Rescue And Unspoken Love Part 2 - Bucky Barnes X Fem!Reader
Synopsys - Rescuing you from HYDRA was only the beginning. The physical wounds heal easier than the damage done to your mind. With false memories tangled together with real ones, nightmares that leave you screaming awake, and paranoia making it difficult to trust even the people you love, recovery inside Avengers Tower becomes slow, messy, and painfully emotional.
But Bucky never leaves your side.
As the team helps you piece together your memories through old photos, gifts, inside jokes, and quiet moments that once made the tower feel like home, you slowly begin finding yourself again â and uncovering feelings for Bucky that may have been there long before everything fell apart.
A hurt/comfort heavy recovery fic about healing, trauma, memory confusion, found family, soft domestic moments, emotional vulnerability, and two people becoming each otherâs safe place after surviving the worst parts of themselves.
Part 1 Here - Part 1 follows your capture told in the same different time periods of your rescue.
Warnings - I guess a lot of warnings when dealing with HYDRA - Kidnapping, torture(not graphic), PTSD, trauma, nightmares, guilt, grief, blood, injuries - if there are more and I missed, sorryyyy!
Word Count -Â Over 8k
Author's Note - Omg I loved writing this so much that I actually couldn't stop, so I had to make it in 2 parts. I really hope you enjoy this as much as I loved writing it! <3
Two Days After Your Rescue
The first two days after your rescue passed in a strange blur of silence, medication, and exhausted unconsciousness.
Most of your time had been spent asleep in one of the private medical rooms inside Avengers Tower while the medical staff worked carefully to stabilise you. Your body had been pushed far beyond its limits over the past two weeks, weakened by dehydration, repeated injuries and whatever HYDRA had been pumping through the IV lines theyâd found attached to you underground.
Recovery was slow already.
The nightmares made it worse.
Every time you drifted too close to consciousness, panic followed shortly behind it. Your heart rate would spike violently, your breathing becoming frantic as you woke disoriented and terrified, sometimes unable to recognise where you were or who was standing near you. HYDRA had done enough psychological damage that even safety itself felt unfamiliar now.
After the third time you woke up fighting invisible threats that werenât there, Bruce had finally made the decision to keep you lightly sedated while the chemicals were flushed from your system.
It was easier on your body that way. Easier on your mind. At least while you healed enough to separate reality from whatever horrors HYDRA had buried inside your head.
For you, the last two days had probably felt mercifully empty. Mostly sleep. Mostly darkness. The first real safety and warmth youâd been allowed in weeks.
But for Bucky, the past forty-eight hours had been agony. Because now that he had finally gotten you back, fear had simply changed shape.
Instead of wondering where you were or whether HYDRA was hurting you, he found himself sitting beside your hospital bed wondering what condition they had truly left you in. Wondering if the fear in your eyes back in that cell would still be there when you finally woke properly. Wondering if you would look at him like a stranger again.
Or worse.
Like something dangerous.
It shouldnât have affected him as much as it did. Rationally, Bucky understood exactly why you had reacted the way you did underground. HYDRA had spent two weeks breaking down your trust in reality itself. Hallucinations, manipulation, psychological torture â none of it had been your fault.
But it still haunted him.
Because you had always been the one person who never looked afraid of him. And seeing fear directed at him in your eyes â even briefly â had carved into something deep inside his chest that still hadnât healed.
So Bucky stayed.
He barely left your bedside except when someone physically forced him to shower or eat something. Most of the time he simply sat beside you in silence, elbows resting against his knees while he watched the steady rise and fall of your breathing like he needed the visual confirmation that you were still here.
Sometimes, during the worst of the nightmares, your body would tense violently against the sheets despite the sedatives, soft distressed sounds escaping you as your breathing quickened.
And every single time, Bucky was immediately there.
âItâs okay,â he would murmur quietly, his voice low and steady as he carefully brushed hair back from your forehead. âYouâre safe. Nobodyâs gonna hurt you here.â
You never fully woke during those moments, but eventually your body would relax again beneath his touch, tension slowly easing from your face as the panic faded.
Bucky wasnât sure if you could even hear him.
He hoped you could.
The rest of the team checked in constantly over those first two days. Steve stopped by early in the mornings, quiet concern written all over his face every time he looked at either of you. Natasha lingered longer than most, though she never pushed too hard, seeming to understand instinctively how fragile everything still was. Even Tony dropped his usual sarcasm whenever he entered the room, his worry obvious beneath the exhaustion.
But no matter who came or went, Bucky never moved far.
At some point during the second night, Steve had leaned quietly against the doorway watching him.
âYou should get some sleep,â he said softly.
Bucky didnât look away from you. âIâm fine.â
âYouâve said that for two weeks straight.â
âIâm not leaving her.â
Steveâs expression softened slightly at the immediate response. Because it hadnât even been hesitation. Bucky looked exhausted beyond words, dark circles beneath his eyes and tension still permanently locked into his shoulders, but the thought of walking out of that room clearly wasnât even an option in his mind.
After everything that had happened, after finally getting you back in his arms only to almost lose you to fear and trauma the second you woke up, Bucky couldnât bring himself to put distance between you again.
Not yet.
Maybe not for a long while.
Late that evening, while the room sat mostly dark except for the soft glow of medical monitors nearby, Bucky felt slight movement against his hand.
His attention snapped up instantly.
Your fingers had shifted weakly against the blanket before slowly curling around his hand where it rested beside yours.
Even half-sedated, barely conscious, you were still reaching for him.
Something in Buckyâs chest ached painfully at the feeling. Carefully, like he was afraid too much pressure might break the moment apart, he tightened his fingers gently around yours in return.
âIâm here, doll,â he whispered quietly. And for the first time in two days, some of the tension in his body finally eased. His thumb brushed absentmindedly across your knuckles.
And somehow, that small feeling dragged another memory quietly to the surface.
Another night.
Another time he had held your hand.
Only back then, neither of you had been brave enough to acknowledge what it really meant.
He remembered finding you on the helicopter landing pad late one evening after returning from a mission. The tower had already gone mostly quiet for the night, the usual chaos of voices and footsteps replaced by distant humming machinery and the low buzz of city life far below.
The rooftop doors had barely slid open before cold wind swept toward him, carrying the faint scent of rain and the distant sound of traffic from streets almost impossible to make out from that height.
You were sitting right near the edge of the landing platform with your legs dangling carelessly over the side, your hands braced behind you against the concrete while the skyline stretched endlessly around you in glowing gold and white lights. Cars moved like tiny streams of light far below, headlights threading through the dark streets while illuminated office buildings towered against the night sky. Somewhere in the distance, sirens echoed faintly through the city before disappearing again beneath the constant pulse of urban life.
The sight should have looked peaceful.
Instead, Buckyâs stomach nearly dropped.
âThe hell are you doing?â he asked immediately, the sharp concern in his voice making you glance over your shoulder.
For a second, surprise flickered across your face before soft amusement replaced it. âRelax,â you said lightly. âIâm not planning on throwing myself off the tower tonight.â
Bucky exhaled slowly as he approached, though tension still lingered in his shoulders. âTonight?â he repeated flatly.
A grin tugged at your mouth as the wind pushed loose strands of hair across your face. âCanât make promises about tomorrow.â
âYouâre hilarious.â
âSo Iâve been told.â
Bucky shook his head under his breath, though there was already the faintest trace of a smile threatening at the corner of his mouth as he lowered himself beside you.
Not quite as close to the edge as you.
Your eyes flicked downward briefly before you looked back at him with barely concealed amusement. âAw,â you teased softly. âAre you scared?â
âNo.â
âYou sat at least two feet further back than me.â
âBecause unlike you, I have survival instincts.â
You laughed quietly at that, the sound immediately blending into the noise of the wind around you.
God, Bucky loved hearing you laugh.
Even back then, before he had really allowed himself to acknowledge what you were becoming to him, he had noticed how easily your laughter settled something restless inside him.
For a little while, neither of you spoke again.
The city below looked almost unreal from this height, glittering endlessly beneath the dark sky while the tower lights reflected faintly against the clouds overhead. A helicopter blinked distantly somewhere across the skyline while cool wind curled around both of you hard enough that Bucky could see you pull your sleeves further over your hands for warmth.
âI like it up here,â you admitted eventually, your voice quieter now as you looked out across the city. âEverything feels smaller.â
Bucky followed your gaze downward.
From this high up, the world really did seem strangely distant. Problems that normally consumed entire days suddenly looked insignificant compared to the sheer size of everything surrounding them.
âMost people hate heights,â Bucky said quietly after a while, his voice low beneath the sound of the wind moving around the rooftop.
You hummed softly beside him, gaze still fixed on the city stretched endlessly below. From this high up, New York looked almost peaceful. The streets glowed gold beneath the night sky, headlights threading through the roads like rivers of light while distant sirens faded into soft background noise. Everything felt smaller up here. Further away.
âMost people havenât seen this view,â you replied eventually.
Bucky glanced toward you then, watching the way the skyline reflected softly in your eyes. Your legs swung gently over the edge of the tower without fear, completely relaxed despite the drop beneath you. Somehow, you looked more at peace sitting hundreds of feet in the air than most people did standing safely on the ground.
A quiet huff of amusement left him and your head tilted slightly at the sound before your eyes drifted toward him properly. âYou okay?â
Bucky looked away again automatically, gaze returning to the city below. âWhy wouldnât I be?â
âYou get quiet sometimes,â you said softly. âLike your brainâs somewhere else.â
The observation settled heavily in his chest because it was true. You always noticed. Not in the cautious way people usually watched him, waiting for him to become unstable or dangerous. You noticed him gently, naturally, like paying attention to him wasnât something you even had to think about. And somehow, you never made him feel exposed for it.
Bucky rested his forearms loosely against his knees, staring out across the skyline for a long moment before finally speaking.
âJust thinking.â
You nodded softly at that, accepting the answer without trying to pull more from him than he was willing to give. That was something else he liked about you. You never forced conversation into places he wasnât ready to go.
The quiet that settled afterward felt warm instead of awkward. The kind of silence Bucky had started associating with you without even realising when it happened.
Most of his life, silence had always felt heavy somehow. Like something waiting to break. But sitting beside you now, with cold air curling around both of you and the city glowing endlessly beneath your feet, silence just felt comfortable.
You leaned back slightly against your hands, eyes drifting upward toward the cloudy night sky for a moment before speaking again.
âI like it up here,â you admitted quietly. âEverything feels quieter.â
Bucky looked at you again. Your expression had softened completely now, the usual teasing energy heâd grown used to replaced with something quieter. More honest.
Eventually, Bucky glanced back toward the rooftop access door behind you both. âI can leave if you wanted to be alone.â
Your response came immediately. âNo.â The answer was soft but certain enough to make him look back at you properly.
You shrugged faintly afterward, your fingers tracing absent patterns against the concrete beside you. âI mean⊠you can if you want to.â Your eyes lifted toward him again, gentler now. âBut Iâd rather you stayed.â
Something about the honesty in your voice made warmth spread slowly through his chest.
Bucky wasnât used to being wanted around quietly like this. Not needed for missions or violence or because somebody expected something from him. Just wanted there. Beside you.
âYou make things feel less loud,â you admitted softly after a moment.
Bucky frowned slightly. âLess loud?â
You nodded. âMy headâs usually busy all the time. But when Iâm around youâŠâ A small smile tugged at your mouth. âThings feel calmer.â
For a second, Bucky genuinely didnât know what to say to that. Because he couldnât remember the last time somebody had looked at him and felt comfort instead of fear.
âYou make things feel normal,â you admitted quietly. Your expression softened instantly at the confession.
The kind that always made him feel like maybe there were still parts of him worth saving after all.
âI like quiet moments like this,â you continued after a second, voice nearly getting lost beneath the wind. Then your eyes met his briefly. âEspecially with you.â
The words hit him harder than he expected.
Your gaze drifted away afterward toward the city again, almost like you hadnât realised the effect the sentence had on him. But Bucky felt something deep in his chest tighten painfully all the same.
Because you said things like that so easily. And every single time, they stayed with him longer than they probably should have.
The conversation drifted naturally after that into smaller things. Sam stealing your leftovers from the communal fridge again. Bruce accidentally breaking another coffee mug in the lab. Steve getting irrationally competitive during game nights.
Bucky listened to your voice more than the actual stories. Listened to the way you laughed softly beneath the wind.
At one point, you laughed hard enough that you leaned sideways slightly, instinctively grabbing onto his arm to steady yourself.
Buckyâs hand caught your waist immediately without thinking.
The movement stilled both of you.
His metal hand rested carefully against your side while your fingers curled lightly around his forearm, your faces suddenly much closer than before.
Neither of you moved away.
The city lights reflected softly across your features while the cold wind tugged strands of hair across your face, and Bucky found himself staring before he could stop himself.
Your gaze flicked downward briefly toward his mouth before returning to his eyes again.
Slowly, carefully, your hand slid lower until your fingers brushed lightly against his hand resting beside you.
You hesitated only briefly before hooking your pinky gently around his.
Such a small thing.
But Bucky felt it everywhere.
Because there was no fear in your touch.
No hesitation.
Just warmth.
His hand turned instinctively beneath yours, allowing your fingers to slide naturally between his own.
You smiled softly when his grip tightened slightly around your hand.
Neither of you said anything about it.
You didnât need to.
The feeling already existed quietly in every lingering glance, every soft smile, every moment the two of you kept finding yourselves drawn back together again and again.
And sitting there beside you high above the sleeping city, Bucky realised he couldnât remember the last time he had felt this peaceful.
Five Days After Your Rescue
By the fifth day, the medical team had started quietly debating whether keeping you heavily sedated was actually helping anymore.
At first it had been necessary. Your body had been dangerously exhausted when Bucky brought you back to the tower, weakened by dehydration, chemicals, repeated experimentation, and injuries that had not been treated properly in weeks. Every time you woke during those first couple of days, panic consumed you so violently that the doctors had little choice except to sedate you again before you hurt yourself trying to escape people who were only trying to help.
But now the physical damage was beginning to heal.
The bruises darkening your skin had slowly started fading. The cuts and burns were finally beginning to close over properly. The chemicals HYDRA had pumped through your system were gradually leaving your bloodstream.
The problem now was your mind.
Bruce had been the first to say it carefully, late one evening while reviewing your charts beside the medbay monitors. Keeping you asleep any longer might only make things worse. You needed to start separating reality from whatever HYDRA had done to you psychologically, and sedation wouldnât help with that forever. At some point, you needed to wake up and begin learning what was real again.
Unfortunately, waking up turned out to be just as painful.
The first time you properly regained consciousness, fear had overtaken you almost immediately.
You didnât recognise the medical bay. You didnât recognise the voices around you. Every face felt unfamiliar one second and dangerously familiar the next, like your own memories were fighting against themselves inside your head. HYDRA had spent two weeks manipulating your reality so thoroughly that your mind no longer trusted anything it saw.
Including the people trying to save you.
You had ripped the IV from your arm the moment you woke fully, scrambling backwards across the bed in blind panic while demanding everyone stay away from you. The sound of your own heartbeat had been deafening in your ears, every instinct screaming that this was another trick. Another fake rescue. Another carefully constructed illusion meant to break you down further.
They had made you believe people came to save you, only for the room to dissolve back into cold metal walls and restraints moments later. They had used familiar voices against you until even comfort itself started feeling dangerous.
So when doctors approached too quickly, you lashed out.
When Steve tried speaking calmly to you, you demanded he prove who he was.
When Natasha moved closer to adjust one of the monitors, you nearly had a panic attack.
And when Bucky stepped into your line of sight, something inside you seemed to fracture completely between relief and terror.
You wanted to trust him.
God, part of you did.
But another part still remembered the cell. The hallucinations. The fake rescue scenarios. The way HYDRA had used hope itself like a weapon.
Nothing in your head felt stable anymore.
Through all of it, Bucky stayed.
He stayed when you shouted at him to leave. Stayed when you flinched away every time he tried to touch you. Stayed through every moment of confusion, every burst of panic, every terrified accusation you didnât fully mean.
Sometimes he would sit beside your bed for hours without saying anything at all, simply existing there quietly so you could get used to his presence again. Other times he tried speaking softly to you, reminding you of little things only the two of you would know.Â
Sometimes you listened. Sometimes you curled further into yourself like hearing the memories physically hurt. Bucky never pushed. Never became frustrated. If anything, he seemed to understand your fear too well. And honestly, that was the part that hurt him most. Because he knew exactly what HYDRA was capable of doing to someoneâs mind.
The worst moments always came at night. The nightmares were violent enough that the entire medical floor heard them.
Your screams would tear through the silence so suddenly that nurses came running before the monitors even had time to react. Your entire body thrashed violently against the bed like you were trying to escape something no one else could see, breaths breaking into panicked sobs while your hands clawed desperately at anything within reach.
Sometimes you screamed for them to stop touching you.
Sometimes you begged someone not to leave you there.
Other times you sounded completely lost, your voice raw with terror as though you were drowning somewhere unreachable and desperately trying to make somebody hear you.
Every single time, Bucky was there first.
He would move to your bedside immediately, trying to ground you before the panic consumed you completely. His metal hand would carefully cradle yours while his other brushed gently through your hair, his voice staying low and steady no matter how violently you struggled.
âHey, hey, itâs alright. Youâre safe.â
âItâs just a nightmare.â
âIâve got you.â
But most nights the fear overwhelmed you too badly to hear him.
Medical staff often had to intervene when your panic became too physical, worried you would reopen healing injuries or accidentally hurt yourself while trying to fight off things that no longer existed.
Every time they sedated you, Bucky looked quietly devastated. Because he knew what it felt like to fear your own mind. And because watching you suffer through it felt unbearable after everything you had already survived.
Still, he never left.
Not once.
Because years ago, when the nightmares had belonged to him instead, you hadnât left either.
Bucky remembered one night in particular with painful clarity.
It had happened not long after he first moved into the tower, back when sleep still felt more dangerous than exhaustion. Most nights he barely rested at all, too afraid of what waited for him once he closed his eyes. But eventually the body always won, and when it did, the nightmares came with it.
That night had been especially bad.
The memories had dragged him somewhere brutal â cold restraints, blood on metal floors, hands forcing the Winter Soldier back into existence piece by piece while he screamed himself hoarse trying to fight it.
Except this time, somewhere through the nightmare, another voice had started breaking through the noise.
âBucky?â
You had been walking past his room when you heard him. At first you had tried not to interfere. You knew how private Bucky could be, how carefully he guarded the few spaces that actually felt safe to him. But the sounds coming from inside his room hadnât sounded like sleep anymore.
They sounded like pain.
So after several long moments of hesitation outside his door, you finally pushed it open quietly.
The room was dark except for faint city light spilling through the windows, but even in the dimness you immediately saw him thrashing violently beneath the sheets, breaths ragged and uneven. Sweat dampened his hair while broken fragments of terrified words slipped from him between strained gasps.
Your expression softened instantly. âBucky,â you called again gently, moving toward the bed.
He didnât wake. If anything, his panic only worsened.
Without really thinking about it, you climbed carefully onto the edge of the mattress beside him and reached for him instinctively, trying to steady his movements before he hurt himself.
âHey,â you whispered. âYouâre alright. Youâre safe.â
His body jerked violently again beneath your hands.
So you did the only thing you could think of. You pulled him carefully against you. His back pressed against your chest while your arms wrapped around him firmly enough to ground him without trapping him there, your hand moving slowly through his hair as you kept speaking softly near his ear.
âThey canât hurt you here.â
âYouâre safe now.â
âIâve got you.â
Gradually, painfully slowly, the panic began easing from him. Bucky woke abruptly a few moments later, breaths heaving hard while confusion and fear lingered heavily in his eyes before he fully realised where he was. Before he realised it was you holding him.
You didnât let go.
Your fingers continued running gently through his hair while your other hand rested against his arm, grounding him through the lingering panic still trembling through his body.
âYouâre alright,â you murmured softly. âIâm here.â
Bucky had spent so long believing comfort wasnât meant for people like him that the simple warmth of being held almost felt foreign. But with you, somehow, it didnât.Â
Eventually the tension slowly left his body entirely, exhaustion finally overtaking the adrenaline as he relaxed carefully against you. You stayed exactly where you were. Even after his breathing steadied. Even after the nightmare faded. You simply continued tracing soft circles against his back while the city lights flickered quietly beyond the windows.
âI wonât let anyone hurt you,â you whispered eventually, voice thick with sleep and sincerity both. âNot if I can help it.â
Bucky never forgot those words.
And now, sitting beside your hospital bed while you fought your way back to reality piece by piece, he realised with painful certainty that he would spend the rest of his life trying to give that same safety back to you.
One Week After Your Rescue
By the end of the first week back at the tower, the fear had finally started loosening its grip on you enough that you could stay awake without spiralling into full panic every few minutes.
It wasnât perfect. Not even close.
You still startled whenever someone entered the room too quickly. Sudden noises made your entire body tense instinctively, and there were moments where reality still felt slippery beneath your feet, like your own mind couldnât fully decide what belonged to you anymore and what HYDRA had forced into your head.
That was the worst part of all of it.
Not the physical pain. Not the nightmares. Not even the memories themselves.
It was the fact you could no longer trust your own thoughts.
HYDRA had fabricated so many false memories during those two weeks that your brain now treated everything with suspicion. Some memories felt vivid and warm and real, only for doubt to creep in moments later and poison them completely.
Did that actually happen? Or did HYDRA make you believe it did?
Sometimes you remembered conversations that apparently never happened. Other times you forgot things everyone else insisted were real. Your own mind had become unfamiliar territory.
Bruce had explained carefully that this kind of psychological manipulation wasnât uncommon with prolonged conditioning and trauma. Your brain was trying to protect itself, but right now it no longer knew what was safe information and what wasnât.
So the medical team suggested something different. Instead of keeping you isolated in the medbay any longer, they moved you back into your own room.
Surrounding yourself with familiar things might help reconnect memories properly. Smells, objects, photographs â small personal details that belonged to your life before HYDRA.
That was how all six of them ended up standing awkwardly around your bedroom while you slowly tried piecing yourself back together.
The room felt strange when you first stepped inside.
Familiar. But distant somehow.
Like walking through somebody elseâs memories.
You stood quietly near the doorway at first, eyes slowly scanning over everything while the others gave you space to process it all. Steve leaned casually against the wall with his arms folded while Sam sat half-sprawled across your desk chair. Natasha remained nearby with careful watchfulness, while Tony and Bruce hovered closer to the shelves filled with books, gadgets, and random clutter accumulated over years at the tower.
And Bucky stayed closest to you. Close enough that your body seemed to relax slightly every time you noticed him beside you.
The first thing that caught your attention was the bracelet sitting on your nightstand. You picked it up slowly between your fingers, brows furrowing immediately. It definitely wasnât expensive. In fact, it looked almost comically cheap, the silver already discoloured in places while tiny fake gemstones sat crookedly along the chain.
âI gave that to you,â Natasha explained from behind you.
You glanced toward her.
âIt was after an undercover mission,â she continued, lips twitching slightly with amusement. âI was tailing someone through a street market and they started getting suspicious, so I panicked and pretended to fall in love with the nearest thing at a jewellery stall.â
You looked back down at the bracelet again. âItâs kinda ugly.â
Natasha actually laughed at that. âYeah,â she admitted easily. âBut you cried when I gave it to you.â
Your eyes widened slightly. âI cried over this?â
âYou said it was the first friendship bracelet anyone had ever given you.â
Heat immediately crept into your face while the others chuckled softly around the room. You carefully placed the bracelet back down before your attention shifted toward the crooked lamp sitting beside your bed. ââŠWhy is that bent?â
Sam answered immediately. âBecause you tried to kill a spider with it.â
Your head snapped toward him. âDid I at least get the spider?â
âNo,â he said proudly. âYou missed completely, screamed, and then Barnes had to save you from the worldâs tiniest spider.â
You looked toward Bucky instinctively. âIt was huge,â he defended seriously. For the first time all week, an actual smile pulled properly at your mouth. The sight alone visibly softened the entire room.
As you continued looking around, your attention landed on a strange collection of scorched metal pieces sitting near Bruceâs old textbooks. âWhat⊠happened there?â
Tony pointed immediately. âOh, thatâs from the time you almost blew up my lab.â
Your eyes widened. âI did what?â
Bruce looked deeply amused already. âYou said you wanted to help more with the engineering projects.â
âYou mixed two chemicals together,â Tony added dramatically, âand suddenly my lab looked like a low-budget action movie.â Your tried to remember the memory. âMy hair caught fire,â he continued accusingly.
âA little bit,â Bruce corrected.
Tony looked offended. âBanner, my eyebrows disappeared.â
You couldnât stop the laugh that escaped you then, quiet but real. The sound seemed to affect everyone instantly. Like hearing it again after everything made the room breathe easier somehow. Your attention drifted again after a while, eventually landing on the long dark gown hanging from your wardrobe door. You frowned slightly. âI wore that?â
Natasha smirked immediately. âOh yeah. Undercover gala mission.â
âYou complained about that dress for three straight hours,â Sam added helpfully.
âAnd another three when you found out you had to dance,â Natasha continued.
Your brows lifted slightly. âDance?â
Natashaâs eyes slid immediately toward Bucky. âYou stopped complaining once Barnes taught you.â
Your head turned toward him slowly. âYou taught me how to dance?â
Bucky looked almost shy for a second, rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck. âWell⊠somebody had to stop you from stepping on important diplomats.â You stared at him a moment longer than intended, another strange warmth blooming quietly in your chest before your attention shifted elsewhere.
A takeout menu covered in colourful highlighter and scribbled notes sat abandoned on your desk. You picked it up slowly, immediately recognising the chaotic handwriting covering the edges.
Something flickered faintly in your mind.
Voices overlapping. Everyone arguing loudly. Tony demanding absurd customisations. Sam stealing fries off peopleâs plates. Bruce ordering things he immediately regretted.
And Bucky quietly getting the same thing every single time.
Your fingers tightened slightly around the menu. âI wrote everybodyâs orders downâŠâ
The room went quiet for a second. Not because they were shocked. Because you remembered.
Steve smiled first. âYeah. You got tired of us arguing every time we ordered food.â
âYou threatened violence if somebody changed restaurants last second again,â Sam added.
Your eyes landed next on several tins of tea stacked neatly near the window.
The second you opened one, the scent hit you immediately.
Warmth. Late nights. Soft conversations.
Bruce noticed your expression instantly. âWe used to drink tea together when neither of us could sleep,â he explained gently. âWe started trying different flavours every week.â
You picked up the red tin slowly. âThat one was always your favourite.â
The memory came fractured but real this time.
Bruce reading quietly. Steam curling from mugs. Rain against tower windows.
Safe.
You swallowed hard against the sudden emotion tightening your chest.
Nearby, Sam had already picked up the stack of DVDs sitting beneath the television. âMovie nights,â he announced dramatically.
Your eyes narrowed slightly while more memories surfaced.
Steve asking too many questions about modern movies. Tony spoiling endings on purpose. Nat pretending she wasnât paying attention while secretly watching the entire thing.
And yourself curled beneath a blanket besideâŠ
ââŠI burnt the popcorn.â
Sam pointed immediately. âSee? Progress.â
âYou almost set the kitchen on fire,â Tony corrected.
You looked between them uncertainly. âThat really happened?â
âIt absolutely happened,â Steve laughed softly.
You smiled faintly again before your attention caught on a dark jacket draped over your desk chair. The second you picked it up, recognition settled somewhere deep in your chest. Not memory exactly. Something softer. Warmer. You lifted it slightly. âThis isnât mine.â
Bucky shook his head. âNo.â
You looked down at it again before bringing it absentmindedly closer, the familiar scent instantly calming something restless inside your chest.
âYou used to steal my jackets constantly,â Bucky said immediately.
âBecause they smelled like him,â Natasha added mercilessly.
Heat rushed into your face instantly while Bucky looked equally caught off guard.
Eventually your eyes drifted toward the mirror above your dresser, photographs tucked carefully around the edges.
Christmas photos. Mission selfies. Group pictures filled with terrible timing and half-blinking faces.
Sam yawning. Bruce never looking at the camera properly.
And somehow Tony looked flawless in every single one.
You smiled softly while tracing your fingers carefully across the photos. Then your hand stopped. There were so many pictures of you and Bucky. Not posed ones. Candid moments where neither of you seemed aware of the camera at all. The way he looked at you in them made your chest ache strangely.
Soft. Safe. Fond in a way that felt almost painfully obvious now.
One photo showed the two of you standing at some kind of fair while you clung to a giant stuffed bear nearly your own size. âYou named him Sergeant Pickles,â Bucky said quietly from behind you. You looked toward the stuffed bear sitting proudly in the corner of your bed before glancing back at him. âI won it for you,â he added. âNearly got banned from the game booth.â
You laughed softly under your breath before your attention caught on the red star keychain attached to your room keys. The sight of it made something tug sharply in your chest. Your fingers brushed over it carefully. âI know this symbolâŠâ
Buckyâs voice softened immediately. âYou bought that.â
Your eyes lifted toward him.
âYou said it reminded you of me.â
The warmth flooding your face this time was impossible to hide. And apparently everyone else noticed too. Because suddenly Steve was clearing his throat while Natasha smirked knowingly beside him. âWe should probably leave you two alone,â Sam announced immediately.
Tony looked delighted by the tension. âOh absolutely.â
Before you could protest, the others gradually filtered out of the room one by one, leaving behind only quiet laughter and half-hearted excuses as the door clicked softly shut behind them.
Then it was just you and Bucky.
The room settled into silence again, though this one felt softer somehow. Comfortable. Bucky remained seated quietly near the bed while you absentmindedly turned one of the polaroids over between your fingers.
You and him sitting on the training room floor together, laughing about something outside the frame.
Your eyes drifted slowly around the room again.
The jacket. The stuffed bear. The coffee stains by the window. The warmth that settled through you every time he stood nearby.
Then quietly, âWere weâŠâ Your voice faltered slightly. Bucky looked up immediately. You glanced back down at the photograph in your hands. âWere we something?â
For a moment, Bucky just stared at you silently, like heâd imagined this conversation a hundred different ways but still didnât know how to answer now that it was real.
âI justâŠâ You swallowed slightly. âThereâs so much of you here.â Your fingers tightened gently around the photo. âThe jacket⊠the picturesâŠâ Your eyes lifted back toward him carefully. âEverybody keeps looking at us likeâŠâ
âLike they know something we donât?â Bucky finished quietly. A small laugh escaped you despite yourself. Bucky rubbed slowly at his metal fingers before answering properly. âWe never really said anything.â
Your chest tightened slightly. âBut,â he admitted softly, âI think there is something...âÂ
The honesty in his voice settled warmly through you. Because somewhere beneath all the confusion and fractured memories, you thought maybe you knew too.
You looked down at your hands quietly before speaking again. âI canât trust my memories right now,â you admitted. âEvery time I think I remember something, part of me keeps wondering if HYDRA put it there.â
Buckyâs expression softened immediately.
âButâŠâ You hesitated slightly. âI think my body remembers things before my brain does.â
His brows furrowed faintly.
âYou make me feel calm,â you whispered. âEven when I donât understand why.â Your eyes slowly lifted toward him again. âWhen people come into the room, I look for you first.â
Bucky went completely still.
âAnd every time I find you,â you continued softly, âeverything feels quieter.â The emotion that crossed his face then nearly broke your heart. âI donât fully remember us yet,â you admitted carefully. âBut I remember feeling safe with you.â Your voice dropped even quieter. âAnd I think some part of me still does.â
Two Weeks After Your Rescue
The two weeks following your rescue blurred together strangely in your mind, days slipping into one another beneath the soft glow of medical monitors, sleepless nights, and the exhausting process of trying to separate reality from everything HYDRA had forced into your head. Recovery wasnât linear the way people liked to pretend it was. Some mornings you woke feeling almost normal, memories returning in warm little fragments that made your chest ache with familiarity. Other days were harder, your mind turning against you without warning, feeding you images and instincts that felt real enough to make your pulse spike before you could stop it.
A few days earlier, Natasha had walked toward you in the common room holding a pen sheâd borrowed, and for one horrifying second your brain had twisted the image into a knife instead. Your body reacted before your mind could catch up, every muscle locking as panic surged through you so violently you nearly struck first.
Nat had stopped immediately.
No fear. No judgement. Just quiet understanding as she slowly held the pen out for you to actually see. âItâs a pen,â sheâd said softly.
The shame afterwards had nearly crushed you. But nobody blamed you for it.
Still, healing was exhausting. Every memory that returned brought relief and grief tangled together so tightly you couldnât separate them anymore. You remembered good things now â movie nights, arguments over takeout, teasing Sam until he threatened to ban you from touching the music speaker ever again â but the false memories still slipped between the real ones sometimes like cracks through glass.
It made sleeping difficult.
Which was exactly why, sometime after two in the morning, you found yourself wandering quietly through the tower kitchen hoping tea might calm your mind enough to let you sleep for more than an hour at a time.
You hadnât expected anyone else to be awake.
But of course Bucky was there.
He sat at the kitchen island beneath the dim overhead lighting with a book open in front of him, one hand loosely curled around a mug of coffee that had long since gone cold, metal fingers absently resting against the edge of the pages while he read.
His eyes lifted the second you entered the room. Immediately softer when they landed on you. âCouldnât sleep?â he asked quietly.
You shook your head faintly as you moved toward the kettle. âNightmare.â
Something painful flickered briefly across his face at the word, subtle enough most people probably wouldnât notice it. But you did. Bucky closed the book gently before standing, automatically reaching for another mug before you could. âYou want the tea Bruce got you?â
You blinked at him. âYou remembered which one?â
A small smile tugged faintly at the corner of his mouth as he reached into the cabinet without hesitation. âYou always make the same one when your mind gets too loud.â
Your chest tightened unexpectedly at the softness of that answer. Because that was the thing about Bucky. Even before everything happened, he noticed things. Quiet things. The kinds of details nobody else really paid attention to.
You leaned against the counter while he prepared the tea beside you, comfortable silence settling naturally between you in a way that no longer felt unfamiliar. The kitchen windows overlooked the city below, rain still streaking softly against the glass while distant headlights painted blurred gold across the streets beneath the tower.
For a while, neither of you spoke.
Then quietly, before you could lose your nerve, you said, âI think Iâve loved you for a while.â
Bucky froze.
Not dramatically or obviously. Just enough that you noticed the slight pause in his movements before he slowly looked at you again.
Your stomach twisted nervously immediately.
âI know that probably sounds insane considering my brain is basically scrambled egg right now,â you admitted softly, fingers tightening slightly around the sleeve covering your hands, âbut⊠I donât think this part is fake.â
Bucky stared at you carefully, almost cautiously, like he was afraid of saying the wrong thing.
âYou donât have to say anything,â you added quickly. âI just⊠needed you to know.â
The kettle clicked quietly behind him, but neither of you moved to grab it yet.
Your voice softened further. âI keep getting memories back now and then, and somehow theyâre always you.â A small laugh escaped you, shaky around the edges. âItâs ridiculous, honestly. My brainâs like one giant Bucky Barnes montage.â
That finally earned the faintest huff of amusement from him.
You looked down at your hands. âAnd even before I remembered things properly⊠my body already knew you.â Your brows pulled together slightly as you searched for the right words. âEvery time you walked into a room, I could breathe easier. When things got confusing, I looked for you first without even realizing I was doing it.â
Buckyâs expression softened painfully.
You swallowed hard before continuing quieter this time. âWhen I was thereâŠâ Your voice faltered slightly. âWhen they were messing with my headâŠâ The room felt colder suddenly, but you forced yourself to continue anyway. âI used to think about you.â
Buckyâs breath caught almost silently. You looked up at him then, eyes glassy but steady.
âIâd try to remember your voice. Or stupid things you said. Or the way you laughed when I did something stupid.â A small smile pulled briefly at your mouth. âI kept thinking if I could hold onto you in my head, then maybe they couldnât take all of me.â
For a second, Bucky genuinely looked devastated hearing that. Not because he didnât want your love. But because the thought of you suffering through that alone nearly destroyed him.
He looked down briefly, jaw tightening hard before he finally spoke. âYou have no idea what those two weeks did to me.â
His voice sounded rougher now. Unsteady in a way you rarely heard from him.
âI was losing my damn mind without you.â He exhaled shakily through his nose before looking back up at you. âEvery second you were gone, all I could think about was what they might be doing to you.â His throat bobbed slightly. âAnd the worst part was not knowing if you were scared or hurt orâŠâ He stopped himself before the sentence could finish.
Your chest ached hearing the strain in his voice.
Bucky gave a weak shake of his head. âI was a mess, doll.â
Silence settled softly between you again before another memory surfaced suddenly in your mind, warm and clear enough that your breath caught slightly.
âThe dance.â
Bucky blinked at your words.
You smiled faintly despite yourself. âI remember the dance.â
Something almost disbelieving crossed his face. âYou do?â
You nodded slowly. âYou spun me around the room and I kept stepping on your shoes.â
A quiet laugh escaped him immediately. âYou stepped on me six times.â
âSeven,â you corrected softly. âI remember because you counted.â
The smile that spread across Buckyâs face then looked almost unbearably fond.
âAndâŠâ Your voice softened slightly. âWe almost kissed.â
The room went still again. You looked down shyly at your mug. âI remember being disappointed when we got interrupted.â
Bucky let out the quietest breath of laughter at that, rubbing a hand briefly across his jaw like he was trying to hide how emotional he suddenly looked.
âThat mission was hell,â you admitted quietly. Your eyes lifted back toward him. âNot because it was hard or dangerous,â you clarified softly. âBecause I couldnât stop thinking about you the entire time.â
Buckyâs heart genuinely stuttered and he stepped closer, slowly enough to give you room to pull away if you wanted to.
You didnât.
âI think I fell in love with you when you made me that coffee on one of my first nights here,â he admitted quietly. âYou became my safe place so slowly I didnât even notice it happening.âÂ
Emotion tightened painfully in your chest as you faced each other, tea long forgotten by now. âI spent so long thinking I was something people had to survive, and then you looked at me like I was someone worth loving. You saw Bucky before I even remembered how to be him.âÂ
The words settled heavily between you, soft and painfully honest all at once, and for a moment neither of you moved. The rain continued tapping quietly against the tower windows while the kitchen lights cast a warm glow across the room, but everything else seemed to fade into the background entirely.
All you could focus on was him.
The exhaustion in his eyes. The vulnerability he so rarely let anyone see. The way he looked at you now like you were something precious he still couldnât quite believe had chosen him back.
Your chest ached with it.
Buckyâs hand lifted slowly then, hesitant enough that it made your heart tighten, like even now some part of him still expected you to pull away. His metal fingers brushed lightly against yours first, giving you every opportunity to stop him.
You didnât.
Instead, your hand turned instinctively beneath his until your fingers threaded carefully through his. Warmth spread through you immediately. Bucky let out the softest breath at the contact, almost like he hadnât realised heâd been holding it.
âI think,â you admitted quietly, eyes dropping briefly to your joined hands, âsome part of me knew before I did.â
His thumb brushed slowly across your knuckles.
âWhen my memories got badâŠâ Your voice softened slightly. âWhen I couldnât tell what was real anymore⊠you were always the thing that felt realest.â
Your fingers tightened around his slightly.
âYou know what the first thing I remember feeling was after you found me?â
Bucky shook his head carefully.
âSafe.â
The word hit him hard enough that you physically saw it in his expression.
His eyes closed briefly before he stepped closer again, until barely any space remained between the two of you.
âI was so scared Iâd lost you,â he admitted quietly, voice rough around the edges now. âEven after we got you back⊠part of me kept thinking youâd wake up and not remember me anymore.â
You shook your head immediately.
âI remembered you,â you whispered. âMaybe not perfectly. Maybe not all at once.â Your hand squeezed his gently. âBut I remembered how I felt.â
Bucky looked completely wrecked hearing that. Just overwhelmed by the sheer tenderness of it.
His forehead rested carefully against yours, slow and hesitant like he was still giving you the choice to stop this if you wanted to.
You only moved closer. âI think Iâm in love with you Bucky,â you admitted softly.
The words barely rose above a whisper, but the effect they had on him was immediate. You felt the shaky breath leave his chest, felt the way his hand tightened around yours like he was grounding himself in the reality of hearing it.
Buckyâs eyes opened slowly to meet yours again.
âI love you too,â he said quietly.Â
For a moment, neither of you moved.
The words lingered softly between you, warm and fragile and impossibly important after everything the two of you had survived to finally reach this point. The kitchen suddenly felt very small compared to the enormity of it all, the quiet hum of the fridge and the rain against the tower windows fading into the background entirely as Bucky looked at you like he still couldnât quite believe this was real.
Not another dream.
Not another cruel trick his mind had made up during sleepless nights spent searching for you.
Real.
Your eyes searched his carefully, almost nervously now that the words were finally out in the open. âYou do?â
Bucky let out a breath that sounded almost shaky as a small smile pulled at the corner of his mouth, softer than youâd ever seen it before.
âSo much it scares me sometimes,â he admitted honestly.
Emotion tightened painfully in your chest at the confession. After everything HYDRA had done to both of you, after all the fear and confusion and grief of the past month, hearing something so gentle from him felt almost overwhelming.
Buckyâs metal hand lifted carefully toward your face then, slow enough to give you every opportunity to pull away if you wanted to. When you leaned into the touch instead, something in his expression broke entirely.
His thumb brushed softly against your cheek.
âYou disappeared,â he said quietly, voice rough around the edges now. âAnd it felt like somebody ripped the ground out from under me.â He swallowed hard before continuing. âThose two weeks without you were the worst Iâve felt in a long time. Every room in this tower felt wrong.â
Your eyes stung immediately.
âI kept thinking about all the things I never said,â he admitted with a faint, self-deprecating laugh. âAll the times I almost told you. You know what the worst part was?â he asked quietly.
You shook your head slightly.
âI couldnât protect you.â
Your heart ached instantly at the guilt woven through his voice. âBuckââ
âNo, I know,â he interrupted gently. âI know none of this was my fault logically.â His eyes dropped briefly toward the floor before lifting back to yours again. âBut I still kept thinking if Iâd gotten there faster⊠if Iâd noticed something soonerâŠâ
âYou saved me,â you whispered firmly.
Bucky looked unconvinced immediately.
âYou did,â you repeated softly, reaching for his hand properly this time and intertwining your fingers with his metal ones without hesitation. âWhen I was in there, they kept trying to break everything in my head. They kept trying to make me scared of you.â
Pain flashed visibly across his face at that.
âBut every time,â you continued quietly, squeezing his hand gently, âI kept thinking about your voice. About you making coffee in the kitchen. About you teaching me how to dance. About movie nights and tea and stupid pickle jars.â A watery laugh escaped you. âYou were the thing I held onto.â
Bucky looked completely devastated by the tenderness of it. His forehead rested against yours again as his free hand slid carefully around your waist, pulling you closer until there was barely any space left between you at all.
âYouâve got me now,â he whispered.
And for the first time in weeks, maybe even longer than that, you believed it completely.
Safe.
You were finally safe.
The kiss happened slowly.
Not rushed or desperate, not like either of you were trying to make up for lost time. It was soft and careful and emotional enough that it made your chest ache, Bucky kissing you like he was terrified youâd disappear if he moved too quickly.
Your fingers curled slightly into the fabric of his shirt as he held you closer, his metal hand resting carefully against your side while the other cupped your jaw with impossible gentleness.
When he finally pulled back, both of you were smiling faintly despite the tears still gathered in your eyes.
Neither of you spoke for a while after that. There didnât really seem to be anything left to say.
Not when Bucky was holding you like heâd been waiting two weeks to finally breathe again, and not when your heartbeat had finally settled for the first time since HYDRA took you.
His fingers traced slowly up and down your back while he held you against his chest, almost absentmindedly, like reassuring himself you were really here.
âIâm gonna spend the rest of my life making sure you know how loved you are,â he whispered quietly.
Your eyes stung immediately. âGood,â you whispered back. âBecause I plan on doing the same thing to you.â
Part 1 Here
