#it makes this whole forest hauntingly beautiful and sad

[seabeck]

Another shot of that stump. It makes me so sad that this tree is dead, it must have been massively tall in life

[marmolady]

A Ride to Remember (Estela x MC)

Main Pairings: Estela x (f)MC

Summary: Endless Ending.  As Estela continues to help Taylor along her road to recovery after freeing Vaanu's essence, she shares with her a bittersweet part of her life in San Trobida.

Word Count: 3255

Chronology: carries on from ‘The New Taylor’, precedes ‘Inheritance’.

Tagging: @saivilo, @edgydepressedchoicesthot, @sceptilemasterr, @greengroove 

“Okay, sit naturally, with your back straight, and I’ll adjust the stirrups to the right length.”

Taylor shifted her position on a small, grey horse until she was comfortable. “Well, I’m up, and I haven’t fallen off yet, so I guess that’s a good start.”

Estela chuckled as she fiddled with the saddle. “We’ll take it slow. It’s good for your core strength and your balance, which will be really important for you. I read that it’s actually helpful for your circulation and for relaxing . The movements should sort of gently work your joints and muscles, and I think your spine too. As low-impact exercise, it’s pretty hard to beat-- unless you fall off.”

“I’ll just… try and avoid that, then.” Taylor patted the horse’s neck, swallowing her nerves. She’d ridden a freaking yeti; this should be a piece of cake. “Pepper here is the friendly one, right?”

“Ha. Right. Better him than this asshole,” Estela said, while, as if on cue, the dark bay horse she was beside made to take a chunk out of her. Reflexively, she moved out of the way. “They call this one ‘Miel’. It means ‘honey’, which is exactly what she’s not.”

“You know, I’m seeing that. I’m guessing she’s the one who threw you back when you were a kid?”

“Of course. I’m sure it’s a memory she treasures.”

A little laugh made Taylor relax into her seat. This outing had been coming for a few days; her physical recovery had been going well, thanks in a large part to her very attentive and encouraging personal trainer. Taylor could feel the progress taking place within her body; something that she’d not long ago feared had stalled. There was a way to go yet, but… the climb to get there no longer felt insurmountable. Putting the focus on complete relaxation and actually getting some undisturbed sleep had done wonders.

Estela clicked her tongue, and as Miel moved forward, Taylor gave Pepper a little squeeze.

“Okay, buddy. I’ve got this.”

The movement beneath her took a little getting used to, but as Taylor sat straight, she realised that her core really had been strengthened in those past weeks. No doubt she’d be tired by the end of the ride, but for someone who just a couple of months ago couldn’t even sit up by herself, this was an achievement.

Estela grinned. “If you do fall off, I’ll try and throw some ninja moves so I can jump down and catch you.”

“Hahaha. You are absolutely hilarious. This is a cakewalk.” Let’s just keep it at a walk though. To be safe.

“I know. Nothing you can’t handle.” Estela brought her horse so she was walking parallel with Taylor’s. It was wonderfully weird to see her wife out here in the San Trobidan countryside even after all these weeks. But now, it could never be home if Taylor wasn’t there. “There are a few different tracks I used to take from here; we’ll probably get around to a couple more before we head back to La Huerta, but I figured the shortest trail is probably our best bet for now. There’s a really nice lookout spot in this one as well, so you can take a break if you need it.”

The trail meandered through thick primary forest, the shade of canopy bringing a drop in temperature that could be felt in an instant. All was quiet but for the calls of birds and the steady plodding of hoofbeats. That this could exist in a place so war-ravaged was startling to Taylor, and she could quite imagine how such a slither of peace could become a lifeline.

“You used to come out riding here a lot?”

“Yes,” Estela said. “It was one of the few useful things I could do when I was a kid. Seňor Ruiz loved these horses, but when he became involved in the war, he didn’t have as much time for them. When I was about twelve, and then… pretty much until Mom died, I kept the horses exercised and groomed, and Tio would get me off his back. Mom was quite friendly with Seňor Ruiz as well; she used to do this with me whenever she had the time. Obviously, with everything that was going on, I mostly felt like I was trapped. Riding was freeing. There were trails off the beach and up into the hills; I could disappear for hours. Sometimes I needed that. To just take those hours away from a world that seemed to be falling down around me.”

“I’ll bet. It must have felt like a whole different world out here. Has it changed a lot? Everything else seems to have changed so much for you… this place looks like it’s never been touched.”

“It’s the same. I could probably take another shot at jumping that log if I was so inclined.”

“So you didn’t stubbornly come back and try again?”

Estela’s eyes sparkled at the tease. She shrugged her shoulders. “It was a way off where I usually ride. But, yeah, I did jump it later. Not on Miel, though-- on Pepper. I’m stubborn, not an idiot.”

Taylor laughed. This wasn’t so hard. She had a distinct feeling that her butt and thighs would be killing her the next day, but it was enjoyable. At the slow pace, her body relaxed into it.

“But, no. This part hasn’t changed a bit. It’s stupid, but it makes me feel sad. Everything is as it should be, except my mother isn’t in the picture. This was her thing. What she did to unwind.”

The mood changed, taking a turn for melancholy. Estela winced apologetically. It wasn’t fair on Taylor; this was supposed to be about her recovery, not looking backwards.

“I’m… guessing you haven’t done this… since your mom died?”

“No. No, I couldn’t. To begin with, it would have been too painful. Then I’d managed to push myself into rebellion, and if I wasn’t helping-- really helping, this time--, I was training my mind and body so that I could take my revenge on Rourke.” She looked back at Taylor with a bittersweet smile, sorrow still lingering behind her eyes. “I didn’t realise how much I’ve actually missed doing this.

“Thank you for sharing it with me. It really means a lot. I feel like, slowly, I’m being woven into the tapestry of the real world… and it’s because of you; what you’ve given me. I know so much of it is painful, but you’ve not held back from me--”

“I want to feel your touch over every part of me. You know that, right?” Estela flushed a little, but didn’t avert her eye contact. Taylor’s gaze was full of love, and she returned it. “It makes it all easier to bear. And this kind of intimacy helps you, then… it’s important.”

“Yeah, I know. Just… I appreciate you letting me be that person.”

Estela’s lips curved to a smile. She didn’t need to be thanked, not for that. “I love you, Taylor.”

“I love you too.”

 Coming out at the other end of the thickest part of the forest, the sun was blinding. A downed tree had cleared all that stood in its wake, and now made for an easy post to which the horses could be tied. Having offered both horses a piece of apple, Estela helped Taylor join her atop the vast log so they could enjoy the view over the jungle-fringed coastline.

“Wow. It really is beautiful.”

“It is,” Estela said wistfully, staring out into a hauntingly familiar horizon. “It’s kind of a miracle it is still as untouched as it is. Around a lot of the edges of the forest, it’s all been destroyed. Of course, people would go into the forest to hide-- I know my mother and I did. When people are scared for their lives, why should they care about protecting a few trees? But a lot of it’s still okay. Us and the jungles. We’ll rebuild and get stronger.”

She frowned. Maybe something could be done to help. The resources available to Aleister through Rourke International could do a world of good here. It was difficult to bring up. Something would be asked for in return, something Estela was adamant she wouldn’t-- couldn’t-- give. As much as she fought it, though, she felt the burden of responsibility. If it could be as simple as taking Aleister and Grace out here and showing them why her home was special…. That time was coming soon.

“It’s weird to think, in just a few days we’re going to have Aleister and Grace here. Worlds colliding all over again.”

It wouldn’t be just a friendly visit. She’d had Aleister badgering her far too long for that to be the case. She knew. He had a burden to force upon her, as if sharing it would somehow distance himself from Rourke. As if cold, unfeeling money could in any way ease the suffering that had been caused. Aleister could take guidance about righting his father’s wrongs without tethering Estela to that name. After all that company had taken, it owed her that much.

“Hey,” Taylor said soothingly, her voice as gentle as the expression in her blue eyes. “They care about us, about you. Whatever conversations anyone might want to have, no one can force your hand. Only an incredibly stupid person would try, and that’s neither of them. They just want to be here for you.”

Only because of my blood. As soon as the thought came to her, Estela pushed it away stubbornly. However she thought about Aleister’s intentions for Rourke International and that blasted fortune, she did know that both he and Grace cared for her. And they cared for Taylor. And Jake. They must do, for it would take a brave person indeed to be in Aleister’s shoes and face an introduction to one Nicolas Montoya.

“I’ll have to tell Tio some more nice stories before then. I don’t know if my ‘warts and all’ approach to sharing our experiences on La Huerta have painted my poor half-brother in the best light.”

At that, Taylor chuckled darkly. Meeting the approval of Tio Nicolas had been a mighty intimidating feat to take on, albeit worth it a thousand times over. “Aleister did so much to keep you safe in the fallout, even under threat of your wrath. I think Tio of all people could appreciate what a challenge that must have been.”

“I’m lucky to have so many people looking out for me,” Estela said quietly. Then, as if she had no control over it, her tone became harsh, defensive. “But I don’t need looking after. Not with anything from Rourke.”

Taylor looked at Estela with aching affection, and saw it returned, the storm clouds clearing under a tender gaze.

“I’m doing it again,” Estela said sheepishly.

“Yeah. And it’s okay.” Taylor took her wife’s arm and held her. There was a whole lot Estela was working through right now, and she would not have her do it alone. “Maybe you could use a date with that old punching bag.”

Estela exhaled heavily. “That thing’ll be a pile of frayed string by the time I’m done with it.” She leaned closer, touching her forehead to Taylor’s, closing her eyes. It’s okay. You’re in this together. Look how far you’ve both come already? “You are amazing, you know? Taylor. You really are.”

“On a good day,” Taylor chuckled. Her whole life had been an erratic ride of peaks and troughs, of glorious highs and despairing lows. It hadn’t suddenly become easy once the world was restored and she was home with her soulmate.

“On a bad day, you’re even more,” Estela said solemnly. “You never give in.” She blushed slightly. “It’s one of the things I loved about you first.”

Taylor came away so she could press a gentle kiss to Estela’s nose. “And you still loved me when I could barely leave my bed. When I had no freaking control over my bladder,” she laughed. “And I couldn’t have sex without falling asleep after five minutes. It’s… starting to feel like we’ve made it. It’s like our future is actually possible. I don’t have a damn clue what it’s gonna be, but it’s gonna be us.”

“Yes. You and me, forever.” Estela took Taylor’s face in her hands, and brought her in for a deep and lingering kiss. God, Taylor; I’d go through every heartache a thousand times over for a day with you, a day like this. “Come on, mi amor,” she said airily as she came away, riding that wonderful high. “It’s about time those old horses got some real exercise. Let’s take them down into the sea.”

“Oh god, why do I feel like I’m about to get really wet?”

Estela smirked. “You better hold on tight, then.”

 _________________________

 2011

 The bay horse, Miel, flicked her ears back, responding to the tension feeding from the young woman atop her back.

“You expect me to want to leave… to just turn my back on everything that’s happening here. What if I refuse?”

“You’re a minor, Estela. You could dig your heels in and refuse to leave, but your uncle won’t make a revolutionary out of a fifteen year old girl. Nicolas wants you out of here as much as I do.”

Estela bit back a retort. No, he doesn’t. He would let me be useful. “I thought you cared about this place… these people.”

“Don’t.” That tone of voice didn’t come out very often, but even Estela knew better than to argue with it. “My child being killed in this war won’t make things better. You are bright, and determined, and compassionate. I won’t have your light snuffed out before it even has a chance to shine.” Olivia shook her head. “You are too precious. To me, and to all you care about. You finish your education, you grow and you learn, and then you will have more to offer. Then, it will be your choice. But while you are a child in my care, I need you have faith in my judgement.”

How, when it’s taking you away from me? Estela chewed on her lower lip,fighting to keep her tears at bay. Who would make you smile when you had the whole world in your shoulders?

Olivia must have felt the emotion in her daughter, for her voice trembled when she spoke. “The thought of being away from you is… torture. I don’t know how I’m even going to breathe knowing you’re so far away, knowing that the violence here could escalate at any time. But I have to do this, mija. I would not put us through this if it wasn’t desperate. But it is, and I am. If working on Rourke’s island for a year means that you come through this all, alive, there is no question.”

“I’ll miss you, Mami.”

“I know, Estelita. Mi preciosa. But we’ll get through this. One week at a time, and I won’t ever let you forget that my heart is home with you.”

Choking on the lump in her throat, Estela spluttered a sob, and roughly wiped tears from her eyes. “We’ll get through this,” she murmured weakly. This will pass. She had to believe it, she had to try,for it was all that would keep aching loneliness from taking root in her heart. For everything her tio was fighting for, she’d be strong. For her mother, she’d be even stronger.

“Come now, my star.” Olivia reached and stroked her daughter’s face, tenderly caressing away the tear-tracks that Estela’s harsh brushing had left behind. She cupped her cheeks and chin, adoring her. “If these are the memories I’m taking away with me, I’m going to need to see your beautiful smile.”

What is there to smile about--?

“Mija, this is our time. You and me, holding on together. So, I’m going to race you. One end of Cala Paraisa to the other. I’m not going anywhere with you under the delusion that your mother can’t leave you in the dust.”

“I’m sorry, Mom. I’m sorry you’re gonna be stuck on that island, stewing in the knowledge that I kicked your ass out here.”

Olivia scoffed exaggeratedly. There it was; there was her smile. “Fighting words!” She petted the grey horse’s neck. “What do you think, Pepper? We can take them?”

With a roll of her eyes, Estela clicked her tongue, encouraging Miel to walk forwards. This hurt. This really hurt. But her mother was right; they couldn’t let this time be taken from them. This was theirs.

“I think you and your horse are dreaming. We start at that driftwood-- are you ready?”

The still of the quiet cove gave way to the pounding of hooves and the whoops and hollers of mother and daughter at play. One last time.

[invisibleanonymousmonsters]

Non-Sequential [Ch. 10]

Pairing: Pre-Serum Steve Rogers/Steve Rogers x Reader

One night, Steve Rogers met a beautiful dame named Y/N. He hadn’t intended on letting her get away. But fate had other ideas. Y/N appeared and disappeared in his life so hauntingly that Steve started to wonder if she was an angel meant to watch over him.

Word Count: 3,000

A/N: Inspired by the film The Time Traveler’s Wife. But not one of those fics that just literally rips off the whole movie and plugs in characters where they please.

Chapter 9

“This is the most unsettling quiet I’ve ever experienced in my life,” Y/N told Steve as she sat on the edge of the bed and watched him pack his bag for his mission.

He gave her a look but kept moving around the room.

“Steve,” her voice was now low and serious. “I’m going to be fine.”

That finally made him stop and acknowledge her. “You’re still recovering. I don’t like leaving you when there’s a chance something could happen.”

“There isn’t a chance something could happen,” she argued.

Steve sighed and put his hands on his hips.

Y/N slid of the bed and made her way to him. “I will be fine.” Her hands smoothed around his shoulders. “If you’re in your head worrying about me, you’re not going to be worrying about yourself.”

Then her voice got darker, “This is the first lead you’ve got on HYDRA in awhile. And it’s the first time you’ve managed to track down Rumlow since DC.”

Steve nodded, knowing she had a point.

“Focus on the mission. Not on me,” she added for good measure.

He sighed. “Just do me a favor and stay here while I’m gone?”

She frowned. “Seems a little lonely to me.”

“Tony’s in DC. Pepper, Happy, and Vision will be around. Call some of your friends over,” Steve tried to offer.

Y/N exhaled and kissed him quickly. “I’ll stay here if you promise to be safe and look after yourself.”

He smiled, “You got yourself a deal.”

She walked with him to the quinjet where Sam, Nat, and Wanda were waiting for him.

Steve hesitated as he stepped away from her. He wasn’t one for PDA. And he knew if the team saw him giving her a kiss goodbye, they would tease him endlessly.

“Screw it,” he muttered before he stepped back to her and gave her a long kiss.

She smiled against his lips just before pulling away. “Be safe, Cap.”

“I will. Promise,” he told her before kissing her forehead, grabbing his bag, and heading into the quinjet.

Y/N stood on the platform, hair flying around her face, as she watched them take off.

It didn’t matter that Happy, Pepper, or Vision were around. They had busy lives of their own. Pepper was running a business, taking helicopters to and from New York City every day. Happy was dealing with Tony’s personal life. And Vision could...unsettling to hang out with. They had better things to do than keep Y/N company because her boyfriend insisted she stayed at the compound.

Luckily there were endless amounts of things to do. There was a swimming pool along with the gym. Tony also didn’t hold back on the entertainment system. Y/N had any movie or TV show in history at her disposal. There was even a library in the compound. If she were to get stranded anywhere, the Avengers’ compound wasn’t a bad place to be.

Her wound had completely healed, barely leaving a pink scar with the technology the medical team had created.

Y/N was in the middle of making herself dinner when she felt it start. It was like a tickling, like the feeling of sand when your arm or leg falls asleep. Her eyes widened in panic. If Steve got home to her missing, he would think the worst.

“FRIDAY! I don’t know when I’ll be back. But tell Steve when I left,” she demanded in a rushed voice.

“Of course, Y/N. Be safe,” the AI responded promptly. And that was the last thing Y/N heard before she crossed through time.

She blinked at the brightness, being blinded by all the white.

It was snow, inches of it all around her.

“Fuck,” Y/N hissed.

She appeared to be in the middle of a forest, no civilization in sight. This is when things got dangerous. With no humans, there was no chance of getting clothes. With no clothes, she could get hypothermia again or just simply freeze to death.

“OK, Y/N. Think! You can do this,” she whispered to herself. 

Her mind went through the survival guides she’d read. She had to make a fire, anything to warm her body up. She found some tree branches that didn’t seem to have snow on them, therefore they were dry. She started to collect a supply of wood and found a space under a tree that hadn’t been attacked with snow.

Y/N had been well into her process, trying to ignore how cold she was, when she heard footsteps approaching.

Unintentionally, she let out a panicked gasp and quickly hid herself behind a thick trunk of the nearest tree.

It was quickly followed by a click of a gun. 

“Zeige dich,” a deep voice spoke in German.

Y/N’s heart was hammering, having no idea what was being said. But it was clear they had heard her and were calling out to her.

“Zeig dich oder ich werde schießen.”

“I-I don’t know what you’re saying,” Y/N finally admitted, fear evident in her voice.

“Y/N?” The voice asked in surprise.

She knew it wasn’t Steve’s voice. She would’ve recognized it, even with the German.

Y/N blinked. “Bucky?” She gasped in relief. But she still hid behind the safety of the tree trunk. 

“Jesus, doll. I could’ve shot you.” It was clear he was just a few yards away from her tree. “Gabe, head back to camp,” Bucky clearly spoke over his shoulder. Then he had a silent, but rushed, conversation with his comrade. Y/N couldn’t tell what was being said.

“It’s OK, doll. You can come out now. There’s no one here but me.”

“I-I don’t have any clothes,” she stuttered out, calling to him.

“I have a blanket with me in my bag,” he told her as if she should’ve expected it. “I’ll turn around. Promise I’ll close my eyes.”

She tried not to hide her smirk. Yet she still waited a few seconds before coming out of her hiding spot and facing Bucky. True to his word, his back was turned to her. He even had a palm covering his eyes to make her feel better. She hurriedly went to his bag and unfolded the blanket.

“OK. You can turn around now,” she muttered quietly.

He did as she said and gave his infamous Bucky Barnes smirk. “Good to see you, doll.”

She narrowed her eyes. Was it possible for him to talk to a woman without flirting?

Then he looked around, taking in all the snow. “How long you been out here for?”

Y/N shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe 30-40 minutes?” Then she gestured behind her. “I was going to try and get a fire going. I didn’t think there was anyone around to steal clothes from.”

Bucky cocked an eyebrow. “You can steal clothes from me any day, doll.”

She rolled her eyes.

“We should get a fire going, though. I don’t have any socks or shoes for you…and there’s definitely none back at camp. Your toes are going to get frostbite if you stay out here like this.”

A few minutes later, Bucky helped her get a fire going. They sat across from each other, both of them sitting on dry logs to stop from sitting directly in the snow.

Even though he’d given her his blanket, Bucky insisted on giving her his navy jacket as well.

“Where’s Steve?” Y/N finally asked, wondering why he hadn’t gone to get him yet.

“He went on a quick recon. Left right before you got here.”

She nodded. “What day and year is it?”

“You’re in Germany. It’s February 1st, 1945.”

Y/N’s eyes widen and she jumped to her feet.

For some reason, Bucky matched her movement. “What? What is it?”

“The recon mission Steve went on…” Y/N thought out loud. “You’re tracking a HYDRA train. The one with Zola on it.”

Bucky tilted his head and narrowed his gaze. “How the hell did you…?” But it was a pointless question. Of course someone from the future would know such things.

Y/N suddenly rushed toward him. She gripped the side of his neck gently.

“Bucky, you can’t go on that mission. You have to stay behind,” she practically whimpered.

“What? What are you talking about?” He started to get panicked to, only wanting to calm her down.

She gripped his face now, pleading with him. “Please, Bucky, you can’t ask me why. Because I can’t tell you. Just – you can’t go with. Please, just stay behind. Stay with me here.”

A flicker of understanding went across his bright, blue eyes. “Something happens to me, doesn’t it?”

Y/N said nothing.

“It’s dangerous?” He asked.

She nodded.

“But Steve and the rest of the Howlies are going,” he thought to himself.

“They’ll be fine,” she tried to urge.

But Bucky was shaking his head before she could even finish her sentence. “I-I can’t let them go by themselves. I can’t stay here and hide,” he told her softly.

“Bucky, please.”

He gave her a sad smile and pulled his jacket and blanket tighter around her body, making sure she was kept warm.

“I got to get going, doll.”

She shook her head furiously. “No! No, Bucky. Wait.”

He did as she asked.

Y/N was desperate. She had tried time and time again to change the past. All she ever wanted was her curse to feel like something more, something that she would harness and use for good. But every single time, the future remained unchanged.

She couldn’t let Bucky fall from the train. It would lead to lifetimes of pain and misery. He would be robbed of a normal life. He’d be tortured and brainwashed to hurt others.

Why else had she been brought to this moment? 

Steve wasn’t even here. Maybe this was her purpose now. 

Looking into his ice, blue eyes now… they were so kind and still filled with hope. How did the snow manage to compliment them so well?

“What if I asked you to-to stay… for me?” Y/N finally stuttered in a whisper.

He was suddenly heartbroken.  

Bucky stared into her eyes, and then brushed some hair away from her face. 

“I used to pity Steve for having you in his life, without ever truly being able to be with you,” he murmured. “But then I started feeling something else. Now I know what it was…because I realized that I’d rather have you like that than not have you at all.” His eyes glanced down. “Because I don’t.”

Y/N swore her heart was about to beat out of her chest.

“Stay, Bucky.” She whispered her plea.

Then he was leaning closer to her. She didn’t fight it.

His lips were just centimeters away from her own. He hesitated, waiting for her to smack him or shove him away. He was giving her a chance to stop it. But Y/N remained frozen with anticipation.

Bucky pushed the last distance, colliding with her lips.

Y/N didn’t know what had come over her. This was wrong. This was Steve’s best friend. She shouldn’t be kissing him back like she was. She should be pushing him away, putting a stop to it. But there was a part of her brain that was convinced this would be the thing that made him stay. 

This kiss was going to save his life, a voice spoke in the back of her mind.

But the way he was kissing her… It was the way a man kissed when he knew he was about to die.

Then Bucky pulled away abruptly, immediately stepping back and putting distance between the two of them. He looked heartbroken and pained. But he didn’t break his eye contact.

“I can’t stay behind,” he told her. “Someone’s gotta look after him.”

Her eyes filled with tears as she shook her head. “But what about you?” Her words shook.

Bucky shrugged. “You love him, right?”

She wiped away her silent tears and nodded.

“Stay close to the fire, Y/N.” He said before turning and swiftly disappearing through the thick forest.

Y/N realized her answer was also Bucky’s unspoken one.

She crouched down, shaking uncontrollably as she sobbed. Now, more than ever, she was convinced that her time traveling was a curse. She would never be able to change anything. All she could do was watch the people she cared about suffer in the past.

Her face was tucked into her knees as she hugged her legs to her chest.

She was crying and shaking so hard that she didn’t even realize she had traveled again. 

She didn’t notice the cold disappear or the whiteness of the snow fade away.

There was a creak of a floorboard that finally snapped Y/N out of it. Her head shot up and she looked around to realize she was no longer in the middle of a forest. She was in a crummy apartment. Her blanket and Bucky’s jacket were no longer draped over her shoulders, leaving her naked once again.

Y/N had never traveled from one time to another. She always went back to her present after she time traveled. This was all new and terrifying territory for her.

But all of that was pushed to the back of her mind when she saw a figure standing in the corner. Her eyes widened in panic. She wanted to move back, putting distance between them. But doing so would expose her nudity.

He seemed to read all of this and slowly put his hands up.

“I’m not…I won’t hurt you,” his voice was gravelly, like he hadn’t used it in days.

Y/N’s eyes narrowed. He was wearing a baseball cap and standing in a shadow. All the windows had newspapers covering them, barely letting any sunlight in. It made it hard for her to even know how long his hair was or what color.

But then she saw a glare on his left arm. Flesh doesn’t reflect light like that.

Her eyes expanded with recognition. “Bucky?”  

He slowly stepped into the light, hands still raised as if he would spook her. Then he carefully took off his hoodie. Without saying anything, he held it out, offering it to her. His eyes were obviously trying to look anywhere but at her naked body.

She quickly pulled it over head, grateful it was so big that it at least skimmed her thighs. However, she remained sitting, worried that Bucky was like a deer that would sprint away at any sudden movements.

“Do…” she took a deep breath, preparing herself to be disappointed. “Do you remember me?” Her voice was so quiet that it could barely be called a whisper.

Bucky’s jaw clenched and he swallowed. Why did he look so nervous? It was like she was the threat here and not him.

“I think so,” he muttered.

“Where am I?” Y/N looked around the apartment, but there wasn’t a single clue that could give her a hint. “When am I?” She added for good measure.

“Bucharest, Romania. March 9th, 2016.” It’s like he was giving her a mission report. There was no hesitation or emotion in his words, just facts.

So Y/N was in the past, but just barely. It was just a couple months ago.

Y/N decided to slowly stand up. “What’s my name?” She asked him slowly.

“I…I don’t know,” he admitted with shame. His eyes were staring at the ground as he tried to wrack his brain to find the answer.

Then his eyes flickered up to hers. “You-You were there. In DC.”

Y/N nodded a little hopeful. “You saved my life.” She swallowed. “Why?”

She swore his eyes flickered to where she had been shot, eyes flickering over the pink scarring of skin.

“I don’t know.”

Y/N tried not to look disappointed.

Suddenly, she felt the familiar tingle in her body again.

“No!” Y/N gasped.

She couldn’t leave. Not yet. Not after she just found Bucky. She wasn’t ready this time.  

“What’s happening?” He asked with slight panic.

“I’m leaving,” she muttered as she lifted her hand and saw that it was starting to evaporate.

Y/N would never forget Bucky’s sad, yet distressed, grimace as he watched her disappear.

She arrived in Steve’s bedroom. 

“FRIDAY, what day is it?”

The AI immediately responded with, “Welcome back, Y/N. It is May 3rd, 2016. 10:29PM.”

Y/N let out a sigh of relief. She had only been gone for a couple of hours in the present.

“Also, the team is just now returning to the compound,” FRIDAY added. 

Without listening to anything else the AI had to say, Y/N threw on a pair of Steve’s sweatpants and his hoodie. Before she could forget, she ran to Steve’s desk and wrote down the date she had found Bucky in Romania. She doubted she’d ever forget it. But better safe than sorry.

She was running through the hallways of the compound, ignoring glares and questioning looks from various agents and staff.

But when Y/N got to the hangar, all her enthusiasm and excitement of being able to tell Steve where Bucky was hiding had vanished.

Steve was the first to walk off the jet, followed by Nat and then Sam. But it was Wanda, who looked like she’d been crying, that made Y/N realize something terrible had happened.

Steve spotted his girlfriend immediately, walking briskly to her. 

He usually didn’t want affection and coddling right after a mission. It took him some time to get out of his Captain mode. But Y/N also realized he felt like he had to be a leader for his team. They could fall apart, and he would be the strong one for the rest of them.

So, it surprised Y/N when Steve immediately pulled her into his arms. He breathed her in and held on tighter than usual. Y/N would’ve enjoyed it more if she didn’t know any better. Clearly, something went horrible wrong on the mission.

“Steve,” she mumbled into his shoulder. “What happened?”

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Chapter 11

OK. I pumped that one out pretty quickly. I think I can at least give myself from credit for that.  I am so, so, so curious as you what you guys think after this particular chapter (😜😉). LET ME KNOW!!!

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I do not do taglists. Here is the series’ masterlist: Non-Sequential

[mollymauk-teafleak]

67 for John and Martha? xxxx

Familiaritywasn’t always a good thing.

Martharealised that as she was confronted with a sight she’d seen before and hermuscles performed actions they’d done many times, as a heavy kind offamiliarity settled over her that held nothing even close to comfort, anentirely different species to the familiar smells of her favourite pie bakingin the oven, the familiar pad of her cat’s paws on the hardwood floor as hecame running up to greet her, the familiar opening notes of her favourite songthat she would always play on rainy days while she stared out of the windowbecause it made her feel alive.

Ifanything, it made the whole thing worse. Because why should she still have tobe doing this? Why should this be such a conversant scenario for her, one ofthe motifs of her life? How was that possibly fair?

Marthawrinkled her nose and felt a bone deep shudder as she realised this, somewherebetween reaching under the driver’s seat of her truck to fish for the first aidkit she kept there, finding it, popping it open with the edge of her thumb tocritically survey the vast assortment of antiseptic sprays and band aids ofevery shape and size, gauze and cotton pads and iodine, cool gel packs, evenstring and slim, wicked sharp scissors for real emergencies, and coming backaround to where John sat in stormy, blue black tension on her tailgate. Hisexpression didn’t help her bitter misery any.

“Yourface looks like a dropped cake,” she murmured in a paper thin, stilted attemptat humour, at their usual teasing comfort that would usually come back after hewas cleaned and stitched back up and they’d both made a silent, sharedagreement to pretend this never happened. Clearly, in the way his shoulderhunched and Martha felt a stab of guilt, the process could not be expedited,there were no shortcuts.

“Youshould see the other guy,” John shrugged limply as Martha came and sat beside him,making the rust spattered but still a pretty decent forest green bed of thetruck dip under their shared weight.

Marthabit her lip as the more rational, less emotion driven part of her brain beganmaking decisions and checklists for what bandages were needed for thisparticular ER session, leaving the rest of her mind to fret and worry, “Doesthis other guy have a name?”

“Martha,don’t,” was John’s short, sour answer, turning his face away to watch thesunset off to their right, illuminating the weather beaten, sun bleached dirtroad they’d parked on and making it look almost beautiful.

Herspine stiffened and her clam, green eyes hardened, “Don’t don’t me, John Laurens.”

Shecould overlook every time her best friend was late to meet her underneath thesteps at the front of their school after her choir practise and his tracktraining, every time she had to drive around town looking for him, scour everyempty classroom in the hauntingly barren school, check every place she knew hewent to sulk before finding him dripping blood and nursing twisted arms,bruised eyes and split lips, pulling him into her truck and resigning herselfto patching him up and having that be all she could do to help him. Marthacould bear that, even if the helplessness stung, but she would absolutely nottolerate him hiding things from her, treating her with the same cold cageyattitude he gave the rest of the world, out of fear and wariness. If he couldlet her press ice packs to his swelling, purple eyes and dab stinging iodine inthe gashes through the tears in his jeans, he could damn well give her somedetails.

Herbest friend’s frame slumped in guilt and sorrow and suddenly he was John again,not Laurens, not the icy young man who’d gotten into this fight, the man whodid her braids for her and baked with her on weekends and always let her beplayer one when they played video games, still honouring a fateful game of rockpaper scissors from when they were six.

“I’msorry,” he rasped, the bruises on his neck that looked sickeningly like fingermarks making it hard for him to talk, “I didn’t mean that, Martha.”

“Iknow,” she sighed softly, taking one hand and gingerly checking for any fingerjoints that needed popping back into place, “I just care, y’know? I won’t makeyou report them or anything, I’m not that stupid. But I care.”

John’sfull lips, the bottom one split and leaking blood onto the breast of his shirtthat was unfortunately white (but never would be again), moved into a thinline, his eyes shifting somewhere far away, softening until it looked like hewas in danger of crying.

“Iknow you do, Martha. You’re the only one that does. Believe me, I’m not gonnarisk that.”

Marthafelt her heart break in her chest and there wasn’t a band aid in the world thatcould fix that. She just gave a wobbly sigh and slipped her arm around hiswaist, resting her head lightly on his shoulder. Suddenly she wasn’t holdingJohn’s hand, he was holding hers and it was a little sad but genuine at thesame time.

Theyhad their moment, a moment where neither of them could bear to speak, and when itpassed they just continued on, shouldering the melancholic truth they’d carriedtogether for a while; that all either of them had in the whole world was eachother. Martha went back to winding a bandage around his sprained wrist, loopinga sling around his neck to hold it in place. She chastised him gently to holdstill while she dabbed sickly yellow iodine on the abrasions scattered acrosshis body in a sad kind of map, piecing together what had happed to him in herhead as she catalogued his hurts. Bruises on his shoulder blades from wheresomeone had pinned him to the ground. The marks around his neck where he’d beendangled in the air by the throat. Red angry marks edging from under the thicketof his sun brown hair where someone had yanked fiercely at his curls. Splitknuckles and drying black blood mixed with dirt where he’d slammed his fistinto someone’s teeth. A particularly livid storm cloud of a bruise across hisforehead where he’d head butted someone. Martha put the pieces together as sherepaired the damage, a good while before John actually opened his mouth andtold her.

“So,I guess Daniel doesn’t want to go out with me,” he mumbled in a sour voice thathid a lot of hurt underneath it.

Marthacouldn’t stop her jaw from dropping, surprise from flooding her gentle face,“He…Daniel?”

Johnnodded bitterly, “Him and his knuckle walkers. All that strength training payedoff, as you can see.” He made a limp gesture to his battered body.

Marthahissed sympathetically as she hurriedly went back to cleaning his torn up kneesof grit, knowing John wouldn’t want to see the sorrowful pity that bloomed inher chest and send it’s vines down her arms and into her gentle fingers as shetook care of him. But it was hard to curtail, after she’d heard John’sbreathless excitement as he’d spent their post-party, two in the morning tripto McDonald’s just two weeks ago bouncing in his seat and recounting how the best-looking,‘so hot you could get down on your knees and thank Jesus’ guy on his lacrosseteam had kissed him drunkenly and sent his hands wandering in the shadowycorner of the house thrumming and swelling with booze and music and teenagedebauchery. Martha had helped John weave plans to ask Daniel out, all whileprivately thinking that maybe the half slab of whiskey the guy had drunk mighthave had more to do with the fact that he kissed John, rather than any genuinebravery, and the swimming, reckless courage that alcohol, tight jeans, hormonesand loud music gifted wouldn’t hold up come Monday morning.

Butshe’d let herself hope, for John’s sake, desperately wanting to believe in thatlook in his eyes, the look of a young man lost and alone and scared finallyfinding someone like him, realising that he wasn’t a freak like the worldaround him wanted him to think. She’d kept her fears to herself and nodded andsmiled and hugged him proudly.

So,in a way, the hideous state he was in now was partly her fault. Hers and John’sand their shared naivety that maybe things weren’t as bad as they seemed. Martha’slips twisted acridly and she threw herself into doing what little she could. Asif that would take it all back.

“Comeon,” she sighed, straightening up and brushing down her flannel shirt once sherealised that they’d lost the light and night had snuck up on them, “You cancome to my place…”

Johndidn’t argue, he rarely did. Home would hold no comfort for him whereas Martha’swould have leftover peach pie, video games, cuddles from her cat, low budgethorror movies until three in the morning when they’d fall asleep in a pile onher comforter. And maybe for a moment, when he woke up, when the dawn light wasfiltering in through Martha’s curtains in the precious few minutes before hehad to get up, hug her goodbye, collect his sneakers and try and break backinto his own home without anyone hopefully noticing, maybe then he’d have that briefmoment where he would wake up with Martha’s head on his shoulder, her handentwined in his and he’d get to pretend that he was a normal guy with normalwants and nothing that needed hiding.

Itmade him feel sick with guilt, those moments, guilt for himself, guilt forMartha. He was betraying both of them so easily. But John had never shied awayfrom shoving morality aside for a fleeting moment of feeling happy. Not beinghappy, of course, just feeling something like it.

Henodded and slid off the tailgate, “Yeah. Let’s go.”

[mado-science]

Remarkably accurate & enthralling This is an excellent book in all respects, but it spoke to me particularly as someone who worked my way through college by spending my summers in the woods (the Cascades) logging old growth timber for Weyerhaeuser in the 1960s, an experience I've written about for Open Spaces Magazine. Valliant manages to capture perfectly the juxtaposition of what a logger (from that era) felt between the excitement and manliness (and money) of his trade, on the one hand, and on the other, the unforgettably troubling sights a logger witnessed first hand as the solemn and silent old growth forest was reduced with such loud and destructive violence to massive swaths of clear cuts and slash. Valliant duly records all the rationalizations of those in the industry (some of which, inconveniently, make reasonably good sense), from the choker setter at the site to the executives in the corporate office. He even gets all the arcane logging terms from that era right. All of this is merely context, though, for a tale that is even-handed, basically non-judgmental, highly disturbing, and likely to linger hauntingly for most who read it. Go to Amazon

A true tale to be read & discussed...but could have been better written & edited This is a tale that should be read, savored and discussed by the largest possible audience and not just those of us who care about environmental issues. I for one had very little knowledge of the Golden Spruce and the myth surrounding it prior to purchasing this book and came away impressed and wanting to read even more about the whole sordid affair of it being cut down. As to the clear-cutting itself in BC and elsewhere, which apparently motivated Grant Hadwin's actions...it is in the same league with mountain top removal and other ecological disasters: just not necessary, to say the least, in these or any times, notwithstanding the needs of modern civilization. As to the book itself it is an impressive first book by an author I have read before and whose later prose improved in my humble view, but I think it could have been better written and it certainly required more editorial attention...the timeline can be a bit hard to follow, there are too many factoids and the story jumps around so much that it can be distracting at times and as a whole. Still I do recommend it and the map included is very helpful. Go to Amazon

A Tale from the North Pacific with Lessons for the World at Large A gripping book, and much more than simply the tale of the destruction of an icon on Haida Gwaii. The subtitle is apt, although it is an open question whether the term 'madness' refers to the single disturbing act of Grant Hadwin's felling this tree or to the wanton destruction, vastly accelerated following the industrial revolution, of entire ecosystems for no other reason than short sighted self interest or downright greed. Go to Amazon

History driven story of the North West lumber industry. A friend recommended this book. He had read it and knwww my wife and I were going on a trip to Alaska and Victoria Island. This book takes place in both of those areas. The author interweaves a couple of story lines through the book which is more about the areas mentioned and the history of logging there. We spent four days on Victory Island then did a seven day cruise through Alaska. I was still reading the book so it wsss very interesting to see thdd land and get a feel for the native people of the areas. For that reason, I give it a five. I havecrewad this author before and know he can get very drawn out with the details of his historical background. Here, he did it again. I found myself skipping through a good bit of it with still getting a feel for the land, people and the separate stories going on. His characters and how they were woven into the history of logging and hunting were perfect. If you are interested in over harvesting the land (Really, raping the land for lumber), and how that effected the landscape and the Native Indians, this is a great read. The history of the trees, the land and the people will keep you turning pages. Go to Amazon

Read it to experience a great story-teller. Read it as a wake-up call to ... From the first page, the lush language enraptured me. Lush language that perfectly described the immense beauty of my home, the Pacific Northwest. Not since Annie Dillard's Pilgrim at Tinker Creek and Diane Ackerman's The Natural History of the Senses have I been so intrigued by a non-fiction book about nature. History, geography, and insights into the devastations man has wrought - this book has it all . Read it to experience a great story-teller. Read it as a wake-up call to pay attention to nature and the (unintended?) consequences of our actions. Go to Amazon

Great story. Once again Great story. Once again, John Valliant play to his strengths and exquisite research to tell a timeless tale of place and people that draws on myth and reality. You could not do a better job at capturing all that is beautiful and all that is profane in the interactions between humans (particularly white Europeans) and the rain forests of the Pacific Northwest. Beautiful book and memorable real life characters. Go to Amazon

Much more than just a story of a tree This was an excellent book covering many fascinating subjects ranging from tree history ... Great Book! Three Stars Four Stars One Star Four Stars I learned a great deal and simply could not put it down Tree Story Informative and sad