M✨

They are on the third floor of the abandoned factory. The building itself seems to be coming apart at the seams, looking older than himself, Steve and Y/n combined… so, very old. The entire structure is built around a large hall in the middle, where the—now out of order—machines of a bygone era are catching rust.

They’re a couple corridors down the mezzanine looking down the spacious hallway (on the ground floor) where Brekker must currently be waiting. Having broken a window, Y/n is sitting over the ledge of it, with so much grace that it’s making Bucky lose function just looking at her. There are binoculars in her hand resting atop her folded knee, which is placed on the sill. Her sight is set on the only road that has access to the entrance of this place. The rest of the area surrounding the property is a desolate uneven concrete plateau.

In the gloomy light of the hidden London sun, along with the wind blowing with the threat of a storm just around the corner, her profile looks absolutely stunning. Bucky wants nothing more than to touch it. But he can’t. So he chooses to lean on the pillar nearest to the window, opposite her.

“Maybe they’re running late,” Torres chimes in from the jet which had landed not too far away from the building.

“Or maybe they stopped for some fish and chips,” Steve suggests, jovially. Bucky missed this cocky punk.

He and Sam are on the ground floor on the east side of the building. They are hiding inside a room with a good view of where Brekker stands. Meanwhile also making sure to camouflage themselves enough to not get spotted.

“Oooh, I could really go for some fish and chips right about now,” Brekker states. Bucky can hear the smile on his face when he adds, “Say, Joaquin, would you like to come along with me?”

“Did you just ask him out on a date over comms?” Sam exclaims at the same time as Torres asks with barely concealed enthusiasm, “You mean like a date?”

“It can be whatever you want it to be, handsome,” Brekker replies, ignoring Sam completely. “All you have to do is say yes.”

Torres makes some fumbling noises before breathing out an exasperated, “Yes.”

“Did you just say yes?” Sam balks, at Torres.

As they continue to bicker, Bucky breaks into a smile at the thought of a blushing Torres. He remembers being flustered like that. He’d grown up a suave charmer, pretty similar to Brekker in a way. But then, Hydra had ripped him apart piece by piece leaving him hollow. And when he’d put himself back together somehow he’d lost the suave part like one of the screws from the ungodly IKEA furniture Sam had made him buy… or so he thought.

Because Y/n had just decided to march into his life, make him sputter and fumble like a teenage boy with a stupid crush. But somehow built that piece of him back up at the same time. She could still fluster him, of course, she could. She’d flirt with him relentlessly, no matter the occasion, unashamedly and unabashedly. She’d call him pet names, and buy him flowers but somewhere along the way, he’d begun re-learning it all over again from her, with her. He’d whisper sweet nothings in her ear when they’d be out with Morgan at the aquarium or made her breakfast in bed or he’d flirt with her at the coffee shop and make her smile.

But that was then, now all he can do is watch her laugh at Brekker’s shenanigans.

“Mal’s gonna eat that boy alive,” she says with a smile still present on her face, wind in her hair.

Wait, did she just talk to him?

No, no.

She just made a comment.

An observation.

“Don’t you think so?” She’s looking at him as she asks.

Oh fuck, she’s talking to him.

He can’t just let that thread of conversation go. Fuck no. He thought after that night it was over, that she'd never talk to him again. Not beyond mission commands and passing remarks. So he says, “I don’t know, I think Torres can hold his own.”

She nods in assent, looking out the window. “I might be biased.”

“You two do seem close,” Bucky says foolishly, without realizing the possible insinuation of his words.

And for a second Y/n’s calm façade fades, her jaw clenches but it’s gone in a flash. She relaxes instantly, calm again. Then she turns to him and says, “So I’ve been told.” The smile she wears on her face doesn’t reach her eyes. Not like the ones she used to wear with him. Not like the ones that reminded him of the drizzling rain. Not like the ones that calmed him down when he’d panic. No. This doesn’t look like those. This is just plastered on for show.

“I didn’t—that wasn’t—” he tries but can’t really make the words come outright. She just chooses to look out the window, disregarding the whole thing. He breathes in and tries again. But because he’s Bucky, and he might have gotten better with his words but not by much; the confession just falls out, “I meant, making me jealous.”

She cocks her eyebrow.

Fuck him.

“When I said I thought you were better than that, what I meant was you were better than wanting to make me jealous,” he clarifies, referring back to the incident at her place which now seems like years ago. “It’s not much better than the other thing. But I wasn’t insinuating the other thing. I would never—” He’s cut off.

“I know,” she says simply.

“You know?” He asks, not understanding completely.

“Yeah, I know.” When she looks back at him only to see his brows still furrowed in confusion, she adds, “I know you weren’t insinuating what you thought, I thought, you were insinuating.”

“What I thought, you thought—what?”

She sighs, “I know you weren’t calling me a slut, Buck.”

Oh. He straightens in his place.

“Give me some credit, I know you well enough to know you wouldn’t say that,” she chides, nose scrunching up.

God, she’s beautiful.

“But, you were pissed,” Bucky argues.

She pushes her hair back with the hand not occupied with the binoculars. “Your words still hurt.” There is such a vulnerability in that confession, Bucky feels the shuddering guilt creep up his spine. “But I guess it doesn’t matter much now, it’s not like we were a thing,” she spits out. The calmness of her face, a sharp contrast to the bite of her tone.

“Are you ever gonna let that one go?” He shouldn’t, but he’s kinda frustrated over it being used against him as a weapon again and again.

She sees his change in tone and raises him her own. “Sure. I can go with, ‘It was all just a distraction anyway’ or would you prefer, ‘It was nice while it lasted?”

Fuck! Fine, he’s pissed okay?

“If being passive-aggressive was a sport, you’d be an Olympic-level athlete.” he throws back.

She laughs darkly, “Well, at least I’m not a fucking quitter.”

“Excuse me?” He takes a few steps towards her. “You kissed him!”

She finally looks at him, “Oh come on, you can’t be serious—”

“Just suck it up and kiss me, Rogers,” he recites her words back to her.

She brings her foot down from the sill to the floor. “It was an act and you know it!”

“Do I?”

She stands up, “Are you seriously asking me that? Of course, it was an act!” She shakes her head, moving closer to him. “But you don’t want to hear that, do you? No, you want it to be something more, so you can hand me off to Steve and call it a day.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mea—”

“Exactly what I said,” she answers, cutting him off. Their eyes have met and he can see his own fury reflected back to him in hers. God, she’s a rainstorm in the shape of the most gorgeous woman. And that makes him hate this conversation even more. “You wanted an out… and Steve coming back was just the most convenient one,” she accuses, words being spat out in disgust.

And now that’s some utter bullshit.

“I asked you what to tell Steve, and you avoided answering the question. Because you didn’t want this to be a thing,” he throws back. She begins to protest but he cuts him off. “And that’s fine, alright? Like I said, he’s the better choice. He loves you, he really does. And I knew that. I never should’ve—”

“You finish that sentence and Sam will be wheeling you out of here on a fucking stretcher Barnes,” she threatens. But her words aren’t ferocious, they’re just trying to mask her hurt. He can see it in her eyes; they’re colder. He can see it in her stance; it’s more rigid. He can see it in her hands; they’re clasped shut.

He doesn’t want to hurt her. That’s the opposite of what he wants.

“He came back, Y/n,” he says dejectedly. “That’s all that matters, right? You said it’s all that matters.”

She looks completely lost for a second, trying to remember when the words left her mouth. And when it clicks, she balks, “To Morgan?” She runs a hand down her face in what seems like clear frustration. “I said that to Morgan, right?” When he nods in response, she adds, “And you decided to take the thing I told my niece to make her stop saying the word ‘butthole’ as gospel?”

And Bucky just shrugs.

She lets out such a frustrated groan, Bucky takes a small step back in fear of it.

“I didn’t mean it, James. And for fuck’s sake it didn’t even work!” She exclaims. “She’s been calling all the boys at school 'buttholes’—”

Bucky can’t help but melt at the image of little Morgan Stark cussing the boys who annoy her. He also can’t help but feel a little proud.

But he’s gotta focus right now.

“—I think I might have to agree with her,” she finishes.

“Look, you avoided the question—”

“Cause I didn’t want to spook you!” She exclaims cutting her off, hands flying helplessly.

She’s making this so much harder than it ought to be. “He’s better for you, Y/n!” He shouts.

“Just because you don’t see the sun, when you look in the mirror, doesn’t make me a fucking liar!” She shouts back, thunder cracking behind them.

And what can Bucky say to that?

He always wondered why she called him ‘sunshine’.

She rubs both her hands over her face, calming herself down. “I wanted you…” she states. “But you didn’t want me,” she accuses him in a terrifyingly small voice. He’s never seen her this… vulnerable before. He’d heard from Sam about that night, about how she’d cried. He hated himself for being the reason for it. Steve had told him, he wasn’t. Assured him it was far more his fault than Bucky’s. But he couldn’t bring himself to believe him.

He knew he’d hurt her, but not in this way. He thought he was doing the right thing. And he’d made peace with the fact that sometimes the right way has got someone hurt. But he presumed he was the collateral damage. Not her.

“That’s not true,” he admits in a soft whisper. Because he does believe Steve is better for her, but he can’t fucking stand the thought of her thinking he didn’t want her. How can she possibly think that? He doesn’t really want for much since he came out of the deep freezer, all broken and battered, barely himself. But he does want her. He’d always want her. He fucking lov—

“If you did want me then you wouldn’t give me up, James.”

“You deserve—”

“For the sake of all that is holy in this god-forsaken world, do not tell me what I deserve,” she pleads in frustration. “And stop playing the damn ‘he’s the better choice’ card. The man literally left me.”

“But doesn’t it matter that he came back to you? For you?” Bucky asks, genuinely.

“Maybe, it would have—”

He ignores her, barreling on. “Because I think it has to. It has to matter, that he decided to sacrifice his perfect life, for you—”

“Can you please stop trying to pawn me off to him?” She snides.

He keeps ignoring her, continuing, “He loves you, Y/n. I know he does—”

“WHAT ABOUT WHO I LOVE?!!” She screams, cutting him off and stopping him in his tracks. The lightning that strikes behind her has got nothing on the spark she emits. “What about who I love, Jamie?” She asks softly, the loudness gone within the second just like the thunderclap. Her eyes are fucking glistening when she says, “Cause I am in love with a dumbass Super Soldier, but he sure as shit ain’t blond.”

If there were words that were written to describe how he feels, he hasn’t read them. If there were songs that were sung to describe how his heart was beating, he hasn’t heard them. If there were films made to describe his euphoria, he definitely hasn’t seen them. The most he could say would be that he hadn’t had a lot of good days in his disastrously long century-spanning existence. But today was a good day. Today was a great fucking day. And if he were a poet he’d write sonnets about this day, about this exact moment. Because it feels far too big and far too much for him to just summarize in feeble words. What the fuck could they possibly have on the way his heart was beating out of his goddamn chest?

He remembers kissing her for the first time and thinking he’d tear down civilizations for her. But he stands here now, ready to build civilizations just to hear her say those three words. Because fuck him. He’s in lo—

“I know this is a horrible moment to tell you that your comms were on the entire time, but they were. And also, we’ve got incoming,” Torres cuts in.

And just like that, Y/n falls back to the calm armor she wears to hide behind. She passes (a still very stunned) Bucky by, making her way out of the room, “Let’s just get this over with.”

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