Chapter 5: Turn

Chapter summary: Jemma saved Bucky when no one else could, but can he save her in return?

It was the evening of the day after the haircut and Jemma had finally stopped dwelling on the way she'd been such an impressive buzzkill the afternoon before.

She'd just wanted to give Bucky a haircut, make him feel good, distract him from the interminable boredom of the inside of that cell, and she was succeeding, as far as she could tell, right up until she asked that stupid question about his plans for the future.

It had slipped out before she'd even thought about it. She'd simply been following a train of thought that had led her to the realisation that she'd be sad to see him go, and her mouth had betrayed her with a question that had obviously upset him... in a manly, brooding kind of way.

She didn't have the first clue what he should do next either, and she felt like she knew him too well now to just pat him on the shoulder and say 'I'm sure you'll think of something,' like one would a sophomore who still didn't know what career path they wanted to pursue.

Instead, she'd shown up at dinner time with two plates of tacos and a laptop loaded up with Firefly, a show about a group of people who didn't necessarily fit neatly anywhere else in the universe, but who found a home and made a life together on board a little spaceship called Serenity. She'd simply told him she wanted to show him her favourite tv show, and they'd sat side by side on the bed and eaten their tacos in silence as they watched.

Maybe he got the point she was trying to get across—that there's a place for everyone somewhere—and maybe he didn't, but by the time the pilot episode was finished he was picking leftovers off her plate and making fun of her for dripping salsa on her sweater, so she figured they were all good again.

She'd stayed away from the cell for most of today as she tried to walk the line between assuaging his boredom and cramping his style. She'd dropped off one plate of spaghetti bolognaise an hour ago and returned to the lab, where she was now working by herself on some electronics repairs for Fitz and waiting for Skye to arrive with the sushi they'd ordered out for.

The team had been so busy with their various projects, getting the Hub up and running again, not to mention the slow resurrection of S.H.I.E.L.D., that none of them had seen as much of each other as they normally would on the Bus, and Jemma was looking forward to her dinner date with Skye.

But as she kept one eye on the cell's security feed she started to question her decision to give Bucky some space. For ten minutes before going to sleep he'd just sat on the edge of the bed playing with that hairband she'd given him, stretching it around his fingers, plucking it gently and twisting it over on itself. Poor bugger must be bored out of his brain.

He was asleep now, his hair splayed out on the pillow and the dark line of her hairband standing out against the pale skin of his wrist.

There wasn't strictly a need for her to have the live cctv footage on anymore. The only results she was still recording was his daily bloodwork, and she'd given him a phone so he could call if he needed anything, so she told herself it was just out of habit that she tended to leave the feed on whenever she was in the lab by herself.

She usually turned it off when others were around—for Bucky's privacy, of course, not because it was possibly a bit inappropriate of her to have it on in the first place—but Skye and her bag of sushi snuck up on her too quickly.

"You didn't tell me he was hot!" Skye exclaimed over Jemma's shoulder.

Jemma was quite proud of the way she managed not to jump a foot in the air. "Hello to you, too," she greeted her friend drily as she pushed the tools and disassembled parts to the side to make room for their dinner.

Skye pulled out the stool next to Jemma and wiggled herself into it. "Does he always sleep with his shirt off?" she asked, enthralled.

"Yes," said Jemma, and damn it, she replied too quickly, didn't she?

"So you watch him every night, then?" Skye said, eyes dancing as she unpacked their sushi.

"It's for science?" Jemma tried, a guilty smile creeping onto her face as she took the lids off the plastic containers Skye set out.

"Sure it is. Tanned, muscle-y science." Skye grinned mercilessly as she tore open a sachet of soy sauce. "So you gonna do him?" she asked, waggling her eyebrows suggestively.

"Skye!" Jemma whacked her on the arm with her chopsticks. "That would be highly inappropriate, he's my patient." Finding him attractive and putting the moves on him were two entirely different things. "Besides, after all the poor man's been through that's got to be the last thing on his mind."

"Horseshit. There isn't a man in the world who could be around you and have that last on his mind," Skye informed her around a mouthful of avocado roll, "even the gay ones. Sexual healing, Simmons, it's a thing! There's a song about it and everything."

"How very scientific. Can we please change the subject?" Jemma begged, turning off the surveillance feed.

Skye pouted, but she relented, and the conversation turned to other topics, like the work Skye was doing on the facility's computer systems to try and repair the last few holes in their defences, and how it still felt totally weird the way the once-busy halls of the Hub were now so eerily quiet.

"Don't forget what I said about your sexy supersoldier," Skye said once the sushi was gone and the resulting debris had been cleared away. "Sexual healing, sexual," she sang as she sauntered out of the lab, hips swaying to the tune.

"You're the kind of friend my mother warned me about!" Jemma called after her, but with an affectionate smile.

She didn't know how much later it was that she fell asleep at the desk, but it was after 1am when she was woken by a muffled shout.

She lifted her head from where it was pillowed on her arms and looked around the room, but as the fog of sleep cleared it became obvious the sound had come through the computer speakers.

The screen in front of her felt over-bright to her sleep-clouded eyes, but as her pupils adjusted the image of Bucky sitting up in bed, human hand over his face, came into sharper focus.

As she looked down at him through the high angle of the camera, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and scrubbed his face with both hands. His shoulders rose and fell in the pattern of the slow, rhythmic breaths she'd taught him to take when his anxiety was getting the best of him. She hated to think what sort of nightmares could provoke that sort of response in him.

Normally Steve would comfort him when this sort of thing happened. She didn't know what Steve did exactly, he just seemed to sit with Bucky, occasionally murmuring things that were too quiet for the microphones to pick up, until Bucky seemed ready to attempt sleep again.

Tonight Bucky would have to make do with the Jemma Simmons formula for chasing away nightmares, not that she had the first clue what that would entail. Except tea. Always tea.

She made two cups and carried them to his cell, her footsteps echoing softly through the empty halls with their muted after-hours lighting. The lights in Bucky's cell were subdued as well, making the room feel cosy rather than simply small.

Bucky was sitting with his elbows on his knees and his hands hanging between his thighs as he stared at the floor through a messy curtain of hair.

His haunted eyes looked up in surprise as she entered. "What're you doin' here, kitten?" he muttered. "'m fine."

"I know," she said simply, choosing not to point out the slight tremor in his fingers as she pressed a warm mug into his hands.

She sat down a short distance away from him on the bed and took a sip from her own mug, making it clear she wasn't going anywhere, until eventually he stopped staring at her and took a careful mouthful of tea. The deep breath that followed sounded a little too much like a shaky sigh for Jemma's liking.

"Would you like to talk about it?" she asked tentatively.

Bucky just shook his head and continued to dutifully sip his tea.

They sat in silence for a while. Jemma hoped fervently that it was a comfortable silence, but she wasn't entirely convinced. She tried to think of helpful things to say but nothing seemed quite right. She doubted he wanted to hear facts about the frequency of nightmares in PTSD sufferers, and surely any story about a nightmare of her own would sound utterly trivial in the face of whatever horrors had just awoken him.

By the time he finished his drink, both his hands and his breathing had calmed. She stood up to put their empty cups on the table and as she did so he lay back down and rolled over to face the wall.

"You should go to bed, Jemma," he said tonelessly, his eyes still wide open like he had no intention of going back to sleep himself.

She may not know exactly what his mind had shown him that was so horrendous it sent his biometrics into a tailspin, but she did know the feeling of being afraid to shut your eyes again lest the demons return.

She hesitated, her eyes tracing the tense set of his bare shoulders, then she lay down next to him and tucked herself against his back. Throwing any last vestiges of caution to the wind, she slipped her hand under his arm and pressed it lightly to his chest.

"Didn't mean my bed," he grumbled, sliding his hand over the top of hers and lacing their fingers together.

"I know," she said for the second time that night.

Jemma passed a few minutes counting the strong, steady heartbeats under her palm before Bucky said, "Roll over?"

She turned onto her other side and he did the same, putting the metal arm around her waist and pulling her in close until she could feel the firm, warm shape of him all the way from her shoulders to her heels. When he released a soft, contented sigh, his breath ghosted over the sensitive skin underneath her ear.

It was only when his thumb rubbed over the bump of her hip bone once, then twice, that her pulse took off like a hummingbird's wings.

She hadn't been meaning to make a move on him, but what if he thought she was? Or what if he was about to make a move on her regardless? She'd assumed all the flirting was just a bit of harmless fun, that he couldn't possibly be serious, but perhaps she'd been wrong.

What if he was just about to kiss the side of her neck? Or slide his hand up and cup her breast through her shirt? She suppressed a full-body shiver at the thought of those cybernetic fingers roaming to more intimate places.

Would she stop him? She probably should, if for no other reason than the fact that they were in full view of multiple security cameras, any one of which her boss could access at any time.

The hand on her hip moved to splay over her stomach and she stiffened in anticipation.

"Relax, kiddo, I'm not about to take advantage of you," he murmured.

At those few simple words, a small part of her shrank in on itself as she realised just how much she wished he would. Damn Skye for putting these thoughts in her mind! Or in the forefront of her mind, at least. She'd been perfectly happy flirting and idly fantasising, but now apparently she had a full-blown crush.

She released the breath she'd been holding. "Hadn't even crossed my mind."

She waited until the hand on her stomach had gone lax with sleep before slipping away.

Bucky watched his blood as it slowly syphoned into Jemma' syringe. With all the samples she needed to take, they had this process down to a fine art.

She withdrew the needle. "All done," she announced.

She straightened up and flipped her hair back over her shoulder. The movement sent a waft of perfume in his direction and he casually filled his lung with it. Being a human pin cushion may be getting a bit old, but he didn't think he'd ever be done with having Jemma in his personal space, no matter what the reason.

After falling asleep curled around her last night he'd had the best sleep he could remember in a long time. While he was sticking to his resolve not to touch her like that—he needed her too much to risk screwing things up (hell, he liked her too much to risk screwing things up)—he was more than happy to be on the receiving end of whatever physical contact she was inclined to provide.

"Hopefully we won't have to do too many more of these. Your endocrine system seems to be almost back to normal," Jemma said as she labelled the small glass vial of his blood. She sat back down in the other chair and set the vial carefully on the table in the opposite corner to where the dishes from their bacon and eggs were stacked. "Although I was thinking," she said, picking up her tea and crossing one leg over the other, "we should keep in mind that once you're out of this cell you'll be exposed to a wider range of stimuli, which could potentially trigger any latent Winter Soldier programming."

She took a sip of her tea and Bucky nodded, because the same thought had already occurred to him. While the quiet monotony of the cell had been the ideal place to allow his programming to degrade with little risk of it being triggered, he was possibly experiencing a false positive of sorts regarding that aspect of his recovery.

The real test would come when he stepped back out into the noise and chaos of the modern world, but he figured if he could sit down with Natasha and Sam without having an uncontrollable urge to end them, anything else would probably be manageable.

The phone Jemma had given Bucky buzzed once against his thigh and he pulled it out of the pocket of his S.H.I.E.L.D.-issue sweats.

"Text from Steve," he told her, not that she wouldn't have guessed that already. She and Steve were the only ones with the phone number. "They've wrapped up the search and rescue phase and are moving on to clean-up. He'll be back in a day or two."

"Lovely! You must be sick to death of only having me to talk to," she said, with her 'I'm pulling your leg' grin.

"Yeah, it's been a real trial," he smirked, leaning forward and putting his forearms on the table.

Both of their smiles were cut short when the building around them shuddered in time with a distant boom. Bucky sprang to his feet, hand already reaching for a weapon that wasn't there. In the silence that followed the blast, the glass vial of his blood rolled off the table and tinkled harmlessly to the floor.

Jemma abandoned her tea cup and rushed to the glass door of the cell. It beeped stubbornly when she tried to unlock it. "Lock-down mode," she said, turning back to him with wide eyes. "We're trapped in here. Even if I had some tools, it would take..."

She was already fishing her phone out of her pocket when it began to ring. She put it on speaker as she returned to Bucky's side. "Fitz! What's going on? Are you alright?"

"It's Hydra, Jemma!" came the urgent words of the kid on the other end of the line. "They're attacking. Where are you? Are you hurt?"

"No, no, we're fine," she assured him hurriedly. "But we're trapped in Bucky's cell."

"Jemma, you've got to get out of there, or take cover or something," Fitz insisted. "They're heading in your direction. We think they're here to break out the Hydra prisoners. I'll—"

Fitz's voice dissolved into whiny static, then the signal cut out altogether.

"They're jamming communications," Jemma said, the arm holding the phone dropping to her side in defeat.

Bucky strode over to the door and looked as far as he could down the hall in both directions. Nothing yet, but if they were coming he'd be ready. He could feel the adrenalin coursing through his system. Every fibre of his being bristled with the need to snap some Hydra necks.

The building rumbled with another blast and the red-tinged fog of his programming crept in at the edges of his vision, trying to reassert itself. His mind filled, unbidden, with scenarios, probabilities and attack strategies. Mentally he shoved it all aside until it was just a dull roar coming from the base of his skull. He didn't have time to go on autopilot, he had to keep Jemma safe. If he tapped out now he could only imagine what his body would do without him

He swept his eyes over the cell, but there was really only one option for cover. "Under the bed," he ordered.

Jemma looked up in surprise from where she was ineffectually working at the door mechanism, but did as she was told.

He got down and crawled in after her, crowding her close to the wall. He lay parallel to her and inspected the base of the bed above them, which was essentially a metal shelf attached to the wall. Hopefully if any bits of building started to fall in on them he'd be able to hold it in place with the cybernetic arm and prevent Jemma from being crushed. Or, if Hydra agents broke into the cell, he'd at least be between them and her.

Nothing to do now but wait.

"You're doing good, kitten," he said, when it occurred to him that she was impressively calm considering the circumstances. Her eyes were a little wider than usual, her breathing a little faster, but she was keeping it together.

"And what about you?" she asked from where she lay on her side next to him, her back to the wall. "How are you doing?" Her brows drew carefully together with her concern.

"Keeping it together," he said, "I think."

They heard a spray of gunfire from further down the hallway and Bucky's adrenalin spiked. His eyelids fluttered involuntarily as the red fog clouded in, feeding him the likely make and model of the weapon based on the sound of it, how many rounds it could hold, and a thousand other tactical details. The more he focused on the fog the harder it was to hold it back.

"Fuck," he growled, clenching his fists with the effort.

"Bucky, stay with me." Jemma touched the side of his face as her voice cut through the haze.

He opened his eyes to look at her and found instant relief in it. He kept his gaze focussed on her face as he determinedly ignored the dull whine of the programming at the back of his brain.

"Don't wanna hurt you, Jem," he said, trying not to sound desperate. His blood chilled in his veins at the thought of causing her injury, or worse.

"I know," she assured him, brushing her thumb gently over his cheek. "We need to give you something else to focus on, activate a different part of your brain. I have an idea: it's a bit unorthodox, but I'm just going to try something, okay?"

He gave a quick nod of consent, and then her lips were on his.

He stilled in surprise, but the red fog was already retreating like a wave on the beach as his senses filled with Jemma: the warm, dry press of her lips, the brush of her eyelashes against his cheek, the gentle pressure of the hand on the side of his face holding him in place.

She drew back all too soon. "How was that?" she asked cautiously.

"Perfect," he murmured, closing the distance between them again. Her lips parted under his, warm and wet, and if Bucky was going to drown in something he'd much prefer it was this than the crimson fog.

The first flick of her tongue was like solid ground to a man set adrift, and he plunged his tongue into her mouth, desperate for more. She removed her hand from his face so she could wrap an arm around his back and press her whole body against him. He could feel the swell of her breasts firm against his chest, and when she pressed her hips flush against him he felt the blood rush to his groin. It was almost enough to make him forget they were under attack.

He put a steadying hand on the dip of her waist and shifted himself away a few inches. "That might be a little too distracting."

"Of course, I'm so sorry. What was I thinking." She said the last bit like maybe she knew exactly what she was thinking, but he didn't have time to unravel that now.

Bucky turned towards the door at the rolling thunder of several pairs of heavy boots approaching. At the first glimpse of Hydra uniforms through the glass door, the dull buzz in the back of his mind swelled until it was a roar of white noise.

He slammed his fist against the floor in frustration as his vision swam with red.

Jemma forced herself to keep breathing through her fear. She couldn't be sure who the man beside her was anymore, James Buchanan Barnes or the Winter Soldier.

He was facing away from her with his head hung low, his shoulders rising and falling with forceful breaths. Her mind was helpfully offering up information like the amount of crushing force the cybernetic hand was capable of comparative to the force required to break various human bones, and the resultant figures chilled her down to her toes.

"James?" Jemma's voice was barely more than a whisper. It was the last weapon in her arsenal, the hope that his given name might provoke memories of his earlier life to which he could hold fast.

The Hydra agent closest to the door attached some kind of circular device to the bullet-proof glass and within moments the glass shattered and crashed to the floor, shards flying in every direction.

"Hail Hydra!" came the united cry of the half-dozen men outside.

Jemma wondered whether they thought they were simply liberating more Hydra captives or whether they knew they'd just broken down the barrier between themselves and the Winter Soldier. Were they here to take him back? A stab of horror shot through her heart at the thought of Bucky going back to that mindless, hopeless existence after finally finding himself and his freedom again.

Before Jemma could glean any more about Bucky's mental state, he was on the move, rolling out from under the bed and rising effortlessly to his feet. He strode across the room towards the door, heedless of the vial of blood lying forgotten on the floor and crushing under his heel. As he passed the table he scooped up a steak knife from their pile of dishes. He tossed it in the air and caught it expertly—before slitting the throat of the first Hydra thug in his way.

He side-stepped the spluttering man smoothly as he fell, following through with a sharp crack to the nose of the second guy, using the metal elbow. The third guy got the jump on him, but the struggle was brief, and he continued to cut down thug after thug with graceful efficiency until he was out into the hall and the floor was littered with bodies.

He left the knife in the chest of the last man to fall, and the next few seconds passed in perfect stillness. The distant booms of weapons fire or explosives or whatever it was had stopped, and there were no more shouts or footfalls coming from the hall.

While Jemma was exceedingly grateful that the bad guys had been dealt with, she still didn't know who exactly that was standing out there. Surely the Winter Soldier wasn't in the habit of dispatching of Hydra agents, but what if it was some sort of base level defensive programming that had kicked in that simply fought whatever foe was present, regardless of their allegiance?

As she watched his legs from under the bed, he turned slowly and strode back into the cell, boots crunching through the broken glass that used to be the door. Jemma's heart was beating with the speed of a field mouse's by the time he stopped beside the bed.

He kneeled down and held a hand out to her. "You okay, kitten?"

Jemma exhaled through a smile of relief. She nodded and let him help her to her feet.

"Good," he said, slipping an arm around her waist and pulling her in for one more kiss.

AN: I hope you guys liked that chapter! Fair warning, the next and final chapter may take me a few weeks to finish because smut is hard (all puns intended) but I promise you it's on its way :)