A wind chime tinkled from outside on the deck as Yelena bit into her first taco. It was delicious, and she couldn't help but grin at Bucky, who gave her an "I told you so" look.

   "So," Yelena lowered her half-eaten taco. The taco ingredients were spread out across the table, and Bucky must've noticed how famished she was, because he'd pushed the food closer to her plate than his.

   "Yeah?"

   "What kind of music do you like?"

   "Oh." Bucky leaned back in his chair. He'd already eaten three tacos, insisting that it wasn't that much. "I listen to a variety of things. 80's, sometimes, older music, Imagine Dragons, Arctic Monkeys. I dabble,"

   She took a sip of her water from her dark blue glass. "No Taylor Swift?"

   "...Really? I hope you're not one of those crazy Swifties. I'm not saying that they all are, but... You know what I mean."

   She barked a laugh, her nose scrunching adorably as she grinned. "That was a good save, but seriously. You didn't answer."

   "Eh. It's rare. Extremely rare. Not my cup of tea,"

   "Coffee."

   "What?"

   "Don't you drink coffee more?"

   He laughed. "Technically, yes. But hot chocolate is better than both anyway."

   "Then why is there no hot chocolate in your cupboards?" she leaned forward and narrowed her eyes suspiciously, as if Bucky was a convict she was interrogating.

   His cheeks and nose flushed red with embarrassment , his mouth twitching into a smile. "Maybe I drank it all, Belova. And you searched my cupboards? What the actual heck..." he shook his head, exasperated.

   "It's plausible, Barnes." She took another bite. 

   "Which? Going through the kitchen, or me drinking a lot of hot chocolate?"

   "Hehe. I don't think I'll tell you."

   "Okay then, keep your secrets." Bucky grabbed a tortilla and started to pile it with ingreidents. "How many will you eat?" Yelena asked. He shrugged. 

   He eats a lot, she thought. After being deprived of normal food (she was sure he was) when he was with Hydra, she was sure that he savored every last bite he took. It showed in his eyes, when she looked for it.

   "What kind of food did you eat in Siberia?" The question slipped from her mouth carefreelly, as if there was not even one traumatic experience linked to it. 

   The blue of his irises darkened, and he set his taco down his black porcelain plate. He took a drink of water, then looked her in the eyes. "Not... Not much."

   She gulped, not sure what that meant, but it sounded awful, if not by the actual words then by the tone of his voice. He didn't want to talk about it. Not now, not ever. Yelena didn't want to know what the substitution for food was, and she was starting to regret asking such a question.

   "I'm... I'm sorry. I never should've asked." 

   Bucky's eyes flashed at her as they broke eye contact, and he pressed his lips together tightly. "'T's alright,"

   "Not really," she said, but they both fell silent. She wasn't sure where the sorry had come from. She wasn't sure where any of this had come from.  

   And just then it occurred to her: it had all come from the Red Room. All of it. The odd bond between them, his protectiveness when he'd helped her escape it all, the pain and heartache they both carried around but barely talked about, taking her into his home like family, opening up to her regardless of the many years of being apart form each other. Everything. 

   Somehow Bucky had risen above the Red Room, warned her that she would die at the hands of her closest friend if she stayed, told her how to escape. That momentary sheer force of will from someone she barely knew had saved her life. 

   He never ceased to amaze her. 

   "Hey," he said softly, touching her hand. "What are you thinking about?"

   "My last day at the Red Room."

   His face shifted through several emotions, nastolgia, pain, satisfaction, and he leaned back in his chair, his hand pulling away from her's. Yelena's mind had to scramble to keep up sometimes, or she'd miss his thoughts as they passed. What was he feeling? 

   Bucky's expression settled on a blank one, making her stomach drop. She never thought she'd see that kind of look from him ever again, but here they were. 

   "What was it like?" she murmured. 

   Distracted from his mind, he raised an eyebrow.

   "Your childhood. You grew up here, right?" 

   He cleared his throat. "Yeah."

   "Mmmh. I saw the picture of your mother. She was so beautiful. I think you have the shape of her eyes, especially when you smile." This obtained the desired affect, his soft, warm smile. She beamed back, not sure where the hell her optimism was coming from. 

   "She... She used to grow little peppermint plants in the kitchen that me and my brothers and sister would always steal from. She hated it, but the mint tasted so good."

   "What was her name?"

   "Winnifred. Papa always called her Winny, though. She liked the formal way of saying it, so they used to get into little mock arguments that me and Oliver loved watching. They always turned their fights into comedy shows when they knew we were watching. The farther past our bedtime it was, the better, 'cause when my parents were tired, they got really funny."

   "That's fun. They sound like amazing parents."

   His mouth curved into a frown, and his eyes were all pouty and broken-looking. He missed them so much more than he'd ever say, Yelena knew. That was just the way he worked. She couldn't tell how she even knew how he worked, because she had no idea.

   She wouldn't forget about his expression full of pain when she mentioned the last day at the Red Room. When she'd gotten away using his advice and instuctions, he stayed behind to cover for her. 

   Shit. How could she be so selfish? She hadn't thought of what would happen if he got caught helping her escape in years, since she actually did. 

   The Winter Soldier was fading, but Bucky didn't care anymore. He'd been through enough shit not to care. But Yelena, he cared about. Natasha was rising in the ranks, overtaking everyone, incuding Yelena... she always had been, since the very beginning.

   But Yelena.

   He couldn't let her be trampled just because she wasn't right for their stupid-ass program. He took a deep breath and gently eased the lock off Yelena's handcuffs.

   She stared at him, still lying on her bed, and rubbed her wrists. "Why'd you not wake me?"

   Bucky just shook his head, his brain going at a hundred miles an hour. He knew he wasn't acting like he normally did, not thinking the way he usually thought. He was distracted, completely focusing on something else. All he knew was getting her out.

   She sat up and touched his arm. He jumped, surprised by her fingers, and sighed. "[What is going on, Soldier]?"

   Bucky took her hand and led her past the other girls, who slept like rocks against their mattresses, even past Natasha.

"What's going on?" She asked, this time in English. "Why didn't you wake up Nat?"

"Because Nat won't know until after, okay? Please keep quiet, Yelena."

They hurried on, but she was focused on him. Why was he so rushed and tense, yet soft and gentle at the same time? Scared, too. She knew a lot about him, surprisingly.

"You're going to run like hell when you get out onto the street. Don't stop. Don't ever stop. Understood?" He spun on her, and she jumped, frightened out of her mind. What was going on?

"You're leaving, Yelena. I organised the escape route you'll be taking, it's all on this paper." He stuffed the crumpled paper into her hand. She gulped, feeling the importance of the moment sink down on her shoulders.

Adrenaline rushed through her. She could do this. Somehow.

   The door to the outside world stood in front of them. Bucky knew he wouldn't ever see her again, and a rush of anxiety washed over him. He bent down and scooped her in his arms, the way he'd held Rebecca, once upon a time.

   "Don't look back," he whispered, his hand pressing gently on her shoulder. He pulled away, still looking down at her big, young eyes. "Don't ever. Do it for Natasha."

   She nodded, understanding. Yelena wouldn't want Nat to carry the grief of killing her friend, her sister. She hesitated, then added, "And for you, James."

   "Bucky. Call me Bucky."

   Yelena cracked a smile, but it fell away. "What will happen to you?"

   "Oh." Bucky swallowed, then took a deep breath. He couldn't show her how scared he really was, how much he'd scream and sob and scrape like a man dying of starvation for a way out of the hellhole that was Hydra. He couldn't show her that he knew exactly what would happen to him when she was gone.

   They'd find out. They always find out everything, no matter how hard he tries, and bathe it in hard pain.

   "I'll be fine... You'll be better than me, alright? You'll-you'll live a real life, okay? Promise me. Promise me you'll do that, Yelena!"

   "I love you, Bucky. I promise I'll live, and I'll think of you whenever I feel sad." She grabbed his waist in an embrace one more time, and he covered his eyes with his hand, lips parting like he was shuddering. But she knew what he was doing.

   "Don't think of me too much, Yelena."

   "I'll get out of here. I will."

   "You will."

   Bucky grabbed the lock, which he'd already picked, and slipped it off the door, then swung it open for her. She stepped out into the dark, glistening night with eyes shiny and full of hope, and glanced at the paper.

   She started to walk up the hill like the instructions said. But she heard her name being called. 

    Her heart sank. If anyone else heard him yelling her name, he'd be punished. Punished hard.

   But he didn't seem to care. Bucky reached her at the top of the hill, and grabbed her small hand, which was half the size of his, and squeezed it gently.

"[I love you too, little sister.]"

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   "I love you always and forever," - Lizzie Olsen