This is Me...

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But missions were never just fine, at least not really. They clung to you by the gunpowder in your clothes, adrenaline under your skin, and the faint tremor in your hands you can’t seem to get rid off.

Which was probably why neither you nor Bucky had gone to your rooms.

Instead, you ended up in the kitchen.

At… whatever time it was. 12AM? Maybe 12.30. Either way, it was late enough that the compound had gone eerily quiet. The lights were dimmed and the world narrowed down to the hum of the refrigerator and the buzz of the overhead lamp.

Bucky set the Chinese takeaway bag on the counter like it was precious cargo. “Got you your favourite.”

“You didn’t have to,” you said, leaning back against the opposite counter, arms loosely crossed. Your voice was softer than usual, and Bucky took note of that. 

He shrugged, already pulling containers out. “You forgot to eat before the mission.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no aggression behind it. “I had a protein bar.”

“That doesn’t count.”

“It does if I say it does.”

Bucky glanced at you, the corner of his mouth tugging up. “Yeah, well. You’d say anything counts if it means you don’t have to admit you’re wrong.”

You huffed out an amused laugh.

There it was, that comfortable rapport you and Bucky got going on. It always came there, no matter how the mission went. It was… nice, for lack of a better word.

He slid one of the containers toward you without asking.

Your favorite, the wonton soup.

Of course it was.

You looked down at it, then back up at him. “You remembered.”

He didn’t look at you this time, focusing instead on unwrapping his own food. “You order the same thing every time.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is.”

“It’s not,” you insisted, but your voice had gone softer again, almost thoughtful. “Sometimes I get the other thing.”

“What? The egg drop soup?” Bucky finally glanced up, lifting an eyebrow. “You complain about it every time you get it and say you should’ve gotten this instead.”

You paused. He did have a point.

His mouth twitched up again only barely, like he was trying not to let himself smile too much.

And then, because you couldn’t help yourself, you smiled too.

You both settled around the small coffee table on the corner of the room, the one that was technically too small for two people but somehow always ended up being shared anyway. 

Bucky leaned back slightly in his chair, stretching one arm along the backrest beside him. The metal of his other hand rested on the table, fingers tapping once, then twice.

“You did good today,” you said after a moment, stirring at your soup more than actually eating it.

“So did you.”

“I almost missed that shot.”

“You didn’t.”

“Almost.”

“Doesn’t count.”

You huffed softly, glancing up at him. “Right,” you muttered, looking back down, even though you could still feel his eyes on you.

A moment passed in silence, until it was too uncomfortable for either of you to bear.

“You didn’t have to—” you started again, nodding toward the food, like you needed to circle back to a safer topic. “—do this.”

Bucky leaned forward slightly, forearms resting on the table now.“It’s just food.”

“It’s not just food,” you took a bite full of wonton, then swallowed, “and you know it.”

He did. He could’ve just heated up frozen pizza. Or put on some fries in the new air fryer Val got. Instead, he went through all the effort to get you your favourite takeout. 

He shrugged, “You were running on empty.”

You laughed, almost in disbelief. “That’s not your problem.”

Bucky can only smile. “Yeah,” he said, “I know.”

You looked up again, and he was already looking at you.

And for a second it felt like something that had been brewing between you for months might actually be said. It’s almost as if one wrong move might break it, or fix it, or—

You nudged his foot lightly under the table.

“Eat your food, Barnes,” you said, gentler now, but with that teasing edge still. “You’re gonna get all grumpy if you don’t.”

He tilted his head. “Already grumpy.”

“No, you’re not.” You nudged him again. “Not when you’re with me.”

You didn’t even know what you meant by that, but he didn’t move his foot away.

Instead, his eyes dropped briefly to where your feet touched under the table, then back up to your face.

“You worry too much,” he said.

You nodded your head. “Someone has to.”

Bucky let out a huff, almost like a laugh.

By the time the food was gone, neither of you had moved much.

Your containers sat empty, pushed off to the side. The common room had gone quieter, if that was even possible. 

Bucky was still leaning back in his chair, one arm hooked over the back, the other resting on the table. 

It was getting late. You should go to bed. You didn’t, though.

Bucky cleared his throat. “Uh—”

You looked up.

He was already looking at you, but the second your eyes met, his gaze flicked away, suddenly shy. His fingers tapped once against the table.

“You, uh…” He shifted slightly in his chair. “You wanna watch a movie or something?”

The words came out a little too nervous to be casual. It was like he was aiming for easy and landed just shy of it.

“Okay,” you said. 

His shoulders dropped just a fraction.“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

“Okay,” he repeated, like he needed to hear it twice.

—

That was how you ended up on the couch.

The TV lit up the room in soft blue light as the menu screen flickered to life.

Bucky handed you the remote. “Your pick.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “That’s a trap.”

“It’s not a trap.”

“If I pick something bad, you’re gonna judge me.”

“I don’t—” he started, then paused. “I don’t judge.”

You just looked at him.

He sighed. “…Okay, I judge a little.”

“Exactly.”

You turned your attention back to the screen, scrolling through options.

Rows of movies passed by. You hovered over one— Hachiko, a dog movie. 

Bucky leaned slightly closer to see. “…No. The book is better.”

You turned to him. “I didn’t even pick it yet.”

“You were thinking about it.”

You scoffed. “You don’t know my thought process.”

“I do.”

“Oh, do you?”

“Yeah,” he said, a little too confidently. “You pick something sad, then pretend you’re ‘fine’ the whole time.”

“I am fine.”

“You cried at that other dog movie.”

“Airbud was emotional!”

“The dog was fine at the end.”

“That’s not the point!”

Bucky chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re not picking that.”

“Oh, so now I don’t get to pick at all?”

“You can pick,” he said, gesturing toward the screen. “Just not that.”

You stared at him for a second, then hovered over it again just to get on his nerves.

Bucky leaned forward instantly. “Don’t.”

You grinned, pretending to press the button dramatically. 

“Don’t.”

You clicked away at the last second, satisfied.

“Wow,” he muttered. “Real mature.”

“Thank you.”

You kept scrolling and paused over one of the Peter Jackson Hobbit movies. 

Bucky leaned in to you, close enough that you could feel his warmth, the brush of his arm against yours.

“Are you kidding?” he said.

“You didn’t even read which one it was!”

“I don’t need to,” he said stubbornly, “the books are better.”

“You’re fucking impossible, old man,” you said, faking an annoyance. 

“You have terrible taste.” He didn’t really mean it. 

You sunk back on the couch. “Whatever.”

Five minutes later, you were still scrolling.

Five minutes turned to ten minutes. Then fifteen.

Lego Movie? Pass. Lego Batman? Pass. Alien? Meh. Predator. Seen that too many times. 

“This is getting ridiculous,” he muttered under his breath.

“You keep vetoing everything,” you shook your head. 

“Everything you pick is concerning.”

You turned to him. “You suggested a documentary about trains last time.”

“It was interesting.”

“It was two hours of trains, Bucky.”

“They were different trains.”

You stared at him. He stared back.

“I’m not watching that again.”

“Your loss.”

You rolled your eyes, then kept scrolling to another row… another.. 

And then—

You stopped.

You slowly turned your head toward him.

“No,” you both said, in perfect sync, though neither sounded convinced.

You looked back at the screen, before looking back at each other.

“Okay, but…” you started.

“It’s a stupid choice to make,” he said.

“I know.”

“It’s really stupid. We could do better”

“I know.”

Then, quieter, like he was giving in despite himself, he broke the silence. “…You wanna watch it?”

Your smile spread immediately. “Yeah.”

He huffed. You pressed it and the movie started.

Paul Blart: Mall Cop 2.

Sam had made him watch the first one after all. He had pretended not to like it, but it became one of his guilty pleasures. 

It wasn’t longer before you slapped a hand over your mouth after you snorted at a scene. “I’m sorry.”

Bucky shook his head, already smiling. “No, no. it’s—”

Another ridiculous scene played, and you both lost it.

At one point, you leaned into him without thinking, your shoulder pressing fully against his as you laughed.

Bucky froze for half a second, before relaxing into it.

His arm shifted slightly, not quite around you, but close. Close enough that if either of you moved just a little more…

But neither of you did.

The movie played on, ridiculous and dumb and perfect in a way neither of you would admit out loud.

—

The movie had been playing for, what— thirty  minutes? Maybe forty.

Bucky couldn’t tell anymore, because he was now frozen. 

Just two minutes ago, he was laughing at a corny joke saying something stupid about segways, when he realised you weren’t answering.

He looked to the side and saw that you were leaning on his human shoulders. 

He hadn’t dared move, hadn’t even trusted himself to breathe normally. He was hyper-aware of everything: the warmth of being so close to you, the weight leaning into his arm, the faint scent of oil you couldn’t quite get out of your hair. Every nerve in his body felt like it had been switched on at once.

Your head tipped.

And before he could even process it, before he could decide whether to panic or not… his mind supplied helpfully, that you were asleep.

You were asleep on him.

Bucky stared straight ahead at the TV like it might detonate if he looked away.

Okay.

Okay, this was fine.

An adorably small exhale left you, and your head slid just slightly more onto his shoulder, settling there.

There was a very important decision to make here.

He could wake you.

That would be the normal thing to do. It was the reasonable thing to do. He should gently nudge you, say your name, pretend his heart wasn’t currently trying to punch its way out of his chest.

Or…

He glanced down, carefully.

Your cheek was pressed against his shoulder, your face relaxed in sleep. You were peaceful. Comfortable. With him.

He wasn’t stupid. He knew your past and the mental toll that came with it. He knew you were paranoid and hyper vigilant— you told him that yourself. Once, you even told him people made you uncomfortable and uneasy. 

But evidently, not him. 

His throat went dry.

Or… he could not wake you.

Bucky reached very, very carefully for the remote and paused the movie. The screen froze mid-scene, some convention that Blart was currently attending in the background.

He set the remote aside like it might make noise if he wasn’t cautious enough.

And then he stayed. He didn’t move. He didn’t breathe in too deep. And he didn’t even dare adjust his human arm, even though it was already starting to go a little numb.

At some point, your breathing evened out into that steady rhythm of deep sleep. You shifted slightly, and Bucky tensed, worried you’d wake, but instead you just settled more comfortably against him.

Your lips parted just a little.

Aaaand you were definitely drooling on him.

Bucky still did not move.  If anything, his shoulders somehow squared further, like he was bracing himself against the concept of ever disturbing you.

Time passed, and Bucky didn’t even check the clock. His arm had long since gone numb, pins and needles creeping down into his fingers, but he refused to shift even an inch.

This was fine. He’d survived worse with Hydra, cryo, decades of nightmares… He could surely survive being a human pillow.

The door whooshed open at around 3 AM. 

Bucky didn’t react. It wasn't unusual for one of the team members to get hungry and raid the kitchen before everyone else was awake. 

“Hey, Buck…” Bob’s voice cut off mid-sentence. “…What are you doing?”

Bucky stared straight ahead at the frozen TV screen. “Watching a movie.”

Bob walked further into the room.“The movie is paused.”

“We’re uh… taking a break.” Bucky was obviously trying to whispers 

Bob looked between the TV and you.

Then he looked back at Bucky, sitting ramrod straight like a statue, arm clearly trapped but making absolutely no attempt to fix it.

Bob raised an eyebrow. “How long have you been…?”

Bucky hesitated. “Not long.”

Bob glanced at the clock, knowing you came back from the mission  little less than four hours ago.. “Are you sure?”

“Maybe an hour,” Bucky gulped. 

Bob just chuckled. “You’ve been sitting there, not moving… For an hour.”

Bucky said nothing.

“Your arm is literally dead, isn’t it?”

“I can’t feel my fingers.” He admitted dryly.

“And you’re just… okay with that,” Bob tilted his head curiously.  

“Yeah.”

Bob let out a small innocent laugh, reaching for sweets in the jar on the table behind them. Bob knew Bucky, and he knew you. He knew that Bucky was very particular about his personal space, and he hated the invasion of it. This, however, was less of an invasion and more of a please come into my space and stay there forever. “Have you tried telling her you’re in love with her?” He suggested, trying to be helpful.

Bucky’s head snapped toward him so fast it was almost alarming. “I’m not—”

Bob just gave him a surprised look. “You’re not?”

“I’m not,” Bucky insisted, quieter now. “I just… she fell asleep, that’s all.”

“She’s drooling on you.”

Bucky could feel the heat on his cheeks. “I noticed.”

“And you still haven’t moved for an hour, maybe more.”

Bucky looked down at you.

Your face was soft even in sleep, completely unguarded. 

Something in his eyes shifted, and maybe, he was realising that what he felt for you was… affection.  Then he looked away again.

“I didn’t want to wake her,” he repeated, more quietly this time.

Bob stared at him then shrugged “Yeah,” he said. “Sure.”

Bucky frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” Bob turned, already heading toward the kitchen. “Absolutely nothing.”

Bucky watched him go.

Then, he looked back at you.

You shifted slightly in your sleep, pressing just a little closer.

Maybe, he thought, it would just be easier to take Bob’s advice and tell you he was in love with you. 

Maybe you loved him back. 

Maybe… maybe then he would get to watch over your little snores everyday. 

And then, it would’ve been worth it. 

Maybe. 

“When have I ever made something like that up?”

“Fifth grade,” you answer without hesitation, “when you said you’d met Captain America on that field trip.”

“Again, that was not made up, I saw him—”

“That was a random guy in a baseball cap—”

“—he was looking right at Tyler—”

“—Tyler needed glasses and he also had a crush on you, of course he’d agree—”

“—it was one hundred percent real and even if it weren’t, I was eleven, let it go.”

“You brought it up, Elsa.” You readjust the straps of the overfilled tote bag on your shoulder. “I will find someone else to go to winter wonderland with, by the way.”

“You’re a menace,” Kate grumbles. “I’m off saving the city and you thank me with threats.”

“Put the dog on screen again and I might reconsider,” you answer as you stop for a red light, holding your phone closer to your face again. “Aaaww, did you put him in a bow tie? Well, aren’t you a handsome boy!”

“You already love that dog more than me, don’t you?”

“One hundred percent,” you say, still cooing. “You’ll bring him next week, right?”

“Uhm, yeah …” Kate says, trailing off. She flips the screen again and sits down on the floor next to pizza dog, who places his head in her lap. “I don’t know if I’m gonna make it yet. What with all this—stuff going on. I’m gonna try, obviously,” she adds hastily, seeing the look of disappointment on your face. “I just don’t think these guys are gonna take the weekend off.”

“They better,” you sigh and join the crowd of people shuffling to cross the street while carrying their several salaries’ worth of Christmas shopping. “I miss you, Bishop.”

Kate smiles. “Miss you too.”

“And take a selfie with your new best friend. I have the right to see my supposed replacement.”

“Bye.”

You shake your head as Kate and pizza dog disappear from your screen with a chime.

It’s started snowing during your call, gray clouds covering the sky and turning the crisp winter air into icy gusts of wind that make your eyes water. So much for New York City at Christmas; they only ever tell you about the lights and the window decorations, not about the damn cold.

Thankfully, your apartment is only a couple of blocks away now. The thought of curling up on the couch with your cat and a hot drink is the one thing that keeps your spirits up while you try shoving your phone back into your coat pocket while also not slipping on the sidewalk.

Of course, that’s the exact moment someone bumps into you, sending both you and your shopping bags flying to the ground.

A surprised yelp escapes you as you attempt to break your fall on anything but your bags of presents. There’s a sharp pain coursing through your wrist and knees as you land, unceremoniously, on the curb.

“Well, merry Christmas, asshole!”you shout after the idiot who doesn’t even bother to stop and check on you. Continuing to curse under your breath, you scramble to get back on your feet and gather your bearings. The bags have soaked through, but at least nothing seems badly damaged.

“I think that’s yours.”

“Shit!” You take your phone out of the gloved hand offering it to you. It must have skidded away from you when you fell, and now the screen is cracked. You want to cry. “Sorry, I mean, thank you, I’m just—”

You take a look at the person in front of you and immediately lose your train of thought because, damn—he’s gorgeous.

The first thing you notice is that he hasn’t even bothered to close his jacket; it’s as if the searing cold tearing at you is nothing more than a light breeze to him, his gloves the one concession to the temperature.

Slowly, your gaze travels upwards. There’s some dark stubble on his perfect jawline. His cheeks and nose are tinted a beautiful shade of pink. A few snowflakes have got caught in his hair, and you would find yourself mesmerized by the way it curls ever so slightly on his forehead if it weren’t for his eyes. Wow—his eyes. Midnight blue with some lighter specs that make you think of the ocean, the color accentuated by his navy sweater. You’d be quite happy never looking at anything but his eyes ever again.

You realize you might be staring a little.

“Sorry,” you continue weakly. “That guy just barrelled into me.”

“I saw.” He frowns slightly and your eyes flicker to the little dimple between his brows. Your fingers itch to touch it. “You alright, doll?”

“Yeah, I’m …” You trail off, still nodding like a maniac, wondering for a split second if this is it, if you got sent into a Hallmark movie and you need to just let this happen, before you thankfully catch yourself. You’re being ridiculous, you think. Reel it back in, fast. “I like your sweater.”

Well done.

He blinks. “Thanks. I like yours, too.”

Tradition demands that Kate and you do your shopping together while wearing the ugliest Christmas sweaters you can find, and just because she’s blown you off this year doesn’t mean you’ll forgo that. In this moment, though, you wish you’d opted for anything that doesn’t depict Santa riding a dinosaur. You pull your coat closed.

There’s a slight twinkle of amusement in his beautiful eyes, but not like he’s making fun of you. He doesn’t say anything else, though, he just keeps watching you, hands in the pockets of his leather jacket.

He looks strangely familiar that way, as if you’d seen him before somewhere, but you can’t quite place him. You can only hope it’s not high school or something equally embarrassing.

Cringing slightly at the thought, you cough and do that awkward smile and nod. “Anyway, thank you, I should get—”

“Is it still working?”

Your head? Not while he’s looking at you, no. “What?”

“Your phone.”

“Oh!” Your hands shake slightly as you try unlocking it. The display stays black. Of fucking course. “I mean, I was running low on battery earlier, maybe plugging it in at home will help,” you say without much hope in your voice.

“Worth a try.” He glances at your bags. “Are you gonna be okay?”

Real life, not a movie. You still manage a smile. “Yes, of course, it’s fine. I’m not far ahead. Thank you, really. Happy holidays.”

“You, too.” He gives you another look and a light smirk tugs on his lips. And then he’s gone.

With a sigh, you turn down the street to haul your soggy bags home and mourn the fact that life does not follow the plot of your favorite rom coms after all. If it were, he’d be running after you now, insisting to carry your bags or at least ask for your number. The thought of it is so delicious you almost turn around, but thankfully, you still have an ounce of self-respect left, so you don’t.

You’re still distracted by your not-quite meet cute when you arrive at your doorstep, which is why you don’t immediately realize something is amiss. The green moving truck parked next to the entrance doesn’t strike you as particularly remarkable as you rummage through your tote bag for your keys.

Not until the guys get out of the car.

Your head turns automatically when you hear someone say your name, but you don’t recognize the men in front of you. They must be working for the same company, since they’re all wearing matching tracksuits. Maybe one of your neighbors is moving, you think, but you get a bad feeling from this. They’re not built like movers.

“Can I help you?” you say, grabbing your keys tightly.

“Hopefully,” one of them answers. His accent is heavy, Russian maybe, but you’re not sure. “We are looking for a friend of yours. Kate Bishop.”

Eyes flitting between the three of them, you take another step towards your door. What do they want from Kate? “I’m sorry, but I don’t know who you mean.”

Either you're a worse liar than you like to think or they know something you don’t but either way, they just chuckle darkly. All the hair at the back of your neck is standing up now. Blindly, you reach for the handle behind you in the wild hope that it will just open on its own and you can put at least a door between those weird men and yourself. It doesn’t move an inch.

“Oh, but I think you do,” the same man says, and before you even have a second to breathe, you’re blinking down the barrel of a gun. Your blood turns cold.

“Come on, bro,” the guy to his right says, rolling his eyes. “She said just talk.”

“I am trying, but if she doesn’t want to do the talking, I am going to nudge a little. Show her we are not idiots.”

Should you scream? You feel like you should scream, but there’s no one else around and you don’t doubt that he might just shoot you where you’re standing. On the steps to your home, surrounded by a bunch of presents. What do they want from Kate? You’ve always been terrible in a crisis.

“What will she do, attack you with presents?”

“Fine, fine.” He puts the gun back into his trousers, but your heart is still racing. “See? No harm done. Just tell us where Kate Bishop is and we leave.”

Yeah, right. “Look,” you say slowly. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding …”

“I will tell you misunderstanding.” The man on the right takes a step closer to you and you flinch. It makes him grin, a ghastly, self-assured grin that makes you sick to your stomach. “Is when your friend got involved with the Ronin and pretends she knows what she’s doing.”

There’s only a couple of feet between him and you now and your brain short-circuits. So you swing your wet and heavy shopping bags at his face.

He does not expect that. The impact of the bags is enough to make him fall backwards at his companions, who also grunt in surprise. You frantically snatch your keys out of your bag, stabbing them at the hole to get into the building, but you’re not fast enough. You shriek when hands grab you from behind, kicking at whoever’s dragging you back down the stairs and into the alleyway next to your building. It’s no use.

For the second time today, you’re shoved to the ground roughly, but this time, you don’t get to catch your fall. You wince as your head hits the side of the dumpster, tears immediately springing to your eyes.

“Now can I nudge a little?” you hear one of the men growl. There’s the click of a safety catch being released, and you instinctively brace yourself for a shot.

It doesn’t come.

Instead there’s a yelp and a crash, and the dumpster shakes as something heavy falls on top of it. You push yourself upright where you landed in a small heap of snow, ignoring the sting in your wrist, and roll around just in time to see the second tracksuit guy go down with a groan. Someone shouts something in a language you don’t understand. A strange cracking sound and a scream. Then—

You scramble backwards when a shadow appears in front of you. There’s a wave of nausea that hits you at the sudden movement.

“Are you hurt?” You know that voice.

When you look up, you stare directly into those midnight blue eyes again. Once again, they almost take your breath away, even though now they’re dark with concern.

“I think so, I … I hit my head a little,” you say dumbly.

“Here.” You take his hands and let yourself be put upright, stumbling a little. His grip tightens ever so slightly when you do, holding you steady as the feeling of dizziness eases. There are a few stars swimming across your vision, but apart from that, you feel okay. Well, physically. “We gotta get you somewhere safe, doll, alright?”

You nod when you notice some movement behind his shoulder. The flash of a gun reflected against the snow.

The gasp falls from your lips the same moment as the shot rings out and the stranger in front of you whirls back around, pulling you behind his back with one swift movement. There’s a clanging sound as the bullet hits—metal?

Two more shots are fired and the man catches both of them with the palm of his left hand. He doesn’t seem to feel either of them. Within seconds, he wrestles the gun out of the assailant’s hand and hits him in the head with the hilt. And you realize why he’s seemed so familiar to you before.

“You’re Bucky Barnes,” you manage, eyes wide as you take him in properly.

His hair is short now, which is why you didn’t recognize him before, with his left arm hidden under his layers. There’s a hole in the palm of his glove now, though, and you can see the shiny vibranium underneath for just a moment before he balls it into a fist.

“I know,” he says, jaw set as he drags the unconscious guy further into the alley. Your knees buckle and you have to steady yourself against the dumpster. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

It seems such a weird thing to say, you almost laugh. If only you didn’t still feel like you’re spinning. When did the world stop making sense? “I didn’t think you would.”

“Good.” He brushes off his hands and picks something up from the ground. There’s something next to his shoe, a discoloration of the snow next to the dumpster. “We need to leave. More of them might show up.”

A surge of panic courses through you. “My cat, I can’t just—I can’t leave her here alone, she’s only eight months old.” For some reason, the thought of your kitten being left all by herself makes you sob involuntarily. But you can’t move. Your head is throbbing.

“Doll, you gotta breathe. Focus on something for me, alright?” You draw a shuddering breath, but your gaze is still flitting between the wall, Bucky’s arm, the snow, the men on the ground, your shoes. “Listen to me. What’s your apartment number?”

“4D,” you answer tonelessly. That’s blood right there on the ground. That’s definitely blood being covered by a thin layer of snow right now. It looks almost pink.

You feel another wave of nausea and close your eyes, gulping in huge gasps of cold air. This isn’t real, you keep thinking, it can’t be, even though every single beat of your heart tells you the difference, hammering the truth into your head until you feel dizzy with it. You tilt your head back until you lean against the wall, steadying yourself.

Rational, you tell yourself, hiding your face in your hands, you need to be rational about all this. One deep breath. In. Out.

“Three Men Injured After Attack On Civilian,” you whisper to yourself, trying to keep the bile down. “Read more on 12.”

Usually, it helps you to take a step back from it all, to see any situation through a more neutral lens, if you pretend you’re already reporting on it. Sadly, your brain doesn’t seem to have gotten the memo.

Maybe if you don’t open your eyes, you’ll just wake up from an ill-advised late afternoon nap and everything will be back to normal.

A loud screeching noise overhead has you flinch.

“It’s okay, it’s just me.” Bucky jumps down the last couple of feet of the fire escape. “I have her, let’s leave.”

Numbly, you follow him through the alleyway back to the street. You’re almost surprised at the noise of the city that seems to come rushing back all at once. Life has continued despite what just happened only a few feet away, people all around you looking none the wiser.

You steal a glance over your shoulder. If you tilt your head just so, you can make out a boot and some of that rose colored snow.

“Don’t look back,” Bucky says quietly.

You turn back to stare at him. It’s only now that you notice his jacket, which is halfway closed now, appears to be moving. Another tiny gasp escapes you when you realize he has your cat tucked safely inside. She’s surprisingly quiet for an unexpected venture into the streets of Manhattan with a man she doesn’t know. In fact, she seems to be enjoying herself, curiously sticking her tiny pink nose outside and watching as you move back towards the crowd.

Maybe you should take a few pointers from her. You take another deep breath.

“Shouldn’t we call the police?” you ask, wincing at how hoarse your voice sounds to your own ears.

“They’re already on their way. This isn’t the kind of neighborhood where you can fire a few shots without anyone calling the cops immediately. Stop turning around,” Bucky says and your head shoots back forwards immediately. “Rule number one of not attracting attention is to act normally.”

“Right.” You can’t even remember how normal people walk. Do you usually move your arms this much? Hastily, you stuff your hands into your coat pockets. You feel your useless, dead phone inside, and your fingers clutch around it almost desperately.

“You’re doing great,” Bucky says and you almost laugh. You can still feel the adrenaline rushing through your veins, but at least you’re starting to be a bit more aware again, the panic slowly subsiding.

“What just happened back there?” you say through your teeth as you attempt to rearrange your facial features into something that signals casual stroll and not complete shell-shock.

“I was hoping you could tell me that.” Bucky’s scowl radiates neutral disinterest. You try to pull your eyebrows down slightly. “Do you know who sent those men?”

You give up the grimacing. “Of course not!”

“What were they asking for?”

Your heart sinks and you bite your lip to keep your focus in the present. “Kate Bishop. She, she’s my best friend, but I don’t—I can’t imagine what they’d want from her.”

Unless she was telling the truth, something at the back of your head tells you, but it seems so ludicrous. There’s something about Kate, your Kate, working with an Avenger that’s so far away from reality you can’t even put it into words.

Just like some men following you to your doorstep and demanding you tell them where she is.

NYU Student Involved With Organized Crime, you try in your head. Kate Bishop, 22, claims to have been recruited by—nope. Absolutely not.

If Bucky notices your inner conflict, he doesn’t remark on it. “For now, we’ll hide in the crowd in case they kept eyes on your door from a vantage point.”

You accidentally bite down so hard you taste blood. “Is that likely?”

“I don’t know these guys. But better safe than sorry.”

You turn another corner onto one of the larger avenues. Your eyes are pulled to the place next to the crossing where you’d dropped your phone. It couldn’t have been more than half an hour ago, even though you feel like your world has been turned on its head twice over since.

“You were going this way,” you say slowly, looking at Bucky. “Why were you even there when they …” You leave the sentence unfinished.

He coughs slightly. “I noticed one of them following you. Didn’t feel right, so I wanted to make sure you were safe.”

“And still are, huh?”

He lets his eyes meet yours again, another lazy grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Still am.”

You’re pretty positive the flutter in your stomach has nothing to do with the leftover adrenaline. Neither does the heat in your cheeks as you look away. “Well, I appreciate it,” you murmur.

If Bucky hears you, he doesn’t answer.

***

“Pretty sure your cat’s asleep.”

Without your phone, you have no way of knowing how long you’ve been walking aimlessly through Midtown and Hell’s Kitchen, changing direction every now and then, seemingly at random. The sun has set completely and the wind has picked up, making the temperatures drop even further. At this point, you can barely feel your toes as you hurry to keep up with Bucky’s long strides.

You peek at his jacket. Your tiny white cat is barely visible anymore, cuddled closely to Bucky’s stomach to keep warm. Once again, you find yourself strangely jealous of her.

“She must really like you. She’s usually very vocal.” Your chuckle comes out in a white cloud of steam. “Her name’s Alpine, by the way.”

“Fitting,” Bucky says, carefully petting her between the ears without waking her. “You still haven’t told me yours.”

“Oh.” You’ve been talking on and off during your walk, mostly pointing out dogs or decorated windows, unimportant things that have kept your mind off the men asking for Kate. Somehow, your name seems to not have come up. “It’s Y/N.”

He repeats it with a smirk. “That’s pretty.”

You can’t say if Bucky Barnes is flirting with you or if he’s just taking the distraction very seriously. Either way, you’re not complaining, because there’s a warmth in the way he says your name that makes your stomach tumble over itself. And your cheeks are on fire. Frozen still and on fire at the same time.

“Why don’t you close your coat?” Bucky asks after you pull it closer around you for what must be the hundredth time.

“Zipper’s broken,” you mumble, tucking your chin into the collar. “It’s fine, the wind is just a bit annoying.”

“Mhm.” Bucky looks at you from the side and you press your tongue between your teeth to keep them from actually chattering, mouth firmly shut. “Hey, let’s go in there for a sec.”

You look up as Bucky’s already marching across the street, heading towards the coffee shop at the corner. Its windows are almost aggressively festive, but the lights inside look cozy and you’re too exhausted from the cold to question much.

Bucky holds the door for you and you sigh as the first gust of warm, sweet air hits your face. It smells like coffee and cinnamon. The cheery Christmas playlist playing on speakers overhead mixes with the sound of the coffee machines and the pleasant chatter of the patrons occupying most of the tables close to the windows. The barista behind the register smiles at you briefly before she busies herself with the drip coffee maker.

“If anyone was following us, we'd have lost them a couple of blocks back,” Bucky quietly answers your question before you can speak up.

He could have said that a couple of blocks back, you think, but bite it back.

“What can I get you guys?” the barista calls over as you follow Bucky to the counter.

“Could I use your restroom?” he asks. You blink in surprise.

“Only if you buy something, I’m afraid,” the barista answers apologetically, glancing at who you assume is her manager behind the pastry case. “Company policy.”

“That’s alright,” you say, stepping up next to him and pulling the loose change out of your coat pocket. “My treat.” It’s the least you can do.

“Oh.” For some reason, Bucky’s ears go slightly pink. “Thank you. I’ll have whatever you’re having, then.”

The barista nods towards the far end of the store. “Upstairs and to the left, code’s A-616.”

“Thanks.” He turns back to you for just a moment, giving you a reassuring little smile. “Back in a minute.”

You nod and watch him walk to the stairs, keeping one arm in his pocket to make the cat-shaped outline of his jacket at least a little more inconspicuous. You only avert your eyes when the barista quietly clears her throat to get your attention, grinning when she does.

“Your boyfriend’s cute,” she remarks lightly as she rings up your order.

“Ah. No, yeah, he’s—”

“What name do you want me to put on the cups?” she asks, oblivious to your embarrassment.

Well, shit. You should’ve thought about this. Do you give her your real name when there’s people out there possibly still looking for you? Probably not. A fake one, then, but which one? The barista’s name, according to the writing next to a little red-nosed reindeer on her name tag, is Lucy, so you suddenly find yourself unable to think of any other name on the planet.

Wow, you really aren’t cut out for this whole being on the run thing. Terrible Liar: Local Reporter Blanks on Basic Question. More on her move to the moon on page 3.

By the time Bucky returns, you’re tucked into a corner farthest from the window, two red paper cups sat in front of you, almost done with destroying the paper sleeve around one of them. You feel yourself slowly defrosting as you sip your hot coffee.

“Here,” he says, shoving something blue over the table as he sits down. “Put this on.”

It takes you half a second to realize he’s not wearing his navy sweater anymore. Instead, you can make out the outline of maybe the tightest black t-shirt you’ve ever seen on anyone, no longer hidden underneath the additional layer. You swallow heavily.

“I can tell you’re freezing, you know,” Bucky says, clearly amused at your flustered reaction. “Don’t make me beg.”

You’re starting to wonder why he even saved you earlier if his intention, evidently, is to kill you. Real life or a movie? The lines are weirdly starting to blur. “If you’re sick of my beautiful dinosaur sweater, you could just admit it,” you say, voice slightly straining as you slip out of your coat sleeves.

“Never,” he smiles, picking up his drink and looking at Lucy’s pretty cursive with a frown. “Why does this say Steve?”

“I panicked,” you groan as you pull his sweater over your head inelegantly. It’s still warm from Bucky wearing it, and it already smells like a mix of him and your cat. You could get used to this scent, you think with another stutter of your heart.

You emerge to an even deeper frown on Bucky’s face.

“What’s in this?” he asks, looking down at his cup.

“Christmassy goodness,” you answer, taking another sip from your own drink.

“It tastes like liquid sugar.” There’s the tiniest wrinkle in his nose.

“You don’t like it?”

“I didn’t say that,” he says, taking another sip as if to prove his point. “I just expected coffee.”

“It is coffee. Well, underneath the syrup.”

“If you say so.”

You shake your head in fake outrage at the blatant disrespect for your favorite holiday drink.

“How’s your head?” Bucky asks in a low voice, and the feeling of contentment vanishes again. For a few moments you almost forgot why you’re here, living in the fantasy Lucy the barista has provided you with, winking in your direction behind her register.

“It’s fine, really. I’m just tired.” You sigh. “And I wish I could talk to Kate.”

“Have you tried calling her?”

You grin mirthlessly. “Phone’s dead, remember?”

“You can use mine,” he offers, hand already reaching into his pocket.

“That’s sweet,” you say hastily, “but I don’t know her number.”

“You don’t know her number?”

You snort at his slightly incredulous tone. “No one knows anyone’s number these days, sarge. Last time I had to remember one I was still in middle school.”

Bucky shakes his head, but doesn’t comment further. He keeps the fingers of his left hand tucked into a loose fist on the table, you notice, still not taking off the gloves even though it is blessedly warm in here. You’re even starting to feel the tip of your nose again.

“Does your friend get into this sorta trouble a lot, then?”

You laugh. “Trouble? Yes. Trouble that involves Avengers and strange men with guns? That’s a first, even for Kate.” Fact or Folly: Fury Hires Young Crack Shot for Avengers Initiative. If true, it would be a fun article to break except for the fact either way, your best friend is in danger. “I just don’t get it. I talked to her just a few hours ago and she was fine, I mean she was a bit wound up because of college, but everything was normal and now …” You sigh. “I just wish everything could be normal again.”

Bucky nods slowly. “I can’t help with that. But nothing’s gonna happen to you again, alright? I’ll make sure of it.”

“Why are you doing all this? You don’t have to.”

“No, but I want to.”

You don’t know what to say to that so you just stare at your empty cup of coffee and wait for Bucky to finish his.

“What about you, then?” he asks instead.

“What about me?”

“Do you get into trouble a lot?” His voice is light, clearly trying to get you out of your own head again, and it works like a charm.

“Not apart from pissing people off. I work for the Examiner.”

“Ah.”

You stop ripping the paper sleeve into even smaller shreds. “What do you mean, ah?”

“Nothing. You’re a journalist.” Technically, you’re an underperforming columnist who gets most of her salary through writing the obituaries on the side, but you’re not about to correct him. “It just explains a few things.”

“Like what, exactly?” You cross your arms in fake offence.

“The amount of sugar in your supposed coffee. The newspapers on your dining table.” Right. He was in your apartment. “The fact that you look at everyone around you like you’re trying to find a story.”

Your heart drops at the same time as your grin. “I wasn’t trying to—”

“That wasn’t an insult. Just an observation.” You raise your eyebrows, unconvinced. “I’ve met a few crazy reporters in my time, you don’t strike me as the type.”

“Maybe my crazy’s just more subtle,” you say.

“Your subtle is throwing your shopping at an armed guy’s face, doll,” he retorts with a lazy grin. “I think I’ll be fine.”

“Point taken.” You groan. “Do you think people are gonna believe ‘sorry but your presents were lost at a crime scene’ or will I have to buy all of that stuff again?”

“Tough call.” Bucky finishes the dregs of his coffee and you grin at the way his face twitches at the amount of syrup that has accumulated near the bottom. “Some of it might’ve survived, you should take a look first before you spend more money. I just dropped ‘em in the hall though.”

You stare at him incredulously. “You are a hero in every sense of the word, Sergeant Barnes, you know that, right?”

“And you’re very dramatic.” It doesn’t escape you that despite his dismissive words, his ears flush a deeper shade of pink again. “Bucky’s fine, by the way.”

“Well, thank you, Bucky. Seriously.” He doesn’t look away this time, either. Just keeps looking at you until you feel that pleasant warm tingling in your stomach again. You ignore it. “I guess I should head back home again, anyway.”

You grimace slightly at the thought. Maybe the cops are still there. You probably can’t escape answering their questions forever even if they aren’t. Examiner Pen-Pusher Questioned for Battery. Wonderful.

“You don’t have to go back yet,” Bucky says, once again nonchalantly reading you like a book.

“No, it’s fine,” you lie. “I can’t stay here all night, and Alpine needs food, and, you know …”

“You can take my couch for the night, if you want.”

“I don’t wanna impose.”

“You ain’t. I’m offering.” He hesitates for a moment before adding, “Besides, I’d feel more comfortable not leaving you alone quite yet.”

The thought of not having to return to your dark apartment for the time being eases your anxiety somewhat. “Okay,” you whisper.

Bucky smiles at your admission and pulls his chair back, moving gently as to not stir Alpine too much. “Shall we?”

You catch a glimpse of your reflection in the fogged up windows of the coffee shop as you’re leaving. With your own sweater underneath, his makes you look like a giant blue potato. Not to mention it clashes horribly with your coat. Another point for the not-a-movie list.

“I look ridiculous,” you snicker as you try and fail to pull your coat at least somewhat closed around you again. “Aren’t you gonna be freezing?”

“Not at all,” Bucky answers. There’s something in his voice that makes a shiver run down your spine, and when you look up, the warmth in his eyes heats up your cheeks until you step back outside into the snow, always one step behind him.

Eyes like that should be illegal, you decide.

***

You’re not sure what you expected Bucky Barnes’ apartment to look like before you got invited inside one long subway journey later, but even after the day you’ve had, he still manages to surprise you. Though, maybe you should’ve expected his space to be simple, neat, straightforward. It makes sense for the version of him you’ve started to get to know.

There’s not a lot of furniture. There’s not a lot of space. It’s barely larger than your college dorms were, if you’re really honest, but unlike those, Bucky’s walls are empty and there’s barely anything to suggest anyone is actually moved in, apart from a small stack of books on a table next to the couch. The kitchen looks a lot nicer, though. A single glass door leads onto a Juliet balcony.

Alpine has woken up again and starts talking loudly until Bucky lets her out of his jacket. She jumps to the floor gracefully and marches off to inspect the singular pillow on the floor.

“I’d offer you a tour, but … what you see’s what you get,” Bucky says with a shrug.

You’re not so sure about that. “It’s nice,” you tell him instead. You turn around slowly, taking it all in. “You don’t spend a lot of time here, do you?”

“Why?” Bucky asks, leaning against the kitchen counter with a raised eyebrow.

“It’s just …” You gesture at the bare counter space. “Not very lived in.” Nothing that seems precious enough to come back for.

“I don’t like clutter.”

You feel like that’s not entirely true either, but decide to drop it. In the meantime, Alpine is eyeing the couch as if contemplating which leg to gnaw at first. You quickly bend to pick her up before that, but she makes a run for it, surprisingly fast for her size, and hides behind Bucky’s legs, meowing dismally.

“Alright, I see how it is,” you say, sitting down on the floor in shock of the open betrayal.

“I’m sure it’s nothing personal,” Bucky says, barely able to hide his grin. Alpine glowers at you. “D’you mind if I turn on the TV?”

You shake your head. It’s late enough for the two of you to have missed the 10 p.m. news, so the first thing flickering across the monitor is a weather report about the “unexpected blizzard hitting Manhattan earlier today” that quickly cuts to commercials. The volume is set quite low, more background noise than anything else.

“Are you hungry?” Bucky asks after a somewhat awkward pause, clearing his throat.

You feel strangely reassured in the fact that you’re not the only one who doesn’t really know what to do now that you’re not actively running from anything. “Maybe a little.”

“That’s good, because I’m afraid I only have leftovers.”

Another commercial with an annoying jingle comes on and suddenly, you’re very awake as a memory flashes past your inner eye. You couldn’t have been older than ten or twelve, and you and Kate had been begging your parents to let you stay with Kate’s aunt for the holidays because her place was close to the ice rink you’d go to. Your parents finally agreed under the condition that the two of you report back at a certain time each afternoon. And for emergencies, they had you remember her phone number.

You’ve always been shit with numbers, struggling to memorize the stupid thing until you put it to a melody like you saw the car commercials on TV do. Specifically, this very melody that a local convenience store apparently still uses for their holiday sale.

“Hey, could I borrow your phone for a second, please?” Bucky doesn’t question your mood swing, just hands you a kind of flip phone you haven’t seen since 2013. “Thanks.”

You lock yourself in the tiny bathroom and sit down on the closed toilet seat, contemplating the number pad. She might have changed her number, and even if she hasn’t, she might not be home. In fact, she probably isn't. You’re pretty certain she usually spends Christmas down in Florida.

So yeah, it’s a slim chance, but it’s your only idea for the time being. And maybe it gets you somewhere.

Continuing to hum the jingle, you enter the number and press the call button. A few seconds pass as you drum your fingers on your leg. Then—

“Brandon residence,” a suspiciously cheery voice singsongs on the other end. It almost makes you drop the phone.

“Why would you pick up the phone?” someone you don’t recognize asks in the background.

“Kate!” you hiss, releasing the breath you were holding in relief.

“Because technically, I’m house sitting, that’s literally what I’m supposed to do! Sorry, what?”

“Kate, what on earth is going on?!”

There’s a pause on the other end. “Y/N?”

“Yes, it’s me!” You drag your hand across your face. “There were people at my apartment asking about you. Waving their guns in my face.”

“Shit.” There’s a bumping sound and a distant crash, followed by a string of curses, and you’re positive Kate just jumped up and into a table. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I got away.” You glance at the mirror. Your temple is a bit swollen from where you hit the Dumpster and your lips are basically bitten raw, but overall, you’ve looked worse. “I’m safe. Are you okay?”

“Of course I am, I’m—do you mind?” There’s some quiet bickering and the sound of a door slamming closed before Kate speaks again, her voice echoing like she’s sat down in the bathroom as well. “How did you even know I was at my aunt’s place?”

You sigh. “I didn’t. My phone broke and her landline was the only number I remembered.”

“Your phone broke—where are you right now? Do you want me to come get you?”

“No!” You stand up again. There’s not enough room to properly pace, so you basically just keep turning around. “Definitely not, you’re in a lot more danger than I am. And you’re going to tell me why.”

So she does, filling you in properly on the past couple of days while you walk in small circles around Bucky’s bathroom until you’re dizzy. “Your turn,” she finally says when your head is spinning with Hawkeye and the suit and the actual mob. “Whose phone are you calling from, exactly?”

“Right. Uhm.” You close your eyes. “I’m actually at Bucky Barnes’ apartment right now?”

There’s a prolonged silence on the other end.

“Kate?”

“I’m sorry,” she says slowly. “I was just processing. What?!”

“Geez,” you say at the unexpectedly loud exclamation and quickly summarize your strange afternoon. “In other words,” you finish, “I think i retain the privilege of processing time.”

Kate ignores you. “Wait a second, hold on, you had coffee with him?”

“Because I was freezing.”

“And now you’re gonna spend the night.”

“On his couch,” you gasp.

“Right, of course. Mhm.” You can almost see her shit-eating grin.

“Don’t mhm me! Get your mind out of the gutter, Bishop.”

“My mind’s fine where it is, thank you.”

“Come on,” you laugh. “I am severely worried about the thing you’re taking away from this whole situation.”

“You sound like you’re fine. And I really needed something to take my mind off this whole situation, so thank you. From the bottom of my heart.” The background noises at her end are getting louder again.

You bite your lip. “Stay safe, okay? Don’t do anything stupid.”

“You know me.”

“That’s exactly why I’m telling you,” you say, rolling your eyes.

Kate snorts. “I promise. I’ll see you next week, right?”

“Right.” You smile. “Bring the dog!”

“Love you, too.”

You end the call with a fond shake of your head, though not before you hear Kate sing teasingly, “have fuun”.

She knows you well, of course, you think, staring at yourself in the mirror again. She’s more than long familiar with your horrible tendency of being a hopeless romantic in any situation, let alone the one you’re currently in. Well, it ends now, you tell your reflection.

The look in her eyes doesn’t convince you.

When you leave the bathroom, you find Bucky sitting on the floor in front of his couch, entertaining Alpine with a piece of string he produced from somewhere in your absence. It’s such an unexpectedly domestic sight it almost stops you in your tracks. Your resolve quietly vanishes off the face of the earth.

“Is your friend okay, then?” The surprise must be visible on your face, because he grimaces apologetically and adds, “thin walls.”

Great. Just great.

“She’s fine.” You lean against the kitchen counter, still twisting his phone around in your hands. “She’s with Hawkeye, apparently. At her aunt’s place.”

Bucky frowns. “I thought Barton retired.”

“Maybe there’s no retirement for heroes.”

“Yeah.” A shadow seems to fall over his eyes, but it passes quickly. “Can Alpine have sushi?”

“She’s been buttering you up, hasn’t she?” Alpine meows loudly, as if protesting such an accusation. You feel yourself relaxing at the change of topic.

Bucky grins boyishly. “Only a little.”

“Any shrimp or avocado’s fine, but don’t give her raw fish.”

“Gotcha.” He picks Alpine up in one hand as he stands, placing her next to you on the counter. He’s pulled off his gloves, you notice. “Sorry, I haven’t had a cat in … ninety years?”

He has really nice hands. You wonder if his metal fingers are cool to the touch or if they run hot like the rest of him. No. “You’re forgiven as long as you don’t spoil her.”

“Now who would want that?”

“You say that now. She’s not serenading you at 3 a.m. Little devil,” you add more quietly while Bucky rummages through the fridge. Alpine mews indignantly as you scratch her between the ears. “Heartbreaking: Local Cat Has Never Been Fed in Entire Life, Claims Local Cat. Read full quote on page 10.”

“What?”

“Nothing!” To Alpine’s dismay, you drop your hand immediately, evading his amused gaze. “Do you need help with that?”

You really need to get a grip on yourself, you think miserably as you eat your dinner on the couch, Alpine stretched out between the two of you, paws basically attached to Bucky’s arm as she keeps begging for food. You literally just met the guy.

Even though it already feels longer, somehow. There’s something about Bucky that makes you feel strangely at home, even in an apartment as empty as this one. Something that makes it almost impossible to look away from him.

“What are you staring at me like that for, doll?”

Unless you are reminded once again that subtlety is not your strong suit. Quit It, Dumbass: Still Not A Movie. “No reason.”

But there’s a certain spark in his eye you find yourself missing as soon as you turn your head.

“Alright,” Bucky says, pulling up one leg on the couch to face you properly. Alpine crawls onto his lap and settles there, purring in content. You bite your tongue. “Let’s have it.”

“Have what?”

“The story.”

You blink. “What story?”

“You have that look again.” He leans back, still watching you. “Humor me. What are you gettin’?”

It strikes you, then, that he’s waiting for you to elaborate on your perception of him. Which is a horrible idea for numerous obvious reasons, starting with the fact you haven’t had a single clear thought since he handed you your phone back.

Not that you’re complaining.

“Well,” you say to buy time, letting your gaze wander over the empty walls again. “You’re not keen on letting just anyone see what’s going on inside your head, which makes sense. And yet you invite me in, after knowing me for less than a day, to eat leftovers on your couch. So that’s an interesting juxtaposition.”

The TV is still quietly rambling on in the background. You catch a glimpse of the trailer for It’s A Wonderful Life, “the classic holiday tale on Christmas Day, 8/7 central”. It makes you think of something else.

“It’s also only a couple of days til the holidays and everybody I know is invited to some party a friend of a friend is throwing or buying last-minute presents.” You gesture at yourself. “But you’re doing neither. You’re not celebrating at all, are you?”

Bucky shrugs with one shoulder. “Not exactly religious these days.”

“I don’t mean that,” you say, swallowing heavily. “I think you might be isolating yourself because all of this Christmas spirit stuff is a bit much, but that also means you’re alone during this time. And lonely.”

There’s a heavy pause. Bucky’s jaw is clenched slightly, but he doesn’t meet your eye.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt, “I had no right to say any of that, I—that was stupid, I don’t—”

“It wasn’t,” he interrupts you. “I asked you, and you were honest. Nothing wrong with that.” He turns his head towards you, and the grin tugging at the corner of his lips is almost genuine. “You must be a pretty good journalist.”

You laugh. “Not really.”

“Why not? You’re observant.”

“Believe it or not, people don’t tend to wanna read that. Or any of the stuff I wanna write.” You tilt your head back until you’re leaning against the back of the couch.

“They should,” Bucky says.

Your mouth opens to tell him that he doesn’t even know your writing, so how could he possibly know that, but the expression on his face makes you lose your point. He looks raw, like you’ve stripped him bare of the mask you weren’t even sure he was wearing a few minutes ago, and yet he’s composed in a strange way that borders on contentment.

Yeah, you don’t want to look at anything but his eyes ever again, his beautiful, heavy, midnight blue eyes that seem lighter than they have before. Almost azure. For a moment, almost imperceptibly short, they flicker to your lips.

The air shifts with it.

“I’m not lonely right now,” he says lowly, and your head is whirring.

“Guess not,” you say. His face is even lovelier up close. You barely notice yourself moving.

Then of course, Alpine decides she’s had enough of all this and loudly starts commanding the attention be redirected to her again. The buzzing in your ears stops.

Bucky tickles her between the ears with a low chuckle. “I’m starting to see what you mean.”

“Mhm.” You hide your face between your hands, your heart still going a mile a minute. “She usually settles down around now, but she was asleep all evening, so you’re really gonna love having us for the next couple hours.”

“I’ll survive.” You can feel him get up, followed by the noise of your plates being cleared away. “What about you?” he asks. “Tired?”

“Exhausted,” you realize. The past few hours are starting to catch up with you.

There’s a spare toothbrush in Bucky’s cabinet, and once you return from the bathroom, he has the sofa set up for you, ignoring your weak protests about taking it from him.

“I don’t sleep much, anyway,” he says. Finally, you give in.

Your eyes fall shut as soon as you lie down, but you find that your thoughts are still too loud to shut down quite yet. For some reason, you keep going back to your first meeting.

“Bucky?” you say, and he hums. “Do you think we’d have met again? You know, without those tracksuits following me?”

Bucky doesn’t answer for a whole minute and you’re lying there, quietly panicking. “I hope so,” he finally says, barely audible over the sound of your heartbeat.

You listen to his slow breaths until you fall asleep.

***

A crashing sound wakes you only a few hours later.

For a moment you’re confused about the crick in your neck and the way your back presses against the sofa cushions. Reality comes back with the next crash and Alpine’s paw in your face.

“Bucky?” you whisper, clutching the blanket more tightly in your fist.

“I’m here.” The relief his low voice brings you is instant, but your heart still races.

Slowly you raise your head. Bucky is standing next to the window, looking down at the street.

“What’s happening?”

“I’m not sure.” His frown is visible even in the pale light of the street lamps outside. “I’ll go downstairs and check. You stay here.”

He’s in his shoes before you can even react, throwing on his leather jacket. You stumble to your feet, clutching Alpine to your chest. For once, she doesn’t protest.

“But Bucky—”

He catches you by the shoulders. “Hey. I’ll take care of it, alright? It’s probably nothing.” You nod slowly, because what else can you do? Bucky gives you a tiny reassuring smile that doesn’t make the frown disappear.

You follow him to the door, swallowing down the bad feeling in your stomach. “Be careful,” you whisper as he makes his way to the staircase. There’s no way he could have heard you, even though it almost seems like he’s about to turn his head back towards you.

He doesn’t, though. You close the door, leaning your forehead against it and taking another deep breath. In. Out. It’s probably just a stray dog or something.

“Geez, I thought he’d never leave.”

You don’t scream. Not a single sound leaves your lips as you turn, slowly, your head throbbing with dread.

A figure steps out of the shadows next to the glass door, which definitely wasn’t ajar a minute ago. Her voice had you expect someone taller than the young woman in front of you. In the moonlight, her blonde hair looks almost white.

“What a day, ah?” She crosses her arms, sizing you up, smiling. “Don’t worry, I will not hurt you. Or your cat. I am just here to talk, okay.”

“About what?” You’re almost surprised your voice doesn’t waver. She doesn’t seem to be armed, which is something, you suppose.

She smirks. “Kate Bishop.”

“I’m not—”

“Oh, I know who you are, Y/N Y/L/N. You are a writer, yes?” It seems to be a rhetorical question, because she throws her hands up and keeps talking. “Your column, it’s,” she makes a gesture that indicates her head exploding, “very good writing. Very funny!”

“Thank you?” you say tonelessly. The door is just behind you.

“Look, I’ll be brief,” she sighs. “Where—”

The sound of a car alarm blaring directly under the window outside interrupts her mid sentence, and she’s distracted for a short moment, clearly affronted. You don’t need more.

Throwing the door open, you start towards the elevator, sliding down the corridor in nothing but your socks. You just have to make it downstairs. Your grip on Alpine tightens. Too much.

“Please don’t make me run!” the woman shouts behind you, exasperated. “Did you hear the part about me not going to hurt you also?”

You yelp as Alpine extends all her claws at the same time, leaving tiny, but surprisingly painful scratches all over your hand. With a wail, she wriggles out of your clutch and starts clambering up the stairs, surprisingly fast for her size.

“Come on!” you cry, running after her. You can hear the woman already following behind you, so you swoop the protesting cat back into your arms and continue rushing upstairs, breathing heavily.

“You Americans are very distrustful, you know that?” you hear one level down.

The door to the roof is unlocked. You tumble outside and the icy wind starts tearing into you immediately. The snow has stopped, but there’s a thin layer of white covering the city.

You throw your head around, looking for the fire escape or any other means back to the ground floor. There appears to be none. Panting and shivering, you reach the edge of the roof and confirm what you already feared; you’re trapped up here.

“What did you do that for?” You turn back around to see the woman approach you once again, looking slightly annoyed now. “You had me run in my—it’s my evening off, these are new shoes. They are not comfortable for running.”

“Should have thought that through before you go around threatening people,” you say before you can stop herself. Her nonchalant demeanor unsettles you.

“I did no such thing!” she exclaims in fake offence. At least you think it’s fake. “I know you are not involved in this, those guys down there did some really sloppy work.” She blows a strand of hair out of her face. “Anyway, I took care of it. They should leave you alone now. I just hate it when things get messy for no reason, you know? Don’t you hate that?”

You’re shivering violently now, enough for Alpine to jump out of your arms again and run back towards the still open door. You watch her helplessly.

“Sure,” you reply weakly, not really understanding what’s going on. “But why would you do that?”

“Like I said, I like your writing,” the young woman says, unexpectedly somber for a moment. You can’t quite figure her out. “That was what I was going to tell you. And, ehh …” There’s a pause, as if she’s trying to think of the other thing. “Where is Clint Barton?”

“I don’t know that,” you say. It’s not even a lie, Kate had only told you they were continuing their “investigations”.

The woman only shrugs, not particularly shocked by your answer. “Ah, worth a try. I will find him tomorrow. You can tell Kate Bishop you’re fine, yes? I took care of you.”

“I don’t even know who you are.”

She smiles again. “Good!”

There’s a crashing sound that makes both of you turn.Bucky appears in the doorway, aiming a gun straight at the woman’s head. “Get away from her, now.”

“Oh, that is so annoying.” She rolls her eyes and then glances back at you with a little pout as if looking for your sympathy. “And we were just starting to get along.”

“I said now!”

She sighs, completely unperturbed be the weapon in her back. “It really was nice meeting you. This is nothing personal.”

And before you can open your mouth to ask what, she kicks your feet out from under you. You land on your funny bone with a sharp cry at the same time Bucky fires. He misses, the woman sidestepping the shot easily before she kicks him in the arm, trying to get him to let go of the gun.

You struggle back up to your feet as Bucky keeps a deathgrip on the weapon, pointing it at her arm instead. “Don’t!” you shout.

His gaze shifts to you for a millisecond, but it’s enough of a distraction. The weapon lands on the ground and you flinch backwards automatically, slipping on the icy ground and losing your balance. You shriek as you fall, hands catching the edge of the roof at the last second. You’re barely holding on by your fingertips, your eyes watering as you try to get a better grip.

There’s another shot, and Bucky shouts your name, but your blood is rushing so loudly in your ears, you barely hear him over the sound of the wind. Maybe if you can just stretch your arm a little more, you can hold onto a different—

You lose your grasp.

Time seems to slow down as you’re falling between the whirling flakes of snow you take down with you. What a stupid way to die, you think, with everything else going on.

And then, at the very last second, he catches you. You stumble, your knees weak as Bucky hoists you back over the ledge and you collapse in his arms, shaking. He picks you up with ease, hugging you tightly, all inhibitions lost.

“You’re okay, doll,” he says into your ear. “It’s over, you’re okay. I’ve got you.”

Over his shoulder, you can see the woman still standing there, her stoic façade not quite wavering. She nods at you shortly before turning her back.

You press closer into Bucky, burying your nose in his warm neck. He smells even nicer than his sweater did, and you inhale the scent in shaky gulps until you feel your breathing slowing again.

“Hey Bucky?” you whisper. “I think I just almost died.”

He sighs heavily. “I’m so sorry, doll, I never should have left you alone, I—”

“I just almost died because my cat ran up the stairs.” It stops him in his apologetic ramblings long enough for you to suppress a hysterical giggle. You just almost died. Suddenly, with the adrenaline still rushing through your system, the next question doesn’t seem that big of a deal anymore. “Do you wanna get coffee again sometime?”

Bucky laughs, then, a low, relieved laugh you feel vibrate against your chest. It’s beautiful. “How about dinner?”

You hum. “Maybe a really boring movie afterwards.”

His lips move against your ear. “Sounds perfect.”

No, you truly didn’t see your day going like this. But right now, safely wrapped up in Bucky’s embrace, even after everything else you don’t mind it that much.

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Your breath leaves you instantly, eyes widening at your boyfriend.

He looks fairly normal at first. The same broad shoulders, the same loving smile, the same blue eyes, except…..his hair.

It used to be long, messy, almost down to his shoulders, falling into his eyes, flowing into the wind, and now…..

Now it's just gone. Not gone gone. But short. So much shorter.

“Bucky!” You almost scream “What did you do to your hair?” You gesture vaguely at his hair situation.

“I cut it” he answers, sheepish.

“Why?”

“It was getting in my face,” he mutters. “Sam said I should try something new.”

You stare at him like he’s committed a crime.

“You walked out of this apartment looking like a 40s war poster and came back looking like a reformed criminal with a barista job.”

“That’s not a thing.”

“It IS now.”

“Do you hate it?” He rubs the back of his neck nervously.

Your eyes soften at that. He's so adorable when he's trying to hide just how much your opinion means to him. Just how much he wants you to like it

“I'm just a little shocked. And you're not allowed to make decisions based on Sam's judgement ever again…… but no, I don't hate it”

You really don't.

You catch yourself staring at him when he laughs at your comment—head tipped back, eyes bright.

With the shorter hair and the light in his face, he looks… young.

Not in years, but in weight. Like someone meeting him for the first time would never guess what he’s carried.

They wouldn’t see the long nights or the memories that still wake him. They’d think he grew up gently, that nothing ever broke him, that the world was kind to him.

For a heartbeat, you let yourself believe it too.

You extend a hand, “can I touch it?” He crouches a little, leaning towards you, so that you reach his head easily.

Your fingers graze the spiky edge of his hair before sliding through it. It's soft in a way that you've always known. Felt.

His eyes are on you as your other hand finds its way to his hair. Ruffling it slightly, mostly just feeling it.

“I left it long enough so you can still tug at it” he teases “you know when I…”

you glare at him, shutting him up but there's no anger there. Just adoration, fondness.

And bucky's eyes glimmer with mischief.

So when you step closer, squinting at him. “Your face is more… visible.”

He frowns. “So you miss when it was hidden.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“That's how it felt” he feigns annoyanace.

“Your eyes stand out more now,” you add quickly, trying to make up for the previous compliment.

“So you didn’t like them before.”

“I always liked them!”

“Uh-huh.”

You stare at him, frustrated. “Why are you like this.”

“Because you still haven’t said you like it.”

“I’m literally trying to!”

He tilts his head, smiling. That mischievous little smile you know all too well. “Sounding a lot like you don’t.”

You realise the game he's playing. “I think it looks really good on you,” you say softly, hands sliding from his hair and cupping his cheeks. “I just wasn’t ready.”

He searches your face. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re not lying.”

“No.”

“And you’re not secretly wishing to undo it.”

“No.”

“And you’re not about to say something devastating.”

“Bucky” you shake your head, huffing a laugh “I love it”

He goes silent.

You go on “You look so young. And i can see your ears and your eyes stand out a little more. And mostly, you just look mine.”

He smiles, bright and radiant and relieved. “Thank God. I almost swore to wear a hat forever if you hated it”

You giggle, breathy and amused. The sound music to bucky's ears.

You end up like that on the couch. Laughing at his silly comments while you card your fingers through his hair.

He's sprawled sideways onto you. Head on your lap, eyes locked onto you. Then he perks up a little, remembering something. “You know, sam said the haircut makes me look less… scary.”

Your heart twists a little. “You never looked scary. Sam doesn't know anything”

“Really?” you can hear the smirk in his voice

“Don’t get smug.”

Too late—he already is.

You lean back into the couch, still tracing lazy patterns through his hair while he relaxes more fully against you, like the day finally caught up to him.

You dissolve into quiet giggles and whispered teasing, the kind that doesn’t need an audience.

And for a long while, the world is just a couch, and lamplight, and the sound of him laughing in your lap.

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It was a week and a half before the two of you had a day off together. It would have been days sooner, but Alex had been scheduled alone so you offered to go in. Bucky was getting annoyed as he kept hearing about Alex, but honestly knew nothing about him. He’d felt tinges of jealousy previously, but they were always in passing. It never lingered. Not it was starting to eat at him. 

“So, I was thinking before we start our day in we should take a walk together.” You suggested as you made yourself a cup of coffee. “Grab breakfast and enjoy the day? It’s really nice out.” Bucky knew that was your nice way of saying there was a dark cloud above him. He knew you saw that something was wrong and wouldn’t talk about it. 

“Sure.” He agreed easily. “Maybe stop at the florist and get some flowers for the table?” He tried to get you flowers a couple times a month, but hadn’t in a few weeks because of work. 

“Oh my gosh, yes!” You easily agreed. “You want a new post on Instagram, don’t you?” You asked playfully, moving to hug him.

He gave you a look that had you stopping. “You know I don’t care about that app.” He didn’t want you assuming he needed what he did for you posted. 

Your smile faltered. “Yeah, I know.” You assured him. Chewing your lip, you went back to focusing on your coffee. “I was thinking sandwiches for lunch and then our usual pizza for dinner?” You suggested, trying to steer the conversation in a better direction. 

“That sandwich place with those pickles you like?” Bucky knew he was being a jealous ass, but couldn’t help it. So all he could do was try to focus on the day the two of you had planned. You shyly nodded at that. 

Hearing your phone, you picked it up and made a face. “We should stock up on cold medicine to be safe. Alex says that three of our coworkers have colds.” You sent a thank you text for the heads up and set your phone down. “So, get breakfast, grab that stuff, hit the florist, then come home and cuddle up?” You smiled over at him, looking forward to that day.

Bucky nodded. Again with the Alex thing! “Sounds good.” He agreed. 

“Awesome.” When your eyes lit up, some of that jealousy simmered. He had to remember that he was the one that got to hold you at night, not Alex. “I have the cutest outfit in mind for today! I ran a few ideas through our non-work group chat.” Getting on your tiptoes, you kissed his cheek before rushing out of the room. 

Bucky glanced at your phone for a moment before he picked it up. You knew his code, and he knew yours. However, when he put it in? It was wrong. Furrowing his brows, he tried again. Why had you changed the code to your phone? It had been the same the entire time the two of you had been together. Clenching his jaw, he set your phone down. 

You sniffed your flowers happily as Bucky paid for them. “They’re beautiful.” You gushed. Bucky had gotten you a much larger arrangement than usual, even though you reminded him you’d be okay with your usual. Pulling out your phone, you happily snapped a selfie with them and posted it to Instagram with the caption ‘I am the luckiest woman alive! Look at these amazing flowers from my better half <3’ 

“Thanks.” He nodded to the cashier. “Alright, babe. Ready to head home?” He offered you his hand. 

“I am.” You nodded, lacing your fingers with his. “Did you want to find a new show to watch together, or did you want to watch some movies?” Glancing at him, you hoped whatever was bothering him faded soon. You really wished he would open up more, but you couldn’t force him. Sometimes he would come to you and half tell you what was getting to him, and you cherished those moments. Every time he did it was progress in your eyes. 

He thought for a moment. “How about a new show? So we can try to watch a few episodes a week. Shut our phones off and just enjoy an evening? Take turns cooking, and one night we cook together?” 

Your face lit up with excitement. “Oh, that sounds so fun!” You agreed. “How about themed weeks? Like one week we do pasta, one week we do Mexican, and so on. We can make a jar and fill it with strips of paper with different stuff on it. Then at the start of the week when we do our shipping we pick one out.” He hadn’t even agreed and you were already planning. 

“Where did you get that idea?” He chuckled. Was it a spur of the moment thing, or had you seen it somewhere?” 

“Alex mentioned it in group chat the other day.” You shrugged. “Said it works great to keep things fun.” 

He grit his teeth at that. “Or would you rather do this with Alex?” He snapped without thinking. 

You stopped in your tracks and stared at him. “Where the hell did that come from?” Nothing came to mind since you’d met Alex to make you think that Bucky would be upset about you being friendly with a coworker. 

“I’m over hearing about Alex. What the hell makes this guy so great?” He asked, hands on his hips. 

It took everything in you to not burst into laughter. “Alex is a woman, you jealous bastard!” You said half teasingly. “Her name is Alexandra and she’s married to a guy named Joe.” 

You saw the realization wash over Bucky. “Oh shit.” He groaned. “I assumed ‘Alex’ was short for ‘Alexander…’.” He admitted, looking ashamed. 

“Yeah, ‘oh shit’.” You sighed. “But seriously, have I ever given you a sign that I’d ever be into anyone else?” The hurt was very clear in your voice. You’d been nothing but loyal and loving to Bucky.

“You changed your phone pin.” He pointed out. It didn’t make sense to him that if you had nothing to hide that you would change your pin. 

Pulling out your phone, you handed it over. “It’s our anniversary.” You told him. “Go through whatever you want.” 

Chewing his lip, he pulled up your chat with Alex. “You…you were planning on proposing?” He read, eyes staring at the words on the screen. “Oh Halloween?” 

Tearing up, you nodded. “Yeah. I was going to dress up as someone from the Hobbit and propose at Steve’s party.” You had changed your pin so it wouldn’t ruin the surprise. 

Bucky felt awful. “I had also planned on proposing on Halloween…before we left for Steve’s party.” He admitted as he handed you back your phone. 

You stared at him. There were so many emotions flowing through you at the moment: hurt, anger, surprise, and amusement. You both planned to propose to the other on the same exact night! What the hell were the odds of that? “Was this now technically a proposal?” You mused. “Since we both now know that we want to get married?” 

“I mean, if you want it to be?” He shrugged. “I’d like to still propose on Halloween to make it extra special, but now there’s kind of no way to surprise you.” He chuckled. 

“I mean, me knowing I get to be your wife is pretty damn special!” He could have proposed at any point and it would be special. “Even if I’m still annoyed you thought I liked Alex.” When he looked like a little boy who was getting scolded, you pulled him close by his shirt. “Because I love you.” You smiled.