"This is getting kinda old, gorgeous."
Bucky didn't even move, only letting out a small grunt to show he'd heard. He seemed quite content to stay where he was – with feminine curves between his body and the sand, and then sand between said feminine curves and the shoreline. It meant there was not one, but two measures of protection keeping him safe from the dreaded ocean waves.
The man was a goddamn assassin but he was scared of the ocean? Fucking brilliant. This was her life now.
The woman let out a sigh, narrowing her eyes. Now she was being treated like some fleshy barrier and – and wait, did this mean she was his last line of defence. What the hell did he expect her to do of the water levels rose then? Shoot the waves? Insult its family? Call it nasty names?
The chest pressed against her back moved, a low grumble starting there before travelling up the man's throat.
Samara spared the water a look, watching it lick up the beach and force the arms around her middle to tense. "You know it was only a movie, don't you?" she whispered, feeling lips brush against the bared curve of her shoulder. The assassin continued the displeased sound, each rolling growl making her mouth dry out. "There's not actually a gigantic shark out there waiting to nibble on you. Besides, even if there was, what's the worst that can happen?"
The breath he let out fanned across skin. "I lose the other arm?" he mocked, tucking her closer and glaring around her form. The position wasn't uncomfortable, per say, but she didn't like being used as damn human shield.
"You'd punch it in the face," the doctor countered instantly. "Come on, I want to go in the water!"
"I'm not stopping you. But if you get eaten, don't come crying."
Samara let out a frustrated sound, wiggling in his grip until she'd successfully turned her upper body to face him. It wasn't easy, not with the death grip he had on her waist and the thighs barracking her hips, but she managed. "You can't honestly be this afraid of water?" she demanded, one hand coming up to flick his nose in reprimand. "And since when did you become so clingy? You're not the – the winter octopus now, are you? James Buchanan Barnacle."
Bucky stared at her for a few seconds. "That last one was pretty good," he praised absently, eyes flicking to the water when the others let out squeals and screaming laughter. "Sammy, if you want to go and – "
"I want to go and do something with you," Samara cut in softly, cupping his cheeks. "You've been so quiet lately. I'm worried."
Bucky opened his mouth, and she could almost see the lie sitting on his tongue, ready to hit the air, but strangely enough he didn't voice it. Crystalline blue eyes darted away, the colour changing in the light as he slammed his lips together.
There was something bothering him. He could try lie his way out of it all he wanted, but she saw through it every time, and every time it made her heart sink a little more. The past couple of days – the past week, her mind corrected – he'd been almost awkward, not lingering if he touched her and watching her when he thought she hadn't notice. It wasn't secretive behaviour, not really, but his constant guard was enough to have her worried.
It wasn't like him. He didn't keep secrets from her – not anymore – and he wasn't meant to look at her like...
Like she was the enemy.
Smooth metal danced over her side, and instinctively she shied away, the broken bone overriding common sense. Bucky only gave her a pained smile. "The bruises have finally faded," he noted, trailing a hand over the skin bared by her swimsuit. "I was starting to think they never would."
"They're only bruises, course they faded," she argued thickly, frowning now as she studied him. The conversation was already turning away from where she'd thought it would go. "The bones will heal too, you know? They're feeling better already – breathing isn't so uncomfortable, and I can sigh without wanting to die."
The lame teasing didn't even earn a smile. "You'll be okay?"
Samara almost rolled her eyes – this again? – but instead let her lips climb up into a smile, leaning closer so she could press their foreheads together. It put strain on her side, but the nervous breath that rattled his lungs made it worthwhile. "I'll be okay, gorgeous, don't worry about me," she commanded gently. "You can't still be fretting about that, can you? It was weeks ago?"
Bucky looked uncomfortable – not with their proximity thankfully, but with whatever was curling in his chest. The hands on her waist tightened and then loosened repeatedly, like he was clenching his fists. "What do you think of that archer guy?"
The question threw her, and she couldn't help but stare back in confusion. "Clint?"
Blue eyes darkened. "Yeah, him."
Samara blinked, leaning back and slumping over in thought. It wasn't like they'd had the chance to bond, and he'd only been around what, a week before they'd left for their vacation? All she really knew about him was he had a sarcastic streak a mile long, and he didn't need a room because apparently the vents were more comfortable than a mattress could ever be.
"He seems okay?" she managed slowly, studying handsome features for a reaction. "I don't know him all too well, but he seems like a good guy? Right? We – we think he's a good guy, don't we?
Bucky let out a sigh. "Yeah, we think he's a good guy," he soothed absently.
Samara frowned openly, tapping his chin and forcing his head up. "What's your problem then? I gave you the opportunity to come out with it, but now you're being weird, changing the subject, avoiding me and – and I'm getting freaked out," she confessed in a rush, crossing her arms. "You can't go all quiet on me, Barnes. You can't stop smiling and playing around without telling me why. So? What then? What did I do?"
Blue studied her for a few seconds before something seemed to click, and twin hands, one warm one cool, were cupping her cheeks. "Samara, beautiful, it's not anything to do with you, or us and – and no, that's a lie, it… uh, it…" he coughed, features flushing a little. "It's just…"
The doctor shifted back, pointedly putting space between them. "It's just what?" she asked weakly.
This was it then? Three days into a two-week vacation and he was about to give her the talk. It's not you, it's me. Even with everything that had happened, she was being dumped in the most heartless way humanly possible, not given a reason, only a poorly worded and stammered excuse.
Samara dropped her eyes, furiously begging them not to well up – she could do this, right? Just nod and agree to leave, maybe wish him well in the future before she went to pack her things. After that, she had to find a way back home – he couldn't have waited until the damn two weeks were up? – say goodbye to new friends and cry into her own pillow rather than the warm chest she'd been sleeping against.
Yeah. Yeah, she could do it. It would hurt but if he didn't want this, she refused to push, it wasn't right to –
"It's not you," Bucky said firmly, the words almost sounding vaguely irritated. It made her head snap up, eye widening as they clashed with blue. "You're perfect. I said us because… because I heard someone mention something and now..." he paused again, throat working and eyes darting away to hit the sand with a heated glare. "Now I can't stop thinking about it."
Samara felt her brow tick down. "Um, what did you hear someone mention?" she asked slowly, hesitating before clasping silver fingers between her own. It was welcomed thankfully, a small squeeze pressing around her palm. "Buck, come on, what's up?"
Bucky looked up with narrowed eyes, the colour looking over her shoulder. "It was the archer," he muttered again, and while he looked annoyed, exhaustion drained any real heat from the expression. "It was early, the day after he arrived, and I went to get you some water from the kitchen – something to take your painkillers with – but he was there. Natasha too."
"And?"
The blue finally landed on her, hazy and concerned. "Natasha must have been explaining everything to him. Letting him in on what that happened since Washington," he shrugged, wrapping a hand around her ankle and yanking her closer. It put sand in places she'd rather it didn't, but she let him go back to idly drawing patterns in skin. "She uh, she said we're cute together."
Samara rolled her eyes. "Please god, don't say that's what's got you in a mood?" she sighed. "Because damn right we're cute together. If you can't accept that, I'm sorry but that's the kind of negativity I don't need in my life. I think we should take a break."
"Sammy, don't." The assassin looked aged suddenly, like the exhaustion had reached its peak, as he watched the others play around behind them. "Natasha said we were cute, but the archer he... he didn't agree. He thought maybe it was – actually, the exact words he said was that he's sure..." Bucky gathered his words with an awkward grunt. "Stockholm Syndrome, is uh, what he said."
The words sucked the oxygen from the air, and suddenly it felt like she was choking. "Buck…"
Bucky let out a weak chuckle. "I'm glad you know what the fuck he was talking about. I didn't, had to ask Jarvis to explain it to me in small words," he admitted, voice strained and still mockingly amused. "Did you know that it's basically a survival mechanism? Captive develops a bond with their captor. Thinks they're human. Thinks the good guys, the police, the army, are really the bad guys. I thought it was stupid at first, then I started looking a little closer at our relationship. I, uh, I didn't think it was so stupid then."
Samara felt her chest shift too fast with every breathe, enough to spark up pain in her side. The thought had never entered her mind before, but now it wrapped around like her like vines, making her flinch back from the man and his accusation.
Bucky frowned at the twitch. "I don't know if you want to hear this but – "
"I don't. I really, really don't." Samara decided, pushing to her feet and stumbling back. The chuckle that pushed past her lips sounded manic. "I think I need to eat something."
The mumbled words were a poor excuse to escape, but it gave her enough time to start moving back towards the small mansion on the beach front. Stockholm. It wasn't something people threw around without care. It was a serious condition, she knew that much, knew it wasn't something you laughed at, or brushed aside. It was mental, in your head, something she couldn't fix.
But it didn't… it didn't mean anything to them, did it? Yeah, she'd developed a bond with him, but what person wouldn't? It had been two weeks in his company, what was she expected to do? Hate him?
Then again, being broken into, kidnapped and held at knife point should've made her hate him.
"Samara, wait."
Stockholm though, didn't it take more than mere weeks to develop, and didn't it need a direr situation? There hadn't been any need for some survival instinct to kick in because there hadn't been a risk to her survival, right? It had been made clear from day one, that if she wanted to leave, she was more than welcome too. Barely an hour into their first meeting, he'd fainted for fucks sake. He'd given her the perfect opportunity to hand him in and she hadn't.
It had been her mind – not the symptoms of some syndrome – that had decided the man was worth helping.
The mansion was cooler than the beach, and the first burst of air conditioning was like a slap to the face. There was no syndrome affecting her mind – and they were both fucking idiots for ever thinking there was.
Bucky grabbed her upper arm, spinning her around and tearing her back from her thoughts. "Samara, goddamn it, I said wait," he snapped, panting lightly to recover from the impromptu jog. His eyes fell to the silver fingers wrapped around her skin, and he paled, dropping her arm. "You can't run from everything, you know? Sometimes you have to deal with it."
The only reply she gave was a disinterested hum. Where was the kitchen again?
The assassin might've let her get away before, but he wasn't keen on letting it happen again. There was a low growl before she'd taken more than a step, fingers grabbing the curve of her shoulder and slamming her back against the glass slider. "I said wait."
Samara blinked. "I'm hungry," she announced dully, giving his hand a pointed look. "I want something to eat."
"You want an excuse to run and hide," Bucky countered quickly. "But I'm not going to let you. This has been making me suffer for days, it's your turn now."
The words should've bugged her, they should've made her hackles rise and a comment build on her tongue but they didn't. Samara gave a muted sigh, meeting the hard glare and shaking her head. "You're an idiot," she murmured softly, brushing away his hand. "My idiot. Come on, think about it. Something like that doesn't develop overnight, it needs weeks and – and if you remember, it was overnight that I decided to help you. You woke up in a bed, not handcuffs, remember? If anything I was the captor."
Bucky was the one who blinked now. "No, I..."
"Buck, please. You fainted within the first hour, I had all the time in the world to call the cops. I didn't. I'm still fuzzy on the why, but there... there was something my mum used to tell me when I was younger. You can be on the side of the angels, but be the devil, or you can be on the side of the devil but be an angel," she smiled minutely, no longer wondering why the phrase had stuck with her so damn long. "I was the one who thought you needed help, not some survivalinstinct. You understand that, right?"
Bucky frowned, shifting his weight. "How did you know I was… an angel, then?" he tested, leaning away and giving her more space to breathe. "How did you know not to call the cops on me? I didn't give you any reason to think I was a good person."
"You didn't give me any reason to think you weren't."
"I gave you enough," Bucky grumbled roughly. "I had a knife remember?"
Samara sighed, taking his hand and leading him to the nearest flat surface. "Wanna know what my first thought about you was?" she questioned, continuing to lug him around. He went willingly enough, letting her tug him down beside her on the couch. "Apart from the shit he's so huge he could snap me in two like a toothpick? My first thought was that you reminded me of a wild animal. Scared, cornered."
Bucky snorted. "I was not scared. Cornered maybe, confused definitely. But I wasn't scared," he argued, slumping back against the cushions. "After what I've seen there is very little that terrifies me."
"I terrify you, don't I?" Samara smiled coolly. "I know I do. I'm new, I'm unpredictable, and what's worse is, I matter to you."
The fleeting glare was enough of an answer.
The doctor grinned more warmly now, leaning over to bump his shoulder with her own. "See? I win, now shut up so I can finish my monologuing," she commanded, taking a deep breath in and sorting her thoughts. "James – don't argue, you're lucky I didn't use your full name – we developed a bond because I wanted us too, okay? You fought it, I'll give you that, but you still lost and that's why we're where we are. It wasn't some animalistic instinct. I wasn't trying to win you over so you wouldn't kill me. I was trying because I thought I was doing the right thing."
Bucky swallowed, his throat bobbing before he let out a sigh. "Stockholm…" he cleared his throat. "It's not here? That's all I want to know. I don't care about your reasoning, I just wanna know you're with me 'cause you wanna be."
"Yeah, I'm with you cause I wanna be, you big nerd," Samara chuckled. "God, what a sap."
The comment didn't even earn her a laugh, big blue eyes watching her closely, like a scientist through a microscope. "I just didn't want – I didn't want to find out I'd basically taken away your free will. That it wasn't really you that was happy here, but some primal part of your head that had told you to be. It's too familiar, and I couldn't bear the thought of doing that to you."
And why hadn't she fucking thought of it like that?
Samara closed her eyes, wincing in time with her heartbeat. "I didn't think... " she admitted quietly, cursing under her breath. "Buck, no, I'm here because I want to be. I made this choice, I promise, please – "
The kiss was perfectly lazy, warm against her lips and she hummed in surprise. "I believe you," Bucky allowed, rubbing his thumb over the length of her cheek. God, she'd missed that. "I mean, why wouldn't you love me?"
"Speaking of love, that's the first time you've kissed me decades," she mocked gently, pressing a fleeting caress to his cheek before hugging him. "And speaking of love again, since it seems to be the popular topic, I would love to punch archer guy in the face right now."
Bucky chuckled, squeezing her softly before pulling back. "He has a name, darling."
Samara bowed her head in acknowledgement. "That's weird, so do my fists," she countered, lifting clenched hands and gesturing to each of them in turn. "This one is called karma, and this one is justice. They protect the innocent and punch the not so innocent. Usually in the face. Don't you know how the legal system works in this day and age? When someone is found guilty of being a jerk, someone is then punched. Archer guy is someone."
The assassin let out a practised sigh. "You're not punching anyone."
"I don't wanna punch anyone, I wanna punch archer guy."
"You're not punching archer guy."
"Oh, so you're gonna punch him?"
Bucky adopted an exasperated look. "No one is going to punch anyone, okay?" he announced, eyeing her awkwardly like he expected her to start swinging. It wasn't him she wanted to punch, so she didn't know why he'd expect such a thing.
"Duh. I know that. I'm gonna punch archer guy, he's not anyone. He's archer guy. Got a name remember?"
The glass sliding door squeaked under a hand, and both sets of eyes – one amused and the other frustrated – darted to the door. Steve was leaning against the archway, expression worried and cheeks flushed red. "Um, are you two okay? Tasha said you looked like you were fighting?" he stammered awkwardly, clearing his throat with every word. "Just wanted to check up on you."
Samara turned with a set gleam in her eye, and a rigidness to her shoulders. "Clint is a dead man," she declared, pushing to her feet and brushing away grabbing silver fingers. "Better yet, he's a wounded man. Both his face and his pride."
Steve looked behind her for help. "Uh, what?"
Bucky grabbed her waist before she could move, pulling until she hit his lap with a muffled sound of surprise. "Don't worry about it, punk," he promised brightly, holding tighter when she started to squirm. Damn it, why was he ten times stronger than she was? "We had a little disagreement but we worked it out. Oh, and Barton will be fine. This one is all talk and no walk, if you know what I mean."
The super soldier chuckled at them both, shoulders slumping forward and death grip on the door releasing. "You had me worried for a second there," he admitted. "Clint's a good friend. I'd hate to see him wounded."
"That's a shame, because soon you're gonna."
Bucky squeezed her hips in a reprimanding manner, earning a squeak. "As I said, don't worry. All talk and no walk."
Turns out she had some walk in her after all.
Clint held the cloth to his face with a sour expression, annoyed every time he pulled it away and saw the crimson splattered on the material. It was strange that he was irritated at his body's bleeding – apparently twenty minutes was too long for a bloody nose to last – rather than the woman who made it bleed in the first place, but he wasn't going to argue. Bucky was happy as long as the archer didn't decide to swing back.
"Do you need another face cloth?" Samara offered brightly, holding up the white material with a shit eating grin. If she had any regrets about the right hook, it didn't show. "That one's looking a little run down."
Clint snorted, and then instantly groaned when the red wash started anew. "Give me the damn cloth," he hissed, snatching it from dangling hands.
Samara practically skipped back to the assassins side, dropping onto his lap without a care in the world. It would've set some darker part of his mind alight with possessive delight, but all he did was quirk up a brow and rest both hands over her legs. "What?" she asked, seeing the look directed her way. "I was being nice. Look, I gave him something to cover up his shame and embarrassment."
Bucky smothered a smile. "That's not nice, beautiful," he informed her, turning to catch a glimpse of the archer and his reddening shirt. It was a shame he'd decided to wear white that morning. "That's you rubbing the salt in the wound."
"That sounds about right," Clint muttered, voice thick.
Samara glared, like she was scolding him for speaking up in the first place. "So what if it is?" she grumbled childishly, crossing her arms and lifting her chin. "I have salt, he has a wound. Forgive me for making use of both things."
Natasha – who'd surprisingly let the hook come even though she could've easily stopped it – gave an appeasing smile. "Is someone still a little bitter?"
The doctor didn't glare at her though, apparently not willing to rock the boat that much or happy someone was on her side. "Maybe," she allowed slowly, blinking lazily at the woman. "I was actually just thinking how his cheek is looking relatively unharmed from where I'm sitting. Am I going blind or is he only bleeding from one of the many orifices on his features?"
Bucky smothered a chuckle into a clothed shoulder.
"You're terrifying," Tony squeaked from across the room, ducking behind a broad blond shoulder. "Remind me to never make you mad. No, scratch that. Jarvis make a note – do not fuck with the doctor unless you're willing to embrace death."
Jarvis didn't miss a beat. "Note made, sir."
Natasha gave a warm hum, coming closer to pet the archer consolingly on the back. "I think you should make another note," she warned lightly. "Do not fuck with the renowned assassin unless you're willing to embrace death. Something tells me she doesn't take well to people screwing around with her plaything."
"I don't take well to people screwing with the people I love," Samara corrected quietly, tucking her body comfortably against the broader one beneath her own. It was the movements that made him smile, the words that made him melt, and the glare she directed at the archer that made him wince in sympathy. "I'll admit the hook was a little much, but you had no right to make assumptions like that. Even if you thought we'd never hear it."
Clint hesitated, but gave a short nod and dorky smile. "This is the part where you make me feel guilty, isn't it?" he asked, looking around the room and taking in the nods. "Natasha is teaching you well, I see."
Natasha grinned. "I haven't even started giving her lessons yet. Our dear Samara is this evil all on her lonesome."
Another squeak. "Terrifying."
Clint looked to the two who had spoken, humour and irritation fading into something almost pensive. "The hook wasn't too much – I've had worse. But I'm glad we've..." he paused, pursing his lips and checking with the red head. They spoke spy for a few seconds, the archer deciding everything with a firm nod. "I'm glad we've settled this? Drew some lines, so to speak. I know how far I can go now before I get punched in the nose."
"Next time I'm aiming lower," Samara growled, giving him a quirked brow and pointed look. If there was any heat behind it, it was dissipated by the kitten like way she snuggled down further into her assassin's lap. "Much lower."
Tony made a strangled sound.
"Next time I'm swinging back," Clint countered, wrinkling his nose and throwing the cloth to the side. There was the slightest dribble of red coming from his nostril, but compared to the gushing fountain from ten minutes ago, it was nothing. "Creepy assassin guard dog boyfriend or not, I'll swing, and I'll land one. You'll be looking at more than broken pride, honeycakes."
Bucky felt his brow tick down. "Did he call – honeycakes? Boy, I'm going to punch you next," he warned, tightening the grip he had on slim hips. "Soon you'll be looking at more than a broken nose, sweetheart."
Natasha blinked. "Take it they haven't met Laura?"
"Laura?" Tony questioned. "Who's Laura?"
Clint took a deep breath in, staring down the red head. It was another conversation, spoken through silence and wiggling eyebrows, and it was another win for the female. "Laura Barton. Laura Barton as in my wife, Laura Barton," he shrugged, looking more than a little uncomfortable. "It's why I'm not staying the whole trip. I promised to take the kids to the water park next week…"
Tony almost tripped over his own feet, while sitting down and also completely still. "Kids?"
Golden eyes blinked, and there was a look of confusion before; "You have kids?" was cutting through the air. It was enough to make the soldier she was using as a pillow wince. "Oh, how old are they? Past the terrible toddler phase I hope?"
The smile the archer gave was the first genuine one he'd seen from him. "Yeah, my babies, they're the most important things in my life. Cooper is the oldest, and Lila is my youngest, but we're… we're trying for a third. I'm not a fan of even numbers, you know?" he teased, not even bothered when the small dribble started flowing more freely. "Unless we have twins. In that case, I'm gonna have to accept it."
Samara straightened up, murmuring a soft apology when she elbowed her assassin. "Triplets would really make you a happy person," she mused gently, brushing her bangs away from her features. "Your wife knows then, I take it?"
Clint didn't ask for an elaboration. "Yeah, she does. It doesn't mean she's happy about it, but she thinks these guys need me."
Gold hit him hard, and Bucky barely managed anything more than a breathless smile. "Sounds about right," Samara chuckled, scratching lightly at stubbled cheeks. "I'm not pleased he's decided that risking his life every other day is a viable career option, but well – well, without him, you guys would probably be less awesome as you kick ass. You'd still kick ass, but you'd be lame."
Bucky nodded. "Looking awesome is what really matters. Not that whole saving the world nonsense."
"Hear, hear," Samara allowed, holding up a pretend cup and clicking it with silver fingers.
The archers gave an obedient laugh. "Yeah, anyway um, guys, okay…" Clint winced and straightened up. "Okay listen, this can't leave the mansion. Fury went through a lot of trouble to keep it quiet, and I'd like to keep it that way, I'm sure you understand?" Everybody murmured agreements, happy to allow the small notion. "Tony? Tony, why didn't I hear your smooth vowels?"
Steve looked shocked. "He - he fainted."
Samara snorted, flicking her hair over her shoulder. "What a weakling. Anyway, please god, can I met your kids? I hate babies, but after the age of like, five and six, I love them. Your kids are over those ages right, otherwise, I'm sorry but yeah, no way are they coming within six feet. I have a world-wide restraining order. You'll find that it holds up in court."
Bucky couldn't stop the small laugh, head tipping back. "You'll find that that's not how it works, beautiful," he pointed out, tugging on the strings holding her bikini together. It earned a squeak and he grinned. "You can't miss the first six years of your child's life."
"Restraining orders can't be ignored."
"You'll find that kids can't be either."
Samara frowned. "You always suck the fun out of life."
Clint touched a hand to the bruising on his nose. "Nah, when there are kids in the picture you'll find there's no fun left to suck out," he grinned, pushing to his feet. "I've got my laptop with me, do uh, do you guys wanna skype my family? Coop loves to meet new people."
And we're back with act two!
I have many, many things planned with all these one shots. I have been listening to all your requests, not to worry, and trust me, I am doing them all. You'll need to give me some time though, of course, but I'll get them all out. Please remember, this isn't a story that will be updated on a weekly basis or on a schedule, it is simply whenever I've written something.
I do have other things I'm working on – believe it or not, I do, hush – and I don't want to put them too far onto the back burner. There are stories I've been promising for a while now, and I need to get them out.
Taila xx
P.S Jesika, my beautiful beta, I love you
