For You
Title: For You
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Analyst!Reader
Word Count: 9.7k
Warnings: Injured reader, fluff, angst, kissing, and mentions of blood, broken bones, surgery, and the Blip
Summary: Y/N is an analyst at the compound, but there’s something about her that Bucky can’t quite place. After an attack, he finds out that her secret involves more than just herself.
A/N: This takes place after Endgame, but everybody lives! This fic is probably a little more niche, but I hope you all enjoy it anyway. As always, thank you for reading and supporting me in all the ways you do. Dividers by @firefly-graphics
His new therapist has instilled it in him to look for constants to ground himself, things in his life that he can always count on, though Bucky is fairly certain that that instinct has been there long before the doctor put words to it. He’s always thrived on consistency, even before the war.
By far, his favorite constant is the playlist that Y/N plays every night as she readies for bed. Their bedrooms share a wall. He can vaguely place the instrument as a violin, or maybe a cello, but he’s never had the nerve to ask her which. He hadn’t been allowed to listen to music during his imprisonment, and before he fell off the train, he was always more focused on the company than the background music. He didn’t—and still doesn’t—go to a lot of concerts, either, which leaves him in the lurch when it comes to identifying instruments.
The faint strains wind their way from the speaker in her room to Bucky’s apartment. Every night he listens for it. When the music finally arrives, he closes his eyes and lets it carry him to sleep. On the nights when the nightmares plague him and keep him from fully drifting off, Bucky listens all the way through her playlist. Though he doesn’t know any of their names, he can recognize most of the songs by now, even when she stops them partway through or listens to the same few sections over and over again. The constant rewinding is an odd habit, that much he could admit, but her music has become a source of comfort for him. She rarely adds new songs, too, which he appreciates.
Bucky never mentions to anyone how much he enjoys listening to Y/N’s music. His interactions with her are few and far between, and he knows the team would give him hell if he admitted any kind of link with her. She’d joined the team as an analyst during the last year of the Blip, and she’d moved into the compound when it became clear that she could do her job more efficiently if she was nearby. Originally, she’d had the whole hallway to herself, but once Bucky and the rest of the population returned and the compound had been rebuilt, Bucky took an apartment next door to hers. He hadn’t initially wanted to have a direct neighbor, but Fury had insisted that the units be given out sequentially, and Bucky hadn’t wanted to start a fight. Either way, that part of the residential wing now holds two occupants, both of which keep to themselves. He’s perfectly happy with the arrangement.
“You were up late last night,” Sam says, and Bucky grunts as he pours himself a cup of coffee. It’s thick and dark, which means that he’ll have to add more sugar than usual. Whoever made the pot clearly doesn’t know the value of good coffee in the morning, or maybe they just don’t care.
“Aren’t you gonna ask me how I know that?” Sam presses after a few moments.
Bucky can feel him staring and he sighs, reaching for the glass sugar container pushed up against the wall. Sam takes a sip of his own coffee.
“Did you get your little bird to follow me around?”
Sam scowls, almost a perfect mirror of Bucky’s own expression. “His name is Redwing, and no. I was in Y/N’s room last night. It was pretty late when I left and I could hear you moving around in your room.”
“Oh, that’s not creepy at all,” Bucky remarks. Sam narrows his eyes, which Bucky ignores as he spoons sugar into his mug and then pushes the container back into place. “I didn’t know you and Y/N were friends.”
Shrugging, Sam shifts his mug to the other hand and grabs one of the muffins Wanda had left out for the team. She’s been on a baking kick lately, not that Bucky’s complaining.
“We’re friendly enough. Are you?”
“Am I what?”
“Friends with Y/N,” Sam replies.
Bucky glances over at him, suspicious. “No. We only talk when she’s helping on missions. Why?”
Sam only hums in response and takes a bite of the muffin. He’s being obnoxious on purpose, but Bucky doesn’t have the energy to take the bait and fight back. He had been up late the night before. Y/N’s music hadn’t helped like it normally did, so Bucky had worked out on the floor, forced himself to journal for his therapy appointment, and paced the perimeter of his room. By the time he finally wore himself out, the sun was about to rise. He’d only slept maybe an hour before his alarm had gone off.
“She plays louder for you, you know,” Sam says, shouting after Bucky as he leaves the kitchen.
The hallways of the compound are blissfully empty, which allows Bucky to relax a little as he walks back to his room. His temple throbs and he ignores it, taking a sip from his mug. The coffee scalds his throat on the way down. It doesn’t matter—the serum never lets his tongue or fingers be burned any longer than an hour unless it’s major.
Turning down the hallway of his apartment, Bucky pauses for a split-second at the sight of Y/N backing out of her room.
“Good morning, Sergeant Barnes,” she says, shooting him a quick smile.
He returns it, though from the worried look she gives him in response, he can only assume that his expression held more of a grimace than anything.
Y/N turns her attention back to her doorway as Bucky passes by, and he catches a glimpse of a black wheeled case. It just barely fits through the door. She pulls it out of her room and steadies it with one hand when it rocks as it rolls over the vinyl divider separating her apartment carpet from the concrete hallway.
“I’ll see you around!” she calls after him.
Bucky glances back over his shoulder, surprised that she even thought to say goodbye after his initial response, and he lifts his mug in farewell. Y/N smiles again—a warm, devastatingly genuine smile that makes Bucky’s stomach flip and his throat tighten—then turns forward and keeps walking.
Her black case trails steadily behind her. Bucky stares after her for a moment, watching as she turns the corner towards the elevators. He feels like he should know what’s inside of it, but he can’t quite put his finger on whatever it is. The case definitely doesn’t hold weapons, at least not any that he’s seen before, though it’s very possible Stark created new tech without telling him. Then again, Y/N isn't the person to be testing new tech anyway. She has minimal field training; all employees in the compound have to master a list of basic defense skills and she’s no exception. Bucky’s seen her in action. She can hold her own, but she isn’t one to go out of the way to try a new tactic or do something fancy. That means it probably isn't new tech, and that irritates him more. His temple throbs again.
Why can’t I figure this out? What the hell is it?
Shaking his head, Bucky keeps walking and heads into his apartment. The door slams behind him, muffling FRIDAY’s automatic greeting.
“Dim the lights,” Bucky grumbles, and the room immediately gets darker. “Mission status report?”
“Captain Rogers and Agent Romanoff are scheduled to return at 0800 hours. The mission was successful and there were no injuries. Would you like me to contact them?”
Bucky lets out a sigh of relief. “No, thank you.” He pauses, sipping his coffee and staring out at the forest that lines the property. Sam is headed across the lawn towards the tree line, no doubt to test the new Redwing tech he’s been working on with Torres. The soldier had been here earlier in the week. Bucky had hid in his apartment.
“Do I have anything I have to go to today?”
“Your schedule is clear, Sergeant Barnes. Would you like me to add something?” FRIDAY asks.
“No,” he answers, maybe a little too quickly. Then again, FRIDAY won’t judge him, at least not to his face.
The carved wooden coaster Y/N had bought him on the only vacation she’d taken since before the Blip has gotten lost somewhere under the bed. He’d probably knocked it down during a nightmare. Silently, he takes another sip from his mug and then sets it down in the bare spot on the nightstand where the coaster should be before dropping himself onto the edge of the bed. He can feel bad about the water rings on the wood later.
“Is Y/N scheduled to work on any missions this afternoon?” The question escapes before Bucky can even process what he’s thinking, let alone saying.
“Today is Miss Y/L/N’s day off,” FRIDAY reports.
Is it Tuesday already?
Rubbing his eyes with his right hand, Bucky tries to focus. He’s gotten by on less sleep than this before. What’s gotten into him? Why did seeing her in the hallway leave him so rattled?
His phone chimes with a text alert and he drops his hand back down, sighing, then reaches for the device. It’s Steve—they’re on their way back and he’s sent a special report back to Y/N. Though it’s her day off, it’s urgent. Steve asks if Bucky can check in with her to make sure she’s gotten it.
“Why’re you always asking me to ask her this stuff, punk?” Bucky grumbles. He texts that to Steve, then sends another message affirming that he’ll check in with Y/N, regardless of whose job it should be. Steve doesn’t answer.
"FRIDAY, has Y/N left yet?”
“Miss Y/L/N just got off the elevator on the second floor.”
With a groan, Bucky pushes himself up from the mattress and downs the rest of his coffee. He leaves the mug on the nightstand to be cleaned up later, then heads out of his room toward the elevator.
The analysts’ room is only one floor down, but it’s secure and requires a retinal scan or an intense series of passwords. It takes up most of the level, with the exception of a meeting room, the break room, and a small lab where Tony tests his non-lethal designs. There are no windows, mostly due to the confidential nature of the missions, but there is a small one in the break room that Y/N had outfitted with a Roman shade shortly after the new compound had opened. She’d added plants too, claiming that looking at greenery when you’re stressed will help to calm you down. Bucky isn’t sure if he believes her, but when he stays back to help with longer missions, he takes advantage of the window in the break room if the analysts’ room starts to feel claustrophobic.
Y/N’s desk sits against the largest wall of the room so she can have plenty of room for screens, and there’s a glass wall separating her set up from the others. It turns opaque and soundproof at the touch of the button, providing even more confidentiality for important missions. Since joining the team, she’s quickly proven herself to be a vital asset and a good friend to the group. Bucky can easily admit that his job would be a lot harder without her, as would his life. Every mission that she works goes smoother, leaving him with less stress before and after. Between that and the music, life is infinitely better with Y/N as part of the team. Not that he’ll admit it aloud to anyone.
Y/N is now the main analyst at the compound, hence Steve pulling her in on her day off. She won’t complain. She never does. It’s part of what sets her apart from the rest; she, like Steve, never takes a break.
When the elevator doors open, Bucky’s first thought is that the lights shouldn’t be off. Even the emergency panels are dark. His stomach twists in warning, he wishes he’d brought a gun. The hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Something is definitely wrong. His second thought is that Y/N can’t be here like FRIDAY had told him. If she had come down to the analysts’ room, she would’ve told someone about the lights being off right away.
“Hello? Is somebody there? I need help!”
Y/N’s voice echoes through the dark hallways and spurs him to action. Bucky draws back his left fist and smashes the glass protecting the fire emergency kit built into the wall. He grabs the ax and stalks down the hall on high alert. There are no signs of an intruder, but he grips the handle in his right hand and clenches his other into a fist.
“Y/N?” he calls. “Where are you?”
The relief in her voice makes Bucky’s heart clench. “Bucky! I’m at my desk! I’m— I’m stuck, I can’t get out!”
He practically runs to her desk. The serum sharpens his vision enough that he’s able to see the damaged desks strewn in his path despite the blackout, and he climbs over them or pushes them out of the way with ease.
When he gets to her, Bucky sets the ax within arm’s reach and crouches beside Y/N. His brain quickly catalogues the scene, creating a mental list of all the hazards and threats. With no imminent danger from an assailant, the only threat is to Y/N’s health.
The desk has been flipped and she’s pinned underneath it. Most of the weight is on her limbs, but she’s laying on her back and a spike of panic goes through him when he realizes that she could have spinal damage or internal bleeding.
Several of the screens have fallen from the wall onto one of her legs, and shattered glass litters the floor. The glass wall between her desk and the others has been completely destroyed as well. A loose wire lays nearby and the sharp smell of gasoline burns his nostrils the longer he stays beside her.
“FRIDAY?” Bucky called. When there’s no response, he pulls out his phone and orders it to call Tony. He puts the phone on speaker, sets it in a relatively clear spot on the floor, and turns on the flashlight while the call connects.
“Tony, the second floor’s been compromised. Y/N’s trapped and I’m getting her out now. Have Cho prep the medbay for her.”
Tony’s response is just as urgent as he predicted it would be, and almost immediately, Bucky hears the alarms going off on the other floors. No doubt Sam is running in from the forest now, and Steve and Natasha will be alerted that the compound's been compromised. The call ends and he turns his attention back to Y/N.
She shifts slightly, then lets out a sharp cry of pain and a sob. It rips his heart in two.
Focus, he reminds himself. The longer she’s stuck, the greater the damage could be.
“I’ve got you, sweetheart, I’ve got you,” Bucky soothes. “Stay still for me, okay?"
She inhales sharply and nods. “I’m sorry, Sergeant Barnes.”
“It’s not your fault. I need you to stay still so I can get this off of you, alright?”
She nods again, and Bucky gets to work inspecting the desk and screens. Once he’s sure that moving them won’t endanger her any further, he carefully lifts them up, then away. He moves everything closer to where it belongs and then comes back to where she’s still laying on the floor. She hasn’t attempt to move, though he’s not sure if that’s due to her training or if she’s simply unable to.
“Okay, Y/N. You think you can move?” he asks. “Start small.”
“I think so,” she says, though her voice sounds less than confident. She starts to roll over onto her side, but she jerks back in pain and lets out a shout as soon as she puts weight on her arm. The sound of her crying will echo forever in Bucky’s head, he’s sure of it.
“I’ve got you, I’ve got you,” he murmurs. “Hold still.”
He looks her over, searching for blood or exposed bones. There’s nothing that seems extremely dangerous for her, though she’s clearly broken at least one bone in her arm and her pants are dotted with splotches of blood from where the glass has cut through the fabric.
Bucky sits up and looks back toward the elevator, listening for any sign that Stark or the others are on their way. All he can hear is the wail of the sirens reverberating down the elevator shaft. He clenches his teeth.
If they don’t get here soon…
Her voices breaks when she pleads, “Stay.”
Y/N shivers as shock sets in, and he can tell after only a few seconds that she’s clinging to consciousness. Her eyes are unfocused, though her gaze is directed toward him. After a moment more, he resolves himself to get her to the medbay on his own.
“I’m stayin',” he promises. With great care, and slower than he’d like given that he isn’t sure where the intruders went, Bucky shifts her legs so that he can slip his arm underneath the backs of her knees. He wants to adjust her hands so that her wrists are crossed over her chest, but his hands hover over her long enough that she realizes his intentions.
“My wrists…. Bucky…”
She’s never called him solely by his first name. His heart squeezes inside his chest, and for a second he thinks he’s having a heart attack. “I know, sweetheart, I know. I’m gonna get you out of here. I’m gonna carry you up to medbay.”
“What?” Panic fills her expression. His breath catches in his throat. “What? No, Bucky, it hurts! Please don’t—”
She lets out a shout when Bucky lifts her up, cradling her against his chest with his right arm behind her knees and the vibranium one supporting her back. Her wrists rest loosely over her abdomen. Y/N continues to shake, both from the shock and the pain, but also from her continued sobs. Her throat sounds raw and Bucky grits his teeth, his own eyes filling with tears.
As he climbs back over the rubble of the analysts’ room, Bucky tries to keep from jostling her as much as possible, but by the time they reach the elevator, she’s passed out with her head slumped against his chest.
He bends at the knees, squatting down just enough to press the button to call the elevator with one finger. When it doesn't light up, he mutters a curse and turns towards the stairwell door behind him. There’s a noise from the other side of the door, and then it flies off the hinges and he finds himself staring into Tony’s palm. It’s already alight with bright white energy and Bucky instinctively backs away.
“Whoa! Whoa! Hey!” Bucky shouts. “Back off, Stark!”
“Well, don’t stand in front of doors if you don’t want ‘em shoved open! What do we got?” Tony replies. He drops his hand back down to his side, his head turning as he scans the dark analysts’ room behind Bucky for signs of danger or an intruder.
“Power’s out, including FRIDAY and the elevator. I haven’t seen or heard anything since I got down here, but everything’s destroyed and it smells like gas. Not sure if it’s a leak or if they tried to light the place before I got here, but she seems to be breathing fine.”
Tony steps closer. His mask lifts, revealing his face. Bucky doesn’t need any light to see the concern and fear in Stark’s eyes. He’s clearly not the only one affected by Y/N’s state.
“What happened?” Tony asks, glancing down at Y/N.
“I don’t know if they attacked her or if she was trying to keep the information on the computer safe, but I found her pinned underneath her desk. The screens fell, too, but mostly on her legs.”
Tony nods. “Sam’s checking the other floors, but we haven’t found anything. We’ll take it from here. You get her up to see Cho.”
Nodding, Bucky climbs the three flights of stairs to the fifth floor, leaving Tony to search the analysts’ floor for any information on the intruders and their motives.
The medbay is tucked in between the two main labs, where the different researchers have easy access to doctors. They need them more often than they’d like to admit, but thankfully, any researchers in the vicinity evacuated when the alarms went off, leaving the medley clear and the staff free to take care of Y/N.
As soon as the stairwell door opens, Helen is waiting for him. Tony must have relayed that he was on his way up with Y/N, because even when the medical team is ready to stitch people up after missions, they only come running if they knew there’s an emergency. Two medical assistants rush over with a gurney.
“What happened?” Helen asks.
Bucky follows their lead and carefully lays Y/N on the bed as he replies, “She was trapped underneath two smashed screens and a desk. I don’t know what else happened, but she’s definitely injured her arms, wrists, or hands. The cuts on her legs are from the shattered glass. She passed out about two minutes ago, most likely from the pain.”
Helen nods and starts walking behind the gurney as they wheel her away. “We’ll take it from here, Sergeant. We’ll let the team know if there are any significant updates.”
Though he should be relieved that Y/N is in good hands, Bucky’s stomach still twists as he watches the medical team disappear through the double doors and into the medbay. He’s frozen in place as he watches the access light beside the doors turn red, locking out any unwelcome visitors.
A hand on his arm makes him flinch, and he turns, already pushing the person away. Steve immediately backs up to give him space, both hands in the air.
“Whoa, hey. It’s just me, man,” he soothes. “Is Y/N in there?” He nods at the medbay doors, still keeping his distance. He slowly lowers his hands. “Tony told me what happened.”
“The whole floor was destroyed, Steve.”
“Did they hurt her?” Steve asks, a hint of iron in his voice. He clearly doesn’t like the thought of Y/N facing danger alone, either. The entire team loves her. If someone hurt her, they’d pay.
I’d make them pay, Bucky thinks.
“I don’t know.” He clenches his jaw and his fists follow suit. “She was trapped under her desk and two screens, but I swear, if we find out they did something—”
Steve places a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll find them, Buck. Don’t worry.”
Bucky shrugs him off and goes to stare out the windows. As much as he hates to admit it, the sight of all the greenery surrounding the compound helps calm his racing heart, just like Y/N always says it will. For a second, his mind wanders, wondering if he should get a plant for his apartment.
Does she have plants? As soon as the thought crosses his mind, he frowns at himself. Don’t be a creep.
The elevator down the hall chimes, and Bucky doesn’t have to look away from the windows to know that Tony has arrived, along with Sam and Natasha.
“How is she?” Nat asks. Steve answers, and Bucky tunes them out, focusing instead on the tree line and the tangled thread of thoughts going through his head over and over again.
If I’d only gotten there sooner, this wouldn’t have happened.
If I hadn’t gone back to my room to avoid Sam, maybe I would’ve been able to stop whoever it was.
If I’d stopped to ask what was in her case—
Bucky straightens. It’s as if someone has poured ice water over his head. Y/N’s case, he remembers. The strangely shaped black case hadn’t been anywhere near her desk, at least not that he’d seen, but he hadn’t been looking for it at the time. He’d been so focused on helping her that he’d forgotten all about it. If the case holds weapons or Stark tech of some kind, he needs to find it.
“I’ll be back,” Bucky says, already marching past the rest of the group towards the stairwell. “Is the power back on the second floor?”
“Yes, but—”
He ignores the rest of Steve’s response, already flinging open the door and taking the stairs in twos. It only takes him forty-five seconds to get back to the analysts’ room.
With the power back on, Bucky can truly see the damage, and he has to stop in the doorway to catch his breath. There isn’t a single desk, chair, or computer setup in the room that hasn’t been destroyed. From the doorway, he can even see that the lab has been raided, and several people have already begun the clean-up process on that end of the floor. His train of thought sticks for a second, providing him image after image of the horrible things that could have happened to Y/N if he hadn’t gotten there in time or if the assailants hadn’t fled. He pushes them away, focusing on the task at hand.
It takes almost a half hour of searching, but Bucky finally find Y/N’s discarded case wedged upright against a wall by a desk strewn lengthwise on its side. He tips the desk off the case, then lowers it back to the floor with his left hand while he holds the case against the wall with the other.
Unsure of what he’ll find, Bucky lowers the case to the floor and exhales sharply. He kneels down beside it. His hands hover over the strange, curved top for a second while his heart pounds in his chest. If this is a weapon, there’s no telling what might happen when he opens it up. He still has the strange feeling that he should know what’s inside of it, but it’s like his brain won’t focus. He’s used to missing pieces of his memory, especially things he would’ve known before HYDRA. His therapist would be telling him to talk it out and try to make connections between what he knows now and his memories from back then, but there’s no time for that. The only logical thing a case like this could be in the Avengers compound is a weapon, and if it’s been damaged or armed, he can’t risk it.
He pulls out his phone and dials on autopilot. The line connects almost immediately.
“Where did you go?” Steve asks.
“Second floor. Listen, Y/N had some kind of case with her when she was attacked. I’m not sure what’s in it, and if whoever trashed the place tampered with it—”
There’s no cordiality in Steve’s voice when he answers, “I’m on my way.” The call ends a second later.
Steve appears within a minute, walking with purpose across the room. He’s still in his gear from the mission. Behind him, Sam enters in full gear as well, his shoulders tense and his vision focused forward.
“What do we know about the case?” Steve asks as he approaches.
“Nothing, but I feel like I should. Maybe it’s one of those weapons that Stark was talking about last week in the conference room?” Bucky never pays attention during the bi-weekly and post-mission debriefs, and everyone knows. Nobody dares correct him.
Once the two men are close enough to see the case laid out on the floor, Sam lets out a relieved chuckle. “Oh, man,” he says, and he stops a dozen feet away.
Steve stops too, his hands on his hips as he sighs and tilts his head back, closing his eyes. He turns to the side after a second, just enough that Bucky can’t tell his expression, but his posture is infinitely more relaxed.
“What?” Bucky asks, sitting up a little straighter. He hates feeling like everyone knows something that he doesn’t, especially when he already feels like he should. “What is it?”
Sam grins down at him. Bucky has the sudden urge to deck him.
“That’s her cello,” Sam explains, continuing when he narrows his eyes at him, “She must’ve been on the way to her lesson.”
Bucky blinks, and suddenly, everything makes sense. It’s like he’s walked into a brick wall that knocked something into place, and now all the pieces of the story are connecting, one by one. The instrumental music, the way it repeats over and over again, the way the case looks oddly familiar… Everything makes sense.
“She plays the cello,” Bucky murmurs. He stares at the rubble around them, his mind spinning as he uses that information to make sense of so many other interactions he’s had with Y/N, including the one from this morning.
Steve drops his hands back down to his sides. “You didn’t know?”
“No, I—” Bucky clears his throat and glances up at him, then looks away. He turns back to the case on the floor and hastily unzips it. Inside, laying carefully cushioned by black velvet, is a cello. The overhead light reflects off the red wood, showing off the grain, and though a small part of Bucky desperately wants to run his fingers over it—his real fingers, so he can feel the smoothness of the wood and the tension in the strings—he restrains himself. He knows better than that.
“I knew,” he says, quieter than before.
The room falls silent for a few moments before Steve rests his fingertips on Bucky’s shoulder, just for a second, then walks away. Sam follows him, but Bucky doesn’t turn to watch them leave. He sits on the floor beside the cello, just looking at it. He listens to the chatter and the noise coming from the lab clean-up, but mostly, he looks at Y/N’s cello. It’s beautiful, and well taken care of. It’s a miracle that the case protected it from the attack. The case itself doesn’t even look scuffed.
Sam had said she was on her way to a lesson. Bucky hadn’t even known that she played the cello, let alone that she took lessons, though in retrospect, he should’ve figured it out. She’s been playing for him every night for months now. How had he been so blind?
Finally, after the stairwell door slams again and several more moments have passed, he zips up the case. Then, carefully, he lifts it up by the handle at the top, tilting it so the wheels stay solidly on the floor. It takes some maneuvering to get it through the analysts’ room to the now-working elevator. He has to keep stopping to move desks, screens, and toppled chairs out of the way, and each time, Bucky stands the cello case upright, gently supporting it with both hands until he’s sure it’s stable.
After what Y/N’s been through, he tells himself, she doesn’t deserve to have something so important to her destroyed.
He makes it to the elevator and heaves a sigh, but he keeps the cello close until he’s back outside his apartment. He only lets go of it just long enough to get the door open. Bucky stores it on the floor of his empty closet, where he can lay it down with nothing around it. His clothes are all in the dresser anyway, and he promises himself it will only be there until Y/N is safely back in her room, rather than in the medbay.
“Sergeant Barnes,” FRIDAY says, and Bucky flinches. He closes his eyes and takes a steadying breath.
“What?”
“Captain Rogers is requesting your presence in the medbay. He says to tell you that it’s urgent, but that Y/N is fine.”
It feels as if all the tension in Bucky’s body has drained been out through his feet. He hangs his head, his hand on the wall beside the closet door, and nods.
“Okay.” Sighing, he runs a hand over his face and inhales deeply, then closes the door the rest of the way. “Okay. Tell him I’ll be right there.”
FRIDAY doesn’t answer, as usual, so Bucky heads up one floor to the medbay. The rest of the team has dispersed, but Steve remains standing outside the double doors. The light beside them is green. He looks up when the elevator chimes. He still hasn’t changed out of his gear.
“She’s okay,” Steve reassures.
Bucky nods. “I got your message.” He doesn’t have to say it, but they both know that he’s grateful Steve repeated it anyway.
“The doctor says she’ll make a full recovery.”
“Why does it sound like there’s something more?” Bucky asks. Sighing, Steve glances back at the doors.
“Her right wrist is broken and she’s got three broken fingers on her left hand.”
“So she’s out of commission for a while.”
“At least twelve weeks, maybe more, depending on how the recovery goes. She had to have surgery.”
“We’ll have to find someone to help out on missions when she can’t,” Bucky says. “I’m sure that Fury has some kind of hierarchy we can use.”
Steve shakes his head. “Buck, she won’t be able to play cello that whole time. That’s— That’s gonna feel like a death sentence to her. To you.”
Bucky turns and stares out the windows again. A crow flies by, cawing loud enough that he can hear it through the glass.
After a moment, he asks, “Did everyone know that she played cello except me?”
“It was never a secret. It’s in her personnel file,” Steve tells him.
Bucky sighs again. He’s never read anyone’s files. It feels like an invasion of privacy. He’s gone most of his life without privacy, and he hates the fact that anyone can know whatever they want about people in the compound. He refuses to betray anyone else that way if he can help it.
“Listen,” Steve begins, and Bucky turns to face him. “She asked for you.”
“Me?”
He smiles a little, clearly amused, though there are bags under his eyes. He still hasn’t slept since returning from his two-week mission somewhere in the Arctic. “You rescued her.”
As much as Bucky wants to scoff at his friend’s expression, he can’t argue when it comes to Y/N. He just can’t. “Right.”
“Just… Get in there. Tell her to let us know if she needs anything.”
“Will do, pal.” Bucky stays put until the elevator doors close behind Steve and the numbers above them start to descend. He goes into the medbay then, quietly, just in case Y/N is asleep.
“Sergeant Barnes.”
Helen steps into view with a tablet in hand and Bucky straightens. Her presence always sets him on edge, though he knows she’s part of the team.
“Doctor. How’s she doing?”
She gives him a tight, polite smile. “She’s recovering. She’s already awake, and she’s asking for you. I assume that’s why you’re here?”
Bucky nods, then hesitates. “With her injuries… She plays the cello.”
The polite smile turns into a pitying grimace. “It’ll be quite the recovery for her, but Tony has already told us he’s on the lookout for the best physical therapist he can find.”
Already nodding again, Bucky turns towards the doors to the surgical recovery room. He’s been here before, once for himself and once for Steve, and he knows the layout like the back of his hand. He doesn’t need to, however, because Y/N is blinking at him from her bed, her expression soft and sleep-addled.
“Bucky,” she murmurs, and she squints a little. Her speech isn’t quite slurred, but she’s less clear than normal. It makes his heart clench to see her like this. “The light’s are bright.”
“I’ve got it.” He dims them with the switch on the wall before taking the chair beside her bed.
She’s laying on her back with her right wrist on the bed beside her. It’s heavily bandaged. Her left hand is on top of her stomach, also wrapped in clean bandages.
“Thank you.” She closes her eyes and he wonders after a minute if she’s gone to sleep, but then opens them and looks at him intensely.
“You should rest,” Bucky says, and she hums in response.
“Probably. Thank you for saving me. If you hadn’t shown up…” He shakes his head and scoots forward in his seat, putting a hand on her shoulder.
“Someone would have found you if I hadn’t.”
Y/N shakes her head back at him, frowning. He can see the panic forming, an after-thought clouded by the pain medication. “My cello…”
“I’ve got it. It’s in my room.”
“Your room?” She scrunches up her nose at him. “Why?”
He can’t help but chuckle at her. Bucky knows it’s the anesthesia and the drugs, but her expression is far from the ordinary.
“I can’t access your room, Y/N.”
“Oh.”
The recovery room lapses into silence, except for the monitors beside him, but then Y/N says, “I’m sorry I won’t be able to play for a while.”
“You don’t need to apologize. This isn’t your fault.”
“I know. I’m still sorry.”
He doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know how to make her feel better, so he stays silent. She watches him from the bed, her eyes closing further and further between each blink until finally, she just keeps them closed.
Bucky sighs and sits back in the chair. He pulls his hand away when he realizes it’s still touching her shoulder. The sliding doors open behind him.
“She needs to rest,” Helen says. It’s not a statement; it’s an order, and Bucky’s heard enough of those to know which ones are worth following. He stands and nods politely at her, then leaves without another word.
Two weeks later, FRIDAY alerts Bucky to Y/N’s presence at his door. He opens it to find her standing there, her tablet held against her chest with her good wrist.
“Bucky,” she greets, though she’s not smiling.
The fact that she’s still calling him by his first name still makes his breath catch in his throat. “Everything okay?”
“Can you help me with something?”
He nods and steps aside, making space for her in the doorway. She steps inside his apartment, silently taking it in before she takes a seat on one end of his couch. She pulls her arm away from her chest and allows the tablet to clumsily fall to her lap.
“I’m making a playlist,” she explains, “of all the music I normally play.”
“I’m not sure how I can help with that,” Bucky replies, closing the door. He stands near the wall until she glances at the empty end of the couch and gestures with her bandaged hand.
“FRIDAY is great, but sometimes things need a human touch, you know?”
He can’t argue with that, so he nods and sits opposite her. He’s very aware that they’re alone in his apartment for the first time.
How is she so casual about this?
She’s talking to her tablet and he realizes that he’s zoned out on her. Embarrassed, he gets up from the couch and takes the few steps to his bedside, where he’d set down his morning cup of coffee. It’s room temperature now, but the bitter taste is sharp in his mouth and makes him focus on the present.
“See? I really just need help putting them in order,” she’s saying. “FRIDAY put them all on the playlist, but no matter how I phrase it, I can’t get her to put them in the order I want.”
“You’ll have to show me how to do it.”
Y/N looks up at him, as if she’s surprised he’s responded to her. “Really? You’ll help?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
I’d do anything for you.
Seemingly at a loss for words, she shrugs and glances back down at the tablet, then at him again. Then, she says, “It’s easy. Come sit with me and I’ll show you.”
The invitation is simple, and he’s helpless. He sits beside her, closer this time, and takes the tablet from her lap. She explains how to move the tracks around on the playlist—he understands after only a few seconds that she needs help because she physically can’t move them around without the use of her fingers—and he obediently moves them around. Sometimes she stops to ask his opinion on where to place something on the playlist. She hums the main melody when she can, or she’ll have him play part of the track until he recognizes the tune. Much to his surprise, Bucky recognizes all of them.
“I think that’s good,” Y/N finally says, and he locks the screen. It goes dark in his lap. “Thank you. I feel like anyone else would’ve thought this was stupid and tedious, but I like them in a certain order, you know?”
Bucky nods. “I do.” He hesitates, then asks, “Did Helen tell you when you’ll be able to play again?”
She shakes her head and the light in her eyes dims. “No. It’ll be a couple months at least, I’m sure.”
“Oh.”
What am I supposed to say to that?
“I’m sorry,” he tries again.
Y/N forces a closed-lipped smile. It’s half-hearted and she looks down at her lap, where her bandaged hands are resting.
“It’s strange, you know?” she asks after a moment, still not looking at him. He doesn’t respond, hoping she’ll clarify. “Not playing, I mean.”
“You usually play every day.”
“I have for years. The only time I didn’t was right after the—” She falls silent again, and he knows what she means.
The Blip.
“You didn’t disappear.”
“No. But I wished I had.”
“Where were you?”
She inhales deeply, sitting up taller. Nobody likes reliving painful memories, Bucky knows this from experience, but he couldn’t help but ask.
“Playing. I was the principal cellist at the New York Philharmonic. We were in the middle of a concerto, and I was playing the solo when my stand partner just… dissolved. Sometimes I can still feel her ashes on my hands.” Y/N’s voice trembles, but she continues, “There was screaming. My friends and co-workers were disappearing all around me, and even our conductor… He was there one moment and gone the next. I could hear the audience screaming, instruments hitting the floor…”
Bucky wraps an arm around her shoulders, pulling her in close as she begins to cry. He hates himself for dredging up such a painful memory for her.
Idiot, he thinks, as he soothes her with soft noises and murmurs of reassurance. Why didn’t you stop her?
After several minutes, she sits up and he pulls his arm back. Y/N reaches for a box of tissues on the small table beside the couch, but when she’s unable to pull one out without the box sliding out of reach, Bucky stands to get it for her. He holds onto the box and stands off to the side in case she needs another.
“I’m sorry,” Y/N finally says, pinching the tissue with the fingers on her right hand. “I’m a mess.”
“I’m the one that brought it up, I should be the one apologizing to you.”
She shakes her head and looks up at him, her eyes puffy and red from crying. “You have nothing to apologize for, Bucky.”
He nods and sits back down beside her. They sit in silence for several moments before he asks, “Why did you become an analyst? A lot of orchestras kept going.”
Y/N sighs and leans back against the couch. He turns so he can see her better. Her fingers fidget with a hole in her jeans. The tissue she’d used has fallen onto the floor beside her feet.
“It was too hard to be on the stage after what happened, and I didn’t feel… useful.” She lets out a rueful laugh. “It feels awful to say that aloud. I’m a big proponent that music is one of the few things in life that doesn’t need a “use”. It does so much for people, even stuff that we don’t realize.”
“So you went back to school?”
She looks over at him, curious. “I have two degrees. You didn’t know that?”
Bucky shakes his head. “I’ve never read your file.”
“Oh.” Y/N pauses. “I haven’t read yours either, for what it’s worth.”
He’s filled with a sudden gratitude for that and his shoulders drop a little. He hadn’t even realized they’d been tense.
“Anyway, I found any entry level position and then got promoted a few times. I didn’t play for over a year, and then when I finally decided I could handle it, it became more of an escape than anything. I tried to audition for a few things on the side, but every time I felt any kind of pressure to perform, I’d totally break down. It was awful. There was one time that I had a flashback as I was playing. When I finally calmed down, one of the panelists told me that I’d only played two notes before I started hyperventilating. She said I played the whole piece in its entirety before I passed out.”
“I’m sorry.”
Y/N shrugs and glances at him. “It is what it is. I stopped auditioning after that, and it honestly didn’t feel like my life was lacking anything. I was still playing, just in a different capacity. And when Fury hired me and I got to move here, I had more time to play. I wasn’t commuting an hour to my job every day, which was nice. Fury made sure I had access to whatever sheet music I want, and Tony’s continued that.” She smiles a little.
Bucky hesitates for a moment before asking, “Why did you stop calling me Sergeant Barnes?” He’s been wondering for so long that it feels like he might never figure it out if he doesn’t ask.
Why did you say it like that? Idiot, she’s going to think that you don’t want her to call you that!
Her smile falters at the sudden change in conversation. “What?”
“You started calling me Bucky after the attack. You didn’t before.”
“Do you not want me to call you that?” She stands, frowning at him.
Frantically, Bucky stands and scrambles to fix things. It feels like his stomach is eating itself from the inside out. “No, it’s fine.” It’s more than fine. “You just used to be so formal.” I hated it. “And now you’re more…”
“Informal,” she concludes. He nods and she glances at his half-made bed. He’d been in the middle of making it when she came to the door. “Well… you called me sweetheart.”
“I did?” Bucky frowns, his eyebrows furrowing as he wracks his brain for a memory of the phrase. “When?”
“When you were digging me out of my office.”
“I don’t… remember that. I’m sorry,” he offers. He’s always been so careful not to cross any boundaries. Her formality had always been a boundary he’s assumed was purposeful on her part. He’d respected it at every turn, but if he was the one to cross it first, without her permission…
She shakes her head with a small, surprisingly shy smile. “Don’t be. I don’t mind.”
Bucky’s heart skips a beat. His stomach pauses mid-twist. “You don’t?”
“No.” She pauses. “I’ve wanted to call you Bucky for a long time. It felt strange calling you Sergeant Barnes when everyone else just called you by your nickname. Especially since…” Y/N trails off, then reaches down to gather up her tablet. “I should get going. Thanks for your help with the playlist.”
“Since what?”
“Never mind.” She goes to step around him and Bucky panics. He reaches out and grabs her arm, just above her elbow. Y/N pauses and looks up at him. Her jerks his hand away as if it’s been scalded, despite the fact that it’s his vibranium one.
“I’m sorry.”
“I play for you,” says Y/N, plainly. She pauses, then corrects, “I used to play for you.”
“What?” The floor might as well have dropped out from beneath his feet. He can’t quite catches breath. “When?”
“Every night, when you weren’t out on missions. I have since the compound was rebuilt, for months now.”
Y/N steps back over to the couch and bends down so she can gently drop the tablet onto the cushion. She straightens up and looks at him. In the hallway, Bucky hears two of the maintenance personnel walk past, talking to each other softly. He doesn’t place the language, which is a first for him. He’s so used to listening in on other’s conversations, scrambling for every piece of intel he can get about his surroundings, but suddenly, all he can think about is her. It’s the same feeling he’d had when he found her pinned to the floor by the desk, but with less terror involved. His mind is singularly focused on her.
She plays louder for you, you know. Sam’s words from the morning of the attack ring in Bucky’s ears.
“Why?” His voice feels stuck in his throat and he swallows. “Why would you do that?”
Moving closer to him, Y/N reaches up with her right hand. The neon cast has been signed by the rest of the team. Someone’s even drawn a cello near the top, albeit a poor attempt at one. She hovers near his arm before gently placing her hand there. He doesn’t pull away, though he knows she’s moving slow enough so that he has plenty of time to.
She’s smiling. “Because you appreciate it, Bucky. From what I can tell, you love it, for some of the same reasons that I do. When I play…” Y/N inhales deeply and then shakes her head. “It’s peaceful. It helps me calm down when I’m stressed. It reminds me that there’s beautiful things in the world. After some of the missions we’ve done—”
“—it’s hard to remember that not everything’s bad,” Bucky finishes.
“Exactly.” She shifts her hand, moving it up his arm and onto his shoulder. Her cast is bulky and the hardened fiberglass is rough even through his shirt.
“I like you a lot,” she murmurs. “I’ve been scared to tell you until now. Hell, I’m still scared. I think… I think that every time I played for you, I was trying to tell you, but I just didn’t know how to put it into words.”
“I like you too,” he says. The tightness in his chest loosens at the confession. “Will you still play for me when you’re able? Now that I know it’s you and not just a recording?”
She nods, her face breaking into a full, bright smile. “I’ll play for you especially now that you know."
Months later, Bucky finds himself outside Y/N’s door. He fidgets for a second with the flowers in his hands, wondering if he should’ve even brought them in the first place. He takes a step back with the intent to head back to his apartment and leave them there before coming back, but he freezes when the door opens and Y/N meets his eyes.
She’s changed since dinner. Instead of her normal work clothes—black pants and an Avengers-branded shirt—she’s wearing sweatpants and a shirt with the letters “NEC” emblazoned on the front.
Y/N smiles at him, and then her eyes fall to the flowers in his hands and she smiles wider. “Are those for me?” she asks.
“Yeah. I don’t”—Bucky clears his throat—“I don’t know if it’s still the tradition to bring flowers to someone’s performance…”
She reaches out and takes them. She brushes her fingers over the petals and Bucky watches in silence. The scars from the pins in her fingers have healed, though he knows that her hands and her wrist ache when the weather changes, just like his shoulder.
“They’re beautiful. Thank you. But this isn’t a performance, not really. It’s just for you.”
His heart thumps in his chest when she steps out of the way to allow him into her apartment. He’s been here a few times, but not at night. His nightly routine has never included her, not until now.
Her apartment didn’t look much different in the evening than it did during the day. The sun hasn’t set yet, but her blinds are closed, letting in only a little bit of light. The overhead lighting is dimmer as well, and Bucky notices that in the corner where her cello normally sits on its stand, a light has been clipped onto the music stand and the cello is laying on its side beside the chair.
Though he also has a studio, hers is larger, presumably because she’d moved into the compound first. Her bed takes up most of one side, and plants mark every foot or so across the long windowsill. A large one with dinner plate-sized leaves stands guard in the far corner of the room, opposite her cello. The TV on the wall facing the bed is playing something on mute and she grabs the remote from the dresser as she passes by. Y/N turns off the show and tosses the remote onto the bed.
“These really are beautiful,” she says as she grabs a water glass from her bedside table. It’s only half full of water, but she carefully fits the ends of the bouquet into the glass and leans it precariously against the wall. “Where did you even get them? You’ve been here all day.”
“Do you want me to get you a vase? Pepper probably has one somewhere…”
She shakes her head, smiling as she walks back to him. “No. I want you to sit so I can play for you.”
Y/N holds out a hand and Bucky meets her halfway. She grabs his vibranium hand and then leads him to the end of the bed, where he obediently sits. Still smiling, she sits in the chair behind her music stand and picks up the cello.
His breath catches in his throat as he watches her adjust her posture. The bow hovers above the strings for just a moment before she moves it smoothly from one side of her body to the other. The sound is much louder than when he’s listened to her play through the walls and tears well up his eyes immediately.
“What do you want to hear?” she asks, looking up at him.
Bucky can’t tear his eyes away from her cello. He shakes his head, swallowing thickly. “Whatever— Whatever you want to play. I want to hear it all, darling.”
Her smile softens before she closes her eyes and touches the bow to the string. She plays piece after piece, song after song, until Bucky has tears running down his cheeks. He wipes them away so he can watch her clearly.
Y/N sways as she plays, moving with the music in a way that makes him never want to look away from her. She smiles too, and when it turns sad, she frowns a little, her eyebrows furrowing as she attunes her whole body to the music.
The room is barely lit by the time she finishes. He knows it’s late. The rest of the team will have gone to bed already, making him and Y/N the only two still awake. The sky outside Y/N’s windows are dark.
“Bucky?” She sets her bow down and meets his eyes. Her expression flickers when she sees the dried tear tracks on his face. “Are you alright?”
He nods. “Yeah. I’m alright.”
She carefully shifts the cello back onto its side beside the chair, then comes over to sit beside him on the bed. She slips her hand into his. “Whatcha thinking about?”
He looks down at where their joined hands sit between them on the mattress. “I don’t know what to say. It’s even more beautiful now that I know it’s you. Now that I can see you playing. You’re amazing, sweetheart.”
“Thank you,” she says, and he can tell even without looking up right away that she’s a little flustered by the compliment.
“I mean it.” Bucky looks up at her, then takes his free hand and reaches over to curl a finger underneath her chin. He holds her gaze for a moment. “You played beautifully, baby.”
She ducks her head, smiling wide. It’s pure joy, radiating out of her, and it makes Bucky’s chest feel tight.
No longer able to stop himself, he guides her face back to his. When he leans in and kisses her, and she practically melts into him. The mattress dips when she moves toward him, making her slide even further until their hips touch and he’s forced to let go of her hand.
“Stay the night,” she murmurs. She brushes her fingers over his face, trailing them from his temple to his jaw, and he shivers. Her breath is warm and he closes his eyes, just breathing her in.
“I shouldn’t.”
What if I have a nightmare?
The words are unspoken, he’s sure of it, but then she says, “I’ll play for you again if you wake up, if you can’t fall asleep. I’ll play all night for you if I have to, James Buchanan Barnes, I just want you to stay.”
He shudders under the weight of her words. He wraps his arms around her, pulling her into his lap and holding her close, and he buries his face against her shoulder.
“Y/N…”
"Stay.”
“Okay.” He kisses the place where her shirt ends and her skin begins. She brings a hand up to caress his spine in long, smooth motions.
“I’ll stay,” he tells her, and he says it like a promise, one that he intends to keep.
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