Setting: Captain America Civil War
The sweet, soothing scent of vanilla and eucalyptus wafts in the air. Finally, after a gruesome two weeks in Siberia undergoing a mission for Nick Fury, you are home in the comfort of your own apartment.
It’s too late in the night for anything other than the Chinese take out a few blocks down, which you’ve taken up for yourself. It sits next to the candle you have burning to push out the stuffiness that lingered from everything being closed up in your absence.
The shower you just had, refreshes you in ways you’ve craved in those 2 weeks and your hair damply drips down your back as you pull a long sleeve top over your head.
Of course, the break is too good to be true. The second you’re squatting to sit down, there’s a firm knock on your door. One that has your brain kicking into overdrive and pulling a gun from its hidden spot under your couch as you cautiously bound towards the door.
And just as you’re weighing your options, contemplating your approach. “It’s me…it’s Steve.”
The door opens with a firm click of the lock, your frame filling the gap with a brooding expression. Doesn’t he know you need a minimum 3 days before your social battery is recharged?
“To what do I owe this pleasure?” You ask, hand bracing the edge of the doorframe.
Steve hesitates for only a moment, noting your obvious sarcasm. Thankfully, he doesn’t have to answer.
“We need to lay low.” Sam’s voice cuts into the conversation as he strolls up beside Steve.
You liked Sam, he’s funny, a good fighter and he saved your life once. All good traits in your book.
Although, the slight suspicion and curiosity that washes over you isn’t enough to overcome the exhaustion you feel so with a final narrowed look their way you walk off with a nonverbal invitation inside.
Feet shuffle inside behind you, more than two but you don’t pick up on it until your in the kitchen about to grab at your plate of food and tell your two dear friends that they can’t have any when you notice the extra person.
Standing in the open floor plan threshold between your kitchen and living room stands Steve, Sam and…
“What is he doing here?” You grit out, your gun up and trained on The Winter Soldier. At just looking at him the horrible scar on your side aches in pain. It took you weeks to recover from the wound he had left in his wake almost 2 years ago.
“Easy.” Steve attempts to diffuse the situation, hands held out as a barrier between you.
Your eyes never once leave his, although they aren’t as empty as you remembered. No, his eyes are…gentler, tainted in what you could only make out to be guilt. But he doesn’t say a word, just keeps steady eye contact with you.
And you don’t move an inch. Not even as Sam brushes past Steve to help himself to a glass of water from your fridge, muttering a smug, “Told you.”
Sam isn’t phased by your reaction, he expected. So, he gears up to watch it unfold as he groans softly when he lowers onto your couch, even fluffing a pillow to rest his aching back.
You’re not stupid, you’ve seen the news. You know he’s wanted by basically everyone. But apparently Steve is stupid.
What is he thinking brining this to your front door?
“Drop the gun, he’s not a threat.”
“Bullshit, he’s not a threat.” You snap.
What you actually want to do is shoot Steve a glare and curse him for adding you into his mess but you can see the fatigue biting at each of them. Hunger, exhaustion, mild paranoia - all symptoms of yourself.
Maybe that’s why you reluctantly lower the gun. Definitely not because the guilt on Bucky’s face is too much for you to deny.
Steve visibly relaxes but the tension in the room doesn’t disappear. Not when you’re still staring Bucky down as if he’ll switch into the killing machine you fought face to face once.
Bucky refuses to break the stare, he needs to see it. The aftermath of what he’s done, the people he hurt. He remembers you, what he did to you. He wears that guilt now.
And for that, you let the sleek metal of the gun hit the counter top.
Turns out your Chinese for one which you had wanted to stretch for the entire 3 days you had planned to spend in your own company, can be split into 4 portions.
The air is still tense, but less charged as you all ate and Steve filled you on what’s going on.
Apparently, a failed mission left the Avengers with a big pill to swallow - The Accords.
And a bomb at The Accords meeting left people dead and the blame on Bucky, which he didn’t do.
It’s times like these your happy you decided to stay out of the Avenging world, however Steve doesn’t share the same sentiment or he wouldn’t be here.
Your apartment is off all radars, for now as you suspect. You all know it won’t be long until your found, but as of right now it’s the safest place.
Sam had been the last to freshen up in your bathroom, using the last of the clothing your ex-fling had left over. You had contemplated throwing the clothes away but you liked the oversized pieces and it came handy for the three men in your living room.
You offered your bed to Steve, knowing you wouldn’t get sleep with Bucky so close. You hated to admit it but apart of you had been traumatized from your fight with him.
Ultimately, Sam had taken your bed after the back and forth you and Steve had, while Bucky took the couch without a word said and Steve took to the cushioned area of your bay window.
Not a smart place for a fugitive. Luckily, you had renovated before you moved in, replacing the glass with reflective bulletproof ones instead.
Time moves on, slower than normal it seems. Your body is in overdrive, fighting against the softness of your single sofa which sits opposite to the exact thing keeping you on high alert.
Bucky holds a certain…innocence when he sleeps. It’s the only time he looks relaxed, well before his eyes begin twitching and his plush lips pull into a deep frown.
You have to hold back the flinch your body wants to release when he suddenly springs up, eyes wide, breath shallow and his hands fisted and ready.
He doesn’t notice you yet, or maybe he has and is just choosing to ignore you. You’re not sure and you don’t care as you observe him.
His left arm - the flesh arm moves toward his face, rubbing the sleep from his eyes before swiping at the sweat on his neck where his overgrown hair sticks onto him. Your now noticing how much the clothes don’t fit him.
His arms bulge out of the black shirt, nearly threatening to burst through the fabric…and he’s not even flexing.
Before you could drool over the first male body you’ve seen in weeks, you focus back on your thoughts.
“You don’t sleep.” You say it as a statement rather than an accusation or a question.
Bucky isn’t surprised by your voice, he had been waiting. He had felt you watching him from the moment he woke up, he felt your stare…all over him.
He doesn’t answer, and normally that would frustrate you but you imagine there’s not much he can say in relation to your statement. How could he sleep with the blood on his hands?
You accept not getting a word out of him so you settle your attention on the TV playing some show you’re not really paying any mind to.
Bucky sits up, his right arm - the metal one buzzes in a phantom pain that only comes deep into the night. A reminder of who he is, what he is and always will be. At least to you, the people he’s done wrong.
“I’m sorry.” Rough, quiet and scratchy. The voice comes out the man who blends into the darkness all too well. The light from the TV highlights apart of his face, at least enough for you to make out the guilt still swimming in his blue orbs.
Bucky truly is sorry, for what it’s worth. He remembers the fight you had put up. You were fast and slick in ways he struggled with, you had been a nuisance to him in that state. A distraction in the way of his mission.
The piece of ragged metal had been in arms reach, something you hadn’t noticed before it was too late. The metal was already impaled into your side when you realized what had happened and by that time he had pushed you out of the helicarrier and left you to fall to your death.
Sam had been the one to catch you.
The apology stuns you, you didn’t expect him to talk, much less apologize. You know his story, that he wasn’t really ‘himself’. Apart of you wanted to kill him, for what he’s done. Not just to you but all who have suffered at the hands of ‘The Winter Soldier’.
But the human part of you emphasizes with him. He truly seems remorseful over his acts, well the acts of his controlled mind.
“You won’t get the chance again.”
A promise. You accepted his apology with a promise to follow. You will help him because you can tell he never wanted what life had given him, he is a man stuck in time and paying the price of men who believe themselves to be judge, jury and executioner.
Bucky nods. Fair enough, he just hopes it won’t ever come to that again.
The air grows lighter, a shared understanding floats between you. It’s a start.
Steve watches the moment quietly, pretending he’s still asleep as he listens. He just needs someone else to believe in Bucky the way he does.
And by the way, your mind eases as you and Bucky silently watch TV. The way you don’t fight against the sleep your body desperately needs anymore, Steve hopes it’s you.
dailybridgerton
yousharknotpass
pixelskylines
germansingergirl
