Yikes... how many months has it been? Really, terribly sorry for the disappearance guys. I got stuck, and it was hard for me to find a way to continue. Believe me when I say that the recent messages and reviews you guys posted really cheered me up and motivated me to go on. Thank you so much to all of you for waiting and checking for updates even though I've been irresponsible lol. I absolutely promise that I'll finish this fic before Civil War :P (also, thank you to BubbleBakerPenguinPie for the translation fix on the last chapter)

The steady tap of his metal fingers becomes more incessant as time goes on. I ignore his growing impatience, watching a trio of screaming children race by our table as they play with their newly acquired happy meal toys.

I guess I'm running too—running from the inevitable conversation he's waiting for me to start.

I know we should discuss what happened, but I can't bring myself to broach the topic. Instead, I continue to make meaningless small talk as I finish my meal, the tap, tap, tapping of his fingertips drumming a steady rhythm into the back of my brain.

And then it stops.

I glance at him, finding his piercing blue gaze focused wearily on me.

"Elise…" He sighs, leaning forward as he lowers his voice, "You don't have to force yourself to act normal."

"I'm not." I force an uncomfortably fake laugh.

"Really?" He shoots a pointed look at me, the word coming out more like a sarcastic retort than a question.

"Really. I'm fine." I manage a feeble smile, though there's clearly no convincing him.

"Or you're afraid," His blue eyes search my face, "You don't want to go home, because you're afraid that Rumlow is alive."

I drop my gaze, realizing how futile it is to argue against the truth. Denying it doesn't make it any less real. Doesn't make him any less real.

"It was stupid for me to ignore the possibility that Rumlow could have survived. Considering how often I thought of him after the… incident… it should have crossed my mind. I just never imagined he'd go through Riley to get to me." I frown.

Can't beat myself up for being naïve, though. Riley may have been acting differently than the last time I saw him, but different doesn't necessarily mean in-league-with-a-rogue-hydra-henchman.

"It's not your fault." He murmurs, "You're not used to these people and their ways."

I watch his gaze flicker across the faces in other booths… strangers nonchalantly enjoying their evenings. Blissfully ignorant people who don't have the slightest knowledge of mercenaries, manipulation and military organizations.

"You should have let me deal with him. I could have made him tell me everything he knows." There's a cold, assured tone in his voice, and I don't doubt him at all.

"I'm not sure he knows anything more than what he told us. And anyway, if you attacked him… even if you just hurt him, you'd be on the run." I shake my head.

"I've been on the run for 50 years. I doubt anyone can catch me now—"

"I don't want you to leave." The words are out of my mouth before I realize what I'm saying.

Great job, Elise. How much more clingy can I possibly sound?

Surprise flashes briefly through his eyes, and his expression softens, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

He runs a hand through his neatly combed hair and returns it to its regular, looser state.

That's when I notice the flash of red on his shirt cuff. It wasn't there earlier this evening when we were getting ready to go out. He catches the subject of my gaze, rolling his jacket sleeve up slightly to reveal a blood stain.

"There were a couple hired thugs in the bathroom. I took care of them."

I guess that explains why he told me we had to leave.

"Sorry, Bucky. I should have trusted your instincts on Riley." I gaze ruefully at the table top between us, "It could have gone worse if that situation was an ambush."

"I'm the one who should apologize. I may have been right about the guy in the end, but I had my own reasons for wanting to investigate him too, and I wasn't entirely truthful about that." He's frowning, and there's hesitation in his voice, like he wants to say something more.

I wait.

He stands suddenly, startling me. But he's just picking up the tray with its scrunched up wrappers and empty cups, intending to dispose of them in the nearest trash bin.

A part of me still tugs desperately at the option of staying out for a little longer, but I know I can't avoid the inevitable all night.

I'm standing by the time he returns to the table.

"Let's go home."

The drive back is silent, and that does nothing to stem the rising anticipation that something is about to happen. To make matters worse, the roads are strangely peaceful for a Friday evening. I can't help second-guessing every vehicle, wondering if we're being followed by every car to cross our path.

Bucky was right; it doesn't take a genius to see how nervous I am about returning to the house. I look to him for some kind of reassurance, but his gaze is focussed on the city beyond his window, and he remains like that for the rest of the drive home.

He quickly snaps out of that state when I pull into the driveway; his seatbelt is already unbuckled, one hand on the door handle before the car has even stopped moving.

I watch him scope the area around the house, telling myself my fears are irrational. Rumlow—if it's truly even him—wouldn't arrange a third party meeting only to immediately force a direct confrontation here.

But I can't even say with confidence what he would do; I know so little about how his brain works.

Bucky unlocks the door and steps aside expectantly, wordlessly watching me enter the house, lingering protectively close for my reassurance. It helps to quell the discomfort that accompanies the darkness I step into, but not by much.

The act of driving kept my mind from processing what happened at dinner, but now the pieces are beginning to fall together as I realize what all of this means. While Rumlow is alive and out there, I don't get to live a normal life. No, I made the mistake of dating a hydra menace.

I hear the door close and the lock turn. Bucky switches the lights on, and I look over to see him drop his keys on the table beside the door.

"You're not going out?" My voice, barely louder than a whisper, still seems too much for the small space.

"I think you need me more right now than I need to be out there." He shoves his hands into his pockets, regarding me with a sober expression.

I'm grateful, but he gives me no chance to express it. He quickly moves past me, heading to the basement before making his way upstairs to—I assume—check the remaining rooms in the house for the presence of any intruders.

I slip my heels off, trying—and failing—to distract myself from the unpleasant events of the evening.

Easier said than done, that's for sure.

As I pour myself a glass of water, my eyes settle on the loaded handguns sitting untouched on the counter of the breakfast bar. Just as we left them.

I lose myself for a moment, remembering the sensation of having a finger on the trigger. Taking the shot. Could I do it, if Rumlow was going to kill me?

… No, I probably couldn't.

I've already taken one life, and one life is too many for any person.

Bucky's footsteps are so quiet that I barely notice him until he appears at the bottom of the staircase. His expression is reassuringly neutral, and I feel some of my stress dissipate.

"No one's been here." He takes off his jacket, dropping it flippantly on the couch as he crosses the floor to stand across from me at the bar.

I take in the sight of his slightly dishevelled hair and unbuttoned collar, temporarily distracted by how handsome he looks even in this state. He angles his head slightly, questioning my silence.

"What did you tell Riley when he asked what you were writing?" I smile.

"Something along the lines of mind your own damn business." A smirk plays on his lips, and he looks assuredly satisfied with himself.

"Well… lucky he doesn't speak German then." I joke.

"I almost wish he did." He replies, and there's an undertone in his voice that I can't place. It reminds me of his comments at McDonalds, when he confessed that he had personal motives for disliking Riley.

"When you…. That is, when you were talking about why you didn't like him, and not being truthful… what did you mean?"

"I was jealous." He runs a hand through his hair, "I denied it, but I was."

"Jealous? Of what?" I gape at him in slight disbelief. Half the psych department pines for this man, but he's threatened by Riley?

He's frustrated by my question, like I'm too stupid to see the obvious.

"He's like you. Intelligent. A scientist. And I thought you were going to say yes when he asked you to go to England with him." He rounds the counter until we're just a foot apart.

I brush off his concern with a half-snort. Really, how dense can he be? How many times have I implicated to him that he's the only one I care about? Here I thought I was being clingy, but he still thinks there are other people I'd rather be with.

"I wouldn't. I told you I'm not interested." I protest.

"I know that now." He replies, his eyes fixated on me.

"... Anyway, he has no honour and works with Rumlow." I shift under his gaze.

Mentioning his name leaves an uncomfortable silence between us, and it makes me lament bringing it up. Still, what's done is done.

"Do you think it's true that he's here?" I frown.

"I wish you wouldn't worry about him so much." Bucky steps forward, lifting a hand to gingerly cup my cheek. The gesture catches me off-guard, leaving me unable to respond.

"I'm here, and I'll protect you." He murmurs, his eyes locked on mine, "That's all that matters."

He's so close that I feel the tension mounting between us like a static charge, the expectation of a spark imminent. So close I can see his individual lashes, and the subtle movements in his facial muscles as he contemplates the silence.

So close that if he doesn't break away soon, something is bound to change between us.

I know he senses it, but he makes no move to pull back. Instead, he comes nearer still, closing the final distance with little hesitation.

"Can I kiss you?" His breath caresses my skin, and it's enough to send a jolt of electricity coursing through my body. There's no going back now.

I nod, too breathless to respond. His lips press against mine, and they're warm, soft. Welcoming. Slowly, gently, he pulls me closer, pressing me to him as he deepens the kiss like this is all he's wanted to do since the day he met me. It's not fire and passion. It's affection and longing, like savouring the warmth of the sun on a frigid winter day.

If this is his first kiss in a long time, I sure can't tell. He moves with natural instinct as his lips capture mine, his breathing steady and unchanged. It feels like I'm the only one with butterflies in my stomach and a heartbeat approaching Mach 1.

For an instant I forget the cup of water I'm holding, and I register the feeling of it slipping out of my hand too late. I break away just as it shatters into pieces on the cold floor, leaving a mess of broken glass and water all over the tiles.

"Oh god… I'm so sorry, I completely forgot I had it—" I move to pick up the pieces but he blocks me with an upheld hand.

"I'll clean it up." He shakes his head, "You should get some sleep."

"Are you sure?" My brows rise in concern. He nods, a rare smile on his lips.

No, no, no… this is all wrong. What if he thinks I did this to get out of that kiss? What if he thinks I changed my mind?

I hesitate as I bid him goodnight.

"You don't ever have to ask me, by the way." I lean forward, planting a kiss on his cheek.

"I'll keep that in mind." He chuckles softly as I walk away.

"Oh, and Elise?"

I glance back from the bottom of the stairs.

"You looked beautiful tonight."