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It happened again.
Bucky was just typing out the last of an email when a crash sounded out behind him. He didn’t even flinch this time. Closing his laptop, he sighed. “Ava.”
He waited for her muffled, awkward “hi”, and was met with silence. Weird.
Frowning, he spun his chair around — and found her spasming on the floor.
He was kneeling beside her in an instant. Her body flickered like static — half there, half not.
Every time her molecules stuttered, echoes of her form ghosted around her. She gasped once, then couldn’t seem to breathe at all.
Shit.
“Ava, hey— hey, look at me.” He reached out, but his hand passed through her shoulder uselessly. Cold air buzzed against his skin.
He gritted his teeth and tried again, this time with his left hand.
The instant the vibranium met her shoulder, the glitching fizzled out. One second, chaos. The next, stillness.
He didn’t realise he’d been holding his breath until the relief hit, sudden and sharp. But it disappeared just as quickly when she didn’t move.
“Ava?” He shook her shoulders gently. Silence. Her eyes were open but unfocused, pupils dilated. He couldn’t tell if she was seeing him or some nightmare behind him.
“C’mon, doll, stay with me.” His voice came out rougher than he’d intended. He pressed his flesh palm to her cheek—
—and yanked it back instantly.
“Shit! You’re freezing.” Her skin was ice, like all the warmth had been sucked away.
He quickly reached up and yanked the blanket off his bed, wrapping it around her trembling frame. Then he crouched behind her, gathering her carefully against his chest like she might fall through the floor again.
He kept his left hand firmly on her shoulder to keep her stable; his other arm pulled the blanket tight, her back flushed against his front.
Her breathing was weak, but at least steadier now.
“Sorry,” he murmured, all too aware of how close they were. “Gotta do this.”
Only the sound of her shallow breaths answered him.
He waited.
After a few impossibly long moments, Ava managed a faint, shaky exhale. “Well, this is awkward.”
“You’re telling me,” Bucky huffed. “Why the hell are you so cold?”
She blinked slowly. “My… my suit’s broken — made things worse.” Her voice was thin, raspy. “I couldn’t even get to the stabilisers.”
He winced sympathetically.
“Controlling it on my own, it drains me. Body can’t keep up, so there’s no energy left to keep me warm.” She explained it clinically, like she’d memorised the words.
He wondered how many times she’d had to explain this before.
Too many, probably.
“Damn,” he finally replied. What else was there to say? He simply tugged the blanket higher, glancing at her too-pale face.
A few moments passed in silence, then she sighed with all the exhaustion in the world. Bucky felt her loosen — like all the tension had been drained out of her.
That was the only warning he got before her head fell onto his right shoulder.
He startled and turned to find her eyes closed and mouth slightly open. Fatigue was etched into every inch of her face, like her body had simply given up.
“Ava?” he whispered. She didn’t respond.
Yep. Dead asleep.
And now he faced a dilemma.
He didn’t want to wake her up. She looked so calm, and frankly, he knew she didn’t fall asleep easily. Unless she was somewhere safe, she had to be bone-tired to fall asleep so close to someone else. Fighting her own cells must have made her far more vulnerable than he’d initially thought.
On the other hand, they’d definitely both have muscle cramps everywhere if they stayed in this position. Not to mention, this was weird enough as it was.
He didn’t even want to imagine what kind of twisted, inappropriate story Yelena would cook up if she found them both sore and aching in the morning.
So Bucky considered his options carefully.
He could move her into his bed and sleep on the couch in the common room. But that would mean her waking up in an unfamiliar place, alone. Given her history… not the best idea.
Or he could wake her up and get her to her own room; but it was no secret that trying to wake Ava up was not a wise choice. Not for anyone who wanted to keep their head attached to their neck.
He stared at her pale face, looking like every form of both peaceful and weary, and decided against that. Then her head shifted slightly, and her breath tickled his jaw — still unusually cold.
A new option occurred to him. He could wait until she was warmer and less likely to bite his head off, then wake her and help her to her room.
Yes. Good plan.
As he waited, his right arm began to feel sore. Slowly, he relaxed his arm, hoping the movement wouldn’t wake her up.
When it didn’t, he let out a breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding.
Her head responded by moving closer to him — and her mouth brushed against his neck.
Every muscle in his body froze. He could feel the faint tremor of her breath grazing his neck, and a spark of warmth exploded across his skin.
Fuck.
Screw the plan. He had to wake her up, now, and damn the consequences.
“Ava?” His voice came out low, trying not to spook her. “Ava, c’mon, wake up.”
She mumbled incoherently against his neck, soft lips sending violent shivers down his spine. Shit.
“Please, Ava. You can’t sleep here,” he tried again.
This time, her eyelids peeled open slowly. She blinked up at him blearily, looking equal parts sleepy and confused.
He nudged her shoulder. “Sorry, doll, but you gotta get up.”
“…Shit,” she muttered when realisation dawned on her, voice sounding hoarse and raw. She winced as she took in the situation, her cheeks coloured pink. “Sorry.”
Her head went up first, then she moved to sit up. Bucky stood, offering a hand out to her. His blanket fell off her shoulders as she grabbed his hand and pushed herself off the floor. She swayed on her feet and—
“Damn, you’re still cold,” he muttered, steadying her by the elbows. He eased her onto his bed, and she leaned against the bedframe, exhaling wearily.
His eyes glanced around the room and landed on his green hoodie, draped over the back of his chair.
Perfect.
He crossed the room quickly and grabbed it, then shoved it into Ava’s hands. “Here. It’ll help.”
She frowned. “You sure? It’s yours—”
“It’s fine. Don’t worry ‘bout it,” he assured her.
The hoodie was way too big on her — sleeves hanging past her fingers, the hem falling to her thighs — but the second she pulled it over her head, she let out a quiet breath, shoulders relaxing like the warmth was seeping straight into her bones.
“Better?” he asked, crossing his arms.
“Yeah,” she admitted softly, tugging the hood up. “Thanks, James.”
He grunted in reply and held out his hand. “Let’s get you to your room.”
She stood carefully, gripping his arm for balance. She was still wobbly, but at least she managed to stay on her feet this time.
“Take it easy,” he murmured. “Don’t push it.”
He kept a hand at her back, just in case — and, sure enough, by the time they reached the hall, more of her weight was leaning into him.
Though she was still adamantly trying to hold herself up.
“You’re stubborn as hell, you know that?” he said as they reached the lift.
“Shut up,” she murmured, swaying a little.
The soft ding of the lift opening cut through the air, and the second the doors parted—
Her knees buckled.
He caught her before she hit the ground, muttering a quiet curse. “Okay, that’s it.”
Without thinking twice, he hooked one arm under her knees and the other beneath her shoulders. She barely stirred as he lifted her, head falling against his chest.
“Told you not to push it,” he sighed, stepping into the lift.
He felt his pulse quicken inexplicably when she curled herself closer into him. She looked so calm and vulnerable, so unlike her usually prickly self. Heat crept up to his face. He wasn’t thinking about how light she felt. Definitely not.
He should really start sleeping earlier.
The door to her room creaked slightly as he nudged it open with his foot. The room was dark; the only source of light a small lamp on the bedside table.
He lowered her onto her bed carefully, setting her down like she might disappear again. The blanket slipped, and he tugged it over her, pulling it up to her chin.
For a second, he just watched — the steady rise and fall of her chest, the way a few strands of hair had fallen across her face. Then he let his hand fall away from her shoulder.
And she glitched.
The flicker was brief, but violent — her form shuddering painfully before slowing to a faint shimmer across her skin.
Bucky froze. Then, slowly, he pressed his left hand to her shoulder. It worked instantly — her body went still again.
Her eyes fluttered open a sliver, pupils adjusting to the dim light. “…Sorry,” she rasped, barely awake. “I… Can you… get the stabilisers? They’re… on the table.”
He found the small metal devices beside her nightstand and passed two to her. She fumbled weakly, but managed to clip them to clasps on her suit.
“Thanks,” she mumbled, eyelids drooping again. “Sorry for… all the trouble.”
“No problem.”
“You… you can go now.”
He huffed softly. “Trying to kick me out?”
“No, just… I’ve kept you up long enough,” she said, voice sounding faint.
“It’s nothing, really,” he muttered. “You really want me to go?”
She hesitated, just for a beat, her tone sounding odd when she replied, “I’ll be okay.”
The room went still, humming softly with the faint whir of the stabilisers. It almost felt like the world had exhaled.
He took in the sight of her face — pale under the low light, shadows pooling under her eyes, the faint tremor still in her hands. The kind of exhaustion that ran bone-deep.
He rubbed the back of his neck, unsure if he was crossing some invisible line. “But… can I stay? Make sure you fall asleep?”
She blinked blearily at him, then sighed. “You’re stubborn.”
He huffed a quiet laugh, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Comes with the job.”
Her lips curved into the hint of a smile.
“Thanks, James,” she whispered, her eyes closing for good this time.
He sat there for a while, listening to the rhythm of her breathing evening out, her features softening until she looked almost weightless. A kind of peace he hadn’t quite seen on her face before.
Damn, I’m just… sitting here watching her sleep. What the hell.
When he was sure she was out, he rose slowly, careful not to disturb her. The glitch didn’t return when his hand left her shoulder, but he lingered anyway — one last check, just to be sure.
A loose lock of hair had fallen across her forehead. Without thinking, he reached down and brushed it aside, fingertips barely grazing her skin.
“Rest well, doll,” he murmured. The words left his mouth before he could stop them.
For the first time in a long while, something in him unclenched. Maybe it was the quiet. Maybe it was her.
Then he turned and slipped out of the room, closing the door softly behind him.
~
Ava trudged into the kitchen the next morning looking like she’d fought a war in her sleep and lost. Her hair was a disaster, her hoodie — his hoodie — engulfed her whole, the sleeves covering her hands.
John was the first to notice, because of course he was.
“Well, good morning, sunshine,” he drawled, leaning against the counter. “Didn’t know Bucky has a merch line now.”
Ava blinked at him, fingers fiddling absentmindedly with the hoodie strings.
Her brows knitted together, confused, until she followed his gaze — straight to the hoodie. “Oh, no— it’s not what you think.”
Yelena snorted into her cereal. “It is exactly what I think.”
“It’s not,” Ava said quickly, moving to the fridge. “He just—” she hesitated, realising how it sounded, “—lent it to me.”
“Lent,” Yelena repeated, grinning like a shark. “And you have not returned it because…?”
Ava shut the fridge door a little too hard. “Because I’m cold, okay?”
“Sure you were,” John said, smirking. “Bucky, you hearing this?”
The man in question froze in the doorway, coffee mug halfway to his lips. He’d come in silently, which normally meant slipping in unnoticed — but not so much when the topic of conversation was, apparently, him.
Ava turned, eyes wide like a kid caught with a hand in the cookie jar. Bucky’s gaze automatically dropped to the hoodie. His hoodie. The one hanging off her like evidence at a crime scene.
Of course, Yelena noticed, and pounced without hesitation. “Ohh, look at that. Now you’re matching! So romantic.”
Bucky choked on his coffee. “It’s— it’s just a hoodie,” he managed.
“Sure,” John said again. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
Bucky shot him a glare that could melt steel, but John just grinned wider, clearly enjoying himself way too much.
Ava sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “You’re all children.”
“Children with eyes,” Yelena countered.
“You’re unbelievable.” Red-faced, Ava brushed past them to grab a spoon. As she walked past Bucky, she muttered under her breath, “Sorry about the hoodie. I’ll wash it and give it back.”
He shook his head, replied low enough that only she could hear. “Don’t worry about it.”
She looked almost cartoonish in his hoodie. And yet somehow… it fit like it was always meant to be there. Their eyes met and something flickered between them — something neither of them could quite put a name on.
Then Yelena’s voice broke the moment. “Ugh, flirting this early in the morning?”
“It’s already ten a.m.,” John interjected.
“What I said, too early for flirting.”
“Who’s flirting?” Bob’s voice came from the lift. He took in Ava and Bucky very pointedly ignoring each other’s eyes with a slow, understanding sort of nod.
“Oh,” he said casually. “Them, again?”
Ava whipped her head to him. “What do you mean, ‘again’?” Then she stalked toward Yelena, eyes narrowing. “What ideas have you put in his head?”
Yelena raised her hands in defence. “Hey, it wasn’t me. Walker started it.”
“Don’t look at me,” John scoffed. “Anyone with eyes can see it.”
Bucky sighed loudly and dragged his free hand down his face. “I hate you all.”
“Sure you do,” Yelena sing-songed. “Now tell me, when’s the wedding?”
“Yelena,” Ava said, deadly calm, “if you value your life, shut up.”
The Russian only grinned wider. “You will be thanking me in your vows.”
Ava threw a spoonful of cereal at her.
~
That afternoon, Bucky found Ava training with a type of firearm he didn’t often see her use. From the corner of the range, he watched her shoot — and miss. She huffed, lowering the gun with an irritated sigh.
Stepping up beside her, he muttered, “Can I help?”
“I don’t need a tutor, James.”
“Didn’t say you did.” He crossed his arms, unimpressed. “But keep going.”
She rolled her eyes and refocused on the target. Deep breath. Another shot.
It missed again — even further off this time.
“Still gonna do it on your own?”
“…Fine. You win,” she relented grudgingly.
He moved behind her, gaze skimming over her stiff shoulders and white-knuckled grip.
“Too high,” he murmured, closing the distance.
“What?”
“Here.” His hands slid over hers — one warm, one cool metal — adjusting her grip.
Her breath caught. They were close — too close, her back pressed lightly against his chest. Only this time, there was no blanket between them.
“You wanna aim lower,” he said, his breath ghosting her ear. “This model kicks higher when it fires. You compensate down.”
She barely heard the words, too distracted by the smell of gunpowder and coffee that clung to him. She felt the slight shift of her fingers against the trigger, guided by his steady hands. It was strangely reassuring.
“Now, you try.” His voice was quiet, his chest brushing against her shoulder as he spoke.
She let out a breath she didn’t realise she’d been holding, and a soft chuckle rumbled low in his throat. She frowned. “What?”
“You’re tense,” he replied. “Relax, doll.”
Heat climbed her face. “I am relaxed.”
“Sure you are.” He stepped back, heart thudding more than it should, leaving a rush of cool air and an absence he felt immediately. He cleared his throat. “Go for it.”
She inhaled slowly, refocusing. The world faded out, and she saw only the target and the gun in her hands. She pulled the trigger.
The shot crackled through the air — dead centre.
“See? You got it,” he said, quieter now.
She turned, grinning. “Maybe I just needed the right kind of distraction.”
He blinked rapidly, caught off guard, and she smirked. His eyes darted away, looking at anything but her.
Then his brows furrowed. “Wait— is that my hoodie?”
She didn’t flinch. “Yep.”
“…You’re not giving it back, are you?”
“Nope.”
He exhaled, jaw tightening. “Figures.” His eyes ran over the oversized hoodie, how it swallowed her frame, how the sage green made her eyes look brighter.
“Looks better on you anyway,” he muttered before he could stop himself.
Her head tilted. “What was that?”
“Nothing.”
She huffed a laugh, looking away. “…Well, thanks. For the lesson.”
“And the hoodie,” she added as an afterthought.
He smiled. “Anytime, doll.”
The words left his mouth too easily, too naturally — like they belonged to a version of him who didn’t exist anymore. He watched her turn back to the target, hoodie sleeves half-covering her hands, and felt something tighten in his chest.
It was ridiculous — it was just a damn hoodie, just target practice — but he couldn’t shake the way every part of him still buzzed with the ghost of her warmth.
~
It was definitely a mistake to walk into dinner still wearing his hoodie.
Unfortunately, it’d been too comfortable to take off, so she’d decided to brave the jabs. But she had severely underestimated the team’s abilities.
“Hiii,” Yelena greeted with a wicked smile. “Nice hoodie you got there.”
Ava strutted past her to the table without a word.
“Is that—” Bob started, squinting. “—Bucky’s hoodie?”
She didn’t even blink. “Maybe.”
“Definitely is,” Alexei declared, slamming his fist down on the table. “Very good, you two. Fast progress, but very good.”
Bucky froze mid-bite from across the table. “It’s just a hoodie, it doesn’t mean—”
“—a symbol of undying devotion?” Yelena cut in innocently.
The table erupted. Ava rolled her eyes and reached for the potatoes. “You people need hobbies.”
“We have hobbies,” Bob said. “Watching you two is one of them.”
Ava gasped. “Bob, not you too.”
Bucky let out a low groan and muttered something that sounded a lot like stupid and propaganda.
Yelena leaned over to Ava. “So, what’s next? His shirt? Bed? Or the arm, again?”
Ava smiled sweetly. “What makes you think I haven’t already?”
John nearly choked on his food. “What the hell—”
“For the record, she does not have any of those things,” Bucky interjected hastily, shooting Ava a glare.
She finally looked over to him, eyes glinting. “No, James, you’re forgetting.”
He raised a brow, wondering where on earth she was going with this.
“Shirt, bed, arm,” she ticked them off her fingers. “Two of those are true.”
He blinked once, twice — then, the corner of his mouth curved, just barely.
“You mean yesterday?” he said, tone casual enough to be dangerous.
The table went silent for a split second — just long enough for everyone to get it.
Yelena gasped dramatically. “Which two?” she demanded. “Details. Now.”
“Goodnight,” Bucky decided, standing up with his plate before she could finish the sentence.
Ava smirked into her drink. “Night, James.”
The sound of the sink came from the kitchen as he washed his plate, and the team collectively turned to her.
“So?” John demanded.
“So,” Ava said, taking another sip, “Have fun guessing which two.”
Her grin gave nothing away. She savoured her drink slowly — eyes flicking to Bucky, then away, hiding a tiny thrill in the curve of her lips.
As overlapping questions and demands broke out around her again, Ava let it roll off with an easy smile.
But as her focus drifted to the quiet clatter of dishes by the sink, the hoodie sleeve still brushing her hand, she couldn’t stop the faint warmth that crept up her neck.
She hid it with another sip.