Point Break

Cecelia~She/her

[fabdomsfable]

Time After Time- Nine

Chapter Nine

107th Infantry Regiment

1943

The sun had yet to break over the treetops when Delilah stepped onto the training field. The air was sharp with the scent of pine and promise, though it did nothing to cool the lingering warmth still burning low in her chest from the night before.

Sleep had been elusive, fleeting. Her mind kept returning to his voice, the unspoken words between them, and the ache that came from wanting something she couldn’t have. Not yet at least. She straightened her shoulders, lettering her voice carry as the last of the soldiers assembled.

“Listen up,” she called, tone cutting through the stillness like a blade. “Out there, things don’t always go according to plan. You won't always have a rifle. You won't always have a clear shot. Hell, you might not have a weapon at all.”

She paced slowly in front of her men, eyes sharp as she let the words sink in. “That’s why we train for close quarters. That’s why we learn to fight like our lives depend on it, because someday, they will.”

The group shifted, a few exchanging uneasy glances. She reached into the canvas duffel beside her and pulled out dull training daggers, holding them up for all to see.

“These aren’t just for show, when you get disarmed in the field, a blade might be the only thing between you and a body bag. I want every one of you to know how to move with it, no hesitation.”

She scanned the crowd, already knowing who she was going to call on before she even asked. “I need a volunteer,” She said, twirling one of her own blades she had pulled from the sheath on her thigh. There wasn't but a moment of hesitation before a familiar voice broke through the group.

”I'll take that offer.”

Bucky stepped forward, sleeves already rolled, that infuriating grin playing across his lips. His gaze locked on hers like a challenge and a promise rolled into one. Delilah didnt let her expression shift, though her pulse kicked up a notch. She tossed him the twin to her dagger, catching a few raised eyebrows from the nearby soldiers as he took his place across from her.

“Barnes will demonstrate,” she said coolly, though her tone faltered ever so slightly. “This is about movement. Control. Positioning.”

The words settled between them, and before he could respond, she lunged. The blades met in a sharp crack as they stepped into a slow, circling rhythm. She led at first, showing the group basic offensive strikes and defensive blocks, speaking aloud as they moved.

”Wrist rotation matters more than brute force. Keep your blade tight to your body, open arms get cut off.” Her voice was steady now, finding confidence in Bucky’s pretense. “Use your footwork to create angles, not distance.”

Bucky matched her pace, mirroring her moves without hesitation. His control was maddening, fluid, smooth and unbothered. Their blades swept together, parted, and then clashed again. Their pace increased with each pass, the demonstration shifting seamlessly into something more, something less choreographed and more instinctive.

Just like that a switch seemed to flip. Delilah lunged for real.

Steel clashed against steel, fast and clean. Their sparring turned sharp and competitive, every strake drawing a few startled reactions from the watching soldiers. The energy between the two before them, almost impossible to ignore.

Delilah was fast, graceful and efficient, pushing him back with clever angles and sharp turns just like she had taught. He countered with strength, every block steady and every retreat intentional. They moved like magnets caught in opposition, drawn together even as they collided.

“You’re slipping, Sergeant,” She muttered beneath her breath, twirling the dagger in a quick arc that nearly clipped his shoulder.

“You wish,” he grinned, parrying with a flick of his wrist.

Their footwork became a dance, blades singing through the air. And still, that fire between them burned hotter than the effort they exerted. With each clash of blades, each quick inhale, something deeper cracked at the edges of professionalism.

And then, he caught her wrist mid strike.

His grip was firm but not painful, his other hand pointing his own blade to her side. The fight halted, their breathing filled the silence as they’d told chest to chest.

“You’re distracted,” He said just low enough so only she would hear.

Her heart skittered. “You’re cocky.”

“You love it,”

Her breath hitched. Just for a second. Then, she dropped her blade from the hand he had trapped and caught it with the other, before shoving him backwards with just enough force to create some distance between them.

“Again.”

They resumed the fight, but everyone could feel it now. The air charged with something more than just adrenaline. The soldiers began murmuring among themselves, eyes flicking between the Commander and Sergeant with barely hidden curiosity. A few shared looks. One let out a quiet whistle. Another elbowed his buddy, grinning.

Delilah noticed. She felt the heat creep up her neck, but she refused to acknowledge it. She ended the spar with a final clean strike that sent Bucky’s blade spinning to the dirt.

”Pair off!” She shouted abruptly, but she couldn’t tear her eyes from Bucky. “Run the drills we demonstrated. Keep it clean, stay sharp.”

As the men scrambled to follow orders, beginning to pair up, Delilah couldn’t move. she stood there, chest still heaving with Adrenalin from the fight, still locked in Buckys intense gaze.

His blade still lied between them, though neither reached for it.

For a long moment the air thickened around them, too charged to ignore. The sounds of sparring around them faded beneath the thum of her own pulse echoing in her ears.

Bucky stepped closer.

He didn't touch her, simply closed the distance with that quiet, sure confidence he always seemed to radiate. His eyes never left her, intense, unreadable, like he was holding back.

“You gonna tell me what that was,” he started, breathless. “Or are we going to pretend you weren't trying to kill me just now?”

Delilah fought to keep her expression level, arching a brow. “You’re still standing aren’t you?”

He gave a dry, amused exhale, though there was a lack of humor in his eyes. “Barley. I think you wanted me on my back.”

The way he said it, slow, deliberate, made something twist in her stomach.

“I-I wanted to prove a point. You can’t coast on charm in close combat.”

He stepped in again. Even closer. So close that she could feel the heat rolling off his skin, the glint of sweat against his jaw line.

“Was that what I was doing?” He tilted his head. “Charming you?”

Her lips parted slightly, a breath caught halfway up her throat. She hated the way her body betrayed her. How easily it responded to the pull of him. How badly she wanted to close the rest of the distance.

“You tell me,” Delilah whispered.

His gaze dropped to her mouth, just for a second. When his eyes flickered back up, there was something darker swimming there. Perhaps need, possible restraint. He still didn't touch her though, instead he held her there with that look like he could see straight through every layer she tried to wear.

“I still think about it, you know,” Bucky whispered, voice low, rough, familiar. “That night. Our last night. You in my arms, saying my name like you forgot the rest of the world existed.”

Delilah's heart slammed in her chest.

She didn't answer right away. She couldn’t. The image he’d conjured burned into her like a brand. His hands on her hips, lips pressed to her throat, the way they fit together in the dark like they were made for each other. It had been reckless. It had been dangerous. It had been unforgettable.

”I haven’t forgotten,” She said finally, voice barely above a whisper.

Bucky’s throat bobbed with the effort it took not to move closer. “Didn't think you had.”

The silence between them pressed in, thick with everything they couldn’t say, everything they couldn’t do, not here, not now. They were on duty.

Suddenly, a shout broke across the field, one of the men calling her name. She stepped back instantly, like she’d been burned. The spell shattered.

“Go find another partner, Sergeant.” Delilah’s voice was a little louder now, slipping her mask back into place with practiced ease. “This isn’t the time to daydream.”

Bucky bent down and picked up his blade, straightening with a smirk. But his voice, when he answered, was laced with meaning.

“Who said I was dreaming?”

She didn't let herself look back as she turned to check on the rest of her team, but the burn of his gaze stayed with her. Delilah rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help the smile tugging at her lips. Bucky’s presence was like a constant challenge, teasing her into distraction. She adjusted her grip on the stopwatch, attempting to focus.

The drills continued for another twenty minutes under the steadily rising sun. The air had warmed, sweat now clinging to foreheads and soaking through undershirts. The sound of clashing blades gave way to grunts and the sharp bark of instructions, the morning air thick with exertion.

Delilah paced between the sparring pairs with deliberate calm, eyes flicking between footwork, blade angles, and reaction time. She offered corrections without warmth, only efficiency. No one slacked under her gaze.

Still, her mind wandered too easily, to a certain soldier who moved with infuriating grace even when he wasn’t trying. Bucky was sparring a younger recruit, his strikes fluid, his posture relaxed, like he was holding back just enough to teach without humiliating. But his eyes, they kept drifting toward her, even in the middle of a fight. Like she was his center of gravity.

She forced herself to look away.

At last, she blew the whistle hanging from around her neck. The shrill sound cut across the field, drawing groans and sagging shoulders.

“That’s enough for now,” she called, stepping back into the center of the clearing. Her voice was firm, clipped. “Time to move.”

The soldiers shuffled into loose formation, faces flushed and shoulders heaving. No one spoke out loud, though a few exchanged exhausted glances. No one dared challenge her commands, not after the last time someone had tried.

Delilah tapped her stopwatch, watching them with a steely expression that didn’t quite hide the tension still coiling in her chest.

“Four laps,” she ordered, voice sharp. “Full pace. Move like your life depends on it.”

There was a pause, half a breath of hesitation, before the group broke into motion, boots striking the dirt in rhythm. Some pushed harder than others, but all obeyed. The pounding of feet against the ground echoed through the trees, growing more distant with every second.

All but one.

Bucky lingered for half a beat longer than necessary, catching her eye as he passed. His smirk was quick and crooked, but the heat behind it was unmistakable.

“Keep looking at me like that, Commander,” he drawled, voice low and teasing. “I might double it.”

Her brows lifted, unimpressed. But her pulse betrayed her, lurching at the cocky familiarity in his tone. She kept her tone cool, even. “Being cocky again, Sergeant? You’ve got two more laps.”

He jogged backwards for a step, grin widening. “You’ll be sorry for that later.”

Then he turned and ran, catching up with the others, but not before she caught herself watching him go.

Dammit.

Delilah snapped her attention back to the stopwatch in her hand, pressing the button with more force than necessary. She scanned the rest of the team, but her gaze involuntarily drifted back the moment Bucky came around again.

This time, he didn’t shout. His voice was quieter, just loud enough for her to hear as he passed.

“You’re looking at me again.”

Her cheeks flushed despite the cool morning air. She didn't respond, just tapped the stopwatch again and called out, louder this time, for the benefit of anyone else watching.

“Eyes forward, Barnes. Last lap.”

She caught a few of the men glancing between them, some with raised brows, others with the tired suspicion of soldiers who’d seen too much. The edges of the line between professionalism and something more were blurring, and she could feel it.

Delilah straightened her shoulders. Her voice sharpened like a blade.

“No one slows down! This isn’t recess!”

That was enough to shift the attention. The group surged forward, grumbling under their breath but pressing harder toward the finish.

She paced the perimeter, jaw set, watching them closely. Especially him.

By the time the final lap ended, the men were staggering toward the water station, soaked with sweat, some panting hard, others dragging their feet.

Bucky was the last to arrive, slower than usual, but not from fatigue. His grin was still in place, his breathing labored but steady. He came up beside her, brushing his hand casually through his damp hair.

“You’re gonna wear us out, Commander,” he said, flashing that disarming smile.

“That’s the point,” Delilah replied without missing a beat. She scanned the team, eyes narrowing at the slumped shoulders and sluggish movement. “You don’t learn to fight tired by resting all day.”

He chuckled, stepping just a little closer, close enough for his shoulder to brush hers. It was subtle. Intentional. She could smell the sweat and warmth on him, feel the heat rolling off his skin.

“You know,” he said, voice lower now, rough around the edges, “I’m starting to think you enjoy making me sweat.”

Delilah angled her head slightly, lips barely twitching into a smirk. “Maybe I enjoy watching you struggle.”

His eyes flicked to her mouth. Lingered. “Struggle Isn't the word I’d use.”

There was heat behind the words. A promise. A memory.

Before she could shoot back a reply, a shout interrupted them.

A soldier, newer, lean and pale, slumped to the ground not ten feet away. The clatter of his blade and the harsh thud of his body hitting the grass sent a jolt through the rest of the team. A ripple of concern followed.

Delilah was already moving.

She knelt quickly, voice calm but commanding. “What’s wrong, soldier?”

The young man blinked up at her, sweat pouring down his face. “Just too much, ma’am. Sorry. I’m good. Just need a minute.”

“You’ll rest when I say you’re good,” she replied briskly, pressing her fingers to his wrist to check his pulse. Elevated, but not dangerous. She scanned his pupils. Still sharp. Just exhausted. Pushed past his limit.

“Hydrate. You’re no use to me passed out,” she added. “Barnes, get him up.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Bucky answered immediately, the playfulness gone from his voice. He stepped forward, hooked an arm under the soldier’s shoulder, and lifted him with practiced ease.

Delilah stood, brushing dirt from her knee, and turned back to the rest of the team.

“All of you,” she said sharply, “five-minute break. Hydrate, breathe, get your heads back in it. We’re not done yet.”

There were groans, but they obeyed. The soldiers slowly moved toward the water station, gulping from their canteens and catching their breath.

Bucky returned to her side once again, his shirt sticking to his back, strands of dark hair clinging to his forehead. He didn’t say anything right away. Just looked at her with something quieter in his eyes.

Respect. Admiration. Something else, too.

She didn’t look back at him.

Instead, she scanned the horizon, arms crossed, forcing her voice to remain steady. “They’re strong, but they’re not ready. Not yet.”

“They will be,” he said. “With you leading them, they don’t have a choice.”

The words struck her deeper than she expected. She blinked once, nodding, but didn’t speak.

Bucky leaned in again, close enough that his voice barely carried. “That break include you, Commander?”

She turned to him now, brows raised. “You offering to carry me to the water station too, Sergeant?”

He smirked, slow and lazy. “I’d carry you anywhere, Commander.”

Her breath caught, just for a moment. But then she stepped away, shoulders square, voice steady.

More drills to come,” she warned Bucky.

“Bring it on” He said, eyes locking on hers. “I’m ready.”

And as he joined the rest of his team near the water station, clapping fellow soldiers on the back, Delilah found herself watching, fingers finding the locket near the base of her neck.

“Back in formation in four minutes,” she called out to the group.

But she could still feel him watching.

Still wanting.

And damn her, she wanted too

****

Night fell over the camp in hushed layers, the air thick with humidity and silence. Delilah had long dismissed her group of soldiers, a little shaken by how hard she had pushed them today. She didn't want anyone passing out on her again, even soldiers deserve a break.

The cicadas hummed in the trees like a lullaby, and the firelight from the mess tent had long since gone out. Most of the men had turned in, save for the occasional patrol or restless soldier nursing sore muscles under the stars.

Delilah stood barefoot on the wooden floor of her cabin, brushing the last of her curls free from the long braid she’d worn all day. Her hair fell around her shoulders in soft waves, wild and untamed now that duty had released its grip. The cotton nightgown she wore was a plain dark blue, practical, modest even, but the way the fabric clung to the warmth of her body gave it a softness that contrasted the woman she was by daylight. She’d just begun to settle into the quiet when the knock came, three soft raps, quick and familiar.

She froze.

Only one man knocked like that.

Delilah hesitated, her heart already racing. She glanced down at herself, then toward the small mirror over the washbasin. Her cheeks were flushed. Her neckline dipped slightly from where the fabric had shifted. She should’ve told him to go away. Should have ignored it entirely.

Instead, she opened the door.

Bucky stood in the doorway like a ghost out of memory, shirt half-buttoned, dog tags resting against his chest, sleeves still rolled to his elbows like he hadn’t bothered to change since drills ended. His eyes locked onto her instantly, her hair loose, her skin bare where her uniform usually covered. He didn’t speak at first. He just looked at her like she was something he’d been starving for.

Delilah raised a brow, crossing her arms as she leaned against the door frame. "This is highly inappropriate, Sergeant Barnes."

"Then court-martial me," he grinned. "But I'm not going back to bed until I get to see you without fifty soldiers watching"

Her laugh broke softly into the night air.

“You can’t tease me like that all day and not expect a visit,” he said, voice low and rough.

She didn’t answer, not right away. She knew exactly what he meant. The sparring, the stolen looks, the way her eyes had followed him on the field longer than they should’ve. It wasn’t just teasing, it was years of tension, of memory and longing, all wrapped in the illusion of professionalism they kept desperately trying to maintain. She stepped aside, letting the door swing open wider without a word. He brushed past her slowly, close enough that his shoulder grazed hers. The contact was brief but enough to set her nerves alight. She closed the door behind him, locking it with a quiet click that sounded far louder than it should have.

She didn’t turn around, but he saw the way her shoulder rose the quiet inhale of anticipation. “Didn’t know I was teasing,” she said, her voice careful, quiet. “I was just doing my job.”

He was behind her now, close enough to reach out. But he didn’t. Not yet. “You know exactly what you were doing. The way you looked at me, touched me. You think I didn’t notice?”

She finally turned to face him, eyes shadowed with something unsaid. A storm held carefully behind lashes. “What did you expect me to do, James? Pretend there’s nothing there?”

He stepped in closer, his hands hovering near her waist, like he was asking without words. “I hate having to pretend. ”

Her breath hitched, and she leaned into him without meaning to their bodies barely apart. Her hands came up to his chest, resting flat over his heart like she was trying to steady herself against it.

“I don’t want to pretend, James,” she said finally. “Not with you. Not when we’re alone.”

His hand lifted, fingers threading gently through her hair. He brushed it back from her face, his touch reverent, like he was memorizing every curve, every freckle, every scar time hadn’t stolen. “Then don’t.”

He kissed her, not rushed or demanding, but deep and aching, like he’d been carrying it all day and couldn’t hold it back a second longer. She melted into him, arms sliding around his shoulders, pulling him closer. It wasn’t about lust, not really. It was about relief. About memory. About missing something that had never really left.

Her lips parted with a soft sigh against his, and he lifted her up with a smooth strength, her legs winding around his waist like muscle memory. He carried her to the narrow cot with a reverence that made her throat tighten. Laid her down gently, like she was something precious. Something sacred.

They didn’t need words. Everything they hadn’t said was there in the way their hands moved, in the way he kissed the hollow of her throat, the curve of her shoulder. In the way she tugged at his shirt, desperate to feel the warmth of his skin beneath her fingertips. Every touch was familiar. Every gasp of a confession they weren’t ready to speak aloud.

His forehead pressed against hers as he hovered above her, breath ragged, eyes searching. “Tell me this still means something,” he whispered.

She cupped his jaw, her thumb brushing the scar just beneath his cheekbone. “It never stopped.”

That was all he needed.

They moved together like a secret being kept in the dark, quiet, hidden, burning. There was no rush. No frenzy. Just the slow, deliberate reunion of two people who had waited too long, wanted too much, and couldn’t afford to have it in the daylight.

When it was over, they lay tangled in silence, her head on his chest, their bodies still flush. His hand moved slowly over the bare skin of her back, fingers trailing absent patterns. She listened to the rhythm of his heartbeat, grounding herself in it.

He didn’t speak, and neither did she. There was no need. Whatever they'd just shared had said enough.

But still, as the silence stretched between them, heavy with everything they couldn’t say in daylight, she whispered against his skin, “You’ll have to go before it gets light.”

His arm tightened around her. “I know.”

But neither of them moved. Not yet.

The room had gone quiet save for the hush of wind through the cracked window and the slow cadence of their breathing. The oil lamp burned low on the shelf, casting soft amber light over the rumpled sheets, their clothes scattered across the floor. The heat of what passed between them had faded into something quieter, warmer in a different way. The kind of warmth that made you forget, for a moment, everything waiting outside.

Delilah lay half-draped over Bucky’s chest, her fingers drawing idle lines across the scar that curved near his collarbone. He let her. His arm was slung loosely around her back, fingers tangled gently in her curls. There was nothing urgent between them anymore, just this hush, this borrowed calm.

“You snore,” she murmured.

He snorted, the low sound rumbling under her cheek. “Do not.”

“You do,” she insisted, a smile tugging at her mouth. “Like an old truck trying to start.”

He gave her a gentle squeeze. “You’re a liar.”

“You’re in denial.”

He laughed under his breath, then tilted his head just enough to press a kiss to her temple. “You always get like this after.”

“Like what?”

“Soft. Funny.”

“Shut up,” she mumbled, but she didn’t move away. Instead, she curled closer.

They let the silence stretch again, not uncomfortable now but familiar. He felt her breath slow against his chest, the weight of her settling like she belonged there.

“You ever think about what it would’ve been like if the war never happened?” he asked after a while, his voice a whisper in the dark.

She didn’t answer right away. Her hand paused over his chest, fingers stilled in thought. “Sometimes. Not often. Doesn’t feel real.”

“It could’ve been.” His voice was quieter now. “You and me. Something quieter than this.”

Her hand moved again, fingers tracing the shape of his dog tag. “We don’t get quiet, James. We get through.”

He turned his head, looking down at her. “Still, I think about it.”

She looked up at him, eyes tired but open. “I know.”

He leaned in and kissed her again, slower this time. Not greedy or hungry, just full of all the things he wasn’t saying. She kissed him back just as softly, her hand sliding up to cup the back of his neck.

Eventually, they drifted. Not quite asleep, not fully awake. Somewhere in the space between.

****

Before the sun had even crested the hills, the cold blue of early dawn began bleeding into the cabin. Delilah stirred first, blinking against the pale light. She felt the warmth beside her before she saw him, Bucky, still asleep, arm heavy around her waist, his breathing deep and steady.

She hated the clock for ticking. Hated the slant of sunlight creeping up the wall.

“Buck,” she whispered, brushing her fingers along his jaw. “You’ve gotta go.”

He groaned low, reluctant, eyes cracking open. “Already?”

She nodded. “Someone’ll start patrolling soon. If they see you leave-”

“I know.” He sat up slowly, rubbing a hand over his face, sleep clinging to him like fog.

Neither of them spoke as he dressed, keeping their voices in their eyes instead. She watched from the bed, the sheets pulled to her chest, hair mussed and skin glowing in the first light. He looked back at her like he wanted to burn it into memory.

When he was ready, he crossed back to her, kneeling beside the bed. She met him halfway, lips brushing his, slow, reluctant, like a promise they couldn’t quite name. Her fingers slipped into his hair, holding him just a second longer than she should.

He pulled away first. Barely. “Tonight?”

She hesitated, then nodded. “If you make it through the drills without mouthing off.”

He smirked, fingers grazing hers. “No promises.”

Then he was gone, slipping out the door and into the gray morning like a ghost.

She sat back, staring at the closed door, the quiet humming in her chest like a wound and a comfort all at once. She exhaled slowly, fingers curling in the sheets where he’d just been.

Outside, the camp began to wake. Orders would be barked, drills would begin, and the world would go on pretending they were nothing more than Commander and Sergeant.

But behind her closed door, the truth lingered, warm and unspoken, pressed into the pillow where his head had been.

****

End Chapter Nine

[fabdomsfable]

Time After Time- Nine

Chapter Nine

107th Infantry Regiment

1943

The sun had yet to break over the treetops when Delilah stepped onto the training field. The air was sharp with the scent of pine and promise, though it did nothing to cool the lingering warmth still burning low in her chest from the night before.

Sleep had been elusive, fleeting. Her mind kept returning to his voice, the unspoken words between them, and the ache that came from wanting something she couldn’t have. Not yet at least. She straightened her shoulders, lettering her voice carry as the last of the soldiers assembled.

“Listen up,” she called, tone cutting through the stillness like a blade. “Out there, things don’t always go according to plan. You won't always have a rifle. You won't always have a clear shot. Hell, you might not have a weapon at all.”

She paced slowly in front of her men, eyes sharp as she let the words sink in. “That’s why we train for close quarters. That’s why we learn to fight like our lives depend on it, because someday, they will.”

The group shifted, a few exchanging uneasy glances. She reached into the canvas duffel beside her and pulled out dull training daggers, holding them up for all to see.

“These aren’t just for show, when you get disarmed in the field, a blade might be the only thing between you and a body bag. I want every one of you to know how to move with it, no hesitation.”

She scanned the crowd, already knowing who she was going to call on before she even asked. “I need a volunteer,” She said, twirling one of her own blades she had pulled from the sheath on her thigh. There wasn't but a moment of hesitation before a familiar voice broke through the group.

”I'll take that offer.”

Bucky stepped forward, sleeves already rolled, that infuriating grin playing across his lips. His gaze locked on hers like a challenge and a promise rolled into one. Delilah didnt let her expression shift, though her pulse kicked up a notch. She tossed him the twin to her dagger, catching a few raised eyebrows from the nearby soldiers as he took his place across from her.

“Barnes will demonstrate,” she said coolly, though her tone faltered ever so slightly. “This is about movement. Control. Positioning.”

The words settled between them, and before he could respond, she lunged. The blades met in a sharp crack as they stepped into a slow, circling rhythm. She led at first, showing the group basic offensive strikes and defensive blocks, speaking aloud as they moved.

”Wrist rotation matters more than brute force. Keep your blade tight to your body, open arms get cut off.” Her voice was steady now, finding confidence in Bucky’s pretense. “Use your footwork to create angles, not distance.”

Bucky matched her pace, mirroring her moves without hesitation. His control was maddening, fluid, smooth and unbothered. Their blades swept together, parted, and then clashed again. Their pace increased with each pass, the demonstration shifting seamlessly into something more, something less choreographed and more instinctive.

Just like that a switch seemed to flip. Delilah lunged for real.

Steel clashed against steel, fast and clean. Their sparring turned sharp and competitive, every strake drawing a few startled reactions from the watching soldiers. The energy between the two before them, almost impossible to ignore.

Delilah was fast, graceful and efficient, pushing him back with clever angles and sharp turns just like she had taught. He countered with strength, every block steady and every retreat intentional. They moved like magnets caught in opposition, drawn together even as they collided.

“You’re slipping, Sergeant,” She muttered beneath her breath, twirling the dagger in a quick arc that nearly clipped his shoulder.

“You wish,” he grinned, parrying with a flick of his wrist.

Their footwork became a dance, blades singing through the air. And still, that fire between them burned hotter than the effort they exerted. With each clash of blades, each quick inhale, something deeper cracked at the edges of professionalism.

And then, he caught her wrist mid strike.

His grip was firm but not painful, his other hand pointing his own blade to her side. The fight halted, their breathing filled the silence as they’d told chest to chest.

“You’re distracted,” He said just low enough so only she would hear.

Her heart skittered. “You’re cocky.”

“You love it,”

Her breath hitched. Just for a second. Then, she dropped her blade from the hand he had trapped and caught it with the other, before shoving him backwards with just enough force to create some distance between them.

“Again.”

They resumed the fight, but everyone could feel it now. The air charged with something more than just adrenaline. The soldiers began murmuring among themselves, eyes flicking between the Commander and Sergeant with barely hidden curiosity. A few shared looks. One let out a quiet whistle. Another elbowed his buddy, grinning.

Delilah noticed. She felt the heat creep up her neck, but she refused to acknowledge it. She ended the spar with a final clean strike that sent Bucky’s blade spinning to the dirt.

”Pair off!” She shouted abruptly, but she couldn’t tear her eyes from Bucky. “Run the drills we demonstrated. Keep it clean, stay sharp.”

As the men scrambled to follow orders, beginning to pair up, Delilah couldn’t move. she stood there, chest still heaving with Adrenalin from the fight, still locked in Buckys intense gaze.

His blade still lied between them, though neither reached for it.

For a long moment the air thickened around them, too charged to ignore. The sounds of sparring around them faded beneath the thum of her own pulse echoing in her ears.

Bucky stepped closer.

He didn't touch her, simply closed the distance with that quiet, sure confidence he always seemed to radiate. His eyes never left her, intense, unreadable, like he was holding back.

“You gonna tell me what that was,” he started, breathless. “Or are we going to pretend you weren't trying to kill me just now?”

Delilah fought to keep her expression level, arching a brow. “You’re still standing aren’t you?”

He gave a dry, amused exhale, though there was a lack of humor in his eyes. “Barley. I think you wanted me on my back.”

The way he said it, slow, deliberate, made something twist in her stomach.

“I-I wanted to prove a point. You can’t coast on charm in close combat.”

He stepped in again. Even closer. So close that she could feel the heat rolling off his skin, the glint of sweat against his jaw line.

“Was that what I was doing?” He tilted his head. “Charming you?”

Her lips parted slightly, a breath caught halfway up her throat. She hated the way her body betrayed her. How easily it responded to the pull of him. How badly she wanted to close the rest of the distance.

“You tell me,” Delilah whispered.

His gaze dropped to her mouth, just for a second. When his eyes flickered back up, there was something darker swimming there. Perhaps need, possible restraint. He still didn't touch her though, instead he held her there with that look like he could see straight through every layer she tried to wear.

“I still think about it, you know,” Bucky whispered, voice low, rough, familiar. “That night. Our last night. You in my arms, saying my name like you forgot the rest of the world existed.”

Delilah's heart slammed in her chest.

She didn't answer right away. She couldn’t. The image he’d conjured burned into her like a brand. His hands on her hips, lips pressed to her throat, the way they fit together in the dark like they were made for each other. It had been reckless. It had been dangerous. It had been unforgettable.

”I haven’t forgotten,” She said finally, voice barely above a whisper.

Bucky’s throat bobbed with the effort it took not to move closer. “Didn't think you had.”

The silence between them pressed in, thick with everything they couldn’t say, everything they couldn’t do, not here, not now. They were on duty.

Suddenly, a shout broke across the field, one of the men calling her name. She stepped back instantly, like she’d been burned. The spell shattered.

“Go find another partner, Sergeant.” Delilah’s voice was a little louder now, slipping her mask back into place with practiced ease. “This isn’t the time to daydream.”

Bucky bent down and picked up his blade, straightening with a smirk. But his voice, when he answered, was laced with meaning.

“Who said I was dreaming?”

She didn't let herself look back as she turned to check on the rest of her team, but the burn of his gaze stayed with her. Delilah rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help the smile tugging at her lips. Bucky’s presence was like a constant challenge, teasing her into distraction. She adjusted her grip on the stopwatch, attempting to focus.

The drills continued for another twenty minutes under the steadily rising sun. The air had warmed, sweat now clinging to foreheads and soaking through undershirts. The sound of clashing blades gave way to grunts and the sharp bark of instructions, the morning air thick with exertion.

Delilah paced between the sparring pairs with deliberate calm, eyes flicking between footwork, blade angles, and reaction time. She offered corrections without warmth, only efficiency. No one slacked under her gaze.

Still, her mind wandered too easily, to a certain soldier who moved with infuriating grace even when he wasn’t trying. Bucky was sparring a younger recruit, his strikes fluid, his posture relaxed, like he was holding back just enough to teach without humiliating. But his eyes, they kept drifting toward her, even in the middle of a fight. Like she was his center of gravity.

She forced herself to look away.

At last, she blew the whistle hanging from around her neck. The shrill sound cut across the field, drawing groans and sagging shoulders.

“That’s enough for now,” she called, stepping back into the center of the clearing. Her voice was firm, clipped. “Time to move.”

The soldiers shuffled into loose formation, faces flushed and shoulders heaving. No one spoke out loud, though a few exchanged exhausted glances. No one dared challenge her commands, not after the last time someone had tried.

Delilah tapped her stopwatch, watching them with a steely expression that didn’t quite hide the tension still coiling in her chest.

“Four laps,” she ordered, voice sharp. “Full pace. Move like your life depends on it.”

There was a pause, half a breath of hesitation, before the group broke into motion, boots striking the dirt in rhythm. Some pushed harder than others, but all obeyed. The pounding of feet against the ground echoed through the trees, growing more distant with every second.

All but one.

Bucky lingered for half a beat longer than necessary, catching her eye as he passed. His smirk was quick and crooked, but the heat behind it was unmistakable.

“Keep looking at me like that, Commander,” he drawled, voice low and teasing. “I might double it.”

Her brows lifted, unimpressed. But her pulse betrayed her, lurching at the cocky familiarity in his tone. She kept her tone cool, even. “Being cocky again, Sergeant? You’ve got two more laps.”

He jogged backwards for a step, grin widening. “You’ll be sorry for that later.”

Then he turned and ran, catching up with the others, but not before she caught herself watching him go.

Dammit.

Delilah snapped her attention back to the stopwatch in her hand, pressing the button with more force than necessary. She scanned the rest of the team, but her gaze involuntarily drifted back the moment Bucky came around again.

This time, he didn’t shout. His voice was quieter, just loud enough for her to hear as he passed.

“You’re looking at me again.”

Her cheeks flushed despite the cool morning air. She didn't respond, just tapped the stopwatch again and called out, louder this time, for the benefit of anyone else watching.

“Eyes forward, Barnes. Last lap.”

She caught a few of the men glancing between them, some with raised brows, others with the tired suspicion of soldiers who’d seen too much. The edges of the line between professionalism and something more were blurring, and she could feel it.

Delilah straightened her shoulders. Her voice sharpened like a blade.

“No one slows down! This isn’t recess!”

That was enough to shift the attention. The group surged forward, grumbling under their breath but pressing harder toward the finish.

She paced the perimeter, jaw set, watching them closely. Especially him.

By the time the final lap ended, the men were staggering toward the water station, soaked with sweat, some panting hard, others dragging their feet.

Bucky was the last to arrive, slower than usual, but not from fatigue. His grin was still in place, his breathing labored but steady. He came up beside her, brushing his hand casually through his damp hair.

“You’re gonna wear us out, Commander,” he said, flashing that disarming smile.

“That’s the point,” Delilah replied without missing a beat. She scanned the team, eyes narrowing at the slumped shoulders and sluggish movement. “You don’t learn to fight tired by resting all day.”

He chuckled, stepping just a little closer, close enough for his shoulder to brush hers. It was subtle. Intentional. She could smell the sweat and warmth on him, feel the heat rolling off his skin.

“You know,” he said, voice lower now, rough around the edges, “I’m starting to think you enjoy making me sweat.”

Delilah angled her head slightly, lips barely twitching into a smirk. “Maybe I enjoy watching you struggle.”

His eyes flicked to her mouth. Lingered. “Struggle Isn't the word I’d use.”

There was heat behind the words. A promise. A memory.

Before she could shoot back a reply, a shout interrupted them.

A soldier, newer, lean and pale, slumped to the ground not ten feet away. The clatter of his blade and the harsh thud of his body hitting the grass sent a jolt through the rest of the team. A ripple of concern followed.

Delilah was already moving.

She knelt quickly, voice calm but commanding. “What’s wrong, soldier?”

The young man blinked up at her, sweat pouring down his face. “Just too much, ma’am. Sorry. I’m good. Just need a minute.”

“You’ll rest when I say you’re good,” she replied briskly, pressing her fingers to his wrist to check his pulse. Elevated, but not dangerous. She scanned his pupils. Still sharp. Just exhausted. Pushed past his limit.

“Hydrate. You’re no use to me passed out,” she added. “Barnes, get him up.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Bucky answered immediately, the playfulness gone from his voice. He stepped forward, hooked an arm under the soldier’s shoulder, and lifted him with practiced ease.

Delilah stood, brushing dirt from her knee, and turned back to the rest of the team.

“All of you,” she said sharply, “five-minute break. Hydrate, breathe, get your heads back in it. We’re not done yet.”

There were groans, but they obeyed. The soldiers slowly moved toward the water station, gulping from their canteens and catching their breath.

Bucky returned to her side once again, his shirt sticking to his back, strands of dark hair clinging to his forehead. He didn’t say anything right away. Just looked at her with something quieter in his eyes.

Respect. Admiration. Something else, too.

She didn’t look back at him.

Instead, she scanned the horizon, arms crossed, forcing her voice to remain steady. “They’re strong, but they’re not ready. Not yet.”

“They will be,” he said. “With you leading them, they don’t have a choice.”

The words struck her deeper than she expected. She blinked once, nodding, but didn’t speak.

Bucky leaned in again, close enough that his voice barely carried. “That break include you, Commander?”

She turned to him now, brows raised. “You offering to carry me to the water station too, Sergeant?”

He smirked, slow and lazy. “I’d carry you anywhere, Commander.”

Her breath caught, just for a moment. But then she stepped away, shoulders square, voice steady.

More drills to come,” she warned Bucky.

“Bring it on” He said, eyes locking on hers. “I’m ready.”

And as he joined the rest of his team near the water station, clapping fellow soldiers on the back, Delilah found herself watching, fingers finding the locket near the base of her neck.

“Back in formation in four minutes,” she called out to the group.

But she could still feel him watching.

Still wanting.

And damn her, she wanted too

****

Night fell over the camp in hushed layers, the air thick with humidity and silence. Delilah had long dismissed her group of soldiers, a little shaken by how hard she had pushed them today. She didn't want anyone passing out on her again, even soldiers deserve a break.

The cicadas hummed in the trees like a lullaby, and the firelight from the mess tent had long since gone out. Most of the men had turned in, save for the occasional patrol or restless soldier nursing sore muscles under the stars.

Delilah stood barefoot on the wooden floor of her cabin, brushing the last of her curls free from the long braid she’d worn all day. Her hair fell around her shoulders in soft waves, wild and untamed now that duty had released its grip. The cotton nightgown she wore was a plain dark blue, practical, modest even, but the way the fabric clung to the warmth of her body gave it a softness that contrasted the woman she was by daylight. She’d just begun to settle into the quiet when the knock came, three soft raps, quick and familiar.

She froze.

Only one man knocked like that.

Delilah hesitated, her heart already racing. She glanced down at herself, then toward the small mirror over the washbasin. Her cheeks were flushed. Her neckline dipped slightly from where the fabric had shifted. She should’ve told him to go away. Should have ignored it entirely.

Instead, she opened the door.

Bucky stood in the doorway like a ghost out of memory, shirt half-buttoned, dog tags resting against his chest, sleeves still rolled to his elbows like he hadn’t bothered to change since drills ended. His eyes locked onto her instantly, her hair loose, her skin bare where her uniform usually covered. He didn’t speak at first. He just looked at her like she was something he’d been starving for.

Delilah raised a brow, crossing her arms as she leaned against the door frame. "This is highly inappropriate, Sergeant Barnes."

"Then court-martial me," he grinned. "But I'm not going back to bed until I get to see you without fifty soldiers watching"

Her laugh broke softly into the night air.

“You can’t tease me like that all day and not expect a visit,” he said, voice low and rough.

She didn’t answer, not right away. She knew exactly what he meant. The sparring, the stolen looks, the way her eyes had followed him on the field longer than they should’ve. It wasn’t just teasing, it was years of tension, of memory and longing, all wrapped in the illusion of professionalism they kept desperately trying to maintain. She stepped aside, letting the door swing open wider without a word. He brushed past her slowly, close enough that his shoulder grazed hers. The contact was brief but enough to set her nerves alight. She closed the door behind him, locking it with a quiet click that sounded far louder than it should have.

She didn’t turn around, but he saw the way her shoulder rose the quiet inhale of anticipation. “Didn’t know I was teasing,” she said, her voice careful, quiet. “I was just doing my job.”

He was behind her now, close enough to reach out. But he didn’t. Not yet. “You know exactly what you were doing. The way you looked at me, touched me. You think I didn’t notice?”

She finally turned to face him, eyes shadowed with something unsaid. A storm held carefully behind lashes. “What did you expect me to do, James? Pretend there’s nothing there?”

He stepped in closer, his hands hovering near her waist, like he was asking without words. “I hate having to pretend. ”

Her breath hitched, and she leaned into him without meaning to their bodies barely apart. Her hands came up to his chest, resting flat over his heart like she was trying to steady herself against it.

“I don’t want to pretend, James,” she said finally. “Not with you. Not when we’re alone.”

His hand lifted, fingers threading gently through her hair. He brushed it back from her face, his touch reverent, like he was memorizing every curve, every freckle, every scar time hadn’t stolen. “Then don’t.”

He kissed her, not rushed or demanding, but deep and aching, like he’d been carrying it all day and couldn’t hold it back a second longer. She melted into him, arms sliding around his shoulders, pulling him closer. It wasn’t about lust, not really. It was about relief. About memory. About missing something that had never really left.

Her lips parted with a soft sigh against his, and he lifted her up with a smooth strength, her legs winding around his waist like muscle memory. He carried her to the narrow cot with a reverence that made her throat tighten. Laid her down gently, like she was something precious. Something sacred.

They didn’t need words. Everything they hadn’t said was there in the way their hands moved, in the way he kissed the hollow of her throat, the curve of her shoulder. In the way she tugged at his shirt, desperate to feel the warmth of his skin beneath her fingertips. Every touch was familiar. Every gasp of a confession they weren’t ready to speak aloud.

His forehead pressed against hers as he hovered above her, breath ragged, eyes searching. “Tell me this still means something,” he whispered.

She cupped his jaw, her thumb brushing the scar just beneath his cheekbone. “It never stopped.”

That was all he needed.

They moved together like a secret being kept in the dark, quiet, hidden, burning. There was no rush. No frenzy. Just the slow, deliberate reunion of two people who had waited too long, wanted too much, and couldn’t afford to have it in the daylight.

When it was over, they lay tangled in silence, her head on his chest, their bodies still flush. His hand moved slowly over the bare skin of her back, fingers trailing absent patterns. She listened to the rhythm of his heartbeat, grounding herself in it.

He didn’t speak, and neither did she. There was no need. Whatever they'd just shared had said enough.

But still, as the silence stretched between them, heavy with everything they couldn’t say in daylight, she whispered against his skin, “You’ll have to go before it gets light.”

His arm tightened around her. “I know.”

But neither of them moved. Not yet.

The room had gone quiet save for the hush of wind through the cracked window and the slow cadence of their breathing. The oil lamp burned low on the shelf, casting soft amber light over the rumpled sheets, their clothes scattered across the floor. The heat of what passed between them had faded into something quieter, warmer in a different way. The kind of warmth that made you forget, for a moment, everything waiting outside.

Delilah lay half-draped over Bucky’s chest, her fingers drawing idle lines across the scar that curved near his collarbone. He let her. His arm was slung loosely around her back, fingers tangled gently in her curls. There was nothing urgent between them anymore, just this hush, this borrowed calm.

“You snore,” she murmured.

He snorted, the low sound rumbling under her cheek. “Do not.”

“You do,” she insisted, a smile tugging at her mouth. “Like an old truck trying to start.”

He gave her a gentle squeeze. “You’re a liar.”

“You’re in denial.”

He laughed under his breath, then tilted his head just enough to press a kiss to her temple. “You always get like this after.”

“Like what?”

“Soft. Funny.”

“Shut up,” she mumbled, but she didn’t move away. Instead, she curled closer.

They let the silence stretch again, not uncomfortable now but familiar. He felt her breath slow against his chest, the weight of her settling like she belonged there.

“You ever think about what it would’ve been like if the war never happened?” he asked after a while, his voice a whisper in the dark.

She didn’t answer right away. Her hand paused over his chest, fingers stilled in thought. “Sometimes. Not often. Doesn’t feel real.”

“It could’ve been.” His voice was quieter now. “You and me. Something quieter than this.”

Her hand moved again, fingers tracing the shape of his dog tag. “We don’t get quiet, James. We get through.”

He turned his head, looking down at her. “Still, I think about it.”

She looked up at him, eyes tired but open. “I know.”

He leaned in and kissed her again, slower this time. Not greedy or hungry, just full of all the things he wasn’t saying. She kissed him back just as softly, her hand sliding up to cup the back of his neck.

Eventually, they drifted. Not quite asleep, not fully awake. Somewhere in the space between.

****

Before the sun had even crested the hills, the cold blue of early dawn began bleeding into the cabin. Delilah stirred first, blinking against the pale light. She felt the warmth beside her before she saw him, Bucky, still asleep, arm heavy around her waist, his breathing deep and steady.

She hated the clock for ticking. Hated the slant of sunlight creeping up the wall.

“Buck,” she whispered, brushing her fingers along his jaw. “You’ve gotta go.”

He groaned low, reluctant, eyes cracking open. “Already?”

She nodded. “Someone’ll start patrolling soon. If they see you leave-”

“I know.” He sat up slowly, rubbing a hand over his face, sleep clinging to him like fog.

Neither of them spoke as he dressed, keeping their voices in their eyes instead. She watched from the bed, the sheets pulled to her chest, hair mussed and skin glowing in the first light. He looked back at her like he wanted to burn it into memory.

When he was ready, he crossed back to her, kneeling beside the bed. She met him halfway, lips brushing his, slow, reluctant, like a promise they couldn’t quite name. Her fingers slipped into his hair, holding him just a second longer than she should.

He pulled away first. Barely. “Tonight?”

She hesitated, then nodded. “If you make it through the drills without mouthing off.”

He smirked, fingers grazing hers. “No promises.”

Then he was gone, slipping out the door and into the gray morning like a ghost.

She sat back, staring at the closed door, the quiet humming in her chest like a wound and a comfort all at once. She exhaled slowly, fingers curling in the sheets where he’d just been.

Outside, the camp began to wake. Orders would be barked, drills would begin, and the world would go on pretending they were nothing more than Commander and Sergeant.

But behind her closed door, the truth lingered, warm and unspoken, pressed into the pillow where his head had been.

****

End Chapter Nine

[fabdomsfable]

Time After Time- Eight

Chapter 8

107th Infantry Regiment

1943

The midday sun cast long shadows across the open range, heat shimmering in waves off the packed earth. The sky above stretched wide and cloudless, blindingly blue, while the air clung thick to the skin, dry and stifling, heaving with the scent of gunpowder and sweat. The sharp crack of rifle fire echoes in steady rhythm, a chorus of discipline and determination that pulsed across the training field.

Dust kicked up with every step, clinging to the boots and coating uniforms in a fine layer of grit. Targets stood tall in the distance, marked with fresh holes, some clustered tight in the center, others scattered from nervous hands. The recruits, their brows furrowed and arms tense, moved through warm up motions with rigid focus. But tension hummed beneath the surface, not just from the drills of the unforgiving sun.

Delilah Jackson moved among them like a ghost in steel toed boots, silent, watchful, precise. Her uniform was crisp despite the sweat at her collar, though her coat had been discarded due to the heat, revealing oil smudged forearms and taut muscle from months of command. Her dark braid was pulled tight swaying with each purposeful step, and her gaze was sharp enough to slice steel. She didn't need to raise her voice, her pretense alone demanded obedience.

As she drew closer the men assembled together, standing tall ready at attention. And beside them, he stood.

Bucky Barnes in fitted training gear, sleeves pushed to his elbows, arms crossed, hair tucked under his cap. He looked maddeningly handsome, a little too smug for someone trying to keep things professional. His eyes found hers the moment she stepped into view.

His mouth tugged up in a knowing smile, subtle but devastating.

“Good morning,” she said, voice even, posture sharp. “For those of you I’ve yet to meet, I’m Commander Jackson. You’ll address me as such. I’ve reviewed all of your files, congratulations, you’ve made it into hell.”

A low chuckle from one of the older soldiers. Delilah didn’t even flinch.

“Your training will be rigorous, grueling, and if you don’t listen, dangerous. You follow orders, you’ll earn your place. You speak out of turn,” her eyes flicked briefly to one man from the previous day who had since learned not to test her, “you’ll be picking gravel out of your teeth.”

She paced slowly in front of them, hands behind her back.

Bucky, standing tall at the end of the row, watched her like she was the sun rising. He said nothing, just listened, his face unreadable save for that slight smirk he couldn’t quite hide. His eyes danced with admiration, like he’d never wanted anyone more than he did while watching her own every inch of her command.

But Delilah didn’t glance at him once. Not during her speech. Not during roll call. Not even when she called out commands and led the men through warmups, her voice loud and clear across the yard.

She was a vision, powerful and unbothered. And Bucky was trying very, very hard not to stare too long.

But every so often their eyes would meet, brief, electric flashes that made her breath catch and his smirk widen.

And they’d both look away too quickly.

There was a moment when he jogged past her during laps, close enough for his hand to nearly brush hers. She didn’t flinch, but he caught the twitch in her lips, the smile she tried not to give him. His own chest puffed with pride.

Play it cool, Barnes. Don’t mess this up.

After the third round of push-ups, Bucky settled on the grass with the rest of the men, sweat beading on his neck, breathing hard. Delilah stood a few paces away, barking orders, her boots kicking up dust.

“She’s brutal,” one soldier muttered near Bucky. “Don’t expect her to go easy on you just cause you’re a Sergeant”

Bucky smirked, not looking at him. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Delilah caught the words but didn’t react. Instead, she turned and called out for drills to resume. But her heart did a somersault she wasn’t proud of.

As the sun climbed higher, the field buzzed with movement and commands. Tension lingered between her and Bucky like a slow-building storm, something only they could feel, tightly leashed under layers of discipline.

But every time she looked his way, he was already watching.

The sound of gunfire cracked in steady intervals as the recruits fired round after round, smoke curling from the barrels. Targets stood in the distance, some with clean, precise hits. Others not so much.

Delilah stalked between the men like a ghost in pressed uniform, silent, watchful, merciless. Her sleeves were rolled to her elbows, dark smudges across her forearms from chalk and oil, her dark braid swinging behind her as she moved.

“Shoulders up, McCarthy. You're not bracing a fishing rod, it's a rifle, not a trout.” McCarthy swallowed hard and adjusted his stance immediately, cheeks reddening beneath the weight of her gaze.

She stopped behind another soldier. “Palmer, that’s your fourth round that missed.” Her voice dropped an octave, quiet but unmistakably stern. Adjust your grip or I’ll adjust it for you.” There was no sarcasm in her tone, just promise.

A few men straightened when she passed. Some dared a glance. Others didnt breathe until she moved on. They learned quickly that Delilah Jackson had no favorites, she didn't flinch, she didn’t waiver. She was fair yet unforgiving. And her standards were carved into the granite, there was no room for mistakes.

And then there was Barnes.

He stood at the far end of the line, as if someone had placed him there on purpose to torment her. Delilah’s pulse kicked the moment her eyes landed on him. Bucky’s stance was perfect, rifle raised, feet planted, jaw set. His body was relaxed but ready, the picture of confidence and control. His sleeves were shoved high up his forearms, muscles taut and gleaming from sweat in the sunlight, a maddening reminder of the man he was beneath the uniform. And when he fired off a round it hit dead-center. Utterly flawless.

Of course it did.

But she wasn’t about to let him get away with smug perfection.

She approached slowly, her boots crunching in the dirt stopping just behind him. “Sergeant Barnes,” Delilah said, coming up behind Bucky.

He didn't flinch, but the corner of his mouth twitched, he’d been waiting for her.

“You’re holding it wrong.” She added, letting just enough amusement color her voice to draw his attention.

Bucky turned his head slightly, his profile sharp and unfairly handsome. “Am I now?”

“You are,” she said, voice stern but eyes dancing. She stepped forward so she was just behind his shoulder, though the top of her cap only came up to his mid back. “Shift your back foot, you're putting too much weight forward. You’re throwing off your center of gravity.”

Bucky's brows were arched and a playful smirk danced across his lips. “Didn't realize you were watching me that closely.”

“I watch everyone, Sergeant,” She replied, but her breath caught slightly when her fingers brushed his arm.

She reached around, guiding his shoulder gently with one hand while nudging his boot with her own. Her fingers settled at his upper back, lightly pressing down. The heat between them surged. Her hands might have moved with purpose, but there was no denying the second too long she let them linger. The feel of him, so solid and warm and familiar, sank beneath her fingernails like an echo she didn’t realize how much she had missed.

“There,” she murmured near his ear, her voice a soft contrast to the harshness of the range. “Proper stance. Wouldn’t want the Sergeant embarrassing himself.”

Bucky turned his head just enough that his lips hovered near her temple. “If you keep whispering sweet nothings in my ear like that, doll,” He said, voice low and dripping with playful hear. “they’re gonna forget we’re out here to shoot.”

Her breath hitched before she caught it, and she forced herself to straighten. She cleared her throat, the sharp and commanding edge returning to her voice. “I’m not whispering anything, Sergeant. I’m giving instructions.”

“Oh, sure. Very instructional,” Bucky replied, raising the rifle again with a glint in his eye. “Your hands on my chest really clarified things.”

She narrowed her eyes, but there was a traitorous smile threatening the corners of her mouth. She hated how easy it was for him. How a single look, a single word, could make her forget where they were, who they were now. “Ten more rounds, Barnes. If I see one miss the center, you’ll be polishing every rifle on base.”

He grinned, welcoming the challenge. “Yes, Commander.”

He fired. Dead center. Again.

She didn’t give him the satisfaction of reacting, just spun on her heel and moved on to the next recruit but not before she saw the smug glint in his eyes. As she moved down the line, her heartbeat still thumped against her ribs in double time. The other soldiers faded into noise, background players in the slow, simmering standoff between two people who had danced this dance before.

A dance of stolen glances and unspoken things. Of unfinished stories and hands that knew each other like second skin.

She stopped beside a young recruit and corrected his grip, but her mind wasn’t there. It was back at the end of the line, with James Barnes and that crooked, devastating smirk. With the way his voice had dropped when he called her doll. With the heat of his breath on her temple and the memory of how his lips had tasted just hours before.

God help her, it was going to be a long day.

Hell, it was going to be a long damn week.

And she wasn’t sure how long they would be able to keep playing it cool.

****

By the time the sun dipped low over the training fields, long shadows casted across the dirt as Delilah blew the final whistle.

“Fall out!” Her voice rang clear, sharp as the crack of gunfire.

Boots shuffled, some with relief, others dragging from exhaustion. The air smelled of sweat, grit, and metal. Dust clung to their skin like a second layer, uniforms were streaked with mud from the optical course she had run them through-twice.

Delilah stood at the head of the formation, arms behind her back and expression unreadable. The soldiers watched her with the kind of focus earned only through respect, and a little fear.

“Not bad,” She said, tone clipped but honest. “Some of you managed to stay on your feet today.”

A ripple of laughter rolled through the units, and the corners of her mouth twitched. “You all are dismissed, go eat.”

The men before her broke with collective relief, chattering igniting immediately, inside jokes, friendly jabs, shoulder bumps. Delilah gave a few nods, a couple brief remarks to individuals, but mostly stayed quiet as they dispersed towards the mess hall. She took a slower pace, stretching out a sore shoulder, rotating it with a grimace that faded as quickly as it came.

From across the field, near the edge of a barracks post, Bucky watched her. There was something about the way she was able to shift gears. A fire in her command, then a flicker of something lighter in the aftermath. It wasn’t softness, not exactly, but a looseness, like she gave herself permission to relax only after she knew everyone else was squared away.

She clapped one of the younger privates on the shoulder as he passed, muttering something that made him grin and stumble off red faced. Then she let out a tired breath and finally turned toward the mess hall herself, rolling up her sleeves as she went.

Bucky didn’t follow right away. He stood there a moment watching the dust settle where she’d stood. He told himself it was just curiosity. But even he didn't believe that anymore.

****

The mess hall smelled like burnt coffee and overcooked stew. Fluorescent lights flickered above, casting a harsh glare over the long rows of dented metal tables. Soldiers lined up their trays, boots scraping against the worn concrete floor, voices murmuring over each other in low, tired tones. Outside, night was officially starting to fall, the horizon soaked in dark amber, but inside the mess, the world remained stiff and colorless.

Delilah stood near the front of the chow line, arms crossed watching the food ladled with a slosh into trays. Her uniform clung with the day's sweat, the edges of her sleeves stained with dirt from the afternoon drills. She hadn’t eaten since before sunrise.

Behind her a couple of soldiers traded quiet jokes. One of the privates, Thompson, leaned over and whispered something to Milner that made the other snort into his elbow. Delilah glanced back, narrowing her eyes just enough to draw a sheepish look from both of them.

“Something funny?” She asked, voice dry but teasing.

Thompson held up his hands, “Just admiring the, um, texture of the potatoes commander”

“Oh is that what we're calling it now?”

A ripple of laughter spread down the line. A few heads turned, even the mess hall staff paused in their robotic scooping. Delilah's smirk flickered as she grabbed a tray and moved forward.

Milner stepped aside, gesturing grandly. “After you, Commander. Wouldn’t want to disrespect a lady.”

Delilah raised a brow. “Good. Because I’d hate to remind you I outrank you and run faster.”

That earned more laughter. Not the polite kind either, real, easy amusement that spread like warmth in the chill hall. It wasn’t often she allowed herself moments like these, but after a long day of bruised egos and barked commands, she could afford a sliver of ease.

She found herself sitting in the corner, back to the wall, eyes toward the door. It was a habit, a leftover need for awareness that hadn’t dulled with time. She let her tray clatter down and sat, flexing her sore fingers around the metal fork. The stew looked like it had already been digested once.

A few of the younger recruits gathered around her table. “Ma’am, permission to sit?” One of them asked, clutching his tray like it might vanish.

Delilah tilted her head. “Of course.”

The kid grinned, sliding in beside her. Milner followed, and soon the once quiet corner was filled with grinning soldiers. Elbows nudged each other and stories started. Delilah leaned back with her arms folded and let the chaos swirl, just enough to feel human again.

From across the room, James Barnes watched it all. She looked different under the mess hall lights. Softer. That military edge dulled by the shadows that hugged her jawline and the way her eyes moved with careful calculation. Even exhausted, she looked like something out of one of those dreams that still came to him in the quiet hours.

He sat with his own group, though his tray remained mostly untouched. The men around him chatted, griping about the food or speculating on the next set of orders, but Bucky wasn’t listening. His eyes never left the woman in the corner.

She laughed at something one of her fellow soldiers said, actually laughed, and the sound lifted across the rowdy mess hall like smoke curling toward a fire alarm. It didn't belong here, not in a place like this. It was too clean. Too alive.

It stopped him cold.

She was different when she laughed like that. The edge dulled a little bit. That sharp, polished exterior melted into something warmer, something that made his chest ache.

Delilah reached across the table to flick a grasp at Milner, who pretended to be horrified. She leaned into the table as another soldier shared a story, her hand curling under her chin as she listened with intent, a grin tugging at her pink painted lips. Bucky didn't even try to hide it, he watched her like he was remembering how to breathe.

The Sergeant beside him nudged him with a stale roll, “You staring?”

Bucky didn't look away, “Just admiring.”

“Oh,” The other Sergeant teased, grinning as he followed Bucky’s eyeline to a laughing Commander. “I’ll admire with you then.”

Bucky elbowed the man beside him, the roll in his hand clattering to the floor. “Shut up, Wilkerson.” His smile betrayed him though just as Delilah finally looked up and caught his gaze from across the room.

She didn’t react at first, just raised her brow, calm as ever. Bucky lifted his cup in a half-salute. Like he was toasting her. Letting her know he saw her. Then, like a subtle secret just between them, she let her lips curl upward in a slow, knowing smile.

But it was over as quickly as the moment had happened, she was rolling her eyes, turning back to her meal as she dove back into conversation.

Bucky stood, slow and easy, the scrape of his chair pulling her attention once more. He grabbed his tray, gave her a subtle nod, and walked out into the hall into the crisp air of nightfall. Delilah watched the door swing shut behind him.

Her fingers brushed the edge of her locket, just once.

With a small murmur of ‘excuse me’ she found herself rising from her chair herself. Following Bucky’s leave of absence.

****

Dellilah stepped onto the porch of her cabin, the wood creaking faintly under her boots. The evening chill had settled in, clinging to the air like whisper of the winter to come. Her muscles ached pleasantly from the days training, her hair pulled back messily, a few smears of dirt cleaning to her cheek. It had been a hard day but a good one.

She was reaching for the door handle when-

“Hey.” A voice, low, familiar, and dangerous in all the right ways called out. Before she could turn strong arms wrapped around her waist and lifted her clean off the ground.

“James!” She scolded, caught between surprise and delight as he spun her once, her heeled feet dangling above the wooden steps. He held her steady, nose brushing her temple as a soft laugh escaped her throat.

“I told you, I’m already an outcast with the barracks,” She said between gasps, “I don’t need rumors spreading that I’m sleeping with my Sergeant.”

“Are they rumors if they’re true?” He muttered into the curve of her neck, lips grazing the soft skin.

She smacked his shoulder in mock offense. “James Buchanan Barnes, that was a different world. “

Bucky grinned, setting her down gently, his gloved hands still lingering at her hips. “Relax, doll. I’m here on official business,” He said with exaggerated seriousness, straightening his collar. “Gotta inspect the commander's quarters. Make sure they’re suitable for such a fine lady.” He gently took her hand pressing a lingering kiss to the pulse of her wrist.

Delilah rolled her eyes, but she didn't stop him as he followed her inside. “You’re a dog, Barnes.”

Her cabin was modest, but warm. A small desk stacked with files and reports and a single book on the nightstand with the title ‘The Hobbit’ in big bolded letters.

“Nice place,” He murmured, slipping his gloves off and setting them on the table. “Private. Quiet. Very inspectable.”

Lila raised an eyebrow, “You done yet?”

“Almost,” Bucky smirked, then glanced over at her. “You gonna offer your favorite soldier some coffee or what?”

They fell into easy conversation, voices soft under the dim light. Lila began to brew some coffee for Bucky who was making himself comfortable in her chair with his legs stretched out, watching her like he was trying to soak her in.

“So,” she said eventually, sliding a mug across the table towards him. “Why did you never write?”

Bucky’s fingers curled around the mug, he didn't answer right away.

“And why,” she added, a little softer now, “did you leave that morning before I woke?”

He exhaled through his nose, running a hand through his hair. “Lila…”

“I’m not mad,” she stated quickly, though her voice trembled slightly. “Just wondering.”

“I didnt want it to hurt worse,” he finally admitted. “Saying goodbye to your face? That would’ve wrecked me. I figured if I left before you opened your eyes, maybe you’d forget it all felt so real.”

She swallowed hard. “But it was real, James.”

“I know,” His voice broke a little. “That’s what scared me.”

There was a long pause. Then she walked over and sat on the edge beside him.

“You’re not allowed to do that again,” She whispered.

“I won’t.”

Their hands found each other, fingers weaving like muscle memory. He brought hers to his lips, kissing her knuckles one by one.

“I missed you every damn day,” he said. “And not just the idea of you. I missed you, Lila. The way you argue when you’re tired. The way you hum when you’re focused. The way you never let me brood for too long before calling me out.”

He glanced down at her, expression raw in his icy blue eyes. “Some nights out there, I’d close my eyes and swear I could still feel you next to me, only to wake up to cold dirt and silence. Leaving you that morning tore something out of me. I kept looking over my shoulder for days like a damn fool, thinking you might be behind me.”

He shook his head slightly, his voice roughening. “We only had a couple nights out beforehand and then that last amazing night,” He squeezed her hand tighter and her cheeks flushed as memories of their last night danced inside her mind. ‘It shouldn’t have meant so much so fast, but it did Lila. But time doesn’t when it's the right person. I knew it even then, walking away from that, from you, was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

Delilah's eyes glistened but he wasn’t done yet. Here he was before her, pouring every last month of unspoken words into this moment. Making up for lost time and the lack of written letters.

“You better have missed me,” She whispered, reaching out a delicate hand to brush his cheek. “Because I missed you in ways I didn't think were possible.”

He smiled, tired and tender. “That note I left,” he said softly. “I carry your heart with me, always.” Her hand went to her chest, over the locket, over the place that had ached every morning he wasn't there.

In that tiny, quiet room tucked away on base, they sat there for a long time. No uniforms, no titles, just Lila and James, letting the world fall away again until it was only them.

Bucky made himself at home, his uniform jacket now discarded and draped over the back of her chair, boots resting beside the door. Outside, the wind stirred the trees, but inside time had slowed. Delilah tucked her legs beneath her on the bed sipping from her coffee while Bucky now leaned lazily against the frame, watching her with that boyish half smile that made her forget every harsh word she'd endured that week.

He tilted his head, eyes warm, “So, Commander Jackson.” His tone was teasing now, yet still gentle. “How has training been? How have the men treated you?”

Delilah's smirk dropped a little, replaced by a flicker of exhaustion she rarely showed anyone. “It’s been a lot,” She admitted, tracing her thumb around the rim of her mug. “The older ones, the ones who’ve been here a while, they’ve learned to follow orders, even if they don’t like them coming from a woman.”

She met his gaze. “But the new recruits? Your unit?” Her lips pressed together. “They’ve been difficult. Lots of remarks, stares, testing boundaries. You saw it.”

His jaw ticked, eyes narrowing at the memory.

“I’m used to holding my own,” she added quickly “but I’d be lying if I said it didn't get under my skin sometimes.”

Bucky set his cup down with a soft clink, “You’ve always had more fight in you than anyone I know.”

She gave him a small, grateful smile, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. “What about you?” She asked, shifting a little closer. “Where have you been Sergeant Barnes? What mission had you gone off to with no letter, no word?” Her voice was teasing but his eyes dropped for a second, gathering his thoughts.

“It wasn't anything glamorous,” he said finally. “Reconnaissance mostly. Out in the mountains, moving town from town. Cold, long, quiet. Some nights I’d sit by the fire and wonder if you were thinking about me as much as I did you.”

Delilah's eyes softened, “I did. Every day.”

“I had to keep telling myself that,” he said, reaching across to brush her hand once more. They sat in silence for a moment, just looking at one another, a shared relief passing between them like an unspoken promise. Despite the ticking clock of war, they had each other again.

“You know,” Bucky said with a crooked grin, reaching out to tug her closer. “I never pictured my first night back would be this good.”

Delilah smiled, “That’s because you didn't picture yourself sneaking into the Commanders cabin trying not to get caught.”

He leaned in, pressing a kiss against her jaw. “Worth the risk.”

The hour had grown late, the candle Delilah had lit earlier now reduced to a low, flickering stub. The quiet hum of the base had settled into silence outside her window, as Bucky and Lila sat on the edge of her bed, knees lightly touching. But her eyes kept flickering to the clock, the tightness in her chest had nothing to do with nerves this time.

“You know you cant stay,” she said softly, turning to look at the man beside her who sighed, tipping his head back.

“I know” he muttered, “doesn’t mean I like it.”

“I don’t either,” she admitted, rising from the bed to stand in front of him. Her fingers found the hem of his sleeve, gently fidgeting with it. “It's just, if someone saw you leaving here in the morning…”

”It would be hell for you,” He cut her off, his tone more serious now. “I get it Lila, the last thing I want is to screw this up for you.”

Delilah could only manage a nod, anything else might betray how much she hated sending him away.

Bucky stood, bushing a kiss to her forehead first, though his lips lingered there for a second longer than necessary before he cupped her face with both hands. His hands were rough and calloused against her soft skin but they spread warmth all throughout her body. His eyes were scanning her face like he was trying to memorize every detail.

“You’re the strongest person I know,” He said quietly. “But I‘ll still knock anyone flat who so much as looks at you wrong.”

She laughed even as she blinked fast. “Go,” she whispered, nudging him towards the door. “Before I change my mind.”

He opened the door and paused, casting one last look at her over his shoulder. “Goodnight, Commander.”

“Goodnight, Sergeant,” She said with a smile that felt too small for how full her chest was.

The door clicked shut behind him, yet Delilah stood still, her hand resting on the handle. Then, with a soft, breathless sigh, she leaned her back against the door and pressed her palm flat over her fluttering heart. The smallest, girly giggle escaping her lips. She didn't let herself get like this, not ever. But James Buchanan Barnes had a way of making her feel like she was still a school girl back in London.

He was here.

The weight of that joy settled somewhere deep in her chest, keeping her warm even after the room grew colder without him in it. She moved to her small vanity, brushing out her hair absently, but her thoughts weren’t on her reflection. They were on the man who had just bid her goodnight. That crooked smile. The way he said her name like it was something sweet. As Delilah climbed into bed, the blankets cool at first but not unpleasant, she rolled onto her side, fingers toying with the locket.

For the first time in a long time, sleep found her easily.

****

End Chapter Eight

[fabdomsfable]

Time After Time- Seven

Chapter 7

107th Infantry Regiment

1943

The morning broke like any other.

Delilah rose before the sun, slipping into her uniform with silent precision. The buttons were worn but clean, the collar pressed sharp. Her fingers paused briefly over the chain around her neck, the locket tucked neatly beneath her blouse, cool against her skin. She hadn’t taken it off since that morning he’d left.

She moved through the motions like a clock wound too tight. Coffee, quick and black. Notes reviewed. Training course finalized. No time for softness. No room for dreaming. The barracks were quiet at this hour, still half draped in the shadows of morning fog, she liked it this way. The stillness before the day began, lord only knew how much she would need that moment of peace for today. The 107th was expecting new arrivals today which only meant new questioning gazes and unbroken men.

But she was Commander Delilah Jackson, she would not be phased.

She was not the woman who had danced in a dark blue dress. Not the woman who had fallen asleep to the sound of a soldier’s heart. That woman had been left behind with the last letter never written, the last promise unspoken.

She stepped outside into the brisk morning air, the field still wet with dew, the fog thick around the trees. She stood tall, boots planted firmly in the dir, her shoulders squared defiantly against the wind. Men began slowly gathering, some familiar, others fresh off the trucks. The new recruits. Young, cocky, loud-mouthed boys whose uniforms were still too clean, the stiffness of inexperience clinging to their coats.

Her eyes swept over them, sharp and unforgiving.

“All right, gentlemen,” she called, voice slicing through the mist. “Line up and let’s see which of you can keep up.”

They hesitated. Moved with sluggish arrogance of boys who had yet to learn respect. She barked again, this time with an edge that made a few of hem jump. Feet shuffled faster afer that, but not with respect. With amusement.

Then it started.

A snort. A snicker.

“She’s got legs for a captain.”

Another, bolder. “Bet she barks orders just as loud in bed.”

Delilah froze, the tension in her spine turning cold. She didnt move though, not yet, she wouldnt give them that satisfaction yet. Let them pile the rope high, let them hang themsleves with it.

But the comments didn’t stop.

“She looks like she needs a strong man to teach her some discipline.”

“You offering, Miller?” The laughter that followed was sharp, brash. Too bold.

Delilah turned slowly, every line on her body coiled with control

“I’ll have you all know,” she said, her voice deadly calm, “that I trained men three times as mean and twice as stupid as you before breakfast.”

A pause. Her hand found the whistle at her neck.

“And if you think your mouths impress me, wait until you see how fast I can shut them.”

She blew sharply into the whistle, sending a shriek across the field, birds scattered, the air stilled. But even then, the tension didn't break.

****

Across the field, boots hit the ground hard.

Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes stepped off the last car, rucksack slung over his shoulder, eyes squinting at the horizon as breath misted in the air. There was a tightness in his chest he hadn’t shaken since boarding. Maybe it was the weight of war. Maybe it was the ghost of a memory, a girl in a blue dress, laughter pressed to his mouth, a soft “stay a while, soldier” echoing through the hollow space in his chest.

Bucky wasn’t expecting much, another base, more strangers, more dirt. But something shifted as he crossed the wide stretch of open training field.

A sound, faint at first, caught on the wind. Sharp. Commanding. Familiar.

His breath hitched.

That voice.

His chest seized, for a moment, he couldnt breathe.

It couldn't be.

But it was.

He knew it in his bones.

He moved faster, boots crunching over frostbitten earth. The sun had just broken fully now, revealing the silhouette of the officer standing tall in the center of the field, shoulders square, boots planted, coat flaring slightly at her calves.

There she was.

Lila.

His Lila.

Dressed in full military uniform, medals gleaming against crisp navy, her face as fierce and focused as he remembered. Her hair was pinned back, her brow furrowed in concentration. She was shouting orders with that perfect, cut-glass accent, her voice slicing clean through the air. She was issuing orders like she owned the earth beneath her boots. And she did, at least to him, she always had.

She looked different and exactly the same, the lines of her face were harder, stronger, though she was still heartbreakingly beautiful.

He was rooted to the spot, undone in a second. But as he jogged forward, heart pounding, the spell shattered.

He heard them. The voices. The ones circling her like flies.

“She’s got a mouth on her, I’d love to see what else it can do.”

“She walks like she needs breaking in.”

“Bet she barks orders just as loud in bed.”

The fire lit behind his eyes, fury hit him like a blow. He surged forward, the ground vanishing beneath his boots, jaw clenched and fists curling. He wasnt thinking, he had no plan. He couldn’t let this stand.

Because Sergeant Barnes was more than a soldier. He was a legend among the ranks. His name was spoken with weight, earned through countless missions and acts of valor. Respected. Trusted. Admired. And to hear that kind of filth spat by the mouths of his own unit, the men he was supposed to lead, filled him with something close to shame. They bore his insignia, but they knew nothing of honor.

He reached her, instinctively reaching out and placing a hand on the small of her back. Delilah spun around, eyes wild and ready to strike whoever dared touch her. But the world tilted and her breath caught in her throat.

Her breath left her in a rush, “James,” she breathed, her lips parted in pure astonishment.

He looked exactly as she remembered, only more. The war had carved new lines into his face, new depth in his eyes. His jaw was tighter. Shoulders broader. But his gaze was the same, the boyish blue she remembered from nights she refused to forget.

“Hi, doll,” he said softly, like no time had passed at all.

Delilah could barely think. The whistle still hung around her neck. Her voice, so sure seconds ago, was lost somewhere in her ribs.

But Bucky turned almost immediately, his body sheilding hers.

“Which one of you said that?” he snarled at the line of men, the words were sharp and deatly. “You had no problem running your mouths a minute ago. Say it again.”

The men stood stiff, the air suddenly colder.

“You talk about your commanding officer like that again, and I’ll personally see to it that your teeth are introduced to every rock on this base.”

The blood drained from their face at the Sergeants arrival, a few muttered apoligies, looking anywhere but Delilah.

But one of Buckys men, Davis, had the poor sense to keep speaking.

“Didn’t know she was already getting some from the Sergeant.”

The words barely landed before Bucky was on him, his head snapping like a loaded gun. In three steps, he was face to face with Davis. His voice, when it came, was low and lethal.

“You wanna repeat that?” Bucky hissed. “You wanna talk about her like she’s something you get to touch? You so much as look at her again, and I’ll make sure you can’t speak through a straw.”

Davis’ stuttered, clearly realizing his mistake. “I-I didn’t mean,”

“Didn’t mean to say it out loud?” Bucky cut him off. “Didn’t mean to let every man here know just how little you think of the uniform you’re wearing? You owe her more respect than any of us. Apologize. Now.”

Delilah hadn’t moved.

She was still watching, wide-eyed and breathless, unsure weather to cry, scream, or simply fall apart.

He came back.

No one had ever made her feel small in a good way until James Barnes looked at her like she was the only thing worth fighting for. And there he was again, standing between her and the world like it was the easiest thing he’d ever done.

“I-I’m sorry, Commander Jackson,” Davis stammered.

Bucky finally broke eye contact with the man, turning to her, his tone shifting instantly, like the storm inside him could only rage against others, never her.

“If you’ll excuse us for a moment,” he said, gentlyfded. “I need a word with Commander Jackson.”

Bucky didn’t wait for permission.

He took Delilah by the hand, firm but gentle, and dragged her behind one of the empty cabins, away from the prying eyes of the other soldiers, away from the world.

Delilah didn’t speak.

She couldn’t.

She just followed.

Heart pounding. Lungs full of fire.

Eyes locked on the man she never thought she’d see again.

The moment they were hidden from sight, he stopped short and turned to face her. For a second, neither of them said a word. They just stood there, heartbeats echoing loudly between them like drums of war and relief all at once.

Delilah’s mouth parted, still struggling to catch up with what her eyes told her was real.

“I must be dreaming,” she breathed, eyes wide. “There’s no way you’re here.”

Bucky grinned, all boyish charm and crooked confidence. “If this is your dream, sweetheart, then I’m glad to be stuck in it.”

She slapped his chest. “You absolute menace, James Buchanan Barnes! You couldn’t write? Or radio? Or send a damn pigeon?!”

He caught her hand in his, laughing. “Aw, c’mon, doll, I wanted to surprise you.”

“I’m serious, James, you should’ve written”

“I know,” Bucky looked down, avoiding her gaze. “I thought maybe if you moved on that you’d be better off”

She blinked. “That simply makes me more furious. You just waltz onto my base like a damn movie star,” she scolded, but the smile was already breaking through. “I ought to deck you.”

“Doll,” he said softly, attempting to tug her a little closer.

“I-I’m your superior here,” She managed, as Bucky took another step towards her.

“I’m not crossing a line,” He replied, “Not unless you tell me to.”

His voice was steady, but there was something raw beneath it. Something uncertain. A rare vulnerability that made her throat tighten. Delilah closed her eyes and for a second the base disappeared. The noise, the dust, the rules. All of it fell away and it was just him. Just James. The man who had once held her like she was the only thing keeping him grounded. When she opened her eyes again he was closer, not touching. Just waiting.

“I didn’t know if I'd ever see you again,” She said quietly. “And now that you’re here, I don’t know how to react.”

“Start with this,” He said, gaze pinned to hers. “Tell me you didn't miss me, tell me the second I stepped onto that field you didn't want to be near me.”

She hesitated, her jaw twitched. But she didn’t lie. “I missed you so much it nearly drove me mad”

And that was all that he needed.

He stepped into her space, slow and deliberate, one hand lifting to the beam beside her head, the other brushing the edge of her jaw. He didn't kiss her, not yet. Just leaned down close, his breath ghosting over her cheek.

“I missed you more than anything Lila,” He murmured, his blue eyes searching her stormy grey ones. “I don’t need to know everything right now. I just want to know if you still want this.”

Her body betrayed her before her mouth could.



Her fingers curled into his shirt, pulling him the rest of the way in. Their mouths met in a rush, hot, hungry, familiar. It wasn’t polished. It wasn’t neat. It was everything they hadn’t said in months crashing together in the space of a heartbeat. Her back hit the beam hard. His hand slid to her waist. She felt the sharp edge of his dog tags against her chest but Delilah welcomed the sting. She kissed him like he was still hers. And god help her she wanted to believe he was.

She melted into him with a small sigh, hands gripping the lapels of his uniform. It was a kiss that tasted like spring after a long winter.

When they finally broke apart, Bucky leaned his forehead against hers, breathing in her presence like it might vanish if he didn’t hold on tight.

“You look even prettier in uniform,” he said, thumb brushing her cheek. “Not fair to the rest of us.”

She smirked. “You’re ridiculous.”

His fingers trailed down, catching on the glint of silver at her collarbone. His breath hitched as he brushed the small heart-shaped locket resting against her chest.

“You kept it,” he whispered, almost reverent.

Delilah nodded, her voice soft now. “Of course I did.”

His thumb ran over the smooth surface of the locket. “I hoped you would.”

“I almost tore the note in half reading it over and over again,” she murmured, her smile turning shy. “It stayed with me through every second of this hell.”

Bucky leaned in again, lips brushing her temple. “I meant every word.”

They stayed like that for a beat, pressed close, wrapped in each other and the small miracle of reunion.

“God, I missed you, Lila,” he said. “I kept hearing your voice in my head like a damn siren call. Thought maybe I’d gone crazy.”

Delilah let out a breathless laugh, tears pricking the corners of her eyes. “I thought I’d imagined you. That the night we had was just something I conjured up to stay sane.”

“Nope,” he said. “I’m very real. And very, very glad to see you.”

He kissed her again, a little more insistently this time, arms wrapping tight around her waist like he wasn’t willing to let her go.

“You’re not getting rid of me this time,” he mumbled into her hair.

“Good,” she whispered back. “Because I’m not sure I could take it.”

For the first time in weeks, Delilah felt like she could breathe.

Even if the war raged tomorrow, even if fate was cruel again, right now, in this quiet space between the cabins, she had James Barnes.

And that was enough.

Delilah pulled back suddenly, her eyes widening. “Oh, no, no, no,”

Bucky blinked, dazed. “What?”

She turned slightly, casting a frantic glance around the side of the cabin. “We can’t, people can’t see us like this.”

Bucky followed her gaze, then quirked a brow, lips tugging up in a lazy grin. “Lila, we’re behind a cabin. Not exactly center stage.”

“I’m the only woman on base, James.” She lowered her voice, flustered and breathless. “Being caught behind a cabin with a sergeant? I’d never live it down. They already think I’m here to keep beds warm.”

“Well, they’re idiots.” Bucky smirked, clearly amused. “Only my bed will be kept warm.”

“James,” she hissed, cheeks flushing an even brighter red than Bucky thought was possible, “I mean it, we have to be careful.”

He lifted his hand gently to push a stray hair behind her ear. “You’re blushing.”

“I am not.”

“Oh, you absolutely are. It’s adorable.” He leaned in just slightly, his breath brushing her skin. “Didn’t know the great Commander Jackson could blush.”

“I swear, I will knee you in the-”

“Alright, alright,” he laughed, hands up in surrender. “You have my word. No more behind-the-cabin rendezvous. This time.”

Delilah folded her arms, trying to muster her usual steel but falling short under the way he was looking at her, like she was sunlight. She cleared her throat and stood straighter.

“Well, don’t expect any special treatment in training.”

Bucky grinned that grin that always made her spine melt. “Wouldn’t have it any other way, Commander.”

“And,” she added, pointing a stern finger at his chest, “don’t go looking at me like that in public.”

He blinked, all mock innocence. “Like what?”

“Like that.” She narrowed her eyes.

“This?” He leaned in slightly, that same lazy grin curling his mouth. “The way I look at the women I might’ve fallen stupidly in love with during a single night?”

Her breath caught.

He smirked. “Guess I better work on my poker face, huh?”

Delilah turned to leave before her knees betrayed her, but Bucky caught her hand and pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles.

“See you at training, Commander Jackson,” he said, voice low.

She was already halfway around the corner, but her voice drifted back, still flustered and sharp, “Keep your mouth shut and your eyes forward, Sergeant Barnes!”

“Now, where’s the fun in that?”

He stood there, grinning to himself, as she disappeared into the morning light.

Yeah. He was completely gone for her.

Delilah smoothed her coat, inhaling deeply as she stepped out from behind the cabin. Her lips still tingled from his kiss, and her heart thudded with something between joy and nerves. But she was composed now, mostly. A flush still lingered at her cheeks, impossible to will away.

She walked briskly back toward the training yard, her boots crunching across the dirt path. The familiar sound of pounding feet and strained breathing returned as she spotted her unit still running the track, just as Bucky had ordered.

Of course he did, she thought, amused. The nerve of that man, slipping into my camp like he owns the place.

One of the men glanced toward her, slowing slightly. She raised an eyebrow, and just like that, he sped back up with a mumbled, “Ma’am.”

Her expression softened. Her heart was lighter, and for the first time in weeks, she didn’t feel quite so alone in this place.

Her gaze lifted across the yard, where a few sergeants stood in quiet conversation. And there he was.

Bucky.

His back was to her at first, uniform pressed sharp, hands on his hips as he laughed at something one of the others said. But then, as if he sensed her, he turned.

Their eyes met across the distance. Something invisible, undeniable passed between them.

He gave her that lazy half-smile she remembered too well, like he had all the time in the world. And then—he winked.

Delilah looked away quickly, fighting the swell of warmth in her chest. Oh, he’s going to get me in trouble.

But she was smiling.

My soldier came back.

And with her steps a little lighter, she called out sharply to the men running the track, “Alright, boys! Let’s see who can beat me to the finish line. Loser does extra drills after supper!”

****

End Chapter Seven

[fabdomsfable]

Time After Time- Six

Chapter six

107th infantry Regiment

1943

A storm rolled in that night.

Not the soft kind that whispered against windows and begged for sleep, but a downpour, loud and punishing, turning the training field into a sodden mess of mud and water. Thunder rolled above the base like the growl of distant artillery. Still, Delilah was out before dawn, coat buttoned tight against the cold, her boots sinking into the earth as she paced through the storm.

Though she was soaked to the bone and her hair was plastered wildly against her face she wasn’t about to let a little rain disrupt her routine.

“Get up! On your feet, now!” she shouted as she passed the barracks, her voice sharp as a whip crack. “You think the enemy’s going to wait for sunshine?”

There was a beat of silence, and then chaos erupted. Men scrambled out of the bunks in disarray, squinting through the gray sky and rain. Many came out shirtless and their boots on the wrong foot and even as they slipped through the puddles they still made an attempt to stand up straight and fall in line before her.

Delilah narrowed her eyes as she watched them stumble. They are coming together now. They moved like one body, through a rough one, they still moved united. They were starting to carry themselves like soldiers.

She saw that.

And maybe they were starting to see her the same way.

The drills were merciless that day. Mud crawls, sandbag hauls, rifle lifts until arms shook and knees weakened. But no one complained, not out loud, at least. The men who had once scoffed at the idea of taking orders from a woman, kept their jaws clenched and their eyes ahead.

She pushed them hard, led the circuits herself, and barked encouragement between reps.

And when one of the newer recruits twisted his ankle during a sprint, she didn’t yell. She dropped beside him, rolled his sock down with practiced hands, and checked the swelling.

“You’ll live,” she said dryly. “But milk that limp and I’ll make you clean every latrine from here to the motor pool.”

The boy chuckled through the pain. “Yes, ma’am.”

Later, once the drills were done and the last soldier was cursing under his breath while wringing out his socks, Delilah finally gave the order to call it. The men stumbled towards the mess hall, boots squelching and uniforms clinging to their skin. Lila walked a few paces behind them, her steel grey eyes scanning the tree lines before them.

The light of the mess hall glowed with more laughter than usual soldiers seeming to rejoice over the protection of the tent awning shielding them from the rain. Delilah moved toward her usual side table, isolated, the one meat for officers. But when she crossed the threshold, soaked to the bone, her hair dripping down the collar of her shirt, she saw it. An empty seat at the end of the table. The one meant for soldiers.

Private Milner glanced up from his tray.“You planning to stand there all night Commander?”

The room went quiet, Delilah slowly turned towards the sound of his voice, eyebrow raised. “You offering me a seat, Private?”

“Wasn’t offering,” The man grinned “But it’s dry”

Slowly she made her way across the floor, one heeled boot in front of the other, she slid onto the edge of the bench. The tension cracked like a dropped plate. Jenkins pushed a bowl of something vaguely resembling mashed potatoes towards her.

“They used extra salt tonight, lucky us.”

She looked at him, a small smile pulled at the corners of her lips. “A gourmet treat”

Beside her Milner chuckled, leaning toward her. “So Commander, be honest. You ever shoot a man just for chewing loud?”

The table froze.

“Not yet”

Jenkins laughed, and across the table Hayes did too, soon the entire table was howling with laughter. Just like that the ice between them melted.

Stories followed after that. They asked her about her missions, about Europe before the war. She didnt give them any classified information but she offered just enough to keep them enthralled, telling stories of cobbled streets, bloodied knuckles, and windswept French villages before they burned.

They shared some stories too. Of home. Of the girls they left behind. Even one of the dogs someone had tried to sneak into the camp. And for the first time since arriving, Delilah let herself laugh, not a smirk, or a scoff, but a real laugh that seemed to suprise everyone.

The night went on and soon they were all crammed shoulder to shoulder, laughing over exaggerated stories by Milner and the awful hand of cards Jenkins had dealt as they played a small game of poker. Rations for chips. Someone had even rigged a phonograph in the corner, soft smooth jazz played over the sound of their enjoyment.

One of the men asked Delilah if she ever danced.

She thought of Bucky and the way he had swept her off the feet the night before they left. The way his hands held her as he spun her around in time to the music.

“Not in a while,” She replied dryly, shaking her head as if physically trying to rid her thoughts of her soldier. “and even then, only since the man had whiskey.”

Laughter erupted once more as one of the Privates from the other end of the table passed a bottle down to her, a teasing grin plastered across his face. She declined but with a smile.

The moment held. Warm, and real.

Finally, when the noise began to fade and the soldiers drifted off one by one back to their barracks Delilah deided it too was her time to retire to sleep. She walked back to her cabin, boots crunching softly in the dirt her knees still ached from an earlier slip in the mud but her heart was lighter.

Entering her cabin she peeled off her coat and hung it by the stove. She set water to boil for coffe as she dragged a thick stack of reports to her desk piled with injury logs and training assessments. She still had a long night ahead of her. Commander Jackson did not get the luxury of rest.

It was nearly midnight when the knock came, she paused, pen midair, as the knock sounded again, firmer this time. Delilah stood, cautious but calm as she moved to open it. Corporal Jenkins stood before her, drenched from head to toe, a supply crate held tightly in his hands.

“Ma’am,” he said, awkwardly, blinking the rain from his lashes “these were dropped off by a supply truck that just came through. Figured you'd want them tonight instead of morning.”

“You jogged here through the storm with that?” She eyes the crate in his hands.

Jenkins gave a crooked, sheepish shrug. “Didn’t want it sitting out. Figured you’d yell.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “You’re right. I would’ve.”

But her voice had softened, just slightly. Just enough that Jenkins noticed. He gave a nod, handed off the crate, and turned to go but her voice stopped him.

“Corporal,” she said, just before he disappeared into the dark.

He turned, rain still dripping from his cap.

“You’ve improved,” she said. “This week. Your aim’s steadier.”

He blinked. Then stood a little straighter.

“Thank you, ma’am.”

The door closed behind her, a faint warmth remained in the room, not from the stove but perhaps something quieter.

Inside, Delilah sat down on the edge of her bed, letting her long curly hair fall over her shoulder. Inside the crate, she found standar supplies, new women’s boots, a ledger, and a few wrapped parcels, one was stamped Confidential, the other addressed her by name in Peggy’s perfect script.

It wasn’t a letter this time, but a small tin.

She unwrapped it carefully with slow, precise fingers. When she opened it, the scent of English lavender rose into the room. Inside was a bar of real soap, nothing like the chalky rations on base, it reminded her of life back home. Cleaner. Simpler.

She exhaled slowly, her hands softly skimming back over the contents of the crate. Nothing from him again. She didn't let the ache show, not really. But she sat with it a long time, long enough to watch the sun start to creep back up the horizon. Unbeknownst to her and her soldiers, a convoy of soldiers tracked through the thick mud. New arrivals. A pair of those steel toed boots belonging to a ghost she almost let herself stop believing in.

****

End Chapter Six

[fabdomsfable]

Time After Time- Five

Chapter 5

107th Infantry Regiment

1943

By dawn the next morning, the base pulsed with a quiet urgency, tension crawling beneath every motion like second skin. Mist clung low to grass settling over the camp in a hushed whisper. Delilah stood at the edge of the training grounds, spine straight, and arms folded over her chest sternly. Her silhouette cut a sharp shadow against the pale morning light, her voice sharp as steel slicing through the fog that was curliing its way up the canvas tents.

“Inspection in thirty minutes. Surprise audit from Central Command. If a single bunk is out of place, if one boot is unpolished, if one of you smells like whiskey instead of soap,” she stepped forward, eyes landing on Private Milner, who shifted under her gaze, “I’ll personally make you scrub this camp with a toothbrush. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Commander!” the men barked in unison.

“Good. Move.”

The unit scattered like startled birds, boots thundering across gravel. Delilah didn't waste a second. She was already checking footlockers, flipping mattresses, and opening cabinets. When she entered the barracks, two soldiers jumped to attention, mid tuck on their sheets. One had a sock hanging out of the side of his duffel.

She didn’t blink. “Fix it. Ten minutes.”

The base snapped into motion under her command like a well wound watch. She didn’t yell without cause, she just expected excellence and tolerated nothing less. They knew better than to argue, and by now, even the most stubborn of her men understood that she didn’t need a men’s uniform or a deep voice to demand it.

By the time the brass car pulled up at the far gate, its black paint gleaming, dust curling up around the tires, Delilah stood tall beside her men, polished and full of poise. Their hands folded behind them, each shining boot aligned in line.

Two officers stepped out, clipboards in hand. They didn’t speak or smile, but Delilah didn’t mind. Inspection was quiet, brisk, and impersonal. The officers eyes darted over uniforms, weapons, and living quarters. One of them lingered near the mess hall, peeking inside, scribbling.

Delilah stood at attention the entire time, unmoving. She could feel the heat of every glance flicked her way by the men in her command. Some waiting for her to slip. Others, silently hoping she wouldn’t.

When the officers finally left, the one with the clipboard gave her a single nod. “Efficient. Disciplined. Unexpected.” Then he added, almost wryly, “Keep them in line, Captain.”

Delilah didn’t smile. She only returned the nod. “That’s the plan, sir.”

As the car disappeared down the road, a breath of relief rippled across the ranks. A few of the boys even clapped each other on the back, other let slip a quiet smile.

But Delilah wast fazed, she expected nothing less after all. With a small nod to her soldiers, she turned on her heeled boots and left the men to celebrate.

By lunch, the mess hall was overfilled with sound. Laughter bounced off the cold concrete walls and the smell of boiled beef and salted potatoes hung in the air. Tables were pulled close together, the men sitting shoulder to shoulder as they shared loud, over exaggerated stories.

Delilah entered late, her cap tucked under one arm. Her braid that had come loose during the day and now hung in a thick, dark rope over one shoulder. Her face was clean but flushed with windburn, the shadows underneath her eyes were more honest than cosmetic.

She scanned the hall.

Every seat was full.

She didn’t expect them to make room, not really. Not yet. But the ache still bloomed a little in her chest. After everything, they still saw her as something other. Not quite a soldier. Not quite welcome.

She walked past a table where two of her best shots were bragging about their inspection scores. One of them quieted when he saw her. The other didn’t notice at all.

She passed a table where two of her best soldiers were boasting about the high training scores they had recently received. One saw her and quieted, offering a soft smile.

She kept walking.

She made her way to the far side of the hall and quietly set her tray on a small, empty table meant for the staff. It was too far from the heat of the room, too quiet, too clean. She sat alone, back straight, ignoring the glances she felt rather than saw.

The food was bland. The silence was louder than the laughter she could hear behind her.

She didnt flinch at the subtle glances cast in her direction.

She picked up her fork and began to eat, calm, composed, as if she didn’t feel every pair of eyes.

And when she was done, she rose, collected her tray, and walked out without a word.

If they thought being a woman made her less, they’d learn soon enough.

She was still their commander.

Later, as she sat alone in the safety of her cabin, she peeled off her uniform and ran a wet cloth against the back of her neck. The quiet was different here than Brooklyn.

Three knocks sounded against the hollow door of her cabin. She turned just in time to find another letter slipped beneath the door.

She got up slowly, bare feet brushing the cold floorboards. She crossed the floor carefully picking up the envelope with her scarred fingers. She didnt need to check the handwriting to know who it belonged too, she recognized the cream colored envelope that was pressed with her signature seal, a red rose, the edges singed slightly.

Peggy.

She didn’t open it right away. Instead, she boiled water for her coffee and stood at the small window while it steeped, watching soldiers march in formation beyond the trees.

Only once the mug was warm in her hand did she open the letter.

My dearest Lila,

You’ll never guess who’s near you.

James’ unit was rerouted. They’re somewhere not far from your base, I can’t say more, you understand. But I thought you should know. He may not even realize how close he is.

When I saw him last, he asked if I’d heard from you. He didn’t say much, but you know how men like him speak, with their silences.

If fate is feeling kind, perhaps your paths will cross again. But don’t let hope hold your heart hostage. You’re far too strong for that.

All my love, Peg

Delilah folded the letter slowly, pressing it closed with deliberate hands, placing it beneath the folds of her jacket. She didn’t allow her expression to change. She didn’t let the warmth in her chest bloom into anything dangerous.

Certainly not hope.

Hope was a knife. Sharp. Seductive. And she’d seen enough blood in her life to know not to play with blades.

Besides, she had a job to do, she could not afford such distractions.

****

By midday, the heat had thickened into something cruel. Delilah and soldiers were back out on the obstacle course, crawling, sprinting, sweating bullets under the relentless sun. Delilah paced between them like a shadow. She barked corrections, hauled stumbling recruits back on their feet, readjusted the riffle slings of others.

That’s when she caught sight of Private Langston, sauntering behind the line of sandbags, cigarette between his fingers, gun slung lazily over his back.

Not in formation. Not following protocol. Not even pretending to try.

Delilah didn’t yell.

She strode up to him in silence, her boots crunching gravel beneath her.

“Private Langston.”

He jumped slightly, then turned, smirking. “Captain. Just taking a breather.

“Did I authorize that?”

“No, ma’am, but I figured-”

“You figured?” she cut him off, stepping closer. Her voice stayed level, cold as steel. “Is that what we’re doing now? Figuring instead of following orders?”

Langston’s smirk faltered. “It’s just a smoke. Relax.”

Delilah didn’t blink. “Drop your weapon.”

He hesitated. “Captain,”

“I said drop it.”

Langston unslung the rifle, confusion flashing across his face.

Delilah grabbed it from his hands, slammed the butt into the dirt beside them, then reached up and plucked the cigarette from his lips.

She dropped it. Stomped it out.

Then stepped into his space, nose inches from his. “Let me make something clear, Private. This isn’t a schoolyard. This isn’t a gentleman’s club. This is war. And if you’re too precious to follow orders, you’re a liability to every man standing next to you.”

Langston swallowed.

“I see you disrespect protocol again. hell, if I see you breathe out of turn, you’ll be off this field so fast, your feet won’t know which way’s forward.”

A tense silence stretched.

Then, finally, “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. Now run. Full course. Twice.”

Langston took off, boots pounding dirt, red-faced and winded within seconds.

Delilah turned back to the rest of the men. “Anyone else need a reminder of what happens when you take this job lightly?”

No one spoke.

She nodded once. “Then get moving.”

The rest of the day passed beneath the weight of discipline. Muscles burned, tempers flared, egos shattered. But no one dared step out of line again. When the sun finally dipped low, the sky bruised and bleeding just like her men, Delilah sat alone outside her cabin. Her elbows rested on her knees and her uniform unbuttoned at her throat, the silver locket sticking to her skin.

The base was quiet.

The letter sat unopened beside her again, though she’d already memorized every word.

He may not even realize how close he is.

She looked toward the horizon.

And then she looked away. 7 months have passed since Delilah saw Bucky, 7 months since he whispered sweet nothings into her ear, 7 months since he left her that locket. And if the soldier she dreamed of was out there somewhere, he’d stay a dream, unless fate decided otherwise.

[fabdomsfable]

Time After Time- Three

A/N: alright so I completely messed up and I posted chapter 4 before chapter 3… so here is the true chapter 3 and I re labeled chapter 4. I’m still trying to figure out how to properly use the website. I’m also playing with fonts so please tell me which one you prefer. If anyone could tell me how to link chapters on each post that would be amazing!! Now here is the true chapter 3.

Brooklyn, New York

1943

Delilah sat on the edge of the bed, the sheet pulled over her knees, staring at the hollow space beside her where Bucky had been. The indentation of his head still lingered on the pillow, the covers still warm with the ghost of him. She reached across the empty mattress, touching the space where his heart had beat steady beneath her hand just hours before.

She could still smell him, soap and starch and something uniquely him. The memory was too much.

Her throat tightened.

But she didn’t cry again. She’d done that already.

Bucky hadnt said goodbye, not reall. There was no final kiss, no last meaningful look, no parting promises. But the weight of the locket that she had already clasped behind her neck gutted her more than any tearfl farewell could have. Maybe it was better that way. It was easer to disappear before the morning came, to leave a piece of himself behind instead of breaking apart infront of her.

The soft heartbreak was still in her chest, blooming beneath her ribs like something half alive. But this ache? It was something she could tuck away, something she could carry. She would have to. Though she couldnt pretend that the thought of not hearing his voice, calling her “doll” in that rough, low way that could make her forget the daunting of war all together didnt hurt.

She rose quietly, slipping out of the sheets and padding barefoot to the kitchen. Her military dress uniform was already ironed and laid across the chair, the same olive green she’d worn the day they met.

Delilah crossed to the counter.

The small flower he’d tucked behind her ear, soft, pale white, sat in a short water glass near the window. Just beginning to wilt but still beautiful. She stared at it for a long moment, her fingers brushing the fragile petal.

It had been a soft, stolen promise, one neither of them could truly guarantee. But she’d meant it. Still did.

Delilah turned away before she could falter. She dressed quickly, buttoning her jacket with mechanical precision. Each snap and fasten became armor. Each tuck of fabric and smooth of her skirt a way to hide the softness she’d let herself feel. There was no room for vulnerability now. Not where she was going.

She swept her hair back into a tight roll, applied her soft pink lipstick slowly, carefully, like war paint. And then she looked around the apartment one last time.

The sofa still held the imprint of where they’d eaten dinner on the floor. The kitchen counter was dotted with remnants of their half-laughed-through cooking attempt. The hallway still echoed faintly with the sound of jazz and Bucky’s warm laughter. Her bags, already packed, waited obediently near the door.

Delilah stepped into her heeled boots.

She reached for the flower.

Carefully, she plucked it from the glass, pressing it between the folds of a small journal she slipped into her coat pocket. She wasn’t sentimental, not really, but this? This was hers.

This was theirs.

She stood in the middle of the apartment one last time and whispered to the silence, “Goodbye, Brooklyn.”

Then she picked up her bags and stepped outside, the morning air crisp against her cheeks. The city was still stirring, still waking. Taxis honked distantly, a baker shouted to someone across the street, and life continued, as if her heart hadn’t just broken quietly in the shape of a soldier’s goodbye.

As she moved down the sidewalk, the clack of her heels steady and firm, she didn’t look back.

But part of her always would.

The part of her that had fallen asleep to the sound of his voice, tangled in his arms.

The part of her still dreaming of the soldier who’d kissed her like she was something worth coming back for.

The train groaned against the tracks as it pulled away from the city, taking with it everything she had known.

Delilah sat alone near the back of the car, her uniform crisp, her gloves folded neatly in her lap. Outside the window, New York blurred into woods and farmland, but her mind was somewhere else entirely, trapped in a memory from the night before. The way Bucky had smiled against her lips, his thumb brushing her cheek like she was fragile, precious.

She could feel the shape of the locket resting beneath her collar now, cool and heavy against her skin.

A soldier walking past her seat paused.

“Beg your pardon, ma’am,” he said, tipping his cap awkwardly. “Didn’t expect to see a lady aboard, especially not one wearin’ captain’s pins.”

Delilah offered a soft smile. “You’ll find the world’s full of surprises, Private.”

He blushed and nodded before moving on.

She returned her gaze to the window, letting the rhythm of the train soothe her nerves. She hadn’t thought much about what it would be like being the only woman stationed there. She didn’t let herself. She was here to command, to train, to contribute. Not to be anyone’s sweetheart, not anymore.

But it didn’t stop the pang in her chest when she thought about how he would’ve reacted, how Bucky would’ve cracked a joke, maybe pulled her into his lap and said something like “Don’t let ‘em give you hell, Lila. But if they do, make sure they remember you give it right back.”

A smile ghosted across her lips. She could almost hear it in his voice.

By mid afternoon, the train came to a screeching halt at the edge of a barren, wind bitten military base. It stretched endlessly, a patchwork of grey barracks and dirt lots, loud with shouting drills and the constant thrum of engines being tested.

****

107th Infantry Regiment

1943

Delilah stepped off the platform, her boots crunching against gravel. All eyes turned to her. Men stopped mid-conversation. Some dropped their cigarettes. One sergeant audibly choked on his coffee.

She adjusted her cap. She would not falter.

A short, older man in a pressed uniform made his way toward her, clipboard in hand and uncertainty written across his face. “Commander Delilah Jackson?”

“That’s me.”

“You’re earlier than expected.” He glanced at her again, as if he expected her to change into someone else. “You’re the new training commander?”

“Unless you’ve got another woman in uniform comin’ through those gates, I’d say I’m it.”

He cleared his throat, cheeks tinged pink. “Right. Of course. This way, ma’am.”

Her personal quarters were tucked at the edge of the base, just past the line of mess tents and barracks. It was a modest cabin, one room, one bed, and a desk beneath a narrow window, but it was hers. A far cry from the city apartment she’d left behind, but quiet. Secluded.

The moment the door shut behind her, she exhaled for the first time all day.

She set her bags down and removed her gloves, surveying the space. No pictures. No clock. Just a lantern, a stack of blank orders, and the thrum of distant drills echoing through the base like a heartbeat.

Delilah changed into her base fatigues, pulled her dark hair into a practical roll, and clipped her name badge to her jacket, Commander Jackson.

Then she stepped outside.

The training field buzzed with movement, soldiers mid run, sparring matches breaking out across mats, instructors barking commands. But when Delilah entered the circle, silence rippled through the men like wind across tall grass.

A few exchanged glances.

One whistled, quickly elbowed by the man beside him.

Delilah arched a brow and crossed her arms. “Gentlemen,” she said, voice sharp and unshaken. “Is there a reason your jaws are hangin’ open?”

They scrambled back to attention.

A cocky voice piped up near the front. “Didn’t know the army started sendin’ pin up girls in fatigues.”

Without breaking stride, Delilah walked straight up to him and took the clipboard from the instructor’s hand. She skimmed the paper. “Private Mitchell,” she read. “Born 1921. Failed rifle inspection. Poor footwork. Reassigned three times.”

He blinked.

“I’ll make you a deal, Mitchell. You keep your mouth shut, and I won’t make you my personal pin up example for how not to throw a punch. Sound fair?”

Snickers rolled through the crowd. Mitchell straightened.

“Yes, ma’am.”

She turned to the rest of them, eyes like steel. “I may look different than what you’re used to, but I earned this rank the same way you did. Blood, sweat, and orders I didn’t always agree with. I’m not here to babysit or flirt, I’m here to make you better. And if any of you think for one second that I won’t go harder on you just because I wear lipstick, well, I look forward to proving you wrong.” Then she smiled, slow and confident.

“Drills start at 0600. Don’t be late.”

Delilah watched the group scatter like startled birds as the sun dipped lower on the horizon. Her boots kicked up dust as she turned back toward her cabin, wind catching the loose curls framing her face. Her body was tired, but her mind buzzed.

Tomorrow, the real work would begin.

She only hoped the weight in her chest didn’t follow her onto the field

When Delilah returned to the peace of her cabin, the sky was streaked with fading gold. She sat down at the edge of her bed, pulled off her boots, and let the silence settle around her like a blanket. She touched the locket at her throat.

Opening her journal, she turned to a fresh page and began to write. Not about him, or what she lost. But about who she would become. Tomorrow, she would finally lead, something that used to be a mere dream. So tonight, she would tuck the thoughts of James Barnes aside in her mind, and tomorrow she would begin again.

****

By the time the sun cracked open the sky, Delilah was already on the field.Her boots sank slightly into the morning dew as she walked across the training yard, clipboard in hand, coffee in the other. The cold stung her cheeks, but she welcomed it. It burned away the softness.

The softness had no place here.

She looked down at her clipboard. Forty-five men under her charge, ranging in rank, experience, and attitude. She had memorized every name before she went to sleep the night before. She wasn’t going to be caught unaware, not in this uniform.

The soldiers filed in slowly, sluggish and murmuring.

She checked her wristwatch. 05:58.

“Two minutes, gentlemen,” she called without looking up. “Unless you’d prefer I make the entire squad run laps for the sins of your snoring bunkmates.”

That earned some hurried footsteps and a string of quiet curses.

At precisely 06:00, Delilah tucked the clipboard under her arm and stepped forward.

“Alright, boys,” she said coolly. “Welcome to your first day under my command. For those of you still recovering from the shock of having a woman tell you what to do, don’t worry. The world will keep turning.”

A few chuckled. Some stared her down.

“I’ve seen combat. I’ve seen men cry. And I’ve seen what happens when people get too soft to do what has to be done. Out here, I’m not your mother, I’m not your girl, and I’m certainly not here to make your day easier. I’m here to make sure that when you hit the front lines, you live long enough to come back.” She paced slowly as she spoke, her voice even and strong.

“You will run farther than you think you can. You will shoot straighter than you ever have. And by the time I’m through with you, you’ll thank me for it, even if it's while you're cursing my name from the trenches. Understood?”

A hesitant chorus of “Yes, ma’am” followed.

She stopped in front of Private Mitchell, the same one who mouthed off the day before. “Louder, Private. Or are your lungs as weak as your footwork?”

“Yes, ma’am!”

“Better. Let’s begin.”

****

Delilah ran them until their legs gave out.

She barked orders like it was second nature, her voice slicing through the morning air as she corrected posture, grip, breathing. She moved among them like a storm, fast and unrelenting, her hair tied back tight beneath her cap, her expression unshakable. When one of the younger privates fell behind on their third lap around the perimeter, gasping for air, the others slowed.

Delilah didn’t.

“Don’t pity him,” she snapped. “Push him. This isn’t a picnic. You slow down out there in the field, you die. And so does the man next to you.”

She jogged up beside the wheezing boy, her pace steady. “What’s your name?”

“P-Private Rowe, ma’am.”

“How old are you, Rowe?”

“Eighteen.”

She nodded. “Old enough to sign your life away, but still young enough to believe luck will save you.”

He coughed a laugh.

She slowed only a fraction. “Keep up, Private. I’ll be damned if I let you be the first kid to die under my watch.”

By midday, most of the men looked ready to collapse. Shirts soaked, boots caked in dust, egos bruised.

But Delilah? She hadn’t broken a sweat.

She stood at the front of the group, arms crossed, chin tilted.

“I’d offer you tea,” she said, “but I don’t want to encourage weakness.”

A ripple of laughter followed, a tired, grudging respect beginning to take root.

Even Mitchell muttered a barely audible “She’s tougher than she looks.”

Delilah turned to the side and hid her smile. Progress.

That evening, back in her cabin, Delilah peeled off her boots and let her body sink into the small cot with a sigh.

Her muscles ached but she welcomed the burn. It meant she was still here.

Tomorrow would be harder.

And she had every intention of making sure the men under her command kept up.

****

End Chapter Three

A/n: alright! So that’s the true chapter 3, I’m so sorry I completely messed that up, I hope this makes more sense!

[fabdomsfable]

Time After Time- Four

****

Chapter 3

107th Infantry Regiment,

1943

Delilah stood in the middle of the firing range, sleeves rolled up and arms crossed as she watched the squad line up for target practice. A hot wind kicked up the dry dirt around their feet, scattering it across her polished boots. The air was thick with dust and sweat, and the sun beat down unforgivingly on the backs of their necks, but there were still things that needed to get done, men that needed to be shaped.

“Three shots. Make them count,” she instructed, her voice sharp and steady, used to being obeyed.

A bullet cracked through the air. Then another. And another.

She moved between the lines of men, her sharp grey eyes scanning their forms like a hawk assessing prey. She offered small corrections, an elbow adjusted here, a stance shifted there. Her hands were sure, each movement more precise than the last. Each adjustment came with a quiet authority that left no room for argument.

She paused behind Corporal Dempsey, a stocky man with a buzzed head and a chip on his shoulder. His grouping was erratic, wide.

“Corporal,” she said calmly, “if you keep aimining like that, the only thing that you’ll hit is your own damn foot”

He didnt even look at her. “Maybe I’d shoot straighter if I weren't bein’ trained by some lipstick wearing princess.”

Delilah blinked once. The stillness that followed was more dangerous than any outburst could have been. Slowly, she stepped forward and plucked the rifle from his hands. “That's so, hm?”

Dempsey said nothing, though the smug look on his lips was enough for Lila to snap. She gave the rifle a once over, checked the sights, loaded it, then raised it to her shoulder.

Three shots rang out, crisp. Controlled. Three perfect hits, each one embedded directly on center mass.

Delilah let the silence stretch, she could feel the eyes of her squad on her, the shift of respect settling like the dust around them. Casually, she lowered the rifle and handed it back to a now wide mouthed Corporal. “Maybe you’d shoot straighter if you weren’t so busy compensating for what's clearly a very fragile ego.”

A few of the men coughed back laughter, and even Mitchell smiled. She stepped closer to Dempsey, voice low and steady. “You wish to test me, Corporal? You will lose. I’ve buried men with more guts than you’ll ever have. So, unless you’re eager to dig yourself an early grave, it would be wise to fall in line.”

Dempsey didn't respond. He didn't have to, his silence was submission in itself.

“Good,” She said, turning on her heel, satisfied by the way he tried to avoid her gaze. “Now, let us try this again. This time, aim like you want to survive.”

By the time the sun dipped low and the shadows stretched long across the range, Delilah was exhausted. Dust clung to her collar, sweat tickled down her spine, and her fingers throbbed from too many rounds of reloading. She was the last to leave the range, staying back to run her hand across the stacked crates of ammunition, letting the silence fall around her like armor.

Lila knew she stood out. The only woman on base, and one who demanded not just respect, but excellence. Pressure was constant, it pressed on her chest like a second skin now. Every stare, every doubt, every sneer veiled behind protocol, they were battles of their own. But she didn't bend,d and she would never break. She had earned her place, inch by bloodied inch. Every scar, every bruise, every ounce of strength had been tested and hardened in the crucible of expectation.

And if she had to outshoot, outpace, and outlast every last one of them, she would.

She wasn’t just here to survive. She was here to lead.

When she finally returned to her cabin, the air felt heavier, still thick with the scent of dust, with a faint scent of lavender from the soap she rationed cautiously. Her bed was neatly made, her belongings around her arranged with only the type of precision the military could provide. But she found a letter waiting on her bedroll, cream colored and pressed neatly with Peggy’s unmistakable cursive on the front.

Delilah smiled as she carefully opened the envelope.

Dearest Lila,

It has been but a fortnight since I left, but it feels like a year. I think of you often, commanding that base with your boot to the throats of your poor soldiers.

London changed. Your absence echoes louder than I imagined, the barracks are much quieter without your humming. Or your snoring.

Delilah snorted and leaned back against her desk, her shoulders finally relaxing as she kept reading.

Now for the gossip I know you’re desperate for. Your soldier, Barnes, is doing well. I ran into him once, he was stationed here a few days before he was shipped out again. Still as charming as ever, he asked about you.

Her fingers stilled on the page, heart thrumming in her chest.

He’s keeping an eye on a friend of his, a little fellow named Steve Rogers. Sickly as can be but determined as hell. The boy lied on every form you can imagine just to get into the army. Somehow, whether by madman or miracle, he made it in. I watched him march out like he owned the world. Bucky seems to believe in him something fierce, though, so I must as well. There's something special in that one. My bet? He will surprise us all.

Write back when you can, the boys and I miss your sass, but I might miss your face more.

Always, Peg

Delilah folded the letter slowly, staring out the small window of her cabin as the sun dipped below the trees. A half smile ghosted on her lips. Steve Rogers, Buckys small friend. She could already picture him, scrappy, stubborn, standing up when no one else would. And if both Peggy and Bucky believed in him, well, he must have steel under his skin.

She took a seat at her desk and pulled out a pen, ink blotting the first stroke as she began to write.

My dearest Peggy,

Tell that stubborn runt I admire his ambition, and if he’s half the soldier you say he is, I’ll be seeing him soon enough. There’s not much I trust in this war, but if he’s got James Barnes in his corner, then he’s already stronger than most.

Things here are as you’d expect. Gruff boys, sore feet, endless dust. Dempsey finally shut his mouth after I outshot him at 60 yards. The silence was beautiful.

I miss you. The cot is colder. The rations are bland without you complaining about them. And as for James.

She paused.

Well. I think of him, too.

With love, always, Lila

She set the letter aside, but her hand lingered on the paper. The ink hadn’t even dried, but already she felt the ache beneath her ribs curling in again. It wasn't just the silence that haunted her cabin at night. It was the memory of his voice, the curve of his smile, the way his fingers had brushed against hers like a promise he couldn’t quite make.

He hadn't written.

Not once.

She told herself she understood. War didn’t often leave room for tenderness. Perhaps there was no time, or maybe no words. But still, the absence stung deeper than she would care to admit.

Had he forgotten her? Or maybe he buried her memory like a battlefield casualty?

Sometimes she caught herself staring at the edges of her bunk, half expecting a letter to appear as if conjured by thought alone. But it never came.

Delilah moved to the window, resting her forehead against the cool glass. The moon hung low above the trees, casting pale light across the training yard. Somewhere beyond that horizon, he was out there. Maybe thinking of her. Maybe not.

She touched the locket at her neck.

No letter could reach the weight of what they left unsaid.

Later that night, long after lights out, Delilah found herself sitting at the edge of her cot, legs tucked beneath her, letter open in her lap again. She read Peggy’s words slowly this time, like they might reveal something new, some secret message tucked between the lines.

Her fingers brushed the ink. Her heart ached.

With a deep breath, she stepped away from the window and stripped off her fatigues, folding them neatly over the chair. Sleep came slowly, and not without effort. But when it finally did, it came with the memory of Bucky's arms around her and the hope that somewhere, beneath the same moonlight, he might remember, too.

[fabdomsfable]

Time After Time- Two

****

Chapter 2

107th Infantry Regiment,

1943

They walked the quiet streets of Brooklyn together, swinging their clasped hands between them like teenagers, their steps slow, unhurried. Every so often, Bucky would pull her a little closer, brush his thumb across her knuckles, or whisper something that made her laugh too loud for the hour.

“You’re doing it again,” she teased.

“What?”

“That thing. Looking at me like you’ve already written my name in your little black book.”

“Sweetheart,” he drawled, “you’re not in it. You are it.”

Delilah groaned, rolling her eyes as she elbowed him lightly. “If you weren’t so damn handsome, that line might’ve been unforgivable.”

When they finally reached her apartment, Delilah unlocked the door and let them inside. The place already looked emptier without Peggy, two cups instead of four, fewer shoes by the door, the echo of a farewell in the quiet.

Delilah’s own bags sat neatly packed by the entryway, already braced for deployment.

But tonight, she didn’t want to think about that.

“Stay a while, soldier,” she said over her shoulder, kicking off her shoes and padding into the kitchen.

Bucky leaned in the doorway, watching her curiously as she rummaged through the cupboards, finding a few eggs, some bread, and half a tomato. “Gonna cook for me, Commander?”

“With what’s left, don’t expect miracles,” she said, opening the icebox with a skeptical hum. “But I think I can manage a midnight breakfast.”

She flicked on the radio. A low, warm melody drifted through the space, wrapping them in the comfort of jazz and soft brass.

Bucky leaned in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed as he watched Delilah rummage through the sparse cupboards. The tips of her ears were still pink from the cold, her dark curls a little messy from their walk.

She looked beautiful.

“You cook too?” he asked, watching her line up a few basic ingredients. “Is there anything you can’t do?”

“Well,” she muttered, pulling out a skillet, “Peggy says I’ve got a short temper, I’m terrible at folding laundry, and I have an irrational hatred of elevators. Take your pick.”

He chuckled, stepping forward to lean against the counter beside her. “I like you irrational.”

She shot him a look over her shoulder. “I’m sure you do, Barnes. It seems to benefit you.”

“James,” he corrected gently. “Call me James tonight.”

Delilah’s hands paused briefly. She looked up at him, really looked at him, and gave a small nod trying to stop the blush that was creeping across her cheeks.

“Alright, James.”

Something about the way she said it made the space between them shrink.

He crossed to her in two easy steps, catching her waist with a smirk. “Dance with me again, Lila.”

She laughed as he placed his hands on her waist, the spatula still in her hand. “You’re insatiable.”

“You’re irresistible.”

Before she could protest, he took the spatula from her hand and spun her around, catching her waist once more, letting the warmth of the moment wrap around them. The skillet hissed behind them, forgotten for just a second as he pulled her close.

“Careful,” she whispered, “I burn easy.”

“I’ll be gentle,” he teased. “Scout’s honor.”

“I highly doubt you were ever a scout.”

“You wound me, Lila.”

The eggs burned slightly, and they both pretended not to notice.

Later, they ate on the living room floor, legs tangled, plates balanced precariously, and cheeks sore from smiling. When the dishes were set aside, and the music played soft and low, Delilah rose to her feet and held out her hand.

“Come on,” she said. “One more dance.”

“I would’ve taken you dancing a long time ago,” He stood, taking her hand he pulled her flush against him, his fingers pressing into the curve of her back. “Had I known you’d want to be this close to me as often”

Pink crept across Delilah’s freckled cheeks, “Who knows when we’ll get the chance again”

This dance was slower now. Softer. A quiet rhythm swaying between them.

Delilah tilted her face up to his, breath brushing against his cheek.

“It’s all changing tomorrow isn’t it?”

He nodded, eyes heavy with something deeper. “I leave at dawn. Camp first. Then overseas.” His voice dropped. “I’m leaving my ma and Becky behind. My little sister, she doesn’t really get it yet. Thinks I’m off on some big adventure.”

Delilah’s heart clenched.

“You’ll do right by her”

He nodded wordlessly, eyes not quite meeting hersz “And you?” he asked. “When do you ship out?”

“Tomorrow as well,” she whispered. “And then who knows.”

She rested her head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. “I don’t know what I expected tonight,” she admitted. “But it wasn’t this.”

“What was it, then?” he murmured.

“I thought it would be something forgettable,” she said honestly. “Something easy. But you,” she looked up at him through her lashes “you make me feel like I’ve lived a whole life in just one night.”

He didn’t speak right away. Instead, he leaned in and kissed her, slowly, reverently.

Then she slipped her hand into his and led him quietly down the hallway, bucky trailed behind her allowing him to pull him along. Her bedroom was tidy, neat, but there were signs of her everywhere. Books stacked by the bed, a photograph of her and Peggy on the dresser, half a scarf still unfinished at the windowsill.

The bedroom door closed behind them with a soft click.

Lila turned, her back against the wood, her fingers sliding over the buttons of her dress with a nervous smile. “You gonna help me, soldier?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” Bucky breathed.

What followed was soft, hungry, heated. The war could take everything from them but not this. Not tonight.

Their lips collided again and again as hands explored, touched, memorized. Her breath hitched when he whispered her name like a vow, Lila, as if saying it might keep her with him. She whispered his in return, James, like a promise she didn’t know how to keep.

The night was thick with wanting, with fear, with the sharp ache of everything unspoken. And when they finally lay together in the tangled sheets, bodies warm, skin slick with shared breath and hope, they held each other as if the sunrise might never come.

And when their bodies tangled together in bed, the laughter gave way to quiet desperation touches that lingered too long, mouths that clung like they feared the sunrise. They held each other as if they could slow time with the weight of their bodies, as if the war might wait for them.

Bucky’s fingers threaded gently through her hair, his voice low and steady.“This is the best way to spend my last days,” he said. “With you.”

She didn’t correct him. Didn’t tell him he had too many days left for that kind of talk. Instead, she kissed the hollow of his throat and held on tighter.

And eventually, they both drifted off to sleep wrapped in blankets and skin, the steady heartbeat of Buckys heart strong beneath her ear.

****

The morning light poured into the apartment like it had every other day but everything was different now.

She knew what they had was not meant to see the light.

The bed was too big, the silence too loud. Her hand reached instinctively for him, only to find cool sheets and a note where his head had rested.

Her heart squeezed.

She sat up slowly, dread curling in her chest. Her eyes landed on the velvet box.

Fingers trembling, she opened it.

Inside, a delicate heart locket glinted in the light silver and simple, and so perfectly her it hurt.

She unfolded the small note scribbled in his familiar and slanted handwriting.

My Sweet Lila,

Don’t forget me, doll. I carry your heart with me, always.

Your soldier, James

Her eyes stung, and she pressed her lips together, willing herself not to cry. But she couldn’t stop the tears. Not today.

With a quiet sniff, she folded the note once, then again, then again, until it was no bigger than a thumbnail. She slipped it inside the locket and clasped it around her neck, her fingers pressing the tiny heart to her chest.

And then she whispered, to the empty room,“I could never forget you, James.”

And she knew it was true.

****

End Chapter Two.

A/N: hope you all enjoyed this last one!

[fabdomsfable]

Time After Time- Chapter One

Hi bugs! Thunderbolts has re sparked my Bucky Barnes writing obsession so I finally got it together and finished one of my favorite stories I’ve started. This is an original story between Bucky and my OC Delilah Jackson. This book will take you through each phase of Bucky Barnes, starting with the sweet puppy love of the 40’s. I would love feedback and comments, I truly hope you like this one as much as I do! I’ll be posting chapters after another hopefully!

Warnings: nothing in this chapter, just fluff and introductions.

****

Chapter One

Brooklyn, New York

1943

The humid summer air clung to the windows of the modest apartment nestled above a bakery on Carlton Avenue. The distant murmur of car horns and jazz records spilled in from the open windows, drifting through the lavender scented air of a bedroom filled with soft chatter and the rustle of fabric. Delilah Jackson stood in front of a narrow vanity, her delicate fingers working a pearl pin into her thick cascade of light brown curls. She stood before the mirror smoothing out the skirt of her uniform dress. It fit a little too snug around the hips, but she liked the way it made her feel powerful, ready, like she could take on the world and maybe win.

“You’ll knock him dead,” came the voice from the doorway.

Delilah turned, lips parting into a smile. “You think?”

Peggy Carter leaned against the frame, arms folded, her freshly ironed skirt sharp as a blade. Her dark eyes sparkled with knowing amusement. “Oh please, you’ve had that poor soldier stumbling over his own feet since the market. What was his name again? Barnes?”

“James,” Delilah said with a coy smile, brushing a freckled finger across her pink lips. “Sergeant James Barnes, if we’re being formal”

For a moment, the noise from the city below filled the space between them the soft honk of a horn, the faint shout of someone selling evening papers.

“I think I’m sweet on him,” she said at last, fingers toying with the hem of her glove.

Peggy blinked, caught off guard by the softness in her voice. “You’re just realizing this?”

Delilah nodded.

“I thought he was just another pretty face,” Peggy teased gently, though her tone turned curious.

“What happened to 'soldiers are trouble and I like my men employed in libraries’?”

“I never said libraries,” Delilah muttered. “And besides, this one’s different.”

Peggy tilted her head, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “You’ve seen him twice.”

“Three times.”

“Three?” Peggy’s eyes lit with delight. “Oh, do tell.”

Delilah tried to appear unbothered but gave in to a smile as she leaned back on her palms. “He’s charming. Cocksure. Smiles like he’s got the world in his pocket, but every now and then he says something, something honest. And it throws me off my balance.”

“Dangerous.”

“He told me I laugh like I’m not afraid of anything.” She paused, voice dropping. “I’m afraid of everything.”

Peggy softened. “He sees the real you, then.”

Delilah gave a small, self deprecating laugh. “Well, he’s a fool, but he’s sweet.”

“You deserve someone sweet,” Peggy said, gently touching her hand.

Delilah slipped on the gloves, her voice lilting with the remains of her British accent, now dulled by months of Brooklyn life. “Besides, it’s our last night of freedom. Tomorrow we become proper cogs in the war machine.”

Peggy’s smile faltered, just for a breath. “You sure you’re ready for this? The 107th isn’t exactly handing out tea and biscuits.”

“I didn’t fight my way through training to back out now.” Delilah’s voice softened. “We belong there, Peg. Both of us.”

“I know.” Peggy reached forward, adjusting the collar of her friend’s dress uniform jacket. “Just be careful.”

Delilah nodded. “You too. You’re leaving before dawn, aren’t you?”

“Yes. Science and research division. I’ll be in London before the week’s out.”

“And you’ll be in the thick of it. In real danger.”

“So will you.”

Delilah swallowed. “Do you think we’ll still be us? After everything?”

Peggy took a breath. “I think war changes everything, lilah. It chews people up and spits them out. But the real ones? They find each other again. Even if we’re bruised and broken.”

Delilah nodded slowly, blinking away the moisture gathering in her eyes. “Don’t die.”

Peggy reached forward, pulling her into a fierce hug. “Only if you don’t.”

They held on longer than either would admit, clinging not just to each other but to a version of themselves untouched by death, untouched by war.

Eventually, Delilah pulled back, brushing under her eyes with a glove. “Right. No more tears. I’m meant to be devastatingly glamorous tonight.”

Peggy sniffed and smiled. “You’re intolerable.”

“Thank you, darling.”

****

The streets of Brooklyn hummed with the kind of warmth that made even the dark feel golden. Delilah walked alone beneath the gaslight lamps, their soft glow flickering against her curls like tiny flames. Her heels clicked along the pavement in a measured rhythm, steady and confident, even as her heart knocked wildly beneath her ribs.

She wrapped her shawl a little tighter around her shoulders as the breeze picked up, carrying with it the distant buzz of excitement from the Stark Expo up ahead. The war may have loomed like a cloud above them all, but for tonight, it felt like the city was trying to remember how to live, one last time.

Delilah’s mind wandered as she walked past the rows of brownstones, past the families spilling out of diners, past the headlines blaring from newsboys on every corner. It drifted to him.

Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes.

The soldier with a grin too smug for his own good and a way of leaning in that made you forget your own name. The first time she met him, he’d tipped his hat and called her "sweetheart’" with all the charm of a man who knew he had no right being that pretty. She had raised a brow and told him if he ever called her that again, she’d break his nose. He’d laughed. She hadn’t meant to laugh with him, but she had.

They’d run into each other again the next week. Then again. And again. Like clockwork. Like fate. They weren’t exclusive she reminded herself of that. They had both been clear, war was coming. Time was limited. No promises. No attachments.

But it hadn’t stopped him from bringing her flowers that one afternoon. Or for spending $3 trying to win her a bear at Coney Island. Or from pressing a kiss to the back of her hand before walking her home. Or from looking at her like she was a moment he wanted to memorize.

She turned the corner and stepped into the flood of light that marked the entrance of the Stark Expo. Towering banners fluttered above her bright reds and golds announcing the future of America’s defense. The crowd was thick and humming with energy, couples milling between food stands and booths promising flying cars and mechanical wonders.

Delilah paused for a moment just inside the gate, scanning the crowd.

And then she saw him.

Bucky stood a few feet away, dressed in his pressed uniform, the fabric hugging him in all the right places. He was standing with Steve, sweet, nervous Steve and two women, both clearly dolled up for the evening.

One clung to Steve’s arm, giggling too loudly, while the other leaned close to Bucky, who politely smiled but didn’t seem to be paying her much mind.

Delilah tilted her head.

Bucky had set this up for Steve no doubt to get his pal to loosen up and talk to a girl for once but judging by the way Bucky kept glancing around, he was looking for someone else.

Looking for her.

She slipped behind a nearby booth, keeping her distance, not entirely sure why. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was something darker, something self-protective.

The women leaned in closer to each other, speaking in hushed tones that still reached Delilah’s ears.

“He’s handsome,” one of them said. “But the smaller one, Steve? He barely said a word. And Bucky, he’s sweet, sure, but distracted.”

“He kept looking around like he was waiting on someone else,” the other replied, pouting. “Not exactly how a girl likes to feel on a date.”

“Let’s ditch ‘em,” the first girl whispered with a laugh. “Find a couple fellas who do want to be here.”

Delilah watched as the two women made a beeline for the exit, not even bothering to say goodbye.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Bucky and Steve duck into a nearby tent the recruitment center, she realized, with a slight smile. Bucky probably was trying to talk him out of signing up for the fifth time this month.

When they stepped back out, the spot where the girls had been was now conspicuously empty.

Delilah saw her chance.

She stepped smoothly into place, leaning against the lamppost with a sly smirk, arms folded, one brow arched.

“Your dates seem to have left you, soldier.”

Bucky turned and his face lit up like the Fourth of July.

“Doll,” he breathed, that Brooklyn rasp curling around the word. “I was only ever waiting for you.”

He crossed the space in two easy strides, offering his arm with a dramatic flourish. Delilah slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow, her gloved fingers brushing the sharp line of his jacket sleeve.

“You’re lucky I don’t believe in fate,” she teased.

“Good,” Bucky grinned. “Because I’ve got plans to make you believe in a few things tonight.”

They began walking through the expo, weaving between bright lights and children with sticky cotton candy fingers. At one booth, Bucky stopped to swipe a pair of red candied apples, handing one to her like it was a rare treasure.

“So,” Delilah asked, taking a careful bite. “What exactly do you have planned for me tonight, Sarge?”

Bucky chuckled. “That depends. Ever been to the Avalon Club?”

“The one with all the swing dancing?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“The very one. Don’t worry, British girls might know how to waltz” He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “But by the end of tonight, I’m gonna make you fall in love with swing.”

Delilah laughed, truly and freely, the sound rising into the warm Brooklyn air.

And with her arm in his, beneath the stars and searchlights of a city trying to forget the war, she let herself forget it too.

Just for tonight.

Outside the Avalon Club, the air was thick with the pulsing echo of jazz slipping through the walls trumpets blaring, laughter bubbling, the distant thud of feet hitting polished wood. It was alive, this place. Even from the sidewalk, it breathed celebration.

But for a moment, everything stilled.

Bucky paused just before they reached the door, tugging gently on Delilah’s hand to stop her steps. She turned to face him, the amber light from the club’s marquee catching in her grey-blue eyes. The way she looked at him expectant, curious, calm, stole the breath right from his chest.

He reached into his jacket pocket, pulling something out carefully wrapped in a handkerchief. When he unfolded it, Delilah gasped softly.

It was a single white gardenia, fresh and delicate, its petals perfect despite the walk. He stepped forward, brushing a few curls behind her ear with the gentleness of a man who’d seen too much war to ever take softness for granted.

“I passed a flower cart on the way to the expo,” he said quietly, his voice barely heard above the music. “Thought of you. ‘Course, I always do.”

Delilah’s throat tightened, something tender flickering in her chest. “You’re not supposed to be this sweet, Sergeant Barnes. It’s terribly inconvenient.”

He grinned, tucking the flower gently into her hair. “Yeah, well, inconvenient’s kind of my specialty.”

They stood there a second longer, a silent promise in the air between them one neither of them dared to say aloud. Then Bucky offered her his arm once more.

“Ready to be swept off your feet, Commander?”

“I was born ready,” she replied, chin tilted, eyes sparkling.

Inside, the club roared to life.

The Avalon was smoke and glamour, a haze of perfume and bourbon and the kind of music that wrapped around your soul. Couples twirled and dipped across the dance floor, dressed to the nines in post war dreams. A live band played up on the stage, brass and strings singing in perfect harmony. Lights spun in gold and red over the crowd.

But the moment Bucky stepped through the door, the place seemed to brighten.

“Hey, Barnes!” someone called from across the room.

“Bucky, you owe me five bucks!” another laughed.

Bucky raised a hand, grinning as if this were his kingdom. He knew everyone. He greeted the bartender by name, teased a group of young soldiers at a corner booth, kissed the cheek of a waitress who smacked his shoulder in response.

Then a voice rang out from the bar. “Hey, Barnes! That the dame you been runnin’ your mouth about?”

An older man in suspenders who was clearly the owner, grinned at Bucky, wiping down a glass with a rag. His eyes landed on Delilah and widened with appreciation.

Delilah flushed under the sudden attention, though she stood a little straighter.

Bucky laughed, pulling her close and puffing his chest dramatically. “Sure is. Gentlemen, meet Delilah Jackson, Brooklyn’s heartbreaker and the only gal who’s ever made me nervous.”

“I don’t believe that for a second,” Delilah muttered under her breath.

Bucky leaned in. “That’s ‘cause you don’t know what you do to me, doll.”

He helped her out of her coat, revealing the dress she’d hidden underneath, a deep, midnight blue swing dress with capped sleeves and a twirling skirt that cinched perfectly at her waist.

Bucky stilled.

His eyes dragged over her like a prayer. “That’s my favorite color,” he said, almost in awe.

“I know,” Delilah replied, smoothing the skirt and avoiding his gaze. “You mentioned it once.” He didn’t say anything, just stared for a beat longer before offering his hand again.

“Come on. Let me show you how Brooklyn boys dance.” She let him lead her out onto the floor, heart fluttering wildly.

The music shifted to a high-energy swing, and Bucky wasted no time. He spun her once into his arms, then again, guiding her through the steps with firm, confident hands. He was all rhythm and charm, moving like the music was part of him. Delilah stumbled at first, laughing breathlessly but it didn’t take long for her to fall into step.

Her body knew how to move. She’d trained for grace and discipline, but this was different. This was freedom. Bucky moved around her, hands on her waist, her back, guiding her into lifts and turns as the music soared.

Soon, eyes began to turn. Conversations paused. Even the waitstaff stopped.

The floor cleared.

But Delilah didn’t notice.

Her world had narrowed to one thing, him.

And Bucky, well he only saw her.

The spin of her dress. The flower in her hair. The sound of her laughter as he dipped her low and caught her before she could fall. They danced like they were writing their own melody. Like the world outside didn’t exist. Like time had slowed just for them.

And maybe, just for tonight, it had.

When the song ended, the crowd burst into cheers, but Bucky kept his eyes on Delilah, catching her breathless smile as he cradled her in the final dip.

“See?” he murmured. “Told you I’d make you love swing.”

Delilah stared up at him, chest rising and falling, lips parted slightly.“I might just fall in love with you instead.”

Bucky’s smile faltered for half a second. Not because he didn’t like what he heard, but because he did.

And it scared the hell out of him.

The final notes of the song faded, but the applause did not.

A rush of clapping, whistling, and a few hollered cheers echoed around the dance floor as Bucky lifted Delilah out of the final dip and set her gently on her feet.

Delilah blinked, breathless, her cheeks flushed pink from exertion and the overwhelming realization that they'd drawn a crowd. She glanced around, embarrassed, tucking a curl behind her ear as she tried to stifle a laugh.

“Oh, dear,” she murmured, shrinking just slightly into Bucky’s side. “We’ve gone and made a scene.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Bucky beamed, slipping an arm around her waist and guiding her off the floor with that cocky swing in his step, nodding graciously to the crowd like a showman leaving the stage.

“I warned you,” he teased. “Brooklyn boys are dangerous on the dance floor.”

Delilah gave him a look, half exasperated, half enamored. “You didn’t tell me you were part magician.”

“Well,” he said, winking, “there’s a lot you don’t know about me, doll.”

She bit her lip as they crossed the edge of the room, weaving past tables and lingering stares. The warm flush of the club, the smoke, the brass, the sweat and joy, wrapped around them like velvet. But it was a bit too much all at once. The beat of her heart needed air.

Bucky must’ve sensed it too.

“Come on,” he said, dipping his head close to hers. “Let’s get outta the noise for a minute.”

He led her through a side door that opened to a narrow stone balcony. The cold night air rushed up to greet them, biting at her bare arms and lifting Bucky’s dark hair slightly.

Beyond the railing, Brooklyn stretched wide and golden, the skyline glittering like a promise.

Delilah leaned against the rail, arms folded, the cool iron steady beneath her fingertips. Her breath formed clouds in the night, and for a second, she just let it be quiet.

“You’re incredible out there,” Bucky said softly behind her, his voice gentler now, stripped of its usual bravado. “I mean, I already knew you were brilliant with a rifle and terrifying with a clipboard, but god you light up when you dance. Like a spark.”

Delilah turned her head, startled by the sincerity in his tone. He stood there, hands in his coat pockets, not quite looking at her.

“You’re not too bad yourself,” she said, the teasing still in her voice, but softer now. “How many girls have you taken here to charm the boots off of?”

Bucky chuckled, a bit sheepish. “Only the ones that matter.”

She tilted her head. “And how many is that?”

His eyes finally met hers. “Just you.”

There was no smirk this time. No line. Just a truth that left her breathless again for a different reason. The night felt suspended, like the city itself was waiting.

Delilah looked away first, suddenly nervous. She brushed her hair behind her ear, her fingers grazing the gardenia Bucky had given her.

“This was supposed to be a silly fling,” she said after a moment. “A wartime dalliance. That’s what we agreed, isn’t it?”

Bucky stepped closer, his body a whisper away from hers, his breath warm at her temple. “Yeah,” he said. “That’s what we said.”

Her eyes lifted to his, wide and searching. “But it doesn’t feel that way anymore, does it?”

Bucky’s gaze was intense, unreadable for a beat. And then he softened, hand rising to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing lightly across her freckles.

“No,” he admitted. “It doesn’t.”

They stood like that for a long moment, the sound of music and laughter muffled behind them, as if the rest of the world had gently faded away.

Delilah’s heart beat in her throat.

“Come home with me,” she whispered. “Just for tonight. Before we both, well, before everything changes.” The worlds spilled out of her mouth before she could stop them, before she lost courage.

Bucky didn’t answer with words.

He just kissed her.

A slow, tender thing, with no crowd, no show, no swing band to carry them. Just them.

When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against hers and murmured, “Lead the way, Commander.”

The kiss stole the air right out of Delilah’s lungs.

She was left blinking up at him, lips parted in wonder. Her fingers lightly brushed the lapel of his coat, as if trying to anchor herself to the moment, to tell her this was really happening.

Bucky gave a boyish grin that somehow made her feel like a giggling schoolgirl, warm and giddy in a way she hadn’t felt in ages. Not through boot camp, not through strategy briefings or long nights on mission reports, definitely never like this.

“Still think this is just a silly little wartime fling?” he murmured.

“I think I’m in serious trouble,” she whispered back, breathless.

He laughed, soft and genuine as he turned to grab her coat from the hook by the balcony door.

“Come on, Lila,” he said, using the nickname like he’d always known it. “Let’s get you home before some poor soul falls in love with you on the street.”

She rolled her eyes but smiled, slipping into her coat and letting him take her hand.

****

End chapter one.

[fabdomsfable]

The Mark of a Star

oops its been a while, I finally have the Calina Romanoff and Bucky story done and finished. Let me know how this first chapter goes over, lots of love- Celeste

The Red Room didn't just train Calina, they ruthlessly conditioned her until she became something inhuman. She was a contingency plan. A fail safe. Leverage, in case her older sister Natasha ever defected. They shaped her into, not just a perfect assassin, but a tactical killer with pure lethality and no remorse. Calina was chemically altered to thrive in chaos, embracing a lifestyle of bloodshed. The young widow learned to embrace the pain inflicted on her by her captors and turn it into strength, after all she wasn't just a widow, but a perfect weapon, showing remarkable breakthroughs for biological warfare. But the Red Room wasn't entirely successful, for after the haze from the psychological conditioning subsided, there was always a flicker of humanity left in Calina Romanova, small fragments of the woman she used to be. But after a failed mission, they were determined to break her once and for all.

Chapter One: The Order (Intro)

Calina never saw the sun unless it was apart of a mission. She was kept underground in the sterile cold of the Red Rooms facility, always enduring another test, another challenge, another way to break the woman she once was.

Here she was reborn again as something more, something stronger, sharper, deadlier. Infact, they gave her her new name after death itself. The Reaper, they would call her. She wasn't just an assassin from the Red Room, but instead she became a force to be reckoned with, something of a ghost story.

Her purpose was solely to eliminate, erase, and to end.

She was taught to feel was a weakness, and to be weak was to fail.

And the Reaper never failed.

Until now.

***

Calina stood breathless as the fog in her brain began to fade, her vision slowly taking form as she awoke from her trance. Before her was yet another beaten Widow who lay motionless in front of her, her limbs angled in an odd position.

The Reaper had won.

Again. 

Slow clapping shook Calina from her head, Madame B stood at the edge of the training mat, her eyes shining brightly as she took in the casualty before her. “You are the weapon I’m most proud of” The elder woman approached the shaking girl before her, her hand reaching to wipe the blood from Calinas eyebrow. She flinched. “My beautiful Siren” Calina knew the woman wanted her to be filled with pride. Instead there was nothing. Just a blank expression as she watched as Madame B trailed her eyes over her figure, a faint smile tugging at her lips. 

“I have a special assignment for you, Siren. Someone who betrayed me, betrayed you, and all your sisters” A sinister smile pulled at her mouth “Kill Black Widow” 

A breath Calina didn't realize she was holding escaped her throat, a mangled noise making its way past her lips. 

“Are you afraid, Siren?” 

Calina looked down at her boots, shaking her head. “No” 

It was a lie. Despite their strained relationship, Calina knew that in some twisted way her older sister tried her best to protect her, or at least thought she was. The mission was her sister, her blood.

But sometimes lies were the only thing that kept you alive. 

*****

Calina lay flat on a rooftop, her sniper aimed perfectly at the window of a small apartment below, her eyes carefully waiting for her target to appear, waiting for her sister. Her fingers trembled as they hovered over the trigger, beads of sweat clinging to her temple. 

“Ready your fire” A static voice spoke through her ear piece  

The mission was clear, eliminate the deserter, Natasha Romanoff. Calina often carried out murderous missions, being ruthless with each blow. They chose her for this mission because she was simply the most skilled with no hesitation behind her actions. But this traitor wasn't just anyone, it was Natasha. 

Her breath caught as the older widow finally stepped into the scope of her sniper. It had been years since she saw her sister, years since she escaped the torture chamber they called home. Years since Calina was left to deal with the consequences of her betrayal. The Red Room attempted to use Calina as collateral, to lure the Black Widow back to the spider den. They tortured Calina relentlessly at the expense of her sister's defiance, but Natasha never looked back. They took this as their opportunity to turn Calina into the shell of a woman she had now become. But she was still her sister, the only one who attempted, even if failed, to protect Calina from the horrors of the Red Room. 

The city around her hummed with anticipation as Natasha sat herself down at her table, her back to the assassin, a mug clenched tightly in her scared hands, a lamp besides her illuminating her soft features. She had no idea there was a weapon trained on her, she was completely and utterly defenseless. 

Her earpiece sparked “Take your shot” this time the voice was sharp, more urgent. 

Calinas finger lightly traced the trigger, the butt of the gun pressed sharply into her ribs. Pressure was building up in her lungs, a silent scream that she could not release. She had a clear shot of her sister, one move and the Black Widow would be nothing but a ghost story. But Calina couldn't move, her heart pounded in her chest. 

“Siren,” The voice warned, “Do it. Now” But she had hesitated too long, Natasha turned, her eyes locked on her sisters. A mixture of emotions flicked across the Black Widows face, fear, recognition, hope. But just as quickly as they came, the woman moved with intensity, diving out of sight from the window, no doubt already escaping throughout the back far away from the view of Calinas sniper. The Red room was on Calina in minutes, she had barely managed to stand before figures in black erupted around her, tranquilizers pelting her body as the world around her came crashing down. 

Disobedience meant consequences. Failure meant punishment. 

Calina awoke with a sterile smell in the air, the taste of metal sharp on her tongue as bright lights bolted her awake. Her wrists were restrained against iron cuffs, bright lines of crimson spreading across her hands as she tried to pull against them, her blood spilling onto the surgical table she laid against. A man loomed over her, he wore a crisp lab coat with a badge poking out from his pocket. 

Dr. Kirillov. It read, Hydras doctoral scientist. 

His expression was curious as he held up a clipboard, “The Red Room gifted you to us,” He mused, tapping something with a pen lightly “You failed your mission but they still believe you salvageable. They gave you to me to gut out your flaws, turn you into true perfection.” Calina fought against the restraints, but the moment she moved a wave of electricity coursed throughout body, agony rippled down her spine.

“Don't worry Siren, you will forget why you ever hesitated,” The doctor smiled, brushing a stand of her that had escaped her braid from her face. “In fact, you’ll forget everything” 

The chair reclined and the cuffs tightened as machines around her whirled to life exposing numerous needles filled with mysterious liquids. They launched toward her all at once piercing her skin and setting her body ablaze. “Welcome to the Winter Soldier program, Widow” 

[fabdomsfable]

Nightmares

Hello Love-bugs, I’ve decided to just keep doing Calina Romanoff x Bucky one-shots, I do have a book going but in order to help me get out my thoughts these One-Shots are helping wonders. As a reminder! The pairing you will read here is an original character of mine with Bucky. She is the biological sister of our beloved Natasha Romanoff, was also put in the red room but later than Nat since she is a couple years younger. Also, the timeline is the comic timeline just to make it a bit more interesting, meaning, Natasha was born in 1928 and Calina, (My OC) was born in 1934 but since the Widows carry their age VERY well Nat will remain the age she appears in the movies and Calina will appear to be 26. 

Also: Please leave one-shot recommendations in comments! X O X O 

Summary- Bucky stumbles to Calina’s bedroom in the middle of the night in need of reassurance TW: Truama and PTSD 

*************************************************

The eerie, burning sensation of eyes boring into her skin woke Delilah up with a start. Despite her room submitting to the overwhelming sense of the darkness, she could sense someone with her, and from the slight creak in the floorboards she could tell they were approaching her sleeping form as she analyzed her quickest game plan. 

Being careful to stay very still, she slowly inched her hand towards the dagger that was always kept under her pillow, closing her fingers around it as she allowed a deep breath to fill her lungs. As she exhaled, she sprung up in the dark, flinging herself from her comfy bed at the presence in her room, her free hand fisting in their shirt while the other pressed her weapon to the intruder's throat, a grunt escaping their lips. 

“I-I  was hoping I wouldn’t wake you” 

Calina relaxed instantly, recognizing that husky voice she had come to love after all these years not even needing to see his face to know it was him. “Shit Bucky,” She ran a hand through her bed teased hair, her scared fingers catching painfully at the knots. “What are you doing here? It's 2 am” Sighing as she checked the clock Calina moved to her nightstand and fumbled for the small lamp on her dresser. “You scared me, I thought you were someone from the red- Bucky?” As light sliced through the darkness she was finally able to make out the features of the man that stood in her room. 

The Sargent had tear tracks tracing down his flushed cheeks, fear clearly dancing through his crystalline eyes. She watched as he tried to keep his composure but as their eyes locked, Calina’s heart broke as she watched his facade drop and the tears flow freely from his already puffy eyes, silent sobs beginning to shake his body. 

Without hesitation, she grabbed towards him, pulling him down to her chest, without hesitation his hands wound in the back of her sweatshirt attempting to pull her closer. “Hey, hey, hey” She whispered “its okay, your safe, I’m safe” 

Calina mentally cursed herself for not seeing it sooner. There was one point in their lives where this had become a routine, and it crushed her every time she had to see him so torn. Despite being free of his life as the Winter Soldier the gruesome memories still haunted him, plaguing him with flashbacks every time his eyes fluttered closed and his head hit the pillow. Most of the time he was able to wake up from those nightmares and calm himself, not wanting to burden anyone, but there were certain nights, ones like now, where even conscious he couldn’t rid himself of the horrors. 

“I did-didn’t mean to wake you” He sniffled into her shoulder as she walked them back til her thighs hit the back of her bed, Bucky took notice of what she was doing and let go of her long enough to sit himself on the bed, hesitantly drawing her into his lap. One of her hands drew soothing circles into the part of his shoulder where flesh met metal, the other resting gently on his that sat on her thigh while Bucky's head nestled deep into her neck. Calina waited patiently for the tears to slow, murmurs of comfort leaving her lips every few hiccups. 

Eventually the flow of tears against her neck stopped, and Bucky's breathing slowed. “Do you want to talk about it, Dragul meu?” She whispered, pressing a fluttering kiss to his temple. 

A shaky breath left his chest, “We were…on a mission” He started slowly “Hydra was involved. Things went south and you got captured-” Bucky's voice broke, Calina just held him tighter. “I went to go find you, and-and I did. They had you strapped to the chair, the one they used for…me” Calina’s breath caught in her throat, she had heard many stories of said chair. She had a feeling she knew where this dream was going. 

“Bucky, Love,” Lifting his head from her shoulder she forced his eyes to meet hers. His bright blue eyes were tear clouded and even more read than before, lines of worry painfully tight across his forehead. “It’s okay-” 

“When I got to you, you were bleeding and bruised, I lost it. I didn't bother to check if there was anyone else with us. Of course, there was. They started saying the-the words. I didn't think they would work since we fixed it in wakanda…but Calina they did” tears began to fall again, the warm droplets trailing down the woman's collarbone. “My mission,” He gasped, this time his once gentle touch closed into fists around her. She knew he was too scared to realize what he was doing but she also knew those actions would leave bruises against her pale skin. “Was to kill you. I fought and fought it, but I couldn't refuse the order. I killed you Calina, I killed you. I pulled out of the trance right as you dropped dead, into my arms. Thats-thats when I woke up.” 

 Calina was at a loss for words but her hesitant response worried him even more and Bucky's breathing became erratic, his chest heaving with each painfully burdened breath. Releasing his grip on her, his hands found their way into his hair as he squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head in an attempt to rid the horrible nightmare from his brain. 

“Bucky-” 

“I killed you!” His eyes snapped open, widening when he saw her in front of him. Tearing away from her he frantically stood, Calina falling from his lap with a start. “I need- I need to go, I cant- you cant be near me” Stumbling to the door his metal hand reached for the handle but Calina lept into action, slipping between him and the door. 

Bucky flinched. “Calina, please” He pleaded, his voice cracking in pain. “You can't be near me, what if he hurts you?” 

“James, my love, come here,” Smiling softly, the woman took his face in her cool hands. “I trust you. You wouldn't let him hurt me.” 

He pressed his forehead against hers. “But what if I do?”. Bucky wouldn't be able to live with himself if she died by his hands. He met Calina Romanoff many years ago back in the Red Room. She fell in love with his monstrous side. The only one to show him compassion and love, something he had not seen for many years till he saw her. They were the Red Room lovers. Whispers of their fairytale spread all throughout Europe, sadly those murmurs eventually reached the Red Room who forced the two apart. They fought them with everything they had but his spy was still ripped from his arms, their foolish fantasy coming to a naught end. Though He never stopped thinking of the beautiful and fierce girl he had come to love; no matter how many time’s his memory was wiped, her face still played repetitively in his  eyes. When they were reunited it was like he could see in color again, actual meaning flooded into his life when he saw her smile, he couldn't bear to lose her. 

“Listen to me James. We’ve been through so much, I’ve handed you my life on many occasions and I'm still here right?” She waited until he nodded “You’ve saved so many people since then Bucky, the shadow of a man you used to know is no longer here, and I swear on everything if he comes back I will stay right there with you til’ its all over, because it will end. You’re one of the strongest people I know, I have so much faith in you that will never fade. Do you understand that?” 

Peering through the dark she could faintly make out the movement of his lips but no words fell upon her ears. 

“What was that sergeant?” 

That caused a small smile to tug at the corners of his mouth. “Yes Ma’am” 

“Good,” Capturing his lips in a tender kiss she took his hands in hers, walking him back to her bed. “You can stay with me tonight” 

Falling back into routine, Calina crawled to the left side of the bed snuggling deep into the covers as Bucky did the same to her right. Once they were finally situated with their bodies turned towards each other Bucky spoke for a final time. “I don't deserve you,” He whispered admirably, tucking a strand of hair behind her freckled ears. “I never understood why you chose me” 

“Because this,” She brought his metal hand to rest on her heart, the slow thumping sending vibrations up throughout his body. “Belongs to you entirely”