Archive of Our Own

It was never even your idea. 

Working for SHIELD as long as you had, you were used to being assigned as an asset rather than a leader. Fury would put you with whoever needed you, and you did not argue (even if you did curse him out behind his back sometimes.) You followed the instructions and you completed the mission. You were professional. So the first time you had been partnered with Barnes, you hadn’t questioned it for a moment. 

Steve was the one to give the order. You were all scrambling to assemble a plan mere hours before the mission, given the sudden nature of the intel you’d received. Natasha and Clint were already out the door, and Steve and Sam had their positions planned. That only left ground cover, which meant . . . 

“Y/L/N? You’re with Bucky, make sure Nat and Clint have good cover on their way in, keep the operatives focused on you!” 

Before either of you could say a word, Steve was already barrelling into the night; Sam shot you a quick salute and disappeared after the Captain. You and Barnes stood across from each other in the compound’s armoury, and you met his wide-eyed uncertainty with a casual half-shrug before you clipped a second holster around the thigh of your suit. 

“You coming? Captain’s orders,” you said, marching out the door. You heard his heavy footsteps behind you, and that was it. You were ground cover. 

And you worked well together - as well as two agents who had barely spoken could work. Barnes’ words came through your comms unit in clipped, firm sentences, and he was a good enough shot that you felt secure enough to focus on Natasha and Clint and Sam rather than keeping one eye on your teammates and one on your partner. He could hold his own well enough to free you up to do unforeseen damage to the opposing operatives. 

When Steve had brought Barnes to the Avengers compound for the first time, there had been no intention to recruit him. Barnes just needed a place to stay that would satisfy the US government (ie. a place to keep him under supervision), and that would also satisfy Steve (ie. a place that was not a prison.) But after several long weeks of Barnes living in his sequestered, distant quarters, haunting the halls like a brooding, extremely tall ghost, it was decided that he would be allowed to train at the very least. Steve and Natasha both agreed that it would be good for him to have a routine, do things that would keep him preoccupied rather than trapping himself in a cocoon of self-doubt and melancholy. He started going on runs around the compound’s expansive grounds, and using the gym during off-hours so he wouldn’t have to see anyone else. 

Despite the claims of the committee members at his hearing, Barnes was never going to stay trapped in the compound forever. He was too useful for no one to ever ask for his help on a mission, especially once he had spent a few months living with everyone without a single incident. So when something went wrong on a mission and the team had to call in backup, he was requested to come along as a last resort, given the low numbers the team was working with at the time. Barnes had been helping out on missions ever since, much to Congress’ chagrin and Steve’s quiet delight. 

Being partnered on that first mission was one of the first times you had ever spoken to Barnes, and you really couldn’t wrap your head around why anyone would be so scared of him. Even knowing the stats in his file, you couldn’t quite reconcile the deadliest assassin the world had ever seen with the reserved man who seemed only to use defensive moves, and who offered you a tired smile when you finally piled back into the quinjet. 

The second time was on Steve’s request again, the lot of you crammed into the belly of a quinjet. This time, Natasha quirked an eyebrow at Steve. 

“You sure you don’t wanna take Barnes?” She glanced at Barnes, who was watching her impassively. “No offense.”

“None taken,” Barnes shrugged, though you could see the tightness in his shoulders as he watched Natasha and Steve stare each other down in the small space. 

“Bucky and Y/N can handle this on their own.” Steve’s voice was firm when he replied to Natasha. “But thank you for the input, Natasha.”

She sighed, turning to slip a spare gun in her thigh holster. She caught your eyes as you checked over your own weapons and suit, and she raised her eyebrows in a silent question: can you handle this? You gave her a small, sharp nod before turning back to Barnes. His gaze was already on you, his expression unreadable. He was always so stoic, just taking in the room and the conversation. You tossed him a grin as you waltzed to the hangar doors of the quinjet, ready to enter the drop-zone. 

“You comin’, Barnes?” You asked, your voice light and teasing, cutting through the roar of the engine. “You’re not gonna let me have all the fun, are you?” 

When he followed you out the hangar doors and into the open night sky, you could see a small smile flit across his face before the two of you hurtled towards the ground below, the darkness swallowing him up behind you. 

So, partnering with Barnes had not started as your idea. Steve felt comfortable enough with him to leave the two of you unsupervised in the field, trusting him enough to have your back, and after the first mission you worked together, you trusted him with that, too. 

Bruce eyed you over the rim of his coffee mug, which you had just very graciously delivered to him while he worked. He had been slaving away at a new design for your suit specifically, hoping to increase the amount of damage you could take from a hit in comparison to the enhanced supersoldiers you worked alongside. He’d borrowed some schematics from Shuri, who had only made fun of him a little bit before sending them along; you thought the ribbing between them was starting to be more banter-esque and less dismissive. 

“You gonna ask me the question, or are you cool sticking with telepathy?” You asked, eyebrows raised in question. 

Bruce spluttered for a moment, mug abandoned on his desk while he waved an overly-casual hand at your question. “I’m not - there’s no question. Nothing’s wrong.”

“That was believable,” you smirked, dropping to sit in the office chair behind Tony’s desk, giving it an experimental spin before turning back to Bruce. “Now spill.” 

“It’s just -” Bruce paused and sighed. “Nat’s not gonna like me asking this without her. We just think . . . we were wondering . . .”

“Yes?” 

“Do you think maybe it’s not a great idea for you to keep partnering up with Barnes?” 

You froze mid-spin, eyes narrowing as you watched Bruce await your response. His fingers twisted absently with the sleeve of his lab coat, a small, nervous smile on his face, which slowly slipped away as you leveled him with a cool glare. 

“I can handle myself,” you said. “Even against Bucky, if it ever came to that.”

“I don’t doubt that you’re a good agent, Y/N, we know you are,” Bruce said quickly. “We’re just worried that maybe he’s . . . I mean, you never saw the tapes. You don’t know what he’s capable of.” 

“Bruce -” 

“I know, I know, you’re not a kid,” Bruce interrupted, giving you an exasperated smile. “I don’t think you are. I just want you to be careful, alright?” 

“You don’t actually think Bucky would hurt any of us, do you?” You asked; it was your turn to frown. “Because he wouldn’t, not consciously. He’s not some monster incapable of understanding human relations. We have to trust him if we’re going out into the field with him.” 

Bruce removed his glasses to rub at his eyes tiredly, and you waited for his response with your arms crossed, eyebrow cocked in challenge. 

“He might not have a choice in the matter, that’s all.” Bruce’s gaze met yours, and his eyes were brimming with sincerity as he continued. “I just want you to be safe.” When you snorted, Bruce relented with a chuckle. “As safe as you can be, given the circumstances.” 

You rose from Tony’s chair, giving Bruce a quick, reassuring pat on the shoulder. He was back to fidgeting with his sleeve again; you knew he really was nervous for you, not just trying to talk down to you. That was why you offered him a soft smile as you left the lab. “I promise not to be too reckless, okay?” 

“Good,” he said, breathing out a sigh of relief. 

As you left the lab, however, you couldn’t help but make a silent promise to yourself: you weren’t going to be talked out of trusting Bucky, just because he had a complicated, violent past. If that was the bar for not trusting people, no one would get anything done around here. You could be careful and still trust him, couldn’t you? 

Despite trying to respect Bruce’s warning for you to be cautious around Bucky, you hadn’t stooped so low as to avoid him in the compound. Caution didn’t mean you had to sever all ties to him outside of missions where you were partnered together, did it? You could still greet him in the halls and offer him the leftover coffee in the pot while remembering that he was a biologically-enhanced assassin. It was basically like working with Natasha for the first time all over again. 

One thing that also hadn’t changed was the sparring session you two engaged in at least a few times a week. You were both late-night gym rats, avoiding training when the place was full of other agents and Avengers. It was easier to train on your own or, as you were doing now, training with the one other person working out at ten pm. The only downside was the number of moves Bucky knew that you didn’t see coming. You guessed he did have seventy years of experience on you. 

Bucky’s hands tightened around your shoulder, and before you realized what was happening, he had you tumbling to the mat. Despite the fall, you couldn’t help noticing how light his grip was, how little force he put behind the throw. It was as if he was trying not to hurt you. You landed flat on your back, and couldn’t stop yourself from barking out a sharp peal of laughter. 

Above you, Bucky frowned. His hair was still neatly tied back from his face, and his old blue shirt hung mostly dry on his broad torso. His steely blue eyes flashed in the fluorescent lights of the gym. “What’s so funny?”

You shook your head, clambering to your feet, choosing not to bother with his outstretched hand; there was something you needed to make very clear to your new field partner. 

“Was that all you’ve got?” You asked through another laugh. “Don’t pull your punches, Bucky. I can handle a real sparring match.”

His frown deepened. “Pulling my punches?”

“Yeah.” You got back into a defensive stance, hands rising to shield your face. “Throw me around a bit, Sergeant. I promise you won’t break me.” 

“I don’t want to try and break you,” Bucky replied, brow furrowed in confusion. “You’re just -”

“Just what?” You just barely kept the bitter edge out of your voice. Bucky suddenly sounded a lot like Steve, or Natasha, or Bruce, worry clouding his judgement when he looked at you. “I’m not gonna get hurt, Barnes. I can handle myself.” 

“I never said you couldn’t,” Bucky shot back, arms crossed tight over his chest. “Everything okay?”

“Everything is great,” you said, still waiting for him to join you in another spar. “I just need you not to worry about hurting me, alright? I trust you not to do too much damage,” you added with a wink. 

Bucky’s gaze darkened and his scowl made you drop your hands to your sides, confusion muddling your thoughts as you took in the sudden wave of anger that had overtaken him. “Bucky?”

He just took a step back, not meeting your eyes. “I could do damage, Y/N. You should know that. And I -” he exhaled, a harsh sound. “I couldn’t live with myself if I did.” 

Your heart stuttered, and you could have smacked yourself. Of course he was worried about playing too rough: he had just spent seventy years being forced to do it. God, you were a self-centered idiot. You stepped closer to him, taking measured steps until you stood less than a foot from him. He was still as a statue, watching you warily as you approached, apprehension clear in his every muscle. You reached out to place a hand on his forearm, gently prying his arms from across his chest. After a split second of resistance, he let himself become pliable in your grip, breathing out a soft sigh. The breath tickled the hairs that framed your cheek, and you felt its warmth on your skin. 

“I trust you not to,” you said again, letting your hand trail down the length of his arm, tangling your fingers around his wrist. “I wouldn’t let you hurt me, and I doubt you would let you hurt me. I’m not fragile, Bucky. It’s okay.” 

You both stood there for a minute, waiting for the other to make the next move. You stood steadfast, your eyes on his face unwavering. You were not going to let him go around terrified of hurting you just because he was scared of himself, of what he used to be. He wasn’t going to beat himself up over this for a moment longer, you were determined. 

Bucky’s hand twisted, abandoning your grip, only to twine his with yours, palms pressed together. It only lasted a moment, but the feeling of his hand in yours lit something in your stomach that you marvelled at. Then he pulled away, his scowl lightening, sunlight peeking through thunderclouds. 

“You ready to kick my ass?” He asked, and it was all you could do to nod.

“Y/L/N, Romanoff, you’re running point on this one, Bucky and I’ll cover you.”

You exchanged a glance with Natasha as you stood side-by-side at the mouth of the quinjet, readying yourselves for the short drop onto the ship below. The wind outside the jet howled, and the ocean that spread out beneath you was wild with the oncoming stormy weather. Hopefully it wouldn’t mess with your jump onto the ship. Nat’s face was impassive as she returned your look, her hands securing her thigh holster. 

“Did you tell him to do that?” You whispered, just loud enough to cut through the combined roar of the engine and the storm, right into Natasha’s ear. 

She just raised an eyebrow, as unreadable as ever. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Nat -”

“You two ready to go?!” Steve’s question pulled both of your gazes back over your shoulders, down into the dimness of the quinjet. He stood there, waiting for your signal; Bucky leaned against the wall next to Steve, his expression hidden in shadow, though you could feel his gaze on you. 

“Yeah, we’re good here, Rogers,” Natasha called back, giving your arm the slightest nudge to turn you back to the task at hand. Quieter, she added, “Just focus. Don’t worry about Barnes.”

And with the quick signal Natasha gave Steve, the two of you were plummeting from the quinjet without another word. 

The ship was eerily still for the first ten minutes of your mission, no mercenaries to be seen. The cabins beneath the deck were nearly-silent, the only sound coming from your footsteps and the wind outside. You and Natasha crept through the deserted hallways of the ocean liner, weapons raised, breaths measured, ready for a fight. You noticed how Natasha walked just a step ahead of you, her aim covering both of you. 

Suddenly, just feet from the command center that you needed to infiltrate, figures emerged from the shadows, weapons aimed at you from every side. 

You and Natasha moved with practiced ease, dispatching as many of the operatives as you could as though this was only another training exercise. Natasha’s hand landed on your shoulder and she hauled you forwards, barrelling into the command center. 

“Get to work,” she said, tossing you a flash drive with a wink. “I’ve got this covered.” And with that, Natasha vanished back through the door into the belly of the ship, gun raised, already firing off a shot. 

You scrambled to fit the flash drive into the computer system, typing away as you began downloading the information you had come for. You could hear the sounds of fighting echoing throughout the ship’s halls beyond the confines of this room, but you kept your eyes on the computer screen as you hurried to finish the extraction. The initial silence had left a hint of suspicion in the back of your mind that only grew as you continued to work: had you been made? Was this an ambush? If so, why would they allow you to get this close? 

The sudden tone of the files downloading sent a wave of relief through you. You snatched the flash drive from the computer, pocketing it and turning back to face the darkness that loomed through the doorway. You couldn’t see anyone outside the command center, friend or foe, but you steeled your nerves and redrew your weapon. You had to go through there regardless. 

You burst through the hallways, though no one was waiting for you to emerge from the command center. You could hear the voices of your teammates on the deck of the ship, just a floor above you, and sprinted in pursuit of the noise - it sounded like they could use all the help they could get. 

The night air was cold as it hit you, wind whipping over the open expanse of ocean, carding through your hair. You hit the lower deck with a solid thump of your boots, planting yourself right between Natasha and another black-suited operative, sending him sprawling onto the ground with a kick to the chest. You grinned at Natasha, patting your pocket where the flash drive was nestled safely next to your heart. 

“We’re all good to go,” you said, and Natasha gave you a sharp nod and a crooked grin. 

“Y/N’s got the drive,” Natasha said into her comms unit, signalling Steve and then calling the quinjet back around to pick you all up. “We’ll meet you at the bow.” 

Your footsteps echoed on the deck as you both hurried to the bow, dispatching the few HYDRA operatives who emerged from the shadows to get in your way. You could see the lights of the quinjet blink into existence in the sky above, lowering to recollect your team. Everything was going as smoothly as it could be.

That should have told you that something was about to go horribly wrong. 

Steve and Bucky appeared on the other side of the bow, a trail of beaten operatives slumped in their wake. Steve signalled to you and Natasha, and Natasha sent him back a sardonic salute. 

“Do you think -?” Natasha began, turning to face you. She was interrupted by the deck of the ship erupting beneath your feet. 

The blast was searing hot and intense, the metal floor panels flying in every direction, debris from the cabins underneath raining through the cold night air. Natasha was thrown off her feet, slamming into the wall of the upper deck and dropping to the floor, groaning. Steve and Bucky both hit the ground as quickly as they could, avoiding the debris. And as you were hurled towards the edge of the ship, you realized what was right beneath you: the command center. 

You struck the ship’s railing on your way, pain lancing through your body, before you toppled over the side, hands scrabbling desperately for purchase but meeting only empty air. Rising up to meet you, the churning darkness of the ocean threatened to swallow you whole.  

The water was freezing when you hit the surface, soaking your suit instantly, and you flailed, trying to keep yourself above the waves. Your head went under once, twice, three times, and you couldn’t keep from coughing up seawater. Your limbs were numb with cold in no time at all, too heavy to stay afloat. 

As your vision darkened, the world around you dissolving into white noise, you felt something catch hold of your arm, its grip vice-like. Then you were gone. 

The compound was near-silent when you slipped out of your quarters and into the darkened hallway. It was comforting, the quiet of a full house: the faint white noise of the fan in Sam’s room, the gentle hum of Bruce’s lab equipment as you passed by the door, the soft chitter of the radio Natasha sometimes left on in her quarters. You tip-toed through this scene, your socked feet sliding on the hardwood floors, as you made your way to the kitchen. You needed to be discreet, now that everyone in the compound was determined to keep you on lockdown. 

So maybe lockdown was a bit of an exaggeration; they were mostly just worried, and had kept a very close eye on you for the past twenty four hours. But the constant prodding and supervision was starting to get to you, forcing you to hide out in your room to avoid seeing the concern written so plainly on your friends’ faces. You fall into the ocean one time, and suddenly all your roommates think you’ll drop dead from the mild cold you contracted. 

You flipped the light on, now that you were certain everyone was asleep. It was nearing one am, so it wasn’t a surprise. You made your way to the fridge, rifling through its contents and pulling out some leftover pad thai that you silently promised Bruce you’d replace tomorrow. 

Opting to eat it cold so that you didn’t have to turn on the microwave, you turned around with a fork in hand, determined to eat on the couch by yourself, when you nearly dropped the pad thai in surprise. A figure loomed in the kitchen doorway, completely still and shrouded in shadow. 

“I - Bucky?” You asked, frowning. 

Bucky moved fully into the kitchen, eyeing you warily as he came closer. He was dressed more casually than you’d ever seen him, in grey sweatpants that hung loose around his hips, and a soft red sleep shirt. He was barefoot, and his hair was tied back in a vague half-knot that was coming quickly undone in its elastic. 

“Hi.” He gave you a stuttered little wave, his mouth quirking into a confused frown. “I didn’t think anyone else was awake.” 

“Yeah, just didn’t get a chance to have dinner, so, you know.” You shrugged, giving the pad thai in your hands a little gesture, and Bucky replied with a slow nod. “Why’re you up so late?”

His gaze darted from yours, hand coming up to brush at the nape of his neck. “I was just gonna make a cup of tea?” He phrased it like a question, uncertainty curling his syllables. 

You regarded him for a long moment before pulling out a stool at Tony’s dumb breakfast counter, plopping down your stolen leftovers and giving Bucky a little smile. “You mind making two?” 

“Sure,” he said softly, padding over to the counter and setting about filling the kettle with water as you twirled your fork in your noodles. 

“Are you feeling okay?” His back was still turned to you when he asked the question, plugging the kettle into the wall, but you could see the way he tensed up, waiting for your answer. He was actually curious, it seemed. 

“Yeah, all good.” You propped your cheek up in the palm of your hand, gaze trained on your food as you spoke. “Just wish everyone would stop worrying, you know? Because I really am fine.” You paused, eyes flitting back up to watch him rifling through a cupboard, searching for mugs. He was making too much of a production of it, especially for someone who had been using this kitchen for nearly a year. “Because of you, apparently.”

Bucky froze, a mug halfway pulled down from the cupboard, and your heart hammered nervously against your ribs for a second: did you upset him? 

But then he was moving again, turning to face you; his eyes met yours across the small space and you felt a quick flutter in your stomach. “What?”

You gave him a tired smile, abandoning your leftovers in favour of studying Bucky. “Steve mentioned that you were the one to grab me first, when I first woke up. So, you know, thanks for not letting me drown, it was very sweet of you.”

Bucky’s eyes flickered away from yours, his shoulders hunching in discomfort. You chewed your lower lip, concerned; it seemed like you couldn’t say anything right tonight. He was so quick to close in on himself. “Sorry, if you don’t wanna talk about it -”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Bucky said, shaking his head, “I just - I really didn’t do that much, I swear. Steve keeps exaggerating stuff about my missions - he’s trying real hard to convince the government that I’m not a threat.” 

“Former Assassin Saves Avenger From Watery Grave? It’s a good headline for that,” you mused. 

Bucky’s eyes widened and he shook his head. “No, it’s - I mean, I’m not gonna let anyone use that to clear my name or anything. I didn’t -”

“No, I get it, Barnes,” you said, and you couldn’t hide the grin that was playing at your mouth. “You wanted to do something heroic, and I make a good damsel.”

“You don’t!” Bucky winced and both of your gazes swung to the dim hallway, waiting with bated breath for any sign of another waking teammate. After a minute of silence, he turned back to you, his voice much softer. It was nice, a gruff, quiet tenor that settled pleasantly in the still night air. “You make an awful damsel, Y/N.” 

“Well, thank you. I do try.” You frowned absently, a tinge of bitterness creeping into your voice. “You seem to be the only person in this compound who thinks that, so thank you, for real.”

Bucky’s brow furrowed as you listlessly returned to your noodles. Behind him, the kettle clicked off, the sound of the roiling water settling to a gentle simmer. He turned away from you to fix the two mugs of tea, and walked to stand opposite you at the breakfast counter, sliding your mug across the marble countertop to you. It was one of Bruce’s, decorated with dancing double helixes, and you pushed your noodles aside to wrap both your hands around it. The steam curling off the surface, smelling faintly of bergamot, was a comfort to you as it caressed your cheek. 

“What d’you mean, when you say I’m the only one who doesn’t think you’re a damsel?” Bucky’s question was soft, his blue eyes glimmering in the bare kitchen lighting. 

You sighed, taking a tiny sip of your tea despite the heat. You had brought the subject up, so it was your fault he was asking in the first place. But some part of you wasn’t sure if you wanted him to know why Natasha and Bruce treated you so delicately, why Steve got a bit worried if you took a hard hit during training, why Sam insisted on keeping a special lookout for you during missions. If you told him, would he start thinking you were breakable, too? 

But then you met his gaze, the soft stormclouds of his frown as he awaited your answer. If there was ever someone who knew about being treated as though they were fragile, it was Bucky.  

“It was an incident in Switzerland, last year.” 

Your words seemed to echo in the dark space of the kitchen, too loud; you worried for a moment that someone else might hear you. But after a moment of tense listening, no footsteps or creaking floorboards made themselves known, and you relaxed again. This wasn’t a conversation you needed to have with the rest of the team for the umpteenth time. 

“What?” Bucky’s voice was quiet, a rumbling whisper. He watched you curiously from across the counter, his grip on his mug tight. “What kind of incident?”

“The kind where I almost die,” you said with a snort. “Here.” You carefully pulled up the hem of your shirt, revealing your bare stomach - and the thick scar tissue that curved along your skin, just beneath your ribs. “I wasn’t paying attention, and all of a sudden there was a hunting knife in here.” You traced the edges of the scar, before glancing back up at Bucky. 

He didn’t seem to find this very funny. He was studying the scar with a furrowed brow, his eyes darkened in the soft light of the kitchen. 

“It wasn’t that big a deal.” You paused, letting your shirt fall back down and hide the scar once again. “Okay, maybe it was, a little. I was, um - it was in the middle of nowhere, you know? And I bled - a lot. It was all over the place, soaking into the snow . . .” You trailed off for a moment, your mind flung back to that moment twelve months ago, watching the scarlet stain as it seeped across the frost-ridden ground you were sprawled out on. You shook your head, trying to focus. “I was, uh, legally dead for a second. Just a second,” you added again, when you saw Bucky’s frown deepen, “but it was enough for Sam and Bruce to panic, at least. They all just got protective after that, like I was gonna die by climbing on the counter to reach a shelf.” 

“You nearly died,” Bucky repeated, his voice distant. 

You nodded, trying to stay flippant about it; you didn’t need anyone’s pity for something that didn’t wind up killing you. “But I came back! And now I’m better than ever, and everyone in this place is terrified of breaking me.” Everyone except you , you thought, watching Bucky’s expression warily, waiting for him to join the team of overprotective Avengers asleep in their quarters. 

But he just stared back at you, that thoughtful pinch between his brows as he examined your face. You could feel your cheeks warm beneath his searching gaze, but held still as he stayed silent. Finally, you let out a breath when he did, both of you sighing in quiet unison. 

“I doubt anything could break you,” Bucky whispered, as though he hadn’t realized he would say it aloud. You felt a flush rise in your face, warm and not unpleasant; pride and something much gentler, more nervous, unfurled in tandem in your chest.

“You think so?” You asked, your mouth curling into a small, self-conscious smile. 

“I’ve seen you in the field,” Bucky said with a quick nod, leaning over the counter as if sharing a secret. “And I’ve seen you kick Steve’s ass at least once. And mine, for that matter,” he added, offering you a half-smile in return. His was a bit sleepy, softened by the late hour, and you gave yourself a moment to study the crinkles by his oceanic eyes, evidence of the bursts of joy he had managed to collect over his long, tumultuous life. It was beautiful to see the marks happiness had left on him, rather than only marks of sadness or torment. 

“You weren’t just letting me win?” You asked, taking another sip of tea to distract yourself from that smile. 

“God no, you won those matches fair and square,” Bucky said with a laugh, returning his attention to his steaming mug. “I promise.” 

“Thanks.” You couldn’t seem to hide anything tonight, so wrapped up in the quiet intimacy in the pocket of nighttime you and Bucky seemed to have stolen for yourselves. The earnestness shone through, and you saw it reflected in Bucky’s expression, the way his eyelashes fluttered slightly when he looked up at you. 

“Anytime.” 

Anytime sounded good to you, whether it was Bucky’s thighs on either side of you as he pinned you to the floor of the training room, or the steady warmth of his hand brushing yours as he passed you a mug of tea. 

You reached across the counter to let the back of your hand nudge against his, and you felt him still completely under your touch. You yawned quietly into the crook of your elbow, watching as Bucky’s eyes flickered from your hands resting next to each other on the counter and up to your face, like he was gauging your intent. 

“You gonna eat that, uh . . . pasta?” Bucky asked, jerking his chin at the container of Bruce’s leftovers that you had nearly forgotten about. 

You snorted, nodding. “Yeah . . . have you never had pad thai?” 

“No?” Bucky asked the question like he wasn’t sure how to answer, and the slight confused tilt of his head was so sweet you lost your breath for a moment. 

“In that case -” you reached over and twirled some of the pad thai noodles around the tines of your fork, and held it out to him with a growing grin, “- you wanna try?” 

Bucky snorted, shaking his head. “Don’t worry, enjoy your noodles. Although,” he continued, eyeing your container thoughtfully, “aren’t those Bruce’s leftovers?”

You shushed him with a lazy wink, eating the forkful yourself. “Our secret, right?”

“Yeah, sure,” Bucky said, smiling softly. “Our secret.”

Your boots hit the pavement with a dull thud, gun already in your hand, gaze flitting around on the lookout for oncoming HYDRA agents. This was one of their last strongholds, the team was certain of it; after this, you’d nearly be finished wiping them off the map. You couldn’t help the adrenaline singing in your veins as you crept along the pathway, leaving the safety of the quinjet behind.  

“Remember,” Steve’s voice crackled over the comms unit in your ear, brisk and commanding, “stay steady and stay on high alert. They’ll be waiting for us.” 

“Roger that, Rogers,” you quipped as you continued your pathway to the stronghold, its towering cement walls looming up before you in the darkness. You could hear Natasha and Sam both snort over the comms line before it went quiet with an exasperated reminder from Steve to focus. 

Behind you, you could sense more than hear Bucky’s presence; he moved like that mythic assassin, silent as the night as he followed in your wake. You both came to hover by the sewer grate that would be your way inside, readying yourselves to pull it clean off. Natasha would be providing the distraction on the other side of the stronghold, giving you two the opportunity to slip in here undetected. 

You glanced up at Bucky with a small, crooked grin, familiar mission-related nerves fluttering in your chest as your eyes locked. He wasn’t smiling - he so rarely did on missions, all stoic business unless you were in the safety of the quinjet or a laugh could be startled out of him - but his eyes were kind, even in the dark. 

“Ready?” 

The explosion was loud enough to make you jump for a second, but the familiar weight of Bucky’s hand on your own as you moved to pull off the sewer cover helped ease your heartbeat. 

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” he replied, leaping down into the void of the sewer. You clambered in after him, not wanting to get left behind. 

The second explosion took you both by surprise. You paused, your journey through the deepest recesses of the stronghold’s basement halted by the sudden blast that shook the walls all around you. Immediately, Bucky was at your back, the bulk of his figure pressed against yours as you both scanned the area for any incoming threats. Though nothing emerged from the shadows, you did not have a moment to relax: the trembling of the stone walls and ground came to a crescendo, and all around you the world seemed to be falling to pieces. Chunks of the ceiling were raining down, and you and Bucky dove for cover. Bucky knelt with his silhouette encompassing you, keeping you pressed tight to his chest as the stronghold slowly shuddered and collapsed in on itself. 

After several minutes, the ground had stilled completely, and the onslaught of the explosion seemed to have ceased. You stayed held together for just a moment longer, your breaths mingling together, neither of you quite ready to stand. It felt as though if you did, the earth might begin to shatter again. 

But soon you felt Bucky shift, and he was peeling himself away from you to stand, surveying the area. You hauled yourself to your feet next to him, doing the same, and found the stronghold’s basement in ruins, stone and cement piling haphazardly in every direction. The halls you had been carefully moving through, and the entrances and exits you would have definitely enjoyed having access to, had disappeared into the dust and gloom. 

“Fuck.” You coughed a bit, wiping sweat and dust off of your face with the back of your sleeve. “Fuck. Okay. Okay, fuck.” 

“-Y/L/N? Buc-” A sudden burst of staticky speech issued from your comms unit, and you scooped if off the floor and clutched it to your ear in relief. “-there?” 

“We’re fine,” you said over the half-busted comms unit, hoping Steve or Nat could make out your message. Through the thick layers of cement, you could only hope the signal would make it to the surface. “It’s Y/N and Bucky, and we’re fine,” you glanced over your shoulder, still half-focused on the comms unit, “right Bucky?” 

But Bucky wasn’t looking at you. His eyes were trained on the ground, his breaths coming out in harsh, stilted gasps. His right arm had shot out, hand braced against a sheet of rock to support himself, and his left hand clenched and unclenched unsteadily at his side, metallic fingers gleaming in the half-broken overhead lights. 

“Bucky?” His name came out like a whisper, and you cleared your throat, trying to cut through the swirling thoughts he was trapped in. “Bucky, we’re fine, right?” 

He didn’t answer, only stared intently at the ground, locked in this moment of sheer panic. You swallowed your next words as his head snapped up, his gaze finally narrowing on your face; but something about his eyes had gone cold, remote. He was looking at you as if only just seeing you, like you were an intruder. His left hand brushed against the weapon at his side, and your hand slipped from the comms unit and dropped to touch your own gun, still strapped to your thigh. 

“Bucky.” He had straightened up and was fully facing you, hand still on his weapon. “Bucky, it’s me, okay? It’s Y/N, and we’re on a mission. We’re okay, but we need to get outside. Alright?” 

“Y/N?” Your name sounded rough and strange on his tongue now, and you concentrated on keeping your feet rooted to the rubble-strewn concrete, standing your ground against whatever was about to happen. “I don’t -” He cut himself off, shaking his head as though trying to clear his thoughts. 

“-Y/N? Are you-” The comms unit buzzed to life again, Natasha’s voice flickering through the dusty air. Bucky’s eyes went to it instantly, wide with surprise and confusion. The sudden lowering of his brow, the intensity of his gaze, the clench of his jaw, made your heart stutter for a moment.

You slowly raised the comms unit back up to your ear, not breaking eye contact with Bucky as you did so. He moved fast, stalking across the cramped space in seconds; the bulk of his frame towered over you, his eyes piercing even in the dimness. His right hand shot out before you could move, fingers pressing hard against the base of your throat, pinning you to a slanted outcropping of cement. You gasped, the rock rough even through your suit, eyes wide and locked with Bucky’s. His were so confused, so far away from you. 

“- tell us where -” That was Steve, a frantic note to his voice. You saw a sputter of recognition in Bucky’s eyes before both the line and his expression returned to confusing, unreadable static. 

“- if Barnes doesn’t -” Sam’s voice, curt in a way that it only was when he was worried. 

You slowly released the comms unit, letting it clatter to the ground at your feet; Bucky’s gaze tracked its fall, and then returned to your face. 

“Bucky,” you said again, taking note of how ragged his breathing had gotten. His shadow threatened to swallow you whole, but you took as deep a breath as you could manage with the palm of his hand pressed against your windpipe. “Bucky, do you know who I am?”

He stared down at you, raking over your form, mouth twitching. You could practically see the gears in his brain turning as he thought, racked his brain for some answer. You waited, still as could be, until he was finished thinking. Every small movement seemed to startle him, every sound a possible threat. 

“Y/N?” He said it like a guess, and the frustration in his voice broke your heart for a moment. 

“Yes, I’m Y/N. And do you know who you are?” 

“Bucky?” He paused, expression turning inward, and for a second you worried you had lost him again. But then he spoke, his voice hushed but certain, “Bucky. James Buchanan Barnes.” 

“Exactly, good. Do you know where we are, Bucky?” Your gaze kept falling to where his left hand was still on the handle of his weapon, waiting to unholster it. In a space this small, it would be difficult to avoid any shots if he fired them; he might even wind up hurting himself. Afraid to startle him, you kept your voice soft.

Bucky glanced around the ruined basement, that mask of certainty slipping away again. “Are we -” he swallowed, a loud, painful sound, “- HYDRA? We’re at base.” His mouth thinned to a grim line with every word. 

You nodded. “Yeah, we’re at the HYDRA stronghold. There was an explosion -”

“I can’t give a mission report,” Bucky said suddenly, unblinking eyes looking down at your feet. His hand tightened reflexively, and you choked on a breath, but he didn’t seem to notice. “I don’t have - I can’t remember. I can’t give the mission report.” His voice had gone flat, lifeless. 

“You don’t need to give me a mission report,” you said quickly, shaking your head, struggling for air, “it’s not important, okay? I just - I need you to let go, Bucky. I need you to trust me for a minute.” 

“Who are you?” There was a panicked edge to the question, and he pressed harder on your throat. You wanted to reach out and touch him, brush the loose hair out of his face and tell him you knew him, tell him everything would be fine. The warring blankness and frightened confusion in his eyes hurt to watch.

“I’m Y/N,” you rasped furiously, your heart cracking in two as he continued to stare at you as though you were a stranger, someone who might hurt him. You struggled to imagine the possibility. “I’m your teammate, Bucky - I’m your friend. I -” I think about kissing you all the time. I think I’m in love with you. I want to make sure you never have to see this place again. Your hands came up to rest over his, just gently clutching at the warmth of his wrist, fingers curling desperately over the back of his hand. “I want to get you out of here, please . You can trust me.” 

Bucky nodded, his hand shrinking back from your throat, and you steadied yourself, massaging the spot on the side where there would likely be bruising, coughing against your first full breaths. Bucky watched you with those confused, searching eyes, and you watched them travel down to your throat. 

“I -” He paused, mouth quivering for a moment. “I didn’t - you -” His hand came up, flashing silver, and then he yanked it back to his chest as though startled by its movement. “Y/N, you - I told you I could . . .” 

You felt the pinprick of tears behind your eyes as you watched the shifting emotions cross his face, finally settling on confused horror. You saw the spark come back to them, though, the sudden warmth that rushed back into the ocean of blue. Instead of mirroring his horror, all you could feel was a tidal wave of relief. 

“Bucky,” you said, moving forward, but he shrank back from you, and you paused. Your voice was still rough when you spoke, and you hoped he wasn’t thinking about it. “Bucky, it’s okay. I’m okay. I told you you wouldn’t.” Your words were coming out in a whispered rush, and your hand moved carefully towards him. Bucky held very still as you approached him, and you bit your lip, uncertainty coursing through you for once. 

You reached out, palm open, fingers splayed, expectant but not invading. Bucky stared down at you, clearly lost. 

“C’mon,” you said, nodding encouragingly. “Take my hand. We’re getting out of here.” 

Bucky’s left hand, drifting away from his weapon, came to rest in your open one, and you twined your fingers together, clutching tight to his. You didn’t plan to let go any time soon. 

You had spent two days moping in your quarters, turning up the volume of your music whenever Natasha or Bruce knocked on your door. You knew it was childish, but you couldn’t help lashing out in this way; they were being just as ridiculous. 

After your team stumbled off the quinjet, Bucky had been sequestered in his rooms without another word to you. You had held his hand the entire trip back to headquarters, not making eye contact with anyone and trying not to blush too furiously when you could feel people’s eyes on where the two of you were linked. Bucky was still out of it, dazed and uncertain, his words stilted and confused. Steve had helped him off the quinjet, your hand falling from his as he disappeared into the compound. And now you had been told not to see him. 

Bruce had taken one look at the bruise blossoming on your throat and threatened to have FRIDAY lock you in your rooms, which was the most furious you had seen his human side in a very long time. 

What else did he have to do to prove that he wasn’t what they feared he might be? Bucky hadn’t killed you, hadn’t even really hurt you. He had lashed out, sure, but he was frightened, confused. It wasn’t him looking at you in the HYDRA stronghold, it wasn’t his eyes piercing through the darkness. He wasn’t the thing they had tried to make him into, you were certain of it now more than ever before. You couldn’t get the image of his face out of your mind, the dawning horror as he pulled away from his grip on your neck. 

You finally crept out of your quarters when you figured everyone had gone to sleep, tip-toeing through the compound’s endless maze of hallways until you reached Bucky’s door. You knew the way to his rooms, having walked him there after training before, but you had never been inside. The thought of him trapped in there made your stomach twist with guilt. 

You knocked, the sound like a thunderclap, and you winced at the noise. It was followed by several long moments of silence, and you frowned. Maybe they weren’t keeping him in his rooms after all? Was he being kept somewhere else in the compound, where you wouldn’t be able to find him? 

“FRIDAY, where’s Bucky?” Your hushed question drifted down the long hallway, dissolving into the midnight darkness. 

FRIDAY responded just as quietly. “James Barnes is inside his rooms right now, Agent Y/L/N. Would you like to request entry? He has asked visitors to do so.” 

“Yes, I - yes, request entry, please. Thank you, FRIDAY.” 

Another moment of silence, then FRIDAY returning with a gentle dismissal. “Mr. Barnes would like you to leave him be.” 

You sighed, pressing a hand to the door. You didn’t knock, just traced a line down it with your fingertips. You hoped it was thin enough for him to hear you. “Bucky, this is ridiculous. Are you in there?” 

You could hear shuffling on the other side of the door, and then a gruff voice made it way through the thick wood. “You should go back to bed.” 

“Bucky,” you sighed, resting your temple against the door. You could hear how close he was, and the unmistakable roughness of his voice. You longed to reach out and take his hand, run your thumb along his palm, make sure he knew exactly how little he had hurt you. “Bucky, I need to see you. Can you please open the door?” 

“FRIDAY’s security is getting pretty lax,” Bucky grumbled. “Go to bed, Y/N. You don’t have to -”

“I want to,” you interrupted him, your lips pursed in frustration. “So open the door, Barnes. Please. I need to see you.” 

You nearly tumbled over yourself when the door swung open, but a cold, hard hand caught your shoulder, holding you upright. You braced yourself against Bucky’s grip for a second before you stood up straight, eyes raking up his body until they reached his face. His eyes were deeply shadowed, and he was watching you with an exhausted frown. 

“Bucky,” you breathed, relieved to see him, even if he looked too haggard for your comfort. “Hey.” 

“Hi.” He drew his hand back to his side, and you took the chance to step fully into the room, quietly closing the door behind you. Bucky tracked your movements with a pinched brow, keeping you at arm’s length. You scowled when you noticed the way he kept his hands clenched at his sides, as if trying to hold himself back from getting too close to you. 

“We need to talk,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest as you regarded him, “because everyone in this place is acting ridiculous.” 

“Y/N -”

“ Bucky ,” you interrupted him, “if you are about to feed me some line about how I should be staying away from you for my own good , then I swear to god -”

“But you should be!” Bucky exclaimed, and winced, as though startled by his own outburst. “You should be staying as far away from me as you can get, especially on missions. You should never have been partnered up with me,” he continued, his voice bone-weary as his eyes slid away from your face, dropping to the wall behind you, “I don’t know what Steve was thinking, it was way too dangerous.”

“God, you sound like Nat and Bruce,” you muttered, shaking your head in disbelief. 

“Maybe they have a point.”

“No, they don’t.” You took a tentative step closer to him, and Bucky’s gaze darted back to you, eyes brimming with concern and guilt. Holding back a frustrated sigh, you reached out a hand, your fingers itching to make contact, to feel the thrum of his heartbeat under your palm again. The reassurance of a physical touch, knowing he hadn’t run from you - or from himself, it seemed. But you held back for a moment, letting his stuttered breathing settle before you inched closer. 

“They don’t have a point, because you did not hurt me . You have - you have been doing so well , Bucky,” you couldn’t help the slight break in your voice, the desperation for him to listen to your words rising to the surface. Your hand slowly came to rest on his chest, and Bucky’s eyes closed, his face strained from the conflict clearly raging in his mind. “You’re a good person, whether you like it or not, and I’m not going to let you keep hurting over something that didn’t happen.”

Bucky’s eyes fluttered open, the blue of them mesmerising in the soft light of his room. You inched closer, hand firm on his chest now, and tried for a small smile. He did not return it. “You aren’t safe with me,” he whispered, though he didn’t move away. 

You just shook your head. “Sure I am - I’ve got you. And you’ve got me, okay?” You were so close that you could make out the flecks of grey in his irises, the slightest tremble in his jaw as he stared down at you. You knew those eyes - they were Bucky’s, absolutely. You’d know those eyes, the spark in them, anywhere. 

When you leaned up to press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, you felt his heart jump beneath your fingers, his whole body going still. You hovered there, your breath gentle on his cheek, waiting for him to move. 

“Y/N -” He had hardly murmured your name before his hands were trailing down your sides, tugging you up to meet his lips again. The kiss was languid and delicate, his grip on your hips barely there. You moved closer, letting the shadow of his stubble scratch gently at your cheek as your free hand twined in the hairs at the nape of his neck, pulling him into you as much as you could. 

“You’re not gonna break me,” you breathed, marking open-mouthed kisses along his jaw that made his breath stutter. “Promise.” 

Bucky’s arms tightened around you, your bodies melding together seamlessly as you stumbled deeper into his room, letting him guide you carefully to the edge of his bed. He let himself drop when the backs of his knees hit the mattress, and you pulled yourself up onto his lap, hands locking around his neck as you deepened the kiss. Bucky’s mouth was hot and pliant under yours, and you couldn’t help yourself as you ground down against him, coaxing the softest moan from his throat. 

“I’ve got you,” you whispered, panting as you caught your breath. “I promise, I’ve got you.” 

Bucky’s eyes were open and on you again, glimmering with something so trusting and gentle that it broke your heart a little to look at him. But you stared back, waiting for him to speak, to give you permission. This was all up to him. 

“Then take me,” Bucky said, unblinking as he looked up at you. “Because I’ve got you, too. I won’t - I’ll - I can keep you safe from - from anything - I won’t -”

“I know,” you said gently, brushing your thumb across his cheekbone, mapping a trail from his forehead, down his jaw, to the hollow of his throat, with your lips. “I know, honey, I know - I’ve got you, okay? I’m all yours, Bucky.” 

He responded in kind, his breaths heavy and warm against your skin as he traced along your throat to your collarbone, his hands holding you securely by the waist as he tipped back on the duvet, bringing you with him. You followed, your heart singing as you let him know how safe he was, your hands capable and steady as you traced the contours of his body, murmuring promises into his skin as you drew yourself ever closer to him. You were safe with each other.