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⋆☕︎˖ My faves...

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Extras!

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"Well, now you both have confessed your feelings while you were drunk. What else do you need?"

"Balls." Natasha chimed in while she walked from the entrance.

"You told her?" Bucky scolded.

"I'm thinking about asking F.R.I.D.A.Y for yesterday's recordings to be sent to me." Sam teased.

The rest of the training was a disaster; Bucky was not even paying full attention to them. His mind kept repeating your last words.

'I hope sober Jamie could keep this…'

One Saturday morning, you were walking through the local supermarket. It was already a routine for Bucky to follow behind with the cart in his hands while you looked for what you needed.

"You need..."

He lowered his cell phone to look at you as you were browsing another product.

"Do you really need four pounds of flour?" Bucky read the list you had sent him via text.

"Steve and Sam asked me for cookies, so I need more than my usual amount."

Bucky shook his head as he threw the bags of flour into the cart.

"You know you can say no to them, right?" he said, reading the list as he tossed more items into the cart.

"I don't mind baking for them, Jamie."

"So you'll be cooking all day today?"

He wanted to sound casual; he really tried, but a hint of disappointment could be heard in his tone.

"Of course not, you promised we'd go for a walk in the park tonight. I'll bake a little, and then we'll go for a walk in the evening."

You were walking through the supermarket floors, lurking around, checking on things, while Bucky was a few steps behind. He knew how much you enjoyed this type of moment on your own. Even when you had almost begged him to go with you, he wanted to give you your own space.

Or that was the plan until he saw a man approaching you. You were still focused on reading something when you felt his heat near you.

“That’s a good brand,” he said, taking a bottle that was nearer to you. Bucky noticed the way you furrowed.

“Oh, yeah. It’s good.” You mumbled and went back to check the information printed on the bottle.

Bucky was giving you enough space to decide what you wanted to do, but he was willing to come forward if he saw you needed it.

He was just leaning on the cart, staring at you two.

“So, are you baking for a special event?”

“Oh no—” you looked at him. Still partially oblivious to his flirting tone, “It’s for some friends.”

You were about to smile at him when you noticed the way his body was leaning over you more than necessary—then you finally noticed how Bucky was furrowing stressed on the other side of the floor.

“I guess I have to get going,” You finally said, taking a step back.

“Why? I think we are having a pretty neat conversation.”

“My friend is waiting for me.” When his eyes finally met Bucky, he just stepped back, lifting his hands.

Bucky didn’t want to admit it. But knowing that his mere presence was enough to shush the creeps away made him feel great.

“And here I was thinking I was going to need to interfere.”

“I think I handle it very well,” He smiled at you.

He loved the idea of you feeling secure on your own—even if it was a partial lie.

You both arrived home, and as promised, you baked for a couple of hours while Bucky helped you clean up the mess you were leaving in the kitchen until the sun began to set.

"How about I get changed and we get ready to go out?" you said as you took off your apron.

He nodded as he finished putting away the rest of the things you had left in the kitchen.

His palms rested a second on the kitchen counter when he noticed you had disappeared from view. He couldn't stop thinking about that hug on his birthday; he couldn't stop thinking about your partially parted lips inviting him to kiss you. He could not even get himself to stop thinking about the way you almost pleaded for him to continue flirting.

You came out of the room, grinning, announcing that you were ready to go.

As you walked through the park with the streetlights illuminating your way, Bucky realized that walking hand in hand was now part of the nature of you two, something almost primal.

"Jamie?" You asked, interrupting Bucky's thoughts.

"Mhmh..." That sound was enough for you to continue with the question.

"I know it's a silly question, but... Do you miss anything about the forties?"

Bucky tilted his head, trying to understand the question.

"I mean, everyday things. I know you must miss your family, your friends—don't you miss... Some sort of normality that no longer exists?"

"Things were simpler before, but nowadays they're more... practical."

A long sigh escaped his lips.

"Life was simple in my neighborhood; we were the same people for years. I was never worried about someone not understanding why we did anything—"

He closed his lips to think for a moment.

"Would you like to get to know a little about the neighborhood where I grew up?"

He asked shyly. You stopped, and Bucky was sure you were about to cry solely just with the question lingering there.

"Would you really show it to me?"

He nodded. “We could—Uh, go to a surprise place tomorrow.”

You nodded quickly, excitement evident in your every movement.

Three times.

You had already changed your hairstyle three times and still didn't feel ready.

The truth was that you hadn't slept much after Bucky dropped you off at your place, promising to pick you up at ten o'clock sharp to take the car and head to Brooklyn.

The morning wasn't any better. You woke up at seven a.m., your body making it clear that it couldn't stand another minute in bed.

That invitation felt like meeting his mother for the first time—even when it was something impossible—it felt that intimate. And you wanted to be sure you looked—and felt—good for that moment.

You couldn't believe you’d see for the first time the place where that boy, that man, had walked for years before everything changed.

A knock on the door pulled you out of your thoughts.

You took a deep breath, trying to relax your chest and ease your anxiety.

When you opened the door, your legs felt weak. Bucky was wearing a light blue sweater, the most colorful thing you had seen him wear in a year, with a white shirt that showed off every muscle underneath. You swallowed hard.

"Ready?" he asked, unaware of the effect he had had on you.

The drive to Brooklyn was quiet. The silence wasn't uncomfortable; you were both gathering your thoughts before reaching the destination.

The first stop was a museum.

"And you have your own place in the museum?"

He laughed.

"They tried, but I refused."

You opened your mouth in surprise.

"My thoughts are still conflicted. I can't accept an entire room dedicated to me when I still don't feel worthy of it."

"At least now you know that the rest of the world is starting to see you as you deserve."

When you left the museum, you came across a large park. Bucky took your hand with a certain pride, as if he wanted all of Brooklyn to notice that you were walking hand in hand—and that was exactly what he wanted. Somehow, Brooklyn felt like home again with you in his hand. The same streets that saw him holding hands with girls—who were probably not even alive anymore—were now witnesses to him accepting a piece of heaven given to him.

As you crossed the park, you noticed that the scenery was becoming more domestic, big buildings now being replaced with small neighborhoods. You began to see brick houses, shops, and people who didn't seem to be in any hurry at all.

"Welcome to the street where I grew up," Bucky finally announced.

Your heart skipped a beat.

"A friend of my father's used to work in that store. They used to sell tools."

He pointed to a business, currently available for rent.

"That building didn't even exist when I lived here."

He said, walking and pointing his chin at another building.

You nodded repeatedly as Bucky continued to give information about random buildings.

You stopped in an alleyway.

"And here—I told Steve that I had been assigned to the 107th Infantry Regiment."

You felt Bucky's grip tighten slightly on your hand. You hid the groan of pain that wanted to escape your lips. He didn't remember most of this, but over the years, Steve had helped him bring back memories, and, step by step, he now had memories back on his own.

"They were beating him up." He scoffed a laugh. "As usual."

"It's impossible for me to see Steve as someone weak, as someone easy to beat up." You admitted, moving your body a little closer to Bucky's. Leaning on him to rest a bit.

"That man loved to get into trouble. He always had me there to defend him. But he was not weak; he was stubborn, idiotic, and frankly braver than most of the men I saw in war."

Bucky let go of your hand only to cover your shoulders with his arm. He caressed your arm gently; a way to ground himself.

"Had you been back here before?" You asked, wrapping your arms around his waist. He moved both your bodies to lean against a wall. His back on the bricks, your shoulder brushing his chest, resting on him.

You admired that alley as if it were a work of art.

"Steve brought me back once or twice. He always tried to make me remember things, and somehow coming back helped a lot. But never had the guts to come back alone—till recently."

Bucky's eyes looked down at you slightly, smiling warmly. He was hoping you would get the hint.

You looked up from the alleyway. Bucky was still staring at you. You moved a little closer, just enough for him to notice. His free hand began to circle your waist, causing you to turn your entire body towards him.

Bucky leaned in a little closer. You didn't pull away, and he closed his eyes, almost praying to God that this wasn't a dream.

Before you could react, your lips met, and your chests began to synchronize as your lips moved slowly, asking for permission and granting it at the same time. Still on your toes, hands hugging his waist, and his flesh hand holding you tight.

Although the noise around you remained loud, you felt as if the whole world had stopped, that nothing and no one mattered at that moment more than your lips gently colliding. You were melting on his arms, that was sure, you couldn't even comprehend how your toes were still resisting the torturous feeling.

Bucky slowly caressed your waist, his metal hand still orbiting the other side of your waist, as if he wasn't sure yet if he wanted that part of his body to be part of the moment.

When you began to run out of air, you created distance by a few inches, your foreheads still connected, breaths still in sync.

"Are you okay?" he asked, raising his hand to trace your flushed cheek.

"Better than ever."

He smiled, still holding your face.

"Do you want to continue?" He nodded without letting go of your body. His flesh hand relaxed on your waist before deciding on any movement.

You took a few seconds before continuing on your way. At one point, Bucky stopped in front of an apartment building. It was made of brick that had once been red, windows stained by pollution, fire escapes that looked more like a hazard. He stared at it for what seemed an eternity.

"Well, we used to live there." He pointed to a window on the second floor.

The silence was heavy. You turned to look at him, Bucky's gaze laden with memories, unspoken pain, words left unsaid for decades.

"Do you know who owns it now?"

He nodded.

"It belongs to Rebecca's great-grandson."

"At least it's still in your family."

He smiled and nodded.

"Thanks for showing me this side of you, Jamie."

"Thanks for coming with me."

You couldn't stop thinking about that first kiss. The way you moved around Bucky became clumsy and overthought. You felt that Bucky could backtrack on everything you had achieved if he felt cornered.

Meanwhile, he continued with the routine that you had brought into his life. Seeing you at the end of his days, staying in each other's apartments until the wee hours just to say goodbye, maybe seeing each other the next day, maybe not. He was still there. Not showing any kind of remorse—not even a change in demeanor. Like it had meant nothing to him. Like it hadn't changed anything.

You were in Bucky's living room while he wiped his arm with a cloth.

"Jamie, could you pick me up tomorrow at the center? I think I'll be out late, I understand if you're busy and can't..." You said quickly, about to start rambling.

"Can you text me when you're about to finish so I can be there before you get out?" He looked up at you.

"Sure."

He smiled at you, that smile that reminded you that there was nothing wrong.

However, you felt that everything was wrong, that he was acting so calmly after the kiss, as if it hadn't happened, as if it hadn't been a turning point for either of you.

Raynor's sessions were somehow lighter now. Bucky noticed it, too. Even if he didn't want to admit it. He had been disclosing more and more personal information, showing a side of himself that he never thought he would be able to do.

"Any other thing you would like to add to today's session, James?"

"It's not even relevant, but I guess I should say it."

She nodded, "What is it?"

"I—took her to Brooklyn some weeks ago." He muffled.

"Good to know, James. How do you feel about it?"

"I guess, nice. She—" He sighed, "She liked it."

"And you?"

"I liked it too."

"James, as we stated in your first sessions, everything said in these sessions goes directly to your record, and I'm required to ask the next."

Bucky nodded, his jaw clenched.

"It is important for me to know the length of this relationship because it is completely related to your progress. What kind of relationship do you have with her?"

"I—" And for the first time, he stuttered, "We are just friends."

"From what I've been hearing, she has become someone important in your life. Is that correct?"

She continued, Bucky's jaw was still clenched.

The memory of the kiss in Brooklyn, the drunk kiss you gave him, the way he tried to flirt with you when he was drunk, lingered on his mind, betraying him.

"If I say yes, would this be added too?"

"That's correct. I'll need to add to my notes that she is now part of your support system; in consequence, it will be added to your record."

"I don't think I have a say on it, do I?"

The weight of Raynor’s words was still heavy on Bucky’s shoulders.

What did this mean now?

He was sure about his feelings for you. There was no question about it.

The real question was whether he was ready to let himself go and feel everything—and act on it.

His mind was still racing from Brooklyn, his birthday party, and what Raynor had informed.

This was no longer a simple friendship, and it was Bucky’s moment to accept it.

He was pondering his options—taking a moment to clear up his mind. He didn’t want to fully disappear. Maybe on small things, but things he knew you would notice immediately if you paid attention.

He was about to step aside at least until he had resolved what he was about to do, until he saw you. Something casual. It was not even intentional.

You were talking with a neighbor. Someone, for sure, your age. You were giggling and listening to something he was telling you.

Nothing flirtatious. Just you being you.

And Brendan’s flashbacks came to his mind.

He never really asked the extent of your relationship with Brendan—he was not the jealous type. He didn’t really think about it at the moment.

He stared at you. He knew he had been slightly distant, not that you really cared. You knew it was never intentional, but he also knew he couldn’t be the only one who saw how beautiful, attentive, and kind you were. And he was not going to leave the door open for anyone else.

A couple of days later, you were braiding Lola's hair on the floor of her apartment while a movie played on the television. You recounted everything that had happened since Bucky's birthday, small details, smiles that only you could notice, the park at night, and finally... Brooklyn.

"We kissed for the first time like a couple of teenagers, in an alley! As if we were hiding from someone."

You snorted with laughter.

"And now he acts as if nothing happened, Lola."

"For the first time..." Lola repeated, analyzing the words.

You gently moved Lola's hair to look at her.

"I'm sorry it took me so long! It's not my..."

You were about to launch into a tirade when you noticed Lola staring with confusion.

"What?"

"Why do you call it 'your first kiss'?"

"Because it was the first time it happened." You replied with obviousness.

"Girl, that wasn't your first kiss..."

"Of course it was. I think I would remember if I had kissed Jamie before."

Lola's hands went to her lips in surprise.

"You really don't remember?"

Lola laughed out loud, falling back onto the floor, her ribs aching from laughing so hard.

"You really don't remember!"

Still on the floor, Lola opened her eyes and stared intently at you.

"I know this because Steve told me, but sweetie... You kissed Bucky the day you got so drunk that you ended up waking up in his apartment."

The blood in your veins turned to ice, your cheeks flushed, and your eyes widened.

"That's not true."

"You asked him if he felt the same way about you, then you kissed him and fell asleep. The poor guy didn't even have time to kiss you back or answer.”

You remained silent for what seemed like an eternity, your gaze fixed on your hands.

Bucky had kept and carried that information for months and continued to treat you as if nothing had happened, continuing to treat you as he always had, and you didn't know if that was better or worse. You didn't know if that was the reason why he wasn't as affected by what had happened in Brooklyn as you were.

The next day, you were sitting on his kitchen bar. He was cleaning up while you sat on there, nestling a beer in your hands.

He had been so distant, and you were really trying to figure out if he was regretting what had happened back in Brooklyn, if he had changed his mind about everything.

And then, you finally decided to speak up.

"Jamie..." you said when you finally noticed that Bucky had turned his back on you.

You wanted to ask, but you weren't ready to face him directly while you asked the questions.

"Tell me..." he said, leaning against the refrigerator.

"I talked to Lola a few days ago."

"Dangerous..." he joked.

You smiled. "And she... well, she told me that Steve... told her about that night I came home drunk."

Bucky stood still. 'Stupid Steve in love. Stupid Steve in love with her best friend,' he thought as he finished arranging the containers.

He finally came out of his hiding place behind the refrigerator and leaned against the bar in front of you, his arms crossed on the table.

"Yeah? And what did he say to her?"

"That I kissed you..."

Bucky pursed his lips as he confirmed, and you could see how tight his jaw remained.

"Aren't you going to say something?"

Now he frowned. He didn't understand the question.

"I guess... Brooklyn was intense for me, and I've been feeling strange... and you... You've acted as if nothing happened..."

He shook his head before you could finish your sentence.

"Brooklyn was—something for me too, more than I've admitted to myself, but... I processed all these feelings that night, and I've been doing so ever since."

He paused for a moment.

"I never told you because I didn't want you to feel ashamed. I wanted to think it was a slip-up caused by alcohol, and if it happened again, it would be because you wanted it to, not because it had already happened once."

"So Brooklyn...?"

"Brooklyn was wonderful. And I can accept that it is whatever you want it to be for you."

"I want you to be honest about something." He frowned but nodded.

You parted your lips a microsecond before anything came out of your mouth.

"Did you kiss me back?"

Bucky kept his gaze locked on yours before answering.

"No. You were drunk, and I didn't even have the chance to answer before you slept. I didn't want to do anything that you might feel wrong about later. It wasn't fair to either of us to do so in that state."

You rested your head on Bucky's shoulder, about to fall asleep while the television remained on.

"Are you falling asleep?" He murmured, looking down at you.

You nodded, your eyes still closed.

"Come on, let me take you to your apartment." He tried to stand up, but you stopped him.

"Jamie..." you whispered. "Can I stay?"

He smiled sideways and stroked your hair.

"Of course you can stay."

His jawline tensed slightly.

"Why don't I give you a shirt so you can be comfortable and make yourself at home in my bed?"

You nodded and followed him to the bedroom. You sat on the bed while he looked for a shirt for you.

"Here, change and lie down." He said, before taking a pillow from the bed, you furrowed your eyebrows when you noticed what he intended.

"No," you exclaimed quickly. "Why... don't you sleep here?"

His body tensed. He wanted to say yes immediately; he really wanted to, but something stopped him. Your name came out of his mouth a bit embarrassed.

"Please," you pleaded. "Just sleep."

He nodded. "Finish changing your clothes, and I'll be right back."

A couple of minutes later, he returned with sweatpants and a gray shirt. You were already sitting on the edge of the bed, your eyes still heavy, wearing only the borrowed shirt; he could see your bare legs beneath the piece of clothing that covered your entire torso.

"You know we're not going to fit in this bed?"

"We'll make it work." You smiled.

He knelt on the bed and positioned his body on the edge closest to the wall, letting his back fall onto the bed while you settled into the same position.

"This is ridiculous," you said, almost laughing.

Before Bucky could answer, you turned, resting your head in the crook of his arm. He squeezed your shoulder with his hand and managed to pull you a little closer to his side.

"G'night.”

"Good night, Jamie."

Falling asleep almost immediately. Bucky just stared at you—his index finger caressing your cheek slowly, almost in a phantom touch.

"You have no idea how much you mean to me..." He murmured, his eyes fixed on every feature of yours as you slept.

Bucky's smile didn't fade even when he fell asleep. It was the first time he had allowed himself to share this intimacy with someone.

A knock on the door startled you awake. It took you a few seconds to understand where you were until Bucky's hand squeezed your waist so you wouldn't slip out of his grasp.

Your chest relaxed a few seconds later.

"Let them knock. I'm not expecting anyone," Bucky murmured into the pillow as he tried to press his body closer to yours.

"Jamie!" You scolded in a whisper. "I'll just go see who it is." He growled, loosening his grip.

As you left the room, pulling your shirt down just enough so you wouldn't have to put on a bottom piece, your body immediately tensed when you noticed Steve and Natasha standing in the hallway, keys dangling from Steve's hand.

Your cheeks heated, Natasha smiled smugly, and Steve turned his gaze to the living room window so as not to see more than necessary.

"Bucky wasn't answering, and we wanted to know if he was okay," Steve said without looking at you.

"He's... He's still..." You stammered.

Before you could utter another word, Bucky bolted out of his room, hearing more than one voice, which caused his reflexes to kick in immediately.

"Damn it," he said when he saw Steve and Natasha staring back at him.

Steve noticed the crimson color on Bucky's arm, a clear sign that you had slept there all night.

"We just... came to check if you were okay."

Steve stroked the back of his neck, still looking out the window. Bucky raised his eyebrow until his gaze fell on you, wearing only his shirt.

You followed Bucky's gaze, remembering your bare legs; you hurriedly ran to the bedroom, leaving the three of them alone. Steve sighed when he finally turned to look at Bucky. He was still staring at the door where you had disappeared when Natasha cleared her throat to get his attention.

"We just wanted to give you this..." Natasha took a yellow folder out of a backpack.

"What is this?" Bucky gazed at the first page.

"Apparently, her youngest brother was sent on a mission to Siberia. It's related to HYDRA."

Natasha murmured, and Bucky swallowed hard as he read every detail on the folder in his hands.

"Where did this come from?"

"They asked us to be ready just in case..." Steve confessed, crossing his arms over his chest.

Before they could continue, you opened the door, wearing the same clothes you had worn the day before.

You immediately noticed some tension in the air. Bucky walked to the kitchen to put the folder in a drawer.

"Is everything okay?" Natasha tried to speak, but Bucky interrupted you.

"Everything is perfect. They're just briefing me on a possible mission."

"Do you need me to leave?"

You knew those faces, you knew the tone of ‘everything is fine,’ you knew the careful movements Bucky was making. When no one answered, almost avoiding looking at you, keeping their eyes on each other, you smiled as you understood the undertone of the situation.

"Don't worry. This is not my first rodeo. Just promise me you'll be okay."

Bucky approached you, placing his hand on your waist, and you rested your hand on Bucky's tense shoulder.

"Nothing to worry about."

You nodded calmly. You wanted to believe him; you needed to believe his words.

"I'll take a shower, and when you're free, we can go to lunch." You stood on your tiptoes and kissed his cheek goodbye.

You repeated the act with Nat and Steve and left the apartment. When they finally heard the door to your own apartment. Bucky stared at them.

"How dangerous is it?" He crossed his arms.

"Dangerous enough that they're asking you personally to join the squad."

"Steve, that boy is no more than... twenty? Why did they send him and not either of the other two?"

Bucky knew perfectly well how much you loved Derek. He knew that if anything happened to him, you wouldn't survive the pain of losing him.

"I don't know, Buck. Do you want me to find out?" He nodded.

"It sounds to me like he volunteered." Nat interrupted.

"He'd be suicidal if he did."

"Are you going to tell her?" Steve asked curiously.

"Not for now. If he didn't tell her, it's for a reason. I'd rather keep it that way until I have more information."

"Well, Romeo... You have a date waiting for you." Natasha said, slinging her backpack over her shoulder as she walked to the entrance.

"Aren't you staying? She'll be very angry if I go over there without you." Bucky pleaded.

"No, I think we're done for today." Steve stepped forward.

"He has a date waiting, too." Natasha chuckled.

"Lola?" Bucky asked. Natasha opened her mouth wide and turned to look at Steve.

"Lola… Lola, as in Lola, her friend?"

Steve squeezed the bridge of his nose as he sighed. "Thanks, Buck. Natasha didn't know."

"Good luck."

He closed the door behind them. From the doorway, he could see the bed. You had tried to make it as tidy as possible before leaving the room. The way you had made this place your own, too, made him realize how deeply nested you were in his life.

Blankets and pillows all over his couch, where nothing used to be.

Groceries filled up his cabinets and fridge. Something you made him do when you realized he didn't do it weekly. Sweaters of yours dangling from chairs, even your perfume lingered in the air if someone paid enough attention.

As you walked back from lunch, Bucky noticed how you were drawn to a flower shop. Your gaze was fixed on a bouquet while you twitched a slight smile. Your fingers above one of the petals, not quite touching but lingering there.

It was at that moment that he realized that, even despite everything you had already shared, he had never officially asked you out.

'How the hell did I let this happen?' he asked himself, holding your hand.

When you arrived at your apartment, you looked at him for a few seconds, trying to decipher his facial expression. He was furrowing, not mad, not like he did when something was bothering me. This was something different.

"Is there something wrong, Jamie?" He frowned.

Silence.

"I have a couple of things to do, but I'll text you as soon as I'm free."

You nodded, confused, and Bucky leaned in to give you a soft kiss on the forehead. He still didn't understand what he was feeling, but he knew he needed to do something with it.

A couple of hours later, Bucky came back to knock on your door.

"I know you're working tomorrow, but can I pick you up for... dinner?"

You raised your eyebrow.

"You mean what we do almost every day?" He shook his head.

The realization of his words hit you like a bucket of cold water.

"Oh."

He paused.

"Do I have to wear anything specific?" Bucky scratched his head for a second.

"Just... something... nice, I guess?"

"Okay, I'll do that."

You smiled, and he marched back to his apartment like a soldier.

Next Part.

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There was a tall man, probably your age, with long brown hair, extremely pale skin, large brown eyes, and a perfect smile. He looked like a magazine model.

He stared at you for a second before saying your name in a very surprised way. His smile grew on his face.

"Darren!" you replied.

Bucky let go of your hand more out of habit than because he wanted to. You didn't move away from his side, but the boy came close enough that Bucky took a step back.

"What are you doing here?" you asked, wrapping your arms around the boy's neck as he bent down to hug you.

"I’m waiting—for... a date," he admitted, a hint of embarrassment in his voice. "And you?"

"I live in the area, but we came for coffee."

You smiled, turning to look at Bucky, and put your hand on his arm as a sign of introduction.

"This is James."

Bucky held out his hand, and the boy took it immediately.

"Barnes," he replied, not knowing what else to add.

"Darren Mitchell." He shook his hand for a few seconds and then returned to his initial position.

"I'll go find a table." Bucky turned to look at you, and you smiled at him. It was a simple gesture to give you some kind of privacy.

You nodded, and Bucky opened the door to the café and went inside.

You stood outside for a minute, still thinking about what to say.

"Can I... can I steal a minute of your time?"

You nodded, and he sighed before continuing.

"Your brothers came looking for me a few months ago. Something about you dating a dangerous man?" You rolled your eyes.

"I'm so sorry, Darren. You know how they can be."

"Is that the 'so dangerous man' your brothers were talking about?" he asked, staring at the coffee shop.

"Yes, I'm sorry. It's not what it looks like." He shook his head.

"Look—I think if anyone can say they know you, or at least tried to—it's me. And I'm sure you're the last person who would be with someone who would put you at risk."

You smiled slightly. That confirmation of what you had been repeating for months felt good in your chest.

Bucky, standing in line to buy coffee, noticed some dream-catchers on the back of the clerk—probably on sale. He knew it was ridiculous, but he knew you would love it. He looked at the door—you were still outside talking with Darren.

He was not oblivious; he realized sooner than later that he was your ex-fiancé. And based on the way you both talked, he was sure none of you had hard feelings against the other.

"I'm glad to see you happy. I don't think I ever saw you radiate this happiness when you were with me."

You bit your lip trying to think what to say.

"No, Darren. I was very happy with you. It's just—I think we wanted very different things." You wanted to comfort him immediately.

"No, this isn't a session of self-pity. I think it's the truth. I realized I was asking you for more of the same, more than what you always told me you couldn't give, and I never wanted to listen."

"Thank you for understanding."

He smiled crookedly.

"And I'm glad to see you found someone who keeps up with your pace of life."

"He's... my neighbor. A friend." You tried to shield yourself. It wasn't a lie. But at least it shielded you from reality.

"Well, your neighbor seems like a good man. I hope he soon stops being just your neighbor."

You both laughed nervously.

"I think I'll change the location of my date for tonight—but it was nice to see you."

"Don't you worry—I don't want to ruin your night. We can probably just leave for our building."

At that moment, Bucky returned from the coffee shop, holding both coffees on a tray and a paper bag on the other side. He just looked at you, as if he couldn't bring himself to look Darren in the eye.

"I think it’s better if we get going." You suggested, and he nodded.

"Nice to meet you, James," Darren said.

"Likewise, Darren."

Bucky felt the emotional weight of a dream-catcher in the pocket of his jacket. It was small, brown, and yellow. And somehow it weighed like a rock in his pocket.

"So he's..."

Bucky asked as he held the tray with the coffees in his hand. You held the paper bag, searching for Bucky's hand with your free hand.

For the first time, you took the metal hand. Bucky, almost instinctively, wanted to pull it away, but you squeezed a little harder, preventing him from pulling away. With that gesture, he relaxed to allow your hands to remain intertwined.

"Yes, he's my ex-fiancé." You admitted, looking straight ahead.

"I always thought he was an idiot." Bucky let out a small laugh.

"He's a great man, but like anyone who grew up in a military environment, he had a predetermined path in life and thought that was our only option. I think I changed his perspective on the world the day I gave him back the ring and didn’t let the cheating part slide."

"He seemed genuinely happy to see you."

"We were genuinely happy to see each other, Jamie. We grew up together, we've literally spent less time apart than the time we had together."

He was silent for a moment.

"But that's in the past, and there's nothing to make me think I made a wrong call."

Neither of you said anything else. He didn't even dare mention the gift he had now. When he set the tray on your kitchen table, he noticed how pensive you were.

"You know you furrow when something is holding your thoughts?" You sighed.

"I don't know—Darren told me my brother reached him to talk about… well, me—"

"Is that so?" He handed you your coffee while he sat on a stool.

"Whatever—he knows me well enough to know they were being ridiculous."

While you were talking and drinking your coffee, you noticed how he was rolling his eyes every time he checked his phone.

"What's going on?"

"Do you have a sleeping bag I can borrow?" He asked, setting his phone on the table.

"I think I might have one in the bedroom." You paused. "What do you need it for?"

"Sam tore mine, and he wants to train outdoors tomorrow—and maybe spend the night there."

"If you go to my room and open the closet at the top, there should be one there."

Bucky approached the bedroom. He didn't go in there often; he used to think of your room as the most sacred place of yours.

When he opened the closet and noticed a couple of boxes. As he tried to move them to find what he was looking for, a large yellow folder fell at his feet.

Bucky tried to pick it up quickly, but something disturbingly familiar sent a chill through his spine.

There was the security camera photo from the night Stark's parents died.

Bucky held that photo for a second.

There he was—an old ghost that haunted him even after years freed from it.

Then his curiosity got the better of him, and he began to sift through the files and saw everything.

Mission folders from decades ago, lists of names that he unfortunately knew all too well, security camera photos with horrid images, sealed documents in Russian. Each of the images seemed to burn his hand, and each of the names he could read seemed like a ghost he could never erase from his mind. Finally, he found what looked like something printed from the internet, something clearly highlighted by hand.

"Did you find it...?"

You came into the room, but your voice was silenced by a gasp. Your hand went straight to your mouth.

"Jamie..."

You tried to approach him, but your feet remained planted on the cold floor of your bedroom threshold.

"I can explain—My brothers—"

Tears began to well up in your eyes.

"They tried to convince me that this was you. They gave this to me the day before I decided to take some time for myself."

You approached and knelt in front of him.

"I kept it because I didn't know how to get rid of it. I know it's probably not the only one in the world, but I didn't want something like this lying around in some dumpster in the city."

"You've had this for so many months and never said anything to me? Did you look at these images while you were MIA?"

You nodded.

"I wanted to understand. I had to understand what you had been through. I knew you weren't the person who they were telling—"

He closed the folder and shut his eyes for a moment, trying to collect himself.

"I’m—I’m so sorry, Jamie."

He shook his head. "I have nothing to forgive you for. You had every right to know what you were facing."

You approached him carefully—movements more of a question. He turned to look at you, confused. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, and he took you by the waist, pulling your body close to his side, allowing you to ground him.

You didn't notice, but before he left, he left on your kitchen shelf the dream-catcher he had bought earlier. Somehow, he knew you would appreciate it, but he was not completely ready to give it to you personally.

Lola was stirring her coffee while she scrolled on her phone, "How have things been going with Bucky?"

You shrugged.

"That doesn't seem good."

A sigh escaped your lips, and you looked down, "We saw Darren some days ago at our usual coffee shop. He was nice and all, you know how he is."

Lola rolled her eyes. If she hated someone, that was Darren. "We spoke for a while, then we went back home to drink our coffee. He was on a date, so I didn't want to interrupt."

"And then?"

"When we were at my apartment, Bucky tried to reach out for something, and he found the folder I've been hiding from him. The one my brother shoved on my face…"

Lola bit her lip, "Sounds harsh for the week previous to a birthday."

You cocked your eyebrow, "What do you mean?"

"Well, c'mon. Imagine being a few days before your birthday, and then you meet your girl's ex-fiancé, and then you find a collection of your own past in her house."

"Birthday?" You tilted your head to the side.

Lola gasped, "You don't know when's Bucky's birthday?"

The reminder hit your head. You saw it. You saw it plenty of times through the documents, the websites, in everything you read—his birthday was there. You were so immersed in other things that you never really kept that information.

"I did know. I just… I didn't have anything prepared."

"Well, you're on time. Steve just told me he asked to be left alone that day."

You furrowed your brow; Bucky never asked you not to pass by or anything similar.

"It will be fine, Jamie's been busy lately, so that gives me some grace to do some things."

An imaginary to-do list started to happen in your mind. Bucky had never mentioned anything about his birthday before, but that didn't mean you weren't going to make him remember that celebrations were something good—and that he deserved one too.

When you were trying to find your recipe book, you found it.

A brown with yellow hues dream-catcher. You furrowed at the sight; you had never seen it before.

"Lola, did you buy this?" You put it in front of her.

Lola examined it carefully, "Not really my thing, but they look a lot like the ones on sale at the coffee shop."

Your cheeks heated immediately. Lola's wide smile appeared.

"Shut up."

"I didn't even open my mouth."

You sighed.

You knew exactly that he had done it. He had left it there, without you even noticing. You wanted to think it was casual; you needed it to be casual. But you knew that this was the very first time he did something like this, and somehow, he did it just his way. In silence, just for you and him.

How were you supposed to act after this?

"My heater is making that strange noise again. Could you help me?"

It was very early in the morning when you sent that message, knowing that it would take Bucky less time to find everything he needed to help you repair the heater than it would take him to cross the hallway to your apartment. So, when you sent the text, everything was already organized.

There was a homemade cake on the table—which you had spent two days baking and decorating. It was white with a couple of decorations in different shades. There was food from Bucky's favorite restaurant, a couple of coffees on the table, and his favorite beers in the refrigerator for later.

The doorbell rang twice, and you felt coldness in your hands.

When you approached the door, Bucky was leaning against the doorframe with one hand, balancing himself. You let him in, and Bucky stood still for what seemed like an eternity for both of you.

His gaze scanned everything. The small decoration on the wall behind the table, a couple of balloons stuck to the wall and another couple on the floor, a cake in the center with a candle on it; the food, although he knew perfectly well that it was from his favorite restaurant, was already served on a couple of porcelain plates. A couple of coffees from your usual coffee shop, and you in a simple black dress, unbeknownst to you, Bucky's favorite dress.

"Happy birthday?" you said, your tone more questioning than celebratory.

"How... Steve...?" You shook your head.

"Lola..."

"I don't want to ask," he said, trying to avoid whatever is going on between them.

"I didn’t want to ask either."

You both laughed.

You approached him and wrapped your arms around his waist without asking, without even announcing yourself. He returned the hug, lifting you a couple of inches off the ground, with the care that characterized him every time he hugged you.

"You shouldn't have."

"But I wanted to."

Your feet touched the ground again, and you looked up to meet his gaze; you remained frozen in that position for a moment. It seemed as if time had stopped, and even if it hadn't, you didn't care.

"Thank you for this," he whispered. You slowly caressed his back, feeling every scar, every muscle, every piece of skin that stood out.

"Thank you for accepting it."

For a moment, your gazes remained locked on each other as the air around you grew thicker; your chests continued to rise and fall in unison, neither daring to say anything. He allowed himself to caress the back of your neck with your hair between his fingers, while your hands continued to squeeze Bucky's shirt.

Bucky's body bent down slightly, your foreheads meeting in the middle with you standing on tiptoes, your breaths beginning to mingle. He paused, admiring the perfect sight of you with your hair tousled by his hands, your cheeks flushed from the heat of the moment, your eyes closed, and your lips slightly parted as if inviting him to take the next step. It was solely a god’s solace.

But even there, he only managed to squeeze your neck lightly, his warm hand caressing each side of your neck and resting his forehead completely on yours. He couldn't stop smiling, even though his thoughts filled him with doubts.

'Am I really worthy of this moment? Is she really willing to experience this moment with me?'

After a couple of seconds of waiting for the inevitable, you realized it wasn't going to happen. You slowly opened your eyes and found Bucky smiling at you as he stared intently.

"So..." He caressed your neck again.

"Is your heater working perfectly?" He joked to break the tension.

"I haven't even turned it on in days."

You moved back a few inches, so lightly that neither of you immediately missed the contact.

The night passed with him trying to memorize every detail you had done—from the balloons, just a few, the homemade cake, his favorite beers—the ones that somehow reminded him of ol' times.

"Jamie, I've got a question."

"Mhm…" He hummed while pacing down his beer.

"Don't you get drunk?" He chuckled, "Like I've seen you drinking a lot of times, and I've never seen you once drunk."

He shook his head.

"How much do you know about my story?"

"Uh… well, just… enough, I guess?"

"You know who Zola is, right?"

You sighed and nodded. You were really trying not to remember that name—Just hearing his name made you feel sick.

"Well, most people think Zola forced the serum on me after I fell from the train—the reality is that the serum helped me to survive from that fall," he sighed, "If we can call it help."

You bit your lip. You were really trying not to make a drama out of this; he was just telling a story from his past. Nothing you hadn't experienced with other veterans—and nothing you hadn't read about him.

"When Steve saved me the first time from HYDRA, I had already been injected—I remember those nights trying to get drunk. Trying to find solace in alcohol—and it never arrived."

He furrowed at the memory, "So, basically, I can't get drunk with normal alcohol."

"Normal alcohol?" You tilted your head.

"I can get drunk with Asgardian alcohol—When I spent some months on Wakanda, M'baku, Jabari's leader, brought occasionally some Asgardian beverage, it did the trick."

"Oh…"

"You're an idiot."

Bucky entered the compendium as Steve trained.

"Come on, Buck! She deserved to celebrate with you."

"You could have told me something."

"And ruin her surprise? No way. She would have killed me."

Steve shook his head as he sat down on the gym floor.

"She didn't even do anything big, did she?"

"A cake that probably took her all day to bake, food from my favorite restaurant, bad movies, and my favorite beer." Bucky summed it up.

"And did you enjoy it?"

The memory of the moment he held you in his arms and was about to kiss you came to mind. He didn't even have a chance to pretend he wasn't smiling.

"That smile is all the answer I needed."

"Can I get two coffees?" Bucky spoke to the barista as he looked at his phone, where he had written down the coffee you usually ordered.

The guy mumbled your name, smiling as he wrote it on the plastic cup. Bucky nodded with a sideways smile.

"Thanks."

You were about to arrive. You had spent the whole day texting him about your day, telling him what a terrible day you had had downtown and how you needed a moment to relax.

"Jamie?" Sam snorted the biggest laugh his chest could have, "She calls an ex-assassin, 'Jamie'?"

Steve tried not to laugh, looking down at his own phone, faking he was reading something.

"C'mon, Buck. She calls you Jamie, got you all domestic—and you can't even answer a text message from her correctly?"

"What—" Bucky sighed, "What am I supposed to say?"

"Buck, she's crying out for help," Sam replied, looking at your messages.

"I told her to rest. What else can I say?" Bucky frowned.

"Take her out for coffee, surprise her with something, you idiot."

Sam snatched the phone to text you, telling you he would meet you at your usual café after your shift ended.

When Bucky left the training room, Sam was still laughing at the fact that you called him 'Jamie'.

"Jamie… Really, Steve? A hundred years, tortured, ex-assassin, and a twenty-five-year-old psychologist calls him Jamie."

Steve shrugged his shoulders.

"Is that something recurrent?" He nodded, "Oh—I'm inviting her next time, you can bet."

Steve chuckled and shook his head.

And there was Bucky, following Sam's advice, sitting at one of the round tables, two coffees in front of him, two plates of pastries as well. You walked into the café, your hair tied back, your sweater about to slip off your shoulder, red lipstick as if you had just reapplied it, and a smile that Bucky could swear lit up the entire café.

"One more veteran yelling at my face and I swear I’m gonna quit," you said, dropping your bag on the table. Bucky smiled to himself as you stood with your hands, grounding yourself on the table.

"You know that's a lie. You could never be without them." You exhaled, lowering your head. He pushed the cup towards you.

"At least tell me your day was better than mine." You finally sat down across from him.

"It wasn't as bad as yours." You smiled. "I saw Dr. Raynor for my biweekly therapy session."

"Do you know that you're seeing one of the most feared therapists among all of us who work with veterans?" He nodded.

"I don't think I could be with anyone else."

"And is it for life?" He shook his head.

"They're doing everything they can to reduce the frequency of sessions over time. They want me to become part of society as a functional man."

You noticed how Bucky recited it from memory; he had probably repeated it countless times.

"I think talking about my therapist was the worst thing I could have said to you to get you out of your bad mood."

You shook your head after finishing your drink.

"I'm sure you’ve never hit Dr. Raynor." Bucky closed his eyes as he remembered that night with you.

"Did they hurt you again?" You gestured quickly, denying it.

"No, that's not a recurring issue. They have very little tolerance for violence. If a patient hits me, they usually transfer them; they can't risk it escalating."

"You told that man he had already done it in the past."

"Let's just say I'm not the most orthodox when it comes to following all my professional rules."

"For God's sake. You could put yourself in danger."

"I'm fine. It's not like I get hit every week. Plus, Bernard is one of my patients who needs the most help. It's just a matter of being a little more patient with him."

Bucky pressed his lips together in a hard line. He didn't want to interfere with your work, but he hated knowing that you were taking those kinds of risks.

You furrowed and sighed, “I promise you I’m fine. If anything happens again, I’ll transfer him.”

When night fell, you both got up as you said goodbye to the barista. You had made that space your own even before Bucky came into your life, and now he was part of that everyday routine. The boy waved goodbye to Bucky, too.

You nudged Bucky's side, and he raised his hand and waved it twice from side to side to say goodbye as well.

“Jamie,” you said, fidgeting, “Can you come with me to the doctor’s office tomorrow?”

He knitted his eyebrows in the middle, “I can go with you, but why do you have to go? Everything alright?”

“Oh, yep. Just procedure.”

“If you want, I can.”

“See you at seven a.m., then.”

He nodded and waited for you to come into your apartment. He didn’t want to admit it yet, but every time you asked him to do things like that, it melted him from within.

“What is this, again?” Bucky asked while he sat in the waiting area.

“I just need to get a wellness check every once in a while.” You said as you wrote down and ticked boxes on a paper, “And you should too.”

“Do you really believe that I come often to these kinds of doctors?”

You chuckled, “Well, I don’t know.”

A nurse approached you, and you handed her the paper. She was mumbling the things you wrote down while she nodded.

She repeated your name, and you nodded. “We are doing some blood tests. If you need company, your partner can come with us.”

Bucky didn’t even have time to react to her comment when you were already pulling him from his seat and walking down the hallways with him by your side.

You sat on the examination table while the nurse prepared the materials.

“Miss, any allergies that we should be aware of?”

“No, ma—”

“Her tongue gets itchy when she eats raspberries,” Bucky interfered. Your mouth fell open immediately.

The nurse cocked an eyebrow.

“She also gets itchy with blueberries, but not so often as with raspberries.”

“Is that correct, miss?” You sighed and nodded.

“Yes, it’s correct, but—”

“We will have to run an allergy screening test, ma’am. Is that okay with you?” The nurse interrupted.

“Yes, it’s fine.” You looked directly at Bucky, who was clenching his jaw.

"Oh, so Little Ms. Sunshine can throw a party for him, but if I ask him to come over to have some beers, suddenly he's too busy?" Sam chastised.

Steve chuckled and took a glass bottle with some amber liquid in it.

"What's that?"

"Oh, some Asgardian liquor Thor sent me. I told him it was for Bucky—he wanted to come, but I asked him for more time for Bucky to get used to all of them together."

Sam pursed his lips and nodded.

"So, is he coming?" Steve hummed in approval.

"How did you get him to stay away from her for more than a solid minute?"

"Oh, I didn't do anything… I… kinda made Lola beg her to have girls' night out… and then Bucky had to stay home… alone."

Sam choked out a laugh, "You two are whipped."

Bucky took you to the restaurant where Lola had begged you to have dinner.

"Be careful," He asked before parking in front of the restaurant.

"You'll be fine, too?"

"Yeah. Probably a couple of beers, and then I'll head home. If you need something, just give me a call."

"Will do." You waved goodbye and ran to Lola, who was waiting for you in the entrance.

Bucky arrived at the compound—there, Sam was holding a beer while he talked to Tony. Steve was pouring some liquid into two glasses while Banner looked at his glass.

"Look who did us the honor!" Tony chanted, "But, where's my favorite plus one?"

"Tony," Steve scolded, "She's busy now."

"Oh, with Mrs. America?" Sam snorted a laugh.

Steve pinched his eyes closed—he hated himself for trusting Sam would behave.

The evening was relaxed; everyone was trying not to focus solely on work. You might even think they were just a group of old friends, rather than a team made up of two super-soldiers who were over a hundred years old, a former military officer, a tech genius, and a doctor with gamma radiation-induced abilities.

Bucky had been pouring the liquor down his throat all night. It had been a long time since the last time he drank and felt something. He was not so fond of doing so. Nothing changed much, but he hated the hangover that came after it.

Bucky was sitting on the couch when Banner approached him.

"What are you up to?" Banner patted Bucky's back.

He sighed, "Not much. Just the alcohol doing its job."

"How's she doing?"

"If you let outside the fact that she's been harassed for the sole reason of being my friend, good."

He chuckled, "Has she complained?"

"You know the answer to that, Banner." A low and guttural sigh left his lips, "The thing is—she doesn't deserve it. I'm the one who did all that shit, I'm the one who should pay for it. Why does she have to pay for something if she wasn't even born when it happened?"

Banner laughed; it was raw but sincere. "You know you don't have to pay for those things either, right?"

"Give me a break, Banner. I'm being serious—she's so kind, I don't even know why she wants to keep being friends with me after everything that has happened."

Sam interjected, bringing Bucky a new glass.

"How funny it is to hear him say they are friends when she got to celebrate him on his birthday, huh?"

"Oh, she did?" Banner leaned on his knees, and Bucky grunted.

"Look, I get it. She's been nice, but there's no way in life she—"

"She, what?" Banner pushed.

"She could feel something for me. She's kind, strong, extremely nice—"

Steve was just a few steps away with Tony, and everyone was now in silence, hearing how Bucky poured his heart out, letting himself be led by the alcohol.

Just some blocks away from the compound, you and Lola were walking out of the restaurant. She had decided she had had enough of the place.

"What about we crash the boys’ night?" Lola asked, hugging you by the arm.

You scrunched the bridge of your nose, "I don't think it's a great idea."

"Let me just send Steve a text, letting him know we will be there in a minute."

You rolled your eyes and hooked your arm on hers to start walking in the direction of the compound.

Steve chuckled at Lola's text. He knew better than to try to change her mind.

"I'll be back in a minute," He announced, "Banner, can I talk to you for a minute?"

Bucky was now with his eyes fixed on the floor, still trying to connect his ideas to his mouth. Banner walked next to Steve till they reached the threshold of the entrance

"She… uh, she will be here any minute, is it too much to ask to try to keep Buck in line?"

"I—don't think I can do much." Banner stuttered.

"Just keep him in line."

Steve and Banner welcomed you at the entrance. As you arrived in the living room, you noticed Tony pouring an amber liquid into Bucky's glass.

"Tony!" Steve scolded.

Tony snorted a laugh as soon as he saw you standing there.

"Nice to see you here!" He chuckled, "Didn't expect you…"

"Uh, we… were nearby, but if we are interrupting something, we can head home."

"And what? You didn't bring any cookies with you?" Sam asked, "I've heard they are good."

You giggled, "I'll make sure that next time Jamie comes, to bring some for you guys."

Tony pursed his lips and nodded.

Bucky finally approached you, "Why didn't you call me to pick you up?" His voice was raspy and low, a glassy hint in his eyes that you had never seen.

"Are you okay?" You tilted.

Tony chuckled from behind, "We finally got the Winter Soldier drunk."

You gasped, "Are you okay?"

His so ever stern image was now completely replaced with a man you had never seen before. You caressed his flesh arm while you looked at his eyes.

He huffed a laugh, "Have I ever told you that you have such beautiful eyes?" Steve face-palmed. Banner gasped and walked to Bucky.

"I—No, you've never—"

"Well, I think I should have done it before."

"Jamie, I think you're drunk…"

"Yes, I'm drunk, but I'm also appreciating how beautiful you are."

"Barnes, what about we go and take a seat?" Banner took him by the shoulders.

You stayed there, still mesmerized by what had just happened.

"I think we should leave," Steve murmured to Lola.

"Why? We just arrived," Lola furrowed, "And Bucky seems to be having a great night."

"Yeah. I don't think Bucky would appreciate being this exposed while drunk."

Lola sighed, "Fine."

You were now sitting next to Bucky, "I'm seeing you're having a great night."

"Now that you're here, it's much better." You low chuckled.

You felt a hand on your shoulder. Steve was smiling at you from behind.

"Did he drink that Asgardian thing?" He nodded, "Does it have any repercussions?"

He shook his head, "He's this drunk because Tony kept pouring more in his glass, but he will metabolize it in an hour or two."

Somehow, it was nice having Bucky that way—but you knew this was not the person you were falling in love with.

"What about we get going?" Steve asked, and you nodded. Lola was offering you her arm while Steve made Bucky stand up.

"The night just started. Why are you leaving?" Tony teased, "I'm sure with the next drink I could make Bucky confess his love."

You bit your lip, "I think we are fine for the night, Tony."

"I think Jamie is tired—he really needs a rest."

You said goodbye and started to walk towards the door as Steve instructed. Sam was standing next to Tony and Banner, "Jamie." He scoffed a laugh.

"Who would think someone her size would tame him?" Tony tilted his head.

"You're never gonna let him live after this, right?" Banner turned his head to Sam.

"I'm gonna remind him of this every damn time."

After a silent drive, you noticed how Bucky got back to his normal self with every passing minute; Steve had left with Lola just a minute ago, and Bucky was leaning against his doorframe. You could now see a hint of clarity after some time.

"Are you going to be fine?" You giggled, "Never seen you like this before."

"I'll be fine," He chuckled, "Long time since I've felt this way."

"Drunk?"

"Excited." He lowered his voice.

"About what?"

"About seeing someone." His gaze was fixed on you.

"Are—Are you flirting with me, James Buchanan Barnes?"

"I really have no idea what I'm doing," You snorted a laugh, "Is it working?"

"Definitely working. I hope sober Jamie could keep this."

Next Part.

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You grunted, tilting your head against his chest, and he scoffed a soft laugh.

“I’ll be back as soon as possible.”

“Please, remember we have an appointment tomorrow,” you sighed, “Can you try to opt out if you are called in?”

He nodded, “I’ll try my best.”

His ring sat in a marble basin in the kitchen counter—it was its quotidian home. He was accustomed to wearing his ring only at home or having it in his inner pocket if he knew there were no cases in sight.

“And to make you feel sure,” He took the ring and placed it in his inner pocket, “I’m gonna take this with me, and I’ll be on time for our appointment.”

He kissed your temple and soothed your belly with his hand.

Every time you saw him leaving, it felt heavier. Not because you were afraid—you trusted him, and even when you didn’t know his co–workers personally, you trusted they would take care of his life.

But this time—something was completely off.

He had been acting odd for the last few weeks; even when you wanted to turn a blind eye, you knew he was acting differently. You felt a pang in your chest, and your heart fluttered every time you gave it your full attention.

Then, night arrived—and he didn’t.

You wanted to soothe yourself by repeating to yourself that he was probably working with them on an old case, and you knew he didn’t really check his phone when he was focused. And you fell asleep—not because you wanted to, but exhaustion took a toll on you lately.

The morning felt heavy, and you dragged your feet around the apartment while you prepared yourself to have another appointment on your own.

His phone was still unanswered. Still not something strange coming from him. If the case was rough, he even forgot to bring his phone. He knew you were well taken care of, that you would call your mother or a friend of yours if something happened. And he knew the security guards from the building were all over you since they had been informed of your pregnancy.

When the night arrived, you knew something was awfully wrong—Spencer hadn’t contacted you, and that was the most erratic scenario. You were sure he would never do that. It didn’t matter how hard, how difficult, or how complex the case was; he always sent you a text, called you, gave you a way to know he was fine and thinking about you.

You knew this day would come—the day you would meet his coworkers, but you never thought you would do it in this kind of manner. You didn’t even expect to see them there. If he was not answering, they were all probably all busy in another state or scattered around the city.

The policeman escorted you through the gates, and you had shown him proof that you were Dr. Reid’s wife. You understood the skepticism he had about your words—A woman coming out of nowhere saying she was married to the most shy, introverted, and private man in the BAU?

You didn’t expect to see them there. Maybe he was escorting you to whoever was there.

But every member of the team was there—everyone but Spencer.

Everyone seemed startled, appalled, with a thick tension in the air.

“Agent, this lady here claims that she knows Dr. Spencer Reid.” The police man directed JJ.

Emily’s eyebrows knitted in the middle. A hint of uneasiness washed over her face.

Your mouth opened and closed twice before you could say anything.

“Is there a place where I could talk to you?” JJ nodded to the police officer and guided you to Emily's office.

“My apologies if I sound harsh, but where do you know Dr. Reid?” She inspected every detail—your belly, your rings, the way you seemed confident even when you had never met her before.

A tear welled up in the corner of your eye.

“He…” You exhaled and took out your phone to unlock it. “We are married.”

JJ tilted her head with surprise; something in her gesture snapped immediately. You showed her your homescreen. Your wedding day—something small, just you and him in a courthouse.

“We’ve been married for almost three years, together for five years. I’m seven months pregnant… he told me he would be home two days ago, and he hasn’t answered my phone calls or texts.”

JJ gripped the armrest of her chair, and you noticed she was trying to process everything you had said in a short timespan.

JJ repeated your name as if she had memorized it, and you nodded, acknowledging it.

“I need… a minute. I promise I’ll be back with all the answers you deserve, but… can you give me a minute?”

You nodded, and she walked away from the office. Outside, Rossi and Tara looked at her worriedly—she looked like she had seen a ghost.

“Who’s her?” Luke asked.

“Reid’s wife…”

Rossi cocked his eyebrow, “What does that mean?”

“She is Spencer’s wife. She showed me a very clear wedding photo of them—and she is pregnant.”

JJ sighed, looking at them.

“And she has no idea what’s happening with him right now.”

“Spencer is married?” Tara looked at Emily’s office with you there, still calling Spencer’s number with a hint of faith.

“Pretty much.”

“How much is this kid hiding?” Rossi mumbled, tracing circles in his temple with his fingers.

“I don’t know, but now we gotta tell a worried pregnant wife that her husband is detained in Mexico with a charge of possession.”

“Someone has to tell Penelope and Emily, they… are going to be startled to say the least.

“Tell us what?” Penelope walked through the doors. “Do we have news from our pretty boy?”

The three of them shook their heads.

“Penelope, we just found out Spencer is married… and his wife is waiting in Emily’s office because he’s been MIA for two days.”

Penelope stopped in her tracks just as JJ held her arm with care.

“Say what again?”

“What you heard—Spencer Reid has been in a relationship for the last five years, and he’s been married for almost three years…”

You were growing impatient. You understood they were probably surprised by the news, but you were worried—your husband was missing, and everyone in the office was acting like nothing was happening.

You walked out of her office and noticed how all their eyes landed on you immediately. Penelope’s bloodshot eyes were fixed now on your belly.

“Can someone, please, tell me where my husband is?”

Everyone stared at JJ, who just nodded.

“Could you come with us to the meeting room?”

You walked with them, and in synchronized moves, they all sat; you did the same.

“We didn’t know you… well, existed… We could’ve called you… but…” JJ started to stutter.

“What? Is there something wrong with him?”

“He… is being held in Mexico. We are dealing with his extradition, but as of right now, he’s in a prison in Matamoros, Mexico. He was found with drugs in his possession…and he himself was drugged.”

Every word that came out of JJ's mouth was worse. You were sure you were dreaming. This was a nightmare, and you were about to wake up.

"Of course not. Spencer could never. He's been sober for years…" You mumbled.

"Is there something I can do to help you? Do I call an ambulance?" Penelope approached you.

You shook your head, "Tell me this is a lie."

"I wish we could, sweetheart… but Spencer is facing a very big deal right now…"

"I don't know nor care to know what they say he did. He didn't, he isn't capable of doing any wrong. He wouldn't…"

You started whimpering—tears streaking your cheeks while you tried to compose yourself.

"We've been married for years—He wouldn't be capable of lying to me this way. He's a good man, he could never…"

No one knew what to do—just minutes before, you were just a stranger, and now everyone had the urge to protect you… You were something sacred for Spencer, as sacred as something hidden could be.

After an eternity, you were now sitting, trying to process the information, as everyone around you asked questions—a glass sat in front of you, while your sight was lost in the nothingness.

"So… when did you get married?" JJ asked, reaching for your hand. You looked up at her, and for the first time, you noticed what Spencer had told you.

She had that motherly hint no one else had. Her touch was tender, soothing, but firm.

"Do you remember once he asked to go visit his mother and didn't bring you any photos or anything? That time. It was a courthouse wedding. Just Diane, my family, and that was it." You smiled as the memory of that moment brought you a fake peace.

"Why keep it a secret?" Emily looked at you.

"At the beginning, it was not intentional—we just flowed with time, and then—he was already proposing, and nothing came out of our mouths; then, we decided it was best for us to keep it like that."

"We want you to know that we are trying our best to bring him back home."

You sighed, "Can any of you explain what's going on?"

Everyone shook their head immediately, "We are in the same spot as you are right now. Emily's right now with Luke at Matamoros, trying to find some answers."

You nodded.

Penelope took you home—she even went ahead to make herself at home and stayed with you while someone brought back information.

She spent the whole afternoon explaining how impressed she was with him—being married and expecting a child? Never expected it from him.

In Matamoros, Spencer was finally coming back to his right mind—when he noticed Emily in front of him, you were the first coherent thing he asked about.

"Spencer… who's her?" Emily asked, trying to sound soft.

"My wife… She's pregnant."

Emily sighed. She really thought Mr. Scratch's drugs had already screwed his thoughts.

When she stepped out to try to recover her own sanity, her phone rang. JJ rambled about how Spencer had a whole wife, how she was pregnant—everything that made Emily realize Spencer was not completely out of his mind.

Things finally started to make sense. Spencer was already being held at Millburn Correctional Facility—now they were set on finding out who framed him in the murder of Nadie Ramos. Weeks went by, and unfortunately for you, your delivery was early. Between the stress, Spencer asking you not to visit him that often, and being completely alone. An emergency C-section seemed like the only and safest option after having so many complications over the last few weeks.

The process was hurtful—not physically. But not having Spencer by your side. That he was not even aware you were in this position at this exact moment. All your plans were down the drain, and all because he had committed some mistakes.

You weren’t alone. Your mother was there… with Penelope by her side.

And you welcomed, Eleanor Reid.

You had always made fun of people telling their newborns resembled someone… Until you found your husband’s features in front of you in your daughter’s face.

“How’s the little girl?” Rossi walked in.

“Hi, Rossi.” You smiled. He had been so careful with you, taking care of you, that somehow you started to grow fond of him.

“She’s sleeping now, but she’s been great.”

“That’s nice. Emily’s right now at Millburn informing him that she’s born.” You pursed your lips. You didn’t have to say it; everyone knew you were hurting, “She’s gonna be delicate, I promise.”

A disappointed sigh left your throat.

“I know, kid. He would die only to be here for a second.”

“Good afternoon,” A brunette girl came into the room, “I’m Carol Atkinson, and I’ll be your nurse today.”

You smiled, and she leaned over the crib where Eleanor rested.

“We will take her to run some more tests, and we will bring her back as soon as possible.”

“Is she okay?” Rossi furrowed at the notice.

“Oh, she’s great. It’s just protocol.”

Both of you nodded.

The nurse carried Eleanor in her arms. She slept peacefully in her arms as she walked away.

“Look at you. You’re being so strong. You are going through this on your own. Being strong for Spencer, having a beautiful baby… and still looking gorgeous.”

“Flattery.”

“You need it.” You chuckled. “What about you sleep a bit, and then when you wake up, Eleanor will be here for you.”

"Would you be here when I wake up?”

“If you want that, I’d love it, but I thought you would want Penelope to be here.”

“I think I kind of like your peace rather than… her.” You both chuckled.

“Sleep. I’ll stay.”

On the other side of the city, Spencer sat next to Emily. The dark eyes under his eyes made Emily feel powerless. She wanted to take him out of there, and it was the only thing that had been in her mind from the very first minute.

“How’s she?” He sighed, “Last time we talked, I asked her not to come that often, and she might have taken my word…”

“Reid… She hasn’t been around because… She had been having complications… they did an emergency C-section two nights ago.”

“They what? Why? Are they fine?” He stood up, but Emily stopped him.

“We all welcomed your beautiful Eleanor Reid. She’s a healthy, beautiful girl.”

“And how’s…?”

“She’s great,” Emily interrupted her immediately, “She’s a warrior, and she’s still at the hospital.”

“What trace have you found from Scratch?”

“Barely any news, but we will get through it, I promise, Reid.”

“And how does she look?” Spencer toyed with his fingers.

“She’s beautiful, her eyes are still pretty dark, but we will see it later, her big cheeks are just beautiful, she cried immediately, APGAR scored 8. She did great for the context.”

“And who’s with her now?” Her mother and Penelope were there the whole night, now Rossi’s taking care of her.”

“Thank you so much. I know… I know I should’ve told you about her… but things… just happened, you know?”

“We’ll get to know her and your story later; now we've got to focus on clearing your name and taking you out of here.”

Rossi was typing on his phone when a nurse walked in, “Hi, Mrs. Reid.”

“Oh, she’s asleep.”

The nurse nodded and walked to the crib. Her face went white, but she tried to remain calm.

“Did another nurse come to take Eleanor?”

He nodded, “Carol Atkinson came earlier.”

The nurse nodded, but Rossi noticed immediately that something was off. She paged someone as she looked around, trying to find something.

“Is there something wrong?”

“You… The blonde earlier said you all were with the FBI…”

She was trying to clear her mind, “Can we step outside for a moment?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Out of the room, she immediately called for a security guard, but he met them clueless about what was going on.

“I… am not sure how to put this into words… but as I am aware, there are no Carols at all in the plantel…”

Rossi’s blood ran cold, and before he could ask for more information, the doctor in charge of you came running.

“What was the emergency?”

“We’ve got a Code Pink in Room Fourteen. Reid’s room.”

The security guard ran, talking through his radio, and a voice echoed through the hospital speakers. Rossi was facing the disaster unraveling and still tried to understand what went wrong.

“The hospital’s going through a lockdown. We will find her immediately. We are so sorry. We’re checking cameras, we’re trying to see if she’s still at the building, and authorities have been informed. They are on their way.”

Rossi stepped aside and dialed Emily’s number.

“You called just in time. I just got out of the visit. He’s so happy…” She was about to start rambling when Rossi interrupted her.

“Eleanor’s missing.”

“Come again?”

“Eleanor’s been abducted…” Emily asked for you immediately, “She’s still asleep… I haven’t had the guts to wake her up… The hospital is on lockdown. Authorities have been informed.”

“Take care of her, I’ll deal with the rest… I have a meeting in the courthouse, trying to find a breach in all of this that helps Reid.”

You were waking up from your so-needed nap. Rossi was just walking into your apartment with a nurse and a police officer.

“What’s going on? It’s Spencer, okay?” You tried to stand up, but Rossi held you by your shoulder.

“There’s no way to put this into the right words,” He hurried to talk, “The nurse that came earlier to take Eleanor was not part of the roll. We’re trying to find Eleanor’s whereabouts. Police have been informed, the FBI is working their ass off to find what we can do to work faster.”

Your whole world was shattering. You had just been told that your daughter was missing, and there was no clue of where she could be. Spencer was still imprisoned, framed, and you were glued to a stretcher because of a C-section you didn’t even want from the beginning.

“Kiddo, I need you back here. Do you remember the nurse’s face?”

You snapped back—your eyes shut as you tried to place her face in your mind. Spencer had taught you how to do it. You were basically a profiler after years of being trained by him.

You started to describe her.

“Brown long hair, almond eyes, big lips, prominent cheeks, skinny, young—very young.”

The police officer wrote down while Rossi caressed your shoulder, “You’re doing great, keep going.”

“Pointy nose, brown eyes…” You shook your head, “Is that enough?”

You looked at Rossi, who just nodded.

“It’s great… You’re doing great…”

And finally, your emotions caught you off guard, and you started whimpering, your eyes were a river of non-stop tears. Rossi hugged you and kept you tucked in his chest.

“You’ll be fine. She’s fine. Spencer’s fine.”

‘Ta-da! Didn’t expect me, did you? Impersonating Scratch was getting tiresome. Now, if the good doctor wants his pretty daughter back, send him to me. He knows where to find me. After all, he put me here. But, then again, I kinda returned the favor, didn’t I? He and I have unfinished business…’

Cat Adam’s voice echoed through the main screen.

After Emily’s meeting, she was able to take Spencer out of prison. He was taken home to find some belongings, and there they found a blanket and the footprint of Eleanor lying on his couch. Next to it, a tablet with Cat’s face, full of anger, showed up.

“Really?! We have to deal with Cat Adams again?!” Penelope complained as she paused the recording.

“Yes. She was pulling the strings all along. Cat and Lindsay were behind all. Nadie Ramos’ death, Spencer’s framing, Eleanor’s kidnapping—and they still got her. So we need to make this shit fast.” Emily was not having it. She knew they were in a delicate situation.

“If we lose Eleanor, we lose Spencer. We can’t lose.”

“And where’s he now?” Stephen asked.

“He’s visiting his wife now, and after that… He will be going to Mount Pleasant Women’s Correctional Facility.”

“Wait, hold up. Reid has to go back to prison?” Stephen seemed distraught.

“We didn’t want to, but he’s not willing to risk anything. We know he’s walking into one of the most unstable situations anyone could face.” Tara’s voice was beyond worried.

“Do you think he’ll be able to after everything he's gone through?”

“He’s not going alone. JJ will be there too.”

“And what do we do in the meantime?” Penelope stood up and walked towards Emily.

“We hope that Reid can profile Eleanor’s location out of Cat, and we just wait until he does?”

“That’s part one. Part two is we refocus and rebuild based on what we know, and search for any leads we missed because of our faulty assumptions…”

Everyone seemed distraught. No one was really comfortable with the idea of Spencer facing Cat after everything that had happened over the last few months.

Spencer was now sitting in the bed next to you, his hands cupping yours, your free hand stroking his long hair, and you both were sobbing. There was not one coherent word behind those tears.

“I promise you we’ll find her. And then, we’ll have back all those moments we lost.” He was panting between words. He knew you deserved someone who reassured you, but at the same time, you knew he came from the worst situation of his life and was now facing something even worse.

“What are you gonna do?” You mumbled, looking down at him.

“I came here to see you because… I’m going to see… Cat… at the facility…”

“You’re gonna do what?” You almost yelled.

“We need to. I have to. She asked me to go. We are not risking any chance.”

“I’m going with you.” You sat still and started to push the button to call the nurse.

JJ’s hand fell on her mouth.

“Are you crazy? You’re not going with me. You just had a C-section! You’re recovering!”

“My daughter is missing, Spencer! She’s been missing for almost twelve hours. You were in prison for months, and you were just released some hours ago! I can’t keep feeling useless, powerless—” Tears started to streak your cheeks, “I can’t, Spencer… I need to be there… She’s my life.”

He sighed and tousled back his hair.

Before anyone could protest, you were already signing the papers needed so you could leave the hospital early.

The jet was a tomb. Spencer held you carefully, always checking up on your belly, on the way you gripped your freshly done stitches. When you landed, a police car took you to the Correctional, and there you were—facing a One-Way mirror. On the other side, your husband stood still in front of Cat Adams, while JJ stood still some steps away.

You knew her. He told you about her on their first encounter. You never really gave her more than a thought. Why would you? You never thought you would know about her ever again.

And there you were, in front of them, behind a mirror. JJ and Spencer never looked your way. The only condition for you to be there was that she could never know you were really there.

“Where’s my daughter?” Spencer spoke as soon as he faced her.

“Spencie.” She chanted back, “I missed you.”

The man in front of you was someone you didn’t know. It was not only the fact that it was the first hours you had with him after months of only being able to see him, with a table between you two, but also the sparkle of anger he showed. A special hate you thought you would never see of him.

The words started to disappear as soon as you heard her. You just knew this woman in front of you had taken your daughter away, and the only thing you wanted was to bring her back immediately.

You had just held her for less than twenty-four hours. And now she was being held God knows where.

A police officer brought you a chair. They saw how often you would touch your belly and hold your stitches. They were still fresh, and your body was still recovering from the anesthesia and the procedure. After some minutes, JJ had to step out of the room. She was standing next to you, studying every step they took.

You sat there looking at the way they both played cat and mouse. The way she pushed the exact buttons to receive a reaction from him. How she sat in his lap, flirting. Almost like all of this going on was just to have a moment alone with him.

You didn’t want to feel it. But a stupid jealousy of the way she touched him with an erotic tint.

“She just wants a reaction. Don’t give her that.” JJ placed her hand on your shoulder.

“I—” You wanted to lie, but everything was beyond that. “I know I shouldn’t.”

“No one’s judging you.”

But something took you out of the conversation.

“… I couldn’t have you come all the way down here and make a guess until I was positive…”

You stood up immediately, ice running through your veins.

“Wait, you’re pregnant?” Spencer’s voice cracked for a second.

“We’re pregnant.” She winked at the window.

JJ walked to the police officer. “I need her record, now.”

The lady nodded and walked away.

“We’re? What did she mean by that?” You hurried to ask JJ, “What’s going on?”

“She’s probably lying… This can’t be truth… They never…”

“It’s not possible, even if you’re pregnant, that baby’s not mine.”

“Except for the part where it is…”

“That’s completely preposterous.” Spencer stood up in front of her.

A minute later, the lady came back with the record. You leaned over JJ.

Pregnant: YES.

“How the fuck…” You mumbled and turned your sight back to them.

“Come on, ask me how I did it.”

“How did you do it?”

“I had Lindsey doze you in Mexico, and gave her very specific instructions on how to get you in the mood.”

“What? Pretending to be you?”

She chuckled, “Why? It would’ve worked?” A pause. “Yeah. No, I know. Believe me, I know exactly where I stand on the Spencer Reid hot-or-not list. I told her to pretend to be your lovely wife. So useful.”

“I was hoping I was gonna be the one who gave you your firstborn… But I guess I’ll accept giving your precious daughter a sibling.” Cat mocked.

Spencer stepped away and opened the door with a kick.

You were startled. Your husband had been abused, and there was nothing you two could do about it.

“Spencer, we might have something.” JJ showed him the folder. “The timelines match, but that doesn’t necessarily mean…”

He threw the papers at the window and tucked you into his chest. “I’m so sorry… I’m so fucking sorry…”

He mumbled on your hair. You were trying to play strong, but this was beyond your words, beyond your comprehension.

“You don’t… It’s not your fault…”

After some minutes, he went back in.

He was heated. It was not the best. But it was the only thing you both could do to find your daughter’s whereabouts.

JJ talked through the phone with the rest of the team. They were trying to figure out what their next step was, and you did what you could do. Be in front of your husband with another woman who had been making your days miserable for the last few months.

JJ said words that helped you go through this. Like any of them believed this could be Spencer’s child. Or the fact that a guard in the prison could be the real father.

Either way, you could see how heated the argument was getting between them. His hands kept clenching on his sides. How she just enjoyed seeing him angry.

And before you could do anything. He was pinning her against the wall. His hands were gripping his neck, choking her, restraining her from breathing. JJ ran to separate them, and you stood till. You wanted to go in, you wanted to make her be honest, but from what you had seen, that was going to make it even worse.

“Spence!” JJ yelled, “She’s pregnant! Come on!” She pushed him away, and he walked outside.

He didn’t even look at you. He had no moral ground to do it; he felt he had betrayed every value in his life.

You stopped him and hugged him immediately. You knew him. You knew the man you married, and you knew that even after the hell he went through, he was not a bad man. Not even after doing what he had done to her.

They were talking while you held him by his waist.

And, before you could even wrap up what they were saying. They concluded what she wanted.

“Sweetheart, you’re gonna hear a lot of things…” He cupped your cheeks, “You gotta promise me you’re not gonna believe any of those things.”

You nodded, and he kissed you before coming back.

You saw him offering his hand to her, “Dance with me.”

“Why?”

“‘Cause I don’t want the people who’re checking on us to hear what I got to say.”

He was holding her hand, and even when you made clear you weren’t taking to heart what you saw there, the pang in your heart was inevitable.

“He’s just doing what he has to do, okay?” JJ leaned, still with her phone in her hand.

“I know… I know…”

On the other side of the city, Emily and Rossi were already figuring out where your baby could be. Connecting the only guard who worked in both facilities was easier when Penelope was anxious to find her newborn niece. Between the romantic relationship Cat and Lindsey shared, and her being pregnant with another man, and telling Spencer it was his. The team had enough to make Lindsey surrender without harming Eleanor in any way.

The house where they had been keeping Eleanor was easy to spot with enough information.

A baby’s cry was heard, and they all knew they needed to be careful. One wrong take, and she could end it all. End Spencer’s sanity. End their careers. And they were not risking any of those, but being in front of her with a clear image of Cat holding Spencer helped to make it easier. She was holding a control connected to a bomb that could destroy the whole house in the blink of an eye.

“Just… pay attention to what she has to say,” Emily asked Lindsey. “It’s not a trick…”

“You know well that baby isn’t mine," Spencer mumbled to her.

She chuckled, “How are you so sure?”

“Well, we found the father. But great job making the timelines match.”

Lindsey was astonished, “Is… she pregnant?”

“By the man you just killed,” Rossi affirmed.

"Playing a game with Reid was more important than being faithful to you.” Emily held the phone in front of her.

She surrendered immediately, putting down the control and pointing at the closet where Eleanor was in a car seat.

“We are clear,” Emily spoke to the intercom. “She’s safe.”

JJ looked at you and nodded.

Cat was looking down, looking defeated.

You hugged JJ, sobbing, knowing everything had come to an end and that you were finally free.

“I need to inform Spencer; he doesn’t need to be there anymore.”

You nodded and stepped aside before she opened the door.

“Is she okay?” Spencer walked towards JJ.

“Yeah. She’s great.”

“We do deserve each other, by the way.” Cat interrupted them, “I really think you liked killing those men… and once you closed that line… You can’t ever go back…”

You saw him kneeling in front of her. Taking his clock—the clock you had given him when you got married—you hurried, thinking he was about to do something wrong. He stood up and walked towards you. His arm rested on your shoulder, and he kissed your temple.

“Watch me.”

The ride to the hospital was hell. Spencer was driving like a bat out of hell. You were in the backseat, trying to breathe, easing the pain you felt after the rush of the moment had faded.

“You’re doing great, baby,” Spencer murmured. “Keep breathing. She’s safe, and we’ll put you on bed rest for a whole month after this. We need to check your stitches, your C-section might be…” He was rambling, trying to find a way to distract himself.

When you both arrived at the hospital, Emily rushed you both with a nurse. Your baby rested now in a hospital crib. The crystal material surrounded her as a promise to be safer now.

The doctor saw you both and nodded, letting you come in.

“She’s safe. Luckily, they didn’t try to harm her. She was fed, warm, and diapers changed.”

“They had no intention to harm her; they wanted to punish me.” Spencer leaned, still in agent mode.

“Spencer… You’re looking at your daughter.”

You knew he needed that.

He needed to hear this was real.

His eyes went teary; you knew it was there.

“Dear lord.” Spencer caressed her cheek with a finger, “They told me she was beautiful. I never thought this beautiful.”

“And look at that, everyone is eager to see her, too.” You caressed his back, and he lifted his head. The whole team was staring at you from the window.

“Mrs. Reid, Dr. Reid. She’s cleared up. It will be good for her if you two hold her for the rest of the night.”

You looked at him. “Do the honors… She needs a big hug from her dad. She’s missed his singing and rambling for the last few months…”

He leaned over the crib and held her in his arms.

“You look like the most complicated thing I’ve ever done in my life,” Spencer mumbled. “And I promise to make it right.”

“Mrs. Reid, we know you want to see her, and we can move her to a shared room with you, but you need to be checked.” The nurse was frowning.

“Yeah. Checked up, yes.” You stuttered.

“Wait,” Spencer hurried, and offered his hand to you.

You walked closer to him, and he hugged you with his free arm.

“I’m so sorry, darling. You’re gonna be taken care. I’m not gonna leave your side, no one’s gonna separate us ever again, it’s a promise.”

He kissed your forehead.

“I love you, Spencer.”

“I love you too.”

A cough on the door took you out of your thoughts.

Rossi was there with the rest of the team behind. Everyone was teary, none of them could believe that their Doctor was in front of them with a whole family. A lovely wife and a beautiful daughter.

And Spencer knew he had a hell of an explanation to give to his team.

“We would love to have a formal introduction.”

“That could be a good idea,” Spencer said with a nostalgic chuckle.

His mother called your name as she hugged you. “We’re so happy you’re here!”

You smiled and hugged her back, “Scott told me you have a lot of plans ahead.”

“You have no idea, this week’s gonna be amazing!”

“Mr. Summers.” You looked at his father, and he hugged you immediately.

“When are you gonna stop calling me that? It’s been years.”

You shrugged your shoulders, “I don’t think I can stop.”

Some kind of tension in the air could be felt. They were explaining the plans for the week while you looked around, only thinking about what Bucky could possibly be doing.

In the middle of the dinner, your phone rang. You peeked and noticed his name lighting up your screen.

“Who’s it?” Scott furrowed, and you shrugged.

“Oh… Uh… Work.” You lied, standing up, “I’ll be back in a minute.”

You walked upstairs and hid yourself in your room.

“Hi, sunshine.” His voice came weary through the phone.

“Oh, James. You got me all worried.” You hurried to answer.

“Where are you?” You could hear a hurt tone in his voice.

“How do you know I’m not at home?”

“Do you really think I didn’t ask Banner to take care of you?”

“Fair point. I’m in the Hamptons…”

“Still with Scott, huh?”

“Yeah… this was planned.”

“Honey, you don’t have to excuse yourself with me. I don’t care if you’re with him or not…”

You didn’t want to take it to heart, but his tone came harshly, and you felt guilty. You were trying to find words to answer, but you remained silent.

“No… Fuck… I’m sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t want to make it sound like that.”

“It’s fine… James… Can we talk later? I was in the middle of the dinner.”

He growled.

“I’ll see you when I get back to the city.”

“See you, James.”

You got back to the table, and they were back to talking about business.

“Everything alright, babe?” Scott placed his hand on your leg as you sat.

“All fine. The new girl is still adapting.” You smiled wryly.

“They should be ready for your leaving.” His mother spoke, “It’s gonna be soon. They need to be prepared.”

“Huh?” You tilted your head. “I’m not planning on changing jobs soon.”

Scott coughed, trying to ease the tension.

When the night ended, the words of your mother-in-law were now imprinted on your mind. You have never told anyone you were even thinking about leaving your job. Yes, you hated it with a special heat, but that didn’t mean you wanted to leave.

Scott had blacked out in bed, and you stood up to take a walk in the cottage’s garden. When you crossed his father’s studio, you could hear his voice coming from there. He was talking with his wife.

“Well! I didn’t know she was planning to keep that shitty job after the wedding…” She mumbled through her teeth.

“Maybe she doesn’t know he wants to propose… Maybe he’s not even planning on proposing soon… Maybe we misunderstood.”

Your world fell to your feet immediately.

You were about to break up with him… and he was planning on proposing?

You decided to stop eavesdropping and walked towards the door. The air outside was thick and humid, and your skin felt sticky.

Then, his name showed up again on your screen.

“Hi, James.” You answered immediately.

“Someone’s waiting for you at the back entrance. You got ten minutes before he goes and knocks on the door.”

“What?”

“Ten minutes. The clock is ticking.”

He hung up, and you decided not to waste any minute. You knew him. You knew he was not lying. Now, your short and revealing pajama set felt completely inappropriate as you ran to the back door of the villa, your bare feet hurt from the feeling of the ground and the garden.

When you arrived, a black car waited for you. There, Clint, with a fed-up expression, opened the back door for you to get in.

The gate creaked as you opened it, but it was too far to be heard by anyone in the main house.

“Good night, Clint.”

“Night.” He answered, not even looking at you.

It was partly out of respect, partly out of being mad for having to do this.

“Where are we going?”

He didn’t answer.

“Is he mad?” He growled, “Clint…”

“Not with you if that’s your question.”

“Oh…”

“Is he fine?” You were now worried.

“He will be.”

The drive was short. The cottage was big, not as big as you could think a property of a made man should be.

Clint parked out of the main entrance and walked you through the house to an office in the back of the place.

“He’s there… Just… Be ready…” He opened the door and stepped aside.

“Thank you, Clint.”

You walked in, and your barefoot steps echoed through the room. He was sitting on a chair with his back to the door.

“James?” You mumbled.

He turned around, and you finally noticed his face. His cheekbones were completely shattered, his lips were busted, and some dry blood stained his face.

“What the hell happened to you?”

He drank from a glass, “Occupational hazards…”

“No, those are not…” You grunted and went back to the doors, “Clint?”

He opened the door immediately and looked at you, “Yes?”

“You have something to clean up his wounds?”

He chuckled and nodded.

You were facing the door, waiting for him as he came back with a first aid kit.

“Thank you, Clint.”

You walked towards him, and he had remained silent since you turned your back on him. You sat on the desk in front of him and leaned in to start cleaning his wounds.

He was grunting, gripping the mahogany desk you were sitting at.

“You don’t have to do this,” he mumbled, “Sweetheart, I was an asshole earlier.”

You shook your head and took more alcohol, dampening the cotton.

“This’ gonna hurt, James.”

He chuckled, “Probably not as much as it hurt when it happened.”

“Wanna tell me what happened?”

“Not really.”

“Fair.”

You were looking at his eyes, those blue eyes kept you completely out of your right mind. What were you doing in a mob’s vacation home when you were supposed to be sleeping next to your… apparently future husband?

“Fuck it,” He took you by your waist and made you sit on his lap—you were sitting on just one leg, but something inside made you move your legs to straddle him. His hands gripped your waist, and you turned around to dampen the cotton again.

“Look at this. Tell me the man who did this isn't still alive?” You furrowed when you were finally able to clean a blood stain on his cheek.

“He wishes he were not…”

“Ok… Ok… Stop… I don’t know why I asked that…” He chuckled.

Furrowing and whining, he gripped your waist while you finished cleaning him up.

“And now, look at you. As beautiful as always.”

“James…” The tone in your voice was pathetic.

“Let me do the talk first.” He begged, “I was an asshole, and I’m tired of pretending that I don’t care that you’re still with Scott, and knowing you’re there with him… it’s killing me…”

“That’s why you came all your way here?”

He nodded.

“James…” You sighed, “I think I’m getting married.”

He choked on his own saliva, “The fuck you mean?”

“His parents were talking about me quitting my job, and then I eavesdropped, and they were talking about him proposing or something like that…”

“And do you want that, sunshine?”

You shook your head, “But I think that’s next… Isn’t it?”

“Not necessarily…” His hand found a strand of hair and tucked it behind your ear. “Well, then... If I know you well... This could be one of the last times we see each other, right?”

“Why would you think that?”

“Because I’m about to do this…” His hands cupped your face, and he kissed you like he was starving, like your lips were the last meal he was ever going to have. Your fingers grasped his suit, without realizing that you pulled him incredibly closer, you were panting as his tongue found yours and made you wish this could last forever.

“And a sweetheart like you would never engage in something like this while being married.”

A tear left your eye.

“No… No… Don’t… Fuck… Don’t cry, sweetheart. Don’t do this to me. You’re gonna kill me…”

“I don’t want to get married, James…” You whined.

He stroked your hair and placed you in the crook of his neck, “You know you don’t have to, right?”

A knock on the door startled you both.

“It’s time,” Clint claimed from the other side of the door. You looked at him, tilting your head.

“I knew we weren’t going to be able to decide to bring you back home on time, so I asked Clint to do it for us.”

You pursed your lips and nodded. Carefully, he took you off his lap and walked you to the door.

“When are you coming back?” You turned to face him.

“I’ll be there when you get back if you still wanna see me when you get back.” He ticked his jaw.

You stood on your feet and kissed him on the cheek. “Don’t get in too much trouble.”

He scoffed, “Same to you.”

The way back home was silent. When he parked in the same spot where he had picked you up from, you looked at the big house.

“They haven’t woken up. Someone has been checking up.” You nodded.

“Clint, can I ask you something?” You looked at him through the rearview mirror.

“Go ahead.”

“What is this with Bucky and I?” He turned around, looking at you.

“If you are asking me if he’s interested in you, I think you know the answer.”

A note of his perfume still lingered on your clothes, and the earlier kiss still burned your lips.

“And is it real?”

He shrugged. Men in this field didn’t have the privilege of finding a woman like you, who was not interested at all in their money and power, but at the same time, he knew well Bucky at this point, and he knew he was capable of doing anything for you… For the best and the worst.

“It’s time for you to go, they haven’t woken up, and you’re still on time to sleep at least a few hours.”

“Good night, Clint.”

“Night.” He waited for you to walk into the house.

The morning had been hurried—you noticed how Scott kept avoiding you, and the more he did it, the more nervous you got. You didn’t want to get to the point where he was going to ask you to marry him, and now you had on your shoulders the kiss you and Bucky had shared earlier.

You were sitting in front of the mirror while you put your makeup on when Scott arrived and sat on the couch next to you. You noticed he was nervous; he was not even looking you in the eyes as he always had before. His hands kept toying with his fingers.

“It’s everything alright, Scott?” He shook his head.

“Promise me you won’t get mad.”

“Huh?” You put down the brush, “Why would I get mad?”

“I know this is not… the best moment to do it… but… I think this isn't going anywhere anymore.” He hurried to say.

You were trying to wrap your mind around the word that had just come out of his mouth.

“Come again?”

He sighed and stroked his hair. “I know it's a bit impractical to do it this way, but you love these trips, and you were so excited about seeing my parents, and they love you…”

You were seeing red. Your mouth was sealed in a line.

“Why would you invite me to a whole fucking weekend at your parents’ cottage just to break up with me halfway through?!” You shouted.

“I know… But I just realized I don’t feel the same about you anymore… This feels wrong but… I want you to have a good last weekend here… and we could keep it a secret till we go back home!”

You stood up.

“Are you being serious?”

“Yeah… I mean… We can skip the touching… Unless you want it…”

There were not enough words in your dictionary to respond to the nonsense he was saying.

“You know you're a piece of shit, right?”

You grumbled and stood up, starting to pack up your things.

“What… What are you doing?”

“Packing up, don't you see?” You motioned, “I'm not staying to help you keep up your image.”

He chuckled. Cynically. That mocking laugh that always made you mad.

“And how do you think you're leaving?”

“Oh, you don't have to worry about me…”

“My parents are not taking you back home.”

“I’m not saying that.”

Once he noticed he was not receiving any responses he left your shared room. You kept packing up until you had everything in your suitcase. When you finally found your suitcases all done, you took your phone out.

His number was the last in your call log.

Not even a second ring had sounded when he answered.

“Good morning, sweetheart.” Bucky seemed busy, “All alright?”

“Not really… But… Did you already leave?”

“Not really. We were getting ready to leave.”

“Could you… Pick me up, too?”

Silence.

“I’ll be there in an hour. Time enough for you to pack up?”

“I’ve already packed up.”

“Back entrance?”

He joked.

“What about a main entrance meeting?”

A small chuckle could be heard on the other side of the line.

“Twenty minutes, I’ll be there for you.”

“See you in a minute, James.”

No one was to be seen, and you took your suitcases to the main entrance. You logged in the PIN to open the gate, and then, a black Audi arrived—ostentatious, pretentious.

Bucky—himself—got out of the car; black suit, face healing, woodsy scent filled up your lungs even from a distance. He stood still and stoic in front of you.

“Morning?” You smiled shyly.

“Is that all?” He tilted his head when he saw the three suitcases.

“It was a full week trip!” You whined. He shook his head and started to load his trunk while you remained silent.

And then, you finally came to a realization.

“James… How did you know where to find me?” You crossed your arms on your chest.

“Are you really asking me that?” He was organizing the suitcases in the truck. You nodded. “Well, one call and I found the address.”

“And why did you come today, and didn’t send Clint again?”

“I thought you needed me more than Clint.”

“Good call.” You smiled.

“Where the fuck do you think you are going?!” Scott's voice came loud from the entrance. Bucky smiled mischievously.

“James. Don’t.” You stopped him by his chest, “Let me take care of it.”

He sighed and kept going with your belongings.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going, and who the hell is this idiot?”

Bucky didn’t even bat an eye at him.

“He’s a friend. He’s taking me home.” Bucky chuckled and shut the trunk.

He walked like a gazelle to your side. He didn’t touch you; he just remained by your side, letting you handle the situation.

“You’re not fucking leaving… I told you you were going to wait till the end of the week.” He tried to yank you by the waist, but Bucky was faster and gripped Scott’s waist to push him.

You knew Scott was not an aggressive man, but you also knew he depended on his parents’ money, and he had been on a tight line for months, and he was about to lose everything as soon as they knew you were leaving.

“Scott, it’s for the best.” You pulled Bucky back and put yourself in the middle of them both. “James, go to the car.”

There was no living man who had ordered Bucky to do anything. And there you were, asking him to restrain himself from defending you.

“I prefer to stay.” His gravelly voice made Scott take a step back, “But I’m gonna stay aside.”

“Now, Scott. Your parents are a second away from coming. Do you really want them to know why I left? ‘Cause I’m completely ready to tell them what’s going on.”

“Are you cheating on me with him?” The cynicism in his tone was completely unbelievable.

“He’s just a friend.” You used the exact tone he had used with you every time you confronted him.

Bucky scoffed a laugh. “Sunshine, we need to leave. I have some things to do.”

You nodded and patted Scott’s chest. “If you need to blame me to try to keep your parents happy, just tell them I cheated… Or whatever makes you feel happy. I’m removing my name from the lease, and I’ll be leaving as soon as possible. You won’t see me at the apartment when you come back.”

“Oh, you are gonna leave?” He chuckled, “And how are you gonna do that?”

“Well, as you said, every time your parents removed their help from you, I always find my way to solve problems… So, I’ll find my way again.”

The open door was waiting for you, and Bucky offered his hands to help you get in. Then, he walked directly to his door. “Nice to meet you, Scott. I’m the way.”

Heat crawled to your cheeks when you saw Scott’s jaw drop to the floor.

“James!” You scolded him, and he just laughed.

He was talking on the phone while you typed on yours, trying to contact your landlord. You wanted to solve everything as soon as possible—even more when you thought about going back to him just to keep the peace.

“Yes. That address.” Bucky talked to his phone. “Uh… at least four men, I need that to get done today.”

"Do you have pets?” He talked to you.

“No?” You answered doubtfully.

“No pets. Yeah. I’ll send you the list of things.”

He hung up and handed you his phone.

“Send a text to that last dialed number with the things you need to take.”

“I… don’t… We don’t own too much. Most of the furniture was bought by his parents… Maybe just my clothes? I don’t care for the furniture…”

You started texting them a list of your things. When you finally finished typing everything, you gave him back his phone.

“Now… Do you wanna tell me what happened?” He was driving, but his hand found your leg, his thumb traced circles in your thigh; it was delicate, more like a tender gesture.

“Apparently… Scott was not going to propose…”

Bucky’s jaw clenched.

“And then?”

“He broke up with me… and he expected me to stay the whole week to keep pretending we were a couple in front of his parents.”

“Why?”

“His parents have been threatening for years to stop the support because he can’t hold a job… I was the most stable thing he had…”

“Look at him. Losing the only good thing he had.”

A twitching smile showed on his lips.

“Now… Where are we going?”

“Well… Your favorite person is waiting for you at my place. I’ll go and handle some things, and then I’ll bring your things to your new place.”

“James… I’m not living with you.”You hurried to interrupt, and he chuckled.

“As much as I wished that was real, I’m gonna find you a nice place, and you will be living there.” He looked at you, “Besides… Who do you think I am? I’m gonna let you take your time, and when you’re ready, I’m gonna take you on the most beautiful dates and give you flowers… I’m gonna show you what a real man can do.”

“You’ve already done that for the last few months… What’s gonna be the difference?”

“I was respecting that you were a taken lady… Now you’re completely free to fall in love with me.”

“Oh, you were respecting that?” You mockingly asked, raising your eyebrow.

“Oh, she’s got jokes now.”

You chuckled and finally held his hand. For the first time in months, it didn’t feel wrong to touch him; it felt like it was meant to be, and you loved the fact that he never crossed any boundary you had set previously. He was a powerful man; he could’ve had everything he wanted, but even he knew he had to fight for you. He had to fight to have a real place in your life, and he was willing to take every step to fit in your life.

“James…”

You interrupted his thoughts.

“Mhm?”

“You need to promise me you’re not gonna do anything against Scott.”

He furrowed. “Why not?”

“‘Cause it’s over. We don’t need to do anything else.”

“If he starts bothering you, I’m gonna do something about it.”

“Deal.” He smiled.“So… My Nat’s waiting for me at home?”

‘Home…’ He thought. He loved the way you called his house ‘home’. Even if you had been there just once, he knew you knew that it was completely yours to possess.

“Your Nat?” A fake tint of jealousy could be heard.

“My Nat. That’s my Nat.” You claimed proudly. And he knew you were only teasing.

“Don’t make me question if I still want her on my side, because now I’m not gonna feel safe leaving you alone with her.”

“Oh… you weren’t joking?”Your voice changed immediately; he noticed you were disappointed.

“What do you mean?”

“Are you really gonna leave?”

“Well... I was... But that voice makes me want to leave everything a mess and just hug you to my chest as soon as we get home.”

“That would be nice.” You admitted.

“Can you accept that I leave you with Nat for a little bit while I take some calls… and then I’ll be all yours.”

“I thought you were already all mine?”

He grunted. “Don’t make me question my decision of forgetting I’m respecting your time to heal.”

You lifted your hands in fake surrender.

When you finally got to his place. He made you wait and opened your door for you. At the main entrance, Natasha was already waiting for you. When you were about to run at her, he stopped you by the wrist.

“Have a great evening, and I’ll see you tonight.”

You nodded and smiled, “Promise you won’t arrive as beaten as I found you last night?”

“I’ll try my best.” You nodded and tiptoed, cupping his face with your hands.

Your fingers traced shapes in his cheeks. When you gathered enough courage, you kissed him fearlessly. His hands found your waist and embraced you, just to cup the back of your neck, his tongue found yours like he was starving.

And he felt like he was.

He had been waiting for this moment since the first time you kissed his cheek in farewell.

And now that he had you in that exact place, he was enjoying how soft your velvety lips felt, how your breath hitched with every grip of his hands.

“James…” You mumbled between kisses. “Please tell me you’re coming back.”

“What are you even talking about? I’m finally able to touch heaven with the tip of my fingers by kissing you…” He pecked your lips, “I’ll be back, my sunshine.”

“When’s my turn?” Natasha teased, getting closer to you.

“Fuck you, Natasha.” Bucky flipped her off.

You giggled and looked at her. Bucky was still holding you by your wrist, and now your hands rested on his arms.

“Be glad that I know you would never betray me.”

You shook your head, “We will be fine, James.”

He didn’t waste any chance he got and kissed you again. “I need to get going, I think it’s the third time we've tried to say goodbye.”

You created a distance and decided to walk to Natasha, who greeted you with a hug and a tight grip to keep you by her side. You waved bye at him, and finally, he left to run some errands.

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When you arrived at Steve's house, Bucky knocked on the door three times.

As you waited, Bucky frowned at the morning sun. That kind of sun that burns your skin and makes you squeeze your eyes trying to see better.

When Steve opened the door, his mouth tightened for a second. You really didn't notice, but Bucky did. Bucky noticed the way his shoulders fell behind, trying to look relaxed, how his breath hitched for a second before going back to normal.

"Everything okay?" Steve asked, blocking the entrance with his body.

"I left my key in your car," Bucky said, frowning again.

"We brought coffee and pastries," you said, lifting the tray and bag of pastries.

Bucky leaned forward and noticed a pair of women's shoes in the doorway—not just women's shoes. Someone's shoes that both of you knew well.

"I don't think the coffee will be enough," Bucky said, trying not to laugh.

You raised your eyebrow before turning to look at Steve. You peered in the direction Bucky was staring. Your jaw dropped when you realized whose shoes were sitting in Steve's living room.

"So... get her home safe and sound?" Bucky's tone was beyond mocking.

"Ew," you said, handing the tray to Steve and taking out one of the coffees.

Steve reached for his car keys so Bucky could take what he needed.

"I can make her come—" Steve tried to break the tension, but the phrase didn't land well.

"No. Don't you dare to say anything else." You raised your hand to silence Steve's words.

You had spent years listening to Lola's intimate experiences, had spent years being her cover so she could sneak out with men. This situation didn't seem surprising or new to you; however, you had developed a different kind of affection for Steve, and the thought of the two of them spending the night together caused you—aversion.

Bucky picked up the access card from Steve's car and set off his car alarm as a signal for you to leave.

"See you, Steve," Bucky said mockingly from a distance.

"I promise it's not..." Steve tried to speak. You shook your head, raising an accusing finger.

"No. No. I spent years begging her not to give me any more details. I want to keep it that way." You shook your head as you approached Bucky.

He was waiting for you at the passenger door, smiling. When you arrived, he looked tenderly at you—he could see how uncomfortable you were feeling at that moment. He closed the door and said goodbye to Steve.

You walked quickly towards the rehabilitation center, your heels echoing down the hallway. You had received a call a couple of hours earlier informing you that one of your most vulnerable patients had been missing for a couple of hours.

Nova was already waiting for you with a file in her hand and the phone to her ear. You took the yellow folder and began dialing one of the numbers.

Family, friends, and the nursing agency that took care of her. No one had any idea of her whereabouts.

Your hands combed through your hair as your mind tried to comprehend how a woman who was under constant surveillance could be missing.

The hours passed as you tried to find answers. Nova was outside the center, patrolling in her car the most common places where that patient used to walk. You didn't even have the mind to drive. You felt personally guilty for this situation. You were used to feeling that way with all your patients.

"It's almost two in the morning, you've been here for almost twenty hours. You need to rest."

Your boss, Dr. Lockwood, patted your back consolingly.

"Doctor, we have to find Denisse," You said, clenching your fingers on the desk.

"And we will find her, but we can't do it if my two star doctors are tired." He turned to look at Nova, who was returning from her third patrol of the day.

You dropped your head into your hands.

"Do you have someone who can pick you up? You're in no condition to drive," he asked, sitting down at the desk. You nodded.

"The handsome biker!" Nova joked, sitting down in a small armchair.

You looked up, offended. You didn't usually bring your personal life into work.

Dr. Lockwood raised his eyebrow in surprise. His expression was always calm, but at that moment, he seemed genuinely intrigued by what he was hearing.

As you were about to pick up your phone, you realized that even after all the time Bucky and you had spent together, neither of you had had the decency to try to get the other's number. Idiots.

Despite your lack of desire to talk to Lola at the moment, including the late time it was, you had no choice but to call her. Your boss wouldn't let you drive to your apartment.

In reality, you weren't angry; you would never be angry about something as silly as Lola enjoying her single life. You just had no intention of listening to her brag about—Captain America's performance. Or worse, listening to a tirade about how she had already made progress with Steve while you were still nowhere with Bucky. As if you had thought about taking any step.

"Lola, could you come pick me up from the center?" You asked, playing with a piece of paper in your hands.

"At this hour?—Why on earth don't you ask Bucky?"

"I don't have his number," you admitted sheepishly. Lola burst out laughing.

"You've been dating for over a year, and you haven't even dared to ask for each other's numbers?"

"We're not dating... and I haven't seen the need to."

"I can tell you're copying his 1940s style."

You rolled your eyes.

"Can you come pick me up or not?"

"You know I'd love to pick you up there—I have a couple of things to tell you, but I'm kind of busy, so I'll tell Steve to pass the message on to Bucky."

"Thanks."

You didn't even dare to ask if she would call Steve or if he was there already.

Almost twenty minutes later, your cell phone rang.

Unknown number: "I'm on my way."

You didn't have to be a genius to know who the number belonged to. You began gathering your belongings while you waited for him to arrive.

You prayed to all the gods almighty that he would arrive by car, that he would not arrive on that flashy motorcycle that made everyone turn to look at him.

"I'm here."

You had hoped he wouldn't arrive so quickly, that he would arrive after Nova and your boss had left, but you were out of luck.

"Doctor, Nova." You announced, getting up from the desk. "Someone came to pick me up."

"I'll walk you to the door." Your boss repeated your move, getting up from his desk.

"No, I'm fine." You declined.

He wasn't even doing it because he wanted to meet the man who was picking you up. Dr. Lockwood had always been a gentleman and tended to protect his employees no matter what.

Nova, on the other hand, just wanted to see the motorcyclist who was picking up her friend one more time.

As the echo of three pairs of shoes filled the hallway of the building, you prayed that the car would be outside. Again, out of luck.

Bucky was leaning against the side of the flashy vehicle. A small gasp of excitement escaped Nova's lips, and your boss could only stifle a discreet chuckle.

Bucky usually kept his distance from your work, but this time he couldn't afford to. The night was freezing, you were wearing only a light sweater—and the exhaustion on your face couldn't be hidden by the makeup you had been wearing since morning.

Bucky began to take off his jacket as he approached you. Nova couldn't help but open her eyes wide with excitement. You sighed, more out of indignation than anything else. 'Why did he have to look so good in that leather jacket? Or without it, too,' you thought as you cursed internally.

"Thanks for coming."

You took a couple of steps to close the distance between both bodies. He nodded and then turned to look at your companions as he handed you his helmet.

"Good night." He took another step towards them. "James."

Dr. Lockwood smiled broadly. "John," he replied, extending his hand to shake his. "Nice to meet you."

"Nova," she said, raising her hand a step behind her boss.

Bucky didn't notice a single gesture of disapproval, disgust, disappointment, or anger in the eyes of any of the people in front of him. Did they even know who he was? A long-sleeved shirt and gloves hid his arm, but people like them should know him.

The three nodded without further ado, you putting on his leather jacket as you raised your arm to say goodbye to your colleagues. Without even turning to look at Nova or your boss, you got on the motorcycle and wrapped your arms around Bucky's waist.

When you got off the motorcycle, you stood there for a few seconds analyzing everything that had just happened that day, and without even thinking, you hugged him.

Your hands squeezed your own arms around his back. He wrapped his arms around your shoulders and, for the first time, his lips touched the top of your head. You could feel that something was wrong; he knew something was wrong. His hand caressed the back of your head, trying to soothe you.

"Do you need a minute before going into your apartment?" he asked without lifting his lips from your hair. You nodded.

You stood still in that position, long enough for your bodies to relax, long enough for you to feel that any problem was insignificant in Bucky's arms.

He let you lead—he stood still as much as you needed. And when you finally broke the hug, you let him know you were doing better then.

You walked to the elevator, and Bucky walked with you to your apartment.

"I want you to rest," he said. "What time do you have to be back at the office?"

"As early as possible."

He sighed.

"Seven's okay?" You nodded.

"I'll be here to pick you up, and when... whatever is going on is over, we'll have a couple of beers on the terrace."

You smiled.

"Good night, Jamie."

"See you tomorrow."

Bucky kept his word. Ten minutes before seven, he was already waiting for you at your door. He didn't say much, allowing you to remain immersed in your thoughts.

When you reached the center, he got off the bike and walked you to the entrance. There, he noticed John again, nodded in greeting, and John raised his hand in response.

He took you by the arm and pulled you into his embrace. A tender reminder that he was there to support you. You smiled, feeling that there was your only safe place at that moment.

You watched as Bucky got on his motorcycle, your eyes locked for more than a few seconds. He wanted to get you out of there, wanted to take away whatever was messing with your mind. At the same time, you were grateful that at least he could see behind all that mess, and at least he wasn't trying to help you; he was just being there for you.

When Bucky rode away on his bike, you quickened your pace to start making calls. You were determined to find Denisse that same day before another night passed.

"You and Nova will stay at the office today. The police are already officially looking for her," Lockwood announced, leaving the police report on your desk.

"You can't ask me to stay in the office, John. Not when Denisse has been missing for more than twenty-four hours."

"For now, it's out of our hands," he said seriously.

Nova entered the office with a smug smile.

"G’morning!" Nova placed a tray of coffee on your desk.

"What if they don't find her?" You asked, ignoring Nova's cheerful entrance.

"They'll find her, and we'll look for better security measures." Lockwood didn't even allow the thought to linger in your mind.

Lockwood stood in front of you, and by watching his face, you knew perfectly well that the next topic was not about anything related to the office.

"Now, James?" he asked, smiling.

He tended to be a very serious man, but he had always taken an interest in all his employees, especially those who had been there as long as you and Nova.

"He's just my neighbor." You smiled, looking up.

I've known you for years. I've known you since you were a student. I saw you engaged to Darren. Lie to the whole world—but not to us."

You laughed nervously in response.

"It's more complicated than it seems," you said, lowering your tone.

"Why?"

"His past is complicated. He's not emotionally open to anything." He raised his eyebrow.

"How complicated can a man's past be that it prevents you, Ms. Sunshine, from making a decision or taking the first step?"

"Very."

He remained silent.

"Another military man?" Nova asked, sitting down in a chair across from the desk. Lockwood followed her.

"Sergeant," You said. "Retired sergeant."

"Retired?"

Lockwood asked, surprised. He picked up one of the coffees.

"How old is he?" Nova asked, surprised. They had never met such a young retired sergeant from the military.

You bit your lower lip.

"Old enough to be retired," you murmured.

"Be honest, what are you not telling us?" Lockwood finally changed his tone to a more friendly one.

"He's James Barnes. Bucky Barnes," you said, hoping that would mean something to them.

Lockwood raised an eyebrow. "The Winter Soldier?"

You nodded. Nova's jaw dropped.

"Are you dating Bucky Barnes?" Nova asked.

"We're not dating, we're just friends. I'm being honest, I swear.” Lockwood let out a sigh with a hidden laugh.

"How's the denial of feelings working out?"

"Terribly," you admitted with a pained laugh.

"He's undergoing therapy with Dr. Raynor," Lockwood said, leaning back in his chair.

"Christina Raynor?" You asked, surprised. "Makes sense."

"You didn't even know who his therapist was?" Nova sounded genuinely surprised.

"I'm his friend, not his social worker."

"She's good at what she does. People say she's made good progress with him." You shrugged.

"He's a great man who was let down by the whole world."

Nova and Lockwood nodded at the same time.

"I'm not even surprised that you, among many people, are emotionally involved with the ‘Winter Soldier’ himself." Nova let out a small, stifled laugh.

"Don't call him that. He has a name. Bucky, James, whatever you want, but don't call him that."

They both realized that your feelings went beyond friendship.

As you drank your third coffee of the day, Nova rushed into the break room, took your hand, and pulled you out of the desk.

"They found her!"

The coffee almost fell from your hands. You put it down on the nearest desk and got into Nova's car. Lockwood was already at the police station signing the necessary paperwork.

"Where did they find her?" You asked, fastening your seatbelt.

"She was in a park on the other side of town."

"In a park?" you asked in surprise. She nodded.

Upon arrival at the station, you entered an interrogation room. The elder woman was sitting in an armchair, a blanket covering her shoulders. You knelt in front of her.

"Denisse. It's me." Her hands were clasped in front of her.

“Oh, my lucky girl. It's you…”

You nodded. Denisse reached out and grabbed your hand and caressed it.

"I'm sorry, I think I got lost." She looked down in embarrassment.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"I remembered a park. I used to take my children there all the time, before their father went to war. I thought I could get there, but suddenly... all the houses looked the same, all the parks looked the same."

You nodded as you listened. You sat down next to her, stroking her back, letting her mind wander through old memories, even on the mixed or invented ones.

That was Denisse's world. A world that did not understand or differentiate between the truth of what she had learned, the truth of what she had heard, or what she had invented.

You sat outside the police station, a cigarette in your hand and a couple of tears accompanying you at that moment.

"Are you okay?"

Lockwood leaned against the wall next to you. You couldn’t even answer that question.

"Denisse or James?" You looked down, releasing the smoke you kept between your lips.

"I don't know."

"You know it's okay to love someone difficult, right?"

He took a cigarette from the pack you had left on the floor.

"But just because it's okay, doesn't mean it's gonna be easy."

Your eyes reddened, trying to hold back the tears.

"What if I told you I'm like this because of Denisse?" You tried to lie.

“I’d tell you that she'll be fine, that just because we think it's sad how she loses herself in her own world doesn't mean she's sad all the time. She lives in her own world. And there's not much we can do beyond what we're already doing."

You looked ahead without saying anything.

"Do you have an answer for everything?"

"Only for the people who matter to me." You both laughed.

After hours of paperwork, Denisse was taken to the hospital by ambulance.

"Ladies, you did what you could. This is now the job of the hospital and her social worker. They will let you know if she needs a new therapy regimen."

You nodded, smiling wearily.

"Now you can go rest. Take tomorrow off."

The ride back to the center was quiet. Neither of you had much to say; you all were just happy that the situation had been resolved.

On the way to the building, you stopped at a supermarket, bought the beers you had noticed before, and Steve always had ready for Bucky. A gesture you didn't even recognize until you realized you were carrying two different brands of beer. The ones you used to drink and the ones Bucky drank.

You knocked on his door three times, the beers hanging from each of your hands.

"Are you ready to listen to me crying for the next three hours?" You said, raising the beers.

"I'm ready." He smiled sideways.

The terrace was colder than on other nights, and you had moved close enough to Bucky so that his body heat would be enough to keep your teeth from chattering in the cold.

You spent a couple of hours explaining Denisse's story, how she had fallen madly in love with a man in her twenties, how they had built a whole life together, how she had never known a life without him—until he took his own life.

He had left her a letter making it clear that his thoughts were stronger than his will to continue living in this world. That Denisse had been his only great love, his children his driving force, his grandchildren the most beautiful thing in the world. And yet he could not find a reason to continue living.

Your tears began to flow with free rein.

"My father probably thought the same thing..."

You said, looking up at the sky.

"He probably couldn't find a good enough reason to keep fighting all the ghosts that a life like that leaves you with." You said as you kept looking directly into Bucky's eyes.

There, you noticed how blue Bucky’s eyes were. You could see an almost emerald green hue that disappeared into the ocean of the rest of his eyes.

"And she couldn't take it," you continued sadly.

"It was the only thing she knew, the only thing she had. It was her whole life for decades. And suddenly, he decided it wasn't enough anymore. Her mental health deteriorated—"

You paused to rummage through your bag.

"I'm sorry." You looked at Bucky as you took the pack of cigarettes out of the bag.

It was the very first time in all that time that he had even seen you near a cigarette. He wondered how often you smoked, how often you went up to the roof to smoke... If that time you disappeared, you’d smoked as much as he imagined.

You lit it up with precise accuracy and continued talking.

"Her children tried for years to deal with her on their own, but they sought our help the first time she disappeared. We've made progress, but I don't think you ever really get over a loss like that."

Bucky's jaw tensed, and he could only nod without saying anything else.

When the cigarette was finished, you threw it into a communal ashtray on the roof. You turned to look at Bucky for a few seconds.

"Can I?" He frowned but nodded without understanding what he was permitting for.

You leaned on his shoulder, inhaling the woodsy scent that usually enveloped Bucky's body. He acted on his desire and wrapped his arm around you. You snuggled closer, closing your eyes and breathing calmly. As if that were all you needed at that moment.

"Will you be okay?" Bucky asked, slowly stroking your arm. You nodded.

Bucky arrived at Stark's compound the next day, trying not to think about how his night had ended. The way you had melted into his shoulders, how you had allowed him to see a chaotic side of you, a side that probably only Lola knew, and now he had had the privilege of witnessing.

"Good morning to our lovebird!"

Sam shouted from the door, throwing his gym bag on the floor, echoing throughout the living room.

"Could you come with me to do some shopping?"

That message had left him distracted for the rest of the workout. He had already been disarmed twice by Sam and hadn't even cared.

"C’mon, Buck. It's no fun if you don't even try to fight back." Sam threw a towel in his direction.

"I think someone has other things on their mind... other people, perhaps."

Natasha interfered as she entered the training room.

Steve and Sam smiled mischievously.

Bucky shook his head as he punched a punching bag silently.

"Let’s be honest, after that night at the bar, you can't deny there's something there."

"There's nothing, Sam." He ended up dismantling the punching bag.

"You know she's not a hundred years old, right? And unlike you, she is interested in moving on with her life."

"What do you mean?" Bucky paused for a moment to listen to Sam.

"You’re kidding. She's what? Twenty-five? She's finishing a damn degree, she works with veterans, and she still makes time to be with you every damn free moment she has."

Bucky swallowed hard.

"Are you telling me you really think she does all this just to be a good neighbor?"

"I'm not saying that." He ran his hand through his hair. A way to anchor himself to calmness.

"Okay. Because you need to know that if you don't take a step with her, someone else will. Any man can come along and show her what you prefer to pretend doesn't exist."

And with that last sentence, that conversation stuck in Bucky's mind, and he began to wonder if he was really willing to lose the opportunity he had with you even more when you had literally confessed that you had feelings for him. Even if it was induced by alcohol.

You were walking back from the supermarket with more bags than you had planned to carry. He carried most of them in his metal arm without even flinching as he explained something to you about the neighborhood.

You nodded calmly as you listened to his words. At one point, Bucky's free hand brushed against yours.

"Any man can come along and show her what you prefer to pretend doesn't exist."

Sam's stupid voice rang in his mind. It had affected him more than he wanted to admit, more than he could allow himself to say.

He clenched his fingers guiltily, and for the first time, he made the decision to brush his fingers against yours with full intent. He noticed how you flushed immediately. Your fingers stretched out a little, just enough for him to touch them without much effort.

You felt the rough fingers brush against yours. You hadn't flirted in years, hadn't been courted—but you knew how to recognize when someone was sending a signal.

You stretched your fingers a little more, leaving them completely open. He didn't stop talking the whole time; it seemed like he didn't even realize what was happening between their hands, but he did, you could tell.

Finally, he made up his mind and moved his hand close enough for your fingers to intertwine. The fear that you would pull away was clear, but he was tired of wasting time.

At first, it was an awkward movement, your fingers almost separated as you walked, but he didn't allow it. He brought his fingers closer again, now squeezing yours in a clean, quick, but well-thought-out movement. His thumb began to caress the outside of your hand. A tender reminder that he was aware of what he was doing.

You forgot how to breathe at that moment. If Bucky hadn't been holding your hand, you would have frozen right there. Your entire body had begun to malfunction.

He tried to pretend that his chest wasn't heaving, that his heart wasn't beating as fast as it had the first time the serum entered his body.

When you arrived at the apartment building, one of the older neighbors smiled when she saw you. She smiled knowingly, with the complicity of a woman who had been waiting expectantly for months. As if she had seen you from the first day and knew that this was only a matter of time.

You said good morning, and Bucky imitated you. He didn't usually do that. He used to keep his head down, but with you, he felt like he could belong to a community without having to hide. And right then, holding your hand, he wasn't afraid of scaring anyone with his mere presence.

Next Part.

Bucky Barnes General taglist: @maplesyrizzup @wickedfun9 @herejustforbuckybarnes @w1nter-fairy @sassandscribbles @globetrotter28 @buckysouvenir @singulartoast @buckybsdoll @mathcat345 @elliestwoleftfingerss @biaswreckedbybuckybarnes @phoenix-in-writing @onyx8514 @shitbewild @idkbeautiful @misswhiddless @buckybarneswife08 @beefybuckyplease @maxsaturdayhatesnarwhals @bunnybarnes1 @repsfolkwhore @rufles2 @eilish007 @greatenthusiasttidalwave @armystay89 @emmyrietveld0 +add yourself to my tag list!

Since your father had grown up as the heir to everything your grandfather had built over the years, he was not going to accept anything less than what he could give you in the blink of an eye. How could he accept it? Your mother had everything since day one—you had even more than they did, and you weren’t going to fight to have anything just because you fell in love with a poor devil.

And you tried, you tried to make your father see he was a great man, that James could be the greatest possibility for you, but he had no intention to let you struggle in the meantime. He has no patience for the rest of the world, and that was not going to change for a stupid short-term boyfriend of yours.

When you turned eighteen, your father decided he had had enough of letting you and James play around. One morning, without previous warning, you were taken by their men to another country. You couldn’t even fight; they just took you by your shoulder while you were getting ready to go to school—there was blood, spitting, biting, cursing, one of the men even gave you a bruise on the arm because of how they were manhandling you. By the time you realized, three of your father’s men and you were walking to the airport bound for Mexico.

It was not a surprise that you were led to Mexico, your father had most of his connections there, most of his family there, and he always said that if he had to run away, you would go directly there—and there you were flying to your grandmother’s home now.

You never had the opportunity to say goodbye to James; you just disappeared from everyone’s lives. Your mother visited you often, your siblings did too, but nothing was ever the same, and that was everything that was left of your previous life.

You always knew you were almost a bargaining chip for your father—almost in a nice way. He was always telling your mother you were going to marry a very powerful man, the first man who overpowered him, and that man was not born yet.

Years went by, and for your sake, you decided just to forget and accept you wouldn’t ever see James again—it was more likely to get married to a Mexican mobster than to see James once again in this lifetime.

Before you could even blink, your twenty-fourth birthday came, and along with it, your whole family’s visit. They granted you a big, pretentious celebration—and rumors here and there about James. He left the city months after you; no one knew about his whereabouts anymore, as if he had never existed.

You also got to know that a new mobster was in your hometown—someone who climbed the ladder faster than anyone. By the age of twenty-eight, he owned a pretty big corporation, he had moved most of the smuggling, and your father was eager to make him his partner. Your younger sister even heard him say, “he was the living man he was waiting for you,” and hadn’t even met him in person.

That made you tremble—that was a given promise since you were younger, but you never thought a man could catch your father’s eye enough for him to even think about it.

Months passed by, and as you predicted, your father sent his men to pick you up from the city where you had lived for the last few years. The exchange was cleaner than the first time. You were still the feisty girl from your younger years, but now you knew better than to fight them.

You were in no position to deny yourself—you hadn’t worked a second of your life, you had everything you wanted, and the deal was clear: you had to marry the man your father handed you. 

When you arrived, your father was there, ever the most elegant and clean man. He looked even younger now that all your siblings were out of town—out of this life. But you were different; he always knew that his reckless oldest daughter would take his place and would marry a man as powerful as him to make an empire out of it.

And there you were, to comply with your part of the deal.

“You look beautiful, my honey.” Your father said, kissing your knuckles. You smiled, hiding your teeth.

“Let’s get out of all the pleasantries, just give me the information.”

He sighed. He knew well what he was dealing with. But he always thought that those years studying far away would make you kind of softer.

“I just want to know who I’m gonna marry, just tell me it’s not a fucking old man—I will kick his balls if he even tries to come near me.”

His smile grew wider, mischievously, and his eyes started to lighten up. He had the jackpot in his hands, and he knew.

“Oh, my honey. You have no idea. This is—is perfect for you. He became perfect for you—and for me.” He almost murmured the last part.

“Oh, that's it? We will see.” You raised your eyebrow and started walking.

“He is known as The Winter Soldier, it’s a very cold, calculating, bloodthirsty, hardworking man,” he extended his arm to wrap yours, and you started walking to the mansion in front of you two, “you will see he is not playing games when we talk about two things.”

“What two things?” You asked with curiosity.

“His business—and you.” A smug, almost cynical laugh slipped from you when you entered the living room.

“Laugh all you want, but I worked my ass off just to get you, princess…”

That voice—that nickname, even the perfume that wrapped the whole place made you tremble, made your knees weak and your breath catch.

When you looked straight ahead, he was there on the threshold of the living room and a hallway that connected to your father’s office.

Your Jamie… or what was left of him.

“Bucky Barnes, or Winter Soldier, as those idiots call me now.”

He was talking, you knew he was, but your mind was in other places—in other years, to be more specific.

All those promises you made when you were two idiots in love, all those times you escaped by the window in the middle of the night just to see him—even your very first time—that pretty baby face he still had back in time, somehow was imprinted on your mind.

“Bucky made clear he could give his whole fortune away just to have you—I felt generous, so I just asked to merge our businesses.”

You nodded, you were really trying to look nonchalant, but you were in shock, speechless; your whole life was changed in that moment. You were facing the reality now, you were going to get married to—physically—the love of your life, but he was now a man changed. You probably did not even know who he was now.

By all the ghost stories you have heard over the months, you imagined a completely different man, not your Jamie, but there he was— his tattoos were now covered by a black, tailored, expensive suit, short well-done hair, sharp jawline, fierce ocean blue eye gaze, and some new scars decorated his face.

“I’ll give you some space.” Your father said walking to the hallway.

You couldn’t see, but that smug smile that you used to hate was there. He knew he had won a battle—a battle you didn’t even try to win back in time.

“Did you miss me, princess?” He walked slowly to you; his heavy footsteps echoed in your ears.

“I—This— Are you really Jamie?” Your voice was a mess; you could not even deny it anymore.

He scoffed, a little smirk showing on his face. “Bucky, princess. Now I prefer Bucky.”

You shook your head.

“How did—this happen?” You stuttered.

“I told you. I told you several times that I’d do anything for you, and that included being the fucking boss of all of the people who worked near your father. Not gonna lie, it wasn’t easy. But after the first pack was down, it got easier, and then—your father contacted me without even knowing who I was. He said he was interested in having businesses.”

He shrugged.

“I accepted but made it clear that I wanted more than just money—the whole city knew he was willing to hand you to the higher bidder. And that was me at the moment.”

“How—did he accept?”

“He couldn’t say no; I had most of his ex-collaborators on my hands. And you cost me some millions, princess.”

That really hit a chord in your body. “What did you just say?”

“Oh, princess. Don’t be like that—You know how this works. Money had to be involved.”

He was now in front of you. He tried to touch your cheek, but you slapped his hand.

“Who the fuck are you?!”

“We are not gonna do that, princess.” He sighed, “You were all willing to get married to a fucking pig twice your age, but if it’s me, you draw the line?

“‘Cause I have no fucking idea of who you are!” You shouted, almost afraid.

“I’m your fuckin husband, better get the idea sooner than later.” He gripped your chin; it felt almost like a betrayal.

He had never even thought of raising his hand at you cause he used to know well how you hated it when your father did these kinds of things—not that he ever slapped you or hit you, but he tended to grip your chin, your arms, the back of your neck, just like a kind of reminder of who was in charge.

“I worked my ass off just to get you back to me,” he looked directly into your eyes, “and now you will get all dolled up for me. You will use a beautiful, white, and expensive wedding dress that I will completely destroy on our honeymoon, and you will do it with that fucking smile that made me fight all these years.”

Your chest heaving, you could feel the hot air coming through your nose. You didn’t even realize when you started crying, but black tears were streaking down your cheeks.

He scoffed almost cynically. “You and I both know you hate to cry, princess. Stop the act. Now, give me the kiss we both know you have saved for me the whole time you were there in Mexico.”

You swallowed. How did he know? You never told your father you didn’t even date anyone there—quite the opposite, you were always making fun of him by telling everyone you were playing and dating around the city, despite your father.

“What? Did you really think you were making a fool out of me?” He chuckled, “You could’ve lied to your father, but the first thing I did after getting the means was to have an eye on you. Always.”

He cut the distance between you two; his eyes were locked with yours. “You were not fooling around, you did not even talk to men—I saw you so many times in the club turning down all those fucking idiots who thought they had an opportunity with you.”

“If you fucking knew where I was, why didn’t you do something?! We could’ve been together way sooner—and not in this fucking way.” He tsked and smiled.

“No, princess. You deserved a man, and what kind of man would I have been if I did that?”

“You are a fucking asshole, and I fucking hate—I hated every fucking second in Mexico, I missed you like a fucking idiot, I cried my ass off half the time there… And you knew I was suffering and did nothing just to prove to my father you were man enough?!”

His grip on your chin got stronger; you could see his knuckles becoming white.

“Don’t you fucking ever dare to tell me I’m trying to prove anything to fucking anyone. I wanted to give you the life you deserve, and that needed time.”

He released his grip forcefully, making your head turn around.

He took his phone out of his pocket and dialed a number. Walking out of your reach, you walked off to the living room, shouting, yelling, cursing everyone and everything that crossed your path till you found your mother.

“What the hell was that?!” You asked when you found your mother in her bedroom.

“I see you are not as happy as we thought you were going to be as soon as you saw Bucky.”

“That’s exactly my point—That’s… Bucky, not Jamie, not my James. Who the hell is that man?!”

“That’s who you always wanted to get married to. He did what he had to do to achieve it.” You yelled; you could swear your throat hurt after that.

“You ruined my Jamie! You ruined him, fucking assholes.”

“Well, you knew the deal, he knew the deal, and made it his—that’s now your future husband. Suffer.”

The wedding was horrendously perfect—it was your dream wedding; he remembered everything and paid good money to make it happen. Every fucking detail. Your favorite flowers decorated the entrance exactly as you told him when you were only seventeen and stupid, the theme and colors around the venue were the fucking exact shade you explained to him.

And you hated it. You hated every fucking detail. You hated how perfect you looked in the dress your mother chose, you hated how well collected everyone looked as if you were not forced to get married to—yes, the love of your life. But not exactly who you used to call like that.

The ceremony was private—just you, your parents and family, and his family. Nothing more. But the reception was huge—enormous.

You didn’t even know how many attendees were invited. Your only job was to be there. Beautiful, smiley, chatty as always. You walked through the whole venue with Bucky’s arm. He never let go of you, not even once.

“This is what you always wanted—why the fake smile, princess?”

“Fuck off, Bucky. Just accept I’m trying my best and live with it.”

His hand moved from your arm directly to your low back, stroking it low enough that you could feel his strong hand on your butt, even over all the layers your wedding dress had, without even realizing—not even sure if you wanted it, you trembled. Your cheeks flushed, and you looked up at him, trying to stop him.

“Ah—there she is. My beautiful princess. All flushed with only my touch. Don’t worry, I’ll give you everything when this shit–show ends.”

Your breath got stuck in your throat. You surely missed his touch—the memory of it was a lifeline back in time, but you weren’t really sure what you needed to expect now with this new man.

When the reception ended, Bucky’s men guided you to one of his armored trucks. He was guided to one completely different security matter, said his chief guard. You were used to that; your mother and your siblings never rode in the same cars as your father.

When you arrived at his mansion, the chief guard helped you to arrive at the master bedroom. The fucking door was decorated with red roses, and as you opened it, you realized it was—or at least, it smelled like no one had ever touched it, like no one had ever been there.

You roamed through the bedroom—nothing you have never seen, a walking closet, a big ass bathroom, everything you have always had. The walking closet was filled with clothing that you assumed was all yours. Everything new, everything your style. God, how much you hated how he still knew you that much.

“All in here is new—even the bedroom.” His hands gripped your waist.

“Huh?” You asked, trying to make space between you.

“Yeah. When I bought the house, I closed this room with keys. I swore it was not going to be used until you came back to my arms.”

You swallowed hard; you could even feel the saliva getting stuck in your throat.

“Bucky—I don’t… I don’t think I can…” He made you closer to him. His smirk made you tremble.

“Oh, yes you can, and you will, princess,” He kissed your neck, his hands working the corset of your dress.

“No—I… need time, Bucky. This is not what I wanted.”

“Is it not?”

When your dress fell to the floor, he slipped his hand through your torso, dancing slowly till his fingers touched the hem of your lingerie. A sudden gasp left your lips.

“Tell me you didn’t think about me all these years.”

His fingers worked their way until they found your most sensitive nook.

“I’m sure if I go further, I will find a very—very wet spot.”

Your mind was foggy, you really tried to shake your head, but his woody scent lingering on your nostrils made you feel like speaking was not a practical choice.

“C’mon—where’s my feisty little girl?” He murmured in your ear, nipping your lobule with his teeth.

“Fuck—stop, please.” His middle finger made its way into your cunt.

“I think I can’t, you’re squeezing me enough to remember how much you used to ask me to finger you even on my stupid beaten car,” He chuckled and rested his forehead on your shoulder. “God, I missed you.”

Your hands were gripping his arm, and your nails were digging into his arm to try to make him stop, but you could even think he was enjoying that pain.

“Honey, I’ve had bullets on my arms, on my legs, one or two on my torso—do you think these pretty acrylic nails are gonna do any harm?”

When you tried to answer, he hooked a second finger on your slit. The overwhelming feeling was enough to make you feel sinful—as if you were cheating on someone who didn’t even exist anymore.

He stopped his curling painfully fast, taking them out of you just to lift you by your waist and tossing you to the bed. “What about we make up for the lost time?”

His gaze only reflected lust, his raspy voice was something else—something you didn’t even recognize in him.

He took one of your hands and made you work on his belt, pulling it lazily, slowly out. You were shaking your head, trying hard to close your legs.

With one knee, he made himself in, kneeling just in front of you while making you undo his zipper. Your chest was still going up and down, almost betraying you, your core completely damp with arousal, and your flushed cheek as a reminder of how much your body wanted this, even if you were denying it.

When his pants were down on his knees, he took them off and stood up at the edge of the bed and dug his fingers into your thighs, bringing you closer to him. You closed your eyes, waiting for the inevitable, but a sudden thump made you lift your head.

The sight was almost angelical—he was kneeling on the edge of the bed, his hands caressing your legs slowly. His gaze followed those movements, slowly, deliberately, tenderly.

“I have seen you growing up—I saw you on your twentieth birthday, and I can swear I wanted to make you mine.”

He was tugging your panties down.

“Do you remember that night?” He hummed as he saw your bare core, smiling as if we were worshipping it. “You were so drunk that you fainted—no, it wasn’t because you didn’t eat.”

The memories of that night came back to your head. You swore you drank one too many, that you didn’t eat, that you were tired—your mind started to think about that night, but his wet tongue took you out of your thoughts.

His tongue slipped from your whole to your bud, nipping it enough to make your back arch.

“Oh, princess. Don’t think anything wrong—I didn’t do anything.” His breath made you shiver; he talked in almost a whisper, letting his air wrap your damp core.

“That—that was you?” He kissed your core, just to suck a bit to make you stop thinking, to make you feel you didn’t need to dig more.

“Of course it was me. I pay good money to spike your drink,” he stood up, leaving the cold air touching your bare cunt, “those idiots you called friends were nothing but greedy people—I didn’t have to ask twice after they saw the money.”

“What did you do?!” You lifted your body, resting it on your elbows. He chuckled while he unbuttoned his perfectly white shirt.

“Do you really think I would do something that terrible to you?”

He stopped at the last button. You could see the undershirt inviting you; you swallowed, shaking out your thoughts.

“I just saw you close—close enough to smell you one more time. You were sleeping heavily on that private booth; I let those fucking idiots know that if someone even thought of touching you, they were going to be dead before they even could touch a hair from that pretty head.”

He smirked at the memory. He kneeled now on the mattress, his hands covering your whole body.

“Just a few minutes to admire you, and then I left. I was not going to screw my whole plan—it was too soon to make my appearance on your daddy’s business.”

“You are a fucking psycho,” you shook your head, and really tried to move your body, but his hands caught yours in a grip.

“Princess, don’t break my heart,” his lips found your neck, biting it. “God, how much I missed you.”

Suddenly, you felt his length; he was pumping himself slowly, steadily, while slipping the tip through your entrance, and without much warning, he put himself in. You sobbed, and you dug your nails into his back; this time, you could really feel wetness from—probably—blood that came from the scratch.

“Don’t you tell me you didn’t miss me, I know you didn’t let any man touch you as I did.”

And that’s when you knew you were as fucked as he was—the sudden memory of all your nights together made you moan, made you feel yourself again in his arms, made you feel it didn’t matter in that moment if he had to kill thousands of men just to get to you. Everything was worth it.

Five years later.

The first months were rough; he was always busy. The business merging between your father and him made both of them busier than before, making him stuck between wanting to show he didn’t change as much as you thought and reminding the mob society who he was, that even when he got married, he could kill a man in cold blood, and with no remorse.

Years went by, and you found yourself accepting what you had to endure; you even made yourself fall in love again with that version of him. He was attentive, he paid attention to the details, and tried his best, even with his schedule. And you played your part well, being the perfect wife, helping him when it was necessary, not showing off too much, parading yourself with all the things he bought. You understood he was not coming back, and you only had one possibility: letting his past self stay there and accepting what was given.

You were sitting at your table. It was one of those days when you felt nostalgic, when all those memories came back to you—when you missed your old you, his old version, everything before any decision was taken from you both.

You were lying down on the bed with the photo album you could save from all your moves, there you found a younger version of Bucky, a version that your father… or maybe you killed—Jamie. Those photos hurt, hurt like a needle breaking your skin, hurt just enough to remind you there was nothing you could do to go back.

The door suddenly opening didn’t take you out of your hands, not even his expensive shoes echoing on the marbled floor, but you saw him in front of the hairdresser on the corner of the bedroom, taking his tie off, just to comb his hair back with a tired sigh.

“Princess.” He greeted you while smiling through the mirror.

“Hi, honey.” You said, not even batting an eye at him. He tilted his head; he was not used to you being this cold.

“Something wrong?” He came closer with curiosity, “or too interesting to pay attention to your loving husband.”

You chuckled and closed the album, “Just ghosts from the past.”

“The day you least expect it, I will burn that shit.” He said, looking at the photo album with disgust.

“If you even try it, I will cut your balls, then burn them in front of all your men and workers.”

He knew well you weren’t even joking—in these five years you had trashed three cars, thrown and broken expensive cellphones, slashed tailored suits—just because he didn’t pay enough attention to you when you needed it.

“Fine, I won't touch that shit, I just don’t get why you are so obsessed with that sorry ass man—I buried him long ago, and you still think about him.”

He tended to talk about his old past as if it were someone else—as if it wasn’t his past. And it was not something out of dismissing what he went through, but he hated to remember how conformist he was in the past, and how much he endured just to be the fucking man he was now.

“C’mere, princess.” He sat himself on the edge of the bed, patting his leg to invite you.

You stood up and sat on his leg; he wrapped his arms around your waist and inhaled your scent like a lifeline.

“Princess, haven’t I given you everything in this life?”

“Sometimes I wish you hadn’t.” He scoffed.

“All because you miss a lame ass youngster?”

“Stop—you were different, you were mine, you didn’t look for my father’s approval, you made your way to me and didn’t mind anything…”

“Yes, and they took you from my hands— I didn’t see you for a fucking year, and then I had to fucking drug you just to watch your pretty face—pay your father to marry you, hand him half my business, just for you to be disgusted from my mere presence half the first year of marriage.”

You knitted your brows. “I was not disgusted—I was disappointed.”

He tilted his head, surprised, “Why were you disappointed?”

“‘Cause we made you do that—we made you kill my Jamie and make all this fucking Winter Soldier persona, and—” you started sobbing, your breathing became erratic, tears streaking your face.

“No, no. Please. Don’t cry.” He sighed, “I know you miss it, but I try my best to give you everything, to show you we are better than ever.”

“My Jamie didn’t have to be reminded by a fucking stupid ass blonde assistant of our fucking anniversary.”

He groaned. He was tired, angry, and he hated how much you hated his assistant; he didn’t even choose her. It was the fucking idea of Steve to pick her up, and since day one, she had been a problem in your marriage. Her very deep cleavage, unlike his very short pencil skirt, and fucking perfect makeup day by day.

“There it is—that’s all your fucking problem. Elsie is your fucking problem.” You opened your mouth—offended, tired.

“She is not my problem—you are my problem. You are now too immersed in all of this world that you forget about me. And supposedly I’m the reason for all this emporium, and you can’t even give me a complete day just for me.”

He sighed. He knew you were right; he had always tried to give you everything he could, and sometimes got caught up and didn’t make enough time for you.

“I’m sorry, okay? I will try my best. Just… I know I’ve been neglecting you, but for the love of God, can you stop accusing me of screwing that fucking blonde? I didn’t even choose her—Steve did.”

“Well, you kept it!”

“Yeah, ‘cause she’s productive, and reminds me that I should praise my beautiful, gorgeous, and needy princess once in a while.” You rolled your eyes.

“Just—leave her alone, princess. She gets Steve entertained and leaves my ass alone in the meantime.”

“And gets you entertained.” You crossed your arms on your chest.

“Cut it off.” He grumbled.

—

You were walking toward the kitchen when you saw Steve walking with Elsie, digging his fingers into her arm. For a moment, you stood still. Steve was this ever–loving man, flirtatious, relaxed, you had seen several times your husband beating the shit out of men twice his size, and yet never seen Steve doing such—he was more discreet, he never liked to brag about his strength.

And there he was—dragging Elsie by the hand and one hand tugging her hair. Karma was a bitch. She must have made a huge mistake.

But then, you saw Natasha—high heels, red hair, tired and almost lifeless, staring. Shit. She was in a huge problem. She was a mercenary; she had no mercy, and she was brought in when women engaged in business, and things were starting to get hard.

Your curiosity took the best of you and made you walk in their direction— as soon as they got to the warehouse, you snuck in and hid behind some boxes.

“Why the fuck did you think it was a fucking good idea to be spreading those stupid ass rumors?!” Steve yelled, tossing her on the floor.

She whimpered, and he took a step back.

Natasha passed his hands through his face. “What exactly did she do?”

Steve shook his head. “Ask her.”

“I didn’t lie! He told me they’ve been trying for years and she’s a fucking useless who can’t even give him offspring!”

The blood in your veins started to run cold—almost freezing.

It was something you had just talked with Bucky; no one else even knew that you were struggling with that. Maybe Steve had always been his sidekick, but besides that, you didn’t expect that he was out there for the public.

A hard, shattering slap sound took you out of your thoughts—Natasha was now caressing her own hand while Elsie was fully lying on the floor.

Steve was still pinching the bridge of his nose, exasperated. “I can’t believe I fucking fight with Bucky just to keep this dumbass.”

Natasha chuckled, “When have you been good at choosing girls to fuck?”

“Shut up. What do we do with her? If Bucky or she finds out she’s been running her mouth, she’s gonna cut my fucking balls, and it’s gonna fucking set the whole mansion on fire.”

By that moment, you weren’t even fully paying attention—now you were sure Bucky was cheating on you with her, there was no other way. How could she know something that sensitive? Steve could’ve been an idiot, but knew better than to spill that kind of thing, even more to someone you hated that much.

You walked back to your room, and he was there on his daily routine after a workday, getting ready to be in your bedroom the rest of the evening, with an undone tie, disheveled hair, and tired gaze.

“Where have you been, princess?” He asked, smiling at you. You stood still, tilting your head, watching.

You could not even answer; every piece of dignity on your body was abandoned and forgotten in that warehouse.

“Are you still mad?” He chuckled on the bed; you shook your head and walked to the balcony.

“How long have you been fucking her?” You turned around to face him.

“Oh god, are you still with that fucking idea?” He was exasperated.

When you were about to shout, a knock on your door interrupted you both.

“Buck, I need to talk with you.”

Steve’s voice was on the other side of the door. You chuckled.

“What’s so fucking funny? I’m gonna deal with you later.” Bucky pointed at you and walked to the door.

When he opened the door, Steve's appearance was disheveled; he looked tired, angry, and even frustrated. You walked behind them; you were on Bucky’s back with your arms crossed.

“How’s Elsie doing? Did she endure Nat’s slaps?”

Steve’s mouth was wide open. Bucky turned his head to you; his eyes were a poem.

“What the fuck is she talking about?”

“That’s—that’s the reason I’m here… Elsie—She’s…”

“She’s all over my damn business, telling everyone and their mother that apparently I’m a fucking waste who can’t provide with children to the precious James Buchanan Barnes.”

When his government name slipped your lips, his hand found your arm, softly, grounding.

“I’m a fucking idiot.” He said, surprisingly to you.

“What?” Both you and Steve said at the same time.

“I—I thought I could trust her, I had to stay late with her for something, we were coming back from another fucking doctor appointment. But I swear to God I never said something like that—I just said I wish I could help you. Fuck.”

His free hand combed his hair. Steve was looking directly at you, completely avoiding his friend's direction.

You wanted to believe it. You really wanted it. But you saw all those years how your father always had his own Elsie, how your mother didn’t even care anymore, and why would Bucky be different? He fought to be in the same spot as your father; he was going to follow his steps to the T.

“Let’s go.” Bucky let go of your arm and started walking with Steve.

“The fuck are you going?” You yelled while walking behind them. “I’m going, I don’t care what you have to say.

Bucky growled and continued walking while holding your hand.

As soon as you came to the warehouse, the sight was horrid. Nat’s hand was crimson.

Bucky was about to talk when you walked fast enough to leave them behind. You walked your way directly to her, you squatted down in front of her, and Nat took three steps back.

“Elsie, right?” You said, looking at her. She nodded.

“I know exactly why you are here, but I want to hear it from you.”

“I—I’ve been screwing up your husband.” She said shamelessly, and you were sure she just wanted a reaction.

You chuckled, “You know? I would believe you, really. If I were another mob wife, I would believe everything your pretty mouth is saying. The situation here is… that man there, that fucking idiot put his life on risk for years and years just to have a slight opportunity to marry me.”

You sighed and stood up.

“But what I do know is that he is that fucking dumb to trust in an idiot who wants to fuck him and fuck his marriage.”

One of your hands gripped her face, putting her closer to you.

“So, let’s get something straight,” you locked eyes with her, “yes, I can’t give him the children he wants, but all this fucking shit you see is mine. He’s mine, he’s been mine our whole lives, and a fucking bimbo is not changing that, are we clear?”

She nodded, and before she could say anything, you pushed her, already marked face, making her trip again. Natasha came to help you stand up.

“Take her out before I regret letting her leave, and I fucking beat the shit out of her.”

She nodded, and you walked directly to Steve.

“If you ever hire another girl like that, I’m gonna make sure it’s the last fucking thing you do.”

“Oh, c’mon. It was a one-time thing.” Bucky hit his chest, making him shush.

You walked fast, didn’t even wait for Bucky.

When he was able to go back to your bedroom, you were a mess—the whole room was destroyed, the mirror in front of the bed was shattered, your hands gripped your dress with anger, and you could not stop crying.

The mafia was always proud of having an inheritance, of having heirs, and there you were, not able to do the one thing you were supposed to.

He ran and knelt in front of you, taking you by your hands and making you hug him.

“I need you to stop. This—this is not who you are. You are stronger than this, than anything you’re punishing your head with.”

“Were you thinking about leaving me for her?” You said as you sobbed, your voice was almost inaudible.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” He said creating a distance between you just to look at you directly.

“That’s why you told her, right?”

“Of course not. I was sensible, and being an idiot, I didn’t want to look fragile in front of Natasha or Steven, and—I don’t know. I’m an idiot. It's just that.” He said fast, anxious.

“Are you still gonna love me even if I can give your children?”

“God, that fucking stupidity of having a successor?” He said, laughing.

“Don’t laugh!” You whimpered.

“Sorry. Sorry, this is not funny. It’s serious. But—really, I don’t care. I can always take under my arm any of those kiddos there whom I hire, just like my mentor did with me. I don’t fucking care about having kids. You said it there; I risked my whole life just to get a chance to marry you.”

He kissed your temple.

“I wouldn’t throw my whole life just because we can’t have kids, not for a fucking blonde who would leave me the first time she saw how I kill a man. I know how the rest of men are in this kind of life, but you can bet my ass that I will never be like that.”

“Really?”

He nodded, “Now, let’s get comfortable in the guestroom. I need someone to clean and fix this, and you need to learn your fucking lesson and stop being a fucking pain in my ass. You’ve been accusing me for days of nothing horrible, and I need to fuck the thought out of your mind.”