Tessa's mind had been reeling for days.

She felt no different at all after her first session with the Professor on Saturday. At least… not at first. When they left the school that afternoon, all she felt was sick. Her head pounded well into the night, and her stomach – after emptying into her lap in Xavier's study the moment she pulled out of his hold – had been clenched into one giant, painful knot.

Part of her thought she was dying – her body was clearly revolting against whatever sort of deed the Professor had done. But eventually – after hours of tossing and turning and bemoaning her plight – she fell into a deep and oddly dreamless sleep. And when she woke the next morning, her headache had all but disappeared. What was left in its wake, however, was a terribly distracting, horribly distressing, incredibly annoying feeling of intense déjà vu that lurked menacingly at the forefront of her mind.

She would've preferred a migraine.

"Hey." Bucky's deep voice sounds in her periphery, startling her out of yet another dark reverie. She looks up as he slowly approaches, cocking his head in curiosity. "What are you doing?" he asks, a hint of concern to his voice as he drops down onto the couch beside her.

"Watching The Bachelor," she sighs out, returning her gaze to the TV. As soon as her eyes hit the screen she realizes that she has no idea what's happening on the show, apparently having been distracted for longer than she realized.

He sidles up next to her, throwing his arm over the back of the sofa. "I see that."

"What do you think about submitting Steve for this?" she asks, leaning back into him.

"You want to put Steve on national television and surround him with beautiful women?" She nods before dropping her head onto his shoulder. He gently kisses her hair. "That would definitely be entertaining."

She lets out a long sigh. "He'd probably never go for it. No fun, that one."

A soft chuckle reverberates through his body and into hers. But she feels him stiffen beside her not long after, his light energy clouding with concern. "I thought you'd be getting ready," he issues out in a deep, even tone.

She curls further into him and tries to focus on the TV as she casually says, "Changed my mind. I'd rather stay home."

Bucky shifts back and looks down at her with a frown. "You sure? Thought you loved Stark parties."

She shrugs again. It's true, she does love Tony's parties. And this will be among the biggest and the best. It is New Year's after all. But… "I don't feel like it."

"You don't feel well?" he asks seriously, brow furrowed as he brings his left hand up to her face and waits for her to curl into the cool metal. "Does your head still hurt?"

She tugs away quickly, rolling her eyes. "No. It's not that," she says, insisting for the umpteenth time that she – physically – feels fine now. "I just… don't feel like getting dressed up." She turns to him and wiggles her eyebrows as she says, "We can eat Chinese food on the couch and watch movies."

He lets out another short chuckle and watches as the barely there smile fades from her lips. "We could. I'm up for whatever you want to do." She gives him a solemn nod before turning back to the TV and curling up into his chest. "You seem kind of down," he mutters into her hair as he wraps his arms around her and pulls her close.

"No," she breathes out.

"No?" he asks, pulling away just enough to look down and see her face. "It's New Year's Eve and you're sitting in the dark watching reruns of The Bachelor."

She shrugs and sinks further down, twisting around to turn into him and wrap her arms around his middle. She settles her head near his ribcage and mumbles into his shirt, "No," followed by a long sigh and an utterly unconvincing, "I'm fine."

"Uh huh," he intones, the deep utterance resonating through his core and into Tessa's ear as she presses further into his middle. "I wish you'd talk to me," he mutters softly, running his fingers through her hair.

She squeezes him tighter and murmurs into him, "Don't want to."

He slides down the couch slowly, maneuvering himself next to her, partially beneath her. She refuses to loosen her hold, and he responds by wrapping himself tightly around her as well. Now that they're laying side by side, he's able to snuggle into her neck, her hair. "What if I ask really nice?" he whispers into her ear, the tickle of his breath eliciting a small giggle.

He nips at her earlobe before starting in on her neck, lazily pecking down towards her shoulder. He's not entirely sure what his endgame is here. He does want her to talk to him, and slowly seducing her on the couch will likely not end in any sort of cathartic conversation. But he's also desperate for her to just… smile. Which is why his heart sinks so low when she not only releases a miserable sounding sigh, but also utters the dismissive words, "Nothing to talk about."

He stops his ministrations and sucks in a deep breath. "Really?" he asks, his voice heady with both disbelief and annoyance.

She rolls on top of him and raises herself up onto her forearms, earning an uncomfortable oomph from the super soldier as she inadvertently digs her elbows into his ribcage. "There really isn't," she tells him with absolute sincerity.

He looks into her eyes and sees a dark sort of longing lingering there, a building storm of grief and confusion and regret. It reminds him of the disquiet he used to see in his own reflection as he stood in front of the mirror and struggled to recognize the man staring back at him, struggled to make sense out of the many discordant thoughts and emotions roiling through his head. "Baby," he mutters vaguely, reaching up to sweep a thick curl behind her ear.

"Maybe I'm… sad," she says plainly before laying her head back onto his chest. She closes her eyes and listens to the steady, slow beat of his heart as he winds his fingers gently through her hair.

He waits for her to say more. "Why?" he asks softly when no more words come.

She shrugs into him and he feels her hot breath seep through his shirt when she mutters, "I lost my sister."

His hand stills, fingers no longer twining. She hadn't spoken about the session with Xavier yet, not really anyway. And he hadn't pushed. But he most definitely had been wondering just how far they got in rebuilding her psyche. And reintegrating her memories. "That's what happened?"

Another shrug. She reaches up with her right hand and works her fingers beneath the collar of his shirt so she can gently trace along the seam of his metal arm. He hates when she touches him there. Hates when her soft, supple, pristine flesh comes into contact with the only scars on his body that refuse to heal. But he doesn't stop her from doing it now, not when she so obviously needs to just touch him.

"I know I'm her," she mutters softly, sadly. "I guess I knew before, but…" Her left arm snakes beneath his back, wrapping desperately around him. She clings to him as she speaks, tone limp and hesitant. "Now I know. Only… I still remember her as my sister too." She sniffles wetly and he pulls his hand from her hair, drops it to her back to rub soft, soothing circles between her shoulder blades. "It's just sort of a mess," she bitterly laughs into him, his heart breaking at the melancholic sound.

"They said it would take time, right?" he tries, working to make his voice lighter.

She nods into his chest. "Yeah. Yeah, I know." He feels a small bit of warm wetness bleed through his shirt as she blinks out a few stray tears. "I know," she mumbles so quietly, he barely hears.

She nestles further into him, content to just listen to his heartbeat among the low din of voices from the television. The more she thinks about it, the more she realizes that her mind isn't sort of a mess. It's an utter, absolute, out-and-out clusterfuck.

She's recollecting things that she had long ago forgotten. Things that she had always associated with her sister. Things that she would've argued had been experienced by Anna, certainly not by her – Tessa, a completely different person. But she knows now that these memories are actually her own. She knows it. Yet it feels like she's somehow stumbled into her twin's memories… the twin for whom she still mourns.

It's sad, and confusing, and frightening, and… just all over fucked up. And the whole process had only just begun.

The longer she lays atop him in silence, the tighter she clings to him, the more concerned Bucky becomes. And Tessa feels that too. She pulls in a deep breath, cringing at the energy being put out by the man in her arms.

She knows he's desperate for her to be better, to be whole… to just be. And there is nothing she wants more in this world than to give him that comfort and assurance. "I really am okay," she says suddenly, steeling her voice. "I know you're worried, but…" she shifts atop him, brings her head upright with her chin on his chest so she can look him in the eye. "Don't worry," she tells him with a small smile.

He offers a tight nod as he looks into her deep green eyes, so filled with love and concern for him. Doesn't she realize that it kills him when she does that – when she tries to tamp down her own pain and hide it all away for his sake? Doesn't she realize that he doesn't need nor want to be comforted? What he needs is to be able to comfort her, to help her, to distract her, to simply make her smile once again.

A bright gleam gathers in his eye as he gazes up at her. "When do you want to get married?" he asks, a coy grin slowly blossoming across his face.

Her eyes light with laughter and she releases a thunderous, "Ha!"

A deep, true smile springs up despite his attempt to show off a teasing frown. "What? I want to know."

"Well," she sighs out, a soft giggle following just after. She loosens her desperate hold on him just a bit as she says, "I need to be able to dance."

He nods. "Yep. Definitely need to dance." His brows knit together for a quick moment as he thinks about how long it'll be before her leg is healed to the point of cutting a rug. "Summer?" he offers.

She snorts. "Too sweaty."

"September," he tries, not really wanting to put it off even that long.

"Sure," she counters, returning her head to his chest with an airy sigh. "Why not?"

"Why not," he repeats, blowing out a deep breath. "Just how I always hoped a woman would respond when I asked her to marry me."

Tessa releases another delightful giggle, hiding her face in Bucky's shirt before popping back up with a rather serious seeming smirk. "It doesn't work with me, you know." He furrows his brow in confusion. "Changing the subject to something happy won't make me believe you're not still a giant ball of worry." She raises a single, chiding eyebrow at him. "I can feel you brooding."

He pets down her hair as he hums out, "Just because you tell me to stop doing something, doesn't mean it's gonna happen."

She pulls herself further up him, sliding along his body until she can drop her face into the crook of his neck. Slowly, she begins to suck at the flesh there, her tongue gliding along his collarbone. She cocks her head up a bit and whispers in his ear, "What if I ask nicely?"

He outright laughs, big and breathy. "I'll do my best," he tells her.

She hoists herself up to loom just above him. "You better," she says before dropping her lips down to meet his.

The kiss is rich and deep, and just exactly what both of them need to feel grounded and connected to each other. But it's cut short – too damn short – by a harsh rapping at their door. They both startle, Tessa jolting so hard that she nearly rolls off Bucky's chest. He tightens his arms around her and calls out, "What?!"

Friday is the one who responds, her demure voice stating, "Agent Romanov is at your door."

"Of course she is," he mutters, more than a hint of annoyance in his tone. He sits upright – or as close to it as he can get – pulling Tessa with him. "Let her in."

"Noooo," she whines, curling around him and burying her face in his neck. "She's gonna make me get dressed."

"You're damn right I am," the ruby-clad redhead says as she waltzes into the apartment. She looms before them, her red sequined gown sparkling in the light thrown by the TV, the tight bodice looking even more form fitting once she drops her hands to her hips in a huff. "What am I looking at here?"

"That feels like a question you don't actually want answered," Bucky smarts as he unfurls his fiancée's arms from around his neck and rises from the couch.

Nat shoots him an irritated glare. "I mean, why aren't you ready for the party?"

Tessa slumps to the side, leaning pathetically over the arm of the couch, and pouts. "I don't have anything to wear."

"Lies," Natasha bites out. "Have you even showered?"

"I don't do that anymore," she deadpans, earning her a deep eyeroll from the redhead.

Bucky grabs a jacket and ducks around Natasha. "You two have fun," he states, as he makes for the door.

Tessa bolts upright. "Wait! Where are you going?"

He gives her an incredulous look. "After the mess you made last time you went digging through that closet, I know better than to stick around here."

"But…" she sputters. "Movies and Chinese food. We were going to skip the party, remember?"

He watches her intently for a long moment, assessing her level of sincerity. "Doll," he breathes out, "We only do this once a year. You're gonna regret it if we don't go."

Natasha scoffs. "Once a year?"

He turns to her with utter candor. "I agreed to one Stark party a year."

"Well then maybe you should skip out on this one, because there's no way Tony's not going to throw you a huge engagement party," she says with a raised brow and a crooked grin.

Bucky's face falls, his expression positively stricken. "Bullshit," he challenges. Then, looking past her and over at Tessa, "That's not true, is it?"

She shrugs, reaching out to grab her crutches. "He might hate you. But he loves me," she says, hoisting herself up off the couch. "And he loves parties even more."

He stands stark still in the middle of the living room, looking utterly lost until Natasha pats him swiftly on the shoulder. "Go borrow something of Steve's and meet us down there. At least this time it isn't black tie only." She turns to Tessa, who's still pouting as she leans heavily on her crutches. "Hopefully he can clean up enough to look halfway decent next to you."

She glances down at her pajama-clad body. "I don't think that's going to be a problem."

Nat gives Bucky a final shove to pull him out his stupor and then sweeps past both of them on her way to their bedroom. "I think tonight is a Prada kind of night!" she announces.

"It won't fit," Tessa calls out after her as she starts down the hall. She turns quickly to throw Bucky a coy glare before he heads out the door. "One hour, max," she tells him. "Then I want to be back on that couch."

He smiles wide, a playful twinkle in his eye. "See, now this time I might actually do what you tell me."

000

Bucky had hoped that once they got to the party, Tessa would lighten up… laugh and talk and mingle and become her normal, effervescent, party self. But it didn't look like that was going to happen.

Granted he had restricted her social lubricant, sternly reminding her that the doctor had agreed she should cool it on her alcohol consumption. But other than throwing him an initial dirty look, she didn't really seem to care about the drink limit, her first – and final – martini of the night still sitting largely untouched on the bar in front of her.

As if that's not odd enough, she had parked it at the bar the minute she found him and hasn't veered from his side since. For the past hour, she hasn't even attempted to mingle with friends and colleagues. She hasn't cracked a single joke, nor even – if he's not mistaken – offered up a single genuine, non-business-like smile. Not to anyone. Rather, she seems to be hiding in sullen silence, pressed to him, clinging to him much as she had at home, her fingers wrapped tightly around his metal hand as it hangs loosely at his side.

But if anyone other than Bucky notices her peculiar mood, they choose not to comment on it, instead laughing and talking around her as though each and every one of them has not a care in the world.

Before sauntering off to find Wanda, Natasha tells the group about witnessing Bucky partaking in a tea party with Lila last week at the Bartons'. Steve teases Sam about his mysterious girlfriend who's conveniently otherwise occupied tonight. And Bucky pokes fun at Steve for being the only man in the room who's never kissed a girl at midnight on New Year's. Though… "You weren't on the USO tour," the Captain retorts with a sly smile.

Sam snickers and, setting his nearly empty beer on the bar, notices for the first time that through all of the group's good-natured ribbing, Tessa has remained uncharacteristically quiet and subdued. But it isn't actually the look on her face that captures his attention. It's the almost pained way that Bucky watches her from the corner of his eye.

Sam's smile fades just a bit as he nudges Tessa's shoulder and looks down at her ring. "I thought diamonds were supposed to be a girl's best friend," he says with a lilt.

She frowns lightly, dropping Bucky's hand – finally – to absently twist the ring around her finger. "There are diamonds," she says softly, gazing down at the bright halo of jewels surrounding the emerald. "And this is the only piece of jewelry I've ever worn for more than a day without losing." She glances up at Sam with an amused glint in her eye. "If diamonds are my best friend, I must be a really shitty friend."

Sam lets out a hearty chuckle and Bucky pulls his concerned gaze away from the woman at his side just long enough to look over at the Falcon and give him a small, appreciative nod. He shakes his head, crooked smile dancing on his lips as he connects eyes with Bucky. "You're a lucky man," he says, a genuine twinkle in his eye.

"I'll drink to that," Steve says, raising his beer in the air.

Tessa lets out a short scoff as the three men surrounding her down the rest of their drinks. "What are we drinking to?" she hears from behind, craning her neck to see Tony sidling up to the bar. He orders more drinks for everyone before forcing his way into the group, stepping right in between the toasted couple.

"Bucky and Tessa's engagement," Steve tells him with a grin.

Tony rolls his eyes and emits an annoyed psh. Then, pretentiously pouting, he states, "I don't like it."

Sam raises an accusatory eyebrow as he stares the man down. "That's a dick thing to say," he says, tone deep and chiding.

Tony lets out a huff. "You're too young to tie yourself down," he almost whines, turning his attention to Tessa. "Think of all the things you'll miss out on."

"Like what?" Bucky asks, a deep, biting quality to his voice.

He rolls his eyes yet again, but keeps his gaze trained on Tessa. "You've never had a fling with a non-English-speaking dancer in Barcelona."

Steve's eyes widen as he reaches over to pluck a full beer off the bar. An amused smile creeps across his face as he states, "That's… specific."

"You still haven't made your first million," Tony goes on, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "You always want to make your first million while you're still single."

"Really?" Sam asks. "Why's that?"

He shifts his gaze to the man. "What's the point of a prenup if you don't even have a cool mill under your belt?" he replies with absolute authority.

Tessa's eyebrows draw together into a confused scowl. "How much are you planning on paying me?"

He turns back to her, narrowing his eyes and dropping his voice to a conspiratorial level. "Kid," he says plainly, "you haven't even had a threesome yet. C'mon."

She connects with his eyes, cocking her head to the side as if to gauge his sincerity. "I've had a threesome, Tony," she states, her tone a bit too blasé for the words that suddenly hit everyone's ears.

Bucky's response to her utterance is to choke and sputter on his beer. Sam lets out a giant, breathy guffaw. And Steve just crinkles his brow – as he pats his dying friend on the back – and looks at Tessa, concern lacing his features. "Tell me you're joking."

Tessa says nothing, her eyes skirting between him and a red-faced Bucky as she simply shakes her head no.

Tony leans closer to her, a devilish grin on his face. "I want details… all of the details," he whispers to her.

She merely rolls her eyes. "It was a long time ago. And it wasn't that great." Then, glancing back over at Bucky and seeing that he's mostly recovered from her admission, she says – in no uncertain terms – "I don't need to do it again."

He raises his brows high, a slight sparkle in his gaze. "Good to know," he nods before letting out a deep sigh. "Can't say I have much desire to try it again either."

All eyes turn on him. "What?" Tony snorts, incredulity dripping from the word. He flings a single pointed finger back and forth between the couple. "You two… with who?"

Tessa shakes her head. "Not us two. This is news to me." She leans forward on the barstool and rests her chin in her hand as she stares at Bucky. "You got something you want to share?"

He eyes her coyly. "I didn't hear you give any details."

"You really want me to?" she asks, a challenge to her voice.

Both Sam and Tony blurt out a resounding, "Yes," earning them a disappointed glare from Steve and a threatening growl from Bucky.

Tony rolls his eyes and lets out a pained sigh as he looks at Bucky. "Some sort of wartime tryst?" he asks, an acrid quality to his voice.

"Not exactly."

Steve shoots him an almost dirty look. "When? Who?"

With a crooked smile, he swivels toward his friend. "Debbie something," he offers, brow furrowing as he fights to remember the young woman's name. "It was a few months before I shipped out. She was at the dance hall with her roommate, and they invited me back to their place."

"Wait," Sam interrupts. "That kind of thing actually happens?"

He takes another drink of beer, scrunching his nose in disgust as he realizes that some of the beer he spit out a moment ago must've gone back into the bottle. "Happened to me," he shrugs, leaning over to deposit the backwashed drink onto the bar.

Steve's brows twist in confusion. "Debbie? Not Debra Cooper?"

Bucky snaps his fingers. "Yes, that's it. Cooper." He shakes his head slowly as he thinks back on that night. "Fiery redhead," he mutters absently. "Never trust them."

Tessa scoffs and rolls her eyes, but doesn't say a word. Like the rest, she's more than curious about how this tale will unfold. But Bucky doesn't say anything else, seemingly content to leave the story as is. Until Tony impatiently spits out, "Just tell us the damn story!"

His face lights up just the slightest bit upon hearing the man's irritation. "I went back to their place," he intones. "Had a…" he throws a quick glance over at Tessa, who raises her eyebrows expectantly, "a fun time. Then we hear the door open, and all hell breaks loose." His eyes widen. "Turns out, they had another roommate… Debbie's brother."

"And he wasn't too happy about you plowing his sister?" Sam asks, his smarmy tone pulling a disgusted snarl from Tessa.

Bucky releases a small, tentative chuckle. "No, actually, he was more upset about my plowing his fiancée."

"Oh," Sam breathes out. "His sister and his fiancée? Oh damn."

Steve frowns deeply, not finding the story nearly as amusing as the others. "How exactly did you survive that?" he asks, followed quickly by, "And how have you never told me about this?"

"I went out the window. Fire escape was broken, so I had a hell of a drop… twisted my ankle pretty bad." He shrugs. "Guy kept yelling down after me, so I ran… on a bum ankle. Ran eight blocks. But I don't think he bothered to actually chase me." He turns to Steve and levels him with a serious stare as he takes in his friend's disappointed glower. "And I didn't tell you because I knew you'd look at me like you're looking at me now."

Tony shifts awkwardly across from them, his face pulled into a thoughtful expression. "But you told my dad," he mutters softly. Bucky turns to look at him. "I know that story," he says, a breathy, reminiscent air to his words. "I didn't know it was you… just, one of his old friends. But… he told me that story." He looks up and connects with Bucky's curious gaze. "The guy broke your nose before you took off out the window," he states with a wide, playful smile.

Bucky grins and nods. "Yeah. Yeah, he did."

The two men look at each other for a long moment, Tony sniggering under his breath as he shakes his head and says, "He laughed so hard. Every time he told that story."

Steve frowns over at him. "How often did he tell it?"

Tony shrugs. "Whenever the subject of orgies came up, I guess."

Sam's eyes widen as he shakes his head sadly. "You guys must've had a hell of a father-son relationship."

"Well," Tessa interrupts with a huff as she pulls herself up off the barstool and onto her crutches. "That was a fun stroll down memory lane." She glances over at Bucky, widening her eyes in a commanding motion. "I think I'm ready to go home."

Tony scoffs loudly beside her. "It's not even nine o'clock!"

She doesn't respond, merely readies herself to go. "Are you mad?" Bucky asks in a low voice as she tries to push past him. "Hey," he says gently, reaching out and letting his fingers trail along her arm.

She turns back to him, her eyes bouncing between the other men – all of whom are watching with curiosity – before settling back on her fiancé. "No," she tells him simply. Then, her expression fading into an almost devious smirk, she raises a brow and tells him that, "I'm afraid all this talk of threesomes will have you inviting Steve into our bed." She shrugs nonchalantly. "Figured I should get you home and remind you that I'm enough."

Bucky's face twists into an amused sort of grimace as Tony questions, "Was your ménage-a-trois with two men? Because if so, I changed my mind. I want no details."

She shoots him a teasing wink. "I'll never tell," she says, slowly pulling away from the group.

As for Bucky, he shoots a quick look of apology to Steve – because, really, the man had been through enough just hearing the word threesome – and drops his hand to the small of Tessa's back as he turns to follow her out.

The other men continue to loom around the bar in silence for a long, painfully awkward moment before each peels away on his own, fading into the surrounding crowd without so much as a glance in the other's direction.