Bucky awoke to an odd feeling – one that was familiar, but which he hadn't experienced in a long time. It took his sleep addled brain a moment to realize that it felt like he was sleeping next to a warm body because he was sleeping next to a warm body. His eyes opened in surprise and found a mass of dark hair beneath his chin. The former soldier slowly realized that he and Harper must have fallen asleep at some point. It was probably a natural shift in position, especially for her, as the spot he last remembered being in consisted of them sitting in the center of the couch with her supporting his much bulkier frame. They each lay on their side now, bodies flush together. Both of his arms were wound securely around her waist, holding her tight to him in the small space they shared.

He allowed himself a moment of indulgence, hearing that her breaths were still slow and even with sleep, and buried his nose in her hair. The dark locks were soft against his skin, and offered him the chance to appreciate the way she smelled. It wasn't something that he had ever really concerned himself with when he had dated in the past. Of course, there was something tantalizing about the different perfumes a woman would wear, and it was satisfying to wake in a bed that smelled of a perfume well worn into the sheets, but what lay beneath the artificial scents was never really noteworthy. When he became the Winter Soldier, all of his senses were heightened. His improved sense of smell was honed through training, and put to use on many missions. Now he used it to commit to memory the very mild, soothing smell of Harper's hair.

Thoughts of the night before began to trickle back into his consciousness. He was mildly embarrassed at the display of emotion he had allowed Harper to see, but was grateful she had taken it all in stride. One of the constants between them was that she always somehow knew what to do with him. She offered a quiet strength, a subtle comfort that had always touched him deeply. She didn't ever come off as coddling or overly sympathetic. He would certainly dwell on the warm pressure of her hand holding his metal one for a while, and would long for the rhythmic stroking of his knuckles, too.

The feeling of longing brought him back to when she was making tea, shame instantly twisting his chest. He remembered feeling an overload of emotions, but also numbness, which allowed him to drift into a dark place in his mind. He remembered that place tempting him to turn himself over fully to the numbness of lust, to use her to sate his needs and to provide his mind with reprieve. Bucky felt disgusting. Harper wasn't a tool, especially not a physical one, and he was ashamed to have thought of her that way, even if only briefly. His arms tightened around her, and he pressed his face more deeply into her hair.

It was probably another half hour before he heard the change in Harper's breathing, indicating her release from sleep. She shifted against him and a tiny groan signaled her last desperate attempt to prevent herself from waking. He felt her take a deep breath before she was still again. For a moment, they just laid there. He wondered if she knew he was awake, if she thought him creepy for just holding her while she slept.

A hand found the skin of his forearm, fingertips skimming lightly before she gently shook him. "James?"

Bucky hummed, confirming he had heard her.

"Good morning," she greeted.

"Good morning."

"How're you?"

He snorted a short chuckle. "Pretty good. Are you ignoring the position we're in by engaging in totally normal conversation?"

"Enjoying it, honestly. Prolonging it with small talk."

The former soldier was taken aback. "Really?"

She hummed her affirmation this time, offering nothing more. He had no idea what to make of that, and settled for tilting his head upward slightly, allowing her head to tuck beneath his chin again. Comfortable silence fell over them, and her fingertips traced feather-light, nonsensical patterns on his skin. Bucky wasn't sure how long they stayed like that, but was sure he could have continued on for a long time. All things must end, though, and his simple happiness embracing Harper was no exception.

"I should get home to Aslan," she muttered.

"Okay," he agreed. It took another beat for his body to agree, but then his arms retreated from around her. She sat up carefully, conscious of their close proximity, before standing. Turning to him, the young woman offered him a hand. He took it, not for needing help, but entirely for the chance to touch her again. She pulled him into a seated position and they paused for a brief moment before dropping their hands. Bucky wondered if something had changed between them, or if he was projecting his feelings onto her.

Clearing his throat gruffly, he said, "Thank you again, Harper. I hope I wasn't too burdensome."

"Never," she promised, shaking her head.

"Want me to walk you home?"

"I'm okay," she assured. "The sun's out now. I'd rather you take a long, hot shower and get yourself some breakfast. Take care of yourself a little, okay?"

"Yeah," he nodded.

"Will I still be seeing you tonight? If you're feeling up to it?" she asked, and he noted some apprehension in her voice, almost as if she was bracing herself for a rejection.

"As long as you'll still have me."

A smile turned her lips. "Of course I will. It is Saturday, after all."

Things with Harper had remained mostly the same as ever in the weeks following her night on his couch. The only change seemed to be that the invisible barrier that largely kept them apart physically had rather disappeared. They sat closer together on the couch, walked closer together on the street, and she had allowed her head to fall on his shoulder toward the end of several movies. He enjoyed this closeness; it had been a long time since he had engaged with any sort of wholesome, comforting contact, and he had never been so close with a woman before. Sure he had been physical with women, but there was something much more intimate about the way it felt to touch Harper. Perhaps because he had never really found himself to be emotionally close to a woman before her.

Harper: You home?

James: Just leaving the docks, so I should be soon. Why?

Harper: I'm coming over to hang up some curtains.

James: What're you talking about?

Harper: You need curtains.

He flushed, realizing that she was referring to his newspaper covered windows. Curtains had seemed frivolous, and blinds were too expensive, but when he moved into the apartment, he had to find a way to stay hidden. A few stolen newspapers had done the trick.

James: You didn't need to do that.

Harper: Are you mad?

James: No, not at all.

Harper: Then don't worry about it.

Fuck, Harper. You could write a book on how to make me fall for you.

There was something really satisfying about opening up a new journal. The spine was stiff, the pages crisp and clean. The last moments of the book being pristine before he poured memories swathed in blood and tears into it. But this journal was going to be different. Or at least, it would, if he could get up the courage to start it.

He had a backpack half full of notebooks containing all of his memories up until fleeing to Bucharest. His childhood, Steve, the war, the experiments, seven decades of cryo and murder, waking up to realize that everything he knew had changed, almost everyone he knew was dead, that he had been forged into the perfect mindless weapon and could be turned back by anyone who knew his code. He didn't want to forget any of this; he didn't know who he had become, but everyone he had been was captured in his journals.

He had decided months ago that he needed to ensure he would remember Harper. But actually putting pen to paper, to write out their story, was the hardest yet. The horrors, the gore had spilled from the pen, his nightmares pouring from him in droves of blood and fear. It was all visceral, factual. His slow progression from wariness, to companionship, to trust, to true feelings for Harper was, in a lot of ways, more muddled and amorphous, and certainly more intimate to have to put into words.

The tip of his pen touched the paper and began to map out the first time he met her. As hard as it would be, he wouldn't forget.

James: How much does Aslan weigh?

Harper: Like… 22 pounds? Why?

The former soldier kept her waiting, using the information she had just supplied to inform his purchase. As he walked away from the vendor, he pulled his phone out again.

James: You'll see tomorrow when we meet for coffee and tea.

Harper: You tease!

James: Guilty.

Harper: You're so mean :'(

James: Only to you.

Harper: You wound me.

James: Come on, doll, you'll be fine.

Harper: Only if the anticipation doesn't kill me!

James: See you tomorrow.

"Is there ever a pause in the business down the hall?"

"I think business is pretty nonexistent during the day," Harper answered. "But I'm not positive, since I'm rarely here during that time."

"Doesn't it bother you?" Bucky asked, following Harper to the couch and setting the bag of takeout on the coffee table.

"It did for quite a while after moving in. Now, most of the time, I don't even really notice it. Like traffic in a big city, ya know? But it does provide an occasional laugh. I wonder if men really fall for the over the top fake orgasms I sometimes hear. Like for real, do y'all not see through that shit?" Harper laughed.

"I don't know," Bucky shrugged. "I don't think I've ever seen a fake one."

"Mhmm, so you do all fall for it," she smirked, reaching for the brown paper bag.

"How d'you figure?"

Harper reached over and patted his knee sympathetically. "Look up the stats m'dear."

"What you're implying is… troubling."

"I'm sure you're just lovely," she reassured with a snicker. "But there's always room for improvement. In the meantime, don't worry; most ladies have it pretty well figured out for themselves."

Bucky cleared his throat, trying not to dwell on her continued implications. He had a feeling this most recent sentiment would be fuel for later lustful musings. Thoughts about what the lady beside him might have already figured out were already threatening to form.

"Do you want dibs on the chicken thighs?" he asked, watching her unpack the takeout as if she hadn't just detonated a sex bomb. "You don't really care for many other meats, right?"

"You're delightfully observant," she complimented. "If you don't mind, the chicken thigh and maybe one sausage would be perfect for me on the meat front."

"I don't mind," he agreed. "Want me to get some plates?"

"Yeah, that'd be good," she nodded. "Easier to share. Aslan! Get off the table!"

Bucky couldn't help but smile as she began shooing away the fluffy orange carnivore that had invited himself to dinner. The former soldier moved to the kitchen to retrieve plates and silverware. He returned to see a mouth-watering spread of chicken, sausage, pork, cheese croquettes, pickles, bread rolls, mustards and garlic sauce. "Shit, this looks amazing."

"There is something sinfully delicious about there being no greenery in sight."

"Pickles are green," he argued, sitting down and passing her a plate.

"Don't be an ass," she warned without malice.

Bucky placed the largest chicken thigh on her plate along with a sausage before beginning to load up his own with pork and sausage. Once they had taken their fill of food, Harper set the movie they had queued up to play. Blue eyes glanced sideways. Things were so comfortable and easy with Harper. He couldn't help but think he could see himself with her in a very long-term way.

She's like no other woman I've known. Before enlisting, the women I dated were beautiful, sweet, and docile. Harper is intelligent, strong, crude, beautiful… completely different. Maybe that's why I've felt things with her I was never able to with any other dame.

I'd always had vague images of my future before enlisting. The stereotypical life as a working man with a beautiful wife back home raising our children. She would wear pretty dresses that accentuated her curves, but it would never be too much. We would be comfortable and happy, raise our brood of kids, then grow old and die. I was sure that was to be my future and, though simple, that it would be enough.

Now, I have no idea what my future realistically holds. But I recently realized that a new vision has begun to take shape. I can now see years down the road, swapping playful banter with Harper, or talking about the latest books we've read. I'm not sure if children are part of my new ideal future, but I can see getting married to Harper in a simple ceremony. I don't think she would like all the attention of a full-blown, traditional wedding. And then nothing would change. She would remain as one of the closest friends I've ever had; we would be happy and comfortable together. She would continue with her education and obtain the licensure she needs to achieve her career goals. We'd both work during the day then come together at night. She'd lean against me, hold the metal arm I perhaps will come to hate a little less, and I'd get to smell her hair. We would watch an episode or two of our current favorite television show, then retire to our bedroom. She wouldn't be the homemaking, child-rearing wife wearing prim dresses. She would be the beautiful professional woman whose soft, relaxed side only comes out at home, where she feels most comfortable. And I would be happy.

Part of me feels crazy. Well, I suppose in a lot of other ways, I am. Regardless, it's almost insane to be able to see her as my wife when I've never even kissed her. But love was never really part of my initial plans for the future. The goal has always been to be comfortable and happy. With Harper, I certainly already feel that. And this is the closest I think I've ever felt to love for a woman. I know I decided to remain as just friends with her, and I will absolutely maintain that. But I am also going to milk the closeness I feel with her for as long as I can.

Bucky put his pen down, allowing a half minute for the ink to dry before closing the journal. He didn't feel much better after this latest entry, but he was satisfied that he had captured his most recent feelings on paper. Steve had always had a penchant for the strong-willed dames, and Bucky had never quite understood that. He liked the sweet, passive ones who awed at his good-looks and talents. But he truly wasn't that person anymore, and now could completely see Steve's point of view. A strong woman helped you shoulder your burdens, but was also able to push you in the ways you needed. They put a halt to your downward spiraling and thrust you back upward. They pushed you to be better, to be respectful, to be what they deserved. And they deserved a lot.

Harper: Have you seen the news?!

James: No, what's up?

Harper: You have to see it yourself. This is absolutely fucking insane. I'm freaking out.

Bucky put down his book and reached for the television remote. Breaking news blared from every channel. Blue eyes widened, taking in the insanity on the screen. Live from nearby Sokovia, footage was capturing something that looked more like a sci-fi horror film than reality. An army of robots was wreaking havoc on the capital city. Civilians were running in panicked droves. A group of ragtag, enhanced people seemed to be trying to keep the mechanical creatures at bay. Seeing a particular fighter dressed in red, white, and blue, his breath caught in his throat.

Harper: Are you watching?!

James: I am.

Harper: That's way too close to here. I'm seriously freaking out.

James: I'll be over soon.

Harper: Thank you. Seriously.

Bucky had no qualms about fulfilling her unspoken request. In part because he didn't much care for the thought of her alone and anxiety ridden, but mostly because she was right – this was all happening way too close to home. If there were more of those robot creatures running around, it wouldn't be a stretch for them to spread out to nearby countries. Who knew if they were maybe even on their way to neighboring capitals such as Bucharest? In the event that such dangers did spread, he would make sure no harm befell the young woman he had come to care for.

A/N: Many thanks for the continued support. Apologies that this update is coming a bit late! I hope that it does seem like we're making progress and moving forward in the timeline by this point. If you have the time, I'd love to hear your thoughts.