Leipzig, Germany

Spring 2016

"You okay?" Bucky looked over to Steve as he took cover behind one of the airport's portable generators and his friend similarly ducked in behind a passenger stair truck. Steve's face was almost painfully grim, fixed as his attention was on Bucky. Yet, serious as he was, there was no mistaking the genuine sympathy in his eyes. Or the guilt.

Bewilderingly, it actually made Bucky feel better. It soothed the cool stab of jealousy and anger and the lingering flicker of betrayal trying to take root in his chest.

Mutely, his jaw clenching involuntarily, Bucky nodded. There was no mistaking what Steve really meant.

Undoubtedly, the earpieces had caught everything. Or as good as.

Nor did he miss the trace of a wince his oldest friend fought desperately to hide. It was then that Bucky realized he'd been all but glaring at Steve.

And if that didn't make him feel all the more conflicted.

This was Steve.

The once scrawny boy from Brooklyn who'd promised to stand by him 'til the end of the line...even as Bucky, lost to the hold of the Winter Soldier, had been trying to kill him.

Something Steve had stood by. Still stood by.

As much as it hurt to learn Steve had kept...kept her from him?

Even frustrated and angry and hurt as he felt in that moment?

He still trusted Steve. More than anyone. He trusted him with his life.

And he needed Steve.

Having been separated from Nadya, as soon as he'd caught a glimpse of his oldest friend in the midst of the chaos around them, Bucky had headed straight for him. He didn't trust himself to be running around solo right at the moment, no matter how in control he felt in that moment or how he felt toward Steve...not that he was entirely sure how exactly he was feeling toward Steve. Or about anything else. His head and his emotions were in turmoil beneath his focus on getting through the fight going on around him, his thoughts feeling like they were on the verge of quivering right out of the order he'd been working so hard to keep them in despite his mind feeling clearer than it had in...forever.

He'd already lost hold once today, after all.

And yet, despite it all...he was actually beginning to feel like himself again, disconcerting as that was to realize. Even despite his slip. Though, 'slip' was putting it mildly.

Bucky swallowed thickly, trying hard not to think of the way he'd frozen on Nady—Nadine, losing himself for a handful of horrifying, agonizing seconds. It was bewildering to think he'd been so damned close to losing it feeling as he was now, as clear-headed and...sane as he felt. As sane as he'd felt going into this fight. As sane as he'd felt right up until Nadine had nodded, her eyes growing bright and anguished and sorry...he tried to push the thought aside.

He was trying hard not to think about why he'd nearly lost hold of his lucidity. But of course, the sheer magnitude of what he had learned made that impossible.

He...he had a...a daughter.

Bucky's chest cramped almost painfully, while his gut flipped and somersaulted.

He'd known there was something more that Nadya had held back back in Dresden already, but as soon as he Maximoff boy had mentioned 'Nina' back in the parking garage? And Nadya's reaction to it? He hadn't been able to fight the gnawing spark of suspicion that had started working away at the back of his mind.

Then with everything that had been said when facing off against Stark's team fanning that suspicion to the verge of revelation? And Steve's face, his guarded, dismayed expression when he'd met Bucky's eye? Almost as soon as the pieces had clicked into place, his hold and his focus had begun to slip. He'd needed to know.

Even though, deep in his gut, he'd already known.

And an ache the size of Siberia had crushed in on him even as he wondered if he was truly losing his mind or if...if...if Steve and Nadya—and others too, if the careful, worried and even sympathetic looks leveled on him by Barton, the Maximoff girl and Romanoff across the divide meant what he was sure they did.

And a writhing, wounded resentment had begun swirling in the pit of his stomach, making him feel physically ill.

That they could keep something like that from him? That Nadya, that Steve could?

But then 'Black Panther'—or whatever T'Challa called himself—had been charging toward him and all thought of Nadya's daughter and the implications had been forced back in favour of simply surviving.

Not that they'd entirely let him be; that fight had been far too close for comfort thanks to the way his focus kept faltering.

And by the time he'd found himself face to face with Nadya again? His certainty had faded—he couldn't trust his own mind, so how could he trust that he wasn't jumping to wild conclusions, a virulent little voice had been hissing in the back of his head—and he'd needed...he'd needed to know if he was right.

To shut that harsh little voice up.

He'd needed to hear her confirm the inescapable conclusion he'd come to almost the moment he'd seen Nadya's girl.

Even if when he'd chosen—though it felt more a compulsion than a choice—to ask was quite possibly the worst time to do so.

But almost as soon as the question had spilled out? Bucky hadn't even really needed Nadya to answer. He'd been able to see the truth on her face, clear as day. Yet, she had done so anyway.

And the instant Nadya had confirmed it with that small, distressed nod?

It had felt like a kick in the gut. Like the weight of the world was suddenly crushing in on him. Like the shocking blast of super-cooled air burning across his skin, into his lungs, overwhelming his senses in the split-second before cryo had taken over and everything went black.

Like he couldn't draw breath for the hollow yet impossibly full tightness in his chest.

Yet...

It felt like he'd just stepped into the summer sun after a lifetime of darkness and winter.

Like that first surreal moment when he'd opened the door and Iris had been there, offering him a pizza and a nervous smile...and then later when her trust made him feel...whole again, even if only for a few golden moments.

Like he'd been granted a precious, impossible reprieve from the crushing weight of all the blood and death and despair that was his life...despite all he had done...despite what they'd torn him apart and made him into...

Like the moment Nadya had handed him the Red Book and told him he was free.

He'd felt too much all at once.

And his mind had gone utterly and terrifyingly blank save for that one, monumental, distressing, breathtaking truth.

The shock had almost been too much for his fractured mind to cope with.

And he'd nearly gotten the both of them killed because of it.

Silently, he cursed HYDRA...what they'd made him...how they'd torn him apart...his own accursed, damaged mind...himself.

What was worse?

That the first coherent thought he'd had was about why in the hell Nadya hadn't told him!

He hadn't even had to ask aloud. The look on her face—devastated and knowing and almost pitying, it had been so empathetic—had more than said enough even if the brutally pragmatic little voice in the back of his mind hadn't already answered it for him. And the knee-jerk, anguished rage at her keeping it from him drained away as understanding had stabbed through his chest like shards of ice.

Because he would've been too overwhelmed. Given how unstable confronting their shared past alone had left him? To then have this...this revelation piled on top of it?

It might very well have broken him.

No. It would've. He had little doubt to the contrary.

It felt like his world had been tilted on its axis thanks to that one little nod. Like something had been irrevocably shifted. Like the ground had been pulled out from beneath his feet.

Though in a way, he supposed, it really had.

And it had been too much for his damaged mind to process. Especially given the mess of fighting raging around them.

Hell, he still didn't know how to feel, how to properly process what he now knew.

It still felt so...surreal.

But at the same time, was a bizarre sort of mercy that they were in the middle of a fight, he had to cede bitterly. Even damaged as his mind was, that one, simple fact had helped to keep however tentative a hold on his mind. Survival instinct was a powerful thing, even over a mind as badly messed up as his. It had been a near thing, of course, and he hadn't quite been able to keep hold enough to stay anywhere close to even partially in control. But it had been enough to keep him from being completely lost. A lifeline, of sorts. Enough to allow him to grapple his way back to lucidity from...

...from what he had been for those few heart-stopping, terrible moments of blank, chaotic confusion and fury and hurt. When he'd lost himself from the sheer shock of it.

He hated to think how much trouble he'd have been in if Nadya had told him back at her safehouse. After how badly he'd already been reeling from confronting their shared past? The stress and strain on his mind from that alone had been bad enough...

He knew, without question, that he would've lost control. That the overpowering influx of emotions on top of everything else he'd already been feeling and processing would've been too much. His fractured mind wouldn't have been able to handle it, not strained as it had already had been from confronting his past with Nadya.

Not to mention the state he would've been in after he'd managed to come back to himself...if he'd managed at all.

And given what had been waiting for them here at the airport? Given what still waited for them in Siberia?

And, oh God, what he'd nearly done as he'd been coming out of it...

He'd been dangerously close to lashing out—to attacking—Nadya in that split-second before his mind had come back. The realization made him feel sick enough he could swear the taste of bile was beginning to coat his throat as his stomach roiled.

After she'd backed him up against the Wakandan king, fighting to keep him alive. After she'd just pushed him out of the line of fire.

After she'd just told him he had a daughter!

If he hadn't come back to himself as quickly as he had?

He could've killed her.

Without hesitation.

If that had happened back in Dresden? When her guard had been down. When Steve had been downstairs and too far away to intervene had he lost control...

Bucky focused on Steve a few feet away, forcing himself to concentrate as his thoughts—his emotions—threatened to run away from him again. Forcing himself to push past the incredible, impossible—dangerous—realization he was still struggling to process.

He needed his friend's stabilizing pretense to keep him in the here and now. To remind him what the stakes were. That they had a mission. He trusted Steve with his life. He knew his friend would keep him steady.

Whether he knew he was doing it or not.

A little part of him was still struggling to believe that, after everything, after all he'd done, Steve still cared the way he did. That he still found Bucky worthy enough to look out for the way he had...the way he still was.

He cared enough to feel like he'd betrayed Bucky for keeping his—the girl secret, even knowing it was safer for her and for Bucky that way. That it had probably been the right call, no matter that part of Bucky vehemently disagreed. And much as that part of him wanted to be angry about it—furious, even—he just couldn't quite manage it. Not really.

After all, wasn't it a choice in the same vein as what he'd done to protect Iris from himself? To protect her from what he was? He'd left her to protect her, and Steve and Nadya hadn't told him to try and protect him...and her from himself.

Because he was the Winter Soldier. Even if he someday managed to get HYDRA's programming out of his head, he was never going to escape being the Winter Soldier. He could run to Mars and it would still follow him there...

Truthfully? That seemed good reason to keep Nina from him in and of itself, really...

God, he'd never felt so damn broken. Worse, he'd never felt more aware of it.

So despite his anger at Steve, another part was comforted more than he could say that Steve had done it. Because at the same time? That was Steve. He'd always been that way. Even with the world going to shit around them, of course Steve would still look out for him. It was the kind of man he was. It was a soul-deep understanding that Bucky couldn't deny. He knew it like he knew Steve.

It was why, beyond that small involuntary flicker of betrayal, all Bucky really felt now was...hurt. It was for that same reason he couldn't even say he was exactly angry at Nadya, either, he suddenly realized with a pang. Not really.

No, what he felt most of all was a deep, soul-aching hurt. Hurt, not necessarily because it had been kept from him, but because there had been good reason to do so.

Hurt because of just how deeply he wished it could've been...different.

Hurt because here was one more thing the Winter Soldier had stolen from him...

It was a bitter realization.

Distantly, the longing for Iris and the solace and peace she always managed to bring him surfaced.

...what he wouldn't give for the balm, the haven her very presence had become for him in that moment...

It was part of why Bucky had gravitated toward Steve. He needed Steve's steadiness.

Because, regardless of how Bucky's life had just been turned on its head for the umpteenth time in the last few days alone, they had a job to do.

A job that suddenly felt all the more critical in the wake of what he had discovered.

He could do this.

And with a monumental effort, he pushed all thought of the girl and Iris and Nadya and everything he'd learned—and nearly done—aside. There was another reason he'd headed for Steve the instant he'd caught sight of him.

He looked grimly to Steve. "We gotta go. That guy's probably in Siberia by now." Understanding, Steve nodded sharply. Visibly reorienting his focus, Steve peered around the stair truck he was sheltered behind.

"We gotta draw out the fliers," he said, looking up to take note of where Wilson, Stark and the other guy—Rhodes?—was. "I'll take Vision. You get to the jet," he finished, looking back to Bucky. Bucky stiffened, fixing Steve with a hard look. But even as he was opening his mouth to object, Wilson was breaking in over the earpieces.

"No, you get to the jet! You two and Ryker!" Bucky peered up toward the fliers himself, but not before catching Steve's conflicted expression. "The rest of us aren't getting out of here." Though he might have mixed feelings about their Team's flier—it's not like he wanted to trash the guy's car, after all, or throw him off a Helicarrier, but Wilson didn't seem to want to let it go—Bucky couldn't say he was any happier with the observation than Steve; implications of leaving part of their team behind aside, three against five were not good odds, no matter who the three were. But just like Steve, Bucky couldn't deny that it seemed like the only option left to them. He was a soldier too, after all, and he knew sometimes tough calls had to be made.

But that didn't stop Steve from trying to find another way, struggling against the reality of the situation; Bucky could practically see the gears in his mind working even as the archer, Barton, chimed in, echoing Wilson's assessment: "as much as I hate to admit it, if we're gonna win this one, some of us might have to lose it."

And judging by the way Steve's face grew guarded, his head lowering in resignation? He'd done the math, and he knew their teammates were right.

That didn't mean it made the decision any easier to commit to. Especially not when it was friends he'd be sacrificing.

But the soldier in Steve won out over the friend.

Steve looked to Bucky, grim determination surfacing. Bucky levelly met his gaze. But he had little reassurance to give. It made sense. The two of them and Nadya were the best choices to go up against the Five in Siberia; not only were they the best matches for the other Soldiers when it came to Enhancements, experience and skillsets, but they were the ones who knew what they were facing, which gave them the best chance of coming out on top.

Not that it had been in any way assured even with the whole Team...

Only for his gut to churn as a sudden and troubling thought struck him.

Nina...what about her... He suddenly very much didn't want to think about leaving her here, which was a peculiar feeling all its own that took him completely off guard. Not to mention he had a feeling Nadya likely wouldn't hear about leaving without her anymore than she would choose to stay behind, to abandon the mission. But neither did he want the girl coming with to Siberia...the very idea of her being anywhere close to that place...his former prison...the five other Soldiers...he felt sick with dread.

What other option was there?

"This isn't the real fight, Steve," Wilson was saying through the earpieces, echoing Steve's words from back in the parking garage. Steve still hadn't dropped Bucky's gaze, his features still reluctant and thoughtful.

"Alright, Sam," Steve finally agreed grimly, "what's the play?" Bucky inhaled, setting his jaw. Focus. He needed to focus just as Steve was.

"We need a diversion, something big," Wilson said, voice audibly tense in concentration.

"I got something kind of big," Lang piped up then. Bucky peered around his generator, taking stock of positions, absently wondering where Lang even was as he made his offer. "But I can't hold it very long. On my signal, run like hell." Bucky frowned, looking to Steve; it didn't look like he had any idea what Lang had in mind either. "And if I tear myself in half? Don't come back for me."

Wait... "He's gonna tear himself in half?" Bucky blurted, almost involuntarily, bewildered. He had to have heard that wrong.

"You're sure about this, Scott?" Steve asked, his own uncertainty bleeding into his voice.

"I do it all the time," Lang dismissed with affected confidence, the faint breathlessness to his voice suggesting he was already moving, "I mean once...in a lab. Then I passed out." Well that was encouraging. And Steve looked about as confident as Bucky suddenly felt, a distinct note of concern surfacing on his face even as Lang started muttering his own encouragements to himself.

But Bucky barely heard him.

At that moment, the Maximoff boy blinked into sight next to Steve. Bucky jerked reflexively, automatically falling into a ready stance. Only to freeze as he saw the slight figure being carefully set on her feet next to an equally startled Steve.

Nose wrinkling in aggravation, Nina half-heartedly smacked Maximoff on the chest. "You're supposed to warn me," she was scolding, earning a chuckle from the boy. Steve recovered quickly, his expression shifting automatically to one of concern.

Bucky, on the other hand, couldn't seem to breathe properly.

Not with her right there. So close that, with a couple steps, he could reach out and touch her. And Bucky was suddenly fighting the urge to do just that...to see if she was real...

He couldn't stop looking—staring—at her. She was...

She was gorgeous. Perfect. Impossible.

She was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen in that moment. And he just couldn't help himself, drinking in every detail he could: like how strands of her fine blonde hair caught on the shoulder seam of her white and pale blue uniform; the way the corner of her mouth tugged in a disconcertingly familiar almost-smile even as she tried to glare at Maximoff; the glimmer of intelligence in her large, expressive eyes; the smudge of dirt across her cheek...her awfully pale cheek...

His gut knotted in a sudden, powerful wave of concern, brow furrowing in a frown the longer he watched her, transfixed by the faintly abashed way she responded to the question he only half-heard Steve asking and the soft cadence of her voice as she answered—she had a trace of an accent when she was upset, he remembered absently.

She looked like her mom, really, but...softer. Warmer. More innocent than he ever remembered Nadya looking. But the resemblance was unmistakable, from the shape of their eyes and the slope of their cheekbones to the slender, yet deceptively strong dancer's frame mother and daughter shared. But at the same time...

Christ, she looked like...him.

She reminded him a little of his baby sister, to be honest...which was understandable, he supposed. They had the same brow, the same delicate chin with the small, subtle dimple that each of the Barnes' siblings had inherited from their own father.

He wondered what her smile looked like, what she sounded like when she laughed...

And she had the Barnes' eyes. That same, clear, vibrant blue he had shared with his brothers and his sister...and now with this girl...

She really was his, wasn't she...

The knots tightened, though for a slightly different reason.

He was...he was a father...and something utterly foreign yet bewilderingly natural that he couldn't entirely name swelled in his chest even as an anxiety like none he'd ever known threatened to shake his focus.

No...he was focused. Completely focused. Just not on the mission. Not right in that moment.

It was settled firmly on her instead. And the new brand of anxiety he felt deepened with each passing second.

She didn't look as 'fine' as she was trying to assure Steve she was; she looked on the verge of falling over, leaning against the Maximoff boy as she was, her slender hands clutching his arm. The urge to go to her surged up again—a powerful instinct disconcertingly similar yet completely different from the urges he'd felt to look out for his younger siblings...his family a lifetime ago—insisting that he should be the one supporting her...protecting her...

He nearly jumped again as Nadya's concerned voice suddenly spoke up in his ear, snapping him back to the present.

"Nina? Steve, please say you have her." She sounded almost desperate. And Bucky could easily sympathize, much to his surprise. Next to Steve, Nina's brow furrowed faintly in consideration as Steve answered her mom, a conflicting flash of mingled fear, irritation and relief flickering clearly across her features as she realized who Steve was talking to.

Steve...Bucky couldn't help but spare a brief glance at his friend as Nina edged closer to him, the fact that she clearly felt safe with him as unmistakable as how fond and protective Steve was of her. And Bucky couldn't help the unsettling wave of mixed approval and jealousy that realization brought; approval because there was no one else he'd rather have looking out for his...for her; and jealousy...well, that was pretty self-explanatory.

He...he wanted what Steve apparently had with Nina.

God, he'd never even spoken to her...

But he found he didn't care. It didn't matter.

Especially when her large, blue-grey eyes turned to fix on him, curiosity clear amid her trepidation and confusion. Confusion about why he was...why he was staring at her like she was water in a desert.

And it struck him that she didn't know...there was no recognition beyond that he was the Winter Soldier.

Nadya hadn't told her either.

An ache deeper and sharper than he expected cut through him at the thought.

But he didn't have time to think further on it.

At that moment, Nina's attention was drawn away, her eyes widening even as her mouth parted in shock. Frowning, Bucky couldn't help but look over to see what had caught her attention.

It was only then that he noticed Steve had stepped out from behind the stair truck with a faintly stunned look of his own. Bucky's frown deepened even as he followed both their gazes and edged out from behind his own cover.

He blinked. And blinked again, his own mouth falling open in shock even as the Maximoff boy started to laugh.

Lang was...huge.

So that was what he'd been talking about...

And almost as if a switch had been flipped inside his head, Bucky's focus was snapping back to the mission. To what they still had to do. Resolve settled in his chest.

It was almost a relief compared to the sheer scope of what he was feeling with her so close.

"I guess that's the signal," Steve said under his breath, earning a startled twitch from Nina. Without consciously thinking to do so, Bucky was nodding in absent agreement even as Wilson voiced his own laughing approval through their earpieces. It certainly looked like a signal...

At once, Steve was shaking off his astonishment, mind once again back on the mission. Despite himself, Bucky felt the corner of his lip tug even as Steve began handing out orders, sounding perfectly composed again as he spared Lang a final look before surveying their position. In their ear, Nadya confirmed she understood even if she didn't sound entirely pleased about it.

Instinctively, Bucky was preparing to move, knowing what was coming before Steve even said it.

Only to hesitate, as, in looking back to Nina and Steve just as the Maximoff boy darted off in a hazy-blue blur, he caught the way Nina stiffened next to Steve, her chin lifting even as her eyes flashed defiantly.

"I can keep up," she objected to the clear question on Steve's face. And with a small wave of her hand, the peculiar, shimmery effect she was apparently able to create appeared, "and I'm not helpless."

Was...was it normal to feel...proud and resistant at the same time?

Apparently. He was pretty sure that's what the feeling growing beneath his sternum meant. And it seemed Steve was feeling something similar if Bucky wasn't imagining the quickly hidden expression that flickered across his oldest friend's face. After a split-second's consideration, Steve jerked out a reluctant but acquiescing nod. One that part of Bucky was very much not okay with...and that another part was immensely relieved about.

As if he didn't feel unstable enough already...

It was then that Steve spared a brief, loaded look to Bucky over Nina's head.

"Buck?"

It was a loaded, unspoken question if he'd ever heard one. A multitude of questions, even. Too many to even begin to decipher. Not that Bucky really needed to. The primary meaning was explicitly clear even without putting another word to it. Especially with the way Steve's eyes flicked for the barest instants toward Nina.

And apparently Bucky didn't even have to answer.

A grave sort of satisfaction surfaced in Steve's eyes. And without even so much as a nod, he turned and broke cover, sparing a sharp glance around and ahead to ensure they were clear. Inhaling deeply, his frame already instinctively loosening in preparation to start running once again, Bucky stepped closer to Nina, a faint but distinct wash of content swelling in his chest as he realized she had unconsciously done the same.

Such an odd feeling...

A handful of feet ahead, Steve gestured them forward, glancing back just long enough to meet Bucky's eye before he started moving in earnest. And out of the corner of his eye, Bucky saw Nina looking to him for confirmation. He didn't hesitate, already falling back on his long-honed battle instincts, his focus sharpening on the task at hand.

There was no time for hesitating.

Especially since it was no longer just himself he was looking out for.

"Go," he urged, fixing Nina with an anxious look. Only to nearly falter the instant the word passed his lips; the first word he'd spoken to his...his daughter, and it was the same small word that had been the one and only thing he'd said to her mother all those years before...it left a funny, unsettled feeling in his stomach.

Especially now that he knew the girl next to him was the reason Nadya had risked everything by running that night.

Everything...what Nadya had said back in Dresden—you gave me everything, Barnes. Everything I never thought I could have—suddenly took on a whole new meaning. And with what she had said to Nina, how she'd reassured her before the fighting had resumed—his final clue—still echoing in the back of his mind?

You are still my everything, Nina.

Everything, indeed... He spared a glance to Nina out of the corner of his eye. Yes, he had a feeling he was already beginning to understand what Nadya meant.

But the thought fell aside as he and Nina broke cover themselves, long-ingrained instinct taking over. And it was a good thing, too.

Things had gone to hell around them.

Most of Stark's Team was focused on Lang, though Wilson was in the fray as well, sowing confusion and distraction as best he could; Bucky was suddenly struck by the thought that they looked almost like angry bees, buzzing around the giant like he'd stepped on their nest. A mental image not helped by the way Lang was sending vehicles and equipment flying like they were no more than children's toys.

Including one that was suddenly flying right at them. Bucky's heart was suddenly in his throat, his attention snapping to Nina, his muscles coiling, reflexes and instinct surging forward even as she shouted.

"Look out!"

Only to stumble as her hands collided with his shoulder with surprising force.

And he could only watch in horror as she turned, hands flying up even as an iridescent wall shimmered into being in front of them.

For a split-second, he thought it wasn't going to be enough. He didn't have enough time to think, to feel. There was just a horrified, aching chasm yawning in the centre of his chest.

But it was enough, and the truck that had been knocked their way slowed to hang disconcertingly in mid-air in front of them.

Where they would've been had Nina not reacted as she had.

Bucky felt sick.

And utterly in awe...

After a moment that felt like an eternity, the young woman in front of him gave a small cry of effort and the shimmering field blinked out. And the truck fell to the ground with a crash that rattled him to his very bones. Nearly sagging, she glanced back to him, a small, wobbly grin on her face. An answering grin tugged at his own lips even as he reached out for her, anxious to get them moving—

Just as a flaming mass of airplane engine came hurtling toward them, smashing into the pavement on the other side of the truck.

Bucky didn't think.

He just leapt forward, reaching—

Desperate.

And only just managed to pull Nina around behind the shield of his own body as the force from the debris' impact slammed into them both.

It knocked the wind clear out of his chest, throwing them both back. But despite the ache suddenly clamping hard around his chest as his body fought to take a breath, Bucky was pitching himself around out of pure instinct.

An instinct to protect the girl in his arms. An instinct he was barely aware of even as he acted on it.

And then the pavement rising up to meet him, hitting with the force of a piledriver. Hard enough that he couldn't even cry out. Hard enough that his chest spasmed from the second winding hit, and the metallic taste of blood and bile stabbed into the back of his throat. Distantly he felt the tarmac crack beneath his metal shoulder, the dull metallic clang ringing in his ears as they tumbled across the ground, Bucky trying to shield her from each jarring impact as best he could.

He couldn't breathe, his chest aching with it, but even as he came to rest on his side, he was lurching himself back up and into a low crouch, curling around Nina, his cybernetic arm raised protectively even as he braced himself, ready for another onslaught.

But none came, and he found himself looking down on the girl nestled against him. And his newly regained breath caught, rough and itching in his throat, as he finally processed what had nearly happened, delayed panic and fear rising to strangle him. His jaw clenched as his eyes roved over her, desperate to assure himself that she was whole, unharmed...

She suddenly seemed so small in his arms. So delicate. So vulnerable.

Nina's lids fluttered, her fingers tightening reflexively on his jacket. Bucky swallowed thickly, relief catching against the jagged edges of his dread.

And her blue-grey eyes met his.

A different sort of ache surged in his chest, his very heartbeat feeling like it faltered. It was a pleasant ache. And he thought it had been hard to breathe before... It felt like a piece of him he hadn't known was missing had just fallen into place.

Was it possible to feel so much for a person he hadn't even known existed until today?

Apparently the answer was a resounding yes.

Slowly, the tension in his frame eased, his arm lowering...his metal fingers hovering just shy of actually touching her cheek, brushing against her pale hair. So soft... even to the limb's dulled senses... But he couldn't quite bring himself to do it, hesitating, suddenly afraid to touch something so...so precious with something so...so tainted.

How was it possible that he'd played a part in creating...her.

But too soon the moment ended, and with a small, exhausted sound, Nina sagged against him, her large eyes sliding shut. Panic once again flared through him, tremoring violently, threatening to take his mind with it.

Yet, deep in his gut, he knew even if he lost his grip, he wouldn't hurt her.

Not Nina. Like Iris, she was a part of him, now. That, like Iris, she would get through to him to a degree even Steve couldn't.

That she was now someone even the Winter Soldier would fight to protect.

It was shocking and bewildering even as it was unsettlingly reassuring.

It was an instinct he very nearly fell back on as two figures blinked into existence at his side.

He jerked, so caught in his sudden reflexive desire to protect the girl in his arms that he nearly twisted away, his metal arm once more rising like a shield over his little girl.

But Nadya leaned back slightly, hands raised in a show of peace despite the way her own fear was warring with the long-ingrained instinct to hide the evidence of her emotions from her face as she read just how close to the surface the Winter Soldier had risen.

"Barnes," she murmured softly, calmly. But it was the frightened waver threading her voice that got through to him; it echoed the feeling vibrating in his chest as he looked down at Nina. Bucky inhaled shakily, struggling to steady himself, to force himself to calm as he met her eye. Taking it as a good sign, Nadya edged closer again. He resisted the urge not to tense further as a larger, more familiar frame eased down next to her.

"Buck," Steve asked just as softly, though there was no hiding the urgency in his voice entirely, "you've got her?" His jaw clenching almost painfully, Bucky nevertheless nodded, distantly marvelling that Steve had somehow managed to pick up on precisely what it was holding him together right at that moment, subtly encouraging it.

Nadya's hand landed lightly on his metal wrist, gently but firmly easing it aside. And it was inescapably clear just how hard she was fighting to restrain herself, to keep her movements slow and measured as she reached for her daughter. As she gently turned Nina's face toward her, pausing over her pulse before smoothing her hand along her daughter's cheek and forehead even as her eyes roved over the rest of her—taking in the gentle rise and fall of her chest, the way her grip, while loose, was still latched onto Bucky's jacket—just as Bucky's had done.

Nadya sighed softly then, some of the tension in her body easing as her features relaxed minutely with relief.

"She's unconscious," the older blonde murmured reassuringly, just as much to herself as to him or Steve or the boy Bucky suddenly realized was hovering just behind her, "but she seems to be okay, otherwise."

"She's exhausted," Maximoff piped up, looking and sounding far more serious than Bucky had yet seen him. "She's never used her powers so much for so long, before." Nadine looked sharply over her shoulder, her expression growing impassive once again.

"You and I are going to be having a long talk when this is over, Maximoff," she informed him coolly before looking back to Nina. She brushed a few stray strands of pale hair from the girl's face, her own features softening, her terror and worry and the overwhelming love she held for Nina briefly shining through. But then it was gone, and she looked carefully up to Bucky.

"Barnes," she soothed, her voice nevertheless firm, "let Maximoff take her." If anything, though, his hold on Nina—on his daughter—tightened, his chest clenching as he glowered at the boy suddenly hovering next to his arm, alternating between glaring curiously at Bucky and sparing Nina concerned glances of his own. Nadya held out an entreating hand. "Please. Pietro will take her somewhere safe faster than any of us can manage. Even you. Let him help her." He spared a glance to Steve. It was the silent agreement and encouragement in his oldest friend's face—not to mention the lingering worry of his own—that helped push him to let go.

Reluctantly, feeling bewilderingly like he was handing the suddenly wary boy a piece of himself—and in a way, he was, wasn't he—he relinquished Nina into Maximoff's waiting arms, an odd, unsettled feeling lurching in his gut.

And as soon as she was securely in Maximoff's hold, they were gone in a hazy bluish blur.

Bucky exhaled slowly, pointedly ignoring how shaky it sounded. A hand landed heavily on his shoulder. For a split-second, Bucky stiffened, before instinctively relaxing at the familiar grip. He looked up to Steve, grateful for the gesture. Steve just nodded, standing.

"We gotta go," he said grimly, looking from Steve to Nadya. He barely waited long enough for each of their nods—Steve's a tense jerk and Nadya's little more than a spasm—before moving. There was no denying he was right.

They didn't have another second to waste.

They were just as aware as Bucky that they'd spent too long here, already.

And the knowledge of what was waiting for them in Siberia was once more looming forebodingly in the back of his thoughts.

The three of them were circling around the fight between Lang and Stark's Team and onto the open pavement between them and the hangar when Maximoff reappeared next to them, jogging easily next to Nadya. With a small nod from Steve, Nadya was whisked away just as Nina had been.

Leaving Bucky and Steve on their own. With a brief look of agreement, they both increased their pace, taking full advantage of their Enhanced speed. The sounds of the battle behind them were still going strong—crashes, splintering and the distinctive blasts of War Machine's arsenal echoing across the airport. But sooner or later, someone on Stark's side was bound to notice them making for the Quinjet.

"I'm in," Nadya's voice piped up in their ear, then, "just waiting on you."

"We're almost there," Steve answered, voice tight from the pace they were keeping. And despite himself, the anxious press in Bucky's chest began to ease as they swiftly crossed the final stretch of runway between them and the hangar. They might just make it.

Only for their luck to run out.

A flash of golden light gleamed in the corner of Bucky's eye. Immediately his and Steve's attention snapped to the control tower standing sentinel above the hangar's northeast corner. With a grating, rumbling crunch so deep and loud the pavement seemed to vibrate beneath their feet, the tower began to collapse, tipping like a felled tree toward the open hangar door. Both Bucky and Steve faltered, their headlong dash for the Quinjet stalling as their obvious approach was about to be cut off.

But just then, the tower slowed in its fall as a rippling scarlet wash caught it, slowing the wreckage like a safety net. Sparing nothing more than an anxious glance to Steve, Bucky redoubled his pace, not bothering to look back toward the Maximoff girl as his friend was.

He wasn't about to question the reprieve.

Not even when Nadya's grim, strained voice sounded in his ear as she addressed the girl's brother, only just barely audible beneath the dull roar of the collapsing tower.

"You can't help her. There isn't time; we can't wait if you go," she was warning urgently. Bucky spared Steve another glance; they were almost in the hanger; the tower was looming over their heads, the scarlet mist holding it back almost blinding thanks to the strain it was under.

"She's my twin," the boy was replying just as gravely, as though that was more than explanation enough, his voice tense and determined, "I have to try." And before Bucky had even processed what he'd said, a bluish blur dashed past him and Steve back toward the fight.

Just as the scarlet nimbus holding back the falling tower blinked out.

Showering Bucky and Steve with a cascade of crumbling concrete and shattered glass as they sprinted the last few metres into the hangar, Steve even going so far as to pitch forward in to a desperate, dodging roll while Bucky was forced to drop into a similar slide as the tower fell on their heads in a choking cloud of dust and debris. And for a split-second, Bucky wasn't even sure they'd made it.

Not until he was straightening. Once more, the driving apprehension began to ease as Steve fell into step beside him, focused on the Quinjet looming before them, its engines beginning to hum and whine as they spooled up.

And yet again the feeling faltered as he noticed the figure walking calmly toward him and Steve.

There was a tense, unreadable frown on Romanoff's face as she watched Bucky and Steve slow to a stop in front of her. She looked to Steve, sparing Bucky a brief, considering glance that had him shifting uneasily.

"You're not gonna stop," she said sedately after a moment. It very much was not a question. That she hadn't made the slightest effort to mask the resignation in her tone made that inescapably clear. She knew the answer already.

Next to Bucky, Steve's head shook minutely, almost unconsciously. "You know I can't." Her lips pursed faintly at his response, but she was unsurprised, the resignation from her voice surfacing on her features. She spared another look to Bucky, her lips thinning further. Apology flickered across her face as she looked back to Steve, her expression turning almost wary.

"I never dreamed he'd bring her." It was said so quietly, Bucky nearly didn't hear it. Next to him, Steve sighed heavily.

"I know," he answered just as softly. Something seemed to falter in the redheaded spy's expression, something too quick for Bucky to decipher. But whatever it was, Steve seemed to understand, his gaze not dropping from Romanoff's even as she slowly raised her arm.

"I'm gonna regret this," she muttered even as the widow's bite around her wrist began to glow brighter. Bucky tensed, muscles coiling. Only for the crackling projectile she fired to blaze between him and Steve. His head snapping around, Bucky nearly started as T'Challa staggered, the taser disk Romanoff had hit him with arcing as it brought the Wakandan to his knees.

Bucky could only watch, curiously unaffected. The man had tried to kill him without even pausing at the idea that he might just be innocent...well, innocent of the charge T'Challa wanted to kill him for.

Because much as Bucky felt he deserved far worse for all the horrific things he'd done, he wasn't ready to die just yet. Not while he still had the chance to make something right. Not that the desire was entirely altruistic...more selfish, really. He simply didn't want to die, just yet; the Red Book was suddenly heavy in his jacket pocket. Not now that he had even the smallest glimmer of hope that he could see Iris again, however tentative...or that he might maybe—just maybe, deserving or not—have a future beyond the Winter Soldier's hold within his mind...

Especially now that he knew about Nina...

Provided they survived Siberia, of course.

"Go." He turned back to Romanoff as she nodded back toward the Quinjet. She flicked a small glance to Steve from her focus on T'Challa. Sparing her a brisk, grateful nod, Steve didn't hesitate. And neither did Bucky. As they ran past her, she launched another of her taser-discs followed shortly by another, both of them intent on reaching the Quinjet while she held T'Challa at bay.

Almost the instant their boots hit the boarding ramp, Steve was barking out a 'go' of his own, punctuating the terse order with a sharp snap of his fist against the hatch control.

And beneath their feet, the Quinjet shuddered, lifting off to the punctuating sound of its guns clearing the way.

It was only then that Bucky allowed himself to breathe.

They were finally on their way to Siberia.

And sparing a long look at Nina where she was laid out on the bank of seats just ahead of him as Steve immediately strode forward to the cockpit to tag out Nadya?

He just hoped the cost hadn't been too high.

A/N: Thanks for reading!

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