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arlana-likes-to-write · 27 days ago

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Visiting Hours by Ed Sheeran

Summary: It has been a year since you lost the love of your life. How were going to live in a world with her gone and a daughter to raise?

Warning: Cannon character deaths (Tony, Natasha, Loki, Vision), Sam is the new Captain America, drinking, grief, survivor's guilt, reader is Wanda and Pietro's older sister who has similar powers to Wanda, angst, sort of happy ending??

Note: At the moment, I do know have a part 2 planned.

Word Count: 3.4K

Today was not a good day. When you flipped the calendar from September to October, you dreaded today. But you put on a brave face so your daughter wouldn’t see her mommy upset. You were thankful your sister could watch her niece for the night. Today, you wanted to be alone, where you could let your mask fall and grieve. One year ago today, you lost the love of your life so the rest of your family could return. It felt so unfair that the universe put you in this position. You wanted to scream and cry until your throat went raw. But you couldn’t. You were so numb to it all. How were you expected to raise your daughter without your other half?

You sat on your bedroom floor, resting your back against your bed. There was a half-opened bottle of vodka that you were sipping on the moment Wanda picked up your daughter. That could explain the numbness you were feeling. Your hands shook as you held your phone, rereading the text messages you sent back and forth. You couldn’t delete them or the voicemails, but you weren’t ready to hear her voice again. Even though you missed every pet name she called you or every time she told you, she loved you.

She loved you. She loved you.

It was the mantra that you kept replaying over and over again. But if Natasha loved you so much, why did she leave? Sighing, your phone began to ring. “Yes?” You answered.

“Just checking in on you, kid,” Clint said.

“I’m fine.”

“How much have you had to drink?”

“None of your fucking business,” you snapped. “Besides, Delilah isn’t here.” The older archer sighed, and you felt one of his fatherly talks coming.

“Look, I know-”

“Barton,” you cut him off, feeling a pressure that began to build at the base of your skull. “I don’t want to talk. I want to sit here, drink, and be sad because I can’t do that every other day. So please, leave me alone.” Your jaw clenched, and each word was laced with your native accent.

“Okay,” he sounded defeated. “Call me if you change your mind.” You hung up the phone. Closing your eyes, you pushed the palms of your hands to your eyes.

“Breathe,” you mumbled. “Breathe.” Your powers were connected to your emotions. You lost control when Pietro was killed and when you faced Thanos a second time. There was so much anger and grief building inside you that it almost consumed you. For Pietro's death, you had to focus on Wanda, and Natasha pulled you out of the darkness. When the battle was done, it was Delilah. She wasn’t born yet, but we knew she was there. The little girl, a perfect blend of you and Natasha, was the only light you saw. The only reason you kept going.

‘It’s okay, moya lyubov’ (my love), it’s okay,’ you heard Natasha’s voice echoing inside your head. You shook your head. You could almost feel her hand on your shoulder, pulling you into her arms to help you regulate your breathing.

“No,” you pleaded. “Please go away. You aren’t here. You are gone.” Gone. Dead. She wasn’t coming back.

‘I’m right here, baby,’ Natasha whispered. ‘Join me.’ You were becoming too weak to resist it. Suddenly, your bedroom door burst open, and your sister was standing there.

“Where is-”

“She’s safe,” she said quickly, pulling you into her arms. “I need you to focus on me. Right here. Do you feel my heart?” You moved your hand to her chest and felt her heart. It was steady, strong, and real.

“Wands,” you gasped for air. “I can’t.” The warmth of your sister’s arms as she rocked you back and forth was helping, but the pull was stronger.

‘Come on, darling,’ Natasha whispered. ‘Come with me.’ Wanda began to hum a Sokovian lullaby that your mother used to sing to drown out the sound of the bombs.

“We’ve been waiting for you. Now you are here. More perfect than I imagined…”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“Where is my daughter?” you asked when Wanda returned from your kitchen. She held a cup of tea in her hands. When you refused to take it and sat on your bed, she placed it on the side table.

“She’s with Pepper. I would have been here sooner but wanted to ensure she was settled.”

“How did you know?” She smiled, took one of your hands, and laced your fingers together.

“Call it twin intuition,” you scuffed, looking away from her but keeping your hands together.

“We aren’t twins,” you were two years older than Wanda and Pietro and were so excited when your mom told you she was pregnant. It was even better when she gave birth to twins. You made it your mission to protect them and seemed to fail at every step. They followed you to HYDRA; you couldn’t stop Pietro's death, and then you and Wanda were thrown into the RAFT. You couldn’t stop Thanks from snapping half of the Earth’s population, and your sister was ripped from you. All this power, and you couldn’t protect those that mattered.

“I can’t do this,” you whispered. “It hurts too much.” Wanda squeezed your hand, fearing you’d slip away from her. “I want her back.”

“I know you do,” Wanda said. “But the world your mind is trying to bring you to isn’t real. She’s gone.” You hated that she was right. That was your power. You could go into the minds of others and bring their greatest wishes and desires to ‘life.’ You made them believe they got their dream job or their loved ones returned from the dead. People have gone mad because of your influence.

“I wish heaven had visiting hours,” you whispered and looked at Wanda’s hand that held yours. “So I could ask for advice. Because I don’t know how to raise her,” Wanda was quiet as she let what you said to sink into her. “I’d go to see Mom, Dad, and Pietro and have them meet Delilah.” Wanda’s face softened at your confession. “I’d ask if I could bring them home, but they wouldn’t let me. So I’d sit till they close and let my worries disappear.” Your sister sighed.

“They’d want you to live life the way they taught us because it’s not a goodbye. It’s a till we meet again.” It was unfair how cruel life was to you and your sister. She lost Vision. You lost Natasha.

“What is grief?” you whispered. “If not love persevering,” you quoted the man she loved. Wanda let out a breathless laugh and wiped away a tear with her free hand.

“I miss him too,” she said. “So much.” You were blinded by your grief and failed to realize how much this day must hurt for everyone.

“Come here,” you said, pulling your sister into your arms. Her head was buried into your shirt, and she let out a few more tears.

Sometimes, you wonder if your family is cruised. Maybe centuries ago, your ancestors angered a god, and now you are facing the consequences of their actions. All you want is for your family to be together and safe.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

You woke up to the smell of bacon and fresh coffee. The way your stomach growled made you realize how hungry you were, but leaving your bed sounded awful. Then you heard Wanda’s voice. "I know, Lala,” she cooed to your daughter. “Your mom can’t say no to my cooking, so she’ll be out soon.” Your daughter’s babbles and giggles pulled you out of bed. The annoying alarm clock read that it was 11:36. Shit. You hadn’t slept in like this in a long time.

Sitting up, you stretched your arms above your head and listened to the sound your bones made. The first stop was brushing your teeth and washing your face in the bathroom. Then you changed out of the clothes you fell asleep in and walked into the kitchen. Delilah was you first. Her legs started to kick, and you were thankful the high chair was stable. You gasped and picked her up with ease.

“There is my beautiful girl,” you smothered her cheeks with kisses. “I missed you. I missed you.” Wanda laughed from her spot on the stove.

“See, told you, sunshine,” you smiled at using your native language. “She can’t resist my cookie.” You used your powers to pinch her sides and smirked at her help.

“Cheeky witch,” you teased. You knew she would retaliate if you weren’t carrying Delilah. “Wands,” she looked over her shoulder. “Thank you. For everything.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Once breakfast was eaten and the dishes were put away, you were sitting on the couch while Delilah played on the jungle-themed play mat that Clint had gifted her. Her hands reached for the hanging elephant. Her laughter made you smile as she touched it. Soon, an ache filled your heart. You took out our phone, captured a video of your daughter, and sent it to Clint. A response was immediate. ‘She’s gotten so big.’ Followed by another text, ‘We need to get together soon.’ It was a simple statement but filled your heart with guilt.

You didn’t intend to cut off the team, former and current members, once your daughter was born. They all reminded you of what was. ‘How about I come to you? I bet D would love the farm,’ you hit send.

You loved the Barton homestead, too. It was quiet and peaceful, and it became your second home. It was coming up on 6 years since the last time you stepped foot in Iowa. “Can I ask you something?” You ignored your phone buzzing in favor of taking the mug from Wanda. “Are you going this weekend?” It took a moment for you to realize what she was asking about. Then it hit you.

Honestly, you forgot about it. The email from Sam was left unread in your inbox. The team’s new leader invited current and old members to a party at the brand-new compound. A celebrated, he called it in the email. In some way, it was a celebration. You won the fight but lost Natasha and Tony. “Are you going?” You countered.

“Answering a question with a question is a cheap shot,” Wanda said. “But maybe,” she shrugged and sipped her coffee. “It would be nice to see everyone.” It would be, but you weren’t sure if you were strong enough to see everyone. However, you wanted Delilah to grow up with her aunts and uncles.

That was the plan. You and Natasha would retire, find a property close to the Avengers, and build a family. You wanted a big backyard for your dogs and kids to run around. On nice summer days, you could have barbecues. You saw yourself asking Clint to help Natasha build a jungle gym set for the kids, bringing them lemonade to help cool them off in the summer sun. But that was all a dream, a fantasy. The New York City apartment you lived in was home for you and your daughter.

“Maybe,” you answered. You knew Natasha would have hated how isolated you became. “Yeah,” you gave in. “I’ll go as long as you are there.”

Delete Created with Sketch.

It was a bad idea. As soon as you got out of the car with Delilah on your hip, anxiety and dread filled your stomach. Luckily, Wanda drove with you. The squeals of your daughter distracted you. “Hey,” you looked at your sister. “Sam told me you have a room here fully equipped for Delilah. So if you need a minute, you can go there,” you made a mental note to thank the man. He was busy being Captain America and trying to make this place comfortable for you.

“Let’s do this.” The party was in full swing when you and Wanda stepped out of the elevator. A knot was still in your stomach, but it loosened when you saw your family.

“There is my niece!” Clint was the first to see you arrive and swooped Delilah out of your arms. The man covered her face with kisses. Her squeals were getting the attention of the rest of the party. Thankfully, Laura was the only one to come over and join her husband.

“She’s getting so big,” she cooed, tickling her belly. You were surprised how easily Delilah warmed up to people. Maybe she knew how important these people were to you.

“I know,” you felt Wanda squeeze your shoulder, and you nodded as she walked into the party. “I want her to slow down.” Clint passed your daughter to Laura and pulled you into a hug. You were surprised how easily your body slumped against him.

“How are you, kid?” You let out a shaky breath.

“Okay,” you answered. “Just taking it day by day.” You felt him nod and kissed the side of your head.

“That’s the best we can do,” he admitted. “Come on. Let’s try to enjoy ourselves.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

At this rate, you only held your daughter when you entered the party. While it was nice to have a break, you were anxious whenever she was out of sight. So you sat in a chair while Pepper was holding her. Your sister was by her side with Morgan in her arms. You knew she wanted kids, but you weren’t sure what her plan was with Vision gone. Sighing, you sipped on your drink. You felt it. The lingering sensation of your powers trying to take over. You dug your nails into your thigh. Wanda glanced at you, a question of concern on her face, but you gave her a thumbs up. You were fine. You weren’t going to ruin her night. “Lady Maximoff,” you turned to see the God of Thunder.

“Thor,” you smiled, stood up, and hugged the man. He looked much better than the last time you saw him. The God was off-world when Delilah was born. “How are you?”

“Better,” he sat next to you. “My time with the Guardians did me well.” You were happy for him, indeed. For the five years of the Blip, he was overcome with his grief. It was understandable when he watched his brother die for those stupid stones. “How are you? I have yet to meet your little one.” You smiled.

“Good luck trying to get to her,” you teased, ignoring his question. “She’s a popular girl.”

“She looks so much like Natasha,” your breath hitched in your throat at the mention of your partner. You looked at the God as he stared ahead, watching the scene fold before him. Morgan was now on Wanda’s lap while your sister helped her hold Delilah. You could see Natasha and Tony over with them if you thought about it. Maybe Thor was imagining Loki. “Sorry,” he finally spoke. “I’ll see you again tonight. I am going to make my rounds.” Thor stood up and left you alone before you could tell him his apology wasn’t needed. Instead, the God walked over to Sam, Rhodey, and Bruce.

It felt stronger now. The pressure was building at the back of your skull. You needed to escape, a quiet moment without feeling everyone’s grief. It was suffocating. Standing up, you walked to the bathroom and closed and locked the door behind you.

Your hands gripped the sink as you closed your eyes. Each breath was shaky that you let out. Everything hurt. For a place of celebration, everyone’s thoughts were filled with those who weren’t there. You could feel Pepper’s loneliness, Clint’s guilt, and the weight of the pressure on Sam’s shoulders. “Shit,” you turned the water on cold and splashed the water onto your face.

‘Hi, detka,’ You looked in the mirror and saw Natasha behind you. She looked like she did when she returned from a morning workout. Her red hair was pulled back into a braid and she was wearing black leggings with a matching sports bra.

“Go away,” you told her. Natasha frowned.

‘Why would I? You want me here,’ you shook your head and dried your face with the towel.

“Not like this,” you admitted. She moved closer until her front was pressed against your back. It was pathetic how easily it was to lean against her. A soft chuckle rumbled through her chest.

‘See,’ her lips traveled up and down your neck. ‘You can bring us all back together. Nice and safe. Just how we dreamt it.’ It felt so easy to sub-come to it; the warmth and safety she provided. It happened subconsciously, the way your fingers began to glow. Natasha chuckled. ‘Good girl,’ she encouraged. ‘Almost there.’

Even the knocking and banging on the door couldn’t pull you out of it. You could give them everyone back - Natasha, Vision, Steve, Loki, Tony. It hurt and burned as you felt their grief overpower you. ‘Good,’ Natasha whispered. ‘Let go. I got you.’ Her arms kept you standing as you screamed, and a pulse of your powers left your body.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The movement of the bed woke you up. Your eyes fluttered open. Even with your vision blurred with sleep, you saw Natasha climbing into bed with Delilah. “Sorry, dorogoy,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to wake you. I think our girl wanted some morning cuddles.” You rubbed the sleep out of your eyes. You weren’t sure if it was Natasha or your daughter that wanted extra cuddles. Your wife found it impossible to say no to Delilah, almost claiming your daughter had your eyes, and it was hard for her to say no to you, too. The new one-year-old was fast asleep on your wife’s chest.

“It’s fine,” you said, sitting up slightly and snuggling closer to her. With her free arm, Natasha pulled you closer to her. “We have to get up soon,” you mumbled. It’s a busy day today.” Natasha hummed and kissed the top of your head.

“Yes, we do. We have to celebrate this little one. Wanda said she and Vision would be here around noon to help set up,” you nodded. You were hoping to have everything done by then. You loved your sister, but sometimes, she stressed you out when it came to planning parties. Pietro wasn’t much better, but he said he was going to be late. “I can’t believe she’s one,” you noticed the emotional hitch in her voice.

“She’s growing up so fast,” you added, pushing a tear that fell down her green eyes. “What’s wrong, baby?”

“Do you want to have another one?” She asked, drawing her eyes away from Delilah to look at you. It was an idea you weren’t against, especially with Natasha taking a step back from the business. She was out of town and missed Delilah’s birth.

“Yeah,” you shrugged. “Not against it.” You ran her hand over Delilah’s back. She would make a great older sister, you knew it. Looking back at your wife, her green eyes darkened. “After we celebrate our first child, you horn dog,” you gently slapped her arm. “Can you start breakfast while I shower?” You stole a kiss, stood up before she could respond.

“Such a tease,” she mumbled when you closed the bathroom door. You loved your little family and were excited for it to grow.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

After you showered, you found your family in the kitchen. Delilah picked apart the pancakes while Natasha made breakfast for you and her. The phone began to ring, disrupting the peaceful morning. “I got it,” you told Natasha as she wiped her hands to pick up the phone. You kissed Delilah on the cheek before answering the phone. “Hello, Romanoff residence,” it was mostly static. You could make out a voice trying to speak, but you couldn’t hear them. “I’m sorry. I can’t hear you; you may want to try calling back.” More static answered.

Suddenly, the voice became more evident over the static. “Hello-,” Bzzz. “SWORD-,” Bzzz. “Let them go." Bzzz. The pounding in your heart increased.

“I’m sorry you have the wrong number. Goodbye.” You hung up quickly. With your hands shaking, you walked over to Natasha and hugged her from behind. You placed her hand on her heart and felt the organ beat.

“Everything alright? Who was on the phone?”

“Prank call,” you answered. “I just missed you.” You felt her chuckle, and your mind began to race, so you missed her joke about joining you in the shower. This was real. She was alive and safe. No one was going to take your family away again.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x maximoff!reader #black widow one shot #black widow imagine #natasha romanoff one shot #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanoff angst #natasha romanoff x y/n

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imagine-you · 18 days ago

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I Will Avenge My Ghost [Bucky Barnes/Reader]

Summary: Your sacrifice on Vormir was meant to be your end. You did it for love. You did it for family. And you had no regrets in your decision to be the one to jump instead of Steve. But you never expected to wake up in Wakanda and you certainly never thought that you would still lose Steve and your sister in the years since your death. While you can't get Steve back, you're determined to figure out what happened to your sister and you end up dragging Bucky along for the ride. Your questions lead you to Westview, a sleepy little town harboring a dark past, and a witch named Agatha Harkness. Will you find what you truly seek down, down, down the Witches' Road or will Death finally come to claim you?

Word Count: 3.4k

Author's Note: I was going to hold off on this, but I watched episode seven and I had so many feelings I literally wrote this last night. If you enjoy this and would like to see this continue, please let me know!

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When you jumped off the cliff at Vormir, the decision had been easy. It had been a long five years without your sister and you would have given anything for Wanda. You would also give anything for Steve, and if this brought you closer to winning the war against Thanos and bringing all the lost back, then you would do it.

A sacrifice of love was needed and you had nothing but love to give for those two. You couldn't live in a world without Steve and while he wanted to do the noble thing, you knew you would never be able to go on without him. So, you used your power one last time to push Steve far away from the edge of the cliff and then threw yourself over it.

As you fell, you could hear Steve crying out for you. You always assumed your life would flash before your eyes like everyone claimed it would. But all you saw was Vormir's sky eclipsed by Steve reaching over the cliff's edge, as if he could still reach you. And then you saw nothing at all.

You didn't remember hitting the rocks below, but the only people on your mind as death rushed to meet you were Steve and Wanda. Steve, selfless and sacrificing, and how much he yearned for his best friend, the person who truly understood him above all else, Bucky. And your sister, who had drifted away into dust and oblivion after losing the love of her life. Wanda, who had been forced to kill Vision, only to have it all be for nothing. Her grief had sent shockwaves through you and you would never forget the raw pain that had radiated off her after losing Vis. You couldn't bring Pietro back, and while his death would always weigh on your mind, you knew that you could bring Wanda back into the land of the living.

You would make it right. You had to. Even if this was your end, then at least it meant something. At least it was used to save countless others.

Death flowed endlessly around you in glimpses of life and snatches of memories, remembered and forgotten. They fell right through your grasp, never yours to begin with, but a tether to the world you longed to revisit. You fought and struggled, pulling at strands and words, willing them to materialize. You followed a lead, a road, that appeared before you and at the end, you expected to find Death.

No one will ever be tempted by the darkhold again.

I miss you. God, I miss you so much.

I got my dance. I owed her that. I owed myself that.

I can't feel you.

We can't reverse death.

You're gonna need me.

Immortality never meant anything to me before, but I suppose you’re not mine after all. Not yet, at least. Don’t say I never did you any favors.

You didn't expect to wake up.

You felt breath expand your lungs and you sat up with a gasp. You didn't know where you were or what had happened to you, but all you could think was that you failed. You had traded your life for the billions of others that had been snapped away by Thanos. If you were here, alive, then it had all been for nothing.

"Hey, hey," someone was saying, and you could feel hands on your shoulders, but you didn't want to lift your head to try to see who was attempting to talk to you. "She's freaking out here. Don't you think you should do something, Shuri?"

"And what would you have me do, Bucky? This might not even really be her. I thought her magic was blue."

"It was," someone said. Bucky, you realized. It was Bucky who had you by the shoulders. "Hey, doll," Bucky tried, bringing a finger up to tuck under your chin and force your head up.

You met Bucky's eyes, trying to make sense of what was happening. He hadn’t been wrong. You were freaking out, but it wasn’t going to do you any good now. You needed to figure out what the fuck was going on.

"Bucky?" You tried, your words coming out as a rasp. "Am I alive?"

Bucky looked like he was torn between relief and confusion. "Yeah, you're here with us." He gestured at the other two people in the room. You recognized one as King T'Challa's sister and you had already known Sam.

"How did I get here? I died on Vormir. Or...I thought I did. I don't remember dying," you told them, trying to remember what happened. Death hadn't felt like an end, more like a journey. You had felt, all the while, like you were being lead somewhere. Maybe, you couldn't help but think, it was bringing you here.

"We don't know how you got here," Sam interjected. His arms were crossed and he was wearing a new suit. It wasn't his usual Falcon getup. It was more reminiscent of Steve's, showcasing red, white, and blue with a star on the chest. The shield was strapped to his back, and you started to panic again.

"Where's Steve?" You quickly let your gaze shift from Sam to Bucky again. “Bucky, where’s Steve? Did he make it? God, I gave up everything for him and if he still died...,” you trailed off, letting the thought go unfinished. It didn’t bear thinking about.

Bucky turned to throw a look over his shoulder at Sam. You couldn't see Bucky's expression, but you could sure as hell see Sam's.

Grief. Remorse. Apology. Pain.

"No," you denied with a quick shake of your head. "I jumped so he would live. I jumped so he would get to have a life." You could feel a strange new energy thrumming along your limbs, and you didn't know how to contain it. You felt restless, an urgency rising within you that you didn't know how to quell.

"He did," Bucky assured you, finally looking at you again. You felt like his hands on you was the only thing keeping you together, so when he made to draw away, you latched onto his shirt, pulling him closer. "Okay, okay," he soothed, moving to sit on the edge of the examination you realized you were lying on.

He was treating you like a frightened animal, and you didn’t know how to feel about that. You were torn between seeking comfort in the familiarity of him and lashing out for letting you be so vulnerable. It wasn’t his fault. He was only doing what he could for you, but you were caught between anger and fear, and nothing good ever came out of that particular combination.

"Then what happened? Where is he?" You demanded, looking from Sam to Shuri and back to Bucky again.

"He...," Sam paused at another look from Bucky. "Well, she's gonna find out eventually."

"What?" You snapped, hating that everyone in the room knew something you didn't. "What happened after I jumped?"

"We defeated Thanos and the people he snapped away came back," Bucky told you, giving you the tiniest hint of a smile when your shoulders began to slump with relief. Before he started talking, his lips twisted to the side in a grimace and you knew he was about to throw you back into the deep end. "But, you've gotta realize that winning that war nearly destroyed Steve. He told me what happened on Vormir and he told me what he wanted to do."

You were briefly distracted by a shimmer in the air around Bucky. You hadn't realized it before, but the air around him seemed to faintly glow red. As he spoke, it shifted to a light blue, and you were so distracted by the sight that you missed his next words.

"You alright there, Maximoff?" Sam called, breaking you out of your fascination. The air around Sam seemed to glow just the slightest hint of green while Shuri had a purple aura around her.

"I don't know?" You answered, ducking your hand to look at your hands. You felt off, somehow. You had never really been the same, not since losing your parents at a young age and having to look out for your younger brother and sister. After being subjected to experiments by sadistic scientists and coming out the other side with superpowers, you figured you would never lead a normal life. Steve had been the closest thing you had ever gotten to a fairytale ending and now he was gone.

You felt unmoored, adrift, in this new reality and you were waiting to crash down again. You only hoped you would be given the opportunity to brace for impact when the time came.

A light danced across your fingers, your magic beginning to flare up with your frustration. You had never been anywhere on your sister's level, your magic blue where hers was red and chaotic. But you had also been able to tame a flame and throw objects around with just a thought. She would always be the more powerful of the two of you, but you had held your own well enough in a fight.

The magic that pushed up beneath your skin to pool in your palm was no longer blue, but orange.

"Huh," you breathed, no longer able to accept that you were rooted in reality. "This is the weirdest dream ever." You finally looked back up at Bucky, catching his worried expression. "You think this is what I'm seeing before I die?"

"Doll, that's what I've been trying to tell you. You did die," he stressed, tightening his grip on your shoulders. "There was never a body. Steve wanted to bring you back, but you just weren't there."

"The soul stone must have claimed her. It did require a sacrifice," Shuri observed with a thoughtful noise. "I could tell something was happening. There was just too much energy and while I thought it was your sister, it turned out to be you swirling around in the air like a ghost. I still have no idea how you corporealized and got here from Vormir, but you're living and breathing," she assured you, gesturing towards a monitor you realized was showing your heartbeat, oxygen levels, and other vitals.

There were too many worries crowding your mind and you tried to sort them out. You thought if you could just focus, then maybe something would start to make sense.

"Steve?" You tried again, not able to accept that he might be gone.

"He passed on," Sam said, his tone somber and apologetic. “Wasn’t that long ago, but I’m sorry to tell you, he’s no longer with us.”

Bucky shot him a glare, but you shook your head.

"No, tell me," you demanded, trying to force yourself to breathe. “I’m not going to get anywhere with you hiding things from me.” You wanted to scream and rage, but you weren't sure what your magic would do if you gave into the instinct. It was new, something you had to relearn, and you didn't want to hurt Bucky, Sam, or Shuri because you couldn't control it.

"He, uh, well," Bucky started with a wince. "He had to bring the stones back to their original homes. He told me before he left that he was never going to be able to save you. Your death was tied to the fate of billions and there was nothing he could do to get you back. The soul stone wouldn't return you, but the time stone could still give him a life. It could help him right some past wrongs and regrets."

Bucky stopped talking, but you didn't need him to continue. You could almost see it playing out like a movie in your mind. Steve searching for you one last time on Vormir only to be informed that you were no longer there. Steve leaving and finding Peggy. Steve finally getting his dance. Steve getting his happy ending.

Without you.

You pulled away from Bucky, your hands curling into themselves as you felt your power build up. A brilliant, blinding orange light caressed your skin and you threw your hands out to the sides, releasing everything that had been building up.

You let out a scream, throwing your head back as you attempted to claw back control from the wild impulse of your magic. It was untamed, no longer held under your will, and you felt like it would tear you apart. It was lighting you up from the inside and you were distantly aware of the smell of smoke and flame.

Someone was shouting your name, attempting to bring you back to yourself. But all you could feel was pain and the agony of losing Steve after all was almost too much for you to take.

Someone wrapped their arms around you, trapping your arms at your sides. It was enough to pull you out of your grief, the surprise of being so fully embraced while you were feeling like a bomb that had finally gone off shocked you into finally reeling your magic back in and storing it away.

Bucky had you in a tight hold, but it wasn't restricting. It was comfort and reassurance and understanding.

“You couldn’t have done that before she burned a hole through the floor?” Shuri wondered, sounding exasperated.

“Where do you keep your fire extinguisher?” Sam wondered, his voice drifting away as he searched for something to put out the fire that was still raging on the floor.

"I know," he was whispering, ignoring all the alarms you had accidentally set off. You could hear Shuri cursing and Sam rifling through a cabinet. "I know, alright? It hurts. It hurts me too," Bucky confided in you, keeping his voice low enough so only you could hear him. “But you’ve gotta keep it in right now. Just for now. And then I’ll get you someplace where you can let it all go. Once we know you’re okay,” he added after a moment.

You let your arms wrap around Bucky's waist, resting your head on his shoulder. He brought a hand up, letting it curl around the back of your neck, holding you in place. You could feel tears tracking down your cheeks, but you no longer wanted to cry. You had gotten your answer, and while it wasn't what you wanted, you couldn't begrudge Steve a happy ending. Not after everything he had given up to save the world time and again.

You absentmindedly reached a hand out, drawing on the flames and letting the fire fall into your hand. You closed your hand into a fist, letting it die.

“Neat trick you’ve got there. You couldn’t have done that sooner?” Sam asked, finally brandishing a fire extinguisher that was no longer needed.

“Perhaps we should give them a moment,” Shuri suggested to Sam. “Why don’t you come look at these readouts with me?”

“I’m not a toddler. You don’t have to distract me,” Sam grumbled, but he dutifully followed Shuri to the other side of the room, leaving you and Bucky with a small measure of privacy.

"I'm sorry," you muttered into Bucky's shoulder, letting yourself only focus on him. "I'm sorry he left you. He really loved you, you know."

"Yeah," Bucky huffed out on a humorless laugh. "He really loved you too."

You stayed like that for a while, soaking up Bucky's presence while everything fell apart around you.

"Sam's Cap now?" You checked, knowing that if Sam wielded the shield, then he had taken on the mantle. “He’s good for it.” You knew that if Steve had passed on the shield to Sam, then it was with very good reason. You had always assumed that if Steve retired, then Bucky would take on the role of Captain America, but looking at him now, Bucky just seemed tired. Maybe he didn’t so much want to play hero as he wanted to simply stop looking over his shoulder at every turn waiting for his past to resurface.

"Yeah," Bucky answered, finally pulling away enough to look at you. "You missed a lot while you were gone, you know."

"How long has it been since I died, Bucky?" Steve was gone and Sam was Captain America and Bucky seemed less constrained, but still wary. It was a monumental change, but you had a sinking feeling it was only the tip of the iceberg.

"Years." Bucky watched you in silence for a long, drawn-out moment. You heard the door open, but didn't bother to see if it was admitting someone new or if Shuri and Sam had finally had enough of pretending they weren’t eavesdropping on your conversation with Bucky. "Look, there's something I should tell you, but after how you reacted to Steve, I don't know how you're gonna take this."

"What are you--"

"I almost didn't believe it," someone interrupted, and you finally looked over to see Stephen Strange standing in the doorway. "It's miraculous is what it is," he continued, not aware of the way you tensed at his presence.

There was something dark in the air around him. It looked as if something had latched on to him and was content to be a passenger. You didn't know why you were literally seeing people in a new light, but you knew that whatever had happened with Stephen wasn't good. It was like it had left a stain on his soul.

"Stephen," you greeted with a nod of your head. "What the hell happened to you? You’re...different," you decided, watching how the inky wisps attached to his aura pulsed at your words. You couldn’t tell if it was something separate or if it was simply a part of Strange now.

Stephen's brow furrowed in confusion. He shot Bucky a look and then Sam and Shuri. "Did you--?" He let the question hang, waiting for them to answer.

"No," Shuri told him, watching you in interest. "She's changed. Her power has evolved with her death."

You swung your legs over the side of the table and let yourself stand. Bucky reached out to help you or hold you back, you weren't sure, but you waved him off. Another question had come to mind, and you instinctively knew that Stephen would have something to do with the answer you were seeking. Shuri had mentioned your sister earlier and now she was all you could think about. Why did Shuri it was your sister trying to materialize? Wasn’t Wanda alive? You would never get Steve back, and you would never want to rip away whatever peace he had stolen for himself. But Wanda would need you. Wanda always needed you. If something had happened to her in your absence, then it was your job to find her and help her.

So, you met Stephen's gaze and held your head high, not wanting to show even a hint of weakness.

"Where's my sister?" You asked, daring him to lie to you. You could see a flicker of uncertainty in his expression as you advanced on him. You could feel the tempting crackle of your power tingling along your fingers. You longed to see Wanda, knowing that she would be the only thing keeping you from truly falling apart. Your sacrifice had cost you more than your life. It had cost you Steve. And you would be damned if it also cost you your sister.

You felt like your soul was reaching out to her, your entire being aching to pull her back into your orbit, but there was a strange emptiness inside you. It was like she was drifting further away from you by the second.

Stephen met your gaze, never letting it stray. "What do you know about the darkhold?" Stephen finally responded after what felt like an eternity waiting for any news about what had happened to your sister.

It wasn't what you wanted to hear and you couldn't help but lash out with your magic. It had been coiled, ready to strike, and who were you to deny it when you finally had a worthy target?

You had expected to simply push him with your power. It had been a familiar defensive response before your death, but now your magic seemed to take hold of the reigns. It curled out away from you and wrapped around his throat. You could hear his breath cut off and Bucky was calling your name, but you didn't care.

There was only one thing you cared about at the moment and Stephen Strange seemed to hold all the answers.

So, you decided to give him one more chance and posed the question that had overtaken your mind.

"Where's Wanda?" Additional Author's Note: If you'd like to be tagged, just let me know!!

#agatha all along #marvel #marvel imagine #agatha all along imagine #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #reader is a maximoff #agatha all along x reader #reader insert #imagine #bucky barnes imagine #agatha all along spoilers #spoilers #winter soldier #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier imagine #my fic #i will avenge my ghost fic

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rosepetalsinwinter · 1 year ago

Text

Five Years That Felt Like a Millenium — Bucky Barnes

Pairing: tfatws!bucky x reader

Word count: 9,554

Summary: It’s been five years since Thanos snapped his fingers. Five years spent all alone. Now Sam is back and he has a new friend. Will Bucky be the one to uncover the secrets behind the bruises lining her body?

Warnings: illusions and mention of violence, abuse, manipulation, and cheating. Nothing explicit. Protective!bucky.

Note: It's been a while since I've posted. Here's a little slice to get you going before I continue with "Meant to Be." Hope you enjoy! 💜

Ao3│Wattpad│Ko-fi

Main Masterlist │Part 1 — Part 2 — Part 3

Happy reading!!

"Sammy!" A figure barrelled into Sam Wilson, almost making the five-foot-ten man topple over.

The girl's arms wrapped tightly around his bulky frame, hanging on for dear life. Her tears soaked his shirt, and her nails dug into his biceps almost painfully, but he said nothing. He only hugged her back with as much vigour and passion, letting his salty tears mix with hers.

Although no time had passed for Sam, years had passed for the girl—five to be exact—and he could feel all her emotions pouring out of her like a dam broken loose.

"Sammy!" she sobbed while her body shook violently. "You're back!"

"I've been back." Sam stroked a hand over the girl's hair, offering her comfort. "I've been here. Where were you?"

The first thing Sam did after he was blipped back to life was to call his sister, Sarah. Only to be told that five years had come and gone. His nephews, who were babies when he left, were now little men. The second thing Sam did was ask about Baby Girl.

He remembered when he first met her. Her family moved to the bayou when she was just five; Sam was fifteen. When her parents died, Sam's family took her in as their own, giving her the same amount of love they gave their other two kids.

So he was surprised, then, to find that Sarah hadn't heard from her in almost two years. Sam, himself, had no luck in locating her until recently. It took him eight months, but he finally found her. She had moved to New York and cut all ties with previous friends and family.

Sam wanted to ask why. Why leave Sarah and the boys? Why leave the only home she ever knew? His questions could wait, though. Now that she was here, he wouldn't ever let her go.

"Hey, Baby Girl," Sam shushed her when she sobbed louder, "I'm here. I'm not leaving again. Promise."

So fascinated by how she had aged from an awkward teen on the precipice of adulthood into a beautiful young woman, Sam did not notice the bruises lining her sides and underneath her clothes—or the circles under her eyes—from almost two years of interrupted sleep. Or the absence of light in her usually glowing irises.

When she let her entire weight fall on Sam and sobbed as she had when her parents died, he did not question it, only held on tighter and carried her towards the house.

"I've got you now, Baby Girl. Everything is gonna be just fine."

While he did not explicitly say anything, Bucky Barnes found the Wilson Family Residence quite endearing. His house in the thirties had been small, and even his current apartment in Brooklyn was compact—which he liked—but there was something so serene about the land surrounding the Wilson residence, so very peaceful.

After ninety years of constant fights, one after the other, all Bucky really wanted was some peace and quiet. And now, he could easily find it after absolving himself of most of the guilt he was carrying.

It wasn't easy, but Bucky told Yori the truth about his son's death and since then, had managed to cross a few more names off his list of amends. A weight lifted off Bucky's shoulders as everything began to make sense.

The Flag Smasher's fiasco was over with, and while the Powerbroker was still at large, there was no immediate threat. Bucky Barnes could rest for now before trouble found him again—as trouble often did. Sam had asked Bucky to stay over for the long weekend, and Bucky had happily obliged.

"It'll be good for you. Get away from that city life."

Bucky agreed. If all went well, he might end up buying his own house. He had a little... calm in Wakanda, and he missed the solidarity.

The axe was steadfast in his hands as he brought it down towards his target, and the sturdy stump was no match for the combined strength of both, the sharp tool, and Bucky's enhanced strength. In one meagre swing, half the stump broke off and landed on the ground with a muffled thump.

Bucky wiped the sweat off his brow with his right arm. It was the middle of June, and while the days were sweltering hot and sticky, the nights could get cold in comparison. Sam had tasked Bucky to get the logs for the fire, seeing as he was the most efficient.

Bucky continued with his work until he got a steady rhythm, stopping periodically to sip his still cold beer. It was then that his enhanced hearing picked up on the strangest sound. He perched the axe on his left shoulder and looked towards the house where Sam Wilson seemed to be consoling a crying girl.

"Huh." Bucky didn't find the exchange as odd as he should have. Everyone around the bayou was always coming to Sam for something. Whether it was a favour, or a shoulder to cry on. Bucky thought she must be someone special if he was hugging her like that.

When Sam took the girl into the house, Bucky shook his head and finished the last of his beer. He continued chopping more wood until the sun began to set, which is when he deposited the axe back into the shed and made his way inside to crash on the couch. Tomorrow would be a long day, what with the bonfire Sam was hosting, and all. Bucky fell to a dreamless sleep the second his head touched the pillow.

He was a light sleeper. So Bucky immediately woke up when he heard someone coming down the stairs. It took him a second to become aware of his surroundings, as it always did. He was in Louisiana, crashing on Sam's couch for the weekend.

Bucky turned his head to the left to see who it was. Probably the boys; they were early risers and loved pestering Bucky about his metal arm—not that he minded. He found their interest refreshing and loved putting a smile on their faces. He was surprised, then, to find a girl instead. The same one from yesterday.

Huh. The girl looked a mess, with only half her hair pulled back into a makeshift ponytail and black makeup smudged under her eyes. Her pants were unbuttoned, hanging precariously from her hips, and her jacket was falling off her shoulders, a few sizes too big. She was holding a pair of shoes in one hand, her phone and shirt in the other. She was also balancing a purse in the crook of her elbow.

It was the shirt that did it. Because, while the girl's own blouse was in her hands, she was wearing Sam's grey-green T-shirt. Bucky knew because that's what Sam was wearing yesterday. She was someone special then if she was wearing his clothes.

Bucky smirked. He was very aware of what the girl had been doing. He, himself, had been on both ends of the situation before. Though it was very long ago, he still remembered the embarrassment of being caught leaving a girl's room in the early hours of the morning.

The girl screamed when she saw Bucky, not expecting anyone to be up, much less lying on the couch and watching her horrible attempt at sneaking out. "Oh, God!" Her phone slipped from her grasp and landed on the floor with a loud clatter.

There was a moment of silence where the two merely stared at each other. Bucky, with poorly concealed amusement, and the girl, with mild horror. She moved first, crouching down to pick up her cracked phone.

"Does it still work?" Bucky's voice was raspy from disuse. When tears gathered in the girl's eyes as a reply, Bucky immediately sat up, dropping his amusement in exchange for concern. He knew nothing about her, but it seemed like she cried a lot.

"No," she murmured, though Bucky heard her as if she were beside him. "Oh, God. No, no, no, no, no..."

"Hey, it's alright," Bucky told her as he crouched down to pick up the purse she had thrown in her haste. He hesitated when he saw a shiny ring peeking out from one of the compartments—too fancy and expensive-looking to be something ordinary. He quickly tucked the circle back and ignored it. Had Sam proposed to her? Bucky was offended he hadn't told him. Maybe it was recent. "Is it turning on?"

"Oh God! N-no," the girl stuttered through her tears.

Bucky was convinced that this girl—who cried a lot—only knew how to say "no" and "oh, God."

"I'm sure Sam can get you a new one, no big deal. What's your name?" Bucky offered the girl his right hand, which she promptly ignored.

She shot up on unsteady legs. "I have to go."

Bucky mimicked her. "Okay?" It was turning out to be a very unusual conversation.

"I have to go," she said again, more slowly this time, as if he were a little kid who couldn't understand a word of English.

Bucky cleared his throat awkwardly, shifting on his legs before giving the girl her purse back. "Right."

The tally was now up to "no," "oh, God," and "I have to go." At least she wasn't crying anymore. Bucky hastily stepped out of the girl's way when he realized he was blocking the hall that led to the front door.

She moved as if someone lit a fire under her. One second, she was there, and the next, she was out the door with her pants still unbuttoned, her jacket still falling off her shoulder, and her shoes still in her hand.

"Nice to meet you..." Bucky dropped his hand and trailed off when he realized she couldn't hear him anymore.

Huh. Either Bucky still didn't know how to talk to people, or that girl was on something. A lot of youngsters nowadays did drugs for fun. Bucky didn't understand it, nor did he want to. He could just ask Sam about it later.

Bucky stretched his arms above his head and cracked his neck. A couch was considerably comfier than the floor but still gave him a stiff back. No matter, a quick run could swiftly solve that problem. Bucky turned on the coffee machine and was biting into an apple when a shirtless Sam came barreling down the stairs.

"You sleep good, man?" Sam asked.

"Yeah," Bucky shrugged, wiping some juice from his chin, "I slept good. Well, as good as I can, considering..."

Sam hummed before opening the fridge and taking a swig of the orange juice. "Nightmare?"

Bucky shook his head. "I don't remember it—Listen, you didn't tell me you had a girl up there."

"A girl?"

"Messy hair, pretty face. Was crying yesterday?"

"Baby Girl? You saw that?" Sam stopped peeling the banana in his hand to look at Bucky.

Bucky merely shrugged and grabbed a mug from the cupboard.

"Sorry I didn't tell you she was over," said Sam, taking a bite of his now-peeled banana. "We were up talking real late. I guess I forgot."

"Yup. Talking," Bucky muttered with a smirk as he poured his coffee. "I bet."

"What?" Sam implored.

"Uh, nothing. Just, the girl seemed nice."

"She is nice," Sam retorted. "You met her?"

Bucky nodded and took a sip of his coffee. Black, just as he preferred it.

"Didn't think she'd be awake," Sam said with a yawn. "She barely slept."

Bucky had to try really hard to keep himself from laughing. "Well, she was."

"She was?" Sam asked suspiciously. "What do you mean she was? Did she go back to bed?"

Bucky shook his head. "She left."

"She left?" Sam scoffed, propping a hand on his hip. He had never looked more like Steve.

"That's what I said," Bucky confirmed, taking another sip. "She's gone."

"Gone?" Sam grumbled. "Bucky, what the hell are you talking about?"

Sam's accusing behaviour was really starting to irk Bucky, making him think the girl's sneaking out was not mutual. Shit.

He laughed uncomfortably and put his mug down on the counter. "Your girl came running down the stairs, half-dressed. She dropped her phone, cracked it, didn't let me help. Then she said she 'had to go' and practically ran out of here, I dunno."

"When?" A vein popped in Sam's forehead as he grabbed a random shirt from the pile of clean laundry near the stairs.

Bucky hastily checked the watch on his right arm. "Fifteen, maybe twenty minutes tops."

That made Sam utter a series of colourful swears as he finished his breakfast and found his wallet.

"Wait, Sam, what's going on?"

Sam didn't answer Bucky, too busy looking for his keys in the wrong place.

"Sam!" Bucky asked louder.

"We talked about this!" Sam scoffed. "I told her to at least stay for the weekend. I can't believe this! We sat down like adults and came to an understanding." He finally found his keys on the key hook.

"Where are you going, Sam?" Bucky countered.

"I'm going to get her," Sam snapped before sighing dramatically and letting his shoulders droop. "Shit, I do not have time for this, Baby Girl."

Bucky moved over the kitchen counter and stood in front of Sam. "What about that meeting you've got?"

"What meeting?" Sam asked.

"That meeting about that thing," supplied Bucky.

"What thing?" Sam grumbled.

"You know what thing," Bucky countered.

"Oh. That. I'm gonna have to reschedule—Man! Where are my shoes?!"

"Why?"

"Why?" Sam echoed. "What's with all the questions, Buck? Because I have to get Baby Girl before she skips town and disappears on me again."

"Sam."

"I haven't seen her in eight months, man, and she hasn't seen me in five years. I'm not about to let her leave—"

"Sam!" Bucky shouted loud enough for his friend to hear. He grabbed his wallet and his keys and put on his jacket. "You're going to that meeting, Sam."

"Like hell I am," Sam retorted passionately.

"I'll go pick up your Baby Girl," Bucky said after downing the rest of his coffee. "You, go to your meeting."

Sam stopped for a moment and seriously considered Bucky's proposal. It was an important meeting. "She'll probably be at the taxi stand," he finally relented. "You know the one?"

Bucky nodded, tying up his shoelaces. "Yeah, I know the one."

"Buck?" Sam called when Bucky was stepping out the door. "You better bring her back, or else I'm gonna light a fire under your ass."

Bucky chuckled, pushing his sunglasses up his nose. "Understood, Sam."

The taxi stand was abandoned. Really, what did the girl expect so early in the morning? It was a long weekend, and the residents of Delacroix rarely needed a commute into the city on an ordinary Friday. She was arguing with the lone taxi driver, pleading with him, really, to take her to the nearest airport. But the man kept denying her. He had been up all night and insisted on napping, telling her to wait another twenty minutes.

She didn't have twenty minutes, damn it. If anything, she needed more time. Time she didn't have.

Her phone could be blowing up right now, and she wouldn't know it. She wouldn't know the consequences of her actions until she bought a new phone. But maybe—just maybe, a voice inside her reasoned—Quentin would be too busy with his work retreat to notice her absence.

The girl tried getting the driver's attention again, who shot her the most hateful look she had ever received before starting his cab and driving away. "Hey! Wait!" she called out, but he had already turned the corner.

A laugh made her spin around. It was the man from this morning, the one on Sam's couch. He stood before her with his arms crossed, a big smile overtaking his face.

"You must not be from the city," he mused, "if you're that bad at hailing a cab."

Bucky had no trouble locating the girl, what with her being the only person in a one-mile radius demanding to be taken to the nearest airport. Her feeble attempts amused him, and frankly, Bucky was having trouble believing she was Sam's girl. He didn't think Sam would've gone for someone as... difficult as her. But hey, it was Sam wanting to spend the rest of his life with her, not Bucky.

Bucky surveyed the girl from head to toe. Her hair was settled, her pants buttoned, and most of her composure seemed to have returned. However, she had gone pale once he revealed himself, her eyes wide with guilt. She was caught red-handed; now, he would be the one to deliver her to Sam.

Bucky pointed at her with his left arm. "Sam wants you home."

He was surprised to see that when she looked down at the shiny metal, recognition flared through her eyes rather than shock or disgust. Good, he thought. She knows who I am.

"No, thank you," she managed to squeak out, and Bucky was pleased to know that the girl's vocabulary extended past the three phrases he had come to know her for.

"You seem smart," he told her when he saw her looking behind him, "but not that smart."

"Yeah?" she challenged, gaining a rare bit of courage. "What makes you say that?"

"You know who I am and what I'm capable of. Smart. You think you can run from me. Not smart."

"Is that right?" she asked. Bucky nodded, and the girl took a deep breath. "I must not be too smart then."

He raised a brow in challenge, wondering where she would go from there.

Suddenly, the girl threw her arms above her head and waved them with abandon. "Mr. Thurow!" she shouted, running past Bucky. "Mr. Thurow!"

Bucky slowly walked towards the girl, unhurried in his steps. He wanted to know what she would do.

"Mr. Thurow!" the girl panted. "I need your help."

"Jesus Christ!" Mr. Thurow bellowed. "As I live and breathe! Is that you, Baby Girl?" He was a stocky man with a kind smile and welcoming eyes.

"Yes, Mr. Thurow," the girl began confidently, "it is. I need your help, please. This man," she pointed behind her at Bucky, "is—"

"Carlos!" Bucky interjected with a smile. "How are you?"

"Sergeant Barnes! Back again already?" Carlos turned his attention away from the girl.

Bucky watched with amusement as the girl's face scrunched with confusion. Her lips parted slightly, and she blinked rapidly. "What can I say, Carlos? I was missing your potato salad."

"Hell yeah, you were," Carlos guffawed.

The girl stood there dumbfounded as the two men embraced each other.

"You know, it was my great nan's recipe?" Carlos asked. "Been in the family for generations."

"I didn't know that. You bringing it tonight?"

"For the bonfire?" Carlos confirmed. "You bet I am."

"Well," Bucky gestured to the girl, "I was just taking Baby Girl here back home. She got a little lost, and Sam was starting to worry." Bucky made sure to make himself sound condescending on purpose.

He heard her scoff. "I was not lost."

"Well, you get her home safe, then. Understood, Barnes? I want to see both of you tonight." Carlos mockingly glared at the girl and winked at Bucky before departing.

"See you, Carlos!" Bucky called out to his retreating figure. "Well?" he questioned, turning his attention to the girl after a moment of silence. "Are you gonna run and embarrass yourself again, or are you gonna come with me?"

"I am not going anywhere with you!" the girl scoffed.

"I will take you kicking and screaming if I have to," Bucky warned.

The girl took a step back hastily, believing his threat. "You're a heathen."

Well, Bucky shrugged. He had been called worse. "Sam threatened me with fire, and that's not how I'd like to leave this world if it's all the same to you."

The girl seemed to consider his words for a moment. "Fire is a painful way to go," she finally mused.

"It is," Bucky agreed.

"I don't like you," she told him bluntly.

"Okay." A lot of people didn't like Bucky. One more wouldn't hurt.

"But no one deserves to die like that."

It seemed the spawn of Satan had a heart.

"Does seem excessive," said Bucky.

The girl paused again. "If I run, you'll catch me." It wasn't a question.

"Always," Bucky promised, and the girl must have believed him because her shoulders deflated, and she hung her head in submission.

"Doesn't seem like I have a choice," she whispered, though Bucky heard her all the same.

"You don't."

"Okay," she relented.

"Okay. Let's go." Bucky led her toward where he parked, and the girl followed silently.

Good, she isn't being insufferable any longer, Bucky thought. Though, luck must not have been on his side that day because not a second later, once his bike came into view, the girl started complaining.

"No. I'm not sitting on that death trap."

Bucky turned to her with an annoyed groan. "Really?"

"I hate bikes!" she told him.

"What? You rather walk?" Bucky crossed his arms.

"Yes, please," the girl replied, mimicking his posture. "I walked all the way here, didn't I?"

"Well, too bad!" snapped Bucky. "We're taking the bike." He grabbed his helmet and handed it to her. He groaned again when she didn't take it and only looked at him like she'd never seen a helmet before. Maybe she hadn't. He wouldn't be surprised. Bucky rolled his eyes and placed the helmet on the girl's head, securing the straps and confirming it fit snugly.

"It's loose," she complained.

"Your head's a lot smaller than mine..." Bucky took his previous statement back. He could definitely see the girl and Sam together. Both of them were insufferable shitheads and obviously perfect for each other.

"Sit," he gestured to the bike. And when the girl turned to him with the same blank look in her eyes, Bucky merely huffed in annoyance. He picked her up and deposited her on the seat as if she weighed nothing. And she didn't. He ignored her shouts of protest and sat in front of her.

"Where's your helmet?" She sounded worried for him.

Bucky laughed. "I don't need one."

"Yes, you do," she chastised him. "You could die."

"I'm a super soldier," Bucky said as an answer.

"Even super soldiers die," the girl retorted.

"I won't die," Bucky responded blandly before revving the engine. "Hold on tight."

"I am not touching youuuu..." The girl ended her sentence with a sudden shriek when Bucky unexpectedly released the throttle and speedily drove away. Her arms wrapped around his torso in a vice-like grip, and she hid her face in his jacket. "Oh, God!" she screamed. "Oh, my God!"

She took her flailing legs and tried wrapping them around Bucky's hips, which made him laugh in surprise. She was holding onto him like a koala bear, all while screaming bloody murder in his ears. Her nails dug sharply into his chest, but he ignored the sting. He couldn't wait to see her face once they stopped.

And eventually, they did. Bucky parked his bike in the back and told the girl to get off, which, of course, she didn't do. He got up anyway, taking her with him, though she didn't let him go once he was standing.

Bucky tapped on the hand around his shoulder. "You can let go now. It's safe."

The girl obediently unwrapped herself from his body, falling indiligently to the ground.

"See?" Bucky smirked. "We didn't die."

"Oh my God," she groaned, shaking on the ground. "I can't feel my legs."

Bucky laughed, extending his metal arm towards her, which she took without complaint. "Let's try again," he suggested once she was steady on her feet. "I'm Bucky."

The girl told him her name, and he repeated it with a smile. "I still don't like you," she said.

"The feeling's mutual, doll." And if she blushed at the pet name? Well, Bucky simply chose to ignore it.

He was on his third beer, a shame, really, since he couldn't feel it. But Bucky had developed a liking for the taste. It reminded him of better times. Before the war, and before his life completely changed.

Sam plopped down on the chair next to Bucky, a happy but tired smile on his face. Bucky turned to Sam and took a s'more from his outstretched hand, biting into the gooey center with a groan. "Man, this is good. I can't remember the last time I had one of these."

"Probably before Christopher Columbus discovered America."

"That's not funny, Sam," Bucky frowned. "Besides, everyone knows the Clovis people got here first, twenty thousand years ago."

"I didn't know that!"

"Because you're stupid," Bucky retorted.

"Whatever," scoffed Sam. He slid down in his chair and muttered "nerd" under his breath.

Bucky was preparing a retort when something caught his eye. The girl was playing with AJ and Cass, trying to catch them as they ran around the fire. Bucky cracked his knuckles and prepared to confront Sam. "You're really mean, you know that?

"Why? Because I called you a nerd?" Sam scoffed. "Well, it's true."

Bucky shook his head and levelled Sam with a glare. "Because you didn't tell me you're getting married."

A long silence followed. "Who's getting married?"

"You are!" Bucky exclaimed. "I didn't even know you had a girl."

"Because I don't!" Sam straightened. "And I'm not getting married."

"But—" Bucky was at a loss for words, then a thought struck him. "Holy shit, Sam! Don't tell me you—" Bucky leaned forward, lowering his voice considerably. "You slept with a married woman!"

Sam's face screwed up. "What the fuck are you talking about? I didn't sleep with anyone!"

Bucky was stunned, realizing a moment too late that he had completely misread the situation.

"Start from the beginning," Sam urged. And so Bucky told him what happened that morning, how the girl came down half-dressed and wearing his shirt. Bucky thought she was a one-night stand until he saw the ring in her purse, and Sam brought her back to his house.

"So, she's not your fiancé?"

"No! She's like a sister."

"But you call her Baby Girl!"

Sam rubbed his temples. "Everyone calls her that. Listen," he sighed, "maybe I should've introduced the two of you before, but I was overwhelmed by seeing her after so long. Besides, I didn't think you would start jumping to conclusions!"

Bucky rubbed his neck in embarrassment. Perhaps he was too quick to assume the girl was Sam's significant other. But if she wasn't involved with Sam, then who exactly was she?

The girl was sitting across from Bucky and Sam on the other side of the fire pit, nibbling on a s'more. The two men watched her as they talked.

"Her family lived in the plot behind ours. They were good people."

"Were?" Bucky questioned, feeling like there was more to the story.

Sam seemed to dissociate for a moment as if he were somewhere else. "Eleven years ago, my dad woke me up in the middle of the night and told me to run to town and wake as many folks as possible. There was a fire down the street, and the trucks had broken down on the highway."

Bucky tensed, hating the direction the story was taking.

"The smoke was so thick I was choking on it from a block away. Over half the house was up in flames by the time I got back. Three men went in and came right out not a second later. Folks were throwing bucketfuls of water to try and contain it, but I remember thinking that was useless. It's like the flames had a mind of their own."

It was then that Bucky accidentally made eye contact with the girl. She frowned at the intense look on his face, jerking her head as if to ask, "What?"

"What happened next?" Bucky asked without removing his gaze.

"I went towards the back, where the fire wasn't as strong. The upstairs window was wide open, and I found Baby Girl lying on the ground with twisted legs and blood oozing from her head." Sam scoffed a laugh, though there was no humour behind it.

Bucky's jaw dropped. "She jumped?"

Sam shook his head. "We found out later that her brother pushed her. My entire family was at the hospital when we broke the news that she was the only survivor."

"Shit." Baby Girl was glaring daggers at Bucky now, though he couldn't take her seriously. Melted chocolate dripped down her chin, and her hair was mussed from the wind. Bucky imagined her eleven years younger, wide-eyed and trembling as her life crumbled around her. He recalled her comment from that morning. "Fire is a painful way to go." "No one deserves to die like that." He looked away.

"She's acting like you're keeping her hostage," Bucky remarked.

"I might as well be," Sam grumbled. "She's dying to go back to New York, and she won't give me a proper reason why."

When Bucky looked back at the girl, she was chatting with Carlos Thurow, seemingly pleading with him. She waved her broken phone, and Bucky could see the cracks on the screen glinting from where he sat. Baby Girl slumped her shoulders in defeat when Carlos took his own phone out to show it had died.

Bucky felt a jolt in his chest as he watched the girl run her hands through her hair in frustration. Something was wrong.

Sam whistled beside him, waving Baby Girl over. The effect was immediate. Baby girl plastered on a shoddy smile, exaggerating a laugh as she waved back and made her way to them.

"You seem happy," Sam observed as the girl took the empty chair beside Bucky.

Bucky looked at Sam to see if he was joking. Sam was no spy, but didn't one have to be blind to not see how miserable Baby Girl looked under her fake smile?

"The party's very fun," Baby Girl answered. "It's—" guilt flashed across her features. "It's nice to see everyone after so long."

"Could've been sooner," Sam muttered.

"I told you I was busy!" she exclaimed. "I didn't have time to leave the city."

"But you won't tell me why," Sam countered. The fight seemed to leave his body, and he sighed. "I didn't call you over to argue with you. I won't bring it up again."

Baby Girl turned her nose to the sky in a way that made Bucky laugh. "You better not." And the conversation flowed smoothly from there.

Bucky offered her a beer, which she accepted with a smile, and the three laughed and joked about until tears ran unbidden down their cheeks. However, despite the mirth dancing in the air, Bucky could not ignore the lingering sadness in her eyes.

"You won't believe what this man asked me before," Sam guffawed, pointing accusingly at Bucky. "He asked if we were engaged!"

Laughter burst forth from mirth-kissed lips. "That's disgusting!" she managed between giggles. "What made you think that?"

Bucky felt flushed under her attention. "You were wearing Sam's clothes that morning," he explained sheepishly. "And I saw a ring in your purse."

Her face made a radical transformation. One moment, she was smiling in a way that made Bucky's heart flutter—the next moment, all pleasure seemed to drain away from her body, leaving her looking gaunt and haggard. Sam was too busy laughing at his untied shoelaces to notice the change in atmosphere, but Bucky felt the full force of it slam against his chest.

"I don't have a ring."

"But I—"

"No!" Her words seemed laced with desperation. Her sober eyes flicked toward Sam. "There was no ring," she stressed.

Bucky could see the hopelessness in her eyes. "Right," he muttered. "I must have been mistaken."

Sam, who had overcome his slight scramble with his shoelaces, sat upright. Inebriation laced his every move. "Right. But that made me think."

"That's never a good thing," Bucky interjected, trying to ease the lingering tension.

"Are you dating anyone? Sarah said she didn't know, but you can always tell me. Huh?" Sam teased. "Tell me. Who's the unfortunate bastard?"

Baby Girl's lips were a thin line, and Bucky anticipated the lie before she could open her mouth. "It's nothing like that. I'm not dating anyone." She finished the rest of her drink and immediately grabbed another.

"You can't lie to me," Sam wiggled his finger. "Come on, fess up. Whoever he is, he can't be worse than Beck."

Baby Girl froze, and Bucky's curiosity was piqued too much to ignore. "Beck?"

"Quentin Beck. Biggest asshole on the planet," Sam explained. "Beck and Baby Girl dated on and off in college. I would catch the bastard every other week with a different woman."

Bucky scrutinized the girl for a reaction, but she seemed to be holding her breath.

Sam began to pout like a child. "He always managed to win her over. At least I can die easy knowing they broke up before half the world blipped."

"He's not like that anymore," Baby Girl whispered to herself. Sam was too far to hear her, but Bucky had no such problem. "He's changed." She wrapped her arms around her body. "He's not like that anymore."

Bucky took in her dark under-eyes and trembling frame, her body sickly from stress. He believed her. Beck wasn't like that anymore. Perhaps he had moved on from his days of serial cheating and picked up a different hobby. Beck probably wasn't like that anymore, but he wasn't any better either.

The former spy suspected that Baby Girl was still involved with Beck. He observed her closely. Her eyes swirled with guilt, and her shoulders drooped in alarm. There was more to the story, but before Bucky could voice a question, Baby Girl stumbled onto unsteady feet. She swayed back and forth, betraying her inebriation, and Bucky reached over to keep her from falling.

Baby Girl pushed his hands away. "I'm tired," she croaked. "I'm going to bed." And she staggered away, bumping into people as she disappeared into the house.

Bucky relaxed back in his seat with a tired sigh. On his left, Sam was passed out over the arm of his chair, mouth open in a loud snore. Bucky craned his neck back and stared openly at the night sky. Stars twinkled brighter here than they did in the city. Everything was more serene and calm. However, since Baby Girl arrived, Bucky couldn't help but sense a slight shift in the air, as if the wind knew her secrets and was trying to warn them. One thing was made clear. It wouldn't be pretty.

It felt oddly like déjà vu. A light clambering of feet roused Bucky from his half-sleep, and as always, it took a second for him to make sense of his surroundings. He was on Sam's couch.

The steps were hesitant and controlled—so not AJ and Cass. Excitement and a sugar overload had kept them up late, and they wouldn't wake until a few hours later. Bucky was proven right when a lone woman descended the steps instead of two boys.

She looked a lot better than the last time he had seen her. Freshly showered and reasonably presentable in her own clothes this time—not Sam's. She hadn't seen him yet, so Bucky took the opportunity to observe her a moment longer. Her under-eye area was still dark, though not as sunken as before, and she carried an air of determination around her.

"Good morning," Bucky broke the silence.

Baby Girl shrieked, seemingly slipping over nothing. She tumbled backward, falling in an indelicate heap onto an armchair. "God above!"

Her vocabulary was steadily expanding.

Bucky sat up, regarding her with a guilty expression. "Sorry."

"I forgot you were still here," she mumbled sheepishly, straightening herself into a more respectable position.

There was a moment of awkward silence where neither acknowledged the other.

"I was wondering..." the girl started.

"Yeah?"

"Could I borrow some money? I didn't bring enough with me from New York."

"Uh, sure," Bucky replied, grabbing his wallet from between the couch cushions. "How much do you need?"

Baby Girl looked down at her hands, tracing lazy lines on her palm. "One grand?" she grimaced.

Bucky looked at her with wide eyes. "What do you need a thousand dollars for?"

"I can make do with less!" she rushed to explain. "I can try stretching an eight hundred," she murmured. "But a new phone would be too expensive, and I'm not sure I can find a cheap last-minute flight."

"Excuse me?" Bucky exclaimed. He was fully awake now, leaning forward to hear her better. "What was that about a phone and a flight?"

Her guilty eyes met his confused ones. "I broke my phone," she explained, "so I need a new one. I also need to get back home, so I need to buy a plane ticket."

Bucky eyed her skeptically. "I thought you were staying."

"I changed my mind," she dismissed with a shaky wave. "I already went over it with Sam."

Bucky knew for a fact she was lying. She wouldn't even meet her eyes. "Is that what he would say if I asked him?"

"Of course!" she proclaimed. But Bucky could hear the hesitance.

"Okay. I'll go ask Sam." Bucky made to get up, but as predicted, the girl stopped him.

"Wait! Don't!"

Bucky sat back down with a satisfied smirk. "You're a sneaky little thing."

"Don't tell Sam," Baby Girl pleaded. "I'm sorry I lied. I didn't have another choice. He locked my credit card. Otherwise, I wouldn't be asking you for this favour."

"Hmm," Bucky hummed, crossing his arms and getting comfortable. "I'd be willing to help you—Only..." Bucky stressed when she tried to interrupt. "If you answer a few questions first."

Baby Girl mimicked Bucky's posture with a frown. "That hardly seems fair."

"I can always call Sam."

"Fucking fine," Baby Girl grumbled.

Satisfied by the flow of things, Bucky started his interrogation. "Why are you in such a rush to go back home?" Bucky asked, deciding to start small. He could tell Baby Girl was thinking hard about her answer, trying not to give too much away. She squinted her eyes as if it were putting strain on her. He decided she would make a horrible spy.

"I left in a hurry. I only planned a day trip. I don't have any clothes or money on me."

Bucky shook his head. "That's not what I asked."

Baby Girl glared at him. "I don't understand the question."

"What's waiting for you in New York? Do you have a job? A prior commitment? A boyfriend?" Bucky stretched that last word, giving the girl a smirk.

"I don't have a boyfriend," she frowned.

"Fiancé, then," Bucky concluded. "I saw that ring in your purse." He suddenly leapt forward, grabbing Baby Girl's left hand and pulling it toward him to inspect.

She initially squeaked a protest but stayed still as he prodded her ring finger with his eyes. "Tan line," he observed, and she snatched her limb back, throwing the most menacing glare she could manage toward him.

"No fiancé," she hissed.

"I don't believe you," Bucky shrugged. "Job, then? What do you do?"

It took too long for her to answer, making it obvious she was concocting a lie in her head. "I work in the... customer field. Where I work with customers."

If Bucky wasn't on the verge of laughter, he might've cringed from the secondhand embarrassment.

"And... books." She was obviously lying. Even she didn't believe what was coming out of her mouth.

"I think my cat might be a better liar than you," He remarked drily.

The girl huffed but stayed silent.

Bucky decided to try a different tactic. "What year is it?"

The girl regarded him strangely. "2024."

"How many sides does an octagon have?"

"Eight."

"What's Sam's last name?"

"Wilson."

"Who was Iron Man?"

"Tony Stark."

"What colour is the sky?"

"Blue."

"Who locked your credit card?"

"Quentin Beck."

Bucky laughed. The girl stared at him, horrified. She gaped at him like a fish, only managing to make senseless sounds. "Y-you—w-what!"

Bucky laughed harder. "I told you that day. You seem smart, but not that smart."

"How dare you!"

"Last question. Does your boyfriend know you're here?" If looks could kill, Bucky would be dead. He raised his arms in surrender. "I won't judge. And I won't tell Sam. I'm just trying to understand the situation so I can help."

Her glare slowly softened to fatigue. "No. He doesn't know."

Bucky bobbed his head. "I figured as much." He grabbed his unlocked phone and tossed it to her, assuming she would catch it. She didn't. The device smacked her in the chest before falling on her lap, which she stared at dumbly.

"Call him," said Bucky, standing up to stretch. "Let him know you're safe. Tell him no one kidnapped you, and he can unlock your card."

She opened her mouth to reply, but Bucky beat her to it. "I can't get you a plane ticket out of here, so this is the next best thing. You want to leave? Tell Sam about Quentin Beck, and he'll let you. He isn't that big of an asshole to keep you hostage here. There's hope for him yet." Bucky stepped out of the living room but turned around and stopped to add one more thing. "Sam's been different since you arrived. He's happier. You're all he talks about to anyone. Do him one last favour; stay the weekend, and don't choose that Quentin Beck guy over him." With that, Bucky strode to the bathroom to freshen up, missing the first teardrop.

His phone was returned to him an hour or so later, accompanied by an uncomfortable smile and words of gratitude. "I told him I'm safe, and no one kidnapped me."

"Is he mad?" Bucky asked.

"He's a little upset," she confessed. "Promise you won't tell Sam?"

"Only if you promise not to run away." They stared at each other for a long moment, daring the other to disagree.

"Fine," the girl finally conceded. Bucky gave her a stiff nod and turned to leave. "Wait!" she exclaimed urgently. "He's still upset. Just ignore any other messages from him, okay? He should cool down after a while."

Bucky looked into her eyes. She was beautiful and unsuspecting looking. Fiery and transparent. He scrutinized her for deceit and instead found veiled resignation. He agreed and went to the backyard, leaving her in the kitchen.

It was an especially hot day, and there was much to do. Sarah wanted to landscape the back garden, and Bucky had volunteered. He didn't know the first thing about construction, but the boys had recently introduced him to YouTube, a magical place with the answers to all his questions. Bucky began to work, moving piles of dirt, levelling the uneven ground, and placing heavy slabs of concrete to form a pathway from the back porch to the lake.

Hours later, Bucky finished with the last slab of concrete, moving further away to admire his work. There was more to finish, but Sarah would be happy with his progress. Bucky wiped his brow, groaning at the sticky feeling of sweat dripping down his neck.

He grabbed his phone from the table on the porch to check the time, surprised at the number of notifications waiting for him. Bucky was by no means popular. The only person who contacted him somewhat regularly was Sam, but these notifications were all from the same unknown number. Bucky realized with a start that the barrage of missed calls and messages he was being attacked with were probably all from Quentin Beck.

Curiosity grabbed hold of him. He did promise the girl he would ignore any messages from him, but really, this was excessive. What if something was wrong and Beck urgently needed to contact her? He tapped on the message icon without another thought.

Bucky froze when he read the latest message.

You're dead when I find you.

He immediately scrolled to the top, reading the conversation from the beginning to try and gain some context to the threat. The thread started with a long paragraph from the girl detailing her situation, followed immediately with an exhausted apology.

I'm so sorry, please don't be mad. I'll be back as soon as I can.

Where the HELL are you?

Sam was asking questions. I tried to leave, but he got suspicious. I'll be back in a couple of days. I'm sorry.

You shouldn't have fucking seen him in the first place. I warned you.

Sam's career is in my hands. It'll only take one call to ruin him. I fucking warned you to never go near him.

He's trouble. He doesn't care about you like I do. He doesn't love you like I do.

The messages got progressively worse, teetering on the edge of insanity. Promising pain and broken bones, blaming it all on her.

Why do you make me do this?

Typical narcissist behaviour.

You're dead when I find you.

Baby Girl hadn't seen any of the messages after her rushed apology, but Bucky had a feeling she wouldn't be surprised by them either way. He clutched his phone tight, taking deep breaths to calm himself down.

What a bastard. What a self-entitled, psychotic prick. Everything came into clear focus, painting a detailed painting for Bucky to observe. Her behaviour started making sense. The bags under her eyes, the lack of light in her irises, the unworn ring... the secrets.

He decided then that he wouldn't tell her about the messages if she asked. Bucky would wait for the right time tonight to bring up the topic of Quentin Beck as innocently as he could, and offer her his help. She didn't need to know the extent of Beck's threats against her life.

Plan laid out, Bucky made his way inside for a well-deserved glass of cold water when the back door swung open. Baby Girl walked out with two lemonades and a plate of sandwiches balanced between the crook of her elbow. Some lemonade spilled over her hand when she abruptly stopped ahead of him. Bucky took the drinks from her and placed them on the small table.

Baby Girl put the plate of sandwiches next to the drinks and proceeded to lick the spilled lemonade from her hands. Bucky swallowed thickly, feeling flustered at such an innocent act. "You good?"

"Yeah," she replied. "I made us lunch and lemonade. Figured you could do with something cool."

"Yeah," Bucky was suddenly parched. "It's a hot day."

Baby Girl sat down at the table and took a large sip of her drink. "Sarah and Sam went to run some errands in the city. Said they'll be back late."

"What about the boys?" Bucky inquired, sitting down and taking a sip of his own. He groaned as the cool drink washed over him.

"They're having a sleepover at the neighbours." She handed him a sandwich, which he took with a smile.

"So it's just us today," he said, aware that the perfect opportunity for a less-than-pleasant conversation had just presented itself.

"Yup, just us."

An awkward silence fell over them, broken occasionally by the sound of chewing.

"The yard looks nice," Baby Girl blurted.

Bucky turned his neck to observe his handiwork. "Thanks. Still a lot to be done."

"You must be tired."

Bucky shrugged. "Not really. The heat is worse than anything else."

"Is that because of the serum?" she asked, immediately flushing with embarrassment. "Sorry! That's so insensitive of me. And it's none of my business."

"You're good," said Bucky. "I don't mind. Yeah, it's because of the serum. My stamina's through the roof."

"Wow," she admired.

"Could've been real handy with the ladies, back in the forties." Bucky flushed at the silence that followed. "During the war, I mean!" he corrected. "I could've used the stamina during the war."

The girl finished her lemonade in one long sip. "Right, of course."

"For battle. On the battlefield." Bucky finished his own drink, then stuffed another sandwich in his face to keep from further embarrassing himself.

Bucky's phone lit up with a notification, and the girl flicked her eyes toward the screen. "It's my neighbour," he told her. "He's looking after my cat."

Baby Girl visibly deflated. "That's nice," she smiled. "What's its name?"

"Alpine." Bucky decided this was as good a time as any to ask a few questions. "Listen, did you tell Quentin Beck where you are?" Bucky hated the scared look on her face.

"He knows I'm at Sam's," she started slowly.

Bucky took a deep breath and willed his expression to remain neutral. "Does he have an address?"

She shook her head in denial, and only then did Bucky find himself relaxing. He wouldn't need to worry about Beck showing up announced, which gave him more time to come up with a proper plan.

"I'm gonna take a dip," Bucky gestured to the lake. "Wanna join?"

"Maybe later."

Bucky stood up with a shrug. "Suit yourself." And he took his shirt off with one pull.

He felt Baby Girl's stare burning through his skin as he jogged toward the small lake, discarding his pants along the way. He entered the water in a running dive, letting gravity pull him to the bottom before kicking away and breaking the surface with a loud whoop. His body temperature slowly stabilized as he ran laps along the perimeter. He could still feel her stare as he stopped to tread.

"The water's amazing!" he yelled. "Join me!"

She threw her arms in the air. "I don't have a bathing suit."

Bucky floated on his back, arms crossed behind his head. "Who cares?"

After a moment's hesitation, Baby Girl laughed. "You're right. Who cares?" She grabbed the hem of her top and lifted it over her head, revealing a white camisole underneath. She stopped near the edge of the lake, fixing Bucky with a faux glare. "Well, turn around. You're crazy if you think I'm undressing in front of you."

Bucky smirked at her teasing nature and turned away, listening for a splash. After a moment, the water rippled, followed by a shrill scream. "Can I look?"

"Go ahead." Baby Girl laughed when Bucky whipped his head, sending a stream of water flying her way from his hair. "Damn, the water's cold."

"Feels good, though."

"Yeah."

They settled into a comfortable silence, floating on their backs and sneaking glances at each other. Her white camisole had turned see-through, giving Bucky a delicious glimpse of her skin and pale blue bra. He averted his gaze, trying to calm his racing heart.

"I'll miss this when I'm gone," said Baby Girl softly. "The peace and quiet."

"You don't have to leave," Bucky urged. "You could stay."

She turned to face him. "I can't," she replied sadly.

"You're scared for Sam," he observed, remembering the texts. "Why? He's the fucking Falcon. He helped defeat Thanos. Beck is nothing compared to that."

The girl's eyes widened in alarm. "How do you know that?"

Bucky didn't tell her he read the messages. He would've come to the same conclusion sooner or later. He ran his hand through his wet hair. "I used to be a spy." He fixed her with a pointed look. "And you're a horrible liar. Seriously, you are worse than my cat."

She huffed but didn't argue. After a moment of silent contemplation, she settled on her back and regarded him doubtfully. "Quentin has connections with the CIA, FBI, NSA, and Homeland Security. Any government official out there, he's probably on a first-name basis with them." Her face contorted in pain. "He could ruin Sam's life with a single phone call. I swore I would never give him a reason to."

Bucky's jaw clenched tightly. "What's the worst that bastard could do? Sam knows people too."

"Not enough. He could pin a drug charge. It wouldn't even have to stick. The bad press would be enough to ruin Sam's reputation."

"That's illegal," Bucky pointed out dangerously. Quentin Beck was turning out to be worse than Bucky imagined.

"He doesn't care about that when it comes to me," she dismissed. "Quentin can do no wrong when it comes to love."

"That's not love!" Bucky snapped, losing the last of his patience. They were floating dangerously close to one another, elbows brushing.

"Regardless. There's nothing to be done."

"You could stay," Bucky implored. "I'd keep you safe."

They were even closer now, both on their backs, faces turned toward the other, lips dangerously close. For a moment it looked like she might say yes. She opened her mouth to reply, but the sound of a car door slamming shut interrupted her.

"That must be Sam," she said, and the moment was broken.

Bucky moved first, swimming to the deck to grab his discarded pants. "I'll give you some privacy," he said, dragging the fabric up his legs. He left without another word.

Incessant knocking at the front door stopped Bucky in his tracks. Sam always carried a key. Bucky dropped his shirt and went around the house to the front. The car parked in the drive was unfamiliar and out of place. Sleek and shiny and black. Expensive. The man waiting impatiently at the door looked more out of place than the car. Dressed in a gray suit, brown loafers, and black shades, the man looked like he belonged on the cover of a real estate advertisement.

"Can I help you?" Bucky snapped, feeling on edge.

The man lifted his shades to regard Bucky with a look of contempt, eyeing his exposed chest and metal arm with barely concealed disgust. "Yeah, maybe you can. Is this the Wilson residence?"

"Depends on who's asking."

"A friend," the man replied.

"Funny. I didn't know Sam had any friends."

"That's because I'm not Sam's friend," he scorned. "I'm looking for a girl."

Bucky inched closer to him. "I know lots of girls," he quipped.

The man smiled dangerously. "I'm looking for a very specific one. Yay high, unchecked temper, tendency for trouble."

Bucky laughed without humour. "Doesn't narrow much down, buddy. I'm gonna have to ask you to leave."

"You must be the Winter Soldier," the man mused.

"I go by James Barnes," Bucky snapped. "You must be Quentin Beck." Bucky had recognized him right away.

Quentin Beck spread his arms in a wide gesture. "The one and only. I suppose she told you about me."

"She didn't have to. I can smell a bastard from a mile away."

Beck clenched his fists, face contorting nastily, and stepped forward. "You little—"

Despite the sweltering heat, Bucky felt a coldness wash over him. His advanced senses picked up on footsteps coming from around the back. His head whipped to the side just as the girl rounded the corner. She wore jeans and nothing else, her white camisole still wet and slightly see-through. Bucky watched with dread as she took in the sight in front of her, blinking confusedly. The colour slowly drained from her flushed cheeks, and she froze as her brain caught up with her eyes.

"Sweetheart?" Beck's demeanour rapidly changed, and he stalked forward with his hands raised non-threateningly. "I've been looking everywhere for you."

Bucky blocked his path with a glare.

When Beck noticed her state of undress, he became angry, clenching his fists at his side. He noted Bucky's bare chest, his low-hanging jeans, and the girl's see-through top. "What the fuck is going on here?" Beck demanded.

When he fixed his icy glare on her, she reanimated, staggering back with a loud gasp, Baby Girl tripped over a rock but continued scooting backwards as she fell over. The raw fear emanating from her was enough to undo Bucky. Bucky shoved Beck as hard as he could—without using his super strength—and slammed him against his car.

"Motherfucker," Beck hissed, clutching his side.

"I suggest you leave before you really piss me off," Bucky threatened, stalking closer.

Beck staggered away, putting his car between them. "Not without my fiancé," he seethed.

"Fiancé, huh?" Bucky turned toward the girl. She was still on the ground, carefully watching the scene with wide eyes. He waited until she looked at him, then gave her a soft smile, silently urging her to trust him. "Are you his fiancé, Baby Girl?"

She jerked her head in denial. "No."

"There you have it. You heard the lady." Bucky's voice lowered dangerously. "Now leave. Before I make you leave."

"She's lying!" Beck screamed. And Bucky got the impression he was used to getting his way. "I gave her a ring."

Bucky had cornered Beck against the hood of his car and was looming dangerously over his crouched figure. "I don't see any ring. Now leave!"

Beck unlocked the car, jerking open the driver's side and inelegantly lumbering in. "This isn't over yet, Winter Soldier," he spat, and with one last seething glare toward the girl, he sped off.

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insanityclause · 5 months ago

Text

Over the past 13 years, Tom Hiddleston has died more times than he can recall. “Let me think about this,” the actor tells us, pausing to count in his head. “I think, officially, there were two big ones.”

He’s referring to his many exits from the Marvel Cinematic Universe, the blockbuster franchise in which he’s played shape-shifting Norse god Loki Laufeyson since Kenneth Branagh’s 2011 film “Thor”—the son of Asgardians Odin (Anthony Hopkins) and Frigga (Rene Russo), and the half-sibling of Thor (Chris Hemsworth), the god of thunder.

The character has since bounced between villain and reluctant antihero across five films, a handful of post-credits scenes, and Michael Waldron’s Disney+ spinoff series “Loki,” which Hiddleston also executive produces. The show wrapped its second—and supposedly final—season last November. The finale presents an end for the character, but not one of the aforementioned “big ones.”

Hiddleston’s first “official” farewell came in Alan Taylor’s 2013 sequel “Thor: The Dark World,” which saw the god of mischief take a sword to the chest to save his beefy brother. “As written in the first script, it was a true sacrifice,” Hiddleston says. Unfortunately for Marvel’s long-term plans, the actor had done too good a job playing the trickster.

“When Marvel [executives] were testing the movie, they’d given [viewers] questionnaires that said, ‘Is there anything you didn’t understand?’ ” he remembers. “Literally every single audience member said, ‘Well, obviously, Loki’s not really dead.’ ”

In classic comic-book fashion, the character did return, gallivanting alongside his brother in Taika Waititi’s 2017 follow-up “Thor: Ragnarok.” He died again one year later (“big one” number two) in the Russo brothers’ “Avengers: Infinity War.” There were no smokescreens or questionnaires this time; audiences watched as Loki’s neck was crushed by the purple fist of intergalactic warlord Thanos (Josh Brolin).

Hiddleston remembers arriving in Atlanta to shoot his final scene and immediately bumping into Brolin. “He came up to me, gave me this huge hug, and said, ‘I’m so sorry, man.’ ”

He meant it, too; everyone meant it. The sun, it seemed, had actually set on Hiddleston’s MCU journey. “At the end of that scene, I got a big round of applause, and everybody was so sweet and kind and gracious,” he says. “I got notes and emails saying, ‘Tom, you’ve done so much for us—what a journey. Come and see us anytime.’ I really thought that was the end.”

And it was, for real, right up until it wasn’t—when the time-traveling shenanigans of 2019’s “Avengers: Endgame” blasted a younger version of Loki out of the established canon and into his own series. Over two seasons, the multiversal storyline envisions the title character as a figure who exists outside time and space. Across all there is, was, and may come to pass, there will always be a Loki, in some form, wreaking havoc.

Hiddleston has long since accepted what this means for him as an actor. Maybe “Loki” Season 2 really was his last time in the role; or maybe he’ll play him until the sun burns out. “I’ve realized that, in human consciousness, that’s who Loki is,” he says. “Loki is this ancient, mythic character, who, in our collective mythology, represents the trickster, the transgressor, the boundary-crosser, the shape-shifter—somebody who’s mercurial and spontaneous and unpredictable who will always confound your expectations and wriggle out from underneath your certainties and convictions. Someone who we need and [who] is necessary.”

Hiddleston pauses, getting emotional. “Maybe Loki escaping death a couple of times is sort of an emblem of who he is in our culture,” he says, grinning at his own gusto. The actor has a habit of being self-deprecating about the depth of the character’s lore. “I spend a lot of time thinking about Loki. You can probably tell.”

You can tell, and it’s incredibly endearing. Talking to Hiddleston about Loki feels like discussing Shakespeare’s Richard III with Laurence Olivier or Tennessee Williams’ Blanche DuBois with Jessica Lange. They were actors who put their definitive stamps on those roles by returning to the well and constantly digging deeper.

In conversation, Hiddleston is equally as likely to reference comic-book arcs as he is the ancient, anonymous Old Norse scribes of the “Poetic Edda” or Richard Wagner’s epic four-cycle opera “Der Ring des Nibelungen.” He speaks reverently of actors who embodied the trickster god before him, like Jim Carrey in Chuck Russell’s 1994 comedy “The Mask” and Alan Cumming in Lawrence Guterman’s 2005 sequel, “Son of the Mask.” He also heaps praise on those who played the part after him, such as his “Loki” costars Sophia Di Martino, Richard E. Grant, Deobia Oparei, and—in one very surreal Season 1 moment—“some alligator they found somewhere.” He cites legendary Marvel creators Stan Lee, Jack Kirby, and Walter Simonson alongside the likes of English essayist Walter Pater and Irish playwright George Bernard Shaw, who once wrote of life as a “splendid torch” to keep burning for those who follow.

“Loki is ‘a sort of splendid torch which I have got hold of for the moment,’ ” Hiddleston quotes, “and I want to make it burn as brightly as I can before passing it on to future generations.”

This level of study started before he even landed the role. He recalls the 24 hours leading up to his “Thor” audition, when he was 28 years old. After graduating from the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art in 2005, he quickly earned small-screen and stage acclaim—but he hadn’t yet achieved a major breakthrough. When he received the script for “Thor,” it felt familiar. “I remember thinking, This is almost Shakespearean, this language,” Hiddleston says. “What’s the best example I can [look to] of an actor who managed to humanize and make real this elevated world of myth?”

He found the answer in Christopher Reeve, who played the title role in Richard Donner’s 1978 blockbuster “Superman.” “He’s masterful in that film,” Hiddleston says. “In a way, it’s a similar premise: He’s a god or he’s a being from a different realm, and it’s not naturalistic in the way that we might expect. He does it so truthfully, and it’s so clear and clean and open and honest. I thought, If I can even approximate or get close to the kind of clarity that Christopher Reeve had in those films, I’ll be lucky.”

And then, the morning of his “Thor” audition, Hiddleston went for a run, “which is my habit before doing anything unusual,” he explains.

Running has remained a constant throughout the actor’s MCU tenure. At any given moment over the last decade, the god of mischief was likely doing laps around Marvel’s go-to shooting location, Pinewood Studios (now Trilith Studios) in Atlanta. “Life is movement; I really believe that,” Hiddleston says.

“I find when I’m running or walking, the repetitive nature of it relaxes the mind and allows ideas and inspiration to come from a deeper place. I see my work as an actor—especially in preparation for a project or a scene—as almost preparing myself to be open and ready to receive ideas, to receive energy from other actors, to receive energy from my imagination.”

Hiddleston found the technique particularly helpful when he was filming a scene for the “Loki” series premiere that he calls “one of the most thrilling challenges I’ve ever had as an actor.” In it, Loki has been poached from the flow of time itself by the temporality-policing Time Variance Authority and forced to watch what is, essentially, a highlight reel of his entire MCU arc. It’s one of the most deeply existential moments you’ll ever find streaming alongside the likes of “Bluey” and the “Cars” movies. Here is a man watching the sum total of his life—his hopes, his dreams, his failures, his own death—play out in a 30-second clip that ends with the cold, clinical words: “End of file.”

“I just kept imagining: If you were afforded the opportunity or forced to watch your own death as a bystander, it would bring about an existential shock and crisis unlike any other,” Hiddleston explains. “It was a scene where I thought, I don’t have a reference for how to play this. I just have to allow shock, disgust, disgrace, shame, disbelief, acceptance, incredulity, and sorrow to exist in the center of me.”

As an executive producer on the series, Hiddleston had a say as to which of Loki’s many misdeeds would play in the sequence. He chose clips like Frigga’s death in “Thor: The Dark World” and his father’s final words in “Thor: Ragnarok”—moments Hiddleston knew would most fill the character with regret. As production was preparing to shoot the scene, he asked first assistant director Richard Graves for a 20-minute warning.

“I decided to jog around the stage and internalize as many of those memories of those people, those characters, those actors [as possible]—to try and find the center of my own vulnerability,” Hiddleston says. “Part of the joy of it was just going back to basics, trying to simplify this very complex thing…. Go for a jog, get into your body, allow yourself to be open, and just be there; just feel it.”

One “Loki”-like time jump later, Hiddleston found himself in a similar situation as he was preparing to shoot his final moment of Season 2—a scene that effectively caps Loki’s 13-year arc. Across 12 episodes, the show guided its title character toward a truly heroic end: With all of existence on the verge of collapse, he steps out of time to tie the strands of every reality together. As the credits roll, Loki sits at the center of time, holding in place all that is—alone.

It’s a lot for any actor to internalize, especially one who’s performing solo in front of a blue screen. With 45 minutes to cameras rolling, episode co-director Aaron Moorhead made a suggestion. “He said to me, ‘Why don’t you go back, if you can bear it, and watch some of your work [over] the last 15 years?’ ” Hiddleston remembers. “ ‘Take it in, see what it means to you, and then carry it when you step out onto the stage.’ ”

The actor took Moorhead’s advice to heart. And suddenly, without meaning to, he was mirroring the moment that started the series: absorbing the sum total of Loki’s MCU run. But this time, his regret had been replaced with gratitude. Hiddleston watched clips from “Thor,” remembering a time when he and Hemsworth had yet to ascend to the A-list. He recalled working with powerhouses like Hopkins and Russo, and the bonds he forged with the “original six Avengers” in 2011. He thought about how fun it was to film “Thor: Ragnarok” with Tessa Thompson and Jeff Goldblum, and of the more recent friendships he found with his “Loki” castmates Di Martino and Owen Wilson.

“I thought, What Loki is doing, he is doing for his friends. And so, Tom, why don’t you do it for your friends?” Hiddleston says. “That’s where the two of us met in that moment. And then I was so grateful I had this most amazing crew, and we did it together.”

The actor is, of course, noncommittal as to whether this is actually the end of his MCU run. The franchise is scheduled out until at least 2027, and Hemsworth has mentioned his desire to make another “Thor” film. And if Loki’s past has proven anything, even the most official endings can be undone.

Either way, it seems to Hiddleston that something significant has ended, even if it’s just Loki’s full-circle arc. “I hope it feels redemptive because his broken soul is partially healed; and you see that this character, who is capable of love, has made a decision from and for love,” he says. The actor cites the “beautiful prologue” of the first “Thor” film, in which Hopkins’ Odin tells his two sons: “Only one of you can ascend to the throne, but both of you were born to be kings.”

“At the end of Season 2, Loki is sitting on a kind of throne; but it’s not arrived in the shape he expected, and there’s no glory in it,” Hiddleston explains. “There’s a kind of burden, and he’s alone. He’s doing it for his friends, but he has to stay there without them. There’s a poetic melancholy there which I found very moving.”

For now, Hiddleston “can’t even conceive” of his life without Loki. He only hopes that he’s lived up to his guiding ethos as an actor, which he sums up with a plea from E.M. Forster’s 1910 novel “Howards End”: “Only connect the prose and the passion, and both will be exalted, and human love will be seen at its height.”

“The feedback loop for actors is that we get to inhabit a fiction,” Hiddleston says. “But hopefully, that fiction bears the shape of a truth that we recognize about life—that what we do reflects the ups and downs, the peaks and troughs, and the breadth and profundity of all of our lives.”

Hiddleston exists in that space between fiction and reality, the work and the resulting art, the prose and the passion. Long after we’ve moved on from our interview and started casually discussing the cherry blossoms blooming in New York, his eyes light up. He’s made another connection, remembered one more thing—just one last thing he’d like to impart about Loki.

He spends a lot of time thinking about Loki. You can probably tell.

“I’m so aware that the reason I’ve been able to play him for so long is because of the audience’s curiosity and passion,” Hiddleston says. “I’ve been delighted to find that for a character of such stature, he’s remarkably human. Many of the characteristics that people connect to in Loki are deeply human feelings. That’s been the pleasure, is infusing this elevated character with humanity.”

Even then, honestly, it feels as if Hiddleston, like Loki, could go on forever. Unfortunately, outside of the MCU, time moves in only one direction. Once again, he has to run.

This story originally appeared in the June 6 issue of Backstage Magazine. Subscribe to In the Envelope: The Actor's Podcast to hear our full conversation with Hiddleston (out 6/6).

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