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Her life is different now, which is for the better, or at least she really fucking hopes. She wears a pair of jeans, rolled twice at the bottom for a nice cuff, and that’s okay—whatever. Her ankles are showing. Her shoes are her favorite Converse, but that’s hardly anything new. But her fucking ankles are showing. Enough to see a scar or two. It’s huge. It’s big, it’s a mess, it’s… liberating? She admires herself in the mirror, topless and caged only in a bra, as she twists back and forth to look at her legs being hugged by the pretty, brand-new jeans.
She doesn’t know what to wear shirt-wise. Her sweatshirt is in the wash—Bucky tossed it in this morning since her plan to open up had been on the calendar—so now she has to look at t-shirts and other open blouses. It makes her a little nervous, but as soon as Bucky comes around the corner with a little bag, she has to fight to not cover herself up in front of him.
“Hey,” he greets her, kissing her lips and brushing her hair behind her ear. “I know today’s a big day. I got you something.”
She takes the bag when he holds it out and peeks inside. It’s just a blob. A pile of cloth. She takes it out and when held properly, its shape is shown. A t-shirt. Just plain, white, and boring. Light weight but not too low-cut. Nothing fancy.
“It’s still not going to show everything,” he says, taking the empty bag away. “It’s just a shirt. You can show your arms, your neck, and that’s it. Baby steps. I know you’re not comfortable letting everyone see your scars here, so limit what you show so you don’t get too nervous.”
Her eyes want to tear up at how sweet he is. “Thank you,” she murmurs, instantly slipping it over her head. “How do I look?”
“Beautiful.”
“You always say that.”
“Because you’re always beautiful.” He gives her another kiss and then she notices what he’s wearing. A black t-shirt, tucked into his dark-wash jeans, allowing his arms to be out in the open as well, no matter how much he hates his metal arm being seen. “We match,” he says once he notices her attention. “I’m so proud of you, doll.”
That phrase never gets old. She hears it so much but it continues to hold the same meaning. “Dinner tonight?” she asks as she avoids looking into the mirror.
“I don’t want to go out,” Bucky says with a weird face. “Can we stay in? Snuggle?”
“You’re funny if you thought I’d want to leave the compound.”
Bucky smiles again, not once letting it fall off his face. “Perfect. I’ll order the food if you pick the movie?”
They walk out holding hands and they feel happy. The past month was perfect. While she was okay with showing her vulnerability to Bucky and her friends, the rest of the world is a different story. It always is—the outside world is a mess with people that will tear her apart, and leave her feeling just as deflated as before. Bucky dealt with all that too, but now, it doesn’t matter. They get to face everything together now, hand in hand like any other couple. Well, almost.
They’re both pretty… Damaged. There’s really no other word to describe the duo. Their time at Hydra would never really disappear just because they could share kisses, but they know they have a long way to go. Fears, anxieties, nightmares—they’re all there, waiting in the shadows of their mind, but positivity reigns as long as possible. When one breaks, the other is there. Always.
So, when they walk into the conference room to see everyone looking a bit unsettled, they can only fear the worst. Of course, it’s Hydra. It can’t be Loki—probably because he’s on a path to good and he sits right across from you at the table, looking neutral because he hasn’t a single clue what any of this means.
“Maybe Y/N should sit this one out?” Loki asks quietly, his enunciation slow as he looks up at Bucky, testing the waters.
Bucky doesn’t argue.
“No,” she says, shifting uncomfortably at the gazes that fall on her. “I gotta face my past, ya know? And if I’m not useful, then maybe I can be used as live bait.”
Bucky says, “no!” at the same time Tony says, “actually…”
Bucky doesn’t like that at all, and if looks could kill, Tony would be on the floor without lungs in his chest. “No,” he repeats, “you won’t be used as bait. That’s very counterproductive. If you won’t sit this one out, we at least need to be smart about it.”
“Well, they’re coming to us,” Tony says with his arms crossed, leaning back in his chair. “I think they’re trying to sneak in. I have security bugged and when sighted, they’re meant to take civilians to safety. Most people have the day off, anyways, I just have holograms buzzing around.”
“Great.”
Loki cocks his head. “Do forgive me if I overstep, but I believe Y/N’s offer to be live bait—”
“No.”
“—would be a very useful tactic.”
Bucky throws his arms up. “Jesus, what part of no don’t you guys understand? Tony’s kid listens better than this and he’s barely over puberty’s strong grasp.”
Tony rolls his eyes. “Not my kid, Tin Man. Loki, continue your explanation.”
Loki simply stands up, looks at Y/N for a moment, and copies her form with a brief flash of blue. “I’ll sit somewhere and wait,” he says in her voice. “And then my dashing hero James will come rescue me, blah blah blah. Am I doing it right?”
“Not even close,” Bucky mutters, and she can’t help but laugh.
Y/N just chuckles, but nothing about the situation is funny. “If worse comes to worse, speak French. I picked up on it and spoke it a lot.”
Loki clearly tries to mimic her actions, perhaps too hard, which displays how long it’s been since he actually shifted to look like someone else. “Oh, parlez-vous?”
“Oui.”
“Juste un peu?”
She shakes her head and crosses her arms, which Loki copies. “Non, je le parle aussi bien que je parle polonais.”
“Polonais?” Natasha butts in, looking confused. “Mais tu n’es pas polie.”
Y/N grins. “Née et a grandi.”
Everyone else waits for a translation, but none is given. “Okay,” Tony says slowly, as if prompting for a recap. “...well then. So it’s settled. Elsa will stick around by himself, we’ll wear some comms, and Y/N will just go hide. Sounds good, right?”
As the meeting is dismissed, Bucky grabs Y/N by the hand and pulls her aside. Nat gives her a knowing look, but she instead just turns and walks out with Loki, talking like they were best friends—it’s weird watching Loki, with her own face, try to gossip like a human but it’s the least of her worries.
“I’m taking you to a safe room,” Bucky tells her quietly, waiting to speak normally until everyone else finally leaves.
Once they’re alone, Y/N shakes her head. “I want to help.”
“This isn’t fun and sunshine,” Bucky says. “And it’s not a normal mission. I don’t want you anywhere close to it.”
“What about you?”
“What about me?” he echoes.
She frowns at him. “Bucky… this is Hydra. I wasn’t the only one traumatized and tortured, you literally spend decades under their grasp. If anything, I should be hiding you. I’m sure everyone else would understand if we sat it out.”
“They would, Agent Y/L/N,” FRIDAY agrees, her voice making the two of them jump. “They’re currently leaving without you. I’ll unlock the door once they’re gone, and boss says your orders are to stay calm and stay inside.”
No matter how hard Bucky pounds on the door, it doesn’t open for another ten minutes. The rest of the team is long gone at that point; guilt creeps up on Bucky, but realizing he can keep her all to himself for a day makes him smile.
“I guess we have nowhere else to be,” she says, following him out of the room.
“I’m still taking you to a safe room.” He wasn’t taking any chances.
“Bucky,” she says, grabbing his hand. “Hey, just… chill out. Let’s go back to your room, I don’t want to be in a safe room.”
“I really should make sure you’re safe just in case anything—”
“Nothing’s gonna happen,” she coos as she takes the lead. There’s a smile on her face as she pulls him into the elevator and gives FRIDAY their floor number before Bucky could say otherwise. “I’m safer in your arms anyways, aren’t I?”
It’s enough to convince Bucky, and suddenly, they’re back in his room. He locks the door just to be sure and watches as she makes herself comfortable, starting with her shoes.
Bucky’s already seen all of her. He’s walked in on showers and washed her hair after a panic attack, so it’s no different when she flips off her shirt so she can take off her bra. The trust in their relationship is something to behold—they’re so open with each other and don’t fear being exposed anymore. They’ve seen each other naked plenty of times, always in a non-sexual way, and it always makes Bucky’s heart flutter excitedly. It makes the relationship feel much more real, so much like home. Of course there are days where she wants nothing more than to hide away from him—Bucky has lied in bed nearly naked to show her how vulnerable he was willing to be with her. Some days she appreciates the gesture, while others, she still finds herself wanting to cover up every inch of herself.
“If we don’t have anything else to do today,” she says, “I’m going to be comfortable.”
“We could finally take an uninterrupted nap,” Bucky says excitedly, kicking off his shoes and practically jumping into his bed. He grins up at her, but also takes her shirt from the corner of the bed to straighten it out and fold it up. “Come snuggle with me!”
She goes to him; she crawls over the mattress to him and kneels beside him, smiling as she reaches to unclip her bra. “Why’d you fold my shirt if I’m just gonna put it back—”
The door flies open suddenly. It’s strange that FRIDAY hasn’t announced anyone. Bucky is quick to throw Y/N’s shirt at her, letting her scramble to put it on, as he yells out to the visitor. “Hey! Privacy, asshole!”
It’s not a voice they know, not anymore. He chuckles and comes into view, which makes Y/N’s blood run cold. She quickly slips her shirt over her head and tries to pull out her phone slyly to send a message to the team. “Don’t cover up on my account, baby,” Brock Rumlow says with a smirk and a gun raised, “I’ve seen it all, anyways.”
Bucky wastes no time shoving her off the bed just as the gun goes off. The fear of her being injured outweighs the fear of shoving her so carelessly. He grits his teeth as a bullet ricochets off of his metal arm. While she stumbles, Bucky’s diving for his boots so he can pull out the knife he has hidden.
“C’mon, honey girl, let’s dance.”
Y/N tries not to shake as she rolls under the bed and fumbles with the safe. She sees Bucky’s socked feet rush across the room as another gunshot echoes in her ears. Luckily, his body doesn’t hit the floor, but he grunts and swings his body weight around.
The safe opens with a click and Y/N grabs whatever little pistol she can get her hands on first. She rolls out, ignoring the dizzy feeling, and aims at Brock. “Drop your weapon,” she yells.
“You fucking wish.”
In a split second, as she stands to her feet, she realizes how valuable she is to him. She turns the gun on herself; Bucky watches with a look of pure terror on his face as she presses the loaded gun against her head and cocks it. “Drop it,” she says again.
Brock just laughs. “Oh, sweetheart, I’d fuck your corpse before it gets too cold. That bullet won’t do shit.”
In a fit of pure rage and disgust by his words, Bucky punches him right in the face. It’s a good punch, too, one that knocks the wind out of him and makes him nearly double over. Bucky tackles him to the floor and looks up at Y/N to move, wordlessly asking her to call for help, and she nods before taking off down the hall. She runs as fast as she can towards the kitchen, rushing for the cabinets—the one beside the sink was soundproof and wired with a call box in case of a situation like this. If she could just get under there, she could let the others—
“I don’t think so!”
She’s so close when Brock shoots her in the shoulder. She’s breathless as she stumbles forward, thrown off her game for just a moment too long. The gun in her hand clatters to the floor and slides out of reach. Before she can bounce back, she feels hands grab at her and pull her like a rag doll every which way. Brock has her turned around in a second; when she comes to, eyes squinting from the light and the pain, the face before her makes her freeze. Years of pain and torture flash before her eyes. Fuck. How cruel.
“Beautiful,” Brock’s familiar voice cuts in, said through a smile. “Look at you, so pretty. Aren’t you? Just as I remember.”
Fear knots in her stomach as Brock stands above her, eyes fixated on her. He takes in every inch of her, his hands roaming seemingly innocently, until she feels his hand slide over the curves of her breasts and slide up to hold her by her throat.
“I decorated you perfectly,” he says with pride. “I made you the perfect toy. Tell me, darling, does Bucky know how great your throat feels when you’re—”
Before his thought is finished, Bucky lunges at him, has him tackled to the ground, sending her tumbling off to the side and smacking her head against the kitchen island. Every inch of her body aches, suddenly nothing more than an empty host. A bag of bones. Everything hurts, but crying in front of her abuser and the man defending her isn’t an option. Fuck, she feels so helpless. They go back and forth, fists flying and bodies rolling like crazy. Brock is quick to pull a knife from his gear and jab it towards Bucky. A dodge to the left, then back towards the right, and a punch to the face is enough to end the knife’s fight duration.
“You know how good she feels,” Brock says through clenched teeth. In a fury, his fists are raised and he waits for Bucky to charge at him; killing people in front of her is something no one wants to do, not anymore, if it’s the only thing they could pride themselves on, but Bucky’s seeing just enough red to lose it. “You know what she’s like after a little knife play, don’t you? God, I miss it. I’d take her right now. You useless sack of flesh, you don’t deserve to be with anyone like her.”
“Shut up,” Bucky seethes, holding the gun she’d dropped tight in his hands. “If you ever want to wake up again, you better shut your fucking mouth.”
Brock has other ideas. “Have you ever gagged her? Watched her cry? God, Soldat, it’s enough to get me off, I’ll level with you. She practically begged to bleed for me.” He laughs and lowers his hands, glancing towards her as she bleeds on the floor. “Look at her now. How pretty she would be for me again. If you can’t appreciate her like I do, Soldat, I don’t think you deserve her.”
“I said shut up.” Bucky knows they need him alive. They need intel, any insider information they can get, and killing him wouldn’t result in anything but the loss of a leader and the rise of a new one. There will be another Brock. He’s not the only one on his team.
Brock grins. “Remember when you wouldn’t keep your legs open, so I carved them up? Like a fresh Thanksgiving turkey, and I fucked you until we were both red?” Now, he turns to Bucky. “You gonna kill me? Gonna forfeit your precious information?”
She watches Bucky with tears in her eyes. Part of her wishes he would shoot Brock, but make him suffer for a long while, to pay for what he did. Her legs burn with the memory of his knives being dragged down her skin, blood everywhere, and fuck, it makes her whine even now. Bucky watches her whimper and shy away, too dizzy to escape or even sit up right. All she can do is wait for help and all he can do is pray for it.
“Have you tried pinning her hands above her head?” Brock asks, taking a step forward, arms lowered by his side. “You obviously love her, Soldat, yet you’re not treating her how she was meant to be treated. Gotta fuck her raw. Gotta choke her until you can’t hear her cry anymore. Gotta—“
A gunshot rings through the air, and Brock’s body falls to the floor with a smack. There’s a blood splatter on the dishwasher and lower cabinets, something that looks ugly and as if it’ll stain, but Bucky doesn’t care at all. It takes a moment for Y/N to realize she isn’t in a Hydra base—she focuses on the bloodied dishwasher and the dented stove and reminds herself she’s safe in the tower. When she comes to, it’s Bucky’s face she sees, and it’s his hands that are holding her close. “It’s okay,” he murmurs, “let’s get you patched up. You’re okay, I’m not gonna let anyone hurt you.”
She cries anyways, curling against his chest for what seems like only a few seconds before Natasha’s running in. “Dammit,” she hisses, kneeling beside her and Bucky. “We gotta get you both to the med bay.”
Bucky doesn’t say anything other than, “Rumlow’s body needs to be taken care of.”
Natasha frowns at that statement, but doesn’t glance over at the man by the dishwasher. “It doesn’t matter,” she decides. “C’mon, both of you have gunshot wounds.”
“Both?” Y/N rasps. Her voice is breaking from lack of use and crying, but they both understand her. “Bucky, what the fuck?”
“It didn’t matter.”
“It does to me!”
Bucky stands and pulls a weak, shaking Y/N up with him. Her body sways but it’s nothing compared to the pain she feels when Brock’s body twitches and wheezes. She thinks she’s over everything and she’s handled her trauma, but just because she rolled her jeans and wore a t-shirt, showing a small percentage of her scars, doesn’t mean she’s healed. Her body physically can’t handle the stress, and if Natasha wasn’t behind her, she would have hit the floor.
When she wakes up alone in the med bay, she cries and presses the heel of her hands into her eyes out of annoyance. She had really hoped Bucky would come see her, or maybe leave her a note, but she can’t be selfish. She tells herself she’s being toxic but the ache in her shoulder is outweighed by the ache in her heart, and she wonders if Bucky would even want to see her.
Natasha visits her instead. She’s been awake for hours at this point, thirsty and starving, but all she can do is cry and stare out the window, hoping for any sign that Bucky was okay and not upset with her. It takes a few seconds for Natasha to gain her attention, but once she does, she’s wrapped in a hug.
Brock is alive. Bucky joined in for questioning but was quickly barred from the situation after punching him hard enough to crack his collar bone. “Brock kept running his mouth,” Nat tells her, “and Bucky couldn’t handle it. So he started swinging.”
“What did he say?”
“Nothing too important,” Nat lies smoothly. “Now let’s send Cho in to give you the all-clear and we’ll get you some food.”
As much as it hurts, Y/N understands why Bucky isn’t there. All of his trauma and pain make him alert to the situation, and it wouldn’t be fair to ask for his attention. She wonders what Brock says to him, what’s harsh enough to send him spiraling, but she doesn’t have to wonder much as she’s discharged and escorted back to her room by Natasha. Bucky’s pacing the hall, lingering by her door with a pained expression and blood on his knuckles. When he sees her his face goes blank for a moment, then he tears up.
“Bucky,” she calls out, making her way slowly towards him.
Bucky flinches back at first, but allows her to take him into her arms. “Hi, doll,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “How are ya feeling?”
She ignores his question. “What’s wrong?”
“Y/N…”
“No, you’re not okay,” she cuts him off. “Talk to me.”
Bucky pauses, sharing a brief look with Natasha before she turns away and leaves them to talk.Every thought and word weighs heavy on his chest, but he finally opens up to me. “I punched him,” he says. “He still talked about you, I saw red and I punched him instantly, I couldn’t look away, and if Steve hadn’t been there…”
Slowly she takes his hand to pull him out of his rambling. “Thank you,” she murmurs. “For defending me.”
He can’t blink away the tears fast enough. “I’m sorry you had to go through that,” he croaks. “Fuck, Doll, I wish I could take it all away. I wish I could be better for you, I wish I didn’t have this arm and I wish I could make Hydra pay for what they did.”
Sensing a panic attack is easy now, and she knows the signs. She acts quickly to open her door and pull Bucky inside, ignoring how sore she feels. Bucky shakes under her grasp as he waits for her to say something.
“Your arm protects me.” She pulls him in and closes the door behind them both. “You’re nothing but gentle with me, Buck. This arm has never and will never hurt me.” As she leads him to the bed, he begins to shake, and she can tell he’s about to cry. “Bucky? What’s wrong?”
“You—”
“It’s more than just protecting me,” she says softly. “What’s bothering you?”
Bucky finally breaks. He squirms away from her and sits with his back against the headrest. He doesn’t like to touch her when he’s upset. “I’ve lost so fucking much to those assholes,” he sobs, “and I could have lost more. I’m finally happy! I’m so happy with you and I’ve come to terms with my past, but they still show up and take from me.”
She wants nothing more than to hold him, but she understands his need for space. “I wish I could burn Hydra to the ground for you,” she says truthfully, sitting on the end of the bed and watching him try to stop his shoulders from shaking. “I’m sorry you had to go through so much, Buck. You didn’t deserve that.”
“If they would have taken you, I don’t think I could live again.”
“Don’t say that.”
“It’s true.”
“No.” Suddenly, Y/N turns towards him and sits on her knees for extra height. “Bucky, you can’t think like that.”
“I’ve waited nearly a century to be happy,” he says. “I wouldn’t let that be taken from me again.”
“You could do better than a scarred bitch,” she tries to joke, but Bucky scowls at her. “Sorry, sorry. But I’m serious. I’m a broken mess, Bucky. You can’t base your happiness on me.”
Things are quiet after her statement, but after a pause, his voice breaks the still air. “But I already have,” he tells her.
Finally, once he’s calm, Y/N crawls forward to nestle between his legs and lie against his chest. The weight is welcome, but he’s insecure about it at times, worries she could feel him trembling. Her own anxiety radiates through her though, as she feels a corner of the shirt ride up her back. Bucky seems to sense it, and maybe he’s just searching for contact for himself—his flesh hand trails up under her shirt and strokes her back gently, in slow, soft motions, and she melts against him.
“Even before we were going steady,” he murmurs into her hair, “you made me feel… so fucking happy. You were so sweet and bright and I always asked Tony to turn up the heat because I thought you were cold.”
She chuckles at the memory of Bucky asking if she was cold, unaware of the scarred body she hid under the layers of clothing. “It was very sweet of you.”
“I’m sure.” He grins. “That’s all I ever wanted—to be sweet to you. I just never knew how, but you were always so nice to me and you skipped parties to watch movies with me. I think that’s when I realized that I loved you. It was Tony’s birthday gala, and we both left early in our formal wear and bought out a whole movie theater, just to watch some Disney movie.”
She remembers the night. She wore a lovely gown though it was long sleeved, floor-length, black, and had a high neck. Bucky had draped his suit jacket over her shoulder anyways and stole her away to a small theater.
“I had a crush on you from the moment I first saw you,” she sighs happily. “I felt so scared that I developed feelings. I was worried you’d be disgusted by my body. When you kissed me… when you swam with me in the ocean and didn’t stare at my ugly scars… I felt so fucking loved, Bucky. I had never been so happy.”
He holds her close, and they don’t leave each other’s embraces for the next few days unless absolutely necessary.
They both heal from their gunshot wounds, though Bucky of course heals faster. He wakes up in the morning without a scar or a sore feeling, then helps her rewrap her injury before pressing a soft kiss to it. “There,” he says, “all better.”
She grins and allows him to pull her up from the corner of the bed. “Are you sure we can’t stay in bed all day? We could put our jammies back on—“
“You’re how old?” Bucky demands. “They’re not called jammies anymore.”
“Let me be! Come back to bed!”
Despite the desire to get back under the covers, the two dress and find themselves matching. It’s sickenly cute how they both have matching red converse, something Bucky would never admit to planning, but it makes her happy just to see it. It’s the little things that makes her happy.
“I washed my hoodie,” Bucky says, tossing the heather gray zip-up towards her. “I figured you’d want to wear it today.” When she gives him a confused look, he continues, “I want you to be comfortable while you’re healing, and worrying about your body isn’t good for stress.”
She lets it fall to the bed and, before strutting to the closet, grabs his face and kisses him quickly. “Well, if we’re going for comfort,” she says as she opens the closet door, “I’m stealing a shirt.”
“What else is new?” he grumbles teasingly.
Y/N laughs but there isn’t a chance for rebuttal. “Sarge, Agent Y/L/N,” FRIDAY says, “you’re needed in the interrogation room.”
“Y/N shouldn’t—“
“It’s urgent,” she tells them. “The rest of the team is down there. It’s not pretty.”
As much as Bucky wants to lock her in the room, they join hands and rush down to the interrogation. The walk is quiet; Y/N is terrified of seeing Brock and facing him again, but she’s also worried about Bucky. It’s incredibly hard for him to be around him, and the thought of him spiraling again makes her shiver in fear.
Nothing prepares them for the sight they find. It has to be Loki—he’s in Y/N’s form, wearing the same outfit she did when she was shot, standing in the doorway with blood on his hands. There are splatters up his arms and even on his white t-shirt, but the miserable gaze in his eyes shakes her to her core. He looks hurt, looks miserable.
Loki looks up as soon as he sees them, quickly turning towards them. “Y/N, I—“
“Sit down,” Tony orders, rounding the corner. “Just take a breather, Loki.”
They know it must be serious if Tony isn’t using a nickname. Wordlessly, he jerks his head to urge them to follow, and he leads them to the room where Brock was held. The door is closed; there’s blood on the handle.
Nothing prepares them for what’s behind the door. Brock lies on the floor, beaten badly, a puddle of blood and a couple teeth around him. His nose is broken and his eye is sunken in a slight purple, the beginnings of a bruise forming. The worst sight of all, however, would be his shredded pants and the discarded knife dropped a couple feet away from his corpse.
Y/N covers her mouth in shock. “Did he—“
“Loki went in as you to draw information,” Tony interrupts softly. “Brock was being a dick as always, and when Loki put two and two together…. he lost his mind.”
“Is it bad that I can breathe a little easier?” she whispers.
Bucky squeezes her hand reassuringly. “No. It’s normal. I don’t feel an ounce of guilt looking at his dead body.”
Tony nods, unsure of what to say.
Y/N wants to know more, though. In a matter of minutes her world was flipped and she stared at the dead abuser in front of her. Part of her wanted to cry, but she wasn’t sad. No, this was a triumph. Revenge. Karma came full swing. “What did Loki do to him?” she asks.
“Y/N—”
“I want to know everything.” When Tony still hesitates, she adds, “Please.”
FRIDAY pulls the footage and Y/N watches as if it’s one of her favorite movies. After too many lewd comments, sexual and manipulative, Loki as Y/N froze. Brock just grinned at him. “What, sweetheart? You miss how good I felt in your tight little—”
Loki swung with such force that Brock fell out of the chair and smacked his face on the table as he went down, the handcuffs making it harder for him to go down. In a matter of seconds, Loki drew a knife. “Say it again,” he spat in her voice. “Tell me again what you’d do to me, what you’ve done to me. Go on.”
Brock spat blood at her. “Fuck you!” he snapped. “You think you’re so tough! The Asset won’t want shit to do with you once he sees the scars I put on you.”
“Which scar was your favorite?” Loki demanded. “Which one of hundreds gave you the most satisfaction?”
The laughter it drew from Brock rings in Y/N’s ears as she watches the video, Bucky watching behind her with his arms around her protectively. “The one I made our first night,” he grunted. “I bet it’s still there, too. Has to be. I drug my knife from your ankle to your snatch when you wouldn’t keep your fucking legs open for me—“
The memory stings, but Loki’s actions are wonderful reparations. With the wave of his hands the handcuffs were broken, and he was able to slam Brock to the floor. “Of all the midgardian men I’ve heard stories of,” Loki snarled, “you are somehow the foulest.”
“What—”
He muttered something quick, another flick of the wrist, and Brock was pinned by an invisible force. His arms were above his head and his legs were parted slightly, unable to move. “Hey!” he yelled. “What the fuck are you doing? You fucking bitch! I’ll kill you! I’ll kill your broken fucking soldier, I’ll kill everyone in this tower before I—”
Loki plunged the knife into his thigh and pulled down towards his ankle, ignoring the scream that spilled from Brock’s lips. Tony and Natasha were both trying to get into the room and stop it before it escalated; both agents were too late and unable to open the door.
“You won’t touch another fucking hair on her head,” Loki growled. “And I’ll make sure of it.”
Due to his emotions, the hexes wore off quicker than intended and soon left Brock free of his restraints. He was quick to fight back—he lunged at Loki and pinned him, only to be pinned in return and repeatedly punched in the face. Teeth flew from his mouth and bones crackled under the force of his fist, but it wasn’t enough for Loki. Not even when Brock went limp.
“Apologize,” he hissed.
“I don’t regret anything,” Brock wheezed in response, “and I’m sure as hell not sorry.”
That was more than enough justification. “Neither am I,” Loki told him honestly before plunging the knife into his chest.
FRIDAY stops the video, but Y/N still stares after it, the image of Brock maimed and bleeding out burned into her head. “I wish I could say he didn’t deserve it,” she finds herself saying before she can stop.
Bucky presses a kiss to her forehead, but it’s more for his own comfort. “He deserved worse. You okay?”
Y/N nods. “Yeah. I’m okay. I’m just glad I was the last face he saw before he died.”
She feels strange for the rest of the day. Loki bathes away the blood and comes to apologize, in his own body this time, but the exchange isn’t angry or loud. A genuine appreciation is all she feels—she tells him this and all he can do is blink away tears and hold himself high with a chuckle.
Bucky, however, feels weightless. He’s thriving, absolutely bubbly and energetic. One of his captors has died. One of the many men that hurt him doesn’t get to live another day. He could scream with joy but he worries about the way Y/N sits and stares at the wall, contemplating her thoughts.
“Y/N?” Bucky asks in a whisper, trying to pull her attention away from her thoughts. “Hey, doll. How are you feeling?”
She doesn’t answer the question. Instead, she turns towards him and thinks about her choice of words. After a pause she decides on, “I want to go back to the beach house. Just me and you.”
“Okay,” he says slowly. “Sure, we can do that. But are you—”
“I think I want to wear shorts,” she continues. “But not just at the beach. I want to wear them out of the tower, too.”
“Okay!” he says, maybe a little too excitedly. “Of course! Yeah, that would be great, doll, I’m proud of you!”
Y/N isn't done, though, and she feels herself beginning to ramble. “Maybe I should write a book,” she muses. “Maybe I should have Tony put me on the cover of a magazine. Maybe everyone should see my scars, and I shouldn’t hide them anymore.”
Bucky grins, though now it doesn’t touch his eyes. “That’s great, and I’m so proud of you, but… where is this coming from?”
“Brock isn’t alive to point and say, ‘I gave her those,’ I can actually own my body again.”
It breaks Bucky’s heart to hear her say it, but he understands. He presses a kiss to her head and pulls her close. “Tell me what you need,” he says. “Whatever you want, we’ll get it.”
She thinks for a moment, pondering her choice of words. “I think,” she says finally, looking right into his eyes, “I just really want you.”
But she already has him.
“Luckily for you, I’m not going anywhere.”