It had been a long day of doing next to nothing. An early summer heat wave rolled through the day before and left everyone feeling rather… for lack of a better word, lazy. Which was fine, really. There was no current big bad to hunt down. At least not one of any urgency, not considering the fact that any and all leads on Lobe had come up dry. And they had finally finished setting everything up for the new tier two and three teams they'd be training, even though they weren't set to start orientation for another week. So none of the Avengers – save Vision and Wanda, who are off… somewhere, doing… something – felt particularly bad about splaying out in front of the TV in the common area that evening to do some more… well, nothing.

"I still don't get it," Steve says, perplexed look on his face. "Why would surfers want to rob a bank?"

Clint yawns from his spot on the floor. He looks away from the movie and glances up at the very confused looking man on the couch. "Why would anyone want to rob a bank, Cap? Money."

His brow furrows further. "Yeah, but – "

"No buts," Natasha nearly shouts. "Just watch the damn movie."

"Nat's got a thing for Keanu Reeves," Clint whispers conspiratorially.

She glares at him. "I can hear you."

"I don't care," he tells her, rising with a groan. "I'm getting more beer. Anyone else?"

Bucky and Steve raise their hands in unison.

As Clint moves into the kitchenette, he hears footsteps on the stairs outside the room. And all at once, their peaceful, idle comradery is interrupted.

"What is this?" Tony asks with mock horror, side-stepping Clint as he saunters into the common area. "I leave you alone for three short weeks and you turn into a giant pile of lazy… frat boys," he finishes, pinching two empty beer bottles between his fingers and nodding down to the open pizza box on the counter.

"Hey," Clint croons, ignoring Tony and focusing instead on Tessa as she trudges into the room behind him. "Doc's back!" He goes over and relieves her of the heavy box that has her teetering.

"Careful, that's… important," she tells him as he easily lifts it from her arms.

"Expensive, she means," Tony tosses over his shoulder, a frown on his face. He moves over to the group and flops into the empty chair in the corner. "Point Break!" he exclaims, pointing at the TV.

Bucky's heart feels like it skips a beat when he sees Tessa. She looks tired – weary, even – and a bit pale. But who wouldn't after traveling all day with Stark? She tugs at her sweatshirt to straighten the wrinkled mess, and then reaches up to take down the haphazard knot of wild waves sitting on the top of her head. But she drops her hands suddenly the minute she sees him, her face lighting up with what could only be termed pure, absolute elation.

He makes a move to get up from the couch, but quickly settles back when he sees that she's making a beeline for him. She practically hurls herself into his lap, diving over Natasha, who's splayed on the floor in front of him. Her feet end up in Steve's face and he groans with annoyance before tamping them down into his lap so that he can continue to focus on the movie in front of him.

"I'm home," she says into Bucky's shoulder as she wraps her arms around his middle.

The embrace is awkward as hell with her draped over him like that, but he does his best to pull her close and hold her tight as he whispers into her hair, "'Bout damn time."

"So," Clint says returning to the group and handing out beers. He holds one out for Tessa as well, but conveniently ignores Tony. "What's in the box?"

She flips around and wiggles into an almost sitting position. Still partially in Bucky's lap, she accepts the beer. He shifts beneath her, causing her to drop onto the couch cushion, making it easier for her to lean back and curl into his side. "It's a prototype of a cellular regeneration unit that's designed to target cytotoxic T-cells."

Clint's eyes widen. "O-kay," he drawls out before sitting back on the floor. "You could've just said science stuff."

"Were you hoping she brought you a souvenir?" Natasha teases, suddenly far less interested in the movie now that Keanu is off-screen.

"I mean, would've been nice."

"There's four cases of soju on the jet," Tony states.

Clint wrinkles up his nose. "What's that?"

Tessa swallows down a swig of beer and says, "Rice liquor." His face screws up even further. "It's good. A little sweet. And it'll fuck you up."

He pops up off the floor and sets his beer on the coffee table with a thunk. "Doc, you're a peach," he says with a wink. "If anyone needs me, I'll be in the hangar getting blitzed on rice."

"Hey," Tony calls out as Clint leaves the group behind. "I'm the one who brought it back. Don't thank her." He settles back into the puffy chair with a scowl. "I get no appreciation."

"I appreciate you, Tony," Tessa tells him.

"That's because I'm the reason you have that cellular toxic box thingy over there," he says, waving his hand at the prototype on the counter.

"Yes. That is true." She scoots further into Bucky, taking hold of the arm he has draped around her and tugging it closer to her chest. Glancing at the TV, she asks him, "Have you not seen this?"

He shakes his head and looks down at her with a quirked brow. "But I also really don't give a shit about what happens in it."

She smiles at him, big and bright, and takes a final swig of her beer before handing it off to Steve. "Here," she says to him, reaching around and grabbing the one from Bucky's grasp to turn over to him as well.

"You guys got other plans?" he asks with a knowing smirk.

"Yep," Bucky answers, hopping up and throwing Tessa over his shoulder in one quick move.

She lets out a small yelp as he holds her dangling body in place while stepping over Natasha. "Goodnight," she says with a laugh, waving at her friends as she's carried from the room.

The rest of them sit in casual silence, each gradually turning back to the movie. Natasha reaches up and takes one of the extra beers from Steve and hands it over to Tony. "I don't know what the hell we're supposed to do with that box," he says, taking a swig and settling his head back against the cushions.

000

He doesn't put her down until they reach the bedroom, at which point he tosses her unceremoniously onto the bed with a soft thud. She lays there, splayed out on top of the perfectly made bed, her face red from all the blood that flowed to her head while he had her upside down. Giggling a bit maniacally, she says, "I'm not sure if I'm turned on or deeply troubled by that caveman display."

He kicks off his shoes and quickly climbs on top of her. "Turned on?" he asks, lowering himself down to pepper her neck with kisses.

He makes it to her collarbone, tenderly sucking and softly nipping at the flesh there, before she issues out a quick, "Wait, wait, wait!" Just as he starts to pull away, she hooks her leg through his, grabs onto his shoulders, and rolls with such force that she manages to flip him over onto his back.

"That was pretty good," he laughs, looking up at her bright, smiling face. She's straddling him now, her knees pressed into his hips, her hands pushing down on his shoulders, keeping him pinned to the mattress. "Who've you been practicing that move with," he asks, brow furrowed even as his grin grows wider.

She stares down at him, her long dark hair falling down to frame both their faces. The soft giggles slowly subside and she says wistfully, "I just want to see your face for a minute." She moves one hand from his shoulder to his cheek, running her thumb lightly over the smile-induced crinkles at the corner of his eye. "I missed your face."

He turns his head toward her hand and kisses her palm gently, never breaking eye contact. "I missed… all of you," he says, wiggling his eyebrows playfully.

"All of me?" she asks, sitting back onto her heels. She pulls her sweatshirt off over her head and tosses it to the side.

His hands move to her waist, fingers sliding under the thin fabric of her tank top. "Definitely," he replies, suddenly hooking his fingertips beneath the waistband of her jeans and giving a quick jerk. The motion is enough to knock her off balance and she tumbles down onto him, laughing.

With his metal hand, he accidentally pops the button off her jeans and breaks the zipper all with one quick flick of the fingers. "Hey," she protests through the giggles, trying to pull herself upright. But before she can, he wraps his flesh and bone arm around her and holds her close. Snaking his fingers up her back, her neck, and into her hair, he presses her head down, bringing her lips to his and letting his thirst take over.

When it's all said and done, almost every piece of clothing lies torn and strewn about the room. Her tank top is unsalvageable. The clasp on her bra is busted beyond repair. His T-shirt is in two pieces… somewhere on the floor. And the truth is, neither of them are entirely sure who destroyed what. Tessa collapses onto the mattress beside him and lets out a small gasp as something sharp digs into her hip. Rolling slightly and reaching down, she comes back with what looks like the button from his jeans pinched between her fingers. "Oh, fuck," she laughs uncontrollably, staring at the tiny piece of metal before chucking it across the room.

"This should be a sign," he says through laughter. "We can't be apart for long or we'll get…"

"Crazy?"

"I was going to say destructive," he utters, pensive look overtaking his face. "Dangerous?"

She curls into his side, pulling her arms into her chest as she rolls closer to him. "It was only three weeks," she mumbles, burying her face in his neck.

"Three and a half," he corrects with a smirk. He pulls her in closer, wrapping his right arm tightly around her when he feels her shiver. "You cold?" he asks, grabbing the sheet and pulling it up to cover her. She nods into him. "Still?"

"You have the AC blasting," she chides, gripping the sheet.

He scoffs loudly but obligingly reaches down to the foot of the bed in search of the quilt and pulls it up to wrap around her. "I figured that would've warmed you up," he quips.

"It did. For a minute."

"Oh, but just for a minute?" She peeks her face out from his side and shoots him a sly smile before settling down on his chest. Instinctively, his right hand moves up into her hair, slowly twisting into the thick waves. He breathes her in and says, in a soft, almost sad voice, "I started using your shampoo."

She rolls her head up so she can look him in the eye. "I thought you looked more… lustrous," she mocks.

He lets out a small chuckle and she settles back into him, letting the laugh reverberate through his chest and into her. "I missed your smell," he says simply.

"You always have been a little too interested in how I smell."

She can feel him shrug beneath her. "I like what I like."

She reaches out and takes his metal hand in hers, brings it over to her face. He quickly gets the hint and after brushing back the hair from her temple, he starts gently kneading his thumb between her eyes. "I got a couple migraines while I was away," she says softly, almost dreamily. "One was pretty bad. And I went to the minibar in the hotel and got one of those cute, tiny cans of soda out. And I rolled it on my forehead. Cold metal." She shifts a bit and looks up at him. "It wasn't the same."

He frowns down at her. "Sorry, baby."

She lets out a long sigh – "I survived." – and tucks the quilt up beneath her chin. "Is this new?" she asks suddenly, rubbing the fabric between her fingers. "Did you buy a quilt?"

"Ah, yeah," he replies sheepishly. "It got too hot for your comforter. And Romanov made us all go to some farmers market thing. Got some really good tomatoes, though."

"I leave town for three weeks and you become the kind of guy who shops for quilts and tomatoes at the farmers market?"

"Three and a half weeks. And I didn't shop for a quilt, I just saw it and bought it." He lays a quick kiss on the top of her head before saying, "I bought it for you too, you know."

"Well then, I love it" she breathes out. "Did you buy me anything else?"

"Yeah, I sure did, last Christmas. She's waiting for you in the garage."

"Ducati!" she nearly screams, flying up next to him. He can't help but laugh at the goofy, excited expression on her face as she pulls the quilt up over her naked shoulders. "How is my baby?"

"She's good," he chuckles. "Runs like a dream."

Her smile fades a bit when she asks, "Did you take her out?"

"Was I not supposed to?" he counters, casually folding his arm behind his head.

She sighs. "Well, she does get antsy being cooped up for too long." Looking down at him thoughtfully, she adds, "She's not very good at sitting still."

He reaches out and delicately runs his fingers along her thigh, the milky white skin peeking out from the folds of the quilt. "Got that from her mother," he quips.

She scoots closer to him, his hand disappearing beneath the cover as she does so. His fingers trail back a bit and find her naked hip. "Where did you two go?" she asks as he continues to absently stroke her.

"This morning we went into the city for coffee," he tells her, glancing up with a sly smile.

She frowns at him. "You went to our coffee shop? In the city? Without me?" He nods, a shit-eating grin plastered on his face. "James!" she whines, smacking his shoulder.

"Ow," he complains with a laugh. "See if I give you any croissants now."

Her eyes light up, and for the briefest of moments he feels like this is knowing.

She almost flies off the bed, sweeping the quilt with her, nearly tripping over it as it tangles in her bare legs. "Have I told you lately that I love you?" she shoots over her shoulder as she steadies herself in the doorway.

"Not lately, no," he utters, pulling himself out of bed and searching the floor for his felled jeans. He doesn't remember that the button was yanked off until after her pulls them on, but he can't be bothered by that point to find others. When he looks up, she's already gone, so he simply zips up the pants, grabs a clean T-shirt, and heads into the kitchen to make sure she finds the bakery box.

By the time he gets there, she's already curled up at the breakfast bar, half of a croissant gone in front of her. "I'm starving," she says with a full mouth.

He reaches into the fridge and pulls out two beers, easily pops the tops to both, and hands her one. "You want me to make you something?" He glances up at the clock – only eight.

"Nah," she says, shaking her head. "I'll just eat half a dozen or so more of these and call it a night."

"You know those are more butter than anything?" he asks with a raised brow.

She nods. "Yeah. That's what makes them so delicious."

He shakes his head and chuckles, takes a swig of his beer, and leans up against the counter. A smile spreads across his face as he watches her, not just because she's back… back here with him. But also because, "I'm glad you're hungry."

She gives him a perplexed look as she brings the beer bottle to her lips.

"Before you left…" he explains. "You weren't really eating. I was beginning to think you were gonna waste away."

She shrugs. "I ate a lot of rice and kimchi. And McDonalds. Everywhere in the world you go, there's McDonald's and 7-Eleven."

"Yeah," he says, getting a faraway look in his eyes. His brain plays back dozens and dozens of images of the golden arches, popping up in the periphery of long-buried memories of missions across the globe. "Why is that?"

"Good business model," she replies, stretching across the counter for another croissant.

He studies her for a long moment before asking, "What about the nightmares?" He waits until she looks up and meets his eyes before he continues. "How've you been sleeping?"

To his credit, he had only brought the nightmares up once while she was in Korea, most likely because he knows her well enough to know that she'd see it as infuriating meddling. So she's a bit more forgiving of it now. But even so… "Worried I might interfere with your sleep?"

He ducks his head a bit sheepishly. "I haven't really been able to sleep without you here anyway." He glances back up at her with a single raised brow. "You've ruined me."

She barks out a laugh. "Well that's a shame. I for one, slept great," she tells him, her voice so strong and conclusive that she almost has herself convinced it's true. "That bed was amazing."

He frowns. "Even without me in it?"

"I could starfish to my heart's content."

He sorts. "You do that here anyway."

She sets down the torn-apart croissant and gazes at him with a somber expression. It's not that she wants to lie to him. She would never want to lie to him. He's just been so worried. And truthfully, knowing that she's the cause of all that concern breaks her heart. "I think I'm good," she tells him, averting her eyes at the last moment. "Or… I think I'm getting there?" It's not a lie, really. Whatever's going on… it's just a weird sort or phase. She's sure of it. It's nothing more than an odd psychological reaction to trauma. With enough time, it'll pass.

"Yeah?" he asks hesitantly.

She gives him a small smile. "Tony and I had a talk. He told me about… how he was. After the battle in New York."

"Oh, you mean when he flew a nuclear warhead through a portal in the sky?" he asks, voice laced with bitter sarcasm.

"Oh, you've heard that story?" she teases. "Anyway… he basically died. And he said it really fucked with his head." She casts her eyes down and watches her fingers as they slowly pull apart the pastry in front of her, bit by bit. "My head's just been… a bit fucked up too."

"But he got through it," Bucky supplies from across the room. She looks up and sees the warmth and reassurance in his bright blue eyes. "And so will you."

She nods – "Yeah. Yeah, I know." – and pulls the quilt tighter around her as she shivers.