The rest of the day we stayed pretty quiet, just going through the motions. At one point, I slipped out and gave Goliath a call. Told him I was in New York and needed money, some work.
He told me they'd managed to secure most of my empire back and the finances were stable. Said he'd send over a bank card since he knew I'd never figure out how to pay with my phone.
Apparently, that's a thing you can do now. Not on my flip phone though.
That night, after we'd all gone to bed, I woke to the sound of Bucky again. Nightmares. The kind that haunt your bones. But this time, something told me to go to him.
I slipped out carefully, making sure not to wake the tiny time bomb sleeping beside me, also known as my daughter.
When I reached the living room, I found him drenched in sweat, twisted in the sheets he'd half kicked off. Just a black tank top and boxers. His scars were on full display, familiar and new. He was shaking, mumbling words I couldn't make out. His hair was loose, clinging to his forehead.
"Bucky," I whispered, stepping toward him.
His head rolled side to side, the words getting louder. "No, please stop… Let me die!"
I knelt beside him and rested my hand on his flesh arm, gently running my fingers along the hard lines of his bicep.
"Bucky," I said again, softer. "Everything's okay."
His eyes flew open, and before I could breathe, the cold clamp of metal wrapped around my throat.
Tight.
My airway closed. My hands clawed at his arm, but when my eyes locked on to his, they were dark, hallow. Not the blue glacier eyes I knew. These were murky, polluted. A stranger's.
Empty.
Instinct screamed at me to fight, to escape. I could, but not without hurting him, and I wouldn't die. Even if he snapped my neck, I'd survive. But I don't think he would.
I reached for his face, cupped his cheek with trembling fingers.
"You're not... the Winter Soldier," I gasped. "Remember your name."
Each word pulled me closer to the edge, and oddly, I didn't mind. There was something twisted in the intimacy of it. Something dark and deep.
God, how messed up am I?
Then, I saw it, that flicker in his eyes. The blue returned like rushing water over a dam. His grip released.
He flew backward, scrambling across the floor like he'd been burned. His body curled, breath ragged. "I'm so sorry," he whispered, barely audible.
"It's fine," I wheezed, rubbing my neck. "I've had worse."
But even as I said it, my stomach fluttered. Heat pooled low in my belly.
I think… that just turned me on.
"I'm sorry," he said again, horror still carved into every feature. His chest heaved, sweat pouring down, his hair wild around him.
And then I did the worst possible thing.
I laughed.
A sharp, breathless, cracked-out laugh. I couldn't stop.
Bucky blinked, confused.
"Your hair looks like shit, Barnes," I choked out between giggles. Looking at his hair strewn about, half stuck to his sweaty figure, bits of it puffed, parts of it uneven.
He cracked a smile, running a hand through the mop on his head.
When the laughter faded, I still wore a grin. "You got a buzzer?"
He nodded, finally breathing easier.
"Get it. Time to trust me."
He stared at me for a long beat before he got up and disappeared into the bathroom. When he returned, he handed it to me.
I spread the sheet from the floor across the living room hardwood. "Park it."
He sat, without hesitation. I grabbed some scissors from the kitchen drawer. "Ready to not look like a damn hippie?"
He chuckled. "Yeah."
He tried his best to remain still, but I saw the subtle flinches with each snip. Even Jumped when the buzzer whirred to life. Kept apologizing the whole time for before and now.
Each time, I reassured him that I was fine, and he was okay.
I knew it was what he needed to do to get through it, and it was nice for me to hear someone who hurt me apologize for once. Even if this time it didn't warrant it.
I guess in a sense we both needed to hear it.
That for once, everything really was okay.
Before long, the scraggly hair was gone, replaced with a clean, short cut. It suited him. Made him look… lighter.
I flopped down in front of him and handed him the buzzer. "You've gotta do your face."
I could've done it for him, but this part. He needed to do it himself.
He disappeared into the bathroom again. I followed and sat on the closed toilet lid, watching him in the mirror as he stood there, buzzer in hand, frozen staring at his reflection.
"I never felt like I was allowed," he muttered.
"You're free now, aren't you?"
"Yeah. I am."
"If you want it gone, do it. No one's going to hurt you for it."
He stared at himself for another second. Then, slowly, he began. Piece by piece, the beard disappeared, revealing that sharp jawline beneath. With each chunk of hair that fell his movements became more confident, his shoulders a little looser.
When he was done, he smiled. A real one. Small, unsure, but real.
I stood beside him, brushing loose hairs off his shoulders, fingers gliding along the lines of his chest and metal arm. The cool sheen of vibranium under my fingertips sent a ripple through me. My nails scraped gently along the gold-trimmed.
Our eyes met in the mirror, his heavenly blue, mine earthy brown. And for a moment, heaven and earth came together.
He turned to face me, bare and clean. Fresh in a way I don't think he'd felt in years.
I reached up and pushed back the last stray hairs from his forehead, letting my fingers linger. His breath hitched, his eyes flickering to my lips.
The air charged. Slow. Heavy.
"Thank you," he whispered.
"For what?"
"For not being afraid and for helping me not be."
"I'm not afraid of you." I murmured, my voice barely above a breath.
His eyes searched mine. I could feel the pull, slow and deliberate. Like gravity had finally gotten tired of pretending.
He leaned in, hesitant at first. Testing the space between us.
And I met him there, our lips coming together.
It wasn't a passionate kiss. It wasn't desperate or hungry.
It was gentle.
Soft lips brushing mine. A quiet collision. A question, not a statement.
His metal hand hovered at my waist, unsure, before resting lightly on my hip. My hand stayed at his jaw, thumb grazing the freshly shaved skin.
A breath passed between us. Then another kiss, deeper, warmer. Still slow.
Still full of restraint.
When we pulled away, he looked down at me like I was something rare.
Maybe I was.
I gave him a half-smile. "So... guess this means you trust me?"
He let out a quiet laugh, nose brushing mine. "Yeah. I guess."