#blackwidow

-=- First time

It started innocently enough. We'd just come back from a short mission, adrenaline still buzzing. I pulled her into our room, hands already sliding under her shirt, fingers tracing the toned lines of her abs. "Missed you out there, Romanoff," I murmured, voice low and teasing, pressing her back against the wall. She growled softly, that sound that always went straight between my legs, and flipped us so I was the one pinned. Her mouth crashed into mine, hungry, demanding. We shed clothes fast, my tank top hitting the floor, her sports bra following. I wrapped my legs around her waist as she carried me to the bed, her cock already hard and pressing against me through her pants.

She freed herself, thick and throbbing, and pushed into me in one smooth thrust. I gasped, nails digging into her shoulders. God, she felt perfect, stretching me just right, hitting that spot that made stars explode behind my eyes. We moved together, her hips snapping forward, my body arching to meet every thrust, sweat slicked our skin. Her breath came in hot pants against my neck as she murmured praises in Russian. I was close already, but I wanted her closer.

Right as she started to lose rhythm, her cock swelling inside me, I gripped her arms "Stop."

She froze instantly, buried deep, muscles trembling with the effort. Those green eyes snapped to mine, confused but instantly concerned "YN? What’s wrong, detka?" Her voice was rough, strained, but she pulled out carefully, rolling off me even though I could see the frustration flickering across her face. She checked me over, hands gentle on my cheeks. "Talk to me. Did I hurt you?"

I faked a yawn, "Just... tired. Long day. Sorry, Nat." The lie tasted sweet. She nodded, kissing my forehead softly, even though her cock was still rock-hard and leaking against her thigh. She pulled me into her arms instead, holding me close. "It's okay. Get some rest." I snuggled against her chest, hiding my smirk.

-=- Second time

The next day I teased her on purpose. During training, I "accidentally" brushed against her while sparring, whispering how much I wanted her inside me later. In the common area, I sat on her lap during a team meeting, shifting just enough to feel her harden beneath me. By evening, she was pent up, eyes dark with need every time she looked at me.

 Perfect.

We barely made it to the bedroom. I dropped to my knees the second the door closed, yanking her pants down. Her cock sprang free, heavy and flushed, veins standing out. "Fuck, Yn," she groaned as I took her into my mouth, swirling my tongue around the head, sucking hard. I worked her with my hand and lips, hollowing my cheeks, taking her deeper until she hit the back of my throat. Her fingers tangled in my hair. Her hips bucked, breath ragged. She was close, so close, thighs tensing.

I pulled off with a wet pop, wiping my mouth. "Actually... I don't feel like it anymore." I stood up, shrugging casually, even as my own arousal throbbed.

Natasha stared at me, chest heaving, cock twitching in the air, denied right at the edge. Frustration burned in her eyes, jaw tight. "Yn. What the hell?" But she didn't push, she never did, she respected me too much. She just exhaled sharply, ran a hand through her hair, and muttered something about a cold shower. I felt a twinge of guilt, but the power rush was addictive.

-=- Third time

She tried again two nights later, thinking maybe I'd gotten over whatever mood I was in. We were in the shower, water cascading over us. Her hands roamed my body, soapy and insistent. She lifted me against the tiles, strong arms holding me up as she slid into me again, deep and relentless. The angle was insane, every thrust ground against my clit, her cock filling me completely. I moaned loudly, biting her shoulder. She was pounding into me, grunting with effort, so close to losing it.

Halfway through I gasped, realising I nearly forgot; Right as her pace turned desperate "Stop, Nat."

She slammed her hand against the tile beside my head, breathing hard, but she stopped, pulled out, set me down gently even though her whole body shook with restrained need. Anger flashed in her eyes now,real anger. "This again? Yn, what game are you playing?" Her voice was low, dangerous. But she still wrapped a towel around me first, then herself, before storming out to the bathroom. 

-=- Fourth time

By now she knew. She watched me warily the next evening when I initiated, but desire won out. We didn't even make it past foreplay properly before I had her on her back, stroking her cock slowly, teasing the head with my thumb while kissing her neck. She was leaking, hips jerking up into my hand. When I straddled her and sank down, taking every inch, she groaned my name like a prayer.

I did it again. "Stop."

This time she was properly pissed. She pulled out immediately, sitting up and glaring. "Damn it, Stark. If you don't want this, stop starting it." She got up, pacing the room naked, tension radiating off her. But she respected the word, I almost felt bad, almost.

-=- The fifth time

A few nights after that, I could tell she was done with my shit. I tried to make up for it, crawling into bed in nothing but one of her old shirts, pressing against her back, hand sliding down her stomach towards her cock. "C'mon, Nat. I've been an ass. Let me fix it."

She caught my wrist, firm but not painful. "No. I'm sick of your jokes, Yn. Not tonight." Her voice was flat. She turned away, facing the wall. I felt a pang of real regret then. My own damn fault. I curled up on my side, back facing her, pretending to fall asleep even though my mind raced. The room was quiet except for the low hum of the city outside.

Hours passed. The clock on the nightstand glowed 3:17 AM when I felt the bed shift. Warm breath brushed my neck.

Natasha pressed in close behind me, her body radiating heat. She stayed there for a long moment, breathing ragged, her thick cock hard and throbbing insistently against my ass. Her hand rested on my hip, fingers flexing with clear frustration, but she held back.

“Yn…” Her voice was low and strained. “You awake?” I hummed, looking at her and smiled at her state. “If you’re going to say stop again, tell me now. Please.” She said desperate.

I reached back, guiding her hand between my thighs so she could feel how soaked I was. “Don’t stop tonight,”

The second the words left my mouth, Natasha flipped me onto my back with a growl. She shoved the shirt up roughly, spread my legs wide, and thrust into me in one hard stroke, burying herself deep. I gasped at the sudden stretch as she started fucking me immediately, fast and relentless and going all the way in.

“Fuck… finally,” she panted against my neck, hips snapping “Let me finish inside you.”

She drove into me harder, desperate and messy, days of holding back, her cock throbbing with every thrust. Broken “please”’s spilled from her lips between moans as she chased her release, trembling with need. It didn’t take long before her rhythm faltered. She slammed in deep one last time and came hard, pulsing hot inside me with a wrecked groan, her whole body shaking.

When she finally collapsed on top of me, sweaty and tired, she pressed a soft kiss to my shoulder.

“Never again,” she murmured, voice hoarse. “Or I won’t be this nice next time.”

He stood near the edge of the landing platform with rain dripping from the ends of his hair and collecting along the sharp line of his jaw, his metal arm hanging rigidly at his side as he watched the distant lights of the quinjet cut through the darkness. Every second that passed without visual confirmation felt unbearable. No one had managed to contact the team again after Natasha’s warning call, and the silence that followed had left too much room for imagination. Bucky knew better than anyone what HYDRA was capable of when they wanted to make people disappear.

The second the quinjet came into view, the medical teams surged forward. The aircraft barely touched the platform before its doors were forced open, exposing a scene so frantic it made the atmosphere on the roof immediately shift from anxious anticipation into outright alarm.

“Get Banner down here now!”

“Someone close that wound before he passes out—”

“Move, move!”

Steve emerged first, and the sight of him alone was enough to send a wave of unease through everyone gathered there. Blood had soaked through the shoulder of his suit, darkened further by the rain, and he carried his shield loosely in one hand as though even the effort of holding it upright had become exhausting. Sam followed close behind him, grimacing as he ripped off his damaged wing pack, sparks snapping violently from broken wires. Natasha stepped out last, pale beneath the streaks of dirt and dried blood across her face, one knife still clutched tightly in her hand like she had forgotten it was there.

Bucky’s eyes immediately searched past them.

Waiting.

Expecting you to appear behind them at any moment.

But you didn’t.

The medics rushed forward, guiding Steve toward the medical bay while agents barked questions no one was answering, yet Bucky barely heard any of it. His attention remained fixed on the open quinjet doors long after it became painfully obvious that no one else was coming out.

A horrible feeling settled in his chest.

“Where’s Y/N?”

The question cut through the noise sharply enough that several people nearby fell silent. Steve stopped moving altogether. Sam looked down. Natasha’s expression tightened almost imperceptibly, but it was enough.

The world around Bucky seemed to narrow violently.

Not into silence entirely—alarms still echoed faintly through the tower, rain still battered the platform, medics still rushed injured agents past him—but into something suffocating and distant, like all the sound around him had suddenly been pushed underwater.

No one answered him.

That was what made the panic truly begin.

Bucky took a slow step forward, his gaze moving between Steve, Natasha, and Sam, searching desperately for someone to tell him he was wrong, that you were injured, unconscious maybe, still on another transport—anything but this unbearable silence hanging between them.

“Where is she?”

Steve looked away first.

It was small. Brief. But it told Bucky everything.

Cold dread slid down his spine so fast it almost made him feel sick.

Natasha finally spoke, though her voice sounded rough, strained from exhaustion and something dangerously close to guilt. “HYDRA separated us during extraction.”

Separated.

The word lodged itself violently in Bucky’s chest.

Not dead.

But not safe.

For a moment he simply stared at her, like his mind refused to process what she was saying. Around them, the storm raged louder, wind whipping rain across the platform hard enough to sting exposed skin, but Bucky barely noticed any of it.

Sam stepped forward slightly, his voice quieter now. “We lost visual after the east corridor collapsed. We tried to get back to her, but—”

“So you just left.”

The words came out low and controlled, which somehow made them worse.

Sam visibly flinched.

Steve moved immediately, stepping between them before the tension could escalate further. “Buck—”

“You left her there?” Bucky repeated, his voice still frighteningly calm beneath the fury beginning to fracture through it.

“We had no choice,” Natasha said firmly, though exhaustion weighed heavily behind the sharpness in her tone. “The entire facility was collapsing.”

“And HYDRA took her.”

No one argued.

No one denied it.

Bucky dragged a hand harshly down his face before turning away from them altogether, metal fingers tangling into the damp strands of his hair as he paced blindly across the platform. His breathing had become uneven without him noticing. He couldn’t slow his thoughts down long enough to think clearly because his mind had already gone somewhere else entirely.

Cold metal restraints digging into skin.

Sterile rooms lit by blinding white lights.

The sound of screaming echoing down endless concrete hallways.

Commands repeated over and over until language itself stopped sounding human.

HYDRA didn’t simply imprison people.

They dismantled them.

Slowly. Methodically. Until there was nothing left but whatever they wanted you to become.

“She’s alive, and we are going to find her,” Steve said carefully after a long silence, his voice carrying the same cautious tone someone might use approaching a wounded animal. “FRIDAY’s already tracing every known HYDRA route within a five-hundred-mile radius.”

Bucky let out a short laugh at that, though there was nothing remotely amused about the sound. It was hollow and sharp enough to make Natasha’s expression tighten further.

“You don’t understand,” he said quietly.

No one interrupted him.

His eyes had gone glassy now, panic beginning to surface beneath the anger in a way that was somehow far more unsettling than if he had simply started shouting.

“You think this is a hostage situation?” he asked, looking between them. “You think they’re just holding her somewhere until they negotiate something?”

“Bucky—”

“They’re hurting her.”

The words came out harsher this time, and for the first time since landing, Natasha’s composure visibly cracked.

“They’re hurting her right now.”

Steve took another step closer. “She’s strong. She can handle this until we get to her.”

At that, something inside Bucky seemed to snap. He turned so abruptly the nearby chair beside him crashed sideways onto the wet platform with a deafening clang, several agents immediately freezing where they stood.

“No,” he barked, his voice finally rising. “No, you don’t get it—there is no ‘handling’ HYDRA.”

Every word became sharper, less controlled.

More desperate.

“I know what they do in those rooms,” he continued, breathing hard now. “I know how long they can keep someone alive. I know what they can survive through.” His jaw tightened violently, eyes dark with horror at memories he could never fully outrun. “Honestly…” His voice faltered briefly. “Honestly, it would’ve been kinder if she’d died in the fight.”

The second the words left his mouth, he shut his eyes tightly like the thought physically pained him.

No one spoke.

Even Steve looked shaken by the raw sincerity behind it.

Natasha moved closer carefully, her voice quieter now. “We are going to find her.”

“When?” Bucky snapped immediately, opening his eyes again. “Tomorrow? Two days from now? A week?”

No one had an answer.

That was the worst part.

FRIDAY had found nothing so far. No satellite traces, no intercepted HYDRA communications, no surviving agents left behind in the wreckage. The facility they had raided had collapsed almost completely in on itself before extraction, wiping away nearly every possible lead. It was as though you had vanished entirely.

And Bucky knew exactly what that meant.

Off-grid facilities.

Underground prisons.

The kind of places designed specifically so nobody ever escaped them.

He began pacing again, faster this time, restless energy radiating off him in waves as panic steadily consumed whatever composure he had left.

“We should already be moving,” he muttered. “Every second we stand here talking—”

“We can’t charge blindly into nowhere,” Natasha interrupted, her tone sharper now.

Bucky rounded on her instantly. “So what? We just sit here while they torture her?”

“Until we get a lead,” Natasha said evenly, despite the exhaustion carved deeply into her expression, “we don’t have a choice.”

Fury flashed across Bucky’s face, but Natasha held his gaze without backing down. 

“We put faith in her,” she said quietly. “She can survive this.”

Bucky stared at her for a long moment, rain dripping steadily from his hair as his chest rose and fell unevenly. Then, in a voice so much quieter than before, he said, “That’s what scares me.”

Silence settled heavily over the platform once more, because Natasha understood exactly what he meant.

Surviving HYDRA was not the same thing as surviving whole.

Two Days After Your Capture

Bucky hadn’t slept since the night you were taken.

Not properly, anyway. Every time exhaustion threatened to drag him under, his mind immediately pulled him back awake again, flooding him with images he was trying desperately not to think about. HYDRA facilities buried underground. Restraints bolted to concrete floors. The sound of screaming echoing down sterile hallways he knew far too well. He had spent the last forty-eight hours trying to force those thoughts away before they could consume him entirely, but it was becoming harder with every passing hour.

The tower itself had become tense and restless. FRIDAY continued running thousands of searches simultaneously through security footage, intercepted communications, satellite feeds, and old HYDRA records, yet every lead turned into nothing. Tony and Bruce had practically confined themselves to the lab as they worked nonstop trying to uncover anything connected to your disappearance. Every now and then Bucky would hear Tony cursing from three floors below when another possible location inevitably came up empty.

No one said it aloud yet, but the longer this went on, the worse it became.

Steve and Natasha had spent most of the past two days trying to stop Bucky from completely losing himself in the process. They knew better than anyone what happened when he became too consumed by rage, too focused on violence and revenge instead of thought. Natasha had already caught him halfway out the tower at four in the morning with enough weapons strapped to him to level a building, fully intending to hunt down every remaining HYDRA member himself until someone gave him answers.

Now, after nearly an hour of arguing, Steve had managed to force him into the kitchen with strict instructions to eat something before he collapsed.

The food sitting untouched in front of him had long since gone cold.

Bucky sat hunched forward at the kitchen island, metal fingers curled tightly around a mug of coffee that had become equally forgotten. Rain continued tapping softly against the enormous tower windows, the city outside blurred beneath low clouds and dim morning light. The kitchen itself was quiet for once, empty except for the faint hum of appliances and the occasional voice drifting through the comms system from the lab downstairs.

But none of it held his attention for long.

Everything always came back to you.

Every thought circled back to where you might be, whether you were hurt, whether you were even conscious anymore. He kept trying not to imagine the worst, trying to drag his mind somewhere safer before it spiraled completely out of control. It was the only thing keeping him together at this point — forcing himself to remember you as you actually were instead of letting HYDRA poison every thought in his head.

And somehow, despite everything, his mind kept returning to this kitchen.

To the first real conversation the two of you had ever shared.

Back then, Bucky had still been new to the tower. New to all of it, really. The idea of living amongst people who genuinely wanted him there had felt unnatural in a way he couldn’t explain. Most days he still moved through the building like a ghost, quiet and cautious, constantly aware of every nervous glance sent his way. No one had said they were afraid of him outright, but he noticed the hesitation regardless. The careful distance. The subtle tension whenever he entered a room unexpectedly.

He couldn’t even blame them for it.

That night, sleep had once again proven impossible, leaving him wandering the tower aimlessly sometime after two in the morning. The kitchen lights had still been on when he stepped inside, and for a brief moment he’d considered turning around immediately the second he realized he wasn’t alone.

You stood by the counter, spoon lazily stirring something inside your mug as soft music played quietly from your phone nearby. At the sound of his footsteps, you glanced over your shoulder, and instead of the startled reaction he had grown used to from most people, you simply smiled.

It was small. Warm. Effortless.

“How do you like your coffee?”

Bucky had paused slightly at the question, almost caught off guard by how normal your tone was. There was no caution in it, no uncertainty, no visible discomfort despite the fact that he had unintentionally appeared behind you in the middle of the night looking exhausted and vaguely intimidating.

“Black,” he answered after a second. “No sugar.”

You nodded immediately. “Coming right up.”

There was something strangely comforting about the ease in which you moved around him, like his presence didn’t force you to tense up the way it did everyone else. You reached for another mug without hesitation, placing it beside your own as the kettle continued heating behind you.

“How’re you settling in?” you asked casually, leaning back against the counter while waiting for the water to boil.

Bucky let out a quiet breath that almost resembled a laugh, though there wasn’t much humour behind it. “I don’t think I am.” His gaze dropped toward the marble countertop as soon as the words left him. Admitting that out loud felt embarrassingly honest. “It’s… different.”

Your expression softened slightly. “Yeah,” you agreed gently. “It’s a lot.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Rain had tapped softly against the tower windows then too, distant thunder rolling somewhere across the city while the kitchen remained wrapped in sleepy silence.

You folded your arms loosely across yourself before continuing, “Honestly, it took me forever to settle in here.” A grin tugged at your mouth suddenly. “This place is basically just one giant traumatised found family with access to advanced weaponry.”

To Bucky’s surprise, an actual laugh escaped him. Quiet and brief, but real enough that you smiled wider in response like you’d achieved something important.

The kettle clicked loudly as it finished boiling, and you turned away to pour the water into both mugs.

“You know,” you said lightly while making the coffee, “people will stop acting weird around you eventually.”

Bucky’s brows pulled together faintly. “You sound pretty confident about that.”

“I am.” You handed him the mug carefully, your fingers brushing briefly against his metal hand without hesitation.

No flinch. No pause.

“You gotta remember,” you continued, leaning your hip against the counter beside him, “it’s not every day we get a brainwashed super soldier assassin with a metal arm wandering around the tower.”

Bucky stared at you for a second.

Then, despite himself, he huffed another laugh.

You smiled into your coffee before adding casually, “Give them time. The paranoia wears off eventually around here. Half the team has tried to kill each other at least once.”

“That supposed to make me feel better?”

“Absolutely.”

The warmth of the mug spread through his metal fingers uselessly, but somehow he still felt it anyway.

More than that, he remembered the feeling of looking at you that night and realising — perhaps for the first time since coming to the tower — that someone saw him as a person before they saw the Winter Soldier.

You had looked at him without fear.

Without hatred.

Without suspicion.

Just kindness.

And sitting alone in the kitchen now, two days after your kidnapping, Bucky thought that might have been the exact moment everything started becoming real for him.

Five Days After Your Capture

By the fifth day, exhaustion had settled heavily over the tower like a storm cloud that refused to move on. Nobody was sleeping properly anymore. Tony and Bruce had practically turned the lab into a second home, surviving on caffeine, frustration, and whatever scraps of hope they could still cling to. Screens filled every available surface, each one running different searches, tracking old HYDRA signals, facial recognition software, satellite imaging, encrypted communications—anything that could possibly lead them to you.

And still, they had nothing.

Bucky was losing what little patience he had left.

“You’re telling me,” he snapped, pacing across the lab for what felt like the hundredth time that night, “that with all this technology, all these satellites, all this insane shit Stark built, you still can’t find one person?”

Tony looked up from his holographic display, dark circles heavy beneath his eyes and irritation already written clearly across his face. “Yeah, because contrary to popular belief, I’m not actually God.”

“Could’ve fooled me with the ego.”

“Buck,” Steve warned quietly from nearby.

“No, seriously,” Bucky continued, voice rising as he dragged a hand through his hair. “You can track aliens dropping outta the sky, but HYDRA somehow disappears completely?”

Tony’s jaw tightened immediately. “You think I’m not trying?”

“I think if it was Steve missing, you’d have torn the planet apart by now.”

The room went still.

Bruce immediately looked up from his workstation. “Okay,” he said carefully, stepping between them slightly. “Nobody’s thinking clearly right now.”

Tony shoved himself away from the desk with visible frustration. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” Bucky shot back.

“Act like you’re the only person here who gives a damn about her.”

The words hit hard enough to make even Steve tense.

For a second, Bucky just stared at him, breathing unevenly, his exhaustion and fear twisting violently into anger because deep down he knew Tony wasn’t wrong. Everyone was trying. Everyone was exhausted. But while the others could still think logically, Bucky felt like he was suffocating under the helplessness of it all.

They had already raided every known HYDRA facility within reach. Every lead had collapsed into nothing. Every hour that passed left more room for his imagination to spiral into places he knew too well.

And the worst part was that there was nothing he could actually do.

No enemy to fight. No target to hunt. No way to get to you.

Just waiting.

Bucky had never been good at waiting.

“You need to cool off,” Steve said firmly, stepping closer before the argument could escalate any further. “You’re not helping anybody right now. Let Tony work.”

Bucky laughed bitterly at that, though there wasn’t an ounce of humour in it. “Right,” he muttered. “Because this is working out great.”

Before anyone could stop him, his metal fist slammed violently into the concrete wall beside him. Cracks splintered instantly through the surface, dust scattering across the floor as the sound echoed through the lab.

Bruce flinched. Tony cursed under his breath. Steve looked exhausted.

But Bucky didn’t say another word. He just turned and walked out.

The training floor was empty when he arrived, quiet except for the faint hum of overhead lights and the distant sound of rain hitting the tower windows far above. It was late enough that most of the team had either collapsed into bed or returned to work downstairs, leaving the entire space abandoned.

Bucky lowered himself heavily onto one of the benches near the sparring mats, elbows resting against his knees as he shut his eyes tightly for a moment.

His chest still felt tight with anger. With fear. With the unbearable frustration of not knowing where you were.

And like always lately, his mind dragged him back to you before he could stop it. Back to one of the first times the two of you had trained together down here. Back when things had still felt simple.

Bucky had been alone that evening too, throwing punch after punch into the hanging bag hard enough to make the chains rattle overhead. He’d been trying to work tension out of his system after a particularly difficult day, though back then his frustrations had been smaller somehow. Easier to carry.

“I’m pretty sure you’d hit harder if you used your other arm.”

Your voice had caught him off guard immediately.

He turned just enough to see you walking toward him across the mats, a playful grin already pulling at your mouth as you shoved your hands into the pockets of your hoodie.

“I’d kill the bag,” he replied simply.

You hummed thoughtfully. “Ah, see, we really try to avoid serial bag murderers around here.” Despite himself, Bucky felt the corner of his mouth twitch slightly.

You stepped around the bag casually before planting yourself on the opposite side, gripping it to steady the swinging motion. “Go on,” you encouraged. “I’ll hold it still for you.”

Bucky immediately frowned. “That’s not a good idea.”

Your grin widened. “I’m stronger than I look.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about.”

“Barnes,” you sighed dramatically, “I fight like super criminals for a living. I think I can survive one punching bag.” He still hesitated and you noticed instantly. The amusement in your expression softened slightly then, not pitying, just understanding.

“You know,” you said lightly, adjusting your grip on the bag, “most people would probably be flattered you’re worried about accidentally launching them through a wall.”

Bucky huffed quietly through his nose before finally throwing a punch into the bag. Even then, you could tell he was holding back.

“Wow,” you deadpanned. “Awful. How can so many people be scared of you if thats how you throw a punch?”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “You done?”

“Not even close.” You laughed when he hit the bag harder that time, the force making you slide back slightly against the floor, but nothing you couldn't handle. You were lucky it wasnt the metal arm though.

“There we go,” you teased. “See? Trust exercises.”

“I don’t think this counts as trust.”

“It absolutely does.”

Bucky shook his head faintly, though by then he was fighting back a smile. And somehow, without him fully noticing when it happened, training with you had stopped feeling like training at all.

It became easy. Comfortable. You filled every silence naturally, teasing him whenever he got too serious, rolling your eyes whenever he corrected your stance too harshly.

At one point, after he effortlessly disarmed you for what was probably the fifth time, you dropped dramatically onto the mat with a groan.

“This is embarrassing for me.”

“You’re the one who challenged me.”

“You’re a super soldier. I clearly had confidence issues and poor judgment.”

For the first time that entire day, Bucky laughed properly.

Not the quiet huff of amusement he sometimes gave when he was trying not to smile, but a real laugh — warm, unguarded, the kind that softened the permanent tension usually sitting in his shoulders. It caught you off guard slightly, mostly because of how rare it seemed to be, but the sound alone was enough to make you grin back at him instantly.

And judging by the faint look of surprise on his own face afterward, it had caught him off guard too.

There was something quietly rewarding about being able to pull that reaction from him. Since arriving at the tower, Bucky always seemed weighed down by something invisible, carrying the kind of heaviness that never really left him even in quieter moments. After everything HYDRA had taken from him, you thought he deserved moments like this more than anyone.

Still smiling faintly, Bucky held his hand out toward you where you remained sprawled dramatically across the mat.

You took it without hesitation.

His grip was firm as he pulled you effortlessly back to your feet, though neither of you let go straight away. For a brief second, the playful atmosphere softened into something quieter, the air between you suddenly feeling far more intimate than either of you seemed prepared to acknowledge.

“You know,” you said eventually, tilting your head slightly as you looked at him, “for a guy that’s almost a hundred, you look pretty good.”

Bucky shook his head faintly, though the small smile lingering at the corner of his mouth never fully disappeared.

“Most people can't get over the assassin with a metal arm to notice the good parts.” The comment was light enough to almost pass as a joke, but something quieter sat underneath it. Something honest.

You shrugged lightly, your thumb brushing absentmindedly against his hand before you finally let go. “I don’t know,” you replied softly. “The good parts seemed pretty obvious to me.”

One Week After Your Capture

By the end of the first week, Bucky had stopped pretending he was holding himself together.

The exhaustion sitting beneath his skin had sharpened into something volatile now, something restless and dangerous. He barely slept anymore, and when he did, it never lasted long before another nightmare dragged him violently back awake. Most days he forgot to eat until Steve physically put food in front of him, and even then it usually went untouched. Whatever patience or restraint he’d started this search with had long since burned away beneath fear, anger, and the unbearable helplessness of not knowing where you were.

The others had started watching him carefully.

Especially Steve and Natasha.

Both of them knew exactly how thin the line was becoming between Bucky Barnes and the brutality HYDRA had spent decades forcing into him. Every dead end seemed to strip another layer away. Every failed lead left him more agitated than before. And with every hour that passed without finding you, Bucky could feel himself unraveling further.

The latest lead had been weak from the beginning.

An abandoned HYDRA storage facility buried far outside the city, supposedly used years ago to archive old intelligence files and paperwork too sensitive to keep digitally. According to the little information they’d managed to uncover, the place had been mostly inactive for years.

Deep down, Bucky already knew you probably weren’t there.

But after a week of failure, even the smallest flicker of hope was enough to keep him moving.

The building looked ancient from the outside, half-hidden behind overgrown trees and rusted fencing. Inside, the air felt thick with dust and decay as the three of them moved carefully through the dark corridors, their boots echoing softly against cracked concrete floors. Rust crawled along exposed pipes overhead, and sections of the ceiling sagged dangerously low like the entire structure was only barely holding itself together.

The deeper they went, the heavier the silence became.

Then suddenly, red emergency lights flooded the hallway.

An alarm blared overhead instantly, distorted and deafening through old speakers that crackled with static.

“Shit,” Natasha muttered.

Smoke began curling from beneath one of the heavy metal doors further down the corridor.

“Someone’s here,” Steve said sharply.

Bucky was already moving before the words fully left his mouth. He hit the door with his metal arm hard enough to tear the lock clean off. Metal screamed against metal as the door flew inward violently, smoke immediately pouring into the hallway around them.

Inside, flames had already begun climbing through stacks of old files and filing cabinets. Papers blackened and curled as fire spread rapidly across the room, while a HYDRA informant scrambled desperately to throw armfuls of documents into the blaze.

The man looked up the second Bucky entered. Panic flooded his expression instantly. Then he ran. He barely made it two steps before Bucky caught him. The force of the impact shattered the desk the man crashed into, splintered wood scattering across the floor as Bucky slammed him down hard enough to knock the breath from his lungs.

“Where is she?” Bucky snarled.

The man gasped painfully, trying to shove himself backward as Bucky yanked him upright again by the front of his shirt.

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about—” Bucky hit him. Hard enough that blood sprayed instantly across the floor. “Where. Is. She.”

Steve grabbed Bucky’s shoulder immediately. “Buck—”

“She was taken a week ago!” Bucky roared, slamming the man back against the desk again before he could speak. “HYDRA took her, so don’t stand there and tell me you know nothing!”

The informant’s face had already become bloodied beyond recognition, terror filling his eyes as Bucky’s metal hand tightened around his collar.

Natasha glanced toward the rapidly spreading fire climbing higher along the walls.

“Bucky,” she warned sharply. “The fire’s getting worse.”

“I don’t care.”

Another punch and the man cried out weakly. Steve moved faster this time, grabbing Bucky’s arm before he could hit him again. “Enough!”

“He knows something—”

“Buck!”

The room groaned violently around them as flames tore into the ceiling beams overhead. Smoke thickened rapidly, filling the air hot and suffocating.

“We have to go,” Natasha snapped. “Now.”

Bucky looked completely gone at this point, chest heaving hard as blood smeared across the metal of his hand and wrist. The HYDRA agent collapsed half-conscious onto the floor beneath him.

Steve practically had to drag Bucky backward as sections of the ceiling began crashing down around them.

“Bucky!”

For one horrible second, Steve genuinely thought he might refuse to leave.

Then finally, with visible reluctance, Bucky let himself be forced out of the building moments before part of the structure collapsed inward behind them.

The three of them stumbled out into the cold night air coughing violently while flames consumed the upper floors behind them. Smoke spiraled into the dark sky as the building burned.

Another dead end.

Another failure.

Bucky dropped heavily onto the concrete outside, staring silently at the fire while his breathing slowly struggled to steady itself. His entire body still felt tight with adrenaline and rage as he looked down at his metal hand.

Blood covered nearly every inch of it. The sight made something twist painfully in his stomach. For a moment, all he could see was the Winter Soldier again. Just the weapon HYDRA had built.

And somehow, despite everything, his thoughts dragged him back to you again.

Back to one quiet afternoon in the tower when you had become completely fascinated by the metal arm he spent most of his life trying not to look at.

You had been sitting beside him on the couch while he cleaned one of his knives absentmindedly, your attention slowly drifting lower and lower toward the vibranium plating attached to his shoulder.

Bucky noticed eventually. “You gonna keep staring at it?”

You blinked before grinning immediately, completely unapologetic. “I’m sorry, but that thing is incredible.”

Bucky raised a brow. “You’re impressed by the murder arm?”

“Bucky,” you said seriously, reaching over to grab his wrist before lifting the arm slightly for inspection, “this is insane technology.”

He stiffened slightly at the casual touch, though you either didn’t notice or simply chose not to mention it.

“Do you have any idea how expensive this thing probably is?” you continued, turning his hand slightly beneath the light. “You could probably feed everyone in Russia three meals a day with whatever this cost.”

A quiet huff of amusement escaped him before he could stop it. Your fingers traced lightly across the metal plating with open fascination rather than fear, your eyes focused entirely on the intricate details worked into the arm itself.

“So how does maintenance work?” you asked. “Like… is it dishwasher safe?”

Bucky stared at you blankly. “What?”

“It’s a very important question.”

“I don’t know if it’s dishwasher safe,” he muttered dryly. “HYDRA didn’t exactly give me an instruction manual.”

You hummed thoughtfully. “WD-40?”

“Not really.”

“What about magnets? Airport security? Static electricity? Can Tony Bluetooth into your shoulder?”

Bucky actually laughed quietly then, shaking his head as your questions became increasingly ridiculous. And through all of it, not once had you looked uncomfortable touching the arm. Not once had you hesitated. Your fingertips brushed slowly down the vibranium again before your expression softened slightly.

“I know you probably hate it sometimes,” you admitted quietly.

Bucky’s eyes dropped instinctively toward the arm. For years, he had only ever associated it with violence. Pain. Control. The Winter Soldier. But your hand remained resting there gently, like none of those things were what you saw when you looked at him.

“I think it’s amazing,” you said softly instead, your eyes almost sparkling as you looked back up at him. “Honestly, it’s kinda beautiful.”

Bucky looked caught off guard by the sincerity in your voice. Most people saw the arm and immediately thought of fear. Violence. Damage.

You were looking at it like it was simply part of him. “Besides,” you added with a grin, “I always know exactly who to call when I can’t open a jar of pickles.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of Bucky’s mouth. “It would be a pleasure to open jars for you.”

Your grin softened slightly at that, but you still didn’t let go of his hand. If anything, your fingers intertwined more comfortably with his metal ones, entirely at ease despite the cold vibranium beneath your skin.

Conversation always seemed effortless with you. Warm. Easy in a way Bucky still wasn’t entirely used to. Somehow, without trying, you had a way of making the people around you feel calmer, and Bucky was beginning to realise he sought that feeling out more often than he probably should.

The room fell quiet for a moment, though it wasn’t uncomfortable.

Then your expression softened again. “You’re more than what HYDRA made you, Bucky,” you said gently. “More than the Winter Soldier.”

His eyes lifted slowly back to yours.

“And honestly?” A small smile pulled at your mouth. “I think every part of you is worth knowing.”

Bucky went strangely still at the words.

Kindness like this still caught him off guard sometimes — soft and genuine in a way that felt almost unfamiliar after everything he’d been through. Most people looked at him and saw something dangerous first. A weapon. Something broken.

But you never did.

You looked at him like he was just Bucky.

And somewhere along the way, without fully noticing when it happened, Bucky had started searching for you whenever the tower became too loud inside his own head.

Two Weeks After Your Capture

There was finally a lead.

And for the first time in two weeks, it actually looked promising.

Even so, nobody aboard the quinjet allowed themselves to look hopeful. The atmosphere inside felt heavy, thick with exhaustion and quiet dread as the engine hummed steadily beneath them. No one spoke much. No one wanted to risk saying the wrong thing and shattering whatever fragile hope they were all trying not to cling to too tightly.

Another dead end would break something in all of them.

Especially Bucky.

He sat near the back of the jet with his elbows resting against his knees, staring blankly at the floor while the city lights disappeared beneath the clouds outside. Two weeks without you had hollowed him out completely. The exhaustion sat deep beneath his skin now, but worse than your absence was the knowledge that wherever HYDRA had taken you, you had likely spent those same two weeks suffering through something far worse.

Bucky tried not to let his thoughts go there.

Because he knew HYDRA.

He knew what happened behind locked doors and underground walls. He knew the methods they used to break people apart slowly, methodically, until there was nothing left of them. Every time his mind drifted too far in that direction, panic clawed its way up his throat hard enough to make breathing difficult.

So instead, like he had every night since you’d been taken, he forced himself to think about you before all of this.

About softer things.

About moments that still felt untouched by the horror sitting over the present.

His mind dragged him back to one particular evening in the tower — one that felt strangely distant now despite only happening a few months ago.

You had been preparing for an undercover mission that night.

A charity gala, if he remembered right. Some rich politician with suspected HYDRA ties who liked hiding sensitive conversations behind expensive champagne and classical music. The kind of mission you normally handled with effortless confidence.

But when Bucky had walked into the common room that evening, he’d immediately noticed something was off.

You were pacing.

Not dramatic pacing, not panicked exactly, but enough for him to notice the tension in your shoulders as you adjusted the gown you wore for probably the fifth time in under a minute.

Bucky leaned casually against the doorway, arms folded across his chest.

“You’re wearing a hole in the carpet.”

You looked up immediately, startled from your thoughts before letting out a small sigh.

“Very funny.”

He studied you for another second before speaking again. “What’s wrong?”

You hesitated, almost like you were embarrassed to admit it. Then finally, “I have to dance.”

Bucky blinked once. “That’s the problem?”

“Yes,” you said immediately. “That is absolutely the problem.”

Despite yourself, you looked genuinely stressed about it, which only made amusement pull faintly at the corner of Bucky’s mouth.

“You’re telling me you fight super criminals for a living,” he said slowly, “but dancing is where you draw the line?”

“You don’t understand,” you groaned dramatically, dropping onto the couch. “I don’t know how to dance. Like at all. There’s going to be actual rich people there, Bucky. Fancy rich people. They’re gonna look at me and instantly know I have no idea what I’m doing.”

He stared at you for a moment before shaking his head faintly. “I can teach you.”

You looked up immediately. “You can dance?”

That earned you a mildly offended look. “What did you think we did in the fifties?” he asked dryly. “There wasn’t internet back then.”

You laughed softly as he pushed himself away from the doorway and walked further into the room.

“When people liked each other,” he continued, voice quieter now, “they danced. That’s how you got to know someone.”

Something about the way he said it made warmth creep unexpectedly into your chest. You looked at him suspiciously for another second. “You’re serious?”

“I know a few things, doll.”

The nickname alone nearly distracted you enough to forget your nerves entirely.

Still hesitant, you eventually nodded while Bucky moved toward the old speaker sitting near the kitchen counter. Soft music filtered quietly through the room a moment later, low enough that it barely filled the silence between you.

“Okay,” you muttered. “If this ends with me falling over, I’m blaming you.”

Bucky’s smile softened slightly. “C’mere.”

The words were quiet, but something about them made your stomach tighten unexpectedly. You stepped closer anyway. His hands settled carefully against your waist, slow enough to give you time to pull away if you wanted to.

You didn’t.

Your own hands lifted instinctively toward his shoulders before eventually resting around the back of his neck, and despite how close the two of you suddenly were, it didn’t feel uncomfortable.

If anything, it felt strangely easy.

Bucky guided you gently at first, slow movements across the floor while he quietly counted steps under his breath whenever you got distracted.

“Relax,” he murmured after you accidentally stepped on his foot for the second time.

“I am relaxed.”

“You’re glaring at the floor like it personally insulted you.”

“That’s because the floor is trying to sabotage me.”

A quiet laugh escaped him. “There you go,” he said softly. “Stop thinking so hard.”

Eventually, the movements became easier. Smoother. Your body naturally adjusting to the rhythm as Bucky guided you carefully around the room.

Honestly, the dancing itself became secondary pretty quickly. You were far too aware of how close he was. The warmth of his hands against your waist. The low sound of his voice every time he corrected your footing. The way he looked at you whenever you laughed.

“You’re actually really good at this,” you admitted eventually.

Bucky raised a brow slightly. “Sound surprised.”

“I am surprised,” you teased. “I don’t know why it’s so shocking to me that the terrifying assassin can ballroom dance.”

“The Winter Soldier has many talents.”

“Oh my God,” you laughed. “That sounded so much cooler in your head, didn’t it?”

His eyes narrowed slightly in mock annoyance before he suddenly spun you smoothly across the floor. The movement caught you completely off guard, laughter immediately escaping you as he pulled you back in effortlessly.

“Show off,” you accused breathlessly.

A small, confident smirk appeared briefly at the corner of his mouth. “Thought you thought I couldn’t dance.”

Before you could reply, Bucky dipped you backward suddenly, one arm securely around your waist while the other steadied your hand.

Your breath caught instantly.

For a second, neither of you moved.

The teasing atmosphere softened into something quieter, heavier somehow. Your faces were close enough now that you could feel the warmth of his breath, and the look in Bucky’s eyes had shifted into something you couldn’t quite name but felt all the same.

Neither of you seemed to realise he hadn’t lifted you back up yet. Or maybe neither of you wanted him to.

Your gaze dropped briefly toward his mouth before lifting back to his eyes again. And for one suspended moment, it genuinely felt like he might kiss you. Before you even realised it, you were both leaning in.

Then suddenly—

“Sorry to interrupt,” FRIDAY’s voice echoed politely through the room. “Agent Romanoff would like to remind you that your vehicle is ready for departure.”

You both froze instantly as reality crashed back into the room all at once.

You cleared your throat awkwardly as Bucky pulled you upright again a little too quickly, both of you suddenly avoiding eye contact like teenagers caught doing something embarrassing.

“Right,” you muttered, smoothing unnecessary wrinkles from your clothes. “Mission.”

“Yeah,” Bucky replied quietly.

An awkward silence settled briefly between you before you smiled softly at him again. “Thanks for the lesson, old man.”

Bucky huffed faintly through his nose, though there was still warmth lingering in his expression as he watched you start backing toward the doorway.

“Try not to step on anybody important.”

“No promises.”

And as you disappeared down the hallway a moment later, Bucky remembered standing there far longer than necessary afterward, still feeling the warmth of your hands around his neck long after you’d gone.

“We are here, preparing to land.”

Bruce’s voice cut through the suffocating silence inside the quinjet, dragging Bucky violently back to reality. For a moment he had almost forgotten where he was, too lost in memories of you and the unbearable spiral his thoughts kept forcing him down whenever he allowed himself to think too long about what HYDRA might have been doing to you these past two weeks.

The jet began descending steadily through thick clouds, the low vibration of the engines rumbling beneath their feet. Around him, the others shifted into motion immediately, the atmosphere inside the cabin tightening into something sharp and focused. Steve adjusted the straps of his shield while Natasha checked the magazine in one of her pistols with quick, practised movements. Sam stood near the rear ramp, jaw tight with tension, while Tony watched the holographic layout of the facility projected in front of him.

Nobody spoke.

Nobody wanted to risk ruining the fragile hope sitting heavily between all of them.

Because this lead felt real.

And if this turned out to be another dead end, Bucky genuinely didn’t know how much more of this he could survive.

The second the quinjet landed, chaos erupted.

The Avengers stormed the HYDRA facility with brutal efficiency as alarms immediately screamed throughout the building. Gunfire echoed violently through the upper floors while HYDRA agents scrambled in panic, some trying desperately to fight back while others rushed to destroy files, hard drives, and equipment before they could be seized. Scientists fled deeper into the compound, shouting over each other in panic as SHIELD agents flooded the building behind the Avengers.

But Bucky barely noticed any of it.

His mind had narrowed into one singular thought.

You.

Every room he opened and didn’t find you in made the tightness in his chest worse.

He moved through the building almost mechanically, tearing through corridors and forcing open locked doors with enough strength to rip hinges clean from the walls. Steve and Natasha stayed close behind him, both of them understanding without needing to say it aloud that Bucky wasn’t really thinking clearly anymore.

The deeper they descended into the facility, the worse the building became.

By the time they reached what Bucky guessed was the fifth or sixth underground level, the air itself felt colder. Heavier somehow. No natural light reached this part of the compound. The concrete walls were damp with condensation, flickering fluorescent lights buzzing weakly overhead while rusted pipes lined the ceilings like veins running through the structure.

And then they found the cells.

Rows of them stretched down both sides of the corridor, each somehow more horrific than the last.

Bucky felt something cold twist violently in his stomach as his eyes moved across the prisoners inside.

Some people were barely conscious, chained to walls or strapped to metal tables. Others cried weakly from behind reinforced glass, while some sat disturbingly still, too exhausted or broken to even react to the noise around them.

And some weren’t moving at all.

Natasha visibly paled beside him as she looked into one of the rooms. Steve’s jaw tightened hard enough to hurt.

Outside several of the cells hung clipboards filled with detailed notes documenting every experiment performed on the prisoners inside. Clinical handwriting listed dosages, reactions, failed procedures, psychological evaluations — pages upon pages describing unimaginable suffering with horrifying detachment.

Bucky recognised the format instantly.

HYDRA had written reports about him the exact same way once.

The realisation made his chest tighten painfully. For the first time since entering the facility, genuine fear began clawing its way through him hard enough to make breathing difficult. Because if this was what they had done to these prisoners—

His thoughts immediately went to you.

Steve rested a hand briefly against Bucky’s shoulder, grounding him before SHIELD agents rushed past them toward the cells, beginning the process of freeing prisoners and calling medics downstairs.

“We’ll get them out,” Steve said quietly.

But Bucky barely heard him.

He was already moving again. Faster now. Every second suddenly felt unbearable. The corridor stretched endlessly before them until finally, near the very end, Bucky’s eyes caught on the last door to the left.

And the world seemed to stop.

Your name was printed clearly across the file attached beside the cell door.

Bucky froze so suddenly that Natasha nearly walked into him.

For one horrible second, nobody moved.

Then Bucky surged forward.

The small reinforced window in the door was cracked badly enough that he could only see fragments of the room beyond it, but it was enough.

Enough for his blood to run ice cold.

There you were.

Chained to the wall. Not only by your ankles, but your wrists too, restraints bolted high enough into the concrete that they forced your body awkwardly into the corner of the room. Your knees were pulled weakly to your chest, your forehead resting against them as if even holding your own head up had become exhausting.

Bruises stained almost every visible inch of skin, cuts and scratches scattered across your arms while dried blood marked the fabric of the oversized medical shirt hanging loosely from your frame. IV lines disappeared into your arm, connected to bags filled with unidentified liquid that made Bucky’s stomach drop instantly.

For a moment, he couldn’t breathe.

Because you looked so small.

So broken.

Nothing like the person who used to light up entire rooms with your laugh.

The cell door didn’t survive the impact when Bucky tore it open.

Metal screamed violently as it crashed against the wall, but for the first time since entering the facility, Bucky moved carefully once inside. Slowly. Like even getting too close too quickly might hurt you further.

“Hey,” he said softly, voice already cracking slightly. “Hey, doll…”

You didn’t react.

Didn’t even lift your head.

Bucky’s chest tightened painfully as he crouched carefully a few feet away from you, metal hand trembling slightly as he reached toward the restraints without touching you yet.

“Y/N,” he said again, gentler this time. “It’s me.”

Still nothing.

The sight nearly destroyed him.

Two weeks.

Two weeks HYDRA had kept you down here.

Two weeks of pain and isolation and God knows what else.

Whatever they had done to you had carved away every last bit of hope you’d had left. Rescue probably felt impossible for you, like something from a story instead of reality.

Bucky swallowed hard before speaking your name one more time.

And finally, slowly, you moved.

Your head lifted weakly from your knees, movements sluggish and disoriented as your eyes struggled to focus on him through the dim light.

Confusion crossed your face first.

Then disbelief.

Your lips parted slightly, your voice rough and cracked from dehydration when you finally spoke. “...Bucky?” The sound of his name in your voice nearly shattered him where he knelt.

Your eyes searched his face desperately like you couldn’t quite understand what you were seeing. “Is this real?” you whispered weakly. “Are you… are you really here?”

Hope flickered briefly across your expression. Tiny and fragile.

And then suddenly, it vanished.

Pure panic replaced it almost instantly as your body jerked backward violently against the restraints.

“No!” The scream tore painfully from your throat as you shoved hard against Bucky when he instinctively moved closer. “No, no, no— this isn’t real!” you cried frantically, shaking your head hard enough to hurt yourself. “You’re not real— you’re not real, this is another trick—”

Bucky froze completely.

“This is another mind game!” you screamed, voice breaking apart in panic. “I won’t fall for it again!” The terror in your eyes hit him harder than anything else possibly could have.

Because for the first time since he had known you—

You looked afraid of him.

The fear in your eyes shattered something inside him.

For so long, you had been the one person who never looked at him like he was dangerous. You never flinched when he walked into a room, never watched his metal arm with quiet unease the way strangers still sometimes did. Even after learning everything HYDRA had turned him into, you had looked at him and only ever seen Bucky.

And now you were staring at him like he was something to survive.

You were still struggling violently against the restraints bolted into the wall, panic clawing through every movement as your breathing spiralled unevenly. Tears mixed with exhaustion on your face while you shoved weakly at him whenever he tried getting too close.

“No— no, stay away from me!” you cried hoarsely, your voice cracking painfully. “You’re not real— they’ve done this before—”

Bucky’s chest tightened hard enough to hurt. Whatever HYDRA had done to you down here, they hadn’t stopped at physical torture. They had gotten inside your head too. Twisted your reality until even rescue felt like another trick designed to break you further.

“Hey,” he said softly, immediately backing up enough to give you space. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m not gonna hurt you.”

Your entire body remained tense, trembling badly against the chains as your eyes darted around the room frantically like you were searching for cameras, for hidden speakers, for whatever part of the nightmare would reveal itself next.

“This isn’t real,” you whispered again, though the certainty in your voice sounded weaker now. More desperate than convinced. “You’re not real.”

Bucky swallowed hard, trying to keep his own composure together despite the panic tearing through him. “It is,” he said quietly. “Doll, look at me.”

You shook your head immediately. “No—”

“Please.” Something in his voice must have reached through the fear because after a moment, your eyes finally lifted toward his again. Bucky forced himself to stay calm despite how badly his hands were shaking.

“Remember the pickle jar?” he asked softly.

Confusion flickered weakly across your face.

“The jar you couldn’t open,” he continued carefully. “You asked me to help and I used too much strength and smashed the damn thing all over the kitchen.”

Your breathing hitched slightly.

“You got so upset because they were your favourite pickles,” Bucky said, the faintest trace of warmth slipping into his voice despite everything. “So I went out at two in the morning and bought you three new jars.” Your expression faltered and Bucky saw it immediately. Saw the tiny crack form in the panic. “You remember that?” he whispered gently.

You were still shaking, but not as violently now.

Bucky stayed where he was, careful not to move too fast. “Or the gym,” he tried again quietly. “You kept challenging me to stupid stuff because you were convinced you could outrun a super soldier. You made yourself so exhausted doing pull-ups that I practically had to peel you off the floor afterward.”

Your brows pulled together tightly, like you were physically trying to force your own mind to work through thick fog.

Bucky watched every tiny shift in your expression desperately. “Remember when I taught you how to dance?” he asked more softly this time.

Something flickered behind your eyes. Real recognition.

Bucky’s throat tightened instantly. “You were terrified because of that undercover mission,” he continued carefully. “You thought everyone at the gala would know you couldn’t dance.”

Your breathing had slowed slightly now, though tears still clung heavily to your lashes.

“And then…” Bucky hesitated briefly, emotion catching painfully in his throat. “We almost…” He trailed off quietly, unable to finish the sentence. For a moment he looked away, trying to steady himself before speaking again.

“I stayed up all night waiting for you to come back so I could hear how the dancing went,” he admitted softly. “And then you walked in furious because the guy you were supposed to dance with didn’t dance either.”

Your face crumpled slightly at that. Bucky could see the memories reaching you now. Not fully, but enough. Enough to fight through whatever HYDRA had tried to bury them beneath.

Your body had stopped thrashing against the restraints. Somewhere during his rambling reassurances, Bucky had moved closer again carefully, his hands resting gently against your arms to steady you as your strength seemed to give out beneath the panic. This time, you hadn’t pushed him away. Your trembling hands had grabbed weakly onto the sleeves of his jacket instead, like some part of you needed the physical contact to keep yourself grounded.

You stared at him with exhausted confusion, your expression twisting painfully as if your own mind was fighting against itself.

“I…” Your voice broke weakly. “I remember…”

Bucky’s eyes burned instantly. “It’s me,” he whispered, so gently it nearly hurt to hear. “I swear to God, doll, it’s really me.”

Your gaze searched his face desperately, hands tightening slightly against his arms as tears finally spilled over completely. And when your forehead suddenly dropped weakly against his shoulder, Bucky felt something inside him finally crack apart with relief.  Your hands tightened weakly around the fabric of Bucky’s jacket as the fight finally seemed to leave your body all at once.

For two weeks you had been forced to survive.

Forced to stay alert.

Forced to endure pain after pain with no certainty that it would ever end. HYDRA had stripped away your sense of time, your sense of safety, even your ability to trust your own mind. Every hour down in that cell had been spent waiting for the next experiment, the next interrogation, the next cruel trick designed to wear you down a little further.

But now Bucky was here.

Real.

Warm.

Holding you carefully like you might break apart in his hands.

And suddenly, all the fear and exhaustion you had been desperately forcing yourself to survive through came crashing down on top of you at once.

A broken sob escaped your throat as you grabbed onto him harder, burying your face against his shoulder while your entire body shook violently with exhausted relief.

Bucky wrapped his arms around you instantly. Like he was trying to shield you from the entire world. “It’s okay,” he whispered shakily, one hand moving gently against the back of your head. “I’ve got you now. I’ve got you.”

His own voice was unsteady.

Because despite everything he had done to hold himself together these past two weeks, despite the rage and determination that had kept him moving through every failed lead and sleepless night, the reality of finally having you alive in his arms was threatening to completely destroy what little composure he had left.

You were here.

You were alive.

And for a terrifying stretch of time, Bucky genuinely hadn’t known if he would ever get to see you again.

His forehead rested briefly against the top of your head as he shut his eyes hard for a second, trying unsuccessfully to steady his breathing. Even now, his hands trembled slightly where they held you.

You could feel it.

The fear he had been carrying.

The desperation.

And somehow that only made you hold onto him tighter.

Bucky didn’t care that Steve and Natasha were still standing nearby. Didn’t care about the chaos echoing throughout the facility or the voices crackling through comms demanding updates from the upper floors. For a moment, the entire world narrowed down to nothing except making sure you were safe.

Natasha moved first, her expression softening slightly at the sight of the two of you. “We need to get her out of here,” she said gently.

Bucky nodded immediately, though he still didn’t let go of you.

With one brutal pull of his metal arm, the restraints bolted into the wall tore free from the concrete entirely, chains clattering loudly onto the floor beside him. You flinched slightly at the noise, and Bucky immediately tightened his hold around you instinctively.

“Easy,” he murmured softly. “You’re okay.”

Natasha crouched carefully beside you then, moving slowly enough not to startle you further as she examined the IV lines still hooked into your arm.

“We need samples of whatever they were giving her,” she muttered grimly, already pulling sterile gloves from one of the SHIELD medkits strapped to her belt.

You tensed weakly when her fingers brushed near the needles, but Bucky noticed instantly. “Hey,” he whispered, gently brushing his thumb against your arm. “Just Nat. You’re alright.”

Your breathing steadied slightly at the sound of his voice.

Natasha carefully removed the IVs one by one while collecting samples of the strange fluids still hanging from the bags beside the wall. Steve stood near the ruined doorway keeping watch, though Bucky barely registered him.

His entire focus stayed fixed on you.

The bruises darkening your skin.

The trembling exhaustion in your body.

The way you still clung desperately to the front of his jacket like letting go might somehow make him disappear again.

The second Natasha finished, Bucky moved immediately. One arm slid carefully beneath your knees while the other supported your back as he lifted you effortlessly against his chest.

You made a weak sound of protest the moment he shifted away slightly, panic flashing briefly across your face again.

“I’ve got you,” he promised instantly. “I’m not letting go.” After everything, after finally finding you again, Bucky wasn’t sure he could physically bring himself to put you down.

You curled weakly against him as he carried you from the cell, your head resting against his shoulder while one hand remained tightly twisted into the fabric of his jacket. Even exhausted and half-conscious, your grip never loosened for a second.

The walk back through the facility felt strangely distant to Bucky.

SHIELD agents rushed through the underground corridors helping prisoners while medics flooded the lower levels, but all of it blurred together around him. He barely noticed the burning ache in his muscles or the blood still staining his metal hand.

You were alive.

That was the only thing his mind could fully process.

By the time they reached the quinjet, medical personnel were already waiting near the lowered ramp with stretchers and emergency supplies prepared.

One of the medics stepped forward carefully. “We need to examine her immediately.”

Bucky hesitated. Every protective instinct in him resisted handing you over to anyone.

Still, he finally lowered himself onto one of the seats inside the jet instead of placing you onto the stretcher, keeping one arm firmly around you while the medics worked around him rather than separating you completely.

The moment one of them gently tried to move you, your hand immediately reached weakly toward Bucky again.

Blindly searching for him.

Bucky caught your hand instantly without hesitation, threading his fingers tightly through yours.

“I’m here,” he said quietly, bringing your hand closer against his chest. “I’m right here, doll.”

Your grip tightened faintly around his hand at the sound of his voice, and only then did some of the fear finally begin easing from your exhausted expression.

Bucky didn’t let go for the entire flight home.