26 Chapter 26

January, 2015

Gladstone, Australia

Bucky was sweating. He thought he'd been getting used to the humid heat in South America, but the way the sun here beat down on the back of his neck was exhausting. His long-sleeve shirt and gloves made it worse, but he couldn't take them off unless he felt like broadcasting his metal arm and its red star to the world at large. So he soaked in the air conditioning in the cinema foyer they'd just walked in to, closing his eyes and sighing.

"Bucky, what the hell do these letters mean?"

He cracked one eye open and looked over at Meg. She looked comfortable in her yellow sundress, though she couldn't wear flip-flops as that risked someone seeing the Adamantium slots in her heels. At the moment she was standing with her hands on her hips, frowning at the list of currently-showing films.

Bucky smiled. "You forget how to read?"

She glared at him, the half-smiling scowl she always gave him when she was getting frustrated at something she didn't understand, but liked his teasing. "Come on," she huffed, and gestured at the board. "You're the one who's been to see a film before-"

"Seventy years ago-"

"And that makes you the expert!"

Bucky smirked once more, for good measure, then looked up at the board. They'd kept their voices low, so to the teenager at the desk and the small family on the other side of the foyer they appeared to be any normal couple deciding on a movie to see.

This had been Meg's idea – he'd mentioned going to the cinema back in Brooklyn, and she wanted to try it. She didn't remember going, as a child.

Bucky scanned the showing movies, and soon realised the problem: beside each movie was a series of letters: most of them read PG, though others had M, G, MA15+, and one had R. He frowned. "I have… no idea." His local Brooklyn theatre hadn't had anything like that. Maybe it was an Australian thing? He glanced back at Meg and saw her smiling. "What?"

She shook her head and pulled out her latest burner phone. "We're both hopeless, that's all," she smiled, as she looked up movie theatre pg, m, g, ma15+, R.

Bucky watched her as she figured out their latest stumbling block, her brows furrowed and her face serious as she absorbed herself in reading. Her dark hair fell around her face, curling in the heat. Bucky smiled at the glint of curiosity in her eyes.

His memories of her as the blank-faced, lethally efficient Wyvern seemed hazy and false, now that he knew the sound of her laugh, had seen her moved to tears by music, knew how she liked her coffee, and had witnessed her many small kindnesses. He couldn't picture the woman he knew killing and burning and mindlessly obeying, though of course he knew that she had done all of that, as had he.

But Meg wasn't divided into two parts – Bucky saw the Wyvern in her when she was hungrily searching for knowledge, like now, or in her fevered eyes in the wake of a nightmare, and even when she comforted him after his own nightmares, righteous and fierce. He'd seen the Wyvern when they broke into Vincent Silva's home, and had felt the Soldier's icy stillness slip over his own mind. Her fury, once it was ignited, flooded her eyes and face, and seemed to crackle in the air around her.

But the Wyvern, the child she'd been, the woman she'd become… there was no point trying to draw lines between the three. Meg was Meg, with her Stark thirst for knowledge, her frank honesty, and her impossibly open heart. She was the woman who had chosen to let Silva live, who had said he's nothing, now. She was the one who never failed to blow him away, the one who he–

Meg looked up. "They're content classifications," she said. "G is for General Audiences, and it goes up to R, which is for people 18 years and over. The classifications are different in different countries, and weren't introduced until the sixties, which explains why you're confused." She saw the way he was looking at her, with his dopey smile, and narrowed her eyes. "What?"

He shook his head. He couldn't let himself forget what he was to Meg – her mission and her friend, yes, but also her kidnapper and her parents' murderer. He couldn't let himself forget, even if she had forgiven him. Meg was healing from having her life, mind and body taken away from her, she didn't need him complicating things by… well, it didn't matter. Their fates were bound together – for now – by necessity, and by her miraculous decision for them to be friends.

To want more than that… he shook his head again, and looked up at the list of films to draw the attention away from his own rapidly darkening thoughts. There was no point dwelling on it, so he wouldn't, despite the fact that proximity and time only made him notice Meg more.

Meg sensed his light-hearted mood fade away, and cocked her head. "I think we'd better watch a G movie," she decided, and led him to the ticket kiosk.

They ended up buying tickets to a re-showing of a kid's movie that came out a few years ago, and Meg leaned into him as they decided on snacks. Bucky studiously ignored the prickle that her warm touch sparked across his skin, and the jump in his heartrate, and ordered the largest bucket of popcorn they had. Meg bought an ice cream.

When the lights in the movie theatre dimmed and the music swelled, Bucky smiled back at Meg in the gloom. Her excitement was palpable. Here they were, in the future, learning to be people. Meg needed her friend, and that's what he'd be.

The movie ended up being about a dog who thought he had super powers, trying to save his kid owner. The animation blew Bucky and Meg away, as it was better than anything they remembered from either of their childhoods. Towards the end, Bucky heard a sniffling noise and turned to see tears running down Meg's face as she watched the animated kid hug the dog.

She noticed him looking and shot him an I can't help it expression. He handed her the napkin from her ice cream, and wasn't quite strong enough to stop himself from putting his arm around her shoulders for the last five minutes of the movie.

He knew the man he used to be might have done such a thing with his dates for more underhanded purposes, but he resolutely told himself that this was just to comfort Meg, who liked physical comfort when she was upset. It had nothing to do with how he enjoyed the movie more with her skin against his, or how good she smelled; some mix of her flowery dollar-store shampoo and a hint of metal.

After the movie they braved the sweltering heat outside once more and walked down the road towards the beach, gushing back and forth about how different the movie was from the kids' movies they remembered. Bucky had a bit more culture shock than Meg, but they'd both been pleasantly surprised.

"I don't remember movies being so loud," Bucky mused, his metal hand shoved in his pocket as they strode down the sidewalk.

Meg's lips quirked, and he knew she was about to tease him. "Does your hearing aid need adjustment?" she asked, and neatly dodged the shoulder check he aimed at her.

"You ought to respect your elders," he huffed when she returned to the sidewalk.

"Why?"

"Because…" his mouth opened and closed. "I don't know, because my ma always told me to. Maybe because they're wiser?"

Meg laughed. "You could live another ninety seven years and still only hope to be as wise as me."

"That's probably true," he reflected, nodding.

"Oh come on, it's not fun when you agree with me."

"You fixing for a fight, Stark?"

"You couldn't take me, Barnes."

Bucky opened his mouth to respond when there was a loud bark, and a small dog collided with his shins. "Oof. Hello, there." It was a beagle, his ears flopping as he barked excitedly at Bucky, tail windmilling. Bucky crouched and let the dog lick his flesh hand. "Hey there, buddy. Where's your owner?" He looked up and spotted a harried-looking woman on the other side of the street, jogging toward them.

He grinned, and glanced up at Meg as the dog slobbered all over his hand. Meg was staring at him and the dog, her eyes wide and her brow furrowed.

"What's wrong?"

Meg wrinkled her nose. "Why are you letting it do that?"

Bucky looked back at the excited beagle, and sighed. They'd just watched a whole film about a dog, but he realised that Meg hadn't had a lot of experience with animals, or pets.

"He's friendly," he explained, and rubbed the dog's ears. "C'mon, pat him."

Meg looked sceptical, but crouched beside Bucky and reached toward the beagle. Sensing another stranger to lavish his affection on, the dog scrambled across the pavement towards her and threw his forelegs onto her bent knee, tongue lolling out of his mouth. Meg pulled her hand back and looked to Bucky, eyes wide.

"He won't bite," Bucky laughed, and took her hand with his gloved metal one. Gently, he pulled her fingers toward the beagle's head, and showed her how to scratch behind his ears.

At that moment the dog's owner reached them, gasping. "I'm so sorry!" she said. "He's usually so good, but the second he sees someone he thinks might pat him, he's off!"

Meg was getting the hang of scratching the dog's head, seemingly torn between frowning and smiling, so Bucky pulled his hand away. "That's alright, what's his name?"

"Spencer," the woman puffed, and then groaned when Spencer jumped up on Meg's chest, trying to lick her chin. Meg laughed, fending off his efforts with one hand while trying to stay balanced with the other.

"Spencer, we talked about this!" sighed his owner. "People don't want to kiss you! I'm sorry, I hope you don't mind."

Meg succeeded in gently pushing Spencer back to the ground, then glanced up at his owner. "It's alright. He smells terrible, though."

Bucky winced: though she tried her best, Meg still tended to be a bit blunt when interacting with strangers. She was blunt with him too, but he didn't mind. He supposed there was a difference between learning social interaction by rote, and learning from practice.

But the dog owner just laughed and said: "yeah, it's straight into the bath for him when we get home. C'mon, Spence!"

The drooling, huffing dog went back to Bucky for another pat, and he worked his fingers under its collar, like his Brooklyn neighbours' dog had always enjoyed. Spencer's eyes near rolled back in his head.

"We'd better be going too," Bucky smiled, giving the dog one last pat before he stood up. "Let's go, doll," he said, and offered his hand to Meg. She took it, though she shot him a quizzical look.

"Alright, bye! Thanks for putting up with Spencer!"

They waved goodbye, and Bucky and Meg continued walking down the street, hand-in-hand. This was their default for whenever they interacted with strangers now, some kind of hybrid between maintaining cover, concealing his metal hand, and seeking reassurance in each other.

Once they were a few hundred feet away, Meg looked at him out of the corner of her eye. "Doll?"

Bucky winced. "Sorry, it just slipped out."

"But it's…" Meg frowned. "You didn't mean to call me an actual doll, did you?"

"No, it ain't that. It's just something that, uh, a guy might call his girl. Or at least it was back in my day."

Meg thought about that for a while, her brow furrowed and her eyes alight in an expression that was familiar to him by now. After a minute or so she'd evidently thought it through, because she said "Huh," and went back to admiring their surroundings. They'd reached the beach, and the sun seemed to grow even hotter on the back of Bucky's neck.

The yellow sand gave way to sparkling blue water, filled with splashing swimmers and laughing children. Colourful towels and umbrellas dotted the beach.

Meg sighed, and then took a deep breath of the sea air. "I'd like to go swimming sometime," she mused.

Bucky was watching the horizon, where glittering ocean met hazy blue sky. "Did you ever swim, before?"

She thought about it. "I must have. You?"

"Yeah." The memories were steeped in salt water, warm sun, and sand on his skin. "We'll go swimming one day, then," he decided, though he knew there'd be all kinds of logistics necessary to hide his arm and her metal moorings. The sensors in his metal hand registered Meg's grip tightening slightly on him. "We've got time."

January, 2015

Mackay, Australia

Nothing was particularly special about the day. Maggie woke up on a threadbare mattress across the room from Bucky, as usual, and they got dressed and brushed their teeth. For breakfast they walked down to a café that they'd seen the day before. Lately Maggie had been learning about botany, as it was a branch of science that she hadn't had the chance to study when she was with HYDRA, so she regaled Bucky with plant classifications on the walk there.

There was nothing particularly special about the day, which was why it was particularly shocking when Maggie came to a sudden realization.

She and Bucky were sitting across from each other at the café table, sipping their coffees. Bucky had just laughed at something she'd said, his eyes crinkling and his teeth flashing, shaking his head to himself.

And Maggie thought: Oh.

Because she had just realised that Bucky Barnes was attractive. It wasn't a concept that she'd considered properly before, but this would explain the churning feeling she got in her gut whenever he laughed, or smiled at her with his grey-blue eyes glinting. This would explain a lot.

Maggie eyed Bucky with an analytical gaze, taking in his symmetrical features, his level brow, the stubble on his defined jaw and his long, dark hair. From what she knew about desirable physical traits, he was objectively handsome. He was tall, and she knew how muscled his arms and chest were.

All of this hit her in a rush, and she had to bring her coffee back to her lips to hide her pole-axed expression. But there was more. Smaller things, like the crinkles on the sides of his eyes, and the way he had tucked his hair behind his ears – she realized these were endearing to her. There was a burn of pleasure in her stomach because she had made him laugh.

Maggie leaned back in her chair and let out a long breath. Bucky realised something was up, and quirked his eyebrow at her. She even liked that.

"You remember something?" he asked, taking in her wide eyes and stunned expression.

"No," she eventually said, and took another sip from her coffee. "Just thinking about something."

He seemed to accept that, and went back to his own coffee. Maggie continued pondering her epiphany, and found it harder and harder to draw her eyes away from the man who had inspired it.

Over the next few days, Maggie threw herself into a frenzy of research. She read up extensively on the chemistry of attraction, romantic bonds, and modern relationships. The more she read, the more Maggie wondered how it had taken so long for her to notice Bucky in that way. She supposed that she was still recovering mentally and emotionally from her years with HYDRA, and her brain just hadn't had space for it.

But it certainly did now. It seemed whenever she looked at Bucky she would feel that tingling, almost sickening sensation in her gut. She couldn't help noticing him – the serious look on his face as he intently read a children's book, the roll of his shoulders as he walked, the way the corners of his eyes rose when he smiled at her. She knew if she'd ever felt this way under HYDRA she'd have dismissed it as a malfunction: heart pounding, palms sweating, breath coming fast.

She knew it was the result of monamines, dopamine, norepinephrine and serotonin flooding her system, but the knowledge didn't help when her brain seemed to short out at the sight of Bucky, hair wet from his shower, grinning at her as he sprawled across the couch. She liked the way he could make himself comfortable anywhere he was, if he only felt at ease – it was a marked difference from his rigid, alert stance when they were on the move, or wary of being surveilled.

The day after her revelation, Bucky came back from the grocery store and looked over at her, hunched over the computer.

"What're you researching now, Meg?" He asked, and Maggie looked up at him with pink cheeks. "You've got that look about you," he elaborated.

After a long, silent moment, Maggie responded: "… Particle physics."

Bucky noticed the lie, but didn't mention it. She was entitled to her privacy.

Maggie realised that the warm, prickly feelings of attraction had merged with her sheer fondness for Bucky. It had been a full year since they'd broken away from HYDRA, and Maggie still had her breath taken away by how resilient Bucky was, fighting for memories of his past and re-learning how to be a person. He'd been strong, in so many ways, and she knew that she wouldn't have made it so far without him. More than that, he was endlessly thoughtful, and funny. She hadn't laughed a lot in her lifetime, but she now knew the delightful pain of laughing until her sides hurt thanks to Bucky.

Maggie was hopelessly, helplessly, tangled up in emotions. She found it alarming that it seemed to have crept up on her without her knowledge, but there was nothing she could do about it now. She didn't think she'd take away the feelings, if she had the choice.

In the space of a few days, Maggie consumed vast amounts of scientific, academic, philosophical and popular media about attraction and relationships, and she still felt that she'd only scraped the very top of the pile. It seemed humankind – people – were obsessed with these feelings, and she could understand why.

Her research helped to gird herself against the sometimes overwhelming feelings – she read about heartbreak, about how complicated attraction and relationships could get, about the dynamics required for a healthy romantic relationship. The idea that two people could sustain that level of trust, attraction, support, compatibility and affection seemed impossible, overwhelming, but she found evidence of it over and over again. She also found evidence of such relationships failing, for every reason under the sun.

Bucky had mentioned his dates from before he went to war, but they hadn't seemed that serious, or he just hadn't elaborated. He'd been matter-of-fact, often self-deprecating, and Maggie absorbed it just like any of his other memories. For the first time, she wondered if he'd ever been in love.

She tried to recall her parents' relationship, but she hadn't thought to notice such things when she was so young. She didn't recall her parents touching each other very often, though she had the vague sense that there was a level of respect between them. She definitely remembered overhearing a few fights, but from what she could tell, that was normal.

After a week of research, Maggie found herself staring at Bucky as he made them dinner in their tiny safehouse kitchen. His grey-blue eyes were focused, but not in the way they were when he was looking down a rifle scope or facing an enemy – there was a softness about his face that made him seem years younger. His hair was falling in his eyes and he kept tucking it behind his ears.

Maggie wanted, but she couldn't allow herself to act so rashly on feelings that she hadn't experienced before. She didn't even know how she would act, anyway. She was determined to think this through.

She and Bucky were on the run together, though it was easy to forget that when they strolled down the street together, or traded jokes over their kitchen table. Everything she had read about relationships indicated that stability was necessary, and that was something that neither of them had or could expect to have in their future. They were both still very complicated mentally and emotionally, with almost a hundred years worth of trauma and horrific deeds between them to process.

She had also read that pursuing a relationship required a lot of effort, and changed a lot of dynamics in an already existing relationship.

Maggie sighed when she realised where her thoughts were taking her. But, she reminded herself, Bucky had expressed no romantic interest in her, so it was a moot point anyway. It would be selfish of her to put that complicated dynamic shift upon him.

It was a bad idea to act on her feelings, then. Maggie knew this, but the realisation made her feel crushingly disappointed.

Bucky looked up from the stew, and his eyes glinted when they met hers. Maggie's stomach flipped over, though she tried not to let it. She'd been indulging the feelings for a few days, curious and thrilled, but it made no sense to let it continue now that she'd decided there was no future.

But it was one thing to decide, logically, what she was going to do. It was quite another to tell her heart not to race at the sight of Bucky nodding his head along to the music playing on the radio, or the roll of his shoulders as he stirred.

The things she wanted overwhelmed her: his arms around her, his hand in hers, his hair and his eyes and his skin and his mouth. She wanted to run into the kitchen and leap into his arms and never let go, but…

Maggie shook her head and pressed her palms into her cheeks. She wanted things she'd never wanted before, and she didn't know how to stop.

She pulled the laptop back towards herself and googled how to stop being attracted to someone. The first option was putting distance between herself and the 'someone', and she rolled her eyes. She wasn't going to abandon Bucky just because her body was learning how to be a person. She'd work with what she could do.

Maggie continued in this line of research until dinner was ready. She didn't want to get rid of the feelings – this was just one more step towards becoming a person. But she needed to find a way to turn them away from the unwitting Bucky, because there was no hope there.

Still, as he teased her through a mouthful of stew and enthusiastically described a memory he'd recalled of fighting a neighborhood bully back in 1931, complete with hand gestures and thick Brooklyn accent, she instantly forgot everything she'd read, and just enjoyed his company.