It Takes Two

Day 17 at the Retreat

It was snowing again. But at least Sam had come through. It wasn't an internet-capable device like Taylar had been secretly hoping for, but it was an iPod loaded with a massive amount of music, including all of her requests, plus some extras that Sam thought she might like. His thoughtfulness was touching.

But if she had to be honest, the music player was only partially for her benefit. She fiddled with the portable speaker, unsure if anything she was doing was going to matter. Bucky wasn't handling the isolation well. The nightmares weren't getting worse, but they weren't getting better either. He tried so hard to hide how they carried over into his waking hours.

It might have worked on anyone else.

Anyone but an empath.

The clatter of seasoned firewood against the floor brought her attention around. Bucky was already kneeling to restack the wood in the log-rack. Pocketing the iPod, Taylar double-checked that he'd closed the door securely. Engaging the deadbolt, she paused for a moment to watch the snowfall beyond the porch, before tugging the stays and closing the curtain.

The interior of the cabin dimmed. The firelight reflected in warm hues across the post-and-beam décor. When Taylar joined to help Bucky finish stacking the logs, he offered her a crooked smile, tentative and uncertain. It was his fault things were weird again, between them. He'd never slept so soundly and securely as he had with his head in her lap. They needed to talk about it, but he couldn't figure out how to start, and she never pressured him.

"This should last through the night," he opted instead for a safe topic. She was gathering up the smaller, splintered pieces and tucking them into the kindling bin. "Visibility's practically zero, so we're best off staying in. Whaddya think? Up for some poker?"

Maybe if he threw a few hands, he could get her to start that conversation. Then it wouldn't be just his awkwardness on display. But Taylar shook her head, the smile danced in her green eyes, even if it didn't fully spread across her lips. Bucky thought about teasing her until those dimples came out in force, but she stood up before he had anything clever to say.

"I have a better idea. Help me move the couch outta the way?"

He couldn't refuse. The couch and the coffee table both ended up being moved. The furniture was reinforced with vibranium struts, making it Hulk-resistant at least, much like the walls of the Retreat itself, but heavy and cumbersome to relocate. Bucky moved them both without a problem, figuring that she wanted a little more sparring practice. But as he turned from his appointed tasks, he caught her rolling up the rug and pushing it off to another wall.

Bucky's confusion only grew as he heard the burred tones of a muted trumpet. That trumpet was joined by woodwinds and percussion in an upbeat jazzy tempo. Recognizing the song finally, he couldn't help but beam in Taylar's direction.

"Glenn Miller over the Dorsey Brothers," he mused quietly as he joined her in the center of the newly cleaned out space: a dance floor. Offering her his right hand, Bucky reveled in the sound as it brought him back to who he was decades ago. "Miss Hardy, may I have the pleasure of this dance?"

Taylar's answer was instant, sliding her hand into his. "I thought you'd never ask, Sergeant Barnes." The brilliant, dimpled smile she shared with him was thrilling. It took Bucky a moment to find the beat, to remember how much he used to love taking the girls out dancing. Taylar sensed his hesitation, raised his hand and executed a spin on time. Muscle memory took over, and Bucky led off on the next crescendo, settling his left hand in the small of her back.

Taylar kept pace; Bucky was surprised that she knew the steps, she knew the timing and rhythm. He could turn her wrist, just so, and she would step out and away, opening up their frame into a guided spin.

"Not too bad," he complimented. "Where'd you learn how to dance?"

"Rich girl privilege." Taylar shrugged, dismissing any negative association she had with that thought. "Dance, piano, muay thai. Anything to keep me out of my parents hair as a kid." She gave his hand a squeeze in the lull between songs. Bucky hadn't stopped smiling yet. "You cut a good rug for an old man."

Bucky tipped his head back and laughed, the teasing hitting the mark easily. "Oh, so that's how it's gonna be? I'll show you just how good this old man really is."

He swept her around in a circle, momentarily lifting her bare feet off the floor. Taylar's laugh was a delighted one. Bucky seemed happy, at least on the surface, and he felt more at ease than he'd been in the last few days. Maybe this wasn't such a bad idea after all. Maybe, this gesture would matter. Maybe tonight he would sleep a little more peacefully.

Two songs, then three, he led her through moves that slowly increased in difficulty. Taylar couldn't tell if he was remembering the steps, or if he was subtly challenging her, waiting for her to forget a beat, or stumble.

Taylar didn't notice that the tempo had changed, until Bucky tightened his arm around her waist, pulling her closer. Her heart caught for a second, and she avoided looking up at him until she was sure she could breathe. The pause did nothing to help, as Tay looked up and became instantly lost in the blue of his eyes.

Flushed with warmth, Taylar swayed in place with him, her hands coming to rest on his chest as he let his hands slide across her back. He didn't try to guide them into anything more than the careful rock back and forth. Ella Fitzgerald's smooth voice filled the little cabin, bidding the listeners to "Dream a Little Dream of Me." Bowing his head slowly, Bucky's movement stopped until the pretense of dancing had faded away, and he was just left with the reality of holding a beautiful girl in his arms.

Closing his eyes, he rested his forehead against hers. He was desperately trying to quell the rising desire to taste her lips. If he crossed that line, he wasn't sure if he could stop himself. He wasn't sure she even wanted the same thing. She'd been nice to him, caring, compassionate even, but none of those things meant that she wanted him like he wanted her. Worse yet, he knew she could tell. There was no way she couldn't easily read his emotions, not with how raw and frayed he'd become.

Ella had long faded away, replaced by newer-era, lighter jazz. But Bucky found he couldn't move. He couldn't reclaim the pure joy he'd held earlier. "I do dream about you," he whispered roughly. He felt her hands curl into his shirt, taking fistfuls. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he forged ahead, putting words to the rising guilt. "I dream that... that we're something. Maybe we're even.. happy.. but.. it's always the same. They always come for you in the end. They always take you away... I always lose you.."

He kept his eyes closed so he couldn't see her reaction. But he felt her hands uncurl from his shirt; he felt how she cradled his face in her hands, running her thumbs over the two-day stubble on his cheeks. Even the whisper of his name, he felt as a breath against his mouth. His resolve almost broke in that moment; he was shaking with the strain of standing still.

"Look at me, Bucky, please," Taylar whispered again, hoping to get him to open his eyes. He was drowning, and like any man desperate for life, was holding to her desperately as a lifeline. She could only anchor him if she knew his mind was here, in the present, in the now. And not drifting inside the memory of nightmares. He drew back just enough to meet her gaze.

She was smiling, dimples in her cheeks turning the expression into something cherubic and innocent. "It takes more than a bad dream to two to scare me away."

Closing his eyes again, Bucky let the relief escape from him in a sigh. He'd been so worried that she would run if he showed any hint of attraction, that he had no idea what to do next. On impulse, he pulled her closer, feeling her rise up on her tiptoes as she snaked her arms around his neck. Burying his face in her shoulder, Bucky folded her into his embrace. Her fingers threaded through his hair, alternately ruffling and smoothing it back in a gesture that was strangely soothing.

He shuddered as she pressed a gentle kiss to the pulse point just below his jaw. It felt like a blessing and a benediction. But then she began to pull back, sliding her hands to his shoulders, and gently pressing him away. All the ways he'd screwed this up began to run through his head, souring any glimmer of contentment he'd entertained. But Taylar had other ideas.

The separation only lasted long enough for her to adjust her grip, taking a fistful of his collar in her hand, and pulling him back in. Not for an embrace this time; instead, she kissed him. Her lips meeting his in a burst of electricity and charge. Bucky groaned as her mouth opened under his, and he got the first taste he'd been yearning for.

She weight practically nothing as he lifted her off her feet; gliding his hand down her thigh, he coaxed her to wrap her legs around his waist. There was no way he was going to last long. It'd been too long; all those urges that had been buried and repressed for decades were surging to the forefront. He carried her to the wall, pressing her against it, grinding his hips into hers, as he devoured her mouth. He couldn't get enough.

He broke the kiss only to focus attention on her neck, trailing nips and soft kisses down her throat as she tipped her head back. The sounds she made only encouraged him; he wanted to hear her sigh his name in ecstasy. He didn't want to stop. She didn't tell him to stop either. Instead, she egged him onward, rucking his tee-shirt up until he yanked it off himself.

Pulling her off the wall, he cupped her ass with both hands, supporting her weight as she squeezed his hips with her knees. He was lost in another kiss, drowning in the bliss of being wanted. The couch would have to do. The choice wasn't a real choice, just an opportunity. A surface, something soft he could lay her down on. She'd barely unwrapped her legs from around him before she was stripping out of her sweater.

"Hot damn," he breathed, his voice thick and low. She was beautiful. Every inch as beautiful as he'd imagined. Freckles dusted her collarbones, and the swell of her breasts. He reached out, brushing the fingertips of his right hand across the curve of her shoulder, gripped with a need to savor the sight, to memorize it. If he never saw her like this again, he wanted to be able to remember her.

She caught his belt loops, pulling him a step closer. His world stuttered as her lips caressed a scar on his abdomen. Glancing down to warn her was his undoing. There was no stopping after that. What little control he thought he had unraveled as she met his gaze and enticed him with a smile.