’d have lost Bucky today was it not for him.

“I’d say we’re even.” He sighs, “Rest up. We’re gonna need it.”

Bucky closes the door behind him and your legs finally give out as you collapse on the edge of the bed, your head held in your hands. Suddenly your breath is ragged, body trembling, you don’t have an ounce of will left in you to control either. 

The sound of angry springs tells you he’s perched on the opposite bed. 

“I’m sorry,” Bucky says, his voice rough. You look up at him, his expression is bereft. “You don’t have to do any of this, Y/N. You don’t. This doesn’t have to be your fight.” 

You’re too tired to be mad at him but you bristle all the same. “It is my fight.” His brows knit and you press on. “He came for you. That makes this my fight, even without Hydra being involved.” Venom drips from your next words, “And if I get my hands on him first. I swear I’ll break him in every way I know how.” 

Bucky rises, kneeling on the ground in front of you, gathering your hands in his. It reminds you of when you first met, how he’d kept you from being crushed under the weight of your grief, even after you’d attacked him and tied him to a wall. Your eyes sting with tears and you try to swallow the lump in your throat. 

“Y/N…” His thumbs run over the ridges of your knuckles before he lifts your hands to press a kiss on the back of each. “You’re my whole heart. The one good thing that’s come from the nightmare that the last 70 years has been… And I need you to promise me something.” 

All you can do is nod, unwilling to say anything too committal. 

“Promise me that if…” He swallows hard looking away for a moment before turning his focus back to you. “That no matter what happens to me… Promise you won’t give up.”

No matter what happens… The implications make your chest seize. You look away, trying to pull from his grip but he holds you tight. 

“Y/N,” his voice is calm and steady, “look at me.” Begrudgingly you do. “We don’t know what may happen, we never did. But now…” Now the threat was more tangible. You close your eyes, trying to fight back the tears. 

“I just need to know that you’ll keep going,” his voice cracks on the last word. You open your eyes—tears, breaching their banks, flow silently down your cheeks—and study the face of the man you love. 

He was so beautiful. Those eyes that told his story often better than his perfect mouth ever could. The lips you loved to feel on your skin, hiding a smile that you knew could shame the sun. You pull your hand free from his and trace his strong brows, the crease between them that formed when he was worried or thinking too much. Your thumb dashes away a lone tear that sneaks out of the corner of his eye and take a deep, shaky, breath. 

A part of you wants to give him what he wants—promise him that you’ll be fine, thrive even, no matter what. A part wishes you were that unbreakable… but you’re not. A world without him… It wasn’t unimaginable, you’d lost too many people to be that naive, but it was a nightmare to consider. You can’t promise him much but you can give him something. 

“I promise I’ll try…” 

His smile is soft, a little sad, as he pulls your hand from his face to press a kiss to your palm. “That’s enough.” 

“You have to do the same though.” His eyes narrow, body tensing a bit. You knew he’d only seen one side of this, the one where he’s taken in or down—but he wasn’t the only one heading into this situation, there was enough risk to go around. 

His jaw flexes and you think he’s going to protest but instead, he says, “I promise, Y/N.” You give a small nod, face contorting as you press down a sob, too scared to fall apart now. 

Bucky takes your face in his hands, pressing his lips to yours with an intensity that takes your breath away. Your chest fills as though you haven’t truly taken a breath since you’d last tasted him. His fingers tangle in your hair, his tongue sliding between your teeth. A small sob finally breaks free from you, but he catches it and the pain it carries with his kiss. 

A hurricane of love, fear, relief, and exhaustion rages through you. Rather than fight it, you let it come, let the tears flow, let him gather you in his arms and carry you into the tiny bathroom, setting you on the sink. 

Your kisses taste like the sea as your hands clumsily tear at each other’s filthy clothes until they reach purchase on the flesh they crave. Everything slows then. Each touch becoming less desperate and more reverential, memorizing the dips and curves of each other because… Because maybe this is the last time. 

You won’t give that thought any space to take root. 

Bucky turns the water in the shower on, steaming hot before lifting you in his arms again. You wrap your legs around his waist feeling the length of him brush against you. Once in the enveloping warmth of the shower he slowly slides inside you. 

For a few minutes, you remain connected like this, staring into each other’s eyes. You want to remember this, remember how he feels, how his eyes are always so blue when they’re wide with wanting. 

Under the heat of the water the two of you make love as though there isn’t disaster dangling just beyond your line of sight—unhurried, sighing love between kisses, whispering it into ears, saying it with your bodies as you both come together, quietly.

You’d just slipped your teeshirt back on when a knock sounds quietly on the other side of the door between the rooms. Bucky answers, still roughly toweling his hair in only his jeans. 

“Hey, sorry,” Steve says somewhat awkwardly. “I got through to some folks faster than I thought I would.”

“That’s great,” Bucky says. You come up behind him, handing him his white undershirt, as you both head to the other room. 

Sam smirks at the two of you, “How’s the shower?”

Bucky makes a small noise and you laugh, “Passable.”

“Good.” Sam looks to Steve, “Lay it out, Rogers.” 

Steve leans by the window, arms crossed. “Sharon is going to meet us an 0700. Thankfully she’s not one to hold grudges.”

Bucky’s face drops, “Did I-”

“Pretty blonde?” You ask taking a shot in the dark and cutting him off from falling into that guilt trip.  

“Yeah,” Steve nods.

“No worries there babe, that one’s on me.” You pat his shoulder and sit on the empty bed. Bucky raises a brow before joining you. 

Steve shakes his head, “She’s got mine and Sam’s gear and agreed to grab a few things for the two of you as well.”

“That’s generous,” Bucky says with suspicion. 

“It wasn’t hard to convince her after I explained what was going on.”

“And Clint?” Sam asks. 

“Yup. He’s on board and is gonna reach out to Wanda and get your guy, Lang.”

“Wouldn’t call him my guy,” Sam says, groaning as he sits up. “But if he can get the drop on me I say he’s a good addition.” 

Steve looks at you, “Assuming you’re in too?”

“Absolutely.” Bucky takes your hand in his, holding tight. Steve nods in approval. 

Steve gives you an approving nod, “Then we rendezvous at the airport. Clint is covering transpo. From there we head to Siberia and hope we can stop him before he topples whatever empire he’s aiming for.” 

“Alright.” Sam stands to stretch. “You two cool with switching rooms? I need to shower.”

“Fine with me,” you look at Bucky and he nods in approval. 

Once the guys leave you lay on top of the dingy comforter. It takes all of one minute for you to fall into a deep sleep. 

-

Bucky counts your breaths, hoping they will lull him to sleep. Instead, he finds himself studying your face, the little sounds you make, the way your lashes just barely graze your cheeks. 

He almost lost this. 

Like a memory from a nightmare he recalls his left hand tight on your throat, the look of terror and determination in your eyes, your hand reaching out, calling his name. He can still feel the shock through his skull as your name thundered into his consciousness then. You had been enough to pull him back, even if only for a moment. 

Just before dawn he’s restless, body humming with anxiety and anticipation. 

Delicately he extricates himself from the bed, hovering for a moment to make sure you’re not awake. He heads out into the hall, propping the door open with the latch to make sure he’ll hear any sign of you waking. 

“Had a feeling I’d see you out here eventually,” Steve says from his spot on the floor just down the hall. “You never could sleep the night before a mission.”

“Neither could you.” Bucky slides down the wall across from Steve. 

Steve’s gaze is focused on his palms, forearms resting on his knees. He doesn’t look up when he says, “How much… How much do you really remember?” 

Bucky sighs, “I…” His mouth goes dry suddenly, unsure of how to quantify this. Then he remembers the stories he shared with you, a smile rising to his face. 

“I remember that one time we got caught sneaking into the pictures and hid out in a dumpster.” Steve laughs a little but still doesn’t look up. “I remember DumDum always challenging you to a drinking contest knowing he’d lose every time. And…” Bucky swallows hard, smile falling, “I remembered… I remembered what I said when your Ma passed.” This causes Steve to look up, eyes big and glassy. 

“The end of the line,” Bucky says, voice thick with emotion. Quickly he dashes away tears threatening to fall, not wanting Steve to ever see him break. “I’m so sorry, Steve. I tried-” He doesn’t finish, cut off by Steve’s bone-crushing embrace. 

It takes him a minute to realize that Steve keeps repeating, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” like a chant under his breath. 

“Pal-” Bucky pats his back firmly- “you’ve got nothing to be sorry for.” 

“I do,” Steve barely manages as he pulls back, Adam’s apple bobbing hard in his throat. “I couldn’t save you. All the times you backed me up, saving my ass, again and again, our whole lives and… when it mattered-” 

Bucky shakes his head, “You’re impossible.” Steve leans against the wall next to him, wiping his nose on his arm. “Did you forget pulling me, hell the lot of us, out of that facility? Thought I was the one with memory problems, man.” 

Steve throws him one of his signature sidelong looks. Bucky grins, knowing that means he’s getting through. 

“Do you remember it?” Steve takes a shaky breath, “The train?” 

“No.” 

Steve sniffs hard, nodding and clearing his throat. 

“Y/N, must be somethin’.” There’s nothing false in the smile he throws Bucky’s way. “Don’t think I ever saw you look at a gal like that.”

Bucky huffs a small laugh, casting a quick glance at the cracked door. “I don’t think I ever did.” 

“You deserve that, Buck.” 

“Not sure about that. But I want to…” 

Steve claps a hand on his shoulder, “You do, brother. I promise.” Bucky manages a half-smile.

“Steve…” He rubs his hands together, unsure if he has any right to ask this, but knowing he has to. “If anything happens to me…” 

“I’ll have her back.” Bucky looks at him, a little slack-jawed. “You’re my family, Bucky. That makes her family too.” 

“Thank you, Steve.” 

“Don’t mention it.” He shoves his shoulder into Bucky’s. “But, let’s both try to make it out of this one.” 

“Deal.” Bucky sighs, leaning his head back against the wall. 

“I lost her… Peggy,” Steve says after several minutes. Bucky had figured as much but his chest tightens all the same. “They buried her two days ago.”

“Oh, Stevie…” The old nickname slips out and he cringes a bit, remembering Steve hated it. He’d assumed Peggy, everyone, had been gone for some time by now. 

“It’s ok.” A sad smile fills Steve’s face, tears threatening. “You did say that I’d regret waiting. You were right.” Bucky doesn’t know what to say, he just rests what he hopes is a comforting hand on Steve’s knee. 

“Don’t waste any time you have together, Buck.” Steve stands suddenly, shaking off the sadness like it was nothing. Bucky knows its bullshit, just a front Steve Rogers was good at putting up. He holds a hand out and pulls Bucky up. 

“Get your ass back in there. We’ve got almost two hours until we leave.” 

Bucky smiles tightly and nods before heading into the room.

You’re still asleep when he closes the door quietly behind him. He slides up next to you, pulling you tight to his chest, pressing kisses to your brow. 

“Bucky,” you say in a groggy voice. 

“Mhm,” he hums. 

“Is everything ok?”

“Yup. We have a little while before we roll out.” 

You nod, “Good.” 

“Kiss me,” he says low. That’s all he wants to do until you run out of time. Kiss you, hold you. Pry one more good moment from this mess of a situation. 

Chapter 46

When Steve offers to drive to the rendezvous with Sharon Carter you aren’t inclined to argue. You’d passed out the night before but it was nowhere near enough. 

In the back of the Beetle, you curl up next to Bucky, not that there was much choice. He tucks you under his arm and the sound of his steady heart paired with the motion of the car lull you back to dreamless sleep. You don’t stir until you hear Steve’s door creak open. 

Bucky shifts a bit next to you, clearly uncomfortable in the cramped space, trying not to jam his knees into Sam’s back as Steve had to him the night before. Glowering a bit at Sam for clearly ignoring his situation. 

He looks in the rearview mirror at Sam, “Can you move your seat up?” His tone measured, clearly trying to sound polite despite his annoyance. 

“No,” Sam says completely deadpan, not even bothering to meet Bucky’s stern gaze in the mirror. 

Silence lingers. Bucky attempts to shift just a little closer to you though there’s nowhere to go. You look between the two men and a laugh bubbles up. You try to contain it but Sam’s expression pushes you over the edge and you cackle, the sound filling the car. 

“You are the smallest person here so I don’t want to hear a thing from you.” His tone is serious but you catch the faintest glimmer of a smile in the mirror. 

Your laughter fades into an uncomfortable grimace as soon as Agent Carter turns her gaze to the three of you. With a tight smile on your lips, you lift your hand in a weak wave.  

“A wave, really?” Sam throws a sideways glance your way. 

“Just trying to be polite.”

“From what I hear you beat her ass yesterday. I think polite is out the window.” Sam gets out to help Steve with the gear. 

“Why’d you attack her?” Bucky asks. 

“She was going for you.” 

“Not like she didn’t have a good reason to.”

“Yeah, well-” you shrug- “I also headbutted the Black Widow so I’m down two for two on my girl power points.” He chuckles pressing a kiss to your temple. 

With the car stuffed with bodies and gear, Steve steers you toward the airport. The closer you get the heavier the silence, each person wrapped in their own fears and concerns. 

In an attempt to calm your racing thoughts you lean your ear back against Bucky’s chest, counting the steady beats. It doesn’t do much but remind you just what you’ll do, what you’ll sacrifice, to protect this heart. 

The moment Steve parks, you feel your stomach flip. Your gaze flits to Bucky’s only to see him looking down at you too. Sam and Steve step out but the two of you linger for a moment, knowing it may be the last time you have alone. 

“We’re gonna get through this. Together,” he says it like he’s trying to convince himself as much as you. You try to take a deep breath and nod. 

“We should-” 

“Yeah,” he cuts you off. 

You reach forward to push the driver’s seat up. He pulls you back kissing you deeply. Breathless his lips hover above yours. Your heart skitters, the intensity in his gaze sending chills down your spine. 

Though you both want this moment to stretch, to last forever, you know it can’t. Begrudgingly he pulls back, allowing you enough room to extricate yourself from the cramped quarters. 

As you get out you catch the gaze of someone you recognize from Avenger’s coverage to be Clint Barton. He looks from you to Bucky, eyebrow cocked up in a knowing gaze. Feeling like a kid who’s been caught making out behind the bleachers you quickly turn away, rounding the car to stand beside Bucky as the five of them continue to chat. 

He slides his hand in your’s giving it a squeeze before interrupting, “We should get moving.”

Before anyone can respond a voice crackles over the airport intercom. As the announcer repeats the evacuation notice you glance up at Bucky, the muscle in his jaw twitching. 

“Stark,” Sam and Steve echo. 

“You’re not wearing that?” Clint nods to Cap, a smirk on his face. Steve shakes his head and pops open the trunk, stuffed with their contraband gear. 

“Let’s find someplace to get our bearings,” Steve says as he hands Sam his wings. 

You all hunker down in what seems to be a large custodian closet. There’s just enough space for you all but no extra room for modesty, not that it matters much to you. 

Geared up, everyone makes quick introductions, to both each other and who or rather what you’re all facing. The details out of the way Steve begins to layout a plan of attack as best he can, given the limited information available.

“We’ll split,” Steve says. “Bucky, you and Sam head into the terminal. If Stark and the others are here they’ll have the jet. Find it.” Bucky slides you a sidelong glance, drawing you closer, but doesn’t protest. 

“Wanda, you and Clint stick together and be my distance support. Scott, Y/N, you’re with me. They don’t know what either of you can do so the element of surprise will be useful if it comes to that.” 

Steve looks at everyone, every inch the leader, “Ready?” Nods from all, “Let’s make this as quick and clean as possible. No one needs to get hurt.” 

Before you head to follow Steve Bucky pulls you to him suddenly, his kiss fleeting and a touch desperate. His mouth opens as if to say something but he shakes his head. Lifting your hand to his lips he kisses your knuckles. As soon as he releases your hand you turn on your heel and sprint to catch up with Steve, too afraid that if you stop or look back that you’ll lose your nerve. 

From your position behind a storage container, you can clearly hear every word that falls from Tony Stark’s pompous mouth. Somehow each syllable makes you angrier than the last. You know Steve is just stalling but you have to actually hold your tongue between your teeth to keep from telling him to fuck himself.

A voice that sounds far too young to be here hits your ears and you almost peek out. Bigger fish, Y/N, you coach yourself. 

Finally, Sam’s voice comes through the comms, “We found it.” 

“Alright, guys,” Steve says. 

This was your go. The tension in your muscles release, and you spring to the top of the container and over to Steve, your feet never once touching the ground. 

“Who the hell?” The guy you assume is James Rhodes says. His body language showing the surprise you can’t see on his face. 

You couldn’t blame him. Lang, lands by you and Steve, handing him his shield, now back to his normal size in a matter of seconds. It was impressive and a little jarring to even you. 

To her credit, Romanoff doesn’t look the least bit phased. She gives Lang a once over, clearly trying to assess him. When her appraising stare falls to you, you’re a bit surprised to see more admiration than anger in her expression considering your last encounter. 

Stark, however, wastes no time. He heads for Wanda and Clint while Rhodes clocks Bucky and Sam’s position. 

You’re ready to move on Rhodes when King T’Challa growls, “Barnes is mine!” 

“The hell he is!” You wrap your power around his torso as he sprints for the terminal, tugging him back hard, as Steve launches his shield at T’Challa’s back. 

“Cover Rhodes,” Steve says as he pursues T’Challa. 

There isn’t time to argue though you want to. You can better handle someone with air proficiency and Steve is better suited for the ground. Still…

“Got it,” you grudgingly acknowledge turning to face Rhodes as he pulls out an oversized stun baton. Could he have picked a weapon you hated more?

“Look, I don’t know who you are but… I really suggest you stand down,” he says. 

“Thanks for the suggestion,” you say, a shit-eating grin plastered on your face. 

Ensnaring the baton in your grasp you pull it from him. Simultaneously you land another invisible blow directly to the middle of his chest that sends him spinning back. The baton comes straight into your waiting palm just before he rights himself. 

“What the hell?!” He exclaims once more as you brandish his own weapon. 

“This thing is hefty-” you give it a once over- “overcompensating?” 

“Real funny,” he quips before shooting straight for you. 

He’s fast, but a big target is easy for you to get a feel of. Thrusting your power before you like a net, he slams into it. The reverberations of the impact thrum through your brain, pain sizzling at the edges of your vision. 

Pushing the discomfort aside you lift yourself from the ground, propelling yourself up and over him by stepping on his helmet. Pulling your power back he tumbles forward, you lasso his ankles, slamming him to the ground as you land behind him. 

The instant he moves to turn you swing the baton with all your force, landing it in his shoulder. Between the impact and the electricity, it manages to short the suit–at least for now. 

You’re going to have to tell Bucky he was right. All those hours of training did pay off. Damn. 

“Uh… can we get some assistance,” Sam’s voice pipes up in the comms. “We’re a little… tied up.”

“Heading your way,” you respond, sprinting toward the terminal. 

You try, you really do, to not laugh when you see them. Despite your best efforts and the absolute shit show of this entire situation you fail. The two of them are stuck to the ground with the same substance that spider kid had shot at Steve. 

“Really boys? You let a 12-year-old get the drop on you?”

Bucky stands, brushing the webbing off his arms. “He may be a kid but he stopped my left hook like it was nothing.” Your brows raise in surprise. “Who the hell would bring a kid into this?” Bucky’s expression is black with rage. 

“Stark,” is all Sam says in response. 

The three of you hustle from the terminal, running full tilt to catch up with the others. You coalesce and for a moment it actually feels like you’re going to make it to the jet, like just maybe this is going to work. That fleeting hope is severed when a beam from somewhere above you blasts a literal line into the tarmac. 

You stumble back a bit into Bucky’s arms. He presses you tight against him as you both look up to see someone straight out of science fiction–Vision, Steve called him. 

Even with the quite literal line drawn you all know there is no turning back now. There is too much at risk if you do. 

Bucky’s arms tighten almost imperceptibly before releasing you, gesturing for you to take Wanda’s side. You do so, the two of you exchanging a meaningful glance. 

“What’d we do Cap?” Sam asks, though his tone says he knows the answer as well as the rest of you. 

“We fight,” Steve replies joylessly. 

Everything that follows happens so fast. 

You and Wanda fall into a fast rhythm, tag-teaming the aerial targets by lobbing projectiles in an attempt to ground them. While your aim is excellent her force far outweighs yours. 

“I’ll hold you land the hit,” you call to her. She nods. You grip the kid mid-swing and she slams a piece of debris into him knocking him down. “Damn you’re good!”

“You’re not too bad either,” she grins. 

Before you turn your focus to Rhodes you glance around to spot Bucky. He’s going hard blow for blow with T’Challa. 

Wanda and you exchange a glance. She nods and you split. 

Running at a dead sprint you try to catch T’Challa’s next blow before it finds it’s target, but you’re too slow. He lands a kick that sends Bucky careening into a stack of crates with a sickening crack. 

T’Challa stalks forward, blocking your view of Bucky’s collapsed body, with claws out. There is no time to consider if Bucky is even conscious. He’ll kill him, is the only thought you have. 

Sending your power out to T’Challa, you’re surprised to only find purchase on the surface, unable to sink under his suit to do any internal harm. It doesn’t matter though. 

Mustering a level of force that sends shivers through your body you hurl him away from Bucky. T’Challa rights himself in the air landing gracefully, claws sparking against the concrete, as you place yourself between Bucky’s unconscious form and him. 

“You,” he growls. The word barely hits your ear before he charges. 

His attacks are painfully quick with a fluidity you’ve never encountered. Even Bucky wasn’t this good. He lands several blows but your power reacts instinctively, cushioning them enough that you aren’t brought down. Soon you are able to hone in on his rhythm, managing several good moments of contact yourself. 

“This isn’t about you!” 

“It is if it’s about him,” you spit back. 

He roars in frustration, his leg swinging to kick your feet from under you. It’s the slightest bit less refined than his other moves, nowhere near sloppy but it’s enough that you’re able to clock it quickly. You kick away from the ground, landing behind him. 

This gives you the advantage you need. You manage a well-placed blow to the backs of his knees and he falls forward. Winding your power around his middle you squeeze tight enough to hear a small gasp and force him away. 

You only glance behind you for a breath, just wanting to see if Bucky was ok. The relief from seeing him get to his feet doesn’t have the chance to sink in. Turning back all to the fight before you all you register is a block blur before searing pain tears through your chest. 

“Y/N!” Bucky screams. 

But you don’t make a sound. Your eyes are fixed on the splashes of red spattering the concrete as you hit your knees, still not registering that it’s yours despite the pain. A shaking hand rises to your chest, coming away covered in blood from four deep gouges.  

A feral sound draws your eyes up to see Bucky attacking T’Challa with a ferocity you’ve never seen. Still, he holds Bucky back until you see a red cloud grab hold of him, throwing him away. 

“Doll!” Bucky calls out, running to your side. He grabs your shoulders, jostling the wounds on your chest. 

Now you scream. 

“Fuck,” he breathes. 

“I’ve got her,” Wanda’s voice from behind you. It’s strange to be moved like this by a force that’s not your own. Wanda’s power—red, warm, tingling like static—gently moves you, resting your back against the crates Bucky had been thrown against a moment before. 

“Y/N’s down,” Bucky says in a tight voice. 

“I’m ok,” you say through clenched teeth. “Go.” Wanda gives you one last look before listening. Unsurprisingly Bucky doesn’t budge. “Bucky-”

“Don’t,” he cuts you off, unable to take his eyes from the wounds in your chest.

His hands hover awkwardly over you, unsure where to touch you to avoid causing more pain. He settles on resting a tentative hand on your thigh. When he finally looks you in the face his expression is something you’ve never seen—a terrifying combination of utter fear and abject rage. 

“Holy shit,” Steve breathes as he crouches next to you both. 

“’ Tis but a scratch,” you say attempting to sit up straighter. Bucky’s eyes narrow. “Seriously, I’m going to be fine.” And you suspected you weren’t lying, the blood had already slowed some even if it hurt like hell. 

“How’re we gonna get her to the jet?” Steve asks. You’re a little touched by the deep concern in his tone. 

“We aren’t,” Sam says over the comms. 

“What?!” Bucky bellows so loud you flinch. 

“There’s no way all of us are getting out of here,” Sam responds. 

“As much as I hate to admit that Wilson’s right-”

“He is right,” you cut off the rest of Clint’s words covering Bucky’s hand with yours. “You two have to go.”

“No,” his voice shakes. 

“We’ve got her back,” Sam reassures. 

“Absolutely,” Clint says backing him. 

“Don’t ask me to do this,” Bucky choaks out. 

With a shaking blood-stained hand, you push a strand of hair from his eyes. “This is bigger than us.” 

“Dammit,” he says through clenched teeth. “Fine. Ok.” 

“Alright, Lang,” Steve confers over the comms, having been laying out a plan while you convinced Bucky. “On your mark.” 

“Help me up,” you ask Bucky.

“You really should-”

“I’d rather be on my feet.” Begrudgingly, he helps you stand on shaky legs. 

Leaning into Bucky for support, you watch in wonder as Lang becomes the size of a jet. An awestruck laugh bubbles up before you can stop it, moving the muscles in your chest causing you to hiss in pain. 

“Y/N?” Bucky asks, tone frantic. You pat his chest reassuringly. 

“Guess that’s the signal,” Steve throws a look at you both. 

Bucky’s eyes are desperate, still, you say, “Go.”

He takes your face in his hands, kissing you deeply before pulling back. “I love you.” 

“I love all of you.”

“Remember your promise.” It’s not a question. 

You nod, “Don’t make me keep it and I won’t make you.” 

“Deal,” he says with a sad smile. 

“We gotta go,” Steve says. 

Bucky backs away from you slowly before turning to run. The wounds in your chest nothing compared to the hurt of watching him go. 

Your fight isn’t done. Cradling your left arm across your chest, hoping to alleviate some of the pressure on the wound you start to make your way forward.

“Nope,” Clint drops down in front of you. “Sit your ass down.” 

“I-” He cuts you off with a look and you lean against the crates until he’s satisfied. It only lasts until you see the blast from Vision sending debris tumbling to block Bucky and Steve’s entry to the jet. 

You hardly breathe as you run, pain searing through your chest, clouding your vision. Wanda catches everything giving them enough space to get through before Rhodes hits her with something sending her to her knees. 

Anger swells within you, momentarily taking place of the pain. You heave Rhodes away from Wanda before collapsing yourself. Clint rushes to your side, holding you up. 

“What did I say?” 

“I’m a bad listener.” 

“Clearly.” He positions himself behind you so you’re able to lean into him. 

The jet bursts from the hanger and you feel yourself relax. They can do this, they can fix this. Steve will bring him back. 

“What now?” You ask Clint.

“We wait.” 

-

None of you fight back when military police descend on the airstrip knowing this is what you signed up for by staying. Medical whisks Rhodes away and sees to the kid in the spider suit while you sit on the tarmac bleeding, breathing through the pain. 

“Anyone, gonna get to her?!” Sam berates the officers. 

“It’s fine Sam.”

“It’s not. You’ve lost a lot of blood, Y/N.” He looks around, “Hey! Come on!” 

“That’s enough,” one of them remarks before grabbing Sam’s arms and forcefully cuffing them behind his back. 

Hands come from behind you as well, grabbing your forearms and wrenching your arms behind you. You can’t hold in the scream as the motion pulls the gashes across your chest open wide, fresh blood seeping into your ruined shirt. 

A chorus of anger rises from your ragtag team, though the words are lost in the onslaught of pain. That is until someone kneels in front of you, pressing a clean towel to your chest. 

“Thank… you,” you manage, trying to gulp in air. 

“You’re welcome,” a woman’s voice says. “Maybe don’t head butt me this time.” You look up to see Romanoff. 

“Yeah, sorry about that.” Your eyes squeeze shut as your body sways from blood loss. 

She steadies you, pressing the towel tighter against your chest. “What is Barnes to you that he’s worth this.”

You look up into her vivid green eyes, mind clear suddenly. “Everything.”

She stares for a moment to see if there’s more before her brows raise. “Oh… Oh.” Natasha looks back as a jet lands, a few official-looking men stepping off. 

“Can we get medical over here? She needs to be seen to,” Natasha says as they approach. 

“She’ll be seen on the jet,” an older gentleman says in a grave tone. 

“Secretary Ross,” Natasha places herself between you and the man. 

“This the only injury on this side?”

“Side? This isn’t a war, Secretary.” 

“Isn’t it?” He steps around her, looking down at you. You unflinchingly meet his gaze. 

“Secretary, with all due respect, this woman needs-”

“Wilson, I suggest you shut your mouth unless you intend to tell me where Barnes and Rogers are heading.” The Secretary gives everyone a once over, “Load them up.” 

Everyone but you is locked into their seat on the jet. As you climb in altitude your head swims and you fold forward. 

“Sit back,” Clint says gently. “You want to keep your heart elevated.”

You force yourself back, head thudding painfully into the metal of the chair behind you. 

Secretary Ross enters, a med-tech behind him pushing a cart. He stands stoically, looking down at every person in the room. The tech approaches you, irrigation bottle in hand. 

“Come on,” Sam grumbles. “Can’t you at least see her in a med bay?”

“She’s lucky she’s being seen at all,” Ross says in a chilling tone. 

He watches as the tech soaks the towel, removing it from your chest, despite the ache you refuse to make a noise. You’d had enough interactions with men like this Ross character to know that you never show them an ounce of fear or weakness. 

The tech studies your wounds for a moment hands working swiftly to attach a blood pressure monitor to your wrist. He looks at the reading, brows creasing in disapproval.  

“Blood type?” He asks. 

“AB.” He takes a note before turning a more focused gaze to the gashes. 

“We’re going to have to cut the shirt off, likely fibers in the wound.” He turns to the cart and shuffles around, when he turns back there’s a needle in his hand. The blood pressure monitor on your wrist begins to beep as your heart ticks up, the increased blood flow making your chest throb. 

“What is that?” You ask, hating the way your voice trembles slightly. Flashes of countless needles being forced into your veins fill your mind. 

“Morphine.” He reaches for your arm and you pull back as far into the chair as possible. 

“No.”

“Ma’am,” he sighs out clearly annoyed. “You’re gonna need sutures-”

“I don’t need drugs. I’ll be-”

“I don’t think you understand how much this is going to-”

“I’ve had worse,” you say matter of factly. 

“Give her the damn sedative,” Ross demands. 

“She said no,” Wanda says. Ross turns an indignant gaze her way. 

The tech moves to try and administer it again but you latch your power onto the syringe in his hand, crushing it. He stares, confused and a little scared at the liquid dripping down his arm. 

“Maximoff,” Ross starts but then pauses. Slowly he turns back to look at the shattered remains, seeming to realize that Wanda’s signature red glow didn’t accompany that action. 

His cold stare lands on you. “Just get her cleaned up Aarons.” 

“Yessir.”

Ross storms off, pausing at the exit, “I will deal with all of you on the Raft.” 

Aarons pulls two small folding stools from the cart and guides you into one with surprising gentleness. With your back facing the others he cuts open your shirt. You hear him let out a puff of breath as he sees the scars there. 

You have to hand it to him, Aarons works quickly, truly trying to not cause more discomfort than necessary. His eyes search yours on occasion, especially in moments he expects you to grimace or show pain. 

He finishes bandaging you up and guides you back to the chair. “Sorry,” he says, motioning for you to place your arms in a position to be manacled. You say nothing, simply do as you’re told. 

“You’ll need a transfusion. I’ll try to get to that before we land.”

“Thanks,” you say. He nods and leaves. 

They do not get to it. Not that it matters much. You know your body will heal, whatever Hydra had filled you with would ensure that. Your heart though… 

Already the distance and uncertainty weigh heavily. Every few minutes you have to talk yourself down, silently coaching yourself that he will be ok, he must be ok. They will succeed. But if they didn’t… Well, your broken heart would be the least of the world’s concerns then. 

As soon as they land on The Raft you’re shuffled out with the rest. Until now you didn’t understand what The Raft was—a prison, a floating prison for the worst the world had to offer. When you’d agreed that some of you would have to hold back you’d assumed they’d put you all somewhere but never this. 

They march you all down a long corridor, opening into a large space where several other corridors branch off. Everyone else is led to the right while they jostle you to the left. Terror makes alarms sound in your mind but your expression stays impassive.

“Where are you taking her?!” Sam calls out. “Hey, wait!” There’s a thud, you look back to see Sam doubled over, his eyes look up and meet your own. You shake your head no as they lead you away. 

He means well, but you have a feeling he’s never been a prisoner before. You on the other hand… you were a seasoned pro—captivity almost felt like an old, unwelcome, friend. The key was to give them nothing. Not fear, not anger, not even respect. The key was to become… nothing. 

Comply. 

Survive. 

You’re left in a cold room, cuffed to a metal chair–still with nothing more covering your torso than bandages and a blood-stained sports bra–for an indiscriminate amount of time. 

You don’t move, barely flick your eyes around the space, just stare forward. Because you don’t need to move to know your surroundings. 

Sending your power out you find the small pinhole cameras embedded in the metal walls, you feel just beyond those walls other rooms. You push it a bit further, into the corridor, to get a feel for the activity happening around you, and keep your focus there so you will know when someone is entering.

Is it muscle memory that keeps you stiff, upright, expression impassive? You’re bone-tired and should be fighting sleep in this quiet space, body demanding shut down. But no. You’re alert, ready at any moment for anything.

You aren’t startled when the door behind you opens, don’t even turn to look back. It’s not until Ross sits in a chair across the metal table from you that you realize you’d been bracing your body for a blow or the crackling feeling of a shock baton. 

He doesn’t say anything, studying you with a cold appraising glare. After a time he nods to unseen eyes and images fill the wall behind him. 

At first these photos of a woman going about mundane daily tasks—waiting for a train her hair in a messy bun, head thrown back in a laugh with friends around her, standing on a street corner impossibly balancing bags of food and four drinks, sitting on a bench looking out at the water—mean nothing to you. Just still life images. 

Clarity careens into you like a freight train. It takes effort to keep your impassive mask in place as you stare. That woman… that was you. 

How did you not immediately see yourself? How could you not see Nix, a portion of his Cheshire-like grin captured on the edge of one image? How did you not recognize the bright pink of Marcus’ hair in another? How?

Suddenly they’re gone. You want to beg them to bring them back, let you see just the smallest glimpses of the people you lost, the person you were. But you don’t. You sit, like a statue, as a video begins to play. 

A woman with long thick curls hanging around her face stares down an unseen person with a look that could strip paint— That’s me, you remind yourself. The audio is a bit crackly but you can make out the sound of your own voice well enough.

“I suggest you back off, mother fucker,” this past you growls. 

The camera becomes a blur, the sounds of scuffling and fabric obscuring a mic are all that can be heard for a time until—

A loud thud and a groan ring clear, the image clears revealing you staring down at your hands and back at the man. You look horrified and confused, a bit of blood trickling from a busted lip. 

Memory cracks through you like lightning. This was only a few weeks before they took a wrecking ball to your entire life. You’d run home and Nix had been furious that you refused to go to the cops until you told him what you did, how your ability lashed out. There was no more arguing after that, he understood the necessity of this secret. 

Nix helped you get cleaned up, ordered pizza, and braided your hair while you both watched old movies into the wee hours. You could almost feel his sure fingers finding their way through your curls, weaving them together in tight plaits.

Ross’ voice pulls you back from the void of loss threatening to engulf you, “When Ms. Romanoff released Hydra’s files to the public we took special interest in cases like yours. Of course, we assumed that you’d been put down… Reaper.” 

That fucking name. The code Hydra gave you. You hate that you flinch just a bit from it. Hate the burn of bile in your throat. 

“Or do you prefer Sara Madison?” The name you’d taken at 16 when you started a new life. “Or is it Y/N Y/L/N?” The name you’d been born with. New images flash onto the wall behind him. These faces you recognize instantly. 

“I’m sure they’d all say, Reaper, is far more appropriate.” 

It takes everything to fight the nausea, to keep the tremors at bay. Don’t give him the satisfaction, you tell yourself. 

“Nineteen confirmed kills. Given your methods, I don’t doubt there are more.” He opens a folder and lays out several more faces you know. “Heart attack, brain aneurysm, stroke—nothing suspicious about natural death.” He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms. “It’s a masterclass, truly.”

Such a good attack dog, that Hydra bastard’s voice rings in your head. 

“All of this is enough for us to try you on everything from first-degree murder to treason. I can assure you that it will not end well for you.” He moves his hands into his lap, “But, we’d be willing to reconsider legal action if you’d simply tell us where Barnes and Rogers are.” 

You almost laugh. Instead, you just raise a brow, continuing to stare straight at him. The quick flash of anger in Ross’ eyes fills you with satisfaction. 

He takes a deep breath, his own composure falling back in place, and stands, circling behind you. A heavy hand lands on your left shoulder, fingers reaching around to the tops of the freshly stitched wounds there. Slowly but steadily he applies pressure to them, pain exploding. You grind your teeth, fighting the scream. 

“I should also inform you,” Ross growls into your ear, “that for all rights and purposes you don’t exist. A trial would be a formality.” His grip tightens suddenly and you can’t hold back the hiss of pain.

“Personally,” his other hand grabs your hair, forcing your head back to look up at him, “I would rather not waste taxpayer dollars on trying things like you and Barnes. If you push me, I’m sure I can find creative ways to extract the information we need.” 

You can’t fully place why your face fills with a smirk or why it grows into a full smile. Maybe you’re delirious with pain and exhaustion because the smile breaks out into a belly laugh. It hurts your chest but you can’t stop. Ross’ backhand cracking across your face doesn’t even stop it. Peals of laughter pour from you. 

“Lock her up,” he barks to someone behind you. 

Rough hands grab you, dragging you from the room. You’re still smirking when they unceremoniously toss you into a cell. 

Stumbling forward you barely catch yourself before crashing into the wall. You rest your forehead against the cool metal until your knees refuse to hold you any longer. Turning you lean against the wall and slide down it. 

Across from your cell you can just see the edge of Wanda’s. She’s staring into your cell intently, arms bound in a goddamn straight jacket. Anger flairs in you—she couldn’t be more than 20 for fuck’s sake. 

She gestures to her chest with her chin then nods at you. Glancing down you notice that blood has soaked through the bandages there. You give her a weak smile and a thumbs up. She rolls her eyes and a true smile lifts the corners of your mouth. 

Muffled sounds outside the cell wake you. Honestly, you hadn’t even realized you’d fallen asleep on the hard floor. 

It takes a moment for your eyes to focus in on what they’re seeing—Wanda fighting back against guards trying to take her somewhere. She can’t use her ability without her hands you realize. Still, she kicks and thrashes, anything to slow them. 

You stand legs wobbling a bit, and approach the glass and metal door to your cell, letting your anger rise with each step. Taking as deep a breath as you can manage you push a wave of your power out. Unfortunately, it catches Wanda’s footing too but it’s enough to get their attention. 

Startled eyes slide around the room, unsure of where to focus their anger. One of the men stand and you immediately throw him back. Another does the same and you toss him aside, truly surprised at the amount of force you’re able to muster. 

This continues on for a minute before a flurry of new guards, led by Ross, pour into the cellblock. 

“What the hell is-” You grab Ross before he can finish and slam him against the wall hard enough to knock the breath from his lungs. He stares at you, hatred dripping from him. 

“Leave her alone. She doesn’t know shit.” 

Ross clears his throat, “You ready to talk?”

You shrug, “Thought you wanted to get creative.” Ross nods at you and they open your cell, dragging you out.

“No!” Wanda yells as they push her back into her cell. 

“It’s ok,” you tell her over your shoulder. 

While you didn’t doubt that the US Government could be very imaginative you did doubt they were true masters like Hydra. And if they were…you could take it, you already had before. All you needed to do was keep Ross distracted enough that he stayed off of Wanda and the others. 

It was the least you owed them.

Chapter 47

Steve paces another circuit around the back of the jet.

“Steve,” Natasha snaps, “just sit down for fuck’s sake.” 

“Extracting them shouldn’t be too hard,” Hill says eyes skimming schematics once more.

He tosses them both a sidelong glance before sitting, eyes fixed out the window. It wasn’t that he was worried about getting everyone out—with Natasha at his side neutralizing who they needed to in order to get to the team would be easy. 

No, the thought making him shift in his seat is who of them would even want to come…

Everything, every ounce of stability they had was gone because of him, because of the choices he made. He led them all into this fight and somehow he was the only one standing free and unharmed. It felt like failure. How could he blame any of them if they hated him for this? If they refused to stand with him now?

Then there was you. 

Would you trust him without Bucky by his side? Believe him when he said Bucky was safe? Even after all that had happened… did he trust you?

“I’ll be taking us down in five,” Hill says. 

No more time to worry about any of that now. All he could do was try. 

Just as he suspected, they make quick work of quietly clearing the section of the vessel they need to. Before entering the block where the team is they both pause. 

“Do… do you think they’ll forgive me?” Natasha looks up at him in a rare moment of vulnerability. “For making the wrong call?” 

“We all made the right call for ourselves, Nat.” He forces a smile, “They know that.” If only he could make himself believe it. 

He doesn’t realize he’s been holding his breath until he sees Sam’s smirk. 

“Took you long enough,” Sam quips. 

“Five days vacation not enough for you?” Steve asks, prying the cell door open. 

“Oh, it’s been five stars.” 

Natasha pulls Wanda’s cell open, helping her out, he feels his blood boil seeing her in that straitjacket. While she sees to freeing Wanda and Sam opens the other cells Steve steps to your cell and freezes. 

You’re strapped into a chair reminiscent of the one they held Bucky in, clearly unconscious. Before he can move to open the door Wanda’s red haze engulfs it, practically ripping the metal from the wall. She pushes past him, tearing the shackles from your arms and legs while her hands cup your face, fingers checking your pulse. 

“Thank god,” Wanda sighs out. 

“How is she?” Sam asks from behind Steve as he steps into the tight space.  

“Breathing. Her pulse feels strong.”

Sam opens one of your lids, but you don’t react. “They probably drugged her.” 

“Any time they tried to take Wanda or any of us elsewhere she stopped them,” Clint says, arms crossed. “They must have a small crew because rather than just take her and us they’d focus on her.” He’s right, that small crew was the only way they were able to get everyone out. 

Steve studies the dried blood from a place your lip had busted, your black eye, a painfully dark bruise on your cheekbone. He hears Bucky’s voice in his head, “She’s like you never knows when to just stay down.”

Whatever questions about trust, he had before are gone. You protected his team, his family when he couldn’t. 

“I’ve got her,” gently he lifts your pliant form in his arms, cradling you close. “Let’s get moving.”

“Y’all head on without me,” Clint says. 

“What?!” Natasha spins on him. 

He gives her a sad smile. “I can’t be on the lam, Nat.” Clint rests his hands on her shoulders. “You know I can’t put Laura and the kids through that.” She looks away before flinging her arms around his neck. 

“Same for me,” Scott says. “I got a daughter to think about.” The two men exchange a knowing look. 

Steve feels his chest tighten with guilt. “Are you both sure?”

“Yeah-” Clint shrugs- “besides, being stuck in close quarters for an indiscriminate amount of time with all of you? Think I’d prefer prison.” Natasha punches him in the chest playfully. 

“Look out for each other,” Clint says. 

“We will,” Sam says. Steve nods in agreement before leading them all to the jet and an uncertain future.

-

It feels like your body is being torn apart… No. It feels like a million imperceptible particles are trying to get in. You can feel the dust in the air, the fibers of the bandages on your chest, the tiny mites in the old mattress beneath you eating away. Even through the darkness of your closed lids, you perceive the unfamiliar room you’re in clearly; every piece of furniture, every corner, visible to your mind’s eye like a relief sculpture. 

Too much! Your brain screams as it tries desperately to process every bit of information slamming into it. 

Move, you have to move, come on Y/N! You try to open your eyes, move your hand, get a grip on your body. 

Finally, you break through, shooting from the bed, gasping for air. The salt in your own sweat feels like tiny needles running across your skin, the particles thundering into your lungs threatening to choke you. 

Gripping your skull you press yourself into a corner, trying to hold your head together as you feel the pain begin at the top of your spine spreading up. 

You didn’t know where you were or what the hell they did to you. The last thing you remembered was the sting of a needle before falling into blackness but you were pretty certain you were still on The Raft. This was a shit time for your brain to overload. 

Pushing your back into the solid wall you force a deep breath into your lungs. Think of anything else but the countless sensations bombarding your awareness. You think of Bucky—his smell, his laugh, the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, his gentle hands. 

Slowly the doors slam shut, damming the flow, allowing your tired mind to process simple things like the stale smell of the small room, the dim light, the worn carpet. 

“Y/N?” A tentative voice asks. You gasp a little, startled. 

“Oh,” Sam says softly. “I’m sorry. It’s ok.” He stops a few feet away holding his hands open in a non-threatening way. 

He crouches down, “Can you tell me what you’re seeing?”

“You?” You answer, confused. 

“Just me? In this bedroom?” 

You understand suddenly that he thinks you’re having a flashback. A small smile rises to your lips at his kindness and caution. 

“I’m good, Sam. I’m here.” You look around the room, “Where is, here, anyway?”

He stands, clearly more relaxed, and extends a hand to you. “Some small town in Switzerland.” You take it and let him help you up. 

“Bucky and Steve?”

Sam doesn’t meet your eyes, just turns for the door. “Steve and Natasha are doing a perimeter walk.”

“Sam,” you say, unmoving. He looks back at you, expression uncertain. Suddenly your stomach is in your knees, heart in your throat. The lamp on the table behind you begins to shake your fragile control wavering. 

He looks around the room as it shudders before answering. “All I know is he’s ok. You’ll have to talk to Steve when he gets back. But…” He sighs, “He’s not here.” 

He wasn’t dead, that was what mattered. But… you knew there were things almost as bad. Your power slides back into you, the room calm once more. Still, your chest is tight with worry. 

“Come on,” Sam nods at the door. “You’ve been out for almost two days, you’ve got to be starving.” As if in affirmation your stomach growls loudly. 

Sam leads you downstairs through what feels like the home of someone’s grandmother—maybe it was at some point—to a cozy kitchen. Two people you don’t know sit at the table, talking easily over steaming mugs. The man looks up at you with one good eye as you enter. 

“Y/N this is Nick Fury and Maria Hill.” 

“Just Fury,” the man says. He stands, hand extended. 

“Hill or Maria is fine,” the woman gives you a warm smile. You shake her hand as well, eying the man. 

“You were the director of S.H.I.E.L.D.” It wasn’t a question just a statement of fact, your tone flat and cold. You hadn’t wanted to get anywhere near the Hydra files but you had read enough in the aftermath of everything to know the name Nick Fury, to know that Hydra had existed just beneath the surface while he collected superheroes.

“I was.” He meets your stare, jaw set. 

The gurgle of a coffee pot breaks the tense silence. 

“Coffee open to anyone?” You ask no one in particular. 

“Yeah,” Sam answers. “Though maybe water would be best-”

“Maybe. But I’ve been denied caffeine for almost a week-” realizing how little time had passed made your head spin a bit- “it’s in everyone’s best interest for me to opt for the coffee.” Sam shakes his head but pours you a cup anyway. 

That first sip sings through your senses. Closing your eyes you breathe in the scent, imagining that you’ll open them and see your kitchen, Bucky at the table reading the paper, Billie or a brass band playing in the background. 

“Y/N!” Wanda stands in the doorway to the kitchen. 

“Hey,” you offer up as much of a smile as you can muster. 

“How… How are you feeling?” She asks, shifting from foot to foot.

“I’m ok.” 

She opens her mouth to say more but is cut off by Natasha and Steve entering through the back door. 

“Everything looks clear,” Natasha announces to the room. Her eyes sweep the space, landing on you. “Oh! You’re up. Good,” her smile is warm. 

You give her an acknowledging nod but look to Steve, desperate for answers that only he can give. He says nothing though, just focuses on slipping out of his jacket.

“Steve,” you say. It almost sounds like a greeting but your desperation is curled between every letter. His shoulders tense a bit. 

He finally meets your eyes, Adam’s apple bobbing hard. “Let’s talk. If you’re ready.” Not waiting for a response he walks from the kitchen, heading to the back of the house to a small office where a cot is set up in one corner. 

Steve tosses the jacket on the cot followed by his baseball cap. Sighing heavily he runs a hand through his hair. 

You can’t wait any longer. “Where is he?” Your voice cracks, hands white-knuckled around the mug, barely holding it together. 

His eyes are sad as he says, “He’s safe.” It should be relieving. It isn’t.

“That’s not good enough, Steve. Where is he?”

“Why don’t you-”

“I don’t want to fucking sit down-” the coffee in your cup swirls, the window rattles- “I want answers.” 

“I can’t tell you.” A book flies from the shelf behind you, landing with a resounding thud on the hardwood floor. Steve looks at it, raising an eyebrow. “I’m asking you to trust me, Y/N. He is safe and with people who are going to help him.” 

Your eyes narrow, “Help him how?”

Steve sighs, “He was hurt…” 

He explains everything that happened once he and Bucky left you all at the airport. At some point you drop onto the cot, hands shaking so much you have to set your coffee down. You hardly breathe as he tells you about Bucky’s arm, unable to imagine the pain he must have been in, aching that you weren’t there. 

“Where is he?” You growl out.

“Y/N, like I said-”

“No” —you shake your head—“Zemo.” Hatred burns cold throughout your body. 

You may want to rip Tony Stark’s own arm from his body but Zemo… You knew how to hurt someone just enough to not kill them. Already you’re imaging snapping small bones one by one, the muscles you can slowly shred, calculating just how long you can drag it out.

“Don’t go down that road.” Steve’s hands ball into fists, belying his own feelings. “Zemo is being handled.” He strides across the room, retrieving something from a pack. 

“Here,” he holds out an envelope with your name on the front in Bucky’s neat script. Your mouth goes dry. “I think it will help fill in the rest.” 

Steve sits in the desk chair, staring at his hands, as you slowly open the letter. 

Y/N,

There’s so much I want to say, so much I need to tell you, but the words just aren’t coming to me. I hope Steve has told you what he can about all that happened. Don’t be too upset with him about the blanks he can’t fill—some promises need to be kept. 

As for my decision… even he is struggling to make sense of that. 

I am so sorry I’m not there, wherever you are. I don’t think words exist that express how much I want you with me but—and I know you’re going to be furious with me for saying it—you aren’t safe with me right now. 

What happened in Berlin was one of my worst nightmares made real. The fact that someone would only need to mutter a few well-placed words and I could… Well, we both know what I could do. 

You are everything to me, Y/N. And the truth is I am not strong enough to live with the burden that I could put you in harm’s way. Especially not when I have a chance to remove that threat. 

The people here truly feel they can fix whatever Hydra broke in my head. I swear once they do nothing will keep me from you. If you’ll have me still that is. 

I hope you can forgive me… for everything. I hope you know the depth of my love for you. 

I will be dreaming of only you my darling. 

Yours always, 

Bucky

Futilely you try and stop the tears sneaking from the corners of your eyes by looking at the ceiling. Still, they come, flowing silently down your cheeks. 

How could he think for even a moment you wouldn’t have him? That you could ever begrudge him enough to not forgive him? You dig your teeth into your bottom lip to keep from sobbing, squeezing your eyes shut. 

Steve rolls the squeaky chair closer to you, covering your fist, resting on your thigh with his large hand. You look into his own pained face, blue eyes dark with emotion. 

“He loves you.”

You look away. Wherever he is he’s unconscious and alone and you cannot protect him. 

“As soon as I know anything I swear I will tell you,” Steve says giving your hand a squeeze. 

Time opens like a black hole in your mind. “Soon,” meant nothing. There was no telling how long it would take for them to figure out all the damage Hydra did, let alone fix it. The thought of going years without him shoots despair through your heart like a dagger. 

“Thank you,” Steve says. You look at him confused. 

“For what?”

“You looked out for them when I couldn’t. I-” He clears his throat, running a hand over his face. “Just thank you.” 

You shake your head, “You don’t have to thank me. It was the least I could do.” It’s his turn to be confused. 

“If it wasn’t for you, for all of you, I would truly have lost him.”

Steve cocks a crooked grin, “I only owe him a few hundred for saving my ass so many times.” 

You huff out a small laugh, “I’ve heard about a few of those.” 

His grin blooms into a full smile, “Oh? Should I be scared?” 

“Definitely.”

A knock at the door draws both your attention. Hill opens it popping her head in. 

“Sam made breakfast if you two want some.” 

“Thanks, Hill,” Steve says. Hill closes the door, the smell of bacon creeping in. 

“Food?” He asks. 

“God yes.” Tenderly you fold Bucky’s letter, tucking it into the pocket of the sweats you found yourself in. 

For a few awkward seconds, the two of you stand staring before you embrace each other so tight it’s almost hard to breathe. 

“You’re family now, you know that right?” 

And you do. Bucky was his family just as Nix had been yours. Even though your heart was broken, it felt good to have a family again. 

-

“Sam!” You call out into the house. “Did you use all the chili powder?” 

“What kind of monster do you take me for?” He hollers back. “It’s on the top shelf.” You have to float up a bit to find it, tucked behind the cinnamon Sam liked to sprinkle on his toast. 

He saunters into the kitchen. “What ya makin’?” 

“Chili and cornbread. Picked up some stuff for it while Hill and I were on recon yesterday.” 

“Good luck with this chili powder. Not sure how good it is.”

You open the container and smell it. “Seems ok.”

“Yeah but my ribs last week were off.” He plucks the container from you looking at it. 

Playfully you shoo him away. “Your ribs were excellent. Now get out of my kitchen.” It was the same thing he said every time it was his turn to cook. 

“Ok, ok!” 

You can’t help but smile as you fall into the familiar motions of chopping and sautéing. 

Most of your days were spent like this, with good people and good food—between you and Sam, no one in the house was going to go hungry. True, you often found yourself longing for the peace of the farmhouse or the cozy feel of your apartment; but you had forgotten how comforting it was to be in a space filled with chatter and warmth.

Each night it felt like you were lost at sea though, untethered without the reassurance and comfort of Bucky’s presence. Every morning starting with a cup of coffee and a desperate look to Steve that was always met with a subtle shake of his head. After a little more than a month it began to feel like your new normal–caffeine and heartbreak to kick off the day. 

Rather than wallow you buried yourself in as many daily tasks as you could. The old two-bedroom one-bath house was a tight fit with five of you which meant there were often things to clean, cook, or fix. 

A few times you’d even gone with Hill to work recon on some intel Fury had gotten from god knew where. One other you’d joined Natasha on what she called a ‘quickie’ to neutralize a small arms dealer in Ukraine. Each time had felt like an audition like you were unwittingly trying for a part you didn’t ask for but you wouldn’t mind having either. 

As you clean the kitchen, trying to think of what to fill the next few hours with, you see someone you weren’t expecting chatting with Steve in the back of the property. Fury. 

Bitterness touches your tongue. He’d left a few days after you came to and hadn’t been back since. You were glad of it—you hadn’t been able to shake the feeling of dislike you had for the man, despite the help he’d provided. Maybe you just needed someone to blame. 

You turn away before they can see you, not wanting to chance an uncomfortable exchange if you don’t have to. Quickly you dry your hands, leaving a few things in the sink, and turn to head upstairs.

Wanda dodges you on her way down. Her headphones are in but she gives you a smile and a nod. 

“Why’s Fury here?” She asks while opening the fridge. 

“No idea,” you say, pausing halfway up the stairs. 

“Hey-” you turn back and she gives you one of her knowing looks-“wanna go for a hike?”

The house was nestled close to the mountains. With the tight space, it had become pretty normal for each of you to head out into the idyllic woods a few times a week at least. You smile, appreciating the out she’s giving you. 

“Sure.” 

It was early summer but there was still a crispness to the air that was bracing. Under the soft green shadows left by the trees, you forgot your discomfort at seeing Fury and let everything fall away.

You’ve lost yourself in the sounds of the forest when a small twig smacks you in the face, still glittering red as it falls to the ground. Your jaw drops as you spin to see Wanda laughing, disappearing into the woods, flying into the canopy. 

“That was dirty!” You call after her, your own feet leaving the ground. 

This game of telekinetic tag started one night that neither of you could sleep. The room you shared, hell the whole house, felt claustrophobic so you both headed into the woods. Now, if you were alone one of you could be counted on to kick it off. 

Halfway up a pine tree, you perch lightly on a branch. Your eyes scan the trees for a red shimmer. When you finally find it you reach up, plucking a pinecone from the tree, and propel it through the air. 

“Dammit!” You hear Wanda call out. 

A soft laugh rolls from you as you step off the branch, guiding your fall with your ability. At the ground, you don’t let your feet touch the earth to avoid making a sound. Instead, you push yourself between the trees like a human pinball, pivoting to make it harder for her to get a lock on you. 

This endless game had an unseen advantage, it allowed you to flex your power in ways you never truly had. Even training with Bucky you’d always fought to keep it in check, only use it when necessary, always afraid of just what it could do. 

With yours and Wanda’s game though, all those fears were gone. Neither of you was afraid of the other or worried you’d unsettle them–the fear of being a freak fell away and for just a moment you were both free. With that freedom, you felt yourself getting stronger. 

Though it hadn’t been the intention when this game started you were glad of it, the stronger you were the better. Your hand settles for just a moment on the still-healing wounds on your chest, a reminder of why you needed to be as adept as possible. You would become strong enough that no one could take him or anyone else you love from you ever again.  

One of the tendrils of power you sent out snaps back to you, indicating she’s close by. In less than a heartbeat, you’re into the canopy once more. Your toes barely touch the flexible pine branches as you fly. 

Just ahead you can see the clearing which was the unofficial neutral ground. Focusing you make a beeline for it. You’re almost there when a deluge of leaves and pine needles drop on your head from above. 

You drop to the ground, landing lightly, sputtering bits of foliage from your mouth while Wanda cackles.

“I cannot believe you,” you say tossing a handful of debris at her. Slipping your jacket off you give it a few good shakes, though some things still stick to the soft fleece. 

“Oh come on-” she nudges you with her shoulder- “that was hilarious and you know it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you say as you lay your jacket on the ground–it was already going to need a wash so why not use it as a blanket. Laying down on it you sigh contentedly looking up at the picturesque blue sky with its fluffy white clouds dancing around. 

Wanda settles close by and you both take in the peace for a time, comfortable with the silence. You’d actually dozed off a bit when her voice wakes you. 

“Y/N?”

“Hmm?” You respond groggily. 

“I… Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” the hesitation in her tone makes you nervous. You turn onto your side to look at her. 

“I didn’t mean to see it but…” One of the pebbles she was orbiting above her falls. “You were dreaming last night, you said a name–Nick, maybe? I’ve seen him before, it just seemed particularly strong–er, painful–last night…” She tilts her head to meet your eyes, “Are you ok?”

It was easy to forget that Wanda had more than telekinesis under her belt. 

“Yeah-” you force a tight grin- “I’m good. Just a dream. Sorry, I woke you.”

“Who is he?” Her eyes hold an emotion you can’t quite name and she doesn’t even acknowledge your weak lie. Something about the whole thing shakes you.

Sighing you sit up, resting your forearms on your knees. With effort, you swallow the lump in your throat, focus your gaze on the tree line to keep the tears from falling. 

“I’m sorry,” her voice so low it’s almost a whisper. “I try not to pick up things from people. Just when I’m asleep it’s harder and I-”

“Wanda,” you cut her off. “It’s absolutely fine. Never apologize for things you can’t control, especially not to me.” Looking over your shoulder you see her up on her knees, eyes focused on the grass she was plucking up blade by blade. 

“He was my brother.” At the telling word ‘was’ her eyes shoot to yours, brimming with emotion. “His name was Nix. Hydra-” Your voice cracks, forcing you to draw in a trembling breath. “Hydra killed him.” You don’t say, And everyone else, or, Because of me, but god you feel the weight of those truths. 

“I’m sorry…” She dashes tears away on her sweater sleeve. Your lips purse in something you hope looks more like a smile than a grimace.

After a long pause, she says, “I lost my brother too.” You feel your chest tighten. “When we fought Ultron.” She sniffles, “He died a hero so I guess that should make it better…” You almost pull her into your arms but you don’t know if she’d welcome the gesture. 

Instead, you sigh, “No, it shouldn’t.” Because she deserved to know that just because he died for a good cause didn’t mean he deserved to die at–you did the math–17 maybe 18.

She nods. When she looks back at you her expression is desperate, “Does it get better?” 

For a moment you’re struck dumb. She looks so young, suddenly. All you want is to protect her from this brutal world that takes so much mare than it gives. You want to tell her that it does, want to believe that lie so very much. But you just can’t…

“No,” you shake your head. “I don’t think anything will ever fill that blank space. At least for me.”

“Not even Bucky?” She doesn’t mean for the question to hurt. She’s just a girl who wants, on some level, to believe that love can heal all wounds, even ones this deep. 

“Not even him. But-” you reach out for her hand, happy when she takes it- “it helps. Knowing you can love someone, even after you know how much it hurts to lose the ones closest to you. It makes you… start to feel like a person again.”

Wanda nods, wiping at her eyes. Neither of you says more. The silence holds you close and you allow yourselves to be lost in it for just a little while. By the time you pry yourselves from your peaceful getaway, the sun is setting. 

Just before you exit the trees by the back of the property she rests a hand on your shoulder. Wanda opens her mouth to say something but nothing falls out. 

You’re about to ask when she flings her arms around your neck hugging you tight. You return the hug, hoping that maybe she felt less alone in her grief. 

You look toward the house, “You’ve got something here, Wanda, with these people. It won’t ever be the same but it doesn’t make them any less family.” 

“I know,” she says with a soft smile. 

As you get closer to the house you allow thoughts of sweet cornbread and spicy chili chase away the clouds of sadness hovering around your mind. Wanda lets out a contented groan as the smell of the chili envelops you both. 

“When can we eat that?”

You laugh, “About an hour. Cornbread needs to be made.”

“Can I just-” The lid of the pot is suddenly enveloped in red.

“Nope,” you say, slamming your power on top of her own. 

“Fine,” she sighs. “But tell me when it’s ready before Steve and Sam.”

“I will absolutely give you first dibs since you won today.”

Nodding with approval she floats a banana over to her. The glowing fruit follows her as she heads upstairs. 

Before you start the cornbread you make a fresh pot of coffee. Honestly, who would expect you to cook without caffeine? Humming whatever song pops into your head you line up the few ingredients you’ll need, determine that you’ll likely need a triple batch for this crowd, take a swig of coffee, and dive in. 

Once the oven is loaded you’ve all but forgotten the ache that opened up when you and Wanda spoke. Not wanting to lose this feeling you take your coffee to the breakfast table and pick up a book someone, Natasha you’d wager, left. You smile at the bawdy image on the cover, the woman had a thing for a good smutty romance, and open it up.

Quickly you lose yourself to the words and the homey smells. You could be almost anywhere good in your past. It was wonderful. 

When the kitchen door opens you expect to see Steve or Natasha but instead Fury is there sniffing the air. All the comfort you’d been wrapped in immediately falls away. 

His gaze finally lands on you, “I was hoping I’d catch you.”

“Where else can I go,” your tone is frigid.

He doesn’t acknowledge your snipe, “Can I have a word?”

You glance at the timer, “You have eight minutes.” 

Nodding he sits across from you, sliding a manila folder over. You take it, opening the front flap slowly. Immediately your mouth goes dry. 

“Do you government types get off by showing people documentation of the worst things that have happened to them?” You fling the file across the table. 

“Technically I’m not a government type anymore.” You raise a brow at him but he continues. “But no. That file is, to the best of my knowledge, the last remaining documentation of your time with Hydra.” 

He slides it back to you. This time your hand rests flat on the smooth surface as you try to process exactly what he means. Thankfully, Fury wasn’t in the mood to hold back. 

“You’ve been wiped from the dark web, every IP that accessed your information has been hunted down, any paper copies that could be located were destroyed-” he pauses, meeting your disbelieving stare- “and I pulled that one from Ross’ personal files myself.”

Almost reverently you open the file once more. Flipping through you stop at the photos Ross had displayed, the ones with just the faintest glimpses of your family. A trembling finger traces the edge of Nix’s image, swallowing the lump in your throat. 

“Barnes-” the sound of Bucky’s name makes your eyes shoot to Fury once more- “was well before my time. But you… What happened to you, to your people, that was on my watch.” He pauses, expression sincere, “I’m sorry. You deserved better.”

Guilt rushes over you in a wave. You had greatly misjudged this man. He deserved better than that. 

“Thank you.”

Fury nods, “Well, that’s what I was here to deliver.” He stands, turning to go.

“You should stay and eat. I promise it’ll be good,” you say with a genuine smile.

He takes a deep breath, “I think I will.” 

-

Within the next two weeks, it’s time for you all to move on. 

For a few days, you light in the Austrian city of Strausberg, waiting on instructions from Fury. Once received you head just outside of Krakow in Poland to work on flushing out a human trafficking operation. 

Though few would argue Steve’s de facto position as the leader of this group the necessity to stay as under the radar as possible means you all rely heavily on Natasha’s espionage roots. Her masterful ability at laying out quiet but extremely effective plans and countermoves ensure that not a whisper of who was behind this mission slips out.

The more you’re in the field the more you’re surprised to find that you’re able to put your ill-begotten skill set to good use. It feels like spitting in Hydra’s face which, of course, makes victory all the sweeter. 

You’re also surprised at how it makes the ache of missing Bucky lessen even a little. This does, you’re ashamed to admit to yourself, make victory just a touch bitter.

Six weeks later you’re all packing your bags once more though you don’t all head in the same direction. Natasha and Wanda opt to take some personal time away, for what exactly neither specifies but they agree to one be gone for a couple of weeks and to be in touch. Hill goes with Fury, focused on some other clandestine mission. This leaves you, Sam, and Steve to fend for yourselves with little to do in Belarus of all places.

Sam walks into the kitchen of the small house the three of you were staying in as you and Steve clean blood off each other’s faces. 

“Y’all…” He sighs, setting bags of groceries down. “I swear, we need to find something to do before the two of you kill each other.”

You laugh, “A little training never hurt anyone.”

“Your black eye begs to differ,” he says from behind the fridge door. 

“You should see what she did to my back,” Steve groans dramatically as he plops into a dining chair.

“Wow. Hangs up his shield and turns into a big beardy baby.” Steve hurls his washcloth at your face playfully. Sam just rolls his eyes at both of you.  

Looking at Steve’s bruises, your bloody knuckles, and feeling the swelling on your own face–maybe Sam had a slight point. It felt good though. Steve’s style was different from Bucky’s and since he was less afraid of hurting you, it was closer to a real fight. To Bucky’s credit, he hadn’t been wrong when he said neither of you knew when to quit. But what were a few bruises between friends?

“Sure you don’t wanna go a round, Wilson?” Steve asks. 

“Yeah-” Sam sits at the table with you both- “don’t think I need a reminder on where I fall in this ranking. Last time I went around with her I thought I was gonna lose a lung.”

“I did not hit you that hard.” 

“Some of us are just plain old people and have a very different definition of hard.”

“Oh come on Sam,” you say with a smirk. “You’re not plain.”

“Why must you wound me, woman?!” He exclaims. 

Between the banter and laughter from the three of you, the sound of Steve’s phone ringing is lost. When it goes off again he notices, glancing at the screen his expression shifts from joy to severity so fast it’s jarring. His eyes dart to you and away before he pushes away from the table. 

“I need to take this,” he says heading for the door.

“Steve?” You don’t try to hide your desperation as you shoot up, sending your chair slamming into the wall behind you. 

He turns, a tight smile on his lips. “I promise I will tell you everything I can as soon as I know.” His hand rests on the knob as he says over his shoulder, “I’ll be right back.”

Sam rests a comforting hand on your shoulder, guiding you into the living room. You curl your legs under you on the squeaky couch. He sits beside you, offering his hand. You hold it, taking comfort in his firm grip. 

“He’s gonna be ok, Y/N.”

“What if he’s not?” You say in a flat tone. 

Sam’s hand squeezes yours, “If he’s not, you will be. You’ve got us.” He pulls your hand toward him, “Come here.” You don’t resist him and lean into him as he wraps his arm around your shoulders, holding you tight.

Surrounded by Sam’s warmth you try to convince yourself that he’s right. Maybe you could be ok, maybe you could keep your promise to Bucky… Maybe. Something in your heart knows that you’re just trying to lie to yourself.

Right back, turns into over an hour. Sam doesn’t try to give you any other words of comfort. He’s just there for you and that’s enough. 

When the door opens you literally fly up from your seat, power coming in one rush. Forcing yourself down, you look at Steve, unable to speak. When you register the genuine smile and wide eyes a lump rises in your throat. 

He reaches up, pulling you the rest of the way to the floor. “He’s ok. They did it.” You stare in disbelief, it had been only four months… 

“He’s awake, healthy, and they got that shit out of his head. Hydra’s triggers are gone.” You shake your head, unwilling or unable to accept such good news. “He’s gonna be fine, truly.” 

Your hand rushes to your mouth to contain the sob as you fold at the waist, hot tears spilling out. Steve envelopes you in his arms, tugging you to his chest. A moment later Sam joins, and you’re surrounded by love and support as you weep, for once, in absolute joy. 

Pushing away you take a jittery breath, “Can–When can we see him?” 

Steve’s blue eyes sparkle with his own happy tears, “I don’t know yet. Soon hopefully.” He brushes a tear from your cheek with a calloused finger before pressing a brotherly kiss to the top of your head. 

“Woo!” Sam whoops. “I knew I got steak for dinner tonight for a reason.”

“Fuck yes!” You turn, giving him a tight hug. “Whiskey, we need to celebrate.” 

“If you can stand more good news,” Steve says a bit coy. You and sam stare at him waiting, “Heard from Nat too. She’s meeting up with Wanda and they’ll be here tomorrow evening.” 

The thought of bringing Bucky into this collection of people one day, maybe far sooner than you ever allowed yourself to hope for, keeps you on a cloud of happiness for the next few days. 

You’re enjoying your morning coffee with Natasha and Wanda, pulling bits of information about their individual time away when Steve pops in. 

“Can I steal you?” The smile playing at the edges of his lips make your heart skip. 

“Sure.” You follow him to the backyard. 

“We head out today,” he says. It takes all you’ve got to not jump up and down like a kid hearing they’re going to Disney. “1100 hours.”

“Are we all-”

“No,” he shakes his head. “Just us. We should pack everything in case they need to move on before we get back. We’ll be catching a ride so they’ll keep the jet.”

“Where are we going?” You ask, brows knitting. 

“Can you wait a bit longer to find out?” You shrug in aquesiance. 

The next few hours are both the longest and shortest of your life. Your heart aches for him but you hate to leave so quickly. When you’d asked Steve if you had a timeframe he wasn’t sure, it made this goodbye feel strange.  

“Ok, be sure to tell your cyborg boyfriend-” Sam begins.

“I thought we agreed that per your definition of cyborg he no longer qualifies thanks to Stark’s fuckery.” You still wanted to rip that assholes arm off to show him how it feels. 

“Nerds,” Natasha shoots at you both. 

“Whatever,” Sam shakes his head. “Be sure to tell him he doesn’t have my approval yet.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s gonna go over beautifully.” 

Sam laughs pulling you into a hug. “I’m happy for you,” he says by your ear. You give him a big smile as you pull away, not trusting yourself not to cry if you speak. 

Clearing your throat loudly you say, “It’s not like this is goodbye, I’ll be back.” Though Steve admitted he didn’t have an exact timeframe. 

Natasha sighs, “It better be soon. We can’t just rely on Sam to cook. He’ll kill us.” 

You giggle, “This is true.” 

A red glowing spiral bound book smacks into your head drawing your attention to Wanda who had been lingering in a corner. You pluck it from the air, opening the sketch pad to reveal crisp blank pages. 

“Your other one is getting full,” she says with a sniffle. Surrounding her in your power you drag her to you and hug her close. 

“Your it,” she whispers. 

“Fair,” you say, dashing a tear as you release her. 

See you soons exchanged you and Steve head for the door.

“Hey!” Sam yells after you both. “You should also be sure to tell him who gave you that shiner!” Steve looks down at you, back at Sam, and lets out a pained laugh, fingers running through his hair. 

Leave it to Sam. The two of you walk into the bright day with a chorus of laughter from your friends following you, chasing away the sadness of leaving. 

The meeting place was about an hour’s walk from where you were staying in an industrial park that had shuttered for the night. Steve leads you into a warehouse building, clearly confident in where you were headed. 

Fluorescents lit the space, the harsh light almost brighter than the sun. Looking around you notice two women, arms crossed looking somewhat annoyed, speak by the loading ramp of a jet that puts the Quin to shame. They silence as soon as the two of you are close. 

“Captain!” An oddly familiar voice calls. 

When Prince T’Challa rounds the jet you immediately flinch back, feeling the fresh scars on your chest burn with the memory of sharp claws. Another woman following him joins the other two. 

He holds his hands up, “I come in peace.” His smile seems true but you still glare at Steve, demanding an explanation. 

“Prince T’Challa-”

“Just T’Challa, please.”

Steve nods, “Has been harboring Bucky.”

“What?!” Your tone sounds more venomous than you mean it to. 

“I made a poor judgment call and acted out of grief and vengeance. Sergeant Barnes wasn’t deserving of the blame I put on him. I wanted to make it right.” His eyes move to your chest for an instant. “I hope I can make right the harm I did to you too… If you’ll let me.” You look back to Steve, still in shock. 

“I trust him,” he says with a nod.

T’Challa extends a hand to you. For just a breath you hesitate before taking it in your own. 

“You swear he’s safe?” You ask, eyes boring into his. 

“I do.” 

“Ok.” 

“Can we leave?” The woman asks T’Challa. 

He laughs, “Yes we can leave as long as these two are good.” You and Steve exchange a quick glance and nod. “Good. Let’s move out.”

-

According to the three-dimensional map, that you can only comprehend as fucking magic, you’re already almost to Wakanda in a little over four hours. Your brain can’t fully comprehend how but this jet was full of mindblowing elements. 

Your foot begins to bounce rapidly, anxiety spiking for some reason the closer you get. 

“Hey,” Steve sits beside you, nudging you with his shoulder. 

“Hey.” 

“What are you nervous about?”

“I’m not-” He sets his own heavy boot over yours, stopping your bounce. “I don’t know.”

“Here,” Okoye holds out a glass. “Tea, it will help.”

“Thanks.” You hated tea but she didn’t strike you as the kind of woman who’s kindness one took lightly. Taking a sip you’re actually surprised that you like the spicy earthy taste. “What is this?” 

“Tea,” she says with a smirk sitting across from you crossing her legs casually. You raise a brow and she laughs. “It’s a special, personal, blend.” 

“She bought it at a tea shop,” T’Challa says walking past her. She scoffs and kicks the back of his calf. He laughs, “But they made it for her so I guess it counts.”

“Three until we’re at the barrier,” Nailah calls back. 

Okoye’s smile fills her face, “You’re going to want to see this.’ She stands, nodding to the front. You look to Steve and he has the same smile, nodding for you to follow. 

You all crowd the front of the jet as you rapidly approach what looked to you like the side of a mountain. No one else seemed nervous though… Assuming this wasn’t the calmest suicide mission ever you swallow your exclamation and watch… Just as you brace yourself for the impact the goddamn mountain opens–no fades away like a hologram–revealing a massive river city nestled in the mountains. The late afternoon sun makes the structures sparkle, trams seem to hover around the buildings, green spaces seamlessly flow through everything. 

“Holy shit,” you breathe in absolute wonder. 

“Welcome to Wakanda,” T’Challa says, beaming. 

When the jet gently touches down you finally look at Steve. 

“I know,” he laughs, “believe me.” He wraps his arm around your shoulders, pulling you toward your waiting bags, the weight of his arm the only thing keeping you from floating off the ground in sheer excitement. 

The two of you follow the others off the jet onto a large landing deck. 

“Finally!” Someone calls as you all step off. A slight woman with a smirk on her face stands waiting with her arms crossed. 

“What?” T’Challa responds. “We made excellent time.” She sighs loudly, rolling her eyes. 

“Shuri, this is Y/N.” He turns to you as you walk up. Her face explodes in a Cheshire-like grin, extending a hand to you.

“It’s so good to actually meet you!” Her handshake quickly turns into an enthusiastic hug. 

You huff out an awkward laugh, “Do I even want to know how my reputation proceeds me?” Your eyes slide to Steve who shakes his head to indicate it wasn’t him. 

“Oh! Bucky talks about you often,” she says with a soft smile. At the mention of his name you look around the platform, perhaps a little desperately. “He’s not here. We’ve got a raft ready to go see him though.”

“Is going immediately a good idea?” T’Challa asks cautiously.

“Of course!” Shuri says with a shrug. “Plus, he hasn’t had a positive surprise like this yet. It will be good research.”

Steve shoots you a glance, his fresh worry mirroring your own. There isn’t time to ask more questions before you’re loaded up and heading off once more. 

You want to be awestruck by the goddamn hovercraft you’re standing on, and the breathtaking… everything you’re passing but all you can hear in your head is Shuri saying he hadn’t been surprised yet. What could happen? What risk was there? Was this a bad idea? Would everything be broken by yours and Steve’s sudden arrival? Would he even want-

All thoughts cease as the craft crests a small hill. There, sitting by a small lake was a man looking out at the water and the fiery sky. His hair, so much longer, hid his face but then you see a hand raised in a familiar motion, fingers running through this hair.

You weren’t sure you could have stopped it if you wanted to. A burst of power propels you from the craft, sending you into the air. Vaguely you hear Shuri let out a sound, Steve says something, but you’re quickly too far away to hear. You push against the air with all you’ve got, body humming, heart thundering, arms aching to hold him. 

Ten feet away from him you land silently, suddenly nervous again. Worried of breaking him somehow… But then-

“Bucky?” You say softly, almost a whisper. 

His back straightens but he doesn’t move immediately. Fear fills you, bad call wrong fuck-

Bucky plucks a small earbud from and turns, blue eyes glassy, face filled with wonder. He stands, rounding the bench so slowly it feels like forever. 

“I’m not dreaming?” He asks sincerely. Tears make his image ripple, turning everything into a watercolor. Biting your lip you shake your head no, taking a few steps forward, each one less grounded than the last. 

“Y/N…” His smile, unlike anything you’ve ever seen. 

You don’t rush into one another’s arms. The space between you closes with tentative steps. So like how you fell in love, a short distance carefully traveled until… A familiar calloused hand tenderly wipes the tears from your cheeks. 

Reaching up you take his face in your hands. His eyes flutter closed as you dash away his tears when they open once more you nearly gasp at their beauty. 

Bucky’s hand slides from your cheek to the back of your head, fingers tangling into your hair, pulling your lips to his. There’s no resistance as you melt into him. 

The kiss begins tender but quickly succumbs to your hungry need for one another and the world falls away. This is all there is, he is all you feel, taste, breathe. 

Gasping for air, you both pull away. Resting your forehead against his you realize that the world literally fell away. Unconsciously you’d enveloped the both of you in your power, sending you about five feet off the ground. His eyes glitter with the wonder they always hold when it comes to your ability. 

Gently, you lower you both back down, unable to look away from him. Once gravity has you again though you can no longer hold back the question that weighed on you since Steve handed you Bucky’s letter. 

“Did you really think I wouldn’t still have you?” He looks away and you tilt his face back to you. “I will always love all of you, James Buchannan Barnes. Always.” Your voice cracks on the final word, emotions overwhelming you. 

He kisses you once more. “Goddamn, I love you, Y/N.” You let out a little laugh and press your lips to his briefly before he pulls you away, thumb lightly touching the bruise at your eye.

“What happened?” His tone suddenly concerned. “Who-” Steve clears his throat from behind you, cutting him off. A snicker slips from you as you turn to face your blushing friend.

“Uh-” Steve runs an awkward hand through his hair- “That would be my fault.” Bucky’s eyes dart from his best friend back to you in confusion and worry. 

“Friendly fire,” you shrug. 

He rolls his eyes hard, laughing, “I knew I shouldn’t have left the two of you alone.”

Steve laughs, clearly relieved Bucky wasn’t pissed about giving his girl a shiner. Your heart swells as the two of them exchange a long tight embrace. When they separate Steve sniffs hard, clearing his throat. 

“You should see what she did to me,” he says with a sidelong glance at you. 

Laughing you respond, “Oh my god. You are not going to let it go, are you? It’s not even that bad.” Steve raises a brow and lifts his tee, a dark plum bruise spreading from his back around his ribs. 

You grimace, “Ok. Maybe…”

Okoye lets out a low whistle, “Damn.” She looks to you, “We absolutely have to go a round.” She, T’Challa, and Shuri stroll up from where they’d been waiting, giving the three of you some space. 

“Oko, loves a challenge,” T’Challa chuckles. 

“I’m down,” you say lightly. Bucky’s arm wraps around your waist, holding you close.

“Tomorrow,” she says authoritatively. “Though-” she eyes the two of you playfully- “we’ll make it in the afternoon. I won’t steal your woman away before you two get to catch up, Wolf Man.”

“Wolf Man?” You ask looking up at Bucky’s smiling face. 

Shuri laughs, “The kids started calling him the White Wolf. It just sort of stuck.” 

“Steve’s looking a little more like a Wolf Man than me though so I may not keep my title for long.” Steve rubs his beard and gives an agreeing nod. 

“Why don’t we all stay here to talk,” T’Challa takes a few steps toward a circle of low stone benches by the edge of the water. “The sunset is too beautiful to miss.”

As the sky burns in magnificent colors above you all T’Challa and Okoye walk you and Steve through what happened after the events in Siberia. Shuri exclaims that’s why it took so long to get Bucky’s treatment completed if what she accomplished wasn’t miraculous. She explains how she managed to circumnavigate the triggers and how it should remain effective longterm. Sometime during the talk a few folks arrive setting up a table quietly with food. 

“I definitely want to continue monitoring for any changes but it seems that this treatment could be helpful in a lot of cases,” Shuri’s voice drips with excitement. “Honestly, I don’t know why others aren’t utilizing AI in this way. It just makes sense.” You can’t help but laugh. It seemed that she often forgot that not everyone had a mind like hers. 

“If we’re going to have any more technical talk I can’t do it on an empty stomach,” Okoye says standing. 

-

By the end of dinner, your cheeks ache from smiling. 

T’Challa stretches, letting out a long yawn. “I think I’m ready to head back.” Okoye nods and Shuri lets out an exasperated sound. He laughs, “You can keep pummeling Y/N with questions tomorrow if she’s not ready to scream.”

“After what you’ve done, Shuri, I’m an open book.” 

“You may regret that,” she says with a wink. 

“We’ve got a room for you Captain,” Okoye says. “And you, Y/N.” For a second your chest tightens, the thought of leaving Bucky’s side draining the joy you’d been soaking in. “If you want it that is.” 

“Thank you but…” You look up to Bucky, suddenly unsure. “I’d rather stay with you if-” His smile silences you. 

“Of course,” Okoye’s warm smile coloring her words. 

Once they all head back to the city Bucky leads your into his cozy hut. Fire-like lights illuminate the space as soon as you enter, belying the low-tech aesthetic of the space. 

Your eyes wander around, soaking it all in until they land on Bucky. His expression is so tender and full of love, it makes your stomach flutter. 

Without a word, he closes the small space between you. His lips press against your forehead before he looks into your eyes, right hand cupping your cheek. 

“I dreamed about you,” he says in a rough whisper. You can’t help but smile. 

“I dreamed about your smile,” his thumb gently touches the laugh lines at the corners of your mouth. “Your eyes,” a finger tracing your brow. Your hands rest on his hips, holding him close. 

“Your touch,” he presses his body even closer. “Your taste,” he kisses your prone lips, savoring the feeling. Your body shivers with desire as his hand slides down your back, fingers slipping just under the hem of your shirt. “The way you feel.” 

“I dreamed about all of you, but here you are and I realize my dreams didn’t do you justice.”  He studies your face before continuing, “You are so much more than I could ever have dreamed, Y/N, than I ever could have hoped for. And I love you so much more than I think I ever realized before.”

Your eyes sting with tears as you pull his face to yours, kissing him softly. He was right. You thought you knew how much you missed him, how much you loved him–but you didn’t really know until you had him back in your arms. 

When you pull back his hand wanders to your chest, softly touching the thick pink scars there. For a moment pain floods his features before he leans down and kisses each one, causing your breath to catch.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers against your skin. 

“No,” you say firmly. “Don’t.” Your hand gently runs down the beautiful fabric draped over his left shoulder. 

When you meet his gaze he nods subtly. Hooking the knot with your fingers you pull it over his head. Your fingers undo the buttons of his shirt, pressing a kiss to the center of his chest before peeling the garment back. Only then do you slide your eyes over to his left side. 

The silver metal you’d grown so used to seeing is gone, replaced with a dark smooth material. It’s warm to the touch, the end a smooth cap. 

“Does it bother you?” Bucky asks. 

“Of course not,” you assure him. “I just… Stark…” There’s a bite to your voice. 

“Honestly, I’m glad it’s gone.” His eyes are steady and you know he’s being honest. It was a reminder. 

His fingers run along your jaw, a smoky grin curling his lips. Desire explodes in you. 

At first, you’re both fumbling a bit, the new mechanics of the situation and the time away needing to be worked through. It doesn’t matter. You laugh, kiss, and relearn one another inch by inch. 

-

Bucky wakes but doesn’t open his eyes, too afraid that yesterday was a sweet dream. 

He notes the earthen smell of his hut, the feel of his soft bedding, the sound of the lake… The sound of your breathing, deep and steady. 

Not a dream. You were really here. You were really safe. 

He opens his eyes, looking over at your sleeping form. The golden light from outside slips beneath the curtain making you practically glow. One arm is curled under your pillow, the other languidly reaches in his direction. 

Sitting up slowly he studies you closer. The way your hair falls into your face, the length starting to dust your shoulders. The gentle curve of your spine. And he hoped he wasn’t imagining the slight smile on your sleeping lips. 

Before you and Steve arrived he knew that eventually, you’d come together, but that he’d have to choose between the safety Wakanda afforded him and you. For a brief period, he wasn’t sure what the right choice was. Was it better to stay away, to avoid putting more of a target on your back? 

Now he knows it doesn’t matter. Be it the right choice or not, nothing could make him leave your side again. Nothing. 

Tenderly his fingers run a path down your back, not wanting to wake you but needing to touch you. The latticework of scars there looking like golden embroidery in the light, just something that makes you all the more beautiful to him. 

A small noise slips from between your lips. He rests his hand on your low back as you stir. 

“Bucky,” you breath out, expression almost disbelieving.

“Goodmorning, sweetheart.” Your smile makes his heart rabbit in his chest. 

-

Shuri glances from the readings before her and back to Bucky, a look of mild concern coloring her features. 

“Everything alright, Bucky?” 

“Of course,” he lies. He’d spent the morning oscillating between suffocating joy at having you back and paralyzing fear over knowing he won’t be able to say goodbye to you… and just what that means. 

“I’m sure Okoye won’t go too hard on her,” she gives him a reassuring smile. 

He huffs out a small laugh. While he went to Shuri’s lab for his daily check-in Okoye had stolen you away for a sparring session. Admittedly, he wasn’t the most comfortable with that either, though he wasn’t worried about you. 

“We can call this good for today. We’ll meet them at the training field.” Shuri, ever four steps of everyone, doesn’t wait for him to agree just begins grabbing things to leave. 

It’s a short walk from Shuri’s lab to the training field. His mind doesn’t have time to wander with her constant excited chatter. While he may not fully comprehend half of what she tells him he knows she likes to have a sounding board, talking helps her narrow in on whatever brilliant thing her mind is working on. He’s happy Shuri is comfortable enough with him to do this. 

They stop under a large awning, slightly elevated from the large open-air training space, to watch you and Okoye have at it. She lands a hard blow to the side of your face and he flinches, knuckles white as he grips the railing. 

“Come on!” He hears Okoye taunt, circling you. “You’re holding back,” she tosses a blunt spear between her hands. “I want to see what you can really do.”

A smirk curls your lips before you spit red into the dirt. “Alright.”

Your shoulders roll back, feet planted like he taught you. With an almost imperceptible twitch of your head, the spear flies from Okoye’s grip, landing in your hand. It’s a showy move but you’ve left yourself open just enough. 

Bucky bites his tongue to keep from calling out as Okoye takes the chance, moving with the grace and speed of a trained warrior. The moment she moves to kick your abdomen you’re suddenly airborne, using the spear as a pivot point. Okoye’s foot meets nothing but empty space sending her stumbling while you bring both feet down into her side.  

She rolls away, body already coiled to right herself. You’re faster though. 

He watches, slack-jawed, as your toes barely touch the ground before you propel yourself with speed through the air to Okoye. She’s barely registered your presence before the spear point is pointed at her throat. 

“I think by your rules that’s a win,” you say, a bit breathless. 

The sound of slow clapping from behind him makes Bucky jump. He’d been so engrossed in watching that he hadn’t noticed T’Challa and Steve enter. 

“Why thank you my king,” Okoyes says as you pull her to her feet. 

“Don’t be a sore loser now general,” T’Challa teases. She throws him a sideways glare. 

“Impressive,” Bucky says as you walk up. 

“I had a good teacher,” you say before pressing your lips to his briefly. 

“I’m pretty sure I didn’t teach you that.” 

“So,” Shuri begins, a peculiar tension in her tone, “does she pass?” You give Bucky a questioning look but he only shrugs, just as confused. 

“Oh yes,” Okoye pours water over her head, wiping her face with a towel. “If only because I demand a rematch.” 

“Did I miss something?” You ask turning to face the others. They all have grins on their faces, even Steve. 

“Let’s sit,” T’Challa nods to a small seating area. Glancing at Bucky, you slide your hand in his before following.

T’Challa’s expression is open but he lets out a long sigh before beginning. “I offered Bucky asylum in Wakanda because I realized he’d been just as much a victim of Zemo’s hatred as my father. I feel the same goes for you.” He pauses, seeming to gather his thoughts. “You had no choice but to become involved in this mess, your whole life was turned upside down… again. I feel partially responsible for that.”

“I don’t-” He cuts you off with a raised hand. 

“I’d like to offer you the chance to stay here as well.” 

Bucky draws in a sharp breath. Your eyes, large and disbelieving turn to him. Neither of you dare speak. 

“There is one stipulation.”

“Of course,” you say almost breathless.

“Given our recent… incident, we are aware of the need to bolster our forces. If you chose to stay you’d be expected to serve as a defender of Wakanda under General Okoye should the need arise.” Shuri makes a small noise and T’Challa laughs. “Go on.”

“I’d also be interested in studying your ability,” she says. Bucky sees your body instantly tense. 

“Nothing without your consent,” Shuri tries to assure you. “I can also do as I’ve done for Bucky and look into exactly what those monsters may have done to avoid any potential issues in the future.”

Your gaze falls to Steve, an unspoken question hanging between you both. 

“They’ll understand,” Steve says smiling. 

When you look at him once more his mouth goes dry. He should tell you to do what feels right, to do what was best for you, but the words stick in his throat along with his breath. 

Bucky watches as all question and doubt drains from your expression, replaced with a softness he can’t name. Your fingers gently trace his jaw and air floods into his lungs, tension fleeing him. 

You turn back to T’Challa, “Yes. I… anything to stay I’ll do it. And Shuri-” you take a deep shaky breath- “I’d like to know what they did too-”

“Everything at your pace I swear,” Shuri cuts you off, almost bouncing with excitement. 

“I believe you,” you say with a small laugh. 

“Thank you,” he says to T’Challa, holding his gaze. T’Challa smiles and nods, understanding the weight of Bucky’s words. 

-

You expected saying goodbye to Steve would be hard but not this hard. His arms crush you tight into his chest and you just know your tears are soaking into his tee. Sniffing hard you pull away. 

“Tell them…” You trail off, wiping your eyes. Sorry wasn’t right, you could already hear Sam calling you out on that bullshit, and you didn’t know when you’d see them again. 

“Tell them, I’ll miss them and that this isn’t goodbye.” It hurt to say it, fresh tears finding their way down your cheeks, but it was the truth. You wouldn’t let this be goodbye. Steve nods, quickly wiping at his own eyes. He looks at Bucky, forcing a slight smile. 

“There are a few people you’re gonna have to answer to later, Buck.”

“I look forward to it,” Bucky says, his hand resting on the small of your back. Steve looks at you both before pulling you into a group hug. 

“I’m so happy for you,” he says softly before releasing you. 

“We’ll see you later, punk.” Bucky’s smile is soft and sad. 

Steve laughs softly, “Jerk.” 

You and Bucky stand on the landing deck until the jet is out of sight, silent, just holding tightly to one another. After all what was there to say?

Shuri offers to give you both a lift back to Bucky’s place… your place? How strange to think of it that way. On the ride her easy conversation is comforting. 

As soon as you say your goodbyes to her you head to the edge of the lake, a bit dazed after everything. The sun is just barely above the horizon, casting the sky in breathtaking shades from yellow to deep twilight purple. You take it all in, the beauty almost overwhelming. 

 “Y/N,” Bucky calls to you. Turning back you see him by the doorway. He extends his hand but you don’t go to him immediately. Instead, you take him in, lit in soft golden light. 

He was impossible, this man you loved. Impossible that his kind heart could remain after so much pain, impossible he could survive all he did, impossible that he loved you with all he was despite all you were. And the most impossible of all, he was here, safe, reaching out for your hand. He was yours. 

Finally, you go to him, his palm engulfing yours, tugging you in for a kiss. Bucky pulls back, looking down at you with such love it takes your breath away. 

“We’re home, doll.” 

Nothing had ever felt truer.