a lion among wolves, bucky barnes (hiatus)

twenty-two.

NEW YORK CITY, NEW YORK
2015

NINE months went by without another word from Bucky Barnes, and June's heart broke.

For the first three months, June tried to keep hope alive. She hassled J.A.R.V.I.S. constantly for mail, watched the news religiously, scouring every headline for a mention of the Winter Soldier, and even began searching the streets for a familiar face whenever she was out. She did everything short of calling Steve and asking him where Bucky was.

But nothing changed. Barnes had disappeared from the world. Or, at the very least, June's world. There were days when she felt pathetic for waiting, longing that Bucky would appear in her doorway and hold her and stay; there were days when his absence became unbearable. June's life had been stripped of continuity, and she felt she had lost control all over again.

Maybe Bucky had forgotten about her. Maybe Steve had convinced him to stay away from her. Whatever the reason, it hurt June too much to wonder. It hurt her more than anything.

So she chose to move on. She did not want to, and she knew there would always be a part of her that never could, but June did her best. She drowned herself in work and left Bucky at the surface.

In theory.

June grew close with Tony. He reignited her adoration for computers and codes and creation, especially when used for good. They spent most of their time digitally pinpointing Hydra bases scattered across the globe and tinkering with Tony's suits. He helped June manufacture new daggers that, among other things, could send currents of electricity through their blades, sprout serrated edges, and spew plumes of blinding smoke. The twelve-inch knives were electromagnetically linked to June's gauntlets and could sheath themselves with a simple fingerprint scan. Silly as though it might sound, the upgrades gave her hope. Here were weapons that came from her own hand, that she could be sure were used only against those who deserved their fates. Weapons that did not belong to a vigilante, but to someone who just wanted to help.

Perhaps adopting "Cutlass" could be a good thing.

• • •

"ROOM for cream, please," Natasha Romanoff said politely, offering the barista a cool smile as she loitered beside the counter. She tucked a piece of fiery hair behind her ear. Natasha had abandoned her straight-and-sleek look—now, her locks were chin-length and curly, framing her face pleasantly. She smiled again when the barista handed her a large white teacup filled halfway with black coffee and made her way to a small table stocked with sugar and creamers.

June watched her go, fascinated by the way Natasha could melt into her surroundings and become the most uninteresting face in the room. It had been a few months since she'd last seen her. Ever since S.H.I.E.L.D. fell, the Black Widow had kept close to the shadows, only emerging when absolutely necessary (or when Tony had insisted that she and June join him and Pepper at a wine-tasting in Italy). Despite her solitude, Natasha had become one of June's close friends, and their time together was special to June; Nat was one of the only people she was sure she could trust.

Tilting her sunglasses down a fraction and throwing on a smile, June stepped up to the counter, placed her order, and followed Natasha outside to a table near the street, where the New York traffic would drown out their conversation.

"So," Natasha began as she settled into her seat, "how has Stark been treating you?"

June smiled. "Just fine. He's a good man. Better than people give him credit for."

"Once you get past the exterior," Natasha added. "He dresses like a mudak." Asshole.

June laughed. "And we wear skintight catsuits to work. No one's sophisticated in this business."