A Birdie Lost in Time | Bucky Barnes

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An aggressive tremor wracked Marlow's body and she registered how badly she was shivering. She was on the forest floor, the bitter cold easily blowing through her t-shirt and sweatpants.

When did I end up on the ground?

She couldn't remember. But Bucky's words from yesterday about wearing a jacket echoed through her mind...

Was it really yesterday?

Yesterday morning that she'd woken up from a nightmare, only to drop into hysterics about remembering what she'd done.

It took everything in her not to scoff. Bucky was wrong; she envied her past self. The one who a week ago, moved through the world blindly, unbothered by emotions or pain. Like the pain in her fists from the frosted ground.

It seemed as if now that she mentally acknowledged the cold, it physically got worse, meaning her skin burned and her teeth clattered uncontrollably.

At one point, she wouldn't have cared, or even noticed, but now she did. So, more in what she thought was survival instinct than seeking comfort, she sat back on her calves, taking a long breath before standing and looking around. Through the trees she could see the pop-up, but she wished she didn't have to go back.

Really, she didn't have to. No one could stop her if she turned the other way and walked.

And God, she wanted to; to just walk away from it all... But she couldn't. She wouldn't just disappear—not after what everyone had just been through. Not when they were doing so much for her.

She was being selfish wishing she could walk into the forest and never come back.

So, she started making her way back to the building, every step like a punishment as her feet pressed painfully into the sticks, rocks, and pine needles that littered the ground.

When she pushed the door open, she noticed her fingers were pale and stiff, but it wasn't the cold that froze her mid-step.

Steve was a few feet away, leaning against the wall with a blanket in his arms as he watched her with a pained expression. She dropped his gaze, waiting for him to scold her, or ask her if she was alright, or say something, but he didn't.

Even as he approached, he stayed silent. And when he was in front of her, she focused on the zipper of his sweater, unable to look him in the eye as he draped the blanket over her shoulders and let his hands come to rest atop them. And when he still hadn't said anything, she expected him to step away, but a moment later he pulled her into his chest gently, wrapping his arms around her in such a familiar way.

But it felt unfamiliar. She let out a puff of air, wrapping her own arms around his torso and trying to ignore how frail he felt against her. He was definitely unnaturally strong and sturdy for a hundred year old, but his age still showed.

He wasn't the Steve she knew. And she wasn't the Marlow he knew.

The last time she'd hugged him, she was begging him not to follow through with whatever plan he had. She never thought it would be... him leaving.

She tried not to be angry at him, or resentful for his choice; it was his life and if he was happy, then so was she... But she wanted to be there. She wanted to grow old with him by her side. Another selfish thought, yet she thought it anyways. She needed him.

She squeezed him harder, scared about losing so much time with him, and now being hit with the finiteness of time that they had left.

"It's going to be okay," he mumbled into her hair.