A/N: Again something inspired by a song by Keane. This time it's You're Eyes Open.

I hope you like this. Tell me what you think!

Written for Winterhawk Week 2015 Day 7 - Pain.

When I Lose You In A Moment

Chapter 1

How I struggle…

Clint stood at the window of his bedroom in his apartment in Bed-Stuy, lazily glancing out onto the busy streets, Bucky's dog tags dangling around his neck, the metal hitting his bare chest every once in a while when the wind increased, the chilly air grazing his skin and causing goosebumps to rise along the length of his arms. He smiled to himself. It's been a while since he'd been this happy.

He knew he'd got a place in the Avengers Tower, both of them had but he liked it this way. The calm of his own flat, a little space just for him, for them, something he could call his own. Their own. The smile grew wider and he felt a warmth rising in his chest he'd felt so many times in the past few months and still shuddered every time at the accompanying thoughts and pictures that appeared before his inner eye. He liked to think of this as theirs.

It was early in the morning, the sun tickling the horizon somewhere in the east, a cloudless sky above him promising a beautiful day, and the high buildings threw shadows from across the street that played on Clint's face, shading his features. He'd never felt so calm and content.

He felt arms reach around him and the next moment a soft Brooklyn-accented and still sleep-tinged voice whispered into his ear and Bucky rested his chin on Clint's shoulder, pressing a kiss to his skin and gently pulling him closer. Clint let himself be gathered against Bucky's chest, leaning back into the embrace and enjoying the moment. The metal arm lay across his stomach but the material was warm and Bucky was careful not to hurt him, applying the softest of pressure so that Clint barely felt it. Clint inclined his head, squinting into a ray of sunlight that chose the exact moment to break through the ravine of concrete and glass, and the smile hadn't even vanished for one second. His eyes found Bucky's and he let his gaze linger, fondly studying the features that were too close to allow a decent look.

A regular beeping noise cutting through the heavy silence. Machines on the one side, the daylight seeping through the drawn curtains from the other.

Bucky wakes up to something wet dripping on his hand. Nothing too weird except for the fact that nature must have skipped geography class because the dripping is performed upside down from bottom to top fully ignoring any gravity laws. Bucky's half-sleeping brain still wonders how this is possible when his body – he realises he is tensed all over, every muscle strained and ready for action – figures out the inaccuracy of the whole scenario and something in his mind clicks and he opens his eyes to find Lucky at his bedside, licking his flesh hand that is loosely hanging over the edge. Bucky stares at the dog, he's not able to tear his tired eyes away but somewhere at the back of his mind he notices the concern in Lucky's eye. Just that – no, not now. Trying to ignore the signs his body sends him Bucky turns his head around on the pillow, now facing the wall.

And an empty side of the narrow bed.

Bucky stares. Heartbeats pass and he just stares. Then reaches out with his metal hand, the mechanics of his cybernetic arm whirring gently into life, and it hovers above the mattress before he lets it slump down, the information slowly sinking into his head. A small whine from Lucky makes him turn again and Bucky heaves himself up but the movement is too quick and his head collides with the slanted ceiling under which the bed is placed. Bucky grimaces, rubbing the back of his head and wondering since when Clint's apartment has inclined ceilings.

Bucky blinks a few times until his eyes have adjusted to the dim light in the room and he takes a look around. There are two things that register in his mind immediately. This is not his boyfriend's apartment in Bed-Stuy. This isn't the Avengers Tower either. So, where the hell is he?

The whole scenery doesn't look like he knows it, like he's been here before. The small room is almost empty safe for the shabby bed and a table in the corner that looks like it's seen better days. The top is smeary and dirty with the dust of years of disuse and the chair, which's backrest is leant against the table, is missing half a leg. The window only reluctantly allows the greyish daylight to seep through for the glass, framed in mouldy wood, triggers the thought of too many endured changes of weather, and narrowing his eyes at it Bucky spots a crack in the glass that runs straight from top to bottom only to end in a hole, jagged around the edges where a bullet had come through. It's only a single point of entry and the shards of glass are scattered underneath the window on the slim ledge. Bucky drags himself up, his mind slowly clicking the connections into place that it needs for him to activate his instincts. Examining the pieces he reckons they're fresh, recently ripped out of their place, and when he takes one between thumb and forefinger of his flesh hand the sharp edges cut into the skin and Bucky hisses, throwing the glass back onto the ledge. But he remains professionally calm, his face a mask and when he turns the movement is inaudible, the air not even shifting. His eyes follow the trail the bullet must have taken and they catch onto a spot on the opposite wall. Another hole. So the bullet flew straight through the room, crashing the window first and then getting stuck in the bare concrete wall. The entry point lies low so whoever fired the shot was aiming at a target in this very room. And whoever the target was, either they're gone or-

Bucky's eyes sweep across the room. No body. That only leaves one logical conclusion. He was the target.

Which, in return, raises more questions. For starters, why are they after him? Who are they? Did they give up on chasing him? Bucky woke up on the bed, alive and physically intact which means he escaped their radar. Or he got to them before they could get to him. But again, no bodies. Apart from the fact that Bucky feels as if he's slept for ages and that there's a black hole in his mind when he tries to recall the past few hours he feels perfectly fine.

The blank space in his memory makes him jump. Did they, did HYDRA track him down? Did they find him, capture him, wipe out his memory again and then just left him here? Bucky shakes his head and a faint stab of pain rushes through his left temple. It doesn't sound like something HYDRA would do when they got to lay hands on their soldier again.

Their soldier? No, he's not theirs. He's not the soldier anymore, he's changed, he's changed back, he is Bucky Barnes. And he's no one's possession.

It needs a few repeats until Bucky believes it.

Breathing even he turns again, peeking out of the hole the bullet left in the glass and unmoving he stands as he lets his gaze dart across the courtyard that lies in front of him. First floor, so he's one above ground level. The yard is empty, safe for a couple of rubbish bags, their former content littering the cobblestone ground. Again, no bodies, no one there. Bucky's eyes dart to the building opposite his position which looks just as rundown and abandoned as the one he's currently in. Bucky squints a little and his head processes the necessary calculations. About one hundred metres separate the two buildings, no problem for a sniper. Every window gets a thorough check but when Bucky is sure that there's no one lurking behind the walls, rifle ready to shoot, he straightens his back and re-composes himself into an upright position.

None of this, however, explains why he's here. Bucky sifts through his mind, scans every thought for a hint on what happened but it's hard to focus and he can't quite get a grip on anything. It scares him, to say the very least, and he knows something went terribly wrong, must have gone awry but he can't grasp the signs that usually tell him the story. Then his mind rolls back to the bullet and he follows its trail, this time with his feet and comes to a halt in front of the wall, slumping down onto his knees. Metal fingers scratch at the concrete when he raises his arm and mechanically begins to dig out the bullet. The metal makes high pitched noises when it comes in contact with the material and Bucky internally winces but keeps on going until he doesn't because the damn bullet is stuck too far in the concrete and he won't get it out, metal arm or not. Pressing out a hiss through gritted teeth because bloody hell, the bullet is the only piece of evidence that could have given him a lead on what is going on here, he props himself up against the wall, head leaning back, the hard concrete scraping at the back of his head but he doesn't notice. Bucky grimaces, his face a mirror of utter confusion and dissatisfaction about himself. Some supreme top league assassin he is.

Well, he's been a puppet on a string, extraordinarily so, but he did know which strings to pull himself depending on what the situation required.

Right now, Bucky Barnes, formerly the Winter Soldier and HYDRA asset, is well and truly clueless.

This is the moment Lucky chooses to make his presence known again and the quiet whine has Bucky jolting up in dawning horror.

Lucky. Why's Clint's dog with him when said man is nowhere to be seen?

Their moment of silent bliss only lasted as long as Clint's phone remained asleep. The sudden shrill ringing destroyed the atmosphere and despite Bucky's pleading look of letting it be Clint picked it up.

"Yep?"

His face turned from happy and content to stern and anxious in a second and Bucky watched the transformation with growing worry. The creases that appeared on Clint's forehead boded ill and the tone with which he replied to the unheard question was tense and the concern too evident.

"I'll be there. Give me fifteen minutes."

Clint hang up, tossing the phone onto the bed where it bounced off once before laying still. He wriggled himself out of Bucky's embrace which only caused Bucky to wrap his arms around him tighter.

"What's the matter?" he asked, his face serious and voice carefully even.

Clint didn't meet his eyes when he bit his bottom lip and Bucky could tell he was reluctant to share the information.

Bucky outwardly remained still, his eyes never leaving Clint while his mind had embarked on a rampage several moments ago. This moment, it was the image of perfection and he didn't want it to be destroyed, for once he only wanted a single day of quiet togetherness, no interruptions, just the beauty of them being together, enjoying the here and now. He just wanted to have his Clint for himself for one day, not having to share him with missions requesting his presence.

When the answer came, it was quiet and low but Bucky could hear the deep concern coating Clint's tone. "The tower's under attack. Unknown enemy."

Bucky inwardly sighed and it took him a few blinks to realise he'd repeated this physically, too. This was an emergency, he knew that but for once-

"They said Tasha's been-" The choked sound that left Clint's throat made Bucky's heart wrench and he didn't know whether to be angry or worried. He knew how much Natasha meant to Clint, and he could see the sorrow in his eyes no matter how hard Clint tried to remain calm and steady. If Nat was in danger, then this discussion had seized to be relevant as soon as it began because there was no arguing about going or staying.

Silently cursing the day Bucky let him go, reaching for his own armour. "I'm coming with you" he announced flatly.

That made Clint jump. "No! You stay here and wait for me, I won't-"

"Unknown enemy? Clint, do you honestly ask of me to sit here and wait while my boyfriend walks straight into the claws of who knows what? This might be HYDRA, this might be Loki, this might be even worse, I am not" and Bucky put great emphasis on the word, "letting you go on your own. You need back up" he added, his voice as controlled as always when a mission was imminent.

He didn't miss Clint flinching at Loki's name and Bucky scolded himself for digging that up again but time was of the essence and he couldn't afford to be thoughtful now.

Clint, on the other hand, didn't seem to give in so easily. "And what if it's HYDRA? You know what they'll do when they get to you and I don't want-" to lose you was what he wanted to say but for some reason the words caught in his throat but Bucky understood him anyway.

"Let it be HYDRA, I'm prepared, Clint, I'm not what I was a few months ago" and placing a gentle hand on his shoulder he quietly said, voice tender, "Thanks to you."

"But, Lucky…" It was a last feeble attempt that Bucky brushed aside with an assuring smile.

"Lucky's a grown-ass superhero pizza dog, he knows how to look after himself."

A sigh, then a shake of the head. "I'm still not approving of this."

"You don't have to be." Bucky handed him his combat gear and minutes later Clint Barton had turned into Hawkeye and his face was so stern, it almost scared Bucky. "It's my choice."

Why's the dog even here? Thinking about flight and armed chasings Lucky is the last living thing Bucky would take with him. Even if he's a grown-ass superhero pizza dog, raised by an Avenger. The dog inclines its head, watching the man with a sad eye. Feeling a sudden, frighteningly overwhelming need for physical contact, Bucky extends his flesh hand. "C'mere, ol' sport." He startles at the roughness of his own voice and swallows a few times until his throat feels comfortable again.

A blink.

"Let it be HYDRA, I'm prepared, Clint, I'm not what I was a few months ago."

The memory hits him so suddenly Bucky almost cries out in mental pain and then piece by piece the last hours return to him. The phone call, the fighting, bullets, arrows, knifes flying through the air, the sound of repulsors right next to his ear.

Trying to stay calm is suddenly a lot more difficult that he remembers it to be but there is something at the back of his mind, hidden, dusted, and he can't reach it. It is important, of that Bucky is absolutely sure but the harder he tries the further it slips away from him. The situation causes something in his stomach akin to nausea and he feels sick, images of HYDRA agents flashing before his inner eye, but those memories are old and they consist of torture and pain and he doesn't want to remember that. Scrambling to his feet Bucky is consumed by one thought. He has to find Clint.

When they arrived at the Tower only minutes later it felt like New York all over again. Bucky had heard enough stories to be able to imagine what it must have felt like and right now he thought to know how it looked like. Steve practically ran into them, waving for them to duck away and a split second later his shield went zinging over their heads, knocking over two men that were coming after them. Steve yelled over the chaos, assuring Clint that Natasha was inside the tower, wounded but all right, and Bruce was taking care of her. Bucky turned, taking a quick look around and taking in the whole sight of the mess he's standing in, assessing every important component and cataloguing the damage done already. Next to him Clint drew his bow and next thing he knew arrows went flying past his face. His ears perceived a faint roar and then Stark came into view, all suited up and frying the intruders. Bucky thought to hear him shouting something like "I love guests but I do not appreciate them destroying my home!" but then everything was just too loud to make out the origins of the noises.

"Bucky, watch out!" The voice belonged to Steve and Bucky turned just in time to knock his metal arm into the face of the man attacking him from behind. It wasn't sufficient, though, because Bucky was slammed into the wall behind him and he gasped when his back hit stone. The collision pressed all the air out of his lungs and for a second the world stood still. Then Clint was at his side, eyes wide and mouth open in what looked like an attempt at words but Bucky couldn't make out the sound, his ears were ringing from the impact. He reached up to touch at his head and when he found everything intact and working he scrambled to his feet, gripping onto Clint's arm. Merely standing again something whirred through the air, grazing his earlobe. He spun around to be greeted with the sight of more men coming at them, guns drawn, and finally his operational mind took over and he pulled his gun, aiming shoot after shoot at the approaching enemy. One by one they fell, like an army of tin soldiers and Bucky didn't care if it was HYDRA or someone else. They were a threat and that was the only fact his brain needed to coordinate his movements. Feeling strangely accustomed to this, completely in his element Bucky took out another target and usually this would have been a thought that would spark worry in him but right now the situation at hand was worrying enough. There was a slight burn in his right shoulder where a bullet a little more than grazed his arm but he simply registered the information and packed it away to be dealt with later. His magazine emptied far quicker than was probably good but Bucky just replaced it, resuming his actions. His body moved quickly and swiftly, almost gracefully, and soon he was the one keeping the entrance to the tower clear.

It was just one second of distraction when he heard a yell behind him and his eyes left the area in front of him. This one second was enough to catch him in utter surprise when he was suddenly swept off his feet and flying into the nearest barrier. Bucky crashed through the glass door and landed harshly on his back, tearing his metal arm up in defence at the last second before the shards rained down on him and the thought that he didn't feel like any bone broke inside of him almost echoed like a fun fact in the back of his mind. He rolled over to his side, swallowing dust and debris when coughing and gulping down breath after breath and then he was kneeling pressed up against the wall next to him that surprisingly enough, was still standing. The blast had swept everyone off their feet and Bucky didn't even bother to wonder what had caused the explosion because all he saw through the thick layer of powdery particles that the air now consisted of was–

His mind went rogue when he saw a bullet dive through Steve's gear.

And another.

And a third.

The world went red.

Please don't ask me how on earth Lucky got here, I have no idea. I just needed him there.