Chapter Text
“So, I heard you got demoted.”
Bucky Barnes inhaled slowly through his nose, the kind of breath you took when you were trying not to snap at someone while half-drugged and freshly stitched back together.
His metabolism—enhanced, accelerated, annoyingly efficient—had burned through the anesthetic hours ago. Ever since he’d clawed his way back to consciousness in the sterile chill of the infirmary, he’d been painfully aware of every beep of the monitors, every ache in his body, and every voice.
Including Ava. Especially Ava.
He couldn’t remember how he’d ended up here, though. Not fully. The memories came in flashes—flickering like a broken reel of film. He remembers a dim laboratory corridor drenched in shadows. The metallic tang of blood in the air. The quantum weapon tearing through his back, white-hot agony blooming and stealing the breath from his lungs.
And Ava’s face being the center of it all.
Like she was the only thing left in the world.
For a few stretched, horrifying moments, Bucky had been sure that was it. That he was finally done.
He’d made his peace with dying before he could fully live as Bucky Barnes instead of the Winter Soldier. Made his peace with never being able to make up for the things he’d done. And while that truth had always burned, he’d also quietly accepted that a normal life probably wasn’t meant for him. No marriage. No kids. No future like Steve’s.
But then he’d seen her.
And suddenly, the idea of dying before he could even try—before he could find out what something more with Ava might look like—felt unbearable.
So waking up now, in the infirmary, with Ava just inches from his bed—hooked up to her own IV, stubbornly alive—felt like winning a war he hadn’t known he could survive. Which was why it was deeply unfair that instead of something soft or meaningful or emotionally catastrophic, they were arguing like idiots.
“Are you seriously going to ask me that,” Bucky muttered, voice rough, “here of all places?”
Ava crossed her arms. “Why not?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” he shot back, “maybe because I just got impaled and you’re more worried about my job title?”
“Bucky, your status on the team matters,” she snapped, eyes flashing. “You have no idea how shocked I was when Yelena told me you stepped down as leader. And then I find out you handed the role to Walker? You’re kidding me, right?”
Bucky sighed, the motion tugging unpleasantly at the healing wound in his back. The ache pulsed dully beneath the bandages, but he barely registered it. Pain was familiar. This conversation was worse.
“He’s better at strategy, Ava. And it’s not just him—I looped Yelena in too. So technically, we’ve got two leaders now.”
Ava stared at him like he’d just confessed to committing a felony.
She shifted on her bed, IV line tugging slightly at her hand. “Okay, sure, he’s experienced, but he’s still Walker. Aren’t you worried he’s going to open his mouth in public and make everything ten times worse?”
Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Have you ever seen me do better in public than him?”
That gave her pause. She frowned. Thought about it.
“…Ah, shit,” she muttered. “You’re right. You’re way worse.”
“Ouch,” Bucky said flatly, pressing a hand to his chest like she’d wounded him deeper than the quantum blast ever could.
“But still,” Ava continued, completely unmoved. “Why did you do it? I disappear for two days and suddenly the team’s getting restructured like a corporate merger.”
Bucky was staring at her like she might disappear if he blinked too long. Color had finally crept back into Ava’s face, faint but undeniable, and the sight of it loosened something painful in his chest. She still looked exhausted—dark circles bruised beneath her eyes, her posture tense even while sitting—but she was here. Alive. Breathing. Arguing with him like she always did.
He didn’t say it out loud, but somewhere between the beeping monitors and the antiseptic air, Bucky Barnes silently thanked every god he’d ever stopped believing in.
“Because apparently,” he said at last, voice quieter now, stripped of its usual dry edge, “I can’t make good decisions under pressure, Ava.”
That made her pause. The sarcasm slipped off her face like a dropped mask, replaced by something uncertain, something careful.
Bucky swallowed and kept going before he could chicken out.
“I can’t think straight when I know you’re in danger. I mean—” He winced. Careful. “I don’t know. When you’re out there, when I can’t reach you, all the logic just… goes away. Strategy. Rational thought. Poof.” He made a weak gesture with his hand. “And that’s not exactly great leadership material.”
What he didn’t say—what lodged painfully in his throat—was that the world narrowed down to her in those moments. That every bad memory, every instinct to protect and sacrifice, came roaring back.
Ava blinked at him, clearly unprepared for that level of honesty.
“I’m… sorry,” she said softly. “I didn’t know I made you feel like that.”
Bucky shook his head immediately. “No. No, don’t—don’t do that. This isn’t on you. It’s not your fault. I—”
I love you so much it wrecks my ability to function like a normal human being.
The words burned behind his teeth. He forced them back down.
Ava hesitated, then looked away. “I’m sorry too. Because of me—because of my powers—you got hurt.”
She tried to sound casual. She failed.
Bucky’s heart clenched painfully. Oh, hell no.
“Hey,” he said, reaching out without thinking.
His vibranium hand hovered for half a second before Ava grabbed it like it was instinct, like gravity itself had made the decision for her. Their fingers fit together easily, familiar and warm. Bucky’s thumb brushed against her skin, slow and grounding, and he was painfully aware of how alive she felt.
“Don’t you dare blame yourself,” he said firmly. “None of this is your fault. I made my choices. And I chose to protect you. So whatever happens to me after that?” He squeezed her hand. “That’s on me. Not you.”
He leaned in just a little, eyes searching hers.
“And I’m telling you right now,” he added, voice low, “if you keep blaming yourself, I’m gonna be really mad at you. Like… grumpy old man mad. You don’t want that.”
That almost worked.
Almost.
Ava stared at him, lips parted, emotions warring across her face—fear, guilt, relief, something dangerously close to affection. Bucky braced himself for words. Maybe an argument. Maybe another apology.
Instead—she kissed him.
And for a split second, Bucky’s mind went completely blank.
Every thought short-circuited the moment Ava’s lips met his—because this wasn’t supposed to happen. Not here. Not now. Not when they were both still bruised and broken and carrying more ghosts than either of them knew what to do with.
And yet—she was warm. Soft in a way that grounded him instantly, real like proof that he wasn’t dreaming or bleeding out somewhere else. The gentle pressure of her kiss sent something aching and overwhelming through his chest, and before he could second-guess himself—before fear or logic could interfere—he responded.
Bucky kissed her back.
Not rushed. Not frantic. Just deep and earnest, like he’d been holding this feeling in his lungs for years and finally exhaled all at once. Like every unspoken word, every almost-confession, every moment he’d swallowed down his emotions had found its way into that single kiss.
If he couldn’t say it out loud—if he wasn’t brave enough for that yet—then this was the closest he could come to telling her everything.
The first good thing Ava heard after she was finally cleared to leave the infirmary was that Cassian Raynor would be spending the rest of his life locked away in the Raft.
Good. Rot there.
The second piece of good news followed quickly after: the Pym van Dyne Foundation had stepped in to cover everything. Compensation for the victims. Medical care. Repairs to the wreckage left behind in San Francisco. Safeguards to make sure nothing like this ever happened again.
It was… overwhelming, in the best way.
The third piece of good news, though—that one made Ava stop short.
Stark Industries was contributing too.
“Wait—Stark?” Ava frowned. “Why would—?”
“Bucky asked Pepper for help,” Yelena said casually, like she hadn’t just dropped an emotional grenade into the room. They were alone in the common area, the quiet kind that settled in after chaos finally burned itself out. Ava stared at her.
“He… did?”
Yelena nodded, stretching out against the sofa, looking far more relaxed than she had any right to be. “Raynor had ties to A.I.M. Pepper was already involved through that angle years ago. So Bucky—” She paused, smirking slightly. “—apparently worked up the courage to make the call.”
Ava’s chest tightened. Of all people, she knew what that must’ve cost him.
Bucky never talked about Tony Stark—not really. The world had moved on, but Bucky’s guilt hadn’t. It followed him quietly, relentless as a shadow. And calling Pepper Potts? Asking for help? That wasn’t just a favor.
That was penance.
“Wow,” Ava breathed.
“I know,” Yelena said, softer now. “He did all of that.”
Ava looked down at her hands. “He went through so much because of me.”
Yelena’s head snapped up. “Absolutely not.”
Ava blinked.
“Are you kidding me?” Yelena said, sitting up. “This isn’t some tragic romance novel where everything is your fault. Cassian Raynor is a Grade A asshole right from the start. He came for all of us.”
She squinted. “And I thought we dealt with this guilt thing already. Didn’t you and Bucky have, like, a whole moment yesterday? You know. Promises. Eye contact. A kiss?”
Ava’s eyes widened. “You saw that?!”
“Well, no, not really,” Yelena admitted cheerfully. “I didn't have my phone. Tragic, honestly. But Bob and I were witnesses, so I’d say that counts.”
She grinned. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for that to happen.”
Ava groaned, face heating instantly. “Oh my god.”
She tried to play it cool but both of them knew—she failed spectacularly. Of course Yelena had noticed. Of course she had clocked every look, every pause, every almost-touch. Black Widows missed nothing.
Ava leaned back, exhaling slowly.
She still didn’t fully understand what had possessed her to kiss Bucky Barnes.
All she knew was that the moment had crashed over her like a wave—months of fear, distance, and longing pressing in all at once. Being kidnapped. Being separated from him. Not knowing if she’d ever see him again.
The feeling had built until it was unbearable.
So, she kissed him.
Ava still wasn’t sure what it meant. She knew what it felt like—the way Bucky had frozen for half a heartbeat before kissing her back, the way his hand had tightened like he was afraid she’d vanish if he didn’t hold on hard enough.
But what did it mean?
Did it mean he felt the same way? Maybe.
Did it mean her feelings weren’t one-sided, that they were finally crossing some invisible line between coworkers-who-care-too-much and something else entirely? Probably.
And that was the problem. Everything about Bucky Barnes had always been complicated, and now—released from the infirmary before him, forced to return to normal life while he was still healing—Ava’s thoughts were a complete mess.
Yelena said honesty was the solution. Bob, very helpfully, said Ava needed to stop acting like she was invincible and just tell him how she felt. Walker and Alexei had opinions too—loud, dramatic, and deeply unrequested—but Ava had to admit… she missed them. Missed the noise. The chaos. The way even their terrible advice came from a place of caring.
And infuriatingly, all of them agreed on one thing: It was time for her and Bucky to stop pretending they were “just friends.”
“I don’t know if you feel it or not,” Hope said later that night, completely unprompted, “but Ava, my dear—Bucky Barnes is a complete idiot for you.”
Ava blinked. “I—what?”
Hope shrugged, utterly unbothered. “I’ve never seen someone so stupidly in love like that besides Scott.”
“Hey,” Scott protested immediately. “That’s rude.”
Hope shot him a look. “You once tried to fistfight a pigeon because you thought it was spying on me.”
“…That pigeon was suspicious! But yes,” Scott added, nodding toward Ava, “I agree with Hope.”
Ava stared at them. “Why is everyone suddenly obsessed with Bucky’s feelings for me? Out of everything that’s happened in the last two days?”
“Because that’s the most important part,” Scott said cheerfully, like it was obvious.
Hope reached out then, squeezing Ava’s hand gently. “We’re just glad you have someone like him. And honestly?” She smiled softly. “We’re glad you have this team. You deserve people who care about you this much.”
Ava swallowed. She didn’t want to smile. But warmth spread through her chest anyway, stubborn and undeniable.
“We’re sorry Raynor managed to kidnap you,” Scott added more seriously. “What happened yesterday… some of that’s on us too.”
“Oh, come on,” Ava said quickly, shaking her head. “Don’t say that. You’ve helped me more than you know.”
She looked between them—Hope and Scott, this strange, stubborn little family she’d once fought against with everything she had. And yet here they were.
Still choosing her. Still checking on her. Still making space for her like she belonged.
It felt… grounding, realizing she wasn’t alone anymore.
Not in the vague team’s got my back way, but in the way that settled into her chest after long conversations with Yelena, awkward heart-to-hearts with the team, and even Scott and Hope—who, somehow, always knew how to say the right thing without making it heavy. If Ava had learned anything from all of it, it was this:
She was done waiting.
No more standing still. No more pretending distance was safer.
So after walking Scott and Hope down to the lobby and exchanging their goodbyes, Ava turned back toward the penthouse with purpose in every step. Her heart thudded in her ears as she headed for the infirmary, fully prepared to drag Bucky back into bed if she had to. She hoped he wasn’t asleep. Or buried under paperwork. Or—God forbid—arguing with a doctor.
What she didn’t expect was to find him sprawled out in the common room like he owned the place.
“WHY ARE YOU HERE?!”
The shout ripped out of her before she could stop it.
Bucky Barnes barely flinched. He was stretched out on the couch, one long leg hooked over the coffee table, remote in hand as he aggressively scrolled through TV channels like they had personally offended him.
He looked… fine. Too fine. Except for the pallor in his skin—just faint enough to tell Ava exactly how hard his body was still fighting to keep up.
Shot by a prototype quantum weapon would do that even to a super soldier, apparently.
“My room feels quiet without you,” he said flatly, eyes flicking to her for just a second before returning to the TV.
Ava scoffed. Absolutely not. She wasn’t entertaining any of that.
She marched over and dropped onto the couch beside him with a huff, her knee bumping into his thigh as she leaned in and pressed her hand to his forehead.
“You’re still supposed to be in the infirmary,” she said, voice sharp with worry. “You’re pale, Bucky. Like—haunted Victorian child pale.”
“I don’t want to,” he replied simply, the corner of his mouth twitching up in a way that made her chest tighten. “Just… tonight. I wanna be here.”
Her resolve cracked immediately.
“Then I’ll stay,” she said, without thinking.
That earned her a sideways glance. “Why?”
Ava rolled her eyes. “What, you’d rather have Yelena watch you? Because I promise she’d be way scarier than me.”
That did it. A quiet laugh slipped out of him, genuine and warm—and she felt it all the way down to her bones. He didn’t argue. Didn’t push her away.
They settled into silence after that, the kind that felt heavy but safe. Ava shifted until she was more comfortable, her shoulder pressed to his, their sides warm against each other. Their hands brushed now and then—barely there, accidental—but neither of them moved to make it more.
She stared at the TV, barely registering whatever was playing.
God, they were idiots. What did it take? Another brush with death? Another moment where she almost lost him? Where he almost didn’t come back?
“Can I… say something?”
Bucky’s voice cut through the quiet, right as Richard’s Marx ‘Now and Forever’ drifted from the TV. Ava groaned internally. Of course it was this channel again. The same one they’d watched together before—same couch, same room, same stupidly nostalgic glow—only back then there’d been a little more space between them. Physical and emotional.
She glanced at him sideways. “That’s new. Since when do you ask permission to talk?”
Bucky’s lips twitched, soft and nervous. “Yeah, well. This time I figured I should ask first in case you decide to hit me.”
Oh.
That wiped the teasing right off her face.
Ava shifted, turning toward him fully. “Okay. Now you’ve got my attention. What’s wrong?”
For a moment, he didn’t answer. He just looked at her, those deep blue eyes steady but tired, warm but carrying too much history. Ava felt herself sink into that gaze, like gravity had changed its mind and chosen him instead.
“Well…” Bucky exhaled slowly, and Ava realized she’d been holding her breath right along with him. “I’ve been thinking. About us.” He paused, swallowing. “About what comes next. About how none of this is ever certain, no matter how much we plan. We can say next time will be different, but there’s always something waiting around the corner. Something bad. Something that—”
“I like you.”
The words burst out of Ava’s mouth like a grenade.
Bucky froze. And for one horrifying second, Ava wondered if the quantum weapon had finally scrambled something important in his brain.
“…Come again?”
Her heart pounded against her ribs. Screw it. No backing out this time.
“I like you,” she said again, quieter but steadier. “I didn’t realize it at first, but after everything—after nearly losing you, after almost not coming back myself—I think I finally get it. I like you, Bucky. I really do.”
He blinked once. Twice. Then a faint, incredulous smile curved his mouth.
“You’re sneaky,” he said, shaking his head. “You just jumped straight to the ending.”
She frowned. “What?”
“I was literally about to say the same thing!”
Ava’s jaw dropped with an annoyed smile. “Are you serious?”
“Yes!”
She smacked his arm lightly. “Then why were you giving a whole end-of-the-world speech? Just get to the point for god’s sake!”
Bucky laughed—a real laugh, low and warm, and God, it loosened something tight in her chest. The tension between them didn’t disappear all at once, but it softened, melted into something gentler.
Slowly, like he was afraid he’d spook her, Bucky lifted his arm and wrapped it around her shoulders. Ava didn’t hesitate. She leaned in immediately, fitting against him like she’d always belonged there.
“Sam told me to prepare,” Bucky admitted sheepishly. “Said if I wanted you to actually listen, I needed a whole speech. I should’ve known better than to take his advice.”
Ava laughed softly, and this time, it was real. The kind she hadn’t heard from herself since before Raynor, before the chaos, before the fear dug in and refused to leave. It surprised her enough that her eyes stung.
“Oh my God,” she murmured. “You’re unbelievably old-fashioned.”
Bucky smiled like that was a compliment—because to him, it probably was. And then—this time without asking, without overthinking—Bucky leaned down.
The kiss he pressed to the top of her head was slow, careful. Not rushed. Not claimed. Just there. Like a promise he was terrified to break. Like she was something precious, something he’d already lost once in another life and would do anything not to lose again.
Ava’s breath hitched.
He lingered there, forehead resting against her hair, as if grounding himself in the fact that she was real. That she was here. That she was safe. That he was still here too.
“I like you too, Ava Starr,” he murmured, voice low and steady in a way that made her chest ache. Like he meant it not just now—but in every future he was afraid to imagine.
Ava’s fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, holding on before she even realized she was doing it. Her eyes burned, but she didn’t pull away. She leaned into him instead, letting his heartbeat become something solid beneath her ear.
For the first time in a long time, the weight in her chest loosened.
The world was still dangerous. Their lives were still messy and violent and uncertain. Tomorrow could still take something from them.
But right now—right here—she wasn’t alone.
And neither was he.
Bob woke up far too early that morning.
His stomach twisting violently as if it were personally offended by his life choices. He grimaced, already forming a mental complaint letter addressed directly to Alexei Shostakov for forcing two shawarma wraps on him the night before. With fries. And soda. Like that was ever going to end well.
After dealing with the consequences in the bathroom, Bob shuffled toward the kitchen, half-awake and craving nothing more than a glass of warm water and peace.
He didn’t get either.
Because there, in the soft glow of the early morning light, was something that felt… sacred.
Bucky Barnes was asleep on the common room couch, his posture relaxed in a way Bob had never seen before. Ava Starr was tucked into his chest like she belonged there—because she did. One of her arms was draped securely around his torso, her face buried just beneath his chin, while Bucky’s vibranium hand rested at her back, curved protectively, like even in sleep his instincts refused to let go.
A blanket covered them both, rumpled and imperfect, but unmistakably shared.
They looked peaceful. Not the fragile, temporary kind of peace either—but the kind that came from finally feeling safe with someone.
Bob swallowed. He knew he shouldn’t be seeing this. It felt too intimate even for him.
And yet—his hands moved on instinct.
He lifted his phone and recorded just five seconds. Nothing dramatic. Just enough to capture the way Ava’s fingers twitched slightly in her sleep, tightening in Bucky’s shirt. The way Bucky’s chin dipped unconsciously, as if to keep her closer.
The way neither of them looked like they were running anymore.
Bob lowered his phone and smiled to himself, soft and fond, before quietly backing away.
“Yelena’s going to cry over this,” he whispered, almost reverently.