A Birdie Lost in Time | Bucky Barnes

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Bucky was this close to crushing the handle of the building's door as he tried to get inside. The cold made the lock stick—or something—and he didn't have the patience to deal with it today. He wanted to be home. Somewhere that didn't make him want to tear the skin off his flesh.

Finally, the bolt caught and he yanked the door open, albeit a little harder than he'd intended because it hit the brick of the alcove, likely leaving a dent—but he didn't offer it a second look as he stormed in.

It seemed everything this afternoon was intending to frustrate him because he'd already pressed the call button for the elevator when he read the yellow paper taped to its doors.

'Out of order until further notice.'

It was only the ringing of Raynor's condescending voice that stopped him from tearing into the weak metal separating him and his apartment.

And although her words were enough to frustrate him, it wasn't her that had him in such a fury. It was the government reps that came into his meeting to explain a new pending condition of his release; conscription for duty as needed for National security.

In other words, he could be—would be—drafted into which ever fight the government wanted him in. Whether he liked it or not.

"Think of it as community service."

He almost broke Raynor's desk at that one.

She was extremely clear that first; a surprise therapy visit was not the time to announce that someone was being called for involuntary duty, and second, that in no way was he in the headspace for combat or even the news of potential combat.

And while those two facts were fine and dandy, he didn't care much about them—he didn't want to be thrust into another war. Not like he had before.

As his footsteps echoed through the hall and up the stairs, he only felt his anger grow.

He thought, maybe naively, that he could have been forgotten as long as he stayed with his shrink... But because of the things that happened to him, the things that Hydra made him do—the things that haunted his fucking dreams—his choice was being taken away again.

It was happening again. More dirty work for the man on top that he would never have to feel consequences for.

Fuck.

He reached the sixth floor and stomped towards the door, noticing the faint notes of music playing through the walls.

Don't scare her.

Just make it to your room and don't scare her.

He lingered in front of the door, pressing his forehead to the cool metal and taking a moment to breathe, to push some of that boiling energy as far away as possible before sliding the key into the lock carefully.

The conscious effort he had to make to tread lightly and shut—not slam—the door was commendable in his opinion, and as he rounded the corner to the kitchen, he felt his mood shift ever so slightly at the sight of Marlow baking something.

Or maybe it was the peppy music she was singing along to.

Her hips shook from side to side as she began to back up blindly, but instead of moving like his brain was telling him he should, he stayed in her path, wanting to see that blush creep onto her cheeks when she realized he was there.

That might actually make him feel a little better.

He didn't have long to wait, because a moment later she bumped into him, but rather than letting out a gasp of surprise, she spun, her left hand pressing into his shoulder before she jumped, flipping around him at a shocking speed that although he tried to counter by catching her, she evaded and used the momentum to flip him to the ground.