Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I have never been a simple person.

Nobody is. Everyone is complex, strewn together with intricate strands by divine hands we’re far from fully comprehending.

Even then, I’ve always been a special kind of complicated.

Everyone with the curse of the Stark name was. Be it because of raging narcissism or other-worldly intellect, each and every one of us had something that set us apart from the cookie-cutter intricacy of the world. Oddly enough, my simplicity was my complexity.

Unlike Tony and his genetic superiority, I’m no genius. I barely scraped by in high school with low B’s and high C’s, flunking every second chance and golden opportunity until they finally kicked me to the curb for… less than adequate academic performance.

I remember waiting out my father’s simmering rage, praying he’d eventually offer some kind of comfort or—anything, really. The waiting never stopped, and I eventually found out that Howard had decided to disinherit me. The guy didn’t even have half a heart to tell me himself. I received the news through a lengthy, emotional text message from my mother.

Apparently, everything was sworn to Tony, which honestly felt right. I wouldn’t have been a good fit for the legacy. My knees would’ve buckled under the weight of it all, and the whole operation would have crashed and burned under my authority. But Tony? He had the brains and the ego to take Stark Industries and make it everything Howard wanted it to be.

Rhodey helped me pack my bags while my parents were off on a business trip, trying to ease the tension with half-baked jokes he made while folding t-shirts. When they didn’t come back, he just held me.
After the funeral, I was lost, drifting aimlessly through life with little to no coherency. I had stopped praying. Stopped eating. Some days I almost stopped breathing.

Until Coulson found me and gave me the opportunity of a lifetime.

One lab accident and two end of the world catastrophes later, and here I am: a mighty hero. An Avenger.

After SHIELD collapsed and an infinite stream of information flooded the public, the team had been working to shut down what we called The Phantom Protocol. The Government and its citizens were under the illusion that HYDRA had been vanquished, swept along with SHIELD into a pile of sweltering ashes. Our intel said otherwise—a scatterplot of labs, networks, and assets dispersed around the world in free roam. On their own, HYDRA was dangerous. With them operating under the guise of defeat, they were lethal.

So, we’ve spent the past year chasing ghosts, shutting down what we could and watching what we couldn’t slip through our fingers. Every time we thought we had them pinned, another ping would appear on our radar in a brand new location. Canada, New Mexico, Rwanda, Ecuador. The list goes on.

By the grace of God, Fury continued to orchestrate our operation. This time though, he had to play puppet master—pulling strings from the grave. With his help, it’s been going pretty smooth.
Well, up until now.

“Stark,” Sam’s voice crackled through the commotion, “Are you pinned?”

I ducked behind a crumbling column, bullets carving themselves into the cement wall pressed against me.

“Nope,” I muttered, yanking the shepherd’s crook out of its sheath across my back.

The crack of bone beneath vibranium cut him off before he could respond. The agent stumbled back, gun clattering to the ground. Another rushed me, the muzzle trained towards my chest.
I leapt back, hooking the curve of the crook around his calf and yanked. He hit the ground—hard. A dull amber glow spilled out between my fingers as I knelt down and placed a hand on either one’s chest.
Their heads lolled to the side, weapons slipping from their limp gloved grips.

The silence that permeated the hallway sent a chill down my spine. More often than not, what followed the quiet was worse than the chaos that was stifled. The crook still warm in my hand, I stepped over the unconscious soldiers and spoke into the stillness.

“Two agents in the northern perimeter awaiting confinement. I’d give it 15 minutes until they wake up.”

A smooth, silk-like voice responded. “Be careful Lia,” Said Maria Hill, a wary waver crept between her words. “We don’t know if he’s been reactivated. If he is, that’s a losing battle. He’s as strong as Rogers, if not more, and hasn't been trained to restrain himself.”

I bit down on my cheek and followed the whir of electricity through a caving doorway.

What waited inside was anything but what I had expected. I stepped back with a hushed gasp, eyes narrowing as a flickering overhead light illuminated the scene.

A cold white mist sifted through what remained of the chamber, bleeding out from the broken glass panes and onto the tarnished floor. An impression of metal paneling seared itself into a worn leather chair blanketed by torn wires spitting sparks from their mangled ends.

Empty.

Adjusting the black bud in the nook of my ear, I caught my reflection. My fragmented grimace stared back at me, warped under the blinking yellow lights.

“He’s gone.”

Chapter Text

The Avengers Compound warmed steadily under the golden glow of the morning sun. Mourning doves cooed soulfully upon the window sills, their soft brown feathers ruffled by the cool breeze. Someone, assumingly Tony, had started up a pot of coffee. The alluring smell wafted through the creme halls, creeping through the open glass doors of my lab and beckoning me out into the main room.
A thoughtful sigh escaped my lips as I squinted at the flittering light blue hologram hovering above my cluttered desk.

Bruce hardly slept. Nine times out of ten, he was left running on three hours of sleep a day—four if he was lucky. Often, he would tuck away in Tony's lab to occupy his haunted mind. Whether he was hiding from us or himself, I’m not entirely sure. He hardly lets me do any work on him, secretive of the horrors he’s kept hidden all these years.

Off-brand super soldier serum and gamma radiation made for a killer combination for drug resistance. Any sort of sleep aid, SSRI, or SNRI barely touched him.

Occasionally, I would find him curled in the corner of the couch, a knit throw covering the gentle rise and fall of his chest. He always looked peaceful, and small. Like he was finally safe.
I wanted to find a way to recreate that calm without invading his privacy—and I am the only one who can.

RBM-07, or, Regenerative Biofield Manipulation. Fancy name for the psionic-biology capability I got from my very cool and edgy superhero backstory. My system is conveniently boosted, a charming cocktail of niche micro super-soldier enhancements. Through direct contact, I can restore the human body and mind to something close to optimal homeostasis. My abilities extend to wounds, physical and mental—though hereditary defects are off the table—same with anything already dead. In simpler terms, I heal people. I can restore what’s missing, and stabilize what’s broken, but it has its drawbacks. Bullet holes are easy. They take minutes, sometimes seconds. But a lifetime of emotional trauma can take years to mend.

I like to say I’m the living embodiment of the “I can fix him” trope. Except him is just about everyone—especially the nine amalgamations of trauma and horrible coping mechanisms I live with.
Unfortunately for me, my significant (minor) biological intelligence was gained by proximity, not actual smarts. So procuring a medicine like this was taking a heck of a lot longer than I wanted it too. FRIDAY was trying her best to help, pulling old SHIELD files up for me to study, and occasionally references to Wakandan medicine. But I was still stumped.

Resting my chin on a loose fist, I glanced at the formulas and notes I had hastily scribbled down throughout the night. Maybe I could contact Viktor, or Shuri. Or both of them at the same time? Wait, no—a joint call with two people way out of my intelligence league sounds like an ancient FBI torture method.

A frustrated groan broke past my lips as I threw my head back and tugged at the sad, floppy bun of curls tickling my neck.

“Bad time?” A horribly sweet voice asked from the doorway.

“No!” I blurted, too quickly to sound convincing as I spun on my heel to face him. “Uhm, no, I’m just—” gesturing behind me, I took a few steps forward, my feet heavy with fatigue. “—just stumped. You’d think the Stark genetics would bless me.” A weak chuckle escaped me as I snapped my fingers with the shake of my head.

Steve raised a blonde brow as he set a steaming mug of coffee down on the table closest to the entrance. “What are you up to this time?”

“Something for Bruce,” I said, attempting to rub the sleep from my eyes. When I opened them, floaters assailed me, and I sighed. “Sleep aid, somethin’ somethin’, I’m-I’m not sure. I stopped thinking coherently about an hour ago.”

“How long has it been since you’ve slept?” Steve asked as he crossed his arms over his broad chest. He looked like a worried, broody chicken. I swallowed a snort at the thought.

“Few hours.” I shrugged, glancing at the clock on the wall. “I took a power nap at 6.”

He furrowed his brows. “At night or this morning?”

A lazy smile stretched across my face as I slowly grabbed the mug from the desk and took a long sip.

Steve’s demeanor sagged. “Ophelia,” he said pointedly.

“Whaaat?” I sang as I turned away from him, holding the warm beverage to my chest with a hum. “It’s fine. I have no upcoming appointments, no missions. I’ve just been waiting for last week’s report anyways, Rogers. Might as well do something productive.”

“Sleep deprivation isn’t productive, Lia.” Steve followed after me, leaning against the counter in front of me. “You’re gonna run yourself into the ground.”

“To dust I shall return.”

He clearly didn’t find my joke funny, eyes narrowed with worry and feigned frustration. He straightened out, placing a hand on my upper back as he led me to the open glass doors of my lab. “Come on, Sam made breakfast and by some miracle didn’t burn it.”

The smell of cinnamon and syrup danced across the common room, beckoning me and my roused appetite forward. A dull growl escaped from under my sweater, and Sam chuckled from the kitchen as he poured himself a cup of something horridly healthy.

“Someone’s hungry,” he lightly teased, nodding at me as I sat down at the island. “We got bacon, eggs, and half-burnt pancakes. What do you want, Doc?”

Steve pulled a chair out beside me and answered in my place. “All of the above. Water too, please.”

A small smile tugged at the corners of my lips as Sam weakly saluted. “Aye aye Captain,” he snickered, eyes drifting up to me from the marble counter. “What’s your crime?”

“Ask blondie, not me,” I snarked, taking a sip of coffee. “I did absolutely nothing wrong.”

“She hasn’t slept.” The Captain blinked. “Or eaten.”

“Hey, I slept!” The chair tottered a little as I swung my head to look at him, betrayed. “Maybe not as much as you do, but I slept. Sleep is a luxury and I am in the working class.”

Sam slid a plate of food my way, blowing a raspberry. “We live in a multi-million dollar compound, there’s nothing ‘working class’ about us—especially you,” he chuckled.

My stomach loudly verbalized its hunger as the mouth-watering smell of seared bacon and well-seasoned eggs struck me like a bullet. I picked up the fork Steve handed to me, and took a bite. “I more so meant it metaphorically. I’m working class in my heart, sweets.”

“Well how about you start workin’ on that food?” Sam teased, pointing at me with a wooden spatula. “And maybe a nap while you’re at it. The bags under your eyes aren’t helping your argument, Doc.”

I was too busy shoving the plate full of warm and tongue-meltingly delicious food in my mouth to defend myself. Thankfully, Tony had walked in right as Sam’s poor choice of words left his lips.

“Did your mother drop you on the head as a kid?” Tony asked as he strolled past Sam with narrowed eyes. “Never comment on a woman’s appearance if you want to win an argument. Especially with that one.” He lifted a finger from around the mug handle and jabbed it in my direction.

I stuck my tongue out, and he looked at me with a slightly disgusted expression. “If you’re gonna act like a child, please finish swallowing first,” he groaned, shuddering. “I can see bits of all three foods on your tongue.”

“So… let me get this right.” I brought a fist up to my mouth as I swallowed. “You can handle flying a missile into a wormhole but can’t take food on my tongue?”

Tony shook his head as he spooned heaps of dark roast into a coffee filter. “I’ll take the label of family disappointment for this one.”

Sam’s eyes widened at the remark, and I watched as he fought the smile that crept onto his face.

“Low blow,” Steve whistled, his voice clinging to a fondness that always gave him away.

Wow, ok. Rude. Setting my half-empty cup of coffee down, I kissed my teeth. “Do you stay up late at night arguing with the imaginary people in your head for moments like this?”

My brother only hummed, muttering something petty under his breath as he focused on the coffee pot sputtering to life. Steam poured out from the gaps in the lid, curling at the edges as it clung to the ceiling.

A comfortable silence covered us—save for the clinking of silverware and muffled chatter from the rest of the team downstairs. I let my shoulders drop, only now noticing the dull ache that thread through my joints. For a moment, everything seemed to feel close to normal. Well, as normal as you can get with the Avengers.

Then FRIDAY’s voice split through the hum of calm that settled over the room.

“Captain Rogers, Doctor Stark—Director Fury demands your immediate presence in the hangar. Priority Level 7.”

Chapter Text

“Based on our intel, he’s staked out in a safehouse in northern Romania.” Maria crossed the quinjet with her usual self-assured strut. “The area was identified with satellite imagery, so it offers a general view, but nothing specific. Pinpointing the exact location will be on you two,” she said as she set down a sleek black tablet held loosely at her side and slid it towards us.

“The rest was captured with some of our SciTech drones and on-site agents. Markets he’s frequented, where he had breakfast last Sunday…” she trailed off, placing a pale hand on her hip.

My gaze flicked down as I swiped through a series of grainy photos—all of which looked like they were taken by a toddler who got their hands on a Nokia phone. How he’d ended up in Romania was beyond me, but I kept my mouth shut and slid the device to Steve. He grabbed it, more out of routine rather than curiosity, eyes distant as he scrolled. Ever since Bucky resurfaced something shifted in him. He was still him. A soft-hearted soldier with a heart of gold. But now, a tapestry of grit embroidered with anxiety rimming its edges blanketed him. Weighed him.

I set a hand on his shoulder as he glowered down at the photos. A soft glow seeped out from my palm and bled into his sweatshirt, disappearing under the dark gray fabric. The crease between his brows softened by a fraction.

“Where will you drop us?” Steve asked as he handed the tablet back to Maria. She tucked it under her arm and exhaled.

“Right on the outskirts of Bucharest. Tony rented out a room from one of the best hotels for you both,” she said, smoothing out the wrinkles in her pencil skirt. Steve’s studious expression faltered at the mention of my brother. He glanced in my direction as my chest hollowed itself out. “Stay low, stay quiet, and find him. This could be our last chance to get him out of HYDRA’s hands.”

Propping my chin up on a loose fist, I looked up at her with a smirk. “Have we ever failed you, Agent Hill?”

Maria rolled her eyes and turned on her heel towards the exit. “Get it done, and report back accordingly!” She called over her shoulder.

The click of her heels faded beneath the roar of the jet engines as my head fell forwards in defeat. I didn’t need to look up to know the look on Steve’s face, or what it meant.

I still hadn’t told Tony the truth. He still believed our parents died in a car accident. A small part of me wished they had—wished that their last moments were quiet instead of brimmed with terror. But I knew the truth. I knew that the Winter Soldier murdered them. And for three years, I’d withheld that truth in a selfish attempt to maintain the simplicity of his grief.

Now, the Winter Soldier was back. And I’d been assigned to his rehabilitation, and tasked with an impossible choice: uphold the lie, or tell Tony what really happened December 16th, 1991.

Steve’s voice broke through the tense silence. “You have to say something at one point, Lia. He’ll find out one way or another—he always does.”

My nails scraped against my scalp as I raked my fingers through my tangled curls. “I know. I-I know.” I stood up from my spot beside him and made my way towards the cockpit. “I will.”
“When?” He asked as he leaned back in his chair.

I paused.

If not now, then when?

A thick white cloud passed over the head of the quinjet. I swallowed a weak laugh. “Well, sure as hell not now, unless you want me to break the news through a facetime call. Hey big brother! Remember how our parents died in a car accident? Turns out they were actually assassinated by a HYDRA soldier. Oh, and, I’m flying out right now to kidnap him and fix his broken brain! Just thought I’d let you know beforehand even though I knew this for two years! Teehee, winky face.”

Steve didn’t respond. My fingers danced across the control pad, switching flicks and tapping buttons with robotic automaticity. “I’ll tell him after we get Barnes back.”

“If we get him back.”

“When. When we get him back.” I snapped my head over my shoulder, eyes narrowing. “Where’s Captain Optimism? I miss him, let me talk to him.”

Steve ran a hand down his face, ignoring my question. “Where will that put Bucky?”

“Where will what put Bucky?” My brows pinched together.

“What do you think Tony’s gonna do when you finally tell him the truth? Just accept Buck with open arms?”

A foul remark sprouted excitedly in my mind, waving its hands ecstatically as it cried to be released. With a quiet breath, my eyes fluttered shut, and I trained my frustration outwards. My palms radiated dimly, then flickered out. “Well, I won’t lie and say yes,” I said in a slight mumble. “Tony’s gonna do whatever he wants to do. But when he does, I’ll deal with him.”

I planted my foot on the floor and pivoted my chair to face him. “I want to help your friend just as much as you do, Steve. And I will.” His scowl softened under my gaze. “But right now? We need to focus on getting him back, and preferably not dying while we’re at it.” I tilted my head, the corners of my lips twitching upwards.

A soft warmth filtered through the space between us, driving out the tension in his shoulders. I couldn’t help but give him a tender smile—a disarming little thing I learned in my years as an agent (and a friend, but I like how dismal it sounds to imply my social skills were learned solely for survival).

“I just hope this works, Lia. I can’t lose him again.” Steve stared down at his hands, shaking his head like the motion would rid of the worry that smothered him.

“You won’t,” I said with a firm nod. “I’ll make sure of it.”

He didn’t answer, and I didn’t make him. Though I could never fully understand what he was going through—having to lose Bucky to HYDRA once, then getting him back just to lose him again—I was close enough to the blast radius to feel the tremor of the impact.

That’s the tricky thing with my abilities. I feel everything. Weighted shoulders, tortured minds, ancient grief, an unholy amount of stress thick enough that not even a butcher's knife could cut through it. All of it is drawn to me like I’m an emotional lightning rod. I’m irresistible, really.

I’ve done my best to keep Steve afloat since Bucky resurfaced. Don’t get me wrong, I think I’ve done a pretty solid job. Still, he worries. He paces. Thinks too long and too hard about things he can’t control. My healing can only do so much for him, and well… he’s Steve Rogers. Captain America—tough as granite and twice as hard to break. My charm only gets me so far with the guy.

PLus, as much as I love what I do, there’s an expensive price to pay. Every other night I’m up slaving away in my lab, or mulling over mission reports to distract myself from the horrors I’ve soaked up. I’m haunted by ghosts from bodies I never buried, tormented by nightmares that don’t belong to me.

Everything burdens me. Hulking. Suffocating. Trapping me in an ache that seeps into my bones and anchors me down.

It’s ugly work, but I’m the only one who can do it right.

The healer always ends up with the bloodiest hands. Or… however that Dragon Age line goes, don’t quote me on it.

The rest of the flight to Bucharest was silent, and before I knew it, we were dropped just outside of the city in some far-off, obscure corner where nobody would spare a second glance. I stepped out onto the tarmac and the world hit me all at once.

Bucharest was loud—car horns blaring in an invasive harmony, foreign chatter spilling out from the sidewalks, cold wind piercing through the thick wool of my sweater. The emotional noise wasn’t any kinder. Millions of tired, angry people thinking tired, angry thoughts. It all struck me too fast to filter through. I pinched the bridge of my nose and bit back a groan as I followed Steve to the chauffeur waiting for us at the edge of the street.

Before I could open the trunk, he stopped me, palm outstretched.

“Aw, what a gentleman,” I hummed, letting the duffel bag slip off of my shoulder and into his grip.

Steve tilted his head with a crooked smile. “Someone’s gotta keep chivalry alive.”

As we slid into the back of the sleek black cab, I took note of the colorful buildings, scurrying market-goers and clear blue skies. If it weren’t for the nature of this mission, I would’ve enjoyed it more. But knowing the Winter Soldier was here kept me on high alert. He could be anywhere—from the petite cafe tucked in between thrift shops to an abandoned factory far-off in the woods. Steve took note of my nerves, but swallowed whatever cheesy Facebook quote he brewed up in his mind.

Checking into the hotel went easy enough, and the room was nice. Big and bright and far away from all the noise. It was also brimmed with unnecessary luxuries Tony ensured we would have access too. I mean seriously, why would we need a bidet during all of this?

Steve did a once-over, checking for any hidden cameras or microphones before finally setting his luggage down on his bed of choice. I walked out to the balcony, propping my elbows up against the thick, burgundy wooden railing.

“M’sorry for how tense I’ve been,” he spoke from beside me. “I’m just—”

“Scared. I know. I get it.” I turned to look at him, mouth curving softly in a quiet reassurance. My eyes flickered towards the passing cars half a mile off from our hotel. “He’s your best friend. This mission, all of this—” I gestured around us. “—it’s everything. He’s everything. If I was in your shoes, if Tony was in his… well, I’d be worried too.”

“He’s not the only one I’m worried about.” Steve tilted his head, peering at me through his thick eyelashes as he bumped me with his hip. Darn you, Captain Gorgeous and your precious puppy eyes.

“I am just fine, Captain,” I huffed with an exasperated chuckle, tossing a shrug in his direction. “Who else would I be if I’m not fine, hm? Come on, I am the only thing keeping this team together. If it weren’t for me, we would’ve had a civil war by now.”

Steve snorted, his stare following me as I trudged back into the room. “A war? I think that’s a little dramatic.”

I shook my head, grabbed a pair of pajamas from my bag, and headed towards the bathroom. Like the hot female lead I was, I leaned against the doorway, raising a brow. “I don’t get paid to be dramatic, blondie. I get paid to get things done. This whole operation would’ve blown if I wasn’t in the mix playing mediator. Why do you think Fury popped me in with you guys? For eye candy?”

“No, he’s got Romanoff for that job,” Steve joked.

A catty grin played on my lips as I tapped my bundle of clothes to my chest. “Oh?”

A light pink kissed the tips of his ears as he sat down on the edge of his bed.

“Steve? Do you find Natasha attractive?” I asked. “Don’t try lying to me now, I know when you’re lying.”

He sighed, grabbed one of the mission files from his bag, and shuffled further onto the mattress. “Ok, and now I’m ignoring you.”

I couldn’t help the laugh that slipped out as he buried himself in the file and shook his head with an unintelligible mutter.

Steam swallowed the marbled room within minutes, and the tension winding my muscles seemed to wash down the drain with the scalding water.

When I stepped out of the shower—far across the buzzing beehive of Bucharest—a mind stirred, splitting through the thrum of the city. Cold as metal and twice as sharp.

The soldier had roused.

And somehow, out of the hundreds of emotions flooding the streets, his were loudest.

Chapter Text

A wintry rigidity seeped through the bustling passion of market-goers and whizzing cars. It snuck through the room, snaking around my torso and creeping through my ribcage before finally constricting around my lungs. The taste of copper filled my mouth as a searing pain struck through my head in a cruel throb. I swallowed a gasp and stumbled forwards, flinging my hands out in front of me to catch myself on the counter. My palms slipped, the marble slick with condensation. Steve was at the door in seconds, fist rapping against the thick wood with a certain tenderness that always clung to him.

“Lia?” His voice was muffled under the smog. “Are you ok?”

“Just fine!” I called back, words strained and hoarse. “Ok, no I’m not.”

The pressure dulled long enough for me to suck in a broken breath—then, like a wave, crashed over me again. I braced both hands against the counter, beads of water trickling down from my still-wet curls and onto the marble below, gathering in a thin puddle.

“I’m coming in.”

“Wait—” The objection fell on deaf ears as Steve stepped into the bathroom, his sky blue eyes sweeping over me once. Thank God I wasn’t naked—that would’ve been awkward.

Something warm pressed against my back as he inched closer. “Here, let’s get you outta here.” His tone was steady, but I could feel the worry radiating off of him like a microwave. His hand slid up and around my shoulders, guiding me. “Easy now.”

The bed creaked as he sat me down and crossed the room to get a cup of water. A long, hoarse groan spilled out from my mouth. The mattress dipped as he positioned himself beside me and lifted the cup to my lips. I took a sip then dug my palms into my eyes.

“He’s close,” I croaked. Steve tilted his head, confused. “Barnes—” my hands dropped to my lap as I turned to look at him, eyes fluttering as electricity pulsed through my skull. “He's awake. N’ close. I-I don’t know how, but I can-I can feel him…” I shook my head with a sigh.

Steve’s whole body stilled, shoulders lifting like a soldier awaiting orders.

“Are you sure?” He asked, voice low. He wasn’t doubting me as much as he was doubting himself.

My breath hitched as another jolt of electricity crackled through me. “Yeah, m’sure,” I murmured. “It’s like my head is on fire and underwater at the same time.” I winced, pinching the bridge of my nose as though it would offer any sort of relief. Unfortunately, it didn’t, and Steve noticed. He reached out and set his palm on my back, as if to ground me to the present. I blinked, squinting as I took in my surroundings. After a beat of silence, Steve finally responded, exhaling slowly through his nose.

“You want me to call Fury?” he asked, his posture softening.

“No, no—” I shook my head, firm and fast. “No, I’m fine. This happens sometimes. If-if it stays, I can find him.”

“This is normal for you?” His eyes creased with concern.

I laughed—a weak thing, more for his comfort than out of actual humor. “Yeah, yeah it happens, uhm. It’s okay, it’s part of the drawbacks. But, it comes in handy.” I looked up at him with a tired smile. Before he could return the expression, another pulse hit. And with it, a hazy scene.

Bland beige walls. A burnished metal arm. Chipped green paint swallowing a golden door knob.

“The hell?” I mumbled as I pushed myself up from the mattress.

Steve stood swiftly, his calloused hands cupping my arms. “What is it?”

My voice was raw when I spoke. “I can find him.”

—

I was wired.

I guess the adrenaline of hunting down a highly volatile, brainwashed super-soldier who could snap your neck in half a breath really amps a person up (even one as hot, cool, and shot-up by a glowing blue space cube as me). Since the first night in Bucharest, I became more attuned to Barnes’ mind. His presence was always nearby, as though he lurked in the corner of every alley I rounded.

I couldn’t distinguish his thoughts—telepathy is Wanda’s thing—but I could feel. I could feel terror, guilt, exhaustion, suspense. It’s like every step he took was measured on tenterhooks. My chest would tighten with the unmistakable strain of anxiety. Sometimes, late at night, my eyes would sting and swell as though I had been crying. Occasionally, I would see things. Glimpses of memories that befuddled and condemned him. Memories he couldn’t recognize himself in.

It was torture.

I only prayed we could get to him before HYDRA. And prayed I did.

The noise of Bucharest filtered through my soliloquy, wrapped my senses, and tugged me back to the current. Sweeping over the passing stream of men, women, and children, I brought a gritty beige mug to my lips.

“See anything?” My voice was a murmur, captured by the thick clay walls of the mug.

“Nothing yet.” Steve responded, his eyes meeting mine from across the terrace brimmed with fussing customers and darting waiters.

I set the mug down with a hum and itched the corner of my mouth. “You think he’s gonna show today?”

“I dunno,” he sighed. “He knows he’s being hunted, but part of hiding is blending in. If you disappear completely, you’re easier to find.”

“Gosh, you sound so old.”

Steve tilted his head as he surveyed our surroundings. “Well, I did know your father.”

I pushed up my rose-tinted sunglasses and smiled. “My condolences. I hardly knew him myself.”

My lips twitched as my smile fell slack—shifting into a crooked and miffed line. “He’s probably rolling in his grave knowing I’m trying to fix-it-felix the guy that bashed his head in.”

His head craned from left to right like a security camera swiveling a room. “Bucky was his friend too, you know?” He said, taking a quick sip of his coffee. “They’d talk about science, space… they were total nerds. And Howard would always pull Bucky into his shenanigans. They stole a jeep from a Nazi politician once.” Steve set down his cup with a quiet laugh.

My heart pulsed at the image of my dad—young, carefree, head full of hair—laughing alongside Barnes as they hopped into a 1930s, military-green jeep. My mouth curved upward, quiet and unguarded.

Though Tony would proudly and sarcastically say otherwise, I really did love our dad. Every now and again, I even missed him. Sure, the guy beat me and hated my guts, but he was my father. I couldn’t hate him if I tried. Or maybe I wasn’t trying hard enough, who knows.

“Well, Tony had to get his rebellious streak from somewhere,” I hummed.

Before Steve could answer, a blur of brown hair buried beneath a dark gray hat whizzed past in my peripheral. Without thinking, I stood, pivoted on my heel, and made off towards him. I thanked God that he didn’t notice the movement. If he did, he paid no mind, weaving through conversing passersby with a cold, stony expression.

Sputtered and confused, Steve called through the comms, “Lia?”

“Hold your position,” I said lowly, voice hardly audible among the cacophony of chatter and shrieking car horns. “He’ll notice if you move with me.”

With long steps, he moved masterfully through the crowd. My eyes narrowed, flickering over him instinctively. He was dressed for winter weather—thick black jeans, a merlot henley, and a murky green bomber jacket. Something prodded beneath the worn fabric flapping at his back. A gun. Curled in the leather of his left hand was a plastic bag, weighed by what I assumed was fruit. Looks like we caught him in the middle of a grocery run. My chest drummed as I drifted closer towards him, gaze falling to the back of his tattered work boots.

The current of bodies thinned as he veered into a side street. I waited three seconds. Four.

“Steve, he’s branching off. I gotta follow him, this may be my only chance.”

Seven.

“Stay put, it’s too dangerous for you to go in alone.” Steve’s tone was icy cold, words thick with urgency.

Eleven.

The taste of copper filled my mouth as I bit my tongue.

Sorry Steve.

Instinct jolted me forwards as I narrowly dodged an approaching caravan, and bolted after the soldier. In a moment's notice, he stopped, turned on his heel and drew his gun. Pedestrians screamed and scattered in varying directions as the shrill cry of a bullet split through the air. My knees buckled, and in one swift movement I dropped, rolled to the side, then sprung up and at him. I closed the distance between us surprisingly quickly, head ducked low as he fired another round.

I brought my arm up in a sharp swing to his wrist, knocking the gun out of his hand. The soldier didn’t hesitate, bionic fingers reaching for my throat. Recklessly, I let him—not because I couldn’t stop him, but because I needed him close.

His eyes—steel blue and incredibly cold—darkened as I pressed a hand to either side of his head.

A blinding yellow haze bled into my vision as heat boiled beneath my skin.

“I’m sorry,” I breathed.

Then everything went dark.

Chapter Text

The first thing that hit me was the undeniable, pervasive smell of death. It clung to the air, pressing in on my senses like a thick smog. I swallowed a gag and tilted my head away to escape, but it was everywhere.

“What the…” I trailed off as I opened my eyes, greeted by suffocating darkness. My hands instinctively grasped at the shadows, finding only nothingness. I huffed.

Great. I’ve been sucked into the worst mind void of all time. Screw you, savior complex, I knew this was beyond my paygrade. God only knows the horrors Bucky Barnes has lived through for it to get this bad. I shifted on my feet and lifted my eyes from what I assumed was the floor to the ceiling, then squinted. A small, blinking red light illuminated an ancient security camera. This wasn’t a room—no, it was hardly a place—this was a cell.

My heart took the next flight to my stomach as something shuffled in a far-off corner.

“Who are you?” A deep, broken voice whispered out. His voice.

I swallowed, throat dry. My mouth moved before my mind could catch up.

“Ophelia,” I said softly, taking a step forward. “But you can call me Lia.”

Silence followed. I dropped to my knees and outstretched my hands, palms angled up towards him. A gentle glow bled out from the seams in my flesh, flooding the gap between us with amber light.

My heart pulsed as a pair of dull blue eyes met mine. They were drawn tight, etched with weariness. Beneath them were pools of deep, ashy purple. His jaw was shadowed with stubble, dashed with faint streaks of blood. His lips were split and swollen, as though he had been beaten. I couldn’t help but frown, drawing in a quiet gasp.

“You’re Bucky,” I murmured.

“How do you know my name?” He asked.

A small smile crawled across my features. “Steve,” I said gently. “He’s put up quite the fight to get you back.”

“Steve?” He repeated in a breath, something close to recognition passing through his face.

“Yeah, Steve.” My smile wobbled. “He misses you.”

Bucky’s eyes fell to my palms, and I bit down on my cheek.

I extended my hands in a silent offering. His knees lifted up against his chest as he recoiled, retreating into his corner of the cell.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” I said with a shake of my head. “I promise, I’m gonna get you out of here. Will you let me?”

A momentary hush came and went before his lips parted with a trembling sigh. He inched closer, lifted his arms and placed his hands atop mine. They were heavy, considerably larger than my own. One was dashed with scars and callouses—the other lined with deep crevasses carved through the slick metal. In an instant, every bit of torment struck me like an arrow through my heart. Despite the pain, I threaded my fingers through his and smiled.

“Thank you, Bucky.”

—

Everything hurt when I came to.

Tony was asleep in the chair next to me, arms crossed over his chest and head lulled forward. There was an empty white mug cradled loosely between his legs, the rim stained with coffee. He startled awake when I sat up, ran a hand through his hair and did his usual, ‘you scared me kid’ speech. At least I think he did. I’m not sure, I zoned out halfway through.

Thankfully discharge was easy. Cho chewed me out about over-exerting, told me to take it easy the next few days, then waved me off. I gave her a weak laugh, said I would try, then left. Imagine telling a Stark to ‘take it easy’. Taking it easy is a carnal sin to us. If you take it easy, people die.

My steps were slower than I would’ve liked them to be as I trudged down the third floor hall of the compound. Tony said I had only been out for a few hours.

“Hey kid.”

Speak of the philanthropist and he shall arrive. I stopped in my tracks and peered over my shoulder towards where he called me.

“Hey Stank,” I greeted with a tired smile. “What’s up?”

He stepped out from the supply closet he was buried in (why was he in there?) and sighed. “I’m never living that down am I?”

“Oh, absolutely not.” I shook my head and clapped my hands, gesturing down the hall with puckered lips. “Sorta’ have a murder cyborg to go check on, so if you could hurry it up that would be great.”

Tony furrowed his brows, folding his hands behind his back. “How is our little spaz?”

A bitter taste settled in the back of my throat at the mention of Barnes. Thankfully, Tony was too busy fidgeting with his watch to notice the way my lips curled downwards. “Apparently, he’s in custody off-base. He’s not awake yet, but Fury wants me there for when he does. I’m special like that.”

“Mm. Sounds fun,” he hummed, finally matching my pace. “How’re you after your lightshow?”

I resisted the urge to scoff. “I’m just fine, thank you Tony.”

I better be just fine. This entire mission would be useless if I wasn’t. I may not be the only super-powered freak in this world, but I’m the only one who can heal him and heal him right. With Shuri’s advanced cognitive rewiring and my Disney princess magic, his recovery should be quick.

“When were you gonna tell me?”

My steps faltered. “What?”

Tony’s hands fell to his sides as he moved in front of me. For a moment, he didn’t say anything. “He killed our parents.”

Steve was right.

He’ll find out one way or another—he always does.

Sweat gathered in the grooves of my palms as my heart stuttered inside my chest. He found out. He always finds out. What was I thinking?

“It wasn’t his choice.”

“When were you gonna tell me?” Tony asked in a trembling whisper. I winced at the sound.

“He didn’t want this, Tony, he—”

“Answer the damn question, Grace!”

“I… I wanted to tell you.. I did. I was going to. But I didn’t know how, I didn’t know when the right time was—”

“The right time?” Tony tilted his head and closed the distance between us in a long stride. “How long have you known?”
I drew in a stuttered breath. Three years. I’ve known for three years. “Long enough.”

His jaw snapped shut, eyes glistening as he searched me with a foreign desperation. Far be it from my big brother to be so contrite. He had always been a giant to me—invincible, perfect—the golden child of America herself.

I suppose, in all of this, what I really wanted to preserve was the illusion I had. The illusion of the intellectual, untouchable goliath of a brother who carried the world on his shoulders with a poised smile.

But now, standing here in front of him, I see nothing but a betrayed boy swallowing sobs in an attempt to appear strong.

Wiping my hands on the loose fabric of my sweatpants, I broke away from his gaze and sighed.

“Listen, Tony… when I first found out, I was knee-deep in SHIELD work, and you were wrestling the media and fighting with terrorists. There was no time for me to say anything—not the way it needed to be said. Even if I had, the Winter Soldier was a ghost story, ok? SHIELD doubted he even existed up until last year!” I shook my head, blinking back the tears threatening to surface. “I knew that if I told you, you would do whatever it took to find him, and-and I couldn’t do that to you. I couldn’t put you through that loss again. Not again. Not after everything.”

A strenuous grief poured forth from him as he quickly wiped a stray tear with the back of his palm, and lifted his head defiantly. “That wasn’t your choice to make.”

“My decision was not unwise just because you disagree with it, Tony,” I scoffed. “Was it a good one? No. But it was the best one I could have made at that moment.”

“He can’t stay here,” Tony asserted.

“Tony, no—”

He turned on his heel and started off down the hall. “I made up my mind, Lia. He’s not staying here.”

I hurried after him. “Listen, wreak havoc on me, I don’t care! But don’t do that to him. Don’t do that to Steve!”

“Don’t get me started on spangles, he’s just as wrong as you are,” he sneered. “I don’t want Barnes in the compound, not where he can hurt you. You’re too close to this.”

I don’t want Barnes in the compound.

My steps faltered as my breath caught in my throat. The compound was the only viable option. If I were to leave Barnes in the hands of SHIELD, he would once again become the very thing that HYDRA made him to be—a mindless weapon. Fury would disregard every protocol, every warning sign, and push him to the brink of collapse. Steve would turn against SHIELD, Tony would turn against Steve, and the team would be forced to pick sides. In turn would begin the gradual destruction of the Avengers and the ultimate failure of my career.

“Fine,” I muttered. “I’ll start packing.”

Tony stopped dead in his tracks and turned to face me, bewilderment sprawling across his taut face. “What?”

My gaze softened as I smoothed out the wrinkles in my corduroy sweater. “He’s my mission, Tony. He needs my help.”

“Ophelia, he’ll kill you,” my brother murmured.

I couldn’t bear to look at him any longer as I turned on my heel and set my eyes on the elevator. “Then I’d have died doing my job.” I shrugged, peering over my shoulder with creased brows. “Whether you like it or not, I’m an Avenger. And I’m pretty sure Bucky Barnes needs one of those right now.”

Whatever he might’ve said, he didn’t, his jaw tightening as I marched down the hall with clenched fists.

Looks like I could finally call in that favor T’Challa promised me.