Coffee, black.

by cupinoid

Summary:

Alex finally finished grad school, and submitted her application to work as a personal assistant to someone in congress, to work up you gotta work through right? What she wasn't expecting was to become the assistant to Bucky Barnes, the new congressman representing Brooklyn, who'd yet...to get a bill passed...Reguardless, totally an odd coincidence since she may or may not of hacked into confidential databases, learning every debrief, mission report, or found footage of the winter soldier. Can you blame her? The internet was free game when half the universe disappeared. But shes scared, actually terrified, because she can handle his schedules, and meetings, and phone calls and luncheons, but...feeling something towards him that's not analytical...?

Theres more! I promise its worth the read! Alex is an oc, due to my annoyance with 'you' and 'i' and 'y/n,' but I kept her vague so she could still be a self insert!

Chapter 1: Chapter 1

It was a nice day in Washington DC, not too many people, not too much noise. All things considered, it was the nations capitol, and an earth threatening event could quite literally happen at any moment.

Alex putted around her apartment, nervously glancing at the open laptop on her kitchen counter. The cuticles around her nailbeds were sore from chewing and her hair starting to grease with how much she was touching it.

She had finished up her bachelors degree only three months prior, applying to any and all agencies around the city for personal assistants.

That’s where she had to start. If she wanted to work her way up, she’d have to work her way through. Simple.

Except she didn’t know who she’d been assigned too, not until this email came in. The company she partnered with was meant to give her an open spot when one arrived, and she could decline or accept.

She took a breath, closing her eyes for a minute when that familiar whoosh sound emitted from her laptop.

Her heart sank.

She slowly approached the counter, seeing the new email to the left.

‘Congratulations on your application!-‘ She opened it, skimming through the meaningless information and then-

Congressman James Barnes.

She just stared for a minute, the information flooding her instantly, every minute detail she’d memorized over the past few years, since the explosion in Vienna, to the grainy images of him on the run with a vigilante Captain America. Sites after sites, logs and paperwork and files shed scanned and committed to memory, every interaction ever recorded with him, letters from nurses, mentions in museums. She remembered seeing him on screen the first time, when the UN meeting for the Sokvia accords had been bombed. She had sat on the edge of her couch with a few of her highschool friends, hands covering faces as they watched the feed.

When he was framed.

He had shown up on screen and almost instantly she’d recognized him from a tribute to Steve roger’s long ago visited as a kid.

Since then he’d become a minor obsession, nothing crazy, just absorbing any and all information found on him, tabs on blogs across the internet, access to confidential files. She had interned with Stark Industries for a bit, which she was often left unsupervised, and maybe a few times she tested her sleight of hand with the logins to company files.

And from there he was a fascination to her, from his brainwashing to his rise to heroism.

She knew all of it.

James Buchanan Barnes. Bucky Barnes.

She sat back in her chair with a mildly suprised huff.

Because why would it be anyone else?

———————————————————————

Alex was perfectly on time to the fundraising event. As she always was, arriving only twenty six seconds before seven, not a minute more, not a minute less.

She tugged her dress a little, attempting to fix the way it stretched across her stomach. It was a pretty pearl color, a simple dress really, tied around the neck and an open back, just touching the floor. Her hair was pinned back, out of her face, and silvery jewelry dotted her neck and wrists. She was invited by a friend, another personal assistant to a senator, her name was Alyssa, and she was definitely sleeping with said senator.

‘It might be a good opportunity to meet Bucky before officially working with him yknow?’ Alyssa had said with a shrug, applying mascara in the bathroom at dinner a few nights ago.

She really wasn’t even sure this was a good idea, it was an excuse to get out, to…network, as some people put it. But she hated the noise. Everything was so loud.

She let out an exhale and strutted through the main doors. Alex’s eyes searched the party, a grand staircase in the middle, various officers and government officials lined the railings. The lighting cast a warm glow over everyone, the dress code an easy black and white. A pretty jazz tune fluttered through the crystal chandeliers above her and circled the few couples dancing across the tile.

She weaved between people, muttering polite apologies as she attempted to spot the familiar face she’d seen through screens and documents all these years and- There he was.

Standing at the top of the staircase, surveying the crowd like she’d seen him do in surveillance footage a hundred times. Shoulders back, the slope of them almost calculated, jaw set and eyes scanning. His hands were carefully flexing by his sides, the gleam of the black vibranium not hard to miss, long sleeves or not. Between the chunks of metal she could see a sort of bronze color, she wondered what type of metal was used. Probably something noconductive. He had stubble coming in, a sign of his age, and his hair slicked back, revealing a growing out undercut.

She definitely ignored the way her stomach did some sort of weird twist at that detail.

She swore she could hear Lana Del Rey playing somewhere in her mind, her eyes lazily trailing down his tuxedo.

Steel blue. His eyes were a steel blue, she’d never noticed that detail before. They met hers for just a moment and time itself seemed to stop, her heels planted to the marble of the gala floor. And then he was gone, disappearing behind a few people and then steadily making his way down the steps. His eyes locked on someone behind her as he quietly pushed through the crowd, the expression of laser focus etched into him. The way he moved was so clearly practiced. He weaved between bodies and didn’t so much as touch them.

It was fascinating to the point that she was still rooted to the spot, and when he got close enough she stepped to the side, his eyes on hers again and she took the cue.

“Hello! Congressman Barnes,” she started, taking a step to block his path, which was hard considering he was much larger up close. Bucky paused for a moment, his eyes flicking between hers and somewhere past her shoulders. He shifted his weight, clearly switching out of the focus he was just in to spare a second of time. Media training. Her heart was racing, here was the man she could quite literally recite an entire documented history too, standing less than two feet away. “I’m Alex,” she continued as the smile he offered seem to be his only response. “I was wondering if I could speak to you? For a moment?” Her voice got a bit quiet as he had quite literally no expression, and faltered completely.

“Listen,” His voice was deeper than she imagined it being, sharp on the edges. “I’m sort of in the middle of a,” a split second of hesitation, her fingers tightened their hold on eachother in front of her, she noticed that. “There’s just someone I really gotta catch before they leave, um…h-here’s my card,”

He dug in his coat pocket and handed her a small white card, and was pushing back through the crowd before she could get out another word.

She blinked. Had she just been..dismissed?

He most likely didn’t know she was to be his new assistant, she’d seen him in interviews, his mind always seemed to be elsewhere.

But that’s okay, right? He wasn’t rude, he even gave her his card. The pointed edges of it digging into the pads of her pointer and thumb. But it would have been nice to converse a bit before she started on Tuesday, and now she realized how awkward that would be.

She exhaled out of her nose and watched as he walked up to another girl who looked around her age, staring at a warped version of the Avengers A. The girl, Mel, she believed, was the assistant to Director Valentina, which made her nose scrunch a bit in distaste.

What did he want with her? What was so important? she wondered.

She probably would find out soon enough as all of his personal information would be in her hands starting next week.

As if it wasn’t already.

——————————————————————-

7:00 AM On the dot.

Alex walked into the office building, led by a secretary at the front desk, down carpeted hallway after hallway, frames of past congressmen and current hung along the walls. They passed several other people rushing about, wearing jeans and blazers, mumbling into their phones or holding clipboards to their chest.

“This is Mr. Barnes office,” the pretty blonde girl came to a stop at one of the many cream colored doors they’d passed. She eyed the handle and then turned to Alex. “Good luck, the past two assistants have quit,” she said, like it was no big deal, Alex blinked and immediately her face shifted in question to which the girl quietly laughed before she could speak. “They claimed it was because he was too quiet and never needed anything,” she looked around and leaned in a little. “But I think it was hard to be alone in a room with him without wanting to be pinned to a wall,” she giggled behind her hand.

Alexs eyebrows shot up and went to respond but was cut off by the door swinging open.

There he was again, his face a mixture of boredom and suspicion as he froze misstep. His eyes landed on hers and recognition crossed his features.

“Mr Barnes,” the blonde girl Alex had already forgotten the name of said, “This is Alexandria wyvern, she’s your new PA.”

“Yes we…we met,” Bucky breathed, shoving his hands in his pockets, then yanking one out to stick into the air for a handshake.

“Yeah we did,” Alex cracked a smile, looking between the two before shaking his hand.

His eyes were looking into hers like he could read her intentions, a quick flick up and down her outfit before his shoulders relaxed.

“I was just…heading to go grab some coffee, if you’d like to join,” he offered, his eyes not leaving hers. His voice was the same, polite but edged, she wondered if it was a sign of his age or his torment.

“I can grab it!” Alex chirped, “I mean…” that’s my job. “How do you like it?” she asked, her head tilting slightly to the side.

“Black,” he replied, it looked like he was going to respond again, but he withheld, like he was figuring out what they’d want to hear.

She nodded sharply and turned, only to realize she had no clue where to go, the blonde immediately caught up, shooting bucky a flirty smile over her shoulder to which he just stiffly waved and went back in his office. The blonde showed her the main break room, where several others were bustling about, she was pointed towards the multiple coffee machines and mentioned that bucky liked a specific blend, one imported from Wakanda.

That made sense, since he spent quite a bit there, she realized as she scooped some out. Wakandian imports were rare, mostly only with deeply known partners, but, it made sense they’d ship this out to him, she decided. Adding that small detail to the filing cabinet of information of her brain. She was debating how much to reveal that she knew,

Would he ask her?

Did she want him to?

His door was open when she came back; she took that as an invitation, knocking softly, to which he immediately stood.

“It’s nice to meet you officially, sorry about the other night,” He started, watching her as she approached his desk with the cup of coffee. His office smelled faintly of wood, a warm spice, and old books.

“Oh no worries, I was just going to introduce myself, but I suppose I could do that now, I’m-“

“Alexandria,” he finished, gently taking the cup from her.

“Just Alex.” She replied with an awkward smile, standing up straighter. No one had called her Alexandria in a very long time, she always felt it was too many syllables. But the way he had said it, almost a hint of a russian accent, buried deep under years of practice learning English again, made her take a breath.

Bucky motioned to the chair across from his desk, a pretty large oak one. There wasn’t much on it: a computer and keyboard, a few pens scattered about, and a photo. As she sat, she let her eyes linger for a moment, it was from, well, what she could assume was a while ago, since his hair passed his shoulders, one arm around Steve Rogers and the other around Sam Wilson. Her mind raced with information about the Avengers, the countless documents she’d read on all of them. Bucky cleared his throat, and she shot him a smile. This was insanely awkward; he was so familiar to her, yet he had just met her.

“Um…I can assure you, my past assistants, they...” He paused, waving his arm around, the metal glinting from the windows. “There was nothing weird going on, they simply left, I was never told as to why…” he trailed off, and she busied her hands in her lap, studying the way he avoided eye contact. Bucky sighed and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. “There was nothing going on between my assistants and me prior to their absence.” He rushed out, and she tilted her head, confused as to why he was telling her this.

Oh…

“Oh!” she replied, “you heard the comment earlier-“ She started, through a laugh, heat creeping up her neck. She hoped he didn’t think that was…on her mind.

“Well, it was right outside my door-“

“You have heightened senses.” She jumped in, and he froze for a moment.

“You are aware of that?” He raised a brow, and she actually almost laughed.

Aware of it? She had memorized his skill set, his symptoms due to the serum, his training was different from Captain America's, different senses were stronger than others, considering his line of work. Different from the majority of the super soldiers S.H.I.E.L.D. had documented.

“Of course,” she nodded, running her palms down her pant legs, as she was already sweating, and he hadn’t even done anything but sit there. “I did my research, if I am to work as your assistant, I needed to know as much as possible.”

She played it off as that, and totally not years of stalking. Because that would be weird.

He noticed the way she avoided his eyes, the way she lingered on the photo across his desk, the way her fingers twitched when he spoke, how the nailbed around her thumb was red.

“Right, so you’re aware I didn’t have a choice as to who I worked for.” his tone was bored, like he’d said that statement more times than he wanted.

“Yes, I know about your time as the winter soldier,” she replied, carefully choosing her words; she didn’t say with Hydra, but a title. “But I also know you fought alongside Captain America, I know you were in Wakanda to override your sleeper code, and I know you helped defeat Thanos.” She said the most basic information she knew, her eyes locked on his. “I am aware of what I signed up for with this job, and I am not scared to work alongside you, Mr Barnes.”

She had wanted to make that clear from the start. After years of watching his transformation, she had seen the way he almost flinched when people raised their voices in interviews, or how his eyes always looked tired. He was…timid, besides how tense his shoulders always seemed to be. She didn’t want him to think she would run in fear if he ever snapped.

Bucky didn’t respond right away, he studied her, the way she spoke with such factual evidence of his heroism that he never really…considered. He fought because he didn’t want to be a killer anymore, he fought because Steve did, he fought because he finally had a reason, too. His expression remained unreadable, a training that was now second nature.

He almost stopped her after the Wakanda comment. She had slipped. That piece wasn’t public knowledge. He noted that.

“Bucky.” He replied simply. “Please, don’t use formalities, I’m old enough,” he let out a soft laugh, and she seemed to relax an inch.

Their age gap wasn’t massive; she was close to turning twenty-five, and if she calculated correctly, he was somewhere around his late thirties to early forties. Not anything…crazy.

Alex nodded, standing up. “I will leave you alone now, I have to gather your schedules for the next few weeks and create a calendar.“ She said, pushing the chair in and he watched, standing with her as she left his office, gently closing the door behind her. Then she let out a breath, pushing off the door and down the hallway. Superhuman hearing, she sure as hell didn’t need him knowing that her heart was racing.

Chapter 2

Notes:

This ones a little short? The way I divided up these chapters sent post 2am me into shock. Also I hardly edit these so pls be aware of errors

The next few days, she spent in and out of his office. She knew quite a bit about him already, but he still gave her small bits and pieces of information as she asked.

“So you only drink Wakandian coffee?” She asked, eyes shooting up to his, ready to jot down anything he said.

“Yeah,” he scratched the back of his neck, “it was never something I enjoyed prior, but Okoye makes one hell of a cup.” He smiled softly before returning to his own paperwork.

She nodded and rushed out of his office as someone called for her.

Bucky began to notice how she never lingered; she’d be in and out with efficiency, she didn’t stay and watch, ready to spring out of the room at something he might say or do, like his past assistants did. He enjoyed that she didn’t hover, treated him…well, normally. 

He began to ask her questions about herself, countering her own. 

“Just to make sure we are clear, you have a security detail around your apartment from eight in the morning to eight at night, correct?” She asked, tapping the edge of a stylus against her tablet. 

“Correct. Although I’m not sure why I need a security detail.” He grumbled, flexing the fingers on his vibranium arm. She smiled softly in response, jotting that down in her notes.

“Where did you graduate?” He blurted out before she could slip away, and her eyes shot up to him. He never knew the correct timing as to when to ask her anything in general, as much as she told him he could.

“MIT.” She replied, running a hand through her hair. She graduated only recently, having to jump through many loops due to the blip. “Computer engineering,” she continued after a beat of silence. 

“Ah, so you’re smart.” He countered, crossing his legs as he leaned back in his chair, to which she immediately looked away and nodded. Compliments about her intelligence always made her squirm, as she never considered it a gift.

“Yeah, you could say that.” 

“You’re what, like twenty?” He asked, leaning his head into his hand.

“…five,” she finished, “about to be twenty-five.” 

“Jesus,” he muttered with a half laugh, rubbing a hand down his face, “I’ve got a century on you.”

That was incorrect. She made a sound and shifted her weight. her brain always repeated a statement when someone was incorrect; she never knew why, but it was uncontrollable to fix.

“Actually,” she paused, and he raised a brow, realizing she probably should keep her mouth shut. “Actually due to Cyrostasis, you’re closer to your forties..” she trailed off as he stared at her.

“How do you know that?” He asked, tipping his head a degree to the right.

“Well,” she shifted her weight, almost unnoticeably.

But not to a former assassin trained to read a twitch like a confession. 

“I-I mean it’s common knowledge that HYDRA used extreme measures to prolong the life span of their... assets.” She avoided his eyes, unsure of how he’d react to her pointing that out.

He just watched her, his steel blue eyes never leaving her, and she wished she could melt into the floor.  

“Still quite the gap,” he replied, testing her, seeing how she’d answer. Why did he care? Why was he attempting to validate their numerical difference?

She met his eyes and gave him a half shrug, “Not by much,” and with that, she smiled at her tablet, now held in front of her again, and disappeared from his office.

————————————————————————

“He can’t stand certain members of the house, remember that, he doesn’t like the sound of a phone ringing, he won’t ever say it but i’ve seen him leave a room due to it, monitor the number coming in and out, we don’t need anyone suspicious trying to reach him. Trace them if you have too,” A man about her height recited to her, handing her manila folder after folder, her arms getting heavy.

“Got it,” she replied with a quick smile and added it to the ever-growing mound on her desk. She never saw that man again, she wondered if he was some sort of secret service, or possibly sent in to see if he had lost it yet.

She was given every schedule, his meetings, court appearances, mandated therapy, phone appointments, dinners, even down to a lunch and workout schedule.

Which was pretty intense, almost two solid hours, pushups, sit-ups, something called a dumbbell fly? Trying not to let her mind wander to that, she jogged up the stairs to her apartment. 

She cross-referenced her own intel, years of compiled files, secret encrypted ones scrounged from corners of the internet, recordings, and debriefings both HYDRA and SHIELD had left unattended. Well, she says unattended, but really, it just took some mild coding to get past their security. 

Besides all of the loads of information she shuffled through on a daily basis, she integrated several of her own devices into his schedule.

She’d have a seating chart rearranged if she knew he’d be sitting beside a hostile coworker at a dinner, or she’d make sure there were no cameras in hotel rooms he’d stay at.

She’d never touch stuff in his office, as everything was perfectly placed, and she knew he’d get overwhelmed if something was off. She didn’t raise her voice, annoyed with him or not, and she made sure to always give him space.

Alex successfully overcompensated without his awareness, or so she thought.

The next week, she ran through his schedule with him as soon as she’d come in in the mornings, seven am sharp, coffee, black, in hand. She’d set it on his desk as he rubbed his temples, and she’d go down the list for the day. 

He enjoyed her company, more than he’d admit out loud, she sorta…lit up the room, she cracked jokes, and when he wouldn’t laugh, she’d awkwardly say “ohh kayyyy” and continue speaking. That would make him laugh, to which she’d just stare blankly at him.

Bucky wasn’t insanely conversational, he was actually pretty quiet, she wondered if it was because of his past, only speaking when spoken to, and learning to break it.

She wanted to break it.

Chapter 3

Notes:

Guys this was my best attempt at tension building yikes

A shift began to occur; she didn’t notice it at first. he’d arrive a few minutes before her, already at his desk when she knocked, or maybe a small joke whispered during a house meeting. 

One thing that oddly bothered him enough to communicate more was her refusal to use his name. 

“Congressman Barnes, I-“ She’d start, one hand holding the doorframe to his office as she leaned in, leg crossed behind the other, and hair curtaining down her shoulder. 

“Bucky.” He’d correct, looking up at her, a smile playing at her lips. She’d simply huff and continue her statement.

He was determined to hear her to say it.

“Here’s your schedule for today, Mr. Barnes, as well as a protein shake, you skipped breakfast. Again.” She chirped, a hint of sarcasm, as she passed him a folder and popped the lid of a cardboard drink.

“I’ll drink it if you stop calling me that,” he replied , his tone held something she didn’t recognize, almost…flirty? 

No, she had to be mistaken.

He stopped walking, putting his hands on his hips, to which she bit back a remark and simply tilted her head back to look up at him. He was a lot closer than he usually was, and she ignored the hum that started in her ears as she stared.

“Bucky,” she replied, and he instantly dipped his head, his tounge poking the inside of his cheek.

“Would you please stop acting like a teenage boy and drink the damn shake?” She shoved the drink at his chest to which he hesitated but took, and sipped as they continued down the sidewalk. 

————————————————————————

One thing Alex learned very fast about him? He was everywhere all the time all at once. Somehow. 

He was late, again, to a meeting, in fact, he missed it completely. And if he didn’t show up in the next- she checked her watch- six minutes, he’d be late for the next one.

She blew a piece of hair out of her face and waited just inside his office door, her mind already coming up with excuses for his absence. Again. For the third time! This week. Being the assistant to an ex-terrorist turned savior was not for the weak-willed. 

Then his doors burst open and he rushed into the room like it was on fire, to which she jumped out of her seat, like a startled cat.

“Jesus-“ she started, hand over her chest.

“Hey,” his voice barely heard over the door slamming into the wall, he grimaced and glanced at it, it was fine, but sometimes he was unaware of his own strength. “I’m sorry I’m late,” he panted, “again.” 

Alex frowned at him, a fisted hand on her hip as she approached his chair, to which he turned it towards her.

“If you don’t want to have these meetings, just communicate,” she tucked her hair behind her ear, “and I can come up with excuses.” He promptly shook his head.

“No. They’re good, they’re good for me.” His tone quieted as his breathing evened. “It..It helps the other officials come to..I don’t know, dislike me a little less,” his eyes were now on her own, a softer blue hue than she was used to, as he admitted that small window into his mind.

She checked her watch again.

five minutes.

“You’re right,” she shrugged, “the American people want a symbol, they want someone they can trust, you have to build on that,” she looked down at him, his shoulders still tense.

“I guess.” He replied, raising his eyes to meet hers, offering a smile. His hair was a mess, after rushing through whatever errands and then nearly splintering his door, his usual slick back look was thrown off completely. 

“Here,” she said softly, opening his top drawer and pulling out a little container of hair gel.

“Wait, since when was that in there-“ he pointed, eyebrows raised. How did she know what brand of hair gel he used? 

“Since I stocked this office with essentials, that was weeks ago,” she waved him off, swiping some on her fingertips and rubbing her hands together. “Your hair's a mess, sit,” she said softly, almost a mumble as she gestured to his office chair, to which he eyed her and sat down. She watched him carefully, for any sign of hesitation and ran her fingers through his hair.

Should she have asked first? Would he freak out and push her away? Had she crossed a line? Was a threshold just broken she couldn’t come back from? 

He completely tensed under her touch; she felt it immediately, and she realized he probably hadn’t actually been touched in a way that wasn’t a right hook in a long time. 

“Sorry I probably should have asked,” she softly chuckled, her hands fully buried in his hair as she awkwardly bent to look at him. 

“N-no no, it’s fine,” he said hurriedly, his hands lifting as if to grab her and immediately dropping. “Continue, p-please..” The last word came out shaky, and she nodded quietly, proceeding to burry her hands in his hair again.

For how long he’d been around, and how long she’d poured into research, he’d never been seen alongside a woman, besides Natasha Romanoff, which was a long time ago. And after everything Hydra did…? She swore she could remember something someone had said in a grainy video of his debriefs. A joke about sending a prostitute to his next mission for a little ‘fun.’ But he always had refused it, her Russian was rough, but he tended to answer in two words or less. She shoved those thoughts out of her head, the recordings she’d watched over and over tucked below the surface.

Silence hung as she pushed her pinky finger down his scalp to force a middle part, dragging her hands down to split his hair, and swiping it back behind his ears. She swore she felt him shudder, his breathing was shallow, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment, before opening and locking on her face, as she was distracted, concentrating to make it look less wind swept.

“There,” she said softly, pulling a few pieces out to frame his face, noticing the blown look in his eyes. “What? It’s better than it being knotted.” She said, her tone defensive, unsure as to why he hadn’t spoken, why she couldn’t hear him breathing and why he hadn’t moved.

He was still just staring at her.

“I-I“ He finally started, his voice hoarse. He couldn’t get a word out; his brain was blank, for once, it was absolutely silent. It took everything he had not to grab her wrists and force her hands back against him. It had been so long since he was shown affection, and now? Now it was like she had dangled a piece of heaven in front of him and took off running.

Alex rolled her eyes and nudged him out of his seat, “You have a meeting to attend to bucky, we can finish whatever gibberish you’re attempting to spew at me later,” she pushed him out of the door, as he was still trying to speak and shut them so he couldn’t get distracted. Again.

She tried not to think about how her fingers felt in his hair the rest of the day. It was like her hands were buzzing the rest of the afternoon. 

Chapter 4

Bucky began to pick up on her slip ups. 

“Do you want me to dim the lights?” she asked one time, as they waited in a meeting room for other officials to arrive.

“Why?” He raised an eyebrow, turning to her. 

A beat, then she shrugged. “Just a thought…the lighting can be kinda harsh.” She played it off, resuming her focus on her tablet. He knew he didn’t tell her that the lights give him migraines, that they were the same ones from bases he lived on. 

He tapped his finger against his knee. 

Another time she gently turned him down another hallway, to which he glanced over at her as she matched his pace.

“The meeting is that way.” He said, his tone not questioning but stated. 

“Yes but there’s security scanners, you don’t like the sound.” She replied, matter of fact like it was common sense.

“I’ve never mentioned that.” 

She paused, only a moment, “I read it in a file, somewhere at some point,” she dismissed, perfect timing as he had to turn into a meeting. 

It was late, and most of the building had emptied out. Bucky was still at his desk, jaw tight as he paged through a folder he should’ve signed off hours ago.

She knocked lightly and stepped inside without waiting.

“Congressman Renner wants a callback before morning. Something about the infrastructure bill timeline.” She held up a sticky note.

Bucky took it without looking, eyes still on the folder. “Thanks.”

She lingered this time—rare for her. He noticed.

Then, offhandedly, she said, “You always get tense when you see Renner’s name. Is it ‘cause of his voice? That scratchy thing? Or the fact he walks like your old handler?”

He froze.

Slowly, he looked up.

“My what now?”

shit shit shit she chanted in her head, she shouldn’t have said that. 

Her mouth parted slightly, but nothing came out at first. Then she smiled—tight, too practiced. “I just meant—he’s got that military posture. Real stiff. You said something once about how guys like that used to be in charge of operations.”

“I did?” His voice was flat. Cool.

“Yeah, maybe… maybe you didn’t say it, maybe I read it in a—”

He stood.

“You read that where?”

Her clipboard dropped an inch.

Bucky stepped around the desk, not angry, not yet—but every part of him was alert now, tuned to her like she was a threat. Or something else he hadn’t decided yet.

She backpedaled. “It was probably just in one of the post-briefings—about HYDRA's command structure. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

He didn’t say anything for a long moment. Just stared at her. Reading.

Her face was still. But her knuckles were white on the clipboard.

“You know,” he said slowly, “I’ve worked with spies. Trained ones. They slip less than you do.”

She flinched.

His voice dropped. “But you’re better than they were at hiding in plain sight.”

She didn’t reply. She couldn’t.

He stepped back, like he’d decided to give her space. Or maybe to see what she did with it.

“…Call Renner back,” he said finally, turning away. “Tell him I’ll speak to him in the morning.”

She stood frozen in the doorway.

He didn’t watch her leave—but he listened to every step.

Once she got home she panicked, she didn’t know what to do. He was onto her now. 

Handler? Are you kidding me? 

She felt nauseous, she couldn’t believe she let that out, she raked her hands through her hair, spinning in a small circle. 

If he found out how deep her knowledge went would he fire her? Turn her in? Her sick obsession during five years of isolation was highly illegal, if not punishable by prison.

She didn’t sleep that night. 

They walked down the hall together toward yet another meeting over a peace treaty still being argued.

“So after this is lunch with Congressman Joseph and his wife, Georgina. They’re both very sweet—I spoke with them last week,” she said, slightly breathless as they came to a stop. 

His hands were tucked in his pockets as he just… watched her. Studied her. It was unsettling—she wasn’t used to that kind of attention.

“This is yours.” She fumbled, handing him his binder—the one she’d finally finished filling with a personal calendar and information she’d change out for him.

He turned it over in his hands. The cover was metallic, like brushed steel.

“It’s… metallic,” he noted, brow quirked.

“Felt it was on theme,” she said with a sideways smile, nodding toward his arm.

He rolled his eyes, but there was a hint of a smile there, too. So he wasn’t upset at her, at least not yet.

A few people passed them in the hallway. She glanced over his shoulder, hesitating. Then, lowering her voice, she added, “Oh—and if Michael, one of Val’s assistants, approaches you… keep your distance. He smells like sterilization chemicals.”

He dipped his head to hear her better. That cologne of his—woodsy, clean, distracting—hit her all at once. Their eyes locked in a strange beat of silence. Then he nodded once, turning away with a polite grin at a passerby.

But when he looked back, his eyes were suspicious. Tense.

“How do you know I don’t like—” he began, but Congressman Pierce clapped him on the shoulder from behind.

“Bucky! Glad you made it this time. You’re sitting next to me,” Pierce grinned, chewing gum, nodding at Alex before ushering Bucky away.

She disappeared in the opposite direction, heart pounding.

 

 

The next few hours blurred into phone calls, scheduling, and spinning absentmindedly in her office chair. She tried Wakandan coffee out of curiosity, only to nearly spit it back into the sink.

“That was awful,” she muttered, rinsing her mouth with water.

“Don’t like it?” a voice asked from the doorway.

She jumped. Hard. 

Bucky leaned casually against the frame, arms crossed. His hair was messy, strands hanging into his eyes—probably from running his hands through it. There were curls on the edges. 

Healthy curls. She’d never noticed that before.

Her heart tried to kick its way out of her chest.

“Christ,” she whispered, clutching the water cup. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“Sorry,” he chuckled, low and rough. “You’re oddly jumpy.”

“I’m used to being alone this late,” she said, softer now. “Didn’t think anyone was still here.”

“I move quiet. I’ll try to be louder next time.”

He stepped into the break room, approaching the small table. Something was off. He felt… still. Focused. She followed cautiously, sitting across from him.

“You were right, by the way,” he said.

“You’ll have to be more specific.”

“Michael. Smelled like a hospital room.”

A beat.

“Like sterilization.”

Her stomach dropped.

Shit.

He leaned back, arms folded across his chest, watching her. Calm. Too calm.

“So how did you know?” he asked.

She blinked. Time slowed. Don’t shift. Don’t fidget.

She cleared her throat. “I just… figured. You were in environments like that for years, as an assassin. Cold, sterile. I assumed the smell might… be a trigger.”

He hummed, not buying it.

“Alex.” He leaned forward, elbows on the table, lowering his head to meet her gaze.

She tried to play innocent. “Hmm?”

“I know when people are lying.” His voice was quiet. Firm. His metal hand dropped below the table—resting on her knee.

She froze. Goosebumps lit up her arms. He was touching her. And she was cornered.

She took a deep breath.

“Every mission you were sent on… when you were the Winter Soldier… it was recorded.”

He stilled.

“They recorded everything. Audio. Video. When Hydra bases were wiped out—by SHIELD, the government, whoever—those tapes were archived. Digitized.”

A pause.

“And I… traced them.”

His hand slowly pulled back. The loss of pressure reminded her of what she was admitting, and how she couldn’t step back. 

“Hydra routers were hard to crack. But after the Blip, with so many systems down—firewalls flickering, global outages—it was like open season. I followed IP trails. Found files. And watched them.”

He looked stunned. Like no one had told him any of this.

“You hacked into confidential databases to—what?” he asked, voice rising. “Spy on me?”

“It wasn’t spying!” she snapped. “I was bored. Five years of chaos. Sirens. Riots. Nothing to do, nowhere to go, half the world gone. I dove into the internet because it was there. Because no one stopped me.”

She was rambling now.

“I didn’t just look up to you. I looked up at everyone. I memorized reports. Patterns. I know about Natasha Romanoff, what the Red Room did, I know about Sam Wilson and his time in the military.” She saw him pause. “You were just… interesting.”

She broke eye contact, heart racing again. “I couldn’t fix anything. But I could understand it. I needed that. I needed something to grasp onto, and you just did…so much. You had such a longer story it was so much easier to follow.” She finally looked up from the table surface, her words hanging like smoke above their heads.

The silence between them was suffocating.

“Okay,” he said slowly. “Let’s circle back to your definitely illegal hobby.”

She almost laughed.

“You said something about surveillance,” he continued. “But Hydra erased most of my trail. They—” He cut himself off. Looked at her.

She just smiled. Like checkmate.

She pulled out her phone.

“This is how.”

He stared, lips parting slightly.

“We live in a digital age, Bucky. Everything’s on camera. Battle of New York? Manhattan’s security cameras were untouched by the Chitauri. Sokovia? Dozens of feeds. And you?”

She paused.

“You didn’t even realize half the time you were being filmed. I found footage from almost every Hydra base you were moved to. Even some missions.”

She shrugged. Not proud. But not ashamed either.

“I saw all of it.”

He just looked at her, there was something in his eyes, confusion, hurt at the resurface of his past laid bare, and awe.

“You weren’t exactly subtle,” she continued, “When you were…in that state, you were well hidden, but there were public exceptions, diplomats who ran out of their hotels, frantic, and shot in the street. You didn’t even use a silencer.” She tried to say it lightly, land as a joke, to which his eyes rolled like yeah I know.

Another moment of silence.

“Are you…are you upset? Are you going to turn me in?” The last part her voice dropped, her hands in her lap, she was scared. She had come to discover she really enjoyed working with him, how they could simply exist in each other's spaces without weird tension.

Alex tried to swallow. Her hands were ice-cold.

And finally, his voice came. Low. Measured. Precise.

“So let me get this straight.” He pushed to stand, taking a step against the faded carpet.

He held up a hand, counting off on his fingers as he began to pace. 

“You hacked into private military servers, bypassed several encryption protocols that have locked out entire agencies. Found Hydra surveillance footage that hasn’t seen daylight since the Cold War. Watched my missions. Studied me. Memorized trigger smells. And you did all of this while the world was falling apart.”

Jesus, when he said it like that, her mouth ran dry. She basically committed war crimes. 

He stopped pacing. Looked at her like she was a thesis he hadn’t fully finished reading yet.

“...All because you were bored.”

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

Then something shifted in his face. Just a little. 

The corner of his mouth twitched. His eyes darkened—not with anger, but something more dangerous. Something intrigued.

He took a step closer. The table is the only thing separating them now.

“You realize there are intelligence operatives who dream of that kind of access. That kind of instinct. And you—what? Did it in your pajamas during the Blip with a shitty internet connection and an obsession with superheroes?”

Her cheeks burned.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, more to himself than her. “No wonder I can’t keep up with you.”

He looked off, shaking his head once with a faint, incredulous laugh. Then back at her—slower this time. His eyes softer.

“I’m not mad.”

She blinked.

“I should be. I probably will be. Eventually. But right now?”

He leaned down, resting both hands on the table, caging her in without touching her. The chair creaked under her as she stiffened. His eyes were level with hers now, breath warm and steady.

“Right now, I’m just trying to figure out how the hell I didn’t see it sooner.”

“See what?” she whispered.

“That you’re ten times smarter than half the people I sit next to on the floor of Congress. That while they’re out here arguing over pipelines and press cycles, you were—what? Reverse-engineering global surveillance networks because you needed to?”

She couldn’t tell if he was mocking her or worshipping her. He was too hard to read.

“You watched me,” he said, voice dipping lower. “And not just clips. Not just highlights. You saw the ugly parts. The damage. And you didn’t flinch.”

He stared at her. Not with judgment. Not even confusion.

But with something startlingly like… respect.

“You don’t scare easy.”

Her mouth parted. He clocked it.

“Which is insane,” he added, pulling back just an inch. “Because I used to scare everyone.”

Another long pause.

“You’re insane, by the way.” his tone was lighter, more comical, not an insult.

Then his mouth quirked into something amused. His voice dropped again, into something warm. Unbearably close.

“But… for the record?”

He leaned a little closer, and her breath caught.

“If you ever do want to watch me again…”

His eyes flicked down. Then slowly back up.

“You don’t need to break the law.”

And with that, he straightened his jacket, rapped his knuckles lightly on the table, and turned to walk out. Calm. Composed. Nearly humming.

But before he crossed the threshold, he looked over his shoulder.

“Also,” he added, voice wry, “if you ever do go through my files again, leave a comment next time. Something like ‘love the arm, very thematic.’ ”

Then he vanished.

And she just sat there, dizzy, breathless, her heart trying to climb out of her chest and onto the table.

He wasn’t mad.

He was impressed. Interested.

And worse?

He liked it.

Chapter 5

Notes:

this was lowkey my favorite to write ngl

Alex had gone home and paced. She racked her brain on how to make this better, how to deal with the fact that he now held her deepest secret, in return; holding his. 

The sun had barely climbed over the Capitol dome when Alex pushed open the door to Bucky’s office, balancing a tablet, a coffee, and nerves made of sparking wire.

He looked up from behind his desk. Already there. Already working. His sleeves were rolled up again. Hair slightly damp like he’d showered recently. But the usual morning silence felt… different. Thicker. Like both of them were waiting for the other to reference last night’s confession.

Neither did.

“Morning,” she said, crisp and professional, placing his coffee down beside a stack of briefs

He gave her a polite smile. “Morning.”

She started to turn away, pretending to busy herself with the calendar app open on her tablet—but she could feel it. His eyes on her back. Like he wasn’t sure what version of her he’d get today.

God, it was awkward.

She hated awkward.

So, trying to ease the air, she pivoted back toward him, voice lighter: “I made a chiropractor appointment for you.”

He blinked. “What?”

“Next Thursday. Midday. Shouldn’t interfere with anything.”

“I don’t need a chiropractor.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Yes, you do.”

His brow furrowed slightly. “I’m literally enhanced.”

“Enhanced doesn’t mean ergonomically perfect,” she quipped, setting the tablet down. 

“You favor your left side. When you stand, when you sit—it’s subtle, but it’s there. Your spine compensates.”

Bucky looked like he was about to argue, but curiosity won out instead. “You noticed that?”

She nodded. “Of course I did.”

She crossed over to the front of his desk. Hesitated. Then held out her hands.

“Here. Give me your arms.”

He gave her a look. “Why?”

“Because you’re stubborn, and you need proof.”

Slowly, almost skeptically, he pushed back from his chair and lifted both arms—flesh and metal—and set them gently, carefully, across her upturned palms.

She blinked. The weight settled. Equal.

Wakandan tech.

She lifted her gaze to him, quietly stunned.

“They’re the same now,” she murmured. “Perfectly balanced.”

“They made it that way. Said symmetry was important.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t pull away.

“But Hydra didn’t care about symmetry,” she said softly. “Right?”

His expression shifted. Subtle. A shadow flickered behind his eyes.

“No,” he admitted. “That arm was heavier. Pulled on my back for years.”

Her fingers twitched slightly under the weight of him. Not because she was straining. But because she was feeling. Not the pressure. But the history.

“No wonder your posture’s a mess,” she said gently, glancing up again. “You’re probably carrying nerve tension on your right from compensating. Not to mention the choppy job they did, even removing the arm. Almost like they wanted to leave a reminder.” 

He stared at her, unreadable, as her hands slowly lowered—letting his arms drop back to his sides. But before he moved, she reached forward and brushed two fingers lightly along his shoulder, where flesh met fabric.

“Chiropractor,” she said again, smiling faintly. “You’re welcome.”

And for a second, just a second, she swore his whole posture changed—not because of injury, but because of her. His shoulders relaxed. His eyes softened.

The moment passed, but not completely.

As she turned to walk back toward the door, he called after her, voice lower:

“You notice everything, don’t you?”

She paused in the doorway. Glanced back over her shoulder.

“Only when it matters.”

Then she left him sitting there—quiet, thoughtful, his coffee cooling slowly at his elbow, and something warm blooming in his chest that had nothing to do with caffeine.

 

They seemed to get along pretty well after that. She still moved around him, planning his calendar months in advance, details no one else was thinking about but her.

Suit materials, tie designs, and the texture of the vehicle seats he was escorted in. It wasn’t just for him, it was also for her. 

She was cleared by security and Bucky himself after a few months of working there, with clearance to attend every meeting and conference.

He had claimed she was valuable, that he was “disorganized” and “sorta flighty” since losing the sleeper code, to one of the heads of security.

None of that was true.

He wanted an excuse for her to be by him as much as possible.

 

Press conferences were a nightmare. Too many cameras, the lights and sounds and voices mumbling turned into a hum in Alex’s ears. Having spent the previous night bent over her desk sorting through what reporters would be there and their companies, she was exhausted.

The room was too white.

The kind of sterile that made Bucky’s skin crawl—fluorescent light buzzing just a little too loudly, the faintest scent of floor cleaner and cold metal.

He was seated in a plush chair, suit sharp, posture perfect. Just like she told him. Hands on his thighs, right over left. Feet flat. Every breath measured. He could feel the camera on him—feel it, like a red laser dot between the shoulder blades.

The interviewer smiled, just a little too widely.

“So, Congressman Barnes—can I call you Bucky?”

Alex bristled, already irritated but the picture of elegance beside him.

He gave a curt nod.

“You’ve come a long way from your… let’s call them more classified days.”

A flash of teeth. Bucky didn’t smile back.

“I suppose so.”

“And the transition?” The interviewer pressed, the room was silent, the rest of the crowd listening for answers they were too afraid to look for. “From, say, missions in foreign airspace to committee meetings and press briefings?”

“I try not to compare,” he said. “Both require discipline.”

There was a beat. Alex took a slow and quiet breath to control the way her fingers twitched.

Then the interviewer leaned forward.

“Tell me… do you still remember your trigger phrases?”

The world dropped out from under him.

Alex’s eyes snapped to the man, It was quiet. Too quiet.

His left hand twitched in his lap.

She had to remind herself he was a grown man, she didn’t need to intervene. 

“Excuse me?” he said, even, but his voice didn’t feel like his own.

“Oh, sorry,” the man chuckled, flipping through notes. “Just curious how the government can be sure the Winter Soldier’s really… gone. I mean, full brainwashing reversal, cmon,” the man rolled his eyes like it was pathetic to even consider. “I do believe the journal was published, what did it start with… longing -“

He didn’t hear the rest.

All he heard was his breathing. Too loud. Too fast.

The chair beneath him felt too small. His collar was too tight. The air is thinner.

The training kicked in: count the exits, flex the hand, find the sound, ground the self.

He couldn’t move.

But then:

“Absolutely not.”

Her voice came sharp. Furious.

Bucky wasn’t even sure how she had gotten in front of him so fast.

She was on the stage before the interviewer could say another word, tablet clutched in one hand like she'd chuck it.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she demanded. “That question wasn’t pre-approved.”

The interviewer blinked, startled. “It’s public record—”

“That doesn’t give you the right to treat him like a specimen,” she snapped. “And I can assure you hydra agent code is not public record. You don’t get to poke at his trauma for your ratings.”

“Alex,” Buckys voice was low, she barely heard it as he stood, his metal hand gently grabbing her wrist, his eyes telling her it was okay, to calm down. 

Then she turned back to the interviewer, her voice like venom,

“You’re done.”

 

The door clicked shut behind her as she stormed in, still fuming.

“I got his license revoked,” she said, pacing in front of his desk. “Filed an incident report with the press liaison and the ethics board. He’s done. Blacklisted.”

Bucky sat quietly behind the desk, watching her. He still hadn’t taken off his blazer.

“You did all of that from the stage till now?” Bucky asked, meant to be sarcasm, but his tone was breaking.

“I cannot believe the nerve. That’s not journalism, that’s exploitation. I should’ve—God, I should’ve stepped in sooner—”

“You did good,” he said quietly.

She stopped mid-pace. Looked at him.

He exhaled slowly, then looked down at his hands, as if only just realizing they were shaking. “I didn’t know what to do.”

“You shouldn’t have had to,” she said immediately. “That’s not your job anymore.”

She stopped, a hand on her hip while the other rubbed her temples, trying to just relax; she had to remember there would be people who never liked him, never understood.

“From now on, every question will go through me. If anyone goes off script, I will have a security team personally escort them.” Her tone was scarily calm as she took a deep, slow breath and faced him.

He looked up at her then, really looked. Not like a boss or a soldier or even a congressman. Just a man trying to keep his pieces glued together.

“Thank you,” he said softly.

And then he hesitated.

He never hesitated. Not like this.

She gave him a soft smile and exited, no words needed, she could tell he wanted some time to process, to breathe.

A few hours passed, and by mid-afternoon, she felt someone behind her. Turning slowly, she jumped and sighed.

“Bucky, you’ve got to stop doing that,” she breathed, heart skipping a beat. He was always so quiet, even though he swore he’d work on it.

“You eat dinner yet?” he asked, voice low—like he wasn’t sure if he wanted her to hear.

She raised an eyebrow, cautiously. “Is that a trick question?”

He gave the faintest twitch of a smile, but didn’t look up.

“I was gonna cook.” A beat. Then, “You should come by. Nothing fancy. Just… thought maybe we could both use something warm.”

She paused, was he…was he inviting her over? Her brain began to spin. Was this unprofessional? Her boss? Brooklyns congressman? And he wanted…her there? Was this his way of saying thank you?

“I-I mean only if you want to!” He rushed out, her silence causing his heart to pound. “It doesn’t have to be— like a thing, it’s just dinner. I can play music and maybe light a candle,” he trailed off, running a hand through his hair. 

And then he realized how that sounded as she looked at him with a smug smile.

“W-well, not like that! I just mean in a comforting was,y I-“ He was blushing. Actually blushing.

“Bucky.”

He froze, hand mid-run-through.

“I’ll be there at seven.” She shot him a smile over her shoulder, and he swore he felt seventeen again. 

Chapter 6

Notes:

im wrapping up the ending of this fic now, trying to post before I go work at a camp over the summer LOL. Also this ones long, and I switch up a bit with his pov being more prominent

Bucky nodded, his head spinning, and walked out into the hallway, his ears ringing. He just stood there like an idiot, frozen in the middle of the hallway with his hand still in his hair.

Seven.

She was coming over. At seven.

He didn’t realize he was holding his breath until his lungs protested, and when he finally exhaled, it came out shaky.

His brain, usually so adept at locking down emotions behind reinforced walls, was suddenly a jumbled mess of “ what the hell do I cook? ” and “ what if she thinks this is a date? ” and

“ What if I want it to be? ”

He glanced at the clock.

4:12.

“Shit.”

He moved.

Bucky grabbed his keys, tugged his jacket off the hook, and bolted out the door like a man on a mission—because he was on one. 

He hadn’t cooked for anyone in years. Not really. Not with intention. Not with… hope.

The grocery store was already too crowded for his liking, people brushing past him, carts creaking, fluorescent lights humming overhead. His fingers twitched. For a moment, the noise pressed in too close, too sharp—but then he caught sight of the produce section and snapped himself out of it.

Pasta. Simple. Familiar. Hard to mess up. He could do it easily. 

He grabbed cherry tomatoes, fresh basil, garlic, and a small wedge of parmesan. He hesitated in front of the wine section, eyes darting over the labels. Something red. Not too expensive, not too cheap. God, what did people even drink with pasta these days? Did she…even drink? 

Jesus, he didn’t know enough about this girl.  

He settled on a dry red and tossed it in the basket, reaching the front of the store, ignoring the raised eyebrow from the teenage cashier.

Back in the apartment, he dropped the grocery bags on the counter and stood there for a moment, surveying the battlefield. His apartment was neat, always was—old habits from decades of barracks and safehouses—never could leave a trace, no proof of existence.

Like a place you passed through, not somewhere you lived.

He grabbed a rag and started wiping down already clean counters. Rearranged throw pillows. Lit the candle on the coffee table, snuffed it out, then lit it again just to check how strong the scent was. He decided it was too strong and opened the balcony doors.

The pasta sauce simmered while he boiled water, garlic, and oil, filling the air like a hug he didn’t know he needed. He grated the parmesan by hand. Set two mismatched plates on the table. Swapped them out for better ones. 

Considered moving the dinner to the couch. 

Backtracked.

He’d never been this back and forth on decisions since his first real mission with Hydra. 

6:28.

His hands were shaking.

He caught sight of himself in the mirror by the front door. Disheveled, shirt clinging in the wrong places, forehead damp. He looked stressed. Like a man going to war, not like someone having dinner with a girl who made him feel… like something in him was waking up again.

He changed shirts. Twice. Shaved, twice, cologne? Yes? He noticed she got closer if he wore the one in the navy blue bottle. Sprayed, twice. 

This wasn’t a date, just a thank you.

By the time 6:54 hit, he was just standing in the kitchen, arms braced on the counter, watching the clock like it owed him answers. His heart felt too loud. Not in a panicked way. In a possibility kind of way.

He glanced at the clock again. 6:59:32.

Then—

A knock.

Exactly seven.

Of course.

He swore under his breath, took a deep breath, and opened the door.

She was there.

Alex.

Hair up, loose strands falling in that effortless way that probably took her five seconds but made his chest ache. Dressed in jeans and a soft-looking sweater that somehow made her even more devastating than any dress ever could. Comfortable. Casual. Stunning.

And smiling.

He needed to get a grip and fast. 

But then her eyes swept over him—his flushed face, a dark pullover and jeans, the candlelight, the steam from the pasta pot still curling into the air—and something shifted in her. Her mouth parted just slightly. 

Just a breath.

Their eyes met, and the world stalled.

Like the air between them had turned into something alive and fragile, waiting for one of them to reach across and shatter it.

“Hi,” she said, voice low and a little too soft.

He swallowed. “Hey.”

It was nothing. Just a greeting. A syllable.

But it hit like a freight train.

They stood there for a second too long, until he stepped back and motioned her in. “Come in. Uh—dinner’s just about ready.”

She walked past him slowly, brushing his arm with her shoulder, like it wasn’t a big deal. Like her skin didn’t leave heat in its wake. But he felt it. 

God, he felt it.

“I made pasta,” he swiped his hands to the bubbling dish, and she nodded, him taking her bag for her without her even realizing. 

“It’s domestic as hell, Barnes.”

He side-eyed her. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

She smiled, slow and knowing, the kind that curled at the edges like she knew exactly what this was and what it was becoming.

He turned toward the stove, mostly to catch his breath. This really shouldn’t be that serious, but for some reason, he was really struggling. 

Grown ass man.

“You want to sit?” he offered, lifting the pot. “Or critique my culinary technique from across the kitchen like I’m on Top Chef?”

She dropped into the chair across from where he’d set her plate. “I’ll be judging you silently. Builds character.”

He chuckled, a low, surprised sound. “Good. Keeps me humble.”

She tilted her head, watching him pour the pasta onto her plate with more care than was probably necessary.

“You’re nervous,” she said, not unkindly.

“Pff.” He handed her a fork. “Am not.”

“Bucky.” Her voice dipped. Gentle. Teasing. 

Right on the edge of something.

He bit back another stupid grin at the use of his name. This was so easy, he had overreacted for nothing, just a dinner, just a thank you. 

He looked up at her again. That look passed between them—weighty, warm, fragile. His hands were still.

“Maybe a little,” he admitted.

Her smile returned, softer this time. “Don’t be.”

He handed her the wine glass, and their fingers brushed. She didn’t move hers right away.

And he knew it, deep in his chest: They were so completely, utterly doomed.

 

Bucky and Alex ate in quiet for a while, the only sound the soft clinking of silverware against their plates. Alex poked at her pasta, her eyes narrowing slightly as she tasted the sauce.

“Is this... Russian sauce?” she asked, breaking the silence. Her voice was almost clinical, as though she were cataloging details in a report.

Bucky glanced up at her, studying her expression. 

“Yeah,” he replied, a little defensive. “How’d you know?”

She shrugged, keeping her eyes on the plate while her lips quirked up into a small smile, and she lifted her head and gave him a look like 

Really?

Bucky chuckled, his tone lighter than it felt. “I forgot you were insane enough to keep tabs on me.”

Her eyes met his gaze and didn't flicker. “Not anymore." She said lightly, “Now I just... work for you.”

His hand stilled on his fork. He didn’t like the way she said it. Not anymore? Was she implying something? Bucky cleared his throat and replied with a touch more firmness than he intended. “ With . You work with me.”

She glanced back down at her food, but she didn’t press the issue. “Right. With.” She pointed her fork at him, as she repeated his words, and continued eating, seemingly uninterested in the tension she’d just created.

Bucky, however, couldn’t shake the way the words sat in the air between them. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, trying to steer the conversation somewhere safe. 

“You’re... busy, right? With everything, I mean.” He gave her an easy smile, though it felt forced. “It’s not all about me.”

She tilted her head, considering his words with little expression.

“Not much of a life outside work, though.” She glanced back up at him, seemingly noticing his expression fall slightly, “I mean, not that I mind, I enjoy creating your schedules and picking out your tuxedos for events,” She replied with a slight smile. Hinting.

Bucky’s grip on his fork tightened, his mind flashing to the several designer suits he’d had dropped off at his door. He never thought about who was picking them out.

“I’m sure you have other things—” He stopped himself, feeling the weight of what he was saying. Not that he minded either, the fact that she handled his schedules, he’d rather it be her than anyone else. But the thought of her spending most of her time with him made him uncomfortably aware of just how much time they spent together.

She didn’t seem to notice the tension in his voice. Instead, she took another bite and asked casually, “So, what about the age gap? Doesn’t bother you?”

Bucky's stomach tightened, and he could feel the heat creeping up his neck. She looked up at him innocently. He was looking anywhere but her eyes, 

“I mean, didn't we discuss this? ” he said, the words coming out too quickly. He forced a steady breath, trying to keep his tone even, “The whole…Cyrostasis and not aging thing, so the gap..It’s not a big deal.”

She glanced at him again, then looked him up and down for just a fraction of a second before she looked back down at her plate. “Yeah, well, I never minded in the first place,” She shrugged, shooting him a smile. He was nervous, she could tell because his knee was bouncing.

Like she did.

Bucky only nodded his head, using the time he had to look at her—really looked at her—and found himself suddenly aware of the way the light caught her hair, the curve of her lips as she chewed, the way she just... was. It unsettled him. He couldn’t get his thoughts in order.

Trying to focus, he cleared his throat. 

“Right. So, the project. We’re moving forward with—”

She interrupted him as if it were a minor detail. 

“So, you’re fine with it then? The age thing? You’re not... weirded out by it?” She was more curious than anything as to how he might perceive her. She couldn’t ask outright but poking around could give her an answer.

Bucky’s face flushed as he turned away and went back down to his food. He didn’t know how to answer. He gripped his fork tightly.

“No.” His answer was simple, and he sounded genuinely unbothered.

Alex took another bite of pasta, her attention on the meal, completely unaware of how much she had just rattled him. “Good,” she said, eyes lighter than before. scanning those pretty steel blue ones across the table.

Bucky watched her for a moment, his heart thudding a little harder in his chest. “Yeah. Great,” he muttered, then quickly turned his attention back to his plate, hoping the conversation would move on.

 

The plates were empty now, save for a few crumbs and splashes of sauce. The conversation had died down, both of them lost in their thoughts, but the weight of what had been said hung in the air. The silence between them was different now—heavier.

Bucky stood up, clearing his throat as he gathered their plates. "You can relax. I’ve got it."

Alex, still sitting at the table, arched an eyebrow. "You made dinner. The least I can do is clean up."

Bucky leaned down to grab her plate and stack them on his forearm, his face now dangerously close to hers, aftershave and that familiar warm cologne like a vice.

“I got it.” That was all he said. Nothing crazy. Nothing out of character, but it sure as hell made her brain go quiet for a moment.

She watched as he cleaned up, her making a small glass of water from the fridge behind him, the water having her attention when she noticed from the corner of her eye him slip off his sweater.

He wore a white tank top beneath it, tossing the fabric onto one of the barstools, and began to wash the dishes, his full metal arm on display.

She totally wasn’t staring.

She wasn’t! Not at the way his hair almost touched the top of his spine, or how the fabric of his tank did little to hide the definition of his shoulder blades. Or how his skin was borderline glowing under the dim lighting of his kitchen. She’d seen him so many times over the years, from footage of his reprogramming to training videos. But never like this, never with the tension eased below his ribs, or the softness of his biceps unflexed. 

Something wet and cold was on her hand, and she looked down, water spilling all over her as she jumped back, startled out of her daze.

“You alright?” He asked, looking over his shoulder, his hair falling in his eyes as he scanned the situation.

“No, yeah! Yeah, I’m good, sorry I got..water all over your floor..” she mumbled, heat creeping up her neck, threatening to spill over her cheeks as she tucked a loose hair back and glanced around for paper towels.

Bucky turned back and laughed, that low raspy sort of sound she’d gotten so used to. “Didn’t take you as the type to be so easily distracted.” He replied, his tone light and unsuggestive as she attempted to wipe up the water

Now her face was heating up. 

Was he…was he flirting with her? She swore this was the same tone he used when he pushed her to use his name and not call him ‘Congressman,’ But that would be ridiculous, that had to be wrong, she had to be overanalyzing it.

“I’m not easily distracted.” Her voice was barely above a mumble as she sat back down, and he laughed again, the light shake of his shoulders as he shook his head.

“Sure, hun,” He replied, and she hated the way her hands felt hot at his slip of a pet name. 

Alex really was about to call him out when she noticed the playlist he had connected to some kind of hidden speaker had changed songs. 

“Is that…Is that hippocampus ? You know this band?” She asked as he dried his hands with a towel and leaned against the counter facing her, pausing for a moment to recognize the song

Oh shit.

“Yeah? Why would I not know…hippocampus?” 

She raised a brow, he was lying. 

“You’re lying.” She replied, giving him a look that said she knew damn well.

“I am not!” He shot back with a breathy laugh, truly attempting to defend himself. “They’re a great band, Poems is a personal favorite,” he shrugged like it was no big deal.

Alex watched him, deciding to let it drop. 

He gave her a small tour of his apartment, it was fascinating to see how he lived, how insanely organized he was, nothing was out of place, every book spine lined up tallest to shortest, alphabetical and genre, pillows fluffed and set perfectly, not a single spec of dust anywhere she saw. After spending so much time digging through file after file, data and governmental records, his evidence as not only a soldier, but someone meant to disappear was evident. 

It made the fact that he now lived, stayed, and existed in one spot all that much more heartwarming to her. She felt she knew his psyche on a level he may not realize just yet, and she watched his side profile as he spoke, realizing he was finally content. 

While he talked, she kept note of the music, a song by Tame Impala, and then one by Suki Waterhouse, another by Hippocampus. He shouldn't know these bands, they weren’t around when he was her age, and they definitely couldn’t have been on the radar of a highly trained assassin.

“Did you… Bucky, this is my Spotify playlist.”   She realized, hands on her hips, as he rounded off the tour and sat on the stiff-looking couch in his living room.

He was so caught, his mind raced on excuses, on how to stay completely expressionless and cover up. But for some reason, a small part of him wanted her to know he may have done some…digging.

“Are you stalking me?” She asked, a stupid smile not leaving her face as she sat across from him, tucking her leg under herself and lacing her fingers in her lap.

He just shrugged, feigning an aura of nonchalance, “Maybe.” He replied with a tip of his head, and she scoffed a laugh. “Hey, you stalked me, it’s only fair.”

 

Flashback

Bucky checked the time on his watch: two hours. The phone was on speaker in the child seat of the cart, crackling with Joaquin’s voice.

“Okay, found her Spotify. Bro, she has entire playlists dedicated to geopolitical moods. Like—‘slow burn surveillance in a Baltic safe house’? Who is she?”

“She listens to a lot of music.” Bucky muttered, “I’ve seen her around the office with these…dark blue headphones, not that that’s relevant anyway-“ He rushed out, grabbing a box of pasta and a jar of red sauce, scanning labels like they held state secrets. “What kind of wine?”

“Dry red,” Joaquin answered. “She checks into wine bars on Yelp. Always gets Pinot. Not Merlot. She left a one-star review once and said, ‘tasted like fermented NyQuil.’”

“Jesus,” Sam’s voice cut in with a low chuckle. “This is your assistant?”

”Personal assistant, yes.”

“She’s coming over,” Sam pointed out. “That’s a pretty thin HR line you’re tightrope-walking.”

Bucky ignored him, eyes narrowing at two nearly identical blocks of Parmesan. “I don’t want it to be weird.”

“Oh, yeah,” Joaquin deadpanned. “Nothing weird about inviting your much-younger assistant to your apartment with wine, pasta, and mood lighting.”

“There won’t be mood lighting,” Bucky snapped, tossing cheese into the cart.

“Uh-huh,” Joaquin said. “Speaking of moods—play Hippocampus. She loops them when she’s working, so her brain’ll read it as safe. Familiar. You’ll get bonus points.”

“I’m not trying to get points,” Bucky grunted, though his hand was already hovering over his phone, scrolling to pull up the band. “I just want her to be comfortable. My apartment is different than the office. It’s…smaller.”

Sam snorted. “Say what you mean: more intimate. Fewer hallways, more eye contact. The two of you breathing the same air for two hours, real tension. We’ve all seen the movies.”

“It’s not like that,” Bucky muttered, nearly running someone over with his cart. “She’s just—she’s good at her job.”

“She’s also probably read your file front to back,” Joaquin added helpfully. “Not the censored one either. I’m talking about the deep-fried Hydra stuff.”

Bucky’s jaw clenched as he reached for a bunch of basil. “She has.”

A beat.

“Dude,” Sam said. “And you’re the one trying to impress her?”

“She already knows everything,” Bucky said under his breath. “All the worst parts. Still shows up on time. Still looks me in the eye.”

Sam paused. “Okay. That’s… actually kinda hot.”

“See, I thought so too,” Joaquin said. “But I didn’t want to say anything in case this was like, a mentorship thing.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Can we just finish the list?”

Joaquin cleared his throat, reading: “You’ve got pasta, wine, garlic, cheese—add some bread, she bookmarked a rosemary focaccia recipe last month. Not saying she’ll expect it, just… she bookmarked it.”

Sam laughed again. “You’re so lucky she doesn’t know you have us doing recon for your sad little pasta night.”

Bucky hit mute for a second and closed his eyes, exhaling.

Then he grabbed the focaccia.

Just in case.

 

Alex hummed and shrugged, pushing off the stool and grabbing the glass he had made for her.

“I suppose I should be flattered, except you’re the same man who i’ve had to show how Face ID works about nine times now..” She trailed off, lazily pointing at him as she stepped backwards towards his balcony.

“Hey,” He replied, a playful smile on his face as he followed her out, nearly pulling the moment she started backing up. “In my defense, I swear I repel technology,” he laughed, and she giggled in response. 

They were looser now, growing in comfort slowly in the domestication of his dinner.

The terrace air was cooler than expected, carrying the faint hum of city life below. Alex leaned on the iron railing, swirling the last of her wine. Bucky stood beside her, a bit stiff in the shoulders, arms crossed loosely as if bracing himself against how not stiff she was.

She tilted her head up. “You ever notice you can’t see any stars in DC?”

Bucky glanced up, too. A few faint pinpricks tried to break through the haze, but mostly nothing. The city lights drowned them.

“Light pollution,” she added, like he didn’t know. “It’s weird. Whole galaxies out there and we just… forget.”

Bucky was quiet for a second, then shifted his weight, leaning on the railing with one forearm. His metal hand tapped softly on the rail.

“In Russia,” he said slowly, “when I was stationed far out, rural towns—there were nights you’d look up and it didn’t seem real. Like the whole sky was cracked open.”

Alex blinked, surprised. She had never really considered what he may have felt during the time between kills, when he wasn’t frozen or being…reprogrammed. 

“Mountains,” he continued, his voice quieter. “Snow. Trees. No sound except the wind. You’d see every star. Some of ‘em... so bright, they’d cast shadows.”

She stared at him. “That’s... kind of beautiful.”

He shrugged one shoulder, still not meeting her eyes. “Was one of the only things that didn’t feel like a mission.”

Alex turned her face forward again. She tried to play it casual, but her voice softened.

“Do you think about it much? That time?”

He hesitated. “Only the parts that didn’t hurt.”

The air stilled for a moment. She glanced sideways at him, found his profile sharp in the city glow—brows furrowed slightly, jaw tight like he regretted saying anything at all.

But she smiled faintly. “Maybe..” She hesitated, the quiet of the city, the wind twirling around them, “Maybe one day you could show me," she paused, "the stars, I mean.” 

That made him look at her.

Her eyes twinkled with the wine and the chill, but her mouth curved like it was a joke. Like she was giving him a way out.

He didn’t take it. Just looked at her for a second too long. Then—

“I don’t think they’re as wonderful as you imagine,” he said, awkward again, voice low. “But they’re… quiet. You’d like that.”

She bit her lip, and for once, didn’t try to fill the silence with a fact or a correction or an overexplained theory about solar systems. She just stood there beside him, arms brushing. Let the city hum around them. Let the not-quite tension rest quietly between two people who maybe, just maybe, had cracked open the tiniest window.

Even if the stars were still out of sight.

Chapter 7

Summary:

gala scene whatttt (just wanted an excuse to put them together in a forced proximity situation)

After that dinner, the energy between them shifted. 

Something unspoken had settled between them after that night on the terrace—not tension, and not quite intimacy either, but something smaller, something softer.

Both of them noticed, but neither said a word.

They orbited one another like satellites, a practiced choreography. Arriving at the office at the same time, his coffee, black, was sitting on his desk waiting while she perched in a chair, tablet in hand.

She’d ramble off his schedule with him as he walked down a carpeted hallway, to which he began to tease her about her color coding, not often, but just enough to get her to laugh

He had found out he really liked that sound. 

Bucky couldn’t even remember the last time he made a woman laugh, but as time moved, he did it more, the personality he thought had been devoured under a mask of psychological destruction, peeking through. 

She buried herself in work, taking on almost all his interactions;  every phone call, email, or fax directed towards him went to her first. She noticed the patterns in his silences, the set of his shoulders, how he never liked crowds near the elevators. She knew when to interrupt a conversation to give him an out. She knew the difference between his practiced smiles and the real, small ones he was learning to offer. Small ones, she found herself smiling back with.

Their tension eased, and playful banter was shared behind the closed door of his office, which he had never closed prior. The difference in their age began to fade in their minds, as their constant back and forth became a day-to-day, she hardly even considered him a boss. Of course, that only caused a different kind of tension to bloom.

“You eat yet?”

The question came out casually, like he was asking about the weather. He didn’t even look at her as he said it, just slid the salad container across her desk with one metal knuckle.

She noticed he was more comfortable with his left, his balance shifting. So the chiropractor visits were working. She noted that. 

Alex blinked at it, then at him. “Why?”

“Had extra,” he said without missing a beat.

She narrowed her eyes, suspicious.

“Did you… order this for me?”

“Nope.”

“You totally did.”

He stopped, hand tapping his pen against his knee. Nervous. “I didn’t.”

“You got it without dressing. And without tomatoes. I hate tomatoes.”

“That was a coincidence.”

She just stared. he simply nudged it one more time and resumed whatever he was doing on his computer, acting unbothered.

Inside however? He was quietly celebrating because his plan had worked. She wasn’t the only one who got to know crazy personal details; he could find out just as much if he dug deep enough, and that’s exactly what he did. 

Checkmate.

 

The day of the gala, everything ran like clockwork.

Alex had, of course, ensured it. She had the tux delivered to his apartment by noon, double-checked that the cufflinks were the correct set and that his left sleeve was slightly bigger to overcompensate for the vibranuim, confirmed the driver’s route, security clearance, and arrival time. Even the media arrivals list was color-coded. 

He’d barely had to lift a finger.

Bucky had been calm all day. Too calm.

Stoic as ever, sipping his coffee in the break room like the world wasn’t about to watch him walk into a gold-leafed fishbowl of diplomats, senators, and press. She wasn’t attending; she never typically did, as it was his turn to act as a politician and not hers to handle his encounters. However, he nodded along as she briefed him, occasionally humming a vague approval, like she wasn’t spinning every plate in the air with invisible strings.

But something simmered just under the surface. She didn’t see it at first. Not when he offered a rare thank-you with a brush of his hand on her arm. Not when he told her to “go home early tonight—you’ve done enough.”

So she did. She left the office before sunset, which never happened.

Her apartment building was quiet, just the low hum of the city outside her concrete hallway. She fumbled for her keys as she approached her door, pushing through as soon as she opened it. 

She yawned as she dropped her bag on a nearby table and kicked off her heels. 

Her gaze shifted to the small table in the corner of the room. A bouquet of flowers sat there, untouched—bright orange and pink lilies.

She froze. She didn’t buy those .

Her favorite. She’d never told anyone that. No one could possibly know that about her.

Except for someone who knew how to stalk. Maybe someone with her Spotify playlists on hand.

There was something hanging from the door.

A long black dress bag, sleek and expensive. Attached to it was a folded note in unfamiliar, sharp pen strokes. She blinked. Tilted her head. The handwriting wasn’t messy, but it was hard to read, like whoever wrote it didn’t expect anyone to need to.

She squinted and realized they were her sizing measurements. How-

She opened the bag and paused.

The fabric gleamed in the light. It was a deep, near-metallic shade—charcoal, but not quite. Blue? Silver? Her fingers grazed over it.

No. Not just metallic.

It was the same color as his arm.

A chill crept up her spine. Someone had broken in to place the dress and the flowers there. Her apartment hadn’t been disturbed—no broken windows, no forced doors—but the dress... the flowers... they weren’t just a coincidence.

Her breath caught in her throat. Before she could even process what that meant, her phone buzzed.

[BUCKY]:
Did you get it?

Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Then another message:

[BUCKY]:
You’re my plus one. 8 sharp.

Her jaw dropped.

She stared between the phone and the dress like they might start explaining themselves.

He had timed her entire commute.

And he’d planned this. Quietly. Without asking. Without warning.

He had stalked her.

She turned back to the phone.

[BUCKY]:
You’ll look good in it.

She didn’t respond. Couldn’t, really.

Instead, she took the hanger carefully into her bedroom, like the thing might detonate.

Apparently, Bucky Barnes didn’t need to say much to drop a bomb. He just had to send her a dress. And pick the exact color of the one part of him she’d never stop staring at.

 

The dress felt heavier than it should. Or maybe it was the weight of her own thoughts, spiraling in a thousand different directions as she adjusted it for the third time in the mirror. Her reflection was a sharp contrast to the usual polished, professional assistant she was. Tonight, the woman in the mirror looked... different. More vulnerable, somehow.

The dress—charcoal, metallic, and hugging her figure perfectly—felt like it was made for her, despite her never having asked for it. It swished around her legs, the fabric catching the light in a way that made her look like something beyond the unflappable, collected assistant she’d spent months convincing everyone she was. The neckline was modest, but the fit was... just enough.

Her hair, usually pulled into a neat bun or sleek ponytail, hung loose around her shoulders, soft curls that bounced slightly. Her makeup was minimal, but bold enough to accentuate her features—the high cheekbones that Bucky never seemed to miss, the eyes that somehow always gave her away.

She checked her watch for the third time. 8:10. Ten minutes late. She could feel every second tick by.

She didn’t even remember rushing into the elevator, trying to catch her breath, and fixing her hair again

Her palms were sweaty. Her breath caught in her throat. What if he didn’t like it? What if he didn’t even notice?

And what if he thought she was trying too hard? Trying to look like something she wasn’t?

Suddenly, the elevator doors opened with a soft ping, and she whipped her head toward the lobby entrance. Her heart stuttered when she saw the black sleek car pull up in front of the building.

Bucky. Of course. He was fashionably late, as usual, but the moment his hand appeared from the passenger's side, opening the door, a thousand thoughts stopped in her mind.

Bucky stepped out of the car, not like a congressman, not like a well-dressed man heading to an event. He stepped out like... Bucky. His shoulders were squared, his movements sure and deliberate, but the moment he saw her waiting in the lobby, the cool, calculated exterior cracked—just a little.

The tux she had fitted for him sure did fit , her mind flashing to the muscles she knew were hidden below the button-down.

She took a breath as he pushed into the building lobby, eyes scanning and then landing on her.

His eyes went wide, and his jaw tightened. His gaze swept down her body slowly, like he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. For the briefest second, his lips parted, and the normal confidence that he wore like armor... faltered.

“Wow,” he breathed out, his voice low, like he was still trying to process exactly what was standing in front of him. He ran a hand through his hair, looking almost flustered, the usual cool, composed Congressman melting away. 

"You look..." He trailed off, eyes scanning her once more. "I mean—uh, you look... wow ."

She smiled nervously, trying to keep the tension in her shoulders from giving away how badly she was shaking on the inside.

“I—uh—thank you,” she said, and cursed herself for sounding so awkward when she had rehearsed this moment in her head. “The dress... um... fits okay, right?”

“Fits... perfectly.” He was shaking his head slowly, still staring at her. His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, but the way he looked at her—like he was seeing her for the first time—it made her feel like there was nothing else in the room. 

Nothing else in the world.

He adjusted his collar, looking over at her again, this time with a sheepish, almost boyish expression. “I, uh... didn’t mean to... match?” He gestured to his hand, that subtle metallic gleam reflecting off the lobby lights. “But, uh, I guess... It’s a coincidence.”

Was he trying to act nonchalant, or was he actually a little flustered? She didn’t know. She had never seen him this unsure of himself.

Alex couldn’t stop herself from laughing. “Really?” She tilted her head, biting her lip. “You didn’t plan that?” 

He rolled his eyes with a soft chuckle, his metal hand flexing nervously. 

“Well, I figured you’re already a dime, mind as well show it off.” He said it like it was the easiest thing ever to compliment her.

She hummed in response, a blush creeping up that he immediately noticed.

He looked at her again, stepping closer, but his posture was still so guarded, still so... Bucky. Even after everything, that distance was there. And yet, in that fleeting moment, he softened again.

“Ready?” he asked, holding out his arm as if he didn’t realize how natural the gesture was. Like he had no clue how the move—this move—felt almost... intimate.

Alex hesitated for just a moment, but the way his eyes held hers made her want to answer with something more than just words.

"Yeah," she said, taking his arm, her fingertips brushing against his skin.

He pulled her ever so close as he pushed open the door and led her into the night air, letting himself feel her, letting himself feel .

Chapter 8: pt 1.

The car ride was somewhat quiet. Alex seemed to be on edge, meanwhile Bucky was the picture of calm.

She just kept… touching him . The back of the car was spacious, a larger cabin than she was used to as they traveled along the route. Meanwhile, her shoulders were back and her hands were busy with his tie.

That he definitely tied correctly, but she insisted on fixing it. Twice. 

“Alex.” He said, his voice low, his hands staring at his sides as hers stayed busy against his chest 

“Hmm?” she replied with a tilt of her head in acknowledgment, yet not looking at him.

“The tie is fine,” He gently grabbed her wrists and guided her hands back to her, to which her face heated up in minor embarrassment. “You’re nervous, why?” 

She paused, eyes flicking to his, still obviously blue even in the dim lighting. 

“I-i’m not nervous I just wasn’t..prepared to attend this event tonight, with…You, I mean.” 

He raised a brow, “Do you not want to?”

“No, no!” She cut in, quickly jumping in alert. “No I do I, I’m excited it will be fun,” she awkwardly laughed and reached over to fix another strand of his hair, just an excuse. 

He laughed, that low and raspy sound she had come to crave, and she let herself relax just a little. 

“Well, I..I have one more thing for you,” He avoided looking at her and pulled open his coat, grabbing a small velvet box and hesitating before handing it to her.

“Bucky..” She said softly, giving him a look of genuine surprise, The flowers? The dress? And now what…? He just nudged her to open it, and her heart was pounding.

He could probably hear it.

Her heart skipped a beat as she lifted the lid, revealing a thin silver chain that gleamed under the car’s interior light. At the center of the chain, suspended by a delicate loop, was a small star-shaped pendant. It was beautiful, so simple but so striking —barely the size of a penny. The star was ruby red, the color so vibrant, it seemed to pulse with light. The red was almost like the red star on his… and the star’s five sharp points seemed to hold an otherworldly glow, reminding her of their conversation about the stars that night on his balcony.

It was incredible. She just stared at it. The car was rocking them slightly. The man she had stalked for years, formed a fixation on and learned the awful truths of what humans were capable of, had gotten her a necklace. 

“I-It’s an early birthday gift,” He rushed out, after noticing her delay to speak. “I saw it and thought of you and…definitely looked at staff files to figure out your birthday, which is soon, and the red…I figured you liked red.” He trailed off as she raised her eyes to him, her pulse in her ears.

She blinked a few times, her heart fluttering in her chest. “Bucky, this is...” Her voice caught in her throat, her hands trembling just slightly as she took the necklace in her hands. She felt the heat of his gaze on her, watching her closely, the silence heavy with unspoken words. “It’s perfect ,” she said quietly, her eyes meeting his. “But why—?”

Bucky shifted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable now. “I don’t know. I just—look, it’s not that big of a deal. You’ve been a good assistant, you’ve been... more than that, really. I don’t know how to—” He let out a frustrated sigh, clearly stumbling over his words. “I just wanted to give you something, okay?”

Her heart was thundering in her chest now. There it was. The moment she’d been avoiding—realizing, really realizing —that there was something more here. Something unspoken. Something deeper. He wasn’t just giving her a gift because she was his assistant. No, it was something else, something that ran deeper, something that had been simmering beneath the surface for weeks.

“Thank you. Seriously it’s…it’s beautiful I love it.” She finally breathed, and he nodded, holding out his hand to put it on her.

She shifted around, pulling her hair over her shoulder as he draped the chain around her neck, the cool of his metal hand grazing her upper spine. Her eyes fluttered shut for a moment, her heart still steadily pounding, and suddenly very grateful, she was facing away from him. 

He clipped it and his knuckles hesitated on her for only a moment before falling away, and as she turned back around on the car bench, he adjusted the pendant and smiled softly. “It suits you.” A small breath of pride.

He had gotten her a gift.  

And god, he loved it on her, like a personal brand; anyone at this gala would see her and know she somehow, in some backwards, twisted way, was his. Assistant or not. 

A flicker of possession, a feeling so familiar but hadn’t been stoked for a long time. 

The rest of the car ride was silent, they typically fell into a comfortable quiet, his natural demeanor and her attempting to keep her mouth shut from rambling to self soothe. 

 

The dress looked perfect. It was perfect. But every time she caught her reflection in the passing windows, she shifted—adjusted the strap, tugged the fabric over her stomach like it had changed shape. Again.

Bucky didn’t say anything at first. Just watched. Noticing the way her eyes never quite settled on one place. The way her shoulders kept resetting. Too upright, then too loose. The way she blinked more than she needed to.

Masking.

He didn’t know everything. But he knew enough.

“You good?” he asked softly.

She gave him a small nod, a smile so practiced it hurt to look at.

He didn’t believe it for a second.

She hated how she couldn’t sit still. Like her body was screaming you don’t belong here , even if no one had said it yet. The dress felt like a costume, the heels a trap. She felt like someone wearing a person—one with charm, polish, grace. One that didn’t exist.

Her voice, when it came, was light. Playful. A deflection.

“I probably look ridiculous.”

“No,” he said simply.

Her eyes flicked up.

“You look like you belong there,” he added. “In that room. Next to me.”

She looked away again.

He let the silence sit, because sometimes silence said more.

“You don’t have to say anything clever,” he said, voice lower now, deliberate. “You don’t have to rehearse. You just have to show up.”

Her fingers twitched.

“I don’t need you to be anyone else tonight,” he finished. “Just be my plus one.” But he said it with a tone she recognized again.

Her breath hitched—barely—but he caught it.

The car slowed. Flashbulbs lit up ahead. The driver cleared his throat. “Two minutes.”

She moved to gather herself, reaching for the tiny clutch in her lap, adjusting her dress again, preparing to face a thousand eyes—

But Bucky leaned in before she could.

He pressed his lips to her cheek—warm, steady, real. He acted on impulse, nothing planned or overanalyzed, just took a backseat to his biology, even for a moment. 

She froze.

And then his mouth was at her ear, his voice a low rasp, like he didn’t want the driver to hear. Like the words weren’t for anyone else.

“You look dangerous,” he whispered. “I like that.”

She didn’t move for a second.

Her fingers curled tightly into the fabric of the dress.

When she finally stepped out of the car, she wasn’t shifting anymore.

She was still burning from his voice in her skin.

 

 

She was doing better than she thought she would. Considering the air in that car was so thick she could practically feel it, or that her cheek was still burning from the faint stubble on his face and his lips against her.

A line had been crossed. He knew it well, and she was grappling with it. 

The venue was beautiful, drapery from the railings, crystal chandeliers glinting off the lighting, trays of hors d’oeuvres, champagne, and conversation carts fluttering around the guests. It was a white tie dress code, everyone in their nicest suits and gowns, a veteran event, so the occasional military uniform as well. 

The ballroom was loud—too many voices, too much light—but she kept her spine straight, her eyes sharp. She smiled when needed. Laughed when it was safe. Bucky never strayed far. Always close enough to glance at when she needed a landing point. Or to pull him into conversation, her job as his assistant never faltered, plus one or not, she knew he needed more government personnel to trust him, and she was determined to do just that.

He looked at her differently tonight—like he’d stopped seeing her as his assistant, and started seeing her as someone who could hold her own.

She liked that look.

Until a senator—retired, red-faced, half-drunk—stepped into their orbit.

He was the kind of man who shook hands too tightly and stared too long. She felt it before he opened his mouth.

“You’re Barnes’ assistant?” he asked, lips curled in some mocking imitation of charm. “Didn’t expect his type to be so... young.”

Her smile faltered. She took a deep breath. This wasn’t shocking to her in the slightest; in fact, she expected it. But she was a little shocked he hadn’t clocked the color of her dress, or maybe the necklace gently resting on her collar, since it was pretty clear who she was there with. 

Bucky glanced over from his conversation, sensing the shift in her posture.

The senator kept going. “What do you do for him, sweetheart? Keep his calendar? Or just keep him company?”

That one made her flinch.

It was subtle.

But Bucky saw it.

He turned, slow and easy, like nothing was wrong. Like he hadn’t just heard something that made every muscle in his body go still.

He excused himself and approached her, standing just behind her left shoulder, his hands crossed in front of him, metal on top, he smiled.

A warm, casual, deadly thing.

“Senator,” he said, voice all silk and steel, “I don’t usually take advice from men who reek of entitlement and twenty-year-old scotch.”

The senator blinked.

“But if you’ve got something useful to say,” Bucky continued, taking a slow step closer, his arm making contact with hers, “I’d suggest you say it with a little more care. Before I remind you that I may be reformed, but I’m not domesticated .”

The senator paled slightly. Chuckled, like he wasn’t nervous. “I was only teasing.”

“Mm,” Bucky said, still smiling. “So was I.”

His voice didn’t raise.

But the senator stepped back anyway.

Bucky didn’t look away from him until he turned and vanished into the crowd.

Then he looked at her.

“You okay?”

She nodded—silent, stunned. Her throat tight.

He leaned closer, lips near her ear, just like in the car.

“Next time someone disrespects you,” he murmured, “you don’t have to take it.”

She swallowed hard.

“You still haven’t lost that intimidation factor,” she mumbled, shooting him a silent thank you in her eyes. 

“I suppose not, I only use it when necessary.” His left hand found the small of her back, guiding her away from the spot she was stuck to. 

His metal hand against her metallic dress, he turned over his shoulder to see the senator in a low whisper with a group of other men, their eyes met. The man saw the flash of his hand, the color melting into her, and they locked eyes, only a moment, Bucky smirked and turned away. 

They stayed together for a while after that, his hand not leaving her back, which, the dress was open, the fabric curving down to her lower spine, so his hand was on her skin.

The cold of the vibranium kept him grounded; she wondered if it was temperature-controlled. 

Alex spotted a familiar face towards one of the exit doors, a security guard she’d gotten to know around the office.

“I’m gonna go say hi to Nico, I'll be right back,” She smiled softly as she turned to him, hand against his chest as he nodded and his hand dropped.

“Yeah have fun, Ill be at the bar,” He replied softly, his tone different around her. he never noticed himself doing that before. Once he turned away from her he snuck one last look over his shoulder as she walked away, and smiled to himself.

A voice behind him cut through the buzz of the gala.

“Well, well, well. Look who decided to show up.”

Bucky turned to see Sam Wilson leaning casually against the bar, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Sam,” Bucky relaxed, as the man pulled a handshake into a hug, the two smiling at each other. 

“It’s good to see you, man, been a minute,” Sam grinned, giving him a playful nudge. his eyes looked up and down Bucky and let out a low whistle.

“Damnnn, okay, soldier! Who’s got you all dressed up?” He asked, Bucky giving him a small spin.

There it was. Bucky knew it was coming. He’d told Sam about Alex, not much, but enough to know something was brewing, and he had helped him stalk her a little for that dinner a while ago. 

“It’s not like that..” Bucky started, shaking his head slightly and giving Sam that look, the one that said please don't make this a bit.

Oh he was so going to make this a bit.

Sam laughed, glancing around, “So where is she? You told me you were gonna bring her as a plus one a few weeks ago, did you end up pulling the trigger..?” He asked, taking a drink from the bartender with a quiet Thanks .

Bucky hesitated and nodded in her direction. He quietly told Sam about his surprise, the dress and the flowers, leaving out the details of him breaking into her apartment, and instead just saying; “Yknow, she never comes to these things, I just wanted her to get to dress up nice that’s all,” with a half shrug. 

Sam leaned in beside him, cradling a glass of bourbon, following the line of sight without having to ask.

There she was.

Moving gracefully between conversations, phone in hand, posture perfect. She was speaking to a group of diplomats now, eyes bright, a polite smile at the ready. Confident. 

Poised.

He was watching like she was a secret he’d already memorized. Like she was dangerous and he didn’t mind.

Sam whistled low under his breath. “She is as pretty as you described, Buck. I’d never look at her and guess she’s hacked government agencies before,” he teased, sipping his glass as he saw him shift. 

“She hadn’t just stalked me, you know,” Bucky replied, a joke playing at his tone, “She stalked everyone, Steve, Scott, you…” He quirked his head to the side in mild amusement. 

“Oh really? Interesting. Am I her favorite?”

He asked, faking a hair flip against the bar, always the dramatics. “Or is it her brooding boss that’s got the whole puppy dog eyes thing going for him?” He barked out a laugh and took another sip. 

Bucky gave a slow exhale through his nose, turned away slightly. “It’s not like that.”

“Oh?” Sam tilted his head. “Because from where I’m standing, you’ve got the same look you used to have before a mission. All focus. Little unhinged. Like you’re deciding if you can afford to want it.”

Bucky didn’t answer.

Sam chuckled. “She’s twenty-five, Barnes. She’s smart, sure, scary-smart. Holds her own. But look at you.”

“I have looked at me,” Bucky muttered. “Believe me.”

Sam bumped his shoulder. “Then you know how this looks.”

Bucky shook his head, his lips in a thin line as he tried to play it off, desperate to play it off.

As if his mind wasn’t replaying the kiss he’d pressed to her cheek in the car, or the off-brand comment he whispered against her skin.

Or how badly he wanted to do it again.

“Your staring summoned her,” Sam mumbled into her glass as they watched her excuse herself from conversation and approach them.

“Hey,” she said as she reached Bucky, pushing through the sea of suits, tapping the back of her knuckles lightly against his arm. 

Touching. As much as she could get without making it obvious.

“You’re due for another round of smiling in about—”

And then she saw him.

Sam Wilson.

Standing casually beside Bucky, radiating effortless charm and tailored-suit perfection.

Her words stopped dead in her throat.

Her brain followed.

“ …oh my God, ” she breathed before she could stop herself.

Sam turned, smile already half in place—then raised both brows when he clocked the way she was staring at him like he was a living museum exhibit.

“I—” she stammered, immediately straightening, her phone now gripped with both hands like a lifeline. “Sorry, I didn’t—I didn’t realize you were—”

“Sam Wilson,” he said, easy grin in place, offering his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

She took it, a bit too fast, like she’d been waiting her whole life for this handshake. “I’m—um—Buckys assistant, Alex. I mean, I work with him. Congressman Barnes. Not, like— for him. Well. Technically—”

Bucky coughed lightly into his glass, covering his smirk.

“She’s normally a lot smoother,” he said. “Must be the starstruck thing.”

Sam raised an eyebrow, amused. “Are you a fan of the wings or the shield?”

Bucky noticed Sam pretended he didn’t know Alex prior to this interaction. 

Her eyes widened. “Both. I mean—honestly? You were the only Avenger who made sense during press tours. The way you handled the GRC committee hearings? It was—it was incredible. The speech, the diplomacy—it was textbook-perfect.”

Sam blinked. “Did she just compliment my foreign policy in real time?”

Bucky was grinning now. “Oh, she’s been waiting for this moment. Probably practiced it in the mirror.”

Her face burned. “I didn’t practice.”

“You definitely practiced,” Bucky said, nudging her shoulder with his.

She shot him a flustered look. “I’m literally just trying to do my job.”

“Sure,” he said, gesturing at her flushed cheeks. “That’s definitely the face of someone being very professional.”

Sam just sipped his drink, watching the two of them bounce off each other like it was the best entertainment of the night.

“You know,” he said slowly, “this is starting to make more sense.”

She turned to him. “What is?”

“You two have gotten a whole lot closer since the last time Buck and I spoke,” Sam cocked his head at her, his eyes tracking the movement of her dress and the vibranium hand wrapped around a glass pressed to Buckys lips.

He lazily pointed at the two of them.

“I like the matching color. Do all the congressmen match their cybernetic parts with their assistants' dresses? Or just you guys?” 

They both froze, Alex's face heated up on sight, and Bucky was quick with an explanation

“I picked it out, for her. An early birthday gift, that’s all,” He said coolly, shooting her a look, and she awkwardly laughed.

Alex nodded, trying so hard to keep the heat from spreading further than her collarbone.

Sam burst out laughing, shaking his head, “Oh for sure!” He covered his mouth for a moment and placed his drink down. Bucky was on the verge of rolling his eyes and Alex’s pulse was beginning to pick up speed, again. 

“No it’s cute! Yeah it’s real cute, the necklace is a nice touch too.” He said curtly, giving buckys shoulder a pat and smiling warmly at Alex.

“I really do need to make my rounds, though, have a few old war buddies to say hello to. But do me a favor, Alex,” Sam said over his shoulder with a two-fingered wave. “Try to stay within arm's length? Bucky tends to stare a hole through anyone who blocks his eyeline to you.” And with a smirk, he was whisked away into the crowd.

The two looked at each other, a moment of silence, and then both fumbling for excuses to walk away.

 

 

After a few hours of subtly avoiding each other but never staying farther than a few feet, she found him leaning against one of the marble pillars in the ballroom. 

“Hey,” She said softly, leaning against the opposite side, her arms drawn together.

He tried not to linger on the way the dress moved around her, the way she was practically glowing, even after a few hours, and the initial high of their little rendezvous wore off, he still couldn’t make himself look away.

“Hey,” He replied as he watched the guests; a few had formed a loose circle around the middle where jazz music jumped and skidded around the couples waltzing.

A soft trumpet eased into the air, followed by a crisp piano and the unmistakable sway of a big band warming up for something sultry. Bucky’s head tilted just slightly.

“ Vera Lynn ,” he murmured, a rare sort of smile curling at the edges of his mouth. “Haven’t heard this in years.”

Alex glanced toward the musicians. “ The white cliffs of Dover , you know it?” She asked, teasing in her eyes as if she didn’t know full well he knew it.

He finally looked at her, eyes darker in the low light, flickering with something half-fond, half-melancholy. “Yeah. They used to play it all the time back when I thought I was a heartbreaker in uniform.”

That made her blink. “You? Trouble?”

He gave a dry laugh, his hand lifting slightly off the pillar as if to gesture but hesitating halfway. “Oh, sweetheart. I was a menace.”

She laughed then, soft and disbelieving, the sound curling under his ribs. “I’ve seen footage. You were one hell of a fighter, but a dancer…?”

She knew him through numbers and dates, but the Bucky Barnes he was before the torment, she didn’t know. 

“Hydra footage,” he corrected with a little tilt of his head. “Not exactly the best dance floor.”

“You hummed this during training runs. You probably didn’t even notice.” She stated a simple, personal fact that flowed from the compartments of her mind to the dimly lit space between them.

That stopped him. His brows drew together as he turned to her fully. “You remember that?”

She gave a small shrug, trying to play it off. “It stuck with me.”

The band swelled, and Bucky hesitated for one long beat before offering a hand, hesitant, open. “Come on, then. One dance.”

Alex stared at it, unsure if he was being serious or teasing her.

 “Now?”

“You look like trouble,” he said, echoing his earlier statement, voice just above a whisper. “I like that.”

Her skin heated instantly, eyes widening slightly at the way the comment made her stomach drop the same way it had in the cabin of his car. But yet, that same undeniable pull, and her hand landed in his.

The moment their fingers touched, something shifted. His metal palm was cool against hers, grounding and electric all at once. He led her toward the floor, hand barely pressing at the small of her back, hardly any fabric between him and her bare skin. 

She wondered if he chose a backless dress for this exact reason. 

As they started to move in slow, smooth steps, her eyes lifted to meet his. He took the lead, his hand strong, steady, there . She watched him as he watched her, and she realized that’s what he had become. The life he had clawed his way towards. Strong and steady and there.

For a moment, nothing else existed. just them, and whatever blade thin line they were crossing, and for a moment, she didn’t care. All the while she was humming along. 

         ‘They’ll be blue birds…’

Then he broke the silence, dipping his head inches closer to hers.

“You know this song awfully well for someone born decades too late.”

She shrugged, meeting his eyes. “I like old things.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, raising his brows at her.

“That’s not helping me forget the age gap.”

“Good,” she whispered.

He hummed and spun her out, the metal of his left hand glinting against the soft skin of her right, before he tugged and she was right back in his arms.

“You broke into my apartment.” She said, the song continuing and their dance fluid. He hummed again, shrugging like it was no big deal.

“Your lock was easy to pick.” 

She scoffed in surprise.

“How did you know my favorite flowers?”

“You talk a lot.”

He pulled her in closer, both of his hands now at her waist and hers against his chest. 

Her heart was steady now, finally. 

“And my sizing? And don’t say lucky guess.” She poked his tie as she eyed him, his tongue sticking in his cheek, that mannerism he did when she caught him lying. 

“Okay so…” he spun her around again, talking into the air. “So that was from a quick glance at your debit card numbers, I ran a few bank statements, found where you shop, and honestly, I really did get lucky.”

And maybe he meant that in more ways than one. Luck was never something he considered before; survival and tactics were. But her? She had to be a pure stroke of luck.

She gawked at him.

He was insane. She decided he was insane right then and there.

He laughed, that soft light laugh that sounded almost like nothing was ever wrong in the world.

“You’re still the prettiest thing in this room.” His voice was low, and the words were so simple, yet they lingered in the air between them.

Her heart skipped. She hadn’t expected it—hadn’t expected that—but there was no hiding the way her chest fluttered. He said it like it was so easy, like it came naturally. 

She looked up at him, trying to find something to say, but she found herself at a loss. His hand at her waist, the proximity, the way he held her without thinking—it all made her feel both grounded and weightless at the same time.

“Now I see you, trouble ,” she teased, her hands lazily draped on his shoulders, his still on her waist.

“Haven’t you always?”

Chapter 9

Notes:

I feel like this fic was soooo long when writing but only chapter nine???

The days after the gala moved with a sort of quiet intensity. The office buzzed with phone calls and emails, the usual flow of business. But between the meetings, the projects, and the endless paperwork, there was a constant undercurrent of something unspoken.

Bucky had been ordering her coffee. He never asked her order, yet somehow knew it; the cup was already waiting for her on her desk. It was a small gesture, but it spoke volumes. She’d never quite get used to the way he made sure the coffee was just right—hot, with a splash of cream and just enough sugar to take the edge off. It was something no one else had ever thought to do for her, something so simple and yet deeply personal.

They had begun to grow their relationship. Whatever it was. He would invite her over more often, 

“To go over next month's schedule,” he’d say, and she’d nod, obviously dodging the way he lied. They’d stay up talking about the social and economic state of the world, the changes from his time to hers.

Or she’d walk into some other variant of pasta being made.

“Try this,” he’d mumble and hold out a spoonful of bubbling cream sauce towards her.

“Mmm!” She’d reply, eyes wide and nodding slowly, still surprised he knew how to cook so well.

Or maybe when he suddenly grabbed her arm to stop her from leaving for the weekend with a slight panic, he covered it with his normal tone.

“I uh, I got a cat. My therapist thinks it’s…she’s…necessary. I’d like you to meet her.” He avoided her eyes, and she burst into laughter. Bucky? With a Cat?

Yeah well she was small and white and the cutest damn thing Alex had ever seen, nearly dropping to her knees the moment he unlocked the door.

“Oh my god! Bucky, she’s so precious!” She cooed as the small ball of fluff rubbed all over her. 

“Her name's Alpine, she likes you.” He replied, locking the door and sinking to the floor beside her. It was a sweet moment, and the cat hair that covered them both was never-ending from this point forward.

She had a few more run-ins with Sam, to which they had to endure his awkward and witty banter, usually directed towards them, and the tension that followed them like a rain cloud.

Others in the office began to notice, especially the necklace, she hadn’t taken it off since the gala, and she definitely didn’t plan on it. 

She’d hear giggles in the hallway as they passed other assistants of many kinds, or even getting cornered in the break room, questions about his free time, or the books he read, or his cleaning habits-

It was a lot.

There was no denying the pressure that rang out whenever they sat in silence, or a conversation ended prematurely, their eyes avoiding each others. 

It wasn’t necessarily awkward, it was just a mess.

Alex herself wasn’t even struggling silently about this entire situation as much as he was. It was eating him alive. Every time she walked into his office, he had to stop himself from grabbing her. He’s not sure what he’d do after that point, but it’s like an electric jolt shot through him every time he heard her heels. 

Bucky was hesitant to get into a relationship; that much was obvious from the amount of suffering he endured and the rebuilding. A girlfriend didn’t necessarily…fit into his timeline. Especially not a much younger personal assistant, who so happened to have compiled years of top-secret files that should have been deleted.

And knew everything.

Even things he wasn’t ever planning on bringing back up again. It was so unfamiliar, these emotions, he was convinced the brainwashing HYDRA had reworked his human nature to forget how to feel towards others, at least, in a romantic sense. 

His own personal history, his darkest memories, his most vulnerable moments… it all felt so exposed. She was the one who could unravel him with just one question, one mention of something from his past.

That made it harder, didn’t it? To let her in.

But she was there, always there—so close, so present. And it was starting to wear at the walls he’d built around himself. The way she would look at him with those thoughtful, wide eyes when he said something stupid, the way she’d get quiet and just… listen . How, when he caught her glancing at him from across the room, it almost felt like there was no one else there. She had a way of making him feel like he wasn’t just the Winter Soldier .  That he wasn’t the new turned hero, after his time in Wakanda, proving his worth on the field, and parading around like Hey, this guy's all fixed now!   But she made him feel…normal, yet understood.

But still…

A relationship? That felt impossible. He’d been reprogrammed to forget what it was like to like someone, to need them in that way. The last time he had truly cared for anyone— wanted anyone, in that way—had been before the war, before the ice, before he was put back together in pieces. He had a lifetime of distance to cover, memories he wasn’t sure he could even access anymore. His body had forgotten how to feel—how to really feel —in that way.

It was easier, safer, to keep things at arm’s length. To pretend that nothing could touch him, to pretend he wasn’t human, wasn’t capable of those emotions anymore. It made sense, right? His heart had been locked up so tightly, buried beneath years of trauma, that any glimmer of affection just felt wrong. 

Impossible.

And yet, every time she smiled at him, or every time she was near him, he felt something shift in his chest. He would feel it—a tightening, something aching that made no sense. And he didn’t know how to deal with it. He had never learned how to.

But what scared him most was that deep down, he didn’t want to push it away. He didn’t want to close the door.

Bucky clenched his jaw, frustration rolling through him. He had too many scars. Too much history. Too many things he couldn’t erase. She deserved someone who wasn’t haunted by ghosts, someone who could love her without dragging the weight of the past around like a ball and chain.

But the thing was. Alex didn’t see him for his past. She never had. 

Alex's mind was always a tangle of calculations, observations, and systems. That’s how she’d navigated life—by knowing exactly what to expect, when, and from whom. But Bucky… Bucky was something else. Something that didn’t quite fit into the grids and algorithms she lived by. He didn’t make sense, and yet, he fascinated her in ways she couldn’t entirely understand.

She knew all the details of his life—his past, the Hydra brainwashing, the trauma, the recovery. She'd read the reports, pieced together the information, and in doing so, created a version of him in her mind. But what she hadn't accounted for, what she couldn’t have predicted, was the way he felt like a puzzle that didn’t need to be solved. A man, trying. 

And that, more than anything, is what drew her in. 

She had tried to analyze the attraction, to box it into something logical. But with Bucky, there were no clean lines, no answers she could neatly organize into a file. He wasn’t a problem to be solved, and that realization made her feel something she didn’t quite know how to name.

As she sat at her desk, lost in thought about the little moments they'd shared, she realized that for once, she didn’t need to analyze it all. She could just… let it happen. Let herself feel. Maybe that was the hardest part.

Her thoughts we interrupted when her phone rang, and she jumped to answer it.

“Hello?”

Chapter 10

Notes:

teehee i like this one

Before she knew it, Bucky, her, and several others on his team were on a private flight to Romania.

The low hum of the plane was nearly drowned out by the idle chatter of Bucky’s team further back—security personnel, aides, and one persistent logistics guy who hadn’t stopped talking about Romanian broadband policy since they took off.

Alex sat across from Bucky at a small table built into the side of the plane, a thin tablet balanced on her knees, stylus tapping rhythmically as she spoke.

“Local time is six hours ahead. Your first meeting is with the Minister of Development and Public Works, mainly to review the U.S. grant allocations for infrastructure recovery. Then you’ve got a joint press appearance about the clean water initiative with—”

“Someone with a very long title, I assume,” Bucky cut in, a small smirk playing at the edge of his mouth.

She glanced up over the rim of her glasses. “Secretary of State for Regional Investment Projects.”

“Of course,” he said, leaning back. “Catchy.”

Alex didn’t smile, but her eyes flicked with amusement before she went back to the screen. “Then we meet the American consulate in Bucharest, and you’ll be expected to say something vaguely inspirational while avoiding any political landmines.”

He laughed under his breath. “You know how reassuring that is, right?”

“It wasn’t supposed to be.” She paused, tilting her head. “You’re nervous.”

She always stated her observations about him, and it always caught his attention.

Bucky raised an eyebrow, only half hiding the fact that she’d caught him. “Not nervous. Just… don’t want to make a fool of myself in a foreign country.”

“You won’t,” she said flatly, adjusting something on the tablet. “You’re surprisingly well-behaved when there’s a microphone in front of you.”

“‘Surprisingly,’ huh?” he said, watching her carefully. His tone shifted, just a little. “That’s not the first time you’ve called me that.”

She didn’t look up. “Because it keeps being true.”

He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, hands loosely clasped. “What if I surprise you again?”

This time, she did look up. One eyebrow arched.

“We doing this now?” she asked.

His smile was slow, lazy—like he was trying it on just to see how it fit. 

That smile alone made her skin hot. And not to mention this spur-of-the-moment trip happened to fall just a week before her scheduled visit from the ‘you’re not having a baby!’ clinic. Which meant…her biological senses were dialed to ten, and that smile wasn’t helping.

“I’m just saying, we’re in the sky, over international waters. It could be the safest place to test a theory.”

“And what theory is that?” she asked, blinking at him with the same clinical curiosity she reserved for double-checking legal briefs.

“That you like me,” he said softly, like it was both a joke and the truth.

Alex sat very still. Her tablet dimmed to black in her lap, forgotten.

“That’s a bold theory for someone who broke into my apartment.”

Bucky grinned. “And yet, here you are. Still sitting across from me. Still reading my schedule like it’s scripture.”

She opened her mouth, closed it, and then shook her head once, tiny, sharp.

“You’re infuriating.”

“You’re obsessed.”

“Professionally.”

He tilted his head. “Barely.”

Her lips twitched, and she turned her gaze to the plane window beside him, as if the clouds might offer a rebuttal.

When she looked back, her voice was cool again, but her pulse wasn’t. “You have a water rights proposal to skim before we land. Two bullet points and a quote that makes you sound like a human being.”

He held her gaze. “You’re not writing it for me?”

“I already did.”

Of course, she had.

And as the plane dipped slightly into its descent pattern, Bucky’s smile lingered.

 

The jet landed quietly on the tarmac in Romania, and the team made their way into the resort. The cool air hit Alex’s face, but it didn’t do much to shake the lingering tiredness and borderline arousal from the flight. As they entered the lobby, Bucky fell a few steps behind, rubbing his neck, clearly still a little tense.

Alex walked up to the check-in counter, preparing to handle the logistics. The hostess greeted them in Romanian, and before Alex could say anything, Bucky stepped forward smoothly, answering in the same language.

Alex paused for a moment, her eyes flicking between Bucky and the hostess. 

Of course, he knew Romanian.

There was something different about his tone, a casual ease that she hadn't noticed before. The hostess smiled warmly, and Bucky’s response was a little more… personal, maybe a little flirtatious. He leaned just slightly closer, his voice softening in a way that made Alex feel slightly off-balance. The hostess’s giggle at whatever he said lingered a moment longer than it should’ve, and Alex shifted on her feet, looking down at her papers to avoid the growing discomfort.

Bucky turned back to her, smiling casually, though Alex couldn’t quite place the look in his eyes. “We’re good to go. They’re ready for us.”

“Great,” Alex replied quietly, trying to shake off the tension. She didn’t know why it felt strange. 

Bucky noticed her switch, and noticed her eyes began counting the tiles as they walked. He figured out why pretty fast and tried to bite back the stupid smile. 

They walked down the hallway toward the rooms. Alex’s heels clicked softly on the floor, the quiet stretching between them. But when they stopped at the end of the hall, her gaze immediately flicked to the room number on her keycard.

The first floor. Wait, not the first floor.

She blinked, trying to work it out. This wasn’t what she’d booked. Not even close.

“You upgraded me,” she said, keeping her tone neutral, though she was already processing what that meant.

The rest of their team dispersed throughout the resort, 

Bucky turned slightly, glancing at her. His expression was unreadable, his voice casual. “I thought you’d want to be more comfortable.”

Her brows furrowed. “Comfortable? You know I didn’t ask for—”

He gave a small shrug, but his eyes never left hers. “It’s a nice hotel. Thought you’d enjoy it.”

Alex didn’t say anything immediately, her gaze drifting between the two rooms. They were across from each other, a fact she had no doubt was intentional.

She wasn’t sure what she expected from him—maybe a practical answer, maybe nothing at all—but he just watched her, his posture relaxed, waiting.

Alex sighed softly and glanced at her keycard again. She couldn’t tell if this was just Bucky being considerate or something else. The tension between them wasn’t gone, and now there was a new layer to it.

Finally, she nodded, though the confusion still lingered. “Okay,” she said, stepping toward her door. “Thanks.”

Bucky said nothing in reply, but his gaze lingered just a second longer than normal before he turned and entered his room.

Alex stood for a moment, staring at the door across from hers. The silence hung between them as she realized she wasn’t sure if he was just being thoughtful… or if there was something else behind it.

She slipped into her room quietly, the soft rustle of the door closing behind her.

She had a short night ahead of her, jet lag catching up quickly as she got ready for bed.

Her mind was reeling, from her and Buckys' seemingly innocent banter on the plane, to the way he looked at her before going into her room. She’d seen him through so many phases, her past stalking becoming the image of his being.

But getting to know him now? She could tell his walls were still up, but he was definitely more comfortable letting himself slip around her.

Her chest swelled with something she wasn’t necessarily ready to name as she began to brush her teeth. 

Did she like him? More than just…her boss? There really was so much to like about him, his wit, his quick reactions to things, the way he was easy to just sit in silence with, how he laughed, his smile…

fuck.

She rubbed her hands down her face and braced against the counter. They had a very busy schedule the following day, and she needed to get some sleep. 

Not thinking about her much older, very attractive boss.

 

The next morning arrived with a briskness that made Alex barely notice the weight of the jetlag. Her phone buzzed incessantly with emails and reminders, all things she’d carefully planned for the trip. It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate the change of scenery—Romania, with its old-world charm and towering architecture, was a beautiful distraction—but business always came first. That meant a few hours of meetings before they’d even consider stepping outside.

Bucky was already up when she left her room, dressed in a sharp suit and sitting at the small table by the window, staring at his phone. He glanced up as she approached, offering a quick smile before looking back at his screen.

“Morning,” she said, as casually as possible, trying to ignore the tightness in her chest from last night’s awkwardness.

“Morning,” he replied, his voice a little hoarse, like he hadn’t had enough sleep. He rubbed his eyes and sighed, clearly still adjusting.

“Coffee?” she asked.

Bucky nodded without looking up. “Please. Black.”

She turned to leave the room, but paused when she realized just how much had changed in the last twenty-four hours. The strange tension still hung between them, subtle but undeniable. It wasn’t the way he’d upgraded her room. It was the way he’d noticed the small details about her, even without trying. The coffee, the way he’d spoken to the hostess the night before... and the way he always seemed to find her when she needed him.

The coffee shop downstairs was small but well-equipped, and Alex quickly returned with the order, trying to shake off the nagging feeling she couldn’t quite place.

She handed him the cup as he stood from his seat and pulled his blazer over his shoulder. “All set for today?” she asked.

“Yeah, meetings all morning. Then there’s the press briefing,” he said, looking up at her as she handed him the coffee. His eyes lingered for a beat longer than usual. “Thanks.”

She gave him a slight nod and sat down at the desk with her own cup. The morning stretched into a blur of papers, talking points, and travel logistics as they went over the agenda.

Bucky was tense, more so than usual, and she couldn’t tell if it was the pressure of the trip or the weight of his responsibilities. He shuffled through the notes, his face The harsh glare of the press was something he preferred to avoid. It wasn’t a part of him that came easily.

By the time the meeting rolled around, the day was already feeling like a blur. Alex was in charge of making sure Bucky’s notes were in order, preparing him for the speech he was about to give. She watched him from the corner of her eye as he adjusted his tie and ran a hand through his hair. He wasn’t nervous—he didn’t get nervous anymore—but the calm exterior didn’t hide the internal shift she knew he was dealing with.

“You’ve got this,” Alex said, as if reading his mind. She’d been working with him long enough now to see through his stoic expression. She reached up and tucked a few strands of his hair back, having figured out by now it seemed to ground him. “Just talk to them. They don’t bite.” Her voice was a little softer.

Bucky huffed out a laugh, his eyes flicking to hers. “You think they’re all just gonna nod and smile, huh?”

“Not exactly. But you’ve got the facts. You’ve got the vision. They can’t argue with that.” She dropped back down to her heels and swiped her hands down his shoulders, nodding quickly at her progress.

“Is this a suit I’ve had tailored for you?” She asked suddenly, eyes squinting at the material.

He raised a brow in question and looked down at his jacket, hesitant. “I’m not entirely sure, I believe so, why?” 

“Does it fit better on your left arm? Can you move it more? I know you don’t like the feel of fabric around it,” She replied, watching him like a puzzle. She knew his scarring around his arm was sensitive, his body never healing properly from the nerve damage. A constant reminder. 

He shifted his arm, lifting it and rotating, “Yeah, it fits great, thanks,” He said, slightly breathless. She tailored his suits? To fit better? He knew he had never mentioned that to her, and yet.

Bucky met her gaze for a moment, and there was something in the way he looked at her—appreciative, maybe, or even a little... vulnerable. For a split second, it was like the walls between them had thinned just a little more.

Before he could say anything, the door to the conference room opened, and his team filed in, signaling it was time to go. Bucky grabbed his notes and straightened his jacket, the usual confident stance of a congressman slipping back into place. “You ready?”

“Always,” she replied, standing and grabbing her bag.

The day was a whirlwind of meetings, speeches, and press conferences. Alex moved in the background, always ready with the next report or the next question, keeping things running smoothly without a hitch. She stayed close to Bucky during the press event, ready to field any awkward or unexpected questions that came up, her sharp mind catching every little detail.

Bucky was his usual composed self in front of the cameras, but Alex could tell the weight of the spotlight was starting to wear on him. The press had a way of asking invasive, personal questions, ones that pried at the parts of Bucky’s past he didn’t want to reveal. The ones he’d been forced to bury.

But Alex noticed. She noticed when his smile faltered for a fraction of a second, when his eyes tightened just before he answered. The tension between them only grew the more time they spent in this controlled chaos, and she could feel the way their dynamic had shifted.

It wasn’t just her curiosity anymore. It wasn’t just his awkwardness with her. There was something deeper simmering now, underneath the surface, something neither of them was quite ready to address.

As the day wound down and they finally retreated to their rooms, the silence between them felt heavier than it had before. The weight of unspoken things pressed down on Alex’s chest as she unlocked her door and stepped inside. She thought back to the moments that lingered in her mind—his gaze, his touch, the subtle tension between them.

She stood at the threshold of her room for a long moment before finally closing the door behind her.

 

Bucky stared at his phone screen, the soft glow illuminating his face in the otherwise dark room. He chewed on his lip for a second, fingers hovering over the keys. His thumb brushed over the "send" button before he hesitated, an odd nervousness prickling in his chest.

He knew what he wanted to say, but actually typing it felt... different. He was used to saying things in meetings, making requests, and demanding attention. But this? This felt weird, like stepping onto unfamiliar ground.

[Bucky]

Hey, I was thinking... since we have a free day tomorrow... maybe you'd like to join me for some sightseeing? Nothing too fancy—just some old buildings and gardens. I heard it's peaceful. Wouldn’t mind the company.

He stared at the message, his heart thudding in his chest. He was about to hit "send," but the words seemed to linger in the air too long, like they were too much, too forward.

He put the phone down on the nightstand, pacing for a few seconds. What was he doing? He wasn’t supposed to care about whether she said yes or not, but the idea of her not responding... of her thinking it was weird—made him feel like a teenage boy. He felt like he was back in Brooklyn, pacing outside of a girl's house before finally knocking. He rubbed his hands through his hair, took a breath, and picked the phone back up.

He hit “send” before he could talk himself out of it.

He stood there, staring at the screen. Nothing.

Five seconds passed. Ten.

His phone buzzed.

[Alex]

Well, I wasn’t planning on being swept into a spontaneous tour, but...

There was a small pause before the next message.

Guess I can make it work. If you don’t mind my company. You might need someone to point out the old stuff. ;) See you then.

He laughed, a soft exhale of relief. But his stomach fluttered as he read the last part.

It was almost too casual, too playful... and that small teasing tone? It made him feel like he was stepping into unfamiliar territory, but the good kind.

He replied quickly before overthinking it again.

10 a.m. in the lobby. I’ll meet you there.

And before his thoughts could run wild, he put the phone down and started pacing again, trying to calm the way his heart had picked up. It wasn’t anything serious. Just a day.

But somehow, it felt like more. Maybe he’d let it be more. 

Chapter 11

Notes:

the Romanian detail teehee

Alex stressed about what she was wearing for about two solid hours, her entire suitcase dumped out and spread around her room.

It’s not even that serious, it’s just him, it’s just a day out. You’ve done it before you can do it again.

But it was different because it was him.

She raked her fingers through her hair and took a breath, settling on flare jeans she brought from home and a simple tank top. 

She rushed around to do some light makeup, pick out jewelry, and rush downstairs. 

Almost a minute late.

She spotted him almost immediately, standing awkwardly next to a potted plant, scanning everyone who passed; that instinct never left him.

He wore a dark red Henley, simple blue jeans, and a brown jacket on top. His hair was sorta messy, and it looked like he shaved a little. She tried not to assume for her, and also tried to ignore the pounding in her chest.

He caught her eye and immediately straightened, that easy smile he seemed to have reserved just for her growing on his face.

“Hey,” She said softly, adjusting her bag strap, to which he immediately offered to hold.

“No, no, I got it, let me,” He assured her and gently tugged the bag off, and walked her towards a low-profile black car waiting by the double doors.

She wasn’t used to men trying to hold her bag .

She raised a brow.

“Relax, I’m an excellent driver, plus it’ll help us get to cool parts of the city without walking twenty miles,” he huffed, sliding into the driver's seat.

She was quick to follow, watching the way he gently put her purse in the backseat, she tried to focus on the dashboard and not the way his arms looked in his sleeves as he reversed.

Metal hand on the wheel, the other on the shoulder of her seat, sunglasses lazily dipping down his nose.

Her attention was back on the dashboard.

Jesus, what was wrong with her today? 

He led them down a windy cobblestone road and parked next to a few smaller cars and a Vespa scooter, to which she took a photo so they remembered their spot.

The morning was crisp, the streets of Romania already alive with the hum of the city waking up. Alex and Bucky made their way down the cobbled streets, their footsteps in sync as they strolled together, no longer the congressman and his assistant, but two people simply enjoying a day out.

The hustle of the city was nothing like the cold, calculated rhythm of the office. Here, everything was chaotic in a way that felt natural—like a soft melody played by the street vendors selling flowers, the laughter of children chasing each other between the crowds, the clink of cups from coffee shops that lined the sidewalks.

They were quiet, she liked that, neither of them filling the void with useless conversation, instead just enjoying the company, and the heat, of walking together. 

Even though it was the middle of February.

Alex couldn’t help but glance around, her eyes wide with curiosity. The buildings stood tall, their colorful facades weathered by time but full of character. She couldn’t quite capture it all, but the pictures in her mind were already taking shape.

She’d never traveled out of the DC area, having grown up in Queens and moving there before the blip. She’d never even seen colors quite like this.

Bucky was enjoying just watching her, the way she just quietly took everything in, a natural smile never leaving his face. 

“Check this out,” she said, pointing to a small, charming bakery tucked between two shops. The smell of freshly baked pastries wafted through the air, a sweet, almost intoxicating scent. She immediately pulled her phone out, snapping a picture.

Bucky watched her, a soft chuckle escaping him as she hummed in approval. She was completely absorbed, and it was a side of her he didn’t see before, much different than the always on edge, ready to rearrange.

“Want one?” he asked casually, nudging her shoulder as he motioned toward the bakery.

Her face lit up, but she hesitated for a moment. “Oh, I can’t... I’ll just—”

“I’ll get it,” he interrupted, a teasing glint in his eyes. “You can’t walk by a bakery like that and not get something. Trust me.”

She glanced at him, her eyebrows furrowing. “Is this what it’s like when someone’s trying to convince you to spend money?”

“Not at all,” he replied smoothly. “This is just me being a good tourist guide.”

She rolled her eyes, but the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her. “Fine. You win. I’ll have a croissant.”

Bucky grinned, a little too pleased with himself, as they walked up to the counter. He paid without hesitation, and when the baker handed them the warm, golden croissants, he handed one to Alex with a wink.

“See? Told you,” he said.

She rolled her eyes in response, playful, blushing. 

They continued their walk, sharing bites of the croissants as they ventured further into the heart of the city. Every corner seemed to hold a new surprise—a narrow alley with colorful street art, a market square where local vendors sold handmade jewelry, or a patch of green with a fountain surrounded by blooming flowers. The kind of sights that weren’t in the guidebook but still took your breath away.

Alex caught a glimpse of Bucky out of the corner of her eye, the way he seemed to take in the sights around him. He wasn’t the same man who had walked into her office months ago, distant and guarded. Here, in this moment, he was just Bucky—laughing at a silly street performer or listening with interest to the guide who pointed out the history of an old building.

It’s almost like she could see the man before the torture, or the man he was choosing to become. 

They passed an ice cream stand, and Bucky raised an eyebrow. “You want some?”

Alex blinked, then glanced up at him, sheepishly replying, “Uh, sure, I’ll have a scoop of… what’s that one?”

“Pistachio?” he guessed, and she nodded, so he pointed to the vendor.

They got their ice creams—she in a soft cone, he in a small cup—and they kept walking, eating in comfortable silence. The city’s rhythm matched theirs: light, easy, a little playful. Bucky dropped his empty cup in a nearby trash can, then wiped his hands on his jeans, glancing at her as they continued their stroll.

“So, what do you think?” he asked, his voice low but warm.

Alex glanced at him, her eyes dancing. “This place is beautiful. I didn’t expect it to feel so... alive.”

His grin widened, and he gave a short nod. “Yeah. It’s nice, right?”

She bumped his shoulder lightly with hers. “Thanks for bringing me along. It’s not like I’d get to experience this on my own.”

He laughed softly, his fingers brushing against hers briefly, just enough to make her heart beat a little faster. “Not a problem. I’m glad you’re here.”

That’s all he had to say, not just politeness but genuine. 

They reached a small garden tucked away from the main street, its entrance flanked by ivy-covered stone walls. There were benches scattered under the shade of trees, and a fountain trickled softly in the background. The peaceful atmosphere invited them to sit, and for a moment, they did, taking in the quiet beauty around them.

“I’m glad we’re doing this,” Alex murmured, her voice quieter now as she took in the surroundings.

Bucky stretched out on the bench, looking up at the sky. “Me too.”

There was a stillness between them, not awkward, just... comfortable. Neither of them needed to fill the silence, and for the first time in a long while, Bucky felt like he could just be. Not the Winter Soldier, not the congressman, but just Bucky—standing next to someone who made him feel like he wasn’t so broken, like maybe he could enjoy moments like these.

Alex’s gaze shifted to him, her fingers absently tracing the edge of her ice cream cone. “You’re quieter than usual today.”

He met her gaze and smiled faintly. “Just taking it all in, I guess.”

She knew that could mean a multitude of things, but she decided to drop it, knowing a moment of quiet indulgence would mean more to both of them. 

They sat there, side by side, not needing to speak, just letting the world swirl around them, both of them present in a way that felt strangely... natural

The sun was starting to dip beneath the horizon, casting a warm orange glow over the narrow streets of Romania. The city felt quieter now, with only the faint hum of conversation and laughter drifting through the air. It was the kind of night where the usual weight of responsibilities seemed to slip away, and all that mattered was the now.

They’d walked away from the more tourist-heavy spots and wandered down a small, cobbled street. Alex had been completely absorbed by the intricate architecture of the buildings, her eyes tracing the weathered stone as she asked Bucky about the history of the area. He didn’t have many answers—he was still trying to figure out how his feet had carried him here—but he was happy to listen.

Then, a sound caught her attention—a lively melody. The rhythm of a violin mixed with the steady beat of a drum, warm and inviting. It was a local folk song, one that twirled through the air like a playful breeze. Her eyes widened, and she instinctively stopped walking, drawn to the music.

“Oh, wow…” she said softly, looking ahead at a small crowd gathered at the end of the street. A few people were dancing, their movements energetic and carefree, the joyful rhythm of their bodies syncing effortlessly with the music. The air around them was full of life.

Bucky turned to see the same thing. For a moment, his gaze lingered on the dancers, and the familiar pang of memories flickered at the back of his mind. Romania—his mission here, years ago—had been wrapped in the cold steel of Hydra. A place he’d once been ordered to kill, where he’d danced a different, darker rhythm. The people dancing now weren’t enemies; they were laughing, living, unburdened by the same chains that had once gripped him.

His mind was temporarily clouded, a weird pull, and he felt like, for a moment, he was sinking. He remembered coming here and a mission to kill, but…nothing else. 

He forced himself to snap out of it, to focus on her. And before his next breath, his body took a step forward, and the next thing he knew, he had his hand on her elbow, guiding her toward the crowd.

Alex glanced up, surprised. “What are you—?”

“C’mon,” he said, a slight, knowing grin tugging at the corner of his lips. “We’re gonna join them.”

She raised an eyebrow, looking skeptical. “Join them? I don’t know how to—”

“You’re fine.” He pulled her into the circle of dancers, the infectious beat carrying them along. His hand, still warm from the casual touch on her elbow, slid around her waist as he tugged her closer, the crowd moving around them.

Alex opened her mouth to protest, but the music swept over her, and for a second, she was lost in the movement of the people. They were so free, so full of life, and the music wrapped around them like a soft embrace.

He lifted his hand and plucked his sunglasses out of his hair, placing them on her, and tugging the lenses down the bridge of her nose so he could still look into her eyes.

“You’re kinda cute when you wear my stuff,” he said, his voice low so only she could hear him, trying to ignore his finger tracing down her jaw and poking at the star necklace around her neck.

She had almost forgotten it was there. Her heart was racing, and she was unsure what to say, hearing the dial-up sound in her brain momentarily. 

Bucky, with a quiet chuckle, grinned down at her, his expression far less guarded than usual. “Don’t worry, I’ve got this,” he said, his voice low and teasing.

She blinked, confusion flickering across her face, the temporary distraction welcomed from the raw heat in her stomach. “Wait, you know how to do this?”

He didn’t say anything, but his feet moved in perfect time with the rhythm, and he began leading her through the steps. It was fluid—nothing formal, just the lighthearted freedom of a dance that had no strings attached. The crowd around them seemed to melt into the background, the world narrowing to just him and her.

For Alex, it was a strange moment—a sense of complete stillness amidst the hustle. She found herself following his lead, the tension in her shoulders melting with every graceful step. She never thought she’d be dancing with a former assassin in Romania, but here they were—his strong, steady hand guiding hers, his eyes focused on hers with a kind of unspoken understanding.

“What kind of dance is this?” she asked, almost breathless from the unexpected whirl of the dance.

“A tradition,” he said, almost shyly now, a slight color creeping up his neck. “Something from before… I picked it up a long time ago.”

Her gaze softened, a flicker of something she couldn’t name passing between them as the music swelled. It wasn’t a mission, it wasn’t work, and it sure as hell wasn’t Hydra. It was just them. Bucky was here, as Bucky, not the congressman, not the tortured man. She was just Alex, not the assistant, not the person who had once mapped out every detail of his life in a dossier. It was the simple joy of two people sharing an unexpected moment—no titles, no expectations.

As the song picked up speed, Bucky led her through a spin, his hand brushing lightly against the back of her neck, bringing her close for a quick dip. She gasped softly, half-laughing, her heart racing, and then he pulled her back up to his chest, both of them in perfect sync.

He felt young again. Like the man he was meant to be. 

“Not bad, huh?” he grinned, a boyish charm to his smile.

Alex was still trying to catch her breath, her pulse a rapid thud in her chest, though it wasn’t from the dance. “Yeah,” she said, her voice softer than usual. “You’re not as stiff as you look.”

He laughed, clearly amused by the playful jab. “I’m full of surprises.”

She glanced up at him, her face a little flushed, the lightness of the moment making her feel lighter, more carefree than she’d felt in a long time. “I’m starting to see that.”

The music wound down slowly, but they stayed in the circle, moving slower now, just letting the rhythm flow over them. No rush, no agenda—just the moment. For a while, Bucky’s hand lingered on her back, his thumb tracing small, absent circles, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. And Alex didn’t even think to move it.

Chapter 12

Notes:

This was hard to navigate, since I wanted to throw in some angst. !!!Warning depctions of violence, gore, and sexual assault!!!! I don't straight up describe but its still present!!

The feeling from earlier still gnawed at Buckys mind as they returned to the hotel, shoving their faces with some sort of street vendor food.

He really really enjoyed spending time with her, off the clock, in a different country, the feeling of her in his arms still very fresh on his mind.

But yet, a darkness that loomed, something triggered that he couldn’t quite place, grasping onto ribbons of memories. 

Surprisingly, Alex didn’t notice, one of the few times a change in his demeanor went unnoticed by her. 

Bucky laughed with her as she twirled through the hallway, still stuck on the dance they’d experienced on that random street.

“You really are something else,” he teased, digging through his back pocket for a key card, fumbling around in total bliss as he watched her giggle and sip her lemonade.

“Well, it was really fun, Buck.” Her voice softened, and her eyes were filled with something that felt like it was pulling him down down down. “Thanks for taking me seriously,” she hummed, leaning into his chest, to which he tried not to freeze up at the contact.

“Of course. Had to take my favorite dance partner for a spin,” he replied, his hand giving up on his room key and sliding around her waist, the other tugging her arm up and twirling her.

She giggled again, truly letting herself loose in this moment, for once wanting to live on the edge. She pushed up to her toes and kissed his cheek, the ghost of a touch.

“Goodnight, Bucky,” she said quietly, her voice becoming personal.

“G’night,” he replied, hoarse as he watched her turn and head across the hall, shooting him one last smile before disappearing behind her door.

And he was standing in the hallway, a look of total ecstasy on his face, his heart racing, and a smile growing.

He was completely and irrevocably in love with her.

 

__________________________________________________________________________________

 

 

Bucky went to bed with a stupid smile on his face and a mind hazed with thoughts of her, and he finally faded into sleep.

And he had a nightmare.

Darkness.

Then—

Pain .

White-hot, all-consuming pain like lightning cracking through bone. His skull splits open beneath the weight of something-no, someone—tearing him apart from the inside. The chair under him hums with electricity, straps digging into his wrists as he thrashes, teeth clenched until they nearly shatter. A mouth guard too big was shoved into his mouth for just that.

The split second of panic, of screaming anything he can remember. Anything.

"Ready to comply."

His own voice. Cold. Mechanical. Not his. 

Bucky was beginning to slip, a yell bubbling in his throat, he couldn’t go back, he couldn’t go back- no no no-

But then there’s screaming. Not his either. A woman. A child. A man gasping for air as his lungs fill with blood, his face frozen in that last terrible moment before the bullet finds him.

Gunfire. Like all the times before it. 

Bucky is screaming, clawing at the muzzle on his face, designed to remind him, designed to control. 

His finger twitches.

Bang. The ring is so familiar he doesn’t even register it anymore. 

A body slumps, hitting the ground with a thud that makes his stomach churn.

Bang .

A boy stares, paralyzed, as his father drops in front of him.

The Winter Soldier never killed children. The eye of the barrel shifted over to the mother. 

The woman is screaming " please—please —" and then.

bang .

His hands are soaked. Red and sticky and shaking. The entire room is soaked. The walls are breathing, blood is rising up his boots, his body is racked with pain again, his mind sliding back into place. 

“Asset secure,” a voice crackles in Russian, and suddenly his body isn’t his own anymore. He’s moving—marching—dragged down a corridor like meat on a hook, his face blank, eyes glazed.

 He had tried to fight it at first, but after taking out a few scientists, they secured his neck with a shock collar, made to keep him docile. Made for a dog . 

Then the cold hits.

Bucky is thrashing, trying to punch, kick, fight, something. Anything, but his nightmare isn’t budging. 

Cryosleep.

The feeling of freezing alive. His eyelashes stiffen into tiny needles, frost biting into the grooves of his skin, his lungs burning for warmth, for air. He can’t breathe. He can’t scream. He can’t even dream—but it doesn’t stop the memories from bleeding in.

Metal clamps lock into place around his arm, dragging it backward until something pops. A voice is whispering in Russian again, something about reprogramming. Something about efficiency. About obedience.

He is not a man. He is a machine.

He remembers the saw, the scraping of metal on bone. The dull blade they jammed into his shoulder, his screaming so loud they shoved a rag in his mouth.

Covered in his own blood.

They, they, they, he didn’t even recall names, faces, just another set of gloved hands on him.

The dream fractures. The chair again. His head is snapped back, jaw pried open, a metal device cranked between his teeth so he can’t bite down as the needles descend. And they always descend.

Then something worse—

The sterile white room. The fluorescent lights above. A migraine. Always. His shirt is gone, his wrists bound to the table. There's no mission here. No orders. Just them.

Now he’s really fighting, screaming, begging. Tears are streaming down his face as he falls to no avail. 

Hands grab him. Rough, clinical. Uncaring.

He screams this time. In real life or in the dream, he’s not sure. 

He breaks free but he’s stumbling, he can’t see, his fingers tear at the blindfold around his eyes, tied to slightly his temples pulsed.

He remembered two of the men talking in hushed tones once.

“His eyes…they’re too human, I can’t…I can’t perform when he looks at me like that.”

They press him down harder. There’s no fighting it. He is a weapon, not a man. A weapon can be used in every way.

All he can feel is intrusion, of hands on his body, everywhere touching him, everywhere, the cries of pain, and biting his tongue till it bled to ignore the pain. 

He wants to vomit. Wants to die. Wants to forget.

He used to fight it, used to thrash untill they gave up. But after the uncounted time, he would stand under a boiling shower and silently sob untill he felt he was clean of shame. 

They don’t let him.

They freeze him again.

And again.

And again.

He kills. He obeys. He suffers. He forgets. He is taken. He is used. He forgets again.

Until finally, he’s screaming—his own voice again—and when he opens his eyes, it’s still dark.

But it’s real.

 

The knock on her door is frantic, sharp. It’s not a polite tap. It’s urgent, insistent. The kind of knock that says someone’s about to break down.

Alex opens it, groggy and half asleep, only to see Bucky standing there, wide-eyed, chest heaving as if he’s just run a marathon. His pupils are blown, and he’s shaking. He’s wearing a shirt and there’s a wildness to his movements—like he’s been awake for days, lost in something she can’t see.

“Bucky?” Her voice wavers with concern. “What’s wrong?”

He pushes past her before she can even step aside, his broad frame blocking the doorway as he rushes into the room. The door slams behind him, and for a second, neither of them move.

Alex blinks in confusion. “What the hell is going on? Bucky, what—”

He’s already pacing, hands running over his face, his breath coming out in shallow bursts. His eyes dart around the room like a wild animal looking for something to escape. Then, without warning, he’s pulling back the curtains, checking the window, before sweeping his gaze across the rest of the room—every corner, every shadow. Hands covering lamp shades and ducking below the doorframes into closets.

He was checking for cameras, she’d seen him do it before.

“Bucky talk to me.” she starters, her tone stern, not a request. 

Something she’d practiced, something his therapist had told her to do incase something like this happened. 

‘He will still respond to a direct statement. Sleeper agent code removed or not. Stand your ground.’ 

His eyes snap to hers, pupils wide, and in that moment, she sees it. The terror. His chest is rising and falling like he’s suffocating, his skin clammy, his voice broken. He looks at her with a kind of desperation she’s never seen before.

“I don’t know. I—” His voice cracks, and he swallows hard, glancing behind her, as though looking for a threat. “I can’t—” His hands go to his head, grasping at his hair as if trying to claw away some invisible pain. He takes a half-step toward the door, his body rigid. “What if he comes back?”

She steps forward, trying to make herself a presence in his frantic world. “Who? Bucky, who are you talking about.”

He looks at her, wide-eyed, almost as if she’s not even there. His voice is low, shaky. “The Winter Soldier.”

She froze.

“What if he’s still here? What if I’m still—what if he’s still me?” His eyes are manic now, filled with raw fear. “How do I know he’s really gone? How do I know I won’t hurt someone again? What if I—I—”

His voice breaks again, and he falls into silence. The heels of his hands go up to his temples, pressing down hard, like he’s trying to stop something from bursting inside his skull.

She took a breath, her heart pounding in her ears as she looked at the fracture of a man in front of her, the pain so evident in his features. The only light in the room was from outside. dim, casing a navy shadow.

She knew better than to turn on a lamp, the light would scare him. He didn’t look anything like the man that had held her in the streets only hours prior. No this was, this was something primal.

“He’s gone, remember? You fought it until he was buried deep deep down, bucky you have to breathe.” She rushed out, taking a step towards him, her hand slowly opening as if to take his own.

“How do you know. ” He replied, his breathing still erratic as he started at her, his eyes full of fear and begging her to see it.

“I know because i’ve seen it, I’ve seen the winter soldier and i’ve seen you .” Her tone was steady, her body taut, ready to jump out of the way, but her eyes were wide and cautious, but understanding. 

A beat. The tension in the room was unbearable, the silence ringing loud.

“How are you not afraid?” He asked, a step forward. “How are you so sure one day I won’t just… snap?” 

She took a step back, the small kitchen in the suite getting closer, “Bucky,” She said again, ground him, she had to ground him. “I’m not scared of you. I told you when I first arrived at your office and I stand by it still.” She wasn’t sure what to do. 

She wasn’t scared of him. She wouldn’t let him think that.

His breathing was still heavy, his eyes sharp and scared, hands trembling. 

He backed her against the kitchen counter without touching her, crowding her in that calculated

way she knew he’d been trained for — a tactic to intimidate, to corner. 

Every alarm was going off in her head to run, to hide, to do something. But her stare never left his. 

His shadow swallowed hers. He was still shaking, tears still pricked his eyes. 

“Say you’re not scared of me again,” he said, voice low, the nightmare of the screams still echoing in his mind. 

Her breath hitched, but she didn’t back down. “I’m not.”

He leaned in, close enough for her to feel the heat of his skin. His metal hand planted against the counter beside her. The other hovered at her hip, not touching — hovering, scared to hurt her, scared to touch her, scared to be.

Then, softly — like a secret — he said it.

“Ты знаешь, что я могу тебя сломать?”
(Do you know I could break you?)

His Russian was smooth. Natural. Like a second skin. Her heart raced — but not from fear.

She answered. Quiet. Steady.

“Ты бы не стал.”
(You wouldn’t.)

That made him flinch.

His jaw locked. His eyes searched hers like he was trying to find the lie — but there wasn’t one. Just her, flushed and shaken.

“You memorized everything,” he muttered, almost bitter. “Every file. Every code word. You even learned the language they used to control me.”

“I had to understand,” she whispered.

He stepped back like she’d hit him.

“And you’re still not scared?” he breathed.

She shook her head. “You were just a boy James,” he flinched at the use of his first name, she spoke it like a prayer, her breathing fast, but her hands coming up to either side of his jaw, slow. “You didn’t deserve what happened to you. You didn’t know… I couldn’t be afraid of you.” 

He just stared at her, his eyes softening ever so slightly, his hands shaking but settling on her waist.

And in the split second between breaths, before she could tell him anything else.

He kissed her.

He kissed her like it was the last safe thing he’d ever know.

He moved her against the counter again, his mouth all-consuming on hers, whatever gasp she may have let out, he had swallowed almost instantly.

Her mind was short-circuiting, her fingers curling into the edges of his hair, the kiss was rough, desperate, like he just needed to feel something.

It was electric, for a moment, there was nothing but the overwhelming need for connection, her mouth like a lifeline, a desperate grasp for something real.

The kiss was frantic, raw, like he couldn’t remember the last time he felt human touch, like he needed to feel alive again, even if just for a second.

But only for a second.

Then, he froze.

His breath caught. His hands dropped like they’d been burned. Like she burned. And he staggered a step back as if waking from a dream he never should’ve had.

“I shouldn’t have—” he rasped, shaking his head. His voice was wrecked, like gravel underfoot. “That wasn’t fair.”

She blinked, lips still parted, stunned by the sudden chill in the space between them, heart racing and every nerve in her body alight.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” she said, voice tight, her heart pumping ice cold blood at his sudden disgust.

“I tested you.” His eyes wouldn’t meet hers. “I cornered you. Spoke to you in a language that was used to hurt people—used to hurt me —and I used it on you. That’s not…” He exhaled hard, turning away. “That’s not okay.”

Her heart raced, his expression made her feel gross. She couldn’t get the words out fast enough, but she could feel the weight of his remorse crushing him. “Bucky, wait—”

“No,” he cut her off, running a hand over his face. “I—I just… I came in here like a damn wrecking ball , dragging you into my mess, and then I— I kissed you—after everything, that’s not how I wanted that to go. That’s not how I wanted our first time…to be.” His voice faltered, and his eyes locked onto hers, searching for some kind of answer, some kind of forgiveness.

She took a step toward him, her own hands trembling. “Bucky, you didn’t—”

“I’m not that man anymore,” he said, voice hoarse, eyes fierce with guilt. “I know I’m not, but how do you even trust that? I’ve hurt people, I’ve killed people… I—I’ve hurt you just now, haven’t I?”

“No,” she said, her voice firm, her breath shaky but certain. “You didn’t hurt me, bucky.” She said his name slowly, carefully, as if giving him back some of the humanity he had lost.

His gaze softened for a second, just a second, before the walls slammed back up again. “But I could. You think I don’t know what that feels like?” His hands clenched into fists at his sides. “I’m trying to be better, but it’s not that easy. You don’t just get to turn it off .”

Alex reached for him, her hand trembling as she touched his arm, but she didn’t pull away when he flinched. Taking that cue she moved up, her hands ghosting to cradle his jaw. Her tough soft and careful, she leaned in, her voice quieter now. “I see you. Not just him —I see you . You don’t have to be afraid of me. Not like this.”

His breathing had slowed, his hands coming up to rest against her forearms as he let his head hang into her palms. He was exhausted, she could feel it.

“I didn’t want it to be like that,” his voice barley above a whisper, muttered into her hands. “I’ve thought about it a hundred times and never did I think that’s how I’d do it. I’m sorry.”

She tilted her hands so his eyes met hers, his pupils were back to normal, and his breathing had slowed, he was still hot to the touch.

“It’s okay.” She whispered back, “It was still one hell of a kiss,” she teased, trying to get him to laugh, even just a fraction.

“There it is,” she noticed him slowly smile, eyes still downcast.

He didn’t answer right away, just let the silence settle between them like a weighted blanket. His eyes fluttered shut for a moment under her touch, like her presence alone was enough to quiet the noise.

She gently pulled her hands away but didn’t step back. “You don’t have to go,” she said softly, watching his jaw tighten again. “If you don’t want to be alone tonight.”

Bucky’s eyes flicked up, startled—not because he hadn’t thought it, but because she’d read it off him so easily. He didn’t speak. Just nodded once.

She gave a little, understanding smile and turned, motioning to the couch. “It’s not a bed, but it’s low. You can take the floor. I have extra pillows and blankets.”

She knew he slept on the floor due to several reasons, PTSD being one of them. 

He nodded again, slower this time. “Yeah,” he said, his voice rasping around something unspoken. “Thanks.”

A few minutes passed in quiet motion—pillows being placed, blankets unfolded. He made a spot for himself on the floor beside her couch, methodical and careful, like ritual. Like control. She curled up on the couch above him, close enough to hear him breathe.

They didn’t say anything for a while. The room dimmed. The only light came from the faint glow of the city filtering through the curtains.

Her hand slipped over the edge of the cushion, tentative but deliberate, searching. She didn’t know what she expected, but his hand found hers before she could pull back.

Fingers curled together. Slow. Steady.

Not everything had to be a storm.

She didn’t look down, and he didn’t look up. They just held on.

Sleep crept in gently—soft and heavy—and for the first time in a long time, he didn’t fight it.

Chapter 13

Notes:

sorry for this one

The early morning light crept in through the sheer curtains, painting pale stripes across the floor.

Bucky stirred first. He blinked up at the ceiling, disoriented by softness—the absence of adrenaline, of nightmares. His hand was still wrapped loosely in hers.

He just looked at it for a moment, her limp wrist over the edge of the cushion, her fingers locked enough with his to stay there. 

It was a moment of intimacy. One he hadn’t felt in a while. And even after everything last night, everything he did.

She still held his hand.

She was still asleep, curled up above him on the couch. Peaceful. Breathing slow.

He let himself look at her for a moment a strand of hair had fallen across her face.

Without thinking, he reached up and brushed it back. Barely a touch. His fingertips hovered at her temple.

Then he froze.

His stomach dropped as the weight of everything came rushing back—last night, the nightmare, the panic, the exchange, the way he’d let go too fast, too soon.

He pulled back like he didn’t deserve to touch her.

She stirred, eyes fluttering open. Still groggy, still soft around the edges. “Morning,” she whispered, her voice scratchy.

Bucky sat up too fast, hands disconnecting. “I’m sorry.”

She blinked, rubbing her eyes. “For…?”

“For last night. For kissing you. For staying. For everything.” He rubbed his hands over his face, already shutting down again. “I shouldn’t have—I wasn’t thinking clearly. I shouldn’t have put that on you. I shouldn’t have made you feel like—”

“Hey,” she cut in gently. “Bucky. Stop.”

He looked over at her, tense and expectant, like he was bracing for impact.

“It’s okay,” she said, sitting up now, her voice calm. “It was… intense. Spur of the moment. We were both kind of cracked open. I get it.”

He searched her face for any trace of hurt or regret. “You’re not mad?”

“No,” she said simply. “Are you?”

He hesitated. “Not mad. Just... ashamed. I told myself I wouldn’t ever do something like that unless I was sure it wasn’t about fear or flashbacks or guilt. But I can’t even tell what it was. Just felt like... I lost control.”

She nodded slowly, still watching him. “And I kissed you back, so I guess we were both a little out of control.”

That pulled a faint, breathy laugh from him. He looked down at his hands. “Still. It wasn’t how I wanted that to happen.”

She blinked at him and pushed off the couch, stepping over his legs. 

“Well,” she tried to loosen up the mood. “I’m not upset Buck, don’t dwell on it.” she gave him a soft smile, her hair still messy from sleep and her shorts slightly twisted.

He gave her a weak smile and his eyes were back on his hands. There really was no going back from this, and he took a breath.

The plane ride back to DC was quiet, too quiet, the hum of the engines filling the gaps where conversation should’ve been. Bucky was staring out the window, his jaw set, a little too rigid for comfort. Alex, seated across the aisle from him, tried to pretend she wasn’t noticing the tension thickening between them.

She glanced at him, then back down at her phone screen, pretending to scroll. But her mind was nowhere near the articles on the news feed.

After a few more moments of silence, she let out a breath and broke the quiet, her voice light. “So…” She traced the edge of her phone. “You mentioned…last night, that you’ve thought about…kissing me…prior to..that one..” She raised her eyes to him, his jaw ticking as he stayed looking out.

“Alex…” He looked down at his and quickly to her, his voice was tight, almost pleading.

She realized the only way to move past this was to force him back into their normal routine.

She leaned forward, grinning in spite of herself. “So, what does that mean exactly? Like, were you fantasizing about it during meetings, or was it more of a ‘I’m thinking about her while I’m sipping my coffee’ kinda thing?”

His whole body stiffened, his face going from flushed to outright crimson. “Can we just—can we not talk about this?”

“Why?” she teased, now genuinely curious. 

He ran a hand over his face, his exhale sharp. “You don’t get it. I didn’t plan for any of this. I didn’t—hell, I didn’t think about it like that. Not until last night. And now it’s…” He shifted uncomfortably, glancing out the window again. “It’s just... weird.”

She leaned back in her seat, the smile dropping into something softer, more thoughtful. “It’s only weird if you make it weird, Bucky.”

He glanced at her quickly, surprised by the understanding in her voice. “That’s not how this works.”

“No?” She raised an eyebrow, folding her arms over her chest, leaning back just a little. “I think it could work. I think you just have to stop acting like it’s some huge damn issue.”

She understood the weight, he clearly had a nightmare of some kind, that conclusion she could form on his own. 

The words hung there between them, thick and real. He shifted again, his gaze moving out of the window but his mind elsewhere, likely still wrestling with his own feelings. She watched him, and then, without thinking, she said:

“I’m not expecting anything from you, Bucky. But I think we’ve already crossed some line—whether we meant to or not. So, if it’s gonna be weird, then, I guess it’s weird. We both still have jobs to do.” her voice softened, like a balm against the edge of the tension.

He met her gaze then, and it wasn’t just her words that softened him—it was the fact that she’d said them so easily, like she wasn’t afraid to walk into something uncomfortable, something he couldn’t control.

He swallowed. “I don’t know what I’m doing half the time, you know? I’m not sure how to just... feel normal around you, or anyone.”

Her gaze stayed steady on him, her expression unreadable for a moment. “That’s the thing, though, right? You don’t have to be normal. Not with me.”

He was quiet for a long time, and for a moment, she thought he wasn’t going to say anything else. But then, finally, his voice was low, hesitant, like he was still trying to make sense of it all.

“You don’t have to have an answer. We can talk about it whenever you’re ready.” She finally said, pulling headphones over her ears and clicking away on her tablet screen. Like the conversation hadn’t just happened.

She still had things to do, schedules to create, emails to send, whatever line that had been crossed, or boundary broken, he could assess when he felt was the right time, for now? She’d be a place of saftey, of comfort for him if that’s what he needed. 

But at the end of the day she was still his assistant, and he had to realize that the truth? Would change everything. 

After returning to DC, Bucky and Alex slip back into their daily routine—but everything feels slightly off-kilter, like the axis has shifted. It’s not awkward, not quite, but the unspoken thing between them simmers just beneath the surface. 

Their work rhythm resumes: early mornings, policy briefings, fast-paced meetings—but now there are long, lingering glances between coffee sips, brushed fingertips when passing files, and an ease in their banter that wasn’t there before.

They don’t talk about the kiss. They don’t talk about the night in Romania. But the silence doesn’t erase the weight of it. It lingers.

And they definitely didn’t talk about their talk on the plane.

She figured he needed space. He was really shaken that night and she couldn’t imagine his inner turmoil.

What she didn’t understand is why he felt the need to be so apologetic, she understood he acted on impulse, that in the moment he just needed to feel something real.

and she happened to be there.

But he kept apologizing, over the days, little comments here and there, between a debrief or in the break room. 

Over the next two weeks, the space between them tightens. Their conversations grow softer when no one else is around, their silences more charged. Bucky starts waiting for her before morning meetings. She starts leaving him notes on his desk—reminders he doesn’t need, but always keeps. What used to be strictly professional becomes quietly personal.

But, something was gnawing at the edge of his mind, the way she had answered him, in russian.

He knew she knew a lot, he’ll he thought she knew too much, but russian? In the heat of the moment he didn’t push for an expansion of an explanation. 

But now that it had begun to brew? It felt…invasive.

One night, she ends up at his apartment. It’s late—just an impromptu scheduling catch-up, or so they tell themselves. 

He always tells himself that when he invites her over again

and again. 

He’s stirring a pasta, back towards her 

They're going over his upcoming travel and interviews, and she’s sounding more bored.

“Oh and don’t forget your meeting with your therapist on monday. She moved it to four thirty instead of six. And then tuesday is the meeting with Councilmen Jameson, which, I won’t be there for because I have a doctors appointment..” She trailed off, making a side note with her stylus.

He was quiet, which was odd. He wasn’t typically this quiet. 

“Во сколько встреча?” (What time is the meeting?)

“Два пятнадцать, западное крыло.” (Two fifteen, west wing.) She responded so fast she didn’t even think. She paused, her heart beating a little louder as she realized what he just did.

He turned halfway towards her, clicking the oven off.

The air shifted, her fingers tightened around her stylus.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you.” His voice was low, and she wasn’t picking up on his usual light edge. “Why do you know russian?” Now he was fully facing her, his expression guarded.

She let out a breathy laugh, the intensity of his gaze had her a little startled, 

“Right. Yeah, I picked it up.”

”Picked it up?” He repeated

She finally met his eyes. “During the Blip. A lot of the files I found were in Russian—recordings, transcripts, mission briefs. I had to learn it to understand what they were saying.”

His jaw tensed, arms folding slowly. “So you learned a whole language. Just to read about what I did?”

There was a beat. “I mean… yeah. I wanted to understand, I-I said this…the other night..?” Her eyes were darting around, her fingers beginning to pick at each other as he just stared.

“To understand what , Alex?” His voice rose, sharper now, slicing through the stillness. “The Winter Soldier? The assassin? The human experiment gone wrong?”

Her expression wavered. “That’s not what I meant—”

“But it’s what you did , isn’t it?” He stepped forward now, eyes burning. “You didn’t just find those files. You searched for them. You broke through government digital securities, you dug them up. Listened to recordings of me being tortured, being wiped, killing people—and you thought that was okay? Alex you should be in prison .” 

“I thought you knew,” she snapped, voice cracking under pressure. “You’ve known this for months. I wasn’t hiding it.” 

She was starting to feel her hands shake, his entire demeanor switching, she’d never seen him actually upset, especially not directed towards her. 

“That’s not the point!” he shouted. “You talk about it like it was just research. Like I was a project. i was a kid Alex! Jesus I-“ He ran a hand through his hair, bracing his hands against the counter across from her. “I don’t understand how you sit there and understand my story like..like it’s a book or something! Like I’m not even real to you.”

Her voice dropped to a whisper, brittle and confused. “I didn’t mean to—” She didn’t understand why he was upset

Didn’t he know this? Didn’t he know what she’d done? She told him so early on, why was he doing this? Didn’t he…didn’t he feel something for her? 

“You know why it pisses me off?” he said, stepping closer, tone low and guttural. “Because I thought you saw me. I thought—after everything—you were the one person who didn’t flinch. But now I don’t know if you’ve ever actually seen me at all.”

She blinked, staring at him like the air had been punched out of her lungs. “I do see you,” she said, barely audible. “Everything I did… I did because I needed to understand you. Not what you were, or what they made you do. You .”

“But it’s not your story to dissect,” he said. “It’s mine. My past. My pain. And you treated it like it was just— data .”

The silence after that was suffocating.

She didn’t respond. Couldn’t. Her mouth opened slightly, then shut again. 

“Bucky I dont understand, we are- I thought-“ Her brain was moving so fast she felt like she couldn’t breathe. “You were…you were something to get to know, a-and dissect yes but not like that not-“ 

He cut her off before she could continue.

“You sound just like them.”

A beat.

“The doctors who’d chose what method of torture to do next. The way you talk about my missions and actions like they’re statistical . It’s just like them.” That last line gutted her, and he could see it. But for once, she didn’t have an answer. No retort. No rationalization.

Just silence.

Cold, deadly, silence .

Their eyes were locked, his a mixture of anger and hurt, and hers, hers shifted into defense.

“Are you…Are you serious right now? ” Now she pushed herself out of the stool, it was her turn. 

He crossed a line.

He knew it, his shoulders slumping slightly at the realization of what he said.

“Alex, I didn’t mean, I just meant the way you talk, you’re so robotic -“

“That’s how i am bucky. That’s how i’ve always been! ”

Being called robotic was a very sensitive spot, years of trying to battle how analytic her brain was, to lace her words with compassion and empathy. Her mother used to call her that. He knew that too, shed told him that a late night at the office and he just weaponized it.

“You’re acting like ive become some sort of heartless monster towards you!” She was standing her ground now. “Everything I’ve done for you— for us —everything I’ve done to help you, to help you feel like yourself again, and this is what you throw back at me? This?” She gestured wildly, anger and disbelief mixing into something more cutting. "I’ve spent the last few months trying to make you feel like you matter. Trying to make you see that you’re more than just a soldier, more than just a tool used for execution. That you’re real, that you’re real to me and you’re real to them and you could do something ! And you… you think I see you as a file ? That I’ve just been treating you like some piece of data to decode?"

Bucky’s mouth opened as if he wanted to interrupt, but she didn’t let him.

His words stung, they stung deep and now she was livid.

"No," she continued, voice rising. “You’ve gotten more done as a congressman in the past six months than you ever did before. I’ve seen it. I’ve worked with you. I’ve seen the way you’ve fought to get your life back, to try and build something meaningful from the wreckage of your past, and you’re telling me I’ve been treating you like a project? Like you’re just something to study? That’s how you see me now? I’ve worked so hard to move with you, to work with your triggers and your ticks, because i care about you, because i’ve always cared about you. ” Her voice broke, her hands jutting into her chest, desperate for him to realize the emotion there. Her eyes searching, begging.

She stood there, chest heaving, waiting for him to respond. But he couldn’t.

“Alex,” he started, voice shaky. “I didn’t mean—”

“No,” she cut him off sharply. “You said what you said. Don’t try to take it back now, Bucky. You meant it.”

Bucky’s eyes widened as he moved towards her, desperate to fix it, to explain. “No, I didn’t—I didn’t mean it like that. I was angry, I was—”

“No,” she repeated, her voice more biting than before. “You can’t just erase words like that. You can’t say something that cuts me open and expect it to be forgotten just because you’re sorry. No, Bucky.” Her voice shook with the weight of it. “And if you can look me in the eyes and tell me that that—” she pointed to the distance between them, a coldness that had formed in the air, “—if you can say that I remind you of those men who tortured you, then..”

she paused.

He knew what she was going to say and so did she.

She felt sick.

“Then I don’t think this can work any longer.”

That was it.

His eyes were now desperate, wide with regret, breathing fast. 

She grabbed her tablet and keys and walked out. The sound of his apartment door closing behind her. 

Chapter 14

Notes:

why was this so hard to write 😭

The door slammed behind her harder than intended. The sound echoed through her quiet apartment, matching the fury ricocheting through her chest.

She didn’t even take her shoes off.

She paced, arms folded tightly across her chest, as if holding herself together with the sheer force of tension in her body. Her heart was racing, her skin prickling like she’d been out in the cold too long.

Her chest ached. It felt like something inside of her had been quite literally ripped out of her body. 

It was like the whole conversation was replaying on a loop in her head, each word sharper than the last. His voice—wounded, defensive, accusing—You sound just like them. It hit her again and again like a punch to the ribs.

How could he say that? How could he look at her and make that comparison? 

She stopped moving, planting herself in the center of the room as her jaw clenched.

She had just tried to understand him, she knew the deepest parted and had seen how he’d grown.

She’d got to know him she’d got to feel something towards him. 

But that wasn’t enough, was it?

Her vision blurred slightly, and she scrubbed her palms across her face in frustration, like she could erase the heat behind her eyes. “I should’ve known better,” she whispered to no one.

What had she been thinking? Working for him? Getting close to him?

And to a point…he was right. He wasn’t something to be memorized, he was a human being who’d been tortured and abused for years. He wasn’t a sob story to read online, he was flesh and blood, and she cringed at the thought she had treated him any different.

She had literally hacked into illegal government files. She had combed through private Hydra documents, stolen surveillance logs, recordings of missions. At the time, it had felt like the only way to understand him. To find some sort of truth in a world that had been gutted by the Blip.

But now?

Now it felt… small. Unforgivable, maybe. Not because she hadn’t cared, but because maybe she’d cared too much—about an idealized version of him. A myth. A legacy stitched together from reports, trauma, and battle scars she had no right to pick open.

And the worst part—the part that was making her shake now—wasn’t even losing her job.

It was losing him.

She felt sick. She felt like she might throw up or burst into tears. 

Her fingers curled into her sleeves as she dropped onto the couch, knees pulled tight to her chest. All this time, she’d worked so hard to keep that line clear. She’d told herself over and over it was just work. That it didn’t mean anything.

But it had.

It did.

And now she wasn’t even sure if she could look him in the eye again without hearing those words echoing back: You sound just like them.

She wasn’t even sure she’d ever see him again. 

 

 

The silence in his apartment was deafening.

Bucky sat on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, hands covering his face. The words still hung in the air like smoke, thick and choking.

The moment had spiraled so fast. One second they were unraveling something real—something vulnerable—and the next, he was throwing the ugliest parts of himself at her like they were knives.

He hadn’t meant it. Not really. Not the way it came out.

But he’d said it. He’d seen her face—the shock, the sting. And then that look. The one she gave him just before walking away.

God, she looked so betrayed.

He leaned back and held his hands over his face, not trusting himself not to do something stupid. 

Why did he always do this?

Self-sabotage came easier than breathing some days. It was instinct at this point. Push people away before they could see too much, get too close. Especially her. Especially after that kiss.

That kiss.

He ran a hand over his face again, like he could scrub the memory away. He hadn’t stopped thinking about it since it happened. The way he didn’t think, just did, the way he recoiled from her when he finally did gain some form of consciousness. Hadn’t stopped replaying the way her hands held his face, how it had felt like maybe—just maybe—he could finally let someone in.

And now? He’d nuked it. Like always.

He stood up suddenly, pacing the floor just like she had miles away. The memory of her voice—cutting, rightfully angry—made his stomach churn.

He hated the way he’d accused her.

She wasn’t one of them. She wasn’t Hydra. She wasn’t some cold scientist dissecting him on a table.

She was Alex.

She’d been his steady. His constant. The only person who treated him like he could be something more than what the world said he was.

And what did he do? He used her worst vulnerability against her. Compared her to the very people who had destroyed him past the point of fixing? 

Her?

He felt sick.

And now she was gone. Probably for good. Probably never coming back. And the silence felt colder than it had in years.

But he didn’t know how, to fix it, he didn’t fix things, he broke them. Not matter how far he tried to run, how many people he saved, he’d always touch something and it’d shatter. 

Because the truth was, he didn’t just ruin a professional relationship. He’d hurt the only person who made him feel real again. 

 

 

He wasn’t ready to see it.

Not the envelope, not the handwriting, not the way it was centered on his desk like she’d placed it with care—like it mattered. Her name in the corner, sharp and efficient.

Alexandra J. Wyvern – Resignation

Bucky just stood there for a long moment, his fingers curled at his sides. His jacket was still half on. He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

When he finally opened it, it wasn’t long or emotional. It was exactly how she spoke when she was on edge—clinical, controlled, polite to a fault. No drama. No blame.

Just:
"You were never just a file to me. Thank you for everything."

He sat down slowly, the chair creaking beneath him, the letter still in his hands.

Everything.

She meant everything, and now it was nothing.

 

 

 

She hadn’t cried when she left.

Not in the elevator. Not on the way home. Not even when she dropped the keys off at the front desk with a quiet, final nod.

This job had meant something to her, she had gone from his assistant to a friend, to, well, she didn’t know. 

But two weeks in, alone in her kitchen, a mug of untouched tea cooling beside her laptop—she finally did.

Not dramatic sobs. No soundtrack-worthy meltdown. Just quiet, leaky devastation. The kind that crept in through the seams.

She kept thinking about the way he looked at her during their fight. That sharp, aching betrayal. She hated that she saw guilt in his eyes right after, and even more, she hated that she wanted to go back and say something—anything—to fix it.

But how do you fix being compared to the people who broke him?

How do you fix that?

You can’t.

She let herself wallow in her guilt, regretting her stupid teenage mind and the utter madness of isolation and what it led her to do.

But she also couldn’t stop thinking about how she felt dancing with him, both times, his cute awkward comments when he’d call her pretty and she’d pretend she didn’t hear him to get him to repeat it. Or the lillies she had dried hanging above her sink, or the way his eyes whispered thank you, when she had something adjusted so he could breathe. 

she groaned and dug the heels of her hands into her eyes. 

 

 

 

Everyone in the office was walking on eggshells.

He’d snapped at someone in the hallway just for asking if he wanted coffee.

Meetings were shorter. Conversations were clipped. His sarcasm, once dry and rare, had turned acidic. 

Everyone’s opinions theyd carefully built to understand him, to like him, to trust him, were slowly breaking back down.

It wasn’t intentional. He wasn’t trying to be difficult. But everything felt off without her around—like the rhythm of his world had gone slightly out of sync.

He was late to meetings, got weekdays switched, sometimes didn’t show up all together.

It didn’t help that her desk was still empty. He hadn’t allowed anyone to clear it. Said it was for records. Said he’d get around to it.

He wouldn’t. He just couldn’t let go of the idea she might come back.

 

 

 

She saw him once.

At a gala on the news. He looked tired. Not in the usual way—more like the light in him had dimmed. He was still handsome, still composed, but there was something… brittle about him now.

It felt weird, felt like the first time she saw him, his eyes weren’t as bright as they were in Romania.

But they weren’t as dark either.

She couldn’t help but wonder if her knowledge of his past is what triggered that nightmare.

Would he not have had it? had she not stopped in the street to point out the dangers? He mentioned knowing the dance from an old mission, was that the trigger? 

She tried not to think about it too long.

She missed him. God, she missed him.

And not just the work or the routine. She missed the way he made her laugh unexpectedly. The way he brought her coffee without asking. The way he listened like no one else ever had.

And the way she knew him. Even if that’s what hurt him most.

 

 

 

month two

He hadn’t meant to end up in her neighborhood.

He told himself it was coincidence the first time. But by the third time he found himself walking down that same block, near the market she used to talk about when she was too tired to cook, he knew better.

So maybe he did some light stalking, no big deal. 

He just had to see her, had to breathe again 

He didn’t approach her. Didn’t get too close. Just stood across the street like a coward and watched her fumble with her groceries. She dropped a lemon, and he almost crossed the road before she picked it up and smiled at the cashier.

She looked okay.

Not happy. Not the same. But okay.

And that… should have been enough. But it wasn’t.

He couldn’t keep doing this. Couldn’t keep haunting her shadow.

But he also couldn’t shake the weight in his chest that whispered, You lost something. And if you don’t fight for it, you’ll lose it for good.

Chapter 15

Notes:

Wait guys i’m so sad i don’t wanna say bye to them :(

The knock is unexpected. Three short raps, then silence.

Alex doesn’t move at first. She’s sitting cross-legged on her couch, headphones around her neck, a half-empty mug of tea on the coffee table. Her heart stutters, and somehow she already knows. She just knows.

When she finally opens the door, he’s standing there.

Bucky.

Wearing that beat-up leather jacket.

And his hair was cut, chopped all the way up, short and spiked and clean shaved, he looked younger, his blue eyes finding hers immediately.

Jesus he looked incredible. 

Her heart stuttered, like it was doing flips of joy at just seeing him, meanwhile she tried to stay steady.

And in his arms, tucked against his chest like it was the most normal thing in the world, was Alpine, her white fur slightly flattened from the ride.

He looks down at the cat, then back up at her.

“She wouldn’t stop asking to see you,” he says, deadpan. Then, softer, “Figured I’d better listen.”

Alex’s breath catches. She wants to cry and laugh at the same time, but instead she steps back slowly, leaving the door open.

“You could’ve called,” she says carefully.

“I know.” He steps inside, Alpine purring as she jumps from his arms and immediately makes herself at home. “I didn’t think I deserved to.”

She nods once, arms crossed. Still braced. Still hurting.

Bucky doesn’t waste time.

“I was mean,” he says. “What I said—about you sounding like them—Hydra—I didn’t mean it. Not like that. I just… I panicked. You knew things about me I’ve spent years trying to forget. It felt like I was exposed, like I was back there. I haven’t…” He took a breath as she closed the door “I haven’t cared about somebody in a long time. And I blamed you because it was easier than admitting I was scared.”

Alex didn’t respond right away. Her face flickers, hurt, recognition, a tiny breath of relief.

“I wasn’t trying to treat you like an object,” she says softly, her fingers tracing the counter top, “I didn’t go through those files to dissect you. I just wanted to understand you. And I didn’t know how else to do that. I—I didn’t have anyone during the Blip. You were a story I clung to. I…” She squeezed her eyes shut, “sometimes I can come off as robotic,” she said the last word through gritted teeth. ”I know, I’m reminded of it every single day, but i don’t want you to ever think…that it’s how I feel, like I don’t care, but I do,” she met his eyes, “I care about you more than I think you understand.”

“And I was too dense to see that,” he says. “You’ve only ever tried to help me. You’ve always seen me as something more than what I was.”

A beat of silence, Alpine weaved between their legs, purring loudly.

“It was easier with Steve, or sam, they knew what i’d done, but not to the extent you do. It was easier, less…responsibility. And you are right, I don’t have to hide from you.” 

His words were heavy, practiced, she couldn’t take her eyes off of him.

He takes a small step closer.

“I missed you,” he admits. “More than I thought I could miss someone.”

That cracks her armor.

“Yeah, me too,” she breathed, shifting her weight. 

He smiled at her, an soft light smile that made her eyes flicker to his lips for a moment. 

“I’m planning to ask if maybe—maybe—we could start again. Or…just be how we were, I don’t want to lose you but, I don’t really know how to do this.” His voice drops at the end, a whisper, a confession. 

She swallowed, her heart thudding hard. “We can figure it out.”

Silence stretched between them. Not uncomfortable—but charged. Something simmering.

Then he moved even closer, until there was barely space between them. His gaze dropped to her lips, then back up again.

“I want to…to try this, again” his voice is low, one hand slowly, hesitantly, cradled her jaw, his fingertips in her hair. “Can I..?” He whispers, lowering down and tilting till his mouth is a breath from hers. 

She couldn’t breathe, his eyes practically begging her as they flicked across her face, and for once, all of her restraint completely vanished.

She met him halfway, and the kiss wasn’t harsh, or aggressive, she wasn’t pinned and he wasn’t hurting.

He was starving.

He kissed her like she was air and he couldn’t breathe, like he’d been waiting for this moment for longer than he could know.

His hands hesitated, hovering over her, fear he might hurt her. Her hands gently landed on top of his, guiding him to her waist and up, granting him permission. 

His arms wrapped around her, pulling her impossibly closer, hips chest and hands tangled in eachother.

“You cut your hair,” she breathed into his mouth, and he chuckled, low and sultry, shooting goosebumps down her body.

His vibranium arm wrapped around her and lifted her onto the counter, his other hand pushing her knees apart like he’d practiced it.

The cold of the countertop clashed with the heat they radiated 

“Do you not like it?” He mumbled against her, the kiss still feverishly hot. 

She raked her fingers through his hair, the edges sharp but just as soft.

She giggled against his lips, to which he let out something that sounded like a whine.

“Not much to hold onto,” she teased, his tongue and teeth making their way down her jaw and against her neck.

He let out another low laugh. “Trust me doll,” his hands hooked under her knees and pulled her completely against him, balanced on his hips. “you’ll have plenty to hold onto.” His voice was like sin and devastation and she was completely drowning.

Giggling agaisnt him again she had to brace one hand behind her so she didn’t slip backwards, her other hand still gripping onto his hair.

His hands slid up her waist, warm fingers and ice cold metal slipping under her shirt, and with a small gasp he deepened the kiss, nipping at her bottom lip.

She dropped her hands to his jacket, pushing the lapels down and nudging at his shoulders, to which he didn’t hesitate to rip off, his mouth bever leaving hers

She felt like she was overheating, her entire brain going haywire and she couldn’t think of anything else but just not stopping. 

His hands caught hers as she attempted to unbutton his shirt, pulling away momentarily.

Much to her disappointment.

His forehead rested agaisnt hers, breath mixing between them.

“I want-“ He paused, panting, which made something shot through her. “I want to do this right,” he whispered, his eyes meeting hers. 

Soft, intimate blues. 

She nodded in response.

“Let me…” His hands continued their exploration up her sides. “Let me take you out, on a date, a real one, flowers, a cute restaurant, the whole thing,” His voice was sincere. 

She let out a shaky exhale, nodding again. “Y-yeah, I’d really like that,” She couldn’t fight the stupid smile that spread across her face. “Let’s take it slow, start small, work our way up.” She says, her hands gently gliding up his arms, hands still planted at her hips.

“Slow,” he repeated, breathy and eyes still trained on hers.

“Slow.”

Chapter 16

Notes:

Thank you to anyone sticking through!! This was so fun to do again and TRUST there will be more on the wayyyy

Alex came back on a Tuesday.

Her contract had been reactivated, her badge reinstated, and the coffee that had become habit, returned. Bucky had opened his office door that morning to find her already at her desk—black slacks, crisp white button-down, hair neatly tied back. Professional. Familiar. 

And yet, the second her eyes met his, something shifted—something small and magnetic, like a string quietly pulled taut between them.

They kept it professional.

…Mostly.

She slid files across his desk with practiced grace, voice steady as she briefed him on meetings and press events. He sat with his arms crossed, nodding, answering in clipped tones that didn’t betray the fact he hadn’t stopped thinking about her since she left. But behind closed doors—when the office emptied out, when the blinds were drawn and the city buzzed faintly beyond the window—he’d back her against the door and kiss her like he was trying to remember how she tasted between lifetimes.

It wasn’t every day. Wasn’t careless.

It was sacred.

They moved slowly. Carefully. 

No sleepovers on work nights. No reckless entanglements. 

Careful around coworkers, the whole congressman-and-his-half-his-age-secretary thing didn’t look…great.

Every other weekend they alternated apartments, his was quiet, books stacked haphazardly by the bed; hers had plants in corners and warm light that made everything feel like home.

Saturday afternoons turned into quiet routines: grocery shopping, coffee refills, aimless conversations about world affairs or the ethics of sock-shoe order.

Sunday nights were for movies neither of them really watched because she always fell asleep curled against him halfway through.

And he never minded.

Bucky would stay awake with the volume low, one hand gently tracing the shape of her spine, the curve of her arm, the line of her jaw. 

It wasn’t about sex. 

Which, they hadn’t done yet, having discussed boundaries and just not being ready, from both of them. 

It wasn’t even closeness, really. It was about learning her all over again—through silence, through stillness, through the way her breath caught if he ran his fingers just below her ribs. He didn’t need anything from her in those moments. Just her. The rhythm of her. The living proof that not everything had to end in fire.

One night over dinner, she made pasta and he insisted on grating the cheese himself. She swatted at his hand with the spoon.

“You don’t trust me with parmesan?”

“I don’t trust you not to monologue about parmesan,” he shot back.

“I give informed culinary commentary.”

He grinned, leaned in over the countertop. “You give sass.”

“And you like it.”

“God help me, I do.”

Later, as she tucked her feet under herself on the couch with a glass of wine and a book, he stood in the kitchen doorway just watching her. T-shirt rumpled. Hair loose. Reading glasses sliding slightly down her nose.

He didn’t say it then, but he thought it.

I could fall in love like this. Quietly. With you.

Maybe he already had.

And though neither of them rushed it, neither denied what this was becoming.

It wasn’t perfect. But it was safe. It was earned.

It was late nights with soft touches and long weekends marked only by shared space and easy laughter.

It was the sound of her voice down the hall.

It was the feeling of her hand finding his in the dark.

And for once in his life, Bucky Barnes wasn’t looking over his shoulder. He was just, finally, looking forward.

At her.

 

 

It was late. The kind of late where the world outside seemed suspended in molasses, where streetlights cast long shadows through the slats of her apartment blinds, and the only sounds were the rustle of fabric and the soft hum of the kettle forgotten on the stove.

She was on the couch, legs tucked beneath her, wearing one of his old shirts, threadbare and far too big, sleeves pushed up as she worked through the last pages of a report she was proofing for him. 

Her brows furrowed as she read, lips slightly parted in concentration, completely aware that he’d stopped pretending to scroll through his phone fifteen minutes ago and was just watching her.

She was always aware, like a sixth sense, but she never told him that. 

Bucky sat across from her, hunched forward on the armchair like he couldn’t quite sit still. His elbows on his knees, fingers steepled near his mouth. The television was on but muted, playing something forgettable. His focus wasn’t there.

It was on her.

Something about the way she bit the inside of her cheek while she worked, or how she played with the necklace he gave her, or how she still treated every report with the same energy she did when she was just his assistant. Still diligent. Still over-prepared. Still hers—still his.

Something swelled in his chest, slow and enormous.

“Hey,” he said quietly.

She looked up, distracted but warm. “Hmm?”

He stood and crossed the room, easing onto the couch beside her. She shifted instinctively to make room, and he pulled her legs over his lap like it was second nature now,

because it was. 

She settled her laptop aside, attention turned fully to him.

“You okay?” she asked, reaching up to brush a stray lock of hair from his forehead.

His hand caught hers, held it. Metal fingers curling gently around her wrist. He looked at her like he was seeing something he hadn’t let himself see before, not fully. Like the words were fighting their way up his throat.

“I’ve been trying to find the right time to say something,” he murmured.

A beat. The kind of pause that makes the world hold its breath.

“I think I love you.”

Her breath hitched. The softness in her expression didn’t shift into shock or fear—it deepened, like something inside her had been waiting, too. She didn’t speak right away, just let her fingers settle over his jaw, her thumb brushing the edge of his cheek.

“Bucky,” she said, voice barely above a whisper.

“I don’t need anything from you,” he added quickly, eyes searching hers. “I’m not saying it so you’ll say it back. I just—I need you to know. Because it’s been there for a while. And the longer I go without saying it, the more it feels like I’m lying when I kiss you, or when I just sit next to you like this.”

She blinked hard, lips parting, and when she finally answered, it came with a small laugh, raw and disbelieving and so full of feeling.

“I think I’ve been in love with you since the moment you told me you hated how I organized the staff meetings.”

He laughed too—surprised and breathless—and she leaned in and kissed him.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t wild or desperate or tangled in fire.

It was quiet and steady. It felt like everything soft he thought he’d lost in himself. Everything gentle she had fought to show him he deserved.

And as they sat tangled on that couch, legs across laps and fingers twined, nothing else mattered.

They had time.

Time to say it again.

Time to live like it was true.

Time to fall even deeper into something real.