Afterglow?

Day 18 at the Retreat

(part 1)

The fire was burning low. The brightening of the sky outside showed the lateness of the hour. But neither of them wanted to move, or speak, afraid it would break the fragile spell of peace and contentment. The bed was little more than the floor and blankets pulled off the couch and draped over them in the wee hours of the night while they dozed. Taylar used his right shoulder as a pillow; her fingers idly and slowly traced shapes against his chest, sometimes drifting far enough to the left to skim over the network of scars that spider-webbed out from the root of his vibranium arm.

His right hand fit the curve of her waist comfortably; his face remained pressed into her hair, as if that could write the scent of her into his brain. He knew it all had to end eventually. The world beyond the cabin would come calling eventually. Or she'd get cold.

It ended up being the cold that got to her first. At the first sign of a shiver, Bucky carefully removed himself from her arms, and tucked the blankets more securely around her. As he crossed the room to the fireplace, he heard her giggle softly. He wasn't sure what was funny about stoking the fire back up to a roaring crackle, but the longer he knelt in front of the fire and fed it logs, the more she giggled.

The sound should have been a delight to hear. It'd been growing in frequency the last few days, but it was still a rare thing. Finally, he caved, and asked: "What?"

Taylar propped herself up for a moment on one elbow, gesturing a hand at him. "Gives new meaning to the phrase buck naked." She'd barely gotten the reply out before the giggles manifested again, this time, as full blown peals of laughter that caused her flop onto her back.

She made a pun. She'd punned at his expense. Bucky wasn't sure if he was amused by this development. Instead of answering, he located his jeans and managed to pull them on as he headed for the kitchen. Taylar's laughter died pretty quickly when he didn't share her humor. Holding a blanket to her chest, she sat up and stared after him.

It took her a minute to separate out what she was feeling from Bucky's own emotions. He was a mess. Worse than usual. Rooting around in the blankets until she found her sweater, Taylar padded across the cabin after him. He was standing in front of the coffee maker with his head bowed, when she approached him.

"Bucky? Talk to me, please? I don't know what you're thinking until you tell me..." She lay her hand on his back, feeling muscles quiver at her touch. But he remained silent, just shaking his head slightly. She took a slow, deep breath, and steeled herself as she attempted to define the tangled wreck of emotions rolling from him.

She searched for it; she actively expected to find him regretting what they did last night. But, he didn't. And neither did she. She slid her hand slowly around his waist as she ventured closer, until she was able to rest her temple against his arm.

"Since you won't talk, I will." Taylar started quietly, staring at the dripping coffee with him. "I don't regret anything, and neither should you. I like you, Bucky. Maybe a little more than I should, after, what? Two weeks?"

She sensed that he agreed with her, even though he still didn't have anything to say. Taylar paused, trying to figure out how to articulate herself. It was a delicate situation, she decided. Either she would end up pushing Bucky away, or he'd see the rationale behind her thoughts. She turned, leaning against the counter, hoping to be able to catch his gaze. For the first few moments, Bucky studiously kept his eyes on the coffee pot, until she reached up, and gave his earlobe a gentle tug.

That got him to look her way.

"Whatever this is, Bucky, I don't want it to stop. I want to figure this out. Figure us out."

"But?" Bucky broke his silence with a tense whisper. He'd made the mistake of looking at her, and found he couldn't look away again.

Taylar sighed softly, but she smiled, the little adorable divots appearing in her cheeks. "But I think that for both our sakes, we slow down. You deserve much more than just a fun romp in the sheets, and I want to be sure I can be that for you."

"You are more than just a-" Bucky stopped short when Taylar waggled a finger at him.

"I like you, dammit. But I hardly know you. And you hardly know me. And I have a history of crashing and burning hard. I really don't want to screw up again. Not now. Not with you."

Bucky reached for her as the reality of what she was saying sunk in slowly. The metal fingers of his left hand uncurled, and he hesitated to touch her cheek, instead opting to twirl a honey-blond curl through his fingers. The movement brought her half a step closer, muscles in his abdomen quivering as she grazed her fingers against him. His question was silent, and her answer was equally so, as she tipped her chin up, raising slightly on her toes.

He had every intention of getting one more kiss before agreeing to slow down. But across the cabin, the computer chirped merrily, indicating an incoming video call. Bucky groaned in dismay as Taylar's heels lowered back to the floor. She tugged the hem of her sweater, and glanced down at her bare legs.

"You answer that? I'll go... yeah." Her cheeks colored pink as Bucky made his appreciation of her half-clothed state well known.

He scooped up his shirt as she disappeared into the bedroom. Marginally presentable, Bucky plopped down in the chair, gave a quick glance to what could be seen in the background, and hit the button to answer the incoming call.

Natasha was a red-head this week. Her hair was tucked behind her ears, and her attention was momentarily on something off-screen to the left. Bucky had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Whatever this call was for, it wasn't going to be good news. Natasha didn't hesitate; she lifted something into the view of the camera: a small plastic baggie containing something metallic and familiar.

Bucky's squinting confusion turned to deep gnawing fear as he recognized it for what it was: a Hydra insignia. His reaction must have betrayed his thoughts, because Natasha shook her head.

"We found it in Chesterfield's apartment downtown." She lowered the bag, focusing on it's contents, rustling the plastic as she turned it slightly in her hands.

Bucky scrubbed his face, resisting the urge to look towards the back room. "Cut off one head, others will replace it."

"Yeah, something like that," Nat frowned. "Look, Barnes, I don't think there's any coincidence here. Hardy was targeted. Either they were recruiting her and it went sour, or -"

"She's not Hydra." Bucky stated that with utter conviction, causing Natasha to pause and reassess the moment. Her mouth pursed slightly, as she eyed him through the screen.

"No, that's not what I was about to say." Nat's flat tone indicated just how irritated she was with being interrupted.

It was too late, however. Bucky was already on the defensive. The sarcasm rose up around him like a shield, outright denying that the woman in the other room had any voluntary ties to Hydra. "No? Because it certainly sounded to me like you were about to place that label right on her head. She was the one who was assaulted, Romanoff; she's the one afraid for her life right now. Besides, that, just interrogate Chesterfield. Fury's old hat at getting information out of Hydra spies, by now."

Natasha had sat back in her chair to give Bucky the visual space to verbally wind up, and wind down again. She scrunched her nose up for a moment, when he'd finished, and sighed softly. "Yeah, about Chesterfield. We were planning on interrogating him first thing this morning, but... well... his heart stopped last night."

It was Bucky's turn to sit back, scrubbing his face and head while he tried to unpack what Natasha was telling him. "In the permanent sense, I take it?" Bucky glanced to his right, checking to make sure the bedroom door was still closed. He bottled up his knee-jerk reaction otherwise, knowing that Taylar would be able to tell the moment his mood shifted. Shutting down wasn't easy when it came to her, he couldn't stop himself from caring.

"Steve thinks it was an inside job. Punishment for failing whatever objective is assigned to Hardy." Natasha tapped a couple of keys on her side of the display, and suddenly, her face was replaced with the topographic map of the area surrounding the Retreat. "He and Fury are on their way to you, but the storm is making anything but a ground insertion nearly impossible."

One glance and he knew what she was talking about. The Retreat was already compromised; Natasha was warning him that even the communications array might be bugged. The safehouse was no longer safe, and they had to mobilize to rendezvous with the incoming Quinjet at a lower altitude. Bucky gave her a nod, an affirmative signal to show he understood, before he disconnected the call.

Knocking on the bedroom door, he tried to compose just how he was going to break the news. But when he opened the door in the wake of her answer, it was clear that Taylar already knew. She'd heard every word. He didn't venture inside any further than a step or two.

"We have to go." His tone was apologetic, as he vaguely gestured towards the door. "Dress warm as you can."

He intended to give her privacy, turning to leave, but the sound of his name stopped him.

"I hated him." Taylar reminded him softly, as she got to her feet. "And I'm glad that he's not going to hurt anyone else anymore, but... I wish.."

"Justice. You wanted justice, and closure." Bucky knew that feeling. He understood it intimately. There was a gross litany of things he'd done that deserved the same thought. He could be the closure for dozens. "That's something Hydra's good at: robbing everyone of that chance."

Looking back into the room at her, Bucky stifled the urge to frown, while simultaneously squashing the need to gather her up and hold her. She didn't need the coddling. "Let's get out of here, first. We can figure out the rest as we go."