WASHINGTON D.C.
2014
WHEN June woke, it took her a moment to realize where she was.
She became suddenly aware of a body next to her. A knife of alarm pierced her, but the next instant she remembered it was only Bucky, and her panic subsided. He had moved in the night, so his arm no longer fell over June. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she sat up, her gaze moving to the dozing man at her side. It was the most relaxed June had ever seen Bucky.
With a small smile, she threw back the sheet and climbed out of bed, careful not to disturb him. She shuffled across the room on cat's feet to the door and slipped out without a sound.
June made her way back to Steve's room. She reached for her phone on his bedside table and found that she had two missed calls: one from an unknown number, and one from Steve.
Reading Steve's name sent a worm of guilt through June's insides. She missed him so much, but somehow could not conjure the decency to tell him Bucky was hiding out in the last place he would ever look. And how did she have the gall to kiss Bucky, to sleep in the same bed as him, but not consider how Steve would feel when he found out all this? Yes, June knew he would find out. But she had done it all regardless.
And this was one vile act that she could not blame on Hydra.
Swallowing hard, June pressed the "call back" icon beside the unknown number. The dial tone beeped once, twice, three times, and then there was a click. A woman's voice answered.
"Hello?" it said, and immediately an image of a sharp, sophisticated business woman entered June's mind.
"Hi," June replied unsurely. "I'm returning a call. I'm June Ivanski—"
"—Ah, perfect," the woman cut her off. "Thank you for getting back to us."
June frowned. "Who are you, exactly?"
There was a pause. "Who am—what, Fury didn't—? Oh, fantastic," June imagined the woman was rolling her eyes, "I'm very sorry Miss Ivanski, Director Fury was supposed to give you our contact before he . . . uh, before he became unavailable."
"I'm afraid I don't have a clue who I'm talking to," June said.
"My name is Pepper Potts," the woman told her. "I'm calling on behalf of Tony Stark. He'd like to set up a meeting between the both of you, as soon as you're free, if that's possible."
June cocked her head to the side. "Tony Stark? Why does he—"
"—I'm afraid for right now that information is classified, ma'am, per Mr. Stark's request."
"Miss Potts," June said firmly, "I think it's best you know that I don't turn up places unless I know exactly what I'm getting myself into."
A second voice, this time a man's, spoke in the background. "Yeah, uh, that's smart and all, but can we just send a car or something? Like, have her collected? Junebug, you're being collected—!"
The line went quiet for a stretch, then Pepper Potts' voice returned, sounding very exasperated. "I'm sorry about that. If it's all the same to you, this meeting is very important. We'll send a car to Mr. Rogers' apartment at noon."
June's heart thumped with dread. "How did you know I'm staying at Steve's place?"
"We got eyes, November!" the second voice interjected.
"Please," Pepper went on, "it's extremely serious. Watch for the car."
With that, the call dropped. Perplexed, June set down her phone, and determined very quickly that she would not be meeting with any Stark or Potts in the foreseeable future.
While she left the room, the icon beside Steve's name was still blinking.
June found Bucky in the kitchen, leaning over a newspaper he had spread out over the counter. Nose slightly scrunched as he read, Bucky did not look up until June cleared her throat.
"Oh," he said, and his face lit up, "hi."
June smiled. "Hi. Did you make coffee?"
"It's brewing."
"Thanks."
June could not help but giggle. Things were still awkward, but in an endearing kind of way, and for once in her life June was okay with not knowing what to say. Bucky, however, seemed eager to talk.
"Were you on the phone just then?" he asked.
"Hm?" June looked back from where she was scouring the cabinets for breakfast--she needed to go to the store. "Oh, yeah. It was nothing—someone trying to sell scented candles."
Bucky nodded, but his eyes remained fixed on her, the scowl above his nose returning, as if he was hunting June's face for the part that betrayed her lie.
But June was a good liar, and Bucky could not decipher her kaleidoscope eyes.
They went back to their quiet routine, but there was something very heavy and unspoken settled like a vapor in the air between them; June's lips burned, and despite the warm morning, chills ran up and down her arms. When she closed her eyes, she saw Bucky's face, dim and very near. June blinked pointedly.
Yes, something very heavy and pitifully obvious.
"James?" she said, retrieving a coffee cup from on of the cupboards. "May I ask you something?"
"Shoot, doll."
June's chest gave an odd flutter. "Well," she began, eyes locked on her hands. "Last night. You kissed me," June took in a deep breath and forced herself to look Bucky in the eye. "Why?"
To her surprise, he grinned bashfully, a hand going to the back of his neck in a gesture of embarrassment like the one Steve had expressed when he and June first met. "I thought I might've dreamed that."
"Sorry to say you didn't, sergeant."
Bucky's smile grew. "Not sorry, actually. Pretty damn pleased, if I'm honest. But you asked why."
June nodded. He was happy he'd kissed her.
"Well," Bucky went on, "I can't say I've got a real reason other than 'I wanted to.' I dunno, June, I guess I'm comfortable around you, and I wanted to see how comfortable we could get." His face had gone red, and June guessed hers had as well. "But it isn't some jackass move, either," Bucky assured her with sudden and great sincerity. "I like you a lot."
The phrase was as juvenile as anything June could remember, yet she found herself swelling with an odd conflation of fear and excitement. Her mouth twisted with the effort to control her grin. "You're not too bad yourself."
Bucky shook his head. "Not true," he stepped around the kitchen island to stand on the same side as June, "but I get the feeling you're not gonna hold it against me."
The blush that crept up June's neck deepened. "You should stop thinking of yourself like that," she told him.
"It's not exactly an opinion," Bucky said. He took a step forward. "I'm just trying to own what I did."
"Shut up," June commanded. "It wasn't you who did it. Shut up."
Bucky sighed. Another step toward her. "I think it's gonna take a while for that to sink in."
"You've got time."
He was as close as they had been the night before. Bucky's left hand slipped into June's. "What about you?"
June's gaze flicked down his face and saw the earnestness soaking his expression; she knew the answer he wanted, but she was not sure if it was an answer she was prepared to give.
"Me?" June decided to feign ignorance. "I'm not sure. I'm a superhero now, remember? You never know when they'll call me in. Besides," she squeezed his hand, "you're doing better than you think. You seem to go back to your old self when there's a girl to charm."
She leaned away slightly, proud of her quip, but Bucky pulled her gently back. "So you'll stick around?"
June's mouth twitched. "Bucky . . ."
Her eyes drifted shut. June felt him growing nearer and nearer, and again the bones in her legs seemed to vanish as his soft exhale fanned over her face and the air tensed, as if holding its breath, then compelled them together.
Neither heard the key turn in the front door.
Bucky and June were barely a centimeter apart, his hand on her cheek, thumb beneath her chin, when the door swung open, and Steve appeared in the foyer.
"June?"
She gave a violent jump. Her head snapped away from Bucky, her eyes meeting Steve's. June was flooded with a guilt so crippling she thought she might die, with an aching realization of how much she had missed Steve threatening to crush her. She backed away from Bucky, whose face had drained of color.
"June . . ." Steve said again, a puzzled frown creasing his forehead, as if he could not quite process what—who—he was seeing. "What are you . . . when did . . . ."
He trailed off, eyes moving from June to Bucky, filled at first with quiet shock. After many moments, however, the shock flared into anger.
"How long has he been here?" Steve's voice was low and vehement.
"Steve—"
"How long?"
Tears began to well in June's throat. "A month."
Steve's face did not change, but June could could almost feel the emotion pulsing from him. "A month," he repeated. There was heavy silence for an agonizing stretch that felt like eternity.
June tried to explain herself once again. "Steve, it's not—"
"—what I think? Like hell," he cut her off venomously. "Can I speak to you in the hall, please?"
Numb, June nodded. She was shuffling to the door when Bucky spoke.
"Steve," he croaked. "It's not her fault."
Steve turned around, face filled with hurt. "This isn't how I thought it'd be," he said, and turned and ushered June into the hallway.
Heart hammering, and already smearing tears out of her eyes, June met Steve's stare.
"I'm so—"
"—why did you hide him?" Steve implored, his voice on the verge of breaking. "You knew, you knew what Sam and I were trying to do, and you kept him hidden."
June clasped her hands together in anguish. "Steve, I wanted to tell you. The moment he turned up I tried to call, but he begged me not to—he couldn't face you. Please try to understand, please. I did what I thought was right, I did what I thought would keep him safe. As soon as he was ready, I was gonna—"
"—June you lied," Steve spat. "Every time I called to make sure you were all right you told me you were still alone, every time I told you where Sam and I were headed, you just let us go . . . ." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "What aren't you telling me? About your time at Hydra? With Bucky? What happened?"
June's eyes were pleading, shining. She ran a hand through her hair. "Nothing. Nothing, I swear. I only saw him once. We never spoke."
Steve sighed, hands on hips. "He's dangerous. He could have snapped, he could have hurt you—"
He stopped short. Steve's blue, blue eyes moved to the band-aid on June's eyebrow, and his face fell. For a moment, the anger seemed to leave him. He touched a palm to June's cheek, his thumb brushing over the cut, his fingers placed just where Bucky's had been minutes before. Steve must have realized this, because an entirely new and mysterious emotion graced his face, and if June had to put a name to it she would call it misery. Steve's pained eyes did not seem to grieve the harm Bucky had done to June, but the realization that he could be gentle with her as well. Steve's hand fell from June's face and hung limp at his side.
"How long have you and him . . . when did—"
"We kissed last night," June hurried. "That's it."
The horrible, gut-wrenching emotion remained on Steve's face. It looked as if many words perched on his lips, words that desperately needed to be said but they both knew never would be. "Okay," he said.
"Please say more than that," June begged.
"Like what, June?" Steve nearly shouted. "What else would you like to hear? Do you want me to justify what you did?"
"I tried to—I didn't—I didn't know—"
Steve shook his head. "I wish I could trust you . . . ." He gazed at June with terrible sadness, a kind of sadness it seemed only Steve could feel. "I think it would be best if you found somewhere else to stay. Until . . . I . . . just think it's best."
"What?" June whispered. "You're not . . . you're not serious."
"I'm sorry." He did look sorry. He looked devastated.
Before June could argue any further, Steve turned and slipped back inside. Dumbstruck, June could not even muster more tears. She stood before the door, staring, as if she could will it open again.
It didn't budge.
In a daze, June trudged down the hall, down several flights of stairs, and out into the street. The sun was blinding, the traffic blaring, and for a moment June's sense of direction was entirely discombobulated.
When her eyes adjusted to the light, June realized she was standing before a sleek black town car. It bore the logo STARK INDUSTRIES along its side. The driver's door opened, and a heavy-set man with thinning hair and an unamused expression stepped out.
"Are you June?" he asked. "June Ivanski?"
June blinked. "Yes."
"Fantastic," the man deadpanned. "Mr. Stark is looking forward to meeting you."
The man opened the passenger's door, and eyed her expectantly. June didn't move.
The stranger shot her an impatient look. "Well?" he said. "Are you coming?"
With a pang of sorrow, June pushed thoughts of Steve and Bucky from her mind, and stepped forward.
"Yes. Sorry. Thank you."
She climbed inside the car; the engine turned over, and they began to cruise uptown. It struck June suddenly that she was about to meet her third Avenger.
She drew in a deep breath. Iron Man awaited.
note.
june and steve break my heart. im sorry.
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