how I looooove my fake men

News — the real kind, the kind that didn't make headlines — traveled fast in her world. She’d known about Zemo’s prison break before the guards had time to update their shift logs. And she knew exactly who had made it happen. Only one man would bother pulling Zemo out of a high-security cell without leaving a trail: Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes. She hadn’t seen him in person — not until now. But her network was efficient, and she’d already connected the dots. Barnes had been spotted visiting Zemo, and soon after, the Baron vanished from behind bars. The reappearance of the Flag Smashers, the resurgence of the serum, the chaos forming across Europe… it all pointed to something bigger. Something inevitable.

So, when the knock came — heavy and measured — Alina didn’t flinch. She wasn’t afraid of Zemo. She didn’t trust him either. Yet she opened the door.

Zemo smirked. “And you’ve always been too curious for your own good.”

The apartment was modest and warm — not what any of them expected. Lace curtains filtered the afternoon light. A bookshelf full of titles in Russian, English, and German stood beside a potted Ficus that looked like it had been there for years. The place smelled like cinnamon and ink.

Alina welcomed them with a small, polite smile, her sweater sleeves pushed up, a mug in her hand.

Sam gave her a friendly nod. “Thanks for letting us in. We just want to talk.”

She nodded once. “Unexpected combo, but I figured you’d come. Sit wherever.”

They moved into the living room. Alina perched on the arm of a chair, casual but attentive, like someone who’d hosted diplomats before. While Zemo and Sam took their seats on her couch, Bucky stood mysteriously beside her bookshelf, staring closely, but mute.

“I assume this isn’t a social visit,” she said, sipping her tea.

“It’s about the super soldier serum,” Sam began. “Someone’s been replicating it. You used to run in circles where that kind of information floated around. We were hoping you might’ve heard something.”

Alina didn’t interrupt. She just listened, head tilted slightly, expression unreadable.

“There’s a group called the Flag Smashers,” Sam continued. “They’ve got it. They’re using it. We’re trying to figure out how the hell it resurfaced.”

She set her mug down on a coaster. “I know about the serum. And I know who thinks they understand it.”

That got their attention.

“But the version you're chasing?” she continued. “It’s messy. Incomplete. Someone out there is trying to be Erskine without understanding what made him dangerous.”

Zemo’s smile faded. “Do you know who?”

Alina leaned back, crossing one leg over the other. “I know names. But I also know what happens if they leave my mouth.”

There it was. Resistance.

Sam sat forward. “Look, we’re not here to trap you. We just want to stop whoever’s behind this before it gets worse. If you know anything, we could use your help.”

Alina held his gaze for a moment. She didn’t distrust him — not entirely.

She stood, walked to a drawer, and pulled out a slim folder. “This might help you track the supply chain. But I’m not handing you the whole map.”

She placed it on the table. Zemo didn’t move.

“That’s not enough,” he said.

Alina shrugged. “That’s all I’m offering.”

A silence settled in.

Then Zemo spoke again, quieter. “Soldat.”

Bucky stiffened. Took a slow step forward.

Alina’s expression didn’t change — not at first. She watched Bucky with mild interest, head tilting, as if evaluating an art piece.

He stopped a foot from her, his metal arm catching a sliver of sunlight.

She blinked. Then exhaled softly, taking a small, calculated step back. “So that’s how this goes.”

Zemo watched like a conductor. “Perhaps a reminder of what you used to run from would be... persuasive.”

Bucky said nothing. His eyes were blank. Controlled.

Alina looked between them all — Zemo’s sharp smile, Sam’s hesitance, Bucky’s silent intensity.

Then she laughed. Short. Low. Sharp.

She turned to Bucky, eyes dancing. “You know, this is cute. Very Cold War drama.”

Bucky’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes flickered. Just enough for her to catch it.

“Wakandans did a good job,” she said suddenly, her voice like velvet over glass. “Cleaning up that old brain of yours. No more triggers. No more chains.”

Sam blinked. Zemo froze.

Alina smiled wider. “You really thought I’d fall for that? I know your history, Sergeant Barnes.”

She stepped closer, almost nose to nose with Bucky now, voice dropping.

“You’re not his puppet anymore, not anyone’s.” She whispered. “And I’m not scared of ghosts.”

She turned away, picked up her tea, and sipped like nothing had happened.

“Next time,” she said over the rim of her mug, “try asking nicely. It works better.”

For a moment, no one spoke.

Zemo’s jaw tightened, eyes flicking to Bucky like he wanted to scold him for breaking character — but the game was up, because Alina never actually fell for it. Sam leaned back in his seat with a sigh, shaking his head slowly.

“Okay,” Sam said. “So... you knew.”

Alina gave him a mock salute with her tea. “I read fast.”

Bucky didn’t move. He just stood there; eyes fixed on her with something unreadable — something just a little less cold.

Zemo, trying to salvage authority, cleared his throat. “We didn’t come here to play games. People are dying. If you have more, give it to us.”

“I already gave you something,” she countered. “That’s more than most people do when strangers show up in their living room using an ex-brainwashed assassin as a threat.”

She looked at Sam again. “But I assume you want more.”

“I want to stop whoever’s making that serum,” he said simply. “That’s all.”

Alina looked down at her mug for a long beat.

Then, with a sigh, she walked back to the table, opened a drawer beneath it, and pulled out a folded map with notations in Russian. She flattened it with one hand, pointing to a mark near the edge of a forested region in Eastern Slovakia.

“There’s a facility,” she said. “Not government, not private. One of those grey-zone places that used to belong to Hydra, then got passed around like a dirty secret. I don’t know who runs it now. But the trail leads there.”

Zemo leaned in, his interest piqued.

Sam studied the location. “You know how to get inside?”

“Didn't you give them a briefing?,” she frowns to Zemo, faking outrage. “I got out of KGB when I was 18. I can get in anywhere by now.” She said with a smirk.

Zemo narrowed his eyes. “Then tell us how.”

She looked at him. Calm. Steady. “I’m not giving you that.”

His lips thinned. “Why not?”

She shrugged. “Because you’ll screw it up.”

Sam frowned. “So you’re just gonna... sit on it?”

Alina hesitated — just a second — then shook her head. “No.”

She looked at them, and for the first time, something genuine crept into her voice.

“I’ll take you,” Alina said. Bucky scoffed, his first verbal interference until now.

The words hung in the air like a loaded gun.

Zemo straightened, visibly intrigued. Sam blinked. “You’ll what?”

“I’ll go with you,” she repeated, matter-of-fact. “I know the facility. How it works. How to shut it down without triggering alarms. If you go alone, you’ll walk into a trap.”

“You’re willing to risk exposure for that?” Sam asked, brow furrowed.

Before she could answer, Bucky spoke.

It was the first thing he’d said since they’d arrived.

“Why should we trust you?” His voice was calm, but hard-edged. His eyes were on her — sharp, guarded.

Alina met his gaze without flinching. “You shouldn’t,” she said. “I wouldn’t.”

She let that sit for a beat.

“But the people behind that serum... they’re worse than any of us. They don’t care who gets hurt. I’ve spent too long watching things happen from the sidelines. If I can help stop this, then I should.”

“And what do you get out of it?” Bucky asked, still skeptical.

Alina smiled faintly, almost to herself. “A cleaner conscience, maybe.”

Zemo scoffed quietly, but didn’t interrupt.

She continued, this time more measured. “Look — I know what I am. What I’ve done and what I didn’t. But if I was the enemy, I wouldn’t have opened the door. And I sure as hell wouldn’t be giving you coordinates to a Hydra graveyard.”

Sam looked at Bucky, eyebrows raised, silently asking if he was satisfied.

Bucky held her gaze for another long second.

Then gave a slight nod. “Alright,” he said.

Alina exhaled, her posture easing a bit. “Good. Then we leave in twenty minutes.”

She disappeared into another room, likely to pack.

Sam ran a hand over his face. “This is getting complicated.”

Zemo just smirked. “Isn’t it always?”

But Bucky didn’t answer. He stayed quiet, his eyes lingering on the hallway she’d disappeared into — still trying to read her. Sam stretched his neck with a quiet crack. Zemo poured himself more tea, uninvited. But Bucky stayed where he was. Still not sure whether they were walking beside an ally. Or another ghost from the dark.

After a minute or two, the soft sound of boots returned — lighter than expected, but purposeful. Alina stepped back into the room, and for a moment, neither of the men said anything.

Gone was the cozy cardigan and the mismatched slippers. She now wore fitted black cargo pants, a charcoal long-sleeved shirt, fingerless gloves, and a light tactical vest — civilian enough to blend in, but clearly chosen for function. A compact utility belt hugged her waist, with tools tucked into neat compartments. Her hair was tied back, and her expression had sharpened.

She caught them staring and raised a brow. “What? You come in looking like the three musketeers and I can’t have my dramatic wardrobe change?”

Sam huffed a quiet laugh. Bucky didn’t smile, but he took in every detail.

She walked over to the table again, unfolding the same map and marking two quick paths with red pen.

“Here’s the target zone,” she said, tapping a square near the forest line. “The main facility is buried underground. Cameras on the outer perimeter feed into a secondary relay hub here —” she circled a building off to the side “— which I can disable manually. Once we’re past that, we follow a utility tunnel that leads to a lower-level access hatch.”

Sam leaned over, impressed. “You scouted this yourself?”

“I love architecture.” she said, eyes steady, earning confused stares from the three men. “And I’ve been on Hydra labs before. A long way before. The rest I updated over the years through... unofficial research”

Zemo tilted his head. “You do realize we’re trusting your memory and a very outdated blueprint.”

“I’m trusting myself,” Alina replied. “You’re just tagging along.”

Before Zemo could respond, she rolled the map up and tucked it into her belt.

“We’ll need a car that doesn’t draw attention. No flash, no plates with flags. I’ll ride up front. I’ll guide.”

Sam nodded slowly. “You’re really used to working alone, huh?”

She paused in the doorway, glancing back at him with a dry half-smile.

“People don’t tend to stick around,” she said simply.

Bucky watched her for a second longer before finally falling into step behind her.

#

Outside, the chill air bit against their faces as the group moved toward the nondescript black SUV Zemo had secured. The sky was fading into twilight, casting long shadows on the pavement.

Alina walked with quiet confidence, pulling a small device from her belt to check the signal jammers she’d set in place earlier. She moved like someone who had done this a hundred times — maybe more — but always alone.

As they approached the vehicle, Bucky caught up beside her.

“You sure you’re not walking into a trap?”

She didn’t look at him. Just answered flatly.

“I’m always walking into traps. I just make sure they close on the other guy.”

He didn’t press further. But for the first time, he didn’t look at her with suspicion. He looked with understanding.

An abandoned shipping yard. Rusted containers. Silence.

“That’s it?” Sam asked, cutting the engine.

Zemo stepped out first, looking around. “Underwhelming,” he muttered.

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “You’re sure this is the place?”

Alina didn’t answer immediately. She walked forward, boots crunching gravel, scanning the surroundings with practiced eyes. Then, with a sharp nod, she motioned to a stack of containers. “Follow me.”

Sam stayed back on lookout as the others approached what looked like an ordinary blue freight box.

Zemo folded his arms. “I was promised secrets, not scrap metal.”

Alina didn’t react to the jab. Instead, she crouched beside the container and pressed a gloved hand to a barely-visible panel. A soft click broke the silence, and a narrow hatch popped open from the ground just behind it.

She stood and looked over her shoulder with a cocky smirk.

“This place is giving me tetanus just by looking at it,” Sam muttered.

Zemo brushed some dust off his coat. “Camouflage often comes in less-than-glamorous forms.”

Alina stood with her hands on her hips, expression unreadable.

“So…” Sam looked between them. “Who’s going in?”

Zemo gestured toward the container Alina had identified. “All of us, of course. The fewer loose ends—”

“No,” Alina cut in, tone calm but firm. “Too many bodies down there makes it harder to control the situation.”

She pointed at Sam. “You stay up here. Keep watch.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Me? Why do I have to be the lookout?”

“Because you’re loud,” she said, smirking faintly. “And charming. If anyone shows up, you’re the best shot at buying time.”

Bucky actually let out a soft breath that might’ve been a suppressed laugh.

Sam rolled his eyes. “Fine. But if I get shot, I’m haunting all three of you.”

“Noted,” Alina said, already moving toward the hidden hatch. “You two, try to keep up.”

Bucky followed first, then Zemo, descending into the narrow passage. Dim lights lined the tunnel, casting long shadows on the concrete.

They moved quickly.

At the end of the corridor, a steel door buzzed open to reveal a small lab — sterile, fluorescent, and humming with quiet machinery. A single man stood inside, startled by their arrival: middle-aged, nervy, in a white coat.

He raised his hands. “Who are you?”

Zemo stepped forward. “We’re here for a conversation.”

The interrogation unfolded quickly. Alina played the calm mediator, asking questions with just enough edge to make the man nervous. Zemo circled like a vulture. Bucky kept to the back, watchful.

Suddenly, a voice crackled in their earpieces — Sam’s.

“Hey. We’ve got company. Four—no, five hostiles approaching from the east side. Moving quiet. Real quiet.”

Alina snapped her head up. “How long?”

“They’re spreading out. I’ll keep a few busy, but you’ve got maybe two minutes.”

The team shifted into motion.

Bucky moved to the door, pressing an ear to the cold metal. Alina scanned the room, already spotting their secondary exit — a service hatch on the far wall.

“Zemo, with me,” she ordered. “Bucky, hold position.”

But before they could finalize the escape route, the first agent burst through the door — not with gunfire, but calculated, efficient force.

Bucky reacted instantly, slamming the man into the wall. Another followed — this time aiming for the scientist.

Alina stepped between them, blade flashing. The attacker dropped.

She turned, breath steady, and saw Bucky finishing off a third. Their eyes met — just briefly — a nod passed between them like muscle memory.

And then — a single gunshot cracked through the lab.

Everyone turned.

The scientist slumped forward, a clean bullet wound through the chest.

Zemo stood behind him, arm still extended, expression cold.

Alina’s face darkened. “What the hell, Zemo?!”

“He was a liability,” Zemo said simply, holstering his pistol. “And we got the info we needed.”

Bucky took a step toward him, fists clenched. “That wasn’t part of the plan.”

Zemo didn’t flinch. “Plans change.”

Outside, the sound of more boots crunching gravel echoed down the tunnel.

Sam’s voice came again — breathless, strained. “Now would be a really good time to come out and help me.”

Alina cursed under her breath. “Let’s go.”

She was the first to move, already climbing toward the surface, Bucky stayed a beat longer, eyes still on Zemo, before following. Outside, the night had shifted — quiet traded for chaos.

As Alina emerged from the hidden hatch, the scene was already unraveling. Sam was ducked behind a rusted-out forklift, pinned down by suppressive fire from three agents closing in.

She didn’t hesitate.

Sliding into cover behind a low crate, Alina drew a flash device from her belt. With swift precision, she lobbed it high over Sam’s position.

Bang. A burst of light cut through the dark. The agents reeled back, blinded.

Sam took his chance, popping up and taking down one with a clean shot to the shoulder.

The second agent turned toward Alina, gun raised—

Before he could fire, a dark blur intercepted. Bucky — fast, lethal — disarmed the man with a twist of his metal arm and slammed him into the side of a container.

Alina turned to thank him, but paused.

He was already looking at her. Their eyes locked — just a second.

She nodded.

He nodded back.

No words needed.

The third agent lunged for Sam from the side, but Alina swept in, low and fast, using the butt of her blade to crack him across the jaw. Sam straightened, panting.

“Okay,” he said, glancing between them. “Maybe you should’ve been the one watching from above.”

Alina gave a crooked smile. “You’re welcome.”

Suddenly, a distant boom echoed through the yard — smoke rising at the far end.

They all turned.

Zemo stood atop a stack of crates, looking remarkably composed, one hand holding a small detonator.

“What did you do?” Bucky asked, narrowing his eyes.

“Diversion,” Zemo replied smoothly. “The fuel drums were poorly stored. Sloppy oversight, really.”

Another explosion rocked the ground, this one closer. Lights cut out across the perimeter.

Alina winced. “That’s going to bring more attention, not less.”

“Yes,” Zemo said. “Which is why we should leave. Now.”

Sam exhaled hard. “You’re mental.”

Zemo smiled. “Efficient.”

Without wasting another second, the group broke into a run, weaving between stacks of containers toward their escape route — sirens now wailing in the distance.

Bucky stayed close to Alina’s side, watching her movements — calculated, focused, but there was something behind it. A tension he recognized.

As they ducked behind a final barrier before the car, she glanced at him. “Thanks,” she said, voice low. “For back there.”

He gave a small nod, still catching his breath. “You didn’t need it.”

Alina shrugged, adjusting her jacket. “Still.”

He looked at her a moment longer. Then: “You’re not what I expected.”

A flicker of amusement in her eyes. “Good. I hate being predictable.”

They slipped into the backseat, Sam already revving the engine, Zemo looking far too pleased in the front.

As they sped off into the night, the fire behind them painted the sky orange. The job wasn’t done. But something had shifted. Even if none of them were ready to admit it yet.

Inside the car, tension rode thick between them, louder than the whir of the tires on asphalt.

Zemo sat in the front seat, hands calmly folded. Sam, behind the wheel, looked ready to throttle him.

“You shot him,” Sam snapped. “He was the only one who knew how the serum was replicated—he was our lead!”

Zemo didn’t flinch. “He was a threat. The existence of that formula is a threat.”

Sam turned halfway in his seat. “You don’t get to decide that!”

“We don’t have time for this,” Bucky cut in from the back, voice rough. “He’s dead. What matters now is finding Karli.”

Alina sat beside him, gaze fixed out the window. For once, she didn’t interject. Her arms were crossed tightly over her chest, jaw set, like she was trying to separate herself from the rest of them. Her silence said more than words.

Zemo leaned slightly back. “I have a contact. A jet. I can get us to Riga by morning.”

Sam groaned. “Of course you do.”

They rode the rest of the way in loaded quiet.

#

At the edge of a private hangar, lights low, the sleek jet idled on the tarmac — another piece of Zemo’s vast, morally ambiguous Rolodex of resources.

After thanking you, and sharing an awkward goodbye, Sam slung his bag over his shoulder and threw a last glare at Zemo before climbing the ramp.

Zemo followed with infuriating calm, nodding politely to Alina as he passed. “It’s been... educational.”

She gave a tight smile. “Can’t say the same.”

Then she turned to say goodbye to Bucky, who was already watching her.

“Hey,” before she could say anything, Sam called back from the top of the ramp. “You sure about this? You came this far.”

Alina paused, then gave a small shrug. “I already crossed the line bringing you to that lab. I don’t have a reason to go any further.”

Her voice was even, but Bucky could hear the uncertainty beneath it. He waited until the others were inside before stepping closer.

“You’re really walking away?”

Alina didn’t look at him right away. When she did, her expression was guarded, but something flickered in her eyes. “I did what you needed. That was the deal.”

“No deal,” he said. “You volunteered.”

She huffed softly, lips twitching at the corner. “Don’t make it sound noble.”

“You knew where to find that lab. You had intel none of us did. You don’t move like someone who wants to stay out of things.” He said practically in a whisper.

“I don’t want to die for things that don’t change.”

That made him pause.

But then he stepped closer, lowering his voice. “You came out of the shadows for this. Don’t pretend you don’t care.”

Alina’s eyes scanned the ground, then the plane.

“You really trust me that much?” she asked, softly, almost teasing — but not quite.

Bucky looked at her for a long moment. “No.”

That made her raise an eyebrow.

“But I know what it looks like when someone’s running from something. And I know what it feels like when you want to stop.”

Their eyes held, a quiet standoff laced with recognition. Neither of them good at letting people in. Both of them too tired to keep carrying it alone.

After a beat, Alina exhaled sharply and slung her bag back over her shoulder.

“I’m not sitting next to Zemo.”

Bucky smirked. “Leave it to Sam.”

She started up the ramp without looking back. And he followed, matching her silent pace.

As they entered the jet’s cabin, Sam raised an eyebrow immediately, already reclined in one of the seats. Zemo looked up from a hardcover book with a curious, almost amused expression.

“Well, I see a change of plans,” Sam remarked, arms crossed. “What did you do to her, Barnes?”

Alina paused only long enough to glance at them — first Sam, then Zemo.

“Blackmail.” She lied sarcastically, dropping her bag in an empty seat.

Bucky passed her and dropped his jacket onto the opposite seat before casting a brief look their way.

“She can scold you both,” he said, dry sarcasm in his tone. “Someone’s gotta help me with the babysitting function.”

Sam scoffed but didn’t press the matter. Zemo, as always, smiled in silence — his eyes dancing with some private conclusion no one asked for.

As the jet hummed steadily through the sky, Alina kept her eyes closed, but sleep didn’t come. Too many pieces were shifting beneath the surface — the mission, the people around her, the decision she’d made to step out of the shadows. She told herself it was temporary. Just one detour. Just one piece of information they needed. But deep down, something had shifted the moment she stepped onto that plane. And for the first time in a long time, the quiet pull she felt wasn’t just survival. It was the beginning of something else entirely. She didn’t know where it would lead — only that it had already begun.

─────────────────────

A/N: yayy that’s the first step on alina’s timeline! i hope you guys like it, and i’m also leaving some important links if you want to dive more in the story. thanks for reading!!

When your parents died, you were just a child — too young to understand the world they left behind. Tony, as your older brother, stepped in to fill that void, becoming both protector and guardian. As he grew into the role of Iron Man, he fiercely tried to keep you away from the dangers that came with his double life. But your spirit was too strong to be confined. You found your own path, training with Steve Rogers and developing your skills and technology to stand on your own. Through Steve, you learned about Bucky Barnes — a man with a troubled past, yet someone you felt drawn to protect. Over time, you became an essential part of the Avengers family, not just by blood, but through loyalty, courage, and the fierce determination to fight for what you believe in.

After Berlin, everything was fractured. You should’ve been locked away with the others, but you weren’t. You found a way to prove that you and Steve were right — that someone was orchestrating everything from the shadows. You showed Tony the pieces: the inconsistencies, the manipulation, the name Zemo. Maybe it was the way you said it, maybe it was the last thread of trust he still had in you — but he listened. He got you out, and together, you convinced him to go to Siberia, not to fight, but to help.

But the cold in Siberia isn't just in the air — it’s in your chest, tightening with every breath as you step into the facility. The space is dim, sterile, haunted by the ghosts of what happened there. You can feel it in your bones: this is where everything changes. Zemo speaks with a calmness that unsettles you, leading the four of you deeper into the past than anyone was ready to go. Then, the footage begins — December 16, 1991. The mission. You don't want to look, but you can’t tear your eyes away. There’s the crash, the stolen serum, and then… the unmistakable brutality. Your heart sinks as you watch the man beside you — Bucky — become the weapon that killed your parents. It's a storm inside your chest: grief, disbelief, the return of a loss you thought you had buried long ago. Your eyes flicker between three people: Tony, whose hands are already curling into fists; Steve, who refuses to meet your gaze; and Bucky, frozen in silence, his jaw tight with shame. Every part of you is screaming. But you don't move. Not yet.

Silence settles like dust after the video stops, thick and suffocating. You hear Tony’s voice first — low, disbelieving.

“Did you know?”

Steve hesitates. His silence is an answer in itself.

“I didn’t know it was him,” he says finally.

Tony’s voice cracks. “Don’t bullshit me, Rogers. Did you know?”

You feel your breath hitch, a pulse pounding in your ears. Steve closes his eyes. “Yes.”

And just like that, the floor shifts beneath your feet.

You step back instinctively, watching the fury rise behind Tony’s eyes. It’s not just betrayal — it’s heartbreak, it’s twenty-five years of unanswered questions detonating all at once.

“He killed my mom,” Tony says, barely above a whisper, and you flinch.

You want to speak — to say he didn’t have a choice, to remind Tony of who Bucky is now, not who he was made to be — but the words catch in your throat.

Tony’s gaze flicks to you, just for a second, and in it you see something that breaks you more than the video: he expected you to stand with him.

And you can’t. Not against Bucky. Not like this.

Tony turns fully to you, his eyes desperate now — not with confusion, but with expectation. You saw it too, his stare seems to scream. He killed them. Say something. Do something.

You meet his gaze. And all the fire in him crashes against the ocean in your eyes. There's no anger in you — only sorrow, spilling over in silent tears that blur the edges of the room. You shake your head, barely, but it’s enough.

Tony’s chest rises with a sharp inhale, as if your silence alone had struck him.

“Y/n, don’t you dare—”

But he doesn’t finish. He lunges.

You don’t think. You move, stepping between him and Bucky like your body was built for this — like your place has always been in the middle of everything tearing itself apart. Your hands hit Tony’s chest, holding him back with more force than you knew you had.

“Stop,” you breathe. “Please.”

His eyes are blazing now. “He murdered our parents.”

“No,” you say, voice trembling. “He didn’t. That wasn’t him — that was the thing they turned him into. He didn’t have a choice, Tony.”

He looks at you like he doesn’t recognize you anymore. “Is that really what you believe? After what you just saw?”

“I felt that pain too. Every second of it. But I won’t destroy someone who’s already spent a lifetime paying for a crime he didn’t choose to commit.”

Tony laughs — a short, bitter sound. “So you’re siding with him. With the guy who killed your mother.”

Your voice cracks. “I’m not siding with anyone… I’m trying to keep us from losing what’s left.”

“You already lost me.” Tony's words felt like a twisting knife in your chest.

Tony doesn’t wait for another word. With a twist and a push, he slips past your grasp, rage propelling him straight toward Bucky.

“Tony, no!” you cry out, reaching for him, but he’s already swinging.

Bucky barely manages to deflect the first blow — the second lands squarely, sending him reeling. The sound of the impact echoes through the bunker, and something inside you folds.

You stand there, paralyzed. Torn. Watching your brother, burning with grief, throw himself against the man you’ve been fighting beside — the man who never asked for your trust, but who somehow earned it anyway.

Your heart pounds, and for a second, the weight of it all threatens to crush you.

You should stop them. You should do something. But it’s easier to run. And you hate yourself for knowing that.

Your breath hitches as you turn your head — and then you see him.

Zemo.

He lingers by the doorway, quiet and composed, with a ghost of a smile curling his lips. He watches the chaos like a man admiring his own masterpiece.

This is what he wanted.

And suddenly, the fog lifts.

He made you and Tony watch that video.

He manipulated all of you into this.

And maybe it’s cowardice, but going after him is easier than choosing between two people you love.

Fighting Zemo won’t leave scars on your family. Or so you tell yourself.

Steve notices the shift in your face — the way your tears harden into something sharper. He steps toward you cautiously, like he already knows.

You wipe your cheek roughly and meet his gaze. “You take care of them,” you murmur, voice steady despite the ache behind it. “I can’t stop Tony… but I can stop the man who caused this.”

Steve hesitates, but only for a beat. “Y/n—”

“I know,” you whisper through gritted teeth. “I know this won’t fix it.”

You glance back at the fight, at Tony — your brother — and the guilt nearly breaks you again.

You do feel like you’re betraying him. And you hate that it feels this way, but the past few days changed you. You fought beside Bucky. You saw who he really is — not the man in the video. And what’s worse… you felt something. A connection. One you didn’t expect. One you can’t ignore. And right now, you just need to get away from all of it — before your heart splits down the middle.

“Just keep them alive, both,” you say finally. “Please.”

Steve searches your eyes. And then, with a quiet nod, he lets you go.

So, you run. Not just toward vengeance — but away from the pain of choosing sides. You’re not proud of it, but it’s the only way you know how to keep breathing.

You don’t chase him right away, you watch. From the edge of the corridor, you track his figure as it fades into the white horizon—small, deliberate steps against the vast emptiness of snow and rock. He doesn’t run. Of course he doesn’t. He’s not that kind of coward. The icy wind bites at your face as you finally step out into the open. No trees. No shelter. Just you, him, and the silence of everything he shattered.

You catch up fast. Your boots scrape over rock, and before he can turn, you crash into him—shoulder first, a sharp collision that knocks him off balance. He stumbles, slides across the snow. But he recovers quickly, turning just as you strike again. He blocks. Dodges. Counters with surprising strength. He’s trained—more than you expected.

Blow after blow, you fight, fists cracking against arms, your breath ragged in the cold. It's messy, brutal, driven by instinct and pain. The silence breaks when you finally land a punch to his jaw that makes him reel back, lip bloodied.

“You destroyed my family,” you hiss. “Why?”

He spits blood into the snow, barely flinching. “Because they were false.”

You go at him again, but he ducks, sweeping your legs. You hit the ground hard, snow burning your skin, but you don’t stop. You’re already on your feet, chest heaving.

“You tore us apart,” you growl. “Steve, Tony, me, Bucky—what did you got?”

He stares at you calmly, that maddening composure still in place.

“Peace,” he says simply. “Sometimes, the world needs fire before it can rebuild.”

You lunge, slamming him back against a jagged rock. “That’s not peace. That’s ruin.”

“Ruins are honest,” he replies, almost softly.

Your fist trembles mid-air as you hold your knife. You could end it now. You want to. But there’s something behind your anger—something heavier.

“You think this was justice?” your voice cracks. “It was just vengeance.”

Zemo blinks slowly, lips parting into the faintest ghost of a smile. “Exactly.”

Your knuckles are scraped, raw. Blood from his face stains your glove, but your weapon stays raised.

He’s beneath you now—back pressed to the cold, uneven rock, breath shallow but steady. One strike. That’s all it would take. One final blow to end this. He doesn’t fight back. Doesn’t beg. He just looks at you, waiting. Accepting.

Your heart hammers in your chest, louder than the wind howling across the open field. Louder than your brother’s voice echoing in your memory. Louder than Bucky calling your name, back in that bunker before you ran away.

You tighten your grip, vision swimming. And yet, you still haven’t moved.

“Y/n Stark.”

The voice doesn’t come from Zemo. It cuts through the wind with clarity and weight, composed and firm.

You turn, startled, and see him. Prince T’Challa steps forward through the snow, posture tall, eyes calm—but burning with the same pain you carry.

“Vengeance has consumed you.” He looks at you, then to Zemo. “It is consuming them. I will not let it consume me.”

His words strike like a crack in your armor. You look back at Zemo. His face is bruised and bloodied, but his expression doesn’t change. He remains still beneath you, letting the moment stretch in silence. Your arm trembles.

“…Why?” Your voice is barely a whisper. Tired. Fractured. “Why did you do this?”

Zemo breathes in through his nose, slow and deliberate, as if the answer isn’t simple—but unavoidable.

“Sokovia.” His eyes don’t leave yours. “My family was buried beneath the rubble while your ‘heroes’ flew away, arguing about whose fault it was.”

You feel the blow of those words, dull and deep.

“I buried them with my own hands. My wife. My son. My father.” His voice falters for a second. Then steadies. “I knew I couldn’t kill them. Not all of them. But if I could make them kill each other… the empire would collapse from within.”

He finally looks away, into the white distance.

“An empire that no man should ever have the power to build.”

You close your eyes. He didn’t tried to kill your family. He made you watch them unravel.

“I can’t forgive you,” you whisper, with a hint of guilty for his family.

“I know,” he replies. “I don’t want you to.”

T’Challa steps forward, placing a firm hand on your shoulder. “Come. Let justice do what vengeance cannot.”

And you nod—because even if your heart is still fractured, it’s beating steady again. The wind stills, like the world itself has paused to let you breathe. You sit back on your heels, fists lowering at last. Zemo doesn’t move. Neither does T’Challa. Silence falls like snow — thick, cold, and heavy.

Then it comes. Distant at first. Muffled. The echo of metal clashing against metal, grunts of effort, blasts of repulsors cutting through stone and steel. You turn your head toward the sound — you can see it now: pulses of light flaring against the grey sky, like lightning trapped in a cage. Stark’s repulsors.

Your stomach twists. Steve. Bucky.

You rise slowly to your feet, legs unsteady, and glance at T’Challa beside you. He stands tall, hands behind his back, gaze locked on Zemo — no vengeance, only justice in his posture.

“What will you do with him?” you ask, your voice low but sure.

He meets your eyes. “He will answer for his crimes. I will hand him over to Ross.”

There’s no hesitation in his words, only principle. Then he softens, just enough.

“You still have time. Go to your fam.”

You look toward the glow on the ridge again.

A war is happening inside that mountain — a war between the two people you love most. And all you can think about is how it got this far.

But you nod, just once. Then you run. You follow the trail of light and noise, your heartbeat growing louder than the crunch of your boots against the frozen earth. The bunker looms behind you like a carcass. Ahead, only silence—and then, movement.

Steve. He steps into view, his silhouette staggering beneath the weight of the man in his arms.

Bucky.

Your breath catches. For a second, you don't move. Can't move. The light from the open structure glints off torn metal and darkened fabric. Where his arm should be—

Nothing.

You run. You don’t even feel your legs move, don’t hear the panicked sound that leaves your lips until you’re stopping in front of them.

“No—no, no, no—” You reach for Bucky’s face, his wrist, his chest. Anything.

He’s pale. Covered in soot and blood. His breathing is shallow—almost imperceptible. His eyes are closed. Your fingers shake as you press against the side of his neck.

You wait. Wait. There it is. A pulse.

“He’s alive,” Steve says gently, his voice ragged, like it’s the last bit of strength he has.

But there’s something behind it—grief, anger, guilt. Everything you feel, reflected right back at you. Your gaze lifts to meet his, his eyes are rimmed red, jaw clenched with something he can’t say out loud. And then, Steve looks at you with something heavier than sorrow. You swallow hard.

“Where's Tony?” you ask, your voice barely above a worried whisper. “He… your shield?”

Steve doesn’t answer. Instead, he looks back down at Bucky, then up at you again—like he’s choosing his words carefully.

“He’s not thinking straight,” he says. “I could stop him just for now. Maybe you still can.”

You blink, confused. Hurt. “Why would he listen to me?”

“Because you are still his little sister.” Steve’s words land like stone.

He adjusts Bucky in his arms again and balances themselves with effort.

“I’ll keep him safe,” he promises. “And I’ll talk to you as soon as I can. But right now…”

He meets your eyes, firm.

“Tony needs you.”

Steve stands steady, carrying Bucky carefully in his arms as they intend to move towards the Quinjet. The cold air bites, but your focus is entirely on Bucky’s face—bruised, bloodied, but breathing.

You step closer, gently brushing a lock of hair from his forehead. Your voice barely rises above a whisper, trembling with relief: “You’re okay.”

Bucky doesn’t respond, but the small rise and fall of his chest tells you everything you need to know. You shift your gaze to Steve, who meets your eyes with something heavier than sorrow—gratitude, trust, and a quiet admiration. Your glance holds his for a heartbeat, a silent exchange of understanding and strength.

"Thank you" that's the least you could say.

With that, you turn sharply and start running toward where you know you'd find Tony, heart pounding—not knowing what you’ll see, but knowing you have to get him.

You follow the trail of light through the snow and concrete, breath burning in your throat as your feet slam against the cold ground. The metallic echo of your steps fades beneath the hum of repulsors powering down.

Then you see him.

Tony sits on the floor near the wreckage of what used to be part of the bunker wall, helmet off, broken, elbows on his knees, staring down at his own shaking hands. The arc reactor flickers softly in the gloom. His face is torn open—split lip, brow swollen, blood trailing from the corner of his mouth. He looks like a man who has finally reached the bottom of everything.

You slow your steps. “Tony…”

His head snaps up like he forgot he wasn’t alone. His eyes are bloodshot, red-rimmed, and exhausted. For a second, he doesn’t say anything. Just looks at you like he’s not sure whether to collapse into your arms or push you away again.

“I couldn't do any other way,” he finally breathes, voice cracked. “He killed our parents.”

You nod, tears brimming again. “I know.”

He looks at you for a long time—really looks. There’s a tremble in his jaw, and then, like all the anger that had held him together just burnt out, he looks away again. “And you protected him.”

The words hit you like a slap, even though they’re soft, almost whispered.

“I told you it wasn't him. And I protected you, too,” you say edged, trying hard to control your own emotions. “From doing something you’d never come back from.”

He lets out a shaky sigh—bitter and hollow. “Then why do I still feel like I lost everything?”

You kneel beside him, not touching him yet. “Because you did, and so did I. But we’re still here. And we still got each other”

There’s a long pause. You let it breathe. Ignoring the tremble in your chin, and the tears stinging your eyes. Carefully, you rest your hand over his, grounding both of you in something real.

“We gotta go home” you say.

Tony doesn’t respond right away. His fingers twitch beneath yours, but he doesn’t pull away.

You lean in closer, softer now. “I know you don’t understand how I could’ve stood in your way. And maybe you won’t. But… I made a choice, Tony. And I’ll carry it. I'm not a child anymore”

Finally, he turns his hand over, wrapping his fingers around yours like he’s afraid to let go.

══════════════════════════════════════════════════

The days that followed blurred into a slow return to something resembling normal. You and Tony flew back to the compound in silence, the tension between you heavy but softened by exhaustion. Healing wasn’t immediate—some days you spoke like nothing ever happened, sharing breakfast and old jokes; other days, you couldn’t look at each other without remembering everything that had broken between you. Still, piece by piece, your bond began to mend.

Tony pulled every string he had to keep you out of prison. Unlike the others who sided with Steve, you were granted house arrest—confined to the compound, under strict surveillance, your every movement monitored. It should’ve felt like a victory, but it didn’t. The guilt gnawed at you—knowing Sam, Wanda, Clint and Scott were locked away while you walked free. That guilt became your fuel. Quietly, you slipped Steve fragments of intel, just enough to help him break into the Raft and free the others. You know the risks. So did Tony.

But he never stopped you.

He never asked where the encrypted messages went. Never questioned why you stayed up late with the comms encrypted. He didn’t even stop you from calling Steve late at night, when the silence felt too loud and your chest ached with everything unsaid.

Then came the morning you didn’t show up for breakfast.

Tony waited for a good ten minutes, which was already generous for someone like him. The toast went cold. He sighed, picked up your mug and went looking for you, grumbling something about dramatic sleeping habits and time zones.

He found your room quiet. Too quiet. When he opened the door, he froze. There, on your desk, your tracking bracelet—still blinking red—was locked tight around the abdomen of a massive ant.

“…Scott,” Tony muttered, blinking. “You absolute tiny bastard.”

He looked to the bed, where a folded note rested on your pillow. His fingers hovered over it for a moment before he picked it up, already dreading whatever sentimental nonsense you had left behind.

“Had to go on a little trip. Be kind to the ant, it has your name too. I love you. I’ll be back soon.”

Tony stared at the handwriting for a few seconds. Then he let out a single, sharp laugh, more disbelief than amusement. He dropped the note back onto the bed and ran a hand through his hair.

“Well played, Rogers. Kidnapping my sister, real subtle.” He stood there a moment longer, torn between frustration and admiration, before walking out of the room—still muttering under his breath.

══════════════════════════════════════════════════

The ship flew in silence, cutting through the night sky like a shadow. The sleek lines of Wakandan technology made almost no noise — just a soft hum filled the air, echoing the restrained breath in your chest.

Steve sat across the cabin, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the window — but you knew he wasn’t really seeing the clouds. Since boarding, few words have been exchanged. And none were really needed. He had already told you the essentials: T’Challa watched. He listened. He understood. And unlike what many would’ve done in his place, the king chose compassion. He chose to protect Bucky. And Bucky chose to trust them. This ship was another gift — or maybe a promise. A quiet gesture from someone who also knew what it was to lose, but refused to let hatred shape his next steps.

You leaned your head back and closed your eyes for a moment, but rest didn’t come. A part of you was still back there — in the frozen bunker, on the ground stained by the fury of someone you loved. The image of Tony’s face — wounded more in heart than armor — still weighed like lead in your chest.

“You okay?” — Steve’s voice came soft, almost a whisper, but clear enough to pull you back.

You nodded, eyes still shut. “I am.”

A pause. “Or at least… I will be.”

He didn’t push. Steve never did. He just looked at you with that gentle, loyal kind of expression — the same one he had when he took your hand and pulled you out of the compound in the middle of the night, promising it would be worth it.

“Will Bucky be safe?” — you asked, almost afraid of the answer.

Steve took a deep breath. “He will. They have the resources. The tech. And he wants this, Y/n. He wants peace. He wants... to be himself again.”

You didn’t reply right away. Your throat tightened, and everything inside you felt like it was rearranging — memories, loyalty, pain, love. An emotional mess carefully boxed into a floating piece of metal in the sky.

You leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees. “Thank you, Steve... for having our backs.”

He gave a soft smile — one of those small, sincere ones. “Always.”

The ship kept moving forward, cutting through the dark. And for a few minutes, you let the silence become a form of comfort.

You were going to see him. Bucky. And a part of you — the part that spent so long trying not to feel — finally let a small hope slip through the cracks.

The silence stretched between you for a while, peaceful and full of unspoken things. You hadn’t moved from your seat, but your fingers played absentmindedly with the hem of your sleeve — something restless stirring just beneath the surface.

Steve shifted a little, his voice breaking the quiet with gentle curiosity.

“So…” he started, a trace of a smile in his tone. “When did it happen?”

You looked up, brow furrowed. “When did what happen?”

He tilted his head, a soft grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “That… invisible magnet between you and Bucky. I’ve seen it for a while now. The way you look at him. The way he looks at you.”

You exhaled through your nose, not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh.

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “I think it was always there. Since the day on the bridge. Like something we didn’t notice until it was too loud to ignore.”

Steve nodded, the smile fading into something softer — more earnest.

“I’m glad he found you. That he let someone in. After everything… I thought it would take a miracle.”

You met his gaze, surprised by the emotion in his voice.

“He trusted you,” he said, more quietly now. “Aside from me, you were the only person he didn’t flinch away from. The only one he willingly talked to after… everything.”

You felt your throat tighten, and your voice came out quieter than before.

“He didn’t have to explain me anything. I just… saw him. And I knew he wasn’t the monster they said he was.”

Steve smiled again, this time with a flicker of something like pride. “You believed in him when it mattered most. You never doubted.”

You shrugged, glancing toward the window. “I doubted myself more than I ever doubted him.”

There was a beat of silence, then Steve leaned back in his seat, his tone suddenly lighter — teasing.

“You know…” he said, “back in the day — I mean way back — before I got frozen, Peggy gave me a goodbye kiss. She didn’t know it would be goodbye, not really. But… she still kissed me.”

You raised an eyebrow, already catching where this was going.

Steve gave you a crooked grin.

“I’m just saying — if we went through all the trouble of breaking you out of house arrest, sneaking past Stark’s security systems, and borrowing a ship from the King of Wakanda… Bucky deserves a goodbye kiss. Don’t you think?”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your lips.

“He’s not going anywhere.”

Steve shrugged, grinning.

“Neither was I.”

You laughed, quietly — the kind that settles into your chest and stays there, warm and a little nervous.

"I'm not giving Bucky a goodbye kiss, not when I know that I'll be seeing him again." You say, forcing yourself to sound optimistic, even when you're a little scared about Bucky's future.

══════════════════════════════════════════════════

The sun was just beginning to rise over Wakanda when the ship touched down. The soft golden light filtered through the tall grasses and sleek towers, casting the world in a warm hue — as if the land itself welcomed peace after so much war. You stepped out behind Steve, blinking against the brightness, the air different here — lighter, cleaner, but buzzing with quiet power.

Waiting for you was T’Challa, dressed in dark robes, arms calmly folded behind his back. He looked at you both not with suspicion, but with that steady regal grace — the kind of presence that made you straighten your posture without realizing it.

“Captain Rogers,” he greeted first. Then his gaze shifted to you. “Miss Stark.”

You gave a small nod, unsure if words would come out right now.

“We’re grateful,” Steve said. “More than I can express.”

T’Challa simply inclined his head. “He is safe. Healing. But the path forward will still be long.” His gaze flickered to you for a second. “For all of you.”

You didn’t respond — just swallowed and nodded again, because your chest was already tight.

“Come,” T’Challa said. “He’s waiting.”

The corridors of the Wakandan compound were impossibly quiet. Everything smelled like steel and earth and the subtle scent of something growing. It felt removed from the world — like a place outside of time. You followed Steve through a pair of sliding doors, your footsteps barely audible over the hum of the hall. The closer you got, the more your heart pounded — not in fear, but something deeper. Something ancient. Recognition.

Steve stopped just before a final door. He turned to you, like he sensed your hesitation in coming with him.

"You should go first. He might wanna talk to you alone." You offer him a concerned smile, but Steve knew you well enough to know that you were actually nervous to be seeing Bucky again.

“Wait here then.” He said simply, looking to the glass wall, where you could see through, and spot Bucky's figure on the other room.

You nodded. He gave you a small smile, then stepped inside alone.

Through the glass wall, you saw him approach Bucky — dressed in loose, simple clothes. His hair was longer now, brushed back behind his ears. He looked calm, almost still, as he turned toward Steve. You couldn’t hear what was said, but the expression that crossed Bucky’s face at the sight of his friend was unmistakable — relief and something like home.

They spoke briefly. Bucky’s body shifted, sharing a hug with Steve that made you smile to yourself. Steve kept a grip on his friend's shoulder, and as he pointed to the door, you took it as your sign to come in.

He indeed gestured toward you, lips moving around words you couldn’t quite hear — but you felt them in your bones.

"There's someone else I thought you'd like to see."

You step into the room, and for a moment, everything feels too bright. The space is open, the large windows filling it with sunlight that dances along the polished floor. But all you see is him — standing close to Steve, illuminated by the sunrays from the landscape behind them. His eyes fixed on you the second you enter.

You stop just inside the threshold, suddenly unsure of your body, your expression — of anything, really.

Bucky doesn’t move at first. Neither do you.

“Hi.” You say, breaking the silence with a soft tone, like he’s trying not to scare a wounded animal.

"Hey," Bucky responds, there's a glimpse of something heavy is his tone. Guilt. Appreciation. Relief.

He turns to you, but still hesitates on getting too close. "Wasn't you supposed to be... uhm, in prison?" He frowns, cleaning his throat.

You raised an eyebrow, feigning offense. "Wow. That’s the first thing you say to me?"

Bucky widened his eyes and Steve chuckled under his breath.

You take a step closer, placing yourself beside Steve. “Technically, I was under house arrest. Tony pulled some strings with the government.”

Bucky's eyes narrowed. “He’s not hating you?”

“Of course not,” Steve shook his head. “She got the fancy kind of punishment. Electronic monitor, surveillance, no going outside the compound.”

You shrugged. “It wasn’t that bad. Except for the part where I couldn’t even get decent coffee.”

Steve tilted his head, that teasing glint returning to his eyes. “Which is why I may have… borrowed one of Scott’s ants.”

Bucky blinked. “One of his ants?”

You nodded, trying not to grin. “A very big one. It handled the ankle monitor part.”

“She didn’t even hesitate,” Steve added, smirking. “I said, ‘Want to leave for a trip?’ and she was already halfway out the window.”

You nudged Steve lightly with your foot. “You made it sound very heroic. I thought we were going to do something cool, not sneak onto a spaceship like teenagers past curfew.”

“Well,” Steve shrugged, grinning now, “you wouldn't have exactly say no to that.”

Bucky huffed a short laugh, shaking his head. “You two are unbelievable.”

You smiled and leaned forward, eyes fixed on him. “And yet… here we are.”

For a moment, the warmth between the three of you made the world outside the lab feel distant — just three people, trying to hold onto a piece of normal.

Steve gives the two of you a lingering glance. There’s something in his posture — a careful blend of protectiveness and quiet encouragement — before he steps toward the door.

“I’ll give you two a minute,” he says gently, and with a nod, he leaves.

The silence stretches as the door hisses shut behind him. You look at Bucky. He’s standing practically in the same position since you first saw him. His right hand gripping his waist, looking away at the full view windows, as if admiring Wakanda for the first time. His hair brushed back revealed more of his face than you’re used to seeing. There are dark circles under his eyes, but they don't take away from the clarity in them — eyes no longer haunted, just... tired.

You take a cautious step forward, and then another. “How... how have things been here?”

His voice is low, and still carries the weight of something raw. “Quiet. Safe. It’s... a strange kind of peace.”

You nod, arms crossing in front of your chest — a small shield against the emotions threatening to rise again. “And what happens now?”

Bucky shrugs, eyes finally meeting yours. “Shuri says they can help... take it all apart. The programming. The conditioning. I told them to do it. We’re trying to... unmake the Winter Soldier, I guess.”

You nod. “Sounds like something that should’ve happened a long time ago.”

He doesn’t answer that. And silence settles again — heavier this time.

You feel it hanging between you. Everything unsaid. Everything still bleeding under the surface.

Then, finally, he speaks. Quiet. Honest.

“I’m sorry.”

Your heart stumbles. He continues before you can respond.

“For your parents. For what happened with Tony. For dragging you into all of this. I... I still don’t know how you stood by me after all that.” His voice cracks at the edges, not from weakness, but from shame. Real, quiet shame.

You take a breath, step closer, letting the tip of your boots touch his feet, searching his eyes.

“I never saw the Winter Soldier, Bucky,” you say softly. “I only saw you. I stood by you. And I’m still here.”

He blinks, and for a second, his composure slips. He looks at you like he’s still not sure he can trust it — trust you — even though everything about you has been screaming that he can.

Bucky doesn’t look away this time — but there’s hesitation in his voice when he speaks.

“Why?” He swallows hard. “Why did you choose us… after everything?”

You exhale slowly, trying to find the words. “It wasn’t a choice, not really. It just… happened.”

He tilts his head slightly, searching your face.

“That thing between us,” you continue, voice softer now, “it’s always been there. Even when it shouldn’t have. Even when we barely knew each other.”

Bucky’s eyes drop to the floor for a second, like he’s hiding behind the thought before admitting it.

“I felt it too,” he says. “Like something pulling at me.”

You smile, small but real. “Invisible magnet.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Exactly.”

There’s a brief silence — not uncomfortable this time, just reflective. Like neither of you know what to do with the truth now that it’s been spoken out loud.

“I don’t know what it means,” you admit, leaning lightly against the table beside you. “And I’m not sure what to do with it either.”

Bucky glances at you again, eyes softer now.

“But it’s real,” he says.

You nod. “Yeah. It’s real.”

Neither of you move closer. Neither of you pull away. There’s no grand moment, no promise, no plan — just two people, standing in the middle of a quiet Wakandan room, holding onto something they don’t fully understand.

You glance away for a second, trying to collect your thoughts — but your eyes land on the glass door.

And there he is. Steve.

Standing just outside the lab, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised in that older brother watching from a distance kind of way. You can practically feel the smugness radiating off of him.

Then — because of course he would — he lifts a hand and makes the most exaggerated “kissy face” gesture imaginable. Puckered lips. Two fingers tapping together. A little heart drawn in the air for good measure.

You freeze, widening your eyes at him.

Bucky notices the way your expression suddenly shifts — the subtle horror creeping into your face — and turns to follow your gaze.

“What is he—?”

You step in front of him so fast it’s almost comedic.

“Nothing. He’s just being Steve.”

Bucky narrows his eyes. “Was he… doing a thing with his hands?”

“Nope,” you say, a little too fast. “Just a… diplomatic wave. Wakandan custom. Very respectful.”

Steve, now thoroughly entertained, is biting his bottom lip to keep from laughing.

Before Bucky can press further — or you can come up with a better excuse for Steve’s antics — the door slides open.

Steve steps into the room like he’s been waiting for the exact right moment to ruin it. He looks between the two of you with a suspiciously innocent expression that doesn't fool either of you.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he says, though he doesn't sound very sorry. “Shuri’s ready.”

You blink. “Already?”

He nods, a little more serious now. “Lab’s prepped. Everything’s in place.”

You feel Bucky stiffen slightly beside you, but he doesn’t look away. There’s a quiet understanding in his eyes now — something grounded. Steady. He knew this was coming.

You glance between them both, something tightening in your chest.

“How long will he be under?” you ask, your voice softer again.

Steve shrugs gently. “As long as it takes. Until he’s really free.”

Bucky takes a breath, turning toward the door, but he pauses — just long enough to glance back at you. There’s something like a silent question in his expression. Something waiting.

You offer a small nod.

And together, the three of you walk down the corridor. The lab was bathed in soft blue light, reflecting off the smooth vibranium panels and glass interfaces. At the center stood the cryogenic chamber — sleek, sterile, silent — waiting.

You lingered near the entrance, watching as Bucky stepped forward with slow, steady steps. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. This wasn’t the kind of moment that called for words.

Steve followed behind him, quieter than usual, his expression unreadable. But when Bucky turned to face him, the tension shifted.

They stood in front of each other for a long moment — no soldier and no captain. Just two men who had been through too much together, and were somehow still standing.

Steve broke the silence first.

“You sure this is the right call?” His voice was low, but steady. Honest.

Bucky nodded, his jaw tight. “I can’t trust my own mind so… that’s the best option.”

Steve glanced at the floor, then back up. “You’ve been carrying this for longer than we know. You’ll be fine”

“Thanks,” Bucky said, quick and certain. “For being here.”

“Always, pal.” Steve nods, a concerned smile adorning his face.

There was a beat, and then Bucky let out a breath — half a laugh, almost. “Just don’t do anything stupid until I get back”

Steve gave a soft huff. “How can I? You’re taking all the stupidity with you.”

The two exchanged a small, tired smile. But their eyes said everything else — the things that couldn’t be spoken: I’m sorry. I’m proud of you. I’ll be here when you wake up.

They stepped forward at the same time, and Steve pulled Bucky into a firm embrace — not brief, not forced. Just real.

You looked away, jaw clenched, forcing yourself to breathe through the lump forming in your throat. This was their goodbye. Their history. You didn’t want to intrude. But still… watching it hurt more than you expected.

When they finally pulled apart, Bucky turned — and found you waiting.

The weight of the moment returned in full.

He took a step closer, slower this time, his eyes locked on yours.

“I’ll be okay,” he said softly. “And when I wake up… maybe we’ll both know what to do with this.”

You nodded, swallowing hard. “Just don’t take too long.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Then — something shifted.

You felt it in the silence. In the way he lingered. In the way your heart beat just a little louder, like it knew time was running out.

Steve didn’t say a word. He just glanced from Bucky to you, then back again. One eyebrow lifted — subtle, but clear.

Now or never.

You hesitated, your breath catching. Then, slowly, you stepped forward and reached up, fingers brushing against Bucky’s jaw with barely a touch. And you kissed him.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t dramatic. Just a soft, grounding press of your lips against his — a silent promise, a thank you, a goodbye. His hand came up, gently touching your waist, as if memorizing the shape of the moment.

When you pulled back, your voice was barely a whisper. “For good luck. You return it when you wake up.”

He looked at you like he wanted to say something — maybe a hundred things — but instead, he just nodded.

“Okay.” He mirrors your shy, sensible smile.

Then he turned, stepped into the chamber, closed his eyes and let the door do the same.

You stood beside Steve as the cryo-pod sealed shut, the mist already curling around the edges. The bite on your lip held both your tears, and the feeling of missing Bucky’s lips against yours. Already.

The chamber hissed softly as it sealed, locking Bucky into a stasis of silence and frost. You stood still for a moment longer, staring through the curved glass — watching as the mist rose and softened the edges of his face until it faded completely.

A quiet breath left your lips. Not relief. Not grief. Something in between.

Steve waited beside you without rushing, giving you the time you needed. Then, gently, he turned toward the door.

You followed him out of the lab, your footsteps echoing faintly down the sleek corridor. It wasn’t until you reached the end of the hall that he finally spoke — voice low, but unmistakably smug.

“So…” He didn’t look at you. Just kept walking. “…you did kiss him goodbye.”

You narrowed your eyes, cheeks flushing instantly. “Don’t start.”

Steve raised both hands in faux innocence. “Hey, I didn’t say a word. You’re the one blushing.”

You shoved his shoulder lightly. “You’re insufferable.”

He grinned. “Takes one to know one.”

But then he looked at you — and the teasing faded just enough to let something warmer shine through.

“You did good,” he said. “For him. For yourself.”

You didn’t answer, but the way you smiled back told him you understood.

And together, once again, you walked on.

EPILOGUE

The compound was quiet when you stepped back inside. Not the tense kind of quiet from before — just late-night silence, familiar and still. You dropped your bag by the couch, rolled your shoulders, and kicked off your boots with the grace of someone who had clearly been sneaking around behind global authorities.

You made it five steps into the kitchen before his voice echoed from the other side of the island.

“Took you long enough.”

You jumped slightly. “Jesus, Tony—”

“Wrong deity,” he said, holding up a coffee mug. “But thanks for the dramatic entrance. Very spy-thriller of you.”

He looked exactly the same — hoodie, rumpled hair, tired eyes pretending not to be relieved. You hated how good he was at that.

You leaned against the counter, trying not to smile. “Did Friday tell you I was back?”

“Nope. I guessed.” He sipped his coffee. “That, or the giant mutant ant returned with a postcard.”

You snorted. “Sorry I ran off.”

He waved a hand. “Eh, I’ve been ditched for worse things than a cryogenically frozen ex-HYDRA assassin with severe emotional damage. Honestly? Kind of proud.”

You blinked. “Wait—proud?”

He held up a finger. “Don’t make it weird. I’m still mad. But also, you know...”

He hesitated just a moment too long. “You’re my favorite Stark. Don’t tell Pepper.”

A lump formed quietly in your throat, but you masked it with a smirk.

“Yeah, well… you’re not my favorite genius billionaire anymore.”

Tony squinted. “Is it because I didn’t build you a vibranium suit?”

You shrugged, walking around the counter to grab a mug. “That’s part of it.”

He watched you for a second as you poured coffee into your cup, his expression softening just a fraction.

“You okay?” he asked, quieter now.

You nodded, keeping your eyes on the coffee. “I will be. Are you?”

“Same.” He didn’t press.

Instead, he reached out, hooked a finger through the handle of your mug, and pulled it closer to refill it himself.

“Well,” he said. “I already told the team you're grounded, just so you know.”

You rolled your eyes. “You can’t ground me.”

“I just did.”

You took the mug back and bumped your shoulder lightly into his.