Old Grudges Die Hard
AN: I lost access to my old account and I haven't posted in a while, so here goes nothing. I'm also really into mythology, so I put that in there for funzies.
Includes: Strong language, Angry themes, canon level violence, greek mythology, reader having powers.
She sat in the meeting room, her hands folded in her lap as she listened to the clock on the wall tick the seconds away. Her arms are crossed, her teeth clenched and legs crossed as she refuses to look at him.
“You have to tell us what happened, Y/n. This isn’t something that just goes away.” Steve sighs from across the table. His hands and forearms are crossed as he leans into it, his eyes soft and pleading, but also holding a harsh tone of authoritative directness.
“I don’t want to talk,” she replies, her tone sharp.
“Well I dont give a shit, because my medbay is smashed to bits and you and Barnes are to blame!” Tony rears from the lines he's pacing in the carpet at the front of the meeting room.
She lets out an annoyed huff, finally looking at the man of the hour across the table. He sits next to Steve, his eyes burning holes in the table. He refuses to look at her. He hasn't since Wanda and Steve pulled them apart. His arms are crossed almost like hers, but he's more rigid. He always has been.
“Are you going to tell them, or should i?” she finally asks, her voice directed at the Soldat, or rather Bucky. That what he's called now.
He doesn’t respond, and somehow that makes it worse.
“Fucking great,” she mutters to herself before returning her attention back to steve. “We have history.” she says blankly.
“No shit,” Tony replies, snapping at her as he continues to pace.
She rolls her eyes, not bothering to even respond to him. “It was a long time ago, we were enemies, and old grudges die hard. Sorry about your medbay, Stark. You can take the money from my paychecks.” she spoke casually, her leg bouncing.
Tony rolls his eyes and huffs, muttering something about rebuilding and glass doors and contractors as he pushes out of the room, slamming the door behind him in irritation.
She looks at Bucky again, letting out a breath she didn't realize she was holding. She scans over his face, and for a minute she sees the man she used to know. The man in hydra who she trained with, ate with and eventually went on missions with. The one she would only see whenever she was unfrozen. The one who she had to work back out of his shell over and over again. The man who didn’t remember her more times than he did.
“Do you even remember all of it? Or just the last part?” she asked him, her coldness breaking momentarily as she peers up to the man she used to love.
He finally does it. He looks up to her for the first time since Steve's arm went around his neck to choke and pull him off of her. “I remember all of it,” he spoke, his voice cracking. He tears his eyes away, looking back down to the table almost in shame.
She's stunned for a moment at his words, but she sighs and looks back to steve. She feels Wanda's hand on her shoulder, and she almost forgot that the other woman was standing behind her. It was meant to be a comforting gesture. A touch that said a million words.
“Then why did you attack me on sight?” she asked, her eyes locking on his face, taking in his still and tense posture.
“What did you say earlier?” he almost chuckled, his stormy eyes dark as he looked up to her again, “old grudges die hard?” He basically laughed at her.
She’s on her feet within a second. Her water bottle is reared back in her hand, and she throws it as hard as she can at him. It hits him square in the chest, the metal of the bottle clipping his chin. He goes to stand, about to lunge across the table when Steve is on him, pushing him to the floor and yelling at both of them.
Wanda is on Y/n in an instant, pushing her out of the doorway, using her scarlet magic to try to force her out, but it isn’t even a fight when compared to Y/n’s raw power. Her eyes glow a burning gold like the sun and she storms off down the hallway, her own powers pulsing at her fingertips, begging to be released and used in her anger.
She storms to her room in the camp, slamming the door behind her. She doesn't let anyone in for the rest of the night, taking comfort in her books, statues and artifacts. The anger and heat from her hate pulses out of her like a flame, but she doesn’t stir. She won’t crack.
It doesn't take long after the sun goes down that she's at her window, speaking quietly in the wind to Eleos. A minor god in her mythology, but still a Goddess. She sat there for hours, trying to find it in her to forgive him. She thought about the years she longed to see him again, and the feeling of his skin under her fingertips. It almost makes her miss him. He was the worst version of himself back then, direct and cold and unforgiving, but with her after a while he wore down. He was careful and hesitant. He would clean her wounds with gentle fingers, and hold her close under the firelight in the abandoned cabin they once took shelter in.
She lets out a heavy breath, opening her eyes in the moonlight and looking to the large rock in the sky, and she doesn’t see Bucky again until she’s doing her sun-salutations to Apollo the next morning on the balcony.
.................
It was calm. The early morning summer breeze washed over her like a cool wave as she stretched. The sun was just starting to come up the horizon, and she already felt better. For better or for worse, he was her prophett, her divine god and light. She basked in his presence, whispering words of thankfulness of this light, and the drops of sun he put in her eyes all those years ago for her to protect herself.
In front of her sat her water bottle, (that she had found that morning sitting outside of her bedroom door with a sticky note on it that read ‘stop throwing this at people’) her phone and a book. She stood on a mat, bending down into some yoga stretch she could never remember the name of when the door behind her opened. She didn't open her eyes for a moment, continuing her stretches and mutterings of appreciation until the intruder cleared his throat for her attention.
“No,” she said blankly from her chest, moving into a different position entirely.
“Come on, Y/n. We need to talk. We have to.” Bucky spoke almost softly, his demeanor calm.
She sighs, glancing at the rising sun on the horizon as if to say she was sorry to Apollo for cutting their time short. She moves to stand and she turns to face him.
He's wearing a white tank top and sleep pants, and his long hair is pushed back out of his face, messy from how many times he has run his hands through it.
She doesn't look much better. Her hair is tied back in a rough looking bun, and her shirt hangs off of her like it belonged to someone else. Her shorts are old and ripped, and she only has two black socks on her feet. “You look like shit,” she says with a chuckle, crossing her arms loosely, “but honestly I’ve seen you worse.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence and approval, angel.” he almost smiles, trying to keep a light tone.
There it was. What he always used to call her. She told him years ago about her eyes and Apollo's gift, but he said he didn't believe her. As they marched through the jungles in wherever they were all those years ago, he said her eyes weren’t the sun, but her halos. “I don't know anything about mythology or whatnot, but your eyes aren't sun drops or whatever.” he spoke as they walked, cutting down hanging vines as they went. “They’re your halos, because you’re an angel.” he smiled at her.
The word hit her like a gust of wind from the east, but she refused to let it show. “Believe me, you don’t have it.” she replied, trying to keep her cool. The last thing she wanted was for him to think he still had an effect on her. She was a Hydra espionage agent, for crying out loud. She had worked over and used so many men before, she lost count. She could fold them like a sheet of paper all those years ago. Why was he actually getting to her?
He let out a breath, looking her over before speaking again. “I- i wanted to talk to you. Smooth things over.. For the sake of the team.”
She could see him clenching and unclenching his metal hand, like he was nervous to speak. Good.
“Did Steve question you about us?” She asked, her gaze ripping away from him as she looked back to the horizon.
“Yes,” he spoke.
“What did you say?” she snapped back, eyes going to him quickly.
“That we’ve known eachother for a long time.” He said almost hesitantly, taking another step towards her. “That we cared about eachother, and then we were taken away from eachother, and then years later we were supposed to kill eachother.”
She didn't look at him while he spoke, her eyes transfixed on the few rocks that somehow made their way up to where they were standing. “Did you tell him how you left me to die in the middle of nowhere?” she questioned, her tone sharp but eyes unmoving.
He took another hesitant step. “No,” he spoke softly. “And I didn’t say anything about Blondie or the nightmares.”
Her eyes shot up at the mention of the nightmares. “You know about that?” she spoke almost hesitantly.
“Who else would send a Greek god to haunt my dreams?” he almost laughed.
She smiled almost triumphantly. She never knew if her prayers to Hypnos worked, but it seems they had. She let out an amused chuckle. “Is that why you tried to kill me?” she asked, her eyes coming over to meet him again.
“No,” he responded, his small smile faltering as he spoke. “I tried to kill you because of the other thing.”
AN: Let me know if you want another part!
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