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It was rare for the Watchtower to be completely empty. Usually someone was missing, courtesy of Valentina. Sometimes they were simple missions, other times some ridiculous media stunt that pleased no one except Alexei — but never an empty house. This was an unusual day, without a doubt.
Somehow Valentina managed to stack every hypothetically vital commitment for the New Avengers into the same week. Yelena and Alexei were sent to do a press tour in Russia, something about keeping them close to their origins without making it look like a political maneuver. Bob went along too; both insisted that the cold combined with the traditional food would be the best experience of his life, followed by a few comments like “Do you really want to wait for Valentina to find something for you?”. John was politely invited to clean up his public image — and consequently the team’s reputation — by doing charity work, interviews, attending football games, or anything that didn’t make him look like a murderer in a ridiculous outfit.
Bucky went to Washington, D.C. to officially resign from his congressional seat. It was a stupid idea; he realized quickly he wasn’t cut out for political theatrics, found it painfully boring, and since he had no intention of being corrupt in any measure, his career was essentially dead on arrival. What was the point of trying so hard to overcome his image from the last 70 years, and especially the last 10? People still saw him as nothing more than a bloodstained metal prosthetic arm. And after the Void, it became harder to explain that he didn’t intend to go back to fighting. It was already too late — Valentina hadn’t been arrested, and in a way, he still carried some degree of guilt. So whatever, right?
Ava, however, was the only one who received an actual mission. Containing a rebel group operating in Europe, attempting to reuse old HYDRA facilities. She knew those places — painfully knew them. She had fought people there, had been trained there, had stolen and provided information. She remembered the routes, maps became unnecessary, making the mission even more exhausting. And yet the bitter taste stayed in her mouth, something between the memory of physical pain and emotional exploitation. She was sent to spend four weeks crossing the Baltic states invading bunkers, stealing documents, then blowing them up. It was exhausting in every sense. Ava spent nights barely sleeping, constantly shifting her molecular state, and dealing with the tension of being in the field — completely alone.
Finally, it was over. She had completed the mission. She was coming home.
Home… It still sounded strange that she could actually feel safe there. Maybe the fact that the residential floor looked more like a casual apartment and less like a lab helped. It certainly helped.
…
Bucky had a terrible three days in Washington and came back home to the pleasant surprise of being completely alone. He called Yelena first.
“Ah, hi Bucky, yes we’re fine, we went out for drinks and the two of them are asleep, obviously. Did something happen?” Yelena spoke quietly, with her accent thicker than usual — he noticed.
“No, nothing… The house is empty. Like, completely.”
“Yes, John is a hostage of Valentina, he must still be touring around doing good deeds and stars-and-stripes nonsense, something stupid for sure.”
“Right…” Bucky grimaced to himself. “And about Ava? Do you know where she is?”
“She didn’t make contact, the idea was to disappear from the map. She’s good at that… Anyway, if she manages to stick to the plan she should be back in the next few days.”
“Okay… and you guys?” Bucky sounded like he was doing a team check, instinctively. Yelena knew that.
“We’ll be back in three days. Stop worrying a bit, we’re fine. Enjoy the house alone, relax, you need it.”
“I don’t think it’s that simple,” Bucky replied realistically, not emotional — just honest.
“Oh… so you don’t want to be alone. Interesting, Bucky. The lone wolf himself, who would’ve thought?”
Yelena’s tone was light. Bucky huffed at hearing his own feelings said aloud. She let out a loud yawn. It was late afternoon for him and deep night for her.
“Okay, go to sleep, Yelena. Thanks. Take care.” He softened his voice; he meant it.
“Oh I will, definitely, Buck.”
There was a dense pause, then her voice shifted lower, like a secret.
“She should be back soon. Don’t worry.”
Before he could process what she meant, the call ended. Yelena was a good reader — very good. Bucky ignored that comment for the rest of the night. It didn’t mean anything, right?
He kept himself busy unpacking his bag, throwing away all the congressional junk, and rereading The Hobbit yet again. He tried everything to keep himself occupied, and after a few hours finally decided to cook something.
The clock read 11:47 p.m. when he finally sat down in front of a plate of pasta with chicken and a white sauce — simple, but he felt proud. He felt normal. Bucky breathed deeply after the first bite, realizing how hungry he was, and allowed his body to relax. The lights were low and warm, the house looked cozy and clean, the smell of food filled the space, and the freshness of post-shower skin was comforting — but something bothered him.
Yelena’s comment was subtle, yet she had noticed something he hadn’t fully examined.
He was worried about Ava.
Bucky didn’t doubt her capability — he was certain of it. She was smart, strong, observant, and performed well under pressure. But he knew her from a world now distant, one where she had no control over what she did — and he had even less. During his years as the Winter Soldier, he met her, fought her several times, in the same place repeatedly, then fought beside her on one or two missions — and then never saw her again.
In fact, he had never seen her face before the Valentina incident.
He knew exactly what she could do.
But something in him recognized something in her.
They hadn’t talked much about those past encounters. Neither of them liked remembering. Still, once in a while she mentioned something about the “friendly cooperation era between SHIELD and HYDRA.”
So he knew she remembered something.
His thoughts drifted as he ate. But for some reason buried deep inside, he kept circling back to her. He knew why she had been sent there, knew she would face places he himself never wanted to go near again. He admired her more than he let himself admit. He watched her more than he felt was normal. He thought about her now far more than he thought about the others — and in a way he knew he never did for anyone else.
Bucky didn’t dare put it into words. It felt improper, so he avoided the nervousness he felt when she was too close — or, in this case, too far.
He simply knew he appreciated her company. She was usually quiet, only speaking to say something useful — or occasionally funny. He noticed she talked more when drinking or when she was with Yelena, which made him smile, not that he’d ever admit it.
He had finished eating and was loading the dishwasher when he heard the elevator arriving. His body tensed. He turned toward the opening doors and saw Ava stepping out with a backpack in one hand, still in her suit. Immediately he noticed she wasn’t well — deep shadows under her eyes, and an expression that looked emotionally shattered. Something twisted in his stomach.
“Hi Ava…” he said, hesitant, careful.
“Hi… I’m back.”
“Yeah. You’re back.”
He gave a small smile, unsure how to react to her state. It was obvious something was wrong.
She forced a polite smile and walked toward the corridor.
She vanished mid-step and reappeared an instant later. Then again a few steps after.
Bucky held his breath. Something was wrong.
“Ava?” he said softly. He wanted to ask if she was okay, wanted to know what happened, wanted to hear anything she had to say. He scolded himself for wanting that.
He also knew she likely wouldn’t say anything — not now. She looked on the verge of a silent collapse.
When she turned, he saw her eyes watery with tears he desperately wanted to understand.
For a brief moment, silence fell around them — she blinked out of place again.
Bucky opened his mouth but nothing came out. He frowned, grounded himself, then finally managed a quiet, “Is there something I can do to help you?”
Ava looked at him — aware of her state, aware of too many things. Her eyes drifted toward the pots on the stove. Her voice came out rough, with an attempt at humor.
“Do you have any hot food? Preferably not canned?”
“Of course… I’ll serve you.”
“You don’t need to, James. I’m going to… take a shower, I think. Don’t worry. Thanks, by the way.”
Bucky nodded silently. She mirrored him, and he watched her leave — but the sound of her saying his name echoed in his mind, and he hated himself for that again.
…
Ava was wrecked in every possible way, mentally unstable and physically worse. Her ears rang loudly, her muscles were taut, and her heart beat too fast and too loudly. The mission had been successful — of course it had — but it had been intense.
She read files that would make anyone vomit, saw names of high-ranking figures she had once interacted with. Nothing was easy.
Some bunkers were dark, smelling of iron and neglect; others were bright to the point of pain, with harsh white lights and antiseptic smell. Those were the worst — the closest to everything she’d lived through.
There, she saw her own name in files. Reports about missions she remembered. But also HYDRA documents with photos of her — and reports she couldn’t remember.
Ava didn’t believe she had gone through memory manipulation. She remembered every procedure, dreamed of them almost every night. She knew she had been drugged multiple times, but when she slept, she woke up conscious.
But after these weeks, she was afraid — no, terrified — of having done things she did not remember, of having had parts of her mind ripped away the same way she had been forced to do things.
She feared they had stolen control of her own brain.
The thought alone made her feel drugged.
She reached her room and felt relieved that it was clean. She dropped everything in a corner and began stripping out of her suit immediately. She knew she had lost control of her powers — everything hurt. Not overtly, but constantly. Her muscles ached; her bones felt like lead.
The pain felt like discomfort in existing, her body protesting against her. Every attempt to hold herself together made the bone-deep ache rise like a bomb about to explode. She accepted that she would keep fading in and out for now, as long as she didn’t have to exert herself further.
After shedding the suit’s weight, she finally felt like she could step out of the alert state she had been locked into for a month. She went to the bathroom and looked at her reflection — exhausted — and only then realized she was crying. She looked away and turned on the shower. She needed warmth, needed anything to wash off the month etched into her skin.
Her vision blurred as she scrubbed too hard. Ava made no sound, but cried endlessly. Not for a specific reason — for everything she didn’t want to face again. She stayed there for a long time, cleaning herself at least three times. Washed her hair — longer than ever — with far more care than the rest.
Eventually, the tears stopped, leaving only a weak, ashamed hiccup.
She forced herself to think of something else. Anything.
Then she wondered why the house was so quiet for a Friday night. James was there — and alone. But where were the others? She hadn’t sent news, but she hadn’t received any either.
Her distraction didn’t last. Thinking of Bucky only brought back the piles and piles of files about him — or, rather, the Winter Soldier. She hated that name. She already knew it before, but after reading so much, it was obvious: that man could never have done those things willingly.
She thought of the first time she saw him.
She had been taken to Siberia under the pretense of training for more effective hand-to-hand combat. She was told she couldn’t disappear while she was there — and deep down she knew it was a threat, not an instruction.
She met him under those conditions.
He seemed entirely apathetic to existence, speaking only to confirm obedience to the disgusting men who ran that place.
During her time in Siberia, she faced him repeatedly in fights that only ended when someone went unconscious. That was the goal — take out the opponent. And usually, she lost.
Thinking back, Ava realized she only won once — and was sent away right after.
Mission accomplished. She had beaten their best combatant. And then, without explanation, it was over.
Her stomach turned at the memory. His blows hurt — badly — but the emptiness in his eyes hurt more. Ava felt alone at all times, used like a lab rat — literally. And something in his eyes only confirmed it further.
The fact that he looked like a soulless man terrified her.
Now she found herself wiping silent tears again. She didn’t know why everything felt so sharp, so overwhelming.
She put on sweatpants — her favorite — and a T-shirt that said I am a ghost, a gift from Yelena. The weight of the clothes comforted her.
Her hair fell in damp waves down her back, and she finally breathed deeply for the first time in a month. She pressed her palms against her eyes, marking the end of today’s tears.
Ava left her room composed and walked toward the kitchen. The clock read 1:03 a.m. She expected to eat alone and then go to bed.
But that wasn’t the case.
Bucky was seated at the kitchen island, staring at the large window with its beautiful view of the city. In the seat across from him sat a steaming plate of food.
Her heart beat faster at the sight.
When she stepped in, Bucky turned and spoke with uncharacteristic softness.
“It’s pasta with sliced chicken and a simple white sauce. If you want something lighter I can make something else.”
Ava walked slowly toward the plate, unsure how to process the sudden care. She looked at Bucky — who had watched her approach without looking away even for a second.
“Thank you, James,” she whispered.
She sat down across from him, under his gaze, and finally tasted the food.
It was really good — better than she expected him to be able to cook.
It was exactly what she needed: warm, thoughtful… comforting.
She sank into the seat, breathing deeply and closing her eyes.
Without realizing he was holding it, Bucky released the air in his lungs and smiled faintly at the satisfaction on her face.
He turned back to the window, giving her some privacy to eat.
A few minutes passed. The silence felt heavy, anticipatory — like conversations both wanted but neither could start.
Ava still thought about what she’d seen and couldn’t help observing him — especially his eyes. They were tired, but not like before, not lifeless.
She needed to replace the images in her mind with something else.
She needed to see him as he was now, not as the ghost of a past that wasn’t his fault.
Looking at him, she didn’t see a killer. Just Bucky. James.
He returned her gaze eventually, face relaxed. He was present. He didn’t want to force her to talk, but he wanted to know — desperately — how she was, what she saw, how it affected her.
He knew he himself could likely never return to the hell he’d once been in, so watching her go was painful. Watching her return was worse.
He watched her eyes — big, light green, bright, so fast. She was always fast — in a fight, in a comeback, in timing.
But now they seemed dark. Deep. Slow. Like she was broken.
She finished the meal.
“Do you want more?” he asked immediately. His voice low but steady, offering only confidence.
“No, no… It was delicious, thank you again.”
Bucky stood up, took her plate, filled the kettle, and loaded the dishwasher. Then he leaned against the counter facing her.
Ava was staring at a blank spot on the table. When she felt him watching, she lifted her head abruptly. They held eye contact for five seconds — she vanished again.
Bucky narrowed his eyes.
She avoided his gaze, embarrassed and hurting.
He uncrossed his arms slowly — she flickered twice more.
Ava breathed deeply, and when the kettle whistled she tried to stand, but Bucky spoke softly:
“No, Ava. Let me do it.”
She frowned, sighing.
“You don’t have to, James.”
“I know.”
He said it simply and grabbed her mug — another gift from Yelena — preparing two chamomile bags for her and one for himself. He placed everything in front of her, along with sugar and a spoon.
Ava sweetened her tea as he got milk from the fridge. She thanked him with a quick smile and nod, looked toward the window as he prepared his own. Then she breathed deeply and spoke.
“James?”
“Yes?”
“What did I miss while I was gone?”
She still faced the window.
“Do you want the long or the short version?”
“The long one.”
“Right… As soon as you left, Valentina paused all media work for a week so the public wouldn’t notice your absence right away.”
He looked at the window now too.
“We basically had a week off here at the Tower. Nothing major happened, but I imagine you’ll want to know Yelena was really tense about you leaving.”
He paused to give her space for a reaction. She stayed quiet — flickered again. He continued.
“After that she decided she’d work with John. He’s on a forced good-deeds tour across the U.S. doing charity, trying to fix his image. No one’s fully buying it, but people seem to be warming up a bit, which is already something.”
He sipped his tea. She nodded slowly, like saying go on. Flicker.
“Yelena, Bob, and Alexei left for Russia two weeks ago. Press work, similar to John’s, but more in line with their culture. Definitely Valentina’s idea, but Alexei agreed immediately — obviously.”
“But what does Bob have to do with Russia?” Ava asked, genuinely confused.
“Nothing, really. But he had nothing else to do, and Yelena didn’t want to leave him alone here… She told me they’d be back in a few days.”
Ava still looked confused.
He gave a quick smile.
“Yes, they seem close. But I haven’t seen anything you haven’t already noticed.”
She nodded, took a sip of tea, set the cup down. Silence fell — she flickered again, face tense.
He watched her, brow furrowed, jaw tight. She didn’t seem worried about the flickering — almost like she used the stable moments to grab the cup, expecting the instability but unwilling to fight it.
Ava lifted her eyes to his. Bucky opened his mouth, but she cut him off.
“You still haven’t said what you have been doing. You look worried.”
“It’s not about me, Ava,” he said low, serious, meeting her eyes.
“I’m asking about you, James. What did you do this past month?”
She held his gaze even as her body flickered again.
He inhaled deeply.
“I made the definitive decision to leave Congress. It wasn’t for me. And I had no real power before — and after the Void and that woman, I just don’t fit there anymore. It’s not that I gave up, but… yes, I threw in the towel. Accepted defeat. I went for a few days, handed in my resignation, came back earlier today. And now I’m here.”
He looked down while speaking, only lifting his eyes for the last sentence.
“You don’t fit with their corruption,” she said plainly.
“I don’t think so either…”
Ava got up, set her mug in the sink, then moved to stand right in front of him, leaning on the counter.
Her body was gradually tiring; the pain growing. She didn’t want to put on the uncomfortable suit again, didn’t want to sleep yet — she just wanted to return to the reality of the Tower, the quiet safety she had learned to love silently.
She focused on his eyes — a darker shade of blue in the dim light. She alternated between them, noticing how the left one seemed just barely darker than the right.
Bucky wanted to say something — anything.
He wanted to ask what was happening, wanted to hold her steady, wanted to say he was worried, that he had been the entire month. Wanted to say he missed her. Wanted to apologize for the pain he caused her the first time they met.
He breathed deeply under her stare and reduced everything to one stupid line:
“Ava, stay here.”
“I am here, James.”
She knew what he meant, but wasn’t ready to face it.
“No, I mean… don’t disappear. Talk to me. You’re not okay.”
Bucky exhaled heavily.
“I don’t want to be intrusive, but I want to know what happened…
Ava finally looked away, breathing shallowly under the influence of the pain, now completely clear, a knot forming in her throat.
“Just ask.”
“Why are you unstable?” He took one step closer, only to make his presence known.
“I’m very tired, in every sense. I had to shift too much, it was exhausting.” She looked at him again. “Now I’m like this, and the effort to keep myself stable is more than I can manage right now.”
“Are you in pain?” Bucky whispered.
“Yes, but holding myself together hurts more than… this.”
“Is there anything that could help you?”
“I don’t think so. For now I just need to wait, to make sure I won’t risk phasing through my bed while I sleep.”
“Then can I keep you company?”
Ava froze for a moment; it wasn’t like him to offer company, but nothing about this moment was usual. “I’d appreciate that.”
Bucky nodded and let silence fall again. Both of them returned their gaze to the city outside the window. A few minutes passed like that. Ava was still flickering, and her breathing grew heavier; the pain increased and now her eyes were filled with tears she really did not want to let fall. Bucky wanted to do something—his fist was clenched at his side—but he had no idea what to do. He felt frustrated at being useless, and the sound of her staggered breathing was torture.
Ava needed to distract herself, needed to do something, so she opened her mouth and let the one thought tormenting her slip out.
“James, do you remember when we were in Siberia during your Winter Soldier years?” She looked at him, waiting to read something in his expression. Bucky closed his eyes tight, shook his head in denial—to himself, clearly.
“Ava, why do you want to talk about that?”
“I read a lot about you during that trip. At some point I picked up some Siberian training reports. A large file caught my attention, and I grabbed it to flip through. It was ours.” Ava wiped a stubborn tear that insisted on falling. She looked up at the ceiling, took a deep breath, then met his attentive eyes again. “I didn’t read any of it. I couldn’t. I just put it away… but I can’t stop remembering it. I can’t believe that was you. Not in any way.”
Bucky was tense. He didn’t want to interrupt her, but watching her cry for the first time was hard to face without doing anything, especially when she kept fading out of sight over and over.
“Ava, I’m sorry… I—”
“No, James. I know. I know you wouldn’t have done anything if you’d had a choice. I see that now… I’m seeing it now.” Ava stared directly into his eyes. She fought to hold herself together; she didn’t want to be collapsing while talking about this, and she managed for a while. He watched her closely, reading in her expressions exactly how hard she was trying to stay upright. Suddenly, Ava bit her lip and looked away, and he swallowed hard, taking another small step forward to draw her attention back.
As they looked at each other, a sharp wave of pain hit her abdomen, making her bend forward as her legs buckled. Ava let out a muffled cry and began to lose her balance while disappearing partially from sight again. Bucky moved immediately to catch her before she fell; with both hands out, he held her by the shoulders, pulling her upright and searching her eyes.
He didn’t want to panic—her situation was already bad enough—but he had no idea what to do, and she seemed reluctant to say what she was feeling.
Ava felt the same kind of pain she’d endured for most of her life—the uncontrolled kind. She knew she would probably have to put the suit back on, and the thought of becoming its hostage again made her mix tears of pain with tears of genuine sadness. Ava collapsed forward for both reasons, and her whole body began to tremble. She had no control left and wished she could simply forget everything tormenting her now—wished she could stop feeling a pain with no cure.
Then, suddenly, it stopped.
Bucky was still holding her firmly upright, looking into her eyes with a desperate expression. Ava felt a faint vibration spreading through her entire body from the place where he touched her. She no longer felt pain. She wasn’t flickering.
A soft sigh of relief escaped her, unconscious, and she closed her eyes as she regained her breath. Her weight leaned slightly forward, and she rested her forehead against Bucky’s shoulder, sobbing softly, embarrassed, whispering, “I’m sorry, forgive me.”
He was completely confused. He had no idea what was happening. Ava trembled under his touch and cried quietly, but she didn’t seem to be hurting. Bucky’s heart was racing and his mouth went dry.
“Ava, talk to me, please. What are you feeling?” His voice was firm, on purpose, trying to bring her some kind of stability.
She didn’t answer immediately. She lifted her head, opened her teary eyes, and found his, intensely searching for something—anything. She raised her hands and touched his forearms. Then she realized: the moment her right hand met his left arm—the Vibranium one—the same comforting vibration surged through her again.
She finally took a deep breath, eyes widening slightly.
“Your arm…” she whispered. “James… don’t let go.”
Her voice had a pleading tone that cut through him like a blade.
“I won’t… I won’t.”
She let her forehead rest on his shoulder again. For a few seconds there was pure silence, and then she cried out loud. Her hands began to shake; her shoulders rose and fell. Bucky froze. No one in that house had ever seen Ava shed a single tear, and now she cried like a lost child. He was conflicted with himself, but he knew she needed comfort above all—and he, above all, wanted to comfort her.
He still didn’t understand how his prosthetic arm was helping her, but she was physically stable, and for now, that was enough.
Ava let out another muffled sob, pulling Bucky back into the urgency of the moment. He moved slowly: first loosening his grip on her shoulders, then gently sliding his human hand to the back of her neck, and the Vibranium one to her back. He pulled her close, calmly, and she simply let him. Ava wrapped her arms around his waist and let him hold her completely.
Ava hated herself for this—for appearing weak—but she couldn’t take it anymore. The pain, the fear, the past… she had been alone through all of it, and she’d revisited it alone again. But he saw her. He had seen her earlier, and he was here now.
She forced herself to calm down enough to explain what was wrong, what had happened, what she saw there. Ava knew how confusing all this must be for him; she could feel it in the tension in his muscles.
After several minutes, she finally managed to steady her breathing, resting her head on his shoulder. Bucky held her gently, giving her space. He was uneasy—his breathing wasn’t calm, though controlled—and he remained tense beneath the feather-light movements of his hand in her hair.
Ava inhaled deeply before speaking, hoarse and muffled.
“The Vibranium. It stabilizes me… I think.”
Bucky tightened his hold slightly, unconsciously. “Did you know?”
“No. Not at all. I can’t explain it, but when you touched me, the pain stopped.”
“Then we’ll get you some Vibranium.”
Ava nodded and shifted out of the embrace just enough to wipe her eyes, hiding her face in her hands and taking a deep breath. Bucky watched her body language—she was definitely stable now, but he didn’t dare remove his hand from her to test the opposite.
“Tomorrow I promise I’ll be better.” Ava still had her face half-hidden against him.
“It’s okay if you’re not completely fine, Ava,” he said quietly, serious.
“I don’t want to use you for—”
“Ava, look at me.”
He moved quickly, pulling her hands away and holding her again by the sides of her shoulders, forcing her to face him. Ava slowly lowered her hands and met his eyes—bright. She relaxed under his grip.
“You don’t have to apologize for things that aren’t your fault, understood?”
She tried to look away and he sought her gaze again.
“Ava, I remember Siberia. I remember all the times. That’s one of the things you’re not guilty of. And don’t say that I wasn’t guilty either—I already know that, but you need to know it too.”
He softened his voice and waited. She said nothing, only stared back.
Then he continued:
“You need rest. How do you want to do that?”
Ava looked confused for a moment, and then realized: she couldn’t get through the night without him. She didn’t want to rest, not yet, but her body was heavy—standing was no longer an option. She used both hands to hold his metal arm. He let her go completely while she decided in silence.
Ava took his hand—not intertwining their fingers—and walked toward the sofa, pulling him along. They moved together and sat down. She, at his left side, kept holding his hand and leaned against him again. He let her settle, then dropped his head fully back.
“James? Can I ask you something about that time?”
“Mhm.”
“Do you remember fighting beside me on some mission in Latvia?”
“Mhm,” he breathed, eyes closed, absentmindedly drumming his fingers against her hand, visibly tired.
“I can’t remember.” Ava spoke softly. Bucky opened his eyes immediately, squinting at her.
“You don’t remember how it went? Or…?”
“Yeah. I don’t even remember being there… but I read a report. There were pictures of us in the field. It said it took us a week to complete the mission. I think they did something to me, James.”
She toyed with his hand while she spoke, sliding her open palm against his, feeling the vibration move with the touch—mostly to distract herself.
“No. Don’t do that,” Bucky said, watching her.
“I don’t know how to process this, James… I thought I had control over my own mind, at least that part of it, you know?” She made a half-movement to intertwine their fingers, then hesitated, distracted by her own thoughts.
“What are you feeling about it?” he whispered.
“Nothing… but I’m scared it’s true, James. I’m scared I was stolen from myself.” Ava deliberately avoided his eyes; she knew how painfully true that sentence was in his own life.
“No… You weren’t there. I lied. The files were fake.” Bucky stared at her, gave a tense, self-deprecating smile.
She stared at their hands and let out a small breath of laughter through her nose.
“That’s not how it works.” She placed her hand over his and went still.
“I know,” he murmured, then intertwined their fingers and pressed a brief kiss to her temple before pulling back.
Silence fell—heavy, dense with things neither would say. Bucky kept his eyes closed, head tilted back, lightly stroking her hand. She watched the motion and became aware of how close they were. She hesitated, and he noticed immediately.
“Ava, are you okay?” he asked carefully, barely moving.
“I think it was too much at once… for one night.”
“You need rest.” He squeezed her hand gently.
“I don’t want it to be weird, James.” She lifted her gaze and met his. Bucky looked away. “But I need you to come with me.”
He ignored the implication entirely—for the sake of his own sanity, which he’d been holding together by threads since the moment she arrived. He took a deep breath.
“Why do you call me by my name?”
“I feel awful calling you Winter Soldier. And I don’t want to refer to you the same way the others do.”
“Why?”
“Because I met you first. I met you different.”
The sentence hung in the air between them, dense.
They were very close, whispering to each other, neither breaking eye contact.
Bucky slipped—his gaze dropped a few centimeters for a fraction of a second.
He realized instantly there was no excuse, no defense; he had let something escape that was definitely not meant to happen—not today, not now.
At that moment he became hyper-aware of their intertwined hands and stopped the rhythmic motion he’d been doing for the last several minutes.
Ava noticed all of it, and for a moment—
“James…” she murmured.
“No. Don’t say anything, please. Don’t say anything. I’m sorry.”
Bucky shut his eyes tight. He started to get up while still holding her hand. He wouldn’t let go, but he also wanted to run from the moment.
“You need to rest. Let’s go.”
Ava nodded and stood up—then stopped.
“I saw that, James.”
He turned his head. “I know.”
She brought her free hand to his forearm, still seeking his eyes.
“Not now… okay?”
He looked at her again, wanting to be sure he understood her correctly. She didn’t look away. She didn’t falter.
In that moment he realized how dangerous she truly was—but she was right. It simply wasn’t the time.
Bucky nodded, but she still didn’t move.
Ava was in a much deeper internal conflict than she could process rationally—she was vulnerable and exhausted, and she couldn’t afford to be impulsive.
…
They were lying on her bed, not too close, but still…
Ava was curled up, clutching Bucky’s arm—the one he kept completely still so he wouldn’t wake her. His hand rested open against her thigh, only because it naturally fit there.
Ava breathed near his neck, though none of it was intentional.
Neither of them slept; both were caught in their own thoughts, far away yet entirely focused on each other.
At some point, she whispered very softly, using the last spark of energy she had:
“Are you awake?”
“Yes…?” His voice vibrated, low.
“Don’t tell anyone you saw me cry, okay?”
“Of course, Ava.”
“James?”
“Uhm?”
“Thank you.”
Bucky moved just enough to press a gentle kiss to the top of her head.
“Goodnight, Ava.”