✦ synopsis: You don't remember the life you had before the accident. You know only what your brother has told you, and after years of living with the blanks, you've stopped looking for answers.
Then you meet James Barnes, who looks at you like a ghost.
Curiosity slowly turns into feelings for a man you barely know, but just as your new life begins to feel right, something from the past comes looking for you.
✦ pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader (she/her)
✦ genre: strangers to lovers, angst, fluff, slow-burn, thriller, drama, action (I tried my best)
✦ warnings: canon-typical violence, mentions of past trauma, medical procedures/experimentation, captivity, weapons, explosions, blood/injury, memory loss, references to HYDRA, and nursing terminology (sorry, not a nursing student).
✦ a/n: This is my first fic, guys, so please be kind! It’ll be posted in 5–6 parts, with a new chapter every Sunday. My love for Bucky is immense, and this is my way of showing some love to this work of art of a man. 🫶
This is post-Thunderbolts Bucky, but I’m giving him his TFATWS hair because I simply refuse to get over that look on him.
✦ synopsis: You don't remember the life you had before the accident. You know only what your brother has told you, and after years of living with the blanks, you've stopped looking for answers. Then you meet James Barnes, who looks at you like a ghost. Curiosity slowly turns into feelings for a man you barely know, but just as your new life begins to feel right, something from the past comes looking for you.
✦ pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader (she/her)
✦ word count: 12.5k
✦ genre: strangers to lovers, angst, fluff, slow-burn, thriller, drama, action (I tried my best)
✦ a/n: This is my first fic, guys, so please be kind! It’ll be posted in 5–6 parts, with a new chapter every Sunday. Also, English is my first language, so excuse moi grammar. My love for Bucky is immense, and this is my way of showing some love to this work of art of a man. 🫶
This is post-Thunderbolts Bucky, but I’m giving him his TFATWS hair because I simply refuse to get over that look on him.
✦ warnings: memory loss, and nursing terminology (sorry, not a nursing student).
series masterlist // next chapter (09.08.26)
People often assume having a superhero for a brother would be exciting. That your life would suddenly become extraordinary. That you'd get front-row seats to impossible things, meet legends, travel the world, and never have another ordinary day again. But it was not true at all.
If anything, it did the opposite.
It made you worry.
A lot.
You had spent years watching Paul come home exhausted after long days at the garage, his hands permanently stained with grease no matter how many times he washed them. He loved fixing things. Cars, motorcycles, broken generators, if it had an engine, he could probably bring it back to life. It wasn't glamorous work, but he enjoyed it, and so did you. Life was simple back then.
Then the world changed.
During the incident everyone now referred to as the Void Crisis, Paul happened to be in the wrong place at the right time. While everyone else was running, he ran toward people who couldn't. He pulled collapsing concrete off trapped civilians, carried people to safety, and stayed until emergency responders arrived.
The videos spread across the internet before he even made it home.
Nobody could explain how one man had lifted pieces of a collapsed building with his bare hands.
You could.
Well... sort of.
Years ago, long before you remembered much of your own life, Paul had told you about an accident at work. He'd crossed paths with dangerous people, people he insisted were long gone now, and somehow walked away... different. Stronger. Faster. Harder to hurt.
Whenever you asked for more details, he'd simply shrug.
"Guess I got lucky."
You never believed that was the whole story. But it was the only story he was willing to tell.
A few weeks after the Void incident, Congresswoman Valentina Allegra de Fontaine knocked on your apartment door with an offer. The New Avengers Initiative. A new team. A new beginning. You remembered Paul laughing after she left.
"You know," he'd said, scratching the back of his neck, "I fix carburetors. I have no idea why she thinks I'd fit in with superheroes."
You'd laughed too. Then you'd watched him accept anyway.
Six months had passed since then. Life had settled into a strange rhythm. Paul disappeared for missions more often than either of you liked. You worried every single time he walked out the door, even if he always reminded you that he could handle himself.
"I'll be fine."
He always said it with that same reassuring smile. And somehow, it never made you worry any less.
In the meantime, you buried yourself in nursing school. It was your final-year and between lectures, clinical postings, late-night revision sessions and trying to catch up on everything you felt you had missed, you barely had time to think about anything else.
Which was probably a good thing.
Because whenever you weren't studying...
You were wondering if your brother would come home safe.
So when Paul insisted you take one evening off to attend a celebration for his team, you almost refused.
Almost.
After their successful mission, a months-long operation that ended with the dismantling of an international black-market network trafficking stolen Stark technology and Chitauri weaponry, Valentina wanted to showcase the New Avengers to the world. She wanted cameras. Headlines. Public approval. A chance to prove that she was not just another politician, but the visionary congresswoman who had brought together the next generation of heroes.
So she organised a massive celebration, a formal event filled with reporters, government officials, investors, and the general public. A night designed to introduce the world to the New Avengers.
Paul insisted on taking you.
"You deserve one evening to yourself after your exams," he'd said. "You'll officially start working as a nurse soon. Life's only going to get busier from there. So enjoy the break while you still can."
He wasn't wrong. Tonight was the first time in weeks you had spent more than ten minutes getting ready.
The moment the car stopped outside the venue, a strange feeling settled in your chest. You couldn't explain it.
A pull in your chest. A strange nervousness twisting in your stomach. You brushed it aside. You were just excited. After all, you were finally going to meet the people your brother had been talking about for months. You knew them almost as well as if you had met them before.
Ava was quiet, observant, and somehow always appearing exactly when someone needed her. She was also the one Paul talked about the most. According to him, she was impossible to sneak up on because, as he put it, “she’s literally a ghost.”
Yelena, who apparently had no concept of personal space, constantly teased everyone, and somehow managed to insult someone while also complimenting them. Paul had once told you she could turn a normal conversation into an interrogation within thirty seconds.
Alexei, loud, dramatic, and completely convinced that every story needed him as the main character. According to the stories, he spent more time talking about his past glory days than actually listening to anyone else.
Bob, gentle, awkward, and surprisingly kind. The one who seemed almost uncomfortable with how much attention came with being an Avenger. For now, Bob rarely went out on missions. Most of his work happened before and after them, research, planning, logistics, and recovery, while he continued training to better understand and control the Sentry's immense power.
John, outspoken, competitive, and had a habit of saying whatever came to mind. He admitted that John was a good soldier. But he carried the pressure of living up to a title that was never really meant for him, and it had a way of making him defensive.
And then there was Bucky.
James Barnes.
According to Paul, Bucky was the most dependable person on the team. He always showed up. Always had a plan. Always got people home. He also had a habit of risking his own life a little too easily.
Maybe it was Bucky's way of making peace with everything the Winter Soldier had done, like somewhere deep down, he still believed every person he saved could somehow make up for the innocent lives he'd been forced to take.
You weren't sure anyone could carry that kind of guilt forever.
After the Void crisis and his announcement as one of the new Avengers, Bucky had stepped away from politics too, leaving behind his position as a congressman and returning to the work he seemed to understand better than anything else: saving people.
And apparently, he was also... interesting.
Some days, he'd barely say ten words, sitting through an entire briefing in silence before disappearing without anyone noticing. Other days, according to Paul, he'd make the driest joke imaginable with such a straight face that half the room wouldn't realise he was kidding until five minutes later.
You frowned at yourself. It was a little strange, now that you thought about it. Somehow, over the past few months, you had learned more about James Barnes than anyone else on the team.
You looked over at Paul as he stepped out of the car.
Instead of walking toward the main entrance, he headed toward a smaller, quieter entrance on the side of the building. You followed him, raising an eyebrow.
"VIP entrance?" you asked.
"Something like that," he replied with a small smile.
The security guard checked his identification and invitation card before looking at you. Paul handed over your invitation. After a quick verification, the guard stepped aside. Together, you stepped into the waiting elevator.
"Have fun," Paul said as the elevator doors slid shut. "You deserve this."
You smiled softly, leaning back against the polished metal wall as the elevator began its ascent to the twenty-fifth floor.
"I will try my best," you whispered.
A soft chime echoed through the elevator as it came to a stop. The doors slid open, and you found yourself momentarily frozen. The long hallway led to the main hall.
And it was breathtaking.
The entire hall had been transformed into a perfect mix of luxury and modern technology. Massive glass walls overlooked the city skyline, reflecting the golden lights of the decorations inside. Elegant chandeliers hung from the ceiling, while holographic displays showed images of the New Avengers' recent missions. Tables covered in white cloth were scattered around the room, filled with food, drinks, and small displays celebrating the team's achievements.
It looked less like a superhero event and more like a declaration. A statement. The world was watching.
"There you are."
You turned at the voice.
Ava stood there, dressed in a sleek jumpsuit, her dark hair styled neatly. She had a small smile on her face, though there was a hint of amusement in her eyes.
"Hey. You must be the sister." She approached and extended her hand.
You smiled and shook it.
"I'm—"
"I know," she interrupted gently. "I'm Ava. Or, as they like to call me, the ghost."
You laughed quietly.
"I know. My brother won't stop talking about you."
The smile on Ava's face flickered. Just slightly. And beside you, you felt Paul tense. You immediately realised what you had just said.
"Guys, you guys. The New Avengers. His team, of course."
You quickly corrected yourself.
Ava gave a small nod, though the awkwardness lingered for a moment.
"Right," she said. "Come on. Everyone's getting ready for the press briefing Valentina scheduled."
"Of course she scheduled a briefing," Paul muttered.
You smiled. "She seems like the type."
"You have no idea," Ava replied.
Paul sighed and took your hand, guiding you toward the group. You gave him an apologetic smile for the awkward comment. He only shook his head slightly, silently telling you it was fine.
The team was gathered around the table, and your brother introduced you to them. They welcomed you warmly, each of them offering their own version of a greeting. Despite the unusual circumstances, their easy familiarity made you feel less like an outsider and more like someone they had been expecting.
Before the conversation could settle, Valentina approached the table, quietly mumbling to herself as she reviewed the notes in her hand.
"We need to make sure the public understands the importance of this initiative," she said. "The New Avengers represent stability, cooperation, and a new era."
Yelena leaned closer to Alexei. "She has practiced that speech in the mirror."
"I can hear you," Valentina said without looking up.
Yelena smiled innocently. "I know."
Bob looked down at the files in his hands, trying not to laugh. Ava shook her head.
"This is why we can't have normal meetings."
Your brother smiled slightly. You noticed that immediately. This was the first time you had seen him so relaxed around other people. These weren't just teammates. They were becoming his family too.
You took a drink from one of the passing servers, wrapping your fingers around the cool glass as you smiled to yourself. This felt nice. Maybe Paul had been right. Maybe you did need this.
Everything felt... alive.
Then...
The feeling returned. That strange pull in your chest. Your smile faltered. You frowned ever so slightly, instinctively rubbing your thumb against the cool glass in your hand.
Then you noticed someone walking toward the group.
James Barnes.
His head was lowered, attention completely focused on the file in his hands. He looked as though he was allergic to any conversation that did not involve work. He flipped through the pages carefully, checking every detail.
He was taller than he looked in photographs, broad-shouldered in a charcoal suit tailored well enough to hide nothing. A navy-blue tie rested neatly against a crisp white shirt, the color making his startling blue eyes seem even brighter despite the exhaustion they carried. His dark hair was trimmed shorter than in most of the pictures you'd seen, and the neatly kept beard framed a face that looked both impossibly young and unbearably tired.
The blazer stretched slightly across his shoulders and arms whenever he moved, hinting at years of relentless training beneath the formal attire. The only visible giveaway beneath the expensive suit was the sliver of silver metal peeking out from beneath his left shirt cuff, the unmistakable Vibranium arm that had become almost as famous as the man himself.
There was something quietly commanding about him.
He wasn't the loudest person in the room. He wasn't trying to draw anyone's attention. Yet the crowd seemed to part around him naturally, conversations dipping for a moment as he passed before resuming again.
You couldn't explain it.
Maybe it was everything you'd read about him.
Maybe it was the weight of his history.
Or maybe it was simply the sadness that lingered behind his eyes, the kind that made you wonder what someone had endured to carry it so silently.
You found yourself smiling without realizing it, hoping Paul would introduce you.
You wanted to speak with him.
“The extraction happened from the northwestern wall, not the western entrance,” he said as he approached the table. “And, just to make the report a little more inaccurate, John was extracted first. I activated the remote destruction sequence for the lab afterward. So, unless we’ve started rearranging events for dramatic effect, the report has it backwards.”
“Okay, let’s change it after the press briefing,” Yelena replied, casually taking another sip of champagne. You had a distinct feeling she was only saying that to get Bucky to relax and, more importantly, to stop him from talking about the report.
Your brother looked at him and smiled. He picked up a glass from the passing server and held it out to Bucky.
"Here. Relax before the press briefing."
Bucky closed the file, setting it carefully on the table before accepting the glass, looking more than happy to let the report go.
"Thanks."
Then he looked up. His eyes met yours. And everything changed.
The movement was almost imperceptible at first. His hand tightened around the crystal glass so suddenly that the ice clinked loudly against the sides. You watched his shoulders stiffen beneath his suit jacket. He didn't blink. Not once.
His expression emptied so completely that, for a fleeting second, you wondered if he'd somehow forgotten where he was.
You instinctively looked behind you.
Maybe he is looking at someone else?
But there was no one there. When you looked back, his eyes were still fixed on you. Unmoving. Searching.
Your heartbeat quickened beneath the strange intensity of his gaze. It wasn't uncomfortable. It wasn't threatening.
It was heartbreaking.
There was something in his expression that you couldn't name.
Disbelief?
Relief?
Grief?
Or maybe all tangled together into something so raw that it almost made you feel guilty for witnessing it.
You'd never seen someone look at another person like that. Like they had just found something they'd spent a lifetime mourning.
A strange warmth spread through your chest. Not because you knew him. You didn't. At least, you were almost certain you didn't. But something about the way he looked at you made your own heart ache in response. As though some part of you was reacting before your mind had the chance to catch up.
You smiled instinctively.
Small. Friendly. The kind of smile you gave anyone you were meeting for the first time.
It didn't seem to help.
If anything, his expression crumpled even further.
His blue eyes glistened beneath the lights, and for one impossible second, you thought he might actually cry. The thought caught you completely off guard.
This was James Barnes. The Winter Soldier. The man you'd spent weeks reading about after Paul joined the team.
A decorated soldier.
An Avenger.
Someone who had survived more than most people could imagine.
Yet standing in front of you, he looked less like a legend and more like a man whose entire world had just been ripped out from beneath him.
Slowly, you offered him your hand, believing this might break the ice. That this might bring him back to reality and away from whatever distant place his mind had disappeared to.
"Hi," you said with an easy smile. "I'm _"
He never looked at your hand. He simply stared at your face, completely motionless. His lips parted ever so slightly. Like he wanted to say something.
A name.
A question.
Anything.
But no sound came out.
Your hand lingered awkwardly between the two of you before you slowly lowered it back to your side. Maybe he wasn't a handshake person. Maybe crowds overwhelmed him.
Or maybe...
Maybe something was wrong. Your concern quickly outweighed your embarrassment. The colour had drained from his face. His breathing had become shallow, almost imperceptible. He looked as though he were trying very hard not to fall apart.
"Bucky?" Paul's voice cut through the silence as he stepped beside him, placing a hand lightly on his shoulder. You looked away from him for a moment, only then noticing that everyone around the table had stopped talking. Yelena had raised an eyebrow, Ava watched him carefully, and even Alexei had gone unusually quiet.
"You okay?"
The question seemed to pull him back into the room.
He blinked.
Once. Then again.
His throat bobbed as he swallowed.
"Yeah," he answered, his voice rough enough that it barely sounded like speech. "I'm fine."
He wasn't.
You didn't know him well enough to say why. But every instinct you had insisted on the same thing. Whatever had just happened, it had nothing to do with the press briefing. It had everything to do with you. And for reasons you couldn't begin to understand, that realisation made your chest feel impossibly heavy.
The silence stretched just a little too long.
It was Alexei who broke first.
"Well," he clapped his hands together once, far louder than necessary. "That was... incredibly awkward."
Yelena immediately shot him an unimpressed look.
"You are helping so much."
"I am trying," he defended himself, placing a hand over his chest dramatically before turning toward you with an apologetic smile. "Do not worry. Bucky is... strange."
"He gets worse when people are nice to him," Ava added dryly, folding her arms across her chest. "You get used to it."
Bob let out a nervous laugh. "Maybe he's just... overwhelmed? Or tired from the mission?" he offered. "I mean, he did take down fifty armed men all by himself."
That earned a small nod from some of the team. It was a reasonable explanation. At least, it was the easiest one to accept.
Valentina cleared her throat, gathering the scattered files from the table and straightening them with practiced efficiency.
"Enough. We have a press briefing in five minutes. I'm going to do the final checks. Avengers, please be ready to take your entry positions."
With that, she walked away from the table, moving toward the stage where the reporters and cameras were already waiting. You watched as she adjusted her expression into the confident, composed face she showed the public, quietly murmuring parts of her speech under her breath while reviewing the final details.
The conversation around you slowly picked back up, though it felt slightly forced now. Everyone returned to their preparations, accepting microphones and speech notes from Valentina's staff, reviewing the details one last time, and making small adjustments to their appearance as they waited for the cue to take the stage.
Paul lingered for a moment, his eyes shifting toward Bucky with a quiet concern you couldn't quite understand. But before he could say anything, one of Valentina's staff members approached him with a last-minute update, pulling his attention away.
But your attention never truly left him.
He was still standing exactly where he had been.
The untouched drink remained in his hand, his fingers wrapped around the crystal glass so tightly that his knuckles had turned pale. His gaze had finally dropped from your face, settling on the table in front of him, as though looking at you for even another second was something he couldn't allow himself to do.
A strange knot formed in your stomach.
Have you done something wrong?
Embarrassed him somehow?
You replayed every word, every expression, every second of your interaction in your mind, searching for something, anything, that could explain his reaction.
But you found nothing.
You had simply introduced yourself.
You had smiled.
You had offered your hand.
Nothing about that should have caused someone to look at you like they had just seen a ghost. A strange thought crossed your mind, had you known him before the accident?
As though sensing your eyes on him, Bucky lifted his head for the briefest moment.
Your eyes met again.
This time, he was the first to look away. He exhaled quietly, rubbing a hand over his jaw before looking around the room.
"I'm... gonna head out."
John frowned immediately. "The briefing starts in a few minutes. Valentina is already on the stage."
"I know."
"You sure you're okay?"
Bucky gave the smallest nod.
"Yeah."
It was the same answer. Just as unconvincing.
Before anyone could question him further, he placed the untouched glass back onto the table and walked past the group. The crowd instinctively parted around him as he crossed the ballroom, his expression unreadable, his shoulders carrying a weight that seemed far heavier than the suit jacket resting over them.
Only when he was completely out of sight did you realize your eyes had followed him the entire way.
And somehow...
His leaving left the room feeling strangely empty.
"Valentina is not going to like this," Alexei chuckled, shaking his head as he watched the doors close behind Bucky.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌The press briefing began shortly after.
You stood slightly away from the crowd, watching as the New Avengers walked onto the stage one by one. Cameras flashed. Reporters called out questions. Valentina stood confidently at the center, speaking with the ease of someone who had practiced every word.
When someone inevitably asked about Bucky's absence, Valentina didn't even hesitate.
"James Barnes had some unfinished business from the previous mission that required his immediate attention," she explained smoothly. "He is one of the most dedicated members of this team. If there is something left unresolved, he will make sure it is handled."
Her words painted his sudden disappearance as a strength rather than a problem.
A small smile appeared on her face as she continued.
"That level of commitment is exactly what makes him an exceptional Avenger."
You couldn't help but think there was a small trace of irritation hidden beneath her polished expression. She was clearly not pleased that one of her team members had walked away moments before a major public appearance.
But she handled it. That was what she seemed to do best. Turn chaos into something controlled.
The rest of the evening continued.
You tried.
You genuinely tried to enjoy yourself.
Yelena pulled you into conversations you barely expected to have. Alexei told exaggerated stories that made everyone roll their eyes. Bob apologised every time he interrupted someone. Ava quietly observed everything while occasionally adding comments that made you laugh when you least expected it.
Paul filled in the gaps whenever the team broke into laughter over inside jokes, explaining the stories behind them and sharing some of their more unbelievable missions. Bucky's name came up often, usually when they talked about the missions that had gone wrong but somehow ended with him saving the day.
And every now and then, your eyes drifted toward the doors.
Half expecting him to return.
Half wondering why you cared if he did.
On the drive back home, you found yourself asking Paul about the past again. About the people you'd known before the accident, again. About why no one had ever reached out to you, again.
His answer was simple, again.
“We moved.”
You knew that was true. You knew your entire life had changed after the accident. You knew you and Paul had started over somewhere new. But still, it didn't explain everything.
You didn't remember anything from before the Snap.
As far as you knew, the accident had happened sometime during all that chaos. The years before it were nothing but empty spaces, pieced together from stories Paul had told you and records you'd read yourself.
It was the only explanation you'd ever had.
You knew you didn't have parents. They'd passed away when you were young. You'd apparently been raised by your grandmother, though you didn't remember her either. You didn't remember the house you'd grown up in, the places you'd lived, the people you'd known, or even what your life had been like before everything supposedly changed.
You had always known Paul was hiding things from you. You weren't naive enough to believe otherwise. You saw it in the way he avoided certain questions, the way his expression changed whenever you got too close to something he didn't want to talk about.
But you never pushed too hard.
Because he was your brother.
And because whenever you asked about the past, he didn't get angry or defensive. He just... shut down.
He would go quiet, distant, like he was somewhere else entirely, somewhere you couldn't follow him no matter how many questions you asked.
You had tried to push once.
Really push.
It had ended in the biggest fight the two of you had ever had.
You had demanded answers. Who you'd been before the accident, why there were years of your life you couldn't remember, and why certain things about you had never quite felt... normal.
Like the healing.
Cuts that should have taken days sometimes disappeared within hours, bruises faded far too quickly, and injuries that should have left marks simply... didn't. It wasn't dramatic enough to call a superpower, but it was strange enough to make you wonder.
For the first time in your life, Paul had yelled back.
Not out of anger.
Out of desperation.
Then, just as suddenly, he broke.
You still remembered the way he had sunk into the couch, rubbing a hand over his face as though he was trying to hold himself together.
"It's best if you know as little as possible."
That was all he had managed to say.
You had waited for him to explain.
He never did.
Seeing your brother, your steady, dependable brother, fall apart like that had taken the fight out of you.
After that, you stopped asking so often.
Not because your questions had disappeared.
But because you couldn't bear to watch him carry whatever burden made those words sound like a plea rather than an excuse.
So instead, your thoughts returned to Bucky.
Maybe he was someone you'd known before the accident.
It was the only explanation that seemed remotely possible. Maybe you'd crossed paths somehow, been acquaintances, friends. But the thought fell apart almost immediately. You would've been in college back then. He was an Avenger. How could your lives have intersected?
And if they had, there should've been something—a photograph, a message, Paul mentioning his name, anything proving you'd once been close to a man the entire world knew.
Still, the Blip complicated things. He'd disappeared for five years, and even if he'd wanted to find you, he couldn't have. Maybe he'd looked for you after returning, found you living a new life without any memory of him, and decided it wasn't his place to interfere.
But that didn't explain the confusion in his eyes, or why he seemed just as lost as you were.
So you settled on the simplest explanation.
Maybe you just had a familiar face.
Maybe you reminded him of someone he'd once known.
Someone important.
Someone he'd loved.
Someone who wasn't you.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌The next morning, Paul was gone.
Something about Avengers life always seemed to involve paperwork, meetings, and things he described as "political bullshit." According to him, he was only going to the headquarters to submit some documents and deal with whatever endless requirements came with being part of the New Avengers.
You had learned not to question it too much.
There were days when he didn't come home, staying overnight at the tower because a mission briefing ran too late or because there was always something else that needed his attention. You never liked those nights, but Paul always made sure to call.
Lock your doors.
Keep your phone nearby.
Don't open the door for anyone.
The usual things a protective brother would say.
You decided to do something simple. Go grocery shopping, make yourself a warm dinner, and enjoy a quiet evening before returning to worrying about the future. Since Paul usually took the car for Avengers-related work, you decided to walk to the nearby grocery store. Having two cars was still not something either of you could justify, especially when one was already enough for most days.
Being part of the New Avengers came with a steady income, but Paul had never been interested in spending it on himself. Instead of saving up for a bigger house or rushing into a more comfortable lifestyle, he insisted on putting most of it toward your education and your future.
"You have worked too hard to start over again," he always told you.
So you stayed in the same rented home, close to the New Avengers headquarters, with a little less convenience but a lot more stability.
You moved through the grocery store aisles slowly, pushing your cart from one section to another, picking up ingredients while your mind wandered somewhere else entirely.
James Barnes.
You barely knew him.
And yet, you kept thinking about him, not because of the way he'd looked at you, but because of what that look might mean.
He had known you.
At least, that was what you'd started to suspect.
Maybe if you talked to him, he could tell you something Paul never would. Something about the person you'd been before the accident. Where you'd lived. Who you'd known. Maybe even who you'd been to him.
You were still lost in your thoughts when your cart caught against the edge of a display, sending a stack of cans tumbling onto the floor and rolling in every direction across the aisle.
"Shit," you muttered, immediately crouching down to pick them up.
A few people nearby glanced over, while others stepped forward to help. You thanked them quietly as you collected the cans one by one, trying to ignore the embarrassment creeping up your face.
As you reached for one of the last cans, another hand reached for it at the same time.
Your fingers brushed.
For a brief second, you felt the roughness of callused skin beneath a black glove. It was strange, something about the touch felt familiar, though you couldn't explain why.
You assumed he was just another person helping you clean up. Until you looked up.
A mask covered most of his face, hiding his identity, but you saw enough.
The blue eyes. The familiar intensity. The way he looked at you for a fraction of a second too long.
Your breath caught.
No.
It couldn't be.
But some part of you already knew.
Before you could say anything, before you could even ask what he was doing here, he stepped back and walked away quickly, disappearing between the aisles before you could follow.
You stood there, frozen, staring after him.
Your mind first told you it was impossible.
That you were imagining things.
That you were connecting two unrelated moments because you had been thinking about him too much.
But then you were pretty sure that was James Barnes.
You sighed and put back the last can back in the aisle, picked up your cart, finished your shopping, and tried to convince yourself that nothing unusual had happened.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌The next time you saw Bucky, it was three days later.
That evening, you had planned to have dinner with Paul after he finished work. It had been three days since you last saw him, and you were looking forward to spending some normal time together. After dinner, he would probably have to return to the headquarters anyway. Valentina had already been breathing down their necks about a new mission, which meant the team was constantly being pulled into briefings and preparations.
At around six, you arrived at the New Avengers headquarters and settled into the lounge area, scrolling through hospital listings on your phone, looking for places where you could apply as a nurse while you waited for Paul to finish.
You had barely gotten through a page when your phone rang.
Paul.
"Hey," he said when you answered.
"Hey. Everything okay?"
"Yeah, sorry. I'm going to be late."
You sighed softly.
"How late?"
There was a pause.
"Probably... a while."
Despite yourself, you smiled.
"What happened?"
"New information came in about a mission. The team needs to go over everything tonight."
You weren't surprised.
This had become a familiar pattern.
"I'm sorry about dinner," he added.
"It's okay."
"No, seriously. I owe you one."
You chuckled lightly.
Then he hesitated.
"Actually... why don't you come upstairs?"
You looked toward the elevators.
"Paul..."
"They are ordering takeout. You can grab something if you're comfortable with it. Everyone's here."
You knew you should probably say no. You didn't want to interrupt their work or make yourself feel like you were intruding.
But the truth was, you liked their company. Spending dinner with them didn't feel like an inconvenience.
And maybe...
Maybe there was another reason too.
A part of you wanted to see James Barnes again.
You wanted a chance to actually talk to him, to ask him what he'd known about you, and why he'd looked at you that way the first time you'd met.
Maybe, if you could get him alone long enough, he might finally tell you something about the life you'd forgotten.
And you wanted to know.
"Okay."
"Cool. I'll let the guards know to let you in.” He hung up, and a few minutes later, your phone buzzed with a message from him.
“Come up to the thirteenth floor.”
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌It was Bob who greeted you first. He looked up from the files scattered across the table and immediately gave you the gentlest smile you had ever seen. "Hey," he said, standing slightly. "You made it."
“I did, although I must say, it was a long way here.”
Bob laughed softly, glancing around at the mountain of documents, laptops, and empty coffee cups surrounding them.
"Good to have you. I was starting to think this place was just going to be us staring at screens until we forgot what sunlight looked like."
Beside him, Ava sat with earbuds in, quietly working through stacks of paperwork. She didn't look up immediately, only lifting a hand in a brief wave of acknowledgement before returning to the reports in front of her.
"Hi," she said absentmindedly, her eyes never leaving the page. "Sorry. Deadline."
You looked at the piles of files in front of them. "Five hours of paperwork?"
"Five hours and twelve minutes," he corrected seriously.
You raised your eyebrows. "That's concerningly specific."
"I have been counting."
You couldn't help but laugh. "So that's what being a superhero is really about?"
Bob sighed.
“Everyone talks about fighting and saving people. Nobody mentions how much paperwork comes with it. I don’t mind the work, but this much of it is starting to feel excessive.”
"He's been complaining about it for the last hour," Yelena added as she walked over.
Bob immediately looked offended. "I have not been complaining."
"You have been describing your suffering in great detail," she replied.
"...Now that is more accurate."
You smiled at their exchange.
"How have you been?" Yelena asked, turning her attention back to you.
"Good. Tired, but good."
"You told us your exams were over," she said, pretending to sound disappointed. "So now you can stop by more often. Honestly, it's ridiculous that this is only our second time meeting when Paul has been an Avenger for months."
You laughed. "I will. Paul is just... a little secretive."
From beside Bob, Ava finally looked up from the file she had been reading. One earbud remained in her ear while she held the other between her fingers, clearly wanting to join the conversation now.
"He is," she said. "Half the time, we don't know what he's thinking either."
Yelena smirked. "Except apparently you."
Ava looked at the papers again. "Keep talking and I'll volunteer you for the paperwork."
"I know there is a reason he always sits next to you during briefings," Yelena muttered under her breath.
Ava simply rolled her eyes, slipped her earbud back in, and continued reading as if the conversation had never happened.
You smiled to yourself. It was clear that your brother's crush on Ava hadn't gone unnoticed. They obviously teased them about it whenever they got the chance. And maybe the feeling wasn't entirely one-sided.
Your eyes wandered around the room. Paul was sitting near the other side with John, Bucky, and two people you hadn't met before. Two laptops sat open between them, with files spread across the table. The two unfamiliar faces moved between the documents and screens, comparing information while Paul and John discussed something quietly with them.
Your attention lingered on Bucky for a moment.
He sat slightly apart from the others, sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms, his vibranium hand resting against the edge of the table while his other hand held onto the file in front of him. He listened more than he spoke, occasionally leaning forward to point out something on the pages or exchanging a few quiet words with the others before returning to his silence.
Even surrounded by people, there was something solitary about him.
Yelena noticed where you were looking.
"Oh," she said casually. "Paul's still working."
Then, just under her breath, "Or maybe you were looking at Bucky."
You caught it. You quickly looked away.
"What are they working on?"
"Hacking into a server or, as they would say, extracting information," she replied, making air quotes with her fingers. "Which is just a fancy way of saying they're breaking into someone's system legally."
You let out a small laugh.
"So, corporate-approved crime?"
"Exactly."
"So, we are ordering some burgers. Should we get you one too? With a french fries, of course."
"Yeah, that sounds perfect."
"No worries. We always order extra anyway."
Yelena laughed as she opened DoorDash on her phone. Apparently, everyone else had already added their orders because you saw eighteen cheeseburgers sitting in the cart. You stared at the screen for a moment.
"Eighteen?"
Yelena shrugged.
"You learn quickly that feeding superheroes is a full-time job."
You smiled at that. Your gaze drifted back toward Bucky without meaning to. This time, he was already looking at you. And for a moment, neither of you moved. The surprise on his face was impossible to miss. His expression softened almost instantly, as if he hadn't expected to find you looking back. There was a flicker of disbelief in his eyes, followed by something warmer, something almost like relief.
Then he seemed to realize he had been staring.
The softness disappeared behind the familiar guarded expression, his shoulders straightening slightly as he looked away and returned his attention to the file in front of him. His jaw tightened, like he was forcing himself back into control.
"Looking at Bucky?" You turned to find Yelena giving you a knowing look.
Your face warmed immediately. "What? No."
She smiled. "You can talk to him."
You frowned slightly. "I don't think he'd appreciate me interrupting whatever... this is."
Yelena glanced over at Bucky before looking back at you. "I think he’d enjoy your company."
But before you could answer, Alexei appeared beside you, looking far too interested in the conversation.
"I knew it!"
You blinked. "Knew what?"
He pointed dramatically between you and Bucky.
"The eyes. The staring. The mysterious soldier man looking like he has seen a ghost."
"Alexei.." Yelena warned.
"No, no, listen." He continued. "I saw it at the party. The way Barnes looked at you. Like man who found treasure after losing map."
You tried not to blush. "That's not exactly how I would describe it."
"I tried talking to him about it," Alexei continued. "Everyone tried. We all saw it. But he just says, 'I'm tired.'"
He shook his head dramatically.
"Tired? No. That was not tired. That was something else. Deeper. Rawer."
"Alexei," Yelena repeated.
"What? I am a romantic man. I understand these things."
You let out an awkward laugh, unsure where to look.
"I think maybe we should not analyse this too much," you said, hoping to steer the conversation somewhere else.
"Analyse?" Alexei looked offended. "I am simply observing."
"Alexei, please don't make this worse."
"Worse?" He looked genuinely confused. "This is beautiful. Like Romeo and Juliet."
Yelena immediately grabbed his arm."Dad, please stop comparing people to tragedies."
"Fine. But I am just saying, I see something."
You smiled awkwardly as Yelena guided him away.
"Ignore him," she said. "He thinks everything is a dramatic movie."
"I noticed." You gave Yelena a polite smile. In return Yelena pushed you gently toward one of the couches.
"Come sit. Before he starts giving you relationship advice."
You sat down beside Bob, who had returned to reading the files, facing the direction where Paul was sitting. A few minutes later, Paul finally noticed you. His entire expression softened, and he immediately stood up, walking toward you.
"Hey."
"Hey."
"I'm sorry about dinner."
You smiled. "Paul, it's fine."
He looked relieved. "Thanks for understanding."
"Of course I understand."
You glanced around the room, watching everyone working together. "Honestly, I don't mind."
Paul smiled.
"Really?"
You nodded. "Yeah. I like them."
His expression softened slightly. "I was worried you would feel out of place."
You smiled. "I think I'm likable enough for a group of superheroes to like me."
That made him laugh.
"I know. I just..." He shook his head slightly. "I wanted to make sure you were comfortable."
"I am."
For a moment, he simply smiled.
“Good.”
You smiled back. “Now stop looking so guilty. It’s a very annoying brother habit.”
He smiled and nodded once, then glanced back toward the group.
“I’ll wrap this up.”
With that, he turned and walked away, returning to the group he’d been working with.
You settled onto the couch beside Yelena and went back to your hospital research. Around you, the room gradually began to loosen as people reached the end of their files, closed their laptops, and started drifting into casual conversations and laughter.
One by one, the group began putting their work away, clearly ready for a break.
Everyone except Bucky.
He stayed where he was, continuing to type and scroll through whatever information was on his laptop.
But now that you were paying attention, you noticed something different.
He wasn’t actually relaxed.
Not completely.
His posture was calm, his expression unreadable, but there was a quiet tension in the way he moved. His fingers kept working, clicking through files and searching through information, yet it felt less like he was focused on the task and more like he needed something to do with his hands.
Like sitting still was harder than pretending to be busy.
He looked like if he stopped moving for even a moment, all the thoughts he was avoiding might catch up to him.
When the food arrived, everyone moved around the room to collect their meals. You took yours and looked toward Paul. He was still sitting with John and the others, talking between bites.
Your eyes moved again. Bucky was sitting alone at the dining table, his meal in front of him. Not far enough away to seem like he was avoiding everyone, but far enough that it felt intentional.
For the first time all evening, you saw a perfect opportunity to talk to him.
"I'll be back," you murmured to Yelena.
She was already eating and drinking from an opaque cup that you were fairly certain did not contain coffee.
She simply glanced at you with a knowing smile.
"Sure."
You ignored the tone and walked toward the dining table.
As you got closer, you noticed that he wasn't only eating. His burger sat mostly untouched while his attention remained fixed on the laptop beside him. He stared at the screen in-front of him, occasionally scrolling, his expression focused in a way that made the rest of the room disappear around him.
You hesitated for a second.
But before you could change your mind, he noticed you.
The reaction was immediate.
His hand stopped moving.
For a brief moment, his expression changed completely, surprise first, then something softer. Like he hadn't expected you to come over but some part of him had hoped you would. Then he seemed to remember himself. He closed the laptop screen with a quick motion before looking up at you.
It was almost like he had been caught doing something he didn't want anyone else to see.
"Hey," you said, giving him a small smile.
"Hey." His voice was quieter than usual.
You looked at the empty chair beside him.
"Is this seat taken?"
For a second, he looked almost startled by the question.
"No."
He moved his meal slightly, clearing some space on the table even though there was already plenty of room.
You sat down.
A small silence followed.
You stole a glance at him. His attention rested on the closed laptop, his expression distant, as though part of his mind was still caught up in whatever he'd been working on moments ago. Then your eyes drifted to his food.
"You're not actually eating, are you?"
His eyebrows lifted slightly. "I am."
You looked at the plate. "Really?."
He followed your gaze and seemed to realise he had barely touched it. "I'm eating slowly."
You smiled softly. “I can tell.”
For the smallest moment, you thought you saw the corner of his mouth move. Almost a smile. "I get distracted."
The question came out more curious than you intended. His eyes flickered back to you.
"Sometimes." A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "When I want to miss out on the stupid."
"How's that working out for you?"
He looked around the room. "Poorly."
“I was going to say,” you replied with a soft laugh, glancing at the empty space around him before looking toward the group across the room. “Considering you basically live with them.”
He shrugged and nodded.
“You might enjoy your food a little more with some company,” you added.
He looked at you, slightly amused. "Is that your professional opinion?"
"Actually, yes," you replied seriously. "As a future nurse, I can confirm that avoiding social interaction is probably not the healthiest lifestyle choice."
That earned a quiet laugh. "Future nurse?"
You nodded.
"So, have you started working with real people yet, or are you still practising on mannequins?"
The way he asked it made you narrow your eyes slightly.
"I don't know what that tone was."
"What tone?"
"The one where you sound like you think mannequins are easy."
A small smirk tugged at his mouth. "I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to."
You shook your head, smiling.
"You wouldn't believe how difficult it is to treat a plastic person. Honestly, I might argue it's harder than treating real patients sometimes. At least real people can tell you when you're hurting them."
For a moment, Bucky just stared at you. Then he smiled again, a little more this time.
“I believe that.”
You smiled back. Talking to him was easier than you'd expected.
“So…” You nodded toward the black mask folded beside him on the table. “Do you usually go grocery shopping dressed like that?”
A faint smile crossed his face. “Occupational hazard.”
“I figured.” You rested your elbows on the table, studying him for a moment. “So is disappearing from parties also part of the job?”
His eyes flickered up to yours.
“The party?”
“Yeah.” You tilted your head. “You left pretty quickly after you saw me.”
Something shifted in his expression, but it was gone almost immediately.
“I had somewhere to be.”
You watched him.
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
You weren't entirely convinced.
“You looked a little surprised to see me.”
Bucky's gaze held yours for a second before he glanced down at his laptop.
“I was surprised.”
Your heart gave a small, involuntary jump.
“Why?”
He paused.
“Because you looked familiar.”
You went still.
Bucky seemed to notice, because his expression softened slightly.
“But that's not exactly unusual,” he added. “I've been around for a long time. I've met a lot of people.”
You searched his face, trying to find something that would confirm the feeling you'd had that night, but there was nothing obvious there now.
“So you didn't actually know me?”
His eyes lifted to yours again.
“No.”
The answer came easily enough that, for the first time, you wondered if you'd simply imagined everything at the party, the recognition in his eyes, the way he'd frozen, the strange feeling that he'd been looking at someone he had known rather than someone he'd just met.
Maybe you'd read too much into it.
Maybe he really had just thought you looked familiar.
“Oh,” you said quietly.
Bucky gave you a small, almost apologetic smile.
“Sorry if I made it weird.”
You shook your head. “You didn't.”
But you weren't sure you believed that either.
"So," you smiled, deciding to let him off the hook, "next time I see a mysterious masked man sprinting through the soup aisle in a grocery store, I'll know not to take it personally."
He gave a genuine, quiet laugh. The laugh that will melt the coldest hearts.
"I'd appreciate that."
Your eyes moved briefly to his plate. "You're really not eating."
He glanced down.
“I am.”
“You’ve been staring at your closed laptop for the last five minutes. I think you’re allowed to take a break.”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “You noticed that?”
You shrugged. “Hard not to.”
A faint smile crossed his face before he looked back down at his burger, slowly picking it up.
“You always wanted to be a nurse?”
You shrugged.
“Maybe. I don't know.”
You hesitated, searching for the right words.
“Medicine always felt like something I was supposed to do. Understanding what people were going through, helping when I could... it just made sense to me.”
“So, you like helping people.” He said, more to himself than to you.
You smiled slightly. “Yes.”
He looked at you for a little longer than necessary. "I think they would like having you around."
The simple sincerity of it caught you off guard.
"That's a very nice thing to say."
He looked away almost immediately.
"Just telling the truth."
You smiled.
"You're less scary than people make you sound."
That surprised him. "People say I'm scary?"
"Not exactly."
You glanced toward the others. "They just make you sound very serious."
He looked across the room.
"They're not wrong."
"Maybe."
You tilted your head.
"But I think they also know you're the person they'll call when things go wrong."
His expression softened slightly.
"Yeah." A pause. "I guess they do."
And for some reason, the way he said it sounded less like pride and more like someone who still couldn't believe he had people who trusted him. You didn't know what to say to that. So you didn't.
And neither did he.
The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable.
It was just quiet.
A few minutes passed, and you finished your burger while he continued eating slowly, taking his time with every bite like he was finally remembering he had a meal in front of him.
You stood up and gave him a small, polite smile.
"I'll let you get back to your very important paperwork."
His eyes flickered briefly toward the untouched files. "Very important."
You smiled at the seriousness in his voice.
"Right. Wouldn't want to interrupt."
A faint hint of amusement appeared on his face. Along with something like disappointment
You returned to the couch, where Yelena immediately glanced between you and Bucky.
"You survived."
You frowned.
"Survived what?"
"Conversation with Barnes."
"Is that supposed to be difficult?"
Yelena shrugged, glancing briefly in Bucky's direction.
"Not difficult. He just doesn't usually stay around unless he really wants to."
You looked at her curiously.
"What do you mean?"
She shook her head.
"Nothing."
Before you could ask or think about it further, she changed the subject.
Soon, everyone slowly returned to their own conversations. You talked with Yelena about random things, listened to Bob complain about another round of paperwork, and watched Alexei attempt to convince John that his training methods were "historically inspired."
Every now and then, you caught Bucky looking in your direction. Not staring. Not enough to be obvious. Just brief glances, like he was quietly observing without meaning to.
You ignored it. Old habits, you supposed. A man who had spent decades as a spy and assassin probably noticed things automatically. It didn't have to mean anything.
Still, some part of you remained alert, replaying the conversation in your head and searching his answers for any little clue that might confirm what you suspected, that he'd known you before. But you found none.
Eventually, you realised it was getting late.
You gathered your things, saying your goodbyes to everyone as the room slowly began settling down. Yelena gave you a knowing smile when you thanked her for the evening, while Bob wished you luck with your future applications. Alexei, of course, insisted that next time you had to try his cooking, which earned him an immediate warning from Yelena that you should not agree to anything without supervision.
John simply gave you a polite nod before returning to his conversation.
Paul was also wrapping up, preparing to drop you home
Before walking out, your eyes moved briefly across the room.
Bucky was standing near the table, his attention no longer on the files in front of him. When your eyes met, he gave you a small nod.
“Goodnight,” he mouthed.
You smiled, nodding in response.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌It had been a week since you last stepped outside. Between finishing your exams, finally allowing yourself to rest, and researching everything you could find about Bucky, leaving the apartment had somehow become less urgent than staying in.
And eventually, you had to accept the most reasonable conclusion: James Barnes didn't know you.
You'd gone through everything you could find, old articles, interviews, photographs, records, and there was nothing. No connection, no shared history, nothing that suggested your lives had ever crossed before.
He had been telling the truth.
Whatever you'd seen in his expression that first night, you'd simply misunderstood it.
But on the bright side, your nursing results had arrived three days ago.
You'd passed.
Not just passed. You'd passed with flying colours.
You had celebrated the only way you and Paul ever really did, with takeaway food and your brother insisting that he had "always known" you would top the class.
Now came the difficult part.
Finding somewhere to start your career.
Your laptop had become permanently buried beneath tabs from different hospitals and teaching institutions across Virginia. Every morning started the same way.
Applications.
Requirements.
Residency programmes.
Trainee positions.
Somehow, you always got distracted. One search became another—an article about the Avengers, a charity event, an interview.
Then, before you knew it, you were reading an unnecessarily long discussion about whether James Barnes was actually as intimidating as the media claimed.
Half the comments called him terrifying.
The other half insisted he was secretly the sweetest Avenger, citing blurry photos of him carrying sleepy children after charity events or patiently helping elderly women across the street.
You smiled to yourself before closing the tab.
Again.
You really needed to stop doing that.
There is no connection.
Back to more applications.
Most of them wanted experience.
Which would have been incredibly helpful if someone had first given you a place to gain that experience.
You were halfway through comparing two hospitals when your apartment door unlocked.
"You alive?" Paul's voice echoed through the apartment.
"Barely."
He stepped inside, dropping a duffel bag by the couch before stretching his shoulders with an exhausted groan.
"You look terrible."
You looked up from your laptop.
"You've literally been on another continent."
"So?"
"You've slept... what, six hours in the last three days?"
He considered it. "...Maybe."
You pointed toward the bathroom. "Go shower."
"You sound like my mother."
"You should be grateful."
He laughed before disappearing down the hallway.
It wasn't until nearly forty minutes later, now dressed in a T-shirt and sweatpants instead of tactical gear, that he wandered back into the living room and collapsed onto the couch beside you.
"You smell like shampoo."
"I've been told that's an improvement."
"It is."
He leaned over, looking at your laptop.
"What are we looking at?"
"Hospitals."
He frowned.
"Still?"
"There are more hospitals in Virginia than I thought."
"Mm."
"I've narrowed it down to six."
Paul reached for one of the printed applications scattered across the coffee table. "Memorial Medical."
He picked up another.
"Fairfax."
Then another.
"You've really been doing this all week."
"I kind of have to."
"You'll get hired."
"I know."
You sighed.
"I just want somewhere that'll actually teach me. Not somewhere that'll throw me into a ward on day one because they're understaffed."
Paul nodded slowly.
"I get that."
For a moment, neither of you spoke.
He kept reading through the papers before quietly asking,
"What exactly are you looking for?"
You thought about it.
"I want somewhere busy. Somewhere I'll actually learn. Good mentors. A decent trauma department."
You smiled faintly.
"And preferably somewhere that doesn't make new nurses cry on their first shift."
Paul chuckled.
"That's a high standard."
"I know."
He placed the papers back on the table.
"Let me see what I can do."
You looked at him. "What do you mean?"
He simply shrugged. "I'll ask around."
"You know hospital administrators now?"
"I know people."
"You always say that."
"And I'm usually right."
You narrowed your eyes. "I'm not taking special treatment."
He rolled his eyes. "I'm not getting you a job. I'm getting you an interview. And there's a difference."
You weren't entirely convinced.
But before you could argue, his phone buzzed.
He glanced at it. "I've got to head back for a briefing."
"You just got home."
"I know."
He stood, pulling the duffel bag closer before unzipping it. "The Australia mission still has paperwork."
He began sorting through it with the efficiency of someone who had done this countless times. A few spare clothes were pulled out and tossed onto the couch. A half-empty medical kit followed. He shifted a stack of classified folders toward the top before rearranging what remained inside.
You caught a glimpse of tactical gear. A sidearm. Several sealed evidence bags.
Then, tucked beneath everything else, were bloodstained bandages.
Paul's hand paused for only a fraction of a second. He noticed where you were looking. Without a word, he pushed the bandages farther into the corner of the bag, covering them with the folders before zipping that compartment halfway shut.
"The press says you were chasing some government escapee." Your eyes never left the duffel.
Paul let out a quiet snort. "The press says a lot of things."
"So... were you?"
He looked up at you, one corner of his mouth lifting. "I'm legally obligated not to answer that."
You sighed, pushing yourself off the couch.
"Please get whatever injury you're hiding properly checked."
His eyes flickered toward the duffel before returning to you. "I'm fine."
"You literally just hid bloody bandages from me."
"They're old."
"You are a terrible liar."
A small laugh escaped him. "I've had worse."
"Paul."
"I'll get it looked at."
You weren't entirely convinced, but it was as much reassurance as you were going to get. He slung the duffel over his shoulder, then pointed a finger at you.
"Don't stay up until three in the morning filling out applications."
"No promises."
Shaking his head with an amused smile, he stepped out into the hallway, leaving the apartment quiet once again.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌Two days later…
You were still awake late at night. At some point, researching hospitals had turned into reading an article about the Avengers' latest humanitarian mission.
Which somehow became a video interview.
Which somehow became a YouTube channel called BuckyFanEdits.
You refused to question your life choices.
The edits were... surprisingly well made.
One clip showed him helping an elderly woman carefully down a flight of stairs after a charity gala, carrying her handbag without seeming to realise someone was filming. Another caught him laughing at something Sam had said during an interview, only for the smile to disappear the second he noticed the cameras were still rolling. One edit had stitched together his painfully serious congressional hearing, cutting from him answering, “Very worrying,” with complete sincerity straight into footage of him crashing through a wall during a mission.
There were clips from missions, awkward public appearances, behind-the-scenes moments the media had somehow captured, and an embarrassing number of slow-motion edits set to dramatic music that probably gave him far more credit for looking mysterious than he deserved.
You rolled your eyes. And watched another one. You couldn't help it. It had been more than a week since you talked to him.
You hadn't seen him since.
Then again, you hadn't really seen anyone.
Apart from Paul… And Luca, your DoorDash driver, who had delivered food often enough this week that the two of you were now on a first-name basis.
Your laptop was still open beside you when you heard the apartment door unlock.
Paul.
You glanced at the clock.
2:03 a.m.
You waited to hear his bedroom door close. Instead...
Three soft knocks landed against yours.
"You awake?"
You smiled despite yourself. "Barely."
He walked in holding a large envelope. "I have something for you."
You sat up. "What is it?"
Instead of answering, he handed it over. Across the front, embossed in dark silver lettering, were the words:
Avengers Medical Facility
Your eyebrows shot up.
"...Paul."
He leaned against the doorframe. "Open it."
You pulled out the letter inside. Your eyes skimmed the first paragraph.
Interview Invitation.
Graduate Nurse Trainee Programme.
Avengers Medical Facility.
You looked up so quickly you nearly gave yourself whiplash. "What?"
"You said you wanted somewhere you'd actually learn."
He folded his arms.
"They've got some of the best trauma surgeons, biomedical researchers, rehabilitation specialists and emergency physicians in the country."
You looked back at the letter.
"This..."
"...isn't a joke?"
"No."
"How?"
"I asked."
You stared at him.
"I told you. I know people."
"You got me an interview at the Avengers' hospital?"
"The medical facility." He corrected you. "It's attached to headquarters, but it's its own institution. They train military medics, trauma nurses, doctors, researchers..."
He smiled.
"You'll see things there that most hospitals won't see in ten years."
You looked down at the letter again. "But..."
"You'll also be close."
His voice softened.
"I know you can take care of yourself. But if something happens..."
He shrugged.
"I'll know you're somewhere safe."
Your chest tightened. "Paul..."
"It's just an interview.” He smiled.
For a moment, neither of you spoke. You were still staring at the letter in your hands, too surprised to say anything.
"Good night." Paul said, quietly closing the door behind him.
Silence settled over your room once again. Your eyes slowly drifted toward the still-open laptop on your desk.
The tab at the top proudly read: BuckyFanEdits - Best James Barnes Moments (Part 17)
Yeah.
Those fan edits were probably not going to help you pass the interview.
With a reluctant sigh, you closed the tab.
"Back to studying," you muttered to yourself.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌The morning of your interview arrived far sooner than you would have liked.
You had changed outfits three times, read through your notes one last time, checked your folder at least five times to make sure you hadn't forgotten anything... then checked it a sixth, just in case.
"Text me when you're done," Paul had reminded you for what felt like the third time that morning. "And take the car home."
You had tried to argue. He would probably need it more than you would, especially if he ended up working late.
"I'll get a ride."
That had been the end of the discussion.
Paul dropped you off outside the main reception entrance. After wishing you good luck one last time, he headed toward the secured elevators beyond reception, the same ones you had taken the day you first visited headquarters. He flashed his credentials to the guard stationed beside them before disappearing behind the closing doors.
You took a slow breath and looked up.
The Avengers Headquarters looked even more impressive in broad daylight.
After checking in at reception and presenting your identification, a woman behind the desk handed you a white visitor badge.
VISITOR
The word sat beneath your name in bold black letters.
"You'll be heading to the Medical Sciences Division," she explained. "Follow the blue line until you reach Elevator C."
You thanked her and clipped the badge onto your blazer. The corridors surprised you. You had expected something... flashier. Instead, they looked remarkably normal. Scientists hurried past carrying tablets. Engineers discussed something involving drone diagnostics. Someone in scrubs pushed a patient toward radiology.
It felt less like superhero headquarters...And more like a hospital attached to a research university.
The blue line eventually led you to a quieter corridor. At the end waited Elevator C. You stepped inside.
Instead of floors, the panel read:
Training.
Operations.
Ground.
Engineering.
Medical Sciences.
You pressed the final button and the elevator descended. The doors opened onto an entirely different world. The medical facility stretched farther than you expected.
Glass-walled rehabilitation rooms. Simulation labs. An emergency department. Operating theatres. Physical therapy suites. Teaching rooms filled with nursing students and residents. A trauma bay where a team was practising emergency procedures on a high-fidelity mannequin.
Your heart skipped.
This...
This was exactly where you wanted to be.
The interview lasted nearly an hour. There were four people on the panel. A trauma surgeon. The head nursing coordinator. A rehabilitation specialist. And the director of the facility.
Most of the questions weren't designed to catch you out.
They wanted to know how you thought. How you communicated. How you handled pressure.
You answered honestly. When you didn't know something, you admitted it.
When they presented difficult patient scenarios, you explained your reasoning instead of rushing to an answer.
By the end, you felt... Good. Not certain. But good.
As you gathered your papers to leave, one of the pages slipped from your folder. You reached down too quickly. The edge of the paper caught your finger while you were collecting the rest of your documents.
"Ow."
It was barely more than a sting.
You glanced down, expecting to see a small cut.
By the time you stood again, the pain had already disappeared.
You looked at your finger.
The cut was gone.
Completely.
Just like it always did.
You ignored it and stepped back into the corridor.
Now where was the exit?
When you had first arrived, the facility had seemed simple enough. A few hallways, a clear direction from reception, an elevator that brought you straight down and signs that lead you towards Conference room 3. But now that you were leaving, the place somehow felt twice as large.
You turned left. Wrong.
The door ahead required clearance you definitely didn't have.
You turned around and tried another direction. Another restricted access area.
"Project 890 personnel only."
You stared at the sign for a second.
"Okay."
You muttered under your breath.
"Not this way either."
You turned back again, taking another corridor that looked promising.
A few minutes later, you found yourself standing in front of a set of doors marked Men's Washroom. You quickly looked away, pretending you hadn't just accidentally wandered somewhere you absolutely weren't supposed to be.
The next corridor led to a large meeting room in the general ward area. Empty chairs surrounded a table covered with files and tablets, but there was still no sign of the elevator or the way back to reception.
You sighed, ready to admit defeat and ask someone for directions.
"Lost already?"
You turned around.
Bucky.
He stood a few feet away, a tablet tucked under one arm. The sleeves of his Henley were rolled to his forearms, the vibranium catching the overhead lights as he adjusted his grip. His expression somewhere between amusement and concern.
For a moment, you just stared at him.
Of all the people who could have found you wandering around the facility like you didn't belong there...
Of course it had to be him.
"I am absolutely…lost." You admitted
The corner of his mouth twitched ever so slightly.
"The lifts are this way."
He pointed toward the very corridor you had just come from.
You followed the direction with your eyes before letting out a quiet, embarrassed laugh.
"Oh."
Mercifully, he didn't tease you about it.
He simply turned and started walking, and after a moment, you fell into step beside him.
The corridor stretched ahead in comfortable silence, your footsteps echoing softly against the polished floor. The facility felt strangely peaceful now that the interview was over. The rush of doctors, trainees, and staff had settled into a quieter rhythm, broken only by the occasional voice drifting from behind closed doors.
"You work down here?" you asked, more to fill the silence than anything else.
"Sometimes. I was just leaving."
That was all he offered.
He reached the elevator first and pressed the call button. A second later, the familiar chime echoed through the corridor, and the doors slid open with a soft mechanical hum.
You expected him to walk in.
Instead, he stepped to one side.
His vibranium hand caught the edge of the elevator doors before they could begin closing again, holding them open.
He looked at you.
"Ladies first."
You blinked.
It was such an old-fashioned gesture that it caught you completely off guard.
You couldn't remember the last time anyone had done something so simple and yet so thoughtful.
"Thank you..."
You hesitated.
"...James."
For the briefest moment, something shifted in his expression.
It was subtle.
His eyes lingered on you for half a heartbeat longer than usual before he simply gave a small nod and followed you inside.
You pressed the button for the ground floor.
He selected another floor further up. Training
The doors slid shut.
For a while, neither of you spoke.
The elevator hummed quietly as it climbed, the numbers above the door changing one by one. You found yourself watching them instead of looking at him, suddenly far more aware of how small the space felt.
Beside you, he shifted his weight almost imperceptibly.
You could hear the faint, absent rhythm of his boot tapping lightly against the floor.
Once.
Twice.
A third time.
Then he broke the silence.
"Interview?"
You looked over.
"Yeah."
"How'd it go?"
You let out a small breath.
"I think it went well."
His head tilted slightly.
"You think?"
A smile tugged at your lips.
"I didn't see anyone making concerned faces, so I'm choosing to be optimistic."
He considered that for a moment, his gaze settling on you with the same quiet attentiveness he'd carried throughout your conversation.
"I've met enough people to know when someone leaves a good impression."
His voice was calm and matter-of-fact. There wasn't a hint of exaggeration in it. No attempt to flatter you. He simply sounded... certain.
You looked at him, caught slightly off guard.
That wasn't the kind of compliment people usually gave. It sounded like an observation. Like he had looked at you, listened to you, and reached a conclusion.
For some reason, that made it mean far more.
A warmth settled quietly in your chest before you could stop it.
"I'll take that as a compliment."
The corner of his mouth lifted just enough for you to notice.
"You should."
A small pause followed.
"I meant it as one."
You smiled instinctively and lowered your eyes, suddenly finding the brushed steel floor of the elevator far more interesting than looking at him. You weren't entirely sure why those few words had affected you as much as they had.
The elevator chimed softly.
The doors slid open onto the reception floor.
You stepped out before turning back.
"Thanks again..."
You hesitated for the briefest second.
"...for rescuing me from getting lost in your headquarters."
A quiet huff of amusement escaped him.
His shoulders relaxed just a fraction, and the faint smile that appeared this time reached his eyes, softening them.
"Try not to get lost again."
You laughed.
"I'll do my best. No guarantees."
His smile lingered for another moment before he gave the smallest shake of his head, equal parts amused and resigned.
The elevator doors began sliding together.
He didn't immediately look away.
Instead, he held your gaze with the same quiet steadiness that somehow made the busy reception disappear around you.
"See you," he said.
Not goodbye.
See you.
The words were simple. Almost casual. Yet something about the certainty with which he said them made your heart skip in a way you chose not to examine too closely.
You found yourself smiling before you even realised you were.
"Yeah."
Your voice came out softer than you intended.
"See you."
The narrowing gap between the doors framed him for one last second, standing relaxed with one hand in his pocket, watching you with that same gentle expression that seemed so at odds with every intimidating headline you had ever read about James Barnes.
Then the doors met.
The elevator disappeared.
For a long moment, you remained exactly where you were, staring at your own reflection in the polished metal doors long after he was gone.
It was only when someone approached the elevator and called it that you remembered you were supposed to be leaving.
You let out a quiet breath you hadn't realised you were holding and started toward the exit. His words stayed with you the entire drive back to your apartment.
You were already looking forward to seeing him again.
