#co-a

With your time off, you almost don’t know what to do. You try filling every moment that you’re awake because if you think, you spiral. So you run, smoke a whole pack a day, and sometimes box. 

On one of your slower days, you wander up to the roof. Not many people go up there, and Tony hates it when they do, but there’s two shitty plastic lawn chairs to gaze up at the stars. Everything feels unsettled and shifted, but just looking up and zoning out helped. 

“I thought you quit years ago.” Steve moves the spare chair next to yours and it groans under his weight. 

“No need to keep the clueless act, Stevie.” You stub the cigarette out anyway, knowing the smell still puts him off. Bucky had told you his anxieties only came from when he was a small kid with asthma before the serum. “Bucky let the cat out of the bag months ago.”

“Well, I’m surprised it never occurred to you sooner.”

“Just wanted to tell myself you didn’t notice I guess. I know how you feel about them.”

Steve stays quiet as he leans back, the chair creaking so loud you’re sure it’s going to break.

“How are you doing? Really. You never liked time off before.”

“No, I know. You were right. I needed it.” You sigh. “Everything feels kinda fucked. I’ve never really felt… lost. There was always an end goal somewhere. How did you always know that you were doing the right thing?”

“I didn’t.” He says honestly. You know it by the haunted look in his eyes. “But it always felt right. Sometimes things just don’t turn out, no matter how well you stick to the plan.”

“Right.” You look down to the gravel, still feeling a little small. Even when admitting he wasn’t always right, Steve felt so perfect to you. The great American hero, but in your eyes, the altruistic big brother. “Never did say sorry for the kid dying, did I?”

“No, y/n. You didn’t—“

“I’m not-“ you interrupt then sigh, trying to gather your words. Steve’s patient, watching you without judgment. “I’m not saying sorry for getting him killed. I already did that, but I’m just saying. He was on our team. I’m just sorry we lost someone on our team.”

“You lose people sometimes.”

“Still sucks though.”

“It does.”

It’s quiet as you both look up to watch the stars and the occasional plane fly by. You liked these little moments with him. He always knew how to lift your spirits, just the slightest bit, even if you were the one venting most of the time. You’re sure he’s just happy to see you not locked up in your room for days on end. 

“I think I might need more time?” It comes out more as a question than a statement, feeling a sudden rush of tears. 

“I’ll let Tony know.” He almost goes into work mode until he looks over at you looking a little crushed. “Come on. Sam’s back from his sisters and I know you love her cooking. Maybe Bruce will show you some of his new gadgets too.” 

He leads you back to the roof door, holding it open for you. It’s almost too quiet in the elevator and you’ve honestly been dying to ask.

“So…” you start, turning to him with a sly grin. “Do I get to know her name?”

“Who?”

“The girl you’ve been seeing, Steve.” You roll your eyes. “You had a red kiss stain on your cheek all of Monday afternoon.” 

His face turns as red as the lipstick that had been stuck to him and you almost double over in laughter. 

“Buck is only gone for one more day, you know.”

Your laughter stops. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

“If I recall correctly, you smelled a lot like Bucky's cologne when you came back Monday.”

“Can we rewind and I make fun of you for saying gadgets instead?”

You wait outside Bucky's building, bouncing anxiously as you hope you timed his departure from the compound correctly. Some passerby give you looks as you hang out on the edge of the curb, leaning casually against the car beside you. The roar of a motorcycle makes you perk up, turning just in time to catch him pulling up and killing the engine. You stay in your spot, two cars away as he removes his helmet and goes for his things. Not before acknowledging your presence of course. His hair has been trimmed since you’ve last seen him in person and his face is completely smooth. It makes him look less intimidating upon first glance, and you know for a fact the pepper made him do it. He had looked even less intimidating on tv, being dressed in lighter colored clothing, opposite of the black clothes he wears now.

“Steve said you weren’t around.” Bucky says when he’s standing in front of you, looking as antsy as you probably do. 

“I was a little busy with this.” You gesture to the old and pale colored jeep wrangler behind you. “Ta-da!”

“It’s a jeep.” He states simply. 

“Well. Yeah, but it’s my Jeep. That I drove alone.” 

“Wait, you…” realization dawns on him and you quickly pull out the temporary paper one the dmv gave you. 

“You’re looking at the new owner of a driver's license!” You barely show it off before he’s pulling you into a hug, spinning you around. He sets you down, hands lingering on your hips as you let out remnants of laughter. 

“Everyone better watch out with that lead foot of yours, doll.”

You give his shoulder a good punch, which only makes him laugh. There’s a moment where you watch his eyes fall to your lips before coming back up to your eyes. Home always looked good on him, the bags under his eyes lessening from the inconsistent sleep. He just always looked happy to be in Brooklyn, that boyishness returning full force. He's taking a step back and picking up his bags that he dropped in excitement and invites you in with a nod toward his building. 

“You could have let yourself in.” He says when you’re alone in the elevator.

“I don’t need your neighbors thinking I’m some crazy ex or something trying to break in.”

“Sounds like you need a key then.”

You hope you keep your cool, but by the smug look on his face, your shock is obvious. 

“Beer?” Bucky offers, setting his bags down by the couch to be forgotten until later. 

“Yes please.”

“We can sit out on the fire escape if you want a smoke.” He had noticed when your anxious energy hadn’t dissipated. “Go ahead. I’ll grab a few.” 

You climb outside, taking a seat on one of the stools he’d placed there when you found yourselves there more often than on his couch. Your leg bounces because you’re going to tell him damn it. Avoiding the conversation is only going to make things worse. It already has if your fight was anything to go off of. His tags sit heavy on your chest, and you toy with them while he moves around his kitchen. He’d heard them clinking together when you walked, but he wasn’t going to bring it up until you did. He didn’t really have any real need for them, and he gave them to you for a reason. A promise. That didn’t have to end every time he came home. Plus, he imagined the simple chain looked great on you, and he can’t find it in himself to scold his brain for thinking of your chest. Not even naked. God, he’s become a simp. Even though he’s still not completely sure what that means.

His footsteps have you hiding the tags back underneath the collar of your shirt.

“Careful,” he warns when the bottle almost slips through your nervous hand. Grabbing your favorite pack of cigarettes from the window sill, he taps it against his palm a few times before slipping one out, lighting it and offering it to you. 

“I’m quitting,” you blurt out. 

“Oh.” He isn’t sure what to say as he rolls the cigarette between his fingertips, unsure of what to do with it now. “Steve get to you finally?”

“Not- I mean I do feel a little guilty now that I know he knows but, no. I’m not quitting smoking. I’m quitting the team, Buck. It’s why I got my license, a car.”

It’s quiet for a long time, and you avoid looking at him in fear of seeing the possible rejection on his face. Eventually, you take the cigarette he keeps playing with instead of smoking, and take in a long breath as he thinks to himself. You wait with baited breath, and when he looks at you calmly, you blow it out quickly. 

“Where are you gonna go?” There’s concern hidden underneath the curiosity, but you’re able to decipher it from his tone. 

“Not sure.” You shake your head as you offer it back, letting him take a drag as you steal a sip of beer. “They’re kind enough to scout a few places. Make sure it’s safe.”

“And what will you do?”

Turning your head, you smile softly as you shake your head once more. “I never really thought about that. What did you do in your time in Romania?” 

No one’s asked him that out of genuine curiosity before. It was always accusatory or for the record. He’s taken by surprise, in all honesty. 

“Whatever odd jobs I could find. Nothing with official paperwork.”

“Of course.” You respond softly, understanding it would have created problems. “Well, my offer still stands,” you tease a bit as you reach for your own beer. “I think it’d be fun to be roomies.”

“I can’t, sweets.” He looks to his lap dejectedly.

“No, I- I understand.” You try to not show the hurt despite not being fully serious about the offer. “Your home is in Brooklyn. It’ll probably be closer to Steve and Sam… and I was totally kidding.”

“I mean, I can’t. They want me for at least another year.”

“What? Who exactly is ‘they?’ Tony? Fury?”

“Don’t make a fuss,” he pleads. I’m not sure I’m worth all this, Steve. 

“Why not?”

“Gotta pay my dues. It came with my parole.” 

You stand, clenching your jaw as you move to lean over the railing. There’s a heavy sigh from behind you and the old fire escape creaks when he moves next to you. 

“It’s not just about me having to work for them, is it?” He’s quiet, cautious. 

“Who’s gonna look after you when I’m gone?”

“when it’s not you, it’s Steve.”

“Steve doesn’t make a fuss like I do.”

“Well, you both know how to make yourselves heard.” It makes your mouth twitch but you work hard to keep frowning. “I’ll be fine. I can take care of myself.”

“It’s nice to have help though.”

“It is.” He smiles. “But you’ll visit and when you do, you can help me with normal things. Like when the damn tv misbehaves.”

“You need to be nicer to it or you’re buying another one.”

He chuckles softly, plucking the cigarette from between your fingers. As he takes a drag, you see the frown and stress line between his eyebrows. Tilting your head, you wait for it to dissipate along with the smoke, but it never does.

“What? Worried about me? I’ll be fine, Buck.”

He flicks the excess ash off with his thumb, watching some of it fall on his boot. “Your mother reached out to me. I guess Emily seeing me on tv sent her into a frenzy, but she said she wants to look for you again.”

“What did you say?” You wrap your arms around yourself, a nervous habit. It isn’t his fault she reached out, so you keep your anxiety from turning into anger. 

“That Avengers don’t really take missing persons cases.” There’s an obvious pause, you realize, as he sticks the cigarette between his teeth to run his hands through his hair anxiously. “But that I would reach out to some of my contacts. That being… you.”

“I’m scared shitless.” You take the cigarette right from his mouth. At this point, you aren’t sure why you share when you both just end up stealing it from one another. 

“I know that.” He leans against the railing, crossing his arms over his chest. You’re not sure if the railing or his shirt can handle the pressure. “It just got me thinking, if you’re getting out, it’s a good time to let them know. You don’t have to worry about anyone going after them. Worry about running into them either.”

“I think I’ll always worry.”

“I’ll go with you if you don’t think you can do it alone.”

“You would?” It surprises you. “You always said you didn’t want to go with me to meet them. That you’d rather lose another arm.”

“I never-“ he sighs, defeated, realizing he may have said it once facetiously. “I was being a coward. Couldn’t do it for my sister, so how could I do it for you?”

“Your sister was alive?” 

“Passed before we became friends.”

“Buck…” 

“Look, it’s not about me, sweets.” He pulls you in, wrapping his arms around your waist. Your chest presses against him and you’re sure he can feel your heart racing. “You want me there?”

“Yes.” You wrap your arms around his torso, squeezing him into a tight hug. “What would I do without you?”

“Crash and burn evidently.” 

You pinch his ribs, making him yelp in surprise.

You let Bucky reach out to your mom, too afraid to do it yourself. She answers almost instantly and then you’re met with the fact that you actually have to set up a time to meet. You’re too overwhelmed so you let her pick, and when the day finally arrives, you think you’re going to be sick. 

“We aren’t taking your bike?” You practically pout when you meet with Bucky at his place to go meet your parents. 

“We can if you really want, but I was afraid Emily would want a ride and I’m not putting your mother through that kind of stress.” 

“Oh, you make a good point.” The nerves come through in your tight laugh. 

“Is that okay?” 

“Yes!” You answer all too quickly. “Yes. It’s just… it's been awhile since I’ve done the whole train thing.” It’s only a half lie on why you were acting so nervous, but you don’t have to explain for him to know.

“I’ll be close by.” Bucky holds his arm out for you to loop yours through and leads you to the subway. 

It’s jam packed for the middle of the day, but Bucky takes care of the passes, what platform you need to be at and when. Anything to prevent you from getting any more stressed than you already are. On the train, you’re pressed into Bucky, your back meeting his front. When the train moves and you bump further into him, unable to get a hold of anything in time, he just reaches around to hold you in place. 

“I got ya,” he whispers into your neck, making your stomach flip over. 

You burrow further into him, arm resting over his, and pretend to hide into him. It just was hard being in the same city you were taken, on a train no less on your way to school, but you knew how to blend in with ease. You know even better that kirsch could never take you again, assured many times by Steve that you had gone through with that plan, and he was buried alone. You could always use your anxiety to your advantage to get lost in a crowd, but Bucky keeps you in place easily. Ignoring your obvious nail biting, a curse to yourself as you loved Natasha’s flawless natural nails, he only swats at your hand once.

When you get off the train and head above ground, Bucky gets distracted by a floral stand along the way. Despite your eye rolling, you’re endeared by his insistence of getting flowers any time he meets a girl's mother. You think you might get down on one knee when he gets a single rose for your little sister. Your palms begin to sweat when you enter the park you agreed to meet at and when you see your mom and dad sitting on a bench watching your sister, you stop.

“Oh,” you breathe out, feeling like all the air has escaped your lungs. 

“You okay?” Bucky brings a hand to your lower back, worried by the look on your face. 

“Yeah I just- it’s really happening.” You turn to look at him, eyes wide and brows furrowed with worry. “Just scared… give me one second to take it all in.”

“Take all the time you need, sweets.” 

“Maybe we should’ve rethought the flowers.” You turn to him quickly, too afraid to be the one to catch your parents attention first. “Or the whole thing.”

“Y/N—“

“My mother is a florist for christ's sake,” you try to argue. “The carnations were a terrible idea. Why’d I let you get away with that?”

“I’m not sure that matters at this point.” 

Turning, you see your mother, and then consequently your father, both watching you in happy shock.

“Oh, my baby.” You hear your mom's voice crack as she stands from the bench, just as afraid as you are to move any closer. You do when she takes a tentative step forward, hand pressed against her own chest. Nearly running, you collide into the both of them, arms wrapping around them desperately as they cling on to you just as tight. 

“Hi,” is all you can muster against your mom's shoulder.

“You’ve- well you’ve grown!” She lets out a wet laugh as she takes you in, almost in disbelief at what she was seeing. 

“It’s been, um, awhile.” You try to blink the tears away. Glancing behind you, Bucky stands where you left him. You wave him over subtly, not fully prepared to be on your own. “Mom, you’ve met Bucky.”

“Yes! Mr. Barnes,” she holds out a hand which he takes before offering the flowers. 

“Mr. Bucky! Mr. Bucky!” Emily comes bounding up to all of you, ponytail bouncing. “You did it? You found her?”

“He did.” You kneel down to get to her level. “You must be Emily.”

She looks up at you in awe, and it’s a little shy, but she hugs you to cover it up. Bucky gives you the single rose to give her, and she jumps in excitement. The questions begin, and Bucky is quick to pick up on your nervous glances to your little sister. You had promised full transparency, but you wanted to filter what the little five year old got to hear. He offers to take her on a quick walk, which your dad seems hesitant about, but you reassure him quickly. Then you’re all sitting and they look at you too expectantly. It’s hard at first, telling them how scared you were and what all you went through, and maybe you lighten up a few details. The tears in their eyes never go away, and when you explain what Steve and the rest of the team did for you, your mother looks relieved. 

“Sorry, but why now?” Your father asks innocently. 

“What do you mean?”

“You said that man, Kirsch, died six years ago, right? How come you didn’t reach out sooner?”

You look away, unsure at first, but then you see Bucky holding your little sister's hand, and laughing at some story she’s expertly telling. The answer is almost entirely her. They got another girl, and they didn’t have to worry about you any more, but in all honesty, when Tony found your parents' information, Emily didn’t exist at all. Your parents were still in grief and in denial. You aren’t sure what changed. Maybe it was the fact that Emily just happened to be a surprise, and they figured they could try again. Without you. So you had agreed to join the team instead of facing rejection or disappointment.

“I dunno,” your voice is small as you look at your hands. “I- I was an assassin. Didn’t think there was much redemption in that.”

“Oh, sweetheart…” 

“Look, I know that you’re my parents and you’ll love me no matter what, but you said that when I was a kid. I stopped being that kid the day I got taken and I’ve killed people. it just- the idea of you being disappointed just made me too scared.” 

Neither of them try to give you any platitudes. Instead, they hug you tight, and let you cry. No one tries to carry the blame over anyone else. You’ve all somehow come to that silent agreement. They just end up doing exactly what you need, love you. 

“Em sure is a firecracker.” You comment once the tears are over and she’s begged Bucky to let her hang from his prosthetic arm just ‘one more time!’ 

“Wonder where she gets that from,” your father teases, side-eyeing you. “I should probably relieve your friend there.” 

“Friend, hm?” Your mother nudges your shoulder when your dad is far enough away. 

“Okay,” you roll your eyes. “Yes. Bucky is a friend.”

“A friend who brought your mother flowers.”

“He’s old fashioned.” 

Your mother hums, not quite believing you, and drops it. But when he gives you a smile over his shoulder, you seem unable to.

“He’s… complicated.” Your shoulders and smile drop when his attention is taken away. “We both sort of are. I’m not sure it’ll go anywhere.”

“How come?”

“I’m quitting the whole avenging thing. Moving somewhere else. Close enough to see you guys of course, but…”

“Far enough to make it complicated with him?” 

“It’s all a bit complicated.” You sigh. 

“Let life settle down again. It’ll surprise you.” 

After you all grab a quick bite to eat, you part ways, accepting too many stickers from your little sister on the way. On the train back, you’re both able to sit, and you recall the way your parents had looked exactly the same, just a little older. You have to retrace their faces from old memories to remember the way they look now. 

“You’re staring.” You tell Bucky on the third stop.

“Just… observing.” You give him a pointed look at his response you gave him too many times. “I’m proud of you for doing that.”

“Oh my god,” you balk. “Do not make me cry on this train!” 

“I’m serious!” 

“I know, but I swear to god, if I cry one more time today…” you leave the empty threat out in the open, face softening at his sincerity. “Thank you.”

“So, when is your last mission?” He changes the subject to work quickly. 

“My last mission was my last one.” 

“Oh, so you’re just done now?” He almost seems disappointed by that. 

“Well, Steve’s putting me on desk duty until I decide what to do. Where to go. Thinking I might actually get some sort of degree.”

“Don’t you have enough credits for at least three?”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, well, apparently they’re begging Tony to make me decide. I’ll have to take a few extra to, you know, finish it out, but I dunno. Maybe linguistics since I have the most credits for that, but what actual paying job can I get with that?”

“You’ll figure it out. You’ve got time.”

“Doesn’t feel like it.” You pout and play with the zipper of his leather jacket. “So. Your sister.” Bucky sighs because he knew you wouldn’t be able to drop it, but he isn’t annoyed. “Was she the same one from the photo of you dancing?” 

“Yes, Rebecca.” 

“It’s okay you couldn’t go see her.” You’re cautious, watching his posture and facial expressions closely. “I wish you could have, though.”

“I was still recovering.” They hadn’t even given him his new arm, yet. “I’m not sure they would’ve even entertained the idea, and I know that just makes you mad, but…”

“No, I get it.” You rest your head on his shoulder, feeling the warmth even through the layers. “I was on a short leash too. Still haven’t decided if it was good or not, but they unfortunately had a very good point.” 

“You’re still a flight risk sometimes,” he teases. 

“I think I’ve found my reason to stay.” 

Laying your head on his shoulder, you let the noise of the subway take over between you. 

Tapping your pen against your desk, you try to not let your head drop from boredom. Steve was right in saying you were never good with time off, but you didn’t realize desk work would be ten times worse. You yearn to text your fellow teammates about any and all updates on their respective missions, begging for the nitty gritty details. You’ll even take having to hear about a black eye adorning Bucky’s face for the sake of your brain not rotting, but they give you nothing. Everything seems to go perfect, and you’re left bitterly tapping your pen as you stare at numbers. It’s been three weeks of this. You had even bought matching pants and blazers in excitement. The initial giddiness in a change of pace had worn off quickly, and you became a part of the corporate drones you had heard so much about from your endless journey of media deep dives. You honestly consider starting a fight. Drama. Something. 

A knock on your cubicle brings you out of your wallowing. Bucky, a beautiful reprieve, stands with a takeout bag in hand. 

“What’s this?” You eye him warily, but smile at the interruption. 

“Heard the fridge busted and you lost your lunch for the day.” He has this knowing look, like he had heard your grumbled curses and banging a fist on the fridge door that morning. It wasn’t your proudest moment. “Have you taken your break yet?” 

“No.” Your grin grows bigger, the thought of getting Bucky for an entire hour uninterrupted making your skin crawl with anticipation. “Is that what I think it is?”

“Take your break with me and you’ll find out, doll.” 

You find a bench outside, looking out to the large field, and he unpacks the food for you. You’re giddy as he hands the take out bowl of dim sum. The sun feels warm on your skin, and you’re just relieved to get out of the dreary office.

“Are you sleeping okay?” Bucky looks over your face once more, but you’ve covered the heavy bags underneath your eyes with makeup. A skill you’ve learned over the years to hide any injuries if necessary for work.

“Is this a friendly lunch or an interrogation?” Your voice is light, almost teasing to hide the nervous pain you feel from the question. If his intention hadn’t been because you couldn’t take your lunch, it would almost feel like a betrayal. 

“Friendly.” His frown deepens, insulted by your insinuation. “I want to know you’re okay. You’ve been… small.”

“Small?” A soft laugh escapes at that. 

“You’re usually so present and there, but these past few weeks,” he looks down and shakes his head. “I can see your mind wandering, and you’re not here much anymore. Just don’t want to see you that bad again.”

“Well, I’ve been leaving my room.” Your hands find something to fidget with, and you’re hesitant to look at him.

“Sweets,” he sets down his bowl and takes your nervous hands. Looking him in the eye, you can see a million words processing in his mind as he searches in your eyes. “I can help. If you want it or need it.”

“Buck,” you roll your eyes, unable to keep this conversation serious. “You help me just fine.”

“You swear?” He looks for your tells, but comes up empty. He looks so scared and you can’t seem to understand why. Why would someone worry so much about you? “No night terrors? Anything?”

“There’s… been a few nightmares, but look,” you wave off his worry, letting one of your hands escape. He refuses to let the other one go, slotting your fingers together in urgency. “I’m getting out of bed and going to a mind numbing job everyday. That’s good, right? I normally just… wallow in self pity. I’m not great, but I’m good, Buck. No need to stress.”

“Y/N, I…” he hesitates, watching the microexpressions in your face change at the use of your name. No cute terms of endearment. You soften so much, he stops himself from telling you outright that he loves you. Because he can see the tiredness in your eyes despite your expert makeup skills, and he tells himself to wait just a little longer. It isn’t the right time, and he doesn’t want to overwhelm you any more than you already are. “I’m glad you’re okay.” 

“Nat wants to take me out for drinks tonight. As an unofficial goodbye party. Why don’t you come?” You want to prove to him that you’re doing fine, even though you would much rather get in bed early with a book. 

“Can’t.” He looks sheepish as he picks his lunch back up. “Doing some recon later.” 

“Well, I appreciate this, thank you.”

The sharp sound of knocking interrupts you from getting ready, hair halfway pulled back as you were about to fix your makeup. You’re afraid it’s Nat, as you get up to open the door, having shown up early. Bucky leans heavily against the doorframe. He’s beat up pretty good, bottom lip busted and scattered bruises littering his face. There’s dirt on his tac gear that he still has on, but most of all he looks tired. 

“I didn’t know you were back so soon.” 

“Finished early,” he grumbles out. Taking note of his leaning, your eyes fall down his arm, and you see blood on his hand that presses into his side. 

“Jesus, buck!” Without a second thought, you pull him into your room. Both of you stumble over his weight as he leans against you heavily. 

“‘M fine,” he mumbles as you drop him a bit unceremoniously onto the love seat in front of the window. 

“I- we…” Normally you’re more level headed than this, but you usually have the time to get in the proper head space before missions. A surprise visit covered in blood was going to give you some panic. “I need to go get help.” 

Just before you can walk away, Bucky’s free hand grabs your wrist. “They taught you how to stitch someone up, didn’t they?” 

“Yes, but this requires a trip to the infirmary. Not my bedroom.” You gesture vaguely to his still bleeding wound. 

“I’m not going to the infirmary.” he says firmly, the grip he has on your wrist tightening slightly.

“You are bleeding on my couch.” You can see where it just starts to soak into the material. That stain will never come out, you know it. 

“I don’t need it to be perfect. Just something to get me by for the next few days.” It wasn’t going to take long to heal, but that didn’t mean they could just leave it be and hope for the best. “Come on, before someone overhears.” 

Rolling your eyes with a dramatic huff, you pull your wrist from his grasp to go close the door. Not before poking your head out into the hallway, looking for any signs of life. When you know you’re in the clear, you close her door, and head straight for the bathroom. While shuffling in the cabinet underneath the sink for the kit you swear you own, you raise your voice slightly to speak to him. 

“We need to stop the bleeding before I can do anything.” You almost shout in victory when you spot the red box, and grab a few towels. “First we’ll need to get your shirt off.” 

As he struggles out of his layers, you drag your nightstand closer to lay out all of the items as neatly as you can. Taking one of the hand towels, you have him hold it firmly in place so you can go scrub your hands clean. It’s nearly soaked through by the time you find a comfortable position to work in. 

“Let me see?” You ask softly. 

Your hands hover over his as he peels the towel back with a tiny wince. It wasn’t as much as you’d like but you could work with it. Using the same towel, you hold it under the wound, pouring disinfectant over it and then patting it dry. He tries to not hiss in pain the entire time, jaw clenched tight. While you turn to get the needle and thread ready, he slings his arm over the back of the couch to grant you easy access. 

“What were you thinking?” You ask quietly, the needle going through his skin easily. 

“Yippee, I’m a hero,” Bucky deadpans. 

“You seem to have forgotten I’m the one stitching you up. Should I check for a concussion too? Maybe terminal dumbass disorder while we’re at it.”

“What do you want me to say?” He flinches when you stab him harshly out of anger. 

“I don’t like you going on solo missions.” Shaking your head softly, you keep focus on the task at hand rather than his reaction to that. “You should have asked me to come along. I was probably the only one who didn’t have anything going on.” 

“You said you had the night off.” 

You hum softly, not impressed with his lame excuse. “Well, now I get to end it by cleaning a stain that might never come out.” 

“Shit,” he mutters, not having realized the blood reached the cushions. Without thinking, he moves to check the damage.

“Hey, hey, whoa!” Your hand falls onto his stomach to steady him, nearly having pierced his skin in the wrong place. “Easy, hotshot. I’m not quite finished yet.” 

Your hand glides over his skin before returning back to where it had been previously.

“Got blood on your dress too.” Bucky mumbles, taking the fabric between the fingertips of his free hand. 

“It’s okay, I-“ you laugh softly, bashful as his skin grazes against your legs. “I didn’t really want to go.”

“How come?” 

“I dunno. Maybe Nat would say I’m looking for a reason to back out, but I’d rather be here with you. Bloody or not.” 

There’s a thick silence as his hand falls on your thigh, squeezing in surprise by the admission. You scoff, returning to your needlework so you don’t get embarrassed by looking him in the eye.

“God, that sounded corny. I just- well, it’s true. I don’t wanna go to a bar full of strangers where some guy is probably going to hit on me or insult me by accident. Probably wouldn’t put up with me torturing him with candy or cheesy movies that physically make you cringe. Don’t think I haven’t noticed. I want a guy who’s gonna dance with me because he knows I never have. If… if that makes sense.”

It’s a full admission, he’s beginning to realize. It’s him. You want him. Even though you can’t make yourself say the words, he still knows you mean it. Because you wouldn’t be shaking otherwise. You had the steadiness of a sharpshooter, and the only time you faltered was when feelings got involved. You’re so close, it doesn’t take much movement for his lips to capture yours, causing you to freeze and almost drop the needle. His hand slides up your thigh, sneaking underneath the skirt of your dress because he needs to feel your warmth. To know that he’s actually kissing the woman of his dreams. 

“Hey,” you whisper against his lips, laughter bubbling in your throat. Pulling back, you see the slight fear in his eyes. “I should finish this up before we… do whatever, don’t you think?”

“I’ll be fine.” He leans back in, but frowns when a hand on his chest stops him. Albeit a little dramatically, he throws his head back on the couch and lets your gentle hands continue working. It’s silent for a while, and while you’re tying the knot to finish, he speaks again. “I think you should stay.”

“Buck,” your shoulders drop at that, and set the tools down. “I can’t. They’ve already found a place for me. I’m supposed to be getting a fresh start. I mean… how are we supposed to do this? Won’t it just be–”

“Complicated?”

Your face burns in embarrassment. “You heard that?”

“Doll,” he shakes his head, not wanting you to worry about that, and holds your cheek in his flesh hand, thumb tracing a circle along your jaw. “It’s now or never. I already thought I would lose you when you leave.”

“Of course you won’t!”

“You’ve got everyone here. Wasn’t I your reason for staying?”

“Yes, but I–” you realize you’re doing it again. You’re running away to avoid the hard feelings. The fear of rejection or worse. Loss. “Steve’s gonna be so pissed.”

“Who cares?”

Fuck.

“I’m scared.” Your voice shakes along with the hand that you bring up to the nape of his neck, and press your forehead against his. 

“That’s okay, sweets. I am too.”

“Okay.” You breathe out as you close your eyes. “Okay, I’ll stay.”

Bucky kisses you like you’re leaving, but he stays, wrapped in your arms until the exhaustion makes him sleep.

Tag list:

No, maybe you fell for him when he’d shaken your hand after they finally unhooked the wires and Steve insisted on introducing the two of you. Bucky hadn’t even given you a smile or looked you in the eye, but his handshake was soft yet short. His obvious intimidation wasn’t from meeting new people, you understood that immediately. It was because he was afraid you thought he’d hurt you with such a simple touch. You know for certain that was the moment you decided you’d kick anyone where the sun doesn't shine if they had anything bad to say about him, or associate him as his old moniker. Unfortunately you had your own reputation to protect, so you’d give them sharp words and an even sharper glare. Everyone learned quickly that if you were in the cafeteria in the main building, no words were to be spoken about Bucky, good or bad. They were too afraid to be on your bad side. So, you think maybe that wasn’t when you fell in love.

Sitting up with an overdramatic groan, you see the sunlight peeking through your curtains, and decide if you aren’t going to get any sleep, you should just go for a run. As you get dressed, you don’t even think to check the weather forecast, expecting to work up a hard sweat either way. So you grab a tanktop and your most breathable pair of shorts before heading out. Of course, the only person awake this early and freshly showered is Steve, sitting at the living quarters kitchen table. It’s a surprise to see Nat there, slowly eating some oatmeal and reading the back of the newspaper Steve always has. Neither of them take notice of you as you slip by. 

It dawns on you halfway through your run, that you never had a moment of realization of falling in love. Or even in like. You had noticed all the moments he made your stomach twist in endearment, but you had brushed that off because maybe -you’d go to your grave with this secret- Steve had made you feel like that only once. The tiniest of crush had passed quickly, and you can’t even remember what he’d done to squash those feelings you didn’t even know you had, but you had seen him as a brother after that. So, you had thought those kinds of feelings were normal. It just so happened that Bucky made them appear more often. It seemed, you realize with a huff, he had just wormed his way into your heart so slowly over time, that it just felt normal. That it was frustratingly easy to admit to yourself that you were possibly, fully in love. But how the fuck were you supposed to say that out loud? 

As if the weather could sense your mood, it slowly had turned dreary during your run, but it quickly turned into a drizzle. You keep going, not having punished yourself enough, until you feel like your bones are soaked and the feeling in your legs finally starts to go. You know soaking in a hot bath for an hour, you’ll be good as new, save for a slight twinge in your muscles for the next few hours. Suffice to say, you don’t pinpoint the moment you fell, and your run didn’t make you feel much better. 

As you walk toward the kitchen to satiate your growling stomach, your squeaky footsteps announce your arrival. You’re surprised to see Bucky at the table, a book in one hand, and a spoonful of oatmeal in the other. Just like that morning you had gathered up the nerve to speak to him. After brilliantly embarrassing yourself first. 

“Didn’t see you out there today.” You still sound breathless, but ignore it to rummage through the fridge for something.  

“Didn’t wanna get caught up in the rain.” He looks pointedly at your soaked clothes. 

“A little rain never hurt anybody.” There’s a long pause where he just stares at you, expression blank. Almost bored. You ignore it, pretending there wasn’t thick tension in the room, and grab some orange juice and a yogurt. “Come on! Cheer up! I thought you’d be excited about recruitment day.” 

“Afraid you thought wrong.” He dogears the page he’s on and you try to hide your wince. Crossing his arms over his chest, you try to not swoon at the sight of his muscles straining against his shirt. “Do I look excited?”

“Well, you don’t have your turtle face on, so… yes.”

“Turtle face?” Instead, his face screws up in confusion. 

“Yeah. You know. Grumpy Bucky? At least, that’s what everyone else says.” You lean a hip against the counter, and take a sip straight from the container. 

He’s not impressed by either.

“Hey… did I say something to upset you last night?” You figured you should address the elephant in the room, but you go the worst possible route and decide to play dumb. As if you’d had too much champagne and could actually get drunk enough to forget. But you didn’t and you can’t. 

“No. Just fooling myself, I guess.” He mumbles, looking down to his lap, and you’re surprised at the honesty. 

“Fooling yourself? About what?”

As if realizing he’d been so open, his face hardens once more and he shakes his head before returning to his breakfast. 

“Nothing.”

Your ears perk up, slightly delayed to his, at the sound of footsteps coming from down the hall. You both would recognize the softness of them a mile away. Steve enters, eyes landing directly on the container of orange juice in your hand, and then the tossed lid on the counter. You smile sheepishly at getting caught drinking straight from it. Again.

“Come on, Y/N,” he groans as he takes it from you. “Use a glass.”

“Steve, even if I could get sick, it still wouldn’t matter! We share everything else. What’s a little spit swapping?” You laugh as he scrunches his nose and pours a glass for you. 

He continues to lecture you and you just shrug him off with a laugh, not really listening and head toward the drawer of cutlery, but your smile drops when you no longer see Bucky at the table. Turning, you just barely catch him walking away from the sink, book tucked underneath his arm. You open your mouth to tell him he doesn’t have to run off so quickly, but the hardened look of confusion and hurt on his face makes the words die in your throat. He mumbles something about seeing the two of you later and is gone. Steve doesn’t seem to catch onto the tension, but you still plaster on a smile and pretend nothing is eating away at you. Your time in the kitchen doesn’t last long, and neither does Steve’s since he was only grabbing some water. 

It’s rare for Bucky to be the one to give you the cold shoulder. Usually it’s you, unable to put your feelings into words when he’s the one to accidentally upset you. He’s been so open and honest with you lately that it hurts. You feel like a jerk, dodging his kiss and it’s worse now that you’re adamant on playing it off like nothing had happened. That you’re playing dumb, like the champagne had actually done it’s job and gotten you drunk enough to forget. But you both know that’s impossible, which makes your lying feel like a stab in the back.

When you see Bucky again, he’s standing in front of the buzzing recruits, waiting for the rest of the senior agents to show up. He hasn’t spotted you yet, too far and out of his peripheral vision. As always, he looks stern, eyebrows drawn together with a frown. It’s his tough face for when he’s around people. Honestly, he could have possibly invented resting bitch face, but when Steve turns up, he softens. It almost hurts to see. Especially when his face drops the second his eyes land on you. 

“Sergeant.” There was no point in being so formal, considering you basically used to openly flirt with him without realizing.

“Agent.” He responds, voice taught. 

Steve catches on to the tension this time, eyes flitting back and forth between the both of you. You give him a look that says don’t even ask, so instead he turns back to the crowd. 

“I think we’re ready.” Steve says before stepping forward. His presence alone makes everyone go silent and give him all of their attention. As he begins his speech, greeting and explaining how the day would go, you spare a glance at Bucky. From the corner of his eye, he’d been watching until you caught him.

“Did you magically see Raynor between last night and this morning because I haven’t seen you this closed off since the last time you asked me to tag along.” You whisper, knowing Steve could hear, but risk it anyway.

“You know that’s not possible.” He manages between grit teeth, the question annoying him far too much. “And ridiculous.”

“Well, you only act particularly dick-ish after you see her so I thought I’d ask.”

“Very mature.” He gives you a pointed glare. 

“Figured I’d try your method considering nothing else has worked.”

Steve clearing his throat sharply makes the two of you break from your glaring contest. There’s too many other eyes on you as well since he stopped his speech because of your childish bickering.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yep.” You force a smile. “Doing great, Cap.”

He continues, not for long and passes the talking off to one of the senior agents to call out the groups in which the recruits would be split into for the time being. Before you and Bucky can try to get away from each other, Steve stops the both of you, hands on his hips. Uh-oh, you think, Dad Steve is coming out.

“Whatever is going on between the two of you, fix it. Because you,” he looks to you specifically. “Requested you two pair up today.”

Shit. You had forgotten you’d done that. 

“It’s- everything’s fine, Stevie. We can be professional, right Sargeant?”

“Right.”

Steve doesn’t quite look like he believes you, but the commotion of everyone has him leaving with the group that were to show off their stealth skills. You and Bucky, along with a few others, stay with the ones to show off their sparring skills. 

“Believe it or not, but I do actually have problems that don’t involve you.” Bucky crosses his arms, and obviously avoids looking at you. If he did, he’d probably take it back, but he was annoyed with you. 

“Do enlighten me.” You copy his posture, turning toward him but he isn’t going to play into your hand. Realizing this, you sigh and drop your arms. “Y’know Steve isn’t close enough to hear, so whatever you’re too embarrassed to say, you’ve got the floor, Barnes.”

Ouch. 

You haven’t called him that since you met him, and even then, you barely called him by his surname. He keeps quiet, eyes focused on the task at hand rather than this argument. 

“You act like a child, you know that?” You snap, and turn back toward the group of recruits. “Giving me the whole silent treatment. Thought we were past all that shit.”

“I thought we were past that shit too, but you were the one who shut down.” It surprises you when Bucky turns his back toward the recruits to face you. There’s hurt in his eyes but you aren’t sure what he’s talking about. “You seriously couldn’t see it?”

“See what!?” You throw your hands up in frustration. 

“Either you’re playing stupid or—“

You don’t hear the rest of his insult, your eyes having wandered to some commotion behind his back. It’s easily missed among the crowd of them sparring, but you notice the ginger continue to choke out his partner despite him furiously trying to tap out. 

“Are you even listening?”

“Wait,” you hold up a hand and look around quickly, finding a person you know with a clipboard. “Hey! Who’s the ginger?” 

“Uhh…” she looks down the list quickly, flipping a couple pages before finding a name. “John Walker.”

“What are you…?” Bucky watches you stomp past him, but when he sees the direction you take, he knows nothing good is going to come of this. You already were annoyed, and now you were about to take your anger out on a cocky recruit to be. 

“Walker!” You shout as you rush toward the two, causing the people around them to stop and watch the spectacle beginning. “Walker, tap out!” 

The kid is nearly turning purple when you step in front of them, giving John a rightful shove, causing him to release the other guy.

“The fuck was that, Walker?” You nearly spit, despite kneeling down to check on the young looking recruit. “I said tap out.”

“I was showcasing my skills, as requested.” 

“And we also requested zero injuries.” 

“I think he can walk off—“

“I’m sorry, did you misunderstand the assignment?” You cut him off, the anger in your voice rising. “We’re not looking to kill our fellow recruits, understand?” 

“Like you’ve got such a problem in that area?” He takes a large step that was meant to intimidate you, but you stand your ground and glare up at him. 

You turn your head to Bucky who looks ready to step in. “I’d say that’s another mark, so you’re out Walker. We’ve seen enough, thank you for your time.” 

“What?” He balks at your words. “I’m heavily qualified! Probably more than these children you’re letting in here—“

“That’s enough,” Bucky moves between the two of you, putting you away from the possibility of harm. “You heard her. It’s final.” 

“‘Course you’d stick up for her, Barnes.” John’s eyes are nearly level with Bucky’s, and there’s a fire in them. “Must be easy for the two cold blooded assassins to stick together.”

“Cold blooded?” You guffaw at his weak insult. “Wanna put it to the test, Walker?” 

“Y/N.” Bucky warns sharply but you don’t pay him any mind. 

“Sweetheart, I don’t even think you could pin me.” 

The little pet name is what sets you off, charging toward him, but you’re met with the brick wall that is Bucky’s chest. He’s picking you up by the waist swiftly, as you kick and scream any expletive you can think of, even some that weren’t English. As you’re getting dragged away, a couple security guards usher John from the field, and he goes slightly less quiet than you. 

“That’s enough!” Bucky sets you down far enough away that anyone who isn’t enhanced can't hear. “What is your problem?!”

“My problem?” You can’t help but laugh, looking a little chaotic. “My problem? No. You’re the one who came in with the fucking problem!” 

“That had nothing to do with me. You’re the one who just blew up in front of recruits! If that’s you proving yourself to them, congratulations. You’ve just let them all know you’ve got a short temper.”

“I don’t need to prove shit to them. I’m on the fucking team, Barnes. Been there, done that, got the tshirt to prove it.” 

“You need to go cool off.” Bucky lets his guard down and you see the genuine worry slip through. “I’ll tell Steve you weren’t feeling well.”

“No, I can—“

“I’m not asking, Y/N. I’ll come check on you in fifteen when they rotate.”

You chew on the inside of your cheek, wanting to continue telling him off, but you know making an even bigger scene won’t do any good. Besides, the way he said your name always made you melt a little and comply. So you agree with a heavy sigh and head back toward the building. You fume in the common room, trying to calm down but all you can do is think about how you fucked up and that you’re just making everything worse. You’re unable to sit still, legs bouncing and thoughts racing. A burst of anxiety has you getting up and rushing to your room. You need to go for a run. Maybe another four hours will have your mind calm down. What would it hurt? It wasn’t like your body couldn’t handle it. 

“Thought I told you to cool off.” Bucky's voice surprises you, even more so that he sounds calm. Almost teasing.

“I am.” You snap. “Tell Steve I’m not coming back.” 

The sharpness of your tone sets him off.

“You leaving for a month again? Or will it be longer this time?” Bucky watches you dig through your dresser for some shorts.

“I’m just going for a run, Jesus. Just at a park or something. Anywhere but around… here, alright?”

“You can’t just run away anytime things get complicated or you’re unable to work through your feelings.”

“Well, I can’t exactly drink them away, can I? Kirsh made sure of that. I have to put the energy somewhere else since I’m stuck being sober.” 

“And yet you still managed to fuck up that night, hm?” He crossed his arms, almost mumbling the question like he hadn’t wanted you to hear, but when he looks up through his lashes, you know he’s done it on purpose.

“The fuck did you just say?” Where had that anger come from? You’re not sure you’ve ever heard Bucky be so deliberately mean. 

“I’m just trying to figure this all out. Do you think they all see you as weak, so you’re putting on a tough act? That you can’t be soft?”

“You are such a hypocrite!” You scoff, dodging around the real answer. “Unless you’d care to explain how you’re fooling yourself.”

“Not this again,” he grumbles.

“Yes, this again! I was trying to help you out this morning but now every time I bring it up, you get that kicked puppy dog look.”

“Maybe I don’t need your help.”

Your heart drops at the finality of his tone. 

“So… what?” You attempt to hide the tremble in your bottom lip by catching it between your teeth, but it was too obvious to him. “We’re just not friends anymore?”

“’course not Y/N.“ he breathes out, all the anger disappearing, and he runs a hand over his face. He already regrets being so hostile toward you. “It can’t just be… unsaid. Even if I didn’t mean it.”

“Maybe we just need a few days apart.” You don’t know why you suggest it when the thought makes you physically ill. “Cool off.” 

“Yeah.” His response is so quiet you almost miss it. “Yeah, I think you’re right.” 

You rush out of your room, the threat of tears making your eyes burn. In the hall, you pass Steve who tries stopping you unsuccessfully.

“Where are you going?” He shouts at you down the hall, but you ignore him.

You don’t end up going very far since you’re unable to drive without a valid license. Along the edge of the property is a lake, and you take a seat at the end of the dock. You’re too worn out to run, nearly collapsing against the wood. All you needed was a break from that chaos, and the silence finally let your tears fall down your cheeks. You’d both said things you hadn’t meant, but you still can’t help but wonder if that’s how Bucky truly felt. Had you pushed yourself on him too hard? He could have been perfectly fine without your friendship, and now you weren’t even sure if it was intact anymore. 

Steve isn’t sure how much more of your moping he can take, and no matter how many times he asks, you won’t spill. All he knows is that something happened between you and Bucky because you’re both mopey, but neither will tell him why. He knows the one thing that will take your mind off of it, but he always hated letting you go on missions with a distracted mind. It’s one he can’t turn you down for, though. You always stepped up to the plate when there were kidnapped victims involved. Especially when it’s rumored they’re being experimented on. And unfortunately when you found a mission you wanted on, you argued until he relented.

“I need you one hundred percent in.” Steve watched your face for any signs, but you just set your jaw tighter.

“One hundred percent,” you promised.

Two days later, you, Steve and a handful of other agents are on a jet, dressed heavily in stealthy tactical gear. Nat flies, having agreed to wait in the jet in case of a quick getaway. The one to your left is young, possibly younger than you, and his leg shakes the second they’re in the air. 

“Not a fan of flying?” You remember your first time on a plane, stomach rolling at every movement and sound. 

He laughs nervously, almost surprised that you even asked. “Not quite. It’s- well, it’s kind of my first big mission.”

You’re a little taken aback. In your mind, this was nothing. A retrieval such as this was easy. In and out as if you hadn’t even been inside the building, but considering you’ve gone toe to toe with other superheroes, you can see how this is intimidating for him. He probably wasn’t even approved to be in the field when everything was going down with shield disassembling and the civil war between your team. Hell, it could’ve been his first, but something in his eyes says he’s seen some shit. 

“Just think of it like your training. It’ll be a breeze.”

“Right.” He tries to put on his best brave face. 

They trained recruits for any and all situations, even possible alien attacks. This should be a walk in the park. You even looked forward to these types of missions considering how easy and almost relaxing they could be. The thrill of tiptoeing around an almost abandoned building is what kept you hooked. Despite them all almost playing out the same. Steve would take out guards without even a whisper of noise, and you’d meet in the middle, causing a distraction if necessary. You’d all kick ass if the victims were heavily guarded, and then heroically swoop in and save the day, cuffing whatever bad guy tried to be an intimidating villain of the week. Afterward, you’d take care of whoever needed it, mostly the younger victims who looked particularly more terrified than the rest, until the proper authorities arrived. 

So, when you’re met with heavy gunfire the moment you breach the wooded area around the building, it’s certainly a shock. You’re not sure you’ve ever seen this many guards for such a small run-down looking place. You almost tell Steve you might need back up, but the agents start shooting back with a precision even Bucky would be proud of. You’re all able to move forward, gaining access inside, and split up. The young agent is ahead of you, clearing corners quickly, all the fear he had not even visible. 

“Y/N,” Steve’s voice in your ear interrupts the heavy gunfire. “Progress?”

“Definitely very little,” you report back, recalling how few corners you’ve turned. 

“The east side is clear,” he sounds slightly out of breath. “I’ll make my way over to you.” 

There’s brief silence as you turn a corner, and neither of you are met with any resistance. You’re about to tell the agent job well done when there’s a familiar click and the sound of something rolling. You almost mistake the object for a smoke bomb, not expecting someone to be stupid enough to roll one out in such an enclosed hall. You’re both shouting to alert each other, having identified the bomb, but you’re shoved back unexpectedly. Falling onto your back, the sound of the explosion leaves your ears ringing and debris falling on and around you. Once everything stills, you open your eyes and look around with a groan. You can’t even hear yourself as the ringing in your ears lingers, but you see the kid laying not too far from you. Reaching out, you aren’t able to reach him, so you crawl slowly, body feeling stiff from the pain. 

“Hey,” you manage to get out. “You okay, kid?”

“Yeah, I uh…” he sits up slightly, and you see it. All the blood that’s managed to escape already, dripping down his stomach and to the floor, mixing with the dust. Some shrapnel must have gotten him in the blast and he doesn’t notice it until he sees your shock. “Oh. Shit.”

“Don’t move.” You manage to slide up next to him, trembling hands finding the wound and pressing down. He finally feels the pain, whimpering as you try to look past your hands in the way. It’s deep, and big. 

“Y/N?” You hear faintly from down the hall, and turn your head to see Steve running up to the two of you. “What happened?”

“I don’t- I don’t know! Some dickhead threw a grenade and it was too late. We’ve gotta get him out of here. He’s bleeding too fast.” 

Steve kneels down, pulling your hands back just the slightest to assess the situation. He’s quiet for a long moment, not quite meeting your eyes. You know that look. 

He isn’t going to make it. 

“Steve,” you say firmly, trying to not startle the young agent. The kid you don’t even know the name of. “I’m not leaving him alone.”

“I know.” His eyes soften as he thinks. “Shit. Okay, I’ll radio Nat. Keep out of the way. Both of you.”

No heroics. Even if he wasn’t injured, you’re not sure that he would. But you nod, a promise to stay safe and then he’s gone in a flash. Your attention is brought back by his groan, the pain making him squirm.

“Hey, keep still alright?” You press down just the slightest bit, the blood still flowing between your fingertips. “We’re gonna get you out of here. You got any family?”

“Just my brother,” he gets out between gritted teeth. You’re not sure it makes this whole situation better but you just want him to keep talking to stay awake. 

“Older or younger?”

“Younger.” A smile tugs on the corners of his lips and you can see a memory flash across his vision. 

“Always wanted a younger sibling. Bet he’s loads of trouble, huh?”

“Oh, yes ma’am.” He starts to laugh but it turns into pained coughs.

“Oh, please, no need for those formalities.” Not when your hand is nearly in his stomach. 

“Everyone- everyone else has to.” The coughing continues as he struggles to talk. You should encourage him to keep quiet and still, but they won’t make it in time. Not when there’s still gunfire close by. 

“Everyone starts off disrespecting me. You didn’t.” 

“‘M not gonna make it am I?” He’s lost all energy in his voice, barely a whisper. You open your mouth to give false promises but he gives a bloodied smile, teeth stained red, and he shakes his head. “‘S okay. Kind of always wanted to go out with a bang.”

“Kid—“

“Can’t feel much anymore,” he mumbles and his eyebrows suddenly scrunch up. “Who’s gonna tell my brother? ‘M all he’s got left.”

“I’ll tell him, don’t worry.” Tears burn in your eyes at his unexpected panic. “Just- hold on, okay? Then we won’t have to.” 

“It’s okay,” he smiles again as a tear falls over your cheek. How the hell is he reassuring you right now? You were supposed to be doing that for him. “You did the best you could.” 

“Hey, stay awake.” You tap his cheek as his eyelids grow heavy, but it’s no use. You can feel his body grow limp in your arms and he’s stopped breathing. “Come on, you gotta open your eyes, kid.” Nothing, not even a sign of movement, but you don’t want to accept that he’s gone, hand still shaking his limp face. “No, no, you can’t- no! Just- come back to me, alright?”

You aren’t sure how long you’re alone with him, holding on as you cry into his hairline. It feels like an eternity, as his blood soaks into your clothes and stains your hands. It isn’t until you hear faint footsteps in the ear that’s stopped ringing, that you move. Gun drawn, you point toward the noise, but you can barely see past your tears. 

“It’s just me.” 

Steve. 

You realize the sound of distant gunfire has stopped, and Natasha lingers behind him for a moment. When you drop your gun and let out another sob, she rushes to your side, hands delicately moving yours and pulling you to your feet. She leads you through the halls, back toward the entrance, and past all the bodies you’d left behind yourself. On the jet, she wraps an emergency blanket around your trembling shoulders. From the corner of your eye, you see Steve placing the kids body down, and someone brings a blanket over to cover him. It’s quiet on the ride back, and your eyes never leave the white cloth slowly being stained by his blood, despite Natasha’s best efforts to distract you. It was better than looking at the other agents who probably blamed you for their teammate's death. They whisper amongst themselves, but you hear it as clear as day, even over the ringing in your right ear. 

“What’s she crying for?”

It rips the cut in your heart deeper. Lately, it’s all you feel like you hear from anyone. How you’re the killer Kirsh turned you into, and it’s all that you’ll ever be. Staring at the body that belonged to someone so youthful and just alive makes you believe them even more. You’re not sure that you’ll ever get to change. 

“We’ll…” Steve starts once they land, hands resting on his hips and head hanging in defeat. “We’ll debrief in the morning.” 

Slowly, one by one, everyone leaves the jet. Everyone except you. You can’t move until they’re rolling up a gurney to take away the body, and even after that, you stay. It’s long enough that Natasha comes back in to grab you and lead you back inside. She helps you to your room, but you’re still in too much shock to realize. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up.” Natasha removes the blanket, and takes your hands to wash them off in your bathroom sink. You watch as the water turns pink, but you don’t feel your hands turning any less red. 

“Did they find them?” you barely manage with a weak voice. 

“Turns out the scientist had a self-destruct plan in case he got caught.” She refuses to get into the gritty details, knowing they would only upset you more. It still brings fresh tears to your eyes as you nod slowly, understanding what she meant. They were all dead too.

“Did he…?”

“Got shot on purpose. A kill shot.”

You can see her compartmentalizing for your sake, but you all felt it. The pain of a failed mission. Instead of talking about it, she helps peel the dirty and stained clothes off of you, and starts a hot bath for you. You’re close enough that you aren’t embarrassed when she helps bathe you, your muscles too sore and stiff to want to work with you. 

“I didn’t even know his name.” You mutter this as she’s helping you into fresh clothes. “He- oh god. He only had his brother left.”

“We‘ll let him know. Don’t put that on yourself.”

“Nat, I—“ you choke on a sob, trying to keep it down just like the bile that threatened to rise. “I told him I would.”

“His brother will understand if it isn’t you. It isn’t your responsibility. What is, is taking care of yourself and getting some sleep.” 

“Not sure I’ll be able to sleep.” 

“I’ll ask for something to help. Just lay down and I’ll be back soon.”

You’re not sure that you can sit still. The ringing in your ear still lingers, and it’s starting to irritate you, unable to keep you calm. Now that you’re alone, it almost doesn’t feel real. Any of it, and you can’t help but wonder if the other agents had a point. Why were you so upset? You hadn’t even known his name for Christ's sake. What was there to be upset about? Maybe it was the fact that he said he only had his brother, implying that their parents were gone. It was your fault that the brother didn’t even have one person left. It feels like a punch to the chest when it hits you all over again. You took another person from their family and this time, he’d been good. Not like those disgusting, too powerful people you took out before. He had just been a kid, probably just trying to provide for his remaining family. 

You can’t sit still any longer as you spiral further into a dark place. Slipping your everyday shoes on, you grab your things and sneak out of the compound unnoticed. Once you’ve walked far enough away, you order a car to take you the rest of the way to the city.

You stand, nervous, outside Bucky’s apartment door. The last couple of hours are a blur of tears and attempted vices. None of them made you feel better so you went to the one place that could. You were able to slip inside without ringing, so he wasn’t expecting you at all. He must be listening to your pathetic sniffling as you debate knocking, wondering who was standing outside his door. Just as you raise a trembling hand to knock, the door flings open, as if he was expecting you. 

“Look,” you start with a choked sob. “I know you hate me right now, but—“

You’re cut off as he pulls you in for a tight hug. Wasting no time, you wrap your arms around his wide frame, and let the tears soak into his chest. 

“Had me worried sick, y/n.” His voice vibrates against your nose, tickling it more than anything.

“What?” Your voice is muffled until his grip loosens enough for you to pull back to look him in the eye. “I didn’t…”

“Steve called. You thought you could just leave after a mission like that without him worrying? Without me worrying?” 

“‘M sorry.” Your bottom lip trembles and a single tear slides down your cheek. Bucky is quick to swipe it away with the pad of his thumb, causing your heart to jump. You look down, too flustered to look him in the eye, only to find his boots half tied. He must have been in a rush. “Were you going somewhere? I can go if…”

“I was going to look for you.” He tilts your head up by your chin. “You barely go out as is. Couldn’t stand the thought of you alone out there, feelin’ sorry for yourself.” 

You might actually kiss him this time, eyes flitting down to his lips, but he’s turning away before you get the chance. Taking you by the hand, he sits you down on his couch, and goes to make some tea for you. When he returns with a steaming mug, you take it gently and watch as he kneels in front of you to remove your shoes for you. 

“I can—“

“I know,” he interrupts you easily, but continues. 

It’s quiet for a long moment, just you watching him occasionally glance up at you while getting you comfortable. The scent of lavender is strong, something you’ve made for him on sleepless nights. The thought that he had actually gone out and bought something made you a little happy. 

“You’d still go out there and look for me after I pissed you off?”

“You didn’t… Well, you did.” He drops his head, feeling embarrassed over your dramatic fight. “But yes, I would.”

Gently, you take him by the chin, lifting his head until he’s looking back at you. It’s a beautiful sight, honestly, his face going slack with just your touch.

“You weren’t fooling yourself, Buck. I’m sorry. I didn’t know how to…” 

“I don’t know that now is the right time for this conversation. You’ve had a hard day, and you need sleep.”

“I don’t want sleep.” You roll your eyes, even though you know everyone is just trying to care for you.

“Then what do you want?” He almost seems amused by your defiance. 

“A cigarette.” 

“You’ve had plenty by the stench on your coat.”

“Oh fuck off,” but you smile. “Okay, I’ll sleep, but you gotta stay. I’m not sure I can be alone.”

“That’s alright.” 

He takes your hand, and leads you to his room. It’s the one room you don’t see very often, and you know he probably doesn’t either. It hardly feels lived in, but he moves around with ease. You wish you had changed into different clothes before leaving the compound because then he’d be offering you something comfortable to sleep in, but you’re already in sweatpants. It wasn’t enough to just be wrapped in his scent, you wanted to wear it and live in it. It’s enough, you try telling yourself as he pulls you close once the two of you are in bed. 

“You wanna talk about it?” He mutters to disrupt the quiet dark, knowing you were thinking instead of sleeping.

“No, I…” you sigh heavily, and adjust your head on his chest. “Well, maybe.” There’s a beat of silence as he waits. “It’s kind of funny, you know, being used to death. But then you see it happen to this… kid. I’m not even sure how old he was, but he was definitely younger than me. He called me ma’am. Which I guess isn’t that funny, but he was one of the very few who didn’t see me as this heartless killer. He said- he said it was okay. I did the best that I could.”

“I’m sure you did that and more.” His platitude doesn’t lift your spirits much, but you appreciate his words nonetheless. 

“I’m not sure how much more I can take, Buck.”

“What do you mean?” He rubs your arm, a better comfort than his words had been. 

“The shit with Walker. It’s how everyone sees me and I’m just sick and tired of trying to prove I’m not that person anymore.” 

“You don’t owe them shit. Someone really smart, but stubborn as hell, told me so.”

“Oh yeah?” You lift your head up, just barely able to see him in the dark of the room. 

“Yeah, probably the most stubborn I’ve ever met.”

“Watch it.” You warn playfully before laying back down. 

“I never hated you, by the way.” His response is soft, opposite of the tightening grip on your arm. He’s nervous, and if the grip didn’t give it away, his racing heart certainly did. “Don’t think I ever could. Think you could forgive this old stubborn idiot?”

“‘Course, Buck.” You burrow further against him, arm falling loosely around his waist. The loud and steady thrum of his heart makes you doze off, the lingering ringing in your ear quieting.

The room is filled with a soft blue hue as the sun just begins to peak over the horizon. Being a light sleeper, Bucky is able to turn off his alarm quick enough before it disturbed you. Before he goes to get ready, he pulls the blanket back over your body, watching as you instinctively burrow further into it. All of his movement around his apartment doesn't disturb you one bit, peacefully sleeping. Once he’s finished lacing up his boots, you stir awake, rolling over and finding the bed empty. 

“Bucky?” You call out, sleep making your voice sound weak. “What’re you doing?”

“I’ve gotta head out.” He leans against the doorframe, watching you blink up at him through squinted eyes. The sun had come up just a bit, but with the clouds, the place hadn’t gotten much brighter.  “Just go back to sleep. I’ll let you know when we leave.”

“No, lemme walk you out.” You go to move the blanket off, but Bucky rushes over, hands stopping you quickly, and tucking you in tighter. 

“Stay in bed.” He smiles at you softly as he cups your cheek with his flesh hand. As he rubs his thumb over your cheekbone, he sees you smile in content and your eyelids begin to fall heavy again. 

“Don’t wanna say goodbye.” You stifle a yawn. Placing your hand over his, you loosely thread your fingers together. “I don’t want you to go either.”

“Here.” Bucky pulls his hand away and doesn’t miss the deep frown you get when he does so. Even with your eyes closed, you can hear the clinking of his dog tags until he’s placing them in your hand. “Hold onto these while I’m gone.” 

Your eyes shoot open at the shock of the cold metal and the fact that he even gave them to you. It’s an obvious reassurement of his return, which calms your nerves, but you’re still going to miss him like hell. You had just made up, which makes all of this even harder. It felt like you would never see him again. Suddenly, you’re sitting up and wrapping your arms around his neck tightly.

“Be safe.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, but he feels it on his neck. Your lips are just as warm as your breath. “Please.”

Looking at your wide, worried eyes, something tugs his heart all the way down to his stomach. He almost tells you you’ve got nothing to worry about. That he’s fully capable of taking care of himself, but he knows you just need a promise right now. Platitudes were never something you enjoyed hearing. He finds himself leaning in, placing a kiss to your hairline. 

“Of course.” He lingers, lips finding your skin once more before he’s standing straight. Your arms fall into your lap and you look up at him. He swears he sees tears. Loneliness after a painful loss hurts, he knows that, but he couldn’t talk his way out of this work trip. Not when it was Tony ordering him around. “Stay as long as you want. Just remember to lock up.”

Moving to you after closing the door, Bucky reads your carefully written words. 22 of the most important snacks bucky Barnes missed out on the past 70 something odd years. 

“It’s a bit wordy.”

You grumble indignantly about how hard you worked on the box under your breath while you begin to open it. He swears he hears ‘well you try thinking of a better title Encino man,’ in there somewhere. 

“I figured we could go through them all,” you gesture to the items carefully packed within. “Then rank them. Because it’s very important that I know where you stand on these snacks. It could make or break our friendship.”

“I think if you eat all twenty two snacks, you’ll overdose on sugar.” But he couldn’t help being a little bit intrigued. It was a really nice gesture too. The past few months, you’ve been working your ass off to try and catch him up on what you thought was important. Although some information felt absolutely useless, he still deeply enjoyed their movie nights. “And why twenty two? That’s oddly specific.”

“My original list was eighty one.” 

Jesus Christ. 

You’ve eaten so much food, you’re afraid you might puke, but Bucky kept going when you quit on snack number fifteen. While your metabolism could work fast, his worked faster. There’s wrappers spread out all over the floor, surrounding the two of you, and you lean your head on the back of the couch, ready to fall into a food coma. Bucky takes his last bite, chuckling as you overdramatically groan and hold your full stomach.

“Not to say I told you so…” he’s got that smug grin that tugs at one corner of his lips. 

“I don’t need to hear it.” You groan and sit up, observing your mess. It’s quite possibly the most you’ve seen in his place. Even on moving day it was spotless. 

“Let me make you some coffee.” He pats your thigh before standing and making his way to the kitchen.

You make work to clean up your mess, despite how slightly queasy you are from all the sugar. As you crawl along the floor on your knees, you notice a box pushed into a corner. It’s obvious Bucky tried hiding it, but poorly.

“I thought we unpacked all of your things?” You call out, and drop the wrappers into a neat pile to snoop inside the mystery box.

“Steve apparently got Nat to pull some strings to get some of my things released from the Smithsonian.” You hear the sound of ceramic cups being moved around while you lift the cardboard lid with one finger, peaking through the small crack you’ve created. “Not much. Just some pictures and other things.”

“Oh, may I?” You were itching to get your hands on some original photos of him from the forties. He comes out while the coffee brews and gestures for you to go on. There’s dozens of photos along with some of his military memorabilia. Looking over, you see his dog tags poking out from the collar of his shirt. You know a lot of his stuff wasn’t on display to maintain its quality, but you had already seen most of these pictures.

“Is this your mother? She’s gorgeous, Buck. Actually…” you hold up the photograph to compare to his face. “You look a lot like her.”

“Callin’ me gorgeous, doll?” If you thought he looked smug before, he definitely was now.

“As if.” You scoff, but you did always think that he was a bit of a pretty boy. He doesn’t believe you for a second and you know by the full smile he gives you. “Who’s this?” 

Bucky moves to sit next to you, taking the worn photo from your hand. In it, he’s dancing with his younger sister, her standing on top of his feet while he laughs at something he can’t quite remember. 

“That’s my sister.” He smiles fondly at the photo and you see something shift slightly. He’s expressed how hard it is to remember things sometimes from the torture he’s endured, but there’s a clear brightness to his eyes that makes you smile softly. “She liked to dance.”

“This is the first time you’ve gone through these, isn’t it?” You can tell just by the way he has a hard time tearing his eyes away from the memory. “Other than for your tags.”

“It’s not exactly easy.” He finally looks away toward you. 

“Sorry if I forced anything.” Quickly, you gather up the photos, ready to put them away, but his soft laughter stops you. 

“Sometimes I need that push. You help a lot with that.” 

“Oh. I…”

The trickle of liquid falling into the pot stops you, and Bucky saves you from embarrassment by moving to the kitchen to prepare you a mug. You finish packing away the photos, and toss the trash away, meeting him in the kitchen. 

“Mind if I stay a little longer? Maybe watch a movie?” Bucky looks over his shoulder at you, curious. “I know you noticed the beer.” You had stored it in the fridge in the meantime, not having been a part of your list. “It’s just… it surprisingly gets crowded at the compound sometimes.” 

Everyone was back from some sort of assignment, or there for work and you couldn’t seem to stand the noise of everyone moving around. Plus you were still feeling uneasy, despite your quick recovery from your minor relapse in mood. Being around Bucky just seemed to help, you found out. 

“Just don’t make me watch any more of those vampire movies. I’m begging you.” 

Despite his ‘begging’ you end up watching the second Twilight movie. He grumbles under his breath, but let’s you, your pouting too adorable to say no to. The two of you move back onto his couch, and he places a blanket over your lap even though you really didn’t need it. Still, it was nice to feel more comfortable. Even he had changed into sweatpants and a hoodie soon after their first drink. You insisted, feeling extremely underdressed but also because this was his home, dammit. He should feel comfortable. Which is why you adjust the blanket to drape it over his lap as well, scooting a little more into his space just so you can. It isn’t long before your eyelids begin to feel heavy, the warmth causing you to fall asleep.

You wake in a bed, the unfamiliar room startling you for a moment, but Bucky’s familiar scent gives you a clue. You follow the strong scent of coffee, recognizing the living room as Bucky’s. The more you wake up, the more you remember from the night before. A brief sleepy memory of him carrying you to bed flashes through your mind. In the kitchen, Bucky fiddles with the knobs on the stove, back turned to you but his posture changes slightly when he hears your quiet footsteps. 

“Morning.”

“Smells good.” You rub one of your eyes, still not quite awake.

You move to the small square kitchen table and take a seat, watching him move around the kitchen and wondering how often he truly used it. Just like the rest of his apartment, it’s bare. Very little evidence anyone lived there. Except for the food he had out currently. When he opens the fridge door, you can see how little food occupies it. He’s a pretty large guy, and you know how hungry you can get with the high metabolism the serum gives you, so you wonder how he even survives.

“I’m making eggs, bacon, and toast if you want any.” Bucky sets some coffee in front of you on the table. Everything feels a bit odd after staying the night even if that hadn’t been your intention. 

“Yeah. Thanks.” Grabbing the mug quickly, you inhale the strong scent before taking a large sip. 

“If you want,” he says, back at the stove again, placing the bacon in even lines on the pan. “You can get your morning smoke in while I cook breakfast.”

Nearly choking on your coffee, you look at him with comically wide eyes while he looks over his shoulder to smirk at you. “How did you… I've never told you I smoked. Well, smoke, rather.” 

Bucky picks something up off the counter before tossing it at you. You catch your pack of cigarettes just before they smack you in the chest, and stare at him dumbly, waiting for a better answer than that. It’s more than embarrassing that he knows about your shame cigarettes. Although, it’s more of a bad habit now than just an occasional thing to help relieve stress. 

“They fell out of your jacket pocket when I put you to bed last night.” The smugness in his voice annoys you slightly, but he continues. “Besides, I’ve always known with your poor excuse of covering it up with perfume.”

“Don’t tell Sam or Steve. I told them ages ago that I quit.” You're more embarrassed by getting caught than him being aware of the bad habit. 

“You can fool Sam,” he states simply. 

Cursing under your breath, it dawns on you that if Bucky could see through the lie -more like smell- then Steve could too. It wasn’t like they were dangerous for you. If anything, with the serum, they were just as bad as sugar. Not good, but a lot less damaging than if you were normal.

“He’s never said anything.”

“He’s too nice to.” Bucky turns back to you with a smile, nodding to the window that leads to the fire escape. “Go on.”

You quickly stand, taking your coffee with you as you easily climb out the window. The cold air of the morning hits you, so you close the window behind yourself, feeling rude letting in the cold air like that. As if on cue, Bucky’s phone begins to ring, Steve’s name, and photo Sam set up for him, flashing across the screen.

“Y/N  is missing.” Steve says the moment Bucky answers, panic evident in his voice. “She said she was going on a walk yesterday, and I just found her room empty. F.R.I.D.A.Y says she hasn’t been back since last night either. I know she was frustrated by what one of the new recruits said but—“

“Steve, slow down.” Bucky cuts off his best friends rambling. “She’s with me.”

There’s a long beat of silence as Steve processes his words. “She is?”

“She fell asleep while we were watching a movie. Didn’t have it in me to wake her up.”

“Can I talk to her?” Steve sounds calm knowing that you were safe, but there’s still a protectiveness to his tense tone. After your bad week, Bucky understood wanting to protect you. Why Sam and Steve cared so much. You needed help as much as he did. Needed endless comfort after all the shit they’ve gone through.

“She’s still asleep.” Looking over to the window, he can see you from where he stands, pulling the smoke into your lungs just as easily as breathing. He’s not sure why he lied, blaming it on the sudden protectiveness. He hasn’t had you to himself that long, but he knew if anything happened to you, he’d murder the person that hurt you. “I’ll have her call you once I’ve gotten some food and coffee in her.”

“Thank you.” Steve sounds relieved. There’s some commotion behind Steve, two voices more distinct than the rest. “I have to go, Buck. Sam's about to kill Tony over the last doughnut, I think. It’s civil war all over again. Thanks for letting me know about Y/N.”

“Give ‘em hell Cap.”

There’s a long moment after the phone call ends before he hears the window open and you stumble your way back inside. He’s placing the bread in the toaster and plating the eggs and bacon as you walk up to the coffee maker. Pointing at it as if to ask ‘may I?’ He gives you a nod. The jump of the toast always startled him, almost lifting a hand to punch the damn thing. It’s impossible to contain your smile when you notice, hiding it when you turn to the fridge for the creamer. It’s your favorite kind and it’s heavier than you expected. When you open it, you can see that it’s almost full. As if it had just been opened that morning. You shake the thought from your head, feeling self centered at the idea of Bucky doing something just for you. 

“Who were you on the phone with?” You make an attempt at small talk as he hands you a plate full of food. 

“Steve.” It’s said casually, not intending to scold you or make you feel guilty about your disappearance. Still, you look to the floor as if being lectured and let out another quiet curse. Bucky can’t help but love that you have no filter for that sort of thing. Even more so that you aren’t apologetic about it either. “Everything’s fine. He knows you’re okay and with me. You’ll have to call him after you eat, though.”

“Fair enough.” You sigh out, taking the seat across from him. He begins to eat, but you hesitate, fingers playing with the ends of your sleeves. “What all did you say?”

“You’re worried about what Steve thinks of you?” He sounds surprised. 

“No! No… just-“ shaking your head, you glance away briefly before looking him in the eyes. He can see a wall build back up, relating to the way you protect your emotions. How you strategically pick what you want him to see. “I don’t need him worrying. Once they both do, I’m on a short leash again. I know they mean well, that they’re protective of me, but it’s fucking suffocating sometimes. I don’t always wanna talk about that shit. The way the mission went or the… other stuff.”

He nods, knowing exactly how you were feeling, but he can’t figure out how to put the words together to let you know. Instead, he pushes your plate closer to you. 

“Eat. You need it.”

You can’t say you’re disappointed, having expected that exact reaction while simultaneously being relieved that he was so emotionally constipated. The silence between you becomes comfortable, an unintentional constant when left alone together. Neither can bring themselves to look at the other, eyes trained on one spot in the room. Small talk sounded like a nightmare, assuming he’d find you annoying to ask if he slept well. You had seen the blanket on the floor, so of course he hadn’t. All he can think about is the phone call with Steve. Frustrated by what one of the new recruits said… It repeats in his mind until he looks back at you, mid-bite when curiosity gets the best of him.

“So a recruit said something rude?”

“...what?” You’re caught off guard by the question, speaking past your food.

“I get not wanting to go to Steve or Sam, but there’s other people.” Watching you swallow thickly, he tries to study how you react to his words. 

“It’s just different with them.”

“Different how?” 

“Are you…” You shift in your seat, eyebrows scrunched together in concern. “Are you mad that I came to you?”

“No, of course not.” He can’t seem to find the right words, and it all comes out harsher than he’s wanting. “I’m just trying to understand. What did he even say?”

“Steve didn’t tell you?” You cock your head to the side, surprised, but he just shakes his head no. “It was nothing. Just something about my past. I dunno, I just trust that you’ll make me feel better.” 

“You trust me.” he repeats slowly.

Wholeheartedly, you think but he looks so crushed by the idea, feeling guilty of all the times that he had doubted it. 

“You’ve always got my back in the field.” You give him a sheepish smile. “I mean, you helped me didn’t you?”

“I wouldn’t say I was much help.”

“Who carried me to bed, then?” You can’t help but tease, the tension too thick for comfort. 

“Alright.” Bucky stands, taking his mostly empty plate back to the kitchen. 

“Wait, Bucky, come on!” Laughing, you watch him forcefully throw the food away, wash the dirty dish and then place it in the dishwasher. “That was very nice, thank you. I shouldn’t be the one that kicks you out of your bed, though. You should have just left me on the couch.” 

“Don’t sleep it in much anyway,” he grumbles. 

Leaning back against the counter, he crosses his arms, looking stern. Admiring how he looks so homely standing like that in his own hoodie, metal arm peeking out between the fabric. It reminds you of how warm and comfortable he had felt the previous night, whether you realized it or not. It wasn’t until you had started dozing off that you leaned against him, seeking out more warmth. Warmth you never expected to get from the former Winter Soldier. The moniker certainly did not live up to the human space heater currently fuming in front of you. Over a compliment of all things. Like he still wanted to be seen as something feared rather than the nice person you knew he was. 

“Still smells like you.” Everything in the room seems to freeze as you accidentally let the words stumble out of your mouth. A faint blush covers his cheeks as he ducks his head, some loose hair falling to perfectly frame his stupidly beautiful face. You, on the other hand, feel like your face is on fire, listening to the way he clears his throat. 

“We need to get going for our mission debrief but I need to shower.” He pushes off from the counter, continuing to avoid eye contact. “You don’t have to worry about the dishes when you’re finished.” With that, he quickly left you alone. 

Once done with your breakfast, you wash your plate and mug anyway, placing them in the dishwasher like he had. On your way back, you pick up your pack and lighter before going back out onto the fire escape. You figured you might as well get another in before having to go back to the compound, not sure when you would be able to next. There weren’t a lot of hiding spots to smoke, keeping them sparse. Sighing out your first drag, you scold yourself under your breath for saying that stupid thing about his bed. You hadn’t been wrong, though. It smelled strongly of cedar and leather, with a hint of something sweet. 

A lot of things have changed since you met. Not only did the two of you act differently, but you’re beginning to realize you feel differently toward him. Perhaps not romantically. That feels a bit ridiculous, like you’re fifteen all over again with a silly little crush. No, you just want to talk like you had last night. Listen to how happy and content he sounded talking about his life before the war. Before everything. That boyishness had returned, you remember with a soft smile. You cover it with your hand, afraid of getting caught smiling thinking about Bucky. You can’t really help it, not with the way he’d smiled at you. A rare sight, and you wanted to bring it back any way that you could. To know him as he is and not as he was. Like nothing had happened to either of you. 

Just as you’re finishing up, Bucky knocks on the window to grab your attention. Fumbling with your items, you rush back in, almost falling over if it weren’t for his arms steadying you. Again, you find your face feeling a bit warm, but he releases you quickly, leaving you confused as he gathers some of his things. Something shifted, and you aren’t sure when it happened, but he was acting weird. You ignore it as you climb onto the back of his bike, wrapping your arms around his wide frame and head back to the compound. 

“The lake should only be about 4 yards away.” You tilt your head as you read the map. It feels like they’ve been walking through the snowy woods for hours, the cold seeping into your bones. 

“Are you sure you’re reading that right?” Bucky calls out softly, keeping some distance behind you in case there’s any sort of trouble.

“I think I know how to read a map, Bucky!” You straighten it out in front of yourself, looking between where you currently were and the cabin. It might have been a slight fib, but you figured you would just learn as you went.

“This looks like the bank, here.” Bucky points to the ground right beside him that he’s walking on. 

“No, I think it’s over there.” You wave half heartedly while keeping your eyes on the confusing lines in front of you. Most of it made sense, but you just had a hard time mapping out the distance from the paper to real life. It’s your downfall as the ground you’re walking on cracks loudly beneath your boots. You both freeze at the sound, slowly turning toward each other. 

“Don’t move.” There’s no worry on his face, but his voice was always a dead giveaway. 

“I’m not.” 

There’s another crack and you let out a yelp as you fall through the ice. The freezing cold water shocks your entire body, making you suck in a huge mouthful of water instead of air. Coming back to the surface, sputtering and coughing up water, you hear Bucky call out for you. Looking across the lake, you notice him army crawling toward you carefully, but it’s really the last thing on your mind as your limbs begin to seize up in the cold. You know what you’re supposed to do, gone through the motions a million times but now that you’re actually going through it, your brain can’t seem to catch up. Leaning up on the edge, you kick your feet behind yourself slowly, attempting to get out of the water. Bucky is in front of you very suddenly, his weight cracking some of the ice as he helps drag you out. You both stumble back to the bank, Bucky holding you up more than you can yourself. 

“Sh-shit.” Slinging your sopping wet and heavy pack from your back, your teeth chatter uncontrollably and chills wrack your numbing body. “The map.”

“I memorized it.” He says it like it was nothing. 

“I-I’ve got to get undressed,” you stutter out. “H-how far is the cabin?” 

“It's a twenty minute walk.” He helps peel off your soaked clothes, shoving them in your pack that got ruined in the fall. To keep at least a shred of decency, you leave your undergarments on, and he takes off his jacket to cover you. “I could cut it down if I carry you.”

“I don’t think I c-could even walk.” You zip up the thick jacket, trying to retain some body heat, but with your legs exposed, it’s hard. You throw your pack back on, heavy with the weight of the water soaked in. “We’re on l-limited time n-now.”

Without warning, Bucky picks you up bridal style, and if you weren’t so exhausted from the shock, you’d squeal. The rushing wind doesn’t help your chills, but he was right about cutting the time down. 

The moment you get into the cabin, and he lets you go, you drop your pack by the front door and move to the fireplace quickly. There’s a starter placed by it and with fumbling hands, you try lighting it. They’re so numb and tremble too much that you can’t get anything going. Cursing under your breath, you almost toss the matches down in frustration. Bucky comes from behind you, placing a blanket he’d found over your shoulders. Without saying a word, he takes the matches from you and lights it in one fluid motion. It doesn’t take much longer for a small fire to start, feeding it with some extra wood to really get it going. 

“Stay here, I’ll get some dry clothes.” 

Bucky comes back quickly, hand falling between your shoulder blades to let you know he’s there. The blanket falls around your legs, leaving you trembling worse than before. Your hands still shake so bad, you can’t pull your bralette off, but he stops you, hands gently pulling the frozen material off for you. If you weren’t so foggy headed from the cold, you’d be embarrassed to be topless in front of him. Even more so when he’s helping you stand long enough to pull down your panties, hands holding firmly but gently to each calf as you step out one foot at a time. Since all your clothes became soaked, he helps you step into some of his sweatpants as you pull on one of his sweaters. Sitting back down with your knees pulled to your chest, he rolls the ends of the pant legs up so they aren’t too long. His flesh hand holds one ankle while slipping on the wool socks he luckily packed, giving a reassuring squeeze before moving on to the other one. 

“Oh my god,” you say, skin nearly burning at the contact. “You’re so warm.” Without even thinking, you climb onto him, making him sit so you can rest on his lap.

“Here.” Bucky takes the bottom of his shirt, only pulling it up halfway before you stop him. 

“What are you doing?”

“Skin to skin works faster.”

“I know, but—“ eyes flickering down, you're worried about making him uncomfortable, while also getting a small peak at his abs. 

“It’s okay.” Bucky tilts his head up just the smallest bit it takes to look you in the eye. “You’re trembling too much, doll.” 

He’s worried, you realize as you see it in his eyes. It’s almost so easy to miss, but you catch it. Nodding softly, you let him pull off his shirt, followed by helping you out of yours again. Pressing your chest to his, you wrap your arms around his neck desperately, his warmth keeping you from going into hypothermic shock. He keeps his vibranium arm back, holding both of their weight as he leans back just slightly. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, your nose so cold he almost jumps at the sudden feeling. 

“Thank you,” you murmur into his skin, feeling your body still as his warmth helps you feel less numb. The feeling in your hands was still gone, but you were starting to feel your toes. 

“We’re partners.” His flesh hand rubs your back and it fully dawns on you that you’re half naked. Pressed against him. It makes you laugh awkwardly, hiding your face further into his neck. “What?”

“I’m- I just realized you just saw me naked.”

“If it means anything, I wasn’t looking.” There’s a long pause as he realizes that might have sounded rude. “Respectfully.”

You bark out a laugh, almost leaning back to look him in the eye, but that would probably make the blanket fall and expose you once again. “I won’t be mad if you did. Wouldn’t be surprised either.”

“Y/N.” His voice has a warning tone to it, like you're going too far. You almost are. 

“Buck.” You tease.

“Feeling better, I’m assuming.” He doesn’t sound very amused.

Lifting your head, you look behind him, and your chin rests against his shoulder. “Still can’t feel my hands or legs but I’m getting warmer.”

To poorly prove your point, you glide your right hand over his shoulder blade, touching the thick scar tissue that meets with vibranium. You can feel his breath hitch at the contact, but you can’t really feel much else besides the warmth of his skin. 

“I know what I’m supposed to be feeling,” you murmur quietly. “But I can’t quite place it. There’s warmth and the cold but, I dunno, it’s almost like…”

“Phantom limbs?” He finishes for you. 

“I-“ you tense up in his grasp. “I didn’t mean it like that, Buck.” 

“I know.” He rubs small circles between your shoulder blades, and moves to nudge the side of your head with his nose. It’s been awhile since anyone touched him like this. Since he touched someone else like this, too. “It’s okay, I get what you mean.” 

You want a distraction from the slight pain of your limbs waking back up. It feels like you’re being pricked by a thousand needles all over your body. Yet, you can’t seem to find the right question to ask. Shifting your weight slightly against him, you try to not squirm too much in discomfort. 

“You okay?” He leans his head back, trying to catch a glimpse of your face. 

“My skin burns.” Your voice sounds strained as you try clenching and unclenching your fists. “It’s just uncomfortable, I’m- I’m okay.” 

“Where specifically?”

“My hands the most, but my arms and legs as well.”

“Here.” He has you pull away from him, covering both of your hands with his, and brings them up to his lips. Breathing out on them, he glances up at you through his lashes. The blanket that had been around the both of you hangs off your shoulders, almost falling off completely. The way his eyes fall for just the briefest moment makes your heartbeat spike, and cheeks burn for a completely different reason. 

“You know a lot about hypothermia recovery.”

“You’re more at risk of mild frostbite at this point.” He holds your hands still, the vibranium of his arm having warmed up a bit. “Your nerves are just waking up at this point. I don’t see any blisters or pale skin.” 

“Which training was it?” You feel like jumping up and running around to stop the irritation and maybe not accidentally grind up against him from being unable to sit perfectly still. “Surely by the time you became an avenger, you knew all this survival shit.”

“Not an avenger,” he says and quickly moves on before you can rebuttal. “It was the military. Lotta cold nights. It was really the trench foot everyone needed to look out for.” 

“Ugh I remember learning about that in high school.” Your nose scrunches up at the memory of the black and white photos. 

He only hums thoughtfully, eyes fixated on your hands. You worry that the topic of conversation upset him, but he gives you a reassuring smile. Wiggling your hands from his grasp, you flip his dog tags through your fingers, a nervous habit he’s letting you get away with lately. 

“You don’t talk about your family much.”

“Oh, well I… it’s complicated. They don’t, um, they don’t know I’m alive.”

“Oh.” Is all he can say.

“If I go all sweet on you, can I wear these for a day?” You change the subject quickly, smiling sweetly to distract him. 

“If you go sweet on me,” his right arm snakes around your lower back, causing you to shiver at the touch. “You can wear whatever you want.” 

You don’t miss the way his hooded eyes fall down to your bare chest with that crooked smile plastered on his face. Is Bucky flirting with you? Surely not, you think. You must be in hypothermic shock, having the opposite of a fever dream. A freezing, silly hallucination perhaps. Out of all the people he had a chance with, you imagined you’d be at the bottom of his list. Still, you see the faint blush dusting his cheeks, breaking through his smooth demeanor. His fingertips trace little shapes onto your skin as you’re still lost for words. Apparently you could dish it out, but not take it. 

“James,” you mutter, thumb rubbing over the indented metal. You like the sound of it as it rolls off your tongue and he seems to as well by the way his grip on you tightens. “Almost as sweet sounding as Bucky.” When you look back up at him to tease, he’s frowning deeply. pushing you off of his lap, he stands quickly and leaves you on the cold floor. 

“I’m sorry I—“

“Put your shirt back on.” He unintentionally snaps at you as he does the same. 

You stare at him in hurt, mouth hanging slightly open but when he’s reaching for the hidden gun from the waistband of his tactical pants, you understand his reaction. Quickly, you dress, expecting another fight, but a rhythmic knock has you both dropping your shoulders in relief. Bucky opens the door, the sharp air harshly reminding you of your fall through the ice. 

“Didn’t think the cabin had a shower.” Sam refers to your still wet hair. 

“It’s doesn’t.” You scowl as you wrap the blanket tighter around yourself. 

Steve notices the sweater you’re wearing as Bucky’s first, and then sees your soaked pack sitting in a puddle of water. 

“Go for a swim?” 

“Not willingly.” 

“We’ve got supplies.” Sam digs around until he’s holding up a can of soup. You reach out, making grabby hands at it, but Bucky snatches it up to warm it up for you on the stove. 

As you slowly slurp down the chicken soup, the three men set up the cabin for the night and talk through the next steps for the mission. You pipe up here and there, offering up some advice. They all force you to sit and take it easy, even though you feel fine enough to move around. You know you need to dry out your things but when you voice this, Steve immediately starts hanging them up for you. Sam somehow waves you off to the singular bedroom that occupies the rest of the cabin, and you realize maybe they were right, your body stiff and tired. 

“And where are the rest of you sleeping?” You huff as you crawl into the surprisingly comfortable large bed. 

“Steve’s on first watch. We’ll rotate out on the couch.”

“What about Buck?” 

“Doesn’t sleep much anyway.” His face turns slightly grim. “If I hear one peep out of you-“

“I swear to god. Do you all have to act like you’re my father?” 

“Take that back! We’re brothers at best.”

“Whatever Wilson.” Still, you smile at him. “Let a woman sleep would you?” 

You’re left alone, finding this room a lot colder without the help of a fireplace. A deep shudder passes over you as you try to maintain as much heat as you can from yourself. It isn’t much longer until you sense someone beside the bed. You reach underneath your pillow, producing a knife toward Bucky who is unphased. 

“Just me, sweetheart.” He takes the knife from your hand and places it on the bedside table. “Move over. I’m on heater duty.”

You comply, letting him crawl underneath the blankets and pull you tight against his chest. “Tell me I don’t have to cuddle with Steve or Sam.”

“That bad?” His lips brush against your ear, making you shiver, and he mistakes it for you being cold. 

“Wouldn’t know. They really are like brothers to me.”

Bucky chuckles, and lets silence settle between the both of you. All you can focus on is his large hand resting on your stomach, the thick layers of clothes preventing any heat from penetrating through fabric. You place your hand over his, holding on as you take in his heat. 

“So what did that recruit say?” His voice startles you. 

“Thought you forgot.”

“I don’t forget things easily.” 

Turning over, you face him and see the faint outline of his features from the light spilling in from the main room. He’s closer than you expected, nose almost brushing yours, so you move back slightly. He’s still got an arm wrapped around you, but you allow it. 

“He said I was a murderer with no guilt and I might have said ‘Well, it’s a good thing I won’t feel guilty if you end up tripping into my knife later, then.’” 

Steve hadn’t found it as funny as Bucky does currently with the way he breathes out a laugh and grins widely.

“That’s my girl.” 

“Honestly, I wasn’t upset.” You fiddle with a button on his shirt, pretending his praise hadn’t made you flustered. 

“Good. Otherwise I would’ve had to kick his ass.” 

“Alright, tough guy.” You roll your eyes and turn your back to him again, lacing your fingers together when his hand goes to rest against your stomach. “So you don’t forget things easily and had that map memorized, hm?”

“If I’d know you were going to fall in—“

“Hey,” you give his hand a squeeze. “It’s okay. Just glad it was me and not you. I might be strong but I don’t know if I could’ve gotten you out like you did me. Almost forgot all my training there.”

“Don’t worry about that. Just keep some sleep. You need it after the day you’ve had.” 

“Buck?” You feel him lazily hum in response more than you hear it. “Just promise you won’t leave.”

Bucky puts down his book, knowing he wasn’t going to finish it any time soon. Not when you’re around. “Why do you need to know?”

“Sam was supposed to do driving lessons with me today but he got called out, as you know. You’re the only other person I can find around here. It’s only around the compound. Can’t go on the streets yet.”

“You never learned to drive?” He sounds almost annoyed by this, but you're used to that tone being used for everything.

“Well, considering I was someone’s science experiment when I was sixteen, I happened to miss my drivers test.” That came out harsher than you intended, wincing at how his eyebrows shoot up in disbelief. “It was never an issue until recently!”

He’s certain someone has tried discouraging you from asking him, but you’re here in front of him. Nearly begging. If you started with Sam, he figured you hadn’t gotten to do much driving in the first place. You’re nearly bouncing on your toes out of eagerness, waiting for him to say yes.

“You have me for an hour.”

“Really?” You nearly squeal in excitement, but stop yourself at how he looks like he regrets agreeing already. “I swear. I’ll be cool about this.”

“Just so I know where I’m starting,” Bucky asks once you’re both buckled up. “How many times have you driven with Sam?”

“Oh. Never.” Immediately, you put the car into drive and look over at him with a sweet smile but he sees the evil glint in your eye. “How hard can it be?”

You hit the gas too hard, causing you both to jerk back further into your seats. Bucky blindly grabs for the handle on the ceiling of the car, and you’re hardly letting off the gas, swerving the wheel slightly at the unexpected speed.

“Stop the car!” He shouts, jerking forward when you slam on the breaks. As you open your mouth to ask something, he roughly pushes the gear into park and glares at you. “Did you get lead injected into your feet or do you think that’s how driving works?”

“Bucky!” you balk, not expecting that sort of insult. “It wasn’t that bad.”

Sighing deeply, he realizes yelling at you isn’t going to get them anywhere. If anything, it’s probably going to make you want to learn even less.

“Just take it slower this time. You ease your foot on the pedal. This isn’t the fast and the furious, no need to floor it.”

“It’s just Fast and Furious, Buck.” Instead of being insulted, you just laugh. You’re beginning to realize that maybe you took it a little too fast. Too eager to finally be behind the wheel instead of behind a book. “Have you been watching without me?”

“No,” he hesitates to remove his hand from the handle as you start slow and everything is jerky for the first little bit. “But ever since you brought up watching them around Sam, it’s all he talks about.”

You start getting the hang of starting and stopping smoothly. Bucky even gives you a smile when you do good. You keep driving down the road, him occasionally making up intersections and having you demonstrate what to do.

“You nervous?” You ask out of nowhere as you pull into the garage, ending the lesson at exactly one hour. Even if you went over, you were certain he wouldn’t say anything. “About being reinstated in the field, I mean.”

“Worried about me?” He gives you that teasing crooked smile that makes you roll your eyes. “No, sweets. I’m not nervous.”

Putting the car in park, neither of you make a move to exit. It sits idle while you both sit in silence, the engine barely making any noise to disrupt it. You chew the inside of your cheek because, yes, you are worried for him but you’re too afraid to let him know that. Afraid that he might read it as you thinking he’s weak. You love being friends with him, but you don’t exactly love having to open yourself up to someone all over again. It felt embarrassing to care.

“Not worried, per se.” you speak softly. “I just want you to be ready.”

“What, you want to come to the gym with me after this and critique my training? See if I’m up to par?” Leaning his head back against the headrest, he looks at you from the side of his eyes, amused.

“Yes.”

He lets out a soft laugh, shaking his head, but then he realizes you’re serious. His brows scrunch together in confusion, wondering how on earth he’s found someone who cares so much. Although he wouldn’t exactly use the word found, since you were the one to search him out and almost force a friendship on him. He just happened to not fight it, and he’s glad he didn’t.

“We’re, like, friends now, right?” You nearly choke on the word, as if saying it hurts, but he nods. It’s a sad relief when he agrees, not exactly expecting a rejection, but he was also hard to read sometimes. “Friends look out for each other. I think. It’s… been awhile.”

“Yeah.”

“Can we do this again?” You sound nervous, fiddling with the keys in your hand, like you’re expecting a rejection from him at this point. Anytime you ask him to join in on movie night, or if you can sit with him during a meal, he always says yes with that little shy smile. Rejection was always something you handled well, but when it comes to Bucky, it’s almost painful to think about. “You’re a pretty decent teacher, sargeant.”

Bucky breathes out a laugh, “you should’ve come to me in the first place, agent. Only thing Sam can teach you is how to fly.”

“Well, if that’s the case, we should be on a motorcycle right now.”

Bucky gives a fake grimace, the idea of you speeding on a bike terrifying. “Baby steps. For my sake, doll. Thinkin’ of you on a bike might stop my heart right in its tracks.”

“Because of my amazing driving skills, I hope.” You tease before getting out of the car, a semi-flustered Bucky following closely behind.

As the two of you re-enter the building, he tells you he’ll need to change, and you offer to train with him, needing to get your exercise in for the day. Passing by the kitchen, you see Sam is back early, snacking with Steve as they’re both still in their uniforms. You continue on, saying hello to them before waving at Bucky so you can go get changed.

“You two besties now?” Sam teases as Bucky rummages around in the fridge.

“Just filling in for you.” He straightens back out, leaning against the counter. “Drove around for a bit.”

“Wait, you let her drive?” Sam's eyes nearly pop out of his head when Bucky casually mentions this. He’s careful enough to keep his voice down so you don't hear him from down the hall. “I let her in the car for five seconds before moving to the books because she nearly stalled out on an automatic, Buck. An automatic!”

“I think she did well,” he shrugs. “It was a little bumpy at first, but once she got the hang of it, she was fine. You need someone fast, she’s your girl.”

“She’s got a lead foot.”

“Sam,” Steve warns. “Come on.”

“No, she definitely does.” Bucky laughs. Sam isn’t sure he’s ever seen him laugh before. “But we’re working on it.”

“We? Am I suddenly fired as her teacher?”

“You made her study for over a month and gave her a written test. Twice.” Plus he couldn’t say no when you begged him to drive with you again. Not when you looked at him the way you had. Fuck, he thinks while Sam starts rambling off about whatever, honestly he couldn’t care to listen because he’s gone soft. Over you. You, who laughs at every single lame dad joke, and actually wears the brightest colors on the most dreary days. Somehow you’ve crawled under his abrasive skin, and nestled perfectly around his heart without suspicion.

“Buck,” your voice interrupts his thoughts and Sam’s ranting. “I’ll meet you in the gym?”

All you get in response is a nod, so you leave him once again. He finds Steve and Sam glancing at each other, having an entire conversation without words, but Bucky is fully aware of what they’re saying. That they’re also aware he’s gone soft.

“Don’t.” He warns sharply.

“Don’t what?” Sam plays dumb.

“Never mind,” Bucky grumbles, leaving the two captains practically giggling in the kitchen.

You sit on the couch in the common room, watching everyone do their own prepping for the upcoming mission. Not everyone was going, just Steve, Sam, and Bucky were but they were pretty much the only people you talked to. You had tried convincing Steve to let you go, but no matter how much you begged, he stood his ground, insisting it was an in and out infiltration. It was going to be a long two days, and taking down hiding Hydra agents was a pretty decent pastime. While reading your book, you see a blur of black from the corner of your eye. Looking up, you just barely catch Bucky slipping into the kitchen. A few moments later, he comes back out, a to-go cup of coffee in hand. He runs a hand through his hair, struggling to get it out of his face. It’s been getting long and you both know it. He had been struggling while the two of you trained the other day.

“Come here.” You gesture for him to sit on the floor in front of you. He gives you a confused look but compiles. You have him turn his back to you and immediately start sectioning his hair off. “This will keep it out of your face during fights. I know you’ve been struggling.”

“Sam’s gonna give me shit for it,” he says matter of factly.

“Send him my way. I’m not scared of him.”

Bucky chuckles and lets you work in silence. Once finished he runs a hand over your work, careful to not mess it up and stands. You follow him, the blanket on your lap falling to the floor.

“Hey, be safe out there.” You softly punch his bicep, feeling awkward suddenly. “I’ve actually started getting used to having you around.”

Bucky looks like he’s about to say something equally as mushy, a light blush on his cheeks, but Sam walks in. Seeing his hair tied up with a forest green scrunchie, a shit eating grin breaks out on his face, which makes Bucky groan. They both wait for a joke, but Sam just quickly grabs a picture and runs before the soldier can react. He goes to wrestle the phone from Sam’s grasp, leaving you alone. Laughing to yourself, you grab your book and blanket, moving to be alone in your room for a while. You’ve said all the goodbye’s you wanted to, Bucky having been the last, and with your lucky scrunchie, you feel better about him leaving.

It’s agonizing as you try distracting yourself the next two days. You know Bucky is in good hands with Steve and Sam for his first field mission, but you can’t help but worry. It wasn’t the trigger words that worried you. It was seeing him hurt. Anytime anyone on the team got hurt, your stomach churned in sympathy. You keep telling yourself this as you end up going on a run since you couldn’t sit still. It felt stupid to worry so much. You never reacted this way when Steve would go on solo missions, or when any of them are gone for days at a time. Sure, you may have chewed your nails to the quick in an attempt at avoiding the cigarettes hidden in your drawers, but you never got so uneasy to want to go run.

You give up pretty quickly, going back to your room and sitting by an open window to look out for a quinjet, cigarette placed between two fingers. It’s not the best spot, but you wanted to be close enough to be there to greet them by the time they landed.

A quick knock startles you and you don’t have the time to get rid of the evidence before Natasha is opening the door.

“I just got word from Sam that they’re almost back. Someone’s hurt, but—“

You move quickly, not hearing the rest of her sentence as you toss what was left of your cigarette out the window and follow her out. Heart racing, you both rush through the building and all you can think of is the worst case scenario.

“Thought you gave those up.” Natasha has a sly smile, but you know she’s trying to distract you as the elevator seems to take forever to arrive.

“I don’t- just when I’m stressed.” You never lie to her. Not that you were afraid to. She always cared for you and you saw how big her heart was to those she cared for. You were taken under her wing pretty quick, and she let you hide away when all the men’s testosterone became too much. It was nice to have another girl around sometimes. “Which one got hurt?”

“Didn’t say. My money is on Rogers.”

The elevator doors open, and you stay silent, trying to not vibrate visibly with anxiety. You’re certain she can already tell, but you avoid any further small talk. Just as the doors open on the jet, you’re bursting through the door. While it lowers, you try looking through to see who is being held up by Sam and another agent. Halfway down, you see it’s Steve. A small relieved sigh escapes but you feel guilty for feeling that. It was a pretty normal occurrence by now for him to come back pretty banged up, unfortunately.

“You okay?” You walk up to meet him at the bottom of the ramp while Natasha moves past inside. “I came as soon as I heard someone was hurt.”

“Yeah, just need to rest up,” he groans. You look to Sam, knowing he was the more logical of the two. He just shrugs and looks away, but you know he’s saying ‘don’t look at me.’ “I’ll be fine by tomorrow.”

“Right,” you cross your arms. “No need to brag. Go get fixed up, Mr. America. Sam, make sure he actually gets to the med bay, please?”

Sam helps drag him through the doors, and Nat returns with a few men in handcuffs, pushing them along. Now it’s just you and Bucky. It’s painfully quiet for a moment, the both of you just looking at each other. You had sent him off with good wishes, and you’re glad he’s back but you’ve suddenly forgotten how to act around him.

“Come here,” you nod to the side, pulling up a stool and searching below through a cabinet. “Your nose got a bit busted. Let me clean it for you.”

Standing back up, you find him sitting, his face just about level with your own. You get out some cotton swabs and wound wash, setting everything up neatly and carefully. Turning back, you lift his head up by his chin and get to work. Bucky finds your hands are just as delicate as the rest of you when you’re doing anything but fighting. Looking up at you, he watches you concentrate, melting into your touch by accident.

“There,” you wipe some excess cream off with a pinky finger and step back to observe your work. “Try and keep em from your face, Barnes. It’s your money maker.” Tapping the dimple on his chin playfully you turn to clean up your mess.

Without thinking, Bucky grabs your free hand, making you turn back to him. He’s looking up at you, eyes soft and vulnerable. It’s the first time he’s touched you like this. You hadn’t even shook hands when you first met. Of course, sparring with you a few days ago was different.This was tender, like he was even afraid of holding your hand. It’s warm and covers yours completely. Finally, he speaks, swallowing thickly first.

“I’m glad you were here when we came back.” So bad does he want to say how much he missed you, but it gets caught in his throat. “Wasn’t the same without you.”

A small smile appears, turning up the corners of your lips, and you look down to his hand enveloping yours.

“Yeah, it’s not the same here without you either.” Then your expression gets very serious, eyebrows scrunched together in worry. “I was scared, you know, when I heard someone was hurt. I was just hoping it wasn’t…” you, you can’t quite form the word. So instead you go with, “worse than it actually was.”

“Steve’ll be fine. How’re you?” As if holding onto your hand like a lifeline wasn’t enough, he places both hands over your rib cage, palms flat and warm. Even the vibranium warmed your skin.

“Well, I didn’t get stabbed, so… good I think.”

A ghost of a smile crosses his face before it falls, pain moving to his eyes. That’s where he held everything, in his eyes. An array of emotions, all in those two small places.

You hope Bucky can’t feel how fast your heart is still racing right now. Honestly, you wouldn’t be surprised if he could hear it. The two men had more enhanced senses than you had. All you seemed to get was the extra strength, the rest going to your mind to be able to be a useful weapon in other ways than brute force. It’s almost unfair how he can figure out how you’re feeling right now, while you just have to try and search past his downturned lips.

“Hey, what’s the matter? Something else happen?” You tuck some loose hair behind his ear as he looks up at you, hand falling naturally to rest against his jaw.

“One of ‘em got away,” he mumbles.

“You’ll find him.” Your reassurance brings the smile back, tugging at one corner before the rest follows. “Just focus on the win. You brought in four other men.”

“There’s still dozens more.” His eyes darken, but you can’t blame the pessimism coming through. “The fact that Operation Paperclip was something that was even approved…”

“You’ve got every right to be angry, Buck.”

“How do you do it?” He sounds frustrated.

“Do what?”

“Seem so happy with it all?”

“Oh, I-“ you pause, the answer not coming to you right away. “It’s really just an act. I guess I just feel better around you.” It’s out before you can even stop it, but it feels natural to tell him you’re comfortable enough to be happy. “Knowing you’ve been through the same. I don’t have to talk it through like with Sam or Steve. You just get it. So I get it. I’ve felt your anger already. Still do sometimes.”

Bucky hums, processing everything you’ve said. That your hand is still on his jaw, thumb tracing the dimple on his chin. It’s comfortable, and he’s been yearning for a reassuring touch like this. He can’t remember the last time he’s had that, everything is still too fuzzy to recall properly. His thumb copies yours and you tense up, trying to not laugh at how it tickles, but he misreads the situation. Afraid he’s made you uncomfortable, he drops his arms.

“I have to go debrief,” he sighs.

“We can hang out after. If you want.” You aren’t sure why he won’t quite look you in the eye so you panic.

“Save any of that cigarette?”

“Fuck you.” It gets a laugh from him, though. “I tossed it in a panic, but I’ve got plenty.”

“Oh.” Bucky stops just before leaving, turning back to you. He pulls down his hair, combing out the braid with his fingers, some small curls having formed. “This is yours.”

Bucky comes to your room not long after he leaves you alone in the hangar bay, freshly showered and in comfortable clothes. You leave your window open and play some old music, insisting he would love Queen, and let him spread out on your bed. For a while, he nods his head along to the music while you attempt reorganizing your bookshelf. Eventually he nods off, the excess adrenaline wearing off completely. You take a small blanket, placing it over his large frame and make sure to turn the volume down just enough that he won’t notice. You aren’t sure how much time has passed, enough that the sun was starting to touch the tops of the trees outside, and Bucky grumbled in his sleep.

Looking over, you find his eyebrows drawn together, and despite the cool air circulating throughout the room, there’s a thin layer of sweat collecting on his forehead. You know it isn’t a good dream by the looks of it, but before you can gently wake him, he startled. His eyes dart around your room quickly, causing him to jump out of the bed, breathing shallow until his eyes land on you. Moving forward just quick enough to not cause more panic, you sit him down.

“Hey.” You take his face between your hands, and if this were any other moment, you would laugh at how his cheeks squish up a bit. “It’s alright. Just a nightmare.”

“No, it’s-“ he shakes his head, and tries pulling your arms away. “I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“You won’t. Just breathe.” You breathe in deeply through your nose, nodding at him to do the same. It’s shaky, but eventually you get them to even out. “We don’t have to talk about it, but you feel better?”

“I didn’t recognize where I was at first and panicked.”

“Sorry,” you grimace. “You just looked so tired. I shouldn’t have…” trailing off, your hands drop to his, weaving your fingers together with no pattern in mind. “Didn’t realize you still had nightmares.”

“Always do.”

“I usually run, but after the day you’ve had…” you chew your lip as you try to think. “Let's go for a drive. I’m sure there’s a motorcycle down there we could borrow. No hot wiring is necessary either since the keys are left unattended.”

“I’ve still got a week left on house arrest, doll.”

Holding up a finger, you move across your room and rummage through your signature jacket, pulling out your mini lock picking kit. As you sit back down, you gesture for his arm, pushing up the hoodie sleeve and carefully get to work on looking for the small tracking device. It takes a long moment, the record playing having stopped long ago, and you find it with success.

“Easy peasy.” You toss the device on one of your pillows before standing to close your window and turn the speaker off. For a second, you think Bucky is going to decline, even after all of that work, but then he’s following you out the door and pretends to not care at your over exaggerated sneaking around. After pausing and clearing every corner, you make it to the large garage, debating almost too long which keys to take. Once you do, Bucky steps close to you with a helmet in his hands.

“Way better than a cab.” Your head is tilted up as he clasps the strap, grinning up at him. It’s been a while since you’ve been on a motorcycle and you're looking forward to it. Especially knowing how skilled he was at riding it.

“Don’t get too excited.” Still, he can’t hide the hint of a smile at your giddiness.

Bucky climbs on first, his own helmet fastened to his head, and instructs you where to place your feet so you don’t burn your legs on anything. It’s when he explains that you have to wrap your arms around him, you hesitate, suddenly rethinking this whole idea.

“You’ll fly off,” he deadpans.

“I- I know it’s just…” You haven’t gotten this far. You were under the impression Bucky hated being touched in general, and you tried to be careful, but after all the little touches you’ve exchanged today it made you nervous.

“I don’t bite.” There’s a smirk as he looks over his shoulder, making you want to punch him in more than a friendly light way.

You scoot forward on the seat, loosely wrapping your arms around his torso. Just enough to hold on, but he takes your arms and wraps them around tighter. It pulls you forward, your front pressing against his back. He looks you over, checking that everything is okay before turning the engine. It makes your stomach do somersaults just by the noise and excitement of it all. He starts off slow, letting you get used to the feeling but once they pull off onto a small road to the city, he speeds up. If he makes a couple exciting but risky maneuvers on purpose, he doesn’t say anything about it.

You’re stopped at a light, and his ungloved hand finds the underside of your thigh.

“Let’s stop somewhere for food!” He speaks over the engine and you nod along in agreement. “Holding up back there?”

“Barely!” You can feel his laughter vibrate through him. You feel him turning his body, making his hand move up the underside of your thigh unintentionally.

“Y/N, look at me.” His voice is soft enough to make you comply slowly. The softness in his eyes catches you off guard. “I’ve got you.”

“I know, I—“ the reflection of the green light on your face makes him turn back, removing his hand from your leg and driving forward.

It’s actually a little beautiful out tonight. For New York at least. There’s groups of people leaving bars, couples walking down the sidewalks and friends lounging on apartment stoops. The lights of the city fly by, the speed making it all mesh together into one large mixture of colors. In the late hours, the city was still alive. The streets are a little less so, but that just made your trip faster. It isn’t too long before he’s stopping in front of a diner. It takes you a moment to process what’s going on before letting him go. Your legs are a little wobbly from the adrenaline and long ride. Bucky's hands find your forearms, keeping you steady.

“Good?” He asks with a crooked smile, looking more himself than he had nearly an hour prior.

“I’m starving.” The smell of burgers wafting from the diner made your stomach growl intensely, and you know he probably heard it over the noise of the city.

You had been feeling good about venturing out into the real world. A city full of crowds, you began to realize. You had been taken in the middle of a crowd. This he knows, so it was pretty uncommon for you to willingly go into the city. While being forced to work under Kirsh, crowds were a blessing in disguise. Sometimes it was your only tool as an assassin, but ever since you became free, you always worried about being taken again. Your stomach lurches for a different reason now, but before you can dwell on it too long, he’s leading you inside, taking two empty seats at a bar area. A waitress hands out two menus, but he gives his order without even looking, and then the two of them are staring at you.

“Uh, I’ll have the same.” You panic and hand the menu back, not even sure what you got, and watch the woman walk away. “Okay, what the fuck?”

Bucky chuckles, “Steve took me here a couple weeks ago after therapy.”

“Your friendship with him is so cute.” It makes him roll his eyes, but the smile is still there. “I’m serious! ‘Best friends since childhood, Bucky Barnes and Steven Rogers were inseparable on both schoolyard and battlefield.’ I mean, when I read that…” you let out a small whistle.

“You went?” He knows which exhibit you’re quoting, almost cringing at the memory of Steve telling him about it.

“Oh, of course. Sam took me just for teasing material. He goes completely red when I bring up he has a whole section of a museum dedicated to him. And I guess you sort of do too.”

“Well,” he gives you a bashful look. “You said so yourself, we’re friends.”

“Yeah,” you give a soft smile. “I did.”

The waitress comes back with your drinks, not surprised that Bucky asked for coke. It isn’t much longer until your food arrives, a heavily dressed and hefty burger with an ungodly amount of fries on the side. While you eat, you have him pull out his phone to give him a quick but brief lesson on social media, letting him choose the one he promised he would make an account for. You help him set it up, laughing at his cluelessness.

“Yes, so then you can search someone from here,” You click on the little bar and type in your own name. “And you can follow whoever you’d like.”

“I’m not sure I’ll be very good at this,” Bucky mutters.

“It’s easy once you get the hang of it.” You click away from the app quickly, moving to his text messages. They had very few conversations via text, but the curiosity was getting the best of you now.

“What are you—“

“I just want to see what my name is on your phone!” You bat his hands away, finding the messages easily. “Well that’s disappointing. It’s just my full name?”

“What else would it be?” He snatches his phone from your hands, suddenly not trusting you with it anymore.

“I don’t know! I’ve got Steve set as Cap with a little flag emoji. Sam is just ‘bird boy.’ So on and so forth.”

“So, what am I then?” He’s a little afraid that you used his old moniker, despite how much you complained when news outlets did.

“Well, now I just don’t wanna piss you off.”

“Y/N, how bad can it be?”

“I…” you breathe out a laugh, moving so that you’re fully facing him. As you try gathering your words, your phone rings, a picture of a sleeping bucky with shades on and arms crossed over his chest covering the screen. It always made you laugh, thinking about the time they were stuck in a van for several hours on his first few non-hostile missions.

“Rasputin?” He gawked at the screen, not sure whether to laugh or scream. He wasn’t too sure how to feel about the picture either, but it wasn’t his main concern.

“Listen!” You let out a nervous little laugh. “First it was just buckaroo but I thought it was a little boring, so I went with Plum because Sam told me how you never actually got your plums in Romania and got pretty upset about it. But I wanted it more personalized and, I dunno, it fits! Especially after getting to see you fight in person, I mean…”

“Jesus,” he chuckles, running a hand over his face. “Can’t it just be Bucky?”

“I like the cute little names.” You clutch your phone to your chest, bottom lip sticking out in a pout. “Plus having a full name feels old.”

“I am old, sweetheart.” Pulling out his wallet, he throws a few bills on the counter. “It’s getting late, isn’t it?” He sounds disappointed at the suggestion of having to go back.

“For senior citizens, yes.”

“Very funny.”

“I’ll change it if you want me to.” You say as you move toward the exit, him holding the door open for you to slip through. “And the picture too.”

“It's just very… russian.”

“Here.” You stop him before he places the helmet back over your head, pulling him in close and opening the camera on your phone. Directing him where to look, he gives a soft smile while you snap the photo quickly. He watches you expertly change his contact picture and name to Buck with a pink heart emoji. “See? Rasputin is dead.”

“Very brave of you, sweets.”

As you ride back to the compound, you lay your head between his shoulder blades, eyes closed as the wind whips around you. The two of you tiptoe back to your room, careful to not get caught. You aren’t sure how you took the tracking device out just by rolling his hoodie sleeve up, but he has to slip halfway out of it just so you can reach the right spot. He watches you carefully as you work and you find it hard to keep your eyes on just his arm. You’re successful, but you guiltily indulge in sneaking a peak at his abs and the trail of hair that continues past the waistband of his pants while he stands and properly gets his hoodie back on.

Leaning down, he gives her cheek a kiss and rushes to the door. “Thanks. You know, for…” He trails off, feeling awkward at the sincerity.

“Of course. Night, Buck.”

“G’night, doll.”

Just as you slip into bed, you feel your phone vibrate with a notification.

James started following you!

“Neither did I.” He swung a bag around, hooking it up to the chain with no effort. All the men in this building were giants, while you were perfectly average sized in your mind. It pointed a lot of jokes your way, and jealousy toward them. They always seemed to shut up when your strength either matched their own or exceeded it. “Nightmares again?”

“More like avoiding them.” Turning, you ignore his bright blue eyes. The same ones you saw when you were promised you were safe, and actually believed it. There wasn’t going to be any convincing him to let you stay and be even more sleep deprived. “You can’t say anything, Rogers. You’re awake too.”

“Yeah, I’m starting my day. What’s your excuse?”

“It’s only--” checking the time on your watch, it’s nearly five in the morning. Had you really been at it that long? Your legs were only just starting to burn. “Jesus, I think you wake up earlier than my grandpa.”

“Hilarious,” he deadpans. “Have you slept at all?”

He put his hands on his hips, and you know you’re in trouble. Those kind eyes burrow into your soul, past your perspired skin and tired muscles. Through your own tired eyes that felt heavier by the second. You knew you wouldn’t be able to get away with lying. You can feel how tired you must look. Steve’s been dealing with you for too long to know when you’re lying, a heavy sigh from him making your chest tighten with guilt when you only respond with silence. Sometimes you’re afraid the stress you put him under is going to actually make him look like the hundred something year old he is. You know you can be hard headed, but you couldn’t help it. For years you had fought back against the man who kidnapped you, so you weren't suddenly going to stop with Steve.

“I can’t make you sleep but I’m just asking you to get some today.”

“No, yeah, of course,” you mumble, only half promising.

“Y/N.” His voice is stern now, wanting a full promise.

You groan and roll your eyes. “Fine. I’ll get some sleep today. Promise.”

“Thank you.”

Quickly, you pack the rest of your things away in your duffle bag before bidding Steve a good morning. Sleep hadn’t really been on your agenda today but you supposed you could squeeze it in somewhere. Maybe between training and your college level lessons. Getting taken so young, you hadn’t been able to finish high school or start college. Your kidnapper, who you only call Kirsh, had given extensive lessons in multiple languages and forced you to learn many fighting styles to become his own personal assassin, but that was all you learned for years. So you eventually got your GED and took online classes. It was easy when you could butter up to Tony about wanting to expand your mind. He really didn't need any convincing since he knew you were extremely smart. What truly convinced him, though, was when you called geometry arbitrary when you first arrived, which nearly made his heart stop (again), so he threw as much money at you so you’d never say something like that again. Even if you still sort of hated math.

Before returning to your room for a shower and to check your loose schedule, you stopped by the kitchen for some food. Running as long as you did had worked up quite the appetite. You find you aren't alone when entering. At the dining table is Bucky, a book in one hand and a spoonful of oatmeal in the other. The sight of the mush makes you want to gag, so you quickly turn away to the fridge. There isn’t much in terms of breakfast items in there, so you swipe one of Natasha’s yogurts. You’ll pay her back after letting her know so she doesn’t wrongly interrogate someone. As you pass by him again, you try stealing a glance at what book he’s reading, and you realize it’s one of your cheesy romance novels.

“Where’d you find that?” Nearly six months of working around him and that’s the first thing you end up saying of your own volition? It sounded way too accusatory in your own ears.

But Bucky just hums thoughtfully, eyes stuck on the words, and spoon halfway to his mouth. “Coffee table.”

The two of you are friends but somehow entirely not at all. A better word would have to be co-workers. You have Steve in common, and your work. Your past as well and despite everything you had been through, Bucky can’t wrap his head around how you’re so bubbly all the time. He hasn’t voiced this concern, but Steve can always see it on his face, trying to reassure him that you’re just trying to appear okay. It only annoys him more that he comes off so grumpy, but it never seems to phase you. It nearly took you three months to realize Bucky actually didn’t hate you. There was a long adjustment period when you were brought in, making you empathize and your endless patience gave him a lot of leeway. He avoided most of the team as much as he could, so your interactions were fairly limited.

“I thought Sam was kidding about your lack of social skills.” You can’t help but tease. All you’ve seen from him are deep glares or bored neutrality. You’re actually unsure if he can make more than two expressions.

“Funny, Steve said something similar about you.” There’s a slight pull on one corner of his mouth, making your face burn in both embarrassment and annoyance.

“I guess we’re both rusty, then.” You mutter, crossing your arms over your chest defensively. In the short few years that you’ve been mostly on your own, you thought you’d gotten better. Apparently not. New people like this were still hard. “Maybe we could… help each other out.”

Placing the book open faced on the table, Bucky's eyebrow raises a fraction, and you take it as him being intrigued.

“I mean,” you straighten your posture, his words totally not getting the best of you. “I’ve gotten more practice in than you have. You’re more than welcome to come by my room any time and grab anything you’d like. I actually own a lot of books. Almost too many.” Having been given free will, you had gone a little crazy on the book buying. It was a comfort you remembered from before it all. “It’ll help catch you up on pop culture.”

“Sounds like I'm just getting help. What’ll you get in return?” He didn’t want to be someone’s project.

“I dunno.” You shrug noncommittally. “A friendship?” He doesn’t look too pleased by your wording. “How about acquaintances?”

“We’re hardly even classified as co-workers.”

“Look, just think about it, alright? I’ve got shit to do before this meeting and-“ you brave looking him right in the eye. “What’s so bad about a few books? Learning cool new slang, or references. You’d be a hell of a lot cooler than Steve. He’s catching on, but still the old man around here.”

Before he can give you a straight answer, you leave him to think in the kitchen alone. You felt for Bucky. Adjusting from nearly a decade of grooming and murder had left you feeling lost, so you can only imagine what several decades of re-programming felt like.

After your shower, you sit on your bed, a linguistics textbook in your lap. Picking school back up in your early to mid-twenties proved difficult, but after a lot of work, you passed a lot of the random classes you signed up for. You weren’t necessarily an official student at any college, more of a constant auditor. Tony told you a million times if you wanted to get a degree, it was never too late, but you’re a part of the team. It didn’t make sense getting a degree when you saved the general population as a full time job. Sometimes the world.

Several paragraphs later, your eyes begin to feel heavy and you’re regretting trying to study on your bed. The worry seems to disappear as you slowly let the needed sleep take over. Like you’re laying down for the first time in days. It’s warm and comforting, your limbs growing heavy until you’re completely gone.

It’s a sharp knock on your door followed by the soft voice of the AI that startles you awake. The textbook that had previously been resting on your lap gets flung onto the floor with a loud thud. It doesn’t help your racing heart as you stumble out of bed, no idea of the time or why you’ve been interrupted from sleep.

“Everything okay?” Sam asks, more curiously amused than concerned as you open the door.

“Yeah, I-“ rubbing sleep from your eyes, you glance behind yourself. “I accidentally fell asleep, I guess. What’s up?”

“You’re late for the briefing.”

“Fuck!” Your eyes widen, realizing you had completely slept through lunch. Now you can see the worry starting to bloom over Sam’s features. “Seriously?”

“If you need to sit out on this one—“

“No,” you say firmly, closing the door behind you. “No, I just needed some rest. I’m fine.”

Steve is in the middle of his spiel when you two walk in the conference room. He gives you a brief nod before returning his attention back to the rest of the team. The only seat left in the room for you is beside Bucky, who always chose to sit as far back as possible. In his lap is your book, facing open as he subtly reads it from being hidden underneath the conference table. You cover your smirk behind your hand and when you look back over to him, he’s looking right at you. Moving, you pretend to zip your mouth shut and throw away the key before trying to focus on what Steve was saying. You know Bucky hasn’t been out in the field since his return, so he got bored during these meetings but Steve sometimes gave him something to do.

“That should be all,” Steve concludes after a while. “Any technical or tactical questions can be directed to Bucky.”

When he doesn’t seem to react to his name, you kick the leg of his chair subtly, bringing his head back up. He blindly nods along to whatever Steve said and the meeting is adjourned. The room empties quickly but you hang behind to grab a few words with Steve. It’s stuff you already know, having been planning this mission for awhile, but you don’t want to disappoint him. As he leaves, you find Bucky still sitting, patiently waiting for you evidently as he doesn’t follow his best friend out. Slowly, he stands and walks around the table, never breaking eye contact. He slides the book toward you, glancing down at the same time as you before looking back up.

“I have conditions.”

“Of course.” You hadn’t expected any less, but his silent stare had left you feeling a little intimidated. “But I’m not here to torture you, Barnes.”

“You put me on that tiktok app, I’m breaking your phone.” Just as you open your mouth to ask how on earth he knows about that, he continues. “No social media. I want my privacy.”

“You at least should do the big three. Ya know, Facebook, insta, and Twitter. You don’t even have to use your real name. Make a fake account.”

“No.” He’s unamused.

“Okay, fine. Facebook’s for old people anyway. Two and I won’t even follow you on them.” Folding your arms across your chest, you don’t back down, but he stands his ground further by deepening his scowl. “God, one and you don’t have to follow me either.”

His eyes soften at your tone, the guilt of being a grump coming back. It’s hard to put his trust in someone he barely even knows. Someone who is being way too nice and patient with him.

“Fine.”

“Alright. Lemme see your phone.” You hold out a hand expectantly.

He blinks once.

“I don’t have one.”

“What?” You balk. “In all the buildings in the world, how do you not have a phone here? I at least assumed Tony made it a living requirement.”

“Haven’t needed one.” He shrugs a shoulder, indifferent to your shock.

“Alright, let’s go.” There’s an attempt at pushing him along to the door, but he doesn’t budge and you don’t feel like wasting too much physical energy. “Come on, encino man. We’re going to order you a phone. Consider this lesson number one: the magic of online shopping.”

It isn’t much of a lesson as you do all of the shopping, picking out the best phone for him, while he peruses for a different book. The large bookshelf is pressed against the farthest wall of the room, but you own so many books, you’ve had to resort to stacking them on the floor next to it. He focuses on what’s shelved, knowing there’s time to get through them before moving to what’s on the floor. When you place the order, he argues with you about you using your own money to buy his phone, but you put your foot down, refusing his offer of paying. Eventually he leaves your room, grumbling about how hard headed you are, but you were just happy to see him leave with a book. Before you can revel in your victory for too long, F.R.I.D.A.Y. reminds you to get ready for your upcoming mission, even though it isn’t for another day.

It fucking sucked to say the least. Everyone’s cover got blown pretty quickly, meaning someone got word of your arrival. You get your ass kicked good, but you keep the heat off of Steve long enough to get what they came for. Back at the compound after a debriefing, you promise to fill out a more detailed account of what happened when your head isn’t throbbing anymore. He lets you go with a pat on your back and a ‘you did good, kid.’ You rush outside, pulling out your secret stash of cigarettes at your secret spot, and take the large drag you desperately needed. Fuck, you think as you breathe out, what a shit show. Just as you get halfway through, you hear a door open nearby, causing you to curse under your breath, and try to stub it out quickly before tossing it far. Trying to get rid of some of the smoke, you wave your hand wildly in the air. Bucky turns the corner and you play it off as if you were waving to him.

“Steve said I’d find you out here.” He’s got a jacket on even though you’re positive he doesn't need it.

“Just…” clearing your throat, you try to come off as natural as you can. He probably wouldn’t care that you smoked, but he doesn’t know that you do it in secret and then accidentally rat you out to someone. “Decompressing with some fresh air. What’s up?”

“Well,” he reaches inside the pockets of his jeans and holds out a phone. “I’m here for your number.”

“I thought you used to be all Mr. Smooth.” You tease with a shit eating grin and if it wasn’t so dark, you’d actually believe there’s a blush dusting his cheeks. Taking the phone anyway, you start adding your information. “Surely you can do better?”

“Ah,” he laughs sheepishly, and runs a hand through his hair. When he looks up through his eyelashes, you see how he was such a ladies man. “Could I?”

“You know when you text you don’t have to be all formal?” You double check while handing his new phone back, instead of answering lamely with the same sheepish laugh. “You know something like ‘my dearest y/n’ and ‘with love, James Buchanan.’”

“Just for that, I’m changing your contact name.” He pockets the device, while trying to look annoyed but you can see the brightness in his eyes. You feel successful that you made the grump smile.

“Oh, you know how to?”

“Okay, I get it.” Both of your laughter dies down, and you’re left in heavy silence, Bucky clearing his throat as his lips dip into a frown. “You should take care of that.” He gestures to his own forehead, but you know the gash he’s talking about.

“Should take care of everything, really.” The longer you stand, the more aware you are of how sore your body is. As he nods, you start to head back to the building but turn back at the last second. “Hey, um, you’re doing good, you know?”

“Fuck,” you sigh, having lost your train of thought. Bucky has been on your mind a lot these past few weeks, ever since you really started talking, but it was starting to interrupt your work.

You have files spread across your sheets, sitting at the head of the mattress. Studying them closely, you try connecting them, scribbling something in a notebook every now and then. A knock interrupts you mid sentence, making you pause but then continue, not having expected anyone to stop by. You hope that whoever was there would give up and leave. Another knock makes you put down your pen, staring at the door and listening closely. You can see the shadow of the person's feet underneath the door, and they don’t move. With a heavy sigh, you stand and make your way over. Bucky stands on the other side, having taken a couple steps back as you open the door.

“You busy?” His eyes move past you to the papers spread out over the bed.

“Well, I…” turning by your torso, you briefly look back at your work before turning back to him. “It isn’t urgent. What’s up?”

“I need a…” he clears his throat and shuffles on his feet. “An escort.”

“What?” You cross your arms, a sly smile appearing as you lean against the doorframe. “Like the sexy kind?”

“No,” Bucky tries to play off the deep blush appearing on his cheeks with a scoff. “I need one to leave the compound.”

“Wait, hold on.” You push off the doorframe by your shoulder. “What?”

“You know I’m on house arrest.” He looks at you incredulously to your seemingly cluelessness.

“Of course I do! But I thought the whole thing was resolved. I mean- I mean, you went on a mission with us just yesterday.”

“Non-hostile missions and never alone. It was this or prison and Steve didn’t like that choice.”

“How come you have to do all that? I totally got off easy when they brought me here.”

“You weren’t on a federal radar. House arrest and court mandated therapy is getting off easy for what I did.” You open your mouth to argue that no it wasn’t him, but he continues before you can. “No one else is around to take me. You can refuse, but a cop will be showing up later to arrest me.”

“I’d never let a meathead do that. Give me just one minute to change.”

“Grab something to keep yourself busy. You’ll have to wait in the lobby.” He tells you before the door closes.

It isn’t fair, you think as you grab some jeans to replace your sleep shorts. The way the media always painted Bucky Barnes as the bad guy and not the brainwashed Hydra soldier, made your blood boil with anger. Even before meeting him, you knew the way people spoke about him was wrong. That wasn’t the Bucky Steve had told you about, and you believed it. At that point, Steve hadn’t been wrong about anything, you weren't going to start doubting him. Unfortunately, you also know that if rule breaking Steve hadn’t defied any orders by now, there wasn’t anything you could do about it. While you try to not angrily open your dresser drawer for a shirt, you spot the one of many guns you had hidden throughout the room. There was little to no chance of danger, but you were always uneasy in the city. Surely Bucky was packing in some way. Glancing back at the door, as if he could hear what you were thinking, you grab the gun and hide it between the layers of clothes before throwing on a jacket.

Meeting him back at the door, he takes the lead down the hall. The elevator ride is painfully quiet as you steal glances at him from the side of your eye. His whole posture is tense, moments away from snapping something. It’s probably your first time going somewhere with him alone. It isn't the first time being stuck in awkward silence, having been left alone in the common room together for short periods of time. That was starting to get tolerable, but now you were going to be stuck with it for an undetermined amount of time. Outside, you see a car waiting for them, a driver behind the wheel.

“You can’t even drive yourself there?”

“‘S not so bad.” Bucky holds the back passenger door open, surprising you with the chivalry, before he walks behind to the other side.

It’s quiet again, you watch the scenery go by from your window. Maybe it’s silly for you to be so angry when Bucky himself doesn’t appear to be, but he still didn’t have the freedom he deserved after all the he had been through.

“You don’t have an ankle monitor.” You speak suddenly when you’re on the outskirts of the city. Even with his jeans and boots being able to hide it, you would have noticed something that bulky.

“I don’t. There’s some sort of tracker in my arm.” He gestures to his left, and you’re reminded of it. It’s bad how easily you forget about it, but you never really got to see it much, and it just made him more… him.

“We could get it out. Have a free day.”

That makes him laugh, the sound echoing in your ears and you want to capture it forever. Better yet, you want to make him do it again. You can’t remember how long it took you to truly laugh for the first time since your rescue, but hearing it from him made you grin sheepishly.

“Get it out with what, exactly?” He watches you rifle through your jacket pocket before pulling out a combination lock picking and mini tool kit keychain, and he wonders what else you have in there. “Not sure they’d believe I’m at therapy all day, but thank you.”

“The offer is still on the table if you change your mind.” You shrug nonchalantly and put the little kit back in your pocket, completely serious about removing the stupid tracker.

Shaking his head, he tries to fight off the smile still on his face while looking down to his lap. You return to watching buildings go by and he steals a glance in your direction. When he had learned you were the only person available to accompany him, he had gotten nervous. It had been decades since he felt nervous, but you made all of that melt away pretty quickly. Even the normal feeling of dread on the ride to the office had dissipated. He observes you as if the answer to why he felt like that was written somewhere on the side of your face.

The car slows to a stop, and the dread instantly returns. It’s been a few months and he was still at a standstill with opening up about anything to Raynor. If he was going to be forced to do this, he wasn’t about to  make it easy. You move first, giving him an encouraging nod before climbing out. He takes the lead once again, holding the doors open for you to walk through and gesturing to a good spot to sit as he checks in. When you take a seat, you understand immediately why he chose this spot. It was perfect for watching the entrance and exit while being able to observe everyone sitting.

“Should just be a few minutes.” Bucky says as he takes a seat next to you.

“We’re nearly ten minutes early.” Your voice drops to a whisper, feeling like your normal speaking voice was too loud for the quiet office.

“If you’re not ten minutes early, then you’re late.”

You roll your eyes overdramatically, ready to respond with a sarcastic joke, but you see the way his grip tightens on the arm rest, anticipation crawling up his spine. You want to reach out and give his leg a reassuring squeeze, but neither of you were there yet. Any time anyone else touched him, besides Steve, he looked ready to crawl in a hole. While internally debating what to do, you almost miss the receptionist calling him back. You reach out, but stop short as he stands, and watch the muscles in his shoulder blades stiffen uncomfortably as he's walking away.

During the first few minutes of the session, you fidget in your seat nervously for him. You know Bucky well enough that he isn’t going to be very forthcoming about what he’s feeling. You can’t blame him. If you were forced into therapy you didn’t want, you wouldn’t be open either. There’s still a good fifty minutes left so you decide to open your book instead of worrying about something you can’t control. A little voice still nags at you from the back of your brain while you read, making you have to start over several times, but eventually it calms down enough to enjoy the story.

It only feels like a few minutes have passed when a door opens and you hear the distinct sound of Bucky’s footsteps coming down the hall. Looking up, you catch his therapist walking not too far behind. He’s got a look of murderous rage as she puts a hand on his bicep.

“I’ll see you next week, James.”

The unfamiliarity of the name catches you off guard long enough to not notice him stomping toward the exit without regarding your presence. Raynor catches your eye, mouth opening to speak, but you run out of the office after him. Worry pounds in your chest as you catch up with him just in time to watch him slam open the glass door leading outside.

“Bucky!”

Even with his anger, he holds open your door, angrily waiting for you to descend the small staircase. You step up to him, trying to find the right words but when his glare gets directed toward you, the words die in your throat and you scramble into the backseat. The door slams and you try to not flinch. The driver seems completely unbothered, as if this was a common occurrence. Bucky slams his door with the same amount of force but it feels like it shakes the car this time. The driver doesn’t waste any time before driving. You sit stiffly, hands folded together in your lap, and risk glancing over at his clenched fists. He seethes the whole way, heat almost radiating off of him, he's so angry. You worry he’ll break his jaw with how much he’s clenching and grinding his teeth.

“Does this happen often?” You ask softly, toying with the edge of your book. All you get in response is the squeak of his leather gloves as he clenches his fists tighter. “If you’re this upset after a session, I’m not sure she should be your therapist. Maybe we can figure out how to request a change.”

“It doesn’t matter.” He nearly spits, voice laced with venom.

“What’s that mean?” You almost take offense to his answer, forgetting that he isn’t thinking clearly.

“No one cares what I think.”

“Who told you that?” You turn your body toward him as much as you can in these seats. “Did she tell you that? ‘Cause she’s fucking wrong if she did.”

“What’re you gonna do about it, hm?” The anger was obvious on his face, but looking into his eyes you can see the hurt and fear. “March down there and give her a piece of your mind?”

“Someone ought to!”

“This isn’t your fight.”

“So you’re supposed to do it alone, then?”

Bucky huffs, turning his head away from the broken look on your face, to the stand still traffic around them. All he can think to do is run. It was what he was frustratingly good at. He had done it for at least two years. Fuck it, what was another two? It seemed a hell of a lot better than this deal he’s stuck in, forcing himself open to the most smug woman on the planet. And he couldn’t even do that. In one swift motion, Bucky opens the door and slips out.

“Hey!” You yell before the door closes. Scrambling across the seats, you exit the same side he did, watching him stomp toward the sidewalk. “Bucky! Where are you going?”

He ignores you, and you don’t know what to do. You panic because this isn’t a fight you’re used to.

“James!”

Guilt crawls up your spine as you watch him freeze. He had liked it better when you said his name with laughter, and not hurt, but that’s all that he was good for, right? Hurting people, whether or not he did it with his hands. There seemed to be no end to the cycle which pissed him off even more. He musters up enough courage to turn and look at you, finding you closer, but keeping the distance of one car between the both of you.

“You want to walk back? Fine. Take a taxi, instead? Stupid, but whatever! But I’m coming with you because I can’t watch you, in good faith, get in trouble for not having an escort. You asked me to come, so I came. God knows there were plenty of other agents around the compound you could have asked.” You jut out a hip and angrily place your hand on it, your scowl deepening when he rolls his eyes.

“‘M not walking back, y/n.”

“Sure seems like it.”

You can’t fix this!” All of his anger gets channeled into his words suddenly, sharp and loud. “You won’t be able to change how she or anyone else thinks.”

“You won’t tell me why! I mean, fuck Bucky, you won’t even open up to Steve!”

There’s a flash of something in his eyes you can’t quite decipher, and you wish you had more control over your words at the moment.

“Did he put you up to this?” He’d step into your space to intimidate an answer out of you if it weren’t for the car keeping you apart. You know he can read you easy enough that he wouldn’t even have to do that. You’re too hurt by the accusation.

“No!” Heat crawls up your neck to your cheeks. “Bucky, let’s just--“

“Just what?” He spits.

Just as quick as your anger came, it dissipated with the drop of your shoulders. “Let's get back in the car, alright? Talk about this there.”

As if on cue, a horn honks, your driver still sitting idle, even though traffic has barely moved. Bucky sighs and you feel relief when he moves past you, glaring at the driver who has barely let up on the horn, and resists the strong urge to flip him off. There’s a brief moment when he recognizes Bucky, and you catch it too, but he puts on a brave face before leaning his head out the window and yells at you both to get a move on.

“All right, keep it in your pants!” You yell to the old guy, not as afraid to start a conflict with a stranger. His face nearly turns red as you antagonize him, but climb in the car before it goes any further, Bucky right behind.

He sees a brief glimpse of your gun holster as your jacket rides up while you get in, anger flashing in his chest quickly, but he doesn’t want to start another argument. You were already angry enough at him. You don’t even speak or look at him when the car moves forward a whole foot. Just as he had, you seethe in anger, not even able to find the words. Turns out, there was an end to your patience; running away. He sits quietly, his own anger and guilt swirling around in his stomach, feeling like he was sitting in the principal's office waiting for a punishment. The buzz of your phone brings the both of you out of your heads, and the name on the screen doesn’t make you feel any better.

“Shit,” you hiss before hitting accept, and put the phone on speaker. “Hey, Pep.”

“Do I even want to ask why there’s a picture of you and sergeant Barnes arguing in the middle of the road along with the words ‘Winter Soldier’ and ‘lover’s quarrel?’” She sounds stressed which makes you wince, completely ignoring the part where someone assumed the two of you were together.

“Fuck, people move fast.” Your brows scrunch together and Bucky watches the way your eyes dart around the car in worry. “How much attention is there already?”

“Just enough to end up on my radar. I’m not sure we could shut this one down completely, but we can work with this angle. No big news station will cover this.”

“Do you think…” your breath hitches, heart racing at the thought. “Do you think they’d see it?”

“I assure you, they won’t.” Pepper’s voice softens, turning motherly and it calms your panic. “We can keep this contained.”

“Thank you, pepper.” You breathe out a huge sigh of relief, eyes fluttering closed briefly. “Bucky and I don’t have to…?”

“No, we can smother that fire later. People will probably forget by tomorrow. Let me do all the worrying, okay?”

“Right.” Looking up, you forget that Bucky was listening. “Can I ask one more favor? If Steve and Tony don’t catch wind of this, can we just keep this between us?”

“Of course. I’ve got a couple calls to make. We’ll talk soon, okay?”

“Thanks again.”

It’s painfully quiet once you end the call. You couldn’t even make yourself look at Bucky, too angry and hurt, too embarrassed most of all. Keeping your head turned to the window, watching the car slowly pick up speed, you just try to not let him see everything you feel written on your face. He keeps quiet, jaw clenched to keep from speaking, but he knows he fucked up. Anytime you’re together, you can’t let five minutes go by without saying something. You never expect any words back, just acknowledgment that he heard you. That he’s still present because you hate that pained look when he gets too into his head. You can imagine it now without even looking at him, and you’d bet it was there. But you refuse to look, watching the city turn more residential and then they’re on their way upstate.

The car barely comes to a complete stop before you’re out and slamming the door shut. Bucky squeezes his eyes shut, waiting for you to get a head start before exiting himself, and keeps back while following you. Steve is back, and goes to ask how it went but when you send a look that could kill, he clamps his mouth shut. You make a beeline for the gym, barely even taking the time to grab workout clothes. Everyone you pass by scrambles away, putting distance between you. Any other day you’d feel a little bad for intimidating the trainees, but you’re too pissed right now. It was a boxing kind of mood, a run definitely wouldn’t help with this.

Did he put you up to this?

It hurts. It does, and it won’t stop echoing in your mind with every punch you land. You hadn’t offered up helping him as a bribe for friendship. You truly wanted to get to know him. Despite his constant moping around and permanent glare, you felt a pull toward him. There was more to him than his anger and frustration, and you saw past that. It wasn’t the stories Steve told you either, even though they definitely helped. You just knew you’d be good friends if you tried from the first moment you saw him. Observing him, you knew he was the exact opposite of a soldier. He could be clumsy with his new prosthetic, a blush dusting his cheeks while he looked around to see if anyone saw. You always did, but you were also good at blending in with the environment, mostly being unseen. There was an innate curiosity to the new technology he came across, even the fucking coffee maker. Every book he found, he read the cover two times over before doing the same with the synopsis. Bucky Barnes was undeniably cute in every sense of the word.

So of course you were hurt when he accused your new growing friendship as fake.

“Shit.” You hiss when part of your wrapping slips, causing your wrist to seize in pain. Trying to shake it out, you realize the room had mostly emptied out. You’re a lot less angry now, but the guilt was starting to set in. Grabbing your things, you head back to your room, slipping the wraps off as you go. When undressing for a shower, you notice the bruises and some skin breaking along your knuckles and you wince. In your anger you hadn’t been careful enough, and then you went at it for way too long. The hot water washes away everything, the sweat but most importantly the weight on your shoulders. You hate that you yelled at bucky.

Once out, you try looking for your first aid kit underneath your sink but find it empty of the antiseptic wipes you were looking for. You dress quickly, not even bothering to dry your hair before opening your door to go to the med bay. Bucky stands on the other side, hand raised ready to knock.

“Oh.” Is all you can manage to say. You hadn’t expected to run into him, let alone so soon. “Hi.”

“Hi, doll.” He goes for a smile but it comes out as a grimace. “I was going to…” he holds up a notebook and a letter.

“Do you wanna come in?” Stepping to the side, you let him decide, happy to see him comply. It’s awkward as he sits stiffly on the edge of your bed while you take your desk chair. Neither of you can quite make eye contact, uncertain on how to move forward. “If you came to apologize—“

“Yes.” He picks out the paper and holds it out to you. “Not really good with speaking.”

“I already forgive you.” You finish, watching his eyebrows shoot up in surprise, but take the letter anyway. You can’t find it in yourself to read it in front of him. “What’s the notebook?”

“It- I don’t like talking about it, but it explains a lot. About what they did. How I feel.”

“Buck, no.” You shake your head quickly, feeling pressure in your chest just from the thought of reading his journal. “I can’t.”

“I’m giving you permission.”

“And that’s great but… I don’t wanna learn from your journal. That’s- it’s too soon, don’t you think? Once that bandage is ripped off, it’s done. You realize that? I don’t want you to regret opening up too much too quick.”

“I don’t know how to say it.” His voice trembles as he returns the journal to his lap, but he knows you’re right. The whole way to your room, his heart raced and left his hand clammy. It was still clammy, wiping it quickly on his jeans.

“You don’t have to right now.” It took you longer than you ever expected to finally open up.

Bucky purses his lips, staring intently at the floor, and fidgeting with his hands. You think that’s it, but he takes a deep breath before continuing.

“They want me back in the field.”

“That’s good news, right?” A smile appears on your face but you can see his hesitancy.

“Raynor doesn’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Is that what she said?” You keep your voice soft, not sure if you’re ready to hear the reasoning behind it.

“More or less.” He looks up, uncertainty in his eyes. It’s then your realize he still doesn’t trust himself, and it breaks your heart. “She asked if I thought I was ready.”

“And what did you say?”

“I don’t know.” It almost comes out as a whisper.

Standing, you move to sit next to him, but move slow, giving him the opportunity to stop you. The mattress barely dips under his weight when you sit, leaving enough space between you to not freak him out. The heaviness of his shoulders drops just by your closeness.

“Steve said the words don’t work anymore.”

“Not ‘sposed to,” he mutters, leaning forward to rest his forearms on his knees, hands clasped together.

“You’re afraid they do?”

The look he gives you from over his shoulder is enough of an answer. You reach out for his shoulder but stop short when he instinctually moves away. Just as you go to move away, he leans it, letting you softly touch him, and he feels something he hasn’t felt in decades, cared for. Gently, you pull him back to sit straight, hand falling to his forearm and look him deeply in his eyes.

“I wish I knew how to make that go away,” you say defeatedly.

“Me too, doll.”

The term of endearment brings a hot flash to your cheeks, a jolt running over your entire body so strong you almost pull your hand away.

“Look, I- lets…” you can’t quite clear your mind. “Do you wanna watch a movie? Get your mind off this whole thing?”

A smile tugs at the corner of his lips and some of the brightness returns to his eyes. “Sure.”

You quickly scramble up your scattered papers, tossing them on your desk before sitting at the headboard of your bed. Bucky follows a little uncertainly, but relaxes when you scoot closer to place the laptop on both your legs. Now that you’ve gotten a small taste of what it’s like to touch him, you never want to let go, relishing in the feeling of his thigh pressed against yours. He watches quietly, eyes glued to the screen in fascination at how much has changed. You take in how young he looks like this, boyish and giddy. It’s just after the climax of the movie that you look at him, placing a hand back on his forearm to grab his attention.

“Do you think you’re ready?” You couldn’t get the question out of the back of your mind.

He takes a deep breath in through his nose, holding it as he ponders. “Maybe.”

“Well, it doesn't hurt to try.”

“I’ll let Steve know.” He says decisively, patting your hand with his left one before turning back to the screen.

Your heart swells and you give a squeeze that you hope says it all.