Bellamy's heels clicked on the pavement as she walked confidently towards the tall building in front of her. But she slowed, looking down with a frown at the briefcase she felt in her hands. Her navy blue pantsuit caught her eye next. Slowly, with looming realization, she looked back up and caught sight of the broad-shouldered man walking ahead of her, towards the same building. On the side of the building, she could see the glass elevator, sticking out and gleaming in the sunlight.

"Bronson," she called out, her heels clicking again as she started walking once more. He didn't turn to look back, and her once steady steps now stomped frantically as she ran. "Bronson!" He had reached the entrance and disappeared inside the building.

Inside, it was a hallow building, seemingly empty, with tiled floors and tall windows. Lifeless. "Bronson?" The elevator, the focal point of the room, was straight ahead and closing, with her brother inside. "Bronson, wait!"

Her heels echoed off the walls, distinctively filling the room with substance, as she crossed it. Her finger jabbed the up button harshly, repeatedly, in a frenzied panic, just trying to stop the elevator or bring it back down, rather than letting it climb. The effort was in vain. Next to it, she could see the door leading to the stairwell and she threw herself into it without thinking.

No matter how hard she tried pushing her legs, how hard she willed herself on, she couldn't go any faster. She kept tripping on the steps, but she continued on after each near fall, blind and desperate. It seemed to take forever to get to the 22nd floor. She ran for the door to get off, but paused with her hand on the handle, a cold chill tingling up her spine like someone was behind her. When she breathed out, she could see her breath in front of her. Through the window on the door, she could see the elevator straight ahead. It was stopped on the floor, but the doors remained shut.

Something was pulling her towards the elevator; she couldn't make herself stop walking, though her eyes darted around the hallway. The floor was barren and eerie, worse than the entrance of the building had been, with its flickering lights and chipped walls. Reaching the elevator, she hesitated, catching sight of her wide-eyed horror-struck expression in the gold reflection of the doors. Her hand trembled, she trembled, as she weakly pushed the elevator button to open the door.

The elevator dinged, before the doors parted her face into two and revealed two menacing empty eyes in her place. Shaggy hair framed his face. He was dressed in all black except for his left arm of glinting solid metal, and wielded a knife in his hand.

It was the Winter Soldier.

Inside the elevator behind him, she could see two bodies, each on opposite sides of the elevator, slumped against the glass. Bellamy's breath caught in her throat. She was suffocating and unable to breathe as she stared at the killer in front of her. At the bodies she couldn't look at.

"No," she choked out, beginning to back away and turning on her heel to run back towards the stairwell. Running was just as impossible as before. Her legs couldn't push her away from the horror fast enough, and before she knew it she stumbled and landed on the ground. "No!" Her scream of terror turned to unintelligible shrieking and whimpering as a powerful hand yanked the back of her jacket roughly, ripping the fabric, dragging her towards the elevator. He flung her inside violently and she landed on the ground with a thud, in between the two bodies. Her father and brother. As she stared between them, the blood, their injuries, their unseeing eyes, her own vision blurred.

The Winter Soldier towered over her, staring her down with sinister eyes, and she shrank back against the glass.

"Please…no. Please—please!" The elevator doors closed them in and suddenly he swung and hit the keypad with his arm, knocking the elevator into a free-fall. It left her Immobilized where she was and screaming as they plummeted past the bottom floor down to the basement of the building. They slammed to a stop, their bodies blanketed in the darkness with flashes of red, like siren lights. "No, please…Bucky. Please. Please don't." She sobbed, feeling hot tears rushing down her cheeks. He only stared back blankly.

"You're my mission." He stated mechanically, reaching down and she screeched, fiercely trying to shove away from him.

"Bellamy, wake up!" Her eyes flew up and she gasped, looking into the same blue eyes, feeling the same hands holding her shoulders. It took her a second to realize these eyes were terrified, another second to stop shoving against his grip, to realize this grip on her skin was gentle. The blackness of the elevator was gone. Streaming sunlight had replaced the black and she was on her sofa, not trapped in an elevator.

This was Bucky standing over her, not the Winter Soldier. He waited, watching her closely with complete dread in his eyes.

"Bellamy?" She blinked several times at him before a rush of tears hit her like a tide she couldn't fight and she pressed her hands to her eyes, though the rest of her crumbling face had already betrayed her. "Fuck." He breathed, sinking down to his knees beside her on the floor.

She took a breath to steady herself and blinked up at the ceiling to make sure of her surroundings, and shook her head.

"Just a nightmare." She breathed, and he scoffed bitterly.

"If you heard what I heard just now, you wouldn't just call it a nightmare. You couldn't stop screaming, and you were asking someone to stop. Me. You were asking me to stop." He rubbed his temple, unable to look at her. "I was hurting you."

"I used to get it a lot." Bellamy confessed as she swiped the wetness away from her face. "The same nightmare. Me seeing Bronson from a distance and trying to stop him from getting on the elevator. It was always just that. But this time…the Winter Soldier was there and I was just stuck in the elevator with him."

"With me," he corrected her. Bellamy turned to him. His expression had changed from that of dread and horror to smoldering anger, like the heat of blue embers in a fire. Whenever he gave in to his demons and allowed himself to hate the person he'd been, it was always a different kind of anger, a different kind of hate. Brooding. This was fire.

"Not you." She tried to reason, though her voice was shaky.

"Yes, Bellamy, with me. That is me. And you can't even wake up and tell yourself it's not real because it is and you have every reason to—"

"Stop," she sat up now. He began shaking his head, his eyes clenching shut. When he opened them, pointing directly at her, the blue within them seemed to be leaking out, threatening to drain his eyes of the color and leave them like empty coloring book pages.

"I'm sorry." He whispered helplessly in remorse as he blinked up at her. Helpless. "I'm sorry, Bellamy. I keep making you cry, the things I've done to you, their impact…I mean, I don't have any right complaining about not sleeping when you're having nightmares like this, nightmares I caused. Why have you been trying so hard to help me—it should be me helping you." He stopped himself with a long sigh and a bitter smirk. "But I can't help you. That's just the thing."

"Bucky…"

"I could do everything in my power to make your life a good one, but I still can't erase everything I've already done, everything I've fucked up."

"Okay, enough." She said, swinging her legs around the side of the love-seat. She leaned forward to talk to him. "Neither of us can control the dreams we have, you—"

"If it weren't for me you wouldn't be having nightmares like that in the first place. You should've never let me stay here, having me around you is doing no good—what am I doing for you? I have a nightmare, you come running. I can't say I'd do the same; you can't trust me—I can't even trust me. If you needed me, I'd be ducking for cover like a coward, I—" She stretched her hand out and lightly pressed it to the side of his cheek.

"Hey," she stopped him, looking him in his eyes. "Don't do this to yourself." He tried to catch his breath after rambling, staring back at her with miserable eyes. He leaned away from her hand and shook his head.

"Why are you wasting your time on me?" He whispered. It was very surreal, sitting here where they had just danced not even 24 hours ago, the both of them still dressed up. That atmosphere was gone, like a magic trick.

"I'm not wasting my time. I can see who you really are."

"There's nothing but spilled blood, that's all I am. I'm a weapon. I only bring bad into people's lives." He stood up, pacing. "Why did you even let me take you out anywhere last night, what was I thinking? Why did I ever entertain that idea, why did you?"

"We've talked about this. Agreed. We would both try and move on, leave the past in the past and try to stop and smell—"

"The roses, the roses." She flinched as he swiped the vase with the roses off the counter. It shattered on the ground with a large crash. "I can't just pretend everything's fine!" He yelled. She stood up and they stared at each other, and that's when she heard it; the silence. The kind you couldn't ignore because it was screaming.

Bucky's jaw clenched and she herself didn't know what to say to help anymore, not when she only felt like a fool. With nothing to offer, she made her way to her room and shut the door behind her.

Her eyes stared blankly at the door, and Bucky's yell kept ringing in her head, about pretending. There was nothing that could more accurately describe her other than a fool playing pretend. All she wanted to do was completely shut down her heart because now she knew for sure at the burning she felt that there was something sprouting inside, and it had the potential to be devastating.

This is why she always stuck with logic over feeling. It never failed. It kept her life straight and unbothered. But with a sigh, dropping to the ground with her back against the door, she realized it also made her cold. And, it would also undoubtedly leave her lonely for the rest of her life if she never let anyone in.

But that was thing, she didn't choose who she let in, no one did. Sometimes they just broke their way in and something inside decided they could see everything. And then, now, she was the one stuck with her guard dropped and no way at all of knowing how Bucky felt.

She dropped her head between her knees. The butterflies flying in her chest just the day prior, all day, were now making her sick. Maybe that was just a sign they didn't belong.

Why did everything have to feel like a horrible joke lately, why did her life feel like some cruel social experiment? How could she be doing this, how was she beginning to develop feelings for this man? All's fair in love and war maybe, but this was borderline cruel. This was also uncharted territory to her; before yesterday she could brag about never being one of love's fools.

With sinking realization, she realized it wasn't just yesterday that had done it. This had been building, and that's why it was gripping her so tightly. But now, sitting with her heart in her stomach, it was one of those damned if she did, damned if she didn't moments. To let herself fall delicately in love with all the sickening romantic gestures and infatuated emotions with the one man she never thought she would, or not love at all and miss out on something that would leave her always questioning for the rest of her life.

Sitting there, allowing the memory to come back of his hand supporting her waist, his hand laced with hers, the look in his eyes…she knew there had to be a chance he felt the exact same. But he was just as afraid as her. Because life had only been unkind to him and had ripped everything he had ever known away. But neither of them could just give up on something they never even started.

"Bellamy?" His tentative voice came through the other side of the door and it almost came as a sign of reassurance. Hang in there, be patient with me, please, he might as well have said. Calmly, she replied back through the door.

"I'm here." His reply came after a long time of contemplating hesitation.

"Can you open the door? Please?" She stared straight ahead. "I understand, if you don't want to see me…" After a moment, she scooted to the side towards the wall and opened the door from where she sat on the ground. Bucky stood there, looking down until he found her. She said nothing, just merely stared back. He swallowed and sat down outside her doorframe on the wall opposite from her. "I'm sorry." He told her quietly.

"It's scary." She agreed finally, nodding slowly. He didn't seem to need to ask her what she meant.

"I just don't think you have any idea what you're getting into…" he said lowly, looking straight at her. "With me. I'm never going to be fixed."

"You can't look at yourself like you're broken." He sighed.

"That's what I want to believe, but. I am."

"Well, you can't tell me what to see when I look at you." She retorted lightly, and he nervously kneaded his fingers.

"What do you see?"

"You want to know what I see? I look over and see a tired soldier beside me. He has good days and bad days. And he's so worn and weary and he probably wants to hide away from the world, but he never does. Sometimes he doesn't even wake up, he just waits for dawn to join him again and keeps going. And to me, that makes him one of the bravest people I know."

"Brave is just about the last word I would use." He admitted. "I'm terrified."

"Bucky, you have every reason in the world to just give up, but you don't."

"Neither do you."

"That doesn't mean I'm never terrified. I look at you and I see anger, I see resentment, but I see softness and light and good; I see everything in you because you're allowed to be and feel everything. Most of all, I look at you and I see someone I…" He stared at her and she stared back, the butterflies reviving themselves and flying back up to her chest. She pushed them back down. "Someone I'm…immensely proud of. And I'll remind you any time I have to." He looked away.

"I want to be someone you can count on. But sometimes it feels too heavy of a burden, because I'm not protecting you from some army…I'm protecting you from me. What if you needed me and I couldn't be there for you?"

"You take it one day at a time. And you try harder every day to be good, that's what you focus on." He stared at her. "You had missions. All your life, that's what you did. Even when it was just you and Steve, your mission was keeping him safe. Being a good friend. Make it a mission if you have to. Just get through each day until that gets easier. It will get easier. And you take your time, you go at your own pace, that's important." They sat together in a calmed silence, the tension evaporating. She let out a long breath.

"I'm also sorry for what I said." He spoke up again, and avoided her eyes. "And for my…language."

"I forgive you," she told him with a slight chuckle.

"And I was thinking that maybe I could make dinner tonight." He offered, raising his gaze and sitting more upright. The offer came out of nowhere and it made her frown.

"You don't have to—"

"Please. Just let me make this right." He sounded desperate, and there was no way she could argue with him about it, so she nodded. Bucky stared at her, putting a weak half-smile on his face that he struggled to maintain. "You just must be scared at the thought of me in the kitchen." It was effort on his part, and even though she was almost drained already despite barely waking after all of the events that had unfolded, she chuckled at his weak joke.

"I imagine you're not too familiar with them."

"You really never hold back, you know. Believe it or not, I was good at making one thing."

That one thing turned out to be grilled cheese, accompanied with tomato soup. As far as grilled cheese went, it wasn't the worst she'd ever had. Really, it was just about the best dinner she'd had in a while. She kept out of his way in hopes to make him feel more comfortable and did laundry, though she could hear him hiss or grumble under his breath about certain things every now and then. He didn't take a single bite of his food until she tried it and assured him it was good. He remained suspicious on if she were really telling the truth, so she kept reiterating it, and ate every bite.

After dinner, she excused herself to shower. When she got out, she could hear the water running from the kitchen, but it wasn't the sound of that that made her freeze where she stood in the bathroom in her large towel.

There was whistling of a catchy upbeat melody that quickly morphed into a low voice singing. She blinked several times before she cupped her mouth with her hand, recognizing Bucky's voice as she pressed her ear to the door.

Ever so lightly, she cracked the door open to listen.

"Who wouldn't love you, who wouldn't buy

The west side of heaven, if you just winked your eye

You're the answer to my every prayer, darlin'

Who wouldn't love you, who wouldn't care"

When she poked her head out, she saw Bucky standing at the sink, the lower part of his shirt wet and eyebrows furrowed deep in thought as he scrubbed a soapy plate.

"Who wouldn't love you, who wouldn't care," he had begun again until he glanced up and caught her standing in the doorframe of the bathroom watching. His gaze snapped back up at the sight of her, and the plate slipped from his fingers back into the water, splattering him even more. Despite still being damp from the shower, she could feel herself growing hot each time his eyes fleetingly darted to the towel wrapped around her frame.

"You didn't have to do the dishes." Bellamy said, hoping her voice was steady enough to not give away her nerves. He cleared his throat and looked back down to dig the plate out of the water.

"Nonsense." He merely said rigidly, only glancing up briefly.

"You didn't have to stop singing either." She encouraged him lightly, biting back a smile. "It's a nice song. Sounds like an old one." He cleared his throat again and fixed his gaze down almost in a polite way to continue washing. As she turned to walk away she began whistling the same tune he had been, glancing over her shoulder and catching him watching. Now at her bedroom door and out of his sight, she heard his voice softly pick the words back up, and she smiled to herself, replaying in her head the look she had seen in his eyes.

That halfway rocky day had ended and more had taken its place since. Bellamy knew Bucky was still worried about her last nightmare when he suggested they try running. They both knew his idea was only because physical activity could help with nightmares, not just because she used to run cross country. They would wake up and go every dawn, the super soldier attached at her hip all the way. Though she kept a decent pace, the both of them knew he could very easily leave her in the dust—she even encouraged him to do so—but he always refused.

"It's too dark out right now," was his excuse.

They never talked about the future; the only thing on their own calendar was their second special outing, planned for the first of June.

They were trying, trying, to do yoga one sunrise on the roof when he actually brought it up. As it turned out, Bucky didn't particularly like yoga ("I'm supposed to get my leg where?"), so it didn't last. He did, however, love stretching.

"We can do partner stretches." Bellamy suggested as she watched his eyes close pleasantly while he reached over his head.

"Like what?" He asked. She dropped to the ground.

"Just sit like this behind me," she demonstrated by stretching her legs out in front of her in a wide straddle. He raised an eyebrow.

"I thought we were done with yoga," he muttered, but obliged behind her. She scooted back so they were directly back-to-back. "Now what?"

"Now, I lean back to push you forward to stretch." She explained as she began to do so, but he wouldn't budge, it was like trying to lean against a wall. "Uh, Bucky, you have to lean forward. It's a stretch."

"Oh." He did so, and she leaned back more, not stopping until he let out a noise that closely and loosely resembled pain. "This hurts," he grunted after a moment.

"Just breathe." She encouraged, smiling in amusement as she leaned against his back, the sun warming her face.

"Okay, that's enough." He decided, sitting back up. She laughed as he groaned, shaking out his legs. "I thought stretching was supposed to feel good."

"You mean you don't feel better already?" She teased as she leaned forward. Tentatively, he leaned back against her. "You can lean back more."

"I don't want to break you," he muttered under his breath. Finally, her limbs began to sting as she stretched, folding her body forward. They stayed like that in silence for a moment, before she explained a different stretch; them facing each other in an open straddle, their shoes touching, taking turns pulling one another towards each other.

"I'm starting to regret agreeing to this," he admitted, wincing as she leaned back, her hands wrapped around his forearms to pull. He started pulling back after a moment. "Okay, I'm good." She laughed, but leaned forward, feeling his hands now wrap around her forearms to pull.

There was silence between them again, and voices down below them on the streets. Cars honking. Birds flapping their wings and calling to each other. Then, there was Bucky, clearing his throat.

"Um, about what I said the other night," He began quietly. "Would you still, uh, be…willing to…" She looked up away from the ground up towards his face, still deep in the stretch.

"Join you…?"

"Let me take you out, again, yeah…" Bellamy leaned back up, and his grip had loosened so that her forearms slid between his fingers, until her hands were in his, and they sat facing each other, hands connected, the sun shining directly down on them. Bucky's gaze flickered to their hands, before he lifted his gaze and began to smile hopefully. She smiled back.

"I would love to." He smiled back completely now, relief evident.

"Really? Great, I have the perfect idea."

He never gave any clues about it, but if their first outing was anything to go off of, she had nothing to worry about. They continued to go from day to day, and sometimes it took more effort on her part to make it a good one. Sometimes still, he never got a wink of sleep, she would go to sleep and wake up only to find him in the same position on the love-seat.

There was a night shared between them that always stuck out, a tender night, when she was in her room, jasmine candles lit and tucking away her old S.H.I.E.L.D. badge deep into her closet. Bucky was standing in wait by her door frame, timidly waiting for her to notice him.

"Oh." She said as she did, offering him a friendly nod. "Need something?" She asked as she walked over to her bed and sat on the edge of it, starting to frown the longer he hesitated. "Is there something wrong?"

"No, uh…well. Not exactly." He cleared his throat. "It's just, I'm trying to read right now," she noticed he had a book in his hand, almost hidden behind his leg. "And I can't. I can't focus on the words. I'll read one word and think of something else. Bad things. And I keep rereading the same paragraph over and over, but if I stop reading then all I have are the thoughts and..." he sighed, stopping himself and shuffling his feet and avoiding her gaze. "I was wondering…if you could maybe...read it to me." However surprised she was at the request, she made sure not to let her face show it. "I mean, you don't have to, of course…"

"No, no. I would love to." She pulled her legs up on the bed and patted the space next to her. He blinked, staying planted where he stood.

"But...that's your bed."

"Yes, thanks I'm aware." She smiled as he narrowed his eyes. "Don't be ridiculous, you can sit right here beside me." With dragging steps, he made his way to the other side of the bed and sat stiffly upright.

"What were you reading?" He handed her What Matters Most is How Well You Walk Through the Fire, one collection of some of Charles Bukowski's later work. "Poetry, huh?" He only shrugged. She flipped up to the first one and began to read.

When she would glance up from the words, he was watching her very closely, his eyes never leaving her. The more she read, the more he began to lean back comfortably, and before long he was resting on her bed, staring up at the ceiling.

Once she'd finished three poems, she paused, noticing him frowning.

"I don't understand any of it." He murmured, before he glanced at her. "But he's very…honest."

"It's thought-provoking." He nodded a bit, before he turned on his side to face her.

"Why don't you write?" She guffawed, waiting for him to laugh too, but his innocent curiosity never faded.

"I…why would I?"

"You're smart. You like to read. Why not?"

"I never really had a reason to write. I wouldn't know what to write about."

"That's because you're still figuring everything about yourself out. But when you do, and you find a muse and decide to give it a whirl…I'd love to read it." She smiled at him, her own head resting against her pillow.

"I could just read it to you and save you the work," she teased, earning a gentle smile back and soft fluttering eyes.

"Even better."

Bellamy kept reading, and only stopped when she heard his sharp intake of breath. Pausing, she looked up to find Bucky had drifted to sleep, curled on his side, breathing with his mouth open. The super soldier had evidently endured too many sleepless nights and hit his limit as soon as he rested against a real bed. She shook her head and closed the book with a smile, putting it on the nightstand beside her bed.

As lightly as she could, she climbed off the bed and went to retrieve a blanket to drape over his body. She blew out the candles and went back into the living room with another blanket to settle down on the sofa for the night, a smile on her face.

A/N: Thank you CGKrows, Taffyrose, and Adalise for the reviews! xx