Archive of Our Own

She slowly wakes up to pain setting her body on fire.

That, unfortunately, wasn't at all new.

But what is new is how the pain seems to be localized in a specific part of her body. Just on the abdomen. Compared to that, she doesn't seem to be hurt somewhere else, though her limbs do currently feel like dead weights attached to her person. 

Which was odd, to say the least. She'd been too used to feeling her skin crawling with crackling pain that the absence of it felt more concerning rather than comforting. 

For a moment, she tried to remember what had happened. Why she was feeling this way. Did her latest assignment go horribly wrong? Has she been compromised? But surely she'd remember that, right? Especially since SHIELD doesn't take kindly to failure?

Then she heard voices.

Loud ones.

"I'm not answering that."

"I answered the last five calls, asshole. You answer him this time."

"Then make this the sixth, dipshit. And he called your phone, not mine. Obviously, that means he wants to talk to you."

"Well--"

"Answer it, Walker. Before poor man gets heart attack on plane."

"Quinjet, Alexei."

"I don't care, Bob."

"Fine. Fine, god." A pause, then a sharp inhale. "Hey, man. Yeah, yeah she's--"

The voice cuts off, coinciding with the sound of a door closing right after.

All the while, she keeps herself still on the bed.

This, she thinks, is also new. She's never had this many people in her space for as long as she could remember. Most of those who came to her seemed bent on staying away - behind closed doors, behind glass walls, behind some kind of partition or barrier that could prevent her from harming them. So for these people to stand so near to her now--

Either they didn't know what she could do, or they're aware that she's basically rendered helpless now.

Fuck that.

Her eyes slowly open on their own.

And the first thing she sees is lights.

Then a white, dimpled ceiling.

And then--

"She's awake! Lena, Alexei--"

Suddenly, her bed is surrounded by three individuals looking down at her: a short, blonde woman, a large man wearing a red headpiece, and a nervous-looking one with his hands clasped in front of him.

The woman's mouth thins in a single line for a moment before she grabs her hand, kisses the back of it, and says, "You're awake. You're awake. Thank god." 

"My tiny ghost," says the large man in a Russian accent, voice wobbly as he squeezes her foot. "I knew it. You are strong. You have survived."

And the younger man smiles at her and says, "Hey, Ava. Welcome back. You scared the heck out of us."

Her eyes move from one to the next, trying to place their tired, filthy-looking faces. Wondering why they're touching her so freely.

And coming up empty.

But one thing is for sure:

They don't look like scientists from SHIELD.

They don't look like scientists at all.

Or anyone from the organization who regularly dropped by to observe her recovery after each time she came back bleeding from a gunshot or a stab wound, jotting down their notes in books or tablets or whatnot, instead of helping her deal with the pain.

At least with those people, Ava knew what was expected from her. What she could expect from them.

She has no such knowledge with these ones, however.

The instinct to run, to phase away from them, flares up. But with the pain raging in her abdomen and the heaviness in her limbs, Ava's certain she couldn't go very far from them, even if she wanted to.

Which means she needs to stay put. Observe.

For now.

Her throat feels absolutely scratchy. Swallowing a bit, she voices out, "Where--?"

Where am I?

Because that was another thing:

This place did not look like a regular SHIELD facility. Or her paltry quarters in it.

"Hospital," the nervous-looking man replies eagerly. "Your injuries were too severe to be treated in the Watchtower medbay, so we thought--"

"My tiny ghost," the older man says again, grabbing her other hand this time and holding it in both his gigantic ones. "You have survived large building falling on you. I am impressed. Truly a feat worthy of Red Guardian."

"And she wouldn't have to do it," the blonde woman snipes, moving some of the hair out of Ava's eyes with brisk movements, "if you didn't go charging back into a collapsing facility just to retrieve your stupid fucking hat. Like a stupid fucking idiot."

"Is true," the older man admits, sounding very sad about it. "But understand, Lena. This is part of my identity." He points at his headgear.

"And it's all that's gonna be left of you if Bucky ever finds out it's why she got seriously hurt in the first place," the woman apparently called Lena replies.

The two men exchange glances.

"Maybe--" the younger one says timidly. "Maybe we don't let him find out for now...?"

"Yes, yes," the older one agrees, finally dropping her hand and nodding vigorously. "I like that plan. Very solid plan, Bob."

“I make no promises.” Then the woman sighs loudly before turning to Ava again.

But before she could say anything, the door opened again, and in came a blond man with broad shoulders and a clearly military bearing, but not a clearly military uniform.

Bloody fantastic, Ava thinks. Another person she doesn't recognize. Another person who doesn't look like they’re from SHIELD.

But the moment he spots her, something loosens in his expression. "Thank god you're awake," he says with great feeling, stepping closer to her bed and crossing his arms. "At least now I have something new to tell your helicopter husband when he calls. There's only so many ways I can say 'she's stable' without it starting to sound weird in my head."

Ava frowns at him.

Either her hearing's gone to shit, or they're the ones spouting nonsense for some goddamned reason.

"My--" she starts. "My what?"

"Hus-band," the woman beside her enunciates. "The love of your life? The one you're actively doing gross things with in the Watchtower? Probably more so now after this." She gestures down at the bed, her face pinched. “Should probably ready bleach for my eyes just in case.”

And Ava frowns at her now.

Because nothing in what she'd just said made any bloody fucking sense.

The monitor beside her bed starts beeping wildly - like it's actively calling out these people on their shit on her behalf.

“Hey, what's--" the younger man called Bob says, looking concerned as he looks at the machine. "Ava?"

"Hey, hey," the blond one says, coming to stand closer to her head now. He glances at the monitor, frowns, and announces, "Heart rate's going crazy. BP, too." Then he addresses her directly. "You okay? Talk to us. Do you need us to call someone?"

"I will call doctor," the Russian man says, charging out of the room before anyone can stop him.

The woman reaches for Ava's hand and says, "Okay, let’s all just calm down. I am sure--"

Except Ava snatches her hand away this time.

The sheer vehemence of the action makes the three of them still.

"Ava?" Bob quietly repeats.

And she scoffs at him.

"You all keep saying my name," she finally blurts out, even if the insides of her mouth felt like dust right after, "like you know me."

The three exchange glances.

"The hell are you talking about?" the blond man demands, voice clipped. "We do know you."

"Oh, goodie." She finds the strength to glare at him now. "Then that makes one of us, doesn't it?"

He looks at her like she'd just slapped him.

Opposite him, the blonde woman straightens. "You-- Ava, do you not recognize us?" she asks finally.

Ava lets her silence answer for her, choosing to stare straight up at the ceiling instead.

And soon, the stillness of the room is interrupted by the sound of a loudly ringing phone.

The blonde takes out a mobile from her pocket, glances at it, and laughs without humor. "Oh, great. Fantastic. It's like Bucky can immediately sense there's something wrong with your brain."

Bucky.

There’s that name again. The one that feels like it has weight.

Like she's heard it somewhere before, but she couldn't remember where, exactly. Or when.

It doesn't matter either way.

Because, either way, it's meaningless to her now.

On the other side of the world, Bucky feels as though he hasn't stopped moving for days.

He had successfully finished the last leg of his solo mission - the one he's been busy with for the past week.  Pretty standard stuff: surveillance. Extraction. Retrieval.

He'd just handed over the target to the authorities when the team's private comms channel lit up.

For a moment, Bucky just stared at it. No one uses this particular line unless there is a serious emergency. Unless one of them was practically on death’s door. Even his team of skilled idiots wasn't stupid enough to clog it with noise when it's reserved for a very specific reason. That's why, thankfully, it hadn't been used in years.

And now it was ringing. Nonstop.

Which meant--

He’d steeled himself before replying, "What is it?"

"Bucky," Yelena's voice comes in, loud and composed, "do not panic."

Absolutely the wrong thing to say to a person they don't want panicking, by the way.

He turned away from the men talking behind him and asked, "What the hell happened?"

Yelena sighed. "You will not like this, but… I'm just gonna say it, then. It's... It's Ava.” She paused for a moment. "She got hurt."

And the world absolutely tilted.

Yelena kept talking. Something about a building collapse. Something about Ava and Alexei getting caught up in it. But while Alexei was able to escape with mild injuries, Ava--

"She alive?" Bucky asked, already heading out of the office without any sort of debriefing or dismissal. Quinjet, he thought. He needed to get to the Quinjet now.

"Yes. But she's currently in surgery."

The word made Bucky stop in his tracks.

Surgery.

God.

Surgery meant serious.

Surgery meant unconscious.

Surgery meant Ava couldn't 'I'm fine' her way out of her injuries.

"Come back now," Yelena urged him. "We're at hospital. I'll send you the coordinates."

"On my way," he replied before hanging up.

That had been twenty-nine hours ago. Because his latest mission had him on actual continents away from his wife when a fucking building collapsed on her.

And every mile standing between him and her now felt like a personal offense committed by the universe against him. 

He spent the majority of those hours glued to his phone.

Calling Yelena.

Calling John.

Yelena.

John.

John. 

John.

Then Yelena again.

The updates he got were clipped, delivered in rough voices that, like him, were from people robbed of peace and sleep.

"Surgery's ongoing."

"No changes, man. She's still in there."

"We are waiting for updates. Have you eaten? You probably haven’t. You should eat. Hospital food’s very shitty."

"Still in there. Just get here as soon as you can, Buck."

Right.

Like Bucky's choosing to take his time going back to New York. Because, even as an Avenger, crossing countries means there are still rules to be followed. Protocols.

He fucking hates those words now. 

Still, now and then, he calls. Bucky could hear irritation and exhaustion threading their voices, but couldn't find it in himself to care.

After all, they were the ones with Ava when she got hurt. Let them learn how to fucking deal with him calling every ten goddamn minutes because he wasn't there to see her situation for himself.

Thankfully, none of his calls goes ignored for long. Like they all knew his sanity depended on what they're telling him.

Then, hours later: "Surgery's done. She's being moved to the recovery room as we speak."

And Bucky feels his chest loosen the tiniest bit.

"She okay?" he asks John.

"Doctor said the surgery was successful. They expect her to recover well."

"She awake?"

"No. I don’t think so. We're not allowed in, so we haven’t seen her yet. But she's stable, Barnes. Doctor said so."

"Okay." Bucky sighs and rubs his face. "Okay. Call me when you see her."

"Will do."

And his slow, arduous journey to her continues. 

He's about an hour away from New York when he gets hold of Yelena again.

"What's her status?" he asks, already expecting a variation of the same old spiel he'd been hearing from John. She's stable. She's sleeping, but she's stable. She's fine, Barnes. We're looking out for her. You can relax now.

Except this time, Yelena laughs. "Everything's wonderful," she replies. "Absolutely fucking fantastic."

Bucky frowns at his phone. "Yelena."

"I think you'll be very pleased to know that your wife is awake," she tells him. 

He pauses.

Because that had been the best news he’s heard all day.

"She is?" he confirms, leaning forward in his seat. "Are you there with her? Can I talk to her?" He just really, really needed to hear her voice, that's all.

"Mm, no," the Russian blithely replies. "Not really."

"Why the fuck not?"

"Because I haven't told you yet the most unpleasant part."

The fact that she's dragging it out this long means whatever it was really was unpleasant. "Yelena."

"She doesn't remember us."

The update was delivered very lightly.

The meaning beneath it was anything but.

"--What?" Bucky asks, voice suddenly very, very quiet, trying to make sense of it. "What do you mean--"

On the other end of the line, Yelena sighs. "John's talking to the doctor. I hear something about anesthesia complications. Temporary amnesia or some shitty surgery side effect, I don't know. They think it’ll go away in a few days, but we're told to monitor things meantime."

Bucky exhales in frustration.

Because of course.

Of course it wasn't enough that a fucking building fell on his wife; now she has to deal with a complicated recovery, too. Amnesia, of all things.

"How far away are you?" she asks him. "Maybe all she needs for her memory to come back is seeing your ugly face. Like in the American movies Bob likes so much."

Bucky rubs his forehead. "ETA's less than an hour. I'm coming."

"You'd better. But prepare yourself, Buck. It's not pretty."

And then Yelena hangs up. 

Ava stares at the doctor in front of her, clearly unimpressed.

Because she knows her name.

Knows her past. 

Knows what year it is.

Or what it should have been, except he's frowning when he jots her answer down.

Then he pulls the military man aside - Walker, Ava thinks - and she hears him say that he believes the combination of her internal injuries, stress, and reaction to the anesthesia led her to develop some form of postoperative amnesia. 

All because she doesn't recognize the idiots occupying the hospital room she's in. 

"Ava, you--" Bob starts, looking heartbroken, of all things. "You really don't remember any of us?"

She levels a stare at him. "Should I?"

Lena fixes something on her blanket before chuckling. "Well. We have only been living and working together for the past five years, saving the world and shit every other Thursday, so, yeah. I think you should."

Bob sighs. "Lena."

"What?" she says, crossing her arms now. "I only say what we are all thinking."

Ava snorts.

Because of all the things they were telling her, probably among the most unbelievable - aside from the fact that she was married to god knows who - is the fact that she’s supposed to be an Avenger now.

Like somehow, all the regular-looking people in this room had replaced heroes and gods alike as Earth's mightiest protectors. Like any of them had the right to stand alongside Steve Rogers or Thor and call them their predecessors.

Least of all, her.

It was a shitty, shitty lie. 

And the worst part is that Ava doesn't even know why they're hell-bent on making her believe it. Or why they want her to believe that she somehow ended up almost ten years into the future. Because if their goal is to confuse the fuck out of her, then they're clearly succeeding. But if their goal is something else entirely--

Lena's mobile rings again. 

That's become part of their day now, too.

And Ava's heard enough bits and pieces to realize that every call placed to Lena and John concerned her.

Like the person at the other end was hell-bent on knowing every update.

Like the person at the other end was monitoring her through them.

Lena doesn't even bother stepping out when she answers. "You said you'd be here an hour ago. Where the hell are--"

Then she blinks.

"Oh. You're here? Where?" Then she bolts out of the room.

Alexei exhales loudly and pats Ava's shoulder before she swats him off. "Very good. Husband has come. Maybe our ghost's scrambled brain will now be fixed by love."

From his seat near the door, Walker massages his forehead and comments, "Please stop talking." Then he pauses, looks at Ava, and says, "Actually, you know what? It'll be good if that happens. Because then that means you're recovering well, and not... this."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she snaps.

"It means I don't like it that you're looking at us like we're strangers instead of--"

"--family," Bob cuts in softly - before visibly shrinking into himself when Ava glares at him. 

Walker glances at him and then just says, "What he said."

Family, Ava repeats to herself quietly.

For so long, family had only meant Bill Foster.

But he wasn't here now.

And because she couldn’t help herself, she'd asked them about his whereabouts earlier that day. But all she got in return was a collectively confused, "Who?"

Which only proved these idiots weren't from SHIELD, because everyone in there knew who Bill was, and what he was to her.

Ava never bothered asking about him again. There'll be an opportunity to find out the truth about him - about everything - later.

She'll just have to make one, that's all.

And she’ll just have to conserve her energy until then.

"You look awful," Yelena blurts out as soon as he steps out of the elevator.

Bucky nods at her. "Thanks. You, too. How's Ava?"

"Sarcastic," she replies, falling into step beside him. "Sharp. Trusts absolutely no one. If not for fact that she keeps acting like we’re strangers to her, I'll almost believe she's just fine."

That makes him stop in his tracks. "How far back does she remember? Do you know?" 

Yelena crosses her arms. "Well, she thinks today’s actually ten years ago. So all her years with us are just. Gone from her brain. Like smoke." She bobs her head, acting like the fact doesn't bother her - except it totally, obviously did. "SHIELD is all she remembers. But she also asked about someone named Bill. Bill Foster. Do you know him?"

Bill Foster.

Bucky nods, remembering the conversations he and Ava had about him. "Former SHIELD scientist. He was the one who took her in from the orphanage in Argentina, and again when SHIELD collapsed."

"Is he still alive?" Yelena asks, point-blank.

He hesitates. "All I know is that Ava's still trying to track him down, but so far there's been no news or sighting of him after the Blip."

"So. Most likely dead," she comments. "She would not like hearing that now."

No. No, she would not. "Ten years,” he murmurs. “What do we know about her from ten years ago?”

“Aside from her being in a lab prison then? Not much.” Yelena shrugs. "I have tried asking her many, many questions, of course, but is like talking to brick wall. She doesn't trust any of us, Buck. Nor does she believe anything we say."

"Well," he says, rubbing his eyes and thinking about how he hasn't slept for almost forty hours now, "how chatty and trusting would you be if you woke up in a room full of strangers asking you things?"

She sighs. "I hate when you make sense." Then Yelena pulls him forward again. "Come on. Let's see if seeing you jogs her memory, because we sure as hell don’t."

Bucky lets himself be dragged, not liking the uncertainty that engulfs him now.

He'd crossed continents nonstop just to be by her side.

But now that she lies mere steps away, he could feel his chest fill with uncertainty.

Because the Ava that's waiting in the hospital room isn't the same Ava he'd thoroughly kissed goodbye before leaving for his mission.

She's not the same Ava who pretended annoyance at the littlest affection she received from the team. 

This Ava was from before.

Before the New Avengers. Before friendships. Before love.

Before him.

Speaking of--

"Does she know?" he asks Yelena. "About me?"

"Which part of 'she doesn't remember us' do you not get?" she snipes at him.

"No," Bucky says, pulling his arm away from her hold. "No. I mean, did you mention to her that I'm-- you know." Then he gestures at the wedding ring on his left hand. "With her."

Yelena blinks. "Oh." She thinks back on that. "Pretty sure I mentioned she had a husband."

"And?"

"Pretty sure she thinks I'm bullshitting her about that, too."

"...Right," he snorts, feigning nonchalance about the whole thing. "Of course she would."

Yelena looks at his face. Then she sighs again and says, "Just... go talk to her. Can't hurt at this point, can it? I mean, what’s the worst that could happen?"

Bucky looks toward the hospital room door.

And immediately hates how nervous he feels about opening it, for some reason.

Ava feels herself waiting.

For what, she couldn't say. Just that all her nerves are lit up. Like her body's anticipating something, but for the life of her, she didn't know what, exactly.

For an attack, maybe. She'd long since spotted the batons on the Russian woman's back. The military man was curiously carrying a bent shield behind him and two large guns holstered on his hips. Even the large Russian man had an assortment of weapons attached to his belt.

Of all of them, only Bob seemed unarmed and out of any sort of uniform. 

It was strange, actually. If they were armed and sent to kill her, shouldn't they have done so by now?

But, no. They were all kind to her. Attentive to her needs. Alexei kept asking her if she wanted to eat. Walker kept reminding him that she's on a liquid diet, before asking if she actually wanted one of those liquid foodstuffs anyway so he could tell the nurse about it. Bob keeps fluffing her pillows, then adjusting the thermostat wordlessly after he catches her mildly shivering.  

Nothing about their actions made any bloody sense.

Then the hospital room opens slowly.

And the world absolutely tilts.

Because the man stepping inside it is--

No.

No.

She's heard about his existence from other SHIELD operatives. The ones who were “lucky” enough to get deployed alongside him. The ones who crowed about how fast and efficient he'd been at executing high-value targets. No bullets wasted; just spilled blood and certain death in seconds. She'd read about his file too, because more than once, she'd been suggested to work with him - only to be pulled out of every opportunity at the last minute. 

He's HYDRA's most efficient, most prized weapon. The one they utilize when they want results without question.

And now he was here. In the flesh.

Why?

Why now?

And more importantly--

--Why is no one else alarmed by his arrival?

If anything, Walker, Alexei, and Bob only appeared relieved that he was here.

Walker even claps him on the shoulder. "Finally. You made it, Bucky."

Bucky.

The name they kept mentioning earlier - the one who kept calling them, the one who kept tabs on her - had a face now. 

And it belonged to none other than The Winter Soldier.

Who barely acknowledged Walker at his side, busy as he was staring intently at her.

"Ava," he says, voice low. “Hey.”

…shit.

Fuck.

Shit.

The Winter Soldier, apparently, has come for her now.

And she uses everything in her damaged body to keep perfectly still, despite instinct practically begging her to phase away.

She’d never hated her weakened state so much until now.

Ava watches him approach the bed carefully. In person, he seems much, much bigger. The metal arm - the one that could squeeze necks with barely a thought, the one that could handle any weapon without difficulty - is masterfully hidden under a worn-looking jacket. He looks older in person, too. More exhausted. More man than executioner.

Still, she can't help but recognize that he's easily the most dangerous person in the room right now.

Especially to her.

Lena comes into the room right after him. She takes one look at Bucky and Ava before clapping loudly and saying, "Alright, then! Kids, it's time we leave the lovebirds alone."

Ava glances at her quickly. 

Lovebirds?

Then she thinks back on what they said about her earlier.

Specifically, about her being married to someone.

And that someone apparently was–

Oh.

…oh.

In front of her, Bucky actually winces. 

Alexei rocks on his heels before approaching Bucky and slapping him on the shoulder, grinning lewdly all the while. "I think tiny ghost's memories just need husband's touch. So we give you opportunity, yes? For touching to happen?"

He merely sighs. "Alexei. I need you to shut up right now."

Lena practically drags Walker and Bob out of the door after herding Alexei out. Then she tells Bucky, "Call us if you need anything. Or don't. Whatever you want. Have fun!" And then she closes the door behind her.

Leaving Ava alone with the fucking Winter Soldier.

Ah, she thinks.

So this was what her body was bracing for, then.

For a second, Bucky was able to delude himself into thinking that Ava would be okay. That the moment he steps inside the hospital room, her face will light up, she’ll reach for him with both hands, and then angle her head up for a kiss that she knows is coming.

Except this version of her didn't do any of that.

She only keeps watching his approach, looking extremely wary. Like he’s just another stranger coming into her orbit. Still, Bucky would take it. This Ava was alive. This Ava was conscious. This Ava was injured, but at least she's still breathing.

He could work with that.

Anything's better than Ava being dead. 

Bucky takes a step closer to the bed, and he could've sworn he saw her eyes widen in fear before she fully schooled her features into a look of complete neutrality. 

She'd always been exceptionally good at pretending she wasn't afraid.

Or hurting.

And now she was both, and she doesn't even trust him enough to admit either.

He wasn’t prepared for how much the realization could sting.

"Hey, doll," he says, modulating his voice so he sounds gentler somehow. He places his hands inside his pockets, sees her tracking those movements with distrustful eyes, too.

She doesn't say anything. Merely looks at him with a guarded expression.

His chest tightens. There's nothing he wants to do more right now than to rush to her side, check her injuries, and draw her into his arms. Just to remind himself - remind both of them - that she was still here. That they both were.

Except the woman on the bed doesn't seem open to that idea.

"Do you--" he starts, uncertain, "--do you know who I am?"

She purses her lips.

For a moment, he's convinced she isn't going to respond to him.

Then she speaks, her voice sounding strained, "You're Bucky."

A beat.

And it's stupid how relieved he feels that she knows his name.

That she knows him.

"Yeah," he says, a small smile appearing on his face now. Bucky takes another careful step and adds, "Yeah, that's... that's me, doll. You remember?"

Ava tilts her head. "They keep mentioning your name earlier," she tells him. “And your face. I know it from somewhere.”

Then she continues:

"After all, SHIELD does keep tabs on the Winter Soldier’s activities."

And Bucky stills.

An ugly realization crashes down on him all at once, dread immediately replacing the relief in his chest.

Because, apparently, she knows him, yes. 

But not as her husband. Not even as a teammate. 

Just as the fucking Winter Soldier. 

He could only imagine what those SHIELD files about him contained. Less about the person, more about the atrocities he’s committed for HYDRA. 

Which fully explains her wariness. The fear carefully buried under forced neutrality.

Because what else should one feel when a known killer walks into their room?

Quickly, Bucky removes his hands from his pockets, just so she can see he was clearly unarmed. Right now, his objective is to be as non-threatening as possible. To appear like hurting her is the farthest thing from his mind.

And in truth, it was.

"That's..." he says, before rubbing the back of his nape. Because what else was he supposed to say? That he was no longer the Winter Soldier? That he's spent years making up for all the wrongs he's done under HYDRA's full control?

That she'd spent most of their relationship convincing him that he'd always been more than his Winter Soldier persona?

So he tells her plainly, "I don’t go by that name anymore."

"I see," she replies, noncommittally.

Silence engulfs them.

Then he asks, not wanting to dwell on the topic any longer, "How are you feeling?"

She shrugs, and the little wince she gives right after makes him want to go to her again - but he doesn't. "Sore." 

Bucky spots a pitcher and a paper cup sitting beside her bed. To make himself useful, he reaches for it and belatedly asks, "Need water?"

Her eyes drop to his metal hand.

And she absolutely freezes on the bed.

It was a tiny reaction. Something that could easily be missed by anyone who hasn't memorized all her microexpressions by heart.

He didn't.

Just as quickly, Ava looks away and answers, "No. No, thank you."

Distant.

Careful. 

Polite.

Bucky sets down the cup again, feeling completely out of his element. Because he could handle a pissed-off Ava. He could handle an emotional Ava, very rare as that was. But this quiet, mostly civil, very controlled version of her?

She was unnerving.

"Right," he says, stepping away from the bed's side now and showing her his hands, palms out. "Okay. Just tell me if you need anything, all right?" 

She glances at his face again.

Then surprises him by pointing out, “You look tired.”

“...Oh. Yeah. I’ve just come back from a mission, actually,” he says offhandedly, looking around for a place to position himself. A place from which he could easily reach her if needed, but not close enough to make her feel like he’s crowding her. He finds the space Bob occupied earlier and goes to it. “It, uh. It went far longer than I’d like.”

Ava frowns at him. “Mission?” And before he could reply, she looked away and added, “You’re part of this, then? The whole ‘New Avengers’ thing?”

“Yeah,” he says again. “Somehow. Funny how life works sometimes, huh.”

The moment he sits down, Bucky could feel his body loosen. Like it recognizes that it’s safe with her nearby. Like it knows he’s home for as long as she’s in the room with him, regardless of whether her memories were there with them or not. Which was mighty unfair to her, he knows. But he couldn’t help it; it’s been ingrained in him even before they got married.

Still, he leans forward, elbows on his knees, and keeps watching her. Sees the way she tenses under his attention. The way she tries to hide it under silence and aloofness.

For several moments, neither of them speaks.

Then he sighs and says, voice low and soothing, “I know this can be overwhelming. I know everything feels off to you right now. But I want you to know that you’re safe with us, doll. You’re safe with me. And this whole memory thing, we’re going to figure it out. Together. Just… focus on getting better, and don’t worry about anything else. All right?”

“Hm,” she says under her breath. “Safe.”

Then she glances at the door before looking back at him. “You look very tired,” Ava repeats, firmer this time. “Shouldn’t you go home with the others and rest?”

“Ava.” Here, Bucky smiles, clearly intending to sound comforting. “I’m not going anywhere.”

It was the worst thing he could have said to her then.

He just doesn’t realize it yet. 

The Winter Soldier, Ava realizes later, was uncomfortably chatty.

He fills the silence with talk. One moment, he was explaining to her why he was away when she’d had her surgery, even though she hadn’t asked and couldn't care less about it. Then he talked about how frustrating the mission itself was. Then he jumped into talking about his cat - an odd thing to have for someone like him, by the way - then about why he was opposed to plans to get a second cat, which was supposedly her idea. Then he moved on to talking about his attempts to learn to cook from Walker and Bob. Particularly, the recipes for the chicken sandwich and the shrimp scampi that she apparently likes a whole lot.

“When we get home,” he says now, leaning back into the chair and closing his eyes, “I’ll cook them for you. And my version will be way better than John’s. Obviously. Also way better than Bob’s. They’ll be the best things you’ll ever eat. I’ll make sure of it.”

The clear affection for her in his voice was something she had no idea what to do with, either. 

Everything about him now - from the way he carries himself, the way he talks to her, to how he acts as if he naturally belonged in her space - is so far removed from the version of the Winter Soldier she had in her head. Because the files SHIELD had painted him as a merciless, cold-blooded monster.

This one, however, acted more like a deeply concerned husband.

Not that he’s forcing her to remember that they’re married. He just seems content with mentioning it now and then. Like the fact that they’re together was as normal and well-known to him as water being wet.

And that just unsettles Ava more.

Because she knows monsters; she’s one herself. Monsters were driven by instinct. By survival. They were easy to understand because they made sense, in a twisted, primal way.

This one, however, doesn’t.

He’s so committed to this bit for no goddamned reason.

Which was why she kept watching him. Hadn’t allowed herself to uncoil while he was around, actually. And if she’d been less trained, less capable, it would have been so easy for her to believe he was being sincere about everything, too.

Then she notices that he hasn’t opened his eyes since closing them about two minutes ago. And something about the way his shoulders loosened, the way his body seemed to fully relax on that chair–

It takes her a second to realize that he’s actually fallen asleep. Right there on his seat. 

For a second, Ava could only stare at him. 

Earlier, she’d tried to convince him to leave - just like Lena and the others did. Because, without them here, it would have been easier for her to make her escape. Of course, the Winter Soldier foiled that by saying, with absolute certainty, that he isn’t going anywhere.

He might as well have said to her face: You aren’t, too.

But now, now, he’s fallen asleep.

Like he’s giving her the opportunity to–

Ava glances at the door.

Then back at him.

For a moment, she contemplated what to do. Was this a trick? Did he purposely leave himself vulnerable to her? Because if he knows who she is, then surely he knows what she can do, right?

Because she can walk up to him now, phase her arm through his chest, and yank his heart out - eliminating the threat before the threat eliminates her. Still, she wasn’t sure if she 100% could. What if his body is protected against her ability? What if he wakes up just as she’s about to kill him? What if–

Bucky shifts in his seat, and the movement discomfitted her enough that she abandons all thought of getting near him if she could avoid it.  

No.

No.

He was highly trained. Highly dangerous. And it would be highly stupid of her to think she could take him out just like that.

He is The Winter Soldier, after all.

And HYDRA’s premiere weapon never appears in a place without a reason. 

Actually, everything about her situation is starting to make so much sense:

Somehow, she’d failed her last mission - despite not remembering what the fuck it had been about - resulting in her being hospitalized. She’d fumbled so badly that now, she had to be dealt with. Like a loose end. 

The others - Lena, Walker, Alexei, and Bob - were most likely agents deployed to watch over her. Keep her occupied. Keep her confused and subdued.

Then they all waited until the Soldier arrived to do what he does best:

End his target.

And now he was here. Biding his time. Playing with her for whatever sick, perverted purpose he had.

There’s no doubt about it: 

He was here to kill her. 

And she needs to get away before that happens, because fuck that.

Fuck that.

Oh-so-slowly, Ava pushes herself to move out of the bed, phasing her arm just enough so the IV drops out of her skin without any sound. The moment she straightens, the moment her bare feet touch the floor, pain lances her abdomen, so white-hot and brutal that it almost makes her cry out. 

Immediately, she clamps her mouth shut, biting down on her lip so hard she tastes blood. 

For a moment, the room spins. Black spots start dancing in front of Ava’s eyes.

Except those aren’t enough to stop her from moving. After all, she was used to working through pain. Working through agony. If it meant living for another day, she could and would survive anything.

Slowly, carefully, she takes one step.

Then another. 

Then another.

The door looms before her, but phasing through it came naturally - something she was grateful for.

At least she didn’t forget to do that.

But she wasn’t stupid enough to feel like she had won this early. After all, the Winter Soldier slept mere feet away from her. And the more distance she could put between herself and him, the safer she’d be.

The word ‘distance’ became her mantra. Except every step she took reminded her that she was in no condition to be on her feet. 

Still, it was better than being on that fucking bed, waiting for the Winter Soldier to finally get tired of whatever fucking game he was playing and actually do his job.

So, she kept moving. Kept phasing when nurses and doctors came into view. Kept disappearing before CCTVs caught her image. 

Distance, she thinks again, sweat beginning to drench her skin. She needs to create distance.

And there was only one place in the hospital where she could get her hands on something that would allow her to get away from this place once and for all:

The parking lot.

Bucky wakes to absolute silence.

He couldn’t identify exactly what had pulled him from unconsciousness. One moment, he was immersed in a dreamless sleep - the kind that made him look dead to the world, the kind that was brought on by nearly two days of him going by adrenaline alone without any sort of proper rest in between. Then suddenly, his head jerks forward, and he spends a few seconds blinking, not immediately recognizing where he is or why he’s there.

Then memories come crashing back.

Hospital.

Surgery.

Ava.

His eyes drift automatically towards the bed.

And immediately, every thought in his head vanishes.

Because the bed was fucking empty.

The image it presented made absolutely no sense, and for a moment, Bucky actually doubted what he was seeing. Soon, he was on his feet, checking the bed itself as if it were merely hiding her in there somewhere.

Obviously, it wasn’t.

But it was still warm. Meaning it had only been recently vacated.

“Ava?” he says, already moving towards the bathroom. 

Empty.

Then he checks the closet.

Empty.

The room didn’t have enough space for her to hide in, so if she wasn’t on the bed, in the bathroom, or in the fucking closet–

Bucky glances at the door.

And a horrible, horrible idea soon forms in his head.

Because Ava wasn’t supposed to be walking. She wasn’t supposed to be doing anything other than lying down on the bed and being waited on hand and foot, hating it all the while. She’d just had major surgery less than twenty-four hours ago, for god’s sake. In her condition, even solo ventures to the bathroom could be dangerous.

Which meant either of two things:

She was taken.

Or she left.

Bucky bursts out of the room so hard that the door leaves imprints on the wall it’s attached to. He heads to the nurses’ station and demands, “My wife. Where is she?”

The nurse before him blinks in alarm. “Sir…?”

“Ava Barnes,” he says, slamming his flesh hand down on the desk hard as if that could make the nurse understand the situation better. “Did the doctor take her for an examination? Without telling me?” Even as he says the words, he realizes how stupid they sound. Because no one in hospitals moves so quietly - especially medical personnel - unless they want to stay undetected.

Which meant–

“Um–” The nurse types something on the computer, frowns, and replies, “N-No. No, Mrs. Barnes doesn’t appear to be scheduled for any test right now, Mr--”

The answer makes him sick to his stomach because, Jesus Christ.

Jesus Christ.

If the doctors didn’t take her, then that definitely means–

“I need security footage,” he tells the nurse, while his other hand is already reaching for his phone. In another time, he’d be amazed at just how firm he sounded when everything inside him was crumbling. “My wife is missing. She’s confused and disoriented, and now she’s gone from her room. We need to mobilize everyone and look for her.”

The nurse nods.

Bucky then turns away and dials Yelena’s number through their private channel, self-recrimination burning in him, bright and hot.

God. God. How could he be so fucking stupid as to fall asleep while–

She picks up after the second ring. “Bucky?”

“I need everyone back in the hospital. Now.”

“What the hell happened? Is Ava okay?”

Bucky rubs his face with his hand. “She’s disappeared.”

“What?” He could hear Yelena curse loudly in Russian. “How long ago?”

“I don’t know.” The words tasted like failure. Bucky goes back into the hospital room, checking it again in the hopes that Ava would’ve– “I don’t know. She was here when I fell asleep. And then when I woke up–”

She was gone.

“Okay. Okay. I’ll get the others,” Yelena tells him. “We’ll be there in fifteen. Bucky, breathe. We’ll find her. Also, get the security footage.”

She didn’t need to tell him twice.

Within ten minutes, half the hospital seemed aware that a valuable post-surgical patient had vanished. Only the higher-ups knew that they were actually dealing with an Avenger with memory issues.

People were dispatched. Nurses searched entire floors. Orderlies checked stairwells. Security begins combing through footage.

And Bucky personally checked everything in between himself. Like he couldn’t stop moving. Because the longer the search took, the worse the situation was becoming for her.

She was barely strong enough to sit on her own without wincing, so for her to be on her fucking feet all the while–

The image of her collapsing somewhere, alone and scared, keeps making its way into his brain.

He couldn’t stop it. Fear and panic were making every ugly possibility a living, breathing thing in his head. 

By the time the team had arrived in the hospital, looking all sorts of disheveled, Bucky had already planted himself firmly in the security center, watching through what seemed like hours of grainy footage. John, Alexei, and Bob volunteered to do a physical sweep of the entire hospital again, with Bob saying he’d also be checking vents, just in case, before leaving to do just that.

Yelena stood beside Bucky, eyes on the monitors before them. 

Then:

“Wait.”

She points to a specific camera angle, one currently showing an empty hallway. The timestamp on it read eighty-seven minutes ago. For a second, a whole bunch of nothing happens.

Then, a soft shimmer in the air. A distortion soon appeared, emerging from the wall, making the guard beside Bucky cross himself. Then Ava herself comes to view, looking pale and unsteady on her feet, both hands crossed around her abdomen - like she was holding her insides in. Then she looks to the side and disappears into thin air again - just as a doctor comes into full view of the camera.

The fact that she didn’t want to be seen by anyone confirmed Bucky’s worst thoughts:

Ava was actively attempting to flee. 

Despite her condition. Despite her situation. It was likely that she was running away from something, and–

Your face. I know it from somewhere.

After all, SHIELD does keep tabs on the Winter Soldier’s activities.

Dear god.

Could she be running away from him?

The possibility haunts him more than he wants to admit.

Because why else would she run? Why only now? Why only after seeing him?

“Where is this hallway going?” Yelena demands from one of the guards, disrupting his dark thoughts. 

“Parking lot. It’s a separate building from–”

Bucky’s already moving.

So.

Ava has a serious problem.

Well, several serious problems, actually. 

One, she couldn’t stop her hands from visibly shaking. Which meant hot-wiring a car was quickly becoming an impossible feat. 

Her journey from the hospital room to the parking lot took so bloody long. Then she’d had to scout for an older car model to steal, which also took so bloody long. And now that she’d found and phased inside some nondescript-looking car at the far end of the lot, her hands began shaking so badly that she couldn’t even do much beyond hold the wires she’d managed to pull from behind the steering column. 

Two, her vision kept blurring, so that was annoying.

Three, she was wet. 

From blood. 

Because somewhere between steps fifty and four-hundred thirty-nine, she’d stupidly pulled on her stitches, and now she could feel warmth soaking the front of her hospital gown as a result.   

If she were rational, this would be the part where she would get help. And fortunately for her, the place she’s in is also crawling with people who could.

Except it also housed the one person who currently wanted her dead, so no.

Not an option. 

She lowers her forehead against the steering wheel and concentrates on breathing. Because for as long as she’s breathing, for as long as she’s conscious, then she can do this. She can escape, find Bill again, and then go from there.

She just… needs to rest her eyes, that’s all.

Just for a second or two. 

Just for the dizziness to pass.

Then she jerks awake, realizing belatedly that she has no idea how much time had actually passed. Maybe a minute. Maybe less. Maybe more.

Everything just feels so disconnected from her, somehow. Distant. Surreal. So she shakes her head to clear the cobwebs in it.

The only real thing she feels is the wires in her hand. And right now, if she wants to survive, she needs to–

From the corner of her eye, Ava spots movement. Fast. Efficient. Purposeful.

Heading straight towards the car she’s in.

Despite herself, she turns her head. Her pulse jumps soon after. 

Because it was none other than–

No.

No.

Oh, god, no.

She thought she had more time.

Ava looks at the wires in her hands, then glances behind her. For a moment, she considers phasing out of the car. Phasing down the floor. Phasing down several floors, actually, until–

But just the thought of leaving the car made her entire body feel heavier. More weighed down.

Like it had completely, utterly given up on her. Like whatever adrenaline she’d been on for more than an hour had finally run out. 

Like it had recognized that there wasn’t a bloody chance in hell she could outrun him. Not when she was heavily bleeding like this. Not when he was so fucking close to her now. 

And then every opportunity flew out the window when the driver’s door was pulled fully out of its hinges and haphazardly thrown to the side. It’s a testament to her level of exhaustion that she couldn’t even feel anything about it.

Soon, Ava finds herself staring up at The Winter Soldier’s face. 

Except he doesn’t look angry that she’d escaped him. He doesn’t even look emotionless, the way she sometimes becomes moments before delivering a death blow.

He simply looks horrified. 

Especially as he takes in the sight of all the blood soaking her front, the wires in her hands, the way she looks practically folded over the steering wheel–

“Jesus Christ,” he whispers, bending down on one knee beside her, hands hanging uselessly in front of him like he’s still deciding whether to grab her or not. He settles on gently moving sweat-drenched hair away from her eyes and repeats, “Jesus Christ, Ava. What the hell are you doing?”

She snorts.

Because she thought it should have been pretty obvious to him what the hell she was doing. 

“Can’t blame a girl for trying to escape you, can you?” she says, lowering her forehead down to the steering wheel again - just to stop him from touching her.

And before he could say anything, she added, “God. Didn’t think the Winter Soldier toyed with his targets.”

His eyes move from assessing her wound back up to the side of her head. “What?”

“You should’ve just killed me the moment you came in.”

Every word she said felt like it was robbing her of energy.

Every word she said looked like she was driving a knife into him.

“You–” he says, face contorted in grief, “You really thought I was going to kill you?”

She closes her eyes. “Why else would they send you?” she asks. “Why else would you be here?”

“Ava–”

“Fucking get on with it, then.”

Then, blessed darkness swallows her whole.

His arms were wet with Ava’s blood.

That was the thought that kept circling Bucky’s brain as he sat beside Yelena in the waiting area of the OR. Where doctors were working on his wife for the second fucking time in less than twenty-four fucking hours. 

Earlier in the parking lot, she’d swayed to the side and passed out in his arms, never regaining consciousness even after he’d carried her back into the hospital. Soon, doctors swarmed them. Nurses took over. Hands reached for Ava, and for a second, Bucky had to be convinced by Alexei to let her go.  

Then they took her into the OR, leaving him and the rest of the team outside.

And now they are here. Waiting.

Waiting again.

John soon appears in front of him, holding out a cup of black coffee. Bucky shakes his head, so Bob takes it instead.

Yelena runs her hand through her hair, messing it up even more. Then she turns to Bucky and quietly asks, “Did you find out why she ran?”

Bucky’s throat tightens. For a moment, he contemplated lying. Contemplated telling her that Ava ran from all of them, and not just–

Then he disregards the thought. Because what would be the point of it all?

And so he replies, his voice hollow, “She thought someone sent me to kill her.” 

Silence followed.

John winces and mutters under his breath, “Jesus Christ.”

“Wait. Wait. Why would she think that?” Bob asks, genuinely confused.

Bucky rubs his face. Of course Bob didn’t know; he was mostly elsewhere during those events, after all. Dealing with his own form of hell. “Because she only knew me as The Winter Soldier,” he replies. “And back then, when I appear–”

“People die,” Yelena finishes in a flat tone.

Bucky rubs his face again. Like somehow, the action could wipe off the memory of Ava telling him that he should’ve just killed her the moment he came in to see her. 

Fat chance of that happening.

Yelena sighs. “I think… it is my fault,” she says, voice low. “I shouldn’t have pulled everyone out and left the two of you alone. Maybe if we were there–” 

“No.” He shakes his head. “No. I let my guard down. I was supposed to keep watch over her, and–”

“You were tired, man,” Bob gently points out. “Not your fault that you fell asleep like that after you traveled all the way here.” 

“Besides,” John says, rubbing his nape, “we all didn’t realize what, exactly, she was cooking in that quantum brain of hers.”

“We all thought she simply forgot,” Alexei adds, standing with his back against the wall. “We didn’t think she’ll stitch up a lie and believe it as truth.”

“And we didn’t try to comfort her, did we?” Bob says glumly. “Or set things straight. Or help her… remember things. Mostly we were just… there.”

Silence.

Yelena sighs again. Louder this time.

“So. This just proves we are all idiots. Even your wife. Especially your wife,” she says, placing a hand on Bucky’s knee and squeezing it. “Very on brand for this team, don’t you think?” 

Bucky grunts in reply.

And that was the moment the doctor came out.

Told Bucky and the rest that Ava’s surgical wound did reopen, and there had been additional internal bleeding, too, but the damage, thankfully, wasn’t catastrophic or irreversible. 

“No more unnecessary walks to the parking lot, please,” the doctor tells them, tired eyes on Bucky. “She needs rest.”

“And she will get it,” Yelena replies, her tone grave. “Even if we end up handcuffing her to bed for a month.”

No one bothers to ask if she was just joking.

Ava slowly wakes to someone holding her hand. 

And the odd thing was that the sensation felt both familiar and unfamiliar.

Like her fingers intimately knew the weight and shape surrounding them, but, at the same time, her brain is actively rejecting the thought that someone is touching her willingly.

Regardless, the contact feels like it’s tugging something buried deep inside her mind. Something important. Something just annoyingly out of reach.

And the more she tries to get hold of it, the more her head begins to ache.

She groans.

The hold around her hand tightens.

And then a soft, “Ava?”

The voice sounded utterly exhausted.

And very similar to the one that had recently told her he was going to personally cook the best meal of her life for her.

She opens her eyes. 

And the white, dimpled hospital ceiling greeted her once again. 

Then her gaze shifts beside her, and she finds–

“Bucky,” Ava breathes out.

For a second, relief transforms his entire face, making him look younger, less tired. He exhales, long and slow, hand squeezing hers again before he bends down to kiss her knuckles almost reverently. 

And then, even before she could think of pulling away, he shuts down. He gives her hand one last squeeze before he lets go and stands from the chair. “I’ll grab the others,” he says quietly. “They’ll be glad to know you’re awake.”

And then he leaves the room without looking back. 

It immediately felt emptier without him in it.

Which, Ava thinks, made no fucking sense.

Five minutes later, and the room is once again occupied by four other people. 

Lena is soon sitting on Bucky’s chair. She crosses her arms, glares at Ava, and says, “Just so you know, you are totally banned from hospital parking lot for as long as your guts have a separate opening to exit your body. Doctor’s orders.”

“Great job, by the way, reopening your wounds in the craziest way possible,” Walker comments, his own arms crossed. “Like I know you’re insane, Ghost Lady, but that was just–”

Ava tries not to feel humiliated by her actions. Because she did them all for the sake of survival. And she’d do it all over again if she had to.

Still. She remembers The Winter Soldier pulling the car door out of its hinges. Him looking absolutely terrified for her. His frightened face as the last thing she saw before–

Well.

Before waking to this, again.

She swallows and asks, “Did– did Bucky save me?”

Lena rolls her eyes. “Is water wet? Of course he did.”

“I mean, he’s your husband,” Bob mutters. Then his eyes widen when Ava looks at him. “Not that you remember now! But, yeah. He loves you a lot, you know.” 

Alexei squeezes her foot and says, “Tiny ghost, know that he will kill anyone in this room first before he even thinks of killing you.”

Silence.

Then he adds, looking highly embarrassed, “That sounded way better in my head.”

“No kidding,” Walker scoffs, glaring at him. “Do you want her to run again?”

“Look.” Lena leans forward on the chair, elbows on her knees. “I know that you believe Bucky was sent to kill you, Ava. But understand this: he’s long since stopped being the mindless killer your brain believes him to be. He no longer works for HYDRA, and he’s one of us now. He’s an Avenger. But more than that, he’s family. Besides, think about it: why save you if he wanted you dead all along?”

Ava looks away and closes her eyes.

Because that was the crux of the matter now, wasn’t it?

Why would he save her, anyway?

The next five days pass slowly.

Agonizingly, annoyingly slow. 

Doctors told Ava that her recovery will take even longer now, thanks to her impromptu sojourn to the parking lot. And unlike at SHIELD, recovery now meant someone was always with her. To keep an eye on her, true. But also to help her with very mundane things.

Usually, Lena and Bob.

Sometimes, Walker or Alexei.

They all brought her food. Brought photographs. Showed her videos, news clippings, even internet memes that Walker hated so much. Anything and everything they could get their hands on to prove that they weren’t at all lying about who they were in relation to her.

So it was getting harder to hold on to the belief that they still were.

Especially since, every now and then, Ava will get glimpses of things in her mind’s eye.

Her taking down John on a mat with a well-timed kick.

Bob silently reading Harry Potter with her, then debating about which of them belongs to which house.

Alexei cooking her a reindeer dish which she absolutely despised.

Her and Yelena talking while a fat white cat sleeps on her lap.

In those five days, everyone spent time with her, and every interaction with them made it a hell of a lot easier to recall things about them.

Everyone–

–except Bucky.

Ava hates the fact that she noticed.

She hates even more that she was annoyed by it. 

Because she should be relieved, shouldn’t she? Because out of all of them, it was only Bucky that she actively suspected of harboring plans to kill her. The one she ran away from. By all accounts, his absence should be a great comfort to her.

So, why–

“Waiting for someone?”

Ava glances at Yelena, who seems fully absorbed by something on her phone. “What?”

Yelena keeps scrolling. “You are staring at door for five days now.”

“I have not.”

“You absolutely have.”

“You’re seeing things.”

“I’m not the one with damaged brain, dipshit.”

Ava pauses. 

Then reaches behind her, grabs a pillow, and throws it at Yelena’s face.

Who caught it one-handed, of course, with a proud, “Ha!”

“Get out.”

“No.”

Then Yelena stands and returns the pillow to Ava’s bed, fluffing it for good measure. “If you want to see him,” she tells Ava simply, “you should just say so.”

And the annoying thing about it was that the Russian woman wasn’t entirely wrong.

Because she had been staring at the door, always expecting him to walk through it. Or when she wakes from naps, she always turns to the side, checking to see if he’s the one sitting on the chair beside the bed this time.

And every time she’s proven wrong, the disappointment in her chest grows larger, becomes more unforgiving.

More accurately, more unforgiving of herself.

Because she did this. She drove him away with her false belief that he–

Still, Ava doesn’t say anything.

“You know he is staying away because he thinks it is good for you, yes?” Yelena says, taking a seat again.   

Ava only looks at her.

“He thinks his presence will just scare you,” Yelena continues, crossing a leg over the other. “And he doesn’t want to give you a reason to run away again. So. He is giving you space. Even if distance is killing him.”

Ava frowns at her. “That’s not–”   

“So maybe try fixing your brain quicker, yes? Then you’ll remember the truth about him. And then you’ll be disgusting together all over again. Just like old times.”

Ava glances at the small stack of albums, newspapers, and magazines beside her bed. Beneath them all was an actual photo album. Of hers and Bucky’s wedding. 

The one she browses often just to see if the pictures could jog anything.

And she says, in a small voice, “I’m trying.”

“Well.” Yelena glares at her. “Try harder.”

The pillow goes flying again.

So.

Bucky has a problem.

Well, several problems, actually.

One, he knows he shouldn’t appear at Ava’s side again. Not until she’s regained her full memory.

Or at least, enough bits and pieces to realize that he’d rather die than hurt her. 

But he also had a deep need to be aware of her situation. Of how she’s doing. At all times.

So how does he remedy that? 

By calling Yelena or John.

Repeatedly. 

Sometimes five times an hour.

“She’s fine. You’ll be glad to know she hasn’t tried escaping or phasing away, which I think is always a good sign.”

“She’s watching an old team interview of ours on Bob’s phone. That’s something, right?”

“She asked Bob when he would make her his shrimp scampi. Good girl. Because that really was the best thing ever, wasn’t it?”

“She’s asleep right now, Buck. Nothing really new happened today–”

“She asked for you.”

Bucky grips his phone harder. “She did?”

“Well, no. Not directly,” Yelena replies blithely, making him want to throttle her. “But I see it in her eyes. She wants you to come.”

“God,” he says, chuckling. “Now you’re starting to sound like Alexei.”

“Ha! That is funny. Also, fuck you. Do not call me again.”

Then Yelena hangs up.

Two, he knows he shouldn’t appear at Ava’s side again. Not until she’s regained her full memory.

He comes anyway.

In the dead of night, Bucky quietly relieves John of watcher duty, patting the man’s arm in silent thanks before turning to see him leave.

He tells himself that he just needs to see her breathing, that’s all. Even if the memory of her fear, of just how far she’d run from him to ensure her survival, is still fresh in his mind. 

Bucky can’t even find it in himself to blame her for it, because he understood her too well:

This Ava was from before.

Before the New Avengers. Before friendships. Before love.

She was from a time in her life when she had no one to trust but herself. 

And now, it’s a matter of helping her realize that that simply isn’t true anymore. That she has a team, now. That she has him, now.

He just… needed to figure out how the hell he could do that, that’s all. 

Then Ava shifts in bed, body turning to face him, eyes still closed. Slowly, carefully, Bucky moves every errant hair away from her face before reaching out to hold her hand in his. 

This would have to be enough.

For now.

Except she exhales quietly, smiles in her sleep, and then slowly, slowly, opens her eyes. 

…Shit.

He really shouldn’t be here. Because what if she–

Bucky starts to pull his hand away, except she chases it with her own and doesn’t let go.

“Hey,” she whispers. “So. Marmite.”

He stills. Because he recognizes that word. “What?”

“That’s the name I want for our second cat, Buck,” she says, voice still sounding scratchy from sleep. “I told you that already. And I know you think Alpine’s gonna hate having a sibling in the Watchtower, but–” 

And then she pauses. 

Swallows.

And says, “Oh my god.”

“Doll?” Bucky says, standing and fully approaching the bed now. “Hey. Hey. Talk to me. What’re you–”

Slowly, she pushes herself up until she’s sitting on the bed, the effort making her wince several times. “Ah…! Bloody hell.”

All the while, Bucky’s helping her up. “Easy,” he says. “Easy there.” And the moment she’s comfortable again, he asks, “Do you need anything? Should I call a doctor? Or a nurse? Or Yelena, maybe? Do you need me to–”

“I need you,” she tells him in a low voice, “to stop talking for one second.”

And of course, Bucky does.

Ava closes her eyes, concentrating on breathing for a bit. In, out. And for a moment, she looks utterly, completely overwhelmed.

Then she covers her face with her hands and whispers:

“You suck at Candy Crush.”

The words emerge from her mouth quietly, a bit muffled by her palms.

“Well, all sorts of mobile games, actually. You say they hurt your eyes.”

Bucky’s eyes widen as he realizes what he’s hearing. “Ava–”

“You absolutely despise that the entire team prefers Bob’s shrimp scampi over your chicken alfredo. And–” 

She pauses meaningfully for a moment before continuing, “We got married on a Tuesday because Alexei said it was good for Feng Shui, and we were both dumb enough to believe him.”

A startled laugh escapes him. Gently, he pulls her hands away from her face and asks, “You remember?”

Her eyes fill with tears, and slowly, slowly, she nods. “I do. God. I remember everything.”

And before he can even digest that, she goes on to say, “...Buck. For what I said in the parking lot, I am so–”

He kisses her.

Softly. Gently. More to shut her up than anything else.

And also because he missed the fuck out of her.

Then he places his forehead against hers and says, “You have nothing to apologize for.”

Ava pulls away and shakes her head. “No. No. I was so unfair to you. I thought–”

“You were sick, Ava.” Here, he takes her hand again and kisses the back of it. “You were stuck in something ugly and brutal. I understand that very well. More than anyone.”

“Still,” she insists, watching him now. “You didn’t deserve to hear that. Not from me. Not from anyone.”

He swallows.

Bucky would not pretend it’d be a memory he could soon forget. If anything, it’ll just add to the great number of ugly, brutal things he was already carrying. 

But he doesn’t tell her that.

Instead, he just says, “Well, you don’t deserve a building falling on you in the first place, so.”

Ava laughs shakily. “That, I won’t argue with.” 

Then, she brings her hand up to cup his face. “Please,” she says. “Next time I get amnesia, just tranquilize me and shove me in a room somewhere. That way, we won’t have to deal with this bullshit ever again.”

“Don’t even joke about that,” he tells her, frowning.

“Too soon?”

“Considering you’re still hospitalized? Obviously.”

She sighs. “Spoilsport.”

Her thumb starts tracing the skin under his eye, her expression softening the slightest bit. “You look very, very tired, Buck,” she says. “You should rest.”

Bucky stares at her.

Because that sounded so much like–

“You attempting to escape from me again?” he asks, half-joking.

Half not.

Except this time, Ava grins at him. “No. I’m saying you need to sleep. Fortunately, this bed’s big enough for the two of us, so.”

His eyes drop to her stomach, and he says, “You just had surgery, Ava. I don’t think–”

“We’ll be very careful,” she tells him. “And–” Here, she looks a bit bashful, “I just really need you to hold me, Buck. Now more than ever.” In a smaller voice, she adds, “Please?”

And really, he didn’t need to be told twice.

Morning came bright and early the next day.

From his position on the bed, curled around a still-sleeping Ava, Bucky hears the door quietly open.

Then Yelena speaks disdainfully:

“I knew it. I knew we should’ve brought bleach for our eyes today, Bob.”

He smiles into Ava’s hair.

And thinks: Yep. You really should’ve.