I ALREADY HAVE 78 READS!!! Thanks, y'all. Actually, no one really comments on here, so it feels like a ghost-town. And sorry for not updating in so long, my special group of 5 readers. 

Now, this is a VERY special chapter, and it's... a rollercoaster of emotions, impending doom and whatnot, to say the least. I'll stop beating around the bush, because it feels weird. Now, as my good friend sorrynobodyishome  has given me this idea, I felt it improper to not fully credit them. Bitches, Bros, and Binary Hoes, I present to you: THE FIRST AI-WRITTEN CHAPTER IN THIS STORY!!!

Acknowledgements to Chat-GPT as well. I haven't forgotten about you, old pal. Don't think I'll ever ask you to write again, but you tried your best. Also, thank you for -planetaryfire- for those super-nice comments. It's a short chapter, compared to the others. Moving along now -

You stare at Bucky in disbelief. A microphone in your tent? 

How did Howard manage to pull that off? And why would he do such a thing? You feel a surge of anger and betrayal, mixed with curiosity and confusion. You want to confront Howard and demand an explanation, but you understood why he completely disrespected your privacy. Who wouldn't? But you also want to know more about Bucky and his involvement in this scheme. He was turning out to be a criminal, and you liked that. You'd always had a thing for bad boys. 

You look into his eyes, which are filled with guilt and fear. Ugh! You thought. He was so emotional. He seems to regret telling you the truth, but he also seems to care about you. Odd. He had said that spending time with you was the only part of the equation that mattered. Did he even know what math was? Why did he use it as a metaphor? And what did he mean by that? Did he have feelings for you, or was he just trying to manipulate you? What if he wanted your secrets for world domination?

Was his name even Bucky? What if he was someone called Dagmar? 

You shuddered.

You decide to give him a chance to explain himself. You take a deep breath, stare at him in they eyes for a few minutes, and say, "Bucky, I appreciate your honesty, but I need you to tell me everything. How long has Howard been spying on me? What does he want from me? And what do you want from me?"

Bucky sighs and runs a hand through his beautiful hair. He looks around nervously, as if expecting someone to interrupt them. He lowers his voice and says, "Look, Helen, I don't know much, okay? Howard approached me a few days ago, after we met at the bar. I was just enjoying my beer, and he came and sat next to me, and I didn't want to share a drink with him, so I stopped drinking. He said he was a friend of yours, and that he was worried about you. I knew you, so I was also worried about you. He said you were in danger, and that you needed someone to watch your back. He said he had a plan to get you out of this hellhole and into something bigger and better. He said he had a vision for the world. He said he was working on something. He said he needed my help, and that he would reward me generously if I agreed."

You frown. "Reward you how? Is he going to-?"

Bucky hesitates. He looks away and says, "He said he would help me get into the SSR. The Strategic Scientific Reserve. You know, the elite group of scientists and soldiers that work on secret projects to fight the Nazis. He said he had connections, and that he could get me in if I proved myself worthy. He said he had a mission for me, and that it involved you. Do you know what the SSR is? It's very important."

You feel a chill run down your spine. The SSR. You have heard of them, of course. They are the ones who had recruited your aunt Peggy, the legendary spy and your partner. You have always admired them, and you are proud to be part of them. But you also know that they are highly selective and secretive, and that getting in is not easy. Especially not for yourself, even if you were already in it. What does Howard have to do with them? And what does he want you to do? After all, he was just a scientist for SSR. Not an agent, not like you. 

You narrow your eyes and say, "What kind of mission, Bucky? Who even are you? What does Howard want me to do?"

Bucky swallows hard. He looks at you with a mixture of admiration and fear. He says, "I'm Bucky. He wants you to steal something. Something very important. Something that could change the course of the war."

You raise your eyebrows. "Steal what? From whom?"

Bucky hesitates again. He says, "He wants you to steal a mysterious artifact. From the Red Skull." and he shuddered. 

You gasp, feeling tears stinging your eyes. The Red Skull. The leader of HYDRA, the Nazi's secret science division. The one who would later on kill Abraham Erskine, the creator of the super-soldier serum. The one who had tried to kill you and your aunt Peggy several times, though you had no memory of it. The one who had escaped with a powerful weapon that no one knew how to stop. The one who had vanished without a trace. The one who got away. 

Bucky steps forward to comfort you, because he loves you.

You shake your head. "That's insane. That's impossible. That's suicide. That's madness. How does he expect us to do that?"

Bucky shrugs. He says, "He didn't give me any details. He just said he had a plan, and that he needed me and you to be part of it, so I agreed. He said you were the only one who could pull it off. He said you were special."

You scoff. "Special? How am I special? I'm just an agent. A field agent and a Special Operations Executive that supervises all divisions in Camp Lehigh, under Colonel Philips' instructions. All I do is make sure you all get every step right. I'm not a super-soldier. I'm not a superhero. I'm not a spy. I'm not a scientist. I'm not a thief. I'm not special."

Bucky smiles. He says, "You are special, Helen. You're smart, brave, loyal, and beautiful. You have a fire in you that no one can extinguish. You have a heart that no one can break. You have a soul that no one can corrupt. You have a face no one can ruin. You're special, Helen. And you're the only one who can do this. You're the only one who can capture my heart. I love you."

You blush. You don't know what to say. You don't know what to think. You don't know what to feel. You're flattered, but you're also suspicious. You wonder if he's telling the truth, or if he's lying to you. You wonder if he's working for Howard, or for someone else. You wonder if he loves you, or if he's lying. You wonder if he's your friend, or your enemy. You wonder if you can trust him, or not. You wonder if you should go with him, or not. You wonder what will happen if you do, or if you don't. You wonder what your future holds, or if you have one at all. You wonder if he's even from Brookyln. 

You wonder what you should do.

"No."

You say it firmly, clearly, decisively. You say it with conviction, with courage, with honesty. You say it with regret, with sadness, with pain. You say it with a finality that leaves no room for doubt, for argument, for change. You say it like a poem, like a verse, like a refrain. 

You say no, and you mean it. You say no to this. 

You see Bucky's face fall. You see his eyes widen, his mouth open, his shoulders slump. You see his expression change from hope to shock, from shock to hurt, from hurt to anger. You see him clench his fists, grit his teeth, and glare at you, growling as if the world was about to end. You see him look at you like you've just stabbed him in the heart, like you've just betrayed him, like you've just broken him. Which you probably have. 

You see him, and you feel a pang of guilt, of sympathy, of love. You feel a surge of emotion, of conflict, of doubt. You feel a moment of hesitation, of weakness, of temptation. You feel a flicker of possibility, of curiosity, of adventure. You feel a spark of something, of anything, of everything. For James. 

You feel it, and you ignore it.

You look away from him, and you say, "I'm sorry, Bucky. I can't do this. I can't go with you. I hate you. I can't betray my country, my family, my friends. I can't risk my life, my career, my reputation. I can't steal something that doesn't belong to me, from someone who could kill me. I can't trust Howard, or you, or anyone. I can't be part of this plan, this scheme, this madness. I can't be special, or different, or anything. I can't be what you want me to be, or what Howard wants me to be, or what anyone wants me to be. I can only be myself, and myself says no."

You say it all, and you hope he understands. You hope he respects your decision, your reasons, your feelings. You hope he forgives you, or at least doesn't hate you. You hope he still cares about you, or at least doesn't hurt you. You hope he lets you go, or at least doesn't stop you. You hope he still loves you, wants you and lives only for you. You hope, and you wait.

You wait for his response, his reaction, his action. You wait for him to say something, to do something, to be something. You wait for him to accept your no, or to challenge your no, or to change your no. You wait for him to make a move, or to make a sound, or to make a difference. You wait for him. And you hope he'll wait for you. 

You wait, and you wonder.

You wonder what he will do, or what he will say, or what he will be. You wonder if he will respect you, or if he will resent you, or if he will reject you. You wonder if he will forgive you, or if he will forget you, or if he will fight you. You wonder if he will let you go, or if he will hold you back, or if he will follow you.

You wonder, and you worry.

You worry about the consequences, the implications, the complications. You worry about the future, the past, the present. You worry about yourself, about him, about everything. You wonder about your future, together. 

You worry, and you wish.

You wish things were different, things were simpler, things were better. You wish you could say yes, you could go with him, you could be with him. You wish you could trust him, you could love him, you could have him.

You wish, and you sigh.

You sigh, and you hear him say...

"It's okay, Helen. I understand."

You hear him say it softly, gently, kindly. You hear him say it with acceptance, with compassion, with sincerity. You hear him say it with regret, with apology, with forgiveness. You hear him say it with a calmness that soothes your nerves, with a warmth that melts your heart, with a tenderness that touches your soul.

You hear him, and you feel a wave of relief, of gratitude, of love. You feel a release of tension, of conflict, of doubt. You feel a moment of peace, of harmony, of connection. You feel a flicker of hope, of joy, of happiness. You feel a spark of something, of anything, of everything.You feel it, and you embrace it.

You look at him, and you see him smile. You see his eyes soften, his mouth curve, his cheeks lift. You see his expression change from anger to sadness, from sadness to understanding, from understanding to affection. You see him relax his fists, loosen his teeth, and drop his glare. You see him look at you like you've just given him a gift, like you've just saved him, like you've just healed him.

You see him, and you smile back.

You smile back, and you say, "Thank you, my Bucky. Thank you for understanding. Thank you for respecting my decision, my reasons, my feelings. Thank you for forgiving me, or at least not hating me. Thank you for still caring about me, or at least not hurting me. Thank you for letting me go, or at least not stopping me. Thank you for loving me."

You say it all, and you mean it.

You mean it, and you hope he does too. You hope he means what he said, what he did, what he was. You hope he means that he understands, that he respects, that he forgives. You hope he means that he cares, that he loves, that he wants. You hope he means that he will do whatever it takes to win your trust back.

You hope, and you ask.

You ask, and you say, "Bucky, are you ready to plot a scheme against Howard for disrespecting my privacy?"

You say it, and you wait for his answer.

You wait, and you hear him say...

"I would love to, Helen. I would love to."

He says it, and you grin.

You grin, and you say, "Good. Because I have an idea, Bucky. I have an idea."

You say it, and you tell him your idea.

You tell him, and you see him nod.

He nods, and you say, "Let's do this, Helen. Let's do this."

You say it, and you grab his hand.

You grab his hand, and you run.

You run, and you don't look back.

Because now you have a reason not to. 

"HERE WE COME, HOWARD. HERE WE COME!" you yell.

Because now you have a reason to. 

"YES, HERE WE COME, HOWARD. HERE WE COME!" he yells. 

Because now he has a reason to.