"Are you here for me?" asked Amy.

A muscle started to twitch in Bucky's suddenly clenched jaw.

It didn't do anything to help the pain that was still hammering away inside his head.

"Do you want me to fetch you a shovel for that hole you keep digging?" he asked, watching as she winced.

"I think what I probably need is a ladder," she said quietly, twisting her fingers in the strap of the bag that she was carrying. She looked tired, and drawn, and still utterly captivating. "I didn't expect to see you so soon."

"You're still digging, Amy."

She bowed her head and sighed, and Bucky finally relented to the point where he took a step towards her- couldn't, in all honesty, hold himself back any longer. He took another, and another, but this was Amy, so she didn't do anything as eminently sensible as move back.

She did turn at the waist as he exited the elevator, and for a second Bucky thought she might reach for him. Throw her arms around his neck, and sink her weight against his body- and of course, he would have let her, would have held her in return- but no, instead she raised her hands to the height of her shoulders in absolute surrender.

"Before you say anything else, before I make this any worse, there's something I need to tell you," she said.

The words practically ran into each other in their hurry to escape. And he was listening, but…

Bucky caught hold of Amy's left wrist, distracted by the angry gash cut into her skin.

He saw her eyelashes flutter in surprise as he silently appraised her palm.

"Um-?"

Bucky raised his eyes at Amy's little squeak. But he was doing as she asked, wasn't he? He wasn't saying anything. And that was hard. Because there were a lot of things that he wanted to say. Wanted to make her understand. But he stared at her in unsmiling silence instead. Watched her swallow, worry her bottom lip, watched her focus flit between his face and his chest.

She was having great trouble meeting his eyes. And he could feel the way her pulse was racing under his fingertips, but she didn't try to reclaim her hand. In fact, she appeared so heartbreakingly lost that he didn't dare let her go.

"Amy?"

"Okay. Okay. I know." She rubbed the fingers of her free hand across her forehead. "I- I had it all planned out. What I wanted to say." She glanced down the corridor. "But I can't- I mean I guess, what it comes down to is just-" She took a deep breath, and squared her shoulders, eyes fixed on a point of apparent fascination at the base of his throat. "I'm sorry," she said. "I'm sorry I lost my temper. And I'm sorry if I jumped to the wrong conclusion- but even- even if I didn't, and you do- and I did get it right- I'm still sorry for reacting so badly."

She slowly managed to look up as she spoke. Even as the words continually tripped her tongue. She was so determined, and so vulnerable. And Bucky knew he would spend the rest of his life falling in love with this woman. But that didn't mean he was going to let this all pass without challenge.

"You're sorry?"

"Yes."

"You thought I'd betray you, Amy," he said. "I need a little more than 'you're sorry'."

She looked away from him again, an expression of aching sadness on her face.

"I didn't think you'd betray me. I was afraid I'd helped you betray her."

Bucky frowned, as he pondered the subtle but important distinction.

Amy still looked utterly miserable, and he didn't know how long he would be able to bear it. How long he could last before he told her it was all right. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered just so long as she would smile again. Preferably at him.

"What are you talking about, Amy?"

"They made you forget… everything, right?" she said. "So I thought- they could make you forget a feeling, couldn't they?" she asked, deep lines furrowing her brow, and Bucky finally realised why she didn't want to look at his face. She was too afraid of what she was going to be able to read there. "Make it so that when you met me you didn't remember that- that you- that you loved-"

Natasha?

Was that what Amy thought? Bucky wondered if he should pass her back her gun so she could just shoot him through his still aching heart. He might have laughed at the absurdity of it all, if it wasn't causing them such untold pain.

Besides, she was wrong. Love was not so easily erased. He hadn't forgotten her during the attack in France, had he? And though HYDRA had worked on him for seventy years, he had never truly forgotten Steve.

"No."

"No?" She echoed him. Frown deepening. "What do you mean?"

"I mean no."

It wasn't a complicated concept for someone of Amy's supposed intelligence.

"But maybe you just don't remember forgetting it yet?" she said.

Bucky wasn't sure if he trusted himself to answer that question, not without saying something that he would certainly regret. He wasn't even sure if he could decipher the logic behind it.

"Right." He forced himself to take a breath. "Come with me," he said, all unyielding hardness.

He started walking, giving Amy little choice other than to follow, not given that he was still holding her wrist. He led her towards a small first aider's office that he'd noticed signposted further down the corridor.

He'd tackle this one problem at a time.

He knew the exact moment when Amy realised what he was doing. She reached for his arm with her right hand and gave his sleeve a small tug of resistance.

"Bucky, I don't need-"

She started to argue, albeit weakly, but her voice dropped away into nothingness after one glance from him.

She fell into step, limping along at his side. Shoulders drooped. Head low. Not trying to disguise anything. Not her pain nor her unhappiness. It was all Bucky could do not to pick her up and carry her into the office, but he didn't think her pride would allow it.

It didn't escape his notice that she took a seat as soon as she was able, watching him in snatches as he retrieved a first aid kit off the wall.

"Half an hour."

"Pardon?"

"I leave you alone for half a goddam hour…" Bucky muttered.

He dragged a chair over to where she was sitting, pulled her gun out from the back of his jeans for the sake of comfort and safety, and maybe- maybe just to see how she would react. He laid it on the table beside them before he sat down opposite her, looked through the contents of the first aid kit until he found the few things he needed.

If he'd played this scene out with Natasha she'd think he was about to kill her- and would have already launched an attack in self-defence.

He played it out with Amy and she just sat there looking baffled through her sadness.

She tipped her head to the side and scrunched her nose.

"Why…?"

"Why do you think?"

"I don't know," she replied.

Bucky lifted his head. So she could do it. She could ask for clarification before she took it upon herself to jump to the worst possible conclusion.

"I saw Natasha."

"And you needed a gun with you to do that, did you?" she asked, keeping the tone of the question carefully neutral. "My gun?" she added, looking at the weapon more closely.

There was a battle taking place behind her eyes, being fought between worry and incredulity.

"I taught her how to kill people, Amy." Bucky ground the words out through his teeth. "I shot her twice. How do you imagine she might react towards me?"

"But you didn't want to do any of that, Bucky."

Her voice was suddenly gentle. Her expression full of sympathy that he felt wholly unprepared for at present.

"You can't possibly know that," he said.

Amy's eyes were so much clearer when she next spoke.

"I know you."

"Then can you please start acting like it," Bucky growled.

And then he went to pick up Amy's hand again, but this time he hesitated before he touched her skin.

"Look, is this all right?" he asked, choosing the words carefully, recalling another time, another place, where their positions had been reversed, and Amy had so very deliberately sought his permission before she had allowed herself to help him.

She had remembered it too, judging by the hint of colour in her otherwise pale cheeks.

"Yes."

He cradled her injured hand, held it in his left palm, as he thoroughly cleaned the cut and applied a dab of antibiotic cream. It had to sting like crazy, but Amy didn't as much as flinch her little finger.

He worried about the reasons behind her lack of response. Worried about that- instead of the fact that she'd let him do anything to her with these hands. There was a wonderful normality about touching her now- so much so that he barely even saw the contrast between metal and flesh.

"Thank you," she said, voice impossibly small, as he finished by applying a Band-Aid. "You didn't need to go to all that trouble, Bucky. It's only a scratch."

He simply stared at her- his expression grim.

And then he set her pills down on the table beside them.

She looked at the box, looked at him, looked like she was going to cry.

"Okay, can you please just shout at me instead of being so kind?" she begged.

"No."

"No?"

"I don't think that would work, Amy."

"But you are angry?"

"Yes."

She nodded slowly, head bowed under the weight of his disappointment, and then she curled her fingers around the plastic seat of her chair and held on until Bucky saw her knuckles turn white.

That had to be hurting too.

He sighed inwardly, got up to wash his hands in the basin in the corner of the room, and fetched her a cup of water at the same time.

Amy stared at it for several moments when he placed it on the table next to her tablets.

"I'm sorry I'm such hard work," she said, finally swallowing two of her pills in a state of abject misery.

"I'm sorry you still think I see looking after you as work."

She looked up, and there was a swirling look of panic in her eyes that was strong enough to stop Bucky in his tracks. He sank back down onto his chair and braced himself for whatever was coming next.

"I know you don't see it that way," she said. "And anyway I- I didn't really mean this," she added, gently stroking her right thumb over the edges of her Band-Aid.

She was staring at her hand with such a sweetly puzzled look of wonder that Bucky just wanted to- to kiss her actually. To drag her into his arms and show her how much she was loved. He absolutely hated the fact that such small acts of everyday kindness had the power to cause her such amazement.

"I really don't mean to make you angry, Bucky- not after everything you've been through. I told Steve- I thought, if I could just make you happy…" She let the sentence trail off unfinished.

"What do you mean you told Steve? Told him what?" Bucky asked, confused.

"That I'd made a mistake." She looked at him. Looked down at her lap. "He thought you'd forgive me?"

And she wasn't sure if Steve was right… and it just- it killed Bucky.

"Amy, look at me," he said firmly, waiting for her to lift her eyes. "I told you once that I'd put you back together, did you think it was a one-time thing- that I'd bolt at the first sign of trouble?"

"No," she said, though the little word nearly lodged itself in her throat. "Because this afternoon you told me- you said you wouldn't leave- but I don't want you to stay and be unhappy if you want- if you'd rather have-"

"Life isn't a fairy-tale, Amy."

"I know."

"Do you know you could never push me hard enough to make me take even one step away from you?" he asked. "I won't lie. There are going to be plenty of days when I'm unhappy, plenty more when I'm angry, but if you're with me I know in the end I'll be okay."

He drank in the sight of her, sitting so still, tears in her eyes, trembling hands now clasped in her lap.

Was she really honestly still labouring under the illusion that he was in love with Natasha?

"Why are you shaking?" he asked, reaching out to cover her hands.

"Because I'm afraid."

"Of what?"

"Of breaking us."

"Do you think we're so easily broken, Amy?"

"No. I think we were made to fall together. But I- I don't know- I still don't know what she means to you."

He stroked his fingers down her cheek.

"Yes, you do. You knew me before I knew myself."

"But you don't remember everything, Bucky!" she cried, curling her fingers tight around his wrist.

"Amy, if there was a woman in this world who had ever meant more to me than you, believe me, I would have remembered her a long time ago."

She stared at him, and Bucky saw hope kindle in her eyes a second before she closed them.

"I don't deserve-"

"Don't say it," he said, wrapping his hands around the tops of her arms. "Don't you dare."

"But I-"

"I need you to understand. I need to make this clear. Because we're never going through this again," he said. "I get echoes all the time. Like déjà vu. Things I've seen before, heard before, tasted, felt… but you, Amy, you're new. You're unique. I have never loved anyone like I love you."

"Oh."

Her voice wobbled dangerously.

Bucky leant forward, rested his forehead against hers and laughed.

"That's all you have to say?"

She swallowed hard.

"If I- if I told you that you were the first man I have ever loved, would that help, would you believe me?"

He would want to… but…

"Dan?"

"No," she said, so simply. "The more I learn about loving you, the more I realise I never felt for Dan even half of what I owed him."

It shouldn't make him happy. It really shouldn't… but he was only human, imperfect and flawed, and God, he was enough of a selfish bastard to be glad that he didn't have to share her heart with a man who had left such deep scars on her soul.

He sank his fingers into her hair.

"I'm sorry I didn't find you before he hurt you."

"You found me exactly when I needed you. You found me when everyone else had given up looking," she said, the softest of smiles blooming across her lips. And the special little spark that lit her from within was beginning to glow in the depths of her eyes. "You've always been there when I need you, Bucky. Even when I make it almost impossible." She reached out to touch him, fingers tracing the strong lines of his face, and he realised that aching pain in his chest was no longer there. "I really am sorry for tonight."

"I should have made it clear to you who she was from the start."

"I didn't give you much chance."

"True enough," Bucky agreed, but he did soften the words with a smile. "But you were under a lot of stress-"

Amy shrugged. Rejecting the excuse.

"It shouldn't have made a difference."

"-and in a lot of pain."

She rolled her eyes.

"And as we know, I'm not a great patient."

"Yeah," Bucky said, a wry smile now on his lips, "for future reference, I don't require any further proof."

He reached out and laid a hand on her leg, started to massage her thigh through the denim of her jeans. Rubbing the knots of tension out of her ruined muscles, where the shrapnel from her Humvee had ripped through tissue and bone, leaving behind such a sad trail of destruction.

Amy let out a shaky breath, eyelids dipping low.

"Bucky?"

"Hm?"

"What are you doing now?"

"Helping you feel better?" he suggested. The question coiled around itself wickedly.

She forced her eyes open, watching him work for several seconds.

"It really doesn't bother you, does it?" she asked, as she nodded to her leg.

"Amy." Bucky spoke her name like a silken promise. "Let's pretend for a moment that you didn't just ask that question to a man with a metal arm and more scars than he can count."

He cupped her chin, slowly dragged the pad of his thumb across her full lips, until they parted for him, and the ache of wanting her burned low and deep.

"Instead, let's pretend it's 1940 and that man is whole," he said.

"Bucky, you are-"

"My turn to talk, sweetheart."

Amy fell obediently silent. She was watching him as though it was physically impossible to look away. Her breath quickened, coming in short gasps, as his left hand roamed higher up her thigh.

"Now then," he continued, voice growing increasingly husky, "he's sorry for your leg, because he's sorry for your pain, but all the same, the only thing that man is thinking about is how badly he wants to feel that leg wrapped around him when he's moving inside you again."

Amy shuddered. It shivered right through the core of her body. Strong and sensual. She twisted her hips on her chair, fingers gripping the seat again.

"Buck-"

"Do we understand each other?" he asked, waiting to see her answer in her eyes before he leaned in and kissed her- slow, and deep, and so very completely.

Perhaps he was a little rough, a little desperate. Words could be tricky, slippery things. Actions were so much simpler. If she could doubt this then he had lost a long time ago.

But doubt was not what he tasted on her tongue.

She was fierce and brave and honest, and she gave him everything. Always had done. And if that meant he had to accept her fears and insecurities along with her love and loyalty then he would do so. Gladly. He didn't need her to be perfect. He just needed her to be his…

Amy mewed, impatient, moved closer, hands gliding over his shoulders. Bucky pulled her onto his lap, hooking one leg either side of his hips, groaning into her mouth as she settled her weight on top of him. All hotness and sweetness and Amy- and he'd have her right here if Stark didn't have a million cameras in the place.

He still slipped a hand under her shirt, caressing the softness of her skin. Her fingers clutched at him- unsteady- grasping for purchase anywhere she could find, as he slid his thumb under the band of her bra.

"Can't think when you do that," she gasped.

"Good," he said. Smirked. "Maybe it'll stop you imagining some new disaster for us."

She gave a rebellious tug on a fistful of his hair. All meekness forgotten.

Though she wasn't the only one with an overactive imagination.

Because if she really hadn't loved him…

"Why keep his name?"

"Whose name?" she asked, dazed.

"How many names do you have, Amy?"

She seemed to blink her thoughts back into focus. And then she shrugged her shoulders, managing to rock her hips at the same time. Deliberately, undoubtedly. It very nearly brought Bucky off the chair. The mischievous gleam in her eyes told him that she knew it too. Both his hands were now locked on her waist. Holding her still.

"Amy."

Smiling, she rested her arms on his shoulders and raked her fingers through his hair. Applying just the right amount of pressure to finally banish the headache that had still been plaguing him. It was such a struggle to keep his eyes open, to keep from groaning under the surety of her touch, to keep from begging for more- and now- and faster…

"Amy…?"

"I never thought it was right to erase my mistakes as though they'd never happened," she said softly, interspersing her words with little searing kisses. "That's why I kept Thomas as my surname. If that's what you're asking me?"

Bucky looked at her through heavy, narrowed eyes.

"So that's another scar?" he asked.

God, how he'd love to heal it for her…

But before she could answer, before anything else, his question was punctuated by the sound of a siren. Or was it an alarm? Whatever it was it filled the building. Absolutely deafening. So loud that Bucky could feel it reverberating through every cell in his body.

They jolted together, instead of apart. But he couldn't hope to protect Amy in their current position, if protection was what she needed, so Bucky stood, though it caused him some discomfort. He lifted Amy with him. She slid reluctantly down his body and found her feet. Had just pressed her hands to her ears to shield them from the noise when it stopped. In fact, everything stopped. The Tower was plunged into darkness.

Bucky swore. In Russian. Tried to locate a threat.

"J.A.R.V.I.S.?" Amy called out in a voice still threaded with need.

No response.

None.

"Power cut?" asked Bucky, more out of hope than any real belief that it might be the case.

"This building's powered by an arc reactor. That's supposed to make a power cut impossible." He felt Amy's fingers catch hold of his jacket. She orientated herself and found his hand. "Can you see anything?"

"Nothing."

Though that wasn't to say he couldn't get them out. Only that they were in the centre of the building where there were no windows. No cracks of light for even his eyes to utilise. At least, the cameras would be down now too… but it seemed like playtime was over. Bucky's body wasn't overly happy about accepting that fact, but he was doing his best to ignore it.

He could hear Amy rummaging in her bag with her free hand. She seemed keen to keep hold of him with the other. Not that he planned on going anywhere without her. But it brought a smile to his lips, as he waited to find out what she was doing. A few seconds later, the glow from the display on her phone lit up their little section of the office.

"Okay." She looked to him. Eyes smoky with banked desire. "So now what do we-?"

Her cell phone started to ring. She almost dropped it in surprise.

Bucky saw Maria Hill's name flash across the display for a second before Amy accepted the call and put it on speaker phone.

She didn't even get a chance to say hello.

"Thomas! You're in engineering, aren't you?"

"Yes, I-"

"You need to get to Stark's workshop."

A frown pinched Amy's brow.

"Are you okay, you sound-?"

Shot.

Or rather shots echoed through the phone.

"Just get down here, and make sure you bring a weapon," Hill grunted.

Bucky's eyes met Amy's in the low light.

"She's bringing me," he said.