Disclaimer: I own nothing. Do I even own my own thoughts? Who knows. Except the OC. I do own her. Back off.

I used to love dreaming when I was younger. My friends were always jealous when I told them I remembered my dreams every night. But my dreams were always different to theirs. While they had to sleep through thoughts of going to school naked, or kissing crushes, or losing all their teeth, my head was filled with action… and occasionally kissing boys I liked. See, I always knew I wanted to do something worthwhile, preferably with a bit of violence involved; what more could a girl want? So I dreamt of punching bad guys, kicking faceless goons, and saving my school from zombie apocalypses… apocali? What's the plural of apocalypse. Its apocalypses. I looked it up. Whats the point of having a talking AI in your bedroom if you don't take full advantage. Anyway, what I'm saying is my head used to be full of fun and action. When it wasn't going the way I wanted, I'd take control, figure out what I wanted to happen next and force it along.

But then I went to prison. My dreams changed. I'd gotten the life of action, and it had landed me in a tin can in the middle of the ocean. My dreams became memories. Feelings that I'd supress during the day. Happiness, pride, excitement. One time I dreamt of my 9th birthday, when my dad took me and my sister to the beach. It was a hot day, and I was really excited. But when I found out it was a stone beach rather than sandy I threw a fit. Instead of getting mad at me, he just grabbed my hand and we stood in front of the waves, running backwards every time they got closer. In the end, he bought us ice-cream, and the two of us watched as my sister ran around looking for pretty stones. Her definition of pretty was odd for a 5 year old. She stumbled up to me holding a nondescript stone and said, "This one looks like a potato. I'll keep it forever.". She didn't though. Lost it as soon as we got back in the car. Cried the whole way home. It was a form of escapism when I was locked up in the raft, but it just meant when I woke up again, I'd just lie there crying silently as I remembered where I was. I was always terrified that they'd find some way to get into my head and get the secrets they so desperately desired. They. Hydra, the government. All the same when it came down to it.

Now though, its different. Now that I'm out of hell, and safe, the horror's come in at full force. My brain no longer needs to protect itself with memories, or keep me motivated with future promises. Now it's there to torture me. A week after I left the Raft, and my head has finally decided that I don't deserve to be free. I was so exhausted at first that I just slept straight through, until last night. Last night it happened for the first time. A nice memory, corrupted by the things I've seen. But this time I couldn't land the winning punch; every time I tried my fist would just stop mid air, held back by some invisible force powerful enough to hold me immobile while it kills everyone around, before finally coming back to finish me off. The worst part is when I wake up I still can't move. I'm lying there, my face pressed into my pillow finding it difficult to breath, and all my limbs are locked. I looked it up. Apparently it's called sleep paralysis, which is lovely. My mind waking up before my body. At least I don't have the demon that sometimes accompanies it, but I guess my mind is demonic enough.

It happened again tonight. I was fighting my torturers in my previous home, trying to form a barrier between them and my family. But every kick I tried to land just stayed in the air. Every punch the same. Even the scream got stuck in my throat. I always forget I can turn invisible in these dreams. It probably wouldn't do me much good anyway. Then, I woke up and just lay there until I finally regained the ability to move my limbs.

So here I am. Sitting up against the headboard in my fancy, massive, almost empty new room in the Avengers compound, clutching the sheets around my body with my knees up, trying to reduce my heart rate. But it's difficult with how quiet it is in here. On the Raft, there was always the low hum of whatever power source was used to keep it from sinking, or random pipes creaking. Sometimes even screaming if I listened hard enough. But here? Nothing. No sound. I know it's meant to be a privacy thing, but soundproof walls can really suck.

When I first got here, after a trip to the med bay where I had to show Earth's mightiest heroes all the beating I'd had to endure, they showed me around. Even before I joined SHIELD, I'd never seen a place like this. So big and spacious. It looked like paradise. But big and spacious can be a problem, because after being cramped up in a metal cylinder for 4 years its terrifying. I've mainly stayed in my room since, occasionally venturing out for food. On the days that I couldn't, Wanda or Clint would leave food by my door. No one's come to give me a talk about socialising more yet, they have too much on. I was wandering round the compound on my second day and happened to overhear them talking about these accords again. I'd looked them up and apparently they're some sort of safety agreement. Except the safety aspect of it takes away the privacy and autonomy of any of the superheroes named in it. So, if they have to sort that out, it's no wonder they haven't been paying much attention to me. I prefer it that way though. Some time to acclimatise without having extra social pressures.

When I had been given the tour though, I'd noticed a massive piano by one of the wall glass windows in the lounge/living area/ bar. The room's open plan so its probably about 5 other things as well. I wonder if after all this time I can still play. It would certainly be a break in the silence.

"Friday?"

"Yes Miss Rivers?" The ever so slightly creepy voice replies.

"Is anyone going to be disturbed if I play the piano in the lounge?"

"Everyone is currently sleeping, and the walls are also soundproof."

The soundproof walls are what's causing this problem in the first place, but better safe than sorry.

"Thank you."

I slide on the ridiculously soft slippers at the end on the bed and exit the room. All the clothes they gave me are soft, including the sleep shorts and tank top I'm currently wearing. It's a weird contrast to the scratchy grey skin tight material and unforgiving blue t shirt I wore for 4 years. There's less dried blood on them too, which is always nice. My feet silently shuffle across the polished wooden floors until I reach the piano stool. As I started walking, Friday dimly lit the lights so I could find my way. The seat and piano faced the window, so I take a moment just to stare outside. The sky is so dark, and the lights in here are just dim enough that I can slightly see the stars. As long as I can see the stars I'm okay.

Taking a breath to relax, I stretch my fingers across the keys. I haven't played piano in a long time. Probably best to start with something simple and short. Well, it wasn't simple when I learnt it, but eventually it just became so ingrained in muscle memory that it was hard to purposefully screw it up. Comptine d'un autre ete from Amelie. It was one of the first things I learnt. I start playing the first few notes on the left hand, going slower than I used to because my hands were still shaking from the nightmare. But then I screw up a note so I start over. I try again. Screw up again. The thing about piano is that you need to have the right levels of concentration while also not thinking about it too hard. So instead of focussing on what I'm playing, I look outside again and watch a fox wandering around. My hands start moving and the music is actually flowing this time. I keep it up throughout the piece, never paying too much attention to what I'm playing, but occasionally checking the keys. I mess up in one or two places, but quickly recover. As I tap the keys, the music loosens my muscles and my hands start to sit steadily on the keys. Finally I play the last note, my hands going lax as I use the sustaining pedal to hold it.

"That was amazing."

"Fuck!" Immediately I tense up, my hands playing a dissonant array of keys, and before I can even control it I've disappeared. Fuck. I really need to stop doing that when I'm shocked. I quickly reappear again, stand up and turn around, seeing a man standing there looking sheepish with his hands in jean pockets.

"Sorry, didn't mean to scare ya."

I haven't seen him around here before. Chin length hair hanging around his face, sharp jaw. Even from here the low lighting is catching his blue eyes. Almost as blue as Steve's were the first night he rescued me, but these are prettier. Also shyer. Realising I'd just been standing there staring, I finally opened my mouth, smiling a little.

"No it's not your fault. Just a little jumpy. Urm… I'm Kaia." I nod at him.

He thinks about it for a second, almost as if considering what to call himself before replying, "Bucky."

He must be the friend Steve spoke about during the rescue. "Cool trick you got there."

I frown at him, "What? Oh, right. Sorry. It happens when I'm scared. Sorry if it freaked you out."

He shrugged, "Seen weirder."

We lapse into silence for a second before it occurs to me that he's been living here longer than me, this is probably his space that I'm intruding in, "I can go if you want. I probably shouldn't have been using the piano without permission. Sorry if it disturbed you."

"You say sorry a lot."

I open my mouth, about to apologise again before he smirks slightly and says "Don't. And don't leave either. I mean, you can if you want to, but I don't mind. I like your playing."

Grimacing I say, "I'm really bad. I haven't done it in ages."

His eyebrows rise, "If that's you playing badly I can't wait to hear you playing well."

I give him a small smile, not accepting the compliment but not arguing either. Still I make no move to sit back down.

Bucky walks over to one of the massive sofas and sinks down into it, grabbing a book from the side table, "Look, I'm going to be up whether you're playing or not, so you might as well just carry on."

I finally settle back onto the seat, but just before I start playing, I say one more thing, "Don't judge me if I screw up. Not practicing for four years kind of fucks up muscle memory."

"Try 70 years, it's even worse." He huffs a laugh slightly, obviously some kind of personal joke. I'm not going to ask though. He hasn't questioned why I'm up, so I'll offer him the same courtesy in not prying into personal details. I do wonder why he's here though. I never saw him on the news when the Avengers were first set up, so maybe he's new, like Sam and Scott. It's strange that I've never seen him in any of the meetings I walk past. Or seen him at all really.

Putting my questions out of my head, because its not my business really, my fingers start playing again. Random melodies I picked up here and there, a couple of chords from songs I can't remember the name of, and finally I end on one last piece, my favourite. It took me months to learn that one, first a simple version before I made it more complicated. I can't remember the complicated one though, so only the simple today. It came out a couple of months before I was arrested, so I don't know it as well as the others. I play the wrong note in multiple places, and I managed to skip out a whole verse at some point. But by the end its slightly better.

"I like that one."

I'd forgotten Bucky was there, so I'm not ashamed to say I did jump a little again when he spoke. Turning around, I find that he put the book away. I don't know how long he's just been watching me play.

"It's called Demons by imagine dragons. You should look it up on YouTube; it's really good."

Nodding, he writes that down in a little red notebook. Who carries notebooks around anymore?

I start walking back towards my bedroom. Now that I've calmed down a bit, the silence isn't bothering me as much. The very faint glow of the sun starting to rise makes me realise how long we've been sitting there. Maybe it'll be easier to sleep when it's lighter.

"Good night, Bucky." He makes no move to leave, but he's picked up his book again.

Nodding towards the window, he replies, "Good morning Kaia."

Dork. The corner of my mouth tilts, and I shake my head slightly. Finally, I venture back into my room and lie back down.

I manage to sleep through until 8, which is only 3 hours from when I went to bed, but still an accomplishment. I decide to see if anyone is in the kitchen area. Usually I scout the breakfast room invisibly and if anyone's in there I turn back. I don't know how clear its been so far, but I like to keep a low profile. Today, though, I walk in in full view. Meeting Bucky last night's stopped me worrying about the other heroes so much. I mean, how intimidating can they be?

"All I'm saying is that if a crème brule were to fight a tiramisu, the crème brule would win!"

"No way Sam. Tiramisu all the way." Clint chucks a cheerio into his mouth as he says that.

Steve, a spoon dangling form his lips, decides to contribute to whatever the fuck this conversation is, "You're both sleeping on trifles. Trifles are superior."

"A trifle is all wobbly, it would collapse at the first strike." Sam notices me, "Kaia, Crème brule or tiramisu in a fight."

It's weird, seeing the worlds first line of defence discussing pudding wars, but strangely endearing. They're all very passionate about it. Maybe I should have sat in on a breakfast sooner.

"Urm… Crème brule."

Clint looks at me, betrayal in his eyes and disgust in his tone, "Why?"

It's so weird that this is the same man who was speaking to me like I was a child before.

What's even weirder is that I've actually given thought to my answer, "Crème brule has a hard top and it's literally survived being set on fire whereas tiramisu is just drunk."

"Damn."

I go to the toaster to get food. It's one of those fancy moving toasters that you only see in hotels and never cooks the bread quite right. Yet somehow, if the Stark Industries logo on it is anything to go by, I feel like this one might actually work.

They've moved onto some other point of conversation now. I forgot how difficult it is to talk to and keep up a conversation with people who aren't just interrogating you the whole time.

Trying to integrate myself into the conversation, I get a word in during a pause, "Clint, I swear you were more mature like, a week ago."

That's how banter works right? I have no idea please help me. Instead of answering though, a woman walks round the corner and places an arm around his neck lovingly.

"You should see him at home. It's hard enough trying to get him to discipline the kids instead of joining whatever they're doing."

"I discipline our kids!"

They look each other in the eyes, a sort of deeper connection, that must be nice. They have a conversation, just between the two of them.

"Fine I don't disciple the kids."

Shaking her head with a smile, the woman, who I'm assuming is Clint's wife, introduces herself, "Hi, I'm Laura. You must be Kaia. Clint told me about you."

I smile sheepishly and say hi back. I must have been the topic of dinner time conversation.

Steve turns to her, having noticed her presence after finishing another discussion with Sam, "Who's watching the kids?"

"Nat said she'd look after them for the night, give me and Clint some alone time at the compound."

Sam raises his eyebrows, "Alone time huh?"

Clint throws his spoon at Sam, landing it directly in Sam's juice so it all splashed up into his face.

"We're parents in our 40s. We watched Homes under the Hammer and fell asleep."

Sam said sure with disbelief, before perking up at someone walking behind me.

"Robo Cop whats up? You met Kaia yet?"

I turn around in my bar stool and see Bucky there in gym clothes. They're a lot tighter than the baggy hoodie he had on last night. I smile at him, but that changed into a look of confusion as he responds to Sam.

"No I haven't. I'm Bucky, nice to meet you."

What was that about? That's really weird. Maybe the guy I saw earlier was someone else. Nope definitely not. I know who I saw and I'm certain it was Bucky. Well, a less sweaty version of Bucky with his hair down.

Going along with whatever he's doing, I say hi back, then start eating my not burnt or underdone piece of toast. I'm so glad Stark went into technology after he shut down weapons manufacturing.

The conversations go on for a bit longer, with jokes and stories being thrown around. I feel rather out of my depth now. They're all so close, have a past together. Then there's me, a charity case they released from prison and are letting stay here. Why haven't I left yet? Maybe I'm overstaying my welcome. The reason none of them wanted to socialise before this was because they secretly want me gone.

Damnit, I'm getting into my head again. Surprisingly, I was like this before prison, but the Raft did make it a lot worse. When there's no other entertainment you tend to retreat into your head.

Just as my existentialism comes to an end, Sam, Steve and Clint all get texts which lead to them jumping up and running off, leaving with just a few words.

"Bucky we have a mission, hold the fort will ya?"

"Sure punk."

Clint kisses Laura on the lips, "Bye babe, love you."

"Love you too. I'm gonna head back to the farm, relieve Nat. Stop by after?"

He nods and runs off. All three men and Laura have left the room now. Leaving me and Bucky with our own company. I turn to face him so I can question what his behaviour was.

"Never met me before huh?"

He blushes a bit, head down, "Sorry, its just if Steve found out I'm up at 3 am, he'd go all overprotective and probably insist he start sleeping on my floor or something."

"He'd really do that?"

"Yup." Bucky's eyes lose focus, obviously remembering previous times when Steve's done that, "I'm telling ya, don't leave your door open when your sad. Steve has a built in detector and will be at your room in a second."

I laugh lightly, "Thanks I'll keep that in mind."

I still have no idea who Bucky is on the team..

I suck my lips, contemplating whether I'm really gonna ask. You know what? My father always said, just be direct. Hopefully this won't make me loose my only kind of proper friend so far.

"No offense, like, I legit haven't seen the outside world in a really long time, but who are you? In the Avengers I mean. What's your-" I mime fireworks with my hands, "secret identity superhero name."

He looks down, a look of sadness coming over his face. Shit I shouldn't have asked. "I'm not a hero."

And this is why I shouldn't socialise. How do I make this better?

"You don't have to be a hero to have a moniker. We could create one. Let me think… Boy Wonder Bucky. No that's Robin. Barnacle Bucky? Wait that's SpongeBob. I'll think of one I swear."

Stop talking stop talking stop talking stop talking!

"I literally have nothing to do with the sea why would you think Barnacle would be a good name anyway?"

Oh thank god he's not mad.

"I don't know! I panicked! I'm not good on the spot."

He has that smile back from last night, "Well, you're going to have to think of some better ones, preferably without my name in them. That's the whole point of a secret identity."

"Thor doesn't have a secret identity."

"Yeah, and that's why he never goes on the covert missions. Think of some more. You can tell me tonight."

"Tonight?"

He suddenly looks embarrassed, "Well, if you're up tonight I mean. I'm usually in the lounge every night, so I'll be there and you're welcome to join."

I nod, smiling a bit, "I might take you up on that."

I retreat to my room. Enough socialising for today thank you very much. Well, until tonight.

A/N: This will be slow burn. Well, depending on how impatient I get it'll probably be slow burn. Thanks for your interest in this story. Apologies if there are mistakes. Have a good (insert period of time before I eventually write chapter 3).