Low-key obsessed with this series

TRIGGER WARNING: Mentions of depression and suicidal thoughts

Word Count: 4347

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You were still in his arms when Eckstine's voice faded from the air, a gentle sway still moving the two of you together. Not wanting the moment to end, you kept your cheek against his, cherishing his soft touch. His left hand held you against him by the small of your back, right hand still intertwined with yours. Another song began, a swell of strings ringing through the room. A ghost of a smile settled on his lips, thankful that he wouldn't have to let go of you to restart the music.

The night is like a lovely tune

Beware, my foolish heart

His eyebrows pinched together slightly, not recognizing the lyrics, but recognizing the unforgettable voice of Nat King Cole. Maybe this particular song came out after 1945.

How white the ever constant moon

Beware, my foolish heart

You sighed, moving your forehead to rest on his shoulder, completely content with where you were. You didn't think about the lies you told Steve, you didn't worry about Bucky's past, you weren't stressed about what the future held or wether Bucky would be present for it- you let go of all of the answerless questions. Swaying in the arms of James Barnes was all that occupied your thoughts. If life decided to steal everything away tomorrow, to take every ounce of happiness from your life, at least you had the memory of dancing with a man who, despite how broken he may be, was able to put you back together.

There's a line between love and fascination

That's hard to see on an evening such as this

It had been a hard road to get to where you were. Your upbringing had left you with little opportunity for a future full of success, so every single thing you had managed to accomplish had to be through hard work and dedication. It did bring you a bit of pride, knowing you were self-made, but it also brought low points where you considered falling asleep without the chance of waking up. But you fought, and continued fighting everyday. All of the fighting seemed to end as soon as Bucky had entered your life. He brought upon you a reason, a purpose in a world where you always had felt like a wandering warrior. He brought upon you a peace and stillness you hadn't known for a long, long time.

For they both give the very same sensation

When you're lost in the magic of a kiss

He didn't realize how tense and on edge he always was until your face was nuzzled into his neck. His heart jumped in his chest, your closeness bringing an overwhelming relaxation over him, every muscle in his body letting it's guard down. For so long, he had been constantly in soldier mode, always ready to fight. It took something as simple as slow dancing with you to help him let his defense go and truly enjoy the moment. And boy, was he enjoying it. He was completely enchanted by the way your hand felt so delicate in his, or the way your eyelashes fluttered along his cheek. The emotions he felt were something he couldn't even begin to explain, all of them familiar, but so neglected that he couldn't pin point what they were. All he knew is that he would give anything to keep you in his arms forever.

Her lips are much too close to mine

Beware, my foolish heart

There was the small voice in the back of his head, screaming that he should leave now before it hurts too much. He tried to ignore it, but it was a fact he had to face. All that surrounded him was temporary, including you. Just a couple weeks ago, he would've ran as fast as he could from the feelings he felt now. He would've avoided any attachment, any ties. But, he was sick of running. He was sick of running from normalcy just because he believed he didn't deserve it. He thought about every time you had told him he deserves happiness, staring at him like he hung the stars in the sky. You would hold his hand across the table in that small bakery and tell him that the world owed him for all of the pain he had endured. And hell, maybe you were right. Maybe this was the world paying its dues.

But should our eager lips combine

Then let the fire start

You hoped he could feel it too, the connection. The small smile on your lips was unmoving, your face still settled in his neck. You prayed silently- to anyone or anything that would listen- that he enjoyed holding you as much as you enjoyed his embrace. Almost on queue, he let out a breathy chuckle.

"What is it?" You asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

"I forgot how much I loved dancing." His voice was low and sincere, his arms wrapping a little tighter around you as he spoke. It made your heart swell.

For this time, it isn't fascination

Or a dream that will fade, and fall apart

"Did you dance a lot?" You asked quietly.

"I did, yeah." You felt the vibration of his voice through his chest, "I remember hearing something about finding the right partner."

It's love

This time it's love, my foolish heart

He leaned back slightly, your head lifting so you could meet his eyes. The blue of his irises were bright and vibrant, complete and total adoration in his features as he took a moment to hold your gaze.

"I think I finally understand what they meant."

It's love

This time it's love, my foolish heart

***

"(Y/N), come on," Sam shook your shoulders slightly, knelt by your side, "we have to go."

You let out a pained groan, the blaring of an alarm slowly gaining volume as you regained consciousness. Your eyes finally opened, seeing Sam's worried expression over you.

"Good morning," he chirped, his voice rushed and slightly panicked, "can you stand?"

You nodded, reaching for his forearm as you got yourself sitting up. The pain that radiated through your side was almost unbearable, your free hand immediately holding onto your ribs.

"Slow and steady, I got you." Sam said softly, putting himself under your arm and supporting your side. "Ready? One, two, and... up." 

You let out a cry as he lifted you to your feet, pausing to let you adjust yourself around him before beginning to walk down the hall. With deep breaths, you were able to get to a normal walking pace beside him. He led you to the stairwell, practically carrying you up a flight before opening an emergency exit door and emerging into the sunlight.

"Are we running?"

His eyes met you when you spoke, your voice small and broken. He hadn't ever seen you like this, and honestly, it was something he was sure he wouldn't be able to forget. You always held your ground and kept fighting, despite your pain or hardships. You had a way of intimidating thugs and criminals, then turning around to help and comfort friends. Even as SHIELD fell, you stood tall by his and Steve's side, fighting for what was right. Sam had come to admire your spirit, something he also admired in Steve. It was something that he had trouble finding now, not only with your damaged body, but what- what a he guessed- was a broken heart.

"Steve has him. Said he knew a place." Sam spoke softly, his eyes scanning around him for authorities, "You know me, he says 'jump' and I say 'how high'."

You cracked a smile at that, sensing the joking tone in his words. Sam was always able to bring a smile on your face.

"Too bad your wings are all locked up," you swallowed thickly, wincing slightly as a shock of pain traveled up your side, "I was hoping to meet your new little friend."

Sam chuckled, "Ah, good ol' Redwing. I would say he is gonna love you, but he's a bit shy around new people."

You laughed again, a small silence following. The smile soon fell from your face, jaw clenching as you allowed yourself to process everything that had happened within the centre. There were so many new problems to face, new questions to ask, on top of the list you already had. Sam noticed the change in your demeanor, his head immediately going into help mode, calling back to his time in the VA.

"Hey, it'll be alright," He said, your gaze lifting to meet his, "don't think too hard until we get to Steve. You just know he's gonna want to talk it all out."

You nodded, focusing on your steps and keeping your thoughts at bay.

***

When Steve had said he 'knew a place', you weren't sure what you were expecting. Maybe you imagined a cozy safe house, or a hideout in a Motel that was built in the middle of nowhere. You didn't expect a grimy, abandoned factory in the middle of Berlin.

You and Sam had reached the warehouse first, Steve having sent Sam the address. Sam helped you sit on a wooden crate pressed against the wall, your hand still clutched to your side. He stood and walked towards the door, peeking through the small crack between it and the door frame. A helicopter buzzed overhead, no doubt looking for the four of you. It was a hard thing to accept, being a fugitive. It was even harder to accept that Captain America and Falcon were also fugitives.

Steve came in roughly ten minutes later, dragging an unconscious Bucky with him. Your breathing stopped as soon as you saw him, his shirt soaked and droplets dripping off the ends of his hair. Sam rushed to help Steve move Bucky, and you just tore your eyes away from them, staring at the seam of the warehouse where the wall hit the ceiling, trying to ignore the sounds of a vice working in the other room.

Sam came to sit on the floor beside you, his arms resting on the top of his bent knees, head leaned back against the wall and eyes closed. You were surprised he was still as coherent as he was, seeing as to how he had been tossed like a bowling ball into a solid glass pane. Steve took Sam's previous position at the entrance, eyeing the still hovering helicopter.

You let your thoughts finally drift to Bucky. Accepting that the man whom you had fought back in the Joint Counter Terrorist Centre was the same man who you had danced with in Bucharest was not an easy task. It left you shell shocked, now aware and familiar with the Winter Soldier that everyone had feared. You didn't blame them, not a single bit. The way his eyes stared into you with no emotion was something you were sure would haunt your memories. You were positive that his metal hand had left bruising around your neck, and the force at which he threw you against the wall probably had cracked a rib. It all served as a painful reminder of what lied within the deep, dark crevices of Bucky's mind, a place you had never been exposed to before. Yes, you had read countless files about his past life, everything he had done. But even as SHIELD collapsed, Steve didn't let you near Bucky during the fight, knowing you would be killed without hesitation. You never realized it until then, that even Steve harbored fear for the Winter Soldier, hence his need to protect you in 2014.

But you didn't fear Bucky. You didn't fear him. You feared what he was capable of. You were scared of what he could do to other people without a second thought, and terrified of what he would do to himself once he woke up and remembered it all. It was something you guys would talk about in that small bakery, everything he remembered. He told you his biggest struggle was their screams, their begs for mercy, their desperate pleas while he held a gun to their head. He told you how he could hear them when he slept, how he would sometimes hallucinate and hear them as he walked down the street. It was a constant reminder of the horrible things he had done, making it harder to believe that he deserved a place in the world. You hoped he wouldn't remember what had happened in that building, knowing that the thought of him fighting his best friend would bring on an unbearable guilt to him, one that he was finally managing and mending.

"How are you?" Steve asked, pulling you from your thoughts as he walked towards you.

"I think I can say my ribs are officially cracked." You said, a tight smile on your lips. Steve leaned on the wall beside you, arms crossing over his chest. "I'm sure once I can ice them for a bit I'll be able to work through the pain."

Steve nodded, a soft smile on his lips. "And how are you?" He asked again. You locked eyes with him, noticing the way his eyebrows were slightly upturned. It was the first time you had seen him without his serious, Captain-face on since he found you and Bucky in Romania.

"I'm..." you began, thinking about your words before answering. Honestly, you couldn't give him a real answer without talking for the next hour. "I guess... I guess I'm worried. For us. For Bucky."

He nodded. "What happened in Romania?" There it was again, the serious tone.

You sighed, your head dropping slightly as you looked at the floor. "It's hard to explain Steve-"

"Well, try." His voice made you wince slightly, anger evident in the way he said his words.

"I was just trying to help him," you began, head leaning back against the wall as you met Steve's gaze with your own, "he didn't let me, at first. When I had met him in Moldova, he questioned me about who I was, why I was there. That's when I called you."

Sam was now looking at you too, eyes darting to Steve every few seconds to gauge his reaction. He could remember Steve telling him about that call, how completely hopeless he was after it. After two years, the one lead you were able to investigate was a complete failure, or so they thought.

"He was angry when I continued following him, but I couldn't just let him go. I knew he didn't want me to tell anyone where he was, but I kept up with him just in case he changed his mind." You tore your eyes away from Steve, looking at the wall ahead of you. "He confronted me in Bucharest after about a month of living there, and that's when I told him again that I was a friend and that he could trust me. That time, it seemed to stick."

"What do you mean?" Steve asked, preparing himself for whatever your answer may be.

"There was this bakery I went to almost everyday. He started coming there, too. He told about his struggles, his memories... he told me a lot about you, Steve." Your eyes met his, his whole expression softening. "He told me about your adventures as kids, your battles with the Howling Commandos... but he also told me about HYDRA."

"What did he say?" Steve pressed.

"He remembers every face, every name." You said sadly, taking a deep breath, wincing as it made your side throb. Steve's gaze met the floor, an obvious sadness on his features. He didn't ask any more questions, which you were thankful for. The bubble of normalcy you and Bucky had found in Bucharest was something you wanted to keep to yourself, to hold close to your heart and protect. The feelings you held for him wasn't something you were ready to share.

"Thank you." Steve said softly, making you turn your head to him in surprise.

"For what?" You asked just as quietly.

"For being there... when I couldn't be."

You reached your hand towards him, palm stretched upwards. He looked at it for a moment before unfolding his arms and placing his hand in yours, squeezing your palm gently.

"He knows you're there," you said, "just needed a little time to remember it."

Steve took a deep breath, giving you a genuine, albeit sad, smile. He gave your hand another squeeze before releasing it and walking back to the door, resuming his watch of the outside world. He needed a moment to process it all, but ultimately he was happy that Bucky had found someone to confide in, even if it wasn't him.

"So dramatic sometimes." Sam mumbled under his breath, standing and walking towards the room Bucky was in. "I'll keep watch on Rapunzel."

***

"Hey, guys!" Sam called towards you and Steve. Steve rushed to you, helping you stand from the crate you sat on.

"I got it, I got it." You waved a hand at him, standing straight and walking beside him towards Sam. It seemed as though you had begun to get used to the pain in your side.

You walked into the side room, keeping your face emotionless as you saw Bucky. His metal arm was in a vice, his shoulders slumped forward in defeat. It tore at your heartstrings, but you controlled yourself, resisting the urge to run towards him and hold him until he believed that everything would be okay.

"Steve." Bucky said with a raspy, worn voice. When his eye lifted and saw you standing beside Steve, they softened slightly. "(Y/N)."

"Which Bucky am I talking to?" Steve asked, coldly.

Bucky searched his thoughts for a moment before speaking again. "Your mom's name was Sarah. You used to wear newspapers in your shoes." He let out a small chuckle, the mere fact that he was smiling bringing a small wave of relief over your body.

"Can't read that in a museum." Steve said, a small smile on his face.

"Just like that, we're supposed to be cool?" Sam chimed in, arms crossed over his chest. Steve looked over at Sam, eyes falling in defeat, knowing that the trust was still broken. Sam wouldn't accept Bucky's knowledge of Mrs. Roger's name as an apology for the concussion he was positive Bucky had caused.

Bucky locked eyes with you, communicating everything in a single look, knowing you would understand him immediately. His eyes plead with you, asking for forgiveness and trust when he knew it was something he didn't deserve. You narrowed your gaze slightly, challenging him without a single word.

"For this time, it isn't fascination. Or a dream, that will fade and fall apart." He sang to you softly, just as you did when his hand was around your neck, "It's love. This time, it's love-"

"My foolish heart." You finished, your voice just as gentle as his. Steve and Sam both looked at you in confusion, but your eyes never left Bucky's. "It's him. It's Bucky."

Steve sighed, knowing then that you hadn't told him the whole story of Romania, but that was a problem he would have to face later. 

Bucky let out a breath of relief, head dropping for a moment before rising to look at Steve.

"What did I do?" He asked.

"Enough." Steve spared him the details.

"Oh, God, I knew this would happen." His gaze fell again. "Everything HYDRA put inside me is still there. All he had to do was say the goddamn words." 

Bucky was angry. He was beyond pissed. He had thought he was making progress, he thought that him being able to open up to you, to live in what seemed like a halfway normal life in Bucharest, was a sign that he was getting better. He thought he was healing. But he was wrong.

He couldn't help but feel relieved, just the smallest bit. He was relieved that HYDRA found him when he was locked away, far from you. If they had discovered the two of you in Romania, he could only imagine what they would've made him do. He was waiting for everything to fall apart, and he was glad that you were far away from the fallout when it did.

Little did he know, little did he know.

"Who was he?" Steve asked, referring to the 'therapist'.

"I don't know." Bucky replied.

"People are dead. The bombing, the setup... the doctor did all of that just to get ten minutes with you. I need you to do better than 'I don't know'."

Bucky let himself think for a moment. "He wanted to know about Siberia. Where I was kept. He wanted to know exactly where."

"Why would he need to know that?"

"Because I'm not the only Winter Soldier."

***

Bucky began to recount the creation of the other Winter Soldiers, from the way they were injected with the super soldier serum, to the way he had to train them all. It made you wince a couple times, the way he described it. He spoke of their screams from their cells after the serum a placed into their bloodstream. You only could wonder what it felt like when Arnim Zola had injected a similar serum into Bucky's body. Imagining the pain Bucky must've felt was something you tried to keep your mind from, but it was hard to ignore.

Steve released Bucky's arm as he talked, stepping back to lean against the wall, his arms crossed.

"Who were they?" Steve asked.

"Their most elite death squad. More kills than anyone in HYDRA history. And that was before the serum." His eyes flashed to you before moving to the floor. The guilt that ate away at his heart was only intensified when he saw you. You were in this mess because he dragged you into it, and he hated himself for it. You could've been at home right now, completely okay and content with life, but he chose to keep you close. It would've killed him to leave you in Bucharest, to disappear before you got too deep, but he should've. He should've left before the inevitable failure of his attempt at domesticated life, but his selfishness and undeniable feelings for you clouded his judgement.

"They all turn out like you?" Sam asked, breaking Bucky out of his thoughts.

"Worse." He said, though he wasn't sure how true it was.

"The doctor, could he control them?" Steve asked.

"Enough." Bucky repeated Steve's previous answer to him, looking down at his hands.

"Said he wanted to see an empire fall." Steve looked over to Sam.

"With these guys, he could do it." Bucky spoke, "They speak thirty languages, can hide in plain sight... infiltrate, assassinate, destabilize. They can take a whole country down in one night, you'd never see the coming."

Sam crossed the room until he stood in front of you and Steve.

"This would've been a lot easier a week ago." He said in a hushed voice.

"If we call Tony-" Steve began.

"No, he won't believe us."

"Even if he did-"

"Who knows if the Accords would let him help." You interrupted, tearing your gaze away from Bucky to look at Steve. He looked away for a moment, searching for an answer before turning back to you and Sam.

"We're on our own."

Sam nodded slightly, shrugging a shoulder, "We have (Y/N). Plus, I know a guy."

Steve huffed an amused smile on his face. "Do I know this guy?"

"Eh," Sam smiled back, "maybe a bit."

Steve shook his head and chuckled, taking one more look at Bucky before putting a hand on Sam's shoulder and leaving the room to start their plan. You watched them go, a smile on your face.

"(Y/N)." Bucky said, his voice barely a whisper. You turned back to him, smile gone when you heard how sad he sounded. "Can you be honest with me?"

You walked to him, carefully sitting to his right to avoid irritating your injuries. Your hand reached out and slowly grasped onto his, your senses picking up on the way his shoulders relaxed slightly from the contact.

"Of course, Bucky." You said softly.

He kept his eyes on the floor, his hair falling like a curtain around his face. "What did I do?"

You wished he had accepted Steve's avoidance of that question. In all honesty, you didn't want to tell him what he did. You knew if you gave him details, it would break him.

"You hurt a few people," his grip tightened as you spoke, "but everyone's okay now, so it's okay."

"Did I hurt you?"

You went silent, unable to bring yourself to answer him. He looked up at you, eyebrows turned upwards and mouth in a frown.

"(Y/N). Please," He begged, his voice cracking slightly. He tried to swallow the tightness in his throat. "Tell me I didn't."

You reached up and brushed his hair behind his ears, on each side. You let your hand linger on his cheek, thumb swiping gently over his cheekbone.

"I can't do that, Buck." You whispered. He let out a shaky breath, eyes closing and lower lip beginning to tremble.

"What did I do?" His voice was so quiet, you almost didn't hear it.

"Bucky-"

"Please."

You took a deep breath. "You almost recognized me. I... I tried to bring you back. I might have a cracked rib, but that's it. It could've been so much worse, Bucky."

"And your neck?"

You sighed and closed your eyes- you were hoping he didn't notice the bruising on your throat. He took your silence as his answer.

"Dear God." He huffed. Breathing deeply, he controlled his emotions before he became a mess.

He leaned forward until your foreheads touched together, your hand still resting on his cheek. The tip of your nose brushed against his, so impossibly close and yet, you could feel the wall being built between you.

"I'm so sorry." He whispered, his breath hitting your lips, "I'm so, so sorry." His hand reached up, met yours upon his cheek, before pulling your touch away. He let himself cherish you for a moment more before leaning back, eyes never meeting you. Standing from his spot next to you, he left the room without another word, never looking back.

You sat where he left you, eyes on the floor. The relationship you had built with Bucky had been reset, all progress thrown away. You knew why he was building his walls again, he needed to protect himself, but it still hurt with every brick he added. You could feel your heart break in your chest, wishing you didn't already miss his touch.

TO BE CONTINUED