Warnings: Mentions of abuse

I stand erect; staring out at the street with icicles forming in my veins and fear in my heart. I take a slow step backwards, eyes unmoving, and realize I've lost most of the feeling in my limbs.

"Hey babe? Chinese food is a no-go. Place is closed today for some reason. I was thinking pasta. Whatcha think?"

Immediately I've turned at the sound of his voice. Bucky's in my doorway, staring down at the restaurants on Yelp in his phone, and hasn't made to look up at me yet. I pray to god he doesn't. If he doesn't see me he won't see my face. If he doesn't see my face he won't see my expression. And if he doesn't see my expression I won't have to explain it's because I just received another threat from my crazy father in the form of a kindergarten art project outside my bedroom window.

"Pasta is fine."

Bucky's blue eyes dart up immediately. He's worried. Maybe it's something in my tone, or the fact that I've had so much pasta in the last week that I really shouldn't be in the mood and he knows it. Something turns him onto the fact that I'm acting strange. It leads him to gape up at me wordlessly until finally walking closer.

But I try to beat him.

"Actually, I think we should do pizza. We haven't had pizza in a while. I've been craving pepperoni. Don't you like pepperoni?" I block his path with my body, trying to casually guide him out of my bedroom, and continue to blabber uselessly. "Oh that's right, you like your pizza pretty plain. But we could compromise and do half-half. I'd be fine just getting cheese as long as we get bread sticks."

Finally we've made it out into the hall. Bucky, still not convinced that something isn't wrong, pulls out of my grip at the last moment and ducks back inside the room. I curse and jog after him: not at all excited about what finding this message is going to mean in terms of the rest of my evening.

Bucky's stuck in the same place I just was. He's at my window, staring down at the chalk, and not moving a single muscle. But he doesn't gasp inwardly as I had done. No, he stands completely emotionless on the outside. But inside? Oh god, I can practically feel the waves of anger radiating off of his rigid muscled back.

"...Buck?"

Bucky turns back to look at me at the sound of my voice. I'm sitting on the end of my bed, hands wringing together, and looking up at him quietly. He seems to inspect my face for a moment before shaking his head and pulling out his phone. Then, voice serious and somber, he says, "I'm calling Romanoff. She'll come up and stay with you."

I stand. "Where the hell are you going to be?"

Bucky's already got his phone to his ear. "I'm going to find the bastard."

"Bucky, no." I've come to his side and make to move the phone away from his ear. He only turns to give me his back. I'm too short to reach it as he stands taller on his toes. "Leave it alone, Bucky. Please just let it be..."

"Let it be? Sadie, he's insane! If you step out of this tower alone he's going to kill you."

"He won't kill me," I pause and then add, "I don't think he would, anyway."

Bucky sighs. Nat still hasn't picked up on her side of the line. He hangs up and tries another number. "Like I said, Romanoff can come up and make sure he doesn't try contacting you again while I'm gone. But this needs to be done."

"No." Adamant I keep my voice deep and level. Bucky just sighs at the sight of me crossing my arms. When I realize this isn't going to work I opt for a more damsel-in-distress sort of approach. "Bucky, please." My hands reach out to coax his arms down. It takes a few strokes for him to succumb to my will and drop the phone at his side-- leaving Steve to mutter, "Hello? Hello? Bucky?" on the other side before eventually hanging up.

"Why won't you let me do this?" Bucky whispers into the vast room. "I can keep you safe. Let me."

"I know you can." I smile softly. "But I don't want you having to do anything drastic in order to keep it that way. I know I'm safe as long as I'm with you. There's no way my dad or any other lunatic could make it into this building, and he sure as hell isn't coming anywhere near me as long as I've got you and Nat with me all the time." Bucky notices me taking a deep breath and he mimics the gesture in an attempt to calm himself. Lovingly I stroke some of the hair from his eyes, watching as he closes them softly at my touch. "Please just stay with me. At least for tonight. We can deal with this tomorrow."

Eventually Bucky nods. He kisses me, soft and sweet, before pulling away to draw closed the blinds. Thankfully I won't have to see that scene any more. Tonight I'll pray that it rains and washes that nasty note away. If not, I know Bucky would have no problem going out there and spraying it off himself.

"Pizza it is," Bucky quietly replies.

I smile, a gesture that seems straining but rewarding, and nod as he goes to leave the room. He hesitates in the doorway, seeming to not want to leave me alone even though it's obvious to me that I'm safe here. I chalk it up to being overprotective and let him stand there in my doorway while he makes the takeout order call and I change into some more comfortable clothes to wear. In my camisole and sweatpants I pause in front of the full body mirror I've got propped against the wall. My lights are bright and show every flaw vividly. But it's not the blemishes or pimples that I'm concerned with now. It's not the faded burn marks from all those years of working in kitchens. No, it's the diagonal scar that runs from the spot where my shoulder meets bicep all the way to the middle of my upper arm. What had been a large welt for so long took weeks to fade into this odd shaped patch of skin. My dad hit me a number of times in my life, and I remember every single one of them. What's worse than the marks is what lies inside when I look at myself in the mirror. I have to turn my face away before Bucky catches me staring.

"Are you okay?"

Too late.

I can only shake my head. Bucky's at my side in a heartbeat. I turn back towards the mirror, gesturing at my arm disgustedly. "I feel like he's ruined me."

"Do you think that about me? About what I went through?" Bucky asks.

Again I shake my head no. "Of course not."

"That's right. They didn't ruin me, and your dad didn't ruin you." Softly Bucky's cool metal hand comes to encompass my upper arm. He leans down to kiss the spot under my ear. My eyes train on him as he rises back up. Pulling away, he takes off his shirt. I raise a brow while he tosses the fabric aside. It takes me a minute after drooling at the sight of his abs to remember how hard it'd been for him to strip himself down for me at first. He'd been so ashamed of his scars. Now he lets me see them all: every single one. And he's stronger for it.

"Won't you be cold?" I try to bring some light back into the conversation.

Bucky, catching my intentions, chuckles and takes my hand. "Honey, with you in the room, I'll never cool down."

"Flirt." I turn to face him with my eyes upon his lips.

He grins and kisses the tip of my nose before remembering something. "Oh! That show we like is on the DVR still."

I raise a brow. "The Bachelorette?"

"Yes! I love that show." He pulls me into his side and starts tugging me towards the living room. "Watch it with me," he plops down onto the couch and holds out both arms. "Please?"

Laughing, I crawl up into his lap. He nestles me into his side, cocooning me in his warmth and comfort, while Friday starts up on the program we've waited all week to see. It's an hour later when someone knocks on my apartment door and I startle. Bucky, not rattled in the slightest, squeezes my knee. "It's probably just the pizza, doll. I'll go check." He slides me off his lap and onto the next cushion before standing. I take this time to grab a blanket and listen as he meets Steve at the door. What starts as a friendly, "Oh someone delivered this pizza in the lobby for you" and "Thanks, man" quickly becomes a hushed conversation between two friends that I know is about me and my stalker dad. I try to act disinterested and go scrolling through Instagram instead of letting on that I'm eavesdropping as I really am.

"...Nothing's going to happen to her here, Buck. She's as safe as anyone ever could be."

"But what about when we're gone? When I'm gone? You know she's not the type to just sit around and wait for an escort. She's too independent for that."

"You like it, don't act like you don't."

"Of course I do. Just not in this case where she's got this bastard out looking for her. I don't even know what the hell he's capable of. All the digging I've done has come up useless. He's a wannabee superhero with an inflated ego and a shit ton of skeletons in his closet. He's got no warrants, no outstanding debts, and the only people he's ever wronged have been his family."

"What are you going to do?" Steve finally asks that fated question.

Bucky lets out a long sigh. "You know what I want to do."

"I do. I also think it's a bad idea."

"She agrees."

Steve takes his turn at letting out hot air now. And I decide if I'm going to play the part of not listening I should probably begin to wonder what's taking so long. So I wrap myself in a blanket to fight the chill from the hall and go to meet Steve at my door.

"Hey, Stevie. How's it going?" I smile at him kindly and watch as his eyes shift from somber to sweet.

"Hey, sweetie. I'm good, thanks. Yourself?"

"Fine," I smile and gesture to the pizza he still idiotically holds. "Starving though, actually."

"Oh! Right. Here." He thrusts it towards me with an apologetic burst of chuckling. "One of the lobby girls made me bring it up."

"Wanna stay and share?" I ask. Bucky doesn't look too keen on this idea, probably hoping to spend the night alone, but I shoot him a quick glance that reminds him to behave himself. He sighs and rolls his eyes.

Steve shakes his head. "Thank you, but I've already got plans."

"Plans? With a girl? What's her name?" I question hurriedly.

"Don't get too excited now. It's only Wilson," Steve laughs.

"Oh! Well, I mean, he's pretty cute. So good for you, Stevie."

Steve's flushing red and Bucky's burst into a fit of giggles. "Ha, ha. Very funny." Steve grunts and shakes off the joke. "I'll let you two go back to your little date night now. Don't get into too much trouble."

"You know we can't make any promises about that," I singsong after him as he goes down the hall.

"Don't make me an uncle yet!" he calls back.

"No promises on that one either!" I yell: making all three of us laugh.

Bucky, still shirtless might I add, snatches the pizza box from my hold. He hurries back to the kitchen while I come behind: grabbing plates and napkins while the show remains on pause on the TV. Only one we're settled back onto the couch do we resume watching. Bucky's little comments on different contestants and dates always brings a smile to my face. And tonight, when I need that smile the most, the comments come aplenty. 

"I really don't know what she sees in that guy. She's so classy and he's so... trashy."

"What's his name again? Him: the one with the spiky hair. Travis? Eww. Okay, I don't like him either."

"Where the hell do these date cards come from? Do they just appear at the same time every night? How does everyone know where they should be sitting when it happens?"

After the program's over I excuse myself to shower while Bucky voluntarily cleans up our pizza mess. When I'm out of the shower, happy to be clean and figuratively cleansed of all my stresses, I find myself with another. Bucky's magically changed into clothes. Not just any clothes, might I add. He's wearing tactical gear.

"Oh." I breathe deeply. I tug the ends of my robe sleeves over my hands. "What, uh, where are you going?"

"Middle East somewhere." Bucky avoids looking into my eyes. He fiddles with his bag that he's got at his feet. "I went down and packed real fast while you were cleaning up."

"Okay." I clear my throat. "How long will you be gone?"

Bucky shrugs. He comes closer but not close enough. "I don't know."

A little smile tugs at my lip. "That's too long, Sargent."

Bucky chuckles dryly. His metal fingers graze my cheek and my eyes flutter shut. "I know," he whispers softly. "But I'll be home before you know it. Just..." he gains my attention with his change in tone. "Just try to be careful while I'm gone." He adds a gentle fluttering of his eyelashes before sticking on a sturdy, "Please."

"I think I can manage that," I reply coyly. I stand up on my toes to wrap my arms around his neck and press my lips against his. Our kiss is not quite short but certainly not long enough to soothe me. Before I know it he's pulling away and tucking soggy hair behind my ears. "Stay safe out there, Sarge."

Bucky presses one last kiss to my forehead before letting me go. He grabs his things, the single back and his phone, and makes for my door. I follow behind him until he gets to the hall. "See you later, angel."

And with that last fleeting look over his shoulder he's gone again. I watch him ride the elevator until I'm sure there's nothing else left in this quiet hall for me to stare at. I lock the door behind me on my way back inside. This feeling, the one where you have to say goodbye and never know if you'll ever say hello again, riddles me with anxiety. I know it too well. My whole family does. But somehow while still the same as it'd been with Jeremy it's slightly different. I try to pinpoint what exactly these nagging feelings in my stomach mean as I walk back to that same bedroom window as before. Tugging open the blinds I see that the message has nearly been washed away. The sprinkles of rainwater outside have turned the threat into blood-red obscurity. And just beyond the sidewalk is a parked SUV. Windows blackened I know that there's a driver inside, probably Nat or Steve, and then I see Bucky approaching the vehicle quickly. He moves like a panther among the darkness of the slowly becoming evening. His big boot splatters into a chalk-soaked puddle. Pink splatters everywhere. He glances down at the sidewalk fleetingly, seeming to stiffen slightly, before shaking his head and throwing his things into the back of the SUV. But before he can slam the trunk closed he's frozen into a thoughtful statue. The sound of something, probably Steve yelling at him to hurry up, has him breaking his stupor and shutting the parcels inside. 

And it's when Bucky climbs into the back of that dangerously dark SUV that I fully comprehend the implications of the emotions raging at the bottom of my belly. 

I love him.

A smile spreads across my lips. The realization almost has me singing: like some silly Disney princess damsel I want to belt my feelings out to a melody across the tower. But before I can do any of that I notice that there's something standing there across the street. Amongst the bustling, sparse crowd he stands erect with his body unmoving. Beyond that, his eyes seem to be trained up at me. I don't recognize his face nor his big burly beard or tinted sunglasses. I don't know this man. I wonder if it's just coincidence that he's chosen to stare up at me. People look at this tower all the time: it is the Avenger's home, after all. But something tells me that this man's fascination is something less sincere in this moment as I find him staring up at me. To test the theory I raise a hand. My almost-wave leaves no visible change on the man's face. The only thing to be altered is the movement of his fingers. What once hung unused down his sides now move upwards. The gesture that overtakes the spidery filaments is that of a "come hither" dexterously creepy notion. I watch as the action continues on in this silent stranger's beckoning of me. Before I can think twice I've cowardly ducked out of view: hiding myself behind the curtain that had once been closed. 

Breathing deeply I close my eyes. Hand over my heart I take a quick pause to collect myself. Then, with all the courage I have, I pull back a corner of the drawers to peek back down to the street. 

The rain, along with the man, are both gone.