Chapter Text
June 7th 2027: Monday.
Throughout the years she had worked for Valentina, Yelena stayed in all manner of places.
If she was lucky, the safe house would be a normal residential building her boss had access to for whatever reason. Then, she could take a hot shower to rinse the dirt and blood away, order a barbecue chicken pizza, and watch a movie on the couch. Like a regular person, she thought. Sometimes, Yelena peered at the framed photos. She inspected the notes clipped to the fridge and the reminders scrawled on the calendar in red ink. Using these clues, she imagined the lives of the ordinary people who lived there. The family homes were the best — and the worst.
More often than not, though, she stayed in an anonymous hotel (occasionally, a motel) and none of them were The Ritz. Yelena could cope with drizzling, cold showers and noisy neighbours keeping her up late at night. A cockroach or two was bearable. She learned how to squish them flat by throwing a shoe across the room. Bed bugs were where she drew the line. The one time she stayed in a place with bed bugs and woke up covered in bites, Yelena called her boss in a fury. From that moment on, Valentina promised no more bed bugs.
As she hunkered down in the back of a black car with dark windows, Yelena wondered about reassuring her team with this knowledge. They were being sent to a hotel now, under strict instructions to get some rest, stay out of view of the press, and not speak to journalists under any circumstances. Valentina’s debriefing was rushed, likely because she knew half her new ‘team’ were seconds from wringing her neck and the other half were dead on their feet.
After a long night in the desert and only an hour of sleep stolen on the jet, Yelena fell into the second category. She wasn’t a superhuman — unlike most of her team — and only adrenaline kept her going for this long. It was rapidly depleting now, her body sinking into a familiar aching state and her brain feeling foggy. If the hotel had a bed she could crash on, Yelena would forfeit all other standards for a nap. Right now, she was too tired to even check for bed bugs.
“We should regroup at the hotel.” John said, “Discuss this ‘New Avengers’ situation before it gets out of hand.”
He was suspiciously quiet throughout the drive so far, which Yelena mistakenly attributed to exhaustion. Now, she realised he had been ramping up to this conversation and positioning himself as the one in charge of the group. Did Walker truly believe he had any authority over the rest of them or was he trying desperately to compensate for losing his status as Captain?
Everybody groaned, save Bob who was sleeping with his head on Yelena’s lap. She was a little envious about him getting some rest. More than that, she was startled by the amount of trust Bob had in her already. She petted his mop of messy hair idly, hoping his dreams were nothing like the shame rooms they experienced. Frequently, Yelena had nightmares about the past. Memories haunted her whether she was asleep or awake, never letting her escape. From the tranquil expression on his face and languid body language, Bob seemed to be sleeping soundly.
“What?” John protested, his volume rising a notch, “You know as well as I do, this is a delicate situation for all of—“
“Oh my god, Walker, please shut up.” Yelena said.
At the same time, Ava muttered a similar sentiment under her breath but with a more colourful use of language. Until now, Bucky had kept his head firmly down and remained deep in his thoughts. From the second they stepped out onto that stage, in front of the press, it seemed like he was in a state of shock. But he finally raised his eyes to shoot Walker a stormy look. Whichever one of their reactions was effective, it didn’t matter, because something successfully shut John up.
They rode for a few more minutes in silence. Then, Alexei cleared his throat.
“Walker is right.” He said.
Without lifting his head, Bucky murmured to nobody in particular: “That’s a first.”
“We do need team meeting.” Alexei continued as if he hadn’t heard him, “But not today. Tomorrow or next day. Look at babies, they are exhausted.”
He gestured in the direction of Yelena and the man curled up on the seat beside her, who she was beginning to suspect might be drooling in his sleep. She was resentful about being referred to as a ‘baby’, given she lead a team to victory less than an hour ago. Although Bob was oblivious, she felt irritated on his behalf too. They were grown adults. It was blatant Alexei was trying to manipulate her emotions the way he always did, by belittling her and making her seem weak. The greatest irony was Alexei being the same man who had handed her off to the Red Room all those years ago, when she actually was a baby. Just a child. He thought her strong enough then.
Swallowing the bitter poison gathering in her throat, Yelena reminded herself she wanted to rebuild a connection with her father. With Nat gone, he was the only family she had left. But he hurt her badly and didn’t seem to care. When Alexei had spoken about how Yelena had lit up the room as a child, she sensed he saw the world so differently to her. He was the one who extinguished that light inside of her. He sent that innocent lamb straight to the slaughter.
“Not tomorrow.” Ava said, with a twinge of irritation, “I’m planning to sleep into next week.”
Belatedly, Yelena realised she had also been lumped into the ‘younger’ half of the team by Alexei and didn’t appreciate it either. She glanced at Ava and the other woman met her eyes, where she recognised the familiar frustration of being a woman surrounded by men. Men who assumed they were superior by the virtue of their sex. Without a word, Yelena nodded to show her appreciation. It was only a small token, but Ava hadn’t let Alexei — or Walker for that matter — steamroll the rest of them. Yelena got the impression they would need to stick together, stick up for each other, if they didn’t want to get relegated to the inferior role of ‘girl superhero’.
It was a relief when the car stopped outside the hotel and they were all able to climb out of the cramped quarters. Gently, Yelena shook Bob awake by his shoulder and steered him into the building. The hotel was perfectly mundane, not elaborate, but clean and with sizeable rooms. Valentina likely chose it because it was for regular people and relatively anonymous. No press would come looking for the New Avengers here.
When she entered her single room, Yelena could smell cleaning chemicals and saw the bed had been recently made up. She was enticed by the soft pillows and smooth comforter, wanting to crawl into the bed immediately and pass out in her clothes. Instead, she forced herself to strip off her filthy clothes and take a shower, letting out a sigh of relief when the hot water drummed against her back. Post mission clean-up could be a chore, but it was amazing to feel like a human being again. Yelena dressed in the hotel’s thin robe, for lack of anything else to wear, and towelled her hair quickly. She collapsed into bed at last, falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.
She had no idea how long she was unconscious, but she was roused abruptly by knocking on the door. The first time Yelena found herself face to face with Valentina’s young assistant, Mel. It didn’t look like she had been given the chance to go home and change yet, as she was still in her dusty suit jacket. In her hands, Mel had several plastic grocery bags and checked the handwritten labels before giving one to Yelena. She opened her mouth to say something, but Yelena wasn’t in the mood and shut the door in her face. Mel didn’t try knocking again.
In the bag, there were essentials to keep Yelena comfortable for the next few days. She changed into the generic black sweatpants and white tank top, then walked sleepily to the bathroom to utilise her new toothbrush. Already, she was starting to feel much better.
Yelena must have drifted off to sleep again, watching the small TV with the volume turned low, because she was woken again. This time around, the knock was less authoritative and more nervous. As she went to open the door, Yelena was surprised it had woken her at all. But there was a bigger surprise waiting in the corridor of the hotel: Bob was standing outside her room, still dressed in his sweater and corduroys, tugging anxiously on his sleeves. His dark eyes reminded Yelena of a deer being hunted, flickering around to check for potential threats.
“Hello, Bob.” She said, stifling a yawn with her hand, “Are you okay?”
Honestly, she would be shocked if he was doing well after the day they had. Not only had Bob been kidnapped and manipulated by Valentina — and god only knows what she had said to trick him — he also revisited the worst times in his life. There was the matter of his bipolar disorder too. While Yelena didn’t know much about bipolar yet, she knew how exhausted she felt when she was depressed. She could only imagine going through highs and lows, especially in one day, must be ten times more tiring. But Bob simply shrugged at her.
“It’s— it’s too quiet in my room.” He mumbled, stare fixed on a distant point, “I can hear my own thoughts, you know? It’s… there’s a lot to think about.”
Without hesitation, Yelena took him by the arm and brought him into the room, closing the door behind him. The tidy room was dishevelled by her presence: dirty clothes in a crumpled pile on the floor, damp towels tossed over the chintzy armchair. With a flick of a switch, the wall lights on either side of the bed turned on and lit up most of the room. It was dark outside, Yelena realised. She had no idea of how much time had passed. Was it Monday? Tuesday?
She forced Bob to sit on the end of the bed, even though the blanket was twisted and hanging askew now. Any sign of order was gone from her room already. Feeling a rumble in her stomach, Yelena fetched the menu for room service, a yellowing sheet of paper encased in plastic. Looking down the list of options only made her hungrier, fantasising about American burgers and big bowls of chicken fettuccine. All Yelena had eaten that day was a few packets of peanuts and a travel-sized bottle of vodka on the jet to New York. No wonder she was ravenous.
It turned out Bob was hungry too, so they phoned down to reception and ordered a midnight feast. The food was delivered on trays and they sat on the bed to eat, facing each other. Yelena had a big appetite, particularly after missions, but she was astonished by the amount of food Bob could put away. She watched him eat and eat long after she was stuffed, until he noticed her staring and got embarrassed. Pretending to watch TV, Yelena made a note to speak to Bucky about it. Maybe it was a super serum thing. She didn’t want to talk to Walker or her father. Honestly, she didn’t know which option was worse out of the two.
They stacked the dishes on the floor, next to the bed, and sat together for a while. Briefly, Yelena worried about Bob making a move on her. She had seen enough American movies to know men often took being alone with a woman, especially in a bedroom, as an open invitation. As they made small talk about their various travels — Bob had never been to New York before — Yelena relaxed. She trusted Bob more than other men she met before, although it was difficult to put her finger on why. When he started to yawn regularly, the two of them lay down facing each other.
It was nice to be with someone else, someone Yelena felt strangely comfortable around. Bob had seen her worst moments and, instead of running for the hills, he seemed to understand her deeply. Until now, she spent night after night by herself, regardless of where she was and what she was doing. Whether she was staying in a hotel or a safe house, it didn’t seem to matter. Although Yelena appreciated the luxuries of a good meal and a hot shower, neither alleviated the emptiness inside of her. Nothing seemed to make her feel fulfilled. Happy.
Even now, listening to Bob’s gentle snores starting up, she could still feel the vast hole inside of her. It was a deep, dark chasm where part of her used to be. Sometimes, it ached. But as it started to pull at her now, Yelena pulled back stubbornly. She didn’t wander down the long road of mistakes and regrets, as she often did at this time of night. Instead, Yelena listened to the steady rhythm of Bob’s breathing, watching a curl bounce every time he exhaled.
She wasn’t alone anymore.
-
June 9th 2027: Wednesday.
If John had to choose any of the Thunderbolts (New Avengers, he reminded himself firmly) to be stuck in a car with, Bucky would be the last one he would want it to be. They had a checkered history he didn’t share with any of the others. Years ago, Bucky had looked at him with those old, knowing eyes and warned him not to kill. Not to commit one of the most unforgivable acts a human is capable of. Caught up in his emotional tirade, John hadn’t listened. It almost seemed Bucky enjoyed watching his entire life fall apart afterwards, as if he relished John facing the consequences of his actions. Bucky had never liked him. Right from the start.
Yet, the same man who had belittled and bullied him in the gym five years ago was now sitting shotgun beside him. There was a thick tension in the air as they drove across the river, both of them in unspoken agreement not to say a word to each other. Until they were a reasonable distance from the hotel, John didn’t even flick the radio on. Ava was available to join them for the road trip, but had made a sly remark about having something more important to do. He suspected she was keen to see what friction resulted from stuffing John and Bucky in an enclosed space with no mediator. Disappointingly, for her, the most conversation they had was bickering over which radio station to tune into. John lost the argument.
When they pulled up outside the apartment John was previously renting ‘as a base’, Bucky refused to get out of the car, like a stubborn child. He stayed in the passenger seat with a blank expression on his face, listening to the oldest music he could find. Privately, John was relieved to be alone when he fumbled with the keys to let himself inside. The apartment was more of a storage container than a real home, containing what little was leftover from his previous life.
Although they had split things 50/50, John found it hard to furnish his temporary home. In the end, he kept nearly everything in the same boxes he originally packed them in to move out. He couldn’t bear looking at anything which reminded him of Olivia or his son, Isaac. Nearly everything did. But John took his time packing everything else into the remaining cardboard boxes, so it wasn’t obvious how empty his life had become. The last thing he needed right now was Bucky sneering judgementally at him. He might break down in the car.
Yesterday, John came close to breaking down at the hotel breakfast bar, in front of everyone. At his own request, the team struggled out of bed to have a meeting over the ‘continental buffet’ included with their stay. To be more specific, three of them found it difficult to make it down to the dining room by 11am. John had already completed his five mile run at dawn, then a quick morning workout in the hotel’s gym, and still had time to shower. To her credit, Yelena was in the gym when he arrived. And, judging by the shadows under his eyes, Bucky hadn’t slept at all.
“I don’t know if we should be staying in a place completely controlled by Valentina.” The Winter Soldier said, helping himself to the fruit bowl, “I don’t trust her as far as I can throw her.”
“What do you suggest, Bucky?” Yelena asked, sardonic, “Your apartment in Brooklyn?”
Bucky shot her a look in response, too busy eating a fresh plum to make a sarcastic retort. It occurred to him, for the first time, Yelena only referred to John by his surname. Although the decision didn’t bother him in the slightest, it was a firm reminder that everyone at this table disliked him. He wasn’t going to win any popularity awards here.
From the far end of the table, a voice piped up: “Don’t you have extra bedrooms at your house, John? Some of us could stay there?”
All of them turned to look at Bob, who was resting his chin on the table and looked to be half asleep still. When he arrived at breakfast, the last of them to do so, it was only because Yelena dragged him here. There was a half-hearted attempt to poke at the toast somebody fetched him, then Bob went back to dozing. His glass of orange juice looked untouched.
For a long moment, John wasn’t sure if he was intentionally poking the bear. Once or twice, Bob had gone out of his way to piss him off, simply because his reactions were entertaining. John thought this might be the case now. After parsing it for a second, he registered the sincerity on Bob’s face and realised the man was trying to be helpful. Having only seen the house in one of the void rooms, Bob had no idea how long it had been since John had last stepped foot there. It was a perfectly innocent suggestion — although the mention of ‘extra bedrooms’ was a stark reminder of the empty nursery, which John didn’t appreciate either. If he lost his temper and cussed Bob out for bringing the subject up, he would be the bad guy. Even though it stung John to think of his pleasant surburban family home in Connecticut. He felt his eyes starting to burn.
“My apartment’s small too.” He said, gruffly.
Bob looked confused, then his eyes widened in horror and his mouth opened in a little ‘o’ as he realised his mistake. Honestly, John didn’t care. All that mattered to him was shifting the conversation away from his old house. It had been embarrassing enough when Bucky had caught him in a lie, mentioning Olivia leaving with their son in front of his teammates, and shattered the facade of his happy family. Lying about to Ava and Yelena almost made it feel real again. Breaking the illusion was yet another thing Bucky snatched away from him. Indeed, when he glanced up from his breakfast, John saw the man’s startling blue eyes were bearing into him knowingly. As if he existed purely to remind John of his failures. Like a ghost from his past life.
“Does anyone else have an apartment they want to brag about?” Ava asked, unimpressed.
“I have house in DC.” Alexei offered.
“In Baltimore.” Yelena muttered, cutting into her pancakes.
Finally, Bucky’s intimidating stare moved on from John. He looked down at his phone instead.
John hated the way Bucky looked at him, how his stare cut right through to his core. When he said “I know you”, John got the sense he really meant “I see what you really are underneath the bravado and it disgusts me”. The feeling hadn’t disintegrated over the last few days. If anything, on the morning’s drive to New Jersey, it had intensified. He was glad Bucky insisted on waiting for him in the car. He didn’t want to see his sad, empty apartment scrutinised by his gaze.
Everything John bothered to unpack, after the Walkers sold their home and went separate ways, was practical. He suspected the watchtower was going to benefit more from his range of kitchenware than he had as a lonely bachelor. John stopped cooking comforting family meals, instead replacing them with simple, one-pan dishes he could eat in front of the TV. Sometimes (although he would never admit this to the others) he settled for microwaving those frozen meals they marketed exclusively to single men. They tasted like wet cardboard.
There was no point taking furniture, like his twin bed or dresser, because Valentina had furnished their rooms with the basics. Yesterday, John had walked around the tower with Yelena and Bucky to look at what she had provided. It was sparse but functional. The others stayed at the hotel, for various reasons. Bob was hibernating, while Ava claimed (again) to be busy. He was starting to become suspicious of whether she was telling them the truth, but didn’t care enough to investigate. He had no doubts about Alexei’s hangover being reality.
So, his drooping couch wasn’t going to be necessary. But he took the cushions and the sheets from his bed. Towels. His meagre collection of books and DVDs. John’s personal essentials, such as clothes and toiletries, fit easily into one small box. It was a long-term effect of being in the military, he was sure. No doubt, it would be the same case for Bucky.
Bucky. While John was preparing to move, he figured out how to recline his carseat and seemed to be taking a nap, the radio playing in the background. It was impossible to avoid making a jibe about him being a geriatric. Bucky didn’t rise to the bait — nor did he rise to help John carry the boxes out to the car and fit them into the trunk. He brought the stuff from his old home too, still sealed away safely from sight, even though he had no great ambitions to decorate his new place with them either. There was a deep-seated need to keep the things he once shared with his wife and son close to him. It didn't matter that he couldn’t bear to look at them.
“Are you planning a yard sale?” Bucky asked, dryly.
“Shut up.” John said, wishing he could think of a better comeback.
He was irritated. Since the morning, his anger had steadily grown. He didn’t want Bucky here in the first place, so they were off to a bad start. It only increased when Bucky dragged his feet about leaving, complained about the route they were taking, and then sat in stony silence. As John emptied his apartment and filled up the car’s trunk, he could feel his temper starting to burn hotter. Bucky didn’t lift a finger to help. He didn’t give John so much as a look.
When John was done locking up and he got in the driver’s seat, navigating to Brooklyn without a word, he tried to keep a handle on himself. Staring the Void in the face made him resolve to be a better person, as he was sure all of them had. He wanted to be less angry and bitter. But, as Bucky made a biting remark about his driving and delivered unhelpful instructions about the way to his apartment, John’s resolve was fading. The man was deliberately pushing his buttons.
Upon arriving at Bucky’s apartment, John parked outside and waited in the car. The older man exited the vehicle and went into the building silently, not bothering to mention how long he would be. As the door swung shut behind him, John noted bitterly that it was a significantly nicer building than the one he had been living in. Like he didn’t have enough reasons to envy Bucky.
To his surprise, the trip was short and sweet. John spent half an hour scrolling through an article about the New Avengers, wincing when he saw the words “dishonourably discharged” and “former Captain America” close to his name. Of the few think pieces he read this week, it was one of the more balanced ones, considering the good and the bad with healthy skepticism. Since Monday, the shock and disbelief had faded, although the majority of people still seemed resentful towards them. Before he could read the comments, he saw movement from the corner of his eye.
Yanking open the door, Bucky secured two regular-sized cardboard boxes in the backseat. John expected him to go back inside to retrieve the rest, but no. Without saying a word, he returned to the passenger seat and buckled his belt. Was that all he was bringing?
“You got everything?” John checked.
There was a long, cool stare before Bucky seemed to realise he would need to use his words. Like a big boy, John chastised inside his head.
“Yes.” He said, voice gravelly.
The Winter Soldier was not a stellar conversationalist, but John was used to that now. When they first met, years ago, he made multiple attempts to engage with Bucky. He was desperate for the man to like him — or at least respect him. It was like trying to talk to a brick wall. In the end, John gave up on the idea they were ever going to be friendly coworkers, mostly because Bucky hated his guts. He had a flicker of hope things might change, after the Thunderbolts team-up. After all, they were in this mess together. If anything, their tenuous bond had worsened.
Rolling his eyes, John shut his mouth and backed out of the parking space. In truth, he was self-conscious about the amount of boxes he brought compared to Bucky. Although he still owned less than the average person, John listened to his belongings bumping around in the trunk and felt like a hoarder in comparison. Over a year had passed since the divorce was finalised, yet he was still clinging to his old life. Thinking about it now, it seemed pathetic.
“You look like you’re going to pop a blood vessel.” Bucky said.
John had become so accustomed to his intimidating, wordless presence, he didn’t register where the noise came from for a moment. Then, he realised he was being watched warily.
“I was thinking.” John said, wondering if this was his teammate’s version of striking up a conversation.
“Don’t hurt yourself.” He replied, flatly.
Or maybe Bucky got off on insulting him, since ninety per cent of their interactions revolved around him doing so. The anger, which John had managed to push down deep inside of him, flared up again. He knew he was no angel — or no Captain America — but he had done nothing to deserve the ire he got from Bucky. While it could be argued him killing the flagsmasher was justification for the man’s intense dislike, it went far deeper than that. Even before he had laid eyes on John, Bucky decided to hate him. Ironically, he felt a blood vessel pulse on his forehead.
“What the hell do you want from me?” John snapped.
Half-heartedly, he wondered about pulling over so they could have this out on the side of the road. He was confident in his ability to drive while arguing (him and Olivia had enough rows on the way to her parents’ house to prove that), but him and Bucky tended to get physical when they fought. It would be intensely cathartic to plunge a fist into the other man’s face right now.
Bucky sighed, as if he was a picky toddler: “What are you talking about, Walker?”
“I’m talking about you!” He retorted, as if it wasn’t blatantly obvious, “I know you get a hard-on from shitting on me, like some masochistic freak. I’m not asking you to do a 180 and become BFFs. But if we’re going to be on the same team, you can’t keep doing this!”
The older man was still looking at him with a mix of exhaustion and irritation, as if John was throwing his toys out of the pram. Under his breath, he repeated the phrase ‘BFFs?’ and raised an eyebrow. But John was determined to get something out of him this time, so he tightened his jaw and clenched the wheel until his knuckles turned white.
Finally, Bucky relented and asked: “What is this really about?”
Pausing momentarily to consider the question, the memory leapt to the front of his mind. The feeling of the bonds around his wrist, torso, and ankles returned first. Next, John remembered the sweaty humiliation in that small, hot warehouse. The way Bucky had exposed him as a fraud in front of everyone, how he held up the shattered pieces of John’s life for everyone to see, then swept it under the rug as if it was nothing. As if his life falling apart was nothing more than a piece of light entertainment. Heat prickled all the way up John’s neck and he felt his eyes grow wet, even as he willed his tear ducts to stop. He swallowed the lump in his throat.
Then, there was the way Yelena looked at him. Up until that point, she saw him as nothing more than an obnoxious soldier. Outside of being useful in the field, Yelena thought little of him. Perhaps she was even jealous of him, the way Ava was, for seemingly having a perfect life away from all of this. When Bucky revealed the truth about his wife and son, Yelena stared at John like she was seeing him for the first time. There was confusion, then it melted quickly into pity. Every time he remembered that look, John felt squirming humiliation. The last thing he wanted was for anyone to pity him. He knew the mess he had made of his life was all his own fault.
“You have no business airing out my business in front of people!” John growled, “You know damn well you had no right to bring up Olivia back there.”
Bucky rolled his eyes up at the ceiling and folded his arms across his chest. It was so childish, John couldn’t help but feel infuriated. While Bucky may act superior, he was the one behaving like a petulant child, making fun of other kids on the playground. Whatever went on in John’s personal life had no relevance to the mission. Bucky only brought it up because he wanted to belittle him.
“Unfortunately, your business is my business, John.” He said.
“Since when?” John demanded, incredulous.
“Since we ended up in this mess.”
The answer was beyond ridiculous, not to mention untrue. In frustration, John smacked his fist against the steering wheel and ended up blaring the car horn at full volume. As a small town country boy, he was temporarily embarrassed by the rudeness. Then, he remembered quickly that everyone in New York drove like that, regardless of what mood they were in. Nobody even gave him a second glance. Once again, John considered pulling over until he calmed down. But they were close to Manhattan now and he wouldn’t be able to stand the smug look on Bucky’s face if he needed to take a timeout. He got real satisfaction from pissing John off.
As they stopped at a crosswalk, John drew a few shallow breaths in an attempt to cool off. He rubbed a hand over his face, noting how he was desperately in need of a shave. At the hotel, John spent nearly all his time alone. It was instinct to isolate himself from the others, even though he had always been social as a kid and most of his adult life. But when Lemar had died, everything changed. He didn’t want to be around anyone anymore, let alone get close to them. If people labelled him as standoffish or an asshole because of his behaviour, John didn’t care. His image was in tatters anyway, so why would it matter what anyone else thought?
When the light turned green, John felt calm enough to drive. More accurately, he was too numb to feel the anger inside him anymore. Thinking of Lemar’s death always that effect on him. He focused on getting back to the tower, as it was easier for him to keep going with a goal in sight. Now, John didn’t feel like talking and he assumed Bucky didn’t either. He was wrong.
Bucky blew out a long breath, as if he had been underwater. From the corner of his eye, John spotted a minute change in his expression, but didn’t know what it meant. While he found most people difficult to read, Bucky was exceptionally difficult. His face was a mask.
“I can’t believe I’m saying this.” Bucky said, slowly, like it pained him, “But you’re right.”
Even John was surprised to hear those words leave his mouth. He couldn’t remember a single time the other man had conceded in an argument. On the occasion John was right, Bucky either stubbornly continued to disagree with him or changed the subject. Both of them being argumentative was one of the biggest reasons they couldn’t get along — although, John would claim he wasn’t argumentative, he was adamant about getting things right.
He stayed silent, unsure where Bucky’s train of thought was going.
“There was no need to bring up your family.” He conceded, “Don’t get me wrong, Walker. I still think you’re the biggest asshole this side of Nebraska. I think you’re an idiot for letting Olivia go. But you’re right, I was being spiteful.”
Was Bucky apologising to him? He hadn’t said as much, but John got the impression this was as close as he was going to get.
Never had John expected to get an apology out of Bucky Barnes. Stunned, he sat there and gripped the wheel tightly to check he was still in reality, rather than one of those mental torture chambers Bob had built. Or maybe this was a very vivid dream. He nearly missed the turning for the watchtower because he was too preoccupied by what happened. By the time he found the strength to look over at Bucky, the man had returned to staring blankly out of the window. It was as if the entire conversation never happened.
As soon as the car was parked, Bucky was out of the car and opening the back door to grab his things. Like he thought they might get contaminated by John’s vehicle. That was more like him. By the time John unbuckled his seatbelt, the other man had already disappeared inside the building, making it clear the conversation was over.
John expected it to feel cathartic, knowing he had finally won an argument with the most stubborn man he knew. Hearing Bucky admit he was wrong was meant to make him feel better about what had gone down in the warehouse, closing the book on it. But John found there was no satisfaction in the almost-apology he had received — nor that he would get it from hearing a real apology. The argument, which seemed like the biggest deal in the world only moments ago, suddenly felt small and pointless. It didn’t make him feel any better.
The emptiness inside him wasn’t filled in, like a shovel pouring dirt into a hole. A grave. Instead, the void within John only seemed to grow bigger and eclipse him further. It wasn’t Bucky’s fault he was alone. It was his own fault. He knew that, yet he desperately wanted to push the blame onto someone else. If it was Bucky’s fault, an apology would fix everything.
But it wasn’t.
When John opened the trunk to get his boxes out, he ended up standing there a long time. He stared at the clothes, books, movies, toys, and pictures from his former life. It felt as if he was sinking into the asphalt, making it impossible to move away.
-
June 10th 2027: Thursday.
Between the three of them, Yelena, Bob, and Ava didn’t own enough to fill a shoebox.
It was officially ‘moving in day’ at their new headquarters (the revamped and Valentina-approved version of Stark Tower) and the trio stood awkwardly in the furnished living room. Their collective belongings sat in the centre of the white marble coffee table: a few guns, coins in four different currencies, a half-empty packet of gum, and tiny bottles of vodka. Yelena snaffled those from the hotel minibar, although the other two were oblivious where she had stored them until now. In her pockets, Bob supposed. He felt a familiar tightness in his chest when he noticed the seal was already broken on one of the bottles. He glanced at Yelena.
Oblivious to the look, Yelena let out a sigh and sank onto the couch. After a minute, she removed a cheerful embroidered cushion from behind her and tossed it across the room. It hit the edge of the coffee table and flopped unceremoniously onto the white rug. Bob suspected various mysterious stains were going to appear all over the rug before the week was out.
He perched on the arm of the couch and chewed his nails, waiting for the others to decide what they should do. Although he had no problem keeping himself entertained — a skill he mastered growing up with neglectful parents — Bob felt he shouldn’t start running amuck in the new watchtower without a New Avenger’s permission. He wasn’t exactly one of the team. He shouldn’t even be here.
It hadn’t escaped his notice, despite his fatigue throughout Valentina’s first team debriefing, Bob was considered a potential threat. She was only allowing him to live in the tower because she wanted to keep a close eye on his powers, rather than out of kindness. Privately, Bob was simply grateful to have a secure place to live for the time being. He didn’t usually.
“We don’t have any things.” Yelena declared, as if neither of them had noticed.
“Until two days ago, we were living on the run. I wasn’t exactly hauling around a suitcase with me.” Ava said, plainly, “Hand luggage only.”
She remained standing, despite the fact the other two were sitting. Vaguely, Bob remembered her mentioning the effort it took for her body to remain corporal. He wondered whether it was difficult for Ava to sit on furniture without phasing through it. Asking her about it seemed rude, so he decided to keep his questions to himself for now. If they were going to be living together, Bob was sure there would be more opportunities down the line to talk to his new friends. He could only hope he didn’t end up driving them away by being too annoying or weird. In the past, plenty of potential friends soon grew sick of him. But Ava and Yelena had already seen him at his worst, super high then lower than low, yet they hadn’t objected to him sticking around.
“People have things. We are rats.” Yelena said, a little glumly.
“Rats?” Ava turned to look at her, offended.
Eyebrows raised, she stood with a hand on her hip. Bob wondered if it was possible for her to put a hand through her own torso and shivered at the mental image. Then, he felt bad. From what he knew, Ava’s powers were something she got stuck with, the same way Bob had. She couldn’t help it if her body was different. In his head, he vowed to try and help her if he could. Maybe they could bond over their funky powers and shared laboratory trauma.
“A rat pack.” Yelena explained, “They keep a lot of things, like people.”
“You mean a packrat?” Bob guessed.
She snapped her fingers and pointed at him triumphantly, like they were playing a game of charades and he guessed the correct answer: “Exactly!”
“So we’re not the rats.” Ava muttered, speaking to herself, “The men are the rats.”
At last, she took a seat on the couch across from them, crossing one leg over the other. That one hadn’t been contaminated by Alexei’s questionable taste in interior design yet, though it seemed doomed to happen. In the few hours since they arrived, the boxes stuffed with his belongings had exploded all over the entire tower — or, at least, that was what it felt like.
When Alexei flew out to fetch ‘essentials’ from his home in Washington DC, Yelena went with him. Because she was determined to keep Bob by her side, he was also invited on the trip. He didn’t mind. As a prior outsider to the superhero world, Bob was more fascinated by the quinjet than the other two. He was allowed to sit in the cockpit and watch the pilot Valentina hired, who entertained his questions for the first half of the journey. Then, he joined his companions in the back of the jet and watched them bicker in Russian over Alexei’s long packing list.
Bob wasn’t bothered by the messiness of the older man’s house, having lived in more squalid conditions in the past, but he marvelled at how many belongings he had. His VHS tapes alone took up two cardboard boxes. It must be the clutter the average person accumulated over a long, stable life. Several people’s lives, in fact, as Alexei had a few mementos from his daughter’s lives too. The photos of a young Yelena took Bob by surprise; he had no idea they were family.
Like Ava and Yelena, Bob was used to being shunted from place to place, never getting the chance to plant roots anywhere. He moved from hospital to shelter to friend of a friend’s couch to street to shelter again. There was nowhere for him to keep personal belongings, even if he could afford them. Since he was a teenager, Bob learned to travel light and to be grateful for the little things he owned. For the first time since he woke up in the vault, he thought of the small backpack he carried around Malaysia. It must have been thrown out by OXE. Mournfully, he remembered the worn copy of Close To The Knives inside it.
Yesterday, the three of them returned from Washington close to midnight and spent their final night at the hotel. According to Ava, who had dutifully kept track, it was four days since the incident in the vault, three since they were publicly announced as the New Avengers. It was two days since they found Bucky pacing in the hotel lobby, phone pressed to his ear, trying to keep himself together. Today, they were moving into the newly refurnished tower building.
Which brought Bob back to where they were now, sitting on couches and wondering if his new home was going to look like Alexei’s house in DC. It would be more bearable than the clean and clinical look Valentina had plumped for, which made Bob feel like he was in kitschy treatment centre crossed with an expensive hotel. He wished they could stay in a regular house, instead.
“Except you, Bob.” Ava added, as an afterthought.
“Huh?” Bob glanced over at her again, confused.
She clarified: “You’re not a rat.”
Bob sensed this was supposed to be a compliment, so he thanked her and looked back at their humble collection of personal items. One of the bottles had already disappeared. Yelena unscrewed the lid and took a swig from the mouth directly. She swallowed the contents in one gulp. When she was finished, she set the empty bottle back down and rubbed her creased temples. Judging by her pallid complexion and the dark circles under her eyes, Yelena hadn’t slept well last night. Had she been drinking last night too? The night before?
Giving her head a small shake of disapproval, Ava picked up another of the bottles and removed the cap. With a sardonic expression, she held it up to toast them both.
“Cheers.” She said, then swallowed half the vodka in one gulp.
Unlike with Yelena, the drink did not go down smoothly and she spluttered. With difficulty, Ava choked down the alcohol. If her disgusted expression was anything to go by, she was not a fan of the taste. However, to her credit, her reaction made Yelena lift her head from her hands and prompted her lip to curl into a smile. She let out a muffled laugh, which escaped before she could help it, and tried to disguise it as a yawn. Goodnatured, Ava smirked at her own error.
“I’m going to stick to wine.” She said, “What about you, Bob? Fancy a tipple?”
Bob wrinkled his nose: “Wine for me too, thanks.”
Taking her phone out of her jumpsuit pocket, Yelena typed something out. It seemed like the conversation was over, until she turned the screen around and revealed she had started a list of groceries they needed to buy. They were going to need a lot, having moved into their new home this morning. But, right now, wine was the only item on the list.
Bob smiled. Ava’s smirk widened.
Then, whether she wanted their suggestions or not, both of them started shouting out what groceries they needed from the store. Yelena didn’t stop grinning as she tapped at her keyboard rapidly, trying to note down every one of their choices. Clearly, living together as the New Avengers was going to have its ups and downs.