Chapter Text
3:46 a.m.
The kitchen floor was still under the moonlight shining bright on a warm September night. The appliance lights looked dimmer than usual compared to such a luminous sky.
Ava loves nights like this. She loves September, loves how the night is warm without bothering her, how the fresh breeze coming through the window touches her skin without giving her the artificial shiver of air conditioning. Ava hates winter.
The pain she faced for most of her life was always much worse in winter. Her bones stiffened and her skin prickled; she became painfully aware of her own body. Everything hurt with such agonizing intensity that she often found her shoulders and jaw locked for hours and hours. Her suit kept her present, and the capsule did too, but everything was so intense that even in movement, even on missions, every muscle of her being stayed tight under sensitive skin and numb bones.
She had recovered from the pain, learned to appreciate the icy air hitting her face, or the feeling of goosebumps without pain—just a reaction of a healthy body. Ava would love to convince herself she was completely healthy, even though she knew deep down she still vanished sometimes, still hated the concept of cold, and never slept through the night.
Ava always woke up in the middle of the night. She was never fully rested, but her body no longer accepted true rest. She never knew if this was because of her ability or her constant state of alert.
Either way, she had learned to live like this. So whenever she woke up, she showered and went to the kitchen. There she opened all the large curtains, made tea, and sat on the counter facing the tall glass windows that offered a breathtaking view. She had tried going up to the rooftop before, to see more of the city than the same angle every day. But the cold air was inevitable, and the sound it made at that height, to Ava’s sensitive ears, was agonizing. She claimed the kitchen the moment she realized no one visited it often; therefore, it was always very quiet. Ava loves the silence.
In general, no one slept particularly well in that house. Everyone fought their own demons every day—addictions, memories, or the constant feeling that everything could fall apart at any moment.
Bucky knew insomnia like a personal friend. Calming meds usually didn’t do much to his body, and needles… Bucky hated needles.
He had learned to cope. Nowadays the nightmares didn’t scare him as much—he knew every face, every gleam of his own arm, every mission replayed without permission. He didn’t have them every day—on those nights he slept well—but when they did show up, they were a sentence of a long, restless night. His subconscious already knew he wouldn’t rest.
Tonight was one of those nights. Bucky woke up sweating cold, his body replicating the state he’d been in during the dream. For a few seconds he simply breathed heavily, grounding himself back into reality. His window was open; the night air gently swayed the long curtain, letting beams of light slide in slowly and faintly illuminate the walls. He watched the movement, and little by little his body calmed. His breathing returned to normal, he unlocked his jaw and relaxed the muscles in his face, relaxed his shoulders, and with slow, deliberate motion, Bucky let go of the sheet he had been gripping as if it were an anchor for his own mind.
He sat on the bed and spent long minutes staring at the lights until he grew tired of the room. The sweat had already dried on his skin, and his bed haunted him with the possibility of dreaming again. His eyes weren’t tired, but his body begged for some comfort—or, as he decided, for movement.
With quiet steps he went to the bathroom, turned on the light, and looked at himself in the mirror, staring at the dark circles he knew were beyond healing. His face still looked tense even under the soft, beautiful freshness of the early morning. Bucky washed his face and decided he wouldn’t sleep again. Maybe tomorrow night.
He walked down the hallway, observing the fully closed doors—except one. When he reached the living room, he could already see Ava sitting on the kitchen counter, surprisingly illuminated, holding a mug with a faint trail of steam rising from it.
Ava turned her head slightly toward him and exhaled through her nose, almost a laugh. “Good morning, soldier.”
“Morning,” Bucky muttered, echoing her half-laugh as he walked toward the counter.
They stayed in silence. Ava turned her attention back to the city and didn’t say anything else for long minutes. Bucky stayed outside her field of view, instinctively analyzing the space. He smelled tea and something fresh he couldn’t yet identify. He glanced at the clock on the wall reading 3:53 a.m., sighed, and looked back at Ava.
From behind he could see her posture, slightly hunched forward as if comfortable; her hair fell messy and damp down her back. She didn’t move. He watched longer than he normally would—the genuine tranquility she radiated felt strange considering the night he’d just had.
“Did you sleep, Ava?” Bucky whispered, afraid to disturb her calm. He walked around the counter, stepping into her line of sight.
“Yes, I just woke up,” she raised the mug to her lips before adding, “My mind decided that was enough for tonight.”
“I get it,” Bucky said almost immediately, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms instinctively.
She stared at the city, and he at the lights on the wall. They spent a few moments like that before she stood to add more water to the electric kettle and leaned back against the counter where she’d been sitting, now facing him without noticing she was mimicking his posture. Ava kept her face turned toward the window, her eyes moving over details of the city she’d seen dozens of times.
After a few seconds, Bucky shifted his gaze from the wall to her expression. She looked truly calm. Despite her crossed arms, they weren’t tense—not even her shoulders. He let his eyes trail up to her jaw, completely relaxed. No flicker of tension crossed her features. Instinctively he lowered his own shoulders, as if suddenly realizing his attitude didn’t match the environment she had created before he arrived.
Ava turned her head when the kettle began to whistle, meeting Bucky’s half-closed eyes. “What is it, huh? Trying to read my mind?” she said with a hint of humor, returning his stare.
“No, sorry, I… I don’t know, you just look extremely rested for someone who’s awake at this hour.”
“But I really am,” Ava said, walking to the cabinet to grab a tea bag. “Like I said, I just woke up.”
“You want some?”
Bucky shook his head and murmured, “Thanks.”
Ava made her tea and leaned back in front of him, now with the mug in her hands. She looked at him for a few seconds, took a sip, and said quietly, “Honestly, you look like you didn’t sleep well. No offense, but your face is tense.”
“My nights aren’t usually very peaceful. Nightmares, you know?” Bucky looked toward the city for a second before adding, “Not the worst, but…”
“I know,” Ava cut in before he finished. Bucky looked back at her and nodded almost imperceptibly.
“In my case, at least today, my body just decides I’ve slept enough. There’s no point fighting it—I’d just lie there staring at the ceiling. Tea is better.” She looked down at her mug and gave a barely-there smile.
Bucky followed her gaze. “You don’t get nightmares?”
“I do.” She paused, watching the mug, frowning slightly. She took that as an opening to continue.
“It’s funny… When they show up, I sleep through the whole night, but I wake up feeling awful.” She took a sip, and Bucky watched her.
“Doesn't sound very funny.”
“I guess not.”
“I almost never sleep through the night—insomnia, or I don’t know—sometimes my body just won’t relax. But when I get nightmares, I always wake up. Always badly.”
Ava listened in silence, almost surprised to hear Bucky actually talk. She watched him. Saw his sunken eyes, the faint sheen of sweat on his forehead, and the messy, damp hair—she assumed from sweat. When Bucky stopped talking, she let the silence fall and connected the dots.
“So… was it bad tonight?” she asked softly, intentionally gentle, offering him the mug. Bucky looked at her hand and took it, their fingers briefly brushing. He nodded, took a sip, feeling the hot liquid run down his throat and making him close his eyes slightly. Ava added, “You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. Sometimes it helps… When Yelena listens to me, the dream feels less real. Helps me come back to reality. Like… remembering I’m out of there, that this place is safe.”
Bucky cleared his throat and took a deep breath. “Yeah… It’s… It’s not one of the worst ones. It’s just uncomfortable. It comes right before something big, with this huge sense of anxiety. It’s bad because I’m stuck, sitting. Everything is too bright, too cold… too sharp. My old arm especially. I hear voices but I can’t tell what they’re saying… And there’s a needle in my arm.” He gestures faintly toward his real arm while looking into Ava’s eyes—green, very bright, he notes. “It’s injecting something, I don’t know what, but it hurts—like the liquid is really thick.” He glanced down at his own hands. “I always wake up here when I pass out there.”
The silence that followed his confession was thick. He fiddled with the rim of the mug absentmindedly, and she watched him. She noticed the way his jaw tightened when he mentioned the needle. She raised her eyebrows slightly as she understood.
With soft movements, Ava took the mug back from his hands. Bucky looked at her as she drank the tea with a calm that was disorienting for him. She held his gaze, and he saw a kind of exhaustion behind her expressions. Ava let her eyes trace the details of Bucky’s face.
“Too cold, too bright… needles…” Ava repeated slowly, and Bucky shivered; she noticed. He realized she noticed and hated himself for letting her see that. She simply continued, eyes steady on his. “Looks like S.H.I.E.L.D. wasn’t so different from Hydra after all, huh?”
Ava paused, watching him look away from her for the first time. “Bucky, you have no idea how much I hate the cold.”
When she said his name he looked back at her. He saw something so soft in her eyes it caught him off guard.
“For a moment I forgot you were in those places too,” he said quietly, almost embarrassed. “So… cold?”
Ava’s expression tightened before she gave a faint smile.
“It reminds me of too much. It’s uncomfortable. And let’s say my abilities don’t get along with low temperatures very well. And as you said… labs, medical centers, whatever they called them… always freezing.” Ava took a sip of tea, as if to remember warmth and blur the memories threatening to surface.
Bucky stared at her now, recognizing a shared landscape. Ava was like him in some ways. He saw something new as she spoke—a recognition that talking to someone might actually help. He studied her calm features, illuminated by the cold moonlight spilling into the kitchen. He got lost for a moment before returning his eyes to hers—dark green in this lighting, he noticed.
Bucky made a small gesture to reach for the mug, and she was already offering it. He took it with both hands, brushing her fingers again—so warm, he noticed. He hesitated for half a second, keeping the touch, before bringing the mug to his lips and shifting his gaze back to the window.
Ava raised an eyebrow briefly but ignored it. Normally she’d make a comment—say something, anything stupid—but it was too late, too private, maybe a little intimate. She just let him process the environment she loved so much. She realized he might appreciate silence and warmth as much as she did. Ava decided to share her ritual with Bucky.
The silence stretched for many minutes. No one checked the time. No one said much. They kept sharing the mug occasionally.
Bucky’s eyes began to grow heavy, but his breathing stayed short, shallow, like he was alert.
Ava looked at him again—saw his body tense, his expression worried. She inhaled deeply and tightened her jaw. Bucky realized he was being watched and looked down at his hands holding the mug. Now she could see he was just keeping his hands busy. Ava bit her lip and stepped forward to gently take the empty mug from him. His whole body tensed, but he let her. He followed her with his eyes until she returned to her spot.
Ava leaned her hands on the counter behind her and kept looking at him—not with severity, but tense, with him. She knew he had been through too much, and still was. She knew he had lost everything throughout his life—even himself. She saw, day by day, how he never, ever relaxed. And she hated admitting to herself how much she worried when she saw him clearly unwell while trying to pretend otherwise. She bit her lip again before speaking, hesitant:
“Bucky, you can talk… if you want. But you don’t look… okay.”
Bucky looked at her. He saw her body language change—she looked tense now, her gaze no longer soft. She looked genuinely worried. That hit him—she never looked worried, not truly. The only time he remembered seeing her like that was when Yelena went into the Void. Was he really that bad?
He did feel pressure building in his chest—normal after a night like this. His breathing was shallow—but he’d been used to that for years.
“Bucky, you’re shaking,” Ava said, very softly.
“Right…” He lowered his eyes to his hands, clenching them to make the trembling stop. He quickly looked back at her—there, present, available.
A stupid idea crossed his mind. She would probably hate it, and he would hate himself the moment his mind returned to normal. But the knot in his throat kept him from thinking rationally, and the trembling was getting worse.
Bucky pushed off the counter and looked into her eyes before whispering, “Forgive me, Ava…”
Before his courage could fade—and before Ava could respond—Bucky took a step toward her and pulled her into a hug. He wrapped both arms around her waist and buried his face in the curve of her neck. Immediately he closed his eyes and took a deep breath—a very deep one.
Ava froze in surprise. First shocked—this was light-years away from anything Bucky would normally do. Then she felt his chest expand against her, and the warm breath on her neck. She took a deep breath, relaxed her body, and hugged him back. Ava slid her hand gently over his back, tense but steady, and rested her chin on the top of his head.
“Okay, I get it,” she whispered.
Bucky breathed in deeply again at her voice and murmured a barely audible “I’m sorry,” which she felt more as a vibration than sound.
The first thing Bucky noticed was the freshness of her skin; she had clearly showered, and now he could tell the fresh scent was coming from her. Also, he realized how strong she was—now that he held her like this, he felt the tension in her muscles.
He became aware of what he’d done, but it was too late. And it was… so comfortable. He didn’t want to leave now that he knew what it felt like.
Gradually he began to relax, and Ava relaxed with him. At some point she slid a hand up to his nape and slowly threaded her fingers through his hair, giving him a very gentle caress. Bucky shivered at her touch—Ava felt it but said nothing. This wasn’t the moment for questions.
They stayed like that for a few minutes. Eventually he began to absentmindedly run his hand along her waist—short, simple movements. Ava tilted her head back and bit her lip to hold back whatever the hell she was feeling.
He repeated, “I’m sorry, Ava, I don’t—”
“It’s fine, James. You don’t need to explain. Just be quiet, okay? I won’t tell anyone.”
Bucky shivered at hearing his name and tightened his hold.
“Thank you, Ava,” he said, resting his forehead on her shoulder so his voice would come out clearer.
“Can I stay a little longer?”
“Of course.”
“Ava?”
“Mm?”
“Stay a little longer with me?”
“Of course.”