Stella's POV

This cannot be happening. I've spent approximately two minutes listening to Barnes' increasing heartbeat (225 beats precisely) as he slowly backed himself into the far corner of the elevator and slides to the ground. Thanks to my newly enhanced night vision and the slight eerie illumination coming from the red flashing emergency light, I can see that his eyes are squeezed shut and he's pulling his knees up to his chest. I know that this is so very not good for the Winter Soldier to be having a nervous breakdown but then again I know first hand that nervous breakdowns never occur at good times anyway. The bottom line is that this is not a flicker and I'm going to have to call for helps because Barnes is completely useless; if I stay in here alone with him for too long who knows what I might do to him if I lose control.

I tear my eyes away from the broken man on the floor who's now lowly muttering repetitively and open the panel for the emergency phone.

It's a short conversation that I spend glancing back and forth between Bucky and the metal wall panels surrounding us. He doesn't seem to have noticed me speaking—the way my unused voice rasps into the phone. I hang up dejectedly before turning my full attention to Buck who's now shaking violently. It's almost comical that after decades and decades of Hydra torture, Steve truly believed he could possibly be back to his old self after only a handful of years on the run. But this display is certainly not comical, and over the phone I had spared Bucky the indignity of describing the situation to the operator; I had told him that we were okay and that was most definitely a lie.

"Bucky…" I'm unwilling to talk to Bucky but I know that I have to get him calmed down before he hurts himself. I turn around facing away from him to compose myself, counting to ten slowly. Swallowing thickly I can feel my face change as Bucky's scent grows stronger without circulation in this elevator. He smells amazing, like a warm fire on a black winters night. I take a few deep breaths willing my body to suppress the primal instincts nagging at every bit of my being. Bucky, my teammate needs me. I need to protect him from both of us.

I turn myself back to try again. He's still crouching in the corner trembling violently and even if he's kind of a douchebag it breaks my heart a tiny bit. In my mind, the red light bathing his form creates parallel images of him being experimented on by Hydra and I'm unable to stave of the resulting cringe.

"Bucky," I say this time with more certainty. His eyes peek at me just above his knees through curtains of hair before lowering back down immediately. Quickly I bring my fingertips to right below my eyes, feeling for a vein out of place but the skin feels normal, meaning Barnes reaction has nothing to do with me. That's relieving.

"The operator said there was a mistake on the flyers about the elevator renovations. They've already cut the power and began work on the other elevator so there's no way they can turn this one back on without endangering the workers on the main elevator. We'll have to wait it out," I say. Bucky backs himself into the corner even more, folding himself into the space where the wall panels intersect at 90 degrees. It's frightening how one of the biggest men I have ever known can make himself unwittingly look so small, and that's when it dawns on me: Barnes has no idea who I am, he doesn't recognize my voice and in this moment, even with his super serum eyesight I probably look like a distorted red shadow person to him. I look like Hydra.

"Bucky…it's me, Estelle. Do you know who I am?"

"No you're not."

"Why don't you think I'm Estelle?"

Bucky doesn't even look up as he releases a broken sob. "Stella doesn't talk."

Fucking knew it. "I had to talk. You weren't going to be the one to call for help, were you?" No verbal response but a series of smaller sobs. "I'm going to come closer to you so you can smell me and see me better."

He continues shaking as I slowly cross the elevator in a few short steps trying to frighten him anymore. He's like a scared dog whose been left outside in a storm for far too long. Crouching down, I get a look at kneecaps and forearms that are so tightly wrapped around them. "Bucky… it's me. Look at me," I command.

He peeks back over his knees, I can see his eyes are wet and red-ringed, but he doesn't say anything once more. He flinches back as I raise my hand up so I pause, letting it hover in front of his wary line of sight. Hesitantly I move again, offering it to an animal so that it might pickup my scent. Bucky doesn't move away as I gently rest my fingertips on his arms and still once more. I have a bad idea that might calm him down but it's going to be a true test to my self-restraint and very masochistic, however the more I speak right now the more freaked out Barnes is going to get which means talking him down in not an option.

Slowly, I drag the pads of my fingers across his fleshy forearm and he watches them like a pendulum as he shakes beneath me. Closing my eyes I try to focus on two things: releasing the right amount of pheromones and keeping my face from shifting. Perks of being a predator include natural hunting techniques, such as releasing pheromones that lull the prey into a false sense of calmness and relaxation. By releasing strong pheromones I should be able to increase Bucky's Gamma-aminobutyric acid, which will reduce anxiety and fear as my preys neurotransmitters are overexcited.

Reopening my eyes, I dare to move a little further and lay my palm on the bend of his elbow. Leisurely, I rub my palm against his skin, and further up to the sleeve of his black t-shirt. I've gone over his shoulder when he starts to relax slightly under my touch, and I creep further gently brushing his neck before cupping his cheek. He stills, before his eyes flutter shut and he leans into my touch. It would be sweet really, if it weren't for the sound of rushing blood throbbing in my ears.

I use my free hand to lightly pry Buck's arms loose from his knees as a teardrop trickles from a closed eyelid, but he lets me open his arms and softly nudge his knees apart. It's just enough space for me to waddle closer to him, fitting snuggly between his bent legs, his knees fitting perfectly in the dips above my hips. Hesitantly, but on his own accord I feel him shift and wrap his arms around my waist pulling me closer to him as my knees slide forward against the cool steel flooring gently halting at his crotch. He looks up at me. In the dark I cannot see the color in his eyes but the red light reflects the saline harshly before I move my hand from his cheek and slide it into his long hair, grasping at the strands tenderly before he buries his face in my stomach and begins to sob once more.

Is this what an out of body experience feels like, I wonder. My movements have become completely mechanical as I sink back on my haunches moving Bucky's face into my chest. My left hand remains in his hair scratching his scalp comfortingly as my right arm wraps around his shoulders. The juxtaposition isn't lost on me; he's a drowning man clinging to a lifejacket, and I am an anaconda grooming my meal. But Bucky is a friend, not food. I repeat this phrase, friend not food, over and over in my head as stare above him at the railing hanging from the wall. I can feel my skin shifting and the room getting brighter as my night vision gets stronger but I stare ahead, afraid that if I spare the shuddering form in my embrace a single glance that I will catch sight of a vein protruding from his taught flesh.

Bucky says something and it pulls me out of myself. He's still shuddering, but I swallow and bring myself back in. I'm in the Avenger tower, in an elevator with my teammate James Buchannan Barnes. The veins recede again, and for a short moment I trust myself to open my eyes and pull back from Bucky enough to see his face as he sits more up right. "Stella…I'm sorry."

"What could you possibly have to be sorry for, Buck?" I can feel the shiver run down his spine transfer a surge of energy to me as I swallow it hard willing my eyes not to shift again unsure of how much Bucky can see.

"For…" his voice cracks and tears begin to spill. My heart aches knowing what it feels like to so desperately want to pull yourself together and yet remain unable to do so. "For this."

I cup both of my hands on his cheeks moving my thumbs back and forth like windshield wipers. "Are you afraid, Bucky?"

He nods up and down. God, he looks like a puppy. "Don't be."

He rushes forward once more and I pull him back to my chest, relieved that his eyes are away from my face. I rub his back as I speak, daring to rest my own cheek in his hair as the words come tumbling out. "You are Bucky Barnes and I am Stella Sinclair. We are avengers. The elevator we are sitting in is located in the Avengers Tower, Manhattan, New York City. This elevator is down for maintenance. It will turn back on soon." I say these things quietly for my benefit as much as his, trying to ground us and keep both of our demons at bay. His shaking ceases and I can hear his deep breathes loud and clear.

But then I distract myself with what Bucky needs, and hope if I keep talking to him aloud it will block out the sounds of rushing blood beneath his skin and his heartbeat that's thudding through his chest against myself. "No one is going to hurt you, Bucky. I'm here. I'll be here until the end, and I promise no matter what that I will always protect you. You are safe." I'm lying, because no creature with pumping blood will ever be safe from me. But I want it to be true, so desperately.