Ada

Bucky's hands are on my waist and his lips are on mine, hidden in a back alley near the church that we never made it to.

"You know," he murmurs, kissing just below my ear. "There's a rumour going around that we might get given leave for Christmas."

"Christmas?" I say, almost in confusion.

"Yeah, it's just two weeks til Christmas," he says, holding me close. "Hell, Captain America might even be able to arrange a plane back to New York for part of it. Rationing isn't as bad back home, could put together a homecooked meal, Christmas tree-"

"God I can't even remember the last time I saw a Christmas tree," I say and now he's the one that seems confused. "Christmas was outlawed in the Soviet Union years ago and the last Christmas I spent in America was when I was four."

He's stunned, but determined. "We're having a proper Christmas, even if we have to go and steal a tree to put up somewhere in base, we're having one."

I laugh happily and kiss him. "I adore you, James Barnes."

"And I adore you, Lina," he murmurs, kissing me softly before playfully bumping his nose against mine. "My angel."

He's sickeningly sweet, and I'd never want it any other way.

"My soldier," I murmur back and our lips meet, my heart swelling at the touch. "My love."

He tugs me in closer at those words and I'm melting in his embrace, both of us chuckling a little when the hat of his dress uniform bumps my forehead and so I take it off, holding it in my hand as I loop my arms around his neck and my feet momentarily leave the ground when he lifts me up.

"My sweetheart," he says between slow kisses. Only setting me back down when we hear the sound of people passing by, having departed the church, and he sighs "They'll be expecting us back soon."

"Unfortunately," I remark, placing his cap back on his head and managing a smile at the sight as I wipe the remnants of my lipstick from his mouth. "It's so tragic having to keep my hands to myself when you look so handsome."

"Me? Sweetheart I never knew a tie could look so good on a lady," he teases and I'm smiling as he tugs the tie of my own dress uniform to pull me in for another kiss. "It suits you, but still not as good as your field uniform."

I hum, having noticed just how much he seems to like that one. "Figuratively or literally."

"Both," he says without hesitation and I'm shaking my head with a grin. "Come on doll, let's take the long way back to headquarters."

And we do, but not before carefully reapplying the lipstick that seems to be vanishing at an alarming rate these days.

~

When evening comes I'm sat in one of the office spaces, combing through the files we'd taken and noting anything of importance to the SSR. After eight hours of it I'm beginning to wish I let Dernier blow them up. My job had always been acquiring the information and leaving no witnesses, somehow that was more bearable than pushing papers.

I don't run into Peggy until I return to our shared room and find her already inside, packing.

"What's with the suitcase?"

"We're flying out to New York for Christmas," she tells me and my heart skips a beat. "Senator Brandt's organised a celebration to honour the Howling Commandos and present the team with a Presidential Unit Citation amongst other medals. I believe Steve was able to organise a period of leave for the team in exchange for his attendance. Considering those men only had a week or so's respite after their imprisonment it's more than earned."

"It certainly is," I say, knowing how glad Bucky will be for it despite his insistence that he's recovered quickly. "I'd heard a rumour about leave but the celebration's news to me."

"Didn't you see Steve this morning when he told the team?" she asks and I bite my lip. "Ada?"

"Well, I must admit I've been rather preoccupied."

"Preoccupied?" she questions then pauses at the smile I suppress. "Barnes."

"Well I suppose I've been keeping him rather preoccupied as well," I admit, warmth coming to my face. "Although it's been innocent, at least for the most part."

"Adelina Morgan!" she exclaims while I smile "If Phillips-"

"It's fine," I assure her, feeling increasingly secure in my position. "Phillips has greater things to worry about regarding me than my love life, but the team does know. Subtly isn't one of Bucky's talents."

It is mine, but I haven't exactly been using it.

"Or rather we all have eyes," she remarks, and as much as she's on the side of caution she is happy for me. "You two were drawn together like magnets from the moment you found him in that base."

"He's sweet with a remarkable humour, a true soldier," I tell her, knowing that doesn't even scrape the surface, and can't help but grin like a teenager as I confide "And he has a nice mouth."

Her eyes widen and she swats at me with a rolled up newspaper, the two of us laughing and blushing like we're just girls, something I'd never been able to be before befriending her. "Ada!"

"He is a man who gets on his knees for me," I tell her, and even she looks intrigued.

"As in...?" I nod in confirmation and she admits "Alright, now I'm beginning to understand your sudden infatuation."

"That and the fact that he is so damn sweet with me," I gush. "You can't blame me for being occupied."

She shakes her head in mock disapproval. "At least tell me this has been in your leisure time and not during missions."

"I am quite responsible I'll have you know," I say and before she can berate me further there's a knock on the door. "Come in."

The door opens and Bucky stands there with a pansy from one of the flower pots out on the street.

"I'm not interrupting something am I?" he says looking between myself and Peggy who still has the rolled up newspaper at hand.

"Not at all," I say, coming to the door and pulling him inside before he can be seen. "A flower, I wonder who that could be for."

"Hmm I wonder," he hums, playing along with it and kissing my forehead. "For you, and I have a favour to ask you."

"Thank you, and what's that?"

"That you'll save a dance for me at this celebration they're having in New York," he says as I take the flower. "I'm guessing you've heard by now."

"I have, and how could I refuse?" I smile, holding his hands loosely in mine. "So, Steve organised that leave. Maybe this time you'll be able to show me around after all."

"Considering we'll be in Brooklyn I'm counting on it," he says, tugging me in by my waist and lowering his voice. "Steve was telling me where headquarters is and my apartment's only a block or two away, so I was thinking that you and me could spend some of that leave there..."

I hum in anticipation and Peggy clears her throat, reminding us we aren't the only people in the room.

Bucky nods his head in respect and says "I'll see you on the plane then?"

I nod and pull him in closer. "But while you're here-" my lips meet his and he holds me close, letting the kiss linger before reluctantly breaking away and kissing my forehead. "So, does that leave start after we land in New York?"

"You bet it does," he says and my heart begins to pound at the thought of spending it with him. "We'll be coming back here just after New Years, by then the SSR should have a plan of attack worked out for when they send us back over."

"So three weeks?" I say, surprised despite it being considered a small period of leave. "Steve really must've stood his ground then to get that approved."

"Turns out he's kind of important now," he jests. "Trust me I'm more shocked than anyone." I laugh and he kisses me again before murmuring. "See you in the morning, sweetheart."

"See you then, Buck," I say and watch him leave with a warm face.

When the door closes Peggy looks at me in contemplative surprise. "You two really are becoming something aren't you?"

"I sure hope so," I say, looking at the flower in my hand. "I really do."

~

When we arrive in New York after the long flight it's the middle of the night. Snow falls when we step out onto the landing strip and it makes me feel at home. In the dark Bucky's hand brushes mine before we step into the light of the airport and I come to Peggy's side under the watchful eye of Colonel Phillips.

When we arrive at the Brooklyn headquarters and are sent to settle in for the night Steve reports to the Phillips to ensure arrangements have been made for the Howling Commandos, and with his absence I take the chance to slip into his and Bucky's room. Before I can even manage to shut the door he's taking my hand to pull me into his embrace.

My lips meet his and I'm sighing into his mouth at the warmth his touch brings. "James."

"Lina," he murmurs back between kisses. "Baby."

I hum and he tugs me over to the bed, sitting on the edge and pulling me until I come to straddle his lap, peeling his jacket from his shoulders to feel the definition of him beneath the thin shirt he wears. He's the one that moves to take it off and we're fumbling with the buttons of his dress shirt until I can finally pull it free and set it aside only to be met with a singlet beneath that I impatiently curse until it too joins the pile of clothes beside us on the bed.

The sight of him shirtless is one that has my body desperately seeking friction with his, but not before we're reaching for the buttons of my own shirt and I have to stop him from tearing them off with the shared desperation to remove any barriers between us. Once the cold air hits my upper body and my bralettes all that covers my breasts his hands are on my hips, grinding me down into him and giving me that friction I'm aching for.

"Buck," I sigh, and I'm gasping at the hardness of him beneath me. All it takes is a few guided rolls of my hips to be reduced to broken words. "Need you-"

He echoes that need, although slightly more composed. Only slightly.

"God I can't wait to feel you," he murmurs in my ear, his mouth hot and wet on my neck. "Make love to you."

I'm whimpering his name and when his fingers dig into my thighs I push him back onto the bed, moving along his body only for him to flip me on my back with a strength and agility that leaves me utterly breathless, even more so when he begins moving down my body until he drops to his knees in front of the bed.

My skirt's hiked up around my hips, and his lips are parted as he spreads my legs and moves between them only for us both to stop at the sound of the door opening and quickly being slammed shut with a muffled curse from Steve; a rare sound but not one that's unjustified.

Bucky's head falls against the inside of my thigh and he's breathing heavily, his fingers tracing gentle strokes along my leg while I reach down to run my fingers through the hair that's fallen across his forehead.

He kisses the inside of my thigh before moving back up my body to kiss me properly. My hands trace his own, from the slopes of his back to the broad width of his shoulders and along his defined arms.

"In the morning I'll get the keys to my apartment from my sister and then..." he kisses my jaw softly, his hand holding my bare waist. "I'm going to bring you home and make love to you. We won't have to leave the bed until New Years."

I smile, equally breathless and emotional. "Promise?"

"Promise," he smiles back and at the sound of Steve clearing his throat outside the door we're muffling laughter. "Come on sweetheart, let's get you dressed and hope that's the last time I'll be saying that until it's time to go back to London."

And I reach for my clothes, but not before pulling him back into my arms for one last lingering kiss. The closest I've ever felt to pure unbridled ecstasy.

To love.

~

"Lina- Lina!"

I look to find Katya running towards me, smiling. She's laughing as I lift her up and set her on my hip even as I fake a groan at the weight of her.

"You're getting too heavy for this Katyusha," I say but still hold her up as I look about the room, white light shining through the window to illuminate the pristine walls of the house in Washington.

Slowly I set her down, rubbing her head before she runs across the room of the study to bring me a notebook filled with cursive English writing.

"Look Lina, I've finished it."

"And you've done such an incredible job," I praise, looking over to find arithmetic practice pages on the desk. "I'm so proud of you Katyusha."

I turn at the sound of the door opening and my heart stops at the sight of Bucky, not in a soldier's uniform, but a suit and tie.

"Buck?"

"Hey sweetheart," he says, kissing my forehead as he moves past to set a briefcase on the table. "How's she going with her math?"

"She- she's going great," I stammer, watching stunned as she runs up to hug him and he pats her head with a smile. "How was work?"

"It was good, and Steve rang to ask if we want to come around to his and Peggy's for dinner tomorrow," Bucky says and looks down at Katya. "How about that, want to go to Uncle Steve's tomorrow?"

She nods excitedly and my heart clenches as she runs off to the corner of the room to continue playing with the dollhouse that was once mine, as carefree as I've ever seen her.

He takes my hands in his, kissing them individually before bringing me into a warm embrace and it's then I see the wedding rings on each of our fingers. Gold bands with an engagement ring beside mine.

"Also," he says, holding me close. "Do you think your dad would mind babysitting on our anniversary?"

"I- my dad?" I repeat and turn my head at the sound of Katya running to the open door, my heart stopping at the sight. "Dad?"

"Adelina," he greets happily, hugging Katya before coming over to shake Bucky's hand. "And James, good to see you son."

"Sir," Bucky greets respectfully while I stare in shock, only to look down at my own hands to find them absent of any rings and stained with blood, along with the nurse's uniform I wear.

This isn't real.

I look up at my father's face with tears in my eyes, finding his body how I remember it from the formal identification process; his eyes open and face grey from the rubble of the office he'd been entrapped in, blood staining his dress uniform.

Slowly I look at Katya to find her face stained with blood and tears, loose bits of brain stuck to her collar. Her eyes are bloodshot and there's familiar scars around her wrist, fresh and inflamed from straining against handcuffs.

"Lina?"

I'm frozen until Bucky puts his left hand on my shoulder from behind me and there's no wedding ring on his finger now, yet there's still a metallic gleam that catches my eye. I look in the reflective glass of the window only to find my mother standing behind me with her hand around my throat.

"It's time to go home."

"Ada!" Peggy yells quietly and I open my eyes to find her standing over me, my own hand clutching my throat. "You were-"

"I'm fine," I say quickly, pulling my hand away and shaking my wrist out but neither of us believe it. "Just a bad dream."

She nods slowly and I don't fight her when she helps me sit upright, coated in a layer of sweat with a pounding head. "You're feverish."

"I'll live," I dismiss and she brings me a flask of water. "Thank you."

She runs a hand along my back in concern, mentioning "It's been a while since you've woken up in this state."

"Yeah," I say roughly. "It has been... but I know what I've gotta do."

It's not long before I'm showered and dressed, although still slightly dishevelled as I walk through base in a hurry with no sighting of Bucky or Steve.

"Howard," I say as I walk into the mostly empty lab that I'd once been quite acquainted with. "I don't suppose you have a car I could borrow do you?"

"I have four in the city," he answers and pulls a pair of keys out of his pocket. "Joyride?"

"I need to go to Washington," I say, my voice quiet. "To find out what happened to my house and my father's accounts after he was killed."

He nods slowly and says "Just make sure that you're back for the event tomorrow, we'll be heading to the function centre at seven."

He chucks me the keys and the sigh that escapes me is more dread than relief. "Thank you Howard, truly."

"Don't sweat it, and if you need anything else-" He takes out a pencil to write his phone number down. "I'll be staying in a hotel nearby, that's the number to call and if you want to visit it's the fanciest looking one on the block. Ask for the penthouse suite." I nod slowly and slip it inside my pocket. "You know, if you're looking for somewhere to stay while on leave..."

"It's alright," I quickly say, clearing my throat a little anxiously. "I um- I'll either be staying here with Peggy or somewhere else in the city. Steve and Sergeant Barnes are both from here and they've offered to show me around."

"Right," he says, accepting my gentle turning down of his offer but not without a moment of disappointment. "Offer still stands if you change your mind."

I nod and try to lighten the mood. "I'm sure you'll be entertaining some lovely ladies regardless."

He just laughs. "You'd be surprised, I've actually been focused on my work more than women for once, but you'd understand what that's like." There's a double meaning to his words that has my jaw clenching. "That's what Peggy and Steve are doing right? Focusing on their jobs and working out the rest once this is all over?"

"Something along those lines," I say, and he looks up from his work to me.

"And you?"

"And me?" I repeat back, not letting my voice reveal anything.

"I know you've got your orders but after the work you've done I think they'd turn a blind eye if you wanted to have some fun," he says and my stomach sinks, a familiar guilt washing over me. "Let me take you out to dinner while you're on leave, a know a nice place upstate."

"I-" I begin, struggling for the right words to lessen the blow. "I could never express just how important you and Peggy have become to me since my recruitment. You're my best friends, the only true friends I've ever had, and I don't want to jeopardise that. I don't want to lose you to something as flimsy as a meaningless fling. You mean too much to me."

I'm not rejecting him because of Bucky, no, my relationship with Howard and my careful skirting of his advances has gone on since long before I met him. To tell Howard that someone else is the reason for it would be a lie. Even if there was no one in my heart my answer to him would be the same. He deserves the plain truth and not an excuse, although my voice shakes slightly at just how true my words to him are.

The mere thought of losing Peggy in that fight we had after the interrogation was enough to break my heart, and I fear losing Howard would have the same impact.

He nods slowly in acceptance, the hurt evident in his eyes, but slowly he smiles to himself. "I don't think in my entire life that I've ever had anyone tell me that they don't want to lose me." He shakes his head now in a state of almost disbelief. "You make it hard not to fall for you, you know that right?"

I curse internally and sigh "There are a million women in this city, you could have any of them."

"Except for one it seems," he says and pats my shoulder while I lower my eyes. "Don't worry about me, just do what you've gotta do. Car's parked around at the garage."

I nod and pat his shoulder back before making my way out of the lab with a tight chest, afraid of what I'll find when I return to Washington for the first time in two years.

I'm ducking into the opening elevator when I physically bump into someone familiar and he holds me gently by my arms. "Woah, what's the rush?"

I look up at Bucky, finding Steve beside him. "I'm going to Washington."

"Washington?" he questions.

"Would you like to come with me?" I ask and he looks at Steve before nodding and stepping back inside the elevator with me. "Thank you."

"Just be back for tomorrow," Steve says and I nod before shutting the elevator door.

In the privacy of the lift Bucky puts his hand on my waist. "What's going on, sweetheart?"

"I need to go home, see what's left of it," I say stiffly, considering this is the first time I've been allowed to walk around as a free person, another condition that was put into the contract. "See if I can get access to my dad's accounts."

He nods and drops his hand as the elevator opens. "Whose keys do you have?"

"Howard's loaned me one of his cars for the trip," I say, stepping over the bloodstain in the shop's carpet as we make our way out onto the street. "It's been almost two years to the day that I was taken from Washington. It's past time I settled his affairs."

"You don't have any other family on his side that would have taken care of it?" he asks and I shake my head.

"No, they disowned him after the Great War because they thought he'd married a Russian prostitute," I say bluntly and he presses his mouth together. "Turns out it was worse than that but either way he didn't see them as family when they refused to see me and he put measures in place to ensure they couldn't claim anything in his will, so everything should still be with his lawyer."

"They disowned him because he married a Russian?" he repeats incredulously.

"Well, I believe the exact wording was communist prostitute," I correct. "They were an old money family who no doubt built that wealth on the exploitation of the proletariat, or worse depending on when they came into that wealth, so it was quite the personal betrayal to them."

"The proletariat?"

"The working class," I explain, quickly remembering that Marxist terminology isn't exactly popular in America. "And to be fair my mother was a staunch communist in her youth, one of Lenin's closest conspirators in the October Revolution." He turns his head towards me in disbelief. "In truth I still don't know how she wasn't executed by Stalin on the basis of that alone, likely because she used her eventual placement in America to absolve her of direct involvement in party politics."

"Your mom was a proper communist, not just a spy?" he realises. "As in an actual revolutionary?"

"The first operations she undertook as a spy were for the Bolshevik party before the revolution. She was trained as a ballerina and spied on the Imperial family," I tell him, having to remind myself how strange it must sound to him. "She supposedly fled to America in 1918, claiming to be a displaced aristocrat, but she'd been placed in Washington as a sleeper cell spy. To marry a man with military intel and start a family, coordinate with other communist operatives until given instruction to return to Russia. Which she did when I was five to form the academy I was trained in, but my father didn't divorce her until years later."

He nods slowly and says "I know that she's terrible but I'd thought the colonel just called her a communist because he hates Russians?"

"Do you not like communists?" I ask a little anxiously and he raises his hands in his defence.

"I've never had much of an opinion, I'm just a little surprised that's all," he answers honestly before asking in slight bewilderment "I thought you said you weren't a fan of communism?"

"I'm not, well, not Stalin's communism anyways," I say, deciding to keep those political opinions to myself for just a little longer considering he's still very much American when it comes to political theory, even if he is more tolerant than most. "But as for my mother I can promise that the colonel's worst assessment of her is just the tip of the iceberg, but god willing I'll never have to lay eyes on her again."

His face is still fixed with alarm as he says "No offence, but I'm sure as hell glad I'll never have to meet her."

"Trust me, no offence taken," I assure him. "I'll just be glad to finally get my dad's affairs in order. I would have done it long ago but I hadn't exactly been free to go more than a hundred feet from the SSR's headquarters until now."

"I can drive," Bucky offers, taking the keys from my hand and studying my face. "It'll be alright, Lina."

I nod stiffly and ask "How's your family?"

"Relieved," he answers with a light laugh as we continue to walk down the street and that tells me all I need to know. That he downplayed what happened in Italy. "I brought Steve with me and they were almost as shocked as I was to see him, but yeah... I'm just glad to finally see them after six months away."

"You're close with them?" I observe and he nods.

"They're good people, they're welcoming." Once we're out of sight of the SSR building he reaches for my hand. "You'll have to meet them while we're here."

A different type of anxiety begins to take over, but I smile. "I'd like that, although I have to say that nobody's ever brought me home to meet the family."

"You've met Steve," he says and I laugh lightly.

"Technically I'd known Steve for almost half a year before he knew we'd even met," I point out, taking his arm. "But I really would like that, Buck."

He smiles and brings me closer. "So would I, sweetheart."

~

Five hours later we're pulling into Washington and I'm guiding him through the city to the office of my father's lawyer, wanting to know if the house is even still in his name before venturing there.

"Did you make an appointment?" he asks when we pull up outside.

"No, but I'm sure he can fit me in considering the circumstances," I say and squeeze his hand tight. "I'll be back soon."

He steps out of the car to open my door for me, bringing me in for a comforting kiss before I leave him with the vehicle and head into the office building. Upon giving my name to the front desk I'm quickly ushered to the lawyer's office who he looks up with wide eyes when I walk in.

"Miss Morgan, this is a surprise," he stammers. "You disappeared following Pearl Harbor. I'd taken the liberty of filing a missing person's report but was told you were wanted for treason."

"I was, but that's been settled now," I say and he takes in my military uniform with mild concern and also faint recognition. "And officially I go by Agent Morgan now. I was recruited by the government."

"Ah," he says, clearing his throat uncomfortably. "I had noticed your likeness on posters around the city but I thought that had to have been a coincidence."

"Unfortunately it's not," I sigh and take a seat, getting to business. "I'm here for my father's will as his sole inheritor."

"Of course," he says, his voice turning quieter and he shifts through his files until he pulls out one labelled W.R.MORGAN, flicking through the papers until he finally finds the will. "As the sole inheritor your father's assets and accounts were left to you, including a trust to be accessed upon your twenty first birthday."

"I've turned twenty one."

"I can see that," he says and he proceeds with reluctance. "Except there is one issue, following your disappearance your home was taped off by the government for investigation. It's been left abandoned since and I can't speak to the state of it."

I nod in understanding. "And his accounts?"

He pulls out some other files and says "Now, as an unmarried woman there are of course limitations as to what you will be able to do with the money in his accounts, but as declared in his will you are the valid owner of these accounts and his assets, including the house in Washington and his vehicle. He had been very particular about ensuring that the government would not be able to seize those assets after your mother fled the country in the 30's on suspicion of espionage, not to mention the child abuse charges he threatened against her."

He slides an additional file towards me, a police statement detailing the abuse my father had observed. My eyes skim over the words 'burning with cigarettes' and 'beatings,' knowing that he only ever discovered the slimmest part of it.

"Yes, well," I begin before clearing my throat. "Did she get anything in the divorce?"

"No, not aside from the money he willingly provided to pay for your tuition in Moscow," he says and I give a bitter huff, knowing what that money was actually financing.

"And how much is in the trust and other accounts?"

"Your father worked for the military from 1916 to 1941, for the majority of that time as a high ranking commissioned officer. Despite being disowned by his family for marrying your mother he did come from money and knew how to manage it and invest it wisely, well enough that he was well off even through the depression."

"Yes, but the poverty of the depression hardly came from a lack of being able to manage money," I point out, aware that we were more fortunate than most. "Just about all resources were privately owned by the upper class whilst people were forced to sell everything to survive despite already selling their labour for effectively nothing in return."

"There's that Soviet mentality," he laughs awkwardly before sliding the account statements to me. "He had paid off his mortgages before the stock market crash and ensured much of his wealth remained liquid. He was determined to ensure that you would have more than enough funds to support yourself through higher education and to live as a single woman, a decently wealthy one at that."

My eyes widen at the number on the page, I'd always known my father earned a good wage as a colonel, but somehow I'd never calculated what that would accumulate to.

"He had also arranged a secondary trust for your younger sister," he reveals and I take the documentation. "As your sister was born in the Soviet Union and your parents had been separated for quite a while at the time of her birth he wasn't listed as the father, but, he made it known that he would be supporting you in seeking custody of the child once you came of age. Even if that was not possible once her visits to America ceased. I understand that in her infancy she had been primarily in your care?"

"Yes, yes she was," I say stiffly. "In my contract with the government I've ensured that she'll be granted citizenship once she's extracted from the Soviet Union so it's a relief to know that she has a trust."

"Now, considering how... precarious your situation has been," he continues. "As an unmarried woman your position is not ideal and if you were to face any further legal trouble with the government these assets could easily be seized. I would recommend that sooner rather than later you marry and have your husband's name put to these accounts for your own security."

"I'm working on it, but women in my line of work are hardly allowed to marry," I sigh in frustration. "May I get copies of these documents please?"

~

Bucky's hand's on my back when we approach the front steps of my home. The bushes are overgrown and the paint's chipped, but it still stands. Yet it's nothing like I remember it being.

"Do you have a-" Bucky begins to ask before I tear down the boards nailed over the door with my hands and his eyes widen a little at the sudden strength I exert. "That works too."

He steps in to help me with the last few boards before we walk inside. The air is somehow colder than it is outside and the building that was once my home's never felt more haunted. I glance into the study to find it dark with fogged over windows, the dollhouse sits undisturbed in the corner with a layer of cobwebs over its walls.

Slowly I ascend the creaking steps and walk through the hallway towards my fathers office to find blood still staining the floor and I can recall each body I'd put there in my escape attempt. I look inside the open door to my fathers office, finding files strewn across the room and know that it had been likely ransacked first by the NKVD's agents and then by the SSR.

Reluctantly I walk inside and he notices the bloodstain on the carpet.

"I'd been sitting at the desk listening to the radio a week or so after the attack on Pearl Harbor," I tell him. "I had a revolver in my purse since I was expecting to be arrested at any moment by the government but my mother and other undercover agents got to me first." Even now it still rests beside the desk, frozen in a moment in time. "She'd come in and told me that it was time to go home, and I was about to go willingly before I heard my sister in the hallway and realised that there was a chance of escaping with her."

Slowly I walk across the room, finding the envelope opener on the floor. It's been fingerprinted but it seems at some point one of the intelligence agencies had reconstructed the scene of the crime.

"So I bent down to pick up my purse with every intention of taking her out and she pressed that envelope opener right up against the artery in my neck. At that point I was well past the point of exhaustion and stood up with the revolver in my hand anyways to call her bluff," I say, and manage to smile a little at what came next. "When I heard the agents outside I panicked and shot her in the foot, only got a nick in return, well, until they stuck a tranquilizer in my neck."

He looks in mild alarm between the blood, the envelope opener, and the bullet holes in the wall and says "Sweetheart, I'll admit that I've always been nervous when it comes to in laws but I'll say it again. I'm sure as hell glad I'll never have to meet your mother."

I'm glad too, because I know precisely what she'd think of him. That he's the perfect man for me to take advantage of, just as she took advantage of my father. But I'm not her.

"So am I my love," I say and reach for his hand, holding it in mine as we walk further down the hall until we reach my bedroom.

Immediately I find my nurse uniforms still in the half unpacked bag I'd brought with me from Pearl Harbor, one clean and the other still stained with blood and ash from the attack. I'd planned to burn the uniform but could barely bring myself to do anything once I'd returned home.

"They weren't kidding about you having a collection," Bucky remarks at my bookshelf and he studies the titles while I come to my wardrobe, planning to bring some things back to New York with me. "I'm pretty sure some of these books are banned in some states."

"Which means that they're worth reading," I say, walking over to join him. "The moment a country begins banning books they've failed as a democracy."

"I'm pretty sure half of those were banned because they have sex in them," he points out, picking up one of the titles with interest and I smile a little mischievously now. "Although it is a good book."

"The point still stands," I say with a shake of my head and point out. "And while some of these were banned in a couple American states for being provocative nearly all of these were either quietly removed from shelves or never published in the Soviet Union. Hell, if Marx himself lived during Stalin's time he never would've been published under their censorship laws."

"You know that you belong in a university right?" he remarks and I laugh a little sadly, kissing his cheek while he holds me close. "You've never thought about it?"

"No," I answer honestly. "But my dad did. He wanted me to go but I never paid much thought to it considering my circumstances." He hums, rubbing my arm, and I ask "You said that you and Steve took classes?"

"Yeah, I sat through a couple art classes with him while he took math with me. Sure came in handy when I did my sniper training. We took most of the standard classes, English, German-" he says and sees my expression. "What?"

"He took German and I still had to give him a crash course before we infiltrated that factory?"

"In all fairness he spent most of the class drawing in his notebook," he admits. "So you speak German?"

"German, French, Italian, Spanish," I say and his eyes widen. "I speak just about every language on the European continent, although my Dutch could use a bit of work."

"Show off," he teases, kissing my forehead. "You'll have to teach me some Russian."

He says it casually, but the intention behind the gesture warms me. I loop my arms around his neck, my full attention on him as I say "Lyubimyy."

"Lyubimyy," he repeats back to me. "What does that mean?"

"Darling." He smiles and brings me closer. "That's the masculine, the feminine is Lyubimaya."

"Lyubimaya," he sounds out and asks "How do you say beautiful?"

A smile plays on my lips. "Prekrasna."

"Prekrasna," he murmurs back to me before our lips meet. "God I love that accent."

Words sit on the tip of my tongue, words that almost flow out before I can consider the weight behind them, and so I kiss his lips again before looking back to the bookshelf, leaning into his embrace until a wave of nostalgia washes over me when my eyes rest on a photo album.

He watches as I take it from the shelf and open it. "When I was thirteen I begged my Dad for a camera, one of those box brownies, and every summer I'd add to the album. My parents had separated so it was just me and my Dad until my sister came along, so there were only ever happy memories as long as I was in America."

He holds me from behind, watching over my shoulder as I flick through the pages with tears in my eyes, remembering that as dark as my upbringing was there were still happy times. I manage to laugh lightly when I come across photographs taken before my debutante ball.

"Who's the guy?" Bucky asks, looking at my companion for the evening, and I roll my eyes at the slight jealousy in his voice even if it makes me smile.

"Son of a politician, I had um- I'd been given orders to court him in order to gain access to his father's house and by extension his office," I admit and he tries not to appear alarmed.

"Orders?"

"Nothing too dramatic, just standard infiltration to access a bill his father was writing that would have impacted the Soviet Union," I say and he nods slowly. I don't include how the politician conveniently died from a heart attack before the bill could be presented. "Except I couldn't stand him so I just ended up breaking in to get what I needed instead."

"You know, it hadn't occurred to me that you grew up in Washington high society with the sons of politicians," he remarks, that thankfully being his only takeaway.

"Well, I was the daughter of a colonel," I tell him and my smile turns a little sadder when I turn to a photograph of my father and I. "This was my dad."

"You take after him," he says gently and I nod in agreement, relieved that he's the parent I physically resemble.

"He was a good man, and a good father," I say, not having had more than a few days to grieve him before my capture. "It took him thirteen years to finally divorce my mother because he was afraid of losing me, but in the end he was willing to do whatever it took to try to protect me from her. He just... he never knew the truth about my education in Russia until the end. Even then he only knew the surface of it. I tried to spare him so I wouldn't break his heart but I spat it out after I was compromised, and he still told me that he loved me."

"Because that's what a good parent should do," he says, knowing my mother is far from that. "Some people don't deserve to be parents, but others like your Dad and mine put their kids first."

"My mother..." I begin, still feeling her hand around my throat. "After she hurt me she used to make me thank her for being a good mother. My Dad- when I told him the truth or at least part of it, he promised me that I'd never have to go step foot in Russia again... then he died."

He kisses the top of my head, holding me close as he makes a promise he can't keep. "And you never will again, not if I have anything to say about it."

Those words trigger something in my mind, the thought of never returning to the Red Room- it's met with immediate resistance. My breathing becomes shallow and I lean into him, knowing that it will call me back someday. Whether I'm alive or dead, it will never let me go.

"I can only pray," I say and he holds me close.

"You'll have to meet my parents," he says again and I manage a smile. "They're good people, they practically adopted Steve despite already having four kids. I can't even tell you how many nights we spent on the floor sleeping on couch cushions. Then there's my sister, Rebecca, I think you'll like her. You're both stubborn."

I laugh lightly before asking "Is she the oldest one?"

"Yeah, she's just a bit older than you are. The other two are younger but they're off at a women's college out of state. From what Becca was saying I don't think they're going to make it back to Brooklyn for Christmas."

He seems disappointed and I squeeze his hand. "After seeing how you are with Steve I know that being protective of them would come naturally to you. The moment I heard the two of you arguing I picked you as being an oldest sibling."

"Yeah well, someone's gotta look out for them," he says and manages to laugh "Although I think I beat up more guys in the name of protecting Steve than with all three of the girls combined."

I laugh with him. "Us women are quite capable, we learn other ways of dealing with men that don't involve violence."

"We?" he questions a little incredulously. "Didn't you shoot the colonel?"

"Most women," I correct, still proud of that. I pause when I flick to a page that causes my heart to clench. He points to a picture of myself holding Katya as a newborn and his voice is gentle.

"You said her name's Katya."

I nod proudly and smile, speaking in Russian. "My little sister, my Katyusha." I run my fingers over the frame, changing back to English. "Her name's Ekaterina but Katya's the familial name we use in Russia. She was born in May 1936, and this was taken a month later." I don't mention how desperately I'd prayed every night of that pregnancy that the baby would kill my mother on the way out. Unfortunately she didn't. "My mother sent her with me when I went to spend summer with my dad."

"Your mom left you with a newborn baby when you were fourteen?" he exclaims but I just smile.

"She did, and it was the happiest time of my life," I say fondly. "For the first two summers of her life I'd spend them here in Washington, raising her. Then-" my voice turns bitter now. "Then my mother realised when I was sixteen that if I left Russia with her again neither of us would ever go back, and that was the end of that."

"So you raised her from when she was born?" he realises and sees the pain in my eyes. "She's more like a daughter than a sister?"

I manage to nod, wiping a tear from the corner of my eye. "I was fourteen with a baby in my arms, and then I was seventeen knowing I'd never be able to have my own. I loved her more than anything and I still do..." A tear drop falls onto the photo album and I whisper "I was so damn close to getting her out. Even if they still arrested me it wouldn't have mattered, as long as she was free-""

He hushes me softly and kisses my forehead, holding me close. "You did everything you could."

I nod, even if it wasn't enough, and close the photo album before looking around at the room. "I think I'll sell this place once the war's done, move the furniture into a storage locker. I don't want to stay in Washington and the house felt empty even before I was the only one left."

"When the war's done, where do you want to go?" he asks, almost anxiously, and I smile a little as I look back at him over my shoulder.

"I've grown fond of Brooklyn," I tell him and his face softens, eyes filling with something akin to hope. "I think I'd be quite happy there."

He looks around and says "Well, in the meantime if you want to move some things out I know somewhere in the city you can put them."

"Where?"

"Well, I can't promise we can fit the furniture but my apartment has room," he says and my lips part in surprise, almost disbelief, and he clarifies "I'm serious."

I stammer slightly and turn around in his arms to face him properly. "You- you are?"

"We can pack some things up before we leave, take them to my apartment when we get back to Brooklyn," he says while I continue to stand there utterly dumbfounded by what he's truly asking me. "Since we'll be on leave together until New Years I can't think of a better time to move your things in."

"James, are you asking me to move in with you?" I ask and he's smiling.

"I know that living together out of wedlock isn't exactly what you're meant to do but-" he pulls me in close by the waist. "Considering we can't get married yet..."

My breath hitches in my throat.

Yet.

"Are you sure?" I ask and he laughs slightly.

"Now what were we saying about obvious questions?" I rest my hands on his chest, trying not to become overly emotional. "My apartment's small but it can fit two for the time being. Then when the war's done we could move into somewhere a little bigger, with room for your sister and another kid or two."

My heart stops and I can barely breathe as his words sink in.

"You're gonna make me cry Buck," I say, despite already tearing up. "Come here."

He brings me into his arms and holds me tight while tears slip down my face. Three words sit on my tongue, and I'm terrified that if I utter them that this will be ripped away just as fast.

"You might be an agent but you've got to let someone take care of you sweetheart," he murmurs, kissing me, and the thought of being taken care of... I don't think I've ever craved anything more. "I'm serious about you and me. When this is all done I want to be able to go home with you. Build a life together. With your line of work it might not be the most conventional one, but it'll be ours."

Despite my fears, all words fail me except for a few that leave my mouth so quietly that I'm not even sure I've said them until he's blinking away his own tears.

"I think I'm in love with you, James Barnes."

He exhales and his voice trembles. "You think?"

"I've never been in love before," I tell him, reaching to hold his face in my hands. "But if this isn't love then I don't know what is."

He wipes a tear from my cheek and our lips meet, my head spinning from the sheer intensity of the emotions that threaten to make my knees buckle.

I want him here and now, but the thought of being any way vulnerable to attack in this house makes my skin crawl, and so I break away to tell him "We'll drive back to Brooklyn tonight, I- I won't be able to get a lick of sleep here. It'll be late when we get back but-"

"It's alright," he assures me, a warm smile spreading across his face. "Here, let me help you pack."

"There's two suitcases in the top of the wardrobe," I tell him, but don't let him go quite yet. "Then you can bring me home."

He kisses me deeply and I know that I'm already there.

By the time we make it back to Brooklyn and approach his apartment the weight of his words still hasn't quite sunk in. He carries my suitcases up the stairs and my heart pounds with the realisation that the future I could never envision is right in front of me.

He places the bags just inside the door and takes my hand to lead me through the threshold. The apartment's warmer than I expected and an immediate relief from the outside cold.

"I came by earlier after I got the keys to make sure everything's working," he says as he turns on the lights. The apartment's a modest size for one in this part of the city, lived in and warm. A place that feels like a home rather than a residence. "Stock up on supplies as much as I can with rationing."

"Yes, god knows that won't end until long after the war's done," I remark, not having lived outside of a military base since the rationing began. "But as long as there's food to be rationed that's all that matters."

He nods in agreement and kisses my forehead before moving into the kitchen. "Speaking of which, I don't know about you but I'm starving."

"So am I," I say despite barely having noticed the pangs in my stomach and I watch as he walks to the pantry.

"So what do you eat over in Russia?" he asks, no doubt expecting something cultural like what the men on the squadron have been making with what little we have, but that isn't my case.

"A bit of bread and not much else, broth if we were feeling faint," I manage to laugh and he looks back in concern. "In the cities the extent of the famine was hidden, but in the Red Room they didn't mind keeping their ballerinas thin." They also knew how effective hunger is as a tool for conditioning and that natural selection is a hell of a thing. "When it's all you know that's one thing, but after spending my formative years in America I can't tell you how long I spent craving bacon."

"Not to say that you aren't absolutely beautiful as you are, but you're gonna need a bit more than bread and broth to build you up for the field," he says, knowing better than most how quickly even a man with his build can become malnourished. "And-" he bends down into the refrigerator to pull out a rasher of bacon. "I know, I'm incredible."

"That you are," I agree with a grin, pulling him in for a kiss and asking a little anxiously "Do you want me to cook? Because I was trained for many things but cooking was not one."

"It's alright, I want to try to make something one of the guys cooked up in Italy, apparently an Italian chef showed it to them," he says, also pulling out some dried pasta. "Best thing I've ever tasted, well-" he wears a smile that's far from innocent. "Second best."

I shove him playfully with a warm face and he only laughs proudly before bringing me in by my waist and kissing me before getting ready to prepare dinner. For the better part of the next hour he has one arm wrapped around me and the other cooking with my assistance, and it becomes quite clear that neither of us are exactly chefs, descending into panicked laughter when the water boils over onto the stove because we're too preoccupied with one another to notice it.

Even something as simple as this is more than I could have ever imagined before meeting him.

The laughter lasts through dinner, sitting together at the dining table in pure bliss. His hand's in mine as the clock hits eleven, the tension between us growing thicker at finally being completely and utterly alone.

He's been a perfect gentleman, faultlessly sweet and more understanding than I ever knew a man could be. He's left me utterly disarmed and I've never been less afraid of being so vulnerable.

I'm still learning how to love, for the longest time I wondered if I was even capable of it, but I could never have imagined it would come so easily. That I'd fall so helplessly for a man I've known for such a short time, but here I am.

His thumb strokes the side of my hand, almost in contemplation before saying "Come on sweetheart, I'll make some room for your things."

My heart swells in my chest as I watch him carry my bags into his bedroom, following him to find a standard set of bedroom furniture with a bed large enough for two, along with a taller wardrobe and a dresser with a mirror above it. Although it's the bed that my eyes linger on.

I don't hear what Bucky's saying until I feel his gentle hand on my waist bringing me back and he says "I've cleared out a few of the drawers and there's some space in the wardrobe."

A quick mental timeline tells me that he must have done that before we went to Washington, and the realisation that asking me to move in was planned and not just spur of the moment decision causes my heart to swell further.

"Thank you, Buck."

I'm still overwhelmed by just how serious this has become so quickly and he holds me from behind, looking at our reflection in the mirror. I turn my head to nuzzle into him, seeking his lips, and he quickly obliges me. The kiss is slow, sensual, lingering.

My heart pounds in my chest, my body aching for more when he pulls away to give me a moment to breathe.

"I'll take a shower while you get settled in," he murmurs, kissing my forehead. "Make yourself at home sweetheart."

I nod slowly, gently bringing his lips down to mine for another kiss before letting him slip away into the adjoining bathroom. When the shower starts my hand runs over the empty drawers and for a moment I try to comprehend how I ended up here when mere months ago I'd been imprisoned for what was meant to be life.

And now I have my whole life ahead of me.

I unpack some things into the empty drawers, and it's only when my hands settle on a nightgown that I look back over to the bed I'll be sleeping in tonight. Although I dare say there'll be little sleeping.

I'm no stranger to sleeping in close quarters with others, being naked around others, but that type of exposure has only been with other women. Those I was raised with in the Red Room and then with Peggy in the room we share, but never with a man.

It was with women I learned intimacy, to dance and flirt, to charm and seduce. Bucky's the first and only man I've kissed, but that's not to say I'd been without practice. I've never slept with a man but our sexual education, while theoretical in my case, was nothing short of explicit.

We learned in excruciating detail the ways of pleasing a man and how to take advantage of their own vulnerability to be in control of a situation in which the man is typically dominant, but this isn't like that. This isn't a method of manipulation or interrogation. This is an act of love and it's my choice.

The shower stops and not long later Bucky walks out in a pair of loose flannel trousers, shirtless. My face warms at the sight of his bare chest as he walks to the dresser to pull out a singlet; a noticeably strategic move on his part to have conveniently forgotten to bring one into the bathroom with him.

His body is absent of any scar tissue and well defined despite his recent malnutrition. I could almost chastise myself for being so easily weakened by the sight of him, but this is how it should feel. This isn't a power struggle for control, not like the intimacy I knew in the Red Room, this is intimacy with a man who adores me.

"Could I borrow a towel?" I ask, wanting to clean up after the long drive.

"Of course," he says, kissing my forehead as he moves past to get one for me. "I'll be in the living room."

I nod and he brings me in close, kissing me sweetly before giving me the privacy to get ready for the evening and this is as close as I've ever felt to a bride on her wedding night. God knows this may be the closest I ever get to having one depending on what way this war goes.

I take my time washing myself, my fingers brushing over the scar tissue that the serum never quite healed. A reminder that while a success it was still imperfect, a prototype far closer to the one that created the Red Skull than the one which created Captain America.

My naked body's reflected back in the foggy mirror, an imperfect sight but I can hardly fault my body when it does the job that it's been trained for, even if it was at the expense of the job it was made for.

Some girls they kept pretty and unscarred, ensuring their feet never became too mangled from pointe or that any wounds they acquired in their conditioning would be in places that would either heal completely or go unseen. I wasn't one of them, although I'm grateful for it.

The cold air against my breasts brings me back to far less pleasant times when I'd been stripped down and brutalised in the Red Room's rituals to prepare us for whatever torture we would face, doing to one another everything short of what only men could do to us. Although even then I'd hear stories and wonder if I was one of the girls whose virginity they deemed important enough to keep.

Since my escape it's been mine to keep and mine to give, to share with the man I love, and finally there's no one to interrupt us.

Bucky's lips part when I walk out in a satin nightgown of a pale gold, floor length with a plunging neckline and nothing beneath it. The sight of him instantly eases my mind and he extends his hand to me, music softly playing from the record player.

And for the first time it truly sinks in that I'm standing in front of the man I'm going to marry.

I take his hand and the lyrics to Roses in December play in the background, my body warming as he brings me into a slow waltz. The simple feeling of his hand on my waist turns my breathing heavy despite being a familiar sensation by now, but we both know that tonight is different.

Words seem lost on us both but they're hardly needed the moment I feel his lips just below my ear. I breathe his name and his hands tighten around my waist while mine urge him closer until our bodies are pressed together and my heart aches in a way it never did before I met him.

His hand moves down to the small of my back while the other slips into my hair and our lips meet, the tension and stolen moments of the past month all cumulating at once. My lips part for him and his tongue caresses mine, only adding to the heat growing between my thighs, and I'm gasping into his mouth as his hands begin to wander, trailing along the length of my spine and slipping beneath the dainty straps of the nightgown to splay across what skin he can easily reach.

I pull him in by the fabric of his shirt, seeking out the warmth beneath and find the firm contours of his back while his hand trails over the side of my breast. In our shared desperation his mouth reaches for what his hands cannot, dipping to the hollow of my jaw and lower to my collarbone.

"James-"

At the sound of his name his lips collide with mine and I'm returning the kiss with equal desperation, wanting him closer, deeper, and despite the rushed intimate moments we've shared he's achingly tender now as he takes my face in his hands.

"I love you," he breathes, an almost desperate shudder from the heart and my own stops beating. "I'm in love with you, Ada."

I smile against his lips, turning my head to kiss the inside of his palm before covering his hand with my own, tears in my eyes. "I'm in love with you too."

He smiles back and yet as soon as our lips meet we're both trembling under the weight of something neither of us could have dreamt of the night we met and I need him.

I need him now.

"We can take this as slow as you need," he murmurs against my lips. "If you want to wait until marriage-"

"The only way we're waiting until marriage is if we run to the courthouse tonight," I breathe unevenly. "And unless you're planning on knocking at a judge's door at midnight..."

"Don't tempt me sweetheart," he teases, half swayed towards the idea. "Not until I've put a ring on your finger first."

My heart skips a beat and I look up into those beautiful eyes, having found a home in them. A future.

"Please," I murmur, tugging him closer. "Make love to me."

He exhales sharply and his lips meet mine again, fervently, and we're stumbling back towards the bedroom. His singlet's the first piece of clothing to be discarded of and I sit him on the edge of the bed, savouring the soft expression he wears in this moment and committing it to memory. The longing, the lust, the love... everything that I know is mirrored in my own.

I hold his eye, drowning in the sheer intensity of his gaze as I let the strap of my nightgown slip down my shoulder with his assistance, and then the other. The satin nightgown hits the floor and I'm naked before him, the man I love. The man I'm going to marry.

His fingertips move along my arms, tracing my frame like it's something delicate, and gently he brings me closer. His eyes roam my body, lingering on my breasts, my waist, and then the scar that adorns it before he leans forward and presses his lips to the valley between my breasts.

"Prekrasna," he murmurs against my skin and I smile. "Beautiful."

His hands move down from my waist and over my hips, cupping my behind before trailing down my thighs. I exhale softly at the feeling of his warm mouth ghosting over my skin, tracing the contours of my collarbone and shoulder as his hand travels back along my body to cup my breast, his calloused hand scraping over my hardening nipple before slipping back around to pull my naked body flush to his bare chest.

We share a breathless smile and his eyes never leave mine as he lowers me down onto the bed, not until I break contact first to admire the sight of him kneeling over me, and his lips are parted as he takes me in.

Scars and all.

"Beautiful," he murmurs again as he takes my wrist and slowly kisses the scar that circles it before repeating with the other, the drag of his lips against my pulse electrifying every nerve in my body. It's then he leans over so his body covers mine and I'm naked beneath him. His thigh rests between mine and it's all I can do to keep myself from whining into his mouth from the friction of his body against mine as our lips meet and he purposefully presses his thigh into me.

"Buck-"

My head falls back and then I do whine when that pressure vanishes, only to gasp as his mouth travels down my body, hot and wet on my chest. The hoarse cry that escapes me when his tongue flicks over my nipple has his fingers digging hard into my thigh, but still he stops when he reaches the bullet scar on my abdomen to kiss it softly, almost with reverence, before he continues down my body.

His lips trail over the scar on my outer thigh before he settles between my legs and I reach down to cup his face, stroking his cheek fondly. He kisses the inside of my palm and laces his fingers with mine before his mouth ventures to a familiar place and wastes little time.

"Oh!" I gasp out, my back arching off the bed when his tongue dips inside of me. "James-"

His lips seal over my clit and I don't make any effort to muffle my cries, not this time. He urges me on, squeezing my hand tight and moving with the grind of my hips until I'm thrashing beneath his tongue and he doesn't stop. Not until he's holding my hips down with his forearm and his mouth's guiding me through the wave of ecstasy that comes crashing over me.

It's only when I physically pull his lips back to mine that I'm given reprieve and we're both breathless as I taste myself on his tongue, quickly recuperating and burning for more. My open mouth moves along his jaw to suck just above his pulse and my hands trace down his abdomen until they reach the waistband of his trousers.

"Lina-" he rasps and I smile against his neck, kissing over the mark I've left before cupping his face and looking into his half-lidded eyes.

"Can I touch you?"

"Please," he breathes, his voice breaking slightly, and I hold his gaze as my hand slips down his stomach to touch him through the fabric and he exhales heavily before quickly helping me remove the layers until the last of his clothing joins mine on the floor.

We're both utterly bare now and I look between our bodies to find his hard length pressing against my thigh. My hand slips lower and he shudders at the feeling of it wrapping around the considerable length of him, above average but not so much so that it would bring discomfort. My thumb smears the liquid at the tip of him and he sighs into my neck, teeth gently scraping the sensitive skin before capturing my lips.

My legs wrap around his and his tongue dances with mine, pulling him into an embrace that he gladly returns. His hand slips down between my legs and he smiles at my gasp, although his breathing turns heavy at the wetness he finds. His fingers begin to tease at my entrance and my body's open to them until the moment they enter me and involuntarily I flinch, my body's reaction more startling to me than the action itself.

Immediately he stops and looks at me in concern. "Lina?"

"I'm okay," I breathe and turn my head away but he gently turns it back, withdrawing his hand to rub soothing strokes along my thigh and it takes a moment for my body to realise that it's not being punished for flinching.

"No, you're not," he murmurs and kisses my forehead softly. "What is it sweetheart?"

For a moment I don't have an answer until recalling the last time I'd felt anything inside of me, even if the circumstances were utterly different, but my body's reaction tells me that it remembers the procedure in more excruciating detail than my mind despite the years trying to erase it from memory.

"Memories," I say and he searches my eyes, knowing enough to piece it together.

"Do you want to stop?"

I shake my head and reach for his face, touching my forehead to his. "I want to feel you."

He nods and peppers slow kisses across my face. "You're safe with me, Lina." He kisses me tenderly now. "If you need to slow down let me know, okay?"

I nod back and he takes his time easing my body until the tension's passed and we're exploring one another with hands and lips until his cock's resting between my thighs and we're grinding into one another, our bodies flush together.

"I need you," I breathe and his forehead rests on mine as he positions himself at my entrance, reaching to lace his fingers with mine.

"Look at me, Lina," he says and his voice brings me entirely into the moment, looking up into his eyes as he slowly pushes in and I gasp at being filled so wholly. He stills and presses soft kisses to my jaw, letting my body adjust to the feeling that's foreign but achingly welcome.

I nod in encouragement and smile against his lips as he thrusts into me, finding little resistance or pain, only pleasure. I turn my head to kiss our laced hands which rest beside my head and hold tight to him as he grinds his hips into mine until I'm whimpering before slowly pulling back and experimentally thrusting in until he finds that place that has my nails digging into his skin.

"Feel so warm," he rasps out in broken words. "So damn good."

He shifts the angle of his hips, setting a tenderly intimate pace that has him grinding against my still sensitive clit with each thrust, the head of him nudging something almost as sensitive deep within. I'm whimpering his name into his open mouth, his tongue meeting mine in a messy kiss as I find my own pace, meeting each rock of his hips with one of my own that quickly has a now familiar heat building again in my core.

His breathing's sharp and laboured with each thrust, close but determined to send me over that edge with him. He grasps the side of my face and kisses me hard, slamming to the hilt with each thrust until my back's arching off the bed and I'm crying out his name, my thighs wrapped around his hips.

"James-"

"I love you," he rasps into my open mouth and those are the words that send me crashing over that edge. He curses as I clench hard around him, crying out and bringing him with me. Warmth spills into me with each thrust of his hips until we're both spent and laying there in each others embrace, our now sweaty hands still laced together.

Once I can manage to form words I kiss his mouth softly and breathe "I love you too."

He smiles against my lips and kisses me back, still overcome with pure ecstasy, and even as it fades all I feel is the pounding in my chest and the rush of warmth through my body as he carefully pulls out and collapses beside me, but not without bringing me into his arms.

He rubs a soothing hand over my body, kissing my forehead and bringing the blankets up over us as the cool air settles. Exhaustion begins to take over and I nuzzle into him, his limbs tangling with mine and my forehead resting on his.

"I'm gonna marry you," he murmurs in my ear and I reach to hold his face in my hand, promises continuing to flow from his lips without care of consequence. "Gonna spend every night like this once this damn war's done."

Tears prick in my eyes and I smile, nodding my head in determination. "We will."

And yet some terrible feeling in my gut tells me otherwise. 

A/N: This is a long one but I wasn't going to end it before the smut. This chapter has some angst and touches on the more intimate parts of Ada's trauma from the Red Room, but it is very much fluff and smut. I had mentioned a small time jump at the end of this arc, and it is coming, but I'm going to stretch this arc out for one more chapter considering they're never going to be this happy again and I already have about 7k more words of fluff and smut written that didn't make it into this chapter.

Also, I know that in the comics Bucky is an orphan but I'll be following what little crumbs the mcu canon's given us about his mcu upbringing and family. In the flashback scene in CA: TWS Bucky mentions his parents so I'll be writing them as being very much alive, as well as going with what the Smithsonian says and writing Bucky as being the eldest of four.

After next chapter Ada's history with the Red Room will catch up to her at the expense of the people she loves and everything will go to hell very quickly. At the moment Bucky very much has her on a pedestal and that pedestal will certainly fall during the next arc when she reverts back to her training to deal with the situation at hand which I am very excited to write. Also if you're a fan of Agent Carter then there'll be some upcoming easter eggs to enjoy since I have very much based my version of the Red Room off what was depicted in Dottie's flashbacks. 

If you're interested I do have a spotify where I make playlists for my fics, it's @galacticwildfirelike the rest of my socials, and there's some hints in those playlists as to where certain plotlines are going. Also feel free to follow my tumblr as I'm active on there and often post excerpts from upcoming chapters.