Someone has been in his bedroom. Someone who’s hungry. Nothing else is disturbed or missing.
It’s still an intrusion and he’s Captain America. He’s expected to call SHIELD with their forensics. He has deadly enemies, one of them above all others on SHIELD’s wanted list. Yet all Steve can do is stand at the window staring out at what he can see of the city three stories below, his insides knotting up with hope. The files described the Winter Soldier as an expert tracker. If any of Steve’s enemies could find where he lived it would be him.
That should have given Steve twice as much reason to call in SHIELD. The Winter Soldier is out there to kill him and to be in his sights is to die. But he’s Bucky too, in there somewhere, and after all the years they’ve scraped for food together during the Depression, the thought of Bucky out there hungry is too much to stomach.
His arm has slipped around Bucky’s hips in his sleep and after a moment Steve gets what it is this time. Bucky is hard from being pressed so close and the complete ignorance in his face of what a person would do here is awful. The distance HYDRA and their mindwipes carved between them is awful when the Bucky he knew would have turned to him for a kiss and rolled on top of him without a thought. But all that closeness of feeling like one person is buried now under the blankness they left and the grueling struggle to learn how to live his life again.
Threat assessment follows close on its heels because Bucky’s a goddamn professional.
Military, definitely. Male, built like a goddamn mountain. Bucky stares helplessly because shoulders that broad should be illegal. It’s the face that really fucks him up though. Hair as silver as the star on his chest, swept back from a face that’s all hard angles and deep lines. There’s a beard too, covering a jaw that looks strong enough to sit on, and its white is peppered with bits of dark blond, which should look ridiculous but doesn’t.
“You seem to know my name,” Bucky says, plastering on a charming smile. “Only polite to return the favor.”
“If you’re banking on politeness, you might be in the wrong business, son.”
Jesus, Mary, and motherfucking Joseph. This is how wet dreams and porn clips should start, not a goddamn interrogation.
In their time on Earth, they had lived through countless events that people believed heralded the end of the world. Wars that spanned decades and continents, terrible diseases, natural disasters that wiped away whole cities in an instant-none of those were new. But the Eternals had always faced them together, as a family. No matter what they encountered, Sersi always had utter faith that they would make it through, with Ajak leading them and Ikaris protecting her.
But now they were shattered, Ajak and Gilgamesh gone, and though Sersi knew it was her duty to lead them through this newest crisis, she felt so terribly alone.
What is wrong with me? I don’t go for the sad boy villain, yet somehow this ship? It intrigues me… and this fic is both hot and manages to encapsulates what’s so captivating about a love that’s 7000 years old.
“This will go ever so much easier on both of us if you treated me like I had eyes in my head and a brain,” she said, interrupting him without regret. She wanted, more than anything, to wipe that fearful look off of his face. “I promise, I’m not trying to trap you or to blue-card you. In fact, I’d like us to come to some sort of arrangement where Steve is concerned.”
There is no time. No time to process, no time to grieve. Steve pushes the horror, the guilt, down into the pit of his stomach, a lead weight that would crush him if he allowed it.
The noise from the array distorts, changing in frequency as the light flares up, painfully bright. Steve turns away, shielding his eyes, and sees the Borg on the walkway before him move stiffly, its head still bowed.
It slowly rises, lifting its head. The red laser sighted by its right eye strobes across Steve’s face as it turns towards him.
It was human, once. It’s eyes a shade of blue that Steve hasn’t seen in half a lifetime.
“Why would you do that for a man you don’t know?” Bucky asks.
Steve raises one slow eyebrow at him, then the other, till his expression turns from skepticism to disbelief. His forefinger and thumb reach into his shirt’s front pocket and draw out a wrinkled dollar bill.
Steve looks him in the eye when he says, very patiently, “For money, Bucky.”