She's been gone too long.

The sun had begun to set in her absence, casting the late- winter sky in varying shades of gray and, despite the cold, The Soldier has remained sitting on the steps of the little cabin, watching the tree line closely for any signs of movement. For signs of Amel's return. She said she'd caught the scent of a doe around dawn and intended to hunt it.

She'd taken no weapons with her.

She's a wolf, much larger than an average-sized dog. He understands what this means, has seen her shift to her wolf form on several occasions, though he still finds it hard to imagine this odd little woman taking down anything much larger than herself.

What does he know really? His interactions over the years have been limited to technicians and scientists. His Handlers. No one like Amel. No one as fierce and headstrong as her. Because only someone like her, someone stubborn and uncaring of her own safety, obviously, would consider taking in the likes of him. A Killer. A Machine. A Weapon.

He finds her confusing.

She talks to him, and continues to talk to him even when she's met with silence in return.

He finds her unnerving.

She's allowed him to stay in this place for almost two months and has asked only a handful of questions about where he'd come from and how he came to be in her woods, eventually ending in what she's planning to prepare for their dinner.

She is unafraid of him, even when he wakes, disoriented and terrified from one of the many nightmares which have plagued him lately, with his fingers around her throat. Soothes and grounds him with the touch of her soft, steady hands.

If he's not found soon, he runs the very real risk of killing her if there ever came a time when he couldn't distinguish dream from reality.

She is a fearless, strong, beautiful, generous woman and he has no fucking clue why she's allowed him to stay.

He is a danger to her. His very presence, aside from the fact that Hydra is most assuredly looking for him, puts her at risk. But, he can't force himself to leave. Despite what he is, despite the frequent nightmares and the ever-present, very real threat of Hydra, he finds himself drawn to her.

Amel cares for him. Has cared for him. She treats him like he's human. Like he's real. And the temptation of that alone is…

Dangerous.

He's gotten too close. Allowed himself to settle into her quiet routine. Started seeing her differently.

He recalls very vividly the warmth which had overtaken him a few mornings prior when she'd come stumbling out of her bedroom in little more than an oversized shirt. He'd watched, silent as usual, as she shuffled into the living room on those beautiful, bare brown legs, and wanted nothing more than to know what they felt like wrapped around his waist, holding him close. Tight. Safe.

She'd made her way, as she normally did, toward the fireplace, intent on rekindling the fire which had burned down to almost nothing over the course of the night, and the wide collar of the shirt had slipped down to expose the curve of her shoulder.

Sitting on the steps now, he remembers the sharp stab of desire which had blasted through him at the realization that she was naked under that shirt. Sees her, even now, turning quickly as if she'd felt the weight of his gaze, to find him staring at the place where the hem had ridden up on her thighs when she'd bent over. The understanding which had lit off in her gold-edged eyes when his finally met hers...

He almost went to her then. Taken her. Kissed her. Crushed her lush little body to him. But the sudden, sharp intake of her breath had stopped him. And he'd watched from his place on her couch as she slipped quietly away, the fire having been forgotten.

He's a danger to her. Unsteady. Wavering on the very edge of control.

So, why doesn't he leave?

Movement beyond the treeline gets his attention. Has him sitting up straighter. He doesn't move, doesn't breathe, as he waits to see who, or what, will emerge.

It's Amel cutting slowly, gracefully, through the forest, her eyes downcast and, for a moment, relief washes over him. Until he really takes in the sight of her. Then something else altogether twists inside him. Opens, raw and wide, inside his chest. Has him rising from his position on the cabin's front steps and stalking toward her across the cold, hard-packed earth.

She's naked. Utterly and completely naked. He doesn't know where her clothes went and he doesn't care. All he can see are the beautiful slopes and lines of her smooth brown skin; the supple curve of the muscles of her thighs as she strides forward; the generous swell of her hips; the unhindered sway of her dark breasts.

It's too much. He can feel his blood pounding, storming through his veins. Realizes he's hard as steel beneath his borrowed jeans and, in that instant, unable to recall ever wanting anything so fiercely.

He's only a few feet away when she finally breaks through the treeline, and she looks up at him, for a moment startled, as if she's only just noticed his approach. Her eyes, entirely gold now and glinting faintly in the fading light, take in his quickly advancing form.

It's the lack of fear in those eyes, and what looks to be blood staining her full, perfect lips, which keeps him moving. Has him practically crashing into her, his arms going around her body, his hands going to her ass, gripping it tightly and using it to pull her roughly up to him.

She immediately wraps her legs, those gorgeous legs, around him. Her hands grip his shoulders and, somewhere in the back of his cloudy brain, in whatever distant part of him which still registers beyond the feel of her in his arms and the warm, welcoming smell of her, that she's strong. Beautiful and wild and strong.

Mine…

He's moving still, not even breaking stride and turning them until he's got her shoved up against a tree, his hips slotted between her thighs and her fingers in his hair. He presses into her. Grinds himself roughly against her core. Feels the flames of pleasure and desire licking up his spine. Lets out a frustrated, furious growl because he isn't close enough. Wants to be inside her. Needs it more than anything right now.

He curls his metal arm beneath her. Holds her effortlessly in place while his flesh hand fumbles between them. He manages to tear off the button in his haste. Tugs the zipper down roughly. Is only vaguely aware of the tremor of his usually steady hand as he clumsily shoves the jeans down his thighs.

He's panting like a winded, wounded animal. Greedy and needful. Hungry for this, the feel of her wrapped around him, taking him in. Hungry for Amel.

Cock in hand, he hefts her upward before angling his hips. And then he's lunging forward, driving into her, crying out loud enough to startle a flock of nearby birds nesting in the surrounding trees. Her slick heat envelopes him. Cradles him. Claims him...

Mine…

Bucky awakes with a start, hard and heavy, and immediately aware of being alone in the big bed, though he'd fallen asleep with Amel tucked securely under his arm. He sucks in a long, ragged breath, his heart pounding furiously in his chest, the air beginning to chill the thin sheen of sweat covering his skin.

After a long moment, he swings his legs over the edge of the bed. Drops his head into his hands and tries to will his body to stop shaking.

A dream. Only a dream, but more real and clear than any he's had of late. Even now, alone in the dark, he can feel her. Can recall the sweet give of her flesh as he'd thrust into her. Can smell the blood on her skin mixed with the scent of the forest surrounding them.

The Soldier had wanted her. Wanted her in a hard, greedy way, the feeling so strong and so deep it's like a rock in the pit of his stomach. Had he hurt her in his impatience, in his rough taking?

Amel said The Soldier had never harmed her, never laid a hand on her, but he knows that's not completely true, especially if there's any truth to be found in this dream. If he's going by the way The Soldier had behaved, his mindless, animalian reaction to her.

He thinks this not knowing, this spotty remembering, twisted up with the insane need, this churning desire, for her will be the death of him.

When he feels solid, at least solid enough, he pushes up from the bed and moves out of the room. The dream has left him thirsty and unbearably hot.

Amel is in the kitchen. Not ready to face her just yet, Bucky almost stops in his tracks and turns around when he sees her sitting on the kitchen table, long brown legs swaying lazily, back and forth, over the edge.

She lifts wide eyes to him, a surprised smile twisting the corners of her lush lips.

"Hey," she says, mouth half full, waving the spoon she'd been about to dig into the carton of ice cream nestled between her thighs. "Did I wake you?"

He shakes his head. Doesn't let his eyes linger too long on the curve of her thigh atop the table, because the need is still thrumming through his veins. He stalks to the fridge. Pulls out a bottle of water. Turning, he leans his back against the cool surface of the fridge as he twists off the cap.

Her gold-rimmed eyes glance over him before she digs out another spoonful of her pilfered treat.

"What's wrong?'

"I was… dreaming.

She nods. "You look a little shell-shocked. Nightmare?"

"No," he replies hastily, realizing with a sick feeling that, at least, that part of the dream is true.

"Then what's got you so rattled?"

She watches him, head cocked to the side as she brings the spoon to her lips.

A spike of longing lances through his stomach. He swallows, far too focused on the way her lips curl around the utensil.

There's a long moment of silence. Then, "You."

Her shoulders hitch and her thin brow furrows. "Me? What did I do?"

"You went hunting. He waited for you. You came back naked."

He watches her face. Tries to find meaning in the twitch of her lips. The flash of her eyes.

"I don't know if it's real. If it really happened."

She licks her lips. Picks up the lid from the ice cream carton and replaces it with much too much care. She doesn't respond, simply slides gracefully down from the table and goes to drop the spoon in the sink. She pads quietly to where he's standing and he steps aside so she can put the ice cream back in the freezer. She's still careful when she closes the freezer door. Answers with her hand still on the handle.

"It was real. Very real."

Her words hit him in the chest. Cause a sharp tightening there and his dick to twitch behind the loose fabric of his sweats.

"We…? I…?" He doesn't know what to say. Stares down at her and watches a splash of red rising at the tips of her ears.

"The first time. Yes," she says, and there's a breathless quality to her voice, more than just being lost in the memory. It's what the memory makes her feel.

She flattens her hand against the fridge. Splays her fingers wide over the surface.

"I was surprised, but it wasn't unexpected. We'd been dancing around it long enough. You practically attacked me."

She laughs softly, her eyes going glassy.

She moves her hand slowly back and forth over the surface of the freezer door, her eyes tracking the movement.

"You rushed me. Literally swept me off my feet. Slammed me back into the nearest tree."

Her voice, the gentle, rolling cadence of her words, takes him to that place. Creates again in bright and vivid color what she's describing for him.

"There was still blood on my tongue, but it didn't seem to bother you. You didn't care at all. And, you were so…"

She pauses. Sucks on her lower lip as she searches for the word.

"Hungry," she finally sighs out. "For touch. For connection. For me, I guess."

And he understands. Can feel it inside him, in that hollow place which is throbbing now, screaming for him to reach out. To grab her. To take her. To taste her skin. Feels the need vibrating down the length of his spine and bringing his cock to full, aching attention.

"You held me there, against the tree. Held my legs open wide, growled into my mouth as you fucked me. Hard and deep and… so damn perfect."

His skin feels so tight. So hot. The vision of the woods dissolves, only to be replaced by a vision of her bent over the kitchen table with his metal hand in her hair. Can't figure if this is The Soldier's response, or his own.

"Doesn't sound very romantic," he finally manages. Realizes it's probably not the right thing to say in this moment. This is made even more clear when her eyes snap up to him, flashing and sparking in the low light, some of the gold widening and bleeding into the dark brown.

"It didn't have to be. It wasn't supposed to be. It's what we needed," she says, and he hears anger in her words, as if he's twisted the moment and turned it into something brutal and ugly. Because she doesn't see it that way. Doesn't see him that way.

She waves her hand. Turns and settles heavily against the freezer door.

"You don't remember, but I assure you, he's not who you think he was. Not with me."

Bucky wants to believe her.

He looks away. The soft whir and click of his cybernetic arm fills the space around them when he balls his metal fingers into a fist.

"He could have killed you, Amel," he says softly, quietly, the pain of it cutting through his chest. "Could have woken from a nightmare and snapped your neck without even realizing it."

"He didn't."

"He could have," he says, growing angry now at her inability to understand this. "You don't know the half of what he's done. The things he's capable of doing."

If he thought she'd back down, he is mistaken. She turns towards him, her thin brow furrowed. There's a vein popping out of the side of her neck, standing out starkly beneath the soft brown flesh of her throat.

"He didn't! Bucky, you didn't!"

Her words are sharp, loud inside the small, dimly lit space of the kitchen, and underscored with the rumbling growl of her wolf. They hit him full force. He takes a small step back... and he understands.

And it's more than he can take. More than he can hope. She calls him Bucky. Not Soldier. She knows who he is.

He bends down and slants his mouth over hers before he can think twice about it. Her lips are soft and warm.

He curls the fingers of his flesh and blood hand over her neck. Sweeps his thumb over her cheek. Presses in for more despite the tension of her body. His tongue slicks into her mouth and he's tasting her, not merely the hint of strawberry from the ice cream she'd been eating, no, he's tasting snow on her lips and blood on her tongue. Winter and fire. Ice and the sweet air of the forest. It blazes through his brain. Embers igniting in the shadows of his mind.

Finally, she begins to soften, her hands coming up to curl at his waist, tugging him in closer, tighter, her lush breasts arching into him. She's opening beneath him, welcoming him, her anger slowly bleeding away.

Her eyes are closed when he pulls away. She takes a long, slow breath before finally looking at him again, and when she does, he thinks of how wonderful it would be to know what it feels like - to be loved by this beautiful, fearless woman without the ghost of The Soldier looming over them.

He brings his metal hand up to cup her cheek. She closes her fingers around his wrist and holds him to her.

"Bucky," she sighs. Pleading. Bumps her hips into his and nuzzles her cheek against his metal palm, warming it with the heat of her skin. Her softly panted breaths.

He thinks he should take her back to bed, finish what they'd started earlier, but he's impatient.

She lets out a startled yelp when he lifts her off her feet, his hands on the backs of her thighs and her knees tightening above his hips. She circles her arms about his neck. Meets him with eagerness when he goes in to kiss her again.

Turning, he strides toward the table. Lets her slip down until she's perched on its edge once again.

Light dances in her eyes as she gazes up at him, the bands of color brighter now, beginning to overtake the deep, dark brown.

He understands the Soldier's desire for Amel. The pulsing, aching want. His need to claim and devour her. She is wild. Unapologetic. A fighter. Devoted. Generous. Loving. Everything he'd needed and never knew it.

He bends down, kisses her a bit more roughly, hungrily, tugging the hem of her shirt up before stepping into the space she makes for him between her parted thighs.

There's no reservation in him now. None of the heavy, ominous clouds of anxiety or hesitation because all that matters now is this - Amel with her sparking dark eyes, her full lips parted as she sighs his name, and her needy, rough hands as she shoves his sweats down and over his hips.

He sucks in a sharp breath when her fingers curl around the length of him, his eyes snapping shut as the pleasure swells in his chest. His hips shift, his cock slipping smoothly against her palm, but it's not enough; he wants more.

With a low growl of his own, he reaches between them and uses his metal fingers to push aside the wet crotch of her panties. She guides him forward, scooting her ass to the very edge of the table. Lifts up to meet him. His brain registers her heat, her slickness coating the head of his cock, but then he's pushing forward, thrusting inside her as she lets out a sharp cry, and the air locks in his lungs.

He isn't prepared. Bucky isn't prepared for the close, wet feel of her. The delicious, fluttering clutch of her walls around him. His hands go to her hips and he stutters out a breath, already close, too close, to coming.

Amel whimpers, her palms flattening over his chest, then sliding upward to curl over the back of his neck and pull him down. She kisses him roughly, growling into his mouth and rocking her hips in entreaty.

"God, Amel…" he pants against her mouth. The pleasure is there, riding just below the surface of his skin, vibrating, filling him with fire and light, and he bands his metal arm around her waist. Pulls her to him as he begins a rough, steady rhythm.

And, she takes him, takes all of him. Clutches him to her as if she'll never let him go. Says his name over and over again as if she knows nothing else.

"Bucky… Bucky… Bucky… Bucky…"