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February, 2015

Cairns, Australia

They didn't go out at night again. Maggie had enjoyed herself, but she'd been physically and mentally exhausted the next day, and she wasn't sure she could avoid dancing with Bucky a second time.

They continued travelling as per usual, and though Maggie was still half out of her mind with distraction when it came to Bucky, things settled into a routine again. Life seemed relatively stable.

Until it wasn't.

They were walking down a side street in the summer sun, a careful distance apart, when Maggie looked up and noticed that a man on the other side of the street had a scar on his cheek.

Her body reacted: she flinched and threw herself sideways, rolling onto someone's lawn and springing into a combat stance, ready to defend herself. Her heart was pounding, and harsh breathing filled her ears.

When the move was complete her brain caught up, and she froze. The man on the other side of the street was staring at her, bewildered, and Bucky had called her name.

Think, came a voice from the back of her mind. Her body was shaking with fear, but she knew it wasn't rational. Her eyes flickered up to the man's scar, and memories slid into place: a soldier with a curved scar under his eye, laughing at her as he said Tony Stark is dead. The same soldier leering at her under bright fluorescent lights, telling her come with me, Wyvern. The snap of his neck, and the way the ocean bubbled around his limp body.

Maggie put her hand to her mouth, and felt the blood drain from her face.

Bucky was by her side, leading her to a nearby tree. She removed her hand and threw up, with the face of the soldier with the curved scar swimming behind her eyes. Her arms trembled as she vomited, and tears streamed down her cheeks. Bucky was there, metal hand resting on her back and the other holding her hair out of her face. Maggie sobbed, and a full-body shudder ran through her.

"You're going to be okay, Meg," Bucky murmured, over and over. "It's going to be okay, just breathe." He knew she wasn't ready for questions yet.

She didn't remember much about the walk back to their safehouse. She didn't know what Bucky said to the man with the scarred face, if he said anything, or if he just steered her silently back home, one arm around her shoulders. She only remembered the feel of his hands on her, and the ringing in her ears.

When the safehouse door closed behind her, tears started welling in her eyes again, making her vision blurry. She staggered to the bathroom, with Bucky's help, and collapsed by the toilet bowl. She'd thrown up her lunch, but her body wasn't done – she retched and sobbed over the toilet for another ten minutes, sick to her very core.

It was hardly the worst thing she'd ever remembered, but something about the memories made her feel cold: perhaps the knowledge of what the soldier had been trying to do that night, or the fact that she'd killed without hesitation, without orders. She hadn't felt anything.

When her body stopped retching, Maggie pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes, trying to scrub away the vivid memories. She could see the soldier's pearly white scar, and his dead eyes sinking into the ocean. She could feel his predatory gaze.

A soft clink broke through her thoughts, and she looked down to see a glass of water by her knees. Bucky was crouched a few feet away, his blue-grey eyes soft and concerned. Maggie let out a shaky sob and picked up the glass.

"Thank you," she croaked. She felt blurry at the edges, as if her thoughts and fears were seeping out into the air around her. The back of her neck prickled with cold sweat.

Bucky's brow furrowed. "What did you remember?"

She shook her head and took a long drink. She knew she had to talk about it, process it, but it was too raw. She felt exhausted down to her very bones, and she thought she might scream if she had to talk about the memories swirling behind her eyes.

"Can I touch you?"

God, she felt so cold. She nodded, fresh tears welling in her eyes, and let out a long rush of air when Bucky wrapped his arms around her. He pulled her into himself, tucking her head under his chin and supporting her weight against his chest. Both of his arms were warm around her, the metal one heated by the sun, and his hands pressed against her back. He sighed, and his breath tickled the back of her head. Maggie closed her eyes and let herself sink into him.

It had been over a year, and her old memories could still reduce her to this – a shivering, vomiting mess. She wondered if she was even meant to get better, or if this was what she deserved.

Everything Maggie was, everything she knew, was because of HYDRA. HYDRA had been her whole life, and it wasn't going to let her go so easily. She was strong because of them. She'd learned almost everything she knew from them, and they'd given her her wings.

She'd been made into a weapon, and yet now she pretended to be a person.

Maggie tried to turn away from the thoughts, letting Bucky's warm solidness wash over her, but then she remembered that she wasn't supposed to have this. She couldn't have this, not his touch or his kindness or his support. She didn't deserve it.

With a gasp Maggie pushed herself out of Bucky's arms and scrabbled backwards across the tile floor.

"Meg?" he looked up, blinking, but didn't follow her.

Her chest heaved. "I can't do that," she breathed. She was so confused, her body roiling with emotion. "This isn't… I don't…"

"Meg, what is it? How can I help?"

She wanted him but she couldn't have him, didn't deserve him. Who had she been fooling, pretending that she could be a person? She shook her head and swallowed. "Don't. Don't help."

Bucky's face creased in confusion. "Meg-"

"I said don't, Bucky!" she snapped, and instantly regretted the words. Bucky blinked at her sharp tone and then his face fell, his shoulders slumping and his expression shuttering. The angry words echoed in the space between them.

"Okay," he murmured, and got to his feet, watching her carefully. "Okay. I'll just… be out here." He paced backwards out of the bathroom. He left the door open.

Alone, Maggie felt colder than ever. She closed her eyes and tipped her head backwards into the wall. Her confusion was swirling into anger now, at herself, and HYDRA, and even Bucky. She'd been trying to focus on his faults over the past weeks to get some perspective, but she just couldn't do it. She knew him too well. She knew that he was a good man. And she'd just snapped at him because she wanted more from him than she deserved.

She couldn't control herself, couldn't stop herself wanting him, and it would only end in disaster.

Maggie curled into a ball and pressed her face into her hands. She felt shaky and cold, and there was an aching hollow in the pit of her gut.

Half an hour later Maggie paced into the main room of the safehouse, where Bucky sat on the couch bouncing his knee. He stood up when she entered, his concerned eyes flicking over her. "Are you okay?"

Maggie took a deep breath. "We need to… not be together, for a little while."

"Was it that guy on the street? Do you recognise him, do we have a tail?"

She shook her head. "It's not that. It's… me, I think. I need… space." She didn't know how to do this, and the way Bucky's face fell kindled a sharp ache behind her ribs.

"Oh," he murmured. "Did you… remember something? About me?" His shoulders drooped, and Maggie's chest ached at the lost look in his eyes.

"No," she said emphatically. "I just-" she lifted her trembling hands and rubbed her forehead. "I'm just confused. I need some space to work some things out." She could see that he wasn't convinced, and she sighed. "It's not about you." She hoped he wouldn't pick up on the lie.

"Okay," Bucky said. His face closed off, and he offered her a small smile. "Alright. Well, uh, we were about to move anyway, so I guess…" he gestured lamely at their bags by the door.

Maggie squeezed her eyes shut. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. If it's what you need, it's what you need."

She opened her eyes to see him give her a small, sad smile. Her heart pounded, making the ache in her chest worse, and she strode past him toward her bag at the door. She noticed he hadn't asked how long she intended for them to be apart.

"Keep your burner phone on," she said, pulling on her backpack and taking a deep breath. She felt like she was seconds away from bursting into tears, or screaming, but she didn't let it show on her face. Once she'd composed herself enough, she turned back to face him. He hadn't moved, still standing in the middle of the room with his arms loose by his sides and his face carefully blank. As always, though, she could read his eyes. She almost changed her mind when she saw the sadness and confusion there.

Bucky took a deep breath. "I'll see you soon, then?" he asked, and opened his arms, silently offering a last hug.

A lump rose in Maggie's throat. Her legs twitched, wanting to run across the room to him, and her arms itched for his touch. Her mind was a whirling mess, but it stilled long enough to produce a single, clear thought: You can't have this.

She licked her lips and gritted her teeth. "I'll see you soon," she whispered, then fumbled behind her back for the doorknob. She didn't look at Bucky, too afraid of what she'd see in his face. Seconds later she closed the door behind her and strode down the street, leaving his confused grey-blue eyes behind her.

Mount Isa, Australia

Bucky sat cross-legged on the roof of his lonely safehouse, under the night sky. He glared down at his reflection in his exposed metal arm.

It had been three days since Meg left, and he still didn't understand. Over those two days he had done little else but travel and turn over their last interaction in his head.

He'd made his mind up a year ago that if she wanted to leave, he wouldn't try to convince her to stay. But when she'd been standing by the front door, shaky and avoiding his eyes, he'd had the words please and don't go on his tongue, choking him.

He already missed her.

Bucky was doing alright by himself, eating enough and keeping up with his therapy, but he missed her. He kept glancing up from his notebook to share a memory or a thought with her. He missed her meticulous approach to educating herself about anything and everything. He missed her whip-smart teasing and the glint in her dark eyes.

He kept making meals for two.

Bucky had noticed that things had been different with Maggie for a little while now. She was more closed off, not telling him what she was researching, and went on long walks by herself. He hadn't pushed; they both had their own space, their own minds, and she was entitled to her privacy.

Besides, he'd had his own problems, trying to convince himself that he didn't care quite so deeply about her, that he only wanted her friendship. He hadn't had much luck – he was always aware of her when she was in the room, always noticed her eyes and her smile and the way she held herself. His skin lit up whenever they touched. He'd seen her dancing with that woman the other night and had felt a sudden lurch of jealousy – that was an emotion he'd never really been familiar with, and it sat strangely in his gut.

Maggie's absence only made him realise just how much he'd enjoyed being around her, talking with her, making her laugh.

And now he didn't know if he was going to see her again. She'd looked so haunted the last time he saw her; her face pale and drawn and her eyes swimming with confusion. He wondered if that turmoil had been simmering below the surface for a while, and he hadn't noticed.

Bucky groaned and lay back on the roof, staring up at the night sky. He didn't understand.

Normally Meg urged that they talk things through, work them out. But something had changed, and she'd just clammed up and ran.

And he'd let her leave with barely a conversation, so convinced of his own guilt that he was certain she was leaving because of him.

But he knew she'd have said something if she'd changed her mind about forgiving him for her parents' murder, or about any of it. She'd either say something or go for his throat – it wasn't like her to run, to leave a mission unfinished.

Bucky looked up at the stars and thought about it. She'd said she wasn't leaving because of him, but she'd lied. They knew each other too well to be able to lie to each other. He kept going in circles: he was certain that she'd forgiven him, as difficult as that was to comprehend, but he was also certain that she'd left because of something he'd done.

He remembered the way she'd accepted his touch in the bathroom, sinking into his arms like she belonged there, and then how she'd tensed up and pushed away.

A thought occurred to him – an impossible, insane thought – and Bucky sat up. Could it be that…? He brought one hand to his mouth and drummed his fingers against his cheek, eyes darting as he thought.

The Bucky Barnes of seventy years ago was entirely aware of his effect on women, at least until Peggy Carter had put a pin in that bubble. But the Bucky he was now hadn't really thought about it since escaping HYDRA. Dating had been a fun pastime back in Brooklyn, but he was a different man now.

Bucky stilled. He'd been struggling with his ever-more complicated feelings for Meg, but the idea that she might be dealing with a similar struggle…?

Bucky hardly dared to consider it, but once the idea was in his head, it made a lot more sense. The furtive glances, the way she'd become tenser around him, the charged edge to their usually casual teasing.

But why him?

Borroloola, Australia

Maggie felt wretched. But that was nothing new, she'd felt that way since she'd left Bucky over a week ago. And she didn't think it was going to get better.

It wasn't that they needed to be with each other. They were both perfectly capable of surviving on their own, they weren't bound together. But she missed him, missed his grey-blue eyes and his laughter and his low voice.

She was sitting by herself at a café, frowning at the items in front of her: a bottle of extra-sweet iced coffee, her burner phone, and the Rubik's cube Bucky had given her for her birthday. She glared at the condensation on her extra-sweet iced coffee as she contemplated the way she missed Bucky. It was a physical ache, a cold hollow lodged below her diaphragm. Nothing she did could ease it.

For most of the week she'd tried to keep herself busy, dealing with her memories of the scarred soldier and trying to forget how good Bucky's arms felt around her.

But the truth was that she didn't want to forget. That morning, after almost getting hit by a car because she was so lost in her thoughts, she had come to a realization.

Maggie had been a colossal idiot.

Distance wasn't helping. If anything, she wanted Bucky more now that he wasn't with her. Every time she turned around and he wasn't there, the ache in her chest burned.

Standing on the sidewalk that morning, ignoring the angry shouts of the driver, Maggie had realized that she'd made the rash decision to leave Bucky because of HYDRA. Because she was still defining herself by what they'd made her, still reacting to them.

Anger burned in Maggie's chest, and the soothing chill as she sipped her iced coffee did nothing to temper it. She was so fed up with everything she was and everything she did being because of HYDRA. She was fed up with being confused, and in pain. She was fed up with denying herself.

And the only one she could blame for the way she felt now, was herself.

That was why she picked up her burner phone and called Bucky.

After three rings, he picked up. "Carnation."

"Fairy lights," she replied, and smiled at his staticky breath of relief.

"You alright, Meg?" he asked, and her chest ached.

"Yeah," she murmured. She swirled her finger around the condensation on the tabletop. "I'm sorry, Bucky."

"You don't have to be sorry," he said. Maggie leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes, pressing the phone to her ear. His next words were low and soft, like he was right by her side: "But you don't have to run."

She wanted to protest, but she knew exactly what she'd been doing. "I thought it might be easier," she sighed.

"And?"

"Nope."

She was a bit embarrassed when his laugh over the phone brought tears to her eyes. "I miss you," she murmured.

There was a short pause, then: "I miss you too. Where'd you end up?"

"Doesn't matter," she sighed. "I've got an idea."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. I, uh… want to have a party."

"A… party? Like with other people?"

"No, just us. I am inviting you to my party. The party's got a theme, too."

"What's the theme?"

"It's called a Fuck You, HYDRA party."

The loud burst of laughter over the line made her smile, and she felt some of her wretchedness ease away.

"Okay," he eventually said, still laughing. "And what does a Fuck You, HYDRA party involve?"

"Well it's going to be held in Darwin, in two days, so I hope you're close enough."

"Yeah, I can swing that."

"I'll upload the address to that online dropsite, and broadcast the time on that frequency we agreed on."

"Mhm."

"And before we get there, we each have to learn to do something that HYDRA would absolutely hate us knowing, and show it to the other person. Make sense?"

"Makes sense." She could hear the smile in his voice. Silence fell for a few moments, and Maggie listened to his steady breaths.

Finally, conscious that they'd been on the phone a while, she said: "I'll see you soon, Bucky."

"See you soon, doll."

Her breath hitched, and she hung up, cheeks flaming. She was annoyed at herself for getting so caught up in Bucky in the space of a phone call, but not that annoyed. She was a person, and she was fallible.

She tapped her phone against her lips for a few minutes, unable to wipe the smile off her face. Two more days.

March, 2015

Darwin, Australia

Two days later, Bucky strode down a street in Darwin, sweating in the humid weather. He'd had to get used to wearing long sleeves and gloves, even in the heat, but he was particularly warm today. In the online message with the location, Meg had also written dress up nicely, it's a party! in code. So here he was, wearing a navy blue suit jacket and pants in eighty degree weather. It was late afternoon, but it was still hot.

He barely noticed the heat, however. It had been almost two weeks since he'd last seen Meg. It had been two days since the phone call, when she'd sounded so tired, and invited him to her party. He'd heard her voice catch when he called her doll.

He saw her first, sitting on a bench outside the café from the online dropsite. She had her back to him, wearing some kind of red dress, but he'd recognise her dark curls and the poised, watchful way she held herself anywhere. Though she had her head propped on her hand, facing the café, Bucky knew she was alert to every movement and sound on the street.

Sure enough, Meg sensed his approach from thirty feet away. He expected her to not react, to wait for his surreptitious approach, but she jumped to her feet and whirled around, hair gleaming in the sun.

Bucky's mouth went dry. Meg was wearing a dress unlike any others she'd worn before – it was a bright cherry red, framing her torso, coming in at the waist and then flaring out, with some kind of black floaty underskirt extending an inch or so below the hemline. She also wore black heels. He'd seen far more scandalous outfits, even back in the 40's, but something about Meg wearing it stopped him in his tracks.

It didn't matter. He only caught a glimpse of her face before she closed the distance between them and threw her arms around his neck. For a second Bucky didn't move, startled by the embrace – they'd been touching less and less over the past month, and this didn't feel like a calculated display of affection designed to keep up a cover. But then the smell of her – dollar store shampoo, something light and flowery, and a metal tang – washed over him, and he sank into her arms. Before he knew it her head was on his shoulder and his arms were wrapped around her, flesh and metal alike picking up her warmth and the soft slide of her dress.

"Fancy seeing you here," he smiled into her sun-warmed hair.

"Small world," Meg agreed, and her grip on him tightened incrementally. She sighed into his shoulder, and he had to hold back a full-body shiver.

After who knows how long, Bucky's brain kicked back into gear. This is new, he realised. Not just the dress, but the way Meg was allowing herself to enjoy his touch. It wasn't until now, with her arms around his neck and his face in her hair, that Bucky realised she'd been holding herself back for weeks, months maybe. But something had changed.

After a long moment, they released each other and stepped apart. Bucky's eyes flicked over Meg's face, taking her in. She'd sounded exhausted on the phone, but she looked alright now – her head was cocked and her eyes were bright.

He noticed her eyes widen at the sight of him in the suit and white shirt, and allowed a smirk to cross his face. She glanced back up and saw it, and her cheeks coloured slightly.

Bucky filed that away for later.

"You look good," he said, nodding at her vibrant dress. She grinned and looked down, touching the edges of her hemline with her fingertips. The back of the dress covered her wing moorings, but the cut of it showed off her toned muscles and tall frame.

Bucky was still having a little trouble getting past it. It reminded him of when he'd first seen her in civilian clothing, back in D.C. She'd worn red then too, but that had been a sweater. He remembered fully realizing that Meg – or the Wyvern, as he'd thought of her then – wasn't a weapon or an empty shell, but a person. A woman. She'd seemed so much younger, and something about seeing her in something as normal as jeans and a sweater had brought a small piece of himself back.

Of course, back then the sight of her hadn't sent a thrill shooting down his spine, or set his palms sweating. That was fairly new.

"Thank you," she smiled, then nodded at his suit. "You don't look terrible."

His smirk widened. She knew him too well, he knew exactly what he looked like. The suit framed his arms and thighs, and he'd shaved his face and brushed his hair. This might be the most put together he'd been since 1944.

"So," he said, putting his gloved hands in his pockets. "I don't know if I've ever been to a party with just two people before."

It was Meg's turn to smirk. "Well you've never been to a Fuck You, HYDRA party before." She pitched her voice just low enough that the pedestrians on the sidewalk couldn't hear.

Bucky laughed again at the name. Meg had picked up cursing like she'd picked up most other aspects of being a person, through research and practice, though he suspected that his own vocabulary had had some influence. "I've gotta ask, what made you decide to do this?"

"Seemed like a good excuse to get you in fancy get-up," she said, and Bucky tried not to let her smirk get to him too much. He narrowly avoided having to tug at his collar. "And…" she continued, biting her lip, "because I'm sick of HYDRA. Tonight marks the last time I'm doing something to spite them. From here on out… it's just living." Her voice softened and her eyes deepened, showing him just how much she'd thought about this.

A rush of affection hit Bucky and he couldn't do anything except smile speechlessly at her, like an idiot.

Meg smiled back, then put her hands on her hips. "Now I don't know what you learned for your half of the party, but my section has kind of a specific venue…"

"What a coincidence, so does mine."

She squinted at him. "I'd be concerned that we chose the same thing, but I really doubt it. Alright, yours or mine first?"

Bucky shrugged. "It was your idea, how about yours?"

"Alright, come with me." Meg doubled back to the bench to retrieve her backpack, and then led him down the street. It was late in the afternoon on a Friday, and people strolled up and down the sidewalk in clothes much like theirs.

Bucky was content to follow Meg for blocks to wherever she wanted to go, which was why he was startled when she stopped on the nearest street corner and beckoned for him to sit down on the nearby building's steps.

"Uh, Meg?" He glanced around at the cars driving past, and the foot traffic streaming on either side of her. "Are you sure this is where you want to do this?"

"Hush," she laughed, putting her backpack on the ground. She pulled out a black bowler hat, set it on her head and waggled her eyebrows at him.

Bucky stared at her. "What…?"

Still laughing, Meg put the hat on the ground upside-down, then reached into her backpack for three bright, multicoloured, palm-sized balls. She held them in one hand as she straightened, and raised an eyebrow at him.

When he realised what she'd chosen to learn, he threw his head back and laughed out loud. Meg took this as her sign to begin.

She started by juggling the three balls in a continuous circle, her hands nimble and her eyes focused. Bucky had met a few soldiers who could juggle in the war, tossing hats and ammunition cartridges for free drinks, and there'd been a juggler at a travelling vaudeville performance he'd seen in 1932. The movements were familiar to him, but there was something about seeing Meg tossing the brightly coloured balls as she wore that dress, while the pedestrians walking past stared at her, that made him want to laugh and cry at the same time. He settled for propping his chin on his hand and grinning at her, shaking his head. The sun was gleaming in her hair, and he could hear the soft thwip of the balls as they hit her palms.

A few pedestrians stopped by the steps to watch her, and Meg responded by tossing all three balls high into the air, ducking down to her bag, and pulling out another ball just in time to catch the first three. Now juggling with four balls, she started to get fancy, sidestepping and tossing the balls at different heights to the delight of her audience. More and more people were stopping to watch, and when she hopped into the air and kicked her heels together, while keeping all the balls aloft, there was a collective gasp and she got her first round of applause.

Meg didn't try to hide the grin spreading across her face. She kept juggling, and soon enough she had a full-blown audience; at least twenty people stopped before her on the sidewalk. She hadn't yet dropped a ball.

Bucky had to stand up so his view wasn't obscured, and she winked at him when she spotted his face. He grinned back. Part of him was nervous – this was a lot of attention to be drawing, but he knew that Meg would have thought it through.

"Sir?" Meg called as she juggled, her face open and smiling in the middle of the circle of flying balls. "Yes, you, sir!"

She was nodding at a man in the crowd, who glanced around and then gestured at himself, as if to ask: me?

With a flourish Meg flung the four balls into the air, just long enough for her to point at the man with both hands. "Yes, you!" She caught the balls again, still juggling. "Would you mind having a look in my hat for me?"

The man stumbled forward, blushing, and peered into the black bowler hat. There were already a few coins and notes in there, but he reached in and pulled out yet another juggling ball. Bucky blinked – he hadn't seen her put that in there.

"Great, I knew I'd left that somewhere!" Meg smiled brightly, and her audience chuckled. "Would you mind tossing it to me, sir?" He pulled his arm back and she pretended to flinch. "Whoa now, just a little toss!"

The blushing man gave her a light underarm lob. Meg scooped up the ball, spinning in place with a flare of her red skirt, and the audience whooped as she neatly juggled all five balls. Bucky grinned from ear to ear.

He'd seen videos of her brother, and he'd known Howard, and it was obvious that Meg had inherited the same Stark showmanship. She knew how to enthral a crowd and get people laughing, cheering her along and tossing money in her hat. She wasn't too exaggerated or too shy, just the right amount of charming and funny. They loved her, the quirky woman in a red party dress and heels, juggling like a lifelong carnie.

Bucky was hit by a rush of admiration and affection that threatened to knock him off his feet.

Meg fumbled one of the balls and dropped it, only to kick it back up with one heeled foot, and she winked at the crowd.

After a few more minutes of tricks, showmanship and jokes, she caught all five balls and bowed. Standing in the middle of a sizeable crowd on the footpath, Bucky joined in with the applause. He put two fingers in his mouth and whistled.

"Thank you!" Meg called, offering another flourishing bow. "I've got one last trick." She crouched, dropped her colourful balls and reached into her backpack. Bucky lost sight of her, hidden by the crowd, but he heard her say: "Now I know it's not as many things to juggle, but I hope you'll all agree that three of these are enough."

The crowd gasped and laughed, and when she straightened Bucky's mouth fell open at the sight of her clutching three Rubik's cubes in her hands.

"Sir – yes, you, my good friend, would you and the two ladies next to you mind jumbling these up for me? And be careful with that one, it's my favorite." She looked up and caught Bucky's eye as the strangers jumbled the cubes for her. He didn't know what he looked like – probably struck dumb – but the sight of his face made her smile. She got her cubes back, and held them up to the light.

"Boy, you really messed this one up sir, do you have it out for me?" The crowd laughed again, and she launched into juggling the cubes.

She didn't tell as many jokes this time around. She still spoke to the crowd, but her sheer focus was more obvious now – there was a small furrow between her brows, and she didn't try any fancy tricks. Bucky – and the rest of her audience – could only stare as the tumbling, soaring cubes slowly went from jumbled to whole. After just over ten minutes she threw the cubes in one last loop, grinning, and then held them out for inspection.

They'd all been solved. The crowd burst into applause and cheers, and another shower of coins fell into her hat.

"Thank you!" she called, bowing with the cubes. "You've been a wonderful audience!"

At that the crowd started to clear away, talking amongst themselves and casting a few glances back over their shoulders at Meg. The sidewalk between her and Bucky was still full, so he waited a few moments before walking over. Meg gave away two of the Rubik's cubes to a couple of children who'd been in her audience.

When the crowd dispersed, Bucky strode across the sidewalk and dropped a coin in her half-full hat.

Meg grinned breathlessly at him. For a moment they just looked at each other, smiling stupidly, with Meg's hat, backpack and the pile of juggling balls between them.

Bucky opened and closed his mouth a few times, and then managed: "Meg, that… that was incredible." Her smile grew, and her cheeks coloured. "Did you really learn all that in two days?"

She shrugged. "Well I could already do the Rubik's cube pretty quickly. Once I figured out the juggling, it was just a… combination. Besides, I'm a fast learner. Fuck HYDRA, am I right?"

"You're right," he grinned, shaking his head. "They really would've hated that. You're not worried about being noticed?"

She shrugged again. "My face isn't really a famous one. And I've got a jammer in my bag in case anyone tried to film me." She shuffled her heels. "You really liked it?"

"I was blown away when you were just juggling three balls," he exclaimed. "You're amazing."

With another blush, Meg ducked to scoop up her hat. She jingled it at him. "Buy you dinner?"

"Sure," he laughed. "At least we know we've got a way to pay the bills if the whole siphoning-funds-from-HYDRA thing doesn't work out."

She snorted, and he continued: "We can do my thing after dinner, but… I gotta say, mine is not as good as what you did. I didn't learn something so much as I re-learned something."

Meg had stuffed everything back into her backpack, glancing fondly at her last Rubik's cube – the one he'd given her for her birthday, he realised. When she was done, she straightened and cocked her head at him.

"You chose it because you think HYDRA would hate it," she said with a shrug. "So I love it already." She slung her backpack over her shoulders, and looped her arm through his flesh arm. That was new, too, and Bucky decided he was going to explore it further. "Dinner?"

"Dinner," he agreed, and they started walking. "So… Meg, I gotta ask you something."

She tensed imperceptibly. "Mhm?"

They walked a few more moments in silence before he smirked and asked: "Can you teach me how to juggle?"

She scoffed and shoved him into a street sign, but it was worth it for the grin on her face.

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