No copyright infringement intended.

Yay another self insert!

-1-

To preface this, Tilda would like it to be known that she just wanted to go visit her best friend. She didn't have any ambitions to stir up trouble. She was just an innocent bystander.

She had been standing in line, waiting for her turn at the check-in counter, holding her bag and passport ready. (Sue her, she liked to be prepared.)

And then there had been shouting, gun shots, screaming, followed by people running into the opposite direction.

Tilda had not had time to react before someone was pushed into her back.

Automatically, she reached out to steady them, just wanting to help.

She blinked, and suddenly they were no longer standing in an airport. Actually, they were no longer standing at all.

Instead she found herself in a dark room, feeling something moving under her. Something that was alive.

"Hey, you okay?" Tilda whispered, hoping the situation hadn't gone from bad to worse.

"Who are you?" Whoever was lying under her asked, voice hoarse from sleeping. Presumably.

She scrambled off of him, wondering what the hell was going on.

Then the light was turned on.

Tilda blinked.

On the bed, with the sheets pooling around his hips, sat a muscular dude with brown hair and blue eyes. Who looked just as confused as she probably did.

And in the corner, semi-hidden in the shadows, stood what looked like his older brother.

Tilda tore her eyes off of the guy back to the other one, only to repeat the process a few times. Where had she seen the older one before?

"This is very weird," she said, standing awkwardly in the middle of the room.

Younger dude's bedroom, by the looks of things.

What even was her life?

There could only be one explanation.

She pointed in the direction of older dude. "You! Don't you dare sneak out of that window! What the hell is going on? I was just about to leave on a well-earned vacation and you bumping into me has me assaulting unsuspecting people in their sleep. So, spill! What the hell was that for?"

The man was halfway out of the window, but thought better of it. For the moment.

Younger dude stared at his bearded double.

"Who the hell are you people?"

"You can call me Tilda, everyone does," Tilda said, still blushing. "Sorry for, um -"

The blue eyes softened somewhat, good humor twinkling back at her. "Assaulting me in my sleep?"

Older dude stepped in before anything more could be said.

"What's the date?"

If younger dude's voice sounded hoarse, this one's was positively raspy.

"January ten, 1939," the one in the bed replied, staring at his big brother.

There was no facial expression anywhere to be seen on the man's face.

Tilda had enough expression for both of them, however. "Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Are you sure?"

Younger dude frowned, but nodded.

"Well. Fuck me. Fuck my life."

Tilda turned to older guy. "You couldn't have chosen anywhere else?"

"Look, I didn't have a choice in this either."

Bed dude interrupted: "What are you talkin' about?"

"There was some commotion-"

"An attack."

"-and Shiny over there bumped into me -"

"Sorry."

It was grunted. Like Bearded was some sort of caveman.

"-acknowledged, acceptance pending - anyway, and then there was something I couldn't see and we ended up in your bedroom. Sorry for the disturbance?"

Younger dude blinked, opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again.

"Sorry, but did you say fuck?"

For a long moment, Tilda stared at him. "That's the only thing throwing you off right now?" She shot back, not exactly filtering her own words.

"He's never heard a lady curse before," Shiny told her. Possibly the man was trying to be sarcastic by pointing out the obvious.

"Sorry, but I do have a bit of a potty mouth." Tilda shrugged. "If that is enough to get your panties in a twist, I think you have bigger problems."

There was a moment of silence.

Both of the dudes stared at her as if they'd never seen anyone quite like her before.

Probably hadn't, either.

"I think we should sit down and talk," guy on the bed decided. "In the kitchen."

Bearded dude moved to the door, then held it open for her.

"Oh, now you're discovering you're a gentleman?" Tilda muttered, sorely tempted to curse some more.

His eyes did - something, and his lips twitched a bit.

"After you, m'lady," he said in a perfectly posh British accent.

Rolling her eyes, Tilda went first.

The apartment was small, so the kitchen wasn't hard to miss.

She had no idea how to use the positively ancient stove though, which meant they were relegated to wait for their host.

"What's taking him so long?" Tilda asked, tapping a rhythm on the wooden tabletop.

Big brother dude tilted his head. "Getting dressed."

Oh. Oh.

"Oops?"

For the first time in their rather short acquaintance, the man with the metal arm smiled.

The equivalent of a belly laugh, probably.

"Oh, hush you," Tilda muttered, trying to subdue her glowing cheeks.

Before Shiny could reply, their unwitting host appeared.

He didn't say anything, but rather started to make what soon smelled like coffee.

"Okay. Let's begin by introducing ourselves," Tilda suggested, wondering how long she would otherwise have to label them older/younger dude.

Coffee loving nudist dude nodded. "I'm James Barnes, but people call me Bucky."

Tilda blinked. "How did they get Bucky out of James?"

"My middle name," he replied, adding more sugar to his coffee.

She shrugged.

Shiny stared at her in what could only be mild disbelief. "You don't know who I am?"

Tilda tilted her head, to examine him a bit closer.

It wasn't easy, in the semi-dark kitchen. They hadn't turned on any lights. Out of deference for anyone who might still be sleeping.

"No? I mean, you seem familiar, but I can't tell where from."

He rubbed a hand over his face.

"You do not exactly follow the news closely, do you?" He muttered.

Tilda rolled her eyes. "I have a very demanding job."

"A couple weeks, or days, ago, Vienna? Berlin? Leipzig?"

Oh. Oh.

This was awkward.

"You're the Winter Soldier?" She blurted out, before she could stop herself.

Bucky stared between the two of them, sipping his coffee. Potentially waiting for an explanation.

Nobody said anything for a while.

Tilda was just trying to digest the fact that she was sitting at a table with an assassin/terrorist and his relative or potential younger self, not drinking coffee.

"What the hell happened in Vienna?" The babyfaced version asked, setting down his own cup.

"Not relevant right now," Tilda decided, wondering since when she was making friends with infamous assassins.

Apparently since now.

Because she was stuck with him in the past, for the for-fucking-seeable future. If not longer.

Shiny, the elder version, rasped out: "That wasn't me, but yes."

Another bout of awkward silence.

Tilda rubbed her arm, shifting a bit in her seat. By this time, she had really wanted to be in Sweden, hugging her best friend, and giggling about ridiculous fanfiction ideas.

Instead she seemed to have been sucked into a real life fic, complete with time travel AU.

(This incident proved that there was such a thing as too much time travel, E.)

Bucky, the younger dude, cleared his throat. "So, who is the Winter Soldier? Never heard of'm."

Tilda examined him closely. "You're not related by any chance, are you?"

There was a sigh from the corner.

"Not that I know of," Bucky replied, taking in his counterpart. "That arm is awfully nice though."

As expected, Shiny didn't say anything to that.

From what she remembered, he had gotten it in his alleged captivity, sometime shortly before or after the end of World War Two.

Which. Thank all the deities and stars and moon for dumping them on Bucky, instead of 1939 Berlin.

That would not have ended well.

"Well, my full name is Freya Mathilda Gott, but only my parents insist on that. Shiny, what's yours?"

He stared at her for a long moment.

"James Buchanan Barnes."

With every word, Bucky paled a bit more.

"How is this possible? Who are you really?" He blurted out, almost pushing over his coffee mug.

Older James sighed.

For some reason, Tilda got the feeling he'd do so often.

"You are me," he said to Younger James.

"What happened to us?"

Older James didn't reply.

Somewhere outside, the sound of people moving, beginning their day, filled the thick silence.

In movies, it would have been replaced by comically added crickets chirping.

Tilda ran a hand over her face, biting her lip. Should she say something? Do something?

Neither of the other two moved.

It was as if they held their breaths, staring at each other.

Bucky seemed to want to find something to disprove James' words. And the older dude seemed to want to catalogue all the differences in them.

Eventually, Tilda frowned, having had enough. "I read something about serving in the war, going MIA, and then surfacing seventy years later."

Younger James abandoned his coffee cup on the table.

Older James didn't contradict any of that.

Wow. Talk about awkward revelations late at night. Early in the morning?

"Alright. What are you gonna do now?" Bucky asked, also frowning. "I won't mind putting you up for a bit, my parents and sisters are visiting family in Ohio at the moment."

James and Tilda exchanged a look.

"Well," she rubbed her forehead, "I guess no one will buy that we're all related? Cousins?"

Bucky shook his head no before she even finished.

God. Time travel and now this?

What did she write for her characters to do in these situations?

Considering their circumstances - arriving in 1939, at the height of the Great Depression, with only the clothes on their back and her small bag, no valid paperwork, no job prospects - well...

Why not add a Fake/Pretend Relationship to the mix?

It usually worked out for her characters. Couldn't hurt to try it for herself. (Completely ignoring the fact that her characters developed in unexpected directions...)

"Alright then," Tilda turned back to watch James. "How do you feel about fake marrying me?"

James stared at her, completely deadpan.

Bucky's eyes went wide. "Wait, didn't you - aren't you strangers?"

Tilda shrugged. "So? It's not like people will let me stay with you unless I'm part of the family. Seeing as I won't be accepted as a cousin, this is my only option. Pretty sure Shiny could vanish and never be found again, but I've never -"

James pushed her cup closer. "Married."

On the other side of the table, Bucky blinked, opened his mouth, but closed it again.

"How did we meet? School? That's a bit cliché though, isn't it? Then again, people love a good high school romance..." Tilda frowned at no particular point on the wall, trying to figure out their backstory. Couldn't be harder than writing fanfiction, right?

James shrugged, apparently not comfortable sharing his opinion.

"Then again, I have a bit of an accent, don't I? So, should I be from Iowa? Or Canada?"

The two others exchanged a quick look.

"Iowa is fine," Bucky decided slowly. "Why Iowa?"

Tilda rolled her shoulders. "Lived there for a year."

Both of them blinked simultaneously - which? Creepy as fuck.

"Why in the world would you move to Iowa of all places?" Bucky asked, eyes wide.

"Exchange student. Went to high school there, as a sophomore."

Bucky stared at her.

"Okay, so. Iowa. I'm from a tiny village with like two hundred inhabitants no one has heard of and James is from the next bigger one. Lost his arm in a farming accident. You have to hide the metal, Shiny, or we'll be spotted easier than an elephant in a china shop."

In the background, Bucky muttered: "That's not how that saying goes."

James glared at him.

He shut up.

"Hey, Jay, can you get us forged paperwork? High school diplomas?"

James considered her for a long moment. Then he nodded.

"Will you do so? And would you be able to sneak them into the appropriate offices? I doubt it's entirely necessary, but just in case. Knowing that there will be a draft, you'll definitely be under scrutiny. I'll try to get a job as a secretary or something, but judging from what I know, I might end up, er, in jail. Any suggestions?"

Neither of them said anything for a while.

"Alright then," Tilda nodded to herself, wondering what she could occupy herself with now.

James stood, nodded to her, then vanished out of the freaking window. Because of course he did.

Bucky rolled his shoulders. "I should loan you some clothes. That," he made a vague hand wavy gesture towards her, "is not - What is that?"

Tilda frowned, wondering if she'd gotten something on her jeans or something. "What's wrong with my clothes? Other than that they're not the latest fashion around these parts?"

"You look like you're naked," Bucky protested, crossing his arms.

She glared at him. "Are you implying that I'm a whore or something?"

"Wha'? No! But it's hardly the most modest, is it?"

Tilda refused to speak to Bucky until he apologized, two hours later.

Wearing one of his mother's house dresses, because none of his sister's even closed, never mind fit.

She wore the dress, not him. In case there was any confusion.

They scoured the paper together, looking for jobs, for a while, until it was time for Bucky to leave for work.

Tilda groaned, flopping on to the couch, and stared at the ceiling.

Hopefully James would return soon.

They needed to get started on fleshing out their backstory. Without an audience.