Sofi ♡

At first, it’s subtle. Your head tipping against his shoulder, your breath evening out as you tuck yourself closer. He assumes you’re tired, that you need grounding, something solid to hold onto after everything. So he lets you. Always lets you.

But then your nose presses into the crook of his neck.

And you inhale.

Slow. Deep. Like you’re trying to memorize him.

Bucky stills.

“Doll,” he murmurs, voice low, a little rough around the edges, “you good?”

You hum in response, barely coherent, fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket. “Yeah. Just… stay.”

He doesn’t move for the rest of the flight.

---

It escalates from there.

Not all at once. Not in a way that feels strange at first. It becomes a habit, something natural, something instinctive. You gravitate toward him in every room, every hallway, every quiet moment between missions.

But it’s not just closeness.

It’s him.

His scent—clean soap, something faintly earthy and woodsy, a trace of gun oil that never quite leaves his skin no matter how hard he scrubs it away. There’s warmth there, too. Something unmistakably him. Grounding. Safe. Addictive in a way you don’t even try to fight.

You start seeking it out without thinking.

In the kitchen, you’ll slip behind him, arms wrapping around his waist, face pressing between his shoulder blades. He’ll pause mid-sentence, metal fingers tightening slightly on the counter as he feels you breathe him in.

“You’re doing it again,” he says once, not unkindly.

You don’t even bother denying it. “You smell good.”

A beat.

Then, softer, quieter, almost shy despite the words, “You always do.”

He exhales slowly, like he’s trying to process that.

“Yeah?” he asks.

You nod against him, already nuzzling closer.

He doesn’t push you away.

---

On missions, it gets worse.

Or better, depending on who you ask.

After fights, after close calls, after the kind of moments that leave your hands shaking and your chest tight, you seek him out before anything else.

You’ll grab his vest, drag him down just enough to press your face into his neck, inhaling like you’ve been starved of it.

“Easy, sweetheart,” he murmurs, one arm coming around you automatically, metal hand hovering at your back before settling carefully against your spine. “We’re okay. You’re okay.”

You don’t answer.

You just breathe him in again.

And again.

Like if you stop, something terrible might happen.

At first, the others pretend not to notice.

Then they stop pretending.

---

Movie night is when it really becomes a problem.

Or not, again, depending on who you ask.

The Thunderbolts are scattered across the living room, the lights dim, some action movie playing on the screen that no one is really paying attention to. Popcorn’s half gone, someone’s arguing about plot holes, and Bucky is seated on the couch, broad and solid as ever.

You are, quite literally, in his shirt.

Not wearing it.

In it.

You’d started the night curled against his side, but at some point, you’d tugged his shirt open just enough to slide your arm inside, pressing your cheek flat against his chest. One of your legs is thrown over his thigh, your fingers loosely hooked into his waistband, keeping yourself anchored.

Your face is buried against his skin.

Breathing him in.

Completely oblivious to everything else.

“Are you even watching the movie?” Yelena asks from across the room, one brow raised.

You don’t respond.

Bucky glances down at you, lips twitching despite himself. “She hasn’t seen a single second.”

“I’m comfortable,” you mumble, voice muffled against him.

John snorts. “Comfortable? She looks like she’s trying to fuse with you.”

“Wouldn’t blame her,” Alexei adds, grinning.

Bucky shoots them a look, but there’s no real heat behind it. His hand comes up instead, brushing gently through your hair, smoothing it back from your face. You lean into the touch immediately, pressing closer.

“Hey,” he murmurs, softer now, just for you. “You good?”

You nod against him, inhaling again, slower this time. “You smell like home.”

It hits him harder than he expects.

His chest tightens, something warm and unfamiliar settling deep in his ribs.

“Yeah?” he asks quietly.

You hum. “Yeah. Makes everything feel… quiet.”

For a moment, he just looks at you.

Then his arm tightens around your shoulders, pulling you impossibly closer, if that’s even possible.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, even tthough you’re already there. “Stay as long as you want.”

You don’t need to be told twice.

---

It’s late when the movie ends, the others filtering out one by one until it’s just the two of you left in the dim glow of the television. You haven’t moved an inch.

Bucky glances down at you, a soft huff of amusement leaving him. “You planning on getting up anytime soon?”

“No,” you answer immediately.

He huffs again, but there’s fondness in it. “Figured.”

You shift slightly, tilting your head just enough to press your nose back against his neck, inhaling deeply.

He stills for a second then relaxes.

“Y’know,” he says after a moment, voice low, thoughtful, “I don’t mind it.”

You blink up at him. “You don’t?”

“Nah.” His thumb brushes lazily along your arm. “If that’s what you need, doll… you got it.”

Your chest warms at that, something soft and heavy settling there.

“You’re stuck with me, then,” you tease lightly.

His lips curve into a small, almost shy smile.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, tightening his hold on you just a fraction more. “I think I’m okay with that.”

You nuzzle back into him, breathing him in like you always do.

The apartment door swings open just after eight in the morning, and before Bucky can even get both boots inside, Duke is barreling across the hardwood floors. Your golden retriever practically launches himself into Bucky's chest with enough force to knock over most people, but your husband barely rocks back on his heels. He laughs, catching the oversized dog with one arm while struggling to shut the door behind him.

"Easy there, buddy," he chuckles, scratching behind Duke's ears. "Miss me?"

The dog answers with an excited whine and a frantic wag of his tail.

"Yeah," Bucky grins. "Missed you too."

You watch the reunion from the kitchen, coffee warming your hands as you lean against the island. It's unfair how good he looks after a twenty-four-hour shift. His navy station shirt clings to his broad chest, the department logo stretched slightly over muscles earned through years of carrying hoses, ladders, and people to safety. His turnout pants still hang low on his hips with the suspenders pushed down, soot smudges streak one cheek, and flattened curls peek out from where his helmet had been sitting all night.

He looks exhausted.

He also looks ridiculously handsome.

The second his blue eyes find yours, every bit of fatigue softens into something warmer.

"Hi, sweetheart."

Your smile comes without thinking.

"Hi, firefighter."

The sleepy grin that spreads across his face could melt glaciers.

"Come here."

You abandon your coffee immediately, crossing the room until he opens an arm for you. You fit yourself against his chest as naturally as breathing, wrapping your arms around his waist while he buries his face against the top of your head. His embrace is heavy, warm, and familiar, the kind that always makes the rest of the world disappear.

"You smell," you mumble into his shirt.

"I know."

"You smell really bad."

"I know."

You wrinkle your nose dramatically before smiling against his chest. "...I kinda like it."

His laugh rumbles beneath your cheek, shaking both of you.

"I was hoping you'd say that."

His metal hand drifts slowly up and down your back while his flesh one cradles the back of your head, holding you close as though he hasn't seen you in weeks instead of one shift. These moments have become sacred over the years. No matter how exhausting the calls were or how little sleep he managed to steal between alarms, he always comes home and finds you first.

Bucky loves being a firefighter. He loves the chaos that somehow feels organized inside the station, loves cooking meals with his crew between calls, loves teaching fire safety to elementary school kids who stare at him like he's stepped straight out of a comic book. Helping people gives him a purpose he'd spent decades believing he'd never deserve.

You love that he found that purpose.

You just hate everything that comes with it.

Every news alert about a structure fire makes your stomach twist before you can stop it. Every siren echoing through Brooklyn has you glancing instinctively toward your phone. You never tell him how often you check the department's incident reports or how your heart pounds whenever his shift runs longer than expected. He already carries enough weight on those impossibly broad shoulders. He doesn't need yours too.

A week later, you're halfway through making dinner when your phone buzzes across the counter.

The screen lights up with one word.

James.

Your stomach immediately sinks.

He never calls during a shift.

"Bucky?" you answer, already abandoning the cutting board.

"Hey, doll."

His voice is calm.

Too calm.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong."

"Liar."

He sighs softly, and you hear voices in the background before he speaks again.

"We had a warehouse fire."

Every muscle in your body locks.

"I'm okay," he says quickly. "Before you ask, I'm okay."

"You got hurt."

"A little."

"Bucky."

"It's smoke inhalation."

Your knees nearly buckle beneath you as you grip the counter.

"Bucky..."

"They're just making me get checked out."

"You sound awful."

"I probably do."

Your voice softens into something dangerously quiet.

"Which hospital?"

Silence.

"...James."

Another sigh.

"Brooklyn Methodist."

"I'll be there in fifteen minutes."

"You really don't have to—"

The call ends before he can finish the sentence.

You find him sitting on the edge of an emergency room bed looking deeply irritated by the entire situation. A pulse oximeter clips onto one finger, oxygen rests beneath his nose, and someone has convinced him to trade his smoke-soaked shirt for a hospital gown that's hanging open across his broad shoulders. Despite all of it, he still looks more embarrassed than injured.

The second he sees you, his expression softens.

"Oh, honey."

"I told you I'm fine."

"You have oxygen in your nose."

"It's precautionary."

You don't bother arguing. Instead, you walk straight over, cup his soot-streaked face between your hands, and search every inch of him for something worse than he's admitting. His skin is warm beneath your palms. His breathing is steady. His eyes are bright.

He's here.

The tears hit before you can stop them.

"I'm mad at you," you whisper.

"I know."

"You scared me."

"I know."

"You always tell me to answer your texts because you worry, and then you call me from the emergency room like that's somehow less terrifying?"

His mouth twitches despite himself.

"I didn't think that one through."

"No."

"You gonna keep yelling at me?"

"I might."

"I think you'd look pretty cute doing it."

A watery laugh escapes you before you can stop it.

"You're impossible."

He reaches for your hand, weaving your fingers together carefully.

"I'm okay," he says again, quieter this time. "I promise."

The doctor tells you exactly the same thing a few minutes later. Minor smoke inhalation. A few hours of oxygen. Plenty of water, plenty of rest, and no lasting damage.

You believe the doctor.

But hearing Bucky promise he'll be okay somehow settles your heart in a way nothing else can.

Three days later, he's on mandatory leave.

Which sounds relaxing in theory.

In reality, it's driving you insane.

By lunchtime, he's reorganized the spice cabinet, fixed the squeaky bathroom door, vacuumed twice, folded every towel in the apartment, alphabetized your tea collection, and somehow decided the pantry shelves were inefficient.

"Bucky."

"Hm?"

"Sit down."

"I am sitting down."

"You're reorganizing paprika."

"It was next to the cinnamon."

"So?"

He looks at you as though you've committed an actual crime.

"So?"

You blink.

"...They're spices."

"They're completely different spices."

You dissolve into laughter.

"You spend your days running into burning buildings and somehow this is what bothers you?"

"Organization is important."

"You climbed onto the roof yesterday."

"The gutters needed cleaning."

"We live on the third floor."

"I borrowed a ladder."

"You borrowed a ladder because you couldn't sit still for one afternoon."

He can't even argue with that.

Instead, he simply smiles sheepishly as you walk over until you're standing between his knees. His hands settle instinctively on your hips, thumbs rubbing absent circles through your shirt.

"You spend every day taking care of everyone else," you murmur. "You save people. You carry seventy pounds of gear into burning buildings. You deserve to rest."

For the first time all week, he doesn't immediately come up with another project.

Instead, he lowers his forehead against yours and quietly admits, "I don't really know how."

Your heart aches.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you smile softly before brushing your nose against his.

"Then let me teach you."

His blue eyes lift to meet yours.

"How?"

"By reminding you that you don't always have to be everyone's hero."

A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

"What if I only wanna be yours?"

You kiss him before he can see the tears gathering in your eyes, slow and lingering, pouring every unspoken feeling into the gentle press of your lips. When you finally pull away, you rest your forehead against his once more and smile.

"You already are."

"It'll be fun," you'd insisted while pulling on your sneakers. "We need groceries, I want to stop by the bookstore, and I promised my mom I'd pick up those candles."

Bucky had looked at you over the rim of his coffee mug, unconvinced.

"You sure, doll?"

You'd nodded eagerly. "I'm good."

He'd smiled, unable to deny you anything. "Okay. But we're taking it slow."

Now, three stores later, you were beginning to regret every ounce of confidence you'd possessed that morning.

The grocery cart rattled quietly over the polished floor as Bucky pushed it beside you, humming absentmindedly while comparing two jars of pasta sauce. You'd wandered a few feet away to grab cereal when it hit you suddenly.

One second you were debating between cheerios and cinnomon toast crunch.

The next, your stomach rolled so violently your mouth filled with saliva.

"Oh."

Your hand immediately flew to your lips.

Bucky looked up before you'd even said his name.

"What is it?"

"I..." You swallowed hard. "I don't feel very good."

The pasta sauce was forgotten instantly and his entire attention shifted to you.

"Nauseous?"

You nodded once.

His expression softened with immediate concern.

"Come here."

He abandoned the cart right where it sat and gently guided you toward the edge of the aisle, away from the bright lights and the stream of people passing by. One large hand settled against your lower back while the other brushed loose strands of hair away from your face.

"Need to throw up?"

"I don't know."

Your voice came out embarrassingly shaky.

"I think maybe."

"Okay."

Bucky didn't panic or look frustrated. His calm eased you in the moment.

"The bathroom's up front. Can you walk?"

You nodded again.

He slipped one arm securely around your shoulders, keeping you tucked against his side as he slowly led you through the store.

"You don't have to apologize," he murmured when you started opening your mouth.

"I wasn't—"

"You were about to."

"...maybe."

His lips twitched.

"I know you."

Your eyes stung unexpectedly.

"I'm sorry we came."

Bucky suddenly stopped walking before he turned you toward him, both hands cradling your face.

"Hey."

You looked up reluctantly.

"Don't apologize for being pregnant with our baby."

A watery laugh escaped you.

"I know, but—"

"No buts."

He kissed your forehead.

"Your body's working overtime growing our little one. If it decides grocery shopping is offensive today, then grocery shopping can take it personally."

Despite the nausea clawing at your stomach, you laughed.

"There she is," he whispered warmly. "That's my girl."

The bathroom was thankfully empty.

Bucky waited just outside the door while you leaned over the sink, breathing through another wave that never quite became sickness.

When you emerged a few minutes later looking pale and exhausted, he was exactly where you'd left him.

Holding a bottle of water.

Crackers.

Peppermint gum.

And one of those tiny ginger chews you'd become mildly obsessed with during the first trimester.

You blinked.

"When did you—"

"I multitasked."

"You were gone for, like, thirty seconds."

He shrugged.

"Super soldier."

You couldn't help smiling.

He unscrewed the water bottle before handing it to you.

"Small sips."

You obediently took one.

"Better?"

"A little."

"Good."

He unwrapped one cracker and held it out.

You gave him an amused look.

"I can feed myself."

"I know."

"So..."

"So let me take care of my wife."

Your heart melted before you opened your mouth, letting him feed you the cracker.

"There," he said proudly after you'd managed half of it. "Progress."

"You look way too happy about me eating a saltine."

"I am."

With more nibbles of the saltine and a few sips of water, the color slowly returned to your cheeks.

"You wanna head home?" he asked quietly.

You sighed.

"We still have so much to do."

"Doll."

"I know."

He rested his forehead against yours.

"Nothing on that list matters more than you."

"But—"

"I'll come back later."

"You've already spent your whole morning with me."

His eyebrows furrowed.

"That's exactly how I wanted to spend it."

Your eyes filled again.

Pregnancy hormones really were something.

"Oh, sweetheart."

He immediately gathered you into his arms.

You buried your face against his chest, breathing in the familiar scent of cedar and clean laundry.

"I keep ruining things," you mumbled.

His hand rubbed slow circles over your back.

"You haven't ruined a single thing."

"I wanted today to be normal."

"I know."

"I hate feeling sick all the time."

"I know."

"I just wanted one day where I felt like myself."

He held you tighter.

"You know what I think?"

"What?"

"I think you are yourself."

You frowned against his shirt.

"You laugh at my terrible jokes."

A kiss landed in your hair.

"You still steal my hoodies."

Another kiss.

"You still reach for my hand every time we walk somewhere."

His thumb brushed gently across your shoulder.

"The only difference is now you're carrying our baby while you do all those things."

A tear slipped down your cheek.

"You don't think I'm... different?"

"Oh, you're different."

You looked up.

"You've somehow gotten even prettier."

"Bucky."

"You have."

"I have pregnancy acne."

"I don't care."

"My ankles swell."

"I know."

"I threw up brushing my teeth yesterday."

"You sure did."

You groaned which led to him grinning.

"And I have never loved you more."

The sincerity in his voice stole every remaining argument.

"I wish I could fix this for you," he admitted softly.

"If I could take every second of nausea so you never had to feel it again, I would."

"I know you would."

"I hate watching you hurt."

You reached up to cradle his face this time.

"I'm okay."

"I know."

"I've got you."

His eyes softened impossibly.

"You do."

"And our little bean."

His metal hand immediately found your stomach.

Right on cue, a tiny kick pressed against his palm.

Both of you froze.

"There they are," Bucky whispered.

Another little kick.

He laughed quietly, his entire face lighting up.

"I think that's their way of telling us to go home."

You smiled.

"Probably."

"Maybe they're craving ice cream."

"They're definitely your kid if they're interrupting errands for dessert."

"My kid?"

"Our kid."

He corrected himself instantly.

"Our perfect little troublemaker."

You intertwined your fingers with his.

"So..."

"So?"

"Can we go home?"

He smiled like you'd offered him the greatest gift imaginable.

"I thought you'd never ask."

The abandoned grocery cart could wait.

The bookstore would still be there tomorrow.

The candles could be picked up another day.

Right now, all that mattered was getting his wife home, tucked beneath her favorite blanket on the couch with ginger tea, crackers, and whatever strange pregnancy craving appeared next.

Because the errands could always wait.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He doesn’t like to ask for things, but that doesn’t stop his head from running wild with lewd, obscene images that almost make him blush. He’s got a vivid imagination, and he’s spent more showers and nights than he’ll admit indulging in it. The images of you on your knees, ass up and cunt exposed—or folded in half beneath him, or riding his cock and crying his name—seep into his dreams, until he can’t close his eyes without being haunted by the idea of how gorgeous you’d be, coming apart for him. Even after you get together the dreams won’t relent. You’ve woken up many nights to Bucky almost humping you in his sleep, his eyes fluttering and your name falling from his lips. You indulge him, and pretend you don’t notice the dark stain on the front of his sweats in the morning. It’s hotter than he needs to know, anyway.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Back in the 40s he might’ve been called a womanizer, but the standards were different. Fooling around wasn’t too kinky, and often didn’t really even go past second base. And after Hydra, intimacy was mostly forgotten. Bucky knows what he’s doing, but with your body more than his own. He’s good at the hand and mouth stuff—so good you sometimes still can’t believe it—but penetration takes a while for you both to build up to. Sometimes he still blows it a little early when you put your mouth on him, not used to that kind of warmth and care. He’s a quick learner, though, and it doesn’t take long for you both to find a nice, shared rhythm in how you fuck.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

At first, when you’re still learning each other, he says there’s nothing better than some good, old fashioned missionary. It’s the good, Christian boy in him coming back out, taught well by his Ma that rough is no way to treat a lady. But then you talk him into doggy, and he’s a goner. The way he gets to hold you up with a single arm and play with your clit with the other, the way your arms give out from how well he’s giving it to you, the vision of your ass in the air, it’s enough to drive a man mad. Combine that with how you moan when he forces your back to arch—giving him an even deeper angle, making your walls clench down around him like a sin—and he never stood a goddamn chance.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He might’ve been playful before, and after a while he starts to find it again, but sex is mostly something serious. It’s close, vulnerable, impossibly intimate. He doesn’t do casual, and it shows. A single smile might not be cracked some days, but the worship of your body more than makes up for it. His brow gets furrowed in concentration, his mouth hangs open with awe, and if you’re lucky, his lips twitch slightly when you shiver under his touch. He calls you perfect, and you’ve never believed anyone more.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

The military training doesn’t fade away. Bucky keeps himself clean and neat, more for himself than anyone else. He lets a little hair grow out as he settles into an easier life, but it’s well-groomed and clean. When his chest hair comes back he thinks about keeping that shaven as well, but you just manage to talk him out of it. He lets you have that. It’s another thing he learns to love about himself, just because of you.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

While reserved at first, Bucky quickly becomes the most romantic man you’ve ever known. Random gifts are frequent, too the point that you’re so spoiled as to expect them. It translates smoothly into sex, where he gives and gives and gives until you almost can’t take it anymore. Praise is showered down like flower petals, affection whispered into your skin and kissed onto your lips. You can almost feel his love in every single touch, and even if you couldn’t, it falls from his lips like a prayer when he’s buried inside of you. He kisses you almost every second, everywhere he can reach, every inch of you that he wants you feel.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Before he met you, it was something he did quick and fast in the shower when he needed some release. An itch he needed to scratch, a way to quickly relieve stress before moving on with his day. But then you’re there, and it becomes another part of his devotion. It starts with shame—his head bowed, his hand braced on the wall, his cum slipping down the drain while he pretends it’s on your face—but quickly evolves into something more. He whispers your name into countless pillows and sheets before he has you, then discovers his favorite part of this century. Calling you while he’s away, and moaning your name into the phone while you gasp his, and he hears your pussy, wet and ready for him in the background.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Bucky loves your voice. How it gets breathy and high for him when he’s got you on the edge, how it whimpers and calls out his name like a song, even how it scolds him when he gets on your bad side. You could say anything to him, and he’d find his pants getting tight and his hands flexing to touch you. You notice, and whisper sweet nothings in his ears when you want to work him up. He grunts and forms a fist on his thigh, trying to stop himself from tossing you onto the table and giving you something to really moan about.

He’ll never admit it, but there’s nothing he loves more than wrapping around you like a shield. Than—even if he’s not—feeling bigger than you, like a protector rather than a weapon. When you’re cradled in his arms he feels almost worthy of it, when your little pussy tightens around him, he’s sure this is exactly where he needs to be, and when your hands tangle together and his envelopes yours, he’s sure he’s never going to let go.

There’s nothing more he loves more than a mouthy girl who can tell him off and boss him around, half because you’re never sexier than when you’re confident, and half because that’s a confidence and sass he gets to fuck right out of you. The one place he wants you dumb and babbling is below him, trusting that he’s taking good care of you, blinking up at him with doe eyes and a blown out, cockdrunk expression. You get the attitude right back when he’s done, but he just chuckles and rolls his hips just right, making you stutter and whine. His girl is nice and stupid for him, and just him, and that’s exactly what he wanted.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Bucky doesn’t know how good it can feel to take you against the wall or in the kitchen until he does, and suddenly he wants to fuck you in every corner of the apartment. There shouldn’t be a place that you haven’t felt good in, a spot in this home that doesn’t know how perfect you are. And after testing every single surface and edge, he finds that he might be in love with taking you on the floor. There’s something desperate and dirty about it, that you can’t wait for the bed to crawl all over him and bed. He gets to cradle you in his arms and keep you safe from the low windows of your apartment, or hold you above him and protect you from the ground. You’re even more of a mess after, when he takes you like that, and that’s just how he likes it.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

At first it’s small things. Touches and flashes of bare skin that make him feel like a teenager again, a kiss on his cheek that makes his cock twitch or a squeeze of his shoulder that forces him to squeeze his eyes shut for control. Then you get more comfortable together, and you start sassing him, and he’s never realized he could be this fucking horny. It doesn’t matter what you’re saying or how you’re saying it, if you’re talking at him—rolling your eyes or bossing him around or huffing about something silly—he wants to crawl over you like a tiger and kiss you until you’re giggling and starry eyed. There’s nothing better in the world than his smart girl, and there’s no one better to deal with it than him.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

The lines are harsh and clear, grooved into the bedrock of your relationship, along with Bucky’s trust. Nothing with binds, nothing where he can’t see you, nothing in public and nothing that might really hurt you. His metal hand doesn’t go around your throat, you tap out immediately if anything is too much, and you tell him exactly what you want so he can give it, and nothing more. And he gives it. Over and over with ease, but only as you ask. And you ask. He’s too good not to.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Bucky likes eating you out, a little more than he thinks he should. It’s easy to him, a simple way to get on his knees and show you just how good he can make you feel. You get whiny, when he’s got his head between your thighs, and that’s just how he likes you. Writhing and squirting on his face, pulling at his hair until he groans your name against your cunt, and you let out a strangled gasp of his name. It makes him feel more human, more grounded, and so impossibly real. You’re softer than anything else he’s ever known, and tasting you is the closest he can get to being drunk. When you get on your knees for him, though, he sometimes tries to pull you back up. He never wants you to feel like you have some kind of obligation, and it can take a while to convince him you’re there because you want to be. He always comes apart embarrassingly fast, when your warm lips wrap around his cock. It’s hard to blame him. You just have that effect.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

He can go fast and rough, but you have to beg him for it. He never wants to go harder than he has to, and there’s a low fear under every movement that he’s going to snap you in half. He prefers to kiss every inch of your body and draw out the time he’s buried inside of you, losing himself in your heat and dazed, adoring expression. He can be mean like that, if you want him to be. The pace has nothing to do with teasing you like you deserve, with slow, lazy thrusts that bully against your g-spot, giving so much and not enough, all at once. Making you cry for him, perfectly safe and wound tight enough to burst beneath him, just how he likes you.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Sex is important enough that Bucky doesn’t like rushing it, but sometimes you get to him—bending over in a little dress, sitting on his lap and rolling your hips in the way you know drives him mad—and his cock gets so hard he can’t help himself. If there’s no one around he’ll hitch up your skirt or shove his hand into your pants, playing with your little pussy until you’re dripping for him and begging. When he decides you’re ready he thrusts in brutally, rutting up into your cunt with his face pressed into your neck and his moans low and desperate. You both cum with gasps, and Bucky slaps your sensitive clit. He’ll nip at your neck and warn you not to tease him again. You never listen. You know he likes it too much.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Maybe when he was younger, Bucky might’ve let a pretty girl talk him into something crazy, but now he’s old. Tired half the time, itching to get out of his skin the other half, sure what he likes in bed and—more importantly—sure of what he doesn’t. You’re the only one who can get him to take the small step outside his comfort, because he knows you wouldn’t ask if you didn’t really want it. And there isn’t much he wouldn’t do for you. A small experiment that makes you cum all over him is a small sacrifice to make .

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

The super solider serum has it’s benefits, and this might be the only one that Bucky never regrets. Before he was batting a strong two or three with proper recouperation time, but now he can go up to ten without flinching. He’s more than grateful for it. He’s worried he wouldn’t be able to keep up with you, if he didn’t have that extra leg up. Your appetite for him is so great that you push him to his limits, and he didn’t know that was possible, but he still lets you every time. You seem determined to find out exactly how long he can go for. He’d be worried about it, if he wasn’t having the time of his life.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

A lot of things have changed in the past century, and toys are a one of the things Bucky hasn’t really gotten yet. He doesn’t need one for himself, and he’s of the mind that—with how expensive vibrations are—there’s no need for you to have one either. He’s got a mouth and cock that can go all night, and a metal arm that can work like a toy if you’re that needy and desperate. You’d never thought to throw out your vibration until you had a massive super soldier next to you in bed. Metal fingers can fuck you until tears are springing to your eyes, and he can move his thumb so fast across your clit it basically feels like you’re at the mercy of a toy. A toy with soft lips, that drawl low praise and look at you like you’re an angel. Who could need anything else?

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Bucky doesn’t like to be too public or obvious—another roll over of 40s sensibilities—but if you’re begging for it, he won’t stop himself from landing a sharp, teasing slap on your ass or tracing his fingers up your inner thighs. Never enough to make you do anything rash, but that’s not his goal. He wants to see you squirm and flush, to smell that sweet arousal pooling between your legs. He’s making sure that, when he finally does get his hands on you, you’ll be more than ready for him. Just how he likes it.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He’s not too loud unless you really get him going. Most praise and dirty talk is whispered in your ear or against your skin, and his own grunts and moans are low and controlled. But then you get your mouth on him, or clench down on his cock just right, and a deep, loud moan rumbles through his chest. You toy with his balls in a trembling hand, and he doubles over with lidded eyes, almost shouting your name for the whole of New York to hear. You smile at him, kissing every roar off his lips, and his control starts to slip, only for you.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Phone sex is something he never wants to give up. He has to leave frequently, for missions and meetings and work, and the knowledge that you’re still thinking of him like he’s thinking of you almost gets him there all on its own. A lewd part of him likes the idea that someone might hear him calling your name through the thin hotel walls, so everyone knows how well you’re worshipped, how thoroughly he adores you. He likes just the sound of your voice calling his name. He thinks he could make it off of phone sex only, for at least a month. He’d need you back eventually, but this is almost enough.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Bucky was packing before the serum, but it didn’t neglect his cock when it made everything bigger. The first time you see him, you’re worried you’ll barely even be able to get the head in. He’s got a cock so big it makes your mouth water and your eyes prick with tears from just sliding between the lips of your pussy. Once you tried to talk him into a dildo because it would’ve been smaller and easier. He always kisses your brows and coos that you can take it, and you can, but barely. The stretch hits places inside of you that you didn’t know you had, and Bucky has the nerve to be sweet and humble about it. It just makes it easier, though. So, so much easier, when that monster cock is attached to that perfect man.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Before you, it was more of an itch that he really couldn’t ignore, no matter how he tried. He had a drive, but it was more mechanical. Then you strolled into his life, and suddenly he’s something akin to an animal. You can walk around the apartment in pajamas and slippers, and Bucky feels his dick twitch to attention. He wants to be as close to you as he can, all the time, and if that means bending you over the closest surface and showing you just how much he loves you, than so be it.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He might not need it like most people, but Bucky loves his sleep. He’d keep you both in bed all day, just cuddling and napping and having mindblowing sex if he was allowed to. Once you’re both settled and cleaned up, you’re not allowed out of bed for at least a few hours so Bucky can get some rest. He sleeps better after sex, and better with you in his arms, and the two combined can even work to keep the nightmares at bay. He tells you that it’s all you, but you think it’s him. Working to get past it, to stay with you, to find slices of peace and hold onto them, with you laying right where you belong, at his side.

He feels your arms carefully wrap around him, his chest shuddering as he lets himself reach for you. You stand and wrap yourself around him, holding him tightly against your chest. The tears keep coming, something broken open inside him, the need to let these tears fall. How often had he held onto tears, emotions, locking them carefully behind doors. So many doors, layers upon layers of doors in endless hallways. It’s not just him releasing these feelings, but the Soldier. He’s finally free from the maze, from being trapped. Allowed to feel small comforts and hold onto this woman who wants to be with him. 

You. Doc. His. 

Leaning back, he wipes at his eyes. You grab tissues and hand them to him. He takes them, wiping his face and blowing his nose. You do the same, eyes red-rimmed, trying to force a smile onto your face. 

Bits and pieces of memories float in. The two of you lying side by side in bed, talking into the early hours of the morning. Watching you race to them and cut Steve free. Seeing you bleeding and bloody. How you took your time to get to know him, stood up for him when others wouldn’t. 

“I know you,” Bucky rasps, reaching up to wipe a stray tear you had missed. “It’s here.” He points to his mind. “S’Fuzzy.”

You try to smile, dabbing at your eyes, “It’s going to take time. Weren’t sure how much you’d remember.”

“I remember being inside my mind,” Bucky continues, letting himself talk to you. He trusted you; it was on instinct. His mind hadn’t remembered everything, but his body knew. “The Soldier, he’s not trapped anymore. No more mazes and doors.”

You nod, “We wondered if that would be the case.” Your thumb rubs against your lip as you think. “There is something called anesthesia awareness. Your mind was still awake; we could see it as we monitored you. There was a chance that you’d remember what was going on. It’s good that he’s not trapped anymore, means your mind is healing, and your memory will come back.”

“Just takes time?” Bucky asks; he knew there was something missing, pieces that were just out of reach. Time he had spent with you that he desperately wanted to get back.

“You got time; can take as much as we need.” You reach out to touch him, but stop and pull back. 

Not letting his mind get the better of him, he reaches for your hand to hold it again. You squeeze his. There had been a time when he didn’t want to be touched and didn’t allow anyone to touch him. Nevertheless, being touched by you was okay. Instinctively, he wanted that. Wanted to be closer. 

There was a knock that had both of you turning. A man stood there with a small smile, two trays of food in hand. 

“Hey, Kona,” You reply, a stand over to the bed. “You can put the food here. Thank you for bringing it.”

Something twists in Bucky’s stomach; you knew this man, Kona. Seemed friendly with him, was he a nurse? Someone you worked with? Bucky tries to not let it bother him, the urge to tell him to leave making his mouth go dry.

Kona puts the tray down on the stand. “How are you doing, Mr. Barnes?”

Bucky doesn’t say anything, just watches him, the man nods his head, mouth thinning. He looks towards you, waiting for an answer. Bucky bristles, doing his best not to say something stupid.

“We’re okay, Kona.” You say, reaching back for Bucky’s hand. He takes it and has to stop himself from pulling you closer to him.

“I’ll check in with both of you later tonight.” Kona gives a small wave before leaving. 

Bucky watches him leave, the twist in his stomach relaxing as the man leaves. Looking towards you, he finds you looking at him, eyebrows up. 

“You okay?” Bucky looks away, feeling his face heat up. “James?”

“Who is that?” 

He carefully looks back at you, watching chuckle a little, sucking at your lip.

“That’s Kona, a nurse. Who did you think it was?”

Bucky shrugs, not sure why he had that reaction. It wasn’t like he could stake a claim on you, he wasn’t even sure if the two of you were anything more than friends. 

The hand that isn’t holding his carefully touches his cheek; your eyes glint with amusement. “Kona is a friend. That’s all.”

He hates how his shoulder relaxes at those words, that his stomach stops lurching. That jealousy had overtaken him so easily.

“James, what do you remember about us?”

Us. 

It felt like a loaded word. Us could mean friends, or coworkers, or something. The memories seemed intimate, more than just friends, more than just two people who knew each other. He won’t be reacting like this if you and him weren’t something closer. 

“We are together?”

“Yeah, we are. Little a-typical. But we’ve been together for a while.”

“I am remembering things, fragments.” Pausing, he looks towards the door. “I shouldn’t have acted like that.”

“It’s okay, you just woke; your mind is hazy. Perfectly normal to react on instinct.” You kiss his knuckles. “But I only want you, just you.”

The words hit him harder than he thought possible. It cracked him open, emotions spilling out unchecked. Everything you said he believed, no hesitation, no wonder. He just knew. This wasn't something that would just happen; he didn't let people close to him. Yet, here you were, breaking every barrier he had ever put up. 

“You should eat,” You reply, dragging the tray over. Carefully sitting down and opening up the tray.“ It’s just soup to start, and some kind of nutrient shake.”

Bucky takes it without much word. The soup smells good, but the nutrient shake makes his stomach turn. Flashes of being force-fed something eerily similar make it not palatable. 

“Just eat what you can, we got you on an IV drip as well. As long as you get something down, that’s what matters.” You grab the shake without him having to say anything, moving it over to sit on a side table.

The next few days go by similarly, you’re always there, aside from the times you go for physical therapy. Sitting beside him, talking to him about the latest news, what is going on outside the small room. A small cot had been rolled in so that you could sleep near him. Claiming you were tired of sleeping in an empty room. It comforted him knowing that you’d be there, that every time he opened his eyes, you would be within reach.

Bucky’s memory is still hazy, bits and pieces slide in. What he remembers the most is the maze, doors, his younger self. Though it feels more and more like it’s him and not someone else. They were the same person, it was a strange realization. For so long he had unintentionally kept those parts of himself separated. Wanting to leave what the Winter Soldier had done behind him. At the same time, the Winter Soldier was him, it was done by him under mind control. It felt almost silly to say it out loud, but he’d seen it himself. Seen what they had done to him, what he had went through, over and over again. 

“You okay?” Your voice cuts through the fog as you slide him over some yogurt and crushed bananas. 

Bucky swallows, “Thinking.”

Your shoulders sag, but you nod. The two of you are quietly eating. It bothers him how you hold back, he can tell that before your relationship with him had been more physical. You often stopped yourself from reaching for him. Didn’t push when he didn’t want to talk about things. Instead, you let him guide, let him lead the things. He still felt the sadness that you couldn’t completely hide. 

“I am sorry,” Bucky whispers, putting down his spoon and reaching for your hand. He had to constantly remind himself that he was allowed to touch you, to be near you. That you wanted to be here.

Blinking a few times, you squeeze his hand. You place your own food on the tray and move it away. “You have nothing to be sorry for, James.”

He shakes his head, swallowing down the emotions that well in his chest. “You’re sad. Because I don’t remember. I don’t remember us.”

You bite your lip, shaking your head, and sliding closer to him. “I am a little sad. Doesn’t mean I am not going to be here. I knew what I signed up for. Even if it's upsetting.”

Bucky looks down at where your hands are joined. “Why?”

A small huff leaves you, “Cause you’re my person, the man I fell in love with.” You try to give him a small smile. “Even if you never remember what we had, that’s okay. We can make new memories, get to know one another again.” Squeezing his hand, you pause for a moment. “We have been through so much together. So much horror and terror. Been so close to losing one another over and over again. But I won’t trade that for anything.”

Nodding, he feels his words slip away from him. How does he express how he feels? He can feel that connection, but it’s just out of his grasp. He wanted to fix this, to remember, to understand everything. Not just the glimpse and flicker of a relationship that just remained under the surface.

“Can I hold you?” You ask quietly, clearly seeing his distress. “Only if you want to.”

“Yes, please.” Bucky’s voice barely comes out, not entirely sure what is going to happen.

You climb in gently beside him and pull him to lie on your chest, filling his senses with your smell. Fresh fruit, linen, and something he knows as you. The way he’s missed you suddenly rips at him, making him hold you as close as possible. Flashes of memories flutter in his mind, the two of you looking out over expanses of mountains. The way you’d hold his hand when you’d walk in public. The night you’d come to him without having to be asked twice. More of it starts to filter in, there were so many memories. The last couple of years had been spent wrapped around each other. 

Everything narrows down to just you and Bucky, the way his hand finds your waist. The steady beat of your heart, how your breath slows as you relax against the bedding. Comfortable. Safe. Something neither of you had been granted in so long. It had been so long, and now you were right here. 

More tears fell, hot and steady onto your shirt. Your hand was carefully rubbing circles along his ribs. The other carding up into his hair, nothing said, just being there. That’s what you did: you showed up, pressed on, kept going despite everything. There had been so much that you’d both endured. The two of you had fought to be here, to get better. Bucky had been reunited with a part of himself that had been created to protect his own mind. The Soldier, a broken young man who had been locked inside a never-ending maze. 

‘Not anymore,’ A distant voice echoes inside his head. 

They were one again, not separate entities, but one complete person. With all of the memories, some of the darkest ones that had lain hidden so deep they had almost vanished. It was terrifying, and exactly what was needed. Now it was time to let his mind come back together. Cryo had scrambled things, but he could feel it starting to come back together. You holding onto him made that so clear. It helped solidify what his unconscious already knew. 

Bucky whispered your name as you grabbed some tissue to hand to him. “I missed you.”

You kiss the top of his head. “I missed you too. You tell me if this is too much, okay?”

He wipes away the mess on his face. “Being close to you helps.”

“Okay. Still, your comfort comes first.” You affirm, pressing him against you. “I did miss this.”

Your free hand runs over your knee, a gesture he remembered. Carefully, he placed his hand onto it, feeling the small ridge from the stab wound and a few new ones. His fingers carefully circle it a few times, grounding himself as he feels you let out a sigh. Your fingers find the top of his head again, carefully scratching at his scalp. 

“Your knee is better?” Bucky remembers you being in a brace, being in pain. It had never healed right, but now here you were, braceless. 

“It’s a lot better. No pain meds, just a lot of PT,” Bucky’s felt his body start to relax, your voice soothing his frazzled brain. “Soon I won’t need crutches anymore, be like it didn’t happen.”

Bucky swallows, trying to find his voice. “That’s really good. You were worried about surgery, being immobile.”

“I was. Steve had to convince me to go. Said he was going to wake you up so that I would stop worrying.” You tease, your fingers continuing to card through his hair.

Bucky sits up, turning to you, letting the words settle in. “You wanted to wait for me?”

You smile and nod, “Kind of attached to you, if you haven’t noticed.” 

“Kinda?” Bucky teases, feeling himself take his first real breath in a long time. This was where he was supposed to be; this felt right, in ways nothing had in so long.

“Really attached. Didn't want to leave your side. Had to watch your surgery, make sure you got through it. Been a long seven weeks.” Both of you were leaning against the pillows.

Bucky pulls you against him this time, watching tears form as your voice wavers. He reaches up and wipes at your tears. A gesture that feels way too small. You had held everything together, fought for him to be seen, to be helped, despite him not wanting the help. All of this, even when it effected you own health and wellbeing. 

Memories of you sitting in a small room, covered floor to ceiling in notes. Endless files, videos, recordings, anything you could get your hands on. Working on it until you knew his brain better than he did. To the point you knew that Wanda wouldn't be able to work past it, not without breaking him further. Only to have T’Challa land in front of you. That had just happened. Two people and impossible situations.

“We made it,” Bucky chokes out, cupping your face to kiss you gently. You lean into it, holding onto one another like the world outside was ending. “Me and you.”

A small, hiccuping sob leaves you as you lean your forehead against his. “I thought I lost you. That you had reverted, or forgotten who I was.”

He shakes his head, kissing your nose. “It’s coming back. I know you’re my whole world, I can feel it. Even the Soldier knew it.”

“He did? He knew who I was?” You sound astonished that it was even possible.

“Yeah, he did.” Bucky remembers how the younger man had reacted to hearing about Ultron. “Seemed protective of you. Did not like Ultron at all.” Bucky let a small smirk slip, watching you compose yourself. 

“Did you talk to him?” 

“More talked at him,” Bucky sighs, thinking about it. “He wasn't exactly chatty.”

A big smile graces your face, making him brighten. He could see your interest in this; no matter what had happened, this was what you loved learning. You were a doctor at your core. It was part of the reason he loved you.

“I remember someone else not being very chatty either.” You nudge him, making his cheeks flush. “Is it weird that I would have liked to meet him? Like he is you, and you him, but not?”

Bucky thought about that. It had been strange to be there; to talk with him and experience everything. It was hard to think of him as a separate entity, to still put that space between himself and the actions. Now that he was out, they weren’t separate anymore. They were the same person.

“S’not weird. Unreal that I was there. How many people get to say they’ve seen inside their own mind?” Bucky sighs, rubbing up and down your arm. “I know he liked you; not sure how much you would have gotten out of him. Though if there was anyone, it would be you.” 

“I am just happy to have you. That you remember us. I meant what I said; I would still be here even if you didn’t remember.” You leaned up and kissed him again. “The parts about the maze are just extra.”

“It’s more like a dream; I know it was real, but I think that’s because I had been there before with Wanda. The place was familiar. But this time, I could actually talk with the Soldier. He could see me and hear me.”

“That’s very interesting. I wonder if it’s because of how you were put under. Still being somewhat conscious gave you the possibility to meet him. This is just a theory I have; I don’t fully understand it all. The team is analyzing all the data we’ve gathered over the last seven weeks. They will be able to explain it more than I can.”

“I knew when I went further under, everything stopped. I have no memories until I was woken up here.” 

“There was a difficulty with two words. No matter what they did, your mind was fighting back against it. Shuri debated about it for a week. Talked to every expert in the world. She wouldn’t have taken the risk unless she knew it was going to work.”

“Did it?”

You look towards the door, your eyes clouding over, and you rub at your nose. “From the tests that were run, yes. There will be more, something a little unconventional. It’s more traditional practices than purely scientific.”

“Long as I have you. I don’t care.” Bucky leans against you, never wanting to let you go. “You going to stay with me?” 

“If you’ll have me, yes.”

No one wakes either of you. Your stomach protesting is what finally rouses you from sleep. Actual sleep. You hadn’t actually felt rested like this in a long time. Shifting a little, James grumbles in his sleep, pulling you, one-armed, to press closer to him. A small giggle escapes you; he’d slept too. No nightmares or fits, just rest. For a moment, you relish it. Peace. It would only be a moment; then reality would set in. Your lives would once again be turned upside down. Yesterday had been a huge step, him wanting to be close to you. Remembering the relationship you had both had and have. 

Looking down, you take him in. James’ eyelashes are so long, small freckles dot his cheeks, the light makes him look peaceful. His hair is long, lying messily around him. The deep brown strands are dotted with small flecks of grey and white. Creases on the corners of his eyes and forehead are just showing, proof that he aged, even if it was much slower than everyone else. 

You try to capture this in your mind as best you can. Hoping to lock it away and hold on to it. Tears spring at the corners of your eyes; you close them tightly, pushing them back. There was so much to take in, to understand, to do.

Not yet. 

Taking a small breath, you squeezed him against you. Just a few more minutes. Leaning down, you breathe him in. You had never taken him for granted or underestimated just how fragile this relationship was. All of this, you would hold onto him for as long as you could. Knowing that at any moment it could get ripped from your grasp. It almost was.

He yawns, eyes blinking for a moment, as blue eyes focus on you. You snort and boop his nose. James’ brows scrunch as he stretches out. His arm pulls you close to him, grumbling about wanting more sleep. Groaning, you grumble about being hungry, which has him opening his mouth to nibble on the skin near your neck. The two of you teasing the other until someone clears their throat. 

Looking up, you see Shuri standing in the doorway, Sam beside him. “Hello, you two. Glad you're awake.”

Bucky’s face flushes as he keeps you tucked against his side. “Morning, Shuri, Sam.”

Sam comes in with his usual crooked smile, “It’s afternoon; thought you’d slept for seven weeks.”

“Yeah, yeah, what have you been doing? Sipping mimosas in Sicily?” Bucky jabs back as you carefully slip out of bed. The banter does your heart good, it shows that his mind was healing. James was resilient in so many ways. 

Going over to Shuri, she watches you walk, noticing your lack of brace or limp. “Hey, Shuri. How are you?”

“Doing well now that I see you both up.” She smiles, a tablet in her hands. “Your knee seems to be healing well. How is Bucky doing? Seems like he’s remembering more and more.”

You glance behind him, watching him and Sam talk back and forth. “Good, memories seem to be coming back, not as confused as before. Going to take time, some healing; I know Ayo has plans for him.”

“That will come later. For now, normalcy is key, making sure he comes back. Then we can focus on the next steps,” She gives you a reassuring smile. “Not to mention you also have to heal.”

“I could use some normalcy, some rest, real rest,” You say, smiling as Bucky and Sam bicker. “Just happy he knows who I am again. Thought that it might be gone.”

Shuri pats your shoulder. “The next step will be the last one. It’s going to be hard, but I believe in both of you.” 

The place feels full; laughter drifts around the makeshift yard. Chairs had been pulled around a large fire pit that Bucky and Sam had hesitantly set up. A cooking spot was erected closer to the house. Chickens run back and forth, one tucked underneath Tony’s arm, happily clucking. Clint and Natasha were currently playing some lawn game with hoops. Goats and cows call out a little further away. Pietro stands talking with one of the neighbours, making your heart hurt. Wanda was still MIA, and her sibling was missing her something fierce. Pepper comes over with a glass in hand, a small smile on her face. 

“You throw quite the party, Doc,” Pepper says as she stands beside you. Bucky and Steve sit eating something off the grill while Sam mans it, talking loud enough for everyone to hear. 

The man had drawn a crowd of neighbours and friends to him, Sam was magnetic. He had proclaimed himself the grill master and would smack anyone who would get too close to the piece of metal. James and Steve had, of course, moaned about it being subpar. Which just made Sam double down. 

“Not just me, couldn’t have done it without everyone,” You reply as you sip your own drink. A fruity punch that T’Challa had brought over. You were trying to be the designated human, making sure no one wandered off into a lake or chicken coop. 

“How are you enjoying rural living?” She asks, both of you moving to some chairs near the fire. 

You have to ponder that for a moment. It had been ten days since James had come out of the hospital. He’d been doing well, enough that Steve and Tony had decided a little get-together was needed. Shuri and Ayo had wanted you and Bucky out of the city, somewhere quiet to rest and recoup. There would still be weekly check-ins and appointments, but for now your focus was healing. 

James’ memory was still blurry around the edges; he was jumpy, nightmares still plagued him more than before. It bothered you more than you wanted to let on. You were trying so hard to give him the space he needed, to avoid overstepping. Letting him know before touching him, sleeping in an empty bed on nights that James couldn’t sleep. It wasn’t the same as when you had first met. He had memories, but that over part of him, the Soldier, was now here. It was evident in the way he moved and the way he checked around the hut at night. How carefully he watched the chickens, his shoulders so tight. 

At the same time, you hesitated to tell anyone that. It felt too private. Something that you both had to work out together.

“It’s quiet. Really quiet. Didn’t think I would miss the noise of the city.” You reply, not giving the raw truth, but a truth nonetheless. Pepper watches you carefully; she was always scarily good at reading people. “I miss the tower, the community, and people. Also the access to delivered food.”

Pepper laughs at that, her eyes crinkling. “I am going to have to let Tony know. He’s got it in his head that he wants to ‘settle down’ somewhere quiet. Remote. Like he did well in his cabin.”

“It’s a big change, but it grows on you,” You say, watching Tony hold onto the chicken, whispering to her. “He seems really taken with the chickens.” 

“If I am not careful, he will smuggle that chicken back home. Have her clucking around the condo, laying eggs in my plants,” She says easily. “How are you, though? I know Bucky is who people were worried about, but take it from someone who knows, it’s a lot to bear on your own.” 

Worrying at your lip, you try to find the words to explain what was going on. “I don’t know.” A small huff leaves you; Pepper lets you mull it over. “Things aren’t what they were, and I don’t think they ever will be. Part of him came back, a part that had been separated for a long time. It’s like we are both walking this wire, but we forgot that we are both on it.” You pause, having to try and hold back your emotions. “I keep waiting for things to come back together. At the same time, waiting for something that will tear us apart again. A vicious never-ending circle I can’t get out of.” 

Pepper crosses her legs, shifting in the chair, her eyes finding Tony and T’Challa talking. “You can’t expect yourself to get out of it.” You look at her, can see the sadness line her face. “Something will happen again. Maybe not tomorrow, or the next week, but it will happen. We do the best we can, cause we love them.”

Tears push at the corners of your eyes, knowing that she is right. That this would be a moment, maybe even something peaceful. It could even be the last time you all would be together. A pull in your stomach made you press your hand there, wanting to freeze time and stay here. Memorize every detail, every sound, how this felt. It was so fragile, a delicate web spun around them, waiting for the wind to sweep them all away. 

“I am not you, Doc,” Pepper says, reaching over and squeezing your hand. “My advice is to try and hold onto this for as long as you can. Work together, make new memories.” She gives an understanding smile. “Not saying you put down roots, but take your time, enjoy what you have. Love that man for as long as you can, because he will get called again. He will get hurt again, and all we can do is enjoy every day we get with them.” 

You wipe at the corners of your eyes, sniffing, and trying to find enough breath to speak. “It feels like too much some days. Every time we stop, it’s like it all crashes on me.” 

She nods sadly, “It does. I wish I could tell you it gets better; however, I’ve never been good at lying.” Lifting her cup, she finishes it. “With that, I think we need another drink. Also, you should stop Sam before he starts cooking your house bit by bit.” 

***

The fire has burnt down, the stars are out, and chickens have been tucked away in their coop despite Tony and Clint's protests. Bucky is certain that they would have tried to take a chicken in their inebriated state. You were sitting on his lap, hand playing with the hair on the back of his neck. He had been one to take your hand and ask if you’d sit with him. It hadn’t gone unnoticed by him that you had been talking with Pepper. A wave of shame had hit him. You had been working so hard to help him, to keep things normal, to deal with his issues without putting any pressure. Having you sit with him seemed like such a small thing, but it made you smile, and that was all he could ask for. 

Around the fire are so many people. People who care about him, who have grown to know him despite his own trepidations. They cared. They showed up and held on. The neighbours down the way that he’d only just gotten to know, who took care of the goats and taught him to care for them. Tony, who had somehow found it in his heart to be here, to forgive him in his own way. Pepper, who looked at him with the most understanding eyes, while also helping you navigate your own demons. He hated how hard this had been for you. Even if he knew he wouldn’t be here without you. 

Despite it all, they kept showing up for him. Somehow, he had to be okay with all of it. To be okay with the help. The hardship and voices that kept telling him he wasn’t worth all of this. 

Steve sat beside him, half-asleep with his head resting against Natasha's shoulder, watching her with love-struck eyes. Normally, Bucky would tease him for it, but he was just happy for him. Somehow they had found their person, their people, lifetimes apart, and yet bound to one another. 

Buck’s hand finds your hip and pulls you closer to him. You look down, eyes soft and clear as you watch him. He was going to work to keep you, no matter what; it had to become his priority. 

“I was wondering,” Sam asks, sitting down on the other side of Bucky. He must have just come back from walking one of the neighbours' homes. “If you’d mind me hanging around for a little while.”

You look at Sam, then back at Bucky, the two of you putting the strings together. Sam had spent the majority of the night talking with a lovely neighbour by the name of Neo.

“I am sure you could stay, maybe get yourself your own place.” Bucky can hear the teasing in your tone. Sam liked to act nonchalant and indifferent to affection, but when he was interested in someone, it all went out the window.

“Maybe Neo won't mind you staying.” Bucky was never good at subtlety. In fact, he liked to egg Sam on, just to get a rise out of him.

Sam huffs, “Come on, man. I got to play it cool now.”

Bucky chuckles as you shake your head. “Stay as long as you like, Sam. I think they’ll see the hearts fluttering around your head.”

Rubbing the back of his head, Sam's cheeks flush. “Yeah, yeah. Soo helpful, Bucky.”

You smirk, “Be nice, you two. Or you’ll both be sleeping with the goats.”

“Steve doesn't need you?” Bucky asks, watching you get up to get more water for everyone. Tony is passed out in his chair, Pepper covering him with a blanket. 

“Nah, he is going to look for Wanda and Vision. Before coming back to Washington for some sort of hearing.” Sam sighs, “Figured I could stay, learn more about Wakanda. Neo knows some people who do falconry, wants to show me how they hunt with them.”

“Didn't know you were so interested in birds.” Bucky watches as Clint covers himself with a blanket. Tents had been set up, but it looked like people would be sleeping outside. 

“I am a little into birds. Studied them when I was being trained for the suit. Learning how they moved, dived, rolled. Gave me ideas about what to do in the sky,” Sam explained, making motions with his hands.

You drag a chair over, handing Sam and Bucky a blanket before sitting down.

“I think you and Neo will get along well.” You take a sip of water, hand resting on the edge of your seat. Bucky reaches forward and takes it. “They speak twenty-four different languages and at least a dozen different dialects. Incredibly talented linguist.”

“Wow,” Sam chuckles, “That is so cool. Is she the one that's been teaching?”

A grin stretches across your face. “Yes, actually. I am not fluent in any, but enough; I can usually understand people.”

“You're just smart.” Bucky squeezes your hand as you roll your eyes. 

The three of you eventually turn to five as Steve and Nat come over. Other members spread out laying on the ground or chairs, watching the stars. It's peaceful, calm, something that doesn't happen very often. You start to doze before Bucky rouses you enough to go to bed. There was no sleeping in a chair for you; he knew that your knee still was healing and would get sore without it propped up properly.

Bucky watches you fall asleep, listening to the broken silence outside. Frogs, grasshoppers, other bugs, and wildlife make what's now soothing noises. For a moment, he remembers what it was like decades ago, lying on a small bed curled under blankets, wondering what tomorrow would bring. Wondering if he would ever come home, ever have a family. Some deep part of him still wanted that, wanted the dream. 

He remembers lying there with you, watching the emotions cross your face. You said that you could see a future together with him. That hadn’t been that long ago, yet it felt like a lifetime. Bucky had made several promises that morning, ones that he intended to keep.

Reaching forward, he carefully traces from your ear down along your jaw over your lips. Bucky loved you, could feel it every time you smiled at him, waiting for him to reach for you. The endless patience you had. Leaning forward, he carefully kisses your cheek, making himself stay in the bed beside you. One way or another, he was going to stick beside you, the same way you stuck beside him. 

PART 36

I am really enjoying getting back to these too. They've been through so much....

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The door slid open, Bucky pushing past it and toppling into the new hallway. How many had it been now? At least a dozen. Endless corridors and hallways. He'd thought his memories were back, that he knew what had happened. That had been a lie. The traumatic ones he remembered, but those didn't hurt like what he'd seen.

He slides to the floor, laminate of some kind, and curls in on himself. The faces of those who hadn't been targets, casualties, or family members. People who were in the wrong place at the wrong time. It burnt. The screams of those he cut to pieces to get the needed information. Hearing the wails of people finding their loved ones dead. Bucky knew what he had done, but seeing it was a new level of hell. How many times did he have to relive this nightmare before he was free?

No one was safe if he was tasked with killing them. The brutal efficiency with which he had to finish his mission was what had kept him alive. Handlers were killed when they lost usefulness; scientists, doctors, trainers- it didn't matter. They died by his hand. Bucky had been so good that they couldn't replace him. Even tasked to try and train the next set of soldiers, widows, other military men he had lost the names to. Now he was being forced to see what he did, over and over again. 

Something touched his shoulder, and he jerked back. Metal arm pushing back against what had touched him, it hit metal. Looking up, he saw himself, the younger Soldier holding Bucky’s metal hand with his. The muzzle was gone, the black paint smeared like he had tried to wipe it off unsuccessfully. His blue eyes were red from irritation. How long had he been gone for? The Soldier had just been left here. Had been here for so long. Years. Now it was worse, because he knew that he wasn't whole. Knew the handlers weren't coming, that he was trapped in this unending maze of horrors.

Bucky stared at him for a moment before they both moved away from each other. The Soldier sat down across from Bucky, who put his back to the wall. 

“Uh,” Bucky swallowed, wiping at his face. “I am sorry we got separated again.”

The other man just nodded, shoulder pulled tight. His arm grinding uncomfortably, he reached over and popped it off. Tossing it away from him, before leaning his head against his hand. Bucky watched him for a moment, feeling the waves of sadness wash over him. Bucky didn’t stop to think about what he was doing and just slid over so that he was beside the trembling man. He still didn’t touch him, afraid that he might not be able to. That they would get separated again. 

Bucky had told the Soldier that he was in his own mind, that they were one and the same. Hydra was gone, and he had been walking here for years. It had broken him out of whatever spell he had been under, or maybe this was part of the algorithm. What Shuri was doing. Why Bucky had been seeing so many of his own transgressions. Somehow, this was all part of the mending of his mind. At least he hoped it was. What else could it be? He didn’t want to be going through this, to have to experience this. To have to witness a part of him be so broken and confused. All of it was so unspeakable. For it to be nothing. 

“I don’t know what is going on,” Bucky starts, trying to gather as much strength as he could. “I think this all part of healing.” He rubbed his face. “This is so stupid, or sounds stupid. But I just saw some really, really terrible stuff that we did.” Fingers clenched and unclenched, your voice, Steve’s voice. “No, it wasn’t what we did. It was what we were made to do.”

“We did it.” The Soldier whispers, snuffling at his nose. Tears leave trails down his smeared face as he stares blankly at the wall across from him. “I’ve seen.”

Closing his eyes, Bucky leans his head against the wall. The words rang true in his mind, it always had, no matter what he’d been told. No matter how many times he tried to believe what others said, the blood had been on his hands, their last words that echoed in his ears. 

“Yeah, you're right, we did a lot of really terrible things. We followed orders. We were told what to do, and we did it. Played the part of the perfect weapon, the perfect soldier.” Bucky felt his throat tighten. “But that doesn’t mean we have to stay here. Stay in this place forever. We were brainwashed, tortured, forced to do terrible things, over and over and over again.” Bucky wipes at his face, letting it out into whatever hell this was. “But we get a chance. A chance that most people don’t get. We get a chance to be free. To have a life that could be ours. Not to be dictated by what they made us do.” 

The silence stretches for several moments, Bucky working to catch his breath and calm his mind. This was difficult, trying to convince himself that it was okay to move on. He had to move on, or he would never get out of here. Shuri or not, it was still his mind; part of him knew that. She could cut as much as possible, but he had to accept the change. Accept that he was free.

It didn’t erase what had happened, or what his own hands had done. None of it would remove the scars he would carry for the rest of his life. The memories would always be there, those moments. Nothing could change that. The only thing he could change was what happened next. There was no going back in time or changing the outcome, just what happened next. No longer living in the shadow of his past. His future was in his hands. Both of theirs. Bucky and the Soldier. 

“You do,” The Soldier replies. His voice trembles, but there is no malice in the words.

Bucky shakes his head, “Not without you. We are in this together. Think we are more like than you know.”

Moving around the room felt surreal. You could put most of your weight on the joint already; it had been about ten days since surgery. It felt a lot longer than that; your days were spent between bed, shuffling down to sit with James, and physiotherapy. Everything was going as expected for you. James was also progressing, but at a much slower pace. The words were still triggering areas at random. Shuri would run the algorithm to attack the areas, only to find it had little effect.

Despite this, Shuri was not giving up. If anything, it seemed to spur her forward. Her and her team were spending countless hours trying to figure out what was happening. Trying new techniques, adjusting how the attack certain areas. The current method was stimulating the brain with a certain trigger word and immediately using a laser to cut it. It was a painfully slow process, but it seemed to be working. 

“Nicely done,” Nurse Kona says with a smile as you manage to sit down on your own after doing several laps of the small room. 

“Thanks,” You say, taking a drink of water. “Getting better. I am amazed that I have this much mobility already.”

Kona sits beside you, “You’re pushing hard, but not too hard. Ellen is keeping a close eye on your progress.”

“I have to keep both of you on your toes,” You tease, rubbing at your knee. It had become a habit of yours, fingers tracing over the faint raised scars. There was barely anything. The scar from the stab wound was more raised than any of the others. 

Chuckling, Kona stands up and stretches. “I believe your friend, Steve, is back. I’ll bring you back to your room, and you can have lunch.”

You nod and push yourself up, making sure your brace is tightened, before slotting yourself into the crutches. The pads push gently against your forearms, hands wrap around the handles. Ellen had moved you to the forearm crutches relatively quickly. It made you more aware of how much weight you could put on your knee. There was still a bit of a limp, and you often found yourself automatically holding your leg up as you used to before. Habits had been made, and you were having to change them every day.

Down the hallways and a few elevators later, you came into your room, no longer a hospital room, but an apartment in the complex. Steve was pacing the room when Kona dropped you off, promising to come get you to go see James later that day. You hobble over, relishing in the smell of curry before watching your friend. His hair stood on end from his fingers constantly carding it. 

He was talking at a rapid pace into the small device, which looked like an old school flip phone. Aside from the blue glow, it could have been something from the early two thousands. You worry at your lip and lean the crutches against the counter, carefully grabbing plates and glasses. 

Steve had been gone for several days, talking at a UN hearing over the Accords. He had been working tirelessly, trying to get the Accords overturned or amended at least. This didn’t cover the endless oddities that he had been facing, a lot of them tied back to the Enders. There were others; some groups of ex-hydra militants had joined together to try to resurrect experiments that were going terribly wrong. You weren’t sure how he was handling it. The man was dealing with bureaucratic paperwork on a global scale. Getting permissions from governments and their military was almost impossible. Yet, he was still getting them. A few countries had given them blanket permission, as long as certain parameters were met. 

The man would probably make a great politician if he didn’t despise the system so much. Steve had made a face when you’d mentioned it. Natasha had laughed so hard that your cheeks had gone pink. Your heart clenched; you missed the team. It had never been easy, but there were small things, talking with Natasha. Helping show Wanda that tech and medicine weren’t scary but a tool that could be useful. Watching Sam take the lead and Steve set up, as Tony stepped back. It hadn’t been perfect, but it had been yours. 

“I never thought it would be easier to deal with the Russians than with the English,” Steve grumbles, finally closing the phone, snapping you out of your own mind.

You force a smile on your face as you slide a plate over to him, “Well, it is the English, never been good at sharing.”

He snorts and grabs the plate that looks like the plainest chicken and rice you’ve ever seen. “How are you doing, Doc?” 

“Can do five laps of the room without falling over, trying not to use the crutches as much.” You fill him in on the details, trying to hide the twinge in your guts. 

The underlying fear that everything was going to fall apart was always there. The two of you sit across from each other, the window open enough that you can smell fresh rain. You try to relax, staring down at the food. James would love the curry; you’d have to find out where they got it. 

“Not talkin' about your knee,” Steve replies, tapping the side of his head. “How’s up there? It looked like you’d disappeared for a moment.”

Your tongue pushes against your lower lip. “I didn’t expect to miss the compound so much. Not the actual building, but the people.” Pausing, you push your food around. “I know we were running from one thing to another. Just absolute chaos, but I miss the group. Not sure we will ever get back to what we had.”

Steve nods, his own brows furrowing, “Not sure we will. Doesn’t mean we won’t come to visit. Think once Buck is out of the deep freeze, we will have a little get-together. Nothing Stark-level, but it feels like we should do something.”

“That would be good, really good.” You let yourself smile, the idea of having everyone under one roof is a balm on your heart. 

Shuri taps at the screen, her lip caught between her teeth as she flips through different pages and images. You watch her, triggering different areas, lights popping up in different parts of James’ mind. It was less than before, but there were still highlights. 

Shuffling over, you reach up to place a hand on the glass. It’s cool under your fingertips; his face is slack. Looking almost peaceful, in a way it never had when he was asleep. However, when you looked at your tablet, you could spot a few of the blips in his readings. There was no clear pattern to them; despite the algorithm running through his mind, they came at random points. You knew that time was different inside his mind; what felt like minutes could be hours here. 

“I know you’re stubborn, but it would be really great if you could work with us on this,” You say out loud to him. Watching his heart rate go up a few beats, it always did when you talked to him. “Steve is going to be leaving again, not sure when he is going to be back.” You let yourself sit in a chair, keeping your hand against the glass. “I am moving around almost on my own, got the forearm crutches. Pain is pretty good too, less than it was before. Could probably move the goats with you now. Sure, Marge will be yelling at us for being gone so long.”

Coming over to you, Shuri pulls out her projector, turning it on to show James’ brain. “We are down to two words.” She flips through the list of words, “Rusted, and Nine. If I skip over those, we get no lights. But if we say them-” Flipping through different highlighted areas until she stops on one. “-Even out of order. The whole place lights up.” 

You reach up and spin the brain scan around, taking in all the lights. “Two more words.” Sitting back, you look up at James. “I am guessing it’s just going to take more time?”

“I think his mind is fighting against us. Similar to when he and Wanda would go in and try to block off areas. From what I read in your reports, his mind would remove it just as fast as you could get in. It’s trying to protect itself from more damage,” Shuri explains, flipping back to the live scan of his mind. “I think we may have to try something more extreme.”

“Getting him fully unconscious.” You reply, having already wondered if this would be the case. 

“We can keep going with what we have been doing,” Shuri continues. “I am not certain of the time, or if it will work as we hope.” She pauses, worrying at her lip. “Or. We could increase his sedation. It would put him on the edge of death, but enough that his mind would be offline. So to speak. Run the algorithm for those two words, and then decrease the sedation. Not enough to wake him up, but enough that we could test those words without worry of causing any damage.” 

Running a hand through your hair, you look at your tablet; everything is stable, an occasional blip surfacing and disappearing just as quickly. The sedation he was under was already significantly higher than anything you’d seen before. His body metabolised medication at a rapid rate, meaning that increasing it was dangerous. 

“We would have to run tests on how much he could handle. We never got to this point before, but I know it was difficult with how fast his body metabolised drugs. Even the anesthesiologist struggled to keep a nerve block working properly.” You close your eyes, unsure what to do or if this is the right choice. 

“We would be using a combination of things. Our pharmacist has been running small tests to see what would work over the last several weeks,” Shuri replies, placing her hand on your shoulder. “He would go on a ventilator instead of the mask we are currently using. We would drop the temperature as low as possible, keeping his heart rate just above flatline. Then run the algorithm, pinpoint the spots that need to be resected, then go in through his skull. It’s complicated and hasn’t been done before.” She sighs, standing beside the cryochamber. “I am not sure there is a better option. We could keep running different programs, but I am certain we won’t be able to rid him of these words without shutting him out. The only option is to actually go in physically, removing larger amounts of tissue.”

“Okay,” You say quietly, wanting to scream at the world. Why could nothing just be simple? Why couldn’t this have worked the way it was planned? “When?”

Shuri’s shoulder dropped. “I will need to do some further testing. Make sure the medication we are using is appropriate. Gather a team together; get us all on the same page. Double-check everything. I will not proceed if I have any doubt, Doc.”

You nod and wipe at the stray tears that have found their way out. Anger pushing at the edges, not at Shuri, or James, or anyone. It was the situation you have been put in, how things keep stacking up. What you would do to have some peace. To have something go the way it was planned.

The lights kept flickering on and off, walls shimmering and changing all around them. They had tried to move, going to any door that would open, passing by memories that never seemed to see them. It had changed since Bucky had last been through here. The memories no longer sucked them in, making them experience them as if they were really there; instead, he and the soldier saw them from the outside. No one inside reacted to them coming and going. Bucky wasn’t sure if that was a good thing. He was currently too busy trying to keep his younger half with him. 

Rounding a corner, they found themselves in another cement corridor. The Soldier froze, body tightening like a coil. Every time they found themselves in a Hydra base memory, he would start shutting down. Bucky would often have to physically drag him away or shake him out of it. 

This time, he only froze for a moment, then his shoulder moved away from his ear. He looked at Bucky, then gestured with his head to go down the hallway. Bucky nodded and followed after him. 

It was the first time the Soldier had made a move without Bucky leading the way. He was taking charge of this situation; whatever it was, Bucky would back him in it. The younger version of himself had become like a younger sibling, reminding him of his sisters. He needed guidance and comfort, and if the Soldier needed to confront a memory, then Bucky would do that too. 

The experience of being in his memories had been disturbing at first. A constant barrage of terrible experiences that he had to relive and be a witness to. Then it evolved. Bucky had seen how his younger self reacted to dangerous situations; he always put himself between the danger and Bucky. The Soldier, despite being so broken he barely spoke, still looked out for others. It had snapped something into place for Bucky. Against everything he had been through, inside him was someone who would still fight to protect those he cared about. 

Bucky watched as the Soldier went through a door, he knew where he was going and what would be behind it. Following his lead, Bucky was the one to freeze in the doorway. Dr. Zola stood there, medical tools in his hand. The Soldier walked right up to him, his shoulders square and tight, metal fist clicking as he clenched it tight. Behind Zola, another version of Bucky lay on the metal medical table. His blue eyes fogged like he was dead, arm severed halfway below his elbow.

“My most successful subje-" A strange noise came out of the man as the Soldier grabbed him by his throat. The man tried to call out, but the memory guards didn't move. 

The Soldier roared loud enough for it to echo in the room. Bucky stepped in, letting the Soldier slam the man against the metal. He shifted his focus to himself on the table. His hair was short-cropped, his face clean-shaven, military fatigues cut away from his body. There were IVs and tubes running in and out of his body. A crude metal arm sat beside his bloody stump. The Zola seemed to have just started to close up the wound. Bucky shivered, seeing the stump half open. As he moved around the table, he saw that the back left side of his skull had also been opened, crude wires sticking out that ran into what must have been a computer. They had already started to reinforce his body with metal and wires. 

His teeth ground together, tearing his eyes from the memory, he looked up to see the Soldier rip Zola's arm out of his socket. The violence of it shocked Bucky for a moment. As the man slid to the floor with a scream, the Soldier threw the arm to the side. 

“You did this to me.” The Soldier spoke, his voice calm, despite his frenzied eyes. “You haunt my dreams. You broke me.”

Bucky came over to stand beside his younger self. Reaching up, he touched the man's shoulder. He turned to his older self and hugged him. Bucky freezes for a moment, then embraces him back. The two hold onto one another, clinging to the hope they could be whole again. That by confronting the monster that called himself a doctor would help heal open wounds that had been open for too long.

“He's dead. Zola can't hurt us now,” Bucky says, mostly to himself. “I am proud of you.”

The whole world goes black.

Somewhere outside of his mind, Bucky can faintly hear beeping.  There is a tug on his mind. He can still feel the Soldier, the two of them wrapped in an embrace. Zola was dead. Peirce was dead. Hydra was fractured. He was safe; no words could touch him.

Watching them sedate Bucky further was uncomfortable. His heart rate dropped; they then intubated him and hooked him up to several IVs. The theatre was quiet; you had been asked if students could watch. You'd declined. James was always private. He had said yes to being observed in the cryotube, but this was different. It felt so much more intimate now, him lying on the metal table. His hair was carefully parted so that they could cut into his skull and insert tools. 

The debate about whether to be here or not had been waged for two weeks. Shuri had been in meetings with other doctors and surgeons. This seemed to be the best outcome. It was the first of its kind, and possibly the only one. The risk was heightened because of his metabolism and healing factor. You know all this, and you knew it inside and out, yet your hands were still shaking.

You rubbed at your knee, the brace keeping it support, your forearm crutches leaning against the chair beside you. Your phone hadn't stopped buzzing since you woke up. People asking if you were okay, if James was okay. The worry had spread through your teammates; it was understandable, considering. It didn’t stop you from muting your phone. Taping your ear, you began to listen to the surgeons, techs, and nurses start to work. The earpiece translated for you. You had learned many languages, but technical language was not something you had full understanding of yet. 

An Anesthesiologist stood at their machine, eyes dialled in on the readings. You couldn’t imagine the stress they were under. James’ files had been gone over by everyone; they knew how his body worked as well as you did. Didn’t make it any easier for them. His blood pressure, heart rate, O2 saturation were all dangerously low. As low as they could safely go without lasting damage. 

Would he have damage? He’d been out for just under six weeks now. This wasn’t close to the longest he had been under for. During his time in Hydra, it had numbered into the years. It still made you nervous. There was a high chance that he would have some memory loss, but Shuri and her team were certain it would be temporary. But how temporary? Would he remember you? Remember the last two years? Or would it be lost, leaving you to have to start all over again? Would he even want that? 

Reaching up, you wipe at the tears that wouldn’t stop falling. How often had you cried in the last fourteen days? Whatever happened, you’d be there, even if it was from afar. Just the idea made you have to sit. James was your whole world, your lifeline, the reason to keep getting up in the morning. Why you had fought so hard to be here. Would you be able to keep going from arm's distance? 

Stop. 

Your voice echoed in the room. 

That’s enough. 

A breath leaves you. Spiralling wasn’t going to help. You needed to focus on the here and now. Ground yourself. This was for James. The boundary needed to be drawn, made solid. It didn’t matter what happened or how it affected you personally. What mattered was that James was freed from the words. Free to live as close to a normal, enhanced human life. 

Right now, he needs to get through this operation. That was the focus. 

Gripping the armrests, you squeeze them until your palms hurt. Another breath before you look out the observation glass. 

All his stats were in range; it would have been terrifyingly low in anyone else. The techs adjust things as they move to use a laser to cut a small hole into his scalp, then skull bone, dura mater, and into the brain. Tiny micro-tools are then inserted into the exact area of the brain. The surgeon uses a constantly running scan to place the tool exactly where it is needed. Under normal circumstances, you’d be zooming in with each camera, trying to see exactly what they were doing. Right now, your eyes are just watching all the readings. 

The tool retracts, and the area is carefully closed. A small amount of liquid is put into the hole to ensure the skull heals properly. It was so small that it would barely be noticeable. You remember how James would carefully touch his scalp, fingers finding the dozens of scars that had been made. Trying to ignore how your heart lurches at the thought of him now having more. 

Six more holes are carefully cut, opened, tools slide in and are retracted. James’ heart jumps up once, his body twitching, but the Anesthesiologist quickly gets it under control. Your fingers dig into the armrests so hard you wonder how you haven’t shattered plastic into pieces. 

The one reading you keep flipping to is his EEG, watching his brain activity. Every time the tool was inserted, his Alpha waves would move ever so slightly. Despite being heavily sedated, his mind was still fighting back. You wrote a few notes down on this. Wanting to show it all to Shuri afterwards. It was something that, if studied further, could help others who experience anaesthesia awareness. There was so much information and value in people enhanced by serums that had been missed by those just looking to create weapons. 

How much groundbreaking technology has been kept away from the general public in the name of military interest? Your fist clenched, Stark had started to work on it. Trying to help vets, working with colleges and universities, starting programs. It wasn’t enough, it would never be enough, not really. Billions of dollars that were funnelled into making the next weapon. 

James, Steve, Bruce, Natasha, Tony, and so many more. People forced into impossible situations and told to survive. 

Your fingers clenched so hard into your palm they felt like they would cut. Somehow, someway, you would work so that this didn’t have to keep happening, even if it was just to help those around you.

Something was choking him, but his arms wouldn’t work. Coughing, sputtering, he wretched up whatever it was. Gasping, someone was speaking, a thing was shoved in his mouth, sucking up the goop inside. He tried to open his eyes, fighting for them to at least show him who he was fighting for. It was all a blur. The lights were like runny paint in his eyes. His hands finally moved, barely dragging at the fabric of the bed.

Bed.

He was in a bed. Was it a hospital? Hydra? 

“You need to breathe, Mr. Barnes.” Someone said to his side as his breath came out in short pants. 

This wasn’t right. He needed to get out of here. Why couldn’t he remember where he was? He fought against the bedding; there were no straps. His body froze. They hadn’t strapped him in. The bed was comfortable, their voice soft, not demanding. His left arm was gone, no metal, no plates clicking, just gone.

“There you go; I know this is probably confusing.” The voice continued. “You are in Wakanda; we are helping you.”

Wakanda. Where was Wakanda?

“You’re in Africa, eastern Africa.” 

“Ultron,” His throat tightened to the point it was hard to breathe.

“He’s dead, well, we hope he’s dead,” The voice replies, tone even and practical. “You just came out of cryo, so your mind is going to be a little altered. Can you relax your arm, please?”

No Ultron, Wakanda, that meant no Hydra. He just couldn’t remember how he knew that. He closed his eyes. Images of hallways came in, so many hallways. Memories. Hallways and memories. His stomach heaved, and he turned his head in time for it to go over into a waiting bucket. It was almost nothing, more fluid than actual vomit. 

“Get it out. We will make sure you get some proper food soon.” Looking up, he saw a woman watching him, holding the bucket as if it were a normal day for her. “Cryo is rough on the body, not to mention you had surgery.”

“Hydra?” He coughs out, it had to be. 

She gave him a soft smile, not condescending, but comforting. “Not Hydra,” She says, a name, one he should know, again. “Do you want me to send her in?”

He blinks several times, clearing his eyes some more. “Who is she?” 

“I can’t tell you details, got to let your brain sort that out on its own.” The kind doctor says as she adjusts a few things on her tablet. “But she is important to you, been waiting for you to wake up.”

“Okay,” He replies, nodding his head. The room is clearer now, it's cosy and comfortable. The space is lit up by dim lights, the wall is made up of wood and sand-like plaster so that it doesn’t feel so sterile. 

A memory of a woman falling comes to mind, her body going over an edge. She’d been wearing his shirt; she hadn’t been scared, just determined. Another image of her in his arms, she had been bleeding. Whoever she was, he could feel his heart tighten, reaching for her. 

The woman stands and goes to the door, opening it up. He watches her gesture for someone to come inside.

You walk into the room, unsure of what lies past the door. James is sitting up against pillows, propped up, awake, mostly tube-free. He had struggled while waking up; it had been hard to watch. Not knowing if he would be combative or even remember anything. Seven weeks. It felt like a lifetime ago now. They had put James back into cryo after the surgery to do further testing. Despite things coming back positive, Shuri had found no activity to the words that would be concerning; his brain was acting as it should.  

Putting on a brave face, you look at him, really look, his blue eyes focus on you. Brows furrowing as he looks you up and down, trying to place you, to understand who you are. It was unnerving seeing him like this, just in a hospital gown, armless. You try to keep your body neutral, moving over to sit beside him. His eyes follow how you move, how you sit, fixating on your knee. It was still wrapped in a brace, but was moving better every day. You didn’t have to use a cane or forearm crutches for most things, unless it was long walks. 

Pulling the chair closer, you have to fold your hands over themselves so that you don’t reach for him. Touching him had been normal, but now it was starting at square one. He didn’t remember who you were, not yet. One step at a time; you have to keep reminding yourself.

“Been a while, James,” You say, not sure where to start. Steeling your heart, you give him your name, watching his eyes flick back and forth. “I think Yuri explained some. She's been your primary neurologist since you went under. Helped perform your surgery. Very talented doctor.”

James nods, still staring at you. You can almost hear the wheels turning. His right hand goes over to his left, fingers running over where his left arm used to be. Fingers tracing over the metal plating that's still there. His eyes flicker closed for a moment as he presses against a scar.

“If it hurts, they have figured out a combination of medication that will help,” You explain, carefully reaching to grab the PCA pump. “Just got to press the button.”

You place it beside his right hand, watching as he looks down at it before looking back up at you. He doesn’t grab it, fingers coming down to lie on the sheets. It was hard to let it go, to not want to push things. You just wanted to feel his skin under yours, to know that he was alive, real.

“I am not supposed to explain things to you. Got to let your mind piece things together.” You continue, trying to find a way to fill the space. “I’ve been in your shoes, forgetting things, people. It’s hard. But it will come back.”

Another nod from him. His face almost completely impassive, not giving away anything that was going on in his mind. It was almost comedic; James, when he wasn’t on mission, was incredibly expressive and you could almost read his thoughts just by watching him at meetings. Now he was hidden away again, so far away. Your heart twisted, biting at your lip.

“Steve found this curry place, the food is so good. He just got the spiced rice and plain chicken. I will have to bring you some if you want?” Just talk about anything at this point, you thought to yourself. It felt so awkward, so unnatural. 

“Steve?” James’ eyes dart towards the door, then back at you. 

That stung. You had to remind yourself that Steve and James had known each other for almost ten times longer than you did. Of course, he would remember Steve first. This was normal. You hadn’t remembered him right away when you had woken up. 

“Yeah, Steve Rogers. He is going to be coming to visit in a few days. Probably bring a few friends, Sam, Natasha.” You kept your tone as even as possible, watching to see if there was any recognition there. If there was any, he didn’t show it. “Why don’t I tell you what I can?”

James looked around for a moment, seemingly confused, before continuing. “Okay, I remember some.”

“That’s good. Do you want to tell me? Or should I go first?” 

“You.”

“Your name is James Bauchan Barnes, but most people call you Bucky. I’ve always called you James; it felt appropriate at first. Then it just became our thing. Kinda stuck.”

“We are friends.”

“Yes, I like to think so. I haven’t known you as long as Steve. I think he’s known you longer than anyone else.”

“Steve helped me leave Hydra?”

“Yes, he did, made sure you got here too.”

“With you?” 

You have to bite your tongue for a moment: “Yes. I had to have my own surgery done.”

His brows furrow, and he fiddles with the tube beside him. “For your knee. It’s better?”

“Yeah, a lot better actually. Can walk without crutches for the most part. I still get tired, but it’s getting better.”

“You were hurt, shot. I saw you fall.” His hand flips over, fingers letting go of the tubing. 

Nodding, you keep going, “You’re starting to remember; that’s good.”

“Did I hurt you?” His voice was so low, his eyes glassy as he looked away from you. It was barely a question, as if he had already resigned himself to having done it.

You go to reach for his hand, but stop. “Can I hold your hand?”

He nods his head and lets you take his. “Yes.”

The way your fingers fit together fills you with warmth and courage to keep going. “It wasn't you.” He shakes his head, fingers squeezing yours. A small sigh escapes. “It was your body, your hands, but I knew it wasn't you. The Soldier didn't have a choice. The man that I know didn't have a choice. That's why we are here. So you will always have a choice.”

His hand shakes in yours. “I have a choice?”

Moving just slightly so you're in his eyeline. “Yes. You can choose whatever comes next.”

Something breaks in him, a cog clicking into place, as a muffled sob escapes him.

Part 35

If you can believe it.. happy times are coming, even if its just a for a little while.

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The hallways seem brighter than Bucky remembers, and the doors are more spread out. He keeps track of them, looking for a repeating pattern, and he knows this place loops like an interwoven maze. It should also divide somewhere, breaking off into two other hallways. The Soldier will be in here, pacing, walking, in his own version of hell. Did he even know that time had passed? That he was stuck in a never-ending prison. 

Bucky comes to the juncture and sees him, not fully, just a flash of movement. He knew Bucky was here and was avoiding him, while continuing to watch him. An intruder in the lion's domain. Sighing, Bucky stops. There was no point chasing the Soldier or trying to get him to stop. He had to let the Soldier come to him. 

“Look, I know, this is weird. Really, really, weird. But I would like to talk to you, maybe we can-” Bucky sighs and slumps onto the floor. “We share the same brain. I am in a coma, but I don’t feel like it’s a coma.”

Around a corner, the Soldier stands; he looks like Bucky, but younger. The same face from when he had fallen off the train, his hair long, dark, and unkempt. The metal arm he wore was one of the first designs; it was loud and clunky, and the fingers didn’t move well. It was also heavy; Bucky could see the way he leaned as he moved. The Soldier blinked at him and then disappeared. This happened several times; he would come from a different direction, always quiet, nearly undetectable. Still, they were the same person, and Bucky often spotted him first.

“You can keep watching me,” Bucky calls out, “I am you, and you are me, or something. I think it's okay. to talk” 

The Soldier appears and stands in front of him, blue eyes shining from behind the black, smudged paint spread across his eyes. It was hard to get a read on him like this. Bucky watches him, interested in how he doesn’t bother to hide now. Pacing just out of reach, but never letting his eyes leave where Bucky sits.

“I am not good at talking,” Bucky sighs, “Your name is James Buchanan Barnes. From New York, Brooklyn, to be exact. Our best friend is Steve Rogers, though you might not recognize him anymore. The guy almost puts us to shame, though I think he holds back.”

He stops and leans against the wall, arms crossed, face still blank. Bucky clicks his tongue and debates whether to keep going or not. Did this matter? Was this actually going to help? He was in a goddamn coma, being worked on by Shuri. At least he hoped that was what was happening. His brain was still scrambled, and he didn’t remember what it had been like in the crypods.

“You’ve been in here for a few years now,” Bucky fiddles with the edge of his shirt. “Steve got me out, and Doc, well, she kept us out. Got us here, she is probably the best thing to happen to us.”

The man slid down the wall, his hand coming up and touching the mask on his face. Shoulders sagging as he stares down at the worn tactical boots. The metal arm whirs and grinds; it sounds so uncomfortable. Bucky knew it was uncomfortable.

Bucky doesn't move, but gestures at the arm. “That comes off you know. If you twist it counterclockwise, it will click, then pull down and turn back clockwise, it will slide off.”

There is silence for a moment, the Soldier just stares. Bucky shrugs; he wasn't going to try to make him do anything. He was already trapped here, Bucky wasn’t even sure he could touch him. Then the man moved, carefully doing what he had been instructed to do. The arm popped off, and the man visibly sighed as it hit the ground with a loud thump. He rolled his shoulders, the bones cracking and popping with the lack of weight.

The Soldier had more of his original arm than Bucky had now. The amputation was just below his elbow. It hadn't held up over the years; the joint had slowly degraded. They'd kept it for as long as possible before shortening it. Bucky vividly remembered them doing surgery on it. They couldn't keep up the anesthesia with his metabolism, so they had resorted to chaining him to the table. Bucky had lost count of how many times they’d cut into him. 

“There's no handlers coming," Bucky keeps talking; he doesn't know why, just that it feels like the right thing to do. “Hydra, well, the Hydra we knew is gone. There is a woman, Shuri, who is helping us get free. I don't know how it all works, but after this, you and I won't be controlled anymore.”

The Soldier’s face clouds, hand rubbing at the mask again. It was always uncomfortable, a muzzle, a guard, and yet he kept it on. Bucky could still feel the edges of the mask, how it dug into his skin. Often leaving deep grooves where it had been left in place.

“You can take the muzzle off, promise.” Bucky tries to coax him. The man just sat watching, listening, waiting. “Do you know Doc? Feels weird calling her our girl, she can't be contained or owned. I don't think either of us would want that. When Ultron -”

The Soldier sat up straighter, his human hand clenched in a fist. Bucky half expected him to jump at him. Blue eyes filled with rage at the name, breathing coming in tight, controlled inhales. The man’s body had started to shake with anger. Head turning to look up and down the hallway like he was expecting Ultron to appear.

“Yeah, he was a piece of shit.” Bucky keeps going. “They say he's gone now, can't hurt her or us.”

The Soldier gives a curt nod at that. Relaxing slowly back against the wall. Eyes closing for a moment, as he gets his breath under control. It was interesting to see how upset he got at that.

“Is it ‘cause Ultron hurt her?” Bucky prods, already knowing the answer.

He nods and swallows, fingers going behind his head to take off the muzzle. There is a deep red indent from it, sitting so long on his face, the paint had seeped under it. Despite being younger, the man looked worn and weighed down by his stay here. 

“She doesn't blame us.” Bucky sighs, shaking his head. “She should. Should have stayed far away, but I don't think anything would have stopped her. If I told her to stay away, she would; she respects us. That would have probably been the end of me and you. Not sure how, but I've thought of a few ways.” More silences follow, the Soldier nods at the statements occasionally. “If we make it out of this, we've got to do it together, as a whole person. Make a life for ourselves here, or somewhere calm. Not just for us, but for her too.” Bucky quietly says your name. “However, that looks like. I just can't do it without you.”

The Soldier turns to look at Bucky and nods his head. He was listening to him and understood what was going on. That was more than Bucky could ask for.

You sat there in front of the tank, leg on a chair, brace on it, tablet in hand, watching the readings. If something changed, and you’d noted it down, diligent as ever. It had been almost five days since James had gone under, five days of watching, waiting, and wondering. Cortisol had stayed the same; catecholamine, vasopressin, and gonadotropin barely fluctuated. You had carefully researched all the levels, and Shuri had fed it into your tablet.

Yet, nothing had fluctuated above normal or indicated that James was aware of what was going on. Scientifically, he was in the unknown, a world between worlds. Anaesthetic awareness was not well understood, which left you still hoping he wouldn’t remember what was happening. You clung to that hope with all you had.

“You're going for surgery tomorrow,” Steve had come in, handing you something warm. “Aren’t you supposed to be destressing?”  

Sighing, you take a sip of tea, something herbal and fruity, “This is destressing for me.” 

Steve chuckles and drags a chair over to you, “He’s stable, responding well to treatment. Shuri couldn’t be happier with how things are going. He’s got over a dozen people watching him.”

Worrying at your lip, you close your tablet. “You’re right, Steve. I am here cause I know I am going to be in a bed for the next several days, and I am scared. Honestly terrified. I would rather wait right here until this is over. Till I know James will be okay."

“I could probably come up with some speech,” Steve crossed his arms and ankles, as he sat, “None of them would make you feel any better, or change that Buck is in a frozen tube.” He worries his lip. “You and I both know he won’t want you waiting. He would want you to go to surgery tomorrow and take care of yourself. Trust the people around you."

You nod, still not feeling certain, “I know. It’s this last little bit of control that I have, and I know I can say no, keep waiting.”

“Or you could let it go. It’s a new chapter, a new day, for both of you.” Steve continues, you hate how logical he is. “It’s hard to let go of control, but take it from someone who had to come to terms with a lot. It’s better to let go and to try and move forward.”

“Making me feel bad here, Steve,” You tease, trying to let yourself settle down and not burst into tears. He was right, James won’t want you sitting here.

“Also, selfishly, I could kind of use both of you on my team.” Steve sighs, leaning back in his chair.

“Not sure how much we can help you, considering we are all on lockdown. Enders are still out, Zemo is in a black site box, people are dying, and the Avengers are handcuffed.” You continue, the two of you had already thoroughly discussed all of this. It was stressful, and the international governments didn’t want any extra problems. “On top of that, there is an insurgency of alien activities all over the planet, and we have no idea why.”

Steve nods, “Wanda and Vision haven’t been in contact, our two most powerful allies, in hiding. Tony keeps going on these tours like he’s dying. Man donated almost a billion dollars in the last few months.”

“So, what do we do?” You lean back and look at him.

“We keep going, keep living,” Steve explains like it’s a simple. “Carve out lives for ourselves, while helping those who want help. Whatever that looks like. I thought I wasn't doing speeches?"

A snort leaves you, as you turn back to look at James.“You're good at it, Steve. Help me keep me level headed while I feel like I keep rehashing the same thing,”

Reaching up, you touch the glass, wishing so badly that you could talk to James. It didn’t feel right leaving him here, knowing that you won’t be able to see him. 

“That’s why I am here,” Steve grins, patting your shoulder. “Can run all the thoughts by me as much as you want. And I will make sure you stay grounded and actually go to your surgery tomorrow. Or I will have to wake up Buck, and he will tell you.”

“Fineeee,” You whine a little, a small smile crossing both your faces, “I will. I am going. I promised James, and you, and Shuri. No putting it off, tomorrow.”

“You got this, Doc.” Steve squeezes your shoulder. “This is going to be over before we know it.”

Watching your own surgery was surreal. You had seen and been a part of hundreds of surgeries, but this was different. For one, you could feel what was happening, see how the robotic arms moved, and push at your own knee. Watch as your own body is slowly opened up and exposed for them to access. They had set up a screen so that you could see a closer view of what was going on. The cuts were a few centimeters for the arthroscopy to happen. Robotic hands operated by surgeons just beyond the plexiglass carefully cut and removed damaged tissue. The epidural made it so that you didn’t feel pain, but you could still feel the movements. 

Tugs and pulls, pressure that felt like it should hurt. Really, if you didn’t have the nerve block, it would. You knew this logically, and yet it was still wild to see. Just behind you, an anesthesiologist watched everything carefully. If you felt uncomfortable or like you needed to be put fully under, they would do that. 

“The patella will be removed, and the bone on the femur and tibia will be reshaped.” Shuri gave you the details over a communication device in your ear as the arms moved. She had given you several videos of similar surgeries that had been performed in this room. It gave you a clear itinerary of how things would progress. 

Small pieces were carefully pulled from the slits. Skin was incredibly flexible, stretching just enough that pieces could slip through. It took precision and careful understanding of the body to know exactly how much stretch a cut had before it would tear. Each piece was placed on a tray as other arms moved in with grinders and a vacuum; they would work in tandem to make sure no sliver was left. The tools moved with amazing precision. 

“Once the area is clear of damaged tissue, we will place nano-implants that will place exact amounts of antibiotics into the wound,” Shuri explained as you watch tiny microscopic pieces be placed inside the wound. “As well as similar ones that will help with pain and inflammation management.”

The camera zoomed in, and you watched as they opened up several small pieces of muscle to place the implants inside. They won’t even need to stitch them up, as the wounds started to heal almost immediately. Your mouth falls open as you watch them place each tiny capsule. Over time, they would release the antibiotics, then degrade and be eaten by your immune system in a little over a week. Lowering your chances of getting an infection by over seventy percent. It would make the healing process much easier.

“Next, we will be drilling into bone, creating a space for the new bone to grow into. This will be for both the femur and the tibia. Then we will carefully put in the new pieces of bone.” Shuri continues, you watch on the screen and look down at your own knee. “Like two puzzle pieces, be perfectly aligned with each other.”

It’s hard to see anything from your vantage point. Arms carefully dab away the residual liquid that leaks out, the blood that occasionally pops up through the medication. Other hands operate suction, while some use retractors to make sure the wound stays open and accessible. Lights are moved and turned in different directions. Cameras spinning and showing inside and outside. It was a technical dance of epic proportions. Something that felt more like it belonged in a movie than here and now.

A small cart is pushed in, on it is all the new implant material, carefully placed in hermetically sealed packaging. Each piece had been printed mere hours ago. They had been printed out of your own genetic material. It was baffling. Dr. Helen Cho had explained it to you a dozen times, but it was still mind-boggling. They made sterile genetic proteins, and then injected them with your DNA and ran it through a printer that could make whatever they asked it to. No need for donors, you could have a new set of lungs printed and be ready to go in within a day. It was revolutionary. 

As these processes spread into the world, they would change everything. It would decrease the wait time for operations. Creating new specialities, equipment, tools, and new schooling. It made your head spin. People would have options, choices that could reshape their lives. Getting a joint replacement would no longer be a last resort; it would be something that could improve someone's life without lengthy recovery times. These surgeries would lower the number of amputations that happen. There was so much to consider. 

“We will now insert the bone pieces through the slots.” Shuri details as the robotic arm takes a piece and slides it inside, before there is an audible click. You just barely register the pressure of it before another is put in and clicked into place.

Over the next thirty minutes, pieces are slid in. A bonding agent was injected, welding the bone to new bone. Creating a callus that would speed up healing. There would be no meta hardware, screws, or rods placed. Just bone. Your bone. Strong and new. As if your own body had regrown the pieces itself. 

“Injections will be placed in the articular cartilage, near the patella, synovial membrane, and both medial and lateral meniscus. This will help regrow the damaged soft tissue and make sure all the cushion, meniscus, etc, that has been missing is now regrown.” Shuri’s voice comes over the speaker. 

That was a whole other thing, regrowing soft tissues that often wore away with age. Meaning less pain, less wear. You had to stop yourself from shaking with excitement. The more you learned, the more you wanted to study it. Then share it with anyone you can. Shuri and Dr. Cho had both agreed to make it free to anyone, they’d hold the patent, and make sure that no one could put a price tag on it. 

A needle is put in the slit, and you can actually feel the liquid being pushed in between the joints. It was a weird feeling, not painful, but warm and tingly. There were dozens placed, the camera directing exactly where they had to go. As they did that, the actual patella packaging was opened up. It was the next piece to be slid inside. The cut was widened by just a further centimeter. The patella was printed so that it was soft, flexible cartilage, making it easier to place than fully hardened bone. It was similar to the bone implants and injections; they would solidify and heal over the next week. 

Through the next hour, they finish installing the patella, gluing things into place, and implanting more antibiotic and pain-killing nanos. They carefully started to stitch up from the inside out. Muscles and veins were carefully grafted back together. Muscle and skin tissue are layered perfectly over one another. The scarring would be almost invisible. Pure craftsmanship.

“This is amazing,” You say out loud, a little giddy, but making sure not to move your body. “The robotics, printed materials, and how it’s installed. Wow. Well done, to everyone.”

You aren’t sure how long you sit there, watching as they finish up. The leg is swollen, but not nearly as much as it could be. It would continue to swell for the next couple of days, and there would be pain and other issues. There were two small drains attached to keep fluid down and help speed up healing. Doctors, nurses, and techs come in and begin to remove instruments, dressings, and other equipment. Shuri came in beaming, as always, so enthusiastic that it was infectious.

“Doc, what did you think?” She asks as the nurses help move you onto your gurney. “It went very smoothly, nothing of note. The damage that we expected to see was what was there. We will be doing scans in a week to see how the bones are bonding. That said, we aren’t expecting any issues.”

Reaching out, you gently take Shuri’s hand, squeezing it. “Thank you, Shuri, for giving me my life back.”

She grins, “Let's get you through rehab, and your boyfriend awake, then you can thank me.”

The Soldier now sat beside Bucky, still out of reach, not that either of them had weapons. Bucky wasn’t sure he could fight the kid. Could you fight yourself? The idea alone made his stomach twist; he barely remembered being that age. He had so many questions, but the man won’t talk to him. Nod his head, shrug, grunt occasionally, that was it. 

“It’s a lot different outside now. This Accords thing has fucked us, Jesus. I kind of get it, a bunch of overpowered monkeys getting in the way of them making money. Upset the whole world order bullshit. We upset the world order.” Bucky is rambling; it’s weirdly therapeutic. Better than talking to any of the other over-stuffed therapists. “I know you won't reply, but I think we should try stepping away from fighting. All we've done is fight, got drafted, then Hydra, doesn't mean we won't fight again. Not sure what I'll do with myself. I really like the chickens and the goats. Never thought I’d have that.”

“Tired.” The Soldier's voice was rough, deep, and cracked from years of being in here unused. 

Bucky just stares at him for a moment. He'd actually spoken, after countless hours of Bucky talking about everything and anything, the Soldier had spoken. 

“Yeah. I think we are both tired.” Bucky replies, a deep part of him wants to give the man a hug. “Once this is done, and we don't have the words in our head anymore. Going to take time to actually rest. Spend time with our girl, that isn't just fighting and running.”

The whole place flickers. The lights go out, doors shuffle, floors blink in and out. Bucky goes from sitting beside the Soldier to standing in a completely different area. The walls are older here, soft paint and wallpaper. It smells like his and Steve's apartment building. He looks up and down, expecting to see something, anything. The Soldier has disappeared. Shit, where had he gone?

“Hey, uh, hello?” Bucky calls out, voice echoing around him.

Frustration built in his stomach as he tried to remember how the maze worked. The two sections the soldier had access to weren't connected to his. That was supposed to be changing; Shuri had talked about them merging together. His brain won't be split into two. There had been so many passages when Wanda and he had gone in. It was hard to even try to think where this was in the space of things. 

“Okay, there has to be a way.” Bucky bites at his lip. “This is my goddamn head. My brain. I need to find him.”

Rubbing at his face, he goes to the door and is surprised when it opens. He freezes. It's him, looking at the draft letter; his sister is in the background, tears flowing down her face. Bucky couldn't move, couldn't think, couldn't breathe. The gut punch hit him stronger than anything he could remember. Could feel his hands start to tremble, his heart racing; it was a nightmare. The younger version of him turned.

“This is it, isn't it?” Younger Bucky says. “We never come back home. They're all dead now, everyone.”

It's enough to snap him out of his stupor and move. The door closes with a click, tears running down Bucky's face. They burn, all this felt so real, too damn real. Wiping at his face, he had to prepare himself for this; the doors are memories. At least that’s what Bucky thought they were. Each one would hold unknown horrors that he would have to face.  Relived,

The next doors are similar, all from the apartment building. Some family, some with Steve, some with friends he had forgotten. Every single one felt real. It was as if he was experiencing every one of them for the first time. Feeling the horror, the shame, and the sadness. Some he could close faster than others. The trick was to close the door before it started, otherwise, he'd have to wait for a trigger to jerk him out of it.

Finally, he opened a door, and it was a new hallway; he almost shut it out of habit. Then he looked, really looking, it sloped slightly upwards. The doors were different, a new loop of the maze. No more apartments, this would be something different. Bucky's shoulders sag. There were hundreds of these loops. Would he be able to find the Soldier? The other half of him had become a comfort, something that wasn't just empty hallways and memories shut behind doors. It felt vital for him to find him, to rejoin him, to try and reconnect with each other. 

“Okay, brain, mind,” Bucky spoke out loud. “Let's try something. I want to get back to where the Soldier is. To do that, I am going to close this door, then re-open it, and the hallway for him will be here?”

It seemed like a stupid idea. Maybe it was, but he needed to try something. Wandering around here for who knows how long, alone, filled him with dread. This was what the Soldier had been trapped in. An endless corridor that he had walked for years. Alone. He'd been so alone for so long. 

Bucky closed the door, took a deep breath, and he focused on remembering the corridor that the Soldier had been in. Remembering what he looked like, how it felt, that was where he wanted to go. When the door opened, that was where he'd be. It had to work. This was Bucky’s mind. No one else's. 

Opening the door, Bucky’s stomach dropped. This corridor was concrete, bathed in blue light, cold like snow. It was one of the Hydra bases in Siberia. 

“No.” Bucky's voice shook. “I am not going in there.” 

His feet moved without his say, body shuffling forward like a pawn piece. Bucky struggled trying to reach for the door, only to find the same corridor behind him. Shocked, he looked around, noting the heavy steel doors. He'd have to open them. Relive whatever terrible memory awaited behind them. There wasn't a way around it now; one of these doors would open to another hallway. One that might hold the fractured part of his mind that had survived this. 

“Fuck,” Bucky whispered to no one, feeling frozen in place. “Fuck all of this.”

The first three doors weren’t as shocking as he was expecting them to be. Him in the chair, one of many chairs, going through the routine he had gone through more often than not. It wasn’t shocking. Instead of anger, Bucky felt sadness. He was a kid when this happened; that part of his mind was trapped in here. Moving around the same corridors over and over. Did the Soldier ever see these memories? Experience them without understanding what was happening. 

The fourth door opens, and Alexander Pierce is standing on the other side, looking directly at Bucky. There is no time to close the door; his body is dragged inside the room without his say. The door slammed shut and melted into the metal paneling. 

“Look at you,” Pierce drawls, his voice feels warm, familiar. It slams ice into Bucky’s chest. “You’ve grown. Is that even possible? Didn’t think you could get any bigger.” 

Bucky can’t move as Pierce circles him, looking him up and down like a prized dog. He stops just inches from Bucky’s face, and for the first time, Bucky is looking down at him. Shaking, he tries his best to back away from him, to move, anywhere. Fighting him didn’t even cross his mind; this man had always had him under control. Never having needed to use the words. Just his presence made Bucky submit. It had been beaten into him to the point that it was now instinct. 

“You have grown, wider too, look like a bull,” Pierce chuckles, patting him on the shoulder. His hand was firm, solid, real. “Tell me, what have they been feeding you these days?” 

“You're in my head,” Bucky finally says. Pierce looks taken aback, snorting.

“I am real, son.” Pierce gives him a small smirk. “Flesh and blood. Without me, you won’t even be here.”

“This is my mind, my memory, I am just remembering how you would have acted,” Bucky says, his voice louder this time. Fingers twitching out of the hold his own mind had on him. “You’re not real. Not alive. Fury killed you.” 

Pierce lets out a myrthless chuckle, “Fury? You didn’t have the balls to do it yourself?” He clicks his tongue. “That’s a real shame. I always wondered which one of us would end up living longer.”

Bucky swallows, feeling his finger move again; if he could do that, he could get out. This was his mind, his, no one else’s. Pierce was dead, had been for a long time now. He needed to get out of here; letting Pierce live in his mind was only going to do more damage. 

“I am done with you,” Bucky says, voice getting louder and louder. “You don’t control me anymore.”

“You sure about that-”

“Get out,” Bucky says, lifting his hands and pushing against Pierce with all of his might.

The man’s eyes go wide as he falls back. The floor disappears behind him; he starts to fall into the blackness of nothing. The man’s arms reach up, trying to grab at Bucky as he tumbles away. Standing there, Bucky watches as the man disappears in front of him. Pierce was no more. Bucky blinks, realizing that tears have fallen again. That man, who had tortured, brainwashed, and manipulated him for decades, was gone. 

The light in the room was low, and the monitor near you beeped rhythmically with your own heart. You squint a little, shifting against the cot. A twinge in your knee made you freeze; looking down, you could see two drains coming out of your knees. Your IV port itched; that was new. It was in a different arm than before.

“Glad to see you’re awake,” Steve says, making you jump. He was sitting to your right with his sketch book in hand. 

You blink a few times, epidural or not, you were still wiped after the surgery. The painkillers were doing their job and made you feel like you had three drinks too many. 

“Stevie,” You cough out the words, it was much harder to talk than you expected. 

Steve moved quickly to grab some water for you. Taking it, you carefully sip it, surprised by how much of a cotton mouth you have. Groaning, you swallow a few times and cough again, trying to clear your throat. Steve stands close by, forehead furrowed. 

“They have your pain meds on a timer, but mentioned that it could be increased if you're hurting,” Steve explained, already looking at the door. 

You wave a hand, “I am okay, just really bad dry mouth. How long was I out for?”

Looking down at his watch, “Since you came out of surgery. One day, and eight hours.”

Shock hit your chest, “I was out for over a day?”

“Well, you were sort of in and out of consciousness. Last time you were up was about eight hours ago. You had a reaction to the pain meds, they had to remove some of those implants, and set you up with a new IV. Made you a bit loopy,” Steve explains, going over to the wall and hitting the call button by the door. 

“Damnit.” You curse, before pondering trying to get out of bed. Even with the pain meds, you could feel how your knee throbbed. “Was hoping there wouldn’t be any side effects.”

Steve leans against the side of your bed, making sure you’re looking at him. “Buck is fine. Don't even think about getting out of bed. He had some levels elevated, but Shuri’s team got it under control. She's been moving her algorithm along.” He reaches down and produces your tablet.

“What levels were elevated?” You go to ask as the door opens, a nurse comes in. Not giving you time to open up the device. 

He comes over, hands moving over a clear tablet. Quickly spouting out your levels, before going over to the wall, he looks at your IV. Carefully taping away at a screen and adjusting a couple of knobs.

“How are you feeling? He asks, a name tag was on his shirt, but your eyes couldn't focus on it.  

“Umm, okay. My eyes are a little out of focus, and I am hungry.” You reply, your knee was a dull throb, but not enough to increase the pain meds. 

The nurse moves to pull out a pen light, “I am going to get you to look at the light.”

You do as he asks, following the light, then his finger. Blinking several times, you gently rub at your eyelids. It was slightly less blurry than before, but still not clear. 

“I am not seeing anything concerning, but I am going to note it on your chart. If it’s still bothering you, we'll follow up with an optometrist.” He says, clicking away on the tablet quickly. “Do you need an increase in the pain meds?” 

“No, I think I am fine.” You really can only think of James right now; you need to take a look at the tablet. Find out what had been going on while you had been asleep.

“Well, why don’t we see how you are putting weight on the joint?” The nurse holds out his hand. 

That makes you hesitate; you knew this was part of the recovery process, but it was also terrifying. It had been operated on just over twenty-four hours ago. 

“Okay, I didn’t get your name,” You reply as Steve and the nurse help you sit at the edge of the bed. 

“Kona,” He replies, grabbing a walker and bringing it over. “Nurse Kona.”

“Thank you, Kona,” You reply, taking a breath as you reach for the walker. 

It’s sturdy, with rubber handles, already adjusted to your size. You wonder if you’d walked before and had forgotten. Kona steps to your side, letting you dictate the pace. It feels unreal to be pushing yourself to stand, pain flares around the edges as your socked foot hits the cool floor. You lean heavily on the handles, your toes flexing as you try to carefully put weight onto the joint. It holds. 

“There you go, a lot better than earlier,” Kona confirms your own thoughts. “Let's try to shuffle a little, be good if you could get to the toilet.”

Steve keeps guard on your other side. Between the two men, there was a very slim chance of you buckling. Taking several breaths, you shuffle forward. It hurts, but not as badly as you thought it might. You can feel how heavy the joint is, the weight of the fluid, and the pull of the small stitches. To your surprise, you take several steps before needing to take a break. 

“Nicely done,” Kona praises, letting you lean heavily on the walker. “Three more steps, and you can use the facilities however you like.”

You chuckle at that, looking up and focusing on the door to the bathroom. It takes multiple sets of steps and several more pauses, but you make it to the toilet. A small wave of pride flows over you. 

“Alright, now that you’re moving around some. Tomorrow you’ll get fitted for a brace, and a physiotherapist will come with a program for you.” Koana replies as he helps you sit on the toilet. “We will try to get you moving every few hours, watch for swelling, discomfort. There is no need to tough this out, Doc. I know you and your stubbornness.”

Steve huffs, “Glad I am not the only one who knows.”

Kona smiles, “Between the two of us, we will make sure your pain levels are under control. I know you haven’t reacted well to them, but we have many options, and these seem to work without knocking you out.”

“Thank you,” You reply, trying to relax, despite sitting on a toilet in front of both of them. “Could I get a second?”

“Yes, of course. Just be outside.” Kona replies, Steve backing away slowly. 

PART 34

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The appendicitis had been such a sudden emergency that he still remembered the moment he woke up in the middle of the night, feeling you move over and over again and hearing soft moans. You were doubled over in pain, your hands pressed against your abdomen as you squeezed your eyes shut tightly to try to keep the tears from streaming down your cheeks.

You insisted that dinner must have just sat heavy in your stomach and that a pill should be enough, but Bucky wouldn’t accept that it could be enough, since his mind was racing through various scenarios that wouldn’t let him rest.

Without your permission, he picked you up in his arms to take you to the hospital.

The hours he spent sitting in the waiting room, with his hands clasped and his gaze fixed on the operating room doors, had seemed endless to him. No matter how many dangerous moments he’d lived through, none had caused him such anxiety, since all he could do was wait for the experts to treat you.

That’s why, once the doctors confirmed that the surgery had been a success and allowed you to return to the apartment, Bucky decided that during your recovery, you wouldn’t have to worry about a single thing.

“Don’t get up.”

That was the phrase he repeated most often.

It didn’t matter if you just wanted to reach for a glass of water or the remote control on the nightstand. Before you even stretched out your arm, he was already on his feet to grab whatever you wanted.

“Buck, I can do it myself…” you said with a playful smile.

“I know, sweetheart,” he replied with that calmness that masked immense concern. “But you need to get better.”

Bucky had prepared the couch with almost obsessive care so you could rest when you got tired of staying in bed. He’d arranged several pillows to support your back and sides, a soft blanket folded over the backrest, the remote control, the book you’d started reading the week before, and—inexplicably—even the little bell Alpine rang every time she wanted someone to fill her food bowl.

With one hand around your waist and the other holding yours, he helped you walk the few steps to the living room.

“Slowly…” he murmured.

His movements were so slow and careful that you barely noticed the moment he let you settle onto the sofa. He placed a pillow behind your back, another under your arm, and yet another beneath your legs, watching your face the whole time, alert to the slightest sign of pain or discomfort.

Only when he saw that you were breathing normally did he allow the tension to ease slightly from his shoulders.

You let out a sigh as you settled back, and then your eyes drifted toward the coffee table.

You frowned slightly.

“Seriously, honey? … The bell?”

You picked it up between your fingers and rang the little bell.

The tinkling had barely faded when Bucky replied with complete nonchalance.

“If you need anything, I’ll be able to hear you from the kitchen.”

You couldn’t help but laugh.

The vibration sent a slight twinge of discomfort through your abdomen, forcing you to place a hand over the area where you’d had surgery as you tried to catch your breath.

“Don’t make me laugh,” you said in a slightly plaintive tone.

He took a step toward you immediately.

“Did you hurt yourself? Let me check the wound.”

You shook your head with a smile on your lips and then raised the bell again.

“Do you think I’m a queen?”

As if she had perfectly understood the conversation, Alpine appeared from some corner of the apartment.

The white cat walked into the living room with her tail held high, swishing it with the elegance of someone convinced she ruled the place. Upon hearing the word “queen,” she pricked up her ears and let out a soft meow, accustomed to you calling her “Queen Alpine” every time she demanded attention… Although, honestly, she was more of a tyrant.

With a nimble leap, she landed on the coffee table.

Bucky let out a little snort of laughter as he scratched the back of his neck, aware of how ridiculous the whole thing must look.

“I just want to make sure you don’t exert yourself, darling."

Alpine, completely oblivious to the conversation, stretched one of her paws toward the bell.

Ding… Ding… Ding…

She rang it several times in a row while meowing and looking at Bucky.

You pointed at the cat with a smile.

“I think Queen Alpine is starving.”

Bucky let out a short sigh that was half worry and half amusement.

“Ring the bell if you need anything,” he said before kissing your forehead and heading to the kitchen.

☆

While he was making lunch, you’d put on a movie to take your mind off things.

From the living room, you could hear the rhythmic sound of the knife hitting the cutting board as he chopped vegetables with the precision that only Bucky seemed to possess. Then came the gentle bubbling of the pots and, every now and then, the murmur of his voice as he quietly went over the instructions the doctor had given them. It was as if he were studying for an exam on which the entire world depended.

Bucky had always enjoyed cooking for you, surprising you with elaborate dinners after long days at work, but since the operation he seemed to have become an even more meticulous chef. He double-checked every ingredient, verified the portions, and followed the doctor’s recommendations almost to the letter, afraid of making even the slightest mistake.

You had barely started a new movie when Bucky returned with a tray in his hands.

“Time to eat,” he announced as he set the tray on the table.

He had prepared chicken broth with rice, vegetables cut into small cubes, and shredded chicken. Beside it sat a glass of water, your medications, and a couple of perfectly folded napkins.

You tried to sit up on your own, but you couldn’t quite manage it. Bucky’s hands gently wrapped your arms around his neck to help you up, guiding you slowly until you were sitting upright without straining your abdomen at all.

“Buck…” you whispered with a mix of tenderness and resignation. “I’m pretty sure I could’ve done that on my own.”

You slowly untangled the arms he’d placed around you.

“I just hope you’re not planning on feeding me by hand,” you murmured once he turned his back to you to pick up the plate of food.

Bucky remained silent as he turned on his heels and slowly looked down at the spoon he was already holding in one hand, filled with broth and a little rice.

You’d discovered it by accident.

You would have laughed if only your abdomen weren’t so tender from the surgery, so you let a broad smile spread across your face.

“Come on, Bucky,” you said as you held out your arms toward him. “I can feed myself.”

For a few seconds, he looked at you with a furrowed brow and that slight pout he made whenever something didn’t sit right with him, but finally he let out a small sigh of defeat as he carefully handed you the plate.

“Thanks,” you hummed happily.

You picked up the spoon, but before taking a sip of the soup, you looked up at him.

“Eat with me, okay?”

Bucky didn’t hesitate to nod.

And like the obedient boyfriend he was when it came to you, he went back to the kitchen to serve himself a bowl of soup. He returned a few moments later carrying a dining room chair under his arm and sat down next to you.

He refused to sit on the couch, since it had to be all yours for your rest.

Not even five minutes had passed when Alpine appeared, sitting on the floor next to your legs.

Alpine remained completely still, her tail carefully curled around her front paws. Her huge blue eyes darted from Bucky’s bowl to yours with almost admirable patience, as if she were convinced that, sooner or later, one of you would make the mistake of dropping a piece of chicken.

You lowered your spoon slowly.

“Don’t look at me like that…”

The cat responded with a soft meow.

“She’s putting on an act,” Bucky remarked before taking another spoonful of soup into his mouth. “She ate less than an hour ago.”

Alpine meowed again, this time in a slightly more plaintive tone.

“Did you hear that?” you smiled. “She says that’s slander.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow.

“What she’s saying is that she wants chicken.”

The cat, as if to prove him right, lifted a paw and gently rested it on your knee.

“No, miss. The sergeant says you’ve already eaten.”

Alpine withdrew her paw with obvious disappointment and slowly turned her head toward Bucky, but he remained impassive.

“Don’t even look at me.”

Another meow.

“No.”

One more.

“Alpine…”

The cat narrowed her eyes.

“I’m not going to negotiate with you.”

You watched the scene with a smile that hadn’t come so naturally in days. It was strange how an argument with a cat could make the apartment feel light again after the scare you’d both just been through.

Bucky finally got up from his chair and set his plate on the tray.

“I’ll be right back.”

He disappeared into the kitchen for a few seconds and returned with a small bag of cat treats.

Alpine sprang to her feet immediately, meowing even louder around him.

“Oh, right…” you murmured, amused. “Soup without salt for me, and treats for her.”

“She didn’t just come out of surgery,” he replied matter-of-factly.

“I’m recovering; I should get treats too,” you complained, feigning sadness.

Bucky let out a quiet laugh as he placed a couple of treats on the floor for the cat to eat. Then he pretended to think about it for a few seconds.

He walked over to where you were sitting and, without warning, leaned in to plant a slow kiss on your forehead, then another on your nose, and one more at the corner of your lips.

“There’s your treat,” he murmured, giving your chin an affectionate stroke.

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks and gently bit your lower lip, trying to suppress the silly smile forming on your lips.

“Is that all? No more prizes?” you said with feigned innocence.

“Just that, sweetheart. You’re greedy—you’re going to want more,” he replied with a teasing smile.

Your lips parted dramatically as you took a breath, and then your cheeks flushed a little more. You gave him a gentle, playful punch in the stomach that made him laugh.

“You’d better take my plate before you force a convalescing girl to give you what you deserve,” you joked as you handed him your plate.

He took the plate right away and noticed you’d barely eaten half the soup. That pang of concern and overprotectiveness surfaced again.

“Are you feeling sick? Do you want to go to the hospital?” he asked hurriedly.

You slowly shook your head and raised a hand to give his forearm an affectionate squeeze.

“I’m fine, honey. I feel full,” you replied, trying to reassure him.

He didn’t press the issue. He knew your appetite wasn’t what it used to be and that it might take a few days for it to fully return.

He cleared away the plate, took the dose of pills you needed from the bottle, and handed them to you along with a glass of water.

You took your pills while he rearranged the pillows.

“Are you comfortable?”

“I am, Buck.”

“Don’t you need another pillow?”

You looked around, unable to believe he was offering you another pillow when you were practically surrounded by every pillow in the apartment.

“If you keep piling on pillows, I’m going to disappear among them.”

He looked at the little fort of cushions he’d built around you and let out a soft chuckle.

“...I might have gone a little overboard,” he murmured, embarrassed.

Alpine had already claimed his chair, so he ended up sitting on the floor, right next to your legs.

He let his head rest on your thighs, being just as careful as he had been ever since they returned from the hospital. You ran your fingers through his hair, gently massaging his scalp.

Bucky finally allowed himself to let his guard down as he sighed and let you show him affection.

“Sorry if I’m being too… intense,” he said, his voice sincere and a little embarrassed. “All of this happened so suddenly, and it was awful not being able to do anything while you were in the operating room.”

Your fingers froze on his hair as you listened to him.

“Bucky…” you whispered.

Before you could say anything, his hand gently squeezed your calf as he pressed his lips against your knee.

“I still can’t believe you wouldn’t let me feed you. Maybe that means you’re getting better.”

You let out a little amused snort before lightly ruffling his dark hair.

“I have to admit that once I’m recovered, I’m going to miss being taken care of so devotedly by you.”

A crooked smile appeared on his face as he settled onto his knees to be at the level of your face.

“Then I’ll find excuses to spoil you,” she murmured as she cradled your face in her hands. “Like this…” she murmured once more before giving you a soft kiss on your cheek. “And like this…” She gave you a soft, chaste kiss on your lips.

Ding… Ding…

They both had to break that sweet kiss to look toward the bell, which Alpine had rung again.

Bucky let out a weary laugh.

“She’s definitely a very untimely cat.”

“Don’t blame her,” you said, stroking his cheek. “She’s just taking advantage of the fact that the handsome nurse of the house doesn’t know how to say no.”

“It takes very little for either of you to manipulate me…”

You’re staring at the clock, watching the way the seconds hand moves. It’s so slow, slower than other clocks, you think. The minutes drag on painfully, each tiny tick echoing off the floors.

You hear the sliding doors open for the twentieth time, not bothering to look towards it until you hear the sound of your boyfriend’s voice drift through the hall.

Bucky Barnes.

He sees you then, marching towards you like being pulled by a magnetic force, worry etched into every one of his features—bright blue eyes brimmed with concern, a small furrow between his brows that seems to live there permanently, now dipped even deeper at the sight of you hurt, holding your bloody arm.

“It’s just a small bite Buck, I’m fine, I swear.” You start speaking before he can get a word out, already trying to defuse him.

His hand rests on the side of your face, thumb brushing across your cheek gently and you melt into him, letting out a shaky breath as you feel the events of the day wash over you.

“You’re not fine. We wouldn’t be in the ER if you were fine.”

You bite your lip, refusing to meet his eyes.

“Why didn’t you call me when it happened?”

You shrug, looking down at your feet, mumbling, “Didn’t wanna bother you.”

His eyes soften at that, hand coming to rest on your chin, lifting it slightly until your eyes meet his.

“Hey, look at me. You could never bother me. I want to know if you’re hurt or in pain or sick. Let me be there for you. You don’t have to do everything yourself.”

Your lip wobbles slightly and you feel the lump in your throat rise at his words. You chew on the inside of your cheek to keep from crying, reaching out to him with your good arm, gesturing for him to sit.

He smiles gently before sitting next to you, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you into his side. You nuzzle closer, letting his warm scent wash over you—a calming balm after the day you’d had.

Bucky angles himself so that you lean into him fully, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. His lips linger, eyes shutting at the feel of you safe, in his arms.

“Hurts Buck.” You pout up at him, angling your arm towards him like a kid presenting their scraped knee.

“I know baby. Gonna get you fixed up and then we’ll go home and get you to bed.”

The minutes drag on, softer now than before—Bucky’s presence comforting in a way you didn’t know you needed. He mumbles against your skin every now and then, “Not too much longer now sweets,” followed by a kiss to your forehead, your cheek, the back of your hand.

You’ve lost count of how many times he’s asked if you’re comfortable, if your fever has gone up, if you need anything. The one time you said yes, asking for a snack, he’d come back with every possible snack you could think of from the vending machine, giving you a shrug and a “What? Choices.” when you’d rolled your eyes playfully.

When you finally see a doctor, Bucky asks more questions than you, listening intently with that soldier focus like he was being given mission instructions—which to him it was. He makes notes in his little book he carries around with him and you can’t help the way your heart lifts at the sight, despite the pain you were still in.

“Come on doll, let’s get you home.” Bucky practically carries you out of the hospital, much to your embarrassment, placing you in the car like you might break if he jostles you even slightly.

“Buckyyy, m’fineeee, leave me alone.” Your words have no bite, pushing his hands away half-heartedly, letting out a soft giggle as he buckles your seat belt, still fussing over you.

“Let me take care of you, doll.”

You shake your head, rolling your eyes playfully, a shaky laugh escaping as he moves over to the driver’s side.

When you finally get home, you don’t even bother trying to get yourself out of the car, Bucky already running over to you, carrying you inside like you’d broken every bone in your body.

He goes over the doctor’s orders with you, lining up your medicines on your bedside table, running back and forth between the kitchen and your room to grab anything you might need, setting it up next to you.

“Yeah, and then you’ve got the one course of anti—” Bucky’s mumbling to himself, eyes still frantic as he goes over everything once more.

“Bucky.”

“and then if you need anything from—”

“Bucky.” You say it louder that time, reaching for his hand.

He finally stops, eyes softening as he looks at you.

“Bucky, I’ve got everything I could possibly need and more.”

“I just want to make sure you’re—”

“Bucky, I am fine. I’ve got everything. Now will you please just come and lie down with me?”

Bucky takes a deep breath, rubbing his hand over his face before smiling.

“Yeah, yeah doll I can— I can do that.”

He sinks into the bed next to you, pulling you into his side, careful to not touch your injured arm. You rest your head on his chest—big, broad and so warm. You nuzzle yourself deeper into his chest and Bucky sighs, tracing lazy circles on your upper arm, lips coming to rest against your forehead before tangling his legs with yours.

You sigh, eyes fluttering shut as your body molds into his side, tired from the day you’d had.

“Sleep sweetheart, I’ve got you.”

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Behind you, you hear the soft, familiar sound of boots against the floor.

“Doll?” Bucky’s voice is low, careful—like he’s stepping into something delicate. “You been staring at that screen for, what, ten minutes now? You good?”

You don’t answer. You can’t. If you move, if you breathe wrong, if you blink too long, you’re convinced it’ll all disappear.

The page flickers.

Your heart stops.

CONFIRMED.

For a second, there’s nothing. No sound. No thought. No air.

And then it hits you all at once.

“Oh my god.”

It comes out as a strangled gasp, your hands flying to your mouth as your eyes scan the screen like you don’t trust it. Like it’s going to vanish if you don’t double-check.

“Oh my god—oh my god—oh my god—”

Your chair screeches back as you shove yourself up to your feet so fast it nearly tips over, hands shaking, heart racing so hard it feels like it might burst right out of your chest.

“I got them,” you choke out, voice already breaking. “I got them—I actually—Bucky, I got them—”

He barely has time to react before you launch yourself at him.

Bucky lets out a surprised huff as he catches you automatically, arms wrapping around you out of pure instinct as you cling to him, half laughing, half sobbing into his shoulder.

“You got—hey, hey—what happened?” he asks, pulling back just enough to look at you, his brows knit together in confusion. “What’d you get?”

“The tickets,” you breathe, grabbing his shirt like you need something solid to hold onto. “The tickets I told you about—the ones that sold out in, like, seconds last time? I got them. I actually got them.”

It takes him a second.

You see it—the moment it clicks.

And then his whole face softens.

“Oh,” he says quietly. “Oh, sweetheart…”

That’s all it takes.

You break.

A full, overwhelmed sob punches out of you, your hands flying back to your face as you start crying in earnest now—happy, disbelieving, years-of-waiting kind of tears.

“I never thought I’d get to see them,” you hiccup, pacing now, because you have too much energy in your body to stay still. “Like—ever. I’ve tried every time, Buck. Every single time. I always miss it or they sell out or something crashes and I just—”

You laugh through the tears, shaking your head like you still can’t believe it.

“But I got them. I actually got them.”

Bucky watches you like you’re something rare. Something precious.

Like he’s afraid if he looks away, he’ll miss it.

You spin in a circle, hands tangled in your hair, then dart back to your laptop to stare at the confirmation again just to make sure it’s still there.

“Wait—wait, what if it glitches? What if it didn’t actually go through?” you mutter, panic flickering back in.

“It went through,” Bucky says gently.

“But what if—”

He steps closer, one hand coming up to cup your cheek, grounding you instantly.

“Hey,” he murmurs. “Look at me.”

You do.

And just like that, the world quiets a little.

“You got ’em,” he says, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

Your eyes well up again, but this time it’s softer. Warmer.

You let out a shaky laugh.

“I’m gonna see them,” you whisper.

“Yeah,” he says. “You are.”

And then something in you bursts all over again—but this time it’s pure, unfiltered joy.

You let out a squeal—an actual, high-pitched, can’t-hold-it-back squeal—and bolt away from him, grabbing your phone, your body moving faster than your thoughts.

“I have to tell Sam—no, wait, I have to text—oh my god, what am I gonna wear? Bucky, what do people even wear to concerts like this? I need to plan everything—”

You start pacing again, already spiraling into excited chaos, your words tumbling over each other as you ramble, laugh, cry, and talk all at once.

And then, because you physically cannot contain it, you start dancing.

It’s not graceful. It’s not coordinated. It’s just you, jumping and spinning and laughing, music you can’t even hear already playing in your head as you bounce around the common room like you’ve been lit from the inside.

Bucky leans back against the couch, arms crossing loosely over his chest as he watches you.

There’s something in his expression that’s quiet. Fond. Almost… awed.

You catch him staring mid-spin.

“What?” you laugh breathlessly.

He just shakes his head, a soft chuckle slipping out.

“Nothin’,” he says. “Just… you’re real cute when you’re happy, you know that?”

Your face warms, but you can’t even pretend to be embarrassed—not when you feel like this.

“C’mere,” you say suddenly, grabbing his hand.

He blinks. “What—”

“Dance with me!”

“I don’t—doll, I don’t dance—”

You tug him forward anyway, laughing as he stumbles slightly, clearly out of his element as you try to spin him.

“Just move!” you insist, grinning.

“I am movin’,” he protests, shifting awkwardly.

“You look like a confused grandpa.”

“Hey—”

You laugh so hard you nearly double over, grabbing onto him to steady yourself—and he steadies you right back, hands settling at your waist like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You both end up swaying more than dancing.

But you don’t care.

You’re still smiling. Still buzzing. Still floating somewhere between disbelief and joy.

“I can’t believe I’m actually gonna see them,” you say again, softer now.

Bucky looks down at you, his thumb brushing absentmindedly along your side.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “And I get to see you see ’em.”

You tilt your head. “What?”

He shrugs, like it’s nothing.

But it isn’t.

“That’s the best part for me,” he admits quietly. “Watchin’ you light up like this.”

Your chest tightens in that soft, overwhelming way that has nothing to do with tickets.

You smile.

Then, without thinking, you lean up and kiss him—quick, full of everything you don’t quite have words for.

When you pull back, you’re still grinning.

“Okay,” you say, already bouncing again. “Now I really need to plan outfits.”

From the couch, Bucky looks up immediately. He’s been watching you for the last five minutes, tracking the way you’ve paced from the kitchen to the hallway and back again like you’re trying to solve a problem you can’t name.

“Don’t like what, doll?”

“This,” you gesture vaguely. “The quiet. The… not doing anything. I feel like I forgot something. Or like I should be doing something.”

His expression softens, something deep and warm settling into his eyes as he stands and crosses the room toward you.

“You didn’t forget anything,” he says gently. “She’s with your parents. She’s safe. Fed. Probably being spoiled outta her mind right now.”

You huff out a weak laugh, but it doesn’t quite stick. Your fingers twist together. “I know. I just—what if she needs me? What if she cries and I’m not there?”

Bucky stops right in front of you, hands coming up to cradle your face before you can spiral any further. His thumbs brush softly under your eyes, grounding.

“Hey,” he murmurs. “Look at me.”

You do, even though your chest feels tight.

“She’s okay,” he says, steady and certain. “And you’re allowed to be okay, too. You’re allowed to take a night. Doesn’t make you any less of a mom.”

Your throat burns a little. “It feels like it does.”

His expression breaks just slightly at that, something tender and aching flickering across his face.

“C’mere,” he says softly, pulling you into him.

You go easily, pressing your face into his chest, breathing in that familiar scent of him—clean soap, something warm and woodsy, something safe. His arms wrap around you, strong and solid, his chin resting on top of your head.

“You’ve been everything for her,” he murmurs into your hair. “Every second of every day. Feeding her, holding her, getting up in the middle of the night, soothing her when she cries. You don’t get to turn around now and act like you’re slacking for taking one night to breathe.”

You sniff, your grip on his shirt tightening. “I just… don’t know what to do with myself.”

A quiet huff of amusement rumbles through his chest.

“Well,” he says, “lucky for you, I’ve got a plan.”

You pull back just enough to squint up at him. “A plan?”

His mouth curves, soft and a little smug. “Yeah. And step one is you letting me take care of you for once.”

---

The bathroom fills slowly with steam.

You sit perched on the closed toilet lid, wrapped in one of Bucky’s t-shirts, watching as he tests the water with careful precision like it’s some kind of mission. The lights are dimmed, a soft lamp casting a golden glow across the tile, and there’s a candle flickering on the counter that you don’t even remember him lighting.

“You don’t have to do all this,” you mumble.

He glances back at you over his shoulder. “Yeah, I do.”

“You really don’t.”

“I really do,” he counters easily, then softens. “Because you deserve it.”

Your chest tightens again, but this time it’s something warmer.

He straightens once the tub is full, rolling his sleeves up his forearms before turning back to you.

“C’mere.”

You hesitate for half a second, but then you stand and let him guide you closer. His hands are gentle as he helps you out of the oversized shirt, his touch lingering just slightly like he’s reminding you that this body is still yours, still something to be cared for.

“Easy,” he murmurs as you step into the water.

It’s perfect. Warm without being too hot, wrapping around you like a quiet hug. You let out a small sigh as you sink down, your shoulders finally dropping from somewhere up near your ears.

“There you go,” he says softly.

A moment later, he joins you, settling in behind you so your back rests against his chest. His legs bracket yours, his arms slipping around your middle, grounding you there.

For a while, neither of you says anything as he holds you.

His fingers trace lazy patterns over your skin, up and down your arms, across your stomach, over your hips. Not demanding. Not rushed. Just there.

“You did so good,” he murmurs eventually, voice low against your ear.

Your eyes close. “Buck—”

“No,” he interrupts gently. “Let me say it.”

His nose brushes your temple, his lips pressing a soft kiss there.

“You carried her for nine months. You brought her into this world. You’ve been taking care of her every second since.” His hand spreads over your stomach, thumb brushing lightly. “You’re the best mom she could’ve gotten. No question.”

Your breath catches.

“I don’t feel like it,” you admit quietly.

His arms tighten around you just a little.

“Doesn’t matter what it feels like right now,” he says. “I see it. She feels it. Everyone does. You’re it for her.”

Your throat goes tight again, but you don’t fight it this time. You lean back into him fully, letting yourself be held.

“Just let me take care of you tonight,” he murmurs. “That’s all you gotta do. Nothing else.”

You nod faintly, your hand coming up to rest over his where it’s still splayed across your stomach.

“Okay,” you whisper.

His lips brush your shoulder, soft and lingering.

“That’s my girl.”

And for the first time since she was born, you let yourself stop.

Not because you don’t love her.

Not because you don’t miss her.

You knew that you probably shouldn't be working in the lab this late anymore, but work was the only thing that really managed to calm the noise in your head right now.

It was raining heavily, the sound of the water droplets hitting the window calming background noise, which helped too, at least a little bit.

Deep down you knew damn well, though, that as soon as you would go to bed tonight, everything would come crashing down on you all at once again.

When your parents had gotten divorced when you were ten, your dad had gotten you a cat, in hopes that it would be enough to distract you from all the changes that were happening in your life back then.

And even though you'd been reluctant to admit it at the time, he had been right.

In the years that followed, your cat Monty had been the only constant in your life. Between your mom working all the time and you dad and his plenty new girlfriends , he'd always been there to make you laugh and keep you company.

After you'd graduated, taking Monty to university with you hadn't even been a question.

He'd lived in your dorm with you, always keeping company when you were studying or just trying to get some rest after a busy week.

No matter what, Monty'd been there through all of it.

School, university, and now your work as a medic for the Avengers, who also knew about him, of course.

You barely shut up about him, so there was no way they couldn't know about your little companion.

Tony had even offered that he could make the Tower safe for cats so you could move in with Monty and wouldn't have to drive through half Manhatten to get to work anymore, and even though the offer had been more than generous, you'd declined.

You didn't want to do that to Monty. He loved your apartment too much for that and the stress wouldn't have been good for a nineteen year old cat.

You were more than content with the long drive and endless traffic if that meant that he was comfortable.

And especially with how old he'd been, all you ever wanted was to make sure that he was okay and still feeling as well as his age allowed him to be.

Technically, you had known that you wouldn't have too much time with him anymore, you weren't stupid. So when he'd stopped eating last week and barely moved from his favourite spot on the couch anymore, you knew exactly what was going on.

And when you'd driven him to the vet, just to make sure that everything was okay, maybe you should've expected the conversation about not wanting him to be in pain and suffer.

The funny thing about loving someone as deeply as you loved your childhood cat was, though, that rationality never stood a chance.

Even though you knew what was going to happen when they injected him with the anesthetic, nothing could've prepared you for taking him to your mom's place afterwards to bury him in the garden.

Since then, you couldn't stand being in your apartment.

Everything reminded you of him. His fur on the pillows, the water bowl and litter box that you couldn't bring yourself to get rid of just yet, his toys lying around everywhere, even though he had been too weak to properly play with them for months now.

Monty was everwhere, even though he wasn't actually there anymore.

Everything reminded you so painfully much of the part of your heart that was now lying six feet under the ground, the tower was the only place you could be at right now.

The tower was safe. Nothing here could remind you of Monty and everybody mostly let you get lost in your work because they knew not to interrupt you when you were busy with a project.

You really tried your best to not let the grief get to you too much, but it was hard. With how much you had been crying lately, you'd assume that there weren't any tears left in your body to cry anymore, but every time you let your mind drift and remembered how Monty's body had grown heavy in your arms when he'd stopped breathing, you could feel the familiar uncomfortable sting in the back of your throat all over again.

If the other's noticed that something was wrong, nobody said anything. You figured that people who were carrying so much weight on their shoulders knew when to give people space and when it was time to actually say something.

You were sure that they would come around to check on you if this went on for any longer, but you were grateful that they didn't yet.

You couldn't even handle his death as it was, so talking about it seemed almost impossible.

Taking a deep breath, you tried to get away from those thoughts again, the reminders of Monty's death lready messing with your focus again.

You couldn't have that. As a matter of fact, you wouldn't allow it. Grief already sucked enough, but you didn't need it to affect your performance at work now as well.

It took some time for you to fully concentrate on the formulas and notes sitting on the table in front of you again, but after a while, you found yourself getting lost in them again.

The weather outside was getting worse, thunder and lightning cutting through the sky now, so you figured that you would have to spend another night at the tower.

Not that you minded that. The more time you weren't spending in your apartment, the better.

It was already 11pm anyway and driving during the night wasn't something you ever really liked, especially not during a thunderstorm.

When the automatic glass door to the lab opened behind you, you didn't even bother looking up.

Both Tony and Bruce were just as good at running from their problems with drowning themselves in work, so it wasn't uncommon for them to join you down here this late at night.

It was actually kind of good.

Tony was good company with all the sarcastic quips and jokes he always had ready and would be able to pull you into a distractig conversation and Bruce company was somthing you always appreciated.

He had a very special kind of calmness to him that never failed to make you relax and he was so good at his craft, there was always something you could learn from him.

Maybe he could even take a look at the calculations you've been struggling with all day and give you some advice.

Even as the door closed again, the person who had just entered didn't say anything yet, which was… unusual.

Tony could barely ever keep his mouth shut and Bruce, even though he wasn't really a talkative person, always greeted you kindly and made an attempt at small talk.

Now there was nothing, not even footsteps getting closer, which was what intrigued you enough to look up and see who decided to keep you some company at this time of the day.

To be honest, the person that was looking back at you wasn't exactly someone you saw often down here in the lab.

Buck was standing close to the door, almost like he wasn't entirely sure if he was allowed to come in, his clothes drenched and dripping onto the floor as he cradled a little bundle to his chest, something you couldn't really recognise from this far away.

"You look like a wet rat, you know that?"

That seemed to snap Bucky out of it because he huffed a rough laugh, his shoulders losing some of their tension.

"It's good to see you, too."

"Mhmm, sure it is, Barnes." Even though you didn't really mind the company, you still didn't quite understand what he was doing here, especially looking like that. "Everything okay?"

"Uh… yeah, I think. At least I hope so? Not entirely sure, to be honest."

The cryptic answer only added to your confusion, which Bucky seemed to notice. "Do you have a minute?"

"Sure I do, come in."

Even though you and Bucky weren't exactly close, you cared for the man nonetheless. And if he needed your help, you were more than happy to provide it.

As Bucky slowly came closer, you realised that what he was holding in his arms wasn't only his jacket, but that there was something in the jacket.

Something white and furry and-

A cat.

Usually, the sight would've made you smile. Seeing cats used to make you so excited you'd stop for every stray you would see on the street and loved spening time with the little fur balls your friends had.

Now, the sight only made a knot coild tightly in your stomach.

"What is that?"

"A cat."

Someday, you were seriously going to murder this man, his past as an assasin be damned. "Thanks for stating the obvious, asshole. I can see that it's a cat, I'm asking what exactly you're doing with that and why the teo of you are currently dripping onto my floor."

Honestly, the thought of Bucky having a cat wasn't really that surprising. He'd always asked you how Monty was doing and hadeven met him once or twice. He was good with animals, his gentleness not something you would expect from someone with his history.

But maybe that was exactly the reason he had those traits.

"I just wanted to go for a walk when I found her in an alley," he explained to you, a little more serious now, though also looking sheepish in a way you haven't really seen him before.

"And it was raining so heavily, I figured I couldn't just leave her there. I don't know a single thing about cats, though, so I figured I'd ask if you could take a look at her. You know, because you're a doctor and you got some experience because of Monty."

You had to admit that the thought itself made sense and you were kind of flattered that Bucky thought of you when needing help, but the timing really could not be any worse.

"I'm not a vet, Buck."

"I know that." Bucky seemed to notice the change in your expression, but he falsely interpreted it as you not wanting to help, which couldn't be any further away from the truth.

It just hurt.

"I just thought… I don't know. You're you." Bucky shrugged, as if that was enough to explain why exactly he came to you, of all people.

"We can leave again though if you want, I don't want to bother you-"

"Bucky, c'mon. You know I ain't sending you away." Now you couldn't help but feel a little bad, because this was really not his fault. You hadn't told anyone about Monty's death yet, so Bucky really couldn't know any better.

"Just… put them down over there, I'll see what I can do." You nodded over to the examination table and watched as he put the cat down and tenderly pulled his jacket away.

She watched you with attentive eyes as you stepped closer and let her sniff your hand. She immediately pressed her head into your palm, which made you smile.

Monty always used to do that, too.

"Not exactly shy, are we?"

You took your time to take a proper look at her, just to make sure that everything was alright, but for being a stray, she did look better than you might expect.

"Seems to be fine to me, to be honest. A little underweight and definitely cold, but that's not unfixable."

The tension visibly left Bucky's body and he let out a breath of relief, which showed very well just how much he seemed to already care about the cat. "Okay, good. That's good."

That made you smile again. You hadn't ever thought about it before, but you could actually imagine Bucky having a cat. With how much he seemed to struggle with human company sometimes, you were pretty sure that the cats company wouldn't bother him as much.

It could help him, even. Those little creatures sometimes understood more than humans ever could.

"You name her yet?" The question seemed to catch him off guard a little, but the way Bucky blushed told you everything you needed to know.

"Uh, yeah. Her name's Alpine."

A laugh slipped past your lips. "Alpine, huh? What,because she's white?"

Now, Bucky's eyebrows creased in offense. "Is that a problem?"

"I'm not saying that. It's just not really creative, that's all."

"Your cat is literally called Monty. That's short for mountain, you are not allowed to judge me for calling her Alpine."

"Alright Buckaroo, point for you. Let's go take care of your Alpine."

You didn't wait for his response and just started walking towards the door, but glanced over your shoulder and saw how carefully he picked her up and slowed his steps to make sure she was comfortable.

Bucky really just was one big softie and his behaviour did nothing to convince you otherwise.

The two of you made your way to his room together and you started to dry Alpine off whilst Bucky quickly changed in the bathroom, both of them somewhat dry again when he entered his bedroom again.

You couldn't help but let your eyes drift over his body for a moment, taking in how low his sweatpants were sitting on his hips and how the soft fabric of the shirt stretched across his broad shoulders, his short strands of hair still dripping onto his forehead.

He didn't seem to care about that at all, though.

Bucky just looked at you and Alpine sitting in your lap, the look in his eyes very difficult for you to place. Deciding that your stupid little crush wasn't something you were willing to deal with right now, you got up, cradling Alpine against your chest.

She felt different in your arms than Monty used to, more fragile and light than your chubby cat used to.

She didn't sit against your body as familiar as he did, but it didn't feel wrong either.

Just… different. 

"I think we still got some canned tuna in the kitchen, that should do the job until we get something proper." 

Bucky only nodded, grateful that you took control of what to do because he still wasn't sure how exactly he should navigate this.

When you reached the kitchen, you prepared her a small plate of tuna just like you'd always done for Monty, just that tis plate was twice as big because the Avengers didn't actually have dishes that were suitable for cats.

Alpine didn't seem to mind, though. She practically threw herself onto the food, loudly purring as she swallowed it down without even actually chewing. "Seems like someone's hungry."

Bucky grunted in agreement as the two of you leaned against the counter together, eyes fixed on Alpine eating on the floor.

"Do you wanna keep her?"

Bucky took a deep breath and, even though hesitantly, nodded. "If she doesn't have a home, why not? Stark said cats in the tower wouldn't be an issue, right? Wouldn't be right to put her in a shelter if we got a perfectly fine home here."

It made sense, honestly. Animal shelters were already too full as it was and the Tower wasn't the worst place for a cat to live, especially not one that seemed to still be so young.

And Bucky wasn't the worst person to have a cat. He lacked in experience, but he cared. That was more important than any knowledge about cats ever could.

"I can help out a little, if you want," you didn't know where exactly the offer was coming from, but it felt safe. You were far from ready to even think about getting a cat of your own, but you knew that you'd miss taking care of one.

And with Bucky adopting her, you would still get to have one in your life whilst still trying to cope with Monty's death.

"I could take care of her when you're on missions, if you want. I'll call Monty's vet tomorrow so someone professional can do a proper checkup and I'll get the cat food I still have at home tomorrow."

Bucky just stared at you for a few seconds,like he couldn't quite grasp that you actually wanted to do that for him. Something about what you'd just said seemed to catch his attention, though, because he tilted his head in confusion. "Don't you need the food for Monty, though? I can just go to the store and get some, it's no big deal."

Admittably, the slip up had been your fault, but you figured that this might be a good chance to tell him about Monty, even though you really didn't want to.

"I don't need the food anymore, no." You forced a smile onto your face, though it was more to keep your lip from trembling than to actually lighten the mood. "I had to put Monty down last week."

Honestly, you hadn't expected that saying it out loud would hurt this much. Your voice broke on the last word and you had to look away, the eye contact too much for you to handle now that you felt like Bucky could see every single emotion that was running through you right now.

You weren't exactly sure what you expected Bucky to say, but you were already bracing yourself for the typical stuff. Maybe he'd ask why you hadn't told him earlier what happened and if there was anything he could do for you.

Bucky didn't ask any of those things, though.

He didn't even say anything. He just reached for you and pulled you into his arms, tightly wrapping his arms around you as one of his hands reached up to cradle your head against his chest.

You had hoped that you'd be able to keep yourself together, but in that moment, something broke inside of you.

A violent sob ribbed from somewhere deep in your chest, your body shaking against Bucky's as your tears soaked his shirt.

Bucky just tightened his hold on you and pulled you impossibly closer. "Shhh, it's okay. I got you, sweetheart. I got you."

He tried to soothe you in ay possible way he could thing of, gently rocking the two of you back and forth as he let his hand run up and down your back, really just wanting you to know that you didn't have to deal with this alone, that he'd give years of his own life to get Monty back to you.

That wasn't possible, though, so he had to settle on comforting you as well as he could.

You didn't know how long the two of you stood there like that, but Bucky didn't show any signs of impatience. As a matter of fact, he hugged you until you pulled back a little, immediately losening his grip on you as he looked at you, eyes so full of care and concern you almost started crying again. "I ruined your shirt," you sniffed, not entirely sure why you thought that was the best thing to say right now, but you went with it anyway as you stared at the wet spot right where you'd pressed your face into his chest. "Sorry for that."

"Don't worry, I think I'll survive a little bitt of tears." Even though you were standing a few inches apart again, his metal hand was still resting on your hip, grounding you to the moment. 

"I'm a real idiot, sweetheart. You just lost your cat a week ago and here I go and come bother you with Alpine. I'm sorry, I really am."

He really seemed to feel bad about it, which made you smile. It was so much like him to apologise for something he like that.

"No need to apologize, Buck. You didn't know. Besides, it's kind of nice, having a cat around again. I missed that."

Though still visibly worried, Bucky nodded, at least a little reassured by that. "Look, we don't have to talk about Monty if you aren't ready yet, alright? Just… know that I am here."

"That means a lot, Buck. Thank you." You didn't only say it to be nice, you really meant it. Bucky sounded so sincere, for a moment you really believed that everything would be alright as long as you had him.

"I guess you are the cat parent now, huh?" Itt was a very obvious attempt to guide the conversation into a lighter direction, but Bucky thankfully took the hint and laughed a little. "She still needs a mom, you know."

He seemed to realise how that sounded after he said it, his cheeks turning a deep crimson red. "That sounded weird. I didn't mean it in a couple kind of way, I'm just saying that you've got way more experience in this than I do and-"

"Relax, Bucky. I got what you mean." God, he was cute when he was rambling. "I'd be happy to help. I just ned some time, that's all."

"That makes sense," Bucky agrees, well aware that healing and grief weren't linear.

And they weren't. In the weeks that followed, you had bad days more than you had good ones, missing Monty more than you wanted to admit.

But you had Bucky now and didn't have to handle the weight of losing your childhood pet on your own. He was there for you whenever you needed him, no matter if you just wanted company or if you wanted to talk about Monty.

He laughed with you, held you when you cried and drove you to your motherr's house whenever you wanted to visit the grave.

The grief was still sitting heavy in your heart, but you knew that you didn't have to handle it on your own anymore.

You had Bucky and Alpine now, the two of them making you believe that maybe, you were going to be okay again.

you loved cooking for him, after he comes home from a long day in the lumbar yard, sweat sticking to his sinking and covered in a fine layer of sawdust. it usually made you sneeze when he would walk through the door, so he has started to strip before coming in.

your cheeks always flushed when he would come back inside with just the white wife pleaser sticking to his chest and his jeans. you could tell he enjoyed how you reacted when you see him, mostly peeking up through your lashes trying to stay focused on whatever task you had at hand.

just like tonight.

he was a little late, but you didn’t mind. you knew on friday’s he took a little longer to get home to you because he was busy prepping the wood for next week. he took his job seriously, and you took him seriously for it too. never once did you ever complain when he would arrive home later than he would promise you that morning of, you knew what his work demanded of you, especially in a small town like this.

“hi babydoll,” his gruff voice found your ears before you gazed up at him with a blush, a smile ghosting your lips. he lets out a sigh as he brushes his hair over his ear, the braid you gave him this morning falling out of its pattern. “sorry i’m late.” he hangs up his flannel on the coat rack, and even though you didn’t need an apology for him being late — he always gave you one anyways.

“that’s okay, buck.” you answer, almost automatically. you loved the rhythm you both had fallen into, something else as a dance that you normally couldn’t do. but he made sure to guide you through the whole thing.

he smiles, watching you pick at some of the petals you had in your hand wanting to use them to press later. as he comes up behind you, you feel a tense shift in the air. the sun was two hours from setting, casting a bright glow in the front room of the cottage. it illuminated his arm, the glint making you tense your thighs at any thoughts of him using it on you.

his hands fall on your waist, and although you can still smell the days sweat soaking on his skin, you could smell the musk of the cologne he sprayed this morning, making sure to put it under his pulse points he knew you loved shoving your head into. his chest brushes against your back, his arms wrapping around your waist now and gently pulling your body into his. you feel a bulge brush against your lower back, a bloom in your stomach making you hold back a whine.

he knew, though. at this point he knew every single reaction your body had, no matter how many times he touched you, kissed you, took you on his cock. he knew exactly what made you tick and bye sure as hell he would use it to his advantage every single time.

“you look pretty today, baby…” his chin rests on your exposed shoulder — a baby blue sundress adorned your skin and stopping at the mid of your thighs, ribbons tying the shoulder straps delicately. a white lace ribbon held the middle of your dress together, one slight pull of the string and it would come undone, exposing yourself under bucky’s gaze.

“thank you, i wore this one for you…” you wore all of them for him, you loved the way they made you feel, almost as much as you loved how he looked at you when you dressed up for him. he presses a kiss into your shoulder, his nose nudging up the side of your neck and his stubble rubbing your sensitive skin until his lips. were right under your ear lobe.

his right hand ventures down further the front of your dress, fingers dancing to find the the end of the dress together bunch up in this hold. you hold a shuddered breath as he chuckles against your skin, feeling nothing under neath the sundress you had on.

“and you didn’t wear anything underneath, hm?” he muses, and you nodded, body slightly relaxing into his frame as he brings his left hand to hold against the edge of the counter and caging you further into the wood. he didn’t want you going anywhere.

“n-no… ‘s too warm today..” you mumbled, half lying and half telling the truth. you didn’t know why you felt so worked up when he would touch you and find that you hadn’t worn anything underneath. you didn’t understand why you wanted to tease him like this, only that you knew that he would make you feel so fucking good. and that was enough for you.

he nods, listening to your complaint as he kisses the skin against your lower ear. “i hear ya, baby.” He grunts softly as you absentmindedly press your hips into him, taking his hands from underneath your sundress and turning you around, your back against the countertop.

“buck, wha-“ he presses he is finger against your lips to shush you, a smile on his lips.

“shh, let me take care of you, hm?” you bite your lip, unsure how this would cool you down, but you couldn’t say no to him as he looks at you like that when he sinks down onto his knees. you gape your mouth gently, wanting to protest as he takes one of your legs and hooks it around his shoulder, thigh pressing firmly into his left shoulder. the metal cooled your skin instantly, but you were too distracted on the hands that stayed under your thighs, traveling up to your hips and angling your cunt towards his face.

your sundress was bunched at your hips, exposed to him in the glow of the sunset. his nose bumped your clit as his eyes looked up at you, breath ghosting over your soaked entrance. he smirks as you open your mouth to say something but you get cut off when he wraps his lips around your clit and tongue flicking slightly, making your brain stop short and hips stutter.

“c’mon baby, let daddy eat..” he murmurs against your cunt before he presses harder, letting go of your clit and tongue dipping to your folds, and licking like a fucking starved man. like he didn’t enjoy your delicious breakfast and lunch you had made him today for work.

like he had never tasted something that was this sweet in his entire life. and honestly, he cannot say he has tasted anything sweeter than you.

eventually you let him settle into the routine of flicking his tongue through your soaked folds, drinking you in before he used that same tongue to fuck your hole and his nose nudging against your clit with each move of his face.

he had you as a moaning mess above him, your and had found their way to his messy brown curly hair, tugging on the strands to bring him closer to you if that was even physically possible. you needed him, craved him so fucking bad even while he was giving you exactly what you were asking for.

“sound so fuckin’ good for me, sweetheart..” he groans against your core, a blush sweeping your cheeks, warming your face. you couldn’t help the shiver that ran hourglass your body at the praise, fingers tightening in his hair. he brings his right hand from under your thigh to tease your hole with his fingers, his tongue licking at your clit lazily. your hips stuttered against his face, his eyes peering up over he mound of your bush. he nuzzled his nose deeper into you as he closed his eyes and sunk two fingers into you slowly.

you let out a moan, trying to rut your hips against his face and fingers but he wouldnt let you move from the position he had you in.

“want you to make a mess like this, babydoll.” he grunts against you, slipping his fingers deeper and deeper until he was knuckle deep and you could feel him curl his fingers deep inside of you. the wet sounds picked up as he started thrusting his fingers at the same pace hie sucked your clit, keeping the same rhythm as you moaned a little louder with each stroke

he loved having you come undone like this underneath him, singing songs of gospel every time he pulled his fingers out and pushed back in. he loved your body twitching as your clit throbbed under his tongue, pulling you closer and closer to the edge that only he could send you to.

“thats it, there you go…” he coaxes you softly, pulling the sweetest moans and whines from your lips, fingers digging deeper into his scalp and feeling the tight knot in your stomach that could only mean one thing.

you squeezed his fingers tightly earning a moan from him, his fingers scissoring inside of you while he pulls away enough to look at you and his thumb goes to circle your clit as he fucks you with his two fingers. he feels how close you are, how youre gripping him like a damn vice. it was everything he would want and more.

“c’mon, give it to me,” his encouragement has your toes curling, eyes slipping shut as you feel yourself teeter off the edge and falling right into his hands. making a mess all over his fingers and moth, dripping down to his chin. he smiles as he fucks you through your first orgasm, one of many he was going to get from you this evening.

“good girl…” he praises you as he kisses your inner thigh, slowly drawing his fingers from your sloppy cunt, your own eyes locking with his as your chest heaves, cheeks heated and warm from coming. he smiles, licking his lips as he lowers your leg from over his shoulder, letting you stabilize yourself before he cups your head with his left hand and bringing your lips against his — tasting yourself on his tongue

you both moan into each others mouth, your own hands seeking his body, his skin and his warmth. you need to be wrapped up in all things him.

“want to play a little game?” he murmurs against your lips and your body shivers with anticipation, nervousness. what could he possibly he hinting at? you nod against his lips before hes pulling away and taking his fingers that were knuckle deep inside you two seconds ago, slipping them past his lips and cleaning them off. he moans around his own fingers, eyes glinting with lust as he watches you carefully.

“want to see how far you can make it out there before the sun goes down and i catch you?” you look outside, your cunt clenching at the very idea of hiding from him in those woods, him hunting you and seeing where you went. you knew there was no chance of actually getting lost but like you said earlier — you didn’t know any inch of the woods surrounding your cottage.

that didnt matter though.

the only thought you had was bucky finally finding you and taking you up against the trunk of a large tree, bark scratching against your skin as skin slaps on skin and hes groaning in your ear how good you feel wrapped around his —

“ill take that as a yes, babydoll.” he chuckles, seeing you stare far of, but he heard your heart rate pick up at the mention of him catching you.

he knew you better than you knew yourself.

you blushed against, hopefully that he couldn’t tell but he did. he always did.

“i’ll give you a running start of one minute, then.” he leans to murmur in your ear, his lips attaching to your neck and sucking the most sensitive part of your neck, making your knees buckle. he sucked a mark into your precious skin, running his tongue over the mark before pulling away and cupping your chin with his metal hand to make you look up at him.

“starting…now,” he smiles as he lets go of your chin and instantly, you stood up straighter and senses dialed to eleven. you turn on your heel, trying to muster up the strength again after coming on his fingers as he tapped your butt on your way out of the cottage.

he stood up straighter with you as he watched you leave through the front door, and past the open windows. the window billowing your skirt around you with your hair whipping around you, the sun gleaming onto you. “beautiful girl,” he says to himself, smiling as he toes off his boots and socks, matching your barefoot trek into the woods. he wanted to feel the grass against his own skin, the warmth the soil brings when the sun kisses it long enough during the day.

he wanted to feel more connected to you before finding you.

you felt the warmth whip around you as your toes sunk into the warm earth, the clovers tickling your ankles as the breezed back and forth in the wind. the wildflowers growing towards the direction of the sun’s beams, wanting to be kissed by her.

you looked back towards the cottage, seeing bucky’s shadow move through the cottage in the front room. you wondered what he was doing before you remembered he gave you a count down.

quite honestly, he wasn’t keep in track if a minute had passed or not. he just watched you leave through the line of the dense trees, your hand running against the rough bark as the sun hides behind the green foliage birthed by the long and populated trees surrounding you.

you take in a deep breath, hearing a soft babbling of a brook to your left and the leaves rubbing against each other above you. the soft grass between your toes helped you ground you, even if you had no idea where you were going.

as you trailed on, your heart hammered in your chest at the thought of bucky being right behind you, ready to bend you over the nearest tree and take you from behind. your blood pulsed at the thought, not even realizing that he could hear your heart beating hammering in your chest, that he could smell your cunt with each thought of him thrusting inside of you, owning you like you needed.

you figured that at least ten minutes had gone by and you hadn’t even heard the sharp snapping of a branch under the weight of a step nor the rustling of leaves. it made you shiver, knowing the sun was going down at this point and a bit of fear pulsed through your body. you knew you were safe, but knowing bucky was out there, watching you as it got darker ignited something in you.

he could pick up on your body changes, and it only made him throb inside his pants. he had an idea where you were in a general area — but you were so light on your feet that e couldn’t pinpoint an exact location of you. it frustrated him, knowing it would take a bit longer to find and claim you.

he palmed himself gently, letting out a soft groan at the thought of being able to find you and take you on the forrest floor. he sucked in a breath as he stopped, hearing some leaves rustled from at least five feet away from him. he crouched, hand stuck on his bulge as he peered through some bushes to find you kneels at a river, hands cupping into the water unknowing that he was perving at you through some bushes.

he throbbed as he watched you tip your head back to drink the water from your cupped hands, watching the water dribble down your neck and bloom across the blue fabric of your sundress. silently, he unzipped his pants, pulling himself out through his boxers and wrapping a hand around his shaft, hissing softly. you were oblivious to anything around you and it only made him harder at the thought you were so vulnerable.

he smeared his pre-cum around the tip of his cock as he watched you run the water over your skin, cooling yourself down. your sundress drinking in the liquid and sticking closer to your skin, your nipples pebbled through the fabric. he couldn’t get his eyes off of you, tightening his grip as he starts to jerk himself off to the mere innocent sight of you like this. he wanted to save it, save it so he could fill your cunt up full of him, but he knew the second he found you again and got his hands on you, he would be able to do just that.

as he feels his short and quick orgasm approach, he sees your ears perk up as you look around, licking your lips and eyes glazing over the same bush that he is in. cum splatters on the leaves below, cock throbbing and aching in his hand as he stays there crouched. your nerves are on end feeling watched but you couldn’t tell for sure what it was.

minding your own, you stood up on your own feet, looking around again before dashing off across the river and into the forrest.

bucky lets out groan as he lets go of his cock, shoving himself back into his pants and standing up, wiping his hands off. he needed you now, he couldn’t keep the thoughts of taking you at bay. he needed to feel your pussy wrapped around his cock instead of his hand, needed to hear you whine and beg for him to breed you like a slut in the middle of the woods.

he lets out a low whistle, one that sends a shock wave through your body and right to your clit making you throb. you knew that whistle. that was the one he used specifically in the bedroom when he wanted you to come to him — messy your knees for him while he fucks your throat. you felt a pull in your body as you hear the sharp sound, your cunt begging you to run and find him and submit.

but another part of you wanted him to track you down, to grab you and tell you he was going to ruin you right then and there. you wanted him to be rough with you, wanted him to treat you as such.

as much as you made a mess between your legs with slick coating your thighs at the mere thought of going to him, you continued walking further. you felt your nipples rub against the wet fabric of your shirt, your core tightening with the sensation. you were incredibly turned on by all of this, your senses heightened so much that you could only focus on the end goal of bucky fucking you stupid.

as you continued, you ended up tripping on a loose branch and stumbling against the floor, green clovers softening your fall and your hands catching soft blades of grass. because of your fall, however, you snapped the twig.

which made bucky’s ears perk up to the sound, his body turning in the direction it came from and picked up his speed, taking long strides and barely missing a beat. you whip your head around as you hear him loom over behind you, your heart hammering in your chest and your cunt aching at the mere sight of him.

his eyes were blacked out, lust looming over his facial features, want and need. you couldn’t pinpoint the other emotion that flitted through his gaze, but you knew it was something feral.

as you turn around facing him and scrambling, you start pushing yourself backwards away from him, he smirks as he watches you, knowing he was about to corner the fuck out you, leaving you with no where to go.

“whats wrong little bunny?” he cocks his head slightly to the side, his hand coming to pal himself again as he watches you scramble more away from him. he knew you weren’t scared of him — the opposite in fact. anytime you moved, your dress would bunch up further and further, showing him your exposed and glistening puffy cunt.

his eyes kept trailing between your legs with each step before gazing back to your face. your cheeks were red, from physical exertion and need, feeling embarrassed you were this exposed outside.

“i..i—“ he chuckles as you stop when your back hits the bottom of a large stump, your hands reaching for more clover floor but unfortunately you dont find anything except the rough bark. he comes toe to toe with you, looking down at you as you gaze up at him — your dress bunched to your hips as your knees are drawn up, eyes wide.

as you watch him, he lets out that same low whistle you an away from earlier, but this time you couldn’t help yourself as you sat up, the sundress falling back down to your thighs as you kneel in front of him. his thighs are huge in front of you, his thigh fingers palming his cock through his unzipped pants as his he’d hangs down to watch you, strands of long hair framing his face.

“take me out, baby.” he commands and fuck — you cant help but listen as you fumbled with his boxers, looping your fingers under his waist band and tugging them down enough to free his cock, eyes immediately falling to the tip of his weeping cock. you lick your lips, coming to grab his shaft as if you didnt need any instruction.

and honestly, you didnt. you didnt need him to tell you to open you mouth and take his tip in. he didnt need to tell you to take more of him as you hollowed your cheeks and opened your throat to invit his thick cock further into your mouth.

he didnt have to tell you to cup his balls in your other hand as you started to suck him off like your life depended on it. his moans encouraging you with each bob of your head until he comes to grab the sides of your head to steady you for a second.

“fuck yourself with your fingers, sweetheart.” his voice is low and commanding and while you hated fucking yourself with your fingers because they weren’t like his — you obeyed anyways. two fingers pushed into yourself as your moan became muffled with his cock in your mouth. you were dripping down your own wrist, trying to dig them deeper like his while focusing on how he started to move his hips to the rhythm of your own han.

you steadied yourself with your free hand on his thick thigh, fingered digging into the material as he fucked your throat. he threw his head back with a groan, knowing he was coming close to spilling down your throat but he didnt want to yet. he wanted you to come on your fingers but fuck — he wanted to fill you up.

he holds off his on orgasm as he twitches in your mouth before he pulls out and you whine at the loss. he looks down at you, smiling softly as your eyes are glazed over with tears, spit dribbling down the sides of your lips. you looked debauched as fuck beneath him, needy as your fingers continued working themselves inside of your cunt. you were whining as you looked at him, rocking your hips on your fingers.

he grabs your elbow and instinctively you remove your fingers from your cunt, following him as he pulls you to your feet and turns you around bending you over the cut stump of the large oak tree. the cool wood presses into your skin and wet fabric of your sundress, and you feel bucky lift your sundress up and over your hips. your cunt exposed to the cool air, sun shining thought he foliage as you see it almost setting at the horizon. you have been out here for a while.

his hand presses into your back softly, firmly holding you there as his hips dig into your ass, and you can feel his cock inbetween your thighs, spit and per-cum smearing on your skin.

“daddy..” your voice croaks, being one of the first things you have said in the last almost two hours. he hums in response, kicking your legs open wider to let him fit between you. his left hand holds your hip in place as his right hand comes to rub against the globe of your ass, before letting out a spank.

you moan, your cunt clenching as he spanks you again, gripping your ass after the third spank.

“what is it, bunny? tell daddy..” he spanks you again and you whimper, pushing more against him, wanting to slip the tip of his cock into your cunt. you look back behind you, over your shoulder and he looks at you. eyes hooded as he spreads your ass open with both hands, seeing your pussy lips spread at the same time.

“please.. …your cock..” you can’t really get many words out as his eyes move from your pleading face down to your exposed cunt. his cock bobs against your thigh, before he is taking his right hand and gripping himself, rubbing his tip over your wet hole.

“you want daddy’s cock, angel?” he coo’s, knowing the answer already as he teases your entrance — smearing his pre-cum and your slick together. you nod, trying to press your hips into him so he accidentally slips in, but his left hand kept you anchored. you huffed, biting your lip as you nod again.

“yes, please, i want your cock daddy, please…” you whine, begging underneath him as the tip of his cock pops into your cunt. you moan instantly, a shiver running over your skin at the slight stretch already. you relax a little as he rubs your ass again, watching your every move.

“good girl, saying please for what they want..”he praises you, rewarding you by pushing his cock deeper into you, easily. you moaned a bit louder, resting against the smooth surface of the tree and letting him fully push into you to the hilt. “could stay here forever, you know that? your cunt feels like fuckin’ heaven..” he grunts as he pulls out and pushes back in slowly, keeping the agonizingly slow pace for a little while, letting you adjust to his size. you whine, wanting more but he tsks.

“patience, sweetheart. you’ll get more of daddy,” he bends over the length of you, pressing some of his weight into you to keep you anchored. “i’ll make sure to pump you so deep of my cum you’ll be leaking the entire way back to the house.” his grunts in your ear make you moan softly, clenching his cock a t his words. his fingers dig into your hips in response, signals going to his head that this is exactly what you want.

and he would be damn sure to deliver it to you.

“relax,” he coaxes you and you listen, melting against the wood and focusing on the feeling of his thick cock sliding in and out of your cunt at a brutal pace, that same sound of skin slapping on skin rang in your mind, feeling his balls slap against your swollen clit with each thrust. you try to dig your nails in the wood but to no avail, you just gripped on the edge of the stump as best you could, letting him take you as he needed.

“good girl, takin’ my fat cock so fuckin’ well,” he slaps your ass again as you let out a moan of his name, the sting turning to more pleasure. you cant help it, yo need more of him, want more of him. you start pressing your hips against him to meet his thrusts, a soft grunt emitting from him.

“wanna fuck yourself on me, baby?” he muses and you whine, moving against him before he stills. you stop for a second before youre moving slowly against him, wondering if this was a trick.

“go on, you wanted it, didnt you?” he crosses his arms, pushing his hips deep into you making you moan out as you start to fuck yourself on his cock. he watches amused, how well youre taking him and letting him stretch around your cunt, dripping down your legs. you sounded so beautiful, using him like this

“atta girl,” he watches you before he gets tired of not touching you, leaning forward and hooking his large bicep around the front of your throat to put you in a choke hold. in turn — your back arched, your cunt opening up even more for his cock and you swore you could feel him in your guts. it felt like it was the deepest he had ever been. “this is even better, though.” he grunts into your ear and your one hand comes to hold onto his bicep, the palm of your other flattening on the stump.

instantly and without warning, his metal hand comes to the front of your body, trailing up the bodice part of your dress before finding the lace ribbon holding your dress together. he tugs, letting your tits spill before him and he goes to cup one, tweaking the nipple between his fingers.

“you feel so good, baby. so warm and wet wrapped around my cock… makes me wanna put a baby in ya.” he tugs your nipple making you moan in response, your body going pliant in his hold and letting him fuck you like a little doll. he feels your body submit under him, leaving him cooing in your ear.

“thats it, you’d want that, wouldnt you?” his metal fingers strum your clit slowly, his cock driving deep into you, making you moan softly. the sun was kissing the horizon as string lights above turned on from the use of solar power. you knew he had a lightening system in the woods, but because you had never gone in them — you never knew what it was.

twinkling lights reflected off small puddles, making the woods seem smaller and smaller as bucky fucked you over the stump. the two of you alone in the woods, your cunt taking his cock over and over again submitting to him.

“please..” you let out a choked whine, not really sure what you were begging for, just that your cunt was weeping on his dick as he fucked you, the tip of his cock kissing your sweet spot with each deep stroke. your fingers dig into his skin on his bicep, your teeth slightly sinking in as you feel a small but tight coil form in the pit of your stomach. you squeezed him again and this time he knew you were about to make a mess.

“hold it, babydoll.” his lips nipped your ear as his cock throbbed at the feeling of your canines sinking into his bicep. he made sure to keep the muscles just for something like this, having your bite mark engrained in his skin. he loved when you got like this — your touch needy and wild as you wanted more of him. you were already being crushed by half of his body weight, being split open on his cock. what else could you need?

you both knew the answer.

“daddy…” you whined his name, squeezing him again as his fingers continued to strum your clit slowly, teasingly. he wanted to come with you, wanted to reach that point together. he curses under his breath before he makes the split decision to pull out of you, suddenly missing the warmth of your cunt. you whine automatically, your cunt clenching at the loss of his dick, the pressure of his bicep loosening as he pulls away. your brain scrambles for more of him, and you were about to protect before hes turning you around just like he did in the kitchen and hoisting you up and onto the stump, your back against the wood.

he pauses for a second, watching as you lay there with your legs wide open, up on your elbows as you look at him from in between your legs. you look so fucking beautiful for him like this, spread bare just for him and dripping like fucking crazy. his eyes flit to your cunt — watching it pucker at the simple loss of his cock.

he twitched.

he tugs off his shirt, up and over his broad shoulders before lifting your hips up enough to pillow the shirt under them, letting your bum hang enough off over the edge of the tree without the bark digging into your skin.

he touches your spread legs, fingers dancing over your skin as he steps closer to you and in between your legs again, pushing his pants all the way to his ankle. his cock bobs, hitting your pussy with a heavy slap. there is a white ring around the base of his cock that he needed to see form again.

you look at him with a pleading look, your brows knitted together with want and need. you go to open your mouth to start whining, but is abruptly cut off as he pushes the tip of his cock back into you, before pushing to the hilt. he goes to grab your chin with his metal hand, making you look at him while you keep your legs spread wide, hands pressing your thighs apart as best as they can go.

he doesn’t need much room, just enough to lean over to take your lips in a heated kiss as he picks up the same brutal pace he just had in you a mere two seconds ago, swallowing your desperate moans. you feel your tits bounce with each deep and heavy stroke, his right hand finding home between your legs to your puffy clit. he rubs it in quick, tight circles, wanting you to come this time.

“you want it, sweetheart?” you nod, eyes glazed over at your lips depart and you have a dumbed out expression ghost over your features. his cock was splitting you open at this point and you couldn’t focus on anything except how it felt, and how the fuck he was looking at you with right now — eyes wild and mad.

his metal hand finds the back of your neck to keep you stable as his forehead presses against yours. “gonna come so fuckin’ deep in you baby… fuck… gonna have to fuck it back into you to make sure it sticks…” hes grunting nonsense a this point, your eyes slipping down to where your bodies meet and watch as his thick cock slides into you, how with each thrust you can clearly see the bulge in your tummy from him hitting inside you so deep.

he notices the bulge too, cursing under his breaths as he watches his own thrusts with you, his fingers playing your clit like an instrument he has known how to play all his life. he grunts with each stroke and you clench around him, whines and pleads leaving your lips nonsensically, not even sure what youre saying at this point either.

“your so fuckin’ tight..sucking me in…she wants it so bad, doesnt she? wants to be filled and stretched by my fat cock, huh?” he starts to grunt harder with each thrust, a smile ghosting his lips as he watches your body twitch under his touch. you cant help but let your legs fall to the sides, lax. your back arching up and off the wood in his hold as you feel yourself teetering the edge.

“beg.” he says and fuck the words have never left your lips so fucking fast.

“please, daddy please, fuck… i wanna come please, need you to fill me p, please…” youre babbling against his lips, licking them softly as you beg and whine, nipping the bottom lip. he cant hold himself anymore, the touches and the sounds you were making — how good you sounded pleading for him to fill you up…

he lets go of your neck and you fall against the wood softly, back arching as your tits move with each thrust. his fingers playing your clit so well as you slick between your thighs, dripping down your ass and making a mess all over his balls. he feels himself twitch at the feeling of the wet and sticky mess, his metal hand coming to loosely wrap around your throat, fingers pressing into your pulse points. immediately he hears your heart beat pick up, and a smirk falls across your face.

this is exactly what you wanted.

to be held under his arm like this, his fat cock drilling deep inside of your aching cunt, his moans edging you further and further. the hand was the cherry on top.

“dirty fuckin’ girl. come for me.” he locks eyes with you as he tenses up his fingers a bit more around your throat, enough to make your head feel fuzzy as you feel yourself squirt at the simple command of him telling you to cum. he groans at the sight of the squirting mess you were making all over his lower stomach and his cock, that white ring more prominent and slick with your cum.

“there you go, makin’ a mess on daddy’s cock like a good little bunny…” he praises you over and over as he feels his own balls tighten, hot sticky release filing your cunt up to the brim, spilling out and onto the forest floor. he curses, wanting it to stay all in, even if the was semi non realistic.

he takes his right hand from your clit, holding your waist as your body twitched, his thrusts slowly as he fucked you through your high and his own, making sure to keep all his cum inside you for a second. he leans down, releasing his grip around your throat to hold the side of your cheek, wiping away a tear you hadn’t known had formed and fallen. he kisses the same spot he wiped it away, nuzzling his nose against your own.

his cock throbbed inside of you, your own cunt twitching around him. you were absolutely addicted to him, and even if he was still balls deep inside of you, you still wanted more of him. you needed more of him.

“i know, baby,” you dont realize a few more tears have fallen as he holds you, knowing you were dropping in subspace, he kisses your face softly as you come to bring your arms around his shoulders, pulling him into a tight hug.

“you were so good for me, sweetheart,” he murmurs against your cheek as he lets you hold him for a moment before hes kicking off his own pants and boxers, somewhere along the clovers and the leaves. he will find them later.

he goes to pick you up, keeping you snug and sat on his still hard cock. he knows he’d be leaking out of you, but that just means he can give you more. you hide your face into his neck as you let out a soft moan as you sit vertically on his cock, somehow cunt twitching.

“daddy..” it slips out as your eyes shut close, his hands under your thighs and holding you like that on his cock, ready to carry you home like this. he knew you weren’t far from the cottage at this location, so it would only take max ten minutes to get back home.

You both watch the snow fall from inside the apartment, sat side by side on the floor, shoulders pressed together.

It's not like rainfall, where it makes itself known every time it hits a surface, it's quiet, serene. . . peaceful, something Bucky Barnes hasn't felt in a long, long time.

Midnight strikes, you catch it the moment the hand hits twelve, the clock on the far side of the room ticking steadily.

"I know I keep saying it, but I'm glad you found me." Bucky rasps.

Your head, resting against the wall behind you, rolls to the side to look at him, lips twitching upwards faintly, "I told you. Wherever you'd find yourself, I'd find you. . . how's your head?"

"Hurts." He admits softly, "My memory, it keeps coming back to me in fragments, and going to that— that museum. . . fuck, what's it called?"

"The Smithsonian."

Bucky nods, "Yeah, that. It triggered something, a lot of things. But those videos. . . it was like looking at a stranger who was wearing my face."

"That must've been jarring," You offer your hand to him, palm faced towards the ceiling for him to take if he wanted to, "I'm sorry I didn't find you sooner."

Bucky's hand hesitates briefly before curling around yours, metal cool against your skin. 

"You're here now."

"I'm always gonna be here."

Bucky licks his lips nervously, his jaw grinding before he speaks, ". . . I'm trying to be better, to not be him but I—"

His voice cracks, sudden and horrible, like something ugly trying to get through the cracks. It breaks your heart, to see him struggle with his guilt and his shame.

"I'm scared to try and live," Bucky murmurs as though it's forbidden, ". . . and I'm scared to die, only ever knowing how to be him."

"You're better than him," You whisper fiercely, "Than all of them, fresh start, remember?"

"Fresh start." He echoes quietly with a deep sigh, turning back to the window to watch the snow fall.

But you’ve seen the way he looks at plums.

Two weekends in a row at the farmer’s market, you’ve watched him pause at the stand. He never says anything, never reaches out, just slows down enough to glance. His fingers twitch once, like he might pick one up, then he keeps walking.

Both times, you’d asked, “You like plums?”

And both times, he’d shrugged, all casual like it didn’t matter. “They’re okay.”

But Bucky Barnes is a terrible liar when it comes to the small things.

So today, when he’d left for a quick mission debrief and told you he’d be back before dinner, you’d gone straight to the market and bought a whole basket.

Now the pie sits finished on the counter, golden and bubbling slightly at the edges where the filling has peeked through. You’ve been hovering around it for the last ten minutes, checking it, turning it, pretending you’re not a little nervous.

It’s just a pie.

It’s not even for anything.

No anniversary, no birthday, no reason at all.

You just… couldn’t stand watching him walk past something he clearly wanted.

The sound of the front door unlocking makes your head snap up.

“Doll?” Bucky’s voice carries through the apartment, low and familiar, a little rough around the edges from the day.

“In the kitchen!” you call back, wiping your hands on a towel and tryingnnot to hover.

His footsteps are heavy, grounded, moving closer. There’s the soft clink of his gear being set down, the quiet exhale he always lets out when he finally steps inside, like he can breathe properly again.

Then he rounds the corner.

And stops.

You watch it happen in real time—the way his brows pull together first, confusion flickering across his face as his gaze lands on you, then shifts past you, catching on the pie.

He blinks.

“What… is that?”

You huff a small laugh, suddenly shy under his stare. “It’s a pie, Buck.”

“I can see that,” he says slowly, stepping further into the kitchen like he’s approaching something fragile. “I mean, why is there a pie?”

You lean back against the counter, shrugging like it’s no big deal even though your heart is doing something a little too loud in your chest. “I made it.”

He looks at you like that explains absolutely nothing.

“Yeah,” he says, dragging the word out. “I got that part.”

You bite your lip, then gesture toward it. “It’s plum.”

That’s what does it.

It’s subtle, so subtle most people wouldn’t catch it, but you see the way his entire expression shifts. The confusion is still there, but it softens, something else slipping in underneath it. Something quieter.

“…plum?” he repeats.

You nod, suddenly feeling a little exposed. “You kept looking at them. At the market.”

His eyes flick up to yours, sharp now. “You noticed that?”

“Of course I noticed,” you say, like it’s obvious. Because it is. Because you notice everything about him, even the things he tries not to show. “You didn’t buy any. Twice. It was starting to bother me.”

A faint, disbelieving huff of breath leaves him, like he doesn’t quite know what to do with that.

“So,” you add, softer now, gesturing again to the pie, “I got some. And I figured… I don’t know. Maybe you wanted them but weren’t gonna get them for yourself.”

There’s a pause.

A long one.

Bucky just stands there, staring at the pie like it’s something he’s not entirely sure is real. His metal hand flexes once at his side, the faint whir of it loud in the quiet kitchen.

“You made this,” he says finally.

“Yeah.”

“For me.”

It’s not a question, but you answer anyway.

“Yeah, Buck.”

“Why?”

You blink at him, thrown off by the genuine confusion in his voice. “What do you mean, why?”

His jaw shifts, like he’s trying to find the words and coming up short. “There’s no—” he gestures vaguely, “—thing. It’s not a special day or—”

You let out a soft laugh, pushing off the counter to step closer to him. “Do I need a reason?”

He looks at you like maybe you do. Like that’s the only way this makes sense in his head.

“You’ve been… lookin’ at plums,” you say, gentler now, reaching out to take his hand, threading your fingers through his. “That’s it. That’s the reason.”

Something in his expression cracks.

It’s quiet, the way it happens. His shoulders drop a fraction, the tension easing out of him like he’s setting something down he didn’t realize he was carrying.

“You made me a whole pie,” he murmurs, almost to himself, “because I looked at some fruit.”

You smile, soft and a little teasing. “When you say it like that, it sounds ridiculous.”

“It is ridiculous,” he says, but there’s no bite to it. Just awe. “Nobody does that.”

You tilt your head, studying him. “I do.”

That lands somewhere deep.

You can see it in the way his throat bobs, the way his grip on your hand tightens just a little.

For a second, he just looks at you. Really looks at you, like he’s trying to memorize the moment, or maybe understand it.

Then, before you can say anything else, he pulls you in.

His arms wrap around you, solid and warm, tucking you against his chest like he needs you close. Like this is the thing he’s been missing.

“You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” he mutters into your hair.

You laugh softly against him, your hands sliding up his back. “It’s just a pie.”

“No,” he says, pulling back just enough to look at you, his blue eyes bright in a way that makes your chest ache. “It’s not.”

His gaze flicks back to the counter, to the golden crust, then back to you.

“It’s you seein’ me,” he says quietly. “Even when I don’t say nothin’.”

Your expression softens.

“I always see you, Buck.”

You don’t even get another word out before he’s kissing you, like he’s trying to pour everything he can’t quite say into it. His hand cups your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek where the flour still sits, and he huffs a quiet laugh against your mouth when he notices it.

“Got flour on your face,” he murmurs.

“Yeah?” you smile, breathless. “Worth it?”

He glances at the pie, then back at you, something warm and certain settling into his features.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “Worth it.”

And later, when you finally cut into it and he takes his first bite, the way his eyes close—like he’s tasting something familiar, something he didn’t realize he missed—tells you everything you need to know.

You didn’t need a reason.

soft!dom!bucky who is the one to drive you to the emergency room when you break your arm. he tries to keep calm when you're laying in one of the beds, but internally he is freaking out because he's convinced your injury is his fault - even though he had no way of preventing your fall due to him being in the bathroom at the time. but, still, he shouldn't have left his shoes out like that, he should've - bucky! your voice brings him out of his spiraling thoughts, and that's when he realizes he's been squeezing your hand a little too tightly. he loosens his grip, softly apologizing, and you seem to recognize that he's apologizing for more than just your aching hand. but, it's only when the doctor leaves and you're both left alone, waiting to be called for x-rays, that you turn to him and murmur it's not your fault daddy, I'm the clumsy one.

soft!dom!bucky who temporarily moves you into his apartment so that he can take care of you properly. he doesn't let you do anything, let alone lift anything heavier than a book. you're hungry? what do you want to eat, princess? daddy'll make it for you. you need to shower? come on, I'll help. of course, no funny business, princess. just gonna help keep your cast out of the water. you need to go to the bathroom? do you need help wiping? I'll do it. I'll do anything you need. to which you responded, kindly but firmly, no, daddy, I can do this on my own. it's not that you don't appreciate all the help, after all, you don't know how you'd get anything done with your arm being out of commission, but you want to regain at least some independence.

soft!dom!bucky who knows you're going stir crazy while being out of work. about a week into your recovery, bucky ends up taking time off of work himself so he can be with you. while you don't absolutely love your job, you like it enough, and not being able to do anything is taking a toll on you. you're always on the go, ready to give 110% at everything you do, and now being forced to slow down has your mind scrambled, worried over things not getting done at work despite knowing you can't do anything about it.

soft!dom!bucky who knows you're trying your best not to show it, but you're frustrated. he knows it's not him you're frustrated with, but sometimes he'll catch a stray and be at the receiving end of your agitation. you always apologize immediately after, insisting that you're grateful for his help, but you're just. fuck, you're just so done with everything. you can't even tie your own shoes when you go out to the market because you can't move your wrist. useless is a strong word, but you're starting to feel it every time you ask bucky to do something you normally would have no problem doing. you make it a point to not tell bucky about that yet, because you know he'd just be upset - not at you, never at you, just at the fact that you feel lesser simply because you're injured.

soft!dom!bucky who sees it all come to a head one saturday morning when you're getting ready to go to the market. he was in the kitchen gathering the reusable bags when he heard you curse angrily, followed by sniffles. he'd rushed into the bedroom, only to find you sitting on the bed with your head in your hands, your shoulders shaking from how hard you're crying. your shirt is discarded on the floor, bundled up like you'd thrown it down. he quickly concludes that your emotions have probably bubbled up so much that not being able to put on your shirt must have been the final straw.

soft!dom!bucky who rushes to you, kneeling between your legs and carefully reaching for your hands so he can uncover your face. your eyes are full of tears, your cheeks coated in them, and your bottom lip wobbles pathetically as you try to stop crying. but, as soon as you see bucky's sympathetic smile, your facade cracks and your tears come back in full force, leaning forward and collapsing into bucky's waiting arms. it's okay, princess he mumbles into your hair, keeping his lips pressed to your temple as he coos I know, I know, princess. it's hard, isn't it? you're so strong, the strongest person I know, but it's okay, you're still my independent girl, you're still strong even if you can't do as much as you used to. it's okay.

soft!dom!bucky who listens to you vent with a level of patience you've never seen from anybody. he doesn't interrupt you, he doesn't loosen his hold on you, he doesn't let you think for a second that he's not there, eager to take away your hurt. he understands your feelings, and why you're having them, but he's very firm when he tells you that princess, it's okay, everything'll be okay and you'll be back to overworking yourself as usual, okay? that makes you chuckle weakly, and you pull away slowly, just enough to be able to look bucky in the eyes. you promise, daddy? you ask softly, and bucky can't help but smile as he nods, carefully wiping away your tears.

soft!dom!bucky who once promised you he'd always take care of you, and he continues to prove it in his actions and words. he'll never make you feel less-than for not being able to do certain tasks, his sole goal is to make you feel like the princess he knows you are.

You raise a brow. “You’ve been tracking that one seagull for five minutes.”

“It’s acting suspicious.”

“It’s a bird.”

“Exactly.”

You snort, shaking your head, and lean back into your beach chair. The kids—your kids—are a few yards ahead, right at the edge where the water laps at their ankles. Rowan is squealing every time a wave chases her back, Harlow clutching her hand and laughing, while Bennett stands a little braver, letting the water hit his knees like he’s proving something.

They’re fine. More than fine. The beach is calm, shallow for yards out, dotted with families and umbrellas and bright towels. There’s a lifeguard on duty, a flag flying green.

Zero risk.

Absolutely zero.

Bucky, however, is acting like you dropped your children into shark-infested waters during feeding hour.

“They’re too far out,” he says suddenly, straightening.

“They’re ten feet away.”

“That’s how it starts.”

You blink. “How what starts?”

“Attacks.”

“Attacks.”

He nods grimly, already pushing to his feet. “I’m just gonna—hang on.”

Before you can stop him, he’s striding toward the water like a man on a mission, broad shoulders cutting through the crowd. You watch, biting back a smile, as he approaches the kids.

Rowan sees him first. “Daddy!”

He doesn’t smile—no, he crouches down immediately, eyes scanning the water like he expects a dorsal fin to slice through at any second.

“Okay,” he says, voice firm but gentle, “new rule. Nobody goes past… here.” He draws an invisible line in the wet sand with his foot.

Bennett frowns. “But it’s just water.”

“Yeah, and what lives in water?” Bucky counters.

Harlow gasps, delighted. “Fish!”

“Yes,” he says carefully. “Fish.”

“And dolphins!” Rowan adds.

“And sharks,” Bucky slips in.

You can practically see the shift.

Rowan freezes. Harlow’s grip tightens. Bennett squints suspiciously at the horizon.

You’re out of your chair before you can even think about it, hurrying over as Bucky immediately realizes what he’s done.

“Hey,” you cut in smoothly, crouching beside them. “No sharks here, okay? This beach is super safe. Daddy’s just being… Daddy.”

“I am not—” he starts.

You give him a look.

He exhales, scrubbing a hand down his face. “I’m just saying, statistically—”

“Don’t you dare bring statistics into this.”

Rowan tugs on your hand. “There’s no sharks?”

“None,” you promise, brushing her damp hair back. “Just waves and sand and maybe some little fish.”

Bucky clears his throat. “Very small fish.”

You elbow him lightly.

He sighs again, shoulders dropping a fraction, and crouches lower to their level. His voice softens, all that tension bending into something quieter, steadier. “You guys stay where we can see you, okay? That’s the real rule.”

Bennett nods, serious. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Harlow echoes.

Rowan just grins and splashes her foot in the water again, already distracted.

Crisis averted.

For about thirty seconds.

Because then a wave rolls in a little stronger than the others, rushing up to Bennett’s thighs, and Bucky’s entire body snaps back to attention.

“That one was bigger,” he says.

“It’s an ocean,” you reply. “That’s kind of the point.”

“It pulled him,” Bucky insists.

“It was a wave.”

“It pulled him.”

You grab his wrist before he can surge forward again. “Bucky.”

He looks at you, jaw tight, and for a second you see it—not the ridiculous shark paranoia, not the overprotective dad mode turned up to eleven, but the fear underneath it. The kind that doesn’t make sense to anyone but him. The kind that comes from a lifetime of things going wrong, of people being taken, of not being fast enough.

“They’re okay,” you say softly.

His gaze flicks back to the kids.

Rowan is now trying to stomp on the foam as it recedes. Harlow is giggling beside her. Bennett has discovered a shell and is holding it up like treasure.

Safe.

Happy.

Right there.

“I know,” he murmurs, but he doesn’t sound convinced.

You step closer, slipping your hand into his. His fingers tighten immediately, grounding, familiar.

“You know what you are?” you tease gently.

He glances at you. “What.”

“A landlocked Brooklyn boy who thinks the ocean is personally out to get him.”

A huff of reluctant laughter escapes him. “I don’t think that.”

“You do.”

“I just—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head. “There’s too much out there.”

“There’s also too much out there in space,” you point out. “You gonna start worrying about that next?”

He considers it for half a second too long.

“Bucky.”

“Right,” he says quickly. “Ocean first.”

You laugh, leaning into his side, and for a moment he lets himself relax. His arm drapes around your shoulders, pulling you close, even as his eyes flick back to the kids every few seconds.

Eventually, he sinks down into the sand beside you.

Still watching.

Always watching.

Rowan looks back at one point, catching him staring, and waves wildly.

“Hi, Daddy!”

His whole face softens, fear melting into something warmer, something steadier.

He lifts a hand, waving back. “Hey, sweetheart.”

Then, quieter, more to himself than anyone else, he mutters, “If a shark shows up, I’m fistfighting it.”

You grin, resting your head against his shoulder. “Of course you are.”

“And I’d win.”

“Obviously.”

His arm tightens around you, gaze still locked on the water, on your children, on everything he loves standing right at the edge of something vast and uncontrollable.

Terrified.

Ridiculous.

Completely, utterly devoted.

And even as another wave rolls in, and the kids shriek with laughter instead of fear, Bucky doesn’t move.

But you can feel it in the way he holds you.

He’s ready.