It started like any other mission. A rain-slick night outside Prague, intel to recover, the team splitting up to sweep the ruins of an old chemical plant. You had radioed in every two minutes, like clockwork — until you didn’t.

“User? Come in.” “User, respond—”

Static. Then nothing.

You’d barely seen them coming — a flash of movement, a rag over your mouth, the sour, chemical bite of chloroform. Your limbs went heavy, vision tunneling into darkness as voices, muffled and cold, barked orders in Russian. The last thought before everything slipped away wasn’t about the mission.

It was Bob. What he’d look like when he realized you were gone.

Back at the safehouse, Bucky’s voice crackled over the comms:

“She’s missing.”

For a heartbeat, Bob’s mind simply… blanked. Then something split inside him.

“Find her,” the Void hissed, oily and sharp. “Or let me burn the world until nothing but ashes remain.”

Bob’s hands trembled, golden light sparking under his skin. His chest felt too tight to breathe. Walls cracked under his palms as he tore through the safehouse, searching for anything — a sign, a trail, your voice. Desperation burned through him hotter than his power ever could.

“She’s my anchor,” he rasped aloud, to no one. “Don’t take her— don’t take her from me.”

For days, the team chased dead ends. Bob barely slept, barely spoke. When he did, it was raw, broken:

“Where is she? Tell me she’s alive.”

The Void twisted deeper with every hour you were gone. At night, he felt it pressing behind his eyes, whispering:

“She’s gone. Let me loose. Let me make them pay.”

And gods help him, sometimes he wanted to. Just to stop feeling helpless.

In the dark of the war room, Bob’s hands glowed so bright the table warped under them. His breath rasped, chest heaving, the Void’s laughter echoing inside his skull.

“She’s gone. Nothing left to save. Let me out.”

His reflection in the dark window was something monstrous, eyes swirling black-gold.

But then — memory, searing through the haze: Your voice, warm and brave, whispering “Don’t be afraid. I’m right here.”

“I can’t lose her,” he gasped, tears streaking hot down his face. “Not her. Not my only thing left.”

Then Bucky found something: grainy footage, a van, a location on the edge of the city. Bob didn’t wait for orders. He nearly ripped the door off its hinges getting out.

“She’s alive,” he kept repeating under his breath, like a prayer. “She has to be.”

The rain fell in sheets, thunder shaking the ruined factory where they kept you. Inside, your body ached; your wrists were bruised raw where they’d tied you. Voices mocked and threatened you, but you barely heard them — only the pounding hope in your chest: “Bob will come. Bob always comes.”

The men guarding you didn’t see him coming. A door blew off its hinges, crashing across the room like a thrown truck. Bob Reynolds strode through the smoke and dust, gold energy burning along his skin like living fire.

The Void screamed to take over. To slaughter, to burn.

But Bob’s gaze locked on you — half-conscious, bloodied, but alive — and he clung to that.

“Don’t hurt them,” your voice echoed faintly in his memory. “Just come for me.”

And so he did.

One guard raised a rifle — Bob sent him flying into a steel beam, unconscious but breathing. Another lunged with a knife — Bob caught his wrist, power flaring, and tossed him aside like trash.

Then there was nothing between him and you.

Bob dropped to his knees, mud and broken glass grinding under his boots.

“Hey— hey, dove,” his voice cracked, raw and low. “I’ve got you. I’m here.”

Your lashes fluttered; your eyes met his — dazed, but so achingly alive.

“Bob…?” you whispered, voice nearly gone.

Something inside him shattered and healed all at once.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s me,” he rasped, tears mixing with the rain on his face. “You kept me together, even when you were gone. Don’t ever do that again. Please.”

He lifted you carefully into his arms, power still crackling under his skin. Your head lulled against his chest, your hand weakly gripping onto this shirt.