April 2nd, 2028

It's a routine now, a very simple, easy routine. He likes following it. He wakes, dresses, drives to the gym. They work out in synce, and then they fuck in said gym, or the gym bathroom, and then they shower in said gym bathroom. Sometimes Sif will blow him in the shower, sometimes she'll bring a drink.

Asgardian liquor is the glue that keeps it all together. It happened quickly, the easy-going borderline alcoholic routine, and he found it was bliss.

"Try this one," Sif says, pulling a bottle from her bag. It looks ancient, a thick cord wrapped around the neck. "That's some real old shit even Odin would kill for."

"Where are you always finding these?" He laughs, uncorking it. He takes a sniff, blinks rapidly. Hesitating for just a moment, he holds it up, studies it. It probably would be too much for even him, it'll probably cause the worst hangover. But then, he could stop hating himself. His self worth would be not gone but not an issue. He could forget about everything. About her.

And truly that's all he wants.

To forget.

To feel something other than pain.

And so he takes a gulp of the unknown liquor. It burns like fire, scorching his throat. His eyes squeeze shut as he nearly gags, staggering slightly. Sif chuckles, takes the bottle from him. "That's it, soldier."

Bucky coughs, puts his fist to his mouth. "Don't you fucking call me that."

"Go home after this one. Enjoy that feeling." Sif says, urging him to drink again. He does, stomping his foot as it blazes down.

He isn't sure how he got home but he does. He lays on his couch, dizzy, and stays there for hours. It's the simplest he's felt in days. The sadness is gone, or maybe it's there, but he's too inebriated to focus on it. He puts his hands in front of his face, giggling at his wavy fingers.

Eventually the drunken state begins to wear off, and he sits up carefully, finds himself some water. He owes Sif big time, and wonders if she'll let him buy some off her. It's definitely better than the previous stuff he's tried.

If he didn't have the fine-tuned senses of a killer he would've missed the light knock at his front door. He pauses his movements.

Swearing at the kindness of Laura, he grips the nob, flinging the door open. He wishes he'd kept it shut.

"Hey, can we...talk?" Wanda asks. She's dressed in a cream colored sweater that hugs her torso just right, her hair loose and slightly curled, tucked behind one ear. She's beautiful, and seeing her is like opening a wound; it fucking burns.

"No," he says, pushing the door closed. She raises her hands quickly, red tendrils leaking from her fingertips and they push against the door. He swears, stepping away and sulking into his apartment. She pauses for a moment, then steps inside, pressing the door shut with a light click.

"Please," Wanda sighs from behind him. "Can I just explain?" He sits down, puts his face in his hands.

"I can't do this, Wanda."

Her footsteps are soft until they stop before him. He hears her take a breath, then feels her hand soft against his cheeks. He wants to pull away, should pull away, but it's been so long since he's smelled her. He tips his head into her hand, inhaling deeply.

He's dizzy with want and alcohol.

"I know I messed up," her voice is laced with tears. "but I need you to know I fell in love with you, I really did."

She kneels then, dropping his face and placing her hands on his knees. He's weak, his limbs and head still foggy, and he places his hand over hers.

He wishes for once in his entire life, his brain could be wiped; but even then, it wouldn't take away the fact that Vision is alive. It'd just take away the memory of her. Maybe that's all he needs.

Wanda lets out a shaky exhale. She cups his jaw, drags his eyes to meet hers. They're shining, just as bright and pretty as he remembers. She swipes at his eyes with her thumb, pressing a feather-light kiss to the skin her thumb just grazed.

He missed her so much.

"Why did you do this to me?" His voice is raw, choked. He hates her for making him this weak, hates how much he loves her. "Why didn't you just tell me?"

"I was afraid you wouldn't stay," she hiccups. "If you knew...there was a possibility that he'd return...that I was looking. I was selfish, I wanted you for as long as I could, and I'm so sorry."

His chest aches as he drags her into his arms, and she slips her arms around his neck effortlessly, sobbing into his shirt. He cups the back of her neck, pressing the pads of his fingers into her skin.

They're time together is over, they both know. It's palpable, and it hurts like hell.

"I don't deserve this, Wanda." He sobs into her hair. "Especially not from you. Never from you."

"You're right, you don't. And I am so, so sorry."

She's sorry but she won't stay. She can't, not when the love of her life is alive and well. And Bucky can't even blame her; he would've done the same.