#can't wait to introduce Jarvis next chapter!

[darsynia]

Trust Fall | Ch11a

ARC image by Eury Escodero

Story Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Summary: Tony/OC, ‘terrorists made us fall in love;’ IM1 timeline. In this chapter, Tony realizes he wants to make armor for Emory, because he can't stand the idea of her getting hurt in the escape.

Length: 3,377

Tags (please don’t hesitate to ask!): @starryeyes2000 @raith-way @arrthurpendragon @starksbf @themaradaniels @chickensarentcheap @tiny-anne

Excerpt:

This morning is the first time he’s woken up thinking about home, longing for home, in a long time. Tony’s kept himself from those thoughts, firstly as a self-defense mechanism because there’s no point in wanting something there’s no hope in attaining. Later, he’d pushed those thoughts away out of a sense of confusion; he couldn’t align his newfound sense of guilt about his past behavior with the idea of going back home and picking his life back up. How can he manufacture weapons knowing the kinds of people who can get their hands on them? How can he tell Emory that she needs to turn her back on Rory Fall and her manipulative behavior when he’s been a similarly selfish friend to Rhodey and Happy at various points in his life?

But now? Now, he wants to get back there. He knows he can do better, has some ideas on how to achieve that. He wants to introduce Emory to Rhodey, to Happy, to Pepper. He thinks they’d get along. He wants to be there when Emory stands up to Rory. He wants to see her face when she sees the view from his house in Malibu. He wants to see her face when she meets JARVIS for the first time. He wants to watch her hair blowing in the wind riding next to him in one of his convertibles. He wants to share a bed with her.

Chapter Eleven: د لمر وړانګې

Now that Emory has clearly manifested some potentially powerful abilities, Tony spends more time being worried about her safety than he expected he would. Part of it is that he isn’t sure whether their captors have seen anything unusual while monitoring them via their surveillance camera. He doesn’t think they have recording capabilities, because that would require someone to spend time playing the video back to search for anomalies, and Tony thinks they’re too lazy for that. It still worries him, though, because in the week and a half since her vortex of particles, the view port on the metal door has been used multiple times a day. They’re het up about something, and nothing about that fact can be good.

His armor isn’t finished, but it’s close, and even that fact worries Tony. It’s too heavy for Emory, it’s powered by something embedded in his chest, and he doesn’t have time to make her a version even if she could figure out how to use her powers to help bear the weight so she could wear it. He can’t figure out how to protect her, and that’s completely unacceptable.

Tony’s taken to waking up in the early, early morning. The sounds of snoring from Yinsen have come to be an odd indicator of normalcy for him, but he looks forward to the musical noises that Emory lets out at around this time without fail. He’s come to accept that he has strong romantic feelings for her, feelings that will probably make their escape attempt a terrifying experience no matter what the outcome will ultimately be. Every night, when he wakes up and waits to hear the signs that she’s singing in her dreams, Tony thinks about the story that Yinsen told them about falling in love with his wife. Every night, his conclusions about that swing wildly from pole to pole, as he reconciles his life before this cave to what his life could look like once he gets back home.

Half the time, Yinsen’s story is a get out of jail free card of sorts. Developing feelings for someone you’re trapped with is human nature, the story implies, so the durability of those feelings are allowed to be questioned. If Yinsen and his wife had chosen to reject their newfound attachment, Tony sometimes reasons, they likely would have succeeded, because it was formed in extreme, somewhat negative circumstances. It’s only because they decided to be weak and acquiescent that they chose to remain attached.

The other half of the time, Yinsen’s story is a warranty, a promise that such a rocky start doesn’t have to mean an impossible, obstacle-laden path forward. Yinsen clearly adores his wife, and Tony’s not ignorant to the idea of trauma bonding. He knows he’s taken part in that, and not just because he finds Emory’s body attractive. She’s quick witted, deeply caring, and hard working, even to her own detriment. In many ways her struggles are the opposite of his own, and as he’s seen himself move along the path towards being less inwardly-focused, he’s watched her become more so. It might even be true that his overabundance of confidence has helped her recover from her own drought.

This morning is the first time he’s woken up thinking about home, longing for home, in a long time. Tony’s kept himself from those thoughts, firstly as a self-defense mechanism because there’s no point in wanting something there’s no hope in attaining. Later, he’d pushed those thoughts away out of a sense of confusion; he couldn’t align his newfound sense of guilt about his past behavior with the idea of going back home and picking his life back up. How can he manufacture weapons knowing the kinds of people who can get their hands on them? How can he tell Emory that she needs to turn her back on Rory Fall and her manipulative behavior when he’s been a similarly selfish friend to Rhodey and Happy at various points in his life?

But now? Now, he wants to get back there. He knows he can do better, has some ideas on how to achieve that. He wants to introduce Emory to Rhodey, to Happy, to Pepper. He thinks they’d get along. He wants to be there when Emory stands up to Rory. He wants to see her face when she sees the view from his house in Malibu. He wants to see her face when she meets JARVIS for the first time. He wants to watch her hair blowing in the wind riding next to him in one of his convertibles. He wants to share a bed with her.

None of that can happen if they don’t survive this place, though. He’s been trying to come up with some kind of protective solution for her for days, but as Tony hears Yinsen stir in his cot and start the process of dressing himself, he thinks of something.

“Yinsen?” he whispers loudly, hoping not to wake Emory. It’s a tossup whether she’ll wake up early or not, usually depending on how late they spend talking the night before. Last night was one of the late ones.

As Tony had thought he might, the older man walks over to find out what Tony wants.

“Didn’t they give Emory two outfits? The red one and another one? What happened to the second one?”

“Too revealing, she said. I laid it near the rags,” Yinsen tells him.

After retrieving it, Tony sees what she meant. Where the red dress and trouser set is more of a traditional garment, this black garment is almost a caricature of the other one. It’s made out of thick fabric just like its red cousin, but this one has a low, curved vee neckline, silver beadwork on the chest, shoulder cut-outs, form-fitting sleeves with a light-weight filmy fabric draping down from them, and a double skirt made up of a miniskirt/shorts covered by more of the filmy fabric that tapers down from the hips. Tony could imagine that the lightweight fabric of the skirt and sleeves would probably float if Emory wore it and used any of her air manipulation powers.

The design on the chest is made of alternating half-moon shapes that make an undulating sort of V shape leading up from the waistline. They remind Tony of the profile of the curved missile carapaces they have no use for.

Tony looks over at Emory’s sleeping form and thinks for a while. He’s got a pneumatic attachment for his drill that could punch holes in that thinner metal. Would it be possible to cannibalize this outfit as a base to mount a kind of layered armor made from half-moon shaped slices of the missile skin? Even if it only served to dampen the speed of incoming projectiles, it might be better than nothing, especially if she can further slow them with her powers.

He lays out the ridiculous outfit on the table and shoots another look over at her. She’d be upset, he thinks, if she knew he was thinking about doing this instead of making the helmet and the other final tweaks to his suit. Ever since their captors had started to watch them through the door slot more often, Emory has been anxious about how long he has left before he’ll be finished. Tony had made the mistake of mentioning his habit of taking a break when he hits 90% on a project to work on something else, coming back a few days later with fresh eyes. He’d suggested to her that maybe they could come up with some kind of protective gear for her to wear during their escape, and Emory had been upset at the idea of any delay, even one to her benefit.

He’d be upset at the idea of her dying from something he could have protected her from.

Tony gets a pencil and a blank sheet of paper and starts sketching, using the garment on the table as his base.

“What are you doing?” Emory asks him about six hours later, after they’ve eaten and she’s finished using her broom to sweep up the metal shards from his current phase of work. Tony hadn’t asked her to, but she’d come over and frowned deeply at the floor scattered with sharp pieces of metal. She’d frowned even more deeply when she found out he’d already gotten two stuck into his shoes.

Tony can’t help it. He feels cared for, even though Emory is kind of berating him for letting the pieces get to the point where they could fuck up his shoes. It reminds him of Rhodey’s brand of shit-talking kindness. Even though they’re stuck in this damned cave, her actions make Tony feel at home. He doesn’t want to tell her about his plan, though, because he knows her. She’ll ask him if he’s done with his suit, and if he isn’t, she’ll demand he finish it first. That’s just the kind of person she is. So, Tony prevaricates. It’s for her own good.

“Protection for the joints. Don’t want to end up with a bullet to the elbow, that’ll ruin my entire day,” Tony tells her, not making eye contact. He’s got too many of the slices for them to realistically be for the joints. They’re in a small, ratty cardboard box, so he starts moving some of the materials on the table, coincidentally setting some of them on top of it to hide them from her. The move probably would have worked on Pepper (or at the very least, she wouldn’t have revealed that she was onto him), but Emory is straight up suspicious.

“I thought you were working on the helmet today?”

“Well! I didn’t realize I was being spoken to by the Assistant to the Assistant Manager,” Tony teases, and Emory’s furrowed brows ease. “Had an idea, maybe it won’t pan out. Not everything can be about flamethrowers,” he says, shooting her a defensive sidelong glance.

She favors him with a crooked grin. “It’s a shame we can’t risk firing them off in here. I really wonder if I can make fire-nadoes with them.”

Tony looks over at her instead of at the box he’s trying to keep her from seeing. Emory’s got a look of devilish curiosity on her face that he completely recognizes. Maybe it’s because his assistant is already on his mind, but a thought floats up: Pepper Potts would never get excited about such a thing. While he’s distracted by that, though, Emory makes her move.

“Joints, hmm?” she says, holding up one of the half-moon slices of metal he’d been trying to hide from her. She’d snuck around behind him.

“Who are you, Anderson Cooper?” Tony asks, snatching it away, putting it back, and picking up the box to hold up where she can’t reach. “What does it matter?”

“I freely admit I don’t know you very well, at least the you that you are at home,” Emory says, her grey eyes steady as she looks at him. “Maybe you’re used to having multiple projects going at once… but it would make me worry less if you could finish the helmet, at least? If we need to hide it somewhere so they don’t realize what it is, I’ll sleep with the darned thing, I just--” Emory stops speaking and screws up her face as if she’s said too much.

She looks really worried, and Tony wonders what he’s missed by trying to stay away from her as much as possible while she tries to master her new abilities. The fact that his very presence nearby seems to generate the required energy is both gratifying and frustrating, but has it caused him to miss something important?

“What do you think I’m making instead?” Tony asks gently.

He can see that she’s embarrassed, and he is too, because it seems like Emory has figured it out that he’s making something protective for her, and she doesn’t know how to tell him to stop. He doesn’t want her to tell him to stop.

“You are a genius. You’re rich. You’re powerful. You’re important, to the world, and to me. I want you to finish your suit, I want you to make it out of here. Can you do that for me?” Emory asks, her grey eyes fired with the same passion he can hear in her voice. She’s practically shaking with the intensity of it.

“Hey, come here,” he says, trying to pull her close. She holds her body rigid, looks up at him with real fear in her eyes.

“Tony, promise me.”

“I’ll finish it, I promise,” he says. He holds her gaze for what feels like thirty seconds before she relaxes. Emory kisses his chest, over his heart.

“You’d better.”

They stand like that for a while, until yet again, the viewing port on the door is opened, and the two of them startle back apart. Emory heads back toward her cot, and Tony walks over to where he’s set up a decoy Jericho, a shell that hides some of the flamethrower and pneumatic parts that need to be affixed onto the suit soon. The suit will be large, and he won’t be able to keep the pieces scattered and hidden throughout the room for long, but putting it together will take a while too. Yinsen’s suggestion of creating a few ‘walls’ in the room that hide them from the surveillance camera has helped, but those only work when no one comes inside to peek behind them. The welded chest piece is under Tony’s cot, and the leg pieces are stacked up as if they’re old missile trash, complete with the ‘jet propulsion’ contingency he’d fitted them with.

Tony continues to try to look busy, but they’re not sliding the view port closed again. He looks over at Yinsen, who winces.

“Well, someone just dialed up the difficulty level,” Tony says.

There’s no way to disguise what amounts to a cosplay sewing project as a weapon of mass casualties, so Tony does actually end up working on his suit. He finishes up with the arms, essentially hiding behind his fake Jericho until just around his normal meeting time with Emory. She comes over, and Tony almost changes his mind about pushing her away when he sees the open, honest affection she has on her face. With that viewing hatch open, though, they just can’t risk their normal routine.

“Did you ever stay up past your bedtime working on stuff?” he asks her as he conceals the work he’s done just in case their captors come nosing around in the middle of the night. “You know, clock radios, television sets, lawnmower engines?” Tony knows she probably didn’t, that she’d likely have been up reading books or writing poetry, maybe practicing singing the same way she does now. He’s trying to set her up to forgive him for skipping out on their stolen evening time together, though, so he’s gotta pour on the charm.

“Oh, of course. Didn’t everyone try to build their own nuclear reactor with household products?” she says, waving her hand in the air dismissively.

“Exactly. You get me,” Tony smiles. “That’s my evening plan. Need to put some shit together under the blankets using my handmade flashlight--” he taps his chest “--now that they’re giving us less privacy.”

“Oh,” Emory says. There’s a wealth of disappointment but also understanding in that one word. She reaches up and kisses his shoulder. Without saying anything else, she starts back toward her area of the cave-- but she stops just once, and looks at the box he’d tried to hide from her earlier. She doesn’t even have to look back for Tony to get the message.

He hopes that she’ll forgive him when, in a few days, both projects will be finished.

Emory finds it hard to sleep. Something’s up with Tony, and he probably doesn’t know that the blanket he’s working beneath is thin enough for her to see a slight glow in the center of the room. It’s not stationary, either. He works under there for long enough that Emory drifts off and wakes after a stint of fitful sleep only to see that he’s still moving around.

The period of sleep might have been restful for her body, but it had unsettled her mind quite a bit. Even before falling asleep, Emory had been consumed with uncertainty. Now, lying in the dark watching the man she’s fallen in love with work on a secret project he won’t divulge to her, Emory’s consumed with worry. She’s anxious about whether she’ll be able to protect herself and Yinsen while Tony takes the lead fighting their way out of the cave. After all, she’s been limited in the ways she can practice her strange new abilities in the limited space. If they manage to get away, they have no idea how long it’ll take for them to be rescued even once they get out of the terrorists’ reach. Their food probably won’t last very long, even though they’d started stockpiling bread and have been keeping the most edible dried beans in a separate container to carry with them when it’s time. Those are just the most present of her worries; the longer-reaching ones are even more fraught.

She might have to kill. Tony almost certainly will. 

Even if/once they’re rescued, there are more considerations. She almost certainly doesn’t have a job anymore, not that she’ll be able to go home right away anyway. Emory’s seen enough movies and read enough historical nonfiction books to know that the government won’t be anxious to let them head home without a thorough accounting of their time, descriptions of their captors, and explanations of where exactly they’d been that whole time. Maybe she’s not prominent enough to have people still searching for her, two plus months after she was taken, but Tony absolutely is.

At least that thought brings some hope with it. It’s very possible that the US Military knows where they are, but can’t afford the political and manpower implications of a rescue. After all, Tony’s a weapons manufacturer. There could be arguments that spending blood and treasure (and risking international incident) to rescue him counts as preferential treatment. That might mean that the three of them just need to get far enough away from the terrorists to be picked up. If they don’t exactly know where they are, thanks to Tony’s prominence, there may at least be fly-overs looking for them just in case (though after two months, that’s probably wishful thinking). 

But, once the three of them are released from those obligations, what will ‘going home’ look like?

The faint blue glow subsides, and Emory sits up in her cot, straining her eyes to see if there’s still detectable movement. She counts to sixty and doesn’t see any. Tony’s finally going to get some sleep, it seems. She should, too.

Her thoughts had already been trending toward what life might be like for her if all goes well and they return to the real world, and now that Emory knows Tony’s lying still, she wonders what he’s thinking about. Would it be giving herself false hope to imagine a life after rescue that has Tony Stark in it? Is there any chance he’s picturing her as a part of his life, too? She almost chuckles to herself; thanks to profiles done on him in magazines she’s seen, Emory knows what his house looks like, but she can’t picture herself ever visiting it. Even though she’s been ‘celebrity adjacent’ for over half a decade at least, she’d never reached his level.

“Go to sleep,” she whispers to herself, eyes locked to the specific part of the darkness that Tony’s cot is situated in, in case he hears her. There’s still no movement, so she takes in a deep breath, holds it, and lets it out slowly, trying to use that as a reset of sorts. There are many steps left before she can find out where she stands in Tony Stark’s life, and there’s no point in pretending she won’t enjoy the time she has left, even if it’s brief.

Next chapter, Emory and Tony fight about being self-sacrificing, and Emory lets slip her true feelings-- right in time for the terrorists to come in and demand to know where their Jericho missile is.

[scribeofmorpheus]

As Fate Would Have It Part 8 (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

Catch Up Here!

A/N: This update took fucking forever! Forgive me, lol. But I have started a new challenge to see if I can finish this series before Endgame so... fingers crossed! Also, I won’t lie, I enjoy young Howard Stark’s personality.  And the opening was definitely not inspired by the opening of Marvelous Mr.s Maisel s2!!! *winks with both eyes!*

Remember: Reader’s alias is Helen Rushman but everyone calls you Elle!

Words: 2463

Warnings: Angst?! Pfft, I don’t even know!

(gif isn’t mine)

One Month Later

You sat at the work station of Betty Bloom, one of the employees you had befriended during your 3 weeks at your new job. Her calls were fairly few, giving you a lot of breathing room between calls. On the other end of the operators' office Agnes, a shaky poodle of a woman, was having less of a breezy time.

"Hellen, help!" Agnes yelped from her chair by the switchboard, "There are too many calls coming through!" she panicked, lost in a tangle of cables.

You used your chair to swivel to her place as she smoothly moved out the way. "Stark Industries, how may I direct your call?" you asked with the company-polite-policy tone. After a few seconds, you put the right switch in its corresponding section. "Stark Industries, how may I direct your call?" you repeated the process like a record player.

After a few minutes of dealing with the bulk of the calls, you gave Agnes a cheeky wink, "All done. I believe these are yours?" You held up a switchboard jack yet to be connected.

Agnes fanned herself dramatically as she wheeled back to her station, "Girl, I don't know how you do it. You are a literal angel."

"All in a day’s work," you smiled back before heading back to the station you were covering. Betty came back from her quick smoke break soon after. "And Agnes, it's Elle. Never Helen."

"Thank ye, darlin'," Betty retrieved her headsets from you, "You are an actual lifesaver. Now ye best get on, before the handsome Moustachioed Casanova notices you've been gone a minute."

Some of the girls giggled youthfully at Betty's mention of Howard Stark's nickname, others visibly swooned. You thought it best to follow the trend and feigned the same level of adoration the other women showed. You bid the girls a fond adieu and made your way back upstairs to your office.

You had been working as Howard Stark’s secretary for a few weeks now. From early on, the other secretaries showed a colder reception towards you when you first arrived, they probably thought you slept your way to the position considering a lot of the other girls had been vying for this position months before you even stepped foot in Brooklyn. And so you wound up spending time with the much more accepting and lively telephone operators in the basement.

You made your way to your desk, getting a few sour looks from the other secretaries. The piercing intensity of their fiery gaze reminded you a lot of the Red Room and how people you had considered allies could just as easily turn into adversaries. One of them even resembled Yelena which made you grind your teeth every time you saw her permanently squinted eyes. When you got to your desk you were greeted by the all too familiar sounds of your boss, Howard Stark, being a little too cheeky and less attentive than he should be while a suit argued over a patent.

"Howard, you stole my invention, admit it!" the man shouted.

You heard a chuckle and had the urge to peek into the office subtly from behind your desk.

"I did no such thing old boy," Howard said condescendingly. Giving the unknown man a pat on the back. Even you had to admit, he could be charming when you least expected it. "It can't be helped if we both thought up the same idea. It's a mere coincidence."

"That's folly and you know it!"

"Listen here, Frankie. Do you know the difference between your patent and mine?" the suit, Frankie, stayed silent. "The answer is simple. Mine is simply better than yours. See, Stark Industries invents quality, reliable and groundbreaking products. And to be frank, yours just doesn't meet any of those standards."

Frankie was turning beet red, "Why you--"

"Mr Stark, your 3 o'clock is here. Should I tell security to let him up or will you be going down to meet him?" You interjected just in time to diffuse what could have been a rather messy situation. Howard smirked at you, no doubt impressed by your cunning.

"Thank you, Helen but there'll be no need. I was heading out anyway," You didn't bother to correct him. Howard pretended to organise some documents into a briefcase. "Sorry, Frankie. Guess we'll have to continue this stimulating conversation another time. Set a time with my very capable secretary, she'll pencil you in."

Frankie or Frank, whichever it was, muttered a few choice words under his breath before he stormed off in a huff.

"Nice timing there, darlin'," Howard complemented. "To think of all the times my previous secretaries caused a scene by actually calling security… And all the tabloid headlines that followed. Where have you been all my life?" he mused.

"Certainly not running in your circles, Sir." You bit back with a little too much attitude. You were about to apologize until you saw how Howard was looking at you: like his next conquest.

"Ah, the Dame's got bite too," he threw a dashing smile your way. Shameless flirt he was.

Now you got to witness first hand why they called him the Moustachioed Casanova, he did have the curse of charisma.

Howard gathered a file and walked towards you, "Here, file these for me and go down to Research and Development and make sure we didn't actually steal Frankie's designs. Can't have a lawsuit on my ass." He handed you the papers. He lingered for a moment before gathering his coat and hat.

"Of course, Sir."

He stopped by the door of his office and looked at you with a raised brow, "One more thing..."

"Sir?"

"I thought my 3 O'clock was a… woman."

You held back the urge to laugh, "It is. I just didn't think that particular piece of information was pertinent for others to be privy to."

Without warning, Howard placed a harmless, giddy kiss on your cheek. "If only every other secretary could have your smarts!" He said hastily before departing for his 'meeting'.

That would be a frightful thing to behold you thought, knowing full well how devious and merciless assassins could be, let alone underpaid secretaries!

In the background you heard what sounded like him walking into someone, followed by a hasty "Pardon me."

You glanced over at the large file in your hand and at Howard's empty office. Finally! The opportune moment to search his office for anything pertaining to Project Rebirth. The sooner you could uncover a new lead, the sooner you could leave your post and try to go back to the way things were. You felt a sting in your heart when you remembered the sad look on Bucky's face when ended things three weeks ago. You shook those thoughts from your head and got to work.

In a bin, by the doorway of the floor, you saw a fresh bouquet of pink flowers. Strange… You hadn't noticed them when you went for your break in the basement earlier. They reminded you of the peach farm you, Bucky, Sal and Steve had visited.

***

Steve and Bucky were having lunch at a different diner in town. Bucky had had a constant far-away look on his face lately and Steve was getting worried.

One of the waitresses came down, she seemed very interested in hooking Bucky's attention but he simply placed his order and gave a polite smile before gazing back out the window.

"Come on Buck, you can't keep moping about," Steve tried to console his best friend. "It's been three weeks." In all truth, Steve had never seen his pal so worked up over a girl before. If only there was something he could do besides endless pep talks. Steve wracked his brain while he sipped his burnt coffee.

A man besides their table was reading a newspaper that read "12 Month Countdown to Stark Expo".

Steve nudged Bucky and whispered conspiratorially, "Hey, what do you think about the Stark Expo?"

Bucky followed after Steve's eye line and saw the newspaper, "If I'm being honest Steve-O, I haven't thought much about it."

Steve started going off about his thoughts on what was quickly becoming the event of the decade, Bucky nodded his head and gave a few Oh's and Ah's, but really his attention was fully placed on the Uncle Sam poster printed in black and white on the back page that screamed "We Want You!"

"Hey… Buck?" Steve seemed less confident now.

"Yeah?"

"Do you know why Elle… you know, ended things between you two?"

Bucky gazed down at his coffee cup. He began stirring the coffee despite there being no sugar or milk in it. "Work," was all he said.

"That can't be it, can it?"

"She said she'd be too busy, didn't want to hold me back… or something rather."

"And you just went along with it? That's not like you Buck. When you want something you always go for it!"

Bucky chuckled, a smile threatening to spread across his lips, "So what you're saying is, I should never have let her walk out of my life?"

"Come on man, you're absolutely miserable without her!" Steve fidgeted about a bit, he saw a vase with a few wilting flowers in it and suddenly a thought popped into his head. "Hey! Why don't you make some grand gesture and tell her you don't care if she's going to be busier with work or you won’t see her as much. Tell her how you really feel. That you lo--" Steve stopped himself before he said too much.

Bucky mulled over Steve's hopelessly romantic words for a moment. And in a flash, he stood up, placed some money on the counter, thanked his friend and walked out of the diner with purpose.

Steve smiled after his friend as he waited for his food patiently, "Hey, 'scuse me. Mind if I borrow that?" He asked the gentleman with the newspaper.

"Sure thing pal," he handed him the paper.

Bucky made his way to the subway and took the Two-Twenty-Two to midtown. When he reached his stop a whole 30 minutes had passed. It was quarter to 3 when he took the elevator up to the secretarial pool of Stark Industries -having bribed the security personnel 5 bucks and swooning over about winning a girls heart. He had a bouquet of pink flowers that reminded him of their picnic at Sue's Farm, a new found smile that felt strange on his face since becoming accustomed to brooding and a smart head of hair -having used the reflective surface of the elevator to smooth it out. He was ready to win her back! But then he saw something he didn't expect.

Elle was standing in a man's office, he looked to be enjoying her company. Then abruptly, he kissed her cheek, and she didn't protest. Bucky stood frozen in the doorway for a few moments. Only to be snapped out of his haze when the very same man, who he recognised from the papers as Howard Stark, nearly bumped into him on his way out. Bucky felt a surge of red hot boil his blood, but he simply balled his fists and dumped the bouquet in the nearest bin. He chose to leave using the stairs, not wanting to face the security personnel he had told of his plans to woo Elle back.

Walking back to his apartment he saw a large Uncle Sam poster, and this time he felt as though it was pointing right at him. With purpose and still glazed over with anger, Bucky began walking in the opposite direction. In the direction of the nearest recruitment centre.

***

When you returned to your apartment you were beyond exhausted. Not only did you have too many files to sort through -you made a mental note to impose a more efficient filing system on Mr Stark- but you also had to juggle snooping around Howard's office without raising anyone’s suspicions before he returned from his 3 0'Clock meeting.

You kicked off your shoes and placed the lonely bouquet you saw earlier on the table. You filled an old marmalade Jar and snipped the stems shorter before placing the newly hydrated flowers on the counter. You set the kettle on to make some tea and went to change out of your work clothes.

"Elle, darlin' that you?" Sal chimed in from her room.

"Hey, Sal. I just put on the kettle. Want some tea?"

"Oh, swell!" you heard her feet patter across the floor into the kitchen. "Oh, these are wonderful. Who sent them?" She asked in reference to the flowers.

"No idea. Found them in the trash."

"And you just… picked them up?" she wasn't amused.

"It was empty!"

"Oh, well, that makes it okay," she retorted.

"Is that sarcasm?"

"Maybe... this is what happens when you leave me alone with Annie," there was a pause as she removed the whistling kettle from the stove and plopped some cups down. "Oh, there's a card."

You walked out of your room and gave Sal a warm smile. "Who's it from?"

Sal went slightly pale before she balled the card in her hand and walked over to the bin, "No one." You thought her voice sounded odd. She walked back and sat at the count, her hands fidgeting in her pocket. "Probably a lover’s quarrel." She cleared her throat.

"Boy, have I had the most exhausting day--"

"Sorry Hun, I just realised I have to call my brother before it gets too late," Sal practically all but ran into her room. You thought she was acting rather odd but didn't follow up on it. You stretched and headed to the bathroom to run a bath.

***

Sal scoured through her diary looking for Steve's number. She knew she had it somewhere because she called him when she was planning the surprise party she threw for Elle last month.

"Here it is," she cheered. She dialled the number and uncrumpled the card that was on the bouquet. It read: To my best girl, B.

It had to be from Bucky, but how did Elle not notice it? Why hadn't she said anything? And why did Elle find them in the trash? Sal had so many questions and she hoped Steve could answer them, but most of all, she wanted to see if this meant there was space for a reconciliation. Because, honestly, Sal noticed how down Elle's mood had been since she and Bucky split and she imagined Bucky wasn't doing much better either.

When Steve picked up, she almost squealed at the image forming in her mind: Elle and Bucky, back together again!

Part 9 is here!

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[nothingbutfangirlsmut]

The Girl Out of Time

Pairing: Bucky x Reader and Sam x Reader

Background: Willow Roffe was born and raised in Brooklyn. She lived her life as happily as she could with her two childhood best friends Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers. When they both left her to join the military she tried to continue with life but that didn't get to happen for her for the simple fact that she meant something to James Buchanan Barnes.

Rated: Story will be over all MATURE but not every chapter. There will be strong language, talk of both mental and physical abuse, some good ole angst, and some eventual smut once the story reaches that point.

Chapter 2

I stood outside the door of the "avengers tower" as Steve had called it. The building truly was a tower. I'd never seen anything like this in my life. Steve gently pulled my hand to lead me inside. I'm sure he felt like he was dragging a child behind him. All I could do was stare. I tried to look at everything. There was just so many odd things that looked familiar yet completely foreign.

"Welcome back Captain" a pretty blonde woman said as she smiled wide at Steve.

I noticed the deep 'V' in her shirt's neckline. She was wearing a very tight and short skirt as well. My father would beat the absolute hell out of me if I even thought about wearing something like that.

Steve lead me down a small hallway that stopped at some closed metal doors. Steve pushed the lone button on the wall next to the doors. The next second the doors came open. We stepped inside letting the doors close again. It's an elevator but where's the operator? I heard Steve chuckle as he pressed one of the numbered buttons.

"It's completely self efficient now. They no longer need an operator." He smiled down at me.

"How?" I asked him.

"I'm still not entirely sure I just know technology has come a long way. A lot of things have changed."

I nodded staying quiet. I already had so many questions but I didn't want to bombard him with all of them especially since he's only been here for two years.

The metal doors opened up to a very large living space. It was so elegantly decorated. Something you'd see in a film or in a rich person's home possibly. I've never had the luxury of knowing what the finer things in life are.

"I'll introduce you to everyone." Steve smiled walking towards the small stairs leading down to the sitting area.

"Jarvis" Steve said looking up towards the ceiling.

"Yes, Captain?" An odd monotone type of voice sounded like it filled the whole room.

I didn't see anyone at all that the voice could have came from.

"Can you tell everyone to meet me in the living room please." Steve said back to the unknown voice.

"Of course" the voice answered.

"Who was that?" I asked as I stepped farther into the open room.

"Jarvis, he is an AI. Tony created him."

I turned to look at Steve. I know I looked completely confused because I felt completely confused.

"An.. AI? This Tony created a person?" I asked in bewilderment.

"I'll let him explain it." Steve chuckled.

A few minutes later as I walked around the room I heard the footsteps of a few people coming towards us. I turned around to see a small group coming down the few steps to put them in the sitting area.

"Ok, all of you guys already know about Willow but I thought I'd introduce her to all of you." Steve explained.

I walked back over to his side as the others each took a seat around the room.

"This is Natasha Romanoff also known as Black Widow." Steve gestured to the gorgeous red head in extremely tight and revealing clothing.

The woman waved and smiled.

"That's Clint Barton also known as Hawkeye." Steve pointed to the man sitting next to Natasha.

He smiled and nodded.

"The timid genius over there is Bruce Banner who is also the Hulk so I'd avoid irritating him." Steve said with a humorous smile.

Bruce looked embarrassed by what Steve said as he gave me a small smile and wave then looked anywhere but towards me.

"Lastly, this is Tony Stark." Steve barely gestured to the man standing by the counter on the other side of the room.

"Stark?" I questioned remembering that name.

"Capsicle, you forgot to tell her I'm also known as Ironman. I'm also a genius billionaire." Tony said with a cocky grin in place.

"Stark" I repeated the name.

Why can't I remember how I know that name? Wait, of course, Howard Stark. How could I forget him.

"Do you know Howard Stark by chance?" I asked him.

His face fell instantly. I knew I had struck a cord without meaning to.

"Howard was my father." He said simply.

"That's amazing! I met him a few times. My father worked with him on several occasions. He is a great man." I smiled widely.

It was an odd thing to see the son of Howard Stark standing in front of me looking the same age now as his father was the last time I had seen him.

"Well, Willow, what exactly happened to you? Do you remember anything?" Natasha asked leaning forward.

I shook my head. The last thing I remembered it was 1946 now it's suddenly 2013. I'm at a complete loss for 67 years. I should be an old woman right now or maybe even dead.

"I can show you what happened." Tony said suddenly.

"You can?" I asked excitedly.

Tony nodded as he walked to the center of the group.

"Jarvis, open the Hydra Research file." Tony ordered.

"Certainly sir" the voice answered.

Suddenly images appeared to come out of the table Tony was standing in front of. I watched as he moved his hands around which also seemed to move the images. He made one image larger. It was a newspaper article with my photo on it.

The headline read "Local Woman Still Missing After Months of Searching".

The picture was originally of myself and Steve as well as someone else it seemed. I remembered the picture partially. Steve and I were at the Stark Expo. I could see his arm draped around me in the photo but the rest of him was cut out. What I don't remember is who the other arm draped around me belonged to. I only remember being there with Steve.

Tony moved his hand and the photo changed to a moving picture. It was of the same man I met earlier. Fury. He was sitting behind a desk staring straight at me.

"Your mission is simple. This is a research Intel gathering job. You are going in to one of the former Hydra bases in the Swiss Alps. I want as much information as you can gather. We will meet at shield headquarters in 24 hours."

The picture stopped then Tony changed it again. It was another moving picture. I saw several people in head to toe black gear. Most of their faces covered. They carried large weapons. They were walking threw some kind of cave. There was odd equipment everywhere. I recognized a few things. The image seemed to change suddenly to a different area.

"What the hell is that?" I heard a man ask.

Ahead of them were some kind of chambers. There was two of them. One was open and empty while the other was closed with something over the glass to shield what was inside from view. I watched as they used tools to break the door open. It looked like a cloud of smoke that came out of the chamber. Once it cleared I felt every bit of color drain from me.

"That's me" I whispered in shock.

"What the hell?" One of the men questioned in the image.

"We need immediate extraction! I repeat immediate extraction! We found something!" A man shouted loudly.

Two men worked carefully to pick me up out of the chamber and carry me back threw the area they had come threw.

The image changed again. This time I was laying on a table. My skin looked to slowly be gaining color again. A few people in white lab jackets stood around me.

"Do you have any idea who this is yet?" One of them asked.

"I do" the voice came from somewhere unseen.

The video moved to show Fury standing in a doorway. He walked over to where I lay and looked down at me.

"This is Willow Roffe friend of our very own Steve Rogers." He stated.

"What would Hydra want with this woman?" One of the doctors asked.

"That I do not know. Not yet anyway." He seemed bothered by that.

The moving picture stopped and Tony turned to me. He waved his hand and the images disappeared.

"Any questions?" He asked.

"Yea, actually, a lot of them." I answered honestly.

---

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