Stay With Me
By: Minty-Fivestar

Hello and welcome to the story! This is my first foray into the Captain America fanfiction section. I've had so much fun writing this, and I hope you will all enjoy reading it.

The story takes place a few months after the events of Captain America: The Winter Soldier, and is a Bucky Barnes x OC pairing. It is an incredibly fluffy and emotional romance story, and I make no apologies for that. If this does not sound like something you will enjoy, feel free to read a different fanfic!

A fair warning in advance—I did not write this story with chapters in mind. The entire story is one long, fairly continuous piece with only a couple scene breaks throughout. As a result, for the purposes of uploading to this site, I've had to divide it into chapters that are probably 10-20 pages long each. I apologize and hope this will not deter you from reading and enjoying the story!

Rating is T due to instances of profanity, violence, and minor sensual content. I will probably bump up the rating to M for a later chapter due to sexual content (though it will be as tasteful as possible and not particularly graphic); please keep this in mind. I will place warnings at the beginning of that chapter when it is posted in case you wish to skip it.

Special thanks to JiGziK of Toyhouse, and shin_jii of Fur Affinity, for helping me with the Russian and Romanian translations included in this story.

Disclaimer: Captain America, Bucky Barnes, and all concepts of the Marvel Universe belong to Marvel, Disney, and all other rightful owners. I do, however, own this story and my original characters and concepts. Do not attempt to steal or use ideas from my stories without permission. (Note that I do not claim to own general concepts that anyone can come up with; I am merely protective of my exact renditions. Believe it or not, I have discovered very un-creative thieves who have essentially plagiarized my stories, with only a few minor differences or replacing the characters I used with their own.)

Chapter 1

Where some people hated routine, he relished it each and every day. Waking up at the same time every morning, taking the same walk to the bus stop, seeing the same bus driver, doing the same work amongst the same people, then going back home to repeat it tomorrow… Monotonous, yet soothing in its own way. He liked not having to think, not having to feel. He could stare into the distance and forget about everything as he did things out of habit, not out of an irresistible command that he could not fight.

But even taking up this new life in Philadelphia did not erase the anxiety and the memories. The past that would never leave him. Whenever anyone talked to him, his heart would pound faster, anticipating the horror in their eyes if they recognized his face. Washington, D.C., after all, was not that far away. The sound of a siren would make him go tense, fists clenching and ready for a fight. Every day, he would wonder if this would be the last peaceful moment he'd enjoy before the door was smashed in and the police would come to take him away. To condemn him for crimes he'd done and yet not done.

This, perhaps, was why he preferred not to think. There was comfort in being removed even from himself.

The routine was like clockwork, more of the same each morning. Which was why he immediately took notice when she started standing next to him, at the bus stop.

At first, he didn't pay her too much attention. Plenty of people took the bus one-off—perhaps their car needed servicing, or they had a new job interview in a different part of town, or something to that effect. He assumed this young woman was in such a situation, and felt no need to draw her notice. But after three days, when she still showed up at the bus stop five minutes after he did, he finally ventured to glance in her direction and look her over.

She was a small, gentle-looking woman; her features gave him the feeling she had a touch of Asian in her, though he couldn't place what specifically. She wore a cream blouse with a red skirt, and her dark brown hair was long and framed her face just right. He wasn't accustomed to such softness, such sweetness, and somehow looking at her only made him more intrigued. She seemed distant, and it took him a while to realize she had earbuds in, listening to an MP3 player hidden in a pocket. Her heels bounced up and down ever so slightly to the beat, and every so often he could see her lips move, as she quietly sang along.

He couldn't tell if he felt uncomfortable, or especially comfortable in her presence. There was something in her poise and subtle movements and the curve of her mouth that made him feel particularly relaxed, and he wasn't sure if he liked it or not. But as the bus pulled up, he found himself cracking a very faint, rare smile, and he allowed her to board first. Their eyes met briefly and he saw her smile back.

The two became content with this daily breath of interaction, each and every day. He didn't relish attention from others, was even paranoid about it, but with her, he was willing to risk her getting a good look at him just so he could see the light in her eyes. Something about it felt nice; perhaps it was simply because she was so different from the norm. Once, she dropped a pack of tissues out of her purse when she was fumbling for her bus pass, and he paused to retrieve it for her. She initially looked surprised when he placed it in her hands, but then she beamed.

"Thank you," she said, shyly. Her voice was as soft as she looked, and a sense of untraceable peace washed over him.

"You're welcome," he replied, and some long-suppressed memories leaped to the forefront of their own accord. He flashed a charming smile so instinctive and yet so foreign to himself that he scarcely knew what else to say, how to continue. She blushed, ever so slightly, before moving to board the bus.

In this pleasant, gradual way, she became part of his routine.

It was probably two weeks later when he noticed she wasn't there at the usual time. In her absence, he, for some reason, found himself uncomfortable. He found himself glancing up and down the street, wondering if she'd show up. When the bus pulled into view, he felt his heart sink for her, even if he told himself it shouldn't matter. Maybe she was sick. Maybe she had an appointment. Maybe—

"Wait!"

He had just stepped into the bus and was putting his bus pass away when he heard her voice. He turned to see her racing down the street, obviously in a panicked hurry. He expected the bus driver to wait a few seconds more, to allow her to get on, but instead the bus driver reached to close the door with an impassive, dour expression. The doors automatically began to swing shut, and the bus lurched as the driver took his foot off the brake, ready to leave.

Predictably, the panic in the girl's face gave way to an expression of shocked despair, realizing she would miss the bus and be late for work. Their eyes met through the window, and in her eyes he saw a desperation, a silent plea, trusting him with helping her when no one else would.

It made him flinch, and before he knew it, his left arm lunged out to stop the doors from closing.

He must have used far too much strength, for as the doors came together on his arm, they made a horrible cracking, metallic sound. The doors were instantly warped and forced off their tracks. The girl stopped short before the half-closed doors in surprise, and the bus driver gasped.

"Whoa pal, you ok?!" The driver was in a panic, terrified that someone just had been seriously injured on his watch.

The girl looked equally as worried, reaching out to try and push the doors off his arm. "Oh my God, are you hurt?"

Irritated at himself, the girl, and the driver all in the same breath, he easily jerked his arm free. The doors flopped uselessly; the mechanism to close them had been broken. "I'm fine," he muttered, pretending to rub his arm even if there was no pain to feel.

The bus driver did not press the issue, thankfully; maybe he didn't want to have to explain why he'd chosen to ignore a passenger trying to board, and in the process nearly smashed a guy's arm in the doors. The young woman, with some difficulty, squeezed through the half-open doors; the driver didn't even bother to ask for her bus pass.

He kept his head low, unwilling to look at the other passengers probably staring at him in confusion or annoyance. He didn't even notice the girl until she had already seated herself next to him.

The two didn't speak. He kept his head down towards the floor, studying the un-scuffed black leather of her thigh-high boots, and comparing them to his own worn work boots. She looked nice, dressed neatly, and was cute and tidy in every way. He felt out of place next to her, scruffy and second-hand and used as he was.

"Thank you," she finally murmured. He let his gaze wander up to see her face, and her brown eyes looked shy. "Are you… sure you're not hurt?"

"No, I'm fine." He looked away, hoping she would not press further and he wouldn't have to explain himself.

"I believe you."

He looked at her again, a little surprised. But something in her voice made him relax, and he finally lifted his head. Her long hair was in two pigtails that draped over her shoulders, and something in the back of his mind made him wish he could say something. How cute she looked today, how he hoped her morning wasn't going too terribly, anything like that. But he was too cautious, too wary of inviting her any closer, so he remained silent.

"I forgot to set my alarm for this morning," she explained, sounding embarrassed. He watched her rearrange her purse, the belongings apparently out of place and messy. He could only imagine she had been in a rush to get out the door so she wouldn't miss the bus. "I'm usually pretty good about it, but…"

"It happens," he replied, though in truth it didn't happen to him. He woke up at 5 a.m. every single day, regardless of how he felt or what he wanted. The schedule had been beaten into him so sharply that now he couldn't get rid of the impulse if he tried. It didn't matter what time zone he was in, either—once he adjusted and knew what time it was, his mind would never let him wake up at any other time.

"It was nice of you to… um… stop the bus for me," the girl added, politely ignoring the fact that he'd somehow damaged the bus to do so. "I really appreciate it. By the way, my name is Solace."

Solace. It was somehow apt for the way she made him feel when she spoke. He blinked slowly, glancing at the friendly hand she offered to him, before gently accepting it in his own. Her hand was small and soft in his large, rough one.

"What's your name?" she prompted, when he didn't reply immediately.

His mind blanked; for a moment, all he had on his lips were numbers. 32557038.

He knew his name—at least, now he did—but it was as foreign to him as anything else, and that would just have to do. He hesitated, just for a moment, before forcing a smile.

"James," he replied, weakly. "Nice to meet you."

Relatively short chapter… but that's the only chapter that's like that. They get longer after this. :)

Please review and let me know what you think so far! I will be posting updates regularly, so please stay tuned for the next part! (It shouldn't be too long a wait, since this chapter was somewhat short.) Thank you!