𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑.
❝ secrets and lies ❞

THE WINTER SOLDIER WENT THROUGH FIRST, AS HE ALWAYS DID.

His gleaming metal fist crashed through the mural—painted wall, killing the first guard in an instant. The child followed, ever his shadow as she rolled head over heels and hurled a long silver blade into another guard's neck. Striding past her, the soldier looked sharply at the formation on the staircase, frozen in fear, in shock, in horror. He raised his machine gun and took them all down in a rapid spray of bullets before they even had time to return fire.

They hunted down those who fled.

They always did.

There would be no survivors.

The soldier jumped over the railing to the staircase below, boots landing with a massive crack in the concrete, curling around to land a bullet in one guard's forehead while his child sunk a blade into another's heart. The child unlatched the grappling hook from her belt, unable to hear the man scream when her blade plunged into his flesh with a vicious squelch.

Without a glance, the soldier swiftly moved past her so his metal hand could grip around their target's throat, squeezing and squeezing until his red eyes bulged and the bones in his neck snapped within his grasp.

And together, in one voice, father and daughter breathed out, "Hail HYDRA."

The girl stood beside the soldier, staring blankly at the dead man now limp at their feet.

It was only when her father turned that she noticed a man at the end of the wall, breathing heavy and hands shaking so hard he couldn't get his key into its lock.

No witnesses, that was the order. And orders must be followed.

Slowly, they crept closer, feet silent and eyes blank, weapons and hands still dripping with blood, closing in like predators on their prey.

"Please..." The witness' breath tumbled and trembled out of his chest as he desperately pushed his back against the wall, "I—I didn't see anything!"

The girl tilted her red head curiously at the man, watching blankly as he begged for his life.

"I didn't see anything." The man gasped, tears filling his beautiful dark eyes, stuttering out his last pleas for mercy, "I—I didn't see anything, I didn't see anything—!"

The soldier looked down at his child, standing at his side, barely tall enough to reach his hip. Morning sky eyes met ocean blues ones, wide and terribly innocent despite the murder and gore around them.

"Finish it."

The words rumbled out of him; coarse and unapologetic.

Those morning sky eyes filled with tears but his daughter said nothing. She was given no choice, no other option, no way out.

She just wanted to please him.

She just wanted to be allowed to stay.

So, she turned, she raised her gun, and she shot to kill.

And when he looked her in the eye once again, a little more of her innocence had died inside.

Bucky jolts awake to the sound of a gunshot, sweaty and breathing hard. His dog tags rattle against his heaving chest and he can feel sweat trickle down his back, slipping down the ridges of his spine.

He fell asleep on the floor in the living room again, the television still in roaring technicolor in front of him.

The beds are too soft, like falling asleep on a cloud or a... marshmallow, as Sam once described. Besides, he likes a view of the front door, likes to think he's defending their home, likes to know he can still keep them safe.

So the floor in the living room, by the front door, that's best.

Bucky tries to focus on the coping mechanisms that the doctor is always talking about. Grounding himself in the present. Taking deep breaths. Focusing on five things he can touch, five things he can smell, five things he can hear. He rubs a cool metal hand over his sweaty face, listening to the sounds filling their little house.

The soccer game on television is on low. A car rumbles by outside. The streetlights are buzzing. Upstairs Natasha's hand brushes the gun that still rests under her pillow. Finally settled in her own bedroom, Svetlana rolls over in her sleep.

It's the whimper that catches his attention though, forcing him to focus harder, listen closer.

It's not Natasha. Her breathing is always almost silent, ever the spy even in her sleep. Deadly silent and unflinchingly still. He already knows it's Svet, by gut feeling alone, as if it's this deeply rooted paternal instinct that churns his stomach and squeezes at his heart.

Bucky immediately pushes himself up, bare feet silently travelling over hard wood floor through the living room and up the stairs. He easily slips down the dark hall to find her bedroom, her door partly open because she doesn't like to feel alone.

Cautiously pushing her door open just a little wider, he leans in to get a better look at her, to focus on her.

Svetlana is still sleeping, curled into a ball with her red hair splayed out on the bed and her face buried in a pillow. Her chest rises and falls with an increasingly unsteady rhythm, her breaths coming out in sharp gasps — getting quicker and quicker with each passing second. She twitches in her sleep, hands fisting into her pillow, a quiet whimper echoing in the small room.

There's no even considering it, no moment to even think about it before Bucky is pulling back her blankets just enough to ease inside. He tenses when he feels himself sink into the mattress but carefully gathers her up and pulls her to him all the same.

"Papa, koshmary... " The girl chokes into his bare chest, her tears mixing with his sweat. Papa, the nightmares...

"YA znayu, milaya, YA znayu..." Bucky murmurs into her soft hair, lips kissing the side of her head, "Nothing's gonna hurt you, I'm not goin' anywhere." I know, sweetheart, I know...

Tears slip down her pink cheeks and his thumbs gently brush them aside, his own nightmares still sending shivers down his spine.

"Obeshchat'?" Promise?

"Da, da, obeshchayu. Teper' vozvrashchaysya ko snu." Yes, yes, I promise. Now, back to sleep.

Svet's heavy lashes flutter as she drifts back to sleep, breath slowly evening out once more. Swallowing past the lump in his throat, Bucky leans against the headboard to stare at the ceiling where Svet and Natasha painted a blue sky and fluffy white clouds.

It's strangely comforting, despite everything.

Bucky folds both arms around her, cradling her when she burrows deeper into him. He leans down and gently presses his lips into her hair, breathing her in.

She smells soft, sweet like sugar. It's the oddest thing; it's like vanilla and clean sheets and honey. He'll always remember that scent; even though she'd been starved and beaten and raised in a cold dank cell, she still carried that sweet baby smell beneath all that grime and blood.

Innocent until he took that away from her.

The scent takes him back to when everything was simultaneously more difficult and so much easier.

It was just her and him, against the world, stuck under HYDRA. No memories, no family, no wars. Just missions. Just each other.

It was simple, yes, but never easy.

A floorboard creaks and Bucky's head shoots upright, eyes narrowing into the darkness where Natasha hovers in the doorway with one hand on the doorknob and the other with a gun.

It seems Bucky isn't the only one with gut feelings when it comes to Sveta.

The side of his lip quirks upwards, "You sensed it too?"

Her shoulders loosen at the sight of Bucky and Svet in one another's arms but only slightly.

The girl's mother answers with a question of her own, "Is she okay?"

"Another nightmare."

"Migraine?"

"Not tonight."

Natasha exhales a tight breath and nods a little, lips twisted as she stares down at their little girl, a piece of him and her. She leans into the wooden doorway and crosses her arms over her black tank—top covered chest, playing pretend at looking casual. Her green eyes are hard to read, her silhouette sharp against the golden light of the hallway.

Finally, she whispers in that raspy voice of hers, "How about you?"

The way she asks it, the way she's even asking at all, it sets him on edge. He wishes it didn't.

And yet...

Bucky grits his teeth to force out a simple, "I'm fine."

"I can tell." Natasha smirks tiredly, dashing the bangs off her forehead, "You've been having them more and more. You keep shutting it out, it's going to shut you down. I'm speaking from experience."

"Natalia. It's really not any of your business."

That's not fair, and they both know it. But it's hard living under the same roof as one another, when they've both been trained to put on facades just as much as see through them. Natasha's jaw tightens and so does her grip on the gun. Bucky only really feels safe because he knows that she would never fire a gun so close to Svetlana. Though she does have excellent aim...

Instead of firing another bullet his way, she instead says, "You two have therapy tomorrow."

"I haven't forgotten."

His voice is sharp, though exhausted, and his eyes are even more so as he stares straight at her, frown lines creasing his forehead.

Natasha remembers there was a time when she used to understand him. She remembers understanding every little thing about her soldier in the cold, but so many years have passed and she knows he's different now. He has to be. His brain has been torn apart and stitched back together so many times, she sometimes wonders how there can still be any parts of the old him left.

She's grateful that there is, but most of the time he holds them just out of reach.

He's come so far in such a short time that this roadblock feels like a standstill. Slow progress is still progress, but only when an effort is being made. He's holding back now, they all know he is, and she understands that. More than anyone else could, if she's being honest (and she rarely ever is). But it's not just about them anymore.

"She needs you to try, James."

"I am trying," his tone is harsh, but she can hear a touch of desperation there.

They just stare at each other, green eyes on blue. Fifteen heartbeats have passed before someone speaks again.

"Then tell her the truth."

Natasha turns and leaves Bucky in the darkness.

━━━━━━

"SO, MR. BARNES, ARE YOU STILL HAVING NIGHTMARES?"

The room is cold. Filled with pale light and walls painted with trees. Father and daughter sit side—by—side on a wide straight backed couch, neither speaking, neither moving. Frozen in time. Lost in the forest. In a different kind of battle now.

"James, I asked you a question." Their therapist's face is stern, and her voice even more so, "Are you still having nightmares?"

"No."

It's a simple answer. Easy. Dismissive.

Svetlana subtly glances at the side of her father's face. A single blink. A clench in his jaw. A purposeful smoothening of his brow. She can read him better than anyone — just as he can her.

He's lying.

That much she knows.

But who is she to judge?

She tries hard to be honest in her private sessions with Doctor Raynor, but the truth is: she lies all the time. Lies for her father, lies for her mother. She lies when she pretends that there isn't a rope constantly wrapped around her chest that makes breathing near impossible. Like her skin isn't several sizes too small and the itch isn't bone—deep, like her lungs aren't buried beneath the concrete of her flesh that's always weighing her down. Baby steps, her mama is always saying. But most days, the baby steps feel more like crawling.

Svet can feel the cold from her father's vibranium arm through his sleeve pressing into her ribcage. She can sense his wariness, his annoyance, discomfort, and she's not sure what else to do but lean slightly into his side.

Her weight against him is a comfort, but not much.

The truth is: he doesn't like to have these discussions in front of her. He's not naive enough (or prideful enough) to think he can't show weakness in front of her. God knows she's seen the very worst of him too many times to count, but he doesn't want her to see this anymore. He needs to be strong for her, he needs to be stable for her.

It's not naivety, not pride, it's protection.

There are so many things he feels he needs to protect her from...

But the doc wanted to have a "family session", and what the doc wants, the doc gets... unfortunately.

"We've been doing this long enough that I can tell when you're lying." Raising a thin brow, Doctor Raynor goes on in her dry flat voice, "I thought by having Svetlana sit in on your appointment today, it might make you more comfortable. If anything, you seem a little off. Did something happen recently?"

"No."

Doctor Raynor suspiciously glances at Svetlana, as if seeking some kind of confirmation. The girl simply blinks her big eyes and dons a simple smile, though somehow keeping her expression frustratingly blank. If there's anything the child of an assassin and a spy knows how to do, it's the art of making her face unreadable.

That, and the inability to talk about her feelings, of course.

Clearly not going to get anything from the girl, their therapist just sighs, "You're both civilians now. With your history, the government needs to know that you're not gonna..."

Doctor Raynor lifts her fist and punches the air one, two, three times.

Svet tilts her head in confusion.

Bucky just nods like he understands.

"It's a condition of your pardon — for both of you, actually. So, Svetlana, tell me about your father's recent nightmare."

Svetlana immediately sucks in her lips and Bucky steadily repeats, "I didn't have a nightmare."

Annoyed, Doctor Raynor draws in a long deep breath before whipping out her pen and paper and propping it onto her knee.

"Not again," the girl sighs, plopping her cheek on her fist, used to this from her own sessions.

"Oh, come on. Really?" Bucky's irritated voice echoes in the empty room, "You're gonna do the notebook thing? Why? It's passive aggressive."

Svet huffs in quiet sympathy.

"You don't talk. I write."

"Okay, okay." Her papa heaves a sigh of his own, voice growing quieter with every word, "I crossed a name off the list of my amends yesterday..."

Bucky hasn't allowed her to see this list of names. Svet hasn't asked and they both know that she won't. It's personal. Boundaries are good. Boundaries are healthy. So Doctor Raynor says.

"Don't worry! I used all your four rules." Bucky's voice is stiff as he displays his hands on the tops of his knees, cold blue gaze glancing off to the side, "Senator Atwood. She was a HYDRA pawn for years. Helped her get into office when I was the Winter Soldier. And after HYDRA disbanded, she continued to abuse the power I gave her."

Doctor Raynor's eyes widen in expectation, "So, Rule #1: 'You can't do anything illegal'."

Svet's brow twitches.

"All I did... was give some intel to the aide... to convict her." Her father admits haltingly, "And I wasn't... involved in anything else."

"Rule #2?"

Mocking thoughtfulness, Bucky squints off to the side, "What was Rule #2...?"

Scratching the space above her eyebrow, Svetlana bites her lip to cover a giggle.

"'Nobody gets hurt'." Doctor Raynor cuts in quickly, eyes narrowing, "It's a big one."

"Then why isn't it rule number Rule #1?" Her father quips back just as fast, tone dripping with sass before it all softly falls away, "I didn't hurt anybody. I promise."

There's a change there, in the sound of her father's voice. Something she might not have caught once upon a time when she couldn't hear a thing. But she can now, and she wishes she couldn't because she finds herself nearly flinching at the quiet desperate way the words tumble out of his mouth.

"And what about Rule #3?" When his lips part and eyes roll towards the ceiling, Doctor Raynor nearly scoffs, "The whole point of making amends is to fulfill Rule #3."

Bucky's head cocks and his eyes narrow, "You know, you're a cynic, Doc. Of course, I completed Rule #3."

The therapist's chin tilts to the side in wait.

And the ever infamous speech begins again, "I am no longer the Winter Soldier. I am James 'Bucky' Barnes. And you're part of my efforts to make amends."

Her father flashes a wide white smile that looks more grimace than anything else. It's only when he elbows her lightly in the side does Svet realize that she's actually giggling out loud. Her pale cheeks blush pink when she notices the look the therapist is giving her.

"Oh." Svetlana shyly clears her throat, not sure whether she's more surprised or more embarrassed, "Eh, yes. Sorry."

For the first time since they left the house this morning does her father give some semblance of a smile she recognizes. A true smile, the one that she knows and loves. She misses it... It's been a long few months.

Doctor Raynor just heaves a long—suffering sigh before asking, "And Rule #4?"

The father and daughter immediately share a glance, expressions matching far too much for the therapist not to feel at least a little suspicious.

It isn't that Svetlana is involved exactly; she just tags along and if something happens, who can help it if she bears witness? She can't go on missions anymore. She isn't ready to go on missions anymore. But at least she can do this. She just needs... something.

"James, remember what we discussed." Her voice has become something close to scolding now, eyes focused solely on the father, "'You can't involve nor encourage your daughter to engage in any illegal and/or violent activities'."

Bucky stiffens, something dark flickering into his blue eyes, "I haven't—,"

"He hasn't." Svet cuts in defensively, eyes big and voice soft, "I have a... what is the word? Oh, alibi. I was at home," a lie, "watching the daytime televisions," another lie, "I even have a witness... My papa wouldn't force me into anything. He wouldn't."

It's Bucky's turn to study the side of her face, the subtle movements and ticks. She looks so much like both of her parents, it's easy to identify which features she got from whom. On her face, her mother's lips are fighting the urge to quiver, her father's eyes are shimmering with tears.

He looks down at his hands.

The therapist draws in another long frustrated breath, and if she knows they're lying, she decides to let it go, "Fine. So James, you did it all right, but it, uh, didn't help with the nightmares."

"Well. Like I said, I didn't have any."

He's still lying. And even if she could never judge him... it still worries her.

"Look..." Doctor Raynor's voice softens, "One day, you're gonna have to open up and understand that some people really do want to help you and that they can be trusted."

"I trust people," Bucky whispers.

"Yeah? Give me your phone."

Bucky quietly groans as he reaches into his pocket and holds it out to their therapist. They sit in silence for an awkward minute, watching the woman scroll through the mostly empty phone that he barely uses.

"You don't have ten phone numbers on this thing." Her voice is too accusational to be encouraging, scrolling his phone with a twisted expression, "Oh, and you've been ignoring the texts from Sam."

Bucky then promptly ignores the pointed look Svet not—so—subtly shoots his way.

"Look, you've gotta nurture friendships. I am the only person you have called all week. That is so sad." Smacking her lips, she tosses the phone across the room and Bucky catches it with a quiet thud, "You are a father, and you and your daughter are alone. You're a hundred years old. You have no history, no family—,"

"He has me."

Her voice is so fierce, so forceful, it surprises everyone in the room, even herself. Doctor Raynor's face snaps her way, and she knows that Bucky is looking at her now too. Everything feels as if it's buzzing all around her, her hands trembling where they rest flatly on her thighs.

He's not alone. Neither of her parents will ever be alone again. Svet doesn't care how many lies she has to tell, she will make sure of that.

The therapist's eyebrows raise in expectation, "And I'm glad of that, Svetlana. But what other connections have either of you made since reuniting?"

She wants to tell her that they have her mamulya, but she can't. Another lie. She wants to tell her about Wanda, but her friend is off the grid since the whole Westview incident, promising that she would be in contact soon. Another thing to hide. And she has a phone number from a boy she barely knows but thinks about all the time just sitting in her phone... waiting to be used and mocking her when it isn't.

She deflates a little.

Bucky sees that and pounces instantly, voice sharp like a knife, "Are you lashing out at her, Doc? Because that's really unprofessional, you know? When did that start? Yelling at your clients?"

Unimpressed and unamused with their antics, their therapist pulls out her pad of paper once more.

"The notebook, that's great!" Bucky's grumble trunks into another sigh, "All right, give me a break. I'm trying, okay? This isn't... This is new for me, for us. I didn't have a moment to deal with anything, you know? I had a little... calm in Wakanda." Svet can't look at her papa for this next part, "And other than that, I just went from one fight to another for ninety years."

The girl looks down at her hands fumbling in her lap, her chipped nailpolish and scarred fingers.

"So, now that you've stopped fighting, what do you want for you and your daughter?"

Even though there's a long silence between them all, the answer is easy and without a second thought, "Peace."

"That is utter bullsh—t."

"You're a terrible shrink," Bucky scoffs in disbelief.

"I was an excellent soldier, so I saw a lot of dead bodies, and I know how that can shut you down... And if you are alone, that is the quietest, most personal hell. And, James, it is very hard to escape."

Svet dips her head, trying to hide it when she uses the back of her hand to wipe away the tear slipping down her cheek. Bucky can't stand to watch.

"Look, I know that you've both been through a lot, but you've got your mind back, you are being pardoned, you get to be with your daughter again. I mean, these are good things. You're free."

Bucky just stares at her.

"To do what?"

The Brooklyn streets are busy at this time of day, pedestrians passing at all sides, cars honking in the background. Father and daughter keep quiet as they leave the building, hands buried in their pockets as they stride along side—by—side.

The afternoon air is cool on their skin. The steady thump of their feet on the pavement lulls their overworked brains into something that resembles peace. It almost makes it possible for Svet to ignore the unsettled feeling in her chest, the lies beginning to fester and spread like some kind of infection.

She shakes her red head and watches their long strides thud on the pale pavement, eyes trained on her black combat boots. She's trying out a new style today — 90's grunge complete with oversized flannel, clunky Doc Martens, ripped jeans, and a tee with a band she doesn't know at all.

It's fun. But not "her". She's going to keep looking.

The gloved hand on her arm drags her out of her thoughts, making her confusedly glance up at her papa's face and then follow his gaze to the commotion down an alley ahead.

"You don't gotta body me, Yori—,"

A familiar voice yells in response, "—It's Mr. Nakajima!"

"Okay—,"

"It's Mr. Nakajima!"

Her father picks up the pace, and Svet hurriedly follows just in time to see two men standing at the mouth of an alleyway; one a stranger, one a friend. And their new friend just so happens to be leaning into the stranger, looking ready to start a fight.

"Hey! Hey!" Bucky immediately steps in, sliding his hands between the two arguing men, "Yori, what's goin' on? I thought the three of us were getting lunch...?"

Svetlana stands just behind Bucky, peering curiously over her father's shoulder as the old man points accusingly at the stranger.

"Unique is putting his trash into my trash!"

"It's trash—,"

Mr. Nakajima's temper flares and he careens forward, "And the time has come for me to smack—,"

Letting loose a quiet gasp, Svet immediately puts her body in front of the stranger while Bucky swiftly yet gently catches Yori's swinging hand.

"Hang on." With a deep exhale and wide eyes, Bucky turns to the other man with an outstretched hand, "Hey, man."

"I'm Unique." Yori's neighbor shakes it with a nice friendly smile, glancing between the father and daughter, "It's like Mo—nique, but it's got a 'U' in there for uniqueness."

"Oh, that's... nice," Svet smiles awkwardly while her father just gives him a vague nod, squeezing her shoulder.

"No it's not, that's absurd..." Mr. Nakajima grumbles as he turns and hobbles further into the dark alley.

"Okay." Bucky waves his hand at the man, lowering his voice, "Sorry."

As Bucky chases after him with long strides, the girl offers her best apologetic wave towards Unique before jogging behind them.

"Yori, you can't keep fighting with your neighbors!" The man continues to ignore him, even as Bucky walks alongside him, "Come on, let's get some food!"

"No. Go away."

"But Izzy." Her papa is trying his very best, following him step—by—step, hand on his shoulder, "We always go to Izzy on Wednesday, come on—,"

"—I'm not in the mood today!"

Svet bites her lip and glances worriedly between Bucky and their quickly departing friend, knowing how much her papa looks forward to these lunches.

And so she says the very first thing she can think of, "Oh, but what if Papa buys?!"

That stops him.

Bucky sharply looks over and Svet just shrugs.

"Fine." Mr. Nakajima agrees before pointing a finger in her father's face, "But no talking."

Bucky heaves a sigh as he looks Svetlana's way with an tired unamused expression.

Despite everything, the teen can only laugh and sympathetically pat his shoulder.

Izzy is a small side—street restaurant in Brooklyn, cozy and busy and perfect for them. There's always enough going on to blend in but not so much to be overwhelming; not to mention the food is amazing. Natasha has good taste.

As they take their usual seats at the counter and order their usual meals, Bucky scans the room for possible threats. He doesn't need to do this so much anymore, he knows. But whenever Svet's involved, he can't help it. He won't put her at risk again. He won't.

Svet scarfs down her sushi as soon as it's served, too hungry to wait. As usual, Mr. Nakajima enjoys her monstrous appetite and applauds her for being such a healthy young girl. For his part, Bucky is more than used to her terrible table manners by now.

The little bell over the door chimes and a familiar voice calls, "Hey, you three."

Three heads turn and they find Natasha stepping in from the rain, shaking off her clear umbrella and black leather jacket.

"You're finally here!" Svet mumbles through a mouth full of kappa maki while Bucky casually nods her way, "Ordered your usual already."

Natasha smiles politely, "Thank you."

"Sure," her father replies just as politely.

Mr. Nakajima and Svetlana share a strained glance, both wincing at the general awkwardness.

Svet has given the nice old man "the low down" on the situation of her parents, or at least the cover story version: they had Svetlana when they were very young, were split up for much of the girl's childhood due to "irreconcilable differences", and just recently moved back in together in order to give their daughter a stable home environment.

It's more or less true. Sort of.

In any case, ever since her papa introduced her to the man a few months ago, they've been scheming on how to get her parents back together. It's like that movie... the one Wanda made her sit through... ah, Parent Trap!

Yes, Svetlana and Mr. Nakajima are planning a parent trap.

It's all very exciting.

"Sorry I can't stay long." Natasha kisses the side of Svet's braided head before breaking apart her chopsticks and rubbing them together, "Got a meeting with some old friends."

This is code, of course, for discreetly attending Steve's exhibition as Captain America which also means Sam officially handing over the shield.

Natasha won't say that, though.

Bucky just looks away.

Things have been strange ever since Sam told them he was giving up the shield. Well, stranger.

"Take a look." Mr. Nakajima takes pity on the lot of them, holding a newspaper so Bucky will take a look, "Nobody made it past ninety this week."

"So young." Her father tsks, still munching on his sushi, "Such a shame."

Svet giggles and Natasha rolls her eyes. Bucky can't help but smile a little as he watches them interact; their easy give and take, the perfect mix of sass and sweet, neither able to resist a snarky comment or raised eyebrow, the warmth and light his daughter radiates by simply being in her mother's presence.

If they catch him staring, they don't show it.

Mr. Nakajima, on the other hand, most certainly does.

"You should ask her out," the old Japanese man murmurs, tone persuasive and highly confidential.

Face slowly raising in disbelief, Bucky's brows wrinkle and he hurriedly shakes his head, "Mm—mmm,"

Either not hearing or not caring, Mr. Nakajima decides to take the lead.

Leaning around her father, the old man suddenly informs her mother, "He would like to take you out on a date."

Natasha freezes with her chopsticks halfway to her mouth and Svet shoots a conspiratorial wink towards the old man.

Mr. Nakajima blinks innocently, "Maybe to bingo or a night of pinochle?"

Natasha's lips are slowly smirking, eyes darting to Bucky's strained and cautious face, "Sounds age appropriate."

He sends her an unamused glance before clearing his throat and quickly shaking his head, "Ah, I'm really sorry about him—,"

"Why are you sorry?" Svetlana cuts in, eagerly grasping onto Natasha's arm, "Mama would love to, wouldn't you, Mama?"

Rather speechless, Natasha opens her mouth while Bucky barely can hide his wince.

Mr. Nakajima raises his brows, "Tomorrow night, then?"

"Tomorrow night is perfect," Svet hurriedly agrees, grinning wide enough to actually hurt her lips.

"I think we know how to make our own plans, thank you very much." Natasha suddenly and quite firmly interrupts, giving her daughter a look she knows all too well when it comes to getting involved in her love life. "But as long as it doesn't involve pinochle, James, then yes, you can count me in."

Svet can barely contain the laughter that's threatening to break loose.

"What's wrong with pinochle?" Bucky casually asks, raising a dark brow, "You got something else in mind?"

Natasha dons a flirtatious smirk, "I guess you'll just have to wait and find out."

Her red hair swishes behind her as she slips off her chair, tugs on her jacket, and steps out the door in one swift and easy movement. Her words curl around his throat, making it impossible for him to speak, and he just sits there, watching her red hair whip in the wind like a threat as she disappears into the crowd.

When he has finally regained the power of speech, Bucky turns on them with a raspy grumble, "I can't believe you guys did that."

"Why not?" Svet plays it innocent, making a face, "It's only Mama."

"Lana, it's more complicated than that."

"How so? You eat dinner together all the time at home."

"Yes, but not alone." Squinting, he playfully flicks her nose and she sniffs indignantly, "It's a dance to these things. You can't... You gotta warm up and I haven't danced since 1943..." Svet lightly kicks his ankle and he corrects himself, irritatedly throwing back a shot, "Feels like."

"Well!" Svet quite proudly straightens and pops another cucumber roll in her mouth, "Mr. Nakajima and I both disagree, sōdesu ka, Nakajima—san?"

But their new friend's demeanor has completely changed. His head dipped low, wrinkles turned to canyons, and his eyes trained on the small plate in front of them, looking so very lost. It's a look Svetlana knows all too well, having seen it enough times in the mirror to recognize it. Lips parted, the teen glances worriedly up at her papa who noticed the change even faster than she did.

"What's wrong?" Bucky asks quietly, voice and eyes cautious in the crowded restaurant.

"Musuko ga... o mame no mochi sukidatta." Mr. Nakajima's voice wavers with choked emotion, shakily sighing when he slips back into English, "Um... He had a job with a consulting company." My son... he loves the red bean mochi.

Her father won't look at anyone, eyes slipping until they're trained solely on the countertop.

"And, uh, he was working abroad and he was killed. The police said, 'Wrong place, wrong time', but... I will never know what really happened to him."

Feeling her heart clench within her chest, Svet reaches forward across the counter and takes his worn wrinkled hand with a gentle squeeze.

"I felt it was strange." Mr. Nakajima squeezes hers with one hand and pats his heart with the other, dark eyes so lonely and so sad, "In here."

But Bucky can't look at either of them, eyes slowly squeezing shut to force back the onslaught of memories and tears that inevitably follow.

━━━━━━

"ARE YOU DONE BROODING, OR WOULD YOU LIKE SOME MORE TIME?"

Natasha interrupts his thoughts, her smile teasing and annoyingly bold. Bucky is halfway to the kitchen and he can't make it another step because there she stands and he's grateful he put in the effort because Natasha cleans up real nice.

A ghost of a smile passes his lips, "Funny. You're very funny. Anyone ever tell you that?"

"Only all the time," she quips back easily.

He steps further into the dim light of the kitchen, and it feels immediately like a spotlight.

They both stop, him watching her watch him as her eyes trail down to the bouquet of red roses in his hand. They're neatly bound in with cellophane, paper, and twine; Natasha instantly knows they've been bought at a florist — not a cheap one either. It's old—fashioned and incredibly charming and she has to bite her bottom lip to keep from smirking like an idiot and he's blushing like some kind of lovesick teenager.

The Winter Soldier was one of the most dangerous men she has ever encountered. James Buchanan Barnes is even more so now that he has his mind back under his control. This dangerous man, this sarcastic, sullen, and private man, has bought her flowers and blushes when she merely looks at him. Blushes. It's a startlingly human reaction and she's not sure what to make of it.

"Svetti make you get those?"

"Ah, no." Looking almost thoughtful, Bucky clears his throat and peers down at the flowers in his hands, "This was... This was all me."

She shoots him one of those indecipherable looks that he's beginning to realize means that she's carefully choosing her words rather than scrutinizing him as he initially thought.

"Well. Thank you, Sergeant Barnes."

Knowing that looking away usually helps him remember how to breathe, Bucky takes a glance around their kitchen. The small space has been decked out in a way it never before has. Dim lighting, a white tablecloth over their wood table, two lit candlesticks, two beers and two plates laid out with their usual Friday pizza. The meal choice itself seems a bit off from the rest of the fancy setting, but he doesn't know how to say that without sounding like an a— so he keeps it to himself.

Eventually, all he can settle on saying is, "The place looks nice."

Natasha snorts as she puts the roses in the sink, looking pointlessly around their kitchen for a vase, "This, I'm ashamed to admit, was all Svetti's handiwork."

Ah. Bucky smiles to himself. The pizza makes sense now.

"I think she texted Laura on how to set this up." Natasha tosses a smile over her shoulder, as if they're in on a secret together, "You should've seen how excited she and Sandwich were."

Bucky nods knowingly, silently, taking a pause before he quietly tells her, "You didn't have to agree to this."

Natasha raises a slender brow, "No?"

"No, I mean... you were put on the spot and and we never agreed to something like this and I'm sure that—,"

"You keep going like that and I'll start thinking you don't want to have dinner with me," Natasha smirks into the lip of a beer bottle.

Bucky chuckles a little, "Well, that's not exactly the case."

"Flattering."

He feigns indifference when he shrugs, "Got you flowers, didn't I?"

"That you did."

For a second there, Natasha can see the man he used to be, the one Steve told her about on the few occasions he'd been willing to talk about the past. It's easy, now, to see why Steve called him a ladies' man. His sharp, sculpted features make him naturally attractive, but when he smiles like that with the corners of his mouth curling up...

"We never really talked about how to go about this."

Natasha blinks, coming back to herself without missing a beat, "Why don't we take it slow? Treat it like any other completely normal, typical date."

Truth be told, neither of them have had a date in a long time so whatever a "completely normal, typical date" looks like, it's very unlikely either of them would actually know. All the same, they silently decide to actually sit at the table, staring at one another for a long moment.

"So." The casual lilt to her voice startles him, "Have you dated much since half the fish in the sea came back?"

"Not really. I, um... tried the whole online dating thing." Bucky tells her dryly, knowing she would catch the lie if he even bothered trying, "It's pretty crazy. A lot of weird pictures."

Natasha smirks a little, tongue rolling over her top teeth as if to look fondly amused. But Bucky can't help but notice that her eyes are blank. It's practiced to the point of looking natural, but he thinks it's as if she's holding something back, hiding her thoughts beneath shallow pools of pale green.

"I mean, tiger photos?" He's droning on like some kind of bored idiot, wishing she would interrupt and call it quits just to put him out of his misery, "Half the time I don't even know what I'm looking at. It's... It's a lot."

Finally, something in those blank irises crack and the pale skin around her eyes wrinkle when she laughs, "You're such an old man."

He offers a mildly awkward chuckle before glancing away with a pained internal cringe.

"So, how about you?" Bucky cautiously ventures, smacking his lips to distract from the fact that he's not sure which answer he'd like to hear most, "You... date a lot?"

"Well, for the past five years I've been a little preoccupied with running the Compound, managing the remaining active Avengers, and trying to bring half the universe back—,"

Bucky cuts in, "Thank you for that, by the way—,"

"Oh, sure, anytime." Natasha responds just as smoothly, smirking a little, "And then two years before that, I was sort of on the run because of a certain war criminal I decided to let escape."

He winces a little, "Right. Sorry."

Her smirk widens into a genuine smile, "To answer your question: no. I haven't dated a lot recently. I did kiss Steve once, though."

Bucky chokes on his drink, makes the mistake of looking at her as she winks at him, and spends the next minute relearning how to breathe air instead of beer.

Despite his bad track record for spotting her lies, he narrows his eyes to better study her expression. She looks completely honest, but she would likely look completely honest if she had told him Steve Rogers was hiding away in a secret base on the moon. Still, he's pretty sure she's not lying about this one.

"It was for a mission." Natasha shrugs a nonchalant shoulder, "And to be fair, I didn't know if you were still you at the time."

"To be fair." He agrees before wryly chuckling, "And I did shoot you. Twice."

That much is true, Natasha knows. It was Bucky's finger on the trigger but blaming him for it makes about as much sense as blaming the gun. After all, it wasn't as much a decision as it was programming. But despite the laughter and bravado, she can see the tension in him, the way he wants to apologize, the way he knows she wouldn't want him to. No apologies, no amends, not between them — that's the deal.

In the end, Natasha just smirks, "Ah well. You didn't mean anything by it."

He seriously, actually laughs and, for a second, she swears he looks almost fond.

Once they get to the pizza, they eat mostly in silence. It's nice, in a way, better than both of them feeling like they need to put on a show for Svetlana's sake. It's not like she ever believes it anyway. Their daughter is many things but an idiot has never been one of them.

"This is nice," Bucky offers after a while.

The beer in his hand is his third, but he can't feel it, courtesy of the off—brand serum Zola used on him. He still likes the taste, though, makes him feel like his old self again. The company doesn't hurt either.

"It is." The comment earns him a crooked smile, "Thanks for going along with it... And for not trying to shoot me a third time."

"Ah, you know what they say. Third time's the charm, gotta make it count."

She laughs and her razor—sharp smile turns into something sincere even as she jokes, "What're a few bullets between friends?"

"Is that what we are?"

There's gravel in his voice, and his eyes are clear and open, closer to grey than blue in the dim light.

For some strange reason, she remembers when Steve asked her something similar all those years ago. With little Svetti in the backseat and all of SHIELD after them, she remembered asking him what he wanted her to be. She was always asking people what they wanted her to be. She supposed it's about time she decides that for herself.

"I don't know..." Natasha tells him finally, honestly, and then, with no pausing or relenting, she says, "Could be more. I want it to be more."

Everyone lies. That she knows more than anything else. Being honest, completely honest, with someone means removing the masks she wears for protection. The word that comes to mind, now, oddly enough, is 'compromised'. She's compromised in more ways than one. But this feels only right, to offer something true about herself in return for his raw vulnerability. Uncomfortable as it may be for them both.

Bucky's mouth is dry, but he swallows and smiles a bit anyway, "Yeah... Me too."

"Good." Natasha slowly exhales, and it looks as if she's trying to choose her words carefully again, "But I need to know that you're going to keep trying."

"Oh, for the love of..." Blue eyes flashing, his voice fades out and he quickly shakes his head down at the ground, "I told you, I am trying."

She lowers her voice to match his, green eyes just as earnest, "I know that I am the last person to tell you that you shouldn't be keeping secrets, but you can't keep going on like this."

"Don't do this..." It's a quiet plea.

"You and Svet know each other better than anyone, and she's going to know you're keeping secrets from her." Someone has poured a bucket of ice water down his back. He can't look her in the eye and he can't breathe either, deciding that maybe the coward's way out isn't such a bad idea, after all. "When you put her on that list of amends—,"

"Of all the people I've hurt, that I've wronged as the Winter Soldier, she's the one I hurt most of all."

The sentence is startling. Shocking to them both, but neither of them will deny it.

Natasha just stares at him, silent and waiting and never judgemental.

"Tell her why, James, tell her about Mr. Nakajima. You don't have to tell me, or Doctor Raynor, or Sam, or anyone else. But if you don't tell her and she finds out on her own, we could lose her."

Bucky's eyes dart back to her, startling her with their desperation.

"There isn't a word for someone who loses their kid, James. Because it's the worst thing that could happen—,"

"Excuse me."

The man releases a choked breath, feeling his fists clench before he pushes back from the table. He had to get out. He had to get away. He knows he has to leave before he breaks down and begs for forgiveness for something their daughter doesn't even remember doing.

And he's already gone by the time she's called after him, their front door swinging quietly shut behind him. So, Natasha sits at the table all alone, the silence making her ears ring until she drops her head in her hands to block it out.

"Mama? Papa!"

Small feet pound down the staircase, red hair flashing as she rushes around the corner and glides wildly into the kitchen, Sandwich hot on her heels and barking up a storm. Chest heaving with hurried breath, Svetlana's morning sky eyes are wide and her peach lips are twisted into an anxious expression.

"Svetti?" Natasha's senses are instantly alert as she steps around the edge of the table, speaking slowly and cautiously, "Chto ne tak?" What's wrong?

The girl says nothing, just shakes her head and shakily holds out her cellphone. Confused, Natasha quickly steps closer and, after resting a calming hand on her daughter's shoulder, her eyes immediately lock on.

"So, on behalf of the Department of Defense and our Commander—in—Chief," another lying politician is standing behind a massive white podium, "It is with great honor that we announce here today that the United States of America has a new hero!"

On Svetlana's screen, blazing in patriotic color, stands the very thing they feared most.

"Join me in welcoming your new Captain America!"

And it's not Sam Wilson.

━━━━━━ annie speaks ━━━━━━

AHHH OKAY, OKAY, so much to discuss. firstly, this was a massive one. i'm hoping to do each episode of the show in one chapter but ehh we'll see. besides, i low key kind of hated this one. i spent weeks on it but i still hate it, but i think it's the best that i could do. what do you think? was it okay? stilted? trashy? confusing? ugh i hope not!

secondly, boooo john walker, i've never yelled at a tv screen more when he showed up. svet, in all her fiery little glory, is going to roast this man and it's gonna be great.

thirdly, what do you all think about me posting both part one (tfatws) and part two (ffh) at the same time? like i'll go back and forth between updating sections. is that a totally insane idea? would that be confusing? honest opinions only, please!!

FINALLY,, what did you think of the actual content of the chapter?? any thoughts? theories? fears?

now,, time for some of my ever famous funny thingamabobs:

these are so legit.