Think of the Movement of Grain

by Indygodusk

The music was loud but not grating, with a deep bass beat that thumped through her body like the smack of boxing practice. Stevie was surprised to find that she liked it. It made her body want to weave with the punches.

AN: This is a genderbent rule 63 Captain America, meaning Steve Rogers is female in this. There is romance and sexy dancing with Bucky, but there won't be sex. There is nudity, but not in a sexual context. There is explicit violence and death, but only of bad guys. My final warning/announcement is that this is a oneshot, an actual oneshot written by me! A very VERY long oneshot if we must get technical, but still a oneshot and not a full novel. I'm shocked and excited too! I hope you enjoy it!

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A Female Captain America x Bucky Barnes Clubbing Fic

Think of the Movement of Grain

By Indygodusk

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Dancing couples pressed sensuously close, music rattled her bones, and confetti-like disco lights whirled around the room. Stevie gulped and wiped her sweating palms off on her black dress. How had she gotten into this again?

Oh, that's right, she'd honestly answered a question and everything had snowballed from there.

"Stevie? Why do you run so much?" Sam asked, fanning the edge of his sweat-soaked t-shirt to try and cool down from their morning jog. He wasn't panting as he spoke, showing his improvement over their last year of training together. They'd also learned to time it so he joined her at the end of her run on the cool-down laps. Since she ran a couple of hours each morning, it worked out great.

Running a hand through her finger-length blond hair, Stevie shrugged and looked away. She opened her mouth to offer one of her usual prevarications but found herself pausing. There was no reason to lie to her friends besides habit.

In fact, she'd promised herself to be more open with them. She hadn't been doing a very good job on that, the pain of losing Bucky for a second time when he kept running from her taking time to process and accept. Bucky didn't need her. He wanted to heal and discover who he was on his own, without her help or interference. As part of accepting that, Stevie had decided to start living more in the now and opening herself up to new experiences. Telling Sam the truth could be part of that.

"Well, my middle name is Grania, like the story," she joked lamely, not sure how else to start even though she wanted to try.

"Wait, hold up," Sam said, taking a hop step to catch up to Stevie's longer stride. "I thought your middle name was Grant, not Grawny, and what story?"

"It's pronounced Graw-nya. It's Irish like my ma," Stevie said. "Grania means grain of corn, but the Grania of legend was the daughter of the High King of Ireland. She was engaged to marry a King but when she saw how old he was at the wedding feast, she decided to put a geis on his nephew Diarmuid instead and run away with him. Grania spent the rest of her life running from her betrothed, never spending two nights in the same place with her lover. I read in a magazine that Megalithic sites all over Ireland are called 'the bed of Grania and Diarmuid' even now."

"Wow. That's depressing," Sam said, wiping away the sweat on his brown skin.

Stevie shrugged. "My ma found it romantic. Anyway, the Army changed my name when they decided to tell everyone that their only successful super soldier was a man. I went from Stephanie Grania to Steven Grant. At least they let me keep Rogers." She held up her hands as if reading off a marquee, "Introducing Captain Steve Rogers, the Captain America the United States needs in her time of war. Buy bonds!" She shook her fingers like pom poms.

Sam frowned. "And that doesn't ever bother you? That almost everyone calls you the wrong name and thinks you're a man?"

Stevie met Sam's eyes with a humorless laugh. "Of course it bothers me, but it is what it is. Like Grania, I made my own fate but have to spend my life always moving to stay one step ahead of the consequences."

Turning to head towards Avengers Tower, Sam bumped shoulders with Stevie. "You aren't alone anymore, Stevie. You have friends to help you with the fallout and who knows? Maybe the consequences wouldn't be that bad if you did stop running."

"Maybe," Stevie said, chewing on her lip and looking off into the distance.

"Maybe isn't no," Sam grinned. "To start, you should keep your promise to Natasha to get out more and find a hobby or something on the side to make you happy. The world is more than just running and fighting."

"Sam's right," Natasha said, making them both jump and spin around from where she'd snuck up behind them. "Have you tried sewing?"

"Like to darn my socks? I know how, but I don't find it particularly fun or interesting." Stevie crossed her hands behind her neck and sighed. "Was that a serious question or a joke?"

Natasha's lips quirked. "It was a joke. Good catch, you're improving." She tucked a strand of red hair behind her ear and fell into step with Stevie. She'd been blonde the last time he'd seen her.

Snapping his fingers, Sam started walking backward so he could see both their faces. "What about fishing? Cooking? Bird watching? Video games?"

At each suggestion, Stevie shook her head. They all sounded unappealing.

"C'mon, help a brother out. What about art? I've seen you doodling during meetings. I know you've got talent," Sam said. "We could set you up on PBS as the next Bob Ross."

"Oh hey, I know who that is," Stevie said proudly, reaching out and tugging Sam sideways before he could back up into a utility box, turning her friend to face forward. "Clint showed him to me, the guy with the big hair and happy trees. I do like art, but I already do that in my spare time and have no interest in trying to make money from it or be on TV. Besides, if I'm really going to change, I think I need something new."

"What did you like to do for fun before the war?" Natasha asked as they turned towards one of the side entrances of Avengers tower where Stevie was currently living.

Smiling wryly, Stevie shrugged. "We were mostly too poor to have time for fun back then, but…" memory swelled, things she hadn't thought of in a long time because remembering the good times with Bucky when he was supposedly dead and she wasn't had hurt too much.

"But what? You can't just leave it there." Sam held the door open for Natasha and Stevie to walk inside.

Rubbing her mouth to hide a smile that felt too private, Stevie looked away from her friends. "It didn't happen often, but I used to love going dancing with Bucky. I was never much of a dancer, not like him, but when I wasn't too tired from work or too sick, Bucky used to drag me out to the dance halls with him."

"Did you actually wear a dress?" Sam's eyebrows went high. "I'm trying to picture this."

"Nevermind," Stevie muttered, pivoting to take the stairs instead of the elevator.

"Hey," Sam grabbed her arm and got pulled a few feet before Stevie chose to stop, "that was a joke, but I am in total support of this idea. Go dancing again and do it in whatever feels comfortable, a dress or slacks or even a uniform. Dancing is movement, something the current you is very good at and already knows she enjoys. You'll have fun."

"I like it," Natasha said with a purr in her voice, twirling around Stevie in a move worthy of a professional ballerina before lowering her center of gravity to undulate against the wall in a move much more salacious. "Come on, Stevie. Go dancing with me tonight."

"Tonight?!" Stevie squeaked, her voice going unusually high. "It's only Thursday."

"No time like the present. Besides, you don't have any other plans for tonight besides doing the crossword with Jarvis in your flannel pajamas." Natasha arched one brow and stared at him challengingly. "Do you?"

Sam made a disappointed puppy dog face. "That's just sad, Stevie. I want to think she's joking, but I'm pretty sure she's stating a fact."

"There's nothing wrong with flannel. It's comfortable," Stevie muttered, shoving her hands into the pockets of her baggy running shorts and hunching her shoulders inside her grey t-shirt.

Natasha smirked and grabbed Stevie's wrist, towing her into the elevator, followed by Sam. "You and me, dancing the night away in some anonymous nightclub. It'll be fun," she cajoled.

Sam cupped his hands around his mouth and whispered loudly, "Go for it."

Shifting uneasily, Stevie said, "If Natasha really wants to go dancing, you could take her, Sam."

"Nope. Sam already has plans tonight with some old Air Force buddies," Natasha said, pushing the button for everyone's floors.

Eyes narrowing, Sam put his hands on his hips. "And just how did you know that, woman? I only got the call a few minutes before I left to go jogging with Stevie."

Natasha gave him an arch look. "I am the Black Widow."

Turning back to Stevie, she began humming a modern song and swaying her hips to the beat. Sam joined in with the grooving and started singing along. He had a nice tenor voice but rather goofy-looking dancing.

At the chorus, Sam started performing some sort of strange choreography involving arm slapping, chest thumping, and foot stomping. Natasha joined in. Their song and dance routine ended with arms behind the head and a hip thrust. It was ridiculous.

Eyes wide, Stevie shook her head. "I couldn't do that, even if I wanted to. I wouldn't even know where to start!"

The door to the elevator dinged open on Natasha's floor. "You'll be fine, Cap. Don't worry. I'll pick you up at eight, so be dressed and ready to go."

"Natasha," Stevie said helplessly.

She paused with her hand holding open the elevator door. "It's just dancing, Stevie, not plastic surgery. You need a change and this is something small. Let me help. Please. You of all people deserve to be happy."

The earnest expression on her face was one Stevie couldn't resist. "Alright, I'll go dancing with you, but only because I want you to be happy too."

A genuine smile flashed across Natasha's face, one that lit up her eyes like the sun through summer leaves and barely moved her lips or cheeks. "That's what real friends do, Stevie, or so I'm told." Turning to glide away, she called over her shoulder, "Be dressed by eight!"

Once in her room, Stevie decided that if she was going to do this, she was going to give it her best shot. She took a long shower, got dressed, and made a phone call. After a short consultation with Pepper about what constituted appropriate "clubbing" attire in the twenty-first century, Stevie felt better educated and slightly shell-shocked.

Equipped with one of the credit cards Tony had set up for her, Stevie spent the afternoon searching through four different clothing stores before finally finding a dress that both fit her tall and muscular frame and didn't make her feel like a prostitute. She followed Sam's advice to keep from losing her head while shopping, pretending the last two zeros of the price were missing. Even then it still seemed like a lot to a girl from the '40s. The black dress she finally settled on had sleeves, a sweetheart neckline, and a flirty hem that skimmed her knees. She would've preferred something in navy, mustard, or pastels, but at least black was classic and much better than silver sequins or purple mesh.

Trying it all on in the dressing room, Stevie felt blown away. On the recommendation of the saleswoman, Stevie also bought a basic makeup kit after a tutorial and switched out the usual stiff tank top that flattened her chest for something called a push-up bra. All of that, combined with the fitted bodice and flared skirt, meant that the Stevie looking back at her in the mirror had feminine curves and actual cleavage in addition to the muscles. It felt both liberating and exciting.

This was the gorgeous and strong woman Stevie had always hoped for but never expected to be.

After paying for everything, Stevie went home with a spring in her step. She was looking forward to her evening plans for the first time in a long time.

At just fifteen minutes shy of eight o'clock, Natasha called. She needed to cancel their date because of something urgent. And no, Stevie couldn't help. With a promise to let Stevie know if that changed and a rushed but sincere apology, Natasha hung up.

Stevie dropped her arm and watched sadly as the phone screen faded to black. "I was really looking forward to dancing," she whispered to the empty room, the sight of the folded over crossword abandoned on the table making her eyes threaten to sting. She put her phone down carefully so she didn't give in to the urge to throw it against the wall and break it. It shouldn't be that big of a deal, but for some reason, she was having trouble shrugging off the disappointment. Alone if her apartment, she didn't have to pretend.

"Excuse me, Captain," Jarvis said gently from overhead in his signature British accent, causing Stevie to start, "but I couldn't help but overhear your problem. As much as I enjoy our evenings together, might I offer a suggestion?"

Stevie had become used to the AIs presence throughout the building, had even grown to see him as a friend, but right now he felt like an intrusion. She cleared her throat and rubbed her forehead, being careful to not smudge the eye makeup she'd been so proud of just a few moments before. "Thanks, Jarvis, but I'm not really interested in going dancing as a third wheel to Tony Stark and his massive ego, if it's all the same to you."

"Of course not, Captain. I know that Sir can be a lot to handle even when completely sober, much less when chugging hard liquor in a crowd. I wouldn't dream of suggesting clubbing alone with Sir for your first time out, but if I may? You look absolutely lovely and I'd hate to see your efforts go to waste. Stark Industries has been offered several VIP tickets to a new dance club opening tonight called Red Oni. You should go."

"Go dancing by myself? Women do that now?" Stevie asked, brows going up.

"Indeed, Captain, there's no impropriety involved at all," Jarvis assured her. "Ms. Potts and Agent Romanov can confirm that for you as well."

"No, that's fine, Jarvis. I believe you." Looking around at her empty apartment again, Stevie quickly decided. Sitting still and waiting never got her anything. If you wanted something, you had to go out and get it. That was one of the great things about modern women. They didn't let anything hold them back.

"You know what? That ticket sounds great. I'll just grab my wrap." She didn't feel quite confident enough to walk through the lobby with her chest hanging out like this, especially since most people still thought Captain America was a man. Stevie wasn't interested in the PR storm she'd been warned was inevitable once she came out as a woman. She'd had enough of being a performing monkey during her stint on the bond circuit at home and with the USO overseas. Besides, it gave her an advantage with hiding in plain sight from the spies of Hydra, AIM, and General Ross.

"I'll have a cab waiting for you downstairs. The tickets will be at Red Oni's box office under the Stark name," Jarvis said.

"Thank you, Jarvis," Stevie said, pulling on her wrap and exiting her apartment.

The security guards in the lobby called Stevie "Ma'am," not even recognizing her. Thank goodness for Jarvis, who wasn't so easily fooled by a few cosmetic changes. She was tempted to pull the security staff aside for a harsh talking to. They were here to keep Tony and the people working in the tower safe, not just sit around twiddling their thumbs and drawing a paycheck.

Nevertheless, Stevie was feeling rather optimistic about the night.

Then the cabbie dropped her off in front of Club Red Oni. It was a brightly lit chrome and glass building with scantily-clad and outrageously-dressed people waiting in a line that wrapped around the block. The twirling red lights and ugly sculptures taking a modern interpretation of classical Japanese art made her practically ill. She could only imagine that the inside would be even worse.

"I'd rather gouge my eyes out with a gummy spoon and endure fifty lashes with a wet noodle than go clubbing in that place. It looks like it's trying way too hard!" The colorful complaint came from a woman wearing a white and blue polka-dot dress, cat-eye glasses, and scarlet lipstick. "It's going to be overcrowded and lame."

"Yeah, popcorn would be better," said one of her two friends. "It's smaller and they have live bands on Thursdays." Stevie wasn't sure if they were talking about food or another club.

The third friend sighed with annoyance and pursed her lips. "Fine, we'll go to Popcorn, but it's my turn to pick the club next week and no complaints!" Her friends both agreed and they started to leave.

The three women looked nice and relatively normal, without a hint of mesh, bared butt-cheek, or thigh-high stiletto in sight. Stevie decided to take a chance and walked over. "Excuse me, but I'm trying to go dancing tonight and this club seems a little overwhelming. I heard you mention somewhere smaller. Do you mind if I follow you ladies there? I'm not trying to be creepy."

The three girls exchanged glances and shrugs. "Sure, just don't try to hit on us. We're all straight," said the girl in the polka-dots.

"No problem and thank you," Stevie said with a blush, following along. She towered over them, so it was easy to see where they were going even from the back. The girls helped Stevie get on and off the right trains, but as soon as they got to the club they abandoned her, rushing inside to see the hot bartender.

The building was brick with a barely legible sign up high on the corner advertising bread for ten cents. Stevie had worked for a while painting and selling simple ads like that in back in Brooklyn before the War. If she hadn't had enhanced vision and familiarity with the style, she wouldn't have noticed it at all. Most people probably didn't even know it was still there. It made Stevie feel painfully homesick.

Slowly counting to twenty and concentrating on her breathing, Stevie grounded herself in the here and now. She dropped her eyes to the sign for the club. THE POPULAR CLUB IVORY ARCANE. Except the sign was so chipped and faded that the brightest letters actually read POP C OR N. She wondered if it had been left that way as a joke. Popcorn certainly felt a lot less intimidating than Red Oni, a club named after a Jap demon.

Perhaps the building's references to bread and corn were a sign that a woman named Grania had come to the right place to look for a change in her life. That or Stevie was hungry and needed to go eat something. Shaking away her fanciful thoughts, Stevie stopped hesitating on the sidewalk and took a step forward.

The inside of POPCORN was hot and loud. Stevie couldn't do anything about the noise, but she could leave her wrap at the coat check. Exposing so much bare skin above her sweetheart neckline made her feel strange, even though she actually showed less skin than most of the other dames in this place. They all looked self-assured and gorgeous, but Stevie felt like she stuck out like a sore thumb, too big and awkward. Her feminine confidence from earlier in the day had drained away like a leaky bottle.

Feeling nervous in social settings wasn't anything new. She could do work settings just fine, but when it came to socializing, she choked up. Growing up, she'd always had the charismatic Bucky to try and smooth things over for her and then the USO chorus girls had adopted her like a half-wild pet. Natasha and Sam had taken that job over in the current century. Stevie had been blessed with kind people during her life, but despite everyone's efforts, she was still at heart that awkward Brooklyn girl who never quite fit in and found it easier to do her talking with her fists.

It was just as well she'd checked her wrap. Stevie was awfully tempted to retreat back out the door. However, she wasn't about to waste a whole dollar by asking for her wrap back right away.

"C'mon, Cap, you can do this," she muttered bracingly. Taking a deep breath, she threw back her shoulders and advanced. Following the flow of the crowd, she made her way out of the foyer and bar area, down the branching hallway, and through an archway to the dancefloor in back.

Each step forward increased the volume. The music was loud but not grating, with a deep bass beat that thumped through her body like the smack of boxing practice. Stevie was surprised to find that she liked it. It made her body want to weave with the punches.

Moving along the edges of the crowd, she found it easier than expected to adapt the movements of the other dancers into something her own. Sam and Nat had been right. Dancing was fun.

"Well hello, pretty lady."

Stevie turned. The man who'd spoken met her eyes with a cocky grin. Wearing a tight silver t-shirt and jeans, the top of his head only came up to her shoulder and he looked early twenties. He smelled like too much cologne and cheap beer, but his face was cute in a modern college boy sort of way. The other men in the club had seemed too intimidated by Stevie's stature and she'd felt too shy to approach anyone, so this was her first opportunity to dance with a partner.

Putting a hand on Stevie's arm, the man leaned in. "Come dance with me, babe," he said loudly, trying to be heard over the music.

It had been a very long time since a man had flirted with Stevie the woman, so she probably shouldn't be too picky. She might've chosen someone else for her first dance—a Brooklyn boy with dark chestnut hair and twinkling blue eyes—but since she couldn't have the man she wanted, she might as well go with a man who wanted her, at least for one dance.

"Sure," she said after only a slight hesitation, moving stiffly to put her hands on his shoulders like the other couples on the dance floor. "My name's Stevie."

"Nice to meet you Seelie. I'm Dan," he said, wrapping his arm around her back and pulling her out into the middle of the dance floor. She didn't bother correcting him on the name, just sighed and tried to go with the flow.

The first minute of dancing with Dan went mostly well. She even managed a smile. Then Dan stopped watching her face and dropped his eyes to focus on the bared skin of her upper chest and the shifting neckline of her gown. It wouldn't fall off and expose her new bra no matter how vigorously she danced or if she had to fight. She'd checked earlier in her room. To add insult to injury, Dan's hands kept sliding down to cup her butt and she had to keep yanking them up again. Unlike when she'd been dancing alone, moving to the music with a partner felt awkward and stiff, at least with this partner.

"C'mon, babe, loosen up," Dan said impatiently, dropping his hand to her thigh and scrunching up the fabric to get at bare skin.

Stevie was done. A dance wasn't worth this. Removing Dan's hands firmly, not caring if she left bruises in the process, she took a step back. "This was a mistake. I'm done."

The look in Dan's eyes flipped from lecherous to ugly. He clenched his fists. Stevie braced herself for a violent diatribe as Dan opened his mouth in obvious anger and offended pride. If he actually tried to hit her, she was going to teach him a lesson in how to treat a lady that he'd never forget. Part of her hoped he'd take a swing and give her the excuse.

As Dan lifted his fist and took a step forward, another pair of dancers bumped into them.

Instead of apologizing, the man shoved his drunk and giggly partner straight into Dan's arms. "Switch."

Everything in Stevie's mind screeched to a halt. The man had his back turned to Stevie, but the sound of his voice traveled from her ears to lower belly in a molten slide. Everything in her body tingled as if jerking awake, half-pain and half-pleasure. It was impossible. She had to be hallucinating.

"Hi," said Dan's new partner as she wrapped her arms around his neck with a giggle. "I wanna dance."

"Sure, Babe," Dan said, instantly diverted.

The new couple disappeared into the crowd, but to be honest Stevie didn't have much attention to spare for anyone but the man who'd turned to face her with a challenging look on his face. All of the air seemed to suck from the room. "Bucky?" Stevie said faintly.

Music filled the empty space between their bodies. Their eyes locked. From the speakers overhead, a woman's voice cajoled,

Think of me, I'll never break your heart

Think of me, you're always in the dark

I am your light, your light, your light

Think of me, you're never in the dark.

Eyes burning, Bucky inclined his head silently. He reached out and placed his hands lightly on her sides. When she swayed forward, his touch became firmer as he slid his hands around to her lower back, leaving tingles in his wake. She didn't even think to resist the commanding rhythm of his body as he guided her hips to the dance beat. Stevie felt dazed and breathless as the singer crooned,

You got me in your open hand,

I never wanna come back.

It was true. It had always been true with Bucky.

Placing her hands on his chest, feeling the solid beat of his heart and the faint line of scar tissue beneath his shirt where metal met flesh, Stevie pressed her palms flat and slid them up over his shoulders. She reveled in the heat and solid strength beneath her fingertips proving that Bucky really was right here with her, that she wasn't dreaming. The flex of his body made a delicious tension fill her belly.

"Stevie," Bucky's mouth shaped her name as if tasting something succulent. The song shifted to something with smokey male vocals. Eyes intent, Bucky guided her smoothly into a new rhythm. She followed every nudge and pull of his body as if magnetized. "I thought I was hallucinating you at first, but you feel real," he said, echoing her thoughts as he pulled her in tighter to the cradle of his thighs. The music became hard and throbbing, matching the acceleration of her heartbeat. "I think it's been more'n seventy years since I saw you in a dress. Until today, I wasn't entirely sure if my memory of you as a girl was real or just a fantasy I was clinging to as fact. You're looking good, Stevie, real good."

Blushing, Stevie looked down. Bucky had done something to his metal arm to make it look like regular skin. He was dressed in supple boots, dark jeans, and a button-up shirt that brought out the blue of his eyes. His dark hair was pulled back in a loosely curling ponytail, emphasizing his strong jawline and full lower lip. His face looked healthy. Thank heavens the lost and broken look in his eyes was gone.

Noting her assessment, Bucky smirked and leaned back to give her a better look, though he remove his hands from her body. He still oozed danger, but it was now layered with confidence and comfort in his own power. There wasn't a man in the club who could match Bucky for swagger or sexiness and he knew it.

"You're looking real good too, Buck." Stevie swallowed to wet her dry tongue. "Does that comment mean you got all your memories back?"

Bucky's lips twisted. "Not all, but some. The Smithsonian's Captain America exhibit screwed me up for a while, trying to reconcile the famous life story of Steven Grant Rogers with my spotty memories of a skinny dame named Stephanie Grania, but eventually I decided that if my memories of little Stevie being a complete punk who always got into fights even after she became big were legit, then the memories of skirts might be real too. I'm happy to be proven right."

His thumbs started rubbing little circles on her hips, almost distracting her from the seriousness of his words. "My past is still full of more holes than those ratty sweaters you used to layer in winter, but I've mostly come to terms with the man I am now." He turned her deftly to avoid collision with another couple, easily lifting her into the air for a brief moment in a move impossible for any other man in the club. For a second she felt positively dainty in the best of ways.

"However, you've got to see that I'm not that Brooklyn kid you grew up with or the Sergeant who followed at your heels in war. Too much has changed since then. I'm someone else now, not just the Winter Soldier or James Barnes, but some busted up combination missing pieces from both. I'm someone new and dark and different." Voice rough, his dark lashes lowered, veiling the expression in his eyes.

Bucky's fingertips skimmed down her hips, making her skin tickle in a way that was anything but funny. Stevie felt like he was slowly setting her body on fire. His hands meandered up her back, coming to rest along the curve of her shoulders. He kneaded them softly. The lines on his face smoothed.

Despite how all the touching was driving her crazy, it seemed almost unconscious. He touched her as if he just couldn't help himself, each sweep of his fingers bringing him comfort. He also touched her as if nothing else would bring him more pleasure. It felt heady to be the center of his world. If she wasn't careful, he would break her heart all over again.

"Well," Stevie said slowly, her voice slightly husky as she desperately searched for the right words to say instead of focusing on the distracting feel of his body flexing against hers and the intoxicating scent of his skin, "I'm not the same person you used to know either. Even in the War, there was a lot we never got around to talking about, things we put off until it was too late. We're both different people in a strange new world. I've changed too."

Shifting to move them farther back from the crowded area in front of the stage, Stevie shrugged and tried to lighten the mood. "After all, I came out as a woman to my team when I wouldn't even risk acting feminine in private with you back during the War. I even wear dresses in public now, as you can see." She leaned back and twisted her hips from side to side, making her dress flare and swish across his thighs.

Bucky's eyed darkened. "Dresses and bras," he drawled, his eyes flicking down to the modest cleavage displayed by the sweetheart neckline of her dress and back up through his lashes mischievously. "I definitely noticed that."

Stevie felt her face turn fire engine red. "Bucky!"

Eyes dropping down again, Bucky's plush lips curved sinfully. "And the blush goes all the way down too. You're gorgeous, doll, though you don't need a dress and muscles for me to see that. You never did," he crooned.

Flustered, feverish, and fighting an inexplicable desire to run, Stevie cleared her throat and focused on his chin. She didn't know how to flirt, especially with Bucky of all people, so she turned to honesty, even though her tongue felt as graceless as pre-serum Stevie trying to dance. "I-I miss you. Is it okay to say that? You keep leaving and that's your choice—of course it is—but I miss having you as my best friend. I miss seeing you every day and hearing your voice and fighting beside you. It's got to be obvious that you've always been my O.A.O.—though I'm not going to start being weird about it after all this time, so don't worry. It's just—can't we be best friends again? I want to get to know the new you and have you get to know the new me. Can we—can we do that?"

Heart aching, Stevie reached up and cupped the side of Bucky's face, rasping her thumb across his cheek. He was right. This both was and wasn't the face of the man she once knew so well. This was the face of a survivor. The changes had started when he first left for war and had only multiplied after decades of captivity and scientific experiments. Bucky had become taller, broader, and harder than he used to be. Nevertheless, Stevie found the physical differences intriguing. Her fingers itched to follow the path of her eyes.

"Please?" Stevie begged, willing him to stop being so stubborn and give them another chance to at least be friends (maybe even something more if his flirting could be believed). "Come home with me—I mean to me—I mean—" dropping her hand, she covered her face and blew out a breath through her teeth, frustrated and angry with herself for screwing this up.

They stopped dancing. Her eyes squeezed shut tightly. "My tongue is having trouble saying the right thing. I know I shouldn't press you. I'm sorry. I'm trying. I just want you in my life somehow, someway, traveling the same path together if that's an option. I hope it is. I just don't want to lose you again."

Stevie felt incredibly vulnerable. She hated feeling vulnerable. It made her want to hit things—like a punching bag or an enemy's face.

Gentle fingers tugged her hand down off her face. Bucky squeezed and pressed it against the soft fabric covering the hard muscles of his chest. The strong beat of his heart pounded against the palm of her hand. It felt both soothing and exciting, a combination she didn't know what to do with.

"I'd like that too," Bucky said solemnly, his eyes full of fondness and strong emotion that was veiled by his lashes before she could get a clear look. "More'n like, if we're being honest." Bucky slid his hand back around her back and returned her to the curve of his body.

Stevie followed his lead, letting her head fall forward to rest against his cheek. Her breath hitched. If dancing with Bucky felt dangerous, believing his words felt positively deadly. However, there was a good chance she was just hearing what she so desperately wanted to hear. She needed to be careful. Good things always came with a cost.

"Besides, if you're goin' ta go 'roun' looking like a dish," Bucky's Brooklyn accent thickened to that of their childhood, "I need ta stick aroun' to wahn off all the yucks. You want I should go find dat guy from before? Because if one more chucklehead tries ta cop a feel on yah, I'm goin' ta have ta staht breakin' fingers. "

Stevie rolled her eyes even as her heart flipped up into the air like a pancake. "Don't flip yah wig. Yah know I can and will kick their keisters myself." Despite her intention to be cautious, she couldn't keep the smile off her face as their old banter clicked seamlessly into place.

Bucky hummed, a rumble that moved through his chest and into hers like the vibration of a tuning fork, bringing them into perfect harmony. "Just because yah can don't mean yah should have to. Consider it one of the personal services that come with my presence. After all, violence is now a specialty of mine. "

"Nothin' new 'bout that. We was always gettin' into fights together. I know you used to beat up the worst of my bullies behind my back, you cracked egg," Stevie said with a mock glare.

The song shifted into something full of horns and reminiscent of big band jazz, except with a modern electronic backbeat. The fusion worked and the flutter of nostalgia felt pleasant this time instead of painful. It was hard to be nostalgic for the past when Bucky was being so delightful right here in the present.

Stevie's only warning was a toothy smile from Bucky. Seconds later, he twirled her away with one hand and then back into his chest, changing his hold to lead her into a fancy series of swirling footwork that she somehow managed to follow without stepping on his feet more than twice. She grinned at him in triumph. This was the best she'd ever danced in her life!

In response, Bucky gave an exuberant laugh, dropped his hands to her waist, and spun her up into the air, around his back, and forward into his arms. The space around them quickly cleared as they danced with Stevie more often off the floor than on. Tossing around Stevie's six-foot frame was only possible because of his skill, her complete faith in him, and the fact that they both had enhanced strength and agility. Stevie was able to anticipate and adjust her body to move as directed, something she'd always yearned for in the past.

Bucky spun her around his body, her legs flying to one side and then the other, straddling his waist, and then straight up into the air in a move that probably exposed her briefs to the crowd. Stevie was having way too much fun to care. Returning to her feet with a "Whoop!" of delight, Stevie twirled on her toes and pressed cheek to cheek with Bucky to finish the final foot-flying steps of the song.

The watching crowd applauded as the song changed to something moody and slow. Stevie smiled widely at Bucky. "Did you see that? I really danced!"

Bucky grinned back with pride in his eyes "You just needed to gain a little lung capacity and lose the self-consciousness." He tugged her back into the frame of his body, sending them into a slow and seductive sway. "Considering the way we anticipate each other during fights, I knew you'd be a natural, sweetheart."

Awash with happiness and wonder, Stevie glanced over Bucky's shoulder, accidentally catching the eye of a man in a yellow polo shirt who was watching them dance. He had a swarthy and heavily lined face suited to discontentment and seemed older than the rest of the crowd, though he'd gelled and spiked his thinning hair similar to the twenty-somethings in the club. The dilation of his eyes and color of his cheeks made her think he was high on recreational drugs. He had a phone pressed to his ear and seemed to be arguing with the person on the other side of the line. When he noticed Stevie's attention, he immediately looked away and moved towards the hall, probably to find some quiet for his conversation.

When Bucky's hand stroked up her sweat-dewed neck to play with the short strands of hair at her nape, Stevie shivered and lost the ability to focus on anyone or anything but the man in her arms. She let her fingers flex and glide across his warm shoulders and muscled arms. She breathed in the scent of his skin. It felt like moving through molasses as time slowed and everything went dim but the light shining from Bucky's face. Their bodies moved as one. Stevie never wanted the night to end.

The tempo of the songs picked up again, but they stayed just as in tune, effortlessly anticipating each other's steps and challenging each other to dance faster and harder. No matter how vigorous the song, they never lost touch, keeping legs and hands and bodies intertwined. It felt exhilarating.

A slower song filled the room, the beat throbbing low through her body like a wave of heat. Stevie crossed her arms behind Bucky's neck. His fingers spread across the curve of her lower back, slowly caressing the swell of her hips. She arched her back and sighed. Her body felt as supple as wind-blown grain.

A trickle of sweat slid down Stevie's cheek and dripped off her chin. Bucky's eyes dilated as he followed the path as it moved over the curve of her breast and down into the shadow of her cleavage. His tongue darted out to lick his lips, making them red and shiny. Stevie's breath caught.

"We've always been good together," Bucky said with gravel in his throat, lifting blue eyes to meet Stevie's with an intensity that burned. "I remember that now, but I'm ready to make new memories. I think we can find something better than good. As tonight has proved, I think we can be great," his hand came up to caress her face, "together."

Stevie gasped, the rush of air intoxicating. The touch of skin on skin felt electric. Their feet slowed to a stop.

Steve licked her lips. Bucky's eyes dropped to her mouth as if magnetized. Everything became thick and golden like honey. Stevie throbbed in places she didn't even have names for, she just knew that she wanted him to touch her there and that it would feel exquisite. Her lips parted, aching to finally know the taste of him on her tongue, a taste she'd waited her whole life for. Their mouths swayed close, separated by the merest breath.

An elbow jostled Stevie's back followed by a kick on her shin, shattering their privacy like cracked sugar. Sucking in a hard breath, Stevie turned her head and blinked rapidly. Her hand tightened on Bucky's shoulder, the one that was now metal and not flesh. She'd just almost kissed Bucky in the middle of a crowded dance floor, not even noticing the other people pressing in on all sides.

She'd just almost kissed Bucky!

It was everything she'd always wanted and yet she suddenly felt on the verge of panic. The people crowding in on all sides felt too much like enemy combatants and the man holding her so closely in his arms became almost a stranger. All her muscles tensed.

What was she doing? Had she really thought this through? What if Bucky kissed her and said more sweet things but still left? She'd be alone again but this time it would be worse because she'd know exactly what she was missing. She had to fight the urge to run away, even though she'd never run from Bucky and had in fact spent the last year running after him. Her thoughts felt scrambled and her body throbbed uncomfortably. She'd never felt this out of control. Stevie didn't like being out of control.

Bucky sighed, his breath ruffling the hair over her ear. Turning his head, he pressed a soft kiss against her temple. "It's alright, Stevie," he said simply. Letting her go, he stepped back, body language completely unassuming. "Go and get a drink of water."

"But—" she said with no small amount of anxiety. She shifted her weight from foot to foot but otherwise stayed put. Stevie, usually so certain in all her actions, didn't know what to do. How her teammates would laugh if they could see her now.

"You need a moment. That's fine. I'll still be here when you get back."

When Stevie continued to hesitate, her anxieties spiraling out of control, Bucky's posture shifted. He spoke with a snap, "Go and get a drink, Captain." The familiar tone, heard in fields and forests across half of Europe, hit her ears like a slap, waking her back to herself.

Stevie huffed and rolled her shoulders. "Fine, Sergeant Barnes, I'll go and get a drink, but," she widened her stance and used her own command tone, "you better not leave me." Looking down, she corrected awkwardly, "I mean leave here."

The craven way she was behaving made her mad. "No, you know what?" Stevie lifted her head, threw back her shoulders, and firmed her jaw. "I meant what I said the first time. Do not leave me. That's an order, too."

"Do not leave you. Order acknowledged. Priority альфа премьер," he said crisply, his posture flowing into military attention. He shot her a salute, "Moy Kapitan."

"Bucky?" Stevie hesitantly bit her lip. "Was that supposed to be in Russian?"

Lashes veiling his eyes, he dropped his arms loosely to his sides and looked away. "Yes."

Stevie swallowed. "Okay, I'm going to go and get a drink of water and then I'll be right back."

Darting forward before she could second-guess herself, Stevie dropped an off-center kiss on Bucky's mouth and spun away, practically running for the hallway out front. Her face felt like it was on fire. The plush give of his lips played on loop in her mind. She wanted to feel it again, to press harder and slip her tongue inside for a deeper taste.

As she turned to enter the hallway, she saw Bucky still watching her. He had a hand pressed to his lips and the corner of his eyes crinkled in a smile. He was almost unbearably handsome. She silently vowed to capture the image on her sketchpad as soon as she got home. Well, only if she didn't have anything better to do instead.

The hallway was bifurcated. Going straight took you out to the bar and coat check by the entrance. Turning right took you to the drinking fountain and bathrooms. Ignoring the sticky patches on the floor, Stevie turned and got a long drink of cold water from the drinking fountain. It helped, but what she really needed was to splash her face and the back of her neck. A public drinking fountain didn't seem the best place for that.

Stepping into the bathroom—remembering to veer into the women's at the last second instead of the men's—she beelined for the sink, splashing her face and rubbing chilled fingers over the back and sides of her neck. The briskness of the water helped. She splashed herself again and braced her hands on the edges of the sink, closing her eyes and dropping her head to think.

Her middle name may be Grania after a woman always on the run, but her first name was Stephanie, meaning crowned with victory. Sometimes Stevie forgot that running didn't have to mean giving up. Giving up wasn't in her blood. To achieve victory, sometimes you had to run. It let you take a step back, evaluate the situation, and take a deep breath. Then you could run back into the fight with a clear head, plant your feet, and risk it all for what your heart knew was right.

If there was even a small chance that Bucky might love her back the way she'd always loved him, that he would stay and make a life with her, she had to go for it. She'd loved him for so long that she didn't know who she'd be without it. Sure, she'd expected her love to stay unrequited and been caught flat-footed by his romantic advances, confused and scared that her vulnerable heart would get trampled, but Bucky had risen to the challenge by stepping back and making her take a breather. He'd always been able to see past her masks, something that made her love him all the more.

Of course, there was the risk that things wouldn't work out. It would hurt for a long time if Bucky changed his mind and left her alone again. Sadness would just be the tip of the iceberg.

However, life had long ago taught Stevie that while pain was unpleasant, it wouldn't kill you. She wouldn't really be alone either because she had other friends in her life right now, good ones like Natasha and Sam and the rest of the Avengers, even Tony, no matter how they butted heads. She also had an amazingly strong and healthy body, a job as Captain America that challenged her in the best of ways, and a fierce pride in the person she'd become. No matter what happened, Stevie would survive and, even if it took a long time, she would eventually be okay.

All of the best things in Stevie's life had involved risk. This could be one of the biggest chances she'd ever had. This could be exciting and fun! That short kiss had certainly left her lips tingling delightfully, not to mention all of the glorious dancing. She had to say yes to whatever Bucky was offering. Any other response would be cowardly and self-defeatist.

Besides, since when had Stevie Rogers ever been afraid of a fight?

Glancing up into the mirror with renewed purpose, Stevie's steely-eyed expression disappeared into amusement. She'd forgotten she was wearing eye makeup when splashing her face and now had black lines dripping down her cheeks like some overly-dramatic dame in the pictures. She looked a fright. Snagging a paper towel from the basket on the sink, she scrubbed her face clean and dried off the remaining water droplets clinging to the skin of her neck and chest.

Just as Stevie finished, a young woman with a prominent nose and head of bouncing dark curls pushed into the bathroom, allowing a burst of thumping bass and incomprehensible lyrics into the room before the door swung closed again. "Freakin' A it's loud out there!" she exclaimed, rubbing her head and meeting Stevie's eyes in the mirror. Eyebrows climbing, she looked Stevie up and down. "Wow, you're tall."

"Yep," Stevie said, tossing her used paper towel into the garbage can. Admittedly, the woman only came up to Stevie's elbow.

"I never should've worn flats today." Moving to check her makeup in the mirror, the woman said, "They switched to a live band and the music out there is killing my ears." She looked at Stevie from the corner of her eyes. "Do you have any earplugs by chance?"

"Sorry, no, but I think they have some in that machine over there," Stevie pointed over her shoulder.

For those who fear for their ears

No More Tears Earplugs

$1

"That rhyming is horrible. If I wasn't so desperate, I wouldn't give them anything," the woman grumbled. Reaching down into her bra, she pulled out a bundle secured with a rubber band. It consisted of several bills wrapped around her photo ID. Stevie blushed and averted her eyes as the woman removed a dollar bill and tucked the rest of the money back down her dress, exposing a shocking amount of skin in the process.

Stevie was self-aware enough to realize the irony that a man's bare butt didn't even make her blink anymore but a flash of bra reverted her to the scandalized mores of her childhood. The modern world was eroding the reaction, but if Natasha or Tony ever noticed the habit, Stevie's retraining would be brutal, embarrassing, and hideously uncomfortable.

"Good luck with the music," Stevie said lamely as the woman inserted the dollar into the machine. Glancing one more time in the mirror to make sure she'd gotten all of the black smudges off her now pink cheeks, Stevie left the bathroom.

The music became louder as she moved down the hall towards the dance floor, the machine-gun delivery of the lyrics and thump of bass making Stevie's blood rush in anticipation. Bucky was waiting for her to return. Not only that, but if she played her cards right, she was pretty sure she was in for more kissing.

Bucky wanted to kiss her!

Twirling once with a giggle of delight just because she could, ignoring the raised eyebrows from the people surprised by the spectacle of a muscular six-foot tall woman pirouetting, Stevie wove through the clubgoers.

The room had changed with the addition of the live band. Down by the stage, masses of people jumped to the beat with their hands in the air and slammed hard into each other seemingly on purpose. Most of the lights had been turned off, making the room dim except for the green and gold lights showcasing the band. The guitarist was clean-shaven with bleached blond dreads down to his elbows, while the lead singer had a long black braided beard and shaved head. Both were covered in tattoos and wearing only low-slung pants in lime green and bright purple, respectively. The drummer had spiked hair and wore a bright pink tank top with fingerless yellow gloves. Stevie really didn't get modern fashion.

Stalking through the crowd, Stevie finally located Bucky in the dark shadows of the back corner. He stood so still against the wall that she'd almost overlooked him in the chaos. The spotlight above the stage shifted to point directly at the large disco ball hanging overhead, sending a blizzard of white squares racing around the room. The boisterous crowd screamed in delight and threw their hands up, jumping and wiggling like madmen.

Stevie had just about reached Bucky when she saw the older man in the yellow polo shirt who'd been watching them earlier step out of the crowd. He said something to Bucky. Bucky looked at him for a second with mild curiosity, then rage and terror shot across his features. His body froze and his face went blank.

Blank was bad, very bad.

It felt like time slowed down as she saw a square of light from the disco ball move across the man's yellow polo shirt and illuminate a tiny logo the size of a thumbnail on his chest. It was the Hydra skull with six tentacles. He had to be a Hydra Agent trying to subdue and reacquire the Winter Soldier using embedded programming, programming created through repeated bouts of torture.

Stevie covered the distance separating them faster than a kernel of corn exploding out of hot oil. The Hydra agent was still in the middle of a codeword when she punched him in the throat, crushing his larynx to stop the sounds. She shoved him into the shadowed corner, hiding his convulsions with the tight grip of her arms as he began to suffocate.

No one took note of the attack. Anyone looking now would think they were lovers instead of enemies. The music was too loud to hear his gurgles and the room dark enough to mistake his flailing hands for amorous groping. Stevie grimly pressed her forearm against his jugular, cutting off the flow of blood to his brain and hastening the process. Finally, the Hydra Agent went limp.

Bucky didn't move to help or hinder, his eyes like empty windows to clear blue skies absent the sun. Had she been too late? As she understood it, the mind-control Bucky had been conditioned with depended on his hearing a specific series of words to put him into a biddable state. The noise of the band made it hard to hear much clearly and the Hydra Agent hadn't been speaking for more than six or seven seconds at most before Stevie had stopped his recitation. Hopefully, Bucky's brain was merely caught in a half-subdued state that he'd eventually fight his way free of on his own.

It was too devastating to think that all Bucky's progress and rebuilding of personality over the last year had been wiped clean, just like that. He had to be okay. However, if Stevie was wrong and the worst had happened, she'd deal with that when they were both safe and she could find the privacy to run so long and hard that her lungs turned to fire and her legs to jelly. Until then, she had to hope for the best.

Right now, she needed to step up and be the Captain America her best friend needed. "Bucky," she said firmly. "Bucky, I need you to snap out of it."

Bucky blinked twice and turned his head slightly in her direction, though she might've imagined the second part. They needed to get out of this place fast before a Hydra Team showed up. They also had to escape without getting stopped by security for killing the man in the yellow polo shirt on the dance floor. Unfortunately, she didn't think she could carry both men out by herself without drawing someone's attention.

Adjusting her grip on the now dead Hydra Agent—may he rot in hell for putting Bucky through this again—Stevie pivoted to stand nose to nose with Bucky, practically breathing the same breath of air. She stared into his blank eyes. "I am your Captain and you are Bucky Barnes, my Sergeant. You promised to follow my orders. You promised just a few minutes ago to not leave me. Priority альфа премьер, dah? You have to stay with me!" she ordered fiercely.

Bucky's lips silently mouthed the Russian words, aльфа премьер.

"Yes!" In her excitement and relief, Stevie dropped the Hydra Agent's body. Wincing, she picked him back up and glanced around to make sure no one had noticed. When nothing happened, she sat the body in the corner as if he were merely resting and returned to Bucky. She had to try one more thing.

Cupping Bucky behind the neck, she pulled him against her body. Cheek to cheek, she spoke directly into his ear. "Hey, you're fine. Snap out of it! It's Stevie. I'm here and I'm not letting anyone take you away from me, you hear?! You're Bucky Barnes and I'm Stevie Rogers, also known as Captain America or even you punk. We're going to stick together from now on. You said so, remember? You promised not to leave me. Do you understand? Do you hear me?" She shook him in emphasis.

Stevie could feel Bucky's lips moving against her neck, but otherwise, he didn't respond. She wished she had the time to gently bring him back to himself, but Hydra agents could be closing in at any moment. They had to go. She needed to stop him from hearing any more control words and get him away to someplace safe.

"Okay, we've got to go," she said, stepping back. Her fingers smoothed over his hair and the side of his neck before slipping away. She turned and picked up the dead agent, leaning him against her side so he merely seemed like one more drunk supported by a friend. "C'mon, Bucky."

Bucky's head moved, but not his feet.

"Fall in, soldier. Now," Stevie snapped.

Bucky shuffled to her side, but he was still moving too slowly for her liking.

Adjusting her grip on the dead man's waist to prop him up higher on her shoulder, Stevie put her arm around Bucky's back and forced him to walk faster. He felt as heavy as a tank, so it was harder than it looked. They stuck to the edge of the room and finally made it out into the hallway without any more problems.

However, the hallway was much more well-lit than the dance floor had been. Someone was bound to notice that the face of the drunk she was supporting looked less passed out and more asphyxiated and dead. Stevie veered towards the bathrooms. Two ladies ducked into the women's ahead of her, so Stevie detoured into the men's room instead.

Luckily it was deserted. "I'll just be a second," she said, leaving Bucky to hold up the wall. The outer bathroom door didn't have a lock, so she'd have to be quick.

Going into the last stall, she sat the Hydra agent's body on the toilet seat. She searched his pockets, taking the money and cards from his wallet and the SIM card from his phone like Natasha had taught her. She returned the wallet to his pocket and dropped the phone into the toilet with a plop.

Latching the door shut, she climbed out over the wall of the stall, leaving the body to be discovered once they were long gone. The stall walls rattled and groaned with her weight but held. Stevie's elbow banged into the earplug dispenser as she hopped down, leaving a dent in the metal.

Wincing at all the noise, Stevie glanced fearfully towards the door, but nobody came running. Bucky was watching her but otherwise hadn't moved.

"Sorry about that," she said. Glancing back at the machine, she had an idea. It only seemed fitting to use a dollar from the Hydra Agent's wallet to buy Bucky some earplugs until she could get him to safety.

As she fed a dollar into the machine she saw that the men's room signage was different.

For those who fear for their ears

Or their spears

No More Tears Earplugs

& Condoms

(Both go inside, but only a fool doesn't cover his tool)

Taking the earplugs out of the package, Stevie gently said, "Hey Bucky, I'm going to put these earplugs in your ears. It's going to make it a little hard to hear, but I'm trying to protect you from Hydra and the stuff they put in your head that takes away your free will, okay? I'm just trying to help. As soon as we get someplace safe, we'll take them out."

Bucky didn't show any signs of comprehending her words. He just watched her blankly.

"Here comes the first one. I'll try to be gentle," Stevie said, squishing it in her fingers where he could see it and miming inserting it into his ear. He didn't react. "Lean down a little bit." She worried that he might try to fight her on it, but Bucky just ducked his head and blinked at her trustingly. It would feel a whole lot sweeter if she knew for certain that it was because of her and not just a trained response to a handler. Brushing back wisps of hair from his ears, she inserted the earplugs.

A black man in wire-rimmed glasses pushed into the room and made straight for the wall of urinals, unzipping himself along the way. He glanced at Stevie but didn't seem fazed at her presence in the men's room. He sighed gustily and started to pee like a racehorse. It didn't really bother Stevie either, proving her point from before.

With Bucky wrapped around her like a cape, Stevie got them out of POPCORN and onto the street. Unfortunately, there weren't any taxi cabs around, nor any other people. She directed them down the block towards a busier street, hoping they'd find transportation soon. Considering how light on his feet Bucky usually was, it seemed worrisome that he was currently leaning against her heavily and staggering like a drunk.

As they passed a dark bakery window, Stevie saw the reflection of a gun barrel. She twisted sharply, but Bucky didn't move with her push, planting his feet unexpectedly. Stevie jerked back to cover Bucky with her body.

Three darts slammed into Stevie's back. Her black dress provided no resistance. Everything began feeling syrupy. Bullets would've been better. She could fight with bullet wounds, but the darts were calibrated for the Winter Soldier's enhanced metabolism. They'd probably knock out a charging rhinoceros.

A dark van roared up next to them, screeching to a stop. Stevie wanted to run, but couldn't get her feet to move. Bucky's hands tightened as Stevie's legs collapsed beneath her. Through swimming eyes, she saw a noisy group of clubgoers exit POPCORN even as a team of Hydra soldiers swarmed out of the van.

"He's still standing! Dart him again, now!" barked the leader.

Stevie's vision tunneled, but she refused to give up. She couldn't let them take Bucky! She desperately tried to fight the effects of the drugs. She could hear the Hydra team talking, even though the words sounded as if her head was underwater.

"I can't, it's completely jammed and I don't have a backup!"

"Son of a—"

"Why didn't you grab one, you idiot!?"

"There isn't one! Remember those supplies we never got?"

"He's just staring blankly into space. What do we do?"

"Where's the Doc?"

"Probably high, the useless prick. I'm pretty sure he was a file clerk in Russia and not an actual doctor."

"Who cares? We still need his codes to control the Asset!"

"Nevermind, we're drawing attention. Just get him into the van bef—"

Stevie finally lost her fight with the drugs and blacked out completely.

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.

.

.

---

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.

.

Something was wrong.

The Asset tightened his grip on the woman in his arms. He couldn't remember what was wrong. Not remembering felt familiar. Was he allowed to care? Usually he wasn't allowed. Not unless he was supposed to fix it. Was he supposed to fix it?

Thinking impaired. Fighting capacity impaired while arms full. Weapons minimal. Body operating within normal parameters. Hearing impaired.

The Asset identified the feeling of earplugs, though they felt less effective and more comfortable than those usually used during training and punishment. He could still make out words if he strained, especially when supplemented with lip reading. His handler had put the plugs in. Or had it been his target? Former target? Superior officer?

The unconscious woman in his arms was his Captain, order Alpha Prime: DO NOT LEAVE ME.

It was nighttime on a city street, American, perhaps New York or Chicago. He was cornered against a store window by a dark van. A small Hydra squad consisting of a Sergeant, three specialists, and a driver—all armed—surrounded him. They moved with training but not instinct. Except for perhaps the Sergeant, they'd obviously never been in a combat zone. Initial threat assessment low to medium-low.

"Drop the woman!" The order was difficult but not impossible to hear through the earplugs. The movement of the Sergeant's mouth made understanding easier. "I said drop the woman! Put your hands behind your head!"

NEGATIVE. Order not acknowledged. Will not comply. Primary mission: DO NOT LEAVE ME.

"Get in the van!"

Comply.

The Asset climbed into the van and sat down in the middle of the bench. He adjusted his Captain so she was sitting on his lap with her legs draped to one side. Because of her height, his face ended up pressed against the bare skin of her neck and upper chest. The scent of her body flooded his nose. Without hearing, his sense of smell felt amplified. It was pleasant.

That was unusual. Sensory deprivation usually focused on pain, not pleasure. Handlers did not want the Asset feeling good. Feelings were immaterial. Only orders and the mission mattered.

The Asset felt wary.

In this position, it would be difficult for the Asset to receive new orders or react quickly to threats. The Asset thought about moving the Captain's body to lean against the metal wall of the van instead. Her warm weight felt too good, too grounding. It gave him feelings.

Negative. Feeling good was allowed in this instance because he was following his primary order, DO NOT LEAVE ME. The Asset did not want new orders. He did not want a new handler. While the Captain was asleep, the Asset was allowed to have wants while protecting her. When awake, the Captain would….

The Asset did not know what the Captain would do, but he trusted that it would be the right thing. Strange. The Asset was not supposed to have thoughts on trust and right and wrong.

The Hydra team followed him warily into the van, shut the door, and sat down on the benches along the walls. He watched them placidly. They sat with their guns pointing his way as the van lurched into motion and raced away down the street. Driving so erratically drew attention. They should have proceeded at the speed limit. This reinforced the earlier assessment about lack of experience. They were likely a sleeper cell activated too soon after formation.

"Should we cuff him?" Specialist in his mid-twenties, black hair in a squad full of blonds, six foot one, two hundred pounds, combat knives on ankle and belt, M16 held in both hands—threat level medium-low.

"No, leave him alone as long as he's cooperating. That metal arm of his can break through everything we've got on hand. We're lucky we got him this far without the Doc's codes. We need to get him to base as soon as possible. They'll know how to deal with him." Sergeant, highest ranking Hydra member present but still below the Captain when it came to orders, early thirties, dark blond hair, five foot eleven, hundred eighty pounds, combat knives on both ankles and belt, holstered pistol, M16 held loosely—threat level medium.

"Speaking of the Doc, I'm going to try calling him again." Early twenties, blond buzz cut, five ten, hundred seventy pounds, combat knife at belt, M16 on lap, phone retrieved from chest pocket—threat level low. "I wish he'd've at least let someone else know what the code words are to control this guy. He looks chill now, but that could change at any moment."

"Don't borrow trouble. Besides, knowing those codes is the only thing keeping the Doc alive. As soon as Hydra stabilizes or we find a copy of those codes somewhere else, he's dead. Everyone else with the knowledge has already been systematically slaughtered and the files burned. For all we know, that could be why Doc's MIA now. He has to realize that with the Winter Soldier in the bag, his value to this organization just plummeted." Mid-twenties, short dark blond hair, five nine, hundred seventy pounds, combat knife at belt, M16 in hand—threat level low.

"Even if the Doc answers, I don't think we should swing back for him. Let's get the Winter Soldier locked up first. The back of my neck is crawling." Driver of van, light blond buzz, early twenties, five seven, hundred fifty pounds, holstered M16—threat level low.

All the blonds looked related, a possible weakness.

The van took a jerky turn around a corner. Everyone inside jostled. The Captain's bare skin caught against the Asset's mouth and dragged his lower lip open. He stopped watching the movement of the soldier's mouths to focus on the assault of taste happening in his. The flavor of salt, skin, HER burst across his mouth. He could smell her body and feel her heat. Outside sounds became not just muffled, but meaningless.

A spark of need, foreign to the Asset, compelled him to open his mouth wider and flick his tongue across the curve of her skin. The taste was stronger that way. Better. He slowly licked again, savoring the feel and taste. He was careful to hide his action from the Hydra soldiers. His thoughts slowly became less foggy.

Trying not to remember the specifics of his training too clearly, the Winter Soldier nevertheless knew that this was not how sensory deprivation was supposed to feel. The terror, hopelessness, and despair of punishment were missing. There was no pain. Instead, he felt warm.

Handlers had often restricted his senses to keep him biddable, limiting taste and scent with feeding tubes and masks, and sight with blindfolds and goggles. Touch meant either pain or cold, hitting him when he didn't obey fast enough, torturing him when they thought he needed it, and keeping him naked in a cage or frozen in a box when not in use. Mostly they limited loss of hearing to punishments. Handlers relied too heavily on vocal commands to control him otherwise. Such experiences had taught him that his thoughts and feelings were irrelevant. He was meant to be a blank slate and loaded gun. Punishment and pain were normal.

The Asset was not feeling normal.

Having not just any handler but specifically his Captain flooding his taste, scent, and sight, along with the warm weight and feel of her cradled in his lap, sent his neurons firing in patterns never before seen in a lab. That, combined with the practice of choice and rebellion he'd cultivated over the last year, activated primitive drives and old, pre-captivity patterns of thought. His programming glitched and corrupted.

The half-completed verbal codes from earlier had sent him into a fugue state and made him susceptible, but his tongue and nose were writing the orders this time instead of his ears.

When the Hydra Sergeant gestured sharply at his Captain, the Winter Soldier regretfully tucked his tongue back behind his teeth and started paying attention to their words again.

The Sergeant said, "We need to get rid of her. They won't like us showing up with her at base."

Negative.

"Aw, c'mon Sarge." The dark-haired soldier leaned forward, breathing through his mouth while focusing his eyes on the Captain's bare thighs. "I say we gang bang her first in celebration. She won't know the difference."

"No. We're Hydra, not street thugs," the Sergeant said. "We can dump her on a bench or in an alleyway somewhere."

The younger blond sitting next to the Asset shifted, displeasure on his face. "C'mon, an unconscious woman will end up raped anyway."

"I don't care," said the Sergeant curtly. "I just don't want to stick my dick in a female Sasquatch or have the rest of you distracted if the Winter Soldier stops acting dumb and goes berserk. In fact, I hope she does get raped and knifed by someone else. That's an easy way to dispose of a potential witness and deflect blame."

The older blond chuckled. "Works for me. Who knew the Winter Soldier liked 'em so large? Maybe he's compensating for something or so used to taking orders he can't get it up without one. He looks so out of it right now he probably won't even notice when his sugar momma's gone."

The Winter Soldier may be confused about a few things, but his oldest and strongest order was to PROTECT the person in his lap. That his current mission was also DO NOT LEAVE ME just made his next step all the clearer. He had to obey his orders.

Slowing to a stop, the van reversed, backing up into a dimly lit alleyway. "Here's a good place to toss her out," called the blonde driver. "I don't see any other cars or pedestrians.

Opening the back doors, the Sergeant and younger blonde checked for observers. For a brief moment, the soldiers were distracted.

The Winter Soldier exploded into action.

Dropping his Captain flat onto the bench, he slammed his boot into the dark-haired soldier's diaphragm while snatching the knife from the older blonde's belt and thrusting it up through the soft spot below the chin. While the man was busy dying, the Winter Soldier took away his gun and shot the driver twice in the head. Yanking out the knife, he turned and sliced across the dark-haired soldier's throat, who'd been scrabbling for his gun while choking for air. There was blood everywhere, making hands and floor slippery, but the Winter Soldier was used to compensating for that.

The Sergeant finally reacted, swinging around his gun and firing. The Winter Soldier snapped up his metal arm, blocking the bullets. The ricochets hit the wall of the van perilously close to his Captain.

Guns became an unnecessary and unacceptable risk.

The Winter Soldier threw his gun at the Sergeant in the back doorway and lunged. The remaining two soldiers were no match for his decades of experience. A single punch from his metal arm collapsed the blond's chest and pulped his heart. His other arm knocked up the Sergeant's gun, sending a spray of bullets into the ceiling and leaving the man's torso wide open for the WInter Soldier's knife to slide across the Sergeant's belly. Curving the knife back around, he planted it in the Sergeant's heart. The man fell to the ground outside the van. Glancing around, the Winter Soldier checked to make sure everyone had been taken care of.

It had taken him a little less than a minute to slaughter the entire team of five. Worrying about his Captain getting hurt had made him slow. Every surface in the van was splattered with blood, brains, and viscera, including his Captain. He checked her over carefully, but she seemed uninjured beyond the sedative, which didn't seem to be unduly depressing her breathing. The dart wounds on her back were already starting to heal over.

Working quickly, he disabled as many phones and GPS systems as he could find. After moving all of the bodies into the back and his Captain into the passenger seat, he got behind the wheel and drove the van a couple of miles until he found a new car to steal. He broke into a nearby garage and parked the van out of sight. It hopefully wouldn't be found until the next morning, maybe longer depending on local traffic.

He lined the front seat of the new car with emergency blankets from the trunk to limit the blood smears and connection to the Hydra van, then he transferred his Captain to the new car and drove them several miles deeper into the city. They switched cars three more times, always driving in random patterns. There'd been no signs of any pursuit, but he stayed away from any trucks and vans that looked large enough to hold a team of Hydra soldiers. Finally he parked in an unobserved corner of a parking structure and took his Captain out of the car.

Slinging her over his shoulder, he slunk down dark streets and alleyways, wove in and out of closed buildings, climbed over fences, and moved up and across rooftops. Although tall and muscular, the Captain's weight felt negligible. He adjusted for the way her dangling limbs altered his balance and kept moving tirelessly.

During the hours of travel, his sense of self and memory had gradually improved. The knowledge that he had a safehouse nearby floated to the surface of his consciousness after half an hour of evasive travel by foot. It took even longer to remember that his Captain was also his Stevie.

Taking a sharp left and ducking through a badly lit park, he circled to the back of a building and entered. He went down to the basement, broke into the utility tunnel shared by most of this block, and traveled two buildings over before moving up the stairs to the second floor.

At apartment 212 he placed his metal hand flat on a certain section of the doorframe, activating the embedded scanner. The locks clicked open, closed, open. The simple pattern and electrical buzz against his palm let him know that no one had entered since he'd last been here. He went inside, placed Stevie on the couch, and did a thorough search of the apartment to double-check. It was empty.

Activating the perimeter alarms and setting the automated defenses to lethal levels, he told the Soldier to stand down. He'd set up this safehouse. He knew the strength of the defenses and all the exit points if escape proved necessary. His focus shifted from getting away to reflecting on what had just happened.

The personality known as Bucky, frustratingly vulnerable and yet extremely hardy, finished surfacing from the deep with a full body shudder. That had been bad. They'd almost caught and wiped him again.

Not only that, but Stevie had almost paid the price with him. She lay limply on the couch, still unconscious. The translucent skin of her temples and eyelids looked so fragile, her expression lifeless beneath the smudged makeup. She was spattered with red, a bone fragment was stuck in her hair, and the fabric of her black dress was stiff with dried blood. None of it was hers, but it so easily could've been.

He'd slaughtered those Hydra operatives mercilessly. What did it say about him that the thing that bothered him most was how much he hadn't been bothered by his viciousness when obeying orders unthinkingly?

He was a professional soldier, so it wasn't like he expected to break down sobbing when he killed someone, but he'd been trying so hard lately to take what was lost and broken and make it right. He didn't want to be a merciless killing machine anymore. He didn't want to mindlessly follow orders. Bucky wanted killing to be a personal choice and to care when he killed someone. He wanted to feel remorse, satisfaction, duty, something, anything to separate himself from being the frozen-hearted Asset again. Maybe he really was too broken for normal life, because right now all he felt about the blood coating his hands was weary unto death.

If Stevie hadn't been there, he'd probably be sitting in some Hydra lab somewhere, strapped in a chair, obediently opening his mouth for a bite guard in preparation for getting his brain wiped, not even capable of caring that the personality of Bucky was about to be destroyed once again for the nth time, perhaps this time for good.

But Stevie had been there.

Stevie had been there and would be there as much as he'd let her. Hadn't she just knocked him sideways and lifted his ego higher than a kite by claiming he was her O.A.O.? Sure, she'd been thinking of old Bucky when she said it, but the fact that she'd actually admitted that little tidbit to new Bucky had to mean something, especially when she'd followed it up by pressing a kiss on his lips even after he'd given her an out and ordered her to go get a drink.

Not all hope was lost for new Bucky, no matter how weary and stretched thin he felt right now. Instead of complaining and focusing on the worst, he should try being grateful. When he'd been a young man in Brooklyn, he'd had a knack for seeking after the fun in life, refusing to dwell on all the bad and unfair things he couldn't control.

Such lightheartedness seemed foreign to him now, as foreign as Stevie once had when she'd appeared out of nowhere to rescue him as a tall, muscular, and heroic Captain everyone thought was a man instead of the petite firecracker of a dame he'd grown up with who was cursed with bad health and epic stubbornness. The differences had been strange at first, but it had been easy to see that at heart Stevie was still the same fearless person who'd go up and spit in the face of injustice no matter how much bigger and meaner it looked. Stevie still had that heart even now.

In a lot of ways, old Bucky had been an idiot. Even with patchy memories, that much was obvious. He'd spent way too much time worrying about stupid things and holding himself back. However, at least Bucky had been a stubborn idiot too, loyal to good causes and great people. And he'd been smart enough to make and keep a friend like Stevie. It was important to have memories like that.

He was grateful to remember being Bucky Barnes and how to make his own choices. He was uninjured and safe for the moment. He was also with Stevie. Even though her fearlessness and stubbornness drove him crazy, he'd always been grateful for Stevie and—although inexplicable—she always seemed grateful for him. It felt greedy to ask for much more than that.

After checking the perimeter and alarms again, he carefully picked up Stevie in his arms. She'd left dried blood on the couch. He didn't care about the couch, but he did care about Stevie's comfort. This was something he could do. Stevie should be clean. Bucky should probably be clean too. They both needed to wash away the reminders of what had just almost happened.

Bucky moved into the bathroom and placed Stevie on the closed toilet seat, turning on the shower to give the water time to get hot. He wasn't sure if her clothing could be salvaged, but he wanted to try. Stripping her down, he tossed cash, cards, ID (both hers and the Hydra agent's from the club), and a random SIM card on the counter, He put her clothes in the sink and filled it with cold water to soak. His own clothing he threw in the trash.

Picking Stevie up gently, he moved them both into the now steaming shower. The water became pink as it swirled down the drain. Although both of them were naked, there's nothing even remotely sexual about his state of mind. Bucky just wanted to take care of her. He tenderly soaped Stevie first, making sure to remove the makeup smudging her face and soap the mostly healed puncture wounds on her back.

A new memory rose to the surface of his mind. He'd done this before, but he'd been wiry and tanned from work at the docks. Stevie had been small and bird-boned with skin as pale as milk. She'd been unconscious for days from fever and wheezing with each shallow breath. He'd spent his entire paycheck on medicine, but she still wouldn't wake up. Without any family left, no one but Bucky had been willing to risk watching over her, afraid of catching the infection and bringing it home to their own families. He'd been terrified that Stevie really was going to die on him this time.

In desperation, Bucky had skipped work and snuck them both into the shared bathroom while everyone else was gone, filling the tub with water so hot that the sweat dripped down his face like rain. Propping her up between his knees to keep her head above the water, he'd used the hot steam of the bath to ease her labored breathing while washing away days of sickbed sweat and grime. They'd both turned lobster red. Her face had gained color for the first time in weeks.

Stevie had woken up two days later. He'd never told her what he'd done for her or why he'd had to find a new job so abruptly and Stevie didn't think to ask. She was too busy trying to force herself to run when her body had only barely started walking. It was classic Stevie. She never let anything keep her down for long.

Returning to the present, Bucky turned his back to the hot spray and laid the now robust and sleekly muscled Stevie down in the back of the tub. Her obvious good health despite the sedative was a comfort. No one deserved the benefits of the Super Soldier Serum more than Stevie. Just look at all the good she'd done since getting it.

Not like him.

Double-checking to make sure her head stayed safely above the splashing water, he turned and reached for the soap again. He wasn't as careful when washing himself, scrubbing harshly to remove the dried blood. He ripped out his hair elastic to start shampooing and brushed against something in his ear. He'd forgotten the earplugs were even there. Pulling them out, he tossed them into the trash. The sound of splashing water became loud.

Turning off the shower, he dried them both off. He listened to Stevie's breathing. It sounded fine. He didn't like how she hadn't woken up yet, but if Hydra's drugs hadn't managed to kill the Winter Soldier, it shouldn't be able to kill Captain America either, who'd gotten a much better version of the Super Soldier serum than he had.

Bucky moved them into the bedroom, ripping open new packages of underwear and t-shirts to dress them both. It wasn't what he normally slept in, but he didn't want Stevie waking up and getting upset. He had a feeling she was going to be weird about all the scarring on his body and try to apologize or something idiotic like that. Bucky knew (mostly) who was to blame for those scars and it wasn't Stevie. He'd spent the last year killing those still alive and destroying the legacies of those already dead, trying to gain some measure of peace over what had been done to him.

Tucking Stevie into the bed, he paused at another flash of memory. They're nine and laying side-by-side in bed reading Captain Blood and innocently exclaiming over the pirate's daring adventures. Frowning, he shook off the memory. He's the furthest thing from innocent now, over ninety years later with a bathroom full of bloody clothes and a bloodstained soul. The only good thing in this entire apartment is the person lying unconscious in his bed.

Bucky turned away and left. He prowled around the apartment, checking the security again. Stevie should blame him for tonight, but probably wouldn't. She was better than he deserved. He should probably just leave before she woke up. That would be the right thing to do. Disappearing was easy when you were used to being noone. He pictured Stevie's face on waking alone and finding him gone. He pictured the lonely days and years to come. His heart felt heavy.

He stayed.

Moving on autopilot, he went to the closet and opened up one of his weapon caches, filling his arms. He placed weapons on the nightstand, under the mattress, and beneath his pillow. He paused and looked over, caught by the sound of Stevie snuffling in her sleep. He frowned. Was she cold? He didn't want Stevie getting sick. He got her another blanket.

After tucking her in, Bucky realized that Stevie might want weapons too. Going to the closet, he retrieved more weapons and armed her side of the bed, sliding a Colt M1911A1 underneath her pillow. There were much better guns around, but Bucky wasn't sure how comfortable Stevie was in using them. She'd been offered both a Browning and a Webley during the War but always turned them down to keep her American-made Colt. He'd also never seen her use a modern sidearm while she'd been chasing him. He'd have to fix that later if he got the chance.

Taking care of Stevie (when she let him get away with it) was Bucky's self-appointed job in life, but he had to be around to do that. Practicing on her had certainly made his role as a Sergeant in the Army feel as natural as breathing. A full squad couldn't get into half as much trouble as a pint-sized Stevie by herself. Becoming Sergeant for the strapping and heroic Captain America had required a different kind of care, but figuring that out had held its own appeal. Bucky knew Stevie didn't need him to take care of her, but he wanted to do it. He liked it.

Bucky tucked Stevie's blankets back up around her chin, unable to keep from smoothing his hand over her wheat-gold hair. It was soft and clung to his fingertips. Stevie's pink lips fell open in a quiet sigh.

Padding away, he checked the perimeter and security settings again, finishing in the kitchen. He returned to the bedroom with a cup of water, a glass of high-calorie powder, and a spoon, which he placed on the bedside table next to Stevie so she could freshly mix herself an energy shake in the morning. He'd already drank some. The shake didn't taste great, but Stevie probably wouldn't mind. The calories were the important thing. Living on his own this last year had taught him that when he started neglecting his body, his memory and sanity suffered too.

Rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck, Bucky was about to pace the perimeter again when the gentle peace on Stevie's sleeping face made him pause. The sound of her soft breathing filled his ears, hypersensitized after hours of quiet. He'd intended to spend the night pacing the apartment, but that plan abruptly lost all appeal. He didn't want to be that far away from Stevie and the sound of her breathing. He wanted to be right here, where she was.

As soon as his mind articulated the desire, his body took over, moving him around the bed and slipping him under the covers before he quite knew what he was doing. Even though they weren't touching, Stevie gave off heat like a furnace, making normally cold sheets feel warm and toasty. Bucky's eyes closed. After so many years spent frozen in cryogenic sleep, a warm bed felt like the height of luxury, especially a bed made warm by his Captain—by Stevie.

He thought about getting out of the soft warm bed and lying on the hard cold ground instead, a punishment for letting himself almost getting captured again… but punishment was for the Asset. Bucky didn't want punishment. The Soldier had done his best tonight. Bucky had tried his best and sometimes, bad things just happened. Tomorrow was a new day. Tonight he wanted to feel not so alone. He wanted to rest in shared warmth. He wanted… between one breath and the next, he fell asleep.

The next morning, he woke to the feeling of being watched.

Bucky was careful not to tense or change his breathing. Slitting open his eyes, he saw Stevie sitting cross-legged on the other side of the bed. She was quietly drinking her energy shake and watching him. Giving up on the pretense of sleep, he sat up and rubbed his face. He couldn't believe he'd actually let himself fall asleep. He felt amazing but also out of sorts.

"Good morning," Stevie said, all hints of vulnerability hidden behind a smile. Tipping back her cup, she gulped down the last of her shake and put it on the bedside table. "How are you feeling this morning?"

Bucky deflected with humor. "Like I'm in bed with that picture of your great uncle, the one with the bushy white mustache." He gestured to her upper lip, which was covered in frothy white shake.

Stevie licked her lips clean, wiping a hand over her mouth and then down her shirt. "There, better?"

"Well, now you just look like you, so it's only sort of an improvement," he deadpanned.

"Haha, you're a real wiseguy." Stevie stuck out her tongue.

When he failed to crack a smile, she frowned. "Okay, how are you really doing? I'm not sure how we got here from the club or what happened to my dress, but since you remember my Irish great uncle I'm hoping that means you're mostly you again."

"I'm fine," he said automatically.

"Uh huh," she said, obviously not convinced.

Tucking a dangling strand of hair behind his ear, he thought about cutting it again. At this point, it was pure vanity to keep it long, but since vanity was something the Asset wasn't supposed to have, he tried to indulge in it whenever possible. Bucky thought he looked very handsome with long hair. He'd caught Stevie's fingers playing with it several times while they danced, so she seemed to like it too. "I'll be fine, how about that?"

"I suppose it will have to do. At least it's optimistic! Too much doom and gloom is bad for you, backs up the digestion," she said with a wink and a smile. She was trying too hard, but he wasn't sure why.

Bucky snorted. "You'd know since you're the one who always had to sit downwind when the army fed us tinned beans." Stevie liked it when he mentioned memories from before, but she'd also always hated it when he brought up her undignified moments. It should serve as a good distraction from whatever was worrying her.

"Twice! It only happened twice," Stevie defended huffily, crossing her arms. "Why don't you remember my heroic moments instead of that?" she muttered.

Bucky leaned back on his hands and shrugged. "You're just lucky, I guess." He wanted to keep things light, but she needed to know what had happened while she'd been out. He owed her that. "As for what happened last night, I think a Hydra agent tried to activate the Asset, but you did something to stop them before they finished. Thanks for that, by the way." He kept his tone light to hide the whip of black emotions flaying his self-confidence.

Not wanting to dwell on it, he kept going. "I was still pretty out of it when we got taken by a Hydra cell, but their sedative darts must've hit you instead of me. Luckily they seemed newly formed and badly supplied, which saved us. I eventually woke up enough to realize our danger, stopped cooperating, and took them all out. Permanently. I then got us away to one of my safehouses," he gestured around them. "You still wouldn't wake up, so I washed us off and put you to bed to sleep it off. I hadn't intended to fall asleep in here with you, but—well—I did," he shrugged and picked at a loose string on the edge of the sheet.

"I don't mind," Stevie said, tilting her head to the side. "To be honest, it was kind of nice, waking up next to you. I half-expected you to be missing when I opened my eyes." She joined him in picking at the sheet over her legs. "It made me happy. It was the first morning in forever that I woke up not missing home. I guess you've always been home to me."

Bucky rubbed the back of his neck. It was the perfect opening if he had the courage to take it. Last night had gone all wrong, but if he waited for a time where nothing went wrong, he might be waiting forever. Bucky was tired of his life being nothing more than blood, redemption, and punishment. To become square with all he owed he'd have to spend the rest of his life working hard, but even God had rested from his labors on the seventh day. Bucky may have a lot more in common with the fella down below than the one up above, but he wanted and deserved rest. He deserved good things like dancing, maybe even great things like dancing with Stevie. He was done with punishment. He didn't want to wait anymore.

"It's funny you'd say that," Bucky said, mouth dry, "because you've always been home for me too." He swallowed, trying to wet his tongue. "Lately I've had an idea running on loop through my head. I can't shake it and I don't think I want to."

Bucky leaned forward and caught Stevie's familiar blue eyes. "I don't want to run away from you anymore. I miss you. I want to come home. I want to stop running, but if running's needed, I'd rather run side by side with you."

Pink tinted Stevie's cheeks. Her eyes had gone wide and luminous. She was biting her lip and hanging on his every word.

Encouraged, Bucky smiled crookedly, "I want to be partners, with me protecting you and you protecting me. I want to be best friends again, watching each other's backs just like we used to do as kids."

Dropping her eyes, Stevie crossed her arms, clenching one hand around her wrist. "Partners just like—like when we were kids, that—that sounds great." She sucked in a breath, "No, it is great!" Looking back up into his face, she leaned forward earnestly. "That would be great, Bucky. We can see each other more and maybe even get rooms on the same floor."

Brow creasing, he watched Stevie's reaction. "I'm not sure you're understanding what I'm trying to say."

"No, I do! I would love to have you in my life again, best friends just like when we were growing up, hanging out together and protecting each other's backs." She smiled and gave his shoulder a friendly punch. He swayed with the impact, as she hadn't bothered holding back her strength. Then again, he could take anything she could dish out. The question was, could she say the same?

Bucky felt a spurt of reckless devilment. "Oh really? Then I guess it's okay for me to finally admit out loud that I've always enjoyed watching your back. Even when small, you had an ass like a peach, sweetheart. It's gotten more plump post serum, but the basic shape's stayed the same. I've fantasized about sinking my teeth into that ass on fire escapes in Brooklyn, lumpy cots in Italy, back alleys in Russia and Romania, and rooftops in DC and New York. In fact, I don't think I've ever stared at it without salivating. Even as a brainwashed assassin drugged into a eunuch, it made my fingers twitch, wanting to cup it." Eyes gone heavy-lidded, Bucky licked his lips and watched her reaction.

Lungs heaving and the tips of her ears gone bright red, Stevie went up onto her knees to glare down at him. "That's enough!" she snapped. "You had to of known growin' up that you coulda had me with a snap of your fingers, but you didn't! Everytime you lounged around shirtless I got tongue-tied and stupid. I kept goin' dancin' with you in smoke-filled dance halls despite the fact that I had two left feet and it made my asthma flare. Everyone in Brooklyn knew I was a goner and pitied me for it. I was totally obvious!"

Bucky felt his face warm. He rubbed his thumb against his fingertips and looked down. "Not that obvious. I was just convenient. I always knew you were meant for bigger and better things than me. Besides, it wasn't safe for you to be with me or any man back then. It woulda killed you if you'd gotten pregnant. The docs told you flat out, 'member? And after that, when you were big and healthy? I was just a familiar joe from back home. You coulda had any man in the army. You could have any man now." He scowled down at his metal hand, suddenly feeling foolish. "You don't need a guy like me dragging you down and keeping you from being happy."

Face blanking, Stevie stared at him. He shifted nervously, wondering if he should jump off the bed to give himself more room to maneuver. That expression was the equivalent of the eye of the storm as she gathered her thoughts before letting loose with a blistering assault. Stevie drew in a deep breath. He braced himself.

"You, Bucky Barnes, are an idiot!" She pointed at him in case there was any confusion about who she was talking about. "And blind and a jerk! What I do and who I do it with are my choice! I've been in love with you forever! I've wanted you forever! No one makes me as happy as you do! Seeing you in that dance club last night is the happiest I've felt in months, perhaps years! Since you've obviously missed it, I've got problems too."

Rubbing her face, she sat down on her heels and gave a broken little laugh that made his stomach hurt. Her voice became small. "I need you, Buck. It's always been you for me and I'm tired. I'm tired of living up to the expectations of people who don't care two cents for Stevie Rogers. I'm tired of no one really getting who and what I am and where I came from. I'm tired of acting like the Grania of Irish myth, always running from my problems, relying on tricks to get by instead of planting my feet and raising my fists."

Stevie dropped her hand and looked at him with renewed fire in her eyes, her voice gaining volume. "I'm tired of running from my feelings for you, Bucky. I'm sick of packing my heart down small and pretending that just being friends is enough for me. I'll take it if nothing else is on offer, but it sounds like you're offering and I want it."

Hands slammed out, knocking Bucky flat onto his back. Stevie swung a bare leg over his hips and pressed her hands to his shoulders, pinning him flat. Bucky barely stopped his instinctive counterattack. Staring up at her fierce expression, he forced himself to relax. He trusted Stevie. Besides, if he was going to be honest, he didn't mind being pinned by her body like this.

"I want to be with you, Bucky," Stevie declared. She hovered above him, the frame of her body as enduring and beautiful as the most famous monuments of men, something he could cling to with utter certainty and trust, something he could guard and treasure. "And if anyone objects, I'll fight them for you. If you need more time or privacy, I'll fight for that too. I'll always fight for you, but I need you to fight for me, to fight for us." Vulnerability in her eyes, Stevie slid her hands off his shoulders and onto the bed, slowly lowering her face until their noses almost touched. Her breath feathered across his cheeks and ears. "I need you."

"Yes," Bucky said simply, agreeing to her, agreeing to all of it.

Reaching up, he cupped Stevie's cheek. He needed that connection. His metal thumb caressed her gorgeous face. Stevie sucked in her breath. That sound, combined with the stark contrast of hard metal on soft skin, made him freeze. He tried to pull away and switch hands, but Stevie wouldn't let him, catching his metal wrist and pressing the hand firmly back to her cheek. Turning her head, she kept their eyes locked as she kissed the center of his metal palm in benediction.

A broken sigh fell from his lips. There wasn't another woman in the world as perfect as his Stevie. He swallowed. "Your Ma never shoulda saddled you with the name Grania, no matter how pretty the turn of your face. You've always been more an Aoife the Warrior Princess or Badb the Goddess of Battle."

Stevie smiled with pure happiness. She didn't want to forget a single moment of this day. It was shaping up to be everything she'd ever dreamed of and more. She really must have the luck of the Irish. She let Bucky's metal hand slide down to cup the side of her neck, a unique touch that belonged to Bucky alone, a touch she wanted more of. "And you're still a silver-tongued sweet-talker, Bucky Barnes, now complete with matching silver arm."

A smile grew on his face, not quite like his old smile, but brilliant all the same. She wanted to learn all of his new expressions. "All right, doll, but if we're going to be standing together from now on, I think... we should practice the lying down version a few times first." He wagged his eyebrows and tickled his fingers down the outside of the bare leg still pinning him to the sheets. "We're halfway there already."

"Bucky!" She felt her face turn hot.

"By sleeping! Why? Whaddaya think I was talking about?" he asked faux-innocently, tongue in cheek.

Trying to put on a pious expression despite the twitching of her lips, Stevie raised her nose into the air. "Unlike you, I never skipped out on Church growing up. Good girls don't lie down with bad boys without marriage, to sleep or otherwise, Mr. Barnes."

Tongue sliding out to wet his plump bottom lip, a motion that drew Stevie's eyes like a bear to honey, Bucky's face became serious and intent. "Marry me, Stevie. Let's make it official."

"I—I was teasing," she said weakly, sitting back to give him room. "You don't have to do that for me."

Bucky sat up, catching her gaze from inches away. "I want to, Stevie, for both of us. I want to marry you and go all in. This is me fighting for us. I want to belong to you and have you belong to me."

Sliding his arms around her waist, he tilted his head to the side cajolingly. "I have a confession to make. I only went out dancing last night to work out my nervous energy. I was planning on tracking you down today and declaring myself. I even had a speech prepared, which I've now completely forgotten." He shrugged. "You got me all flustered."

"Bucky—"

He interrupted her, suddenly sounding nervous, "We were good friends, Stevie, but I know we could be great lovers. My memory may be spotty, but there isn't a single time in my head where I'm me and I don't love you. Marry me, Stevie. Be my wife or tell everyone you're my husband. Whatever you want to be is fine, just be it together with me. Jus—"

Placing a hand over his mouth, Stevie laughed. "The answer is yes! Of course it's yes." Throwing herself forward, she knocked him flat again. They rolled across the bed, laughing into each other's lips between joyful kisses. "Yes, yes, yes!" Stevie said, punctuating each word with a kiss.

Hair mussed, Bucky propped his head up on one hand and grinned down into her eyes. "So what would you say if I told you that I conveniently have IDs for the both of us, a judge who owes me a favor, and a nearby licensing office that's open till four?"

"Conveniently, huh?" Stevie asked from flat on her back, a warm glow filling her belly and spreading from toe to fingertip. Knocking down his arm, she twisted up to hover over him instead. "Well, I wouldn't want all your hard work to go to waste. Let's go over this morning and do it." She grinned down at him.

"I love you, my soon-to-be wife," Bucky said grandly, running his hands up and down her sides and ending on the curve of her behind with a cheeky grin.

Stevie chuckled and pressed a kiss to his forehead, both cheeks, and his lips. "I love you too, my soon-to-be husband, but don't push it." She moved his hands back up onto her back.

"Okay, but just think"—Bucky flipped them so he was now on top, pressing Stevie down on the bed and trapping her arms over her head—"fighting as a married couple will be even better than fighting as enemies or friends." He sent her a toothy grin.

Returning the grin with one of her own, Stevie flung him up off her body and halfway over the foot of the bed. They wrestled for supremacy, sending sheets and pillows flying through the air, followed by a gun. She only had a split second to recognize a Colt .45 before it hit the wall and discharged.

BANG!

Bucky lunged, blocking the bullet from hitting her calf with his metal arm. The ricochet flew out the door, shattered a lamp in the living room and embedding itself in the window frame. Before Stevie could catch her breath, the lights went out and steel panels dropped from the ceiling, turning the apartment into a dark maze. An escape hatch opened in the wall behind the bed, releasing a cool draft of air.

"Nice," she said, looking at the opening upside-down from where she was lying underneath Bucky's body and trying to keep a straight face.

"Thanks." Bucky's foot kicked out, slamming the door in the wall shut. "Now, where were we?"

"Practicing married fighting?" Stevie was still giggling as he wrapped her in his arms and captured her lips in a deep kiss.

They eventually got to the clerk's office, but by that time it was already mid-afternoon. Everything went as smooth as butter. Bucky really had planned this all out in advance.

Just before they went into the judge's office to say their vows, Natasha walked around the corner with a Mona Lisa smile. "You two are going to need a witness."

They froze like kids caught with their hands in the cookie jar.

After a moment of surprise, Stevie laughed. "You really do find out everything." Walking forward, she gave Natasha a surprise of her own by picking the redhead up in a tight hug and spinning her around. "Thanks for coming."

Natasha didn't squeak, but she did turn stiff and tap out. "Okay, enough physical affection. Put me down, Stevie!" Knowing that things would get violent if she didn't, Stevie set her down with another laugh.

Smoothing down her rumpled clothing, Natasha huffed and then arched her brow at Bucky. "James."

"Natalia," Bucky said with a half-smile. To Stevie's further surprise, he gave Natasha a hug too. Natasha not only allowed it, she returned it and said something softly to him in Russian before stepping back. Bucky inclined his head and returned to Stevie's side.

Natasha really did know just about everything and everyone.

"So," she said, "does this need to be private or can I call the rest of the team? They're going to be sad to miss it. There will be whining. Epic whining."

Stevie and Bucky exchanged looks. "Sure, go ahead and call them," Stevie said.

"But tell them we won't wait," Bucky added. "If they're late, they're late."

Pulling out her Stark phone, Natasha sent out an emergency text with the GPS coordinates and words,

Avengers Assemble!

Stevie's marrying Bucky at the courthouse NOW.

Within a few minutes, the sound of engines sounded outside as a small plane landed on the roof. "Good reaction time," Natasha said approvingly.

Bruce and Clint jogged into view a few seconds later.

"Did we make it?" Bruce asked anxiously.

Stevie nodded and clapped both Bruce and Clint on the shoulder. "The judge hasn't come out yet. Thanks for coming."

Tony strolled up with shades on his face and hands in his pockets. "Aw lovebirds, how cute," he mocked. " With all the Hydra activity last night we feared the worst, but you were just making nookie and impulsive life choices. It's still not too late to back ou—"

"Yes, it is," Stevie interrupted, "but thanks for coming to support us, Tony." She reached out and shook his hand firmly. "It means a lot to me."

Tony gave a crooked smiled and shook his head. "Well good luck and all that jazz. You old timers deserve a little happiness."

Sam used his Falcon wings to get there in time, landing on the fire escape outside and climbing in through the window. He greeted them both with hugs and back slaps. "When Stevie said she was going to make a change she wasn't kidding. Congrats you two!"

Thunder rumbled in the clear blue sky. The hall filled with rainbows as Thor arrived using the Bifrost. Looking around at everyone waiting, he gave a huge grin. "By the luck of the All-Father, I have made it in time to witness this most joyous of unions!" He threw his arms wide. "You may now proceed with my blessing."

The judge chose that moment to open her door. She blinked around at every in surprise, glanced over at Bucky, and chose to keep her mouth shut. Stevie hoped the favor she owed wasn't from anything illegal but decided that just for today, it was better not to ask. The judge ushered them all inside her office and began the quick ceremony.

Mere seconds after they finished saying their vows and signing the paperwork, a bright purple cloud appeared in the sky outside with a BOOM! Half the windows on the building broke into pieces. An ugly green creature with six heads slithered out of the cloud and fell to the street below, lifting its gnarly-looking heads and screaming a challenge.

"Man, that dude is ugly," Sam said, pulling on his goggles.

"Is this a wedding gift? Because I would've been fine with a new set of towels," Stevie deadpanned, helping the cowering judge out from under her desk and out into the hall.

"Only the best for you, Stevie," Clint said earnestly, busy assembling a compound bow on the judge's desk.

Pulling out his hammer, Thor grinned and began spinning it over his head. "Perhaps it is Loki's way of wishing you well. He has ever been most thoughtful when it comes to choosing presents."

"I'll have to thank him with a knuckle sandwich when I see him," Stevie said, moving to the edge of the broken window frame and leaning out to get a better look at the monster below. "A card just won't do."

"What do you think, Cap?" Natasha asked, pulling on her widow's bite bracelets and holsters full of guns and knives.

"We might all just want to choose a favorite head and get cracking. The armor plating on the torso looks pretty thick. Try to crack it if you can, but if not, the heads and eyes are good secondary targets. Thor, take Bruce and drop Hulk on the monster. Falcon and Iron Man can take the rest of us."

"Come, my soon-to-be-green friend, let us wreak havoc!" Thor called eagerly, wrapping his arm around a half-green Bruce and flinging his hammer, sending them flying out the broken window.

"Someone get me a gun," Bucky barked, "a big one!"

Hawkeye slung his bow over his back and stepped up to Falcon. "Birds of a feather should stick together. Give me a lift?"

Sam flashed him a toothy grin. "Let's get it on." They fist-bumped. Deploying his wings, Sam grabbed Clint and tossed them both out the window, swooping up from their dive into a spiral as Clint whooped in delight. Sam dropped the archer on the roof of the building nearest the monster and joined Thor and Hulk.

"Wedding present time!" Tony announced as a robot zipped in through the window. It's barrel chest popped open to reveal an armory, including an assortment of weapons including a big silver gun for Bucky with a hastily spray-painted red star on the side to match his arm. A second robot followed with Captain America's shield and gear. "I had them brought for the wedding photos, but we'll just tell the photographer I hired to take action shots instead. Don't forget to smile!"

Faceplate slamming shut, Iron Man let Black Widow mount his back. "Time for the afterparty. Let's go!" Since Stevie and Bucky had wasted no time in getting armed, Iron Man grabbed one in each arm and rocketed out the window.

Iron Man barely slowed before dropping Stevie and Bucky on the street. Arching back up into the air, he flew up over the monster. Black Widow banged his shoulder once in warning and then dived off onto the monster's back. Iron Man braked in midair and shot his repulsors at the nearest head.

Roaring, the monster convulsed. Two heads hung limply from its body. The remaining four mouths opened and began vomiting smaller green and purple monsters, which spread out and started voraciously eating through the trees, streetlights, and even the concrete.

Hulk lifted up his foot and began stomping with gusto. Falcon and Iron Man wove through the air like sparklers on the fourth of July. Bullets and arrows from Black Widow and Hawkeye filled the air like celebration confetti.

Grinning widely, Stevie Grania Barnes lifted her shield and ran forward to join the fight with Bucky—her husband and best friend—by her side. They ran together in perfect step. She'd never been happier.

Life really was perfect.

THE END

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AN: Thank you so much for reading! Please leave me a review! They are so important to me, giving me validation for all the hours I spend writing and editing these stories. The cover art I made for this is on my Tumblr. I'm quite proud of it. *grin*

The song referenced in the club is "Think" by Kaleida. It's from the John Wick Soundtrack.

Dictionary:

O.A.O. - One-and-only, as in "one-and-only-girl" or "guy." Slang in WWII.

альфа премьер - "alpha prime" in Russian

Moy Kapitan - "my captain" in Russian, written phonetically

Dah - "yes" in Russian