Greywritesthings - Grey

Five Years That Felt Like a Millennium (2) — Bucky Barnes

Pairing: tfatws!bucky x reader

Word count: 7,579

Summary: Baby Girl isn't doing too well after seeing Quentin.

Warnings: illusions and mention of violence, abuse, manipulation, and cheating, self-deprecation, fluff, flirting, angst

Note: I apologize for my absence. The response to the first part has been unbelievable! Thank you all so much. I hope I can do it justice.

Ao3│Wattpad│Ko-fi

Main Masterlist │Part 1 — Part 2 — Part 3

Happy Reading! 💜

Bucky didn't know a person could cry so much. Surely, the body must have surpassed a threshold ages ago for maximum fluid expulsion, but it seemed unlikely. Tears ran unbidden down Baby Girl's face, soaking into her white camisole, still wet from the lake. At least her body no longer wracked with sobs, which was a small accomplishment, he supposed.

He filled a glass with cold water. "Here, drink this."

Baby Girl's movements were almost mechanical as she took measured sips, slowly draining the glass. She stared at her reflection in the crystal, then abruptly stood, making Bucky hastily step back. Barefoot and half-dressed, she made for the front door.

Bucky blocked her path. "Where are you going?"

She went around him and reached for the handle, but Bucky intercepted her just in time, pulling her by the wrist. Her eyes were unfocused and wild, darting this way and that. "Hey!" She froze. "Hey," he said again, softer and with considerably less force. "What's going on in that smart brain of yours, huh? What are you thinking?"

"I need to find Quentin," she gulped. "I need to apologize to him. I need to make things right before he—"

She choked on her words, but Bucky knew her enough by now to predict what she would say next. "Before he what? Before he hurts Sam?"

Her face crumpled. "Maybe if I get down on my knees and beg, he'll forgive me, and things can go back to the way they used to be."

Bucky felt his previous anger return. Quentin Beck was a goddamn asshole because, in the span of a few minutes, he had managed to turn a bright and bubbly soul into an inconsolable mess.

"Is that really what you want?" he asked. "You want things to go back to the way they used to be?" Bucky already knew Baby Girl's answer, but he felt it was imperative for her to acknowledge out loud.

"No," she croaked. "Not really, but I don't have a choice. Quentin will hurt Sam and his family."

Bucky wiped the fresh tears from her face, letting his hands linger on her cheeks. "And what about you? He's hurting you. Are you not Sam's family?"

Baby girl began crying anew. Bucky carried her to the couch and held her close, letting her tears run down his bare skin. They sat like that until her breathing eventually evened, and her eyes drooped close. Bucky didn't dare move. Baby Girl was cradled in his arms and against his neck, legs stretched on the couch.

His eyes began to close, sleep slowly taking over, and he was going to let it. They both needed rest after the day's events, but sleep wasn't in his fortune. Bucky's phone buzzed in his pocket, and he startled awake, awkwardly maneuvering around to retrieve it without disturbing Baby Girl.

It was Sam. Bucky glanced down at the sleeping form in his arms. Dried tears painted her face, her eyes were puffy, and her nose red. Bucky's heart lurched in his chest, and he made a hasty decision—promise be damned, Bucky would fix this for her.

He answered the call. "Hey, Sam." And told him everything .

"Sam?" Bucky asked, after Sam had been quiet too long.

Sam sounded wretched with grief. "I knew something was wrong. I just never imagined..."

Bucky sighed, already anticipating the blame game. A family trait, he considered. "It's not your fault. Quentin Beck is to blame, and he will pay for his actions, I promise you." Though Bucky couldn't see him, he imagined Sam nodding his frustration. "Do you think you could get in contact with Congressman Lockhart?"

"Congressman Lock—why?"

"He owes me a favour," said Bucky, not mentioning that he had saved Lockhart's life. "How much are you willing to bet that Lockhart has met Quentin Beck before, and that Beck has probably left a less-than-savoury impression on the Congressman?"

"I don't understand."

"Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, Sam."

Sam was impressed. "I'll ask Torres to get us in contact."

Bucky smirked, feeling a satisfaction spread over him at the thought of Quentin Beck rotting in a jail cell. "You do that. When do you think you'll be back?"

Baby Girl shifted in his arms, and Bucky softened his voice. "Day after tomorrow? Alright, keep me updated." He ended the call.

"Who was that?" came a groggy voice. Baby Girl's eyes were closed, and she was in the process of waking up.

"Sam," Bucky answered, adjusting her in his arms. "His business is taking longer than usual. He and Sarah will be back in a few days.

Baby Girl pushed away from Bucky, sat up next to him, and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Her eyes trailed to his chest and widened in mortification. "Shit, I'm so sorry. I drooled all over you."

When she reached over to wipe him clean, he grabbed her wrist. "Why do you make it a habit to apologize for things out of your control?"

She suddenly jerked away from him, putting ample space between them. "I can hardly help how I feel. If I feel sorry, I apologize."

"Well, don't." Bucky stretched his legs, groaning at the relief. "I'm a grown man," he teased, wiping his chest with the back of his hand. "I can handle a little drool."

Baby girl looked down at her palms, forlorn and despondent. "I'm a mess," she muttered.

"Yes, you are," Bucky responded quietly. She jerked her head in surprise, expecting him to dispute her. But she didn't need his false reassurances any longer. Bucky wanted the full weight of her circumstances bearing down on her so she might escape from the haze of melancholy and finally fight back.

Bucky looked out the window at the setting sun. It cast a beautiful golden glow over the two of them. "You should change into something comfortable," he told her. "There's a lot to talk about."

"Quentin was in one of my electives at school." Baby Girl was freshly showered and changed, wearing Bucky's sweats because she was out of clean clothes. They were enormous on her frame, which suited her well.

Bucky had also changed and was sitting across from her on the kitchen table, a warm cup of tea in his hands. It was something floral with a bitter note. He took his plain while she drowned hers in honey.

"Abnormal Psychology," she continued, "which is ironic because I diagnosed him with narcissism a few years into our relationship. I never told him, obviously. It wouldn't have ended well."

The conversation—long overdue—produced a painful pit in Bucky's stomach. He recognized it as suppressed rage, slowly building in potency and power. Bucky took a large sip of his tea, letting it burn his tongue so he might focus on anything other than the need to punch Beck's face.

"I tripped over his bag. He helped me up; apologized, and asked me to dinner."

Bucky couldn't help how bitter he sounded. "And you said yes."

She looked at him with dead eyes. "I wish I had. Then my life wouldn't have turned into a Shakespearean tragedy."

"That seems a bit bleak," Bucky snorted.

"But isn't it?" she implored. "Bleak? He was my first serious boyfriend; I moved in with him after two weeks and quit my job after a month. He didn't say 'I love you' until I threatened to leave him when I found out he was cheating. I pretended to look the other way when I found another girl's bra in our bed. I laughed when I saw lipstick stains on his collar. I gave him my virginity on my birthday, the day after I found out he cheated on me again. If that isn't bleak, if that isn't a tragedy, then what is? Perhaps it's the fact that I made excuses for him the first time he hit me. I told myself he was aiming for the wall, and I got in the way of his fist, but let's be honest, I was deluding myself."

Baby girl took a deep breath and dug her nails into the table. Her previous sorrow was replaced with unbridled anger. "I recognized all the signs. I knew he was using me—manipulating me! He even said so himself. We were at a party, and his friend said I was 'quite something.' Whatever the hell that's supposed to mean! Quentin said, 'She is, isn't she? But I gotta tell you, I'm not with her for that brain of hers.' I was standing right next to him! He and his friends undressed me with their eyes, and I just stood there and smiled!"

Bucky felt his rage simmering—at Beck, at the situation, at her . "Why are you blaming yourself? It's not your fault!"

Baby Girl pushed away from the table and paced around. "Don't!" she shouted. "Nothing you say will make this okay, Bucky. Nothing you say will make what I did okay!"

Bucky stood up as well, breathing heavily. He had known her less than a week but already felt burning concern on her behalf. "And what did you do?"

"Nothing!" she screamed, and her shrill voice echoed throughout the empty house. "I did nothing! Quentin threatened Sam, then once Sam blipped, he threatened Sarah and the boys, and I knew it wasn't a bluff because he had the connections to back him up. I knew, because I'm the one who helped him get those connections in the first place!"

Bucky sucked in a quick breath. "What connections?" Baby Girl had calmed somewhat after her brief yet brutal rant, and she sat down at the table, sipping her tea.

"What connections!" Bucky almost shouted.

Baby Girl startled. "I don't know! Businessmen, stockbrokers, a lot of Wall Street types. They paid attention to him when he had a pretty girl on his arm."

"Was that all?" Bucky probed.

Baby Girl shook her head. "There were a lot of government officials, too. I told you, remember? FBI, CIA, Homeland Security, Senators, UN spokespersons, congressmen, federal court judges—"

"Repeat that."

"Federal court—"

"No!" Bucky interrupted again. "What you said before."

"Congressmen?" Baby Girl huffed in annoyance. "I don't understand why that stood out to you the most. Are federal court judges not impressive enough for you, Bucky?"

Bucky ignored her snark and sat across from her. "Do you happen to know a Congressman Lockhart?"

Baby Girl paused before taking a sip from her cup. "Surprisingly, yes. Mr. Lockhart left a lasting impression when he didn't try looking down my dress every few minutes or shoving his hand up my leg."

"That's disgusting," he frowned.

"That's life," Baby Girl retorted. "Trust me, I had it better than most women."

Bucky shook his head, hating how she downplayed her struggles. "That's not okay."

Baby Girl scoffed without heat. "Like things were so much better in the forties. Right, Sergeant Barnes?"

Bucky ignored any feelings the utterance of his title from her lips brought forth. "I didn't stand for that then, and I don't stand for it now."

Thankfully, she seemed to have mercy on him and let the topic slide. "He didn't seem to like Quentin much; Lockhart. He asked me a lot of questions, and I think he got suspicious when I couldn't answer anything."

"Like what?"

"Like what I do for work, my interests, how I met Quentin. I couldn't tell him anything without revealing how abusive Quentin was. He especially didn't like it when he found out I was Sam Wilson's adopted kid sister."

Bucky was intrigued. "What did he say?"

"Nothing. He ignored Quentin for the rest of the event, but right before it ended, he pulled me aside and..." she trailed off.

"What?" Bucky encouraged her.

Baby Girl looked at him with shame and guilt swimming in her irises. "Congressman Lockhart told me I was making a mistake. He told me Quentin was using me because of my relation to Sam Wilson. He told me men like Quentin were rotten to the core, and I should run the other way and never look back." She gulped. "I should've listened to him."

Bucky shook his head. "You made a decision. You couldn't have known."

She didn't hear him, seemingly playing the scene in her mind. "Then the strangest thing happened. Congressman Lockhart called a few days later to meet about the project Quentin had proposed. Quentin was ecstatic, as you can imagine. He was overly sweet with me that day." Her brows puckered in confusion. "But I never understood... Why warn me away from Quentin only to cozy up to him later?"

Bucky leaned back in his chair, thinking everything over, connecting the dots. "Congressman Lockhart is a good man," he said. "A good and clever man."

Baby Girl narrowed her eyes. "How do you know him anyway? What does he have to do with anything?"

Bucky hesitated. He didn't want to get her hopes up if his plan didn't work, but he also couldn't watch her beat herself up any longer. This girl, this beautiful and feisty girl, had Bucky wrapped around her fingers since she wrapped her arms around his waist that day on his bike. This girl, who laughed and cried and smiled and was never afraid to voice her opinion. This girl, who looked at Bucky with admiration in her eyes, who looked at his metal arm with gentle curiosity and without any of the disgust or malice he was used to. Who kept her questions light and discrete so as not to unsettle him. This girl, this beautiful and feisty girl, who made Bucky smile.

He would do anything for her. Even if it meant keeping his scheme a secret.

Bucky hesitated, not wanting to lie to her, but finding he had little choice. "I have a plan," he said. "To get rid of Quentin Beck for good."

And Bucky was presented, for the first time since their swim in the lake, a genuine and awe-filled smile, directed entirely at him.

"Lemonade?"

Bucky swam toward the deck, hoisting himself from the lake. Baby Girl was sitting on the edge, letting her bare feet skim the cool water. "You take such good care of me," Bucky teased. He gave a playful shake of his head, sending droplets of water her way.

Baby Girl shrieked and raised her hands to cover her face. "You ass!"

With a chuckle, Bucky leaned back on his elbow, reaching for the drink.

"And to think I brought you sustenance!" Baby Girl pushed a plate of fruit toward him.

Bucky picked up a fruit with a deep purple flesh and examined it with suspicion. "Is this alien food? It looks like something you might find in Asgard."

Baby Girl stared in awe. "You've been to Asgard?"

Bucky was still looking at the teardrop-shaped product. "Not yet," he declared confidently and bit into the flesh. Bucky paused a moment, staring at Baby Girl before taking a larger bite. "What the fuck? Why is it so good?"

Baby Girl laughed. "What, you've never had a fig before?" She grabbed one for herself and showed him a better way to eat it. "You pinch it at the top. Split it open. Fold it over, and voila!" She popped it in her mouth, groaning as flavour burst across her tongue.

"I thought it was some weird kind of plum!" Bucky exclaimed, grabbing another.

"Nope, just a fig."

"Just a fig, she says," Bucky teased. "And what's this?" He threw a shiny orange fruit in the air, catching it just before it smacked Baby Girl in the face.

She took it from him with an unconvincing frown. " This —is a persimmon. You know it's ripe when it's ready to burst. I like to pinch the skin like this—" she demonstrated by making an incision with her teeth, "and suck the flesh." Baby Girl moaned in delight. "I missed this."

Bucky intensely observed her, paying close attention to a drop of persimmon juice on her lip.

"What? Is there something on my face?"

Bucky reached over to wipe the juice with his thumb. "You're a mess," he said hoarsely. Then, he brought his thumb to his mouth and licked it off as she watched him. "It's sweet."

She stared at him, soft lips parted and breaths uneven. "Did you think it would be sour?"

Bucky shrugged and picked up one for himself, following Baby Girl's instructions and getting a proper taste. When he was halfway through his fruit and Baby Girl was still gawking at him, Bucky realized he had taken the flirting a bit too far.

Satisfaction crackled in his muscles, and he twitched out a smirk. It was only a small accomplishment that he had retained some of his frivolous ways, but he was still proud. "What else do you have for me?" he inquired loudly, effectively diverting her.

Baby Girl quickly composed herself, dropping the rest of her persimmon onto the fruit plate. "Watermelon and grapes."

"Does the watermelon change colours, and do the grapes taste like cotton candy?"

"Change colours—No!" Baby Girl gawped. "You have a strong imagination." She suddenly turned thoughtful. "I was thinking of grabbing the cotton candy grapes, though. But they're too sweet for me."

It was Bucky's turn to gawp. "I was being sarcastic. Do cotton candy grapes really exist?"

Baby Girl smiled. "They've been around a while. I'll get you some next time."

Bucky reclined on his elbow, resting his head in his hand. "Next time. I like the sound of that." He caught her eye and asked her the burning question. "So, you've decided to stay?"

Baby Girl pushed the empty glasses and fruit tray away, lying back on the deck. From this angle, with Bucky hovering over her, the sun didn't burn her eyes. She smiled a sad smile. "I don't really have a choice, do I?"

"You always have a choice," Bucky replied fervently. "We would never keep you against your will."

Baby Girl shook her head. "That's not what I meant. Quentin will always find me. He's possessive of his things."

"You're not a thing . And he doesn't deserve you."

"Maybe I deserve him."

Bucky looked into her bright eyes, thinly veiled with tears. He understood the feeling of helplessness—the intense guilt that followed. Even now, after being pardoned and making amends, Bucky couldn't stop guilt from seizing him in the dark hours of the night, when he was most vulnerable and exposed.

He often looked around and wondered if he deserved the life he had been given, this second chance that none of his victims had the fortune of. On more of a surface level, Bucky understood he was as much a victim as any other. A prisoner in his own body. He, and he alone, knew the struggle he had put up for almost twenty years before finally succumbing.

Bucky looked into her bright eyes, thinly veiled with tears, and saw himself reflected in them. He saw himself as a younger man—a better man—waging a war against invisible demons, and he understood. Trauma left its presence in various ways, and the evidence of it was scattered all across her vulnerable physique.

Bucky reached for a strand of her hair. "Sometimes, the hardest prison to escape from is the one we build in our own minds."

Baby Girl turned her head to look up at the sky. "That sounds like something you'd hear at the therapist's."

"And I'm giving it out for free," Bucky smiled.

They both said nothing for a short while, enjoying the sun, and soaking each other's company.

"He used to tell me I was beautiful every day." Her brows creased. "Well, not exactly. He never called me beautiful. He called me hot, and sexy, and fire—" she suddenly scoffed. "I hated that. 'You look fire.' One day, even that stopped. I remember thinking he didn't love me anymore because that's what attracted him in the first place."

Bucky played with her hair, letting her say what she needed to.

"Objectively, I know I'm attractive. I was told often enough by his friends. But I haven't felt pretty in a long time. And it disgusts me that I needed his validation to feel good about myself." Baby Girl took a deep breath, shaking slightly from the overload of emotions. "Sorry."

Making sure she was looking at him, Bucky leaned his head down and kissed the corner of her mouth. Her skin was soft and warm, and he lingered a moment longer than necessary. "You're beautiful," he murmured, savouring her sweet scent. "Absolutely gorgeous."

Baby Girl stiffened under him, eyes widened with surprise, soft lips parted in exhale. She blinked furiously, grabbing her necklace in a white-knuckled grip—a dainty gold crescent moon with black detailing. "I feel very hot," she croaked.

Indeed, Bucky could hear her heart furiously pumping blood through her veins due to his risky kiss. He bent down and placed another, dangerously closer to her lips than the previous. "Let's cool you down then," he smirked, grabbing her around the waist and launching both of them into the lake.

He lost his hold on her as they submerged in the cool water. Bucky kicked off the bottom and broke the surface, looking around for her. Baby Girl emerged a moment later, mascara lines running down her cheeks and brows creased in a furious frown.

She wiped her face and scoffed, "You absolute ass!" When Bucky laughed at her, she splashed him with a large swell of water, which went into his mouth. He choked and sputtered between laughter, welcoming her gentle abuse with a large smile.

"You said you were hot," he rationalized. "I only wanted to cool you down."

Baby Girl intensified her attack, wading closer until she was on top of him, attempting to submerge his head. "You idiot!" she yelled. "My clothes are all wet!"

"Pity," Bucky sputtered, trying to grab hold of her, but she was relentless in her assault, flailing her limbs in reckless abandon.

"Die!" she shrieked, managing to clamber on top of him. She wrapped her legs around his neck and pushed him under, painfully pulling at his roots in the process.

All this time, Bucky could've easily subdued her. But where was the fun in that? When her legs tightened a smidge too much, and Bucky could no longer breathe, he finally put an end to their little game. He clasped his hand around her ankle and gave a gentle pull. Baby Girl fell from his shoulders with a dramatic scream, and realizing she had far surpassed his patience, began to swim away.

Bucky grabbed her ankle once more, keeping her in place. "You brat," he hissed. "I'll teach you a lesson."

Her panicked laughter brought a large smile to his face. Seeing her happy because of him; after the horrible week she'd had, filled Bucky with indescribable pride.

"No!" she giggled. "No more. I'm tired." In fact, she had stopped swimming and was struggling to stay afloat.

Bucky lifted her into his arms, ignoring her feeble protests. "That's enough games for today," he announced, carrying her dripping body inside.

After drying themselves and changing, they settled in the kitchen for dinner. Baby Girl sat on the island with her head resting on her arms, watching Bucky cook.

"Where did you learn that?" she asked when he expertly chopped onions without looking.

Bucky shrugged. "My Ma taught me the basics when I was little. She said cooking was a survival skill."

The girl smiled. "Smart woman."

"That she was," he sighed. "I learned some more in the army. Then, after I was pardoned, I found all this time on my hands and all these cuisines I wanted to try. YouTube is very handy for that."

"That it is." She walked to his side, watching him saute shrimp for the pasta. "You sure you don't want me to help?"

"Yeah, you sit your pretty ass down and relax."

"Yes, Chef!" Baby Girl saluted, not bothering to sit. She exclaimed in delight when Bucky flipped the pan one-handed.

"Wanna see something cool?" he smirked, grabbing a bottle of Cognac from the pantry. "Step back."

Baby Girl shuffled back, and Bucky poured some Cognac into the saucepan. He was so focused on the task that he didn't notice Baby Girl inch closer. Bucky tilted the pan, letting it catch fire, and a beautiful flame blazed powerfully in front of him. He turned, wanting to see her reaction.

She stepped away with a shout, arms raised to protect her face. The flame fizzled away as quickly as it had ignited, but she was still shaking in fear. She fell against the island counter, sliding to her knees.

Bucky turned off the stove and sank next to her, grabbing her arms. "What's wrong?" he worried. "Are you hurt?"

Eyes shut tight, she shook her head, but she was still trembling. "I'm okay."

Bucky didn't believe her. He lifted her up and set her on the counter, sliding between her spread legs. "Hey," he soothed. "What happened just now?"

She shook her head, eyes still closed. "I don't know, I—" Baby Girl exhaled shakily, trying to calm down. "I wasn't expecting—I thought. I'm scared of fire," she eventually admitted.

Bucky frowned. He vividly remembered the night of the bonfire, where she chased AJ and Cass around the large fire. There was no hint of fear on her face that night, no discomfort or hesitancy. He told her as such.

"I don't know. I think it's because the bonfire was out in the open. It was controlled and didn't feel as dangerous. But indoor fires..." She left the next part unsaid, but Bucky understood.

His flambé trick took her by surprise at such close proximity. For a moment, she was transported to her childhood home to relive that fateful night. Bucky hugged her tight, soothing her with kind words of affirmation. "You're safe now. I won't let anything happen to you."

She clutched tightly onto him, burying her face in his neck, breathing heavily into his ears. "Sometimes I think I was supposed to die that night," she whimpered, making Bucky freeze. "I was supposed to die in that house with my family. But I didn't. I'm scared the past will catch up with me one day to finish what it started."

Bucky held on to her tighter.

"I'm scared I'll find myself in that house again, and no one will be there to push me out the window."

"That won't happen," he promised. "I won't let it."

She briefly said nothing, and Bucky worried he hadn't done enough to reassure her.

"Have you seen the house?" she suddenly asked.

"No," replied Bucky, running his hands through her hair. "But Sam told me it was nearby."

Baby Girl hummed. "It's on the far side of the lake, covered by trees. We shared the lake with the Wilsons. Did you know the house is still there? What's left of it anyway. They fixed the damaged parts and put it up for sale. I found out two years ago."

Bucky pulled away from her, meeting her gaze. "It's been up that long?"

"Longer," she replied. "It went up for sale six years ago, but no one will buy it. Who wants to live in a house where an entire family died?"

Bucky wanted to correct her. "You're not dead," he wanted to shout. "You're not at fault. You deserve so much."

"If I had the money..." she shook her head and dismissed the thought.

Would she buy the house if she could? he wondered. The home where she grew up and created happy memories with her siblings.

Bucky thought about his house in Brooklyn Heights, which had been turned into a poor excuse of a strip mall. The house where he had sleepovers with Steve. Where Rebecca hosted her friends, and Bucky hid underneath her bed to try and scare them. Where he snuck in his prom date, Dorothy, through his bedroom window when his parents were out of town. The time he and Steve were playing baseball on the street, and Steve hit the ball straight through the front window.

Would he buy that house if he could? If it hadn't been bulldozed? He decided he would. He had the desire, and he sure as hell had the money.

"There's no point in dwelling on the past," he parroted. Occasionally, his new therapist offered advice that Bucky kept close to his heart. "You're alive to see another day. Make the most of it."

Baby Girl smiled softly. "You always know just what to say," she teased. "I will."

Bucky was consoled by her steady heartbeat and easy manner. "It's a god-given talent," he shrugged, instantly rewarded by soft giggles and an unenthusiastic shove at his chest.

Once the adrenaline from the scare dissipated, Bucky finally noticed their proximity. Her thighs were bracketing his, and his arms were caging her body. Their breaths mingled in the air between them.

"You're very modest," Baby Girl croaked, jerking away.

Bucky hastily turned to the stove, turning it on and resuming making dinner. "With good reason," he replied, clearing his throat.

He chastised himself while the shrimps finished cooking. Baby Girl had just gotten out of an abusive relationship. Now was not the time to be sweet on her—hovering so close he could smell her shampoo and the scent of her skin.

Wait. Was she out of an abusive relationship? Baby Girl had emphasized that she was only with Quentin because he threatened Sam, Sarah, and the boys. Except, that was no longer an issue as a plan was underway. Bucky knew it, Sam knew it, but did Quentin? Did Quentin assume that his dismissal from the Wilson Residence a few days prior was a fluke? If Quentin returned thinking he could whisk her away as if she owed him anything, he would be sorely mistaken. Bucky would make sure of it.

But where did that leave them? There was obvious attraction—though Bucky was unsure if it was appropriate to act on, considering the circumstances—and they were legal adults, but the path forward felt very unclear. While Baby Girl hadn't shown any unpleasant reactions to Bucky's past, she hadn't particularly reassured him either that it did not bother her. Was it fair to her to be caught up in his mess, along with her own?

So many questions, and yet the answers felt out of reach. Bucky turned around. Baby girl was sitting on the kitchen table, and she gave Bucky a smile that answered at least one question.

Did she trust him? Her smile said, "Yes. Yes, she did."

Another day passed like all the others. Had it really been over a week since she arrived in Louisiana? Sam and Sarah were still away on "business," and the boys were still at their sleepover—ridiculous really—she knew it was summer break, but there had to be a limit. She and Bucky were still alone together.

Bucky. His name made her burn with embarrassment. Lately, anything and everything related to him made her temperature rise a few degrees. His smile, his presence, his proximity . His hands holding her tight to his chest. Embarrassment always closely followed such thoughts, though for reasons that deeply ashamed her because never, in the entirety of her relationship with Quentin, did she feel like this. Beautiful, and desired, and wanted, and free . Happy.

She had invested around six to seven years in her on-again, off-again relationship with Quentin Beck and never managed to blush as furiously as she did in the presence of Bucky Barnes. The White Wolf. War hero. Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes.

While most girls gushed over Captain America in high school, Baby Girl cut out pictures of his best friend from her textbook and plastered them inside her locker. It was a stupid girl crush, one she quickly outgrew as she matured into a young woman. However, the fascination remained. During the past week, this fascination had transformed from a small, barely there spark to a blazing fire. The gruesome analogy was not lost on her, yet it was the only way to vividly describe her deepening feelings.

Bucky Barnes had lit her heart on fire. And that terrified her. Not because she was afraid of men after her relationship with Quentin, and not because of Bucky's unfortunate past, but because of her unfortunate reality. What did she have to offer a man like Bucky Barnes? She had nothing. No job, no prospects, no backbone with which to confidently regard the world. She had spent six years with an abusive man, and she could have left at any moment—could have gathered the courage to trust her brother Sam to take care of all of them. She hadn't taken the opportunity when presented with it, and there was this man, who hadn't been given any semblance of reprieve, and he was stronger for it.

So, no. While there was obvious attraction between them both, she was not sure it was appropriate to act on. She could never deserve the likes of him.

The path ahead was unclear, but somehow she knew he would be there to guide her. And when he chucked her into the lake that evening, laughing loudly at her temper, she smiled back, hoping her face screamed, "I trust you. I do."

After an uneventful dinner, Bucky sheepishly announced he had to leave. "I forgot I promised Carlos I'd help with his car."

She raised an unimpressed brow, fixing him with a stern look. He had promised to take her shopping for a new phone, and while she wasn't looking forward to a ride on his death trap, she really wanted her games back. "I didn't know you were a mechanic along with being a war hero."

"I'm not a war hero," he responded mechanically.

The words burst from her lips. "If it weren't for you," she snapped, "Doctor Zola would've been on his merry way to design new techniques to destroy the human race. You stopped him. If that's not heroic, I don't know what is."

"I'm not a war hero," Bucky said again after getting over the initial shock at her outburst.

"But you're a mechanic?"

"I'm not that either," he huffed. "Mr. Thurow needs me to tow his car."

"Excuse me?"

"The company overcharges and always ends up damaging the vehicle. He asked me for a favour."

"Do we have a tow truck?" she asked.

Bucky raised his left hand. "I have a metal arm," he pointed out. "And super strength. I can easily tow a car."

Baby Girl was speechless. "How long will you be?"

Bucky checked his watch. "An hour? Less, if I manage to not get roped into game night."

"Game night? It's a weekday."

"Every night's a game night at the Thurow's," Bucky responded seriously. "We'll get your phone first thing tomorrow morning."

"Promise?" she asked his retreating figure.

"Promise," he replied. "Lock the door, alright? And keep the blinds down."

"Alright, Dad," she retorted, but he had already left.

Baby Girl took a deep breath. This was the first time she had been alone in weeks. She sat down on the couch and closed her eyes. A minute passed, then two, then three. Five minutes later, she opened her eyes and saw only thirty seconds had passed. She groaned from boredom and flopped over the armrest. She was loath to admit that she dearly missed Bucky. There was something in his air and manner of walking that brought peace to her inner turmoil.

She sighed, resorting to cleaning the kitchen, which was not dirty in the least. In the middle of her furiously scrubbing the countertop with a sponge, the landline chimed annoyingly from the other room. "Hello," she answered, twirling the cord with her pinky. "Who's this?"

"Baby Girl!" the jolly voice on the other line bellowed. "I was hoping you'd pick up."

"Sam!" The two talked, catching up on the past few days. It turned out Sam was in Washington. "How's Sarah?" she asked. "Is she enjoying her time away from the boys? They're lovely, but they can be a nuisance."

Sam grumbled something unintelligible under his breath.

"What?"

"She's on a date," he groaned. "Look, I'm happy for her. But I didn't need to see her exchanging spit with a stranger."

"Poor you," she giggled. "And lucky Sarah! Wowza!"

Sam laughed on the other line. "It's great to hear you happy after so long."

"Hmm," Baby Girl hummed, feeling momentarily guilty. "By the way, I thought you and Sarah were going to New Orleans. What are you doing in Washington?"

"He didn't tell you," Sam said with surprise. "I thought he would."

"Tell me what?"

"I know about Quentin," Sam sighed. "I know you're still dating him."

Her breath got stuck in her throat. "He told you?" she asked in disbelief.

"Don't be mad at him," Sam pleaded. "I made him tell me."

There was shuffling on the other end. A loud sniffle.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there for you. I'm sorry you felt like Quentin was the only one you could count on."

"What exactly did Bucky say?" Baby Girl questioned, thinking Sam was too calm about the situation.

"He said Quentin was blackmailing you to stay with him."

Baby Girl sighed. "Is that all? Did he say anything else?"

"Like what?"

"Like... nothing." She realized Bucky had not disclosed any of the more sensitive subject matter. Not the abuse, nor Quentin's impromptu visit. "It's nothing. I'm sorry I kept this from you."

Sam sighed heavily on the other line. "That's in the past. We can only move forward from here on out."

Baby Girl nodded even though Sam couldn't see her. "You have a good friend," she told him. "Bucky's doing a lot to help. He came up with the plan to distract Quentin with "bigger fish," as he put it. Quentin will forget all about me if he finds something more worthwhile. But I'm sure you know all about that."

"He said what? That's not what we planned!" Sam exclaimed. He swore under his breath. "I need to take this call. It's Congress—I'll tell you soon, alright? I'll call you right back."

"Sure," she said, slightly flustered. "I'll be waiting."

Sam ended the call, and she put the receiver down. The second she did, the landline immediately started ringing.

"What took you so long?" she joked with a laugh. "I've been waiting hours for your call."

"You have? I knew you missed me."

Baby Girl felt her heart drop to her stomach. The voice on the other line was not quite as deep, or quite as warm. It was low and raspy, eliciting goosebumps across her arms and bad memories across her skin.

She made to end the call, but his shrill warning stopped her. "You don't want to do that," Quentin hissed.

"What do you want?" she managed to ask between ragged breaths.

"Straight to the point, I see. You've really changed."

"Fuck you!" she seethed. "I asked you a question." She was surprised by her resolve, and so was he.

"What, you're swearing now? That's not the girl I know."

Her body was trembling with adrenaline. "Tell me what you want, or I'll end the call."

She could feel his anger through the line. "I want to talk to you in person."

"Over your dead body!" she yelled.

Quentin was oddly calm with his response. "No, not over mine."

It was so obviously a bait—one she couldn't help but fall for. "What do you mean?"

"It's a shame," he sighed, "that I'm meeting them for the first time under such shit circumstances. They're cute kids. Would've loved New York."

Time seemed to stop.

"Have you boys ever seen the Statue of Liberty? I'll take you once your Aunt comes back home. We can all go together."

There was a muffled noise, then the slam of a door shutting close. It felt like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over Baby Girl. Her muscles tightened painfully, and she collapsed onto the couch.

"No," she whispered.

Quentin laughed on the other end. "Cat got your tongue?"

Baby Girl closed her eyes, feeling tears of frustration well in the corners. This is why she kept her distance. This is why she wanted to go back to Quentin and back to New York. But she let herself hope in Bucky's presence, let herself believe that she could have a family while keeping her freedom. "You monster," she hissed. "Don't you dare touch them." But there wasn't any heat behind her words, only the bitter taste of defeat.

He tasted it too, and oh, how he reveled in it! Quentin laughed again, low and menacing. "I told you I wouldn't let you leave so easily. Meet me in person if you want to see your dear nephews again. And don't you dare tell anyone," he hissed. "This is between you and me."

Baby Girl ignored his warning and reached into her back pocket to grab her phone and tell Bucky. But her hand came back empty. She didn't have a phone; she didn't even have Bucky's number. And did she really want to risk the boys' lives by going behind Quentin's back? He didn't want them anyway, he only wanted her.

With tears burning her eyes and a fire blazing in her chest, Baby Girl asked, "Where do you want to meet?"

On the other end, Quentin smiled, knowing he had won.

Bucky reached into his back pocket and grabbed his phone. He scrolled through his contacts, realizing too late that he didn't have her number. His face fell, and he sighed deep and slow, garnering the attention of the room. Carlos Thurow had invited some friends for a game of poker and forced Bucky to play a round with them. That was four rounds ago.

"What's got you so down, Sergeant?" Carlos teased. "There a girl waiting for you at home?" The men laughed and cheered, barraging Bucky with questions.

He found himself smiling, and finished his beer in one swig. "I do, actually," he said, grabbing his jacket and walking to the door. "I should get going."

The men cheered him on, and Bucky left feeling light and tingly. It wasn't from the alcohol—Bucky couldn't get drunk anymore—it was her. His Baby Girl.

The walk to Sam's was warm. The stars were out, the sky clear, and the wind blew gently, ruffling the trees around him. Bucky took a deep breath, smelling the ocean air and the earthy trees, listening to the faint sounds of crickets chirping and owls hooting. A night had never been sweeter.

Once at the house, Bucky lightened his footsteps and creeped onto the porch, feeling mischievous and wanting to spook Baby Girl. The living room light was on, and he could see the television playing silently through the thin curtain. Bucky placed a hand on the door, frowning when it creeped open at the slightest touch.

Didn't he tell her to lock the door? And to leave it completely open? Delacroix was a small community inhabited by kind and lawful people, but there was a crazy ex on the loose. He expected Baby Girl to be more careful than that.

Bucky decided he would give her a proper scare for her carelessness and slipped through the entryway. He sneaked into the living room, arms raised like in the movies, and—

She wasn't there. Bucky quickly scanned his surroundings. TV playing, couch pushed askew, the landline dangling from its cord, the edge of the carpet flipped over as if someone had run over it. Bucky rushed to check the rest of the house, the bedrooms, the washroom—he even checked the lake. Nothing.

He went back to the living room, senses dialed to the maximum. There was no sign of a forced entry, and though a scuffle was apparent, there were no prints or marks that indicated there had been another person. Unless they covered their tracks. But then why leave the carpet overturned, the couch askew? Why make it obvious something had happened?

Perhaps Bucky was overthinking, and Baby Girl had run to the store to grab something. She had already proved herself to be impulsive and clumsy. It wouldn't be a huge stretch to believe she forgot to lock the door behind her in a hurry.

Except, she wouldn't have left without her wallet. Bucky bent down to grab her purse from under the coffee table, feeling dread engulf him at the sight. Palms sticky and breaths uneven, he looked around the room once more. This time, he noticed something he hadn't before, a hastily scribbled note peeking out from under the landline.

Bucky snatched the note, careful not to crease it.

"I'm sorry," it began. "I had no choice. He has the boys."

Bucky's mind began to race with questions. Most namely, "Where?"

It was then that his senses picked up on something new. The faint scent of smoke. Bucky dropped the note and ran out the back, scanning the horizon. There, on the opposite side of the lake, a thick column of smoke billowed from behind the treeline. The beginnings of a large fire. Baby Girl's house was set ablaze, glowing brightly in the dark. Bucky's heart dropped to his stomach, and he ran.

Note: So... I lied. There will need to be another part.

Ao3│Wattpad│Ko-fi

Main Masterlist │Part 1 — Part 2 — Part 3

Comments and Reblogs are appreciated!! 💜

@astrophileous @buckylovinglokivariant @casa-boiardi @crazyunsexycool @dancer3205 @dascarypicklerawr @drakelover78 @hallecarey1 @kandis-mom @marantha @marvelatthetwilight @marvelouslyunstable @ria132love @spookyparadisesheep @sunnyhummingbee @traderjoesmints

Tags

greys fic recs

188 notes View Post

greywritesthings

2 months ago

shout out to my girlies who say WedNessDay in their heads

Tags

i heard it once in year 5 and iv never stopped

15K notes View Post

greywritesthings

1 year ago

This next spencer reid fic