Queen of the angst.

"You know you don't have to babysit me, right?" Lily walks one step ahead of you to the front door after locking her car. There's something humiliating about her being so interested in caring for you; perhaps you feel bad for appearing so helpless in her eyes because you have the mistaken belief that you should have been able to live without anyone's help up until now.

She inserts the key into the hole and turns it, but before pushing the door, she rolls her eyes and looks at you. "For God's sake, I'm not babysitting, as I've told you many times before," she says, trying hard to remain patient and calm.

"It doesn't feel like that." After that, as you take your first timid step into her and Sam's home, the strong scent of cinnamon fills your nostrils; this is the scent of her favorite winter candle. Lily takes away her own coat and hangs it, then takes her phone from her purse and places it in her pants pocket. You realize she's waiting for your coat and quickly peel the thick fabric away from your body so she doesn't have to wait any longer.

"I don't want you to be alone at home while that man is free to go wherever he wants."

Noah stopped calling you and left you alone after you told him that meeting was not possible for a while and that you were surrounded by a superior ring of protection. But the real question here is how long he will keep going. You get scared every time the phone or doorbell rings, thinking it is Noah. You are constantly restless because you don't know whether he will go so far as to harm you or how you will react when you see him. You're afraid of saying the wrong thing and alerting him to the fact that you know everything. In fact, because you've never been a good liar, you're afraid he'll figure it all out with one look at your face.

"Thank you, Lily."

"Don't even mention it." Your friend notices that no one is at home and frowns as she calls out to her boyfriend, only to be met with more silence.

"Maybe he's out." She pulls her phone from her pocket and begins typing a message, possibly asking about the whereabouts of her boyfriend, and then you walk into the living room, leaving her alone in the hallway.

Surprisingly, this house feels safer than your own. Maybe it's reassuring to know you're not alone; you yawn loudly before sinking into the soft couch. You strain to keep your eyes open as the soft texture of the furniture hugs you like a mother's embrace, and you breathe deeply and massage your scalp. Your attention is drawn to the massive bookcase that spans one wall of the house. Sam's old books that reveal his interests are accompanied by Lily's psychology books. You notice a few of them are on your study room and office shelves as well.

"Do you think I have PTSD?" Lily is taken aback as she walks into the living room and slowly settles into the empty seat next to you. Even though you are well aware that she is attempting to buy time for an answer, you remain silent. You turn your head and look into her eyes, you are grateful for her support and friendship. But now you need a colleague's opinion on the subject, not your friend's. But before you can hear what you want, the door from the kitchen to the backyard opens, and you open your eyes wide while holding your breath. Your gaze quickly wanders around the large living room for something to defend yourself with, realizing you were wrong about being home alone.

Despite the fact that Lily, like you, is startled by the sudden noise, seeing her boyfriend in the hallway, she relaxes and immediately takes action to calm you down. "Don't worry; it's just Sam."

Captain America, himself is baffled as to why both women in the living room appear to have seen a monster first and casts a glance to his left at Bucky. Lily notices you clutching a book with both hands and wonders how you believe you can use it to harm a potential attacker. Instead of looking for an answer to this question, she slowly reaches for it, which you hand over without hesitation. You don't need her to answer your question because you've already made your own diagnosis.

Lily made lasagna for the four of you for dinner because she knows how much you enjoy it. This magnificent trio had chosen to keep the conversation at the table focused on current events as if they had agreed not to bring up Noah. But you can bet Lily warned them when Sam and Bucky left you alone to help her set the table. Despite the fact that the couple insisted on you spending the night with them and that the offer was very tempting, you declined. You didn't want to be a burden any longer, and you don't want Lily to see you wake up screaming from your nightmare. Bucky had stated that he needed to leave town tomorrow for an important clue and had asked Sam to lend him his car, which Sam hadn't had much time to use anyway.

Now, as you drive towards your apartment in Sam's car, both yours and Bucky's eyes are fixed on the road ahead, and the happy conversation you had together has vanished into thin air. "We have Meredith's video, which tells the whole story. Isn't that enough?"

Meredith's helpless tone in the video comes back to you, and you get goosebumps as if someone had dropped ice down your spine. You know you'll never forget the fact that she knew she was going to die the same day and still left a clue for you to catch Noah. You begin to consider how different things would have been if you had been able to persuade her to trust you sooner. The phrase "I wish" is starting to creep into your vocabulary. But you manage to relax a little when you recall what Bucky said to you in your kitchen.

"No, unfortunately, that may not be enough." You put your hand on your belly and crack a window a little because you can't stand the fact that a video recorded by a woman a few hours before her death isn't enough to put that dishonorable man in jail. The fresh, cool air caresses your face, but it doesn't completely help ease your nausea.

"It's true; a strong white man always wins.", you reply annoyed. And he doesn't even have to try hard to win against a woman who the entire country already believes is a mentally ill person who betrayed her country. Even if you always argue that your voice should be heard on this issue, now isn’t the time to discuss the privilege of white men and women who are tried to be despised in business and daily life. "So, what are we going to do now? What if we never find proof that he is the person behind all of this?"

"This isn't going to happen, Y/N. We're not going to let him get away so easily." Bucky's determination manages to rekindle the hope that had begun to fade in you. You want him to be right more than anything else in the world at that time.

"Meredith, too, must have thought that wasn't enough. She requested that we track his cell phone. Is there any progress on that?"

"Sharon says this process takes some time. We can't move as quickly as we thought because we don't have the necessary permissions and hardware. But we are going to meet someone who is capable of hacking the system tomorrow." Bucky returns his attention to the road, well aware of how upsetting it is that every road you take has an obstacle in its path. He watches out of the corner of his eye as the light in your tired eyes fades and you bend your head, your lips pursed. "I guess it's pointless to talk about it tonight. It's late, and we're all exhausted."

“Bucky, I think I have PTSD.” You tell him, but he doesn’t reply back for almost a minute. The silence makes you assure you are right and he agrees on that.

“Y/N, what you’ve been gone through, the things are hard, especially for someone like you. Anyone would react the same way as you do.” You try to figure out whether Noah was able to influence you so easily because you needed love. You needed someone in your life after your hectic work schedule and Bucky's rejection of you. You wanted to be with someone who would make you feel like you were still beautiful and attractive. That's why you didn't realize right away that he was just trying to use you as a pawn to achieve his own goal; Bucky, on the other hand, was able to see his true face after only a short time with him. Unable to believe how you could have been so blind, your anger at yourself grows stronger, and you can even feel your cheeks turn red.

You, fortunately, have already arrived at your apartment complex and he has pulled over to the side of the road. You quickly open the door and jump out of the car without letting him see your face. When you hear him get out of the car, you rush to the apartment door, knowing you've ended the night without saying goodbye to him. Your fingers struggle to find the keys inside the bag, and you finally give up, feeling as if you've lost the most important battle of your life. You mutter, "God, I'm an idiot," as you push back a lock of hair that had fallen on your forehead.

Bucky reaches into your bag, which you're clutching tightly, and pulls out your keychain; his eyes are focused on yours. He places it in the palm of your trembling hand and closes your fingers, allowing you to tightly grip the key ring. "No, you're not."

"Are you sure? Bucky, look at me! I'm a psychologist who couldn't even see how bad my friend is. What good am I to others if I can't see the true faces of those around me?"

"That isn’t true, you know that. Noah, as bad as he is, is also intelligent. He's a skilled manipulator who manages to control not only you, but I'm sure everyone else as well. Otherwise, he wouldn't have had more than one victim; this isn't the first time we've come across a criminal profile like his."

"But I should have seen that coming." Even though you are taken aback by this foreign tone of your voice, you are almost certain that you have never felt so insecure before. Bucky approaches you and places both hands on your shoulders, forcing you to look at him. Because of your height difference, he is so close to you that you have to tilt your head back slightly.

"And you did. Lily told me of your concerns that something had changed in Noah. Even if you weren't aware of it, your subconscious mind knew that something was wrong with him. That's why you keep your distance from him."

"What if I'm unable to stop him? What if..."

"All right, that's enough. I’m not going to stand here and let you think you are a bad person. Y/N, you're not a person to admit defeat; you never have been. No one can make you doubt yourself, and no one can hurt you unless you let them. But you have to stop doubting yourself, alright?" When you pull him in and hug him tight, it's clear that neither of you expected that. Bucky begins stroking your hair gently as you rest your head against his chest, wishing you could stay in that moment forever. Bucky's encouragement and friendship chip away at all the negative thoughts that have been gnawing at your mind for days, one by one. You are not helpless or weak, and you have a war to win.

"Thank you; you have no idea how much this means to me." You finally take a step back and out of the little safe barriers Bucky has built around the two of you, and your body immediately regrets it.

Even though you expect him to say good night and drive away, he does something unexpected."When all of this is over and all of our worries and fears are meaningless, will you go out with me?"

"Like some sort of celebration dinner?" You tease him even though you know exactly what he means and your heart is racing with excitement. He exhales deeply and shakes his head. For the first time in days, you laugh and nod with him, "I would love that more than anything, Bucky."

"Great, I'm looking forward to that day."

"Me too. Bucky, good night."

"Night, дорогая (Dorogaya)." You've never heard him speak another language before, and the sudden change in his voice makes you curious about the last word. However, he winks at you and turns around to walk to Sam's car with a playful meaning in his eyes.

"Aren't you going to explain what that means to me?"

"I will. On our first date, I'll whisper in your ear."

Bucky Barnes is many things: a brave soldier, a loyal friend... But it was a pleasant surprise to discover that he is also a very flirtatious man.

//xxx.//

You drive back to the city center, or rather, to your house, with what you found at Meredith's mother's house, which, by the way, is on the passenger seat. And on top of that, Bucky and Sharon finally managed to do what Meredith said in the video and track down Noah's cell phone with the help of an old friend who owed Sharon a favor. And it comes as a surprise to all of you that this man, who has done a good job of covering his tracks thus far, was stupid enough to bring his own cell phone to the chalet.

You hear your cell phone vibrate and see that it is Bucky, you immediately answer. You told them where you were going at the last minute, and while Sharon thought it was a good idea, Bucky warned you not to go alone. He also doubted Meredith would hide evidence at her mother's house, so even if you open your mouth to tell him that he was wrong, he speaks before you. "Any luck?"

"Yes, Mrs. Parker stated that Meredith brought her wedding gown from her apartment to the family home and she had no idea why her daughter did so. After what happened to her, the poor woman refused to even enter her childhood room. But I convinced her to look around, and you should have seen her face when we discovered the evidence Meredith was hiding."

"What evidence?"" Bucky warns Sharon to watch out the road before you answer her question. You shift your gaze to the plastic bags in the passenger seat, certain that the CDs Meredith has carefully categorized are from other victims she's been tracking down. She also had another plastic bag containing a hotel soap and washcloth from where they stayed for the conference. Noah, without a doubt, forced her to shower in her clothes so he wouldn't leave any traces behind him.

"I'll show you everything when we meet. We succeeded this time, and we now have enough evidence to start an investigation against him."

"Of course, if he hasn't already fled to the other side of the world." You tell Sharon that there is no way out for Noah and notice that your car isn't the only one on the road, which is surrounded on both sides by tall pine trees. The vehicle accelerates and comes to your left before you have a chance to see the driver of the white car behind you in your rearview mirror. You turn your head and look inside, meeting the driver's gaze.

"I don't think so; he's right here." Noah's car accelerates alongside yours, and his car collides with the left side of your car, causing it to swerve off the road. The seatbelt prevents you from being thrown forward in the driver's seat as a result of the blow.

"Y/N, are you all right?" You lift your head off the steering wheel and take deep breaths in between Bucky's yells. Your attention is drawn to CDs and you bend down to collect them. "The evidence, they are all over the floor."

"Where are you?" You pick them up one by one and frown when you notice one is broken.

"Winchester road, just a couple of miles south of Meredith's family home." When you finally lift your head from the evidence and look out the windshield, something else completely captures your attention. You can hear Sharon muttering that they're close and Bucky saying that they'll be right there. Noah gets out of his car unharmed and reaches through the backseat window to grab a rifle. He grips it tightly with both hands and begins walking towards you; your survival instinct takes over and you quickly unbuckle your seatbelt.

The windshield splatters like snow on you before you even climb into the next seat and the loud sound of the gunshot makes your ears ring. With trembling hands, you push the door open and throw yourself out of the car, faintly hearing Bucky call your name repeatedly. The only thing protecting you is the passenger door, which you hide behind because there's nowhere else to go. You clutch the CDs on your chest, aware that he is approaching you, ready to fire the next bullet into your head. "Stop right there!"

"I want those CDs, Y/N."

You're puzzled as to how he knows about those but you quickly realize that he's probably been watching Meredith's every move. You take a look around and consider running down into the woods, but someone like Noah will shoot you in the back before you can even hide behind the first tree. Realizing you have no other option, you decide to play your final trump card and hold up CDs for him to see, as well as straighten up from your crouch. You try to appear strong, even though it's frightening to see him in his usual black suit, pointing the barrel of his rifle at you. "You shoot, you shoot me, and they'll go right over the edge with me. You'll never have enough time to get them before my friends arrive."

"You are right. But we can make a deal.”

“A deal?” you ask him, he stops walking but doesn’t drop his gun down.

“Yeah, a mutually beneficial arrangement between two reasonable people.”

You join his game, realizing that you have to stall him until Bucky and Sharon arrive. "What do you have in your mind?"

"You give me the evidence and I let you walk." Or you defy me, I will blow your brains out. You know how determined he can be when it comes to getting what he wants, especially if it means putting him in jail.

“In order for an agreement like that to work, there has to be trust between the parties involved.”

Noah shrugs, and you notice he's not pointing the gun at you anymore. "What do you need me to do?"

"Make me understand how a clever man like you could do such a terrible thing." Tell me when my close friend decided to become a rapist and murderer; that's exactly what you meant to say, but pushing his boundaries right now is not a good idea.

"What difference does it make?"

“It helps me judge just how desperate you are.” After hearing the word desperate, you notice his expression change. He decides to play mind games with you just as you try to perplex him, squinting his eyes slightly and turning his gaze so sharp that it pierces you. You frown in rage, knowing he's trying to scare you the same way he does to any other woman.

"Why do you care, Y/N?"

“Desperate people cannot be trusted. And we agreed that we need to trust each other.”

"People in my position are never desperate. We can have whatever we want with our power." And this is the power-hungry man you saw in your first conversation with him. He has succumbed to his ego to the point where he believes he is stronger than everyone else and justice itself. You immediately recognize this as his weak point, as you realize he feeds off the strength that his job provides him and dares to rape dozens of women like this.

"Until you meet someone as strong as you..."

He shakes his head and laughs in your face, as if you've just told him the funniest joke he's ever heard, and it makes your pride and determination crumble a little. "Believe me, honey. You're not as strong as I am."

"I was talking about Meredith. You couldn't keep her quiet, and you couldn't scare her." Bucky enters your field of vision ten steps behind Noah, but you immediately take your gaze away from him so that Noah does not notice him. You think the reason you didn't hear any car noises was because they were parked a little further away.

"And now I don't have to. Only you have the proof. So my plan is simple: either I buy you or I kill you. There is no other way out for you."

You proudly raise your chin, certain that Bucky can stop Noah before he hurts you, and with his presence, all your fears fade away. "Or for you. And there is no way I would ever make that kind of a deal. It's over, Noah."

Noah sighs heavily and pauses to make a decision before pointing his gun at you, “Ah, you forced my hand. At least I’ll be able to run.”

Bucky puts the gun in his hand up to the back of Noah’s neck and unlocks the safety. "Put the gun down, very slowly. I don't want to shoot you, but I will."

//xxx.//

"Hey, nobody's going to touch the food until everybody comes." Lily scolds Bucky and Sam, who are roaming around the dinner table and clawing at the snacks on the table, and you laugh at them and place the bowl of salad on the table.

“Okay, baby, but we're so hungry here. Are you sure Thomas and Cleo are really coming because they're about ten minutes late?” Sam follows his girlfriend like a puppy, leaving you and Bucky alone. You're sure Lily will start lecturing him about manners in the kitchen.

“You should taste this.” Bucky points to the small sandwiches Lily has prepared with his index finger and you shake your head and reach for the wine glass you left on the table. You remember the last time you all had dinner at Lily and Sam’s house. It was when Noah met your friends and the night ended very badly. All the memories wipe the smile on your face and Bucky immediately realizes that.

"Is everything OK?" Without hesitation, he takes you in his arms and puts his chin on the top of your head, and you inhale the scent of his cologne and aftershave. It makes you smile to know that your bathroom and even your whole apartment smell like this on the days Bucky stayed with you. "What are you thinking about?"

"Promise to not laugh." In the first month of your relationship, you admitted that no matter how many promises he made, he wouldn’t stop messing with you on certain issues. And you promised not to tease him about how bad he was in the kitchen, but you still enjoyed watching him frown and purse his lips every time.

"I promise." Bucky, you notice that he is swaying from side to side with the music from the music player Sam has set up in the backyard. By following his steps, you turn this into the perfect moment to dance.

“For two people who think they don't want a relationship, I think we make a pretty good couple.” Of all the possibilities, you're pretty sure Bucky didn't think you were thinking that. He throws his head back and laughs lightly, pulling you even closer to him as if possible.

You place your free hand on his shoulder and he gently strokes your cheek with the back of his metal hand. “I think you make a very good point about this, Doc.”

“Thank you, Sergeant Barnes.”

It goes without saying that Bucky has earned the love and respect of the country after his outstanding success with Noah Sherman. After handing over Noah to the security forces, Bucky reluctantly had to testify and not only that but also talked about your entire plan, down to how you got the evidence. He has completely changed for the better as he regains his reputation back, what he has sought for years, and you are grateful for every change in him.

"You know I don't want you to call me that." With his voice, you return to the real world, in the arms of your lover.

"Really? How do you want me to call you, then?" You raise an eyebrow and look at him. You know he wants you to say the word Bucky whispered in your ear on your first date, but you feel like that word only gains meaning when he says it, or just feels like it fits on his lips. Still, you do your best to pronounce it correctly, ” дорогая.”

"I don't drink milk when I can't sleep anymore, mom." You take the cup she hands you in your palm and let your legs hang down. You have no idea how many hours you've been sitting cross-legged on the little ledge by the window. The night is now darker and calmer than when you first sat there, making you think that at least two hours have passed. When you were little, whenever you couldn’t sleep or had nightmares, your mother would bring you a glass of warm milk and wait by your side until you fell asleep, the tone of her voice that says everything is fine is one of the things that still manages to calm you down to this day. Now you can understand how difficult those moments were for her, almost every night your poor mother would wait until late for you to sleep and the next morning she would go to work as if nothing had happened.

“I know my sweet daughter isn’t a little girl anymore.” While you take your first sip of the liquid in the cup, your mother answers you and sits on the edge of the bed opposite you, and crosses her legs. You grimace and look at her in disbelief with the taste that the drink leaves in your mouth unlike any other, your mother smiles timidly at you, “Did I put in a little too much rum? Sorry."

"It's okay." You hope the alcohol can do what even a warm shower can't, help you get rid of your anxiety. You sip your drinks in silence for a minute, with only the moonlight illuminating the room. You know from the evasive looks she throws at you that she's trying not to ask the question on the tip of her tongue. Although ignoring the elephant in the room is an easier option, you need to talk to her, but since you haven't had such a heart-to-heart conversation with her in such a long time, you're not so sure that she will listen to you with understanding.

“It's pretty late. Why are you still awake?" With your mother's question, you raise your head and look into her eyes; you’ve always loved the fact she never beats around the bush. And now the answer to her question is quite simple, you are afraid to sleep. More precisely, the possibility of having nightmares is frightening you, but once you share this answer with her, you will open the doors to a conversation that will never end. Are you still on your meds? Are you still in contact with the therapist she found for you? Luckily, your mother answers her own question for you, “You must be missing your own bed. I know you said you wanted to leave right after your sister's wedding, but if you decide to stay here for a few more days, you will make me very happy. I miss you."

“I miss you too, mom,” you respond with a sincere smile to her ever-widening smile. And then you quickly add, “Of course, dad too.” You know your mother doesn't believe what you're saying, as you both know like the back of your hand the fact that you only said it because you felt compelled to do so. Both of you don't want to talk about family problems at this time of night, and the mere thought of your father makes you stiffen in your seat.

“Your father is also very happy to be with you, dear, we both know that he isn’t good at showing his feelings.” In silence, you nod in agreement with your mother's lies as she continues to list her sentences in praise of your father. She will never be able to reach the light at the end of this tunnel; she will never be able to fix your crooked relationship. You can only imagine how much this upset her. Drawing circles around the rim of the glass with your index finger, your mother adds, “You still don't show your drawings until you're finished, do you?”

You look up where she is pointing, reach for the sketch pad and pull it towards you, and sigh as you feel the velvety texture of its cover. When you were a kid you yearned to show your mom every single one of your drawings, and the best part was watching her pin the page to the fridge door with a magnet. But when there was no more room left, your mother helped you turn this little hobby into your profession. In the dark and angry days of your teenage years, you were grateful to your mother for finding a solution to control your feelings for you and bringing you out of that dark place into the light. She accepts your silence as a yes and lowers her gaze to her glass, you turn the first page. Each page is filled with drawings you scribble on whenever you're feeling down, and when you finally get to tonight's piece, you hold the notebook up to show it to her. It's not quite finished, but it's pretty clear what you're trying to portray.

“Oh my god, this is so beautiful.” She takes the notebook between her fingers and begins to carefully study your drawing, and you watch her. Her manicured fingers move over the page as if she wants to feel it, and her tired expression turns into an admiring one. Years later, she still responds to your drawings with the same emotional eyes and realizing it makes your lips curve upward. “I was pregnant with your sister when I realized we needed to move to a bigger house. I wanted a house where you and your sister could have separate rooms, a garden I could grow my own tomatoes and parsley, and a backyard to throw big parties for our loved ones. I wanted a place where I could imagine myself growing old on the terrace, where you could have a treehouse, you know?"

“Is that why you put so much pressure on building a treehouse that neither of us wanted it?” You roll your eyes when you think of your old treehouse that you've only climbed twice in the summer, and you're sure your mom, like you, is thinking about the day your sister fell down and broke her arm.

“But it was enough for your father to have a room for himself that he could set up as an office. I was so angry with him. I was heartbroken that he prioritized his job more than our family and future. Perhaps our argument about this could be one of the biggest ones in our marriage.” Your mother takes one last look at your drawing and, after laying it on the bed, sits down in the small space next to you and takes your free hand in hers. “I even thought about how we can be soul mates when our expectations from life are so different. One afternoon, while he was at one of those famous business meetings, I even packed a small suitcase, but the thought of leaving him caused me to collapse to the ground in sobs. You, on the other hand, had just learned to walk, and you slowly snuggled into me and hugged me until I calmed down.”

"Mom, I didn't know that, it must’ve been very difficult for you."

“It was, baby, it really was. Your father must’ve seen the suitcase that I forgot to unpack that night because when the realtor called us the next morning and said a lakeside house was up for sale, he immediately offered to buy it. The condition of the house, how many rooms it had, didn't matter to either of us. I had predicted that the view would be beautiful on the road, but when I saw it with my own eyes, I was speechless. I turned my head and looked at his face, saw that the scene had affected him as much as it had affected me, and at that moment all my worries disappeared. Now when I look at your drawing, it's like I'm back in that moment. It's a great talent that you don't even realize, baby, you see the world differently than we do. Your drawings are like a small window into that unique world, and I thank you so much for allowing me to do so.”

“Oh mom,” you lay your head on her shoulder and let the tears go, before long she wraps her arm around your body and tries to comfort you. She just waits for you to calm down, ignoring your tears ruining the fabric of her expensive satin nightgown, and when you finally pull back and look at her, she smiles bitterly at you.

“I can see you have a problem. Tell me, what is it that upsets you so much?" you sniffle and wipe your tears with the sleeve of your shirt, “or are you sad that your sister got married and moved to the other side of the world?”

“I couldn't be happier for her, mom, believe me. I just-“ you pause and think about how you can share your feelings without looking like the worst sister in the world. “She found her soul mate right away and without any effort. My sister, who said she would never marry, now feels like the luckiest woman in the world and is on her honeymoon in Brazil.”

"And you're upset that you still haven't found yours?" your mother says at once what you dare not say, and a sob escapes your lips. You both let this truth lurk around the room like a ghost.

“I'm losing hope. I know I always tried to act like I didn't care about it, finding out who I am first and achieving my dreams was always more important to me than finding the person with whom I would share my life. But deep down I believed that if someone in this universe was made for me, one day he would find me. But now time seems to be working against me. What if I'm wrong? What if there isn't someone for me?"

“Look, baby; it's amazing to think that there are more than seven billion people in this world. And someone is out there waiting for you. The thing is, you don't know when or where you are going to meet them. But when you do, it won't take more than a second to realize he's the right person. “As your mother continues to speak, she touches the mark on her left wrist, a pale pink mark as if someone had stamped her skin with the tip of a hot knife. When you were too young to know what a soul mate was, you had asked your mother what that mark was from, and when your father unbuttoned his cufflinks and showed you his wrist, you raised your eyebrows in surprise, it was fascinating to see that he too had the exact same mark.

Now your gaze shifts to your own wrist, and seeing it empty makes your heartache. Knowing how you are feeling right now, your mother puts her hand on your knee and squeezes your hand lightly. You hear the sound of a car engine in the driveway, you both turn your head and look out the window into the dark. Considering that the nearest house is thirty minutes away, you realize that your father has finally come home. Your mother jumps up with a big smile on her face and you hear the front door closing and your father's footsteps coming up the stairs. Before your mom leaves you alone in your childhood room, she leaves a kiss on the top of your head. And just as she's about to close the door, you call out to her, "Mom."

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"Thank you." She smiles at you and closes the door after saying good night.

//xxx//

Even before you open your eyes and take a look around, you are conscious enough to realize that you are no longer lying in your old and not very comfortable childhood bed and that it is actually part of a dream. You did your best not to sleep after your mother left you alone in your room, you packed your suitcase because your flight was early in the morning, and you even answered a few business emails. Now you slowly open your eyes as you breathe in that familiar scent of the grass and look up at the sky, terrified of being again in the same horrible dream that has left you screaming for days. But this time, contrary to what you think, dark clouds don’t cover the sky or the heavy rain doesn’t wet your face. On the contrary, the sky is sparkling and the scenery leaves you speechless. It is home to so many stars that it is as if someone left them handfuls in the sky, on the sides of the moon. You can't help thinking that if you look carefully you can even see their surfaces; there is no city light to hide their beauty.

You suddenly think of nights where you watched them for hours with your father. He immediately noticed your admiration for them and gave you a telescope after a business trip and taught them to you one by one. This was perhaps one of the few moments you spent together as father and daughter, but as time passed and you got older, that magical bond had melted away between you.

You can't help but sigh, completely forgetting that this is just a simple dream and wish to have your sketchbook with you. Are you talented enough to draw this beauty in front of your eyes on a white page? Or would you be doing them an injustice just by trying? With the moisture left by the grass on your back, you slowly sit up and feel grateful that your mind didn't give you a nightmare for the first time in days because you aren’t sure how many more nightmares your tired body can handle. As the grass continues to tickle your feet, you stand up and look around for the first time, realizing that this isn't the edge of the lake near your family's house, as you thought. And this awareness causes your dinner to go up, you put your hand on your stomach and take a deep breath and you notice the white nightgown.

You try to figure out where this dress that you don't have comes from, it's long to your ankles and has no motifs on it. Maybe you are dead and this is your paradise. Because you are sure that you haven’t visited this place before, which is so beautiful that it pushes the limits of even your imagination. You take the first step, not knowing where you need to go, just wanting to get away from it all. The warm wind licks his body and the sound of the cicadas reaches your ears like a unique melody.

"Who are you?" You quickly turn around at the strange sound you hear, all hope that it will be a beautiful dream shatters in an instant and you frown, trying to see whose voice it is. But maybe because there isn't enough light, you can't see his face clearly. “How can you be here with me?”

"Who are you?" This time, you ask him the first question he asked you, out of curiosity. His voice is unlike anyone you've met before, and you've done enough research to know that your dreams are a work of your subconscious. Why is he so surprised that you're with him? "Where am I?"

"Who are you?" His voice is more insistent this time, even if you can't see his facial expression, you feel that his patience is running low. You realize that he is trying to get closer to you but you are stepping back from him, he is following you like a hunter and it makes your heartbeat with fear. Shaking your head, you try once more to get away from him. However, you feel that he moves with you as if you are connected to each other by a rope that you cannot see. When you look around with eyes full of fear and anxiety and look for a way out, you realize that there is a street lamp just a few steps behind you that you can swear was not there before. All of a sudden a strange feeling takes over your body, and you can't help thinking that if you can reach that light, you can put an end to it all.

You sense that with each step you take back you can feel the fabric of the sheet on your bed, you seem to hear your mother calling your name, and you are almost waking up from this dream. The stranger also looks around in fear as if he can hear her voice, and you take advantage of his position and quickly turn around and run towards the light.

“No, wait!” You try to reach the light with all your might, ignoring his shouting, you are breathless. You admire the light as it magically wraps around your body like a ribbon, its warmth warms your cold body, and you come face to face with the man trying to reach you. Staring into his big blue eyes watching you disappear into the light, he makes one last move and reaches for you and yells as his fingers wrap around your wrist, "No, don't go!"

“Y/N!” When you wake up in your bed screaming with your eyes wide open, you find your mother shaking you by your shoulders, she is leaning over you. She pushes back a strand of hair that fell on your forehead and you realize that you are safe in your childhood room. “It was just a dream baby, are you okay? Do you want me to get you a glass of water?"

"No no." You shake your head quickly, afraid that he will reappear in a dark corner as she leaves you alone in the room. Your mother sits on the edge of the bed and turns on the bedside lamp before her gaze searches for something in yours. You pull your knees to your chest and lean your back against the headboard, the room is way hotter than it was before you fell asleep, your outfit clinging to your skin like a second skin. "I'm fine, mom."

You run your fingers through your hair and reach for the clasp by the lamp to collect your hair, but your mother scares you and catches your left wrist in the air. You realize she's speechless, with her wide-open eyes focused on your wrist. “Y/N.”

As if she forgot to speak, she turns her gaze to you and you frown, trying to understand what her problem is."What?"

When you finally get to your key ring, you realize that such a small victory shouldn’t satisfy you this much, but you put the key in the hole and open the door, "Because, unlike most people on this planet, I have to work to survive rather than call my family and get pocket money."

“Wow, that hurt.” You sigh when your friend's lower-than-usual voice reaches you again, and you sigh as you imagine him pouting on the phone in his luxury apartment on the other side of town. You should remember that he is also the son of a wealthy family and that he and his family are at odds because he wants to continue a career in the field of art of his dreams rather than the future they have planned for their son.

As you drop your shopping bags onto the small marble kitchen counter, you bite your lower lip in frustration and mumble after you take off your coat, "That's not what I meant. I'm sorry; I didn't mean to take my stress out of you. Nobody knows how hard you try to stand on your own two feet better than me. It is just, my boss is simply overwhelming me these days; I think he will be forced to sell his shop. Then there's this last project I have to finish.”

"It's okay; I know you care too much about me to break my heart."Your friend resolves this misunderstanding without you feeling more self-pity and boring him, and you gratefully throw yourself into your small but comfortable couch. Your tiredness dominates your entire body as if it anticipating this moment, and you can't stop your eyelids from closing. "Hey, come to the party tonight; we'll have a good time, and I'll even buy you a drink to help you forget about the day."

Even though the opportunity of a drink that will take your mind off the stresses of the week makes your mouth water, you decline the invitation. You'll have to get up and get ready quickly to avoid being late for the party, and after a hot shower, you're not sure you'll have the energy to stand in front of your closet for hours looking for something to wear. You're also well aware that you don't have a gift for the birthday girl and that you'll feel guilty and awkward if you join them empty-handed. Fortunately, after you've explained all of your valid reasons to your friend, he understands rather than insists on your presence, and he ends the conversation after you've assisted him in deciding between his two outfits for tonight.

After a quick shower, a bowl of pasta, and a glass of wine, you return your full attention to the most important thing in your life or try to. Knowing that if you get up, you will have to postpone the project you intended to finish tonight, you don’t leave the work environment you have set up for yourself at the dinner table for even a second. As much as wine helped you de-stress, it also made you drowsier than you wanted; you can't see the computer screen in front of you as clearly as you used to, and you have to read every single word more than once.

You yawn, leaning back in your chair and folding your arms in the air, tilting your body to the right and left, your eyes check the time once more. It's not even midnight yet, but you feel like you've been awake for days. You suddenly realize that the deadline is still a few days away and that being so adamant about finishing the project is not a logical or correct choice. There isn't much else to do except spell check and a list of references, and then you're almost ready to send it. You hear the door knock while trying to decide between finishing it and going to bed.

You take out one of your earbuds, pause the song, and carefully listen to see if it's just a trick of your sleep-deprived brain. And the person on the other side of the door knocks again. You push back your chair and stand up, staring at the white door, perplexed; it could be one of your drunken friends who came here instead of taking a taxi home. This time, you decide not to let them sleep on your couch unless they promise to clean up the mess they'll leave behind, and you open the door to meet a stranger.

You realize he's in his thirties at most, and his long coat has hidden most of his physique, but that doesn't stop you from noticing that he spends the majority of his time in the gym. The second thing that caught your eye was the facial features that even the dim light of the apartment building, which had its last renovation years ago, couldn't hide; and then you notice his baby blue eyes examining you from head to toe just as you did him. When your gazes finally meet, he swallows and bites his lower lip between his teeth, while you shyly hide behind the door.

"Hello." Well, his stunning eyes aren't the only thing that makes him appealing; he should be able to entice a person simply by using his tone of voice. Perhaps a callous greeting or his late-night appearance at your door, either of which causes you to abandon your sudden admiration and adopt a more serious demeanor.

"Can I help you?" You notice him peering into your apartment over your shoulder; there's a can of pepper spray in the first drawer on your left, which your mother gave you when you moved to this city, and you won't hesitate to use it if necessary. You return your gaze from the drawer to him, and he immediately realizes how tense you get, clears his throat, and turns his gaze away from you to his thick black boots. He reaches into his coat pocket with his right hand and pulls out his wallet.

“You certainly can. My name is Sergeant James Barnes, and I'm on an undercover mission.” When he lifts it towards you so you can see the ID he pulled out of his wallet more clearly, you squint your eyes to see if he's telling the truth. The last thing you want is to be the subject of tomorrow's newspaper headlines about how this stranger murdered you. "I know you won't like what I'm about to say, but I have to use your apartment to spy on this street," James says, giving you all the time you need to examine his ID.

“How come it has to be mine?” If you met him in a different location on another day, you wouldn’t hesitate to take a chance on him; mysterious types like him have always managed to capture your attention. However, you must now disregard his charisma and ensure that he is trustworthy.

“Because no one else in this building bothered to talk to me for more than ten seconds except you, I stopped counting after five doors slammed in my face.” Yes, he is right on that; most of your neighbors are families who are frequently visited by the immigration office in the middle of the night, and none of them are friendly except for the old lady upstairs. You can imagine how rude they might be to this person at their door, especially if they discover he is a member of the security forces, and it makes you feel sorry for him.

“I wouldn't want to upset one of you by interfering with this secret mission. I still have a few parking tickets I haven't paid." You notice James smiling slightly at your sense of humor, which everyone finds awkward, and seeing a human expression on his emotionless face makes you feel more at ease. “All right, Sergeant Barnes,” you say after a little more opening of the door. My apartment is all yours.”

"I appreciate it." He steps inside, and you close the door, watching his gaze wander over each piece of furniture. “I hope I'm not interfering with anything important. I apologize for having to get out of your bed."

When you see his gaze focused on the clutter above the dining table, you panic; your house is hardly ready for a guest, but you hope he doesn't notice the dirty dishes in the kitchen sink or the furniture that hasn't been dusted in a long time. You're just relieved that you finally finished your dirty laundry an hour ago. “No, don’t be. I was working on a project. Please, try to be comfortable.”

You try to clean up your house by leaving him behind and turning off your laptop and organizing papers on the table. When you finally fold the blanket and set it aside on the couch, you look up to meet his gaze, and James hangs his coat on one of the chairs. “You have a lovely apartment.”

“Thank you; it's an old building, but I guess that's what appealed to me, and it's very cheap to rent.” You take advantage of his back to you and examine him closely without being embarrassed. He's dressed entirely in black, from head to toe, as if his jeans and shirt are tailored to his frame. His leather gloves, which he keeps on, catch your eye. You have no idea what his focused gaze out the window is hoping to see, or rather not see, and he returns to you in about a minute. You tuck a lock of hair behind your ear, unsure of what to say. "If you want, I can make you a cup of coffee."

“That would be great, thank you.” You turn around and walk across the room to the kitchen after nodding to him. You reach for two cups for you and him after starting the coffee machine. You're feeling strange; even the blind date your best friend set up for you didn't make you feel this nervous. But now you've taken on the ridiculous task of making the man feel at ease. His voice stops as you reach for the sugar, and you hand him a cup of black coffee as he pleases. As you lean back on the kitchen counter, quietly sipping your own coffee, he says, "Feels weird, doesn't it? Being at your house at this hour of the night with someone you don't know."

“I was invited to a party tonight, but I didn't want to go, I guess the universe wanted me to stay here tonight. I mean, maybe it was just to help you.” You respond to him and notice that he sighs in relief, leading you to believe that he thought he was holding you back.

“Who knows, maybe? Thank you for letting me in tonight. It'd be difficult for me to stay outside because it's too cold." You notice he hasn't removed his gloves, and your brows knit together. Fearing inside is too cold for him, you point your hand at AC panel in the hallway and say, "I can get the temperature a little higher if you want."

James turns his gaze to his hands, or rather to his gloves, and shakes his head, immediately realizing why you were suggesting this. “No, coffee is more than enough. I don't want you to do anything for me. It's late, and I know you won't want to sleep while I'm here, but if you want to rest, I promise I won't harm you."

You want to say you don't have any doubts about it, but you know that's too naive to think about someone you've just met. You're not sure if it's his job or the protective demeanors he can't hide behind his gaze that makes you feel safe. The thing is that you want to tell him that you feel safer than ever because you aren't alone at home and he is here. But then he grabs his coffee and returns to the window, and you realize the conversation is over.

//xxx.//

Your mother taught you as a child that staring at someone is wrong, but you can't stop yourself from staring at him as you sit on the couch. He hasn't moved from his spot by the window since your conversation, with the exception of two brief periods when he took his empty coffee cup to the kitchen and needed to use the bathroom at the end of the hall.

“Perhaps I should consider leaving this neighborhood.” With your sentence, he shifts his gaze for a moment, and you sit cross-legged, the book in your hand, which you haven't read more than a page, on your lap. You can tell he's tired, no matter how hard he tries to hide it; his body isn't as alert as it was at first, and you wonder if this is a sign that he's growing accustomed to you. He raises his brows in curiosity, and you free your lower lip from the bondage of your teeth, adding, "I already knew this neighborhood wasn't very safe, but I didn't realize it was this dangerous to deserve undercover."

In response to your concern, he pauses and runs his fingers through his hair, "I can't tell you much about my mission, but would it make you feel better if I said it isn't about the people in this neighborhood?" It's reassuring to know that the person he's looking for isn't from here. Because the thought of living on the same street as a murderer or worse made you sick for the entire night. You nod and give him a grateful look for attempting to make you feel better, and James responds with a half-smile.

“It has only recently begun to develop and improve; I've heard that young people are beginning to prefer this area for the cafes that surround it.” He is correct; this place has become more popular than it was a year ago, and there are even two new constructions, a new coffee shop and a business plaza. When he notices you grinning at his sentence, he squints and asks, "What did you find funny?"

“It's odd that you referenced young people. You said it as if you were getting on in years.”

“I feel like I'm 108 years old at times.” You roll your eyes, but your smile widens at his response. Even if you haven't had much experience with age differences in relationships, if every 100-year-old man looked like this, you wouldn't have any complaints. His melancholy expression is replaced by a relaxed one, and for the first time, you see him laugh. It's a strained one, but the tone of his laugh is sweet. You take your chance, get up, and walk over to him, encouraged by his more relaxed body language. The street is dark and secluded, making you wonder what he's been watching for minutes outside.

You speak as your cheeks flush, aware that his eyes are now drawn to your left side profile, which you know it’s not the best one of your features. “I'd believe it if it weren't for your looks.”

"What do you mean?"

“I know what I'm about to say may sound corny to you, but you're unlike anyone I've ever met. You have a distinct aura that separates you from everyone else. I guess you enjoy being mysterious.” When you meet his gaze, you realize he is thinking about what you said, and he is finally free of his imaginary mask. There you find a man who, contrary to what he wishes to portray, has experienced difficulties in his life and is still suffering the consequences. You want to believe that someone is struggling to heal behind his eyes.

Even if you know you'll regret it for the rest of your life, you raise your hand to his face, your gaze never leaving him to see an objectionable sign in him. You bite your lower lip and stroke his skin with your thumb as he closes his eyes and rests his cheek against the palm of your hand. It's warm, his beard is just starting to grow, and you can feel the wrinkles on his face that can't hide how tired he really is. He takes a deep breath under your touch, slowly opens his eyelids, and looks you in the eyes. You realize he's trying to read you as well, and you let him see the real you just as he did.

His face is so close to yours that your heart begins to beat so fast, it seems to be bursting through your ribcage. No one in a long time has been able to so easily impress you. You only realize he's pulled back when the warm skin under your hand is gone as you close your eyes and wait for him to kiss you. He looks away from you and turns his head to the left, clearing his throat; you're angry at yourself, you've done a fantastic job. It's your thing to corner and stare at a man who comes to your house for his work. You sigh and clear your throat, "Sorry, forget it. I didn't want to go too far."

“No, you did nothing wrong; it is my fault. I've spent my entire life trying to figure out who I am and meanwhile, I think I've put my good feelings in a box and lost the key." You frown at his honest words and look into his eyes, all you see is he is surprised. It is undeniable that he didn’t intend to say these things, and as a result, you can see him trying to retreat into his shell, clenching his jaw; he puts back that imaginary mask that has no emotion and quickly manages to weave back those thick walls that exclude you.

“I don't believe this is correct. People must stay balanced in order to survive; everything must have an opposite. It is not possible for everything in life to be only bad. However, whatever bad thing happened to you may have caused you to stop listening to your heart.”

"Are you real? And, if so, where have you been my entire life?" You nod in response to his question, it is a bit snarky but you choose to ignore it and when you realize his gaze is searching for something in you, you use all of your willpower not to take your gaze away from him. You don't usually discuss such deep and spiritual issues with someone you're meeting for the first time, but your body is burning with the desire to assure James that everything will be fine. You want to believe that he thinks there is a connection between you and him; maybe because you feel tied by a rope to this man you will never see again in your life.

“I'm assuming you're interested in art.” He changes the subject, and you take a deep breath, follow his gaze, and look around your house. Your lips curl up, and if you were asked to describe an art student's home, all fingers would point to yours.

You respond with a laugh, "What made you think of that? Yeah, I guess you don't have much of a choice if your middle name is Calliope. I used to fantasize about becoming a famous artist when I was younger, but now I see how far and difficult that is to achieve at this age.”

“Woah, that is a very unique name. How do you spell it?” While you're secretly relieved that he's at ease enough to mess with you, James takes a few steps forward and looks over his shoulder. You shrug your shoulders, allowing him to take up the sketch pad on the table. His fingers flit over the first page's drawing, and he silently observes the portrait you drew during your train ride. “I know I'm probably the last person to comment on art, but in my opinion, you're pretty good.”"Do you really think that?" You approach him and look at the drawing pad from behind him, wanting to believe that he is sincere in what he says. It's just a drawing you made to avoid your bad and tiring thoughts without using too much technique, but you believe he can sense the confusion you left on that page by simply touching it. He nods and reaches into his jeans pocket to retrieve his cell phone. He excuses himself and walks away after a quick glance at the screen. You return to your seat to give him some space after you grab your sketchpad and pencil.

//xxx//

Bucky tries to roll his eyes at the man's few jokes about it after telling Sam on the phone that everything is fine and that he is at your apartment. He wants to tell him that, contrary to popular belief, he keeps everything professional, but when he turns his head and looks at you, his tongue falls short. He will be the victim of jokes for the rest of his life the moment he confesses to Sam that he finds you more attractive every moment from the moment you open the door. But it's true, he hasn't had a faster heartbeat in a long time, and the majority of the women he met with hope turned out to be nothing more than disappointment. But now that he's certain that every single sentence of yours has been etched into his mind, Bucky is astounded that you know him so well without even knowing who he is.

Putting the phone back in his pocket, he turns to his left and begins watching you, not sure if you'll notice his gaze while your focus is on the drawing. He can't help but wonder what it is as he watches your fingers move the pencil deftly and gently across the page. He immediately straightens up when you raise your head and meet his gaze.

“Could you please show me your drawing? I mean when you’re finished." He notices your eyes widening with his question and your hasty closing of the page, and he raises his brows in curiosity. When he realizes why you're reacting so strongly, his lips curl up and he moves closer to you. "You're sketching me."

"What do you mean? No, I'm not."

“Do not make this mistake of playing poker with anyone.” He stands directly in front of you, smiling and shaking his head, and pointing to the notebook with his index finger. “Can I see it? Please?"

“All right, all right.” Giving up, you turn to the page you just closed and hand him the notebook. He takes it in his hand and looks at your drawing. He takes a quick breath and focuses on the tired and offended expression of the man in the drawing. He is surprised that you can draw himself so well in such a short time and bites his lower lip; the only person in his life who can draw at least as well as you is Steve, and he doubts that even he can paint human emotions as well as you. You clear your throat and shift restlessly in your seat, assuming his silence is because he dislikes it. "Has anyone ever told you that you look like young Mark Hamill?"

"Who?"

You open your eyes wide in disbelief, unable to believe that he had never heard of the famous actor.” Luke Skywalker from Star Wars? Don't tell me you've never seen it before."

The rest of the conversation is spent with you telling him about the movie and everything, and he listens to you from the opposite seat. You even do a quick Google search for a picture of the actor on your phone browser and show it to him. Bucky eventually gives up and laughs at a few jokes about the possibility that he is Mark's son, despite his initial objections. And, for the first time in his life, he tells you a bit about himself, of course, he chooses to not mention who he was in the past. He even promises to do his best when you make him promise to introduce you to Captain America.

When Bucky remembers his mission, he asks for your permission, returns to his spot at the window, and leaves you alone on the couch. He suddenly realizes that he doesn't want his mission tonight to end because he'll have to say goodbye to you and everything about you once he's finished. He considers asking you to meet him outside for a cup of coffee, and the mere thought of you saying yes makes him fidget in excitement. He knows deep down that you're the most beautiful woman he's ever seen and the one who gets along best with him, and he's dying to get to know you better. He's aware that you've been trying to get close to him all night. With the courage he gains from all of this, he licks his lips and turns around to ask you that specific question. But he finds you asleep on the couch in an awkward position, and he realizes how tired you may be. He takes the blanket and wraps it around you. You roll back in your sleep to a better position where you won't suffer from neck pain the next day, and you hug the blanket even tighter.

He stands there silently watching you until his smartphone begins to vibrate in his pocket, at which point he answers the phone without looking up to see who it is. "What?"

“Why are you whispering?”

"Because she's sleeping and I don't want to wake her." Bucky nods softly as Sam informs him that he no longer needs to keep an eye on the street and that he is free to leave. This night, which had been as beautiful as a dream for him, has come to an end. He takes your sketch pad and scribbles the following words on it before putting on his coat and quietly leaving your house.

“Here's my number if you want to talk about Star Wars or draw another portrait of me.” – James Buchanan Barnes

Bucky takes a quick shower in his apartment a few hours later and picks up his phone, which he'd left on his bed, to see if there's anything he's missed. He has no idea who he thinks he's trying to fool. From the moment he leaves your apartment all he can think about is whether you wake up and find the small note he left for you. When he sees a message from an unknown number on the screen, his heart starts racing. He reads the message right away.

“How is she?”She raises her head with the question and notices her boyfriend, who is sitting on the beige couch in the middle of the living room. Lily, when she got the news about what happened in the chalet, picked up her phone with trembling hands and immediately called her boyfriend, and she saw Sam with Bucky in the hospital waiting area where they brought you for a check-up. She hoped that you were fine during the fifteen-minute journey between the clinic and the hospital. However, after one look at your face, she realized that your wounds were not visible and that you had been traumatized.

Sam sucks in his bottom lip between his white teeth and opens his arms for her, and as Lily sits down on the couch next to him, she responds, "She's still in shock; I needed to give her something from the medicine cabinet."

“A little sleep will do her well,” Sam pulls her into him and starts gently stroking her hair as Lily rests her left cheek on his chest.

“Sam, I've never seen her like this before.” Lily finally reveals her own sadness, which she masked so as not to upset you further, and snuggles into her boyfriend to hide her tearful eyes.

“Baby, what she's going through is so horrible. She needs some rest.” Sam kisses the top of her head and inhales her scent before turning his gaze to his friend at the other end of the room. “It is also important for her to feel the love and support of her loved ones.”

Bucky continues to look out the window toward the street, his back is to the room and everyone else. Sam is aware that he hasn't said anything since they left the hospital; he is clearly focused on keeping an eye out for any potential danger despite the guards downstairs. Sam has an insight of what he's thinking, what's going through his mind because if Sam had found the woman he loved in such a situation, he would have taken the same protective stance. Knowing that Lily's worried words will make Bucky feel even worse, he lists all of the motivational phrases he knows in order to change the sad atmosphere in the room and help both of them calm down.

“We will be by her side and try to help her in any way we can. I'm confident that Y/N will get through this. She is the second most powerful woman I know.” When Lily looks up to meet her boyfriend's gaze, she finds peace in the resolve in his eyes, and her lips curve upward. She nods, pleased that Sam thinks she's strong and realizes that crying and whining won't help anyone. She finally remembers the other man in the room and turns her gaze to Bucky; she will never forget the expression on his face as he waited for your examination to end. Because she honestly doesn't remember ever seeing Bucky so terrified and worried.

“I am going to make coffee for us,” she says, getting up to go to your kitchen so Sam can talk to him.

“Bucky,” Sam, like his girlfriend, gets up from the couch to do something and takes a few steps closer to him, but it's only when he puts his hand on his shoulder that he manages to snap him out of his thoughts. Bucky turns his head to look at his friend, but he can't hide his thoughts behind his eyes even for that brief moment. “No one can reach her here; she is at home and safe. Please calm down a little too."

“How can you be so sure? We assumed she was secure in the car with the guards. What if all of this had happened while Y/N was there? What if Meredith's killers had shown up in the middle of the session? What do you think would happen then?" Despite the fact that they both know the answer to the question he asked in rage, no one dares to say it.

“But it didn't. We can sit here for hours tormenting ourselves with all the possibilities, but it doesn't work for anyone. Bucky, I understand how you feel, but you must stop this for the sake of everyone."

“It is easier said than done.” Bucky returns his gaze to the outside world, his brows furrowed in mockery. A terrible sense of guilt overtakes his body, as he secretly knows that he has been unfair to Sam and that he is only trying to make them feel good, and he apologizes For his sudden outburst. "You are right. I am sorry, any progress at the crime scene?"

“As you would expect, national security has taken control, and they will wait for their expert coroner from the capital to arrive for the autopsy. But, in my opinion, they're just trying to buy time. They will have the full attention of the public because it is their second agent, whom they lost in the same year.”

“How about the ballistics report?” Sam shakes his head in response to his question, and Bucky sighs thoughtfully before leaving his position by the window and taking a seat in one of the leather chairs to his left. "I suspected Sharon's statement was not entirely true; I thought we had missed something or that there were others involved, but now I'm certain Noah is to blame for everything."

“I agree with what you're saying, but there are so many puzzle pieces missing, Bucky. I'm still not sure how he found out Meredith's exact location, or what was so important that he didn't want her to tell anyone."

“Perhaps he had a man inside; the chances of someone working for him are not low at all.” Bucky mumbles a small thank you as he takes the cup of coffee Lily offers him from the tray, and shares another thought that occurred to him as he takes his first sip, "Or could he have followed them? Given the number of bullets, perhaps he wasn't alone.”

“I'll call a few people and see what I can find out.” Sam leaves his girlfriend and Bucky alone in the living room and goes into another room to call some old friends. Lily observes the man silently at first, attempting to comprehend the foxes swirling around in his head.

"You were afraid, weren't you?" Bucky ignores her question and returns to reality, frowning and making eye contact with the woman.

"What do you mean?"

“When I was a kid, my father gave me a necklace; it wasn't particularly expensive or good looking, and I didn't pay much attention to it; it sat in my jewelry box for months. My parents divorced, and my mother and I were forced to move to another city. And as I was unpacking my luggage in my new room, I noticed that my necklace had gone missing. I began sobbing for reasons I didn't fully understand. Isn't it strange? I didn't care until I lost that necklace and realized how meaningful it was to me.” As Lily sips her coffee, she gives the man time to process what she's saying, not wanting him to realize your value in his life when it's too late for everything.

“I'm already know how important she is to me, Lily. And, for the same reason, I keep her away from me, her safety and happiness are more important to me than my own.”

“Do you truly believe you accomplished that? Bucky, can't you see how miserable she is? I wouldn't have pushed you on this if I hadn't seen with my own eyes that you had feelings for her. But I am one of the witnesses to how much you two care about each other's thoughts and feelings. If you want to make her happy, you should stop avoiding her so much.”

//xxx.//

On a foggy afternoon, you step out of the familiar black car and realize you're not wearing shoes until the grass on the ground tickles the soles of your feet. You frown and look around, realizing that the car you stepped out of a few seconds ago is nowhere to be found.

“Hello, is there anyone here?” You try to find a place to take shelter and wrap your arms around your body, and when you see a light ahead, a wave of relief washes over you. Despite taking dozens of steps towards it, you can't get close to the light, your shirt is stuck to your sweaty body, and you're out of breath. “Can anyone hear me?”

“Y/N.” When you finally hear someone calling out to you, you quickly turn around and look in the direction of the voice. Meredith is a few feet behind you, dressed in a white gown. You don't understand what she's doing in this freezing weather, in this secluded place where you believe there are only the two of you. But you dash towards her, taking her in your arms and hugging her tightly.

“Thank God, Meredith, you're here. I have no idea where we are or how to get home. Please help me." You pull back and look into her face and realize that her eyes are focused on you, so angry that they pierce your body. Her lips curl into a mocking smile and you swallow in fear.

“You can't, we're both trapped here. We'll never get out of here alive." After you tell her not to say such things, that someone will come to save you, you hold her hand tightly and force her to walk with you towards where the light is. But when you realize that even with all your strength, you can't move her one bit, you look at her over your shoulder, and what you see almost makes you swallow your tongue.

Meredith's face is white with fear as a thin stream of blood runs down her face from a hole in the middle of her forehead. She opens her mouth slowly, as if speaking is the most difficult thing in the world for her, and asks, "Why didn't you help me? I believed you would protect me, I trusted you.”

Meredith screams and runs towards you, wrapping her hands around your throat, and you sit up in your bed in horror. You widen your eyes and look around to see Bucky leaning over you, shaking your shoulders. You press your lips together to draw him in when your fearful gaze meets his worried eyes. Bucky strokes your hair as he waits at the foot of your bed for you to calm down.

“It was just a nightmare, Y/N. You're safe and sound at home.” You gently raise your head which rests on his shoulder and look around to see if what he's saying is correct. You take a deep breath and nod your head as you realize the room illuminated by the bedside lamp is your bedroom. You want to tell him that you've never had such a frightening dream before, that it was very real, but Bucky pulls back, noticing that you're breathing more regularly now. “Would you like me to get you a glass of water?”

“No!" You more or less yell, and your sudden outburst causes him to look at you intently as well. Instead of telling him, you're afraid Meredith will come out again if he leaves you alone, you clear your throat and say, "Please don't leave me alone."

“I won't leave you anymore.” Bucky in this situation takes his lip between his lips and nibbles it helplessly. "Would you like to talk about it?"

You would have refused this offer at any other time or if it had come from someone else, but now you say yes because of the knowledge your profession has provided you and his trustworthiness. You are afraid that if you don't express your feelings about this, the incident will take something away from you and leave a permanent mark on your mind. You begin telling him about your nightmare without leaving out any details, and Bucky listens to your words intently.

“It was heartbreaking, Bucky. I couldn't explain to her why I couldn't save her. She seemed so bad and helpless...”

Bucky, who is sitting on one of the bar stools at the opposite end of the kitchen island, watches silently as you get a cup of coffee from the coffee machine. When you take a cup from the cabinet for him, he shakes his head and declines your silent offer. “You feel bad for not being able to prevent her death; you believe there is something you could have done even if you weren't present there at the time.”

“Actually, yes,” you admit, looking down at your bare feet and away from him. You are surprised that he can describe how you feel so well, but you already know that he, too, is filled with remorse for the lives he has destroyed. “How come I didn't contact her sooner? I didn't insist on meeting her before the session after talking to you, despite my hesitations. Maybe, just maybe, if I had done that, she wouldn't have died."

“It's called survivor's guilt,” Bucky tells you in the middle of a sentence, and you glare at him. While you are perfectly aware of what he is referring to, you are puzzled as to why it did not occur to you earlier. It is a mental condition that occurs when a person believes they have done something wrong by surviving a traumatic or tragic event when others did not, often feeling self-guilt.

"I can't believe I hadn't thought of this before." Bucky shakes his head, gets up from his seat, and walks around the counter to you as you place your coffee cup on the kitchen counter and cover your face with your hands.

You look up at her as he grabs your wrists and pulls your hands away from your face. “Pay attention, Y/N; because everything I'm about to say is true. You have nothing to be guilty of. I'm sure if you had known what was going to happen to her, you would have risked your own life to save her. Meredith, unlike the woman in your dream, would never blame you for this because you are the most innocent person in the situation. All you wanted was to be able to help her, and you can still do so if you really want. We just need to find her killers."

“But, Bucky, how? We always come back empty-handed, no matter what we do; someone is always a few steps ahead of us and always will be. We'll never find out who did this to her.” The doorbell stops you both in your tracks just as Bucky opens his mouth to tell you that this isn't true, and even though Meredith's death is so tragic, you now have more evidence and clues.

You turn to look at the door, and as Bucky walks away to open it for you, he says, "It must be Lily. She was talking about a delicious cake recipe that will make you feel better.”

You follow him to the door and notice that the person at the door is not Lily, but rather a man. Bucky looks behind you to see if you recognize him. When he notices the confusion in your eyes, as well as his, he frowns, turning back to the man and straightening his body for a possible situation.

"Hello, I couldn't think of anywhere else to go." The man's gaze is fixed on you; you stare at him without saying anything; despite the guards below, you have no idea who he is or how he got here. “ I don't have anyone else to talk to about this except you. My name is-"

“Eric, you are Eric Woo,” you finish instead, and when you notice Bucky is still staring at the man with suspicious eyes, you clear your throat and add, “Bucky, he's Meredith's fiancé.”

"Here you go, you'll be fine soon." You place a cup of coffee in front of Eric and take a seat across from him on the couch. You bite your lower lip, unsure what to say next after seeing him look at the cup with no appetite. You've probably met hundreds of patients in your office, but none seem as lost as this man. He appears exhausted in his suit as if he hasn't eaten in days, and you can bet Bucky has questions for him just as much as you do. “I am deeply saddened by your loss, Mr. Woo. I'll never understand how you truly feel, but I want you to know that Meredith's death saddens us all."

"I appreciate it." Eric accepts your condolences by softly nodding and pushing his glasses up his nose. His gaze meets Bucky's once more, and you nudge him with your elbow so he doesn't tense Eric even more, and Bucky says a few sentences similar to yours when he realizes his eyes can't melt Eric. “I was so angry that people could be so stupid as to believe the accusations against her, but no one knew that she was too honorable and devoted to her country and duty. She told me that if something bad happened to her one day, I had to disappear, and I couldn't understand why she said that at the time because we were nothing more than a couple in their own business who were about to marry.”

"But now you know why she had that conversation with you, don't you?" Eric nods in response to your question, and you realize he's trying to figure out if you believe the false claims about his dead fiancée, so you add. “Meredith must have sensed something bad was about to happen to her and wanted to protect you.”

“She was a very caring person for her loved ones; she once flew across the country for a single night to celebrate her father's birthday. She had the ability to lift everyone's spirits, which was one of the reasons I fell in love with her.” When you catch a glimpse of Bucky out of the corner of your eye, you notice he's already staring at you, and you return your gaze to Eric, embarrassed. “But Meredith abruptly changed into someone else. She barely left her house, and she even asked me to help her in creating a setup so that she could continue her work from home. At first, I assumed she was depressed or that the stress of the wedding was overwhelming her, and I suggested that she seek professional help if she wanted. But the mere thought of it drove her insane.”

“Do you have any ideas as to why she didn't request help?” You lean back, disappointed, as Eric shakes his head; he knows more than the woman had ever told you, and you really had hoped he could help you.

“Do you recall when she got into this mood?” Eric thinks for Bucky's question, knowing that anything he says could be very important; you and Bucky give him time.

“I don't actually remember the date or month, but it was immediately after the conference. When I arrived at the airport to pick her up, she burst into tears as soon as she saw me.”

“Conference?" You and Bucky both ask at the same time.

“I couldn't go because I was working on another project, but Meredith was very excited to go. She mentioned that this could help her career and that she was considering presenting a project she had been working on for months to big men in suits.”

"Excuse me; I have to make a phone call." Bucky gives you a sidelong glance before getting up and walking away. Meredith spent two full days at the same conference as Noah, so his guess is completely right. Your body is filled with adrenaline as you realize you're on the right track. When you return your gaze to Eric, you notice him staring out the window with tears in his eyes, and you try to imagine how terrible it would be to lose someone you care about. The thought of a world without Bucky causes your heart to ache and your throat to tighten. You rise from your seat and take a seat on the coffee table, leaning forward to meet his gaze.

“Thank you so much for coming here today and sharing all of this with us, Eric. I promise to do everything in my power to bring the horrible people who did this to Meredith to justice."

Eric places your hand in his palm on his knee and looks into your eyes with a bitter smile. “No, I should be the one to express gratitude. Thank you for not leaving her alone in her final days and for attempting to help her.” Instead of saying anything, you smile at him with slightly teary eyes and squeeze his hand to try to comfort him. Something on his wrist catches your eye, and you blink to get a better look at the black image that is partially visible through the fabric of his shirt. And when Eric notices you examining the small tattoo, he undoes the cufflink to better show it to you.

“Meredith did it herself at home with henna. Although I was opposed to the idea of a tattoo, I agreed to let her have it because it was similar to hers.” He notices that you have turned on your phone's camera and stops you with his hand. “I, too, thought it was a QR code and couldn't get anything after a quick scan.” Bucky looks surprised when he returns to the living room and sees you two in such a close position, and you call over to him so he can see it for himself.

“Can we still take a photo of it?” Perhaps there's a clue for us.” And then, after Eric's nod, you do as Bucky instructs and take a clear photo of it. “Eric, I've set up a safe house for you; don't worry, no one will hurt you there."

"I appreciate it." He puts on his jacket again without making Bucky wait any longer, and after saying goodbye to you, he walks towards the door, leaving you and Bucky alone.

“I'll be back in an hour or so. I know you won't like it, but I've invited Sharon over here, and she might know something useful."

“It's fine; the more people who can help, the better.” You walk down the hall with him to the front door. Bucky takes one last look at you before leaving your house with Eric, and you smile to show him you're fine. "Please don't be too late, okay?"

"Promise, I won't."

//xxx.//

“Y/N, I just heard what happened; is everything all right? Are you okay?" You stare out the window as you listen to Noah's worried voice on the phone. It's getting dark now, and the moonlight is the only thing that makes you think it's safe outside.

"Yes, I'm fine. Don't be worried. I was just a little afraid, that's all."

"I'd like to come to you." You look at the two people in the living room, terrified by his offer. After downloading some useful apps to your laptop, Sharon and Bucky try to find a clue. When Bucky looks up from the screen and his eyes meet yours, you smile, and even if you don't want to admit it, you like the way he is all over you. "Hello, are you there?"

When you realize you haven't answered the man on the other end of the line for a minute, you clear your throat and try to find a lie. “I don't think it is possible, Noah. The front of the apartment is guarded by more cops than a police station, and I doubt they would welcome your unexpected visit.”

"Yes, I suppose you're right; I'll see you when things settle down a little. Take care of yourself for me, okay ?"

"Of course, bye." You finish the conversation, place your phone on the dining table, and sit down in your chair. All you can do is hope Noah doesn't abuse his position and end up here.

“You could have made an excellent detective.” Sharon teases you as her fingers move quickly across the keyboard, never taking her gaze away from the computer screen. You sit up, hoping she's found something in the paperwork you've collected that you've missed. You notice on your computer screen that she is running a program you've never heard of before, and she adds to pique your interest by saying, "Don't worry; I'm not trying to get you into trouble. I'm just messing around with the database to see if there's any progression."

“Wow, are you sure you can do that?” You try to figure out what's going on on the screen, admiring her intelligence and hacking skills. Yes, the two of you were a little nervous when she first came to your house, but once you realized it was only because of you, you be nice to her and admit she's not as bad as you thought. “You're brilliant.”

"I appreciate it." Sharon smiles at your compliment, and Bucky sips his last cup of coffee of the day, stunned by the two of you.

"We tried scanning Meredith and Eric's tattoos one at a time, but what if we could combine them and try again?" With your idea, Sharon and Bucky look up quickly at you, and you shyly push a lock of hair behind your ear. “Perhaps it was a stupid idea.”

“No, not at all.” You watch Sharon attempting to achieve something by overlapping the tattoos in the two photos. Both tattoos turn around, trying to match, and with each passing second, you're more convinced that it wasn't a good idea. When you turn to sit back in your chair out of frustration, you come to a halt at the sound you hear.

“"Was that a good beep? Did we make it?" Bucky asks for the both of you, and he can't sit still in his chair.

“It's a secure connection to the deep web.” Sharon stares at both of you to ensure that you are in agreement before clicking the link. You give her a quick nod, and she sighs deeply and clicks it.

"Hello, my name is Meredith Parker. And if you've accessed this means you have my body. I pray Eric is still alive.”

“Oh my god, this is a video. Look, I recognize that painting behind her; she recorded this in the chalet.” You have no idea how Meredith got all of this equipment there, but now you realize that the video in front of you is everything she's been hiding from you for days.

“Do you remember what Eric said? Meredith must have known she was being watched, so she set up this which she thought she couldn't be followed.

“My boss, Noah Sherman, raped me. He has me under surveillance, even though he thinks he got away with it, just as he has dozens of times before. But he knows that I found others. They're just as afraid as I am. But I cannot, in good conscience, go on with my life and allow him to rape another woman. He thinks he can get away with it by slandering me, but that's not the case. I heard one of the guards who is staying with me on the phone with him, and I'm sure he'll be here in a few hours to finish me off. Please track his GPS signal; he's got a GPS jammer on his phone, but I'm confident I can block it. Track it. Track it all the way to where I am right now!”

The video ends, and the screen goes black, and the three of you just stand there, unable to say or feel anything in response to what you've just heard.

Lifting your head from the medical report you're holding to read, you look at the clock on the wall; it was nine o'clock in the evening when you walked in with a cup of hot coffee, and it's already past midnight if your eyes, which are blurred from hours of staring at a computer screen, see right. You push your chair back and raise your arms to stretch your body. You get to your feet, trying to ignore your trembling hands, not sure if it's from the coffee or the lack of sleep. Because you've been sitting in the same position for hours, your entire body is stoned; as soon as you finish this case, you're going to reward yourself by hiring a chiropractor. You leave the room to take the empty and filthy cup to the kitchen, scratching your scalp sleepily. It is as if you're back in college, you returned to your old ways of studying late at night and acting like a zombie. You lean against the kitchen counter after getting a glass of water and sip it slowly. As the bottle of wine and box of chocolates Noah brought on his last visit came into view, the corners of your lips curl upward.

Despite his hectic work schedule, he would show up at your door with hot and fresh food and a bottle of wine whenever he could. It's wonderful that you've reconnected with him; you consider him a gift from the past for you. Sometimes at the dinner table, sometimes while sitting on the floor around the coffee table, the conversations you had while dinner became the only thing that helped you get over the case's tension. You miss and need to talk about your youth, about old friends you haven't heard from in a long time. He listened to what happened in your life during the time he was out of touch with you and told you about the changes in his own life.

As you are aware, Noah is no longer living and working in Switzerland; he has returned to his home country with promotion and has moved to the capital. As far as you know, he is now in a far more powerful and important position than he was previously. No matter how hard you tried to persuade him to reveal his job, he hasn't given up on his mysterious identity so easily. After leaving his empty plate on the coffee table and reaching for his own wine glass one night, he stated that if you talk about your patient, he would tell you anything about his job. But because he knew you couldn't do it, he immediately left you alone and changed the subject to old memories; he's always been the master of changing the subject.

He has never been in a serious relationship or married, but he has a dog that he says he adores, and he told you that he already misses going for walks with him. But what drew your attention the most between Noah's sentences is that, unlike you, he isn't using his busy business life as an excuse for his failed love life. He has admitted that he thought he had found the right person, but what followed was a string of short relationships that ended in the disaster while filling his empty glass. And for the first time that night, he asked you about Bucky; he didn't believe you were just friends and laughed so hard that tears welled up in his eyes. When you told him that they had only met once and that he didn't have enough time to comment on Bucky and your relationship, he said that his instincts had never failed him before.

Of course, after all these years, you can't expect Noah to remain the same; he's no longer just a young man in his twenties looking for a good time. The man you met years later and the young man you lived with for two years is very different. Noah has become more self-assured, and it is undeniable that he enjoys praising himself rather than being embarrassed. He tells you that whenever he has the opportunity, he is now a successful and powerful person; you don't want to admit it, but you are afraid that power and money possessed him. Fortunately, he never gives you enough time to torture yourself by thinking about it. That cute and funny friend you know is still out there, and all you have to do is try to keep up with his new changes so that you don't have the wrong impression of him years later.

//xxx//

“So this is kind of a get-to-know-Noah dinner?” Noah asks as you hit the brakes at a red light; traffic is heavier than you expected, and you are worried about being late for Lily's dinner party. When you parked your car in front of the hotel where he is staying, he didn't walk out the door in an expensive suit, as you had feared. Of course, it is always nice to be with someone who cares about his appearance, but it still doesn't feel completely comfortable. Fortunately, contrary to your fears, he opted for casual and sporty jeans and an off-white sweater. When he adds the watch on his arm and his carefully styled hair to this look, he looks like he just stepped off the cover of a men's magazine. Noah is a man whose appearance is a ten out of ten; you can be confident that he will catch the attention of the women around him at any time. He inherited the best traits from his family's gene pool; he has a handsome, bony face, and working out every day for years has helped his athletic body.

“No, of course not,” you respond, turning your head to him and laughing.

It's been nearly twenty days since you locked yourself away in your house to prepare for your new case. Knowing your hurry, Lily gave you time and left you alone after saying she would be there if you ever needed help. For the same reason, she didn't insist on your participation when she invited you to dinner with them all last Wednesday, but she couldn't help but mention that she wants to get to know Noah better. You didn't want to turn down her invitation again; you missed your friends and realized how important they are in your life only after being away from them for a long time; you even missed Sam messing with you. Also, the weather is too nice to stay at home, and you need to get away from your case. Today may be one of the last warm autumn days you can all spend together in the backyard before the dreadful winter, and you intend to enjoy every minute of it.

"You don't seem so sure." Noah raises an eyebrow, unsure of your response and unaware of your own thoughts. He's right, you know Lily would try to spend all of her free time talking to him today, you're certain of it. She is aware that you two are devoting an awful lot of time, and she wonders why. She wants to know if he is a potential boyfriend for you, and if so, who is this man who has appeared out of nowhere in your life.

“Lily is a close friend of mine, and she hasn't met anyone from my past since the day we met, so she naturally wants to get to know you. My father and I aren't exactly close since my mother's death. And all of our university friends are spread out all over the world.”

"You are right. Michael's extraordinary success in researching veterans in Korea was covered by all international news outlets. It's odd that the man who led anti-military protests for most of his youth and was nearly arrested for it is now working in this field.” You nod, a tense smile on your face, grateful that he remembers you don't like talking about your family and hasn't commented on it.

You look for a parking spot on Lily's street; Sam and Lily moved in together about six months ago, claiming that they don't have much time to spend together due to their busy schedules and that it is much easier and more logical for their relationship. This neighborhood is designed for small families; the street is small and narrow, and the vehicles of the residents are enough to cause parking issues. Finally, you park your car on the other side of their house, between a black minivan and a white Sedan, turn off the ignition, and unbuckle your seat belt. Your eyes scan the street quickly, and you hold your breath when you see Bucky's motorcycle in the driveway with Sam's car. Noah follows your gaze, trying to figure out what is making you so nervous.

Of course, he'd be there today as well; after all, he'd settled his issue with Lily and he is Sam's best friend. It would only concern you two if the ice between you two had turned into a massive iceberg. As a guest of Sam and Lily's, you'd be the most polite and only speak to him when necessary. You can't pretend that nothing happened between you after what happened, no matter how hard you try. This fact has now been accepted by you. Your heart keeps wondering if you brought Noah for his support today. Or are you doing it to show Bucky that another person can enter your life as well? Is it fair to drag Noah into this mess? He already knew you had an unresolved issue with Bucky, and he could have declined the invitation today if he didn't want your love life to be dropped like a bomb in his lap, or so you believe.

You turn your gaze from the black motorcycle to your right and find Noah already staring at you. His lips curve upward into a small smile, but you know he's looking for something in you behind his gaze. Instead of averting your gaze, you squint and ask, "What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

“Because you are so beautiful.” You don't say anything, but your eyes roll back so far that only the whites are visible. You've always disliked being complimented; these kind words are meant to make you feel valued and loved. When you are complimented, however, all you want to do is argue the opposite.

“Uh, it's the wrong answer,” you say as if he's a contestant and you're the host of a game show; he laughs along with you, and the heavy tension in the car vanishes in an instant. Noah surrenders by raising his hands.

“All right, you've got me now. All I wanted to do was make sure everything was fine."

"Why?"

“Because,” he begins but does not finish, and you frown at him. His eyes meet yours again after a heavy sigh, his fingers playing with the strap of his watch, and it is clear that he is hesitant. “Because I wanted to make sure you didn't mind Bucky being here today. Y/N, I may have gone too far by asking you questions about him that evening, but I get the impression you don't tell me everything, either."

“Noah, I-” you mumble; even if you want to talk to him about it more in-depth, now isn't the time, and you certainly wouldn't have done so in the car. You clearly fail despite lying to yourself and those around you that you no longer care about Bucky. Bucky isn't just a friend to you. He takes your hand in his, gently caresses the back of it with his long, thick thumb, and your eyes watch him move silently.

“It's fine; you don't need to tell me. I just wanted you to know how thankful I am to be invited here today.”

"Really? I was actually concerned about putting you in a situation you didn't want by telling Lily that we'd both be there. But Lily was insistent. Of course, you don't know her yet, but you can't say no to her."

"Are you serious? I couldn't have asked for a better opportunity,” He says, making you forget about your worries, and looks away from you as if he isn't completely confident in what he's trying to say.

"What do you mean? Opportunity for what?”

“Oh, fuck it,” he sighs and sits more comfortably in the passenger seat, turning his body completely towards you, his left leg under the other. You can tell he's nervous about what he's about to say. “I want to meet all of the important people in your life. I want to tell them about our crazy old exciting adventures and show them how much you mean to me. Most importantly, I want to know who I have to fight to win your heart.”

//xxx//

You only spoke twice on the way to Noah's hotel after dinner at Lily's. The first time, you asked him why he suddenly wanted to leave, he told you that your friends aren't as considerate and kind as you believe. When you asked him to explain further, he couldn't stand still, as if the car was too small for him, preferring to remain silent while looking out the window. He sat on the passenger seat, arms folded across his chest, sullenly watching the traffic ahead of you, like a kid whose toy had been taken away.

The second time you two spoke was when you parked your car in front of the hotel, unbuckled your seat belt, and followed Noah out of the car. When you apologized to him for what happened at dinner, he stopped you with a shake of his head and said it was none of your fault. He took a step towards you as you stated that even though you didn't know what caused the argument, it wasn't true and you felt you owe him for Bucky's rude behavior an apology. You couldn't have predicted that this would turn into much more than a quick goodbye hug until it happened. He took your chin between his index finger and thumb and lifted it slightly, kissing your lips gently. In fact, you were in a state of shock at the time, and it was difficult to even comprehend what you should say or think. Noah turned around and walked towards the door after saying his goodbyes to you.

You lean back in your seat and close your eyes for a moment, dizzy, but it's not from the two glasses of wine you consumed at dinner. You mutter to yourself in the car, "Calm down." Your thoughts are so frantic that it feels like they're roaring alongside a galloping horse. What exactly happened to you? Where has that commanding and intelligent Y/N vanished to? You look out the right window of the car and notice a light on the third floor of the apartment building. Bucky has returned home, but why are you in a car parked in front of his apartment? You've come to hold him accountable for what he did at dinner, and he's going to explain why he was so rude and inappropriate. He has no right to act out in order to make the men in your life feel uneasy. Just as you don't interfere with him and his love life, he has to do the same. However, that isn't the only reason you've come here. You are hoping Bucky would tell you about the argument. If you want to sleep tonight, you need to know exactly what happened and why Noah was as angry with Sam as he was with Bucky. Yes, that's exactly what you'll say to him if he asks why you came, and you won't leave his door until you get the answer you're looking for. You take the key out of the ignition and get out of your car with a sudden determination. You lock the car as you walk to the apartment building's door and, taking a deep breath, you push the door, which is always ajar, and enter.

“Hello,” Bucky says as he finally opens the door; he was late because you showed up while he was in the shower. Your gaze meets as he dries the back of his head with the towel in his left hand, the scent of green apples radiating from his skin making your mouth water. Under the white light, the color of his eyes shimmers like jewels, and in a way, you'll never understand, the same light has shadowed certain parts of his face, revealing his perfect boney features.

“You can keep your hello.” You sound angry, and for a brief moment you have almost forgotten why you came here because of his attractive face, and you gather yourself. You wonder if he was expecting your visit because there isn't even a hint of surprise on his face when he sees you at the door. Did he know you well enough to predict that you'd be upset with him after dinner? Is he by himself? This is a question that has just occurred to you. You have no idea how you would react if he's with another woman. Would you apologize and leave, or would you ignore everything and set up camp outside his apartment until he answers? You listen carefully for any sounds that indicate he is not alone, but there isn't even a click. Bucky pulls open the door a little more and invites you in without saying anything.

There isn't much furniture in his apartment; if he packs his clothes and a few novels in his bag and walks out at that moment, no one would believe Bucky has been living here for over a year, because there is nothing personal about his life in his apartment. It makes you think that after everything he's been through, he's having difficulty settling down. There is a couch in the living room, as well as a wide and thin television mounted on the opposite wall, and a dining table for four in front of the window facing the street. He even admitted that he bought the majority of his possessions for you one evening while you were having dinner together. That's why all of his coffee cups are different; he only has a few cutleries. He follows you into the living room and folds the blanket to make room for you, but you decline and choose to remain standing. He replaces the blanket and folds his arms across his chest. Perhaps his subconscious mind is defending itself, even if he isn't aware of it. His posture and the look in his eyes indicate that he already knows why you've shown up and that he's prepared for what's to come.

“Why did you do it?” you ask, deciding that beating around the bush would be a waste of time. Bucky clenches his jaw and rolls his eyes involuntarily, but he comes to a halt when he notices that the pupils focused on him are becoming a little darker with anger; he has never seen you this distant and angry before. Both of your bodies are challenging each other, and if someone saw your eyes never leaving each other, they would think you were having a staring contest. “What exactly do you mean?” He asks as he shifts his weight from one leg to the other; his uninterested face makes you want to punch him right in the nose.

“You know exactly what I mean, Bucky. What did you say to Noah to make him feel so uneasy in the middle of the party that he wanted to leave?"

“Did you come here to talk about him, Noah?” He grimaces as if saying his name gave him a bad taste in his mouth and turns to pick up the empty coffee cup on the coffee table.

“What else would I come for?” When he chooses to take the mug into the kitchen instead of answering, you take a deep breath to stay calm. Raising your voice or starting an argument with him would have made it impossible to get an answer from him, even though these all sound great right now. You also want to believe that the two of you are mature enough to converse in a controlled and calm manner. “Please Bucky, I need an answer,” you follow him like a shadow.

He puts it in the sink and leans against the kitchen counter. "Oh, I'm surprised your boyfriend hasn't already told you everything."

“He's not my boyfriend,” you correct him as you cross your arms across your chest, mimicking him once more.

"It didn't appear that way when he took your hand and walked away with you." Yes, Noah's move surprised you at the time, but you only realized on the way here that he did it to defeat Bucky, who he thought had feelings for you.

“I didn't come here to debate it. Besides, any decision I make about my private life is none of your business.” He raises an eyebrow, ponders over the sentence for a few seconds, and finally nods his head, and you are irritated with yourself for hoping he would object to you.

“How can you trust him so easily?”

His confident demeanor has been replaced by that of a defeated and unhappy man, and you frown, unable to make sense of his question, "What do you mean? He is a friend.”

“Yes, he is someone who hasn't contacted you in years and is suddenly overjoyed to be a part of your life.” When he notices that you are still looking at him with question marks, he looks for a different way to express his own doubts. For a few seconds, he remains silent, biting his lower lip and resting his chin between his thumb and forefinger. Despite his efforts to find a way to express his thoughts on this subject without offending you, he always comes up short. As a result, he chooses the only option to him: to be open and honest. “Well, consider it this way. Everything is going swimmingly in your life until the government asks you to handle a very special case. They want you to get a confession from an agent they believe is selling intelligence, and what a coincidence that an old friend comes to visit you, which he never tells anyone about himself.”

“You've got to be kidding,” you say, unable to believe he can make such claims. You can't believe he's trying to frame Noah as the bad guy simply because he keeps a few things hidden. “You realize this is all insane, don't you? God, what am I doing here? I shouldn't have come at all; let's pretend this conversation never happened. Good night, Bucky."

How could you think coming here was a good idea, you leave Bucky alone with all his doubts and make your way to the door. He had never told you what you wanted to hear, and it is now foolish of you to think that he would break down those walls just for you. Your cheeks are flushed with rage and disappointment, and you feel like an elephant on your chest as you leave his house in frustration once more.

As you grab the doorknob and pull it towards you, a hand stops the door, and you quickly turn your head to look into his face. He's right next to you, and his gaze is fixed on you. "Do not leave like this."

"What?" Your voice mimics his barely whispered voice, and his facial expression astounds you, his gaze carrying a meaning you've never seen before.

Bucky closes the door with his palm, taking advantage of your surprised pause, "Please don't leave me behind and walk out of this door in anger again. I'll tell you everything you want to know if you wait for me to make coffee for both of us.”

It doesn't take much for him to persuade you; his eyes alone would make you want to jump into the fire with him. With his promise, the butterflies in your stomach emerge from their cocoons and begin to fly. He has let you into his world, and it is up to you to decide what to ask him. Your heart thumps with excitement as the argument that brought you here fades into the background. You nod and take your hand off the doorknob.

The street is in complete silence and darkness; you wrap your arms around your body and gaze at the fire escape by the window. You imagine Bucky opening that window and going up the fire escape and sitting there looking out. You feel like you have known him your whole life, and at the same time, you have no idea who he really is. You wonder how he spends his days, is he someone who gets bored right away? Or does the silence bring him peace? He has told you that he has made a few new friends and meets with them frequently to escape his own thoughts. And then there is Sharon, where has he met her? What does she have that you don’t to change Bucky's mind about relationships? You sigh deeply, knowing that you wouldn't be able to find an answer to these.

“Are you cold?” Bucky approaches you and drapes a cardigan over your shoulders. You're about to say it's not necessary, but the scent of his cologne numbs all of your senses. You're making a mistake by feeling this way and not being able to control your thoughts about him; you feel terrible as you hope there's something else behind his kind gesture.

“Thank you.” You put on his cardigan and return to the couch, smiling as you notice a cup of coffee on the coffee table for you as well. He sits on the opposite end of the couch, and you lean back against the seat's edge, turning your body towards him. He takes yours and his own cup and hands to you, and you both take your first sip at the same time. You already know he's waiting for you to ask him a question. But you're at a loss for where to begin. That's why you chose the reason you came here as a prelude, fearing that bringing up Noah would irritate him once more. “How come you suspect Noah?”

“Look, Y/N, you don't have to believe me. I'm not trying to influence your opinion; you're a wise and intelligent woman. All I'm asking is that you don't blindly trust him.” He claims that he does not want to influence your judgment or thoughts, but all of his actions appear to indicate that he does. He's created a storm of anxiety with just a few sentences, and you shift uneasily, unsure why you let him. Everything he said to you may have seemed the most logical thing you'd ever heard at the time, possibly because you sensed something was wrong with Noah, but you're not sure. Is he correct in what he said? Could Noah be trying to get close to you for your new patient, as Bucky implied?

That would explain the sudden escalation of your relationship, as well as the fact that he confessed his feelings for you in a very short period of time and was far too bold about it, because that's not Noah, you know. He's also been attempting to bring the matter to your case over the last few days, putting pressure on you that he assumed you didn't realize to share a little bit of information. When he left you alone in your living room to use the bathroom one evening, you found him in front of the study room, where you usually keep the door closed, but as Noah had said that evening, the chances of him mistaking the rooms seemed pretty high.

“Bucky, I want to believe you, but all you give me is doubt.”

“Doubt is sometimes the most powerful weapon.” You can't help but think he knows something about it but isn't willing to share it with you. "I'm asking you to do something so that you can be certain that my suspicions are correct."

"What?"

"Ask Meredith if Noah was at the conference?"

Meredith's attendance at the conference was the last thing she did before being taken into custody. The government even assumed she had met the person or people to whom she was selling the information; you vaguely remembered reading about it in her file. As you suddenly realize and look up at the man, the clouds above your head clear. "Hang on a minute, how do you know the conference? And don't tell me you heard something about it on the news or something. Because this information-.”

“-is confidential,” he says before you as if he has the ability to read minds. You give him a surprised nod. "I know what they're accusing Meredith Parker of because an old friend requested that I help her."

“What kind of help are we talking about here?” You are concerned about him getting involved in wrongdoing and shady dealings. Although Bucky stated that he had left that chapter of his life behind, your inner voice always told you that it was not possible for him to do so so quickly.

“Don't worry, I'm not doing anything to endanger myself,” he reassures you with a small smile on his face, and the truth is that you immediately let go of the breath and relax. “About a year ago, National Security was dealing with a problem that the public was unaware of. A female agent assigned to gather intelligence in Switzerland told my friend that she wanted to expose a terrible truth that the unit was trying to conceal, but she was afraid and needed someone powerful to support her.”

"What exactly was it?"

“Nobody knows,” he shrugs as he takes a large sip of his coffee. " Before this idea was even executed, someone from the unit sent word to someone, and that agent was never reached again.”

"So weird, they didn't even investigate what happened to the agent?"

“No, they didn't conduct extensive research. However, neither the agent's family nor my friend gave up hope. Finally, they had to explain. They claimed the agent may have sold intelligence and fled the country, but they had no evidence to back it up, and despite this, they didn't move an inch in terms of punishment for such a serious offense.”

“Umm, they suspected an agent of betraying her country, but they did nothing to bring her to justice. Did I get it correct?" You grimace as he nods to you, trying to make sense of it all. "Wait, are you saying the same thing is happening to my patient?" you ask as you lift the cup to your lips.

“Don't you think the two have too many similarities?” He is relieved that some of the puzzle pieces are finally coming together with you.

Yes, both agents are accused of the same thing; they are both women working for intelligence. But, unlike the agent, Bucky described, the government has good reasons for accusing Meredith. She had purchased two plane tickets for the same date to two countries that do not extradite, and she was immediately arrested on her way to the airport. Since then, she has been waiting for her trial day in a mountain cabin kept secret by the government; this is also where you hold your sessions because they don't want anyone knowing Meredith is there.

“What does it all have to do with Noah?” you wonder, acknowledging that everything else makes sense except that. You're not sure how much information you can give Bucky about Meredith, but something tells you that he already knows a lot about this case. “Let's assume that both agents are being framed for the same reason. Where does Noah fit into all of this?”

"Guess who was in command of the agent and signed off on closing her case before the investigation was finished?" Noah Sherman, he was the friend you were glad to see again and the man you let get close enough to kiss you until a few hours ago. Bucky doesn't say anything but nods when you whisper his name. “I only recently found that he is the same Noah, and everything fell into place today when he told us that he missed his life in Switzerland. We don't know which unit he works in the capital, but Sharon believes he and Meredith know each other."

“Sharon? So the person you're referring to as an old friend is actually your new girlfriend?” Of course, he believed that if you knew ahead of time that this was all about his girlfriend, you wouldn't be objective.

"She's not my girlfriend,"

“But Lily-,” you begin, but Bucky shakes his head, and you frown, deciding to listen to his explanation.

“When I was talking to Sam about it, Lily overheard us. Fortunately, she only heard the part where I said I was meeting Sharon. I didn't say anything when she asked who Sharon was because I didn't want to drag her into this. And my silence led Lily to believe I was on a date. That's all, promise."

“You could have simply told her Sharon is a friend of yours.”

“Yeah, I think you're right,” Bucky ponders. The expression on his face suggests that he is surprised that the idea hasn't occurred to him before, and you are relieved even though you try not to show it to him. Of course, that doesn't change anything in your relationship, but it's still nice to know you don't have to worry about another woman. "I suppose that wouldn't complicate things too much."

"No, it would not. Now, Noah and Meredith, according to Sharon, know each other, right?"

//xxx//

“Miss Y/L/N,” You're barely out of the apartment building when a deep voice calls out to you. You turn around, Sawyer is standing next to the black van with black rims that is parked in front of the building. He's dressed in a black suit as dark as night, just like the first time you saw him, and this time he's holding a black umbrella in his left hand.

“Sawyer.” He reacts to your eye contact and approaches you quickly; he's a very agile and attractive man in his forties. When you first saw him, you couldn't help but think he was straight out of a Bond film. He opens the umbrella and escorts you to the car as if he has sworn that you will not get even a drop of rain; this time, despite his insistence, you refuse to let him carry your work bag for you. After he opens the car's rear passenger door for you, you murmur a small thank you to him, get into the car, and lean back, leaving the leather square bag on the seat.

You don't want to know what his black eyes hope to see, or rather not see, as you sit in silence and watch him survey the area one last time before following you in the car. You know he's not aware that all of these safety precautions are making you nervous. Telling him that this is one of the safest neighborhoods in the city wouldn't change a thing. You already know his response: it is his responsibility to protect you. The government has assigned a team to ensure your safety only during the session days since the day you were assigned to the case; initially, they wanted to protect you until the case was fully resolved, but you stated that a full-time bodyguard is unnecessary.

Every Thursday, they would pick you up from your house and drive you to Meredith's chalet in the same black car, then drop you off at the address you wanted on the way back, which is usually your home. Sawyer sits across from you and says something to the black electronic device in his ear that they have picked you up and are ready, and then he looks back over his shoulder at the driver and nods. To carry out this silent command, he starts the car. You take a look at your work bag next to you, knowing that you won't be able to see anything out the window today due to the fog. You catch a glimpse of Sawyer out of the corner of your eye before pulling out the file inside; when your gazes meet, he clears his throat and pulls out his phone to give you some privacy. You cross your legs and, after taking your reading glasses from the bag, lean back on the seat.

“A disposable phone, a personal laptop, and two different flight tickets are found in Agent Parker's brown leather business bag, which is found in the trunk of the taxi. The electronic devices are examined in order to obtain additional information, and the contents are added to the file.”

Attached to the file are copies of all the photos and documents about Meredith's personal life that were thought to be important, and you have had the opportunity to look at them one by one over the past few weeks in the hope that they will help you. You start jotting down any keywords that might get her talking after folding a blank piece of paper in half. The first is unquestionably her fiancé. Eric Woo is an Asian American who works for the same intelligence agency as Meredith, met three years ago. You were surprised to learn that Meredith didn't buy him plane tickets either. Why had she chosen to keep him out of this plan? Why didn't she want to bring him along? Contrary to what the government believed, you don't believe the two were attempting to flee the country by selling intelligence. Eric, on the other hand, has vanished a few hours after Meredith's case has swept the agenda.

“My daughter, Meredith, would never do such a thing; she is incapable of doing so. You're probably making a mistake. Look, they were going to marry, and they were going to marry this spring with a small ceremony.” As you read Meredith's mother's statement, your throat tightens; like any mother, she doesn't want to think that her daughter has committed such a serious court crime. You sweep your gaze across the rest of the page, her denial statement, and after deciding there's nothing useful there, you reach for your bag to put it back in.

Several photos from her personal life and a successful career are scattered across the seat. You frown as you pick up the two photos and zoom in to closely inspect them. The first thing you notice in the photo is that Meredith's fair skin is flawless; there is nothing on her left wrist. However, your patient has a very small unprofessional tattoo on her left wrist; it piqued your interest during your first session, but you couldn't communicate well enough to ask her about it. There it is, it appears to be a QR code, and of course, when you tried to scan it on your phone, you got nothing. What you realized later is that there is a significant difference between the woman sitting on the sofa opposite you during sessions and closing herself off to the outside world and the woman in the photo with a big smile. You flip the photo over and look at the date on the back; it was taken only two months ago. You try to figure out what changed her so drastically in sixty days. Her hair was thick and shiny, and her cheeks were pink from the blood in her veins beneath her skin. You quickly pick up the piece of paper you had set aside and scribble on it in a hurry that is almost impossible to read.

Weight loss.

Of course, the wedding rush, as well as a hectic work schedule, could all be factors in this sudden weight loss, but the figure is far too high to be considered normal. You vaguely recall her mother saying something about having to return her wedding gown to the tailor. And, on the off chance, you look for pages in the file containing Meredith's medical records. You can feel the pulse on your temples as your fingers tremble with the excitement of believing you're on the right track. After quickly skipping over the general information on the page, such as blood type and age, you spot the reports from her most recent checkup and the one prior to her assignment and place them side by side for comparison.

Everything is there, from the dental treatment she needed because she was grinding her teeth to the hair loss specialist she saw. You turn to the next page to double-check one last thing. You look out the window; you'd be at the chalet in a matter of minutes. You must hurry, but not at the expense of attracting Sawyer's attention, who occasionally casts a glance your way. You had no idea there was a walkie-talkie in the car; you assumed their only way of communicating was through the device in their ears until you heard the crackling sound. “Lavender, 23458. Do you copy?"

Just as you are about to open the file's cover, the driver suddenly steps on the brake, and you lose your balance and are thrown forward. Sawyer's quick reflexes keep you from sticking to the floor of the car like chewing gum, and you sit back down. "What's going on?" you ask, peering out the car window to see what's going on outside.

“Stay here, Miss,” Sawyer says, almost simultaneously exiting the vehicle with the driver. Something is definitely wrong, but you have no idea what it is because they have you locked in the car. When you can't see around the people assigned to protect Meredith, you frown at the chalet. For a brief moment, you want to rush out and pursue Sawyer and the other man, but you probably don't have any defenses. So you do the only thing you can think of: you hug your bag tightly while waiting for someone to return to the car and explain everything to you.

Sawyer dashes out of the house and into the car about a minute later. He calls out to you through the gap without waiting for the rear passenger door to fully open, but he speaks too quickly for you to understand. "What's going on, Sawyer?"

“Do you have any medical training?”

“Yes, I do.” He nods then opens the trunk and pulls out a large medical aid kit. You get out of the car and run after him, your heart pounding as you imagine what awaits you there.

A man sits on the floor to the left of the door, his back against the wall, his hand holding the gun, his fingers loose around the hilt of the gun. Sawyer stops you when you kneel in front of him to check his pulse, he quickly lifts you to your feet, grabbing your elbow, and pointing to the other man you haven't noticed until now. “It's too late for them. You must come with me.”

“Okay, okay,” you mutter; adrenaline has taken complete control of your body; once all of this is over, this sight will most likely be the number one source of your nightmares. You walk past blood-splattered walls, bullet holes, and shattered vases. When you get a little closer, you notice the driver bent over a woman on the floor at the entrance to the living room, and you notice he's putting pressure on her wound. When he sees you, he takes a deep breath and places his hands on her right shoulder, which is painted red. “Did you call an ambulance?”

You kneel in front of the driver, on the other end of the woman, studying her from head to toe to grasp the gravity of the situation. Sawyer tells you they'll be there in a few minutes as he places the red bag on the ground. Given how far you are from the city center, you hope he is right while searching the bag for gloves. “All right, what are we looking at?”

“It appears to be through and just below the clavicle. now if the bullet shattered the clavicle, obviously-"

“Any movement will sever the subclavian artery,” you say, nodding to his sentence. “All right, you apply pressure, and I'll immobilize her arm if she regains consciousness. Meredith, where is she? Is she all right?"