The simple command to remain conscious was harder to follow than she'd thought.

Samara wasn't quite sure when she drifted into dreams, but they'd been over an ocean as it happened, she remembered that much. There had been an idle conversation humming in the air around her – low voices taunting with the notion of a vacation now that everything was settling – and it had calmed her nerves to the point where it all went numb.

The pain ebbing away probably should've worried her, after all agony meant she was still alive, but by then she was too exhausted to care. There would be nightmares, and at first that thought alone had kept her awake, but after a few hours the tiredness lacing her bones made her not… care as much as she should've.

But then to prove her wrong, she'd dreamt.

Her first thought was that her body had felt bad, and shown some pity – if she was living and breathing hell, then she clearly didn't deserve the same shit while she slept. It was a motion she seconded without fault. But it was about then that she'd taken note of the chest cushioning her head, then that she'd noticed the steadily beating heart serving to slow down the racing of her own. It was then she'd realised it had nothing to do with her, and everything to do with him.

Bucky might have been the one who demanded she stay awake, but he seemed content to soothe her until she was nothing but a puddle against his side. It didn't take much – a distracted hand carding through her hair, the occasional whisper that they were okay, and she found her mind slipping. He'd either accepted she was wincing with every breath and needed the reprieve, or he'd realised that song she was chanting was going to be the reason she never made it to the hospital in one piece. Either way, when her voice had trailed away and she leant more heavily against his side; he'd cooed gently and tucked her more firmly against him, cautious only of her injury.

It had been nice to fall asleep against him – he was warm, smelt familiar, and his touch was firm – but it wasn't nice to wake up without him.

Samara groaned lightly, recognizing the sterile hint to the air and the sound of steady beeping, knowing exactly where she was but still not liking the thought. There was a difference between working at a hospital on occasion and being trapped in one. Blinking hard, she pushed onto her elbows with a grunted; "Hello?"

"My, my, do my eyes deceive me? Sleeping beauty has awakened…"

The woman only groaned again, dropping onto her back and closing her eyes. "I hate you," she realised, letting her head loll to the side and take in the smirking genius. "I actually hate you. I'd rather be back in that hellhole facility then here next to you."

Tony cocked up a brow, slipping the tablet he'd been holding into a small knapsack beside his legs. "Not a big fan of hospitals, eh?" he asked, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. He looked genuinely curious for her reply, but his eyes were roaming over her features, looking for anything other than exhaustion. "Can't say I am either. They smell funny, and alcohol is banned from the premises. They might has well just ban happiness."

It only took the man a few seconds to be pleased with whatever he saw, leaning back with a short nod. Had he been checking up on her?

Samara sighed, wincing as she looked around the room. "Hate them more than anything, which is ironic because on occasion, I work in one," she murmured, smiling softly at the blond sleeping beside the genius. "Hmm, taking care of your investments, Mr. Stark?"

Tony peered over at the soldier, clearing his throat. "I'm just… taking care," he evaded, gesturing to the other side of her cot with his chin. "Steve won't leave, 'cause he won't leave. Figured since we're a team and all now, we might as well suffer together, you know?"

Frowning in confusion, she turned to check the other side of the room, a grin breaking out on her features at what she saw. Bucky was curled up in what should've been an oversized armchair – it was almost a shame he was so broad – with one arm flung up to protect his eyes, and his legs sprawled over the side. It was fucking adorable, and she waved an arm at her companion impatiently. "Boy, you better have a camera."

Sleek metal was pressed against her open palm. "Only got my phone on me, but it should be good enough quality" Tony apologized quietly. "I did make it, after all."

Samara snorted, bringing it up to eye level and finding the camera application already open. "You're so humble," she muttered, frowning lightly as she watched the image focus on the smaller screen. The picture needed to capture everything, the drool making its way down his chin included. "I've never actually bothered to buy one of your phone designs before, sorry…" There it was, the perfect picture. "If you put out a new coffee maker though, I have this guy who puts the first one available aside for me."

The shutter closed when she prompted it too, the comical sound echoing the man's small chuckle. "See, this is why I like you," Tony decided firmly, hovering closer so he could check out the photo with a smile. "You like coffee, and you hate falcon punch."

"You have really low standards," Samara commented lightly. "I wanna send this to my phone, how the heck does that happen?"

"Have you tried turning it off, and then turning it back on again?"

The doctor couldn't stop the abrupt laughter from leaving her lips, but when the pain from the sudden inhale danced along her side, she almost wished she could. It was the real agony, the one she'd been expecting back in that facility, and it burnt like a branding iron against her ribs. "Oh, motherfucker," she gasped, dropping the phone as she doubled over in an attempt to relieve the pressure.

There was another figure at her bedside before her whimpers had even died down, appearing so suddenly it made her heart falter in her chest. "Language," Steve scolded absently, one hand hovering uselessly like he wanted to try and help. "Are you okay?"

Samara gave a slow, hesitant nod. "Yeah, peachy, I just – ugh, I just forgot," she smiled meekly. "I am loving that bed head though."

Twin hands came up to pat down the wild locks. "Oh, stop it," the soldier muttered, shoving his fingers into his pockets with burning cheeks. "It's not bed head. It's uncomfortable plastic seat head. I haven't seen a bed since before the mission."

"Wait…" Samara pulled a face, giving an obedient laugh. "I have a collapsed lung, I wasn't in a bloody coma? You can't have been here that long,"

Steve gave a weak shrug, stretching up and managing to brush the hanging lights with his fingertips. "The doctor gave you some morphine," he started, slumping back down and now moving to touch the ground. "He told us it would knock you out for a few hours, so we decided to stay, but apparently, you were also extremely exhausted? He said that he was surprised you'd managed to stand up long enough to break the bones in the first place."

Tony was nodding in agreement. "I need to have a little chat with snowflake," he winked, eyes drifting over to the still sleeping assassin. "He obviously doesn't understand that a girl needs a break every once in a while. It's either that, or you demand more fourteen hour leaves in your contact."

"Fourteen hours?" Samara openly gaped. "I can't have slept that long."

"Don't act so surprised, I sleep for longer most weekends," Tony grinned, wrinkling his nose. "But in all honestly, that's probably because I sometimes forget that sleep is something my body occasionally needs. Coffee is apparently not an adequate substitute. Like, what the f – " The genius almost choked on his words when blue eyes glared him down, painted in righteous fury. " – Fra la, la la, la, la la, la la…"

Steve quirked up a brow. "It's too early for carols," he noted smugly. "Nice try, but I'm still putting you on the naughty list."

"Oh, gross," Samara moaned, pulling a face as she watched them interact.

Whatever satisfied pride the blond felt disappeared with the comment, his cheeks burning a bright shade of red. "Oh, I didn't mean – I was meaning – you know I was just making a joke?" he stammered, blinking between the grinning bedridden woman, and the billionaire who suddenly found the floor extremely interesting. The other man could try hide all he wanted, but the facial hair didn't cover that much of his own blush. "… actually, never mind," Steve deflated.

Samara grinned all the broader, watching them both fidget when the silence continued. "That's cute," she declared firmly, nodding once like it cemented the words. "Also, slightly sickening, but beggars can't be choosers. I'll get whatever cheesy romance I can – the rooms we rented never had any Lifetime movies."

Tony snorted. "You watch Lifetime movies?"

"Oh, like you don't."

Steve let out a tired sigh, waving a hand for silence and surprisingly getting it from them. "I'm not being paid enough to babysit you two," he warned fondly, shaking out his shoulders before glancing over at the assassin. "Tony come on, we're getting some food. I'm starving."

Tony pushed to his feet, rolling his eyes. "Starving, and lacking any subtlety," he added pointedly. "Sammy, sweetie, wake up the frozen caveman soldier and have your little reunion. He was a wreck when the doctors had to kick him out so they could re-inflate your lung, and he was also a wrecker when he figured out they'd stabbed you with a needle to do so. I want it noted that I hate paying for damages I didn't cause."

Samara glanced over at the snoring male, smiling softly. "I owe you one," she murmured, leaning forward and reaching out for him. Her fingertips brushed along the length of his arm, and instantly she could breathe a little easier. "Thanks."

Pulling on an oversized sweater – not oversized, just super solider sized, ugh were they sharing shirts now? – Tony gestured to the man with a nod. "He feels like shit by the way, thinks it's his fault, so try…" he shrugged awkwardly, looking once to the blond holding the door open. "I don't know, but if you could get him to eat something that would be great. The only reason he's even asleep right now is because I might've drugged his coffee."

"You might've?" Samara echoed, smiling weakly.

The genius moved towards the archway. "Nothing you say will hold up in the court of law and – and come on, I did it for his own good. Hopefully he'll realise that, and not punch me when he comes too," he winced, shaking away the thought with a terrified shiver. "But uh yeah, my bag should have some crap from the vending machines in it, so go nuts. Be back in ten."

The door swung shut, leaving the room in silence and she sighed, turning to study the sleeping features of the man beside her cot. Blue eyes stared right back, and she started slightly, breathing through the shock. "You son of a bitch," she hissed, slapping his wrist scoldingly. "I'm too old for that. I could have a heart attack or something."

Bucky smiled lazily, uncurling his body and standing up. "You're awake," he noted warmly, crouching beside the bed.

"So are you," Samara cocked a brow in amusement, patiently holding up a hand. The assassin didn't even blink, silver fingers linking with her own almost without permission while his free hand moved to shift her bangs. "How long have you been awake exactly? No reason, just curious you know…"

Bucky chuckled, lowering his hand to run his knuckles against her cheek. "I heard when you laughed and upset your ribs," he admitted, eyes flicking away and narrowing in annoyance. "But whatever was slipped into my drink mucked up my head. I was… I was trying to wake up, but my body didn't really respond, like I was trying to fight through mud. I hope Stark is saying his last goodbyes."

Samara tried sitting up, managing it with only one small moment of discomfort. "You heard him, he was trying to help you out," she reminded him, dropping her body against his shoulder. "Give him a break."

The assassin swayed lightly, getting used to the new weight before the hand moved to pet her back. "I was planning on breaking something, yes," Bucky admitted bitterly. "Maybe the jaw? He might shut up then."

Samara sighed. "Leave him alone," she muttered, slinging one arm around his neck and tucking her nose into his shirt. It was an awkward – and slightly painful – embrace, but she wasn't ready to let go even when the seconds ticking by turned into minutes. Her body may not have forced any nightmares on her, but she'd still managed to create some without the help. "I'm sorry I fell asleep."

"I don't mind," Bucky whispered, breath a warm touch along her shoulders. "You needed it, darling, but you also need to stop moving so much. The doctors shoved a few needles in your arm, because apparently, you hadn't suffered enough. You're tugging on 'em."

That explained the pain then. "Huh, what needles?" she questioned, pulling back as slowly as she could get away with. Her eyes fell on the crook of her arm, and understanding lit up the dulled colour. "It's only a drip, silly, a saline solution to ensure I don't get dehydrated. I could probably get away with pulling it out now, because I'm awake and I really want a hug."

Bucky stopped her from yanking it out, gently catching her hand with his own. "The doctors are mad enough at me as it is," he smiled minutely, squeezing her fingers once. "If I let you undo their hard work, they'll have me thrown out."

Samara pushed out her lower lip.

The assassin didn't last more than a second, his lips parting in a sigh. "Alright fine, darling, you win," Bucky drawled, hands coming away to scoop her up. He was mindful of both the endless wires attached to her, and to the open back of her gown, his hands not straying away from the areas people would deem appropriate. "If anything hurts, I want you to tell me," he commanded absently, boosting up onto the bed. He kicked out his legs and leaned back against the pillows, draping her over his lap and then the blankets over her legs. "I don't know when the morphine's meant to fade."

"I don't know and I don't care," she allowed, humming as they both settled into the new position. He was warmer than the bed, thankfully, and even though his clothing was a little rough against her skin, his hands made up for it. "Morphine, smorphine."

Bucky gave a small sound, sketching something onto the bare skin between her shoulder blades. "You'll want it when the pain comes back."

Samara let her eyes slip closed, lips pressing against his collarbone in a short show of affection. "The pain already came back," she admitted quietly, breathing in the musty smell that lined his skin. It was more prominent than she remembered, but that probably had something to do with the fourteen hours he'd spent refusing to leave her side. "S'not too bad though, only when I move weird or take in a deep breath. It's manageable."

His sigh echoed both through the air, and through his chest, lifting her up and then letting her sink back down. "I don't want manageable," he muttered, tucking the blankets more securely around them both. "I want gone."

"Oh dude, same, you read my mind."

Bucky fell into silence for a few seconds before; "I think you need another catnap."

"Oh dude, same, you read my mind."

There was another sigh, and another few beats of silence between them. His thoughts were almost audible in their annoyance, and she smothered her smile into the material of his shirt, tasting the victory. "Please don't do this, darling," he begged, continuing to use the warm pet name. "I've already destroyed one wing of this damn hospital, I might get sued if I destroy another."

Samara tilted up her head, eyes heavy, but lips tugged into a smile. "Love you," she murmured, stretching up to kiss his chin before snuggling back into his chest. "I might have that nap… little tired…"

"I'll be here when you wake up," Bucky promised, voice a little strained. "And, uh… me too."

Her throat was going to go hoarse soon. It was going to give out, and take her voice with it, stealing whatever words she wanted to speak into the silent air around them. She could already feel the weakness there, burning on her tongue and sitting in her chest.

"Seven hundred and sixty-two bottles of beer on the wall, seven hundred and sixty-two bottles of beer," she slurred tiredly, cheek pressed against the awkward material that made up her assassin's uniform. It was strangely cold, and the sensation made her teeth chatter. "Take one down and pass it around, seven hundred and sixty-one bottles of beer on the wall…"

The groan that sounded stopped her from starting the next verse. "Somebody make it stop," Tony begged. "I think my ears are bleeding."

Samara swallowed, wincing when it burned. "Seven hundred and sixty-one bottles of beer on the wall…" she croaked, tucking her nose into a broad shoulder. There were more words she had to add, but the thought was exhausting. "Seven hundred and sixty-one bottles of beer."

Fingers carded through her hair, soothing and warm. "I don't mind it," Bucky commented softly, and she could hear the smile in his voice. "I used to try and trick her into ranting just so I could hear her voice," he admitted, and absently she realised she should remember that for later. "At least this way, I'm not expected to contribute to the conversation."

"Take one down, and pass it around…"

Tony let out a sound of frustration. "Make her stop."

The chest she was leaning against rumbled in an amused chuckle. "And why would I do that?" Bucky asked, fingers slowing to instead rub at the knot forming at the base of her neck. "As I said, I like the sound of her voice. I don't want it to stop, so what's in it for me?"

Samara sighed under his hand, side twitching in pain. "Seven hundred and sixty bottles of beer on the wall."

"I will give you anything," Tony announced, but the note of pleading was still leaking through. "I'll buy you a private island. I'll steal the declaration of independence. I'll dance in central park with my underpants on my head and not sue whoever uploads it to youtube. Anything," he stressed.

Bucky hummed in thought. "I'll stop her if you…" he started idly, voice mockingly slow to come. "Hmmm, Sammy baby, anything you want in the world?" The hand on her neck tugged lightly and teasingly on her hair, getting her attention. "Anything you think I should ask for? He's giving us some options here. I don't know what youtube is, but it sounds like I could use it for villainy."

The doctor winced. "Lamborghini."

The hand pet down her back soothingly. "You're so smart," Bucky cooed, milking it for all it was worth. "I want a Lamborghini."

Tony snorted. "Do you even know what a Lamborghini is?" he mocked, something whirling to life as he struggled to fix the damages to his suit. If it wasn't broken, she didn't doubt he'd be hiding in it with the music on blast.

"No," Bucky shrugged. "Samara, darling…"

The brunette was smart enough to take the hint, and with a heaving breath, one that sent pain through her side, she started up again. "Seven hundred and sixty bottles of beer on the wall, seven hundred and sixty bottles of beer…" she whispered. "Get a metallic silver one, like the colour of gunmetal."

Bucky's shit eating grin could be heard. "You heard the lady, Stark," he announced cheerfully. "Lamborghini, a nice metallic gunmetal. It's either that or she takes down the next seven hundred and sixty bottles of beer. I might even help her out. Sounds like hard work."

"Oh my – Fine!" Stark cried, slumping back with a solid thunk. "I'll bloody order it right now."

Over the sounds of the irritated phone call, Bucky whispered in her ear, telling her it was okay to fall asleep, that he'd still be there when she woke up. The words were echoed by warmth surrounding her, his other hand coming to tuck her closer to his side while silver danced down her spine again. The light touch felt like a feather, but it still managed to overcome the pain in her side.

It was nice getting to drink him in without worry shadowing some of the happiness. They'd won, and they were going home. There was nothing left to take him away from her, and nothing left to take her away from him.

"… surprised you didn't want the island."

The small chuckle was familiar. "I could use an island right now," Natasha whispered. "A beach, maybe some drinks. Sounds good."

Bucky was next to say his thoughts on the matter. "I don't remember what the beach is like," he admitted, careful to keep his voice low as well. It wasn't only for her sake, but also for birdbrains. He was still knocked out and snoring across from them. "I don't remember too much actually. But I know I wouldn't mind disappearing to some private island for a little while either. The fresh air will do us all good."

Tony's voice had already fallen from the ranks of irritated. "Yeah, I think so too," he murmured. "Excuse me, I'm gonna make another phone call."

It was the tugging on her arm that woke her up, someone pulling the needle away from her skin with nothing more than a small sting. It itched but she didn't bother to do anything more than take her arm back, hiding it between her body and the one beneath her own. There was a small sound of surprised, and again, fingers closed around her elbow – the only part they could reach – and tried to pull out her arm.

Samara made an irritated sound. "No touchy," she whispered, yawning into the nearest patch of bare skin. "I charge three hundred an hour."

The warm chuckle that sounded was ringing with approval. "I think that's your cue to leave doc," Bucky drawled, the arm slung over her waist tightening a fraction. It was a silent warning, and she wondered if anyone else saw the possessive action. "She's got a stubborn streak a mile wide. You won't be getting that arm back any time soon, I promise you that."

There was a sharp exhale, like a parent trying not to yell at their young child, before soft soled shoes stormed across the hard floor. "I'll be back for the discharge papers," the man decided, and with a squeak of his sneakers, he was gone.

A hand drifted through her hair, messing up the locks before dutifully straightening them out once again. "You charge a lot for so little," Bucky snorted, tugging on her bangs. "I don't think anybody could afford you. Let alone that poor bastard."

"You'll be surprised," she murmured back, scrunching up her features. "Doctor's make a fortune."

"And apparently so do you."

Samara managed to open her eyes, smiling up at the man she was still using as a mattress. Their position hadn't changed much she'd fallen asleep, but she was settled comfortably between his legs now, chin resting on his chest right above his heart. That explained why she had slept so soundly then. "Did I hear the word discharge," she mentioned, trying to sit up without success. "Ugh, did I also hear the words you'll carry me out?"

Bucky supported her carefully, making sure the blanket stayed around her shoulders. "Yes to the first, no to the second," he answered, smiling lightly when she snorted. "Well, it could be a yes to the second. But we'd need to discuss business."

"You get fifty percent off my hourly fee?" Samara offered, leaning heavily against him. Her body wasn't cooperating as well as she'd hoped it would, the limbs a shaking mess and her side starting to scream in protest. "Take it or leave it, snowflake, I've got places to be."

Bucky swung his legs over the side, taking her entire body with him in one swift movement. "Only place you're going is to bed," he announced firmly, lifting her gown back over her shoulder. Just to spite him, she wiggled until it fell back down, shooting him a dark look as she did so. "Natasha, how are the discharge papers coming along? The sooner we get out of here the better. I think she's getting grumpy."

The red head – where had she even come from? – was tapping a pen against her cheek. "Do we agree to bed rest for the next forty-eight to seventy-two hours?"

Their answers were simultaneous, ringing out at the same time. The clear disagreement, the conflicting "Yes," and "No," announcement made the others in the room – okay and where had they come from? – snort out in amusement.

Bucky slowly tilted her chin to face him, his brows high. "No?" he echoed, lips pursed to show his disapproval. "Okay, darling, out of the two of us, who's the trained assassin that weighs about two hundred pounds and is capable of sitting on the other until they give in and stay in bed?"

The words only made her roll her eyes. "And out of the two of us, who can actually make food that's edible and safe for human consumption?"

Bucky blinked. "Yeah, she wins."

Natasha smiled warmly, circled an option neither of them saw, and then shut the file. "Okay then," she declared, pushing to her feet. "I'll get this to the doctor, you get the troublemaker and her twin brother to the plane. If I have to spend another minute here, somebody is going to be shelling out a lot more to cover the damages. I've always wondered what happens when you use those defibrillators on a living person."

"Please leave," Tony groaned, head tipping back and – for fucks sake, where were these people coming from? When the red head had disappeared around the corner, the billionaire perked up again. "I thought tweety bird was getting a ride back with his girlfriend?"

Samara chuckled. "I thought we'd established she doesn't exist?"

Tony almost fell over in his excitement, both hands coming up and grabbing her attention. "I have some terrible news," he rushed out, shaking his head and taking a calming breath in through his nose. "It's true, he's roped some poor soul into dating him. But you wanna know the worst part?"

The doctor feigned terror, widening her eyes. "W-what?"

"She's attractive!"

Dramatically throwing her weight to the side, forcing the brunet beneath her to catch her by the waist, she howled. "Oh, god no! That poor girl," she cried, both hands pressing to her cheeks and eyes still wide. When she turned the horrified look on Bucky, he rolled his eyes and let out a small sigh. "We need to save her soul, but how? He'll never let her go…"

Tony slumped back. "What are we going to do? It gets worse too… she's…" he shuddered. "She's committed."

"Ew, who even does that?" Samara wrinkled her nose. "Commitment is gross."

Bucky cleared his throat.

Gold eyes flickered his way, taking in the amused but also irritated gleam to the shade of blue. "Well, uh, it's only gross when it's not meant to be, you know? Like when it's not a good match?" she tried, resting her cheek against his shoulder. His unimpressed sigh made her sneak closer, a kiss pressed to his pulse point. "Personally, I think commitment is only gross when it's not you. You're not gross. I love you please don't hate me."

He chuckled warmly, shaking his head and brushing his lips against her temple. "I know darling," he allowed. "Me too."

Tony tuttered. "That's not how you pronounce I love you too."

Bucky glared across the room, grip on her waist tightening until she could've sworn she felt the bruises blooming. "Hey," she whispered, tugging once on his shirt in a bid for attention. His lips twitched, irritation working at the smooth lines of his face but he didn't give her his eyes. They remained glued to the man currently sweating buckets. "Hey, he's only teasing. Remember what I said."

"You told me to give him a break," Bucky rumbled, nodding like a child repeating a lesson. His fingers went from gripping to tapping, making a beat she didn't recognize against her skin. "He's only trying to help."

Samara gave his cheek a praising pat. "Good boy. Remember that if you kill him, he can't buy you your Lamborghini."

Tony waved a hand their way, humming in agreement. "Yeah, see, see, don't…" Another vague hand wave. "Don't kill me, you'll regret it. Ah, did you hear that? Natasha needs some help. I'll uh, be right back. You guys stay here, and don't entertain any homicidal tendencies while I'm gone."

The genius swept from the room, leaving the rest of them staring after his body in shock. "He's a weird one," Samara commented dryly, already losing interest and instead trying to focus on placing both feet on the ground. Her muscles trembled a little, unsettled by the weight, and she reminded herself to move slow. It had been clean over fourteen hours since she'd used them last. "I like him."

Bucky lowered her to the ground, standing directly behind her as he helped her shift her weight. "I know, darling," he nodded. "I like him too. He's blunt and honest. Don't see that much nowadays, do we?"

Blond hair gleamed as the man looked between them both. "I'll get her clothing," Steve murmured, moving to leave the room.

"Bucky, honey," she started, watching the door swing shut again. "Are we scaring people away?"

The assassin only spared the empty room an appraising look, shrugging once he'd noticed they were alone. He was more focused on helping her put one foot in front of the other, one hand straying to her back to hold the folds of her gown together. Reasons she hated hospitals number eight three; the dress code – because if you weren't dressed in those godawful scrubs, or cliché white coats, then you were forced to wear small slips of material that barely covered your backside. It was another form of torture.

Bucky whispered encouragement as she got feeling back, supporting her small trek from one side of the room to the other with a hand on her waist. His smile faded sometimes, mostly when she lost her balance and caused pain to bloom, but it never fully disappeared.

Samara swatted his hands away, trying to prove she could stand on her own. "Don't be a drama queen," she scolded gently, taking in the worried way he watched her balance. "It was only pins and needles. Legs aren't happy I haven't been using them."

"Are you okay?"

The question gave her pause, eyes shuttering. "Sweetheart?" she canted her head to the side, reaching out for him again. "Yeah, I'm fine. It'll take a few weeks for the ribs to heal, but other than that, I'll be fine. Promise. You trust me, don't you?"

Bucky flinched, looking down to his hands, almost like he weighing out the flesh against the silver. "I trust you," he smiled weakly, swallowing down whatever he was going to add. "I just… I don't trust myself, Sammy. I shouldn't have let you come in, I should've fought more, I should've just said no when you asked but…"

"But if I hadn't come in, I don't think Falcon would've made it."

The assassin shook his head. "I don't give a shit about him, I don't," he announced bitterly. "I tried to blame him for this, tried to tell myself that because he was weak, you needed to step in but…" Silver fingers tore through his hair, mussing it up as he struggled to catch his breath. "But I was weak, and – and fuck, you could've died, Sammy, and it would've been my fault. Not his, mine."

Samara's chest shuddered. "That…" she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut. "If I died, if… It wouldn't have been your fault. Gorgeous, no, it would've been my fault if anything. I'm too damn stubborn remember?"

"Do you know why I let you come?" Bucky asked, voice void of any emotion. He was staring across the room, apparently finding great interest in the closed blinds blocking out the light. "Do you know why I let you come into the facility with us?"

She didn't want the answer, she didn't want the answer, she didn't want – "Why?"

Blue eyes flickered her way, catching her own for a split second before hitting the ground. "I wasn't sure about our odds, I honestly… I honestly thought there was a small chance we were gonna make it out alive. I knew that if we didn't survive, soon they'd find their way out and you'd be dead too. I just – I decided that if I was going to die, I was…" Bucky turned to face her now, chin angled up in defiance. "I decided that if I died, I took you with me."

"I don't…" Samara closed her eyes against the headache blooming behind her eyes. This was her assassin, it didn't mean what she thought. "You wanted me to die with you? Because you knew that if you died, it was most likely I would too?"

His eyes lightened slightly. "You understand?"

Samara started laughing, first a little breathily and then a little hysterically. "Oh god, if that's how you show love, I'm totally screwed," she teased, moving forward to shove his shoulder lightly before bringing him in for a proper hug. "Yes, I understand. You figured that if you died, I'd have what? A few more minutes to live? Don't be so bothered, honey, I'd do the same. If I go down, damn straight you're coming with me."

Bucky cupped her cheeks, searching her eyes for something. "You're too much like me," he whispered, darting forward to crush his lips against her own.

The contact was demanding and took most, if not all, of the strength she had left but she let him push her back until she hit the wall. It was cold against her shoulder blades, sending shivers down her spine, but he was burning her everywhere else. Like a hot bath on a cold evening, where you'd struggle to keep beneath the water to stop yourself from freezing.

When he pulled back, lips bruised, she gave him a breathy smile. "I love you."

Bucky chuckled. "I love you too, darling."

Okay… One more chapter. I can't believe this, but one more chapter. After that, we're finished? I'm not ready.

Good thing I have a backup plan, right? Oh yeah, oh yeah honey's I ain't leaving this alone. It's not what you think – as of now, I have no desire to write a sequel, because I don't wanna stretch their story out too thin – but I am planning on starting a one-shot collection. Those one shots will include many a things you guys have asked for – as well as things like… say… the other movies?

So even though this story is almost over – they're not :) I can't wait to write them more.

Taila xx