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May, 2014

Cusco, Peru

Bucky and Maggie walked side-by-side over the cobblestones of the Plaza de Arma, with dust on their clothes and ratty backpacks on their shoulders.

"It was beautiful, Bucky," Maggie exclaimed, clutching her backpack straps and almost walking sideways in her eagerness to talk to him. "I didn't know places like that existed, and for so long! You'd think something that old would be long gone, crumbled to dust or at the bottom of the mountain, not still there for anyone to see," she closed her eyes to re-picture the beautiful ruins of Machu Picchu, which they had visited only that morning.

"You're gonna give a guy a complex, talking about old this and old that," Bucky grumbled, but when she opened her eyes she could see the teasing light in his face. Going to the ruins had been his idea – he'd remembered seeing a painting of Machu Picchu on a postcard in Brooklyn in the '30s, and said they couldn't pass up seeing the real thing.

"Oh, but compared to Machu Picchu you're like… a baby," Maggie teased back. "If Machu Picchu was a person, it would think you were a tiny, crying baby." She'd seen such a baby only a few days ago, screaming in its mothers arms at a café. Bucky had had to step on Maggie's foot to stop her from walking over to get a closer look. It had been so small.

"I'm a baby?" Bucky bumped his shoulder against hers as they turned into a side street. "What does that make you?"

But before Maggie could reply, they both spotted the police blockade at the other end of the street. There were five officers in black uniforms with yellow vests, stopping all foot traffic and inspecting papers.

Bucky and Maggie didn't tense, or turn around – it was too late for that, they could see the officer scanning all incoming pedestrians. Instead they stepped closer together, and Bucky slipped his metal arm around her shoulders, smiling down at her. She smiled back, and any observer would have written them off as a backpacking couple. Only Maggie could read the tension in Bucky's eyes, and he the tension in hers.

When they came to the line at the blockade, Bucky dropped the arm around her shoulders and took her hand. She squeezed the metal beneath the glove.

"¡Ten tus papeles listos, por favor!" ["Have your papers ready, please!"] called a female officer. The family in front of them started digging in their pockets for wallets.

Maggie processed the data: five officers, urban street, checking for papers. No sign of concealed backup, and no furtive glances at Maggie or Bucky. Whatever these officers were looking for, it wasn't two lethal ex-HYDRA assets. She reached into her canvas jacket to pull out their forged passports, and used the movement to scan the blockade. They weren't checking bags, and Maggie almost let out a sigh of relief. The weight of her wings, normally so comforting on her back, felt like a burning brand as they sat in her backpack. The rest of the contents of their backpacks weren't incriminating: clothes, a notebook, maps, a laptop, but she would have a difficult time explaining the wings.

Her anxiety didn't appear on her face or in her bearing, but Bucky sensed it anyway. He squeezed her hand gently. The firm metal grounded her, and she smiled up at him.

They'd reached the front of the line. Two officers beckoned them forward.

"Papeles, por favor," ["Papers, please,"] called the older man, and Maggie handed them over with a smile. She was close by Bucky's side, still clutching his hand, but not so close that she drew attention to his arm.

The officer scanned their passports. The unsmiling faces of Margaret Smith and James Brooke looked back at him, along with stamps marking their travel from New Jersey, to Colombia, to Peru. Maggie and Bucky knew every detail about Smith and Brooke, from their fake birthdays to their fake addresses to their fake jobs as publicists.

"Tourists?" asked the officer, his eyes flicking up to their faces. "Staying where?"

"Our friend's house, in Rosaspata," Bucky explained. "Hablamos español, si eso es más fácil?" ["We speak Spanish, if that's easier?"]

The officer's face brightened, as did his younger counterpart's – he must have been the only English-speaking officer there.

"Bueno," ["Good,"]the officer smiled, still flicking through their passports. "¿Cuál es tu propósito aquí?" ["What is your purpose here?"]

"Acabamos de regresar de Machu Picchu," ["We just got back from Machu Picchu,"] Bucky smiled at Maggie.

The younger officer perked up at this. "Ah, ¿lo disfrutaste?" ["Ah, did you enjoy it?"]

Maggie's face broke open in a smile. "Fue hermoso," ["It was beautiful,"] she sighed. "Me dejó sin aliento." ["It took my breath away."] Maggie had been infiltrating locations and fooling people her whole life, but she was tired of the lies. Some lies were necessary, but whenever they spoke with strangers like this she tried to be honest, to be as much 'herself' as possible. She didn't want to lose herself in multiple identities. Margaret Smith might be her shield, but she didn't want to stop being Maggie Stark.

"Su español es muy bueno," ["Your Spanish is very good,"] said the younger officer with a smile. Once, Maggie – or rather, the Wyvern – would have noted his flirting as a weakness to be exploited. Now, she was bemused.

"Gracias," ["Thank you,"] she replied, smiling sweetly. The younger officer blushed. Maggie glanced at Bucky, and smirked when he rolled his eyes at her.

The older officer closed their passports, and tapped them against his hand. "¿No cámaras?" ["No cameras?"] He gestured at their backpacks, and Maggie felt her heart drop. Bucky's arm whirred, only loud enough for her to hear.

"No," she replied, still smiling. "Somos eco-turistas." ["We're eco-tourists."] She'd heard the phrase on the hike up to Machu Picchu, and had googled it on the way back.

Her response had its intended effect: the officers shared a cynical glance, and then the older one gave them their passports back.

"Adiós, eco-turistas!" ["Goodbye, eco-tourists!"] he said with a smirk, waving them through the blockade.

"¡Adiós!" ["Goodbye!"] Maggie replied, pulling Bucky by the hand.

He nodded to the officers on his way past. "¡Gracias!" ["Thank you!"]

As Bucky and Maggie strolled away, she heard the officers chortling in their wake. She swung her hand in Bucky's. When they turned the corner, they didn't release each other's hands or visibly drop their covers, but they each sensed the other's relief.

"Eco-tourists?" Bucky asked, once they were a block away. Some of his hair had fallen out of his cap and hung in his face, and his brow was furrowed. It might have been the adrenaline from their near miss, or her left over excitement from Machu Picchu, but Maggie found herself hit with a rush of fondness for her friend. She knocked her shoulder into his, but kept him steady with her continued hold on his hand.

"I'll explain it later," she smiled.

He huffed. "Fine. Good work, back there."

"You too. We need a contingency for bag checks."

"We do," he agreed, eyes flicking over her backpack. They discussed that contingency for the last few blocks to their safehouse, still holding hands. Maggie felt good despite the long day; her feet felt light, and her breath came easy. The EMDR therapy was working, making her memories less painful after multiple sessions. The rest of it was helping, too – she still had bad days, and bad weeks, but she found herself smiling more often, having fewer nightmares, enjoying living in the world a bit more. They were four months free of HYDRA, and they had hope for the future. They'd have to stay in hiding, always on the run, but that was a small cost if they got to be people.

They climbed up the fire escape to their safehouse, and discussed contingency plans and Machu Picchu while they learned to make curry. Later that evening, with the lingering taste of chilli in her mouth, Maggie fell asleep to the sound of Bucky's pen scratching in his notebook. She had a nightmare in which she killed the police officers to protect her wings, but when she woke Bucky brought her a glass of water and talked her through her coping techniques.

It was a good day, and she'd had precious few of those in her life.

May, 2014

Azangaro, Peru

"Oh come on, that is not a word."

"Don't like it, look it up."

Maggie squinted at Bucky, then back at the addition to the word bug that he'd just laid down on the Scrabble board.

"What does it mean?" They'd had this debate over nearly half the words currently on the board – Bucky kept playing 1930s and 1940s slang words, and Maggie kept playing engineering and scientific terms.

"Is the Jitterbug not a thing any more?" Bucky asked innocently.

Rolling her eyes, Maggie pulled the laptop across the table and typed in the word. She smiled at the Wikipedia result. "It's a dance," she exclaimed, and clicked on the first video result. As it loaded, she cocked her head at Bucky. "You used to dance?"

He shrugged, and they both looked back at the screen as fast-paced jazz began to play. The black-and-white footage showed couples in swing dresses and shiny black shoes dancing back and forth across the screen, arms and legs flying. When the video ended, Maggie looked back at Bucky, eyes wide.

"You used to dance like that?"

He laughed at her dumbstruck expression. "Ah, not quite like that. I tended to fudge the steps a bit, but my partners never minded."

She shook her head. "You sound like you were a menace."

"Might've been worse, if we'd had music like this back then," he grinned, gesturing at the laptop again. He was referring to the music she'd been playing throughout the evening: rock and roll and hits from her childhood, everything from Pink Flloyd to Led Zeppelin to Pat Benatar. Now that they'd finished watching the jitterbug video, the original video playlist had cued up Michael Jackson's The Way You Make Me Feel. This one was familiar to her, like most of the others had been, and she tapped her finger along to the beat.

She grinned. "So you like it?"

He nodded, eyes glinting, and then cocked his head at the music video on the laptop. "Did you use to dance like that?" On the screen, Michael Jackson flicked his heels and thrust his hips.

Maggie laughed. "Not that I remember. I do remember that Tony knew how to do the moonwalk, though."

"The what?"

She cut the song short to find a video of the moonwalk, and laughed again at Bucky's astounded face. "Now imagine my twenty-year-old brother doing that from one end of the workshop to the other with his arms full of frayed wiring." She played her next word – pascal.

Bucky shook his head and consulted his own tiles. "I can't believe you were allowed to listen to some of these songs," he said. She'd seen him raising his eyebrows at a few lyrics and scenes in the music videos. She'd read a bit about how social mores had changed over the years, but not much.

"I suppose I didn't have a whole lot of supervision," she said, shrugging. "And half the time I was in the workshop with Tony, who wasn't too concerned with censoring his music."

Bucky shook his head again, and watched Michael Jackson balance on the points of his shoes. "I've missed out on a lot," he murmured.

Maggie cocked her head, and considered the solemnity that had fallen over him. "But now you've got the chance to catch up," she replied. "There's seventy years of music and books and films and who knows what else that you get to enjoy." He brightened a little. "I haven't experienced much of it either, if that's any comfort."

He played another word. "We'll have to start doing this properly, then. Go decade by decade, or something."

"That's a good idea. Maybe we should start with the last ten years, though, since neither of us know anything about them. Oh!" she jumped up from the table, and retrieved her backpack from where it was hidden under the safehouse floorboards. Bucky rolled his eyes at her abandonment of the game, but she was back in a moment. "I forgot to show you this, I bought it yesterday." She pulled a slim device from the back pocket, showing Bucky the black screen and the silver casing, which read iPod. They both knew what a smart phone was, had used them for missions, so this wasn't a particularly life-altering discovery. They'd been purchasing and discarding burner phones for the past few months, in case they ever got separated.

Bucky cocked an eyebrow. "Another burner phone…?"

"No, this plays music!" Maggie turned the iPod on and opened the music app. "Well most of our burner phones would too, but we need to keep those turned off. But I've disabled any GPS or tracking capability on this, so it's like a little… you didn't have Walkmans in the '40's, did you?"

Bucky looked mystified, so she took that as a no. "Well what did you play music on?"

"Record players," he deadpanned. "Radio."

Maggie grinned. "This is like that, but smaller. But no actual records. Or radio waves, so I guess not like that." She plugged the headphones in and showed him how it worked. Once she was sure he was suitably impressed, she put the iPod away.

"I remembered using one for a mission a few years ago, so I bought it on an impulse. I'm going to fill it with songs, Bucky. Everything I can find."

He smiled at her enthusiasm, then nodded at the laptop. "Got anything from my time?"

Her hands stilled. "Name a band."

"Well you can't go wrong with Glenn Miller."

They filled the next few hours with scratchy big-band and swing music, Scrabble, and cards. Bucky told Maggie the memories the music brought back – mostly of smoky dance halls and the women he'd taken there, or the radio in Steve's apartment. The game and the music was a welcome lightness in the safehouse, as the months of constant vigilance and sharing each others' space had been getting to them. It was good to remember that they were people, and that there was more connecting them than their tragic shared history. As the game wound down and Bucky prepared to take the first sleeping shift, Maggie turned off the music and began doing research on what she'd missed.

He didn't even complain when he was jolted out of sleep a few minutes later at her exclamation of: "Michael Jackson died?"

June, 2014

Uncharted rainforest, Bolivia

"Y'know, when I said I hiked through the rainforest to get to Iquitos, I didn't say I enjoyed it."

Maggie smiled at Bucky's back as they trudged through the underbrush, their clothes sticking to their skin. Insects and bird calls were a constant chorus.

"This was your idea," she reminded him, climbing over a mossy log.

"That doesn't sound right," he grumbled. "Alright, we're nearly at the top."

They'd left the beaten track three days ago, using the vast rainforest to really lose any chance of a digital or paper trail as they crossed the border into Bolivia. They'd left the day after Maggie's twenty eighth birthday, which they had celebrated by going to see a local dance performance. Bucky had made dinner and presented her with a bottle of Tequila and a tub of ice-cream, which they shared. He also gave her a postcard from Machu Picchu, on which he'd written from one eco-tourist to another; a pair of safety goggles for her constant tinkering; and a Rubik's cube.

Her presents were now tucked in a waterproof section of her bag as they fought their way through the Amazon. They both had wilderness survival training, but the constant heat and wildness of the jungle had gotten tricky now and then. All of HYDRA's training couldn't help the former assets when it came to avoiding leeches and mosquitos. Maggie was looking forward to returning to civilisation, where there were showers and clean beds and laptop chargers. Bucky was clearly not enjoying it either, if his intermittent grumbling was anything to go by.

She got the sense that the complaining was a hangover from his time with the Commandos, a kind of ritual, so sometimes she complained right back and grinned when his grievances got more and more serious. And there are leaves stuck in my arm, he'd announced yesterday with the air of someone winning a disagreement, holding up his bared metal limb as proof. Maggie had laughed at him as she picked foliage out of the metal joints.

But there were benefits to their discomfort – first, the complete assurance that they were off the grid. Second, the incredible views of the forest and their chance encounters with animals: they'd seen a curious squirrel monkey on their first day, and a capybara had walked right over Bucky's legs the night before. The third benefit was part of the reason Bucky had suggested their jungle voyage in the first place, and it was about to be realised.

They finally reached the top of the mountain they'd been climbing, not that there was much to look at – the forest was as thick as ever, obscuring any sightlines. The ground had levelled out, however, and Maggie could sense the higher altitude.

Bucky turned around, wiping his forehead, and cocked an eyebrow. "Well?"

She nodded. "This is good."

"And there won't be another person around for miles."

"Let's hope," she smirked, then turned around and shrugged off her backpack. Her fingers were tingling with anticipation, and though she tried not to show it she knew Bucky could sense her excitement. He helped her pull her folded wings out of her backpack, and he carefully slotted them into place through the pre-cut holes in the back of her shirt.

Inexplicably, the extra weight made Maggie feel lighter. She'd worn the wings a few times, usually after a nightmare or a panic attack, but she hadn't flown since they'd snuck onto the container ship months ago. She hadn't really flown since the Helicarrier battle. If she thought about it, she hadn't flown just for the pleasure of it ever. The thought sent a thrill down her Adamantium-reinforced spine.

Maggie closed her eyes and unfurled her wings, feeling the moist Amazon air brush against the cybernetic neurons. When the Adamantium skeleton was fully extended, she let out a long breath. It was a relief, to stretch out like this.

"Good?" came Bucky's voice, and she opened her eyes. He was standing a few feet away, his face unreadable as he took in the sight of her with outstretched wings.

Maggie flexed her wings, feeling the pull through her moorings and across the muscles in her back. "Good," she confirmed, and then looked upward. "I'll be right back."

"Take your time," Bucky murmured, and offered her a smile.

Maggie pushed off the ground and fired up her wings, leaping through the underbrush and crashing through the canopy, one arm raised to protect her face. After a second of resistance, she burst through the uppermost branches and into the sky.

It was a beautiful day. Maggie whooped as she spiralled up through the air, stretching her limbs in the light of the warm sun. The wind whistled in her ears and pulled at her sweaty clothes, and she laughed at the feeling. She'd missed this.

She soared up to the clouds, then rolled over into a horizontal glide. The world below her was nothing but green, for miles and miles until the forest met the blue horizon. Maggie beat her wings, laughing at the feeling of the air slipping over her and pushing her up, toward the sun. She let her eyes roam over the forest below, noting the dips and rises of the terrain, and the distant glint of a river. A flock of birds rose out of the canopy a few miles away, their beating wings a shock of blue and white against the greenery. Maggie flipped into a somersault, then a nosedive spiral. Her muscles knew what to do, knew how to pull and stretch to cut precise lines in the air. After a few more tricks, she flared her wings to slow down, admiring the blue-green horizon once more.

She sighed. This was the first time she could just be, while flying. There was no one to kill, or to spy on, no mission to carry out. Though now she thought of it…

Even though he was expecting it, Bucky flinched when Meg crashed back through the canopy, showering him in broken twigs and flurrying leaves. She awkwardly flared her wings in the confined undergrowth, pulling herself to a halt, and dropped to the ground. She was windswept and flush-faced when she looked up at him, her face split in a huge smile.

Bucky couldn't help but smile at the sight of it. As she'd broken further out of her programming, he'd noticed her enormous capacity for excitement and enjoyment in life – each new thing she discovered was a treasure, and she always wanted to share it with him.

"Good?" He asked, still smiling.

She nodded breathlessly, then beckoned to him.

Immediately catching her meaning, Bucky hesitated. "I don't know, Meg-"

"Come on," she breathed, her eyes alight. "It's incredible. You don't get a view like this every day."

Bucky put his hands on his hips. He knew Meg had been looking forward to this for days. He didn't fully understand her love for her wings, but he supposed if he'd had something he enjoyed about being the Winter Soldier he'd have latched onto that, too. But there was something about hanging miles in the air that made his gut churn. He chased the feeling, then realised that – of course – he was remembering his weightless fall from the train in the Swiss Alps.

As if reading his thoughts, some of the excitement faded from Meg's face. "You don't have to," she backtracked. "I'm not saying you have to. But… I wouldn't let you go." Her eyes were serious as she looked at him, her chest still heaving from her flight and her wings shuffling restlessly.

Bucky took a fortifying breath. "Alright."

"You're sure?"

He nodded. "Wouldn't want to climb up this goddamn hill for nothing," he said with a smirk, and paced toward her. Once he'd turned, she wrapped her arms around his front, locking her hands over her wrists. Bucky lowered his arms over hers, and clenched his jaw. Meg's breath tickled the back of his ear.

And then there was a roar of engines, a whirlwind of movement, and Bucky barely had enough time to lift his metal arm to break the canopy above their heads before they crashed into the open air. For the first minute, while Meg pulled them both upwards, Bucky's whole body was clenched and he didn't know where to look – the world was a sickening blur of blue and green, with the wind screaming in his ears.

But then she levelled out, and his instincts kicked in and he found himself flying with her, tilting his body with the angle of her wings, his feet knocking against hers. Her arms were warm around his chest.

Bucky let out a shaky laugh and stared at the wide green forest that stretched out below them.

Sensing some of the tension leave his body, Meg chuckled in his ear. "Good?" she shouted over the whistling wind.

Bucky didn't know why he'd been reminded of his fall from the train – this was a world apart, this was flying. Instead of responding, he stretched his arms out, so his fingertips brushed her outstretched Adamantium wings.

"That tickles," she laughed, and he pulled his fingers away.

"Sorry."

"Don't be," she called, and then with plenty of warning banked sideways, so Bucky could see the open expanse of the blue sky above them. Now that her engines weren't roaring in his ears, and the wind had died down a little, it was almost quiet. They watched the forest undulate beneath them, as the wind slipped over their faces and buoyed Meg's wings.

Before she pulled them into a gentle descent, Bucky felt a rush of gratitude that he was here, away from HYDRA, flying with Meg. His life was by no means easy – he was a man out of time, and he missed Steve more with every returned memory. But if this was what he had – Meg's laughter in his ear, the world soaring past beneath his feet – it was a lot more than he thought he deserved, most days.

When they crunched back through the canopy and landed by their bags, Bucky ran a hand through his hair and turned to face Meg.

"Yeah," he breathed, grinning. "I can see why you like that."

June, 2014

Cochabamba, Bolivia

It was a warm day in the lakeside city, but Bucky and Maggie weren't alone among the people on the streets trying to get some exercise done.

They'd been relieved upon re-joining civilisation, but living side-by-side in a tiny safehouse quickly got frustrating. There'd also been some news about Captain America, with U.S. politicians demanding that he present himself at the hearings about S.H.I.E.L.D.'s fall. There was no response from the man himself, but the back-and-forth sledging on the news networks had made Bucky edgy.

So they'd decided to get out of the safehouse, but couldn't agree on an activity. Eventually they'd just stashed their backpacks and set out on a run, restraining themselves to non-super-soldier speeds but still dashing past the sedate joggers on the streets.

Maggie gave Bucky his space, as she could sense his thoughts churning over Rogers' absence from the public eye. The last they'd actually heard of him was from the hospital reports she'd accessed in January. She wondered if Rogers had found any sign of the former assets – she had no doubt that he was looking for his friend, but she and Bucky were experts at disappearing. But she supposed he did have resourceful friends – her genius brother and the Black Widow, for example.

She shook her head and focused on running, on the firm concrete slamming against the balls of her feet and the slight exertion in her lungs. She'd have to push herself to really feel the workout, but that would definitely draw attention. She considered challenging Bucky to a race on a remote road somewhere, then filed the thought away.

Her most recent influx of memories had been about a cold building with marble floors and hard, young faces. The memory of the building came with a flurry of sensations: the bite of snow under her hands, steel in the night, false smiles and a voice whispering do svidaniya, chudobishche. [Goodbye, monster.]

It had taken her a few days to put a name to the memories: the Red Room. Relentless training, and girls who hated her. She'd had a nightmare about a dark-haired girl, lifeless at her feet. She'd been so young. Maggie had been so young. They'd all been young, too young for what Madame B. and her teachers shaped them into.

These memories hung heavy on Maggie, a cloak she couldn't shrug off. The running helped, pumping life through her limbs and heart, but she knew she didn't have the luxury of forgetting.

She didn't wake screaming any more. The various therapies had achieved that much, though it had been an uphill battle. Mostly she and Bucky weathered their guilt and pain, with good days in between.

Fifty feet ahead, Bucky had stopped running and stood stock still on the sidewalk, fists clenched. Maggie approached slowly, easing around him to take in his expression.

He looked… lost. Like he'd been running to get somewhere, but had now forgotten where he was meant to be going. She knew the feeling.

"Bucky?" her voice was soft.

His eyes focused on her, and he opened and closed his mouth a few times. His forehead was sweaty, but she knew the run would hardly have exhausted him. "I need… a drink."

She cocked her head. "It's midday."

"Not alcohol, just… a drink."

He looked so tired and lost that she didn't push it. She didn't think it was anything in particular that had brought this on, it was just… the chaos in their minds caught up with them, more often than they would like.

"Okay," she murmured. "I'm going to touch you."

He nodded, and she slipped her right arm around his concealed metal one. She gently steered him down the sidewalk, towards the nearest coffee shop. The sun beat down on their necks, and walking almost seemed harder than running. Bucky's arm was at least cool under his sleeve, which was a relief to Maggie's overheated skin. She guided him into the first coffee shop she saw, and sighed at the cool air-conditioning inside. The change in temperature eased some of the tension in Bucky's large frame, and he murmured a thanks to her.

"Just carrying out the mission," she murmured back, with a half-smile, and let him go so he could sit at a booth near the back, with the best sightlines. She approached the counter and ordered two drinks from the young barista – iced tea for Bucky, because she knew he liked the fruity taste, and an iced chocolate with lots of cream for herself, because she'd recently discovered that she had a sweet tooth. She carried the drinks to the booth, and Bucky gave her a tired smile. Spanish guitar songs lilted through the coffee shop's speakers.

"Tell me something," Bucky asked, after taking a long drink from his iced tea.

Maggie bit her lip, tapping her finger against the condensation on her glass. "I've been doing research into the Internet," she began. "Well, I already knew about it, knew basically everything about how it worked and how to exploit it when it came to HYDRA. But there's all this stuff I was never exposed to," she continued, veering back to her original point. "Like social media? I initially used it to get information about targets, but when I look at it now…" she shook her head. "It's incredible. There's whole communities of people online, and they never have to meet, but the Internet is like this whole new world where people can go to do the things they're interested in, speak to people who like the same things. You know a whole lot of dating is done via the internet, now? It's not quite dance-halls and 'stepping out', any more," she teased, and was rewarded with a small smile.

"People still dance, though," Bucky murmured over his ice tea.

"They do," Maggie reassured him, though she knew they'd both seen glimpses of the celebrity dancing TV shows. "Sometimes new dance moves get really popular on the internet, and they spread across the world like that-" she snapped her fingers to illustrate her point. "I saw a video of Tony dancing to this song called Single Ladies." She started laughing at the memory. "I'm pretty sure he was drunk, it was from a while ago, but it was… do you want to see?" She was reaching into her pocket for her iPod when Bucky's attention flickered toward the counter of the coffee shop.

Maggie carried out the movement, pulling out her iPod and searching for the video, but she could read the tension in Bucky's shoulders – something was wrong. More than that, she could hear the commotion behind her. A male voice, rising in volume with each word, complained that something was wrong with his order, and that the barista needed to fix it immediately.

Maggie put her iPod away and turned around in her seat. The man was in his mid-fifties, near-bald, and his face was screwed-up and red as he leaned over the counter to yell at the wide-eyed young barista.

"¡Eres una idiota! ¡Quiero un reembolso, y será mejor que no lo arruines también!" ["You're an idiot! I want a refund, and you'd better not ruin that too!"] He brandished the drink in question at the girl, very nearly spilling it.

"Lo siento señor," ["I'm sorry, sir,"] the young girl behind the counter said, her face red and her eyes wide. "Solo digame lo que pediste y yo-" ["Just tell me what you ordered and I'll-"]

"¡Ya te dije lo que pedí!" ["I already told you what I ordered!"] The man screamed, slamming a hand on the counter and knocking a stack of menus and her tip jar to the ground. The girl backed up against the other side of her workspace, colour draining from her face. "Eres una maldita idiota-" ["You are a damn idiot-"]

Maggie had heard enough. Before the man could finish his insult she whirled out of her seat and shouted "Déjala en paz, ¡está ofreciendo arreglarlo!" ["Leave her alone, she's offering to fix it!"]

The angry man did leave the barista alone, but had apparently decided that Maggie was a worthier target of insulting. She glared at him as he shouted that this was none of her business, and that she was a meddling bitch. He hurled another insult at the barista, and Maggie sensed what the man was going to do before he did it: his muscles bunched and he pivoted, launching his hot drink toward the frightened girl.

But the drink was only in the air for a second before Maggie caught it, spilling some of the liquid on the ground but keeping it mostly steady. The man finally shut up, startled by her rapid movement.

Maggie levelled him with her deadliest glare, and Bucky materialised at her shoulder. He was physically more imposing, a large bulk between the angry customer and the young barista.

Faced with the murder-eyes from Bucky and Maggie, the angry customer took a step back, all of his bluster and fury silenced.

Bucky broke the tense silence. "Salir ahora," ["Leave now,"] he bit out.

Visibly spooked, the red-faced man huffed and stormed out of the coffee shop, slamming the door behind him. There were a few other customers in the shop, who looked from the rattling door to Maggie and Bucky with open mouths.

After taking another moment to ensure that there was no further danger, Maggie turned to the counter and gently set down the man's drink.

"¿Estás bien?" ["Are you okay?"] she murmured, softening her face and her voice to soothe the girl, who now had tears spilling down her cheeks. "¿Por qué no me das una toalla de papel para que pueda limpiar esto?" ["Why don't you give me a paper towel so I can clean this up?"] She gestured to the small spill on the wooden floor.

At Maggie's question, the girl took a deep breath and shook her head, lifting her trembling hands to wipe her face. "Gracias," ["Thank you,"] she breathed, meeting Maggie's eyes. "Pero puedo hacerlo." ["But I can do it."] She smiled at Maggie and then at Bucky, who'd gone to the door to make sure the man had left. He nodded at the girl and then met Maggie's eyes, silently communicating that the man was gone.

"Verdaderamente, gracias," ["Truly, thank you."] the girl said, bouncing back from her shock and fear. She rallied herself and reached for a roll of paper towel. "¿Te gustaría una bebida gratis?" ["Would you like a free drink?"]

Maggie smiled, but shook her head. She'd made a scene, and she knew better than to stick around. "Gracias pero no. Tenemos que irnos." ["Thanks, but no. We have to be going."] She took another moment to make sure that the barista wasn't in danger of bursting into tears again, then turned. But before she could think better of it, she turned back.

"Él es un hombre pequeño," ["He is a small man,"] she murmured, so only the girl could hear. She looked right into her eyes. "No dejes que él entre en tu cabeza." ["Don't let him into your head."]

She could sense Bucky's nervous energy from across the room, so she nodded decisively at the wide-eyed girl and turned on her heel, striding out the door that Bucky held open for her.

Once they were a few blocks away, Bucky let out a heavy breath. "Steve used to give me heart attacks doing that sort of thing," he huffed. "It makes me feel a little better knowing that you're not about to get beat up in an alley, but still… give a guy a little warning next time, alright?"

Maggie scanned his face, and realised that – inexplicably – his sombre mood had lifted.

She gave him a wry grin. "I'll do my best."

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