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8: visitor

     Bucky tensed, maintaining eye contact with me. I struggled to sit up right and do so quietly. My heart began pounding, hands sweating and mind racing.

They knocked again, louder this time.

I thought I was going to throw up again.

They found us. Someone had found us. Anyone. The whole world wanted us. Someone followed us. SHIELD or Hydra traced us. We were dead.

Bucky let go of my hand, carefully easing himself off the bed.

"What are you doing?!" I whispered, trying to grab his hand. He couldn't open the door, he couldn't move, make any noise, let whoever was on the other side of that door know we were there.

He didn't say a word, just stood up and grabbed his handgun from the floor.

"Bucky, please stop." I choked out, trying not to shriek. He couldn't. I jumped as they knocked again, louder yet again.

Bucky pressed his ear to the door, wrapping his metal finger around the trigger of his gun.

He was going to die. There would be men behind the door ready to kill him the minute he opened the door. I clasped my hand over my mouth, trying to calm my heavy breathing. He looked back at me and tried to give a reassuring smile, as if he knew what was going to happen. I shook my head in return.

We both jumped at the sound of the person on the other side of the door clearing their throat. "Agent Brookes, I'm not going to hurt you."

I knew that voice. Bucky stared at me, eyes wide. He didn't.

I knew that voice, I knew that voice, I knew that voice. A safe voice. Hopefully.

"I'm alone. Just open the door, Brookes. I'm not going to hurt either one of you."

I scrambled off the bed, tripping on the sheet and falling to the floor. Bucky looked even more confused. He couldn't tell if I was scared or excited. I stood up and nudged him away from the door, carefully unlocking every lock and prying the frozen door open.

"Clint." I sobbed, relieved to see a face so kind in a sea of ones out for blood.

Bucky wrapped his arm around my chest, pulling me closer to him so he could quickly pull me away if need be. He looked at Clint, still confused, then down at me.

"Bucky, this is Clint Barton. He's my friend. A good guy." I whispered with a shaking voice, squeezing Bucky's hand on my shoulder.

Clint smiled with nervous reserve. "You're coming with me, okay?"

"How'd you find us?" Bucky asked, his tone plain but unsure.

"Steve told me. You're coming to live with Laura, the kids and I. No argument. Grab your things." He motioned behind us.

We both looked at him for a moment, trying to make sense of things. Bucky relaxed against me, bowing his head on my shoulder and squeezing my shoulder, breathing a sigh of relief. We both went to grab our bags from the closet, clawing for stray clothes and guns in the dark. Clint looked around the tiny, gross safe house as we zipped bags and pulled on coats, none of us questioning anything. Clint helped us with some of the bags, but I kept the folder of our  marriage certificate with me, close to my chest.

Clint turned to Bucky and I before we walked outside. "There's a jet about a mile from here. I'm by myself. We're going to fly to the homestead, in Iowa. The only people who know where it is is the Avengers and Fury, but they don't know you'll be there. Just Steve. You'll be safe."

Bucky grabbed my free hand and squeezed it, smiling a true smile down at me. Relief, and a whole lot of exhaustion.  I smiled back. An awful night turned into something maybe good.

I trusted Clint. He never gave me reason not to. He was a good guy. We only talked a few times, not much after Loki's invasion, but I knew him and he knew me, and I trusted him.

We walked the mile, climbed into a small jet, and flew the distance from Illinois to Iowa. I didn't fall asleep, staring at the ground beneath us as much as I could make out, but Bucky knocked out quickly with his head on my shoulder. I shut my eyes and prayed this would be our safety, our sanity, and the end of our constant terror. Closer to normal, less afraid.

Not too long later, we were touching down in a field. I couldn't see anything in the dark, but Clint told me where we were. On his farm, right next to his house. I woke a groggy Bucky, pushing his hair away from his face and placing a kiss on his temple. He slowly got out, grabbed bags, and followed Clint. We followed him into his house, up toy-cluttered stairs, into a spare room.

Clint pointed us to the bathroom, said we were welcome to anything here, and he would introduce us to the kids when we woke up, whenever that would be. He turned to leave, then stopped in the doorway, placed his hand on the frame, and looked at us seriously as Bucky wrapped a protective arm around my waist.

"I know who you are. I know who both of you are. I know what they've done to you, and what you've become. Mr. Barnes, I know your past, I know what you've done . . . I know what you've done for each other. None of your past matters here. My home is yours, and you're safe here." He pat the door frame, grabbing the handle. "Goodnight."

He turned and left, leaving us in the dark.

In silence, we showered, changed into the clothes he left for us, and climbed into the big bed. Bucky breathed a very shaky sigh like he'd been holding it since we got off the jet. I sat up, crossing my legs and nudging my knees into his side. He looked at me with sad, tired, but hopeful eyes. I grabbed his right hand as his left tucked wet hair behind my ear.

"We're safe, Maisie Jo." He whispered.

With a tired sigh, I laid down, resting my head over his heart and my torso over his.

"We're safe, James."

We're safe.