It had started with a phone call.

Sam, voice strained and hushed, had asked you for a place to hide. You'd said yes without hesitation.

And when Bucky Barnes stumbled in behind him, eyes stormy with guilt and fire, you hadn’t looked away. Not once.

Back then, he was still fighting the ghost of the Winter Soldier. Still flinching at his own reflection. Still dreaming in Russian commands and blood.

You saw something in his eyes though - something fractured and human, desperate to be more. It pulled you in.

And there was no escaping it. Not that you would’ve wanted to.

You fell for him in silence. And he loved you back, in the way wounded men love - with hands too gentle and words too afraid. He told you he wasn’t made for relationships. That he didn’t deserve you.

But he never let you go. Not completely.

He stayed by your side, battle after battle, bleeding and laughing and breaking all over again. You stayed too.

No matter how many times he pushed, how many times he whispered, “You deserve more than this, than me,” you stayed. Because love, in its cruelest and purest form, anchored you to him.

Until it got too twisted.

Because love doesn’t keep you whole when you’re watching the person you love burn themselves out from the inside. Doesn’t fix the dread of waiting to hear he’s been arrested - or worse.

You begged him once, after a mission that nearly took both your lives.

“Please, Bucky. Stop picking fights you can’t win. Stop giving them reasons to keep you on a leash. Just... just breathe. Be a person again.”

He held your hand that night. Kissed your hair. Whispered that he would try.

It lasted all of three weeks.

Then came the mission. It went sideways. Bombs triggered too early, trap discovered too late.

You woke up in a hospital bed, still aching, only to be told Bucky had gone rogue - again.

Banned from working with Sam. Dragged into some top-secret trial. Likely facing prison.

You didn’t show up.

For the first time, you weren't there for him. Not to hold his hand. Not to argue. Not to save him. You were done saving a man who didn’t want to be saved.

He wasn’t sentenced. Got a very clear warning instead. One more, and you’re gone.

And he didn’t even tell you why. Didn’t tell you what he’d done. What had mattered more than the damn mission.

You packed your things that night. Left your key on the table. Left him.

He didn’t try to stop you. He never did. This time wasn't an exception.

Almost six months later, you ran into Sam again. Captain America now. Stronger. Steadier.

A few beers in, he looked at you with something between guilt and amusement. “You know why he got in trouble, don’t you?”

You shrugged. “Because he’s Bucky Barnes. Chaos is his love language.”

Sam gave a bitter laugh. “No. He got in trouble because he chose to save you. The mission changed mid-op. He was ordered to leave you and secure some high-value politicians instead.”

You froze.

“He didn’t. Said, or more like growled - and I quote - ‘If you think I’m leaving her, you’re outta your damn mind.’ So he fought through half a dozen mercs, dragged your bleeding ass out of there, and left the rest to burn. Pissed off a lot of suits.”

You heart twisted.

He hadn’t told you. He let you think he’d chosen rebellion. Let you leave without a single word.

“Why wouldn’t he tell me?” You asked, voice shaking.

Sam looked down into his drink, then at you. “Because he knew if you found out, you’d come back. And this time... he wanted you to be completely free.”