Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sam didn’t even try to hide the condescension in his voice as he spotted the two of you perched beside each other at a picnic table. He strolled over, arms folding across his chest. “Well, well, well. If it isn’t the Academy Award Winners for ‘Best Fake Couple’.”

You froze with a taco mid-way up to your mouth, guilt flaring in your chest.  “Hey, Sam…” you said quietly.

“Oh, great,” Bucky muttered under his breath.

Sam dropped down onto the bench opposite you, his expression sharp with wounded sarcasm. “Romantic taco dates with your fake girlfriend, huh?” he asked.

“You’re being dramatic,” Bucky grumbled.

“I’m being dramatic?” Sam turned, eyebrows raised. “You two pretended to date for months. Fed me lies like they were hors d'oeuvres at a Stark gala. And now you just show up here, glowing like a Hallmark rom-com?”

You looked down, unable to meet his eyes. “We’re really sorry, Sam,” you said softly. “We didn’t think things would get so… out of control.”

But Sam wasn’t done. “You know what bothers me? It’s not that you felt like you had to pretend. It’s how good you were at it.”

Your heart clenched, but Bucky didn’t flinch; his jaw ticked, his silence somehow louder than anything Sam had said.

Sam continued, ignoring the terse silence, his quiet wrath directed mainly at Bucky. “I watched you look at her like she was your whole damn world. And I thought— finally… finally— this guy’s letting someone in.” He stared at Bucky. “I told Sarah you were changing. I told her I’d never seen you happier.”

You glanced over at Bucky, seeing the tension in his jaw, feeling the guilt coming off him in waves. You didn’t want to be the reason for any kind of tension in their relationship. “I’m sorry,” you said again, quieter this time. “We never meant to lie to you.”

Sam’s gaze landed on you, gentler but no less hurt. “But you let me believe it,” he said, before turning back to Bucky. “You brought a stranger to my sister’s wedding and let me toast to the two of you like a damn fool.”

“She wasn’t a stranger to me,” Bucky snapped. It was the first real edge in his voice.

Sam’s eyes narrowed. “She was to me.”

You winced. The words hit harder than you expected. Bucky looked away, his mouth set in a thin, grim line.

A long silence followed, broken only by the background chatter of the taco-enjoying crowd around you. Sam exhaled heavily, rubbing a calloused hand over his face. Some of the anger had drained out of him, but the disappointment clung to every syllable.

“Look,” he said finally, voice lower now. “I know you weren’t trying to hurt me. I get it. But I don’t give a damn about the fake-dating bit anymore. It’s the trust. You shut me out when I would’ve had your back.”

That was your breaking point. You hated the way that Bucky was shrinking in on himself, hated the way he accepted the blame.

“Trust?” you asked with quiet incredulity. “If we’re talking about trust, can we talk about the way you used me to crash my best friends’ wedding? To get close enough to arrest one of the brides’ fathers.” You gritted your teeth as heat flared in your chest, the memory of everything you’d gone through surging back up inside you.

The words landed like a thunderclap. Sam’s expression froze mid-motion, his brows knitting sharply. Slowly, he set his taco down, lips thinning into a line as his eyes flicked toward Bucky.

“Don’t look at him.”

Sam closed his eyes for half a second like he needed to physically brace himself. Then his gaze returned to you.

“I’m sorry,” he said. No excuses, no defensiveness. Just sorrow— raw and real. “None of this should’ve gone down the way it did. You didn’t deserve to be caught in the middle of it. Especially not like that.”

“I trusted you too, Captain.”

Sam winced, the title landing heavier than you intended. He swallowed hard, regret flickering in his eyes.

“I should’ve thought more about what it would cost you. What I was asking you to sacrifice.” He shifted his gaze back to Bucky, his voice a little rougher. “I shouldn’t have put you in that position, either.” He looked between you and Bucky, something akin to remorse etched on his handsome features. “I messed up.”

The apology hung in the air for a long moment, like the final note of a song that hadn’t quite resolved. Nobody said anything for a while. Not because there wasn’t more to say, but because all three of you needed space to sit with it.

Eventually, the sharp edges began to dull.

The tacos were halfway eaten. The crowd around the food truck had thinned out, the night quieting into something calmer. Sam hadn’t said much since his apology—just picked at his food, eyes trained on the table like the right words might be hidden beneath the salsa stains and paper napkins.

Beside you, Bucky shifted in his seat. The tension in his shoulders hadn’t fully eased, but there was something softer in the way he leaned into your side now. Like he was exhaling, finally.

And then—

“What’s going on in that bird brain of yours?” he asked, nudging Sam lightly with his knee under the table.

Sam didn’t look up. “When someone feels the need to lie to you— about something like this— you gotta ask yourself why they thought the truth wasn’t safe with you.”

Your breath caught. You felt Bucky stiffen beside you.

“Sam, it wasn’t like that,” he said, voice low.

Sam finally looked at him. “Then what was it like?”

Bucky exhaled. “Come on, man.”

“No, go on. Explain it.”

“It wasn’t like there was some grand plan,” Bucky said, voice low. “It started as a quick fix. I just… I wanted you off my back.”

Sam didn’t respond, just watched him with that unreadable expression he wore when he was trying not to say what he really thought.

“And then it just kinda… stuck,” Bucky added, shifting in his seat.

Still no response. The silence stretched until Bucky sighed, shoulders tense.

“And then it stopped being fake,” he said. “And I was already in too deep, and I didn’t know how to undo it without wrecking everything.”

Sam’s gaze slid toward you.

You swallowed. “I didn’t want pity,” you said softly, your voice small. “The way my friends looked at me, the way everyone did… Leonard—” Your breath hitched, a sharp laugh slipping out despite the tightness in your throat. “That guy from Bucky’s birthday? He really messed with my head. I didn’t think I deserved—”

You cut yourself off, eyes falling to the table. “I’m not sure I do now.”

The shame settled deep in your gut, hot and twisting. But then Bucky’s hand found your thigh, steady and grounding. His thumb stroked a slow, reassuring line against your skin. You looked down to see his fingers laced with yours, his vibranium hand resting over your knuckles like an anchor.

“You do,” he said, firm. No hesitation, no room for doubt.

You glanced over at him— his face calm, sure. Like he believed it with everything he had. Your chest squeezed and you leaned into him. 

Sam was quiet, watching you both. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, and you couldn’t read his expression. But then, slowly, the sharp edges softened, his posture easing as something unreadable flickered through his eyes.

Sam leaned back on the bench, finally breaking the silence. “Y’all are perfect for each other,” he said, voice dry.

You glanced up, caught off guard by the shift in tone— just in time for the punchline: “’Cause you both need therapy.”

Bucky snorted. You let out a small laugh, though your chest still ached. The tension had started to ease, the air beginning to feel a little lighter.

“I had therapy,” Bucky grumbled.

Sam didn’t miss a beat. “Yeah? Get your money back. You’re still emotionally constipated.”

You tilted your head, frowning with faux sweetness. “Okay, Doctor Phil, let’s dial it back.”

Sam blinked, surprised. Bucky turned slowly to look at you like you’d just drawn a weapon on his behalf— and maybe, in a way, you had.

“Take it easy, Captain Therapy,” you added. “We can’t all process trauma with wings and a motivational speech.”

Sam choked on his drink. Bucky coughed, disguising a laugh behind his fist.

“Oh, you did not,” Sam wheezed.

“I did,” you said, beaming. “And I will again if you keep coming for my man.”

Sam pointed at Bucky, mock-offended. “You see this? This is what happens when you give a woman with brains and standards the emotional equivalent of a stray raccoon and dunk him in a barrel of unresolved trauma.”

“He prefers ‘emotionally scrappy with excellent hands,’” you replied sweetly.

“You didn’t fall for him. You adopted him,” Sam said. “That’s a feral little boyfriend you’ve got there.”

“I’m right here,” Bucky muttered, though he didn’t sound particularly bothered.

He leaned back, groaning dramatically, clearly done with the conversation. But you weren’t. You turned toward him, full of wide-eyed innocence and mischief.

“Oh, my poor little trash panda,” you cooed.

Before he could dodge, you reached out and tickled under his chin with two fingers. His reaction was immediate— his shoulders jerked, nose scrunching in protest, like he wanted to glare but physically couldn’t hold it together.

“Stop that,” he half-laughed, half-groaned.

“Nope,” you grinned. “You’re my scruffy, traumatized little garbage gremlin and I love you.”

He tried to look scandalized, but his ears were turning pink, and he was definitely smiling behind his hand.

Sam wiped an imaginary tear. “This is better than therapy.”

“You’re both terrible,” Bucky muttered.

“You knew what this was,” you teased.

Then his voice dropped, low and sincere, just for you. “Thanks. For sticking up for me.”

You turned toward him, meeting his gaze. There was no teasing in your reply, only quiet conviction. “Always.”

His hand squeezed yours again, solid and warm. Across the table, Sam watched the exchange, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth— because yeah, that’s what he’d needed to see.

“Real talk though,” he said at last, the sincerity sneaking back in. “I’m glad you two found each other.”

Bucky blinked. “Wow.”

“Are you okay?” you asked with mock concern. “Do you need water?”

“Never mind,” Sam grumbled. “Y’all are the worst.”

Sam finished off the last of his soda, before finally groaning, “Alright. My emotional bandwidth is maxed out. If I have to watch the two of you make goo-goo eyes at each other any longer, I’m gonna lose it.”

You and Bucky watched him go, then look at each other at the exact same moment. And you didn’t have to say anything. He reached for your hand, brushing his thumb over yours.

You leaned in, voice low. “So. My place or yours?”

Bucky smirked. “Yours has better lighting.”

The subway ride home was fairly uneventful. The usual buzz of the city seemed muffled, faded away into nothingness as you felt yourself wrapped in the warmth of Bucky’s presence. He didn’t let go of your hand the entire way back.

By the time you had gotten back to your apartments, something had shifted between you. The weight of your interaction had dissolved, what stayed was far less heavy, but just as intense. You pulled him into your apartment and locked the door behind you. The second the lock clicked shut, you turned to face him.

He was standing there, already watching you. Admiration in his eyes.

“I hated seeing you like that,” you whispered, looking up at him. “Like you thought you deserved to be on the receiving end of all that guilt.”

“I didn’t hate it,” he replied, stepping closer. “At least, not the part where you stood up for me.”

You sighed happily as his hands wrapped around your waist, pulling you to him. His mouth pressed against your ear, his breath hot against your skin as his voice dropped to a murmur. “That part… might’ve ruined me a little.”

You smiled, your lips against his jaw as your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt. “Good.”

Then his mouth found yours. It started out as a soft, lingering kiss… at first. Almost as though he didn’t want to push his luck. But you could feel the desire simmering underneath. A need to be close to you. To be reminded he was wanted, trusted, chosen. 

Your hands slipped under his shirt, mapping familiar skin, and his breath stuttered against your cheek as your fingers pressed against his abs.

He kissed you harder, walked you backwards toward the bedroom… he already knew the way, intimately well. Your clothes were half-off before you even reached the bed, your laughter quiet and breathless between kisses. The way he touched you wasn’t hurried, wasn’t possessive— it was grateful. Like you were something sacred. Like every brush of his fingertips said thank you.

You pulled him down onto the bed with you, legs tangled with his, breaths shallow with need and anticipation. Everything in the world outside fell away. For now, there was only you and Bucky, the only words leaving your lips was the soft sound of his name in your mouth. All you could hear was the racing rhythm of your heartbeat in your ears.

Bucky hovered over you for a moment, just looking. Not in the way a man undresses someone with his eyes— but like he was memorizing every part of you. Like a piece of him still didn’t quite believe he was allowed to be here, to have this, to have you. His fingers traced slowly along your cheekbone, down your jaw.

“You sure?” he rasped quietly

You nodded. “Yeah. I’ve never been more sure.”

He kissed you again— slower this time. Deeper. One hand cradled the back of your head while the other mapped a reverent path down your ribs, like he was trying to learn your body by heart. And maybe he was. Maybe that’s exactly what he was doing.

You let your hands roam, too. Along his chest, his sides, the scarred planes of his back. He shivered slightly when your fingers brushed the space where flesh met vibranium. You paused, eyes searching his. But he didn’t pull away.

He just leaned in closer, resting his forehead to yours, and whispered, “Don’t stop.”

So you didn’t. Every piece of clothing left between you was discarded slowly, carefully, like shedding old weight. There was no rush, no frantic need to prove anything. Just the quiet, unfolding pull between two people who had been through hell together— and decided to stay.

He pressed you into the sheets like he wanted to anchor himself to the present. Like the only way he could believe in peace was to feel it written across your skin. When he moved inside you, it wasn’t just need— it was recognition. Of home. Of comfort. Of having lived a life full of pain and silence and finally finding something… someone who spoke back.

You clung to him, kissed him because the words wouldn’t come, because this is how you said them. And when he eventually fell apart in your arms, his breath shuddering against your shoulder, you held him through it. Just as he held you through the aftershocks of your orgasm, kissing the top of your head, your temple, your shoulder, like a litany. Comforting words whispered like a prayer.

Afterward, the two of you lay tangled in each other, sheets half-pulled around your bodies, the world muffled by shared breath and shielded by the softness of cotton. Bucky turned his head to you and kissed the spot just below your ear.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve this.”

You pulled him closer.

“You don’t have to earn it,” you whispered. “You just get to have it.”

Chapter Text

The Met loomed before you, the stately and timeless building shone beneath the soft flow of early afternoon light. You blinked up at the museum, your confusion giving way to curiosity as Bucky gently tugged on your hand, pulling you toward the steps.

“The Met?” you asked, glancing sideways at him with a half-smile tugging at your lips.

Bucky gave you that crooked little smirk you’d grown to love but also the one that told you he was up to something. He looked good today, too. Not that he ever didn’t, but there was something about the way he’d pulled his growing hair into a neat half-pony and buttoned his dark shirt up just enough to be respectable, not stuffy. He’d forgone the gloves, for once. Just him. Just Bucky. He looked… soft. And proud. Like he was proud of you. Of being here with you.

“Figured you could use a break,” he said casually, eyes crinkling as they reached the entrance. “You’ve been doing a lot of explaining lately. Thought it’d be nice to spend time in a place where people actually understood what gold is.”

You laughed, your voice light and surprised by his words. “That’s surprisingly specific.”

“Mmm.” He slipped his free hand into his coat pocket, then pulled out two printed tickets. “Almost like I’ve been listening.”

You took them from him, your eyes widening with delight as you scanned the name on the exhibit ticket: “Jewelry in America.” Your breath caught, looking up at him with parted lips.

“The new jewelry exhibit?” you asked softly. “I’ve been wanting to come see this!”

Bucky shrugged, like it was no big deal that he had done something so thoughtful. But his grip on your hand stayed steady and grounding. “Yeah?”

“How did you know?” you asked quietly, still looking down at the ticket in your palm. You traced the embossed gold lettering with your finger.

You lifted your gaze then, and your eyes met and Bucky smiled knowingly. The quiet moment stretched between you, filled with love and affection. Since your official first date six months ago, the two of you had been trying to express your feelings more verbally. Whispered words of affirmations in stolen moments had become your love language. This was one of those instants, one you could encase in amber and keep close, like a leaf pressed between two pages to keep safe and revisit later.

He gave you a sheepish smile and nodded his head towards the door, giving you a gentle nudge. “Come on,” he murmured, “before the magpies find out there’s a whole room full of shiny things.”

You rolled your eyes affectionately, but followed him inside without hesitation.

The moment you stepped inside, you felt like you’d been transported into another world. You emerged into the large entrance hall between two gigantic roman pillars, into a cooler, quieter environment, full of reverence. The high ceilings opened up above you like a cathedral, and the slight hush of the gallery settled over your shoulders like a gentle veil. Bucky slowed down, letting you take the lead now, matching your natural rhythm as you looked around in awe. No matter how many times you’d entered the hallowed halls of the museum, you had never ceased to find wonder in its walls.

You were still gripping the exhibit passes, like Charlie Bucket held his golden ticket, your thumb running over the edges as though you wanted to keep the moment real with tactile sensations. He caught the way your eyes lit up as you spotted the entrance to the exhibit tucked off the main corridor, a silk banner overhead announcing “Timeless Treasures.”

Without thinking, Bucky gently placed his hand at the small of your back, guiding you in.

The second you stepped inside, you felt like you were in your own special place in heaven. The side hall was dimly lit with warm spotlights, casting velvety shadows around the show pieces. Glass cases were arranged in neat rows, each one holding a variety of artefacts that shimmered like starlight. You were immediately drawn to a tiara, the caption below it read that it had been made for Empress Marie Louise, the second wife of Napoleon Bonparte. Eventually you moved on to the array of antique signet rings and the brooches shaped like a variety of beetles and birds. Each one ancient, intricate and impossibly beautiful.

The two of you wandered between cases, and Bucky found himself far more interested in you than in any of the sparkling jewels. You leaned over to admire the stunning metalwork in a 12th century French pendant, your lips moving as you read the facts about gemstone setting under your breath, your hands gesturing in excitement as though reading the words wasn’t quite enough to satiate your excitement.

He didn’t interrupt you. He wasn’t even pretending to be interested in the exhibit anymore. He just watched you bounce around from case to case, basking in the delight radiating from you.

“Bucky! Oh my God, Bucky, look at this one! The filigree in the gold is incredible!” you squealed, pulling him to your side. “You can’t even see the seams of where they joined the diadem together. That’s ridiculous. So… stupid good!”

Bucky huffed a quiet laugh, and you turned to look at him, eyebrows raised.

“What?” you demanded

He shook his head, smiling. “You’re just… cute when you nerd out.”

Your eyes narrowed and you pouted, but you couldn’t hide the flush of amusement from your cheeks. “You’re lucky I like you.”

“Yeah,” he said, almost too softly for you to hear. “I know.”

You and Bucky lingered for nearly an hour, your joy carrying you through from one century to the next, until you finally noticed his glazed eyes. Taking pity on him, you nudge his shoulder lightly with yours. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled softly.

“It's okay. I think we're pretty much done here.”

“You sure?” he asked, anxiously.

You give him a reassuring smile. “Yeah.”

“Wanna go laugh at some paint smears and call it art?” he smirked.

You looked up at him, trying to keep your lips from twitching dangerously. “You’re the worst.”

“Modern art brings it out in me.”

“Lead the way, Barnes.”

And so you and Bucky ventured deeper into the museum, leaving behind the gems and jewels from the past and stepped into a room filled with chaotic paintings, unsettling sculptures and bold statements.

The two of you walked hand in hand through the gallery, stopping in front of a large painting— painted completely black, brush strokes visible on the canvas. You glanced down at the caption and Bucky read it aloud.

“The Void.”

You raised one brow and with a deadpan face you said, “This one speaks to me. It's emotionally unavailable.”

Bucky snorted. “Same,” he responded.

Your laughter echoed so loudly off the gallery walls, that a passing attendant gave you a disapproving look from across the room. Bucky grinned unrepentantly and slung his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close as you strolled through the room. For a while, there was an easy warmth between you, filled with whispered comments and stolen jokes— until he stopped.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just… stopped.

You felt the shift in his demeanor before you even looked at him. His posture had changed, body stiffening, almost like something inside him had been struck by lightning.

You followed his gaze and noticed him staring at a painting hanging in a corner. He acted like everything else in the room had faded away.

The small plaque read: Excursion into Philosophy, Edward Hopper. It wasn’t loud like some of the others in the gallery, but whispered in tones too quiet to ignore. A man sat slouched on the edge of a bed. The sun was shining through the window, but his figure seemed to be bathed in shadow. His book lay beside him, forgotten and a woman lay stretched out behind him, asleep or maybe just uninterested, her body facing away. There seemed to be a distance between them, even though they were only inches apart.

You could feel the tension in Bucky’s arm. Subtle, but unmistakable. His shoulders had drawn in and his posture faintly echoed the man in the painting. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.

You watched his face for a second. Not trying to read his thoughts— he usually guarded those so well— but looking for a way to be present with him at this moment. To acknowledge his stillness, the stare, the slight crease between his brows. He saw something in that painting that only he understood or felt.

You didn’t press him. Didn’t ask a multitude of questions. Didn’t try to interpret his feelings for him. Instead, you reached for his hand— no questions, no prompts— just your warmth, simple contact. Your thumb brushed lightly over his knuckles, anchoring him to the present.

His fingers tightened around yours.

“I used to feel like that,” he said, eyes still on the painting. “Like I’d always be stuck in my own head.”

He shook his head once.

“But I’m not him anymore. And I know that because of you.”

The two of you stood there a little longer, hands still joined, the hush of the gallery wrapping around you like a soft veil. The painting hadn’t changed, but something in him had. Or maybe the emotions had settled— shifted just enough for the tension in his shoulders to ease.

He looked at you for a moment longer, then squeezed your hand.

“Come on,” he said quietly, his voice a little steadier now. “I think I’ve met my introspection quota for the day.”

You smiled and leaned your shoulder into his. “Oh good, I was starting to worry you were going to start reciting poetry.”

He gave you a dry but amused look. “Don’t push your luck.”

You laughed, and it felt good, relieving the remaining pressure from your chest. The kind of laugh that chased the shadows out of your soul.

Bucky lifted your entwined hands and pressed a soft kiss to the back of yours before tucking it back against his side.

“Coffee?” he asked.

“God, yes.”

The two of you made your way back through the galleries, your pace much slower now, quieter, but no longer carrying the heaviness that had been with you. There was a different kind of stillness between you— something almost close to contentment.

The museum café was quiet this time of day. The late lunch crowd had trickled out, and only a few tables were occupied by solo visitors or veteran members sharing pastries and conversation. A glass case displayed a few remaining desserts, and the faint smell of espresso drifted through the air.

Bucky led you toward a corner table by the window, one with a view of the sculpture garden outside. And you sat across from each other, still holding hands across the table like neither of you wanted to let go just yet. Bucky looked over your intertwined hands, then tilted his head toward the pastry case.

“If there’s no cake involved, does it really count as an anniversary?” he murmured.

You smirked, not letting go of his hand. “Is that how we measure love now? In slices of cake?”

He gave a casual shrug, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. “I mean… six months of official dating… I think that’s at least worth a cupcake. Maybe two.”

“Oh, so now we’re assigning baked goods to relationship milestones?”

“Obviously.”

You leaned in, playing along. “I don’t seem to recall anything at the three-month mark. What should I have been expecting? A scone?”

He smirked. “That was the donut phase. I expect you to keep up.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” he said, standing with a smug little grin, “here you are— six months in and still voluntarily sitting across from me.”

“Only because there’s cake on the horizon.”

“Brutal,” he said, heading toward the counter. 

You watched him walk away, heart full. Compared to the initial drama between you the last months had been relatively smooth sailing. Bucky didn’t present you with flashy statements or dramatic gestures. He surrounded you with his own unique forms of affection. Today he had shown you that with this wonderful gift. Everything felt perfect.

Bucky dropped back in the seat across from you, in one hand he held a plate with a slice of carrot cake and chocolate cake for you to share, and in the other he was balancing two coffee cups. You stood up to grab one of the cups to avoid disaster.

It was only when you had stuffed a large piece of cake into your mouth, that you were interrupted by a small voice.

“Excuse me?”

You turned around, wiping crumbs off your face with the back of your hand and Bucky leaned around your frame in response. Beside your table stood a little girl, around six years old, clutching her bright yellow backpack in one hand and a notebook in the other. Her shoes lit up when she shifted nervously, trying to find the courage to speak. Behind her, her mother gave the two of you an apologetic smile but stayed back, letting her daughter have her own autonomy.

You softened immediately, grinning at the child. “Hi there.”

The little girl didn’t respond right away. She was staring— not at Bucky’s face, but at the metal arm resting on the table between them. He had rolled up his sleeves in preparation of tackling the cake. Her eyes were wide, but not afraid. More curious, awestruck.

Then she looked up at Bucky, lifting her chin like she’d worked herself up to something huge.

“Are you… are you a superhero?”

Bucky’s mouth opened and closed. The question hit him like a soft sucker punch. Of all the things he’d been called in his life, that one surprised him. He hesitated, glancing at you, almost like you’d know what to say when he didn’t. 

Before either of you could speak, the little girl suddenly rushed ahead, like she was afraid she'd lose her nerve.

“I saw you on the news with Captain America,” she said. “When there was that fire downtown, and you helped carry the ambulance guy. You weren’t even wearing a costume or anything, but you were really strong. And then someone said your arm was, um, vib’anum? Is it magic?”

She spoke with such reverence, making Bucky blink.

“I drew you in my journal,” she added, pulling her notebook open and flipping past half-colored Greek statues and scribbled dinosaur skeletons. Sure enough, there was a crayon drawing labeled MY FAVORITE HERO. It was rough and childlike but unmistakably Bucky— metal arm, long hair, and a slightly wobbly smile.

You grinned. “Wow. That’s really good.”

The little girl beamed. “I like you because you don’t fly or shoot lasers. You just help people. Even when it’s hard.”

Bucky stared at the drawing, then at the girl and finally at the way her mom gave her an encouraging little nod behind her, telling her it was okay for her to say what she wanted.

The girl hesitated, then reached into her backpack again. This time she pulled out a shimmering pink glitter pen. “Would you maybe… sign my journal?”

There was silence. Not quite an awkward one, but the air was filled with anticipation.

When Bucky didn’t move, you reached out, gently touching his hand where it rested on the table beside you. “You should,” you said softly.

Bucky swallowed hard, the cartilage in his throat bobbing up and down before he nodded. “Yeah. Sure,” he said, smiling softly at the girl.

“What’s your name, sweetie?” you asked.

“Anika.”

Bucky took the notebook in his hands, holding it like it was something fragile. He accepted the glitter pen and started writing carefully just under her drawing.

To Anika,

You’re braver than you think.

Bucky Barnes

The girl took the notebook back like it was her greatest treasure. “Thank you,” she whispered, then stepped forward impulsively and wrapped her arms around his middle in a quick hug before scampering back to her mom.

Anika’s mother mouthed thank you with misty eyes as she gently guided her over-excited daughter away.

Silently, Bucky watched them go, his fingers still loosely curled around the glitter pen long after they disappeared from view. The two of you finished your cake in silence, Bucky mechanically shoving the dessert into his mouth. You could see the gears turning in his head as he processed what had just happened. You reached across the table and covered his hand with yours again.

“You okay?” you asked gently.

He didn’t look at you right away, just stared at the empty space where the little girl had stood. Then, finally, he nodded.

“Yeah,” he said quietly, trying to hide the smile that threatened to spread across his face. “Yeah, I am.”

Chapter Text

The weather had turned out to be on your side. It was a bright, cloudless afternoon, even though rain had been forecasted. The sun was shining so brightly, that it made the New York city skyline shimmer. The courtyard outside City Hall was filled with rows of foldable chairs, celebratory banners and far more press than either Sam or Bucky were comfortable with.

Bucky tugged at the tight collar of his starched shirt like it was strangling him.

“Gonna kill Torres,” he muttered in a sinister tone under his breath. “He said this was gonna be small.”

Sam was standing beside him, in a perfectly tailored grey suit. He gave Bucky a small, surreptitious grin from where they stood at the back of the platform. He tried to move his mouth as little as possible as he spoke. “This is small. Last time I got honored, there were fireworks and a twelve-piece brass band.”

“You saved a room full of diplomats from a hostage situation at the embassy. That might have deserved a little fanfare.”

“We pulled six kids and three volunteers out of a fire in a collapsing building last week, Buck,” Sam said, voice still quiet but firm. “Don’t minimize it.”

Bucky glanced away, looking into the crowds of people. His jaw tightened, but for once, he didn’t argue back.

In front of the two men, the hostess approached the podium, tapping the mic before starting her speech. She had the air of a seasoned emcee with the chipper demeanor to match.

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for joining us this afternoon to recognize two extraordinary individuals whose bravery and quick action saved lives during the Jefferson Street fire— particularly at the veterans’ outreach center housed inside the building.”

There was a solemn hush which fell over the audience as images of the outreach center were displayed on an overhead projector. Even the press lowered their cameras.

“In a matter of moments, Captain Wilson and Sergeant Barnes arrived on the scene to aid first responders. The enormous blaze was already overtaking the building. They acted without hesitation and bravery. Sergeant Barnes broke through a jammed fire escape to reach two volunteers trapped on the second floor, while Captain Wilson used aerial rescue to evacuate a family of five from the roof of the neighboring apartment complex.”

The emcee paused, her voice softening.

“The building collapsed entirely within six minutes of their entry. But because of them, everyone made it out alive.”

Bucky wasn’t looking at the speaker through the whole speech, he was looking at you. He had spotted you immediately, sitting on the edge of the third row, listening intently, even though you’d heard the story— had lived through the aftershocks of it— but he still noticed a small hitch in your breath as you saw the images. Your eyes flitted between the screen and him.

He clenched his jaw tightly, blinking slowly and focusing solely on you— like he was grounding himself by sheer force of will. He saw you give him a small but steady smile. It was a silent promise of this reality. It said: You’re here. I see you.

“Unfortunately the veterans’ center neighboring the building was also destroyed,” the emcee continued. “But these brave men have continued their service— not just by saving lives, but by working to rebuild. Captain Wilson has personally spearheaded the city’s outreach initiative to restore and expand services for displaced and disabled veterans. And Sergeant Barnes— he stands here with us as a representation of the heroism of this special community.”

For a second there was silence, and a feeling of dread momentarily filled Bucky’s soul. Maybe he didn’t really deserve this. Maybe they could see right through him.

But then someone started clapping and soon the roar got louder and louder until almost everyone was standing and cheering. Several elderly veterans scattered throughout the audience clapped with gloved hands. The grateful rescuees from the fire were waving wildly at Sam.

“Please welcome our honorees— Captain Sam Wilson and Sergeant James Barnes.” The emcee stepped away from the podium, gesturing at the two men.

Sam gave Bucky a sidelong glance. “Try not to punch anyone who calls you a hero,” he mumbled.

“No promises.”

They stepped forward together. The second they stepped up to the podium, the shutters started clicking rapidly. Bucky squinted against the multiple flashes from the cameras aimed directly at his face.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the screen had changed. It was now showing some of the early photos from the rescue— gritty, blurry shots taken through smoke, of Sam lifting a child into the air, of Bucky carrying a soot-covered vet slung over his shoulder.

One of the photos had been on the news and had gone viral on social media. You had called it magnificent. It was an image of Sam and Bucky, standing outside the crumbling building, smoke curling around them, their faces covered in soot. If he hadn’t lived the situation, Bucky would have sworn it was staged. But it wasn’t. It was just them. Doing what they knew best.

Sam was the first to step up to the mic. His voice was warm and confident. In short, he was his usual animated self. “Thank you everyone for this,” he held up his plaque. “But I think it goes without saying that we don’t do this for the headlines. We do it because we’ve seen what happens when people don’t show up for each other.”

There was a low murmur of agreement that rippled through the crowd.

“But pulling people out of a burning building isn’t where our job ends,” Sam continued. “It’s up to all of us now to make sure that these people have somewhere to go after. Because safety isn’t just about survival. It’s about dignity. About community.”

Sam fell silent, looking around with an aura of authority, letting the weight of his words land on the people around him, to let them be delivered to the people who had tuned in to watch on the live stream. Then he nodded and stepped back.

Immediately, all eyes turned to Bucky. He stared anxiously at the mic, maybe for a beat too long. The quiet that fell over the square made him nervously tug at his collar. He could have sworn he heard the sound of crickets in the silence that surrounded him and he gazed out into the sea of eyes that were focused on him.

But there was only one pair of eyes that mattered to him. Yours. He turned his head and found you in the crowd, gazing at your expression— calm and trusting. The familiarity of your face steadied him more than anything else could.

He took a deep breath, straightened his spine and stepped forward.

“I’m not great with speeches.” He spoke in a quiet but clear voice. “I don’t like standing in front of crowds. Or microphones. Or… being looked at.”

There was a soft chuckle that moved through the audience— not mocking. It was understanding. He took another breath and continued.

“But… I know what it’s like to be pulled out of something dark. To be given another shot. Most of my life, I was used as a weapon. Without control. Without choice.”

His eyes flicked down to the plaque in his hands. Subconsciously, he ran his fingers over the engraved letters of his name. It felt foreign in his grasp, like something that didn’t quite feel like it belonged to him.

“I don’t think I’ll ever feel like I earned this,” he admitted, holding up the plaque to the crowd for a moment. “But I’m gonna keep trying.”

He paused again and then turned his head to you, eyes finding yours. You gave him a soft, private smile. The kind of smile you don’t offer to a crowd. The kind that said you did good, baby. I’m proud of you.

“And I’m not doing it alone anymore.”

The audience didn’t break out into applause immediately, it was soft, gradual, genuine. They weren’t clapping because it was expected. They were clapping because something about Bucky’s words resonated inside them.

Sam clapped him on the back and he felt the noise surrounding him. And for once it didn’t put him on edge, it didn’t make his skin crawl or his fists tighten. His shoulders softened and he let out a soft breath. And for once he felt at ease. He waved in thanks and stepped back from the podium, plaque still in his hand.

As they walked away, Sam whispered in his ear. “Look at you. Almost didn’t sound like a hostage video.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Shut up,” he grumbled. But he was smiling when he said it.

The sound of applause receded as the two men walked off the platform, only to be surrounded by officials in suits and polished suits with too-eager handshakes.

“Captain Wilson, Sergeant Barnes— on behalf of the city, thank you,” Congressman Gary said, holding out his hand and shaking theirs with warmth. “The mayor regrets he couldn’t be here personally, but we’re all incredibly grateful for your service.”

Sam handled it with ease, nodding, accepting thanks with the smooth charm of someone who'd shaken one too many hands and looked utterly unfazed. “Just doing our part.”

Bucky, on the other hand, stood beside him, posture taut but polite, fingers tapping once against the edge of the plaque he was still holding like it might disappear if he let go.

Another slick looking gentleman who Bucky didn’t recognize elbowed his way into the conversation. “You gentleman saved lives! And your comments— very moving. Very human. We need more of that!” He shook Bucky’s hand rather aggressively.

Bucky gave a stiff nod. “Thanks.”

The slick suited man seemed to want to say more, but Bucky’s attention was drawn to a woman who wheeled up behind him, one of the members of the Veterans committee. Bucky side-stepped and went over to greet her with a shy smile. 

“Sergeant Barnes, we’re so grateful to you and Captain Wilson for your efforts. Will you still be joining us tomorrow at the construction site?”

Bucky opened his mouth to answer, when Sam appeared suddenly. “Emma!” He bent down to give the woman a friendly hug. “You still need us tomorrow?”

Emma nodded vigorously.

Bucky tuned out of the conversation, turning his head to look around. Behind them, the ceremony was dissolving into post-event chatter. Reporters checked their notes. Camera crews started packing up. The crowd began to break into small clusters while others made their way towards the exit.

Bucky shifted his weight. He didn’t like this part. The bit where you were expected to linger, to be gracious, to let people stare at you like you were more myth than man. He scanned the area instinctively, in search of you.

But instead of your bright smile and rapt attention, he saw you talking to someone. He frowned. There was a man standing too close to you. He was the same man who had shaken his hand not moments before. Bucky had more time to assess his appearance and he didn’t like what he saw. His polished suit reeked of privilege and his demeanor oozed arrogance. He leaned in as if he knew you. And you weren’t smiling anymore.

He didn’t like what he saw on your face. If he didn’t know any better he would have said you looked afraid.

Something shifted behind Bucky’s eyes. His jaw twitched repeatedly and he squeezed the plaque in his hand so tightly that the metal creaked under his grip.

“Buck?” Sam nudged him. “You good?”

Bucky answered slowly, not taking his eyes off you for a second. “Yeah.”

His tone was low, his gaze watchful. He couldn’t hear what was happening but he knew it wasn’t right.

The sound of applause was still ringing in your ears as you watched Bucky step off the platform. You couldn’t be prouder of his actions and you were exalted in the acknowledgement of his contributions.

As Bucky stepped down off the platform, your eyes were drawn to a banner just overhead.

VERA & CROSS

Empowering Change. Enabling Impact.

The words felt bitter on your tongue. You knew that logo well. You’d even helped design their rebranding the year before your exit. It had been just over a year since you’d sat in an extravagant office and tersely smiled through a meeting questioning your “ethics and integrity.” This was promptly followed by an oh so polite explanation of how your associations were now “incompatible with the firm’s public image.”

They hadn’t used his name, but you knew immediately it was about Bucky. Just “recent media scrutiny surrounding your personal affiliations.” You had been fired in a voice so calm that it had taken you several days to fully register the injustice of it.

And now here they were. Sponsoring the same man they had vilified. Smiling beside him in press photos, shaking his hand, basking in his moment. If you were a cartoon, you’d have had steam coming out of your nostrils from the rage you felt towards them.

Suddenly, your eyes caught movement. Bucky was still holding the plaque in one hand, his posture slack, like he had endured an arduous ordeal and was allowed to be at ease. He no longer saw the cameras. He didn’t seem to notice the clapping or the officials lined up to meet him.

He was looking for you. And when his eyes found yours, you smiled. Soft. Gentle. Just for him. Reflecting the quiet pride you felt. You didn’t need to wave. Or shout. He just understood.

He held your gaze a beat longer, then gave a small nod, like he’d heard you anyway.

You had just risen from your seat and planned to weave your way through the crowd toward him, when a large shadow edged into your periphery.

“Well, well, well. I didn’t expect to see you here,” said a voice that made your skin crawl.

You turned your head to see Kyle Mendez. Of course, you thought, a small tut escaping between your teeth. Kyle Mendez, senior business strategist at Vera & Cross, the same man who had sat opposite you during your exit meeting. His Armani suit and slicked back hair added to his intimidating persona. 

You didn’t answer, staring at him with disgust. He didn’t seem at all bothered by your reaction. His eyes flicked toward the side of the stage where Bucky was still shaking hands. “He cleans up well.”

Your lips parted. “Excuse me?”

Kyle shrugged, the kind that belonged to someone who often confused charm for condescension. “I mean, he’s got the wounded hero thing down. All that brooding. That’s something we can sell.”

You stared at him, disbelief burning hot beneath your skin. “You fired me because of him,” you stuttered.

He smiled, not an ounce of regret on his fake-tanned features. “Different time.”

That was it. No apology. No recognition of your distress. Just another branding strategy.

You let out a short, sharp exhalation through your nose. “Yeah, that’s a big fat ‘no’,” you answered with as much derision as you could muster.

You had already started turning away, but Kyle stepped forward, he wasn’t done.

“I strongly suggest that you consider accepting our offer,” he said, his voice saccharine, like it was sugarcoating poison. “It’s… fairly lucrative. Would do wonders for your career.”

You blinked. “What offer?”

Kyle tilted his head. “You haven’t seen the offer letter yet?”

You stared, a frown furrowing across your brow.

But the man didn’t seem to notice your confusion, or he just didn’t care. He continued absently, almost like he was reading off a menu. “We’ve reconsidered your contributions. With our new branding partnerships and upcoming campaigns, we think it would be mutually beneficial to welcome you back to the firm.”

A humorless laugh escaped before you knew what was happening. “Why on earth would I work for you?”

The answer was on the tip of Kyle’s tongue.

“Because we wouldn’t really want to take legal action over breach of contract, unless we absolutely have to.”

It felt like he had knocked the air out of your lungs.

“What?”

Kyle’s smile didn’t falter, in fact it widened. He pulled out his phone, bringing it to life with a single tap. “Seems as though I have to remind you of the terms you signed during your employment? All creative designs made during your tenure are legally the intellectual property of Vera & Cross.”

You froze. “What’re yo—”

He held his palm up to your face, effectively silencing you. “Let me clarify.”

He turned the phone toward you. A photo. From your Instagram. Bucky’s bracelet. The one you had made for his birthday. The one you had posted and captioned: “Every piece has a story, and I’d love to help tell yours. Would you be interested in custom jewelry options?”

Your stomach churned uncomfortably.

Kyle lowered his voice just enough to be swallowed by the noise around you. “You used firm contacts to source materials. Designed it during your contract period. Publicly posted it with your name. Legally speaking, the copyright of that piece belongs to Vera & Cross. So subsequent profits made constitutes unlicensed distribution of intellectual property.

Your mouth had gone completely dry.

“I strongly urge you to reconsider the offer,” he said, slipping a business card into your hand like it was an afterthought. “We’ll keep things simple. Quiet. But don’t take too long.”

You clutched the small piece of card between your fingers, numb with disbelief and outrage.

Then, as he turned to go, he glanced back— just once— and nodded toward the stage where Bucky and Sam still stood, surrounded by grateful officials and smiling press.

“You asked why we want you back,” he said casually. “Because it comes with a great sponsorship deal.”

And then he walked away. Without a care in the world. Oblivious to the fact that he had thrown your whole world off kilter.

With your heart still pounding wildly, you stared down at the business card in your hand. You resisted the urge to tear it in half and throw it in the trash. But your fingers curled around the thick paper until it crumpled in your palm.

The noise of the crowd blurred around you. Handshakes. Laughter. The occasional burst of camera flashes. It all felt far away, like a memory playing through water.

Your bracelet. His bracelet. The one currently sitting snugly on Bucky's wrist. He rarely took it off, unless he was out saving the world.

Kyle’s words still echoed in your ears. Because it comes with a great sponsorship deal.

A chill spread slowly over your skin, crawling up your arms and then down your spine like frost. It wasn’t just the threat. It was the smugness in the way it was delivered. And the knowledge that they weren’t interested in you— not really. Just in who stood beside you. Who you loved. Who loved you back.

You didn't know all the details of Bucky's history, but you knew he had suffered greatly at the hands of many evil forces. Throughout his lifetime, people had slowly taken things from him, pieces of his soul. This was just another hand reaching out.

And you couldn’t— wouldn’t— let it touch him.

“Hey.”

You startled at the sound before turning.

It was Bucky, standing right beside you. No one else. Just him. His suit slightly rumpled, plaque tucked under one arm, expression carved with quiet concern.

He took one look at your face and his brows drew together.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice soft and low and his hand gentle on your back. “You looked like you were ready to knock that guy’s teeth in.”

You blinked at him, scrambling for something— anything— that didn’t sound like the truth.

“Fine,” you said, maybe a little too quickly. Your mouth dry as you searched for words. “I just— didn’t expect to see someone I used to work with. Kinda threw me.”

Bucky didn’t look entirely convinced. But he tilted his head, gaze flicking down to your hand.

“You’re holding that card like it owes you money.”

You looked down and realized your grip was white-knuckled around Kyle’s business card. Naturally he had noticed. The man had eyes like a hawk. You forced your fingers to relax, sliding the battered card into your clutch.

“Old boss,” you said, managing a half-smile. “Not worth the oxygen.”

Bucky studied you for a beat longer.

“You sure?” he asked quietly. 

You hesitated. Maybe it would have been easy, right then, to say something. To tell him what had just been said, what Kyle had insinuated— about your design, about your job, about how close they were to trying to own something that was never theirs.

Then you looked at Bucky. Really looked. Looked at the way he held himself just a little straighter compared to when you'd first met him, like the day hadn’t worn him down for once. Like— for just one day— maybe the world wasn't looking to tear him apart.

And you just couldn’t do it.

You couldn’t put that weight on him. Not now. Not today. Not just yet. So you gave him a quieter smile and slipped your arm through his.

“I’m okay,” you said gently. “Especially now.”

He looked at you, unconvinced, but for whatever reason, he didn’t press. For which you were grateful. His hand covered yours where it rested in the crook of his elbow, thumb brushing lightly across your skin.

“Good,” he murmured. “Because I was about five seconds from throwing that guy in the fountain.”

You snorted softly, grateful for the moment of levity. “S’not very diplomatic of you, Sergeant Barnes.”

“I’m off the clock. And I didn't like the way he was looking at my best girl.”

You leaned your head against his shoulder, letting his warmth chase back the cold that had invaded your chest. For now, it was enough. It was just what you needed.

But you knew deep down— the real conversation was yet to begin.

You looked up at him, eyes soft and adoring. “I’m proud of you, you know,” you whispered. “For today. For everything.”

Bucky’s gaze was locked onto yours and there was something in his expression that reflected more than just gratitude. His hand moved to cover yours, like it belonged there.

“I love you,” he said simply.

The noise of the crowd faded. The tension in your chest softened a little.

You smiled. “I know.”

You thought you'd be able to relax when you got home from the ceremony, but your restlessness remained with you. The applause, the flashing cameras, the too-smooth words from Kyle… it all echoes through your mind.

Bucky turned to his apartment, already loosening the top button on his shirt. 

“Where you going?” you asked, the question tumbling out without you realizing what you were saying.

He paused, raising an eyebrow. “Gonna take off the suit. Shower, then come over.”

But something in your eyes made his movements falter. He was back at your side in an instant— plaque tucked awkwardly under his arm— as he folded his arms around you, pulling you into his chest. His tie brushed your cheek as he rested his chin on top of your head.

He held you close, loosening his tie with one hand. You were both quiet for a while— each in your own post-event haze— but your thoughts were racing.

“I don't want you to go there,” you murmured. “I don't want you to leave me.”

His arms tightened around you, his answer immediate. “I'm not going to leave you. Why would you—”

“I just…” You trailed off, burying your face in his chest. “I want…” 

You didn’t finish. You couldn’t. But you knew he was concerned, he felt the way you clung to him. His fingers slid beneath your chin, gently tilting your face up.

“Hey,” he whispered, eyes searching yours. “I’m here.”

You tried to smile, nodding slowly. But you didn’t step back. Didn’t let go. You could feel his eyes boring into you, his expression softening. It wasn’t pity, or even concern. It felt like a simple understanding of what you wanted, no, needed. His gaze was steady and quiet, like a promise.

He smirked and gave you a little shrug. “Guess I’m showering at yours, then.” 

Your mouth dropped a little, not having expected such easy acceptance from him. A half-laugh caught in your throat— or was it a sob? It died in your throat as he leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to the side of your head.

Bucky stepped past you, into your apartment and set the plaque down on the little table by the door where you kept your keys. Slipping his hand into his pocket, he dropped his keys into the small bowl where you kept yours and toed off his shoes into their usual spot. No hesitation. No pretenses. It was almost like he already lived here.

You watched him head into your room, following a few paces behind. He slid open your closet door and pulled out a hanger, then carefully hooked his suit jacket inside— like that’s where it belonged.

It was such a small thing. Ridiculously small. But it was home. He was home.

Bucky looked over his shoulder at you, eyebrow raised and nodded towards the bathroom. “You coming?” he asked with a smirk.

You smiled back, you couldn’t hide it. “You go ahead. I just need to check my emails real quick.”

“Emails? Now?”

“Yeah, I forgot something for work.”

He nodded slowly and turned towards the bathroom. You waited until he closed the door before grabbing your laptop from the side table and flipping it open with slightly shaky fingers.

You had a digital copy. Naturally. You always scanned all your paperwork. It wasn’t easy to find your exit paperwork and your original contract from Vera & Cross. You pulled up the file and scrolled, the legalese blurring slightly as your eyes tracked down the page. Intellectual property clauses. Non-disclosure bullshit. It was all there— worded carefully, intentionally, and probably legally binding. It made your stomach turn.

There was only one thing to do. You just attached the file to a new message and started typing.

To: Hanna Marin-Sharma
Subject: Need your opinion on this. Urgently!!

Hey! Sorry to dump this on you, but something happened at the ceremony today. Old boss from Vera & Cross came up to me and implied I might be in breach of my contract from when I worked for them. They mentioned Bucky’s bracelet (one I made for his birthday last year) and the timing of when I made it and copyright of intellectual property. Haven’t mentioned to Bucky until I know that there is something to worry about. Can you take a look? Please? I trust you. You’re literally the best lawyer I know.

You hovered over the send button for three long breaths. Then you hit it.

Your fingers stayed curled over the edge of your laptop as the message sent, nausea tugging at the back of your throat.

You snapped the laptop shut. Took a deep breath. Then went to the kitchen to throw together a meal which hopefully wouldn’t turn your stomach. Hopefully you could get through the evening and convince yourself and Bucky that everything was normal.

Even if it wasn’t.

Chapter Text

The smell of sawdust lingered in the air, mingling swiftly with the scent of sweat and fresh paint. The sound of working power tools hummed in the background as Bucky wiped his brow with the back of his hand. He squinted against the sunlight, taking a swig of water before holding up a wooden beam for Sam to work on. He had on a light t-shirt which was damp under the arms, and the sleeves were being stretched to maximum capacity as his biceps were held taut with what he thought of as an honest day’s work.

He and Sam weren’t alone. Contractors moved back and forth around them, checking and rechecking measurements, hollering orders at each other across the lot. Despite the sponsorship they had received, it still wasn’t enough. There weren’t enough workers who were willing to donate their time to the cause. So Sam and Bucky pitched in where they could, using their skills to do things that the money couldn’t.

Sam swung his hammer with a grunt, aiming at the nail against the beam. “You know this wasn’t in the job description.”

Bucky smirked faintly, grabbing another bracket from the pile. “Neither was half the stuff we’ve done.”

“Fair,” Sam responded, his lips twitching as he glanced over.

They worked wordlessly for a while longer with a background track of whirring drills and the beat of hammers against wooden frames. Even with the super soldier serum running through his veins, Bucky found sweat gathering at his temples and he resisted the urge to pull his t-shirt over his shoulders, despite the fact that he could feel the pull on his sun-warmed muscles every time he raised another beam up over his head.

Over time, he had grown more comfortable letting people see his vibranium arm, but the thought of people ogling his shoulder, where metal met skin, the scars he sported, no, that wasn’t something he was comfortable sharing with the public just yet. He stopped and took a moment to catch his breath, looking around at the progress on the site— the bones were there now, the framework of the building. He was surrounded by rebars rising out of the concrete foundations. It didn’t look like much now, but it wouldn’t be long before things started taking shape.

“This place means something to you, huh?” Sam asked after he silently watched Bucky for a bit.

Bucky’s eyes were focused on a steel beam being hoisted to an upper floor and he kept his gaze on it as he answered softly. “Yeah.” He turned back to the panels in front of him, picking one up and pushed a nail into it with the palm of his vibranium hand.

“This was the first place I came to, after I left Wakanda, after Thanos, after… Steve,” he whispered Steve’s name. “They didn’t ask who I was, who I’d been. Just gave me space, offered food. Let me just sit in peace in the workshops.”

Sam looked over at him, eyes squinting in the sun, despite the covering of his cap. “It helped?” he asked.

Bucky nodded. “I didn’t say a word for weeks. And no one made me. They just... let me be a person again.”

Sam didn’t speak, letting the sound of drills and hammers fill the silence between them.

“I think that’s what this place does,” Bucky added. “It doesn’t fix people. It just gives them space to try.”

Sam nodded, encouraging him to say everything he needed to.

“After… after all the stuff with the Flag Smashers, I came back. Volunteered now… until—”

“Until?”

Bucky glanced over at Sam, a soft blush on his cheeks that had nothing to do with the sun. “Princess.”

“You ever tell her that?”

Bucky looked up, a small crease in his brow.

“That this place helped you. That it mattered.”

“No… but I will,” Bucky nodded.

The silence lingered between them a little longer before Sam spoke again.

“I didn’t get a chance to talk to her much yesterday.” Bucky watched as he fiddled with a screw, waiting for him to continue. “Things get so busy at these ceremonies, man. Media, speeches. You barely get to see your own people. I hate that. It’s supposed to be about family.”

Bucky sighed softly, his eyes stared off into the distance as he thought about the way you’d clung to him after the ceremony, the way your smile had been a little too tight. There was something about the way you’d said you didn’t want him to leave. Something was off. He could feel it. But he wasn’t ready to share his concerns with anyone— not until he understood what you were feeling a bit better.

“She’s good,” he said simply.

Sam looked at Bucky, in that special way he had that often left Bucky wondering what was written on his face.

“You got lucky, man,” Sam said with a smile. “She’s one of a kind. Puts up with you.”

“I know,” Bucky said, his voice coming out far softer than he intended. “I still don’t get how I ended up with her. With the way we started things. And now I look at her and just... I can’t believe she’s mine.”

Sam grinned. “So what you’re saying is— you owe me.”

Bucky huffed. “For what?”

“For pestering you into finding a plus-one. For making you show up. For accidentally creating the most successful fake-dating scheme since every romantic comedy ever made.”

Bucky shook his head and rolled his eyes, but his smile was the real deal. “Yeah. Alright. Thanks, man.”

Sam raised a brow. “That sounded suspiciously sincere.”

Bucky dropped the beam into place and said, more to the nails than to Sam, “I want to marry her.”

Sam gawped at him, stunned into a momentary silence.. “You serious?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said. “Dead serious.”

Sam let out a low whistle and offered him a crooked smile. “Well. Don’t screw it up.”

“I’m trying not to,” Bucky muttered.

There was nothing more to be discussed. The two men went back to work, side by side in the afternoon sun, rebuilding something that had the potential to offer hope again.

A few minutes later, a familiar voice rang out from across the site.

“Yo! Gentlemen! Where’s the real action?”

Joaquin Torres jogged over, practically bouncing with energy, wearing a tool belt that was way too new and boots that still had the price sticker on the sole. He was grinning, a little too excited to be taken seriously.

“I brought my own gear,” he declared proudly, pointing to his belt. “And I watched like, four YouTube videos. I’m basically an honorary contractor now.”

Sam laughed. “More like an honorary distraction. Do you even know anything about construction? Come on, rookie. Let's get you some tutorials before you accidentally nail your hand to a post.”

He clapped Joaquin on the back and steered him toward the foreman and a gaggle of construction workers who looked both amused and slightly alarmed by Torres’ enthusiasm.

Bucky chuckled to himself and turned back to his work, alone for the moment. But that’s when he felt it. He didn’t know how to describe it— a prickle on the skin on the back of his neck, a shift in the air around him. It wasn’t something he had been trained to do, it was more of a sixth sense. He had always been good at perceiving danger. Unfortunately he hadn’t always been able to prevent the damage of the things that were thrown at him.

Slowly he turned, immediately spotting the person who didn’t belong. His gaze was focused on Bucky. He looked almost laughable, the sharp lines and tailored precision of his dark suit a stark contrast to his surroundings. But what seemed odd to Bucky was that the heat and dust didn’t seem to have touched him, like the construction site didn’t dare smudge him. His loafers were polished, the kind that had never stepped over exposed nails or plywood.

The clipboard tucked under his arm served as a prop and nothing more. He was creating an image of importance and management. Bucky recognized it instantly— he had already spent too many years around men who wore masks to hide their intent. The smile on this face was his mask. The kind of smile that spoke of arrogance and something sinister.

Bucky’s stomach tightened in anticipation. His instincts whispered: this guy’s not here to help.

“Sergeant Barnes,” the man greeted him smoothly. “Didn’t expect to find you here doing manual labor.”

Bucky didn’t answer right away. He reached down, picked up another bracket from the pile next to him, and stood at full height before giving the man a look as dry as the dust around them.

“I like work that gets dirt under your nails,” he said coolly. “Helps you remember what real effort feels like. And it’s honest.”

The man’s smile didn’t falter. If anything, it widened. And that was when Bucky knew— whatever this was, whatever this guy was about to say— it was worse than what he had expected.

The man adjusted his clipboard, waving it around a little as he extended a hand. “Kyle Mendez. Vera & Cross. We shook hands briefly at the ceremony yesterday. I wanted to introduce myself properly.”

Bucky looked down at the offered hand for a moment before taking it. A single, firm shake. No smile in sight.

“What do you want?” he asked flatly.

“Actually, I came to speak with you… about your girlfriend.”

Bucky didn’t respond, but that prickle in his neck intensified.

“I offered her a return position with the firm,” Kyle continued. “Very generous package. Creative control. Full health benefits. She’s an asset in design circles. The board sees her value now.”

Bucky’s jaw flexed. “Value she still had before you fired her.”

Kyle gave a performative shrug. “Times change. This isn’t about grudges, Sergeant Barnes— it’s about moving forward. Taking control. A new partnership. She deserves that, don’t you think?”

He took a slow step forward, closer to Bucky. “I know she hasn’t responded yet. But maybe you could show her how good this would be for her. Remind her how many doors this could open. Are you really going to be the one holding her back?”

Kyle’s words hit a nerve.

He vividly remembered the day you’d told him about being fired. How you'd tried to downplay it, brushing it off like it didn’t matter— but he’d seen the way your hands fidgeted, the quiet devastation you were trying not to show. You could’ve salvaged the deal. All you had to do was deny him. Pretend the bracelet you’d created wasn’t for him. You didn’t.

“I told them to shove it. I’m not going to have my work associated with people who think like that.”

And now, the same people who once thought he was bad for your image, were offering stock options and creative control— because suddenly, being connected to him was profitable. Bucky’s jaw tightened as Kyle’s words echoed in his ears. He took a slow breath, grounding himself with the rhythmic sound of hammering and construction work around him.

He straightened up so he was now looking down at Kyle. “So now that I’m standing in front of cameras rather than running from them, she’s worth something to you again?”

Kyle didn’t flinch. “It’s not personal.”

“No,” Bucky said evenly, “just business.”

Kyle inclined his head, as if he didn’t understand the sarcasm and that Bucky had just proven his point. “Then you appreciate how important this opportunity is. She’s talented, passionate— exactly the kind of person we want working for the company.”

Bucky’s voice dropped to something quiet and hard. “She isn’t your mascot.”

Kyle smiled faintly, almost amused at Bucky’s misinterpretation. “We’re not interested in turning her into a mascot, Sergeant. That’s not who the board wants to feature. They want you. She’s just the thread that ties us to something aspirational. Human. Marketable.”

Bucky’s silence was deafening.

Not that this bothered Kyle. He slipped a card from his pocket and set it on the edge of the sawhorse beside Bucky and took a step back. “Tell her the offer still stands.”

Bucky stared down at the card for a long beat. “And what if she doesn’t want it?” he said, coldly.

Kyle tucked the clipboard back under his arm and turned away, but his voice had a frostier edge now. “Then that’s her decision. But it would be rather unfortunate... for her.” Then he walked away, leaving behind the faint scent of expensive cologne and something colder.

Manipulation dressed as manners.

Bucky didn’t move. Just stared at the card. And the pit in his stomach didn’t come from doubt in you. It came from the sharp, growing certainty that this wasn’t something either of you were going to be able to ignore. He swallowed hard, thinking back to last night— the way you’d held onto him like he might disappear. The tremble in your voice when you’d asked him not to leave. The way you buried your face in his chest and mumbled, “I want... you.”

Something had been off. 

“Hey,” came Sam’s voice from behind him. “Everything alright?”

Bucky turned, forcing his face back into something neutral. Sam was walking back toward him, wiping his hands on a rag, eyes scanning Bucky’s expression.

“What was that all about?” he nodded toward Kyle’s vanishing figure.

Bucky didn’t answer right away. He looked back at the sawhorse, where Kyle’s card still sat, gleaming dangerously, like a warning to him.

“Just someone pretending to offer a favor,” Bucky said finally. “But it wasn’t about Princess. It was about me.”

Sam frowned, following his gaze. “You want to talk about it?”

Bucky shook his head. “Not yet.”

But as Sam turned slightly to glance back toward the sawhorse, Bucky decided he needed to act.

“Actually,” he said, voice low. “You still have contacts at the SEC and in corporate intel?”

Sam’s brows lifted. “Yeah. Why?”

He handed the card to Sam. “I want to know more about Kyle Mendez. And Vera & Cross. What kind of strings they pull. How they get what they want.”

Sam straightened slightly, his expression shifting. “You think something’s off?”

“I know it is,” Bucky muttered. “I just don’t know what yet. But I’ve got a bad feeling. I don’t want to walk into this blind.”

Sam nodded slowly. “Alright. I’ll see what I can find.”

Bucky gave a short nod. He didn’t have all the pieces yet. But if Kyle Mendez thought he could threaten the woman Bucky loved and walk away with a smile, he was going to find out just how wrong he was. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his phone, almost without thinking. One unread message lit the screen.

12:12 PM - Princess: Hope you’re not lifting too many heavy things. I need your arms in working order for cuddles later. 

Bucky stared at the message for a moment, a small breath catching in his throat. God, he loved you.

He glanced into the distance, there was no more trace of Kyle. He sighed, getting back to work. Bucky didn’t have a plan yet, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to let you walk into trouble on your own.

Chapter Text

You and Bucky stood outside of Hanna and Aditi’s brownstone. The two of you had arrived early, as planned, to help the girls set up for the gathering. Their home gave off a welcoming glow and even from the front door, you could detect the scent of garlic and cardamom drifting out from the kitchen and wrapped you both in a kind of culinary comfort you didn’t realize you’d been craving.

Hanna opened the door with a grin. “Perfect timing!” She stepped aside and ushered you both in before pointing at Bucky. “You can help us make the place look presentable before Camille gets here and starts judging my throw pillows again.” Hanna rolled her eyes at the thought of catering for her wife’s friend and you grinned back in return.

Bucky let out a low chuckle at Hanna’s bossiness, already toeing off his boots at the doorway. “I’ll make sure she sees them all upside down,” he said dryly, and wandered off toward the living room.

You lingered in the hallway, opening the small cupboard by the stairs to hang up your coat and slipping yours and Bucky’s shoes into the designated cubby by the door. Hanna was still in the hallway, right behind you. As soon as you turned around, she gently touched your arm and nodded towards the kitchen.

“Come help me in the kitchen please?” she asked.

She spoke with a smile, but her tone was anything but casual. Hanna was always asking for your help in the kitchen, whether it was a second opinion on a cheese board or tips on spice use. But this time her gaze was pointed and her jaw tight. The warmth in her voice was clearly disguising a topic more serious than cooking techniques.

Your heart was pounding in anticipation at her implication. Obediently, you followed her down the short hall and into the kitchen where the extractor fan hummed in the background. The scent of the meal they were cooking surrounded you and you looked around at the counters which were still cluttered by used chopping boards and knives. Just before Hanna closed the door to the kitchen, you caught the sound of Bucky’s voice chatting lightly with Aditi in the living room filtered faintly down the corridor and you smiled softly despite your anxiety.

But as you turned back to Hanna, her expression soured your mood instantly. Her face was serious and she didn’t waste time with any small talk.

“I reviewed your contract,” she said, voice low and cautious. “And… I think… I think they might have a case.”

You sucked in your breath involuntarily. “Wait, what?”

She turned around and flipped open her laptop, which had been sitting on the counter amidst the mess. A copy of your contact was already open on the screen.

“They were smart. Everything you created while employed with them— any concept developed using their tools or during company hours— is legally considered the firm’s intellectual property. Even Bucky’s bracelet design. It’s all buried in the IP clause. It’s a technicality, but it's there.”

You leaned against the counter, one of your hands gripping the edge tightly in an attempt to ground yourself. Except it felt like the floor was giving way underneath you and your knees were struggling to hold you up.

Hanna’s hand rested gently on your back in a show of support. Her voice softened in response to your reaction, but it didn’t waver. “I’m not saying it’s airtight. If it came to court, there’s nuance— especially around intent and how loosely those ‘resources’ were defined. But if they want to drag this out, they absolutely can.”

You looked up at her, your voice sounding weaker than you meant it to be. Almost desperate. “What do I do, Hanna?” Your throat tightened. “I don’t know what to do.”

Hanna closed the laptop gently, slipping her arm over your shoulders. She didn’t offer any immediate words of comfort though, instead she met your gaze with that steadiness that always made her such a brilliant lawyer. “Have you told Bucky?” she asked.

Your eyes dropped to the floor. “No. Not yet.” You shook your head.

Her silence was more damning than a hundred lectures. You didn’t need to look at her to feel it.

“I just…” You struggled for the words. “I didn’t want to worry him. Not until I had more information. I wanted to be sure.”

“You’re not wrong to want to get some clarity… of course,” she said, taking a deep breath. “But this isn’t something you should handle on your own. This isn’t just business. It’s your life. It’s his too.”

You nodded slowly, blinking away the film of tears which had formed over your eyes. You didn’t want to cry. Not yet. Not here. You couldn’t upstage another one of your friends’ events.

“I didn’t want to drag him into it if there was at least a chance it would blow over,” you said quietly.

“But if it doesn’t?” Hanna pulled you closer, her voice gentler now. “You’ll have kept him in the dark. You think that won’t break his heart? You’ve seen what happens when you keep secrets.”

Her last words felt like a punch in the gut. You swallowed hard, wrapping your arms around yourself.

Hanna reached for your hand. “You don’t have to tell him everything tonight. But don’t leave him out of it. He’s not just someone who loves you. He’s someone who will carry things with you. Let him.”

You nodded again, slower this time. The oven beeped behind her, but neither of you moved. Not yet.

“I’ll talk to him,” you said. “Soon.”

Hanna gave your hand a squeeze. “Good. Because secrets and lawsuits? That’s a terrible combo.”

Your stomach churned uneasily, but you tried to give Hanna a smile anyway. As she opened the kitchen door, you could hear Bucky’s laugh echo through the hall from the other room. You turned your head toward it instinctively, a pang of guilt blossoming in your ribs.

He didn’t know what was coming. And you had no idea how to protect him from it.

Bucky had made his way into the open plan dining and living room. He hovered near the dining table trying to figure out if he should offer help or not. He looked back towards the front door only to notice the kitchen door shut behind you.

Aditi was already at the table, arranging cutlery with a quiet, methodical precision. She didn’t look up at first, and for a second, Bucky considered retreating to the couch where things were safe and silent. But before he could turn back, she glanced up and gave him a look— dry, mildly unimpressed, and not unkind.

“Well, well. Sergeant Barnes, setting a table. Didn’t have that on my bingo card for today.”

Bucky huffed a half-laugh, stepping in closer. “You’d be surprised what I can do when I’m not brooding.”

Aditi arched her brow, her mouth twitching like she was hiding a smirk. “Look at you. Is that self-awareness I detect?”

Bucky shrugged. “Gotta keep you on your toes.”

She shook her head, smothering her smile. “Here. Make yourself useful.” She passed him a small stack of napkins. 

They worked in silence for a few minutes, the kind that wasn’t tense but tentative— they were still two people who had once stood on opposite sides of a fracture and were now cautiously bridging the distance. All that could be heard was the scrape of plates, the clink of cutlery and the soft rustle of fabric on the table.

Eventually, Bucky cleared his throat. “So… how are things? How’s your dad?”

Aditi paused— just for a second— her fingers stilled on the edge of the plate in her hand. But then she resumed smoothing the linen placemat in front of her, as if the motion kept the answer contained.

“Complicated,” she said after a beat. “We’re not exactly writing letters. But I’ve stopped looking over my shoulder waiting for him to show up.”

He nodded slowly, folding a napkin and setting it down. “That’s something.”

“I don’t know if it’s peace or just… numbness.”

Bucky didn’t respond immediately, but his hands went still, the napkins forgotten, gaze fixed somewhere past the center of the table. “Sometimes numbness is the only way you get through the day.” He shrugged.

Aditi glanced up, something flickering behind her eyes. Recognition, maybe. Empathy, even. “You’d know, wouldn’t you?”

He met her gaze, steady and quiet. “More than I’d like to.”

There was a moment of real connection between them, and the distance between them didn’t seem as far to Bucky as he had only seconds ago. Aditi looked away, adjusting a spoon that was already perfectly placed. Her voice was quieter. “I used to think I was waiting for closure. But now I think I was just waiting for it to stop hurting,” she confessed.

“It never really does,” Bucky said. “Not completely.”

There was a pause between them before Bucky spoke again.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to apologize enough… about your dad.”

Her head tilted slightly. “You weren’t the one who raised him,” she scoffed.

“No,” he agreed. “But I still played a part in what happened. In what it cost you. I just… I wanted you to know I never forgot that.”

Aditi’s fingers stilled again. She didn’t speak right away, and he didn’t push. When she did, her voice was flat, but in resignation.

“He made his own choices. You just lit the match on something already soaked in gasoline.”

He let out a slow breath, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “Still feels… ”

“Yeah,” she said, understanding the sentiment in his unfinished sentence.

Silence fell over them again, but this one felt less strained. Friendly, even. But it didn’t stop Aditi’s question catching him off guard.

“How’re you doing?” she asked.

He gave her a sideways glance. “Didn’t peg you for the type to ask.”

She smiled. “I’m full of surprises.”

He thought for a moment, actually thought, then answered honestly. “Good, thank you. Some days can be challenging, but I’ve got someone who keeps me pretty grounded. Helps me find the way back.”

Aditi didn’t ask who. She didn’t need to. She just smiled as they finished setting the table together in companionable silence, not quite friends, but no longer strangers. When she reached for the stack of dessert plates, Bucky caught her eye again.

“Thanks,” he said simply.

“For what?”

“For not hating me.”

Aditi gave a small, dry smile, sliding a fork into place with precision. “Give me time. That might change.”

But the way she said it didn’t sting.

The doorbell rang right as Hanna was adjusting the candles on the console table.

“Perfect,” she muttered. “Let the chaos begin.”

You glanced toward the door just in time to see Camille sweep in a flowy trenchcoat and oversized sunglasses despite the fact that the sun hadn’t been seen all day. Swan followed behind her, carrying a bottle of wine wrapped in tissue paper and a forced smile.

“Well,” Camille announced, pausing dramatically in the entryway. “Someone’s been busy with Pinterest.”

Aditi threw her arms around her friend's neck, squealing. “Cami!”

“Hi Camille,” Hanna said flatly, taking the wine and slipping it into the kitchen without missing a beat.

Camille didn’t seem fazed. She air-kissed Aditi, commented on the scent of cardamom in the air, and then zeroed in on you and Bucky, who had just stepped out of the dining area.

“Camille,” you nodded, forcing a terse smile onto your face. You were not in the mood to deal with her judgments.

“Look at you two,” she said, all teeth and tone. “Still pretending to like each other in public. Honestly, it’s inspiring.”

Bucky gave a slow blink, deadpan. “We rehearse on Tuesdays.”

Swan snorted softly behind Camille. You managed a tight smile but were grateful for Bucky’s eternal sarcasm.

“Nice dress,” Camille added, looking you up and down. “Is it maternity or just emotionally supportive?”

Your smile faded slightly. “Neither. Just good lighting and a functioning adult relationship.”

“Ooh, burn,” Swan murmured under her breath, sipping from a glass of wine that had somehow materialized in her hand. 

Camille turned her attention to Bucky again, eyes narrowing slightly. “Still brooding like a Renaissance painting, I see. And still as delicious as ever.”

He smiled, just barely. “Takes work. Gotta stay on brand.” He stepped away, walking into the living room to avoid further interaction.

Before Camille could insult anyone else, Hanna clapped her hands together to get everyone’s attention. “Okay, everyone! Before Camille starts rearranging my bookshelves by color, we wanted to say something.”

Aditi stepped beside her, slipping her hand into Hanna’s. The room quieted. “We’ve decided to become foster parents,” Aditi said, her voice clear and full of a kind of nervous hope. “It’s something we’ve been talking about for a long time, and… we’re ready. And maybe one day we’ll be able to adopt.”

The room erupted into applause, cheers, and a couple of gleeful gasps.

Camille gave a dramatic “Aww” and turned to Swan and muttered. “I give it six months before they realize kids don’t come with return policies.”

You clapped with everyone else, smiling, but your hands felt slightly disconnected from the rest of you. You had already known their news, but you wanted to be present for the official announcement. The congratulations buzzed around the room like white noise, but you were sinking under it.

Bucky noticed immediately. He slid closer to you, his hand brushing yours.

“You okay?” he murmured.

You nodded too quickly. “Yeah. Just thinking about something Hanna said earlier.”

He looked at you for a long moment then wrapped his arms around your waist.

“Hey,” he breathed quietly, his voice masked by the voices of the four other women in the room. “You don’t have to smile if you don’t feel like it. I’ll cover for both of us.”

You glanced at him, your defences were starting to crumble.

Camille, meanwhile, was already trying to organize a group photo. “Okay, everyone with strong cheekbones, over here! That means you too, Barnes. Don’t be shy.”

There was laughter, lots of noise and a rush of movement. Camille’s hand was tugging Bucky toward the group. But even as he let Camille shove him into place for a picture. Even as Aditi snapped the photograph, you could feel his eyes stay on you.

He knew your focus was somewhere else and he was beginning to worry.

Beside you, Swan leaned toward you, handing you the second glass of wine she had poured herself. “You alright?” she asked, not in a teasing way.

You blinked and nodded. “Yeah. Just tired.”

She studied you for a second, then let it go. “Don’t let Camille rope you into a photo unless you want to be cropped out of all her social media later.”

You gave a small laugh. But your eyes flicked to Bucky again. You weren’t sure how long you could keep pretending nothing was wrong.

It didn’t take long before Bucky was by your side again. You were tucked in one corner of the large room nursing your drink as the others laughed joyfully.

“Come with me,” he said gently, just loud enough for you to hear.

Glancing back at your best friends, you guiltily followed him to the downstairs guestroom near the front of the house. He quietly closed the door behind you and turned to look at you. You were standing in the middle with your arms crossed tightly over your chest. Slowly, he walked over, guiding you over to the bed, motioning for you to sit.

“Alright,” he said softly. “Tell me what’s going on.”

You opened your mouth… then shut it again.

“Don’t say you’re fine,” Bucky added before you could actually speak. “You’ve been somewhere else all night. Even Camille noticed. And you hate when Camille notices things.”

You sighed and set your glass down on the bedside table. “I just… I didn’t want to ruin tonight. It’s supposed to be about Aditi and Hanna. I already ruined their wedding.”

He scooted closer. “Firstly, you didn’t ruin their wedding. And second, they’d want you to be okay. And I need to know. Please.”

You looked up at him, eyes glassy. “It’s a long story.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said. “So take your time.”

You could see he wasn’t going to budge until you opened up. So you finally exhaled all their air from your lungs, preparing yourself to share the weight of the secret you’d been carrying.

“This guy called Kyle Mendez approached me,” you started. “At your ceremony. He was there because Vera & Cross was one of the sponsors. It’s the company I used to work for last year… before… He said he didn’t expect to see me there. That you... cleaned up well.”

Bucky’s jaw tightened, knowing exactly where your story was leading.

“Then he offered me my job back,” you continued, the words flowing now that you had started. “With a promotion. Full creative control, better pay, benefits... the whole package. Like nothing had ever happened.”

You looked up to see Bucky’s expression. It was grim, but unsurprised.

“That’s not all.” You took a breath, your hands twisting together. "He said if I didn’t consider it, they might take legal action. Over the bracelet I made you. They’re saying I designed it while I was under contract. That it belongs to them.”

Silence filled the space between you and you watched him carefully— watching the way his brow furrowed and his expression darkened. Then he sighed, sadness filling his eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You hesitated, then said quietly, “I didn’t want to say anything until I had more information, I wanted to talk to Hanna about the legal stuff, find out if it was real or bullshit. I...I didn’t want you to feel like this was your fault.”

Bucky frowned slightly but stayed quiet.

“And I was scared,” you admitted. "Not of them… but… of what it would do to us. You’ve fought so hard to be seen as more than what people used to call you. I didn’t want to bring more mess into your life. And… I didn’t want to feel like a liability.”

His eyes softened and he cupped his hand over your jaw, slowly turning your face to his.

“You’re not a liability,” he said, firmly. “And I’m not afraid of mess, not if it means protecting you. But we do this together. You hear me?”

You nodded, and he held your gaze for a moment longer before he added quietly, “Kyle came to see me too. While Sam and I were helping out at the rebuild site.”

You blinked. “What?”

Bucky gave a short nod. “Said you hadn’t responded to his offer. Thought maybe I could convince you to take it. Said it would be good for you. Convenient timing, right? They want you back now that I’m useful to them.”

Your chest tightened anxiously. “He really said that?”

“Not in so many words. But I know men like him. They dress up and use manipulation like it’s a compliment and pretend their agenda’s an opportunity.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Your tone curious, not accusatory.

He looked down for a moment, taking your hand before glancing back up at you. “Because I figured if you hadn’t told me, it was for a reason. I didn’t want to push. I wanted you to come to me.”

Your lips trembled softly with emotion. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to shut you out.”

“You didn’t,” he shook his head. “You were trying to protect me. To figure things out. I get that. But I need you to know you don’t have to do it alone anymore. We’re stronger than that.”

You let out a slow breath. “They want to use you. That’s what this is really about.”

He nodded. “Yeah. But they don’t get to use you to do it.”

You reached for him, and he caught you easily, pulling you into his chest.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured. “We’ll figure this out. Together.”

He didn’t let go quickly, holding you for a moment longer. His forehead rested lightly against yours. His hands were warm and steady around waist. As you rested your head on the curve of his neck, he pressed a kiss to your temple. Neither of you spoke. There wasn’t anything else to say. Not yet. You stayed like that until both of you caught the sounds of Camille corralling everyone for a drinking game from down the hall.

With a small sigh, Bucky leaned back and tucked your hair behind your ear. “Ready to go face the chaos?”

You gave him a weak smile. “Not really.”

“Me neither,” he said, taking your hand and standing. “Let’s go pretend we’re normal.”

You slipped back into the main room just as Swan was handing out glasses of cider. Camille’s eyes landed on you both and lit up with delight.

“Well, well,” she drawled. “Gone for ten minutes and came back flushed. Must’ve been some conversation.”

Bucky didn’t even flinch. “We were trying to remember where we parked our morals.”

Camille cackled. “Good luck with that. I think mine are still in Tulum.”

Chapter Text

Bucky was back on the doorstep of the Marin-Sharma brownstone one week later. Only this time he was alone, with a brown paper bag in one hand and his phone in the other.

He checked the time on the text message chain to ensure he was on time.

11:04 AM - Bucky: Can I meet you and Aditi sometime soon? I want to talk to both of you about Princess. Nothing bad. Promise.

5:04 PM - Hanna: You’re not breaking up with her, are you? Because I will throw something.

5:10 PM - Bucky: No! God, No. Definitely not that.

5:27 PM - Hanna: Okay. Now I’m suspicious, but also intrigued. We’re free Thursday around 6. Our place?

5:30 PM - Bucky: Perfect. Thanks, Hanna. But seriously, nothing bad.

He shifted uncomfortably waiting for someone to answer the doorbell as he tried not to overthink everything. The bag in his hand was still warm— inside there were three pastries from your favorite café: a flaky almond croissant, a cinnamon bun and a danish, all wrapped in parchment and good intentions.

He needed to make sure he was making a suitable impression— even if it was in the form of baked goods— if he was going to get your friends’ blessing for him to propose to you.

The door opened before he could think himself out of even being here.

“Hey Bucky,” Hanna smiled. Her long hair was tied back and she had on glasses and Bucky almost didn’t recognize her. She looked him up and down and then stepped back. “You look like you’re waiting for a root canal. Relax, will ya?”

Bucky held out the bag in his now sweaty palm. “I brought pastries.”

“And that is the correct password,” she replied, motioning him inside.

The atmosphere inside was a little different than expected. The jubilance that the couple exuded had changed into something a little more subdued. He walked in to find Aditi sitting on the couch, curled up in the corner, nursing a mug of tea in both hands. She greeted him with a tired smile, her tone surprisingly warmer than usual.

“Barnes.”

“Sharma.” Bucky nodded back at her in greeting.

Hanna grabbed a plate from the kitchen and followed Bucky into the living room. She unceremoniously emptied the bag of pastries onto the plate and started stuffing the cinnamon roll in her mouth. Aditi discretely put a comforting hand on her wife’s foot.

“You okay?” he asked.

The wives exchanged a brief look, subtle but full of meaning. Hanna sighed and shrugged. “We got some… news.”

Bucky leaned forward slightly. “Bad?” he asked, already knowing the answer to his question.

“Our foster license was denied,” Aditi said gently, glancing at Hanna who had picked up another pastry.

The words hit harder than he expected. “What?” he exclaimed.

“Red tape,” Aditi said flatly. “Technically, it’s because of my dad. The HDYRA stuff keeps rearing its ugly head… again. They didn’t say it in those exact words, but it was obvious. One background check and suddenly we’re not fit to be parents.”

Bucky opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it again. This isn’t something he had expected when he had shown up at their door. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “That’s... that’s crap. You two would be amazing parents.”

Aditi nodded. She could hear the sincerity in Bucky’s voice. “That’s what we thought,” she said with a sad smile.

It was Hanna’s reaction that surprised him. She looked angrier than he’d ever seen her. Her eyes were glassy and her face had turned red. 

“We followed every rule. We wrote the essays, did the interviews. We’ve done everything right,” she said. “But one name in a file somewhere and suddenly we’re a risk.” Then she laughed, almost hysterically. “They came back with it so fast, I actually thought it was a mistake.

A tense silence filled the room.

You’d always described Hanna as the calm one, but not today. He had never seen Hanna lose her composure, not like this. In his mind, Aditi was the one he expected this kind of emotion from. He had seen her rollercoaster of emotions, the highs of her marriage to the depths of despair after the arrest and incarceration of her father last year. His eyes flickered between the two women in surprise, completely caught off guard.

“I’m allowed to be heartbroken, Barnes,” she said sharply. Her ability to read people hadn’t been affected by her heartbreak. “I wanted this too.”

He raised a hand in silent acknowledgment. “I know. I didn’t mean it like that.”

Aditi put down her mug and wrapped her arm around Hanna’s shoulders.

Bucky shrank back a little in his seat, a little uncomfortable with his invasion of their grief. The guilt for his part in Aditi’s father’s arrest still gnawed at him. He glanced between them, then looked down at his hands. “I shouldn’t have let it happen that way,” he muttered. “Your wedding... the way it got tangled up in that HYDRA fallout. I know I played a large part in that.”

Hanna’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t interrupt.

“I thought I was doing the right thing at the time,” he continued. “But it cost you something,” he glanced at Aditi, “and now this... it feels like the fallout’s never-ending.”

Aditi finally spoke, her voice quiet but surprisingly steady. “We don’t blame you anymore. Well... not entirely. But yeah— it changed things.”

“I should’ve done more,” Bucky said. “Maybe I still can.”

Hanna raised a brow. “Like what?”

“I’ll talk to someone. Maybe Sam can vouch for you— write a letter, speak to someone at the agency. It might not fix anything, but... it’s worth a shot, right?”

Hanna looked like she wanted to believe him, but her guard was still high. “If you think he’d be willing... sure. We’d appreciate it.”

“I’ll do what I can,” Bucky said, voice firmer now. “You shouldn’t be punished for something you didn’t do. Not again.”

Bucky shifted again, then let out a quiet breath. “Listen,” he said, his voice lower, gentler. “I didn’t mean to show up with the intention of interrupting anything. I was actually hoping today might be a little more hopeful.”

“No, we could’ve cancelled. What is it that you wanted to talk about?” Aditi asked.

“I’ve been thinking about this for a while,” he continued. “It’s not something I take lightly. I know what Princess has been through— what you’ve both seen her through. And I guess I just…” he ran a hand over the back of his neck, “I wanted to do this right.”

Aditi tilted her head. “Do what right?”

He scratched his beard sheepishly. “I was gonna ask for your blessing. To propose.”

Both women looked up, shocked.

“To our girl?” Aditi asked, smiling faintly despite everything.

“No,” Bucky deadpanned. “To Sam.”

That got a snort out of Hanna, at the very least.

“Yeah,” he said. “To Princess. I love her. I want to spend my life with her. But I wanted to talk to you two first.”

Hanna sat back slowly, exhaling quietly. “She’d say yes in a heartbeat.”

“I hope so,” he said. “But it matters to me that you’re behind it. She loves you. You’re her family.” He hesitated, then added, “Truth is, your opinion matters to me— aside from hers, obviously.”

Aditi raised an eyebrow, a grin teasing her lips. “Wow. You are so old-fashioned.”

Hanna laughed softly. “Do you want our blessing in writing? Maybe with a quill and parchment?”

Bucky shrugged, not even trying to hide the smile pulling at his mouth. “Wouldn’t be the worst idea.”

Aditi unwrapped herself from her wife and sat forward, looking Bucky in the eye for a moment. “You have our blessing.”

Bucky felt something warm unfolding in his chest and he smiled at the young woman gratefully.

“Even with everything she’s got going on? You still want to entangle yourself with her?” Hanna asked.

“Especially now,” he confirmed confidently.

Hanna nodded approvingly. But there was something more in her tired eyes. Something thoughtful. “You ever think about doing more with all this attention you’re getting?”

Bucky blinked. “More?”

“You’re not just the guy who came back from the cold anymore. You’re getting respect out there. People listen when you talk. Maybe it’s time you did more than hammer nails and show up at fundraisers.”

“You’re saying what, exactly?”

Hanna didn’t flinch. “Run for office.”

He stared at her.

“You think I can do that?”

“I think you’ve already started,” she said. “You stand up for people. You care. And you’ve lived through the kind of hell that makes you fight smarter, not louder.”

“But I have... a past,” he said.

“And a future,” Aditi chimed in.

Bucky sat back slowly, letting the thought settle in his mind. It wasn’t the first time this had been mentioned to him. But he was surprised that he hadn’t immediately dismissed the idea. Maybe…

But first things first— the ring.

Bucky leaned forward again, rubbing his palms on his knees. “I might need you guys for one more favor.”

Aditi narrowed her eyes playfully. “Pushing your luck now, Barnes.”

Hanna smiled. “What do you need?”

He exhaled through his nose, almost laughing at himself. “I need help finding the perfect ring. I mean, how do you find something special enough for a woman who designs jewelry for a living? Everything I look at feels like it’s not enough. I just... want it to be hers. Something she'd see and know it came from me.”

Aditi’s expression softened. “Okay, now you’re back in our good graces. Let’s go shopping.”

He smiled. Maybe today wasn’t so bad after all.

It had been a week since your friends’ party and you stepped through the glass doors of your current workplace. Since confessing your troubles to Bucky, you had felt like some of the weight had been taken off your shoulders. You’d heard nothing more from Kyle and Vera & Cross and your anxiety levels had settled a little.

You’d grown to love your job, the people you worked with and the freedom you were offered, as well as the creative license you were given. Anita was by the door, greeting you with a warm smile the second you walked in.

“Morning, darling,” she said. “You look like someone who didn’t get enough sleep.”

You gave a faint laugh. “And you look like someone who always knows everything.”

Anita winked. “That’s what happens when you live long enough.” She glanced over her shoulder. “How’s that boyfriend of yours? Still running into burning buildings to save orphans?”

“Something like that,” you chuckled. “He’s good.”

Anita’s smile faltered just slightly. “Come with me to the back for a moment, yeah?”

“Course.” You agreed immediately, feeling a little surprised.

You followed her down the hallway, the usual background hum of air conditioning in the store suddenly feeling distant. You passed your desk, your coworkers, the glass displays filled with delicate pieces. Each of your steps felt a little heavier than the last.

She led you into one of the private offices at the back of the store and closed the door gently behind her. Neither you nor Anita ever came back here. It was the same place you had had your interview, a place of formality. Your heart rate picked up a little.

Anita turned to face you, her expression had changed— still gentle, but more somber than when she had greeted you. “Take a seat for me, darling.”

“Anita?” you spoke quietly, while you sat on the edge of the same chair you’d used during your interview. “What’s going on?”

“I’m so sorry to have to do this, sweetheart. But we got a letter. From Vera & Cross.”

Your heart was pounding harder and harder. “What kind of letter?” you stuttered.

“Cease and desist,” she said quietly. “They’re threatening to sue.”

You felt your throat tighten, your mouth tasted like cotton wool. “Why?”

“They’re claiming you breached your IP agreement. That your designs from your time there followed you here— and claiming that the firm is benefitting financially from their intellectual property.”

“But I didn't, those were my personal designs.” 

“I know, darling.” Anita gave a small shake of her head. “The board was given evidence that seems legitimate. They didn’t give me all the details. Something about your designs being created during your employment with them.”

You stared at her, your mind spinning. “How could they possibly know that?”

“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “There was an IP clause in the contract you signed with them— I think most firms bury it in there— it gives them the opportunity to claim anything you made during your employment, even things sketched on napkins, if they can prove it was made on their time.”

“That’s not true,” you insisted. “That’s—” you stopped, looking at Anita hopelessly.

“I know,” Anita said softly. “We know. But it’s complicated. And… and the board doesn’t want to fight it.”

You sat there for a beat, completely stunned. “So what happens now?” you asked in a quiet voice.

“They’ve offered to drop the suit,” she said carefully, “if we terminate your contract.”

You sank into the chair behind you, the words hitting like a physical blow.

“I pushed back,” Anita added, sitting across from you. “I went to bat for you. I said they were bluffing. But the board doesn’t want the risk. They don’t want the headlines. You know how these places work.”

You nodded slowly, like your neck was the only part of you still functioning.

Anita reached across the desk, squeezing your hand. “You’ve been nothing but professional here. Talented, kind, a joy to work with. But this firm doesn’t have the resources to take on Vera & Cross in court. Not if they decide to be vindictive.”

You were silent, your eyes glassy.

“I’m so sorry,” she said again, her voice thick, like she was trying not to cry. “You didn’t deserve this. And we were lucky to have you.”

“Why aren’t they telling me this? The board?”

Anita sighed. “I asked them if they would let me. I didn’t want… some of them don’t have a lot of tact.”

You didn’t answer. There was nothing else left to say. You barely noticed her pulling out her phone.

“I’m going to call Bucky,” she said. “He’ll want to come get you.”

You didn’t stop her. You couldn’t. You just sat there, hands in your lap, heart thudding too loudly in the excruciating silence.

It sounded like Anita was talking to you, you were sure her mouth was moving, but you had no idea what she was saying. You felt like you were underwater, your ears rang and muted everything going on around you.

After what felt like an eternity of mutism from you, Anita left you alone with your grief. You sat in the back office alone for thirty minutes. You didn’t register the soft chime of the front door or the heavy bootfalls approaching the door. The office door creaked as it was opened and Bucky stepped in, his eyes locking onto yours immediately.

You were sitting exactly where Anita had left you, hands wrapped around a lukewarm cup of chamomile tea she’d made in a quiet act of kindness. You hadn't drunk it.

Bucky’s stomach dropped at the sight of you. You hadn’t moved from the chair, your face pale and your posture looking far too small for the seat.

“Princess?” he called you, voice barely a whisper.

His endearment felt like a balm and a blade at the same time. As you looked up slowly, tears welled up in your eyes, threatening to spill over.

Bucky strode across the room in two steps and was crouching down in front of you, his hands covering your knees gently. “What happened? Are you okay?”

Your lip trembled as you tried to form words. Anita stood to the side, giving you both space but watching carefully.

"They fired me," you said hoarsely.

Bucky blinked. "What? Why?"

You swallowed hard. “Vera & Cross. They threatened to sue the company. They said I used designs from when I was with them. They have date stamps. They made the board choose.”

Bucky’s jaw clenched, and he stood slowly, turning to Anita angrily. “Are you serious? They came after her here?”

Anita nodded grimly. “I’m sorry, Bucky. I fought it. But they wouldn’t budge.”

His shoulders rose with a deep inhale before he turned back to you, softer now. He offered his hand. “Come on. Let’s get you out of here.”

You took it, your fingers curling into his with relief and shame. Bucky helped you to your feet, his arm moving to wrap around your shoulders as he guided you out of the building. He refused to look at Anita as the two of you walked away. You glanced over your shoulder to see the sadness in her expression. You didn’t blame her, but it still stung.

The car was silent as Bucky drove you home. It didn’t take long, you often walked to work because it was so close to your apartment building. Neither of you spoke, not quite ready to vocalize what had happened. You sat curled in the passenger seat, the window cracked just enough to let in the soft rush of the city beyond. Bucky glanced at you every so often, his hand resting on the gearshift, always ready to reach for yours if you needed it.

But you didn’t reach for him. Not yet. You just stared out of the window, watching the world pass you by, wondering if you’d be able to find your footing in it again. Bucky didn’t push you to talk. He didn’t fill the silence with empty platitudes. He just drove you home with one eye on the road and the other on you.

As he pulled up at your apartment, he parked the car and turned to you.

“You don’t have to say anything right now,” he murmured. “But I’m here. For whatever you need. However long it takes.”

You turned your head to his voice, eyes still glassy. There was no flinching when he reached out to touch your hand, letting your fingers tangle with his for a moment.

“Come on, let’s go inside.”

Chapter Text

The tea on the table had gone cold. Not a single one of the cups had been touched.

You sat on the edge of the couch, your fingers fiddling with the hem of your sleeve, your body rigid. Bucky stood slightly behind you. You could see his outline out of the corner of your eye— his arms were crossed over his chest as he leaned on the back of the couch like a guard dog. His jaw was clenched so tight, you wondered if it physically hurt him. He looked like he couldn’t trust himself to sit down.

Hanna was curled up on the armchair opposite you. Silent. She had been staring at a printout of the contract you’d received a few days ago. Her eyes almost blurred as she read the lines over and over, her lips pressed into a thin line. Aditi sat beside you, her hand on the small of your back.

Soon the tension inside you was ready to snap. “So? What do you think?” Your voice shook with anxiety and impatience.

Hanna exhaled slowly. “There’s not much room for interpretation.” 

No one spoke. You felt like your throat was closing, like you couldn’t breathe.

“It’s incredibly well written,” Hanna added, a hint of awe in her voice. “They tied the intellectual property clause to your employment. It includes use of company resources.”

Aditi looked at you beseechingly. “Please tell me you didn’t use company software for your designs.”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to. Everyone knew the truth. Vera & Cross provided their employees with fully paid access to the best design software. That’s how they had known about your designs, they had access to your work, including time and dates of your creations.

“And this new offer?” Aditi asked. “Is the contact the same?”

Hanna nodded. 

“The email made it sound like if I don’t show up on Wednesday, they’ll sue me,” you said quietly, looking to Hanna for confirmation.

“If they want to make an example of you? Yes.” Hanna didn’t sugarcoat it.

“Jesus Christ,” Bucky muttered. His fingers curled tighter around his arms. “It’s blackmail.”

“It’s legal blackmail,” Hanna said bitterly. “The worst kind.”

“Wait! Show me the email,” Hanna demanded, holding out her hand for your phone.

With trembling hands, you pulled up the email and handed your phone to your friend.

It didn’t take long for the flicker of hope in Hanna’s eyes to be extinguished. She sighed heavily. “Of course they’re too smart to incriminate themselves in blackmail. Fuck!”

Aditi put her hands over yours to stop you from picking at the skin around your fingernails.

“Can I fight it? Is there any way to show that I made some of the sketches in my personal time?”

Hanna sighed. “You have an argument. A real one. I can find an expert at my firm to help you build it.”

You didn’t like the tone of her words. “But?” you asked, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“It would be long. Expensive… ugly.” She whispered the last word. “You’d be dragged through months of discovery, depositions, and judging by their behavior, character assassination. I mean, I wish I could tell you to fight. God, I really do.”

You didn’t move, stunned into silence. It felt like someone had attached an anchor to you, dragging you under water.

Hanna got off her armchair and moved to sit at your feet. She put her hands on your knees and looked up at you.

“You’re not just my best friend,” she said softly. “You’re my family. That girl wants to tell you to screw them, to fight, to let them burn. But as your legal counsel… I have to be honest with you.”

You frowned, a feeling of dread filling your soul.

Hanna’s breath caught, and then in an even lower voice, she said, “If you can stomach it... take the job.”

Your eyes snapped up to hers, shock evident in your face. You resisted the urge to pull away from her as waves of nausea washed over you. “What?” Your voice wavered.

“Honey, you need the income. You haven’t got health insurance anymore, no commissions, no client base left. You’re gonna burn through your savings faster than you think.” She sighed again. “I’m not saying you owe them anything. But if they go through any litigation procedures… they’ll bury you.”

Aditi rubbed your arm. “It won’t be forever,” she said gently. “Just buy some time, until we can help you figure out an exit strategy.”

A sudden crack behind you made you jump. Aditi and Hanna gasped simultaneously. The three of you turned around to see Bucky, still behind the couch, but in his hand was a carved wooden elephant which had a large crack down the middle from the dangerous grip Bucky had around it. His knuckles were white where his hand gripped the carved creature, his jaw clenched, his shoulders pulled tight.

“Bucky,” you breathed softly.

“I can’t believe this.” His voice was surprisingly calm, but you could sense the anger in it, like the quiet in the eye of a storm. “They fired you, erased your name off everything you built, now they’re trying to destroy the career you built and they want you to come back and work for them like they’re doing you a favor?”

“It’s not right,” Hanna agreed.

“No,” he said, pushing himself off the back of the couch where he was leaning and started pacing between the couch and the window. “It’s not. It’s not right and it’s not just and if I had two damn seconds alone with Kyle—”

“Bucky.” Your voice cut through his tirade, quiet but clear.

He stopped. Exhaled hard through his nose. His hand flexed around the elephant still in his hand.

“I just...” he turned back, finally looking at you, eyes stormy. “I hate that you’re in this position.”

“I know.”

“I’ll cover it,” he said suddenly. “The legal fees. Whatever it takes. If that’s what’s stopping you—”

“No,” you cried quickly. “You can’t. I won’t let you.”

“I want to.”

“I know. But I won’t let you sell your future just because mine’s a dumpster fire.”

He looked like he wanted to argue, his mouth was already open. But something in your face stopped him. His fists curled again and he finally dropped the poor elephant on the couch.

“I should’ve seen this coming,” he muttered. “I should’ve protected you.”

You stood up, taking a few steps toward him and laid your hands on his chest. “You did. You always do. But this… this is mine to decide.”

He covered your hands with his. “And I’ll be there for whatever you decide.”

Behind you, Hanna rose from the floor and took your place on the couch with her wife. “For the record,” she said, her voice thick with regret, “I think they’re scum. And if you say the word, I’ll make their lives hell. I’ll throw every trick I’ve got at them. I just… don’t want to see what it will do to you.”

You nodded. Your heart felt like it was cracking but what other choice did you have?

“I’ll go,” she said. “Wednesday.”

Bucky pulled you into his chest, turning his face away— because you couldn’t see him like that. Not when his rage had nowhere to go.

The parking lot was nowhere near as full as you expected. You’d been sent a parking pass via courier, along with a few other things, as you’d accepted the position at Vera & Cross. When you opened the package, it was like a flashback to last year, even the ID card they had sent used your old photograph. Your induction meeting was scheduled for 9.30am, and it was 9.15am. Even though this wasn’t something you wanted to be present for, you had an abhorrence for being late for anything. Even when you tried to be late, you were early.

You picked up your phone, looking for something to ease the torment of your mind.

09:12 AM - Bucky: You got this, sugarplum. Deep breaths, shoulders back, chin up.

09:17 AM - You: Sugarplum?

You answered his text with a small chuckle. It was like he was sitting waiting for your reply because his response came back almost instantaneously.

09:17 AM - Bucky: Trying something new. You like it?

09:18 AM - You: Keep trying.

09:18 AM - Bucky: I know you can do this. Now go in there and kick some corporate ass. I love you.

09:19 AM - You: Love you too… Snickerdoodle

09:19 AM - Bucky: VETO

09:20 AM - You: 😂 Going in. Wish me luck.

09:21 AM - Bucky: 🍀 Don’t need it. You own the God damn room.

Your heels clicked faintly on the marble floor and the automatic doors slid shut behind you with an intimidating whoosh, effectively sealing you inside. You looked around, feeling like you had stepped back in time. Nothing had changed. The lemon polish scent in the lobby gave off a sterile vibe and the floor was spotless, reflecting the lights from the ceiling clearly. The walls were white, brilliantly so. The reception desk looked a little different than you remembered and the art on the walls had been updated. Your eyes were drawn to a new framed collection— the pieces were identical to one of your sketches, something you’d worked on until 3am, fingers working fervently, fueled by caffeine and candy. There was no name on the plaque. No credit. 

You took a deep breath, steeling your nerves and moved forward. Behind the front desk sat a woman with long dark hair, a tight dress and large glasses. Lena. She’s been around back when you had started with the firm the first time. She did her job with what looked like polished disinterest.

She glanced up as you approached the desk, her eyes softening in recognition.

“Well, well,” she said, setting her coffee down. “Didn’t expect to see you walking back through those doors.”

“Didn’t expect to be walking through them,” you admitted, forcing a small smile. Lena had always intimidated you with her aloofness and her stunning features.

Lena gave a soft, knowing hum. “You look good. Been keeping busy?”

“Pretty busy, yeah,” you answered. It was a copout answer, but far easier than unpacking anything real with a relative stranger.

She tapped her keyboard, checking in your attendance. She handed you a laminated folder with your name on it and pointed at the elevator.

“You’re headed to Suite 3B,” she said curtly. “Third floor.”

“Thank you, Lena.” 

You turned and made your way toward the stairs, choosing to avoid the elevator for now. This wasn’t the place you wanted to get stuck between floors.

Each step felt heavier the higher you climbed. Right up to the third floor. This wasn’t the floor you used to work on. This was reserved for the executives. Quiet. Tense. The kind of place where voices dropped and the click of shoes sounded sharper.

You looked at the sleek doors as you walked past, each one was numbered with engraved glass. There was a hum of conversation behind a few. It all felt so familiar and so foreign, like walking through a dream of a life you left behind. You kept walking until— Suite 3B. The door was ajar.

You adjusted your outfit, pulled your bag up on your shoulder and knocked once waiting for an answer.

From inside a somewhat voice told you to enter.

You stepped inside and stopped cold.

Leonard.

He looked up from a folder and smiled. It was like he had been waiting excitedly for this very moment. One where he had the power to humiliate you. He sat in a luxurious desk chair, one leg crossed over the other and wearing an immaculate designer suit and the same watch that you always complimented when you had been together.

The way he said your name made the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

“Right on time,” he smirked. “You always did have good manners— when you weren’t throwing tantrums.”

“Leonard.” Your stomach dropped. “What... what’re you doing here?”

His mouth curled higher at the edges. “Was thinking of buying into the company. Heard your name mentioned. Thought I’d come and see you, for old time’s sake.

Leonard leaned back in his chair with practiced elegance. His fingers steepled, like he was some great bond villain.

“So…” he said slowly, drawing the word out as he flipped through your file. “Barnes. That’s still happening?”

You stiffened.

He caught it— of course he did. He was watching you like a hawk. “Didn’t think you’d hold on to that for long. Guy like that, history like his. Dangerous territory.” He tapped the folder in front of him with his long knobbly index finger. “Though I suppose the firm doesn’t mind. War heroes make for good press, don’t they?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.

“Oh, I heard,” he added casually, eyes glistening malevolently. “They’re considering using him for fundraising efforts. Something for the charitable foundation. Trauma recovery, clean image, tragic past— all very marketable for profits. If they can get him cleaned up and compliant.”

Your stomach churned and you felt like someone had thrown a bucket of cold water over you.

Leonard’s gaze drifted from the file to your face. “You know, that’s the part that stings, really,” he said, softer now. “The man who tried to knock me out in a bar is being held up as the face of recovery. And you think he’s safer than I was?”

You didn’t answer.

Leonard’s smile sharpened. “It’s funny, don’t you think?” He laughed softly. “Tell me— did he ever tell you what he whispered to me? That day?”

You flinched. “No.”

But Leonard’s eyes gleamed dangerously. “Didn’t think so. It wasn’t something meant for ears as fragile as yours.”

He stood then, slow and smooth, closing the distance step by step until he was close enough for you to smell his expensive cologne.

“You should’ve stayed with me,” he said, towering over you. “We were built for the same world. You— you were always too fragile for someone like him. All that darkness, all that damage. You think you can handle that forever?”

He leaned in just a little closer, his voice a whisper now. “Eventually, broken things will break you.”

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. His words made your skin crawl. He always had a way of making you feel small. What did you expect? Part of you hated that he still had this effect on you. And the other part of you hated that you had expected more.

Leonard stepped back, smoothing his suit jacket like he was done performing.

“Well,” he said, tone lighter. “Let me show you your space.”

You followed him down the corridor, sharing the elevator ride in silence. The designer’s floor was quiet, polished, just as impersonal as you remembered. You passed nameplates of former colleagues, including your old office which was occupied by a face you didn’t recognize. You walked until he stopped at a door marked 3F and pushed it open.

The office was small but private. More than you expected. A small desk. A simple chair. A tall window caught a glimpse of the Manhattan skyline. It was empty other than a folder, a small notepad and pen in the center.

“This is yours,” he said quietly. “You’ll need a tablet,” he added. “Sketch pads, pencils. They’re on the way with a courier. Should arrive soon.”

“Thank you,” you mumbled.

He lingered for a second longer, then looked at you and said, “Be careful with Barnes.”

Your shoulders stiffened at his words.

“He’s got history. Damage. That stuff sticks.” He shrugged. “It wears people down. Even strong ones.”

You met his eyes. “I’ll be fine,” you said coldly.

He looked at you for a beat longer— something unreadable flickering across his face— then turned and left, the door clicking shut behind him.

You sat down on the chair, it creaked slightly under your weight. You looked around at the clean desk. The blank walls. It wasn’t much, but it was yours for now. You pulled out your phone.

09:59 AM - Bucky: How’s it going, cupcake? Bet you dazzled them with your charm. Or just knocked them all dead!

10:10 AM - Bucky: You okay in there, sweet pea?

10:22 AM - Bucky: Honey, you’re doing great. I know it might not feel like it. Probably feels awful. You’re probably hating every second. But you’re doing it. And I’m so proud of you.

10:38 AM - Bucky: Hey Trouble! (see how I used a capital T?) I know you don’t want me to worry but I am worried.

10:59 AM - Bucky: Baby girl, need you to answer me soon.

The first message made you smile. But as you scrolled down, your chest ached. He’d been spiraling quietly, trying not to panic. Trying to keep his messages light. And failing terribly. You typed out a reply quickly.

11:11 AM - You: I’m here… Grumpy Bear. 😉 

His reply came instantly.

11.11 AM - Bucky: Thank God! I thought they’d put you in some dungeon and I’d have to come rescue you.

11.12 AM - Bucky: Darling.

You laughed at the second message, the way he tacked on the endearment like an afterthought. Like relief had made him forget his attempt at humor. You let the love in his message surround you, let it anchor you. And you finally felt like you could breathe.

11:14 AM - You: So… Captain Broodypants. Don’t freak out about what I’m about to tell you…

11.14 AM - Bucky: Really hard not to when you start like that.

11:15 AM - You: Leonard is here.

11.15 AM - Bucky: WHAT?

11:16 AM - You: He works here now. He did my ‘introduction’.

11.16 AM - Bucky: I’M COMING TO GET YOU. STAY WHERE YOU ARE.

11:16 AM - You: No, Bucky!

11:17 AM - You: Bucky, don’t!

11:17 AM - You: Bucky??

11:18 AM - You: BUCKY! ANSWER ME.

11.18 AM - Bucky: I’m here.

Your heart was pounding at the meaning of his last message. You typed back in a panic, your fingers shaking. You didn’t want to make a scene. Not today. Not in front of Leonard.

11.19 AM - You: Here? Or here here?

11:19 AM – Bucky: Parking lot.

11:19 AM – You: WHAT DO YOU MEAN PARKING LOT? BUCKY NO! YOU’RE STUPPOSED TO BE AT HOME

11:20 AM – Bucky: I was halfway here before you even texted me. Felt off when you didn’t answer before. Guess I was right.

11:20 AM – You: You can’t just storm in here like some overprotective rom-com hero!

11:21 AM – Bucky: I wasn’t planning to storm. 

11:21 AM – Bucky: Okay maybe just a casual strut.

11:21 AM – Bucky: Intimidation strut. No punching unless necessary.

11:22 AM – You: NO STRUTTING. No drama. Please.

11:22 AM – Bucky: Fine. I’ll stay in the car. But if he so much as breathes wrong, I’m breaking in there like your knight in shining armor.

11:23 AM – You: You’re impossible.

11:23 AM – Bucky: And you love me for it.

11:23 AM – You: Unfortunately.

11:24 AM – Bucky: You okay?

11:24 AM – You: I will be. Now that I know you’re out there like some giant emotionally repressed guard dog.

11:25 AM – Bucky: Woof.

11:25 AM – Bucky: *Wolf. Text me if he so much as looks at you wrong. I’m not leaving.

You glanced back at the screen, the last message still sitting there. You knew he would stay out there all day. For you.

He was with you all day. Through meetings, awkward conversations with old colleagues and all the moments where you felt like an imposter in your own skin. He was your rock. The constant supply of messages kept you going. Every time you heard Leonard’s voice, or saw Kyle’s sneering face, you reached for the device in your pocket and he was there. With a joke, a random thought, or just a heart emoji, or simply your name. He was there. And it was enough.

You couldn’t always respond immediately but you felt no pressure from him.

And when the clock finally struck 3.57pm, you shoved your belongings back into your bag.

3:58 PM – You: I’m coming out.

There was no reply. And you wondered if he had fallen asleep. He had been quiet for the last thirty minutes.

The weight on your shoulders felt lighter the moment you stepped out of the doors of the elevator. You waved goodbye to Lena and stepped out of the lobby.

He was there. Leaning against his car, eyes covered by dark glasses, but still squinting. You could tell by the way his brow furrowed deeply. He stepped forwards as soon as you walked out, crossing the parking lot and meeting you half way. And when he opened his arms, you didn’t hesitate to walk straight into them.

Chapter Text

It was early when you woke. The sheets were still warm where Bucky had slipped out of the bed. It was only when the floorboard creaked that you realized that he was still here. His footsteps were always so silent, he moved like he was trying not to exist too loudly. But you could feel his presence close.

You rolled over, hair stuck to your cheek with a hint of drool from your lips. You wiped it away with a grimace and squinted through the dusty sunlight filtering through the half drawn curtains.

“It’s Saturday. Where ya going so early?” you murmured, your voice still sounding gravely from sleep.

“Alpine’s probably home. Gotta feed her,” he whispered, already halfway out the door.

Your eyes cracked open just enough to watch him pull on a pair of sweatpants over his boxers. They sat a little too low on his hips for it not to be intentional. And he was still shirtless. His hair was a mess, standing up in places in ways it had no right to be, especially now it was longer than when you’d first met him. He clearly hadn’t looked in the mirror, never did this early in the morning. You didn’t know if he knew just how beautiful he was.

You blinked. “You know you basically live here now, right?”

He paused in the doorway, looking back at you. It was still too dark to read his expression. Normally you wouldn’t have said something like that, but your half-sleeping state had removed some of your inhibitions.

“I mean,” you continued, voice still drowsy, “your toothbrush’s in my cup. Your soap’s in my shower. You got socks in my underwear drawer. I got food for Alpine in my fridge too.”

He leaned against the doorframe with an amused smirk dancing across his face. It should be illegal for anyone to look so good so early in the morning.

“I know we haven’t really talked about it,” you said, stretching beneath the covers, “but I think you’ve officially moved in. Unless I imagined the last three nights of you stealing my side of the bed.”

His smirk turned into a soft smile and he crossed the room in two large strides. He kneeled on the bed, leaning over you, one hand braced beside your head, while the other brushed hair from your eyes.

Had you forgotten how to breathe?

“Not imagining anything,” he said, quiet but sure. “And if I’m living here... it’s because I never want to wake up anywhere else. And I’m only on your side of the bed ‘cause you’re a blanket hog.” He smirked.

And then he kissed you, soft and slow. Unhurried. Like he had all the time in the world. Like he already belonged here.

Yeah, you’d definitely forgotten how to breathe.

Eventually, he pulled away from your lips, eyes filled with regret. His thumb traced lovingly over your cheek for a moment before he spoke. “You sure you want me full-time, Princess?” he asked, a hint of hesitation in his voice.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him back down until his body was resting over yours, warm and solid and entirely where it belonged.

“Feed the cat,” you whispered. “Then come back and make it official.”

He smirked against your mouth. “Yes, ma’am.”

Bucky came back half an hour later carrying Alpine in one arm and a duffel bag in the other. She looked satisfied. He looked a little windswept for someone who had only gone across the hall.

“Took you long enough.” You were now holding a mug of steaming coffee as you watched him balance everything in his hands.

“She didn’t like it when I picked up the carrier,” he said, setting her down gently on the couch. “Chased her around the apartment for ten minutes, then had to negotiate. Paid for the peace treaty with chicken breast.”

You leaned against the kitchen counter and took a sip of coffee, his shirt riding up to show more of your thighs. “She’s manipulating you.”

“She’s an evil genius,” he agreed with a nod. He nudged the bag with his foot. “Brought more of my stuff. Make it official?”

You raised a brow. “Your cat. Your socks. Your weird cereal. And your ass in my bed? Yeah. Pretty damn official.”

His eyes darkened just slightly, tracking the hem of his shirt as it teased over your bare thighs.

“That so?” he murmured, stepping in.

You hummed in answer, setting your mug down and pulling him to you by the front of a henley he had donned during transfer between apartments. His lips met yours as though he hadn’t felt them all week. They covered yours with confidence, moving in a way that made you feel dizzy with desire. 

“So now that all my stuff is going to be over here, are you going to be wearing all my clothes?” he teased as his hands slipped under the shirt you had on. His thumbs felt delicious as they stroked your hips.

“Only when they smell like you,” you said slyly, letting him push you up against the kitchen counter.

“Don’t think we’ve christened the counter before?” He pulled back from the kiss to rack his memory.

You pulled his henley off in answer, fingers tangled in his hair as you tried to muffle your laughter by pressing your face into his neck. Bucky moved like a man who worshipped your body, reverence in the way he stroked your skin. He wrapped his fingers around your waist and lifted you with ease, until you were perched on the high kitchen top. He pushed himself between your knees and you tilted his face up to place a kiss to his lips. He indulged you for a moment, before working his way downwards, whispering your name like it was a promise.

Just as he was about to reach the desired destination, there was a small thump on the counter beside you. Bucky was too lost in you to notice, but you opened one eye to find— “Alpine!”

Bucky froze, his eyes finally tearing away from your entrance. His cat was sitting beside you, staring at the two of you like a disapproving nun who’d just caught two teenagers making out behind the rectory. She gave you a judgmental merrp.

“Why is she staring like that?”

“She does that.” Bucky looked completely unbothered by the way her little round eyes zoned in on you.

You shifted, trying not to laugh. “I can’t do this with your cat judging me, Bucky.”

“She’s not judging. She’s... observing.”

“Oh, so much better,” you cried, pressing your legs closed.

He groaned, nuzzling his face in your lap before he looked up at you with a pout and sad eyes.

As if to answer his question, Alpine rose and jumped on his shoulders, curling herself around his neck, rubbing her face against his cheek.

“You brought this on yourself,” you smirked.

“You mean I brought my cat, my commitment and my unmatched bedroom skills?”

You snorted. “One out of three.”

“Rude.”

Later, when Alpine wandered off to investigate her new windowsill throne, the two of you escaped to the bedroom. Bucky immediately pulled you onto the bed and leaned over to kiss your shoulder. “Wanna try again?” he whispered.

“Yes, but shut the door this time!” you giggled but there was clear urgency in your tone.

He obeyed your order immediately, before diving back on top of you. He looked down at you, dipping down and using his nose to trace the contours of your face.

You smiled into the sensation. “Can you believe we live together now?”

“You’re the one who made it official,” he murmured.

“You’re the one who showed up at the door with a cat and dirty laundry.”

He huffed a laugh. “You forgot the good knives.”

You pressed a kiss to his shoulder, quiet for a beat.

“Hey. Remember our first time?”

Bucky huffed a laugh. “Yeah. Sam and Sarah’s boat. Just before the wedding. Eighty-five degrees, no air conditioning, sweating like sinners… Very questionable decisions were made.”

You smiled, but shook your head. “That was not our first time.”

His brow furrowed. “Pretty sure it was. I’d remember if we—” he glanced over, voice dropping, “—you know.”

“You really don’t remember what we did on your couch?”

He blinked. “My couch?”

“Seriously?” You sat up a little, pushing his hips off yours. “You don’t remember that?”

“Pretty sure we never had sex on that couch. You hate that thing.”

“Remember? After your birthday. That bracelet Instagram post blew up. Everything went sideways. I came over to apologize…”

A flicker of recognition crossed his face. “Oh,” he said quietly, before smiling. “Have I ever told you how much it meant that you thought about how that might make me feel?”

You grinned, nudging him with your knee. “I figured I got the message when you let me dry hump you through a towel until you came.”

Bucky let out a groan, rubbing his face with his palm, but there was no hiding the smile tugging at his lips. “Jesus, that towel never stood a chance.”

“And you think it doesn’t count,” you added, arching a brow.

“It doesn’t,” he answered in a matter of fact tone. “I wasn’t inside you.”

“You came,” you said, poking him in the chest. “That’s all that matters.”

He tried to look serious. Failed. “Still not sex.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You really want me to Google it right now?”

“Don’t you dare.”

You grabbed your phone dramatically.

“Princess.” His voice dropped to something low and full of warning.

But it was too late. Your thumbs were already tapping on the search bar.

In one swift movement, Bucky snatched the phone, tossed it to the side, and rolled over you— knees wedging between your thighs as his weight pressed you into the mattress. His fingers dragged slowly up your inner thigh, barely brushing over your heat. 

His voice was rough and wicked near your ear. “It’s not sex,” he murmured, “until I’ve got my fingers in this pretty pussy, and you're whining my name like you forgot how to breathe.”

Your breath hitched.

“Got that?” he whispered.

You nodded… because all your words were gone.

“So wet already,” he murmured, voice thick with dark satisfaction. “You need me that bad, huh, Princess?”

You could barely answer him. Your breath came out in a needy whine as his fingers ghosted over your folds. His touch was featherlight, just enough to tease you, to make you buck up against his hand for more touch. Your legs gave way to his fingers easily.

“Look at you,” he whispered, eyes fixed on your face. “All soft and open for me.”

He teased the pads of two fingers against your cunt, resting against your clit as he rubbed slow circles over it and made your thighs twitch. You whimpered, back arching up toward him.

“Please…”

“Please what, my princess?” he asked, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Gotta use your words, sweetheart. Tell me what you want.”

You swallowed a moan, speaking carefully. “Touch me. Properly.”

A low growl rumbled out of his throat as he brushed past your clit dipping inside you in one smooth stroke. You gasped. Your walls clenched around the sudden intruders, desperate and needy, coating them in your arousal.

“God, sugar, you feel good,” he groaned, lips dragging down your neck. “Could keep my fingers buried in you all day. Bet they taste as sweet as your skin.”

His thumb pressed back to your clit, circling harder now, more deliberate. Your hips rocked into his hand, chasing every pulse of pleasure he offered you.

“That’s it,” he murmured, curling his fingers just right. “Let me take care of you. You’re mine to ruin, yeah?”

You barely managed a nod, whimpering as your pleasure coiled tighter, pressure building faster and faster. The brush of his rough fingers over your satin walls was intoxicating.

“Say it,” he whispered against your neck. “Say who makes you feel like this. Tell me who this gorgeous pussy belongs to.”

“You,” you gasped. “Bucky, it’s yours— fuck— don’t stop.”

Your hips moved instinctively, thrusting up to meet his movements. Heat surged through your veins and lungs burning as they fought for oxygen. Every motion clouded your consciousness.

He kissed your chest, your jaw, anywhere he could reach. “Not stoppin’, darlin’. Not till you fall apart for me.”

You had no idea how he did it. How he read your body better than any man ever had. It had only taken him a matter of minutes to drive you to the edge. You were already close to unraveling. Hips stuttered. Breath caught in your throat. And he knew it. He felt it.

He muttered a string of filthy words in your ear, smirking against your shoulder as you squeezed his fingers desperately. You fell hard, groaning his name like a prayer. It felt like you were drowning, pulled under by wave after wave of ecstasy.

Your climax didn't stop him right away, he just slowed his movements to a gently coaxing motion until you finally fell limp against the sheets, your body boneless and trembling. Your mind blissed out in a sex-induced daze.

Bucky leaned over you, his normally blue eyes dark and devoted. He kissed you again. Slow. Sensual. His warm hand still snug between your legs.

“You’re perfect like this,” he murmured. “Completely wrecked for me.”

You were still trying to catch your breath when he pulled back slightly to look at you. Lamenting the loss of warmth between your legs, you pouted up at him.

His pupils were completely blown and his expression reflected how wrecked you felt. But he was holding back, you could feel it. And the barely concealed restraint wasn't going to last much longer.

“You’re fuckin’ perfect when you come,” he muttered, his hips rutting against you unconsciously. “Could watch you unravel for me like that all day and all night.”

You reached up, hands sliding to his waistband, fingers slipping beneath the hem of his sweats and boxers. “I'd prefer if you stopped watching and make it happen again,” you said breathlessly. “I want you inside me.”

Bucky groaned, the sound raw and deep in his chest. “You sure, sweet cheeks?”

“Oh my God, what's with the random pet names?” you asked as you pushed his sweats down.

His cock sprang free, flushed with need. He felt thick and heavy in your palm, already throbbing as your fingers tightened around his girth.

“Just tryna figure out which one makes you moan the loudest,” he grinned cheekily.

You wrapped your hand around him, stroking him just once.

He hissed through his teeth, his hips jerking forward. “Jesus, baby doll— don’t play unless you’re ready to pay for it.”

You groaned at his answer but stroked him again anyway. “You're spending too much time with Joaquin. That's a sentence I never want to hear you say again.”

“Duly noted.”

“But since you wanna play, come get it, stud.”

He growled. One hand hooked under your knee and he pulled your legs open, making you shiver with anticipation. The other grabbed his cock, guiding it to your entrance, dragging the head through your slick folds. You closed your eyes for a second, relishing the softness.

He didn’t ease it in. With one long, deep thrust he was seated fully inside you, in a single motion, stretching you wide and full, making you gasp. 

Your head fell back against the pillows with a whimper, and Bucky cursed under his breath. Thank God you had already come once because there was no way you could have taken him. But he already knew that about you. But man did he feel good, the way he stretched out your walls, filling every corner of you and more was addicting.

“Fuck,” he rasped, his voice cracking. “You feel too good. Gonna make me lose my goddamn mind.”

He took a few steadying breaths before he moved. His strokes were deep, almost punishing. Every thrust laced with desire and filthy devotion.

“Fuck,” Bucky groaned, forehead dropping to yours. “You feel like heaven, angel. Like fuckin’ silk wrapped around me.”

“You have a dirty mouth on you today. If I'd known about this, I'd have asked you to move in sooner,” you panted, your hands clawing at his back, pulling him closer.

But he was already all over you— his chest pressed to yours, his arms caging you in, his cock stretching you open like there was no place else he belonged.

Because he did. Belong. To you.

He pulled back only to slam into you again, harder this time. Hips rolling up to drive his cock deeper inside you. Dragging the tip across your g-spot. Your back bowed up to meet him and you saw stars.

“Mmrugh!”

You cried out with each wave, the sound breaking against his mouth.

“That’s it,” he rasped, swallowing your moans. “Louder, tiger. Let me hear you. Gotta let everyone know who’s makin’ you feel this good.”

Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, heels digging in. He took the hint, started driving into you with a rough, relentless rhythm.

“You’re mine,” he whispered harshly against your throat. “This cunt’s mine. No one else gets to see you like this— fuck, no one else ever will.”

You whimpered, hips meeting his thrust for thrust. The pace. The pressure. The pressure. Every part of him filled you so perfectly. You felt delirious. Almost dizzy. Drunk on the feeling of his cock buried inside you.

He grinned into your skin, dark and filthy and proud. “You take me so good, sugar. Like your pussy was made for me. Always so greedy for it, aren't you?”

“Bucky—”

“That’s right, scream it for me,” he growled, fucking you harder. “Wanna hear you call for me.”

“You already used sugar.”

Your fingers twisted in the sheets as he laughed. The change in movement made your pussy tingle with delight, pushing you right to the edge again.

“Come on, princess. Let go for me,” he gritted, breath ragged as you pulled him in. “Wanna feel you come on my cock. Wanna feel you lose it. Right now.”

So you did. He was so deep inside you when your orgasm hit you. With a strangled cry, your body clenched tight around him, tight and overwhelming. Your release tore through you in waves, burning brightly as your muscles seized him, your thighs trembling as you buried your face in the crook of his neck. You pulsed around him, milking him like it was all your body knew how to do. 

Bucky groaned into your mouth as your walls pulsed around him, his hips stuttering, totally thrown off rhythm as your climax dragged him into his. He came with a low, desperate moan, hips jerking as he spilled inside you. For a moment, he tried to hold back, but the way you clenched and gasped beneath him ripped it out of him. 

“Jesus—  fuck— baby,” he hissed between clenched teeth, voice unraveling as his orgasm surged through him in thick, relentless waves.

He stayed, buried deep inside you, locked together until every last tremor left your bodies.

And when you finally caught your breath, pressed into the mattress under his weight, you whispered, “Princess is still my favorite.”

It started the next evening. And then the evening after that. Scratching at the front door. Then it got more frequent. It would happen before breakfast, in the middle of the night. Always insistent. 

Alpine clearly wanted out.

She spent all her time staring out of the window, pawing at the latch on your window or scratching your front door. Bucky apologized profusely for all the damage she was doing to the furniture but you waved him away. You tried to distract Alpine with a host of new toys, a new and ridiculously expensive cat tree that you ordered and assembled for her benefit. But she didn’t seem to care or notice. She paced in front of the door, waiting for Bucky to come home, making a bid for freedom every time someone opened the door.

“We gotta let her out eventually, Bucky. She doesn’t like being cooped up.”

“I don’t want her to get lost again.”

“She knows where we are. Plus we’re got the tracker in her collar now. If she doesn’t come home, we’ll be able to find her. It won’t be like last time.”

Both of you thought back to last year and the agonizing days for Bucky where Alpine had gone missing.

“She’ll come back, Buck.” Your voice was confident, but as you opened the door to let her out, your heart wasn’t quite as sure.

That night, Alpine didn’t come home. You called her name desperately outside the apartment building, until Bucky came home. But she didn’t respond to Bucky’s voice either. And that scared you more than you wanted to admit.

Finally Bucky pulled out his phone. Opened the tracker app. His body went still and your blood froze in fear.

“What is it? Where is she?” you asked, peering over his shoulder.

“She’s back at my place,” he said, before noticing the small frown on your face. “You know, my old place.”

Both of you made your way back upstairs and Bucky told you to go ahead and get ready for bed, he would bring Alpine home.

He didn’t return until just past midnight. Almost forty-five minutes after he told you to go inside. You were dozing on the couch when the door opened and Alpine trotted in ahead of Bucky. You looked up at him, relieved to see him home.

“She was asleep,” Bucky said softly. “Under the windowsill. Same spot she always used.”

You watched Alpine scan the apartment, turning her nose up at everything. When Bucky sat down beside you, she pranced up into his lap and curled up on his chest, purring faintly.

“Hey, baby,” you whispered, reaching out to scratch her little head. “Glad you’re home.”

She opened her eyes and let out a little hiss, before burying her face in Bucky’s neck.

Bucky’s eyes widened and he sighed. “Sorry, she’s… adjusting.”

You nodded. But it still stung.

The following morning was much the same. Alpine was scratching at the front door. But the second you came anywhere close to Bucky, she would slip between you, pawing at his jeans, clawing her way up his thick frame. Just as you were about to leave for work, you leaned in to kiss Bucky goodbye at the door. Just as his lips were about to touch yours, Alpine jumped up to the small table by the door, then launched herself up onto his shoulder like a furry sentry claiming her territory, waving her tail in your face.

You sighed. “I guess she’s made her point clear.”

You turned away to leave for work, but Bucky caught your arm.

“She’s just upset about the change,” Bucky offered gently. “You know it’s not personal.”

“She thinks I stole you,” you said, quieter.

Bucky’s hand curled around your wrist as you tried to turn away.

“She didn’t lose me,” he said gently.

You didn’t answer right away. Just stared at the front door Alpine had started scratching again, fresh marks carved into the wood like little tally lines of rejection.

“She’s your cat, Buck.”

“She’s our cat now,” he corrected, without hesitation.

You gave a hollow smile in return, not quite ready to believe him. “She doesn’t seem to agree.”

Bucky stepped closer to you, gently tilting your chin up with the tip of his finger until you met his eyes.

“She’s just scared,” he said. “She doesn’t understand what we’ve built here. She doesn’t understand that this is home yet. Give her time, yeah?”

You blinked, your voice barely a whisper. “You think it’ll get better?”

“I know it will.”

The sincerity in his voice made your throat tighten. You swallowed hard, pressing a hand to your temple.

“Sorry,” you muttered, looking down at your feet. “I just… I feel like I’m barely keeping it together at work. Every time I see… Leonard, I feel I’m the same person I was when I was dating him. That girl didn’t believe she deserved to have this. And now I come home, and she—” You glanced toward the bedroom, where Alpine had disappeared. “She won’t even look at me. It just… sucks.”

Bucky’s expression softened into something quiet but surprisingly fierce. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you into his chest.

“You don’t have to earn your place,” he murmured. “Not with me. Not with her. Not ever.”

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his hoodie. “Sometimes it still feels like I do.”

He pressed a kiss to the top of your head and leaned down to look into your face. “Then I’ll remind you. As many times as it takes.”

You stood there for a long moment, wrapped in his arms, not wanting to leave. You were risking being late, but you just couldn’t find it in yourself to extract yourself from his arms. The two of you stood there until Alpine padded back into the room, butting her head against Bucky’s legs, tail flicking between the two of you. You could tell he was resisting the urge to look down, so you finally took a step back.

“I should go,” you said reluctantly.

“Go kick ass today,” he whispered, his hands cupping your face. “I’ll make sure our girl doesn’t redecorate the place in protest.”

You huffed a laugh, kissed him softly, and left for work with your heart just a little calmer than it had been before.

As the apartment door clicked shut behind you, Bucky stood in the hallway for a moment, hands on his hips, lips pursed like he was preparing for a mission he hadn’t signed up for. He turned around to find Alpine sitting on the couch like a little white queen, her tail flicking judgmentally. She glanced at the door, then at Bucky, then gave the couch cushion under her a long strategic scratch.

He raised an eyebrow. “Oh, real mature.”

There was no answer. He wasn’t sure if he had expected one. Only the haughty flick of a long white tail.

Bucky walked into the kitchen, grabbing a sharpie and a small yellow pad of post-it notes. He smiled softly, remembering the first time he had left you a message on one of these— how disgruntled you had looked in the cafe where you’d planned your performance. Now here you were, no longer pretending. He brought the two things into the living room and sat down on the coffee table opposite his furry feline, who watched him, looking smug and completely unbothered.

He tapped the pen on the little pad and sighed softly. “Okay, fluff monster. Time for a chat.” He scooped her up gently— she didn’t fight him, just made a little huffing noise— and held her up so they were face to face. “I know things are different here. I know you’re mad at me. But don’t take it out on her.”

Alpine blinked.

“She loves you. Just like I do. You’re not losing anything, in fact, you’re getting more.” His voice softened. “She’s willing to take care of both of us. Isn’t that what we wanted all along? You encouraged this!”

Alpine stared at him for a long moment, then stretched one paw to lightly press against his chest. Not a swat. Not a scratch. Just soft contact.

Bucky smiled faintly. “I’ll take that as a maybe.”

He kissed the top of her little head and placed her back on the couch. He picked up the sharpie and post-it notes and started writing.

Alpine Custody Agreement:

• Cuddles: whoever Al sits on first, or whoever’s sad
• Litter duty: last person Al cuddles
• Love: 50/50 split, even when she pretends she likes you more
• Laser pointer privilege: alternating turns
• Vet Visits: I’ll take her, you hate waiting rooms
• Treats: all yours, as long as I get treated too

Alpine rested her chin on the corner of the post-it. Her eyes drifted shut and she purred softly as if she accepted the terms and conditions. And for the first time that morning, Bucky allowed himself to hope.

Work had gone on longer than usual. You had strongly considered the urge to get up and walk out at your finishing time, but you didn’t quite have the balls to make your feet move. You sighed, leaning your face on your palm as you listened to Leonard drone on in a meeting. He had constantly been over your shoulder during the week, a constant supply of barbed observations, backhanded advice and questions disguised as judgments. The weight on your shoulders didn’t ease even as you got off the elevator on your floor.

You trudged into your apartment. It was so still in the dying sunlight.

“Bucky?” you called softly.

No answer.

You sighed, slipping off your heels and dropping your bag by the door. You looked around, but there was no sign of Alpine either. Her food bowl was untouched, and the cat tree looked pristine, ignored. As you wandered into the kitchen, your eyes were drawn to two yellow post-it notes held up precariously by the cheap adhesive and a novelty magnet.

One note explained his absence and the other was the scribbled custody agreement. You laughed once, then bit your lip as your eyes welled up. It wasn’t just about the words. It was his messy handwriting, the smudged lettering where he had pressed a little too hard. It was the fact that he understood. That he knew how hard this had been for you, and that chose to love you through it instead of making you feel guilty for struggling.

You wiped the stray tear from your cheek and grabbed a bag of cat treats from the cupboard. They were Alpine’s favorite. You changed into your pajamas and shuffled over to Bucky's old apartment across the hall.

It looked familiar, but different at the same time. His couch was still there, as was his TV and a few other items of furniture. It had always been sparse, but it felt like no one had ever really lived here. It didn't help that a layer of dust was already starting to settle on the flat surfaces. It was like time had somehow stopped in this space. 

Alpine was exactly where Bucky had described. She was under the windowsill, her slim body was stretched out in the shortening band of sunlight on the floor.

You sat down a short distance away, slowly opening the bag of treats and putting one on the floor in front of you.

“Hey, baby,” you said softly. “I thought you might be hungry. You haven't touched your food today.”

Alpine opened one eye. Almost suspicious. Then the other opened, slow, unblinking. She didn’t move immediately.

“I’m sorry,” you said gently. “For not thinking about how hard this might be for you. I was so wrapped up in trying to make space for Bucky, I didn’t realize I should’ve made space for you too. We should have done this differently, helped you get used to it.”

Her ears twitched.

“I know it might feel like I'm taking him from you, but I promise I'm not. I want you too.”

Your words were met with silence. Then there was a faint shuffle on the floor as she rose and approached the snack, sniffing suspiciously. You held your breath.

She took a few tentative bites. Then she walked over. Not into your lap. Not looking for affection. She looked straight into your eyes, sparkling blue, that were so similar to Bucky's.

“I love you too.”

Slowly, Alpine took a step forward and bumped her head lightly against your knee. Your lip trembled softly and hesitantly, you reached out. She let you scratch the top of her head.

And then, without any fuss, she got up and walked toward the door. You watched her movements carefully as she paused in the doorway and looked back at you. Waiting.

You smiled through your tears.

“Okay,” you whispered. “Let’s go home.”

Chapter Text

The bell above the store door chimed softly as Bucky stepped inside, his collar turned up against the autumn wind. The place looked exactly the same as when he had last been there to pick you up. He glanced around at the display cases filled with sparkling jewels of all colors. He had only been inside twice, once when he had brought you for your interview and then again when they had let you go.

He took a deep breath, glancing at the glass cases before his eyes settled on Anita, who had emerged from the back office. She blinked in surprise as she recognized him, her smile soft and hesitant. The tension was evident between them, but there was also a quiet understanding.

“Barnes, didn’t expect to see you back here, to be honest,” Anita said, her tone warm but cautious.

Bucky chuckled, a brief, wry sound. He scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, life’s full of surprises, right?”

She nodded, her smile faltering slightly. “How is she?”

Bucky’s face immediately fell, the weight of his worry for you hanging heavily on his shoulders. “As well as can be expected, given the situation she was forced into.” His voice softened, a hint of regret flickering in his eyes.

Anita’s expression softened in turn, and she took a careful step toward him. “I’ve been thinking about her. The way they handled everything… it wasn’t right.”

“Why didn’t you do anything?” Bucky asked reproachfully.

Anita’s face fell again. “You think I didn’t fight for her?”

Bucky didn’t answer at first. His jaw was tight, like he was holding back too many things at once. “I don’t know what I think,” he admitted. “She’s been struggling. Leaving here, going back to that place. They treated her really badly, I didn’t think you would give up on her so easily.”

Anita’s eyes welled slightly, but she blinked quickly, pushing past it. “You think I wasn’t angry? That I didn’t try? I went to the board. I went to the department heads. I told them they were making a mistake.”

“And they didn’t listen,” Bucky said flatly.

“No,” she said. “They didn’t. I’m not one of them— I’m just someone who makes pretty things for them. I don’t get to call the shots. I don’t have shares or pull, I just… I thought I could reason with them. But they’d already made up their minds.”

Bucky’s silence felt heavy, but not angry.

“She never blamed you,” he said eventually, his voice low.

Anita gave a hollow laugh. “I blame me.”

The two of them stood in silence for a moment, taking a moment to register the loss in their lives. Then slowly, Bucky unfolded a piece of paper from his coat pocket and laid it out on the glass counter. 

“She has a folder of personal designs. It’s stuff she doesn’t really share with anyone. She pours her whole heart and soul into these things. I want her to have this.”

Anita unfolded the sketches with careful fingers. Her breath caught. Vintage style, round shaped stone set on a ring with a unique design with two channels of stones sweeping on each side. 

“Oh,” she whispered.

“She doesn’t know I took this,” Bucky added. “But if I… when I propose, I want her to be able to wear something that feels like her. I want her to see it and know— really know— that I see her.”

“Got any friends, Barnes?” Anita narrowed her eyes at Bucky.

Bucky frowned. “Yeah, why?”

Anita smirked as she looked down at the sketch again, her fingers gently smoothing the creases like it was something sacred. “Because I think every woman I know would kill for someone who talks about them like that.”

Bucky’s ears flushed red, and he rubbed the back of his neck. “I just want her to be happy.”

She moved to the cash counter, motioning for him to follow. “You got a budget?”

Bucky bit his lip. “I don’t have much. How much is this going to take?”

Anita passed him a piece of paper and a pen. “Write down your figure. And I'll see what I can do.”

“I just want this to be as special as she is,” Bucky said, rolling the pen between his fingers. “I just hope she says yes.”

Anita’s smile softened. “She’s going to say yes.”

Bucky laughed softly. “I’m a hard man to love.”

She waved him off with a scoff. “You’ve been her person for a while now. Give me your budget, Barnes and let me sort this out. It’s the least I can do for you.”

Bucky wrote down a figure. It was far from extravagant, but he wanted to give you everything he could, especially for something like this. Anita took the page, making her own preliminary calculations of cost.

“Give me a few weeks, I’ll let you know what I can do.”

What Bucky didn’t realize was that Anita was already making plans that probably exceeded his budget. But Anita had a few connections, old colleagues who not only admired your work, but loved your kindness and generosity. She knew that they would be willing to contribute to the project in a small way. She didn’t want cost to get in the way of this project.

The ring would be exactly what he asked for. But all Bucky would ever know was that he paid what he could. 

Anita was just reaching for her notepad when the door crashed open. The bell barely had time to jingle before he was flying off its perch above the door.

She startled, a gasp escaping her lips, but Bucky was ready in an instant. His head snapped up, body tense and ready for action.

The man in the doorway wasn’t large, but he was emanating an aura of danger— vibes of adrenaline and anger radiated from him in waves. His clothes were hanging off him, wrinkled and stained and he had on an extra large army jacket that looked like it had belonged to someone else. There was a duffel bag on one shoulder and in the other hand there was something visible just under the baggy sleeve—

A crowbar.

“Everybody back up!” he barked, voice cracking. “Nobody fucking move!”

Bucky could see the sweat clinging to his temples just below his baseball cap. Anita stayed frozen behind the counter, Bucky caught her small whimper of fear. She was still clutching the pen and the ring design in her hands. He stepped in front of her, making the intruder focus on him rather than her. He raised his right hand in a non-threatening gesture, not wanting to reveal his identity too soon.

“Hey,” he said softly. “Let’s not do this.”

The man’s eyes focused on him— wild and dilated. “You deaf?”

“No,” Bucky said, staying calm and grounded. “Just asking you to take a breath.”

“Don’t tell me to fucking breathe, man!” His voice broke on the word. “I don’t want anything from you! I just— just give me the cash! I don’t care about the stones or the gold or whatever. Just the fucking cash.”

Anita’s fingers curled around the edge of the counter, her breath coming in uneven pulls, as the man took a step closer. He tried to side step Bucky in his attempt to address her. As he moved closer, his eyes narrowed, flitting over Bucky’s face and recognition dawned on him.

“Barnes?” His voice dropped.

Bucky blinked, catching a better glimpse of the man under the cap. “Jack?”

The man flinched like he’d been slapped. “You know me?”

“From the vet center,” Bucky said. “You used to come in on Tuesdays. You were coming to the employment support sessions.”

“I was,” Jack said, venom in his voice. “Back when I could get there. Had to quit few months back. Bus pass ran out. Couldn’t swing the fare. Not that anyone noticed.”

His words sounded too loud in the quiet shop. Bucky’s shoulders dropped slightly, not from fear, but from sorrow. From understanding.

“What happened?” Bucky asked gently.

Jack’s face twisted into one of scorn. “What hasn’t happened? My knee gave out again. VA said I wasn’t disabled enough for a new brace. Got painkillers once, then nothing. Rent went up, couldn't afford it and got thrown out on the street. Been living in my car for two weeks, man. I’ve been sleeping with a wrench under my pillow and counting crackers for meals.”

“I'm sorry,” Bucky empathized. “I know how it is.”

Jack scoffed, taking another small step forward, the crowbar trembling in his hand.

“You know how it is?” Jack snapped. “I've seen you. All over the papers. Fundraisers. Honoring ceremonies. Fancy clothes. Like you’re some fucking symbol of healing. Like we all get the same second chance.”

Bucky didn’t flinch. “I don’t have a second chance, Jack. I have one shot, and I fight for it every goddamn day.” Bucky’s voice rose a little at the end, showing Jack just how hard Bucky worked for a sense of redemption.

Jack’s mouth opened and then closed again promptly.

“You think I haven’t been where you are?” Bucky said, much quieter this time. “Sleeping in stairwells with nightmares for company. Eating meals at the center because I had nowhere else to go. Thinking maybe this world would be better off without me in it.”

Bucky's voice was low, but surprisingly steady. But Anita felt every ounce of despair. Jack stared at him, and the crowbar in his hand lowered an inch. Barely.

Bucky took a slow, careful step forward. “Don't let this be rockbottom, Jack. You don’t want to wake up tomorrow and all you can remember is the look of fear in someone’s eyes. That doesn’t go away.”

Jack’s jaw twitched and his grip on the crowbar faltered a little more.

“This won’t fix it,” Bucky continued, nodding toward the empty duffel bag. “It won’t pay rent. It won’t put food on the table. It won’t stop the pain.”

His words were met with silence again. The only thing that could be heard was the hum of the lighting.

“You need help,” Bucky said. “And not just a check. Not just pity. You need someone to give a damn.”

Another moment of silence before a loud clatter echoed around the room as the crowbar hit the vinyl floor. Jack staggered away, his legs giving up on him as he dropped into a crouched position, hands over his face.

“I’m so tired,” he choked. “I’m so fucking tired, man. I can’t do this anymore.”

Bucky knelt beside him, one steadying hand on Jack’s shoulder. “I know, Jack. I know.”

Anita released the breath she hadn’t even realized she was holding.

Bucky looked over his shoulder at her. “Are the cops coming?”

Jack’s eyes widened, trying to pull away from Bucky. But Bucky held him in place, muttering calming words at the wild-eyed man.

“Did you press the silent alarm?”

Anita shook her head.

Jack relaxed a little, not struggling so much in Bucky’s vice-like grip.

“Do you want to?” Bucky asked.

“Barnes!” Jack hissed.

Anita stared for a beat. Then slowly shook her head. “No. He didn’t hurt anyone.”

Jack crumbled again, this time with relief.

Bucky turned back to him. “Come on. Let’s get you some food.”

Jack looked up, red-eyed and shaking. “Why? Why would you help me?”

“Because I know what it feels like to think no one will,” Bucky said quietly. “And because I want better for you than this.”

He stood up, pulling Jack to his feet as though they were old buddies. 

Bucky turned to Anita. “Will you be alright? Do you want me to call someone for you?”

Anita shook her head. “I’m just going to close for today I think.”

Bucky looked at her intently for a moment, before nodding. “We’re still good for…” he nodded to the ring design that lay on the counter.

Anita nodded. “Leave it with me."

Bucky grabbed Jack lightly, pulling him away. “Come on, I’ll make some calls,” Bucky promised. “You won’t fall through the cracks again. Not on my watch.”

Every time you stopped at a red light, you glanced over at your phone. There were no notifications. No missed calls. No read receipts.

The screen mocked you with its stillness. The same message you'd sent an hour ago was the last thing on the thread, still unread.

3:48 PM - You: Hey, just checking in. Are you okay?

You sighed, tossing the phone into the passenger seat a little harder than you meant to, gripping the steering wheel like it had been the one to wrong you.

It wasn’t like Bucky to go radio silent. Not for this long. Not without saying something.

You tried to shake it off. Maybe he left his phone in his jacket. Maybe he was caught up at the vet center, or at the grocery store, or been called off by Sam for an emergency. Explanations revolved around your brain but Bucky's silence left too much room for Leonard’s voice to sneak back in. Over the last few weeks, he had provided you with ample material that would shake the strongest of relationships.

“Men like that can’t give you everything, babe.”

“You think you know him now, but wait until you hit a wall he doesn’t want you to see.”

“He’ll keep things from you. He won’t mean to. It will just happen, because that’s what broken men do. And when he finally shuts down, you'll be in too deep.”

You despised the fact that you could still hear him. You hated it even more that somewhere deep inside you, your own fears took the same shape. In fact, you were already familiar with Bucky’s secrets. He had kept something pretty big from you once already. You understood that it had been done under the guise of protection. He had hidden the HYDRA’s presence at Hanna and Aditi’s wedding and it had ended up ruining the entire celebration, putting Aditi’s father in a lot of danger.

The incident that cost you both so much, risking your entire relationship. He said he was trying to protect you. You’d believed him. Still did. Mostly. But sometimes you wondered if that would always be his reason. If protecting you would always come at the cost of letting you in.

And now, driving home in the early dark, phone still quiet, a sinking weight settled into your chest.

As you entered the apartment, you dropped your bag by the door and tossed your shoes in the corner. The lights were off and the light in the room was starting to fade with the setting sun. Alpine sauntered up to you with a meowed greeting.

“Hi, Al! You here all alone, girl?” You picked up the small white cat, cradling her to your chest and scratched her head. “Where’s Buck?”

Alpine trilled sorrowfully.

“Don’t know either, huh?” you asked, glancing at the last message on your little whiteboard on the back of the door. It was the same message as last week when he’d welcomed you home with a three course meal and the menu written on the board for your reference.

You wiped the writing off the board and went over to the couch to wait for your boyfriend to come home. Snuggling into the sofa with Alpine, you clicked on the television, losing yourself in a rerun of M*A*S*H. Before you knew it, you were fast asleep with Alpine curled up on your chest.

You didn’t stir until Alpine leapt off your chest, her little back paws pressing against your ribs as she used you to launch herself toward the door. Her landing was accompanied by a thump and a loud chirp as the front door creaked open.

“Bucky?” you croaked, sitting up from the position you’d slid into in your drowsy state.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Bucky’s voice was closer than you expected and you felt the couch shift as he sat down beside you, one hand on your leg.

You tried to rub the sleep out of your eyes, trying to focus on Bucky over the television still playing in the background. The sun had vanished completely and the room was bathed in darkness. Bucky’s face was only lit by the light from the television. The anxiety of his absence eased a little as he returned home, but as you took in his appearance, it was starting to build again.

He looked worn out, troubled.

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” he said softly.

You pushed yourself upright. “You didn’t. Alpine did.”

He smiled a little. “Traitor!” he called after the retreating feline.

You managed a quiet laugh but didn’t stand. “Where have you been? I was worried. You didn’t answer my texts.”

“Shit,” Bucky grimaced, rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn’t see them. My phone was in my coat, I didn’t feel it.”

“What’ve you been up to?” you asked, trying to ease your anxiety.

Bucky’s eyes flicked to a point behind you. “Just some errands. Picking up a few things.”

“Picking up what?” you asked, looking around to see what he had brought home.”

“For the vet center,” he mumbled, eyes darting around.

You raised an eyebrow. “That’s it?”

He nodded, biting his lip. “That’s it.”

Silence stretched out between you as you struggled to make sense of what he was saying. Superficially, his statements were acceptable. Nothing suspicious about them. But something about his demeanor suggested that there was more to it than he was letting on.

“Is there something else?”

“What do you mean?”

“Nevermind, it doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it matters, what else were you expecting?” he asked, almost defensively

You shrugged. “I don’t know Bucky. It kinda feels like you’re keeping something from me.”

Bucky didn’t look at you. Just rubbed his hands over his thighs. “I told you— I was out. Just needed to take care of something.”

“Yeah, but you’re still being deliberately vague about it.”

You hated being this person. The one who mistrusted their partner. But you just couldn’t shake the doubts. The malignant whispers that Leonard had used to poison your thoughts.

“I’m not trying to be,” he muttered. “I just… can’t tell you yet.”

You stared at him. “Can’t or won’t?”

He turned to you and your eyes met, and for a second, there was a flicker of darkness there. Bucky didn’t answer. And somehow that was worse than any excuse he could have conjured.

You didn’t want him to be hiding something, but his behavior said otherwise. You pushed down the knot in your throat. “Why’re you acting weird, Buck?”

“I’m not… ahh—” the sound in his throat turned into a sigh and he dragged his hand over his face. “God, how did this turn into a whole thing? I forgot to check my phone one time!”

His tone stung.

“A whole thing? Me being worried about you is a whole thing?”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said quickly, sitting forward with elbows on his knees and head in his hands. “It’s just— today’s been a long one. I didn’t see your messages. I should’ve checked in. I know that.”

You stared at him, your heart softening at the earnestness in his tone, but something still bothered you. “Okay… but… you’re still not telling me what you were doing today.”

He opened his mouth— then closed it again. He didn’t know what to say. “Princess…” he pleaded, almost begging you not to ask.

Disappointment pooled inside you and you leaned back on the couch away from him. A small, bitter laugh escaped in a huff. “Okay,” you said quietly in resignation.

Bucky flinched a little at your response. “Okay?”

You nodded, slowly, eyes staring at a random spot behind the television. “Yeah. You don’t want to talk about it. Got it.”

“I’m not hiding something bad,” he said quickly, like he could feel the chasm forming between you and he was doing everything he could to stop the gap getting larger. “I’m just… I saw someone I knew. From the vet center.”

You glanced back at him, quietly waiting for him to continue.

He rubbed a hand over his beard, still avoiding your gaze. “His name’s Jack. He was in a rough spot. I took him for food, checked in. Lost track of time, that’s all.”

You let the silence stretch for a few seconds before nodding. “Okay,” you whispered again, your tone a little softer.

You weren't trying to be unkind, but Bucky hated the sadness in your voice. The two of you sat by each other, close but not quite touching. The usual warmth between you was cooler than normal, maybe by a couple of degrees.

Eventually, he asked what you wanted for dinner.

You ordered Thai from the place down the street. Safe. Familiar. No need to overthink the order.

Once the food had arrived, you moved to the floor, sitting cross-legged with a container of noodles in your lap while Bucky leaned back against the couch behind you, poking at his panang curry. His knee brushed against your shoulder from time to time as the two of you tried to focus on the movie you'd put on.

Only you kept thinking about what he said. About Jack. It was such a simple explanation. Innocent. 

You wanted to believe that was all there was to it. But if that was all it was, why didn’t he just say so? Why had he let the silence fester? Why did he wait until you asked? Pressed? Prodded? Until he had finally crumbled.

You twirled a strand of noodles around your fork, chewing slowly, staring into the steam rising from the container. Leonard’s voice spoke again and his smug, insidious smirk appeared in your mind.

“He won’t mean to keep things from you. It will just happen. That’s what broken men do.”

You shut your eyes for a second, inhaled deeply, then pushed the thought away. But the knot in your chest lingered.

You leaned back against Bucky’s legs, tilting your head slightly toward him. He reached down and ran his fingers through your hair like nothing had happened. Like everything was okay.

You closed your eyes again, pushing away the doubt. Pushing away Leonard. Bucky loved you, he had shown you and it was enough. He’d shown you that, in his own way, in his time. That had to be enough.

You had to trust him. And not let Leonard win.

Chapter Text

Bucky stood in the doorway of Sam's apartment with a tray of coffee cups and a small velvet box burning a hole in the pocket of his pants. The door swung open excitedly moments after he knocked.

Joaquin stood at the threshold in his socks looking like he'd already had too much caffeine.

“Alright, Barnes?” he asked, practically vibrating.

“Is that Bucky?” Sam called from the kitchen.

“Yeah! He brought coffee!” Joaquin answered, grabbing a cup from the tray and heading back to his computer screen.

“More like bribery,” Bucky corrected, holding up the remaining coffee cup.

“Smart man,” Sam smirked, appearing from the kitchen and accepting the so-called bribe and taking a long sip. “So what brings you here, Buck? You need help picking a tie or hiding a body?”

“Something like that,” Bucky said, tossing the now empty cup holder. Then, quietly and carefully, he pulled the box out of his pocket.

Both men froze.

“Is that—?” Joaquin asked, eyes wide.

Bucky nodded.

“No way,” Sam breathed. “You serious, man?”

Bucky smiled.

“You’re proposing?” Joaquin grinned like a man who’d just been handed front-row Super Bowl tickets. “Holy shit!”

Bucky shifted. “Yeah. And I was hoping you wouldn't mind looking after it for me until I figure out when and how I'm going to do this. If I keep it at the apartment, she’ll find it in two seconds.”

Sam smirked. “She found your spare knife you hid behind the bookshelf, didn’t she?”

“She cleaned behind the bookshelf,” Bucky grumbled. “Who does that?”

“She’s thorough,” Joaquin said.

“So,” Bucky said, setting the box down on the table, “will you take care of it for me?”

“Hell yes,” Sam said, grabbing the box before Joaquin could. “I’ll guard it with my life.”

“Thanks,” Bucky said, some of the tension in his shoulders dissipated. 

Joaquin snatched the box from Sam’s palm and opened it up.

“Damn, Bucky. You went all out! This looks like it cost a fortune.”

Bucky scowled at him. 

“It's beautiful, Buck. I'm sure she'll love it,” Sam grinned. “Now— how you planning on doing it?”

Bucky rubbed a hand down his face. “I don’t know yet.”

Joaquin gasped. “You got a ring and no plan? What is this? Amateur hour?”

“I wanted the ring first,” Bucky muttered. “So it felt real.”

Sam sat back, suddenly serious. “Hey. That’s fair. You doing this your way.”

“But now you actually need to do it,” Joaquin added, practically bouncing off the walls with the amount of coffee he had consumed. “You gotta go big.”

“Big?” Bucky repeated, looking understandably alarmed.

“Flash mob!” Joaquin said.

“No!” Bucky cried immediately.

“Rooftop dinner with fairy lights?”

Bucky stopped to consider the option but Joaquin was on a roll.

“Hot air balloon?”

“Absolutely not.”

Joaquin held up his hands, still grinning. “Okay, okay. Just a suggestion.”

Sam chuckled, setting his coffee down, a little calmer in this enthusiasm. “You know she doesn’t need all that,” he said gently. “She’s not the grand gesture type.”

Bucky sighed and sank down onto the couch, hands clasped in front of him. “Yeah. I know. But I want it to feel… I don’t know. Like I really see her. Like I’ve thought it through.”

“You have thought it through,” Sam said. “You’ve got the ring, you’re pacing holes in your floor, and you’re letting us be part of it. Unexpected, but that’s already pretty huge.”

“She loves you, man,” Joaquin added. “I’m sure she’d say yes if you asked her on the back of a bus while eating a bag of chips.”

Bucky smiled faintly at that. “Yeah. But she deserves more than that. Something special.”

“Well then, give her you— but make it you, you know?” Sam said. “Something meaningful. Something private. Something both of you would enjoy.”

Bucky glanced over at them, visibly mulling it over. “I’m thinking about cooking for her. A romantic dinner at home, something quiet. No strangers watching. Just us.”

Joaquin gave a sage nod. “With actual edible food, though, right?”

“I cook well enough,” Bucky said defensively.

“Debatable,” Sam muttered into his coffee.

“I’ll practice!” Bucky shot back, annoyed.

“Well,” Joaquin said, flopping back a chair like he owned the place. “That’s it then? It’s decided? Candlelight, homemade dinner, maybe a jazz playlist in the background, you in your best shirt, bit of wine…”

“Yeah,” Bucky nodded slowly. “That could work.”

Sam smiled. “It’s simple. That’s all you need.”

“And if all else fails,” Joaquin added, “you can fall back on the bus and chips plan.”

Bucky groaned, but his smile was still real. “Thanks, guys.”

“Anytime,” Sam said, giving Bucky’s shoulder a firm clap. “I’ll hold onto the ring. You focus on making that night one she’ll never forget. Oh… and don’t screw it up, man.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Bucky deadpanned, getting up and heading for the door.

But before he left, he glanced back and added quietly, “Thanks for watching the ring. And… for being here.”

Joaquin gave him a two-finger salute. “Go knock her socks off, Sarge.”

You’d felt it creeping in since midmorning. There was a subtle irritation in your throat that water didn’t soothe. A fog that overpowered your brain and affected your ability to think. Then there was the bone-deep fatigue that made your limbs feel too heavy to carry around all day. But you decided to power through. Smiling vaguely through meetings, mindlessly answering emails and staring at your screen while simultaneously pushing away a mild sense of queasiness.

By the time 3pm rolled around, dark clouds had covered the skyline and you dragged yourself to your car, blinking away the headache that was slowly and steadily building behind your eyes. All you wanted was to get home, to take a shower and crash on the couch, with Bucky’s arm around you or a bowl of soup… ideally both.

Home. You just needed to get home.

And when you finally did… something felt different. You could sense it before you even opened the door. But as soon as you did, you were hit with a warmth that emanated from the apartment and you were covered in a wave of a wonderful aroma of butter, garlic and bread. It smelled amazing— so good that your stomach was growling, particularly since you’d eaten precious little during the day.

Alpine trotted over to greet you at the door, her small head butting your shins and tail flicking in greeting. She chirped and rubbed up against your ankle before darting off down the hallway, looking back at you as if she was waiting for you to follow. You tilted your head in curiosity.

“Buck?” you called out hoarsely.

“Bathroom!” came the reply, then a moment later he peeked out from the hallway.

You sauntered over and your jaw dropped. He looked… gorgeous. His hair was still damp from the shower he had taken, the bathroom was still steamy and damp. He was wearing one of his nicer shirts, which wasn’t fully buttoned up, his collar slightly askew and his sleeves rolled up exposing his forearms.

His cheeks were a little pink— maybe from the shower, or the heat over the stove, or maybe something else. There was something nervous about his demeanor.

“Hey, Princess,” he said, voice warm and a tad breathless.

“You okay?” you asked, setting down your bag just outside the bathroom door.

He stepped out of the hallway, closed the distance between you, and kissed your forehead. His hands lingered at your hips.

“Better now you're home,” he murmured. “Now go shower and put on something pretty.”

You blinked in surprise, Bucky didn't usually give you orders, no matter how well mannered they were.

“Something pretty?” you echoed, a little hoarse.

“Yeah,” he said, eyes pleading as they searched yours. “You deserve a real night. Just trust me, alright?”

You raised an eyebrow but couldn’t stop the small smile that tugged at your lips because of his eagerness. “Okay.”

Not that you were in a mood to argue. It felt easier to do as you were told. You closed the bathroom door, stripped off your clothes and stepped into the shower.

The hot water helped. It didn’t make your head stop aching or your throat feel any less raw, but it gave you a minute to breathe, to wash off the day and let the tension in your body fall away.

You felt revived as you turned off the tap, half dripping over the floor as you stumbled out. You tiptoed back to the bedroom wrapped in a towel to find something nice as he had requested. 

A particular dress screamed out to you immediately. It was a little much for a weeknight dinner at home, but since Bucky had asked, who were you to deny him?

When you stepped back into the kitchen, still barefoot, the space had transformed completely.

There were candles everywhere, flickering softly. They covered the counter, the windowsill and the dining table, which had been set for two. Napkins folded carefully and mismatched silverware you’d both insisted on keeping despite how worn out they were. Bucky was leaning over the stove, tending to something in a pot.

He turned when he saw you and froze. His jaw practically scraped the kitchen floor. 

“Jesus, sweetheart,” he said, eyes wide. “You’re trying to kill me.”

You laughed, taking a step toward him. “Well you started it.”

He met you halfway. His hands immediately cupped your waist as he pulled you in for a kiss. One of those slow, sweet sensual ones that left you longing. Your fingers fisted into the back of his shirt as he pulled your body against his. The safest place you could be. 

His mouth moved along your jaw, the short hairs on his chin brushed your cheek as he kissed down to your neck. You sighed, tilting your head to the side to let him in.

His hands slid down from your waist to your ass, his fingers stealthily pulling up your skirt until his fingertips flitted over your bare cheeks. 

“I missed you today,” you whispered.

“I missed you too,” he murmured, his teeth grazing your collarbone. “Miss you every time you walk out that door.”

You giggled when he started sucking over your shoulder. “You’re gonna make me forget about dinner.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” he answered, still greedily nibbling on you.

Both of you were lost in a haze of desire, not noticing the sizzling until the sound crescendoed into a sharp hiss followed by the scent of burning. 

“Oh, fuck—”

He bolted toward the stove, socks skidding on the floor as smoke began curling up from inside the pot.

You blinked, still breathless, and rushed after him. “Buck—”

“I’ve got it, I’ve got it— oh, shit— where’s the lid—!”

You rushed to the window and yanked it open while Bucky turned off the heat and attempted to smother the flames with the lid of the pot, only to drop it in his haste to save the situation. It landed on the floor with a loud clatter and the flames climbed higher, staining the backsplash with soot.

Bucky cursed again under his breath as he tried to fight the flames. You winced as your apartment fire alarm started shrieking overhead. You waved a towel at the smoke, trying to get it to dissipate before—

The building alarm joined in with its own high-pitched wail— because of course that's what everyone needed.

Alpine emerged from the bedroom, adding her own banshee-like screams to the noise.

Finally Bucky dropped the lid onto the pot, extinguishing the flames, before backing away like the stove had physically assaulted him. He turned away, breathing heavily, his hair curling at the ends from the heat and sweat from his temples.

“No— no, no, no. This wasn’t how tonight was supposed to go.”

“Baby, it’s okay—”

“No, it’s not okay,” he snapped, not at you directly. He huffed as he grabbed the fire extinguisher from beneath the sink. “It was supposed to be perfect.”

You reached out for him, but he’d already stepped forward, yanking the pin from the extinguisher and was blasting carbon dioxide gas into the heavily smoking pot. Maybe it went on a little longer than necessary.

For a moment, you couldn’t hear anything over the hiss of pressurized gas being expelled in your kitchen, but as the gas settled the fire alarm came back into focus.

“Bucky, baby,” you said softly, approaching him and putting your hands on his back. “We should go out.”

“Shit,” Bucky muttered, scooping Alpine into her carrier. “Come on, sweetheart— grab your shoes.”

The second you opened the door, you got a full blast of the building’s alarm power— insistent and high-pitched, with flashing emergency lights along the walls.

You didn’t stop to think, just to evacuate. You followed him, your hand slipped into his without thinking. No thought of anything but to escape the horrendous noise. By the time you found yourselves on the street, most of the building had already formed a crowd on the street and two fire trucks had pulled up. Unfortunately you had forgotten to grab your coats or even an umbrella and it was pouring. Not a gentle sprinkle, but sheets of cold autumn rain that soaked through your dress in seconds.

You turned back to the door in an attempt to seek shelter but you were turned away by a burly fire fighter with a stern look.

You stepped back, returning to Bucky’s side with your arms wrapped around yourself to try and stop shivering. Your hair was drenched and sticking to your face. Alpine was yowling miserably from inside her carrier and Bucky was doing his best to shield her from the downpour. His nice shirt was sodden and clung to him like a second skin.

“Shit,” he muttered again, attempting to wipe rain from his eyes. “Shit, shit, shit!”

You wanted to comfort him, it was obvious he had worked hard on trying to give you a lovely evening. But you couldn't bring yourself to say anything. Your earlier shower had worked wonders to improve your wellbeing, but this icy shower while being underdressed was sending a wave of chills through you. You couldn’t stop trembling, all your energy being sucked into trying to keep warm. Bucky looked over, eyes widening as he saw your lips tinged with blue.

“Come here,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around you, one hand still balancing Alpine’s carrier, the other pulling you into his chest. “Jesus, you’re freezing.”

You melted against him, feeling like all your energy had been sapped away. You rested your forehead against the soft part of his shoulder, just above his collarbone. “M’fine,” you mumbled.

“You’re not,” he whispered miserably. “God, I fucked this all up. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s just a fire alarm—”

“No, it’s not just the fire alarm,” he said harshly. “I wanted tonight to be good. I wanted it to be nice. For once. You’ve had a shitty week, work’s been awful, and I—” He cut himself off, chest heaving as he exhaled. “You deserve better than this.”

You blinked at him, a little stunned by the intensity in his voice.

“I just wanted to do something right,” he added, much quieter now. “Just once.”

“You are perfect,” you mumbled into his neck. “Although maybe next time we save the romantic rain stuff for warmer weather?”

That comment managed to pull a faint smile from him, but it didn’t reach his eyes. You didn’t press, you were too tired.

Eventually the building cleared for reentry. Avoiding the glares of your neighbors, you and Bucky climbed the stairs half-frozen back to your apartment. Your teeth chattered and Alpine complained with every step. Inside, the apartment was a mess— still smoky— but the fire was definitely out. They had left the place in a mess, kitchen utensils scattered over the floor, a tipped over chair. The smell of burnt garlic lingered, along with the remnants of shattered expectations.

Bucky was letting an apoplectic Alpine out of her cage when you sneezed. Then again. And a third time. Bucky cursed softly, dropping the carrier and going to the bathroom to grab a clean towel from the radiator in the bathroom. He wrapped it around you, rubbing your arms in an attempt to chase away the chill.

“Okay, that’s it. Warm clothes. Couch. Pizza. Now.”

He helped you out of your wet clothes and into one of his thickest sweatshirts and sweatpants, then he wrapped you in a blanket like a burrito and deposited you on the couch while he went to change and order a pizza. He pulled shut all the windows and wrapped you in his arms, but you were still shivering slightly.

After you’d filled your stomach with pizza, you found yourself curled up together in bed. Alpine was curled up at the foot of your bed, sulking and refusing to look at either of you. You snuggled into his side, trying to stay warm. Bucky stared up at the ceiling, his blue eyes still stormy with disappointment. 

You wanted to comfort him, but you couldn’t seem to keep your eyes open. Slowly you drifted off, telling yourself that you could trust him. You pushed the doubt out of your heart and Leonard out of your thoughts, falling into a much needed slumber. Your dreams filled with Bucky. Because even when things burned down around you… he still held you through the storm.

It was 2 am when you woke up shivering. Your skin was damp with sweat and the tickle in your throat had turned into a full blown burn. Your sinuses throbbed with the congestion that was moving in and your limbs felt like lead. You rolled to your side to make swallowing easier and found Bucky still awake.

He was sitting up against the headboard, legs stretched out beside you under the duvet. He was just staring into the darkness, his hand on your head, stroking your temple with his thumb. As you rolled toward him, he leaned down toward you.

“Hey,” he murmured. His voice was rough with emotion rather than sleep. “You okay?”

You winced at the rasp in your throat. “No. I feel like shit.”

His lips pressed to the top of your head, lingering there. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“What?” you frowned in the darkness.

“I shouldn’t have made you go out in that rain. Should’ve thought. Should’ve—” He let out a sharp exhale, frustrated. “Everything went to hell. The dinner. The fire alarm. You getting sick—”

“Bucky,” you croaked, voice barely audible. You reached up your hand, placing it on his chest. “S’not your fault.”

“I was trying to do something good for you,” he said, his voice tinged with a hint of tears, even though his eyes remained dry. “Something beautiful. I just wanted you to feel special.”

You moved closer to him, burying your face against his chest. You could feel the tightness in him, the tension and you wanted to relieve it for him. “You do make me feel special,” you whispered.

He looked down at you, and even though you could just about make out his features in the darkness, you could see the guilt etched into his features.

“You’re burning up, Princess,” he murmured, brushing your damp hair back from your forehead. “Let me get you something.”

He scurried out of bed, trying to avoid jostling you. He came back moments later with a glass of water and two Tylenols in his palm. You sat up slowly to take them, hating the way your throat burned as you swallowed. You whimpered softly and Bucky's arms were around you immediately. 

“Here,” he said gently, lying down beside you and pulling the duvet in a cocoon around you. “Let me warm you up.”

“I don't know what I'd do without you,” you mumbled, tucking yourself in his side. Even though your whole body ached, having Bucky next to you was a soothing balm.

For once, Alpine made her way over tentatively. She snuggled into the tiny gap between your bodies, unusually still, like she knew you didn't have it in you for anything more.

Bucky was quiet for a while, just stroking your arm with the tips of his fingers. The silence stretched out between you and despite the ache in your body, you were grateful to have him. The doubt you'd been feeling faded into the dullness of your mind. 

You had never been a fan of grand gestures. It was the closeness that you felt now that you had always craved. This is what you needed. The way he tucked the blanket under your chin. The way he checked the time so he wouldn't forget to give you your next Tylenol dose.

“You okay?” he asked again, so quiet that you almost missed it.

You nodded against his chest. “Getting there.”

He pulled you a little closer.

You closed your eyes again, breathing in his warmth, his smell. This is all you needed. Bucky loved you. He had shown you— in his own quiet way.

The painkillers had worn off when you woke up the following morning. It was almost 10am and you panicked. You had overslept and were late for work. Immediately you tried to scramble out of bed, but you were stuck in the tightly wrapped blanket.

It didn't take long for you to give up on all attempts to get up. You still felt terrible. Your nose was stuffy, your throat felt like sandpaper, and your body was doing that annoying shivery thing where you're both too hot and too cold at the same time.

You could hear Bucky rustling around in the kitchen. But the second you let out a groggy, congested groan, his footsteps sounded outside the bedroom.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice already softening at the sight of you buried in the blankets, hair a mess, nose red. “Not feeling any better?”

You tried to answer, but all that came out was a series of sneezes.

“Bless you,” he said, perching on the edge of the bed and brushing the back of his hand against your flushed cheek. “I turned off your alarm and called in sick at the office.”

You groaned into the pillow. “I’m dying.”

“You’re not dying,” he said with a grin, “but your immune system might be a little unhappy.”

In response to his comment, your nose hitched. You blindly reached out to grab a tissue but Bucky was already pressing one into your hands. You sneezed into the tissue, groaned as your throat protested and then blew your nose pitifully. He didn't flinch or tease you, just tucked the blanket around your shoulders and smoothed a hand over your hair.

“Stay there,” he murmured. “I’ve got tea on.”

“I want pancakes,” you pouted.

He grinned. “You always want pancakes.”

You gave a congested whimper. “Because pancakes don’t betray me like my white blood cells have.”

He laughed— and God it was beautiful— then he kissed your hair. “You are so dramatic when you’re sick.”

“Pur-lease. You like me like this,” you sniffled, hiding your mischievous grin behind a fresh tissue. “You like being Nurse Barnes.”

“I do like fussing over you,” he admitted, getting up and heading for the kitchen. He paused at the door, turning with a little smirk and a hint of a wink. “It gives me an excuse to stare at you ‘cause you’re too exhausted to stop me.”

As Bucky left, Alpine crept into your lap, bringing heat like a hot water bottle with white noise functions. She curled into your arms, purring sympathetically, as though she could sense your pain. You were almost ready to doze off again when Bucky returned twenty minutes later. He was carrying a tray with tea, toast with honey and a glass of orange juice.

“I'm definitely dying,” you groaned, collapsing sideways against the pillows, making Alpine leap out of your arms angrily.

“You’re not allowed to die,” he whispered as he helped you sit up again and positioned the tray in your lap.

You sniffed pitifully. “If I don’t make it, delete my browser history.”

He sat down, wrapped his arms around you tightly and kissed your forehead. “If you don’t make it, I’m jumping into your grave with you.”

You blinked up at him with a warm smile, your arms pinned to your sides by his. “That’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.”

He grinned, brushing the pad of his thumb gently over your temple. “Eat, sneezy. I’ve got soup on standby, just in case. No pancakes today. And you’re staying home today, so don’t even think about arguing.”

You didn’t. Not when he had called the office already and emphasized your absence. Not when the tea was warm, the toast was perfect, and Bucky was sitting on the end of the bed, rubbing your feet like it was his only job. You brushed the toast crumbs off your hand and reached for his. He immediately laced his fingers through yours.

“I love you,” you whispered, still hoarse.

“Love you too.”

“Even when I’m disgusting and snotty?”

“Especially then,” he said with a cheeky wink. 

Over the day, you drifted in and out of sleep, the ache in your body eased by the weight of your blanket, Bucky’s presence close by and the constant supply of painkillers. His comforting words occasionally filtered through to your consciousness. But the dreams you had were different. They were nothing like you’d ever experienced before.

You were warm. Too warm. And not from a fever. It was the weight on top of you. The feeling of hands— specifically Bucky’s hands— on you. Pushing up your shirt. Slow. Adoring. You moaned as his fingers trailed down your chest to the center of your belly. They stopped just short of the waistbands of your pajama bottoms.

“Look at you, my sweet princess,” he whispered. His voice was lower, darker than you'd ever heard it. “Even when you’re sick, you still want me. Still mine.”

Your eyes were closed but you could feel his lips press against you. Lazy, hot, worshiping kisses which started at your throat and trailed down your fever-tinged skin. Your body arched up towards him. Breath catching in your throat as his lips moved down to your chest. His mouth softly caressed the curve of your breast.

“Gonna take such good care of you,” Bucky murmured against your flushed skin. “Make you feel good even if you can barely breathe, sweet girl.”

You whimpered. Under his touch. At his words. Heat was already curling deep in your belly.

Devilishly slowly, his fingers slid beneath the waistband of your underwear. The rough skin of his fingertips teased you, stroking over your folds.

“Burning up, baby,” he rasped breathlessly. “But still so wet for me. Don’t think I can wait.”

Your hips jerked involuntarily against his hand as you moaned loudly.

You heard him chuckle darkly. And then your thighs were spread wide. Your breath ragged. And then—

A hand squeezed your shoulder.

“Princess?” The voice was real this time. Softer. Concerned even. “You okay?”

Your eyes flew open, heat rushing to your face. You were still tangled in the blankets, drenched in sweat, and Bucky was kneeling next to the bed with a glass of water in his hand and a look of concern on his face.

“I… I was dreaming,” you managed, your voice still rough and croaky.

“Baby,” Bucky’s voice was soft and low, “you were moaning.”

You could hear the concern woven into the edges of it— that protective instinct he couldn’t shake, not when it came to you.

“Was it a nightmare?”

Of course he’d ask that. Of course that’s the first place his mind would go. Bucky knew nightmares too well— lived with them, some nights he drowned in them. To him the idea of you suffering through even one would hurt him. He’d never want that for you. Never want you to wake up scared and alone.

You shook your head quickly, the flush on your cheeks deepening. Your lips parted, but no explanation came out— just a sheepish little noise as you avoided his eyes.

Bucky tilted his head, frowning a little, before, slowly, understanding started to dawn. His brow smoothed, lips twitching.

 “Sounded like a hell of a dream,” he murmured, voice dipping lower.

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Not when your face was flaming and your thighs were still clenched, the ghost of the dream lingering hot and vivid between your legs. His eyes wandered to where your thighs shifted uncomfortably. And a slow grin crept across his lips.

“You were whining in your sleep, sweetheart,” he said, his voice like melted honey. “Want to tell me what I was doing to you in there?”

You covered your face with both hands, heat rising to your ears. “Oh my God,” you groaned, voice muffled.

“Oh, honey,” he said, brushing your sweat-damp hair off your forehead. “You want me even when you’ve got a 101° fever?”

You whimpered. Actually whimpered.

Bucky’s grin widened. “That bad, huh?” His voice dripping with lust now. “What was I doing in this dream? Was I being good to you?

“Bucky,” you said warningly, voice weak, still hiding your face.

He pushed his nose gently against your temple, lips brushing just under your ear. “Or was I being mean?” he whispered, soft pout in his voice. “Teasing you? Making you beg?”

You made a high, helpless noise, thighs squeezing tighter. He felt it, the shift in energy, the warmth that flushed across your body. Fever or not, your body was reacting to him all over again. Aching for him.

His palm slipped under the blankets, resting low on your belly. Just enough weight to make you feel anchored. Cared for. Loved.

“You don’t have to tell me,” he whispered, more softly now. “But if you want me to make it real, sweetheart… all you have to do is ask.”

Chapter Text

After a couple of months, you had settled into a new rhythm at Vera & Cross. The dread you had felt on approaching the building every morning hadn’t disappeared, but it had lessened to a manageable level of anxiety. Even Leonard had toned down his obnoxious behavior in the last week and was almost being civil. He was in the room with you now, in fact.

You were pouring over a tray of newly delivered gem stones which sparkled under the overhead lights. On the background of black velvet, you imagined them as a constellation in the sky. It reminded you of your first official date with Bucky and you smiled to yourself. For a moment anyway, until you picked up the parcel inventory. You flicked through the folder again, just in case you’d missed it the first time. 

You scoured the words on every page, just in case you’d misread or misunderstood. But there was nothing. No Kimberley certificate for the stones in front of you. Frowning, you pushed the tray aside and picked up another pouch. This one contained sapphires. They had rapidly become your favorite gemstone as they reminded you of the color of Bucky’s eyes. But as the stones spilled out on the tray in front of you, you frowned. They were a deeper blue than you expected. Vivid over the cornflower that the documents stated, more round than the stated cushion square that you’d anticipated. Something just didn’t sit quite right and you glanced over your shoulder.

Leonard stood near the mounted design boards, jacket off, his vest unbuttoned, and tie slung over the back of a chair. He had been like this when the two of you had been together, he had a way of making himself at home wherever he was. You had found it attractive, especially when he was lost in thought and ran his hand through his hair giving it a tousled look. It made him seem softer than he truly was.

You hadn’t noticed him turning to face you, catching you watching him. 

“Everything alright?” he smirked, setting his phone down and walking over.

You flushed, not liking his insinuation. Immediately you held up the tray of diamonds. “These came in this morning. No Kimberley cert. And the sapphires are wrong. Poorer quality, different cut. Not what we ordered.”

Leonard blinked away the look of confusion on his face, then he gave a small chuckle. Almost as if he was actually impressed. “How the hell do you spot that kind of thing at a glance?”

“‘Cause it’s my job,” you offered him a tight smile, as though waiting for the sarcastic comment to come. It didn’t.

“Yeah, but not everyone’s good at it,” he said, picking up one of the diamonds from the tray and holding it toward the light. “You’ve always had that hyper-focused brain. The kind that zeroes in on the stuff the rest of us miss.”

You arched a brow skeptically. “You’ve never really seen me work before.”

“I didn’t have to,” he said easily. “I remember how you used to look at jewelry in shop windows. Like you were solving a puzzle. Even when we were just out getting coffee, you’d pause to examine the filigree in a stranger’s necklace like it was whispering secrets to you.”

That caught you off guard. He didn’t say it like he was trying to flatter you. Just like he remembered. You never expected him to have kept these sorts of memories.

You looked back down at the stones. “There’s no Kimberley cert. That’s not a small thing, is it?”

“Yeah… uhh.” Leonard’s brows furrowed, making you wonder if he knew what you were talking about.

“You know the documents which say the diamonds are conflict-free.”

Leonard shot you a dirty look. “I know what a Kimberley certificate is, thank you very much.” He sighed and leaned over your shoulder to scan the log. “But you’re right… it is weird that it’s missing.”

You turned your head away as his overpowering cologne wafted into your nostrils, his face uncomfortably close. He definitely noticed. “What’s wrong, babe? You used to like this.”

“I was young and stupid. We all make mistakes.”

He chuckled, not taking your insults personally. Instead he picked up your pen and scribbled a short note in the margin of the inventory list. “I’ll follow up with procurement. Could just be a slip-up in documentation. These shipments get passed through too many hands.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, almost unconsciously. “Isn’t a missing Kimberley cert a bit of a red flag?”

Leonard looked down at the jewels and the documents on the table again. “You’ve been listening to too many stories from your boyfriend. Not everything is a conspiracy. Let’s not make any assumptions. It’s probably nothing sinister. Just a clerical error. But the confidence looks good on you, babe.”

You looked up at the man you used to date. It was hard to imagine that it had only been two years since you were together. It seemed like a completely different lifetime. You had been so unhappy with yourself. So it felt wildly unfamiliar that you were here with him now, having an almost comfortable conversation. He offered you a reassuring smile, and for some reason, you let it slide. 

“You know, you look kinda tired,” he said after a beat. It wasn’t a jab. There was a genuine look of concern on his face.

“I am tired,” you shrugged. “Long week.”

He nodded toward the door. “Then take the afternoon. You’ve earned it.”

Your eyes narrowed with suspicion. “You’re letting me leave early?”

“I’m not letting you,” he corrected. “I’m merely suggesting it. You’ve been busting your ass since day one. Go home. Get some rest. Go do something that isn’t glaring at those sapphires like they personally insulted you.”

You snorted, despite yourself.

Leonard smiled again. “There she is.”

You closed the inventory folder and tucked it under your arm. “You’re still an asshole Leonard.”

“I know,” he said, lingering at your side, then said more softly, “I’m glad you’re here, you know.”

You blinked. “Sorry, what?”

“This,” he gestured vaguely to the space between you. “Us. Working together.”

“Yeah, sure,” you said sarcastically. “You relish the opportunity to belittle and berate me. That’s great, Leonard.”

He huffed with disbelief. “Contrary to your opinion, I never wanted to break up with you.”

You blinked at him again, unsure you’d heard right.

Leonard gave a dry little laugh, like he already regretted saying something. “Not like that. Not dredging up the past. Not that I’d be opposed to it, I just mean… I didn’t think we’d end up working together. And now that we are— I dunno—” he shrugged, “It’s not the worst thing.”

You tilted your head slightly, wary. “There was a reason I ended things, Leonard.”

“I remember,” he said simply. “You were probably right to.”

That made you pause, your eyebrows flying up into your hairline. “Didn’t expect you to say that.”

He gave a half-shrug. “Well. Time and hindsight, I guess. Getting punched in the face might have helped.”

“Bucky didn’t punch you,” you muttered in disagreement.

You looked at him carefully. He didn’t seem like he was leading into a joke. And for once, there was no smirk. A hint of a crease in his brow as he studied the sapphire tray between you.

“You’ve changed,” you said softly, before you could stop yourself.

Leonard looked up from the jewels. “So have you. You’ve always had that hyper-focused brain— catching every inconsistency like it personally offended you. It used to drive me insane.”

“Still does,” you murmured.

“But it’s also what makes you you,” he added. “And… for what it’s worth, I never stopped thinking that was kind of extraordinary.”

The compliment caught you off-guard. Not smarmy. Not manipulative. An unusual moment of vulnerability from him.

You cleared your throat, deciding to change the subject. “Yeah, but the Kimberley cert? Not small?”

“No, it’s not,” Leonard said, glancing at the documents again. “But it’s probably just a filing issue. I’ll flag it with procurement— quietly, not looking for any drama.”

“That would be a first,” you sniggered but nodded appreciatively.

Leonard chuckled, humoring you. But then he leaned forward, dropping his voice a little and changing the subject. “He treating you right?”

You looked up, confused. “Who?”

“Barnes,” Leonard said, like he hadn’t just opened a trap door under the conversation. “You know, your boyfriend.”

You bristled defensively. “That’s not your business.”

“Babe, don’t be like that. I’m just asking after you. A guy like that— with all that damage— he wouldn’t be the first one to lose track of what he’s holding.”

You stared at him for a beat. This is the Leonard you remembered. Your earlier sense of ease was clearly a moment of madness on your part. This was the man who used to call you overly sensitive when you were hurting. Who’d shut you out for days and then accused you of being cold when you didn’t bounce back fast enough. Who loved to say you were fragile, and then left you alone in pieces when you broke.

You straightened, answering coldly. “Actually, he treats me better than anyone I’ve ever known.”

You weren’t sure if you were seeing things, but you could have sworn there was a fleeting look of sadness on Leonard’s chiseled features. But you didn’t want to wait around for him to turn on you.

You stepped back, already closing the inventory folder. “Thanks for letting me take the afternoon.”

He raised a hand in vague farewell. “Don’t mention it.”

You didn’t look back, reminding yourself exactly why you left Leonard behind in the first place.

As you rushed down the stairs to your car, you pulled out your phone, thumbing through your messages until you found the right one. 

2:32 PM – You: You around?

2:32 PM – You: I’ve got the rest of the afternoon. Want to do something?

The text sent. A second later, the typing bubble appeared.

2:33 PM – Bucky: You okay?

2:33 PM – You: Yeah. Just… wanted to see you.

You kept walking. You didn’t even know where he was yet— but it didn’t matter. If Bucky was free, you were going to find him. You needed the fresh air. To see his warm eyes. To feel one warm calloused hand, one cool smooth one and hear a voice that didn’t talk around things. Because no matter how polished Leonard’s smile was… it would never mean as much as the way Bucky looked at you when you didn’t have to say a word.

By the time you reached the parking lot, your phone was ringing and you had a plan before you’d closed the door of your car. You smiled, pulling out onto the road. The day was starting to look better and better.

It was surprisingly quiet for a Friday afternoon. The weather hadn’t been kind of late, fall had come earlier than anticipated and it was rare to catch a glimpse of the sun at all in the last week. Today was no different, the sky was overcast with the imminent threat of rain. You had rushed home to find Bucky waiting for you. Changing into warmer clothes, you decided to walk down to a well known patisserie for some baked goodness. Ever since Winnie had moved away to live with her niece, you’d been sorely lacking in the apple pie department. 

The two of you walked slowly, your fingers tangled with his as you made your way to the little store with the big name. His hand warmed yours against the cool breeze, his thumb tracing soft circles against your skin. With all the ups and downs in the last few months, this quiet walk felt like a moment of grace amidst the chaos. A small, hard-earned bit of peace.

“I swear,” you joked, trying to keep things light and jovial, “if they’re out of apple pie again—”

“I’ll break into the kitchen,” Bucky leaned down and whispered against the wind. “Stealth mission. No survivors.”

You laughed. But yours was the only sound you heard. Looking up at him, you noticed the smirk slowly fading from his face. He had stopped short in the middle of the street, staring at something ahead of him with a slightly haunted look.

You followed Bucky’s gaze to the sidewalk just outside the grocery store, where an elderly Japanese man stood alone at the corner. The wind tugged at the hem of his oversized jacket, its seams sagging like it had once fit him better. His collar was turned up against the chill, and his shoulders were rounded as though he was someone who had no reason to stand tall anymore. The bones in his face were sharp beneath sagging skin. Gaunt, not by design, but harrowed by grief. There was a different kind of emptiness. Something taken, not simply lost.

He held a grocery bag in one hand, fingers curled tight around the top, like it was the only thing he had left to hold. His other hand rested on the edge of a wooden bench, steadying himself with quiet effort. He wasn’t frail exactly, but he looked tired, as though the weight he carried was too much for his beaten bones.

His eyes… they were locked on Bucky. And in one fixed look, you saw a myriad of things flash across his face in real time— a recognition so fierce it hurt to witness, sorrow that curled at the corners of his mouth, and something deeper. Grief? Anger? Not the wild, furious kind. But the colder sort. The kind that permeates the depths of your soul.

Suddenly, his grip faltered.

The paper bag slipped from his hand and fell to the sidewalk with a thud. A couple of oranges tumbled out, bouncing across the curb and into the gutter. He didn’t move to pick them up. Didn’t even look away from Bucky. Even as the wind stirred again, and his coat blew open, the man remained still.

You rushed forward instinctively. “Oh! I’ve got it—” You crouched down, picking up the escaped fruit and gathering them back into the paper bag. As you straightened up, you held out the bag toward him, but his hands didn’t move.

He just stared at Bucky. Like he had seen a ghost.

“Sir?” you asked softly, your voice laced with concern. “Here— your groceries.”

The old man didn’t reach for them. In fact, he didn’t even glance in your direction. His eyes unblinking, firmly fixed on Bucky.

You turned slightly, glancing back toward your boyfriend. Bucky hadn’t moved. He looked like all the blood had drained away from his face, stricken, like the cold weather had finally seeped into his bones. His lips parted, as though to speak, but no words came. His hands were curled into fists at his sides, his posture rigid, unreadable— but his eyes… God, his eyes were full of something too deep and painful to name.

And that’s when you knew— Bucky Barnes had broken his heart.

You weren’t sure what to do next. That’s when he finally moved. The old man opened his mouth, but the sound was so quiet, it was carried away by the wind. He blinked away the wetness that had built in his eyes and with that he turned away, grabbing the bag of groceries from your hands wordlessly. He walked away, clutching it to his chest.

You stood frozen in the street, not knowing what to do. You could have sworn you heard him whisper the letters R and J as he hurried away. Slowly you moved back to Bucky’s side.

“Buck?” you questioned carefully.

“I need a minute,” he said softly, staring after the man who had vanished around the corner.

You didn’t let go of his hand. But you didn’t say anything else, either. You waited. Giving him space, but not distance.

Eventually you heard the sound of his vibranium hand, flexing and relaxing. Something he did when he was anxious and you wondered if it was the action or the whirring sound or the movements of the metal plates which helped soothe him. He left out a slow exhale and turned to you.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured after a long moment. “I didn’t expect… I didn’t know he would be in this part of town.”

You frowned gently. “Who was he?”

Bucky didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Like this mouth couldn’t make the right sounds. You watched him for a beat longer, watched the way his body was still drawn tight— like it was lost in a memory. You didn’t ask again. Not yet. You knew it wasn’t the right time.

Instead, you rubbed your thumb over the back of his hand and said, “We can go home if you want.”

Bucky finally looked at you. His eyes were glistening but seemed to re-focus on you, your touch and voice grounding him.

“No,” he said. “You wanted pie.”

“Bucky…”

“I need… something normal right now,” he said. “Even if it’s ten minutes.”

You nodded, swallowing your worry. “Then we’ll get pie.”

Bucky nodded slowly, as though he didn't know how to speak. But he leaned in and pressed his lips to your temple. Brief. Like a thank you he couldn’t say aloud.

You lead him toward the patisserie, hand in hand, just without the lightness from earlier. He clung to you like you were a lifeline, to stop himself being dragged back into his own past. Because it hadn't let him go just yet.

The patisserie was warm. The aroma of baked goods surrounded you the moment you stepped over the threshold. You were going to ask Bucky to grab a table but he stayed glued to your side. His hand hovered over the small of your back, betraying his vulnerability and need for comfort.

He hadn’t said another word since you left the sidewalk.

Luckily there was one large slice of apple pie left behind the counter. You pointed and smiled at the young woman behind the counter who dished it out on a plate with a bowl of vanilla ice cream. You paid. And for once Bucky didn't argue.

Very quickly, you were tucked away in a corner away from the other customers, but right next to the large store windows. Bucky picked up a fork, idly poking at the caramelized sugar oozing from between the apple slices. You cut off a piece and popped it into your mouth, letting the apple, cinnamon and vanilla flavors mingle on your tongue.

You could feel his eyes on you, but you knew he wouldn't want your scrutiny, so you kept your eyes on the plate, breaking off a fresh piece and pushing it in his direction. Wearily he pierced the offering and popped it into his mouth, chewing slowly and staring out of the window. 

You let your knee nudge his gently under the table. And after a moment, he nudged you back.

It wasn't a conversation. But it was a connection.

He slid the last piece of pie toward you without a word. You raised an eyebrow. “You sure?”

He nodded.

You took it, coating it in the remnants of ice cream. He watched you eat it, something warm in his expression, like he was relieved that you were still there with him 

“Thanks,” he said softly.

You didn’t ask what for.

You just reached across the table and rested your hand against his.

It was late. Later than usual for you to be lying awake. Normally you fell asleep long before Bucky did, but tonight you were up so long that the sound of traffic had thinned to near silence and Bucky’s deep breathing filled the room. You looked over to your right where he slept beside you, his left arm slung over the blankets, the other tucked under his pillow. On the surface, he painted a picture of peace.

But tonight you couldn’t sleep. You lay on your back, staring up at the shadow of your ornate lamp shade which swayed slightly from side to side. Thoughts swirled around in your mind, too loud in the quiet of your apartment and Bucky’s sullen silence. He’d barely said a word for the rest of the evening and had eaten precious little at dinner. Then there was everything else the day had given— the strange stones, the missing certificates and Leonard’s words, which echoed through the recesses of your mind. That was the worst part of it, his doubts had taken hold in your chest.

“He treating you right?”

At the time you’d been able to shrug it off easily, scoffing at the sentiment. But here in the darkness, in the silence, the question threatened to overwhelm you.

“A guy like that— with all that damage— he wouldn’t be the first one to lose track of what he’s holding.”

You turned your head just slightly. Bucky was still facing away from you, the moonlight cast a silver glow over his vibranium shoulder. He hadn’t told you about the man from earlier.

And you hadn’t pushed. You wanted to be the kind of person who gave space when it was needed. Who didn’t demand answers. Who understood that silence didn’t always mean a wall. But sometimes you wondered… if that’s what you’d always have to do with Bucky. Wonder.

Even when he held you close, there were parts of him that stayed just out of reach. Locked securely in rooms in his mind you didn’t have the key to. And maybe never would.

“Eventually, even broken things break you.”

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath and exhaling with a shuddering breath. It wasn’t that you believed Leonard. But the doubt he had sown had taken root and were now starting to sprout on their own. What if you weren’t enough? What if you were just a stepping stone to the next stage in his life? What if he was right to keep some things from you? What if you were asking too much?

NO! You shook the questions away. You knew better than that. You loved Bucky. Bucky loved you. You saw it in the way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t watching. You heard it in his voice when he whispered your name late at night or when he was deep inside you. You felt it in the reverence of his touch and the way he smelled like home.

But somehow, the silence… it made space for fear. And fear allowed room for doubt. You reached over, lightly brushing your fingers over the cool vibranium.

“I wish you’d let me in,” you whispered, so softly even you weren’t sure if you said it aloud.

You would wait. You wanted to wait. But you couldn’t help wondering when waiting felt more like losing.

Then something happened. It was small. A shudder under the sheets. You stilled, waiting, watching.

Just as you relaxed, a barely audible noise caught your attention. You waited. Trying to determine if it was a one-off thing. But then you heard it again— a soft, almost strangled gasp.

You turned to look at Bucky, even in the darkness you could see his face pinched in pain, his body stiff. Then a sharp hiss slipped from his lips, followed by a high pitched groan— something you’d only heard once before. Immediately, you sat up. It was happening again.

You reached out instinctively, your palm cupping his vibranium shoulder. Even through the metal, you could feel his entire body trembling, almost as if he was fighting something inside himself. His eyes stayed closed, but this brow was furrowed and harsh breaths flowed in and out of his parted lips.

“Bucky?” you whispered desperately. “Hey, Bucky, wake up.”

Only he didn’t wake up. Instead, his body jerked, his fist clenched around the blanket. If you hadn’t known any better, you would have thought he was having a panic attack. The way his chest moved. Maybe he was.

You’d seen him through nightmares before, heard him call out in his sleep, seen the cold sweat on his skin. But somehow this was different. He looked like he was suffocating, like some shadow entity was holding an invisible pillow over his face. His chest heaved. His breaths shallow.

He didn’t hear you. You didn’t exist in the mental torture chamber where he was currently trapped. Meaningless sounds fell from his mouth in a low murmur as you tried to wake him. Just as you thought he was calming down, the words came.

“I didn’t mean to,” he rasped, his voice shaking. “I didn’t mean to…”

You froze. Just as you were about to reach out again, Bucky’s body tensed and then… he screamed. The sound clawed its way out of him, like someone was trying to physically tear him apart. The sound felt amplified in the dead of the night. A gasp escaped your lips, but it was completely engulfed by his cries. You reached for him, heart hammering in your chest as you pressed down on his arm in a panicked gesture.

“Bucky! Hey!” you called, louder now. “Bucky, wake up. It’s just a dream. You’re okay. You’re safe.”

But your voice fell on deaf ears. He just shuddered under your touch, his mind trapped, far away from you, drowning in memories that his conscious mind couldn’t even recall. His fingers twitched around the blanket, tearing at the fabric as though he was trying to escape.

He continued to mumble, between short, sharp, almost hyperventilated gasps. “No, Yori… ‘m sorry. No… not RJ.”

Yori? RJ?

Your heart stopped. Then it hit you, the letters the old man had whispered, they weren’t just letters, they were a name.

You couldn’t take it any more, watching him like this. You shook him harder, your voice low and firm. “Buck, it’s me. Look at me. Come back to me, Bucky.”

His eyes snapped open, wide with fear. His pupils were so blown that their usual blue was lost in the darkness. His hand reached out instinctively, searching for you. His grip was strong, desperate and unintentionally painful. You flinched slightly, but he didn’t notice. But you knew enough was enough. You did something you wouldn’t normally have done. You threw yourself on top of your boyfriend, wrapping your arms around him, pulling him to you, pressing your body against his. Trying to ground him.

“Bucky,” you mumbled in his ear, “I’m here. I’m right here. You’re safe with me, baby. You’re not alone.”

You felt helpless. Clutching at ways to bring your boyfriend back to you. You held him close, stroking his hair, nuzzling your face into his ear, whispering words of reassurance.

The effect wasn’t immediate. The tension lingered. But slowly— oh so slowly— his breathing started evening out and he stopped shaking so hard. His arms wrapped around your waist, fingers digging into your sides. His heart was still racing, he was still trembling, but the panic was finally starting to recede.

But you didn’t stop. You ran your fingers through his hair, gently. Still whispering words of comfort in his ear. “You’re safe, Bucky. You’re here with me. We’re okay. Just you and me, love.”

“I—” He tried to speak, but his hoarse voice cracked on his first attempt. He sniffed, clearing his throat and leaning his face into yours. “I’m sorry… I—” he stopped, unable to continue, burying his face in the crook of your neck where you caught another muffled apology.

“No need to apologize, baby,” you murmured. You pressed a kiss to his forehead, fingers still in his hair. “I’m not going anywhere.”

His grip tightened, despite your words, like he needed to make sure you wouldn’t leave, that you were really still there. He was slowly returning to you, but the nightmare still had its grip on him.

“I didn’t forget, Yori,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “I didn’t forget RJ…”

There it was again, the names you didn’t recognize, the things you didn’t know.

“I know, Buck,” you whispered back. “I know you didn’t. But you don’t have to carry this alone.”

Neither of you spoke for a while, the silence not quite as tense as before. You kept brushing your fingers through his damp hair until his breathing returned to normal. Slowly you slid off him, running your fingers over his face lovingly. You waited until he looked into your eyes.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you asked gently.

Bucky shook his head without speaking. Not right now. Instead, he pushed himself down the bed a little, his face trailing across your ribs and belly until his face rested against the swell of your stomach. He wrapped one arm around your waist, curling into you like contact with your skin was the only thing that was keeping him from sinking back into that void.

His stubble scratched lightly against your abdomen and you felt the warmth of his breath. His nose pressed under the hem of your sleep shirt, face now hidden, as though it was safer there than facing the world. You bent forward and kissed the top of his head, folding your leg around his waist and arm around his shoulders. You held him until he fell back to sleep.

Chapter Text

Bucky’s space on the bed was cold when you woke up. Before opening your eyes, you reached out. It was instinctive. But your fingers only brushed against the wrinkled sheets, finding emptiness where Bucky’s body should have been resting. Things felt different in the silence of the bright morning, but the ghosts that haunted Bucky still lingered in the air, whispering secrets of everything left unsaid.

You sat up slowly, shivering slightly as the blanket fell away. It always felt colder in the room when you woke up alone. Slowly you climbed out of bed, treading lightly on the cold wooden floor, the early morning light slipping through the curtains and catching in your eyes. Coffee. A faint smell carried through the gap in the bedroom door.

You found him in the kitchen, sitting on one of the stools at the counter, his back curved forward, elbows resting on his knees. His hair was ruffled and he had a mug of coffee clutched between his hands. It was still full, steam curling from the top. He wasn’t drinking, just holding it, like it was his only lifeline to the present. Not that it was working, his face wore a far away expression, like he hadn’t quite returned from where his dreams had taken him.

He didn’t say anything at first, but you knew from the subtle shift in his posture that he had heard the soft pad of your bare feet against the wood. He didn’t look up when he spoke.

“Hey. Sorry if I woke you,” he murmured.

“You didn’t.”

As you reached the counter, you hesitated for a moment, before gently sliding your arms around his chest from behind. You rested your head against his back, your cheek settling between his shoulder blades. You felt him release a long slow breath, as though your touch offered him a bit of relief.

“You’re up early,” you whispered.

“Didn’t really sleep.”

You nodded against him, arms tightening around him a little. “Want some breakfast?”

Bucky shook his head. “Not hungry.”

You sighed, peering over his shoulder at the still full mug of coffee. For a few moments, you didn’t move, letting the rise and fall of his chest soothe your nerves.

“I’m here. You know that, right?”

Slowly he set the mug down, pulling your arm until you were standing in front of him. He tugged you into his lap gently, burying his face in your neck, arms curling around your waist. He looked like he was afraid that if he didn’t hold tight enough, he would disappear.

You ran your fingers through his hair, brushing the soft strands. Eventually you leaned down, your cheek pressed against his temple. You weren’t sure how long you’d been together like this, balanced sideways in his lap with his arms around you. You could feel it— the storm inside him and you wondered why he insisted on carrying it alone. It felt like he was trying to tell you without speaking.

“Do you want to talk about it now?”

He shook his head. “There’s nothing to say.”

You suppressed the sigh of frustration, knowing how easily Bucky would notice. Instead you bit your tongue. Hard. Because you knew for a fact that this wasn’t true. So you decided to try something different, a path where you hoped he might not feel so pushed.

“So I was thinking,” you started lightly, fingers tracing idle circles on Bucky’s skin. “Leonard said something the other day that—”

You didn’t even finish your sentence before you felt it— the way Bucky’s jaw clenched before you could finish. His shoulders tensed under your touch.

His voice was sharp when he cut in. “Are we seriously talking about him right now?”

Your breath caught in your throat as your brain tried to backpedal. “Bucky… it’s nothing bad,” you said, trying to keep your voice calm, soothing. “He just said I seemed more confident now. That’s all.”

But it didn’t help.

“Oh, well great,” Bucky snapped. His tone was drenched in sarcasm as he let his knees drop abruptly, so that you slid off his lap and onto the cushion beside him.

Your stomach flipped. His words stung. “Buck…” you said quietly, reaching for his hand. “I didn’t mean—”

You started an apology but he didn’t let you finish.

“No, of course not.”

“I just wanted you to know that you’re good for me,” you said quietly.

Bucky stood up, brushing past you and pacing along the tiny strip of floor between the counter and the dining table. He dragged his hand through his hair, fingers curling in the strands like he was going to pull it from the roots out of sheer frustration. 

“So what— he gets to decide that? He just gets to sit there in his little glass office and hand out evaluations of how I’ve improved you?”

“That’s not what I said,” you murmured, wrapping your arms around your middle. “I just thought it would mean something to you. To know that you make me better.”

His back was still to you, voice cold and angry. “It’s not about what he sees. It’s about you running to tell me like I need his fucking approval.” He spun around. “Why the hell is he in your head so much anyway?”

“Because I see him every day,” you snapped back, louder than you intended. “Because he’s always there. You think I like listening to all the stuff he says about you?”

Bucky stared at you like he didn’t recognize you. “So you do believe him.”

“I didn’t say that!” you were almost shouting out of frustration.

“You didn’t have to,” he lashed out. “You already let it get under your skin. You’re the one who keeps bringing him up.”

“Because you don’t say anything, Bucky!” The words spilled from your mouth. Uncensored. Bitter. Exhausted. “Look, I understand, you’ve been through a lot. I try to give you space when you don’t feel like talking. I try not to let it bother me when you just go deeper and deeper in your own head.”

“I’m not doing it on purpose—”

“I know!” you shouted. Flinching at the sound of your own voice, you softened before continuing. “I know you’re not. But that doesn’t make it easy to live with.”

“Jesus…” he muttered, pulling his hand over his tired face. “I’m trying, I’m trying not to fuck this up. You’re supposed to trust me.”

“I do,” you said, your voice trembling even more now.

Bucky looked at you, but when he spoke the hardness in his tone was still there, his voice laced with disappointment. “And you think I don’t know what that feels like? You think I’ve never had someone twist everything I am into a warning label?”

You wanted to stop talking. You really did. But every negative thought you’d been hiding, every insecurity you’d been pushing away, every emotion you’d been suppressing came pouring out from the nooks and crevices they’d been concealed.

“I wouldn’t even be working at that firm if they didn’t want you.”

Bucky froze. You could see it— the way your words had felt like a physical blow.

“Wow,” he said, barely audible in the wake of deafening silence following your outburst.

You could feel the waves of anger radiating off him, an icy fire in his eyes. You’d seen him like this before. Just once. The day of your job interview last year when you’d foolishly tried to take a shortcut through an alley and almost been mugged. He had looked the same way then too. There was a coldness in his eyes that you didn’t recognize. It wasn’t the Bucky you knew. Not your Bucky.

“No, that’s not what I—” You took a step toward him. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just… I’m tired, Bucky. You know I don’t want to be back there.”

His face didn’t change, but his eyes did. The fire was still there but it was different now. His jaw stayed flexed, but his breath was slower, deeper, more ragged. It felt like he was trying to hold something back, something trying to claw its way out. For a horrifying second, you wondered if the soldier was still inside of him.

You didn’t even have time to register the fact that he was moving until you were pinned against the wall with a dull thud. Your breath caught in your throat as Bucky crossed the space in a single stride, one arm caging you in, the other sliding behind your neck as he kissed you. Hard. Desperate. Like the world would fall apart if he stopped.

There was nothing gentle about his actions. You felt like the fire in this moment would consume you both. Your teeth clashed. His mouth burned against yours. Like if he kissed you hard enough, he could force the doubts right out of your head.

He broke the kiss just long enough to growl against your lips, “You don’t get to say shit like that and act like I’m the problem.”

Your chest heaving knowing he was hiding something feral hiding underneath. 

“Bucky—”

“No,” he snarled, grabbing both your wrists and pinning them to the wall beside your head, his forehead pressing against yours. “You don’t get to stand there and talk about him like he knows you. Like he sees you. He doesn’t. I do. I see every fucking piece of you.”

You whimpered, barely able to breathe as he pressed his thigh between your legs.

“I know I’m not… easy. I know I mess things up. I know I shut down. I don’t know how to say things the right way. But don’t— don’t ever talk to me like I wouldn’t burn the whole goddamn world down just to keep you safe.”

His mouth was on your again, before you could even respond. The kiss stole any words from your lips. Chased away your fear with heat. A need. A deep ache. The kind that came from loving so deeply that it tore the breath from your lungs.

“You don’t listen to him,” he hissed between clenched teeth, between kisses. “You listen to me. You belong with me. To me. You’re mine.”

You finally came to your senses enough to notice how his body trembled against yours— the storm of rage, heartbreak, even fear all twisted in one big, unbearable knot inside him. You finally freed your hands, not to push him away, but to cradle his face. You tilted his face to look directly in his eyes.

“I’m not going anywhere.” Your lips brushed his.

He didn’t move, didn’t let off on the pressure, still crowding you against the wall.

“I need to hear you say it,” he grunted. “Tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m yours, Bucky.”

His hands dropped to your ass and lifted until your thighs were wrapped around him. No space between you.

“Louder.”

“I’m yours,” you repeated, arms slithering round his neck.

One of his hands slid up your spine, fingers splayed under your shirt to pull you close, to hold you to him. He tilted his head to kiss you again, harder, deeper. His tongue tasted every part of you.

“You’re mine... every fucking inch of you. You hear?”

You nodded, whimpering softly as he ground his hips up against your core.

“Say it again,” he growled.

“Yours,” you moaned, nails digging into his shoulders.

He kissed you again. Slower. But no less passionate. Maybe your words had eased some of the frantic energy inside him.

“Look at me.”

He didn’t give you a chance to initiate movement, grabbing your chin, he dragged your face to his so you could see the dark storm behind his pupils. And it was like you were being hit by a tidal wave. You could see it now, he needed you there. Completely. 

“I need you to see me when I tell you this,” he said, low and wrecked.

Time slowed. And you swallowed hard, trembling under his touch.

You did. All of him. Not just the beauty in his features. But the lines of vulnerability. The flicker of hesitation in the edges of his mouth. The fear in his eyes, like he was afraid that if he looked away, he would lose you forever.

“I don’t know what I’m doing half the time,” he confessed. “I fuck up. I shut you out.”

His thumb brushed against your cheek, but not once did he look away.

“But I need you… like I need air,” he said, his voice hoarse, cracking through barely concealed desperation. “And when you talk about him— when you say he notices things— I feel like I’m losing you.”

His eyes searched yours. Frantic. Fragile.

“And I can’t…” He shook his head. “I won’t lose you.”

“You’re not losing me, Bucky. You never were. If anything, I thought I was losing you.”

He was still for a moment where he processed your last words. Everything frozen in time— and then he pushed off the wall, carrying you with him. He set you down on the kitchen stool and stood between your legs. His hands pushed your shirt up, only pausing to kiss between your breasts, his mouth chasing the fabric as he tugged with one hand. Your skin burned where his mouth lingered, pulled between his teeth, soothed by his lips. He marked a path up your body, each one a symbol of apology and promise.

You gripped the edge of the stool, trying to balance yourself in the wake of the sensations he was giving you. You cradled his face, guiding his gaze back to yours.

“I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here.”

You helped him take off his shirt before letting your fingertips graze over his scarred skin, his cool vibranium arm. They caressed his ribs and the hard planes of muscles on his stomach. Trying to show him with every inch of your being how much you loved him.

A guttural sound rumbled deep in his throat as your legs squeezed his waist, pulling him closer.

“Tell me what you need,” you breathed against his cheek.

“You. Just you, Princess.”

Your hands dripped to the waistband of his sweatpants and he didn’t stop you, kissing you again as you pushed them down. Friction mounted between you with every stolen breath. He grabbed your hand, using your palm to stroke himself. His head fell back for a second and he closed his eyes, revelling in finally feeling your touch where he wanted it the most.

“You feel that?” he demanded, finally opening his eyes. “That’s what you do to me.”

Leaving your hand on his cock, he yanked so hard on your underwear until the cotton slipped between your folds and grazed your already aching clit. Your back arched into the pleasure but your cry was swallowed by his lips.

“No one else gets you like this.”

“No one,” you echoed.

The tension between you crackled like lightning. He fumbled over you, trying to negotiate your entrance in his desperate state. Tried as he might, he couldn't get past those pesky panties. He hooked his fingers around the waistband and you felt the fabric strain, then it gave way with a sudden, ripping sound, leaving nothing between you but heat and desperation.

“I need to feel you,” he muttered, voice raw. “All of you.”

Without warning, he sank into you, each thrust was hard and desperate. It felt like he was trying to bury every fear, every doubt and every ghost between your thighs.

“You still with me?” he asked roughly as his vibranium hand slid behind your neck. He cradled the base of your head as he moved, teeth scraping your neck.

He gripped your hips tightly, grounding himself in the feel of you, the warmth, the trust. Your fingers clutched his shoulders as he thrust faster. Like he was trying to pour all of himself into you in the only way he knew how.

“You take it so good, don’t you? I’m the only one who fills you like this.”

You didn’t answer, lost in a haze that came from being pounded into relentlessly by your possessive boyfriend. All you could manage in answer was a pathetic whimper as you saw stars in the black of your eyes.

Bucky grabbed your hair, pulling your face up against his. “Answer me.” 

“Only you, Bucky,” you moaned breathlessly. The pleasure inside you was building quickly, the familiar coil getting tighter with every thrust. 

“That’s right. Mine. All fucking mine.”

“Yes,” you breathed, summoning some composure to cup his face and look into his eyes. “And you’re mine.”

His rhythm stuttered and you felt him slamming into you as he came with a broken groan. If the kitchen counter hadn’t been directly behind you, both of you would have landed on the floor. You shattered in his arms, your climax crashing over you with a loud whine as you milked him hungrily.

Finally, Bucky relaxed against you, his head buried in the crook of your neck, clinging to you like he still thought you might vanish if he let go. And for a long time, neither of you moved. He stayed inside you, one arm curled around your waist while the other supporting his weight against the counter. His nose grazed the skin on your neck and he took in your scent. You pressed your lips against his shoulder, where vibranium met skin, where the network of scars branched out toward his chest.

Eventually he moved his head up so that his forehead rested against yours. Damp strands of hair fell over his eyes, stuck to his temple and his lashes were suspiciously wet.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice a hoarse whisper. “For giving you reason to doubt us.”

You shook your head. “But Bucky, I don’t doubt us. I just… it’s like… I miss you. Even when you’re right here beside me.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to talk to you…” he said softly, like it hurt to say it out loud. “It’s just that every time I open my mouth, I don’t know how.”

You nod your head slowly, understanding what he was trying to say. You ran your fingers through his tresses, pushing them out of his eyes, so you could bask in the beautiful blue that you loved so much. “We don’t have to talk yet. Just let me in any way you can.”

He nodded shakily, looking a little ashamed. “I don’t mean to shut you out.”

“I know.”

He kissed your shoulder. Then your collarbone. Then the spot just beneath your ear where your pulse still fluttered.

“I don’t want to be like that guy,” he said. “The one who doesn’t know how to love you right.”

“You’re not him,” you told him with a small shrug. “You’re just learning how to be loved.” 

He was just about to say something when you caught the distinct sound of Bucky’s ring tone from the bedroom. He looked up at you, eyes wide and vulnerable.

“I’m not going anywhere, Buck.”

He gave you a faint smile, the first real one today. You were about to say more when his phone rang again. Bucky closed his eyes, sighing softly at the prospect of being taken away from this moment with you. 

“Go,” you whispered, brushing your thumb over his cheekbone. “Answer it.”

With a small pout, he let his forehead rest against yours for a second longer before he nodded and slipped out of you, hissing at the loss of your warmth around him. You whined a little at the emptiness he left behind, but you stayed on the stool. You watched as he tugged his sweats back up and padded into the bedroom to grab his phone.

You picked up your shirt and slipped it back over your head, pulling the remnants of your underwear out from under your ass and using it to wipe off some of the mess he had left on your thigh.

From the bedroom, you heard his voice. He sounded serious. You slipped down from the stool, stepping closer out of curiosity. There was a moment of silence and Bucky reappeared from the bedroom, stopping in the doorway, his eyes finding you.

“That was the vet center,” he said, scrubbing a hand over his face. “There’s a guy outside. Making a bit of a scene.”

You blinked, still trying to catch up to the shift in tone. “Is everything okay?”

Bucky sighed. “You remember the guy I told you about? Jack? One one I met at the center. He’s been going through a hard time. He’s there now asking for help. I think I need to go.”

“But the center’s not even open yet.”

“I know. They told him that, but he’s refusing to leave, sounds like he’s freaking out.”

“Okay,” you said gently, not questioning him. “Want me to come?”

He hesitated. “Yeah. I do. I’d like that.”

You nodded. “Just give me five minutes to clean up?”

“Of course.”

Chapter Text

The two of you settled into the drive in an unusual silence, as if you were still processing how the morning had started. The windows fogged a little from the cool weather and the windscreen blurred from the drizzle of rain. The skin on Bucky’s knuckles was a little whiter than usual as he gripped the steering wheel. There was still an element of tension radiating from him, and you were just feeling grateful that he had allowed you to tag along. It meant something to you.

You looked over at him, your voice soft. “You okay?”

He exhaled slowly through his nose, keeping his eyes on the road. “Okay, so this guy… Jack. I’m worried about him.”

“A friend?”

“I don’t know him well. He used to come to the vet center… before the fire. But he stopped because he got evicted and ended up living in his car.”

“Oh shit, that’s awful.”

“Yeah, he’s had it rough,” Bucky said sadly.

“What does he want from you?”

“So—” Bucky paused to take a deep breath. “You remember that day I came home late? You thought I was hiding something?”

You sighed at the reminder. It wasn’t helping with your insecurities.

“I was with Jack.”

You looked up at him with curiosity and you hoped that he would give you the full reason he had been so late that day.

“I don’t know why I couldn’t tell you more at the time.”

“You were helping him?”

“Actually, he tried to rob the store I was in. I stopped him from doing something stupid and getting arrested.”

“Oh my God, Bucky! Did he hurt you?”

Bucky chuckled. “No, I talked him out of it and took him to get something to eat. Lost track of time.” He glanced over at you. “I’m sorry for not keeping you in the loop.”

“Did you think I’d be angry about this? Is that why you didn’t tell me?”

Bucky gave a small shrug. “No… not angry. I… I guess I just didn’t know how much of it I could share. It wasn’t my story, y’know?” His voice was quieter now, a hint of guilt in his voice. “Jack was in a bad place. Still is, it seems.”

You were quiet for a moment, watching his profile as he continued to drive. You wondered how much the decision had weighed on him. Now you understood better. Bucky wasn’t someone who gave things away easily, especially when it came to someone else’s pain. You could respect that.

“I get that,” you said gently. “But I wish you had told me something. That you’d run into someone who needed help. That you were okay. That you weren’t… avoiding me.”

“I know,” he admitted, glancing over at you. His blue eyes were tired. “And I should’ve. I didn’t mean to make you feel like you didn’t matter. Or like I was keeping secrets from you.”

“I’m not trying to pry into every detail, but I guess when you give me nothing, it feels like I’m being shut out.”

“I’m sorry,” he said again, more firmly this time. “You shouldn’t have had to guess what was going on in my head.”

“I only ask because I care. I don’t want you to have to carry all this stuff alone. I want to help. That’s what being in this together means, doesn’t it?”

“It does. I’ll try,” he promised. “I mean it.”

“I know. You’re a good man, Bucky,” you said softly. 

He glanced at you, lips twitching just a little, and squeezed your hand. “You make me want to be.”

You didn’t need to say anything back. You just held his hand lightly feeling a bit more reassured.

Bucky didn’t speak for the rest of the drive but he kept your hand in his. He appreciated that you didn’t let him go, however hurt you were. The sky had turned darker and the rain was now streaking across the windshield trying to wash away his thoughts. He glanced over now and again, admiring your quiet strength and the trust you gave him. But he felt afraid, scared that you could so easily slip away from him. He couldn’t let that happen. Not because of his own silence. Definitely not because of Vera & Cross or Leonard.

He knew what he needed to do. He had to try again. He had to propose. And this time, nothing was going to get in his way.

Bucky pulled up across the street and turned off the engine. The two of you stepped out and walked up to the nearly finished vet center as the rain eased a little. Bucky took your hand, trying to stay as close to you as he could. Even from outside you could smell the fresh paint and industrial strength glue. The building might have had a warm atmosphere, but the mood inside was anything but.

Bucky had barely opened the door to usher you inside before the sound of raised voices reached your ears. Ignoring the bright lighting, you turned towards the sound.

“I can’t do this anymore! I’m not asking for a damn miracle, I just need a place to sleep that doesn’t have wheels!”

You took a step in the direction of the sound only to be blocked by Bucky. His hand immediately pressed against your lower back in a firm and protective way.

“That’s Jack,” he said quietly. “They’ve taken him to the community room. He sounds pretty pissed off.”

You nodded slowly, your chest filled with concern. The rage in Jack’s voice wasn’t just anger, it was despair in its most basic form.

“Come here.” Bucky steered you toward a quiet corner of the reception area, near an empty coffee station. It was still in line of sight of the community room, but tucked far enough away to keep your location discrete. “I need you to stay here, just for a minute.”

You blinked up at him in surprise. “Bucky—”

“Please. I don’t want you near him if he… things escalate.” His tone was gentle, but unwavering. “He’s not violent… not usually. But I can’t take that chance with you.”

He sighed, cupping your cheek momentarily. He looked like he was going to say something, but then stepped away without a word and made his way down the corridor. The volume of Jack’s voice increased as the door opened.

“I can’t get a job without an address. Can’t get an address without money. Can’t get money without a job. And the VA keeps telling me it’s not their problem!”

You stayed rooted to the spot, pulling your arms around yourself with a small shiver. They hadn’t turned on the heating in the building but the chill you felt wasn’t from the weather. You heard Bucky’s voice join the fray. Low, calm, steady and to you, comforting. You could just about make out what he said.

“Jack, look at me. We’re gonna figure something out. But yelling won’t make them hear you better.”

“I’m not yelling for them,” Jack snapped. “I’m yelling because I’ve been polite long enough and it got me nowhere!”

You heard the scraping of a chair, and suddenly a thump of something— maybe a fist— hitting a table. The sound made you jump and almost take a step forward, but then you heard Jack’s voice again.

“I’m living out of a fucking Honda Civic, Barnes! My back’s so bad ‘cause I can’t even stretch out all the way to sleep. And my knee…” he laughed with despair, “don’t get me started on that. And they say I’m not eligible for any of the treatments I need. I’m thirty-eight years old but I feel like I’m ninety.”

Bucky murmured something too low for you to hear.

Jack went on, his voice finally cracking with emotion. “I’m tired, man. I’m so goddamn tired. I’m sick of asking for help like it’s a favor when I gave up everything for this damn country and now I can’t even get seen by a decent doctor unless I can tick the right box.”

Your chest clenched, devastated by the injustice this man was facing. Looking up, you caught a glimpse of Bucky in the doorframe. You could see the tension in his shoulders as he closed the door, glancing at you for a second. You could tell that he would sit with Jack until he was ready, absorb all of the pain without considering his own.

There was silence now. You couldn’t hear anyone’s voice at all.

It had been almost an hour since Bucky closed the door. For a while, you’d watched the rain outside which had become heavier and then slowed back to a drizzle. A layer of mist clung to the shiny new windows at the entrance of the center. Eventually you’d grown tired of watching water fall and wandered restlessly around the reception area before you found an old clipboard tucked behind the front desk. There were a few sheets of paper in the printer, but one was all you needed. You grabbed a pencil from the pot, it was blunt but you couldn’t resist.

And now you were perched sideways on a set of steps which lead to the first floor. Your knees were bent and you leaned against the wall with the clipboard balanced on your thighs as you sketched. For some reason you felt oddly inspired and lines flowed easily on the page. The pencil scratched the page, smudged where the edge of your hand brushed against it, but soon you’d created a brand new design. Your fingers moved deftly, like it was instinct more than habit.

You were so engrossed in your creation that you didn’t even notice when he returned.

Bucky stood in the doorway to the hallway, watching you in silence. He was exhausted— from the shitty night’s sleep, from the stress of your argument, from the sex and now from listening to Jack’s problems— but seeing you sitting there, so content in your own little world, it made the storm inside him quieten down.

His mind flashed back to a memory of being in Wakanda, one of those rare occasions where Steve had visited. It was the first time he had experienced what peace could feel like. He walked over quietly and dropped down on the step below you, his head tilted up slightly to look at you. His presence finally pulled your attention from the page.

You blinked. “Hey,” you said in surprise, brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “Sorry. I got kinda bored.”

“I figured,” he said. “But this…” He gestured to your make-shift sketchpad. “This is incredible.”

You glanced down at the rough outlines of a necklace and earrings, a few scattered earring designs in the corners. “It’s just doodles.”

“It’s more than that,” he said, resting his hands on his knees. “You look… peaceful.”

You blushed a little, unsure of how to respond. Bucky was quiet for a moment— not in a tense way— just thoughtful.

“You kinda remind me of Steve,” he said finally. “He used to sit like this. Wherever he could find space. The fire escape, a park bench, subway platforms. Always sketching. Always got charcoal smudges on his hands and forgot meals ‘cause he was too busy drawing buildings and strangers and birds for art school.”

You smiled gently, your pencil twirling between your fingers. “I didn’t know he went to art school.”

“He didn’t get to finish,” Bucky murmured sadly. “But yeah. He carried a sketchbook with him everywhere. It was one of the few things he kept through the worst of it.”

He leaned his head back against the stair rail, closing his eyes briefly.

“You remind me of him sometimes,” he said. “Not just when you’re drawing.”

You paused, feeling nervous. “In a good way?”

Bucky looked up at you then, and for once, his smile wasn’t strained. “Yeah. In the best way.”

You thought your heart would burst from happiness on hearing Bucky’s words. He rested his cheek on your knee, sighing softly as he closed his eyes. One of his hands reached down and he wrapped his fingers around your ankle, thumb gently stroking your skin. He looked haggard.

You shifted slightly on the step. “Is Jack okay?”

Bucky exhaled through his nose, low and tired. “Not really.”

You waited, not pushing him to speak, ruffling his hair gently until he looked up, this time putting his chin on your knee.

“He’s angry. Not at me. Just… everything. The system. The way he slips through the cracks over and over again. It’s like— he’s drowning, and everyone keeps asking why he doesn’t just swim harder.”

“What does he need?”

Bucky rubbed his hand across his jaw, thinking. “A place to stay. Somewhere with an actual address. Without that, he can’t apply for steady work. Can’t apply for housing either, which is the joke, right? No job without an address, no address without a job. I’d offer him the rest of the lease to my apartment, but that doesn’t fix the issue long term.”

“That’s so unfair,” you whispered.

“Yeah,” Bucky said. “It’s why I couldn’t walk away from him that day. Even after what he tried. He’s not a bad guy. He’s just… done. Worn down.”

You touched his shoulder gently. “And he came back today?”

“Yeah. Said he’s been sleeping in the parking garage near the docks. Cold’s getting worse.” Bucky rested his forehead on your knee from frustration and sheer exhaustion. “He said he’d rather scream here than disappear there.”

You swallowed hard. “Is there anything we can do?”

Bucky looked up at you again, his fingers still around your ankle like he needed to keep hold of something good and you were the only thing in reach.

“I don’t know yet,” he said honestly. “But I want to try. If he lets me.”

You nodded slowly, leaning down to put your head against his. “I’ll help wherever I can.”

Bucky’s eyes softened and lips twitched into something that wasn’t quite a smile but it was close. He sighed, a far away look in his eyes as he contemplated the problems ahead. 

You watched him silently for a while before tilting your head to the side. “What’re you thinking?”

He sighed. “That it’s not enough.”

You frowned. “What isn’t?”

“This place. Me. What I’m doing.” He turned to look around the quiet reception area. “I can sit with guys like Jack. I can talk to them, get them a warm meal or maybe help them out for a week. But it’s like putting a Band-Aid on something that needs surgery. It’s not enough.”

“You’re helping, Buck. That matters.”

“I know.” He rubbed a hand down his face. “But it feels like— every time I manage to help one person, there’s twenty more falling through the cracks. Jack’s story isn’t new. It’s the same everywhere.”

You shifted forward and moved to sit on the step beside him, your shoulder brushing his. “So… what would be enough?”

He hesitated. “Something more… bigger.”

Your brows rose a little. “Bigger?”

Bucky stared down at his boots, using one to scrape a wet leaf off the other. “Actually…” he started hesitantly. “Hanna’s been on at me for a while about this. Says I have a reputation, I have a voice that people would listen to when I talk— even if I don’t always want them to.” He chuckled softly.

Your heart thudded. “You’re talking to Hanna, about, what, politics? My Hanna?”

He nodded slowly. “Yeah. She thinks I should run. Local, at first I guess. Maybe even Congress.”

You opened your mouth but found you didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t because you were against the idea— far from it actually. You were just surprised he was entertaining it. “Wow,” you whispered. 

Bucky gave a soft laugh at your stunned silence. “I know. Sounds ridiculous, right? A hundred-year-old ex-assassin trying to play at politician.”

“No,” you said quickly. “No, it doesn’t sound ridiculous at all. I am kinda surprised you’re talking to Hanna and I didn’t know.”

He looked up, blue eyes searching yours. “She jabs me about it when you’re not listening… tells me if I have the ability to make a difference, that I have a duty to do it.”

“Sounds like my girl.”

“I don't care about power or clearing my name. Or even about redemption. People like Jack don't deserve to fall through the cracks because they've got no one in their corner fighting for them, because the system can't be bothered to catch them if they fall. I had Steve, then Sam… now I have you.”

You reached out and took his hand again. “Then maybe it’s exactly what you’re meant to do.”

He let out a small, almost disbelieving sigh, but he didn’t pull away. “You really think so?”

“I think you’ve seen the worst of people. And the best. And if anyone knows what needs fixing… it’s you.”

He went quiet for a long moment before nodding slowly, more to himself than to you. “I don’t know how to do this kind of thing.”

“You didn’t know how to love me either. And look how that turned out.”

“You still think that after the last two days?”

“Never doubted it for a second.” You brushed your thumb over the back of his hand. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”

Chapter Text

“Sweetheart, are you sure it’s supposed to look like this?” Bucky asked skeptically, peering through the oven door.

You appeared at his side unexpectedly, making him jump. Pressing your cheek against him to peer into the small window, you assessed the cheese situation. “Looks fine, baby.”

“It’s bubbling!”

“It’s cheese! That’s what happens when you melt it.”

“Really?”

“They’re nachos, Bucky! You’ve lived in the twenty-first century long enough. Get with the times.”

“Just sayin’, if it explodes in there, I'm not cleaning it,” he called after you as you went into the living room to light some candles.

“Says that guy who set fire to the last meal he tried to cook,” you called back, jokingly.

You looked up to see him glaring at you from across the room. “I didn’t grow up with nachos, alright? We had soup. We boiled things. We didn’t try to bake dairy products.”

“You do now, love. Call it character development.”

He snorted in response and you bumped your hip against his as you brushed passed to remove the finished product from the oven before the cheese had a chance to burn.

Bucky stepped back, watching you bustle around, putting the finishing touches to the apartment. There were a variety of snacks on the table for everyone to enjoy before the main meal. He had helped you move the seats so that they surrounded the coffee table, making it easier for everyone to interact with each other.

He leaned against the doorframe with a quiet sigh, arms folded loosely across his chest. There was that familiar flutter in his chest— soft but relentless, like a bird trying to escape. It always showed up in these quiet moments, when you weren’t even looking at him. When you were just… being you.

He’d felt it for the first time around a year ago, watching you dance in the kitchen to a song he didn’t know, your hair tied up in a messy knot and your socks mismatched. It had terrified him then. It still did— but now it wasn’t the fear of falling. It was the fear of losing what he’d found.

You.

Bucky almost didn’t recognize the man he used to be— back when he lived alone across the hall, surrounded by half-unpacked boxes and bare walls. Back when he bought furniture with exit strategies in mind. When he left the lights off in the bathroom every morning because it felt safer not to see too clearly.

He used to dread the quiet mornings. Too much space. Too much memory. Silence meant his thoughts had time to crawl in— voices from the past, regrets he couldn’t fix. But now… now quiet mornings meant hearing your soft hum as you stirred creamer into your coffee. They meant shared glances across the breakfast table. Your feet playing with his when he got too silent. It was an unexpected warmth that didn’t come from the sunlight that filled your home. It came from you.

You hadn’t just changed the way he felt. You’d changed his entire outlook, his lifestyle, his beliefs. It had happened somewhere between fake dance lessons and late night take outs to Sunday morning market strolls and Tuesday night taco traditions. You’d built a home around him before he had realized what was happening.

And now— now the flutter in his chest came with a thought he couldn’t quite shake. What if this was it? What if the thing he had been waiting for was here? What if he didn’t need to keep waiting for something to go wrong? What if he just let himself have it? Have you. Keep you.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?”

Bucky’s eyes widened as he noticed that you were staring at him with a look of amusement. He shrugged nonchalantly.

“Whatever you’re overthinking… stop it.”

“Why do you think I’m overthinking?”

You raised an eyebrow, crossing the room to close the gap between you. “Because you’ve been standing there for the last five minutes like you're planning a military operation in your head.”

Bucky gave a soft snort, ducking his head a little but the smile tugging at his mouth didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Uh huh… Okay Sarge—” You snarked, reaching for his hand, threading your fingers through his. “Mission report.”

He lifted your left hand to his chest, thumb absently rubbing the back of your ring finger. “Not today.”

You frowned at the change in his tone. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean t—”

You had no chance to finish your sentence as Bucky whipped an arm around your waist and whisked you into his embrace. He held you close, bending down a little so he could rest his forehead against yours. “No missions. No operations. Just thinking about you.”

“Uh oh.” You raised an eyebrow.

Bucky chuckled and closed your eyes for a second, enjoying his closeness and the warmth of his breath against your lips.

“Nothing bad. Just trying to figure out how I got this lucky, you know? I never used to believe that I could be part of something this good… let alone believe I deserved it.” His voice was quieter now— almost shy. “You changed all of that. Not overnight. But slowly. Just by… being you.”

You didn’t speak, not wanting to ruin the moment by brushing him off the compliment. Instead, you gently traced your fingers over his jaw, letting the sharp texture of his stubble ground you in the here and now.

“I used to think I had to keep running from my past. Or hiding from it. I thought that if I ever stopped, it would all catch up with me and pull me back there. But you…” He breathed out a soft laugh. “You make me want to stay still. To build a future. Instead of waiting for everything to collapse around me.”

Your heart thudded in your chest. “Bucky…”

He pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes. His thumb still lingered over your ring finger. “There’s not a single version of this life where I don’t want to spend it with you.”

Your breath caught, waiting for what would come next. But before the words could come, there was a loud knock at the door.

You both jumped slightly. Bucky blinked, startled out of whatever spell he’d been under. He took a step back and glanced at the oven timer, then toward the door with a reluctant grunt. “That’ll be them.”

You let out a soft breath, your fingers still tingling where he’d touched them. He turned toward the door but paused, throwing a look over his shoulder— something that said that he wasn’t quite done with the conversation. And as you watched him open the door and greet your friends with a smile, you couldn’t help but wonder what might’ve been if you hadn’t been interrupted.

Immediately, you were assaulted by the sound of chatter and laughter as your friends piled into your home. Aditi was ushered in by Bucky, her arms full of Tupperware filled with samosas— which had rapidly become Bucky’s favorite treat. She shoved the packed boxes into Bucky’s arms, followed by her coat and very promptly after by Hanna’s parka.

“I swear, if you made Bucky cook again, I’m calling the fire department,” Aditi smirked as she leaned in to kiss your cheek.

“He only had to supervise nachos,” you said, brushing your hair back with a grin.

Behind her, Hanna followed, waving with the hand that wasn’t balancing a box labeled Catan. “I brought snacks and strategy. Where we setting up?”

The girls were flanked closely by Sam and Joaquin. Sam already calling out, “Did Barnes even try to cook or did he just microwave his trauma again?”

“Keep talking, Wilson. I can always start experimenting again. How do you like your jalapeños?” Bucky replied, grinning now as he accidentally let Sam’s jacket fall to the floor.

Joaquin entered with an easy smile and a six-pack of beer, retrieving Sam’s jacket without asking. “I’m just here for the chaos.”

The apartment quickly filled with warmth and chatter. Bucky deposited everyone’s coats in the bedroom while shoes were kicked off and drinks were poured. Each one of your friends gravitated towards the seats you had carefully chosen for them.

Bucky hovered nervously at the edge for a moment, watching everyone settle in, make themselves comfortable— in his home. It had been a long time since he had a place that truly felt like a home.

The chatter reminded him of the times his parents would invite their friends over for a meal. It had been exciting even though they had forced him to go to bed early. Now here he was, doing the same. 

His eyes subtly tracked you as you set out plates and rearranged snacks. You caught the glance and gave him a soft smile, slowly tilting your head to indicate that he should join you.

“Come on, Buck,” you called. “Before this lot demolish the nachos and you have to deal with bubbling cheese again!”

“Wait, what's this?” Sam’s ears perked up and Bucky scowled at you.

“Bucky’s scared of the melting cheese,” you started laughing, but the sound turned into a squeal as Bucky— who had found his seat beside you— pulled you down into his lap.

The others laughed around you, focusing on Bucky's shenanigans and Sam's teasing.

“Not scared. Just didn't want to risk burning down our home again.”

“Again?” Joaquin exclaimed, unpacking a game from his backpack. “You tried before?”

Bucky glared at him, but without any real menace in the stare. “It was a freak accident.”

“More like Bucky didn't realize how flammable butter was,” you giggled.

“Butter? Who knew?”

Bucky was saved any further embarrassment as Hanna squealed at the sight of the game Joaquin had produced.

“Cards Against Humanity? Fuck Catan, we're playing this!” she grabbed the box from the young man's hands and tossed off the lid.

“Guess that's one way to pick,” Sam muttered.

“Fuck democracy. I'm making a utilitarian decision.”

“You mean a dictatorship,” Aditi muttered.

“Exactly. Now everyone, buckle up. Let the games begin.”

Bucky leaned in toward you with a quiet murmur, “Are we really doing this?”

You turned to look carefully at him, noticing the flicker of doubt in his tone. “What’s wrong?” you asked quietly.

He shifted uncomfortably on the cushions, his arm brushing yours as he watched Hanna organizing the deck cards like she was building a castle of tarot and she was the queen. “Don’t know the rules,” he admitted with a small shrug. “It’s a card game, right?”

Aditi, who had been watching her wife with a bit of a dopey, love-struck grin, caught your conversation and turned to Bucky with a huge grin. “Oh my God, Bucky. You’re gonna love it.”

He gave her a deeply skeptical look.

“Okay,” she said, leaning over and grabbing one of the cards to hold up, ignoring Hanna’s scowl of irritation for disrupting her arrangement. “Black cards are the prompts— questions or fill-in-the-blank kinda stuff. Everyone else puts down a white card, which has possible answers which you think fits best. The card czar, the person who read the prompt, picks the one they found funniest.”

“Funniest?” Bucky asked, glancing at the box like it might bite him.

“Horribly inappropriate usually wins,” Hanna contributed with a grin, snatching the card back from Aditi and dropping it onto the correct pile. “You’ll do fine.”

“I’m not sure that’s reassuring,” he muttered.

“Just follow your gut,” Joaquin suggested. “Especially if your gut says ‘gloryholes.’”

That earned a snort from you and a groan from Bucky, who was clearly already regretting not volunteering to be on snack duty all night instead.

Sam flopped onto the couch and reached for the deck. “I’ll start,” he said. “If we don’t traumatize Barnes in the first round, we’re clearly not doing it right.”

You gave Bucky’s arm a squeeze as Hanna dealt the cards, sending a black prompt card flying straight into Sam’s outstretched hand.

He cleared his throat with theatrical flair. “What ended my last relationship?”

Joaquin snorted, immediately throwing a card into the middle of the table. You selected your card easily, letting it join Joaquin’s with the flick of your wrist. Aditi and Hanna followed suit very quickly after you, leaving only Bucky left. He was staring at his hand with all the focus of a man decoding encrypted HYDRA files.

His brows were furrowed, lips pressed together in thought, eyes darting from one wildly inappropriate answer to the next like he was trying to calculate the moral consequences of each one.

“Baby,” you whispered, nudging him gently with your knee. “It’s okay. There’s no wrong answer.”

“Yeah,” Aditi snorted. “Because they’re all wrong.”

He huffed, still frowning, and finally held out a card. “I don’t like any of these.”

That’s the point,” Hanna grinned, already reaching to shuffle the entries. “The worse, the better.”

Sam accepted the cards from Hanna, grinning like a gremlin as he cleared his throat dramatically, and began. “Right, so what do y’all think ended my last relationship?” He flipped the first card with a flourish. “Not reciprocating oral sex.”

“God damn,” Joaquin wheezed.

He raised an eyebrow. “Solid start, but this was never a problem for me.”

Second card.

“My collection of high-tech sex toys.”

Aditi choked on her wine. Hanna dropped her face into her hands, already laughing.

Card three.

“A little boy who won’t shut the fuck up about dinosaurs.”

Even Bucky cracked a smile. “You talk her to death about Redwing?”

Sam paused. “Alright, now we’re getting personal.” He picked up the fourth card. “The way James Bond treats women.”

“Oof,” Joaquin winced. “That’s some scathing social commentary.”

“And last but not least,” Sam held up the final card. “Teaching a robot to love.”

“Teaching a robot to love? That’s definitely a Bucky card,” Joaquin guffawed.

“I’m not Vision, asshole,” Bucky mumbled.

“You’re right. Vision wouldn’t burn toast and a whole apartment,” Sam chuckled.

“Come on, Cap,” Hanna slammed a fist down on the table, like a judge hammering their gavel. “Decision time. Winning card?”

Sam leaned back, tapped the cards like he was playing poker, and announced, “My collection of high-tech sex toys. That’s the one.”

There was a beat.

Then Bucky, without missing a beat, deadpanned, “Explains why Redwing keeps flying into walls.”

Sam choked on his drink. “What—”

“Probably exhausted,” Bucky added with a slow, unimpressed blink. “Poor guy’s been overworked.”

Hanna howled with laughter. Aditi spat wine back into her glass. Joaquin’s wheeze could’ve broken glass.

“You take that back!” Sam shouted, pointing. “Redwing is a precision machine!”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “So’s a vibrator, doesn’t mean you use it to watch your girl in the shower.”

The table exploded. Sam dropped his head into his hands. “This is harassment.”

“File a report,” Bucky said smoothly, lifting his drink to his lips.

“What do you know about vibrators, old man?” Aditi asked, suspiciously.

“Plenty!” you wheezed into the cushions, tears prickling at your eyes. “Oh man, I love game night.”

Beside you, Bucky reached out and claimed the winning card. “One point to me?”

You held out your fist for him to bump it, grinning wildly.

Joaquin reached out to pick up the next card, waiting for everyone to sober up before proclaiming dramatically, “What gets better with age?”

Everyone chuckled, sliding their white cards toward him, a little faster this time, Bucky feeling more confident after his strong start. Joaquin gathered the cards with a flourish, then began reading them aloud one by one, his voice dripping with theatrical gravitas.

“A sad handjob.”

There was a beat of silence before a snort escaped someone on the couch.

“Full-on double-penetration.”

That earned a chorus of oof’s and gasps. Sam actually clutched his chest like he’d been winded.

“Pretending to care.”

Hanna made a strangled noise and immediately took a sip of her wine, trying not to laugh into the glass.

“The screams… the terrible screams.” Joaquin paused and looked around slowly. “That’s dark.”

“Go on,” Hanna prompted.

“And finally…” he glanced down and read the last with mock-seriousness. “My inner demons.”

For a second, the room went dead quiet.

Then Hanna burst out laughing so hard she nearly fell off the cushion she’d been lounging on. “Who the hell put a sad handjob?!”

“I did,” Aditi declared proudly, lifting her hand like she was answering a roll call. “Tragically timeless, if you think about it.”

“What would you even know about that?” you shrieked. Aditi had come out to you when she was twelve and had never so much as stepped near a man since.

“Existential and erotic,” Sam added, lifting his glass. “A true combo.”

Joaquin wiped tears from the corners of his eyes. “Honestly, they’re all gold. But I think I’m going with ‘my inner demons.’ Hits a little too close to home.”

Bucky nodded once from his corner, stone-faced but amused. “Right choice.”

Sam tossed a popcorn kernel at Bucky’s chest. “Don’t bring your trauma into this, Barnes!”

Bucky raised his hands in mock surrender, but there was the faintest twitch of a smile playing at the edge of his lips.

Hanna grabbed the next card, leaning forward with a look that would make Loki proud. She wore a grin of pure mischief as she plucked a black card from the deck.

“Oh, this is disgusting,” she said gleefully, clearing her throat for effect. “Why am I sticky?”

A chorus of laughter broke out as everyone reached for their white card choices, snickering to themselves as they passed them in. This time Bucky didn’t even flinch. He picked his answer with quiet, methodical confidence and slid it face-down into the pile. It made you smile. You caught his eye and he smiled back. He looked so much younger than he normally did, sitting on the floor with his legs crossed, shoulders relaxed and the only lines on his face were the crinkles by his eyes when he laughed.

Hanna shuffled them with flair and then began to read.

“Gloryholes,” she groaned. “Eww.”

The group immediately lost it, Sam letting out a gasp-laugh combo that had him choking on his drink. Hanna continued without mercy.

“My browser history.”

Aditi made a scandalized ‘ooooh’ sound while Joaquin muttered, “Relatable.”

Hanna hesitated before reading the next one, “Tentacle porn.”

That one took the whole room over the edge. Sam fell sideways into Hanna, crying with laughter. Bucky glanced at you, confusion painted across his face.

But Hanna wasn’t done. She lifted the next card, raising her brows. “The moist, demanding chasm of his mouth.”

Everyone practically howled. Joaquin rolled off the cushion entirely, howling, “WHO?!”

“No shame,” Hanna coughed, trying to steady herself as you blushed.

Then she flipped the last card.

“Hot cheese.”

Silence was followed by five heads turned in perfect unison to look at Bucky.

Sam blinked. “Cheese?”

Bucky didn’t even blink. “You ever make nachos with her? Shit’s dangerous.”

You let out a groan and hurled a pillow at his head. “Stop blaming the dairy!”

He caught it mid-air, tossed it back at your knees with a smirk, and added, “I’m just saying, if anyone’s ending up sticky around here, it’s not always for the usual reasons.”

Sam nearly fell off the couch again while Aditi howled, “I can’t—I'm done. Game’s over. Bucky wins.”

“No one wins when there’s cheese trauma involved,” you muttered, but you were laughing too hard to sound even remotely serious.

You stood up, brushing pastry crumbs off your fingers, as the girls started collecting up the cards. “I’ll go grab more snacks—”

But before you could get up, Bucky had jumped up to his feet. “No, no, sit. I’ve got it.” He leaned down and kissed the top of your head before disappearing into the kitchen and you were sure you heard him muttering something about avoiding a cheese explosion.

Hanna laughed, having heard the same comment. She got up and shot you and Aditi a wink. “I'll supervise before he creates a volcano in the oven.”

The others barely registered them leaving, Aditi and Sam now bickering over which one of them got to choose the next game.

In the kitchen, Bucky was already piling more samosas onto a plate, having thrown a bag of popcorn into the microwave when Hanna joined him.

She leaned against the counter, her arms folded. “You okay?” she asked quietly.

He paused, straightened a little. “Yeah, course. Why'd you ask?”

Hanna raised an eyebrow. “Just curious. You're working the war hero in a rom-com angle kinda hard tonight.”

Bucky huffed a quiet laugh through his nose. “I didn’t realize it was a thing.”

“Oh, it’s a thing,” she said, voice softening. “You look at her like she’s the best decision you never meant to make.”

Bucky didn’t reply immediately. Just handed her a tub of grated cheese and tugged open a bag of tortilla chips. “She is.”

Hanna watched him carefully. “So why haven't you popped the question?”

His jaw tightened slightly, spreading the chips across a baking tray. “A lot of history. A lot of wrong turns. And maybe… the timing never feels quite right.”

She gave a small smile, sprinkling cheese over the tortilla chips. “Timing’s never perfect, Barnes. You just find a moment and make it mean something.”

“Yeah?” he asked, skeptically.

Hanna’s mouth twitched in a nostalgic smile. She grabbed the baking tray and slid it into the oven before turning back to Bucky.

“Aditi proposed during a sunset beach picnic. It was an unmitigated disaster. The blanket got soaked ‘cause the tide came in too fast, the strawberries were soggy, and I ended up throwing up from a migraine as the sun started going down.”

Bucky winced. “Shit.”

“I started crying,” Hanna admitted. “I knew she'd worked hard on making it special. I was a sobbing mess. Kept saying I ruined everything.”

She paused, eyes far away now.

“But Aditi just took me back to the beach house she'd rented, tucked me into bed and crawled in next to me and said, ‘You didn’t ruin anything. Just being with you is enough. I don’t care if it’s perfect or if we’re a mess. I want all of it. With you.’”

Hanna swallowed, her voice softening further. “Then she pulled out the ring and asked me to marry her.”

Bucky didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.

Hanna nudged his side gently. “No perfect moment, Barnes.” She looked back at him. “Just the right person.”

He looked over at the living room, where you were laughing with Aditi and Sam, eyes crinkled and shoulders shaking. That flutter in his chest started up again.

“Yeah,” he said. “Maybe I will.”

“Good.” Hanna opened the oven and pointed inside. “Now grab that tray before the cheese explodes.”

Meanwhile, back in the living room, Joaquin had evacuated his seat between Sam and Aditi, who were still bickering like long lost siblings. He joined you on the cushions, nursing the last of his drink. With Bucky and Hanna still in the kitchen, the atmosphere had settled into a bit of a lull.

“So… Princess,” he said, tone light and clearly tipsy and his head tipped toward you, “you and Barnes… you guys going the whole distance or what?”

You glanced up from your phone, raising a brow. “Excuse me?”

“C’mon,” Joaquin grinned. “You practically finish each other’s sentences. And I’ve seen the way he looks at you— like you personally invented the concept of happiness.”

Sam looked up sharply from where he was bickering with Aditi over card scores. “Joaquin.”

“What?” Joaquin said innocently, gesturing between you and the kitchen. “I’m just saying— if anyone’s getting secretly engaged this year…”

“Joaquin,” Aditi hissed, eyes widening as she kicked him lightly under the table.

Your eyes were wide. “Secretly what?”

Joaquin blinked. “Nothing. Nothing. Just… you guys are relationship goals, that’s all.” He cleared his throat and immediately busied himself with stuffing snacks into his mouth.

Aditi shot a fix this look at Sam, who sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Ignore him. He watched a rom-com before coming over and now he’s got feelings and no girlfriend.”

“I did not,” Joaquin muttered with a pout. “It was Bourne Identity.”

“Same thing,” Sam said. “Girl meets amnesiac assassin, gets chased across Europe, falls in love somewhere between dodging bullets and changing identities. Sums up your relationship perfectly.”

You chuckled, still eyeing them all suspiciously, but the moment passed as Bucky and Hanna reappeared from the kitchen with samosas and nachos laughing at some private joke. Joaquin was quick to vacate his seat beside you as Bucky scowled dangerously, reclaiming his space beside you. He tucked one leg under himself as he sat down, flicking some pretzels at you in the process.

“Rude!” you cried, flicking them right back.

He just grinned, eyes soft when they met yours. His hand found yours under the table and didn’t let go.

Joaquin looked like he was going to say something else, but Aditi threw a cushion at him making Bucky laugh out loud. Eventually everyone settled down enough to play another game and demolish the pizzas you had ordered. Bucky was a little quieter than before. Still laughing, still present— but occasionally he would look over at you like there was something more he had to say.

It was only when you leaned your head on his shoulder, practically falling asleep that everyone decided to call it a night.

You had expected there to have been a mess at the end of the night, but your guests had been incredibly considerate. Aditi had piled all the dishes into the dishwasher, Sam had collected up the empty pizza boxes, Hanna wiped down the sticky surfaces while you, Bucky and Joaquin returned the furniture to their original positions. You’d collapsed onto the couch and pulled one of the blankets over your knees when everyone filed out into the night. Bucky turned on the dishwasher and came to join you.

He dropped down onto the sofa beside you, his shoulder bumping yours.

“Have fun?” you murmured.

He nodded, gaze fixed on the now empty living room. “It was. Felt… normal. Which is rare, for me.”

You leaned your head on his shoulder and closed your eyes. “You’re allowed to have normal, Buck. You deserve it.”

He turned slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of your face. His hand found your cheek, thumb stroking your jaw lightly. “You think so?”

“Of course I do,” you whispered, cracking open your eyes to peer up at him.

He looked like he wanted to say more. That flutter in his chest was back, louder than ever.

“There’s something I—”

A loud vibration interrupted him. Your phone lit up on the table with a text from Hanna.

12:32 AM – Hanna: Your domestic goddess routine is getting out of hand. I swear if you start crocheting tea cosies, I’m staging an intervention.

You laughed, handing your phone for Bucky to read the text. He chuckled too, but the moment had passed. He didn’t finish the sentence. Didn’t say what he had been about to say. But the words were still there. Waiting.

Watching you laugh again, curled up in his hoodie, in your home… he knew he’d find the right moment soon. He had to.

Chapter Text

It had started with that single invoice and spiraled from there. Just that one slightly-off entry in the shipping log had led to a series of inconsistencies. One order of opals from a familiar vendor had arrived earlier than anticipated. It had weighed a little more than expected and didn’t have its usual cross-check stamps from customs. You’d flagged it as an internal error and filed it as clerical before moving on. But once you’d seen it, you couldn’t unsee it. Not when similar things kept coming to your attention. Again and again. Different stones. Different shipments. Different vendors.

To top things off, the physical documents didn’t always match the ones scanned on the system. Other packages had missing certificates or sported stamps which just felt off in some way. If you hadn’t been looking closely, you would have missed it altogether. It was like someone had cut and pasted just about well enough to look passable.

You had tried not to see it at first, dismissing it as laziness, human error. But now you were actively looking. And the more you looked, the more you noticed. Now patterns were beginning to form. Stones arriving weren’t always what was expected— discrepancies in size and cut. But what you found the most frustrating was the struggle you had to follow the paper trail backwards. It always led to nowhere. Dead ends at every turn. You encountered names of companies that didn’t seem to exist.

You bided your time. Watching. Waiting. Quietly collecting evidence inside your notebook. You didn’t risk saving anything to the company’s internal network, knowing from personal experience that there was no such thing as privacy. You had no idea who you could trust and the gathering evidence had long since stopped feeling like a coincidence and was starting to look more and more like deliberate fraud.

Tonight was the night that your suspicions finally slipped from your lips.

The bright lighting in the archives room buzzed quietly as you sat at the table in the center of the room. You were surrounded by shelves lined with locked drawers containing a variety of precious stones along one wall and logbooks on the other. You scrolled through the electronic records while Leonard sat opposite you, feet up on the desk with his arms folded over his chest, watching you with a bemused smirk.

“Don’t you think you’re taking this too far, Nancy Drew?” he teased lightly. “You don’t even work in the compliance department.”

You didn’t look up from the tablet you had your eyes glued on. “Then maybe they should hire someone who actually checks the import logs.”

Leonard rolled his eyes, it was a familiar sight. You used to catch him at it when you had been together, usually about suggestions you made. But this time seemed different. He seemed like he was actually listening.

You swiped through the scanned PDF documents, eyes narrowing on the details. “Look— this shipment… X5-452. It says it came from Antwerp, but the weights listed here from customs don’t match the stones we have.

He took his feet off the table and leaned toward you, just close enough for his cologne to tickle your nostrils. “Swapping out stones for smaller ones? That’s old school. You sure about this?”

“You need me to show you?” you grumbled.

“Yes, show me. Show me all of it.”

“You believe me?” you asked, quietly.

“Let’s not jump the gun, huh, babe.”

You scowled at him, getting up to find the stones in question. When you opened the lock box and turned around, you were surprised to see Leonard dimming the glass wall which looked into the room.

“What’re you doing?”

“Let’s not advertize our activities to everyone til we have some tangible proof.”

“Is this not proof enough?” you demanded, dropping the stones onto the scales and shoving the Kimberley certificate towards him. “Look at this!” You pointed at the logs and the difference in numbers compared to the paperwork that had been filed.

Leonard looked between the three things, eyes flicking back and forth over the evidence you were presenting him. He blinked. “Well, that’s… bold.”

“But still illegal.”

“And no one else has noticed?”

“Apparently not.” You shrugged.

“You been running your mouth about this to anyone?”

“For fuck’s sake, Leonard. How stupid do you think I am?”

Leonard raised his hands in surrender. “Just checking. Nancy Drew was a little too outspoken for her own good. Asked too many questions that got her in trouble.” He rubbed a hand over his mouth, thinking. “Okay, let’s say you’re right. Then someone’s using Vera & Cross as a laundromat for illicit stones. Swapping dirty goods for clean labels. Maybe even sliding in synthetic ones when no one’s looking.”

You nodded slowly. “Smuggling. It’s the only thing that makes sense. But I don’t know who’s in on it, or how deep it goes.”

Leonard tilted his head. “D’you think I’m involved?”

You met his gaze evenly. “Do I have a reason to think that?”

He shrugged. “Not unless my excellent taste in cufflinks counts as a felony.”

A small smile tugged at your mouth despite yourself.

Leonard tilted his head slightly, expression unreadable now. Then his voice dipped lower, quieter. “But listen… if this is what we think it is, you might want to be careful how loudly you keep digging.”

You frowned. “That sounds like a warning.”

“It’s advice,” he said, looking you in the eye. “This is a private firm. The senior partners are very conservative about their reputation.”

“They didn't seem to have any problems blackmailing me into coming to work for them,” you muttered bitterly.

Leonard's face snapped up momentarily, but he moved past your statement without comment.

“You’re cutting too close to something big. We can't go public with this unless we have proof.”

You didn’t flinch. “So help me get proof.”

He studied you for a long moment, his eyes unreadable. Then he sighed, leaning back away from the desk. “Fine. I’ll pull what I can from customs. But you’re bringing me coffee tomorrow.”

You rolled your eyes but gave him a nod of thanks, tucking the documents back into your notebook. Somehow the room felt strangely quiet now, now that you’d both acknowledged and accepted that there might be something more to your suspicions. Suddenly a soft mechanical whirring made both your heads turn. The hallway lights outside flickered, albeit briefly.

Leonard straightened, speaking in a sharp whisper. “Stay here a sec.”

He crossed to the door and eased it open slowly, glancing left, then right, into the empty corridor beyond. His hand hovered near the light switch just outside the wall. He stepped out briefly.

As he disappeared, you reached into your bag, pulling out your phone with one hand and typed a message to Bucky quickly.

6:20 PM – You: Hey, I’m sorry. Still at work. Something came up. I’ll be late. Please don’t wait to eat.

6:21 PM – You: Love you.

Leonard reappeared a few seconds later, shutting the door behind him. “No one there,” he said, too quickly. “Probably nothing.”

It didn’t feel like nothing, to either of you.

Your heart was pounding and you exhaled slowly. The hairs on the back of your neck were still standing up straight. “We should go.”

Leonard nodded. “I’ll walk you to the elevator.”

You cast one last glance over your shoulder as you followed him out of the archives room. The overhead lights buzzing unphased as you walked under them. Everything around you was unchanged— still sterile and oh so corporate— but you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted, and not in a good way.

As you pressed the elevator button and the doors slid open with a cheery ding, you weren’t sure if the real danger had already passed… or if it had just begun.

Bucky had spent the whole day preparing for this. He’d gone to the supermarket for fresh ingredients, chopped up the vegetables with incredible precision and measured out the sauce recipe with pin point accuracy. Now he was standing over the stove stirring as your message came through.

6:20 PM – You: Hey, I’m sorry. Still at work. Something came up. I’ll be late— please don’t wait to eat.

He glanced over at the set table— fancy plates, cloth napkins, a single candle. It wasn’t another attempt at a proposal, no, he’d already decided that things would have to be different next time. He had watched your friends— Aditi and Hanna— how they interacted with each other, the soft way in which they took care of each other. It wasn’t always the grand gestures, it was often a series of little ones and that was his goal tonight. Something nice and normal.

The second vibration in his pocket startled him.

6:21 PM – You: Love you.

He stared at the second message for a moment, thumb hovering over the screen. But his disappointment stopped him from answering. He locked the phone and tossed it face down on the counter. He turned off the stove, shoving the fancy cutlery back into the drawer a little hard and the sound echoed around the empty kitchen louder than it should have.

He knew he shouldn’t be hurt by this. How many times had he done the same thing? He took a deep breath to quell the negative feelings rising up. It was just one of those days.

You came home over an hour later, cheeks pink from the cold and droplets of rain still clinging to your coat and hair. You paused in the doorway, catching a waft of the lingering smell of the dinner Bucky had prepared. You gazed across the apartment to see one plate set at the table, an empty wine glass and a half melted candlestick which had long since been blown out.

“Oh,” you breathed. “Buck…”

He looked up from the couch, finally taking his nose out of the book he was reading. His expression was carefully neutral as he answered you. “Hey.”

“You cooked?”

“Yeah.”

“I didn’t know.”

“You didn’t ask.”

That hit you like a gut punch and your face fell. “I’m sorry,” you said softly, setting your bag down by the door, and leaving your shoes and coat there too. You padded over to join him on the couch. “I didn’t mean to blow you off.”

Bucky dragged his hand over his face. “I just thought it’d be nice. Something quiet, just the two of us. You’ve been working so much lately and…” He shrugged. “I guess I wanted to feel like we were still part of each other’s day.”

You hated how disappointed he sounded. How disappointed you had made him feel. “You are, Buck. You’re the biggest part of my day,” you said, edging closer. “I’m sorry. I should’ve said something earlier.”

He didn’t answer immediately, watching your face carefully. He was wearing that searching look again— the one that made you feel like he could see straight into your soul. “I know I don’t have the right to be upset,” he huffed an unamused laugh. “I’ve done this to you often enough.”

You reached for his hand, brushing your fingers lightly against his, hesitation in your movements. “You do have the right to be upset. I should’ve made time. Or at least called.”

“I’m not mad,” he said, but his voice was tired. “I guess I just don’t understand what you’ve been doing.”

“I’ve been at work.”

“Yeah, I know. That’s what I don’t understand.”

“What?”

“I don’t understand why you’re working so hard for… them.”

You blinked in surprise. It wasn’t the response you’d expected. “What d’you mean?”

Bucky leaned forward, resting his arms on the ends of his knees, his shoulders tense. “I mean— I know you care about your job. I know you’ve worked hard for your reputation. But lately, it’s like you’ve been killing yourself for people who wouldn’t even notice if you didn’t show up tomorrow.”

You opened your mouth, then shut it again. There was no malice in his words— just worry. And worse, disappointment.

“They don’t respect you, Princess,” he continued, quieter now. “They made you come back under their shitty terms, they don’t support your creativity, and they definitely don’t care about your boundaries. So what I don’t get is why the hell you’re still putting yourself through all this?”

You looked down at your hands, where your fingers were fiddling with the tassels on the edge of a cushion. You had kept your suspicions to yourself for so long. Weeks! The thoughts had consumed your mind at night, making sleep difficult and you felt them slipping free.

“Because I found something,” you said softly. “Something I think I shouldn’t have.”

His brow furrowed in confusion. “What d’you mean?”

You hesitated, trying to figure out how to explain. “So there are shipments that don’t add up. Documents that don’t match the jewels we received. Stamps that look doctored. It’s all really small stuff and if you’re not paying attention it's easy to miss. But I noticed and now I can't stop seeing all these inconsistencies.”

Bucky's expression darkened and lips parted like he wanted to stop you, but now that you'd opened up, it was all coming out. 

“I think someone’s smuggling stones,” you whispered, as though someone might hear you even now. “Using the firm's purchases and swapping them out for counterfeit stones. I’ve been keeping notes, finding evidence— Leonard helped me check a few things but no one else knows.”

Bucky stood abruptly, running a hand over his face. “Are you fucking serious? You're trusting Leonard with this?”

Your mouth dropped open, caught off guard by the sudden edge in his voice. “Please don’t make this about Leonard.”

Bucky whipped his head around to face you, his eyes wide. “How is it not about Leonard? You told him, but you didn’t tell me?”

“I didn’t choose to tell him, Buck,” you snapped, standing up to meet his gaze. “He found me in the archive room. I didn’t know if what I was seeing was right or not and I just made a split-second decision. I didn’t seek him out, he was just there. That’s all.”

“You trust him?” Bucky asked, his jaw clenched.

You could even see his nostrils flaring and it shocked you to see how angry he looked. He had never been angry at you like this before. “I don’t… it wasn’t about trust,” you explained quietly. “I needed access to some of the files, and he’s the only one I know who would get it for me without raising suspicion. I didn’t have a choice.”

“There’s always a choice, Princess.” Bucky’s voice was low, but tight. “And you chose him.”

The words hit harder than you expected. “You’re not being fair.” Instinctively, you fold your arms across your chest in a defensive position.

“Neither are you,” he said, barely above a whisper. “You didn’t just leave me out— you brought him in.”

You hated that your actions had made Bucky feel betrayed. “I’d never choose him over you, Bucky. I never meant to hide this from you.”

“But you did,” he said. “And that’s what hurts the most.”

An uncomfortable silence settled between the two of you, allowing both of you to stew in your own feelings of doubt.

“He was just a resource, Buck,” you said softly. “I needed help. You would’ve done the same, in fact, you did do the same.”

He didn’t answer. Instead he turned his back, both hands gripping the back of a chair. You could see the tension in his shoulders, his back rose and fell with each forced deep breath until he had steadied himself enough to face you. This expression had darkened— the hurt was there, as was anger, but also something more desperate, something fiercer.

“You really don’t get it, do you?” he said in a low growl. “This isn’t a game for you to play. It’s smuggling. These people are criminals. You could get killed for this kind of shit.”

You opened your mouth to tell him that you were aware of this, but he cut you off before you’d even taken a breath.

“No! Don’t say it’ll be fine. Don’t tell me you’re being careful. You think I haven’t seen how these things play out? I’ve lived it. You think just because you’ve got some notes for evidence and Leonard’s help that you’re safe?”

You could see his point, but the way he said it, like you were clueless and helpless made you answer back. “I’m not trying to put myself in danger—”

“But you are,” he snapped, interrupting you again. “You’re walking straight into it, eyes open, and acting like it’s just part of your job!”

“It’s not like I wanted this. I didn’t go looking for issues,” you shot back, anger blooming in your chest. “I stumbled onto something. And I can’t just unsee it. What do you expect me to do, Buck? Pretend it isn’t happening? Let it slide because it’s not convenient?”

“I expect you to stay alive!” His words echoed through the room in a rather sinister way. And for a moment you both fell quiet, but the silence between you was charged with an electric tension.

“Buck—”

“I can’t lose you over… this,” he said, voice lower now. He let his hands drop to his sides and you could see his shoulders heaving with emotion. “Not to something as stupid as this. Not because some assholes in suits want to make a profit from moving blood diamonds.”

“I’m not trying to be reckless!” you cried, staring at him like what he had said was the most ludicrous thing in the world. You could feel your heart hammering in your chest. “I’m trying to do the right thing. I thought you, of all people, would understand that.”

He shook his head, almost like he was exasperated by your attitude. “There’s a line between brave and reckless. And you’re standing on it with your eyes closed.”

That was the last straw. You’d been hanging onto your calm by the thinnest tread and his words finally made you snap.

“So what— what do you want me to do, Bucky?” Your voice rose dangerously. “Just ignore it? Pretend I didn’t see anything wrong? Sit still and smile? Keep my head down like it’s not eating me alive knowing something bad is happening right under my nose?”

“That’s not what I said,” he snapped back. “I’m saying you don’t have to carry this alone. That you shouldn’t.”

“I’m not carrying it alone! Leonard’s been helping me—”

Bucky let out a bitter laugh. “Jesus, why is it always Leonard with this?”

Your expression hardened. “That’s not fair.”

He mocked your voice as he spoke. “Leonard gave me access. Leonard gave me files. Leonard helped me dig.” His words stung like venom now. “You know what? If he’s so damn helpful, maybe you should just go fuck him instead!”

Your jaw dropped. It felt like he’d put a knife through your heart. “What the hell, Bucky?”

He opened his mouth, maybe to take it back, but your mind was racing ahead, clouded by fury and the white-hot pain that seared in your chest.

“No. You don’t get to do that,” you snapped, stepping closer. “You don’t get to throw some pathetic, insecure accusation at me because you’re feeling threatened.”

“That’s not what this is—” He was trying to keep his volume down, but you could see his brows knitted together in anger.

“Oh really?” you said sarcastically. “Because it sure as hell sounds like you’re jealous. Because someone else was there when you weren’t.”

“That’s not—” he bit down on his tongue, but his voice rose regardless. “I’m not jealous. I’m scared!”

His words filled the room, far louder than either of you expected or than Bucky intended. For a second you were relieved that Winnie had moved out from next door, you were sure it would break her heart to hear the two of you yelling at each other.

“I’m scared, alright?” he said again, voice lower now. “You’re poking around in something that could get you killed. And I’m supposed to what? Sit on the couch and hope Leonard keeps you safe?” He growled Leonard’s name.

You stared at him for a moment, trying to catch your breath, trying to articulate how you felt while your heart was pounding in your ears. But you didn’t have time to formulate a response before he continued.

“It’s not even about him! It’s about you not trusting me with this. It’s about the fact that I’ve lost too many people. I’ve held what was left of them in my hands. And I—” His voice cracked. “I can’t do that again.”

Your breath faltered for a moment, the blazing fury that was burning inside you was momentarily doused by the emotion he was finally sharing. But the flames hadn’t been completely extinguished and you couldn’t keep the words in.

“But you don’t trust me to make the right call?” you asked. “To know what risks I’m taking?”

“Of course I trust you,” he said instantly. “It’s the world I don’t trust.”

A short, bitter bark escaped you. “Bullshit!”

“What?” Bucky recoiled as though you’d slapped him.

You went on despite his reaction. “If you trusted me, you wouldn’t have thrown Leonard in my face like that. I can’t believe you think that I want to sleep with him because I didn’t tell you everything the second it happened.”

“That’s not what I—”

“You think I wanted this?” you shouted, voice breaking slightly. “You think I enjoy this? Finding something like this isn't thrilling for me. I'm terrified about how this might fuck up our lives and that no one's going to help!”

“Then why didn’t you come to me?” he shouted back. “I’m right fucking here!”

“Because every time I turn around, you’re already drowning in your own shit, Bucky! You’re exhausted, your head’s always somewhere else, and half the time you won’t even tell me how you’re really doing! And I get it— believe me, I do. I just didn’t want to add another problem to your pile of things to carry!”

Bucky ran his hands through his hair, almost like he was going to pull out the strands from the roots. “So instead you go to him?” he said through gritted teeth.

You scoffed, staring at him furiously. “You keep saying it’s not about Leonard, but somehow you keep making it about him!”

“Because I don’t get it. He treated you like shit. He’s the reason you wanted to fake a date in the first place. Yet you keep crawling back to him.”

“You’re unbelievable. Is this what you really think of me? Why’s he such a big deal to you?”

“Because he’s a part of your past I can’t fix!” Bucky barked. “I can’t compete with him—I can’t erase him. He just keeps coming back into your life and you can’t seem to stay away. I never imagined that I’d have to watch him swoop in every time you need something.”

You let out a frustrated huff. “It’s all about you, isn’t it? Talk about stroking your ego. Jesus, Buck,” you said, coldly.

He faltered. “No, I—”

“You’re not the only one who’s scared in this relationship, alright?” you snapped. “You think I’m not scared every damn time you go out with barely healed injuries? When you shut down after something bad happens and I wonder if you’ll ever open up to me.” You laughed a little hysterically. “Or maybe that one day you’ll disappear altogether because you couldn’t stand to stay still anymore?”

Bucky looked at you, his expression turning pale.

“But I don’t use my fear to control you,” you explained.

“I’m not trying to control you,” he said, voice breaking. “I’m trying to protect you.”

“I don’t need a fucking bodyguard!” you shouted. “I need a partner! Someone who trusts me to do the right thing even if it’s hard. Even if it’s dangerous.”

The silence that followed your outburst was worse than anything he could have shouted back. You could see it now— that haunted look— the same one he had worn after his nightmare. It darkened his face. You could literally see him pulling away, retreating back behind that wall he’d built long before you’d ever met him. 

“Maybe I can’t be that,” Bucky said, his voice barely a whisper. “Maybe I’m not built for this kind of trust.”

His words felt like a punch to the gut, you felt winded and blood drained from your face. Your mouth was dry and your eyes burned as your clouded mind tried to find something to say.

“Don’t—”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t you dare turn this into some kind of self-fulfilling prophecy. Where you’re the guy who leaves before he gets left.”

He flinched. He physically flinched at your words as though you had struck him. Then he was still, so still and brittle that you thought anything you might say next would shatter him completely.

Tentatively, you took a step toward him, your voice softer but no less resolute. “You don’t just get to pull away because things got hard. It’s not fair… to me, and it’s not fair to you either.”

He still didn’t say anything, but he didn’t step back. Instead he just stood there, hands clenched, vibranium arm whirring softly. He wouldn’t look at you, but you noticed that his eyes darted around the room, like his instincts were telling him to run.

You swallowed, hating the way your voice cracked. “If you’re scared, Buck, then say that. But don’t throw Leonard in my face. Don’t punish me for not needing you to fix everything bad in my life.”

“I’m not trying to fix everything,” he said finally, his voice rough with emotion. “I just want to be enough.”

You stared at him, completely stunned, before a broken sound left your lips. His words finally quelled the anger you’d felt. “You are,” you whimpered. “Oh God, Bucky, you are enough.”

But he shook his head once, like he couldn’t quite believe it. It was like the storm had finally passed and the two of you were standing in the wreckage. Then, quietly, he said, “I need to clear my head.”

“What?” you whispered, his words catching you off guard.

Your surprise immediately turned to panic as you watched him turn and pick up his jacket.

“Don’t leave!” you cried, desperately.

“M’not leaving,” he said, gruffly. “Just… need a minute.”

The door closed behind him before you could respond. And then you were alone.

It was quiet in the apartment. Too quiet. The lingering aroma of dinner still hung in the air, a cruel reminder of what should have been. Finally your knees gave way and you sank down into the couch, grabbing a cushion and curling yourself around it. Your eyes burned, but you refused to cry. Not yet.

You didn’t know how long you sat there. Until your brain finally formed a sensible thought. You stood, steadying yourself on the arm rest as you fumbled for your phone. Fingers shook as you tapped his name. All you needed to do was call him, tell him to come home.

But the ringtone buzzed from across the room.

You turned slowly, eyes landing on his phone— abandoned on the dining table. The screen glowed in the wake of your incoming call.

As you watched the image of your face lighting up his phone, the tears finally came. Slow at first, then harder until you dropped down on the couch with your knees pulled into your chest, arms wrapped rightly around your legs. The only sound that filled the silence was your own sobs.

Maybe this was it. You had finally blown it. What if he didn’t come back?

You didn’t know how long you sat there for— long enough for your ass to have gone numb. It felt like an eternity that you sat alone in the darkness. The leftovers of the meal Bucky had prepared sat cold on the dining table, untouched. Time seemed to have blurred.

It was well past midnight when you heard the lock turning and the door creaked open quietly. Bucky stepped inside, his jacket collar was turned up to protect him from the cold wind that wafted through the open door. He looked exhausted and almost hesitant about being there.

In your relief to see him, you jumped up off the couch, your sock clad feet slipping on the floor as you rushed to meet him— only to stop short, frozen halfway around the room. What if he didn’t want you near him?

His eyes were drawn to you immediately and his expression softened.

“You’re awake,” he said gently. “I thought… you’d be asleep.”

You shook your head, voice barely audible. “I didn’t think you were coming back.”

He stepped forward, slow and careful. “I— I never want to lose you. I just—” He reached out for your hand but didn’t quite take it. 

For a moment, you just looked at him. Then, slowly, you reached out and touched his fingertips. You tried to speak but all you could manage was a small squeak. It was meant to be an apology but you couldn’t find your voice.

It was all Bucky needed to curl his fingers around yours and pull you into his arms, wrapping you his arms and holding you like you might disappear.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered into his chest.

“I’m sorry too,” he murmured, over and over, pressing his lips into your hair. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Neither of you moved for a long time, clinging to each other in the darkness. He was still cold from being outside, still raw from all the words that had been exchanged. The apartment was quiet around you.

“Can we talk about it tomorrow?”

There weren’t any more words for now. Nothing more to say. Not yet.

Chapter Text

The morning alarm was not music to Bucky’s ears the following day. It pierced the silence, making both of you stir at what felt like an ungodly hour. Even the sun was having trouble showing itself. He felt you flinch beside him before you reached instinctively for the phone on the nightstand. He didn’t want to move, but he did stiffen as he heard you groan, silence the alarm and roll out of bed.

He stayed still, listening to the sound of your feet shuffle around the room and quietly close the bedroom door behind you. He stared up at the ceiling, lamenting the fact that despite everything that had happened, you’d chosen to get up and go to work as though nothing had happened. After everything that had happened— the argument, the apologies, the promises whispered in the dark— nothing seemed to have changed. You were still leaving. Still going it alone.

He was about to roll over and try to get some more sleep, when he heard the clatter of something metallic hitting the floor followed by a whispered curse. Then he realized that you hadn’t come back to get dressed. There was a soft clinking of ceramic and the distinct whistle from the kettle. Finally it was the unmistakable scent of coffee which drew him out from under the covers. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, shirtless and blinking sleep from his eyes as he followed the sound of you shuffling through a cabinet drawer.

You were standing beside the stove with your head leaning against the side of the fridge like you couldn’t keep yourself upright. His presence garnered your attention and you glanced over your shoulder at him. “Morning,” you mumbled, voice laced with grogginess.

“I thought you were going to work,” he said gruffly.

“Nah,” you said simply, pouring water into the mugs. “Called in sick.”

Bucky blinked in surprise, like the words took a minute to land. “You did?”

You nodded and slid a mug across the counter toward him. “Yeah. This seemed a bit more important.”

His hand wrapped around the sides of the mug, but his eyes didn’t leave your face. “You sure?” he asked gently. 

“I’m sure.”

There was a long pause, where Bucky felt his heart swell with every beat, but nothing moved except for the steam curling from your coffee mugs.

Finally he took a step toward you. “Thank you.”

You looked up at him with a small, sheepish smile. “You still like scrambled eggs?”

“Love ‘em,” he answered softly with an answering smile.

You reached for a pan. “Then you’re in luck. I make the best ones in these ‘ere parts.”

He watched as you cracked and dropped several eggs in the warmed skillet. The silence between you was not as tense as he had been when he walked in, and hope began to bloom in his chest that maybe this wasn’t broken beyond repair.

Bucky pulled open the fridge, retrieved a few slices of bread and dropped them into the toaster. Neither of you said much, working in perfect sync to fix breakfast. The quiet didn't feel as loaded as the previous night, like there was room to breathe again.

Eventually, breakfast was ready. The two of you sat down at the table, forks scraping softly against your plates as you ate, stealing glances at each other between bites. Warm food and drink filling your bellies and the comfort of each other's presence was enough for now.

When both your plates were empty, Bucky leaned back in his chair. “Thanks for staying. It means a lot to me.”

“You mean everything to me.”

Bucky reached out for your hand, his fingers trembling as they met yours across the table.

“Come on, let's go on the couch.”

You followed his lead, sinking into the cushions beside him.

“Buck?”

“Yeah?”

“If I'm being honest, I don't know how this is supposed to go.”

“What d’you mean?” he asked, brows furrowed with concern.

“I'm kinda scared that hashing out everything from last night's gonna make things worse.”

Bucky turned to face you as his hand rested on top of yours. “Yeah,” he said with a small sigh. “Me too.”

You chewed the inside of your lip, eyes focused on your intertwined fingers. “But I don’t want to pretend it didn’t happen. That’s not fair to either of us.”

He nodded, his thumb brushing over the top of your knuckles. “We don’t have to fix everything in one conversation.”

Finally, you glanced up at him. “So what now?”

Then Bucky shifted, his voice a little rough. “Can I ask you something… a little random?”

You tilted your head inquisitively. “Course.”

He hesitated a second. “Did you… blip?”

The question caught you off guard and you studied his face before answering. “No,” you said softly. “I was here through all of it.”

He nodded slightly, his eyes dropping to your hand in his, squeezing a little tighter just to make sure you wouldn't disappear right from his grasp.

You squeeze back in reassurance. “You did?” you asked.

He let out a short humorless huff. “Yeah,” he answered quietly. “One second I was fighting next to Steve and then the next thing I know, I'm in exactly the same spot, but it's five years later, and—” He laughed again. “I'm still fighting the same battle, like nothing had changed.”

You didn’t interrupt. He rarely spoke about any of his past experiences in any detail. What he did offer was always in pieces, carefully guarded and sandwiched between periods of silence.

He ran his hand over the hair on his jaw. “But it had changed.”

You rested your free palm on his arm in a gesture of support.

“After everything— HYDRA, being on the run, my deprogramming in Wakanda, the nightmares— I thought I was getting somewhere. But when I came back… everyone had moved on. Including Steve. He was there one moment. And then he was just gone.”

“He left?” You frowned, surprise evident in your tone.

“We didn't really talk about it, but I knew what he was planning. I could see it on his face. I knew what he wanted. And it's what he deserved.”

The bitterness in his tone wasn't directed at Steve, more at the ache his absence had left behind.

“He earned his peace,” Bucky whispered. “I just— I just wish he didn't have to leave me behind to get it.”

He hated how lost and broken he sounded as he admitted this. He didn't want you to feel that he couldn't support you. He needn't have worried, you were quick to show your support, wrapping your arms around his, holding him tightly.

His voice was quiet now, rough around the edges and thick with unshed tears. “That’s what it felt like, when you didn’t tell me. Like I was being left behind again. Like I wasn’t someone you could trust.”

He could see the guilt on your face, the immediate remorse. “I didn’t mean to make you feel that way.”

“I know.” He sighed. “But sometimes I find it hard to separate what’s happening now from the way things went before.”

He took a deep breath and turned to face you fully. It was time to show you the parts of him he kept hidden. The insecurities he never shared. The doubts he left unvoiced.

“Steve was the one person who’d always been there… even when I didn’t deserve it. But he chose to go. And since then I’ve been scared that everyone I care about… will go too.” He finished in a quiet voice.

You didn't hesitate to lean in, press your forehead against his and reassure him. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He closed his eyes, revelling in your closeness, the way your breath felt warm against his lips. He hadn’t realized how badly he needed to hear those words from you. 

“When I see you doing something so risky, when it feels like you're pulling away… it feels like I'm losing you too. And it's like I'm back where I started… no control. And I'll blink and you'll be gone too.”

Bucky hated seeing the tears in your eyes. You'd sat and listened to everything he had to say and despite everything, you still reached for him. 

“I'm sorry. I didn't… oh Bucky, I just—” Your voice cracked a little as you searched for the right words. “I don't want to force you to share things you're not ready to. I know it's been hard for you and I never wanted to make you uncomfortable.”

He watched you, waiting for you to continue, to have your turn to express what you felt.

“I guess I hoped that you felt like you could share them with me. That I'm the person you trust when things are hard, that I'm not just here for the good things.” 

His breath caught as you played with his fingers nervously.

“I guess I'm sorry that sometimes I need something you’re not always ready to give. But Bucky, I swear I wasn't trying to push you away, I just worry about adding to your burden.”

Bucky nodded slowly. “Yeah,” he said, glancing down at your hands. “I get that.” He hated that you felt this way.

“I shouldn’t have phrased it the way I did,” you continued apologetically. “That was completely unfair and a really shitty thing to throw in your face. I know you try really hard and I’m so sorry for how I reacted.”

He sighed, pulling you closer. “I just hate that when you needed someone you ended up turning to… him.”

“I didn’t go looking for him,” you insisted. “He just happened to be there. I needed his access. It was a practical choice. But I never meant for it to feel like a betrayal.”

You looked up into his face, trying to read his expression. “He’s not who I trust with my heart, Bucky. You are.”

Bucky sighed. “I’m sorry that I said you should—” he forced out a breath to try and quell the disgust he felt for the words he had used. He was quiet for a moment longer, keeping his fingers laced with yours. “I think from everything you told me about him, how he treated you, I’m surprised that you even considered trusting him.”

If you had a rebuttal, you didn’t use it. Waiting patiently, for which he was grateful.

“And I think that’s what I really struggled… still struggle to understand.”

You looked up at him, caught off guard by the admission. But he went on, his voice dropping to a near whisper.

“I spent years with no say over my own body. No voice. No agency. Just… following orders. Programming. Pain. It’s all I knew.”

Bucky hated that your eyes had filled with tears again, he always wanted to protect you from the pain of his past. But he was starting to learn that it wasn’t always the right choice.

“I used to think I deserved it,” you murmured. “Used to think that the way he treated me was normal. That being with someone meant tolerating what they did just to make things work.”

He pulled you in close to his chest, pressing his face into your hair. “It’s not,” he said fiercely. “You didn’t deserve that. None of it.”

You looked up with those beautiful eyes, giving him a wobbly smile. “Neither did you.”

He nodded slowly. “Actually, it was you who made me realize that. That I didn’t need to be stuck in that place.” With another sigh, he went on. “I just wanted to protect you. But the way I went about it… I let my jealousy get in the way. And I’m sorry. I really am.”

“I know,” you said softly. “I get why it was hard to hear his name. But Bucky, I don’t trust him with me. I only used him to open a door I couldn’t on my own.”

He was quiet for a moment before asking, “And now?”

You met his gaze with certainty. “Now I want to show you everything I’ve got. All of it. Because I want you to be the one who helps me with this.”

“You still wanna do this, huh?” Bucky chuckled.

You nodded. “I need to.”

He squeezed your hand gently. “Then I’m with you, til the end of the line.”

You jumped up from the couch and made your way over to the desk, dropping down to one knee as you pulled open the bottom drawer. As you rummaged through the compartment, there was a rustle of paper sketches and a clatter of pencils as you dug down until your fingers finally closed around a slim plastic folder tucked near the bottom.

You brought it back to the coffee table and placed it in front of Bucky, sliding it across the smooth surface.

“This is it,” you said quietly, sitting down. 

He looked from the folder to your face, reading the tension in your posture. Your hands hovered over it like you weren’t ready to let go and you bit your lip.

“This is what you found?” he asked, his voice gentle.

You nodded feeling incredibly uncertain. “Yeah,” you whispered. 

Bucky reached for the folder, his fingers brushing over yours as he took it from you. As he opened the packet, your breath caught.

Now that the time had come, something twisted inside you. Sharing what you had found made it real. But it also meant that you ran the risk of being dismissed. Even laughed at.

What if he thought it was messy? Incomplete? Or worse, completely unsubstantiated?

“It’s not perfect.” Your voice came out smaller than you meant it to. “I didn’t really know what I was doing when I started… just followed what felt off.”

Bucky stopped mid-action, looking into your face steadily. 

“Doesn’t have to be perfect,” he said gently. “Just show me what you have.”

“It started off as weird discrepancies in the jewel shipments I was using for my designs. So I started making notes of the shipment numbers, in this notebook.”

Bucky nodded his understanding.

“First I thought it was all a mistake and I was the one getting it wrong. So I went back to check because I kept seeing things that didn't make sense.

“So I started printing out the documents that were filed and I made a copy of the originals. Putting them together. Just one at a time so no one thought I was weird for carrying around stacks of paper.”

Bucky took the pages from you. 

“You printed out all of these?” he asked, flipping through the documents. His eyes flicked back and forth between the original versus the official filed documents, discerning the discrepancies. 

You bit your lip on another spot, nodding as you watched his face, trying to read his expression. “I thought about saving them to my tablet, but it's a company device and we both know how well that worked for me last time.”

Bucky huffed in agreement, his nose still in your files. You leaned over slightly, following what he was doing, retracing your steps.

Finally he got to the one. The one that started off your whole investigation. You pointed at it. 

“This was the first one.”

You pulled out a picture you'd taken of the jewels, the sapphires from Myanmar. They were supposed to be royal blue but we got cornflower blue in a different cut.”

“Sapphires, huh?” Bucky looked up at you curiously. “What's the difference?”

“Color, cost, cut,” you answered, as though the answer was obvious. 

Bucky turned to face you, a deeply skeptical look on his face. “They both look blue,” he said flatly.

“See this one?” You pointed to the cornflower gems. “They're the same color as your eyes, they're how I knew.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching as he tilted his head to the side to examine your expression. “Oh, is that right, Princess?” he asked, voice low, with just a hint of roughness to it.

You blushed, but met his eyes with a warm smile. “Mmhmm. I’d recognize that shade of blue anywhere.”

He held your gaze a beat longer, letting the warmth between you linger.

“So… all this started ‘cause you couldn’t stop thinking about my eyes?” he teased, his knee pushing against your thigh.

You rolled your eyes, but your smile widened despite yourself. “Don’t flatter yourself, Barnes.”

“How can I not?” he murmured, his grin growing wider. “Looks like you let me live rent-free in that pretty little head of yours… even while you’re cracking smuggling rings.”

You nudged him lightly with your elbow and he playfully nudged you back. The grin on his face made your chest flutter for a moment, but with a sigh, your eyes dropped to the stack of documents between you, and the anxiety of it all flooded back in.

“As much as I'd like to get lost in your eyes,” you murmured, tapping the photo again, “This one started it all. The wrong stones in the right packaging. Everything after that just kinda… spiraled.”

Bucky’s smile faded as he straightened slightly, his focus sharpening again. “But this is all you've found, right? Patterns? But nothing that points to who’s doing it?”

You shook your head, disappointedly. “No. No names. No locations. Just patterns that don’t make sense unless someone’s cooking the books… or maybe swapping the shipments after inspection.”

Bucky frowned. “And you’re sure Leonard isn’t one of them?”

You hesitated, your lip squashed by your teeth.

“Can't really be sure of anything,” you admitted reluctantly. “But he's helped so far. Not tried to block access. In fact, he's been just as keen to look into it. I don't get the vibe that he's in on it.”

Bucky flipped through the files again, clearly thinking.

“If he’s involved…” you speculated, “then he knows exactly what I’ve been digging into.”

Bucky’s jaw tightened. “That’s exactly what I’m worried about.”

You shuffled closer to him, wrapping your arms around his bicep. A sudden chill shot down your spine. Maybe your eagerness to investigate had been a little ambitious, after all. What if Bucky had been right to disapprove of your actions?

He leaned forward mulling over the information before him. He tapped his finger on one of the pages. “Everything runs through one logistics company, right?”

You nodded. “Jaxel Freight. They handle most of the international deliveries.”

One by one, you went through the invoices, shipping manifests and other random documents highlighting the name of the company on each sheet.

You even opened your notebook to a sketch of the company’s supply chain, drawn in pencil with arrows and sticky notes, connecting vendors to logistics companies, companies to anonymous shell corporations.

Bucky stared at the web of lines on the pages spread out in front of him. “Jesus,” he murmured. “You’ve been building a whole damn case file.”

“It wasn't the plan,” you admitted. “But somehow it snowballed. And once I started connecting the dots…”

He picked up your notebook and let out a low whistle. “This is meticulous.”

You laughed, but it was dry and anxious. “Or obsessive.”

“Smart,” he countered. “Careful. Brave.”

You looked up, surprised by the fierceness in his tone and the way he looked at you. And despite all his fears, you could see the pride shining back at you. 

He shifted a little closer, brushing his fingers over the edge of a certificate you'd made a copy of. “So Leonard helped you get access to this in the company's archives?”

“Yeah. No way I'd have gotten access to some of the stuff I have here. I couldn’t have gotten without his clearance. I haven't figured out the pattern though. W- I've just been picking random shipments when I can and taking a look. Writing down allotment numbers, where the stones originated, their quality.

“I would have made a spreadsheet but avoiding electronics, so had to do it the old fashioned way.”

Bucky snorted softly. “You and your spreadsheets.”

“I think… I think someone’s swapping out legitimate stones for fakes after the paperwork clears.”

“And keeping the real ones,” Bucky said, catching on.

You nodded. “Selling them off the books. Or trading them.”

His jaw tightened. “It’s smart. Horrible. But smart.”

You drew in a shaky breath. “I know it’s not solid proof of anything... but it’s enough that… if something happened to me… someone else could pick up the trail.”

His head snapped toward you. “Don’t say that,” he said through gritted teeth.

“I’m serious, Buck. That’s why I printed it all. That’s why I made copies.”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he gathered up some of the papers, as though he was trying to stop himself from trying to talk you out of it again. 

He leafed through the pages slowly, absorbing your careful notes and interpretations. Eventually,  he turned to look at you, serious and somber.

“You shouldn’t have had to carry this on your own,” he said quietly.

“I didn’t know who to tell. I didn’t want to drag anyone else into it unless I was sure.”

“Well,” Bucky said, reaching over to take your hand, his voice steady. “You’re sure now. And you’re not alone anymore.”

A silence settled between you. It was quiet but no longer tense. You finally felt like you could breathe, the weight of secrets finally off your chest. 

“Do you think it’s enough to take to someone?” you asked.

He nodded. “Yeah. If it were me? This would be more than enough to start an investigation.”

You let out a breath. “Okay. So what now?”

“Now,” he said, flipping over one of the documents, “we mark the strongest leads. Make copies. Figure out who’s at the center of this. And then…”

He looked up at you with an almost dangerous glint in his eye.

“…we blow their operation wide open.”

You stared at him for a second, a rush of emotion burning behind your eyes. Gratitude. Relief. Trust.

“I’m glad it’s you,” you whispered. “That I finally get to share this with.”

Bucky squeezed your hand. “I’m glad you did.”

You reached forward and grabbed a second highlighter, handing it to him. As he took it, he gazed at you a little longer before speaking again. 

“Hey, Princess?”

“Yeah?”

“This is impressive and… I'm proud of you.”

He smiled, and his expression was one that said someone was about to regret underestimating you.

Chapter Text

You didn’t know what time it was but it felt early. If it hadn’t been for the dip in the bed beside you, you wouldn’t have stirred. It was cold and you instinctively curled deeper into the warmth of your duvet. You certainly weren’t ready to face the cold yet, but a warm, familiar hand brushed your shoulder lightly.

“Hey,” Bucky’s voice came, soft and coaxing. “Rise and shine, blanket ninja.”

You grumbled into the pillow. “Why’re you awake? It’s Sunday.”

“I want to take you somewhere,” he said. “Come for a walk with me.”

You peeked one eye open. “Now?”

He nodded, crouching beside the bed. “It’s Sunday. Streets’ll be quiet. I thought maybe we could take a walk.”

Your brow furrowed, but his voice was so careful, almost shy that you pushed yourself upright. It felt like he was asking you to join him for something bigger than just a simple morning stroll.

“A walk where?” you asked, groggily.

He gave you a half-smile and stood up, pulling your hoodie from the back of a chair and tossing it at your head.

“Hey!” you protested.

“Thought I could show you around my old neighborhood,” he said in a low voice.

You perked up immediately. Bucky rarely volunteered pieces of his past, and certainly not like this. You swung your legs out of bed and stretched. “Give me five minutes to shower and get some coffee?”

He grinned. “Already on the counter.”

“Have I ever mentioned I love you?” you said, standing and tiptoeing up to give him a quick peck on the cheek.

“Yeah, but doesn’t hurt to hear it again.” He reluctantly let go of your hips so you could get ready.

By the time you were dressed, coffee in hand, and layered up in your hat and gloves, Bucky was already waiting by the door. He looked like he’d been ready for hours. Now he had his boots on, a navy pea coat buttoned to the top, collar popped up and hair pulled back beneath the knitted beanie you bought him a few weeks ago.

“You look warm,” you commented.

“I’m always warm,” he replied with a wink, before grabbing a scarf and wrapping it around your neck. “But you— you need the scarf. You get grumpy when your nose goes cold.”

You rolled your eyes, wrapping the scarf tighter. “You’re ridiculous.”

He opened the door for you. “Yeah, and you love it.”

Bucky led the way, silently, and you didn’t press him for details, not wanting him to clam up on you. You were nervous and excited all at once, curiosity simmering beneath your skin. You had no idea what he wanted to show you, but there was something determined in his gait that made you follow wordlessly. It was almost like you were stepping on hallowed ground.

Eventually, you turned a corner, Bucky was one step ahead and he stopped suddenly, making you collide with his back with a small ‘oof.’

“Sorry,” he apologized, wrapping his arm around your waist lightly.

He had stopped outside an old brick building, still standing and sandwiched between two sleeker, more modern complexes. The stoop was cracked and you could tell the windows had been replaced with more secure glass. There was an ugly buzzer system for each apartment where a large brass knocker probably once lived.

Bucky stared up at it like he was seeing a ghost.

“This was it,” he said finally, voice rough. “My building. Back in the day.”

You followed his gaze, imagining it the way it might’ve looked then— less polished, more lived-in. With kids hanging off the stair railings, laundry lines between windows, and the smell of something simmering from a third-floor kitchen.

“Used to be four of us in a two-bedroom apartment,” he said after a beat. “Me, Becca, my parents. Becca was a lot younger than me and sometimes she was a menace. But times were tight and we had to make do with what we had.”

He didn’t sound sad. Just… reflective.

You stepped a little closer. “Did you have a favorite spot?”

He smiled faintly, pointing to the chipped iron fire escape. “Top landing. Used to sit there when I needed some peace. Pretend I could see the whole city from up there.”

You pictured it— a younger Bucky, gangly and restless, trying to carve out a sliver of peace above the noise from his sister, from the city.

He turned to look at you, his expression soft. “Never brought anyone back here before.”

Your brows lifted slightly. “Not even Steve?”

He shook his head and shrugged. “Steve knew it too well. He didn’t need a tour. But you…” He shrugged, looking up at the building again. “I wanted you to see it. Where I started. Before everything.”

You didn’t say anything right away. You could feel the weight behind his words. Not just history, but heart. The version of Bucky that had existed before HYDRA, before war, before pain— and he was letting you glimpse it.

“Thank you,” you said softly. “For showing me.”

He nodded once, before pointing up at one of the windows. “The two of us were in that tiny room. Becca slept on a foldout, and I got a cot by the window. Summers were brutal— no AC, just fans that sounded like they might fly away. Most weekends Steve would sneak up the fire escape and sleep over. Becca was really small back then and slept next to ma.”

You smiled in encouragement.

“We’d climb up on the roof after lights out and talk about what we’d do when we got out.”

There was a wistfulness in his voice, like the memories were sweet and sharp all at once.

You tilted your head questioningly. “What did you wanna do? Back then?”

He smiled faintly, lips quirking at the edges, but his hands stayed deep in his coat pockets. “Steve wanted to be an artist. Or a pilot, depending on his mood. Essentially anything that meant he didn’t have to take orders from some blowhard on a factory floor. Steve wasn’t very good at taking orders from people.”

“Shocking.” You snorted softly before asking, “And you?”

His smile softened slightly, his eyes dimming as though lost in the past. His gaze never left the building.

“When I was around seventeen, they opened the observatory, the one by Central Park,” he murmured. “Thought maybe I could be one of those guys who could name the constellations. Know their stories. Be the guy who could tell you how far away a star was, how old it might be. I thought if I knew about what was out there, I wouldn’t feel so… small.”

You glanced at him, heartstrings tugging at the quiet vulnerability in his voice. But you didn’t interrupt.

“Steve used to tease me,” he went on, with a little laugh. “Said I just wanted to flirt with the girls from the science clubs,” he sighed, becoming a little more serious, but still with a small smile. “But that wasn’t it. I mean… maybe it was a little bit that.” He glanced sideways at you, his smile deepening into a smirk when you huffed a laugh. “But mostly, it was the stars.”

“I’d sneak books from the library,” he went on. “Astronomy, physics— stuff I really didn’t understand, but it didn’t matter. I liked how it felt. Like there was something more out there, beyond our little window, beyond Brooklyn.”

He finally turned to look at you. “Steve wanted to paint a better world. I just wanted to see it.”

There was a quiet between you for a moment, soft and thoughtful. He looked almost sheepish, like he wasn’t used to sharing this much, especially not the gentle parts.

You smiled. “You know, I thought you were going to say Steve said you just wanted to flirt with girls from space.”

That made him laugh— a real laugh, sudden and loud. He turned toward you with mock offense. “The only people I know from space are a talking raccoon and a blue lady with robot parts,” he deadpanned. “She stole my arm. I don’t even know how it happened.” He shook his head, eyes narrowed like he was still nursing the grudge.

Your eyes widened. “Wait— what?”

“Yeah.” He tapped the vibranium with two fingers. “Okoye made them build me a new one. But still.” He rubbed his shoulder, tone deeply aggrieved. “You lose one arm to a homicidal blue cyborg and suddenly you’re the irresponsible one.”

You burst out laughing, covering your mouth with a gloved hand. “Oh my god, Bucky.”

He grinned at you, that rare kind of smile that lit up his whole face, enough to put small crinkles around his eyes in the best possible way. But after a few seconds, as the sound of your laughter faded into the morning stillness, and his expression softened again.

Bucky glanced back up at the building, exhaling slowly through his nose. “It’s weird… being here. Feels like I blinked and the whole world changed.”

You reached out and squeezed his hand, letting him know you were still here, still with him, still listening.

He glanced down the street. “Come on,” he said gently, nudging you forward. “Let’s go to the next stop.”

There was quiet between you as you walked the next few blocks. The only thing that could be heard was your footsteps echoing on the cracked sidewalk and the distant sound of traffic. There was a brittle chill in the air that hinted at snow and you tugged your collar just a little higher. Bucky noticed and pulled you closer to him as you walked.

He stopped suddenly across the street from an old movie theater. The marquee looked rusted, the glass cracked and the ticket booth long abandoned. But the skeleton of the structure was still intact. There was a faded purple trim around the awning, the once bright lettering appeared ghost-like, barely visible above the entrance. You could tell that it had been a special place— in its prime. But Bucky gazed at it like it still glowed in technicolor.

“This place…” he murmured, “... it was our escape hatch.”

You leaned into his side, tugging your coat tighter against the cool early morning. “Yours and Steve’s?”

He nodded. “Every Friday after school. Didn’t matter if we’d eaten or not… if one of us was coughing our lungs out. We always scraped together enough for two tickets and a shared bag of licorice.” He smiled, distant and fond. “It was ten cents for a double feature if you got there before five. Sometimes we’d stay and just sneak into the next showing.”

You pressed your face into the sleeve of Bucky’s pea coat. It was so easy to picture it— two scrawny boys tucked in the back row, heads turned toward the flickering screen, escaping into stories that were bigger than the lives they knew.

“What kind of stuff did you watch?” you asked softly.

“Serials!” He laughed under his breath. “Steve loved the newsreels before the films. I’d be fidgeting, waiting for the action and mystery, and he’d be glued to the black-and-white footage of whatever was going on in Europe.”

He sighed, a slight shadow crossing his face. 

“He always wanted to understand the world,” Bucky said. “Even when it was ugly. Me… I just wanted something that didn’t make me feel small.”

You slid your gloved hand into his. “Do you still feel that way? Small?”

He hesitated and for a moment, you weren’t sure he was going to answer. But then his thumb brushed over your knuckles, slow and thoughtful.

“Sometimes,” he admitted. “After everything with HYDRA… then the Snap. I’ve seen so much. Too much, probably.”

He looked across the street, at the yellowing and cracked marquee, but his eyes looked past it, somewhere far away.

“I used to think seeing the stars would make me feel bigger. But when I finally saw what was up there— whole galaxies, whole civilizations…” He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck. “It made everything here feel... tiny. Fragile. Insignificant really.”

You stayed quiet, letting him go at his pace.

“And then I lost so much time. Pieces of myself. People. I got the stars, but… not how I wanted them.” He gave a dry laugh. “Not from the rooftop of my home. Not with Steve standing with me. Not as a wide-eyed kid who thought the universe was everything.”

You squeezed his hand again, the ache in your chest deepening.

“But then I came back. And you were here,” he added, voice barely above a whisper. “Somehow, in all that emptiness, in all that meaningless noise— I found someone that made me feel… worthy.”

Your eyes snapped up to look at his face. His eyes were wet, but he was smiling.

“And I don’t want to lose that,” he said. “Ever.”

You wrapped both arms around his middle, nuzzling your cheek against the scratchy wool of his coat. He held you tightly, chin on top of your head. The cold wind billowed around you, catching on the marquee, making the broken glass rattle— it almost sounded like applause.

He huffed a soft breath. “God, that was corny.”

“I kinda liked it,” you mumbled into his chest.

You felt him smile against the top of your head. And after a minute, he pulled back just enough to look at you.

“C’mon,” he said, clearing his throat and nudging your side gently. “I’ll show you the alley where we used to climb in through the bathroom window when we couldn’t afford tickets.”

You laughed, letting him guide you around the corner like teenagers sneaking off to make out.

The alley was narrower than you expected. The kind of place you’d walk right past without a second thought— just a strip of cracked pavement between two brick buildings, the back door of the theatre rusted shut and an old fire escape sagging dangerously overhead. Bucky stopped just before the entrance, looking down the passage like it still held ghosts.

“The day I got my orders, I came here— looking for Steve. There was this guy,” he said, jaw tightening at the memory. “Bigger than Steve. Mean. No idea what that punk had said to him, but he looked like he wanted to teach Steve a lesson.” 

He paused. “I found Steve on the ground right there, by that wall.” He pointed to the corner where the brick met pavement. “Lip bleeding, knuckles raw. But he always got back up. No matter how many times they knocked him down.”

A muscle ticked in Bucky’s cheek. “I saw red. Don’t remember much except throwing the guy off him. I think I scared the hell out of Steve more than the other guy did.”

You didn’t say anything. You just watched him, watched the way the past played out behind his eyes.

“I was so angry,” he said. “Not just at the guy, but at the world. For making Steve fight so hard every damn day just to exist. For making me feel like I couldn’t always protect him.” His voice was softer now, like a confession. “I’ve never stopped feeling that way.”

Slowly, you reached out and brushed your fingers along the inside of his wrist, until he opened his hand and let you slip yours into it.

“Bucky,” you said quietly, “you did protect him. You loved him. You fought beside him. You believed in him when most people didn’t.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but you didn’t let him get started, plowing on.

“I didn’t know Steve,” you continued, “but I know you. And I’ve seen the way you carry the people you love. I don’t think Steve would ever, even for a second, have doubted that you were in his corner.”

Bucky fell silent, his gaze slid back to the corner of the alley.

“And maybe… maybe it wasn’t always enough to stop bad things from happening,” you said, your voice much gentler now, “but being there? Standing with him? That mattered.” You squeezed his hand. “I know you’ve always chosen to show up.”

He finally looked at you, eyes filled with gratitude and unspoken grief.

“I don’t think Steve would’ve wanted you to carry all that alone,” you added.

He let out a shaky breath. “Sometimes I don’t know how to put it down.”

“You don’t have to,” you said. “But you don’t have to carry it alone either.”

Bucky held your gaze, until he finally nodded, like the weight in his chest wasn’t crushing him quite as much. 

“Thanks,” he murmured.

And you squeezed his hand again as the two of you moved on. As you resumed your walk in companionable silence. The kind that came after exploring something deep.

Bucky slowed in front of a small café. It had large windows and a retro neon sign mounted above the door which flicked faintly.

ROSIE’S.

“This place on the tour or you jonesing for a fix?” you joked.

“Can't have you cold and grumpy,” he replied, seemingly serious but you could see the twinkle in his eye. “Thought we'd make this a twofer.”

You tilted your head and eyed it suspiciously. “This place looks new.”

“Believe me, it’s not,” he said with a nostalgic little smirk as he pushed open the door for you, the little bell above it jangled softly announcing your entrance. “Place used to be a diner. Greasy spoons, chipped mugs, jukebox in the corner that never worked,” he continued, following you inside. With a small huffed laugh, at the memory, he murmured, “They served pie that tasted like cardboard and coffee that could burn a hole in your stomach lining.”

You raised your eyebrows. “And yet you came here?” you asked, as you smiled at the stout waitress who pointed toward a table near the back.

Bucky dipped his head following closely behind you until you reached the table, where he darted around quickly to pull out a chair for you. The place had a sleek look, refinished counters, exposed brick and polished floors. But you could feel the spirit of the place lingering, something old in its bones. It was like the ghosts of the place hadn’t been scrubbed out by time, but infused within the structure. To Bucky, everything felt familiar, like the soul of the diner remained beneath all the upgrades.

“Every week,” Bucky answered softly, once the waitress disappeared behind the counter. “Me, Steve, and Becca sometimes if she begged hard enough. It was cheap and warm, and the owner gave Steve extra pancakes because she thought he looked like he was gonna pass out.”

You laughed at the image. “What about you?”

“She called me hotshot,” Bucky replied, blushing. “Tried to set me up with her granddaughter.”

“And did she?” you asked, eyeing his suspicious behavior.

He grimaced, picking up a menu and shrinking down behind it. “Unfortunately.”

You nudged his arm. “Was she at least cute?”

“She looked like that,” he said, nodding toward the waitress.

“Poor hotshot,” you snorted. “I know you’re older than you look, but I’m not sure she’s your type.”

“That’s her daughter. She’s called Rosie too.”

“Why do you know that, Bucky?” you asked, eyes wide. “Is she your—”

The menu dropped an inch so he could glare at you, cheeks faintly pink. “No! Of course not,” he hissed, before quickly pointing up at a line of framed photographs of the women who had run the place.

You were still grinning when Rosie approached with her notepad. She didn’t notice the exchange, but Bucky kept his head down like a man resigned to being roasted later. You ordered two slices of the house pie and coffees, already plotting the teasing you’d unleash once she was out of earshot.

When she left, Bucky’s knee nudged yours under the table— gentle but pointed. “You’re enjoying this way too much,” he muttered.

You bit back a laugh. “Oh, absolutely.”

His knee pressed against yours under the table and stayed there, warm and steady, even while he pretended to be engrossed in the menu. You knew better— he was just buying himself a few seconds to recover.

By the time Rosie reappeared with steaming mugs of coffee and two generous slices of pie, Bucky had relaxed again. Almost.

He waited until she was gone before speaking. “I used to sit right there. There were booths back then,” he said, his voice dipping into something softer, more reflective. “Back to the door so Steve wouldn’t see me sneaking an extra slice of pie.”

You grinned. “Rebel.”

“Punk,” he countered with fondness, shaking his head. “Didn’t matter how sneaky I thought I was— he always caught me. And then he’d just… split it with me anyway.”

You forked a piece of his pie and took a bite, trying not to laugh at the thought of teenage Bucky hunched over his plate like a kid guarding treasure. “So what you’re saying is, this is a long-standing habit.”

Bucky smirked and leaned back, his arm stretching around the back of your chair. “What can I say? Some things are worth breaking the rules for.”

You rolled your eyes, but under the table, your foot brushed his again, and this time, neither of you moved it away.

And when the bill came, Bucky paid in cash, left too big a tip, and signed the receipt with a soft smile on his face.

As you stepped outside Rosie’s, the weather had changed. The skies had cleared and the winter sun was shining brightly. As you walked towards the water front, you could almost taste the faint briny tang of the river on the wind. Bucky walked with purpose, pulling you along to a place that only existed in the depths of his mind.

You followed him down streets with greyer buildings, more industrialized in their appearance. The chatter of people grew quieter, replaced by the rhythmic clang of metal on metal somewhere close by. Suddenly the buildings opened up, giving way to open sky as you arrived at Brooklyn Navy Yard. Weathered pylons jutted out from the water and hungry gulls circled overhead. The river lapped lazily against the wood, but there was a heaviness in the air, like the ghosts of lost souls lingered here. The breeze blowing off the East River was biting and you huddled closer to Bucky as he led you through a rusted gate right up to the water front.

Bucky slowed to a stop near the edge, his gaze sweeping over the rippling water. “This was the last stop for me,” he said quietly. “Before the war. Before England. Before everything. Thought it would be a good place to finish before going home.”

You stayed close, closing your eyes and taking in the scene and letting the breeze whip at your coat.

“The night before I shipped out,” he went on, “I went to the Stark Expo with Steve. Danced with a few girls, had a good time,” he shrugged. “Then I went home and had one last dinner with my family. Told them all I didn’t want anyone coming down here the next morning to see me off. Thought it’d be easier that way.”

His mouth tugged at something between a smile and a wince. “Steve didn’t listen. Showed up anyway. Still skinny as a rail, wearing clothes that looked too damn big for him. I didn’t know it then, but it would be the last time I’d see him like that. Small. Just a kid who didn’t know how to stay down.”

The memory seemed to have taken hold of him. His eyes looked distant and the fingers of his right hand twitched slightly as if he was remembering the ghost of a salute. “I remember standing on the deck as the ship sailed away. Everyone else waved to their wives, kids, sweethearts... I just watched Steve get smaller and smaller. Until he was gone.”

You shifted your hand so you could gently lace your fingers through his. Anchoring him to the present. “That must’ve been hard,” you whispered, your other hand brushing over his knuckles, “leaving everything you’d ever known behind. Leaving him behind.”

He nodded once. “It was. I didn’t think he’d ever catch up to me.” A faint smile ghosted his lips. “And then he did.”

You gave his hand a squeeze. “And then you followed him.”

Bucky’s eyes flicked to yours. Tired. “Yeah. I followed him all the way to hell.”

You wound your heavily padded arm around his middle, pulling yourself against him and  letting your head rest against his chest. “You don’t have to follow anyone anymore, Buck.”

He nodded slowly, letting the truth of your words sink in.

“No. Now I just want to walk beside someone.” He looked at you, more open in the moment than he had been all day, his arms holding you now. “Maybe… here. Like this.”

A small smile curved your lips. And for a few moments, you both stood in silence, listening to the sound of waves crashing against the dock as it creaked beneath you.

Bucky rested his cheek against the top of your head. He could feel his heart thudding against his ribs like it recognized the sacredness about this moment. You, here with him now, the past behind. The future— uncertain but real— and it belonged to him. He wanted to ask. Everything in him wanted to ask. It was the perfect moment. He even opened his mouth to say the words.

But as he reached into his pocket, he knew something was missing. The ring wasn’t there. It was waiting back at the apartment, for the perfect moment— this perfect moment he had created by accident— and he didn’t have it.

He swallowed the words down, and as you shivered slightly he brushed the tip of his finger over your cheek. “Come on,” he said softly, nudging his shoulder into yours. “Let’s go home.”

The walk home was reflective and again quiet. Bucky’s hand stayed firmly around yours the entire time. He hadn’t said much at all and he looked exhausted but somehow a little more at peace with himself than normal. Unfortunately, as soon as the door closed, his phone rang and he kissed your temple, muttering something about needing to check in with Sam. You told him you’d see him later as he grabbed his jacket rather than his coat and vanished.

As soon as the door clicked shut, the weight of everything that had happened… or not happened settled into the pit of your stomach. You changed into something more comfortable and curled up on the couch under a blanket, trying to take off the feeling that there should have been something more than what had happened.

Your phone was in your hand and you were hitting Aditi’s contact before you’d even had a chance to really think about it.

She answered on the third ring, her voice warm and welcoming. “Hey, trouble.”

“Hey,” you answered, and you hated how small your voice sounded. “You busy?”

“For you? Never. What’s going on? You okay?”

You hesitated, then exhaled in a rush. “I think— well, I thought— Bucky was going to propose to me today.”

There was a pause on the other end. “Okay… what makes you think that?”

You took a deep breath, pressing your lips together softly before blowing out the tension. It felt a little ridiculous now that you were going to say it out loud. “Bucky took me on this… walk today. Through his old neighborhood. Showed me where he grew up, where he used to sneak into the movies, and then we ended up at the docks, where they set sail for the war back in the 40’s. And he… he said these things… about wanting to walk beside someone…” You felt your throat tighten and your eyes well with tears.

Aditi cut in in a deadpan voice. “Walk beside someone? Really romancing the stone, that one.”

“About us!” you cried, exasperated. “You know… our lives. It was metaphorical!”

“I know, hun, carry on.”

“It’s just… it felt… like the perfect moment. And then… nothing.” 

Aditi’s voice softened. “And that’s making you think he doesn’t want to marry you?”

You laughed weakly, rubbing your temple. “I know it sounds dumb. But yeah. Maybe.”

“Honey,” Aditi said gently, “Bucky is not the kind of man who’d do all of that if he didn’t see a future with you. He’s been through hell and back— he doesn’t let people in unless he’s sure. And you’re in. You’re not just a chapter in a book for him, you’re the god damn bible.”

You swallowed hard and in a small voice asked, “Then why didn’t he ask?”

“Maybe he just… didn’t have the right words yet. Or maybe he’s waiting for the right time. I think he’s a bit of a romantic.” There was the faintest smile in her voice. “Some moments are too important to rush. Take it from me, I was a little impatient. And when he does it—” she stopped herself for half a beat, as though choosing her next words carefully, “—I think you’ll find it’s worth the wait.”

You frowned slightly. “You sound so sure.”

“I am sure,” she said without missing a beat. “Bucky loves you. That’s not up for debate. And when the time’s right…” Another small pause, like she was keeping something to herself. “You’ll know.”

You let out a slow breath, leaning back into the couch cushions. “Thanks, Aditi.”

“Anytime,” she said. Then, a little too brightly, “Now go distract yourself before you spiral into a rom-com meltdown. Eat something. Watch a bad movie. Call me if you need me.”

You cracked a smile. “Too late.”

Chapter Text

For the next week, you were diligent about leaving work promptly and texting Bucky about your whereabouts, to allay his fears. Tonight you shot him a text as you were packing up.

03:48 PM - You: On my way home. What’s for dinner, studmuffin?

His reply was prompt and arrived before you’d even reached your car.

03:50 PM - Bucky: Wouldn’t you like to know. 😘

This was followed by a picture of takeout menus on the kitchen counter.

By the time you walked through the front door, the apartment smelled like soy sauce, sesame, and the warm spice of your favorite curry. Bucky was barefoot, sleeves rolled up, leaning casually against the counter like he hadn’t been watching the clock for the last twenty five minutes.

“You timed that perfectly,” he said, pulling the bags toward him and peering inside. “Food just arrived.”

You dropped your bag by your desk and stepped into the kitchen, giving him a quick kiss. “And here I thought you were gonna make me a home-cooked meal,” you teased.

He shot you a look over the tops of the cartons. “I did. I got you a home-cooked dinner… by calling the Kangs.”

Dinner was easy— chopsticks tapped against ceramic plates, a bottle of beer in front of him and a ginger ale for you. The chaos at work for you and his early morning training let you fall into a soft and comfortable evening routine filled with closeness and intimacy now, usually started with a shared meal. By the time you pushed your empty plate away, the day's tension had fallen away and your shoulders rested loosely against the back of the couch.

Bucky disappeared into the kitchen for a few moments, reappearing having done the dishes, holding a bottle of merlot and two glasses.

You arched a brow. “Oooo! Wine? On a school night?”

He smirked as he poured. “Special occasion. Sorta.”

That made you pause. “What’s the occasion?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he placed a glass in front of you and poured some wine into it. He poured another for himself and sat down beside you, turning the glass between his metal digits.

You felt the shift in his demeanor. The casual warmth from dinner had given way to something more serious.

“I’ve been thinking about something,” he said finally, eyes flicking from the wine back to you and back to his glass. “And I wanted to talk to you before I made any kind of decision.”

You leaned in, a sliver of apprehension unfurling in your stomach. “Okay…?”

His thumb traced the base of his glass. “I’ve been thinking…”

“That doesn't bode well,” you nudged him with a wink, trying to break the tension that had suddenly developed. 

Bucky chuckled, taking a sip from his glass as though it would give him the strength to continue. “I was lying there last night, listening to you breathe—”

“Not at all creepy…” you muttered to yourself.

Bucky gave you a soft smirk but continued as though you hadn't said anything. “And all I could think was: is this it?”

You looked up slowly. “This?” you asked a little fearfully.

“The way things are. Jack… all the other vets. Your firm… the smuggling. Aditi and Hanna's adoption stuff. It just feels like any time someone needs to be heard, you have to light yourself on fire to be seen.”

Your heart went out to him, you knew that feeling of helplessness. You reached out with your hand, but you didn't speak. He wasn’t finished.

He sighed. “I keep thinking…” he ran his hair through his hair, “that maybe I've been wasting time. Playing hero. Keeping my head down and acting like I'm making a difference in small ways.” His cheeks flushed faintly. “Just one person at a time.”

This was something you could understand. Or at the very least recognize. The ache inside that screamed that what you were doing wasn't enough.

It was a good thing you'd put down your glass to respond because his next words felt like he’d dropped a grenade in your lap.

“I’ve really been thinking about running for Congress.”

Your jaw dropped a fraction of an inch with surprise. “Congress?” you repeated, not expecting him to have brought this up now. He’d mentioned weeks ago, when you’d been at the vet center, but not again since.

He let a sheepish laugh leave his lips. “God, it sounds insane out loud.”

“Bucky, no, that’s not what I—”

“I know, sweetheart. I know.” He was quick to reassure you. “Hanna’s been on at me for months now. And I’ve been thinking about it for a while. But this last week, I feel like things have changed.

“Why?”

“Because of you.”

“Me?”

“After everything with you… with us, after what you said about not looking away… it hit me.” He swirled the dark liquid in his glass once, watching it spiral slowly. “You were doing it alone. And maybe I’m not supposed to be just a guy on the sidelines anymore. Maybe I’m supposed to be one of the people who can make it harder for everyone to look away.”

You couldn’t breathe. “Bucky…” you whispered.

He shrugged lightly. “I’ve spent years telling myself that the best thing I could do was keep my head down. Be useful in small, invisible ways. But that’s not enough, not when the whole damn system’s stacked to make people like you burn yourselves out just to be heard.

“I’m not saying I know how. Or even that I’ll win,” he huffed a small laugh. “Hell, I might not even get past the first town hall without someone calling me a terrorist on live TV.” His mouth twisted into a self-deprecating smirk

You shuffled closer to him anyway. “But you’re still thinking about it.”

“Yeah.” His voice dropped into something gentler. “And I wanted you to be the first to know.”

You stared at him— your Bucky— your soft hearted, tender soul with his untamed hair and stormy eyes. Here he was, offering up this wild and completely sincere idea, something totally outside his comfort zone because he thought it would protect you. And all you could think was: this is why I love him.

“Buck… do you hear yourself?” you said finally, your voice low but steady. “You talk like you’ve never made it harder for people to look away— but you have. Over and over. I guarantee you that most people who’ve been through even half of what you have wouldn’t even still be standing, let alone trying to put things right.” You caught his gaze. “You’ve got a kind of strength I don’t see in many people.

Bucky rolled the step of his wineglass between his vibranium fingers and the dark fluid sloshed around with the circular motion. His eyes remained fixed on the meniscus rather than on you. You watched him, bathed in the light of the overhead lamp. It cast a shadow over his brow, darkening his eyes. But somehow it reflected the fire behind his eyes even more clearly. You could feel the heaviness of his words, even before he spoke.

“If I do this…” he said, his voice quiet but sure. “…I can’t do it halfway. And I can’t do it… without you knowing what it means.”

“What it means?” you asked, the words sounding much quieter than you intended. Your pulse was suddenly racing and a nervous tremor in your hand betrayed the excitement and fear that twisted deep in your soul. You put your glass down on the coffee table before you spilled wine down your top.

He looked up in time to see you lean back against the couch, meeting your gaze. “The cameras, the press digging through every scrap of my past—” he huffed out a laugh before continuing hesitantly, “every scrap of yours. Our lives won’t be just ours anymore. I won’t do it unless you accept that. Unless you’re sure.”

Your mouth went dry. Sure. The word weighed far more heavily on you than it should have. You wanted to blurt out assurance, of course I’m sure, but the more you thought about it, the less sure you felt. Your quiet little world— the late-night takeouts, the Sunday morning strolls in the park, game nights with your friends, stolen kisses before work. Life was so fragile. So delicate. You knew it even more so now. And the thought of losing that balance, the thought of it crumbling under the scrutiny of the public eye had your gut twisting.

“Buck…” His name was a whisper on your breath. It’s intent was caught somewhere between reassurance and confession. “I want to support you. God, you have no idea how much I want to. But… I’d be lying if I said it didn’t scare me a little.”

He reached across the space between you, his metal fingers brushing your knee with a gentleness that belied the strength hidden behind its gears. But the touch grounded you in the storm that now raged in your mind.

“Good. You should be. I’m scared too.” He sighed, as though he was trying to quell his own fears to help you through yours. “This isn’t a decision I’m making tonight. Or tomorrow. But it is something I’ve been considering for a while now. And if I do it, it’s only if you’re standing beside me— knowing exactly what it costs.”

You took a deep breath, exhaling with a shudder as you manufactured a crooked smile and a quip to lighten the mood.

“So… not exactly a casual ‘hey, babe, what if I ran for Congress?’ over japchae.”

“Hey, I brought wine.” The corner of his mouth twitched and he snarked you right back. “That makes it classy.”

You laughed. “Right. Next you’ll tell me how we have to explain our entire relationship arc to the press.”

His grin turned sly, playful even. “Oh, that’ll be easy. We’ll just tell ‘em the truth.”

Your eyes widened. “That you tricked me into being your fake date for weddings and I never got rid of you?”

He gave a low chuckle that was both dark and amused. “Exactly. America loves a rom-com.”

A snort of laughter escaped your lips before you groaned dramatically and buried yourself face in your hands. The tension that had built up between you broke and his laughter rumbled through the room. You peeked through your fingers to catch the fading lines on his face as his laughter faded away.

You remembered the times when he had sat across from you and hadn't been able to even crack a smile. This Bucky was so different from that man and you loved him more and more every damn day.

“I’m not asking for a decision tonight,” he said, reaching across once more to thread his fingers through yours. “Just… think about it? We’ll come to this together. Whatever that road looks like.”

You nodded, squeezing his hand tightly. “Together. I think I need a little time to figure out what I want that future to look like.”

His thumb stroked your knuckles in reassurance, and the tightness in your chest loosened further.

“Take all the time you need, sweetheart.”

Bucky picked up the remote and clicked on the television, taking another sip of wine. But instead of watching the screen, you watched him. 

“Is there something on my face?” he asked, finally cracking under the weight of your gaze.

You smirked softly. “Depends. Do you count the expression of a man about to volunteer himself to the wolves?”

That got a low, sardonic laugh out of him. “Great. Just what I need. Yet another set of vultures trying to pick me apart.”

You hated how much truth was behind his sarcasm

“They’ll try,” you admitted regretfully. “But you’re way harder to take down than they realize.”

“Yeah, well… HYDRA tried. The KGB tried. Hell, half the damn galaxy tried. Guess the Brooklyn press can just get in line.”

You laughed, then promptly sighed. Mostly from relief at his acceptance than true amusement at the predicament. 

“God, you’re crazy, you know that?” you said quietly. 

“Yeah, well,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his stubbled jaw with a wry smile. “You don’t exactly live my kind of life and come out… well-adjusted.”

You arched a single brow at him. “So that gonna be our campaign slogan?” You held out your hands like you were envisioning a banner. “‘Vote for Barnes: slightly less traumatized than last year’?”

He snorted softly. “Catchy. Rolls right off the tongue. Might even fit on a bumper sticker.”

“Not sure the donors will love it.”

“Well, they won’t love me either,” he deadpanned, with a shrug. “Might as well be honest about it.”

“Don't be ridiculous,” you  scowled, nudging him with your knee.

“I'm not going to stand up there and pretend I'm something I'm not—”

“Buck, I'd never ask you to do that.” You interrupted quickly, as though he'd accused you of saying otherwise. 

He put a grounding hand back on your knee. “I know. I know you didn't. Sometimes I feel like everyone's got a label for me. Soldier. Veteran. Criminal. Might as well add politician to that list.”

You squirmed slightly beside him, wondering if he thought you labelled him.

“Got something to say, Princess?” he glanced at you out of the corner of his eye.

“You think I put labels on you?”

“Only one label I care about from you.”

“Yeah? What's that?”

“Yours. Only thing I want you to call me.”

“Wait… so studmuffin didn't take?”

You shrieked as he grabbed a cushion and hit you with it, the conversation dissolving into unrestrained laughter.

The pillow eventually hit the floor with a soft thud, leaving you both laughing breathlessly on the couch. You leaned against his shoulder, letting the tension of the evening slowly unwind.

“Seriously though… Whatever happens, we do it together. Got it?”

“Real subtle, Barnes.” You rolled your eyes at his hints about you not continuing your smuggling investigation alone.

“We're a team. No matter what.” He threaded his fingers between yours.

“No matter what,” you repeated in confirmation. “And Bucky?”

“Yeah?” 

“Promise me that you won't stop being you? Even if Congress tries to make you less… Bucky.”

“Deal.”

You rested your head back on his shoulder, feet tucked under you. The warmth and solidness of his body was a constant comfort. The wine sat forgotten on the table as you turned your attention to the television.

“We’ll figure it out,” he said softly, more to himself than to you. “Whatever it takes.”

Chapter Text

The maître d’ nodded politely as he walked past the table a third time. Bucky could tell he was getting impatient. In retrospect, he probably shouldn't have booked a table so early, and arrived even earlier. He had gone to lengths to acquire the booth in the back, the one tucked just into the corner where you could see everything that was going on, but allowed a good amount of privacy from prying eyes. The noise from other guests was dulled, the low lighting and wood paneling created a warm atmosphere, perfected by the faint hum of Sinatra over the speakers.

He had bought a bouquet of your favorite flowers: a hand-tied bouquet of ruffled double tulips in glowing salmon and copper, mixed with sleek single blooms in warm orange-salmon. The florist said it looked like he’d bottled the light of a sunset just for you.

The ring was a precious weight in his inside jacket pocket, pressed against his heart. It was like it was sitting there, speaking to him, reminding him not to fuck this up yet again.

He'd tried to plan out what he wanted to say. Rehearsed it at least a dozen times, different ways, different versions. In his mind, they all ended in the same way: your smile lighting up his entire life.

Another waiter placed a glass of water in front of him, and Bucky thanked him, taking an unnecessarily large swallow and spilling some across his shirt.

“Shit!” he muttered, grabbing a napkin and dabbing at the damp material. His eyes flitted up repeatedly in case you walked in. 

He could picture you in his mind’s eye, cheeks flushed from the cold air, hair falling loose from the wind, smile bright as the stars, looking like he'd hung the moon.

Bucky pulled his phone from his pocket, thumbing through the messages you’d sent today. They had more of your words than his, a steady stream of updates, thoughts, and general bursts of enthusiasm between tasks. You had been more diligent about sharing over the last few weeks after he had expressed his concerns and he was eternally grateful for your care.

11:14 AM – You: Just finished setting the marquise cut diamonds for the Whittard commission. 🙌

11:15 AM – You: Pretty sure my hands are still vibrating from all the polishing lol.

11:16 AM – You: But the bezel work is 👌. You’re gonna lose it when you see it. You’re gonna be so proud of me. 😁

He scrolled past his own words of reply, the corner of his mouth turning up at the next flurry messages.

1:38 PM – You: Okay, hear me out— rose-cut amethysts surrounded by pavé diamonds, but the claws are white gold so the stones pop even more.

1:39 PM – You: It’s gonna look… like, unreal levels of gorgeous.

1:39 PM – You: The kind of thing people lose their shit over.

Then, the ones from just an hour ago:

3:08 PM – You: Just have to finish one last clasp repair, then I’m done for the day.

3:08 PM – You: Ugh, gotta swing by and pick up some stones for a rush job, then I’m heading home. So excited for a night out.

3:09 PM – You: Also… wear that shirt I like. You know the one. 😉

Bucky set the phone down, the ghost of a smile still tugging at his mouth. You were lost in your little world— one where you were the sharpest tool in the shed, precise, elegant, and maybe a little dramatic when you were proud of your work— and still you had time to stop and think about him. And in that moment, the weight in his jacket pocket didn’t feel so heavy.

Bucky set the phone down, the ghost of a smile tugging at his mouth. He could picture you in that moment, lips pursed in concentration, fingertips dusted with gold and silver, humming some half-forgotten tune. Some of his anxiety faded as it all came together.

A few hours earlier, that’s exactly where you had been, tucked away at your work station in the grand office building. The world outside non-existent as you narrowed your focus to the delicate work in your hands and the steady beat of music in your ears. You had just put the finishing touches on the Whittard commission and you were still basking in the beauty of your own creation as you tried to shift your focus to the final piece of work you wanted to complete before your romantic evening with Bucky.

You’d been waiting all week for a delivery of stones for a new collection you’d created. The sample metalwork had already been crafted and arrived a few days earlier and you hoped you could start at least one piece before the day was out. As if on cue, there was a knock on your door and one of the regular couriers came in, smiling cheerfully.

“Delivery for you, m’lady,” the young man smiled at you and held out the package with a little bow.

“Why thank you, kind sir,” you answered with a giggle, taking the padded envelope from him, frowning a little at how light it felt.

“Everything okay?” he asked, noticing the change in your expression.

“Yeah…” you responded slowly. “Just doesn’t feel like I was expecting. Thanks!” You turned away, engrossed in the package.

The courier shook his head, smiling softly to himself. The young man was enamored by you, but he knew that he was well out of your league and you wouldn’t even look twice in his direction. And he knew that he had lost your attention so he slipped out unnoticed. 

You ran your hands over the brown paper. There was no usual label from the sender, none of the usual stamps from customs, just your name in plain print. Curiosity controlled your fingers and you tore open the tape and tilted the envelope down toward the table. Immediately a small velvet pouch slipped out, just ahead of two pieces of thick paper.

Your hand wrapped around the pouch and you untied the drawstring, your breath held. It didn’t feel right. As you opened the pouch, you froze. No stones. Just an empty pit of darkness. None of the sparkle you hoped for. You picked up the two pages, one was a Kimberley certificate for the shipment you were expecting and the other was an invoice from the shipping company. The Jaxel Freight logo was printed across the top, as usual. There didn’t seem to be any discrepancies in the paperwork, you thought, as you scrutinized the pages, until you noticed an extra sheet pinned to the invoice with a paperclip. You pulled it off and read the small print:

Held at storage building. Urgent collection possible today. Ask for Gino.

There was an address under the message, one of the storage facilities where the company usually kept pieces that were mass produced or online orders. You tapped the note thoughtfully, trying to decide on how to act on this information that would no doubt affect the rest of your day. Not that you could concentrate, you were definitely a little preoccupied by the way the afternoon sun caught on the gems on the Whittard commission rather than focus on the oddity of your incorrect delivery. The diamonds sparkled, scattering light like frost on a sunny winter morning. You couldn’t help but smile and snap a quick picture. Tonight, you’d show Bucky the masterpiece. You could picture his face, the one he kept for when he was proud of you— the way his eyes softened— it made your heart flutter and your stomach feel weightless.

You had so many more important things to think about. First and foremost was what dress you wanted to wear, which color would go best with the shirt you’d just told him to wear. The note crinkled where your fingers tightened around it. If the stones had been misdelivered and were now sitting in the storage warehouse, there was no sense wasting daylight— especially when you had the metalwork ready. All you had to do was swing by, pop the gems into the correct slots before heading home. You’d still have plenty of time to shower, get ready, maybe sneak in a picture to tease Bucky before dinner.

You couldn’t help but grin to yourself as you grabbed and shrugged on your coat. The warehouse was only a couple of blocks from the office so you knew it wouldn’t take too long to get there if you walked briskly. As you hurried down the stairs, you dug out your phone from your pocket and hit Leonard’s number. The line rang twice before his voicemail picked up.

“Hey, it’s me,” you said, tucking the phone between your ear and shoulder as you buttoned up your coat all the way to the top. “Just got the Whittard piece all squared away! And the stones for the new collection came in, but apparently they’re at the warehouse. I’m gonna swing by and grab them before I head home. Call me if anything comes up. But I’m clocking out on time today.”

You hung up without a second thought, slipping the phone into your bag alongside the Kimberley certificate and shipping invoice. The afternoon’s light was fading quickly, turning the sky overhead a beautiful shade of rose-gold. It was almost the same tone as the metal you’d been working with earlier. It made you smile, reminding you of the last time Bucky had bought you flowers in that color just because of how much you loved it.

3:29 PM – You: Can’t wait to see you. 🧡

You hummed while you walked, boots clicking against the hard pavement as you walked the short distance to the warehouse. The front of the building loomed larger as you got closer. It was so different from the shiny Vera & Cross office building where you worked. This place was dull, a weather beaten gray with corrugated metal along the sides. The main door was shut tight, but you spotted a smaller entrance down by the loading bay. An overhead lamp flickered above the door, the buzz sounding electrifying in the quiet street.

3:45 PM – You: My boots… not made for walking.

As you stepped toward it, your heart felt like it was pounding very loudly. You reached out hesitantly, glancing over your shoulder. The block looked deserted, like everyone had gone home early for the day. The door creaked open and inside the air smelled of polish and metals. There were a number of overhead lights, but most of them weren’t on, leaving long and uneven patches of shadow between small strips of white glow.

The sound of machinery and clanging of metal sounded somewhere in the distance. It wasn’t exactly scary… just unsettling. Making the building feel even more empty than you expected it to be. Had you missed closing time? You took another step inside, the important pages in your hand while the sound of your footsteps echoed on the concrete floor. You could see your own breath puff out in front of you and you pulled your coat tighter around yourself against the chill.

A sudden deafening clang rang out somewhere on your right. It was loud and startling enough to make you jolt and clutch the papers against your thudding chest.

“Hello?” you called out, your voice bouncing back at you a few times before it faded to a whisper.

From the shadows ahead, a dark silhouette stepped into the light. It was a tall, broad-shouldered man in dark clothes. You gasped and then exhaled a shaky laugh, shaking your head at your jitters. “Oh my God, you scared me. Are you Gino?”

“Yeah.” His voice was low and gruff, not quite matching the smug smile that seemed to be tugging at his mouth.

“That’s a relief!” you let out a nervous chuckle. “Sorry, I guess I wasn’t expecting it to be so… quiet… in here.” You held out the invoice and Kimberley certificate. “Oh right, here! I’m here to pick up this shipment.”

He didn’t take the papers right away. Just looked at you for a moment— one that felt far longer than necessary and was making you squirm a little— when finally he reached out to pluck them from your hand. His eyes roamed over the page, but it didn’t look like he was finding anything of interest judging by the way they glazed over as they scanned the documents. He handed them back to you almost dismissively.

“Diamonds, huh?” he said, a sinister hint in his tone. “Don’t get many folks coming to pick those up in person.”

You offered him a polite smile, trying to keep the conversation moving along so you could get what you needed and get out as soon as possible. “Well, I really am on a deadline. And I do like to make sure they’re exactly what I ordered.”

The burly man stared at you blankly, not moving.

You watched his blank expression for a moment, shifting from one foot to the other in your discomfort and in an attempt to stop the chill in the air sinking deeper into your bones. “Plus, I’m on my way home to see my boyfriend, so…”

Gino nodded, but he didn’t move to collect anything. Instead he tossed the pages onto a nearby table.

“Jewels ain’t here,” he said eventually. “They’re in back. Come.” He beckoned you to follow as he started walking down a dark corridor.

There was something about the whole situation that put you on edge. The flatness of his affect and tone made the tiny hairs on your arms stand on end under all your layers of clothing. You were trying to convince yourself that the goosebumps were from the cold and not from anything else.

“Sure thing,” you answered with a wavering smile, trying to keep your voice light and breezy. It didn’t help that every one of your words were echoed back at you from the empty spaces.

Gino’s boots fell heavily against the floor. You followed obediently, your elegant boots clicking twice for every one of his wide strides as he led you down a narrow corridor. The air felt far more stuffy back here, less like metal and more like a storage section for the polish. Even the lights flickered as you ventured deeper into the belly of the beast. You glanced down at your watch. 4.39PM. It was already later than you thought.

You cleared your throat, and it sounded disproportionately loud. Glancing at Gino’s back, you asked, “So… how long’ve you been working here?”

“Long enough,” he grumbled in response, making you wish you hadn’t said anything at all.

You couldn’t help it, you glanced over your shoulder, almost expecting to see someone following you. But there was nothing. Finally, Gino stopped at the end of a corridor. “In ‘ere,” he said, jerking his head toward a door which was surrounded by stacked wooden crates.

“You keep the stones here?” you asked, almost skeptical, rubbing your hands together to shake off the feeling of apprehension that was slowly surrounding you.

“Something like that.”

His answer didn’t help. Not that he bothered to explain any further. He just opened the door and pointed inside. Against your better judgement, you walked into the room. Because there was obviously nothing to worry about. Because you were thinking about Bucky’s face when you showed him the Whittard piece later. Because tonight was going to be completely perfect.

As soon as you stepped inside you knew something was wrong. Nothing looked as you expected. There were no shelves, no storage facilities, no lock boxes and certainly no security. Instead you were surrounded by more crates, piled higher than the ones outside and a single chair in the center of the room.

You blinked, looking around in confusion. “Is this… the right place?”

Behind you the door closed with a snap, the metal on metal creating an eerie sound and making your skin crawl. Gino stood between you and the door, the smug half-smile he was sporting was gone, replaced by a cold and calculating look.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice even lower than before. “This is the exact right place.”

Your stomach dropped. It wasn’t the right place at all. You needed to be with Bucky, he would be waiting.

“Okay…” you said slowly. You tilted your head to one side, the same corner of your mouth curling up despite the knot of dread growing inside your stomach. “This whole strong, silent thing? Kinda creepy. Not your best customer service look, Gino.”

He didn’t answer.

“Right,” you continued, taking a step to the side, trying to get closer to the door and avoid Gino at the same time. “So… here’s what’s gonna happen. I’m gonna leave. You’re gonna find my shipment… and we can try this again tomorrow when it looks less… horror movie in here. Better yet, you can just have it delivered to the office and we can call this a one-off thing.”

You glanced desperately toward the door, calculating the distance you possibly needed to run.

Gino matched your step. “I said,” his voice dropped to a low growl, “you’ll get what you came for.”

Panic was rising like bile in your throat, but you pushed it down. “Yeah, see, that sounded way less like an offer and more like a threat. And I’ve seen enough true crime documentaries to know that’s my cue to leave.”

You stepped around him as quickly as you could but his hand shot out, gripping your forearm with a bruising grip.

“Seriously?” you snapped, twisting against his hold. “You’re gonna manhandle me over some rocks? I know how to use a jeweler’s torch, you know that, right?”

He didn’t flinch at your threat. His expression was totally motionless.

So you did what Bucky taught you, you swung your bag instead. As hard as you could, catching him right in the ribs. He grunted, doubling over and his grip loosened just enough for you to rip free.

You wrenched open the door and ran, boots hammering the floor, the exit a few steps away—

Until a yank on the hood of your coat spun you back round. There was a flash of movement, then something hard and very solid slammed into the side of your head.

The world lurched violently, light bleeding into darkness. Your knees gave out and the concrete floor came rushing up to meet you.

The last thing you registered before everything went black was your own voice in your head, whispering, I'm sorry Buck.

Bucky checked his watch for what was probably the tenth time. 6:37 PM. Thirty-seven minutes since he’d first slid into the booth. The Sinatra instrumental playlist which was playing when he had arrived had run its course and had now been replaced by something Bucky didn’t recognize. Not that it mattered, he wasn’t even hearing it at this point.

The maître d’ was hovering just off to the left, smiling politely whenever Bucky glanced in his direction.

“Would you like to order anything while you wait, sir?”

Bucky shook his head. “Not yet.”

The man’s lingering presence was lingering on his last nerve, so he gritted his teeth and answered politely despite the unwanted reminder that he was sitting here alone.

Bucky wondered if he was missing something, so he scrolled back through the string of messages you’d sent earlier— re-reading them again as though there was some clue he’d missed the first time. The one about the Whittard commission. The bezel work you were so proud of. That little grinning face.

It all felt so… normal. So you. Your voice filled his mind, as though you were speaking to him as he read.

3:45 PM – You: My boots… not made for walking.

His attention lingered over that one. He’d sent back a teasing reply:

3:57 PM – Bucky: Need me to come carry you?

Only there was no read receipt. It wasn’t like you to leave him on delivered for too long. Especially not after the last few weeks.

At thirty minutes in, he texted you to check in.

6:30 PM – Bucky: You good, Princess?

He put the phone face-up on the table, trying to distract himself. Not that it was working, he kept glancing at it every few seconds, tapping the screen to see if there was a new notification.

There wasn’t.

The told himself that you were probably just caught up in something at work, talking someone’s ear off about diamond cuts or gold settings, that you always lost track of time when you were excited.

But the status of his message stubbornly stayed on sending… and the muscle in his jaw fluttered with the tension of his clenched teeth.

At thirty-five minutes, he tried again. Shorter this time.

6:35 PM – Bucky: Princess?

Still no delivery.

At forty minutes, he sat back in the booth and rubbed at his temple, telling himself it was fine. Maybe you’d dropped your phone in your bag and didn’t hear it. Maybe you were talking to Leonard. Maybe the signal in your building was crap today. Or you were in the shower playing music so loudly you didn’t hear the phone ring.

At forty-five, he called you.

Ring. Ring. Ring. Voicemail.

The maître d’ walked past again, offering a polite smile. Bucky didn’t return it.

At forty-seven, he called again. This time he pressed the phone so hard to his ear it hurt.

Ring. Ring. Ring. Voicemail.

At fifty, he tried a third time. Bucky’s leg was bouncing under the table, so hard that the top was vibrating enough to make the glasses clink softly. This time it went to voicemail without even ringing and his chest tightened, like someone had wrapped a belt around it and was tightening it one notch at a time. 

Finally, he snapped. The booth felt too small, the air too warm, his skin too tight. Standing up, he grabbed his coat, throwing a wad of bills onto the table as he rushed out of the restaurant. The maître d’ opened his mouth to speak but Bucky was already too far away for him to even hear what he was saying.

He pushed open the door, seeking refuge in the biting cold outside. Not that it helped, his pulse was still thundering in his ears and his mouth so dry he couldn’t swallow. He clutched the phone in his hand and started walking back to his car— too fast for it to look casual.

His mind was already running through every possibility, every worst-case scenario, that ugly, gut-deep certainty clawing up his spine. Something was wrong. He could feel it in his bones.

Chapter Text

By the time Bucky had pulled up outside the apartment building, he had scolded himself for being so antsy. This is how you must feel when he didn’t answer his phone for hours on end. He was trying to imagine your laughing voice telling him off and saying ‘well now you know how I feel’ with a smug look on your face.

It wasn’t helping. Neither was the winter air, which should have dampened the fire that was raging in his mind. His boots banged against the steps up to your floor, he was taking two or three at a time and was outside the front door within minutes. It didn’t feel fast enough.

For the first time, his fingers fumbled as he pushed the key into the lock and turned. You’d be here. You were fine. You’d lost track of time. He could see it— your boots strewn across the floor, steam curling from the bathroom door, dress draped across the bed while you fixed your eyeliner.

That’s all it was. He told himself the story over and over as he pushed open the door. His fantasy was destroyed within seconds.

The apartment was dark. There was no glow from the living room lamp, no music from the bedroom, no sound of your voice calling out to him as you often did when you heard him come in. Even Alpine wasn’t home. Everything was so still that it made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

“Princess?” His voice shattered the silence, echoing through the empty space.

Normally he would take off his boots, you abhorred the notion of outside shoes in your home, but today he strode through the hallway without removing them, flipping on lights, scanning the room for your coat on the hook, your bag on the counter, your phone on the coffee table.

He would often find crumbs from Alpine’s treats scattered over the counter, but today it was spotless. Your makeup bag was open beside the bathroom sink, just as it had been this morning when you’d left for work.

A feeling of dread settled in his stomach.

He held up his phone, staring at the messages again. 3:45 PM. That’s the last time he could confirm that you were alright. He’d answered but you hadn’t read it.

“She’s fine,” he muttered to himself, but his thumb was already pressing your contact, lifting the phone to his ear.

Voicemail.

He tried again. Got the same thing.

That dread was starting to crawl up into his chest, pressing against his ribs. He dropped the phone from his ear, hanging up on your voicemail message. He flicked through the menu options until his thumb automatically landed on the Find My Phone app. He’d never used it for you before, never had a reason to. But now the little spinning wheel on the screen felt like it was taking hours to load.

When the map finally loaded, he zoomed into the location of your icon. The address had loaded at the bottom of the screen. It wasn't the apartment. It wasn’t Vera & Cross.

It was a warehouse, a few blocks from your office building. He examined the buildings and streets around your last known location as his mind tried to make sense of it… until he remembered your last message popped into his mind, pushing through the panic.

These boots… not made for walking.

So you'd voluntarily left the office. But was this warehouse your intended destination? Why would you head there? And why hadn't you responded to him since then?

He stared at your face on the icon, smiling up at you, willing it to move, to head home. But nothing changed. It was last updated two hours ago. He could feel his pulse like the sound of drums in his ears. An icy chill seeped down his spine, he'd felt it before, usually before something bad happened. He looked again, but nothing had changed. It was time for him to change things. He moved his fingers to tap the address to plan a route. Twenty minutes. He grabbed his keys and rushed back downstairs.

The temperature outside was colder now, hitting his cheeks like the sting of a slap, but the pain didn't even register, his body moving automatically while his mind swam through the fog of anxiety and concern. 

As he slid in behind the wheel, his breathing was labored and jaw locked. His teeth were clenched so tightly that it was a miracle that they didn't shatter into pieces. The car engine roared into life with the flick of a button and he peeled off with enough force to make the tires squeal and leave rubber tracks on the asphalt.

His phone was now perched in its cradle on the dash and chirped directions at him, mocking him with its calm and overly polite voice. Eleven more minutes until he arrived. He pushed his foot down on the gas pedal, eleven minutes was a lifetime. He was gripping the steering wheel so hard that there would probably be imprints of his vibranium digits visible by the end of his journey. Not that he cared, his left knee was bouncing uncontrollably under it.

Every red light felt like an attack, part of the enemy's guise to hold him back, to stop him getting to you. He cursed under his breath, looking for any opening to avoid the stops, hitting the gas the second the light turned green.

He was doing his best to imagine you, at the warehouse, helping someone, sorting out a mix up, engrossed in the crafting process. But the darker thoughts kept invading his brain, flashing through his mind the closer he got. He pushed the engine harder, breaking the speed limit by a ridiculous margin.

Four minutes.

His teeth were gritted so hard, that his temples were throbbing. 

Three minutes.

His blood was boiling, the pressure in his vessels was climbing steadily.

Two minutes.

He swore again, low and vicious, slamming his fist against the wheel.

One minute.

He turned down the street where the warehouse was located. His head was ringing so loudly that he couldn't even recognize the sound of the engine anymore.

Everything about the place felt wrong. His instincts were screaming at him to act. Now. But he didn't know what he needed to be acting on.

The car had barely rolled to a stop, when he was out of the door, slamming it shut behind him as his boots pounded the path. Bucky scanned the area, trying to put himself in your shoes. Where would you go?

There were no vehicles out front and not a soul in sight. He wasn't surprised, it was late and dark now. He heard a low electric hum and followed the sound around the corner, finding the source of the noise in the form of an overhead lamp flickering outside the small side door. 

He tried your number again, phone pressed hard to his ear as he reached the door. Maybe he could hear your phone ring. 

Straight to voicemail. Again. 

“Dammit, Princess,” he muttered, shoving the phone into his pocket.

He grabbed the handle and pushed it down.

Locked. 

He stepped back, eyes scouring the perimeter of the building, before assessing the building itself. Two floors. There was a row of windows along the second floor, all lightless. The whole place felt deserted. But something in the pit of his gut told him you were here. Or at least you had been. 

The metal plates in his fingers clicked audibly as he flexed them repeatedly. He slunk around the side of the building, looking for signs of ill doing, of malintent. How his heart hadn’t given up by now was beyond him, it had been working ridiculously hard for well over an hour now. Right then and there he vowed that if anything had happened to you, if someone had harmed a single hair on your perfect head, they wouldn’t be walking away unscathed.

He went back to the door, forcing it open with the snap of his wrist. The sound echoed through him. So much for a stealthy entrance.

The air inside was icy and the wind howled through the empty corridor. The place seemed unoccupied, not just closed for the day, but completely unlived. All he could feel was silence— vast and suffocating. He checked behind pallets, peeked around crates, kicked open doors to side offices, even called your name once, the sound hollow and mocking as it bounced back at him. The warehouse was deserted— like you’d never been there at all. 

Bucky stepped back into the alley, his insides as hollow as the building he had just vacated. The place had been a dead end. Literally nothing to find but dust and shadows. He couldn’t see any sign of you having been there at all. He should have felt relieved, but it did nothing to stop the ringing in his ears.

He got back in his car, breathing hard, trying to think. Sitting around sulking wasn’t going to help you, he needed to keep moving. If you weren’t at home, and you weren’t here… then the only place left to start was Vera & Cross. Maybe someone had seen you leave. Maybe someone had given you the address to the warehouse.

He unlocked his phone and started to type a message out to Sam, his thumbs shaking slightly as he pressed them against the screen.

PRINCESS IS MISSING. NEED HELP. MEET ME AT HER OFFICE – VERA & CROSS.

He stared down at the message, the words blurring as a wave of nausea hit him. Trying not to think about it further, he hit send and tossed the phone onto the passenger seat, your usual space beside him. He forced his eyes onto the road, throwing the car into gear and driving off before the screen had even dimmed. The street lights and lit office buildings blurred as he sped towards the Vera & Cross offices, trying to ignore the people on the streets whose lives went on as though nothing had changed, as though his entire world hadn’t come to a stop.

Even though it was only a three minute drive before he arrived in front of the sleek glass building of Vera & Cross, Bucky felt like he was losing his mind. He stopped the car right outside the front door, not even bothering to close the car door as he marched to the front.

If someone here had sent you to that warehouse, he was going to find out who and why— right now.

The main automatic doors didn’t budge as he approached. He was ready to scream. Why was he being obstructed at every turn? Only when he turned his head did he notice someone in a suit leaving from a small door off to the side. He raced towards it, slipping inside before it had a chance to lock him out.

The lobby here looked deserted, the vast marble floor echoing under his boots. The normally shiny reception desk was dark and empty, the usual buzz of ringing telephones and footsteps was eerily absent, as was the presence of the usual security guard.

It was almost eight. Everyone had gone home hours ago.

There was no sign of you here. Of course not, you didn’t make it a habit of hanging out in the lobby. He looked up— the building was made up of a high ceilinged entrance which gave you a view of offices on multiple floors. There was a dim glow but he couldn’t see a single lit room clearly. Bucky strode toward the elevator, jumping over the security turnstile with little effort, only to be thwarted by the keypad on the panel.

He pressed his forehead against the cool marble, trying to take some deep, steadying breaths, trying to calm himself before taking action.

Screw it.

He turned to the door to the stairs, testing the hinges, wondering if he could pry it open without setting off any alarms. He tugged once. Twice. But it didn’t budge. He was just about to use his left arm to yank the door off its hinges when a soft ding interrupted the quiet.

Bucky froze. Watching the elevator doors slide open smoothly to reveal Leonard.

He stepped out, straightening his tie. Stopping as soon as his eyes landed on Bucky. Leonard took in the man's appearance with a sneer at the cheap and slightly ill fitting suit Bucky had on.

The look made Bucky want to slam him up against the wall and beat him senseless. But before he had the chance, Leonard spoke. 

“Barnes.” His voice was cool, clipped, like he wasn't at all intimidated by the soldier's presence.

Bucky didn’t move, but everything about him was tense, his gaze boring into Leonard. “Where is she?” he growled. 

Leonard’s brows drew together a little. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” Bucky’s voice was low, and every syllable he uttered was filled with a mix of anxiety and hatred.

Leonard scoffed, immediately knowing that Bucky was referring to you. But he studied Bucky, as though he was trying to decide if Bucky was worth engaging with or not. “I’m not her secretary.”

Bucky clenched his teeth, grinding in the back. “You’re her boss. She was here today.”

“She was,” Leonard agreed, sliding his hands into his coat pockets. The picture of nonchalance. “She clocked out this afternoon. Why?”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed further and further with every word that left Leonard’s mouth. “Then she should be home. And she’s not,” he bit back.

Leonard’s mouth twitched, but not into a smile. The two men were in a stand-off and Leonard was ready to bear his teeth and show that he was just as much of an alpha male as Bucky. “And you came here thinking I’d… what? Have her hidden upstairs under a desk? ”

Bucky stepped forward, closing the space between them by two strides. “I came here because the last place her phone pinged was a warehouse a few blocks from here. And if you know anything— anything at all— you’re gonna tell me.”

Leonard didn’t answer immediately. Instead his expression faltered. Just for a second. His face flicked into something that resembled concern. But his voice remained the same, detached and calm. “A warehouse?”

Bucky’s gut tightened. “Yeah. Ring a bell?”

There it was again. The furrowed brow. Subtle, but enough for Bucky to notice.

“You know something,” Bucky insisted.

Leonard shook his head again. But slower, as though the conviction wasn’t there. But his eyes said something different. Finally he spoke. “I got a voicemail from her earlier,” he spoke quietly, voice filled with caution, like he wasn’t sure how much to reveal to Bucky.

Bucky’s breath stuttered. “What voicemail?” he demanded.

“She said she finished the Whittard commission… and that the stones for her new collection came in… but were sitting at the warehouse.” Leonard’s eyes became unfocused for a moment, like he was replaying your words in his head. “Said she’d swing by to grab them before heading home.”

Bucky’s stomach dropped like a rock. “When?”

Leonard’s jaw tightened. “Hours ago,” he answered, his tone not quite so fierce as it was before.

And that’s what snapped the remaining threads of Bucky’s composure. He took a step forward, forcing Leonard back toward the elevator.

“You’ve known she was at that place that whole time, and you didn’t think to—”

Leonard bristled instantly, interrupting Bucky’s tirade. “She’s an adult, Barnes. She doesn’t need me holding her hand to pick up materials. I assumed she went home.”

Bucky’s hands curled into fists at his sides, knuckles straining. “Yeah, well, you assumed wrong. And now she’s missing.”

As the two men stood off against each other, staring each other down in the dimly lit lobby, the elevator doors slid shut behind Leonard with a dull thud. Leonard’s expression changed from anger to concern.

“Where is she?” Leonard asked, voice now urgent.

And that genuine crack in his voice hit Bucky like a wrecking ball. He was already wound tight from his worry for you, but the thought that Leonard shared his concern— dared to show care for you— it unleashed something ugly inside him, threatening to erupt from inside him. He pushed it down.

“I don't know!” Bucky growled. “She never made it home. I checked. Apartment’s empty.”

Leonard’s eyes flashed. “Then why the hell’re you standing here arguing with me instead of finding her?”

This really was the last straw for Bucky. The fear and now jealousy that had been simmering under Bucky’s skin boiled over into sharply-edged words.

“Don’t you dare talk to me about finding her. You’ve never known how to look after her. Not when you were with her, not now. Don’t act like you’re the goddamn hero in this.”

Leonard bristled, his fists curling at his sides. “And you are? What, because she picked you?” he spat. “You think that makes you invincible? She’s out there because of both of us. Don’t stand there pretending you’ve been perfect.”

Bucky’s voice was coarse with barely concealed fury. “I don’t need to be perfect. I just need to get her back.”

The words cracked through the space like lightning. They both leaned in, tension snapping tighter and tighter, the air thick with barely contained rage— and fear neither of them wanted to admit.

Leonard’s jaw was tight, but there was something raw in his voice. “Did you check the warehouse?”

“Yes,” Bucky snapped. “I already went there. It’s empty.”

Leonard blinked with surprise, a genuine look of confusion painted across his face. “I don’t understand. She shouldn’t have gone there. They don’t store precious stones in that facility— ever.”

Bucky froze. “What d’you mean?”

Leonard fumbled for his phone like it was evidence, scrolling with trembling fingers. “On the message she left me, she said she was swinging by to pick up some stones.” He looked up, his throat tight. “But that… that doesn’t make sense. They’re never sent there. Not unless someone screwed up.”

Bucky’s chest constricted, the fire in his gut igniting into something hotter, uglier. He stepped in, close enough that Leonard instinctively stiffened. “Or unless someone lured her there.”

Leonard blinked, thrown. “What? Who would—”

“She told me about her suspicions,” Bucky cut in, his voice rough, like there was glass in his throat. “About the smuggling.” His jaw flexed, his hands curled into fists. “How fucking stupid are you? She left you that message and you didn’t think twice? We could’ve figured out she was in danger hours ago!”

A hint of guilt flashed across Leonard’s face, before hardening. “You think I wouldn’t have stopped her if I’d known? You think I wanted this?” he shouted back, voice breaking, almost desperate. “Don’t you dare put this on me—”

“Didn’t sound like you were protecting her when she was with you,” Bucky snarled, his face flushing a deep purple. He shoved closer, the two of them now nose to nose. “All you ever did was let her down.”

Leonard’s control on his temper was fraying. “And you think you’re her savior? You’re a walking red flag— hell, you weren’t even here. Don’t pretend you’ve been some fucking knight—”

Bucky slammed him against the doors of the elevator, vibranium hand pushing him against the cold steel while his other fist, flexed, was pulled back, primed and ready to swing—

“Hey! HEY!”

Sam’s voice pierced the lobby like a gunshot. Firm and commanding, it stopped both men in their tracks. They jerked around to see Captain America storming out from the shadows, eyes blazing with anger.

“Are you two serious right now?” Sam’s voice rose, fury and incredulity sewn into his words. “She’s out there— scared and alone, maybe even hurt— and you two idiots are trying to beat each other bloody in a goddamn office lobby?”

Neither Bucky nor Leonard answered. Chests heaving, Leonard’s from fear and Bucky’s from anger. Slowly they uncurled their fists and retracted their claws under Sam’s glare.

“Get your shit together. Both of you. We don’t have time for this.”

Bucky followed Sam back out into the cold night, the lighting outside the building painted their shadows across the pavement. Sam’s voice was clipped and efficient, on the phone with Joaquin as he motioned Bucky toward the car.

“Yeah, loop back to that west exit— pause it there,” he said into his comm device to Torres while he scanned the holographic screen projected by Redwing. “Yep, that’s her. 15:45. Send me everything you’ve got on outgoing vehicles after that. Thanks, Torres.”

He ended the transmission with the Falcon, letting Redwing fly back into his suit before glancing at Bucky. “We got her on camera near the warehouse. But after that? Nothing clear. Torres is tracking a couple of vehicles that left the area.”

Bucky scowled, jumping into the driver’s seat and slamming the door shut. “So we’re behind. Again.”

Sam shot him a look while climbing into the passenger side. “Don’t go there, man. We got a timeline now. That’s something.”

“It’s not enough,” Bucky growled, turning over the engine and gripping the wheel to try and ground himself.

Sam studied him a second before responding calmly. “You’re no good to her if you go off half-cocked. We do this smart, we do this fast. Got it?”

Bucky didn’t answer right away. He took a breath. Deep. Once. Twice. Then he nodded. “Got it,” he answered with a sham serenity, the burn behind his eyes betrayed something else.

Behind them, Leonard strode up to the car, pulling his coat around him against the wind. He tugged on the door handle, shouting through the glass at the two men. “I’m coming with you.”

Bucky twisted in his seat, expression darkening instantly. “No. You’re not.”

Leonard planted himself by the back door of the car, daring him. “She left me a message. I’m the last person she contacted before this all went down. If you want to find her, you’re going to need me.”

Bucky’s voice dropped to a snarl. “What I need is you out of my sight. You think I’m gonna let the guy who treated her like dirt play knight in shining armor now? Not happening.”

Leonard flinched but to his credit, he didn’t budge. “This isn’t about you or me. It’s about her. And I’m not sitting around while she’s out there—”

Sam, from the passenger seat, muttered, “Oh, for Christ’s sake…” and turned to Bucky. “We don’t have time for a pissing contest. Let him in the damn car. You two can beat each other bloody after we find her.”

For a beat, there was dead silence. Then finally, with a sigh of disgust, he unlocked the door.

“Get in,” he spat. “But don’t think for a second I trust you.”

Leonard slid into the back. “Fine by me. I don’t trust you either.”

Bucky shoved the car into gear and peeled away in the direction Sam was pointing.

Chapter Text

The first thing you noticed was a pounding in your head. It ached so hard that it made your stomach turn. The next thing you noticed was that the ground wasn’t as steady as you expected it to be— in fact, it swayed regularly beneath you with the occasional bump of wheels on uneven asphalt. The air felt stuffy and smelled strongly of gas. You opened your eyes to darkness and that’s when you realized that your body had been awkwardly crammed into the trunk of a car. 

Adrenaline surged through your veins and panic threatened to overwhelm you, worsening the pain at the back of your skull. You tried to feel your way around, only to find that your wrists were bound tightly in front of you, the plastic zip tie biting into your skin as you tried to free yourself. You groped around you, twisting your body as far as you could, but the only thing you could feel was the metal walls. There was nothing you could use to free yourself.

“Okay, think. Think, think, think,” you whispered to yourself, pushing down the wave of terror that wanted to take over. If you panicked, you’d freeze. And you couldn’t freeze. Then it would be all over.

Right then, the momentum of the car slowed and you were pushed to one side as the vehicle turned, slowing to a sickening crawl. It rolled to a stop and the engine was cut. Through the silence, you could make out a muffled conversation. You could make out three different voices, before a door slammed and you heard a malevolent laugh. It made your insides turn cold. They were stopping and you were running out of time.

Your heart raced, a gallop against the inside of your ribs as you scrambled around, kicking against the headlights. But your attempts at escape were fruitless. Just then, the trunk popped open and the cold night air rushed in to meet you, along with the scent of oil and saltwater.

Several hooded figures appeared above you. You opened your mouth to scream, but several pairs of hands grabbed you and yanked you out of the trunk before you so much as had time to take a breath and the scream died on your lips as you simply braced yourself for what came next.

“Got her,” one of them muttered. His grip was bruising around your arm.

“No— no, wait, please—” You tried to wrench yourself free, kicking out at the man who had his hands wrapped around your heels.

But it was no use as a gloved hand covered your mouth to silence you. They carried you through a large space with dark structures on either side of you. From what you could see past the dark burly figures, you didn’t recognize any landmarks. But for some reason it seemed familiar. That’s when it clicked— the docks! It wasn’t the same place that Bucky had brought you, but then you presumed that the shipping yard was a large place.

You tried to struggle again, only to have your feet unceremoniously dropped to the ground and for the second man to grab your other arm. Together they hauled you upright and dragged your stumbling body toward a shadowed expanse of towering containers.

Realization trickled down your spine like ice water. They weren’t just planning on holding you here. They had much worse in store for your future. You dug the heels of your boots into the ground, but they kept moving, leaving your soles scraping and sliding over the rough pavement as you continued to twist and kick in their grasp. They said nothing and somehow the silence was worse than any kind of shouting.

Your breath came out in short, sharp bursts— small puffs of steam leaving your lips with every gasp. The memory of being here with Bucky tugged at the edges of your mind, almost as if he was there with you, offering comfort and support without actually being there.

But the shadows were still around you, creeping up and threatening to swallow you whole. You were carried deeper through the bowels of the yard, through a maze of steel and silhouettes. The towering freight containers loomed above you like silent sentries, closing in around you.

With every step, the dread coiled righter inside you and then the thought came to you. Uninvited. Undeniable. Unmistakable. They weren’t going to keep you here. They were planning on sending you away.

They reached an open container and carried you inside and shoved you down onto the cold metal floor. The impact of your fall rattled through your bones, the zip ties at your wrists biting deep as you tried to catch yourself. The empty space reeked of rust but you could still taste the salt in the air. To top off the sense of desolation, somewhere above you, a gull screamed into the night, its cries muffled by the walls of metal surrounding you.

Then suddenly there was quiet. So quiet that your heartbeat was the only thing that seemed to fill it. It was so loud that you thought there was something wrong. Maybe the knock to your head had been worse than you’d considered. Maybe you were already dying and they just needed to dispose of your body.

You had just finished telling yourself that it was over when a door creaked open behind you and a bright beam of light blinded your vision. Then came the footsteps. Unhurried. Unbothered.

You blinked past the beam, trying to clear the haze. And that’s when you saw him.

“Kyle?” Your breath hitched.

The sharp dressed man who stood over you was none other than Kyle Mendez. He looked out of place for the location, his crisp dark coat, designer suit and polished shoes looked foreign against the rusted steel backdrop. He sneered down at you with that same curated smirk he wore in the Vera & Cross boardroom. Except now, in the wake of the flashlight beam, there was something sinister in his unrestrained smugness. The snake charmer was absent and the viper was showing its poisonous fangs.

You did a double take, your mind buffering as he tried to reconcile the image of the man in front of you and the PR rep who had once fired you without blinking, then rehired you when you proved indispensable. He was a suit. Not crime lord villain.

“Really? You?” The words tumbled out before you could stop yourself. “You're supposed to be promoting the firm… not—”

“Stealing from it?” Kyle cut in smoothly, taking a step closer. “That's how they all see me. The harmless middleman. The man with the press release and the camera-ready smile.” His smirk widened. “The one nobody bothers to look at twice.”

Your stomach flipped. “There's nothing harmless about you.”

Kyle’s grin widened, almost wolfish in the glow of the flashlight. “Finally, someone sees my skills for what they are. Took you long enough.” He brushed an invisible speck of dust from his lapel. “But don’t be too hard on yourself. Most people don’t. That’s why the act works so well.”

“Spare me the act,” you spat. “You’ve never been anything but a snake.”

He leaned down, hands stuffed in his pockets while a thin smile curled across his mouth.  “And yet here you are, caught in my trap.”

All the pieces suddenly started to fall into place. The missing shipments. The too-perfect explanations. The way the firm always seemed to divert attention so cleanly away from scrutiny, like someone had greased the wheels before the questions were even asked. Him. All this time, he hadn’t been managing damage control, he was orchestrating the whole damn show.

“You,” you whispered, the taste of betrayal bitter on your tongue. “It’s you. The smuggling… the shipments—”

He grinned wolfishly. “Finally caught on, have you? All those pretty stones you’ve been so eager to get your hands on? Not all of them were just for your little designs. You’ve been polishing the front I created.” He laughed maniacally. “None of them even realized. You were the only one who noticed what we were slipping past customs. The others were too busy cooing over the sparkle.”

Your stomach turned violently. You wanted to be sick. But that might just be the concussion talking.

Kyle stalked around you slowly, the sound of his polished shoes clicking against the concrete felt sinister and filled you with a sense of impending room. “You know,” he began, tone conversational, almost pleasant, “I really thought you’d keep your head down. Make pretty things. Play dress-up with the glitter I sent your way. And for a while, you did. You were useful. Decorative, even.” His eyes glinted dangerously as he leaned toward you, just enough for you to catch a whiff of his expensive cologne. “But then you had to start poking your nose where it didn’t belong.”

Your throat tightened in disgust, but you swallowed hard, forcing the words out as steadily as you could over the hammering in your chest. “You’re not quite as clever as you think. You left a trail of bread crumbs big enough for anyone to see.”

Kyle chuckled, low and amused, almost like you’d told him a joke. “And yet no one did. Not the board. None of the other designers. Not even the compliance department. Just you. Truth is, darling, I wouldn’t have even known you were catching on… if it weren’t for Leonard.” He crouched suddenly, smirk curling wider as his voice dropped to a mocking whisper. “Man’s got a big mouth. Loves to gossip. Looks sharp in a suit, sure, but he doesn’t know how to keep his secrets. Not subtle. Not careful. Brags about the kind of things that should never be said out loud. And it made me wonder… who exactly he’d been bragging to.”

The blood drained from your face, but Kyle only smiled wider, exposing his fangs, savoring the look. “So you see, you didn’t outsmart me. Leonard sold you out without even realizing it.”

He crouched down to your eye-level suddenly, his smugness hardened into something colder and more menacing. “You should’ve stayed distracted. God knows, your little soldier boy was doing a fine job of that. Trying to romance you with all that heroic bullshit— it was making it so much easier to keep slipping my shipments right under your nose.”

“Funny, I don’t remember asking for your TED Talk on Villainy 101.”

His smirk widened, unbothered, as though your defiance only entertained him. “Maybe. But the funny thing about sloppy… it doesn’t matter, as long as no one lives to tell the story.”

Your chest ached as your thoughts raced— not to escape routes, not to clever retorts— but straight to Bucky.

Bucky, who would be waiting for you at the restaurant. You could picture him clearly, a bouquet of flowers in hand, twitching nervously while he sat alone in anticipation of your arrival. Bucky, who would be checking his watch and smiling at your last text about his shirt. Bucky, who would be tearing himself apart when you didn’t come home.

A sob tried to escape your throat, almost choking you as you tried to swallow it down. You couldn’t even remember the last exact time you told him you loved him. Maybe yesterday, in passing. Maybe this morning, with coffee still on your tongue as you kissed him goodbye. You should’ve said it today. You should’ve said it every damn day. Because now you might never get the chance again.

And Bucky was going to be devastated.

The thought of dying here, in the dark, nameless among crates and cold water, didn’t scare you as much as the thought of what it would do to him. You could picture him all too clearly— pacing, fists clenching, voice breaking when he called your name and got only silence back. He’d blame himself. He always did. You knew he would tear himself apart piece by piece, convincing himself that he should’ve gotten to you sooner, should’ve protected you better, should’ve been everything for you.

And the cruelest part of it all was that his heart would go on beating, long after yours stopped. He would carry it, carry it all inside. You knew he would. His grief would settle into his bones the way everything else had, and he’d shoulder that unbearable weight because that’s what he did. Because that’s who he was.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, blurring your vision. You weren’t just afraid for yourself anymore. You were afraid for him— because if this was it, if this really was the end, then you were about to leave Bucky Barnes in pieces. And that was the last thing you wanted.

You struggled against your restraints, but the zip tie around your wrists had them wrapped tight, so tight that the plastic bit into your skin, cutting deep and making your fingers tingle. It reminded you that you were nothing more than unwanted cargo in their eyes. But your fear was now louder than the pain. And under the fear, there was something that burned hotter, sharper, that refused to be extinguished. Fury.

Kyle was close. He looked relaxed, confident. He thought he had won. Thought he had broken you. Thought your shaking limbs and split lip meant you’d accepted what came next.

He couldn’t have been more wrong.

You shifted slightly on the cold steel floor, slowing your breath, waiting for the guards to move further away. And when they did, you were ready. Over the years, you’d watched Karate Kid enough times to know the line by heart. Sweep the leg. John Kreese’s voice echoed in your head like a dare.

Kyle didn’t see it coming. He strode past, too close, too sure of himself. You twisted hard, lashing out with both legs in one sudden strike. Your heels slammed into his ankle and calf, knocking his balance out from under him.

He hit the floor with a heavy but satisfying clang.

For the first time since this nightmare started, you weren’t the one at a disadvantage.

“Not so harmless now, am I?” you rasped, the words torn out of you more like a growl than a taunt.

And then you ran.

The zip ties made you clumsy, throwing your balance off, your arms a dead weight in front of you. But you ran anyway. Your boots clapped against the steel, echoes bouncing off the walls of the container as you legged it out into the open. Around you, the towers of red and blue metal loomed large around you. It was a labyrinth of sharp corners and blind alleys. Every breath burned in your lungs as you ran for your life.

Your head throbbed from the blow that had knocked you unconscious at the warehouse and your vision flickered around the edges, but you kept going. You had to. If you stopped now, you’d never start again.

In your mind’s eye, you pictured Bucky— sitting at the restaurant, waiting with that restless patience that only eased when you were with him. It was late. By now he’d be searching.

“Come on, Buck,” you whispered under your breath, the words carried away by the wind. “Find me.”

You thought you lost them as you rounded a corner. Your heart felt like a jack hammer and you were fighting for breath. You slowed a little, for a fleeting second you thought you’d lost them. Maybe all those hours of running with Bucky had paid off. The footsteps behind you had faded. A surge of hope flared through you. Maybe you would see Bucky again.

You were wrong. You rounded another corner only to be confronted with a tall brick wall. And then a hand clamped around your arm. The guard wrenched you backward with brutal force, causing your shoulder to scream in protest. You screamed, kicked, tried to twist free, but the zip tie dragged you off balance. Two men carried you back to Kyle, whose laughter carried to your ears long before you could see him.

He stepped into the light, a safe distance from you. He spat out blood from his mouth, from where his lip had split as he landed. 

“Bold,” he said, wiping the remnants off his chin with the back of his hand. “Stupid. But bold.”

The guard’s fist caught you across the face before you could answer. A bright white light burst behind your eyes, temporarily blinding you. Clearing just in time for the second blow to knock the air from your lungs. By the third, your legs wouldn’t hold you. You crumpled, gasping, tasting blood.

There was a tug at your feet and new zip ties bit into your ankles this time, jerking them together so roughly you thought the plastic might snap your bone. Your arms were wrenched tighter, the old ties reinforced by fresh ones that clawed tighter against your skin.

You could barely breathe, let alone lift your head. But you forced yourself to turn to his direction, to meet his gaze. Your voice came out hoarse, broken—but still defiant.

“Bucky’s coming for me.”

“Then let’s hope he hurries,” he murmured. “You won’t be here for long.”

With that, he walked away, taking the only source of light with him, leaving you alone in the darkness. 

Bucky’s face flashed behind your eyes. The way his smile cracked wide when you teased him. The way he held you like you were precious but looked at you like you were indestructible. Like one of the diamonds you handled. And the thought that you might never see him again hurt you more than any of the blows you’d suffered.

Bucky leaned back in his seat, hands still gripping the wheel tightly as he focused on the road ahead. They were driving without direction and he was ready to crack. Just as he was about to start a tirade at Sam, Torres’ voice came over the speakers.

“I tracked all three vehicles,” Torres said. “One ended up in a cul-de-sac, residential location— seemed irrelevant. Another pulled into a mall parking lot— also irrelevant. That leaves the third car, heading north. Sticking to quiet streets. Seems like our best bet.”

Sam nodded, scanning the GPS display he had linked to the car's screen via Bluetooth. “So that’s the one we follow. That’s our best lead.”

Leonard’s foot tapped on the floor nervously. “I still can’t believe she’s out there like this…”

Bucky’s jaw tightened, but Sam interrupted before any hostilities were engaged.

“Okay, let's focus,” Sam said firmly. “Torres's already done what he can with surveillance. It's up to us now. So keep your eyes peeled.” He turned in his seat to glare at Leonard.

Bucky didn't need instruction, he had already pushed his foot down on the gas pedal already speeding towards the last known location of the car. 

The industrial buildings loomed larger as they got closer, the smell of salt already drifting from their proximity to the docks ahead. Every turn felt loaded, every shadow a potential threat.

Torres’ voice came over the speaker, sounding stressed. “I… I’ve lost the car. It disappeared from the cameras. Hasn't reappeared anywhere.”

Bucky slammed a hand on the wheel, frustration cutting through his fear. “Damn it!”

“Suggests that they haven't moved from their destination,” Torres replied, the calm in his tone faltering.

Sam leaned over the map display, eyes narrowing. “If they kept going north, the only place they'd get to is the Navy Yard. There’s nothing else around here— just warehouses, shipping containers, and the waterfront.”

Bucky pressed his lips together in a thin line, eyes scanning the looming industrial landscape. “And she’s in there… somewhere.”

Leonard muttered, voice tense, “We can’t just drive around blind. We’ll lose her for good.”

Sam’s hand moved to the sleek touchscreen on his left bracer, fingers swiping with precision. “We don’t have to.” He programmed in some commands and the drone on his suit whirred into life. He rolled down the window and launched Redwing through it, sending it soaring into the night sky.

The drone climbed above the dockyard, its sensors in full action. Using every form of detection—thermal scans, motion detection and high resolution night vision— it painted a picture of the landscape and transmitted it all back to Sam's bracer. 

Bucky glanced over in anticipation. “Keep it sweeping. Don’t let anything slip.”

“No problems with Redwing today, huh?” Sam teased lightly, sneaking a peek at Bucky out of the corner of his eye.

Bucky didn't react, eyes flicking between the road and the screen.

Redwing zeroed in on a heat signature in the shipping yard, identifying twelve distinct individuals. 

“This is it,” Sam murmured. “We’ll find her.”

Bucky exhaled slowly, this was the first time he had a positive lead. “We can't lose her, Sam.”

Redwing hovered quietly over the container yard, the sensors picking up heat signatures scattered between the steel freight containers. Sam’s fingers danced across his bracer, isolating movement patterns.

“There,” he said, voice low. “At least twelve people. Several vehicles, including the one we tracked from the warehouse. Most of them are moving around in pairs. Looks like a coordinated team.”

Bucky leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “Assuming one of them is Princess, that's eleven people… they’re expecting trouble.”

Torres’ voice came crisp over the speaker. “We've got the upper hand. I'll mark their positions and rendezvous with you at a safe distance. Transmitting the location to you now.”

“That's great, Joaquin. This way we won’t walk into an ambush. They won’t know we’re coming until we’re on top of them.”

“Alright. What’s the plan?” Leonard asked from the back of the car.

Everyone ignored him. 

Bucky eased the car to a stop at a concealed position a short distance from the yard, tires crunching softly against the thick concrete floor.

He and Sam exited the car, locking Leonard safely in the SUV.  He watched the new Captain America and the former Winter Soldier meet up with the young Falcon. He’d done all he could in the vehicle— now it was up to them.

“Alright,” Bucky muttered, voice low. “We split. Approach from all sides— East, West and South. Keep quiet, they don’t need to know we’re here.”

Sam nodded, pulling his bracer into view. “Redwing’s going up. Give us eyes on the North side. I’ll come in from the West side, keep watch, track every heat signature.” He tapped the screen, commanding the drone over the container yard. 

Torres’ voice came in calm but sharp. “I’ll approach from the East. Keep a low profile. I can feed positions directly to both of you.”

Bucky’s keen eyes swept the yard, the stacked freight containers reminded him of Madripoor. Not fond memories. He gazed into the shadows, wary of the dangers that lay hidden. 

“South for me,” he said.

“We converge when I signal. No sudden moves.” Sam looked to the two men for confirmation of understanding before tapping a few commands on his bracer, marking paths and potential chokepoints. “We can box them in before they even realize what’s happening.”

Bucky took a deep breath, the scent in the air reminding him of the conversation he'd almost had with you. He set out in the direction he hoped to find you, every step toward the containers was careful, purposeful. They were close. You were close. He could feel you. 

“Let’s bring her home,” Bucky whispered into his earpiece.

Chapter Text

The holographic projection from Redwing’s feed flickered across Sam’s bracer as the drone hovered high above the shipping yard. The images it sent back were thermal, identifying twelve heat signatures in total. Sam switched the mode to night vision and the image was replaced with a grainy night vision projection. Immediately Sam honed in on the freight container which was surrounded by almost a dozen hooded figures. 

And in the center—

“Target visualized,” Torres breathed into comms.

The showed a small figure struggling on the floor, flanked by two men, just inside the entrance of the container. One of them shoved you down before the other yanked you up into an upright position.

Bucky froze. For a heartbeat he was completely still, mind a total blank. Then the red came. Burning hot. Practically blinding. Heart pounding in his ears. It drove out every word Sam was whispering beside him.

“She’s there. She’s alive. We do this smart, we—”

He didn’t have time to finish before Bucky was already moving. His whole body was tense and ready for action. He raced away in your direction, boots slamming down against the concrete, knife in hand. He broke out from the cover of the shadows before Sam had time to react. 

“Damn it, Barnes!” Sam hissed, surging after him. “We had a plan!”

Torres cursed softly, adjusting his flight path eastward. “We’ve been made. Engaging now.”

Sam moved to the West to cover Bucky’s straight path.

It didn’t take long for shouts to ring out from the kidnappers as they spotted his charging figure. He was more of a bullet than a bull, but flashlights swung up in Bucky’s directions, alongside weapons ready to open fire.

Chaos erupted through the docks. And Bucky didn’t care.

He only had one thought. One goal. One destination.

The men around him didn’t hesitate to shoot. Lead projectiles showered in his direction, ricocheting off steel walls and vibranium. 

Sam launched himself into the air, hurling his shield in a protective throw behind the super soldier. It caught the first hail of bullets, showering the gunwielders with deflective sparks.

“Torres, right flank!”

“On it!” Joaquin shot skyward, avoiding Redwing by a hair’s breadth. 

He was followed by a volley of bullets, only to have the small drone return cover fire to allow Torres a safe flight path.

But Bucky was a storm in the middle of it all.

He didn’t pause, didn’t stop to calculate risks. He moved like violence was his native language. The remnants of the Winter Soldier’s training lay dormant inside him. One man lunged toward him from the left, pipe in hand. Bucky sidestepped the swing, caught his wrist and twisted. The snap of bone was audible despite the hail of gunfire around them. He left the man screaming on the floor without a hint of hesitation.

The next grunt approached with more confidence, a pistol in outstretched hand— Bucky’s covered the barrel as he fired, straight into his palm. The vibration did nothing to rattle Bucky’s drive, he wrenched it free, smashing it flat against the man’s temple. He didn’t even glance back as the man crumpled. His stride never faltered. Every heartbeat was a countdown. Every man in his path was just another second between him and you.

Sam swore under his breath, shield spinning to knock two more men away before they could flank Bucky. “You’re welcome, Barnes!” he shouted behind him.

Bucky didn’t answer. Not even wasting a second on a look. Words couldn’t reach him now. Only the container. Only you.

Suddenly, three men appeared in front of him all at once— one with a crowbar, two with knives. Bucky slid low, metal arm slamming into the first man’s ribs with bone-crushing force. He pivoted up, driving an elbow into the second’s jaw, then ripped the knife from the third and sent it clattering away before ramming the man’s head into the container wall.

Torres swooped down as Redwing darted ahead of him, sending another blinding burst of light into the eyes of a cluster of gunmen, giving Torres time to twist mid-air, wings flared to shield against any stray bullets. He rolled into the landing, boots skidding on the gravel as he used the momentum to drive his shoulder into one of the blinded gunmen, dropping him flat in seconds. The other two went down immediately after and Joaquin barked into the comms, “South side clear!”

“Keep it that way,” Sam shot back as his shield ricocheted in a perfect arc, striking one rifle from a man’s grip before clipping another in the jaw. Some of the men that Bucky had taken down were rising back up off the floor and he brought the vibranium disc up just in time to let the bouncing pellets skitter off harmlessly.

Sam and Torres moved like a unit— precision, cover, formation— backing up the soldier as he charged through the chaos. Bucky didn’t notice, pressing forward relentlessly. His face looked like it had been carved from stone, but his eyes were wild, locked on his goal.

Every move was brutal but efficient. Every punch, devastating. No hesitation. No mercy. He just had to get to the container. The last man between him and the container raised a shotgun, right into his face. Bucky didn’t care, moving too fast for the man to take proper aim. Bucky was a blur, slamming full force into him, wrenching the weapon free, he drove his fist into the man’s gut so hard that he doubled over before dropping to the floor.

He was almost there. He stepped over the last body, chest heaving and sweat stinging his eyes. He bent down to pick up the crowbar that the last man had attached to his hip, hand closing around it with white knuckles as he took the last few steps to you.

You were struggling against your restraints when you heard it. A shout. And again. The sound of running. The sharp spatter of gunfire. You felt the men around you disperse and Kyle cursing quietly behind you. You heard him back up to a safe distance, leaving you lying in the open. Vulnerable. Helpless.

You pressed your bound hands against the freezing steel floor, pushing yourself up despite the burning in your wrists where the zip ties bit into your flesh. Every nerve screamed to move, to fight, but you were trapped.

Suddenly someone screamed. The sound was chilling. More so than the gunshots. You twisted your body and peered out into the darkness, trying to make out the figures in the darkness. 

What you saw made you gasp.

Bucky!

But this wasn't the man who kissed your forehead when he thought you were half-asleep, or the one who brewed your coffee exactly the way you liked it. He wasn't even the man whose eyes blazed when he made love to you, or even the one who loved to fuck you senseless.

No, this Bucky was a storm. He moved like the wind— sharp and unrelenting. Unstoppable. 

You squeaked in concern as Bucky faced the man with the outstretched pistol, stomach lurching as the gun exploded right in his palm. Everything was moving at lightning speed, you could barely keep up with what your eyes were seeing.

Every strike made you flinch, every sound made your blood curdle.

You had a vague sense of Sam and Joaquin’s presence, circling in the air above you. Their movements were coordinated and protective. 

But Bucky… Bucky was something else entirely. Focused, merciless, every motion designed to incapacitate.

Your pulse kicked up a gear. Fueled by a combination of fear, because yes the ferocity of it all was frightening, but there was something deeper tangled within it. Something far more raw and powerful. The sheer, overwhelming force of his love and the lengths he was willing to go for you. 

You swallowed hard, whispering to yourself, “Bucky…”

For the first time since you’d known him, you saw what he had once been. The ghost of the Winter Soldier. Not quite the monster HYDRA created, but the echoes of his training. Bucky wielded the skills like it was second nature to him. It should have terrified you. Rage and love might have started his movement. But now? Now he had harnessed the soldier’s stillness. His expression was unreadable, almost blank, but his eyes fixed on a single purpose.

And you couldn’t look away. Because ultimately, everything he did was for you. So you couldn’t, no, you wouldn’t look away. Because this was still Bucky. Your Bucky.

That didn’t stop you from jumping with every swing taken at him, wincing at every gunshot aimed at him. But his vibranium arm made light work of the weapons aimed at him. You forced yourself to keep your eyes on him.

“You’re welcome, Barnes!” Sam’s voice cut through the air. 

You clenched your fists, trying to ignore the red welts that were forming under the white plastic binding your wrists.

Suddenly, you were blinded by a bright beam of white light and you raised your arms to shield your eyes. It was eerily quiet, the gunfire had stopped and the silence felt deafening.

You tried to squint through the glare, pulse racing as you tried to locate Bucky. The silence made sense, but didn’t ease the anxiety that wrecked your body. You'd seen the kidnappers go down, their bodies scattered across the concrete. So where was he?

You were about to call out when you felt it. The sharp press of cold metal at your throat.

Your breath stuttered, eyes going wide as you felt Kyle's arm snake around your neck and pull you backwards. His grip on you was tight and his hand trembled as he held the tip of the blade to your skin.

“Stay still,” he hissed into your ear. His voice cracked, the false smoothness gone, stripped bare, leaving only fear and desperation. “You scream, you die. You move, you die.”

Your mind went blank, if you had been afraid before, it was nothing like you felt now. It wasn't the fact that he was threatening you with a knife against your throat, it was the fact that his hand shook. That his breath came in shallow uneven gasps. Kyle wasn't a man hardened by battle. He was a greedy and spoiled coward. And now he was cornered and panicking. And that made him dangerous.

Taking a breath, you tried to stop yourself from throwing up or peeing your pants. This was a bluff. If he killed you, he had no leverage for himself. You repeated the thought over and over until—

A shadow appeared against the bright light. 

Bucky.

This time it didn't take you long to recognize his silhouette. It wasn't the first time he'd come to your rescue. But he looked different— chest heaving, long hair plastered to his temples, eyes blazing with something feral. 

“Back up!” Kyle shouted, though his voice cracked under the weight of his own terror. “I’ll do it, I swear—”

He never finished his sentence. Bucky moved with speed and surprising grace. A blur of bloodshed. Far faster than Kyle could even register. Bucky had him by the throat before he had time to blink. His vibranium hand caught the blade, twisting it from his hand and letting it clatter onto the metal floor. Kyle yelped as Bucky drove his right fist into his jaw, snapping his head to the side with brutal force.

“Bucky!” you gasped, but he didn’t hear you.

Kyle crumpled in, but Bucky didn’t stop. He didn’t let go, holding Kyle up by the collar of his coat. His fist rose again. And Again. Every punch landed with a sickening thud. Kyle groaned as blood splattered across the floor. 

“Bucky!” you cried louder, struggling against your restraints, heart splintering as the man you loved looked more soldier than human. His expression was blank. Body moving with incredible precision. This wasn’t just a rescue. He was eliminating the enemy. Dismantling him piece by piece. But his fury promised that no one would walk away alive.

“BUCKY, STOP!” Your voice cracked as you screamed at him, finally slicing through his furious haze. “You’ll kill him!”

He stood frozen, his arm raised, fist poised and ready to bring down one final time. You realized that the only thing that was holding Kyle upright was grip on his collar and he collapsed to the floor in a stupor when Bucky finally released him. Kyle lay on the floor, barely conscious, whimpering through his split lip and probably fractured orbit.

 Bucky looked unrecognizable, a ghost of the man you knew, a nightmare of who HYDRA had made him.

“Bucky,” you whispered, softer now, practically pleading. “It’s me. Please.”

Your voice emerged through the red fog that clouded his brain. Slowly his head turned to you. Gaze finally meeting yours, wide and wet. Your breath was ragged and you had no idea when you had started crying. You weren’t afraid of Kyle anymore. You were afraid of losing Bucky to the violence swallowing him whole.

“Princess,” he rasped, crossing the distance between you and dropping to his knees in front of you.

One hand wrapped around yours while the other fumbled for a knife before he snapped through the plastic binding your hands and feet. Even though his breath was harsh and uneven, his touch was surprisingly gentle. Almost desperate. Your wrists sprang free, red and swollen and instinctively you pulled them into your chest shakily. Now that he was really here, you couldn’t speak.

But then you looked up into his face. The rage was gone and all that was left was devastation. And it gutted you. His eyes were wild, frantically searching for yours, as though if he so much as blinked, you might vanish from his arms.

“I almost—” His voice broke, filled with self-loathing. “I almost didn’t stop.”

Fresh tears burned in your eyes, spilling over effortlessly. Without thinking, you reached for him, hands trembling with pain even as they cupped his face. His stubble was rough under your palms, his skin hot with sweat.

“You did stop,” you whispered, voice unsteady but sure. “You stopped, Bucky. You came back to me.”

His forehead pressed to yours, his whole body shuddering just like all the time you’d dragged him out of a nightmare. You felt the tremor in his metal hand as it hovered over you— filled with hesitation— before finally rested against your side with a gentleness that nearly undid you.

“I thought I lost you,” he breathed.

“I’m here,” you whispered back, pressing harder against him, grounding him as much as he was grounding you. “You didn’t lose me. You found me.”

“Barnes,” Sam’s voice interrupted the calm of your small bubble.

He stood in front of you, framed by the opening of the freight car, bathed in Redwing’s light, which was no longer aimed directly at you. Bucky’s head snapped up, his arms closing around you, knuckles slick with blood. His eyes flicked to Kyle, surveying the damage. He didn’t say anything about it though, giving you the smallest of nods.

“We gotta move. Now.”

Behind him, Torres jogged into view, Redwing now hovering anxiously at his shoulder.

“She’s hurt?” Torres asked quickly, eyes darting to the raw red marks around your wrists.

“Zip ties,” you whispered back. “Just sore.”

“You’re still going to the hospital,” Sam said firmly, already sweeping his gaze back over the yard. “This place is about to be crawling with the FBI and Homeland Security very soon. Best if we avoid their chaos.”

You leaned forward in an attempt to get up, but you didn’t get the chance to move very far, before Bucky slid his arm under your knees, scooping you up off the floor in one swift motion.

It caught you by surprise and you gasped, flinging your arms around his neck. “Bucky—”

“I got you. You’re not walking,” he muttered, tone leaving no room for argument. His eyes flicked over to where Kyle lay groaning on the floor. “Not here.”

Sam followed his gaze, then shook his head. “Leave him. We’ll make sure the FBI take him into custody.”

Bucky moved his arms to turn you into him, shielding your body with his chest as he made his way away from the container. He angled you so that your gaze wouldn’t catch the wreckage he had left in his wake as he fought for you.

A wail of sirens suddenly surrounded you and flashing strobe lights filled the shipping yard. Black SUVs rolled up fast and skidded to a stop to allow a barrage of agents in tactical gear to spill out, weapons drawn. The cavalry arriving late, as usual. Sam and Joaquin intercepted them immediately, pointing them in the direction of the men who had tried to hurt you.

Bucky didn’t stop, he didn’t even slow down, carrying you past all the commotion and straight toward an ambulance that had come to a halt at the edge of the yard. You tilted your face up to watch his as he walked and it broke your heart to see the shadow that darkened his expression. It felt like he had retreated back behind that mask he had worn when you’d first met, the one he put on after a particularly grueling nightmare. And now you were filled with a new fear.

“Bucky?” your voice was small, almost lost amidst the noise. “Please… don’t be mad. I’m sorry.”

He stopped in his tracks, just short of the paramedics who were waiting for you with a gurney. His arms tightened around you, almost crushingly so and he looked down, pressing his forehead against yours. “No,” he breathed against you, voice raspy and harsh. “You have nothing to apologize for. Not to me. I’m not mad at you, Princess. I’m mad at them.” He lifted his face away, looking off into the distance, jaw tight. “For what they did to you, what made me do.”

The paramedics seemed to get impatient and swarmed toward you, pushing the gurney at Bucky so he could lay you down. He resisted for a second, reluctant to release you. Then slowly, he lowered you gently, his hands trembling as he smoothed back your head, wincing at the dried blood on the back of your scalp.

“I’m here,” you whispered quickly, desperate to reassure him before his guilt swallowed him whole. Your hand found his, your wrists aching, but you squeezed with the little strength you had left. “You came for me. You stopped. You saved me.”

He let out a small whimper as he dropped his forehead to yours. He would have stayed that way forever but the medics slowly tried to pull you into their care.

“You’re safe,” he murmured. “That’s all that matters.”

Chapter Text

The first thing that hit you was the smell of oil, the kind that eased the movement of gears. Then a grinding noise filled your ears. It made your heart race. You couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t see. You were bathed in darkness and the sounds around you filled you with dread. Then came the crunching— bone snapping so loud that it echoed in the blackness that surrounded you.

Then a scream ripped through the air. Close. Raw. Terrifying. It didn’t sound like Kyle. Or Bucky. That’s when you realized that it was coming from you. 

You jolted upright with a gasp, the sheets tangled around your arms like restraints, your throat raw from a scream you didn’t remember making.

“Princess.”

Bucky’s voice pierced through the shadows— calm and comforting. You felt the warmth of his hand on your right arm, steady and strong, and the press of his bare chest against your back as it rose and fell in time with his breathing. It helped you to slow yours to match.

“Hey, hey— look at me,” he coaxed softly, tilting your face toward him. His blue eyes caught on the light filtering in from the hallway, anchoring you to the present. “It’s me. You’re home. You’re safe.”

Your body trembled as though the scream was still trying to claw its way out of you. The tangled sheets tightened around into your wrists as you struggled against them and for a heart-stopping second it felt like zip ties were there again, cutting into your flesh. Your chest hitched and you left out a high-pitched whine as you tried to free yourself.

Bucky saw your panic flare and moved swiftly, carefully, peeling the sheets away. He swept his fingers over the skin on your wrists, pausing where the ridged and red marks lingered. “There’s nothing there now, sweetheart,” he whispered. “You’re okay.”

You pried open your eyes, just a little wider, trying to take in his words and their meaning. Trying to breathe.

Bucky’s voice was low and gentle. “Hear that? Those creaky old pipes? Keeping us nice and warm. You hear it, Princess?

You nodded, focusing on the noise coming from under the floor boards.

He took your hand, guiding it to the soft fabric of the comforter. “You feel that? That’s our bed. Our home. You’re safe now.”

Your hand clenched the fluffy material, letting the sensations soothe you. You tried to swallow down but the lump in your throat burned. “I can still smell it,” you whispered, voice shaking. “The oil, the sweat… the blood.” Your whole body trembled, the words spilling before you could stop them. “It felt real. Like I was still there. Like— like I couldn’t move again.”

Bucky’s jaw tightened once more, but his thumb gently brushed across your cheek. “It isn’t real. Not anymore. Just a dream. They can’t touch you here.”

You could taste salt, but this time it was from the hot tears spilling down your cheeks. “I know. It just— it’s in my head. But it feels like it won’t let go.”

Your tears slipped down his chest, but he didn’t move, didn’t try to quiet you. He just wrapped his arm around your waist and cradled you into his embrace, holding you through every sob, every shudder until you couldn’t cry any more and the echoes of your phantom screams were drowned out by the steady rhythm of his heart beat. 

Bucky’s lips pressed against your temple, lingering there as if he could absorb the fear right out of you. “I’ve got you,” he whispered against your hair. “All night. All day. As long as it takes.”

Eventually, with his heart thudding steadily against your ear and his hand moving in slow, soothing strokes down your back, your eyes drifted closed again.

The next week passed by in a blur of bandages, comfort food, interrupted sleep and restless hours that seemed never ending. The nightmares didn't vanish overnight, but Bucky was always close to hold you through the worst of them.

Slowly you started getting fed up with being a victim and wanted to focus on being a survivor. Your wrists were still tender, but the wounds were healing. Your bruises faded quickly and your strength came back over time.

And with it came the growing urge to move. To do something.

By the tenth day of staring at the television and the same four walls around you, you were going stir crazy. You'd managed to watch every episode of Only Murders in the Building and you couldn't find anything else to hold your attention. You glanced over at Bucky who had his nose buried in a book. Having flicked through every single one of your streaming services from anxiety, you finally hit the off button on the remote and stood up. 

With your hands on your hips, you arranged your features into what you hoped was a look of determination, rather than the nagging guilt that sloshed around in the pit of your stomach.

As soon as you stood up, you could feel his eyes on you. And it didn't take you long to blurt out, “I’m going back to work.”

Bucky closed his book slowly, eyebrows raised. He didn’t even say anything. Just gave you a look— the kind of long, unimpressed stare that had ‘absolutely not’ written all over it.

You whined softly. “Don’t look at me like that,” you said, folding your arms over your chest. “I’m not made of glass.”

“Princess,” he sighed, setting the book aside gently, “two nights ago you woke up screaming so loud the neighbor’s dog started howling. Doesn’t exactly say ‘ready for the office,’ does it?”

A rush of heat spread up your neck, turning your ears pink. “That was one time,” you mumbled. 

He tilted his head. “Try three.”

You huffed out an exasperated sigh. “I can’t just sit here and rot, Bucky,” you whined. “I need something normal. I just wanna feel like… me again.”

That softened the expression on his face— if only a little. He let out a big breath, scratching his beard thoughtfully. “Look, I get where you're coming from, believe me. But I don't want you to push yourself to go too fast. What if you go in too hard and set yourself back?”

“Buck—”

“And then what, Princess? You gonna let me bubble-wrap this whole place and lock you in?”

“Geez!” You rolled your eyes. “You've thought about it, haven't you?”

His mouth twitched, betraying the start of a smile. “Maybe once or twice.”

You groaned. “You cannot smother me in pillows for the rest of my life.”

“Not the worst plan I've ever had,” he muttered, earning himself a withering glare.

You looked at him with pleading eyes “You want me to heal, right?”

“Obviously.”

“Then let me try. Just a little. I’ll go in for a few hours. If it’s too much, I’ll come home. Deal?” you asked hopefully. 

He sighed. You could see his resolve crumbling, albeit reluctantly. Then he reached out and hooked an arm around your waist, tugging you into his lap. “You know you drive me crazy, right?”

You cocked your chin up smugly. “Yeah. But you love it.”

He huffed a laugh into your hair. “God help me, I do.”

The following morning, you woke up, bleary eyed but determined. Bucky hovered anxiously as you slipped on your blazer over a smart top and pair of pants. Your hands might have trembled a little as you slid your tablet into your bag, but he didn’t push. Your head ached from lack of sleep rather than the wound you sustained and your wrists were still sore, but your chin was set. This is what you needed. Normalcy. Just for a few hours.

“You ready, sweetheart?” Bucky’s voice came from the front doorway. He was leaning against the frame in his leather jacket, keys dangling from one finger.

You emerged from the bedroom with narrowed eyes. “You’re not seriously coming with me, are you?” 

“Course I am,” he said simply, offering you your favorite pair of heels.

“Bucky—” you said, voice filled with warning. But you didn’t take the shoes he offered. Instead you bent down and picked up a pair of black sneakers that would be easily hidden under the length of your pants.

“Not negotiable,” he insisted, putting your heels carefully back into the shoe rack. “You think I’m gonna let you wander around work alone after what happened?” He shook his head. “No way. I’m driving you.”

You groaned. “You can’t just lurk outside my office all day like some… overprotective guard dog.”

“Watch me.” His smirk was infuriating. “I’ll bring a book. I’ve got patience.”

You stared at him, speechless, before jabbing a finger at his chest. “You are not going to brood in a car outside my office like Batman. Absolutely not. I forbid it.”

He caught your finger in his hand, pressing a kiss to your knuckle before you could yank it away. “Fine. I won’t brood. I’ll… loiter.”

“Bucky,” you warned, but your lips twitched despite the affronted tone you tried to put on.

“Princess,” he started, eyes twinkling with amusement. “I don’t care if you hate me for this. I’ll wait all day if that’s what it takes to keep you out of harm’s way.” His face changed, softening, the humor slipping out of his voice. “I just need to know you’re safe.”

You hated how easily he knew how to tug at your heart strings but you softened with him.  “You don’t have to sit outside like a creep. Just… stay close, okay? If I need you, I’ll call. Promise.”

He studied your features carefully, looking for any crack in your resolve until finally relenting to your request. “Close. Not hovering,” he responded with a reluctant nod.

“Exactly,” you said with a small smile of appreciation.

“But if you so much as breathe funny, I’m kicking that door down.”

You rolled your eyes and punched his arm lightly. “God, you’re impossible.”

Bucky slid his arm over your shoulders, pulling you against his chest and pressing a kiss to your temple. “Yeah. But I’m your impossible,” he whispered, opening the door for you.

The drive in felt comfortable, familiar. You’d never driven through the industrial side of town on your regular commute, so you didn’t feel any prickles of fear or anxiety. The flashy glass building looked the same as it always did. Almost as though nothing had happened during your absence. But as soon as you’d darkened its doors, the faint tang of disinfectant permeated your nostrils. Lena smiled tersely, as though she didn’t know what kind of greeting she expected to receive.

You waved, not wanting to get involved in a discussion regarding your recent absence. But as you moved through the building, you could sense the change in the atmosphere. As you walked down the corridor, you could see the fallout of your discovery.

The FBI had left a wake of destruction in their investigation of the firm. They had interviewed you at home but you could tell that they had performed a more thorough search of the building for their case against Kyle Mendez and his smuggling ring.

You felt almost relieved to reach the privacy of your office, away from the curious glances you were receiving from your colleagues. Even your space didn't feel the same. Files had been rifled through, drawers left ajar. It was their job to pick everything apart but it was infuriating that you were left to clean up the mess they left behind. This was supposed to be your safe corner in the firm. Now it looked ransacked, like someone else’s life.

You laid your bag down on your desk and buried yourself by sorting through the stacks of paper that had been left in disarray. Anything to restore your life back into order. In reality it was anything that would stop your hands from shaking.

You were in the process of shoving your pencils back into their holder when a knock on your doorframe made you jolt so hard that you dropped the pencils all over the floor.

“Sorry— didn’t mean to scare you.”

You looked up to see Leonard standing in the doorway. He tapped his knuckles again, before taking a slow step inside, as though he didn't want to startle you further.

“You’re… back?” he said softly, surprise lacing his words. “I didn’t think—”

You shrugged, bending down to pick up the pencils, letting Leonard stoop down beside you to help.

“Didn’t feel like hiding. Besides, someone has to clean up after the FBI.” You waved around at the mess they had left behind.

He placed the remainder of the pencils in his hand in the little pot and perched on the edge of your desk.

“How are you?” he asked. And it almost felt like he cared.

You glanced down, fiddling with the corner of a paper. “Fine,” you said automatically.

Leonard's eyes flicked down to your wrists, where your skin was still red and you pulled your sleeves down, trying to cover the evidence of your captivity.

He let out a breath, somewhere between relief and disbelief. “Barnes messaged me. Told me you were safe.”

Startled, you looked up. “He… did?”

Leonard nodded. “Yeah. Just that you were alright and I should take the car and go. Nothing else. And then… silence.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I wanted to help. We were trying to figure out where you might’ve gone, what I’d missed. Feels like I should’ve—”

You studied him, unsure what to say. Guilt was written all over his face. This was the man who had treated you like an accessory, something to make him look better. He had infused such a sense of worthlessness in you, that you hadn't believed you deserved the kindness Bucky had shown you. Now here he was, acting like he cared, like he had always cared. And maybe, somewhere deep down, he had.

No, you weren’t ready to unpack your feelings about him yet.

“Leonard…” Your demeanor softened, if only a little. “You didn’t know. None of us did.”

“Doesn’t make me feel any less useless.”

You didn’t answer right away, stacking the files neatly to keep your hands busy. You weren't sure how to deal with his sympathy, having never had it.

He let the silence stretch out a little longer before finally pushing himself to stand. “Anyway… I’m glad you’re back. That you’re—” he hesitated, searching for the right word— “here.”

You met his gaze, staring at him, as though you didn’t recognize the man in front of you. Then, slowly, you gave the smallest nod. “Thanks.”

He looked like he was going to walk away, but after a few steps, he turned, running his hand through his hair.

“I wish I'd known about Kyle sooner.”

“Leonard—”

“I thought he was my friend.”

“Leonard—”

“I trusted him.” He shook his head, shoulders tight.

“And I trusted you!” you snapped, much to Leonard's surprise.

Leonard froze at your outburst, clearly taken aback. “I—what?”

Your pulse was racing, adrenaline raging around your body, but you forced yourself to hold his gaze. “Kyle didn’t just guess about me. He overheard you talking. About me. About my suspicions.”

Color drained from his face as he understood the implication of your words. “No. No, I—” His voice cracked before he steadied it. “I didn’t mean—”

“Doesn’t matter if you meant it,” you cut in sharply, pushing yourself up straighter in your chair. “He used you. He used me. And the reason he knew I was onto him was because you opened your big mouth.”

Leonard’s eyes widened and his shoulders sagged as though you’d punched him right in the gut. He lifted his hand up, dragging it down his face. “God. I didn’t know. I thought—” He stopped for a second, swallowing hard. “I thought it was just venting. I didn’t think he was... I didn’t think he—”

“You didn’t think,” you snapped. “You never do, Leonard. You always just… act like nothing you say has consequences!”

“I… you’re right. I didn’t think. I guess I've never been good at that.”

His voice was low and felt sincere and it almost undid you. You tried to hold it together as he sat down in the chair across from you. Just like he had done so many times before. 

“I should’ve been more careful. I should’ve shut my damn mouth. I just—” He broke off with a frustrated exhale, looking up at you. “I was careless with you. Always have been. And now—” He shook his head, shoulders sagging forward as he leaned his elbows on his knees. “Now it nearly got you killed.”

Your chest rose and fell sharply as you fought for control of your emotions. “An apology doesn’t erase what happened.”

“I know.” His reply was immediate, surprisingly gentle and almost desperate. He put his hands on the table, his eyes searching for yours. “I know it doesn’t. And I’m not asking you to pretend it does. I just—” He swallowed down the lump in his throat. “I am sorry. For this. For all of it.”

For once, his words weren’t polished. He hadn't wrapped them neatly in a presentation with a bow like ones he used to give at his old job, or at galas or even the ones he would give you in your own home. These felt like they had been dragged out from a place of sincerity, of vulnerability. They sounded rough and uneven. And maybe that’s what made them hit you harder.

You rubbed your wrists over your sleeves, trembling slightly, more from fatigue than fury. “You should’ve thought about that before.”

“I should’ve,” he admitted. “You’re right. I can’t fix it. But I swear to you— I’ll never make that mistake again.”

You wanted to scream at him again, to tell him that he would never have the chance to hurt you again. You briefly thought about hurting him, just as he hurt you. But instead, you let silence stretch out between you. 

Finally, you gave him a small nod. “Alright. I hear you.”

A flash of relief flickered across Leonard's face, but it didn't break out into the usual smile when he got what he wanted. Instead, he nodded back, looking subdued. “Thank you,” he said with a sigh. He gave you another once over, before pushing his chair back from your desk. “Alright,” he murmured. “I won’t keep you.”

And with that, he turned and slipped out. The soft click of your office door made it sound so final and the weight of your conversation felt like it was dragging you down. You looked around at the files you'd been arranging but the swirl of emotions inside you made the task in front of seem impossible.

Leonard had apologized. Maybe even meant it. But you didn’t know what to do with that. Not yet.

You leaned back in your chair, pressing your palms against your eyes until you saw stars. Everything felt so raw, way too close to the surface. The last thing you wanted was for anyone in the firm to see you like this.

There was only one thing that would help you at a time like this. Reaching into your bag, you pulled out your phone. For a heartbeat, you hesitated, staring at the screen. You didn’t need words. Just some reassurance. Just the sound of his voice. Just Bucky.

You tapped on his contact and the screen immediately changed, dialing his number. He answered within seconds.

“Princess?” Bucky’s voice came through almost instantly. Low, steady and grounding. It felt like he was just there, waiting for your call.

And your breath hitched, relief washing over you like a wave. You knew he would always be there for you.

Chapter Text

Over time, the scars on your wrists faded, barely noticeable now unless you peered closely where you could make out some pale lines. You told yourself over and over that it was proof that you were healing, proof that you were a survivor. But the scars on the outside were nothing compared to the scars on your psyche. Every night, when you closed your eyes, your chest still tightened as though there was still something binding you. Your body may have mended, but your mind hadn’t quite caught up yet.

When you were at work, things were easy. You knew when to smile, to put on a show for your colleagues. You knew how to hide the way your hands shook over the page. Most days it worked. Most days you managed to convince everyone— including yourself— that you were fine. The nights were different. Bucky never grumbled or groaned when you startled awake every other night, choosing to pull you into his chest until your heartbeat slowed and you were able to get back to sleep. Sometimes it was the safety of his arm around you that lulled you back into slumber.

Today though, something changed.

The two of you were walking home, having made a pitstop to the local store for snacks and supplies. It was surprising the two of you hadn’t been banned following the soup disaster you had made there in the past. The cashier always eyed you suspiciously when you walked in together, even though none of your subsequent trips had been quite as eventful. It was a sunny but freezing day and you fell in step beside Bucky with ease. He had a canvas bag slung over his shoulder while you scurried along with your hands stuffed deep in your coat pockets to guard against the chill.

The bag on his back was small and bulging with things neither of you had set out to buy. Bucky shifted uncomfortably as a can of chickpeas dug into his back. 

“You realize half of that’s unnecessary snacks, right?” you teased, bumping his arm lightly. “I didn’t put half of these things on the list. Definitely don’t recall Doritos or Oreos being on there.”

Bucky smirked down at you, totally unbothered by your teasing. “You’re welcome though.”

“You’re worse than a kid,” you cried with an exasperated eye roll. “You see the word sale and your brain shuts off.”

“Excuse you,” he said with mock indignation, “I have highly refined taste. Plus, I picked the family-sized Oreos, didn’t I? Strategic planning is what I call it.”

You barked a laugh, shaking your head. “Strategic planning, huh?”

“Mmhm. You’ll thank me when you’re stress-eating them after work.”

“Maybe,” you admitted grudgingly, lips twitching dangerously close to a smile. “But I’m still hiding the Doritos from you. No man should consume that much cheese dust in one sitting.”

He glanced down at you with a grin. “You underestimate me, sweetheart.”

You were laughing blithely, totally oblivious to your surroundings for a brief moment. Bucky lived for these moments now, to see you laugh freely. They had been few and far between since the kidnapping and he used any and every opportunity to coax it out of you. You were giggling softly, eyes half lidded when a group of stocky teens came barreling around the corner on their motorized scooters. They hurtled towards you and Bucky without care or heed for who crossed their path. One of them passed by dangerously close to you, clipping your shoulder hard enough to make you stumble toward the curb.

Before your brain had the chance to understand the effect of gravity on it, Bucky’s arm was wrapped around your waist yanking you back up with ease. He was acting on instinct. To protect you at all costs.

But for you—

Your chest tightened instantly, your heart picking up the pace in response. His grip on your arm was firm but not bruising, but to you it felt like a vice. The suddenness of the movement made a white light flash across your eyes and a hot burning sensation shot through your nerves. For a split second you weren’t on the sidewalk with your beautiful boyfriend, you were in the shipping yard, bound and dragged in every direction until you couldn’t tell which way was up.

To add insult to injury, another roguish youth sped directly at the two of you. Without blinking, Bucky caught the handle of the scooter, letting the boy’s momentum send him sprawling onto the sidewalk behind you. You flinched as his vibranium palm dented the handle effortlessly, the metal crunching like grinding gears.

Without thinking, you tried to pull yourself out of his grip, trashing until he let you go.

Bucky eased you down as smoothly as he could as soon as he realized, tossing the broken scooter on the boy laying on the floor groaning.

“Hey— Princess, it’s just me. You’re okay.” His voice was careful, almost pleading with you to calm down.

You stood with your back against the wall, forcing yourself to nod at Bucky, to breathe steadily, to keep going like nothing had happened. But it was too late, the memories had pervaded your waking consciousness, the images burned behind your eyes, the smell permeated your nostrils and you could still feel the plastic around your wrists. The echoes of the experience pulled you back there against your will. So you kept walking in the hopes of outrunning the nightmare.

But there was one thing you couldn’t outrun— sleep. And that’s where the dreams caught up with you.

Tonight they were darker. It started out familiar. The warehouse. The concrete floors bathed in shadow. The smell of polish and oil linger in the air. Then came the restraints and everything changed. Your surroundings morphed into your steel prison, where you were surrounded by darkness. The sound of footsteps echoed around you. Not Kyle’s erratic pacing— no, these were deliberate. Precise. A soldier’s steps.

Your throat seized up as you tried to call for help, but the sound died before it had the chance to reach your mouth. Regardless of your silence, Bucky emerged from the shadows. But it wasn’t your Bucky. This man’s eyes were dark, blank. Stripped of their usual warmth and affection. The steel blue was icy and hollow. His face held none of the softness you’d grown to love, all that was left was the sharp angles and hard lines in the shape of a mask. A weapon’s mask.

The Winter Soldier. You’d never seen him but you knew it was him. You could feel it in your bones. He moved like a machine, muscles flowing effortlessly with precise and lethal efficiency. His arm clamped around your waist, the same way Bucky had held you on the sidewalk that afternoon. Only here there was no gentleness. No signs of release. Just pure, unadulterated power lurked inside.

The scream finally came. You trashed against him. Tugging on his arm. Clawing at his face and mask. His name burned on your tongue as you begged and pleaded for him to let you go.

But his expression didn’t change. No flicker of recognition. Devoid of empathy.

“Soldier,” Kyle’s voice ordered from the shadows.

You watched in horror as Bucky's eyes slid past you, dark, empty, obedient. You screamed his name over and over, getting nothing in return. The darkness closed in around you, filling you with dread and loneliness and the certainty that Bucky wasn't there anymore. That they had taken him from you. But it didn't stop you from calling for him. 

You jolted awake with a small cry on your lips and your skin was clammy with sweat. You bolted upright with the sheets tangling around you, the darkness pressing in from all sides and for a second you weren’t sure if you were truly awake. 

“Princess!”

His voice finally penetrated through your adrenaline filled haze. Quiet, but warm. Human.

But despite this, your body wasn’t ready to believe it. So when his hand reached out to steady you, you flinched without realizing it.

Bucky froze, withdrawing his hand like he’s been burned. But his voice softened, like he was talking to a wounded animal. “Hey. It’s okay. You’re okay. It’s me, sweetheart.”

Your eyes darted around as your breaths came in short, shallow spurts. You could feel the throb of your pulse in your wrists, echoes of the restraints that were no longer real.

“I won’t touch you, Princess,” he promised, his voice barely above a whisper. He stayed beside you, perfectly still, close but not crowding, giving you the choice to seek the safety of his arms. “You’re safe. I’m right here.”

This low voice, persistent but gently helped you to focus your attention and slowly you found yourself making out the soft features of his face through the shadows. What you saw made your heart lurch. His hair was mussed from sleep and his eyes were wide with worry, the lines around them furrowed deep as he pleaded with you to come back to him.

Suddenly, your eyes were filled with tears, blurring your vision and burning as they flowed down your cheeks. They were enough to wash away the images of your nightmare and before you knew what you were doing, your hand reached out, desperate, pressing against his cheek. You whined at the feel of the gentle scratch of stubble under your palm, this skin warm and solid.

“Bucky,” you whispered, voice cracking as you tried to say his name. Your thumb traced his cheekbone, grounding yourself with every stroke. “Oh, Bucky. My Bucky.”

His eyes fluttered shut at your response as he leaned into your touch. Instinctively, his hand came up to the back of your hand, pressing it into his cheek before he slid it down your arm and then around your back, wrapping it around you until you melted into him.

You buried your face into his neck, with renewed sobs shaking your shoulders and he gathered you into his arms without further hesitation, holding you like you were the only thing anchoring him to this world.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured into your hair, his lips brushing your temple. “I’ve got you, sweetheart. Always.”

Your fists curled into his crumpled t-shirt as if to tether yourself to him, your voice muffled as you muttered to yourself insistently. “Bucky. My Bucky. My Bucky.”

He stayed just like that, rocking you gently, whispering soothing words of reassurance until your trembling eased. Until your sobs slowed into small hiccuping breaths. His steady heartbeat soothing you until you found your voice.

“I’m… sorry,” you whispered shakily.

Bucky pulled back just enough to look at you, brow furrowed. “Don’t. You never have to apologize for this. Not to me.”

Your lip quivered again, tears threatening to spill once more. You tried to look away, but Bucky’s hand guided you back toward him, eyes searching your face like he wanted to read your thoughts. It would hurt him. Of course it would. But you couldn’t keep secrets. You’d learnt that now. So you steeled yourself for the pain you knew you were going to inflict.

“It wasn’t just Kyle this time,” you admitted slowly. “It was you.”

Bucky stilled. You could feel his whole body stiffen around you. He didn’t speak, just waited for you to continue.

You reached up to touch his cheek again, your touch ginger, unsure. “Not you-you,” you frowned, shaking your head, desperate to make him understand without hurting him. “Like your body was there, but you weren’t inside. Like you didn’t know me.” Your breath hitched and another tear slipping free. “It felt so real, Bucky. Like I would lose you to that. Like they could take you away and turn you back into… into him.”

For a moment, silence pressed between you, like it was trying to push you apart. Bucky’s throat moved up and down as he swallowed, his eyes dark and unfocused. But you didn’t want to give it a chance to create space. You moved onto your knees and cupped his face in both hands.

“I know it’s not you. I really do. It was just a dream. You’re here. You’re mine. My Bucky.”

He let out a breath, like he’d been holding the fear inside and your words gave him the relief he needed. His forehead dropped to rest against yours.

“I always come back,” he whispered, his voice hoarse and shaky, as if he needed to convince himself rather than you. “I’ll always find my way back to you, Princess.”

You let out a choked laugh, holding onto his shoulders and pressing your face right up against his. “You’d better. I’m holding you to that.”

His lips brushed your temple, lingering for a moment. “Good,” he murmured. “‘cause you’re the only reason I got.”

Bucky rested back against the padded headboard, with you still against his chest. You closed your eyes as he moved his thumb in small circles on your bare shoulder.

“I scared you that day, didn’t I?” he asked, quietly. 

You didn't move, not wanting to face his reaction but you knew you couldn't sit on it. Your fingers fidgeted with the hem of his shirt before you forced yourself to look up. 

“Maybe a little,” you admitted. “But not of you…” you paused. “…I was scared of losing you. To them.”

Bucky’s eyes flicked away from you, his throat bobbing as he swallowed away the guilt. “I’m sorry.”

“Bucky?” you called, voice filled with uncertainty.

“Yeah?” His voice came back, matching yours.

“I don’t ever want to be the reason you do something you regret,” you whispered, the words spilling out before you could stop them.

His eyes snapped to yours instantly and he shook his head. “I’d never regret protecting you.” The conviction in his voice sent a shiver through your spine, but then it softened, dropping down to something barely audible but no less certain. “Never.”

“You weren’t… angry at me, were you?”

He shook his head immediately. “No! Princess, no… I was scared… terrified that I could lose you—” Bucky's whole body shuddered under yours at the mere thought of it.

It ached, hearing him express his fears. Something he rarely shared. He had held you through every nightmare, carrying his own in silence. You brushed your fingertips over his knuckles in an effort to loosen his tension. 

“I’m sorry, too. For putting you in that position.”

His fist loosened under your soft touch, and he turned his hand, opening his palm to accept yours, to keep you from floating away. Both of you stayed this way, finding a serenity in the silence of the night. The city traffic had petered out and you'd created a nest of pillows propping you up while Bucky's arm cocooned you. It felt like he needed this as much as you did.

Every now and then his hand would shift up and down your arm where he would absently trace soft patterns on your skin. You wondered if he was even conscious of his actions or if it was something he needed to keep him tethered to the present… and to you.

Slowly he shifted, hand coming up to stroke your hair and push it back gently. He exhaled a long breath against the top of your head. “So I, uhh…” he started hesitantantly. “I kinda made some plans… for Christmas.”

Your head tilted back to look at him, blinking at him through the darkness. “Plans?”

“I spoke to Hanna and Aditi and they said they were gonna spend it with their moms this year,” he said, carefully. Too carefully. “And… well you know, Aditi— she’s forgiven me for the whole wedding mess. And Samir’s arrest.” He looked away for a moment, scratching his jaw awkwardly, guilt reflecting in his eyes. “But her mom hasn’t. She doesn’t want me in their home for Christmas.”

The words sank into you like a lead balloon dragging you under water. If they didn’t want Bucky, that meant by extension—

“So that means…” You couldn’t quite say it out loud, but the conclusion sat heavily in your chest. If he wasn’t welcome, neither were you.

Bucky looked down at you then, eyes filled with sympathy, as if he’d already guessed where your mind went. “Which is why,” he continued swiftly, “I went ahead and made some plans with someone who does want us around.”

Your brows lifted slightly. “Sam’s? And Sarah’s?”

Bucky gave you a quiet huff of a laugh, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Nah. Sam’s got his hands full wrangling Joaquin into a plane to Louisiana. He wanted to fly there in his suit,” Bucky rolled his eyes. “That kid’s got him wrapped around his finger. Plus Cass and AJ. I think he’s got his work cut out for him.”

A small chuckle slipped out of you before you could help it. The image of Sam trying to corral Joaquin, Cass and AJ into holiday traditions was almost too easy to picture. It made you smile against his chest and filled you with warmth.

Bucky’s smile deepened at the sound of your laughter. “No,” he said, tenderly. “Winnie.”

Your eyes widened. “Winnie?”

“Yeah. She wants us to spend Christmas with her and her family.”

You were filled with an unexpected warmth, the feeling of love surrounding you and crowding out the fears that had recently taken root deep inside you. Normally it was you who would be making festive plans but you’d been so focused on normality that it hadn’t even crossed your mind to prepare for the holiday season. And now here was Bucky— already one step ahead, already making sure you had somewhere you belonged.

“Bucky…”

He kissed your hair, lips lingering. “We’ll be welcome,” he murmured against you, the certainty in his voice wrapping around you tighter than any blanket. “No questions. No conditions. Just… family.”

You swallowed hard, pressing your face against him so he wouldn’t see the tears prickling at your eyes. “Our family,” you whispered.

His arm tightened around you. “Yeah. Ours.”

Chapter Text

In the few weeks left before Christmas, you were distracted by a whirlwind of deadlines at work— the last minute purchases of guilty husbands shopping for their overworked wives— alongside admiring holiday lights decorating the city you called home. The firm was surprisingly generous with their festive break for employees and you had been dismissed until the new year a few days before Christmas. You’d left the office without looking back, mumbling a polite greeting to Leonard as you made a dash towards the exit. 

Bucky looked surprisingly relaxed as you got on the plane to California. It was a long trip but with him by your side it didn’t seem daunting at all. You read a book while Bucky stole the arm rest, eventually falling asleep on your shoulder and snoring softly for the entirety of the flight. After that, you couldn’t bring yourself to move, choosing to nuzzle your face into the top of his head every now and again. So when you landed, both of you were stiff but content. Bucky yawned and stretched, looking stupidly handsome for someone who had spent six hours hunched into an uncomfortable economy seat.

Orange County was exactly as you expected it to be— sun-soaked stucco houses spread out before you, adorned by typical terracotta roofs and surrounded by palm trees which swayed lazily in the light California breeze. The rental car carried you from the airport down toward the coast, where your hotel was situated. It wasn’t flashy, but the view was something out of a dream. The smell of the sea chased away the weariness of travel and you deposited your bags in the room, taking a moment to freshen up before heading back out— you didn’t want to be late for Winnie. 

The house felt enormous compared to your Brooklyn apartment— soft peach stucco with poinsettias on the porch. Lavender spilled through the gaps in their white picket fence. Off to one side sat a smaller cottage with a similar exterior. It was dressed in twinkling lights, with a ridiculously oversized wreath on the door, the same one Winnie had decorated her door with last year, and the year before. It felt like you were visiting her down the hall rather than across the country. You caught Bucky’s hand as you stepped out of the car.

A bag of gifts rustled as Bucky shifted it in his free hand. “Ready, Princess?” he asked quietly, though you both knew the answer.

Your feet had just touched the porch when the front door swung open and you were greeted by a tiny lady with a booming voice.

“There you are!” Winnie called out, warm and commanding all at once. Before you could respond, she pulled you into her arms, hugging you both tight enough to steal the air from your lungs.

“Oh, Winnie— it’s so good to see you. We missed you!”

She finally released you, only to fix you with one of her characteristic looks, as if she were measuring up whether the two of you had been eating, sleeping, and generally behaving like functioning adults.

“Is it me that you missed?” she asked archly. “Or the apple pie?”

“Pie,” Bucky said without missing a beat, the corner of his mouth twitching despite his attempts to stay neutral.

“Bucky!” you smacked his arm lightly with mock outrage.

“What?” He grinned down at you, utterly unrepentant. “You’ve had her pie. You know I’m right.”

Winnie threw her head back and cackled, patting Bucky’s chest as if his light hearted banter was the best Christmas gift she could receive. “At least he’s honest. Though I’ll have you know, I’m even sweeter than my baking.”

“I don’t doubt it for a second,” you said warmly, narrowing your eyes at Bucky as you shot him a pointed look that promised he’d be paying for his treachery later.

“Worth it,” he mouthed back, a smirk still plastered on his face as he followed Winnie inside.

The moment you crossed the threshold, it felt like you’d been transported right back into Winnie’s apartment back in Brooklyn. The fireplace mantle was littered with the same cinnamon-scented candles she’d always had, her hand-knitted plum-colored throw folded neatly over the back of the couch, the arrangement of her framed black-and-white photographs lined the walls in the same order as they had done back in New York. It reflected her personality and her old apartment so perfectly, that you felt you’d been transported back into her old life.

“You didn’t change a thing!” you exclaimed, looking around in wonder.

“No need to fix something that isn’t broken!” Bucky laughed as he nudged you.

The two of you traced Winnie’s footsteps into the kitchen only to be hit with a familiar smell.

“Is that…” You trailed off, already half-grinning.

“Fresh out of the oven,” Winnie said proudly.

Your heart gave a little twist. “You didn’t need to go to all this trouble, Winnie.”

She shot you a look over her shoulder like it was the silliest sentiment she’d ever heard. “You think we can have Christmas without apple pie?”

Behind you, Bucky chuckled before reaching out to take the baking tray from her. “Told you she wouldn’t let us starve.”

Winnie swatted at him with an oven mitt, her lips twitching. “Don’t think I won’t put you to work, James. In fact, I have some lights that still need stringing outside.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, amusement dancing in his eyes, immediately heading in the direction Winnie pointed him to. 

You laughed, laying out plates on the little kitchen table while Winnie fussed with the pie. The atmosphere inside the little home was welcoming and festive and most of all, it felt safe.

“Winnie, let me help.”

“No, no, dear. Please, sit down and eat. You look like you need it.” She pushed a steaming slice of pie in front of you, patting your shoulder lightly. 

Your stomach growled in response, making you chuckle. “Yeah, airplane food isn't what one calls appetizing.”

The older woman smiled back at you, glancing over at Bucky who was lost in the task of untangling a mess of fairy lights, his tongue sticking out as he worked.

“That's not what I meant, and you know it,” she said in a low voice.

The fork was halfway to your mouth when you froze at her words, lowering it with a sigh. Your gaze followed Bucky through the window, his broad shoulders hunched over a box as he did his best to coax the lights into some semblance of order. 

“What did he tell you?” you whispered, putting the fork back onto the plate, pie uneaten. 

Winnie sat down across the table from you. “Enough,” she murmured.

For a long moment, the only sound that could be heard was muffled clinking of the bulbs tapping against each other as Bucky worked on the porch.

“It was bad, Winnie,” you finally whispered. You drew in a shaky breath before continuing. “Bucky told me not to do it, but I just had to have my way… and it got me in trouble.”

Winnie sat silently, no judgement on her face. She didn't speak, just waited— like she always had back in Brooklyn, when you’d drop by her apartment pretending you came for tea but ended up pouring out more than you meant to.

“I thought I was being smart… careful even,” You scoffed at the memory. “I thought I could handle it. But when they locked me up, when everything went dark, all I could think about was how he’d warned me. And how much I’d hurt him if I didn’t make it back.”

Your voice cracked, and you pressed your lips together hard, trying to keep yourself from breaking down. A weathered hand enveloped yours, the warmth and pressure bringing you back to the present. 

“Don’t blame yourself,” she said softly. “Some things in us don’t let go easily— your stubborn streak, your heart. But the people who put you through that? That’s on them. Not you. You hear me?”

A shuddering breath escaped you and you nodded. “He still came for me. Even though I didn’t listen.”

“Of course he did. That man would walk through the fires of hell in bare feet if it meant getting to you. And he doesn’t give two figs whether you made a mistake on the way there— he just cares that you’re safe.”

Tears stung at the corners of your eyes. “I don’t know if I’ll ever stop feeling guilty. For not listening. For scaring him. For the things he had to do to save me.”

“When are you two going to learn?” Winnie huffed exasperatedly. “You're in this together. You think he's going to mind a scar or two on your soul? Hell, he's got enough of his own.”

“Why do you make it sound so simple?”

“Simple, maybe,” Winnie said gently, leaning back in her chair. “But not easy. You two have the kind of love people spend their whole lives searching for. Don’t waste it by punishing yourself for being human.”

“Maybe he deserves better,” you muttered, more to yourself.

Winnie clicked her tongue softly. “Don’t go down that road. And if you really believe that, you've not been paying attention at all. He wants you. Just as you are.”

“Don't Bridget Jones me, Winnie!”

She raised an eyebrow briefly, before returning to her pie. “You’re thinking too hard. Just look at him.”

“I hate that he has to—” You tailed off with a small sigh. “That he still has to deal with the aftermath of all this.”

“Nightmares?” Winnie asked, hitting the nail on the head and making your eyes widen at her intuition. “Don't look so surprised, the dark circles under your eyes are telling enough.”

You swallowed, feeling a flush of shame creep in. “I… I try to manage. I hate putting this on him.”

“My dear,” Winnie said firmly, “you’re not managing if you’re losing sleep and replaying the worst moments in your head. You need someone trained to help you work through it. Therapy. You can’t do this alone, no matter how strong you are— or how strong he is.”

You hesitated. “I guess… maybe I should.”

“Maybe? You will. And you’ll thank yourself— and me— for it. There’s no shame in getting help. Only in pretending you don’t need it.”

“How’d you get so wise, Winnie?”

“Bad choices and a good memory.”

“Thank you,” you said, earnestly.

“Don’t thank me yet.” Winnie’s lips twitched as her gaze shifted past you. “Your soldier’s about to lose a battle with fifty feet of wire.”

You turned in your chair just in time to see Bucky stand up, a good stretch of twisted wires wrapped around his vibranium arm like a python. He wore a look of grim determination, scowling at the lights like he was doing battle with his mortal enemy and the fight was going on too long and he’d started taking it personally.

Winnie rolled her eyes. “Lord save us. Tell him to come inside before he electrocutes himself and I have to explain to Alyssa why I let a super soldier get defeated by fairy lights.”

You were about to rise from your chair when there was a soft thud and a disgruntled, “Son of a—”

“Language!” Winnie barked.

Bucky froze, then blew out a sharp breath through his nose and went right back to wrestling the lights, as if ignoring Winnie would erase the slip.

Despite your recent melancholy, a laugh bubbled out of you. It rose up before you knew it and you clamped your hand over your mouth to stifle the outburst of giggles. Outside, Bucky caught the sound and smiled to himself before groaning softly at the sight of yet another knot. Winnie smirked knowingly as though her efforts were justly awarded.

As soon as you’d managed to get your fit of giggles under control, she leaned across the table, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper while keeping her eyes on Bucky’s ongoing war with the lights. “You know, I was expecting to receive your wedding invitations when you arrived today.”

Your head snapped around, eyes wide. “Winnie—”

“So tell me, dear… why hasn’t he put a ring on that finger yet?”

The question caught you off guard and you pulled your left hand into your lap, hiding its nakedness. Your mind was suddenly crowded with thoughts of all the times you’d wondered the same thing. But the words that came to your mouth first weren’t doubt or complaint. They were in Bucky’s defense.

“If he hasn’t, it’s because he’s waiting until it’s right. And if that takes time… then so be it.”

Winnie arched one perfectly skeptical brow. “That’s it? No frustrations? No questions?”

You met Winnie’s gaze with a steady one of your own. “No. Whatever his reason is— it’s his to share when he’s ready. I trust him!” you exclaimed emphatically. After a second you went on, almost as though you'd been offended by her lack of faith. “And I won’t stand here and make it sound like he’s failing me, because he’s not. He’s already given me more than I ever thought I’d have.”

You ended in a huff, as though Winnie had actually been challenging you. The words surprised you a little. They were fierce, but honest.

She sat back in her chair, arms folding loosely in approval. “Loyal,” she murmured, almost to herself. Then her eyes flicked back to yours, warmer now. “Good. That man’s worth it, but so are you. Don’t forget that part.”

You replied with a nod, feeling a little bashful by your outburst.

Outside came another muffled curse and a frustrated rattle of lights, and Winnie didn’t even glance toward the window this time. “Honestly, he can take a man out with a butter knife, but ask him to string a set of Christmas lights—” She shook her head in despair.

You laughed again, this time freer and not quite as emotionally as before. Winnie looked like she had more to say, but just then the door creaked open and Bucky stepped inside, looking well and truly defeated. 

“Think they’re winning,” he pouted, his long hair slightly mussed from the breeze.

You bit back another giggle as you pushed up from your chair, crossing the room toward him. “You’ll figure it out,” you said gently, sliding the tangled strand out of his hands. “You always do.”

His frown eased at your words. “Not sure they got the memo.”

“Come sit down, baby,” you cooed, smoothing out the wrinkles on his Henley. “I’ll help after pie.”

Winnie didn’t comment on the way you moved to him immediately, comforting him without hesitation, choosing to push a fresh plate of pie across the table with a little huff of a job not completed.

“Fine. Sit down before you destroy my decorations, James.”

Bucky groaned good-naturedly, dropping into the chair you led him to. He leaned in close, hand lingering on your thigh, and spoke with a lowered voice, knowing Winnie would still catch every word. “She’s bossy, huh?”

You smiled, squeezing his hand. “You’ll survive.”

When you glanced up, Winnie was watching the two of you with something softer in her eyes. When she caught your eye, she turned away to fuss with the kettle on the stove. “Tea’s on. You two can untangle your mess later.”

You hugged Bucky’s arm, slowly letting go so he could eat his pie, feeling more relaxed than you had in a long time.

The rest of the evening wound down with a homemade dinner, courtesy of Winne. Bucky losing every round of banter to your hostess’s sharp tongue. After the meal, he did the dishes while you deftly undid the knots in the Christmas lights in record time, much to Bucky’s chagrin. You called it a night when you caught Winnie suppressing a yawn.

“Go and rest, I’ll be sure to have a few more things for you to take care of tomorrow,” she called after you.

“Yes, ma’am,” Bucky grumbled, but the smile on his face gave away his amusement and willingness.

Chapter Text

Once the two of you were safely back at the hotel, you turned to Bucky, wrapping your arms around him in a tight hug. He smelled faintly of cinnamon and the roast you'd enjoyed for dinner.

“Thank you for this,” you sighed, resting your chin on his chest as you looked up at him. “It was exactly what I needed.”

His arms encircled you, holding you tighter and you pressed a kiss to the side of his neck, nose rubbing against the roughness of his beard. The shift in his body was subtle but immediate. You noticed how quickly his body responded to the simplest bit of affection and you looked up at him with a playful smirk. 

“You know… we haven’t been, err… very proactive lately,” you said teasing, but acknowledging his patience.

Bucky’s brows lifted, a small smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “You don’t have to,” he murmured.

“But I want to,” you insisted, fingers looping through the belt loops of his pants, tugging him closer, if that was at all possible at this point.

You could feel the heat radiating from him and his breath hitched sharply as you ran your fingers over his crotch. Bucky growled in approval as he leaned into your touch, his hands coming to rest on your hips. A surge of arousal flared between you. The tension of travel, the chaos of the holidays and the lingering stress of recent events melted away, leaving behind the love and passion you shared. 

“I don’t want to pressure you,” he said softly.

“No pressure,” you whispered back, letting your hand trail down his chest and abdomen, before pressing against the outline of his growing bulge in a teasing way. “Unless you really want me to apply some more.”

Laughter rumbled deep in his chest, that broke into a groan as your palm pushed at him just a little bit harder. “You’re trouble, you know that?” he muttered. But the way his hips tilted toward you betrayed just how little he actually minded your actions.

“Huh, funny,” you tilted your head, giving him your most innocent smile, “And here I thought I was your reward for being so patient.”

Bucky needed no further prompting, bending down to capture your lips with his. The kiss was urgent, but somehow careful at the same time. As though he was still afraid that you might break if he pushed too hard. You melted into him as his hands slipped around behind you, one sliding up the curve of your spine, while the other cupped your ass.

He was losing the battle between control and craving, obvious from the way his hips moved against yours. The delicious friction as he moved against you made a breathy moan slip from your lips before you could even think about holding it in. And Bucky heard it, felt it, just like the familiar heat low in his belly. He pushed harder, his growing size feeling more and more solid against your core. Every single one of your nerve endings lit up at the movement, rushing through you as he held you tight against him.

You were ready. Ready to surrender yourself to him completely. To let down your guard in a way you hadn’t been able to since the kidnapping. Your bodies acted on instinct as you snaked your arms around his neck. He lifted you with ease, carrying you the short distance to the bed. He eased you down like you were the most precious thing in the world, before he climbed above you, hovering momentarily, eyes darkened by hunger. His closeness made your heart flutter, his kisses took your breath away and his fingers made your pussy tingle with anticipation.

You brushed your lips over his, caressing his cheekbones with your thumbs. “I really have been neglecting you, huh?” you murmured, feeling his rock hard member rubbing against your thigh in a rather insistent manner.

Bucky shook his head, the corners of his mouth tilting up in response. “You could never neglect me. Torture me a little? Maybe.”

A small laugh bubbled up from your chest. “Guess I ought to show you some mercy, then.”

“Mercy’s not exactly what I’m lookin’ for right now, Princess,” he murmured, his voice gravelly with lust. 

“I missed making you feel good,” you confessed quietly, your fingers drawing small circles over the fabric of his shirt while your thighs squeezed his hips. 

“Just bein’ close to you feels good.” He leaned down, brushing his nose against yours, his hot breath ghosting your lips.

“Yeah, but…” your smirk returned, playful but tender, “I think you want a little more than just… close.”

The groan that escaped him was low, desperate, almost broken. “You have no idea what you do to me, Princess.”

“I mean I think your cock likes to show me exactly what I do to you,” you smirked, glancing down at the enormous bulge in his pants. “Better let him out or you're gonna ruin a perfectly good pair of pants. Unless you wanna ask Winnie to wash them for you,” you winked.

He let out a low groan. “Leave Winnie out of this.”

“Gladly,” you mumbled, pressing your lips against his, moaning again as his tongue slipped inside your mouth. It made your mind melt and your cunt clench.

Bucky’s mouth moved against yours with a hunger that had been building for weeks, but as his hand skimmed the skin under your top, he hesitated.

“You don’t have to be so careful with me,” you nipped lightly at his bottom lip. “I want this.”

His throat worked as he swallowed hard, stormy blue eyes scanning your face like he was memorizing it— like he was still worried about losing you. But as you lifted your hips to meet once more, he decided to finally give in to the hunger. The sound he made was almost feral, torn straight from his chest. His hand flexed at your waist like he was holding himself back, but the way you arched into him made restraint impossible.

“Sweetheart…” he rasped, as his palm slid higher up your chest, finding the curve of your breast through your bra. His thumb brushed lightly, teasing, and you gasped into his mouth, nails clutching at his shoulders.

“Bucky,” you whispered, tugging his shirt open with impatient fingers. “Stop treating me like I’m gonna break. I need you.”

That was his unraveling. His mouth crashed back against yours, more heated, more urgent. His tongue swept against yours with a passion that left your head spinning. His hands wandered more boldly, dragging your top up over your breasts until the cool air wafted over you. He moved to your pants next, groaning at the sight of you laid bare beneath him. Chest heaving. Face flushed. 

“God, look at you,” he muttered, voice filled with reverence. “You’re killing me, Princess.”

“Then don’t just look,” you teased, swatting his chest. But your legs stayed wrapped around his waist, working on the button of his jeans. “Do something about it.”

Your words broke through the last of his reservations. He shoved his pants down, kicking them off his feet in his eagerness to be close to you. You'd missed it. The hot heavy press of him against you. And your body answered with a desperate clench.

His forehead dropped to yours, his breathing ragged. “Last chance, gorgeous,” he murmured, sounding totally wrecked. “Tell me to slow down, and I will. Tell me to stop, and I swear to God I will.”

You cupped his cheeks and stole another kiss from him, leaving him looking breathless and on the edge of bliss, with his eyes half lidded and hair mussed. 

And when you finally broke away, your answer was so very certain. “Don’t stop.”

Bucky guided your thigh higher around his waist, the tenderness in his touch made your breath hitch. He opened you up and slid his swollen cock along your slick folds. Then he pressed forward, his head gliding through without resistance. It was slow at first, like he was savoring every inch of you letting him in.

Even though you were intimately familiar with his girth, the stretch made you gasp nonetheless. Your fingertips dug into his shoulders, scratching the already scarred skin on his left side. 

He tipped his head down until his lips were brushing the shell of your ear. “That’s it… that’s my girl,” he whispered in a growl.

Your body welcomed him like it had been waiting for this. The wonderful ache inside you only amplified, as you clenched around him until he cursed, fighting to keep control of himself.

“God, Princess… so perfect. You feel so damn good.”

His actions made your back arched up against him until your chest pushed flush onto his. Your body begged for his weight on you, his heat, his closeness. His thick length filled you so well, the way his tip kissed your g spot made your toes curl.

“Bucky— oh baby, please,” you whimpered, every nerve ending firing until your mind was white with pleasure.

Your plea was all it took for the last thread of his restraint to snap. He pulled his hips back, sighing into you with one smooth, swift motion. With enough force to shake the bedframe.

He swallowed every one of your cries with kisses, needy and rough, his tongue stroking against yours in time with the rhythm of his thrusts.

It wasn't long before Bucky's movements grew faster, hungrier. His hips drove into yours with the urgency of a man who had been holding back for far too long. 

Despite this, despite the primal hunger that drove him, he still worshipped you. Still found the ability to whisper praises and promises against your lips. Between groans and curses, he still managed to speak the desperate affirmations that you were his everything.

“Not gonna let you go… not ever,” he rasped, burying himself to the hilt. Every buck of his hips was met with a shudder at the feel of you clenching tightly around him. “Mine. Always. Forever.”

There was something in his words. Something in his movements. They made your body respond much faster than it normally would. The hot coil winding inside you was twisting relentlessly, sending waves of ecstasy flowing through you, cascading from your core through to every fiber of your being.

And even as your back arched again, acting on instinct, you realized that you had never felt safer. Even with him utterly destroying you in the most gratifying way possible. 

The rhythm of his thrusts grew relentless. Every stroke hit deeper. Harder. Until nothing else in the world existed except the way his cock drove inside you. The way your walls fluttered helplessly around him.

Your hands clawed at his back, desperate to find some way to ground yourself, as the waves of pleasure surged higher. The tidal wave building, threatening to come crashing down at any moment.

He groaned as your nails dragged over his skin. “Fuck, sweetheart— do that again,” he begged, hips snapping harder and faster. “Tyna mark me up? You know I'm already yours.”

You chuckled along with him, before the laughter dissolved into desperate moans. His forehead pressed to yours, as if he couldn’t bear to let you drift even an inch away.

The heat in your belly was reaching unbearable levels, every nerve screamed for release. “Bucky— oh God—”

“I’ve got you,” he groaned, voice wrecked, thrusts growing messy as he felt you clamp down on him. “Come on, baby. Let go for me. I need it— wanna feel you—”

That was all it took. Your climax ripped through you. Blinding and totally overwhelming. A strangled cry filled the room as you clenched tight around him, your spasms dragging him deeper into your ecstasy.

“Oh, fuck— fuck, fuc—” His rhythm stuttered and one last final thrust and he was gone. He shuddered, a low groan in his throat as you milked his cock while he buried his face in your neck.

He rolled his hips in a shallow motion, working through the aftershocks, arms trembling around you until he couldn't hold himself up any longer. He collapsed against you, the heaving movements of his chest shook your torso as his breath heated the skin on your neck.

“God, you’re my everything. My best girl,” he murmured, almost like he was lost in a haze.

You stroked his damp hair, still shaking from the echoes of your orgasm. “So good at showing me, baby,” you murmured, kissing the small bump on the curve of his right ear.

He let out a breathless laugh against your throat, cock still buried deep inside you. “Never gonna stop showing you,” he promised.

It was after Christmas dinner at Winnie’s, the leftover pie had been cleared away and Winnie had shooed you both into the sitting room, you curled up beside Bucky on the couch. The fire crackled low, shadows flickering against the walls, and for once there was no rush, no noise, no danger waiting outside the door.

Your head rested on his shoulder, fingers tracing idle patterns on his forearm. “You look… different here,” you murmured.

He hummed. “Different how?”

“Calmer. Softer, maybe.” You tilted your face up to study him. “Like some of the weight isn’t sitting so heavy.”

For a moment he didn’t answer, his eyes fixed on the fire. Then he exhaled slowly, thumb brushing your knee. “I used to have this… little piece of that feeling back home, before the war. Family dinners, Sunday mornings, Steve dragging me out of bed. It’s… been a long time since I felt anything like it.”

You shifted closer, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “I’d like to know more about that part of you. About… before.”

His hand tightened gently on your thigh, not pulling away, but not opening up fully either. “One day,” he said softly. “When it’s just us. I want to tell you everything… but not tonight.”

You nodded, heart twisting, but the promise in his tone was enough. “Okay,” you whispered, lacing your fingers with his.

And just like that, the moment passed, slipping back into the warmth of the firelight and the comfort of being together.

Chapter Text

The new year slipped in, unobtrusive and still, like a single snowflake landing on the quiet landscape of the old year. One which you hoped would wipe the slate clean, leaving behind the troubles of the past year. The apartment still smelled faintly of pine needles from the small Christmas tree Bucky had bought despite your objections. Now you were settling back into the post holiday routine, where things felt a little calmer and less fraught.

The first weekend after being back at work you decided to keep yourself busy by cleaning the apartment. The silence pressed in on you— your first time truly alone since the kidnapping— and you needed something to ease your nerves. Every squeak of the floorboards made you glance toward the door. You shook it off, shoved the thought down, and focused on your mop. Bucky had left reluctantly hours ago, only after you’d practically pushed him out the door with a kiss and a promise to call if you needed anything. You almost had, twice already, when the radiator hissed or a siren wailed too close outside. Instead, you scrubbed harder.

That had been hours ago and you’d made incredible progress in making the apartment spotless. You had started by mopping the floors, scrubbing the toilet, and deep cleaning the oven. But still, your shoulders hadn’t loosened. So now you’d moved onto dusting the shelves. Most of your books and trinkets were on lower shelves which meant you rarely touched the things higher up which Bucky could reach with ease. But as part of your New Year’s cleaning regime, you pulled up a chair and started unloading the shelf so you could give it a good dusting.

As you were setting the books back into their familiar places, you noticed the corner of a photograph peeking out from between the pages of a copy of Soldier of the Mist. Curiosity tugged at you and you slid the image out from between the pages. It was a black-and-white photo, edges curled. Two young men grinned back at you— arms slung around each other, laughter caught mid-moment. Bucky looked impossibly boyish, eyes filled with a joy that you only caught in glimpses and flashes now. Steve was beside him, in full Captain American uniform, smiling shyly at his best friend.

Your breath caught— you hadn’t expected to see this.

“Princess?”

You jumped at the sound of Bucky’s voice— who was standing in the door having just returned home. The startle reflex knocked you off balance and sent you toppling over the edge of the chair you’d been standing on. You closed your eyes and braced for impact on the cold hard floor, but it never came. Instead you were caught by strong arms and a warm solid chest. Peeking through your scrunched up eye lids, you saw Bucky’s concerned gaze.

“You okay?”

You nodded, still clutching the photograph tightly in your fist. He set you down carefully, eyes flicking anxiously between your face and the photograph. As soon as you were sturdy on your own two feet, he stepped back, fingers twitching and jaw clenching like wanted to turn away. 

“I… didn’t mean to snoop,” you said softly, holding it out carefully to him. “It was just sticking out.”

His hand scrubbed at the back of his neck, and for a long moment, he didn’t speak, making you wonder if he was angry. Then he sat down on the edge of the couch, his eyes fixed on the image like it was a ghost.

“Bucky?” you whispered.

“It's okay. You didn't do anything wrong,” he said in a low mumble. He patted on the space beside him on the couch and you joined him. “Steve kept that,” he murmured after a short silence where he stared at the photograph. “I didn’t even know until after he… after he left. I found it in his things.”

Bucky handed you the image while he took off his coat and shoes. He disappeared into the kitchen for a while before returning with two mugs of hot chocolate. He handed you one and you curled your hands around the warm ceramic, letting the warmth seep into your skin. Bucky settled back onto the couch, propping his feet on the coffee table and letting out a long, slow sigh.

You looked back at the photograph, at their easy joy. “You look happy,” you whispered.

A ghost of a smile tugged at his lips, sad and fond all at once. “We were. Just… a coupla kids who thought the world couldn’t touch us.” He huffed a laugh, but it broke off halfway. “Turns out the world had other ideas.”

You snuggled up against his side resting your head on his shoulder. He shifted, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you closer. The familiar weight of his arm felt solid and comforting. 

“I couldn’t bring myself to throw it out,” he admitted quietly. “But I couldn’t leave it out either. Just… hurts, sometimes. Seeing who we were, knowing…” His voice trailed off.

You put a hand on this thigh. “I think he’d want you to keep it. To remember the good parts. Aren't those worth holding on to?”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, he started out the window for a while, eyes glistening. You blew on the steam from your mug before taking a sip from your drink. The first taste was familiar, a rich sweetness, but as you swallowed, a second flavor blossomed on your tongue— a warm, boozy note that was definitely not cocoa.  “Did you… did you put Bailey’s in this?”

Bucky glanced back, a smirk curving on one side of his mouth. “Yeah, a little. Figured we both could use it.” He took a small sip himself before turning back to you. 

“Yeah,” he said, voice low. “And… maybe you’re right—” he gestured to the old photo with his chin. “About that.”

“I’m always right,” you grinned at him over the rim of your mug, taking another sip.

He chuckled quietly before sighing deeply. He leaned forward, putting his mug down and turning to you. “I guess this might be the right time for us to talk.”

Your forehead furrowed, immediately anxious about the seriousness of his tone.

“When we were at Winnie, I promised to tell you everything, my past, not just the good stuff… everything.”

Your chest contracted, there was something almost ominous in his tone. Everything.

You put your mug down too, putting a reassuring hand on his knee. You crossed your legs on the couch and turned to face him. “Okay,” you murmured. “I’m listening.”

For a moment, he didn't speak. His eyes dropped to where your hand covered his knee and he placed his hand on top. A small huff like laugh fell from his lips.

“There are so many parts that I didn't want you to see, parts I don't want to remember myself. And some parts I don't think I'll ever get back.” He ran his thumb over your knuckles absently. “I thought if I kept it locked inside, it couldn't hurt you.”

“Bucky…” you whispered.

He finally looked up to meet your gaze and you could see the fear in his eyes. “But that’s not fair to you. Not if…” His breath hitched. “Not for what we're building. I can't ask you to trust me if I keep hiding. No more secrets.”

You reached up with your free hand, brushing a strand of hair back from his forehead. “You don’t have to do this because you’re afraid of losing me,” you said gently.

His eyes widened, searching yours. “But you said—”

“I was wrong.” You gave the smallest smile, tender and unwavering. “You tell me because you want to. Because you trust me with it. That’s enough.”

He let out a shaky breath and nodded. “I do,” he whispered. “I trust you.”

You sat silently, waiting for him to gather his thoughts.

“We got captured in Azzano, place in Italy. Steve came to rescue us. But before he did, I got sick, really sick. Thought I was gonna die. That must have been why they gave me the serum.” He sighed. “Always wondered why they'd chosen me out of all of those men.

“After that I followed Steve to every battle, until… I got blasted out of a train over the Alps. Don't remember much after that. No way I'd have survived if I didn't already have the serum in me.”

You watched his face silently as he spoke, lost in the past.

“HYDRA— they didn’t let me die.” His jaw clenched, a muscle twitching as if the words themselves were a punishment. “They dragged me out of the snow, patched me up just to tear me apart… piece by piece. Stripping away everything I remembered, everything that made me… me.”

His eyes flicked away, filled with shame. He took a moment and then continued. 

“They put me back together. But it was all wrong. New arm. New mind. They used this machine… on my mind. To take my memories.” He took another breath. “And when I fought it, when I remembered even a scrap of who I was… they wiped me again. Over and over. Until all I knew was the mission.”

You swallowed repeatedly, trying not to let the horror rise up in your throat. Trying not to turn away. “Bucky…” you breathed for a second but didn't interrupt again. 

“I don’t know how, but they put these words in my head,” he went on with a tight jaw. “So when someone said them, they activated… him. Like someone flipped a switch. And it didn’t matter how hard I fought. How loudly I screamed. Once they’d done saying them…” he let go of your hand and curled his into fists. “I was gone. Just a weapon waiting for orders.”

His voice faltered and he hunched forwards, shoulders rolled and elbows on his knees. He put his face in his palms, like he couldn’t bear to exist or even take up space in the world. You leaned into him immediately, reaching around to cup his cheeks gently and press your forehead against his. You wanted to say something— anything— to make him feel better, but what do you say to someone who survived such horrors?

You were saved from speaking when Bucky whispered from somewhere between his fingers.

“I can still feel it sometimes… the emptiness. When things are bad, it’s almost like I’m back under, like I don’t have a choice.” He looked up, eyes shining with tears. “I hate it. I hate that they could do that to me. That they could make me hurt people and I—” His breath caught, sharp. He shook his head, teeth gritting. “I didn’t even know them, and I…”

You took his hands, pulling them into your chest. They trembled in your grasp, and you moved closer until your knees touched his.

“Bucky,” you murmured, soft but steady.

He looked at you then, eyes glassy, haunted. “I lost myself for seventy years,” he whispered, voice raw. “Seventy years of being rewired, broken down, built back up as something I never wanted to be. And the worst part? Sometimes… sometimes it felt easier. To just let go. To stop fighting.”

The shame on his face twisted your chest.

“I hated myself for that,” he said, his throat thick. “For the nights I didn’t resist. For the times I didn’t scream. For the moments I thought maybe it’d be better if I just… stayed gone.”

You squeezed his hands, pressing them over your heart, firm enough to cut through his spiraling. “Bucky,” you repeated, pulling his gaze back to up you. “You did fight. You’re sitting here because you fought. That’s not weakness. That’s the strongest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“They ordered me to kill Steve.”

The words tumbled out and your eyes widened. You had no idea that this had happened and it sent a wave of goosebumps up your arms.

“I didn’t even know it was him at first,” Bucky continued, like he had to fight to get the words off his chest. “But Steve recognized me and he said my name. I think it was the first time I’d heard it in years. I think he changed something inside me then. Having someone else know who I was.” He paused. “But it helped. And even when they wiped me after that, it felt different.”

Bucky stopped, looking up to see if you were following.

“They sent you to kill your best friend…” you breathed. It wasn’t a question, more a statement of disbelief that anyone could do something so heinous.

“Steve wouldn’t let me go though. He kept coming, even when I tried to kill him. He still wouldn’t fight me back. He just… let me hit him. Said he was with me ‘til the end of the line. Even when I… I nearly drowned him, he wouldn’t hurt me.”

“But you remembered him?” you asked quietly. “You obviously didn’t kill him.”

“I didn’t remember. Not then. Not really. But every time I hit him, I would see his face in my mind, from when we were kids. I didn’t understand the memories then. It took me a long time after that to piece everything together.” Bucky exhaled, a long and shaky breath. “There are still gaps. Whole years, faces, names… just gone. Sometimes I’ll dream and I don’t even know if it’s mine, or his. Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever be whole again.”

You shook your head, rubbing your thumbs over his knuckles tenderly. “Bucky, I don’t think the concept of being whole is something that’s fixed. It’s always shifting… like the beach. The waves take pieces away, yes, but they also bring things back. It doesn’t look the same as it once did, but it’s still the same shore.  You’re still you— you’ve just grown into a different shape now.”

He just stared at you, the crease between his brows deepening like he was trying to decide if he believed you. Like for the first time in a long time, he could actually bring himself to make sense of the words.

“You really think that?” he asked in a low whisper.

 “I love you for the man you are now, not the ghost of who you used to be.”

He swallowed down a shudder, his eyes darting away, almost like he was embarrassed by how much he wanted to believe you.

“I’m glad you see me,” he murmured.

You squeezed his hands gently. But another concern had floated to the forefront of your mind. “Bucky… do you think it could still happen? If someone said the… trigger… words again?”

His head snapped up, not in anger but in surprise. He hadn’t expected you to ask that.

“I’m not afraid of you,” you added quickly, your grip on him firm and your gaze unwavering. “I just… I worry about someone trying to take advantage of you again.”

For a moment, he was silent, like the weight of it all stole his breath.

“After my fight with Steve, I didn’t go back to HYDRA. I couldn’t. I was… confused. Some parts of me remembered things— flashes, faces, feelings— but it never lasted long. I didn’t know who I was supposed to be. So I ran. Ended up in Bucharest. Kept my head down, tried to live like a ghost. Thought if I stayed quiet enough, maybe the world would forget about me.”

His jaw tightened. “Didn’t last. This man— Zemo— he wanted revenge, wanted to tear the Avengers apart. He framed me for killing King T’Chaka. And Steve… Steve found me again. But they locked me up.”

“Steve put you in prison?” you asked, incredulously.

Bucky shook his head. “No. He tried to convince them I wasn’t a threat. Tried to keep me safe. But Zemo got to me first. Used the words.” His voice went flat at the memory, like he was reiterating the events robotically. “Turned me back into the Soldier. I fought them all. Hurt people who didn’t deserve it. If Steve hadn’t been there, I don’t know what would’ve happened.”

He dragged a hand over his face, then dropped it. “Steve broke me out. Again. But it cost him everything— his team, his country, his whole damn life. He chose me. And after everything I’d done… I still don’t know if I deserved that.”

You opened your mouth, but he pushed on before you could speak.

“He left me in Wakanda. Asked them to help me. And they… they agreed. I asked them to put me under.”

“Put you under?” you echoed.

“Cryo. Like HYDRA used to do when they didn’t need me.” His eyes darkened. “I figured… better I sleep than risk hurting anyone else.” He exhaled slowly. “But Shuri— Princess Shuri— she found a way to take it all out. The programming. The triggers. Piece by piece, until the words didn’t mean anything anymore. They gave me back my mind.” He paused, like he was savoring the relief. “I remember the test… Ayo— she’s a member of the Dora Milaje, one of the Wakandan warriors— she said the words after the deprogramming. I was waiting to disappear… for the nothing that came with it. But nothing happened. Just… silence. For the first time, it was quiet because I chose it. Not because they stole it.”

Your heart aching with all the things you wanted to say, but all you could manage was a whispered breath of his name. You hadn’t even noticed that your vision was blurred and there were wet streaks cooling the skin on your cheeks. You hadn’t even felt them falling— you had been too focused on keeping yourself steady for Bucky, keeping him tethered to the present.

He finally looked up at you, and his whole face changed at the sight of your tears. He was ready to shoulder the burden of his pain, but seeing it mirrored back at him on your face was unbearable.

“Oh, Princess…” he groaned softly, voice thick with guilt of the pain he was sharing. Before you knew what was happening, his hands were on you, pulling you into his lap, like he could shield you from the horrors of his past. He pressed you into his chest, arms enveloping you tightly while his stubbled chin pressed against the top of your head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to— oh God, I don’t want this hurting you too.”

You shook your head— at least as much as it would move while being crammed in the crook of his neck. “No, I just, I can’t stand that you had to go through all that… and alone! I love you, and I wish that you didn’t have to carry all that by yourself.”

Bucky’s chest shuddered against yours, as he exhaled half a shaky laugh, half a sob and he tightened his grip, like holding you was the only thing that was keeping him together. And you let him, allowing the silence to stretch out, showing him that you weren’t afraid of what he had shared, that you weren’t running away any time soon. You stroked your hand over his chest, your palm coming to rest over his heart.

“Thank you for telling me,” you whispered. “Thank you for trusting me with this. You don’t have to do it alone anymore, Bucky. Not while I’m here.”

The two of you sat together, supporting each other with your closeness. But there was something still on your mind and you shifted slightly against him as your mind pondered over it. The question burned in the back of your mind. But after everything he had put out there, you felt it unfair to ask any more of him. 

Not that it mattered, he noticed anyway. Caught the way your mouth opened, like you were about to speak, then closed it again, wordlessly. Noticed how your brow furrowed with how it weighed on you. 

“What is it?” he asked, eyes focused on you, voice coaxing.

You shook your head. “It's nothing. You’ve already… Bucky, you’ve given me so much of yourself today. I don’t want to push.”

Bucky brushed his thumb lightly over your wrist, holding your palm close, like it was the anchor he needed. “If you need to ask, sweetheart… ask me.”

“No Bucky, it’s not important.”

The crease between his brows deepened. “If it’s on your mind, it’s important.”

You sighed, nuzzling your nose along the underside of his jaw as you fought between the aching desire to know the truth and the instinct to protect him from further pain. “I just… you’ve carried so much already. I don’t want to be the one piling on.”

Bucky moved his neck back so he could look down at you. “You’re not piling on. The fact that you’re still here after everything I’ve just said, choosing the truth. That means a lot to me.”

He started running his fingertips up and down your forearm and the anxious knot in your chest loosened, just enough to loosen your tongue. “Remember that man we met, when we went to get pie after I finished work early that day? Umm… Yori?”

You felt his whole body stiffen under you. The hand that was stroking your wrist went still and a wave of instant regret washed over you.

 “I’m sorry, Buck. I shouldn’t have—”

“No!” He shook his head almost immediately. “Don’t apologize.” He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “You deserve the truth.”

You waited quietly, feeling his thumb twitch against your wrist. A nervous tell. He was silent for a while.

Finally, he dragged in a ragged breath. “Yori’s son… RJ. He was one of my… many… victims.” The words sounded raw as they came out. “One of the missions… years back…” He sighed again. “He was just— in the wrong place… wrong time. And I…” His throat clenched with the memory, but he forced himself to continue. “When we came back from the blip, I was pardoned from the Winter Soldier crimes. But one of the conditions of my pardon was therapy. To make amends. For months, I sat across from Yori, pretending I was just some lonely vet. All the while knowing I was the reason his son wasn’t coming home.”

He stared at the blank television, like he could see the exact events playing out there. Lost in the past for a moment before continuing. “I finally told him. I told him everything. And… he looked at me like I was a monster. Shut the door in my face. I can’t blame him. I used to see it all the time. When I closed my eyes. In my dreams. I don’t think it will ever really stop.”

You didn’t speak right away. Instead, you shifted closer, sliding your hand up around his neck.

“I’m here, baby,” you whispered finally, voice soft but unwavering.

Bucky’s eyes fluttered shut, a shaky exhale rattling out of him as he leaned into your embrace, like he could draw strength from the simple contact. You stayed quiet for a beat, just letting him breathe.

But sometimes silence is its own kind of hell. “Sometimes I don't want it to stop,” he blurted out. 

“What?” you exclaimed. 

“I guess I don't feel like I deserve the silence in my head.”

“Bucky!”

“Yeah, I know, I know.” He gave you a squeeze, knowing exactly the argument you wanted to present. 

“When I'm with you, all the noise in my head isn't as loud as it was before.” He watched you smile before proceeding. “But sometimes,” he admitted in a low mumble. “When I’m tired… or if something goes wrong. All those memories come flooding and the fear comes with them.”

You hated how much this affected him, the constant battle he waged with his conscience. Your fingers skimmed the line of his jaw. “If that happens,” you asked, “what do you want from me? What helps?”

He closed his eyes and leaned into your palm. “Just this. Tell me I’m still me. Tell me you’re not… scared.”

“I’m not scared,” you promised. “I see you— all of you. I see how hard you work. I see how much it hurts. But most of all, I see the love and kindness you have inside you.”

“That… that means everything,” he whispered, so soft that you barely heard it.

Your thumb swept over his cheek, catching a tear that slipped down his cheek. “You’re not HYDRA’s. You’re mine. And the only person who gets to decide your worth… is you.”

For a long moment, he just stared out, gaze unfocused, jaw slack, like he couldn't quite wrap his mind around the steadfastness of your allegiance. He reached out, taking your hand, the physical touch confirming your presence, that you hadn't recoiled at the truth of his past.

You could feel the need for reassurance in his touch and you snuggled deeper into his embrace. His forehead dropped down to meet yours, breath ragged against your lips. The quiet sound that left him was somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

“I don’t deserve you,” he murmured, offering you a crooked, exhausted grin. 

You smiled through your own tears, stubborn and unwavering. “Tough shit. You’re stuck with me.”

“You really make it hard to hate myself,” he said it as a joke, but there was an element of confession to it.

You laughed. “I'm glad. Keep practicing. It’s good for you.”

Bucky laid his head back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling, stroking your hair with the softest of touches. He let out a small laugh before giving you another confession. “You make me think I can do things I’m terrified to try,” he said. “Which is… dangerous.”

You tilted your head. “Dangerous how exactly?”

“Because I get ideas,” he answered with a rueful laugh. “Big, stupid ones.”

You squeezed his hand. “Tell me the stupid idea.”

“I know we've already talked about this, but I just want to check in with you about it.”

“About what?”

“Congress.”

Your face relaxed into understanding.

“I know it’s… big,” he continued. “Probably messy. And after everything we’ve been through— after what you’ve had to face— I don’t want to…” He paused, letting out a small sigh. “I don’t want to put you through more than you can handle. I just… I need to know you’re okay with it. With me doing this.”

“I’m… with you, Buck,” you responded softly, putting your hand over his. “I always will be. No matter how… complicated or challenging it gets.”

You could see the anxiety on his face fade away with your immediate reassurance. He let you slip off his lap and snuggle back into his side, before answering you.

“I just… I don’t want to push you. I don’t want to make things harder than they already are. But I guess I just need to know we can face it together. That you’re still here… with me.”

“You don’t have to do this alone. Not ever.”

“If you’re with me… then I’ll do it. I’ll run.”

The finality of the decision brought a slew of practical questions to mind. Unromantic but necessary— media, schedules, and the thousand little invasions of living a public life. 

“We’ll figure out the logistics,” you said, mostly to yourself, then more firmly. “We’ll have to set some rules. Figure out our boundaries. Go slow… right?”

He closed his eyes, letting your words comfort him. “There'll be a lot I still need to learn how to handle,” he admitted, glancing over. “The politics, the press, the stress. But with you… I think I can learn.”

“One step at a time,” you promised. “You don’t have to have it all figured out tonight. Just know that you’re not alone.”

He breathed in, deep and slow, and then let the breath out with the sound of someone who’d just resigned him to something huge. “Okay,” he said,  nodding. “Okay. Let’s do the messy thing.”

You laughed, kissing him on the cheek. “Messy together,” you confirmed.

Chapter Text

The smell of paint was now a constant in the Veteran Center’s art room. The facility had been put to good use since the grand re-opening and was in use right at this very moment. Light shone through the large panel windows and skylight, despite the grey cloud covered sky. It shone across each and every canvas in the room. There was a gentle melody of instrumental music playing across the speakers through the room, punctuated by the steady scratches of paint brushes on canvas and the occasional murmur of low voices.

You moved between the class attendees with ease, your presence offering a calming effect on everyone around you. You sat next to one person at a time, offering suggestions, coaxing them towards expression without judgement. From the back of the room, Bucky watched. He perched lightly on a table, a book on politics open in his hands, though the words blurred into nothing. The way you moved, the patience you displayed with the Vets, how present you were in the moment. Your kindness wasn’t a performance and it made him ache with admiration.

His attention was fixed on you totally now, utterly mesmerized as he watched you bent close to an older man whose hand trembled with the brush. He noticed how you didn’t immediately step him to try and fix the vet’s shaky strokes, instead you steadied the cup of water as he tried to wash off one color and choose another. You didn’t rush him, waiting for him to find his own rhythm. 

The serum had enhanced his hearing enough that he could easily pick up the conversation between you.

“I’m not sure I can make it look right,” the man sighed gruffly, his voice roughened by age and trauma.

He had dipped the tip of the brush into the oil paint and held it to the canvas, but his hand was shaking so much that he had left spots of paint in places he hadn’t meant to.

“You don’t have to make it look perfect,” you said softly. “You just have to make it yours.” You reached out, not to guide or direct, but to brush your fingers over a dried area of paint. “See this? You said it was a mistake, but I think it gives this area more texture and depth. It’s just the start of something special and you get to decide where it goes.”

The vet blinked, surprised but intrigued by your perspective. Slowly and tentatively he reached up again, with a steadier hand, just enough to press the brush into a sea of blue. Bucky watched as his eyes flicked to you, looking for your approval. The line was crooked but you smiled as if it were perfect.

“There,” you whispered, beaming with pride. “That’s yours.”

He couldn’t get over the way your eyes twinkled softly as you looked at the artwork. He loved the way you pulled your fluffy cardigan around your torso when you were cold. It took all his will power not to walk over to you and wrap you in his arms. He couldn’t take his eyes off you at all now, the political text lay forgotten on the tabletop. 

You wandered around, pausing between easels to take in the room as a whole. Bucky noticed how you took stock of every veteran in the room, as though making sure that not only were they occupied, but comfortable.

Jack— sat with one leg propped up on a stool, a streak of paint on one cheek— caught your eye. The young vet flashed you a cheeky grin, followed by a flirtatious wink. You laughed under your breath, shaking your head as you ducked your head with a faint blush blooming on your cheeks. Bucky felt his chest squeeze at the sight of it.

He could see you were lost in thought, your hand drifted up almost unconsciously, thumb brushing over the charm at your throat before you tugged it between your lips. Normally, he knew it to be one of your nervous habits, one you rarely realized you were doing, but today was different. You looked calm. Like you were yourself again here. Like you’d found a small bubble of peace in the storm that had been raging recently in your lives.

Bucky sighed, the knot in his chest— the one that had been there for months now— began to loosen as he watched you turn to the window, cardigan wrapped tight. Your presence was steady and glowing, like a lighthouse for every soul in that room. He was drawn to it.

And he knew he couldn’t wait any longer.

The ring in his pocket felt like it had a life of its own now, making its presence known at every opportunity. He’d taken to carrying it with him everywhere now. As if some part of him knew the right moment would come and he’d need to be ready. Watching you— your cheeks with a dusted flush, necklace pressed to your lips, a spark of light in your eyes— he knew. This was it.

You didn’t need the ‘perfect setting’. No elaborate plans. You didn’t expect articulate speeches or dazzling fireworks. You needed him, the way he needed you.

Eventually the session drew to a close and the veterans began packing up, leaving behind a gallery of personal triumphs and small victories. A small piece of themselves, their experiences, their fears and traumas laid bare on the canvas of their choosing.

You started cleaning up as the vets trampled out— they offered their thanks and goodbyes as you started wiping down tables. Bucky hopped up to help you the moment the last person filed passed you. 

“You were amazing,” he said, grabbing the tray of water cups from you.

You shrugged. “Just doing my job.”

Bucky shook his head. “I’ve seen people just doing their job. This is more than that,” he said, sidling up to you. “You do so much more. The way you see them, the way you guide them. You’re incredible.”

You blushed slightly, nudging his chest with your shoulder. But for once you didn’t deflect the compliment, choosing to believe you deserved it.

He took the dirty paint brushes from you, his hands lingering over yours. “I see you,” he murmured. “All of you. And I… I’m so proud to be the one standing here beside you.”

You watched him take the brushes over to the sink and dump them inside, turning on the tap. He rolled up his sleeves and started rinsing the dried paint off them.

“Hey Buck?” you called softly.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for setting me up with the counselor here at the center.” You ambled over to him, leaning against the sink. “I… I didn’t realize how much I needed it until I started, but it’s helping. More than I expected. And it’s… convenient, too. I can fit it in between sessions and still be here with the veterans.”

Hmm,” he murmured, a low sound somewhere between acknowledgment and awkwardness. “You’re… doing good work, Princess. That’s what matters.”

You tilted your head, eyes shining as you gazed fondly at him. “I know you don’t like thanks, but… this one is important. You made it possible for me to take care of myself while giving back. That counts for something, doesn’t it?”

A smile tugged at his lips as he looked over at you. “Yeah,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “It counts.”

You wrapped your arms around him, pressing your face into his back. “It’s more than that,” you whispered. “It’s… the kind of support that keeps me moving forward. After… everything that happened, it makes a difference. It makes me feel like I can keep going without losing myself completely.” You paused. “So… thank you.”

Bucky ran a single damp finger over the back of your hand, sending a trail of goosebumps up your arm. And when he spoke, you felt the familiar weight of care and quiet pride in his voice. “You’ve earned this, Princess,” he said. “Every bit of it. You’ve fought through something horrible, and you’re still standing. And I’m so proud of you.”

You squeezed his middle, letting the gesture speak the words you didn’t have. Bucky let you wrap yourself around him for a moment, enjoying the closeness, hoping your hands wouldn't roam further down and discover the secret he kept in his pocket.

Slowly and reluctantly you released your grip as Bucky awkwardly reached around you to pick up the soap.

You leaned your hip against the counter, watching him work, admiring his dexterity. 

“You know,” you mused, “it was nice of Leonard to let me work from home more. So I could… take this time, give back. Especially with the firm sponsoring the Vet Center— it made it easier to be here without stretching myself too thin.”

Bucky’s hum of agreement was low. Begrudging, but unmistakable. “Hmmf,” he said. “It was… good of him to erase the evidence they had on you. Make it so you didn’t have to go back to the company now Kyle’s gone.”

Bucky dropped the brushes on the draining board and you handed him a towel to dry his hands, flicking you with water playfully.

Your brow lifted slightly, amusement dancing in your eyes as you smirked at him. “Hmm. Feels like you’re almost thanking him.”

He let out a short bark of a laugh and shook his head. “You won’t catch me doing that,” he said flatly. “But… it’s done. That’s what matters.”

His eyes flicked back to the task at hand, jaw tight. You could see the invoiced conflict on Bucky's face— his sense of debt for the one good deed versus the anger that he’d been the reason Kyle discovered your suspicions in the first place. You didn’t need him to say it aloud, you felt the same.

You smiled faintly, reaching out to hook a finger through one of the belt loops of his jeans, tugging lightly. “You're impossible,” you murmured.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “But you still like me.”

“I do,” you said, your smile widening. Once the last of the paint brushes were clean, you handed Bucky a towel to dry his hands. You were about to pick up your bag when Bucky touched your elbow.

“Come on. Let's go outside for a bit.” He nodded to the window.

“Bucky! It's snowing,” you protested.

“Exactly. You love the snow.” He tugged at your wrist, the one that still had your finger through his belt loop.

“Maybe, but I hate the cold,” you pouted.

“Good thing you got me to keep you warm then.” Bucky grinned, leading you out of the art room.

Before you could question or protest, he was helping you slip into your coat, pulling it up over your shoulders before his big hands smoothed the lapels into place. Then he reached for your scarf, wrapping it snugly round your neck. His fingers brushed lightly against your throat as he tied the ends together, his blue eyes fixed on your face the entire time.  The simple act made your heart flutter.

“Can’t have you catching cold because I wanted to drag you outside,” he murmured.

You arched a brow. “You dragged me?”

“Gently persuaded,” he amended, lips twitching as he pulled on his own jacket and opened the door for you toward the small enclosed garden area.

Snow floated down as you stepped outside, the lamps casting everything in soft gold in the grey clouded afternoon. It gave you storybook vibes. Bucky stopped in front of a weathered wooden bench, dusted thick with snow. Wordlessly, he brushed the snow off with his left arm and shook out a folded blanket from under his arm and spread it neatly over the bench before gesturing for you to sit.

“You’ve done this before,” you teased as you lowered yourself tentatively onto the cold seat.

“What can I say? I’m a gentleman,” Bucky said, deadpan, then added, “Don’t tell Sam, though. He’d never let me live it down.”

You chuckled, linking your arm with his as he eased down beside you.

“You know…” he began slowly, his gloved fingers flexed once, as if the words were navigating their way out of him. “This place… it was the first spot that ever made me feel like I could just… breathe again. No questions. No judgment. Just a chair in a workshop, some tools, and people who didn’t expect anything from me except maybe to show up the next day.”

You lay your head on his snow dusted shoulder, letting him find the words without the pressure of your gaze.

“I didn’t talk much back then,” Bucky continued, quieter now. “Didn’t really know how. But they let me figure out what it meant to just be… a person again. Not a soldier, not a ghost. Just… Bucky.”

He finally looked down at you, a snow flake caught on his lashes. “That’s what this place does. It doesn’t fix you. It just… gives you the room to try.”

You met his gaze, watching as he let out a slow breath which misted in the air between you.

“When I come back here now, volunteering, building it up again… it feels different.” His thumb stroked the back of your hand. “Because you’re part of it now too. You’re the reason I stuck around long enough to want to give something back.”

He tipped his head up toward the sky, watching flakes settle into his dark hair. “Feels like I’ve been rebuilding myself alongside this place. Beam by beam, brick by brick. Never thought I’d get to share that with someone.

“Rebuilding, huh?” You tugged his arm playfully.

He huffed a small laugh, fogging their air in front of him. “Rebuilding, renovating, duct-taping… whatever you wanna call it. It’s not always gonna feel steady. But you—” He broke off, looking down at where your hand was linked with his. “You’re the piece that holds it together. Gives me balance. You make it… worth the work.”

You barely had a chance to catch your breath when he shifted. He pushed himself to the edge of the bench and dropped down onto his left knee.

“Bucky!” you squealed. “What’re doing? Yours jeans are getting w—”

You froze, the word getting lost to the cold wind as he pulled out a small velvet box and held it out cautiously. It looked almost fragile against the size of his palm. He flipped it open with none of the smoothness you’d expect from a man who could take apart a rifle in thirty seconds flat.

Bucky stayed on one knee, snow already soaking through his dark jeans. His chest rose and fell like he’d just run ten miles. He let out a shaky breath and shook his head, almost laughing at himself.

“I thought this moment needed to be extravagant and spectacular to be special, but every time I tried, it was like the universe was telling me I was doing it all wrong. I kept waiting for the right setting, the right speech, the right… everything.” His laugh was breathless, broken in the middle.

He lifted his eyes to yours, blue and stormy and so sure. “But then I realized— every time I’m with you, it is the right moment. You make it that way. Just by being here. Just by being you.”

Bucky’s hand shook slightly as he picked the ring out of the box. “So, no speeches. No fireworks. Just me asking the only thing I know I want for certain—” His voice dropped as he held it out to you. “Princess… will you marry me?”

The wind stung your cheeks as a stream of hot tears cascaded down them. You stared at the ring for a moment before realizing that you hadn’t answered his question. “Of course I’ll marry you,” you blurted. You laughed and put your hands over his cheeks. “God, yes, Bucky.”

The way relief crashed over his features was almost comical. His shoulders sagged as though he had been holding up the weight of the world. His hand shook as he slid the ring onto your finger. You didn’t think after this, just launching yourself at him. He let out a startled grunt as you tackled him into the snow, the two of you landing in a heap against the soft whiteness. Laughter bubbled up uncontrollably from both your mouths and you pressed frantic kisses against his mouth, his cheek, his jaw, tasting the cold on his skin and the deep warmth that resided underneath.

When you eventually stilled, you were sprawled across his chest. You were both covered in snow and it was freezing but you didn’t care. The sparkling ring caught your eye once more, gleaming brightly against the freshly fallen snow. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from its twinkle.

“Hey,” Bucky huffed, smirking down at you, arms around your waist. “I’m up here, you know.”

“I can’t help it,” you whispered, holding your hand between you so the ring glistened against the stormy sky. “Bucky… how did you know? This is… this is exactly what I wanted. It’s perfect.”

His smile widened with pride. “Yeah. So’s the girl wearing it.”

A rose flush tinted your cheeks from the compliment and from the cold from the snow that was now soaking through your coat. You looked down at him, heart feeling so full that you thought it might just explode. “God, I love you.”

“Good,” he said, smirking again before pulling you down into a fiery kiss. “‘cause you’re stuck with me now.”

Chapter Text

The so-called private floor of the hotel didn’t feel at all private to Bucky. The whole hall pulsed with energy from the people crowded inside— campaign volunteers clutching half-empty champagne flutes, reporters weaving through the crowd with cameras perched on their shoulders, staffers talking fast into phones as they tried to collect information about votes.

Bucky would have preferred a private evening in the company of his friends and family but his campaign manager had a lot of things to say about that. None of which he wanted to hear. Now he was stuck avoiding the gaze of supporters who couldn’t decide what they wanted to watch more— him or the TV projections of the polling progress. Every now and then, a cheer would erupt from the room as new numbers rolled in on the screen.

Sam had inevitably become the main attraction. He held his court by the bar with a beer in hand, grinning widely and posed charmingly as people lined up for a selfie with Captain America. “Make sure you get my good side— oh wait, they’re all good sides,” he quipped, earning easy laughter from the fans in earshot.

Aditi rolled her eyes from where she stood with Hanna, the two of them pressed against each other, whispering and wearing  smiles, sharing in the nervous energy and pride for their friend. A wheelchair bound Joaquin had somehow been pulled into helping an overenthusiastic huddle of volunteers, refreshing his phone obsessively along with them while also trying to reassure anyone within arm’s reach that things looked good, really good.

You watched Bucky from across the room as he stalked along the wall, trying to stay out of reach but also look like he was mingling with his hopeful constituents. It didn’t matter, he drew eyes wherever he moved. People tried to stop him— patting his arm, thanking him for his service, clapping him on the back— but he gave them distracted nods and half-hearted smiles, already halfway down the next stretch of floor.

To most of the people in the room, he probably looked like he was deep in thought, but you knew better. To you he looked like a soldier stuck in a holding pattern. You decided it was finally time to go and rescue your sergeant. As you plotted a course toward him, you were intercepted by a reporter with a camera. They managed to capture his first genuine smile for the media as Bucky caught sight of you directly behind them.

“I’d rather be out swinging a sword,” he muttered in your ear as you hugged him. He scrubbed a calloused hand over his face and then snaked it around to press against the small of your back. “This feels like waiting for a sniper to show up.”

Your hand made its way to his chest, steadying the overactive thrum of his heartbeat.

“You’ve already done the hard part,” you murmured up at him. “This? This is just the celebration of all your hard work.”

The buzz of the room dulled around him as you gazed up at him softly. You were the only thing in focus. He didn’t speak right away, standing there with you in his orbit, his stormy expression easing, if only by a few points on the Beaufort scale.

Suddenly, as if the universe could sense that his guard was down, a crowd of reporters surged around him. You were surrounded by flashing lights and microphones

“Bucky! Just a quick word for the paper—”
“Mr. Barnes, smile for the camera!”
“Sir, how does it feel to be leading in the early counts?”

You felt Bucky stiffen in your arms, watched as he glanced at the exit and scrunched up his eyes against the bright flashes. But Sam slid in front of the two of you with exquisite timing.

“Alright, folks, let’s back this up a little,” Sam said, raising his hands and waving the crowd away. “We can all get our moment with Barnes, I promise. But he’s gotta save that smile for when the final numbers are in. Can’t waste those pearly whites on y’all just yet.” Sam glanced over his shoulder and winked at you as the crowd laughed.

Sam deftly steered the group of reports toward the bar where the lighting for photos was obviously better. That was your opening. You curled your fingers around Bucky’s tie, giving it a gentle tug until his eyes snapped back down on you.

“You’re gonna chew a hole in your lip if you keep that up,” you murmured.

“Better than screaming at someone,” he muttered, a reluctant smirk quirking at one edge of his mouth.  

“I think you need a different kind of distraction,” you smirked back.

You didn't give him any time to argue. Taking his hand, you guided him to the back of the room, weaving through the crowd until you reached a hallway. You let go of his hand and pushed open one of the rooms. You stepped over the threshold, looking around and upon seeing there was no one around, you grabbed Bucky's tie and yanked him inside and closed the door, the latch clicking shut behind you. 

Immediately the sound of the crowded hall was replaced by the quiet hum of the small room. Bucky rested lightly against the small table in the corner, shoulders still stiff with campaign tension. His fingers smoothed over his tie, like he might yank it off at any second.

“You need to relax, baby,” you murmured, stepping close and pressing your lips close to his ear. Your perfume wafted into his nose, pushing away the scent of champagne and his own cologne.

He opened his mouth to make an excuse, but the way you pressed your hands against his chest drove all thoughts out of his mind. You pushed lightly until he sat back against the edge of the table. He glanced down, momentarily distracted by how perfect your cleavage looked in the stunning red dress you’d bought for the occasion.

“Princess…” he started, a soft warning rumble in his throat.

You hushed him with a small smile and a soft kiss at the angle of his jaw. You traced a slow line with your finger down from his chest and down his torso until your palm pressed over the front of his dress pants. The heat from your hand made him twitch under your touch.

Bucky hissed in a breath through his teeth. “Sweetheart, we—”

You rubbed your thumb in slow circles, feeling him harden beneath the fabric and he let out a low groan. “We’re just taking the edge off,” you whispered, leaning up to kiss his lips.

His hand shot out, half-heartedly catching your wrist. But he didn’t push you away. “God, you’re gonna kill me,” he muttered, ending with a laugh.

You smirked at his reaction, looking up to see his pupils blown wide and lip parted as if words had lost all meaning.

“You’re wound so tight,” you murmured against his ear, dragging your palm over his cock. This time your touch was firmer. “You just need a little distraction.”

Bucky’s protest faded into a low groan. His head tipped back against the wall with a soft thud, his eyes closing and his vibranium fingers flexed uselessly at his sides. “S’not fair,” he grumbled, but the way his hips sought out your hand, betrayed him completely.

“There we go,” you teased, unzipping his pants and slipping your hand through the gap before resuming the slow motion. “Let me take care of you for a while.”

His eyes cracked open for a moment— dark and glassy— and a smirk curled at one corner of his mouth. “You’re trouble,” he rasped. “And I’m a damn fool for letting you.”

You pressed another kiss to the corner of his mouth, your palm still moving against his growing cock. “You’re not letting me,” you whispered back in a sultry tone. “You need this to relax. I’m just being a dutiful wife.”

A broken laugh left his lips as he tilted his forehead down to rest against yours, his breathing uneven. “If this is you relaxing me, I don’t think I can ever leave your side again,” he growled softly.

The air in the room suddenly felt hot and Bucky’s vision swam slightly as the pleasure started to overwhelm him. His uneven and ragged breaths punctuated the silence as he was caught in a limbo of trying to resist and giving in completely. Every brush of your fingers, every press of your palm sent a fresh shiver through him.

“Princess…” he breathed out, a warning mixed with wonder, “you’re… you’re really gonna—”

“Hmm?” you hummed, pressing a wet kiss on his neck and then wiping away the lipstick stain you’d left behind with a teasing touch. Every soft touch made him tense and then melt, entirely caught up in the rhythm you’d created.

You shushed him again as he dared to moan out loud, letting your mouth hover just in front of his to capture the sound as your fist moved with a gentle persistence. The sound of his small, ragged groans sent a tingle down your spine and made your core buzz with excitement. But you pushed away the feeling by pressing your thighs together.

It didn’t help that Bucky’s hands were twitching at your hips, desperately trying to find purchase against the slippery material of your dress. But you were able to keep just enough control to make him ache for more.

You watched with delight as his chest heaved and lips parted with every stroke. Spurred on by his reaction, you leaned in further, murmuring encouraging words into his ear, using the pressure of your body to make him forget the cameras and crowd that were waiting beyond the four walls of this small room.

You thought he had given in when suddenly he tried to protest again. He tried to speak, but the soft growl in his throat sounded more like a helpless purr. “Princess… you— stop… you’re… oh, hell…”

“What’s wrong, baby?” you asked, hand still moving with precision, teasing and coaxing him to climax. “Am I not doin’ it right?”

He whimpered softly. “Gonna make a mess if you keep this up.”

You nipped at his jawline, letting your words feather against his ear. “Oh, honey… don’t you worry. I’ve cleaned up after your mess before, haven’t I? And besides—” you dragged your fist just a little slower, more deliberate, “I know exactly how to make sure you don’t spill a drop.”

Your movements slowed, making him whine quietly. You unhooked his pants and pulled down his underwear just enough for his thick, leaking cock sprung free. You couldn’t help but smile at the way he groaned as the cool air wafted over him— a stark contrast to the throbbing heat emanating from him. Slowly you slid down between his thighs, bracing yourself as you tried to balance in your ridiculously high heels

“Princess—” The word died in his throat the second you replaced your hand with the soft heat of your mouth. His head tipped back against the wall with a low, broken sound that had nothing to do with control and everything to do with surrender.

His metal hand gripped the table, denting the wood, while the flesh one came to rest at the back of your head, fingers slipping between strands of your hair.

“C’r-ful,” you mumbled, mouth still full of him. A ruined hair do would be a telltale sign of your secret activities.

“God… you’re— fuck…” his voice cracked as the curse slipped from his lips. The muscles in his thighs tightened under your touch, every nerve in his body on fire as you worked him with devastating care.

Every time you moaned at the feel of him in your mouth, he would buck just a little harder. You could practically feel his climax building, sensing the impending release. He tried to hold on. He really did. Even tried to warn you again, but the words dissolved into groans and half-formed pleas.

You hummed softly, the vibration ripping through him until he was gasping. Until he was teetering on the edge. Until every thought in his head collapsed into the sensation of you keeping your word. Taking everything he gave without a drop wasted.

He breathed out your name with a strangled moan, the sound so raw and desperate that it almost had you undone too. If you hadn’t been trying to maintain your appearance, you would have pushed him down and ridden him until you came.

But like the good wife, you swallowed until there was nothing left to take. You pulled back with one last deliberate drag of your lips over him, one that had his knees threatening to buckle. He gasped as your mouth came free with a small pop and he stared down at you as though you were something altogether unworldly.

Wiping the corner of your mouth with the pad of your thumb, you rose slowly, smoothing down your dress and giving his tie a playful tug back into place.

“See?” you whispered teasingly, running your nose along the stubble on his jaw. “Told you I knew how to keep the mess under control.”

Bucky let out a ragged laugh, still breathless, pulling up his pants with trembling hands. “You’re gonna be the death of me, Princess,” he murmured, forehead pressing to yours. “And I’ll go out the happiest man alive.”

Before you had the chance to respond, he caught your chin in the palm of his hand and brought your lips up to meet his, stealing a kiss that tasted like him and you. “I love you,” he murmured gratefully. 

You smiled against his lips, before glancing down at his pants. “Yeah, I know. Now button up, Mr. Barnes. You’ve got an election to win.”

“Alright, Mrs. Barnes,” he muttered, pulling up his zipper and grabbing your hand. “Better make a break for it before someone catches us.”

You stifled a laugh as he peered around the doorway, checking the hallway before darting down it. You moved as stealthily as you could in three-inch heels, letting him tug you back to the ballroom and your guests. Bucky’s large frame moving with military precision, yours with a giggly lightness that nearly gave the two of you away.

“Bucky—” you whispered, trying not to burst into laughter as you rounded a corner. “You look so guilty.”

“I am guilty,” he hissed, eyes darting. “Accessory to your damn near perfect crime.”

“Accessory?” you gasped. “Excuse you, you were very much an equal participant. In fact, you benefitted far more than I did.”

Bucky stopped outside the doors of the ballroom, grinning despite himself. “Don’t worry, I’ll more than make it up to you when we get home.”

Before you could ask how, he shouldered open the doors and pulled you back into the crowd. The voices of his friends and supporters almost swallowed you both whole, but as you looked around, it felt like nothing had changed since you’d snuck away. 

You wrapped your arm around Bucky’s, grabbing a couple of glasses from the bar and acted like you’d never left. Sam seemed to home in on the two of you, like a hawk and he strode over with Hanna at his side

He gave you both a once-over, eyes narrowing. “Where the hell have you two been?”

Before you had time to come up with a plausible lie, Joaquin piped up cheerfully from the table behind you. “Yeah, seriously— did you get lost, or…?” His grin was all too curious and Aditi was perched beside him scanning both of you with an all too scrutinizing gaze.

Bucky coughed, attempting to straighten his tie a little too much that it was now far more askew than it had been. “Just needed some air,” he muttered, voice cracking halfway through the excuse.

“You’ve done a good job at hiding the evidence,” Aditi chimed in, standing up. “But you—” she reached out and used a napkin to swipe off a smudge of lipstick that remained on his neck “—missed a spot.”

The flush on Bucky’s cheeks deepened and you pressed your lips together, fighting the laugh that threatened to bubble up. Instead you busied yourself with straightening Bucky’s tie yet again.

“Unbelievable,” Sam muttered, rolling his eyes so hard you swore you could hear marbles rattling around. “You two couldn’t wait until after the results?”

Bucky only focused on one word. “Results?” His shoulders stiffen immediately.

“Yeah, genius.” Sam jerked his thumb toward the bar, where a small crowd was gathering. “They’re about to announce it live. Somebody—” he waved his hand at Joaquin, “—turn up the damn TV.”

The volume spiked, making you flinch, but the room hushed in unison. Everyone’s attention was now directed toward the glowing widescreen mounted above the bar. The newscaster’s voice rang out through the room. “The final votes are in. We are pleased to declare that James Buchanan Barnes has been elected as Brooklyn’s newest congressman.”

The room erupted in cheers, applause making the chandelier on the ceiling shake. Bucky stood frozen, your hand clutched in his, his wide eyes flicking to you like he couldn’t quite believe it.

You grinned up at him, squeezing his hand back. “Well, Congressman,” you teased, voice low enough so that only he could hear. “Guess you’ve got a bigger mess to handle now.”

He laughed, half-dazed, and kissed you again.