#haste of leaving steve settles on giving her as long a chance to

[becca-alexa]

Ride the Lightning

Chapter Eight: The Unforgiven

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01 ┋ 02 ┋ 03 ┋ 04 ┋ 05 ┋ 06 ┋ 07 ┋ 08 ┋ 09 ┋ 10 ┋ 11 ┋ 12 ┋ 13

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Original Female Character

Summary: Veronica can't help but be worried when Eddie misses school - will he finally be able to apologize?

Word Count: 4.4K

Content Warnings: mentions of illness

Author's Note: GOD this took way too long to put out -- i'm back at school and it's really killing me but i will try to get these out as soon as i can!! and THANK YOU FOR READING 💗

and as always HUGE hug and many many kisses to @rollforhellfire for putting up with me and reading these before they go out 💗💗💗

    He’d missed first period.

    Whatever. If he wanted to risk his chances at graduation with shoddy attendance, so be it.

    It wasn’t like she cared.

    Sitting through Ms. O’Donnell’s ramblings on… whatever Shakespearian drama she’d decided to delve into that week was usually easy for her. Simple; she’d take a few notes, answer a few questions. But, as her eyes drifted to the empty seat three desks over, Veronica couldn’t help but chew on her lip - it wasn’t unusual for Eddie to be late, but he was rarely absent. She kicked her feet, trying to figure out where he could be, what he could be doing, so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t hear name being called.

    “Miss Windsor?” Mrs. O’Donnell called out, tapping her manicured fingers against her desk in annoyance. “Miss Windsor!”

    “H-Huh…?” Veronica’s head snapped toward the board, face flushed as she desperately tried to recall what the older woman had been saying. “I’m sorry, what was the question?”

    Mrs. O’Donnell rolled her eyes. “What was Romeo’s intention in pursuing Juliet?”

    Veronica gave a quick answer - true love. It seemed to pacify the woman, as she’d turned back around and continued her droll recitation of the literary classic. Struggling to keep from gnawing at her nails, her eyes moved to the clock hanging above the door, and she counted the seconds for the class to be over, a feeling of unease already settling itself in her stomach.

    He’d missed second period, and third - and by fifth, Veronica was beside herself with worry. Not that he deserved her concern, but it still managed to wrap itself around her chest, tightening, pulling the air from her lungs as she pushed through the heavy double-doors leading into the lunchroom. Searching the crowd, she nearly barreled into an unsuspecting group of freshmen in her haste to reach her table.

    “Max.” Veronica called out, winded, clearly frazzled, dazed and confused beyond anything her friends had ever seen. “Did you see Eddie this morning?” The younger girl gave her an odd look, chewing through her sad excuse of a burger before answering with a shrug.

    “His van was still there when Steve picked me up.”

    “You didn’t see him at all?”

    Max shook her head, stabbing a straw through her carton of chocolate milk. “He’s probably sick.” she said by way of a reply, giving the two of them an exasperated look. “Like, who the Hell goes for a bike ride in the middle of a thunderstorm?”

    Sick? Of course he’d gotten sick.

    Eddie was sick… and it was her fault.

    “You lookin’ for him?” Robin chimed in, wiping sandwich crumbs from her hands. “I have him next period - I can pass along a message, if I see him.”

    Veronica slowly shook her head, her thoughts a violent spiral behind her troubled eyes. “No, it’s… That’s okay. I don’t think he’s here today.” She looked around the room, her bag suddenly too heavy, the noises suddenly too loud. She needed to get out, needed to leave-

    “Hey, aren’t you going to eat?” Max shouted over the crowd, giving Robin a confused look as they watched Veronica shove her way toward the doors.

    “I forgot I had something to do!” she shouted back, giving them both a wave, not bothering to look back. “I’ll call you later, okay?”

    Veronica stared at the door to the trailer, absentmindedly counting the rusted spots speckling the metal, the plastic Melvald’s bag in her hand stuffed to the brim with… everything, feeling as though it’d been filled with bricks. Don’t be stupid, it’s just Munson, she reminded herself, her words echoing through the empty expanses of her mind, never finding purchase, never truly reassuring her. Taking in what she intended to be a calming breath, she knocked on the door. Once, twice, even a third time, but was met with silence, the quiet buzzing of the rain around her silenced only by the sound of her pulse thrumming in her ears.

    Looking around, she found the small plastic rock hidden just behind the railing Eddie had shown her after their first few meetings; flipping it over, she pulled out the key, brassy and well-worn with age, and let herself in. “Hello?” she called out, her voice cautious, hesitant - she'd never actually used the secret key before. Usually, Wayne had always been around to let her inside. She felt… out of place, being in the trailer by herself. Something felt off, missing. “Uncle Wayne? You home?”

    She took off her shoes at the door, not wanting to track in mud and water. The television was off, as was the radio, the coffee maker, the hallway light that always seemed to flicker, no matter how new the bulb was. The unending stillness unnerved her, the sound of her setting her bag of supplies atop the kitchen counter much too loud, too jarring. Working quickly, she pulled out a pot from one of the cabinets, putting it on the stove, all but tearing open a can of soup and leaving it to warm - chicken noodle. Simple, filling, familiar. She wasn’t sure what kind of soup Eddie liked, and for the life of her, she didn’t know why she cared. But, she conceded with a sigh, he did need to eat - even if that meant taking his preferences into consideration.

    With the soup debacle cleared, Veronica made her way further into the trailer, to where she knew Eddie’s bedroom to be; the furthest room down the narrow hallway, past the bathroom and the oddly-framed picture of geese flying over a lake, worn and yellowed from years of nicotine. She stopped just before the threshold of his door, her mind still a whirlwind as she took that final step forward.

    “Eddie…?” she whispered, having to squint her eyes as she looked around the room. The curtains were drawn, the blinds closed, blanketing the room in a stuffy, musty darkness. “Munson, are you in here?” Hearing no answer, she let herself in, and reached for where she knew his lamp to be - and, to her shock, she found him, abed and asleep. Rather, as asleep as someone with a raging fever could be. A swell of sympathy - unwarranted sympathy, she reminded herself - overcame her at the sight of him, shiny with sweat, his brows furrowed almost painfully as he groaned, turning onto his side, pulling his blankets infinitely tighter around him. Even from beneath the covers, she could tell how roughly he trembled, his cheeks and nose apple-red.

    “God, Munson, why’d you have to do that…?” She brought his desk chair to his bedside, her touch gentle, featherlight as she brushed the damp hair off his forehead, feeling for his temperature. “You total dingus…” Her mind began to wander, her thoughts trailing off to nothing as she allowed herself a single indulgence; she let her hand trail down his face, the backs of her fingers soft against the light stubble of his cheek, tracing over the gentle edge of his jaw. Feeling the caress through the iron grip of his nightmare, Eddie leaned into her touch with another groan, chasing any relief he could find, its source be damned. He was so hot, and she was cold-

    “Hey, you alive in there?”

    That voice. Wincing as he swallowed against the dryness of his throat, Eddie peeled his eyes open, aching and miserable in a way he hadn’t felt since… well, since he’d been dragged out of the Upside Down. His chest burned, his hands itched, but all he could feel was the cool relief ghosting over his skin. He blinked, his eyes adjusting to the darkness, his mind still a pitiful haze as he mumbled, “Angel…?”

    Angel. That was new.

    “Sorry, it’s just me.” Veronica tried to keep her smile out of her voice. She didn’t pull her hand away, letting it rest against him, her thumb rubbing slow circles over his cheek. “How are you feeling?”

    “Bad-” Eddie croaked, burying his face into his blanket as he let out a series of hoarse coughs, his shoulders shaking with the effort he expended trying to catch his breath, tears gleaming at the corners of his eyes as he calmed himself down. “Shit. Bad.”

    “I’m sorry.” Her response was genuine, honest. “Would some warm soup make you feel better?”

    “Not hungry.” he mumbled with a pout unbefitting his twenty years.

    Veronica rolled her eyes, shaking her head as she bit back her grin. “You can’t take your medicine on an empty gut.” At her words, a shiver ran through him - just the mention of medicine made his stomach roll, clench, flip; he buried his face back into the blanket, his breathing labored as he tried to keep himself from tossing his cookies all over the carpet.

    “What is it?” Veronica asked, suddenly panicked. “Are you-”

    Eddie nodded.

    Her head snapped around the room, searching for something she could give to Eddie to use, counting the seconds between his breaths as she finally found his trash bin. Dumping out the empty baggies and crumbled homework assignments, she shoved the thing at his face just as he’d started to heave. She held onto him - he clung to her - as he brought up whatever sorry excuse of a meal he’d had that day; pulling aside his hair, she rubbed at his back, mumbling soothing words, her touch grounding him as he pulled away, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand.

    “Feeling better?”

    “Still shit.”

    She leaned him back against the wall, propping him up with pillows to keep him comfortable as she left to flush away his impromptu escapade, returning with a glass of water. “Drink it.” She left no room for arguments, but he was too weak to even reach out for the thing, let alone bring it to his mouth. Veronica, again, rolled her eyes as he looked away, his own clenched shut in shame, his lips a thin line as he tried to keep them from quivering.

    “You’re something else, Munson, y’know that?”

    He didn’t argue with her.

    With the patience of a saint, she brought the glass to his lips, pausing often to let him breathe as she made sure he finished it off, leaving and returning with another - and a sleeve of saltines. “C’mon, big boy, you need to eat.” He shook his head, focusing on his breathing, slow and steady. She leaned in toward him, her hand back on his forehead, tender and sweet - she had to break out the heavy artillery. “Just one. For me, yeah?” She pressed the salty square to his mouth, watching with unfiltered satisfaction as he nibbled at the corner of one, then another, and another still, until he had downed half the packet.

    “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” she asked, pointedly ignoring his piercing glare. “Feeling up for that soup now?”

    With a stifled groan, he nodded, the emptiness of his stomach more uncomfortable than the prospect of eating. His gaze followed her out as she disappeared down the hall, something in his sickness-addled mind screaming at him to bring her back, to keep her with him; he tried to move but couldn’t, tried to shout but wasn’t able to produce any sound louder than a squeak. He wanted her, needed her - where was she? How long had she been gone? He couldn’t hear her anymore. Had she left? Was he by himself? As the seconds ticked by - hours to him - the lonely ache that he’d always kept at the fringes of his mind flooded into him, enveloped him, dominated his thoughts.

    He was alone, as he always was.

    “Hey, hey, whoa - what’s with the waterworks?” Veronica was quick to set the soup on his nightstand, falling back into her seat as she brought her hands - still warmed from the bowl - to Eddie’s face, catching his tears, wiping them away as they dripped onto his lap. “What happened? Your stomach hurt again?”

    “Y-You… You l-left…” he tried to say, swallowing against the aching knot in his throat. “You were gone.”

    “I was in the kitchen, remember? Getting your soup?” she ran a hand through his hair, making a mental note to brush it out later. “What, did you think I…” As the meaning of his words seeped into her mind, she felt her heart constrict, her stomach drop. “Eddie, did you think I went home?”

    He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

    How often had he been forced to do this by himself? To weather his illnesses on his own? As much as she knew the man loved his nephew, she couldn’t imagine Wayne staying home to take care of him - nor could she imagine Eddie letting him do such a thing.

    “I’m right here, dingus.” Her voice dropped to a whisper, still tight as she cradled the side of his face, pulling at him to look at her. “I’m not going anywhere, okay?”

    Again, he nodded, staring at her as though she were an angel. His angel.

    She fed him the soup, filling the silence between them with mindless chatter about the school day - rather, it was mindless to him. For the life of him, he couldn’t understand a word she was saying, his eyes already beginning to droop as she set the now-empty bowl aside.

    She watched as his head bobbed once, twice, smiling as she pulled at a few of the pillows behind him to lay him back down. “Sleepy?” she asked, tugging his blanket up to his shoulders, biting back a grin as he curled up and turned himself toward her.

    “Tired.”

    “I bet.”

    “Soup was good.”

    “I’m glad it was.”

    Veronica stood up, the bowl and half-eaten sleeve of crackers balanced in one hand when she felt something pull at the hem of her skirt, urging her to turn around.

    “Stay…?”

    “...Sure, Munson.” she relented, her sigh warm, balmy as her voice pulled him further into whatever dream his mind had chosen for him - something pleasant, she hoped. “I’ll stay.”

    Slowly, peacefully, Eddie drifted away, clinging to her hand as tightly as his sapped strength would allow, the smallest of smiles on his lips at the feeling of her beside him.

    “Christ, I feel like shit.”

    Eddie walked out into his living room, hands scrubbing at his face as he stumbled toward the kitchen in search of something to drink, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth, chapped lips nearly to the point of bleeding.

    “Look like it, too.” Wayne called out from the couch, turning down the game he’d been watching before leaving for work - football, probably. Eddie was too exhausted to even pretend to care. “There’s still soup on the stove, if you’re hungry.”

    Eddie rushed into the kitchen as quickly as his sapped strength allowed - more of a hobble than a run. “Aw, Uncle Wayne, you shouldn’t have.” he croaked, lifting the lid, sighing as a salty cloud of steam reached his face. God, he was starving.

    “I didn’t.” Wayne kept his voice even in tone, watching as his nephew pulled a bowl from inside the cabinet beside the stove, digging through one of the drawers for a spoon, all the while biting back a grin. “The lil’ lady did.”

    Eddie dropped his spoon in the pot, hissing out a curse as he tried to fish it out, burning the tips of his fingers in the hot broth. “Veronica? She was here?” He stared at his uncle for some sort of clarification, but the man just shrugged. “When was this?”

    “Today.” Wayne said by way of reply, walking toward the solitary peg on the wall where he’d hang his coat. “Must’ve skipped school to come here, I think. Brought you all sorts of goodies.” At his words, Eddie finally noticed the plastic bag set atop the counter, filled with several more cans of soup, bottles and boxes of medicine - and, at the very bottom of the bag, pretzels. The tiny ones he liked to eat at school.

    She’d remembered the kind he liked.

    Memories of earlier that day slowly trickled into his mind - Veronica in his room, feeding him, calming him down. Him, in tears; her, holding his hand. As if he hadn’t already been feeling like a sentient pile of hot garbage, the fact that she had gone out of her way - skipped school, of all things - to look after him buried what was left of his crumbling pride.

    Wasn’t she upset with him? Didn’t she hate him?

    And, yet, she still cared.

    He felt like such a loser.

    “Don’t forget to take your medicine.” Wayne called out from the door, pulling his hat down over his balding head, hand already gripping the doorknob. “Every six hours, she said. Couldn’t get you to take it before.”

    Eddie waved off his uncle, his mind still reeling at the fact that Veronica had been there -  in his trailer, in his bedroom, with him. Tearing open the safety seal to a bottle of NyQuil, he grimaced as he took the measured amount, chasing down the green bile with a glass of water, all while thinking only of her.

    It took two days before Eddie was well enough to return to school, and his presence was met with a… mixed reception.

    “Veronica…!”

    Eddie struggled to shout above the waves of students ebbing and flowing through the halls, all eager to leave for the day, the sound of the final bell still ringing in his ears as he pushed his way forward. ”Veronica, please - just listen to me!”

    “Shove it, Munson.” her voice carried little, yet he heard it all the same, her words piercing his chest, his heart. Nonetheless, he continued after her, nearly knocking someone over as he pushed through the building’s front doors. He was paces behind her now - so close, yet still impossibly far away.

    “Please, I… Just let me explain!”

    “What could you possibly have to explain-”

    “Five minutes.” he begged, pleaded, his hands shaking as he held them at his sides. “Please… A-And then you’ll never have to talk to me again, I swear.”

    He stared at her, holding his breath as she turned around, hands set firmly at her hips. Even with the distance between them, he could see the pain in her eyes, certain they reflected his own. He let out a trembling exhale, tearing a hand through his hair as he tried to gather his thoughts into some semblance of order, his lip worried to the point of bruising between his teeth.

    “What you heard that day, I… It came out wrong.” He swallowed, still watching her, the iota of confidence he’d had going into their conversation deflating as she rolled her eyes. “I didn’t mean it like that-”

    “How did you mean it, then?”

    “Not the way you took it…!”

    Veronica let out a groan, pinching the space between her eyes, her head falling to her chest as she turned back around, frustrations mounting as she struggled with the lock on her bicycle. “I don’t have time for this.”

    Eddie found himself at an impasse, his unbridled need for her to just understand bringing him nearly to the verge of tears, the muddled desperation bleeding through his chest breaking his voice. “I-I miss you.”

    She froze, shoulders stiff, her hands stilling atop the chilled lock as she swallowed at the tightness coiling in her throat, her words soft and strained as she replied, “Eddie, don’t-”

    “I mean it, Veronica.” He took a half-step toward her, a cautious step, maybe just a tread. Still, she didn’t shy away from him; he took what little he could and bolstered his resolve. “And I’d rather you hate me and know that I do, than… than hate me and think that I don’t.”

    Hate him? Veronica spun back around, giving him a pointed look as if to say she’d never heard something so ridiculous. “I don’t hate you, I…” She blinked once, twice, before pressing the heels of her palms to her eyes, cursing herself for getting so emotional. “God, I just… I really thought we were finally friends, y’know?”

    “We are friends-”

    “Are we?” She hadn’t realized she’d raised her voice, drawing more than a few curious eyes from the students still gathered in the parking lot. “Because it sure as Hell didn’t seem that way when you were talking to Gareth!”

    "Forget Gareth! Forget that whole conversation!" Eddie started to pace, pulling at his hair, dragging his hands down his face as he tried to keep his breathing in check, failing miserably as he felt a sweltering heat work its way up his neck. “I was being a total dickhead, alright? I didn’t mean any of it! I was just talking straight out of my ass-”

    “God, seriously-”

    “I’m an idiot - I know! But, sweetheart, you have to believe me…!”

    He stopped, turning on his heel to look at her, swearing he could feel her indecisiveness; it made him want to scream, watching how uncertain she was, how her hands tugged at the hem of her cable knit sweater, gaze falling to her feet.

    And Eddie dropped to the ground, to his knees, hands reaching out, grabbing one of her own, his voice loud and booming as though they weren’t surrounded by dozens of inquisitive people. “Oh, will the beautiful princess spare a morsel of pity for this lowly knight?” As he continued on, Veronica couldn’t help the smile tugging at her lips, her resistance withering away with each passing phrase.

    “Eddie, get up-”

    “Pray tell, shall ye bestow thine most benevolent forgiveness upon such a homely creature as I?” He didn’t care for the small crowd gathered around them, gawking at his display - some in annoyance, but more than a few in unspoken envy. His focus was solely on Veronica, on the way her warring thoughts were clear as day behind her verdant eyes, her expression a cautionary mix of sadness and… and hope.

    Calling forth what was left of his courage, he brought her hand to his lips, pressing the softest of kisses atop her knuckles, his touch lingering perhaps a bit too long before he lifted his head to look at her. 

    “Please, Veronica…?”

    “Get off the ground, dingus.”

    He scrambled to his feet, his eyes never leaving hers, his stomach leaping as he waited for her to speak, to sort through her thoughts.

    Veronica kicked at a pebble near her foot, her shoulders falling ever so slightly, braids swaying as she shifted from one leg to the other, her hesitation palpable. “You… You really hurt my feelings, Eds.” Her voice was small, quiet, and it pained him to hear it, knowing he was at fault.

    “I know - and I’m sorry, sweetheart.” 

    She looked at him - truly looked at him  - and the shadow of a smile playing at her lips sent butterflies soaring through his chest. “So, what you said before… You didn’t mean it?”

    “Everything in that conversation can be regarded as false.” he answered quickly, his eagerness making her budding smile broaden, even if only a little. He took another reluctant step toward her, hands stuffed into his pockets, lip caught between his teeth as he asked, “So, are we okay? Are… Are we still friends?”

    And she shoved at his shoulder, rolling her eyes, her reply of, “Yes, you dweeb, we’re still friends.” sending an explosion of relief blooming through him, his body moving on its own accord as he picked her up in his arms, his head resting atop hers, his smile absolutely radiant as she returned his embrace with one just as tight.

    Eddie wiped the sweat trailing over his brow, shaking the nervousness from his hands as he made his way up Jeff’s driveway toward the open garage, guitar slung across his back, heart pounding in his throat. Inside, he could see the other three already gathered, practicing what he could only assume to be their Indy setlist; his stomach dropped, tightened as Gareth's words echoed through his mind.

    He had been neglecting the band; Hell, he couldn't even remember the last time he’d played his Sweetheart, let alone practiced with them.

    The trio were quiet as he approached them, unsure of what to say, how to address him - and he deserved as much, he’d figured. It was only fair, considering how things had been going as of late.

    Thomas was the first to acknowledge him. "Hey, Eds." he called out, giving his friend a wave, breaking the frigid ice between them; Eddie gave a smile in return, hands deep into his pockets as he looked between the three of them, his mind wiped clean of the speech he'd prepared.

    “Look, I-” he began, but was… cut off? Jeff waved his hand around, shutting him up as he whispered something sternly to Gareth, pushing the younger man forward.

    “Look, man, before you start, Gareth’s got something he wants to say.” Another shove, and Gareth’s standing face-to-face with the repentant metalhead, tugging at his fingers, kicking his feet. "Don’t you?"

    Eddie watched, waited as Gareth took in a deep, steeling breath, hands twisting behind him as he worked through his thoughts.

    “Dude-”

    “I-I was wrong, for saying what I did.” Gareth’s voice, quiet as it was, carried through the open garage as though he’d been shouting, his apology hanging heavy between them. “I was just… angry, I guess…”

    Eddie blinked, still reeling from the shock of having received an apology at all - and from Gareth, of all people; he’d gone to the group fully prepared to grovel for his spot back in the band.

    “I… We… know how hard you’re working to graduate this time - and that stuff I said about Veronica was just…” Gareth continued, rubbing at the back of his neck as he looked behind him to Jeff, who gave him an encouraging look. And, taking in a final breath, he quickly added, “I’m sorry, man. We all are.”

    Eddie shook his head, still in obvious disbelief; he took a step forward, crossing the length of the garage and dismissing Gareth’s extended hand altogether as he pulled the young man into his arms, his hold well past the point of tightening discomfort.

    “A-Alright, man!” Gareth laughed, both returning his friend’s embrace and struggling to escape from it; Eddie, finally relenting, turned to them all, his face tickled pink as he asked, 

    “So… uh… Am I back in the band?”

    “Dude, who said you ever left?” Thomas exclaimed, clapping a hand against Eddie’s shoulder with enough - albeit loving - force to knock him off balance, and the metalhead’s smile is blinding as he takes his usual position beside Gareth, strumming away at his guitar.

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@lulukings92 @i-me-mine @kaitebugg03

[ohjammers]

This is my first fanfiction so I hope you enjoy. It is Steve Rogers x female Reader. Lemon if you squint. There's also Bucky X Female Reader. Please don't steal my work! I put a lot of time into this. I do not give permission for it to be distributed. Well hope you enjoy!

Thank you

You felt uneasy knowing tomorrow would be the day Steve would return the infinity stones. He didn’t seem fazed by this notion at all. Anything could happen. What if he couldn’t come back? What if he wouldn’t come back?

It was early in the evening and Steve wanted to have a date night. You haven’t had one of those since before The Snap. You didn’t blame him though, Steve had been through a lot. Most of his time was spent in group therapy where he fought to overcome depression. Most of us were struggling with the loss of those recently but for Steve, he’d lost everyone. You often wondered how alone he must have felt in a world where everyone you knew was gone. Where the only family you had the grandchildren of those you knew from another time. It was something you worked so hard to understand, to sympathize with. It seemed no matter what happened Captain America was always fighting.

Steve had dressed the room with rose petals, drawn a bubble bath, and cooked a beautiful dinner. The room smelled of sweet grass and rosemary incense. Candles were lit all around the shared apartment and soft music played from another room. You sat at the table twirling your glass of Moscato feeling nothing but happiness. Your eyes smiled as you listened to Steve tell a story about his mischievous adventures with Bucky during their childhood.

“-and right there in front of everyone Buck kissed her!” The excitement in his voice brought joy to your heart. He always lit up when it came to talking about the past. His blonde hair was swept over in a side part, it had grown longer always neat and pristine. He hadn’t shaved in a while, it looked good on him. Blonde just made blue eyes pop like that. He had been lifting weights more than normal. You assumed it was how he kept the negative thoughts at bay when you weren’t there to soothe away the pain. He’d also spent more time outside, sun spots peppered his noise like soft kisses.

You hadn’t seen him this genuinely happy or relaxed in a very long time. Now that you thought about it, Steve was never this happy around you. Your face dropped for a moment and Steve must have caught the expression because he reached out for your hand. The pads of his calloused fingers brushing yours. You smiled down as your hands interlocked. “What’s wrong, sugar?” He asked, his words caressed your ears like velvet.

You smiled softly and leaned in to kiss his lips, trying to ignore the knot in your stomach. Its presence nagging that something wasn’t right. That Steve wasn’t being honest. How could he not have been? He hadn’t done or said anything to even be considered dishonest. Sure this date seemed softer and more thought out than normal, but shouldn’t be alarming. It was incredibly sweet. Maybe you shouldn’t be thinking so hard. Your man was here, and he was showing his love. Appreciate it, you told yourself. Realizing that Steve had been waiting for an answer you quickly let the thoughts leave you.

“All of this is just…” you wanted to say unlike him, but the words never left your lips. Everything’s fine. “...very romantic. It’s nice, baby. Thank you.” Your eyes meet his, and it’s his turn to smile softly. Steve pulls you into him, having you sit in his lap. You’re so close you can count his eyelashes. Steve’s blue eyes were blown almost completely black. His hand massaged your thighs and his lips found yours. This kiss left your mind in a swirl of sparkles and pink smoke. Your heart raced as he pulled away with a mischievous grin, knowing damn well what he was doing.

“You deserve to be loved.” He stated. The tone of his voice sweet yet somehow still distant. Honest.

“Here you are asking if I’m alright, but I’m more worried about you.” You begin to shift away, but Steve stops you, “Steve, tomorrow’s a big day for you. I’m scared.”

Steve chuckles, “Scared? Sugar, it’s not the first time I’ve gone back. Everything will be fine.” He gently pushes you away and stands up, “Now, the water should still be hot. Go on up. By the time I get done down here the water should be warm enough for me to join. I don’t want to boil alive today.” It’s your time to laugh. You’d think things like temperature wouldn’t bother a Super Soldier.

Once in the large bathtub you sigh, these thoughts were becoming intrusive. “Stop making something out of nothing. He will be-“

“Incredibly handsome?” Steve asked in a playful tone, startling you. “Baby!!” You yelped and splashed him. Steve pulled off his shirt and folded setting it on the toilet, laughing at your reaction the entire time. Soon his pants and underwear followed. You gave a whistle, and he chuckled before sinking into the warm water behind you, kissing your shoulder along the way. His arms wrapped around your body, drawing you further into his chest. He rested his face in your hair, inhaling softly before kissing it. Soft silence passed before you leaned up to add a bit more hot water into the tub. Steve’s warm hands stroked up your thighs down your shoulders, and back. It sent a pleasant shiver down your spine.

“I love you.” He said in a husky voice, “You know that right?” You sat up and eased back into his chest letting his chin rest in your hair.

“I know.” You smiled, “I love you too.” It came out in a whisper but he heard you. “I don’t think you realize how much I love you, Steve.” It was true. You never loved anyone this way before. There wasn’t another being on this planet that you’d want to share your time with. He was all you needed.

“I do.” He sighed, so quietly you only noticed it because of the rise of his chest. “Thank you for being here with me. For putting up with me and healing my soul. I couldn’t have survived those dark days without your love.” There was something about his tone, something sad. You turned facing him, thighs over his, breast to his chest. Eyes never leaving his. Sharing the air between you and oh so intimate.

“Without you, I would have been so lost. Shoot I was lost, sugar. Everything was so clouded. All I could think about was working. What other purpose did I have but to save others?” He wasn’t looking at you but lost somewhere within the fog of his mind. “When I found out Peg was still alive. I thought I had a chance of my old life but realizing I didn’t just…” he trailed off. I placed my hand on his stomach, he needed to say this. Both of his large hands settled on your hips, warmer than the water could have ever been. Your silence urged him to continue. “Then there you were, my light, leading me through the darkness. You’ve even saved Buck. For that, I’m eternally grateful.” He paused to look me over slowly. As if he was just realizing there was a gorgeous naked woman in his lap.

“Today, I wanted to show you how grateful I am. I’ve seen your body so many times, but I never had you. I’m ready if you are.” The shock that spread across your face was so loud. You searched his eyes to make sure he was ready. It wasn't a secret that Steve was still a virgin. Yes, it had been a four-year relationship without sex but you’d wait. The two of you were intimate in many other ways, and that was all you really needed.

“A-are you sure? Steve this is a big thing, babes.” Instead of answering with words, his large warm hands cupped your face smoothing a thumb over your lips. He leaned in and kissed you with heat and passion. Your eyes drifted closed as you allowed him to taste the wine from your lips. Butterflies danced within and sent fire straight to your core. How long had it been? The thought was gone as soon as it came. As he trailed down your neck, finding a spot that made you gasped in pleasure. That very sound had unleashed the beast that he tried to restrain for so many years. Once the chains had broken, there was no going back. Your body was his to worship and ravish.

Steve’s hot opened mouth caresses worked their way further down your body. His hands cupped your breasts pinching and tugging the soft buds. He kissed both of them, and growled at the moan that escaped your lips. His hands were active, grabbing your bottom to put you further into his lap. They squeezed your inner thighs, and he made haste to play with your clit. Your arms wrapped around his neck as you sighed and moaned in pure pleasure. Steve’s lips caress that spot on your neck pushing you further to the edge. His body is rigid and hard against you. He whispered sweet nothings in your ear as your body coiled then spasmed into release.

Before you could even finish, Steve stood up and wrapped your legs around his hips. He set you on the bed. Neither of you cared to dry off, leaving the wet covers to cling to your back. Steve kissed and nipped at you. Loving the way your skin tasted.

“Are you ready, sugar?” He breathed. You nod in agreement. Your brain is too muddled in pleasure and desire to properly answer. It had been a long time since anyone had touched you this way. Steve made love to you for the first time that night. It was soft at times, as if he were savoring the moment. His caresses seemed to memorize every curve and dip, every sigh and expression you made, held every ounce of his attention. He wanted to remember this night for the entirety of his life. Steve made love to you like a man starving for affection. His first time felt like it was also yours.

Steve held you close all night. Smelling your skin and kissing every part he could. Your bodies were intertwined between bare skin and silken sheets. Your cheek rested on his chest as you fell asleep listening to the strong steady hum of his heart.

Steve watched the soft rise and fall as you snored beneath him. You wouldn’t know yet but this would be the last time he ever held you this way. He memorized how beautifully you wore dawn on your skin. How delicate you were. How lucky he was to have had you in his life. To have had you as his first. To have loved you this way.

You’d hate him. He only hoped you could understand that he didn’t belong here. Did he love you? Yes. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that he loved you but was he in love with you? Could he ever truly give you every part of him? No. His heart belonged to someone else. No matter how hard he tried to forget Peggy, to forget what was stolen from him. He couldn’t bring himself to fully love you. The way you deserved.

So last night was his goodbye. It was his way of leaving the future behind. His closure. He was going to go home, and you were going to live your life. You were going to fall in love with someone who could love you back fully. Who could take care of you? Who would not simply love you but be in love with you?

Steve gave a sad chuckle, he just knew Bucky would fit in perfectly. He’d seen the way Buck’s eyes followed you. Heard how softly he said your name. That’s how Steve knew he couldn’t stay. Steve wasn’t angry at Bucky at all.

When Bucky came back from The Snap, Steve watched how the two of you interacted. Of course, you were faithful, but he loved the way Bucky looked with you. How your voice relaxed his pal, the way no other woman’s had. The old Bucky would have found a sweetheart by now, but he hadn’t. At first Steve chalked it up to Bucky recovering over Hydra, like Steve, they’d taken everything from him too. However, Bucky bounced back, accepting everything that happened to him over the years. Taking it much better than Steve ever could and that was when he noticed the way Bucky’s eyes always found you. Whether it was while you were reading paper work in the tower, or making coffee for the team in the mornings. Bucky always watched over you. For the first time in either of their lives, Steve had a woman that Bucky didn’t take away from him.

Back in their youth, Bucky had stolen plenty of Steve’s flings. It was just friendly rivalry back then. They never thought much of it. The respect Bucky held for you was different. You weren’t just a coworker or Steve’s girl. You were Bucky’s savior. Steve could see how much Bucky respected you. How much Bucky had fallen in love with you. You wouldn’t see it for a while but one day you would. If only he would be there to watch you fall in love with Bucky. His pal deserved a good woman, and you deserved a good man. Steve wouldn’t leave you with anyone else.

You stirred in your sleep. He shushed you then slipped out of bed. Wrapping a robe around his body and couldn’t help but notice how it smelled of you. When was the last time he actually used it?

He went into his office and pulled out a crisp blue envelope. It hadn’t been sealed. He then pulled out his wallet and slipped in a picture of the two of you. He was sitting down with a sour yet genuine smile on his face. Dressed in a tuxedo he’d only worn at Stark’s Galas. There you were hanging over him with a goofy grin. Laughter on your lips and half spilled drink in your hands. You had a beautiful red gown that hugged your hips nicely. He couldn’t keep his eyes off of you. No one could. Steve sealed the envelope and tucked it into the pocket of the suit he’d be wearing back home.

He went back into the room and lingered in the door for just a bit. Watching you sleep for one last time. The two of you had whitewashed the black brick walls. You had decorated the room with golds, blacks, and navy blues. Your beloved pathos draped around the room. Steve eyed the pictures you’d taken of blurred carousels and rainy cityscapes. Of pictures of him, even then his smile was so empty. He cursed himself. He should have let you go years ago. When he noticed Bucky was falling for you. He had done the two most important people in his life a disservice. This room should have belonged to you and someone else. Bucky should have making love to you after his long absence. Not Steve saying goodbye.

Most people would say Captain America was the least selfish man in the world, always putting the greater good above him. Even he had tricked himself.

“Baby?” You called out in a tired voice. Steve padded over to you, kissing your lips with more emotion than he meant to give away.

“It’s time to get up, sugar. I’ve got to get the stones back.” You sighed but sat up to get ready for the day. Steve made breakfast while you showered. He set the table up and talked about trivial things. Anything to pass the time and push away the heartbreak he knew he’d cause.

That knot was in your stomach again. He lingered closer to you for much longer than normal. All of his touches were tender. Meaningful. It scared you.

Both of you walked to the time machine hand in hand. Steve held you close, but his body was mostly tense. He was nervous too. Bucky stood on the other side of you and smiled when he noticed the wary expression on your face. Steve noted the action, internally urging himself to follow through with his plans.

Bruce stood by the time machine with Falcon nearby. Only Bucky had known this was the last time he would see his friend. Steve confided in him after Stark’s funeral. At first Bucky was livid. “You can’t just leave her like that, Steve!” Bucky’s voice was acid. Steve had never heard him use that tone. Steve sat on Bucky’s couch running his hands through his hair in frustration. They just didn’t understand, this world wasn’t meant for him. He just wanted to go home, wanted to have that dance with Peggy.

“Look Bucky I-I,” He sighed heavily, “I won’t get another chance to go home.”

“Home? This is your home. S-she’s made this home. That woman loves you more than most of us get a chance to experience.” Bucky didn’t want Steve to ruin what he had going. Here in this time, Steve had found someone that not only loved him but who had a good heart. An amazing partner. Someone you marry, but Steve already had that eating for him in the past.

“I thought she was home. Over the years I realized she was as close to Peggy as I was going to get but now-now I can have her. Start my life where I left it.” Steve looked up at his friend, eyes full of sorrow. “It’s not fair for her to love someone who can never give her all of them. She’s given me so much, Buck. I can’t do this to her anymore. I can’t pretend I’m here in the present when my soul’s in the past.” Bucky sighed, hearing the pain in Steve’s voice. Staying here was killing him. Though Steve was healthy in body, his soul wept.

“Are you going to tell her?” Bucky asked after a long heavy silence.

“No. Not verbally, she’ll just change my mind with those honeyed words of hers.” Steve then chuckled to himself. “That woman could talk a shark out of its meal.”

“She could.” Bucky said more to himself with a fond half smile on his face.

“You’re in love with her.” Steve stated. Bucky jolted almost hitting his head on the shelf he was leaning against.

“I never made a move on ‘er, pal. I’ve always kept those feelings to myself.” And he was right. He had never given any conscious indication of his interest in you. Only someone that was very observant or knew the soldier could see it. Someone like Steve.

“Hey, hey. No need to defend yourself. I understand. She’s been there for you too. I’m sorry. I should have let her go when I noticed. This would’ve been easier for all of us.” Bucky bristled a little at this comment.

“She ain’t a toy, Steve. Stop talking about her like we’re passin’ her around!” The Brooklyn accent ever present. Steve gave a hardy laugh, yeah Bucky was in love.

“Calm down. I don’t mean it like that. I respect her and I know you’d kill me if I didn’t. Kind of surprised you haven’t already. You love hard.” With those words the tension once again eased in the room. “I-Take care of her, Buck. Love her, marry her, have a family. She’s got big dreams, I know only you can help her fulfill. Do that for me.” Buck nodded once in reassurance. “If she'll have me.” There was nothing else to be said. Steve was going to do this and the last thing Bucky could do for his best friend, was support him. Steve stood and shared a thoughtful hug. The last hug he’d ever give the man that had been a brother to him. A brother that had helped him grow into the man he was today. Steve was ever so grateful.

“Ready, Cap?” Bruce Banner asked with a smile on his green face. “For you, it will seem like an hour but for us it’ll only be about ten seconds. Two minutes at the most.”

“Just a minute.” Steve turned to you and kissed you. The kiss spoke octaves. He held you close, arms around your back. Stealing away your breath and pouring in sadness. Your heart raced as he pulled away. Goodbye. His eyes met yours they reassured you that everything would be fine. He would be safe. He would come home. Right? Steve briefly turned to Bucky and exchanged a nod. Before walking away and handing his shield to Falcon. He would make an amazing new Captain America. Steve wouldn’t entrust the title to anyone else.

“Hold on to this for me will ya?” He told Falcon before walking to the machine and standing in the center of its rings. Relief washed over him. You would be safe and loved. Bucky would finally get the life he deserved. The world would be safer and Steve, he was going home.

As the machine warmed up he watched, Bucky put an arm around your shoulder and pull you in. Further, reassuring Steve that he’d take care of you. Your big eyes watched Steve not missing a beat, and it broke his heart. He smiled at you, tears falling from his eyes as the familiar warmth of the machine washed over him. Just like that he was gone.

It was only supposed to take ten seconds. Ten seconds and he’d be back in your arms. Panic surged through your veins like ice-cold water. Be patient. You reminded yourself. Banner said it could take up to two minutes for him to return.

Two minutes passed. Everyone began to panic except for Bucky. He was watching you, closely but in the frenzy you hadn’t noticed. “Bruce! Bruce, you said two minutes!! Bruce!” You screamed. Your body flew into action and you lunged forward. Bucky caught you before the onslaught continued. Bruce was typing frantically at the computer trying his damnedest to bring Steve back.

“Doll, it’s going to be alight. Steve’s fine.” You finally noticed how calm Bucky was. Instantly you yanked out of his hold and whipped around. The answer was written all over his. Steve wasn’t coming back.

“Bucky w-where’s Steve!? W-why isn’t he back!?” Bucky couldn’t meet your gaze. Realization hit you, the bad feeling, the romantic evening, the thank-yous, and the love making. He was saying goodbye. Tears swell in your eyes, Steve left you. He’d left you all alone. After all of this time and you couldn’t love him hard enough to stay.

“That bastard.” You cry through clenched teeth and clutched fist. Anger, despair, sorrow, heartbreak. All of these emotions coursed through your soul. The sob that left your lips broke the hearts of everyone around you.

“I said the same thing when he told me what happened.” The frail voice of a woman called out. An elderly woman stood up from a nearby bench. She looked very familiar.

The old woman slowly made her way over to you. She held her hand out and for a shake. You took it with a confused expression but when you went to pull away she placed her other hand on top of yours. Holding you in place and never breaking eye contact. Strong grip for such an old woman.

“I’m sorry my husband couldn’t make it. He passed away last year.” She didn’t seem sorrowful, they had lived a good life. Somehow you know exactly who her husband was.

“Just know Steve wanted to be here. To explain with an older wiser mind.” You knew exactly who she was, you’d attended her funeral years ago, it was Peggy. Your body slumped. He stayed to be with her. Tears began to roll down your eyes once again at the finality Peggy brought. She soothed circles into your skin. It felt familiar.

“Steve did love you.” Your head shot up to meet her tender gaze. “Choosing to leave you was the hardest decision he ever made.” You almost scoffed. “I know. Trust me I gave him hell. Just leaving you like that without an explanation or closure. He was very sorry, dear.” The words weren’t enough to heal your pain, but it was nice to know that you had meant something to him.

“Steve took a picture of you with him. So I know his love was real. I’d catch him staring at it from time to time.” She gave a smile, “I’m pretty sure he took that photo with him everywhere he went. I had half of a mind to bury it with him, but he wanted to return it.” She let go of your hands to dig around in a little black purse. She handed you a very faded blue envelope. It looked like the ones you kept in the desk at home. Your name was written by his hand on the front. “Thank you for healing, Steve. You helped him more than you could have ever imagined. If not for you the man that would have retuned may not have been the same. Know that he was loved and happy. We are forever grateful.” Peggy turned away leaving you to stare at the envelope with trembling hands.

“You take care of her for him.” Bucky nodded and assisted Peggy back to where she came from. The two having a quiet discussion along the way.

You didn’t open the envelope for weeks. Couldn’t bring yourself to acknowledge Steve’s existence. You felt used, abandoned, and very much alone. Bucky came by every day. Passing every mission the team asked him to join and dedicated all of his time to healing your heart. You were grateful.

The first thing you did was redecorate the apartment, any and everything that reminded you of Steve was put into storage. You couldn’t bring yourself to sell it or throw it away. Steve overall would always be an important figure in your life.

After the first month you noticed things about Bucky you hadn’t before. Very subtle touches, the way he said your name was different from others. How you always found his eyes on you. How protective and observant he was when it came to you. It was like he had already known all the little things, what type of tea you liked, or the flowers you adored.

Two months had passed, and you finally had the courage to open the envelope. It smelled faintly of Steve’s cologne and old musk probably due to its age. It was a little worn like it had spent some time in his pocket.

You opened the envelope and pulled out a very worn colored picture of the two of you. It was taken at Tony’s Gala, right after the two of you began seeing each other. You turned the picture in your hand and noticed faint cursive writing on the back. No matter where I went you were always with me. Thank you. You smiled at the words, understanding. You noticed a black and white photo in the envelope and picked it up. It was a picture of him. He looked so happy, you could see the wedding ring on his finger and the smile on his face brought joy to your heart. You smiled back at it. Looking further into the envelope you found a faded piece of paper. It was Steve’s will. He and Peggy were to leave everything they owned to you. The only stipulation was that you spent at least one Sunday with her every month until her passing. As one last favor, Steve was asking you to make sure Peggy did not leave this world alone. It was an honor.

And so you did. Peggy became a dear friend and her passing was very hard on you. It turned out Peggy and Steve had a beautiful life together and hearing of their adventures and sharing some of yours brought closure. You no longer saw Steve as an ex but a very dear friend.

Over time, you fell in love with Bucky. He gave you more happiness and love than any person ever had. The two of you lived the life Steve always knew you would.

[loveforpreserumsteve]

Not Without You (Canon Divergence Stucky Fix-It-Fic)

Seventeen:

After an unsuccessful night of sleep, Steve's stomach filled with butterflies. Today was the day. Today, they'd fix things. Bring back those who Thanos took. Bring back Bucky. Make it right.

With energy from purely too much joy and nervous excitement, Steve quickly dressed for the day. Simple underclothing and a replica of his 2012 Captain America suit. It was tight and Steve hated it, but he had put up with a lot worse to save Bucky before, and he'd do whatever it took for him now. Even if that meant squeezing back into the unflattering costume.

Meeting in the common room, he was glad to see that everyone was there. Everyone looking as wide awake as Steve was, and he knew that they must've been feeling the same energy. Thor even managed to look sober and focused, which gave Steve an extra confidence boost that this was going to work. With everyone in one room, the air felt alive with their energy.

Well, all except for Cassie who was sulking in the corner while nursing a cup of Tony's expensive coffee. It tugged at his heartstrings with how much it reminded him of himself. If anyone knew what it felt like to want to fight, but not be able to, it was Steve.

"You alright?" Steve asked, sitting down on the couch beside her.

"I don't know," Cassie slurped a sip of coffee, "Are you going to give me an after school lecture?"

Steve's brows furrowed, until Cassie sat straighter and mocked, "So, you're not allowed to Time Travel. You've helped with the idea and the planning, but you're still not seen as a team member."

Fighting the urge to roll his eyes, Steve said, "I know that you feel like you're not helping by staying behind, but you are. You're right about helping with the planning -- and even naming it -- but it's best if you stay here. What if something goes wrong? Who would monitor the board? Who would bring us back? Who would make sure that we came back?"

"Gamora," Cassie grumbled, not looking at Steve as she pouted into the mug.

"You can do a lot from staying right here," Steve continued, "And it'll only be five seconds for you."

Cassie rolled her eyes, but a smirk was tugging at her lips. Taking that as assenting to staying behind, Steve stood from the couch. Extending his hand to her, he helped her off the sofa, and he looked around at the group who were talking among each other.

"Alright," Steve clapped his hands to gain everyone's attention, "We have a plan. Six stones, three teams. One shot."

Some people nodded and others stretched their limbs. Enthusiastically, Scott agreed, "Yes! Alright! Let's go!"

So, they headed for the new, and improved, Quantum Time Machine. Steve led the way, trying not to sprint to the machine in his haste to get Bucky back. Nonetheless, he walked with his shoulders back and head held high. He didn't know how long it would take for them to get the stones, but he hoped that it was quicker than he could even say, "On your left."

Climbing onto the platform of the time machine, the group formed a loose circle. Their nanobot time suits covering their other suits as they settled in place. At the panel, Gamora stood, ready to retrieve them if something went awry. Meanwhile, Cassie hugged Scott, and Steve tried not to watch their intimate father-daughter moment, or how scared she probably was in the moment for him to have to leave again.

"Five years ago, we lost. All of us," Steve started once he had the attention of everyone, "We lost friends… We lost family…" Steve paused, feeling the compass in his pocket, "We lost a part of ourselves.

"Today, we have a chance to take it all back. You know your teams, you know your missions. Get the stones, get them back. One round trip each. No mistakes. No do-overs," Steve's stomach churned. He couldn't lose anyone. He couldn't even think about losing anyone.

Clearing his throat, Steve continued, "Most of us are going somewhere we know. But it doesn't mean we should know what to expect. Be careful. Look out for each other. This is the fight of our lives. And we're gonna win. Whatever it takes. Good luck."

From the side, Gamora commented, "He's pretty good at that."

"He practices in the mirror," Cassie teased, taking her spot off to the side beside Gamora.

"Alright, you heard the man," Tony confirmed. Gesturing to Hulk who was explaining the control panel to Gamora and Cassie, Tony instructed, "Stroke those keys, jolly green."

"Tractors engaged," Bruce said as he came to take his place on the Quantum platform.

Rocket gestured to the miniature spaceship in Clint's hand, "You promise to bring that back in one piece, right?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. Okay, I'll do my best," Clint shrugged the raccoon off, ready to go almost as much as Steve was.

"As promises go," Rocket took his place in the loose circle, "That was pretty lame."

As the butterflies started fluttering uncontrollably in Steve's stomach, Natasha excitedly smiled at him, "See you in a minute."

Steve couldn't help his own excited smile from tugging at his lips when he looked down to the petite woman standing beside him. This was it. This time, they weren't going to lose. They were going to win. They had to.

Before anything else could be said, they shrunk, being pulled into the Quantum Realm. They moved quickly through time, making Steve feel like a bullet leaving the barrel of a gun. His vision blurred, his heart raced, and he found his breathing shallow like he was going to have an anxiety attack. Trying to keep his mind off what was currently happening, he was thankful that Tony stark came up with the Time GPS, that allowed the teams to easily split off in their designated direction. Over the dizziness and the nausea, Steve could only hope that everyone was safe and successful in their own times, knowing that this was it. Their one shot.

[afewmarvelousthoughts]

Stay Ch. 19

Master: @afewmarvelousthoughtsadmin

Pairing: Natasha X Reader (Female)

Summary: You have a gift, the ability to see other people’s innermost secrets. For years you used it to gather intel for the highest bidder when you take on The Widow. After she becomes more than a mark the two of you spend years stealing moments. Post snap you wait in your designated meeting place, look back on the sordid past you share with the woman you love and hope against everything that she’s still alive.

Warnings: A little violence (kinda) and a lot of feelings

A/N:  HOLY SHIT I AM SO SORRY! I had no intention for this to take over a fucking month. But Endgame fucked me up so hard (in the best way, I think I earned those hurts with the shit I write here lol) and just life, in general, has been NUTS (also in a really good way).

I honestly cannot thank you all enough for being so goddamn patient and supportive while you waited for this chapter. Some folks have to deal with really demanding and dickish followers but I’m over here getting asks and DMs of y’all wishing me well and shit. HOW AM I THIS LUCKY?!

I hope y’all like this one.

Tags are open!

Post Snap: Wakanda

Shock settles cold and heavy over Natasha’s shoulders.

Her gaze has been on the blank screen of her phone for an unknown amount of time. She’d tried to call… but all communication had been cut off, Wakanda locking itself away… A knock from the door behind her causes her to jump, sending the phone clattering to the floor.

“Sorry,” Bruce’s tone is cautious. “The jets almost ready.” They needed to get home… She knows people need them but…

“I can’t.”

“Nat… we have to-”

“No. I have to find her Bruce…”

There’s pity in his eyes, “Natasha… the odds…”

“Go,” Steve’s voice comes from the hall, rough and low. She steps out holding his haunted expression. A set of keys sail in her direction, “There’s a bike you can take outside…” Steve pauses, taking a shaky breath before continuing, “Outside Bucky’s place.”

A touch of warmth fills her chest. He already knew what she’d need to do. Her fingers curl around the keys. “Thank you.”

The moment she’s outside of Wakanda’s protective barrier she tries to check for the message… still, she can’t get through…

A scream threatens to rip her apart. She may be able to make it through the end of the goddamn world… through watching members of her small family fall to ash… But she would not survive losing you… not again.

October 2009

“Fuck!” Natasha bellows slamming her fist against the wall.

Months of searching… this had been their last lead. It came up empty. She was supposed to be the best and yet she couldn’t find and save the one person she cared the most for… not even with the resources and blessing of S.H.I.E.L.D…

They’d given her everything she could need. Everyone from Secretary Pierce to Fury throwing their weight behind this, pulling strings no one would even fathom pulling with governments and low lives alike and still not a sign of you. It was as if you’d simply disappeared.

“I’m sorry, Nat…” Clint lays a comforting hand on her shoulder, she shrugs him off.

“We missed something. There’s gotta be… something…” her voice cracks as he takes her by the shoulders.

His sad eyes break something in her, “There’s not, Natasha. She’s… she’s gone.”

“No,” her voice is thick with restrained tears. “She wouldn’t-”

He shakes his head, “I don’t… I don’t think it was a choice… But someone…” Nat shakes her head like a child denying a very obvious truth.

“Clint-” A sob slips out before she can catch it.

He tugs her into his arms, crushing her against his chest. “I’m so sorry.”

That’s it. A guttural sob rips from the deepest parts of her being and her knees give way sending them both to the floor. All she can think is how you’d feel this emotion with her, how you’d understand everything without her having to speak a word…

Slowly her sorrow is replaced with a cold rage. Someone took you from her. They likely caught wind that you’d turned your services over to S.H.I.E.L.D. and thinking you’d give something away… They couldn’t even leave her a body, couldn’t even give you dignity in death.

“We’ll figure out who did this, Natasha.” Clint may not be you but he knew her well enough to read her. “We will.”

Of that, she had no doubt.

-

They never did though…

Fury assigned her to Stark because she was best suited but also because he felt the distraction of deep cover would help. It may have but… Being Natalie Rushman reminded her of your night in Tokyo… There was nothing she could do to escape your memory.

Thankfully it hadn’t lasted long. In less than a year she was back to just being Natasha, back to the Widow, working every job she could. The more exhausted she was the less she felt how hollow she was. The more her body ached the less she missed your touch.

When she stared down a horde of alien invaders she thought that just maybe this was it. She’d go out fighting and save some people in the process. If there was another side well, she hoped you’d be there waiting.

But it wasn’t the end. Somehow they’d pulled off the impossible.

By that point, almost five years had passed. Natasha still missed you on a level that felt impossible to truly convey. But there were days that the ache was less than it had ever been. It wasn’t moving on per-say but it was something like healing.

At the very least now she had the distraction of Steve. She could make him a project. She’d never have the life or happiness she wanted but maybe she could help him find his footing. Maybe one of them could have a chance at happiness, at a life.

There was something she related to in his detachment. She supposed the loss of just about everyone and everything a person knew could be similar to the void you left. So many times she thought of telling him about you, hoping that he’d feel less alone in his pain but… He was a man from the ’40s… She wasn’t willing to risk losing a friend over dated prejudices.

Turned out she should have given Steve Rogers more credit.

When she heard the ballistics on the bullet that killed Fury her blood ran cold. It was him…

So many things had crossed her mind then. Not a single one of them had been that somehow she’d find you because of this.

She’d been so wrapped up in the aftermath of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s demise that she didn’t have time to look at the files she’d released. Thankfully Clint had her back and had been scanning them the moment they’d hit the web.

Just after she’d settled into the tower he showed up looking like he’d seen a ghost.

Fear gripped her. Had she exposed Laura and the kids in her haste to topple Hydra… had she sacrificed everything-

“I found her.”

For a minute the words rang hollow and meaningless.

“Found who?” Steve asked from his spot on her couch.

Clint said nothing, just held her gaze until his shot inevitably hit its target. “I think she’s alive, Nat.” He hands you a file.

With trembling hands, she turns the pages. Scarcely breathing. Steve says something but Clint hushes him.

As the words on the pages soak in she thinks she may vomit. Experiments, tests, torture… kill missions… Riots you’d incited at their command, dignitaries dropping from what appeared to be brain aneurisms. Little subtle things she should have looked for and then the last report… February 2014… nine months prior.

Natasha’s knees give out and she hits the hardwood with a thud. They’d had you for five years…  Her breath stills.

No.

“Natasha!” Clint kneels in front of her, Steve stands at the ready behind him.

Pieces rapidly click into place. All the subtle ties to Hydra since the very moment the two of you met and they meant one thing. My fault. All my fault. They wouldn’t have gotten to you if it weren’t for her. You wouldn’t have let your guard down. You wouldn’t have trusted S.H.I.E.L.D. You’d had a feeling about them from the start but she’d been convinced you were just being overly cautious.

“Nat…”

A raspy breath sucks into her lungs so fast it almost hurts. “I did this.” She breathes out.

“No. No, you fucking did not.” Clint grabs her shoulders, shaking her.

“I did. She wouldn’t-”

“If you don’t shut the fuck up with that I’ll slap you,” she sees Steve shift in the background. “You didn’t do this. They did this and we will get Y/N back.” She says nothing, just stares at a hair on Clint’s shirt, numb. “Do you hear me, Natasha?!”

Slowly her eyes meet his. “Do you hear me?” His tone level now.

“Yeah,” weakly she nods.

-

This was the last base that could possibly be hiding you. The last little flickering ember of hope. With cell after cell empty or filled with rotting bodies, that ember was fading quickly.

Natasha thought when the inevitable realization that you were gone hit her she’d go mad. Screaming, tearing her hair, the full Linda Blair. Instead, she feels… nothing. Not the calm detachment she’s used to but a nothingness so deep she wonders if it’s actually what death feels like.

“Natasha,” Sam’s voice crackles in her comm, “one floor down from you, south side. We think we got her.”

Tingles creep up her spine, feeling electric against her scalp. She won’t believe it. Won’t hope. All Sam and Steve had to go off of were old photos… Who knew what they’d done to you… Natasha ran faster than she ever had in her entire life. The slightest chance that you could be alive was all it took to drive her forward.

Honey. That’s all she wanted to hear in your rich accent. “Please,” she breathes out to anything that would hear her as she sprints down the hall toward where the guys waited. “Please give me her.”

“Where!?” They’re standing before a glass wall and part as if on cue.

The figure slumped on the floor beyond the glass isn’t the woman she remembers. There are bones where once ample curves had been, supple skin replaced with dull bruised flesh, thick hair traded for thin scraggly locks, pink lips for cracked grey things. Honestly, she couldn’t even tell if the person in there was alive.

A small sound ekes from Natasha’s mouth before her hand can fly to cover it. Why had she dared to hope?

Clint’s warm hand settles on her back. She doesn’t know when he arrived or how long she’s been staring. “That’s her, Nat…” He says it like she really doesn’t know like you aren’t a part of her very soul. She’d know you… she’d always know you. But were you-

Your head rolls on your shoulders, a groan sounding through unseen speakers. Natasha’s breath stops. -Alive.

“Hey,” your voice is cracked, low, and hoarse but still… it really is you. Clint grabs her hand tight. “How about you pieces of shit bring me some water?”

Still very you. Unable to wait a second longer she rushes to the door. Desperately she tugs at the handle, clearly locked.

“Rogers, a little help?!”

“Are you sure Nat? We don’t know if-”

“If. I know that if you don’t help me open this door I will break your super-powered body in ways you can’t even imagine.” Every word drips with conviction.

Steve holds up his hands in surrender. With a swift tug and a touch of effort, he pries the door open.

Your head rolls in the direction of the door, “About fuckin’ time. Was beginning to think y’all were just gonna-”

Eyes Natasha has missed for far too long fly wide open. Instead of the joy and love, she was hoping to see, terror floods your features.

“No,” your voice is barely a whisper. “God no please, no.” You bury your face in your knees, covering your ears with your hands, “I’ll do anything you want… don’t make me do this, not again, please. No.” Your body trembles, rocking back and forth.

Natasha doesn’t even hear Steve and Clint warn her to hold back as she kneels before you, tugging your hands from your head. Caution a long forgotten skill. This is you. You need her.

“Baby, it’s me. It’s ok. Look at me, feel-”

“Don’t, please don’t.” Your head shakes back and forth, “They lied, whatever they promised you is a lie. You won’t win, just go. Go. I can’t… I-”

“Y/N,” she tilts your chin up. Red rimmed, fearful eyes, gaze at her. “It’s me.”

“No. Leave, they’re gonna make me… just go. Go now. Tell ‘em I’ll do whatever it is, just leave… please… don’t make me do this…”

She shakes her head, “Do what? Baby, I-”

“Go!” You roar. Behind the word is something else. A force so strong it knocks the wind from Natasha’s chest. “Get out!”

She can’t breathe, her heart begins to trip over itself. Panic, terror, pain, all combine making her brain misfire in every direction. A low keening rises from you, with the sound the emotions become more and more pronounced. Natasha can’t even reach her concern for you anymore, there’s only this, this inescapable feeling of pure fear. Curling into a ball she tries to focus.

Slowly you rise, looking down at her. When her eyes meet yours she’s struck by how black they are, the pupils so huge they seem to take up more space than your irises ever did. They look… inhuman. For a second it quells the suffocating fear.

“Please…” Desperately Natasha reaches up for you, silently begging you to know her, all of her, in that way only you can. Instead, your hand slowly lowers, aimed for her head.

This is fine, Nat thinks, eyes closing. Strangely, she’s at peace with the thought that if she died here, by your hand, at least then you’d feel her, know she came for you even if she was too late.

The distinct crackling of electricity followed by a thud beside her meets her ears. Breath begins to fill her chest as her heart slows. Something happened to you… A new sense of panic breaks her from the stupor she’d fallen into.

You’re unconscious, one of Clint’s shock arrows stuck to your back. Vaguely, Natasha is aware of the shuffling feet near the door. Someone grabs her shoulders. Logically, she knows they’re helping her up but she isn’t operating on logic. Without thought, she blindly lunges at this faceless person. Flesh contacting flesh with an effective smack.  

Ignoring everything and everyone else she crawls to you ripping the arrow off your limp body tugging you into her arms. With every ounce of strength, she has she clutches your back to her chest. Your head lolls on her shoulder as she presses a kiss to your forehead.

“I’ve got you,” Natasha whispers against your skin. “I’ve got you. It’s ok. It’s gonna be ok. You’re gonna be ok, baby.” Tears burn the backs of her eyes, pricking like a thousand needles. She refuses to allow them to fall. Tears won’t help you.

“Nat?” Clint’s voice is level like he’s speaking to one of the kids. “Nat, we need to get her some help. Will you let us do that?”

Clarity dawns. Her eyes scan the room to find Steve rubbing his neck. It was Steve who she’d lashed out at. “St… Steve?”

“I’m ok,” his smile is weak but he’s sincere. “Will you let me carry her?”

The thought of letting you go… but Clint was right. Your skin feels clammy, your breath shallow… scarily so… Natasha nods and he cautiously approaches, not wanting another fist to the throat.

Steve lifts you from her arms like you weigh nothing. Despite his bulk, he’s so gentle, ensuring you’re supported properly. Clint and Sam flank her, making sure she’s steady on her feet before trekking to the jet.

Immediately Sam begins hooking you up to oxygen and a saline drip. He says something about your oxygen levels and heart rate that doesn’t sink in. All Natasha can do is stare at you, horrified and amazed in equal measure that somehow you’re back with her. Somehow after all these years, she has you again.

-

“This isn’t fucking necessary, Tony!” Natasha shakes with rage.

“I think all present parties would disagree.”

Her eyes desperately scan the room for backup but even Clint averts his gaze.

“I don’t know if you blacked out back there but all of us damn near flipped shit when your girl in there did. She’s a bomb and we have no idea what the trip wire is. Until we know exactly what’s going on we need to control the environment she’s in.” Tony collapses in a chair, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“I don’t like it either, Nat but he’s right. We have to play it safe. For her sake as much as ours.” Clint looks so tired…

She shakes her head, “She… she won’t know she’s safe… that-” I’m here… Natasha can’t finish the statement though because she knows that’s part of the point. Seeing her had set you off.

“We’re gonna have to keep her partially sedated for at least a few days anyway, Nat.” Sam offers a half smile when she glares at him. “The withdraws from whatever they had her on will be rough, it’d be cruel to keep her fully conscious while she goes through the first part of them. She’ll come to slowly so the change doesn’t shock her.”

She knows Sam’s right. They’d had you on some sick mix of heroin and other chemicals for longer than they knew. It was the perfect combination to keep you desperate and pliable without harming your mind, leaving you an effective weapon for them.

But when she looks at your unconscious form through the view screen she just wants to hold you. Truly it feels as though her whole body is aching to wrap around yours. She wants to be the first thing you see when you wake up but… they took that from you both.

Sam wraps an arm around her shoulders, “I’ll make sure she knows she’s safe, Natasha. Promise.”

-

Post Snap

The rain had slowed but that only meant that cold could settle in. That kind of cold that makes your insides ache.

You can’t bring yourself to move, all you can do is focus on the pain and what it reminded you of…

November 2014

Your whole body throbbed with pain. A deep, aching, hungry kind of pain. It was familiar but you weren’t certain of it until your stomach clenched.

Without ceremony, you lean over the side of the bed and heave, nothing but bile burning up your dry throat.

After you refused to kill the woman they sent you should have known they’d do this. It never took very long for withdrawal to set in and the last time it had been enough to break you… They’d send her in soon enough… And Natasha’s face or not you were fairly certain you’d end her life if it meant stopping the pain.

Anyway, it wasn’t Natasha… Hell, sometimes you wondered if there ever was a Natasha. Maybe your brain, in hopes of surviving, crafted some fantasy to comfort you…

You heave again, abdominal muscles screaming from the effort. “Fuck,” you groan, wiping your cracked lips on your arm.

It’s not until you collapse back into the bed that you realize you’re in a different cell, and this bed… well, it’s possibly the most comfortable thing you’ve felt in years. Interesting tactic for them to take.

The door opens cautiously. A dry laugh tumbles from you. Even if you wanted to attack whoever was on the other side you don’t have it in you. It’s strange though, caution isn’t usually their style.

Slowly a man with a kind smile comes into focus, a tray in his hands. He’s not in uniform, just plain street clothes. Your head cocks to the side, trying to put these pieces in place.

“Hey, thought you may want something on your stomach. Better than heaving up nothing.”

You say nothing, eyes narrowing. Focus, Y/N. Read him, come on. But your brain isn’t in the mood to obey you.

As he approaches, instinctively you curl into yourself. Thoughts of other men, other cells, flash rapidly through your mind setting your heart to thundering. The familiar feeling of your chest splitting open begins but you fight to maintain control. If they thought you attacked him…

The man clears his throat shaking his head a bit as if to fend off a fly. “I’m not going to hurt you.” Slowly he sets the tray of food at the end of the bed. “You can tell if I’m lying right?”

He extends a hand just close enough for you to reach. For a long moment, you just stare at it, confused, trying to work out what the trap here is. It’s always something there’s always something. But maybe if you played along they’d give you want you needed to make the aching stop. Fuck, you just want it to stop.

Hesitantly you let your fingers graze the back of his hand.

Quick as though you touched a hot stove you withdraw. Bad idea. You couldn’t control it. So many images tumble in your mind. Faces, names, voices. A small sound comes from you as your hands grasp your head, trying to keep it from flying apart.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Are you ok? Can you open your eyes?” Sam, his name was Sam, is kneeling beside the bed looking up at you with earnest eyes.

Slowly things come back into focus and you know one thing for certain. He’s not lying to you. This Sam, whoever he may be, does want to help you. You don’t trust him, he could be being used, but it’s been a long time since someone was near you that didn’t mean you harm.

“I… it was too much at once…” Your body relaxes a touch, “Thank you, Sam.”

There’s that familiar flash of surprise before he responds, “Wanna tell me your name?”

“Y/N.”

“Good to meet you,” his smile is true. “Think you can eat something?” Blankly you stare at the trey, the thought of eating making your abdomen clench. “If you can eat a bit I can give you something that’ll help with the pain.”

Saltine crackers had never looked so appealing and horrifying all at once. Taking a deep breath you scoot down the bed and pick one up with a shaky hand.

The salt explodes on your tongue as though it’s the best thing you’ve ever tasted. Your stomach growls demanding more. In an instant you’re reaching for another cracker.

“Take it slow,” Sam smiles brightly as he pulls up a chair close enough to be personable but not uncomfortable. “If you’re feeling hungry that’s a good sign. Means your system is getting closer to being clear.”

“What’d they have me on?” You ask before taking a deep drink of water.

A muscle in his jaw ticks, “It was a cocktail. An addictive one.”

You didn��t really need the details, nor did you want them in all honesty. Knowing wouldn’t change anything. One thing you did want to know…

“Where am I?”

Sam holds your gaze, clearly weighing his response carefully. “Somewhere safe.”

“That’s a shit answer.” Your hands shake as you sip the oversized mug of broth. It’s hot and stings your chapped lips a bit but you nearly groan from the taste.

“True.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You’re in New York. With people who want to help you. Can that be enough for now?” His sincerity hits you, a warm wave of emotion, unlike anything you’ve felt in so long.

You’re too tired to fight, “For now.” The half-empty mug clatters to the trey as it slips from your hands. Mindlessly you itch at your arms, every nerve feels like it’s tingling, almost enough to drive you crazy.

Sam stands, crossing the room. Your eyes follow him as he places his thumb on a pad causing a small door to open. “This will help that.” He holds up a vile and syringe.

Fear chills your over-warm body instantly. However, your eyes light on your arms, scratch marks red and irritated, and despite the food, everything still hurts… badly. Plus, who gave a fuck what you wanted. He may be kind but you were still in a cell, still a prisoner.

Habitually you hold your arms out. With a gentle touch, he grips your wrist, locating a non-ruined vein and injects whatever new concoction these helpful people have for you.

As it works its way through your blood the aching does quiet some, your nerves stop their incessant tingling. A deep sigh escapes you. Whatever it was it felt good. You’re not sure if it’s the drugs, the food, or just soul-deep exhaustion but your eyes flutter and you sway.

“Here,” Sam grips your shoulders, guiding you to the plush pillows. Suddenly you see a flash from him.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

“For what?” Through your half-lidded eyes, you see his confused expression and feel just a touch of fear.

“Your friend. Riley. I’m sorry.”

He looks away, clearing his throat. “Thanks.” When he looks back his eyes are glassy, “Get some rest, Y/N. I’ll check back in on you soon.”

-

It had been six… no seven days… They blurred together into one purgatorial haze.

Natasha hadn’t left the observation room off your cell the entire time. Sleeping on a cot next to the viewscreen just to feel closer to you… when she slept that was. But after Sam had assured her that his exchange with you earlier was an excellent sign she couldn’t seem to keep her eyes open. That little touch of relief better than any sleeping pill.

She wasn’t sure how long she’d been out but a sudden cry instantly pulls her from sleep.

You’re still in the bed, very much unconscious, but… You’re thrashing, so much so it’s hard to tell if you’re not seizing. The only thing convincing her that you’re in the grips of a terrible dream is the cries of terror filling her ears. Then…

“Natasha!” Your desperation and pain feel like a bullet straight through her heart. A red light flashes in the observation room, the others are coming, she has to get in there now before anyone can stop her.

“Natasha! Don’t!”Clint’s voice barely hits her ears as the door to your cell slams shut behind her.

For a moment she can’t breathe or move. The air of your cell is thick, swamp-like with your emotions. Taking a deep breath she gathers herself.

With effort, she focuses on every good memory she has of you, every happy moment, every safe tender night and… love. She pulls that core emotion around her like a cloak hoping it will somehow reach you.

“Get out of there, Natasha!” Tony’s voice is harsh through the speaker. She ignores him, almost to you.

A scream accompanied with a wave of abject terror and images of a lab almost send her to her knees. She doesn’t falter though, tears stream down her cheeks, her body shakes but still, she moves toward your thrashing form.

Slowly she lowers herself onto the edge of the bed, laying on her side. Her arms wrap around you, pinning your arms. Her legs do the same around yours holding you steady.

“No!” You screech as your head flings back. She barely avoids the hit.

She’s not feeling the fear you’re pumping out though, not anymore. All she feels is relief. It springs from some part of her she had forgotten about. You’re in her arms, the ache she’s felt for years quieting.

“Y/N, you’re dreaming baby.”

“Natasha, no!” You sob as an image of her own bloody body slams into her. She just holds you tighter.

“That’s not me. I’m right here. I’ve got you, Y/N.” She feels a shift in your body. “Do you hear me? Focus on my voice baby… Come back to me, Y/N… please.”

You gasp, “N… Natasha…”

“That’s right.” You’re no longer thrashing so she slides her hands to grasp yours. “It’s me.” Natasha keeps her mind focused on all those good memories that got her from the door to the bed. Focused on the love she feels for you.

A thick sob bubbles from you causing your torso to shake. You try to turn in her arms and panic grips her, remembering your reaction in the base.

“Keep your eyes closed ok? Can you do that for me?”

You nod and she helps you turn to face her. You’re so gaunt, so clearly battered, but somehow still so fucking beautiful to her.

A trembling hand releases hers rising to find her face. Natasha hears the speaker click, but her free hand shoots up, signaling them to shut up. Your fingers lay gently on her cheekbone, from there they slowly trace her features stopping on her lips.

In a movement as natural to the both of you as breathing you pull one another even closer, your lips fitting together perfectly.

Natasha nearly cries out with joy at that long forgotten warm feeling of love that always flowed form you when your lips met hers. It was thick and golden like-

“Honey.”

@mywinterwolf @disagreetoagree​ @breezy1415 @peachthatdrinkslemonade​ @5aftermidnight @jeromethepsycho @marvel-randomness @daniellajocelyn @katecolleen​ @yanginginthere​ @wonderlandmind4 @piensa-bonito @for-the-love-of-the-fandom @lesbian-girls-wayhaught @siriuslycloudy2 @alphalesbianwolf @sxph-t @marvelb00kwolf​ @itsqueenofchains @demonlover87​ @firegoblet01​

[nandalorian]

Riding this Steve/Bucky Infinity War shore leave train to the end. (ETA: Turns out it’s CANON, BITCHES.)

Here’s the first few paragraphs of the sequel to Creatures In the Wind.

They have to travel the rest of the way on foot after T’Challa and Princess Shuri drive him to the edge of central Wakanda. Away from the Birnin Zana city center, Steve notices, away from even the scattered smaller villages they pass as the skyscrapers disappear and the mountains fade into the distance. Away from everything until he starts to see more cattle than people, goats, even a herd of zebra and the odd giraffe. It is green, beautiful country like something out of a guidebook, but remote.

Steve knows what remote means. A bomb could go off out here and you wouldn’t feel the tremors for miles. A bomb, or some other equally destructive force. Remote is a stone of unease that settles in his gut the farther out they go.

By the time they stop and T’Challa informs him their vehicle can proceed no further, the stone feels more like a boulder. Steve rolls his shoulders and starts to register that old tension creeping into his neck and back like before he left. Nat was already gone; she spent most of the trip thoughtfully silent when Steve revealed where they were headed. If she guessed his reason for coming here, she didn’t say, though she hugged him once before she took off, strong and surprising, and kissed his cheek with an earnest “Take care, Steve.” He wishes, now, she were still here.

It’s March. The Wakandan air is thick like syrup as they walk, not the hottest temperature Steve’s ever experienced in his life, but damp and heavy with humidity. Steve stripped off his overshirt a couple clicks back, wishes he could get rid of his T-shirt too, his jeans and underwear, peel off his skin next to escape this heat like a wall. T’Challa and Shuri appear unruffled but amused at how much he’s sweating, constantly lifting the hem of his shirt to wipe his face.

“It is not much farther, Captain,” T’Challa informs him after the seven hundredth time Steve slaps a fly off his neck. They haven’t been walking all that long, and Steve is fine, a little sunburnt but not exhausted, but he’s sure he looks like someone threw a bucket of water at him. The last time he was here was in the air-conditioned comfort of the royal palace, barely outside long enough to begin counting the number of sweat trails trickling their way down his back into the crack of his ass. He’ll make a fine sight, whenever they happen to get to wherever the hell they’re going.

“I’m alright,” Steve insists. “Just a bit overdressed.” He’s about to explain he was in the Albanian Alps less than twelve hours ago, but bites off all further protests when Shuri gives him the hairy eyeball and thrusts a flask of water into his hands.

“So glad you’ve brought us another sad white boy, brother,” she comments icily to T’Challa, folding her arms as Steve pauses to drink. “I am beginning to understand why he and Sergeant Barnes are such fast friends.”

“Don’t be rude to our guest,” T’Challa murmurs. “Sergeant Barnes did not complain about the heat nearly this much.” He smiles, eyelashes lowered slightly. He slides Steve a sidelong look, not quite apologetic, then adds, “It is not typically this hot at this time of year, Captain Rogers. You’ve come in the midst of a heatwave.”

“I haven’t complained once,” Steve points out, though he grins self-deprecatingly. There’s something about the way T’Challa smiles that makes him kind of helpless but to respond in kind. Bucky was always the same way. Contagious, irresistible.  

“Not with words.” Shuri makes a grumpy noise and snatches back the flask before Steve can finish it. “You should visit us again in January when it is like this all of the time.”

Steve doesn’t know Shuri well. They only met once, when Steve first brought Bucky here at T’Challa’s invitation. T’Challa had introduced her as his sister and Wakanda’s most gifted scientist, but Steve was so wrapped up in the thought of Bucky going back into cryo-sleep that he probably didn’t leave much of an impression. Just another sad white boy indeed. But seeing this flash of adolescent petulance from her relaxes him somewhat. It’s familiar. Welcome. Plus it tells him plenty about how she feels about Bucky: not as blasé as she’s trying to pretend, he’s willing to bet.

They emerge from the forest at the top of a hill that leads to a small lake surrounded by lush foliage. There are a couple of thatched huts, what looks like a small farm with an enclosure for cattle, a couple horses, goats grazing nearby. Pretty pastoral. Steve spots a few kids running around, dressed in traditional burgundy-red shukas and holding rakes and a pitchfork--he notices a pile of hay and assumes they’re supposed to be working, but they seem more keen to chase each other around, startling the goats into bolting and kicking out while they giggle delightedly. No adults around, but it’s so calm and normal-looking that Steve finally finds the balls to turn and ask Shuri the question he’s been dreading since he found out Bucky was awake.

“Princess,” he begins, and she arches an eyebrow like she already knows what’s coming. “You said you’d managed to cure Bucky of his brainwashing. I’m not exactly a technological wunderkind like yourself, but I’d like to try to understand how. And maybe why he’s staying all the way out here in the boonies if he’s better.”

Shuri opens her mouth to reply, but T’Challa cuts her off before the first word makes it past her lips. “The simplified version, Shuri, please. Captain Rogers merely wishes to know his friend is alright. You may impress us with your big words later, after they have had a chance to become reacquainted.”

“Just because you struggle with big words, brother–” she singsongs and sidesteps the exasperated swat T’Challa aims her way. It earns a laugh, a grin shared with Steve, and he can suddenly picture it now, Bucky complaining about how it’s his lot in life to always get stuck with the wise-cracking troublemakers.

When Shuri settles and turns her attention back to Steve, her expression is thoughtful. “Sergeant Barnes is well. But I must warn you not to jump to the conclusion that he is precisely the same man you knew seventy years ago,” she explains slowly, voice soft. Kind. Steve tries to listen carefully to what she’s telling him, but for a moment the sympathy in her eyes is almost too much. “I developed an AI algorithm that could successfully remove Hydra’s trigger-word brainwashing, yes, but there was no way to deprogram him physically without further damaging his psyche.”

Steve stops walking long enough to look at her, brow furrowed. “What does that mean?” he asks. “Is it--you saying he’s still a danger to people? To himself?” It comes out sharp. Too sharp. She might be more brilliant than ten Tony Starks combined, but she’s still a kid. A kid who’s trying to help.

To her credit, Shuri doesn’t bristle at Steve’s tone, but her voice is firm. “It means,” she says, drawing the word out slightly, “that I was not able to fix the mental and emotional impact the last seventy years has had on him. Not without destroying everything that makes him who he is. What he thinks and feels, what he loves and he hates. Whom he loves.” She meets his eyes steadily, much the same way Wanda had when she said to Steve, You should go to him. “And you know the trauma he has endured is no small matter, Captain Rogers.”

“Then he’s–”

“Sergeant Barnes is well, Captain,” T’Challa interrupts. He places a hand on Shuri’s shoulder, calling her off, but it’s Steve he gazes at implacably until Steve takes the hint and backs down. “As well as can be expected. But that is why you are here, no? To be a comfort to him and to each other.”

Steve feels his expression twitch as he gets himself under control. Closes his eyes so he’s less aware of T’Challa watching this struggle. When he blows out a slow breath and gives a reluctant nod, T’Challa takes a moment to grip his shoulder too before he herds Steve and Shuri farther down the hill.

T’Challa gives Steve’s shoulder a squeeze. With a small, knowing smile, he tips his head in the direction of the farm, that serene lake glittering in the afternoon sunlight and the mountains in the distance. “Go, put your mind at ease. He will be glad to see you.”

There’s no sign of Bucky anywhere. Steve casts a puzzled frown at T’Challa but isn’t going to reject that invitation. He picks up his pace downhill, barely resisting the urge to run. He can apologize for his haste later, after he sees--

The kids finally notice their approach. With shrieks of laughter, they abandon chasing each other around and come racing toward them instead, shouting, “White Wolf!” over their shoulders, back toward the huts.

In seconds Steve is surrounded, three sets of curious eyes looking up at him, big against their white-and-yellow face paint as they chatter excitedly, half in English, half in Xhosa. Full of questions, but he has no idea what they’re saying except for that thing they keep saying--White Wolf. Is that supposed to be him? Steve just smiles at them uncomprehendingly, a bit goofily, and lets them tug at his hands, his jeans. The lone girl among them pinches Steve’s arm with surprising force and cackles at his surprised bleat of “Hey!”

It just makes them giggle harder, but then he’s forgotten entirely when they recognize T’Challa and Shuri coming down the hill. Whoops of joy fill the air as they take off in that direction. Steve turns just in time to see T’Challa almost go down as two of them launch themselves at him, the third going to hug Shuri, but the grin on T’Challa’s face is huge, his laughter startled and genuine. Steve watches them for a second, a smile twitching on his mouth before he looks back at the farm.

Drawn by all the noise, maybe, a figure steps out from one of the huts and lifts a hand to shield his eyes. Steve stops dead. So does the man. He’s still a good twenty or thirty feet away, half blinded by the sun, but damned if their eyes don’t meet and hold, both of them startled stiff. It’s been seven months. Somehow each time always feels like a first, like Steve’s the one who just woke up from a long sleep to find him there.

“Bucky,” he breathes, the name partly caught in his throat. Like an old machine shuddering back to life, he starts to stagger in that direction, then quickens his pace to a jog. He’d run, but Bucky still hasn’t moved, and Steve forces himself to slow the hell down before he barrels him over.

“Steve?”

Steve can’t stand it. As soon as he’s within touching range, he grabs Bucky’s shoulder and hauls him in close. They’re suddenly pressed together everywhere, like they’d climb inside each other if they could, and Steve inhales deeply, shakily. Makes a noise against Bucky’s throat that sounds tearful and hollow, like every moment of loneliness he’s felt in the last seven months trying to escape him at once.

After a second, Bucky says, “Steve,” again. Surprise forgotten, Bucky clings to him and shoves his face against Steve’s hair. He cradles Steve’s head in his hand. Steve can feel him shaking and holds on tighter, murmuring, “I’m here, Bucky, I’m here.”

They could stand like that for eons, but it still feels like all too soon that Bucky pulls away to meet his eyes. “What are you--what are you doing here?” he asks, but then shakes his head like he just realized not touching is an awful plan. “God--come back here,” he says and grabs Steve again. He muffles his words into the side of Steve’s face. “I thought you were off saving the world again, didn’t have time to--”

They’re such fucking idiots. What else is new? Steve shakes his head with his mouth still pressed against Bucky’s neck. “I made the time,” he answers, voice muffled. “I had to, I--I’m sorry it took so long. I’ve hated being away.”

“Like a damn sap.” Steve can feel Bucky smiling. “I missed you too, Stevie.”

Steve needs to see him, see for himself that he’s okay. They separate far enough for Steve to get a look at him, his hand still cupping Bucky’s face. His hair is longer, past his shoulders, and his beard is almost as thick as Steve’s now. Last Steve saw him, he was the size of a house, broader than a powerlifter through the chest and shoulders, but he’s slimmed back down to how Steve remembers before Hydra ever got their hands on him. In plain work clothes, the sleeves of his shirt ripped off and a scarf draped around him where his shoulder ends, Bucky looks healthy and strong, tanned and unsurprisingly sweaty in this heat. And his eyes, well, those have never changed. Still blue as ever, still capable of leaving Steve feeling stupider than a bag of rocks.

Steve’s smile is hurting his face. “You look good, Buck,” he says. Laughing wetly, then sniffling like the sap Bucky takes him for, he glances at the farm around them and asks, “Do you still go by Bucky? Or is it Old MacDonald now?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky answers with a roll of his eyes. He can’t fight his smile and drops his hand to give Steve’s hip a squeeze. “You look good too, pal. Nice beard. Very manly.”

[afewmarvelousthoughts]

No Surrender Pt. 3

Part 1 | Part 2

Request: hey i love your writing!! i was wondering if you could write something where the ready and bucky are in the same hydra facility and try to escape together. idk maybe that’s bad but i love your writing!!

Pairing: Bucky X Reader

Summary: In the winter of 1945 Hydra captures Sargent James Barnes. After months spent unconscious, he wakes up in a cell with you and a new addition on his left side. Quickly it becomes clear that being locked up together may be the best bout of luck either of you has had in a while… Maybe together the two of you have a chance of making it out of this hell alive. Now, 69 years later the two of you are brought back together, scars and all. War changes everyone it touches but maybe, together, you can both find some kind of peace.

Warnings: Angst, heavy emotions, blood

A/N: How did we get here??? Do I ever know? I’m floored that some of you are just so in love with this story. It’s unexpected and I LIVE for your feedback and excitement over it. Thank you for patiently waiting for Part 3! 

Some things: While I’m a huge research nerd I can only ready about military court proceedings for so long before my eyes cross and I go crazy. I tried. I fully guarantee everything about how that would go down is pure fictional bullshit. So basically please don’t @ me. I know the feels are heavy but... like if you’re not new here I feel that should be expected. 

Hope you like this one pumpkins!

Tags are open!

@mywinterwolf @disagreetoagree @breezy1415 @peachthatdrinkslemonade @wonderlandmind4 @piensa-bonito @buckysstar @for-the-love-of-the-fandom @handplucked @krugeforeveryone @jewelofwinter @get-loki @just-a-littlebit-of-everything  @littledarlinhavefaithinme

The next weeks pass in a blur.

You settle once more into your Georgetown row house, purchased down the road from Peg’s so many decades before. In recent years you had preferred spending your time in Europe. It always felt more like home, less lonely, and… plenty of opportunities to get your hands a little dirty here and there. Once a spy…

You’ve been spending any time you can with Steve and Bucky. At Dr. Carr’s advice, the two of you try to guide Bucky to memories he has. She thinks it will reinforce his grip on what is his own and what Hydra put inside him.

Since your history with him is so brief you mainly listen to the two men talk about their childhood, their families, what life was for them before the world fell apart. You don’t mind at all. Listening to them takes you back to a time when things were so simple for you too, even if Brooklyn and Lyon were a world apart.

In these moments you sit next to him on his small bed, Steve in the armchair. Bucky’s fingers playing with yours. Catching small smiles from him. Observing the way his eyes crinkle at the corners. Amazed at the buzzing in your stomach that you thought you wouldn’t feel again…

Then there are the more mundane issues at hand. S.H.I.E.L.D. had held back a metric ton of shit for so long that without it chaos was knocking. Any time you’re not with the boys you’re sorting through Hydra and S.H.I.E.L.D. files, finding the spots of overlap, flagging things that are worth a deeper look, and feeling your heart shatter more and more.

Your friends had worked so hard… dedicated their lives to build something good… and for what?

You’d been in one of the conference rooms for most of the day pulling the pieces of a particularly heinous experiment together. The lines between S.H.I.E.L.D. and Hydra here are so clear it makes your hands shake and guilt wash over you.

All those years ago when you decided to retire, go off the grid, Howard begged you to stay. Peg understood why you wanted out. It had been too long and it was becoming more and more apparent that you weren’t aging like the rest of them.

People were talking. Dummy agreed, it was time to move on but Howard said they needed someone like you. A fulcrum to ground everything, someone to remember why they needed S.H.I.E.L.D., who really knew what was out there.

That had been one hell of a fight. Dummy had nearly knocked Howard out when he said you were being a coward. You went years without speaking after. But now you think he was right. Had you stayed… had you been brave enough… maybe this wouldn’t have happened…

You fling the file you were reading across the table and fish your cigarettes from your bag. Fresh air and a smoke, that’s what you need.

On the roof you light up, the early evening light casting everything in pinks and golds. Your heart, which had been in your throat for hours finally starts to settle in its proper place, hands steadying.

The door behind you slams open. Reflex sends you spinning, pistol in your hand before you even know what’s happening. Sharon stands in the doorway, not even seeing the gun in your hands, panting.

“It’s, Sargent Barnes. Steve isn’t here-”

You flick the cigarette and rush to her, pressing your gun into her hands. “Where is he?”

“In his room,” she stops by the elevator.

“I can get there faster on foot.” Immediately you bolt to the stairwell. There’s a landing every two stories. Easy enough to jump and you do until you’re at the basement level.

The door to the observation room is open and you can hear Dr. Carr trying to speak to him, soothe him.

“Bucky you’re safe, Steve is coming. Bucky-”

“What happened?!” You demand.

She turns to you, eyes wide as saucers. “He had a meeting with the lawyers… I told him to rest after… and he woke up…”

You can see in the screen behind her the reason she looks so shaken. He’s pressed into a corner, sobbing, trying desperately to claw that left arm off. Just like when he first came to in your cell.

Without another word, you’re running. Unthinking you break the last two security doors in your haste sending the alarms off for a moment before they’re silenced. Perhaps you should be more cautious but you don’t care. You fling the door open, the handle groaning under your steel grip.

“Sargent Barnes,” your voice is soft. His eyes shoot to you but he doesn’t see you, just a threat. Blood is trickling down his chest, staining the grey of his sweatpants. That familiar copper scent filling your nostrils.

With the speed only a super soldier can manage, he’s on his feet. He lunges for you but he’s disoriented, afraid. You move easily and get behind him wrapping your arms around him, pinning him as you did when you first met.

“Shh,” you coo into his ear. “I know you’re afraid. I won’t hurt you Bucky. I won’t.” His body shudders under your grasp and you feel some of the tension slip from him until there’s a noise at the door.

“No!” You call out to whoever it may be. Silence falls again but he’s squirming, though not trying to escape you.

“Y/N…”

“Yes, you know me.”

“I can’t,” his voice cracks. “Off. I need it off!”

“Ok. We can work on that maybe, another time, mon chou.” Your grip remains tight. “Not like this.”

You don’t know why you do it. Maybe because it brought you both peace once in your brief history together. Maybe because you wish you could sing him to sleep. But softly you begin to sing, Le chant des partisans.

Slowly you feel him relax. His knees give way and you fall to the ground with him, still holding him tight. A sob escapes and you stop singing.

His right hand, shaking and bloody rises, resting on your forearm. “No, please don’t stop… please.” You don’t. Holding him tight you sing, gently rocking him, until his sobbing quiets and his body stops trembling.

“I’m sorry…” His voice is so low that someone without advanced hearing may have missed it.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” He pats your arms and you release him and move to sit beside him. His blue eyes study you, the blood, his blood, coating the arms of your cream button up and jeans. You roll your eyes, “Not the first time I’ve had a little blood on me.”

Bucky’s gaze switches to the blood trailed around the space. The fingers of his right hand touch his chest and he winces. You reach up and tenderly take his hand, lacing your fingers with his, worried he’ll start again.

The gashes are… deep. Painfully so. He’s not bleeding enough to cause too much concern but it needs to be cleaned and stitched.

“We will have someone look at that.”

“No!” His voice echoes a bit, he seems to flinch a bit at the resounding volume. “Sorry… I… It’ll heal. No need to fuss-”

“Just because you’re enhanced doesn’t mean you are impervious. That can get infected, it needs to be cared for.”

He shrugs, “Never mattered before.”

The dismissal of his own wellbeing twists your heart in your chest. You reach up and tilt his face toward your own with your free hand, “It matters to me.” He looks up at you through his lashes. “What if I took care of it? Would that be ok?”

He scoffs a little, “You a nurse now?”

You smile, “It’s been a long life Barnes. I’ve picked up quite a few skills to stay busy.” Playfully you wink, earning a small smile.

“Sure.”

“I’ll go get a kit,” you move to stand but his hand grips your own tighter. Gently you cup his face, “I will be right back. I swear.” He nods and brings your hand to his lips, leaving a kiss on your knuckles.

Once you’re past the last security door you take a moment, tears burning the backs of your eyes, desperately trying to find some kind of composure. That kiss. He’d done the same just before he shoved you into that tunnel and began a lifetime of pain. You feel like you’re going to shatter.

“Is he…” Steve is standing at the end of the hall, hands wringing together.

“Ok? No.” You take a shaky breath, “But expecting him to be…”

“I mean… physically.” Right. Blood.

Aimlessly you wipe your hands on your ruined shirt. “Oui. Nothing a few stitches won’t take care of.”

Steve nods, “I’ll get medical-”

You shake your head, “He wants me to take care of it.” Steve’s brows knit for a minute before they relax, seeming to understand.

When you walk back in he’s wiping up blood with a few washrags from the bathroom. A somewhat Sisyphean task since the motion is making him bleed more.

His eyes meet yours, sad and… shameful. “I… don’t want to be a burden.” It makes you think of Dummy… there at the end. Your fingers automatically grasp the rings hanging against your skin under the shirt.

“You aren’t.” You sit near a spot of blood, so the mess doesn’t spread elsewhere. “Come. Let’s get you mended and we can clean after. Steve can-”

“I don’t want Steve to know I…” You hold his gaze, “He already knows huh?” Sighing he sits across from you, legs crossed.

“He’s listed as your next of kin, they have to tell him these things. Here,” you hand him a clean towel, “lay it over your lap.” You begin irrigating the gashes, he doesn’t even flinch. In a moment the towel is damp and pink with blood. You work in silence, fingers fast despite it having been at least a decade since you’ve stitched someone up.

“You’re not the only one who has them,” your voice seems so much louder in the total silence of the space.

“Huh?”

“Flashbacks,” you begin to thread the needle, “night terrors. You’re not the only one.” His eyes meet yours softly questioning. You begin to stitch him up, aching a touch that he doesn’t react at all to the pain. “I’ve never known a soldier who’s seen battle to not have them.” You snip the thread and grab more for the next gash. “What I mean is that you shouldn’t be ashamed. Being haunted… well, it means you still have your humanity intact. At least… that’s what I tell myself.”

“Do you have them?” Your fingers tremble a bit. Bucky catches your hand in his right, touch feather light.

“Oui,” you whisper, feeling his eyes on you, unable to look up. He moves his hand and you knot the final stitch. The others only needed bandaging.

“Can I… do they…” He clears his throat, struggling to find the words. “Am I in them…?” His tone is so defeated, aching, that you can’t help but meet his gaze.

You feel your heartbreak, knowing he wants you to say no. But you’ve dreamt about that day for almost seven decades now. It’s only one in many horrors your mind holds on to but still… “One of them. As I said it’s been a long life, plenty of time for-”

“I don’t regret it.” He sounds the exact opposite of a moment ago. There’s a flicker of the man from before there in the blue of his eyes.

Leaning down you make to grab bandages from the kit when you’re really struggling to hold onto your composure. Your necklace tumbles from the unbuttoned top of your shirt, the jangling of metal sounding harsh in the heavy silence.

Metal fingers slide under your chin, lifting your face up. “I don’t, Y/N.” You swallow hard, willing yourself to keep it together. “Getting you out may have been the last good thing I got to do. How could I regret that?”

“But you-”

“Doesn’t matter. You got out. That’s what I wanted. When I’d start to remember things I would remember that, it… you brought me peace.”

Tears fall from your eyes despite your best efforts. A small sound bursts past your lips and you cover your mouth quickly. His fingers cup the back of your head and pull you toward him, resting his forehead on your own.

“I don’t wanna be something that haunts you. Not any more. I’m not a ghost now.”

You nod, pulling away and wiping at your tears with your forearm. Bucky casts you a sweet smile.

“You don’t talk much when Steve’s here,” he says as you fish bandages from the kit.

You shrug, “I like hearing you two reminisce. Reminds me of simpler times.”

He nods as if he understands. “Can… can I ask you something then?”

“Anything.” You begin to put ointment on the shallower cuts, they’d likely be healed by tomorrow if not the next day you knew. Your fingers freeze when you hear his metal ones clink against the rings and tags dangling from your neck.

“Who was the lucky bastard?”

Sighing you sit back on your heels. A playful grin softens his features and makes his eyes sparkle. You can’t help but smile back.

“Read the tags and find out.” One eyebrow cocks up and he lifts them, the long chain only making him lean forward a touch to see.

“Holy shit.” His head falls back and he lets out a bellowing laugh. “Fucking Dum Dum Dugan?!” The sound of his laugh makes one bubble from you too. “I gotta say, that’s not what I expected.”

“My either, trust me.” You shake your head.

Bucky’s laugh quiets, thumb rubbing over the letters before letting go of the necklace. “Good man, though.”

You nod, “He was. I hated him at first,” you go back to bandaging his wounds. “He was so… American. God the number of times I wanted to just rip that mustache off his damn face. But he grew on me.” A small laugh comes from you and you can’t help but smile, “The guys gave us hell for it too.”

“Guys?”

“The other Howlers. And Stark, he gave me hell for everything though.”

“Were you…”

“Oui.” You finish and sit back, crossing your legs. “I… found them after, just like you said. It was too late but… there was work to be done and I just fell in with them.”

His brows knit. “But… your family? You had to find them?”

He had no way of knowing. Even after all this time, it hits you like a blow to the chest. Your gaze settles on the floor.

“Let’s just say you weren’t the only one I was too late to save…”

“Y/N…” He grabs your hand, holding tight. “I’m so-”

“Don’t,” you shake your head. “It is a grief I shared with millions. Not something you need to mourn too.” He gives your hand a firm squeeze, his expression soft.

You force a smile to your lips, “Come, we can get everything cleaned up, together.”

-

Bucky had hoped the cool water would clear his head. Instead, the cold had just sent a flash of cryo cutting through his mind. His hands grip the sink, trying to hold on to what’s real until he hears the porcelain crack under his left hand. Quickly he releases it, not wanting to do more damage, and looks up at his reflection.

His lawyers thought a haircut would help remove the “Winter Soldier” image. It was similar to how he looked in some pictures he’d seen of himself. A few inches long, slicked back. They’d also thought clean shaven would be best, so for the first time in a long time, he actually shaved. He hardly knew the man in the mirror but… maybe that was for the best.

You had sent the suit over yesterday evening. The note in your looping hand assured him it should fit just fine. His fingers had lingered over the text, mind on the delicate but powerful hands that wrote it.

He probably shouldn’t think of you… not like that anyway. You were his friend’s wife… well widow, but still. It didn’t seem right. But you were his friend, and really that’s what he needed the most right now.

Somewhat awkwardly he tugs at the navy suit jacket, unsure if everything fit right and feeling more than a little out of place in it. A knock at the door puts his heart in his throat.

“It’s me,” your soft voice from the other side calms his nerves immediately.

“Come in.” While your voice may have calmed him your smile set his heart to racing once more. He swallows hard. Those blood red lips, sky-high heels, and the perfectly tailored suit make you nothing less than formidable.

“Oh, fantastic!” Your eyes scan him, taking in his attire. “It fits well, I was worried.”

“It does?” He feels sheepish asking, “Seems a little… tight.”

You laugh, “Men’s suits are slimmer than they used to be. Trust me, you look very handsome.” As you straighten his tie he catches a whiff of your perfume. Spicy with just the lightest touch of vanilla.

“Can I come in,” Steve asks from the hall.

“Of course,” Bucky says. Relieved at his timing. Much longer with you like this and he’d likely shove his foot in his mouth.

“You clean up alright man.” Steve gives his shoulder a reassuring squeeze and Bucky notes that his suit is similar. “You feelin’ ready?”

Steve’s eyes are intense with concern. All Bucky can manage is a shrug.

“Hey,” your hand gently rests on his chest, right over where you’d stitched him up a couple of weeks prior. “This is going to work.” Bucky meets your eyes and nods.

Desperately he wants you to be right. Because of the work, Sam Wilson did Bucky was being charged as an active member of the United States Army, a P.O.W. His hearing was a Court Marshal which would be held in a closed courtroom with only a judge presiding.

According to the lawyers, this was the best case scenario. According to Agent Hill, the possibility of there being a significant amount of press coverage was also high. And the general consensus was that while the chances he would be acquitted were high that didn’t mean that the proceedings would be easy to stomach.

The first people called to the stand were medical personnel. Confirming he’d been enhanced, giving an uncomfortable rundown of a laundry list of psychological disorders and effects that spending so long in captivity could and did cause. He felt like a zoo animal.

Steve was the first character witness. His role was to paint a picture of the man Bucky was before the war, the man he was still trying to get to know himself. His description of a loving and loyal son, brother, and friend seems a little flowery. There are parts he’s skipping, parts with bloody knuckles and whiskey breath. But Bucky figures it’s best to leave that out. His mind wanders a bit. Even the trial counsel doesn’t want to go hard on Captain America after all.

“Y/N Bernard is called to the stand.” Immediately Bucky’s attention is back.

You flash him a wry smile as you walk past, moving with so much grace you look like royalty, not a soldier. He’d gotten the rundown of your role. Confirmation of his initial capture and torture, as well as your own, and some intel on S.H.I.E.L.D.’s founding.

Once sworn in you sit, shoulders back, head high. Was he a lawyer he’d struggle to ask you anything other than out to dinner. His lawyers go in first.

“Ms. Bernard, you were a member of the French resistance starting from when?”

“I joined in 1941 and remained an active operative until I was captured in January of 1945.”

“When you were captured did you know it was Hydra and not the Nazis that had you?”

“No. I was captured by Nazi soldiers after a raid gone wrong. They had been ordered to bring any able-bodied men and women to Zola, and that’s what they did.”

“How many were with you?” This line of questioning wasn’t what Bucky had anticipated. It makes him anxious as he’s never heard this part of your story.

“Eight.” Your eyes close a fraction longer than a blink and he wishes they would stop already. “Myself and seven men. I was the only one to survive the first round of experiments.”

“After which you were moved?”

“Yes. I was relocated twice that I remember. I believe they were trying to outmaneuver the Howling Commandos as they had been strongly advancing on one Hydra base after another at that time.”

The lawyer nods, “And at any of these other locations were you ever with another prisoner?”

“I was. Two of them I saw die within the cell from reactions to whatever it was Hydra was doing to them. Another was taken away and never returned. All men.”

“And Sargent Barnes was one of those cellmates?”

“Yes. He was the final one.”

“Why final?”

“Because,” your eyes slide to Bucky and hold his gaze, “Sargent Barnes helped me escape captivity. He saved my life.”

“And you believe that he was subjected to some of the same torture methods used on you?”

“I know for certain he was.”

“So you had experience with this electroshock tool they used, their tactics for manipulation?”

“I did.”

“Can you walk us through that?”

Bucky wants to tell you no. You don’t have to do this. He doesn’t want you to do this. But he grits his teeth.

You walk through the chair, how they would try and indoctrinate you in your confused state, abuses suffered, then the details of your escape. What you knew of the founding of S.H.I.E.L.D. and what your role had been. By the end, Bucky feels like he wants to wretch.

The trial counsel rises, “So Ms. Bernard, it is Ms. isn’t it?” Bucky feels his hackles rise, not liking the tone this man is taking with you.

“Yes, it is.”

“But you were married?”

“I was.”

“To an American citizen? One of the Howling Commandos if I’m not mistaken.”

“Yes.” Your eyes narrow.

“However, you never took his name. I understand in this day that’s fairly normal but then it was an unusual choice.”

The judge clears his throat, “Is there a point.”

“Yes, your honor.” The counsel rounds the table and stands before you, “Ms. Bernard I found that interesting because despite it being the norm, you didn’t take your husband’s name. Didn’t take a position as a founding member of S.H.I.E.L.D. even though you were well positioned to do so. You didn’t remain working with S.H.I.E.L.D. even though you claim to have close ties with those for whom its founding was deeply personal. In fact after Timothy Dugan’s death in 1985 most records of you vanish altogether despite the fact that we were still in the midst of the Cold War.”

He pauses as though he’s giving you space to retaliate. You don’t give him the satisfaction. Instead, your cool gaze remains steady, Bucky even swears there’s a smirk playing on your lips.

“It’s interesting because, even to a casual observer, Ms. Bernard it would seem that you were actively avoiding being noticed. And now The Winter Soldier turns up, S.H.I.E.L.D., an organization that has spent the last few decades protecting our nation, falls, and suddenly here you are willing to put your name on the record for the first time. That seems a touch suspicious given your history.”

“What exactly would you accuse me of sir?” You possibly dropped the temperature of the whole courtroom by a few degrees.

“No accusation. Simply stating that you’re breaking almost 70 years of silence at a very poignant time. You could have remained an active agent, serving this country, and be on this stand today with nothing whatsoever to besmirch your honor. But your silence and secrecy make you an unknown. So my question is why? Why come forward now?”

Now your smirk comes out full force. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.” He shrugs.

“Why do you think the United States created Captain America? Or Hydra me and Sargent Barnes? Why make us what we are?”

“Enhanced persons are a tactical advantage.”

“Another way to put that, perhaps the more true way, is that we are weapons or war.” Your smirk falls and your countenance turns to stone, “I did not choose to be such a weapon. My silence, my secrecy, are rooted in my desire to remain a free woman. Not a weapon for cowardly men to use whenever they saw fit.”

“So why now?”

“I owe Sargent Barnes my life, and I have no doubt the lives of many others are owed him as well.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because, sir, had he not freed me at the expense of his own life you would have had two super soldiers operating under the enemy for the last seven decades… one soldier and one spy. It does not take much of an imagination to put together the impact that may have had.”

There’s a clear ripple of tension through the room. He had never thought of that, never once occurred to him that the reason the two of you were chosen was for your skill sets. The perfect pair to infiltrate and destroy damn near any organization or country…

After that, the questioning seems to lose steam. The trial continues on in a blur. Bucky himself would not be called to the stand as he was deemed unfit to bear his own witness given what he had suffered. When the judge leaves to deliberate he wishes he could just disappear, all his sins, that they knew of, laid bare, all the way he was broken exposed. He knew it would be rough. No clue how rough…

The Judge is only gone for an hour. His lawyers can’t seem to decide if this is a good or bad turn of events. What they can agree on is that it’s unexpected.

“Sargent Barnes,” the judge addresses him, “to start I want to thank you.” Bucky has to fight to keep his jaw from hitting the floor. “For someone to have been through what you have and yet still sit on trial with dignity and honor… I don’t believe I’ve ever been so humbled in my life. I am proud to say that you have been found not guilty of all charges brought against you.” For a moment the judge is forced to pause. There’s a roar from the crowd outside, a mix of happiness and horror. But it’s the cheers of joy from behind Bucky that bring a smile to his face.

“You will receive all back pay and pension due a soldier of your rank. You will be required to continue counseling and evaluation. you may choose your own medical professionals but they will be vetted by the military in order to ensure not only your own safety but that of others.” The judge seems to take a moment to compose himself. “I’m honored to have been able to pass down this ruling to you Sargent Barnes. Thank you for your service.” The gavel cracks. And suddenly it’s all over.

Steve is the first one to get to him, his hug bone crushing, his laugh laced with too many emotions to count. “I knew it! I knew it would work. Welcome back to the real world pal.”

As soon as Steve releases him he sees you. Tears glitter in your eyes, your bottom lip caught in your teeth. You wrap your arms around his neck, he holds you tight against him.

“I’m so happy for you, Bucky.”

“Couldn’t have done it without you, doll.”

You laugh and pull away, dabbing at your eyes. “Ok,” you say loudly enough to gather your people around. “Before we go out into that madness I just want to be clear. My place tonight 7pm. We celebrate, yes?”

“Damn straight!” Sam bellows.