I write mainly MCU Bucky Barnes because of his great character arc and Sebastian Stan’s representation of that character. Other MCU characters may appear in my works, occasionally in equal roles. If you are looking for very dark or evil Bucky themes you won’t find them in my works. There will be some Bucky AU fics.
OFCs in my stories are often named with physical descriptions. It doesn’t mean I try to exclude anyone. It just means I’m old school and learned to write in 1st person or 3rd person POV with named and described characters. I do not use Y/N.
Most stories are rated PG 13. If you are a minor, please DO NOT INTERACT with stories marked as 18+. There is a reason they are marked. Please respect that. If you follow me and do not have an age indicated in your bio, you will be blocked.
Sorry, no story requests or taglists. Please follow me and activate notifications for updates. Re-blogging and comments are most welcome. Haters will be blocked. If you find errors please let me know as I do not use a beta reader.
Wattpad is my main platform, followed by AO3 and some things on FanFiction.net; username for all of them is sjsmith56. All MCU characters are the property of Marvel / Disney, as are portions of the movie plots reused in my stories. I claim ownership of all original characters and plot lines. Please do not copy and paste or translate my works for posting in other platforms.
One Shots
Short Fiction / Multi-part Fiction
Novels / Collections
‘Tis the Season compilation of winter/ Christmas themed Bucky Barnes fics
Summary: Civil war veteran Colonel Chester Phillips enlists the help of his former Sergeant, James Buchanan Barnes, to avenge the death of the captain of their unit and his son at the hands of a land baron in 1875 Wyoming. Assisted by two other federal marshals, they try to stop the land baron, and protect the remaining family members.
Length: 6 - 8 parts
Characters: James Buchanan Barnes, Chester Phillips, Alexander Pierce, Brock Rumlow, Steven Rogers, Samuel Wilson, two named OFC, one named OCC.
Warnings and other notes: Intimidation tactics, including murder, 19th century attitudes towards women and African American peoples, references to brothels. Set during a time when settlers and land barons were both claiming land recently taken from the original Native inhabitants. I attempted to keep the history mostly accurate although some liberties have been taken with exact dates, occurrences, etc., in order to serve the plot.
Part 1 - Prologue
Part 2 - Poker Face
Part 3 - The Four
Part 4 -
Part 5 -
Part 6 -
Part 7 -
Part 8 -
Short Fiction Masterlist
Please support the author by reblogging or commenting. It’s hard to keep writing when you don’t get any feedback.
MCU character names are the property of Marvel / Disney and are used as inspiration for the major characters in this work of fan fiction. This story is loosely inspired by the movie Shane, based on the novel of the same name by Jack Schaefer. The conflict between large ranch owners and smaller settler farmers was an issue in Wyoming Territory. Original characters and aspects of the story that are different from the movie and base novel are the creation of the writer of this short fic. All applicable rights are claimed. Please do not copy, past, translate or post on other platforms. This story is already published on Wattpad and AO3 under the author’s username, SJSmith56.
Summary: A delegation from the southern lands brings word of the existence of a supercomputer requiring Bruce’s expertise. An incident at their destination involving Magnus threatens everything.
Length: 5.3 K
Characters: Princess Maria, King Steven, King Thorn, Lord Buchanan, Bruce Banner, King David, Prince Arthur.
Warnings: Theft of Magnus, injury to Magnus, parent fury resulting in physical discipline to child.
Author notes: Brooklyn and the lands to the north and east are higher in elevation than in our world. New York City and New Jersey are under water. Most of the east coast of the U.S. was destroyed by the calamity. This chapter begins the third part of the book, introducing new characters that will share much of the story of Lord Buchanan. It’s where the muse led me.
<<Chapter 25
⛵️ 🌅
The delegation from the Kingdom of Blue Waters that met with King Steven the following day set the stage for the biggest transformation to be felt in the kingdom. Originally enemies who had been duped by Prince Loke into attacking his brother and by extension King Steven's kingdom they became the missing piece of what was needed to mount a joint effort to destroy the asteroids that threatened their world.
The leader of the delegation, Princess Maria, was a no-nonsense woman who had obviously trained as a warrior from a young age. As the only child of the king she had also been educated to a degree unseen in most women of her social rank. Her intellect was keen and she had publicly disagreed with her father over his decision to follow Prince Loke into battle against the northerners. For that she had been imprisoned until the remains of his army barely made it home. The public outcry against the old king had been so strong that he had abdicated in all but name and turned over the running of his kingdom to his daughter. It was her, who upon hearing of the desire for coffee by the northerners had encouraged the pedlars to learn what they could about their distant neighbours as part of a simple trade relationship. From their tales of the scientific discoveries and inventions that were flowing from the creative minds in the north she began searching out the modern women and ancient structures alike in her own realm. Like the northern kingdoms she learned they had also received an influx of modern women into their kingdoms, all with technological skills and knowledge that had long been lost to them. When word of the discoveries of ancient structures in the northern kingdoms reached their ears via the coffee pedlars who had undergone the long journeys back and forth between their kingdom she ordered the nobility to begin searching their lands for ancient structures as well. Two missile silos had been found, as well as the remains of libraries, hospitals, and observatories. They had also witnessed the close encounter of the large meteor that exploded in the atmosphere and from their own observations had concluded that the space threat was greater than any other.
Barely three days into her delegation's visit she made the decision to enter into an alliance with King Stephen and King Thorn to pool their scientific resources together. It happened after two specific events. First was the demonstration of the Queen's Guard put on just for her on the first day, with Queen Peg leading them. The Queen shared her experiences of being a soldier and leader of men in her own world before landing in this one, then impressing the warrior princess with her views of women having equality with the men of this world. Next, with King Steven and King Thorn she met with Bruce Banner at Lord Buchanan's castle after travelling there. Despite his size and skin colour she handled the meeting with candour, asking him questions about his intellect. He was impressed with her scientific knowledge, asking if she had learned from modern scientists. She acknowledged it then asked to see the computers; her eyes widening when she saw them, resulting in her peppering him with questions.
"How do you power them? Where did you get the software to reformat them? What calculations are you running on them?"
He answered all of them then asked why all the questions.
"They discovered a super computer in a kingdom we are allied with," she said. "Our combined scientists have tried to get it to work but have been unsuccessful. We believe it belonged to the ancient's space agency and is in a city once called Abilene, the next kingdom over. There are indications it was moved from its original location in a place called Houston before the asteroid impact that sent a massive tidal wave over the southeastern part of the country that existed at that time. The King and Queen would have come on this trip but she is late in her confinement, and he has his own share of civil unrest. They charged me with representing them. Is it possible you could travel there and try to get it working again?"
"That's a long way and I'm too big to ride a horse," said Bruce. "What are the land conditions between there and here?"
"Not good," she admitted. "We use ships, transport our horses on them, arriving at one of their coastal settlements. My father's kingdom is based in what was Atlanta according to the modern worlders at my palace. It had a higher elevation and was further inland than Houston so it became a refuge from the waves. Much of what was the southern part of the country is under water now although it is quite shallow in places."
"Have you found any television or video cam equipment in your searches?" asked Bruce. "Any transmission towers still standing?"
"Yes, quite a bit of equipment," she replied. "The towers I would have to check. What are you proposing?"
"Site to site broadcast," said Bruce. "Your computer experts could show me what they are doing, the commands, the responses, etc. and I could give them real time suggestions."
"Would my scientists know how to set that up?" she asked.
"I'm sure they would," replied Bruce. "But it is contingent on connecting the transmission towers and that might take time we don't have."
"We don't have the resources," she admitted. "That's why we've asked for metals in trade so that we can fabricate solar panels, wind turbines and the like."
"Salvage," said Bruce, thinking out loud, then explaining his thought. "Let me run some simulations. We know that people survived the tidal wave in this area but to the west which is significantly lower elevation the area was decimated. Our highest elevation here is about 2200 feet and slowly goes higher the further north and east we go so the wave wasn't that big when it reached here. If the original impact was closer to the Gulf of Mexico that's where the highest tidal waves would be. It would sweep everything in a path inland then the surge back would drag debris with it. I can make an educated guess where you could find the remains of wires from the original transmission towers."
A slow smile spread across Princess Maria's face. She looked at King Steven, King Thorn, and Lord Buchanan. "We must have an alliance," she said. "There is just no other answer. This man, Dr. Banner, is brilliant and if we're going to save our world from any more impacts I need him to help get that super computer working. Our scientists, based on records they've found in Abilene believe that the space agency knew about this killer asteroid, their words, not mine, and were desperately trying to come up with a plan to send the missiles there. They faced pushback from the military over it and that was what ultimately killed them. They had all these missiles and no way to reprogram them without the military's help. There is no organized military now, except what each lord has but you have three full missile silos and we have found two. The empty silo, that commander tried but he didn't have the right ... what is the word?"
"Trajectory," said Bruce. "Because he didn't hit it in the right spot he was only able to break a small piece off it and it wasn't enough. If they were tracking that one then they were likely tracking more of them if they were using a super computer. She's right; I need to be there onsite. That machine can out perform all the computers I have set up here in a fraction of the time. We need to get it running. How long will it take to get to Abilene by boat and then walking?"
"Two weeks, minimum," she said. "We can build a cart for you. There are teams of oxen that can probably pull your weight so you wouldn't have to walk."
Bruce looked agonizingly at King Steven, King Thorn, and Lord Buchanan. The King made it easy for him.
"Go," he said. "If that computer can do so much more and give us that much information then that is a priority. You have trained Stark, and the others well and they can probably do much while you're gone. We can start looking for those transmission towers, perhaps even build some of our own on higher ground. Princess, you are welcome to take one of the ham radios with you. Bruce can set it up. Their range is much greater than the regular radios. That way we can keep in better contact. An alliance it is for us. Thorn?"
King Thorn stuck his hand out and she took it firmly, shaking it in return. Then she shook King Steven's hand.
"Would you object if I came?" asked Lord Buchanan. "I have travelled by ship before. I've been to the Holy Land. I can search out other trade opportunities, goods, food stuffs, natural medicines."
"That would be acceptable," she said. "Your wife will not object?"
"I wouldn't say that but she is a modern woman and a Queen's Guard," he said. "She understands the need to serve the kingdom and she is well equipped to manage my estate's affairs."
Three days later Bruce Banner and Lord Buchanan, along with his horse Magnus were all on a ship heading south. It would take a week to get to Atlanta, where the Kingdom of Blue Waters was centred. They would take on provisions then go on to the west to what had been Texas in the ancient world. Long-distance messenger falcons had already been sent requesting a cart be built to accommodate Bruce Banner. The falconer had whispered the directions to the creatures, sending three in case any were injured along the way. Princess Maria affixed her seal to the message they carried so her people would know the order came from her.
When they arrived in Atlanta after a week Magnus became unruly and it was necessary for Buchanan to ride him off the ship first then gallop him for some time to release his pent up energy. Princess Maria watched the horse with interest during the journey, impressed with his stature, recognizing his superior bloodline.
"Do you think Lord Buchanan would be interested in his horse being offered to stud while we pick up provisions?" she asked Bruce. "He is a magnificent beast, one of the finest stallions I have ever seen. I have several mares that should be in heat right about now. Their foals would be fine horses that would invigorate our herds."
"He might agree just to get rid of some of Magnus' nervousness," he said. "He is quite particular with the horse. Only he, his wife and best friend have ridden it."
"I will ask," she said, "I have something to offer in exchange he might be interested in."
Later, in her palace, she introduced the two men to her father, the King. He was impressed by Bruce's size and colour but after a time seemed to retreat into himself and eventually the Princess called for his attendants to take him to bed.
"Our modern doctors say he has dementia," she said, sadly. "It was why he was so easily led by Prince Loke's delegation to join him against your kingdom. At least once that fiasco was over he had enough of his senses to make me his regent."
"My father had it also," said Buchanan. "He lived long enough to see his first grandchild, my daughter, then he died shortly after. I was thankful for that much. Dr. Banner tells me you are interested in Magnus as a stud. He has had his share of trysts with other mares on my estate but all have taken place in an open paddock, with no restraints. Are you comfortable with that?"
"My mares have been bred that way before," she replied. "I have a gift to reciprocate if you agree. Taste this."
She poured each of them a half glass of a dark amber liquid. Bruce smelled his and smiled, downing his in one gulp.
"That is very nice bourbon," he said. "How old is it?"
"This particular bottle is from one of many casks found after the calamity," she said with a smug smile. "It was dated 2023. The King's spirit maker has replicated the process to make an acceptable Tennessee style whiskey. For as many mares as your Magnus can mount while we reload the ship I will give you a full cask of the aged product for yourself, one for your king and one for King Thorn, plus an agreement to ship a significant amount of the replicated product to your kingdom on the return trip. Here is the replicated product."
She poured from a different bottle and toasted their health. Banner downed his in a single gulp, indicating it wasn't bad as a replica of the original. Buchanan tasted both, indicating he could see the superiority of the first drink but that the second would be liked by many. The Princess added that the liquor could be used in cooking, giving a distinctive taste to many recipes which she could also provide. If the product proved popular then she could enter into negotiations with the King for a formal agreement. Buchanan agreed and they went out to introduce Magnus to his harem. He didn't disappoint, mounting more than a dozen mares in the afternoon that had been teased first by a young stallion to make sure they were ready. Princess Maria was both pleased and impressed with his efforts, celebrating the great horse’s efforts with a meal of ribs using a bourbon sauce that both Buchanan and Banner found tasty. A courtier arrived to say the ship had been provisioned, the tide was high and about to turn so they loaded Magnus back on. The princess loaded her mare then they themselves boarded before the ship's captain set a westerly course towards the setting sun.
With a strong easterly wind they made the journey in three days, having to pick a specific course to avoid shallower portions of the sea. A delegation from the King of the Western Plains was there to greet them. As promised a large cart pulled by a team of eight oxen waited at the dock to carry Bruce. He felt like he was on display but was treated with deference by the officials and ignored the stares as they rode the dry and dusty road to Abilene. The King, a tall well built man with hands like a mason waited outside the lab where the super computer was housed. He was dressed in workmanlike clothes and admitted he was a hands on type of man, except for the computers as he still didn't quite understand them. He also was quite taken by Magnus, having already learned of the stallion’s prowess with the Atlanta mares. He offered to buy him from Buchanan, an offer that was refused with a smile. When they entered the building Bruce turned to the King in surprise.
"You have air conditioning?" he asked. "How?"
"The same pipes that bring up heat from deep inside the earth in the winter bring up cooler air in the summer," he replied. "With the fans powered by the sun we are able to distribute the air throughout the building. We use ice in the super computer lab as well to further reduce the temperature. When we first failed to make it run it was thought that was the problem but it is something else. Please, come and wash up. We have clean suits for you to wear inside the lab."
They entered a washroom and all of them cleaned up, put head coverings on over their hair then donned white coveralls before entering the lab. It was significantly cooler in there but Bruce was sure it was cold enough. He was introduced to the team and before they could ask he told them where his PhD was from pre-calamity. Accepting his CV they began telling him everything they had tried in programming, trouble shooting and environment. As they began to get more into the workings of the computer Buchanan, the Princess and the King began to feel left out and the King motioned for them to leave the scientists to work on their own. Outside of the lab they removed the coveralls and the King invited them both to ride to a nearby residence to eat and drink. They stepped out into the heat of the sunny day where the monarch ordered the grooms to bring their horses. They looked at each other uneasily before sharing what the problem was.
"Your Majesty, your horse and Princess Maria's horse are still here but the Prince took the black stallion," said the head groom. "He said you were buying it for him and he wished to try it out. He has been gone this half hour."
Before Buchanan could say anything the King exploded in fury. "Blasted child!" he fumed, then turned apologetically to Buchanan. "My Lord, I am sorry. My eldest is a most obstinate and headstrong boy. He coveted your horse from the moment he heard of it. Now he has shamed me once again by taking it without permission. I will send my King's Guard for him. We will find him and your steed. I promise."
He gave the order to the King's Guard and retreated back inside the air conditioned building to wait. As Buchanan paced angrily back and forth the King tried his best to make amends but the proud Lord said nothing, just showing his fury on his face. At last, the commander of the Guards entered the building with news.
"We have found the Prince and the stallion," he said hurriedly, eyeing Buchanan as he reported to the King. "The Prince is fine but the stallion is injured. I am sure the Royal Veterinary College can treat him for his injury."
Buchanan whirled on the King. "In our lands a horse thief is no better than a murderer," he said angrily. "If I found him on my land I would be within my rights to run him through with my rapier. Pray that the injury suffered by Magnus is not a serious one."
The King took the outburst with grace. "It is our law as well, Lord Buchanan," he replied. "This isn't the first time my son has shamed his station. It will be the last. Commander, order your men to take Prince Arthur into custody. He will never be fit to rule if he insists on behaving this way. Provide Lord Buchanan a horse to ride. Come, sir, let us see what damage my fool son has done to your magnificent beast."
A horse was provided and the three rode out with the Guard commander. The Prince, sitting in the shade and drinking a beer rose insolently as his father and the others approached. Buchanan almost struck the boy when he dismounted the borrowed horse but instead he went straight to Magnus who favoured his left front leg. A veterinarian was already there. The King did strike his son and ordered him arrested for horse thievery.
"Why Father?" he asked as he was bound. "If the horse was mine why should I not ride him as I please?"
"Because he was not yours!" roared the King. "There was no purchase. My offer was refused and you in your arrogance stole that which did not belong to you. You are a horse thief and my hands are now tied as you must be punished as one."
"But I am a Prince," said the boy. "Do not I have station or rank above ordinary people? Am I not permitted to take what I want for that is how I have been raised, that all this will be mine someday."
"You foolish child," said the King. "That horse comes from another kingdom, here on a diplomatic mission. It isn't mine to give and it wasn't yours to take. No man's horse is yours to take even as a prince or a king. The kingdom would have been yours but you have shown you cannot be trusted to conduct yourself accordingly. I disown you and strip you of your rank and privilege. You are no son of mine. I have no son."
The King turned from the boy and strode to where Buchanan and the veterinarian were still assessing the injury. He ignored the pleas of his son as the guards took him away. The veterinarian began wrapping the left front forelimb of the horse and Buchanan stood, his hand stroking Magnus' neck.
"It is a tendon injury," he said to the King, "but she is unsure if it is a strain or a tear and will wrap it to reduce the swelling. We must get a wagon to transport him to your stables so she can ice the leg. This horse has been my closest companion for ten years. I found him in the Holy Land and we bonded like brothers. Only I and two others have ever been allowed to ride him by his consent. I see the marks of a whip on his withers and excessive pull on the bit. I'm sorry but your son ...."
"I am sick with shame," said the King. "He is my only son and I admit I let him get away with much. But this, this is too much even for me to overlook any more. Please, let me gift you one of my finest horses to ride while you are still with us and take home with you when you return. It is the least I can do."
"Do you plan to execute him?" asked Buchanan, his anger cooling. "Is there no other punishment for a headstrong foolish boy?"
"Banishment perhaps," said the King. "But he has no idea of how to look after himself, no idea how to conduct himself as an honourable man. I have failed him."
"Perhaps he can return to the Broken Lands as a foster," suggested Princess Maria. "No one would know who he is and he could learn to be a good man. I think he would have a good teacher."
She looked directly at Lord Buchanan as she spoke, who coloured and shook his head. "I am still too angry with the boy to even consider fostering him," he replied.
"Yet I heard several stories of your sense of justice and moral code," she said. "For a man born as a peasant you seem to have the respect of many noble born Lords in your kingdom. Perhaps what the boy needs is to be taught how to be a prince by someone who knows what it is to be low born."
The King said nothing, his shame still too great to even ask if Buchanan would entertain the idea. An oxen drawn cart arrived to carry Magnus back to the king's stables and the three mounted their horses after Buchanan helped Magnus step onto the cart. He rode closely on the borrowed horse, beside the cart for the entire trip while the veterinarian stood with his horse, keeping him calm. When they arrived at the stables Buchanan went with her to make sure that Magnus was properly set up. The veterinarian, a modern woman, looked hopefully at Buchanan.
"Magnus took the trip well," she said. "I hope it is just a strain. He is a beautiful horse and I will do my best to heal him."
He nodded his head gratefully then took the saddle which had already been removed from the horse's back and placed it on the saddle rack beside his stall. Taking his saddle bags in his arms he was led by the King into the palace. Word had already reached the Queen about her son's crime and it was said she had taken to her bed, being in the last month of her pregnancy with what was now hoped to be another son, after four daughters. Wordlessly the King showed Buchanan to his rooms and bowed before he left to console his wife. A dresser came out of the bathing room, informing Buchanan that a warm bath had been drawn for him. The man offered to take the saddle bags to remove his clothes and press them before wearing. Buchanan informed him there was a trunk as well and the servant assured him it had already been unpacked. When he had undressed and slipped into the warm soothing waters he looked at the dresser, Jose, who stood at the ready.
"That is a different name, and you speak with an accent," said Buchanan. "This is not the kingdom of your birth?"
"No, M'Lord," he replied. I come from further south, a mountainous country, under no king's rule. I was fortunate to come here, even more fortunate to get a position in the palace. Someday when I have enough saved I will open a coffee plantation."
"It is this kingdom that grows coffee?" asked Buchanan.
"No, it is in the lawless country where it grows although I have found places in this kingdom that with careful preparation of the soil and the addition of good shade plants it may be possible to grow the coffee plants," he answered. "Since the influx of modern women the demand for good coffee has grown so it is worth it to invest in such a venture."
"What can you tell me about the Prince, truthfully?" asked Buchanan. "You may speak frankly in my presence. I give you my word it will remain between us."
"He is a troubled boy," said Jose in a low voice. "As the only son and heir to the kingdom he has been subjected to great pressures since he was a child. They even started looking for a wife for him before he was ten years of age. His mother coddles him, his father is overly strict and the result is a boy that doesn't understand the limitations of a prince or a person. Is it true he stole your horse and injured it?"
"It is true," replied Buchanan. "Yet it has been suggested I may be able to help the boy by fostering him in my estate far to the north and teach him to be a good man and a good ruler. I admit my first instinct was to run him through with my rapier but I am a guest in these lands and that would be unacceptable. The thought of having him live with me is ... unnerving."
"It would unnerve me also, M'Lord," said Jose. "I will leave you to your thoughts and have these travelling clothes cleaned."
"Thank you, Jose," said Buchanan. "I appreciate your candour."
Buchanan bathed, then was assisted into clothes for dinner after. They spoke no more of the young prince but it weighed on his mind heavily. He found out where Bruce was being housed and knocked on his door but was told he still worked in the computer lab. Of all the people whose counsel he wanted Bruce's voice was sorely missed. In the hallway on the way to the dining hall he met with Princess Maria and offered her his arm as a gentleman.
"I apologize for putting you on the spot," she said. "It was not meant to force you into taking an unruly boy into your care but part of me believes there is still something in him that can be redeemed. King Steven told me that he was fostered with you and your father and that he was not the best of children either."
"No, he wasn't," replied Buchanan, "but his nature was one of a prankster, not a criminal. Princess, I have an unrelated question for you. You export coffee to us but I have learned that the coffee comes from a lawless country. How do you acquire it?"
"It is true that much coffee comes from the mountainous region immediately to the south," she admitted. "There are also lands further south, a month's journey by ship whose rulers are more in line with ourselves. We deal with them more than the lawless ones. But for the right price anyone can make an arrangement with those bandits who control that region. I just chose not to as they are not to be trusted. King David is attempting to set up his own plantations but the plants require just the right conditions and it is difficult to replicate it in this land."
They arrived at the dining hall where Buchanan was introduced to the Queen and her four daughters. She was large with child and Buchanan noticed her eyes were puffy from the news of her son, the Prince. Nothing was said of the boy through the meal. After it was concluded the King asked Buchanan to come to the stables for an update on Magnus' condition. Unfortunately there was no change and Buchanan returned to his rooms disheartened by the news. He opened the door to his rooms, surprised to see the Queen and one of her ladies in waiting seated beside his window.
"Your Majesty," he bowed respectfully, "this is most unseemly and I must ask you to leave my rooms."
"Lord Buchanan, my lady in waiting will stay with us to assure you that all is proper," she replied. "I would speak to you about my son, the Prince. First, I am sorry he stole your stallion and injured him. You must understand that I had trouble conceiving and carrying a child to term, losing three children before he was born. It made me an anxious mother and I excused a lot of poor behaviour from him as he grew. His father tried to correct him but we worked at cross purposes and the result is what you witnessed today."
"Your Majesty," he began but she held her hand up as tears formed in her eyes.
"I understand Princess Maria suggested he go back with you to be fostered and taught how to be a good man," she said, her voice beginning to break. "I beg of you to consider this. He is my only son as I carry another daughter according to our soothsayer who has never been wrong. Our laws do not allow a woman to succeed the throne and if he is disowned or executed the kingdom will be passed on to my husband's cousin who has already threatened to do away with any trade agreements we have with other kingdoms. He is also anti-technology and has indicated he will destroy the super computer. Please sir, Lord Buchanan, I beseech you to help my son."
He took a deep breath, feeling sympathetic for a mother's plight. "Madam, I can only promise to consider it," he said, unwilling to commit. "You have given me much to think upon. I seek another's counsel before I make my decision and will not make it lightly. That is the only assurance I can give you at this time."
She nodded sadly and her lady in waiting extended her arm to her Queen to assist her to stand. With great dignity the pregnant woman walked past him without words and left his rooms. When she left he summoned Jose.
"The Giant, is he still at the super computer?" he asked, to which Jose nodded. "I wish to be awakened the moment he returns. Can you make sure that happens?"
The servant assured him he would stay up himself. Buchanan dismissed him and began undressing himself. Then he made a decision and put his jacket back on, deciding to see one other person before he saw Bruce.
Chapter 27>>
Series Masterlist
Please like and reblog if you enjoyed this chapter.
Summary: Civil war veteran Colonel Chester Phillips enlists the help of his former Sergeant, James Buchanan Barnes, to avenge the death of the captain of their unit and his son at the hands of a land baron in 1875 Wyoming. Assisted by two other federal marshals, they try to stop the land baron, and protect the remaining family members.
Length: 6 - 8 parts
Characters: James Buchanan Barnes, Chester Phillips, Alexander Pierce, Brock Rumlow, Steven Rogers, Samuel Wilson, two named OFC, one named OCC.
Warnings and other notes: Intimidation tactics, including murder, 19th century attitudes towards women and African American peoples, references to brothels. Set during a time when settlers and land barons were both claiming land recently taken from the original Native inhabitants. I attempted to keep the history mostly accurate although some liberties have been taken with exact dates, occurrences, etc., in order to serve the plot.
Part 1 - Prologue
Part 2 - Poker Face
Part 3 - The Four
Part 4 -
Part 5 -
Part 6 -
Part 7 -
Part 8 -
Short Fiction Masterlist
Please support the author by reblogging or commenting. It’s hard to keep writing when you don’t get any feedback.
MCU character names are the property of Marvel / Disney and are used as inspiration for the major characters in this work of fan fiction. This story is loosely inspired by the movie Shane, based on the novel of the same name by Jack Schaefer. The conflict between large ranch owners and smaller settler farmers was an issue in Wyoming Territory. Original characters and aspects of the story that are different from the movie and base novel are the creation of the writer of this short fic. All applicable rights are claimed. Please do not copy, past, translate or post on other platforms. This story is already published on Wattpad and AO3 under the author’s username, SJSmith56.
Summary: Civil war veteran Colonel Chester Phillips enlists the help of his former Sergeant, James Buchanan Barnes, to avenge the death of the captain of their unit and his son at the hands of a land baron in 1875 Wyoming. Assisted by two other federal marshals, they try to stop the land baron, and protect the remaining family members.
Length: 6 - 8 parts
Characters: James Buchanan Barnes, Chester Phillips, Alexander Pierce, Brock Rumlow, Steven Rogers, Samuel Wilson, two named OFC, one named OCC.
Warnings and other notes: Intimidation tactics, including murder, 19th century attitudes towards women and African American peoples, references to brothels. Set during a time when settlers and land barons were both claiming land recently taken from the original Native inhabitants. I attempted to keep the history mostly accurate although some liberties have been taken with exact dates, occurrences, etc., in order to serve the plot.
Part 1 - Prologue
Part 2 - Poker Face
Part 3 - The Four
Part 4 -
Part 5 -
Part 6 -
Part 7 -
Part 8 -
Short Fiction Masterlist
Please support the author by reblogging or commenting. It’s hard to keep writing when you don’t get any feedback.
MCU character names are the property of Marvel / Disney and are used as inspiration for the major characters in this work of fan fiction. This story is loosely inspired by the movie Shane, based on the novel of the same name by Jack Schaefer. The conflict between large ranch owners and smaller settler farmers was an issue in Wyoming Territory. Original characters and aspects of the story that are different from the movie and base novel are the creation of the writer of this short fic. All applicable rights are claimed. Please do not copy, past, translate or post on other platforms. This story is already published on Wattpad and AO3 under the author’s username, SJSmith56.
Summary: Civil war veteran Colonel Chester Phillips enlists the help of his former Sergeant, James Buchanan Barnes, to avenge the death of the captain of their unit and his son at the hands of a land baron in 1875 Wyoming. Assisted by two other federal marshals, they try to stop the land baron, and protect the remaining family members.
Length: 6 - 8 parts
Characters: James Buchanan Barnes, Chester Phillips, Alexander Pierce, Brock Rumlow, Steven Rogers, Samuel Wilson, two named OFC, one named OCC.
Warnings and other notes: Intimidation tactics, including murder, 19th century attitudes towards women and African American peoples, references to brothels. Set during a time when settlers and land barons were both claiming land recently taken from the original Native inhabitants. I attempted to keep the history mostly accurate although some liberties have been taken with exact dates, occurrences, etc., in order to serve the plot.
Part 1 - Prologue
Part 2 - Poker Face
Part 3 - The Four
Part 4 -
Part 5 -
Part 6 -
Part 7 -
Part 8 -
Short Fiction Masterlist
Please support the author by reblogging or commenting. It’s hard to keep writing when you don’t get any feedback.
MCU character names are the property of Marvel / Disney and are used as inspiration for the major characters in this work of fan fiction. This story is loosely inspired by the movie Shane, based on the novel of the same name by Jack Schaefer. The conflict between large ranch owners and smaller settler farmers was an issue in Wyoming Territory. Original characters and aspects of the story that are different from the movie and base novel are the creation of the writer of this short fic. All applicable rights are claimed. Please do not copy, past, translate or post on other platforms. This story is already published on Wattpad and AO3 under the author’s username, SJSmith56.
Summary: Bucky briefly reconsiders his plan. Fury shows him footage of the destruction of several HYDRA bases, trying to reassure the super soldier about his own personal commitment to destroying the organization.
Length: 3.9 K
Characters: Bucky, Joanne, Fury, Maria Hill
Warnings and other notes: Panic attack, painful goodbye. Right image on title board by Huseyn Naghiyev, via Vecteezy.com.
<<Chapter 23
Returning to Joanne's bedside, Bucky found Maria sitting on the chair next to the bed, scrolling on a tablet. She stood up as he stepped inside the door.
"She didn't wake up. Dr. Fine came to check on her vitals and seemed satisfied."
He looked at the woman he loved as she slept then acknowledged Maria.
"Thank you for watching her. Will you be involved in taking care of her after?"
"I'm not sure. Right now, I work a somewhat regular job. Fury called me in to have another woman's presence near while she received medical care." She noted the concerned look on his face. "You're worried about her and the baby, aren't you?"
"You know." She nodded. "I think the only way to keep them both safe is to become the Asset again and be ordered to forget them. It means I'll need to have my memory wiped first."
"I'm sorry. After all that you've done to leave that behind ...."
"I don't even know if it will work but if I'm caught again, they'll turn me and send me after her." His face fell as he realized something. "It won't matter if I do forget her because they'll send me after her anyways. The intruders at the farmhouse called her the secondary target. The two who took me from the gas station talked about sending me after her once I became the Asset again. They'll still find her. Maybe I should just go so I can hunt them down."
He stepped away from Hill before she could say anything, opened the door, looked left, then right, and moved. As he searched the labyrinth of hallways seeking the exit to outside, his efforts became more desperate, until he burst through a door and found himself in a garage bay with several vehicles. A red Exit sign was visible above an emergency exit beside a large roll-up door, and he headed towards it.
"You'll set off the alarm," said Fury's voice, just before he got there. "That will wake her up."
Bucky stopped; his hand poised above the push handle that would open the door.
"It doesn't matter if you wipe me and order me to forget her. They know who she is. If they catch me and turn me, they'll just make her a target, and I will find her. I always find my target." He could feel the terror inside him at the thought of hunting Joanne down. "As soon as I go, you must move her and shut down this site. Take her to one of your secret sites that only you know about or something, but you have to keep her safe."
He stared at the door, the only barrier between him and the outside world, then he heard Fury's footsteps come closer.
"That could happen," admitted the man, as he stood perpendicular to Bucky. "I'm not going to lie and say everything will be fine because I don't know. I do know that I'm not in the habit of giving up. How do you think I managed to survive both of your attempts to kill me?" Bucky said nothing but he was still agitated. "If you walk out that door now, then you're giving up. You can also be tracked again because we have a dampening field on this building that is keeping them from locking on to your trackers."
Bucky raised his hand, clenched it, then spread his fingers over the surface of the door, leaving them there as if contemplating whether to hit the door open. Fury studied the man, recognizing that the years of his imprisonment and abuse had made it difficult for him to trust. Joanne had succeeded in connecting with Barnes but every instinct in him was telling him to run, and to take preemptive action.
"You know that if you run out on her now, without even saying goodbye, that she'll always wonder if you ever really loved her."
It was a low blow. Fury knew that but he truly wanted Barnes to have the best chance possible to stay free. Running out into the darkness right now wasn't going to give him that. He also wanted the opportunity to learn more about where HYDRA was. Since he had his own off-the-books hiding places, he was sure they did as well and the man near him was a source of information for their locations.
"I think your idea is still the best one, even with the uncertainty. We wipe your memory, order you to forget Ms. Phelps, and we disable the trackers in your body. We can get you to Europe, and provide you with a new identity, one that HYDRA won't know about. With the languages that you apparently know, you should be able to handle life there on your own."
"Bill said that you're still trying to find the traitors in SHIELD. What if the next person who helps me is one of them? They'll turn me over."
"I have someone I trust who will fly you to Europe, and he won't betray you. In fact, he already had a taste of having his free will taken away from him, so he has a good sense of what you went through." Bucky felt a hand on his shoulder. "Barnes ... Bucky, trust me, please."
The hand gave a little squeeze then removed itself from touching him. The touch only lasted for a few seconds, but it served a purpose as Bucky released the breath he had been holding. Why this man would help him still puzzled him, but he recognized the sincerity in his voice. If he had known that he was seeing a side of Nick Fury that very few people even knew existed, he might have trusted him more.
Backing away from Bucky, the former SHIELD director turned towards the door that led into the heart of the building. He listened as he walked at a slightly slower pace, then thinned his lips in response to the sound of Bucky's boots following him. For now, he was staying. Without comment, Fury led him back through the maze of hallways until they were outside the room where Joanne still slept, both looking in the window at Hill, who glanced at them then returned her attention to a tablet at a slight nod from Fury.
"Hill can let me know when she wakes up. I want your help in finding HYDRA sites that aren't in their files." Bucky turned his head slightly towards Fury, without taking his eyes off Joanne. "I spent the last month in Europe looking but I'm certain that there are more that aren't in the books."
"What did you do to the places you found?"
It was both a test and a question needing an answer. Better to show him.
"Come on, I'll show you what's been done so far. You can judge if it's been enough, but I think I can do better."
Returning to the room with the table, Fury opened a cabinet, bringing out a tablet. Sitting down with it at the table, he entered several commands on it, then one wall changed in appearance as the surface shimmered. When the shimmering stopped, it revealed a large display screen. Entering more commands, Fury brought up an outline of Europe and its countries. Another entry brought up a half dozen dots spread from Spain, through France, Switzerland, Austria, Poland, and Norway.
"These are the sites I found before Rumlow escaped and returned here," said Fury. "They were all in the HYDRA files that were leaked onto the internet." He looked over at where Bucky now sat. "You do know about the internet?" A glare was his answer. "Just making sure."
"Pyrenees, in Spain," he said, as the first images came up, showing new reports of an explosion near a small town that destroyed an old partisan hideout from the 1930s. "We made it look like a forgotten cache of explosives from the Spanish Civil War became unstable." The image changed to interior shots. "It was a research facility for nerve and chemical agents."
"Ricin-based?" Fury nodded as Bucky kept talking in an almost monotone voice. "I think I was there, firing at inanimate targets near animals ... from a long distance. I wasn't to hit the animals. The bullet released a powdery gas upon impact, and they studied dispersal and effectiveness patterns. They always assumed I couldn't understand what they were discussing in my presence, but I remember ricin because it's made from the castor bean plant." He smirked. "That's where castor oil comes from. Hated that stuff when I was growing up."
"You remember castor oil?" frowned Fury. "How much do you remember?"
"It's all mixed up," replied Bucky. "I know that I never forgot how to shoot a rifle, or how to track a target. I always seemed to know how to fly just about anything, and drive a standard transmission. Certain areas of the brain always remember things, I guess. Personal stuff is hit and miss, and I kind of have to fill in the blanks with my imagination. I also have a healing factor, so it probably kept trying to fix my brain. I've wondered if the cryosleep was also to slow down the repair capabilities of the serum." He raised his right hand. "Steve broke this arm on the helicarrier but by the next day I could use it. It was sore but I didn't need a cast. They had a special splint for broken arms instead of casting them."
"Cap has that healing factor, too," replied Fury, thoughtfully. "Although, he was in hospital for several days after your battle, so you really hurt him." He faced Bucky directly, focusing his gaze on him. "How committed were you to killing him, or me?" The super soldier frowned slightly at him, wondering if this was a trick question. "What I mean, is from what I've seen of your treatment, failure was unacceptable and severely punished. When you shot me while I was in Roger's apartment, I ended up with a lacerated spinal column, and a cracked sternum, although that was probably from the attack on the streets. I had a shattered collarbone, perforated liver, and a collapsed lung. With your accuracy, you should have shot me in the heart, but you didn't."
"Well, I was shooting through a wall," answered Bucky, bluntly. "I'm sure that I was trying to kill you both. I wasn't punished for the unsuccessful attempt on the street, where you cut yourself out of the vehicle. But that's because they were expecting you to take another vehicle, one that had all safety features disabled or removed." He smiled slightly. "You surprised them by taking another truck. As far as they were concerned, the second hit on you was successful. So, no punishment ... well, not for that." He breathed out, heavily. "I asked about Steve, after the attempt on the highway. That's when he recognized me and said my name. Pierce tried to tell me he was part of another mission, but it didn't sound right. I had flashbacks of him, laughing, crying, screaming my name, and getting further and further away." He shook his head, his lips curling in disgust. "They put me through the wringer, and I'm sure they made Joanne watch some of it, but it's all blurred together, and I still can't make sense of it."
He shook his head again, then stood up, agitated. As he paced, he ended up in front of the screen, showing the lab in that research facility, just staring at it. Activating the next file, Fury showed him a warehouse in Marseille. Outwardly, it looked like any other warehouse at the port, but inside, in a concrete column set in the centre of the structure was an elevator that went underground, to a treatment room, complete with a memory processing device, and a surgical suite with a bed that had multiple titanium restraints, for the arms, legs, body and head. The news reports said an underground fuel tank that had slowly disintegrated over the years finally ignited. The resulting fire drew multiple response units who were more worried about keeping the inferno from spreading than they were about fighting it.
Standing motionless in front of that screen, Bucky watched similar displays about the other facilities that were all taken out in spectacular fashion, while the causes were always explained as non-criminal. When the last one in Norway finished and the screen returned to the map of Europe, Fury sat quietly, allowing Bucky the time to process it.
"Are you expecting me to do this when you send me to Europe?" The super soldier turned to Fury with an impassive face. "Is this a recruitment pitch because of my skills? I won't kill again. Not for them, not for you, not even for myself, or Joanne; not unless I have no choice." He looked at his hands, then spoke with a tone that left no doubt. "I can't do that anymore."
"No, this is not a recruitment pitch." Fury sighed. "As much as I think you have skills that would be useful in this, that's not why I'm showing you." He gestured to the screen. "I won't put you in that position. You deserve some peace. These were only six that I've dealt with so far, and there are more. I'm sure there are some places that aren't in the files and if you could give me the information on where they are, then I can take them on as well. They have to pay for what they did to the world, and to you. I'm the man who can collect the debt on your behalf."
The super soldier shifted, placing his hands on his hips while putting his weight on one leg. It was a pose that was both challenging and dismissive.
"What are you doing with the information that you find in those places?" Fury looked blankly at him. "I know there is more about me than what was released on the internet. Some things weren't meant to be shared freely." He grimaced angrily. "To certain people, I was a toy."
"The home movies," muttered Fury, looking disgusted. "I found some things, and after identifying the people who abused you, I destroyed the films, the videos, the physical pictures, and their negatives .... Is that what you want to know? I recognize that you've had a lifetime of people who have taken so much from you, and it's made it hard to trust. To be honest, I'm surprised you're not taking an arsenal with you and hunting every single one of them down. I would."
"I did take an arsenal with me," answered Bucky, sitting back at the table. "Every time we changed locations I searched for the armoury, wanting to know what kind of firepower I had available. But if I went on a hunting spree then it would prove that they succeeded in wiping out every bit of humanity that I had. They would win and I won't ...." His face crumbled as he buried it in his hands. When he raised it, his eyes were glassy, but he set his jaw firmly. "I'm a man, not a monster. I'll tell you everything I remember, GPS coordinates, hidden locations, names. In the car are several backpacks. I want Joanne to hold them for me. She encouraged me to write down my memories. I won't be able to take them with me but if I ever get to a point where I remember any of the past few months, I want them back. You promised me before that you would destroy the machines. Keep that promise but when you find that footage of me and the depravity that they forced on me, destroy that as well. Like the killing, I had no choice in any of it."
As Nick Fury watched and listened to this man, he understood more about why Steve Rogers insisted on saving him. Both men's basic morality had been formed in a shared childhood in a poorer part of Brooklyn that took them through the Depression. Continuing their friendship through the crucible of World War II had shown them the best of humanity alongside the worst of it. Rogers had been frozen for over 65 years in the Arctic but hadn't hesitated when he was asked to join the Avengers to defend the world from threats. Barnes had been tortured and brainwashed to the point of being physically and mentally broken but somehow had still escaped from the yoke of HYDRA. There was no doubt he had severe PTSD, likely one or more mental or emotional disorders that would take years of treatment to overcome, but he hadn't reverted to the weapon they made him into, because it wasn't innate in him. He was a survivor who sought justice, choosing not to be a blunt instrument of revenge. Someday, Bucky Barnes could walk as a free man again, unencumbered by a past that had been forced upon him.
🔹 🔹 🔹
Joanne shifted and felt the ache in her shoulder flare briefly into something that really hurt, releasing a whimper in response. A warm hand took hers and she opened her eyes to Bucky smiling softly at her.
"Hi," he murmured. "You slept a long time."
She shifted again, wincing at the effort. "How long?"
"A good eight hours or so," he answered. "You must have needed it. Do you feel like sitting up?"
Nodding her head, she waited as he raised the bed up until she lifted her hand for him to stop. A cup with a straw appeared and she sipped from it, then Bucky put it back on the side table, sitting in a chair that was right beside the bed.
"Have you been here for all that time?"
"No, just the last 30 minutes. I've been in a long briefing with Nick Fury, giving him all the information that I could remember about HYDRA locations and personnel. Apparently, I know more than I thought I did as I knew things that didn't get leaked onto the internet." He reached for the wheeled tray which had some food on it. "You should eat. Your blood sugar is probably quite low with everything you've been through."
Nodding her head, she watched as he opened a package and offered her half of an egg salad sandwich. She looked at it dubiously, wondering if the egg smell would trigger her morning sickness, but she bit into it and was surprised to find it tasted really good. He opened another package, this one with a turkey, cheese, and lettuce sandwich, and took a bite. For a drink he offered her orange juice, ginger ale, or tea. She chose the ginger ale, rationalizing that it would settle her stomach. Quietly, they ate, enjoying the calm atmosphere within that room.
Elsewhere in the building was another matter. While Fury coordinated the evacuation of the Ideal Federal Savings Bank of all non-essential personnel, and the transportation of himself and Bucky there, Maria was coordinating the breakdown of this site, and the relocation to another secure place that was less institutional. She had already phoned in her absence to Stark Industries, letting Pepper know that she was needed for some unofficial business. She mentioned a code word known between the two women to keep Tony Stark in the dark. Although Pepper didn't know that Nick Fury was alive, she had her suspicions that the man's grave didn't have a body in it. When Maria was brought into Stark Industries, she knew at some point that she would have to share some secrets. That time was coming, as Maria was going to lean on Pepper to provide a safe sanctuary for Joanne, without letting her know who she was other than the woman who stood up to HYDRA and was still being sought by them. It was going to be a tricky balancing act, but Maria was used to it and was confident that Pepper would come through.
Finishing the last of the food, Bucky took the wrappers and drink containers, placing them on the wheeled tray. Then he stood beside the bed.
"Can you make room for me?"
Slowly, with some effort and his help, Joanne moved over enough for him to join her. Curled towards him, she rested her head on his shoulder. It was certain that their time together was almost at an end.
"When do you go?"
"As soon as they tell me." He felt her breath change and body stiffen at the words. "Listen. While you were sleeping Fury went to the car and brought our backpacks inside. I want you to have my notebooks. They have everything that I remember written down and a lot of it is about us. If you're ever missing me, you can read how you're everything to me."
"Am I?"
"Oh, sweetheart, yes you are." Gently, he tightened his hold on her and bent his head towards hers, kissing her on the temple. "I know that I couldn't have done this without you. Even though you were afraid of me at first, you still offered to help me. After all that you went through it meant a lot that you believed in me. I don't think I'll ever forgive myself for you being shot."
"You didn't pull the trigger." She fixed her gaze on the door. "Did you kill the man who shot me?"
"No. I brought him back to where you were, tied him up, then phoned for help. Fury's people took him and the other guy in. I can't kill anymore, not even if they're HYDRA."
They looked at the door, hearing a sound outside, then Maria's face appeared in the window. She nodded apologetically at them. It was like being doused with a bucket of cold water and Joanne pressed her face into Bucky's chest, ignoring the pain in her shoulder, as she gave into the emotion. Gently he caressed her, murmuring softly to her. Wiping the tears from her face, he kissed her one more time, then loosened his hold on her.
"I have to go now," he said softly, kissing her hands as he got off the bed.
"Okay. Promise you'll come find me when this is all over."
"Scout's honour," he smiled, both of them knowing that if it worked, he would never come looking for her. "I love you."
Joanne gave out a short, tearful laugh, then grasped his hand once more before he stepped away. "I love you, too."
He kissed her hand again, then placed it on her chest. At the door he looked back at Joanne one more time before he exited. Fury waited in the hallway and led him away, as Maria went into Joanne's room. Fury stopped at the door to another room and looked at Bucky.
"You're sure that you want to do this?" he asked.
"It's the only way to keep her safe," said the dark-haired man. "Not just from them but from me. You know what they can make me do."
With one more look at the door to where Joanne was, Bucky took a deep breath and entered the room to the next part of his life. At least now, it was his choice.
Chapter 25>>
Series Masterlist
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Hello hello! I’ve got this idea stuck in my brain and I was wondering if you could expand on it. I’m just curious to see how someone else would imagine this. Reader and Bucky are getting married. Reader surprises Bucky with a private 40s wedding with just their close friends. She’s dolled up in a vintage dress and has her hair done in the same fashion and everything. Just something fluffy. Much love 💕
this is so precious🥰
---------
The first sign that something is happening comes when you steal Bucky's keys.
He's sitting on the couch polishing his favorite leather boots when you casually pluck the keyring off the coffee table and slip it into your purse like you aren't committing a crime right in front of him. His head slowly lifts, blue eyes following the movement before narrowing with immediate suspicion.
"Doll."
"Hm?"
"You have my keys."
"I know."
"...Can I have them back?"
You can't help the grin that stretches across your face. "No."
He sets the boot aside and leans back against the couch, folding his arms over his chest. "You're being incredibly suspicious."
"I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about."
"Really? Because you've been whispering with Natasha all week, Sam keeps smirking every time I walk into a room, Steve suddenly finds every excuse in the world to get me out of the apartment..." He tilts his head, amusement already tugging at the corners of his mouth despite himself. "Even Alpine had a ribbon tied around her neck this morning."
You fail miserably at hiding your smile.
"So there is something."
"There might be."
"You gonna tell me?"
"Nope."
Instead, you step between his knees, cup his face, and kiss him until he forgets whatever argument he was trying to make. By the time you pull away, his expression has softened into that fond, hopeless smile that always appears whenever you successfully distract him.
"Just trust me," you whisper. "Be ready by four. Wear the navy suit."
"The expensive one?"
"The expensive one."
His eyebrows rise. "Now I'm even more concerned."
---
By the time four o'clock arrives, Bucky is convinced the entire team is conspiring against him.
Sam arrives to pick him up because, apparently, his fiancée is still refusing to return his car keys, and Steve somehow ends up in the passenger seat despite insisting he "just happened to be nearby." Neither of them will answer a single question.
"Where are we going?"
"You'll see."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one you're getting."
"I've been tortured by professionals with better poker faces than you two."
Sam snorts so hard he nearly misses a turn.
"You're both terrible liars."
"And yet," Steve says far too calmly, "you're still coming with us."
Bucky sighs dramatically and settles back into his seat, crossing his arms.
"I don't like surprises."
Steve glances at him through the rearview mirror, his smile turning gentler.
"I know."
---
Meanwhile, you're fairly certain you're going to throw up before your own wedding.
Not because you're second-guessing anything—God, no. If anything, you've never been more certain of a decision in your life.
You're nervous because you desperately want him to understand.
The ceremony isn't being held in one of the sleek venues every wedding magazine recommended. Instead, it's tucked inside a restored historic building in Brooklyn with polished hardwood floors worn smooth by decades of dancing, exposed brick walls, warm amber chandeliers, and tall windows that let the late afternoon sunlight spill across the room like liquid gold.
Everything feels timeless.
It feels like him.
Months ago, while the two of you were lazily watching an old black-and-white movie curled up on the couch, Bucky had gone unusually quiet during the wedding scene. His thumb absentmindedly traced circles against your hand before he smiled at the television with an expression that looked almost painful.
"My ma always imagined my wedding looking like this," he'd said softly. "Simple. Everybody packed together. Music. Flowers. Nothing fancy."
The conversation hadn't lasted more than a minute before he'd brushed it off, but you never forgot it.
So while he'd assumed the two of you were planning a small courthouse ceremony followed by dinner with the team, you'd quietly spent months piecing together something entirely different.
You searched antique shops until you found lace that looked like it belonged in the 1940s. A seamstress helped recreate a dress inspired by photographs from the era, complete with delicate illusion sleeves and a sweetheart neckline hidden beneath intricate embroidery. You borrowed vintage pearl earrings from an elderly shop owner who teared up when you explained why you wanted them, and your hair stylist spent nearly two hours pinning soft victory rolls and loose curls into place.
When you'd finally looked at yourself in the mirror that afternoon, it hadn't felt like you were wearing a costume.
It had felt like you were carrying a piece of his history with you.
Not because you wanted to recreate the past.
Because you wanted him to know that every part of it, the joyful parts as much as the painful ones, still deserved to be remembered.
---
Steve leads Bucky through the old building without offering a single explanation, and his confusion only grows as they approach a pair of tall wooden doors.
"It's awfully quiet."
Steve hums.
"You know what's happening."
"I might."
"You're enjoying this."
"A little."
Bucky rolls his eyes.
"I hate all of you."
"No, you don't."
"...No."
Before he can ask another question, the doors slowly swing open.
Soft music spills into the hallway, warm and crackling from an old record player tucked into the corner of the room. Fresh white roses line the aisle, candles flicker against the brick walls, and every single one of the people who matter most to him is already standing inside.
Natasha.
Sam.
Steve.
Wanda.
Bruce.
Clint and Laura.
Even Tony.
Their smiles tell him everything before his eyes finally find you.
Time simply... stops.
You're standing at the end of the aisle with your bouquet gathered carefully in your hands, sunlight catching every tiny detail of your dress. The delicate lace sleeves. The fitted bodice. The gloves. The pearls. Your lipstick is the soft rosy shade he'd only ever seen in faded family photographs, and your hair—
God.
Your hair.
He hasn't seen victory rolls outside of museums and old photographs in nearly eighty years.
For one impossible heartbeat, it feels as though every version of his life has collided into the same moment.
Brooklyn.
The war.
Everything he lost.
Everything he found.
Everything standing in front of him now.
His breathing catches so sharply that Steve instinctively reaches for his shoulder.
"You alright?"
Bucky barely hears him.
"No..."
His voice cracks.
"No."
Across the room, your smile falters.
"You don't like it?"
His head snaps toward you.
"What?"
"The dress."
He lets out the smallest, most disbelieving laugh as tears immediately begin filling his eyes.
"Honey..."
He shakes his head over and over, completely overwhelmed.
"I've spent so long trying not to miss that part of my life because it hurt too much."
His voice grows quieter.
"And somehow... somehow you found a way to give it back to me without bringing any of the pain with it."
He walks toward you before anyone can stop him, closing the distance in long, hurried strides until he's cupping your face between trembling hands.
"You look like every dream I thought I'd buried."
Your own tears finally spill over.
"I wanted you to have one day that belonged to every version of you," you whisper.
"The little boy from Brooklyn."
"The young man who danced before the war."
"The soldier."
"The Avenger."
"The man I fell in love with."
"They all deserved to make it here."
That's what finally breaks him.
Not because of the dress.
Not because of the music.
But because for the first time in nearly a century, someone looked at every chapter of his life and chose to celebrate them instead of pretending they never happened.
His forehead falls against yours as quiet tears slip freely down his cheeks, and you simply hold him, surrounded by the family he'd found in this lifetime.
Natasha eventually clears her throat from somewhere behind him.
"If the groom is finished crying, we'd actually like to witness the wedding."
Bucky laughs through his tears, wiping at his face with the heel of his hand.
"I wasn't crying."
"You absolutely were."
"It was dignified crying."
"It was snotty crying," Sam corrects.
"It was romantic."
"It was disgusting."
The room erupts into laughter, the tension dissolving instantly as Bucky reaches for your hand, intertwining your fingers with his.
He doesn't let go for the rest of the evening.
Not through the vows.
Not while exchanging rings.
Not during your first dance beneath warm string lights as old records skip softly in the background.
Hours later, with your head resting against his shoulder and his arms wrapped securely around your waist, he presses a slow kiss against your temple before looking down at the lace covering your sleeve one more time.
"You know what my favorite part of today is?" he asks quietly.
You smile. "The music?"
"You."
"The flowers?"
"You."
"The dress?"
He gently shakes his head.
"No."
His thumb brushes over your wedding band.
"My favorite part is that when I looked at you standing at the end of that aisle..." His voice softens until it's barely more than a whisper. "...for the first time in almost a hundred years, my past didn't make me sad."
His forehead rests against yours as the record spins quietly behind you.
Summary: Architect Bucky Barnes, accepting his part in the possible end of his marriage, decides on one final attempt to save his relationship with his wife.
Length: 5.2 K
Characters: Bucky Barnes, OFC (not described and unnamed, although referred to as Mrs. Barnes), Tony Stark (in reference only), Steve Rogers (via phone call), OMC
Warnings: angst, guilt, feelings of self-disgust and anger. This AU is set mostly in modern New York. The coastal town is wherever your imagination takes you. Bucky is an architect, married less than a year. Tony Stark is seen as the villain in this.
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It was late when the vehicle stopped at the main door to the luxurious apartment building in the heart of Central Park South in Manhattan. The doorman hustled to the high end Land Rover, each window tinted so that no one could see inside, recognizing it as belonging to the car service used by the architect of the building and owner of the penthouse, Bucky Barnes. Opening the back passenger door he waited for the man himself to emerge, but the greeting he started saying died on his lips when he saw the expression on the man's face when it appeared. If he didn't know any better, he would think Barnes was terrified.
"Is Mrs. Barnes still home?"
It was a strange question that confused the doorman as he looked up towards the penthouse floor, not that it could be seen from the street. Barnes repeated the question, with an intensity in his gaze that made the doorman swallow nervously.
"Yes, sir, Mrs. Barnes is still in the penthouse."
Striding past the doorman's confused face, Barnes went to the building's entrance, barely stopping as the automatic doors split open for him. The men sitting at the security desk in the lobby stood up as the man who designed the building ignored their greetings. Instead, he walked past them as if they didn't exist, removed his right glove, took his key fob out of his overcoat pocket and waved it across the sensor of the elevator dedicated solely to his apartment. No other tenant used it, just Barnes, his wife and those lucky enough to receive an invitation to occasional parties on the top two floors that made up the penthouse apartment in the exclusive skyscraper. The two security guards and the doorman kept observing as the elevator doors opened and Barnes stepped inside without a word.
You need your wife's permission to stay out these days? She's really got you on a short leash, Barnes. Took her less than a year to bring you to heel.
Inside the elevator car, Bucky winced at recalling the moment earlier that evening when his so-called friend Tony made fun of his insistence that he had to leave, as he promised his wife he would be home in time for dinner. The interior of the elevator, finished in panels decorated in subtle but intricate patterns of rare inlaid woods, did nothing to calm Barnes' breathing as his self-disgust increased, preparing himself for the reception he would get when the doors opened to his suite. His fevered mind kept hoping that as long as she was still in the apartment he had a chance to salvage his marriage. Even if she was waiting with her bags packed he could explain why he wasn't here on the one night she told him he had to be present and on time.
You just had to listen to him, didn't you? When Stark said he could make it worth your while, you turned around and made your choice to stay.
His inner voice intruded on him again and he squeezed his eyes shut, wanting to block it out, not because it was lying to him, but because he needed these few moments in the elevator to think of something, anything to say that would convince her to forgive him one more time. Somehow, she had to give him just one more chance to prove that she mattered more than anything else. Without even realizing it, his curled left fist swung sideways, denting the inlaid wall panel with the force of his self-directed anger. It was enough to cause a small tear in the expensive Brunello Cucinelli Nappa leather glove that was still on his left hand, a thousand dollar glove damaged in an instant but he didn't care about the money, not now.
At the only stop for this elevator, the doors opened to an eerie quiet. All the lights, except for the recessed night lighting strip along the top of the hallway were off. The dim illumination sensed his presence, becoming brighter as he dropped his key fob into the bowl on the hallway table, noticing an orchid plant next to it. Had it always been there or was that a new addition that he hadn't noticed before?
Removing his left glove and jacket, he pressed against the touch panel on the wall that popped open revealing the cleverly hidden closet. Carefully, he hung up his overcoat, dropping the gloves in a basket on the floor of the hidden space. His footsteps echoed on the Italian marble floors as he walked to the living room, its glass walls displaying the magnificent panoramic sight of Manhattan at night. Part of Bucky hoped that she was curled up on the Minotti leather couch, under a cashmere throw blanket waiting for him but the room was empty of her presence. All that was left were things, the best things that money could buy, but just cold, impersonal things when he compared them to her.
He could have explored the other parts of this floor, looking for her in the kitchen, or the den, or the conservatory, but he knew she wouldn't be in any of the expensively curated rooms. He walked past the dining room, where a small vase of daisies oversaw the remains of a meal for two that still sat there. His insides twisted as he realized the meal was his favourite dish. He hadn't been there to eat it with her.
She had something special to share with him and he blew it off just like he did when she asked if they could go back to the coast for some time alone, without anyone else coming between them.
Rubbing his face with his hands, he moved to the bottom of the staircase that looked like it was suspended in air, built that way so that it didn't block the best view of Manhattan. As the architect who designed this property, it was a feature he insisted on, wanting the expansive view to be the focal point of the entire lower floor of the two story penthouse. He stood there for several long moments thinking of the interior designer who searched the world for unique features that would promote the exclusive qualities of this apartment. This was supposed to be the crowning achievement of Bucky Barnes career, as the top architect of New York. Money was to be of no object for this visionary property in Billionaire's Row.
For a moment, he experienced vertigo as he stepped on the glass tread, wavering a little as his hand reached for the almost invisible hand rail, made of glass that was lightweight but strong; its installation supposed to signal a new trend in design circles, and his place had it first. Step by step he ascended to the upper floor, the night lighting strip brightening when it perceived his arrival. Approaching the door of the master suite he hesitated and listened for the sounds of her still being up, but it was silent and his heart dropped a little. Was she even in there? He looked towards the other end of the hallway where the guest rooms were. Was she in one of them instead? Putting his hand towards the door knob, he was suddenly transported back a year, to the moment he first met her.
She wore blue jeans tucked into black rubber boots, a paint-stained hoodie with a tear on the pocket and an old windbreaker. Her wind blown hair was barely held together by a scrunchie and her face, a little red from the conditions that were often found in east coast seaside towns, was the most beautiful face he had ever seen. As he entered the general store where she was talking to the proprietor he wondered if his yacht was meant to break down in this particular port just so he would meet her.
It was dark in the bedroom, as she had closed all the window coverings, but he could make out a mound on the bed and felt a moment of relief. She was still here, still in the apartment. Closing the door, he went to his walk-in closet and dressing room, and closed the door behind him, before turning on the light. His suit jacket came off first, hung up on the wooden coat hanger that he had for all of his clothes. Loosening his tie he pulled it off over his neck, looking at it fondly. She gave it to him shortly after she moved in with him. Said it reminded her of the colour of the sky the day his yacht limped into the harbour and they met. Swallowing hard, he fought the urge to cry into it. Instead, he breathed deeply several times and unknotted it, smoothing it out before he rolled it up and placed it in an open spot in his tie drawer. Slowly, he unbuttoned his dress shirt, pulling it out from his slacks, taking it off and dropping it into the laundry hamper. There was a stain on his suit slacks from when he stood up and spilled his drink in the private club room he was at with Tony and the others, so he took them off, folded them and placed them on the bench seat to be taken to the dry cleaners. Socks and underwear went into the hamper and he moved into their shared bathroom, turning on the shower so he could wash away the smell of scotch and cigars.
You have to try these, Bucky. The best that money can buy.
That's all Tony ever cared about, having the best that money could buy. Closing his eyes, Bucky tried to will away the memory of the rest of the evening, not wanting to think about the bullshit money making scheme that the financier spewed, or the women that showed up to the private party room at his invitation, sitting on laps without warning. The sudden invasion of his personal space made Bucky stand up in a panic and spill his drink on himself. Then Tony did what he always did, pushed Bucky's buttons, made him feel like he was making a big deal out of nothing. Coming out of the men's room where he tried to clean himself up, he faced the sight of ties being undone, and zippers being lowered. That's when Bucky left, angry at once more being suckered into Tony's idea of the life of a man with more money than sense. Everything he ever did to placate that man was like being a fish on a line, hooked and landed like the sucker he was.
Leaning back against the onyx wall in the large shower, he looked straight ahead at his reflection in the heated mirror, vowing to never again accept an invitation from the man who had financed half the new construction in Manhattan. Wearily, he turned the water off and reached for the towel, burying his face in the softness of it before running it over his hair then over his body, wrapping it around his waist and stepping out. He brushed his teeth and rinsed, spat into the sink, then rinsed that, because leaving a mess for someone else to clean up wasn't Bucky's way.
Four days is all it took to fall in love with her. As his yacht was being repaired she showed him why she lived in a small fishing town in the ass end of nowhere, in a house she was restoring to live in and serve as her main studio, finding artistic inspiration in the wind and the waves of the ocean. The house was magnificent, like something out of a movie, except it was in dire need of fixing. Left empty for a long time, it needed new plumbing and wiring, half the floors replaced, windows updated, and more, with a lot of patience needed to do it right. He could see the potential, in the house and her, although he never thought the house would ever be his home.
With clean underwear, pajama bottoms and a T-shirt on, Bucky stood in his closet, trying to take that next step of getting into bed. Would she wake up when he slipped in behind her? Or would she continue sleeping as he just lay there and stewed in the guilt he felt for once again letting her down. With a sigh, he turned off the light, and stood in the unlit room until he was ready. In the almost darkness of the bedroom, he slipped under the bedcovers and slid closer to her, mirroring her posture but not touching her.
"I'm not asleep," she said, quietly.
"Did I wake you?"
"No. I couldn't sleep without you."
His stomach turned. "I'm sorry." There was no answer from her and his heart rose into his throat, threatening to choke him. "I really fucked up this time, didn't I?"
She rolled over, a waft of cool air coming with the motion, until she faced him. Before, she would have brushed his confession aside immediately but she didn't this time, and that's when he knew they were at a crucial moment in their marriage, not even a full year into it.
"Yeah." She sounded resigned. "Every time you forget about me, you say you'll do things differently and every time you let me down once more. It was Tony again, wasn't it?"
It took him several heartbeats to admit it. "Yeah. He says something and twists it in a way that makes me stay and I always regret it until the next time I do it again." Squeezing his eyes shut to keep the tears in he managed to speak. "You cooked."
"I did. Even made dessert."
"Fuck." Several breaths later, he spoke again, trying to keep from choking on his words. "What are you going to do?"
"About us?" He could feel the exhale of her breath on his arm. "I'm going home."
Even though she probably couldn't see him, he nodded. This apartment was never her home. The house beside the ocean was.
"When?"
"In the morning." The silence between them was ominous. "You're not going to try to talk me out of it?"
"As much as I don't want you to go, I haven't given you much reason to stay. Maybe we got married too soon after we met. Maybe I really didn't understand the commitment a marriage needs from both parties. It doesn't matter. I haven't fulfilled the vow I made to put us first."
"Alright." For some reason, she placed her hand on his cheek and he couldn't help but lean into it. "If you figure things out you'll know where to find me." Sliding out of the bed, she stopped at the door. "I'll sleep in the guest room. I've already packed what I brought with me."
"I love you," he declared, sitting up, trying to see her face in the silhouette of her body in the doorway.
"I know." Her voice wobbled a little. "I love you, too."
Then she was gone and the room felt wrong without her presence. Flopping back on the pillow, Bucky put an arm over his eyes, fighting off the urge to weep but it was no use. The golden boy of New York couldn't hold on to the most precious part of his life. He didn't feel like he deserved her so he was letting her go.
🟤 🟤 🟤
The room was brighter when he woke up, as the sun peeked through the cracks in the window coverings, but it still felt cold. Half the morning was already gone. When she told him when she was leaving, he expected to hear her getting ready in her walk-in closet and dressing room, but he never heard a thing. Pulling the covers back, he entered her dressing space, seeing most of the hangers still had her formal clothing on them, clothing that he helped pick out for the galas, and mind-numbing networking events that he dragged her to.
Pulling open the drawers he slumped down on the bench in the middle of the space, realizing she took only her casual clothes, the same clothes she wore when they met. Drawn to their guest room at the other end of the hallway, he knocked and opened the door. The bed was unmade and empty, so she had slept there but all that was left now was a note on the nightstand. Picking it up, he read it, frowning at the words.
I wanted to share something special with you but you didn't come home. Check the small bedroom.
Hesitantly, he walked back down the hallway to the bedroom right beside the master suite. When he first showed it to her he said it would be a good meditation room, while she countered it would be better as a baby's nursery. Opening the door, he entered the room, noticing a stick-like object on the bed. Leaning over, he picked it up, recognizing it as being from a pregnancy testing kit. With his heart beating so loudly that he thought it would come through his chest, he turned it over and saw the word ... Pregnant. One knee buckled, as he landed on the edge of the bed and slid off onto the floor. Staring dumbly at the stick all sorts of thoughts went through his head.
This is what she needed me to come home for. She wanted to share this with me. She's going to have my baby and I let her go.
As his emotions spiralled because of his blunder, he wondered how he never noticed. Surely she must have had symptoms. Was he that oblivious to her? The answer came quickly to him. Yes, he was, because he was a selfish bastard who was too focused on his job and being a success. All of his energies in the past year since they got married went towards this ivory tower of glass, steel, and concrete. The penthouse that he wanted to be perfect for his queen had instead become like a prison to her, caging someone who was meant to be free.
He felt like crying but didn't because he knew it was his fault. She had tried to engage him more than once and he just didn't take her seriously enough to really pay attention.
For some time he stayed right there on the floor, holding that pregnancy stick and staring at the word. Eventually, he stood up, making his way to his bedroom, standing in the doorway and looking at the space, finally seeing it as it really was. It was the most beautiful bedroom in the most beautiful residence in the city, with the best view that money could buy. Without her it was just another empty space.
If you figure things out you'll know where to find me.
He couldn't stay here; not now, not without her. Reaching for his cell phone he placed a call to his partner, Steve.
"I was just going to call you about the Tribeca property," said the man he had known since elementary school. "Stark says he'll finance the development if you're on board."
"I'm not on board," answered Bucky. "In fact, I don't care if we ever work with him again. He's a cancer, Steve, and the sooner we distance ourselves from him the better."
"Something happen last night?"
"Yeah, I listened to him one more time and missed out on something incredible." He shook his head, knowing that Steve had never really trusted the man, and had always cautioned against working too closely with him. Maybe he went through his own experience with Stark that shamed him enough to step away from his influence. If only he had listened sooner to his best friend. "She left me and I need to get her back, on her terms."
There was silence for several long moments on the other end. "Okay. You know that Stark isn't going to like it."
"Don't care. I just need to step back and make it right with her, before anything else. I trust you to handle things while I'm gone." He breathed out. "I don't know when I'll be back."
"You do what you have to do," replied Steve. "I'll take care of things on this end. We'll have a drink sometime and compare stories about what made you wake up. Go get your girl, Bucky."
"Thanks. Steve? If we end up working out of a strip mall, like when we started, I'm okay with that." Bucky looked around his bedroom again. "I think I'm going to sell this place. It doesn't bring me joy."
He could picture his friend's soft smile at that revelation. "Then all the more reason to find what does."
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Two hours later, Bucky was at Teterboro Airport in New Jersey, waiting to board a small charter flight that was already going to the airport closest to where she was. Who knew there was a service that could link anyone up to fill an open seat on a charter flight, lowering the cost of the flight for each passenger? It meant he would be flying in a turbo-prop aircraft, but it would get him to her sooner than if he booked a scheduled flight out of JFK or LaGuardia. He even managed to rent a vehicle at the destination to drive himself to the small port town where the house was. His fellow passengers on the flight, an older man and his two adult sons, were going to spend a week at a lake lodge. The plan was for the sons to disconnect completely from their corporate jobs, take in some hiking, kayaking, and fishing, and just unwind with their dad, who had been diagnosed with cancer and wanted this week with his sons before he started his treatment.
"We should have done this years ago, but we were all too consumed with being successful to recognize that some things are worth more than that." The man looked at his sons with affection. "The rat race can do without us for a while." He assessed Bucky's face, obviously seeing something there. "What are you searching for?"
"It's that obvious, is it?" asked the younger man. "I messed up my marriage; didn't give it the attention it deserved. I'm trying to make it right."
"You love her?" Bucky nodded. "If you manage to fix it, don't ever let it slide again. A good marriage is more important than anything, but it's a garden that needs to be tended regularly to flourish."
His words hit Bucky hard, delivering the truth of what he hadn't done to make his marriage succeed. When he left the airport in the rental car for the hour drive to the coast, he tried not to fixate on what to say or do when he saw her. He tried to focus on what made him fall in love with her at the beginning and how he failed to put her first over other things which had distracted him. The older man's comment about a good marriage needing to be tended like a garden kept him thinking of how he could translate that into action. Stopping at a nursery, he picked up a couple of shrubs, then went straight to the house and parked the car. Removing the plants from the trunk, he put them on the porch, then picked up the suitcase packed with casual clothes. For several moments he stood in front of the door after knocking. No one answered and he knocked again then tried the doorknob, surprised to find it unlocked. Stepping inside, he called her name but she didn't answer and it became obvious she wasn't there, although her things were. Leaving his bag in the living room, he went back outside to the porch and called for her, but the sound of the ocean combined with the steady breeze carried his voice back to him.
"Alright, I'll go looking," he said to himself, heading towards the rocky outcrop that separated the house from the beach below it, picking his way down the rough path.
For a moment, he stood there, debating which way to go, thinking that she would want the breeze at her back on the walk back to the house, so he faced the direction of the wind and headed into it. After about twenty minutes, he thought he could make someone out about a half mile further on this longer, more open stretch of beach. He couldn't tell if they were a man or a woman but he had walked this far and it wouldn't take too long to catch up to them. It was the right decision as he got close enough to make out it was her by the way she walked, how her hair blew in the breeze, and by the colour of the old windbreaker she was wearing. She was still turned away from him, so he stepped up his pace to a jog and called out to her, not wanting to delay their reunion any further. Several moments later, she heard him because she stopped and turned, like time had paused.
The small hesitant smile on her face was replaced by a sob, then she ran to him. Neither said anything when they collided, as her arms encircled his neck and shoulders and he wrapped his arms around her middle, lifting her up at the same time as he pulled her close into his body, never wanting to let her go. Then their lips found each other, expressing all the longing and regrets that had led to this moment. Ignoring the tears that came with the release of all the emotions they had kept bottled up until that instant, they reclaimed all that they believed was gone between them but had only lost its way for a while. Even though the breeze kept blowing her hair back into her face, he kept smoothing it away, studying every detail of her features, before kissing her again.
Then, before she could say anything, he dropped to his knees and pressed his face into her abdomen, kissing it repeatedly before looking up at her, his hands anchored on her hips. A sea bird cried as it flew over them, while she lowered herself to join him, kneeling on the hard sand and rock beach.
"I can't go back there." She spoke first, making her position clear. "Not to that tower."
"I know." He looked out to the ocean before looking back at her. "This is where you belong, and I belong with you. I'm selling the apartment. I can get a smaller place in Brooklyn, something cozier and friendlier for when I have to be there, but if you want to live out here, then we'll live here." She didn't even have to ask him about Stark. "I'm done with Tony. Told Steve that we're not working with him ever again. He tries to corrupt everything good about a person, and I can't let him do that to me anymore."
"Did you ....?"
She couldn't complete the question before he grasped her face in his hands, focusing his attention completely on her.
"Never since you and I met. I swear."
Slowly, she nodded her head, then placed her hand on his cheek, just like she did before she left him in their bed.
"Let's go home, then."
Helping her up, he wrapped his arm around her waist, bending his head over hers. It became increasingly cloudy as they got closer to the path that led through the rocky section below the house. By the time they arrived at the steps to the house, rain seemed inevitable. That's how it could be on this part of the coast; the unpredictability of the weather was something she liked about it. The two plants were still on the porch, distracting both of them from the weather. Bashfully, he ran his hand over his hair and down the back of his neck.
"The one with the pink flowers is called a Steeplebush, and the other is Sweet Pepperbush. Its flowers are white. I chatted with an older man on the flight, and he told me a good marriage is like a garden; it needs tending to flourish. They'll remind me to take better care of our marriage." His hand brushed against hers, then clasped it tightly as he took in a deep breath. "I let you down, and I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you."
"What about your work?"
"I told Steve that if we ended up with an office in a strip mall, I would be happy. I don't have to be in New York to do it, but I'll find joy in my work again, as long as we're together."
Rain started to fall at that moment, initially as a few drops that darkened the flagstone tiles of the rough sidewalk, then increasing to a light drizzle. When the breeze pushed it onto the steps and porch, they went inside, standing side by side at the window that overlooked the ocean vista. The weather came in like a curtain of silver, the soft hum as the rain hit the weather-worn cedar shakes and siding reverberating throughout the house.
"You'll have to wait to plant those shrubs," she said softly.
"I'm not going anywhere," he answered, looking at her. "Could we just ...." He clasped her hand, raising it to his lips. "Can we lay in bed upstairs and just listen to the rain like the first time?"
He knew by the way she looked at him that she remembered the first time they "listened" to the rain in this house. Tugging on his hand now, they walked up the old wooden staircase, with treads worn from years of use by the long-gone original residents. They undressed, removing all the barriers that had been between them. People were born, lived, and died here, in this room in this house that had stood for over a century, until circumstances made the last one to live here before them leave it behind. When she saw this place, empty for so many years, she knew it could be brought to life again, if only someone took the time and care to tend to it. It just took him a bit longer to realize he was also meant to be part of this life.
Less than twenty-four hours ago, Bucky was terrified that he had destroyed any chance of a future with his wife. Now, as they faced each other, literally and emotionally naked in the soft grey light that bathed the crisp bed linens, all he could think about was making love with her, slowly and reverently, until they were both satiated. She was his garden, and he would never leave her untended again.
Summary: Architect Bucky Barnes, accepting his part in the possible end of his marriage, decides on one final attempt to save his relationship with his wife.
Length: 5.2 K
Characters: Bucky Barnes, OFC (not described and unnamed, although referred to as Mrs. Barnes), Tony Stark (in reference only), Steve Rogers (via phone call), OMC
Warnings: angst, guilt, feelings of self-disgust and anger. This AU is set mostly in modern New York. The coastal town is wherever your imagination takes you. Bucky is an architect, married less than a year. Tony Stark is seen as the villain in this.
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It was late when the vehicle stopped at the main door to the luxurious apartment building in the heart of Central Park South in Manhattan. The doorman hustled to the high end Land Rover, each window tinted so that no one could see inside, recognizing it as belonging to the car service used by the architect of the building and owner of the penthouse, Bucky Barnes. Opening the back passenger door he waited for the man himself to emerge, but the greeting he started saying died on his lips when he saw the expression on the man's face when it appeared. If he didn't know any better, he would think Barnes was terrified.
"Is Mrs. Barnes still home?"
It was a strange question that confused the doorman as he looked up towards the penthouse floor, not that it could be seen from the street. Barnes repeated the question, with an intensity in his gaze that made the doorman swallow nervously.
"Yes, sir, Mrs. Barnes is still in the penthouse."
Striding past the doorman's confused face, Barnes went to the building's entrance, barely stopping as the automatic doors split open for him. The men sitting at the security desk in the lobby stood up as the man who designed the building ignored their greetings. Instead, he walked past them as if they didn't exist, removed his right glove, took his key fob out of his overcoat pocket and waved it across the sensor of the elevator dedicated solely to his apartment. No other tenant used it, just Barnes, his wife and those lucky enough to receive an invitation to occasional parties on the top two floors that made up the penthouse apartment in the exclusive skyscraper. The two security guards and the doorman kept observing as the elevator doors opened and Barnes stepped inside without a word.
You need your wife's permission to stay out these days? She's really got you on a short leash, Barnes. Took her less than a year to bring you to heel.
Inside the elevator car, Bucky winced at recalling the moment earlier that evening when his so-called friend Tony made fun of his insistence that he had to leave, as he promised his wife he would be home in time for dinner. The interior of the elevator, finished in panels decorated in subtle but intricate patterns of rare inlaid woods, did nothing to calm Barnes' breathing as his self-disgust increased, preparing himself for the reception he would get when the doors opened to his suite. His fevered mind kept hoping that as long as she was still in the apartment he had a chance to salvage his marriage. Even if she was waiting with her bags packed he could explain why he wasn't here on the one night she told him he had to be present and on time.
You just had to listen to him, didn't you? When Stark said he could make it worth your while, you turned around and made your choice to stay.
His inner voice intruded on him again and he squeezed his eyes shut, wanting to block it out, not because it was lying to him, but because he needed these few moments in the elevator to think of something, anything to say that would convince her to forgive him one more time. Somehow, she had to give him just one more chance to prove that she mattered more than anything else. Without even realizing it, his curled left fist swung sideways, denting the inlaid wall panel with the force of his self-directed anger. It was enough to cause a small tear in the expensive Brunello Cucinelli Nappa leather glove that was still on his left hand, a thousand dollar glove damaged in an instant but he didn't care about the money, not now.
At the only stop for this elevator, the doors opened to an eerie quiet. All the lights, except for the recessed night lighting strip along the top of the hallway were off. The dim illumination sensed his presence, becoming brighter as he dropped his key fob into the bowl on the hallway table, noticing an orchid plant next to it. Had it always been there or was that a new addition that he hadn't noticed before?
Removing his left glove and jacket, he pressed against the touch panel on the wall that popped open revealing the cleverly hidden closet. Carefully, he hung up his overcoat, dropping the gloves in a basket on the floor of the hidden space. His footsteps echoed on the Italian marble floors as he walked to the living room, its glass walls displaying the magnificent panoramic sight of Manhattan at night. Part of Bucky hoped that she was curled up on the Minotti leather couch, under a cashmere throw blanket waiting for him but the room was empty of her presence. All that was left were things, the best things that money could buy, but just cold, impersonal things when he compared them to her.
He could have explored the other parts of this floor, looking for her in the kitchen, or the den, or the conservatory, but he knew she wouldn't be in any of the expensively curated rooms. He walked past the dining room, where a small vase of daisies oversaw the remains of a meal for two that still sat there. His insides twisted as he realized the meal was his favourite dish. He hadn't been there to eat it with her.
She had something special to share with him and he blew it off just like he did when she asked if they could go back to the coast for some time alone, without anyone else coming between them.
Rubbing his face with his hands, he moved to the bottom of the staircase that looked like it was suspended in air, built that way so that it didn't block the best view of Manhattan. As the architect who designed this property, it was a feature he insisted on, wanting the expansive view to be the focal point of the entire lower floor of the two story penthouse. He stood there for several long moments thinking of the interior designer who searched the world for unique features that would promote the exclusive qualities of this apartment. This was supposed to be the crowning achievement of Bucky Barnes career, as the top architect of New York. Money was to be of no object for this visionary property in Billionaire's Row.
For a moment, he experienced vertigo as he stepped on the glass tread, wavering a little as his hand reached for the almost invisible hand rail, made of glass that was lightweight but strong; its installation supposed to signal a new trend in design circles, and his place had it first. Step by step he ascended to the upper floor, the night lighting strip brightening when it perceived his arrival. Approaching the door of the master suite he hesitated and listened for the sounds of her still being up, but it was silent and his heart dropped a little. Was she even in there? He looked towards the other end of the hallway where the guest rooms were. Was she in one of them instead? Putting his hand towards the door knob, he was suddenly transported back a year, to the moment he first met her.
She wore blue jeans tucked into black rubber boots, a paint-stained hoodie with a tear on the pocket and an old windbreaker. Her wind blown hair was barely held together by a scrunchie and her face, a little red from the conditions that were often found in east coast seaside towns, was the most beautiful face he had ever seen. As he entered the general store where she was talking to the proprietor he wondered if his yacht was meant to break down in this particular port just so he would meet her.
It was dark in the bedroom, as she had closed all the window coverings, but he could make out a mound on the bed and felt a moment of relief. She was still here, still in the apartment. Closing the door, he went to his walk-in closet and dressing room, and closed the door behind him, before turning on the light. His suit jacket came off first, hung up on the wooden coat hanger that he had for all of his clothes. Loosening his tie he pulled it off over his neck, looking at it fondly. She gave it to him shortly after she moved in with him. Said it reminded her of the colour of the sky the day his yacht limped into the harbour and they met. Swallowing hard, he fought the urge to cry into it. Instead, he breathed deeply several times and unknotted it, smoothing it out before he rolled it up and placed it in an open spot in his tie drawer. Slowly, he unbuttoned his dress shirt, pulling it out from his slacks, taking it off and dropping it into the laundry hamper. There was a stain on his suit slacks from when he stood up and spilled his drink in the private club room he was at with Tony and the others, so he took them off, folded them and placed them on the bench seat to be taken to the dry cleaners. Socks and underwear went into the hamper and he moved into their shared bathroom, turning on the shower so he could wash away the smell of scotch and cigars.
You have to try these, Bucky. The best that money can buy.
That's all Tony ever cared about, having the best that money could buy. Closing his eyes, Bucky tried to will away the memory of the rest of the evening, not wanting to think about the bullshit money making scheme that the financier spewed, or the women that showed up to the private party room at his invitation, sitting on laps without warning. The sudden invasion of his personal space made Bucky stand up in a panic and spill his drink on himself. Then Tony did what he always did, pushed Bucky's buttons, made him feel like he was making a big deal out of nothing. Coming out of the men's room where he tried to clean himself up, he faced the sight of ties being undone, and zippers being lowered. That's when Bucky left, angry at once more being suckered into Tony's idea of the life of a man with more money than sense. Everything he ever did to placate that man was like being a fish on a line, hooked and landed like the sucker he was.
Leaning back against the onyx wall in the large shower, he looked straight ahead at his reflection in the heated mirror, vowing to never again accept an invitation from the man who had financed half the new construction in Manhattan. Wearily, he turned the water off and reached for the towel, burying his face in the softness of it before running it over his hair then over his body, wrapping it around his waist and stepping out. He brushed his teeth and rinsed, spat into the sink, then rinsed that, because leaving a mess for someone else to clean up wasn't Bucky's way.
Four days is all it took to fall in love with her. As his yacht was being repaired she showed him why she lived in a small fishing town in the ass end of nowhere, in a house she was restoring to live in and serve as her main studio, finding artistic inspiration in the wind and the waves of the ocean. The house was magnificent, like something out of a movie, except it was in dire need of fixing. Left empty for a long time, it needed new plumbing and wiring, half the floors replaced, windows updated, and more, with a lot of patience needed to do it right. He could see the potential, in the house and her, although he never thought the house would ever be his home.
With clean underwear, pajama bottoms and a T-shirt on, Bucky stood in his closet, trying to take that next step of getting into bed. Would she wake up when he slipped in behind her? Or would she continue sleeping as he just lay there and stewed in the guilt he felt for once again letting her down. With a sigh, he turned off the light, and stood in the unlit room until he was ready. In the almost darkness of the bedroom, he slipped under the bedcovers and slid closer to her, mirroring her posture but not touching her.
"I'm not asleep," she said, quietly.
"Did I wake you?"
"No. I couldn't sleep without you."
His stomach turned. "I'm sorry." There was no answer from her and his heart rose into his throat, threatening to choke him. "I really fucked up this time, didn't I?"
She rolled over, a waft of cool air coming with the motion, until she faced him. Before, she would have brushed his confession aside immediately but she didn't this time, and that's when he knew they were at a crucial moment in their marriage, not even a full year into it.
"Yeah." She sounded resigned. "Every time you forget about me, you say you'll do things differently and every time you let me down once more. It was Tony again, wasn't it?"
It took him several heartbeats to admit it. "Yeah. He says something and twists it in a way that makes me stay and I always regret it until the next time I do it again." Squeezing his eyes shut to keep the tears in he managed to speak. "You cooked."
"I did. Even made dessert."
"Fuck." Several breaths later, he spoke again, trying to keep from choking on his words. "What are you going to do?"
"About us?" He could feel the exhale of her breath on his arm. "I'm going home."
Even though she probably couldn't see him, he nodded. This apartment was never her home. The house beside the ocean was.
"When?"
"In the morning." The silence between them was ominous. "You're not going to try to talk me out of it?"
"As much as I don't want you to go, I haven't given you much reason to stay. Maybe we got married too soon after we met. Maybe I really didn't understand the commitment a marriage needs from both parties. It doesn't matter. I haven't fulfilled the vow I made to put us first."
"Alright." For some reason, she placed her hand on his cheek and he couldn't help but lean into it. "If you figure things out you'll know where to find me." Sliding out of the bed, she stopped at the door. "I'll sleep in the guest room. I've already packed what I brought with me."
"I love you," he declared, sitting up, trying to see her face in the silhouette of her body in the doorway.
"I know." Her voice wobbled a little. "I love you, too."
Then she was gone and the room felt wrong without her presence. Flopping back on the pillow, Bucky put an arm over his eyes, fighting off the urge to weep but it was no use. The golden boy of New York couldn't hold on to the most precious part of his life. He didn't feel like he deserved her so he was letting her go.
🟤 🟤 🟤
The room was brighter when he woke up, as the sun peeked through the cracks in the window coverings, but it still felt cold. Half the morning was already gone. When she told him when she was leaving, he expected to hear her getting ready in her walk-in closet and dressing room, but he never heard a thing. Pulling the covers back, he entered her dressing space, seeing most of the hangers still had her formal clothing on them, clothing that he helped pick out for the galas, and mind-numbing networking events that he dragged her to.
Pulling open the drawers he slumped down on the bench in the middle of the space, realizing she took only her casual clothes, the same clothes she wore when they met. Drawn to their guest room at the other end of the hallway, he knocked and opened the door. The bed was unmade and empty, so she had slept there but all that was left now was a note on the nightstand. Picking it up, he read it, frowning at the words.
I wanted to share something special with you but you didn't come home. Check the small bedroom.
Hesitantly, he walked back down the hallway to the bedroom right beside the master suite. When he first showed it to her he said it would be a good meditation room, while she countered it would be better as a baby's nursery. Opening the door, he entered the room, noticing a stick-like object on the bed. Leaning over, he picked it up, recognizing it as being from a pregnancy testing kit. With his heart beating so loudly that he thought it would come through his chest, he turned it over and saw the word ... Pregnant. One knee buckled, as he landed on the edge of the bed and slid off onto the floor. Staring dumbly at the stick all sorts of thoughts went through his head.
This is what she needed me to come home for. She wanted to share this with me. She's going to have my baby and I let her go.
As his emotions spiralled because of his blunder, he wondered how he never noticed. Surely she must have had symptoms. Was he that oblivious to her? The answer came quickly to him. Yes, he was, because he was a selfish bastard who was too focused on his job and being a success. All of his energies in the past year since they got married went towards this ivory tower of glass, steel, and concrete. The penthouse that he wanted to be perfect for his queen had instead become like a prison to her, caging someone who was meant to be free.
He felt like crying but didn't because he knew it was his fault. She had tried to engage him more than once and he just didn't take her seriously enough to really pay attention.
For some time he stayed right there on the floor, holding that pregnancy stick and staring at the word. Eventually, he stood up, making his way to his bedroom, standing in the doorway and looking at the space, finally seeing it as it really was. It was the most beautiful bedroom in the most beautiful residence in the city, with the best view that money could buy. Without her it was just another empty space.
If you figure things out you'll know where to find me.
He couldn't stay here; not now, not without her. Reaching for his cell phone he placed a call to his partner, Steve.
"I was just going to call you about the Tribeca property," said the man he had known since elementary school. "Stark says he'll finance the development if you're on board."
"I'm not on board," answered Bucky. "In fact, I don't care if we ever work with him again. He's a cancer, Steve, and the sooner we distance ourselves from him the better."
"Something happen last night?"
"Yeah, I listened to him one more time and missed out on something incredible." He shook his head, knowing that Steve had never really trusted the man, and had always cautioned against working too closely with him. Maybe he went through his own experience with Stark that shamed him enough to step away from his influence. If only he had listened sooner to his best friend. "She left me and I need to get her back, on her terms."
There was silence for several long moments on the other end. "Okay. You know that Stark isn't going to like it."
"Don't care. I just need to step back and make it right with her, before anything else. I trust you to handle things while I'm gone." He breathed out. "I don't know when I'll be back."
"You do what you have to do," replied Steve. "I'll take care of things on this end. We'll have a drink sometime and compare stories about what made you wake up. Go get your girl, Bucky."
"Thanks. Steve? If we end up working out of a strip mall, like when we started, I'm okay with that." Bucky looked around his bedroom again. "I think I'm going to sell this place. It doesn't bring me joy."
He could picture his friend's soft smile at that revelation. "Then all the more reason to find what does."
🟢 🟢 🟢
Two hours later, Bucky was at Teterboro Airport in New Jersey, waiting to board a small charter flight that was already going to the airport closest to where she was. Who knew there was a service that could link anyone up to fill an open seat on a charter flight, lowering the cost of the flight for each passenger? It meant he would be flying in a turbo-prop aircraft, but it would get him to her sooner than if he booked a scheduled flight out of JFK or LaGuardia. He even managed to rent a vehicle at the destination to drive himself to the small port town where the house was. His fellow passengers on the flight, an older man and his two adult sons, were going to spend a week at a lake lodge. The plan was for the sons to disconnect completely from their corporate jobs, take in some hiking, kayaking, and fishing, and just unwind with their dad, who had been diagnosed with cancer and wanted this week with his sons before he started his treatment.
"We should have done this years ago, but we were all too consumed with being successful to recognize that some things are worth more than that." The man looked at his sons with affection. "The rat race can do without us for a while." He assessed Bucky's face, obviously seeing something there. "What are you searching for?"
"It's that obvious, is it?" asked the younger man. "I messed up my marriage; didn't give it the attention it deserved. I'm trying to make it right."
"You love her?" Bucky nodded. "If you manage to fix it, don't ever let it slide again. A good marriage is more important than anything, but it's a garden that needs to be tended regularly to flourish."
His words hit Bucky hard, delivering the truth of what he hadn't done to make his marriage succeed. When he left the airport in the rental car for the hour drive to the coast, he tried not to fixate on what to say or do when he saw her. He tried to focus on what made him fall in love with her at the beginning and how he failed to put her first over other things which had distracted him. The older man's comment about a good marriage needing to be tended like a garden kept him thinking of how he could translate that into action. Stopping at a nursery, he picked up a couple of shrubs, then went straight to the house and parked the car. Removing the plants from the trunk, he put them on the porch, then picked up the suitcase packed with casual clothes. For several moments he stood in front of the door after knocking. No one answered and he knocked again then tried the doorknob, surprised to find it unlocked. Stepping inside, he called her name but she didn't answer and it became obvious she wasn't there, although her things were. Leaving his bag in the living room, he went back outside to the porch and called for her, but the sound of the ocean combined with the steady breeze carried his voice back to him.
"Alright, I'll go looking," he said to himself, heading towards the rocky outcrop that separated the house from the beach below it, picking his way down the rough path.
For a moment, he stood there, debating which way to go, thinking that she would want the breeze at her back on the walk back to the house, so he faced the direction of the wind and headed into it. After about twenty minutes, he thought he could make someone out about a half mile further on this longer, more open stretch of beach. He couldn't tell if they were a man or a woman but he had walked this far and it wouldn't take too long to catch up to them. It was the right decision as he got close enough to make out it was her by the way she walked, how her hair blew in the breeze, and by the colour of the old windbreaker she was wearing. She was still turned away from him, so he stepped up his pace to a jog and called out to her, not wanting to delay their reunion any further. Several moments later, she heard him because she stopped and turned, like time had paused.
The small hesitant smile on her face was replaced by a sob, then she ran to him. Neither said anything when they collided, as her arms encircled his neck and shoulders and he wrapped his arms around her middle, lifting her up at the same time as he pulled her close into his body, never wanting to let her go. Then their lips found each other, expressing all the longing and regrets that had led to this moment. Ignoring the tears that came with the release of all the emotions they had kept bottled up until that instant, they reclaimed all that they believed was gone between them but had only lost its way for a while. Even though the breeze kept blowing her hair back into her face, he kept smoothing it away, studying every detail of her features, before kissing her again.
Then, before she could say anything, he dropped to his knees and pressed his face into her abdomen, kissing it repeatedly before looking up at her, his hands anchored on her hips. A sea bird cried as it flew over them, while she lowered herself to join him, kneeling on the hard sand and rock beach.
"I can't go back there." She spoke first, making her position clear. "Not to that tower."
"I know." He looked out to the ocean before looking back at her. "This is where you belong, and I belong with you. I'm selling the apartment. I can get a smaller place in Brooklyn, something cozier and friendlier for when I have to be there, but if you want to live out here, then we'll live here." She didn't even have to ask him about Stark. "I'm done with Tony. Told Steve that we're not working with him ever again. He tries to corrupt everything good about a person, and I can't let him do that to me anymore."
"Did you ....?"
She couldn't complete the question before he grasped her face in his hands, focusing his attention completely on her.
"Never since you and I met. I swear."
Slowly, she nodded her head, then placed her hand on his cheek, just like she did before she left him in their bed.
"Let's go home, then."
Helping her up, he wrapped his arm around her waist, bending his head over hers. It became increasingly cloudy as they got closer to the path that led through the rocky section below the house. By the time they arrived at the steps to the house, rain seemed inevitable. That's how it could be on this part of the coast; the unpredictability of the weather was something she liked about it. The two plants were still on the porch, distracting both of them from the weather. Bashfully, he ran his hand over his hair and down the back of his neck.
"The one with the pink flowers is called a Steeplebush, and the other is Sweet Pepperbush. Its flowers are white. I chatted with an older man on the flight, and he told me a good marriage is like a garden; it needs tending to flourish. They'll remind me to take better care of our marriage." His hand brushed against hers, then clasped it tightly as he took in a deep breath. "I let you down, and I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you."
"What about your work?"
"I told Steve that if we ended up with an office in a strip mall, I would be happy. I don't have to be in New York to do it, but I'll find joy in my work again, as long as we're together."
Rain started to fall at that moment, initially as a few drops that darkened the flagstone tiles of the rough sidewalk, then increasing to a light drizzle. When the breeze pushed it onto the steps and porch, they went inside, standing side by side at the window that overlooked the ocean vista. The weather came in like a curtain of silver, the soft hum as the rain hit the weather-worn cedar shakes and siding reverberating throughout the house.
"You'll have to wait to plant those shrubs," she said softly.
"I'm not going anywhere," he answered, looking at her. "Could we just ...." He clasped her hand, raising it to his lips. "Can we lay in bed upstairs and just listen to the rain like the first time?"
He knew by the way she looked at him that she remembered the first time they "listened" to the rain in this house. Tugging on his hand now, they walked up the old wooden staircase, with treads worn from years of use by the long-gone original residents. They undressed, removing all the barriers that had been between them. People were born, lived, and died here, in this room in this house that had stood for over a century, until circumstances made the last one to live here before them leave it behind. When she saw this place, empty for so many years, she knew it could be brought to life again, if only someone took the time and care to tend to it. It just took him a bit longer to realize he was also meant to be part of this life.
Less than twenty-four hours ago, Bucky was terrified that he had destroyed any chance of a future with his wife. Now, as they faced each other, literally and emotionally naked in the soft grey light that bathed the crisp bed linens, all he could think about was making love with her, slowly and reverently, until they were both satiated. She was his garden, and he would never leave her untended again.
Summary: Bucky briefly reconsiders his plan. Fury shows him footage of the destruction of several HYDRA bases, trying to reassure the super soldier about his own personal commitment to destroying the organization.
Length: 3.9 K
Characters: Bucky, Joanne, Fury, Maria Hill
Warnings and other notes: Panic attack, painful goodbye. Right image on title board by Huseyn Naghiyev, via Vecteezy.com.
<<Chapter 23
Returning to Joanne's bedside, Bucky found Maria sitting on the chair next to the bed, scrolling on a tablet. She stood up as he stepped inside the door.
"She didn't wake up. Dr. Fine came to check on her vitals and seemed satisfied."
He looked at the woman he loved as she slept then acknowledged Maria.
"Thank you for watching her. Will you be involved in taking care of her after?"
"I'm not sure. Right now, I work a somewhat regular job. Fury called me in to have another woman's presence near while she received medical care." She noted the concerned look on his face. "You're worried about her and the baby, aren't you?"
"You know." She nodded. "I think the only way to keep them both safe is to become the Asset again and be ordered to forget them. It means I'll need to have my memory wiped first."
"I'm sorry. After all that you've done to leave that behind ...."
"I don't even know if it will work but if I'm caught again, they'll turn me and send me after her." His face fell as he realized something. "It won't matter if I do forget her because they'll send me after her anyways. The intruders at the farmhouse called her the secondary target. The two who took me from the gas station talked about sending me after her once I became the Asset again. They'll still find her. Maybe I should just go so I can hunt them down."
He stepped away from Hill before she could say anything, opened the door, looked left, then right, and moved. As he searched the labyrinth of hallways seeking the exit to outside, his efforts became more desperate, until he burst through a door and found himself in a garage bay with several vehicles. A red Exit sign was visible above an emergency exit beside a large roll-up door, and he headed towards it.
"You'll set off the alarm," said Fury's voice, just before he got there. "That will wake her up."
Bucky stopped; his hand poised above the push handle that would open the door.
"It doesn't matter if you wipe me and order me to forget her. They know who she is. If they catch me and turn me, they'll just make her a target, and I will find her. I always find my target." He could feel the terror inside him at the thought of hunting Joanne down. "As soon as I go, you must move her and shut down this site. Take her to one of your secret sites that only you know about or something, but you have to keep her safe."
He stared at the door, the only barrier between him and the outside world, then he heard Fury's footsteps come closer.
"That could happen," admitted the man, as he stood perpendicular to Bucky. "I'm not going to lie and say everything will be fine because I don't know. I do know that I'm not in the habit of giving up. How do you think I managed to survive both of your attempts to kill me?" Bucky said nothing but he was still agitated. "If you walk out that door now, then you're giving up. You can also be tracked again because we have a dampening field on this building that is keeping them from locking on to your trackers."
Bucky raised his hand, clenched it, then spread his fingers over the surface of the door, leaving them there as if contemplating whether to hit the door open. Fury studied the man, recognizing that the years of his imprisonment and abuse had made it difficult for him to trust. Joanne had succeeded in connecting with Barnes but every instinct in him was telling him to run, and to take preemptive action.
"You know that if you run out on her now, without even saying goodbye, that she'll always wonder if you ever really loved her."
It was a low blow. Fury knew that but he truly wanted Barnes to have the best chance possible to stay free. Running out into the darkness right now wasn't going to give him that. He also wanted the opportunity to learn more about where HYDRA was. Since he had his own off-the-books hiding places, he was sure they did as well and the man near him was a source of information for their locations.
"I think your idea is still the best one, even with the uncertainty. We wipe your memory, order you to forget Ms. Phelps, and we disable the trackers in your body. We can get you to Europe, and provide you with a new identity, one that HYDRA won't know about. With the languages that you apparently know, you should be able to handle life there on your own."
"Bill said that you're still trying to find the traitors in SHIELD. What if the next person who helps me is one of them? They'll turn me over."
"I have someone I trust who will fly you to Europe, and he won't betray you. In fact, he already had a taste of having his free will taken away from him, so he has a good sense of what you went through." Bucky felt a hand on his shoulder. "Barnes ... Bucky, trust me, please."
The hand gave a little squeeze then removed itself from touching him. The touch only lasted for a few seconds, but it served a purpose as Bucky released the breath he had been holding. Why this man would help him still puzzled him, but he recognized the sincerity in his voice. If he had known that he was seeing a side of Nick Fury that very few people even knew existed, he might have trusted him more.
Backing away from Bucky, the former SHIELD director turned towards the door that led into the heart of the building. He listened as he walked at a slightly slower pace, then thinned his lips in response to the sound of Bucky's boots following him. For now, he was staying. Without comment, Fury led him back through the maze of hallways until they were outside the room where Joanne still slept, both looking in the window at Hill, who glanced at them then returned her attention to a tablet at a slight nod from Fury.
"Hill can let me know when she wakes up. I want your help in finding HYDRA sites that aren't in their files." Bucky turned his head slightly towards Fury, without taking his eyes off Joanne. "I spent the last month in Europe looking but I'm certain that there are more that aren't in the books."
"What did you do to the places you found?"
It was both a test and a question needing an answer. Better to show him.
"Come on, I'll show you what's been done so far. You can judge if it's been enough, but I think I can do better."
Returning to the room with the table, Fury opened a cabinet, bringing out a tablet. Sitting down with it at the table, he entered several commands on it, then one wall changed in appearance as the surface shimmered. When the shimmering stopped, it revealed a large display screen. Entering more commands, Fury brought up an outline of Europe and its countries. Another entry brought up a half dozen dots spread from Spain, through France, Switzerland, Austria, Poland, and Norway.
"These are the sites I found before Rumlow escaped and returned here," said Fury. "They were all in the HYDRA files that were leaked onto the internet." He looked over at where Bucky now sat. "You do know about the internet?" A glare was his answer. "Just making sure."
"Pyrenees, in Spain," he said, as the first images came up, showing new reports of an explosion near a small town that destroyed an old partisan hideout from the 1930s. "We made it look like a forgotten cache of explosives from the Spanish Civil War became unstable." The image changed to interior shots. "It was a research facility for nerve and chemical agents."
"Ricin-based?" Fury nodded as Bucky kept talking in an almost monotone voice. "I think I was there, firing at inanimate targets near animals ... from a long distance. I wasn't to hit the animals. The bullet released a powdery gas upon impact, and they studied dispersal and effectiveness patterns. They always assumed I couldn't understand what they were discussing in my presence, but I remember ricin because it's made from the castor bean plant." He smirked. "That's where castor oil comes from. Hated that stuff when I was growing up."
"You remember castor oil?" frowned Fury. "How much do you remember?"
"It's all mixed up," replied Bucky. "I know that I never forgot how to shoot a rifle, or how to track a target. I always seemed to know how to fly just about anything, and drive a standard transmission. Certain areas of the brain always remember things, I guess. Personal stuff is hit and miss, and I kind of have to fill in the blanks with my imagination. I also have a healing factor, so it probably kept trying to fix my brain. I've wondered if the cryosleep was also to slow down the repair capabilities of the serum." He raised his right hand. "Steve broke this arm on the helicarrier but by the next day I could use it. It was sore but I didn't need a cast. They had a special splint for broken arms instead of casting them."
"Cap has that healing factor, too," replied Fury, thoughtfully. "Although, he was in hospital for several days after your battle, so you really hurt him." He faced Bucky directly, focusing his gaze on him. "How committed were you to killing him, or me?" The super soldier frowned slightly at him, wondering if this was a trick question. "What I mean, is from what I've seen of your treatment, failure was unacceptable and severely punished. When you shot me while I was in Roger's apartment, I ended up with a lacerated spinal column, and a cracked sternum, although that was probably from the attack on the streets. I had a shattered collarbone, perforated liver, and a collapsed lung. With your accuracy, you should have shot me in the heart, but you didn't."
"Well, I was shooting through a wall," answered Bucky, bluntly. "I'm sure that I was trying to kill you both. I wasn't punished for the unsuccessful attempt on the street, where you cut yourself out of the vehicle. But that's because they were expecting you to take another vehicle, one that had all safety features disabled or removed." He smiled slightly. "You surprised them by taking another truck. As far as they were concerned, the second hit on you was successful. So, no punishment ... well, not for that." He breathed out, heavily. "I asked about Steve, after the attempt on the highway. That's when he recognized me and said my name. Pierce tried to tell me he was part of another mission, but it didn't sound right. I had flashbacks of him, laughing, crying, screaming my name, and getting further and further away." He shook his head, his lips curling in disgust. "They put me through the wringer, and I'm sure they made Joanne watch some of it, but it's all blurred together, and I still can't make sense of it."
He shook his head again, then stood up, agitated. As he paced, he ended up in front of the screen, showing the lab in that research facility, just staring at it. Activating the next file, Fury showed him a warehouse in Marseille. Outwardly, it looked like any other warehouse at the port, but inside, in a concrete column set in the centre of the structure was an elevator that went underground, to a treatment room, complete with a memory processing device, and a surgical suite with a bed that had multiple titanium restraints, for the arms, legs, body and head. The news reports said an underground fuel tank that had slowly disintegrated over the years finally ignited. The resulting fire drew multiple response units who were more worried about keeping the inferno from spreading than they were about fighting it.
Standing motionless in front of that screen, Bucky watched similar displays about the other facilities that were all taken out in spectacular fashion, while the causes were always explained as non-criminal. When the last one in Norway finished and the screen returned to the map of Europe, Fury sat quietly, allowing Bucky the time to process it.
"Are you expecting me to do this when you send me to Europe?" The super soldier turned to Fury with an impassive face. "Is this a recruitment pitch because of my skills? I won't kill again. Not for them, not for you, not even for myself, or Joanne; not unless I have no choice." He looked at his hands, then spoke with a tone that left no doubt. "I can't do that anymore."
"No, this is not a recruitment pitch." Fury sighed. "As much as I think you have skills that would be useful in this, that's not why I'm showing you." He gestured to the screen. "I won't put you in that position. You deserve some peace. These were only six that I've dealt with so far, and there are more. I'm sure there are some places that aren't in the files and if you could give me the information on where they are, then I can take them on as well. They have to pay for what they did to the world, and to you. I'm the man who can collect the debt on your behalf."
The super soldier shifted, placing his hands on his hips while putting his weight on one leg. It was a pose that was both challenging and dismissive.
"What are you doing with the information that you find in those places?" Fury looked blankly at him. "I know there is more about me than what was released on the internet. Some things weren't meant to be shared freely." He grimaced angrily. "To certain people, I was a toy."
"The home movies," muttered Fury, looking disgusted. "I found some things, and after identifying the people who abused you, I destroyed the films, the videos, the physical pictures, and their negatives .... Is that what you want to know? I recognize that you've had a lifetime of people who have taken so much from you, and it's made it hard to trust. To be honest, I'm surprised you're not taking an arsenal with you and hunting every single one of them down. I would."
"I did take an arsenal with me," answered Bucky, sitting back at the table. "Every time we changed locations I searched for the armoury, wanting to know what kind of firepower I had available. But if I went on a hunting spree then it would prove that they succeeded in wiping out every bit of humanity that I had. They would win and I won't ...." His face crumbled as he buried it in his hands. When he raised it, his eyes were glassy, but he set his jaw firmly. "I'm a man, not a monster. I'll tell you everything I remember, GPS coordinates, hidden locations, names. In the car are several backpacks. I want Joanne to hold them for me. She encouraged me to write down my memories. I won't be able to take them with me but if I ever get to a point where I remember any of the past few months, I want them back. You promised me before that you would destroy the machines. Keep that promise but when you find that footage of me and the depravity that they forced on me, destroy that as well. Like the killing, I had no choice in any of it."
As Nick Fury watched and listened to this man, he understood more about why Steve Rogers insisted on saving him. Both men's basic morality had been formed in a shared childhood in a poorer part of Brooklyn that took them through the Depression. Continuing their friendship through the crucible of World War II had shown them the best of humanity alongside the worst of it. Rogers had been frozen for over 65 years in the Arctic but hadn't hesitated when he was asked to join the Avengers to defend the world from threats. Barnes had been tortured and brainwashed to the point of being physically and mentally broken but somehow had still escaped from the yoke of HYDRA. There was no doubt he had severe PTSD, likely one or more mental or emotional disorders that would take years of treatment to overcome, but he hadn't reverted to the weapon they made him into, because it wasn't innate in him. He was a survivor who sought justice, choosing not to be a blunt instrument of revenge. Someday, Bucky Barnes could walk as a free man again, unencumbered by a past that had been forced upon him.
🔹 🔹 🔹
Joanne shifted and felt the ache in her shoulder flare briefly into something that really hurt, releasing a whimper in response. A warm hand took hers and she opened her eyes to Bucky smiling softly at her.
"Hi," he murmured. "You slept a long time."
She shifted again, wincing at the effort. "How long?"
"A good eight hours or so," he answered. "You must have needed it. Do you feel like sitting up?"
Nodding her head, she waited as he raised the bed up until she lifted her hand for him to stop. A cup with a straw appeared and she sipped from it, then Bucky put it back on the side table, sitting in a chair that was right beside the bed.
"Have you been here for all that time?"
"No, just the last 30 minutes. I've been in a long briefing with Nick Fury, giving him all the information that I could remember about HYDRA locations and personnel. Apparently, I know more than I thought I did as I knew things that didn't get leaked onto the internet." He reached for the wheeled tray which had some food on it. "You should eat. Your blood sugar is probably quite low with everything you've been through."
Nodding her head, she watched as he opened a package and offered her half of an egg salad sandwich. She looked at it dubiously, wondering if the egg smell would trigger her morning sickness, but she bit into it and was surprised to find it tasted really good. He opened another package, this one with a turkey, cheese, and lettuce sandwich, and took a bite. For a drink he offered her orange juice, ginger ale, or tea. She chose the ginger ale, rationalizing that it would settle her stomach. Quietly, they ate, enjoying the calm atmosphere within that room.
Elsewhere in the building was another matter. While Fury coordinated the evacuation of the Ideal Federal Savings Bank of all non-essential personnel, and the transportation of himself and Bucky there, Maria was coordinating the breakdown of this site, and the relocation to another secure place that was less institutional. She had already phoned in her absence to Stark Industries, letting Pepper know that she was needed for some unofficial business. She mentioned a code word known between the two women to keep Tony Stark in the dark. Although Pepper didn't know that Nick Fury was alive, she had her suspicions that the man's grave didn't have a body in it. When Maria was brought into Stark Industries, she knew at some point that she would have to share some secrets. That time was coming, as Maria was going to lean on Pepper to provide a safe sanctuary for Joanne, without letting her know who she was other than the woman who stood up to HYDRA and was still being sought by them. It was going to be a tricky balancing act, but Maria was used to it and was confident that Pepper would come through.
Finishing the last of the food, Bucky took the wrappers and drink containers, placing them on the wheeled tray. Then he stood beside the bed.
"Can you make room for me?"
Slowly, with some effort and his help, Joanne moved over enough for him to join her. Curled towards him, she rested her head on his shoulder. It was certain that their time together was almost at an end.
"When do you go?"
"As soon as they tell me." He felt her breath change and body stiffen at the words. "Listen. While you were sleeping Fury went to the car and brought our backpacks inside. I want you to have my notebooks. They have everything that I remember written down and a lot of it is about us. If you're ever missing me, you can read how you're everything to me."
"Am I?"
"Oh, sweetheart, yes you are." Gently, he tightened his hold on her and bent his head towards hers, kissing her on the temple. "I know that I couldn't have done this without you. Even though you were afraid of me at first, you still offered to help me. After all that you went through it meant a lot that you believed in me. I don't think I'll ever forgive myself for you being shot."
"You didn't pull the trigger." She fixed her gaze on the door. "Did you kill the man who shot me?"
"No. I brought him back to where you were, tied him up, then phoned for help. Fury's people took him and the other guy in. I can't kill anymore, not even if they're HYDRA."
They looked at the door, hearing a sound outside, then Maria's face appeared in the window. She nodded apologetically at them. It was like being doused with a bucket of cold water and Joanne pressed her face into Bucky's chest, ignoring the pain in her shoulder, as she gave into the emotion. Gently he caressed her, murmuring softly to her. Wiping the tears from her face, he kissed her one more time, then loosened his hold on her.
"I have to go now," he said softly, kissing her hands as he got off the bed.
"Okay. Promise you'll come find me when this is all over."
"Scout's honour," he smiled, both of them knowing that if it worked, he would never come looking for her. "I love you."
Joanne gave out a short, tearful laugh, then grasped his hand once more before he stepped away. "I love you, too."
He kissed her hand again, then placed it on her chest. At the door he looked back at Joanne one more time before he exited. Fury waited in the hallway and led him away, as Maria went into Joanne's room. Fury stopped at the door to another room and looked at Bucky.
"You're sure that you want to do this?" he asked.
"It's the only way to keep her safe," said the dark-haired man. "Not just from them but from me. You know what they can make me do."
With one more look at the door to where Joanne was, Bucky took a deep breath and entered the room to the next part of his life. At least now, it was his choice.
Chapter 25>>
Series Masterlist
Please support the author by reblogging or commenting.
Summary: Bucky briefly reconsiders his plan. Fury shows him footage of the destruction of several HYDRA bases, trying to reassure the super soldier about his own personal commitment to destroying the organization.
Length: 3.9 K
Characters: Bucky, Joanne, Fury, Maria Hill
Warnings and other notes: Panic attack, painful goodbye. Right image on title board by Huseyn Naghiyev, via Vecteezy.com.
<<Chapter 23
Returning to Joanne's bedside, Bucky found Maria sitting on the chair next to the bed, scrolling on a tablet. She stood up as he stepped inside the door.
"She didn't wake up. Dr. Fine came to check on her vitals and seemed satisfied."
He looked at the woman he loved as she slept then acknowledged Maria.
"Thank you for watching her. Will you be involved in taking care of her after?"
"I'm not sure. Right now, I work a somewhat regular job. Fury called me in to have another woman's presence near while she received medical care." She noted the concerned look on his face. "You're worried about her and the baby, aren't you?"
"You know." She nodded. "I think the only way to keep them both safe is to become the Asset again and be ordered to forget them. It means I'll need to have my memory wiped first."
"I'm sorry. After all that you've done to leave that behind ...."
"I don't even know if it will work but if I'm caught again, they'll turn me and send me after her." His face fell as he realized something. "It won't matter if I do forget her because they'll send me after her anyways. The intruders at the farmhouse called her the secondary target. The two who took me from the gas station talked about sending me after her once I became the Asset again. They'll still find her. Maybe I should just go so I can hunt them down."
He stepped away from Hill before she could say anything, opened the door, looked left, then right, and moved. As he searched the labyrinth of hallways seeking the exit to outside, his efforts became more desperate, until he burst through a door and found himself in a garage bay with several vehicles. A red Exit sign was visible above an emergency exit beside a large roll-up door, and he headed towards it.
"You'll set off the alarm," said Fury's voice, just before he got there. "That will wake her up."
Bucky stopped; his hand poised above the push handle that would open the door.
"It doesn't matter if you wipe me and order me to forget her. They know who she is. If they catch me and turn me, they'll just make her a target, and I will find her. I always find my target." He could feel the terror inside him at the thought of hunting Joanne down. "As soon as I go, you must move her and shut down this site. Take her to one of your secret sites that only you know about or something, but you have to keep her safe."
He stared at the door, the only barrier between him and the outside world, then he heard Fury's footsteps come closer.
"That could happen," admitted the man, as he stood perpendicular to Bucky. "I'm not going to lie and say everything will be fine because I don't know. I do know that I'm not in the habit of giving up. How do you think I managed to survive both of your attempts to kill me?" Bucky said nothing but he was still agitated. "If you walk out that door now, then you're giving up. You can also be tracked again because we have a dampening field on this building that is keeping them from locking on to your trackers."
Bucky raised his hand, clenched it, then spread his fingers over the surface of the door, leaving them there as if contemplating whether to hit the door open. Fury studied the man, recognizing that the years of his imprisonment and abuse had made it difficult for him to trust. Joanne had succeeded in connecting with Barnes but every instinct in him was telling him to run, and to take preemptive action.
"You know that if you run out on her now, without even saying goodbye, that she'll always wonder if you ever really loved her."
It was a low blow. Fury knew that but he truly wanted Barnes to have the best chance possible to stay free. Running out into the darkness right now wasn't going to give him that. He also wanted the opportunity to learn more about where HYDRA was. Since he had his own off-the-books hiding places, he was sure they did as well and the man near him was a source of information for their locations.
"I think your idea is still the best one, even with the uncertainty. We wipe your memory, order you to forget Ms. Phelps, and we disable the trackers in your body. We can get you to Europe, and provide you with a new identity, one that HYDRA won't know about. With the languages that you apparently know, you should be able to handle life there on your own."
"Bill said that you're still trying to find the traitors in SHIELD. What if the next person who helps me is one of them? They'll turn me over."
"I have someone I trust who will fly you to Europe, and he won't betray you. In fact, he already had a taste of having his free will taken away from him, so he has a good sense of what you went through." Bucky felt a hand on his shoulder. "Barnes ... Bucky, trust me, please."
The hand gave a little squeeze then removed itself from touching him. The touch only lasted for a few seconds, but it served a purpose as Bucky released the breath he had been holding. Why this man would help him still puzzled him, but he recognized the sincerity in his voice. If he had known that he was seeing a side of Nick Fury that very few people even knew existed, he might have trusted him more.
Backing away from Bucky, the former SHIELD director turned towards the door that led into the heart of the building. He listened as he walked at a slightly slower pace, then thinned his lips in response to the sound of Bucky's boots following him. For now, he was staying. Without comment, Fury led him back through the maze of hallways until they were outside the room where Joanne still slept, both looking in the window at Hill, who glanced at them then returned her attention to a tablet at a slight nod from Fury.
"Hill can let me know when she wakes up. I want your help in finding HYDRA sites that aren't in their files." Bucky turned his head slightly towards Fury, without taking his eyes off Joanne. "I spent the last month in Europe looking but I'm certain that there are more that aren't in the books."
"What did you do to the places you found?"
It was both a test and a question needing an answer. Better to show him.
"Come on, I'll show you what's been done so far. You can judge if it's been enough, but I think I can do better."
Returning to the room with the table, Fury opened a cabinet, bringing out a tablet. Sitting down with it at the table, he entered several commands on it, then one wall changed in appearance as the surface shimmered. When the shimmering stopped, it revealed a large display screen. Entering more commands, Fury brought up an outline of Europe and its countries. Another entry brought up a half dozen dots spread from Spain, through France, Switzerland, Austria, Poland, and Norway.
"These are the sites I found before Rumlow escaped and returned here," said Fury. "They were all in the HYDRA files that were leaked onto the internet." He looked over at where Bucky now sat. "You do know about the internet?" A glare was his answer. "Just making sure."
"Pyrenees, in Spain," he said, as the first images came up, showing new reports of an explosion near a small town that destroyed an old partisan hideout from the 1930s. "We made it look like a forgotten cache of explosives from the Spanish Civil War became unstable." The image changed to interior shots. "It was a research facility for nerve and chemical agents."
"Ricin-based?" Fury nodded as Bucky kept talking in an almost monotone voice. "I think I was there, firing at inanimate targets near animals ... from a long distance. I wasn't to hit the animals. The bullet released a powdery gas upon impact, and they studied dispersal and effectiveness patterns. They always assumed I couldn't understand what they were discussing in my presence, but I remember ricin because it's made from the castor bean plant." He smirked. "That's where castor oil comes from. Hated that stuff when I was growing up."
"You remember castor oil?" frowned Fury. "How much do you remember?"
"It's all mixed up," replied Bucky. "I know that I never forgot how to shoot a rifle, or how to track a target. I always seemed to know how to fly just about anything, and drive a standard transmission. Certain areas of the brain always remember things, I guess. Personal stuff is hit and miss, and I kind of have to fill in the blanks with my imagination. I also have a healing factor, so it probably kept trying to fix my brain. I've wondered if the cryosleep was also to slow down the repair capabilities of the serum." He raised his right hand. "Steve broke this arm on the helicarrier but by the next day I could use it. It was sore but I didn't need a cast. They had a special splint for broken arms instead of casting them."
"Cap has that healing factor, too," replied Fury, thoughtfully. "Although, he was in hospital for several days after your battle, so you really hurt him." He faced Bucky directly, focusing his gaze on him. "How committed were you to killing him, or me?" The super soldier frowned slightly at him, wondering if this was a trick question. "What I mean, is from what I've seen of your treatment, failure was unacceptable and severely punished. When you shot me while I was in Roger's apartment, I ended up with a lacerated spinal column, and a cracked sternum, although that was probably from the attack on the streets. I had a shattered collarbone, perforated liver, and a collapsed lung. With your accuracy, you should have shot me in the heart, but you didn't."
"Well, I was shooting through a wall," answered Bucky, bluntly. "I'm sure that I was trying to kill you both. I wasn't punished for the unsuccessful attempt on the street, where you cut yourself out of the vehicle. But that's because they were expecting you to take another vehicle, one that had all safety features disabled or removed." He smiled slightly. "You surprised them by taking another truck. As far as they were concerned, the second hit on you was successful. So, no punishment ... well, not for that." He breathed out, heavily. "I asked about Steve, after the attempt on the highway. That's when he recognized me and said my name. Pierce tried to tell me he was part of another mission, but it didn't sound right. I had flashbacks of him, laughing, crying, screaming my name, and getting further and further away." He shook his head, his lips curling in disgust. "They put me through the wringer, and I'm sure they made Joanne watch some of it, but it's all blurred together, and I still can't make sense of it."
He shook his head again, then stood up, agitated. As he paced, he ended up in front of the screen, showing the lab in that research facility, just staring at it. Activating the next file, Fury showed him a warehouse in Marseille. Outwardly, it looked like any other warehouse at the port, but inside, in a concrete column set in the centre of the structure was an elevator that went underground, to a treatment room, complete with a memory processing device, and a surgical suite with a bed that had multiple titanium restraints, for the arms, legs, body and head. The news reports said an underground fuel tank that had slowly disintegrated over the years finally ignited. The resulting fire drew multiple response units who were more worried about keeping the inferno from spreading than they were about fighting it.
Standing motionless in front of that screen, Bucky watched similar displays about the other facilities that were all taken out in spectacular fashion, while the causes were always explained as non-criminal. When the last one in Norway finished and the screen returned to the map of Europe, Fury sat quietly, allowing Bucky the time to process it.
"Are you expecting me to do this when you send me to Europe?" The super soldier turned to Fury with an impassive face. "Is this a recruitment pitch because of my skills? I won't kill again. Not for them, not for you, not even for myself, or Joanne; not unless I have no choice." He looked at his hands, then spoke with a tone that left no doubt. "I can't do that anymore."
"No, this is not a recruitment pitch." Fury sighed. "As much as I think you have skills that would be useful in this, that's not why I'm showing you." He gestured to the screen. "I won't put you in that position. You deserve some peace. These were only six that I've dealt with so far, and there are more. I'm sure there are some places that aren't in the files and if you could give me the information on where they are, then I can take them on as well. They have to pay for what they did to the world, and to you. I'm the man who can collect the debt on your behalf."
The super soldier shifted, placing his hands on his hips while putting his weight on one leg. It was a pose that was both challenging and dismissive.
"What are you doing with the information that you find in those places?" Fury looked blankly at him. "I know there is more about me than what was released on the internet. Some things weren't meant to be shared freely." He grimaced angrily. "To certain people, I was a toy."
"The home movies," muttered Fury, looking disgusted. "I found some things, and after identifying the people who abused you, I destroyed the films, the videos, the physical pictures, and their negatives .... Is that what you want to know? I recognize that you've had a lifetime of people who have taken so much from you, and it's made it hard to trust. To be honest, I'm surprised you're not taking an arsenal with you and hunting every single one of them down. I would."
"I did take an arsenal with me," answered Bucky, sitting back at the table. "Every time we changed locations I searched for the armoury, wanting to know what kind of firepower I had available. But if I went on a hunting spree then it would prove that they succeeded in wiping out every bit of humanity that I had. They would win and I won't ...." His face crumbled as he buried it in his hands. When he raised it, his eyes were glassy, but he set his jaw firmly. "I'm a man, not a monster. I'll tell you everything I remember, GPS coordinates, hidden locations, names. In the car are several backpacks. I want Joanne to hold them for me. She encouraged me to write down my memories. I won't be able to take them with me but if I ever get to a point where I remember any of the past few months, I want them back. You promised me before that you would destroy the machines. Keep that promise but when you find that footage of me and the depravity that they forced on me, destroy that as well. Like the killing, I had no choice in any of it."
As Nick Fury watched and listened to this man, he understood more about why Steve Rogers insisted on saving him. Both men's basic morality had been formed in a shared childhood in a poorer part of Brooklyn that took them through the Depression. Continuing their friendship through the crucible of World War II had shown them the best of humanity alongside the worst of it. Rogers had been frozen for over 65 years in the Arctic but hadn't hesitated when he was asked to join the Avengers to defend the world from threats. Barnes had been tortured and brainwashed to the point of being physically and mentally broken but somehow had still escaped from the yoke of HYDRA. There was no doubt he had severe PTSD, likely one or more mental or emotional disorders that would take years of treatment to overcome, but he hadn't reverted to the weapon they made him into, because it wasn't innate in him. He was a survivor who sought justice, choosing not to be a blunt instrument of revenge. Someday, Bucky Barnes could walk as a free man again, unencumbered by a past that had been forced upon him.
🔹 🔹 🔹
Joanne shifted and felt the ache in her shoulder flare briefly into something that really hurt, releasing a whimper in response. A warm hand took hers and she opened her eyes to Bucky smiling softly at her.
"Hi," he murmured. "You slept a long time."
She shifted again, wincing at the effort. "How long?"
"A good eight hours or so," he answered. "You must have needed it. Do you feel like sitting up?"
Nodding her head, she waited as he raised the bed up until she lifted her hand for him to stop. A cup with a straw appeared and she sipped from it, then Bucky put it back on the side table, sitting in a chair that was right beside the bed.
"Have you been here for all that time?"
"No, just the last 30 minutes. I've been in a long briefing with Nick Fury, giving him all the information that I could remember about HYDRA locations and personnel. Apparently, I know more than I thought I did as I knew things that didn't get leaked onto the internet." He reached for the wheeled tray which had some food on it. "You should eat. Your blood sugar is probably quite low with everything you've been through."
Nodding her head, she watched as he opened a package and offered her half of an egg salad sandwich. She looked at it dubiously, wondering if the egg smell would trigger her morning sickness, but she bit into it and was surprised to find it tasted really good. He opened another package, this one with a turkey, cheese, and lettuce sandwich, and took a bite. For a drink he offered her orange juice, ginger ale, or tea. She chose the ginger ale, rationalizing that it would settle her stomach. Quietly, they ate, enjoying the calm atmosphere within that room.
Elsewhere in the building was another matter. While Fury coordinated the evacuation of the Ideal Federal Savings Bank of all non-essential personnel, and the transportation of himself and Bucky there, Maria was coordinating the breakdown of this site, and the relocation to another secure place that was less institutional. She had already phoned in her absence to Stark Industries, letting Pepper know that she was needed for some unofficial business. She mentioned a code word known between the two women to keep Tony Stark in the dark. Although Pepper didn't know that Nick Fury was alive, she had her suspicions that the man's grave didn't have a body in it. When Maria was brought into Stark Industries, she knew at some point that she would have to share some secrets. That time was coming, as Maria was going to lean on Pepper to provide a safe sanctuary for Joanne, without letting her know who she was other than the woman who stood up to HYDRA and was still being sought by them. It was going to be a tricky balancing act, but Maria was used to it and was confident that Pepper would come through.
Finishing the last of the food, Bucky took the wrappers and drink containers, placing them on the wheeled tray. Then he stood beside the bed.
"Can you make room for me?"
Slowly, with some effort and his help, Joanne moved over enough for him to join her. Curled towards him, she rested her head on his shoulder. It was certain that their time together was almost at an end.
"When do you go?"
"As soon as they tell me." He felt her breath change and body stiffen at the words. "Listen. While you were sleeping Fury went to the car and brought our backpacks inside. I want you to have my notebooks. They have everything that I remember written down and a lot of it is about us. If you're ever missing me, you can read how you're everything to me."
"Am I?"
"Oh, sweetheart, yes you are." Gently, he tightened his hold on her and bent his head towards hers, kissing her on the temple. "I know that I couldn't have done this without you. Even though you were afraid of me at first, you still offered to help me. After all that you went through it meant a lot that you believed in me. I don't think I'll ever forgive myself for you being shot."
"You didn't pull the trigger." She fixed her gaze on the door. "Did you kill the man who shot me?"
"No. I brought him back to where you were, tied him up, then phoned for help. Fury's people took him and the other guy in. I can't kill anymore, not even if they're HYDRA."
They looked at the door, hearing a sound outside, then Maria's face appeared in the window. She nodded apologetically at them. It was like being doused with a bucket of cold water and Joanne pressed her face into Bucky's chest, ignoring the pain in her shoulder, as she gave into the emotion. Gently he caressed her, murmuring softly to her. Wiping the tears from her face, he kissed her one more time, then loosened his hold on her.
"I have to go now," he said softly, kissing her hands as he got off the bed.
"Okay. Promise you'll come find me when this is all over."
"Scout's honour," he smiled, both of them knowing that if it worked, he would never come looking for her. "I love you."
Joanne gave out a short, tearful laugh, then grasped his hand once more before he stepped away. "I love you, too."
He kissed her hand again, then placed it on her chest. At the door he looked back at Joanne one more time before he exited. Fury waited in the hallway and led him away, as Maria went into Joanne's room. Fury stopped at the door to another room and looked at Bucky.
"You're sure that you want to do this?" he asked.
"It's the only way to keep her safe," said the dark-haired man. "Not just from them but from me. You know what they can make me do."
With one more look at the door to where Joanne was, Bucky took a deep breath and entered the room to the next part of his life. At least now, it was his choice.
Chapter 25>>
Series Masterlist
Please support the author by reblogging or commenting.
Summary: After the untimely death of Brooklyn's congressional representative, the Democratic Headquarters tasked you with finding someone, literally anyone not in Wilson Fisk's pocket to run for office. The good news: you found a candidate. The bad news: it's Bucky Barnes.
Tags/warnings: bucky barnes x reader, no use of y/n, Candidate! Bucky Barnes, fully developed pre-frontal cortex! reader, swearing, republicans & fisk supporters dni
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Chapter 11: Town hall
Summary: Bucky Barnes sheds some much needed light over voting rights issues.
Word count: 3k
“Can we get Bucky to the stage for a sound check?” Ganke asked, projecting his voice. Bucky, who had been sitting with you backstage, grimaced at you as he got up. It had been a smooth morning in the office as far as logistics went, but Bucky had been quiet and noticeably anxious. It didn’t take a mind-reader to see that he wasn’t thrilled about the town hall.
“Eileen, give us a thumbs down if you can’t hear Bucky or Marie,” Ganke shouted to Eileen, who was at the back of the auditorium.
“Good morning, I’m Marie-Valese Louissaint, Today I’m feeling blessed to be in the same auditorium where local kook, Curtis Sliwa, may have once stood,” Marie said into the mic, the feedback piercing at first before it evened out.
“And I’m Bucky Barnes, thrilled to be here.” Bucky deadpanned, but Ganke prompted him to keep going. “I love Brooklyn, and I want to be your congressman. Uh, please vote for me.”
Eileen gave a thumbs up from the back row, which wasn’t very far away at all. The auditorium was small, with old wooden chairs bolted to the ground and dangling lights. You had already mentally reframed the auditorium’s small size as a good thing since it would disguise a low turnout. On Facebook, only 19 people had RSVP’d ‘yes’ to attending, and five of those ‘yeses’ included Eileen, some of the interns, and you.
“We’re good?” Bucky asked, looking at you. You stepped onto the stage, only slightly wincing at the bright lights.
“For now. You can chill backstage. Vijay and Ganke, you guys are going to be in charge of welcoming people. The pamphlets should be in a bag by the door. Hopefully people will want to sign up to volunteer too, so have the clipboard with signups ready just in case.”
“Yes boss,” Vijay said, saluting you before jumping down the steps two at a time.
“Georgia, you’ve got our list of questions to ask in case we need to keep things moving?”
“Yeah, and I invited some friends too. Only one is definitely coming, the rest are hard maybes.”
“Perfect. Marie, you can sit wherever you’d like the audience so we can keep the questions topical. Everyone, keep your phones on you, just in case we need to improvise. We want at least an hour of discussion, and are hoping for an hour and a half, but depending on turnout we can adjust. Everyone clear?”
“Crystal,” Marie said into the mic.
You ducked behind the curtain to find Bucky sitting on a fold out chair texting.
“You here to babysit me?” He asked, looking up from his phone.
“No,” you lied. “I just wanted to read through my introduction a few more times in some quiet. The interns scurrying around were stressing me out.”
Bucky looked at you like he knew you were full of shit, but went back to texting nonetheless. You put your earbuds in and read the speech you had written, once, twice, but stopped halfway through the third time before you decided you hated it. A text came through the staff group chat from Vijay.
You got up and found the black duffel bag you had covered in plush key chains and ‘Fighting for Tomorrow’ pins. Beneath some binders on campaign finance law, you found a stack of pamphlets and took the side exit to the auditorium. Inside the auditorium, there were about fifty people already seated and at least fifteen or more lingering by the entrance. Trying to mask your shock, you smiled and handed a stack of pamphlets to Vijay and Ganke, and began passing out flyers, shaking hands, and thanking people for coming.
When it was time to go backstage and prepare to start the event, your feet outpaced your brain as you thought of something to say to Bucky. How do you tell someone you accidentally underprepared them for an event they were already stressed about?
“Okay so good news, bad news.” You knew the smile on your face did not reach your eyes, but you hoped the dread that was creeping in wasn’t that noticeable. “Good news, a journalist came and is going to be filming! Bad news: There's like, at least 70 people here.” Bucky raised his eyebrows.
“It’s definitely not just practice now.”
“Nope,” you said, trying not to fidget. “We’re in the big leagues now. How’re you feeling?” You looked him over for a sign of nerves. He was tense, his jaw clenched, and he had been quiet, but that was pretty par for the course for Bucky.
“I feel like I’m going to a funeral.” He said, looking down at his suit.
“Hopefully not your own?” You raised your eyebrows, trying to alleviate the tension. Bucky huffed out a half-laugh.. You passed him his flag pin and looked away politely as he fumbled to put it on. “You’ve practiced. You know the material. As long as you don’t go off-script, what’s the worst that can happen?”
You took a deep breath and walked out onto the stage, finding your mark in the center. Scanning the crowd, you looked for familiar faces. You saw a few party members you recognized from past campaigns and meetings, but a lot of the crowd was new to you.
“Good evening, everyone. I’m so thrilled that you were able to take time out of your busy schedules to attend this town hall.” You took a deep breath before introducing yourself to the crowd. “We started this campaign because too many politicians only care about themselves. Today is all about you—we want to hear about your concerns, what gives you hope, your vision for a better New York. Our candidate, Bucky Barnes, is someone who knows what it means to serve, to rebuild, and to show up when it matters. He’s here tonight because he believes that public service is about people, not politics. Please join me in welcoming someone who’s ready to work for Brooklyn—Bucky Barnes.”
Some nervous energy prompted you to linger backstage for a bit. Bucky got through his opening statement smoothly enough. Even without a teleprompter, he managed to look up from his notes often and make eye contact with different sides of the room. When it was time to turn the floor over to questions, Marie was first in line at the microphone in the center of the auditorium, and asked a softball question about Bucky’s qualifications for office.
“Look, when I wake up in the morning, I see the same thing that you guys are looking at right now. I know I’m not a “traditional candidate,” whatever that means. But my whole life, at least the parts of it where I’ve been in control, I’ve tried to help others. I left school early to support my family during the Depression. I joined the Army to defend my country. And since I was given a second chance a few years ago, I’ve been trying to do some good. For the past two years, I’ve been working at a local food bank, helping with deliveries and connecting with people in the community. I’ve seen firsthand where the system isn’t working, from high costs of living to struggles that are easy to overlook.
It’s one thing to say that New Yorkers are facing unprecedented challenges. It’s another thing entirely to do something about it. I’ve been working to help Brooklynites, and I want to keep helping Brooklynites, here in this city and in DC.”
The room rewarded Bucky with a smattering of applause.
You craned your neck to see the next speaker, who was an older gentleman, still bundled up in a bright orange winter coat, which wasn’t totally unusual given the weather.
“My questions for Sergeant Barnes is, have you been in contact with Steve Rogers since he took up his post on the Moon?”
You were so caught off guard you almost laughed at the question.
“What?” Bucky sounded equally confused.
“Have you been in contact with Steve Rogers since he moved to the Moon?”
Bucky glanced around. “Uh, I think we should try and keep questions related to the campaign?” He did not sound confident.
“Answer the question!” Someone shouted from the audience. Phone in hand, you exited the backstage area down the hallway to get a better view of the audience. The man at the microphone had unzipped his coat to reveal a neon yellow, home-made shirt that said “Moon Truther” in big letters along with a photo of Steve Rogers’ face.
“Look, I haven’t been in contact with Steve Rogers since he retired 3 years ago. I can’t speculate on where he is or isn’t. If anyone has earned the right to retire in peace, it’s Steve. I understand why people still have questions. He mattered to a lot of us. But the truth is, Steve always believed in stepping up, in public service, and that’s exactly why I’m here today. So let’s use this time to talk about the future we can build together.”
After some jeering, the man took his seat. When the next question came from a volunteer you recognized about affordability, you made your way to sit next to Eileen, who was in the very last row, a good distance away from the rest of the audience.
“We should’ve made Bingo cards for this,” Eileen whispered in your ear, causing you to crack a smile.
“You can always count on the public to be memorable,” you said in a low voice as you pulled out your laptop and opened the campaign website and donation tracker. You fell into your work as Bucky answered a few more questions about his platform, until another strange comment pulled you out of your inbox.
“You asked to keep questions related to the campaign, so I want to know, if Steve Rogers was previously a resident of this district, can he absentee vote in this election from the moon?”
You looked up, horrified to see a woman in another neon yellow shirt at the microphone. A quick sweep of the room confirmed your fears: at least thirty neon yellow t-shirts had sprouted in the audience while you were sending emails.
“Fuck,” you breathed. Bucky, on stage, was tense and wide-eyed. “This is so bad.”
“I count thirty-three visible t-shirts,” Eileen’s voice was tense. “Thirty-three moon truthers. How did we not catch this?”
“The coats, and a bit of naivety,” you replied. “Cut the mic?”
“Yeah, let’s wait for it to get rowdy and then cause some feedback.” You wrote a quick message to the team’s groupchat, letting Ganke and the other interns in on the plan.
On stage, Bucky loudly cleared his throat, clearly trying to buy himself some time. “Uh, voting eligibility is determined by residency and state law. And, um, just to be clear, Steve Rogers is not a resident of this district.”
“So where is he a resident?” The woman at the mic shot back. “Cause the last I checked, the moon doesn’t have a representative.”
“Maybe it’s like Guam and Puerto Rico,” another voice shouted from the audience, and the room descended into chaos. Cries of “Let Steve Rogers Vote!” “Moon Representation Matters!” kept the audience occupied as you moved to meet Ganke in the soundbooth. Right on schedule, an ear-piercing feedback noise played, and the woman who had been asking the questions had a cut mic. Ganke went and pretended to look over the microphone, before turning back to you in the soundbooth and doing a huge, fake shrug. You held up the backup mic and tapped it gingerly.
“Test, test,” The mic was working. “Hi, sorry folks,” your voice was overly-sweet. “It looks like we’re having some tech problems, so we’re going to have to switch things up. How about everyone takes a seat, and I’ll bring the microphone to you?”
There was some mild grumbling as everyone took their seats, but everyone complied. You recognized a man with a full head of silver hair as Michel, the Democrat’s volunteer photographer in the crowd and brought the mic over to him.
“Hello,” he said in his light French accent. “I immigrated to New York forty-five years ago. I’ve worked as a public school teacher for 35 years and moonlight as a photographer to make ends meet. I have no criminal record, and yet, in the years after the Blip, I’ve been questioned about my legal status more times than I care to count. What are you going to do to protect immigrants?”
“Thank you for the question,” Bucky’s brow furrowed perfectly: he looked pensive, yet serious. It would photograph wonderfully. “The world has changed a lot since the Blip. I hear pundits and podcasters saying we need to take drastic measures to “protect Americans.”” He made the gesture for air quotes with his fingers. “Now, I’m not pretending immigration is simple. It isn’t. But I don’t believe the only way to protect Americans is by pretending our neighbors are the problem. Oftentimes, crisis doesn’t take choice away, it just shows what you value. How we treat people at their lowest, how we decide to rebuild, that’s something we always have a choice in. As your congressman, I will fight for the dignity of all peoples. And I’ll start by supporting any legislation that aims to defund rogue government agencies that harass our neighbors.”
The room applauded, and you felt your heart swell with pride, not only because Bucky had used a line you had given him earlier in the week. The questions continued as you ferried the microphone throughout the rows. Eventually, the Moon Truthers wisened up to the fact that you were skipping them, which caused them to put their coats back on, making everything a lot more confusing for you. While chauffeuring the mic around you couldn’t check your phone, but Bucky was making good time getting through the questions. The two additional times you accidentally let a Moon Truther ask a question, he handled it well. Okay—well might be generous. He handled it without swearing or physically leaving the stage, which felt like a win.
You glanced over at Eileen, who held up three fingers: three more questions. You nodded, then made your way back toward the front rows and handed the microphone to an elderly woman pushing ninety in a bright pink sweater covered in embroidered animals, who looked like she had absolutely no intention of asking anything remotely related to the Moon.
“Hi Mr. Barnes,” she had the creaky voice of age that made you think of your own grandmother. “I really like everything you’ve said here today. I guess I just want to ask you why you decided to run for office, and why now?”
“Thank you for the question…” Bucky began, waiting for the speaker to fill him in on her name.
“Barbara, Barbara Ralph.”
“Thank you, Barbara.” Bucky took the mic off of its stand and crossed the stage to stand closer to Barbara. “Look, if you told me three years ago that I’d be running for office, I wouldn’t have believed you. But like I said earlier, the world is changing fast. I don’t love the way politics are headed in this city. I think we need more people willing to look out for the little guy—”
You felt it before you heard it—the deep thrum of the building shuddering through the soles of your shoes, the snap of metal overhead. Before your brain caught up, Bucky was already moving; off the stage, over Barbara, his metal arm bolting up just in time to deflect a falling object. The giant light fixture that had been above Barbara hit the floor with a violent crash, glass shattering outward and the metal frame skidding to a stop a few feet in front of you.
“Is anyone hurt?” Bucky shouted above the noise. No one answered in any words you could make out. You extricated yourself from your spot pressed against the wall, careful to avoid the shards of glass all around you. Bucky hadn’t moved. He was still crouched in front of Barbara, speaking to her in a low voice that you couldn’t hear, one hand still curled above her like a shield, the other resting gently on her shoulder like it was anchoring them both to the ground.
Your phone began buzzing in your clenched fist. You didn’t know if it was Eileen, or the group chat, or news alerts saying that for the first time ever superhero activity was spotted south of Williamsburg. You didn’t care. Your eyes remained fixed of Bucky as he was comforting the shaken up old woman in front of him, even as the room shouted his name. He didn’t look for reassurance. He didn’t yell at his staff. He didn’t ask what he should do next. You had worked for people who would do all that, or worse.
As your breathing evened, you felt a strange sense of calm wash over you. It was time to admit to yourself what you had known for weeks now. There was no stunt that you could plan that was better than this. No version of sincerity that you could manufacture to appeal to the masses that was more palatable than what Bucky Barnes already was. Because Bucky Barnes was the real deal, a true, capital-H Hero. And you were going to do everything in your power to get him elected.
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Yay!! The first act of the fic is complete! Which means more shenanigans will be ramping up!!! Guys I'm so excited like the nonsense I have planned for Act 2 is crazy like u have no idea
Thanks for reading, as always!
taglist (let me know if you want to be included/removed): @apenny4thots @bonkzzzs @mediocrejokes @erina00 @spidderboy
Summary: Bucky briefly reconsiders his plan. Fury shows him footage of the destruction of several HYDRA bases, trying to reassure the super soldier about his own personal commitment to destroying the organization.
Length: 3.9 K
Characters: Bucky, Joanne, Fury, Maria Hill
Warnings and other notes: Panic attack, painful goodbye. Right image on title board by Huseyn Naghiyev, via Vecteezy.com.
<<Chapter 23
Returning to Joanne's bedside, Bucky found Maria sitting on the chair next to the bed, scrolling on a tablet. She stood up as he stepped inside the door.
"She didn't wake up. Dr. Fine came to check on her vitals and seemed satisfied."
He looked at the woman he loved as she slept then acknowledged Maria.
"Thank you for watching her. Will you be involved in taking care of her after?"
"I'm not sure. Right now, I work a somewhat regular job. Fury called me in to have another woman's presence near while she received medical care." She noted the concerned look on his face. "You're worried about her and the baby, aren't you?"
"You know." She nodded. "I think the only way to keep them both safe is to become the Asset again and be ordered to forget them. It means I'll need to have my memory wiped first."
"I'm sorry. After all that you've done to leave that behind ...."
"I don't even know if it will work but if I'm caught again, they'll turn me and send me after her." His face fell as he realized something. "It won't matter if I do forget her because they'll send me after her anyways. The intruders at the farmhouse called her the secondary target. The two who took me from the gas station talked about sending me after her once I became the Asset again. They'll still find her. Maybe I should just go so I can hunt them down."
He stepped away from Hill before she could say anything, opened the door, looked left, then right, and moved. As he searched the labyrinth of hallways seeking the exit to outside, his efforts became more desperate, until he burst through a door and found himself in a garage bay with several vehicles. A red Exit sign was visible above an emergency exit beside a large roll-up door, and he headed towards it.
"You'll set off the alarm," said Fury's voice, just before he got there. "That will wake her up."
Bucky stopped; his hand poised above the push handle that would open the door.
"It doesn't matter if you wipe me and order me to forget her. They know who she is. If they catch me and turn me, they'll just make her a target, and I will find her. I always find my target." He could feel the terror inside him at the thought of hunting Joanne down. "As soon as I go, you must move her and shut down this site. Take her to one of your secret sites that only you know about or something, but you have to keep her safe."
He stared at the door, the only barrier between him and the outside world, then he heard Fury's footsteps come closer.
"That could happen," admitted the man, as he stood perpendicular to Bucky. "I'm not going to lie and say everything will be fine because I don't know. I do know that I'm not in the habit of giving up. How do you think I managed to survive both of your attempts to kill me?" Bucky said nothing but he was still agitated. "If you walk out that door now, then you're giving up. You can also be tracked again because we have a dampening field on this building that is keeping them from locking on to your trackers."
Bucky raised his hand, clenched it, then spread his fingers over the surface of the door, leaving them there as if contemplating whether to hit the door open. Fury studied the man, recognizing that the years of his imprisonment and abuse had made it difficult for him to trust. Joanne had succeeded in connecting with Barnes but every instinct in him was telling him to run, and to take preemptive action.
"You know that if you run out on her now, without even saying goodbye, that she'll always wonder if you ever really loved her."
It was a low blow. Fury knew that but he truly wanted Barnes to have the best chance possible to stay free. Running out into the darkness right now wasn't going to give him that. He also wanted the opportunity to learn more about where HYDRA was. Since he had his own off-the-books hiding places, he was sure they did as well and the man near him was a source of information for their locations.
"I think your idea is still the best one, even with the uncertainty. We wipe your memory, order you to forget Ms. Phelps, and we disable the trackers in your body. We can get you to Europe, and provide you with a new identity, one that HYDRA won't know about. With the languages that you apparently know, you should be able to handle life there on your own."
"Bill said that you're still trying to find the traitors in SHIELD. What if the next person who helps me is one of them? They'll turn me over."
"I have someone I trust who will fly you to Europe, and he won't betray you. In fact, he already had a taste of having his free will taken away from him, so he has a good sense of what you went through." Bucky felt a hand on his shoulder. "Barnes ... Bucky, trust me, please."
The hand gave a little squeeze then removed itself from touching him. The touch only lasted for a few seconds, but it served a purpose as Bucky released the breath he had been holding. Why this man would help him still puzzled him, but he recognized the sincerity in his voice. If he had known that he was seeing a side of Nick Fury that very few people even knew existed, he might have trusted him more.
Backing away from Bucky, the former SHIELD director turned towards the door that led into the heart of the building. He listened as he walked at a slightly slower pace, then thinned his lips in response to the sound of Bucky's boots following him. For now, he was staying. Without comment, Fury led him back through the maze of hallways until they were outside the room where Joanne still slept, both looking in the window at Hill, who glanced at them then returned her attention to a tablet at a slight nod from Fury.
"Hill can let me know when she wakes up. I want your help in finding HYDRA sites that aren't in their files." Bucky turned his head slightly towards Fury, without taking his eyes off Joanne. "I spent the last month in Europe looking but I'm certain that there are more that aren't in the books."
"What did you do to the places you found?"
It was both a test and a question needing an answer. Better to show him.
"Come on, I'll show you what's been done so far. You can judge if it's been enough, but I think I can do better."
Returning to the room with the table, Fury opened a cabinet, bringing out a tablet. Sitting down with it at the table, he entered several commands on it, then one wall changed in appearance as the surface shimmered. When the shimmering stopped, it revealed a large display screen. Entering more commands, Fury brought up an outline of Europe and its countries. Another entry brought up a half dozen dots spread from Spain, through France, Switzerland, Austria, Poland, and Norway.
"These are the sites I found before Rumlow escaped and returned here," said Fury. "They were all in the HYDRA files that were leaked onto the internet." He looked over at where Bucky now sat. "You do know about the internet?" A glare was his answer. "Just making sure."
"Pyrenees, in Spain," he said, as the first images came up, showing new reports of an explosion near a small town that destroyed an old partisan hideout from the 1930s. "We made it look like a forgotten cache of explosives from the Spanish Civil War became unstable." The image changed to interior shots. "It was a research facility for nerve and chemical agents."
"Ricin-based?" Fury nodded as Bucky kept talking in an almost monotone voice. "I think I was there, firing at inanimate targets near animals ... from a long distance. I wasn't to hit the animals. The bullet released a powdery gas upon impact, and they studied dispersal and effectiveness patterns. They always assumed I couldn't understand what they were discussing in my presence, but I remember ricin because it's made from the castor bean plant." He smirked. "That's where castor oil comes from. Hated that stuff when I was growing up."
"You remember castor oil?" frowned Fury. "How much do you remember?"
"It's all mixed up," replied Bucky. "I know that I never forgot how to shoot a rifle, or how to track a target. I always seemed to know how to fly just about anything, and drive a standard transmission. Certain areas of the brain always remember things, I guess. Personal stuff is hit and miss, and I kind of have to fill in the blanks with my imagination. I also have a healing factor, so it probably kept trying to fix my brain. I've wondered if the cryosleep was also to slow down the repair capabilities of the serum." He raised his right hand. "Steve broke this arm on the helicarrier but by the next day I could use it. It was sore but I didn't need a cast. They had a special splint for broken arms instead of casting them."
"Cap has that healing factor, too," replied Fury, thoughtfully. "Although, he was in hospital for several days after your battle, so you really hurt him." He faced Bucky directly, focusing his gaze on him. "How committed were you to killing him, or me?" The super soldier frowned slightly at him, wondering if this was a trick question. "What I mean, is from what I've seen of your treatment, failure was unacceptable and severely punished. When you shot me while I was in Roger's apartment, I ended up with a lacerated spinal column, and a cracked sternum, although that was probably from the attack on the streets. I had a shattered collarbone, perforated liver, and a collapsed lung. With your accuracy, you should have shot me in the heart, but you didn't."
"Well, I was shooting through a wall," answered Bucky, bluntly. "I'm sure that I was trying to kill you both. I wasn't punished for the unsuccessful attempt on the street, where you cut yourself out of the vehicle. But that's because they were expecting you to take another vehicle, one that had all safety features disabled or removed." He smiled slightly. "You surprised them by taking another truck. As far as they were concerned, the second hit on you was successful. So, no punishment ... well, not for that." He breathed out, heavily. "I asked about Steve, after the attempt on the highway. That's when he recognized me and said my name. Pierce tried to tell me he was part of another mission, but it didn't sound right. I had flashbacks of him, laughing, crying, screaming my name, and getting further and further away." He shook his head, his lips curling in disgust. "They put me through the wringer, and I'm sure they made Joanne watch some of it, but it's all blurred together, and I still can't make sense of it."
He shook his head again, then stood up, agitated. As he paced, he ended up in front of the screen, showing the lab in that research facility, just staring at it. Activating the next file, Fury showed him a warehouse in Marseille. Outwardly, it looked like any other warehouse at the port, but inside, in a concrete column set in the centre of the structure was an elevator that went underground, to a treatment room, complete with a memory processing device, and a surgical suite with a bed that had multiple titanium restraints, for the arms, legs, body and head. The news reports said an underground fuel tank that had slowly disintegrated over the years finally ignited. The resulting fire drew multiple response units who were more worried about keeping the inferno from spreading than they were about fighting it.
Standing motionless in front of that screen, Bucky watched similar displays about the other facilities that were all taken out in spectacular fashion, while the causes were always explained as non-criminal. When the last one in Norway finished and the screen returned to the map of Europe, Fury sat quietly, allowing Bucky the time to process it.
"Are you expecting me to do this when you send me to Europe?" The super soldier turned to Fury with an impassive face. "Is this a recruitment pitch because of my skills? I won't kill again. Not for them, not for you, not even for myself, or Joanne; not unless I have no choice." He looked at his hands, then spoke with a tone that left no doubt. "I can't do that anymore."
"No, this is not a recruitment pitch." Fury sighed. "As much as I think you have skills that would be useful in this, that's not why I'm showing you." He gestured to the screen. "I won't put you in that position. You deserve some peace. These were only six that I've dealt with so far, and there are more. I'm sure there are some places that aren't in the files and if you could give me the information on where they are, then I can take them on as well. They have to pay for what they did to the world, and to you. I'm the man who can collect the debt on your behalf."
The super soldier shifted, placing his hands on his hips while putting his weight on one leg. It was a pose that was both challenging and dismissive.
"What are you doing with the information that you find in those places?" Fury looked blankly at him. "I know there is more about me than what was released on the internet. Some things weren't meant to be shared freely." He grimaced angrily. "To certain people, I was a toy."
"The home movies," muttered Fury, looking disgusted. "I found some things, and after identifying the people who abused you, I destroyed the films, the videos, the physical pictures, and their negatives .... Is that what you want to know? I recognize that you've had a lifetime of people who have taken so much from you, and it's made it hard to trust. To be honest, I'm surprised you're not taking an arsenal with you and hunting every single one of them down. I would."
"I did take an arsenal with me," answered Bucky, sitting back at the table. "Every time we changed locations I searched for the armoury, wanting to know what kind of firepower I had available. But if I went on a hunting spree then it would prove that they succeeded in wiping out every bit of humanity that I had. They would win and I won't ...." His face crumbled as he buried it in his hands. When he raised it, his eyes were glassy, but he set his jaw firmly. "I'm a man, not a monster. I'll tell you everything I remember, GPS coordinates, hidden locations, names. In the car are several backpacks. I want Joanne to hold them for me. She encouraged me to write down my memories. I won't be able to take them with me but if I ever get to a point where I remember any of the past few months, I want them back. You promised me before that you would destroy the machines. Keep that promise but when you find that footage of me and the depravity that they forced on me, destroy that as well. Like the killing, I had no choice in any of it."
As Nick Fury watched and listened to this man, he understood more about why Steve Rogers insisted on saving him. Both men's basic morality had been formed in a shared childhood in a poorer part of Brooklyn that took them through the Depression. Continuing their friendship through the crucible of World War II had shown them the best of humanity alongside the worst of it. Rogers had been frozen for over 65 years in the Arctic but hadn't hesitated when he was asked to join the Avengers to defend the world from threats. Barnes had been tortured and brainwashed to the point of being physically and mentally broken but somehow had still escaped from the yoke of HYDRA. There was no doubt he had severe PTSD, likely one or more mental or emotional disorders that would take years of treatment to overcome, but he hadn't reverted to the weapon they made him into, because it wasn't innate in him. He was a survivor who sought justice, choosing not to be a blunt instrument of revenge. Someday, Bucky Barnes could walk as a free man again, unencumbered by a past that had been forced upon him.
🔹 🔹 🔹
Joanne shifted and felt the ache in her shoulder flare briefly into something that really hurt, releasing a whimper in response. A warm hand took hers and she opened her eyes to Bucky smiling softly at her.
"Hi," he murmured. "You slept a long time."
She shifted again, wincing at the effort. "How long?"
"A good eight hours or so," he answered. "You must have needed it. Do you feel like sitting up?"
Nodding her head, she waited as he raised the bed up until she lifted her hand for him to stop. A cup with a straw appeared and she sipped from it, then Bucky put it back on the side table, sitting in a chair that was right beside the bed.
"Have you been here for all that time?"
"No, just the last 30 minutes. I've been in a long briefing with Nick Fury, giving him all the information that I could remember about HYDRA locations and personnel. Apparently, I know more than I thought I did as I knew things that didn't get leaked onto the internet." He reached for the wheeled tray which had some food on it. "You should eat. Your blood sugar is probably quite low with everything you've been through."
Nodding her head, she watched as he opened a package and offered her half of an egg salad sandwich. She looked at it dubiously, wondering if the egg smell would trigger her morning sickness, but she bit into it and was surprised to find it tasted really good. He opened another package, this one with a turkey, cheese, and lettuce sandwich, and took a bite. For a drink he offered her orange juice, ginger ale, or tea. She chose the ginger ale, rationalizing that it would settle her stomach. Quietly, they ate, enjoying the calm atmosphere within that room.
Elsewhere in the building was another matter. While Fury coordinated the evacuation of the Ideal Federal Savings Bank of all non-essential personnel, and the transportation of himself and Bucky there, Maria was coordinating the breakdown of this site, and the relocation to another secure place that was less institutional. She had already phoned in her absence to Stark Industries, letting Pepper know that she was needed for some unofficial business. She mentioned a code word known between the two women to keep Tony Stark in the dark. Although Pepper didn't know that Nick Fury was alive, she had her suspicions that the man's grave didn't have a body in it. When Maria was brought into Stark Industries, she knew at some point that she would have to share some secrets. That time was coming, as Maria was going to lean on Pepper to provide a safe sanctuary for Joanne, without letting her know who she was other than the woman who stood up to HYDRA and was still being sought by them. It was going to be a tricky balancing act, but Maria was used to it and was confident that Pepper would come through.
Finishing the last of the food, Bucky took the wrappers and drink containers, placing them on the wheeled tray. Then he stood beside the bed.
"Can you make room for me?"
Slowly, with some effort and his help, Joanne moved over enough for him to join her. Curled towards him, she rested her head on his shoulder. It was certain that their time together was almost at an end.
"When do you go?"
"As soon as they tell me." He felt her breath change and body stiffen at the words. "Listen. While you were sleeping Fury went to the car and brought our backpacks inside. I want you to have my notebooks. They have everything that I remember written down and a lot of it is about us. If you're ever missing me, you can read how you're everything to me."
"Am I?"
"Oh, sweetheart, yes you are." Gently, he tightened his hold on her and bent his head towards hers, kissing her on the temple. "I know that I couldn't have done this without you. Even though you were afraid of me at first, you still offered to help me. After all that you went through it meant a lot that you believed in me. I don't think I'll ever forgive myself for you being shot."
"You didn't pull the trigger." She fixed her gaze on the door. "Did you kill the man who shot me?"
"No. I brought him back to where you were, tied him up, then phoned for help. Fury's people took him and the other guy in. I can't kill anymore, not even if they're HYDRA."
They looked at the door, hearing a sound outside, then Maria's face appeared in the window. She nodded apologetically at them. It was like being doused with a bucket of cold water and Joanne pressed her face into Bucky's chest, ignoring the pain in her shoulder, as she gave into the emotion. Gently he caressed her, murmuring softly to her. Wiping the tears from her face, he kissed her one more time, then loosened his hold on her.
"I have to go now," he said softly, kissing her hands as he got off the bed.
"Okay. Promise you'll come find me when this is all over."
"Scout's honour," he smiled, both of them knowing that if it worked, he would never come looking for her. "I love you."
Joanne gave out a short, tearful laugh, then grasped his hand once more before he stepped away. "I love you, too."
He kissed her hand again, then placed it on her chest. At the door he looked back at Joanne one more time before he exited. Fury waited in the hallway and led him away, as Maria went into Joanne's room. Fury stopped at the door to another room and looked at Bucky.
"You're sure that you want to do this?" he asked.
"It's the only way to keep her safe," said the dark-haired man. "Not just from them but from me. You know what they can make me do."
With one more look at the door to where Joanne was, Bucky took a deep breath and entered the room to the next part of his life. At least now, it was his choice.
Chapter 25>>
Series Masterlist
Please support the author by reblogging or commenting.
Summary: Bucky briefly reconsiders his plan. Fury shows him footage of the destruction of several HYDRA bases, trying to reassure the super soldier about his own personal commitment to destroying the organization.
Length: 3.9 K
Characters: Bucky, Joanne, Fury, Maria Hill
Warnings and other notes: Panic attack, painful goodbye. Right image on title board by Huseyn Naghiyev, via Vecteezy.com.
<<Chapter 23
Returning to Joanne's bedside, Bucky found Maria sitting on the chair next to the bed, scrolling on a tablet. She stood up as he stepped inside the door.
"She didn't wake up. Dr. Fine came to check on her vitals and seemed satisfied."
He looked at the woman he loved as she slept then acknowledged Maria.
"Thank you for watching her. Will you be involved in taking care of her after?"
"I'm not sure. Right now, I work a somewhat regular job. Fury called me in to have another woman's presence near while she received medical care." She noted the concerned look on his face. "You're worried about her and the baby, aren't you?"
"You know." She nodded. "I think the only way to keep them both safe is to become the Asset again and be ordered to forget them. It means I'll need to have my memory wiped first."
"I'm sorry. After all that you've done to leave that behind ...."
"I don't even know if it will work but if I'm caught again, they'll turn me and send me after her." His face fell as he realized something. "It won't matter if I do forget her because they'll send me after her anyways. The intruders at the farmhouse called her the secondary target. The two who took me from the gas station talked about sending me after her once I became the Asset again. They'll still find her. Maybe I should just go so I can hunt them down."
He stepped away from Hill before she could say anything, opened the door, looked left, then right, and moved. As he searched the labyrinth of hallways seeking the exit to outside, his efforts became more desperate, until he burst through a door and found himself in a garage bay with several vehicles. A red Exit sign was visible above an emergency exit beside a large roll-up door, and he headed towards it.
"You'll set off the alarm," said Fury's voice, just before he got there. "That will wake her up."
Bucky stopped; his hand poised above the push handle that would open the door.
"It doesn't matter if you wipe me and order me to forget her. They know who she is. If they catch me and turn me, they'll just make her a target, and I will find her. I always find my target." He could feel the terror inside him at the thought of hunting Joanne down. "As soon as I go, you must move her and shut down this site. Take her to one of your secret sites that only you know about or something, but you have to keep her safe."
He stared at the door, the only barrier between him and the outside world, then he heard Fury's footsteps come closer.
"That could happen," admitted the man, as he stood perpendicular to Bucky. "I'm not going to lie and say everything will be fine because I don't know. I do know that I'm not in the habit of giving up. How do you think I managed to survive both of your attempts to kill me?" Bucky said nothing but he was still agitated. "If you walk out that door now, then you're giving up. You can also be tracked again because we have a dampening field on this building that is keeping them from locking on to your trackers."
Bucky raised his hand, clenched it, then spread his fingers over the surface of the door, leaving them there as if contemplating whether to hit the door open. Fury studied the man, recognizing that the years of his imprisonment and abuse had made it difficult for him to trust. Joanne had succeeded in connecting with Barnes but every instinct in him was telling him to run, and to take preemptive action.
"You know that if you run out on her now, without even saying goodbye, that she'll always wonder if you ever really loved her."
It was a low blow. Fury knew that but he truly wanted Barnes to have the best chance possible to stay free. Running out into the darkness right now wasn't going to give him that. He also wanted the opportunity to learn more about where HYDRA was. Since he had his own off-the-books hiding places, he was sure they did as well and the man near him was a source of information for their locations.
"I think your idea is still the best one, even with the uncertainty. We wipe your memory, order you to forget Ms. Phelps, and we disable the trackers in your body. We can get you to Europe, and provide you with a new identity, one that HYDRA won't know about. With the languages that you apparently know, you should be able to handle life there on your own."
"Bill said that you're still trying to find the traitors in SHIELD. What if the next person who helps me is one of them? They'll turn me over."
"I have someone I trust who will fly you to Europe, and he won't betray you. In fact, he already had a taste of having his free will taken away from him, so he has a good sense of what you went through." Bucky felt a hand on his shoulder. "Barnes ... Bucky, trust me, please."
The hand gave a little squeeze then removed itself from touching him. The touch only lasted for a few seconds, but it served a purpose as Bucky released the breath he had been holding. Why this man would help him still puzzled him, but he recognized the sincerity in his voice. If he had known that he was seeing a side of Nick Fury that very few people even knew existed, he might have trusted him more.
Backing away from Bucky, the former SHIELD director turned towards the door that led into the heart of the building. He listened as he walked at a slightly slower pace, then thinned his lips in response to the sound of Bucky's boots following him. For now, he was staying. Without comment, Fury led him back through the maze of hallways until they were outside the room where Joanne still slept, both looking in the window at Hill, who glanced at them then returned her attention to a tablet at a slight nod from Fury.
"Hill can let me know when she wakes up. I want your help in finding HYDRA sites that aren't in their files." Bucky turned his head slightly towards Fury, without taking his eyes off Joanne. "I spent the last month in Europe looking but I'm certain that there are more that aren't in the books."
"What did you do to the places you found?"
It was both a test and a question needing an answer. Better to show him.
"Come on, I'll show you what's been done so far. You can judge if it's been enough, but I think I can do better."
Returning to the room with the table, Fury opened a cabinet, bringing out a tablet. Sitting down with it at the table, he entered several commands on it, then one wall changed in appearance as the surface shimmered. When the shimmering stopped, it revealed a large display screen. Entering more commands, Fury brought up an outline of Europe and its countries. Another entry brought up a half dozen dots spread from Spain, through France, Switzerland, Austria, Poland, and Norway.
"These are the sites I found before Rumlow escaped and returned here," said Fury. "They were all in the HYDRA files that were leaked onto the internet." He looked over at where Bucky now sat. "You do know about the internet?" A glare was his answer. "Just making sure."
"Pyrenees, in Spain," he said, as the first images came up, showing new reports of an explosion near a small town that destroyed an old partisan hideout from the 1930s. "We made it look like a forgotten cache of explosives from the Spanish Civil War became unstable." The image changed to interior shots. "It was a research facility for nerve and chemical agents."
"Ricin-based?" Fury nodded as Bucky kept talking in an almost monotone voice. "I think I was there, firing at inanimate targets near animals ... from a long distance. I wasn't to hit the animals. The bullet released a powdery gas upon impact, and they studied dispersal and effectiveness patterns. They always assumed I couldn't understand what they were discussing in my presence, but I remember ricin because it's made from the castor bean plant." He smirked. "That's where castor oil comes from. Hated that stuff when I was growing up."
"You remember castor oil?" frowned Fury. "How much do you remember?"
"It's all mixed up," replied Bucky. "I know that I never forgot how to shoot a rifle, or how to track a target. I always seemed to know how to fly just about anything, and drive a standard transmission. Certain areas of the brain always remember things, I guess. Personal stuff is hit and miss, and I kind of have to fill in the blanks with my imagination. I also have a healing factor, so it probably kept trying to fix my brain. I've wondered if the cryosleep was also to slow down the repair capabilities of the serum." He raised his right hand. "Steve broke this arm on the helicarrier but by the next day I could use it. It was sore but I didn't need a cast. They had a special splint for broken arms instead of casting them."
"Cap has that healing factor, too," replied Fury, thoughtfully. "Although, he was in hospital for several days after your battle, so you really hurt him." He faced Bucky directly, focusing his gaze on him. "How committed were you to killing him, or me?" The super soldier frowned slightly at him, wondering if this was a trick question. "What I mean, is from what I've seen of your treatment, failure was unacceptable and severely punished. When you shot me while I was in Roger's apartment, I ended up with a lacerated spinal column, and a cracked sternum, although that was probably from the attack on the streets. I had a shattered collarbone, perforated liver, and a collapsed lung. With your accuracy, you should have shot me in the heart, but you didn't."
"Well, I was shooting through a wall," answered Bucky, bluntly. "I'm sure that I was trying to kill you both. I wasn't punished for the unsuccessful attempt on the street, where you cut yourself out of the vehicle. But that's because they were expecting you to take another vehicle, one that had all safety features disabled or removed." He smiled slightly. "You surprised them by taking another truck. As far as they were concerned, the second hit on you was successful. So, no punishment ... well, not for that." He breathed out, heavily. "I asked about Steve, after the attempt on the highway. That's when he recognized me and said my name. Pierce tried to tell me he was part of another mission, but it didn't sound right. I had flashbacks of him, laughing, crying, screaming my name, and getting further and further away." He shook his head, his lips curling in disgust. "They put me through the wringer, and I'm sure they made Joanne watch some of it, but it's all blurred together, and I still can't make sense of it."
He shook his head again, then stood up, agitated. As he paced, he ended up in front of the screen, showing the lab in that research facility, just staring at it. Activating the next file, Fury showed him a warehouse in Marseille. Outwardly, it looked like any other warehouse at the port, but inside, in a concrete column set in the centre of the structure was an elevator that went underground, to a treatment room, complete with a memory processing device, and a surgical suite with a bed that had multiple titanium restraints, for the arms, legs, body and head. The news reports said an underground fuel tank that had slowly disintegrated over the years finally ignited. The resulting fire drew multiple response units who were more worried about keeping the inferno from spreading than they were about fighting it.
Standing motionless in front of that screen, Bucky watched similar displays about the other facilities that were all taken out in spectacular fashion, while the causes were always explained as non-criminal. When the last one in Norway finished and the screen returned to the map of Europe, Fury sat quietly, allowing Bucky the time to process it.
"Are you expecting me to do this when you send me to Europe?" The super soldier turned to Fury with an impassive face. "Is this a recruitment pitch because of my skills? I won't kill again. Not for them, not for you, not even for myself, or Joanne; not unless I have no choice." He looked at his hands, then spoke with a tone that left no doubt. "I can't do that anymore."
"No, this is not a recruitment pitch." Fury sighed. "As much as I think you have skills that would be useful in this, that's not why I'm showing you." He gestured to the screen. "I won't put you in that position. You deserve some peace. These were only six that I've dealt with so far, and there are more. I'm sure there are some places that aren't in the files and if you could give me the information on where they are, then I can take them on as well. They have to pay for what they did to the world, and to you. I'm the man who can collect the debt on your behalf."
The super soldier shifted, placing his hands on his hips while putting his weight on one leg. It was a pose that was both challenging and dismissive.
"What are you doing with the information that you find in those places?" Fury looked blankly at him. "I know there is more about me than what was released on the internet. Some things weren't meant to be shared freely." He grimaced angrily. "To certain people, I was a toy."
"The home movies," muttered Fury, looking disgusted. "I found some things, and after identifying the people who abused you, I destroyed the films, the videos, the physical pictures, and their negatives .... Is that what you want to know? I recognize that you've had a lifetime of people who have taken so much from you, and it's made it hard to trust. To be honest, I'm surprised you're not taking an arsenal with you and hunting every single one of them down. I would."
"I did take an arsenal with me," answered Bucky, sitting back at the table. "Every time we changed locations I searched for the armoury, wanting to know what kind of firepower I had available. But if I went on a hunting spree then it would prove that they succeeded in wiping out every bit of humanity that I had. They would win and I won't ...." His face crumbled as he buried it in his hands. When he raised it, his eyes were glassy, but he set his jaw firmly. "I'm a man, not a monster. I'll tell you everything I remember, GPS coordinates, hidden locations, names. In the car are several backpacks. I want Joanne to hold them for me. She encouraged me to write down my memories. I won't be able to take them with me but if I ever get to a point where I remember any of the past few months, I want them back. You promised me before that you would destroy the machines. Keep that promise but when you find that footage of me and the depravity that they forced on me, destroy that as well. Like the killing, I had no choice in any of it."
As Nick Fury watched and listened to this man, he understood more about why Steve Rogers insisted on saving him. Both men's basic morality had been formed in a shared childhood in a poorer part of Brooklyn that took them through the Depression. Continuing their friendship through the crucible of World War II had shown them the best of humanity alongside the worst of it. Rogers had been frozen for over 65 years in the Arctic but hadn't hesitated when he was asked to join the Avengers to defend the world from threats. Barnes had been tortured and brainwashed to the point of being physically and mentally broken but somehow had still escaped from the yoke of HYDRA. There was no doubt he had severe PTSD, likely one or more mental or emotional disorders that would take years of treatment to overcome, but he hadn't reverted to the weapon they made him into, because it wasn't innate in him. He was a survivor who sought justice, choosing not to be a blunt instrument of revenge. Someday, Bucky Barnes could walk as a free man again, unencumbered by a past that had been forced upon him.
🔹 🔹 🔹
Joanne shifted and felt the ache in her shoulder flare briefly into something that really hurt, releasing a whimper in response. A warm hand took hers and she opened her eyes to Bucky smiling softly at her.
"Hi," he murmured. "You slept a long time."
She shifted again, wincing at the effort. "How long?"
"A good eight hours or so," he answered. "You must have needed it. Do you feel like sitting up?"
Nodding her head, she waited as he raised the bed up until she lifted her hand for him to stop. A cup with a straw appeared and she sipped from it, then Bucky put it back on the side table, sitting in a chair that was right beside the bed.
"Have you been here for all that time?"
"No, just the last 30 minutes. I've been in a long briefing with Nick Fury, giving him all the information that I could remember about HYDRA locations and personnel. Apparently, I know more than I thought I did as I knew things that didn't get leaked onto the internet." He reached for the wheeled tray which had some food on it. "You should eat. Your blood sugar is probably quite low with everything you've been through."
Nodding her head, she watched as he opened a package and offered her half of an egg salad sandwich. She looked at it dubiously, wondering if the egg smell would trigger her morning sickness, but she bit into it and was surprised to find it tasted really good. He opened another package, this one with a turkey, cheese, and lettuce sandwich, and took a bite. For a drink he offered her orange juice, ginger ale, or tea. She chose the ginger ale, rationalizing that it would settle her stomach. Quietly, they ate, enjoying the calm atmosphere within that room.
Elsewhere in the building was another matter. While Fury coordinated the evacuation of the Ideal Federal Savings Bank of all non-essential personnel, and the transportation of himself and Bucky there, Maria was coordinating the breakdown of this site, and the relocation to another secure place that was less institutional. She had already phoned in her absence to Stark Industries, letting Pepper know that she was needed for some unofficial business. She mentioned a code word known between the two women to keep Tony Stark in the dark. Although Pepper didn't know that Nick Fury was alive, she had her suspicions that the man's grave didn't have a body in it. When Maria was brought into Stark Industries, she knew at some point that she would have to share some secrets. That time was coming, as Maria was going to lean on Pepper to provide a safe sanctuary for Joanne, without letting her know who she was other than the woman who stood up to HYDRA and was still being sought by them. It was going to be a tricky balancing act, but Maria was used to it and was confident that Pepper would come through.
Finishing the last of the food, Bucky took the wrappers and drink containers, placing them on the wheeled tray. Then he stood beside the bed.
"Can you make room for me?"
Slowly, with some effort and his help, Joanne moved over enough for him to join her. Curled towards him, she rested her head on his shoulder. It was certain that their time together was almost at an end.
"When do you go?"
"As soon as they tell me." He felt her breath change and body stiffen at the words. "Listen. While you were sleeping Fury went to the car and brought our backpacks inside. I want you to have my notebooks. They have everything that I remember written down and a lot of it is about us. If you're ever missing me, you can read how you're everything to me."
"Am I?"
"Oh, sweetheart, yes you are." Gently, he tightened his hold on her and bent his head towards hers, kissing her on the temple. "I know that I couldn't have done this without you. Even though you were afraid of me at first, you still offered to help me. After all that you went through it meant a lot that you believed in me. I don't think I'll ever forgive myself for you being shot."
"You didn't pull the trigger." She fixed her gaze on the door. "Did you kill the man who shot me?"
"No. I brought him back to where you were, tied him up, then phoned for help. Fury's people took him and the other guy in. I can't kill anymore, not even if they're HYDRA."
They looked at the door, hearing a sound outside, then Maria's face appeared in the window. She nodded apologetically at them. It was like being doused with a bucket of cold water and Joanne pressed her face into Bucky's chest, ignoring the pain in her shoulder, as she gave into the emotion. Gently he caressed her, murmuring softly to her. Wiping the tears from her face, he kissed her one more time, then loosened his hold on her.
"I have to go now," he said softly, kissing her hands as he got off the bed.
"Okay. Promise you'll come find me when this is all over."
"Scout's honour," he smiled, both of them knowing that if it worked, he would never come looking for her. "I love you."
Joanne gave out a short, tearful laugh, then grasped his hand once more before he stepped away. "I love you, too."
He kissed her hand again, then placed it on her chest. At the door he looked back at Joanne one more time before he exited. Fury waited in the hallway and led him away, as Maria went into Joanne's room. Fury stopped at the door to another room and looked at Bucky.
"You're sure that you want to do this?" he asked.
"It's the only way to keep her safe," said the dark-haired man. "Not just from them but from me. You know what they can make me do."
With one more look at the door to where Joanne was, Bucky took a deep breath and entered the room to the next part of his life. At least now, it was his choice.
Chapter 25>>
Series Masterlist
Please support the author by reblogging or commenting.
Series Summary: Some wounds don’t bleed. They just teach you how to disappear. Before being adopted, you learned early that love had rules: don’t ask, don’t need, don’t take up space. Bucky – your brother in everything but blood – was the only exception. Now you’re an adult, brilliant, controlled, almost untouchable… until one dinner shatters the fragile balance.
Wordcount: 11.3k
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader, mentions of past Steve Rogers x Female Reader (no use of Y/N), Bucky Barnes x Natasha Romanoff
Warnings: childhood trauma, adoption trauma, abandonment issues, orphanage abuse, corporal punishment mentioned, religious trauma-adjacent themes, emotional self-hatred, shame, suicidal ideation / one moment of passive suicidal thought, complicated family dynamics, raised-as-siblings but not blood-related romantic tension, implied non-explicit underage intimacy in the past, emotional aftermath of sex, verbal cruelty, heartbreak, therapy, healing, reconciliation. See the whole exhaustive list on the masterlist post.
A/N: Gentle reminder that this series is heavy on trauma so I beg you to read the whole list of warning on the masterpost. I won't tolerate any complaints about not being warned of something. Beta read by Cassie (@blobfishlol ) as always.
I want to thank you all a lot for the engagement with this story. It means a lot to me.
Masterlist - Series Masterlist - Prev- Next
The next morning in New York, Bucky didn’t go straight to your apartment.
He couldn’t.
Not with Steve’s words still ringing in his head. Do it right. Don’t leave her in limbo. Not with the sour taste of cowardice still sitting on his tongue, the knowledge that every day he waited was another day he was letting someone else pay the price for his inability to face what he’d done.
So he went to Natasha.
Her building was the kind of place that tried to look casual about money – clean lobby, polished brass, a doorman who pretended not to notice who came and went. Bucky’s hands were cold by the time the elevator reached her floor. He had rehearsed the first sentence in his head a dozen times and none of them sounded like something a decent person would say.
He knocked anyway.
Natasha opened the door in sweatpants and a T-shirt, hair still damp, mug of coffee in hand. For half a second, her face softened with the familiar sight of him – automatic affection, the assumption of normal.
Then she saw him properly.
The exhaustion. The way he stood like he didn’t know where to put his body.
Her expression sharpened immediately.
“What happened?” she asked, voice already guarded. “And don’t tell me it’s nothing.”
Bucky swallowed hard. “Can I come in?”
Natasha hesitated, then stepped aside.
Her apartment smelled like clean laundry and eucalyptus cleaner, like a life that ran on routines and sharp edges. Everything had a place. Everything made sense. That used to comfort him.
Today it felt like an accusation.
Natasha closed the door behind him. “Okay,” she said, setting her mug down on the counter with deliberate care. “Talk.”
Bucky stared at the floor for a moment, then forced himself to lift his eyes.
“I need to end this,” he said.
The words landed like a slap.
Natasha blinked once. Twice. “What?”
Bucky’s throat tightened. “I can’t– I can’t keep doing this. It’s not fair to you.”
Her face went still in that dangerous way – too calm, too controlled. “You’re breaking up with me,” she said flatly, as if naming it would make it less ridiculous.
“Yes.”
For a heartbeat, there was silence.
Then Natasha’s expression fractured – anger and hurt flashing through in equal measure, her composure cracking at the edges.
“You don’t get to just walk in here and say that,” she snapped, voice rising. “Not after two years. Not after everything we’ve–”
“I know,” Bucky said, too quickly, too raw. “I know.”
Natasha let out a short, sharp laugh that held no humor. “You know?” Her eyes were already wet, but the tears didn’t soften her. They sharpened her. “Do you? Because you’ve been distant for weeks, and now you show up with a bruise on your face and decide you’re done?”
Bucky flinched. “It’s not–”
“Oh, it’s not what?” Natasha cut in, stepping closer, hands curling into fists at her sides. “Not sudden? Not cruel? Not exactly the thing you always do when you can’t handle your own feelings– pull away, shut down, pretend it’s about ‘fairness’ so you don’t have to admit you’re leaving because there’s someone else?”
Bucky’s jaw clenched. His eyes burned.
Natasha saw it.
And because she was Natasha – because she was terrifyingly perceptive even when she didn’t want to be – she followed the thread.
“Is it her?” she demanded.
Bucky didn’t answer fast enough.
Natasha’s face twisted, like the confirmation physically hurt. “Of course,” she breathed, and the tears finally spilled. “Of course it’s her.”
“It’s not like that,” Bucky insisted, voice breaking. “I didn’t– I didn’t cheat on you.”
“That’s not what I asked,” Natasha shot back, stepping even closer now. Her voice cracked on the next words. “I asked if it’s her.”
Bucky swallowed hard, shame heavy in his chest like a stone.
“Yes,” he admitted, barely audible. “It’s… it’s always been her.”
The air between them went tight, electric.
Natasha’s eyes widened, hurt turning instantly into rage. She slapped him.
“You asshole,” she whispered, and then the whisper broke into a shout. “Do you have any idea what you did to me? Two years– two years of me trying to build something with you while you were– what? Practicing? Pretending?”
“I wasn’t pretending,” Bucky said, voice hoarse. “I cared about you. I do care about you.”
Natasha let out a sob that sounded like a laugh. “Caring is not love, Barnes.”
Bucky’s hands flexed helplessly. “I tried. I tried to make it– normal. I tried to want the right things.”
Natasha’s mouth trembled, and for a moment her anger faltered, revealing the devastation underneath. “And I was the right thing,” she said softly, like she couldn’t quite believe she was saying it. “I was the safe choice you could hold without getting burned.”
Bucky couldn’t look at her.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
Natasha wiped her cheeks violently, furious at her own tears. “Don’t,” she snapped. “Don’t say you’re sorry like it fixes anything.”
Bucky took a shaky breath. “I know it doesn’t.”
Natasha stared at him, chest heaving, eyes bright and red. For a moment, it looked like she might hit him again.
Then she did something worse.
She stepped back as if he’d become untouchable.
“Get out,” she said, voice low and shaking. “Get out of my apartment.”
Bucky didn’t move immediately. Not because he wanted to argue – because leaving felt like adding another cruelty on top of the ones he’d already done.
Natasha’s voice rose again, raw now. “Get out!”
Bucky nodded once, throat tight. He reached for the door, fingers clumsy.
As he opened it, Natasha threw the words after him like knives.
“I hope she never comes back,” she cried, voice breaking. “I hope you live with what you did.”
Bucky froze in the doorway for half a second.
Then he left.
He didn’t slam the door. He didn’t have the energy for drama.
But when the door clicked shut behind him, the sound echoed in his chest like a verdict.
When Bucky met Steve outside your building later, Steve took one look at him and exhaled through his nose.
“Thought I told you not to make a habit of getting hit,” Steve said.
Bucky’s mouth twitched, the closest thing to a smile he could manage. His cheek was red again – different side this time, faint swelling at the edge of his jaw.
He nodded. “Yeah.”
Steve’s brows lifted. “Natasha?”
Bucky swallowed. “I broke up with her.”
Steve didn’t react immediately. He just stared, like he needed to make sure Bucky wasn’t lying, wasn’t postponing the truth again.
Then he stepped aside toward the entrance.
A silence stretched between them as they went up the stairs – thick, heavy, but not hostile. Steve didn’t fill it. Steve knew when words would only make things worse.
At your door, Steve unlocked it with the key Bucky had given him, pushing it open slowly.
Bucky hesitated on the threshold.
The apartment smelled stale – closed up, unoccupied. Not dirty, exactly, but like a space that hadn’t been lived in for too long. The air had that faint, trapped quality, as if it had been holding its breath since the moment you left.
Bucky stepped in, eyes scanning automatically, instinctively looking for signs of you – your shoes by the door, your bag on the chair, a sweater thrown over the armrest.
Nothing.
And then he saw it.
In the entryway, on the wooden console table, the frame that should have been hanging on the wall was lying flat – placed with deliberate care.
Face-down.
The photograph of you and him pressed against the wood as if it had been too painful to look at, but too meaningful to throw away.
Bucky stopped so abruptly Steve nearly bumped into him.
His throat tightened, hard and immediate, like someone had reached inside him and wrapped a fist around his windpipe.
He stared at the frame, unable to move.
Because the message was clear in the simplest, cruelest way.
You hadn’t destroyed it.
You hadn’t smashed it in anger.
You had just… turned it away.
As if you couldn’t bear the sight of him anymore.
Steve opened his mouth like he was going to say something – something gentle, something careful, the kind of words he’d been rehearsing in his head for weeks. His hand even lifted slightly, as if he might reach for Bucky’s shoulder.
Bucky stopped him with a small shake of his head.
Not sharp. Not angry. Just… final.
“No,” he rasped, staring at the frame on the console table as if it might suddenly turn itself back over. “Don’t.”
Steve’s hand fell back to his side.
For a second, they just stood there in the entryway, the apartment quiet around them. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that didn’t feel peaceful – it felt like it was listening. Like every wall had absorbed the echo of your footsteps leaving and was waiting to see if you’d ever come back.
Bucky swallowed hard and forced his body to move.
He stepped past the entryway without touching anything. Without even looking at the frame again. Because if he did, he wasn’t sure he’d keep breathing.
“Let’s just… do it,” he said, voice low.
Steve nodded once, understanding without asking what it meant. Because they both knew. Cleaning wasn’t about dust. It wasn’t even really about you finding the place neat when you returned.
It was about giving their hands something to do so their minds didn’t destroy them.
They fell into a rhythm almost immediately.
Steve went for the kitchen first, sleeves rolled up, moving with the familiar efficiency of someone who’d spent years making small spaces livable. He opened the trash can, tied the bag, and set it by the door without comment. He gathered stray cups and plates and moved them toward the sink. The clink of ceramic against stainless steel sounded too loud in the quiet apartment.
Bucky grabbed the vacuum.
He didn’t wonder where you kept it. He already knew. He hated that he knew.
The cord slid out with a soft hiss as he pulled it, the plastic wheels bumping lightly against the hardwood as he dragged it into the living room. He pressed the button.
The sudden roar of the motor filled the space, blessedly drowning out the silence.
He started with the rug, pushing the vacuum in slow, deliberate lines like the pattern mattered. Like if he did it neatly enough, if he did it properly enough, he could erase the imprint of that night. The path from the couch to the door. The invisible trail of your pain.
Steve moved through the kitchen, opening cabinets, checking expiration dates. He didn’t ask first. He didn’t need to. He knew you’d hate wasted food, hate mess, hate the idea that something in your life might rot quietly in the background while you were gone.
He pulled out containers from the fridge one by one. Leftovers gone too long. Milk that had soured. A tub of hummus that had turned into something unrecognizable.
He held each item for a moment, reading the dates like they mattered, then tossed them in the trash with a grim, steady motion.
The smell hit him when he opened the produce drawer – faint, sweet rot. He grimaced and muttered something under his breath, then cleaned it out quickly, wiping down the plastic with paper towels and disinfectant from under the sink.
Bucky stayed out of the kitchen entirely.
Not because he didn’t want to help.
Because it felt too intimate. Because the kitchen was where you used to lean against the counter and talk while he pretended he wasn’t watching you. Because it was where you’d sat at your little table with Pietro and Wanda and Steve, laughing softly, alive.
He focused on the floors. The corners. The baseboards.
He moved to the hallway, vacuuming carefully along the edges, picking up little bits of lint and hair and the evidence of life.
He did not go into your bedroom.
He didn’t even let his gaze drift toward the door.
The bedroom was a line he couldn’t cross.
Not today.
Steve noticed.
Of course he did.
Steve didn’t say anything about it. He just finished wiping down the kitchen counters, rinsed the dishes that had been sitting in the sink, loaded them into your dishwasher with quiet efficiency. He ran water over a sponge, scrubbed a stubborn ring out of a mug, then set it carefully in the drying rack.
Then he walked down the hall and paused in front of your bedroom door.
He looked back once, checking Bucky’s position – still in the living room now, vacuuming the same strip of carpet for the second time like he needed the repetition.
Steve pushed the bedroom door open.
The room smelled like you. Or at least it had. Now it smelled like closed air, like fabric that hadn’t moved in weeks. The bed was made, but not tightly. The sheets had a faint crease where you must have sat before leaving. The curtains were half-drawn, letting in a narrow band of daylight that cut across the comforter.
Steve swallowed hard and forced himself to focus.
He stripped the bed quickly, gathering the sheets and pillowcases, folding them into a neat bundle the way you would have. He didn’t linger over the small things – the indentation of your head in the pillow, the way your side of the bed seemed… untouched.
He carried the linens to the laundry hamper, replaced them with clean sheets from your closet, and remade the bed with crisp precision.
Tight corners.
Smooth surface.
A bed that looked ready for someone to come home.
When Steve stepped back into the hallway, he pulled the door closed quietly behind him.
Bucky was still vacuuming.
The sound of the motor filled the apartment, but it couldn’t fill the hole you’d left.
After an hour, maybe two, they were done.
Trash bags by the door. Counters wiped clean. Floors vacuumed. The fridge cleared of anything expired. The apartment didn’t feel lived-in anymore – it felt paused. Like a set waiting for its lead actor to return.
Steve turned off the last light in the living room and stood near the entryway, hands on his hips, surveying the space like he was checking for mistakes.
Bucky unplugged the vacuum and wound the cord around its hooks with meticulous care.
Then he stood there, staring at the hallway.
At the closed bedroom door.
At the frame still lying face-down on the entry table.
His chest tightened again, that familiar constriction.
He couldn’t stay.
Even clean, even orderly, the apartment felt wrong without you. Like a body without a heartbeat. Like a place that had been designed for your presence and was now haunted by the shape of it.
“I can’t,” he said quietly.
Steve looked at him. “Yeah,” he answered, because there was no point pretending otherwise. “I know.”
Bucky grabbed his jacket, hands shaking slightly as he shoved his arms into the sleeves. He didn’t look around again. Didn’t let himself take in any details that might anchor him here.
He headed for the door like it was a lifeline.
Because staying would have meant facing the absence head-on.
And right now, he could barely survive it from the edge.
Bucky asked Steve to keep your spare key.
He did it right outside your apartment door, fingers still smelling faintly of lemon cleaner and dust, eyes fixed on the lock as if he could will it to open for you instead of for them.
“Keep it,” he said, voice low.
Steve held the keyring up between two fingers, brows knitting slightly. “Bucky–”
“Please,” Bucky cut in, the word rawer than he meant it to be. He swallowed, jaw flexing. “Just… keep it. So I don’t do something stupid.”
Steve looked at him for a long moment, understanding settling in. The key wasn’t about access. It was about restraint. About boundaries Bucky didn’t trust himself to hold if panic hit again.
“Okay,” Steve said finally, and slipped it into his pocket. “I’ve got it.”
Bucky nodded once – gratitude without the softness.
Neither of them spoke about the frame in the entryway. About the face-down photograph. About the way the apartment had felt like a held breath.
They just left.
In the hallway, their footsteps echoed quietly. In the street, the city swallowed them whole like it always did.
And then they split, each heading back to their own place with the same heaviness sitting in their chests in different shapes.
Steve’s apartment was dim when he got home.
He hung his jacket on the same hook he always used, kicked off his shoes by the door, and stood there for a moment too long – still hearing the hum of the vacuum in his head, still seeing the too-clean counters in your kitchen, the bed remade tight and crisp like you might walk in at any second.
He sat on the couch without turning on the lights.
The room around him was quiet, familiar, and yet his mind kept drifting back to you. To the way you used to sit on that same couch, knees tucked under you, mug in hand, teasing him for his terrible taste in late-night documentaries. To the way you’d always pretended you were fine – even when he could tell you weren’t.
His phone was on the coffee table.
Steve stared at it for a few seconds, thumb hovering. He didn’t want to intrude. He didn’t want to be another missed call, another pressure, another voice demanding something from you.
But he also couldn’t do nothing.
So he picked it up and typed.
Not a speech. Not a plea. Just the truth, in the simplest words he could manage.
Hey.
We went to your apartment today. We didn’t go through anything personal. We just cleaned – dust, trash, kitchen, that kind of stuff. I changed your sheets.
I’m holding onto your spare key so Bucky doesn't have it around.
I miss you.
I hope you’re okay. I hope you found what you were looking for.
He read it once.
Twice.
Then, before he could overthink it, he hit send.
The message disappeared into the void of silence you’d created, and Steve set the phone down like it might burn him. He leaned back, closing his eyes, letting the quiet settle around him again.
It didn’t feel like relief.
It felt like waiting.
Bucky went home and immediately regretted it.
Not because his apartment was unpleasant, but because it was his – because it held him too well, because it was full of reminders he couldn’t outrun. The bowl of green apples by the window. The candle stub still on the table. The faint lingering smell of garlic that had never truly left since that night, as if the place itself refused to forget.
He didn’t turn on the TV.
He didn’t eat.
He went into his bedroom and sat down on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together like he was trying to keep himself from falling apart. His face still ached – Natasha’s nails had caught his jaw during the breakup, the fight turning ugly and loud and raw. His mother’s slap still burned in memory more than skin.
But none of it hurt like the thought of you.
The thought of you on that bridge.
The thought of you alone in a hotel room for days, sleeping like your body was shutting down to survive.
The thought of you believing – because of him – that you were unwanted.
Bucky picked up his phone and unlocked it.
He opened your contact and stared at your name until his eyes blurred.
He didn’t call.
He didn’t have the right to call.
So he wrote.
At first, it was just one sentence.
Then another.
Then the words started coming out like blood finally finding air.
I’m sorry.
I’m so sorry.
I don’t know if you’ll read this, but I need you to hear it anyway.
He paused, swallowed hard, and kept going.
I didn’t mean what I said. I didn’t believe it. Not then, not ever.
I was hurt and angry and scared and I lashed out in the worst way. I said the cruelest thing I could think of because it felt easier than admitting what I was actually feeling.
His thumbs shook. He had to stop and wipe at his eyes with the heel of his hand, breathing through the tightness in his throat.
I know I can’t take those words back. I know saying sorry doesn’t erase them.
I just need you to know that I hate myself for it. I hate that I put that poison in your head.
You are not empty. You are not unlovable. You never were.
He stared at the screen for a long moment, chest heaving, then forced himself to write the next part.
Because you deserved the truth – even if you never spoke to him again.
I ended things with Natasha today.
I’m not telling you that because I expect anything from you. I’m not telling you so you’ll come back or forgive me or… anything.
I’m telling you because you deserve honesty from me, for once.
He swallowed hard, blinking rapidly.
I love you.
I don’t know when it started. I think it’s been there longer than I’ve been willing to admit. Maybe always.
I told Mom and Dad. I told them the truth about how I feel.
The words looked too big on the screen. Too naked.
He kept going anyway.
Steve and I cleaned your apartment today. We didn’t go through your stuff. We just… cleaned.
Your picture…
I saw it.
I understand. I do.
His breath hitched painfully.
I’m glad you found your dad. I’m glad he accepted you. I’m glad you got an answer that isn’t pain.
I’m glad I was wrong.
And then, after everything else, after the apologies and confessions and truths he should have said years ago, he typed the simplest line.
The one that had been sitting in his chest like a bruise for weeks.
I miss you.
Bucky stared at the message until the letters blurred.
His thumb hovered over the send button.
He didn’t know if you’d ever read it. Didn’t know if it would land like comfort or like another intrusion. But the words were already written, already real. Keeping them locked inside him felt like another form of cowardice.
So he closed his eyes and pressed send.
The message whooshed away.
Bucky sat on the edge of his bed in the dim light of his phone screen, staring at nothing, breathing through the ache of missing you – knowing that loving you didn’t mean he was owed anything in return.
Only that you deserved the truth.
Finally.
After a full day of work – real work, the kind that made your brain ache in a satisfying way – you finally closed your laptop and leaned back in the hotel chair, rolling your shoulders until something in your neck popped.
Pietro was sprawled on the other bed with his own phone and calendar open, rescheduling patients with the kind of apologetic efficiency only a psychologist could manage. His voice had been gentle all afternoon, low and steady as he moved appointments and reassured people that yes, he was fine, yes, it was temporary, yes, he’d call them back.
When he hung up the last call, he exhaled long and dramatic and threw his phone onto the pillow like it had personally offended him.
“I hate being responsible,” he announced.
You snorted softly, rubbing your eyes. “Liar.”
He sat up, stretched, then glanced at you with a faint smile that softened almost immediately into something more thoughtful.
“Let’s get out,” he said. “You’ve been staring at your thesis like it’s going to confess something if you glare hard enough.”
You hesitated for half a second – habit, instinct – but then you nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”
Outside, Miami was still warm even as evening fell. The air smelled like salt and sunscreen that refused to leave people’s skin, like restaurants and street food and humid pavement cooling down. You and Pietro walked without a real destination, letting the city carry you the way New York used to, except this time there was space around you. Less noise. Different energy.
Pietro walked with his hands in his pockets, shoulders loose, eyes moving constantly the way they always did – reading, assessing, cataloguing.
After a few blocks, he muttered, “Everything feels weird.”
You glanced at him. “Weird how?”
He gestured vaguely at… everything. The palm trees. The open sky. The way the light hit buildings. The fact that people didn’t look like they were always rushing toward the next thing with their teeth clenched.
“Like the city is on vacation,” he said. “Like it doesn’t know what urgency is.”
You let out a breath that was almost a laugh. “It’s just not New York.”
Pietro’s eyes flicked to you. “Yeah.”
You kept walking, your steps matching his. “It’s different,” you added softly.
Not better.
Not worse.
Just different enough that your body didn’t keep waiting for the next hit.
Later, back at the hotel, you stared at the new phone on the nightstand for a few seconds before finally picking it up.
Your thumb hovered over Tony’s contact.
The fear wasn’t the same as before – not the fear of rejection – but something else. The fear of accepting. Of letting something good exist without immediately bracing for it to be taken away.
Pietro didn’t pressure you. He just watched you quietly from the edge of his bed, expression calm and encouraging.
You hit call.
Tony answered on the second ring.
“Hey,” he said immediately, like he’d been hoping it would be you. “You okay?”
You felt your throat tighten a little. “Yeah. I’m… yeah. I wanted to ask something.”
“Anything.”
You exhaled slowly. “My best friend is here.”
A beat. “Okay.”
“He flew down,” you added, as if you needed to justify it. “He’s… he’s my person.”
Tony’s tone warmed instantly. “Then I definitely want to meet him.”
You blinked. “Really? I mean– I know you’re busy.”
“I’m not too busy for you,” he said, like it was obvious. Like it was a fact of physics. “When do you want to do it?”
There was a pause on your end, and then you admitted, quietly, “Tonight? If that’s not insane.”
Tony chuckled. “It’s only insane if you don’t like dinner.”
Pietro raised his brows at you when you lowered the phone, like he couldn’t quite believe what he’d just heard.
You shrugged, a little helpless. “He just… makes space.”
“Hmm,” Pietro hummed, as if filing that away for future judgment. “We’ll see.”
Tony’s house – because of course it was a house and not just an apartment – wasn’t ostentatious the way you’d expected it might be. It was elegant, modern, warm in that curated way that still felt lived-in. Lights glowed softly through large windows. The air smelled like something rich and comforting – garlic and herbs and roasting meat.
Maria greeted you both at the door as if she’d been waiting with her whole heart.
She kissed your cheek, then turned to Pietro with a polite smile that immediately became something more once she looked him in the eye – recognition of importance.
“You must be Pietro,” she said.
Pietro straightened slightly, the way he always did when he met someone he respected. “Yes, ma’am.”
Maria’s smile widened. “Oh, I like you already.”
Pietro flashed his most charming grin. “Most people do.”
You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your chest was unmistakable.
Tony appeared behind his mother with two glasses of wine in hand, scanning Pietro with open curiosity. His gaze flicked from Pietro to you and back again, clearly trying to map the dynamic.
“You’re… Pietro,” Tony said, offering his hand.
Pietro shook it firmly. “That’s me.”
Tony’s eyes narrowed slightly in amused confusion. “I was expecting…” He stopped himself, then laughed at his own assumption. “Okay, so– my bad. I don’t know why my brain decided best friend meant woman before hearing masculine pronouns.”
Pietro deadpanned. “It’s the hair.”
Tony barked a laugh, genuinely entertained. “Fair.”
Dinner was… surprisingly normal.
Not normal in the sense that this wasn’t your billionaire genius father’s dining room with your grandmother and your best friend, because that was objectively insane. But normal in the sense that the conversation flowed easily. Maria asked Pietro about his work. Pietro explained psychology in a way that made Maria ask more questions, genuinely engaged. Tony kept throwing little comments in, snark and warmth braided together, as if he couldn’t help testing the edges of the room to make sure everyone was comfortable.
You found yourself sitting beside Maria, talking with her as if you’d known her longer than a few days.
She asked about your thesis again – more specifically this time, because she remembered what you’d said at lunch. She asked about your childhood in Brooklyn, about the museum you’d loved as a kid, about whether you still liked the same kinds of books.
It felt like being gently examined – not for flaws, but for familiarity. Like she was trying to place you into her life without forcing you to fit.
At some point, Tony pushed his chair back and nodded at Pietro. “Come on. Drink?”
Pietro stood, shooting you a brief glance – You okay? – and you nodded.
They moved a few steps away, toward a sideboard with whiskey bottles lined up like trophies. You stayed with Maria, but you couldn’t help watching them from the corner of your eye.
Tony poured. Pietro declined at first, then accepted a small amount with a shrug. They stood facing each other, two very different kinds of dangerous – one sharp with intellect, one sharp with instinct.
Pietro didn’t waste time.
He took one sip, then looked Tony straight in the eye and said, casually, like he was asking about the weather, “If you hurt her, I will ruin you.”
Tony blinked.
Then, instead of scoffing, he laughed once – soft and surprised. “Okay.”
Pietro didn’t smile. He held Tony’s gaze, unwavering.
“I’m serious,” Pietro added, voice low. “I don’t care who you are. I don’t care what you can buy. If she ends up destroyed again, I’ll make it my life’s work to make sure you regret waking up every morning.”
There was a beat of silence.
Tony’s laughter faded, not into anger, but into something attentive. He studied Pietro like he was recognizing something – something familiar and deeply important.
Then Tony nodded slowly.
“Good,” Tony said, and there was no sarcasm in it. “Good. She needs someone like that.”
Pietro’s eyes narrowed slightly, as if he hadn’t expected that answer.
Tony took another sip of his drink, then set the glass down with deliberate care.
“I’m not going to hurt her,” he said quietly. “But I appreciate you telling me what the stakes are.”
Pietro’s posture eased by a fraction. “You’d be surprised how many people don’t take the stakes seriously.”
Tony’s mouth twisted. “I take them seriously.”
He glanced over Pietro’s shoulder toward you for half a second, expression softening in a way that looked almost painful.
“She’s my kid,” Tony said simply. “That makes her my priority. Not my accessory.”
Pietro watched him for a long moment, then gave a small, reluctant nod – approval, not trust earned yet, but trust possible.
“Alright,” Pietro said. “We’ll see.”
Tony snorted. “Yeah. I figured you’d say that.”
They returned to the table a minute later, both of them wearing faces that were a little too neutral, a little too composed.
Maria glanced between them with knowing eyes.
You raised a brow at Pietro silently.
Pietro didn’t answer out loud.
He just reached for his fork and said, far too casually, “Dinner’s great.”
Tony sipped his wine and added, equally casual, “Glad you think so.”
And you sat there between Maria’s warmth and Pietro’s presence and Tony’s steady, determined attention, realizing – slowly – that this wasn’t just a moment of comfort.
It was the beginning of something that might actually hold.
By the time dessert arrived, you’d almost forgotten what it felt like to sit at a table without bracing.
Not completely – your body didn’t forget that easily – but enough that you found yourself answering Maria’s questions without rehearsing every sentence three times in your head. Enough that you tasted the food instead of swallowing around a knot. Enough that when Tony refilled your water without asking, it didn’t feel like an intrusion. It felt like… care.
The dessert was set down in front of you with a quiet clink of porcelain. Something warm and sweet – chocolate, maybe – paired with fruit and a little too much elegance to be casual about it. Maria murmured an approving sound. Pietro immediately went for his fork like he hadn’t eaten on the plane at all.
Tony didn’t touch his yet.
He watched you for a moment, expression thoughtful in a way that made you sit up straighter without meaning to.
“So,” he said, carefully casual, like he was trying not to spook you. “What was your childhood like?”
The room didn’t go silent, exactly, but the air shifted. The question was ordinary on the surface – the kind of thing people asked when they wanted to know you – but here, in this context, it felt like stepping onto a floor you weren’t sure would hold your weight.
You had mentioned your adoptive mom already. You’d talked about Brooklyn, about school, about skipping grades, about your thesis and the way you’d built your life like a scaffold around stability.
But he knew you hadn’t grown up with the woman he’d loved.
He knew there was a gap there.
And he was asking gently, without forcing, what filled it.
Your tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth.
Your instinct – the reflex honed into you since you were four – was to offer the safe version. The polished version. The one where you said It was fine and smiled and redirected the conversation to something easier.
You glanced at Pietro.
He didn’t speak.
He just lifted his brows once and gave you a small, almost invisible nod.
A quiet encouragement.
Tell the truth. Not the softened one. Not the one you invented to make people comfortable.
Your fingers tightened around your fork for a second. Then you set it down carefully, because your hand had started to shake.
“I…” You inhaled slowly. “I grew up in an orphanage until I was four.”
Tony’s expression changed instantly – surprise first, then something else, sharper. His brows rose, and Maria’s hand paused midair above her plate.
You heard the faintest intake of breath from Maria, controlled but real.
“That’s…” Tony started, then stopped himself, as if he’d realized anything he said too quickly might push you back into silence. “Okay.”
You swallowed. The words were lodged in your throat like stones.
“It wasn’t…” You searched for the language, because you had spent most of your life not giving it any. “It wasn’t a good place.”
Maria’s face tightened in a way that made her look suddenly older. “What do you mean, not a good place?” she asked, voice quiet and edged with restraint.
Under the table, Pietro’s hand found yours.
He didn’t squeeze hard. Just enough to remind you you weren’t alone in this moment. His thumb brushed once over your knuckles – steady, grounding.
You stared at your plate.
Then you made yourself look up, because part of telling the truth was not hiding from it.
“It was a religious orphanage,” you said slowly. “Very strict. They believed… they believed obedience was the same thing as virtue.”
Tony’s jaw clenched, barely perceptible.
Maria’s eyes didn’t leave your face.
You took another breath, and the next words came out more easily once the first ones were spoken.
“If you disobeyed,” you continued, voice flat, almost clinical, as if describing someone else, “you got punished. Not… not like time-out.”
Pietro’s grip tightened slightly.
You forced yourself to keep going before you lost momentum.
“They used… corporal punishment,” you said. “On our backs. Sometimes on our legs. Sometimes just… wherever they could reach.” Your throat burned. “And it wasn’t always for big things. It could be for talking during mass. Or laughing. Or holding someone’s hand.”
Maria’s hand rose to her mouth, fingers pressing briefly against her lips like she was holding back a sound.
Tony’s face had gone very still. The kind of stillness that looked like restraint. Like rage being contained by sheer force of will.
You felt oddly detached as you spoke, like you were watching yourself from above. Like the words were leaving your mouth but not fully touching you yet.
“There were good days,” you added automatically, instinctively trying to balance it, to make it less awful. “But the bad days were…”
You shook your head, unable to finish.
Maria’s voice was soft but firm. “Did they do this to you?”
You hesitated.
Then nodded once.
“Yes.”
The silence that followed was heavy, the kind that felt like the room itself didn’t know what to do with the truth.
Pietro squeezed your hand under the table, steady and present.
You blinked quickly, fighting the sting in your eyes.
You didn’t say saved me, because you weren’t sure you believed in that kind of simple narrative. But the word hovered in the space anyway.
“She was… good,” you said, voice softer. “She was kind. She didn’t have to be. She chose me.” You swallowed hard. “But I was four. And I was–” You laughed faintly, but there was no humor. “I was smart enough to understand that it could be taken away.”
Tony frowned. “Taken away?”
You nodded, gaze dropping again.
“I thought…” Your fingers curled tighter around Pietro’s hand like it was the only thing keeping you tethered. “I thought that if I asked for too much, she’d change her mind.”
Maria’s eyes filled with tears she didn’t let fall. “Oh, sweetheart…”
You shook your head quickly, because you didn’t want pity. You wanted them to understand.
“So I didn’t,” you said. “I didn’t ask. Not for attention. Not for time. Not for reassurance.” Your voice thinned. “I was terrified of being… inconvenient.”
Tony’s eyes flicked over your face, like he could see the child version of you behind your adult one. Like he was mentally putting pieces together – your control, your politeness, your habit of being “okay.”
“I learned really fast,” you said quietly, “that if you’re easy to have around, people keep you.”
The sentence landed like a bruise.
Maria reached across the table then, slowly, giving you the chance to pull away if you wanted. When you didn’t, she covered your free hand with hers – warm, trembling slightly.
“You were a child,” she whispered. “You should never have had to earn love.”
Tony’s voice was low, careful, but there was a tremor of anger underneath. “Does your mother know? Your adoptive mother?”
You hesitated.
“She knows I was there,” you said. “She knows it was strict.” A pause. “But I never… I never told her the details.”
Tony’s jaw flexed. “Why not?”
You could have lied. You could have given a neat answer.
Instead, you told the truth.
“Because I thought,” you said softly, “that if she knew I had been punished, it meant I had done something wrong.” You inhaled shakily. “And I was scared she’d send me back.”
Maria’s grip tightened, and her eyes finally overflowed – one tear slipping down her cheek as she shook her head slowly, devastated.
Tony’s gaze stayed locked on you, something fierce and protective building behind his eyes.
“You were four,” he said again, like he needed to repeat it until the world understood. “You were four.”
Your throat tightened. You nodded once, unable to speak for a second.
Pietro’s thumb stroked your knuckles under the table, steadying you through the worst of it.
And somehow, even as the story hung in the air – ugly, painful, undeniable – you didn’t feel the old shame swallow you whole.
Because this time, the people listening weren’t recoiling.
They weren’t looking "through" you.
They were staying.
They were seeing you.
And for the first time, telling the truth didn’t feel like asking to be sent away.
For a few seconds after you finished speaking, the room didn’t move.
Even the small sounds – the clink of a fork against porcelain, the soft hum of the air conditioning – felt muted, as if the house itself had decided to hold its breath with you.
Tony’s face was tight, his eyes fixed on a point somewhere past your shoulder like he was trying to see the child you’d been. Maria’s hand still covered yours, warm and steady. Pietro’s fingers were laced with yours under the table, his thumb stroking slow, grounding circles like a metronome.
Then Tony pushed his chair back.
The scrape of wood against the floor sounded too loud.
He stood, breathing through his nose, shoulders tense. He took one step as if he meant to leave the room – then stopped. Hesitated. You saw the conflict in him as clearly as if it had been spoken out loud: the fear of doing the wrong thing, of overwhelming you, of touching a wound that wasn’t his to handle.
His hands flexed at his sides.
He looked at you again.
And then he walked around the table.
He stopped behind your chair, hovering for a heartbeat.
“Can I–” he started, voice rough.
You didn’t answer fast enough, not because you didn’t want it, but because your body always needed a second when something unexpected approached. You felt your shoulders draw in, instinctive. You held your breath without meaning to.
Tony swallowed, and his arms came around you anyway – careful at first, as if he’d be ready to pull back the second you stiffened too much.
You did stiffen.
For a few seconds, your spine went rigid, hands frozen on the edge of the table, the old reflex firing: don’t react wrong, don’t take up space, don’t make it worse.
Then Pietro’s hand squeezed yours under the table, firm and steady.
Maria’s palm pressed gently against your knuckles on the table, reassuring.
And slowly, the tension in your shoulders eased.
You lifted your arms and returned the embrace, tentative at first, then more fully – your cheek resting against Tony’s chest, the fabric of his shirt warm against your skin.
Tony exhaled, the sound shaky.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, voice low near your ear. “I’m so sorry.”
You blinked hard, the sting in your eyes back again.
“I would’ve stopped it,” he said, and there was grief there – real, raw grief for something he hadn’t known he’d lost. “If I’d known… I would’ve–” He swallowed. “I wish that never happened to you. I wish none of it had.”
Your throat tightened too much to speak, so you just nodded once, small, against him.
He held you a moment longer, then eased back, keeping his hands on your shoulders as if he wasn’t ready to let you slip out of reach completely. His eyes were bright, but he didn’t let the tears fall. His jaw was clenched hard enough you could see it.
Maria wiped her cheek quietly, then gave you a look that was both soft and fierce.
Pietro didn’t move his eyes from yours.
You drew in a breath and did what you always did when emotions threatened to drag you under: you reached for narrative. For structure. For the next piece of the story that made sense.
“I… um,” you started, voice hoarse. “After the orphanage, my mom got married.”
Tony’s gaze sharpened, listening.
“There was… her husband,” you said carefully, “and his son.”
You didn’t say his name.
You kept your tone neutral, brisk, like you were describing a fact on a timeline. You didn’t linger on how that boy had become the safest part of your childhood. You didn’t say how his presence had been a kind of shelter you hadn’t known how to ask for anywhere else.
“It was… complicated,” you added softly, then moved on before the word could open a door you weren’t ready to walk through.
“I skipped two grades,” you said, more firmly, returning to safer territory. “I was always ahead in school, and they didn’t know what to do with me, so they just… pushed me forward.”
Tony blinked once, a faint, incredulous smile tugging at his mouth despite everything. “You skipped two grades?”
You gave a small shrug. “I didn’t have a lot else going on.”
Pietro made a low sound of agreement, as if to say understatement of the century.
“And that’s how I met Steve,” you continued. “He was our neighbor. He lived close by. We… we got close pretty early.”
Tony’s eyes flicked briefly to Pietro, as if silently asking Steve is…? and Pietro responded with a subtle nod – important, safe, not the problem.
“I’ve told you about Wanda,” you added, nodding toward Pietro. “And Pietro. They’ve been in my life for a long time.”
Maria smiled gently at Pietro. “I can see that.”
Pietro’s mouth quirked. “She’s stuck with me.”
You huffed a small laugh, grateful for the tiny release of tension.
Then you went on, because once you started, it felt easier to keep moving than to stop.
“High school happened,” you said. “Steve and I… we dated.”
Tony stilled, then carefully kept his expression open.
“It was my only relationship,” you admitted, a little embarrassed by how simple that sounded on paper.
Maria’s eyes softened. Pietro squeezed your hand again under the table.
“It was… real,” you said, choosing your words. “But it didn’t last. We ended it because…” You paused, then shook your head lightly. “It wasn’t because of him. Not really. And it wasn’t just because of me either.”
Tony watched you closely, as if trying to read between the lines without pushing.
“We’re still friends,” you said. “We love each other. Just not… like that anymore.”
There was quiet understanding in the room. No judgment. No awkwardness. Just acceptance.
You exhaled slowly.
You didn’t talk about the night after Steve.
You didn’t talk about how comfort had turned into something you’d never dared name, and how shame had followed like a shadow.
You didn’t talk about waking up the next day and feeling like you’d stepped over a line that could never be redrawn.
You didn’t talk about the silence that had felt like a guillotine dropping.
You didn’t talk about the weeks Pietro had spent putting you back together in small, patient pieces.
You couldn’t.
Not yet.
So you pivoted again, letting the future be a place you could safely stand.
“I chose archaeology,” you said, and this time the words carried a spark of genuine excitement. “I know it sounds… random, compared to everything else, but it made sense to me. Digging. Understanding what’s been buried. Piecing things together.”
Tony’s expression shifted into something softer, proud almost without meaning to be.
“I want to go to Europe when I’m done,” you added. “After my doctorate. I want to–” You smiled faintly. “I want to see the places I’ve been reading about for years. Touch the stones. Walk the sites. Be… somewhere else.”
Maria nodded slowly, eyes shining. “You will.”
“And at university,” you continued, “I lived with Wanda and Pietro at first. We had this tiny apartment in New York. It was awful and perfect.” You glanced at Pietro, remembering. “We could hear the upstairs neighbor sneeze.”
Pietro grinned. “And he sneezed like he was trying to start a war.”
You smiled properly this time – small, but real.
“It was the first time I felt… normal,” you admitted quietly. “Like I belonged somewhere without having to earn it every day.”
Tony’s gaze held yours, steady, intent.
“I want you to have that,” he said softly. “From now on.”
Your chest tightened again, but this time it wasn’t panic.
It was something warmer.
Something frightening in a different way.
Because it felt like hope.
Later that evening, when the dishes had been cleared and Maria had excused herself with a knowing smile and a gentle squeeze of your shoulder, Tony asked if you would walk with him for a bit.
Not talk – walk.
You appreciated the distinction immediately.
The house was quieter now, lights dimmed in the living spaces you weren’t in, the air outside warm and heavy with night-blooming flowers. You followed him out onto the terrace, where the city sounds were distant enough to feel unreal. Tony leaned his forearms against the railing, looking out for a few seconds before speaking, as if choosing where to start.
“She was… brilliant,” he said finally.
You didn’t interrupt. You didn’t rush him. You had learned – painfully well – that some truths needed space to arrive.
“Your mother,” he went on. “She worked in restoration. Ancient materials, old texts, fragments most people would’ve written off as unsalvageable.” A faint smile tugged at his mouth. “She loved impossible things.”
Your chest tightened in a way that felt familiar and strange all at once.
“She was stubborn,” Tony added, fond and exasperated in equal measure. “Uncompromising. Strong in a way that didn’t bend just because someone louder was in the room.”
He glanced at you then, really looked at you, and his expression softened.
“You have her eyes,” he said again, quieter this time. “But it’s not just that. It’s the way you listen. The way you think before you speak. The way you don’t back down once you’ve decided something matters.”
You swallowed. “You make her sound like you.”
He huffed a short laugh. “That was the problem.”
You waited.
“She and I…” He shook his head slowly. “We were too similar. Two immovable objects convinced the other one should yield. The arguments were frequent. Intense. Not about small things either – about values, about priorities, about what kind of life mattered.”
Your fingers curled lightly against the cool stone of the railing.
“And the last one?” you asked, voice careful. “The one after which she left.”
Tony closed his eyes for a moment.
“I said things,” he admitted. “Things meant to wound. Things meant to win instead of understand.” His jaw tightened. “I assumed she’d come back once we cooled off. She always did.”
He opened his eyes again, and there was something raw there.
“She didn’t,” he said simply. “And when she didn’t answer my calls, when the weeks turned into months…” He exhaled slowly. “I told myself she’d chosen to disappear.”
You hesitated, then asked the question that had been sitting heavy in your chest since the moment you’d learned his name.
“Do you think that’s why she left me?” you asked softly. “Because of you?”
Tony didn’t dodge it.
“Yes,” he said. “I do.”
The word landed with weight, but not cruelty.
“I don’t think she abandoned you because she didn’t want you,” he continued immediately. “I think she was hurt. Ashamed. Afraid. I think she believed that cutting everything clean was the only way to survive what we’d done to each other.”
He looked at you then, eyes fierce with certainty.
“And that was her mistake,” he said. “Not you.”
You nodded, the knot in your chest loosening just a fraction.
The days that followed settled into a rhythm you hadn’t known you were craving.
You worked on your thesis during the day, hours slipping by as you lost yourself in texts and annotations and arguments that felt solid and solvable. You worked at the dining table sometimes, sometimes by the pool when the heat was too tempting to ignore.
Tony didn’t hover.
Maria didn’t pry.
They simply… existed around you.
Lunches turned into dinners. Sometimes all three of you. Sometimes just one of them. Sometimes quiet. Sometimes filled with conversation that drifted from history to science to the most mundane things – favorite foods, terrible movies, places you wanted to see.
And slowly, almost imperceptibly, your shoulders stopped living permanently hunched near your ears.
When Pietro finally told you – gently, reluctantly – that he needed to return to New York, you felt the familiar flare of fear spark in your chest.
He noticed instantly.
“Hey,” he said, sitting across from you at the kitchen counter one morning. “I’m not disappearing.”
You huffed. “You better not.”
“I’m serious,” he said. “You’re… different now. Calmer. Still tired, but not… hollow.” His gaze softened. “I can go back knowing you’re okay.”
You nodded, trusting him because you always had.
Tony listened to the conversation quietly, arms crossed, expression thoughtful.
When Pietro left later that day – hugging you hard, whispering that he’d call every day whether you liked it or not – you watched his taxi disappear down the drive with a mix of gratitude and grief.
The house felt larger without him.
That evening, Tony found you standing in the kitchen, staring absently at your laptop screen without actually seeing it.
“You don’t have to rush back,” he said, not unkindly.
You looked up. “I know.”
He hesitated, then cleared his throat.
“Why don’t you stay?” he said. “Here.”
You blinked. “You mean–”
“I mean here,” he clarified. “The villa’s big enough that we won’t be in each other’s way. You’d have space. Privacy. And…” He shrugged, trying for casual and missing slightly. “I’d like it.”
You considered it.
Not just the logistics, but the feeling.
The way you no longer flinched when he entered a room. The way Maria treated you like you’d always belonged at the table. The way this place, improbably, felt safe.
“I think I’d like that,” you said finally.
Tony smiled – not the flashy kind, not the performative one. Just quiet. Relieved.
“Good,” he said. “Then it’s settled.”
And for the first time in a very long while, settling didn’t feel like giving something up.
It felt like arriving.
Pietro had barely had time to drop his bag in the hallway before his apartment started feeling too quiet.
Not the peaceful kind of quiet. The kind that made every creak in the building sound like an accusation. The kind that reminded him – too sharply – that you weren’t on the other side of the wall, that Wanda wasn’t in the kitchen humming while she made tea, that he wasn’t about to hear your voice from the bedroom asking him to read a paragraph of your thesis “just to make sure it made sense.”
He told himself it was fine.
You were in Miami. You were safe. He’d seen you. He’d held you. He’d watched you sit in the sun and breathe like your lungs weren’t fighting you anymore. He’d watched your hands steady on your keyboard, watched the color slowly return to your face.
He’d done what he came to do.
And still, stepping back into New York felt like stepping into a room where the air had been trapped too long.
He kicked his shoes off by the door and dragged his duffel to the bedroom without bothering to unpack. He poured himself a glass of water, drank it in three gulps like his body needed to prove it was still functioning, then dropped onto his couch and stared at his phone.
Wanda had answered his text immediately when he told her he was boarding: a line of hearts, a promise she wouldn’t tell anyone anything you hadn’t permitted.
He’d known – because he knew Wanda – that she would still worry.
He’d known – because he knew Steve – that Steve wouldn’t just sit with worry when he could turn it into action.
He didn’t expect action this fast, though.
Exactly an hour after he closed his apartment door behind him, there was a knock.
Pietro froze for half a second, then groaned out loud as if the universe had personally inconvenienced him.
“Of course,” he muttered, pushing himself off the couch.
He didn’t even bother looking through the peephole. He already knew. His whole body knew.
He yanked the door open.
Wanda stood there, arms folded tight across her chest, eyes red around the edges like she’d been crying at least a little. Beside her was Steve, hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets, posture rigid in that way it always got when he was trying very hard not to look like he was panicking.
Pietro leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling for a beat, then looked back at them with a long-suffering expression.
“You two,” he said flatly.
Wanda opened her mouth.
Pietro lifted a hand immediately. “Don’t. Don’t start with the ‘we were in the neighborhood’ thing. You were not.”
Steve’s mouth twitched, almost imperceptibly. Wanda rolled her eyes, but her shoulders loosened a fraction.
Pietro stepped aside, gesturing them in with an exaggerated flourish. “Come in. Invade my privacy. Make yourselves at home.”
Wanda brushed past him first, immediately scanning the living room like she expected to find you sitting there on the couch. When she didn’t, something in her expression tightened again. Steve followed, gaze sweeping the space with the same restless, searching energy.
Pietro shut the door behind them and turned.
He didn’t give them time to ask.
He knew why they were here. He knew the questions stuck in their throats. He knew the fear, the hope, the unbearable need for certainty.
So he started talking – fast, blunt, relentless – like if he got it all out in one breath, maybe he could stop them from trying to dig for more.
“She’s fine,” he said.
Wanda’s eyes widened. Steve’s jaw clenched as if the words physically hit him.
Pietro lifted a finger. “She’s not just ‘fine’ as in alive. She’s fine as in – she eats. She sleeps. She’s not wandering the streets at night like a ghost anymore. She’s not crying all the time.”
Wanda exhaled shakily, shoulders sagging.
Pietro kept going, because he’d learned a long time ago that if he stopped, they’d interrupt with a dozen questions and he’d end up reliving everything anyway.
“She works her ass off on her thesis,” he continued. “Like, full academic feral mode. She’s basically been using archaeology as a coping mechanism, which honestly? Good for her. Better than the alternatives.”
Steve’s gaze stayed locked on him, unblinking.
“Her father is…” Pietro paused, as if begrudgingly admitting something surprising. “He’s good. He’s actually good. Sympathetic. He doesn’t push. He listens. He makes time whenever she contacts him. Same with her grandmother. Maria is–” Pietro shook his head, almost in disbelief. “Maria is adorable. Protective in this quiet, terrifying way.”
Wanda’s hand rose to cover her mouth, eyes shining again.
“They made her their priority,” Pietro said, firm. “Like immediately. No hesitation. No weirdness. No ‘prove you belong.’ Just–” He snapped his fingers. “You’re here, we’ve got you.”
Steve’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Is she… staying there?”
“She’s still at the hotel,” Pietro said, then added quickly, “but I think she’s finally going to accept moving into his place. She’s more comfortable now. She doesn’t flinch when he walks into the room. She doesn’t look like she’s waiting to be kicked out.”
Wanda pressed a hand to her chest like that sentence physically hurt.
Pietro’s gaze softened for a second, because he wasn’t made of stone even if he pretended to be.
Then he hardened again, because there was one question he knew they were carrying like dynamite.
“No,” he said before they could ask it. “She doesn’t talk about Bucky. She doesn’t say his name. She doesn’t even come close.”
Steve’s eyes flickered down, then back up. Wanda’s face tightened, anger and sadness warring across her features.
Pietro didn’t let them linger there.
“She did talk about her past,” he said. “Not all of it, not every detail, but enough. With her dad. And he handled it the way he should’ve. Open. Gentle. Paternal. No judgment. No pushing. Just…” He spread his hands, searching for the right word. “Present.”
Steve’s shoulders loosened slightly at that, like the idea of you being met with the right kind of care made something in him unclench.
Pietro finally stopped talking and looked at them both.
He tilted his head, eyes bright with a challenge that wasn’t cruel – just tired.
“Questions?” he asked. “Or did I cover pretty much everything you showed up to pry out of me?”
Wanda blinked.
Steve opened his mouth, closed it again, then let out a long breath through his nose.
Wanda’s voice came out small. “She’s really okay?”
Pietro’s expression softened despite himself.
“Yes,” he said. “She’s really okay.”
Steve nodded once, sharp. “Does she–” He stopped, jaw tightening. He tried again. “Does she want… space from us?”
Pietro studied him for a moment.
“She didn’t say she never wants to see you again,” he said carefully. “She just… can’t hold all of it right now. Not you, not Wanda, not her mom, not–” He didn’t say Bucky’s name. He didn’t need to. “She’s holding the pieces she can manage. That’s all.”
Wanda wiped at her cheek quickly, frustrated with her own tears. “Did she say anything about… coming back?”
Pietro’s mouth tightened. He shrugged, but it wasn’t casual.
“She didn’t talk about timelines,” he admitted. “But she’s planning. Europe after the doctorate. She’s thinking about the future again.” His gaze sharpened. “That’s a good sign.”
Steve’s eyes closed briefly, relief crossing his face like a wave he didn’t want them to see. When he opened them again, he looked at Pietro with a kind of quiet gratitude that made Pietro uncomfortable.
Pietro cleared his throat, immediately defensive. “Don’t look at me like that. I didn’t do anything heroic. I just showed up.”
Steve’s mouth twitched. “Yeah,” he said softly. “You did.”
Wanda stepped forward suddenly and hugged Pietro, surprising him.
He stiffened for half a second – pure reflex – then wrapped his arms around her with a quiet sigh.
When she pulled back, she looked at him with wet eyes and tried to smile. “Thank you.”
Pietro rolled his eyes again, because if he didn’t, he might actually start feeling things. “You’re welcome. Now stop stalking me.”
Steve huffed a faint laugh – small, real – and it was the first time Pietro had heard that sound from him in weeks.
They stood there for a moment longer, the tension in the room shifting from panic to something heavier but more manageable: waiting, hope, the dull ache of missing you.
And Pietro – still holding the boundary you’d asked for – made it clear with his posture, with the set of his shoulders and the sharpness of his gaze, that this was all they were getting for now.
Because for once, the priority wasn’t their need to know. It was you.
Steve’s question came after a lull – after Wanda had stopped wiping at her eyes, after Pietro had made them sit down instead of pacing like anxious ghosts in his living room.
Steve was perched on the edge of the armchair like he didn’t quite trust himself to relax. Wanda sat beside him on the couch, hands clasped together so tightly her knuckles were pale. Pietro remained standing for a moment, leaning against the kitchen counter with his arms crossed, the posture of someone who was very deliberately holding the line.
Steve cleared his throat.
“So… her father,” he said carefully, like he was stepping onto thin ice. “What does he do?”
Pietro’s gaze sharpened immediately. Not defensive exactly – strategic. You had asked him not to tell. Not where you were, not why, not the details that would make anyone else insert themselves into your life before you were ready.
He chose his words with the precision of someone who lived in them.
“He runs his own company,” Pietro said. “Tech.”
Steve’s brows lifted slightly. “Tech?”
Pietro nodded. “Yeah. Big enough that he has people handling most of the day-to-day. But he’s… involved. He’s the kind of guy who’s in charge because he actually built the thing.”
Steve absorbed that in silence. His expression didn’t shift much, but something in his eyes did – understanding, maybe, of what that implied. Power. Reach. Resources. The kind of stability you’d never had to lean on before.
“Okay,” Steve said quietly, and nodded once.
Wanda’s gaze flicked between them, sensing there was more there – something Pietro wasn’t saying. She didn’t push. She knew better.
Pietro exhaled slowly, then added, “He talked to her about her biological mother.”
Steve’s head tilted. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Pietro confirmed, and his voice went a shade more serious. “He told her who she was. What she did. What she was like.” A beat. “He didn’t sugarcoat it. Their story wasn’t… easy.”
Wanda’s lips parted slightly. “Is she–”
“She’s gone,” Pietro said, cutting the question off before it could fully form. Not harshly. Just… firmly. “Not in the picture. And from what he said… she probably won’t ever be.”
The room went quiet again, that particular silence where people rearranged their expectations in their heads – where grief shifted shape.
Steve stared at the floor for a few seconds, jaw tight, then looked back up.
“Bucky broke up with Natasha,” he said.
Pietro’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn’t look surprised – more like he was checking whether Steve was telling the truth or just hoping it was true.
“When?” Pietro asked.
“Yesterday,” Steve replied. “He went to her place first thing in the morning. It was… bad.” His voice softened for a moment, then steadied again. “But it was the right thing to do.”
Pietro held Steve’s gaze for a long second, then nodded once – approval, but not forgiveness, not yet.
“And we cleaned her apartment,” Steve added, almost like a confession. “Me and him. We didn’t touch her stuff. We just… cleaned. Took out expired food. Changed the sheets. Made it… livable again.”
Pietro’s expression tightened at the mention of the apartment, as if he could picture it too clearly – the place you’d left behind with a door click and a silence like a blade.
“She’d hate coming back to it dirty,” Wanda murmured, voice small.
“Exactly,” Steve said, nodding.
Pietro didn’t comment on the coming back part. He didn’t discourage it either. He simply let it sit in the air like something they all needed.
Then he lifted his chin slightly, eyes moving from Wanda to Steve.
“And before you ask,” Pietro said, tone clipped but not cruel, “she’s still keeping her phone off most of the time.”
Wanda’s face fell. Steve’s shoulders stiffened.
“She hasn’t read any messages,” Pietro continued. “Hasn’t listened to any voicemails. Nothing.”
Steve swallowed. “So she hasn’t–”
“No,” Pietro said simply. “She hasn’t seen what you sent. Or what he sent.”
Wanda let out a shaky breath, fingers twisting together in her lap. “But she called her mom.”
Steve nodded once. “Bucky told me.”
Pietro’s gaze stayed steady. “Yeah. That happened. That’s… something.”
His tone made it clear what he meant: it wasn’t a door flung open, but it was proof you weren’t cutting every tether. Proof you were choosing contact in the places that felt safest. Proof you were still there.
Steve leaned back slightly, as if the information was both relief and heartbreak in equal measure.
“So we just…” Steve started, then trailed off.
Pietro’s expression didn’t soften, but it wasn’t unkind.
“You wait,” he said. “You live your lives. You stop spiraling. And you let her decide when she’s ready.”
Wanda blinked hard, tears threatening again.
Steve’s jaw tightened. “And Bucky?”
Pietro’s eyes flickered – brief, sharp.
“Bucky can wait too,” he said flatly. “He doesn’t get to rush the healing just because he finally decided to be honest.”
Steve nodded slowly, like he couldn’t argue with that even if it hurt.
The three of them sat in the thick quiet of Pietro’s apartment, the city noise muffled outside the windows, each of them holding the same fragile truth in different hands:
Summary: In the aftermath of Joanne’s shooting, Bucky reaches out to the one person who has been helping them stay off the radar. He also comes to a difficult decision.
Length: 5 K
Characters: Bucky, Joanne, Nick Fury, Dr. Fine, Maria Hill.
Warnings and other notes: Gunshot injury, difficult decision. I wish we had seen more of Dr. Fine in the MCU, other than in CATWS. He seemed very capable of handling traumatic injuries. That being said, it's movie medicine. Don't @ me.
<<Chapter 22
When a pistol is fired, the pressing of the trigger makes the firing pin strike the primer of the cartridge, which causes a spark that ignites the gunpowder, creating the "flash." The gases from that burning powder expand, pushing a bullet down the barrel until it exits the barrel at high speed. This produces the distinctive "bang" sound. It happens so quickly that for the person firing the gun, the flash and the bang happen almost simultaneously. The pistol then extracts and ejects the spent or empty cartridge casing, and, in a semi-automatic weapon, loads a new round into the chamber from the magazine. The pistol is now ready for the trigger to be pulled again. This process takes a fraction of a second for an expert marksman.
Bucky heard the firing pin strike the primer of the cartridge and had already pulled Joanne towards him before she heard the bang. As fast as he was, he was unable to stop her from being hit by a bullet, but he was able to move her body so that the shot hit her in the shoulder instead of the chest. In the moment that passed as he pushed her to the ground and out of the line of fire, he knew it was the mercenary who had gone off to hot wire a car who was responsible.
That man, who moments before, took a short walk towards a vehicle he hoped to steal, heard a yell behind him just as he noticed his cell phone had a signal and turned to yell at his partner. He was in time to see the man being cuffed by the Asset, while the woman was standing right there with him. His instinct told him to fire his gun at the pair; in the way he had been trained when he was in the military. When the woman cried out in pain from the bullet hitting her, the shooter knew that the Asset's response would be quick and deadly. His instinct kicked in again, urging him to run as quickly as he could, but to still fire at the super soldier, in a frantic but futile attempt to get away before the Asset caught up. The flight response was just not fast enough against a man who had been genetically and physically modified into an enhanced human being with strength and speed unequaled by mere normal men.
Cut down by several bullets to the back of his legs, the mercenary shakily aimed his gun at the angry dark-haired man who was now standing over him, dropping bullets that were caught out of the air and were now in his metal hand onto the mercenary's chest. Even firing his gun at point-blank range at the Asset made no difference. Each instance of squeezing the trigger, accompanied by the bright flash and thunderous bang, was useless, as the titanium hand caught the bullets, hardly reacting to the impact of each shot. Then the Asset dropped those bullets on the mercenary, with a look that could only be described as murderous. The bullets hit the fallen man's chest and rolled off onto the ground. The pungent smell of gunpowder invaded his nasal passages, reinforcing the precarious state the mercenary now found himself in.
"Please, don't kill me," he begged, throwing his gun to the side and putting his hands up to shield himself, however inadequate the gesture was.
"Give me one good reason why," answered Bucky, the icy calm nature of what HYDRA made him taking over at this point.
The man sputtered and tried several times to say something to defend himself, but he knew that he had nothing. Shooting the woman was just the most recent transgression he committed against the Asset. He had been present and had taken part in some of the abuse levelled against the Winter Soldier when he was still HYDRAs captive. Not once had he ever treated the man as a human being. Right at that moment, he was remembering everything he ever did to the man who now held his life in his hands, and he accepted that he didn't deserve to live. Swallowing, and almost choking because his mouth and throat were bone dry, he shook his head.
"I don't ...."
He closed his mouth, then closed his eyes, waiting for the bullet that would end it all. Surprisingly, he felt a hand on his shoulder, so that he was sitting up, then he was lifted and carried underneath the Asset's arm, like he was a shopping basket or a football. It was humiliating and undignified, but he wasn't going to say anything because he knew the man could tear him apart with his hands. When they got to where the woman and his partner were both laying unconscious on the ground, he still said nothing, then watched as the Asset tore open the back of the Navigator, looked through what was there until he found another set of titanium cuffs, dropped him heavily on the ground, and put the cuffs on him. The Asset took a first aid kit out and began tending to the woman.
"Is she...?"
"Shut the fuck up before I change my mind," snarled the Asset, tearing open her shirt and determining that the bullet went completely through her shoulder. Gently, he packed the wounds with several of the dressings in the first aid kit then he taped it all down, carefully covering her up with his jacket and caressing her face. He looked at the terrified man. "You're lucky she's alive. If she wasn't ...."
"What are you going to do to me?"
"I'm going to make sure you can't go anywhere and I'm going to call someone to pick you up." He shifted so that he was directly in front of him. "I remember you, Nelson, and your partner, Purdue. He was marginally nicer but you're both scum. But I won't kill you because I've killed enough."
"Rumlow's looking for you."
"I know."
Standing up, Bucky, who had recognized how the man saw him, went to the front of the vehicle, lifting the hood. He tore out a bunch of wiring, then went to the back of the Navigator and found a roll of duct tape. He taped up Purdue's legs, then did the same to Nelson. Taking the tracking equipment out of the front seat, he tore it apart, leaving the pieces on the ground, and crushed their cell phones. Finally, he picked up their weapons, putting them in a bag he found in the back and putting it over his shoulder. Picking Joanne up, bridal style, he carried her to the other parking lot and laid her down in the back seat of their vehicle, buckling her in as best he could. Still on auto-pilot, he opened her purse, and found the satellite phone.
She needed help and there was only one person who could do it and keep her safe. Turning the phone on, he waited for it to be functional, then found the only contact on it, Nick Fury, the man he tried to kill twice, who survived both attempts. He pressed the call button and stood up, watching where he left the two mercenaries, making sure they didn't try anything, even though he left them trussed up and in no position to move. The phone rang three times before it was answered by a man.
"Ms. Phelps, what do you need?"
"It's Bucky Barnes. She needs help, medical help. I can't take her to a hospital."
"What happened?" The question was curt, blunt.
"We ... I got trapped by two mercenaries that were working with HYDRA. They paralyzed me but she followed them. I think the AI at the River bunker was able to mess with their car computer, so they had to pull off the road. She got shot in the shoulder by one of them."
There was silence for just a moment.
"Take her to this address," replied Fury. "Someone there can tend to her. It's not too far from where you are right now."
Of course, the satellite phone could be tracked when in use. It's why she kept it turned off. Bucky committed the address to memory, repeating it back to the other man.
"Thank you," he said. "The two mercenaries are here. They're working for Brock Rumlow."
"Dead or alive?" asked Fury. Bucky answered. "I'll send someone to pick them up. When you get to that address, don't leave her there alone. I'm coming to see you."
The call ended, giving Bucky no chance to disagree. Anxiety settled over him and he breathed deeply to lessen it. Then he bent over Joanne again, placing his right hand on her forehead. She was cool and clammy. He had to take care of her, and the baby. They were his responsibility.
Almost an hour later he pulled up to a singular address in a mostly barren industrial park north of Washington. It was the type of building that could be used as a small manufacturing facility or warehouse for a niche product, except there was no company name or other identifying marks on the exterior. The parking lot was empty. There were active security cameras outside, and Bucky knew he was already caught on film, but it was where Fury told him to go. For her sake, he had no choice but to trust the man.
Parking the car, he opened the back seat door, unbuckled Joanne's seatbelt, and picked her up in his arms, closing the car door with his foot. She was still unconscious. The cameras followed him as he approached the door, then it opened and a man with glasses came out, pushing a gurney.
"Put her on here and follow me," he said. Bucky laid Joanne on the gurney but hesitated to enter the building. "It's not a trap. Fury just wants to talk to you when he gets here." He read the real fear that the former Winter Soldier was feeling and softened his tone. "He doesn't blame you for what they made you do. It's okay, really. I'm alone here."
Swallowing that fear, Bucky pushed the gurney through the door, following the man.
"I'm Dr. Fine," said the other man, as he led Bucky through a maze of hallways. "I worked for SHIELD. Still do, although we're in a bit of a shambles thanks to HYDRA." He burst through a swinging door into what looked like a medical treatment room. "I know you don't like these types of places, but I'll need your help, okay?"
Silently, Bucky did everything the talkative doctor told him to do, accepting that the man was skilled and efficient at his job, as he explained everything he was doing to Joanne. He quickly cut her shirt away and undid the dressings, complimenting Bucky for the good job he did as he examined the wound. He repacked it, then hooked her up to an IV, adding another small bag to it, explaining it was a general antibiotic.
"She's pregnant," said Bucky. "That won't hurt the baby, will it?"
Dr. Fine hesitated, then looked up at the dark-haired man.
"No, it won't. I'm going to do an X-ray then take blood to confirm the pregnancy as I assume she hasn't seen a doctor about it yet."
With Bucky's help, he wheeled her to a small X-ray room, positioning her on the bed. Placing a lead apron over her abdomen and chest, he brought Bucky behind the barrier with him and took the exposure. When it was ready, he showed Bucky the image on the computer screen, confirming that no bones were broken, and no bullet fragments were still in the wound. Wheeling Joanne back to the treatment room, he put an oxygen mask on her, took the blood sample, excused himself and went through a door, just as Fury and a dark-haired woman appeared. The woman approached them, taking Joanne's hand, and squeezing it.
"She's very brave. When Fury told me how she chose to help you when everyone else was trying to hunt you down, I admired her for her commitment to you. She stood up to HYDRA better than a lot of people."
"I love her." It was the first time he said it out loud to anyone, and the thought of it brought tears to his eyes. "I'm terrified for her, that I'll get her killed or that they'll find her and hurt her."
"Can I call you Bucky?" asked the woman. He nodded. "My name is Maria. We know the truth about you. Joanne gave us Pierce's laptop and the papers you took from his safe. Along with the encrypted files that were released on the internet, we've been trying to build a case for you, for when you're ready to come in, but it's slow work wading through so many years of their actions, especially since there are still trust issues with certain people who could make it easier for us. We know that she believes in you. So does Bill Linderman and we worked with him as well until he left to get his cancer treated." She noticed Bucky's surprised look at that bit of news. "I'm guessing by your reaction that he didn't tell you." He nodded. "I suppose he didn't want to burden either of you. He's responding well to treatment." She looked back at Fury, who nodded for her to keep going. "If Rumlow finds her he will hurt her to control you."
It didn't take much to read between the lines, even for someone like him who was still relatively new at it.
"I have to leave her, don't I?" he asked.
"I'm afraid so," said Maria, sympathetically. She looked down at Joanne. "Stay with her for a while. You're safe here and together we'll figure out the best way to help you."
She returned to Fury's side, lowering her voice.
"You heard him?"
"I heard. I'm going to talk to Fine."
He had already contacted River for its version of what happened after he spoke to Bucky, not happy that the AI hadn't performed better at keeping the pair safe. Fury wasn't sure what they could do about the trackers inside Bucky's body, but they would have to figure out something soon, as he was sure the man wasn't going to hang around long. Turning towards the small lab he found Dr. Fine reading test results on a computer screen.
"Trouble?" he asked entering the small room.
"Yeah," sighed the doctor. He gestured to the display. "Look for yourself. This should have taken longer to run but these results came up within minutes. They complicate everything. If HYDRA finds out they will still come after her even if she leaves him."
Fury looked at the diagnosis on the screen then lowered his voice. "You're sure?"
"Yeah, he told me she was when I was setting up the antibiotics. She's pregnant, at about the 6-week mark. I'm guessing the foetus has inherited his abilities to send all her levels through the roof like this. These aren't the readings for a normal pregnancy." He took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes, before putting them back on. "I should stitch her wounds. The bullet went through but with the wound being in her shoulder it will keep opening."
The other man didn't respond, just kept looking at the screen. Then he left the doctor, returning to where Bucky was still sitting with Joanne. Maria, sitting by the door, looked up at her boss, seeing the grimmer than usual demeanour. She started to speak but he shook his head.
"Could you give us a moment? Dr. Fine can fill you in."
Approaching the bed, Fury stood across from Bucky, watching how the super soldier avoided looking at him. His guilty conscience was fully on display as he blamed himself for Joanne's injury.
"How did you know to call me?" asked Fury, finally.
Bucky looked at the man incredulously, but the spy master's expression didn't change. He wanted an honest answer to his obvious question.
"After that day when you flew the helicopter to the safe house, she told me everything," he replied, quietly. "It was the day she gave you the laptop and Pierce's files. You saw me watching. How did you survive and why haven't you arrested me?"
"I should arrest you." Fury sighed. "But all that would do is put you into an ultra maximum prison called the Raft, and they'll treat you like a lab rat. I think you've had enough of that to last you forever, considering you already experienced a lifetime's worth of poking and prodding, not to mention the treatments and the torture. I'm not a big fan of hospitals myself." He breathed out. "I almost died. You were very effective, but I had something that could make it look like I did die, then Dr. Fine spirited me away to recover. Surprised the hell out of Alexander Pierce when I showed up at the Triskelion to stop Project Insight."
"It's too dangerous for her now, isn't it?" Fury said nothing. "I heard another heartbeat inside her. She's pregnant." He shook his head. "We got careless, began to believe we could have a life together."
"Dr Fine confirmed it. You know what could happen to her if the wrong people find her?"
Bucky nodded, then stroked her hair, while his lips trembled, and his eyes became glassy. "I love her, you know. She was afraid of me at first, then she became sympathetic, then it became more. I owe her so much."
"We can take care of her and help you get away to a safe place."
"You know that's not enough. Even if you do send me somewhere else, I'll know about the baby and if HYDRA gets me, they can make me tell them." He breathed raggedly. "There's only one way to make sure she and the baby are safe." He looked up at Fury with an agonized expression on his face. "You have to activate the Asset and order me to forget about her."
"Will that even work?"
"Honestly, I don't know but it's the only thing I can think of. Doing it goes against every instinct I have as a man." He focused on Fury again. "In my day, a man that abandoned a pregnant woman was the worst kind of man; a bastard, a scoundrel, someone who deserved to be spat upon. But I would do that to keep them safe. That's what is most important now." He clenched his jaw to keep his lips from trembling before he spoke again, his voice almost a whisper. "I have to forget them to protect them."
"Does she know she's pregnant?"
"I think so. She bought a morning after pill, but I guess it didn't work. Lately, she's been throwing up in the morning before I got up, thinking I wouldn't notice but I did."
"Barnes, tell her that you know and what you've decided. I'll give you some privacy until Dr. Fine has to stitch her up."
He nodded his head at Fury as the man left him at Joanne's bedside. Pulling a chair over, he took her hand in his, kissing it then pressing it into his cheek. For all that he had done as the Winter Soldier, the decision he just made to forget was the one that cut into his heart like a knife. She might never forgive him, but she and their child would never be at risk from him. He believed, without a doubt, that Fury would keep them both safe.
Dr. Fine came in shortly after with a suture kit. Bucky stood up to leave but the doctor gestured for him to stay, then washed and dried his hands before slipping on some latex gloves. He took the dressing off the front of Joanne's shoulder. Her eyes fluttered open, landing on Bucky first, then on their surroundings. Taking her hand in his, he raised it to his lips and kissed it, which brought a look of understanding from her.
"Hey," he said softly.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice muffled even more by the oxygen mask. "You turned yourself in."
"No, I just made a phone call," he answered.
Her eyes glistened. "I can't ... I can't do this anymore.”
"I know." He gestured to Dr. Fine. "The doctor is going to stitch you up then we'll talk, okay?"
She nodded then turned her attention to the doctor, who clipped an O2 monitor onto her finger.
"Hi, Joanne. I'm Dr. Fine. I work with Nick Fury but don't hold that against me. I'm one of the good guys. It looks like the bullet went through without damaging too much. The baby is fine. Your blood work is strange, but I think it's because of the special nature of your pregnancy. We'll talk more about it later, when you're a little less stressed." He checked the readout for her oxygen levels. "I think we can take the mask off for a while."
Gently, he removed the mask while she switched her gaze to Bucky, displaying the regret at keeping her secret. He could feel his throat tighten and wanted to cry himself.
"I know about the baby as well. That morning after pill didn't work, did it?"
She shook her head. "No." Her voice was barely a whisper. "Bucky, I want to have it. I don't want...."
He took her hand and kissed it, then stroked her hair as Dr. Fine quickly sutured the front wound and put fresh dressings on it. Then, with Bucky's help, they turned her over and he sutured the wound on the back, before dressing it, and taking the suture tray with him. Helping her onto her back but raising her bed a little, Bucky took her hand in his again.
"I want you to have it, too, but HYDRA can't ever know about it. Fury is going to help you and keep you safe."
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you about the baby. I'm sorry."
"I'm not. I love you, you know. If you love me then you and the baby will be the only good things to come out of my life, because it was made out of something I never thought I would have."
She cried at his words and repeated similar ones back to him as he kissed her through her tears. The hardest part was still to be said, and he found it almost impossible to tell her.
"I have to do something to make sure that you and the baby will be safe." She didn't understand and he inhaled a shaky breath. "I have to forget you, permanently."
"No! Bucky, no. Why?"
"Because if they catch me and activate me, I'll tell them about you and the baby, and they won't stop until they find you. So, I have to forget you and there's only one way to do that."
He waited for her to figure it out and when she did, she fell apart, in a way that cut him to his core. Sobs erupted from her throat, and she pulled his face to hers, kissing him as she cried. They kept on kissing as he raised her from the bed and sat on top of it. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her as if he was committing this moment to a memory that would soon be erased.
"I thought I was strong enough to help you."
Stroking her hair, he bent down to her ear. "You're the strongest person I know. I'm better because of you. You showed me that it was okay to trust and to love. I'll never forget that where it counts." He kissed the side of her head, tenderly. "I love you."
Stretching out next to her, he held her in his arms until she fell asleep, the exhaustion from the day still draining her. For some time, he studied her face, then a movement at the window of the swinging door drew his attention to Maria smiling grimly at him, then gesturing. Carefully, he extracted himself from Joanne's side and covered her up with the blanket. Quietly, he moved to the door and stepped through it.
"Fury wants to talk with you about what has to happen next. I can stay with her, so she won't be alone when she wakes up."
"Thank you," he replied. "You were there that day, weren't you? At the Triskelion. I could hear your voice in Steve's comms."
"Yeah, I activated the command for the helicarriers to fire against each other. Steve believed in you; said that you were still in there."
A little huff was his response. "I remember some things about him, but a lot is still all jumbled up. I don't know if I'll ever get it back. Does he know that I'm here?"
She shook her head. "No. He's a good man but he can be very impatient and inflexible about some things. Fury thought it would be better if you had space to figure things out on your own timeline." She smiled in a way that made him feel good. "Fury didn't tell me about you either and I've been his right hand for a long time, but I think that's because I was going to testify to the feds while under oath. He didn't want me lying to them. Go on to the third door on the right. I'll stay here."
She took his place beside the bed while he went to the room. The door was open, showing Fury at a table with a partially full glass in front of him. Closing the door behind him, Bucky stepped inside and waited.
"Drink?" asked Fury.
He gestured to Bucky to sit down, then wheeled his chair back to a table that held some more glasses and a bottle. He brought both back to the table and poured a half glass for Bucky, then topped his back up to half full. They both took a sip then the one-eyed man sighed.
"Are the words going to be enough?"
Closing his eyes in resignation, Bucky shook his head.
"I don't know. They always used the device and the words together to bring the Asset out."
"I watched some of the videos of the process. It was barbaric and the fact that a man I thought I knew stood by and watched it with anticipation still bothers me." Fury drank again, wishing he could give into the rage he still felt. "Alexander Pierce was my friend for over 30 years. All that time he was HYDRA, and I didn't know it. The moment I was close to uncovering what he was doing, without even knowing it was him; he sent you after me, without a second thought. I doubt he gave any thought to you as a person, either. You were a victim of HYDRA, and when Cap insisted that you were still there underneath all that programming I didn't believe him, but you were. The fact you didn't kill him proved that."
"I almost did." Bucky sipped his drink. "I remembered that he was always small and weak, but he had a big mouth. He didn't let his size stop him when he thought someone was in the wrong. It got him beat up more than once. I'd find him, face bloodied and his clothes torn, in an alley somewhere, help him up and tend to his wounds. How he looked then was how he looked on that helicarrier and the memory of helping him before made me stop."
"The memory suppression device is still at the bank building," said Fury, watching Bucky's reaction. "There have been people who want to know how it works because the video footage of it was deleted."
Bucky smirked, understanding that Fury had done that much. "You can't let them figure it out," he said. "It should be destroyed after you use it on me." Their eyes met. "It's the best way to overwrite the last few months. Do you have some of the scientists in custody?" Fury didn't answer but didn't lower his gaze. "They can disable the trackers in me, as well. They're the ones who put them in me."
"The thought occurred to me." The former SHIELD director leaned towards Bucky. "Everything in me as an operative is saying to send you to the Raft and lock you up for good. But the man in me, the man who is still dealing with the betrayal of an old friend, knows that you've been staying out of trouble as best you can. Other than the unfortunate woman you shot when she tried to say the words, you haven't killed anyone. You've shown remarkable restraint."
"Promise me that it will be destroyed after." Bucky drained his glass and looked Fury in the eye. "You find all of them and tear them to pieces so that no one can ever do this to another human ever again."
"I promise, even if it takes years. I assume you know where they are." Bucky nodded. "Alright. I'll have to find a way to get the authorities out of the Ideal Federal Savings Bank and get those scientists in there. You'll go through the process, and I'll say the words then I'll give you your final orders. If it works, you'll forget everything about Joanne Phelps."
Fury drained his glass, and the two men sat in silence. There was still a lot to talk about and plan for. With Rumlow out and about it was going to be more dangerous for Barnes but there were still places in the world where he could hide effectively. It was unfortunate that he would have to start all over again, as the procedure would no doubt take away a lot of what Barnes had regained. It made Fury so fucking mad. Damn Alexander Pierce for being the man behind HYDRA. Damn them all for what they did to this man and tried to do to the world. Damn himself for not noticing and acting sooner. Nick Fury rarely expressed regrets, but he would regret that failure for a long time. Not that it would mean a god damned thing to James Buchanan Barnes.
Chapter 24>>
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