Drive. ~James Buchanan Barnes

Chapter 18

Bucky seems nervous.

Why in the world is Bucky nervous?

This man was a Howling Commando, a highly trained assassin, and has been chased by Hydra.

And he's nervous about going through an airport?

The best part about it is that we're already through customs.  Bucky explained to me that the circuits in his arm contain sensors that allow him to pass through metal detectors without setting off the alarms. 

So far, everything has gone incredibly well.  I'm holding our appearance without much effort, not even feeling a strain yet, and all that's left for us to do is grab a bite to eat before a nine-hour flight to Barcelona.

He exhales roughly for about the fifth time.  I rest a hand on his arm.

"You okay?" I ask worriedly.

He only nods, his eyes on my hand, "Yeah."

"You seem...concerned." I say.

"I'm okay." He replies shortly.

I remain silent for a moment before dropping my arm, getting up to grab a coffee.

Bucky gets up to follow me, trailing behind only a couple of feet.

We stand in line, and I glance over the menu.  I haven't ordered a coffee in a month and a half.  Instant coffee has become my new Starbucks.

Yeah, I know.  Gross.

The line is long, though, and we still have thirty minutes until we board.  I have plenty of time to figure it out.

I feel Bucky's hand gently grasp my wrist as he speaks softly, "Are you sure you want to do this?"

I raise a brow and swivel around to meet his eyes, "What are you talking about? You don't want to go to Spain? Is there somewhere else?"

"No it's not that.  Are you sure you want to do this?" His gaze drops, finding the floor.

I feel a slight pang in my chest as I process his words, "You don't want me to come."

His eyes snap back up to my own, "That's not what I mean.  But you're leaving everything." He speaks in a whisper now, "You have the skills and abilities to hide in plain sight.  You could go anywhere.  Why stay with the man who dragged you into this in the first place?"

I consider.  He does have a point.  I'm going to a country whose language I don't speak, with a man who could kill me with his pinky finger, in the knowledge that I may never go home again.  Why am I doing this?

He looks so unsure.  So worried of what my reply will be.  I try to picture him alone.

I try to picture myself alone.

I pull him out of the line and away from people.  Coffee can wait.

"Buck," I begin, "I've spent almost every minute of every day of a month and a half with you.  I've seen you at some of your lowest points, and you've seen me at mine.  I stopped being your hostage weeks ago." I grin at that, but he stares down. "You don't have to worry about my resolve.  You mean a lot to me, Bucky, and I want to help in whatever way I can.  You don't have to do this alone."

"I don't want to hurt you." He says softly.

I tilt his head up to look at me, "You think I'd let you?  Buck, the best things are worth the risk."

"If they catch up to me.  To us.  If they get to you I don't know what I'd do." He murmurs.

I shake my head, "This is my decision, Buck.  Look where we are though.  Airports are where beginnings are made."

I feel him grasp my hand, but my eyes stay on his.

"You don't have to do this." He says.

I smile, "I'm not going anywhere."

He searches my face, analyzing the promise.  I refuse to lower my gaze.  He's had enough doubt.  Enough uncertainty. 

I will be constant.

He lowers his head slowly.  My hand reaches up to the back of his neck.  His reaches around my waist.

This kiss is different from any high school romance, or college fling.  This is not a kiss that speaks only of bright, happy days.

It speaks of storms, of rain, of dawn and sunset, of day and of night, of peace and of pain.

This is a promise.