The Brooklyn streets come alive with the rhythm of footsteps, the urban existence weaving through the fabric of the borough. I follow Bucky's lead on the path, sidestepping the ebb and flow of the city's pulse, en route to Osteria, a cozy Italian enclave nestled in the heart of Brooklyn. This is more than a mere walk through these bustling streets; it's a symbolic stride into uncharted territories for us. For decades our existence was defined by secrecy and evasion, a constant dance on the edge of chaos. Now, with every step, the city unveils itself as a realm where we can be more than ex-fugitives from a destructive past. 

As we weave through the labyrinth of brownstones and storefronts, there's a lightness in the air. The weight of constant vigilance and the echoes of our clandestine lives begin to dissipate. A gentle breeze carries whispers of normalcy, and for the time being, we aren't shadows skirting the periphery but individuals embracing the freedom to stroll beneath the city lights. However, I know there's always something lurking in the shadowy corners we walk by. 

Walking hand-in-hand through the city, the faint echoes of footsteps behind us trigger an instinctive response in me. My gaze flickers over my shoulder, a reflex honed by years of evading shadows. Bucky senses my unease, the subtle tension that underscores the daughter and banter that we share. Yet, I know he understands the ghostly specters that linger in the corners of my mind, and he matches my steps with a silent reassurance. The streets, once fraught with danger, now welcome us with open arms, inviting us to embrace the ordinary moments we once deemed impossible. 

"Bucky?" I say, getting his attention. There's a fondness in his eyes as I speak his name. "Do you ever feel like it's too good to be true?" I ask, my word punctuated by the cadence of our footsteps. The borough's heartbeat surrounds us, but my thoughts linger in the spaces between. 

He squeezes my hand gently, a tactile response that transcends words. "Sometimes, yeah. But we earned  this, Avalon. We've been through Hell and back. It's okay to enjoy the peace. Or at least, try to make sense of it."

A wistful smile graces my lips as we get closer to our final destination. But the intrusive thoughts plague my mind, creeping in like bad habits. "I've spent an eternity running that standing still feels...foreign. Like I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop."

Bucky's steps come to a halt, and he turns to face me. His blue eyes, reflecting the city lights, meet mine, searching for the truth in my words. The hum of vehicles that pass us by fade into the background as he takes a moment to respond.

"I get it , Princess. It's like we're conditioned to expect the worst," he says, tucking a piece of fallen hair behind my ear, "but sometimes, life surprises us. It brought us together, didn't it?"

I nod my head assuringly. His words resonate with a quiet truth, and as we resume our walk, a comforting silence settles between us. His words have always managed to get through the trenches of my mind, and yet, I know he's right. The cityscape gradually transforms as we approach the restaurant. Warm light spills onto the sidewalk from the restaurant's windows, inviting us to step into a haven of good food and shared moments.

Entering through the front door, gulfed into the intimate ambiance of Osteria, Bucky's hand finds its place on the small of my back, guiding me with a subtle assurance. The cozy atmosphere wraps around us, offering refuge from the hectic city outside. The aroma of garlic bread and herbs envelop us, and the ambiance exudes a timeless charm. The hostess greets us with a kind smile, leading us to a quaint table adorned with candles in the back of the restaurant. Bucky pulls out a chair for me, a gesture that carries a world of meaning, and we both settle in for a night that promises to be as extraordinary as the journey that brought us here.

Seated at a corner table, we share a quiet moment, the glow of the candlelight casting gentle shadows on our faces. Bucky's eyes, softened by the warm hues, linger on mine and a genuine smile plays on his life. In this silent exchange, he leans down and presses a tender kiss on the top of my head, making a warm feeling spread across my chest.

As we look over the menu, Bucky peers over it, looking at me with a glint of curiosity. "So, what brought about this spontaneous trip to New York? Not that I'm complaining, but it's not your usual style."

I chuckle, glancing over the menu back at him. "Maybe I'm trying out a new style. Thought it was time for a change of scenery," I admit a half truth. I know I'll tell him the real reason, but I just want to enjoy these moments of normalcy. Of feeling human.

Bucky smirks, his eyes sparkling, "Change, huh? What happened to the woman who used to plan every move down to the second?"

I raise an eyebrow, feigning offense, "Hey, I can still plan like a pro. I just thought I'd take a break from being the mastermind for a bit."

We shared a laugh together. It's nice to see that we've both come a long way from the days of constant vigilance and calculated moves. For years, I didn't think this kind of life was possible for me–for us–but life has a way of changing for the better. We dive into an easy conversation, forgetting how the world turned its back on us and how we still managed to be somewhat stable.

The restaurant atmosphere wraps around us, the clinking of cutlery and the murmur of other diners creating a symphony of normalcy. It feels like we've escaped the gravitational pull of our tumultuous histories, finding refuge in the simplicity of a dinner date. As we savor our meals and exchange laughter, I catch Bucky stealing glances at me. There is an acknowledgement between us, a promise that these moments are ones that we both cherish and won't take for granted. And it is now where I feel a sense of belonging–a feeling that I never thought I'd experience again. 

Amidst our casual banter, the topic naturally shifts to the years we spent apart during Bucky's time in hiding. I take a sip of my wine, letting the rich flavor linger on my tongue before I decide to share a piece of my side of the story. I haven't revealed much about that time period, but I suppose it's better late than never.

"You know, while you were in hiding, I was here in New York," I confess, a wistful smile playing on my lips. "At the Avengers Tower, to be exact. Adjusting to a somewhat normal life was... well, let's say, challenging."

Bucky raises an eyebrow, intrigued. "Normal? In Stark's tower?"

I laugh, nodding in agreement. "Well, as normal as it could've been for someone that just 'woke up'. But I kept myself busy, you know?" I reply, casually as I take another sip from the glass. "I was trying to piece myself together, but it was exhausting feeling like I was a hollow shell of a person I didn't know."

He listens attentively, his eyes reflecting a mix of understanding and compassion. "I understand the feeling," he says softly, reaching across the table to gently squeeze my hand.

I appreciate the gesture, and my gaze softens as I look into his eyes. "You know, I spent my first birthday in New York, tucked away in the tower," I admit, deciding to share something I've kept to myself for years, "I didn't tell anyone; it took me a long time to remember it. Birthdays have never been my thing. But that year, I was on a different kind of mission."

Bucky leans back, curiosity etched on his face. "A mission? You never told me about that."

I nod, a small smile playing on my lips. "My mission was you, Barnes. I knew I'd be the one to find you," I reminisce on the sleepless nights that I spent narrowing down the whereabouts of the rogue soldier. "Steve told me about the man behind the soldier, the friend he knew. And I decided then I was going to find you. I needed to find you, to give you the chance at redemption you deserved. That was my purpose, my silent mission all along."

His expression softens, a mixture of gratitude and surprise shining in his eyes. For as long as I can remember, even with my memories somewhat intact, I've never truly felt at home. I've only ever been able to find that feeling with him. Boston will forever be etched into the corners of my soul, imploring me to come back to it, but without him, I wouldn't have become the woman sitting in front of him.

"You went through all that trouble for me?"

My eyes begin to water, and I quickly try to blink them away. I return his gaze, "And I'd do it again in a heartbeat," I say in almost a whisper. "You've always been worth it. Even when the world saw you as a weapon, I saw the man you were underneath. And I knew you deserved a chance to reclaim that identity."

There is a moment of understanding between us, a silent acknowledgement of the bond that has endured despite the trials and tribulations that we've faced. Deep down, I know that everything was meticulously planned, but the moments that have come after, well, I know that's my doing. As we sit in the cozy ambiance of the restaurant, I feel a sense of peace wash over me. Despite the uncertainties of the past, we're here together, and I will do everything in my power to keep this genuine connection. 

Bucky reaches across the table again, his hand finding mine. "Thank you, Lonnie," he says, his words are gentle. "For never giving up on me."

I squeeze his hand, a silent promise of unwavering support. "Always, Bucky."

***

           Sitting on the couch, I absentmindedly braid my hair into two french braids, a familiar ritual that offers a momentary distraction from the whirlwind of thoughts racing through my mind. The rhythmic pattern of weaving strands between my fingers feels oddly conformation, a silent vestige of a time where my life was anything but ordinary. But keeping myself distracted from the words that threaten to spill from my lips is all I can manage.

The sensation of the hair sliding through my fingers evokes memories of another time, another place. It reminds me of Hydra, of the countless houses spent in isolation, perfecting the art of manipulation and deception. Back then, braiding my hair was more than just a simple grooming routine; it was a shield, a facade of normalcy that I clung to to keep myself in line.

Now, as I sit in Bucky's apartment, surrounded by traces of a life I never thought I'd have, the act of braiding takes on a new significance. It's no longer a means of survival but a soothing gesture, a quiet moment of solace in the midst of chaos. And yet, despite the comfort it brings, I can't shake the unease that lingers, a palpable tension that hangs like an invisible barrier. 

As I wait for Bucky to emerge from the shower, the quiet of the apartment amplifies the cacophony of my own anxieties. My heart pounds in my chest, each beat a reminder of the weight of the truth I will unveil at any given opportunity. The anticipation gnaws at me, twisting my stomach into knots as I replay the impending conversation in my mind. There is no avoiding it; he is patiently waiting for me to speak my truth. However, it's like waiting for a bomb to go off, destroying everything I've ever built in its path.

I picture his reaction, the disappointment clouding his eyes as I confess my actions from a few nights before. The fear of tarnishing the fragile normalcy we've built together gnaws at me, a relentless adversary that refuses to be ignored. I've done more bad than good in these ninety-six years I've existed. I know I'm dangerous and am capable of world annihilation. But I don't serve that kind of purpose anymore. At least, I've been trying to convince myself that I can be good and do good. Yet, within the fear, there is a flicker of hope that he'll understand, that he will see past the mistakes to the intentions behind them.

But hope is a fragile thing, easily shattered by the harsh realities of life. And as I sit here in the silence, braids falling neatly over my shoulders, I can't help but wonder if this conversation will be the breaking point, the fracture that irreparably damages what we've worked so hard to build.

As I finish braiding my hair, my fingers deftly intertwining with each strand, I'm quickly ripped from daze to the sound of the bathroom door opening. I glance up to see Bucky stepping out, drying his hair, his bare chest glistening with droplets of water. It's a sight that never fails to catch my breath. The sight of him, so effortlessly masculine and yet tender in his demeanor, fills me with a warmth that courses from the depths of my soul. Seeing him comfortable, especially in him feeling at ease to be without his metal limb, reminds me of the depth of trust and intimacy we share.

"I haven't seen you do that in a while," he says, his voice soft and filled with admiration as she gestures to my braids. "You look beautiful." 

His words, simple yet sincere, wash over me like a gentle wave, easing the doubts and fears that have been clinging to the edges of my mind. I can't help but simple,an expression of gratitude and love, as I meet his gaze.

But beneath the surface, beneath the facade that I've carefully crafted, a storm rages within me. It's a storm of apprehension, of dread that threatens to engulf me whole. I fear that if i reveal the truth, if I let him glimpse at the darkness that still lurks within me, it will destroy the very thing I swore I'd never lose: him.

Yet, as I look into his blue eyes, I see a flicker of understanding, a silent reassurance that tells me he knows. He knows that I'm struggling, that I'm wrestling with demons that refuse to be silenced. And he knows that despite my dismay, despite my uncertainty, I am trying. Trying to be better, trying to heal, trying to love and be loved in return.

But my mind refuses to think logically. In this moment, as I sit on his couch, consumed with this unspoken truth, I know that I can't keep running. I can't keep hiding behind walls of silence and secrets. I owe him an explanation, no matter how painful or terrifying it may be. 

His warmth envelops me as he settles beside me on the couch, pressing a tender kiss to my temple. I lean into his touch, relishing in the comfort and familiarity of his presence. For a second, the world fades, leaving only the two of us in our own little bubble of intimacy. I steal a glance at him, taking in the sight of his tousled hair and the easy smile that graces his lips. He seems so at ease, so effortlessly himself, only makes the dread intensify.

Taking a deep breath, I gather my courage, my resolve steeling against the onslaught of doubt. It's time to speak my truth, to lay bare the blood on my hands once me. I can only hope that he will see, that he will understand, that this time, I am not falling back into old habits. This time, I acted in self defense.

I swallow hard, the weight of my confession presses down on me. "Remember when I said running is what I'm good at?" I say, my words threatening to fail me as I speak them. It feels like the words are caught in my throat like thorns.

Bucky nods, his expression serious as he waits for me to continue.

"Well, there's a reason I had to leave Boston," I confess, the words spilling out in a rush, like a dam breaking under the pressure of pent-up emotions. "I didn't know if there would be others, and I couldn't stand still anymore."

Bucky's hand tightens around mine, a gesture of support that steadies my trembling resolve.

"I went to the research center," I continued, my voice trembling with the weight of my guilt, each word a heavy stone dragging me deeper into the abyss of my remorse. "I was trying to comprehend the depths of my father's corruption, and as I was leaving, I sensed something was off. And you know, my instincts never fail me, Bucky."

Tears blur my vision as I start to lay bare the truth, exposing the darkest corners of my soul to the man who holds my heart. To the man that saved my life more times than I can count.

The words feel like they're suffocating me with their gravity. "I had to do what I've always done best," the words taste bitter on my tongue, my voice trembling with my admission. "I fought. I fought for my life."

His eyes fill with a combination of shock and concern. I know what I'm exposing is the last possible thing he would have imagined. But this is real, this is my truth, and it's the last goddamn thing I ever expected to happen to me again.

"I...I killed them," I stumble over my words, but the weight of them releases off my shoulder. "I didn't hesitate. I didn't have a choice. It was either them or me."

The silence that follows is deafening, broken only by the ragged sound of my own breathing. I can feel his gaze boring into me, searching for some semblance of understanding in the depths of my eyes.

"I didn't want to," I continue on, the words tumbling out as I struggle to justify the violence and blood that stains my hands. "But I couldn't let them take me. I couldn't let them win."

Tears blur my vision as I lay bare the darkest moment of my life as of recent, the memory of blood on my hands, the stiffness of their bodies haunting me like a specter. And as I wait for Bucky's response, my heart clenches with fear, dreading the inevitable condemnation that awaits me.

The seconds stretch into eternity as Bucky's silence hands between us, each passing moment amplifying the complexity of my confession. His eyes, usually so warm and comforting towards me, now hold a mixture of shock and disbelief, piercing through me with their intensity. A heavy weight settles in the pit of my stomach. The air in the room grows suffocating, thick with unspoken words and shattered expectations. With trembling hands, I rise from the couch, untangling myself from Bucky's touch, my moveents clumsy as I gather my belongings.

"This was a mistake," I murmur, my voice barely audible above the deafening silence that creeps into every corner of this apartment. "I shouldn't have come."

Each word feels like a dagger to my heart, a painful reminder of the rift I've created between us. I can feel the familiar tendrils of panic creeping in, threatening to overwhelm me as I grapple with the realization that I may have destroyed the fragile bond we shared. I knew I shouldn't have come. After all, violence and chaos follows me wherever I go. And unlike him, I didn't try to remove the programming that Hydra planted within me. Red is with me wherever I go, and no matter how hard she and I try, we both know the inevitable. If someone knows, they can alter what we've become.

"I'm sorry," I repeat louder this time, the words catching in my throat as the tears begin to spill. "I shouldn't have come here."

But even as I speak, I know that my words are futile, lost in the abyss of his silence. I continue grabbing my things, my movements frantic and desperate, as I prepare to flee once more into the safety of solitude. To the comforting embrace of life on the run. But running away--back to him--was the only thing keeping me from running in the wrong direction.

But just as I reach the door, a hand reaches out to stop me, a desperate plea in its touch. I hesitate, torn between the overwhelming urge to escape and the faint glimmer of hope that flickers within me. Yet, as the tears continue to fall and the pain in my heart grows, I find myself unable to turn back, unable to listen to the words he so desperately longs to speak. As I stand at the threshold, ready to embark on another devastating journey of fleeing, his voice finally pierces through the silence, pulling me back from the brink of escape.

"Avalon," he says, his voice raw with emotion, "please don't go."

His words hang in the air, laden with unspoken apologies and unvoiced fears. I know what he's thinking; his worst fear is me turning into the weapon I was created to be. He fears of losing me again to the people that ruined our lives before we had the chance to experience it. I turn to face him, my vision blurred by tears as I search his eyes for any sort of understanding, of forgiveness.

"I'm sorry for not being there to protect you," his words are heavy with regret, "I promised you once that I would always be looking out for you, and I didn't live up to that promise."

His admission pierces through the silence, echoing in the confined space of the room. His words strike me like a lightning bolt, shattering the walls I had built around my heart. I realize that he, too, carries the weight of guilt and remorse, burdened by the knowledge that he couldn't shield me from the violence and foes that still follow me wherever I go. For a moment, I'm at a loss for words, the enormity of his apology washing over me like a tidal wave. I want to tell him that it's not his fault, that he couldn't have known what would happen. I wasn't aware of the eyes following my every move. But I cannot fathom the words, choked by the sob that threatens to escape me. 

Instead, I reach out to him, my hand shaking as I cup his cheek, searching for space in the warmth of his touch. "Bucky," I whisper, trying to regain my composure as my heart pounds in my chest, "you have nothing to apologize for. You've done more for me than I could ever ask for."

But even as I speak these words, I know that they offer little comfort in the face of the pain we both carry with us. For so long, I have feared his rejection, his condemnation. But now, faced with his unwavering compassion, I find myself unable to comprehend the depth of his forgiveness. He pulls me into his chest, holding me close as if to shield me from the world, I realize that despite the darkness that still threatens to consume me, despite the scars that mark my soul, I am not alone. It's the sense of longing, a longing for the innocence we've lost, for the peace we barely remember.

"I'm sorry," he says again, his grip on me becoming tighter, as if not to lose me again. "I'm so sorry."

As we hold onto each other with a desperation born of fear and longing, I realize that despite the darkness that surrounds us, there is still light to be found in the warmth of our love. Only this time, we know something is out there, trying their best to drag us back into old habits. We know we aren't alone in this world and our past still haunt us, but we now recognize a presence in the shadows, a malevolent force lurking beyond the edges of our perception. The world is full of mysteries and dangers that we have yet to uncover.

But for now, in this fleeting moment of peace, I push aside the whispers of unease and focus on what's in front of me. Together, we stand against the encroaching darkness, a beacon of hope in a world filled with uncertainty. And as we hold onto one another, I silently vow to face whatever challenges lie ahead, knowing that as long as we're together, we can weather any storm.

I will do whatever it takes to protect myself and those I hold dear, even if it means embracing the chaos I once vowed to avoid.

a/n: welcome back!! sorry, I've been dealing with a little bit of writer's block. but that time as come to an end! I had to make things perfect for this chapter because bavalon went on their first official date and it makes my heart happy!! but her time in Boston seems to attract those who want her destroyed.. sooo what will happen next??? let me know what you think! - k