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These Ties That Bind Ch. 10: Three Days In June Part III (Bucky Soulmate AU)

~ 11k words

Warnings: Mentions of abuse, suicidal thoughts, Angsttttttttt.

Summary: Friday and Saturday, from Bucky's POV

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FRIDAY

Bucky wasn’t stalking you.

He wasn’t.

He was simply assessing the situation from afar...

In a car he “borrowed” from Tony, parked a couple of blocks away from the main entrance of Midtown High, watching you talk to one of your colleagues on the steps through high-powered binoculars.

Totally not stalking. Not at all.

He watched as you listened to what your co-worker was saying, nodding your head periodically and pushing out a small grin whenever she must have said something funny. You were wearing a cardigan, despite the heat, with plain black slacks and a light-colored blouse. It wasn’t anything spectacular, but to him, you were breathtaking.

He let himself take you in from head to toe, taking in the fine details of your face; your eyes, always kind and warm, the lashes that framed them perfectly, your hair, which looked so soft and full that his fingers ached with the desire to run themselves through it. You were so incredibly beautiful, it made even the sun seem dimmer in the sky.

He wanted to know what it would feel like to hold you.

It was a sudden thought, quick and invasive enough that he had to stop his hand from reaching for the door handle. Part of him wanted to get out, to go to you and drop to his knees and beg for forgiveness, but it didn’t feel like the right time. He didn’t know how to move forward from last night’s conversation, he didn’t know how to redeem himself, which was why he just needed to assess the situation as he was currently doing.

Not stalking. Definitely not.

He continued to stare, reading your lips whenever you said something, ready to get lost in the thought of you, when someone opened the passenger-side door, slipping into the seat beside him.

“Pretty sure Steve told you to call her, not stalk her,” Sam said blandly, lifting his chin a little to accommodate the blade that was being held against his neck. “Do you mind?” he said, glancing pointedly at the knife and back at Bucky.

Bucky sighed deeply, reluctantly withdrawing his weapon. He sheathed it and picked up the binoculars again, refocusing them on you.

“What are you doing here? And since when am I the topic of conversation for you and Steve?” he said gruffly. He must have really been losing his touch if Wilson of all people could track him down.

“Since the new season of Real Housewives ended,” Sam said, reaching over and taking the binoculars, ignoring Bucky’s protests and aligning them over his eyes to get a good look at you. “I was bored with nothing better to do, and Steve told me about the incident yesterday. I figured you’d do something dumb like this. You have a bad staring problem, perfect for stalking.”

“I’m not stalking her,” Bucky said forcefully, yanking the binoculars back. “I’m assessing the situation.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, man,” Sam said nonchalantly, taking the binoculars again. He stared at you for a moment before humming appreciatively. “She’s pretty. You lucked out, Barnes.”

“Watch it,” Bucky warned him, but there was no real weight behind it. He couldn’t help but agree, an irrational swell of pride rising in his chest.

Sam held up a hand in surrender. “Hey, I’m not trying to make moves on your girl, I’m just saying,” he said, finally handing the binoculars back to Bucky. “So what’s our plan?”

“Our plan?” Bucky asked incredulously, turning to face Sam better.

“Yeah, what’s our plan of action? We gonna get out and go talk to her? I’ll distract her friend while you whisk her away into the sunset,” Sam said teasingly, wiggling his eyebrows a bit.

“No, see, we don’t have a plan,” Bucky informed him, gesturing his hand back and forth in the space between them. “I am dealing with this situation just fine, you need to get out of here before you find out what a vibranium knuckle sandwich tastes like.”

“Oh, you’re ‘dealing with the situation?” Sam said mockingly, doing a terrible impression of Bucky. “Because from where I’m sitting, you’re just peeping on her like a creep.”

“You know what, you have no business being—”

“Go talk to her like a normal—”

“I’m not taking advice from someone with feathers—”

“IT’S ME, PETER! PLEASE REMEMBER ME, MR. WINTER SOLDIER, SIR, DON’T SHOOT!”

Peter was halfway into the backseat with the door still open, his arms held up high and his chest heaving, staring down the barrel of the Glock pointed at his face with wide eyes.

“Kid,” Bucky breathed out, pinching the bridge of his nose, holstering the gun again. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Why do you need a knife and a gun?” Sam asked, his mouth slightly agape.

“Shut up,” Bucky replied, making a face at him before turning back to Peter.

Peter was still breathing hard, his hands still raised over his head. “This is—I—I go to school here, dude,” he said, his voice a few octaves higher than usual. “I recognized Mr. Stark’s car and I saw the two of you in here…” he slowly lowered his arms, gently sliding the rest of the way into the backseat and shutting the car door. “What are you guys doing here? Are there bad guys? Was there a threat against the school? Should I suit up? ‘Cause I have it in my backpack,” Peter fired off, already taking off his pack.

“Okay, alright, chill Spiderling. Don’t get your webs in a twist,” Sam said, rolling his eyes. He handed Peter the binoculars and pointed in your direction through the windshield. “There are no bad guys. Hungry Eyes over here is just creeping on his soulmate.”

“Soulmate?” Peter echoed, raising the binoculars and taking a look for himself. “Hey, that’s Ms. Y/l/n. Wait a second, my history teacher is your soulmate?!” Peter exclaimed, looking over at Bucky.

Bucky just sulked and sank further into his seat, willing the earth to open up and swallow the car whole. “Yeah, she is,” he grumbled in confirmation.

“That explains what happened on the field trip,” Peter murmured thoughtfully, looking through the binoculars again. “So are you gonna go talk to her…?”

“See?” Sam said, gesturing towards Peter. “How does the kid have more sense than you?”

“You know what? Both of you, out. Now,” Bucky commanded, reaching over Sam and pushing the car door open.

Sam just closed it again, reaching for the binoculars, but Peter dodged his hand. “We’re just trying to help you, since clearly you have no clue what you’re doing.”

“I don’t need help, especially not from two idiots like you,” Bucky said, glaring over at Sam, but the winged Avenger seemed unaffected.

“The only idiot here is you. Even the kid has that little weird girl. What’s her name?” Sam said, glancing back at Peter.

Peter deflated a little, the tips of his ears turning pink. “Her name is MJ, but she’s not my girl.”

“Oh please, I see the googly eyes you make at each other when you bring those little rugrats to the tower,” Sam insisted, turning back to Bucky. “You could learn something from him.”

“That’s it,” Bucky said, reaching over again and opening the car door, attempting to physically push Sam out.

“Get your hands off me—”

“Out of the car—”

“Damn, you’re stronger than you look—”

“She’s moving! She’s on the move!” Peter exclaimed, pointing excitedly through the windshield.

Bucky grabbed the binoculars from him and put them to his face. You were, in fact, on the move, heading down the steps and away from the school building as you waved goodbye to your friend. His heart jumped, and he tossed the binoculars back to Peter, turning the keys in the ignition until the engine came to life.

“Oh my gosh, are we gonna stalk my teacher?” Peter asked, still looking through the binoculars.

“For goodness sake, we’re not—you know what, whatever. Yes, we’re stalking your teacher,” Bucky grumbled, putting the car into drive and heading in your direction.

They were careful as they followed you through the streets of Manhattan, making sure to stay a couple of blocks behind you while Peter kept an eye on your location. You walked with your headphones in, no doubt listening to music, and seemed oblivious to the fact that you were being followed. The thought scared Bucky; what if next time it wasn’t three Avengers, but actual bad guys following you because of your connection to him? He stuffed the scenario back into the corner of his subconscious and refocused on wherever it was that you were headed.

“She’s going into the subway,” Peter reported, eyes glued to the binoculars.

“Okay, do we get out and follow her?” Sam asked, already reaching for his seatbelt.

Bucky shook his head, biting at his bottom lip. “No. I don’t want to risk her seeing one of us, and finding parking will take too long,” he said, letting out an exasperated sigh.

“Wait, I have an idea! Get closer to the station,” Peter said confidently enough that Bucky followed his direction, pulling up to the station just as you were headed down the steps. Peter opened his backpack, and after typing out a few things on his phone, a small, spider-shaped drone came flying out.

“What the hell is that thing?!” Sam squeaked, pressing himself against the car door in an attempt to evade the electric creature.

“It’s my version of Redwing,” Peter chirped, lowering his window.

“Do not compare that thing to Redwing,” Sam said, disgust written all over his face as he observed the device.

Bucky pressed his lips together in an effort to hide his grin, but he lost that battle. “You’re scared of spiders? They’re so tiny,” he said, barely containing a laugh.

“Go down to Australia, see how tiny they are then,” Sam huffed, shivering a bit.

Peter maneuvered the drone out of the car, and Bucky could see from the video feed connected to Peter’s phone that he sent it after you. It descended into the station and stealthily climbed into your bag, giving them a nice view of all the folders and papers you carried around.

“Got her. Now we know where she’s going,” Peter said, clearly proud of himself.

“Good job kid,” Bucky said, nodding appreciatively. “No wonder Stark keeps you around.”

Peter beamed so hard, he was practically vibrating. “Th-thank you, Mr. Sergeant Barnes, sir.”

They followed your location over the bridge into Brooklyn and to a cozy-looking bookshop that seemed more like a tourist trap than a local hangout. By the time they caught up to you, you were already seated at one of the shop’s large windows, overlooking the Promenade and the city skyline. Bucky parked across the street, just out of your view, though the three of them could see you perfectly as you sipped coffee and read a book.

“Okay, so what’s the plan now?” Sam said, looking at Bucky expectantly.

Bucky didn’t answer right away. He just looked at you as you read, the low afternoon sun illuminating you from behind. You looked so at peace, a stark contrast from how you sounded over the phone the night before. There was the softest grin on your face, probably because of something you read, and a lump formed in his throat, threatening to block his airway.

“We go home,” Bucky said quietly, tearing his eyes away from you and looking straight ahead.

“What?” Sam and Peter said in unison.

“We’re going home,” Bucky said again, stronger this time, turning the key and starting the engine. “We’ll take the kid back to Queens, then we’ll head home.”

Bucky placed his hand on the gearshift to put it in drive, but Sam reached over and swatted his hand away, yanking the key out of the ignition.

“There’s no way I just hauled ass to Brooklyn with the two of you just to leave after five seconds,” Sam said, and there wasn’t a hint of teasing in his tone. In fact, his eyes were fierce as they glared at Bucky, reminiscent of Steve’s the previous night. The two of them definitely hung out way too much.

“Sam—”

“No, man,” Sam said forcefully, crossing his arms. “Tell me why you want to go. We followed her across the damn city, so what happened between the school and here that made you want to just leave?”

Bucky swallowed hard, trying to resist the urge to look your way again. “She doesn’t want to talk to me, Sam,” Bucky said, his voice wobbling. He turned to look at his friend, a plea to let this go and return home, but Sam was immovable.

Sam looked at him, his eyes narrowed, and he reached over again, this time towards Bucky’s door, pulling the handle and pushing it open.

“Out of the car. Now,” Sam said, unbuckling Bucky’s seatbelt.

“You didn’t hear what she said last night,” Bucky protested. “Sam, I’ll do more harm than good—”

“Don’t you think you’ve been through enough, Buck?” Sam sighed, digging his knuckle into the space between his brows. He looked back up at Bucky, his face softer but still glaring. “Don’t you think you’ve been through enough bullshit to last 50 lifetimes? This is your chance to finally get back what was taken from you, to live a normal freaking life with the woman who loves you, the woman you clearly love too. Don’t you think you’ve had enough?”

Bucky couldn’t say anything. What Sam was saying sounded too much like the question Dr. Raynor posed, and the more it was asked of him, the harder it was to answer, especially when you were right in front of him. There was too much at stake, too much to lose, and it paralyzed him.

Sam let out a sharp breath, his frown deepening. “Get out of the car, Barnes.”

“Wilson--”

“Get out of the car, or I will and I’ll march right in there and tell her what a wuss you’re being,” Sam said, the challenge snaking across his deep brown irises. “Go ahead, call my bluff.”

The two men stared each other down, vaguely aware of Peter’s uncomfortable fidgeting in the backseat. Bucky clenched his jaw and grabbed his door handle, pulling it towards him, the door slamming with a definitive thud. Sam’s eyes went alight.

As quick as an actual falcon, Sam was out of the car, not even bothering to close his door, making his way across the street. It was like watching a terrible train wreck in slow motion, with Sam getting closer and closer to the shop, farther and farther away from the car. Bucky managed to snap out of his stupor, unbuckling himself and jetting after him. It took him no time to catch up, wrangling Sam into a sloppy half chokehold.

“Take one more step, and I’ll put my knee through your dumb robot,” Bucky threatened through gritted teeth, struggling to hold Sam back.

“His name is REDWING,” Sam grunted, swatting and pulling at Bucky’s arms to no avail.

“HEY! HEY! Everybody calm down!” Peter squealed, appearing out of nowhere, trying to break the two of them up.

“STAY OUT OF THIS,” Bucky and Sam shouted at the same time, continuing their struggle.

“Why can’t you just let this go?!” Bucky exclaimed. Sam gained the upper hand, twisting out of Bucky’s grip and attempting to manhandle him to the ground.

“Because you’re being ridiculous!” Sam shouted, managing to twist one of Bucky’s arms behind his back.

“Guys, look—” Peter tried to say, maneuvering his body to get in between them, but they wouldn’t release each other.

“I’m trying to—gah—help you!” Sam said, pushing against Bucky’s face.

“I don’t—ow—need your help,” Bucky said, jabbing at Sam’s ribs.

Peter struggled to untangle their limbs, getting caught up in the may lay in the process. “Guys, you should really see—”

“Stay out of this, kid!” Bucky said, regaining control and getting Sam back in a headlock. “We’re going back home!”

“No, we’re not!” Sam argued, resorting to scratching at Bucky’s arm.

“Yes we are!”

“No, we’re NOT”

“YES, we are, now get back--”

“GUYS, SHUT THE HELL UP AND LOOK AT HER.”

Peter’s sharp and authoritative tone shocked Bucky and Sam long enough to allow the teen to wrangle them apart, turning both of them to face the shop windows where you were seated, but this time, you weren’t alone.

A man was seated across from you with light brown curls and eyes that matched, a smile on his face that was too friendly. Bucky couldn’t see your face from his vantage point, but your body language made it clear that you were happy to this man, relaxed, and leaning towards him a bit over the table. The man smiled some more and laughed with you like he’d known you for a while, like this wasn’t the first time the two of you had been together.

Bucky watched for a few moments, and if his heart had dropped earlier at the sight of you, it had now sawed a hole through his chest and leaped out, lying on the street waiting to be run over by a truck. Sam came up to stand next to him, placing a hand on his shoulder as if he could sense the fact that Bucky was one crack away from crumbling over completely, but Bucky still couldn’t look away. He watched as the man reached over the table and placed his hand over yours, watched as you welcomed the touch, flipping your hand over and offering your soft palm to his touch, your hands fitting together like…well like they belonged together.

It was then that he could see it, the life he had envisioned for you all those years ago. You in the beginnings of a fledgling relationship, still starry-eyed and bashful, basking in a honeymoon glow. You as a beautiful bride, surrounded by the people you loved most, ready to begin the rest of your life. You as a mother, sleep-deprived yet still tender and full of love for the child you held, your fingers dusting over soft wisps of hair and chubby cheeks. You as an old lady, a crown of gray atop your head, still kind and warm after all the years that had passed, after all the things you had done. He saw it all in a flash, like a picture reel running right before his eyes. He saw the life you deserved, filled with ups and downs, but so full of love and joy, the life he dreamed of so long ago, but it wasn’t him beside you through it all.

No, he was replaced. There was an open slot beside you, the realization that he wasn’t needed for you to live that life, even with those three letters on your wrist. You could find it all on your own without the universe’s help.

He was replaceable, and this, the man with the brown curls and brown eyes was a reminder of that.

Bucky took a deep breath, turning to face Sam, his face devoid of emotions. “Can we go home now?” he said, the crack in his voice betraying him.

Sam shook his head slowly, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re just gonna let Wal-Mart Ryan Reynolds have your girl?”

“I don’t have to let him do anything,” Bucky said, low and dangerous. “In case you haven’t noticed, he already has her.”

“How do you know that?” Sam said exasperatedly, teetering on desperation. “You keep making all of these assumptions, why not try getting the facts. From her,” he added, gesturing towards the shop.

Bucky shook his head, turning to face in the direction of the car. “I don’t have to argue with you,” he said beginning to walk away.

“Because you’re a coward,” Sam said matter-of-factly, shrugging his shoulders.

Bucky whirled around, stepping into Sam’s space and jabbing his chest with his hard, metal index finger. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. You have no idea—”

“Oh gosh, he spotted us. Quick, hide!” Peter squeaked, pushing both Bucky and Sam to the brick side of the building out of sight from the window, webbing them together into an uncomfortably intimate position, chest to chest with their arms basically wrapped around each other. He didn’t have enough time to hide himself, waving awkwardly towards the window, apparently having been spotted by you and Brown Curls.

“Kid, get over here,” Sam hissed, struggling against the webbing to no avail. Peter just continued to wave, throwing them a quick constipated look.

“Don’t worry, I got this,” Peter said through his toothy smile, making his way towards the front entrance.

“You most certainly do not have this, come back,” Sam hissed again, but Peter was already gone. Sam sagged a little, leaning his head back to rest against the gravely brick. “That kid webs us one more time, I’m spraying him with a big can of Raid.”

Bucky said nothing, focusing on Sam’s shoulder, his eyebrows knitted together. The way Brown Curls had touched you was still playing out in his mind, and as much as he wanted to be mad, he knew this was his doing. It’s what he wanted, wasn’t it? To save you from himself, to make you realize that somehow you got the short end of the stick and you were better off without him. He wanted you to be happy, and if Brown Curls made you happy, then that should be enough for him.

Right?

“Stop it,” Sam said, breaking through his train of thought.

“Look, I don’t know what you’re feeling, but it ain’t me,” Bucky said, still focused on the fabric of Sam’s jacket.

“No, gosh. I mean stop thinking what you’re thinking,” Sam clarified, trying and failing to get his hand free. “I don’t have to be Maximoff to know that you think she’s better off with Fake Gyllenhaal. She’s not,” he said firmly, tilting his head to force eye contact.

Bucky sighed, reluctantly looking at Sam. “How do you know that?”

“Because I know you,” Sam said, nodding over at him. “You have to be the biggest pain in my ass, Barnes. Like, the biggest, ever. But you’re a good man, Buck. And hey, maybe you don’t want to hear that, but it’s true, so we’re all gonna keep saying it until it sticks. I’ve worked with so many guys like you, guys that come home physically but their minds were left in the fight. You don’t have to fight anymore, Buck. You’re out of that mess. You’re finally home, and she’s part of that. You know it, and I know it.”

Sam was right. As much as it pained him to admit it, Sam was right most of the time. It was almost infuriating how he was able to see right through Bucky and strike to the heart of his issues, but he would also be lying to himself if he didn’t admit he was grateful for it. Sam was a good man himself, one of the best there was, and he was right, you were home for Bucky, and he desperately needed home.

“I love her, Sam,” Bucky said, and the words rolled off his tongue like butter, easy and natural with no resistance. He had never said those words out loud before, never dared to, but now that you were real and he had seen you right in front of him, he knew it more than he ever had before. “I love her so much. But I’m terrified,” he said, breathy and awestruck and relieved.

Sam just looked at him and chuckled, shaking his head. “How very human of you, Barnes,” he said with a genuine grin.

Bucky grinned back, and there was the faintest, deepest, tiniest part of himself that said Everything’s going to be okay. And there was a good chunk of him that was ready to believe it.

“Are you guys gonna kiss?”

Bucky and Sam looked over to find Peter standing there, his arms crossed with an unbelievably smug look on his face.

“If you don’t get us out of here…” Sam warned, giving the kid his best glare.

Peter swallowed hard, rushing over and taking the dissolving solution out of pocket, hastily applying it in the necessary places.

“Good news,” Peter said, helping Bucky dislodge from Sam. “I got his name. It’s Will,” he reported, dusting a few stray webs strands off of the two men.

“That’s all you have to offer?” Sam asked blandly, gesturing for Peter to stop helping, brushing a few strands off himself.

“No, actually,” Peter sniffed defensively, placing the solution back into his bag. “As a matter of fact, I found out that he’s not her boyfriend. She was pretty adamant about that,” he said proudly, the smugness creeping back onto his face.

“Alright, Hot Shot,” Sam said, narrowing his eyes at Peter. “So you went in there, got the intel, and just left? You didn’t even pretend to look for a book or get a muffin? Do you know how shady that looks?”

That brought the novice hero back down to earth, his shoulders sagging, a pout puffing out his cheeks a bit.

Sam laughed, slapping Peter on the back good-naturedly. “Thought so. You’ve got a lot to work on, kiddo,” he said, jostling Peter’s shoulders and causing one of his pack straps to slide off.

“So what do we do now?” Peter asked bitterly, adjusting the strap again.

Sam looked over at Bucky, and he gave him that same, wordless look that Steve had given him the previous night, the one that never failed to ground Bucky, to ask him if he was okay, to help him through the darkness. Those two really did hang out too much.

He nodded over at Sam, and Sam nodded back, an understanding passing between them.

“We go home,” Sam said assuredly. “Someone’s got a lot of thinking to do,” he added, quirking an eyebrow at Bucky before turning and heading back toward the car with Peter in tow.

Bucky followed them, but before he got in, he stopped and turned to look back at the shop. Brown Curls—Will—was no longer there, but you were, sitting in the same spot by the window. Your book was closed, but you were looking down at it with an intensity that he recognized all too well. It was a look that told him you had a lot of thinking to do, too.

But he was hopeful.

And he loved you.

And he would make sure you knew it.

Eventually.

SATURDAY

This is dumb.

This is really, really dumb.

This might even be creepy. And stalkerish.

Bucky stared at the door to your apartment from the other side of the hallway, his back pressed against the wall. It was a plain door, cheap metal covered over with unadorned brown paint, a brass doorknob and a peephole to match. He had been standing there for the past fifteen minutes just staring at it, yet to gather enough courage to actually go over and knock.

Just do it.

Just go over there and do it.

Raise your hand, make a fist, and hit the door. All there is to it, Barnes.

He took a tentative step forward, and then another before a wave of panic slammed him against the wall again, his feet practically digging into the floor. Finding your address had been easy enough. He had no plans or intentions to actually do anything with the information, not right away at least, but he soon found himself grabbing his keys and getting on his bike, making the long trip down into Brooklyn and to your front door. He didn’t want to run away from you anymore, not after yesterday, not when he felt the way he did for you. Still, fear kept him sealed to the wall, staring at your door as if it held the secrets to life, hoping none of your neighbors would venture into the hall and think he was a real creep. Even though he was totally acting like one.

She’s probably not home, it’s Saturday. People go out on Saturdays.

Or is that Fridays?

Pretty sure Maximoff mentioned something about brunch on Saturdays…

What the hell is brunch?

Bucky was just about to get lost in his ruminations about modern mealtime amalgamations when your door actually opened, and he jumped, his heart ricocheting around his chest.

A woman who was not you stood in the doorway, wrestling with a pizza box in one hand and a trash bag in the other, cursing under her breath. Before he had a chance to make a break for it, she glanced up and spotted him, her eyes going wide. For a moment, the two of them stood there, both speechless and frozen in place, staring at each other like they just found out they were the last two humans on earth.

“Holy crap,” she said finally, her face ashen, riddled with shock.

“Ma’am, I’m so sorry,” Bucky said carefully, holding his hands up slowly to show there was nothing in them. This wouldn’t be the first time someone had this reaction to him. While it was rare, there had been a few times in the past when Bucky would venture into the city and someone would recognize him, not as Bucky Barnes, but as the Winter Soldier, the murderous assassin who had no business ordering an egg and cheese sandwich at a bodega, or sitting peacefully on a park bench. He couldn’t blame anyone who had that reaction, it was a justifiable one. All he could do was try to assure them that he wasn’t a threat to them at that moment, try his best to put them at ease. “I’m not here to hurt you. I must have the wrong apartment, I was here to visit someone--”

“Bucky?” the woman said, her brow furrowing. That made Bucky stop short, a wrinkle forming between his own brows.

“Yeah…do we know each other?” he asked, wracking his fractured memory for any hints that he should know who this woman was.

“What? No, no we don’t know each other,” she said quickly, suddenly remembering the trash she was holding. She set the bag and the box down, looking back up at Bucky with a slightly less puzzled expression. “I’m Sadie. Sadie Winlow, Y/n’s best friend. We live together,” she clarified, pointing her thumb at the open door behind her.

Huh. A roommate. He hadn’t come across that in the little research he had done. The apartment had just been listed under your name, but he figured that was just because you had the better credit score. He relaxed, putting his hands back down, though he was still apprehensive as he returned her gaze.

“She told you about me,” he said simply, less of a question and more of a guarded statement.

Sadie nodded slowly, her expression growing a bit weary. “I know all about you and your…connection,” she said, and Bucky didn’t miss the way her eyes flicked towards his left hand, which was covered in a leather glove. He glanced down at it himself, making a loose fist before releasing it again, that phantom itch on his wrist igniting the synthetic nerves up and down his vibranium limb. Bucky took in a sharp breath and opened his mouth to say something, anything really, but Sadie beat him to it.

“Were you here to see her?” she asked, her suspicion far less subtle this time around.

Bucky swallowed, his throat feeling dry under her scrutinous gaze. “I was,” he said reservedly, preparing for her to tell him to scram. If she knew about him, then she probably knew about the incident at the hangar, not to mention everything about his past that was sensationalized in the press. He wouldn’t blame her for being protective, for wanting her friend to have something better, someone better. He expected that, at least. What he didn’t expect was what actually came out of her mouth.

“Do you want to come in?” Sadie asked, a bit of her exterior cracking, but only a bit. “She’s not here. She had tutoring for the kids today, but you can come in and wait. If you’d like,” she said, and he was surprised by the genuineness behind the offer, the way it seemed like she wanted him to say yes.

So he did, and she ushered him into the apartment, telling him to make himself at home while she brought down the trash. He stepped inside, and he was immediately overwhelmed by the presence of you that was in every corner of the apartment he could see. There was a canvas bag perched by the door filled with papers and folders, and he figured those were probably ungraded assignments that would have you occupied for the rest of the weekend. The cardigan you had on the day before was draped over the back of the couch, folded in a messy-neat sort of way. A history textbook was on the coffee table, TEACHER’S EDITION printed in bold on the cover. There was a couple of bookcases in the corner stuffed with books from bygone eras that no doubt belonged to you, a few fashion magazines littered between them which he suspected belonged to Sadie. There were framed photos too, and he ventured over to the shelves to take a better look at them. There was one with you and Sadie on graduation day, both of you with wide smiles bisecting your faces, squinting against the sun and draped in your school’s colors. There was one that looked like the first day you moved into this apartment, a selfie taken with Sadie’s outstretched arm, the both of you sitting on the floor with wine coolers in hand, mid-laugh and surrounded by Home Depot boxes. Then there was one of just you, the sun dipping below the horizon on a beach, a Ferris wheel in the background that looked familiar. You were holding an ice cream cone that was just beginning to drip over your fingers, sunglasses perched on top of your head. You had a small grin on your face, almost shy, and the sunset behind you cast a halo around you, like you belonged to another world, ethereal and made out of light. Bucky’s breath hitched in his throat, and he picked up the picture, completely transfixed by this image of you. He almost wished he could step into that picture with you, reside there forever in a space and time that no one else could touch, just the two of you in an everlasting sunset with half-melted ice cream and humid, salty sea air sticking to your skin.

“Don’t be fooled by that one. She threw up twice that day,” Sadie’s voice rang out from behind him. Bucky jolted a little, slightly concerned that she was able to sneak up on him like that. He turned in time to catch her locking the front door again, an amused grin playing on her lips. “The Cyclone was a bit too much for us that day, especially after a few hot dogs and funnel cakes, but I think that’s all part of the Coney Island experience,” she said, going over to join him at the bookcase, glancing at the other photos there.

“Yeah, I think so,” Bucky agreed, his own Coney Island memories swimming at the edges of his mind, images of a much smaller Steve with cotton candy the size of his head and a sheer determination to ride the coaster a third time.

Sadie looked over at the photo still in his hands, smiling softly, clearly lost in her own fond memories. She glanced up at him, and some of that hard shell fell over her features once more, though Bucky could still see through some of the cracks at its foundation.

“I should hate you,” she said frankly, crossing her arms and regarding him carefully.

“Why don’t you?” he replied, not in the least surprised by her observation. The list of reasons to hate him was probably endless.

She shrugged, turning around and heading across the living room towards the kitchen. Something told Bucky he should follow, taking one last look at your photo before setting it down and making his way over to where she was. By the time he got there, Sadie was already loading the coffee maker, two mugs on the counter beside her.

“Hate is corrosive,” she explained, spooning some grounds into the percolator. “Plus, I don’t think it would be fair to hate the guy who was brainwashed by Nazis for the better part of a century,” she added, giving him a cursory glance.

Bucky chuckled, shaking his head and taking a seat at the kitchen island. “No one would blame you if you did.”

“No one? Or just you?” she asked, starting the brew cycle and facing him, one of her eyebrows raised.

Bucky sighed, a familiar wave of shame washing over him. He didn’t know how to answer that, so he responded with a question of his own.

“Does she hate me?”

He asked quietly enough that he wasn’t sure she even heard him, too afraid of the answer to look Sadie in the eye, instead focusing on the cuff of his glove where the leather was beginning to crack. Sadie laughed, and he looked up, meeting her gaze as she shook her head at him.

“I don’t think it would be physically possible for her to hate you,” Sadie said, letting out a soft sigh. “She’s hurt. She doesn’t understand why you walked away, but she doesn’t hate you. Never has, never will,” she said, turning to head to the fridge. “Cream? Sugar?”

“Uh, neither,” Bucky said, clearing his throat and adjusting himself in his seat. He glanced around the kitchen, hoping to get a few more little glimpses of you, but he couldn’t really tell what was yours, and what you shared with Sadie. He did get a little glimpse of himself, though. On top of the refrigerator there was a mug that caught his eye. It was plain and white, save for the Howling Commandos insignia glazed onto it. It was misshapen, cracks crisscrossing along its surface, a couple of chips along its rim as if it had been broken and glued back together again. He wondered if it belonged to you, and the thought made his chest flutter, though he couldn’t pinpoint exactly what he was feeling. It was weird, seeing that little piece of his past in your apartment, a small tether you had to the Bucky he had been before, the Bucky who would have known how to make things right and sweep you off your feet.

The clink of the coffee maker pulled Bucky back into the present moment, and he watched as Sadie poured out the two cups, adding some cream and sugar to hers before returning to the island in front of him. She scooted his mug towards him and he murmured a thanks, taking a sip and humming in appreciation.

“This is really good,” he said, and she only grinned in return, taking a sip herself.

She put her mug down and peered at him again, narrowing her eyes and crossing her arms. “So, why did you walk away that day?” she asked plainly, looking straight at him, through him.

Bucky winced, though he should have known that she would ask. He opened his mouth to say something, but the words eluded him and he could only stare back at her, desperately grasping for the right thing to say and failing miserably.

“If you can’t explain it to me, how were you gonna explain it to her?” Sadie asked, turning to the fridge to take down a pack of cookies that had been resting next to the restored Commandos mug.

Bucky ran a hand through his hair, squeezing his eyes shut and scratching at the back of his neck. “I guess I hadn’t exactly thought that through,” he admitted sheepishly, wishing he hadn’t been so impulsive that morning. Or creepy.

Sadie let out an amused hum, nodding a little as she took a bite of cookie. “Try me,” she said as she offered him the pack, and he took one graciously, taking a small bite out of it and noting how well it paired with the coffee. “Why’d you walk away?” she asked again, raising her eyebrows expectantly. Bucky looked at her for a moment, suddenly feeling out of place, too big and clunky like a square peg trying to fit into a round slot.

He hesitated before answering the best way he knew how. “I don’t deserve her,” he finally said, reducing everything down to those few words that weighed down his tongue and clogged his throat.

“No, you don’t,” Sadie agreed, shrugging nonchalantly, taking another cookie from the pack. “But to be fair, I would say that for just about any man,” she added, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.

“But I’m not ‘any’ man,” Bucky said, dragging his lower lip between his teeth, his jaw ticking. “You know who I am. And I promise, whatever you think you know, whatever you heard about me, it’s one thousand times worse in reality. Wouldn’t you want me to walk away, if it were you?” he asked, turning the tables on her, a sort of challenge that he wasn’t sure he wanted to win.

“Huh,” Sadie noted, taking a contemplative bite of cookie, keeping her unwavering focus on him and not backing down. “Valid question. But the fact is, it isn’t me,” she said, holding up her left hand, gesturing to her bare wrist. “It’s her. Don’t you think she gets a say in all this?” she asked, returning the challenge back to him.

Bucky looked back down at his gloved hands, shame washing over him. He couldn’t argue with that, feeling even more out of place.

Sadie took a final bite of cookie, dusting off her hands before crossing her arms again, squinting over at him like she were examining a new species of organism. “I think I get it. You blame yourself, don’t you? For everything the Nazis made you do?” she asked, though she didn’t sound in need of an answer. Bucky just looked up at her, and his expression said it all. She nodded, more to herself than to him, rounding the island and taking a seat next to him. She sighed deeply, wringing her hands together, suddenly looking as unsure and unsteady as Bucky felt.

“I don’t know why, but I’m going to tell you something that I don’t really talk about. Only Y/n knows, and it was like eating glass telling her,” Sadie said, her voice wavering, but she went on, forcing herself to face Bucky and not retreat into herself. “When I was a freshman in high school, I had a boyfriend. His name was Devon. Devon Foxworthy,” she began, her lips twisting distastefully around the name. Bucky had the urge to tell her she didn’t need to tell him anything, that she didn’t need to relive whatever pain she had gone through, but he knew better than to interrupt her.

“He was a senior at the time,” she continued, rolling her eyes. “I should have known it was a bad idea, but…I was young and awkward, and he was gorgeous and popular and he wanted me. I couldn’t believe he wanted me, of all the girls he could have had, he chose me. He made me feel so special, like I was the only one for him. Like I was his soulmate,” she said, chuckling bitterly, gesturing to Bucky’s left hand. “Everything felt fine at first, but he insisted on keeping our relationship a secret. We only saw and spoke to each other on his terms. Everything was on his terms, and I went along with it because I wanted to be wanted. And slowly, I just kept giving myself up to him, bit by bit, until I hardly knew who I was anymore, even though there was a voice screaming in my head to get out, that it wasn’t right, that he wasn’t right. But I didn’t listen to myself, even when…” she trailed off, rushing to wipe away a tear that had traveled down her cheek. Bucky held out his hand, and she tentatively took it, squeezing it a little to ground herself.

“Even when things got worse, I didn’t listen to that voice in the back of my mind,” Sadie whispered, pushing some of her hair away from her forehead. It was then that Bucky could see the scar, faded but still there, a few centimeters above her eyebrow. He didn’t need her to elaborate any more than that. He knew who gave her that scar, and his hand tightened around hers, malice swirling in his gut for this kid he didn’t even know.

“Then it was time for him to graduate, and he just left me behind. He sent me a text, and that was it, it was over,” Sadie said, giving Bucky a watery grin, another tear traveling down her other cheek. “He left, but not before making sure that everyone at school hated me. I don’t know why he told his friends to hate me. I think it was because he liked the idea of me belonging only to him, even if he didn’t want me anymore. So he told all of these lies about me, and it was his word against mine. So for the next four years, I was Sucky Sadie, the worst kid to ever step foot in that hellscape. And that was one of the nicer nicknames they had. Even the teachers hated me. Bucky…I almost didn’t make it out of there,” Sadie said, more tears chasing each other down her face, her voice breaking down into small, breathy huffs.

Bucky squeezed her hand even harder, grabbing a napkin from the pile on the counter and handing it to her, watching as she dabbed at her eyes.

“It was my fault, though, right?” she said weakly, withdrawing her hand from his, getting up and returning to her spot standing across from him. “I should have known better. I shouldn’t have let him do that to me. I deserved what I got,” she said, a deep frown darkening her features.

Heat filled Bucky’s chest then, the same heat that would rise when anyone dared to threaten Steve, or one of his little sisters in the past. He couldn’t stand anyone going after the little guy, and Sadie blaming herself only made the heat grow angrier. It was something Bucky could never tolerate, and he wasn’t about to start now.

“It was not your fault,” Bucky said emphatically, a deep wrinkle forming between his brows. “You didn’t know any better, you were a kid. He should have known better, he was older, he was the one in control, and he betrayed your trust. You didn’t deserve a second of what that asshat put you through, you deserved better,” he said forcefully, unclenching the fist he hadn’t realized he formed.

“And so did you,” Sadie said just as forcefully, the grief sliding off her face, replaced by earnest determination. “You were brainwashed Bucky. That’s more than I can say for myself, so why are you so quick to defend me when you can’t extend the same mercy to yourself?”

All Bucky could do was stare at her, stunned into speechlessness, his mouth slightly ajar. What she said hit him like a ton of bricks, and it felt like his whole brain was being rewired for the umpteenth time. There was no rhyme or reason to it; what happened to him was terrible, but somehow he just couldn’t see it that simply, he couldn’t come to his own defense because the shame and guilt and terror consumed him every day, to the point where it felt like there was no way out for him.

But Sadie was right. If he could see the injustice of what happened to her, if he could so easily label her the victim, the survivor, then maybe one day he could make room to do the same for himself.

One day.

“Gotcha, didn’t I?” Sadie said, breaking the silence, a smug grin slowly spreading into her cheeks.

Bucky grinned back, recovering from the hit with a slight shake of his head. “You must be hanging out with my shrink,” he murmured, glaring at her playfully.

Sadie laughed, taking another cookie from the pack and munching away happily, completely satisfied with her performance. “Well, I’ve had my own fair share of therapy, so I know all their tricks,” she said, giving him a wink. She sobered up again though, taking another bite before staring him down again, warmth and empathy written all over her face. “I have my bad days. I still blame myself sometimes, I still cry about it sometimes, and I haven’t been able to have a genuine relationship with a man even though it’s been years…but I’m still here. I don’t know where he is, I don’t even care, but what I do know is that I’ve taken back what he took from me. I guess I’m telling you all this because I think you need to give Y/n the benefit of the doubt. She’s seen me at my absolute worst, and she’s still my best friend. I know you think you’re protecting her or something, but she’s a lot stronger than you think, and she can handle anything you throw at her,” Sadie said, her voice soft and lulling, full of hope. “She deserves to be happy, and I think you’re the only person who can give her that, which is the only reason I even let your ass in the door. But you know what? You deserve to be happy too,” she added, and Bucky could tell that she really, truly meant it.

Bucky could feel some of his walls crumbling down, his heart expanding and reaching out towards the dreams he had thought were impossible, dreams of you and him, two halves of whole coming together physically and cosmically after so many things kept the two of you apart. But he was still cautious, still wading into the deep end one step at a time. He could only hope that you would meet him halfway.

“Wait a second, how did you get our address anyway?” Sadie asked abruptly, crossing her arms again, tilting her head to the side.

Bucky blanched, opening and closing his mouth like a guppy, running a hand along his jaw. “I, uh—well, it wasn’t too hard to look up…” he said by way of explanation, shrugging haplessly.

Sadie pressed her lips together, a mixture of uncertainty and amusement flashing across her face. “Oh.”

“What?” Bucky asked, his palm getting even clammier inside his glove.

Sadie shook her head, shrugging a shoulder as casually as she could. “Nothing, nothing. Well, maybe it’s just that, you know…you could have called ahead before dropping by. Perhaps it would’ve been less…”

“Creepy,” Bucky finished for her, his shoulders deflating and hunching over in defeat. He knew it.

Sadie laughed, reaching over and patting him consolingly on the arm. “I was going to say ‘shocking’, but your word works too,” she said, trying her best to stifle her giggles. “It’s okay, though, maybe you can--”

The rattling of the front door made both of them whip their heads towards the sound, the unmistakable jingling of keys ringing out from the other side of the door.

“Oh gosh, she’s home early,” Sadie said, her eyes widening in horror. She turned back to Bucky who had an equally horrified look on his face, and they stared at each other for two agonizing seconds before Bucky was gone, flying down the hallway that led away from the kitchen and towards the bedrooms.

He chose the first door he came across, opening it with lightning speed and closing it behind him just as fast without any real thought. He just knew he couldn’t let you see him, not like this, not this way. He didn’t want you to feel ambushed or shocked by seeing him in your apartment after everything that had happened. He wanted everything to be right when he spoke to you, so he knew he had to form an escape plan, and fast.

“Oh my gosh, Bucky!” Sadie’s muffled whispered came from outside the door. “What are you doing?” she hissed, trying to open the door, but he pushed against it to keep her out.

“I’m hiding,” he hissed back, straining to hear if you were in the apartment yet.

“Well good job, idiot,” Sadie said, jiggling the doorknob again, rapping on the door urgently. “That’s her room.”

Bucky’s entire body stiffened then, and he turned slowly to truly take in his surroundings. The entire room was bathed in the orange glow of the late afternoon, casting a warm haze over everything in sight. His eyes landed on your bed first, half-made and covered in quilted blankets and pillows, a soft divot in the mattress where it had learned to conform to your body. His gaze traveled along your floor, littered with a few of your shoes and a decorative rug. Your closet door was open, and a neat row of clothing peeking out, all of which were probably graced with your sweet scent. Finally, he looked over at your dresser set, more photos tucked into the mirror’s frame, various knicks and knacks and beauty products lined up on the dresser top.

Sadie jiggled the knob some more, to no avail. “You better call her, or so help me, I’ll smack you with your own metal arm,” she hissed, interrupted by the sound of the front door closing and you calling her name.

Something blue caught his eye, tucked in between a tube of moisturizer and a fragrance bottle. Bucky stepped further into the room to get a better look, careful not to disturb anything in the process. He got to the dresser, and he was able to see that the blue fabric better, a deep shade of navy bespeckled with dark green dots. Carefully, he picked it up, running his gloved fingers over the smooth silk, something dormant swelling up in his chest and mind.

The man on the glass display looked like him. He couldn’t deny it, even if he didn’t remember the last time he saw his reflection.

James Buchanan Barnes.

The three names rolled around in his head, reaching out for meaning and recognition, but finding no purchase.

The inscription was no help either, dolling out facts about this fallen soldier that was supposed to be him. He tried to force himself to feel something for those words, but he just felt blank. He only felt something when he looked down at the small screen below the display, his breath hitching at the sight of the man from the bridge, the man from the helicarriers, the man who was his mission.

“Then finish it. ‘Cuz I’m with you ‘til the end of the line.”

He remembered those words, and his head began to spin as it had on the helicarriers, his whole world dipping below the surface of the Potomac, his lungs filling with dark, rancid water, struggling against the raging current.

He heard sniffling beside him, the sound a small beam of like that led him to air.

A woman was there, not too far away, watching the same screen as him. She was upset, something about the display causing her distress.

He continued to watch her for a moment, and bit by bit, she pulled him from the baleful depths, a surge of fresh air expanding his lungs until they cracked. He wanted to take away her pain, and he was sure he would destroy the glass display, the whole exhibit, the whole damn museum if it meant drying her tears.

He found his hand migrating to his pocket—well, the pocket of the jacket he had lifted off an unsuspecting stranger who left it on a park bench. He pulled out the handkerchief that came with it, staring at the shiny, reflective fabric before extending it towards her.

To his relief, she did stop crying, a puzzled look on her face as she glanced down at his meager offering, the only means of relief he had to offer.

She took it gingerly, her hand brushing over his delicately, and that was all he allowed himself to indulge in, that small moment of intimacy with this woman who ignited something in him, something stronger than even the man from the bridge.

He turned and walked away, farther and farther from her, and he couldn’t understand why he felt like he had left a piece of his heart in her hand instead of a piece of cloth.

“Hey, you’re home! How was tutoring today?”

Sadie’s high-pitched exclamation pulled Bucky out of the memory, startling him back to the dilemma at hand.

“It was fine. What are you doing?” he heard you answer back, your tone rightfully suspicious.

He didn’t have any more time to waste, though his chest ached at the sound of your voice. He stuffed the handkerchief into his pocket and rushed to your window, opening it without a sound, lifting himself up and out into the world outside. He clung to the brick window sill with his left hand as he shimmied your window closed with his right, just as he heard the door to your bedroom open.

He hung there for a few tormenting moments until he heard your door shut again, your and Sadie’s voices muffling further into the apartment. He sighed with relief, but that relief only lasted for a second when he looked to the side and saw that the fire escape was out of reach.

Far out of reach.

He glanced down, looking at the slab of asphalt that made up the alley beside your building, which was exactly six stories below his dangling feet. There was absolutely nothing between him and the ground, even the dumpster was a few feet off, the puffed-up garbage bags looking invitingly comfy in his current situation.

Bucky sighed, shaking his head slightly. “Not like this’ll be new for you, Barnes,” he muttered to himself, giving himself a silent three-count before letting go of the ledge, plummeting all 75 feet like dead weight. He landed square on his back, the wind being knocked out of him, a low-pitched groan seeping out of his lips. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a black stray cat, its marble eyes regarding him with a kind of bored judgment, its tail flicking a little behind it.

“Not all of us can land on our feet,” he mumbled at it, groaning as he got up and headed towards his bike.

The ride back to the compound was smooth, with little traffic for a weekend day, and unsurprisingly, his thoughts revolved around you and the handkerchief burning a hole through his pocket. By the time he got there the sun was already dipped below the horizon, the sky fading to black with a thin strip of fiery orange above the earth. As soon as he parked his bike in the garage, he went straight to Steve’s office, hoping for once that he wasn’t there. He sat down at Steve’s desk, right in front of his desk phone. He took the handkerchief out of his pocket and stared at it for the longest time, having a strange feeling that he was holding the key to everything.

He could feel it. He was on the brink, balancing on the edge looking out onto open space, and he knew if he just took one last step, he would make his way to you. Sure he’d be falling without a parachute, without a safety net, but you were worth it. You were everything to him, and he wanted to be what you needed, what you wanted.

He just needed to take that step.

“Don’t tell me you still don’t know how to use a phone.”

Bucky almost fell out of his chair when he turned to find Tony Stark standing in the doorway wearing a plain t-shirt and jeans, his arms crossed with an expression that rivaled the cat’s from earlier. He didn’t know what to say; he never really knew what to say to Tony. They had this horrible connection, this way that their pasts tangled together, converging on one fateful December night. He couldn’t understand why Tony even let him be here; he could count on his fingers how many times Tony had uttered a word in his direction since he began living in the compound, nothing but tight nods of acknowledgment thrown at each other in passing. There just wasn’t anything the two of them could say to each other, so they didn’t try. Until now, apparently.

“I know you’re probably used to the whole rotary deal, but the buttons are pretty self-explanatory,” Tony added, venturing further into the office and taking a seat on the arm of the small couch across from Bucky. “You gonna call her or not?”

Bucky hesitated, wondering if he had somehow stepped into another dimension where he hadn’t killed the billionaire’s parents. “Steve told you about this?” he asked, his voice low and quiet as if he were trying to make himself smaller somehow.

“Peter was a bit loose-lipped after he gave Cap the letter,” Tony explained, a small grin quirking the side of his mouth. “I couldn’t help but get involved. You and Teach are a cosmic anomaly, and anomalies titillate me,” he said with a straight face.

Bucky grinned at him, a pang echoing in his chest at the thought that Tony’s sense of humor matched Howard’s almost exactly. “Involved?” Bucky repeated, feeling a bit uneasy.

Tony nodded, moving from his perch on the armrest to sit on the actual cushions of the couch, crossing one leg over the other. “Who do you think set up that little field trip?”

Bucky’s eyebrows met his hairline, and Tony let out a low chuckle, running a hand along his beard. Now Bucky knew for sure he was in the twilight zone.

“That was you?” Bucky asked, completely dumbfounded.

“Well, not entirely me,” Tony admitted, rolling his eyes, more to himself than Bucky. “The foundation was already gearing up for that outreach program, I just made sure Pete’s school was moved up on the list.”

There was a beat of silence before Bucky asked the next obvious question.

“Why?”

Tony’s exterior cracked a little, his legs bouncing a couple of times, his hands beginning to fidget like they were yearning for something to tinker with. “I’ve been asking myself that same question,” he said, sighing heavily, tapping his fist gently against the armrest. He looked up at Bucky, something unreadable in his eyes, but not altogether unfriendly.

“You know, as much as my old man loved to talk about Cap…he spoke about you, too,” Tony said, a light strain to his voice. “He always spoke about your bravery, your sacrifice. He revered the fact that you laid down your life in service to this country. I think part of him felt guilty about it, what happened to you and Rogers. You were a saint to him. And I figure a man like that…a man like that wouldn’t have been able to do what you did. Not willingly.”

Bucky looked away from Tony then, his tongue feeling heavy in his mouth. He wasn’t sure if he felt relieved at Tony’s words, or guilty, or shamed. Maybe he felt a combination of the three.

“Look,” Tony said, suddenly all business, standing up again and making his way to the door. “I shouldn’t be alive. That’s something you and I have in common. Where we differ is that I know when a second chance is biting me in the ass. This,” Tony gestured to the phone, “Her. This is your second chance. Don’t be an idiot and miss out on it.”

Bucky once again found himself stunned into silence for the second time that day, unable to express his gratefulness for what Tony said. Tony seemed to understand that, giving Bucky a genuine and warm grin along with a nod before disappearing into the hall, the sound of his footsteps faintly echoing off the walls. Bucky looked at the phone, its buttons calling out to him to be pressed. He looked down at the handkerchief, and the plates in his left arm whirred, the phantom itch he knew too well invading its synapses.

Do you want to be happy, James?

The answer was just a step away.

And he took it.

His fingers dialed your number almost automatically, the digits all but seared on his brain. It rang only twice before you picked up.

“Steve, hi. I’m so glad you called,” you said, your breathy voice filling his ear, seeping into his very bones. “Look, I’m sorry about how we left things the other day. I hope you’re not upset.”

Bucky felt like his jaw was wired shut, and he could feel a slight tremble in the hand that was holding the phone up to his ear. He couldn’t do this, he didn’t feel equipped, but he had waited too long, and he wasn’t going to waste any more time, not when it came to you.

“Steve? Are you there?” you asked, concern lacing into your tone.

“It’s not Steve,” he said finally, squeezing his eyes shut. “It’s Bucky.”

It was your turn to be silent, and the silence stretched long enough for him to believe the line might have gone dead.

“Y/n? Are you still there?” he asked, panic rising in his belly.

You took in a sharp breath of air, like you had been holding that whole time. “Y-yes. I’m here,” you said, your voice thick with emotion.

“Oh. Good. Th-that's good,” Bucky said, stumbling over his words. He cringed at himself, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. You were still silent, so Bucky decided to just charge on, rip off the bandage.

“I know I’m probably the last person you want to talk to, but I’d really like to talk to you,” he began, a small surge of courage propelling him forward. You were still quiet. “There’s so much I want to say, so much I need to say to you, but…I don’t want to do that over the phone. Do you—do you think you can meet me at Stark Tower tomorrow? At around noon? I can send a car to pick you up--”

“No,” you said quickly.

Bucky’s heart sank to the floor.

“I mean, not ‘no’ to meeting you, no to the car,” you clarified, sounding a little out of breath. “I can get there myself. I’d prefer it.”

Bucky had to brace himself against the desk at the wave of relief that washed over him, the tension bleeding out of his muscles, the sting of tears dancing over his eyelashes.

“Thank you,” he breathed, unable to keep the tremor out of his voice. He cleared his throat. “Thank you so much. I’ll—I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

You paused, but the silence was mingled with a fragile hope, one you both grasped onto.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Bucky,” you confirmed, and he swore there was a smile in your tone.

Yes.

The answer finally came to him, and it flowed through him violently, like the serum running through his veins.

Yes, he wanted to be happy.

He wanted you.

Yes.

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