NEW YORK CITY, NEW YORK
2014

JUNE was frozen where she stood, her heart hammering a frantic tune against her chest. The realization of just who had arrived came crashing down on her like ash and rubble, and it made the guilt begin to howl again.

"Sam?" she whispered, mostly to herself, but Tony's head snapped in her direction anyway.

"You know the guy?" he asked.

"He's a friend," June replied, though she privately doubted their relationship would be the same. Surely Steve had already told him everything.

Tony watched her, his face scrunched with suspicion. "All right then. Send him up, Jay."

"Yes, sir."

They lapsed into an awkward silence for many moments until Tony clasped his hands together, brought them to his mouth, and threw June a very pointed look. "Something's been bothering you this whole time."

"What?"

"Yup," Tony darted circles around her. "Didn't wanna embarrass you, so I decided not to say anything, but to be fair I don't really make a lot of permanent decisions: Happy told me you were crying on the way over. Wanna tell me why?"

"I wasn't crying," June muttered.

Tony shook his head. "For a spy, you're a real shitty liar—"

"I'm not a spy!"

"—because in fancy town cars, there are neat little things called rearview mirrors," Tony leaned forward on the last two words, emphasizing them with a twitch of his head. "Happy saw you."

Frustrated to the brink of anger, June let her face fall into the nastiest glare she could produce. It was a tactic she learned back in Moscow—if you were scared, upset, or confused, mask it by looking as pissed-off as possible.

Tony seemed to know the technique as well.

"Pepper makes that same face, Junebug," he sang. "Try again."

June blew a breath through her teeth. "Fine," she hissed. "Yes, something has been bothering me. But it's my own fault . . . so it doesn't matter."

"Hey, look," Tony raised his palms. "I don't know you that well. I'm in no position to judge. But if you're gonna tell me, you've got max thirty seconds."

A cold feeling of desperation crawled through June like a parasite. She wanted to tell Tony all of her problems, just as she had wanted to spill everything to Steve that day they had taken refuge at Sam's house. But her window was closing.

"Steve and I got into a fight," she announced, a bit louder than she had meant to. "I . . . I kept something hidden from him. And he found out."

"What did you keep hidden from him?"

"We're not there yet." June shook her head. As if on cue, the elevator dinged. The doors parted, and there stood Sam, a cardboard box held in his arms. His dark eyes met June's from across the room.

"Goddamnit, Ivanski," Sam sighed. He rushed forward, dropped the box, and wrapped her in a hug.

June gripped him as tightly as she could. "I'm sorry," she whimpered. "I'm sorry. What are you doing here? It's almost a four-hour drive back to D.C.—"

"Hey, hey," Sam rubbed her arm. "Don't worry about that right now."

June pulled away. "No. Why did Steve . . . he hates me. He hates me."

To her shock, Sam chuckled. "No, June. No, he most definitely doesn't. Listen, uh . . . he'd been thinking about you a lot while we were gone. I just don't think he thought he would come back to you . . . like that." Sam glanced behind June and seemed to notice Tony for the first time. He lifted his chin in greeting. "Hey, Stark."

Tony gave him a funny look. "Hi, stranger."

June did not hear anything they said. Sam may have believed he was helping her conscience, but there was nothing worse he could have said. A grimy fist curled around her heart. So, she thought. This is what you've done.

Incapable of saying anything else, June sniffed, steadied her trembling lip, and pointed to the box Sam had dropped. "What's in there?"

"Most of what you left back at Steve's," he said. "Clothes, your phone, toothbrush. All that."

"How'd you know where I'd be?"

Sam shrugged. "Natasha gave me a call about an hour before we got back. I'll help you take it all to wherever you're staying, but . . . I figured you wouldn't wanna come back to the apartment just yet."

Overwhelmed by gratitude, June tried her best to smile. "Thank you."

"No problem," Sam squeezed her shoulder. "Look, I told Cap I'd be back as soon as possible. He's trying to get Barnes to talk."

June tightened her lips and nodded stiffly. "Okay."

"You're gonna be all right?"

She nodded again. "Yeah. Yeah, of course."

Sam sighed. He pulled June into another embrace, patting her hair gently, before letting her go and backing towards the elevator.

"Give me a call, okay?"

"Okay. Thanks, Sam."

He smiled tightly, empathetically, and disappeared behind the sliding doors a moment later. Shaking, June turned back to Tony. "Dramatic, huh?" she whispered.

"Sad, actually," he replied, concern lining his face. "You're really not gonna tell me what's up with Rogers?"

"I'm not even entirely sure anymore, Mr. Stark," June said, feeling quite helpless. "Right now I think it's best I address my newfound homelessness."

"Well, lucky for you, I just launched my Incentive to End Homelessness in New York foundation," Tony said, his shoulders bouncing slightly. "You wanna be its first customer?"

June stared at him. Why was it every Avenger she met would inevitably double as her roommate? "I've known you for an hour, Mr. Stark," she replied. "You can't possibly—"

Tony cut her off with a "stop talking" gesture. "Yeah, you're gonna need to quit the whole 'Mr. Stark' thing, all right? You're a grown woman, you're bunking with me—it's Tony, Junebug. Iron Man if you want to be formal."

"I'm not living here, M—Tony," June asserted, crossing her arms firmly over her chest. "I have an apartment . . . I haven't paid rent in two months, but I've got one."

"If you're going to be helping out on missions, I need you as close as possible." Tony spread his hands. "If it helps you sleep, think of it as a job requirement. Nothing personal. But I have a feeling if I let you go back to living alone in D.C., you're gonna sit and sulk about whatever happened with Steve. And that's no good."

June shook her head. "You're an exhausting human being."

Tony pointed at her. "But I'm right. C'mon, sweetheart, let's go find you a room. Grab your stuff, all right, I'm not a moving man." He darted past her, tossed her a smirk, and halted by the elevator. "Hop to it."

With a deep sigh, June stooped to pick up her things, too drained to argue any more—she promised herself she would stay the night and be gone by morning. As she shuffled towards Tony, June glanced down at the open box, eyes searching through folded shirts and jeans, glimpsing the sleeve of her brown leather jacket stuffed at the bottom. Everything smelled like Steve.

As she stepped into the elevator for the second time that day, June once again found herself battling back tears.

• • •

TONY showed June to a guest room, one of dozens, she assumed. She accepted gratefully, however, knowing she was in no position to complain.

It was lavish, there was no denying: large as Steve's entire apartment, with a full bath and a balcony overlooking the city. The bed was massive and stacked with pillows; June could tell the mattress was softer than air, but privately knew she could never fall asleep upon it.

It just wasn't the same.

"I'll take you out somewhere nice for dinner," Tony remarked from the doorway. "Maybe that'll weasel out all your secrets. Until then, just ask Jarvis for anything you need. Don't go sneaking off, though. Okay? I don't need that."

June mustered a half-smile. "Thanks, Tony."

He waved her off. "Don't mention it. It's what I'm here for." He shoved his hands in his pockets, eyes moving around the room. "I'll see you later, Junebug."

"See you," June replied, but Tony was already gone.

She let out a breath it felt she had been holding since she first arrived. June wanted to cry, but the urge disgusted her. All she did was weep. As if tears would solve anything. Giving herself a shake, June set her box down on the bed and began rifling through her things. She pulled out a few shirts, pairs of jeans, and her jacket, and tossed them to the side. Underneath the clothes was her phone, her wallet, two Glock 26s, and two daggers hidden in their gauntlets. With a subconscious sneer, June flipped the box over and dumped everything out. She snatched up one of the knives, rolled it through her fingers, and launched it across the room. It smacked against the wall and dropped lamely to the floor.

"Miss Ivanski?" J.A.R.V.I.S.'s concerned voice filled the bedroom. "Are you in distress? Should I alert Mr. Stark?"

June bridled her anger. "No," she said. "No. I'm fine. Sorry."

She was not fine, but she was sorry. Seeing the weapon did nothing but enrage her, remind her of when she had to use it, and assure her she would have to again. June knew she could drown herself in the blood of those whose lives she had ended. The daggers were nothing more than a tool to be used to fill that macabre ocean. How dare she be named for them?

How dare they become relics?

June's hand reached for the second blade, but before she grabbed it her fingers crawled over something thin and metallic. She looked down. A pair of dog tags were coiled on the comforter, and beside them, a crumpled scrap of paper with one word scribbled on it:

Swallowing hard, June picked up the dog tags. She bit her lip in order to suppress her extraordinary grin.

JAMES B BARNES
32557082 T42 A

She slipped the chains over her head and tucked the tags into her shirt. Her next move was neatly outlined.

Someone was waiting for her at the top of Stark Tower.

• • •

FOR all his time as an assassin, Bucky was anything but inconspicuous.

Or, perhaps it was June's own tactical training that allowed her to spot him almost immediately. Nevertheless, she made him out in the shadows as if her eyes were only meant to behold him. Bucky's broad frame melted from darkness. When he stepped out into the open, the city lights seemed to set him ablaze. The wind toyed with his hair, made it dance over his eyes; he looked like some divine creature hurled down from heaven.

June took a cautious step toward him. She knew they had very little time—she had told J.A.R.V.I.S. to pretend she was still in her room, and June did not know if a supercomputer would be a complicit liar. She raked her hair behind her ears. "Hey, stranger."

"Hey yourself." Bucky's lips tilted at the corners. "This is probably the stupidest thing we could've done."

June shook her head. She knew he was joking, but did not find herself in good humor. "Not quite. How's Steve?"

Something in Bucky's face twitched. The loose smile wavered. He did not want to talk about Steve. But not for the same reasons as before. "He calmed down a bit," Bucky said stiffly. He shortened the gap between them. "Told Wilson to take you your stuff."

June gaped at him. "How long have you been up here?"

"'Bout an hour."

"How'd you know I'd be here?"

Bucky shrugged. "I followed Wilson."

"All the way from D.C.?"

Another shrug. "I wanted to see you again."

"Oh."

June's stomach fluttered and swirled, her fingers and toes buzzing with excitement that seemed too juvenile to be the result of anything involving Bucky Barnes. Here she was getting giddy over an amnesiac ex-Soviet assassin.

She really was out of her mind.

Suddenly, Bucky grasped June's hands in his own, his movements earnest. His gaze seemed desperate to say something his mouth could not fabricate. "I'm leaving," Bucky whispered. "I'm leaving tonight. Will you come with me?"

"W-what?"

His silver fingers cradled the back of her head. "Come with me. C'mon, it'll be me and you again." A flash of his old grin returned.

Emboldened by the fact that he could find humor in his request, June pushed a piece of dark hair away from his face. "James," she murmured. Immediately, his face became somber. "You know I can't." She watched the disappointment spread through his pale eyes.

Bucky rested his thumb against her chin. "Why?"

June tried to look as apologetic as she could. "Because . . . I have too much unfinished business. I . . . I want to help people. I want to take down Hydra. For good."

Bucky's stare became pleading. He took June's face in both hands, so one of her cheeks burned with his human touch and the other was chilled by metal. "I don't wanna be without you."

June curled her fingers around his wrist. "I'll miss you, James." She tugged him forward, so their foreheads touched. "But I'm not what's best for you. Not right now, at least."

Bucky's eyes left hers, lingered on her lips. "You're gonna tell me to stay with Steve."

"Give him three days. Please. He's missed you so much. If you still want to leave, at least explain yourself."

Bucky lifted his gaze again. There was laughter in his face. "You know," he drawled, "if it were anyone else, I wouldn't give a damn about what they wanted me to do. But you . . . ," he grazed the apple of her cheek, "you can persuade me."

June felt herself blush furiously, but she held Bucky's stare. "I think you're just a flirt."

Bucky grinned. "Guess that's one thing they couldn't zap outta me."

They lapsed into a comfortable silence before June shook her head in amused exasperation and pushed her fist against his chest. "You need to go."

"Not even gonna let me say goodbye, huh?"

The blushed resurfaced. "I didn't think you were that desperate."

"Oh, I'm desperate, doll," Bucky said with mock severity. "I'm the most desperate man you'll ever meet."

Having made sure June knew that, he dipped his head and touched his lips to hers. Electrified, June kissed him back, trying to drown herself in their last meeting. If she had her way, she would never have to resurface. The embrace grew quietly more eager, Bucky's hands moving from June's face to her hips. She grasped the front of his shirt tightly, swaying with every tilt of his chin, every time her head rolled back. They broke apart for a moment, long enough for a low groan to furl up Bucky's throat.

"Jesus, June," he breathed.

June felt her ears burn with embarrassment, but in a good way, if that was possible. Her grip on him loosened. "That a good enough goodbye for you?"

Bucky smiled; his face was rather red, too. "I'm becoming more and more compelled not to go anywhere at all."

June took a step back, the curve of her lips both satisfied and sad. "I'm afraid that wasn't the deal, Sergeant. It's not safe for you out in the open. Someone's bound to recognize you, and—"

"I won't let that happen," Bucky assured her. "It's safe to say I know what I'm doing." He watched her for what seemed like centuries. "But if you want me to talk to Steve . . . I will."

June's chest swelled with gratitude. It was the least she could promise Steve. "Thank you, James. Really."

He waved her off. "I owe you a lot." He tucked a piece of her earthy hair behind her ear. "I'll try to see you before I go. If I go."

June nodded. She wished she could catch the feeling his touch gave her and never let go. But soon only the ghost of his presence clung to her. They were six feet apart.

"Goodbye," June whispered. Desperate to hide her crushing disappointment, she spun quickly around and marched back the way she came, towards the industrial stairwell. June made it five paces before looking back over her shoulder.

Like a candle snuffed out in the dark, Bucky was gone.

note.
im so active on this story omg.
before people start whining about how junie shouldn't have stayed behind, let me remind you that she and buck haven't known each other very long, and have just started exploring the romantic side to their relationship. she doesn't owe him anything. they don't love each other. if im honest? june is closer to loving steve than she is to loving bucky. this is going to take time.