Leave Me Behind [Winter Soldier] III

Scars [Chapter 16]

 "Scars have the strange power to remind us that our past is real."

Cormac McCarthy

Bucky held onto Ophelia through the night. Her warm, naked body was wrapped around him, legs tangled in his, head rested on his chest. His arm was snaked around her back, hand draped over her hip. A sheet covered the lower half of their bodies; Bucky could see the scars on Ophelia's stomach clear in the moonlight that came through the open windows.

He reached his free hand over and traced the lines, one the sinuous tentacles of the HYDRA mark. There was a time when Ophelia would have shrunk away from his touch of this scar, this scar that defined her for so long. He remembered in Germany when she accepted Bucky's choice of shirt that revealed the scar. When she came to terms with it, that it was a symbol of strength, not a symbol of being a prisoner.

"Real," he whispered to himself. When Thanos was in his head, did Ophelia have these scars? He couldn't remember.

Bucky brushed her hair behind her ear so he could study her face. Her round, button nose, her eyes flickering underneath her eyelids; she was dreaming. He wondered what she was dreaming about, and recalled all the times she woke screaming, terrified of her past. But now she appeared so peaceful, as though eight years gone from everything except memory, had erased all those thoughts, all those fears. Bucky wondered if their time in Romania together helped her overcome those nightmares and knew that it did.

Bucky traced her thumb over her lips and smiled. "Real."

Since her return to the living, just a fortnight had passed. Bucky knew that he was accepting that she was really there more and more each day, for the bliss they shared only a few hours before was the first time since Romania. At first, things between them had such a strange dynamic, it hadn't even crossed Bucky's mind. When Ophelia took control, showing that she was real in such a gratifying and powerful way, Bucky recalled just one of the reasons why he loved her so much.

Though it seemed like many lifetimes ago now, the Bucky that had grown up in Brooklyn was different. With Ophelia, the physical was just something like an added bonus, for he would give it up if it meant he could just be with her. Just live with her.

"Real," he whispered once more to himself as he rolled onto his back, slowly so that he didn't wake O. He still didn't sleep, how could he when she was there? 

There was a time when sleeping was the only time that he got a chance to see her. How she used to peel him apart, pull out his heart, reminding him that even in death she still had claim to that part of him. Now that she was back, he couldn't imagine sleeping. Ophelia would soon learn how Bucky felt, back when they lived together in Romania. How she wouldn't sleep when he was at work, because she wanted to wait until he returned before she felt safe enough to do so. 

The dark circles that were permanent makeup under her eyes were now his to wear.

He closed his eyes, focused on her breathing.

"Real."

When Bucky woke, Ophelia was standing by the window, the curtains fluttering in the gentle breeze. She wore the sheet around her body like a gown, draped behind her. Her petite but curvy frame was accented by the wrinkles in the sheet. Her olive skin looked perfect in the sunshine that came in, contrasting nicely to the rest of the world around her.

"Mm, good morning," Bucky said, stretching his arms over his head. He noticed a blanket was on him, and knew Ophelia put it there when she stole the bedsheet to wear.

"It is, isn't it?" she asked rhetorically, glancing over her shoulder at him. The looks she could give him without even thinking about it, could make his heart stop. 

This woman could be the death of him and he would be happy about it.

Bucky threw his legs over the side of the bed, reaching for his trousers. Stepping into them, Bucky walked over towards Ophelia and wrapped his arms around her. His head rested upon her shoulder and he kissed her cheek.

"Any morning with you is a good one," he told her.

"Hmm," she breathed out in agreement. "Let's go home."

After parting with M'Baku, who said they were both welcome anytime, and showed a fondness of Ophelia, O and Bucky made their journey back home. The children had been running around them, grabbing at their hands and tugging at their clothing to get them to look at this and that. M'Baku and Cebisa raised their voices no more than once and it made the children freeze where they stood. Ophelia found it so strange, yet beautiful, to see parents, together, raising children firsthand.

The snow was heavy at the top of the mountain as they descended from the Jabari Tribe. Ophelia placed her hand on a slender tree, recalling a time where she ran through the Siberian mountains from the very man who was now walking beside her. If someone told her back then that she would fall in love with that man and actually have a shot at living a life with him, she wouldn't have understood how that chance would have ever happened. She never had anything good before Bucky, but now, she had everything she could ever ask for.

Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Bucky walking with his eyes ahead, sort of lost. Smiling, Ophelia crouched down quietly and grabbed a handful of the snow. It was cold and crisp, but she was warm from the hike and she had suffered much colder. Packing into a loose ball, Ophelia lobbed it towards Bucky. It hit his shoulder and he flinched, raising his arm to stop whatever else might follow. That's when he clued in and saw Ophelia looking mischievous, big grin plastered on her lips.

"Oh, you did not..." Bucky started, feeling like himself again. Just like that, he was with her, he was there in the present. Kneeling down, he scooped up some snow.

Ophelia smiled so wide that her teeth showed, her stance changing from playful to predatorial. She was ready, and when Bucky rose to a stand he carefully aimed and calculated her movements. Then, he threw the snowball with force. Ophelia ducked, and the ball smacked her shoulder.

"Were you aiming for my head!?" she shouted at him, her Russian accent thicker when she raised her voice.

"Of course not," Bucky replied with a grin. He spread his arms, in a pose ready to tackle Ophelia. She saw his game, crouching down and scooping up more snow. The cold burned her fingertips, reminding her she was alive. Alive because of Steve. Running towards, Bucky, snow in hand, she attempted to get him, but he grabbed her and swung her around before she could land the attack. His footing slipped and they fell onto the snow, Bucky groaning under Ophelia's weight.

"Starting to sound like an old man now there, Bucky," she said, flipping over and straddling his hips.

"Hey," he warned, both against her accusation and the menacing snow clump in her hand.

She contemplated it, then tossed the snow aside and pressed her brisk lips to his quickly.

"Real," she whispered to him.