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The first thing Marlow noticed when she opened her eyes was the weight in her hand. The second thing was the slow rise of Bucky's chest.

She looked up to find him still leaned against the pillows, his eyes focused on his phone, which he looked to be reading. He must have felt her gaze because he turned, sending her a small smile.

"Sleep alright?"

Oh, she thought, I slept.

"Yah," she breathed in confused surprise, "what time is it?"

"Still early, only eight. You can sleep longer if you need to."

She nodded, burrowing her face back into the pillow. "That's good, because I'm still tired."

He let out a quiet chuckle and she closed her eyes, almost falling asleep when a thought popped into her head.

"You're probably tired," she breathed, pulling her head back up. "You should sleep."

"I'll be alright, you go back to sleep. I want to be awake in case you have a nightmare."

"No, Bucky," she shook her head, pushing up to her elbows. "I'll be fine, but you've been up all night."

"Promise, I'm—"

"Bucky."

"Marlow."

"Sleep some."

He turned forward, his gloved left hand raising to rub the scruff of his jaw. "Alright. Alright, I'll sleep a little."

She nodded once, letting her head fall back to the pillow. "Why are you wearing a glove?"

"The phone doesn't work with the metal... And..." he trained off, looking down to their hands.

"Oh... sorry," she apologised, although she didn't let go.

"It's alright. Lucky I had my gloves in my pocket though or else it woulda been a boring few hours."

"Thank you," she whispered, eyelids batting heavily as she watched Bucky shift to lay down.

She heard him say something along the lines of 'you're welcome', but she was already drifting, too far gone to make any response past a pitiful nod.



Bucky was surprised when he woke up, not to a racing heart, but to the sound of his phone ringing in the other room.

It was the flip phone he'd gotten for... well for the calls and texts he didn't really want to answer. And because he didn't want the government somehow getting into his phone to see his conversations.

If that was even a sound worry.

He still wasn't versed in how easily they could get into his technology, but he'd rather them snoop through the burner than his personal phone, so he gave the government the number for the flip phone, leaving the smartphone for his friends.

Or really, for Steve, Marlow, and Sam. Although Sam had a tendency to mix up the numbers and contact him through both.

The ringtone eventually stopped and he contemplated getting up. It felt good—sleeping, that is—and honestly, he would have been happy to sleep longer, but instead he pulled his phone from the side table, blinking to clear his eyes to check the time.

Shit.

That call was from the shrink.

Shit.

A Birdie Lost in Time | Bucky BarnesWhere stories live. Discover now