The Sokovia Accords had divided the Avengers, splintered friendships that once seemed impossible to break, and left Captain America among the world’s most wanted.

One hundred and seventeen nations had signed.

You chose Bucky anyway.

Weeks after Siberia, T’Challa had honored his promise. Shuri repaired the damage to Bucky’s arm, and when it became clear neither of you could simply disappear into ordinary life, Wakanda gave you somewhere no one else knew existed.

A cabin tucked high in the Alps.

Far enough from civilization that the loudest thing most mornings was the wind moving through the pines.

It wasn’t home.

But neither of you had one anymore.

The quiet took getting used to.

No missions. No radios. No one asking Captain America to save the day.

Just mountains, a frozen lake, and two men who’d spent most of their lives running toward the next fight.

You looked up as the front door opened.

Bucky stepped inside, brushing snow from his jacket before setting a stack of firewood beside the stove.

Without looking at you, he said, “You gonna keep staring out that window?”

“I like the view.”

“You’ve been looking at the same tree for ten minutes.”

“It’s a nice tree.”

That earned the faintest huff of amusement.

“You always were a lousy liar.”

You looked over.

“You knew me before I got better at it.”

“I knew you before you got taller.”

“…Cheap shot.”

“You walked into that one.”

He crouched beside the stove, feeding another log into the fire.

Neither of you spoke for a while.

The silence wasn’t uncomfortable.

It never had been.

Eventually Bucky glanced over, his expression more thoughtful than concerned.

“You still waiting for someone to show up?”

You didn’t answer right away.

“No.”

Another pause.

“…Maybe.”

He nodded once.

“If they do,” he said simply, “we’ll deal with it.”