A simple mission. Get in. Remove the senator. Get out. No witnesses.
The soldier's well-trained body twisted and turned, slinked and darted by security cameras. The house was obscenely large and ornately decorated. The carpets were plush and exceptionally sound absorbent. The furnishings were lavish and pristine. Clearly, no expense had been spared in the interest of the taxpayers. This was all noted on the first sweep of bright blue eyes.
A second glance showed signs that the inhabitants of the house might not actually be sleeping despite the late hour. Passing by an office, a glass of water sat on a desk, condensing and puddling on the mahogany varnish. If the glass was still chilled enough to condensate, it was set there not long ago. There were no lights on, though. The assassin posited that the glass had been set down with the intention of doing some work in the office, but was forgotten upon its owner's change of heart.
As he passed the kitchen, he saw a shadow moving sluggishly at the coffeepot. Blue eyes watched carefully. Just barely illuminated by the moonlight shining in through the window, he could make out the pale grey of a security guard's uniform. On silent feet, he moved forward in a crouch, ready to spring into action if need be. The guard finished preparing his coffee and took a deep sip. He let out a contented sigh and set the mug back on the counter.
The assassin hooked his flesh arm around the man's neck, cybernetic hand clamping over his mouth and stifling his shriek of surprise. With a swift twist and tug, the man's neck gave. Silently, he lowered the body to the floor and exited the kitchen, again becoming a mere shadow travelling the halls.
Finally, he located the master bedroom. He pushed the door open cautiously, and was relieved to see the senator had already retired to her bed. She was facing away from the door, and couldn't have been a more vulnerable target. Ghosting across the room, he noiselessly removed his weapon, silencer already equipped, from its holster. He loomed over the large bed, staring the target down. The slight dip in the mattress as he leaned forward and the feeling of the gun's barrel against the back of her head roused the senator from sleep before he pulled the trigger. The silk sheets swam with blood.
Two fingers confirmed the absence of a pulse before the assassin stood straight. Suddenly, from the doorway, a distraught voice announced, "Gramma, I had a nightmare!"
The assassin looked up in time to see the little girl freeze upon finding him. She was all baby chub, pink cheeks, and bright, innocent eyes. Her red hair was a bed ruffled mess and a stuffed rabbit hung from her small hand. He approached her swiftly, and the child backed up, flight instincts alerted despite her young age.
Get in. Remove the senator. Get out. No witnesses.
He lifted his arm and gazed down the barrel of the gun before his finger squeezed the trigger.
Bucky shot up in bed. His stomach was churning, bile threatening to burn its way up his throat. Tears poured from his eyes and strangled sobs resonated in his chest. He was an absolute fucking monster.
He became dimly aware that Harper had jumped up at his sudden movement, too. Slowly, she reached out to him and placed a cautious hand on his cybernetic arm. Suddenly, the thought of her touching the most dangerous part of him, a part of him so drenched in blood, was too much. His body moved independent of thought as he shoved her away before curling in on himself. His face buried into his knees as he tried to control the shaking of his body and the choking sobs in his throat.
"James, I'm really sorry," Harper said gently. "I wasn't thinking. I shouldn't have just reached out to you like that. I truly apologize. Is it okay if I touch you?"
Her words took a moment to process, but twisted his already delicate stomach. Frantically, he shook his head in the negative. She was too good for him, too precious for his evil touch.
"Alright," she replied easily. "If that changes, let me know, okay? Do you know who you are right now?"
Pressing his face harder into his knees, he managed a single, jerky nod. The tears were slowing, but the tension, guilt, shame, and panic were still racking his body.
Harper continued, "Do you know where you are?" Once she had been met with another nod, she asked, "And you know who I am?"
Bucky grunted his affirmation, eyes squeezing shut tight as he desperately tried to rein in all of his wild emotions and racing thoughts. He was a monster whose sins could never be atoned. Maybe he deserved to feel this way.
"Well, that's a relief. You know, I'm really happy you're able to come out of your flashbacks and reorient so quickly. I imagine it took you a lot of work to get to this point, and I admire your resilience."
The former assassin was equal parts baffled and comforted by her words. He was despicable; how could she admire anything about him? But she was so, so good. Surely, if she saw anything positive about him, he might be at least a little redeemable?
"From everything you've told me, it actually seems like you've always been resilient. You've been through a lot, and you still keep pushing through every day. You have such a capacity for compassion and loyalty despite everything, too. That's a real show of strength."
They continued on this way for another several minutes before Bucky felt calm enough to begin loosening his muscles limb by limb. Finally, he sat beside her normally, now overrun by exhaustion and a whole new wave of guilt.
Unable to look up and too afraid to even look in her direction, he muttered, "I'm so sorry, Harper. I should've never… I never wanted… god, I'm so sorry I laid hands on you. Are you alright?"
"James, it's really okay. I'm completely fine," Harper assured gently. "I should've been more mindful of you."
He shook his head, burying his face in his hands. "It's my fault. Everyone I touch gets hurt. I shoulda never touched you. A man should never touch a woman like that. I'm so sorry, Harper, so sorry…"
"Can I touch you?" she asked quietly.
Slowly, committing himself to being safe with her, he nodded. Harper's arms came around him in a firm hug. She held him for several moments, neither of them moving or speaking. She tucked his hair behind his ear before returning her arm to the embrace. Lips brushing his shoulder, she whispered, "You're so strong and so brave, hun. In my eyes, you have nothing to apologize for. But I understand why you feel differently, and you're absolutely forgiven."
He didn't deserve forgiveness. Not from the many innocent people he had killed, or from their families. Not from Steve for everything that happened between them in D.C. Not from himself, knowing the full extent to which he had devolved into a mindless monster. And not from Harper, who he had been continuously lying to and who he had just been physical toward. Yet she gave it to him, easily and openly, firmly and assuredly. His chest tightened with warmth and a complex web of unnamable feelings.
Carefully, he let his head drop to her shoulder. She asked, "Do you want to talk about it?"
He muttered a feeble negative. Her fingers threaded through his hair and they spoke no more.
Over the next several days, neither Bucky nor Harper mentioned the incident. However, in that time, he noticed Harper favoring her non-dominant arm and sometimes absently rubbing at her right shoulder while she worked or while they watched a movie. He realized with sheer horror that he must have bruised her when he pushed her. He couldn't bear to stay silent with this realization.
James: Harper, we need to talk. Are you free tonight?
Harper: Yes, I'm free. Is everything alright? Should I be worried?
James: Don't worry. I just need to talk to you. I'll grab food and meet you at your place?
Harper: Whatever you want, hun. I'll see you later.
The former assassin went through the rest of his day on autopilot. He fretted the entire day over how to broach the issue with Harper, agonizing over what he even wanted to come of the conversation. Was it safe for him to continue being with her? He hadn't forgiven himself for anything he had done as the Winter Soldier, but he'd been able to move forward, to become a productive, peaceful member of society, and most of the time he didn't dwell on his sins. But if he ever hurt Harper, really hurt her, he truly didn't think he could move on. She was absolutely undeserving of the risk of harm he presented. She was so truly good, so kind and caring, had experienced too much pain already. He couldn't hurt her. He wouldn't be another source of her pain.
Bucky arrived outside Harper's door just as nervous and confused as he had been all day. He held his breath and knocked. From inside, he heard approaching footsteps, an annoyed feline yowl, a hissed curse, and then the door opened. He released the breath he was holding as a chuckle, unable to remain tense with such a welcome.
Looking bashful, Harper explained, "Aslan hates when I step over him, and retaliates by swatting my feet. But he was lying in the path to the door so…"
She stepped aside and allowed him entry, tilting her chin upward to receive a greeting kiss. Bucky couldn't bring himself to give it, merely stepping into the living space. He didn't miss the flash of disappointment across her face.
"I brought salmon from Florin's," he explained, gesturing at the bag in his hand.
"Thanks, James," she replied, her cheer sounding rather flat. "It was so good last time we ate there."
"Should we talk first then eat, or multitask?" he asked, glancing nervously at the brunette.
"Honestly, I've been freaking out all day. Let's talk first, because I won't be able to eat feeling like this."
Bucky's expression fell and the guilt in his stomach hardened like a pit. "I'm sorry I made you worry, Harper."
"Let's sit," she suggested.
He nodded his agreement and they sat on the couch. She settled with her legs crossed beneath her and her back resting on the arm of the couch so that she could face him fully. Bucky clenched and unclenched his flesh hand apprehensively before biting the bullet. "Harper, the other night when I pushed you… did I hurt you?"
"James, we talked about this," she replied with a frown. "I'm fine."
"Your shoulder has been sore ever since." Harper tensed for just long enough to alert him that his assumptions had been correct. He continued, "I don't want to put you in a position where you could get hurt, least of all by me."
To his surprise, she rolled her eyes and then levelled him with a burning glare. "So this is a breakup conversation. You didn't have to make a consolation dinner out of it."
"What?" Bucky asked, taken aback. "I don't-"
"Oh, bullshit. Honestly, James, what is your desired outcome of this conversation? You text me out of the blue saying we need to talk, and you're opening this dialogue by saying that you don't want us to be in a position where you could hurt me. You're coming out of the breakup gates swinging."
"My desired outcome?" he repeated slowly. Blue eyes shifted to his hands, clenched atop his knees. "I guess I was hoping you'd calm me down like you always do. That you'd say the perfect thing as usual, erase all this guilt, and it'd be just as easy as always to be together."
"Don't you think that's a little unfair to me?" He looked up at her, surprised at the usually cool, collected young woman he had come to rely on. She heaved a sigh and explained, "James, you know I want to be there for you and support you in any way I can. And I intend to keep doing that so long as we're together in some capacity. But you can't come here expecting me to figure out how to avoid a breakup only you are considering!
"Was it sort of scary the other night? Yeah, absolutely. It was scary because I'd never seen you hurting like that before. I care about you, and to see your pain and your distress was alarming. It wasn't because you pushed me. I'm the one who's literally trained to handle things like that, and I triggered you anyway. I take ownership of that, and place none of the blame on you. It never even crossed my mind that we would be having a conversation about breaking up because of this, just that I needed to be better should it ever happen again. So to expect me to figure out a way to avoid a breakup that wasn't even a consideration of mine is unfair."
Feeling chastised and wholly overwhelmed, Bucky was silent. His eyes traced her face, noting the upset flush to her cheeks and the wetness building in her red-brown eyes. Her dark hair fell in waves over her shoulders. He reached for a lock idly with his metal hand, letting the sleek metal contrast against the espresso strands. Finally, he admitted, "I hadn't thought of it that way. I guess… I know I'm more reliant on you than I should be, but I didn't think about how unfair that is to you."
She lifted her own hand, catching his and lacing the cool metal digits with her own warmer ones. More gently, she corrected, "That's not what I meant. I rely on you a lot, too. More than I should, and more than I've ever allowed myself to rely on someone else. What I meant is that in this relationship, I can't bear the full burden of keeping us together. To me, this is a partnership; if you have an issue, you can't expect me to single-handedly resolve it for you."
He nodded and sighed. "You're right. Okay, so let's resolve this."
"Okay," she agreed, settling their joined hands on her knee. "What're you thinking? Where is this coming from?"
Bucky looked away, shame flaring on his cheeks. "I don't deserve you. And you don't deserve the risk I pose. That's what I'm thinking."
"You've always been so caught up with 'deserving,'" she gave him a smile that was equal parts sad and fond. "Don't erase my agency with your perception of what I deserve, James."
"It's hard not to when you don't know a fraction of what I've done," he muttered, staring at his lethal hand held by her much smaller one.
"James, are you talking about anything you did under your own free will, or is all this guilt for things you were ordered to do?"
"Just because it wasn't my will, doesn't absolve my having done those things."
"Maybe that isn't enough to forgive yourself, but to me it makes a difference. If you got your jollies causing harm to people or animals, or were like sexually aggressive or some shit, then yeah, we'd have a whole lot of issues. But all I can see is a wonderful, kind man who has been deeply hurt by other people forcing his hand." Harper smiled softly down at their clasped palms. "And despite all that pain, this man once told me he wished he could empathize with my experience of pain, too."
His chest was tight, touched and guilty for the clear affection she held for him. "That nightmare I had the other night? I was sent on a mission with orders to leave no witnesses. A child saw me."
It wasn't hard for Harper to draw the clear conclusion. She said nothing for a moment, and he couldn't read her expression. A moment later, she said, "That must have been so awful for you, James. I'm sorry you were put in that position."
"Can you really feel that way? It doesn't bother you that you were sharing your bed with someone reliving the memory of shooting a young girl?"
Harper sighed and replied, "James, it's nothing short of tragic the lives that are lost in wars and conflicts. But from what I can see, yours was a casualty, too."
He couldn't look at her anymore, his eyes rapidly welling with tears. "An insufficient price to pay."
"I'm not trying to convince you to share my feelings on this, in no small part because I know that isn't something I can do for you. I'm just trying to get you to see things from my point of view. I feel we've gotten a little off track. So you've been thinking about the feasibility of us being together because you feel you're a risk to my wellbeing, and because, in your view, you're undeserving of being with me."
"Basically. I don't ever want to hurt you again, Harper."
"Then perhaps my response is relatively clear. I don't like imposing the concept of 'deserving' on us. To me, you've been an incomparable force of positivity in my life. I was really fucking low when we met, and you truly help keep me afloat, and I'm happy with you. This is an ideal kind of partnership to me. If it's not for you, then I'd say we have a bigger issue at hand. In regards to your concerns for my safety, perhaps we simply need some ground rules to alleviate your worries?"
"I can't even tell you how happy you make me, Harper. That's definitely not the issue," he assured earnestly. After a moment he added, "Rules could help."
"Okay. What would make you feel safer should something like that ever happen again?"
"Just… please keep your distance when I'm in it. If I can reach you, you're too close. If I move toward you, do everything you can to get away. You won't be able to fight me off, so just… make sure I can't get to you."
"That's reasonable," Harper agreed. "Was it okay the way I was speaking with you?"
"That helped," he admitted. "And Harper… if the rules aren't effective enough, then I really don't know that I could agree to this kind of risk again. I'm selfish, I want you so badly, and I hate the idea of not being with you, but ultimately, I want you to be safe more than I want to be happy."
She scooted closer, nestling into his side. With his hand clasped between both of hers, she assured, "We'll both be alright, James."
A/N: Thank you for the continued support. I would really appreciate feedback if you have the time. I find it difficult to gauge whether things are working or not without some sort of interface with those reading my stories. Thoughts on my portrayal of Bucky? What about Harper? Are things moving to slowly? Any feedback would be amazing. Thank you again!