Navy and Roo's Slumber Party

Location: a high ridge above the coast. Trees. Wind. Alone.

That’s the first red flag.

The second is worse. You’re not armored for combat. Your power signature is active, but sloppy. Unshielded. Like you don’t care who finds you.

Bucky zooms in. Watches longer than he means to.

Heroes don’t isolate themselves unless one of three things is true.

They’re setting a trap. They’ve already lost. They want to disappear.

He rules out the first immediately. You’re not hiding. You’re visible. Sitting where anyone could see you. Letting the sunset do the talking for you.

So why are you alone?

He doesn’t send drones. Doesn’t trigger alarms. He takes the jet himself.

The engine hums low as he flies toward the coast, descending just beyond the tree line. He cuts the power early, lands quietly, and moves on foot the rest of the way. Subtle. Careful. Almost respectful.

He comes up behind you.

You don’t turn.

“I knew it was you, Buck,” you say calmly.

He freezes, then exhales and lowers his shoulder, sliding the knife back into its sheath. Too familiar. Too automatic. You’ve been fighting each other for a long time.

“You’re wide open for an attack,” he says. “I could end you in a second.”

“Hmph.” You scoff, eyes still on the horizon. “Nothing could hurt me more.”

Bucky already feels it. Something about your presence is off. Your voice lacks its usual edge, and your power hums unevenly, like it is barely being held together.

He steps closer.

When he finally sees your face, his eyes widen. There are tear marks on your cheeks, faint but unmistakable.

“Not today,” you say quietly. “Please.”

You are begging.

That alone shocks him.

“Did you get hit with tear gas?” he asks, half-joking, half-serious.

You let out a weak chuckle. “Oh, how I wish I had the energy to punch your mouth. But I don’t.”

That settles it. Something is wrong.

Bucky sighs and sits down beside you, close enough to catch you if you fall. “Are you dying?”

You don’t answer.

“Oh shit,” he mutters.

“I just got my heart broken,” you say finally. You close your eyes and lean your head back against the tree. “No matter how much alcohol I drink, I still can’t get drunk. I just want to forget this pain for a moment.”

Today, you don’t want to be the strongest one. You don’t want to be the solution. You don’t want to be the leader.

You just want to sit still without being needed.

Earlier that day, your boyfriend ended it. Not with a fight. Not with betrayal. Just quiet defeat.

“I can’t,” he had said. “You’re always so… above me.”

For the first time in a long while, you felt powerless.

That’s why you came here. Somewhere beautiful. Somewhere no one would expect a hero to stand guard.

Not to die. Just trying to keep breathing.

Losing someone hurts more than losing a battle.

You weren’t born with your powers. You were normal once. You manifested them in college, and he was there through all of it. Before the title. Before the fights. Before the world knew your name.

Now he’s your ex.

“Getting hit by you is nothing compared to this,” you say, pressing a hand to your chest. “This feels worse.”

Bucky doesn’t know how to respond. Comfort has never been his strength. He has had relationships before, but he was always the one who ended them. He never stayed long enough to learn what heartbreak felt like. All he remembers is anger, screaming, and a few memorable death threats.

“Ibuprofen and paracetamol won’t fix that,” he says dryly.

You scoff, then let out a soft laugh. “No shit.”

Bucky doesn’t realize how long he’s stayed with you.

Neither of you talks about secret bases or world domination. There are no threats, no plans. You just sit there, watching the sunset bleed into the ocean.

Eventually, you sigh and try to stand. Your knees buckle, not from any wound, but from sheer emotional exhaustion.

He catches you by the elbows, his grip steady and firm.

“Whoa there, Princess,” he grumbles. “The pavement isn’t a bed.”

You steady yourself but don’t pull away. Your gaze drops to his chest, to the dark Kevlar armor stretched beneath his coat.

“Can you…”

“What?” he snaps, though his hands remain on your arms. “Speak clearly. You usually scream your battle cries loud enough to rupture my ears. Don’t go quiet on me now.”

“Can you hug me? Just for a moment?”

Bucky freezes.

His pulse jumps beneath his suit. “Ah…” His brain scrambles for a sarcastic response, something sharp enough to deflect this. But then he looks at you. Really looks.

The hero is gone. What’s left is just a woman who is tired of being strong.

“Oh?” he mutters. “Hmph. Fine. Come here.”

He pulls you in, wrapping his heavy cloak around you like a shield. You bury your face into his shoulder and finally let go. Your body shudders as a sharp, uneven sob breaks free.

Bucky feels the warmth of your breath soaking through his uniform. He knows you’re crying. He knows your heart is breaking. He also knows your pride.

He stares out at sunset, one hand awkwardly but gently patting your hair. His expression hardens into something quiet and protective.

He doesn’t say a word about the tears.

He just holds you tighter, pretending he can’t feel the world’s strongest woman trembling in his arms.

He didn’t fight you today. But somehow, you were the one who won.

And that unsettles him more than any defeat ever has.

Epilogue

At Superhero HQ, a package arrives for you.

There’s no sender name.

Inside is a bottle of liquor.

You open it and chuckle, already knowing who it’s from. Tucked inside is a small note with familiar handwriting.

“Drink this if you actually want to get drunk.”

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