AN: Some cute Bucky/Mo (Mucky, as someone said) and Steve/Olivia (What would you call them?) moments in this one! I enjoyed writing them! We get a look inside Steve's head…
The nightmare went about the same as it always did. Steve was fighting the Winter Soldier, and he had gained the upper hand. He'd gotten his arm around the Winter Soldier's throat and he was choking him. The Soldier screamed and choked and struggled, clawed at Steve's arms and face, but Steve held tight. This was it. It was almost over.
Eventually, the Soldier's struggles grew weaker, and finally he went limp. Steve, sore, bloody, and panting, wiped blood and sweat from his brow and collapsed backwards, releasing the soldier's body. Gasping for air, he sat up. People were still running and screaming; they didn't seem to realize the threat had been eliminated. Steve spit out blood and dragged himself a little closer to the Soldier's body; he was nearly dead himself, they were so evenly matched. Everything hurt.
He rolled the Soldier's body over and stared down into the mask, seeing his own face reflected back at him. He needed to know who was beneath that mask. With a sense of growing dread, he reached for the mask and ripped it off, and, just like always, he saw Bucky's face, blue eyes open, lips parted, blank. He reeled backward as the realization sunk in and he jerked his hand away.
Bucky.
What had he done?
He began to panic and he was overwhelmed with horror, with grief, and he started to scream—
The feeling of someone's hand on his head startled him awake and, waking still in that state of terror, he reacted. He caught the arm and twisted it, and there was a sharp cry of pain, a feminine sound, and it took him a few moments to come back to himself, for him to realize that it was just a dream. The bedside lamp was on and he was able to take in the scene; he'd caught Olivia's arm and had maneuvered her around, so now she was face down on the mattress, one arm angled sharply behind her.
He released her instantly with a gasp and she rolled over with a groan. He staggered back; he was drenched with sweat, shivering. Olivia sat up, wincing and rotating her shoulder, glaring up at him, her dark eyes shadowy in the dim lighting. She looked very frightening for a moment, warped, her pale skin ghostly, her large dark eyes shadowed, bottomless, the light casting shadows in the hollows of her throat, in her cheeks. Her big black eyes looked straight at him and a slow smile curled her mouth. He blinked and scrubbed a hand over his face, and when he looked at her again she was bloody—
"Captain—Steve—" He was gasping. "Come back," she was saying. "Come on—Moriah!"
"No," Steve gasped. Everything seemed to click into place. His head was spinning and Olivia was on her knees on the bed in front of him, her hands on his face. She looked normal but bruised, frightened. "I'm okay," he insisted, removing her hands from his face. She rotated her shoulder again, eyes bright with reproach.
"Explanation?"
He hadn't realized he was standing, but he sat back in the chair where he'd fallen asleep, wiping his hands on his pants.
"Nightmare," he grunted weakly, rubbing his eyes. She was quiet for a few moments, as though waiting for him to go on.
"That happen a lot?"
"What?" Steve looked up at her and she raised an eyebrow.
"You know, the noises, the twitching, attacking people…? That's just a regular nightmare for you?"
He gave a tense smile. "Not normally anyone around for me to attack. That's a first."
He tried to calm himself down. Again, Olivia was silent, and when he finally looked at her he saw that she was looking off into the distance, her expression thoughtful. She must have sensed him looking at her, because a moment later she blinked and looked at him, and their eyes locked. He wasn't sure what it was, but looking into her eyes, he suddenly felt very cold, chilled, nervous. No one else knew he had these nightmares; he'd kept it quiet, hadn't let anyone in. He should have known better than to spend the night so close to someone else.
"Are you… okay?" Olivia asked slowly, pushing her rumpled silver hair out of her face. He nodded stiffly, clenching his jaw. "You wanna talk about it?"
Again, his eyes cut to her and he laughed softly. "I'm alright."
"You said Bucky's name," she said slowly, but he was smart, he could see it in her eyes. "Should I go get him?"
"No," he said insistently. "Let's keep this between us."
"Oh, man," she said, grinning a little and shaking her head, her eyes looking him up and down. "You are losing it."
"I said I was fine," he said, but it sounded false even to his own ears. She shook out the arm he had twisted, rubbing it with her free hand. He glanced away from her and stared at the floor, closing his eyes after a moment. He heard her shift on the bed and opened one eye to find her crawling across the bed toward him, her face determined. She stopped right in front of him, so that he had no choice but to look at her. Taking a deep breath, feeling embarrassed and cornered, he finally looked up at her, resting his elbows on his knees, tired. She was on her hands and knees, looking at him, before she settled down, knees folded beneath her.
"Alright," she said slowly. "I told you a while ago that I don't like to get personal with my clients. But I did take a bullet for you today, so I think we've crossed that line." She hesitated, her eyes large and dark, more concerned than he'd seen her look. "I want you to listen to me. I need you to take care of yourself, Steve. You're under a huge amount of pressure, and I know that you've been through hell and I know that what happened earlier tonight didn't make anything any better. I need you to be honest with me. Do you want me to dial it back, ease up, give you some time to yourself?"
He was already shaking his head. "I—I can't do that," he said. "I need to stay busy. I'm fine. It's just the quiet that gets me—I need to keep going."
She was still watching him in that way that was almost eerie. "Why don't you tell me about the nightmare?" He was shaking his head. "Look, I know I don't know anything about this, but maybe it'll help. Or I can just call Mo, I'm sure she'd be more than happy to therapize you."
"Mo knows when not to push," he pointed out, and she just shrugged.
"I think you're the kind of man who needs to be pushed."
Their eyes held for a long time, a stand off, a challenge. Finally, he buckled: "I killed Bucky." She didn't even blink, just waited for him to go on. He shook his head. "In the dream, I—I was fighting the Soldier, and I killed him, and I removed the mask and it was Bucky."
"Bucky's okay, Steve," she was saying, but he was shaking his head. "You saved him."
"It's this thought that I have," Steve said, "What if? Once I found out who he was, it changed everything. Before I knew, all I wanted to do was stop him. I didn't want to save him. I didn't think he could be saved." His chest was tight, emotion clawing, and he closed his eyes and pressed his palms against them. He heard Olivia blow out a small breath. "It's always the same," he rasped. "Always the same dream, and I can't—" He cut himself off, sat up and rested his elbows on the bed. "I shouldn't be telling you this."
"You keep pushing people away, Captain," she murmured. He put his head down, resting it on his arm on the bed. "You don't have to get through this alone."
"I'll be fine. I'll be fine." He felt her fingertips brush his hair, the motion gentle, tentative. He tensed at first, not used to physical comfort, but then sighed and allowed it, focusing on the sensation of someone's fingers in his hair. He couldn't remember how long it had been since anyone had done something like this before. Sure, Mo was affectionate and gave him occasional hugs and squeezes, but this was different, soft and comforting, and as he allowed it to go on, she continued the gesture, petting the back of his head.
"Go to sleep," she said, her own voice thick and raspy, on the verge of sleep. "I think you need it."
"It's not that simple," he said, and she gave a soft little laugh. It had been so long since he'd gotten a good night's sleep, uninterrupted. She hushed him, a soothing noise, tugging gently on his hair in a way that was oddly soothing. He felt his eyelids growing heavy.
The motions of gently playing with his hair, which was surprisingly soft, had lulled her as well. As soon as he was sleeping, his breath even, Olivia pulled her hand away and tucked herself beneath the covers. She was surprised she'd ever fallen asleep in the first place, and even more surprised that she hadn't suffered any nightmares. She hadn't been scared like this in a long time.
When she woke again, it was only a couple of hours later, around six in the morning. Steve, to her surprise, was still asleep, his head still resting on his arm like he hadn't moved an inch, and maybe he hadn't. Olivia thought back to their conversation and knew that she had to tell Mo—Mo was an expert on this sort of thing, and Olivia knew nothing. Sure, she could sit and listen, but as far as solutions were concerned, she was useless.
Knowing she wouldn't be getting anymore sleep, she climbed out of bed, careful not to disturb Steve. She winced at the pain in her side, but she felt surprisingly well aside from the constant pounding in her head. Mo had said something about a concussion. Silently, she opened and closed the door, heading out into the hall. She didn't know much about the layout of the apartment that the three of them shared. She stood quietly on the other side of the door, dressed only in Steve's shirt, and looked around. She headed down the hall and found another door, hesitated, and knocked, listening intently. She knocked again, not too loud for fear of waking Steve, and when there was still no reply she turned the knob and pushed the door open.
There was a bed to her left and she found Mo in the bed, blankets pushed away, resting on her side so that her shiny gunmetal-colored leg was on top, folded so that it was wedged between another pair of legs. Olivia's heart stopped as she took it in, realizing that the other person was none other than Bucky, who was resting on his side so that he faced Mo. His hand, a brighter, shinier metal than Mo's, rested gently on her prosthetic leg.
She couldn't look away. Somehow, it was such a strange sight to see, and she couldn't tear her eyes away. It was obvious that nothing had transpired between them; they were both fully clothed, and no other parts of their bodies were touching. It was different, seeing them this way; she only ever knew them when they were in front of other people, awake, of course, but this was something different. Mo, who was almost always smiling, or sarcastic, Mo, who had been a total badass earlier defending Olivia, Mo, who was delicate and human and broken, was sharing a bed with who was perhaps history's greatest assassin. And then there was that assassin, who was tall and large and quiet and similarly broken, who was sarcastic and surprisingly funny, was folded on his side beside this woman who had, according to him and everyone else, somehow helped him save himself from the darkness.
She remembered teasing Mo earlier (had it really only been a few hours ago?) about there being something between her and Bucky, but it didn't really hit her until now, looking at them there. She started slightly as there was an unpleasant screeching sound, the sound of metal scraping against metal as Bucky's steel fingers curled against her steel thigh; both of them stirred and mumbled at the sound, and Olivia knew she had to leave, feeling like she was intruding.
"C'mere," she heard Bucky say, in a tone she'd never heard before; warm, sleepy and mumbley, affectionate. She froze and turned back toward the bed, only to realize he hadn't been speaking to her. His eyes were still closed and he was still half asleep, and she'd turned in time to see (and hear) his hand against Mo's thigh, sliding against it. Mo mumbled something that earned a chuckle from him and tucked herself closer, and Olivia knew it was time to leave.
She closed the door behind her, flushed and embarrassed and unsure why. She hadn't been meant to see what she'd seen; she wouldn't bring it up. She could talk to Mo later. She headed back down the hall, toward the kitchen, wondering where Sam was. She scratched at her stitches, which were sore and itchy, and gently touched her sore face. Unsure of what else to do in a home that wasn't hers, she started to make coffee, keeping an eye on the time; they had a meeting with Tony soon.
The mugs, as it turned out, were stupidly high and on the top shelf at that. With a sigh, she struggled to drag a chair quietly across the floor and climbed it, then climbed up on the countertop, barefoot, to get the mugs down from the shelf.
"You know, you could have just woken me."
Olivia gasped and spun around, clutching the mugs to her chest, and found Steve standing behind the chair, wearing socks, which explained his silent approach. Her heart hammered in her chest and she glared at him, embarrassed, standing in just his t-shirt, on top of a counter, clutching mugs.
"Here," Steve said, reaching for the mugs. She handed them down and he set them aside, then reached for her. She raised an eyebrow at him.
"I can get down myself," she said.
"I know you can," he said, "I'm just offering. I'd imagine you're still a little sore."
She considered and then nodded. He took a step closer and she crouched down a little; he caught her beneath her arms and hoisted her down, setting her gently on her feet.
"Thanks," she said, turning away from him.
"Don't mention it," he replied. "So, about last night… that'll stay between us, right?"
"Of course it will, Captain Rogers," she said coolly, turning to face him. He bobbed his head.
"How are you feeling?"
"Fine," she said, picking up a mug and toying with it a little. "A little sore, but not as bad as I'd imagined being shot would feel."
At this, he grinned a little. "You're lucky," he said. "What d'you say we try not to press that luck?"
"Good idea," she said.
"Ah," said another voice, and Olivia looked up and Steve turned. "Thought I smelled coffee." It was Bucky. Olivia and Steve exchanged a glance and Bucky stared at them for a moment. "Weird," he said suspiciously, then shrugged and looked at Olivia. "How ya feeling, kid?"
"Fine," she said. "I've had better mornings, but fine."
Bucky winked at her. "She's a trooper."
"I'll say," Steve said. "I'll go get Sam."
"He's been out all night?" Bucky asked. "I told him I'd cover for him."
"He probably knows you could use the rest," Steve said. "Wouldn't let me cover, either."
As Steve left, Mo came in, wearing the basketball shorts, button-up, and one sock. Her hair was rumpled and she ran her hands through it. At the sight of her, Bucky broke into a wide smile that he ducked his head to conceal, and Olivia bit her lip to keep from smiling at the sight of it.
"Mornin', sunshine," Bucky said, and Mo came up behind him and ran her hand over his lower back, a subtle, affectionate gesture. She scraped her nails against his side and he flinched, chuckling, and Mo looked at Olivia.
"Good to see you up and at 'em," she said.
"I'm fine," Olivia said. "Coffee?"
They both nodded, and she got some from Steve as well, who returned with Sam. At the sight of him, Mo crossed the room and hugged him. He looked exhausted.
"We're fine," he told the group. "Nothing suspicious." Olivia handed him a mug of coffee and he took a drink, groaning. "Finally," he said, giving Mo a look. "Someone who can make a decent cup of coffee."
Mo glared as the others mumbled in agreement. "Shut up, all of you," she said. Sam ruffled her hair and she ducked away from him, but he caught her and wrestled her back, successfully messing up her hair.
"Alright," Olivia said, snagging everyone's attention. "We all need to get showered and ready. We have a meeting with Stark about a benefit coming up, and we need to inform him of what happened last night."
She tried to look commanding, authoritative, wearing nothing but Steve's shirt, but she was finding that maybe, just maybe, she didn't need the perfect outfit, perfect hair, perfect makeup to catch and command their respect. They were all looking at her just the same as they always did, and Steve had lost that cynical look.
"We've got two hours before the meeting," she said. "Get to it."
"Ouch!" Olivia hissed, and Mo rolled her eyes.
"Don't be a baby," she murmured. Olivia was standing and Mo was on her knees in front of her, cleaning around the stitches in her side.
"Hurry," Olivia urged. "We have a meeting with Stark in—"
Mo stopped what she was doing and just looked up at Olivia, whose eyes widened and she sealed her lips.
"Thank you," Mo said, replacing the bandage with a clean one. "It's small, but you should take it easy for a few days, just so you don't pull the stitches."
"I'll keep that in mind," Olivia said absently, scrolling through her phone. Mo grabbed it. "Hey!" Mo just held it high above her head, out of Olivia's reach.
"Pay attention," Mo said seriously, and Olivia sighed. "As soon as you're better, I'm going to teach you a couple of things about self defense. For someone who talks a big game about kicking ass, you sure got your ass handed to you last night."
Olivia ducked her head, looking embarrassed. "I know self defense," she said. "I just froze."
"Well, I'll teach you not to freeze. We'll keep this between us. I haven't told the guys how you—froze."
They locked eyes. Olivia nodded and Mo handed her back her phone. "Thanks," Olivia mumbled, "for not telling them."
"Gotta have my girl's back," Mo said casually. "We don't need them worrying or adding any fuel to that fire."
Mo stepped back and checked her reflection in the mirror. She and Olivia had changed back into their clothes from the night before. Olivia's bruises looked worse, which was to be expected; they would get worse before they got better. Mo watched her dab concealer on over the shadows beneath her eyes and over her nose, blending it, dabbing it on again. When she was done, she just looked tired, but not obviously bruised; her lips and nose, as well as her cheekbone, was still puffy and swollen, and there was no hiding the cuts.
"Well," Olivia said, fluffing her hair, glaring, and finally slicking it back into a high silver bun, "this is as good as it's gonna get."
"You look fine," Mo said, adjusting Bucky's button up over her jeans, tucking it in rather than tying it today. She followed Olivia's lead, bunning her hair. "We should get going, though," she went on, "don't want to be late."
There was a knock at the door. "Come in," Olivia said, and the door opened and Bucky poked his head in.
"Ready to go?" he said, his eyes lingering on Mo. She felt her face heat up slightly; she'd woken this morning curled against him, legs tangled together, much closer to him than she'd ever been before. He hadn't mentioned it or seemed uncomfortable, but she was a little embarrassed.
"Ready," Olivia said. "Um, thanks for the help last night, by the way."
He winked at them. "Sergeant Barnes, at your service," he said, bowing a little, smirking. "Steve's hailed a couple'a cabs, whenever you're ready. Mo, you're with Sam. Olivia, you're with Steve and me."
"We'll be right out," Olivia said, and Bucky ducked back out. Mo, face still warm, looked down at Olivia and sighed.
"Don't you say a word," Mo warned, and Olivia raised her eyebrows.
"Wasn't going to," Olivia said. "But, um, I'd like it if you could teach me some stuff. About flashbacks. Just in case."
Mo nodded, considering. "This about Bucky?"
"Yes," Olivia lied.
"Right," Mo said, narrowing her eyes. "Yeah, I'll teach you how to handle it. I've been meaning to, just to be on the safe side."
"Great," Olivia said, then took a deep breath, trying too hard to look casual, and it was then that Mo knew she was lying.
"What happened?"
"Nothing!"
"Olivia, I can't help if I don't know what I need to help with."
Olivia hesitated, clearly going through some internal struggle, before she closed her eyes and seemed to wilt. "It's just Steve," Olivia said. "Something happened last night, he had a nightmare, and I'd just feel better if I knew how to handle that stuff. Maybe you could talk to him, too—just don't tell him I told you anything."
Mo was nodding. "I know he isn't doing well," she said thoughtfully. "I'll check in with him."
"Thanks."
Mo nodded. "Come on," she said, "we should get going if we want to be on time, but I'm going to need you to tell me a little more."
"Just a nightmare," Olivia said lowly. "I touched him and he freaked out, and that was it. He's not doing well. I hardly know him and I can tell."
"It's obvious for sure," Mo said, nodding slowly. "Thank you for telling me. I'll take care of it."
AN: Things are going to be getting nice and romantic here pretty soon… let me know what you think!
