WASHINGTON D.C.
2014

JUNE gaped at Bucky, stupefied, dumbfounded and struggling to decide if the wisest choice would be to shut the door and pretend she wasn't home. But something about the way he looked stopped her. His gaze was pleading, desperate, and June suspected that the past two months had not faired him well. At last, she regained her voice.

"Steve isn't here," she told him stiffly.

Bucky only nodded, whether in acceptance or confirmation of consciousness, June did not know. She pressed her lips together tightly, realizing the crossroads she had been unwillingly placed at, fighting both her common sense and growing curiosity. He knew her. Didn't he? He had told her he remembered who she was, little familiarity there may have been between them. Then again, shortly after he had put a knife in her stomach, so June was less than optimistic about the chances of a peaceful interaction.

"Are you gonna try to kill me?" she asked, eyes like stone, gaze flitting to his left arm.

Bucky blinked. "No."

June was not convinced. "Can I trust you?"

He shifted worriedly. "I think so."

June shut her eyes for a moment, telling herself over and over that no self-valuing person would let this man into their home. But she owed Steve. She didn't think he'd appreciate her throwing his best friend back onto the streets, especially with the bounty he had over his head. Her eyes opened.

"Okay . . . okay," she huffed fretfully, looking past Bucky and out across the hall, warily making sure they were not being watched. "Get in. But if you try anything, I'll shoot you."

June pushed as much assertion into her voice as she could. She knew full well that Barnes would not let her lay a hand on him, so she hoped that a confident air would assist in getting her point across. He didn't argue, however, nor did he call her bluff. He seemed to believe her, in fact.

June moved aside and Bucky stepped into Steve's apartment. As she hurriedly closed the door behind him, June noticed the backpack slung over his shoulder.

"May I look through that, please?" she asked, holding out a hand. Bucky was still for many moments, scowl deepening and posture stiffening as his eyes searched June's face carefully. Finally, he bobbed his head in compliance. He shifted his backpack off of his shoulder and reluctantly handed it over to June. She slipped wordlessly to the couch, Bucky watching her steadily, and began to sift through the bag's contents. To her surprise, there was little inside. Though she was expecting weapons, June brushed aside only a few crumpled dollar bills, torn newspapers, and pencil stubs, finding nothing of interest save for half-a-dozen worn, leather-bound notebooks.

But as she lifted one into view, she saw Bucky flinch in the corner of her eye. June's eyes found his again, and, upon examining the tense grimace his face was twisted into, she dropped the notebook back into the backpack.

"Do you have any weapons with you?" June asked quietly, zipping Bucky's bag back up. He shook his head.

"This is it?"

He nodded. She mimicked him and remained silent for a few long moments.

"You're June," Bucky said suddenly, more of a statement of fact than a question. June stared up at him, perplexed and quizzical and meanwhile wondering what her jail time would be for harboring a fugitive like Barnes. She got over her dumbness quickly.

"Yeah," she responded. "You remembered me before. Back on Virginia Avenue. Before you stabbed me."

June didn't know what she expected to ensue by saying that. Maybe an apology. He didn't offer one. At her mention of Virginia Avenue, Barnes had suddenly paled, and his entire stature went rigid.

"I don't remember a lot," Bucky murmured, deadpan and impassive.

"What made you forget?"

A shadow passed over Bucky's face, morose and slightly unnerving as June reminded herself how dangerous this man could be. She was immediately sorry she ever asked, and to her horror, his lips parted.

"Take a guess," he pronounced bitterly.

June did not pursue the subject any longer.

They resumed their silence, the room thick with uneasiness and distrust. Finally, something occurred abruptly to June that seemed frightfully overdue. With eyes still lingering on Bucky, watchful and on-edge, she rose and started across the room to the tabletop on which her phone rested.

"What are you doing?" Bucky questioned quickly, suddenly antsy.

"Calling Steve," June told him flatly. But as she turned away, fingers reaching for the phone, June felt a cold fist wrap around her bare arm, a shivering chill crawling over her skin. With shockwaves rolling through her, June flinched sharply in surprise. The hold did not leave her. She wheeled around, eyes moving between the silver fingers that clutched her arm, and Bucky's alarmed gaze.

"Please," he croaked. "Don't do that."

June was perturbed. "Why not?"

She was aware of the bite in her tone that goaded the most treacherous of reactions from Barnes, but she did not back down. She held his gaze, hand hovering above her phone in a wordless challenge. June was surprised at her own boldness, puzzled at the calmness she possessed, for she would have expected to be shaking with terror.

Bucky did not rebuke her challenge, nor did he offer any explanation as to why he wished to avoid Steve. But his eyes enthralled her, persuaded her without an utterance. So June tugged her arm from his grasp and stepped away from the table, palms held up in surrender.

"Alright," she said, urging softness into her voice. "Forget I asked, okay?" June brushed a lock of chestnut hair behind her ear, searching Bucky's face for any betrayal of emotion. "How's your arm?" she gestured to the shoulder Steve had dislocated months before.

Barnes shrugged. "Most injuries don't stick with me very long," he responded dully.

"Is anyone after you?" June asked, head buzzing with a jumble of questions, every one seeming more imperative than the last.

Bucky shook his head, still rooted to the floor. "I don't think so. They'd be here by now."

June gave him a look. "Thank you for keeping that to yourself."

Silence resumed once again, June crossing her arms over her chest while Bucky shifted his weight restlessly.

"They have a name for you, you know," he spoke abruptly. "On the news. They're calling you Cutlass."

June's mouth fell open. She wanted neither an alias nor the responsibility that came with a hero's title. Her jaw tightened. "I guess I should be honored," she sighed.

Bucky shrugged. "Now the public has someone to blame."

"Brilliant . . ." June whispered, the truth of his statement dawning upon her. Every life lost in the Battle above the Potomac was a life she helped take away. Blood covered her hands, again after she had spent years scrubbing it off. The idea made her dizzy with fear.

With a slight shake of her head, June returned her attention to Bucky. "I won't contact Steve if you don't want me to, but he's still looking for you. It won't be long before he traces you back here, and I have a feeling he won't like the fact that I harbored you without saying anything."

"I'll handle Steve," Bucky told her tonelessly. "When I have to. I don't want to see him right now."

June tilted her head skeptically, but nodded in understanding. "While you're here," she said, changing the subject quickly, "you can have the guest room . . . if you want. I usually sleep in Steve's room, but — "

" — the guest room's fine," Bucky insisted quickly, his fist tightening about the strap of his backpack. "Thanks."

June watched him carefully, wondering why he seemed so determined not to be remotely reminded of Steve. She would have guessed he would want to see his lifelong friend, one of the only positive connections he had to his life before Hydra. Yet every time Steve was mentioned, Bucky grew suddenly anxious, curling his fingers in a nervous habit that June noticed quite early on. She noted many things about him, such as the way his gaze flitted to the door and windows every few seconds, or how her name sounded in his prose, his low, smooth tone.

"Why did you come here," June asked, "if you want to avoid Steve? How were you sure he wouldn't be here?"

Bucky shrugged, with a slight shake of his head. "I wasn't," he said quietly. "But I'm a wanted terrorist. I needed a place to lay low. This was my only option," he paused for a long moment, and June found herself unwillingly hanging on his every word. "But I guess I was lucky it was just you."

June gave a soft lopsided smile. "Just me."

Bucky tried to match her expression, but the smile fell almost instantly. His brow furrowed into a frustrated scowl, and his eyes moved to his feet. He did not say another word. So, reprising her role as a silence-filler, June cleared her throat.

"Should I call you James, or Bucky?"

He lifted his pale eyes. "What?"

"Well," June continued quickly, "if you have a preference, I'd . . . I'd like to know."

Barnes stared at her, with startled disbelief on his face, as if he did not think he was entitled to an answer. He drew in a breath.

"Bucky is fine. Call me Bucky."

• • •

LOOK AT THESE DUMMIES I LOVE THEM.
part two is gonna be so cute and dramatic omg omg