I clutch my pillow tighter. One side of my face is enveloped, the other side looking at my room on an awkward angle.

I huff, sending strands of my hair flying out. I'm tired from the fear and the insomnia but I'm worried if I close my eyes that Mark'll be there, wrapping his arms like a restraint around me, sliding his fingers between me.

I whimper and clench my eyes shut. The light lilting through the curtains almost has my room in full glow. It's clocking towards eight o'clock, I've been here for almost seven hours, shifting between checking my phone, and tossing back and forth, letting the thoughts grow heavy in my head.

I let my eyes rest shut, I'm immediately hit with the sense that I'm going to be attacked. That I'm vulnerable. My eye fly open and I shiver in my bed.

There's a knock at my door and I jolt up, drawing in my legs, my hand reaching out for the knife under my bed. I'm shaking but it's firm grip is a slight comfort.

Steve opens up the door and I relax slightly. "It's you." I breathe, then I begin to shake. "Please please please, leave me alone. Please." Tears escape and I'm internally crushed.

Steve sighs, his hands in a sign of surrender. "Okay, if that's what you want."

He left silently and I draw the blanket up closer around me, groaning into the pillow. I shake, I can't help it, the trembling shaking over my entire body. I couldn't stop it, couldn't control myself.

Pull yourself together! I snapped at myself, I began to shake again, drawing the blankets closer up around me.

"I-I can't." I whispered. I squeezed my eyes shut.

Mark brushes the hair away from my face, grinning down at me. "I'll be quick." He smiles sincerely. "You wanted this." I'm frozen, my blankets drawn up around me, I whimper. He grabs my chin, grinning. "Stay still." He growls. "We wouldn't want to break anything, would we?"

"P-p-please." I sobbed, tears leaking out of my eyes. "Please don't do this."

"Give up Liv," he whispers, running his hands down my body. "Give up."

"No!" I scream, pushing him off of me.

Falling. Four. Pain. One. Homecoming.

I sit up, my hair falling around my face. My cheeks are wet with tears and I struggle for air, the oddest sensation that Mark's hands are still running over me. I struggle to control my breathing, taking in my surroundings.

Light filters through the cracks in the curtains which are drawn shut. I'm in my bed, in my room, per normal. I look to my side where Bucky is sitting shamelessly. I struggle to find a retort, a question or just a snappy remark to get him out of here.

"Night terror?" He asks calmly, he's sharpening a knife, my knife. Something's off about him, his metal arm. He moves it like any other ligament of his body, but it's just interesting to see such a thing on someone. I watch him for a little while before remembering he'd asked a question.

"It doesn't matter." I dismissed, frowning, waving a hand like I was shooing the thought away.

"I get them," he spoke softly. "All the time."

"I guess you would." I snapped coldly. "Killing people does that to you."

Bucky diplomatically didn't respond. He just kept sharpening the knife. Surprisingly, I wasn't threatened by his actions.

"They're mostly about losing Steve." He spoke lowly. "After we found each other again, after I regained my memories and they put me under. They found a way to reverse all of that... Stuff. It still lingers, but mostly at night."

"I know." I whispered. "Always at night, in the shadows."

There's a silence again. Bucky places the knife on the bedside table. "Emma's really worried about you. Incredibly stressed."

I huff, getting up, walking over to the cupboard. "She shouldn't be, it'll just give her grey hairs."

Bucky chuckled, I spun around, about to question, but he shrugged. "I don't understand you two, she goes to the moon and back to make sure you're okay while you complain by day and party at night." He scoffed, shaking his head. "Yeah, I don't understand."

I frown. "You don't need to, stay out." I huffed, turning back to my cupboard, shifting through the clothes. I wanted to go through there again, maybe I could find some answers, a reason.

"You know I betcha it's about that day." Bucky said, I turned around and he had a slight smile. I shuffled back, palms sweating. He knows! The irrational part of me, screamed.

Don't be silly! I snapped back.

"The one where my kind destroyed everything?" He trailed off, sounding innocent. I clenched my eyes shut, anticipating the onslaught of memories and screams and the blood. So much blood. But there was nothing. My hands gave a slight tremble. "Everything about you seemed to be about that day, why is that? Who were you before that day? Were you even someone?"

I spun around on him with a scowl. "I am this." I held my thumb and forefinger squished together. "Close to chucking you out, it's bad enough I wake up to find you sitting next to my bed and sharpening a knife. I really should call the cops. Why are you on the run? Winter Soldier? Why are you playing fugitive at my house? What went wrong to cause such a scene?" I scowled, walking closer towards him. For someone who was in crumpled pyjamas and with messy bed hair, I could be pretty intimidating.

"You want to know Olyvia?" Bucky said lowly, looking down at me. "I'll tell you but not here."

"Fine." I spoke on a partial snap, partial shrug. "But you better swear that its a good reason."

Ooo tension. Anyway, hands up if you've seen Civil War? Holla to all the broken feels tho