#reckless fic

              From you taking your hairbrush to untangle the knots from your head, to you picking some cotton pad to apply a good few drops of whatever that thing was. Um, something water? You had told him once or twice, when he asked you. Anyways. You wiped at your skin, from your brows to your chin, cleansing away the sweat of the day and the blush you wore. Terry wondered how good it felt when he heard you sighing once everything was off. 

              Then, you rose from your seat and walked away to the bathroom. It took everything in him not to follow you again, for fear of looking like a stray puppy. Instead, he waited for you, listening to the water running down the hallway while playing his fingers against his beer. He knew you were washing your face, scrubbing away any remains of the day. He may not have followed you today, but he had before, and without even seeing you, Terry also knew you were now rubbing something foaming with that scent he liked. 

              You stepped back into the bedroom once you dried your face with that towel that was only yours. Sitting back down, Terry’s eyes floated to your hands as you took another cotton pad and that thing you had told him was for hydrating your skin. Something about regeneration. Whatever the name, he took a quick swing of his beer while you applied it to your face, going in soft loops about your cheekbones and your forehead. 

              Terry did not truly understood why you needed those things, seeing as you were so ravishing without any foundation or gloss. From your hair to your nose to your chin, you were the most glorious woman he had ever laid his poor eyes on. 

              What you grabbed from the vanity then, Terry knew it. It was a serum, looking like a thick potion in a glass bottle. And maybe the most silly of everything. When he had asked you about it, wondering what it was for, you had told him it was for wrinkles. He had chuckled, querying if you were serious, but you pointed your finger under your eye. To a wrinkle. A tiny, almost too faint to be seen wrinkle. Terry had rolled his eyes back so far to the ceiling that day he nearly missed your pout. 

              Wrinkle or not, you were gorgeous. But you kind of feared them. He thought you should rather embrace them. But, as he had told you that evening, you did as you wanted. And if you wanted him to buy more of that serum, he would. Terry simply liked everything about you. 

              Once that serum was deep into your skin, you took the cream lying beside the lamp. That one he also knew. It was for protection. You unscrewed the lid and he followed your fingers as they plunged into the pot, taking a chunk of it. Both of your hands then flew to your still glowing face to smear the cream along your cheeks, down to your jaw and over the slope of your nose.

              Make no mistake, Terry adored you with highlighter on your cheekbones and glitters on your eyelids, for it only made your beauty even more bright, but he would be lying if he said he did not love to see that other you. The one with glowy skin and brushed down hair. Even the faint, dark shadows under your eyes enhanced your traits in a way that made Terry’s heart swell. 

              “Terry?” 

              He blinked and saw you looking at him through the mirror of your vanity, “What d’you said, sugar?”

              “I was asking you if you wanted to go to bed now,” you rubbed the remaining of the cream down your throat, and for a second Terry’s mind wandered, thinking about how he would like to kiss along your now smooth skin. 

              “Yeah,” he nodded, before looking at his beer in his hand. He took the last swing of it, swallowing the last of the warm liquid in one gulp. Then he rose from the bed, walking to you, “If you’re done, we can go to bed.”

              “Don’t do like you don’t like watching me,” you grinned, a teasing glint sparkling in your eyes. 

              Terry’s hands came to stroke your hair, tilting your head to him. He leaned down, smirking with no shame, “Oh, I like it, sweetheart. I think I’d like to watch you do about anything.”

              His mouth laid a warm kiss on your forehead, slightly moist from the beer on his lips. You chuckled, your glance catching his own, “Yeah, I know. Now, go wash your teeth before I fall asleep with you.”

              If Terry had known, a few months back, that many evenings would be like this, with him being blessed with the sight of you going around the house and performing your ritual in front of him— only for him, he would have asked you to be his girl the day he saw you. Now, he did not know if could go about a day without seeing you sitting in front of your vanity. 

              He was one lucky bastard. And soon, he would be awakening in the very same house as you every morning. His mouth spread into a smile, both smug and proud. Lucky, lucky him. 

              “Yes, ma’am.”

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Tony nodded, leaning his shoulder against the crisply painted wall with arms folded over his chest. “So who’s going to tell the Manchurian Candidate that we almost got his girlfriend killed?”

“Tony, please,” Steve huffed, “Spare me the ‘I told you so speech,’ just this once.”

“Your words, not mine,” Tony pushed off the wall beside Steve to stand closer to the window, peering through the slightly parted blinds, looking for you. “It seems like the information we retrieved is viable, it should help your buddy,” he spit the last word like it stung him just to say it. “Sure hope he’s worth it.”

“He is to her,” Steve answered calmly, nodding toward your room. “They’re bringing him out of cryo now. It’ll take a few hours.” Steve rose to his feet, preparing to leave. “I should get there before he’s awake.”

“Well thank god for that,” Tony snapped, whipping his head to glare at his teammate. “Better hurry off now to make sure he had a nice nap. Don’t worry about her, she barely hung on, but she’ll make it.”

Steve sighed, holding his hands out in defeat. “What do you want me to do here, Tony? I’ve stayed until I knew she was stable, but if this is what Bucky has to wake up to, I think maybe he should hear it from a friend.”

“He shouldn’t have to hear it at all,” Tony hissed.

“You think I don’t know that?”

Bucharest, Two Years Earlier...

Working the market had quickly become your favorite part of the job. You’d traveled to Romania completely on a whim with hardly anything but your passport, a duffel of clothes, and a few hundred dollars. You’d decided to stay on a whim, too, when you were lucky enough to find a job you actually enjoyed.

At first you’d stayed in the greenhouses choosing the best flowers for delivery to the local florists and others for sale at the market, or you drove 4-wheelers down rows and rows of colorful bold crocuses or thick peony bushes pruning and fertilizing. After a few months your Romanian was proficient enough, and your begging persistent enough, that you were permitted to work the stand at the weekly market.

That’s where you first saw him, Bucky Barnes, The Winter Soldier. Of course, you didn’t know who he was then. He was just another patron. Though he never stopped at your stand, he almost always stopped at the neighboring cart full of fresh stone fruits.

He caught your eye right away by the way he always seemed to try not to catch anyone’s eye. While your skin ached for the relief of the shade, and sweat gathered at the back of your neck, he wore a long jacket and a baseball cap pulled low and tight on his head, his thick long hair heavy on his neck. He carried immense tension in his shoulders like a rubber band pulled too tight, ready to snap and fly at any moment. He had a way of periodically drawing deep quick breaths and holding them, only to ease them out with downcast eyes as if trying to steady himself, reassure himself. You recognized those calming measures immediately and assumed he was a veteran. Eventually you’d learn that that was a gross underestimate of the true extent of his trauma and fear.

Your eyes were glued to him as he tentatively reached for a large ripe apricot, squeezing it gently before smelling it with what you could only describe as elation. You watched, mesmerized by the soft smile that crept over his face, setting a pair of clear blue eyes to light as he dropped four apricots into a bag.

There was no stopping your quiet giggle at his apparent wonder over fruit. He looked at them as though they’d disappear in the next second. He glanced at you with a sheepish smile before he turned to the vendor, asking how much they cost in flawless Romanian.

As the older woman running the fruit cart accepted his payment, you leaned over to her, your smiling eyes still watching his face. “Elena, you should let him try one of the plums,” you told her in a quiet murmur.

His eyes flitted to yours, studying your face for a moment, almost fearful, before that reserved smile returned, pulling the corners of his eyes into soft wrinkles.

“Why would I do that? He’s already bought what he wanted,” the old woman whispered back to you in a stern tone. She spoke to you in accented English, assuming your conversation would be private that way.

“Because the way he enjoyed the smell of those apricots he’s going to be back,” you winked at him, answering in English before turning a hard gaze on the woman. She had the best plums for miles and if just the smell of those apricots lit up his face that way, you were interested to see how he’d react to her plums. “And he’ll be back a lot sooner if you give him a plum.” You hoped your flattery would give her a push.

No such luck. The stubborn woman would not budge. “Well I’m not going to be back until next Saturday anyway so what’s the point? I’m not wasting my best produce!”

You rolled your eyes and laughed, recognizing the same behavior you’d seen in the older generations of your own family. It was a proprietary stubbornness that came from a lifetime of living in a state of wanting, never frivolous, never wasteful.

Before you could even shrug it off, Bucky had looked straight at you, turning a freshly purchased apricot in his hand. He grinned and said simply in English, “Next Saturday then.”

The woman’s eyes grew wide as you burst into laughter. He sunk his teeth into the apricot and you couldn’t take your eyes off of him as he turned with a smile on his face, juice from the sticky fruit dripping down his chin before he disappeared into the crowded market.

In the late afternoon you closed up your cart of flowers, like always, tucking the bottle of wine you’d managed to pick up from another vendor into your bag. He was waiting for you, like always, seated on the bench a little way down the road, plums in hand, that same cap pulled low, eyes scanning the street. His constant vigilance had started to rub off on you, as you found yourself glancing over your shoulder, looking for enemies you wouldn’t recognize even if you saw them, fears that weren’t your own clouding your mind.

You forced the tension from your shoulders as you walked toward the bench. “You don’t have to wait for me all the time, you know?” you teased, “You’ll make a girl paranoid.”

“Not paranoid, just aware,” Bucky conceded, taking your hand in his as he approached. His fingers slipped between yours as he pulled your hand to his lips to kiss the back of your palm. “I don’t know why you keep coming back to me. You could lose everything in minutes. And I mean everything.”

Bucky was always repeating this mantra, like he couldn’t tell you enough how dangerous he was, how dangerous the people who were after him were. In your head, you knew it was true, that you could be dead in seconds, or worse, but somehow nothing seemed all that threatening when you were with him. Truth be told, you were incredibly naive. We always think ourselves brave when we don’t know what real danger looks like. That it could be in bed beside us.

“Well I’m in it now, aren’t I!” you nudged him, earning only a wry frown. “I think I’m safest right here, with you.”

Like always, you took a new and circuitous route back to Bucky’s apartment. He’d told you long ago that patterns were dangerous, if you were always in the same spot day after day you made yourself easy to be found, followed, and caught. As you meandered through the streets in seemingly aimless circles, you chattered about what you wanted to make for dinner that night. There’d been a new cart at the market where you’d bought fresh olive oil. You rambled on, eager to try something new with it when you noticed Bucky’s posture stiffen as you both neared the floor to his apartment.

Your heart started to pound, thudding in your chest when he froze entirely. He squeezed your hand, your signal to wait as he crept higher. Without a word he dropped back down to you, grabbing your arm and pulling you to a small supply closet. Your eyes went wide with the sudden fear that he wasn’t paranoid at all, someone had come for him. You were utterly speechless as he took your chin in his hand, and kissed you urgently.

“Bucky…” you breathed, hardly even a whisper, but he just pressed his forehead to yours for a lingering moment before closing you inside.

Days later you saw the footage on the news of the chaos you’d heard outside that closet door as special forces from several countries descended on your life. You watched in fear as the world descended on Bucky’s life with anger and judgement.

Not long after, the quiet life you’d built for yourself was flipped on its head. Bucky was gone, and some stranger had appeared to whisk you away from everything you cared about. Your friends and family were in danger if you contacted them, the job you loved - being outside in the sun, interacting with people, growing something new and hopeful- was to be abandoned as if it meant nothing, it wasn’t even safe to collect your things from your apartment and Bucky… Bucky.

He’d gone back into cryofreeze. You knew he’d disappeared to protect you, to keep you secret and safe, but the knowing didn’t make it any less painful. And now you had nothing. Not him, not your own life, not your own friends or family. And everyone around you offering to help talked about a version of Bucky that you never knew. While trying to help, they made you realize how small you had been, just a blip in the aged and scarred map of his life.

How could you possibly be expected to hop on a plane and move on from that man when it meant letting go of your entire life? You’d made the choice that first day in the market knowing the consequences in your head but unable to grasp them fully. And now, unable to talk to him, you feared he’d never really made the same choice for you.

Avengers Compound, NY months later...

To say you weren’t coping well would be the understatement of the year. You were half way down, hurtling head first through a tailspin you weren’t yet interested in steering out of. The sharp edges of your chaos began to fray the relationships around you and damage the only things keeping you grounded. Having abandoned your life and future in Romania, and the man you left it all for, now asleep indefinitely in a self-imposed cage, a sense of helplessness set in that you resented. So you withdrew from the only people around you.

But then, that’s the thing about it, this sort of fear and reckless sadness, you become so afraid and ashamed of the thing destroying you that you lock yourself away with it until you find that you have no footing left and you’ve abandoned all the ropes you could have used to pull yourself up. And when you find yourself falling, you grasp for anything that will catch under your fingers, digging in no matter how it tears your skin or pulls at your shoulders or scrapes your knees, because it’s better than the weightlessness of the falling. Anything is better than the nothingness, the helplessness.

That was precisely where you found yourself now, several months after Bucky had put himself into Cryofreeze with no clear plan to come out, no clear plan to come back to you. The flight back to New York was torture and the first few weeks were anxious and tense as everyone tried to ease back into their places in the world around them, a world that had changed so much.

For a while the fact that you and Steve both mourned the loss together had helped, it gave you the illusion that you had someone to be strong for, and someone who understood the depth of your sadness. But that was just it, Steve was strong, and he’d lost Bucky to much worse before, so he quickly buried himself in work and finding solutions and information that could help Bucky. He didn’t need you, and you soon felt sheepish for still needing him.

Steve told you that you just needed time, that time would help heal things and would eventually bring answers, bring Bucky back. But you just scoffed bitterly, knowing that Steve, of all people, should know that time doesn’t heal shit. One glimpse of the past could easily bring you caving to your knees, begging some uncaring universe to take pity on your aching mind and let you forget long enough for the wounds to close. But the universe never listens to a speck of dust, floating in her ever expanding darkness.

Steve had convinced you to get on that plane, to get back to work, try to resume a normal life with promises of wholeness and a sense of purpose. He’d told you that you just needed to get your mind off things. But that was what Steve needed, to be busy, to be needed, a hero. What you really needed was Bucky.

Your new friends here had begun to worry after giving you what seemed to them to be an appropriate grieving time for someone who wasn’t actually dead. To you he might as well have been, it had been 70 years since HYDRA put those words in his head, why the hell should you think things would move faster now?

You tried your best to bury your embarrassment at the shocked looks on the faces of the ‘Earth’s mightiest heroes’ when you emerged into the kitchen one morning looking for Tony.

“Um, I think he’s in his lab,” Natasha volunteered, giving you a soft smile over her coffee.

“Thanks,” you muttered, turning to leave before she jumped up.

“Hey, want me to make you breakfast?” she asked with a brighter grin, though still controlled, for your sake, you knew. “I know I’m not much of a cook but I can make decent блины.” Your slight pause was enough for her to keep trying, her cold fingers wrapping around your arm to drag you back to the kitchen. “C’mon, we can break into Tony’s secret party supply, I know he’s got some good caviar there.”

“Well who could resist a caviar heist before breakfast?” you smiled, letting her pull you in.

You took your time pouring yourself some coffee while she busied herself with preparing the thin crepe-like batter, sneaking careful glances at you.

“Alright, red or black caviar?” she asked, pouring a thin layer of batter into the hot pan.

Your mouth popped open in mock-horror, looking scandalized. “I was promised the good stuff! Aren’t you supposed to be Russian? Black!”

“It’s fish eggs, sweetie,” she deadpanned with a slight roll of her eyes, “How good can it be?”

You were surprised to find yourself genuinely laughing. “That was the deal, Natasha! If you’re going to make me eat a glorified pancake, you’re going to have to throw in some of Tony’s fancy pre-Nemos.”

She snorted, picking the lock on Tony’s private pantry in record time. “Excuse me, these are at least glorified crepes, give me a little credit!”

The smile felt good on your lips. It felt nice to have the corners of your eyes crinkling again, your cheeks aching slightly from a little happiness. Nat slid the first блины over to you with a dollop of cream. She returned your smile with equal warmth as she cracked open the can of caviar. It was a small comfort to her to hear you teasing and laughing.

That smile died on your lips when she reached across the counter to scoop a spoonful of the shiny black beads onto your plate. Your fork froze an inch over your plate and you drew in a sharp breath, hardly daring to breathe while the memory flooded every one of your senses.

“Ugh! What kind of people actually eat this shit?” Bucky grimaced, eyeing the expensive sample of caviar you’d handed him. Even with that look on his face, he looked too damn good in a tux. You wondered why the hell Hydra hadn’t taken advantage of THAT fact more often as you giggled, glancing around to make sure no one had heard him.

“The kind of people who have very expensive relics from World War II that might pertain to a particular Howling Commando,” you reminded him, elbowing his side. “So down the hatch, Mr. Bond.”

You smirked when he complied, swallowing the extravagant hors d'oeuvre down with a sip of his scotch.

“Just because my name is James…”

“Not tonight it’s not,” you winked. “Now go get your information.” You nodded after the old man hosting the party who was slipping off into another room of the palatial home.

Bucky shifted from one foot to another, staring after the man, practically fidgeting. “Why’d I agree to bring you along?” he muttered under his breath. “You sure you’re going to be okay out here by yourself?”

“Because you need somebody to be your lookout while you sneak around some rich guy’s house, and I am just that somebody - a nobody,” you adjusted his bowtie and smiled up at him, seeing the unwavering concern in the hard set of his eyes. “I’m fine! Go!” you insisted, “This was always the plan. You’ll know if I need help. I’ll be fine.”

He sighed, on the brink of conceding to the plan he’d already agreed to, desperate for any information to fill in the gaps in his memory. His hand snaked around your waist pulling you half a step closer while he pressed his lips to your forehead. “Be careful, ok?” The words were a hushed mumble against your skin before you nodded. “I don’t want to have to take out everyone in this room if anything happens to you.”

“Likewise, Bond.” You tilted your head up to ease a soft, quick kiss to his bottom lip. He smiled just enough to reassure you before he disappeared into the hall.

The soft clang of your fork falling onto the ceramic plate broke you from the memory. You closed your eyes for a long moment and shook your head, forcing the images back into the spiraling dark. Finally willing yourself to just move, you pushed away from the table. Natasha’s eyes weighed on you the entire time, the burden of her concern like a tidal wave forcing you further out into the deep dark.

Foregoing the elevator, you paced quickly to the stairs, taking them in twos to Tony’s R&D lab. You barely made eye contact for three whole seconds when you arrived, asking to borrow a car and tugging at the hem of your shirt. You were on edge from the memories Natasha’s breakfast had unleashed and none too eager to share them.

“Uh. No. Sorry kiddo, but I don’t let anyone touch my cars,” he rattled off quickly, soldering some wires, only half interested. “Have they even found your license?” he asked, finally lifting his scrutinizing gaze to you. He softened instantly.

“No… um. No, you’re right. Another thing I must have left behind in Bucharest,” you stammered in a low hum. “I-I was just um was hoping to get out of here for a little while?” You tilted your head up to meet the warmth of his teasing smile, pleading with him to understand so you didn’t have to go on. “I’m going a little crazy… being stuck here all the time. No offense.”

He slipped off the protective gloves, “I will only be offended if you get a single scratch on any of my babies.”

“Really?!” You lit up in excitement, craving something outside of this place, something fresh and exciting. Anything but the heaviness that lingered in your chest.

“Sure,” he agreed with a grin, turning to grab the keys from a secure drawer, “When was the last time I followed a traffic law?”

After a 15 minute run-down your hands were itching to slam the car into gear and peel off. If only Tony would hurry up and leave. You realized a little too late that he’d stopped talking.

“Well? Aaaanytime you’re ready,” he teased.

“Wha-- you’re not…?”

“Not letting an unlicensed driver take off in my Lamborghini on her own? No, of course not.”

You stared at him, floored and a little irritated. You’d been too eager for a break from the compound and everything it represented, a glimpse of life again, even if not yours. But it was too late to back out now.

“You gonna make it worth my while or are we just going to sit in it?” he teased, egging you on. If it was a show he wanted, you’d give him one.

Without a word, you dropped the gear shift into first and let off the clutch hard and fast, ripping out of the garage at a screaming, angry pace that had an unprepared Tony’s head snapping back to the headrest.

You eased into the next gear, sinking your foot heavily into the gas pedal with every ounce of your frustration. For once, since you’d gotten here, your mind was quiet. There were no racing thoughts of ‘why didn’t he wait until I got to Wakanda’, ‘did I mean so little that a closet door is the best goodbye I deserve?’, “a frosted glass panel my dismissal?” There was no pounding torrent of loss, or of everything you’d left behind.

“Hey, take it easy,” you registered Tony’s warnings somewhere in the back of your mind, but they were muted, dull, hollow. A stronger force pressed your foot down and strengthened your grip on the wheel, a desperate need to maintain the quiet in your head. You just needed everything to stop for a minute.

It didn’t really hit you when Tony shouted your name, demanding that you slow down. It didn’t really hit you when the wheels began to slide sideways on the dew-slicked road. It started to creep in that you were being reckless and endangering someone else’s life, when your seatbelt locked up and the edge of it dug into the tender skin at your neck, leaving an angry red burn. It definitely hit you when your head collided with the side window while the car spun beyond your control in tight, chaotic spirals in the wet morning grass.

When you finally skidded to a stop just shy of the trees skirting the grounds, Tony reached across the car, and ripped the keys from the ignition. He tried to steady the anger rippling through his every muscle while you tried to figure out what the hell to do about the tears making steady paths down your cheeks.

“Well I can see why you don’t have a damn license!” Tony fumed while you sat staring at your hands in your lap. “Care to tell me why the hell you’re trying to kill us?”

“I’m so sorry,” you breathed, before finally turning to him with watery eyes and mouth slightly agape, shocked at your own recklessness. He only blinked at you expectantly and suddenly it was like the dam broke and the words spilled out of your mouth like water. Wet and heavy, pushing forward with a force you couldn’t hope to stop, slipping past your lips before you could get a grip to hold them back.

Through barely controlled sobs you told Tony how you felt lost, falling with nothing to hold onto - no family to know and comfort you, no work to keep you moving forward, no home to feel safe and anchored in, no Bucky to reassure you that you weren’t insignificant.

“And you all have been so amazing and generous, but I know you’re busy. Busy saving the world, and I just want to whine about missing planting flowers and my boyfriend. But still, I’m in here and it’s like nobody can see me, nobody can help.”

The words fell from you without a break, like they’d been begging to spill out. They spilled out faster than Tony could figure out how to respond. “I know I made this decision, I said I knew the risks, but I thought we’d be in it together, you know? Bucky and me. But now I’m stuck in here, like some kind of prisoner of history. Prisoner to this choice, and a history that isn’t mine, and the one person that I need to remind me that this was all worth it, that I’m not on my own here isn’t coming for me.”

“I’m… I’m breaking down here,” you looked up at Tony with tears flooding your eyes, staining your cheeks and dripping off your chin. “I’m afraid of everything now, I’m stuck inside these walls. I just need him to tell me that there’s hope. But nobody’s listening.”

“Hey,” Tony finally spoke softly, “That’s not true. I’m listening, we’re listening.” He looked at you earnestly, though you were too embarrassed to meet his gaze, instead furiously wiping the tears from your face. “Nat’s been worried about you. She’s been bugging Steve to find out what you liked to eat in Wakanda so she can make it and make sure you’re taking care of yourself. Steve keeps bugging me to find some work for you to keep you occupied, get you out of your room. I thought you might need space but clearly I was wrong.”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered through your hands, still pressed over your face.

“None of that,” he insisted gently, reaching for your shoulders. You drifted easily to let your head fall onto his shoulder, while he hugged you loosely across the car. “We don’t know what you need if you don’t talk to us, kiddo. We can hold onto some of this… sadness you’ve got living inside you, if you let us.”

You nodded, pulling away from him and leaning your head back against the headrest. With a deep and shaking sigh you wiped the last of the tears from your face.

“Alright!” Tony said, clapping his hands together, “Now Nat tells me you skipped out on blini, so let’s get moving, we’re going for pie!”

You looked at him confused and shocked as he held the key back out to you. “Wha-- I’m driving? Tony I just--”

“I think we’re good,” he smirked at you, “also, Capcicle’s making a star spangled beeline for us so we gotta move if we want that pie before duty calls.”

With a smile, you grabbed the keys and eased back onto the road, following Tony’s directions to his favorite bakery.

Wakanda, days later

As Bucky began to wake, the first thing he noticed was the familiar ache all over his body, the stiffness that came before his cells repaired themselves from the cold. The next thing was the warmth on his skin and the weight of the thick thermal blankets. He slowly opened his eyes to the bright, clean room and the apparatuses around him in soft white plastics and gleaming pristine metals. It was nothing like he was used to waking from cryosleep.

He was used to the ache burrowing in his bones as he was dragged to the chair before his muscles could even hold him upright. He was used to darkened rooms in concrete bunkers, rusting iron and clouded tubes, black metal plates with imprecise electrodes burning neuropathways into oblivion.

“Bucky?”

Steve’s voice was familiar and put him at ease, but it wasn’t the one he’d wanted to hear. Straining to sit up, he glanced around the room, disappointment and apprehension settling in the pit of his stomach. “Did you find her?”

“Yeah, we found her.”

The tight reserve in Steve’s tone set off alarm bells in Bucky’s head. “Well where is she? Is she okay? Did someone else find her first?”

“No, no,” Steve tried to reassure his friend, who by now was sitting fully and trying to swing his legs off the bed, despite the tangle of monitors still attached to his body. “We found her in Bucharest right after you went under, she was right where you said she’d be.”

“Where is she, Steve?” Bucky demanded more firmly, “What aren’t you telling me?”

“Let’s just focus on one thing at a time.” Steve shifted, pressing the call button for the medical staff. “We found something that could help get those words out of your head. It’ll take some testing bu--”

“Steve!”

With a heavy sigh, Steve uncrossed his arms, his determined gaze softening and dropping to the floor. “She… came with us to retrieve it.”

“What?!” Bucky roared, “Steve she’s a civilian!”

“She wasn’t supposed to leave the jet,” Steve continued, “I thought it would help her. Buck, she’s been miserable, she lost everything. I thought if I gave her something to do, gave her a role in getting you back… it might help. Tony told me it was a bad idea, that she wasn’t in a good place for it...”

“Is she alive?” Bucky breathed, staring straight ahead, concentrating every thought on containing his anger.

“Yes!” Steve was quick to answer, “She was supposed to stay in the jet and be our eyes and ears with Red Wing, but I got gummed up and she came out to help. God I never thought she’d do something so stupid, so reckless.”

“Yeah, I know that feeling,” Bucky joked bitterly. Steve was always, always reckless.

“I wasn’t prepared to look after her in the open like that and there was an explosion.” Steve paused, taking a deep breath and pushing his hand through his hair. “She’ll be okay, she came out of surgery stable, but she’ll be in a contained burn unit for a while until she’s healed enough to fly back to New York. I’m sorry, Buck.”

Bucky shook his head, a sullen shadow weighing on his shoulders. “I’ve destroyed every part of this girl’s life,” he sighed. “Maybe I need to let her go.”

“Not an option anymore, buddy.” Steve clapped Bucky on the knee. “She can’t go back now. She needs you. It's too dangerous for her to go home, and she's lost in New York on her own. She needs you, Buck.”

“I don’t know if I’m worth all this, Steve.”

“It’s not about you this time.”

Avengers Compound, New York, 6 weeks later.

It was more than a little bittersweet to be back at the compound when you felt the jet ease to the ground. You didn’t exactly have happy memories here, but being back meant you were healing, and you were starting to feel a little more balanced since part of your therapy regimen included not only extensive physical therapy but a psychologist as well. You’d asked for updates on Bucky’s work eradicating the trigger words, but Tony had insisted you focus on your own recovery, and you'd agreed that you needed to be able to stand alone if you had to.

A tight soreness gripped our spine when you leaned forward to stand out of your seat to deboard. You winced and leaned back. “Tony? Can you--”

“No ma’am!” he responded before you could even finish. “PT says you can handle standing on your own now, so you are… on your own now.” His grin was annoyingly happy, he was annoyingly on your case about sticking to your requirements and allowances, no more no less.

“Tonyyy,” you whined, “I’m not a superhero, okay? I don’t take beatings every day like you do. I like to be spoiled!”

He glanced at you with a massive eyeroll, “You ARE spoiled. C’mon, let’s go!” He held out his arm for you to hoist yourself up. You kept your eyes on your feet, focusing on walking with even, lifted steps until the smell of peonies and lilacs washed over you.

You lifted your eyes to find an enormous new garden with row after row of thick shrubs and soft, bright flowers. Words had not even begun to form in your head, much less your mouth when Bucky strolled over to the garden carrying a huge lilac plant that blocked his torso and half his face from your view.

“Y-you’re back!” he stammered, freezing momentarily before one of the grounds keepers took the plant from his hands. He wiped some of the dark soil from his hands off onto his jeans. You couldn’t help noticing how relaxed he seemed, so comfortable, in a way that you’d never seen in him before. He wasn’t looking over his shoulder or slightly crouched and ready to run, there were no centering deep breaths or darting glances. He looked good. Comfortable.

“You’re here!” you whispered in disbelief, slowly releasing Tony’s arm and taking a careful step toward Bucky while Tony continued inside with a nod toward Bucky.

“Look at you,” he breathed, moving quickly into your space. You reached for him instinctively, your hands grasping his arms as he wrapped one arm tentatively around your waist. He stroked the line of your jaw with the backs of his knuckles, letting his hand curve around the side of your neck and rest there. “I’m so sorry. I should never have gotten you involved in all of this.”

At the sound of the heavy sigh in his voice, the guilt, you leaned into his touch. “I chose this Bucky, I chose to be with you. I just…” you paused, struggling for the right words, struggling to force them out. “I just didn’t realize that meant being alone. I’m… I’m not some kind of hero, I don’t think I’m as brave as everyone here. Letting go of my life has been…” you shook your head, looking down at your feet, not able to put that into words yet. “And seeing how big your life is and you didn’t even say goodbye. I didn’t know if I really had a part in it.”

“I didn’t want any of this,” he gestured to the Avengers compound behind you, the jet you’d just deboarded. “But this is the life I’ve got now. I didn’t choose it, and I certainly wouldn’t have chosen it for you. But I promise you, I want you. I want to be with you, if you'll have me. I want you safe and happy. Whether that’s with me or not, you should… you should feel like you have a place here.”

You could only stare at him, wanting to cry and to kiss him and to bury your face in his neck all at once. He chewed at the inside of his lip, unsure how to interpret your silence. “I um…” he began again, “I thought maybe having a garden to see to would help. You know, something you.”

Before he could stumble any further, you reached up, draping both arms over his shoulders, and pulling him in to kiss you. His hands splayed across your back, pressing out any distance remaining between you while your fingertips dipped into his soft familiar hair.

“God I’ve missed you,” he sighed when you pulled away.

“Missed me?” you teased, “You had an epic nap in a royal palace! You didn’t miss a damn thing.”

“Oh and this resort built by a billionaire engineer was what, a slum for you?” he grinned, with that impossibly magnetic smile, “Is that what you’re implying?”

Your laugh bubbled from a depth you hadn’t reached in far too long. “I suppose we’ve both significantly traded up from that little mattress in Bucharest.”

“A little bit,” he agreed, helping you ease down onto the soft grass.

You reached for a tray of smaller flowers, waiting to be planted. “Thank you.”

He nodded with an easy smile before turning to leave you to it. As he walked past Sam he reached down for a clump of root and dark wet soil that had fallen in the grass and threw it at him before taking off in a jog towards the compound. You laughed to yourself, shaking your head, and wondered what else you would learn about him now that he had one less fear in his life. Somewhere secure where he could afford to be a little reckless sometimes.

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