Ten minutes later and half way to their destination, her vision started going white. Her legs collapsed from under her, and Bucky only realised what happened when he heard her hit the ground. She didn't catch him curse, didn't feel him drop everything and come over, but she felt it when he raised her head and tapped her cheek, trying to rouse her from the plain and soothing dark she had sunk into.

"Wake up, wake up, come on you can't do this here, doll," the man hissed, frightening her with an angry tone but tempering it with a hint of worry. "We'll take you someplace nice, alright? Just wake up, sweetheart."

The girl groaned and moved her head, letting him know she was, at least, alive. Next thing she knew, he'd thrown her over one shoulder and picked their gear up with the other, and through the dark and empty night he rushed them to a nearby building.

It didn't take him long to pick the lock. A sweep of the entrance seemed unnecessary, because the owners didn't even have a basic alarm set up. It was a little café arranged in a retro style, with old couches, wooden tables, worn lamps and broken typewriters set around for decoration. Keeping the lights off, he carried the girl inside and laid her down on a sofa — she seemed to have woken up a bit, but was still disoriented. By the time he'd scouted the place, just to make sure it was safe, she'd managed to sit up by herself.

"Feeling better?" Bucky asked, crouching down before her. Her face was hidden in her palms until he took one and held it in his, getting a feel of how cold and clammy it was. "Pushed you a bit too hard, I guess."

"I'm sorry, Sarge," she groaned.

"Don't worry about it." He got up and went to what seemed to be the kitchen, grabbing a fancy water bottle with a vintage-looking label and handing it to her. "Can you drink?"

The girl shook her head — she was having trouble even breathing, and every minute sitting up was draining her. He sighed and put it down, then started to take his jacket off. They clearly had to wait a while for her to get back on her feet, and he knew it was his doing — making sure she didn't sleep enough, or not get enough to eat, not so bad that it hurt her but just enough to get to here.

"Let's take that heavy thing off," he nodded toward her vest, letting his fall to the floor and crouching again to help hers off.

The girl's fingers were still useless, but the Sergeant unzipped the stifling thing and slipped it off her shoulder. Without asking again, he gave her the bottle and made her take a sip, while his fingers went back to working on her shirt.

"How do you feel? Hot, cold?" he asked, grey eyes set firmly into hers.

"Yes."

"I see…"

The girl drank a little, then a lot, sating a thirst she didn't know she had, then she pressed the bottle against her forehead, even if it made her shiver, but at least it cleared her thoughts. Bucky was holding her hand again now, rubbing the blood back into it.

"If you ever feel unwell like this, you know that you should tell me."

"But I did," she hissed, with what little strength she had.

"Agent…"

"I did tell you, but you wouldn't believe me!"

"Watch your mouth."

"No."

At first, he just pressed his palm against her mouth — feeling sorry for how cold it felt, but pushing her back nonetheless.

"You don't talk back to your superior."

The girl frowned but played along, until she felt his other hand slip down… She tried to slap it off, but he hardly felt it, and soon the shirt was tugged up and over her head, ruffling her hair, making her head swim again. Bucky's hand went to her trousers next, pulling at the zipper, trying to inch it down her hips.

"You'll feel better if you take these off," he husked, keeping his cold eyes on her.

She jerked her head to the side, and he let her, palm slipping lower to join his other one. "I'm not so sure about that…"

He only had to pull a few times for her to slip a bit, then fall backwards on the sofa, resting while he freed her of the tight black clothes. She did feel better, a bit, and again the creeping thought came through that he was just trying to help… Her boots fell to the floor — and his as well, it seemed, or maybe she was hearing double — and then, more shuffling of clothes. The stillness of the night around them, in that nowhere-town, made every whisper seem a whirlwind.

"What am I going to do with you, doll?" asked Bucky, picking her head up from the couch. His fingers threaded through her tendrils, half tied back half fallen loose, and she opened her eyes to find him much closer than he had seemed. Wordlessly, he brought the bottle back to her lips and made her drink, as if she were a suckling kitten, and just like any smug pet owner he chuckled when she let a few drops slip. "Messy baby," he cooed at her, and before she could throw even a scathing look, he leaned in and sipped them off her chin, her cheek, her lips, and against her angry moan he started kissing her.

The girl's hand came up to push at him, but was shocked to feel just skin, hot and a bit rough with hair, soft but with very little give, and with his hands around her waist, Bucky slipped her up the couch. She mumbled questions when his lips got off of her a second, but they were too garbled to make any sense, and without warning his hand went lower, petting at her knees, her thighs, fingers tickling their way to her centre and resting against the dampened cloth.

"Feeling better now?" he asked, grinning ear to ear as he bit his lower lip and licked it, savouring her taste.

"Sarge, stop that… James!"

"Have to get that blood flowing, have to warm you up," he husked, burying his face into her neck and groaning. Her legs tightened on his hand, but soon lost their force, and she laid beneath him as he teased and tickled at her bud.

"That's it, sweetheart," said Bucky when he heard her gasp. "So wet…"

And though she would rather not believe it, through the quiet room she heard the pathetic sound of surrender as her body opened up, and gave him what he wanted. He stayed just on the other side, thumb rubbing at the hardening nub as his middle finger poked against the hollow dip that led up into her body, ruining the cotton panties, keeping just outside — but making her know just how close he was, how well he already knew her, how easy it would be to take. She was grateful for that barrier, but it also maddened her.

"Just lay back," he whispered, kissing down her neck, "and let me take care of you," reaching the softness of a breast, kissing all along its top. "You'll feel so much better if you just…" slipping down toward her ribcage, kissing her on either side, "stop resisting me."

The metal hand came up to hold her, leaning her head back, and she let him. As the circular motions at her core intensified, touching her with a strange reverence and hunger and a will to make her his, the girl nuzzled that cold, soothing palm, chilling her forehead against it and murmuring pleas of his name.

"Oh it's 'James' now, is it?" the man chuckled when he heard. "You only call me that when you're happy, is that so, my naughty girl?"

She grumbled but did not deny it, hiding her face in his hand.

"Let me make you happier, then."

Bucky let his lips rest against her chest, right at the centre where the heart was beating, and felt the flutters fly against his kiss and up, up into him, while his flesh hand went from teasing to tormenting that sweet womanhood of hers, pampering her so hard her pleasured writing made the panties almost slip down off her hips, wetness dripping in between the edges and splashing against her thighs. The girl buried her moans in his palm, kissing it back now and then, gasping against the unyielding metal and fogging it up with breath.

"James… James…"

"That's it, doll."

"Please, Sir…"

"Who's my best girl?" he asked, grinning, impressed by her sweetened tone.

"I am…" she moaned hungrily.

He then held her head still, coming up again to kiss her, drowning out her frightened sounds as he worked her to her peak, and past it. The man kept his lips soft, gentle, kissing generously but not allowing her to take another breath until he was done with her. When he felt her shiver, twitching, he slowly moved his hand away, fingers drawing nonsense patterns through the dampness on her thighs. Bucky's lips parted from her, just enough to let her speak, but his forehead rested on hers, looking hard but grateful into her half-lidded eyes.

"I never knew… you liked me," she whispered, gasping as she drank in air, but she looked back at him with more clarity than ever.

"Well, now you know…" he said, brushing a thumb over her cheek. "Are you going to do anything with that?"

"Would you even let me, Sarge?"

"Back to that, are we?"