Updated on 7/20/2025. Safe Haven is a Bucky x Female OC taking place months of Falcon and Winter Soldier and Bucky has entered the world of private security. There is currently nine chapters. In this post I will be sharing chapter 9. But if you would like to read the story from the start I have the A03 link below 👇👇👇.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
~ Chapter 9: Finding the Edges ~
Bucky was winding down for the evening, the weight of the day starting to lift. Lucy had stayed home, paralyzed by anxiety about facing her coworkers. She could already picture the incessant questions and the unrelenting stares; the thought alone was enough to keep her away. And then there was Dr. Raynor, who had summoned him first thing in the morning for a special therapy session after witnessing the chaotic footage of Bucky’s explosive reaction to the reporters. Hurling video equipment 200 feet while flipping them off wasn’t considered “healthy” or “productive.” It seemed pretty productive to him.
Wrapping a towel around his waist, Bucky wiped the steam from the bathroom mirror and met the reflection of a man he hardly recognized. Dog tags in hand, he slipped them back around his neck, feeling a mix of pride and sorrow. His fingers grazed the rough stubble on his chin, and he took a deep, steadying breath. Sometimes, he could still catch a glimpse of the bright-eyed 28-year-old who yearned to explore the world and make a difference. But then he would look in the mirror and see the truth—the wrinkles etched around his smile, scars mapping his journey, and the shocking discovery of gray hair nestled in his beard. Each mark was a vivid reminder of the time that had slipped through his fingers, the battles fought, and the years that had changed him in ways he was still trying to comprehend.
That may be the reason he was starting to grow fond of Lucy. She had a unique way of grounding him, making him feel connected to the world in a way he hadn’t experienced before. Strangely enough, he liked being a piece of furniture in her life. He meant it when he said he would do this job for free; he truly meant it. Most would have seized the opportunity to wring out a bigger paycheck; Bucky was no different, but not this time.
Bucky struggled to pinpoint what he was feeling; he could sense that something had shifted within his narrative. Being around Lucy brought him joy, and he cherished their growing but fragile friendship. There was a genuine concern for her well-being that lingered in the back of his mind. Yet, he was acutely aware of the risks of developing romantic feelings for a client. But he never did have good sense.
Bucky settled into a comfortable pair of sweatpants and a tank top, ready to tackle his nightly routine of organizing his medications for the week. It was a task he performed right before bed and had become a part of his new normal. Though it was still early, he felt exhaustion pressing down on him—his sleep had been elusive lately, and it was starting to show. As he concentrated on the task at hand, his phone unexpectedly buzzed to life with a video call. Sam.
A jolt of surprise ran through him, and he answered instantly.
“What's up, Sam?” Bucky greeted, barely finishing the sentence before Sam started in.
“Whoa, hold up—where's your arm?”
Bucky shrugged, trying to keep his focus on the meds. “My shoulder’s acting up, so I took it off.”
“Man, you seriously need a haircut. You’re looking like a 90s boy band reject!” Sam teased, laughter dancing in his voice.
With a grunt, Bucky hoisted his phone up, precariously propping it against his laptop so he could keep an eye on both the screen and his task. “I have no idea what that means, and I like my hair this way,” he shot back, annoyance creeping into his tone.
“Sure, whatever you say, White Jesus,” Sam quipped, a playful glint in his eyes.
“Sam…” Bucky warned, his expression turning serious.
“He has risen!” Sam responded, laughing hysterically. Bucky was his guy, but poking fun at him was just too good to resist.
“No, no, no! I called for a reason," Sam pressed, his tone shifting to something more serious.
Furrowing his brows, Bucky shot a pointed look through the phone screen, a silent warning for Sam.
“How’s the job going?” Sam finally inquired, his voice laced with curiosity.
Bucky paused, mulling over the question for a moment before responding, “Complicated.” He shrugged, the weight of his answer lingering in the air.
“Hmm,” Sam mused, leaning back in his chair. “Let me guess, you thought you’d just tag along with that woman, rake in the cash, and enjoy a free place to crash. Now you’ve discovered there’s actual work involved?”
Bucky nearly scoffed, a flash of indignation crossing his face. “No!” he exclaimed, desperate to defend himself. “Well... yeah, sort of. But it’s not just that! Lucille is genuinely nice, Samuel.” He fumbled over his words, eager to express his thoughts clearly. “You would like her.”
A slow grin crept across Sam's face as he connected the dots. “Oh, I see what's happening here,” he started, his tone teasing.
“What do you mean?” Bucky shot back, bewildered. “She is nice—a bit neurotic, but nice.”
Sam chuckled, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Hold on a second. You are calling someone neurotic? My man, you have developed a little crush, haven’t you? Look at you! My big, cyborg dummy is growing up.”
Bucky felt his face flush, a mix of irritation and embarrassment. “I’m this close to hanging up and changing my phone number. Can I say the thing I wanted to say?!” he grumbled, trying to steer the conversation back on track.
“I’m sorry, what did you want to tell me?”
Bucky sprawled back on the couch, running a hand through his tousled hair, and let out an exasperated sigh. “Arlo Winslow, the guy I work for? He’s decided to run for Governor of New York…”
“Oh, shit. When did this happen?”
“Just yesterday. But it’s been brewing for a while. And to make things worse, Arlo and Lucy are at each other’s throats. It’s super awkward. Plus, we got that supremacist group to worry about.” His voice faded off as he rubbed his temples in frustration.
“Yeah, stupid fucking name by the way.”
Sam cleared his throat, “That is kind of why I called. Things have been oddly quiet on our end, but just two days ago, a rally popped off outside the White House. It was intense, met with strong public backlash, as usual. I could be worrying for nothing, but Joaquin stumbled upon a Reddit thread discussing a rally planned at Madison Square Garden in the coming weeks. It’s supposed to be outside since the city won’t let them use the interior for obvious reasons. But get this—lots of other groups are planning to rally against it, too. It has the potential to turn into a chaotic situation. I wanted you to be aware.”
“Fantastic,” Bucky groaned, frustration evident in his voice. “So, any idea on when this rally is supposed to go down?”
“Sorry, man. Nothing concrete yet. Like I mentioned, it could turn out to be nothing. We will let you know as soon as we do. That’s all I wanted to call about. It was nice talking to you, Buck.”
“Yeah, you too, man.” Just as Bucky was about to end the video call, he couldn’t help but add , “Hey, Sam, wait a second. Did you watch that video I sent you?”
“Yes,” Sam replied, puzzled.
“Well, you didn’t respond.” Bucky retorted with a playful edge to his tone .
"It was a rat eating a slice of pizza in Times Square, Bucky,” Sam said, bemused.
“A BIG rat, Sam!” Bucky countered, his voice rising in mock outrage. And with a chuckle, Sam ended the call.
Bucky picked up his phone, glancing at the time: 6:30 PM. Way too early, he thought, setting it down beside him. He found himself adrift in thought; since their tense conversation with the FBI, the looming shadow of The Resurgence had begun to gnaw at him. It felt like the calm before a storm, an unsettling precursor to something explosive about to unfold. With a deep breath, he turned his attention to the computer screen, where various video feeds flickered to life. It felt somewhat ridiculous to be sitting here night after night, waiting for something—anything-to happen. There was that one time a suspicious black car parked outside, but it turned out to belong to the neighbors, who were out of town.
As he flicked through the feeds, one caught his eye: the kitchen camera showed Lucy sitting at the table, working intently on a puzzle. Bucky paused the feed, his heart tightening. It was the first time he’d seen her all day, and he realized she had isolated herself while he’d been oblivious.
He had made a habit of staying out of their way; it seemed intrusive to invade their space, but now he found himself drawn to Lucy. She looked worn down, her eyes heavy with exhaustion. Something inside him shifted, prompting a sudden decision fueled by his newfound feelings. He needed to check on her. First, though, he headed back to his bedroom to reattach his mechanical arm. In one smooth motion, he latched it back in place, twisted his shoulder to secure it, and climbed the stairs.
Standing in the archway between the kitchen and living room, Bucky observed Lucy silently. She was oblivious to his presence, intensely focused on the puzzle pieces strewn before her. He hesitated, unsure of how to break the silence.
“Are you going to work tomorrow?” he finally ventured, his voice barely above a whisper yet cutting through the stillness.
“No. Tomorrow is Saturday,” Lucy replied after a moment, looking up at him. The dark circles under her eyes spoke volumes; she hadn’t slept at all.
Bucky nodded slowly, a sheepish smile creeping onto his face. “Right. I forgot.”
“I’ll be going upstairs in a minute,” she added, glancing back at the scattered puzzle.
“No, that’s not why I came up here,” he blurted, uncrossing his arms and nervously shoving his hands into his pockets. He looked around the room before meeting Lucy's gaze again. “Do you want some company?”
A warm yet weary smile broke across Lucy's face. “Yeah, I would like that.”
Bucky closed the gap between them and plopped down beside her. “Alright, what are you working on?” He grabbed the box lid. “Cozy Winter Cabin 2—2000 pieces?!” He feigned shock, eyes wide.
Lucy laughed softly, a sound Bucky was glad to provoke. “Cozy? More like infuriating,” she quipped.
“What's the reward here? Why put yourself through this?” he probed, starting to help her sort the pieces.
“Bragging rights? Some people frame them, hang them on their walls,” she shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t even like puzzles—I found this one in a closet and had nothing better to do.”
“Unfortunately, I’m right there with you. Let's do this,” Bucky said with unexpected enthusiasm. He quickly found two matching pieces. “Look at that! I’m a natural!”
With a playful glint in her eye, Lucy slid a pile of pieces toward him. “Get sorting, all-star!”
Bucky and Lucy sat together in the quiet rhythm of working on the jigsaw puzzle. Each of them focused intently on their sections, their hands occasionally reaching out to swap pieces, the soft sound of cardboard breaking the serene silence. To Bucky's surprise, he found this experience remarkably calming; the act of fitting the pieces together helped quiet the noise in his mind. Lucy felt the same draw to this simple task, the world outside momentarily forgotten.
They shared this peaceful moment for quite a while, absorbed in the colors and shapes before them, until something unexpected broke the calm. Lucy’s eye caught a piece she needed—just out of reach on the other side of Bucky. With determination, she leaned across him, her hand gently resting on the sleek surface of his Vibranium arm for support. Bucky’s breath hitched as he watched her; he anticipated her reaction—surely, she would pull away upon touching the metal—but to his astonishment, she did not flinch at all. Instead, she seemed so at ease with him, and that comfort frightened him a bit.
“Sorry for the reach,” she said, a slight blush creeping onto her cheeks as she settled back into her seat. Bucky's heart raced at her proximity, and despite the rush of anxiety, he managed to mutter, “It’s okay,” the words barely escaping his lips.
Lucy settled back in her chair, locking her gaze on their puzzle as she worked diligently. Meanwhile, Bucky could not help but steal glances at her, quickly looking away whenever he sensed she might catch him in the act. Damn it, Sam, he thought, feeling a familiar rush of self-consciousness creeping in. He was acutely aware that even the slightest look from Lucy might urge him to spill his feelings, like a criminal desperately seeking a plea deal.
“These fit perfectly,” Lucy announced, connecting their sections with satisfaction. “We make a great team, Sarge.”
Bucky smiled, doing his best to project an air of casual confidence. “I guess so.”
“So, why did you join the army? Was it always your dream?” Lucy asked, eager to spark a conversation for the sake of passing the time.
Bucky paused, scratching his head as he contemplated the question. “Well… I enlisted after Pearl Harbor. This naive sense of patriotism fueled me. It felt like they were attacking our freedoms and everything we stood for, so I felt I had to do something about it.” His honesty hung in the air.
Lucy tilted her head, intrigued. “If you could go back, would you do it all over again?”
That question struck a chord deep within him, and the weight of it pressed down on his heart. So much had changed because of that one decision. Was the sacrifice worth it? “I’m not sure,” Bucky admitted, finally dipping into the depths of his thoughts. “I wanted to fight for something bigger than myself. I’ve never liked bullies, and that philosophy has stuck with me. I think... I think it was worth it.”
A warm smile spread across Lucy’s face, her admiration evident. She saw the strength in his words, and it only deepened the connection between them.
Leaning back a bit, Bucky continued, “Growing up, I dreamed of becoming an engineer. However, we did not have much money, and putting food on the table was our top priority. When my parents died, I had to step up and support my little sister and grandparents. I got a job working on the docks, and pursuing school just wasn’t an option for me anymore.”
His voice trailed off, leaving behind an echo of dreams deferred and sacrifices made, as Lucy absorbed every word.
Bucky leaned back in his chair, rubbing his chin thoughtfully as he stared at the ceiling. “You know,” he said with a hint of nostalgia in his voice, “it was a different time back then.” He took a deep breath, shifted forward, and casually crossed his arms over his chest. “God, I suddenly feel very old,” he mused, clearing his throat before turning to Lucy with a glimmer of curiosity in his eyes. “So, what did you dream of becoming when you were a kid?”
“A ballerina, but I liked hot dogs too much,” Lucy replied, puckering her lips in a mock pout before letting out a soft chuckle. But then her smile faded, and her brows knitted together as she glanced down at the table. After a moment of contemplative silence, she murmured, “Happy…”
That single word hung heavily in the air between them. Bucky’s gaze slid over to Lucy, who seemed lost in thought. After a pause filled with unspoken tension, he gently probed, “And are you happy?”
She shrugged, her gaze still averted. “I had a privileged life.”
“But are you happy?” Bucky pressed, wanting to dig deeper.
“When I'm with my kids,” she said softly, a weary smile briefly gracing her lips.
He could sense the answer before it left her lips; it was all too visible—the light in her eyes was dimming. She reminded him of a caged animal, trapped in a world where everything felt false. Lucy existed in a way that the world around her did not.
“Why did you choose to become a teacher?” Bucky asked, genuinely intrigued.
“I wanted to do something meaningful, but I was not interested in anything. Early education felt like the right path,” Lucy replied, taking a deep breath. “ The idea of being a positive influence in a child’s life was so appealing. I didn’t want them to feel the way I did. I wanted my classroom to be a sanctuary—a place where every child felt wanted and loved, no matter what was happening in their lives.”
“You’ve done a hell of a job, if you ask me,” Bucky replied, a warm smile breaking across his face. “It’s hard to believe you’re not married.”
The comment slipped from his lips before he could think better of it, and he felt a mixture of surprise and vulnerability.
“That’s sweet of you... I think?” Lucy stammered, a hint of surprise in her voice. “I mean, if you haven’t noticed, I've got some things I need to work on.” She laughed lightly, the tension easing just a bit. “ I came close once, but the guy turned out to be terrible. I’ve never had much luck with relationships, and honestly, dating at 35 feels a bit embarrassing.” She glanced over at him playfully, nudging him with her elbow. “You can’t tell me a handsome guy like you doesn’t have a special someone waiting in the wings.”
Her words struck a chord. The idea of dating felt profoundly awkward, just as described. It was ironic; Bucky used to chase after girls without a second thought. Now, any hint of flirtation made him want to retreat. He sighed, the weight of change heavy on his heart. “I tried when I first got back to New York,” he admitted. “But connecting with people was tougher than I expected. Like you said, I've got some stuff I need to work on.”
“Did you have anyone waiting for you when you went off to fight?” she asked, genuine curiosity flickering in her eyes.
Bucky shifted in his seat, a nervous chuckle escaping his lips. “I don’t wanna say,” he teased, the corners of his mouth lifting in a grin. “Let’s just say there were plenty of girls competing for my attention. You probably wouldn’t have liked me back then—I was a real hound dog.”
Lucy let out a laugh, a playful glint in her eyes. “Oh no, Bucky, you little heartbreaker!” She reached out to pinch his cheek, and he felt his face warm with a blush as he gently nudged her hand away. The conversation came to a natural pause as Lucy glanced at her phone—8:30 PM.
The last two hours had flown by. She set her phone down, eyeing the chaotic spread of puzzle pieces before them. “We are nowhere near finishing this,” she sighed. “I think I’m going to try and catch some sleep.”
“Do you mind if I keep working on it?” Bucky asked, a smile creeping onto his face. He was surprisingly enjoying the puzzle.
“Of course not,” Lucy replied with a bright smile. She rose slowly, tucking her chair in, then turned back to him with warmth in her gaze. “Thank you for the company and the conversation. It meant a lot.” Her smile was affectionate. “Good night, I know you will find someone to share your 'stuff' with.”
“Good night,” he managed to say. Bucky felt a flutter in his chest watching her as she left the room. What he wanted to say was, “I think I already have.” He took a deep breath and returned to the puzzle, his thoughts drifting to her—he wanted her in the worst way.
The atmosphere of the jailhouse reverberated with the jarring sound of clinking keys and the heated voices of men caught in tense arguments. The air was thick with the scent of regret and tough lives, each inmate clad in bright orange jumpsuits that felt as much a scarlet letter as they did a uniform. Black boots squeaked against the unforgiving concrete floor, the weight of a taser resting discreetly against the officer's hip. His sharp eyes scanned the numbers on each cell door, relentless in their search until they landed on the one he needed. With a swift swipe of his card, the door slid open with a soft hiss.
“Looks like today is your lucky day, Atkins.”
AJ, caught mid-sit-up, paused to stare at the officer who towered over him. The bruises from his run-in with Bucky still marred his face. Wiping sweat from his brow, he sprang to his feet, confusion knitting his brow. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Someone paid your bail,” the jailer replied, a hint of an amused smile tugging at his lips.
“Who?” The question tumbled out, laced with disbelief. The price of freedom was steep, and no one he knew had the kind of cash it took to spring him.
“They didn’t say. All I know is you’ve got paperwork to fill out, so hurry up.” The correction officer's tone shifted, and a warning lingered in the air.
“What about my court date?” AJ pressed, anxiety creeping into his voice.
“You can ask them about it downstairs. But I’ve got a feeling that’s been taken care of too.” The jailer’s grin widened as an unspoken understanding crept between them.
