#misshoneybee: series | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

misshoneybee · 3 years ago

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⟣ 𝑇𝐻𝐸𝑆𝐸 𝐴𝑅𝐸 𝑇𝐻𝐸 𝐻𝐴𝑁𝐷𝑆 𝑂𝐹 𝐹𝐴𝑇𝐸 ⟢

— 𝐼𝐼. 𝑂𝐶𝐸𝐴𝑁 𝐵𝐿𝑈𝐸 𝐸𝑌𝐸𝑆, 𝐿𝑂𝑂𝐾𝐼𝑁𝐺 𝐼𝑁 𝑀𝐼𝑁𝐸

Masterpost — OFC Biography — Playlists — Chapter I — Chapter III

❧ Pairings | Post-Infinity War!Steve Rogers x Original Female Character

❧ Warnings | Mature content, explicit language, fluff, dirty talking Steve Rogers, smut (fingering, oral sex (f-rec), vaginal sex, dirty talk, multiple orgasms)

❧ Wordcount | ~5.2k

❧ Author’s Note | This is literally just five thousand words of smut...my bad, y'all. xx.

❧ Disclaimer | Dividers are by firefly-graphics. If you are a minor, or do not have your age in your bio, and I catch you interacting with this, you will be blocked. If you believe you were blocked unfairly, send me an ask with your url.

And you should think about the consequence Of you touching my hand in the darkened room ( Gorgeous | Reputation )

February 14, 2020

Steve hadn’t touched her.

Well, maybe he had but not the way that she wanted him to.

There’d been nothing more than just a fleeting brush of his hand or his arms wrapping around her waist and she swore that she was going to lose her mind if he didn’t actually do something soon. Hot and bothered didn’t even begin to cover how she felt.

In an attempt to get the ball rolling, Maggie had started trying to drop some not-so-subtle hints; wearing skirts that were just a little too short, shirts that were cut a bit lower than what she typically wore, tighter jeans, and once, in a last-ditch effort, no bra under her thin sweater when they relaxed together while watching television one night.

His eyes had avoided her nipples like the plague.

It had been several weeks, and she was beginning to think that, maybe, Steve just wasn’t attracted to her in that way. Those thoughts would creep in when he’d take her hand from where it roamed across his chest and bring it to his lips, pressing a kiss to her palm. Or when he’d end their time together with a chaste kiss before they went to their separate bedrooms in the evening. Or when he’d blushingly avert his gaze while she trained in just a sports bra and leggings, leaving little to his imagination, as he tripped over his words while talking.

They’d been a couple for just over a month and Valentine’s Day had seemingly come out of nowhere. She hadn’t celebrated the hallmark holiday since she was in college, in a stable, long-term relationship. It wasn’t as though Maggie been completely single since then; she’d had a handful of friends-with-benefits arrangements when she was in Europe and during graduate school and, of course, there’d been Ben just a few months earlier but something about her relationship with Steve just felt indescribably different.

Earlier in the day, she’d accidentally put a dent in his effort to surprise her by leaving work early in an attempt to surprise him. Typically, she was the last one home in the evening, but she wanted to come home early before he returned from his support group meeting. When she’d arrived back in their apartment, she was surprised when the elevator doors opened for her to see Steve, waiting for the doors to open so he could descend to the level her office was on.

After a moment of surprise, he’d held out a small bouquet that he’d been on his way to deliver to her and she’d flung herself into his arms, giggling at the sweet gesture. Neither was particularly disappointed with the failure of their plans, too eager to spend time together. They’d mutually decided to have an intimate evening in since Natasha, ever the secretive one, had departed for the weekend with only a text saying she’d return on Monday.

Maggie couldn't help but think this was her way of trying to help the new pair.

In the dim light of the living room, a movie played on the television, but the couple’s attention was elsewhere. It wasn’t as if every kiss between the couple had been innocently sweet; lately, their makeouts had left her wanting more and more. Her knees pressed into the soft cushion of the couch as her legs were spread wide, straddling his lap. With her arms wrapped around his neck, one of her hands played with the hair at the nape of his neck as their tongues danced together.

She was keenly aware of where his hands were on her sides, willing them to move where she really wanted to feel him. She felt the heavy warmth of them trail up her sides, his thumbs rubbing gently against her ribs as a warmth began to spread throughout her core. As soon as one of his thumbs brushed just slightly under the swell of her breast, her breath caught before she felt his hands begin to retreat like the tide.

At his movement, she let out an uncharacteristically whiny moan and finally gripped both of his hands where they’d landed on her hips and dragged them slowly up her torso until they each rested on her breasts, not breaking their kiss.

A surprised groan came from Steve’s chest as he quickly adapted to what she needed. Giving them a cautious squeeze, Maggie’s hips rocked gently into his, feeling a hardness beginning to grow. She let out a soft moan, murmuring against his lips, “God, finally.”

“Finally?” Steve hummed back.

Maggie pulled back, her lips swollen and rosy from their kiss. She rested her forehead against his, trying to catch her breath, “I’ve been trying to drop hints for a month.”

Steve brushed some of the curly strands of hair from her face, giving her a sheepish shrug, “I didn’t want to pressure you.”

“You’re not pressuring me into anything.” She sat up straighter, her hands falling to his shoulders as her brows drew together in concern. Her tone shifted as she quickly continued, “Wait, am I pressuring you?”

“Mags—”

“Because we can stop if you want to.”

“Maggie—”

“And we can talk about—”

She was cut off by his lips, his arms winding back around her as he pulled her tight against him, her thighs spreading further to accommodate the width of his hips. She let out a squeak at his sudden initiative but eagerly responded to his mouth. He trailed his lips over to her jaw before whispering, his breath hot against her ear, “Stop talking.”

She swallowed, breathlessly, “Okay.”

“Tell me what you want.” One of his hands trailed distractingly down the length of her spine, burning through the thin fabric of her sweater and she shivered.

“You. All of you.”

With a quiet chuckle, his hands toyed with the hem of her sweater, pushing it up almost agonizingly slow and running his hands across the naked skin of her waist before she raised her arms. Taking her hint, he pulled it off of her and discarded it somewhere on the floor as he murmured, “I’m right here.”

“Steeeve.” She groaned softly at his words, dropping her forehead to rest in the crook of his neck. Her cheeks burned red; she hadn’t expected him to take the lead quite so soon, but the surprise made her feel like a livewire, ready to light up and spark at any time.

His dexterous fingers toyed with the strap of her bra, slipping beneath it, and rubbing over the smooth skin of her shoulder. With her head tucked down, she couldn’t see the teasing smirk that had taken up residence on his face, ��Use your words, sweetheart.”

A nearly silent whimper fell from her lips as she felt the wetness between her thighs begin to dampen the lace of her panties; it was as if he knew exactly what she wanted to hear.

“I want you to touch me.”

“That’s my girl.” At once, she felt him lift her and she held on tightly, a squeal breaking through her parted lips as he carried her down the hall to his room. She undid the buttons of his shirt surprisingly quick and shoved it from his shoulders, discarding it somewhere in the hall before running her hands across the smooth expanse of his chiseled chest. She kissed from the corner of his mouth to his jaw, gently nipping his earlobe and giggling when he groaned quietly in response.

Using a foot to kick the door shut, it was only several steps until he gently laid her back on the bed before sitting back on his haunches. Her chest heaved, her breasts all but spilling from the scalloped lace edges of her white bra; she wiggled her skirt down her hips, kicking it off onto the floor.

He ran a hand over his face, letting out a low groan as he watched her hips rock back and forth, “Look like a fuckin’ angel, sweetheart.”

She grinned, leaning forward, and dragging him back down to her level with a hand on the back of his neck. He carefully braced himself on the bed, caging her in with his arms as her lips found his.

As his tongue moved against hers, she moved her hips carefully, trying to get her message across. He mumbled against her lips, “What do you need, Maggie?”

Steve’s hands slipped beneath her, unclasping her bra before she could even ask him to do so. The article fell limp across her torso and she hastily tossed it aside. His eyes were nearly black as they took in every inch of her.

At once, he dove down, taking one of the pert, pink peaks in his mouth, his tongue laving around it before switching to the other and giving it the same treatment. He’d taken the always-put-together woman and turned her into a mess. She melted into the plush of his bed, arching her back up and chasing the pleasure his mouth was bringing.

Her hand on the back of his neck threaded into his hair and gripped tightly as she pleaded, “Fucking touch me, please.”

At her urging, his mouth continued its ministrations while his fingers trailed between the apex of her thighs, brushing softly against the small patch of wetness that had begun to soak through the light fabric. Teeth digging in to the cherry blush of her bottom lip, she pushed her hips up towards the warmth of his hand once more, searching for any kind of friction that she could find, desperate for his touch.

He trailed his lips down her sternum and over her abdomen, connecting her beauty marks like constellations in the night sky, before he came to rest low on her stomach; she could feel his mouth stop just above the line of her panties. Propping herself up on her elbows, Maggie looked down at him, her molten caramel eyes half-lidded with desire as she took a shaky breath.

He murmured, rubbing the outsides of her thighs softly, as he checked on her, “This okay, sweetheart?”

“Yes!” Maggie blurted out, taken from her stupor. Sitting up further, she propped herself up with her hands. She knew her body was trembling but it wasn’t in fear; she couldn’t recall ever feeling like this. Exhaling softly, a sweet smile spread across her face as she cupped his face with one hand and nodded, “I’m just…really ready.”

“Okay.” Steve pressed his lips to her wrist in a tender kiss; his teasing had slowly dissipated. Swallowing audibly, she carefully lowered herself back to her elbows as she watched him move to lay between her thighs on the rumpled sheets.

“Take them off?” She whispered, her eyes not straying from his. He nodded with a crooked smile, slipping his fingers beneath the elastic of the white lace. As he rolled them down her thighs, over her pointed toes, he took her foot in his hand and planted a soft kiss on her ankle.

Large warm hands slid back up her legs, grazing softly up her calves and across the sensitive skin beneath her knees before stopping on her inner thighs. Slowly, he spread them wider, hooking each of them over his shoulders to make room for his broad frame.

She allowed herself to fall back on to the pillows, her fingers clutching the soft blankets and wrinkling them in her grip, but she couldn’t bring herself to focus on anything aside from his touch.

It felt like it the world was moving in slow motion as he traced a thick finger up her glistening slit. His tongue darted out to wet his lips at the first sight of her cunt on display before him. He wanted to devour her. As his thumb brushed against her swollen bundle of nerves, Maggie whimpered and bit her lower lip harder, trying to stifle the pleasured sound as her hips gave a sudden jerk at the stimulation.

“Please.” She gave a broken whine and he let out a dark chuckle while his thumb continued rubbing slow circles around her clit, careful not to touch it directly again. After several moments, he carefully slipped one finger into her, her cunt offering no resistance in its newfound state of need. Giving it a few, agonizingly slow, experimental pumps, he watched hungrily as his digit glistened with her wetness each time it slid out.

He gently slipped a second, longer, finger in beside the first. His eyes were trained on her blissed out expression, watching her carefully as she adjusted to the feeling. The new sensation forced a soft hum to break through her lips at the slight stretch. In the back of her mind, she registered that his long fingers were also much thicker than her’s. Touching herself never felt anything like this.

His low voice sent shivers through her body when he spoke again, “Can I eat this sweet pussy, baby?”

“Oh,” As his fingers hooked upwards gently, they pressed teasingly against the spongy pillow of her g-spot. Her hips bucking forward again at the sudden stimulation. She brought a hand to her mouth, barely covering it as her head tilted back, sinking further into the bed. Maggie keened, her eyes fluttering shut, “Yes, god—”

She hadn’t expected Steve's dirty words or talented digits. He hadn't even tried to make a move before tonight and she'd briefly wondered if he'd been a virgin but the way he was playing her body like a violin let her know that wasn't the case.

Steve gazed up at her and let out a quiet moan, his forehead dropping to rest on her thigh for a moment; his cock hardened even further at the needy noises that she was letting out. She looked like a goddamn dream; her hair splayed across the pillow in a bronze halo, her swollen lips gaping as she moaned and gasped to find her breath, the perfect handfuls of her sweet tits and little pussy on display for only him.

With one last gentle kiss pressed to her hip bone, his tongue finally licked a languid stripe through her folds from her entrance to the red button of her clit. Letting go of the sheets, Maggie quickly threaded her fingers into his hair as a surprised squeak was forced from her lips.

Her dark curls had been trimmed into a neat triangle, directing his gaze down further. Using his thumbs, he carefully spread the petals of her sex, shiny with her arousal and some of his saliva, to allow himself a better view of her most intimate spot. He watched as her tight hole clenched around nothing and immediately pictured filling it with his throbbing cock.

"Look at this pretty little pussy, sweetheart..." Closing his eyes, he groaned as he leaned back down, using his tongue to lave over it; he needed to taste her. The grip in his hair tightened almost painfully as his lips wrapped around her pink, swollen clit, giving it a hard suck before letting it go. The scrape of her short nails over his scalp mixed a quick lick of pain into his pleasure.

“Oh, fuck!” Maggie felt her entire body shake as her orgasm barreled towards while he ate her like a man that had been starved.

The wet muscle dipped inside of her, his nose nudging against her clit before he dragged his tongue slowly up to the swollen nub. He traced the tip of it around the button before sucking hard then soft and letting go and repeating the movement again and again. He could feel her body tensing as her orgasm quickly approached and he slipped his fingers back into her soaking cunt, her thighs quivering at the added feeling.

She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling the warmth in the pit of her stomach start to rapidly grow, “Please, fuck—Steve!”

He grinned against her at her shattered cries, sucking her clit just slightly harder than a moment earlier before gently scraping his teeth over it. Maggie gasped out a sharp curse at the sudden change in suction. He murmured against her wet pussy, his voice sending vibrations through her body, “Is that what you want, baby?”

Like a duet, the two fed off each other. He watched her every reaction; the slightest parting of her lips as his fingers brushed a specific spot, her eyes shooting open when his tongue traced a new pattern on the sensitive, wet skin of her cunt.

She moved her hips, chasing her pleasure with each changing angle. The sounds were almost depraved; every lick of his tongue and pump of his fingers forcing a wet noise into the room that was mostly quiet aside from the constant melody of Maggie’s breathy moans.

“Oh god! Please, I’m going to come—fuck!” She wasn’t typically one to beg but she felt like she’d combust if he didn’t let her cum soon. Releasing his hair with one hand, she used it to gently pinch one of her nipples, fondling and massaging it and its twin. Forcing her eyes open, Maggie glanced down and watched as he slowly ground his cock into the bed while his head bobbed steadily between her thighs.

Another press of his fingers against her g-spot sent a shock through her body; her toes curling in response. Each part of her felt like an exposed nerve, hypersensitive and waiting in anticipation for what came next. Maggie whimpered, the sound muffled by her hand, her teeth biting into the flesh of her palm to stop herself from crying out.

“No—” Steve all but growled. Reaching up, he gripped her wrist, pinning it to the bed easily as he continued to lazily fuck into her with his other hand. “I want to hear you, sweetheart. I want to hear you come for me.”

She whimpered at his request, squeezing the rumpled sheets tightly in between her lithe fingers until her knuckles turned white. He let go, trusting her to keep it there, before moving his wide hand to press against her lower belly, holding her still as he doubled down on his endeavors, pumping two fingers in and out as his mouth latched onto her clit and sucked hard.

“Oh, fuck!” The hand in his hair tightened as she cried loudly, almost whining as the tension finally broke and her vision went white. “Steve—”

She felt her walls flutter rapidly as he helped her body ride the crest of the wave of her climax, licking her slowly as a new flood of her wetness coated his tongue like a nectar that he never wanted to stop drinking. He could live and die between her thighs, happily.

Her toes curling as her thighs clenched, it was almost as if she was trying to force Steve away when the stimulation became too much but he held her thighs open despite her pleasured cries.

She forced her breath to regain some sense of calm as she let go of the sheets slowly, finger by finger, and finally released her vice-like grip on his hair with shaking hands. She swallowed, trying to remedy her dry throat as the fog of intense pleasure slowly cleared from her brain.

After a few moments, Steve languidly trailed wet kisses back up her body before finding her lips. She didn’t even mind the sharp, salty tang of her on his lips as his tongue dipped into her mouth.

“Holy shit.” Maggie giggled, taking his face in her shaking hands and deepening the kiss, blushing from the way his chin and beard glistened from her slick. Without parting, she rolled on top of him and allowed her legs to spread and straddle his hips.

In the back of her mind, she realized that, at some point, he’d shed his pants. Their cores pressed together, and she couldn’t help but grind her hips against his, rocking slowly back and forth teasingly as her pussy soaked through the thin fabric of his boxers.

The teasing smile she had against his lips faded as she pulled away, resting their foreheads together as her hips continued to move. Biting her lower lip, she stifled a moan at the way they looked together. She could feel his clothed length sliding through her folds and her cunt desperately clenched; she needed him.

His hands drifted up and down her sides before wrapping around her tightly, a heavy hand on her back pressing the hot, sticky skin of their bodies together. It was like she couldn't stand to stop, as she continued her moving her hips against him. His fingers pressed harder into the pillow of her soft skin on her side and he let out a deep groan as she moved.

She slipped off of him slowly to the side. One of her hands trailed down his chest, tracing the line between his pectorals, down his stomach and dipping gently beneath the waistband of his boxers to wrap it around his aching cock.

He groaned and took her wandering hand in his own, lacing their fingers and bringing it back up, resting it beside his head on the mattress. His face was mildly amused as he brushed his lips against her's before murmuring, “If you do that, it’s gonna be over before we even start.”

At her shy expression, he gently took control again and moved to lay her back on the bed. Kneeling over her, careful not to rest his weight on her, he pressed one last lingering kiss to her lip before he stood. Unconsciously, Maggie pressed her thighs together, searching for any friction that she could find as he swiftly removed the light blue boxers that had kept him hidden.

She sat up, resting her weight on her hands behind her while her eyes roved down his body. Biting her lip, she watched as his member was freed from its confines and her jaw dropped slightly at the sight of it. Long and thick, it was painfully hard and ready for her as it rested against the light dusting of hair that trailed down his stomach.

Maggie’s eyes narrowed in on the pearly drop that was leaking from the tip and her tongue darted out to lick her lips. She wanted it in her mouth but she knew that would have to wait for another time because she needed him inside of her.

She slowly came to her senses, finally meeting his eyes. She saw the sparkle of a smirk on his flushed face and rolled her eyes, knowing that she’d been caught unashamedly gawking at him, “Condom?”

“Yeah.” He let out a quiet chuckle, reaching down to retrieve it from the drawer of his bedside table. He quickly opened the gold foil packet and rolled it on slowly, hissing at the stimulation, before kneeling beside her once more.

He slid a hand across the soft skin of her back, carefully laying her back down on to the warm, wrinkled sheets. His darkened eyes were filled with fire and affection as he brushed a damp, brown curl from her face and caught her lips in another kiss. This one was slower, deeper; it sent a shiver down her spine and warmed her from the inside out.

When they parted again, her knees fell open, exposing her pink, sensitive sex to him once more and he groaned at the sight, biting his lip. She was dripping wet and ready for him. After a moment, she felt him trace the tip up and down her folds slowly, coating himself in her wetness and slowly spreading it around.

Maggie's hips gave a stuttering jolt when his cock brushed against her clit before catching at her entrance. “Oh, god...”

Steve braced himself on one of his forearms, his other hand wrapped around his cock as he positioned it carefully. His low voice was strained as his eyes searched her’s for any hesitation, not wanting to hurt her, “Are you sure, sweetheart?”

“Yes.” Maggie smiled sweetly with a nod, sliding her arms over his shoulders and threading them around his neck before catching his mouth in a greedy kiss. She’d never felt so comfortable with someone; he’d been so attentive to her, watching every glance and move that she’d made, and adjusting accordingly and now she was more than ready for him.

Her shaky voice was almost breathless as she continued, looking down between them at the way his heavy length was nestled against her folds, “Just go slow because I’m not sure how that’s going to fit.”

"It'll fit." He chuckled, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead before resting his against her’s. He gave himself a few short pumps before guiding his member back to her entrance, watching as he easily pressed into the tight hole of her cunt at an agonizing pace, splitting her slowly as he sank deeper.

The slight burn of pain quickly faded into a pleasurable ache that she wanted more of. Maggie let out a quiet whimper as she adjusted to his wide girth; he let out a deep groan as she flexed her hips, one of her legs hiking up to wrap around his hip, allowing him to push in further.

He bottomed out and took several breaths to steady his pounding heart; the heat and wetness of her tight core almost making him embarrass himself before they even had a chance. Steve stilled, giving her time to adjust to the unfamiliar sensation of his wide length before she experimentally rolled her hips and he let out a loud groan that nearly drowned out her own.

“Please—” Maggie mewled, feeling her walls begin to relax around him before she let out a frustrated huff as she shifted her hips again. Biting her lower lip, she gave him an affirming nod, “Move.”

Slowly dragging out a few inches, he couldn’t ignore her breathy moans and the way her dark lashes fluttered shut at the sensation before he pushed back in sharply. He gave a few experimental thrusts before quickly finding a rhythm as he glided easily through her wet folds into the tight heat of her cunt.

Maggie’s hips rolled up to meet each of his thrusts, the pair working together symbiotically as he hit a spot that made her clench around him.

She felt her back arch; he groaned as her tits pushed out at him and darted his tongue out to catch one of her rosy buds. One of his arms slid under her back to pull her closer, her body all but limp in the throes of pleasure. His tongue traced around the pink peak before he sucked on it greedily, gently running his teeth over it.

“Oh fuck—”

Her eyes shot open; at the surprise sensation, he felt a new flood of wetness from her cunt gush over his cock as he fucked into her, giving a sharp thrust as he murmured, “You like that, sweet girl?”

He chuckled against her glistening skin as she whined in response, pressing gentle kisses across to her other breast, giving it the same treatment as he thrust into her steadily, not missing a beat. He heard her breathing pick up as she babbled, “More, please—just need, ungh.”

She cut off with a sigh as he pulled off her breast with a quiet pop. Like he read her mind, he rested her back against the sweat-dampened sheets and sat back on his haunches, staying inside of her as pulled her hips up and over his thighs. She whimpered at the new angle that let him push in deeper, the head of his cock pushing rhythmically against her g-spot.

He traced a hand down her body to the apex of her thighs. Two of his fingers brushed against her wetness, allowing him to easily rub circles around the cute, swollen button that begged for his attention. His touch forced a shout from her lips before she looked down where their bodies were joined together.

Maggie watched his cock, thick and glistening with her juices, as it thrusted in and out of her cunt at a punishing pace. She gripped him like a vice, like her body was unwilling to let him go, as his fingers moved steadily around her tender bundle of nerves.

“You gonna come for me, baby?” She gave a whimpering moan at his question and he felt himself nearing the edge.

As his fingers furiously rubbed over her clit, finally giving her direct stimulation, Maggie felt herself toeing the precipice of her orgasm and chased it, her hips moving wildly to get more of the sensation she so desperately craved. “Yes—fuck, I’m coming. Steve, oh!”

“That’s it, come on my cock, sweetheart—so tight for me, baby, fuck.”

Despite his quick thrusts as he pumped his throbbing length in and out, and his deft fingers, his words were what sent Maggie over the edge into the abyss of euphoria. Her kiss-swollen lips fell open as she came, her entire body trembling as her walls clenched around him, her pleasure cresting and crashing like waves on a beach. He held her tightly hips as they bucked of their own volition, completely surrendered to the pleasure she'd received.

Maggie's nails dug into his back, pressing red and irritated half-moon shapes that would disappear quickly on his serum-enhanced skin, while she held onto him; she felt like she’d fall away if she didn’t keep a grip on him.

In her ecstasy, she faintly registered Steve’s sharp thrusts growing sloppy before his hips finally stuttered at the feeling of her tight pussy rhythmically squeezing around his cock as her orgasm ebbed and his peaked.

“Fuck, Maggie…” He groaned as he pushed in deep one last time, shooting his load into the condom though she could feel the warmth within her overstimulated cunt, as he toppled over the edge.

She sighed contentedly in his ear, thoroughly lost in the aftermath of their bliss, as he collapsed on to the bed beside her. Steve gathered her in his arms and pulled her close; Maggie couldn't even make herself care that it felt swelteringly hot and their sticky skin was pressed together, because she was with him. Snuggling into his embrace, she felt like her limbs were just jelly and she was boneless.

He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead that was glowing with the light sheen of sweat from their activities; she almost giggled at the tender gesture’s stark contrast from just moments earlier as he’d pounded into her aching core.

It took several minutes for Maggie’s racing heart rate to finally calm down enough for her to be able to use words again. She gave a breathless laugh, her shaky voice soft as she mumbled, “We should have done that sooner.”

She felt his chest shake with a chuckle; his raspy voice was thick as he nodded in agreement, “Yeah.”

A mischievous smile twitched at the corner of her lips and she tilted her head up, pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss to his jaw, trailing it in a wet path down his neck as she hummed, “Maybe we should do it again.”

He grinned eagerly, rolling over and pulling her on top of him as he agreed enthusiastically, “Yeah.”

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misshoneybee · 3 years ago

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⟣ 𝐼𝐼. 𝑇𝐻𝐸𝑆𝐸 𝐴𝑅𝐸 𝑇𝐻𝐸 𝐻𝐴𝑁𝐷𝑆 𝑂𝐹 𝐹𝐴𝑇𝐸 ⟢

Part I: We Learn To Live With The Pain Part III: You're My Achilles Heel ( Each part serves as something of a soft reboot so it's not completely necessary to read Part I first, but it's strongly recommended! )

❧ Summary | Perfect wasn't a word that she'd typically use to describe any part of her life but, lately, it was the only thing that fit. Maggie had finally found her footing in the new world that they'd come to know since the Snap. She loved her job with the Stark Relief Foundation, found a best friend in Natasha Romanoff, and was finally in a relationship with the perfect man. She didn't ever consider that when you think life is going too well to be true, it usually is, and that downfall is something you can never be prepared for.

❧ Genre | Romance, fluff, smut, drama, angst, mostly canon-compliant story-telling ( ~50% fluff/smut, 25% drama, 25% painful angst)

❧ Pairings | Post-Infinity War!Steve Rogers x Original Female Character

❧ Wordcount | ~ 123.3k

❧ Overall Warnings | Explicit smut (18+, additional warnings to come in each chapter), explicit language, canon-typical violence/injury, themes of mental illness (depression, anxiety, ocd, ptsd)

❧ Disclaimers | Dividers are by firefly-graphics. If you are a minor, or do not have your age in your bio, and I catch you interacting with this, you will be blocked. If you believe you were blocked unfairly, send me an ask with your url.

⟣ 𝐶𝐻𝐴𝑃𝑇𝐸𝑅𝑆 ⟢

i. Have I Known You Twenty Seconds or Twenty Years? ii. Ocean Blue Eyes Looking in Mine ⋆ iii. You Understand Now Why They Lost Their Minds and Fought the Wars iv. Salute to Me, I’m Your American Queen ⋆ v. The Jury’s Out But My Choice is You vi. You Taught Me About Your Past, Thinking Your Future Was Me vii. I’d Go Back in Time and Change It But I Can’t viii. Long Nights with Your Hands Up in My Hair ⋆ ix. Forever is the Sweetest Con x. In Paper Rings, In Picture Frames, In All My Dreams ⋆ xi. Bridges Burn, I Never Learn xii. You Know You’ll Always Know Me xiii. I Once Believed Love Would Be Burning Red but It’s Golden ⋆ xiv. You Saw Me Start to Believe for the First Time xv. I Can See the End as it Begins ⋆ xvi. Can’t Not Think of All the Cost and All the Things That Will Be Lost xvii. We Gather Stones, Never Knowing What They’ll Mean xviii. Every Scrap of You Would Be Taken from Me xix. It’s Getting Dark and It’s All Too Quiet ⋆ xx. I’ll Watch Your Life in Pictures Like I Used to Watch You Sleep

⋆ denotes sexually explicit material. minors, dni.

⟣ 𝐿𝐼𝑁𝐾𝑆 ⟢

❧ Part I: We Learn To Live With The Pain ❧ Part III: You're My Achilles Heel ❧ Original Character Biography ❧ Series Masterpost ❧ Masterpost ❧ Playlists ❧ AO3 ❧ Wattpad

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misshoneybee · 3 years ago

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⟣ 𝑌𝑂𝑈'𝑅𝐸 𝑀𝑌 𝐴𝐶𝐻𝐼𝐿𝐿𝐸𝑆 𝐻𝐸𝐸𝐿 ⟢

— 𝑋𝐼𝐼. 𝑇𝐻𝐸𝑅𝐸 𝐼𝑆 𝐴𝑁 𝐼𝑁𝐷𝐸𝑁𝑇𝐴𝑇𝐼𝑂𝑁 𝐼𝑁 𝑇𝐻𝐸 𝑆𝐻𝐴𝑃𝐸 𝑂𝐹 𝑌𝑂𝑈

Masterpost — OFC Biography — Playlists — Chapter XI — Chapter XIII

❧ Pairings | Post-Endgame!Bucky Barnes x Original Female Character, Previous Steve Rogers x Original Female Character

❧ Warnings | Mature content, explicit language, smut (light dom/sub, voyeurism via reflection, fingering, oral sex (f-rec), dirty talk, p in v sex, squirting, multiple orgasms, light overstimulation, slight dumbification, praise kink)

❧ Wordcount | ~7.7k

Even in my worst times, you could see the best of me Flashback to my mistakes, My rebounds, my earthquakes, Even in my worst lies, you saw the truth in me ( Dress | Reputation )

June 22, 2024

There was just something about crowds that seemed to put Maggie on edge. Maybe it was anxiety, maybe it was the way that she’d gotten used to the world being such a quiet place, but either way, she was getting tired of feeling like she needed to return home as soon as she stepped one foot outside the five-block radius of her apartment that she’d deemed her comfort zone. And going somewhere, aside from work, that required a ferry or the subway? It felt impossible.

But perhaps, the location itself was what was making Maggie feel like she needed to be promptly medicated. She hadn’t been to Coney Island in five years—not since that late summer day when Steve had wanted to show her around the landmark as they danced around their feelings for one another. That one day had changed everything and when she’d accepted Bucky’s impromptu invitation, she should have realized how difficult it would be to return to what was once some kind of holy ground in her mind.

As Bucky had pointed out odds and ends and rattled off old facts, Maggie felt like her ears were filled with water; it was like she’d jumped right into the Coney Island Channel, gotten caught in the rip current below the surface, and was getting swept out to sea before she could even locate shore. There was so much pressure in her head, and everything sounded muffled because, at every turn, it felt as though she was retracing the exact steps she’d taken with Steve on the very same boardwalk.

Knowing his friend, Bucky had plied her with the promise of food that morning and had made good on it as soon as they’d arrived. Oil had seeped into the fibers of the thin, paper plate in her hand, weakening its integrity and making it flimsier than it was to begin with. Carefully, she tore off another piece of the fried mass of dough that had been coated in mounds of powdered sugar and popped it in her mouth. Like a less attractive relative of the mouthwatering beignet that she’d tried in Louisiana, it still scratched the itch.

As she glanced over at him while he continued talking about some little attraction that they’d just walked past, he paused with a little smile as he looked at her. The wide brown eyes he’d gotten to know so well were attentive but a sheer, white streak of powdered sugar dusted on her lips caught his attention and he couldn’t rid himself of the urge that he suddenly had.

“Doll, you got—” Chuckling, Bucky cupped her face tenderly, “C’mere…”

Thankfully, both of Maggie’s hands were occupied when he caught her lips in a short kiss—if they’d been free, there was a high probability that they would have flailed a bit in surprise. It was sweet, the feeling and the taste of sugar on her lips, and slow. Though it wasn’t as if it was their first kiss—not by a long shot—it was the first time he’d ever kissed her in public and it sent her head spinning.

“Bucky!” Maggie chastised softly with rosy cheeks as he pulled away, a charming grin making him look boyishly handsome as he wiggled his eyebrows at her.

“Mm, you’re right.” Tearing off a piece of the funnel cake, he popped it in his mouth and gave her a little wink, “It is good.”

Rolling her eyes, she couldn’t help the way that she looked around to ensure that their little moment had gone unnoticed. They were a secret…although, it wasn’t as if she’d told him that. It was an unspoken thing; but it wasn’t like she was ashamed of Bucky—not at all. She’d never want him to think that. No, there was just something about someone else knowing that made things feel real. And when things felt real, they hurt a lot more when they eventually ended.

A tall, rectangular box-structure behind Bucky caught her eye and any hint of a smile that had been on her face, slid away in an instant. After all this time, the little booth still looked the same—the blue lacquer on the outside with painted filmstrips had been bleached by the sun and weathered by storms, the heavy black velour curtain that separated the interior from the world around it hung limply from the rings on a small bar.

One of the millions of filmstrips that it had produced over the years was in her nightstand at home, another had been carried through space and time, across the universe and back into the past. That photobooth had ended a relationship that broke her heart and began another that eventually did the same in the end. And there it was, just silently standing as if it were a monument to all of her heartbreak, a piece of some modern-day Stonehenge that had been erected to taunt her.

“Do you want to get some pictures?” Bucky’s line of sight had followed hers to the box that advertised ’30-second photos.’

“No!” Her refusal came far too quickly, and his expression turned mildly suspicious, but she had a feeling that climbing into that photobooth would be like taping over an old video cassette; it would muddle the memories and destroy the old ones and she didn’t want to do that. As it was already, her presence at the amusement park, alone, made her feel like she was trying to replicate, or even replace, a moment that she’d shared with Steve.

Taking a breath, she added, “I mean, I just…would rather look around some more. Maybe later.” Linking her arm through his, Maggie pulled him along and continued past the old photobooth though it took everything inside of her not to turn around and stare because maybe if she looked long enough, she could have seen five years earlier, when things were easier and she was happier, but she couldn’t keep allowing herself to slip into the past.

It hurt far too badly.

Changing the subject quickly, she watched as a group of giggling kids disembarked some thrill ride, “When everyone was gone, this place mostly shut down, you know? It was empty and everything was out of order. It was kind of creepy.”

“Now, it reminds me of when I was a kid.” Bucky sighed with a nostalgic smile as he took in the sight. Sure, nowadays there were screens everywhere and the music was more electronic, but the bones were still the same. A newly repainted, yellow sign caught his eye and he let out a low, impressed whistle, “I can’t believe this thing is still standing. It has to be a hundred years old.”

Squeezing his arm, Maggie asked innocently, “What, like you?”

“Brat.” Cutting his eyes at her, he took the last piece of funnel cake and bit into it with a playfully spiteful grin and Maggie pouted, tossing the white plate into the trash, and brushing the residual sugar from her hands. Speaking through the bite, he nodded towards the advertised ‘Wonder Wheel,’ “Want to give it a shot?”

Maggie had to crane her neck back to look at the towering ride; it was a massive Ferris wheel made from green, crisscrossing metal and red spokes that led out to multicolor cabins for the passengers inside. The ones on the outside of wheel were stationary as they made the slow rotation but the smaller ones within swung back and forth threateningly with the breeze; the movement made her nauseous to even imagine.

Screaming from only a few hundred feet away caught her attention and she peered over her shoulder slowly; the rickety, white, wooden rollercoaster that Bucky had been teasing her about all morning looked like it was on its last leg. It seemed to be some kind of a lose-lose situation. Grimacing, she turned back to her neighbor and bartered, “If I do, does that mean I don’t have to ride the Cyclone later?”

“Deal.” He offered a hand, and she accepted his terms with a handshake and a decisive nod. At least the Wonder Wheel looked semi-stable, not accounting for the swinging cars that she kept an apprehensive eye on; she could only hope they were purposeful and by design rather than a mechanical failure.

The teenager that closed and latched the metal door behind Bucky, sealing he and Maggie within one of the small passenger cabins, somehow looked less than uninterested in his work. Had he even done the proper safety checks? What if the door swung open while they were hundreds of feet in the air? Or if the car detached from the wheel and plummeted to the ground? Were there safety mechanisms in place? When was the last time someone had inspected the old ride?

A creaking sound drowned out the cheery carnival music that was pumped through the park’s speakers and she gripped the metal handle beside her, turning her knuckles white as they slowly began their ascent. The music grew distant, and she was soon left with only the sound of her own heart beating thrumming in her ears. Bucky’s arm casually rested on the back of their bench seat while he placidly took in the sight of everything growing smaller on the ground below them.

Counting each excruciating second of her inhales and exhales, Maggie silently forced her heartrate to slow. Ever since she was a child, she’d never been too fond of heights in certain capacities. Once, on a family trip to Chicago sometime in the late nineties, Phillip Hall had needed to carry his six-year-old daughter across the glass floor of the Sears Tower when she’d been paralyzed with fear after reading that the ground was more than a thousand feet below where they were standing.

She flew relatively often but, for some reason, planes were fine—they were regulated and, as long as she didn’t look out the window during take-off, she could pretend that they hadn’t actually left the ground, so it didn’t matter. But amusement park rides and glass floors and the mere idea of something like parasailing or riding in a hot air balloon? They made her break into a cold sweat and were typically out of the question.

There was just something so disconcerting about not having her feet on the ground; she’d never been one to have her head in the clouds, physically or metaphorically. Feeling the burn of Bucky’s always intense gaze, she cracked an eye open to chance a look at him and hesitantly admitted, “Have I ever told you that I don’t really like heights?”

“Then why the hell did you agree!?” She could hear the exasperation that tinted his tone as he stared incredulously at the woman crammed into the small seat beside him.

With a huff, as if it was obvious, Maggie finally opened her eyes, carefully staring at him so she didn’t look down, as she shot back weakly, “Because you wanted to ride it!”

“You could have just told me that you’re afraid of heights. Jesus, Mags.” Scrubbing a hand over his face, he peeked out through caged metal to check the ride’s progress as they slowly continued their trip up to the top of the wheel.

With a little sniff, she started, “I’m not—” An eerie creak from the aging metal monster took the remaining words from her mouth and suddenly she was glued to his side with shaking hands. The glimmer of amusement was unhindered in his eyes as she grumbled lowly, “Shut up.”

“You’re too stubborn.” The words that should have been biting were, instead, affectionate. Wrapping his arm around her shoulder as the cabin came to a stop at the wheel’s apex, Bucky trailed his thumb back and forth over her bare shoulder. After all this time, he felt like he knew so much about the woman, but small things like everyday fears or favorite colors just seemed to go unmentioned. “Just a few more minutes, then we can get off.” Giving her a squeeze, he added teasingly, “And I won’t make you ride the cyclone either. Promise.”

“My hero.” Her disdainful words were dry. It felt as though they’d been stationary for an hour though it had been less than a minute as she muttered, “We’re in a tin can, in the summer heat, two hundred feet in the air, and—”

“We aren’t that high up.” He chimed in, peering down at her.

“Well, that’s how it feels.” Maggie protested, sitting so incredibly still as to not let their little car move. All she wanted was to relax into Bucky, but every muscle was almost painfully tensed, “I hate this.”

Chewing on her bottom lip, she could feel the word vomit swelling beneath the surface. When Maggie got stressed, she had two defaults: complete silence and nonstop talking, and it seemed as though the latter was what was coming. Maybe it was due to the close quarters and the need to fill the silence, but she couldn’t stop herself.

“I lied.”

Brow furrowed, he watched her worry her bottom lip, “Hm?”

“This morning when…you asked if I’d ever been here, I lied.” Pressing her lips together, she looked down at her hands in her lap. Taking a breath, there was a hint of regret that reflected back at him in her eyes when she looked back at him and admitted, “I have been here. Once. A few years ago.”

Nodding, he was able to piece the story together but quietly clarified, nonetheless, “With…”

“Yeah.” With a sigh, she finally relaxed back into the seat and into Bucky’s side, flinching at the quiet groan the metal let out at the motion. “I thought, I don’t know, maybe it would be easier and help me move forward, but I just kind of want to throw up instead. Then again, that could be the ride, not the circumstance.”

A nostalgic little laugh broke from her as she remembered that summer morning when she’d looked at the paper that Steve had been reading over breakfast, “It was before he and I got together—I was actually dating someone else, and Steve and I were friends and he brought me here because I’d never been.”

Bucky was quiet, just listening as she spurted out all of the thoughts that swam around her head like she was prone to doing at times, “I knew how I felt about Steve but apparently, I hadn’t convinced anyone but myself.” At once, it simultaneously felt like so long ago and like she could still feel that cautious, giddy excitement of falling in love; for so long she’d tried to keep those feelings at bay, but it was futile. There was no choice when someone’s heart made the decision for them.

“The guy was kind of a jerk but…I shouldn’t have led him on when I couldn’t give him what he wanted.” She felt that familiar sting of regret deep in her chest as disappointment colored her words. She’d hurt Nick and had sworn to never do that again, but she’d come to realize that, although in a different way, she’d ultimately hurt Ben just the same. Her indecision and refusal to admit how she felt for Steve had brought about an irreparable rift.

“I didn’t even know what I wanted.” The arm around her shoulder felt like it weighed a ton; what did she want anymore?

Maybe there was a reason that she could still feel that cautious excitement, that terrifying, exhilarating feeling that stole her breath and made her feel like she was free falling from the sky. Maybe it was Bucky.

Somehow that felt like more than she could give. Her heart was still being held together with rolls of tape and cushions of pins—it felt far too fragile to dive off the cliff’s edge again so soon.

But maybe she already had.

The way the wheel rotated was far too slow for her comfort. Looking out through the caged metal as they slowly crested the top, she caught side of the white roller coaster and quickly changed the subject, needing something else to focus on, “He said he got sick on that because you made him ride it.”

With a snort, Bucky defended himself as he watched the little rollercoaster’s car bank around one of the many turns on the track, “He was always sick. It wasn’t the cyclone’s fault.”

Ignoring his shoddy defense, she was reminded that the first time Steve had spoken about Bucky to her had been during their day trip into the city as they walked around the abandoned park. Was this how he’d felt? Plagued by a painful nostalgia for someone who was long gone?

“He told me how you met, about the kids trying to get his lunch money before you stopped them.” Nudging Bucky gently with her shoulder, she added earnestly with a little smile, “He was really lucky to have had you.”

His only response was a pained half-smile as he bit his tongue. Maybe there was still some residual anger that swam just below the surface, leaving a bad taste in his mouth when he thought of his old friend. He hadn't just left Bucky. Steve had been lucky to have Maggie and he’d let her go too, so what did that say about him?

Even after all this time, he still couldn’t understand how he could have walked away from her. Perhaps it was bias, but he didn’t know how anyone else could hold a candle to the complicated, aggravating, beautiful woman that was tucked into his side.

Before he knew it, the rotation slowed to a stop as their car dangled just slightly over the loading platform. Giving her a crooked smile, he unwrapped his arm from around the shorter woman to unlatch their door, “See? Already done. You made it.”

Stepping out first, he used one hand to steady the little cabin while Maggie accepted his other, outstretched one as she disembarked the ride with wobbly legs, giving him a grateful, slightly embarrassed smile.

She couldn’t remember ever feeling so thankful for her feet to be back on solid land than she was in the moment. If it wasn’t Coney Island and there weren’t questionable substances splashed all over the pavement, she would have kissed the ground.

With a hand on the small of her back, Bucky led her to the exit, past the line of people waiting to board the Ferris wheel as heavy, gray clouds began to obscure the sun with the threat of a short, seasonal storm that would become a deluge before clearing the sky and leaving only blue and swirls of white behind.

As Bucky held the old, metal gate open to allow them passage, a stout, older woman with a wide brim hat clutched her husband’s arm as she cooed at Bucky and Maggie when they passed, “Aren’t you two the sweetest?” Looking between the white-haired man by her side and the young pair, she sighed wistfully, “Don’t they remind you of us, Jack?”

As the tall, thin man nodded in response to his wife, Maggie’s pink, sun-kissed cheeks went darker than they already were as she shook her head with a small, awkward smile, “Oh, uh—we’re not a couple”

“Oh, we said that too. Now it’s fifty-five years next month.” As she waved Maggie off, she looked to Bucky with a knowing, nostalgic expression. “I remember those early days. Don’t let them pass you by.”

With a small nod, he gave the older woman that strained smile, that he’d found himself wearing far too often, as he continued to guide Maggie away from the ride and the couple with a quiet, “Have a good one.”

The door was barely closed before Maggie turned and had Bucky pressed against the solid wooden slab. Pulling him down to her level with her hands on his cheeks, she could feel the way he chuckled as he slipped his arms around her waist and pulled her in tighter, murmuring against her lips, “What’s gotten into you?”

“Need you.” Her words were muffled as she shoved her hands under the hem of his shirt, trying to push it up and get it off. She needed him; she needed something to remind her of what they were doing. The lines were starting to blur, and it was terrifying; were they friends who’d had a normal day out? Or had that been some kind of date?

“Hm?” Appeasing her, he shed his t-shirt before she gave a satisfied hum as her hands trailed over the ridges of the muscles on his abdomen before quickly going to work on his belt with only one goal in mind.

“I want you to…” Trailing off as she undid the buckle with shaking hands, she paused as he dropped his forehead to rest against hers. Her thoughts were everywhere, bouncing off the walls as she. fought to gather them, “I don’t want to think.” Her teeth dug into her bottom lip as she hesitantly began, “Would you…”

With a finger under her chin, he tilted her face up, forcing her to look into his eyes. Her pupils were blown out, making her chocolate eyes even darker as she stared up at him with that wide gaze that made him want to devour her whole. With a little smirk, he asked, “You want me to be in charge, peach?” At her nervous nod, the wolf-like grin on his face spread wider as he hoisted her up, “I’ve got you.”

Wrapping her legs around his waist with a giggle, he carried her through the apartment, murmuring against her mouth, “You don’t want to think?” At her quiet hum, he continued lowly, “Gonna fuck you hard enough to turn off that brilliant brain of yours, get you all stupid and cock drunk for me…” With a pained groan, he carefully sat her on the floor with one last gentle squeeze to her ass through her skirt as he demanded, “Take that off and kneel on the bed.”

As Maggie pulled the flowery, sun dress over her head, she was left in only a little, blush pink set with lace embroidered on the hips and cups and he bit his bottom lip as he watched her toss the light fabric into her laundry basket. She never knew when they’d decide to act on the benefit part of their friendship, so she’d recently taken to wearing the little matching sets that she’d found herself purchasing more and more often.

With a quiet curse, he pulled the mirror from her wall, and she chastised half-heartedly as he carried it across the room, “Bucky!”

“I’ll fix it later. Now, do what I said.” He snapped, pointing to the bed with a mischievous glint in his eye. A coy smile on her lips, she climbed onto the bed, kneeling in the center as he propped the mirror up on the dresser directly in her line of sight. Meeting her eyes in the mirror as she followed his instruction, he murmured with a prideful smile, “Good girl.”

Shedding his pants, he positioned himself behind her so she could see him over her shoulder in the framed mirror. The bulge in his boxers pressed firm against the small of her back and Maggie gave a teasing wiggle of her hips that he stilled with his hands. Closing her eyes as his touch ghosted over her body, his breath was hot against her ear, sending heat rippling through her as he murmured, “Now, I want you to watch yourself. Keep your eyes right there.” With a firm hand on her jaw, he directed her face to the mirror, and she opened her eyes. The orange sunset that bled through the curtains illuminated the room and set his eyes ablaze as he stared into hers through the mirror; with a single brow, raised in challenge, she nodded.

Appeased, he gathered the bronze waves of her hair and tucked them in front of her shoulder. His lips trailed over her shoulders and neck, whispering, as he went to work unhooking each of the tiny clasps that kept her bra hooked around her ribs, “You know how pretty you look when you’re coming all over my cock,” Nipping at the pale, smooth skin of her throat, he slipped his thumbs under the straps that had fallen limp and helped slide them the rest of the way down her arms. “And my fingers?” Tossing it aside, he cupped the warm, soft mounds on her chest, kneading them as he let out a low groan, “And my tongue? Never seen such a beautiful sight.”

As his vibranium fingers rolled her pebbled nipple teasingly, his other hand grazed down her stomach and slipped beneath the lacy fabric of her panties where she’d felt warmth beginning to pool from his touch and words. Gliding a finger over the seam of her folds, he let out a low groan as she sank back into his arms when he just barely ghosted a finger over her clit, “God, already so wet. You needy for me?”

One of her hands slipped back, clutching the firm muscle of his thigh as she let out a soft, pleasured sigh at the feeling, rocking her hips into his hand. Keeping her eyes open as she watched him through the looking glass she nodded as she murmured, “Yes…”

“Tell me what you need.” His words were muffled as he pressed his mouth against her neck, trailing up and down, never staying in one spot long enough to leave a mark as he slipped his hand back up to where his other was still occupied.

“Touch me.”

“I am.” He teased and she gave a soft whine, wrapping her fingers around his wrist as she tried to push his hand down to where she really wanted it. Feigning surprise, he grinned wide, “Oh, you want my fingers?” Feeling the way his chest shook as he chuckled made her shiver as he brought his right hand to her mouth, pressing his middle and ring fingers to her lips as he murmured lowly, “Get them wet for me, baby.”

Her tongue swirled around his digits, sucking as she hollowed out her cheeks before he slipped them out and replaced them where she wanted them. Spreading her knees further apart, Maggie’s breath caught in her throat as he traced slow circles around her clit before dipping his fingers into her warmth.

“James, fuck…” With a soft sigh, she reached back, threading her fingers into his hair as he slowly pressed them inside before drawing them back out. In the reflection, she could see the way his hand moved beneath the thin fabric and let out a soft moan. A breathy gasp caught in her throat as he crooked his fingers inside, making her keen as he pressed against the spongy spot that made her see stars.

A hand on her throat forced her to look forward and she felt her walls clench around his digits involuntarily at the new sensation, her face flushing as he caught her eyes in their reflection. Grinning at Maggie’s reaction, he relaxed his hand as he teased, “Naughty girl…”

“Bucky…” His fingers moving in and out of her at a relentless pace forced everything from her mind except the sensation of touch; the vibranium hand on her throat, his hard, warm body pressed firmly against her back, his breath on her ear as he whispered into it.

“Never knew you liked this—such a fucking slut…” A deep chuckle broke from his chest as he tightened his hand just slightly, bringing a pleasant fuzzy feeling to her brain that was already swimming in an ocean of dopamine. “Tell me what you want, peach,”

The nickname that had initially made her flush with annoyance had somehow become her favorite. The gentlest squeeze from his hand forced her to respond with a broken moan as his thumb focused intently on her clit, “Your tongue…”

“Where do you need it?”

“My…” Trailing off, her cheeks went red as she tried to get the word out. He was the one that always did the dirty talking—not her. It felt as if her entire body was on fire as she opened her mouth again before she was cut off by her own moan as his fingers brushed against a particularly sensitive spot deep inside of her channel.

“Tell me, baby.” Bucky’s taunting voice was almost sing-song as he murmured lowly into her ear, “Say it.”

As his fingers moved faster, she felt her thighs begin to shake as she gasped out a half-hearted, “Please…”

Pretending not to hear her, he teasingly asked once more, “What was that?”

It felt like the edge was just slightly out of her reach as she gasped out desperately, demanding, “Fuck— I want your tongue on my pussy. Bucky, fuck, please!”

“Mm, fuck…” Before she could wrap her mind around the way he moved, she was on her back, staring up at him as hovered above her with that cocky grin. Capturing her lips in a smooth kiss, he dipped his tongue into her mouth, caressing hers. Trailing kisses down her neck and chest, taking a moment to pay attention to her rosy nipples that were pert in the cool, conditioned air, he settled between her legs with a smirk as he looked up at her. “Let me clean you up.”

Dragging a finger over the little damp spot that had formed from his prior actions, he watched as she propped herself up on her elbows, choking back a little whimper at the too-soft touch. Rolling the light pink fabric down her legs, Bucky tossed them aside as he hooked her legs over his broad shoulders; a shiver ran through her as the cool vibranium pressed against the back of her knee.

With a playful click of his tongue, his tone feigned disappointment, “Made such a mess of this sweet little cunt. You sensitive, doll?” He barely brushed a finger down her soaked slit, and she couldn’t stop the way her hips bucked at the stimulation, a sob pulled from her chest. Nipping at the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, she could feel the way he smiled as she shifted restlessly. With his thumbs, he parted her lips to expose her soaked center as he cooed, “Look at this pretty, pink pussy all spread out for me.”

Without adieu, Bucky’s talented tongue licked a broad stripe from her weeping entrance to her swollen clit before going to work on her core insatiably. His hands all but covered her thighs as he held them open, spreading her wide before him. No matter how badly she needed to clench her thighs closed, whether to keep him close or push him away because the pleasure was too much, it wasn’t possible. “So sweet for me, peach…”

The vibration of his words made her whimper as he wrapped his lips around her clit, sucking in an erratic pattern that made her writhe on the wrinkled sheets as her fingers gripped his hair tightly; he was ravenous as he licked and sucked and nipped, driving her wild. As he slipped two fingers into her tight channel, pumping them in and out with lewd noises, she sobbed out his name as he worked to get her ready for him, “Bucky—”

A warmth pooled low in her stomach, and she couldn’t stop the breathy oh’s that were pulled from her chest. Squeezing her eyes closed, Maggie rocked her hips up into his mouth as he sucked at her labia and dipped his tongue into her clenching core like a man starved. Just as she was about to fall over the edge, he pulled back with a lecherous grin. A needy whine fell from her lips as she gripped his hair tighter, trying and failing to keep his mouth pressed where she needed him most as he held her firmly by the hips, pressing her into the bed.

“Such a greedy little slut for me…” Pressing his lips to her mound, his thumbs brushed over her hips as he asked with a faux naivety, “What? Did you wanna come?”

With a shuddering breath, she dropped her head back against the pillows as her fingers tightened in his hair, pleading, “God—fuck, yes.”

“Where are your manners, peach?” His words were low as a gentle swat to her clit made her back arch off the bed at the surprising cocktail of pleasurable pain. Rubbing over her little button with a thumb, soothing the barely-there sting, he cautioned with a teasing smile, “If you come, I’m not letting you stop ‘til you’re begging.”

“Don’t care—please, James.” Shaking her head as she looked down at him, Maggie wasn’t even certain that her words were intelligible as she begged and babbled with hooded eyes, “Please, let me come. Please, fuck—”

Without a verbal response, he ducked his head back down and returned to his lingual assault, pulling a loud, ‘James!’ from deep in her chest as she rocked her hips against the two fingers that were thrusting deep inside of her at a punishing pace, working her open. It wasn’t long before her thighs were clenching as he crooked his fingers just right and sent her over the edge.

“That’s it, fuck…” He hummed.

Her back bowed off the bed as a pleasant warmth spread through her body, radiating out through her fingers and curled toes as his tongue laved over her sensitive skin, graduating from flat broad strokes to little kitten licks that made her twitch with aftershocks of her climax. Trying to close her thighs and shy away, she whined before he sat up, blushing as she spotted his lips and chin shiny with her juices. With the back of his hand, he wiped away some of it with a smug wink.

“You thought we were done? Not even close, baby.” Maggie’s eyes were wide as he crawled up to lay beside her. As he began to trail his right hand down her neck, she shook her head and shyly grabbed at the vibranium appendage; there was something so beautiful about it. He may have hated it, but it was one of the things that she adored most about him and she’d been nervous to ask for him to touch her with it. But now, she couldn’t help herself.

With a chuckle, he switched hands at her silent request, “This what you want, hm?” His black and gold fingertips trailed down her throat, to her chest that was still heaving as she tried to find her breath again; holding her still with his other hand wrapped around her, resting low on her stomach, he reminded her softly, “Use the word if you need me to stop.

Before he could do anything else, Maggie gave him a cheeky grin as she instructed quietly, “Don’t stop.”

“Such desperate little girl, aren’t you?” She didn’t realize just how sensitive his touch had left her until the metal fingers dragged through her wetness, gathering it, and smearing it messily across her glistening folds as she squirmed in his tight embrace. His thumb focused on her little bud as he pushed two fingers back into her warmth, “Need this little cunt stuffed all the time. Should just keep my cock right here, shouldn’t I?”

With a blush that spread from her cheeks down her chest at his teasing, she could only let out a moan in response. With a hand behind her, she slipped her hand into his dark green boxers and easily found what she was seeking. Using her thumb to spread the precum leaking from his tip, that she knew was swollen and red and ready for her, Maggie slowly jerked him off at an uneven pace as his fingers scissored inside of her, trying to ready her for what was still to come.

“You like that idea, peach?” He sucked at a spot just behind her ear and she whined in some semblance of agreement as the movement of his fingers quickened.

They’d spent more time in bed together than either of them had expected to and, while he teased her about the way she clung to him after he came deep inside of her, she knew he liked it just as much as she did. There was something about the warmth and feeling of fullness that made a shiver run down her spine.

“You wanna keep my cock warm like the good, little whore that I know you are? Never gonna leave your cunt, baby. Love how tight and sweet it is, all for me.” As Bucky felt her body shudder, his hand low on her belly pressed steadily as the tips of his fingers easily found her g-spot and massaged the spongy area deep in her cunt, “Look at your legs shaking—you close already? You gonna come for me again?”

“James—” Maggie was all but chanting his name as her hand stilled, wrapped loosely around his hard shaft as she felt yet another orgasm beginning to approach. Squeezing her eyes closed, her head lolled back to rest against his shoulder; there was a familiar pressure that she hadn’t felt for quite some time and she all but wailed out a broken, “I—god!” as her second orgasm of the night washed over her.

From over her shoulder, he groaned as a clear burst of her liquid came from around his still-thrusting fingers. Rubbing her clit with his other hand, he held her squirming body tight against his as her orgasm continued shooting through her. After several seconds, and a few shorter bursts of fluid, he finally felt the tension leave her body as she relaxed back into him, limply.

Finding her lips, he helped her rest back against the pillows before trailing kisses back down her heaving chest. Ducking his head down, he dragged his tongue through the wetness, sucking at the creamy skin of her thighs as he all but licked her clean despite her mewls as she tried to shy away from his focused tongue.

With one last kiss to her pussy, he shoved his boxers off as he sat up between her legs. Brushing some of the messy hair from her forehead, Bucky’s thumb brushed over her swollen, bottom lip. He waited until her smudged liner eyes opened and found his before continuing with a little smile and a gentle squeeze to her soft skin, “Lift your hips for me, baby,”

Listening, she held them up as he slipped a pillow beneath her. Like it was second nature, her knees fell open, as she exposed her puffy, pink lips to him and her blush went maroon as he teased, dragging the tip of his throbbing cock up and down her slit, “Look at you, spreading your legs for me like a little, fucking slut and I didn’t even need to ask. Such a good fucking girl for me…”

When his crown breached her clenching hole and slowly began to push in, he let out a low groan, “Goddamn, you’re so tight. Love your sweet, little cunt, peach…”

Holding her hips tightly, Bucky sank deep into her with one, slow, languorous thrust. Rocking his hips back, he almost pulled out completely before pushing back in and forcing a muffled whimper from her lips. Finding an easy pace, she let out a hum at the feeling of him pressed deep inside of her, the rhythm become soothing as it rocked her into submission.

Leaning down, covering Maggie’s body with his, he trailed his hands up her arms. Lacing their fingers together as he pressed her hands into the mattress, her head was already in the clouds as she muttered a soft, “Harder—”

“You need it harder? Fuck,” Snapping his hips into hers again and again as she let out a moan that bounced with his every move, he groaned when he felt her body begin to tense beneath his, “Whose pussy is this?”

“Yours!” Maggie gasped out just before his lips found hers again, his tongue massaging hers in a languid, breathy kiss.

Rolling his pelvis against hers, brushing against her swollen clit with each thrust, he taunted, “And who’s the only one who can make you feel like this, baby?”

“You, James, only you—please.” Maggie’s thighs wrapped tight around his hips as she pressed her chest against his, letting out a quiet sob as her sensitive nipples brushed against his chest.

“Only me, that’s right…” Nodding, he quickened his pace, feeling himself near the edge as her walls pulsed around him, “Can feel you squeezing me. You gonna come again, peach? That’s right, come for me—squirt on my cock like a good girl…”

“Oh god, I can’t—” There was an exhausted desperation that tinged her voice as she watched him. Her head felt empty as she shook it, but she didn’t want to use their safe word; she wanted him.

“Yes, you can.” He pressed his forehead to hers while the pressure began to build deep inside of her again, murmuring lowly as his nose brushed hers, “My girl can do it; I know you need to come again, so come for me, baby.” Grunting, he chanted out a quiet, “Yes, yes, yes…”

“James, fuck—” The muscles in her stomach clenched as he pushed deep inside of her with one last, low moan, painting her walls with hot, thick ropes of his cum, sending her reeling as her back arched off the bed for the last time. More of the clear fluid squirted out from her core as she whined brokenly, her body shaking as her third orgasm of the evening washed over her and made her walls flutter around his not-yet softening length, “I, oh—”

“Good job, peach. Fuck, you did so good.” Gathering the limp woman in his arms, Bucky pressed his lips to her glistening forehead as he whispered sweet praises into her ear. After a moment, he helped to rest her back against the plush pile of pillows with a soft, “I’ll be right back.”

Knowing her apartment like the back of his right hand, Bucky easily navigated the space as he grabbed a glass of water from her kitchen, giving Alpine an absentminded scratch, before going to her bathroom to run a washcloth under some warm water from the old, silver tap of her sink.

Sitting the glass on her bedside table, he frowned worriedly when she had no reaction to the mattress sinking as he returned to his spot beside her, “Come back to me, baby.”

“Mmph.” The grumble she gave in response wasn’t enough and he rested a hand on her cheek, his thumb brushing over the ruddy skin that still hadn’t redistributed all the blood that had rushed to it.

“Hey, need you to look at me.” At his request, Maggie finally, lazily, opened her eyes with a sated smile. Looking at him upside down, her eyes trailed over his handsome face and the exhale he let out was drenched in relief as he greeted the sleepy woman, “Hey, peach. You okay?”

“Never better.” Stretching like a feline ready for a long day’s nap, she let out a soft hiss as he dragged the soft, warm cloth over the sensitive skin of her thighs. Eventually, she grew used to the routine as he methodically cleaned her up and murmured as her eyes fluttered closed, “We should get dinner—I’m starving.”

Chuckling, he leaned down and pressed his lips to her forehead once more before pulling her into his arms, “You’re a goddamn dream, Maggie Hall.”

Perhaps, in all of the rules and stipulations that Maggie had set a few months earlier, she should have thought about sleeping arrangements because there was something about the way that Bucky’s lips were pressed against her hair, that felt distinctly relationship-like. His sleepy groans as he pulled her closer in the middle of his REM cycle made her wish that she’d thought about it earlier, but it was too late—it would have been strange to create a new rule after so long, wouldn’t it? She just had to…compartmentalize. Even after all the therapy and emotional labor to try and resolve it, she still seemed to be good at sorting things into boxes.

Maybe they’d finished their earlier romp, gotten up to have dinner, then returned to her bed to finally go to sleep, but they were just having sex—really fantastic, earth-shattering, amazing sex—but it was only sex. No feelings permitted. He was her friend and her sexual partner; there wasn’t anything romantic about it. Not in the slow, languid kisses, or the way his hands possessively gripped her waist, and certainly not even in the way that he held her body close to his as he slept soundly by her side where her bed had begun to shape to his form.

Bucky’s heartbeat against her back felt like it was synchronized with her own, each gentle thump should have brought her closer to unconsciousness, but her eyes were still wide open. No matter how sated the multiple orgasms had left her, the way that the moonlight streamed through the window and fell upon her nightstand drawer like a spotlight, was far more enticing than sleep.

All she had to do was take the handle and open it; it had been long enough. Stretching out her arm, careful not to jostle her bed mate too much, she slid the drawer open. Reaching into it blindly, her fingers brushed against the glossy photo strip that she sought; it had been tucked away towards the back, and she felt her breath hitch as she picked it up. It had been half a year since she’d allowed herself to look at the photos.

Carefully, she extracted the plasticky, little paper strip. The dim light of the room was just enough to make out the familiar faces in the four frames, but it wasn’t like she needed it. They’d been tattooed on to her brain long ago; there was one that caught Steve off guard, two were a little silly, and the last one showed a sweet look that he had given her when she’d been totally unaware. At one time, it made her heart swell but now it only stung. Trailing a finger over the photos, she let out a slow breath, but the prickle of tears didn’t come like she thought it would.

Somehow, looking at the gilded memory didn’t hurt nearly as badly as she had imagined. And, for some reason, she wasn’t quite sure how to feel about that.

6 notes · View notes

misshoneybee · 2 years ago

Text

⟣ 𝑌𝑂𝑈'𝑅𝐸 𝑀𝑌 𝐴𝐶𝐻𝐼𝐿𝐿𝐸𝑆 𝐻𝐸𝐸𝐿 ⟢

— 𝑋𝐼𝑋. 𝐴𝑁𝐷 𝑊𝐻𝐴𝑇 𝑂𝑁𝐶𝐸 𝑊𝐴𝑆 𝑂𝑈𝑅𝑆 𝐼𝑆 𝑁𝑂 𝑂𝑁𝐸’𝑆 𝑁𝑂𝑊

Masterpost — OFC Biography — Playlists — Chapter XVIII — Chapter XX

❧ Pairings | Post-Endgame!Bucky Barnes x Original Female Character, Previous Steve Rogers x Original Female Character

❧ Warnings | Mature content, explicit language, angst, mutual pining

❧ Wordcount | ~7.7k

My heart, my hips, my body, my love, Trying to find a part of me that you didn't touch. Gave up on me like I was a bad drug, Now I’m searching for signs in a haunted club. ( Death by a Thousand Cuts | Lover )

February 5, 2025

It had been quiet since things had kind of ended between them. Maybe she’d been naïve to think that things could return to the way they were before they’d started sleeping together. Since the night he left, she was almost certain that they’d exchanged a total of less than twenty words with one another. Seeing him only in passing felt like the worst torment, like he was close enough for her to touch but she was unable to.

As the snow melted, Maggie’s days had become more and more monotonous: work, therapy, home, sleep, repeat. Occasionally the routine was shaken up with shopping or a vet visit for Alpine but otherwise, her already small world had shrunk even further. It was lonely and she felt silly for being hurt but she hadn’t realized that Bucky's new relationship meant that their friendship would likely be put on a backburner.

Like she enjoyed adding insult to injury, Maggie had often found herself imagining who the woman was or what she looked like. Maybe she was a tall, leggy blonde with perfect, perky boobs and sultry eyes. Or maybe a little redhead with curves that he ran his hands over like he used to hers. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t stop picturing him with someone else.

Did he get déjà vu?

When he was home, which seemed far less often than before, it was almost silent through their shared wall. A selfish part of her was glad that he hadn’t brought her to their building—Maggie had a feeling that seeing her, knowing who she was, would make her feel even more replaced than she already felt.

In the past weeks, as she’d unpacked her new baggage in therapy, Carolyn had reminded her that it was okay to want things, but she had to let herself grieve what never came to fruition. It was okay that she had let herself have hope but she had to forgive herself when it didn’t pan out. She couldn’t know what he was doing or how he was feeling.

Loving was never stupid or inconvenient; it was brave. It was like charting a new constellation, finding the unknown and confronting the darkness to explore it.

Some days were easier than others. The first week had been the hardest. Not long after he’d left had she called Poppy; still sitting on the cat-hair covered floor, she’d prayed for her friend to pick up the phone even though it was long past midnight in her part of the world.

She hadn’t needed to say a single word before Poppy heard her take a shuddering breath and knew the trajectory that her best friend’s night had taken. Letting Maggie cry, Poppy had stayed on the line with her until after she’d fallen asleep sometime just before dawn. It was nights like those that made her wish she was only a few blocks away instead of a thousand miles.

If there’d been any question left regarding whether she truly loved Bucky or not, she had her answer. Losing him had been the only pain that was even comparable to the way she’d felt after Steve left; if she wasn’t in love with him, it probably wouldn’t have hurt so badly to watch him so easily walk away from everything she thought they’d built together.

The tears ebbed and flowed but their occurrences overall were gradually decreasing and that felt like an achievement in itself but sometimes the silliest things still set her off, like Alpine hearing Bucky’s footsteps in the hall and pacing the wall as he waited for him or seeing the coffee mug that he’d accidentally chipped one morning.

Other times, it was grief that forced the heart wrenching sobs from her chest. The night Poppy had returned to the city, she’d thrown her bags in the trunk of a cab and had taken it to Maggie’s apartment without a second thought of visiting her parents or boyfriend first. They fell second place when her stubborn best friend needed her.

As soon as Maggie opened the door, Poppy had enveloped the shorter woman in a tight hug, letting her release all of the tears that she’d been holding back. She hadn’t realized how badly she’d needed to see her best friend until she was in front of her. Like the slumber parties they’d had in high school, Poppy had made her laugh until her stomach hurt, even if she hadn’t wanted to.

Sometime after midnight, the pair were curled up on her bed as Alpine slept soundly between them, having grown used to two bodies in the bed instead of just one. He’d become like some sad child of divorce, forced to live with his mom when he only wanted his missing dad.

Stroking the snoring cat’s soft, snow-colored fur, Maggie gave a little shrug to her friend, a wry smile on her lips, “I just…I feel like I have all this love and I don’t know what to do with it. Where do I put it now?”

In their twenty years of friendship, even all those years when Maggie had been with Steve, she’d never seen her best friend’s heart so wide open. It was beautiful and a little bittersweet that it had opened at the close, like a sliding door that activated just a moment too late, forcing you to stall in your path.

“Give it to yourself, Mags. You deserve it.” At Poppy’s advice, she took a shaky breath.

It was so simple but somehow, she’d never considered that—being a little more kind to herself in the face of his rejection. Seeing tears welling in the dark chocolate eyes, not wanting Maggie to cry any more than she already had, Poppy quickly added with a little smile, “And me—I want some too.”

So, that’s what she’d done—or what she’d been trying to do, but trying to forgive and love herself, even if no one else did, was hard. Every day she had to remind herself that, at one point in time, someone had loved her even if they didn’t work out in the end. Steve’s departure didn’t negate the years they’d spent loving each other, so that’s where she’d began.

Starting small was never really a concept that Maggie had understood or executed well, so she jumped straight into the deep end. She finally unpacked the pictures of Steve, all of his drawings that he’d made for her, and even that little golden locket he’d given her on the day they’d put a label on their relationship.

She hadn’t been brave enough to open or wear it, but she could at least look at it without that rush of red hot anger or heartache. Even without Bucky by her side, Maggie was still proving to herself that progress was possible.

Some days, though, it stalled. There were days when everything went wrong and there was nothing to do except try again tomorrow. Usually she loved Wednesdays—they were the middle of the week, a shining beacon telling her that the end was in sight—but her day had somehow managed to completely go off the rails.

It had begun raining after she’d gotten halfway across the river with no umbrella and hadn’t stopped all day, she’d had three back-to-back meetings, and she’d stepped in gum out on the street. Juggling a bag of groceries, her work tote, a handful of mail, and her keys, she finally got the lock disengaged with a relieved sigh.

Leaving the door ajar, she hurried over to the table as she felt the bag of groceries beginning to slip out of her grasp. From the corner of her eye, she spotted a flash of white taking advantage of his first taste of freedom and bolting out the door.

Throwing her remaining things down on to the table, sending everything into disarray, she took off in a sprint, ignoring the blisters that her pumps were definitely forming on the back of her heels. Cursing loudly as she looked down the hall, she spotted Alpine’s fluffy tail slipping into the stairwell.

Following the feline down several flights of stairs, she swore to ignore the next time he pretended to be too lethargic to move from his cat tree to her bed when she told him it was time to sleep. His salmon treats were going to become a distant memory of the past—could she ground a cat? She could damn well try.

At the bottom of the stairwell, she heard the door to the outside world opening and felt her heart stop as her feet moved faster. If he got out on to the busy street, she’d never get him back and, as big of an asshole as he was, she couldn’t handle that heartbreak too.

Stopping short at the base of the stairs, she saw Alpine making lazy circles around the feet of the person who’d opened the door. It was bizarre—the cat was always so antisocial. With a low purr, he rubbed himself on their jean-clad legs and she let out a breath, thanking whatever deity that was listening that he hadn’t actually escaped the building.

There was a frown on her face as she watched a pair of hands wrap around her cat’s torso, lifting him to the stranger’s chest. The vibranium that caught the hall light, though, let her know that the stranger wasn’t a stranger at all. Alpine chirped and butted his head against Bucky’s chin as he was lifted to his favorite human’s level.

It was a cruel twist of fate that her bad day could get even worse. The only noise in the empty hall was her attempting to catch her breath and the buzz of the lights overhead as they stood several feet apart, avoiding eye contact. It was funny how she could have so much to say and forget every word as soon as he even looked in her direction.

Finding her voice, her words were stilted as she quietly explained, “He slipped out when I was putting my stuff down.”

Bucky was quickly cut off when he opened his mouth to respond as Alpine let out a disgruntled, unabashed yowl to request more pets from his favorite human. At the noise, he absentmindedly scratched behind the cat’s ears before looking back to Maggie who finally met his eyes.

He looked tired, far more than she’d seen him in quite some time, and it tugged at her heartstrings. The circles beneath his eyes had returned, a purple-blue shadow of exhaustion making him look harsher. Maybe she was keeping him awake.

That thought made Maggie want to vomit.

“I’m glad he’s okay.” Bucky murmured, finally kicking the door closed behind him. Cautiously, like she was surrounded by some electric bubble, he approached to hand off the little creature.

“Me too.” Accepting Alpine, careful not to brush hands, she hugged him close to her chest as her heartrate slowed. Finally, Bucky was close enough to touch and it took everything inside her not to reach out.

The silence between them was stifling as they stared at one another before Maggie finally whispered, “I should…go.” Clearing her throat, she added, “I left my door open, and I don’t want anyone to—”

“Yeah.” Biting the inside of his cheek, he gave a short nod. Mimicking the gesture, she took a breath before turning. As she briskly ascended the stairs, she held Alpine tightly, ignoring his whiny meows as he watched Bucky follow his owner from over her shoulder.

Approaching her still open door, she hesitated before turning back to see him keying into his own unit, “Bucky?”

He turned quickly, trying, and failing not to look as though he was hanging on her every word, “Yeah?”

“Thank you.” She nodded to the cat in her arms as he lazily looked around the hall, not entirely familiar with the space since he spent most of his time in the apartment where he was meant to reside. She had to admit that Alpine’s love of Bucky was a blessing and a curse.

With a hollow smile, he gave a little shrug, “No problem.”

February 11, 2025

No matter where he went, it seemed impossible to get Maggie completely off his mind. Even after going the whole way to Delacroix, he still couldn’t escape the constant thoughts of her and the memories that seemed to be lurking around every corner. Sitting in the Wilson’s kitchen at the little table, he kept picturing her behind the counter with Sarah as they'd made breakfast together.

It felt like torture. She was everywhere. It was a penance, like it wasn’t enough that he felt guilty for leaving her in the lurch. Until he pushed her out of his orbit, he hadn’t realized how intertwined their lives had become.

He’d heard her talking to a maintenance man just a few days earlier and it had made him bristle. Not long ago, he had been the one that she’d call for odd jobs around her apartment. He missed it. Like some symbiotic relationship, it had gone both ways; she’d always be the one to fix his phone when it was on the fritz but now Sam had taken that responsibility upon himself, and Bucky was close to shoving the new Captain America off his chair.

“Dude, don’t you ever listen to your voicemails?” Sam gave the man an incredulous look as he pressed on the flip phone’s keypad.

Brows drawn together, Bucky looked over at the small backlit screen, “My what?”

It wasn’t like he was technologically illiterate—to the contrary, he’d spent quite some time in Wakanda, who’s technology far surpassed the rest of the world’s—but he still wasn’t totally savvy when it came to cellphones. Sure, he called and sent text messages but that seemed to be the extent of his phone activity. What else did he need to do?

“People leave you messages when you don’t answer the phone.” He explained without judgement. As Bucky made an interested hum, accepting his friend’s explanation, Sam made a face and prodded, “So, you’re telling me you never heard any of the ones that I left you?”

Defensively, Bucky held up his hands in mock surrender, “I didn’t know they were there!”

Rolling his eyes, Sam opened the tab and began scrolling through the seemingly endless list of repetitive names, “You have thirteen from Raynor, seven from me before I gave up,” He gave Bucky a pointed look at that before continuing, “two from Maggie—”

Trying and failing to seem casual, Bucky blurted out, “Maggie? When?”

Shooting the other man a knowing look, he found the specific messages and murmured, “Looks like…both were from last April.”

Quickly doing the mental math, Bucky recalled the events from almost a year prior—their argument, Walker, the Flagsmashers, their unexpected reunion when he finally returned home. At some point in the midst of everything, she’d called, and he’d failed to answer.

On two separate occasions.

Maybe it wouldn’t have been so strange if he’d known about the messages before their separation. For almost a year, these messages had simply been floating out in the ether with no one to hear them. Suddenly nervous, Bucky’s voice inadvertently softened as he stared down at the little device that suddenly felt like a loaded gun, “How do I—”

“Just listen.” Sam pressed play, putting the message on speaker for his friend.

A second later, there was a click on the line before Maggie’s quiet voice came from the phone that rested on the table, “It’s me. I just, I haven’t heard from you. And I know we left things…in a bad place, but I saw that video and I—”

The video—the one from Madripoor. Maggie had asked him about it the night he’d returned home; he had no clue that she’d attempted to reach him before then. Guilt sank like a stone in his stomach as he listened to the slight pleading note that stained her voice.

“I just need to know you’re okay. And I know you might still be mad at me and that’s okay because I’m still a little mad at you too but I just…I really care for you, Bucky.”

There was a long pause before she finished quietly, “Just…call me back when you get this. Please.”

Running a hand over his face, he closed his eyes as a beep played, ending the message. He knew that she’d been worried but not that she’d been willing to forgive his sharp words from the week before just to know that he was okay. Without Sam needing to press a button, her second message played automatically, “It’s me again.”

Her humorless laugh made the speaker sound staticky for a moment before she continued, “I…don’t even really know why I called. I guess I just wanted to check in again. To make sure you were okay. I really need you to be okay, Buck. I want you to come back. To come home.”

Her use of the word ‘home’ made his chest tighten. Had she felt like he did? Did he feel like home to her? Her heavy sigh sounded hopeless, and it stung as she moved forward.

“I don’t know if you’re sending me through to voicemail, I don’t think you even know how to do that, or if it’s because you’re somewhere on the other side of the world, but I just really…wish I could talk to you right now. I miss you.”

Her last three words had sounded stilted, like they’d been stuck in her throat, and she’d forced them out. There was a long pause on the line, and he had no doubt that she’d been turning the words over in her mind before she finished quietly, “Call me.”

No sooner had the message ended had Sam bluntly pointed out, with an air of exhaustion, “You’re fuckin’ stupid, man.”

“What?” He was automatically defensive, snapping his phone closed and shoving it deep into the pocket of his jeans.

Like he was spelling it out in layman’s terms, Sam slowly enunciated, “She likes you.”

Running a hand through his short hair, he slumped forward, his elbows on the table. Maybe he knew that. And maybe that had been the problem. His feelings had been involved from the start—even in that bed at the tiny bed and breakfast in Tennessee, he already knew how he felt about her.

But getting feelings involved was supposed to be against their rules, and Maggie didn’t break rules—at least, not usually. But perhaps she had. And like everyone else in her life, he’d run away.

He’d done exactly what he’d swore to never do.

“Fuck.” Exhaling, he dropped his head into his hands. Keeping her away from him felt like the easiest way to keep her safe, to keep her life from being turned upside down because she was involved with ‘The Winter Soldier,’ but he had a sinking feeling that he’d been wrong. Maybe she was safe from gossip if she was out of reach but that didn’t make up for all of the pain that he was certain he’d caused.

The look she’d given him on the night he’d lied had almost broke him. Her wide eyes were filled with hurt and wet with tears despite the smile she’d plastered on her face. She’d wanted to be happy for him—and he should have known better.

The night they’d met—the night they’d really met on her birthday, a year earlier—he’d asked her why she’d let Steve go back to be with Peggy. Then, she’d simply said that it was to make him happy. And when he’d asked about hers, curious how someone could just let something that seemed so perfect slip out of their fingers, she’d said that she could wait.

She didn’t deserve that—she didn’t deserve to have to wait for her own happiness, but she’d done it again. Maggie had let him go because she thought it was for the best because it was what he’d wanted. Because it would make him happy.

Sam’s frown reminded Bucky of all the times he’d disappointed his father as a teenager as he accused quietly, “What the hell did you do?”

“What do you mean?” It was useless; he knew what Sam was asking.

“Why doesn’t she talk about you anymore?” His words weren’t malicious, only curious to find what had caused their house of cards to collapse. There was no doubt that something had been brewing between the pair since before Maggie’s first visit to Louisiana, but his suspicion had been reaffirmed every time he’d seen them together since.

When he’d watched them dance on the dock, or the way she’d rested her head on his shoulder, or even when she thought he hadn’t noticed Bucky’s wrinkled shirt on her couch when they’d all gone back to her apartment. There was, without a doubt, something there.

At least once a week, he’d call the younger woman to check in and their conversations had shifted as of recent, “She wouldn’t shut up about you before, but for the last month, she hasn’t said a single thing. Unless I bring you up, it’s like you don’t exist.” Gesturing between Bucky and the empty chair beside him, Sam trailed off, “I thought you two were…”

Nodding, Bucky knew there was no use lying. All the cards were on the table.

“We…kind of were.” Hesitantly, he began to unravel the tangled web that he’d somehow managed to weave in just a few weeks’ time, “I…there was a news thing about us. Someone got a picture when I took her out for her birthday, and they started talking about her and me and saying all this shit like she’d run Steve off and was controlling me, or that she had something to do with the Flagsmashers, and I didn’t want anything else to fall back on her. She doesn’t need to be caught up in my shit.”

Squeezing his eyes closed, well aware that his decision had been more than just misguided, Bucky mumbled, “So, I told her I was seeing someone else.”

The wooden chair was loud as it scraped against the floor as Sam pushed himself away from the table with an annoyed groan, “Are you fucking kidding, man?” After a moment, Bucky looked up to meet his friend’s disappointed eyes. He felt chastised, like a little kid in trouble for lying to their parents. Since becoming Captain America, Sam had become a bit more righteous and Bucky would have teased him for it if he wasn’t being reamed by the man in question, “You’re stupid for lying to her about it. Why the hell would you tell her that? Of all things?”

“It was the…easiest way to end it.” Bucky mumbled, the words continuing to spill from his mouth as he dug the hole deeper and deeper towards the Earth’s core. It had been a spur of the moment decision to lie like that, “I didn’t want to hurt her.”

Dumbstruck, Sam stared at Bucky for a beat. Over a century old, he would have thought that time made his friend wiser, but perhaps the years and repeated freezing and defrosting process had killed off the majority of his neurons.

“You thought that telling her you’re into some other girl wouldn’t hurt?” He blinked, his mouth hanging open just slightly at the other man’s audacity, “Dude.”

Without any defense, Bucky dropped his head against the table with a muted thud and muttered out a muffled, “Shut up.”

“Remember that whole tough love thing?” Standing up, Sam waited until the other man finally met his eyes again. Typically, he wasn’t one to intervene in the personal lives of his friends, but there was some brotherly instinct that he held for Maggie, so he was firm as he bluntly stated, “Here’s some more: own up to your shit. You gotta tell her the truth.”

February 14, 2025

This year, Maggie had had the forethought to call out of work. What were the odds that she’d have a broken heart, two years in a row, on Valentine’s Day? Apparently, much higher than average. Her brain was plagued by memories of Steve and wistful thoughts of what-could-have-beens with Bucky but for the first time in her life, she didn’t punish herself for that.

She didn’t permit herself to wallow in bed and soak her pillow with tears or to go out and do anything self-destructive as she had the year before—instead, she let herself to feel the pain. It was foreign, to sit in that discomfort and make herself work through it without allowing it to consume her entirely.

As soon as she re-entered her building, she let out a quiet sigh of relief. Unable to stand sitting around the silent apartment all day, she’d gone for a walk—forgetting the awful weather as sleet came and went, making her nose runny and cold as the chill seeped up through her boots and deep into her bones.

Getting her mail from the little box in the building’s foyer, she quickly ascended the stairs, eager to return to her cozy home. Letting herself inside the warmth of her own apartment, she shuffled through the envelopes like they were a deck of cards, mentally categorizing each piece to be placed in their appropriate pile on her desk or in the trash.

‘Junk, junk, bill, coupon, bill, Steve, junk—Steve.’

Stilling inside the doorway to her room, the other six pieces of mail fluttered to the ground, landing silently on the tiny rug as she stared at only one envelope. She briefly wondered if she was dreaming, or even hallucinating, because it was unmistakable.

There was no return address in the top left corner, but it was postmarked only a few days before and she would know that handwriting anywhere. She’d spent more than enough time looking at it to be able to easily recognize it.

It was like she got tunnel vision, leaving everything like breadcrumbs behind her as she sat on her bed, holding the fragile, folded paper like it was the most delicate leaf of gold. She couldn’t blink, too worried that it would disappear into thin air if she did.

Her name had been printed on the center of the envelope in pen, her address scrawled beneath it. The stamp in the corner told her that the letter had been sent relatively recently. It felt like something had gotten lodged in her throat as she trailed a finger over the words, ones that he’d penned not too long ago.

A part of her wanted to leave it intact and keep it like a time capsule. It could be Schrodinger’s letter; if it stayed sealed, then the whole life that she’d imagined for him would remain intact. But, even after everything, she still couldn’t resist digging up the grave just one more time.

Slipping a finger beneath the flap, Maggie carefully separated the paper and adhesive—afraid to rip it, like it was some precious thing that had to be preserved. For her, it was.

The thin, lined paper was folded into thirds, and she could make out the shadow of words on the other side of the page. Sitting the envelope aside, Maggie slowly flattened out the paper and felt her breath catch as reality seeped in; it was real. In her hands was something that Steve had held in his just a few days before.

Resting her back against the mound of pillows at the head of her bed, she finally allowed her eyes to look at the words on the page. If she didn’t know any better, she would have thought he was speaking to her. Even after a year and three months, she could still hear his voice so clearly as she devoured each word like she’d been starving for days.

'My Dear, Maggie, I don’t know if this letter will find you, but I can only hope that it does and that it finds you well. I understand if you choose not to read this and throw it away—in fact, I wouldn’t expect any less from you. You were always so stubborn. There is so much that I want to say but as I write this, words fail. It feels like none of it can be explained on just a lined page.’

Taking a deep breath, she pressed the paper to her chest and closed her eyes. There’d been the smallest part of her that thought it was a hoax, that someone had cruelly imitated his handwriting just to hurt her, but no. It really was Steve, the one that used to be hers and the one that a part of her would always love. Braving the unknown, she continued reading.

‘Let me start by saying that I have missed you every day since I left that morning. I don’t regret any choices that you or I made, but a part of me will always wonder what life could have been like if I’d stayed all those years ago—though for you, I know it’s only been a little more than one.’

It was still hard for her to wrap her mind around everything that had happened, all the impossible things that she would have never believed just ten years earlier. Aliens, superheroes, time travel—nothing made sense. It was strange to think that the Steve who’d written the letter had lived an entire life since she’d last seen him but somehow, he hadn’t forgotten her. He’d remembered her, just like he’d promised.

‘I hope that you’re well and that you don’t resent me too much, although I would never fault you if you did. I know now that the decisions that we made were selfish. You were in pain and wanted to be alone and I had a door open to a life that I never expected to go back to. Perhaps we were both a little too young and foolish. (And before you say it, I know I wasn’t quite young but compared to now, I was.)’

Letting out a watery laugh, Maggie wiped her eyes. Maybe time had taken his youth, but it certainly had left his smart remarks. It felt like a dream, but she didn’t want to pinch herself and risk waking up—especially when reading his words didn’t hurt nearly as badly as she’d imagined it would. It didn’t feel like she was drowning anymore; somehow, she’d conquered the waves and the sea had calmed. She was floating above the current.

‘All of this is to say that I wanted you to know that I love you and I will always be thankful to have met you, Marguerite Hall. I thought about you often over these years; how you were, how I hoped you’d find someone worthy of your love, and how I hope you’d allow them to love you. You’re owed so much more than anyone could give you, but I hope you let them try.Please, let them try.I’ve wanted to reach out for some time, but I never wanted to cause you more pain than I know I already had but I felt like it was finally the right time. We both know those magazines are just gossip but I wanted to tell you that I saw the photograph of you and Bucky. And if I know you like I think I do, I know you probably feel guilty for it, for moving on, but you shouldn’t. I don’t want you to.’

Of course, he still knew her. He always would; the good, the bad, and the ugly—but he’d still loved her regardless. And he’d always known exactly what she needed to hear. Using the soft cuff of her sweater, she swiped some tears from her cheeks, careful not to allow them to touch the paper and smudge the pristine writing.

‘You were just as beautiful as I remember, and I don’t think I ever saw Buck smiling as big as he was when he was looking at you. I always knew you two would be friends after I was gone, maybe I even knew you could be more if you both weren’t so damn stubborn. You deserve to be happy, Maggie. If he brings that to you, then that’s all I ever wanted to see. Take care of each other and I know you two can have a long, beautiful life together.’

She wasn’t certain whether the sob that was pulled from the depths of her chest was because he’d actually given them his blessing, or because it didn’t matter anymore. There was no way for him to know what had transpired between the pair. Aside from Poppy, he was the only person who’d mentioned the photo to her—everyone at work had ignored it and she never even asked Bucky if he’d seen it. She could only hope that he’d been spared.

‘I’m sure you don’t care to hear more of the ramblings of an old(er) man, but I just wanted to say that I hope that life treats you kindly and you get everything you want out of it. You deserve it more than anyone, sweetheart.Life is short so, for my sake and yours, live bravely and love just the same, Maggie. I know you can. All of my love, Steven G. Rogers’

Bringing a hand to cover her mouth, she stifled the sobs that wracked her shoulders. Sitting the paper on top of the envelope carefully, she allowed herself to really cry. It felt like she’d been transported back to the morning that he’d left; alone in a bed, a paper that had touched his hands just a short time before beside her, the sky so gray outside her window that it felt like it was reflecting her emotions back at her like some massive mirror.

But time had made her stronger. The pain had dulled, and the gaping wounds had finally faded into scars; the little, shiny lines that remained from her emotional battles divulged beautiful stories that she never could have even imagined. They told her about all the love that she’d given and received, all of the pain that had been absorbed and let go of, of every beautiful day, and even those that were gray and heartbreaking.

They’d made her who she was.

Each misstep in her life had somehow managed to mend another broken bone, piecing her back together through the pain and change. She wasn’t willing to let life just happen anymore. It was time for her to think about what she wanted.

Steve had told her to love as bravely as she’d lived and, even when she didn’t feel brave, her physical scars reminded her that she had been before, and she could be again. She could do it. Just like she’d built a new life from the ruins of her old one, she wouldn’t just do it for Steve—she would do it for herself.

After a long bath, letting out some more of her sorrows to the bubbles that surrounded her body, and a small glass of wine, she found herself bundled up in her pajamas and a blanket on the couch. It was definitely a wild Friday night.

There was no question about what she wanted anymore; she just needed another push. With a quick, silent prayer that he had no plans, and that she wasn’t interrupting a date or something along those lines, she dialed a familiar number.

Jolted from his half-asleep stupor by a vibrating buzz in his pocket, Sam sat up from where he’d been reclined with a low groan. Pulling his phone from its denim prison and squinting at the screen, a familiar name woke him further. With a sharp elbow to Bucky’s side, he flashed him the screen and gave the super soldier a pointed look before standing and nodding towards the hall.

Brows drawn together, Bucky watched him walk away with a frown. He knew that he and Maggie talked often—Sam had said as much—but it was late. What if she’d gotten hurt? Or if she was in danger? Checking his own phone and finding no missed calls, he sighed and tossed it on to the other side of the couch.

Whatever it was, she hadn’t needed him for his input, and, for some reason, that stung.

Answering on the third ring, Sam quietly closed the door to his room behind him, despite the knowledge that Bucky would probably be straining his ears to try and eavesdrop on the friends’ conversation, “Hey sunshine.”

“Hey, Sam.” Maggie’s voice was hoarse from the tears she’d shed earlier in the evening but the little smile at his use of her nickname was audible. Laying on her side, she propped her head against the arm of the green couch, exhaling quietly, “Can you talk?”

“Of course,” Taking a seat in the armchair near the big picture window that gave him a wide lens view of the yard that was dappled with weeping, mossy trees, he settled in, “What’s up?”

Putting her phone on speaker and placing it on the middle of the cushion beside her, Maggie squeezed her eyes closed as she quietly admitted, “I need advice.”

“So, you come to the master.” She could hear the way he grinned as he relaxed back into his chair, prepared to listen to whatever was plaguing her. Despite the distance, he’d become one of her closest and most trusted friends since meeting him only a little over a year ago.

“Maybe I should hang up.” She mused aloud, flatly. Though he knew how much the stubborn woman hated reaching out for anyone else’s assistance, he couldn’t help but tease her.

Chuckling, he waved her off despite her not being able to see the gesture as he nudged, “Nah, just tell me. What’s going on?”

He didn’t pressure her as she quietly got her thoughts in line, trying to figure out where to begin, or what she wanted to ask, or if she even wanted to disclose Bucky’s identity to him—she didn’t want to make it awkward the next time the men spoke or make him pick a side.

Finally settling on vaguely explaining the situation without any identifying details, she exhaled and nodded to herself, as if she needed permission to discuss her own dilemma.

“I was seeing this guy for a few months, and I thought we were just…hooking up,” Her face flushed as she admitted that piece of information to him; he’d become like a brother to her.

Sam had to chuckle—Bucky hadn’t disclosed that during their conversation a few days prior.

Ignoring his light laugh, she rolled her eyes and continued, “But I started to like him…” Trailing off, her fingertip traced rounded shapes in the dark velvet.

No, that didn’t sound right. It didn’t sound like enough because it wasn’t. It wasn’t that she just liked him; she liked her co-workers and the coffee cart down the block—it wasn’t enough. Finally, for the first time, despite the way her voice cracked, she braved the consequences and admitted softly, “Actually, I fell in love with him.”

He heard the way her breath shook as she sniffled; he knew the tears had arrived at the words that she’d likely had to pry out of her own mouth. Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on his knees as he patiently waited for her to continue, wanting nothing more than to embrace the smaller woman through the phone.

Had Bucky known that when he’d ended things with her? Had he even been aware of the depth of her feelings? He could only hope that he hadn’t because, if he had, he’d kick his ass the entire way up the eastern seaboard to make him repent.

“I was going to tell him but he…” Exhaling, Maggie could feel her throat tighten; it was like her body was trying to reject what she had to say, “We agreed to stop if either of us found someone else. And he did.”

If he hadn’t already been certain that she’d been talking about Bucky, that would have been the smoking gun, but instead it only affirmed what he already knew.

At that, it was like the floodgates opened and every thought came faster as her words turned into falling water, “And I know it’s probably not fair to tell him how I feel now because he’s probably happy with her, and I’m sure she’s great, but I feel like I have to get it off my chest and I’m terrified because what if it all goes wrong?”

He was glad to hear her stop at least once for breath before she continued, “What if I tell him and he hates me? I’ve done this before and I don’t want to lose him too. After everything with Steve—I just, I know he told me it was okay, but I don’t want to go through all of that again so maybe I should just…cut my losses and forget it.”

Her voice sounded so small on the line as she muttered the last part to herself. She’d had far too much time to talk herself out of telling Bucky how she felt since that day the month before.

Frowning, he opened his mouth before he was cut off once again with her disclaimer, “And I know you’re not my therapist and you don’t do those support groups anymore but I just—I needed someone outside of the situation.”

Pausing for just a moment, Sam nodded silently as he absorbed everything that she’d just word vomited. Even if he hadn’t already known, he had a hunch that he would have realized she was referring to Bucky from just her story alone.

Slowly, like Maggie was some flight risk—which she kind of was—he cautiously pointed out, “You know, you don’t owe Steve anything, right?” At her silence on the other end of the line, he reminded her quietly, “You said that he wanted you to move on.”

Picking at the raw, pink cuticle on her thumbnail, as she avoided looking at her phone like she was avoiding eye contact, Maggie sighed futilely, “It just—nothing feels right.”

Unable to pretend any longer, Sam rubbed his forehead as he pressed, “Does it feel wrong because you feel bad for moving on, or because you feel bad that you want it to be with Buck?”

“What?” Maggie’s question was sharp. Sitting up quickly, she snatched the phone from the cushion and stared at it apprehensively, ignoring the headrush from moving so quickly. Having been incredibly careful not to use his name, like a spy avoiding a laser maze, she felt her stomach flip at what the most likely implication was.

He’d spoken to Bucky too.

“He told you?”

“I could tell…but yeah, that too.” Sam admitted with a half laugh; there was no use lying to her even though he was reasonably certain that the man in his living room hadn’t told her where he was going. “You can’t control who you fall in love with, Maggie. You know that.”

Feeling the way her nose and eyes tingled at his gentle reminder, she grasped at the end table for the box of tissues as tears welled in her eyes again. Of course, he was right.

If she’d had a choice, any at all, she wouldn’t have even made it, because wasn’t it safer if no one else had the power to break her heart?

“I can’t do it again.” He knew what she meant—lose someone, like she did Steve. Maggie’s voice was thick as she thought aloud, unsure if she was trying to convince him or herself, “I know things are weird now since he’s seeing her but at least he’s still around.”

Her voice cracked and she rested a hand over her eyes, like it was some kind of dam for her tears. It wasn’t even that true—they didn’t see each other anymore, so it wasn’t like he was actually around.

No, she would give all of this up just for the possibility of his presence, just to not lose him completely.

There’d been countless reasons throughout the course of their friendship for which Sam had wanted to maim Bucky, but this call, and how hurt she was because of him, was quickly becoming one of the most egregious. She was willing to settle for nothing just to have him in her life.

Shaking her head, Maggie hugged a pillow tight to her chest, “I just—if he left, or something happened, and we didn’t work, I don’t think I could do it all over.”

“Maggie, you’ve gone through more than a lot of people your age, but you made it.” In the past year, he’d learned all about her history—about everything she’d gone through. Losing her parents, having to try and help the world after the snap, losing so many people that she’d loved in quick succession—he didn’t know how she was still standing.

He would have been knocked on his ass if he’d been in her shoes.

“If you love someone, sometimes you just have to take the risk because you don’t know what you’ll miss out on if you just let it go.”

Wiping her eyes, she took a few deep, steadying breaths as she absorbed his words. Maybe she could be a risk taker just one more time—maybe she could tell him. Her breath was still the slightest bit shaky as she bluntly pointed out with a dry laugh, “It’s all really fucked up, Sam.”

“There’s nothing that can’t be fixed.” He shook his head, exhaling a soft laugh at her brash words. “I promise, you can work it out.”

Fifteen minutes later, as he returned to the living room, Sam’s eyes were like daggers as he stared at his friend who’d finally stilled after pacing the living room floor since he’d left to take the call.

Eagerly, Bucky inquired, “What’d she say?”

“I thought the Tin-Man needed a heart, not a brain.” Flopping back down onto the couch, Sam glared as Bucky looked properly chastised at his jab. With a sigh, he granted him the slightest grace, “Ask her yourself, dumbass. I’m staying out of it, but you better fix it and fix it fast.”

#fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #mcu fanfic #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #bucky barnes x original character #bucky barnes x original female character #bucky barnes x oc #bucky barnes x ofc #bucky barnes #original character #original female character #oc #ofc #misshoneybee: mosaic broken hearts #misshoneybee: you're my achilles heel #misshoneybee: series #ymah #did the love affair maim queue too?

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misshoneybee · 3 years ago

Text

⟣ 𝑊𝐸 𝐿𝐸𝐴𝑅𝑁 𝑇𝑂 𝐿𝐼𝑉𝐸 𝑊𝐼𝑇𝐻 𝑇𝐻𝐸 𝑃𝐴𝐼𝑁 ⟢

— 𝐼𝑉. 𝑌𝑂𝑈 𝐷𝑅𝐸𝑊 𝑆𝑇𝐴𝑅𝑆 𝐴𝑅𝑂𝑈𝑁𝐷 𝑀𝑌 𝑆𝐶𝐴𝑅𝑆 𝐵𝑈𝑇 𝑁𝑂𝑊 𝐼'𝑀 𝐵𝐿𝐸𝐸𝐷𝐼𝑁𝐺

Masterpost — OFC Biography — Playlists — Chapter III — Chapter V

❧ Pairings | Post-Infinity War!Steve Rogers x Original Female Character, Minor Original Male Character x Original Female Character

❧ Warnings | Mature content, explicit language, canon-typical violence/injury, themes of mental illness (depression, anxiety, ocd, ptsd)

❧ Wordcount | ~7.5k

❧ Author's Note | So, we'll be having some time jumps going forward! Occasionally, it goes backwards so just keep an eye out for it. xx.

But I knew you'd linger like a tattoo kiss, I knew you'd haunt all of my what-ifs ( Cardigan | Folklore )

June 1, 2018

The rain from the summer storm fell in a deluge around the tall shelter of the awning, some of the warm drops slipping under the cover to spatter their sun-kissed skin. A soft rumble of thunder broke the sound of the rainfall just before Pepper did, "You'll come by for dinner sometime soon?" She asked before she closed the passenger door on Tony, trapping him alone in the luxury car momentarily. He rolled down the window with a glare at the two women standing outside, talking without him.

"Of course. I can't believe I still haven't seen it." Maggie nodded, a sad smile on her face.

Since the team had returned without a victory, everyone, aside from Maggie, Steve, and Natasha, had gone their separate ways. Thor had been the first to leave, not even returning back to the facility with the team. Nebula, Rocket, and the blonde woman that Maggie had come to know as Carol left the planet the following day. Rhodey had been the next to leave, going to Washington D.C. to help relief efforts; Bruce departed shortly after with a quiet goodbye.

When Tony quietly handed in his formal resignation, Maggie knew that he and Pepper would be leaving as well. During the same time that he'd started work on the New Avenger's Facility, he had also purchased a cabin on the nearby lakeside and called it his eco-compound. For several years, it had been lying in wait for its owners to finally inhabit it.

"It's completely sustainable. Inspired, if I do say so myself—"

"So you've said." Maggie cut him off and he shrugged, putting on his sunglasses, almost miffed at her short response. Since his return to Earth, he looked far less frail but Maggie couldn't get the image of him collapsing on the kitchen floor out of her head. She swallowed down her emotions, pulling her sweater tighter around her torso as pushed the memory from her mind.

Although she knew this wasn't goodbye and that she'd see them soon enough, it didn't make their farewell any easier. Maggie had never been good with endings, no matter how brief they'd last. Clearing her throat, she nodded towards the driveway to exit the grounds, "You guys should head out before the storm gets worse." As if Thor himself was listening, Maggie's words were punctuated with a bright zap of lightning across the gray sky and she gave them a wry smile as she was proved right.

She watched the car make its way around the bend until she could only see it as a dot in the distance, shrouded by the heavy, gray sheets of rain. It wasn't until their car was completely out of sight, that the realization hit her. It wouldn't ever be the same.

Her fragile new normal had been upended again. After Tony had submitted his retirement, Pepper had also taken a step back from leading the foundation, leaving the work that she'd done in the hands of the board of directors.

It felt as though, in the end, everyone that she loved would leave, whether it was of their own volition or if the choice had been stolen from them. She felt her thoughts begin to spiral before she took a deep breath.

Tony and Pepper weren't really gone; they were only ending this chapter of their lives. Poppy was only ever a phone call or a train ride away, depending on where in the world she found herself. And although she didn't know Steve and Natasha well, they still lived at the facility just as she did.

She wasn't alone.

For several minutes, Maggie stood under the edge of the building's cover, taking in the serene, staticky silence that accompanied the precipitation. Reaching out a hand, she watched as the heavy drops washed over it. The summer air did little to remedy the chill that the rain left behind on her skin.

She took a careful step forward, allowing the falling water to slowly saturate the knit of her sweater; she couldn't quite bring herself to care that she'd soon be soaked to the bone. Fleeting storms were one of the small joys that the season brought, causing the grass to become lush and verdant and allowing the fluffy clouds to drift across the sky. She tilted her face to the heavens reveling in the calm that surrounded her, embracing the smell of the saturated soil and green leaves as the rain poured.

"You're gonna catch your death out here." A low voice in close proximity broke Maggie from her thoughts and shattered her illusion of solitude.

"What the fuck—" She flinched, whipping her head towards the voice, drops of water flinging around her face from her drenched curls and spattering the man in question, dark spots of green now speckling the light moss color of his shirt. Steve stood just under the awning, a half-smile on his lips as he watched her. Her cheeks burned a crimson red at being caught like a child outside without permission—and by Captain America nonetheless.

He raised an amused eyebrow at her curse, "Don't stop on my account."

She exhaled, more flustered than before. Since leaving the hospital, she had tried to preserve whatever was left of her dignity when she was around him. She'd left the ward physically intact but her pride was more than bruised. It was hard not to feel like she had taken one step forward and two steps back as she fixed her sweater that had slid from her shoulder. She knew that she could either be embarrassed or embrace the encounter.

"In that case, you should come out. The water's fine!" She shrugged with a grin although she was certain there were tracks of mascara racing down her cheeks. As he shook his head at her request, she laughed. "Come on! You won't melt!" Pausing, she pursed her lips in thought before adding, "That was a reference to—"

"I've seen The Wizard of Oz, you know?" He was almost offended at her jab as he let out a quiet, incredulous laugh, "I was already out of school when that was in theaters. First picture I ever saw in color." He had to raise his voice to be heard as the rain fell harder.

"What was that?" She cupped a hand around her ear, a grin on her lips. "I can't hear you. Maybe you should come closer." She took another step back further in to the storm, watching as he hesitated and sighed before coming out to meet her in only a few short strides.

Standing in front of her, he crossed his arms as he tried to squash the smile that began to form after seeing her pleased expression, "Happy?"

"As a clam." Maggie let out a soft laugh and nodded, watching the drops of rain fall off of his dark eyelashes in crystalline beads. As a breeze brushed over her, she suppressed a shiver that threatened to wrack her body.

"I meant what I said. You're gonna get sick if you stay out here too long." He ran a hand through his hair, the water squeezing from the strands between his fingers.

"And you won't?" Cocking a hip in defiance, she crossed her arms to mirror his posture.

"I don't really get sick anymore."

"That's so unfair." She scoffed, only partially joking as she shook her head.

"I was sick enough as a kid for a lifetime." Through his smile, she could see a hint of his sadness and her face fell slightly.

She realized that she didn't know much about his life before he became Captain America aside from what she'd read in a museum; he had been small and sickly before he was given the serum and joined the war efforts.

His gaze hadn't left her and once more, she felt like he was looking right through her carefully armored exterior. The blue gray of his eyes swirled like the clouds against the sky above. "You okay?" He nodded in the direction that Pepper and Tony had left in; he knew she was close with the couple.

She brushed her soaked brunette waves away from her face, giving a half-hearted shrug with a bitter smile, "I'm always okay."

"No one's always okay." Steve murmured quietly with a small shake of his head, his eyes never straying.

Swallowing a lump in her throat, she was grateful that the rain could disguise any tears that threatened to fall at his words. A quiet rumble of thunder slowly grew louder and she watched as a strike of lighting split and spread across the dreary sky.

She pressed her lips together as she watched the light flash and fade, "We should probably go back inside."

"Probably." He gave her a crooked smile and followed as she made her way inside after half-wringing out her sweater, holding the door open so she could pass into the empty entrance way.

"I guess there's one good thing about them leaving," Her teeth chattered slightly as the cool wind from the air conditioning washed over them in the elevator, "Tony isn't here to yell at us for tracking in water." She giggled before mocking her pseudo-uncle with a poor impression of a deeper voice, "I know your parents didn't raise you in a barn, Marguerite Hall. You lived on the upper east side until you graduated, dammit!"

Letting out a hearty laugh, he grabbed two towels from a hall closet and handed one to her, "How long have you known Tony?"

Accepting it gratefully, she used it to pat her face dry before squeezing the excess water from her hair, "He went to school with my dad...so, since before I was born, I guess?" She shrugged as she thought for a moment, "He's always been the strange, eccentric uncle that I never knew I wanted. He always got me the weirdest birthday gifts." A fond smile grew on her face as she toweled off and he smiled at her reminiscing. "When I was...like eight, I think, he made this ridiculous robotic cat for me and it wouldn't stop meowing." Her laughter filled the space around them, she shook her head at the memory, "God, my parents were so relieved when the battery ran out in that thing."

"Eccentric sounds about right." He tilted his head, giving her a chastising expression and unable to bear watching her shiver any longer. "Maggie, you're gonna freeze. Go actually dry off." His amused eyes met hers as they gave a roll at his request.

"Yes, sir! Captain Rogers, sir." She nodded and gave him a fake salute teasingly before turning on her heel and heading down the hall to her room. She heard his laughter follow her down the corridor before she closed the door behind her with a coy smile that he couldn't see. It felt good to make him laugh, especially after only having seen him handle a crisis or with the sad-serious expression that he wore more often than not.

After changing and cursing while brushing out her knotted hair, she'd finally returned to the common area with a clean face and donning cozy clothes. Filling the heavy kettle with water, she set it on the stove and turned it on before spotting a menu pinned to the fridge with a small magnet. Grabbing it, she looked over her shoulder as Steve reentered, wearing a slightly different variation of the same outfit he'd worn earlier.

She feigned a serious expression before holding up the menu for him to see, "How do you feel about Thai food?"

An hour later, six different noodle dishes, several different appetizers, and three types of desserts covered the surface of the kitchen's counters after the take-out delivery kid had left with a hefty tip and an excited expression at having seen 'the home of the Avengers.'

"It's a variety!" Maggie defended at Steve's bewildered expression at the excess of food that she'd ordered as she opened the containers. "When I asked you what you liked, your parameter of 'just get me whatever you like, I'm sure it will be great' was not helpful!" He had to stop himself from laughing as she imitated his deeper voice, "So, I got everything that I like and now you can decide what you like."

"I'm not picky. I had rations—" There was a sparkle in her eye as she opened her mouth to make a joke at his expense before he cut her off, "Don't do it." He warned, exhaling a silent laugh as she closed her mouth, stifling a grin.

He knew that there was no use in arguing with her logic, so he accepted his fate, "Fine... I'm not using the chopsticks though."

"If you don't know how, you could just say so." She spoke through a bite of her spring roll. "I won't make fun of you."

"You are right now." He pointed out.

"I'll teach you sometime," Maggie gave a shrug.

She wasn't used to hanging out with anyone outside of work—well, anyone that wasn't Poppy. It had been so long since she had made a friend, that this type of intimacy and banter was now unfamiliar but it brought her a new comfort that she couldn't have been more thankful for in the moment. Both of them had felt starved for some sense of normalcy, it was nice to finally have someone to talk to.

A movie that neither was paying attention to played quietly in the background as they ate, underscoring their words with soft music and mumbled exchanged between the protagonists. Poking at her rice noodles, she paused before looking over at him as he switched back to his fork after fighting with the chopsticks for several minutes, "What was it like?" He raised his eyebrows at her and she continued, "Going...up there." She gestured to the ceiling with her utensils, referring to his recent trip off of the planet.

"It was a long way from Brooklyn." He chuckled, looking down at his food while he gathered his thoughts, "I mean, you fight aliens and meet gods but there's something different about actually going out there." He nodded towards the window. "And I never would have thought I'd hear a raccoon tell me not to throw up on his spaceship."

At that, Maggie let out an unladylike snort which only served to make both of them dissolve into laughter. She reached over, grabbing the delicate glass and tipping back the pinot grigio to clear her throat. "Sorry."

Her face was flushed, the embarrassment and the alcohol doing a pas de deux in her system.

"No, it was funny." He grinned, slightly pleased with himself that he could make her laugh like that. It was a sweet sound.

"I always loved the idea of space. But it's..." She trailed off, shaking her head. "I guess, there's just so much out there that we never knew about." Before she realized that the wine had almost obliterated her filter, she couldn't help but ask the question that had been nagging her, "Were you scared?"

As the words left her mouth, she cringed. She didn't know him well enough to inquire about his fears, especially when it came to a wound that was still so fresh. "I'm sorry. You totally do not have to answer that. I just—I'm sorry. Wine goes straight to my head."

"No, it's fine." He paused, leaning back against the couch and running a hand over his chin, "No one's ever asked me that before." He mused as he considered her question.

She didn't find that hard to believe; he had faced fears that other people were plagued by, so it wasn't unreasonable to believe that some people would consider it easy for him.

"It's what we do and I don't know if I'd ever want to do anything else, but you never know what mission is going to be your last." He shrugged, "I mean, I thought that going into the ice was my last one. I didn't know that it was only one of the first. Then, they found me and suddenly everything is new. I'm back in New York but this time, the aliens are here and everything is going wrong..."

Steve cut himself off as he toed the line of a delicate subject and he looked down at his lap, uncertain of how to continue.

She pursed her lips and gave an understanding nod, "So, you know."

It wasn't a question.

"I saw it in your file when I was trying to find Poppy's phone number, I shouldn't have looked at—"

"It's fine." She stopped him with a small shrug, "I never blamed you guys, you know." She'd never said it out loud before and it took her breath away. Maggie had learned long ago that, although it wasn't a healthy way to cope, sometimes detaching the event from the trauma that it caused was easier than dealing with its fallout. Setting her food aside, she tucked her knees close to her chest, wrapping her arms around them.

"It wasn't your fault that they brought the fight here. You guys did what you could." It had been so long since she'd spoken about the event behind her parents' passing, it felt strange to gently drag the sharp tip of a knife over a wound that had been scarred shut, but not quite reopen it.

"You can't save everyone." She murmured, remembering what she'd been told more than once by professors and therapists alike.

He took in her words silently; it was something that he'd had to learn too. "I'm sorry, Maggie."

"Me too." The corners of her lips turned up in a semblance of a smile. It was quiet for a moment before she let out a soft laugh at a memory, "My dad would have lost his mind to meet you." Shaking her head, she rolled her eyes, "He thought you were so cool."

Steve chuckled, "Really?"

"Yeah, I don't know why." She teased him with a sly grin.

"Ouch." He placed a hand on his chest, feigning a wound at her jab.

The topic passed and they continued with their conversation easily. In her life, she could only recall having a handful of conversations like this one. Ones where the words flowed and the subject shifted effortlessly, where they shared a single wavelength and time seemed to stop everything except them. The room had gone dark, the lamps automatically turning on as the moon rose. It was long past midnight when Steve stifled a yawn as they spoke.

Checking the time on her phone, Maggie showed him the glowing numbers. 1:58 in the morning. "You should get some sleep if you want to get that early bird special."

"Are those jokes ever going to get old?" He shook his head at her.

"Maybe, but not as old as you." Her retort was quick and she smiled sweetly.

Steve hung his head, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter, "I walked straight into that, didn't I?"

"Yeah, you did." She took his empty wine glass and carried it into the kitchen with a wide grin, "You gotta be sharper than that."

"Guess so." He agreed, standing and stretching his limbs, sore from not moving for so long. He watched as she moved around the kitchen, putting the leftover food in the fridge and re-corking the bottle of wine that they'd all but finished together. "You're something else, Maggie Hall."

"You are too, Steve Rogers." A fond smile was on her face, taken away as she finally yawned herself.

In silence, they walked down the hall together before stopping in front of the door that led to her room. She turned towards him and paused, her eyes ghosting over his lips as she thought about what she wanted to do versus what the smart decision would be in the moment.

It was all too new. Wasn't it?

She looked away, hesitating as the tense moment passed. She gave a soft exhale before she met his eyes with a tender expression in her own, "Goodnight, Steve."

"Goodnight, Maggie." He nodded with a little smile, watching as she slipped into her room, softly closing the door behind her. Steve continued down the hall to his room, his hands still in his pockets and a small, goofy grin on his lips that had one unmistakable cause.

Leaning her back against the door, Maggie wore a similar, secret expression. One she knew that he'd never see. She felt like a teenager again, the lightness of a young crush swimming in her head.

Maybe they were only ever going to be friends but, whatever their relationship was, it was something that she didn't know she needed until it was in her grasp.

It wasn't until she'd crawled under the covers and turned out the lights that she realized: she hadn't had time to miss Tony and Pepper all evening and, for that, she was grateful.

June 15, 2018

Maggie began to stir when a loud noise from the real world began to bleed into the fabric of her dream. She'd been standing in her childhood bedroom, looking through the window when a repeated knocking began and wouldn't cease. As consciousness found her, she let out a low, irritated groan while someone continued to pound against her bedroom door, the frame shaking with each blow.

Cracking an eye open, she flung her hand out gracelessly grabbing for her phone that had gotten lost somewhere under the layers of blankets that insulated her from the world outside. She flinched at the bright screen and saw that it was barely past seven in the morning. Quickly, she did the math in her head to figure out how much longer she could get away with staying in bed. There were nearly three hours until she had to be awake.

Maybe if she didn't respond, the visitor would figure that she'd already left for the day. Quietly, she pulled the blankets tighter around herself, curling into the plush sanctuary and basking in its warmth like a feline soaking up the early morning rays of sun. Closing her eyes, she willed them to go away and leave her to return to her slumber when another, more insistent, knock came again along with a muffled voice, "Hall! Get your ass up!"

Increasingly annoyed, she opened her eyes once more and shoved her glasses on her face before pulling on a robe, tying it tightly around her waist and quickly making her way to the door before they could knock again. Unlocking the deadbolt, she opened the door more aggressively than she'd intended to, leaning against it with exhaustion written on her face. "What?"

Natasha's fist had been raised, poised to bang on the door once more. She gave Maggie a tight smile, her nose crinkling, "Great, you're awake."

"What the fuck, Natasha?" Maggie stifled a yawn, rubbing the residual specks of sleep from her bleary eyes. She grumbled petulantly, "I wasn't awake. I didn't have to be awake for another three hours!"

"You're grumpy this morning." She rolled her eyes as she gave the observation, crossing her arms and nodding down the hall. "Come on, we're going to train together. You're my sparring buddy today."

At that, Maggie finally took in Natasha's attire. She was clad in leggings and an athletic top, sneakers laced tightly on her feet and a gym bag flung over her shoulder. Her eyes widened at the implication. If she hadn't been awake before, she was now.

"That's an awful idea." She shook her head as she tried to close the door, on the woman and the subject, but Natasha was faster and shoved her foot in its path to block it. She held it open with a reproachful expression.

"I've seen you at the gym!"

"Yeah! I run. I don't," Maggie gestured at her wildly, "fight or spar or anything—I work out like a normal person!" She pushed her glasses back up the slim bridge of her nose as they began to slide down at her gesticulation.

"Great, then think of this like a new way to work out!" The blonde gave a small shrug.

Maggie knew that everything had been hard on Natasha. She'd overheard her and Steve talking in hushed tones about someone named Clint; while she'd heard his name before, she didn't actually know who he was. Only that he had been an Avenger at some point in time and that no one had heard from him since just before the snap.

"You're gonna kick my ass." Maggie responded flatly in a last-ditch effort to get out of the activity, crossing her arms obstinately. She knew she was fighting a losing battle as Natasha countered each of her complaints.

"No, I'm going to teach you how to fight." At Maggie's glare, Natasha continued with a shrug and agreed, "Then I'm gonna kick your ass."

"And why would I, willingly, let you kick my ass?" She was drained from her disrupted sleep but Maggie could already feel her resolve breaking; sometimes, she hated being such a people pleaser. "Where's Steve? I think he'd be a much better match for your abilities than I am."

"Rogers is out until this afternoon—plus, he's getting predictable. Anyway, I have a meeting then so I have to train now." She paused, pursing her lips as she thought to approach the request from another angle. "And it's good for you to at least know how to defend yourself in case something ever happens."

There was a silence between them as the woman communicated only through eye contact for a moment, both too stubborn to back down before Maggie finally relented, "Fine, but only today." She reasoned that self-defense could be a good enough reason to switch up her typical morning routine of iced coffee and swiping through social media as she got ready in a rush.

"Give me ten and I'll meet you there."

"Ten or I'm dragging you down there in your pajamas!" Natasha confirmed, calling over her shoulder, already making her way to the elevator to get to the gym floor.

"Shit." Maggie exhaled a sigh as she shut the door quietly.

Hastily, she changed into her own workout attire, quickly braiding her hair and putting in her contacts so she felt a little more capable and less likely to embarrass herself in front of the infamous Black Widow.

Less than ten minutes later, she entered the gym where she spotted Natasha stretching in the center of the mat. Looking up at the sound of the heavy door creaking open, Natasha wore a pleased expression as Maggie crossed the echoey room apprehensively.

"Let's get to work." She spoke simply, grabbing her phone to play soft music from the speakers as she stood.

"Again." Natasha's firm voice was loud beside her ear as she pinned Maggie down for the fourth time that morning. Her knee dug into Maggie's side and she let out a pained groan before the sharp, concentrated pressure went away. Standing, she offered the younger woman her hand and hoisted her back up.

Bending over, Maggie rested her hands on her knees as she tried to catch her breath, giving Natasha an incredulous look as the woman took her defensive position once more, "Give me a second—you just clotheslined me."

"I told you to watch your back." She grabbed her water bottle as Maggie took a short break.

"Yeah, apparently I should have watched my front." Maggie used the short sleeve of her top to wipe the sweat from her forehead. The ghost of a pout was on her lips as she stood, stretching her arms over her head, "That fucking hurt." Closing her eyes, she gave a few jumps and shook out her limbs, trying to get back in the zone before they began again.

"Attack me." Natasha commanded and, with a regretful sigh, Maggie lunged towards her while trying to recall the basics they'd gone through earlier. Gracefully dodging a swipe, Maggie countered and missed. Cursing, she twisted her leg behind one of the spy's and tried to pull it from under her. As they both fell to the mat, she cried out victoriously as she tried to come out on top before Natasha easily used her weight and rolled, pinning Maggie once more.

Letting out and irritated noise, Maggie stayed flat on her back as Natasha stood and brushed herself off. "Come on, it's fun! Right?"

"Maybe when you're the one winning." She rolled over onto her stomach and pressed her cheek to cool surface of the mat, closing her eyes tightly. If her mind was exhausted, her body was already far beyond that point.

"Aw, do you want me to let you win?" Natasha teased.

"No, I can do it on my own." Maggie huffed and stood up, not wanting to sulk, more than she already had, in front of a trained spy.

"You'll need a lot more training before you can take me down."

"Fine!" Maggie was nothing if not determined.

"Fine." Natasha gave a lopsided grin as she agreed. She'd accomplished exactly what she had set out to do; it was obvious that Maggie had been dying of boredom since being assigned to desk duty. "Monday, Wednesday, and Friday mornings for two hours."

"One." Maggie countered.

"One and a half."

"Fine." Maggie yielded once more.

A shrill marimba rhythm cut through the classical, Russian ballet music that Natasha had been playing, informing Maggie that she needed to begin preparing for her afternoon meetings. She couldn't even pretend to hide her relief at the excuse to no longer be tossed around like a rag-doll.

"Gotta go!" Maggie gave an exaggerated grin and grabbed her gym bag, speedily making a beeline for the door.

"Seven, Monday morning!" Natasha called at her retreating back with an audible smile. "And I won't go easy on you then!"

"That was easy?" Maggie cried out at the statement, turning to see Natasha already putting on headphones to begin her run. "Shit."

Wincing, Maggie lowered herself to sit on the living room couch. After leaving the gym, she'd quickly showered and readied herself for the day ahead but as she sat through her meetings, her muscles got increasingly sore from the unfamiliar morning workout. She hadn't lied when she said she typically only ran for exercise; in college, she'd taken some cycling classes and as a child and teen, she took ballet but that was the extent of her physical fitness endeavors.

Fighting was something Maggie had never even thought of attempting; she'd opted out of any kickboxing classes that had been offered at her gym. In school, she was far too much of a goody-two-shoes to have been caught in a physical altercation. She hadn't even had any siblings to roughhouse with while growing up.

She had to admit that it had been fun to bond with Natasha—as much bonding was possible between being clotheslined and knocked to the ground repeatedly.

Sinking into the cushion of the bright red plush, she exhaled a sigh of relief at no longer having to support her own weight. She pulled a throw blanket from the back of the couch and pulled it around herself before reaching for the remote. Unable to find it, she sat up, scanning the surfaces near to her before spotting it across the room and giving an exasperated sigh.

She flopped back on the couch, too sore to make herself get up and retrieve it. She was unaware of the eyes that watched her with amusement as she contemplated staying wrapped in the soft warmth of the blanket forever.

"Need this?" Steve leaned against the doorway, grabbing the remote from the arm of the sectional and holding it up to her with a small smile.

"Yes, please." She gave an embarrassed smile and sat up slowly, reaching forward and accepting the device gratefully. As he moved to pass through the second doorway, she hesitated before turning and asking, "Would you want to watch a movie?"

"You sure? I don't want to be a bother—"

"It would be nice to have some company again." Maggie nodded to the wide-open cushion beside her.

"Okay." He agreed, a smile growing on his face as he sat down beside her, a sizable gap between the pair. "Sounds fun."

She grinned, "Great. Your choice. Since it's your inaugural movie night." Pulling up one of the myriad of streaming services on the television, she scrolled through some of the films.

"Inaugural?" He raised an eyebrow.

"It's a tradition." She smiled fondly, "My parents and I always watched movies together on Friday nights. It was always a nice way to welcome the weekend... I guess I just wanted to carry it on."

She scrolled through the titles making occasional comments on different franchises and films before an iconic cover in black and white caught his eye and he stopped her, "Casablanca?"

"You've seen it?" Steve raised an eyebrow, turning his head to look at her. "It's an older one, isn't it?"

She couldn't quite hide the pleasant surprise that tinged her voice, "Yeah but it's my favorite film."

"I heard about it but never had the chance to see it." Although he was generally skilled at hiding the slight sadness in his expression when he spoke about his life before everything, Maggie had become even better at detecting it over the past weeks.

"Well, there's no time like the present." She selected the film, quickly pausing it before the opening credit could even begin to roll. "First, tradition dictates that we need wine and popcorn."

Pushing herself up, she hissed as her body resisted the motion, her elbows buckling slightly with a sting resonating through her usually underused but now abused muscles.

Placing a hand on her shoulder, he gently guided her back down to the couch, a line forming between his brows drawn together in concern, "What did you do?"

Maggie let out an indignant huff at his inference although she couldn't deny that she hadn't exactly given him no reason to worry about her wellbeing. Their track record wasn't the greatest; he had been the one to find her at her most vulnerable, sleepless and injured on the kitchen floor in the early morning light, so she couldn't be too offended.

"Natasha decided to teach me how to spar this morning." The corners of her lips twitched between a smile and a grimace, "Obviously, I'm a natural at it."

Steve's ocean eyes sparkled with amusement at her response as he shook his head, "I bet it was a close call."

He was silently relieved that something else hadn't happened to her. Though he'd maintained his distance, he had been keeping an eye out for her well-being for the past several weeks that they'd been living in close proximity.

"I had her on the ropes," Maggie shrugged nonchalantly although they both knew it was a lie. As to be expected, she'd indisputably had her ass handed to her.

"I've heard that before." With a chuckle, he stood and made his way to the kitchen. "I'll get it."

Returning just a few minutes later, he easily balanced the large melamine bowl decorated with a tacky pattern, two wine glasses, a corkscrew, and the dark green, glass bottle. She helped him situate the items before he found his seat beside her, slightly closer than he had been before. She poured the deep, claret wine in to the glasses, handing him one before re-corking the bottle, sealing in the sharp, tannic scent.

Pressing play, Maggie chewed her bottom lip, taking a moment to think about the film's content. She paused it almost immediately after, causing him to look at her once more in amusement.

"You know it's kind of a love story, right?" She spoke over the thin rim of her wine glass, raising an eyebrow.

"Kind of?" He chuckled.

"I mean, there's music and drama and drinking and Nazi-fighting which...I know you're familiar with." She frowned before continuing, "Are you sure you wanna watch it?"

Although she didn't say it, it was clear what she was alluding to: Wouldn't watching something so close to the content of his own history dredge up memories that he'd rather forget about?

"It's your favorite, right?" He raised an eyebrow, prompting her.

"Yes, but—" There were plenty of other films that they could watch. The number of streaming services was obscene in itself.

"Then I'd like to watch it." His response was simple. She hesitated, searching his eyes for any reservations that he could have but finding none.

"Okay." She was grateful for the dim light of the room as it hid the rosy flush on her cheeks. Pressing play for the final time, the loud theme surrounded them as she tossed the remote aside.

They'd only made it half-way through the movie when Maggie peaked over at Steve, a childhood habit that she'd never outgrown. She loved seeing how other people reacted to something she loved, periodically checking their expressions or asking their thoughts. The slight tilt of a head or gentle twitch of a lip told more stories than an audience member would ever speak aloud.

She couldn't help but hide an excited smile when she spotted a displeased expression on his face at something that Rick had said.

"A franc for your thoughts?"

Steve hesitated, gently rubbing a hand over the back of his neck, worried that he may offend her before frankly stating, "Rick's kind of a jerk."

"Don't write him off yet!" She cried with a laugh of disbelief, tossing a piece of popcorn at him. He caught it with a chuckle, popping the kernel in his mouth with a short crunch. She knew that she was a little biased when it came to the film; she had loved Rick Blaine for far too long.

Although she'd seen the film dozens of times, Maggie couldn't tear her eyes from the screen as Ilsa pointed the gun at her ex-love, shadows falling in gauzy, black and white ribbons before regretful tears began to stream down her cheeks. Reaching into the bowl, she felt warm fingers brush against the back of her hand.

At once, the pair made eye contact, pulling their hands back wordlessly before looking back to the screen. Steve cleared his throat and Maggie watched from the corner of her eye as he crossed his arms over his chest, reclining into the backrest.

As Louis and Rick walked into the fog and the credits began to roll, Maggie let out a soft sigh and leaned back into the cushion as well, her eyes watery at the bittersweet ending that she'd come to know so well.

"I didn't know it was going to end like that." Steve turned to face her, his brows drawing together as he watched her use the rolled cuff of her sleeve to dab the tears away. His voice was soft with kind concern when he asked, "Are you crying?"

"I always cry at the ending." Letting out a quiet laugh, she waved him off. "That's beside the point. What did you think?" She nodded towards the still rolling credits.

"I thought there was gonna be a happier ending." He shook his head, watching the names scroll up the screen, "I really thought they'd be together and that Victor would leave on his own. Go and fight the good fight, you know?"

With a sad smile, Maggie shook her head. "I thought that too, when I saw it for the first time." Turning her body towards him, she propped her elbow on the back of the couch, resting her head in her hand. She bit her bottom lip, gathering the thoughts that she'd never shared with anyone before, "I think...Rick knew that there was something bigger out there for both of them. And so, he loved her enough to let her go."

He watched as she plucked at a loose string on the blanket and found himself silent in the wake of her words. Finally he broke the stillness, "When was the first time you saw it?"

"My high school boyfriend took me to a drive-in that was showing it." Maggie couldn't help but grin at the memory despite rolling her eyes, "He picked the most boring film they were showing because he wanted to make out." Shaking her head, she laughed, "He left me there after half an hour because I was paying too much attention to the movie and not enough to him."

"Sounds like a moron." He cut in, slightly amused but mostly unimpressed with the young man. 'Who'd leave a girl alone at a drive-in?'

"Oh, he really was." She agreed, "So, I called Poppy and she came and watched the rest of it with me and when I saw him on Monday morning in homeroom, he'd already found a new girlfriend." Despite the memory, her expression was fond, "I was heartbroken at the time but everything worked out for the best. He ended up moving schools because he flunked biology too many times and I never saw him again." She finished her wine and nodded back towards the screen, "But, did it live up to all of your expectations?"

"Yeah," He paused, wearing a similarly fond smile on his face, "Would've had a hard time getting Bucky to go see this one with me, though."

Maggie tilted her head slightly, making a face as she wracked her memory. That wasn't a name that she was familiar with. "Who's Bucky?"

"My best friend." He answered simply, his expression melting into something that was a little heavier, darker, "We grew up together." As she moved to stand, Maggie's facial expression gave away her pain once more and Steve took her glass and the bowl without any mention of it.

His explanation finally rang a bell as she connected the first name to a surname she knew, "Oh! Barnes." Though she'd heard his name on the news years earlier when the UN had been attacked, she'd also remembered it from when she'd overheard Tony talk about the dissolution of the team several years earlier.

"Yeah." Steve nodded, looking down while quickly washing the bowl in the kitchen sink in an effort to distract himself; he swallowed the lump in his throat, pushing his emotions into the depths of himself.

He'd only just got Bucky back before he'd been taken again. He didn't think he'd ever be able to get the image out of his mind; Bucky trying to walk towards him before slowly blowing away with the wind like autumn leaves in the breeze. It seemed as though every time Steve thought he had him back, he lost him once more. Shaking his head, he tried to push the thought aside.

"You would've had to drag him in there by his ear to watch it." He chuckled and paused after rethinking his statement, "Well, not you. Beautiful dame like yourself, he'd have followed you right in. Probably couldn't have gotten him to leave you alone." She smiled as his Brooklyn accent slipped in at the tail-end of his statement.

She raised an amused eyebrow at him as she carefully sat up on her knees, leaning over the back of the couch with her arms folded on top of it, to look at him, "So, I'm a beautiful dame?"

Looking up to meet her almond eyes, a blush spread down his neck as he caught what he'd said. As he dried his hands, he stumbled over his words, "No—I mean, yes, you are beautiful. And a dame!" He corrected himself but the words fell from his lips faster than his brain was able to generate them, "A woman! You are a beautiful woman but you're more than—I just, I didn't mean for it to come out like—"

She bit her lip to stifle a laugh before putting him out of his misery, "I'm just teasing you, Steve."

He exhaled, struck with a strong sense of déjà vu while trying to give her a reprimanding look but instead only looking flustered, "Not nice, Hall."

"Never said I was." She beamed, her caramel eyes bright with mirth. Steve shook his head, his ears still tinged red from his embarrassment as he ducked his head. Rinsing the remnants of the cabernet from their glasses down the drain, he watched the burgundy streaks swirl into a clear pink as they mixed with water.

He wasn't blind; there was no doubt that he found Maggie attractive. He had thought so ever since he'd met her in that conference room when the world was still in the process of falling apart. There was a classic beauty to her that reminded him of the past; the dimples that bordered her smile, a deep cupid's bow on her full lips that were usually painted red. Her expressive eyes burned in hues of oak and chocolate, rays of golden light sinking in and finding their home in the mix.

He also noticed that, somehow, a calming glow surrounded her wherever she went. It was a silent energy that seemed to bring comfort to anyone she spoke to, as if her presence alone meant that things would be okay. Since coming to know her, he gravitated to her like she was a star and he was a satellite, content to stay within her orbit.

Steve knew that it wasn't the right time when he saw her in the conference room. It wasn't the time when she was on the kitchen floor with a bloody hand. It wasn't the time when she'd given him the sweetest smile after she finally woke up.

He couldn't help but feel that, even now, it still wasn't the time but there was a small part of him that hoped their time would come someday soon.

#fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #mcu fanfic #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #steve rogers x oc #steve rogers x ofc #steve rogers x original character #steve rogers x original female character #steve rogers #original character #original female character #oc #ofc #misshoneybee: mosaic broken hearts #misshoneybee: we learn to live with the pain #misshoneybee: series #wltlwtp #did the love affair maim queue too?

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misshoneybee · 3 years ago

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⟣ 𝑊𝐸 𝐿𝐸𝐴𝑅𝑁 𝑇𝑂 𝐿𝐼𝑉𝐸 𝑊𝐼𝑇𝐻 𝑇𝐻𝐸 𝑃𝐴𝐼𝑁 ⟢

— 𝐼𝐼. 𝑃𝑂𝑈𝑅𝐼𝑁' 𝑂𝑈𝑇 𝑀𝑌 𝐻𝐸𝐴𝑅𝑇 𝑇𝑂 𝐴 𝑆𝑇𝑅𝐴𝑁𝐺𝐸𝑅, 𝐵𝑈𝑇 𝐼 𝐷𝐼𝐷𝑁'𝑇 𝑃𝑂𝑈𝑅 𝑇𝐻𝐸 𝑊𝐻𝐼𝑆𝐾𝐸𝑌

Masterpost — OFC Biography — Playlists — Chapter I — Chapter III

❧ Pairings | Post-Infinity War!Steve Rogers x Original Female Character, Minor Original Male Character x Original Female Character

❧ Warnings | Mature content, explicit language, canon-typical violence/injury, themes of mental illness (depression, anxiety, ocd, ptsd), self-harm via neglect

❧ Wordcount | ~6k

I’ve been having a hard time adjusting, I had the shiniest wheels, now they’re rusting ( This is Me Trying | Folklore )

May 2, 2018

Although it hadn't even been a week, the previous five days had felt endless. Time moved glacially as the world tried to make sense of what news stations had deemed "The Decimation." Countries had scrambled to appoint new leadership where it was needed and quickly tried to begin counting their lost.

It was chaos as census takers had needed to break into homes when doors went unanswered; animals were found without owners, children without parents, and some houses were just empty because all its inhabitants had been taken out of existence at the same moment in time. Maggie had been naive to believe that the disorder would have ended sooner when it was just happening in slow motion; everyday brought a new challenge that had to be resolved.

Sitting around the conference table, it was like her head was underwater as she'd listened to Dr. Banner explaining the events that had taken place in Wakanda. A Titan, Thanos, had collected stones and used them to get rid of half of the life in the known universe. After hearing that piece of information, everything else that Bruce said had fallen on deaf ears.

Half of the population of the universe was just...gone. They weren't dead, they just no longer existed. It was almost unfathomable. Picking at her cuticles, she kept her eyes down on the table, staring at the patterns in the wood grain. In the back of her mind, she silently hoped that maybe in some other universe, they still existed. If they were out there somewhere, maybe they were still okay.

The shrill blare of her phone's alarm jolted Maggie awake with a sharp gasp. Sitting up quickly, her vision was fuzzy before readjusting to the dim glow of twilight that lit her small office. With a yawn, she rubbed the sleep from her eyes before checking the time.

She didn't know how long she'd been asleep; her days and nights were inconsequential as she tried to help as many people as she could but it was a never-ending cycle. When one fire had been quelled, six more popped up.

After Pepper had been alerted by F.R.I.D.A.Y. that Maggie had not left her office in more than twenty hours, Maggie had been firmly chastised by her friend-turned-boss and immediately sent home to sleep, although the sleep she'd gotten could hardly be classified as rest; even her unconscious mind couldn't stop working.

She fell asleep thinking of cases and woke up thinking of others. A stipulation of her immediate return was the instruction that she set an alarm for the end of her workday and that she check in with Pepper before she left.

Gathering the files that were littered across her desk, she slipped them into her tote before making her way to the elevator. Like it typically was, the entire floor was silent aside from her existence; it felt like an episode of The Twilight Zone. The sporadic members that still worked at the compound had all left hours earlier; the remaining members of her team had been dispatched across the country while she coordinated everything from their home base.

Knocking gently on the frosted glass door, Maggie stepped into the familiar office. "Pepper?" Taken from her daze, she looked over at Maggie. The corner of her lips quirked up in a suggestion of a smile although her friend's almost-permanently red-rimmed eyes were devoid of any happiness.

Stepping into the office completely, Maggie sank into the cushion of the couch that rested against the wall, pulling her legs to her chest. "I just wanted to say thank you." She played with the rings on her fingers, absentmindedly. "For everything, but especially for Poppy."

The day after Maggie had spoken to Poppy, she'd approached Pepper nervously with her request. She was wracked with guilt for using her connections for help but nothing would stop her from trying to get her best friend home safely.

Pepper had told her that she just needed a name and student visa number then she could try and work her magic; it was like the small distraction of a task was a gift hidden in the madness. Less than thirty-six hours later, a jet carrying several SRF employees and Poppy Stewart had touched down at the New Avenger's Facility and her best friend ran off the plane and into her embrace.

As the two girls held one another, Poppy's shoulders shaking with tears, Maggie realized that things suddenly felt slightly less horrible than they had before. Her best friend was undoubtedly exhausted but she was safe and there wasn't much more that Maggie could ask for.

Although her eyes were dry, she felt so much gratitude as her heart clenched at the memory. "I didn't know if I'd—"

"Maggie," Pepper cut her off, "It was no problem." She tapped her fingernails on the desk, staring at the paper covered surface. Pepper had always been a force to be reckoned with; she was one of the most strong-willed, independent women that Maggie had ever known. She doubted that there was anything she couldn't do but there was no doubt that, without Tony, she'd lost a part of herself. She was adrift in a new sea while trying to find a life preserver to cling to. "I'm glad she's home safe."

Biting the inside of her cheek, they both knew what she was thinking.

'Why couldn't it be that easy to bring everyone home?'

"Me too." Maggie responded quietly, nodding as she looked out through the glass wall overlooking the water. Since leaving her office, the sky had lost its light dustiness and quickly faded into a dusky denim shade. "I think I'm gonna head home—"

"Why don't you just move in here?" Maggie jumped, hearing the hoarse voice come from the doorway. Turning, she spotted Natasha leaning against the doorjamb, sticking a fork in an instant cup-of-soup as she watched the other two women interact. Maggie hadn't spoken much to the mysterious redhead-bleached-blonde aside from passing conversations about countries' organizational efforts; she couldn't pretend that she wasn't at least a little intimidated by the fatale. Despite her tired jade eyes, a small smirk played on her lips as she gave a shrug, prodding, "You know that you barely leave here anyway. Just take a room upstairs."

"She's right." Pepper nodded towards Natasha, a wry smile finally breaking through her new emotionally-armored exterior. "You know there's always space for you." She quickly clarified, "But I would still have Friday put 'Tony' hours on your key card." At Maggie's raised eyebrows, Pepper rattled off, "You can only be in your work area from eight in the morning to five in the evening on workdays and you're required to leave for at least an hour for a break sometime within that time period."

Pepper had a fond expression on her face, undoubtedly thinking about Tony.

It tugged at Maggie's heart but she couldn't stop the rising objection. "But what if I—"

Pepper was firm when she cut her off, "If you need something outside of that time, it goes through me." The corners of her eyes crinkled delicately as she let out a soft laugh. "God, you're so much like him."

Looking down at her knees, Maggie couldn't help but feel her heart break a little more than it already had.

How many times in her life would she be told that she reminded someone else of a loved one that had left them? When she was a child, her dad always told her that she was the spitting image of her late grandmother who she had been named after. Tony constantly said that she was just like her mother with the quick temper and biting wit. And now Pepper was reminded of her lost love through Maggie's insistence on finding solutions to any problem that arose within a ten-mile radius.

Perhaps her heart was just a pieced-together mosaic of every person that she'd ever loved and, while it was beautiful, pain served as the glue that held it all together.

Natasha made her way into the room, sitting on the end of the couch and pulling Maggie back out of the depths of her mind, "It would be good to have another face around here. I didn't think it was possible to get tired of Thor and Rogers' stupid mugs but apparently it is."

Hesitantly, Maggie ran through a quick list of pros and cons. She'd been renting a small house several miles off of the property for the past year. It was a sweet little cottage and although it still wasn't completely unpacked, she still liked the cozy home well enough, though she couldn't deny that it would be nice to not be alone so often.

After several moments of silence, she finally relented with a cautious smile, "I'll think about it. Give me a few days." Wanting to change the subject, she remembered a thought that had stuck in her mind after she watched the news in the morning over her coffee.

She looked across the desk to the woman in charge, "Pepper, is there a part of the foundation that focuses specifically on children?"

Furrowing her brow, Pepper wracked her brain quickly as she took inventory of each of the various divisions and teams, her lips pressed together before she shook her head slowly. "I...don't think so."

"I keep seeing those clips of census workers finding all of these kids and I just— I know we can't bring back their parents but I want to do something." She looked outside, watching a small flock of birds cross the sky, "I can't even begin to imagine how afraid they probably are." Shaking her head, she saw flashes of the dozens of stories that had been done about the issue.

Of course, Maggie had lost her own parents, but she'd been an adult when it had happened. It was hard, but she could manage on her own and build a new life while these children were found home alone and starving, trying to survive without the only caretakers that they'd ever known.

Natasha perked up at the topic, gesturing to Maggie with her fork, "You should talk to Rogers." Twirling another forkful of noodles, she eagerly pressed on, "He's been trying to figure out ways to help and that seems like it's right up his alley too."

Both of the women looked over at Pepper who nodded thoughtfully before she grabbed her phone, quickly shooting a text to the necessary powers-that-be for their guidance on the subject. There were tears in her eyes when she looked back up at them, "I think that's a really good idea, Maggie."

May 19, 2019

It had been just shy of two weeks since Maggie had brought most of her belongings to the compound. Most of her things, aside from furniture, had remained in boxes from their multiple relocations over the past six years which made moving a fairly quick event. The bigger pieces of furniture remained at the small cottage, covered with dust protectors; she hadn't told Pepper that she was keeping it.

Having one foot out the door was in her nature; she'd been caught unaware before and now she always had an escape plan when it was inevitably needed.

While she'd been familiar with the offices and grounds of the sweeping compound, she had never been to the living quarters. The design was typical of Tony, sharp angles and clean lines permeated the architecture and decor. It was simple enough for Maggie to learn where everything was; the rooms were on the same floor with a living area and a small kitchen central to all of them. There were two large locker rooms to be shared but, even in his absence, Tony's nepotism had the benefit of her being given a room with an ensuite bathroom.

On the unreasonably large, king-sized bed, she turned within the stifling, wrinkled sheets once more while the thin layer of sweat on her skin stuck to the soft cotton. Bracing herself, she sat up and threw the colorful, rumpled blankets on to the floor before leaning forward and dropping her head in her hands, rubbing her tired eyes until bursts of light and color appeared on the back of her eyelids. She peaked over at the illuminated numbers from the digital clock; they taunted her that it was still only half past four in the morning.

In the drawer of her bedside table, there was a small bottle of sleeping pills that she'd been prescribed earlier in the year when she'd told her physician that she had difficulty falling asleep. She didn't like taking medications; even as a child, whether it was from stubbornness that she didn't need the substance or anxiety from side effects, she had always convinced herself that she'd be fine without it but now she felt desperate.

Leaning over, Maggie opened the drawer and grabbed the orange bottle, turning it over in her palms. Tracing a finger across the ridges of the lid, it felt like the sensation wasn't even happening to her. Stopping the action, she realized that she almost felt like she was detached from her own body, as if there was nothing tethering her to the moment anymore.

The numbness was familiar to her; it was one of her body's typical reactions to stress.

Being unable to feel had been dangerous when she was younger and more reckless but as she'd gotten older, she liked to believe that her coping skills had mostly matured beyond things involving self-sabotage.

It had been nearly forty-four hours since she'd awoken on Thursday morning and she hadn't found her way back into the arms of Morpheus since. It wasn't as though she hadn't tried to go to sleep. She'd taken long showers with drops of lavender oil swirled into her soap and drank cups of exotic herbal teas (at Pepper's insistence) that had tasted awful, but every time her head hit the pillow, her mind began to play memories like strips of old film turning on a reel.

The memories weren't all bad. Some were of her and Poppy going to the beach on Montauk in high school or the time her parents had taken her to Navy Pier in Chicago when she was a child, but more often than not, the memories that she saw were painful things that she wished hadn't been dredged back up.

It was like she was an observer, watching a much younger version of herself sitting on the living room floor and waiting to hear information as the television showed clip after clip from the battle that had taken place hours earlier. She saw Poppy holding her tightly as she sobbed at the medical examiner's office when she had to identify the bodies of her parents. She watched herself slip out of an apartment silently, leaving only a note behind in her absence. She watched Kate's hand turn to dust before the rest of her body followed.

They played on a loop, never leaving her alone.

Throwing her legs over the side of the bed, she stood and stretched her sore muscles. The edges of her vision went black and she had to close her eyes for a moment to reorient herself. Silently, she moved down the hall in her pajamas to the kitchen. She looked at the door to the office area of the compound and silently cursed Pepper.

She'd followed through on her promise and had cut off Maggie's access at certain hours of the day. Of course, she knew that she needed rest but in its absence, she hated feeling unproductive. It made her feel useless.

Without anything to distract her, she was left to wander the compound silently in the dark like a ghost haunting its old dwelling.

She was on autopilot as she grabbed one of the heavy glasses from the cabinet. Padding across the floor to the fridge, she pressed it against the water dispenser, watching as it filled slowly. The water raced towards the top before she watched in, what felt like, slow motion as it slipped from her grasp and shattered on the floor at her feet.

Dropping to her knees in the puddle of water, Maggie picked up some of the shards and, in her distraught exhaustion, tried to fix it. Picking up the larger pieces, she tried to fit the glass together like an incomplete, three-dimensional puzzle.

It wasn't until she saw drops of crimson blood on the floor that she'd realized her hand had been sliced from the jagged edges and that there was nothing that could ever bring the dozens of tiny fragments back together again.

It was like a dam had broken when the tears began falling at her realization. At once, every tear that she'd prohibited herself from shedding over the past three weeks rose to the surface and fell over the edge like a waterfall. Her chest was wracked violently as the emotions fought their way to the top. She dropped the remaining pieces of the glass, placing a hand over her mouth to muffle the sobs as she fell back on to her bottom.

She squeezed her eyes closed, the barely cognizant part of her brain willing herself to stop crying. Her back rested against a cool, wooden cabinet door and the sharp edge of a knob dug uncomfortably into her shoulder but her limbs felt heavy and she couldn't bring herself to move and remedy the pain.

The sleep deprivation and emotional exhaustion had left her feeling completely powerless; she would stay there forever if she was allowed, simply watching as the universe and time passed by her.

Eventually, her shuttering sobs slowed and transitioned into a silent but steady stream of tears that traced down her face. She wasn't aware that it was a possibility for someone to produce so many tears. Maggie didn't know how long she'd been sitting there; there was no indication of the time aside from the shadows slowly moving across the floor as the sun began to breach the horizon.

Through the crack in the shades, she had watched the sky catch fire, clouds becoming illuminated with burning orange and yellow light.

In the periphery of her vision, she didn't acknowledge the appearance of the bearded man in a t-shirt and loose, plaid pajama pants who had quietly entered the kitchen. In the hazy light, Steve's eyes landed on the shell of a shattered girl, sitting on the floor in front of the fridge. The two hadn't spoken much aside from things regarding relief efforts but he felt a strange draw to her.

He knew she was new to the foundation, that she was kind, and that she only wanted to help everyone, so much that she wouldn't allow anyone to do the same for her.

Cautiously, he approached Maggie like she was a wild animal that he was weary of. With each slow step, he could see her more clearly. Her round, espresso eyes were glazed over and stayed trained ahead even as he got closer to her. This was something that he'd seen before but it was typically in soldiers that had seen combat. He was reminded of the night he'd found Bucky strapped to a table in Zola's lab and the terrifying emptiness behind his gaze.

Forcing the memory out of his mind, he crouched in front of her and watched to make sure her shoulders were moving as she breathed; she wasn't even blinking. He reached out, gently resting a firm hand on her arm; he could feel her cold skin even through the thick, knitted sweater. The only other indication of life within her was the unending flow of tears from her eyes.

His voice was soft, not wanting to frighten her. "Maggie?"

At her name, her lashes fluttered and heavy-lidded eyes flicked over to him with a sharp inhale as if he'd woken her. She blinked a few times; she wasn't sure if she was even awake anymore. This could have been a dream for all she knew. Or a nightmare. She could feel the warm weight of his hand as his thumb gently rubbed back and forth across her shoulder like he was almost trying to bring some warmth to her. The touch was somehow both foreign and mildly comforting at once.

"I...dropped my water." She murmured, finally looking at his face. His stare was piercing but she couldn't help but feel that he saw right through her.

A sad smile that didn't quite reach his eyes crossed his face, "I can see that." He had noticed the glass and half-dried water on the floor around her when he spotted her but it wasn't until then that his eyes found the blood as well. "Are you hurt?"

"No." Her response was automatic, like answering 'fine' when someone politely asked how she was.

Steve's expression was reproachful as he tried to find the source of her blood, spotting a bloody palm print on her leg. He gently took her hand and turned it over so he could see the gash across it, she gave a quiet hum when she finally looked down at it. It was like she was seeing it for the first time as she slowly flexed her fingers, her expression unchanging.

Her voice was quiet, as if she knew something were wrong, when she eventually spoke again, "I can't feel it."

At that, Steve took a moment to finally look at her face, taking notice of her bloodshot eyes and the almost bruise-like darkness that framed them. He kept his voice gentle, "Maggie, when was the last time you slept?"

Her tongue darted out to wet her dry lips. Absently, she mused that she wished she'd been able to drink her water before it fell before she registered that he'd asked her a question. Her eyes found his again, "I think it was Wednesday night...or maybe Thursday?"

The days had run together when they weren't each punctuated by a period of sleep.

He pressed his lips together, feeling his heart clench at the girl's response. She hadn't slept in nearly two or three days; it was a wonder that she was even awake at all. "It's Saturday morning now."

"Oh." She gave a small nod as if he'd only told her that it was going to rain that day. On some level, she knew it was bad that she hadn't had any rest. She knew the effects of sleep deprivation, it was dangerous. There was a small possibility that this was a hallucination, that Steve wasn't even here.

Reaching out, she watched as she slowly wrapped her small hand around his forearm like she was trying to find something in reality to ground herself. He covered her cold hand with one of his own, hesitating before pulling out his phone, "I'm gonna call Bruce. You need to sleep."

"I can't." Her soft voice was flat, almost matter of fact.

"Why?" His brow furrowed.

"I have to help them." She looked back at his eyes musing that the light blue was almost the color of the morning sky outside. Her grip on his arm tightened just slightly and she could feel her breath catch in her chest as she shook her head, "I can't stop thinking about them."

They both knew who she was referring to. The ones like them. The ones that had stayed. The billions of people who were left behind in the wake of the disaster to pick up the pieces.

"I think you're in shock." She hummed in acknowledgment of his assessment. Objectively, it made sense. She knew that there was no concrete timeline for the reaction to a tragedy, especially something of this scale. He quickly sent a message before he pocketed the small device and began to stand, "Come on, let's get you up."

"I can't move." She whispered.

"What do you mean?" His eyebrows drew together. Was she more injured than she appeared? Maybe she'd fallen and hit her head on the way down.

Her empty eyes fluttered closed, her head leaning back against the wooden door of the cabinet again. She let go of his arm; nothing felt connected anymore. On her lips, she could feel the sad, grimace of a smile. Her voice was soft, "Have you ever just..." She took a shuttering inhale of a yawn, "been so tired that nothing feels real anymore?"

Her chest began to rise and fall slowly with each deep breath.

Steve hesitated, he knew that she needed sleep but the gash on her hand needed to be checked out and she probably needed a mental status examination if her words were any indication of her state.

"Can I pick you up?"

At his words, it was her turn to hesitate. She didn't want the help but a part of her knew that she needed it if she ever wanted to leave the floor of the kitchen. Her eyes were still closed as she gave him an almost imperceptible nod.

At her approval, he moved closer to her. The limbs that felt like concrete to her were pliant as he placed her arms around his neck before sliding one arm under her knees to gently life her from the floor. She fell limp, feeling safe despite not yet actually knowing the man. Her head dropped to rest on his broad shoulder, the smell of clean laundry filling her nose. His warmth was soothing to her tired body.

Silently, he carried her through the halls of the compound to the infirmary area. He knew she was walking the tightrope of consciousness towards sleep. Other employees had begun to arrive for their workday (weekends weren't really applicable when the world was in tatters) but no one dared to comment when they saw his severe expression.

The automatic door slid open, granting him entrance to the sick bay. He gently sat her on a bed and followed the line of her eyes to see Bruce entering the room as well, sliding his glasses on over his tired eyes, "I'll be right back, okay?"

She hummed noncommittally, drawing her knees back in to her chest as she took in the new place. She was stationary as her eyes roamed around the room. It was sterile and white with glass, white plastic, or surgical steel composing most of the surfaces aside from the bed she rested in. She squeezed her eyes closed as the brightness almost burned.

It was mostly quiet which allowed her to hear the hushed discussion between the two men.

She heard Steve mention the length of time she'd been awake, in response Dr. Banner mentioned something about an intravenous line which finally caused her to open her eyes. It was like she had a moment of clarity, breaking through the stupor.

'You're fine.'

She didn't need any of this. Quietly, she put her sock-clad feet on the tiled floor before trying to stand. She could feel her knees buckle and an arm reaching out before Steve was at her side once again.

"Maggie, where are you going?" Trying his best not to sound frustrated because he knew that he was just as stubborn as she was, he steadied her gently with a hand between her shoulder blades, the other taking her outstretched hand. Her frozen fingers gripped his tightly, fighting to keep herself standing upright.

She spoke quickly, stumbling over her words as her eyes went between the two men, shaking her head, "I don't need this." She tried to stand up straight but couldn't let go of Steve's hand. In an attempt to regain some composure, she slowed down her words, forcing herself to take deep, even breaths, "I'm fine."

On some level, she knew that she was obviously the picture of stability with her sunken face and shaking hands. "I'm okay. I'm just going to go and—" Her words faltered, feeling the room begin to spin. Her face flushed red in embarrassment.

"Maggie?" Steve's worried baritone sounded like he was speaking to her through a tunnel that was miles long. She knew what was about to happen. The edges of her vision blurred into blackness before she felt her legs give out, gripping his hand tighter and then there was nothing as the consciousness left her body.

As she fell limp, Steve caught her easily before lifting her back on to the bed. Placing her on the starched, white sheets, he took a step back so he was out of the way, running a hand over his tired face and watched as several nurses came in and quickly began working. There was nothing he could do.

They hooked her up to several monitors while Bruce swiftly inserted an IV in her hand, attaching a yellow bag of liquid to the line.

In the small bed, her head propped up by a thin pillow, her face had finally relaxed; the tension had left it along with her consciousness. As everyone bustled around him, he stayed for just a little longer.

Maybe she wasn't his responsibility, but maybe that didn't matter. He hardly knew her and, for some inexplicable reason, he felt as though it were up to him to protect her. After the initial rush of activity, Steve hesitated before turning to a young woman in scrubs, his voice quiet as he inquired, "Could you get me her file? I need to let her family know she's here."

#steve rogers x oc #steve rogers x ofc #steve rogers x original character #steve rogers x original female character #steve rogers #original character #original female character #oc #ofc #fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #mcu fanfic #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #misshoneybee: series #misshoneybee: we learn to live with the pain #misshoneybee: mosaic broken hearts #did the love affair maim queue too?

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misshoneybee · 3 years ago

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⟣ 𝑌𝑂𝑈'𝑅𝐸 𝑀𝑌 𝐴𝐶𝐻𝐼𝐿𝐿𝐸𝑆 𝐻𝐸𝐸𝐿 ⟢

— 𝑋𝐼. 𝐼’𝐿𝐿 𝐵𝐸 𝑆𝑈𝑀𝑀𝐸𝑅 𝑆𝑈𝑁 𝐹𝑂𝑅 𝑌𝑂𝑈 𝐹𝑂𝑅𝐸𝑉𝐸𝑅

Masterpost — OFC Biography — Playlists — Chapter X — Chapter XII

❧ Pairings | Post-Endgame!Bucky Barnes x Original Female Character, Previous Steve Rogers x Original Female Character

❧ Warnings | Mature content, explicit language, mentions of ptsd, some angst, hurt/comfort, sweet bonding!

❧ Wordcount | ~4.6k

If I was standing there in your apartment, I’d take that bomb in your head and disarm it ( Forever Winter | Red TV )

June 8, 2024

Just because summers in New York weren’t as brutal as those in Louisiana, it didn’t mean they were pleasant by any stretch of the imagination. The sun’s reflection from the windows on buildings made Maggie feel like an ant that was about to be set on fire beneath a gigantic magnifying glass. Not bothering with makeup or anything aside from deodorant and sunglasses, she’d yanked her hair back into a ponytail with an obnoxious, electric blue scrunchie and set out for the day.

She’d been running errands all morning—going to the pharmacy to refill her prescription, picking up groceries at the farmer’s market, now she was on her way to some unfamiliar location with a pair of boxing gloves from Bucky’s apartment that he’d asked her to bring along.

Walking down the street, she could feel the thin top that she’d thrown on that morning, sticking to her skin—she was counting down the minutes until she could go home and shower. The address that her phone had taken her to, had a little, nondescript door with a pair of boxing gloves and hours of business printed on the frosted glass. Down a steep, narrow stairwell, she heard dull thuds and occasional grunts as punches were landed and doled out.

Finally, the stairway opened into a massive room with a handful of separate boxing rings that were all occupied. Suddenly, she felt incredibly out of place with her flowery shirt and paper bag waist shorts. It was a bunch of men, her age and maybe a little older, that were boxing with one another with thick gloves and mouth guards to prevent any teeth from going flying following a particularly nasty punch.

If this was some kind of fight club, she was pretty certain that Bucky was about to be kicked out since he’d given her the address freely. Wasn’t the first rule not to talk about it? Regardless, he probably hadn’t seen it and she made a mental note to introduce him to it at some point.

Scanning the room, her eyes landed on a familiar silhouette and an involuntary smile found its way on to her lips. His cropped hair was mussed, and the back of his too-tight, gray t-shirt was covered in sweat. She could feel curious eyes on her, silently questioning her presence but she was only looking at him, “Bucky!”

At the bell-like voice he knew so well, Bucky turned from where he was ducking beneath the ropes to exit a ring and shot her a smile, “Hey.” Accepting the gloves that she offered, he eagerly undid the Velcro straps of the ones that were still on his hands, “Thanks.”

“No problem.” Crossing her arms, she looked around the room. It really did feel like some underground fighting ring but the young woman sitting behind a welcome desk and reading a magazine indicated otherwise; it was just a dive-y, little gym. Tarnished pipes were exposed against the cinderblock walls and there was an unpleasant, stale smell that only came with age. “I didn’t know you boxed.”

With a shrug, he tossed the gloves that he’d been wearing into his open duffle bag that rested on a little metal bench, “Started it a few months back.”

“Maybe I’ll take it up too.” Maggie joked, finally looking back at him. In the recent weeks, she’d felt so restless. Time had taken its sweet time letting her emotions heal, but her body was doing fine, so she found herself missing all of the time that she’d spent with Natasha in the little gym at the compound. Forcing herself to ignore the reminder of her late best friend, she murmured quietly, “Looks fun.”

“Wanna go a round?” Raising an eyebrow, he took a long drink of water from the metal bottle that he’d brought along with him. Pointedly, she avoided looking at the way his Adam’s apple moved with the sip.

Chewing the inside of her cheek, she looked around the room at the men with big gloves and the punches they were throwing and shook her head, admitting, “I don’t know how.”

“Then we’ll spar like I know you can.” Bucky elbowed her gently and nodded towards the welcome desk. “C’mon.”

Less than five minutes later, Maggie had signed a release waiver and purchased a pair of hand wraps since hers had been lost in the destruction of the compound almost half a year before. It was an odd sense of déjà vu as she looped the fabric bandage around her wrists and knuckles to brace them for impact. It felt like tying a shoe, something so second-nature that she didn’t have to think twice about the ritual; it wasn’t that long ago that she’d done this same routine almost every single morning.

Only a year ago had she and Steve moved to the little house and, look where they’d found themselves. Tightening the more-cute-than-functional tennis shoes on her feet, she climbed into the ring. What kind of unfound confidence did she have? It had been months—and she was pretty certain that it wasn’t quite the same as riding a bike.

From across the ring, Bucky watched with a little smile as Maggie did a few static stretches. The last thing she needed was to pull a muscle and add to the embarrassment that she was certain she was about to face. It had been a while.

So petite, the shorter woman looked unassuming as she did a few little hops to psych herself up. Taking a deep breath, he nodded with an unhindered smile and held his arms wide, “Bring it on, peach.”

Rolling her eyes at the nickname that he’d come to favor in the past weeks since their stay at the little place in the Tennessee mountains, Maggie moved. He wasn’t expecting the way that she ducked out of his arm’s reach as he charged forward, spinning like a trained dancer as she got behind him. Even after all this time, it was like she could still hear Natasha’s raspy voice instructing her with each swing and step.

The few steps that gave her a running start were barely enough to give her the air she needed as she rebounded off of one of the taut ropes that reined them in and flung herself up on to his shoulders. Despite her attempts to force him forward to the ground so she could pin him, he was like an unmoving mountain. She cursed through clenched teeth; it was impossible to force him off balance.

“Sorry, doll.” She hadn’t even noticed the way that he’d gotten an arm under her leg before he was forcing it up. Off-balance, she let out a short yelp as she braced herself on the ground, vaulting herself away in a back handspring to try and get some distance between them.

Hands shaking from the adrenaline that was pumping through her, Maggie’s words held no malice as she shot back, “Fuck you, Barnes.”

“It’s Barnes now, huh?” He grunted, blocking her jabs with an annoying amount of ease as she got closer, lulling him into false sense of security as she allowed him to think she was predictable. “You can do better than—”

His words were cut off by a swift, roundhouse kick to his center mass that forced the air from his lungs as he grunted, doubling over from the surprise assault. For someone so small, she held some power than he hadn’t been on the receiving end of before. Spinning back to face him and landing with bent knees to absorb some of the shock, Maggie’s grin was brilliant as she innocently asked, “Can do better than what, Barnes? Cat got your tongue?”

Blocking each swipe he made, she was almost laughing as they went around and around the ring. An unexpected sweep of his leg threw her off balance. It was like the world moved in slow motion, before she could brace herself for impact, she was yanked back against his firm chest. His right forearm was wrapped around her neck, taking her breath away.

The way the air caught in her throat was impossible for him to miss but before he could tease her, she squirmed against him. That feeling was familiar in the worst way, and his stomach lurched. A cold bead of sweat ran down his spine; he’d been in this position far too many times and all of them had been spent bringing about someone’s last moments. Suddenly, all he could picture was Maggie with a pale white face, her nails desperately clawing at a silver arm as he refused to release her with a dead look behind his eyes.

Blood running cold, Bucky unwound his arm and all but shoved her away with a low, “Yield.”

Head spinning, Maggie’s brows were drawn together as she was pushed away. Stumbling forward on unsteady legs, she regained her balance and her breath easily. Just a second ago, she was evaluating any way to regain the upper hand and suddenly he was several feet away with a clenched jaw as the fight ended. Frowning, she gave a short nod to acknowledge his surrender—had she done something to upset him?

She certainly hadn’t done anything to make him yield and release her; it wasn’t as if she’d tapped out or given him an elbow to the solar plexus or stepped on his foot…or bit his arm, which she may have done once or twice when she and Steve would spar. There’d been no reason for him to surrender yet he was already undoing his wraps to put them back in his bag while she was left standing in the dimly lit ring, dumbfounded.

Bucky wasn’t as good at hiding his emotions behind his eyes as he’d once been. Even from a few feet away, it was like she could see the thoughts that raced through his mind. He was freaking out and she was left out in the cold, wondering where they’d gone wrong. Was this how he felt when she’d have those silent moments when she was reminded too much of Steve or Natasha or Tony?

What could she do to help?

The walk back to their building was quiet aside from the low hum of everyone else on the streets, laughing and talking as the lazy, hazy summer afternoon began to fade into the evening. The journey was only seven blocks long, but it felt longer as he stayed silent, and she fought to figure out where they’d gone wrong. Each time she recounted the little sparring session, she came up empty-handed.

“What happened?”

Maggie hadn’t spoken the entire walk home—then again, neither had he, as he constantly questioned whether he had upset her or even scared her. Had he restrained her too tightly? He recalled the way her wrist had bruised after he’d grabbed it that morning when they woke on her couch; it had gone through the sequence of a rainbow from an irritated red to a deep, purple blue, before fading from an ugly yellow green into nothingness. The mere thought of a ring around her neck following the same colorful pattern made him nauseous.

He looked up from the stained sidewalk when she finally spoke, “What?”

“Back there.” Nodding in the vague direction from whence they’d came, she clarified with crossed arms as she looked ahead, navigating the busy sidewalk. It seemed as though everyone had decided to stay outdoors on the midsummer day. “Why’d you yield? I didn’t tap out.”

Hands deep in his pockets, Bucky gave a half-shrug as he gruffly admitted with a half-truth, “Didn’t want to hurt you.”

Frowning, she countered, “I could have handled it; I was just trying to figure out how to get out of the hold.” The more that she thought about, the more irritated she became. With a huff, she started, “I know my limits—”

“Maggie.”

Ignoring his interruption, she forged ahead, “You have to trust me. I promise, I’m—”

“You never know when to stop, do you?” Stopping in his tracks, Bucky’s words weren’t mean, just tired. With a sigh, he added, “It’s not you that I don’t trust.”

Brow furrowed, Maggie stopped short beside him, “What?”

“Nothing.” Shaking his head, he resumed their journey.

Watching as he walked a few steps ahead of her, she broke into a mild jog to catch back up with him, countering with a slight annoyance, “You can’t just say that and then say ‘nothing,’ James.” Falling into step beside him, she kept her voice soft so only he could hear her despite everyone that surrounded them, “Talk to me, please. We’re friends, and friends…talk.”

Countless times before, she’d confided in him. When she’d spoken about her fear of spaceships in the dark night, when she’d asked him if Steve would have stayed if she’d given him a different answer to an important question, when she’d asked him to run away with her. After all that she’d been through, how was her heart still wide open?

How could he open his to her? Maybe Maggie didn’t know every detail there was to know about his life, but she knew him. It was an olive branch; a way to let her know that he trusted her as much as she trusted him.

“In Wakanda, they figured out how to,” Trailing off with a sigh, Bucky searched for any other word that sounded a little more human but came up empty-handed before continuing lowly, “De-program me.” A sad, resigned laugh was exhaled through his nose, “They got rid of everything that Hydra put inside my head but—I don’t know. Sometimes I’m afraid it’s not completely gone.” Shaking his head, he admitted quietly as he met her eyes, “I just—if it came back and I hurt you—”

“Hey,” The intensity behind his gaze made her chest tight and she slipped her hand into his as they walked together, giving it a soft squeeze, “It’s not going to come back.” Steve had told her about Wakanda; the technology, what they’d done for Bucky, the battle. They wouldn’t have told him that he was free if he wasn’t. She knew what that was like, not being able to trust your own head—maybe not to the same extent, but she knew the constant fear of questioning every thought that ran through her mind.

Squeezing his hand, she shook her head, “You’re not him anymore. You’re you, you’re just…Bucky.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.” Shaking his head, he returned his eyes to the sidewalk.

“You won’t.” Tugging him to the side by his hand, out of the traffic of the footpath, Maggie had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes. “Promise me something.”

The last time she’d said those words, it had been to Steve on the last night of the life that she used to know. It felt so far away that it almost didn’t seem to matter anymore—he wasn’t coming back, he was gone.

But Bucky wasn’t.

He was still in front of her, warm and real and she wouldn’t take that for granted. And she wouldn’t let him hurt the same way that she did. Taking a breath, not allowing him to disagree, she continued quickly, “Promise that you’ll tell me if you ever feel like him again because I swear, it’s not real.” Remembering what he’d said on the roof months ago, she murmured, “You don’t have to go through everything alone, either.”

“Okay.” With the choked word, his eyes were tender as he looked down at her; bare-faced, beautiful, and far kinder than he felt like he deserved. He didn’t cry—he never did, but he didn’t know if anyone ever cared so deeply for him before. As she held out her pinky finger, a tiny smile broke on his lips as he hooked his with hers. “I promise.”

“Good.” Nodding with a matching, secret smile, Maggie finally released his finger. Continuing down the sidewalk to their building, she broke the moment and teased quietly, “You sure you didn’t actually give up because you were scared you were gonna get beat by a girl?”

Throwing an arm over her shoulder, he leaned down to whisper in her ear playfully, “Don’t make me bend you over my knee, doll.”

Grinning, Maggie gave him a sidelong glance, “That a threat or a promise?”

June 9, 2024

Bilbo Baggins was going on a journey, but the rest of the movie’s plot seemed to go in one of Maggie’s ears and right out the other. Fantasy just wasn’t her preferred genre, but she’d suffer through the almost three-hour film in silence for Bucky’s sake; lord knew that he’d endured enough biographical dramas and historical romances for her enjoyment.

Since their mutual agreement to add benefits to their friendship, surprisingly, not much else had changed. They still had movie nights and did their shopping together, he’d come over and do laundry (tossing hers in as well, because why not?) while she made dinner and then they’d talk about their days. Now, it was all just interspersed with quickies in the kitchen or a few extra hours in bed—morning or evening, they weren’t picky.

Along with their arrangement, though, had come a lot more physical intimacy than she’d expected but she found that she wasn’t opposed to it; there was something that made her feel so warm and secure as she curled up on his lap (much to Alpine’s chagrin.) It had only been a few weeks that she’d spent learning his body, but Maggie had always been an excellent student.

When she’d do the thing with her tongue, it would almost make his knees buckle as his fingers tangled in her hair, when his thighs tensed as she rode him, she knew he was close, but it was also the small things, things that weren’t sexual, but just intimate. They were little moments that she noticed often, like the way his thumb would trace down her wrist before taking her hand or how he’d all but have her restrained against his body when they fell asleep together, holding her tightly like a child and their treasured stuffed animal.

One of the other things that she’d discovered along the way was Bucky’s complete, blissful relaxation as she played with his hair. At first, she thought it was just during sex or when they were making out; he’d hold her a little tighter or kiss her harder—but then she’d realized it when she’d ran her fingers through it and commented about how she liked the length and his eyes closed with a content, dreamy smile, and a muted hum.

There was something so sweet in the way that he melted into her touch so maybe she did it more often just to see the way he reacted. Her legs were stretched out on the chaise as Bucky laid on the couch, his head on her lap while he watched the television and Alpine resting comfortably on his stomach. Running her hands through the short strands of his hair, her nails lightly brushing over his scalp and putting him in a trance, her eyes were on him instead of the screen.

Her other hand that rested on his chest, feeling the comforting, steady rhythm of his heart, grazed over the pair of silver dog tags that he never removed. The only times that they weren’t around his neck were, occasionally, in bed and when he was in the shower—even then, he’d put them back on soon after waking or dressing.

Maggie never questioned it—old habits died hard. Carefully, she slipped her fingers beneath the pressed metal and turned it over in her hand, her thumb brushing over the raised number as she took note of them. It always made her uneasy, the way a person could be boiled down to just a number. Eight digits were meant to be an identifier, just a cog in a machine.

The number three that had been embossed first on the silver piece tugged at a string in the back of her mind; it was funny how things stuck around long after she thought she’d forgotten them. Phillip Hall had been something of a Second World War buff and so Maggie had seen more than her fair share of documentaries, and more than one had been about the draft that had been instituted during the war. Those numbers on the metal told a story: his unit, his location, and his status.

“It starts with a three…” Maggie’s voice was soft, her delicate brow furrowed as she pressed her finger over the number and let it stamp into her flesh before it slowly faded away.

After the scene he’d been watching ended, his eyes moved to her, “Hm?”

“Your dog tags, the serial number.” There was a pit in her stomach as she frowned, “Steve never told me you were conscripted.”

That’s why she remembered the three—she’d recalled that when she learned what it meant, it reminded her of some scarlet letter; telling those around the wearer that they weren’t present of their own volition. Steve’s had begun with a zero since he was commissioned but Bucky’s was different. Vaguely, she thought she recalled Steve telling her that Bucky had enlisted before he was able to join but perhaps not.

His jaw was set tightly as he looked up at her and her hand in his hair stilled. There wasn’t anger behind his eyes; it was almost some kind of anguish, a silent pain that she couldn’t understand as he contemplated what to say. At her concerned, inquisitive expression, he stared into her eyes as he finally admitted quietly, “Steve never knew.”

Gripping the metal tag tightly, she let out a long exhale as she computed Bucky’s words. It didn’t make sense. How could he have never known? Why wouldn’t he have told him? Why didn't Steve ever realize? From where his head was propped up on her thigh, he could see the way her knuckles were white as she held tight to the necklace. Shaking her head, Maggie started, “Bucky…”

As he spoke, it struck him that he’d never told anyone the truth before—not regarding this, at least. Not his parents or sister, or Steve or Sam, but for some reason he knew he could tell the woman who was touching him so tenderly. For some reason, she made him want to tell her.

“He thought I enlisted but…I’d just registered for the draft, and they called my number a few weeks later.” Sitting up slowly, taking her hand that was still gripping the tags like she wanted to rip them off of him and throw them far away, he let out a humorless breath of a laugh. “How could I tell him that I didn’t want to join up when that was all he wanted to do?”

There was never really a chance for Bucky to tell him anyway. Almost a full foot shorter than him, Steve’s courage fought but failed to outweigh any and all of his ailments, barring him from participating in the war efforts, but not Bucky. No, he was a red-blooded, healthy American male—that was all they wanted. And so, they got him.

Running a hand over his stubbly jaw, Bucky let out a sigh, “He wasn't even a hundred pounds soaking wet and he still wanted to fight more than any guy I trained with. I couldn't look at him and say I didn't want that…but I didn’t have to.” Swallowing a lump in his throat, he gave a shrug as his voice came out smaller than he expected, “I didn't have a choice.”

A choice. An option. A say. It had all been taken from him. Every path except for one had been cordoned off, forcing him to follow a road that had been paved with propaganda and ill intentions. It had led him into the belly of a beast that he never wanted to fight. Staring down at his hand that held hers, she felt warm tears prick at her eyes.

It hit her that that was only the first of many choices Bucky had been stripped off. When he’d been under Hydra’s control, he’d had none of his own. Somehow, he’d gone from one fight to another for decades as a pawn for some powerful institution that never cared about him, not really.

Maggie’s voice was whisper soft when she found it again, refusing to look up because she didn’t want him to know she was crying, though the quiver from her lip that bled into her words gave it away anyway, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Bucky murmured, his thumb rubbing the back of her hand. He’d had time to make peace with his past; there was nothing that could change it. Even if he went back in time, it wasn’t as if that baggage would get lost in transit—it would always be in his memory. All he could do was try to move forward.

“It’s not.” Shaking her head, Maggie finally looked up at him. His eyes traced over her face; it was always the same when she cried, the way her eyes would get glassy, and her nose and lips would get red. It just made him want to wrap her tightly in his arms, to take away the pain. As his eyes followed a tear down her cheek to where it slipped off the edge of her jaw, he could feel a pang in his chest; had anyone ever cried for him before?

A shuddering breath like a hurt child preceded her quiet statement, “It’s not fair.”

“It was a long time ago, Mags.” Cupping her cheek, the vibranium of his hand cooled her warm, red skin as his thumb brushed some of the tears away. The heartache in his expression wasn’t for himself—it was for her, for the pain she carried around like cinder-blocks strapped to her feet, concrete shoes dragging her under with no hope of resurfacing.

Sniffling, she started softly, “But you—”

“I’m okay.” Unable to stand it any longer, Bucky pulled her on to his lap and wrapped her tight in his arms; he didn’t give a shit if it was too hot, with the windows open as they prayed for a breeze to aid the ancient air conditioning unit. He had to hold her.

In his hundred years of living, he didn’t know if he’d ever met anyone aside from Maggie who took on the heartaches of everyone else and made them into their own. It was like some compounding pain that accumulated, filling her until it made her break. Perhaps his conscription had been unfair but so was that—so was everything that she’d been put through, before putting herself through everything else.

His forehead was pressed against her temple as she rested against him, playing with her hands on her lap as he murmured quietly into her ear, “You care so much for everyone else. Why can’t you let someone do the same for you?”

His question reminded her of something Steve had asked her years before; why did she disregard herself in favor of everyone else? If she wouldn’t neglect someone else’s feelings, why did she do it to her own? Maybe it was arrogant, to believe that she could handle more than everyone else or to think that she knew better because she ignored what her heart said in favor of what her brain told her was right. Maybe it was because it was easier to care for others than accept care for herself.

Five years gone, and she still didn’t have an answer, so she just admitted softly with the barest note of defeat, “I don’t know.”

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misshoneybee · 3 years ago

Text

⟣ 𝑌𝑂𝑈'𝑅𝐸 𝑀𝑌 𝐴𝐶𝐻𝐼𝐿𝐿𝐸𝑆 𝐻𝐸𝐸𝐿 ⟢

— 𝑉𝐼. 𝐼 𝐽𝑈𝑆𝑇 𝑆𝐼𝑇 𝐻𝐸𝑅𝐸 𝐴𝑁𝐷 𝑊𝐴𝐼𝑇, 𝐺𝑅𝐼𝐸𝑉𝐼𝑁𝐺 𝐹𝑂𝑅 𝑇𝐻𝐸 𝐿𝐼𝑉𝐼𝑁𝐺

Masterpost — OFC Biography — Playlists — Chapter V — Chapter VII

❧ Pairings | Post-Endgame!Bucky Barnes x Original Female Character, Previous Steve Rogers x Original Female Character

❧ Warnings | Mature content, explicit language, therapy, discussions of grief and loss, supportive!Bucky Barnes, bonding and fluff!

❧ Wordcount | ~5.8k

❧ Author’s Note | Carolyn was based off my old therapist Kat. She was a bitch and my favorite therapist ever. I miss that woman, lmao.

I’d live and die for moments that we stole, On begged and borrowed time, So tell me to run, Or dare to sit and watch what we’ll become ( ivy | evermore )

March 8, 2024

Once a week for the foreseeable future, Maggie’s Friday afternoons were booked. Leaving work with the canvas tote that held all of her planners and files hiked over her shoulder, she’d found a routine that made her a little more willing to go to her weekly therapy appointment. It was like clockwork; at a quarter until four, she’d sign out of her office, procrastinate for another ten minutes before finally leaving, eventually descend the elevator and begin the three-block walk to the upscale private practice, only stopping once to pick up a very large, too-sweet iced coffee.

The walls were a serene hue of ocean blue that was meant to be calming but only reminded her of a pair of eyes that she’d loved, not long ago. Every shade of the color palette and piece of décor had been carefully selected in an attempt to create a ‘soothing’ and ‘comfortable’ environment. How the fuck could someone be soothed or comforted when they had to rehash every shred of trauma that they’d endured in their life to someone with a clipboard and a flat affect as they listened ‘nonjudgmentally?’

Her mandatory attendance was on behalf of the Stark Relief Foundation; any employee who’d been impacted by the blip or battle that had taken place last autumn had been made to see a therapist for at least one year, at which point they’d be reassessed and instructed to continue or told if they could taper the sessions off.

Maggie wasn’t a stranger to therapy; she’d had one in high school who’d quickly given her two diagnoses of generalized anxiety disorder and obsessive-compulsive personality disorder after two sessions before writing her a prescription for Zoloft and agreeing to see her again after a month. After the death of her parents, she’d seen another who’d cried after Maggie had explained her history before suggesting bikram yoga and deep breathing for two hours every day.

Suffice to say, she was zero for two and had quickly lost hope. If her work didn’t hinge on the condition, she wouldn’t have been in therapy. Dr. Carolyn Bouchard was a middle-aged woman with dark red curls and deep espresso skin who had a penchant for calling Maggie on her shit. They had developed something of a love/hate relationship over their ten sessions together, but she’d come to respect the older woman.

Maggie had lied through her teeth, trying to say what the therapist needed to hear to clear her, and Carolyn had made a list of all of the contradictory statements she’d accidentally made. Slowly, the older woman had shoved a crowbar in the tightly shut doors of her brain and wrenched them open. At least she hadn’t cried over their last few sessions. Progress was progress.

As a lull fell over their conversation, her eyes traced a bead of condensation down the side of the clear coffee cup that rested on a little coaster that had been placed on the table that separated the doctor and patient. Twenty more minutes and she could go home and order dinner, because she was always far too lazy to cook following her sessions; then she could put therapy out of her mind for at least the next six days.

Carolyn always switched out the mugs she used, some kitschy and others boring, but she never went without a steaming mug of some herbal tea during their sessions. Even from a few feet away, Maggie could smell the spearmint and lemongrass. In their first few sessions, she’d offered some to the younger woman who’d politely declined in favor of coffee. She could tell that Carolyn had needed to refrain herself from chastising Maggie about the excess caffeine that, very obviously, only worsened her anxiety.

“Would you ever consider putting yourself out there again someday? Dating?”

Narrowing the multi-lane highway of her mind into a two-way street, she shook her head, quietly uttering a simple, “No.”

Even if the question had struck her, Maggie didn’t react. That wasn’t even something that she’d considered since Steve had left. It all felt wrong. Of course, she still looked at people and found them attractive and understood the appeal of having a relationship, but she hadn’t thought about herself with someone else. After everything she’d gone through, everything she thought that she and Steve would someday have, how could she move past that?

How could she see it with anyone else?

“That seemed like a pretty quick answer.” Readjusting the forest green frames of her glasses on the bridge of her nose, Carolyn prodded for her to continue, “Why is that?”

Wasn’t it simple? After all their weeks together, she had to know. It was just stupid therapist code to make Maggie spell out every decision she made and emotion that she had. How could she put herself out there when she already knew how love was supposed to feel? How could she search for something that she already had?

“I…” Maggie trailed off with a sigh, before taking a sip of her coffee and giving her therapist a small shrug, “I had it.” Finally meeting her eyes, Carolyn raised an eyebrow and silently prompted her to continue so she explained, “I had that sort of perfect, epic love and it was wonderful, but I don’t…” Shaking her head, her words were firm, “I think that was it for me.”

“Why is that?” Taking a page out of her book, Maggie raised an eyebrow at the question. Entertaining the stubborn woman’s reluctance, she redirected the question, “Do you think that sort of feeling can only come once in a lifetime for a person?”

Sometimes she wondered about how the concept of soulmates worked or if they were real. Was it possible to have found one who actually had another? What if Steve had been hers but his had been Peggy? What if one was all that you got? What if you didn’t ever meet them because the world was large, and life was long? How was that fair?

But what were the odds that someone came across that same love more than once? What were the odds that she could find someone who held a candle to Steve and how he’d loved her? Perhaps that was unfair; comparison was the thief of joy or some bullshit. Then again, she thought about love…and if he’d loved her as much as she believed he had, would he have still left?

That was something Maggie wasn’t ready to think about, then or ever.

Slowly, she shook her head, “I think it’s improbable that you’d get it more than once.”

“Mm.” God, she fucking hated when Carolyn let out that short, little, judgmental hum. It made her feel like she’d answered incorrectly. How could an opinion be incorrect? She was the one that had asked. After scribbling something down and ignoring the way Maggie stared daggers at her clipboard, she switched topics for the time being, “Okay, and what about intimacy?”

“I’m a big girl, Carolyn.” Maggie gave her a wry smile, sitting back in her chair as she crossed one leg over the other. At the older woman’s insistent gaze for her to continue, she explained simply, “I can separate sex from dating and love and all of that.”

She’d never really needed a romantic connection to enjoy sex. Did it make it better? Certainly. Was it an end-all-be-all for her? No. Nick, Ben, and Steve aside, all of her other sexual partners had been some variation of friends-with-benefits. They’d served their purpose; when she was in graduate school, she hadn’t been looking for a relationship, she’d just needed to scratch the itch. It was biology.

Sex was the last thing on her mind nowadays. Maybe she did miss the intimacy sometimes, someone to hold her close and whisper into her ear and fall asleep with at night, but it would pass. As she contemplated it, getting another partner seemed more and more like a daunting task. That required vulnerability and she already felt like an exposed nerve so, for the time being, the vibrator in her nightstand was the one for her.

“Circling back to when you said you had that perfect love,” Maggie couldn’t help the apprehensive expression that crossed her face at Carolyn’s tone as she asked simply, “Do you really think it was perfect?”

“I guess—” Maggie started but Carolyn hadn’t completed her question.

“Do you think you’re romanticizing it because it’s easier to compartmentalize it that way? If you don’t have to have feelings about it?”

In Carolyn’s defense, Maggie had told her not to pull any punches and she knew her therapist was good at calling her on her bullshit. As it turned out, she was so good that Maggie had found herself stunned at the question. For someone so self-aware, Maggie hadn’t thought about that. Is that what she’d been doing?

Was she putting their relationship on some type of pedestal? Of course, it hadn’t been totally perfect—or maybe it had been until it very suddenly wasn’t. Maggie had always been good at taking shortcuts like she was trying to hack her feelings into submission; perhaps she’d become so good, that she hadn’t even noticed she was doing it. It made sense, though. If she didn’t have to dissect any complex emotions, she didn’t have to feel or think about the pain as often.

Though her brain was screaming, Maggie could only stare at the woman across from her as she asked blankly, “Excuse me?”

“You’ve told me that you like things to fit into boxes. Do you think that’s what you’re doing now?” Silently, Maggie berated herself on not knowing when to shut the fuck up. She should have never disclosed that little nugget of knowledge to the clinician because the hammer had fallen and the nail had just been hit on the head. As she stayed quiet, Carolyn removed her glasses to clean them with the cloth on the table beside her, “Maggie, you’re refusing to grieve for him. I see this in a lot of widows—”

Her tone had never been quite so venomous as she snapped sharply, “I am not a widow.” With her jaw clenched, she could feel her hands shaking as she clasped them together tightly in her lap. Steve wasn’t dead; he was gone and there was a very significant difference. Shifting in her seat, Maggie shook her head as she denied, “I don’t need to grieve him! I had closure; I knew it was over when he left!”

“Grief doesn’t give a shit about closure.” Carolyn shot back, point blankly. Setting the clipboard aside, she leaned forward as if she were trying to break through to Maggie, “People are widowed every single day because of things like terminal illness. They knew what. was happening and they were still widowed. Just because you saw it coming doesn’t mean you can just move past what happened. It’s not just grieving the end of your relationship; it’s grieving the future you didn’t get to have.”

With no defense left, Maggie could hear how immature she sounded as she pointed out, “Well, that’s bullshit.”

Shaking her head, Carolyn picked up the clipboard again as she countered, “You know it’s not.”

“You know what? I think I’m done for today.” Standing from the big armchair that she’d sunken into over the course of the last half-hour, she grabbed her tote from the floor and half empty coffee from the table and she gave the woman a sharp nod. Flatly, she called from the doorway, “Have a great afternoon.”

“Maggie, you need to—”

Closing the door behind her, she muted the end of Carolyn’s reproachful sentence. Maggie didn’t need to do anything, no matter what she told her; she could feel how she wanted, when she wanted and that was fine. She was fuming; it was a wonder that there wasn’t steam coming off of her as she made the five-block trek to the ferry stop through the streets that were cold with the last whispers of winter as spring came around.

Recalling the trip home was almost impossible; all she could focus on was keeping one foot in front of the other and not letting out a frustrated scream every time she thought about what Carolyn had said. A widow? She was not a widow. Steve hadn’t died—he’d left. They’d broken up. They’d mutually decided what was best for both of them.

Well, perhaps not both of them.

Either way, it was too late and there was no undoing what had been done; she was moving forward. Maybe she’d ask human resources for another therapist recommendation; surely Carolyn wasn’t the only one that had been certified by the SRF. The five-letter word wouldn’t stop bouncing around her brain as she disembarked the little boat or stopped by the bodega or climbed the four flights of stairs to her apartment.

Maybe it was because it had felt disrespectful to those that had actually been widowed; what Pepper had gone through was unimaginable. She hadn’t made the decision to lose her husband, it had been out of her hands, but Maggie had made a choice. Maybe it had been the wrong one, but it had been hers to make.

And Steve had made his. And that had been that.

Before long, she’d changed into her pajamas and made the cup of noodles that she’d bought at the bodega before climbing out on to her fire escape. Carefully replacing the window screen behind her, ignoring Alpine’s protesting meows of being left behind inside, she looked out down the street as she sat on the metal grates.

It was Friday and evening was quickly approaching so the city that never slept was going to stay awake as everyone celebrated the beginning of the weekend. The street was illuminated with a deep orange light from the sun as it quickly went down. Further down the block, she could hear a busker playing some song she didn’t know on a violin. The string melody that bounced off of the brick buildings was strong and sorrowful as it floated into her ears and made her want to cry.

This New York—the lively one with so many people and stories—was something that she and Steve had never gotten to experience together. He would have loved it; she was certain. Perhaps that’s what Carolyn meant, about grieving what they never got to have together.

It was easy to grieve the end of a relationship. It had been something she’d lived and experienced and knowing that it was over was one thing. She’d done it with her parents and Tony and Natasha, but it felt completely different to realize that everything she and Steve had planned would never come true. The golden retriever, the four kids, the little house on the beach—none of it would ever come to fruition. Not for them.

For just a moment, she let herself mourn the life she’d never get. No, she’d never know what the names of their kids would have been or how he would have looked once he’d gone gray, but she never realized she could miss something that she’d never had. Wiping her tears with the back of her hand, she took a shaking breath as she tried to calm herself down.

That had been her dream but that was the beautiful thing about dreams, wasn't it? She could always just find another. Maybe it would take time, maybe it would take her across the world, but someday, maybe she could find something else just as beautiful and hopeful.

March 10, 2024

Even if she was mad at her therapist, she couldn’t deny that some of her recommendations were actually helpful; even a broken clock was right twice a day. Maggie spent the weekend to herself, trying to practice ‘self-care’ and ‘compassion’ as she strolled through a farmer’s market alone. Without a doubt, she’d spent way too much money on artisan soaps and vegetables that would probably go bad before she had a chance to eat all of them, but it brought her some joy, so she ignored the pitfalls.

Sunday had been spent cleaning and rearranging and reorganizing everything in her apartment. Finally, she hung up all of the pictures and prints that she’d bought and strung up a bunch of lights that lit the whole place glow with a pleasant, golden glow. After she’d moved the cat tree for the third time that afternoon, much to Alpine’s chagrin, she’d finally called it a day on the housework front.

There was one more recommendation that she had left to follow for the day, and she loathed it. Though the sun had gone down over an hour before, she knew she could still get it over with. Ensuring her phone and key were secure in the tight waistband of her leggings, she made her way to the secondary stairwell that was seldom used. Another eight flights of stairs, and a pair of burning quadriceps, finally put her out on the roof of her building. It was silent, or as silent as the city could be. No one ever visited the unfinished area because it wasn’t really a marketable space. The ground was concrete and had rust stains from when it would rain, there were a handful of dead plants that had been placed there by tenants who’d long forgotten them, and it didn’t offer much in ways of a view.

Regardless, it served its purpose for Maggie. In the middle of the wide open, concrete plane, she picked a spot and sat down. Squeezing her eyes shut, she used her hands and slowly lowered herself down until she was lying flat on her back. This was the worst part of her week. She’d rather verbally spar with Carolyn for another hour, than do what she needed to for ten minutes. With one last deep breath, she opened her eyes and took in the inky blue sky that was dotted with only a handful of bright stars.

Once upon a time, Maggie had loved doing this.

She hadn’t realized how much the initial attack on the compound had affected her until she’d moved back to the city. When she’d been out with Poppy, she’d caught sight of a plane which had thrown her into a spiral as she remembered the giant spaceship that had hovered above the compound before bombarding it with missiles.

After that, she’d come to realize that she couldn’t seem to look up at the sky without flinching. It was as though every time her eyes even dared to look up, she imagined the large ship and the missiles, and it forced her to recall everything that had ensued, in almost perfect detail. Disclosing the tale to her therapist had left her with a recommendation to slowly take steps to reconcile the present with the past.

There wasn’t even a small chance that she would look up and actually see the gigantic spacecraft, but she needed to continue to expose herself to those similar conditions so she could come to terms with that fact. For that reason, she had spent time staring at the sky every single Sunday for the past month and a half. She’d been timing herself; the first day she’d tried it, she’d only succeeded at staring at the heavens for about two minutes before tears had clouded her vision. Slowly, though, she’d been able to do it for longer and longer periods of time.

Just a week before, Maggie had lasted for fifteen minutes and as a soft ding came from her phone, she realized that she’d surpassed her goal yet again. Her hands still shook but the panic had receded; she no longer felt as though she couldn’t breathe or that familiar dread that sent cold sweat down the back of her neck. She didn’t feel the way the bangs had rocked her entire body or how the loud explosion made her ears ring anymore. It wasn’t quite peace but maybe someday, it could be.

With a hand on her stomach, she paid close attention to her breathing and counted each slow inhale and exhale. She didn’t know how much more time had passed when she heard the heavy metal door to the roof creak open and a familiar voice before she sat up, “Maggie?”

With a furrowed brow and a tone that came off slightly more accusatory than she meant for it to, she asked, “What are you doing up here?”

The roof had only a few functional lights that gave off an unflattering. orange-yellow glow, but Bucky could make out her familiar silhouette with ease as he walked across the roof. With a small shrug, he stopped right beside her, “Just, come up here to think sometimes. What are you doing up here?”

Laying back down, Maggie gave him a half shrug as she stared past him to the sky and simply responded, “Therapy.”

His brows drew together. From the occasional mention, he knew she had been required to see a therapist as well, but this was unusual. Maybe she went to one of those holistic people who talked about being one with the universe. Curiously, he started, “Why—”

“When…” She cut him off before doing the same to herself. If she could talk about that sort of extraterrestrial trauma with anyone who would understand, it would probably be Bucky. She sure as hell couldn't talk to Poppy about it. But Bucky? He’d seen and heard it all before.

“When Thanos came back, after Bruce brought...everyone back, I remember looking up through the windows to the sky back at the compound. I just saw this massive ship and there was a split second before the missile hit when I thought…it was all for nothing. That even though they’d gotten the stones, we’d all die anyway, and he’d still win. I just—it’s like, every time I look at the sky, I can’t stop seeing that stupid fucking spaceship and feeling those explosions.”

Swallowing the lump in her throat, she carefully avoided his eyes staring down at her, “It’s supposed to be like exposure therapy. The more I make myself sit here and watch the sky and convince myself that every plane isn't a spaceship…the easier it’s supposed to get.”

He’d heard about that before, exposure therapy. Feeling a little bad, Bucky realized that he’d never even thought about the effects that the battle would have had on Maggie. She wasn’t a soldier; she’d never signed up for war, but she’d had to experience it anyway. In some ways, he understood that better than most. Clearing his throat, he motioned to the door behind him as he started, “Oh, I can—”

Cutting him off, Maggie murmured softly, “You can stay.” Meeting his eyes, she felt so bare despite the layers of clothes and emotional armor she’d clad herself in. She could hear the little voice in her head as it continued, ‘Please stay. No one else has but you could.’ Being exposed and vulnerable wasn’t easy, especially not for her, but she’d slowly found herself becoming comfortable in sharing that piece of herself with him. It was pretty miraculous, though maybe it was because he’d already seen her at her worst…twice.

After a second, she added awkwardly, “If you want.”

Looking down at his neighbor that he’d reluctantly come to care for, he smiled. Her short curls had fanned out around her head on the concrete floor, and her cheeks and the tip of her nose were pink from the chilly evening air; she had a familiar beauty that reminded him of girls that he’d known decades before and sometimes he found it difficult to look away. Exhaling a soft chuckle, he laid down beside her.

In a comfortable silence for several more minutes, he looked at the sky with her before she finally spoke again, “I miss being able to see the stars.” The back of their hands brushed but neither moved; the warmth from his right arm pressed against her left was comfortable as she murmured, “In Ukraine, I could see them so clearly because we were pretty far away from any big cities. Even back home—” With a quiet inhale, she caught herself. That wasn’t home anymore; Brooklyn was. Correcting herself, she continued, “back upstate, you could see them really well.”

She regretted not spending more time watching the stars in the years she’d lived there. The compound had been so secluded, far enough from the city that she could see the stars but not too far that she ever felt alone. Maybe Steve or Natasha would have watched them with her; she’d never know but slowly, she was becoming more okay with that.

“I can remember them in Russia.” Bucky’s words came out more stilted than he meant for them to. It wasn’t something he enjoyed talking about; he avoided it in most circumstances, but it wasn’t as if she didn’t know who he was or what he’d done. “They’d…send me out on these missions and I’d do surveillance at night and between how bright the moon was and all of the stars, you barely needed a flashlight.”

In the months that she’d known him, he’d never spoken about his time with Hydra, but she didn’t want to push it any further. She couldn’t help but silently preen though, that he’d actually felt comfortable enough to talk about it with her, even if it was just to tell a little anecdote. Somehow, Bucky had come to trust her and unsurprisingly, the feeling was mutual.

From just a few inches away, he could hear the way that Maggie’s shallow breathing hitched as the anxiety slowly began to bleed through her body from the prolonged experience of staring at the vast, empty sky. Perhaps she’d reached her threshold for the evening. Hesitantly, Bucky carefully intertwined their fingers, hoping to maybe remind her that she was safe, before he whispered in a low voice that was thick like summer air, “You're not alone, Maggie.”

A shuddering inhale was pulled through her rosy lips at the unfamiliar and unexpected, but not unwelcome, touch. At the quiet, surprised sound, Maggie felt him begin to remove his hand from hers, but she squeezed it tightly as she murmured, “Thank you.”

A hot tear slipped down her cheek, but for once, it wasn’t from sadness; it was strangely bittersweet. Keeping her hand in his, she basked in the warmth that spread up her arm and through her body. It would be a slow process, but she could even feel it melting away the stratified layers of ice that had encased her heart. It was nice to know that no matter how she felt, she knew there was someone else who understood; she wasn’t alone.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Maggie finally asked the question that had been on her mind since her appointment two days earlier, “Do you ever feel like therapy is doing jack-shit?”

A snort of laughter broke free from Bucky’s chest, and she grinned. She could feel his arm shaking hers as he agreed, “All the time.” Rolling his eyes, he added annoyedly, “Mine has me making amends.”

Brow furrowed, Maggie’s eyes stayed on the sky as she asked, “Like Alcoholics Anonymous?”

“Huh?”

Letting out a silent exhale of a laugh at his confusion, she clarified, “It’s one of the steps of recovering from alcoholism or addiction. You’re supposed to make amends with people you’ve hurt.” Pausing, she turned her head to look at him, only to find his grey eyes already staring back at her. Before, she would have shrunk under his intense gaze but not anymore. Giving his hand a squeeze, Maggie softly added, “And yourself.”

“Yourself?” Bucky’s voice was quiet but curious as he waited to hear her out.

Nodding silently, she was keenly aware of her breathing. His face was so close to hers; she could count each dark lash that framed his expressive eyes as he stared, waiting for her to tell him more, “You stay accountable, but you give yourself permission to actually forgive yourself. To move forward.” Her teeth dug into her bottom lip, and she paused before adding pointedly, “To be kind to yourself because you aren’t what you did.”

Pressing his lips together, he nodded slowly as he listened to her explanation. It wasn’t often that people were willing to tell him things that could make them uncomfortable, but it seemed like Maggie didn’t have that fear; he liked that. Earnestly, he quipped, “Your therapist sounds more helpful than mine.”

“Oh no, that wasn’t her.” Maggie’s unamused voice was flat. At his quirked eyebrow, she continued, “I learned about that in school. Carolyn says I’m not grieving well.” Rolling her eyes, she was hard pressed to hide the irritation in her voice as she added, “It’s not like it’s a fucking assignment or like I’m being graded on it.”

“What do you mean?”

With a snort, she observed, “She thinks I’m a frigid bitch.”

Bucky’s voice was mildly alarmed as he sat up, just a little, “She called you—”

Waving him off, she shook her head dismissively, “I read between the lines.”

Maybe she hadn’t called Maggie a frigid bitch, but Carolyn certainly had noticed that the younger woman wasn’t keen on processing all of the emotions that she’d spent so long bottling up. She wasn’t only in therapy to process what exactly had happened on that October afternoon; there were years of baggage that she’d been carrying around and needed to unpack. It was a slow process.

As he let out a belly laugh, she turned her face back to the night sky with a little smile of her own playing on her lips. She’d spent a lot of time over the past two days thinking about grief. For years, all of her training had taught her that there were five distinct stages, but she’d never wished so badly, that they were linear. Instead, as it happened, some overlapped, and others were skipped and some reappeared once she thought they were gone; it was draining.

It had taken time for her to realize that denial wasn’t pretending that he hadn’t left but rather pretending that she would be fine despite it. Sometimes, she still found herself there; thinking that she didn’t need help or that she was okay. Anger had been popular; she was envious of a woman that she’d never meant and full of rage at herself and Steve. Slowly, that stage had waned, and she was grateful that it hadn’t made another reappearance.

Bargaining had passed quickly. After he’d left, she’d soon realized that nothing could bring him back. No matter how hard she cried or what she offered the universe, he was actually gone. Depression was a dangerous game and it seemed as though it was constantly there, just skulking around in the background of her mind. Regardless of what she did, there was always a little static sound of hopelessness that filled her brain. Hopefully, it would fade.

The final stage was acceptance. Understanding that everything that had happened, had actually happened for a reason. Exploring new paths. Making plans. Moving on. That would take time, though maybe it was beginning to overlap with the other stages as well. She’d made plans and explored new paths though she still couldn’t find it in herself to search for the reasons that everything had happened or to move on entirely. She was only human, after all; she needed just a little while longer.

Carolyn was wrong; she was grieving. Maybe it wasn’t as obvious to her, but Maggie could feel it in herself; isn’t that what mattered?

With the hand that wasn’t still holding Bucky’s, she pointed to one of the particularly bright stars that was visible to the naked eye despite the city’s light pollution, “That’s eta piscium. You can’t really see all of Pisces though.”

“Pisces?” His eyes followed a straight line from her finger to the sky, easily finding the twinkling spot of light that she’d pointed out.

“The astrological constellation, the fish.” Maggie prattled off, squinting futilely as if she could see the rest of the constellation if she concentrated hard enough, “What’s your sign?”

“Huh?”

Letting out a soft giggle at his confusion, Maggie approached the question from another angle, “When’s your birthday?”

“Uh,” Clearing his throat, he mumbled off-handedly, “Today.”

Sitting up quickly, she let go of his hand. Maggie ignored the head rush from the sudden change in position as she all but squawked, “What!?”

“Don’t really celebrate it.”

Ignoring that, even though she felt similarly about her own birthday, she shot back, “Aren’t you turning like a hundred and six?”

“Think so.” He looked at her with a mixture of apprehension and exhaustion as he sat up.

Mocking him teasing, she rolled her eyes, “Think so? Shut up.” Hopping up, brushing off the black cotton that clung to her legs, she offered him a hand as she nudged, “Come on.”

Accepting it wearily, and comically because it wasn’t as if he needed help up, he cautiously asked as he followed behind the woman who strutted off towards the door, “Where are we going?”

“We’re doing a movie night.” Maggie called back over her shoulder determinedly as she continued, “We’re ordering pizza. And I’m getting cake—”

Cutting in, Bucky frowned, “I don’t—”

“Do not say that you don’t want or like cake.” Her sharp words held no heat as she refused to even entertain the objection, “It’s your birthday.” The short woman was firm as she held the railing and descended one of the flights of stairs, “And I know you like sweets because every time you come over, my cookie stash mysteriously gets smaller.”

“Dammit, Alpine.” A smile twitched on his lips as he stayed hot on her heels. In his defense, growing up during the Great Depression had meant that sugar was a luxury that wasn’t afforded to many. Then, during the war, it had been rationed which meant that any sweet was a rare occurrence. When he’d realized how widely available it had become, he no longer felt bad for having the sweet tooth he’d developed.

Shooting him a playful glare as she turned to head down another set of stairs, Maggie let out a twinkling laugh, “Stop blaming my cat!”

“Well, it’s gotta be him.” Bucky defended himself innocently before adding, “Or Mrs. Kirsch.”

Mrs. Kirsch was their neighbor down the hall who fawned over how ‘handsome and strong’ Bucky was every time she saw him. He found it embarrassing while Maggie was wildly entertained; either way, she was almost seventy and had a bum hip so the likelihood of her breaking into Maggie’s apartment to steal baked goods was slim to none.

“Obviously it’s one of them and not the only visitor that I ever have with opposable thumbs.” Shaking her head, Maggie silently handed her key to Bucky so he could fight with her door’s lock; she really needed to remember to call the super.

Opening the door and gesturing her in with a little flourish, he grinned, “Glad we’re on the same page.”

With a reluctant smile, she started, “You’re such a—”

Cutting her off as he shut the door behind them, he shrugged, “I know.”

3 notes · View notes

misshoneybee · 3 years ago

Text

⟣ 𝑌𝑂𝑈'𝑅𝐸 𝑀𝑌 𝐴𝐶𝐻𝐼𝐿𝐿𝐸𝑆 𝐻𝐸𝐸𝐿 ⟢

— 𝑉. 𝐹𝑂𝑅 𝑇𝐻𝐸 𝐹𝐼𝑅𝑆𝑇 𝑇𝐼𝑀𝐸, 𝑊𝐻𝐴𝑇’𝑆 𝑃𝐴𝑆𝑇 𝐼𝑆 𝑃𝐴𝑆𝑇

Masterpost — OFC Biography — Playlists — Chapter IV — Chapter VI

❧ Pairings | Post-Endgame!Bucky Barnes x Original Female Character, Previous Steve Rogers x Original Female Character

❧ Warnings | Mature content, explicit language, fluff (Bucky interacting with children!!!)

❧ Wordcount | ~6.7k

I’ve been spending the last eight months, Thinking all love ever does is break and burn and end ( Begin Again | Red )

February 15, 2024

Jackhammers. That’s what it felt like was pounding away the inside of her skull, chipping away at the bone and cracking it all over like a shattered eggshell. Every tiny sound in the apartment was amplified. She pressed another pillow to her ear with a pitiful groan, praying that it would muffle the noise so she could find some relief.

Level-headed Maggie. Sensible Maggie. Fun-sucker Maggie. Where the fuck had she gone? Apparently, she’d packed up and left Irresponsible Maggie in charge for the night before, and that had quickly crashed and burned. Even when she’d gone to parties in college, and even after her parents died, she’d never drank so heavily. The pain that seemed to envelop her entire body made her wonder if someone could possibly need a liver transplant following just one night of binge drinking.

She’d never even had a hangover before, not once in her more than thirty years of living, but apparently there was a first time for everything. It felt like she needed to force her eyes open after they’d been glued shut by the contacts that she’d slept in. Sucking in a sharp breath as the mid-morning sun’s light washed over her retinas, there was a tiny part of her that wished for the sweet release of death.

Maybe she was being a little melodramatic.

On her bedside table, two pills had been left beside the glass of water that Bucky had gotten for her—shit, Bucky. With a groan of embarrassment, Maggie tossed the pills in her mouth and swallowed them with a mouthful of the stagnant water that seemed to help alleviate the cottonmouth that she’d been left with following the events of the previous evening.

Bucky had been the one that had found her the night before. Nothing she remembered seemed linear. She’d definitely been at some dive bar down the street. God, had he carried her up the four flights of fucking stairs to their floor? She was almost certain that he’d watched as she’d vomited her intestines out in her small bathroom.

Yeah, as it turned out, the sweet release of death was beginning to look more and more like the most attractive option.

Slowly sitting up, praying the ibuprofen would quickly seep into her blood and that her head would stop pounding soon, Maggie swung her legs over the side of her bed and planted them firmly on the ground. As she stood, she was grateful that the dizzy effects of the alcohol had left her; that was a small victory at least. Dragging her feet, she made her way into the bathroom.

Everything looked just as she’d left it; maybe she hadn’t actually gotten sick and that was a bad dream. Denial was easier than the truth, at times. Removing her contact lenses, she let out a quiet sigh of relief when it felt like she could finally blink without her eyes sticking shut. Irresponsible Maggie was a bitch and Morning Maggie resented her fully as she scrubbed her face free of smeared makeup with lukewarm water that trickled from the tap.

Like a puzzle, piece by piece, she was putting herself back together, in more ways than one.

Grabbing her toothbrush, she covered the bristles with a white stripe of peppermint paste and went to work trying to get the awful taste from her mouth. Cautiously, she brushed her tongue, not entirely certain that the nausea was completely gone; she really didn’t want to risk being sick. Rinsing the foamy toothpaste from the sink, Maggie’s brow furrowed as she heard her front door open and close.

Only three people had a key to her apartment; the first was obviously her. The second was Poppy but she was somewhere in Europe when Maggie had last checked her ‘find my friends’ profile the day before. And the third was Bucky. It only made sense, since they were neighbors; they’d exchanged spares in case one of them got locked out of their own apartment.

Alpine’s happy little, chirpy ‘meow’ sealed the deal; there was only one other person that the stubborn cat loved as much as he loved Maggie. Pulling on her robe, she tied the sash around her waist as she padded silently across the wooden floor into the living room. Bucky was murmuring lowly to the cat who’d hopped up on to the counter to watch as he unpacked a delivery bag of food.

Watching the scene unfold before her felt a little bit like the Twilight Zone. Her voice was hoarse as she croaked out a soft, “Hi.”

Bucky looked up, almost surprised to see her in her own home. She was pretty certain she looked like the walking dead—that was how she felt anyway. Was he was wearing the same thing that he’d worn the night before? In her defense, her memory was faulty and all of his clothes kind of looked the same through drunk goggles.

“You’re awake.”

“Unfortunately.” Leaning against the doorframe, she dropped her head to rest against the cool wood and groaned; why was his voice so loud? Why did the greasy smell of whatever food he got simultaneously make her mouth water and stomach turn? Was she hungry or repulsed? Or was it somehow both?

As he moved around her kitchen to get a glass of water, he looked as though he’d made himself at home and she would have laughed if it wouldn’t have hurt so badly. With a wry smile, Bucky nodded, “How do you feel?”

Pursing her lips, she pretended to contemplate the question before giving a little shrug, “I think being dead would feel a little better than I do now.” As he continued to move around the kitchen, she finally broke, “What are—”

“You were pretty far-gone last night.” Finding the dishes in her cabinet, he began to transfer the diner food from the cardboard containers on to the ceramic plate. In an awkward, off-hand tone, he muttered, “Didn’t want you to die from alcohol poisoning or something so I stayed out here.”

He’d stayed the night in her living room? As she looked around the cozy space, nothing was out of place. There were no pillows leaned against the armrest, all of her throws were still folded on the back of the couch or carefully placed in the little, decorative basket beneath the table. Had he even slept? Or had he been so worried about her that he’d stayed awake all night? Her chest tightened a little at the thought.

“Well, that’s…” Trailing off, Maggie pressed her lips together as she searched for the right word. Sweet? Chivalrous? Nice? All of the above? Of course. But it wasn’t a secret that she hated being an imposition. After a moment, she settled lamely for, “incredibly embarrassing.”

Chuckling, Bucky placed the plate on her little dining table and nodded to it, “Eat.” At her wrinkled nose and apprehensive glare towards the inoffensive pancakes and bacon, he prodded, “You need to put something in your stomach. Pretty sure you threw everything up last night.”

So, she was right. It hadn’t been a dream. Ugh.

“Fine.” Begrudgingly, Maggie listened to his rational reasoning and moved the rest of the way into the room. Taking a seat, she tucked her knees to her chest in the chair before glancing back up. Crossing his arms, Bucky stared at her pointedly. Giving him the finger with one hand, she used her other to cut off a piece of the pancake. Unwillingly, she groaned as the maple syrup and butter saturated bite all but melted in her mouth.

Perhaps she’d been too harsh.

Though his face was still stoic, she’d gotten to know him well enough to see the way that a pleased vindication lit up his eyes at her reaction. Placing the glass of ice water before her, she had to stop herself from poking fun at him; she never would have assumed he was so…caring.

Dabbing some of the sticky, sweet syrup from her lip, Maggie let out a heavy sigh as she focused on the plate in front of her. God, fuck vulnerability. “Look, I know my track record isn’t great, but I promise I’m not always like that.”

She felt the blush from her cheeks spread down her chest. Being the weepy, out of control girl-next-door was not who she was. Maybe she’d learned how to better approach and handle her feelings in recent years, but she still wasn’t the type of person to cry in public or act out and cause a scene. It was embarrassing and from that moment on, she was swearing off drinking. Not that she drank much prior to the evening before, but it was the thought that counted.

Giving her a small shrug, Bucky thankfully allowed bygones to be bygones, “I know, Mags.”

“Thank you.” She didn’t bother correcting him that time. Anyone who’d watched her hurl her guts out deserved the courtesy of using her nickname. Meeting his gaze, she was certain that she was quite a sight with dark circles and bloodshot eyes on a puffy face in wrinkled nightclothes, but she gave him a fleeting smile as she clarified, “For everything…and for staying.”

“It was nothing.” Shrugging off her gratitude, never great at accepting appreciation, Bucky returned the smile as he approached the front door, “See you later.”

Brows drawn together, Maggie called to his back, “You can’t expect me to eat all of this alone.” He turned around with a puzzled expression and she used her fork to gesture to the other half of the food that he’d left on the counter, “Want some coffee?”

“Yeah,” With a crooked smile, he returned to the kitchen as he admitted with a shake of his head, “Couldn’t figure out your damn machine. What the hell happened to drip coffee makers?”

The food had definitely brought some life back into the woman. Speaking through a bite of bacon, Maggie grinned as she made her way into the kitchen alongside him, “Let me introduce you to the wonders of a Nespresso.”

March 6, 2024

There were only a few more fields that she needed to fill out on the stupid form on the screen in front of her so they could go downstairs but she kept getting distracted; it wasn’t her fault. Bucky was worse than all of the children she’d ever had in her office. As she furiously typed away, he asked constant questions (“So, Stark owned this building? The whole thing?”) and roamed around the space and read every single paper that had been hung on the walls, from her degrees (“You went to an Ivy League? Shit. Didn’t know that, your highness.”) to the little inspirational posters with encouragements for anyone who visited (“Do people really like this shit?”).

Sitting in one of the chairs opposite her desk, Bucky had finally taken a seat and found the small basket of toys that she kept for anytime a kid came to her office and needed a little distraction. He was like a toddler, getting out one of the little fidget spinners and setting it aside before finding one of the puzzle toys and so on and so forth.

Finally, after a quarter of her desk had been taken up by all of the items that he’d yet to put back, she hissed, “James! Stop touching everything!”

“Why do you have so many knick-knacks?” Holding a tennis ball, he tossed it into the air and caught it easily. Of course, he was incredibly coordinated…or rather, would it be calibrated since he was throwing it with his left hand?

“They’re for the kids—not you!” Leaning across the desk, irritated by the disorder he’d caused, Maggie replaced the little odds and ends back into the basket and shot him a reprimanding look. She allowed him to keep the tennis ball; like a dog with a bone, if it kept him occupied long enough for her to finish her task, it was fine.

“I hope you’re nicer to them.”

Though he’d grumbled under his breath, Bucky had made certain that Maggie had heard him, and she shot him a withering look. “I am nice!” The skeptical expression he gave her in return made her want to smack him, just a little, and she huffed resentfully, “Fine, I’m nice to them.”

Kids were far easier to be nice to than adults; they were cute and funny and kind, while adults were all rough edges and ulterior motives. Maybe the decision to make her own division that focused solely on caring for children had been partially motivated by her desire to avoid adults after enhanced individual and superhero events caused problems.

Was it inconvenient to have your car smashed by Hulk as he rampaged through the city fighting aliens? Of course. Was it a reason to be rude to those who were only trying to help following the aftermath? Not at all.

“Done!” With a relieved sigh, Maggie submitted the form and stood, stretching her arms high above her head. At that, she was done with her desk for the day, and she got to do the fun part of her job by ensuring that every active case they currently had was still going well.

Pumps and high-waisted, wide-legged trousers made her legs look modelesque and long, but she was still dwarfed by Bucky’s height as he walked through the halls with her. Towering over Maggie by nearly a foot, she was mildly worried that some of the kids would be frightened by their new volunteer’s towering stature.

After an elevator ride to a lower floor, they’d arrived in the atrium. Stopping by the security desk, she scrawled his name on a nametag. On his chest, she pressed the sticker, complete with a little smiley face in the corner, courtesy of her. Maggie stopped with her hand on the door handle just before they entered, “You ready?”

An amused, inquisitive expression made the crow’s feet beside Bucky’s eyes deepen as he smiled, “You act like they’re wild animals—not a bunch of kids.”

Beaming, she shrugged, “Famous last words, Barnes.”

The giant, open-concept room was bustling; it was something of a dayroom with more games and toys than kids. As time had passed since everyone had returned to the universe, more and more families were finding their footing and being reunited but there was still a small group of kids under the SRF’s charge.

The faces of adults and children alike turned to see who’d entered the room and Maggie grinned as he hesitated at the unexpected attention. Wrapping a hand around his arm, ignoring how large his stupidly ripped bicep was, she pulled him further inside before he could turn and run.

“Good morning! This is Mr. Barnes,” Pausing, she glanced up at him and shrugged, “or you can call him Bucky! He’ll be here with me today to hang out with you guys.” With a squeeze to the very firm muscle, she nodded to the new volunteer as she teased the kids she’d gotten to know over the last few months, “No picking on the new kid, got it?”

A sprinkled murmur of agreement rattled their little voices as they went back to playing. Bucky gently grabbed her hand as she moved to let him go, “What do I…”

“Just kind of walk around. Ask questions.” She kept her voice soft as she glanced around the room. It was never an ideal situation, to not know where or who home was, but the foundation did their best to make things as easy as possible when so many of the children didn’t even completely understand their own circumstance. “A lot of them are pretty shy so take it slow and they’ll warm up to you, I promise. I need to go check some things with Kayla, but I’ll be right over there.”

It went without saying but Maggie had come to trust Bucky; if she hadn’t, she never would have suggested him tagging along. Though Valentine’s Day would go down as one of the most embarrassing events in her short life, it had solidified what she already thought she knew. Beneath the rocky exterior and rough edges, there was something soft inside of James Barnes. He was a good man and that came as a surprise to no one, especially not her.

With an encouraging smile, Maggie let him go and he watched as she strolled across the room. It was like a transformation as she squared her shoulders and stood taller. So, this was her element. He couldn’t help but notice how the other adults looked to her for guidance or got her input; it was nice to see her so comfortable and in command.

Slowly, Bucky ventured further into the room. Some of the older kids were playing video games or doing schoolwork, but a little table to the side was occupied by three or four younger kids. He had no clue how old they were, aside from approximately somewhere between four and seven, but they seemed to be the least intimidating of the small crowd.

Wary of, what Maggie had deemed, his ‘resting bitch face,’ Bucky was careful to keep his facial expression as light as his tone when he crouched down beside one of the little boys with grass stains on his khaki pants and his messy hair sticking up, “What’re you drawing?”

Not even looking up from the construction paper, the boy used the green crayon and scrubbed it against the page like his life depended on it as he answered, “The zoo!”

Tilting his head to the side, Bucky looked down at the picture. A giant, scaly green lizard was the focal point of what was quickly becoming, the child’s magnum opus, “I didn’t know they had dragons at the zoo.”

At Bucky’s quip, the little boy finally looked up at the tall man as he explained with a slight lisp from losing his two front teeth, “’S not a dragon.” Giggling, he slid it closer to the older man as he continued, “It’s a dinosaur!”

“Oh!” Nodding, as if the explanation had been the most obvious thing in the world, he agreed, “That makes much more sense. What’s your name, kid?”

“Noah. Want to color?” As he offered Bucky one of the crayons, his big brown eyes were hopeful as he craned his neck to look up at the giant who crouched beside him. Shooting a glance towards Maggie who was distractedly watching him as she carried on some conversation with one of her division members, she smiled and gave him a little nod.

“Uh, yeah.” With a grin, Bucky, very carefully, sat down on one of the abnormally small wooden chairs. Of course, they were made for kids, but were they all really that tiny? A mild glance at his table members answered for him; apparently, yes, they were. Accepting the crayon, he grabbed a piece of paper from the center of the table, “What should I draw?”

The little boy was thoughtful for a moment before giving Bucky a decisive nod, inspired by his own piece of art, “Your favorite place!”

“Got it.”

Going to work on his own drawing, it was an easy choice. If someone had asked him before the war, the answer would have been simple; he would have said New York because, at one point, it had been his entire world. After everything—the war, Hydra, going on the run—there was only one place that stood out above any other. In Wakanda, he’d found a modicum of peace amidst the disaster of the world; he would have been happy to spend the rest of his life there, but he knew that life wasn’t always what someone wanted.

The room they were in was large, but it felt like a sauna as he sat at the table with the kids. It made sense; they were small, and it had barely gone above freezing outside so they needed to trap the heat to keep them comfortable. Perhaps it wouldn’t have felt so warm if he wasn’t wearing the heavy leather jacket he seldom went without.

The article was something of a security blanket—if he wore it, people often overlooked the arm and that was more preferable than the stares. He could feel his temperature rising, the back of his neck growing warm as he shifted in his seat. After several moments of contemplation, Bucky shed his outer layer and silently cursed that he’d worn a t-shirt as opposed to something a little more conspicuous.

Vigilant as he continued to look down at the paper before him, using the crayons to sketch out the mountains of the small country, he was surprised when none of the children raised any questions about the vibranium appendage. In all fairness, they’d seen things that were far stranger in their lives: aliens, spaceships, sorcerers. The list was endless.

From across the room, Maggie kept an eye on Bucky as she fielded questions from the members of her team. It was bizarre because, at first, she was certain that she’d been more concerned for the children but perhaps not. As Bucky shed some of his metaphorical armor, she’d tuned out one of Kayla’s endless stories as she watched like a hawk. For what? She was unsure.

Maybe it was because she was worried that his powerful arm would frighten the kids. As she thought about it more, she soon realized that she was wrong. Though she didn’t want the kids to be frightened by something they didn’t understand, she was more worried that they would ask too many questions that would force Bucky’s hand.

The dull of hum of kids chatting and occasional bouts of laughter were the typical backtrack to the days that she visited the lower floors of the tower. She loved it. Finally averting her eyes from her neighbor, she did a quick count—there was that nervous habit of always making sure she had her ducks in a row.

One child short, her eyes scanned the room quickly before she caught sight of a little boy that she’d missed on her first go around. Alistair, a tiny redhead that was barely four, toddled across the room with a handful of little, plastic fruit magnets clenched tightly in his sticky, chubby fist. It was almost in slow motion as she watched him approach Bucky, who had been drawn into a conversation about race cars and how fast they could drive to the moon.

Before Maggie could cross the room and give a soft lesson in manners, the little boy had stuck several of the magnets on to Bucky’s exposed arm. Letting out a shout of raucous laughter that set off giggles in several of the other children, he looked up at Bucky with bright blue eyes. Looking down at the little red apple and yellow bunch of bananas that had been stuck to his forearm, Bucky’s expression was stunned.

Her stomach turned cartwheels for a split second as she looked at him, worried that he’d yank his jacket back on and leave before vowing to never return and never forgive her for dragging him along in the first place. Maybe she should have had a conversation with the kids about how some people are different. Before any of those fears could come true, Bucky began to chuckle.

His chest shook as he unstuck them, the vibranium releasing the refrigerator magnets easily. With a sneaky glint in his eye, Bucky tried to stick them to the little boy’s arm in return which made him giggle as they fell to the floor before he ran towards Maggie. Unable to hide her grin as Alistair hid from Bucky behind her legs, holding on tightly to the leg of her pants as he peeked around her, she watched with unabashed joy as the tall man stalked across the room and began a game of tag that quickly grew into a group-wide event.

In her entire time working with kids who hadn’t been dealt the best hand in life, Maggie had never seen all of them quite so excited as they formed alliances and took shelter beneath tables or behind walls. A dim glow in her chest warmed her heart as she was pulled into the game when Bucky tapped her arm to tag her and easily hopped over a table to get out of reach as quickly as possible.

Sometimes, it was the little things.

The worst part of her commute back to Brooklyn from Manhattan was the ferry. Perhaps it would be less miserable after winter had passed but at the present moment, she was using Bucky’s massive frame as a wall to hide from the cold wind as the boat cut through the East River. Along with her neighbor-turned-friend acting as a windbreaker, the long coat and deep, maroon beret that Poppy had picked up for her in France were doing an excellent job at keeping Maggie from freezing.

Leaning against the railing, she peered up at Bucky, “So, you liked it?”

“Yeah,” Nodding, she couldn’t help but notice that his pleasant expression hadn’t changed since they’d left her place of work. They’d stayed far later than they’d originally intended but it wasn’t until one of the directors had gently reminded Maggie that they needed to get the kids ready for dinner, that she’d realized several hours had passed. Fondly, he continued, “Cute kids.”

After a long game of tag that had somehow morphed into freeze tag, which apparently had very different rules than it had when she was a kid, the children finally realized how strong Bucky was. Choruses of ‘Mr. Barnes!’ and ‘Mr. Bucky!’ had overlapped as they used him as a jungle gym, hanging from his arms and neck as he stomped around the room like Godzilla terrorizing a city. She’d been worried that they would somehow offend Bucky or make him self-conscious, but she’d never seen him smile so big in all the time that she’d known him.

“They’re the best.” Maggie agreed, dotingly. As much as her heart soared every time a case was settled and a family was reunited or one of the kids was adopted, it would have been a lie if she’d said that the goodbyes didn’t hurt at least a little. All she could do was think of them often and hope that they were happy out there in the world. Nudging him gently with her elbow, she raised an eyebrow, “So, are you going to come back sometime?”

“You want me to come back?”

At Bucky’s surprised, and almost flattered, expression, Maggie quickly shook her head and lied, though the corner of her lips twitched up and gave her away, “They do—not me.”

In all honesty, she wanted him to return just as much as the kids did. It was like they’d chipped away at the stone he’d fortified himself with; she knew they did the same for her.

“Oh, they do?” Raising an eyebrow, he crossed his arms. Like a stained-glass window, he could see right through her words as he grinned, clarifying, “Not you?”

Shaking her head, Maggie shrugged nonchalantly, playing it cool, “Nope. You were just a big hit with them.”

“Well, I would.” Though her eyes were on the shore ahead, snowflakes landing on her eyelashes as they swirled through the air, she could feel Bucky watching her as he added, amusedly, “For them, of course.”

“Of course.” She agreed, “They’d really like that.” At his acceptance, she finally turned to look back at him and they shared a smile. He had a sneaking suspicion that she had included herself in that ‘they.’

Maggie almost had the little, silver key in the lock of her door when she finally remembered what she’d intended to ask Bucky about earlier that afternoon. She’d lived on her own for most of her twenties, so she wasn’t a stranger to doing household maintenance on her own but even she knew her limits.

With a dulcet tone, she turned to the man who was only a few feet down the hall, “James…”

“What do you want?” There was no malice to his words, only a slightly begrudging acceptance, as he raised an eyebrow. His door was half-open, but she’d caught him just before he’d stepped inside the haven of his own apartment.

She couldn’t help the slightly offended pout at his response as she ruffled, trying to turn the stuck key in her door’s lock and cursing how the cold in hall had warped the metal handle, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

With a shrug, he looked at her as though it should be obvious, “That’s your ‘I want something’ voice.”

“My what?”

Watching, entertained as she struggled with her door, he explained with a self-satisfied grin, “Your voice when you’re going to ask me a favor.”

Giving up on the stuck key, she crossed her arms as she turned to him with a skeptical expression, “I have a specific voice for that?”

“Yep.” With four strides, Bucky made it to her door and wiggled the key further into the lock easily, allowing it to turn and disengage as he prompted, “So, what do you want?”

“I—” Maggie huffed. He wasn’t wrong and they both knew it, but it made her want to rescind her request. Annoyed, she mumbled, “I need help trying to reconnect my stupid garbage disposal because I was trying to fix it and then something happened and there was a spark and it scared me.” As he made a face, Maggie knew he wouldn’t deny her, but she decided to sweeten the deal anyway as she tacked on, “I’ll make you dinner.”

With a smug smile, he walked back to his door as he added, “I would have done it for free, Hall.”

“I know, Barnes. I’m just a nice neighbor.” Rolling her eyes, she went inside with a little smile and headed to her room as he retrieved a toolbox from his own apartment.

One day she’d be a functional adult who wore their normal, street clothes until it was time for bed. As she pulled on yet another pair of leggings and a sweatshirt from her alma mater, she decided that it wasn’t that day.

Lowering the heat beneath the pan on the stove, she watched as the tall blue flame was reduced to a red-orange flicker. The mouthwatering scent of garlic and chicken and Szechuan pepper filled the kitchen as she dragged the spatula across the metal pan. Bucky, on his back beneath her sink with his toolbox open beside him, had grown used to her half-mumbling singing that she always seemed to do around the house regardless of anyone’s presence.

Though he pretended to be annoyed by the little habit, he’d begun to find her slightly off-key voice and almost-always incorrect lyrics somewhat endearing. It was quite the departure from the woman he’d met in the heat of battle and the cold shoulder he’d been given in the first few weeks following their reintroduction.

It was an unspoken thing, how each of them seemed to be spackling a hole that had been left in their heart by someone else—or, in Maggie’s case, three someone else’s. It wasn’t the same. How could it be? There was no shared history or any funny stories from years past, there was still so much that they didn’t know about one another. Although it went unsaid, they were both grateful; having the presence of the other made them feel the slightest bit less alone.

“Shit!” His muffled voice came from beneath cabinet before he sat up with a peeved expression, careful not to smack his head; he knew she wouldn’t ever let it go if he did. Running a hand through his hair to brush it from his forehead, he explained, “I can’t get a grip on the stupid fucking thing.”

Pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose, Maggie’s eyes followed the movement of his gloved hand. It had to be restrictive, didn’t it? She could barely stand wearing gloves while she was outside, wearing them anytime she wasn’t alone sounded miserable. When he’d unexpectedly shed them along with his jacket earlier, she’d been surprised. That vulnerability was something she hadn’t seen from him before.

“You don’t have to wear them, you know.” Trying to sound casual and not pushy, neither of which she was great at, Maggie met his eyes before clarifying, “The glove and the jacket. Don’t feel like you have to wear them for me.”

She didn’t care; in fact, the nerdy, neuroscientist that was buried deep inside of her was secretly fascinated with the intricacies of the vibranium creation. Everyone had pieces of themselves they didn’t like, blemishes that wouldn’t fade or wounds that didn’t heal. For her, it was the massive scar that had wrapped around her side just four months ago. For Bucky, it was his arm. Though it had a more complicated history than most others’ injuries, it was still part of him.

After a tense moment of looking at her and clenching his jaw, Bucky slowly removed the leather gloves before shoving them in the pocket of his jacket which he quickly shed as well. Setting them aside, she could see the way his body relaxed with his range of motion no longer restricted and felt a half smile appear on her lips.

Flexing his metal hand, he nodded and ducked back under the sink to return to work. It hadn’t been until that afternoon that Maggie had realized he was always so careful to wear long-sleeves around her. When he came over, he always wore Henley’s or long-sleeve t-shirts. She hadn’t really had a chance to see his arm up close aside from then.

The sleek black metal with deep gold at the joints and hinges, that allowed for a variety of movements, was oddly beautiful. When she’d stood close to him, or on the rare occasions that his hand had been placed on her shoulder or back, she’d been able to hear the quiet whirring sounds from the gears and wires beneath its shell. His touch was firm, she could recall his arm as he carried her across her kitchen and up the stairs, but each motion and gesture he made looked so natural.

Perhaps it was because she hadn’t known him before the inciting incident that had cost him his arm, but it was impossible to picture Bucky any other way. In fact, she didn’t want to picture him any differently than he was at that moment. She was content with who he was; she only hoped that he could be too.

By the time that Bucky had finished reconnecting the frayed wires, which had been soon after he’d removed the gloves, she was garnishing the stir fry with green onions and placing the steaming plates on the table. Washing his hands, he grabbed the glasses of water she’d left in the kitchen and brought them over as he took a seat.

It all felt so normal. After shooting him a smile in silent thanks, Maggie took a bite and groaned. She had a tendency to skip lunch on her particularly long days at work.

Bucky’s tone was ambiguous as he observed from across the table, “You didn’t add peas to mine.”

She very carefully hadn’t. The green peas that speckled the soy sauce-coated rice on her plate were notably absent from his, though all of the other vegetables remained present. It had been a throw away comment made years ago, but for some reason she’d taken note of it like it would matter someday. At the time, she and Steve had had no idea that everyone would return someday when they’d discussed it.

“Steve said you didn’t like them.” Slowly, saying his name was becoming easier. She still didn’t make a habit of it, but it didn’t feel like a bullet to her chest anymore; now it was like a dull burn, the residual heat left behind after pressing a finger against a hot stove. It still hurt but it didn’t knock her off her feet or paralyze her in pain any longer.

“I can’t believe he remembered that.” An exhale of a laugh was pulled from Bucky as he shook his head in disbelief. It had been a childhood qualm. He’d never been a picky eater except when it came to peas—something about the texture had always been unsettling it so he’d avoided them for as long as he could recall.

“He remembered everything.” Maggie half-joked, taking a sip of her water. Even the smallest comments that she made in passing, Steve would somehow recall. Along with his photographic memory, he was like a walking tape recorder. “It was actually a little bit annoying when it wasn’t super endearing.”

“He always had a good memory.” Even before the serum, Steve could easily recall just about anything from his classes or books he read. As he chewed a piece of the spicy chicken thoughtfully, Bucky added, “Guess he had to, since he needed to remember everywhere he’d gone to try and sneak into the army.”

Leaning forward, Maggie’s eyebrows shot towards her hairline, “He what?”

She’d never really thought about it, but she’d never had the chance to hear about Steve’s life firsthand from anyone except himself. Even she’d had Tony and Pepper and Poppy who’d shared more than their fair share of embarrassing stories about her life with him. Bucky, though, had been there for Steve. Through thick and thin, the men had stuck by one another; it made her feel closer to both of them.

“Oh yeah,” He took a long drink of the ice water to offset the spice before grinning, “He was a rule-breaking, little shit back in the day. Well, not just then.” Shrugging, he pointed out, “He broke the law and went on the run for two years ‘cause he didn’t want to sign the accords.”

It was a simplification, of course, but they both knew the accords were one of the reasons that Steve had been a fugitive; the other reason sat across from her.

“He had certain convictions.” After she spoke, she didn’t like the way the words felt when they fell from her tongue. Something about speaking of him in past tense just felt wrong although it wasn’t. That Steve, the one that used to be hers, really was gone.

Shoving those thoughts down, she refocused on the conversation at hand as Bucky countered, “He was a stubborn ass.”

With an affectionate, soft laugh, Maggie nodded in agreement as she exhaled, “Yeah.”

Talking about him like this, saying his name and remembering him for the good and not just the pain and what could have been, was oddly nice. She hadn’t really spoken about him to anyone aside from her therapist since he’d left; the closest that she’d come to it was when she or Bucky would reference him in passing.

It felt good to think about him and not want to break down in sobs. Progress wasn’t always something she was great at assessing, especially in herself, but this felt like it. And since she started, she oddly didn’t want to stop.

Maggie couldn’t help herself as she blurted out, “You know he snored sometimes?” Criss-crossing her legs as she balanced on the dining room chair, she laughed, “I tried to get him to use those little nose strips one time, but he insisted that it wasn’t him snoring.”

At that, Bucky let out a genuine, belly laugh as well. He could remember having sleepovers when they were kids. Steve may have looked unassuming, but the smaller boy had sounded like a buzzsaw at night. Nodding, he supported, “Snored when we were kids too. Damn asthma.”

Maybe Steve hadn’t been perfect, but sometimes it felt as though he’d been pretty damn close. Something about slowly dismantling the picture-perfect ideal that she’d somehow created in her head made her feel less broken inside. Using a napkin, Maggie wiped the tears from her cheeks. For the first time in a long time, they hadn’t come from heartbreak. All of this—thinking about him like this, talking about him in a way that didn’t seem to rip open old wounds, having a new friend—felt really wonderful.

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misshoneybee · 3 years ago

Text

⟣ 𝑌𝑂𝑈'𝑅𝐸 𝑀𝑌 𝐴𝐶𝐻𝐼𝐿𝐿𝐸𝑆 𝐻𝐸𝐸𝐿 ⟢

— 𝐼𝑉. 𝑂𝑁𝐸 𝐹𝑂𝑅 𝑇𝐻𝐸 𝑀𝑂𝑁𝐸𝑌, 𝑇𝑊𝑂 𝐹𝑂𝑅 𝑇𝐻𝐸 𝑆𝐻𝑂𝑊, 𝐼 𝑁𝐸𝑉𝐸𝑅 𝑊𝐴𝑆 𝑅𝐸𝐴𝐷𝑌 𝑆𝑂 𝐼 𝑊𝐴𝑇𝐶𝐻𝐸𝐷 𝑌𝑂𝑈 𝐺𝑂

Masterpost — OFC Biography — Playlists — Chapter III — Chapter V

❧ Pairings | Post-Endgame!Bucky Barnes x Original Female Character, Previous Steve Rogers x Original Female Character

❧ Warnings | Mature content, explicit language, grief, substance abuse (excessive drinking as a form of self harm), brief emet scene, mention of sa, protective!Bucky Barnes, hurt/comfort

❧ Wordcount | ~6.7k

"She would've made such a lovely bride, What a shame she's fucked in the head," they said ( champagne problems | evermore )

February 14, 2024

Seething, Maggie allowed her front door to slam closed behind her as she locked the deadbolt. ‘Fuck, Hallmark.’ It seemed as though she was unable to enter a room all day that wasn’t decorated with obnoxious, frilly, pink paper decorations that had been pinned to the walls or hung from the ceilings at the last minute. People were dressed in shades of fuchsia and claret with hearts patterned on everything from sweaters to scarves to pieces of tacky jewelry.

It was a stupid fucking holiday; it was only commercialized so that people would spend their money on dumb, little trinkets and cards and chocolate. It was capitalistic. Maybe they should have just done as the Romans had thousands of years earlier: blood sacrifices while drunk and nude. That chaos would have been far more palatable than the torture of seeing every single fucking person around her in love, all day long.

It just reminded her of Steve.

If she’d remembered the holiday, she would have called in sick and spent the entire day in the sanctuary of her room, working from home. The sun hadn’t even begun to set but she couldn’t stand to stay awake any longer than she’d already needed to be. The workday was over, she wasn’t on call that evening, Alpine was independent and would be fine, and when she woke up, it would be the fifteenth and the most unnecessary holiday known to man would finally be over.

Stripping off her work clothes and pulling a t-shirt over her head, she didn’t even bother removing her makeup. Her shop was closed, and this was as good as it was going to get. Drawing the curtains tightly across the blind-shuttered window, Maggie finally crawled into bed and cocooned herself in the heavy, European duvet she’d splurged on.

It was quiet in the little apartment aside from the comforting whir of her overhead fan. If she could just fall asleep, the day could finally end. The day could end, and she could wake up in the morning and pretend as though it never happened. Like a bad habit, she began counting, allowing herself to fall unconscious somewhere in the mid-seven-hundreds before the dreams finally came as they did every night.

It took several minutes for Maggie’s racing heart rate to finally calm down enough for her to be able to use words again after they’d both reached their peak. She gave a breathless laugh, her shaky voice soft as she mumbled, “We should have done that sooner.”

She felt Steve’s chest shake with a chuckle; his raspy voice was thick as he nodded in agreement, “Yeah.”

A mischievous smile twitched at the corner of her lips, and she tilted her head up, pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss to his jaw, trailing it in a wet path down his neck as she hummed, “Maybe we should do it again.”

He grinned eagerly, rolling over and pulling her on top of him as he agreed enthusiastically, “Yeah.”

Maggie drew in a sharp breath as her eyes shot open; once again, they failed to find the familiar pair of ocean blue ones that she still expected to meet each time she woke. Four years earlier, like some cliché eighties romance, she and Steve had consummated their relationship but, unlike Harry and Sally, their ending hadn’t been a happy one.

There probably wasn’t a huge audience that sought out romantic tragedies.

Steve, or rather memories of Steve, still came to her in dreams almost every single night. It was unfair. Sometimes, Maggie preferred the nightmares she used to get; she would give just about anything to dream about the time that an alien had gouged a part of her abdomen out. That pain was far easier to manage than the one that wasn’t physical.

Sutures could mend a sick heart but not a broken one.

Sitting up, she pressed her flushed face into her hands and wiped away at her eyes as she released a shuddering breath. Though she’d never had one, she was pretty certain that sex dreams typically didn’t result in tears but apparently hers did. It was like she’d tried to create a wall around him in her mind; if she couldn’t see it, she didn’t have to feel it or think about it, but apparently her subconscious had made other plans.

Maybe she had to face it head on, face him head on, like some fucked up exposure therapy of her own devising.

The light under her closet door was like a siren’s song calling her name. She’d put the box in there months ago; it was the only one that she’d packed on the morning he’d left, the only one she’d packed at all. It was as if her feet carried her there without her brain’s instruction. Standing on her toes, she slowly pulled the hatbox down with shaking hands.

It felt like a heavy, lead urn, like it held the ashen remains of their entire relationship. Five years had been burned down into some paper and trinkets and had left nothing but scorch marks on her heart. Crossing her legs, she clasped her hands together until her knuckles went white as she stared at the item. It wasn’t as if it could open itself and talk to her; what would it say if it could? Would it taunt her?

‘Nice try. Maybe if you’d loved him more, he would have stayed.’

‘Poor Marguerite, look how lonely she is now.’

‘Pity you weren’t enough to keep him around, did you ever really think you were?’

Unable to stand staring at it any longer, she lifted the top off of it carefully and set it aside like she was diffusing some pipe bomb. Polaroids, photobooth pictures, drawings, tiny gifts from holidays past all stared back at her. Picking up the golden locket by its delicately thin chain, she used her fingernail to pry it open and a dry sob was pulled from her chest as she looked at the picture that had been hidden away inside years ago. With a shaking exhale, her fingertip brushed over the grainy photo of him that she’d printed and cut out just hours after he’d given her the necklace on her birthday only four years before.

She always intended to replace it with a proper one. She just never got around to it.

Sitting it down, Maggie pulled out the stack of papers and tried futilely to keep her tears from falling on the pages as she sifted through them. A charcoal portrait of her in the kitchen, one of her outside of, what used to be, the Avenger’s Facility, one that she’d once truly believed could tell them the future—their future.

It hadn’t. Like a false prophet, it had ripped all of her hope away and turned it to shreds.

Just one year ago, Maggie thought she knew what the rest of her life looked like, but she’d been wrong. As it turned out, she had no clue what came next.

Were the walls closing in? Why was the oxygen being sucked out of the room?

Shoving the box away like some kind of loaded gun, she all but threw herself from her bed, clamoring like she was escaping some threat and not her own heartache. Yanking a dress from her closet and throwing it on, she dressed and slid on a pair of shoes in record timing. Checking her face in the mirror to ensure there were no rogue tears or smudges of mascara, she grabbed her keys and wallet and locked the door behind her.

Apparently, she hadn’t slept long; the sun had just barely set as she made her way down the crowded street. The apartment building was in a popular neighborhood of Brooklyn, so she didn’t need to go far to find what she was looking for. A dive bar with some generic Irish name like McCarthy’s or O’Sullivan’s looked like her best bet but maybe that was because it was the first one that she’d stumbled upon.

Stepping through the heavy door, an annoying bell chimed to announce her presence. Ignoring the looks from all of the happy couples around her, she focused on the way her heels sounded as they clicked against the sticky, tiled floor. Tucking her skirt beneath her as she sat on one of the precariously high stools, Maggie easily caught the bartender’s attention, “Vodka, whatever’s top shelf. Straight up.”

If she was getting drunk, it wouldn’t be because she wanted a hangover the next morning; it was because, for just a moment, she didn’t want to think anymore.

It was crowded for a weekday evening, but Bucky kept to himself, his head ducked low and his hands in his pockets as he navigated the familiar streets. Passing by the Irish pub, he’d needed to do a double take as something—or rather, someone—caught his eye through the window. On the far side of the packed bar, he spotted a familiar brunette.

Maggie Hall was out at a bar; that was a sight that he certainly hadn’t expected to see anytime soon. Her cheeks weren’t quite as red as her painted lips, but with their rosiness, she looked completely sloshed. Some guy was chatting her up and standing uncomfortably close as she laughed at something just a little too hard, her hand rested on his forearm to steady herself from falling off her stool as he leered at her.

He could walk away, he knew that. She was a grown woman, and she could take care of herself, but he bristled at the thought of leaving her there alone. He didn’t recognize anyone around her; then again, he’d only seen her chatty, blonde friend once from a distance and had only seen photos of her co-workers, so he didn’t know anyone that she knew very well, but that didn’t stop him.

Letting the bell ring obnoxiously as he pushed the door open, his feet carried him inside of their own volition. He approached the younger woman cautiously, like she was some feral cat rather than his neighbor, “Maggie?”

Glassy brown eyes went wide, and her wild curls flew around her face as she whipped her head around to see him. Not once before had she given him a smile so big as she excitedly proclaimed, “Lieutenant Barnes!”

“It’s Sergeant.” His response was automatic before he shook his head to correct himself further, taken aback at her unexpected happiness with his presence, “Actually, it’s Bucky—”

“That’s what I said!” Maggie chirped back, shrugging as she took a sip from the tiny stirrer straw in her rocks glass.

Crossing his arms, he raised an eyebrow. His tone was slightly more accusatory than he meant for it to be, but she was beyond too drunk to notice as he asked, “What are you doing here?”

“Meet my friends!” With an uncharacteristically girlish giggle, Maggie gestured around the room. At the bar were several random, older bar patrons and the bartender, all of which looked thoroughly unamused at the woman though she definitely hadn’t noticed as she babbled away. As her hand accidentally smacked the man standing too close to her, she gasped as if she’d only just remembered, “And this is Mark, he’s very nice.”

“It’s Mike, honey.” The yuppie corrected her with a deep voice, continuing to ogle her as if there weren’t anyone else in the room.

Bucky shot the man a contemptuous glare before decidedly ignoring him and looking back to her as he exhaustedly inquired, “Maggie, the hell are you doing?”

“Just having a drink—”

“And by ‘a,’ do you mean,” He quickly counted the shot glasses and empty tumblers in front of her and grimaced, “eight?”

Pouting at his judgmental tone and the expression that was impossible to ignore, she felt like a chastised child. Tucking her hair behind her ear, she muttered haughtily, “You don’t have to be mean about it.”

“She’s a big girl, man—”

Patience zapped, Bucky rounded on the man who’d decided to butt into the neighbors’ quarrel and his jaw was squared as he spat, “She’s fucking drunk.” Exhaling a sarcastic, humorless laugh made his nostrils flare, he took a step closer to the man. His voice was low, but the dangerous tone lacing his words was deafening as he taunted, “What were you gonna do? Get a few more drinks in her, take her home? Try and fuck her?”

He knew the MO of men like that, the ones that skulked around bars and stalked drunk women to take them back to their place; it would be a cold day in hell when he allowed something like that to befall Maggie. He pushed at the man’s prolonged silence when he didn’t answer the rhetorical question, “That what you do? Sit around and wait for lonely girls in bars so you can get in their pants? Is that the only way you can get any?”

The man, slightly embarrassed and indignant, ran his hand through his swooped back blonde hair before gesturing at Maggie as he tried to defend himself, “She’s the one looking for—”

“She’s not looking for anything!” Bucky cut him off with a roar, no longer watching his volume as his eyes grew darker and the other customers stared unabashedly. Clenching his fists tightly, he had to keep his hands to himself lest he violate the conditions of his pardon, “A girl sitting by herself isn’t an invitation, asshole.”

The unfamiliar man sneered, standing toe to toe with the super solider as he shot back smarmily, “Then maybe she shouldn’t have—”

“Finish that sentence and see what happens.” Interrupting him, Bucky stepped closer and looked down his nose domineeringly. His tone had become dangerously low once more—God, what he would give to deck the asshole in front of him, “Please, try me.”

Maggie jumped back into the awkward conversation after knocking back the rest of her drink, “You know, she is still sitting right here.” Rolling her eyes, she looked between Bucky and her drinking buddy, and huffed, “You're actually not that nice." With a frown, she grumbled, "You know, it’s been great meeting everyone, but I think this is my cue to find a new place.”

Shooting a scathing look, with unfocused, bleary eyes, towards Bucky for ruining her evening, Maggie stood from the annoyingly tall stool. Until then, she hadn’t realized just how much she’d been affected by her drinks. She’d needed to steady herself on coltish legs, unstable from the blocky heel of her shoes and her blood alcohol content, before she strode out of the establishment with an unfound confidence.

As soon as the bell from the door let out a short jingle to signal Maggie’s departure, the blonde man made a move to follow. Before he could take a step, Bucky’s patience finally ran out. With his vibranium arm and a cautiously tight grip on the stranger’s shoulder, he walked him backwards several steps before forcing him into a seat with a murderous expression on his face. The chair rocked backwards haphazardly as the man looked up at Bucky in almost childlike terror.

In a low, lethal tone, he carefully warned, “Go after her and I promise the hospital is gonna need your fuckin’ dental records to figure out who you are.” As the man began to stammer, Bucky tightened his grip, “Nod if you understand.”

With a frightened whimper, Mike or Mark or Matt nodded like a bobble-head for a moment until Bucky turned to face the bartender. With a flat look of annoyance, the gruff looking man shoved Maggie’s debit card and handbag that she’d left behind towards Bucky.

Shaking his head, Bucky grabbed them and closed her tab before quickly exiting the still-buzzing establishment that had been roused by the little scene he’d caused. His eyes scanned the busy street fervently until he caught sight of the petite woman standing at a crosswalk’s light, her navy dress swishing around her knees with the breeze. He easily caught up to her as she waited, holding on to the light pole to keep herself upright.

“Not gonna get very far without this.” As he held up her bag, she snatched it back with a huff.

“Thank you.” Zipping it closed, she attempted to make herself seem slightly more sober than she actually was as she mumbled, “You can go back—I’m fine.”

Pointedly ignoring him, Maggie took a step into the street though the light had yet to change. Hearing the car before he saw it, he wrapped a hand around her upper arm and yanked her back. As the yellow cab sped through the changing light, her breath was taken away as she fell back against him.

Shaking his head, he sounded resolved as he suggested, “Okay, I think it’s time to go home now.”

“I am not a child—I don’t need you to tell me what to do.” As she shoved him away futilely, he let her go once he was certain she was out of harm’s way for the time being. Her rosy cheeks darkened from the anger and embarrassment that swam through her her fuzzy head. “I have been fine on my own for a long fucking time.” Her words were slurred as she continued under her breath, “I was fine after my parents. I was fine before Steve. And I’m fine now.”

At once, as she talked about being on her own, it clicked. On just about all sides, they were surrounded by couples. It was Valentine’s Day; the first Valentine’s Day where everyone had been reunited with those that they’d lost. Well, everyone except Maggie. For her, it was the first one in quite some time that she was alone and that quickly began to explain the usually rational woman’s erratic behavior.

Shoving down the pity, more concerned for her safety at the moment, he bit back, “If you were fine, you would have seen the goddamn car coming!”

“It was an accident—”

“Yeah, well that accident could have gotten you killed.” He cut her off with a pointed glare, crossing his arms as he blocked her only way into the crosswalk.

“Go to hell, Barnes.” Maggie spat, shoving past him, and walking with some indeterminate purpose down the city block. Where she was going, she didn’t know but anywhere that he wasn’t, was best.

With a silent irritation, Bucky followed her, not willing to let her get into trouble because he’d become somewhat fond of the bossy brunette even if she was in rare form tonight. The mild annoyance that he felt didn’t quite outweigh his concern as he watched her. As she traipsed down the sidewalk, she wasn’t even walking in a straight line. No one at the bar had bothered to cut her off since she was small and cute and apparently turned into quite the social butterfly when she drank.

“Maggie!” He called her name from a distance in an effort to get her to stop as she braced herself on a building wall; the sidewalk felt as though it was moving beneath her feet like an airport walkway. Any patience that he’d regained since leaving the bar was wearing thin, as he raised his voice, “Maggie, I swear to god, I will fuckin’ carry you back to your apartment if you don’t come with me now.”

“Just stop!” She whipped around, shouting at him as she brushed the tendrils of her hair that were swept askew by the breeze from her face. Though she was unsteady and cold, the anger warmed her from deep within, “I am completely fucking fine by myself. I don’t need you to babysit me even if that’s what Steve,” the way she spat his name was venomous, “asked you to do! I don’t need any saving. I can drink as much as I want, and go wherever I want with whoever I want, and I can find my way home without your help. So, thanks, but no thanks.”

Apparently, his patience had a limit and, at her words, it had finally run out. Taking her hand, Bucky yanked her into an alleyway so the whole world wasn’t privy to their shouting match.

“Let go of me, you goddamn fucking caveman.” Maggie clumsily smacked at his hand with her other.

Taking her wrist and holding it gently with his other, glove-clad hand, he gave her a stern look, “Maggie, stop fighting—”

“I don’t need this—I don’t need anyone.” As she babbled on, her words began to sound familiar; they sounded like him. For so long, he hadn’t needed anyone else in his life. He could take care of himself. She didn’t deserve that; she didn’t need to end up like him, bitter and alone.

“Maggie!” Raising his voice, finally forcing her to stop, he continued quietly as he tried to level with her, “Look, I,” With a sigh, he hesitantly confided in her, “I get it. I know it’s not the same, but I miss him too.”

At his confession, it was like the fight was sucked out of her. As she faltered and her hands stopped flailing in an attempt to get him off of her, he could see the fire leave her eyes when it was extinguished by a wave of tears. Going quiet, Maggie let out a soft, shaky breath as she leaned back against the wall, unconcerned as the coarse brick snagged the soft knit of her fitted dress.

Raising a hand to try and hide her face as she let her head rest back against the wall, tears finally fell. Her words were muffled but unmistakable as the broken sobs took hold, “I should’ve just asked him to stay.”

Uncertain of how to comfort the distraught woman, Bucky sighed and settled for placing a warm hand on her shoulder, rubbing it gently as she let herself break down in his presence. All those weeks ago, she’d immediately found a stiff upper lip once she’d seen him in her apartment but not this time. This time, she let it all go.

Maybe it wasn’t exactly the same but, to an extent, he did understand how she felt. When Steve had told him what he was planning to do, he’d explicitly said he wouldn’t do it if Maggie or Bucky wanted him to stay. Of course, he’d wanted Steve to stay, more than anything, but like her, he knew how much Steve had given up.

Hell, if Bucky could have done it all over again, he probably would have too. Though, for him, it wasn’t really an option—not with the arm. If something went wrong, he needed to be able to see Shuri and he couldn’t do that if he was stuck eighty years in the past. And so, neither of the ones that had been left behind stopped Steve from leaving. Both Bucky and Maggie gave him the blessing to live the rest of his life how he’d always wanted to, even if it meant not having him in the rest of theirs.

The agony that permeated her sobs was gut-wrenching; he found himself wanting to hold her tightly, to do anything to help end her suffering. Almost doubled over, she was struggling to keep breathing. God, she felt sick, and her head was spinning a million miles a minute. Was it because of the alcohol or the pain that never seemed to end? Would there ever come a day when thoughts of Steve wouldn’t hurt so fucking badly?

When he’d left, she’d lied. As it turned out, she certainly wasn’t okay in the present moment, and she wasn’t certain if she would ever be okay in the future.

Hesitantly, Bucky wrapped an arm around Maggie’s waist and helped her stand up as straight as she could though her body still shook with sobs. “Come on, doll,” He murmured softly as he bore her weight with each measured step down the block towards their apartment building which was, thankfully, only a few doors away.

A crying woman wasn’t really a surprising sight on the streets of New York City, so those who passed by them didn’t seem to bat an eye. It wasn’t long before they got to the building’s stoop, their journey filled only with her occasional sniffles and his instruction to watch her step when encountering a curb or step. Getting into the building was an easy task but the flights of stairs to their floor were proving to be more of an issue.

“C’mon,” Bucky’s voice was quiet as he easily lifted Maggie into a bridal carry for the second time in their short tenure of friendship. Unstable feet on each step would have taken far longer than necessary. All of the fight had been snuffed out of her, so she obliged and wrapped her arms around his neck, resting her head on his shoulder limply as he climbed the stairs with ease.

Sitting Maggie on her feet once they found her door, she leaned all of her weight against Bucky’s side, but he didn’t mind; it seemed as though the alcohol had finally, completely hit her. Staying awake was difficult enough but standing felt impossible. All she wanted anymore was to crawl back into bed and go to sleep.

His voice was surprisingly patient as he asked her, “You got your keys?”

Digging through her handbag, clumsy fingers wrapped around the cold metal of her keychain before she handed them to him with another sniffle. With one arm holding her up, Bucky used the other to unlatch the two locks on her door. Before he could even shut the door behind them, a concerned Alpine let out a loud yowl as he darted to his intoxicated owner.

“Wait here, okay?” With an awkward pat to Maggie’s shoulder, he went to her kitchen in search of her drinking glasses; she needed some water in her system to dilute all of the vodka in her blood and to stop the havoc it was wreaking on her body. Looking up to ask her in which cupboard she’d placed them, Bucky floundered. She’d kicked off her shoes and he watched as she tried unsuccessfully to fight with the zipper of her dress.

“Whoa. Uh, still here, Maggie.” Clearing his throat, he spoke loudly enough to be heard across the room, ensuring that she remembered his presence and stopped trying to strip in the living room, “Maybe go in your room and I’ll bring this and head out after you’re done with…that.”

Dragging her feet, she glacially made her way into the bedroom that was still glowing with the warm, yellow light from the lamp she’d forgotten to turn off in her haste to leave. Giving up her attempts to reach her zipper, vodka having obliterated any fine motor skills that she may have had, Maggie resorted to shoving it over her head and leaving it on a crumpled heap on the floor.

Fuck dry-cleaning.

Once again, she redressed in the pajamas she’d worn on her first attempt to fall asleep that evening. Sober-morning Maggie was going to be thoroughly upset at the loose waves and full face of makeup that had been left behind from drunk-night Maggie’s adventures, but she couldn’t bother attempting to care. Perhaps the tears would at least wash away some of the mascara remnants and concealer that had been dabbed under her eyes that morning.

She’d come to find that nights were the most difficult times when she found herself missing Steve; over their years together, she’d become so used to a body in the bed beside her, she’d almost forgotten what it was like to sleep alone. The sheets were cold, there was no steady, sleepy breathing or occasional snore that accompanied the sound of the fan, and she just felt so lonely.

Missing him was painful—it felt like a piece of the muscle of her heart had been cut away with a rusted scalpel, left to rot and never to be returned. The anatomy of her pain was more confusing than she ever thought was possible; there was nostalgia and sadness, of course, but then sometimes rare flames of fury would appear and startle her.

Mostly, she was angry at herself—angry for not knowing how to better handle her wants and needs as she’d gone off the rails in the wake of disaster, angry for giving him the idea to leave, angry for actually giving him up and letting him go. And sometimes, she found herself angry at him—for leaving, for believing her when she’d told him that she’d be okay, for being happy with someone else when she didn’t know if she ever could do the same.

Almost daily, Maggie had needed to remind herself that she was the one who told him to leave. She had been the one that was too hurt to look at a man that she loved because he reminded her of people she’d already lost and a life she could never get back. She was the one who didn’t know how to let herself be happy when she felt like she didn’t deserve it.

It was all her fault.

The small room felt inordinately warm; her cheeks went red, and her skin grew clammy. Placing her hand on the window, Maggie tried to focus on how the cold glass felt against her palm, but she knew what was happening and was powerless to stop it. Hot saliva began to pool in her mouth and her stomach felt as though it was on fire, swimming with its contents of vodka and nothing else.

“Can I come in?” Having, eventually, found the glasses, Bucky had filled one with cold water and gently knocked on her door in the hope that she was decent by then. Flinging her bedroom door open, Maggie apologetically shoved him aside as she raced past him to her small bathroom with a hand over her mouth.

There would be bruises on her knees in the morning from how hard she’d dropped to the floor in front of the toilet. With white knuckles, she gagged as she gripped the cold porcelain and emptied the acidic contents of her stomach into the water, burning her esophagus just as it had when she’d drank all of the liquor earlier. Vaguely, she registered an unfamiliar hand pulling her hair back as she heaved, and another warm one rubbing her back in a soothing back and forth motion.

Eventually, Maggie’s body had nothing left to give and she rested her sweaty forehead against her arm as she stared at the pattern on the floor tiles. The silent tears shook her shoulders as she kneeled in the bathroom, defeat having overwhelmed her every sense. How could everything change so much in such little time? How had she ended up here?

After several minutes of allowing her to sit on the floor after she’d regurgitated the contents of her night, Bucky helped her to her feet slowly, not wanting to move her around too much and make her nauseous once again, “C’mon, let’s get you up.”

His voice felt far away as she stood, knees weak. Holding his forearm to keep any semblance of balance, Maggie realized that the spinning in her head had finally slowed as she leaned against the wall. Wiping her bloodshot eyes, she shook her head, regret coating her words as she apologized softly, “I’m sorry—”

“You don’t have to apologize.” His gaze was softer than she’d ever seen it and she almost hoped that she’d remember it even if she forgot everything else come morning. The blue-almost-gray had taken on an unfamiliar warmth; it was nice. He was nice. Offering her the glass, Bucky nodded to the sink, “Rinse.”

For once, without argument, Maggie did as he instructed before spitting the tainted water into the sink’s basin and continuing as she sniffled tearfully, “But I was really mean and—”

“It’s okay, I promise.” Handing her a washcloth, he watched as Maggie slowly wet it under the tap and wiped her face as she fought to control her breathing like an inconsolable child hyperventilating as they faced their consequence. Though he hadn’t known her long, he’d never seen her quite like this; this wasn’t just a weepy, intoxicated woman, it was heartbroken defeat.

“Drink some of the water.” Bucky nudged as he guided her back into her half-lit room. Shooing Alpine, who’d taken up residence on one of Maggie’s pillows in her absence, he wordlessly accepted the glass she’d handed back to him as she slowly laid down. With a nod, he sat the half-full glass on her nightstand, “Get some sleep, Maggie.”

As he turned to switch off her lamp, he almost flinched as she caught his left hand in one of her own. Meeting her eyes in the dim light, the look on her face was utterly unconcerned with the unfamiliar vibranium appendage. In the moment, he couldn’t take his eyes from her; with watery eyes and full pink lips that looked so soft and a red, runny nose, she was still, unsurprisingly, beautiful.

It wasn’t just the way she looked that struck him. She was sharp as a tack and so incredibly smart. It seemed as though she’d set fire to herself just to keep others warm; it was rare to find someone else who cared nearly as much. Steve had been a lucky man, and, to Bucky, it made no sense. How could he have left her behind?

“Do you think he would have stayed if I’d said yes?”

Crouching down to her level, to listen to her almost inaudible words, his brow furrowed. Trying to understand the inner workings of her mind that seemed to be racing even in its inebriated state, he asked, “What do you mean?”

Maggie’s voice was almost muffled by the pillow that she’d smushed the side of her face into as she croaked, “When he asked me to marry him.”

‘Shit.’

As an occupational hazard, Bucky was typically skilled at hiding his surprise but that had thrown him. He knew nothing about the ex-couple’s relationship at all, especially when it came to proposals. But maybe he wasn’t meant to know about it since she’d obviously declined when Steve had asked.

“I said no.” Maggie gasped for breath as the tears soaked into her pillowcase and she squeezed his hand tightly; if there’d been blood flow, it certainly would have been cut off, “I wasn’t ready, and I wanted to wait until later but then—”

She cut off as sobs passed through her lips, overwhelming her as they wracked her entire body and she curled into herself. Pressing his lips together, his thumb brushed the back of her hand softly. He could gather the rest of her statement. ‘Later’ was too late. ‘Later’ had found them in a completely new world. ‘Later’ meant that the couple had never gotten to have that second conversation.

Maggie couldn’t help but relive every single time that she’d put she and Steve’s lives on hold because she was frightened. Looking back now, every excuse and hesitation felt so trivial. It felt so stupid. The couple hadn’t dated until a year and a half after they’d met because she was afraid that he didn’t feel the same way. She’d said no to his proposal because she wanted to wait a little longer lest it not work out. She’d wanted to wait to have kids because she hadn’t felt ready to be a mom.

Maybe if everything had been different, if she’d told him how she felt after she’d realized, if she’d said yes, if the test had been positive, they would have been married with a kid on the way and she wouldn’t be so alone now.

Whispering, Maggie finally let the words she’d been holding back for so long, out into the world, “If I’d just said yes, maybe he would have stayed.”

With a sigh, Bucky ran his unoccupied hand over his face. There weren’t any words that he could say to comfort her because he knew the same as she did. If she’d said yes when Steve had asked her to marry him, there was no doubt in his mind that he wouldl have stayed.

Shaking his head, he whispered regretfully through the dark room, “I’m sorry, doll.”

Hiccupping occasionally from all of her tears, Maggie’s crying eventually began to slow as sleep overtook her. He waited until the sound of her breathing had evened out before carefully prying his hand from her vice like grip. Grabbing a blanket from the foot of her bed to drape over her, a box caught his eye. Pictures, a necklace, drawings in a vaguely familiar style—it was easy to deduce that it was a box of things from Steve. Frowning, Bucky looked back to the woman’s sleeping form.

That certainly answered any questions that he’d had about her evening’s catalyst. Closing it carefully so she wouldn’t lose the contents by shifting in her sleep and pushing it onto the floor, he covered her with the blanket. Like he was working the closing shift, he refilled her water and placed two painkillers beside it for when she woke, before refilling Alpine’s little, ceramic water dish and his empty food bowl.

Standing by the front door, Bucky hesitated as he loosely gripped the brass doorknob. He never slept anyway; what did it matter if he stayed awake at his place or at Maggie’s. At least at hers, he could ensure that she didn’t choke on her own vomit in her sleep. She was tiny; she could have had alcohol poisoning.

Locking the door and latching the deadbolt, he took a seat on the ugly, green couch that he’d grown accustomed to over the past weeks and settled in for the night. He’d promised to look after her and he didn’t break a promise.

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misshoneybee · 3 years ago

Text

⟣ 𝑌𝑂𝑈'𝑅𝐸 𝑀𝑌 𝐴𝐶𝐻𝐼𝐿𝐿𝐸𝑆 𝐻𝐸𝐸𝐿 ⟢

— 𝐼𝐼𝐼. 𝐶𝐴𝑁 𝑌𝑂𝑈 𝑆𝐸𝐸 𝑅𝐼𝐺𝐻𝑇 𝑇𝐻𝑅𝑂𝑈𝐺𝐻 𝑀𝐸?

Masterpost — OFC Biography — Playlists — Chapter II — Chapter IV

❧ Pairings | Post-Endgame!Bucky Barnes x Original Female Character, Previous Steve Rogers x Original Female Character

❧ Warnings | Mature content, explicit language, fluff (bonding, introduction to Alpine!)

❧ Wordcount | ~5.6k

'Cause cruelty wins in the movies, I've got a hundred thrown-out speeches I almost said to you. Easy they come, easy they go, I jump from the train, I ride off alone. ( The Archer | Lover )

February 3, 2024

Groaning, Maggie flopped back on to her bed and looked at the ceiling, her eyes following the spinning blades of her fan as they turned circles. The depression that had swallowed her whole had taken every piece of her along with it; motivation, energy, the ability to sleep, any desire to eat. But, for the first time in months, she actually felt famished and only one thing seemed remotely appetizing.

Carolyn had been trying to get Maggie to leave her house for things other than work and doctor’s appointments, but it was like pulling teeth with the stubborn woman as she resisted. Perhaps this was the perfect opportunity—or, at least, it would have been if Poppy had been in town. Instead, the blonde biochemist was in some lab in East Asia working on cellular regeneration.

The footsteps in the unit next door were quiet but Maggie sat up from her bed as she heard them, glancing at the wall that the apartments shared as she pursed her lips. That could be an option. She and Bucky had slowly struck up something of a tentative friendship over the past weeks; perhaps it wouldn’t be the worst if they picked up dinner together. Maybe it was childish, but she couldn’t go alone, not there. Not yet at least.

Winter was dragging on and it was still freezing outside. Flurries floated through the air in the early evening hours and throughout the night. Though the yuletide season had passed, snow was still piled high on the sidewalks, shoveled aside, and mixed into a frozen, gray sludge with the dirt from twice the amount of foot traffic in recent years.

Trailing the cold zipper of her boots up her denim-clad calves, she wiggled her toes, encased in two pairs of thick socks. As she grabbed the coat that she’d hung by the door on her way back inside from running errands that afternoon, her stomach was turning. Locking the door behind her, she wasn’t quite able to tell if it was from the idea of going where she’d planned or the company that she was asking to keep.

Giving a few gentle raps to the hollow wood of her neighbor’s door, Maggie took a step back, fiddling with the buttons and belt of her coat as she awaited his response. The old carpet on the hall’s floor dulled the tapping sound of her toe anxiously keeping rhythm until the door opened after just a moment.

“Hey.” Bucky’s brow was furrowed as he opened the door to see Maggie, bundled tightly in a long, wool peacoat. Their paths had crossed more than once since that day in mid-January, but this was different. The waters had been far calmer than they were after they initially met; it was nice. He’d caught her trying to carry a little armchair up the staircase alone and had taken over because he poked that she was blocking the only way in and out of their building, so she’d paid him back by offering him cookies in the hall some day a week before. It was smooth sailing.

“Hey,” she gave him a half smile, “Are you busy?”

“Not really.” Raising an eyebrow, he crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame as he teased, “Need me to kill another spider?”

With a scoff, she waved him off, “It was one time, and it was bigger than my hand!”

Just a few days earlier, she’d almost beat down his door to request assistance after nearly vaulting off of her couch when she spotted a spider crawling up her wall. Aliens were one thing, arachnids were another.

“Was not.” He shot back amusedly.

“Shut up.” Rolling her eyes, she pushed on, “I want pizza, but I don’t want to go by myself. Would you want to…”

Trailing off, she waited for him to get her inference and agree so they could just be on their way. Of course, she should have known that he wouldn’t accept her offer without a few pokes as his grin widened, creating little divots high on his cheek, “Are you asking me to dinner, Maggie?”

“You know what? Nope. Definitely not. Never mind.” Shaking her head, knowing full well that he’d follow, Maggie sauntered down the hall before calling back over her shoulder, “See you around, James.”

From the little table by his door, Bucky grabbed his wallet and keys and locked the door behind him before jogging down the hall to catch up with Maggie before she could even reach the stairwell. As he swung open the door to the stairs, she raised a taunting eyebrow at him, stepping into the echoey room.

“I’m hungry.” He defended flatly and she grinned.

Quietly, she hummed, “Fine, I guess you can come.”

One of the benefits of her tentative friendship with Bucky was his contentment with the quiet; he didn’t feel the need to fill every passing moment between them with words. They could walk together in a comfortable silence and neither of them minded very much.

But as they navigated the streets of their neighborhood, she could almost feel his eyes continuing to dart over to her. Eventually, Maggie broke, turning her head to look at him, both mildly exasperated and intrigued by whatever was bothering him, “What?”

“You cut your hair.” He shrugged

“Oh.” Maggie’s hand drifted unconsciously to her newly shortened waves; she’d almost forgotten that she’d finally bit the bullet that afternoon. Four inches had been chopped away, leaving the ends just long enough to brush the tops of her shoulders when she wore it down. She mumbled lamely, “Yeah.”

“It’s short.”

Rolling her eyes, she prodded, “Mm, really perceptive, aren’t you?”

“It looks…nice.” The words sounded strained but when she looked over at him to tell him to stop picking on her, she only found candor behind his eyes as they met hers.

Slightly surprised, she felt a genuine smile tug at the corner of her wind-chapped lips as she murmured, “Thank you.”

It wasn’t long before they were across the street from that familiar, hole-in-the-wall pizza place with the little green awning with fading white letters and Maggie hesitated, her muscles tensing and gluing her to the spot on the sidewalk. Maybe they could just pass it and go to another place—it wasn’t like there weren’t at least two pizza places within five hundred feet in any direction when in Brooklyn.

“Francesco’s?” Bucky’s brows were drawn together as he gravitated towards the old building, “I know this place.”

“Oh.” Feigning surprise, she bit the inside of her cheek as she followed behind him, “I should have known that you’d remember it, he…told me the first time that we came here.”

‘On our first date.’

Regret was already bubbling deep within her; she should have just used that stupid fucking app and gotten delivery instead. If she’d done that, then she could have been curled up in pajamas and warm at home instead of anxious and freezing as fat snowflakes landed in her hair and dampened it, chilling her even further than before.

Without a doubt, this location had been far too ambitious for one of her first non-mandatory outings.

Stepping inside the restaurant felt like déjà vu. It had been his favorite place in the city and somewhere along the way, it had become one of hers as well. The tacky flooring and obnoxious red and white tablecloths used to be a comfort but now they made the room spin as the beginning of what felt like an anxiety attack began to climb up the ladder rungs of her ribs and into her chest.

Maybe her shattered heart really was made up of pieces from everyone she’d loved and lost.

“It still looks exactly the same.” Bucky’s voice was awestruck as he looked around the dining room. Exhaling a quiet laugh, he shook his head, “Shit.”

“Is that Bucko?” It was impossible to miss the plump older man as he approached the pair with wide eyes. It had been months since she’d been around but somehow, Frank looked far older than she remembered. What was once slicked-back, inky black hair had been streaked with white like a shiny barcode, the lines under his eyes had deepened and branched out over his cheeks.

“Frank?” Bucky looked between Maggie and the restaurant’s owner as if searching for confirmation from either, “As in, Little Frankie?”

Frank’s older brown eyes lit up as his dark, thick brows shot up towards his receding hairline in surprise, “Aye, it is!”

While the man was almost a head shorter than Bucky, his grip was strong as he pulled the simultaneously younger and older man in for a tight hug. Awkward and surprised at the kind gesture, Bucky gave him a solid pat on the back as he murmured, “Holy shit.”

“Haven’t seen you in a while.” After a moment, Frank gave him a solid nod and Bucky returned it in kind.

“Yeah, it’s been a few years.” There was no need to hash out how he’d come back or where he’d been in the meantime; it wasn’t as if people didn’t know who he was or what he’d done. He couldn’t help but feel grateful that Frank was more than willing to allow his past to remain behind him.

Spotting Maggie, Frank opened his arms with a grin and Maggie plastered a fake smile across her face. She could only hope that it looked less deranged than it felt as she gave the restaurant’s proprietor a tight embrace, “There’s the beautiful girl.” Letting go of her, the portly man held her at arm’s length as if inspecting her for damage as he asked, “So, where’s the Cap?”

The question felt like a bullet to the chest; she prayed that he didn’t notice the way that her entire body tensed at the mere mention of him. She’d rehearsed the lie so many times in her head, but she hadn’t needed to say it aloud, not yet anyway. Everyone she’d spoken to since he’d left had known the truth, but Frank didn’t need to know.

“He retired.” Swallowing the lump in her throat, Maggie could feel Bucky’s almost sympathetic gaze burning into the back of her head as she carried on, “Moved out west for the sun.” With a sad half-smile, she heard her voice crack just slightly as she softly added, “He really loves it out there.”

Where he was, she really did hope that he loved it.

Nodding slowly, Frank’s smoke rasped voice was low as he hesitantly asked, “And you two…”

Shaking her head, Maggie forced her broken smile to stay put. She wouldn’t cry. Not here, not now. Clearing her throat, her voice wavered just slightly, “We ended on good terms, Frank.”

“Good, can’t have him hurting my favorite girl.” His hand on her shoulder gave a soft, paternal squeeze and tears sprung to her eyes like a washcloth being wrung over a sink. Frank gave a small supportive smile as he offered before going to grab their menus, “Could kick his ass if you needed me to.”

“I’ll let you know. Promise.” With a soft laugh, she added as she unbuttoned the heavy woolen coat that had been weighed down with frozen precipitation, “Tell Ruthie that I said hi!”

Waving over his shoulder as he made his way to the host stand, Frank called back, “Will do, honey.”

Turning her back towards her dinner partner and squeezing her eyes closed, Maggie took a shaking breath. She just needed a second, just a single moment and then she’d be okay again. If she had to break down, she could do that later in the comfort of her own home. The restaurant was busier than she’d ever seen it and the low rumble of voices carrying on conversations around her slowly brought her back.

Tucking her coat on the seat beside her, she slid into the booth across from Bucky as she ignored their last conversation. Eager to talk about something that wasn’t to do with the common thread that they both missed, she teased quietly, “Bucko?”

Lips pressed into a flat line, he picked up one of the menus that Frank had left on their table. Though his face was tucked behind it, she could still see the brush of red that kissed his cheeks lightly as he grumbled, “Don’t talk about it.”

“I’m totally telling Sam.” With a beam, Maggie plucked the other laminated but crinkled paper from in front of him, “Gonna text him right now.”

And like that, things were okay again—or, at least, more okay than they had been just a moment before. Despite the increased occupancy of the tiny pizzeria, their slices came out quickly. Swirls of steam drifted up from the molten cheese and tomato sauce that had been wood fired, lifting the fragrant aroma of garlic and oregano up to their noses.

Small talk with Bucky typically wasn’t too bad. They’d chat about their days, both relatively boring as she was always at work and he was either doing community service or in therapy, before turning and gossiping about their fellow apartment dwellers like two old biddies. The twenty-something-year-old girl on the second floor still made an effort to run into Bucky whenever she could and the older gentleman on the fifth floor continued to stand too close to Maggie every time that she tried to get her mail.

Halfway through his first slice, Bucky let out a low groan at the taste as he murmured in wonder, “How does the food still taste the same?”

“He always said the same thing.” With the ghost of a smile at the memory, she used her fork to cut a piece of her slice before chewing it thoughtfully. Without fail, every time they grabbed dinner at Francesco’s, Steve would wipe his hands on his napkin and tell Frank that the food was just as good as he remembered. At the time, she’d thought it was a goofy little quip, but she’d give just about anything to hear it again.

Meeting Bucky’s eyes, she asked quietly, “You two came here a lot?”

The words left her mouth and Maggie felt as if she was taking a chance on some precarious tightrope with no net below to catch her if she were to fall from grace. As a silent rule, she and Bucky didn’t really talk about Steve unless it was inevitable. The subject was still an open wound and no amount of glue or thread could seem to close it.

“Whenever we scrounged up enough change, we’d come by after school.” A fond smile came upon his scruffy face as he nodded, looking around the walls that were as old as him, “I didn’t even realize this place was still here.”

She hadn’t really thought about that, how new everything was for Bucky. He’d left New York in the forties and hadn’t returned as himself until just a few months earlier. All of that time, he’d been in cryo-storage in Russia, various apartments in the slums of Eastern Europe as he tried to hide, Wakanda as he healed, but now he was home. He’d left and returned to a brand-new world.

“James?” Using her fork and picking at some of the cheese that had cooled and congealed into a thick blanket atop the crust, she looked across the table with a soft, grateful expression as she spoke quietly, “Thank you.”

The corners of his light blue eyes crinkled as he gave a faint smile back and nodded in solidarity, “You’re welcome.”

All throughout dinner, Maggie had failed to realize that, as they sat together in the little booth, she wasn’t the only one replacing their missing link.

“Come this way.” With his hands tucked into the pockets of his worn, leather jacket, Bucky nodded to the tiny alley that was tucked between Francesco’s and the old barbershop that had been next door for as long as he could remember.

Raising an eyebrow, Maggie’s voice was dosed with a healthy amount of skepticism as she slipped on a pair of gloves that she’d stuffed deep in the pocket of her peacoat that morning, “You want me to follow you down a dark alley?”

“Fine,” Rolling his eyes, the tall man took a few steps backwards as he goaded, “Take the extra five minutes in this tundra if you really want to walk that way so badly.”

Grumbling, she followed him but stuck her tongue out at his cocky, victorious expression. She seldom let him win their little fights, but she could feel her fingers going numb and her legs beginning to shake from the chill that sunk deep into her brittle bones; she’d do anything to quickly get out of the cold.

As she recovered from the pit of the depressive episode that she was still in the process of crawling out from, Maggie still looked frailer than she had before. The muscle on her once lithe body from the years of training had all but wasted away as she’d lain in bed from late November to January. Maybe someday she’d get it back but for now, she just wanted to feel okay again, however she could.

Looking around at the colorful graffiti that had been tagged on the cinderblock walls down the dark walkway, she glanced over at him, “How the hell did you know about this shortcut anyway?”

“Used to know these streets like the back of my hand.” Shrugging his broad shoulders, Bucky pretended to look particularly interested in one of the murals they passed as he added, “Helps that I’d have to check all the alleys when he didn’t show for something ‘cause he was usually getting his ass handed to him.”

On more than one occasion, he’d found his best friend with his fists raised and facing off with a bully in the same alley down which they were walking.

Her exhale of a laugh was dipped in a coating of heartache as she nodded in agreement, “Sounds about right.”

Steve never did like bullies, not even back then.

“And it…doesn’t seem that long ago to me. Not really, anyway.” Though he was trying to keep his tone light, she could hear the knife of bitter pain that cut through Bucky’s words as he tacked on, “Time feels different when you’ve been frozen and defrosted and fuckin’ snapped away and brought back, you know?”

There was a pang in her chest; she’d never really given much thought to how time had passed for Bucky. Being put on ice and taken off was undoubtedly different than seventy years straight spent encapsulated in some glacial block. Had he known when he was waking up, when it was? Had they needed to bring him up to speed because they only took him out when he was needed like some sentient weapon instead of a person? Did they tell him about the current events like it was some highlight reel?

Her stomach turned at the idea and the knot deep within it tightened as she thought about the little folder that she’d found in the box that had been packed from her old office where she and Steve’s documents had intermingled. It was an old, creased manila thing with ‘Case No. 17’ printed with thick, black letters on the front in Russian. She hadn’t known what it was before she opened it but the familiar face of her neighbor in a cryochamber had stared back at her after she’d turned the cover.

It had been an old, defunct Hydra file on one ‘James Buchanan Barnes, alias The Winter Soldier.’ With a pounding heart and wild eyes, she’d slammed the file shut before she could read any more, and had shoved it deep in the back of her filing cabinet, praying that out of sight would also mean that it was out of mind but apparently, it didn’t.

Swallowing to try and remedy her dry throat, Maggie murmured, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Nothing I can do about it now.” Though he tried to make his tone nonchalant, Bucky’s body language was anything but as they exited the alley just a block away from their building. His shoulders were high, sculpted jaw and neck tense with lips pressed together tightly; outside he was cool, but inside he may as well have been screaming as he nodded slowly, “Just gotta get used to it all again.”

That was the story of her life, wasn’t it? Always starting over, always building from scratch. Getting used to everything all over again seemed to be all that she knew but it was never any easier, or maybe it was, but it certainly never felt like it.

Yanked from the depths of her brain as he groaned as they passed one of the twenty-four-hour laundromats, Maggie looked over to see his annoyed face almost pouting at the window, “Why are you whining?”

Waving her off, Bucky grumbled, “Forgot I have to come back here later.”

Looking over her shoulder, she frowned. Using her elbow, she gave him a gentle nudge as she offered kindly, “You could use mine, you know.”

He looked surprised and she had to actively try to not be offended at his uncertainty regarding her offer, “Really?”

“I wouldn’t wish using the laundromat on anyone.” Maggie nodded, suppressing a shudder, “Just bring your stuff over when we get back.”

She was beginning to like his occasional smiles that only she was privy to; he bumped her arm back gently, “Thanks.”

As soon as she’d come through her front door, Maggie turned on the kettle and headed to her bedroom, eager to strip off the snow-damp layers of wool and cotton that she’d dressed in earlier. Ignoring the drawer where she’d eventually shoved all of Steve’s old clothes, the ones she used to wear almost as often as her own, she yanked on pajama pants and an oversized sweater, threadbare holes in the cuffs from all the times she’d worn it before.

Pinning back her hair, she made her way back into the living room to turn on the radiator—it wasn’t long ago that she’d loved winter and the snow and the long, dark nights but now, she only wanted spring and the warmth that it brought with it. Maybe the verdant green foliage and sun on her skin as the world came back to life from its three-month slumber would do her good.

A quiet knock on the door caught her attention; as her hand landed on the knob, the scream from the kettle made her flinch. Allowing Bucky in, she quickly returned to the kitchen, calling over her shoulder as he closed the door behind him, “It’s in the same closet as the water heater.”

“Thanks.” Carrying the basket inside, he looked around. It seemed as though every time he entered her apartment, she’d made some kind of decorative change to the space. It was homey; he kept quiet, but it was nice to see her somewhat settling into a life that she’d never expected to have.

Taking the kettle from the heat, Maggie asked down the hall, “Tea?”

Loading his clothes into the little, New York apartment-sized machine, he called back with a chuckle, “Mm, beer?”

“Got it.” Shaking her head in amusement, she grabbed one of the bottles tucked in the back of her fridge and popped the cap off. She hadn’t had once since the last time he’d been over.

After she heard the washer turn on, his apprehensive voice floated into the living room, “Maggie, what the hell is that?”

With a furrowed brow, she made her way down the hall. Nothing had been left in the machine, she’d made sure that all of her silk and lacy pieces had been out of sight before he used it, and she couldn’t think of anything else in the closet to illicit his response. A smile pulled at her lips as she spotted the fluffy, bright white cat who was sitting on the machine and keeping a suspiciously watchful eye on the apartment’s unfamiliar guest.

“He is Alpine.” At the sight of his new owner, the cat lazy blinked its crystalline blue eyes before hopping off of the machine and walking slowly into the living room.

Closing the closet and following his neighbor and her small, animal friend, he raised an eyebrow as he asked bewilderedly, “You got a cat?”

“Obviously.” As they entered the living room, he registered that perhaps he should have realized it before. A cat tree had been placed in the corner by the window, toys on strings littered the small area rug, and new food dishes had been placed in the kitchen. Kneeling to the ground, she tapped the floor as she sing-songed quietly, “Alpine!”

At the small feline’s refusal to respond, she rolled her eyes and scooped him up anyway, carrying him to the couch as he gave a begrudging yowl at being transported against his will. Loud purrs vibrated the air once she began petting him softly just behind his ears, “They thought he might be deaf, but they didn’t know if it was just because he’s old or if it was like a birth defect because—”

“So, you got a deaf cat?” Bucky interrupted, his own blue eyes sparkling as he clarified the situation in amusement, “A deaf, senior cat?”

“You’re a senior.” Maggie grumbled at him, making a face as she held Alpine close to her chest and covered her legs with a soft, knit cashmere throw, “No one wanted him! The people at the humane society said he was too mean to most people, but I couldn’t just leave him there!”

When she’d gone into the humane society on her way home from work last week, she really didn’t think she’d leave with anything but the furball who’d since taken over her apartment had apparently had different plans. As soon as she walked in, he was rubbing against her legs and rolling over to show her his belly—there was no way that she could have left without him.

“Especially because they said I was the only person he hadn’t tried to scratch,” she added. The workers had been dumbstruck when the older cat allowed her to cautiously pick him up before promptly falling asleep in her arms. Carefully, Maggie slid across the couch closer to Bucky, who stared at the animal in her arms with an apprehensive look like it was a bomb instead of a sleepy cat. Alpine leaned over and sniffed the man’s shoulder before letting out a low purr as he rubbed his face on the navy Henley that Bucky had donned.

Maggie’s eyes narrowed at Bucky as if it was his fault that she was no longer special because her cat now liked him as well, “That’s not fair! He already likes you and you didn’t even have to do anything!”

With a gloved hand, he carefully brushed a hand over Alpine’s snow-white fur as he smiled down at the creature, “He’s…kind of cute.”

“I know—Alpine! No!” Though he was old, the feline was still quite spry as he wiggled out of Maggie’s arms and took a dive towards Bucky who watched with a mildly horrified concern. With a scratchy ‘meow’ as he climbed the man’s arm, Alpine eventually situated himself on his broad shoulders as his tail swished back and forth contentedly.

“Shit, uh—” Bucky craned his neck to see his new friend and reached up to give him a gentle scratch, “It’s okay. He’s fine.”

Resituating her blanket, Maggie sank back into her cushions as she watched the pair. Her deep cocoa eyes narrowed at the white ball of fur as she muttered, “Traitor.”

“Don’t take it personally.” Bucky grinned, carefully relaxing back against the couch as he took a long draw of the bitter, hoppy beer she’d gotten for him, “I’m really easy to love.”

Rolling her eyes, she took her mug from the table and sighed softly as the ceramic warmed her dry hands, “Sure, you are, Barnes.”

Swiping through apps on her phone with her unoccupied hand, Maggie relaxed into the comfortable quiet with the ambient sound of the wash whirring in the background. As Bucky played with Alpine, chuckling as the older feline swiped at the hand before him, he listened to the news that drifted out of the television’s speakers.

Watching the genuine joy on her neighbor-not-quite-friend’s face, an idea popped into the back of Maggie’s mind, and she pursed her lips. Locking her phone and tossing it aside, she sat up straighter as she inquired, “What are the stipulations for the community service you have to do?”

He wasn’t surprised that Maggie knew about it, she’d been one of the people that fought for that rather than prison time, but her candidness was a welcome departure from those who discussed it like it was some taboo activity.

“It has to be a non-profit in the city limits.” Bucky gave her a half-shrug, trying not to jostle his new, furry friend too much, “Pretty shitty guidelines if you ask me.”

Playing with the strings on one of the blankets tassels, Maggie cautiously approached the thought that had come from out of the blue, “What would you think about coming with me sometime when I visit the group homes that the foundation runs?”

Following, what society had decided to call, the Blip, families and children were once more shuffled around like playing cards in a deck. A rather large group of children had returned only to find that their parents had passed or had gone missing in the five-year period since their departure. With her new division, Maggie had pushed for the foundation to intervene and thus, some of the lower floors on what used to be the Avenger’s Tower had been converted into group homes for kids and families who needed assistance following the restoration of Earth’s population.

“Really?” Surprised by her suggestion, Bucky met her eyes with his furrowed brow. Leaning back, he adjusted his arm as Alpine slinked lazily down his torso to curl into a tiny ball on his lap, “Why?”

“Some of the kids really admire you guys.” At his hesitance, she exhaled a quiet sigh as a frown ghosted across her lips. For some distinct reason, Maggie was almost certain that he didn’t feel included in that group. She’d be hard pressed to find someone who felt like more of an imposter than Bucky did; he didn’t know if he’d ever see himself as a hero regardless of anyone else seeing him as such. Softly, she clarified, “All of you guys.”

The whole craze of action figures and toys in the likeness of people that she knew and had loved…or still loved, was still quite bizarre to her. Sets of Avengers were sold in plastic packaging, complete with Quinjets and now-defunct upstate compounds that could be bought separately. In her time working with kids, she’d seen more than one action figure of Bucky in his Howling Commandos getup—one of the children had even gone so far as to use a permanent marker to make his left arm look metal to be more accurate to the man today.

At one point, he’d loved kids but perhaps it was only because of his younger sister since she’d been quite a few years younger than he was; sometimes it felt as though he’d practically raised her. Then again, maybe it was because kids were amusing and hopeful and always tended to look for the best in people since they were far less jaded than their adult counterparts. Hesitantly, he gave a slow nod as he contemplated her offer, “I’ll have to check with Raynor.”

“That’ll give me time to do the paperwork.” Stifling the sparkling, triumphant smile that threatened her lips, she hid her face behind her mug as she took a sip of the fragrant, lukewarm chai swirled with milk and sweetened with sugar. Cinnamon and cardamom coated her tongue and she hummed softly at the warmth that spread through her body.

Dangling one of the toys that he’d snagged from the floor, Bucky peered over at her with his mouth tipped into a crooked smile, “It tracks.”

Her head tilted, some of the wispy waves that were too short to be pinned back fell back around her face, “What?”

“That you’d go and get the one thing that no one else wanted.” He chuckled and nodded to the playful animal that had hopped on to the cushion between the two adults as he swatted at the plush mouse toy that was dangled before him, “I mean, I’m your neighbor so it makes sense.”

Waving him off, she rolled her eyes, “Shut up.” With a little shrug of her shoulders that were swallowed beneath her large sweater, Maggie tendered lightly, “You’re not…awful.”

“Was that…a compliment? You’re gonna make me tear up, Mags.” With a hand on his pec, he had an almost-sarcastic heart warmed expression at the thawing ice queen’s suggestion.

Swallowing another sip of the sugar-sweetened tea, she shook her head, “Mm, nope. It’s still Maggie to you.” With a sniff and a faux-contemptuous glance she prodded, “Unlike you, my nickname is earned.”

He scoffed, “Maggie is a nickname.”

“Mags is my nickname.” Maggie insisted, lifting a grumbling Alpine back into her lap as she crossed her legs beneath the toasty blanket; the tiny radiator in the corner of the room was working overtime to try and heat the small space.

Narrowing his eyes at the younger woman, he pointed out, “I’m pretty sure ‘Maggie’ isn’t on your birth certificate.”

“I’m surprised you even know what a birth certificate is.” At his puzzled expression, she added coolly, “I mean, I just kind of assumed that they carved bad portraits and roman numerals into stone tablets when babies were born back in your day.”

Bucky’s shoulders shook with a silent chuckle at her sharp wit before he feigned a look of hurt, “That hurt, Marguerite.”

“You’ll survive, James.” With a small smirk on her lips, Maggie rolled her eyes.

4 notes · View notes

misshoneybee · 3 years ago

Text

⟣ 𝑌𝑂𝑈'𝑅𝐸 𝑀𝑌 𝐴𝐶𝐻𝐼𝐿𝐿𝐸𝑆 𝐻𝐸𝐸𝐿 ⟢

— 𝐼𝐼. 𝑌𝑂𝑈'𝑅𝐸 𝑆𝑇𝐼𝐿𝐿 𝐴𝐿𝐿 𝑂𝑉𝐸𝑅 𝑀𝐸 𝐿𝐼𝐾𝐸 𝐴 𝑊𝐼𝑁𝐸-𝑆𝑇𝐴𝐼𝑁𝐸𝐷 𝐷𝑅𝐸𝑆𝑆 𝐼 𝐶𝐴𝑁'𝑇 𝑊𝐸𝐴𝑅 𝐴𝑁𝑌𝑀𝑂𝑅𝐸

Masterpost — OFC Biography — Playlists — Chapter I — Chapter III

❧ Pairings | Post-Endgame!Bucky Barnes x Original Female Character, Previous Steve Rogers x Original Female Character

❧ Warnings | Mature content, explicit language, themes of grief and loss, references to mental health crises (anxiety, depression, ptsd, ocd), protective!Bucky, hurt/comfort

❧ Wordcount | ~6.4k

❧ Author’s Note | Translations are in the endnote. xx.

Hung my head as I lost the war, And the sky turned black like a perfect storm ( Clean | 1989 )

January 12, 2024

Several days had passed but somehow, with the invaluable help of a certain blonde biochemist, there was finally an end in sight to the moving process. All of the boxes from the old house had either been put into a storage unit upstate or brought up to her little apartment by a hoard of movers that she’d hired for the endeavor. Surrounded by cardboard stuffed to the brim and new furniture, Maggie wanted to feel content, but it didn’t seem to be in the cards for her.

Though they were labeled, and though Poppy had checked every single box to ensure that the contents belonged to her, she was still terrified to open them and finally begin to settle into the new place. Maybe it was because it meant that the next chapter in her life was finally starting and the other had actually ended; there were no more rewrites, nothing to change.

This was going to be her life now.

Her life without him.

Without Steve.

“You have to go or you’re going to miss your flight.” Maggie blocked Poppy from reentering her apartment with a stern look; the blonde had been so concerned about making sure that Maggie didn’t fall apart, she’d nearly forgotten that she had a redeye to catch that night. “Your uber is outside, just call me when you get to the airport and when you board and land and any other time you want to, okay?”

“I will.” Hiking her heavy purse higher on her shoulder, Poppy hesitated. Maggie still wasn’t herself and for the first time in more than two months, she’d be without the only lifeline that she’d come to rely on in the wake of disaster. Maybe it was too soon to leave her best friend; she could always send one of her colleagues to South Korea in her proxy. “Are you sure?”

“Pops, I will be okay.” Gripping her hands, Maggie swallowed nervously but put on a brave face. She had to be alone sometime—it wasn’t as if she was a risk to herself, she’d be quite fine. The idea of silence, however, frightened her; facing her thoughts alone was something she didn’t know if she’d ever have the strength to do but she’d just have to find out. “I promise.”

“Okay, I love you.” Poppy was a willowy woman, but she had a surprisingly robust grip as she pulled her shorter friend in for an exceedingly tight hug like she was trying to merge them into one being so she didn’t have to go, “I will be back in a week, okay?”

“Okay.” Nodding, Maggie exhaled and closed her eyes before finally releasing her friend, “Love you too.”

Once the door was closed, the tiny apartment suddenly felt cavernous. Every breath and step echoed off of the undecorated walls, each creaking floorboard sounded deafening. This was it. This was her new life, and she’d been sent reeling. There hadn’t been any tears, not today at least; that was the smallest type of win, but Maggie would take anything at this point.

Finding her television’s remote amidst the mess, she quickly turned on some oldies music that her parents had loved. It made her nostalgic for a time that was long gone instead of one that was recently past and still a little too painful to think about. Yanking the scrunchie from her wrist, she tied back the frizzy waves that had fallen limp after getting snowed on earlier that afternoon and got to work.

She knew she had to unpack; there was no way she’d be able to sleep with the knowledge that all of this clutter was just waiting for her outside of her bedroom door. Maybe the repetitive ritual could bring her some comfort; she had a clean slate. This was a blank page on the desk before her.

Humming along to Frankie Valli quietly, she used one of the box cutters in her little tool kit to slice through the heavy-duty packing tape that had protected her belongings from the bumps and bruises of travel. Opening each box, she moved down the line in a surprisingly efficient manner; remove object, unwrap, place where needed, rinse, repeat. Plates, glasses, the mismatched bowls that she’d insisted she needed from an estate sale some years ago in college.

Eventually, she’d find a place for everything, but she needed to survey and take stock of what she had before figuring out the best way to organize the empty cabinets that she and Poppy had lined earlier that afternoon as the movers set up her living room. Unfolding one of the cardboard flaps to yet another box, she could feel the irritation as a frown flitted across her face.

Someone had mislabeled one of the boxes; filled to the brim with sweaters, it should have been placed in the bedroom rather than the kitchen. Carefully, she pulled out a multicolored stack of wool and soft cotton before spying more tucked beneath them. There were at least ten sweaters that were much larger than her own and still had a familiar cologne clinging to the fabric’s fibers.

Almost as if she were afraid that it would ruin one of the shirts, Maggie cautiously brushed her fingertips over a familiar article and suddenly the air was pulled from her lungs; it felt as though she was suffocating again. With a single touch, so many memories that she’d tried to close a door on came rushing in like a flash flood. What had her therapist said about breathing through the pain? And the anxiety? Something about some box method?

In a twisted tale of irony, a box had been what brought her to the edge. She could feel her lip quiver as she pulled the piece from its cardboard home, the rest of the sweaters discarded uncaringly on the counter somewhere. Pressing her face into the soft, worn heather gray fabric, she inhaled as deeply as she could; the tears that seeped into the knit and momentarily discolored it weren’t born from heartache. No. Maggie hadn’t anticipated the wave of heartbreaking anger that flooded her as she yanked it over her head, as if wearing it would bring him back to her, as if it would change anything at all.

Surrounded by the smell of clean laundry that was balanced with a fresh, almost green fragrance of what used to be Steve’s favorite cologne, the floodgates opened and the current ripped through, decimating everything in its wake. Wrapping her arms around herself, the sobs wracked her entire body.

He was gone. Steve was gone and she was alone in the world again. She was alone and it was no one’s fault except her own; she’d told him to leave, that it was okay, that she would be fine. Lying through her teeth, Maggie had willingly let him go but if she’d just stayed silent, he wouldn’t have left. Maybe she would have harbored a huge secret, always knowing he’d wanted Peggy, but at least she wouldn’t have been alone.

No. It never would have been that way.

She’d had to let him go; there was no way she could have lived every single day wondering who he loved or if she was enough. Of course, she knew that, but it didn’t make this any easier. It didn’t lessen the burn or dull the sting of mourning someone who was out there, quite alive, living the life that they’d always dreamed of, without you. Grabbing one of the cheap, fragile Ikea mugs that she’d purchased on a whim, she hurled it at the wall with a feral scream in a blind rage.

Anything was better than the excruciating pain of her heart being slowly fed through a paper shredder. Chest rising and falling as she stared at the shattered porcelain, Maggie felt transported back to an early summer day five years before; a moment when Steve had seen her in a puddle of her own tears, surrounded by shattered glass, and had begun to fall in love.

No.

Holding on to the anger was all she had—it demanded to be felt and who was she to deny herself this twisted catharsis? From the counter, she picked up another mug. And another, hurling them at the blank white wall and letting them fragment and spread across the linoleum floor like hazardous confetti. Switching to plates, then bowls, Maggie searched the dinnerware’s shattered remains for any emotion other than excruciating pain.

Her fingers wrapped around a navy-blue mug handle that caught her eye just before she could wind back to throw it as well. A sharp inhale was pulled through her lips as she carefully grasped it with both hands. Of all of the things to survive the demolition, Steve’s stupid, favorite mug had somehow come out unscathed.

The fucking cat wearing his suit. The dumb pun printed beneath it. The goddamn chip in the handle from when it had slipped from someone’s hands as they washed it in the sink. It was the same even though nothing else was. Just like all of her dishes that had shattered, she did as well. Tears finally came as she sat on the cold, kitchen floor, ignoring a sharp pain in her foot and a pounding from some irate neighbor at the door.

It hadn’t even been one night—she hadn’t even slept in her new bed—and she was probably about to be evicted from the quiet building without even having lived there. Maybe her little tantrum-turned-disturbance had been overkill, but she couldn’t make herself move; she couldn’t make herself do anything.

Once again, Maggie had no choice but to stay there forever, surrounded by only broken glass and her own tears.

Dr. Raynor was the worst part of his day. Every single day, thanks to the government’s ‘exceptionally benevolent and lenient’ pardon, Bucky had to attend therapy until his doctor said that they felt as though ‘they’d seen a marked improvement in his emotional stability’ and it was time to reduce his hours. Every time she made an effort to relate to him, to try and equalize their very different life experiences, he wanted to shove his fingers so deep inside of his ears, that he’d go deaf so he didn’t have to listen to the grate of her voice anymore.

Then again, if he’d gone deaf, he wouldn’t have heard the barrage of breaking glass against a wall and a short silence that was punctuated by a painful sob from the apartment next to his own—from the apartment that now belonged to an ‘M. Hall’ according to the buzzer downstairs. He hadn’t seen Maggie since he’d, coincidentally, followed her to her new home—her new home which was at the same location as his current residence in some weird, twist of fate. Or irony.

Whichever was more appropriate.

He didn’t know the woman well. Hell, he barely knew her at all aside from her job, the fact that she’d been in a relationship with Steve for five years, and that she’d become something of a pain in his ass. Mixed signals seemed to be the young woman’s specialty; she’d saved him from an alien attack in the midst of battle, called a senator and cursed at them in his defense, then turned into something of an ice queen that seemed to hate his guts.

Okay, maybe he shouldn’t have called her a head shrink but, in his defense, he didn’t know her actual job title; he only knew what Steve had said about her work in passing. In short, neither really seemed to like the other, they hadn’t even had a full conversation, but he’d made a promise to Steve before he left to watch after her. Allowing her to be mugged in her new apartment would certainly break that promise quicker than he’d made it.

A surge of adrenaline coursed through him as he sprinted past his own door to hers instead. Pulling the folding knife from his back pocket, Bucky pounded against the door with the side of his fist as he shouted her name. Several long seconds passed with no answer aside from muffled cries and his glove hand reached for the doorknob. Finding it unlocked, his brow furrowed; keeping his knife at the ready, he kicked it open and watched as it bounced off of the doorstop as he barged inside to locate and neutralize the threat.

Instead of an armed intruder holding her at gunpoint, he found a wisp of woman, crumpled on the floor, and surrounded by various shapes and colors of glass shards. An old sweatshirt with ‘Camp Lehigh’ emblazoned on the front swallowed her small frame as she sat in the center of the kitchen. The sweater was familiar; it used to belong to his best friend. As red-rimmed eyes flew to him, Maggie let out a sharp gasp of surprise. Just a moment after she’d heard the door kicked in, she was on her feet, wielding her own knife that she’d grabbed from the counter.

Her muscles tensed, readying themselves for a fight before her sluggish brain caught up to her body. The unfamiliar intruder who’d, rudely, kicked in her door (which was thankfully, still on its hinges), was none other than James Buchanan Barnes. He looked different now, though it had only been a few days since she’d seen him; the scruff on his face had been neatly trimmed into just a shadow and his hair was cropped short but the familiar blue eyes gave him away before anything else. Struck by a sick sense of déjà vu from five years before, Maggie felt a vague wave of nausea.

It was different now; she was stronger and weathered but that familiar pain still cut deep.

“Maggie—”

“Fuck.” Exhaling, both embarrassed and relieved, she felt her face burn red as the adrenaline in her blood settled, the cortisol returning to its baseline as her body left its fight-or-flight mode. Carefully setting down the knife and mug, Maggie used the cuff of the sweater to wipe at her red cheeks and runny nose. “You broke into my house?”

“You were crying!” Bucky defended incredulously, closing the almost too sharp knife, and slipping it back into his pocket. He’d die on the hill that his response had been more than appropriate; it had sounded like she’d been endangered, and he’d been ready to take down some unidentified threat. In all honesty, she should have been thanking him.

“So what?” Maggie demanded, throwing her hands up as she pushed back stubbornly, “People cry!”

Running a hand over his tired face, his voice was low. “I thought you were getting fuckin’ mugged, Jesus.” Relief had swept over him when he’d realized she was alone but was quickly replaced by an unsettling discomfort at seeing the woman in tears; crying girls weren’t really his forte.

Biting the inside of her cheek, she sighed softly. Defensiveness had always been her go-to deflection technique. Maybe his concerns had been valid and maybe she should be a little more grateful that it was him checking on her and not their landlord kicking her out.

Before she could apologize, his brows had drawn together as he mildly observed, “You’re hurt.”

That much was obvious—an ‘okay’ person didn’t have meltdowns over ratty, old sweatshirts and cheap drinkware from a consignment store. Crossing her arms, she ignored the quip as she let her first thought roll out of her mouth, “You cut your hair.”

“You cut your foot.” Bucky deadpanned, nodding to the floor where she stood.

Looking down at the tacky, dated flooring, her nose crinkled as the pain finally washed over her. While her right foot was unharmed, the left had taken the brunt of her own assault. A few small pieces of glass had broken her skin, but the evening’s magnum opus was the large, jagged piece that was sticking out of her instep. Several bloody footprints made their way around the small area where she’d been able to stand.

“Oh.” She let out blankly, looking mildly surprised as she lifted her foot to inspect the injury, carefully touching the sticky blood. Replacing her foot on the ground, careful to keep from bearing any of her weight on it, Maggie quickly looked for the best way out of the situation. The floor was covered in glass, so that was a nonstarter, at least until she could grab the broom. Or she could climb over the counter? Maybe she’d have to sacrifice a little bit of her dignity in the meantime, but it might be her only way.

Her cost-benefit analysis was quickly halted as Bucky strode into the kitchen, his heavy boots crunching the glass beneath them into finer pieces with each step. An arm around her waist and one under her knees lifted her up into unfamiliar arms as he grumbled, “Come on.”

“Oh!” Awkwardly, Maggie shook her head but wrapped an arm hesitantly around his neck anyway out of fear of being dropped on to the glass covered floor, “Uh, you really don’t have to do this. I could just—”

Shaking his head, Bucky carried her back into the living room as he uncomfortably muttered, avoiding her eyes, “Better this than a trip to the emergency room.”

Nodding, she searched for a change of subject before murmuring, “It looks nice.” His confused gaze finally met hers, his curiosity winning out, as she continued, only slightly teasing, “Your hair. Really. Were you tired of the whole…Jesus look or—”

“Do you ever stop talking?” If she didn’t know any better, Maggie would have thought she’d seen the tiniest ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he cut her off.

Shaking her head, she shot him a wry smile back, “No.” Word vomit was her specialty, even at the worst of times.

With a grunt, he sat her down, surprisingly gently, on what was possibly the ugliest couch that he’d ever seen. It was some emerald green, velvet thing with gaudy gold accents and it was an eyesore, in his opinion. “You got a first aid kit?”

“Yeah,” Gesturing vaguely towards the back hall, Maggie quickly pushed on, “It’s under the bathroom sink but really, you don’t have to get it. I can—”

“What?” Raising an unimpressed eyebrow, Bucky crossed his arms as he nodded to her still-bloody foot, “You gonna walk on that and fuck it up even worse?”

Offended, Maggie ruffled and sat up straighter whilst trying not to jostle her throbbing foot or make a face that would allude to her pain, “And what if I was? I can do whatever—”

“God, you’re so fuckin’ stubborn.” Grumbling, he pinched the bridge of his nose, taking a ‘soothing breath’ like Dr. Raynor had unironically instructed him to, “Just let me help.”

Trying not to cry from a mixture of both pain and mild embarrassment, Maggie gave a small nod, avoiding his eyes as the pain won out, “Fine.”

At her acquiescence, Bucky made his way back towards her bathroom. Their neighboring apartments were almost mirrors of one another, so he easily located the washroom; reaching under the sink, he grabbed the clear, blue plastic box that looked more like a mobile doctor’s office than a first aid kit. Setting it aside, he quickly washed his hands, pondering when the fuck it was that he’d become Harry Helpful.

On the couch, Maggie crossed her ankle over her leg, propping it up against her knee to she could see the damage that she’d done to her foot’s sole. The pale skin was smeared with crimson blood, some had already dried into dark burgundy lines that had sunk into the shallow print of her foot. The large piece of glass practically had an arrow pointing to it, begging for it to be removed. Carefully, she pinched it between two fingers but before she could extract it, a hand wrapped around her wrist, and she jumped.

“Wait!” Bucky’s face was reprimanding as he shook his head, “You don’t go around pulling shit like that out before someone looks at it.”

Hesitantly, he took the seat beside her, sitting on the edge of the green plush with his back as straight as a board. Looking between her foot and her eyes, without words, he asked Maggie for permission to actually help her. After a moment of looking at him with narrowed, suspicious eyes, she finally gave a small nod. Silently, his large, steady hand wrapped around her ankle and let it rest on the hard muscle of his black-jean clad thigh.

Wincing, Maggie propped herself up on her hands, her fingers digging into the couch as he used a pair of tweezers to remove the smaller, less precarious pieces first. Each time a shard was removed from where it had been embedded in her skin, he dropped it on to the black hand towel that he’d found. Thoroughly checking the injured appendage, he occasionally maneuvered her foot, twisting from the joint like she was some kind of posable doll.

Working in relative silence, aside from the buzz of music that had long since faded into the background and his occasional, quiet apology when she hissed as he pulled out a piece was stuck in particularly deep, Bucky was surprisingly gentle for being such a large, almost-brash man. The efficiency with which he worked was definitely appreciated; the sooner the torture was over, the better.

From the blank look behind her eyes, one that he knew all too well, Bucky was completely aware that her mind was a thousand miles away from her body as she fought to ignore the pain. To the untrained eye, she would have seemed unbothered, but he knew she wasn’t. Every time her breath caught in her throat, or her eyes fluttered shut, or the muscle in her calf gave a little twitch from one of the more painful pieces being removed, he noticed.

Finally, after all of the smaller shards of glass had been removed, the only piece remaining was the monstrosity protruding from the delicate arch of her foot. Slightly smaller than a silver dollar, its jagged edges were an imposition, and it couldn’t remain implanted there forever. As he lifted her foot to get a closer look, she was silently grateful for the pedicures that Poppy had insisted upon as they shopped for home décor earlier in the week.

“This doesn’t seem like it hit a bone or anything,” He murmured, pressing his thumb beside it to check how deep it was embedded in her foot, “but this isn’t gonna be fun.”

“Just do it.” He met her eyes, his brows raised in mild surprise, and she shrugged. Before she could say another word, while holding her skin taut, he’d pinched the piece between two fingers and pulled it straight out of her foot. Her hand shot out and grasped his metal forearm as she winced, “Motherfucker!”

“It’s out.” Mumbling, he grabbed some gauze and pressed it hard against the wound that, surprisingly, wasn’t bleeding as badly as he’d anticipated. He could do stitches but they wouldn't be necessary; it was a bit of a blessing. He wasn't sure how well she'd have taken to his offer of stitching her up anyway.

The feeling of her hand on his arm was foreign; people didn’t touch Bucky. In fact, most people ran the other way when they saw him or crossed the street to avoid him. He didn’t blame them. For some reason though, Maggie didn’t seem too concerned with all that he’d done before. It was kind of refreshing to be disliked for something other than his past transgressions.

“God dammit. You couldn’t have given me a countdown?” She whined, finally expressing her discomfort for the first time since almost maiming herself.

“Countdowns are for kids.” Her complaints finally pulled the ghost of a smile from him as he picked up a cotton ball. Dousing it in the sharp, sterile smelling alcohol, he chuckled, “Steve never said that you swore like a sailor.”

“Well, I’m glad that he didn’t disclose my best trait.” Taking a deep breath, she tried to focus elsewhere; in the slice on her foot, she could feel her heartbeat.

“Such a goody-two-shoes, I didn’t think you had it in you.” Bucky shrugged innocently as she cracked an eye open to glare at him.

Her typically melodic voice was flat as she deadpanned, calling him by her favorite nickname, “Dick.”

“This is gonna sting.” Ignoring her retort, he carefully swept the cold liquid over her skin. Maggie all but hissed as the disinfectant burned like flames licking up through the veins of her legs.

The hand resting on his forearm squeezed tighter as she tried to channel all of her pain elsewhere. To anyone else, her grip would have been painful, but Bucky didn’t even bat an eye as he continued tending to her foot, “Jesus fucking shit, you did that on purpose—”

Cocking an eyebrow at her, he joked, “You kiss your mother with that mouth?”

Unable to censor herself, distracted by the momentarily agonizing pain, Maggie jabbed back, “She’s dead too, so no.”

Bucky’s hand stilled at the unexpected disclosure as his mouth opened and closed several times, floundering for some appropriate response, “Shit, uh—”

Blood rushed to her cheeks, and Maggie shook her head, feeling almost a little bad about dropping that bomb on him while he was only trying to get her mind off of the pain, “It was more than ten years ago. It’s fine.”

“I’m sorry.” Ducking his head back down, he adjusted her foot gently with his warm, right hand that contrasted sharply with the chill of the other that bled through his leather glove.

“It’s fine, really. I was just being a bitch because it hurt.” Leaning back against the arm of the couch, Maggie shrugged, “And you didn’t know about that. I make those stupid fucking jokes but my therapist—”

Cutting herself off, she grimaced, somehow even more embarrassed than she was before. She didn’t know him well enough to make those jabs, let alone, talk about her therapist. How fucked up Maggie was in the head was her own business….and also Carolyn’s, but only because she paid her.

“No. It was kind of funny.” A hesitant smile formed crookedly on his lips as he checked to see if the bleeding had subsided, “Just didn’t expect that from…you.”

“Expect the unexpected, I guess.” Letting out a quiet, amused exhale of relief, she searched for a new subject. ‘Dead parent’ talk could open too many doors that she wanted to remain closed, for the time being.

“So, where’d you learn first aid anyway?”

“Azzano in the war.” He muttered as he set aside the blood-soaked cotton and inspected the bottom of her foot before concluding that there was no more glass hiding in the wound and that the bleeding had finally slowed.

As Bucky butterflied the laceration closed, she couldn’t resist the way he’d left himself wide open to be at the receiving end of one of the geriatric jokes that she had used to tease Steve with, “So, it’s not outdated at all.”

Broad shoulders shook with a quiet laugh; few people were as fearless as Maggie was when tiptoeing around his past. It was almost nice. Wrapping her foot tightly in some more gauze, he secured the dressing to itself as he shrugged, “At least there’s not glass in it anymore.”

Holding her foot steady by the heel, Bucky stood before replacing it on top of one of the many pillows that they’d been surrounded by on all sides. She murmured, “Thank you.”

With a small nod to her foot, he added, “Keep it elevated.” Looking around the floor that looked more like a demolition zone, Bucky’s brow furrowed, “Where’s your broom?”

“No, it’s fine. I can get it—” Immediately disregarding his instruction, Maggie moved to get up in search of the object.

Gently placing his hand on her shoulder, Bucky pressed her back into the couch easily with a reproachful sigh, “You don’t let anyone else do shit, do you?”

The question was rhetorical but they both knew the answer. Though it had gotten easier over time, accepting help was still a foreign concept to the typically too-independent woman. Never again would she rely on anyone except for herself, but this wasn’t life or death, so she surrendered begrudgingly with an annoyed frown on her face as she sighed, “It’s in the closet.”

Retrieving the broom and dustpan from the alcove in her kitchen, Bucky quickly began the process of turning her kitchen into less of a safety hazard. Picking up the larger pieces, he tossed them into the trash before sweeping up the smaller pieces as she watched him.

It wasn’t just her, was it? The entire situation was completely absurd, and Maggie couldn’t stop herself as she let out a snort of a laugh, her hand covering her mouth to try and stifle it, but it was too late. He’d already heard.

Looking over at the flushed woman, he couldn’t help but smile as he raised an eyebrow at her curiously, “Somethin’ funny?”

At that, Maggie finally broke. It was an unfamiliar feeling as the laughter left her; she hadn’t laughed in nearly three months, and she thought she’d forgotten how to until that moment. The muscles in her stomach contracted almost painfully; it ached but it was kind of nice, even a little liberating. Bucky watched her from the next room, amused but mostly concerned that the tightly wound woman had finally cracked.

“Yeah.” It took a few more moments before she’d calmed down enough to get any words out, wiping her eyes and trying to breathe evenly as she fought to keep from cackling again as she explained, “No, yes. It's just, my pardoned, ex-assassin, hundred-year-old neighbor is just…cleaning my kitchen after I had a fucking meltdown about my life falling to pieces.”

Nodding fairly at her observation as she resumed her periodic giggling, Bucky shrugged, “Didn’t realize I looked so young.”

“I feel certifiable.” Shaking her head, she pressed her face into her hands as the exhaustion set in.

“You said it, not me.” He jabbed, stifling a small grin as he brushed the last of the glass into the trash can.

Maggie gave him the middle finger, though the slight sparkle in her dark golden eyes told him that it was only in jest, “Fuck off, Barnes.”

“And it could have been worse,” Bucky wiped away the last of the smudged blood from the floor before making his way back into the living room and tossing the black towel to rest over his shoulder. Crossing his arms, he leaned against the wall, “At least you didn’t get to the wine glasses.”

“That would have been a tragedy, but it’s a good thing there’s beer in the fridge.” Pausing, Maggie took a moment to look at him. Maybe he wasn’t as bad as she’d initially thought; like her, maybe he was just a little prickly at first before you got to know him. After all, an apathetic asshole didn’t help someone like he had.

Steve wouldn’t have loved an apathetic asshole enough to die for him.

Maybe she felt a little bad for calling Bucky that when she was complaining to Poppy earlier; she made a mental note for the future.

Finally, Maggie met his eyes and cautiously extended an olive branch, “Do you want one?”

Friends did that; they shared beers and chatted. They’d both lost someone that, at one time or another, had felt like a piece of themselves, so maybe this was the first step to allowing that cut to finally scar over.

“Sure.” As she moved to stand, he stilled her once again but with only a reprimanding look, that time, “Can you just, fucking, stay sitting down? I can manage grabbing a few beers from the fridge.”

Rolling her eyes, Maggie actually listened to him and fluffed the pillow beneath her foot. instead. The pain had already begun to subside; at least she hadn’t needed stitches. She’d gone ten years without needing them; twice in six months would have been some kind of record.

Like it was nothing, Bucky popped the caps from the glass bottles with his vibranium thumb and handed one to her before sitting on the other end of the couch, “Thank you.”

With his lips pressed together, he nodded. Taking a pull of the drink, he paused before looking between her wrapped foot and her eyes, “You’re gonna walk around on it as soon as I leave, aren’t you?”

“Honestly?” Taking a sip, Maggie swallowed and nodded pensively, “Yeah, probably.”

Sitting around and waiting to heal was a torture she didn’t want to live through again. Not so soon. She could deal with a few days of pain as long as she wasn’t confined to one place.

“Figured.” Exhaling a quiet laugh, he shook his head. She wasn’t a machine, but he was pretty certain that she thought she was.

At one point, he’d thought he was—in fact, at one point, he had been but that was in the past. Changing the subject, he poked, “Don’t take this the wrong way but you kind of look like shit.”

“Has anyone ever told you how charming you are?” She lilted, narrowing her eyes at him. Of course, it was true—frizzy tendrils framed her ruddy face with swollen, glassy eyes and she had blood on her leg and hands—but he hadn’t needed to say it. Sitting the cold bottle on a coaster, Maggie used her fingers to comb through her hair before pulling it back again. She sniffed haughtily, “At least I still look better than you.”

“Hm.” With a grunt, Bucky tipped back his bottle but didn’t argue because he couldn’t, not really. From a totally objective place, he could acknowledge that Maggie was beautiful—in an uptight, aggravating, almost-unattainable sort of way. But she was off-limits. Maybe Steve was gone but it felt wrong to think of her in any way except for looking after her like he’d asked of Bucky.

“Look, can we just…” Trailing off, Maggie swallowed the lump in her throat. It wasn’t a hard question; she had no reason to be nervous. “Call a truce?”

Sitting up straighter, Bucky raised an eyebrow at her suggestion, interested to hear her out, “A truce?”

“You fought in a war, for God’s sake. I know that you know what a truce is, James.” The condescension that dripped from her lips was playful and she had to stifle a smile but, at his annoyed expression, she continued, “Just let me apologize.”

“Apologize?” At that, he was actually slightly surprised.

With a sly smile and the same biting tone, Maggie began again, “An apology is—”

He cut her off flatly, exhaustion behind his steel blue eyes, “I know what a goddamn apology is.”

“Good.” The word was clipped, and she sighed quietly. Vulnerability was something that had become foreign to her in the past months. Meeting his eyes, her voice softened slightly, “I’m sorry for being…kind of a bitch at the bar last week. I was having a really bad day.”

Then again, every day had been a ‘really bad day’ since Steve had left. Living in a constant state of anxiety was too taxing to deal with; socializing had become something of a begrudged task rather than a willing activity.

“Well, I’m sorry for calling you a head shrink.” Bucky murmured; his lips pressed together in a slight grimace.

The corner of her lips twitched with amusement as she gave him a courteous nod, “Forgiven.”

“You too.” Sharing a hesitant smile, a white flag had been raised for the moment. As she held her bottle up, he leaned over and clinked it with his. “So, why the hell did you move to Brooklyn anyway? Not that I don’t like having a banshee for a neighbor—”

“You’re such a dick.” Maggie complained, resituating another pillow beneath her foot. Cynically, she shrugged, “I just love the smell of gentrification in the morning.” At his mild amusement, and continued silence, she exhaled. Apparently, her jokes weren’t enough. It wasn’t as if Bucky didn’t know Steve’s connection to the borough; he, of course, had the same one but she knew she’d feel like a little schoolgirl if she admitted the whole truth to him so it was best to stay as vague as she could.

“Fresh start, you know. Born in Philly, raised in Manhattan, spent a few years in Ukraine—”

“Really?” His brows lifted in mild surprise.

“Да, два года в Корпусе мира.” Maggie couldn’t help but grin at his reaction.

“Нет, дерьма.” At her fluency, Bucky gave an impressed nod. Maybe he’d been wrong to think she was an open book—as it turned out, she was full of surprises that he hadn’t expected.

“Then I moved upstate and…I landed here.” She finished lamely, picking up her bottle to take another sip, “I can take the ferry and get to the foundation or GRC headquarters in half an hour so, it works.”

A carefully blank expression found its way on to his face at her mention of the Global Repatriation Council, “You’re working for the GRC?”

“Not really.” Shaking her head, she soured at the thought, “Pepper asked me to liaise with them because they wanted an ‘in’ with the Stark Foundation.” If she had a choice, she wouldn’t have anything to do with the council; sure, she understood the reasoning behind its creation but the sheer number of armed guards and troops that they’d deployed around the world was unsettling, “Personally, I don’t agree with them but I’m ‘playing ball.’”

Maybe he took back what he’d thought before, maybe they’d get along better than he’d originally anticipated. Raising his bottle to her, he nodded, “Well, give ‘em hell.”

Shaking her head, amusedly, she redirected the question back to him; she would have liked to have avoided talking about herself if she could get away with it, “Why are you back in Brooklyn? You could have gone anywhere you wanted.”

“It’s home.” The simple words were loaded; years of having had his brain scrambled and doing the bidding of everyone except himself had left him untethered. Maybe he hadn’t lived there in nearly a century, but it was all that he’d known before everything had happened. It was the only thing that made sense. Bucky shrugged, “Hasn’t changed all that much so it made sense.”

“At least some things stay the same.” Maggie mused, peeling at the sticky label on the sweating bottle; though her voice was light, the weight of the words was far heavier.

Quietly, he chanced a look at the woman whose tired eyes were lost somewhere far away as he nodded understandingly, “Yeah, sometimes they do.”

❧ Author's Note | “Да, два года в Корпусе мира." - Yeah, two years in the Peace Corps. “Нет, дерьма.” - No shit. I do not speak Russian or Ukrainian so everything is done through translation apps! Let me know if I make any mistakes, please! Additionally, this was written long before the present Russian invasion of Ukraine. If you’d like to learn more or help, here are some resources.

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misshoneybee · 3 years ago

Text

⟣ 𝑌𝑂𝑈'𝑅𝐸 𝑀𝑌 𝐴𝐶𝐻𝐼𝐿𝐿𝐸𝑆 𝐻𝐸𝐸𝐿 ⟢

— 𝐼. 𝐷𝐼𝐷 𝑌𝑂𝑈 𝐸𝑉𝐸𝑅 𝐻𝐸𝐴𝑅 𝐴𝐵𝑂𝑈𝑇 𝑇𝐻𝐸 𝐺𝐼𝑅𝐿 𝑊𝐻𝑂 𝐺𝑂𝑇 𝐹𝑅𝑂𝑍𝐸𝑁?

Masterpost — OFC Biography — Playlists — These are the Hands of Fate — Chapter II

❧ Pairings | Post-Endgame!Bucky Barnes x Original Female Character, Previous Steve Rogers x Original Female Character

❧ Warnings | Mature content, explicit language, themes of grief and loss, references to mental health crises (anxiety, depression, ptsd, ocd)

❧ Wordcount | ~5.3k

❧ Author’s Note | Time for some healing! After Steve went back, let's see how Bucky and Maggie fare... 👀

I cause no harm, mind my business, If our love died young, I can't bear witness, And it's been so long but if you ever think you got it wrong, I’m right where you left me ( right where you left me | evermore )

December 31, 2023

Giving up wasn’t something that Maggie did. If she started a book, she always finished it no matter how boring or long or tedious it got. She always turned in assignments and projects, completed and perfect and prepared for the judgement of others. She never half-assed anything. In the end, she always saw it through.

But maybe she’d been doing it wrong because if she just laid in this bed and let her mind go blank, nothing hurt anymore. If she gave up then she didn’t have to feel the constant, piercing sting of loss because she wouldn’t feel anything at all.

The dark room in the Stewarts’ apartment had become her new sanctuary, one that had replaced the one that she’d created with him. It had been almost five weeks, but the past forty days had run together; with the blackout curtains drawn tight across the small window, she could barely tell day from night. Not that it mattered, she’d slept through all of it anyway. She hadn’t even needed to tell anyone that she was taking a leave of absence from work; it had been an unspoken understanding when she simply stopped showing up.

Nothing had been the same since they'd been gone. Since he'd been gone.

Despondent, was the word she’d heard in hushed tones from the hall after the Stewarts had finally called a physician to evaluate their almost-daughter. She knew they were worried, but she couldn’t find the strength to soothe it for them. Not this time, anyway. The endless cycle of sleeping and constant rumination was disturbed only by occasional trips to the bathroom or the three times a day that Poppy, or her parents, would bring her something in a silent plea to eat. To survive.

Suffice to say, Maggie wasn’t doing well.

Waifish, she looked as though a breeze could sweep her away, swirling her into the wind before disappearing. If only she could be so lucky. The curves that had once outlined her shape had long since shrunk; her cheeks were hollow and her skin, a whiter shade of pale. The dark circles under the empty brown eyes were sunken in, the excessive sleep somehow doing nothing to remedy them. The light in her had disappeared along with seemingly everyone that she’d loved before. She barely had the strength to shower, let alone get dressed.

She hadn’t left the house in almost a month.

It was New Year’s Eve and, even from almost twenty blocks away, she could hear the dull roar of the crowd gathering to celebrate the restoration of the universe as they headed into the next year. Just three hundred and sixty-five days earlier, Maggie thought she knew what the rest of her life looked like and now she was alone, adrift at sea without an anchor.

Thanksgiving. Her old friend’s birthday that she’d never get to celebrate again. Christmas. She’d slept through all of the days. Being awake for events that used to bring her such an incandescent happiness just hurt too badly now.

‘Twas the fucking season.

January 2, 2024

She’d only just returned home but Poppy’s brow furrowed as she approached the bedroom door at the end of the hall. For the first time in more than a month, there was a sliver of light creeping out from the crack beneath it and a flower of hope bloomed within her as she approached it. Her knuckles rapped urgently against the hollow wood, and she felt her chest tighten as she heard a hoarse, “come in” from inside.

Those were the first words that she’d heard from her best friend in quite some time, and she felt her eyes grow wet with tears at the sound she’d missed so much. The brass doorknob was cold under her touch but the warmth from the sight inside of the room thawed the feeling; she was awake. Not only was Maggie awake, but she was dressed and…packing? The tiny suitcase that she’d brought along with her when she’d arrived was open on the daybed, but Poppy ignored it for the time being as she bee-lined to her best friend.

“Mags…” Wrapping her arms around the shorter woman, Poppy squeezed her eyes closed as she hugged Maggie tightly. She could feel the way she tensed up at the touch and it splintered in her chest. It had been weeks of playing a waiting game, terrified her friend would never come back to her; maybe she hadn’t yet, but there was still time. It was hard to shake the feeling that the brunette felt differently in her arms; even after the death of her parents and her years across the world, Maggie Hall had never seemed quite so frail.

“How do you feel?” Sitting on the edge of her bed, the leggy blonde watched as Maggie continued the methodical process of plucking her clothes from a basket of clean laundry before folding them and tucking them away in her bag.

When the sun had peeked through the curtains that morning, landing in an uncomfortably warm strip across her face, she’d slowly pulled herself from the wrinkled blankets of her bed. She couldn’t do it anymore, she wouldn’t. It was a new year; it was the perfect time to start over even if she had to force herself do it. Though her injuries, external and internal, had healed, every single move she made ached. Inside she was screaming, but she had to shove it down.

New year, new life, new Maggie.

Hardly pausing her routine, she murmured, “I’m fine.”

In all honesty, she didn’t know how she was, but she couldn’t just lay around anymore. The constant thinking and overanalyzing and remembering was too much. It had to come to an end. That morning, she’d opened the curtains and let the winter sun’s light touch her sallow skin before she'd begun a new day.

Hesitantly, and completely unbelieving of her words, Poppy nodded encouragingly with a serene smile, “That’s��great, sweetie.” She didn’t want to break whatever fragment of motivation that Maggie had found so she’d support her like she always did. Cautiously, she continued, “Why are you up?”

“Apartment hunting.” Maggie nodded, the ghost of a fake smile on her lips. Even if she wasn’t leaving right then, she couldn’t stand the stagnancy any longer, so laundry had been what she’d tasked herself with. Bulldozing forward, she took a deep breath, “Need to get started, you know.”

“Did you—”

“I called a realtor this morning and she’s already lined up three places.” Poppy, always the early bird, had left before seven so she’d missed Maggie being set into motion. After showering, she’d immediately found someone to help her find a new place, borough be damned. She didn’t quite care where she landed, but she needed something different.

A change in scenery, a change in pace—anything.

Finishing her chore, Maggie stared at the folded pile of clothes for just a moment too long, making Poppy’s concerned face grow even more anxious before the brunette shook her head, almost as if trying to clear out her thoughts.

Sitting beside her best friend, Maggie crossed her legs and took her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze as she reassured herself more than Poppy, “I promise, I’m fine. I just…need a fresh start.”

Maggie could barely remember arriving at the Stewart residence and telling Poppy what had happened all those weeks before. Everything except his last goodbye felt like some distant, blurred memory like someone had taken their thumb and smudged oil over the lens of her mind’s camera. The world was muffled, like cotton had been shoved in her ears to block out the everyday sounds that were otherwise deafening now.

That morning, it had been like her body was operating at its most rudimentary level. After she had awoken without him by her side, she’d felt suffocated within the walls of what was once their home and she had to leave. She’d needed to leave as quickly as possible because she couldn’t breathe there. The only word that floated around her mind had been, "Go."

Somehow, Maggie had managed to pack a bag and lock up the house before getting into her car. Taking the still mostly uncrowded roads, despite the restored population, she’d driven to the Stewarts’ apartment and left her car in a garage.

The family’s home was the only place where she felt like she could hide away from the world. Being alone in the small cottage brought about too many memories; being only a mile away from where she’d lost everything was even worse. So, maybe not as drastically as she had in the past, Maggie ran.

Knocking on the door in the middle of the long hallway, it felt like her hand wasn’t even attached to her body as her knuckles brushed the wood. Her friend had quickly whipped open the door as soon as she’d spied her friend through the peephole. Green eyes were filled with worry and Maggie vaguely registered that she hadn’t responded to any texts or calls over the past three days; her mind had been…otherwise occupied. So-called rudimentary functioning didn’t really allow for texts; she’d only been trying to keep herself alive as she prepared for Steve’s departure.

But now, he was gone, and she was finally allowed to fall apart.

Wrapping her friend in a tight hug, Poppy had known something was wrong as soon as she’d seen her with the small tote in hand. The empty look in a pair of familiar, previously warm, brown eyes was something that she’d only seen once in all the years that she’d known Maggie, “What’s wrong?”

Numbly, she whispered, “He’s gone.”

“I know.” Pressing her lips to her friend’s head, like a child that needed to be consoled, Poppy nodded sympathetically, “I am so sorry, sweetie.”

Shaking her head, Maggie croaked out, “No.” She knew that Poppy meant Tony; she didn’t know about Steve. Why would she? No one except Maggie and Bucky had known about Steve. A shuttering breath filled her lungs as she, almost too calmly, breathed out, “Steve…is gone.”

“Like, back to work?” At Maggie’s heavy silence, Poppy pulled back apprehensively, holding the trembling, shorter woman by her upper arms as she realized that something was more wrong than she’d initially anticipated. There was a boulder in the pit of her stomach. as she fought to ask calmly, “Mags, what are you talking about?” There was a glazed look in the eyes that avoided her gaze and she faltered, growing more worried with each second, “How did you get here? Do you need me to call him?”

Perhaps Steve had needed to go on some sort of Avenger’s mission—the news had been talking about the surge of some group called the country smashers or something like that since everyone had returned. But why would he have left when Maggie was still so—

Poppy’s thoughts were halted when her best friend simply muttered, “You can’t.” Meeting Poppy’s jade eyes, Maggie’s bottom lip quivered as she whispered, finally telling the truth out loud for the first time, “He’s gone. He went back to…to be with Peggy.” She thought the tears were done but apparently, they had only just begun as a sob broke through her parted lips, “He’s gone.”

January 6, 2024

“Of all places, you’re really moving to Brooklyn?” Poppy’s face was skeptical as Maggie read over the rental contract on her laptop. When she’d gone to tour the units, Poppy had been by her side the entire time. Arm in arm, almost holding Maggie up like a limp doll, the statuesque woman had asked the realtor all of the questions that she was unable to whilst her mind was otherwise occupied.

What was the average cost of the utilities? Had the locks been changed since the last tenant vacated? How long was the lease for? Could she renew it? Was there someone that they contracted to do the inspection, or should she look for someone else? Gripping to her friend like a life preserver as they bounced across the city, Maggie knew she wasn’t alone; no matter how the world felt even at the darkest times, she would never really be alone.

“Yes.” Shooting the blonde a look over the top of the tortoiseshell-rimmed glasses that had slipped down the bridge of her nose, Maggie raised an eyebrow. She knew that Poppy, though a jetsetter due to her work, was a Manhattanite at heart and living anywhere else was blasphemous in her gospel.

“But why?”

Rolling her eyes, Maggie bookmarked the page before setting her computer aside in favor of the takeout they’d picked up from the tried-and-true Chinese restaurant that they’d loved since high school. In all honesty, the apartment in Brooklyn just made the most sense; they’d toured a unit in Staten Island (where she would rather die than live), a little townhouse in Bayside, Queens (that was just a bit too far from her new office), and a cute little place tucked away in Brooklyn.

“I liked the neighborhood.” She shrugged, picking at her sesame chicken with a flimsy pair of bamboo chopsticks as she repeated the exhausted mantra that she’d been telling herself for almost a week, “I just need a fresh start.”

The apartment was quaint, but she was alone again anyway—she didn’t need a lot of space to be by herself. It seemed like a safe neighborhood, and it was relatively quiet, but she knew why Poppy was really asking. Logically, she could go just about anywhere she wanted to. Between the money from her parents and Tony and Steve, she had more than enough funds to do anything, but it felt like blood money. She didn’t want to think about it, let alone touch it.

Maybe she’d also picked Brooklyn because it felt like some type of homage to Steve even if he was gone. He’d been born and raised in Brooklyn, and they’d explored the borough on more than one occasion as he'd walked her through his past—the past that had been just a little too tempting in the end. Nonetheless, Maggie wasn’t twenty-one anymore. She couldn’t just drop everything at a moment’s notice and move across the globe again.

This time, even if they hadn’t, she had to stay.

January 8, 2024

For a Monday night, the little dive bar on the West side of Brooklyn where they’d found themselves was quite lively. Then again, since the return of half of the population, every place that she’d gone had seemed busy to her. It was bizarre how much Maggie had gotten used to the overwhelming quiet that had come over the world before everyone had returned. The constant hum of people talking and the claustrophobic tightness when she walked on the streets made her heart pound; getting readjusted to the world was going to take some time.

The high top where Bucky and Sam sat was tucked away in the corner; raising her hand in a half-hearted wave to them, she squeezed between the tables and bodies crowding the little hole-in-the-wall place they’d decided to meet at. Somehow, Sam had acquired her number and invited her out to get drinks before he was due to fly back to Delacroix, Louisiana—well, for the second time. In her self-imposed exile, Maggie had missed when he’d already left and returned once before.

“Hi.” Her voice still sounded strange to her own ears, like the vocal folds in her throat were still relearning how to make any sound at all. She’d spent most of her time, in the past month and a half, in silence.

From across the table, Bucky gave her a short nod of acknowledgment over the bottle he held tightly in his gloved hand, and she did the same. There wasn’t much else to expect from the quiet man; they’d barely spoken when he’d stayed at their—at her place. At the time, it had been their place but that was before everything had happened; now, it was hers only and she wished it wasn’t.

With a warm smile, Sam leaned over and gave her a one-armed hug, his hand giving a solid pat to the middle of her back in a friendly gesture. Of course, she didn’t mean to stiffen up when he did, but she’d become somewhat averse to anyone’s touch aside from Poppy’s as of late. Sometimes she felt like a feral cat that was getting reacclimated to a life that it had forgotten.

Taking her seat, Maggie slid off her wool coat and held it in her lap, leaving her in the heavy, cable-knit sweater that she’d donned to combat the snow that was still falling outside. It felt as though winter was never-ending when she woke to the white flurries outside her window every morning.

As a waitress approached the table, three green, glass bottles on the tray in her hand, Sam leaned over so Maggie could hear him above the other ambient chatter, “We didn’t know what you liked so I just grabbed a couple of beers; hope that’s alright.”

“Yeah, that’s fine.” She nodded, a tight but grateful smile on her lips. At least that was one decision she didn’t have to make for herself. Placing down the new drinks, the waitress removed an empty glass of Sam’s and Bucky’s extra bottle.

Unlike usual, Maggie had been late because, truth be told, she wasn’t even certain that she wanted to meet with the men. They weren’t her friends, not really; they’d lived under the same roof for a short amount of time, but she barely knew them. However, for some reason, Maggie felt like she needed to see them.

Maybe it was because it made her feel closer to Steve; he’d been their best friend, after all. She was grasping at straws, doing whatever she could to make herself feel nearer to him even though he was seventy years away.

“I just to see need your ID.” The waitress was kind, and Maggie found herself regretfully annoyed with the young woman’s chipper attitude as she grabbed her license from her wallet. Of course, it was unreasonable, and she felt a little bad; just because she was miserable didn’t mean that everyone else needed to be too. Taking the plastic card, the woman’s hazel eyes scanned for the date before handing it back as she chirped a quick, “Happy birthday!”

Feeling herself flush, Maggie shoved the card back into her wallet with a muttered, “thank you,” before the waitress left them alone. Avoiding the eyes of both men, she took a swig of the bitter drink and willed neither of them to comment. That morning, she’d left the Stewart’s apartment before anyone could wish her a happy birthday and she’d been ignoring texts all day.

In her defense, it wasn’t just that she didn’t want to talk about it; she’d been busy trying not to drown as she found a new life for herself in an unfamiliar borough. That morning, she’d finally signed papers on a little apartment; it was one bedroom and one bathroom and about half an hour from the new Stark Relief Foundation office in midtown Manhattan. She’d been using all of her free time to purchase furniture and whatever else she needed while coordinating movers to bring her things from the little house upstate.

Going back wasn’t an option—she couldn’t return there, not again. Not ever, if she could help it. Maggie had left that morning the previous year and hadn’t been back since. As far as she was concerned, the whole place could burn to ashes, and she wouldn’t shed a tear. Too many had already been shed and, truth be told, she didn’t even know if her body could produce any more.

Picking up the silent plea that Maggie was sending out, Sam raised his bottle slightly and quietly murmured, “To Steve.”

Bucky nodded, his jaw tight, “To Steve.”

Unable to get the words out, Maggie kept her eyes down as she gave a half-hearted motion of her bottle before tipping it back. He’d been…a sore subject, to say the least. When was the last time she’d said his name aloud?

She couldn’t remember.

“So, you joining the club?” Sam’s question was directed at her, and she cocked an eyebrow.

Clearing her throat, Maggie raised her voice a little over the extra noise around them so he could actually hear her, “What club?”

“The club.” His rich, earthy eyes always seemed to carry some mischief in them; it was something familiar, something comfortable, and it was almost enough to make her smile. Almost. He gave a vague gesture with his hand as he continued, “You know, the whole hero gig.”

With her stomach lurching at the mere mention of that day in the fall, Maggie shook her head vehemently, “No—definitely not.”

Sam frowned, his elbows resting casually on the table as he pushed, “You were kicking ass! It looked like you belonged out there. What do you mean ‘no’?”

Before she could open her mouth, Bucky, who had otherwise been silent since her arrival, cut in, “You know, she's not actually an agent or anything, right?” With a shrug, his eyes went to hers before meeting Sam’s again. “She’s a head shrink.”

‘What an asshole.’

He wasn’t wrong technically, not at all, but there was something about the way that he’d said it; it was flippant, nonchalant, and fucking annoying. Then again, she had a low threshold for anything these days. Not bothering to hide the slightly irritated look that crossed her delicate features, Maggie rolled her eyes at the super soldier as she bit back, “No, I’m not a ‘head shrink.’ I’m a social worker, dick.”

“Seemed like she was though.” Sam defended the younger woman, completely unperturbed by the abrasive pair that inhabited the table along with him. Pointing at himself then pointing at his friend, he rattled off, “She saved my ass, saw her save your ass—”

“I had it handled.” Bucky cut him off gruffly, obviously bothered with the reminder that Maggie had, indeed, saved him from a certain alien assault.

That was one of the few events from that day that she remembered vividly; so many things only came to her in flashbacks and echoes, like she’d only observed it and hadn’t lived through it. However, killing something with her bare hands, no matter how evil or vile the being may have been, wasn’t something that Maggie would soon forget.

Scoffing, Sam shook his head, “You would have been that thing’s play-toy if she hadn’t seen it.” A little smile made the corner of his goateed mouth tick up as he boasted for her, giving her a small nudge, “Did you see the teeth on that thing? She choked it out and didn’t even break a sweat!”

It felt foreign but she couldn’t stop the tiny smile that grew on her face from Sam’s words. He wasn’t bad—not that she ever thought he was; she just…didn’t know him yet. He was kind and fair, she understood why Steve had given him the shield. And he was funny—every quip was quick, and he gave back whatever he got from anyone else, including Bucky.

She couldn’t deny that maybe she liked seeing the somewhat-aloof man getting back all that he dished out.

Before the bickering friends could go any further, Maggie shook her head, “It’s just…not my life.” Taking a sip of her drink, her eyes flashed to the boxing match on one of the many televisions and she felt another pang in her stomach; would there be anything that didn’t remind her of all she’d lost? “I don’t even have anyone to train with anymore—”

“What do you mean?” Sam cut in, motioning towards Bucky as he volunteered his friend’s services, “You got Robocop here in the city with you.”

Snorting at the nickname, Maggie shook her head with a wry smile, “Thanks, but no thanks.” She didn’t want that anymore; it was time to find something else to do. The possibilities were endless and maybe she’d be excited if it wasn’t so terrifying or sad. Taking a deep breath, she sat down her still mostly full bottle, watching as it left a ring of condensation on the table, “For all intents and purposes, I am…retired.” Her tone brokered no fight as Sam gave an understanding nod.

Eager to change the subject, she pushed forward, “Anyway, when’s your flight tomorrow?”

After promising to keep in touch with Sam, at his almost fraternal insistence, Maggie had accepted his tight hug before he hailed a taxi to take him back to his hotel for the evening. Just outside the door of the hole-in-the-wall bar, she finished buttoning her coat to try and save herself from the evening’s deeper chill. As the sun had dropped below the horizon, so had the temperature.

Not too long ago, she’d loved the winter. Late each year, decorations would pop up merrily across the city as snow began to fall, covering the concrete metropolis in a light, white blanket. The twinkling icicle lights, and green garland welcomed everyone, twirling around bannisters and railings. Gruff, native New Yorkers who were always so stoic and severe softened, if only a little bit and if only for a little while.

It was like the world got brighter for a few weeks before fading back to its normal, dim glow. Maggie used to love visiting Rockefeller center and seeing the giant Christmas tree as she skated around the rink, gliding away for hours on end before the ice numbed her body to nature’s dangers, letting her have all the fun that she could before finally breaking and seeking refuge inside to allow the blood to rush back to her extremities.

But winter had been tainted by loss; maybe it would never feel the same again.

Slipping on her gloves, she caught sight of the street number and hesitated. She was only two blocks from her new place; it wouldn’t hurt to run by and check for any old mail from previous tenants and look around. The movers that she’d hired would begin bringing the bigger pieces of her furniture by the next morning. She’d only taken a few steps towards the crosswalk when she heard a deep voice from behind her and flinched.

Maybe she still wasn’t used to being spoken to again.

“Why did you tell him to leave?” Turning around, her eyes landed on Bucky. Still clad in the leather jacket that she’d rarely seen him without, his jaw was clenched as he looked over her. His blue eyes were almost silver, and they felt like two sharp daggers piercing deep inside her chest.

Her mouth opened then closed, surprised that he’d asked that. No one had asked her anything regarding him—then again, no one except Bucky knew the conversations that had taken place behind closed doors. They were two of the very few people who knew what really happened to Captain Steve Rogers.

Swallowing to wet her suddenly dry throat, she responded off-handedly, “I…overheard the two of you.” Judging by his expression, he hadn’t known that. Why would he? She gave a small shrug. There was a familiar tightness in her chest as she exhaled, “He deserved to be happy.”

Even if it was without her.

Giving a nod, he paused before thinking better of his silence; somehow everything that came out of his mouth sounded slightly judgmental and she had to wonder if he’d always been so coarse or if time had, understandably, hardened him. “What about you?”

Her breath caught. What about her? That was the question, wasn’t it? But the answer, she didn’t know. No one knew.

“What about me?” A humorless smile quirked at the corner of her mouth, “I can wait.”

She could. Steve had, for far too long, so maybe it was her turn; she could be patient. Her threshold for speaking about Steve and anything regarding him was incredibly low so with a small nod, she decided to cut the conversation short and bid him adieu, “Sergeant Barnes.”

“Miss Hall.”

Half-turned away, she stopped and turned back with a furrowed brow; ‘Miss Hall’ sounded like a schoolteacher. “You can just call me Maggie, you know.”

The long-haired man shrugged back at her, “And you could just call me Bucky.”

“That…feels weird. Too familiar.” Her nose wrinkled at the thought; she didn’t know him well enough to use a nickname and she wasn’t sure if she ever would…or if she ever wanted to. In her defense, Maggie was hardly a nickname—no one called her Marguerite. Not anymore, anyway.

Tony had been the last.

His lips pressed into a flat line as he fought, unsuccessfully, to keep any annoyance from seeping into his voice, “That’s my name.”

“Isn’t it actually James?” Maggie shot back, crossing her arms as she stepped back and forth on her feet. The thick wool tights that were on her legs did nothing to keep her warm, but he looked completely unphased; God, that was annoying. She felt like an exposed nerve; how could he be okay? How could he seem so unaffected by everything?

Maybe she did need to get a grip on her emotions…but that was a task for another time.

Deadpanning, he shoved his hands in the pockets of his jacket, “Then call me James.”

With a decisive nod, she agreed flatly, “Fine.”

“Fine.” There was a slight mocking note in his voice, almost like he was enjoying her irritation; she narrowed her eyes at him, but he stood firm. With a roll of her eyes, she turned on her heel and sent up a silent ‘thank you’ to the traffic gods that turned the crosswalk indicator white just in time for her to cross without breaking her stride.

Maggie had gone a block and a half, her ankles aching from the heel on her boots before she realized that there were quiet footsteps behind her. Perhaps it was a coincidence, but she knew better than to turn around, not yet at least. New York, though repopulated, was still New York. Keeping her ear attuned to the sound of the heavy steps that crunched on the snow that had been compacted into ice from the feet that had stepped on it before, she turned on to the street where she’d soon reside.

Finally, she whipped around and jumped when she caught sight of James, again. Like some half-assed ghost, he’d been behind her all that time and hadn’t said a single word? Accusatorily, Maggie huffed as she held his eyes suspiciously, “Are you following me?”

If Steve had asked him to watch out for Maggie, she didn’t want it and she didn’t need it. She was quite fine all alone; she’d always been good at taking care of herself.

“No!” Almost as if he was offended by her, more than valid, accusation, his unamused face remained unchanged as he motioned to the building they’d halted in front of, like it was obvious, “I’m going to my apartment.”

Standing up straighter, Maggie ruffled as he grabbed a set of silver keys from his pocket, “You live here?”

“Wait—” He shook his head; she couldn’t deny that she liked seeing the stoic man look somewhat surprised by something. Maybe he wasn’t actually a robot. “Do you?”

“Yes—I mean, not yet.” Maggie shrugged, crossing her arms, and cocking a hip, daring him to question her. It wasn’t as if she could intimidate him, really; she was almost a full foot shorter than him. “I don’t actually move in until next week. I needed to check the mail, though.”

Raising an eyebrow, he coolly asked, “What unit?”

“I—” Drawing a blank, Maggie quickly dug through her bag to find the small keychain that she’d yet to attach to her car keys. Her cheeks were tinged pink but whether it was because she was flustered from interacting with him for longer than she wanted to, or because of the cold wind that whipped her wild hair around her face, was anyone’s guess. Flipping over the tag, she looked back to him, “3C.”

“Guess we’re neighbors, then.” Her face fell just slightly as he held up his own keys with a smug glint behind his eyes, “3B.”

Right fucking next door.

She didn’t bother trying to disguise the sarcasm that infiltrated her words as she muttered, “Great. This should be fun.”

❧ Author’s Note | This really should be fun. 😜

5 notes · View notes

misshoneybee · 3 years ago

Text

⟣ 𝑇𝐻𝐸𝑆𝐸 𝐴𝑅𝐸 𝑇𝐻𝐸 𝐻𝐴𝑁𝐷𝑆 𝑂𝐹 𝐹𝐴𝑇𝐸 ⟢

— 𝑋𝑋. 𝐼'𝐿𝐿 𝑊𝐴𝑇𝐶𝐻 𝑌𝑂𝑈𝑅 𝐿𝐼𝐹𝐸 𝐼𝑁 𝑃𝐼𝐶𝑇𝑈𝑅𝐸𝑆 𝐿𝐼𝐾𝐸 𝐼 𝑈𝑆𝐸𝐷 𝑇𝑂 𝑊𝐴𝑇𝐶𝐻 𝑌𝑂𝑈 𝑆𝐿𝐸𝐸𝑃

Masterpost — OFC Biography — Playlists — Chapter XIX — You're My Achilles Heel

❧ Pairings | Post-Infinity War!Steve Rogers x Original Female Character

❧ Warnings | Mature content, explicit language, angst, heartbreak, hurt/no comfort, unhappy ending (with a sequel)

❧ Wordcount | ~6.6k

❧ Author’s Note | This is probably the hardest thing I've ever written. I cried multiple times and second guessed myself the entire time but, I feel like this was how it was meant to be. So, anyway, here we are. As a note, I think the back half of their playlist underscores this beautifully. Get the tissues ready.

And I hope the sun shines and it's a beautiful day, And something reminds you, you wish you had stayed. You can plan for a change in the weather and time, But I never planned on you changing your mind. ( Last Kiss | Speak Now )

May 11, 2018

Opening the door to her bedroom, distracted by ensuring that everything was where it needed to be in her little work tote, Maggie ran smack into what felt like a brick wall and she let out a quiet ‘oof.’ Quickly, she felt herself beginning to ricochet backwards and tried to brace herself before she hit the ground. Hands reached out, wrapping around her upper arms to keep her from falling—a wall with hands?

“Shit!” Surprised, the curse spilled from her lips without a thought.

Looking up, she met a concerned pair of opal eyes and felt her face grow hot with embarrassment—she hadn’t even had a whole conversation with the man and had all but mowed him down while trying to leave her room. With the way her morning was squaring up, it was just her luck.

She knew there wasn’t much of a reason to be intimidated; Steve Rogers had been nothing but courteous since she’d moved in, always checking in with her when their paths crossed or asking if she needed any help with anything, but Maggie still found herself incredibly nervous every time she saw him.

“Captain Rogers, I am so sorry—”

“I told you, you can call me Steve.”

He smiled down at her. After a moment, after he’d ensured she wasn’t totally off balance from their encounter and that she wouldn’t fall, he let her go. His fists clenched loosely as he crossed his arms, stifling the urge he had to reach out and touch her again, to brush the rogue curls that framed her face or fix her little shirt collar that was slightly twisted from how quickly she’d dressed.

“And it’s okay. Everything alright?”

His brow was furrowed as he observed her, and Maggie’s already impossibly pink face faded into a deeper red at his genuine concern. She knew that she was quite a sight. Her alarm had gone off late and she’d fallen behind while trying to get ready—she thought it was impossible to be late when her office was only a few floors from her bedroom, but the constant chaos of the past month proved her wrong.

Nodding, she adjusted the strap of her heavy bag, switching shoulders as the laptop within it weighed her down, “Yeah, just running a little late this morning.”

“It’s Saturday.” He rarely saw her around the shared apartment; for someone who wasn’t a trained agent, Maggie certainly seemed to be adept at being a ghost. Usually, she woke around the same time that he did, seeing one another in passing as he went to the gym and she to her office, but she never returned before it was dark. Of course, he didn’t know her well, but it seemed like she was running on fumes.

Steve frowned, checking the watch on his wrist, “And it’s barely seven.”

Her mouth opened then closed; would the embarrassment never end? It wasn’t as if she could just tell him that she had no life outside of work so, as a result, she threw herself into it. She couldn’t tell him that, if she could just focus on anything else, then she didn’t have to think about Kate or Tony or the billions of other people that had been lost. Work-life balance had never been her strongest suit.

Settling lamely, Maggie attempted a nonchalant shrug with a tight smile as they walked towards the giant, open concept living space, “There’s always work to do, you know.”

As he took in the dark purple circles beneath her eyes, that not even makeup could camouflage, his concern only grew for the woman that he hardly knew. Nodding towards the kitchen, he nudged gently, “At least have some coffee.”

Pressing her lips together, she waffled; she was already running so late, “I shouldn’t…”

Not accepting ‘no’ for an answer, Steve ignored her pushback and raised an eyebrow as he grabbed one of the cups from the cabinet, “You like it with ice, right?”

“I…” Trailing off awkwardly, Maggie watched as he moved around the kitchen and grabbed the exact ingredients that she used each morning; some plant-based creamer that she always kept backups of in the fridge, the cinnamon syrup on the counter, seven ice cubes from the fridge because six didn’t cool it enough and eight watered it down too much. “Um, yes?”

When she’d thrown herself out of bed just fifteen minutes earlier, coffee had been the last thing on her mind which was quite the surprise for the typically caffeine-powered woman; anxiety had come in vogue as her latest and greatest motivator. She’d planned to skip her morning beverage as she threw on whatever outfit was closest; if she actually had needed coffee, she could have grabbed it from the lukewarm pot the office shared. It wasn’t great but it would at least be passable.

Snapping her from the exhausted rabbit hole of her thoughts, Steve handed over the cold cup, “Never really got a taste for it with ice.” At her puzzled expression looking between him and the coffee, he let out a quiet chuckle with a shrug as he explained easily, “The whole photographic memory comes in handy sometimes.”

“Seems like it.” Maggie nodded, looking down at the translucent plastic cup with a small smile; it was the perfect shade of cool beige. She jumped as the five-minute alarm dinged in her bag and she bit her lip hesitantly, “I really have to get going but thank you, Captain—” At his eyebrow cocked in playful warning, she corrected herself with a soft laugh, “Steve, I mean.”

“No problem.” He nodded with a little chuckle, watching with a barely-there, enamored smile as she slowly took a few steps backwards before finding her way into the elevator that awaited her departure.

There was just something about her that made him want to know her better.

November 20, 2023, 6:29 a.m.

For once, Maggie was awake before Steve but only because her body had refused to stay asleep. She was so exhausted; it was like her brain feared losing any more time with him than she would by the next morning. In her sleep, she’d turned towards him, their faces only inches apart on the sunken pillows as he held her body close to his, their legs tangled together beneath the blankets. She could feel each of his silent exhales on her neck.

With sleepy eyes adjusted to the dark room, the sun still waiting in the wings below the horizon outside, she took her time as she scanned over his face. She wanted to memorize him, each line and curve, every rare blemish or imperfection. If she couldn’t keep him, she would always have this piece; this rare visual of his relaxed face, so blissfully unaware of the broken woman who couldn’t tear her eyes away.

When he’d eventually leave her in ruins, Maggie was almost certain that she would still thank him, because at least she’d had him for some amount of time, even though she was certain that it never would have been long enough.

Maggie couldn’t help but wonder, if she never loved again, would it have been worth it? Would all of this gut-wrenching pain have been worth it? Looking at him in the early morning light, she knew it would. As much as she wished that she could be upset—be furious with the way that their story was ending—she could never hate him. It would be so much easier, more convenient. She could put their past in a box on a shelf. It would allow her to tie a bow on this chapter of her life and move forward—but that would never happen.

She’d be feeling the aftershocks of him for the rest of her life.

Maybe it was romanticized, the future that they’d envisioned with one another. Maybe it never would have worked out right, but they would never know what could have become of them. He’d been a wave that had crashed upon her shore, the cold, saltwater bracing as her breath was taken away. The slow passage of time before the sea foam melted back into the water was all that she’d remember.

It was selfish, but she silently prayed to a god that she didn’t believe in, that Steve would remember her; that she’d changed him even slightly as much as he had her. Even if sometime later in her life, in the very distant future, Maggie decided to open her heart back up to the possibility of love or something similar, she knew there’d be a tiny fragment that would always belong to someone else.

With a chisel, he’d carved out a piece and slipped it in his pocket to carry back in time; she’d never get it back but that was okay. He could keep it.

If she just said the words, the two simple words that had been on the tip of her tongue for a week, she knew he’d stay. Instead, Maggie remained silent; she wouldn’t take this away from him, not when the world had already taken so much. Her fingertip gently brushed over his face as she catalogued the soft slope from his cheekbone to the cliff’s edge of his jaw, the three little freckles that interrupted the otherwise perfect, ecru canvas of his skin.

She could feel the way his breathing changed, deeper breaths filling his lungs instead of the short, even ones as sleep began to melt away with the rising sun. Not bothering to move her hand, an unconscious smile pulled at her lips as he brought a warm hand up to cover it. Blinking the gritty remains of slumber away, his aquatic eyes opened into hers.

“Morning.” Maggie murmured softly, unblinking as she observed him placidly.

“Good morning, sweetheart.” Lacing their fingers together, he brought her palm to his lips before pulling her in tightly, wrapping his arms around her. He never stayed in bed very long after he woke up, always eager to start his day, but she knew that he would stay this morning—even if it was the only time he ever did.

Tucking her head below his chin, she breathed him in. The airy, clean smell that mixed with the musky cologne of his skin wasn’t something she’d soon forget. It was embedded in their pillows, in the clothes she’d stolen from him over the years, in her mind.

“When Bruce brought everyone back,” Maggie began softly, her words muffled in his neck as she closed her eyes, “I know it’s wrong, but I…I had this moment of hoping that maybe it wouldn’t work, that it could stay the same forever.”

It had only been a small part of her mind that had held the thought and she’d felt like a monster as she watched Bruce snap his fingers in slow motion. What kind of person was so selfish that they’d wish that upon the universe? Her happiness was not so important that billions of beings shouldn’t exist in the name of it. It was dark and selfish, and maybe even a little cruel, but it only felt fair that he knew.

Steve’s grip on her sweater tightened as he whispered into her messy hair, “Me too.”

July 4, 2021

“Don’t fall asleep.” Maggie could easily make out the words through the low rumbles in Steve’s chest, where her ear was pressed against his shirt. The way his warm hand was massaging patterns on her back was making his request quite the task. In her defense, she couldn’t help it; he was so warm and laying together on the couch like this always seemed to be her kind of lullaby.

With a groan, she buried her face into him, her nose smushing up against his sternum. Closing her eyes, her words were muffled as she half-lied, “’m not asleep.”

As he slowly sat up, she could feel the way he shook with laughter at the whiny sound that came from her, “Uh-uh, come on.”

Staying on his lap, she giggled against his mouth when he caught her lips in a soft kiss. Looping her arms around his neck, she raised an eyebrow, “So, how does a hundred and three feel?”

“Same as a hundred and two, and one…and a hundred.” Steve shrugged, grinning.

Pinching his shoulder playfully, she gave him a serious look, “Well, you better still be around when I turn a hundred so I can find out for myself.” He barked out a laugh and she rolled her eyes, giving him a little push, “I’m serious! It’s only fair—I was here for yours.”

It wasn’t something he’d soon forget, how Maggie had looked when they found her in the kitchen after finishing the marathon task of cake decorating on his centennial. The bronze hair that typically fell in waves around her narrow shoulders had been piled high and clipped atop her head, smears of patriotic colored frosting striped her cheek, and flour covered the dark blouse that she’d worn to work that morning, but the smile she’d given him? It had been bright enough to light even the darkest night.

“Mm, so that’s what?” Steve reclined against the back of the red cushioned couch, pulling her with him, “Another seventy years?”

Cocking an eyebrow, challengingly, Maggie teased, “You think you got it in you?”

“That’s a piece of cake.” With a blasé nod, he waved it off but was hard pressed to hide his grin, “I could do that in my sleep.”

The laugh from her throat bubbled up before she could stop it and she tipped her head back. It was rare that he ever joked about the time he’d spent frozen but when he did, she always felt a little proud, like she was privileged to be the one he decided to share his musings with. Shaking her head, she took Steve’s face in both of her hands and guided his lips back to hers.

The blissful moment shared between the couple was quickly interrupted by a voice from the front of the hallway, “I told you two, stop having sex in the living room!” Natasha carried a glass into the kitchen as she continued complaining over the sounds of clinking utensils and running water, “I nap on that couch!”

Ever since the pair had, almost, gotten caught having some ‘alone time’ in the apartment’s shared living space, Natasha had refused to let it go. Teasing them at every opportunity had become something of an Olympic sport to her.

Removing his lips from Maggie’s, she sighed in annoyed displeasure as Steve deadpanned, “We aren’t having sex on the couch.”

“Might start if you don’t leave us alone.” Maggie chimed in, sitting up straighter to see her blonde friend over Steve’s shoulder. Raising an eyebrow, she added suspiciously, “And if we were, why would you come in anyway?”

Taking a sip from her water, Natasha couldn’t hide her smirk behind the lip of the clear glass as she shot back, “Ever thought of adding a third party?”

“Romanoff!” Steve hissed in disbelief, his Irish genes setting his cheeks on fire at one of his oldest friend’s teasing as his girlfriend collapsed into a fit of giggles on his lap. Running a hand over his face, he used it to hide the smile that threatened to tug at his lips as well.

November 20, 2023, 2:43 p.m.

It wasn’t often that Maggie felt foolish—she thought through things carefully, a nagging conscientiousness always tugging at her string, but maybe it was foolish of her to not realize that preparing for Steve’s departure felt a lot like preparing for the death of a loved one. She’d been young when her dad’s mother, Maggie’s namesake herself, had passed but she could recall the stacked boxes around the widow’s apartment after her funeral services. A person’s life had been sorted and picked through before being boxed up and taped shut—how could someone’s entire existence be reduced to a bunch of brown cardboard?

And there she was, years later; Maggie found that same overwhelming feeling creeping up behind her as she looked around the little home that they’d shared for only five months. So many things had been packed into boxes—everything Steve had owned, he couldn’t bring back into the past, so it had to stay here. It had been fairly easy to divvy up his possessions, leaving everything to either her or Bucky or Sam.

The silver spoon scraped the inside of her teacup as Maggie distractedly stirred the honey into the bitter drink; it had dissolved several seconds ago but she hadn’t noticed. Since waking, it had felt as though she had cotton stuffed in her ears, muffling the noise and feelings. It still didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel real.

In less than twenty-four hours, Steve would be gone. Maybe he’d come home but it wouldn’t be to her. Not this time.

“The lawyer got back to me.” Steve’s low voice came from across the room, and she finally stopped stirring the already mostly cooled tea as she met his solemn gaze. “Everything’s all…set up.”

“Good.” Maggie’s voice was tight, awkward. He’d had to make sure his estate was in order; a living will was becoming a last one. Maybe the bizarre circumstances could have been funny if they were happening to anyone except her. Placing the spoon on the counter, she watched as the liquid dried into a watercolor stain on its surface, “And the museum?”

It made sense, for him to donate a few things to the Smithsonian—as far as the rest of the world was concerned, Steve Rogers was retiring from the hero gig; he’d be taking up a new, quiet life out west, so he had very little need for old war memorabilia.

“They’re picking up the box of stuff in a few hours.” He nodded, cautiously following her into the living room. Maggie had been quiet since they woke that morning. Of course, he couldn’t blame her but for the first time in a long time, it felt impossible to read the thoughts that, he knew, were running through her mind.

For so long, they’d lived on the same wavelength, but it seemed as though their frequencies had finally switched. Things were getting lost in translation.

“Good.”

There wasn’t much else to say; she carefully sat on the couch and nodded to the seat beside her. The lukewarm mug in her hands still wasn’t enough to thaw the frozen feeling that had taken up residence behind her sternum as she watched him sit. It was like he refused to take his eyes off of her for too long; perhaps he was doing what she had, cataloging every piece before it was gone.

The earthy, astringent tea helped to quench her dry throat before she requested softly, “I want you to walk me through the plan.”

Back stiffening at her unexpected wish, Steve sighed her name like a plea as he shook his head slowly, “Maggie…”

He hadn’t told her much at all. It had been purposeful; he felt that somehow knowing more would be torturous to her, so she only had the most basic information regarding his mission. She and Bucky were the only two that knew what he intended on doing; after he’d spoken with Maggie, he’d talked things through with his oldest friend. Bucky had helped him plan but she only knew that he’d return the stones and then…wouldn’t return.

“Please?” As long as she could remember, Maggie had needed to understand the inner workings of every mechanism; she needed things to make sense. With her brows drawn together, there was a twinge of desperation that colored her words, “I just… I need to know. I need to know that you’ll be okay.”

She wanted to know everything; every single nanosecond of the itinerary that he would follow before it would terminate seventy-four years in the past. But she’d settle for this, she’d settle for crumbs to have any knowledge regarding what would become of the rest of his life.

“I…” Steve’s deep baritone cracked, and he cleared his throat before letting out a short sigh. With his eyes trained on the floor, he recited almost-mechanically, “I’m going to take the stones back to right after we took them. So, I’ll take the scepter and time stone back to New York, power stone to Morag, the soul stone to Vormir, hammer and reality stone to Asgard, and the tesseract to Camp Lehigh.”

Maybe she wanted to rub salt in her own wound; that was the only explanation why she croaked out, “Then?”

“Maggie.” His voice wasn’t chastising but the way he’d said her name held an unmistakable note of grief, begging her to ask him anything aside from that. They both knew what would happen then. It had gone without saying but she needed to hear it. From his mouth to God’s or whoever else’s ear, she needed to hear all of it.

Sharp, unpainted nails left half-moon indentations in her palm as she squeezed her own hand. Wet brown eyes that were filled with tears that still refused to fall finally met his as she whispered brokenly, “Steve, please?”

Leaning over, he rested his elbows on his knees. With his hands clasped just below his tight jaw, it almost looked as if he was praying. He could rarely deny Maggie; even, it seemed, when she was asking him to cut her open and make her bleed.

“Then…” Swallowing the lump in his throat, Steve’s voice was almost inaudible as he murmured, “I’ll go to Peggy when she moved to Washington to start working on SHIELD.” Looking up to find Maggie’s waiting eyes that implored him to say it, to say what she had to hear to make it real, he exhaled with an imperceptible nod, “And I’ll stay there.”

“Okay.” The clipped word was whispered but she couldn’t even have been certain she’d said it. He was only a foot away but as she rested a hand on his knee and gave it a soft squeeze, it already felt like they were miles apart. Her bottom lip quivered but she held the tears back, she could at least do that for a little while longer, as she breathed out, “Thank you.”

October 2, 2023

“Magpie, dance with me!” Morgan’s request was more of a demand as her small hand took Maggie’s, dragging her back into the living room from the kitchen. Tossing the oven mitt on to the island behind her, she shook her head amusedly at the five-year old’s strength; she was on a mission and, it seemed, would not be deterred.

It had been several months, but it was the first time that they’d decided to host their weekly family dinner at Maggie and Steve’s little cottage. Needless to say, Maggie had been stressed in the days leading up to it. Neurotic as always, she’d double and triple checked that tetrazzini was okay with their guests and that no one had any allergies and if there was anything specific they’d like to drink—and everything was going quite swimmingly.

Earlier in the evening, she’d let Morgan pick one of her records to put on (selecting one that the child had deemed as being ‘cute’) before helping her goddaughter figure out how to operate the turntable, filling the little house with lively music. Clearing her throat, Morgan looked at her expectantly as they stood in the middle of the room; she was a three-and-a-half-foot replica of her dad and Maggie had to stifle a laugh.

The little girl had been trailing after her like a shadow all evening and she’d be hard pressed not to admit how cute it was.

“Your dad was right; you are a tiny tyrant.” Shaking her head, Maggie couldn’t help but beam at her as she took both of her hands and swayed along to the music. From over her shoulder, she looked to the other three adults in attendance, “Dinner should be done in five!”

“Tony, old fashioned?” Steve stood from the couch, nodding towards the wet bar that divided the kitchen and living room—an architectural artifact left over from the house being built just before prohibition.

“Say yes. It’s his favorite thing to make since we stocked the bar.” Maggie met Tony’s eyes from across the room, a teasing mirth sparkling behind them as Steve approached and cut-in to the girls’ dance; he spun Maggie around a few times, much to her goddaughter’s amusement, as she continued playfully, “It’s probably because they named the drink after him, you know? He’s always so vain.”

Dipping her back like an almost-modern Gene Kelly, Steve murmured into her ear with a smile he couldn’t quite hide, “You’ll pay for that later.”

“Counting on it.” Giggling as he gave her hip a squeeze before finally setting her back on her feet, Maggie shot him a small wink before returning to her far-shorter dance partner, picking her up as they spun across the floor.

Looking between Maggie and Steve, who may as well have had hearts in their eyes, Pepper’s lips twitched up at the corners, “You two are disgustingly cute.”

“Pep, why don’t we build one?” Tony’s hand drifted over his salt and pepper goatee thoughtfully as he looked at the little build-in where Steve was working on his mixology skills, “We should add one in. Could take out that eastern wall in the kitchen and—”

With a snort, the strawberry blonde cut him off with a smiling roll of her cornflower eyes, “Mm, yeah. Let’s get right on that.”

November 20, 2023, 10:19 p.m.

The unstoppable tick of the clock’s hand was deafening in the room’s silence. It was a painful reminder as each passing second dug the knife in deeper—everything ends eventually, even when you thought it would last forever. It was possible to stop almost anything, but never death and never time.

When Maggie was little, she’d always play typical schoolyard games with her friends; they’d talk about what superpowers they would want if they ever got so lucky and play pretend as they ran around the jungle gym. Back then, she’d always said telekinesis and teleportation would be the best but the only one she wanted anymore was the ability to stop time.

If she could press pause for everything except them, the moment would never have to end. She could live and die in this tiny pocket of the universe, and they wouldn’t have to say goodbye. If she wasn’t stubborn, if she didn’t love him so goddamn much, she would just say the words; she’d say ‘don’t go’ and she knew he wouldn’t.

But she couldn’t do that—not when she now knew that a part of him would always belong to Peggy. For both of them, she had to let him go.

It didn’t feel like there was much to say so, as she sat on his lap, her cheek pressed into his chest as hot tears saturated the knit cotton of his shirt, they were silent. His heartbeat, the one she’d come to know like a constant metronome, was loud enough in her ear to drown out the clock.

Even knowing the end was near didn’t make facing it any easier. Maybe somewhere out there, in one of those different timelines or universes they’d talked about, they were the ones that ended up together. Somewhere out there, they had their happy ending with a little house on the coast with a dog and a few kids. She hoped that, in that world, they were okay; they were happy.

“Steve?” She murmured, gripping his shirt tightly. A quiet hum of acknowledgment spurred her on; this request had been swimming just below the surface all day and this felt like her last chance to ask. Squeezing her eyes closed, her wobbly voice trembled out, “I need you to say goodbye to me tonight and… leave before I wake up.” The words finally cracked as she took a shuddering breath, feeling her slow tears transitioning into raging rivers down her cheeks, “Would you do that for me? Please?”

“Anything.” The arms around her tightened and Steve felt his heart, that had already been ripped in two different directions, tear further. Pressing his lips to the crown of her head, he whispered into her hair, “I’d stay.”

Shaking her head, Maggie’s resolve was unbreakable even if she wasn’t. “I’m not going to let you do that.” Sitting up, she met his eyes and shook her head, a sad, resigned smile playing on her blushing lips. “No more self-sacrificing. You have a chance to be with Peggy again and you deserve it. You deserve that whole white picket fence life you’ve always wanted.” Hesitantly, she reached out and cupped his face with her cold hand, making him look at her; it already felt as though he belonged to someone else, but he didn’t. Not yet.

“You’ve had so much taken away from you. It’s only fair that you take it all back now that you can.” As her thumb brushed over his cheek, there was a pained look in his eyes before he closed them as he allowed himself to melt into her touch. Some of his tears finally slipped down his cheek and she could only stare at him.

He was bare; this close, she could see all of him, deep into his heart and soul. She wanted to remember him as he was in this moment and all those that she’d known him before. For all these years, Steve had been hers, and hers alone. Their hearts had belonged to no one but each other. But as time changed, so did they and it was okay—it had to be okay, didn’t it?

Resting her forehead against his, she murmured something her mother had told her when she was little, when she was first learning to understand the concept of death and all of its friends, “Sometimes people are only meant to be with you for a little while, but it doesn’t mean that you loved them any less.”

“Maggie…” He could barely croak out her name before she shook her head; she couldn’t listen to him. Not yet—because when she did, she knew it would be the end and there was no going back.

Trying to be as strong as she knew how to be, Maggie squared her jaw and met his eyes as she fought to keep her voice steady, “I promise. Sam will be okay. Bucky will be okay.” She paused, pressing her lips together to stop her bottom lip from quivering as she nodded, telling him what he needed to hear for once, “I will be okay.”

Though she said it, she wasn’t sure if she believed it—how could she be okay? After everything that had happened, Maggie had no clue what would come next. How did you move on from everything you’d ever known? How could she start over again with a whole new life and almost every single tether, that tied her to the past, cut?

It didn’t matter—she had to try. She would try.

For Steve.

“I need you to promise me one thing.” Maggie whispered, sitting back in his grasp. Her hand rested on his nape, her thumb rubbing back and forth absentmindedly over the short hair at the base of his skull.

“Anything.” Steve’s arms around her waist stayed tight, keeping her close as he hung on her every word.

“That you’ll be happy.” Tears cracked her voice once more. It was a simple request and even though she knew it wasn’t always in his control, she had to know that he’d try. It was why she was letting him go.

Why she was giving him up.

Unable to meet his eyes, she focused on the buttons of his shirt, speaking to them instead, “Promise me that you’ll have a normal, safe, complete life without any regrets. You won’t do anything stupid, and you’ll take up something like bingo as a hobby and you’ll finally get a dog because you always wanted one but never had the chance.” Letting out a watery laugh, she paused before finally meeting his eyes. Seeing her own pain reflected hurt—god, it hurt so fucking badly—but she knew he’d be okay and she nodded with a barely there whisper, “And you’ll really be happy because no one deserves it more than you, Steve.”

With a broken exhale, Steve nodded as he took her face in his hands, using his thumb to brush away some of the tears though it made no difference; they just continued to fall. As his gaze bored into hers, she got lost in his blue green ocean. While panning for diamonds in the rough, she’d found his gemstone eyes; she’d dream of them for the rest of her life.

“I promise.” He tilted her chin up to look at him, “But you need to promise me you’ll do the same. You’ll live a full life,” Pressing his lips to her right cheek, Steve kissed away some of her tears, so affectionately, “and let go of all of the pain you carry around,” and he did the same to her left before pressing his forehead to hers again.

“And you’ll allow people to have the privilege of loving you because they would be lucky to have that chance.”

His lips found hers, the salt of their tears mixing into their own sea at which they were adrift. Their lifeboat was sinking, and she could only hold on to him, praying she stayed afloat even after he was gone. The way that his mouth moved against hers used to be a balm, something so calming and comforting that she needed, but now it felt like a burn.

She hoped that, long after he was gone, she would still be able to recall the feeling.

Finally needing to breathe, Maggie parted from him and gasped air into her aching, deprived lungs as she nodded with a breathless whisper, “I promise.”

Pulling her close, they were quiet again for what felt like hours as the moon’s light moved the shadows around the room like a nocturnal sundial. Her eyes were closed but she wasn’t asleep, not yet. Not when she knew that, when she woke, he wouldn’t be with her any longer.

She’d do anything to stave that moment off.

“I think you’re going to forget me.” Her voice was so soft, Steve was certain that he wouldn’t have heard it without the serum in his veins and he felt a pang in his chest.

“I could never forget you, Maggie.” Leaning back, he took her face in his hands, ensuring her eyes were meeting his as he shook his head, with a sad half-smile crossing his tired face, “You will always have part of my heart.” His own face was flushed red from the tears they’d shared, the ones that still ran down his face. Tenderly, so tenderly that it almost broke her completely, Steve finally murmured, “I swear, I will never forget you.”

November 21, 2023, 7:04 a.m.

The late-night hours had bled into one another as they went through their evening routine. It was painfully normal as they’d done the dishes and brushed their teeth. Climbing into bed together, he’d wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her back against his chest where she could feel each slow breath that he took. In all the years they’d spent together, in the hundreds of nights they’d laid beside one another, the only difference in that night had been the tears that seeped into their pillowcases.

Small wet circles left dark spots, each one filled with a memory that neither could forget. A movie watched on the couch. A new year’s kiss. A daytrip in early July. A declaration. A new life. A tragedy.

A goodbye.

Dawn had broken, and Maggie teetered on the edge of consciousness, living for just a moment in that twilight dream state where her mind was still almost asleep as her body slowly woke up. Letting out a soft groan, she burrowed deeper beneath the covers, seeking reprieve from the chilly room. With her eyes still closed, she lazily reached over to the right side of the bed; it was where he’d always be. The warm, firm chest she’d bury her face into. The gentle press of his lips to her head while his gravelly, deep sleep-rasped voice whispered good morning.

Her hand landed on rumpled sheets, finding them cold and empty. Slowly, Maggie’s eyes finally opened as she blinked in the dim, blue light from the early morning sky that saturated the room through the sheer curtains. It was barely after seven. Sitting up, she felt the air leave her lungs as a shuttering exhale passed through her lips when the realization came.

Steve was gone.

Steve was gone and the world felt different.

Steve was gone and she was alone again.

If she looked to her side, he wouldn’t be there. His messy, dirty blonde hair wouldn’t be sticking up everywhere and resting on the pillow, a leg clad in plaid pajama pants wouldn’t be shoved out from under the covers to regulate his abnormally high body temperature. There would be no soft snores coming from his slightly imperfect nose as the pillowcase creased his cheek. No matter how much she’d prepared herself for the absence of him, it hadn’t been enough when she saw the duvet pulled up and folded down carefully.

On his empty nightstand, gone were the old, bronze compass and the photobooth pictures from a day on Coney Island. A picture from the future had been taken on a trip into the past; when it was snapped, it had somehow already existed somewhere out in the world. On his pillow, instead, there was a familiar piece of parchment; a thick, cream colored piece of paper had been carefully torn from a sketchbook.

Picking it up, so delicately as if touching it could accidentally make the fibers disintegrate into nothing and slip through her fingers, Maggie let out a soft ‘oh.’

It was her, sketched on to the paper in the same dark charcoal pencil that she’d seen so many times before. She was sleeping as she had been hours earlier, her face free of sadness and tension as the moonlight hit her through the window. Every stroke had been thoughtfully placed, recreating the bit of still life from a moment in time with her hair spread over the pillow like a halo and her hand reaching for someone who used to lay beside her.

Once again, she saw herself as he saw her. As he’d seen her. Gliding a finger across it, she carefully turned it over to see two simple words in his familiar, messy scrawl.

'Love, Steve'

With a shaking hand, Maggie placed the heavy paper—the last piece of him—on the now permanently empty side of the bed as her eyes became more and more blurry with each passing second. A searing pain in her chest, where her heart had once resided, forced her to double over as a strangled cry was ripped from her lips. Her pained sobs went unheard by anyone because, this time, there was truly no one left to hear them. She pressed her face into her frozen hands to muffle them and her shoulders shook. As the tears came, Maggie finally had the strength to let them all go.

For all that time, for all those years, they’d stolen moments and lived on borrowed time, but neither could have ever known that on one cold, autumn day, when the golden red leaves were falling with the bracing wind and the sun began to set almost as soon as it had fully risen, their time would finally run out.

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