Chapter 30: Revelations

Bucky kept a watchful eye at the pub the whole evening, just waiting for Dominic to show up. The entire group wasn't out tonight; it was just Mika and Elena, chatting away like they hadn't seen each other in years and knocking back drinks like they were dying of thirst. He stayed with them for the first few rounds, but once he deemed them safe from unwanted advances, he decided his night would be better spent checking the perimeter. He'd neglected this duty for the past few nights, and while he was steadily becoming better and better at ignoring the pull from his training, sometimes he had to indulge it. When Mika was safely past the four drink mark and Elena started trying to sit in his lap, he decided it was time for him to take his leave.

"Will you be alright if I head out?" he asked Mika as Elena traipsed off to the bar. She grinned at him, her eyes already glassy from the alcohol as she gazed at him with a goofy grin. She put her hands on his cheeks and leaned in close enough that he could smell the drink she'd had just moments earlier.

"I will be just fine. Hans will cut me off if I get too rowdy." she said, stroking his face with her thumbs. The touch was gentle and warm, and made him feel like a hive of bees was stirring behind his sternum. It was just because they hadn't spent time together in a week, he told himself. He needed to get accustomed to the stimulus again. He hesitated for a moment before reaching forward and patting her knee.

"Call me if you need anything." he said, standing up from the table. Mika's brows furrowed.

"Wait, you're not going to tell Elena goodbye?" she asked, looking across the floor to see where her friend was. Bucky shook his head.

"You know she won't let me. She'll just keep trying to grope me." he replied, making her giggle. She nodded, grabbing onto his hand to pull herself to a standing position.

"You're right. She just doesn't get you like I do." she said, pulling herself in for a hug. Bucky let himself be surrounded by flowers and her embrace for just a moment before stepping away, giving her one last grin before stepping out into the chilly night. He took his time on his route; with the changing of the seasons, there were multiple new details that he needed to log. Besides the landmarks, he was also starting to learn about the people in the city he recognized from their regular visits to the pub. There was a group of university-aged boys that often came Thursday nights instead of the end of the week, but Bucky discovered that they rented a small town home a few blocks away and apparently housed their own get-togethers on the weekends. The middle aged woman who worked third shift and usually stopped in for a quick drink always walked her dog when she got home. The young couple who had supper at the pub almost every night weren't a couple at all, but instead coworkers and roommates, though he wasn't sure exactly what they did for work.

The deli down the street was now advertising autumn-themed desserts. A few houses had decorations up depicting witches and spiders and pumpkins with faces; it took him a moment to remember that Halloween was near. The clothing store two kilometers northeast was having a sale, and he wondered if Mika knew and if she was going to use it as an excuse and make good on her promise to take him shopping. The church was dark and quiet, but the windows at the Father's house across the street still shone in the night. He contemplated stopping in to say hello, but decided it was too late at night for a casual call. Perhaps another time. It was well into the morning hours when he finally scanned into his building, so late that even the student on the fifth floor was asleep. He assumed he would be the only one awake at this hour, but as he rounded the halfway point up the stairs he was met with the sight of Mika, sitting on the steps and leaning heavily against the railing. For a moment he thought she had fallen asleep there, but she started giggling as he came into her field of vision, gazing at him through half lidded eyes.

"Thought you said Hans would cut you off?" he asked, unable to hide his smile. Her laughter came out in hisses this time, stopping abruptly as her hand slipped through the bars of the railing and her head smacked the metal. He winced appreciatively, kneeling in front of her and gently turning her head so he could examine it. She groaned, rubbing the offended area with her palm. "I think you'll live."

"Are you sure I'm not concussed? I feel dizzy. And sleepy." she said, her speech only slightly slurred. He gave a brief huff of a laugh, brushing her hair away from her face to make sure she wasn't bleeding. There might be a bit of a bruise, but other than that she was fine.

"That's probably the alcohol. Why are you on the stairs?" he asked. He tried to pull her to her feet, but she adamantly maintained her position on the step. She heaved a heavy sigh, ignoring his hints to stand up and instead just holding his hand.

"I was going home...but then I got tired. So I decided to take a little break." she said lightly, finding a way to lean against the railing without knocking her head into it. He could smell the liquor on her breath, and her eyes were generally unfocused. He'd seen her drunk before, but not on this level.

"Come on, let's get you home." he said, taking hold of both of her hands and slowly helping her to her feet. She groaned loudly, turning it down as he gently shushed her. She hung heavily on him, and he was worried that if he let go, she would go tumbling straight down the stairs.

"Sorry." she whispered before dissolving into laughter again. "Are you taking me home, Bucky? You saucy, saucy man."

"Someone has to make sure you get in bed." he replied as they slowly navigated the stairs. That was the wrong thing to say apparently, because she gasped dramatically and laid a hand over her heart.

"You want to take me to bed?" she asked incredulously. She could barely finish the sentence before chuckling at her own joke. He couldn't help but let out a low laugh as well, amused by how funny she found herself.

"How much did you have exactly?" he questioned, trying to keep her awake and mobile so that maybe they could make it to her apartment by dawn. She paused, looking up and the ceiling and letting out a drawn out uhh as she thought. After a full minute, she stopped, making and 'I don't know' noise and gazing at him innocently.

"Hans tried to say no more but Elena - she snuck behind the bar and borrowed a bottle. So, to answer your question, I had exactly too much." she said, her words surprisingly sharp for her state of inebriation. She went up two more steps, then stopped again, this time looking at him with tears in her eyes. "I'm sorry I'm so drunk. I didn't mean to be, honest. You don't have to take care of me, I'll be fine, I know I'm annoying."

"You're fine. By far not the worst drunk I've seen." he replied, gently guiding her so that she continued up the stairs. She sniffled a bit, holding tightly onto his arm.

"You promise?" she said, her voice sounding small. He gently patted her back, trying to give her some sort of comfort. He'd meant his words; he remembered his nights with the Commandos, and how they often started fights or turned into blubbering messes and passed out at their tables. No, she'd at least made it home, and was coherent enough to listen.

"I promise. Now come on, let's get you some tea and get you to bed." he said. This seemed to brighten her mood, and she allowed him to lead her up the stairs to her apartment. She leaned against the wall next to her door, clumsy hands digging through her purse in search of her keys. He let her struggle for a minute before reaching his hand out, offering to search for her. She smacked his hand away, continuing her quest until her keys emerged victorious - and immediately fell from her hand and to the floor. She let out a tired sigh, and Bucky bent down and picked them up for her, unlocking the door and pushing it open. She stumbled in, dropping her bag and kicking off her shoes before going to lean heavily against the kitchen island.

"Oh my God, I'm gonna regret this tomorrow." she said, closing her eyes and taking a few deep breaths. He tried to get her to sit in one of the tall chairs at the island, but now apparently she wanted to stand. He shook his head, going to grab the kettle.

"Thought you didn't get hangovers?" he asked. It felt like an entire lifetime had passed since she'd told him that, the very first night he'd been in her apartment. So many things were different now. She leaned over, resting her head on her forearms and groaning loudly.

"Thought you knew I was bluffing?" she questioned in return, her voice muffled by her position. One corner of his mouth quirked up in a grin as he filled the kettle with water and placed it on the stove. Without lifting her head she asked, "Are you making tea?"

"Of course. You're really going to suffer tomorrow if I don't." he replied in a cheeky tone, turning to lean against the counter. She slid herself along the edge of the island until she was on the same side as him, then pushed herself into an upright position just so she could collapse onto him in a graceless embrace. His right arm circled around her waist, keeping her upright as she rested against him.

"You're too sweet to me." she said, hugging him tightly. He gave a short laugh, her head bobbing as his chest moved. She groaned at the movement, and he stifled his amusement. His heart overturned at her words; sweet was not a word that he would use to describe himself.

"Full of shit." he replied. It was the best response he could come up with. She shook her head, burrowing into his sternum.

"Nope, I mean it. You're the best friend I've got." she said, moving off of him so she could lean against the counter opposite of him. He lifted one eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest to try and bring back some of the warmth that was there a moment ago.

"Don't let Elena hear you say that." he said, giving her a pointed look. She shook her head again, but stopped abruptly. Her eyes kept moving for a moment, and she quickly put her hands on the edge of the counter to steady herself. She gulped and took a deep breath before saying,

"Oh no. It's Elena's fault I'm in this state." she said. She sighed again, but her breaths were getting shallower, her face a little paler. "No, it's not her fault, I could have said no. I'm sorry, I definitely had too much."

"In your defense, you did say earlier you were planning to get so drunk you couldn't remember your own name." Bucky said, trying to cheer her up. She gave him a smile that quickly dropped as she took a short, sharp breath. He furrowed his brows, feeling the concern rise in his chest. "Are you alright?"

"Excuse me." she replied, turning and crossing her apartment with speed and purpose that he didn't think she was capable of in her state of inebriation. Moments later, he realized the reason for her focus as he heard her vomiting in her bathroom. He gave a long exhale before filling a glass with water and going to comfort her. Yes, this was beginning to remind him very much of his nights with the Commandos. He paused at the doorway to her bedroom; he'd never been in it, and was afraid to invade her privacy. But he could hear her in the bathroom, hear as she rinsed her mouth and let out her breath in a slow, controlled manner. She let out a strangled sound, and for a moment he was afraid she was either choking or vomiting again. But as she fell against the wall with a thump and slid down it to try and control her descent to the floor, he realized she was trying not to cry.

He pushed past his hesitance then, stepping into her room. He tried not to pry too much, but couldn't help taking a cursory glance before going into the bathroom. Things were lightly decorated in greys and pastels, not unlike her living room. Everything was light, and looked soft and comfortable. He lowered his eyes, following the light to the bathroom to find Mika sitting on the tile, her knees pulled to her chest and her head resting in her hands. She looked up as he kneeled in front of her, her makeup slightly smudged and her eyes struggling to focus as he held the water out to her. Her lips trembled slightly as she took it from him, taking a sip before chugging half the glass.

"You okay?" he asked softly, and she nodded in response. She held the glass back out to him, and he took it and set it next to the sink. She was quiet now, which was unlike her. He didn't want to bother her if she wasn't feeling well, but he also didn't want to leave her alone in case she wanted company. He settled for sitting next to her on the floor, hoping that was the right decision. She didn't lay her head against him this time, instead focusing closely on her nail polish and trying to pick it off. After a long bout of silence, she finally looked up at him, her eyes ringed with red and wide with an emotion he couldn't name.

"Can I ask you a question?" she whispered, and his heart jumped with nerves. That was always the most dangerous question of them all, and that was because he knew that he probably would not - or could not - lie to her. The alarms were going off, but they were faint, and he easily shut them down.

"Of course." he said, trying to make his voice sound confident but settling for neutral. She bit her lip for a second, and he realized she was trying to garner her courage for something.

"Am I a bitch?" she asked, her voice still soft, vulnerable. She still was looking at him with her sad doe eyes, and he felt like someone had slipped a knife between his ribs. He'd heard once that there was no such thing as a stupid question, but he definitely believed this one was. He would have laughed, if it weren't for the look on her face.

"No, you're not." he said, and this time it was easy to sound confident. Sure, maybe Mika was sarcastic, and impulsive, and a little bossy at times, but she was far and wide not a bitch. She blinked a couple times, his words slowly sinking in. She tilted her head to the side, and he could almost see the moment when her attention shifted and she found a new subject to breach.

"Why are we friends?" she asked this time, and he felt his stomach turn at such a blatant question. He hadn't thought about it himself, simply accepting it as his new normal. He didn't think she questioned it at all.

"What do you mean?" he countered, seeking clarification. Her query made no sense to him, and he didn't understand why she was wondering about it now.

"You're all cool and tough and kind and strong and I'm just...a mess. Why are you friends with me?" she asked it in a different way. This time he couldn't hold back the low chuckle. It really was funny to him, that she didn't think he was a mess as well. He was more of a mess than she would ever be.

"I need someone to get me out of the house and enable my caffeine habit." he replied, hoping to get a laugh out of her. The likelihood that she would remember this conversation was very low, so the best he could do was put her in a good mood before she finally gave in and went to sleep. She looked at him very seriously, and for a moment seemed to believe this to be his true answer. But then she noticed his smirk, and let out a snort of a laugh. The sound seemed to surprise her as much as it surprised him, and she dissolved into giggles. He continued, "You're a great friend, Mika. Best friend someone could have."

"No no, that's you." she said, taking his elbow and raising his arm so she could position it around her shoulders. She nuzzled into his chest, holding his hand with both of hers. The cool tile floor was a sharp contrast to her warmth, and while it had been many years since he'd held anyone so close, he felt comfortable. He never thought he'd be in this place again, but she made it easy for him. After a year and a half of friendship, Bucky could safely say that she was the one person that made him feel like he could let down his guard, at least a little bit. He hadn't felt this close to someone since Steve, but something felt different this time around. He attributed to the brain damage inflicted over and over by Hydra. She relaxed fully against his side, murmuring quietly, "I could just stay right here forever."

"You'd get hungry." he said, and while she still giggled, it was quieter, more subdued. The alcohol was catching up to her, and soon she would be asleep. But until then, he didn't mind sitting with her.

"You'd take care of me. You always do." she said, squeezing his fingers affectionately. There was a burning behind his sternum that he didn't quite understand, and he shifted slightly so that she was pulled just slightly closer to him. "Thank you for always being there, Bucky."

"Anytime." he said gently, and he meant it with all his being. She pulled his arm further around her, and he felt the desire to press his lips to the top of her head, though he didn't know wh-

Yes, he did know why. The realization hit him like a ton of bricks, his blood turning to ice as the thought circled through his head. His feelings towards Mika were no longer platonic.

Honestly, he felt like laughing. He'd been so ignorant for who knows how long, assuming that he was incapable of ever having these sorts of feelings. He tried to push the idea away or bury it deep, but it kept resurfacing, kept forcing its way back to the forefront of his mind. He tried to attribute it to the dream he'd had, but he knew it was a weak excuse. This was not something that had developed overnight.

He was saved from his downward spiral by the kettle in the kitchen whistling. Mika groaned next to him, completely unaware of the internal crisis he was going through. He took a deep breath, gently untangling himself from her and going into the kitchen. His movements were stiff and robotic as he mixed her tea since his attention kept shifting elsewhere. He took the mug back to her bedroom, setting it on the white nightstand next to her bed. When he turned to fetch her, she was already pulling herself to her feet, her movements still slow and a little uncoordinated. She delicately moved towards him, smiling brightly as she spotted the cup on the side table. His heart felt like it was in his throat. She took his hand as she walked by, and electricity seemed to surge through his body. She collapsed onto the edge of the bed, and he was so distracted that she almost pulled him with her. Their faces were close, incredibly close, and he didn't want to move away, but he did. And instead of pulling her closer, he helped her into bed, pulling the soft grey and teal covers over her. Her dark hair spilled across the white sheets, and he noticed she still hadn't let go of his hand.

"Goodnight, Mika." he said softly, her name suddenly feeling different in his mouth even though he'd said it a thousand times before. His feelings were overwhelming him, and he didn't trust himself to say anything more. She gripped his hand one more time before letting go, reaching instead for her cup of tea.

"Love you, goodnight." she sang, her attention completely on the tea in front of her. Meanwhile, he felt like he'd been punched in the gut, and he wondered if she knew the weight of the words that she said so lightly. He didn't answer, instead making sure his movements were slow and controlled as he left her apartment and went into his own.

He felt like his mind was reeling, the energy coursing through him nervous and anxious and excited all at once. He paced around his apartment, trying to get his mind to settle. He didn't seem able to finish one thought before another interrupted it, and it was making his head hurt. He picked up his journal, determined to organize the wildness going through his head somehow. He gazed at the blank page in front of him for a long time, trying to decide where to begin. He glanced up for a moment, his eyes falling on his sleeping bag on top of his mattress. The whirring in his brain quieted, and he sat up a little straighter.

Mika's apartment was light, airy, open, cheerful. But as he looked at his own environment, he saw nothing but a testament to the darkness and paranoia inside him. He took careful steps to his window, pushing aside the gauzy curtains to check the newspaper lining the glass. The seal was still unbroken, dimming the lights from the streetlamps below. He paused, his thoughts becoming more methodical as he ran through the checklist he'd perfected when he moved in here. His next stop was the kitchen, gently prying up the laminate and pulling the backpack from the space underneath. He placed it on the kitchen island, unzipping it and taking inventory of its contents. All the explosives and contingencies he'd stolen were still tucked inside, in the exact positions he'd left time last time he'd checked. He picked up one of the grenades, carefully turning it over in his metal hand.

He suddenly felt tired, deflated. His very bones seemed to ache with fatigue. This was the reality of who he was, and he wondered if he was foolish to believe he could be anything else. He returned the backpack to its hiding place, placing the flooring back over it. His legs felt like they were filled with lead as he dragged himself to his bed. He didn't bother going through the motions of his nighttime routine, instead just pulling off his boots. He started to get into the sleeping bag but paused, looking at his hands in the faint light of his apartment.

These feelings were real, he was positive of that. He'd spent enough of his recent life learning the difference between what was real and what was stuck in head to know that what he was feeling was not manufactured. But still, the concept felt so completely archaic and unfamiliar to him. He knew, logically, that he had to have experienced these feelings before, back before The Fall. But after everything that had happened, after everything he had done, he hadn't expected to ever feel them again.

What was he supposed to do about this? He racked his brain, trying to remember something, anything, from his time before Hydra. The word steady crossed his mind, but the idea still seemed foreign. How was he supposed to handle this squeezing in his chest, or the turning of his stomach? How was he supposed to look at her when his heart was in his throat at the sight of her? How was he supposed to woo her when his tongue dissolved to ash when he tried to speak?

There was a burning pain behind his eyes that he did not recognize. He put his hands on either side of his head, squeezing slightly. How could he even think of being with someone when he had so much blood on his hands? His presence would forever dampen her light, and he couldn't bear the thought of dragging her down to the depths with him. He would have to push his feelings down, down so deep that they would not see the light of day, down so deep that they would never cross his mind again. He would pull away from her. That was the only way she ended up safe, and happy, and alive. She did not deserve the boiling mess that was inside him. She did not need to be tarnished by the darkness inside him. No, he would not act on his feelings. In fact, it was probably best if he never saw Mika ever again.

The conclusion left him with a gaping hole in his chest. Mika had helped him - saved him, really - with her friendship. She'd pulled out the part of him that had been locked away for decades. She'd helped him see past the shadowy corners of the world, past the blood and the death. And he was so, so grateful for that. No, he wouldn't repay her by smothering that goodness with his own inadequacies. She deserved better than that.

For a moment, he wondered if he squeezed really hard, if that would be enough to end it. But he shook that thought away. That was not the answer to this problem. Instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the phone she had given him, the metal moving oddly against the metal of his hand. He planned to crush it, to make a clean break, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Instead, he opened a message to Hans, saying he would have to take a few days of personal leave. Then, he powered the phone down, threw it into the corner, and curled up in his sleeping bag to go to sleep.

The next morning, Mika woke up with a raging hangover. Well, it was morning to her, though the clock was already ticking towards noon. She'd not felt this horrible after a night out since her second year at university, when she learned better - or so she thought. She groaned as the light from her window hit her eyes, immediately splitting her head in half. She needed water. And ibuprofen. She pulled herself from her bed, spotting her half-full cup of tea on the nightstand. That's right, Bucky had been with her last night. Her memories were spotty at best, but she remembered him practically carrying her up the stairs, and sitting with her on the bathroom floor. The rest was a little hazy. She picked up her phone, looking at it with one eye closed as she keyed a message to him:

Thank you for your help last night. Don't know what I'd do without you.

She hit send, trying to get her sluggish brain to come up with a way to repay him for being such an amazing friend to her. She didn't know what she'd done right recently for the universe to give her such a wonderful person in her life, but she wasn't sure she deserved it. There was still a half a glass of water on her bathroom sink, and though she wasn't sure how it got there she sure as hell needed it. She found her bottle of painkillers, taking it with her into the living room. She knew that she needed to eat something, even though her stomach still felt like a rolling sea storm. It was agonizing, waiting for her toast to finish toasting and her large cup of coffee to finish brewing, and she tried to distract herself by taking more food options over to the coffee table. She knew herself, and knew that once she crumpled into its plush, comforting depths, she would not be getting up again.

A few hours later, Bucky still hadn't responded to her message, but that wasn't necessarily unusual. He may already be at work, and unable to check his phone. As the sun began its descent, she was still feeling absolutely miserable, and her biggest success of the day was not losing what little food she could stomach. So, with much sadness and regret, she opened a message to him for the second time that day:

I'm sorry, I can't do movie night tonight. I'm currently dying from this hangover.

She didn't expect a response to this one either since he was definitely at work by now, but part of her hoped he would surprise her with some leftovers from the pub. Plus, she could use the comfort of having him by her side. He always had such a soothing presence. But a few hours later there was still no word from him, so she figured he was busy or tired or something and went ahead and crawled back into bed. She was bound to run into him at some point tomorrow, whether in the hallway or while he was at work.

But she didn't run into him the next day. Or the day after that. He still hadn't answered any of her texts, and all her calls went right to voicemail. By Wednesday, she started to worry, and checked with Hans to see if he'd been in to work. Her anxiety grew when he told her that Bucky had called in for the week, and hadn't given an exact time for his return. She knocked on his door morning, noon, and night, but there was no answer. Thursday night, her messages still hadn't been marked delivered, but mysteriously Friday morning, they were. Okay, so he was alive. He was just ignoring her - or perhaps, she rationalized, he was distracted. Perhaps there was some big emergency that had taken him off the grid for a while, and he didn't have time to respond. Sure, she would have sent a quick I'm okay message, but that was her. Bucky didn't have the same habits. But she did start realizing signs that he was still next door: the smell of garlic and spices seeping into the hallway, or the creaking of the stairs at odd hours. He was obviously home, but still not responding to her. Her heart sank as she wondered if she'd done something stupid that night, something to make him so upset with her that he completely shut her out. Saturday morning, he didn't show for their usual plans, which was definitely something he would tell her about. She must have done something really awful.

She was at the gym late that night, trying to work off some of her anxiety and clear her mind. She had to figure out how to apologize when she couldn't even get him to talk to her. Bucky was one of her best friends, and the thought that she had said or done something so irreversibly offensive that he would completely ghost her made tears spring to her eyes and a band tighten around her chest. She walked back to the apartments trying to be calm and rational instead of an overemotional mess, but she was quickly careening in that direction. As she turned the last corner, she spotted a familiar figure in a jacket and baseball cap entering the building, and her heart nearly lept from her chest in elation. He was too far ahead of her to call out to him, but at least she knew he was home.

She took the stairs two at a time, her adrenaline fueling her all the way to the top. She was breathing way harder than she should have been as she knocked on Bucky's door. She tried to quiet herself, listening for the sound of his footsteps or the turn of his lock. But neither one of them came. She knocked again, this time a little louder. Perhaps he had his headphones in, and didn't hear the first time. Still no response.

"Bucky?" she called, knocking a third time for good measure. "Bucky, come on, I know you're in there." she added, though he still did not come to the door. "Look, if - if there's something going on, or something happened, I don't want to pry, I just want to make sure you're okay." The silence was deafening at this point. "I...I know that I was way too drunk last weekend. And I'm really, really sorry that you had to see me like that. And I know I - I probably said something stupid, or did something stupid, and I'm really sorry-" Her voice cracked at that point as her emotions overflowed. "You're my best friend, please tell me how I can make it up to you."

When there was still no response, she'd resigned herself to the fact that the damage was done. She thought getting back with her ex was the stupidest thing she'd ever done, but this was worse. This was so much worse. The part of her brain trying to protect her heart said that maybe he wasn't home, maybe she was making this dramatic apology to an empty apartment. But her heart knew the truth: he was hearing every word, but her words weren't good enough. She took a shuddering breath, and was just shifting her weight to return to her own apartment when she heard his lock click. The air caught in her throat as she waited, her body paralyzed with hope and anxiety as he opened the door just enough for her to see him.

"Oh thank God, you're okay." she said, and a weight she didn't realize she was holding lifted. Even if he was mad at her, at least he was alive. She wanted to launch herself onto him, give him the biggest hug he'd ever received in his life, but one look in his eyes stopped her in her tracks. He looked...not tired necessarily, but worn down. He looked like every burden of the human race was on his shoulders. Her heart went out with him, and she felt the crippling guilt as she wondered what exactly she did to make him look that like. Her voice was shaky and hesitant when she finally spoke again. "I'm really sorry, about last weekend. I was completely out of line, and I'm so sorry that I was not a good friend-"

He gave a breathy laugh, but there was no humor in it. Oh God, it was worse than she thought. But he surprised her by saying, "You have nothing to apologize for."

She was stunned by that, her insides and her brain churning simultaneously as she tried to decipher what exactly what was going on. She didn't have all the pieces, and that scared her. "Then why have you been shutting me out? What did I do wrong?"

"You didn't-" he stopped himself, looking down for a moment as he tried to gather his thoughts. She could hear the metal of the doorknob squeaking, and she assumed he was gripping it with his prosthetic hand. "That night, I just realized...I'm not good for you, Mika."

"Of course you are." she said immediately. Not good for her? That was the most ridiculous thing she'd ever heard. Alarm bells were blaring in the back of her mind, her muscles tingling. This was not the first time she'd heard something like this. "Bucky, we're best friends, okay? I want to support you the same way you support me. If something's happened, if you're in some sort of trouble-"

"It's not on you." he interrupted. His face looked like he was in physical pain - which, knowing him, was very well possible. "Just trust me. Trust me when I say it's better for you if you forget all about me."

"Bull shit." she retorted. She was having trouble breathing now, and felt like her heart was bruising her sternum with how hard it was beating. Was this a dream? This had to be a dream. A nightmare. "Bucky, what is going on? Please. Talk to me. Whatever it is, we can fix it. I'll help you fix it."

"I'm not worth your time, Mika." he said. His voice was not forceful or harsh. It was quiet, resigned, sad. She felt like all her organs had liquefied. A voice in the back of her mind was screaming, something's not right, something's not right!

"Of course you are." she said, and she'd never wanted so badly to know what was going on in his head. "Bucky, you are the kindest, bravest, smartest, most loyal person that I know and-"

"Mika-" he tried to stop her again, but this time she didn't let him. The pain on his face was worse now.

"-and I know that we've had a bit of a rough go of it recently, but that doesn't change the fact that I love you and love having you in my life-"

"-Mika-"

"No! You are amazing, and whatever this is, we're going to work through it, because friendships like ours are not common, and-"

"Mika!" this time his voice was so sharp that she actually stuttered to a stop. His chest was heaving, even though she'd been the one rambling at lightning speed. She wanted so badly to hold him in that moment, but knew he wouldn't let her.

"What?" she asked, and while she wanted it to sound challenging, it barely came out as a whisper. He swallowed thickly, his mouth opening and closing a couple times as the words hung on his tongue. This was it, he was giving her what she wanted, giving her whatever truth he'd deemed so horrible that his only action was to cut himself out of her life.

"Mika, I was the Winter Soldier."

Oh. Shit.

Thank y'all so so so much for all the wonderful feedback! I can't tell you how amazing your reviews are and how much I appreciate them. I love hearing all your thoughts on this! Especially dramatic moments like this one!

Please let me know what you think, I hope you enjoyed it!

-XM