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Exhaustion clung to your limbs as you reached the helicarrier, finally able to work your back to the Watchtower after a mission. It was supposed to be three days of surveillance, but the intel you’d been working off of was wrong. Instead of silently slipping along the perimeter of a bunker to gather further intel on what weapons were being stored there, you arrived the day that guards were changing the pattern of their rounds. The southern gate entrance was meant to be the least guarded at such a late hour, but as you finished climbing the wall and finally vaulted over the edge there were five barrels aimed at you. The sound of gunfire had more guards rushing to your location, and there wasn’t much time for you to regain control of the mission and continue the intended stealth operation.
***
The intended three days of surveillance and stealth had turned into a day of grueling combat as you managed to work your way to the control room of the bunker. Having barricaded yourself in the room, you hacked directly into the servers and began to download all the data Val had sent you to collect.
As the files were being transferred, you directed your comms line to Bucky’s private channel. “Bucky, you there?”
There was a brief static before, "Receiving you loud and clear. What’s wrong?” His voice crackled over the line.
There was no repressing the strain in your voice, “The mission failed successfully.” As you spoke, the download beeped once to alert it was complete. “I’m working on an exfil now.”
“What do you need?” There was an edge of concern to Bucky’s words now.
You slid the hard drive into the bag strapped against your thigh. With a deep breath, you braced for the reality of the yelling on the other side of the door. “Just make sure the pilot is ready for take off,” you begin to input the command that will unlock the door of the control room. “And have a medic on standby for arrival.”
***
When you stumbled onto the landing pad of the tower, you were relieved that it was just Bucky. He quickly wrapped an arm around your waist to steady you, and the two of you began the walk toward the medical bay.
“Careful,” Bucky warned as the doors slid open and the toe of your boot caught on the floor. “Don’t need you falling and making any injuries worse.”
You tried to wave off his concern, but before you could there was a doctor guiding the two of you to an exam table. Bucky guided you gently toward the table. He began to turn away when you grabbed his wrist.
You unzipped the bag on your leg and grabbed the hard drive. “This is all the data they had,” you press the metal device into his hand.
Bucky gave a nod as he took the device. Taking a step back toward the exit, he let out a sigh. “Walker’s on his way back.”
You winced as the doctor slowly peeled away the bandages you’d applied to staunch the bleeding. “You called him back?”
Bucky raised his hands with a sheepish expression, “I didn’t call him back. He checked in from the nearest safehouse he could find.”
The glare you were giving him faltered as the doctor began to remove the gauze you’d packed a bullet wound with.
“I might have mentioned you were on the way back from your mission already,” Bucky continued, “and when I couldn’t answer his questions as to why , he decided he was going to immediately work his way back here from North Carolina instead of waiting until morning.”
“Great,” you sighed. “How long until he’s back?”
Bucky grabbed a tablet from the wall, “Looking at his current movements, he should be back in about six hours?”
***
With your injuries stitched and bandaged, you slowly trudged your way to the elevator. Your limbs felt heavy as you swiped your keycard before pressing the button to your floor. As the elevator smoothly glides upward, you pull out your phone and type a quick “ Home safe. Be careful ” and send it to John. Grateful everyone was away on various missions, you didn’t try too hard at being quiet as you used the wall for support to your living quarters.
Opening the door, you left the lights off as you worked your way to the bathroom. You turned the shower on as hot as you could, letting the steam fill the room while toeing off your boots. Being mindful of your injuries, you carefully stripped off your gear letting it all pile on the floor next to the counter.
Letting the hot water run over your hair, you tried to keep the majority of the water off of your stitches and bandages. Efficiently washing the remaining debris and grime from yourself, you tried to savor how the warm spray eased some of the ache out of your body. Far too soon, your muscles trembled again with effort to keep you standing. Turning off the water, you gently pat yourself dry before making your way back into the bedroom. Walking to the closet you grab one of John’s sweatshirts and pull it over your head, allowing the oversized article of clothing to envelop your frame loosely. At the dresser, you grab a pair of sleep shorts and tug them up over your hips before curling onto the bed.
You try to sleep, but your mind races too much for anything other than tossing and turning to find you. With a huff, you grab your phone. A glance at the lockscreen shows it’s just after midnight. John hasn’t replied to your message, but he should be back in a few more hours. With a sigh, you grab your laptop out of the nightstand and begin writing the mission report.
***
As you read over your report one last time, the bedroom door opens. John walks in, duffel bag on his shoulder and beret tucked into the waistline of his pants.
“Hey,” he quietly greets. “You’re awake.”
You save the report and close your laptop, “I couldn’t sleep.”
John places his duffel at the foot of the bed, walking around to your side. He takes the closed laptop and places it out of your reach, then settles beside you. You reach your arms out, waiting for him to hug you.
John’s arms settle around you, lightly pulling you closer. With a sigh, you bury your face in the crook of his neck. His cheek presses against the crown of your head. The silence is warm compared to the buzz of thoughts racing through your mind.
“I’m glad you’re home,” you whisper into him.
His lips press into your hair, and he stays there. “I’m glad you’re safe.”
“I messaged you I was.”
His grip on you tightens, “I know, but I had to see for myself.”
“You could’ve waited until morning,” you protest.
Pulling far enough away to make eye contact with you, John cups your face. “No, I couldn’t. I was worried, and Bucky couldn’t answer any of my questions. I didn’t even think, sweetheart. I just got on my bike and raced here as fast as I could.”
“But your mission—” you start.
“Was done,” he interrupted. “And yours was supposed to be halfway done.”
You turned your head slightly. “’M sorry,” you mumbled into his hold. Your hand reached up to loosely hold his wrist as you kissed his palm.
“Don’t be, baby. I just wanna know what happened.”
“I had bad intel,” you shrug. “Guard’s had their routes changed. Stealth went out the window as soon as I climbed over the perimeter, so I did what I had to for the intel.”
John’s gaze sweeps over your face. Moves slowly down over your body as if he could focus hard enough to see your injuries through the sweatshirt you had on. “Bucky said you’d requested a medic to be ready.”
“I’m fine,” you promised.
John leveled you with an unconvinced look.
“Really, I barely lost any blood,” you tried to convince him. “I just needed some stitches and a bullet removed. Everything else was superficial.”
John motioned to the hem of your — his — sweatshirt. “Can I please just take a look?”
With a bite of your lip, you nod. His fingers slip under the hem, barely ghosting across your skin as he gently lifts the fabric to reveal your torso. The skin peeking out of the stitches on your right side was still red. Bruises had begun to bloom across your skin, his fingers hovering over them. There was gauze taped against the few cuts you’d taken. You looked away as his hand slid down your side, thumb coming to rest below your stitches, small circles being rubbed into your side. The sweatshirt covers you once again, John gently tugging it down.
“I should’ve been there,” he murmurs.
“This wasn’t your fault,” you firmly state. “None of this could even remotely be considered your fault.”
“If I was there—”
“You were on a solo mission, just like I was. We had our orders. This isn’t a ‘what if’ situation. I’m safe and home. Just like you are right now.”
You watch closely as John’s shoulders relax ever so slightly.
“You were shot, though. And they had to remove the bullet. If it had taken too long—” he worried.
“It didn’t take too long though,” you reassure him. “It couldn’t even damage anything. No appendix there to hit, so it was simply removal and stitches.”
John rests his head against your shoulder. “This is not the time to tell me you don’t have an appendix.”
You thread your fingers through the short hairs at the back of his head, “I’m fine. If something serious had happened, I would’ve called you immediately. Or told someone to call you.”
“Everything is serious when it comes to you,” John admits. “That’s why I raced here; I’ve got the tickets to prove it.”
“John,” you try to lift his head but he doesn’t budge. “How fast were you—”
“Shhhh,” he lifts his head to press a kiss to your lips. “I just needed to see that you were safe. That’s all that mattered.”
He kissed you again, hand pulling away from where it rested on his hip. You pulled away from the kiss, mind foggy and eyes focused on him. His forehead rested against yours while you took deep breaths.
“I’m going to change,” John pecked you once more, “then I’m crawling into bed beside you,” his lips met your cheek this time, “and you’re going to fall asleep in my arms,” his nose dragged along your jaw. “How does that sound?”
Dazed, you blink and nod. John stands and goes to his dresser. You watch as he undoes his laces, setting his boots against the wall. Soon, he’s pulling off his jacket, setting his beret and belt atop the dresser, and unbuttoning his pants. As he pulls the white A-shirt over his head, his hair ruffles out of its usual brushed styling. He grabs a white T-shirt and pulls it smoothly over himself before pulling off his pants and discarding them, leaving him in his boxers.
As he climbs under the covers, you scooch yourself closer to him. Once he’s settled, you tuck yourself into his side, resting your ear over his heart while he drapes an arm across your shoulders. Your legs tangle together, and his warmth chases away the cold that lingered in your bones from the events of today.
“I love you, sweetheart,” John kisses the top of your head. “Sleep well.”
“I love you, too,” you kiss over his heart.