She had only known the man through stories of their shared childhood and young adult years as told by Steve. The stories might have sounded inflated if told by anyone else as a result of hero worship, but that wasn’t Steve’s style and therefore she believed them all. She only knew what that man looked like from old photos and drawings kept by Steve and thought him to be quite handsome. She understood when Steve described how the girls would around him like bees to honey because not only was he handsome, he was charming and polite. The type of young man you’d bring home to meet your parents and squeal over with your girlfriends as you shared what really happened on your dates. Nothing too risqué, mind you, this was the late 30’s early 40’s remember. Always be a gentleman.
She teased Steve, telling him he must have learned everything he knew from such a ladies man. Steve blushed, correcting her, saying he knew enough on his own, that she hadn’t complained yet. Then it was her turn to blush...
The image of that man she had constructed in her head was at odds to the terrifying reality of the Winter Solider. Therefor, it was very easy for her to accept Steve’s declaration that this...man, asset, weapon..wasn’t Bucky, not really. That he was a victim of Hydra. This didn’t change the fact he was still scary as hell when she saw his dead eyes and expressionless face as he fought them on the helicarrier. That image too was at odds with what Steve told her after, that Steve was pulled from the water by the very man who had just tried to kill him.
He shared this with her during one of the last times they were together as lovers. An odd word to describe them, so much less and so much more than what they were. As time passed, it wasn’t that they were no longer attracted to each other or didn’t care as deeply as before. Life just became...more of something. Too full. Missions came and went. They caught what moments they could in the crazy that was their lives. It wasn’t long until they were settled into a relationship that had evolved into what only made sense to them. Although, Natasha did quit trying to hook Steve up.
She helped him follow every lead that they discovered concerning this man.
Then Ultron almost destroyed the team.
The Accords finished the job.
His mission of finding Bucky was still focused and she never felt he was neglectful of her, but sometimes she wondered if he saw her as another responsibility to fulfill and not a respite. She made no demands and continued to help him find this man that she only knew from Steve’s shared memories and photographs.
When Peggy died, something broke inside of him. Then there was the bombing.
The man that she saw, metal arm clamped in a vice, was at odds with all the other images constructed in her head. She could see the fear in his eyes, not of anyone, but of himself. Of whom he had been and of whom he had forgotten.
She had felt the hopefulness along with Steve when Bucky recalled his past self-Steve’s mom’s name, newspapers in the shoes but her hope was colored with the realization that this man would never again be who Steve had painted for her from his memories and recollections. When he looked over at her, she knew that that man was broken, gone. Someone else had taken his place. Her heart broke for them both.
She didn’t think twice when she stole Steve’s shield for him and Sam’s wings. She was waiting under the bridge when he climbed out of the ridiculously small car, a look of concern for her pinching his face tight. She tried to lighten the mood but he was having none of it.
“If an opportunity comes for you to run. Do it. Run.”, he almost pled with her, desperation warring with his captain voice.
“Never.”, she said simply, direct insubordination, and in that brief moment, he saw her, truly saw her for the first time in a long infinity, and not as another responsibility hanging around his neck. The kiss was goodbye, even though they didn’t know it at the time.
The thought of fighting alongside anyone else other than Steve never crossed her mind, even against those she considered family. If there were times, during the chaos at the airport, that she saw a dark haired shadow deflecting some of the blows directed at her, she didn’t outright acknowledge them. And when Steve and Bucky ran to the carrier, he was the one, not Steve, who looked back to see if she were still standing.
The wait for rescue on the Raft was short-lived and the trip to Wakanda even shorter. This same shadow man assisted Steve in the rescue. He had seemed very concerned, almost distraught, when he discovered she was one of the inmates and many of the bodies that were strewn across the floor was the result. This man took extra care in making sure she was okay, even though he never spoke a single word to her and she never saw him look directly at her.
Once in Wakanda, she stood to the side as Steve and Bucky discussed the decision to go back under. Bucky reasoned, “I can’t trust my own mind. So until they figure out how to get this stuff out of my head, I think going back under is the best thing.” She didn’t catch the look Bucky sent her way, “For everybody.”
Steve refused to discuss anything that involved her running with him. T’challa was gracious in allowing her to stay and his sister embraced her as a friend almost immediately. She assisted Shuri in devising a program to restructure broken minds. Actually, she sat in the room and kept her company.
When the day came to give the final test of Shuri’s, the man before her practically begged her to not be there. She refused, even cheekily responded, “Till the end of the line, old man.” He had laughed hoarsely and whispered, “That’s my line. God, you’re so much like him...you never listen. And you never give up.”
He requested to be strapped down. Shuri had rolled her eyes at his request but complied muttering at him not having faith in her work.
She held his hand as Shuri repeated the words that he hated. She held his hand tight as he sat tense and rigid, teeth almost shattering from grinding as “ Longing, rusted, furnace...” were heard over pounding heartbeats.
His breathing became shallow as , “daybreak, seventeen, benign, nine” drifted through.
His grip almost crushed her hand as, “homecoming, one, freight car” were said almost indifferently as Shuri ended the sequence.
He sat so still that she felt a fissure of fear, remembering the unnatural stillness she had seen back in Berlin before his escaping.
He lifted his head. She held her breath.
The man she saw looking back at her....this wasn’t the man who Steve had created regaling her with stories from a dead past. This wasn’t the weapon created by Hydra in answer to Captain America. This wasn’t the tortured man captured in Romania, created from a mind full of broken memories and death.
This man...smiling at her with such joy...was hers.