8:27am
Bucky stepped into the sim room, only to find Steve tightening his wrist wraps and Natasha keying in coordinates at the console. The room smelled faintly of burnt ozone and recycled air, residual from the last simulation. Monitors flickered idly, displaying mission parameters as Nat approved them.
They both looked up as he entered. Natasha tilted her head, raising an eyebrow.
"Hey," Steve said, adjusting the wrap around his knuckles. "You here for the training run?"
"No," Bucky replied, scanning the room, tension lining his shoulders. "Looking for Charlotte."
Nat didn't blink, eyes coy. "She said she wouldn't be joining us today."
His jaw tightened just a hair. Not enough for someone else to notice—but Natasha did. She always did. "I'd check the training room. She's been spending a lot of time there lately."
Bucky gave a small nod and turned to leave, already moving toward the door.
Nat's voice followed him, dry and amused.
"Don't look so worried. She doesn't bite."
He paused in the doorway. Turned his head just enough to glance at her. "Yes, she does."
Nat smirked. Steve coughed to hide a laugh. "Good luck, Sarge." She called after him. "Maybe try using words this time."
Metal glinted as Bucky raised his middle finger without slowing or turning around.
As the door started to close behind him, Steve muttered to Nat, "Two tacticians who can dismantle an explosive in seconds but absolutely cannot figure out how to communicate their feelings."
Nat leaned back against the console, arms crossed. "Tragic, really."
8:37am
Charlotte pushed through the door out onto the SHIELD weapons range.
The air still smelled of gunpowder and smoke, bitter and familiar. Training dummies stood in a lopsided row, some pocked with fresh impact marks. Spent casings littered the floor, glinting under the fluorescent lights.
At the far end of the room, Sam was wiping down a rifle, sliding it back into the rack. He was alone.
"Where's Barnes?" Charlotte asked, her voice steady.
"Well good morning to you, sunshine," Sam glanced over his shoulder, a flicker of something knowing in his eyes, but his tone stayed easy. "He bailed on class. Told me he had something important to do."
She tried not to react, but something in her expression must've given her away. Sam's mouth curved just a little, but he kept his thoughts to himself.
Charlotte kept her tone neutral. "Did he say where he was going?"
"Didn't ask," Sam replied, setting another weapon back in its place. He threw her a glance over his shoulder. "Figured you might know more than me."
Her jaw tightened. "Guess not."
Sam offered a half-shrug, more reserved than he would've been if he were teasing Bucky directly. "Check the sim room. If he's not there, maybe try the gym. Or the dock down by the lake, if he's feeling real dramatic and broody."
Charlotte's lips twitched, just barely. "Sim room it is."
She turned on her heel, boots echoing against the concrete floor as she left him to his cleanup. Behind her, Sam shook his head to himself, a quiet smile tugging at his mouth as he went back to work.
8:44am
Bucky cut across the compound grounds, boots crunching over gravel as he caught sight of Calla leaving the main café, a paper cup of coffee in hand. Morning sunlight glinted off the rim as she lifted it to her lips, already halfway turned toward the admin wing.
"Calla," Bucky called, picking up his pace to catch her.
She slowed but didn't stop, twisting at the waist to look back at him over her shoulder. Her brow lifted, and there was something just a little too knowing in her expression.
"Sergeant Barnes," she greeted, taking a sip of her coffee, unbothered as ever. "What a lovely surprise."
"Hi," Bucky didn't waste time. "You seen Charlotte?"
Calla let out a small hum, as if considering how much she wanted to play this game. She started walking again, leisurely, forcing him to fall into step beside her.
"Maybe I have. Maybe I haven't," she replied, the edge of a grin tugging at her mouth.
He gave her a flat look.
Calla, unbothered, took another sip. "Maybe the sim room? She's been going there almost every morning."
"I already checked."
"Mmm." She glanced sideways at him, sharp and amused. "Then your next best bet is the training room. If she's not in either place, we'll have to file a missing persons report because those are the only two places she hangs out these days."
Bucky's jaw worked for a moment, like he wanted to push for more but thought better of it.
Instead, he gave a tight nod. "Thanks."
Calla's expression softened just a fraction, as if she saw something in him he wasn't saying out loud. "Good luck, Barnes."
He was already moving, but her parting words chased after him anyway. "Don't wait for her to spell it out. She couldn't even if she wanted to. Just...meet her where she's at."
Bucky didn't respond. His expression stayed unreadable, but something in his shoulders set with determination. He gave Calla a small, solemn nod, then turned and strode toward the training room.
8:49am
Charlotte marched toward the sim room, her pulse thudding with rising impatience. Through the reinforced glass, she caught a glimpse of Steve and Natasha mid-simulation, focused on the shifting obstacles and flickering monitors. Outside, an agent monitored the session from the control panel, eyes on the data feed.
She didn't bother with pleasantries. "Is Sergeant Barnes in there?"
The agent startled slightly, then shook his head. "No, Agent Rossi. But he was here about twenty minutes ago. Looking for you, actually—"
Charlotte's head snapped toward him. "What?" The word was sharp, cutting clean through the hum of the equipment.
The agent blinked, hesitating. "He...asked if you'd been through yet. Captain Rogers and Agent Romanoff were the ones who talked to him—"
Her jaw clenched. "Where did he go?"
"Um, he didn't say," A pause, like he wasn't sure if he should say more. "But I heard them tell him something about the training room,"
She sucked in a breath, frustrated but already pivoting. "Thanks."
Without waiting for further explanation, she turned on her heel, footsteps clipped and quick as she strode down the hall, faster than before. Her pulse was ticking up, not from exertion, but from something else entirely—a sharp cocktail of annoyance and anticipation.
If she didn't catch him this time, she wasn't sure she ever would.
She walked faster.
8:54am
Bucky stepped into the training room, hopeful despite himself.
The space was quiet, almost too quiet, save for the faint hum of the overhead lights. Training mats lay undisturbed, gear stacked neatly along the far wall. No scuff marks from a sparring session, no towel draped over the edge of the bench, no telltale sign she'd been there.
He scanned the room anyway, as if she might materialize from thin air if he just looked hard enough.
Nothing.
Bucky exhaled through his nose, a low, tired sound. He crossed the room slowly, boots muted on the padded floor. At the center, he paused, turning in a small circle like he could feel her absence vibrating in the walls. It was foolish, he knew, but the disappointment still settled in his chest.
He raked a hand down his face, shaking his head at himself. Maybe this was a sign. Maybe she didn't want to be found today. Maybe he'd see her tonight in the common room, when things were neutral ground, and they could pretend they weren't both circling the drain.
With a resigned sigh, he turned toward the door.
8:57am
Charlotte stormed down the corridor toward the training room, her boots striking the floor with sharp precision. Her pulse was a live wire, snapping under her skin, crackling with irritation. She muttered to herself under her breath, too low for anyone to catch, but just loud enough to give herself something to hold onto.
"Fucking ridiculous," she hissed.
She shoved the door open with more force than necessary—and nearly collided with him. Bucky was maybe five feet from the door, eyes snapping to meet hers as they both froze.
Charlotte's breath hitched in her chest, words dying on her tongue. All the fire she'd been carrying fizzled in an instant, like cold water thrown over hot coals. Neither of them moved.
His blue eyes swept over her, surprised but wary, like he hadn't expected this moment either. Charlotte reminded herself to breath, her pulse thudding loud in her ears. The door slammed shut behind her, jolting both of them out of their stupor.
"Hi," Bucky spoke first.
"Hi."
"I've been looking for you."
Charlotte swallowed against the tightness in her throat. Her pulse hadn't slowed—if anything, it thudded harder now, irregular and fast. "I've been looking for you too," she said quietly. "It turns out you're a lot harder to find when I actually want to see you."
Their eyes stayed locked for a moment, something fragile and unspoken balancing in the air between them.
"And do you?" Bucky's voice was softer this time, tentative. Vulnerable, despite herself. "Want to see me?"
"Yes," Charlotte admitted.
Her breath came a little easier, though her heart still pounded beneath her ribs. The adrenaline had nowhere to go, caught between flight and something that felt suspiciously like hope.
A moment passed.
"You here to yell at me?" he asked, lifting an eyebrow, trying to play it light but not quite getting there.
"No," Her expression softened. "Not this time."
He took a tentative step closer, lifting his hands in surrender. "You gonna try to kill me again?"
Her mouth quirked to one side. "To be determined."
"You broke two of my ribs," He raised an eyebrow at her, half-amused.
"You broke my heart," She retorted, crossing her arms.
His mouth parted, whatever sharp reply he had withering on his tongue. The humor faded from his eyes, leaving something rawer in its place.
"I know," he said quietly.
The simplicity of it, the unguarded truth in his tone, caught her off guard. Her arms loosened over her chest, unfolding just a little, smothered the fire inside her for the second time since she'd walked through the doors.
"I deserved what you did," Bucky added, softer still. He shook his head, gaze dropping briefly to the floor before he looked back at her. "I deserved worse."
Charlotte's throat tightened. The defense she'd started to build began to crumble under the weight of his honesty.
"You hurt me," she admitted, voice rough, but there was no fire behind it now. Only truth. "It wasn't just the briefing, or the report. It was everything. You didn't have my back, and what you said..."
"I know," he said again, eyes pleading. "I kept waiting for the right moment to explain. But you kept running, and I kept—" He let the words fall away, frustrated with himself. "—I kept letting you."
A bitter smile flickered at the corners of her mouth. "Guess we're both good at running."
Bucky's gaze softened even more, and he took another small, careful step closer. "Then let's stop."
Silence stretched between them.
Charlotte exhaled, shaky but real. "Okay," Her voice cracked just a little on the word.
"Okay?" He repeated, like he wasn't sure if he'd imagined it.
"Okay." She echoed.
"I'm sorry, Char." Bucky exhaled through his nose, as if the word alone wasn't enough, as if he had to fill the space with something more—something that explained the mess between them. "So fucking sorry."
"I didn't know what to write in that report," he continued, rough and uneven. His hand flexed at his side like he wanted to reach for something, maybe her, maybe not. "I sat there for hours, Charlotte." Her name felt heavier in his mouth than it ever had before. "I kept thinking about what would happen if I lied. If I didn't write an objective report."
Her eyes flickered, but she didn't speak. Not yet.
"I wanted to," he admitted, voice cracking at the edges. "Christ, I wanted to. But I couldn't. I couldn't play favorites, they'd all have seen right through it. Hell, they already did."
He shifted, the tension pulling tight across his shoulders. His gaze dropped, as if he couldn't quite bear to look at her fully.
"If I lied and you got sent into another mission thinking you were invincible, thinking you couldn't make a mistake…" He swallowed hard. "And something happened to you—if you got hurt because I didn't have the guts to say the truth on paper, I couldn't have lived with that."
Her arms folded tighter across her chest, reflexive. A flicker of old defenses rising to shield herself from the sting of his words.
But he didn't stop.
"I thought I was protecting you," he said hoarsely. "I thought if I did it by the book, maybe you'd hate me for a day, a week, but at least you'd be alive to do it."
Her chest rose and fell sharply, her breath unsteady now.
"You said I was a liability."
Bucky's eyes lifted, something sharp flashing behind them—not anger, but something closer to pain.
"I know," he said softly. "And I meant it."
Her defenses snapped halfway back into place, her arms folding tighter across her chest. He saw it—the flicker of steel in her spine—and pushed forward anyway.
"I meant it," he repeated, voice rough, "because it's true. Char, you scared the hell out of me."
He took a small, unsteady breath. "During the attack, when you doubled back for that data—when the HYDRA aircraft exploded with you in range—"
His throat bobbed, his gaze unfocused like he could still hear it, still see it play out in his head.
"We weren't close enough to help you," Bucky went on, hoarse. "All I could do was listen to the audio feed. I heard you accept it. Heard you give your coordinates. I heard you accept that you were going to die, Charlotte."
Charlotte's breath hitched, sharp and shallow.
"I took Steve's shield and jumped out of a moving quinjet because I thought I was about to lose you," Bucky rasped. His chest heaved with the memory. "I didn't even think. I just—jumped."
Her eyes were glassy, fixed on him like she was seeing him for the first time.
"And then Arizona," Bucky continued, almost stumbling over the words now that they'd started to fall free. "When you went rogue, seeing you running across the rooftop like you didn't care what happened to you—"
He set his jaw, regaining his composure.
"It brought me right back there," he admitted, raw. "To that moment over the quinjet speakers, thinking I was hearing your voice for the last time. And I couldn't go through it again. I couldn't, Char."
Silence swallowed the room.
His chest rose and fell like he'd just fought a battle, like getting those words out cost him everything.
"I wrote what I wrote because I couldn't trust that you wouldn't do it again," Bucky said, finally meeting her gaze, completely bare. "And because I couldn't survive it if you did."
She opened her mouth, just barely, the beginnings of a response curling in her throat.
But Bucky shook his head, rough and immediate. "Wait—just let me—"
His hand lifted slightly, like he could catch her words in the air before they fell.
"It's not just that I don't trust you," he forced out, voice tight and frayed at the edges. His eyes, wide and unguarded, pinned hers. "I do. I do, Charlotte."
Her breath hitched again, a small, involuntary sound.
"It's me," he confessed, raw.
Silence, somehow jagged and heavy. Suffocating.
"I don't trust what I'll do," Bucky said, his face twisted in a grimace like the words physically hurt. "If something happens to you. If you go down out there, or if I hear you say goodbye over comms again—"
He exhaled, harsh and uneven, and rubbed a hand over his face like he could wipe away the thought.
"I'd burn the whole goddamn world down trying to get to you," he rasped. "And I wouldn't care who got caught in the crossfire."
The truth hung between them, too big, too real to be taken back.
His chest heaved, his shoulders tight with the weight of it. But there was relief there, too—a sliver of it—like saying it aloud had carved open a space between them that finally felt honest.
Like, maybe, this was what she needed to hear all along.
Without thinking, Bucky closed the distance between them in two long strides. His hands found her arms, not rough but firm, like he was grounding himself as much as he was grounding her.
"I took myself off active combat rotation," he said, the words tumbling out in a rush. His fingers curled lightly around her biceps, anchoring. "I never got to tell you—because you didn't give me the chance to."
Charlotte's eyes widened, breath catching.
"If you're emotionally volatile," he went on, voice low and ragged, "Fuck, then so am I."
Her lips parted, but no words came.
"My feelings for you," he confessed, rough and raw, "they make me a hell of a liability. In the field, and everywhere else, for that matter."
His thumb brushed along her sleeve like he couldn't help it, like he needed the contact to steady himself.
"I wasn't trying to sideline you forever," Bucky said, gaze never leaving hers. "I just need you to care about your own life as much as I do."
Charlotte's breath shuddered out of her, and for a heartbeat, it felt like she might fall apart entirely. Instead, she let out a quiet, breathless laugh. It wasn't sharp or bitter, just a small flicker of relief curling in her chest.
"Damn," she managed, her voice unsteady but laced with the barest hint of humor, "Guess that means we'll have to find a hobby. You know—if we're both off the mission roster."
A huff of a laugh escaped Bucky, low and rough, and the corner of his mouth twitched upward like he couldn't stop it. "Guess we will."
Her lips curved into something fragile but true. And then, without thinking, she lifted her hands and pressed them to his chest—flat, open, right over his heart.
He stilled beneath her touch, breath catching in his throat.
"I thought I lost you," she admitted, the words soft but weighted. "But it wasn't just the report." Her voice caught, but she pushed through it. "It was reading those words in your handwriting. Seeing you—you—call me volatile, a liability." Her breath hitched, raw in her chest. "It felt like you were confirming everything I'm terrified is true about me."
Bucky's brows drew together, like the ache in her voice physically hurt him.
Her palms stayed firm over his heartbeat, feeling the steady rhythm beneath her fingers.
"It felt like you saw all the worst parts of me," Charlotte continued, her gaze locked on his, voice rough. "Like you saw them, and you agreed." She swallowed hard, emotion swelling in her throat. "I wanted to make you feel it. I wanted you to hurt the way I did." Her voice cracked again, but this time she didn't shy away from it.
Bucky's eyes searched hers, pained and rough. His hands tightened gently on her arms like he could steady her—or himself.
"That's not—" He broke off, exhaling hard, frustrated not with her but with himself. "That's not what I saw."
Her brow furrowed, like she didn't dare believe him.
"I never saw you that way," Bucky rasped. His words came raw and halting, like he was yanking them straight from his chest. "You think I saw someone reckless, someone broken—but I saw someone who kept fighting, no matter how bad it got."
She blinked, quick and sharp, and her hands trembled slightly over his heart.
"You saw someone who ran straight into a death sentence," she bit out, but her voice wasn't angry—it was desperate. "Who couldn't even tell when she was burning out."
"I saw someone they tried to break," Bucky shot back, fierce. "And failed."
His chest heaved with the force of it, and for a heartbeat, he looked like he might say more—but his gaze softened, and what came next was quieter. Truer.
"I didn't write that report because I thought you were weak," he said. "I wrote it because you scared the hell out of me."
Her breath caught in her throat.
"You always think I look at you and see what's broken," he continued, his thumb brushing her arm like he couldn't not touch her. "But all I've ever seen is what they did to you. And all I've ever felt is guilt that I didn't get you out." His hands tightened ever so slightly around her arms, as if he was afraid she'd turn to smoke and slip through his fingers. "I couldn't save you when it counted. I've been trying to make up for it ever since you came back into my life."
Charlotte's lips parted, breath caught tight in her chest. Her hands, still splayed over his heart, felt the thrum of it beneath her fingertips.
"You did save me," she said softly, but there was a quiet strength under the words. Her gaze flicked up to meet his. "Just... not the way you think."
Bucky's brow furrowed, like he wanted to protest, but she shook her head.
"You didn't get me out of that HYDRA facility," she went on, voice rough but earnest. "But I got out. I got myself out." There was a flicker of fire in her eyes, pride laced with truth. "You can't keep blaming yourself for not saving me when you were drowning, too." she added, softer now.
His lips parted, something raw flickering across his expression.
"But you've saved me since then," Charlotte continued, a small, almost smile curling at her mouth. "In so many ways."
She ticked them off on her fingers, like she was tallying proof aloud for both of them.
"When you find me awake in the middle of the night and bring me coffee, because you know I can't go back to sleep after the nightmares," She tilted her head. "Or when you explain movie plots to me we're all watching something I've never seen—and you know I won't understand it,"
Bucky let out a quiet breath of a laugh, the corner of his mouth twitching upward.
"When you turn the thermostat up in the common room because you know I absolutely hate the cold," She raised her eyebrows. "Even though I know the whole team gets pissed at you for it."
He chuckled, looking at the floor.
"Yeah," she added. "You've saved my ass literally, too." Her lips quirked into a faint smile. "You jumped out of a goddamn quinjet. You carried me out of the woods. You know when I'm going down before this thing does half the time." She gestured loosely to her bracelet, her eyes flicking to it before finding his again.
"But you really save me when you make me laugh," she went on, her voice dropping to something fragile and real. "When you remind me that this is real. That I got out. That I'm here."
She fought against the swell of emotion rising fast, her next words barely more than a whisper.
"You save me a little bit every time you make me feel safe," she breathed. "And... normal. And... " Her eyes searched his. "Loved."
The last word hung in the air, soft and simple and complex and shattering.
Bucky's breath caught, just a fraction. His gaze softened ever so slightly, like the floor had dropped out from under him, but he didn't mind the fall. His chest rose with a slow, uneven breath as his hands slid from her arms to her waist, like he needed to feel her there, real and solid.
"Good," he spoke slowly, eyes never leaving hers. "Because you are."
"Yo, wait up!" Agent Thompson jogged down the corridor, breathless, catching up to two fellow agents just outside the east wing.
"You guys hear why the training room's locked down for the rest of the day?" he asked, slightly out of breath.
Agent Morales, already halfway through a protein bar, shrugged. "Heard someone hurled a weight bench across the room. Lodged it clean into the wall. Took out the doorframe too. Maintenance says it's a hazard zone for at least a couple days."
"No shit?" Thompson's eyes widened.
"Oh, it gets better," chimed in Agent Reed, grinning like a man who knew exactly what kind of gossip he was delivering. He lowered his voice conspiratorially, glancing over his shoulder even though the hall was empty. "Word is, Jenkins walked in for his noon sparring slot and found Sergeant Barnes and Agent Rossi going at it on the mats."
Thompson nearly choked on air. "You're kidding."
"Swear to God," Reed said, holding up his hands. "Barnes apparently grabbed the nearest bench and launched it at the wall. Guess the doorframe was just collateral damage."
Thompson gaped, shaking his head. "That's one way to tell someone to fuck off."
Morales let out a low whistle, shaking his head. "I don't know who I'm more jealous of."
"I just want to see the security footage," Thompson muttered under his breath.
"Yeah, good luck with that," Reed snorted. "FRIDAY's probably already scrubbed it. Bet Stark's got it on loop in his tower right now, though."
The trio slowed as they passed the caution tape strung across the training room entrance, the gaping hole where the bench had embedded in the wall now cordoned off with bright yellow warnings.
Morales tilted his head, squinting at the angle of the bench like he was trying to reverse-engineer the physics of the whole situation. "How would you... I mean, what position would you have to be in...and how would you throw it from, like what angle—"
Thompson frowned, equally perplexed. "Honestly? It's impressive."
Reed let out a low whistle, crossing his arms as he surveyed the damage. "Maybe Barnes is teaching the wrong course."