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thesameasbe4 · 3 years

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Tangled Up in Tuscany

Sebastian Stan showing all of us that he’s really just a normal guy with a nice jaw line.

It wasn’t my first time in Tuscany, but the last time had been over ten years ago on a high school trip. I wasn’t expecting it to be quite the same experience this time, and I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. I stepped into the grand entrance of the hotel, doing my best not to look too out of place amidst the fine room and well dressed people. I had not traveled with the rest of the wedding party out of Atlanta, unlike the rest of them, I had a real job and couldn’t just take off three weeks for a luxurious wedding, so I was the last to arrive by about five days. And in that time I had been bombarded by the photos and messages on the bridal party group text of all the extravagant things they had been doing. Touring old churches, wine tasting, eating at the most elegant restaurants. While I was a tad jealous, I also got the impression that doing these things in the company of the other bridesmaids would perhaps detract from the overall experience. So it was what it was.

The door man walked me to the front desk where I shyly greeted the shrewd desk clerk. “Hi, I should have a reservation under LeBlanc.” I spelled it and his rather illustrious eyebrows lifted. “Tu parle francaise?” The man asked.

I smiled a little and shook my head, “Non, je ne parle pas francais, je parle l’anglais.”

“But it is a French name yes?” He pressed, and I responded in the affirmative. Seeming in better spirits he motioned to a man standing to my left in some kind of negotiation with another clerk. “It seems you two are here for the same event, do you know each other?”

I looked again at the man, he had dark brown hair and a five o’clock shadow covering his strong jaw line. He fit in here, dressed in his well cut European suit and perfectly coiffed hair. Returning my focus to the clerk and straightening my posture, I responded, “Nope, never met him.”

“I think you stole my room,” the gentleman interjected in what I was surprised to hear was an American accent.

I raised an eyebrow in his direction, “Indeed? I have arrived just now, so I don’t know how that can be possible.”

“No look, I think Liz switched the name on the last available room,” he persisted.

“Well I guess you do know the bride then,” I said, noting his casual use of my friend’s name. I replied, “Why would she do that?”

“Look I don’t know, but Joe said there was a room waiting for me here and that was a few days ago.”

I pulled out my phone, planning on giving the bride and groom a call to get this sorted out when the big white numbers on the screen reminded me that it was 3 AM. Sighing, I looked at the clerk, “Are there any more vacant rooms?”

“No madame,” he responded, his voice pinched again like when I first arrived, “that was how we first developed this misunderstanding.”

“I guess that makes sense.” I looked again at the gentleman, “Can you prove you know Liz and Joe?” He reached in to his inside jacket pocket and pulled out his phone. He swiped around till he found what he wanted and handed it to me.

“That was two years ago in Prague, we worked a movie together.” My eye swept the screen, finally making out the face of the man that stood before me in a cluster of several other people dressed in period clothing. “Also, Joe is allergic to shellfish, which he learned while in Hawaii only after eating an entire shrimp and pineapple pizza.” I laughed, anyone who knew Joe had heard that story.

“Well, you can bunk in my room tonight if you are desperate, then we can get this all settled at a decent hour tomorrow.” I wiggled my room card at him.

“I don’t wan’t to impose,” he said, suddenly looking concerned.

“Look, you already have. All I want is a hot shower and a few hours of sleep, and this compromise is now the quickest way to getting that.”

Maintaining eye contact with me he worried his lower lip, “okay, I guess.”

So we made our way to the elevator. “And I do really appreciate it,” he said as the elevator started going up, “I hope I wasn’t too rude, I just always have really bad luck in Italy.”

“Well let’s hope this trip breaks the cycle, cause I don’t know that I will get another shot at a Tuscany vacation.” I said stepping out of the elevator and into the hallway, locating our door by the small pile of bags that were waiting for us.

I handed him the key as I gathered my things. “Um, I think we made a very American mistake,” came a voice from inside the room.”

“Huh?” I said confusedly, groaning as I came to stand next to him. The room only had one bed.

…

A string of profanity ambled out of my mouth as I stripped in the bathroom. I had insisted that I didn’t need to be put up in such a nice hotel, especially if Liz was paying for me, but no, she wanted me to be with the rest of the wedding party, she wanted me to get along with her fancy Hollywood friends. So here I was in a swanky ass hotel with a strange man that I had, in my fatigue and delirium, decided to trust.

After several minutes of letting the hot water loosen my back and shoulders I climbed out of the shower and slipped into a pair of leggings and a tank top. “It’s all yours,” I said as I traipsed past the much too small bed on which the stranger was lounging.

“Hey, whats your name?” He asked and I stopped, realizing I hadn’t even thought to ask him his God damned name.

“Michelle,” I said, holding my hand out to him. He grasped it firmly and shook.

“It’s nice to meet you, I’m Sebastian.”

I fell into a fitful rest quickly after laying down and I didn’t wake up till the sun began to enter the room through the gorgeous doors that let out onto the little balcony. I took a deep breath, finally taking in the fact that I was in Tuscany, for a glamorous wedding, and I didn’t have to pay for any of it. Then I flexed my arms, realizing too late that what I had thought was a pillow last night was actually the hulking form of a man. Shit what did he say his name was? Sebastian. I pulled my arm away from him quickly but the damage was done.

“Morning,” he groaned, sitting up. I replied with a wave of my hand, too embarrassed to speak, hiding my head back in the sheets. I felt the mattress move as he slid off the edge and bustled around the room and then let himself out. Now that the coast was clear I sat up and rubbed my eyes, forcing myself to wake up. I pulled my hair up into a quick bun then looked around me for my phone. I had sent Liz a string of panicked texts last night about the room situation that she hadn’t replied to till this morning.

Sorry about the confusion. No, Sebastian isn’t a serial killer. Welcome to Tuscany! Meet us in the lobby at 10.

I glanced at the time. It was barely seven. I cursed jet lag as I marched into the bathroom to brush my teeth. I heard the door open while I was in the bathroom and stuck my head out.

Sebastian had returned with a porter, who placed a matching pair of brown leather suitcases in the closet (I guess all of Sebastian’s luggage hadn’t made it here last night) and then returned wheeling in a cart full of food. My nose perked at the smell of coffee and I hoped he was planning on sharing.

“So Liz finally confirmed that you aren’t a serial killer,” I said, leaning against a wall.

He smiled at me, “Oh, good. Well I just spoke to Joe, he told me the same about you.” I nodded, smiling now. “I got a little worried last night when you had me in a death grip,” he said, winking at me.

I cleared my throat and looked at the ceiling, “yea I’m a hard sleeper, I cannot account for the actions of my subconscious.” My gaze drifted to the cart with the heavenly smells of coffee wafting from it.

“Compliments of the bride and groom, for the mix up, I think we got in the way of some kind of argument they were having,” Sebastian said, handing me a white mug with cappuccino foam peaking over the brim.

…

It was two days before the wedding and I was beginning to think I should have delayed even longer. Liz had sent me instructions for both Seb and I to “dress casual” for the day which would be mostly wandering town. What I forgot was that casual meant something very different to a common working woman like myself than to the other rich Hollywood people I had to deal with on this trip. After greeting my friend finally and listening to her reassure me that I was not under dressed in my plain dark wash jeans and chunky sweater, I skulked to the back of the group taking in the dozen or so perfectly sculpted bodies adorned with designer heels, leisure jackets and other decidedly not casual ensembles. I had not seen my roommate come down to the lobby but as we headed out I noticed that he was wearing a very modest ensemble of black jeans, polished shoes and a blue denim jacket over a plain green shirt. I tipped my hat to him silently, either he was a normal like me or he was down to earth, either way I was glad to have gotten stuck with him rather than any of the others.

In the town of Sienna I lagged back, finding the group too noisy and attention grabbing. One of the tall skinny women in our party turned and waved at me, beckoning me closer. I took a few long strides to catch up with them.

“Your Liz’s friend that came in last night right?” She asked.

“Yep,” I replied.

“OMG, so your sharing a room with Sebastian then!”

Raising my eyebrows I replied again, “yep.”

“Well, whats he like?”

“Um, I don’t really know, I slept most of the time we were together, I assume he did too,” I offered in a confused tone. Who was this guy?

“But isn’t he so hot?” The woman asked.

“Well I was mostly concerned that he was a murderer when I first met him, I mean, he wasn’t happy and then I wasn’t actually sure he actually was with the wedding party.”

“But you knew who he was, so what did it matter if he was in the wedding party?”

Utterly confused I said, “Wait, who is he? Why should I know him?”

The woman giggled, “Sebastian Stan? He’s an actor in the Avengers franchise? He’s got a huge fan base and is notoriously private.

Okay so I didn’t really know much about those films but I was intrigued now and despite my greatest efforts to pay him no more mind than I had been, I noticed him more the rest of the day. Many of the women in our group would find reasons to stand next to him, they would grab his arm and laugh, or touch his chest. Interestingly, as the afternoon slipped into evening, he seemed to grow visibly agitated with all of the attention. By dinner time he looked like he was barely holding his polite facade together.

We were scheduled to all eat together at a very nice restaurant, however there was some conversation amongst Liz and Joe and our guides and they made a last minute call to eat separately. I was confused by this, the whole trip having felt micro managed up to this point, but I was glad to get away from the group that I felt so apart from and I took off rather than wait around for an explanation. There was a lovely outdoor patio bar down the street from where we were staying, so I leisurely walked that way.

The air was comfortably cool and I tilted my head back to breathe in the smells of the sleepy town as I sipped my wine. This was the kind of night I would have loved to enjoy with Lizzy, but that was before the days when she was famous.

“You must be American,” a voice behind me said. I turned to see two young Italian men standing behind me. As if that was an invitation to join me, they moved to sit in the vacant chairs on either side of me. “So what are you doing in our town?” One of them asked me in a thick accent and placed a hand on my knee, I shivered at how freely he touched me. I crossed my legs, shrugging his hand off of me. They both looked at ease and there were other people around us so it seemed generally safe, but I didn’t feel like doing this tonight. I slid my chair back, stood and walked to the far side of the bar, out of their line of vision. If they followed me I knew I would just have to leave so I steadied myself for that possibility.

It seemed at first like they had lost interest, but about ten minutes later I heard their laughter moving in my direction. But before I decided how to react I felt a warm hand settle on my lower back. “Hey, don’t freak out, It’s just me.” I looked up at the voice speaking into my ear and saw the grey blue eyes of my roommate. “There are two guys that have been staring at you from across the room, I wanted to make sure you knew that.” I nodded at him in thanks. But the men’s voices drew closer still so I turned to face Sebastian.

“Flirt with me,” I said to him.

“What?”

“They have already been bothering me,” I replied trying to keep my eyes on Sebastian and not give the men any reason to come closer. He nodded and moved closer to me so that we were sharing the same space. He kept his hand on my back and the other one combed through my hair. He touched his forehead to mine and laughed. After a second he drew away just enough to look up, scanning the bar for the two men.

I’m gonna kiss you okay?” He said. I gulped and nodded, after I had agreed, he drew my face up to his and very gently touched his lips to mine, leaving them there for a few seconds then breaking away from me. “They’re leaving,” he said and I sighed, though I honestly wasn’t sure if it was in relief or in reaction to the kiss.

…

I sat against the headboard of the bed, my hair drying from the shower and I flipped through the Italian television channels, trying to ignore how strangely domestic it felt to be sharing a hotel room with this person. A man who was apparently a very well known movie star who had recently helped me out of a sticky situation by kissing me. I held a cup of tea in my hands. I was bringing it to my lips when Sebastian emerged from the bathroom a napkin of a towel wrapped around his waist. My hands trembled just enough at the sight of his sculpted torso to spill hot tea all over my lap.

“Fuck,” I said as I stood, pulling the now damp fabric of my leggings away from my skin.

“You okay?” He asked, looking up from rummaging in his bag.

“I’m fine,” I shot back at him, “just put some goddamn pants on,” I muttered. He laughed and I squeezed my eyes shut, “I guess he had heard that,” I thought to myself. He straightened with a wad of clothes triumphantly held aloft then retreated to the bathroom again to change.

“By the way,” I said when he finally came back out, “thanks for the assist there in the bar.”

He winked at me, “Well I’m sure you’d do the same for me,” he said.

“But I haven’t,” I replied, “I have been watching women throw themselves at you all day and I did nothing to save you, “so really, what you did was an unselfish act.”

He walked to his side of the mattress that never felt so small and threw himself down, making the whole frame shake. “Yea, well none of them looked as hostile as those two men.” He shifted so that he was laying on his back distractedly watching the Italian soap opera that I had found. Soon he was breathing steadily with just a very light snore. I smiled and looked down at him. He really was very nice looking. He had well defined features, long eyelashes and full lips. I caught myself biting one of my own lips and rolled my eyes. Deciding that looking at him like this was creepy I switched the tv off and turned the light off, easing down into the sheets.

I was just on the verge of unconsciousness when I felt Sebastian’s arm wrap around my stomach and pull me into him. His body was relaxed but still solid. I hadn’t realized how big he was. I thought for a moment that I should release myself, that it was the right thing to do, but he wouldn’t know I was awake. Maybe I shouldn’t disturb him? He shifted again this time nuzzling his scratchy chin into the back of my neck, and if I wasn’t mistaken, his lips were pressed up against the back of my ear. Now throughly enjoying his contact I relaxed into him, laying my arm on top of his.

…

Sebastian’s alarm went off at seven the next morning, the day before the ceremony being filled with activities. I groaned at the shrill sound and was startled to realize my voice was muffled by something I was laying on. I moved my head around, trying to get my bearings without opening my eyes yet. It couldn’t be a pillow, it smelled too good and was too solid.

“Morning,” the thing under me said. I stiffened. Apparently I had managed to fully lay the length of my body on top of Sebastian in the course of the night. He was still on his back and his hands were resting on my bottom, my head was nestled into the crook of his neck and my hands were splayed over his chest. Instead of being embarrassed, I found that I really was just comfortable.

“Do we really have to get up?” I whined into his chest.

I felt his rumbling laugh, “Well I don’t really wanna face the wrath of Lizzy if we don’t show up on time,” he said.

“I thought you were my protector?” I said. He patted my bottom a few times and tried to shift me off of him but I wouldn’t budge.

“I’ll bring you up a cappuccino if you let me get up,” he said. With one more groan fit for the stage I let him roll out from under me. He stood over me for a second and I looked up at him with a mock hurt look on my face. And then before I had time to think, he leaned over me, one hand on either side of me and gently brought his lips to mine.

It was brief but lovely.

“I’ll be back,” he whispered in my ear before turning and leaving the room.

Now fully awake I wandered about the room, unsure of what to do with myself. I pulled out of my suitcase the outfit I was planning on wearing today. The “rehearsal dinner” was more of a rehearsal excursion to the countryside complete with a quartet to play classical Italian music and a wait staff serving Prosecco all day. Lizzy had said to wear “cocktail casual” but I had no idea what the hell that meant. I had settled on a dark burgundy romper. The neckline was a low v and the straps criss-crossed in the back. I laid it out on the bed and was still assessing it when Sebastian returned, a tray of coffee in his hands. Intoxicated by the smell I lifted one of the steaming cups off of the tray and retreated to the small balcony. The morning was cool and the view overlooked the mediterranean rooftops of the little town. I breathed deeply the crisp air and the fragrant coffee.

Sensing his presence behind me I spoke up, “I never would have imagined that visiting a place this beautiful would be such a headache.”

He came to stand next to me. Leaning forward so that his arms rested on the edge of the balcony, the entire side of his body made contact with mine. The heat radiating from him was soothing.

“It is beautiful here,” he said, looking at me, not the view. “Why is this trip so hard for you?”

I sighed, “I guess it’s not. I’m just being dramatic. I knew Liz way before she was famous. She and I had always talked about coming to Italy, about hiking and living close to nature. And this- this trip just shows how we have changed, thats all,” I said giving up. “And I hate all of her new friends.”

Sebastian laughed, “Well I’m gland that I’m Joe’s friend then.” I turned my head to look at him and he winked. Then he straightened up and pulled me into him, “is this okay?” He asked into my ear. I nodded silently, my stomach churning. “Well I think all her friends are jealous of you,” he continued to whisper in my ear, “know why?” I shook my head smiling a little as his words tickled my ear, “because they all want the natural grace and beauty that you have.”

I moved to face him, his large muscled body trapping me against the balcony rail. I wrapped my arms around his neck, my fingers tangling in his hair. He lowered his mouth to my neck as he pulled me closer to him. “Do you promise to come save me today if all those women don’t leave me alone?” He asked into my neck.

I squirmed at the sensation of his breath on me. “Of course Boo,” I said, patting his bottom in a playfully condescending voice.

He raised an eyebrow, “I think I like being your Boo,” he said moving from my neck to my lips, biting my lower lip playfully.

“Yea?” I replied.

“Mmmh,” was all he said.

“Then as my Boo would you please explain to me what the hell ‘cocktail casual’ means?”

…

After a bit of debate, Sebastian had convinced me that my choice of attire was perfect and he just so happened to have a shirt that matched my outfit, so we arrived in the lobby in plenty of time to meet the rest of the group. Unsurprisingly, I did stand out, most of the women wearing very short dresses and tottering on stilettos, however, when I considered that the alternative was having to wear a short skirt and heels all day, I decided I was happy with my ensemble.

We were ushered into a small bus that would drive us out into the countryside. The inside was nice, but Italians have a very different sense of space than Americans, as demonstrated by the very small seats. Because I had dressed for comfort, I was better able to maneuver my way to the back seat, so I found myself wedged into the very back corner of the van seated next to one of the men in the party who was a talent manager or something and wouldn’t shut up about all the famous people he worked with.

On top of that Sebastian was two rows in front of me, surrounded by needy looking women who were sitting too close to him and thrusting their scantily covered chests towards him.

Finally the bus stopped at a sprawling villa on the side of a mountain. I was antsy to get out both because of the view and because I was quite nauseous after all of the switchbacks we took to get up here.

The day was average, there were some speeches, a few games, lunch, and then drinks. During all of this I had noticed several footpaths that led into the surrounding countryside. As the group broke up into social clusters I slipped away, making a b-line towards a path that I was hoping would take me along the crest of the mountain to reveal more lovely views.

“Wait Michelle!” A voice called from behind me. I turned to see Sebastian scampering behind me, his jacket discarded and a few buttons undone on his shirt. Catching up to me he stopped, “may I join you?”

We followed the overgrown trail for several minutes, finally the brush gave way to a beautiful bald overlooking a valley that reflected gold and red in the low afternoon sun. I turned to Sebastian and found him looking at me. “What?” I asked.

“I want to kiss you,” he said simply. So I closed the gap between us and my lips met his hungrily. We pressed against each other desperately like we couldn’t get close enough to each other. Our breathing grew heavy and I got the sense that we were both wearing too many clothes, so with all my strength I pulled away from him. He let out a little whine and showed me his puppy dog eyes.

“I think we need to cool off a bit,” I said shakily. “If I take this thing off now then it’s not going back on,” I said gesturing to my romper. Sebastian nodded in defeat and took my hand as we walked back to the group.

…

As the afternoon turned to evening other guests of the the bride and groom arrived and the sweetness of the afternoon faded as my world went on repeat. I watched one woman after another try her luck with the dashing Sebastian Stan while I kept to myself, drinking alone. I wasn’t upset at Sebastian, I wasn’t really sure what to do with our short dalliance, was it just born out of convenience? Is it just something to pass the time on this miserable trip? No, what bothered me was watching the entitlement in the way these women acted. They knew they were beautiful or young or well connected and so they approached with confidence, but had very little to contribute to the conversation, literally “what you see is what you get.”

“Ah,” came a voice from over my shoulder, “you are the friend from Louisiana right? The one who Lizzy grew up with?” I turned to see a nice looking young man in a dark suit standing behind me.

“Who’s asking?” I said.

“Hi, I’m Dan, I’m a friend of Lizzy from LA.” He held out his hand, I took it, and in stepping closer I also noticed the alcohol on his breath and the slight waver in his voice. It had been a while since he was sober.

“Nice to meet you, Dan,” I said. He leaned into me slightly, as if he couldn’t keep his feet under him.

“Hey, do you wanna dance? Lizzy said you are a good da-dancer?” He said, hiccuping.

“Maybe in a bit, big guy,” I said, motioning to a waiter for a bottle of water.

“No, you look like you are here for- for a good time. Lets take this back to- back to my place.” He was too drunk to be intimidating but he was quite tall and I found it difficult to shift his weight away from me. Indeed he was very close to toppling over and taking me with him when suddenly his weight was no longer draped over me. Getting my bearings I looked behind me to see Sebastian helping, if a little roughly, to get Dan into a chair.

I didn’t think much of it, but I was surprised Sebastian had gotten to me so quickly. When some other guys came over to take care of the very sloppy and probably soon to be puking Dan, I turned my attention to Seb. He had moved to stand next to me and wound his arm around my waist protectively. “Thanks for the assist,” I said lightly. To my surprise, Sebastian didn’t think it was funny.

“Why don’t those kind of guys ever know when to stop?” He growled, his hand still firmly at my waist.

I turned to face him. “Hey, I appreciate the Feminist outrage, but I was okay, I didn’t feel intimidated by him like the guys in the bar yesterday.” I put a hand on his chest, waiting for him to slow his breathing. Finally he looked down at me.

“I think I was just jealous of your attention,” he said sheepishly.

“Well why the hell didn’t you come over here sooner, I’ve had to watch women fawn over you all evening,” I said with a little pout.

“But I thought you were gonna come save me.”

“I don’t compete with other women!” I said in a whispered yell, turning my back to him. I avoided him, embarrassed and feeling a little too tender after such a long day. Gently he twisted me back to face him. I didn’t resist, I did want to be with him here, but I couldn’t look him in the eye. Carefully, and slowly he tilted my head up till I held his gaze, then he brushed his lips against mine, holding them there just long enough for chills to run down my body and my breathing to quicken before pulling away. I moaned in frustration.

“You aren’t competing with anyone.” With that taste of drama that actors tend to have naturally, he pulled me into the light, closer to the music, and we danced. It was sensuous and romantic. We stayed close together, his nose buried in the side of my neck, my head laying on his chest as we moved in a slow circle. His hands would stray low sometimes, but I would pull them back up so they rested on my hips, and he would chuckle each time.

As the event wrapped up, we walked back to the vehicles together. And as if we had passed some invisible test, everyone left us alone, letting us sit together and talking around us.

Back at the hotel I paused to chat with Liz while Sebastian helped Joe out with something for the ceremony the next day. “OMG, I knew you two would be good together!” Liz gushed.

“Wait, did you do the room thing on purpose?” I asked.

She looked up at the ceiling, “I will not reveal my tricks, but just know that if you two are still together in a year I am so claiming that I set you up.” I rolled my eyes.

I made my way back to our room but was stopped by one of the pretty blonde women in the wedding party. “You are Lizzie’s friend from back home right?” She asked in a valley girl accent I thought had to be a joke. Thinking she had some scheme about the wedding tomorrow, I told her that, yes, I was her childhood friend. “Then what the hell do you think you are doing flirting with someone like Sebastian Stan?” She demanded, serious outrage in her face. I was startled, not expecting this little outburst.

I looked her over again, her makeup was looking a little fuzzy and I could smell vodka on her breath as she teetered on stilettos and pulled her dress down each time it slipped a little too high up her thighs. Before I could respond she continued, “I mean, look at you. You are at least a size ten, no make up, you are wearing flats for Christ sakes.” She gasped like it was the end of the world. “You have no idea the women who are interested in him. Models, actresses, I heard one of the Kardashians even made a pass at him. This is the big leagues little girl. You need to stay in your lane.” In parting she gave me a little push that I thought was more likely to have her on the floor than me.

I laughed uncomfortably as I made it back to the room. Sebastian was there, sprawled on the bed, his torso bare, a pair of navy joggers seated low on his waist. He looked like a snack. And all of a sudden I could only hear the words of that woman. I must have stood there too long cause Seb spoke up. “What did Liz do? Did she change something at the last minute? You look really distracted.”

“Oh,” I said, “Nothing, she didn’t change anything.” I turned away from him and reached behind my back to undo the top of my romper. Sebastian’s hands grasped mine and put them to my sides as he undid the ties, his fingers lingering on my skin. “Sebastian is this just for tonight?” I asked, biting my lip after the words left my mouth.

“Uh, I guess it can be, why?” He replied, his tone measured. I continued to stand with my back to him, needing the space to say this.

“I- I just don’t know how this would work with you being so mobile. I don’t want you to feel like this has to go beyond this trip.” I cut myself off, feeling like I was whining.

“Actually, I am kinda interested in making this work for a longer time. Where are you from? Louisiana? The long distance thing might be a challenge but I’d like to give it a go.” I gulped loudly, my arms and legs felt weak.

“Are- are you sure?” I pressed, feeling like I was in a dream.

“Have I overstepped?” He responded with a concerned look on his face. I shook my head fiercely.

“No, but why me? All those women who are prettier than me, they get the world you come from, you have so many options.”

I had moved away from him now, feeling exposed as I spoke, but he closed the gap between us. Pulling me into him, he gripped me tightly, protectively.

“I don’t want anyone else. You are intelligent, confident, beautiful. No one else has those things.”

I sank into him and felt a sob escape from my lips. A hand grasped the back of my head and pulled me in tight to his chest. I shook a bit with a few more sobs but he was there with me. When I had calmed down I reached up and kissed him on the jaw.

Stepping away from me, he pulled a shirt on and I made a disappointed noise. Laughing he said, “Why don’t you change into something more comfortable, and we can go to the bar and make people jealous.” Rolling my eyes, I smiled.

…

As we approached the bar Sebastian grasped my hand and intertwined our fingers. There was a small group from the wedding party that was gathered at one end of the bar. One of the guys called us over so we joined them, greeting everyone in the group. There was one available seat so I took it, Sebastian stood behind me and his hands lingered on my waist and hips. They were meeting to discuss a few last minute requests of the bride and groom, so I listened as attentively as I could with Sebastian’s warm breath tickling the back of my neck. The skinny woman who had trapped me in the hall earlier was staring daggers into us, but I just looked past her to the conversation happening.

After a few more minutes the conversation broke up. I noticed a few men pat Seb on the back as they left, our friend the skinny woman tottered off in a huff. I felt Sebastian shake a little as he chuckled. “That was more fun than I was expecting,” he said.

“Yea whatever, can we pleas go back to the room? It’s time for you to take your shirt off again.”

…

When we got to the room we both stripped to our underwear. We tumbled into the bed together, the playfulness of moments before leaving us quickly as we both let the exhaustion of the day settle in. Instead, we nestled into each other comfortable just to be with one another. I was laying on my back, Seb’s head resting on my chest. He clung to me, arms and legs wrapped tightly around me and thats when I realized we might actually have as shot.

…

It had been a month since the wedding. I sat nervously in the airport gripping my phone and my eyes glued to the arrivals screen above me. Finally I saw the word “arrived” appear in green next to his flight and soon after my phone pinged and it was a text from him saying he was on his way to baggage claim.

And then there he was.

In a tight t-shirt and joggers, his long legs brought him to me in a few quick strides. I brought him in close to me and squeezed him tight. “It’s been too long,” he said.

#sebastian sebastian stan sebastianstan fanfic imagine bucky

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thesameasbe4 · 3 years

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Hunting the White Wolf

What Bucky might have been up to in Wakanda.

I hadn’t noticed the sun going down. And that didn’t happen often. Always, I was thinking about logistics, how to get places, could I do it before dark, how much would it cost to travel that far out of the town? It was good to see Sarah and her kids. They were growing up so fast and I was glad to see her husband was still around. It may have been my jaded expectations of so many men from this village, but I had not expected him to remain long. But Sarah is one of the smartest people I know, of course she chose well.

Besides catching up, we had also laid out a plan for a visit to a neighboring village. She kept calling it a favor to her, but I would have done it no matter what. That was my job, I trained local nurses in psycho-social recovery from war traumas. And there were folks in every village that needed this recovery. Wakanda’s strategic decision to open up to the world may have been a political win but the sacrifice was the wellness of their own people, a proud people unused to talking about their emotions. I hadn’t been in Wakanda long, having been transferred from my long-term position in Northern Zambia at the request of the UN. Wakanda seemed to have all of the resources it needed to provide in-country care, but I didn’t have much choice about the move, so I went.

This village I was to go to next was in the shadow of the capitol city and many of its locals had lost family or become paraplegic after the battle for the infinity stones. Much of Sarah’s family was from there and she knew how badly they were hurting.

…

The journey had not been as harrowing as many I had undertaken. I had taken a motorbike all the way there, but the roads got better, widened and paved smooth the closer we came to the capitol. A great big woman clad in a bright pink kitenge rushed over to my motorbike as we pulled into the stand. She helped me with my bags as I paid my driver. There was much hand shaking and hugging as I followed Mama Hassan down a footpath. In the next several hours I learned Mama was much like Sarah, or rather that Sarah was much like her aunt. She was smart as a whip and also very gentle. I ate well, doing my best to at least taste all the dishes she put in front of me while we spoke of those hurting. We discussed who to visit and I explained that my aid model was to offer guidance to local medical professionals or traditional healers on how to care for emotional trauma. This ensures that the knowledge empowers those who are already trusted and have a good sense of community already.

“And there is of course the White Wolf.” Mama said feigning indifference. I cocked my head to one side, pausing over the basin in which I was washing the dishes outside of her small mud brick home. That name sounded familiar, but I was not sure why.

“What is the White Wolf, Mama?” I asked.

“It is a who. He fought in the battle with our king and army. It is said that he has lived many lives, and many of those lives were spent killing.”

“He is Wakandan?”

“Oh no, he is like you, a Mzungu.” I nodded, smiling inside, people in this part of the world were not shy about noticing skin color, and I couldn’t blame them. For many, I was the only white skinned person they had e er seen.

“This Mzungu lives in the village?”

“Sometimes, he often goes off for many months, but he always returns, and he carries back with him this look of weariness. The children started calling him White Wolf,” she chuckled to herself. “They say it is because he is white and has hair on his face like a wolf, but when I look at him I see a hunger in his eyes that is really terrifying.”

…

We visited ten families the next day, and the day after, and the day after that. We listened to many many stories of loss and hardship. I did not hear a resounding pride for Wakanda, like their leadership was projecting to the outside, no I heard frustration that after remaining a protected and sacred place for so many years, Wakanda had the same stories of wartime that many of their poorer and poorly led neighbors experienced. And in all of this, I witnessed Mama Hassan soothe, cry with them, and love them all. These people didn’t need me, and I got the sense they tolerated me only because of Mama Hassan. And she was who they needed.

After a few weeks, this is what I told her, and she hesitantly agreed to become the trauma healer for her village. We worked side by side. We continued visiting together in the mornings, I would listen mostly, and we would return to her home in the afternoons and work in her crop fields and discuss the techniques she used and some other things she might try.

One evening, in the light of a coal fire, she spoke his name again. “It is time you visited him. I heard he returned last week.”

“Ok, sure, we can go tomorrow, unless his home is far, we may have to wait a few days.” Mama shook her head.

“No, I will not go with you. I have enough work here with my own people. As you say, healing must come from within a community. He lives in peace with us here, but his is not one of our own.”

“Are you saying that Mzungus must take care of one another?” I asked, lifting an eyebrow.

“No Maggie, I am saying you are the professional, so I give you the difficult case and I will stick to what I know.” I chuckled, trying to shrug off the discomfort of her sudden seriousness.

“Okay Mama, I will go while you do the regular visits. How will I find him.”

“He is far, he has a hut on the bank of the lake. If you get lost, just ask the children, they all know where he stays.”

…

So I departed in the opposite direction of mama the next morning, hunting the White Wolf. This was beautiful land, and I hadn’t ventured in this direction often since arriving, so I relished the far reaching view of the green mountains. Few clouds were in the sky today and as the sun rose higher, I drew my kitenge up over my head hoping I wouldn’t burn badly. I also did this in areas where I hoped not to be so quickly identified as white. The closer I drew to the lake, the tighter I pulled my wrap, unsettled by what Mama had told me of this man, unsure of what I would find.

I could see a hut about half way around the lake, it stood alone, and from my distance, I saw no movement. I called to two small children playing on a rock close by and asked if they knew where White Wolf lived. They nodded wide eyed at me.

“Are you the wife of White Wolf Mama?” One of the children asked me.

I rolled my eyes a little while I dug in my bag for sweets. Handing each of them one, I shook my head, “No, I am a friend.” Well, I hoped he would receive me as a friend.

I slowed my pace as I drew closer, not wanting to surprise him or be caught off guard myself. But as I finally reached the hut, there was no one around. He was likely out making a living, or hunting, or at the market. I poked around as much as I dared, noticing a small stack of wood on one side of his hut as well as a clothes line strung from his roof to a pole a few meters away with a fluttering row of garments hanging there. I was surprised the homestead was so traditional, many of the Mzungus I knew sought walled in compounds with running water and electricity.

I wandered close to the lake and saw a three legged stool placed there. I wondered if he fished with a rod? Finally beginning to feel the long journey in my feet, I took a seat on the low stool, letting my bag fall next to me.

The sun drew higher and then began to lower again and my stomach rumbled. I pulled out a bottle of water and the chapati Mama had packed for me.

As I began to eat, three figures appeared around a corner out of the trees at the far end of the lake. One was tall and muscular and the other two were children who ran ahead and played with each other. All three were still in the shadow of the tree line and I could not make out their faces, but the man wore a blanket in the traditional way, tied around one shoulder so I thought it might be a hunter or farmer heading home for a meal.

Finally, the light fell on the man’s face and I swallowed. It was the White Wolf. I stood quickly, giving them long notice of my presence. Finally they reached me, the two children first. They ran over to me, unafraid and greeted me respectfully. I returned their greeting and then offered them the rest of my lunch, which they ate excitedly. Then I looked up, preparing myself to meet the White Wolf.

He stopped several feet from me, favoring his right side slightly. But he was not frightening, in fact his presence was calm, yes it was a concentrated, intense calm, but fierceness was not the same thing as dangerous. Wanting to show my good will, I removed the kitenge that had been covering my head and torso. I nodded at him, “You are the one they call the White Wolf?” His brow furrowed and I wondered if I had misspoken.

“Who is seeking the White Wolf?” He made a half circle around me, placing his body between me and his home.

“The people here call me Maggie, at home they call me Margaret.” There is silence between us still so I continue, “I seek the White Wolf in good faith. I am living with Mama Hassan in the village.”

His face did not change, but he stepped closer, “The people here call me the White Wolf.” He sighed as he glanced toward something behind me. “You have lost my helpers.”

I turned around to see that the two boys had discovered the sweets I had packed for the children and were already busy shoving them all in their mouths. “Oh dear,” I laughed.

“Their mother is not going to be happy with me,” he muttered. “I hope you came ready to work.” He held up a cord that was tied to his waist on which two wild birds, each about the size of a chicken, dangled. The man definitely didn’t speak very much.

I shrugged at him. “Shall I pluck them or start the fire?” I asked gamely.

It was strange to work side by side with this mysterious person, each of us foreigners in this place, yet even more foreign to each other without it. We prepared food from Wakanda, I brought rice and sugar as is traditional in Wakanda when visiting. Some of what we spoke was even in the language of these people.

I had finished washing the rice and handed the pot to him to place on the fire. I noticed he reached across with his right arm, odd since he had to put down a knife to take it from me. I watched him closer for a few minutes, my eyes finally clearing when I realized he only had one arm. I had assumed his left arm was obscured by the tribal blanked that he wore, not that it was concealing a lost limb.

The two boys ran by me and the Wolf spoke loudly to them in their own language to play somewhere else, that the fire would burn them and their mother would be very upset.

“Are they your boys?” I asked.

“They wouldn’t be so dark if they were mine,” he said.

“I know, but their mother, is she-”

“She is my neighbor,” he gestured to the direction they had come from earlier, where a small collection of huts stood. “When I was first placed here they would dare each other to see who would come the closest. Finally, one of them came close enough for me to offer him breakfast and now it seems like they never leave. And their mother is kind, she helped me learn how to live here.”

He set the rice on the coal stove and sat back on another short three footed stool. “So you like it here?” I asked.

“I like that it is simple.”

When the food was ready I called the boys to come eat, though they were already fairly full from the sweets. I took a bite from on e of the boys plates, putting the rice and meat into my mouth with my fingers in the traditional way, trying to entice the child to eat.

After the meal that was mostly eaten by me and my mysterious host, the Wolf sent the boys away to play. “So what is it you came for, Maggie, certainly not my cooking.” I noticed he had drawn a veil over his eyes again, he stood emotionless. So I rose to meet him as best I could.

“I am seeking to help my neighbor.”

“How?” He growled, for the first time showing a glint of feralness.

“Perhaps I should say that you are helping me, you see I am working with Mama Hassan on healing the spirit of this village after the battle. You know well how different it is now.” I paused, waiting for a glint of recognition in his eyes but they hardened further.

“I do not want your healing.”

“You misunderstand.” My mind raced for words that would set him at ease. “It’s only that these people don��t need me, they don’t want to talk to me, and why should they. They need people like Mama Hassan to listen and comfort them, not Wazungu.”

“So what do you want from me?”

I thought for a second, “Company, companionship.”

He laughed bitterly. “No.”

“You are an outsider. You see these people differently than they see each other. You can help them heal.” He had turned his back to me and gazed out at the water and I watched as a dry breeze that swept at his shoulder length hair, pulling it into is face. Feeling a bit like we were in uncharted waters, I continued, “You know deeply what it means to be wounded by violence, I know that you see it in these people.”

He spoke no words, though in his silence I heard him ask, “What would you need from me?”

“Let me work along side you, tell me things about the people around us, the things you know are below the surface.”

He dug his heel into the ground. “I’m a soldier, I don’t think deeply, I follow orders.”

“That’s not-“ he held up a hand to silence me.

“No,” he said again and retreated to his hut. I gathered my things and made the long journey back.

…

I recounted my odd exchange to Mama. “You cannot give up on that man, he is too much alone with himself.”

“So what do you think I should do now? He has already said no,” I asked, short of threatening him, I didn’t think he wanted to see me around anymore.

“I know the family he works for, the Mama is raising eight children on her own. She says the White Wolf scared her very much at first, though I don’t think she had ever seen a Mzungu before, but anyway, she said that he shows up every morning and works in her field and then goes home for his lunch then returns in the afternoon and tends her sheep. He doesn’t speak but to ask questions about work. She says he can speak well in our language, and two of her boys love him and follow him every where he goes.”

I smiled, “I met them,” and I can’t imagine someone who is a threat would put up with those two.”

“There, you see, his is trying to heal with what he knows, you cannot abandon him even if he doesn’t know its for his own good.”

So I went.

The next day I began my walk in the pre dawn. When I reached the lake, the sun was just coming up and I walked just in the tree line, keeping my distance from the Wolf’s homestead. I arrived as the family was eating breakfast. The two boys from the day before were sat on mats on the ground eating out of communal bowls with their younger siblings. But they called out to me when I stepped into their line of sight. A gaunt, slender woman stood over a hot fire, stirring at a large pot. I made my introductions and my greetings from Mama Hassan and that I was here to work with the White Wolf. Nodding, she motioned up the hill to where her rows of maize began. Half way into this plot was the one armed figure I was here for, the wind tangling in his hair. I shouldered the hoe Mama had lent me and I stepped toward him, hoping I would make it back down the mountain alive at the end of the day.

We worked silently. I stopped every once in a while to take a draw from my bottle of water, but the Wolf didn’t stop. He had maintained a calm exterior though a muscle in his jaw worked all morning. As the sun warmed us, I approached, offering him my bottle of water, though it felt more like a white flag. He glanced up but did not stop. So I lowered my gift and retreated to my side of the field and carried on.

For many days we continued in this way. We would work around one another, never speaking, never interfering. At mid day I would speak with Mama and then begin my journey home to work with Mama Hassan. The days languished and it seemed nothing would change, but Mama said to keep steady, that nothing moved quickly in Wakanda but war. So every day I would go, tiptoeing around the restrained force I sensed bubbling within the White Wolf.

…

I awoke to a persistent shaking of my shoulder one morning. Well, it would be many hours before the sun would rise, I sat up in my pallet on the floor, searching for Mama, feeling the tension in me grow as I realized the presence of several bodies in the room. “Mama,” I called, steeling myself for her distress.

“I am here Maggie, do not worry,” she replied touching my shoulder again. “These people are from the capital.” I rose to my feet and someone flicked on a portable light.

“How can I help?” I asked, the light had exposed the concern on the faces of two visitors.

A young woman spoke up. “You have been working with the The White Wolf?”

I nodded slowly, “Something like that, it is very slow going.”

“Well we need your consult.”

“What has happened to him?” I asked.

“Ma’am, we do not have time to talk, I shall explain on the way.” With that, I was ushered out of Mama’s cottage and into some kind of transporter that hovered over the rocky ground.

Apparently they had been developing an arm for the white wolf to replace an old one he used to have that was part of his time as a brainwashed agent. He had been going up to the capitol most evenings to complete testes to further the process of this new arm. They had just attached it when he seemed to go into some kind of trance. The techs believed that their systems may have been hacked and when they introduce the arm, they reintroduced his programming.

I frowned, “Why do you need me?”

“We have found no breaches in cyber security. So the next logical thing is that it is post traumatic reaction.”

I responded with an interested “hm.”

I was forever fascinated by the duality of Wankadan technological sophistication and how it was valued along side the natural resources of the countryside. I was whisked into a great building on an electromagnetic train to a quiet lab. I peered through the two way glass at the figure of a restrained man. He was still, but tense. I knew it was the Wolf when I felt the rage rolling off of him.

“How long has he been restrained like this?” I asked.

“For several hours ma’am, we started by trying to remove the arm when he became agitated but he would not let us get close enough. This was the best we could do.”

“I would like to go in alone.” After quiet consultation amongst themselves, the guard around me consented, reminding me they would be just on the other side of the door if anything went awry.

So I stepped in. “Hello,” I said cheerfully, “I hear you have had a difficult couple of hours.” I made as much noise with my feet as I could till I was in his line of vision. “I am here just to talk with you,” I continued, searching for recognition in his eyes, though I saw nothing but cold anger. Maintaining a distance, I said, “would you tell me your name?” Silence.

I had become fascinated by this work through witnessing the work of traditional storytellers. I used to watch them weave together stories of great struggle and relieve the stress of violence through recounting not just the harm done to their own people but how they recovered in body and soul. I figured if this storytelling could work for centuries, why would it not work here. So I told him his own story, I told him of a young man that sought to serve his country and did, saving many lives. Yet in saving these lives he was captured and forced to turn against those he had been devoted to saving. I talked about how deeply they had reached inside of this man, and how he had forgotten the person he had been before, how he had forgotten about the good he had done. I could feel the tension and anger as his steely rage pressed against his restraints.

So I took a deep breath and stepped closer, my eyes searching for his and when he glared at me I refused to look away. And I told him of how even though he had forgotten, others did not. That they had gotten him away finally from the clutches of the evil men and that the young, bright hero was still there, even after all of that time.

“What is your name?” I asked him taking yet another step closer.

After a long silence, he spoke, “I am the Winter Soldier.”

I was so close now I could touch him, “no, what is your name?” I reached my hand out and rested it on his forehead. I gently swept the hair out of his face, maintaining my composure as I made contact with his hot skin.

“My name is Maggie, and we have been working together on a farm. You have made friends with two little boys who love to hang around you. What is your name?”

“I- I am the White Wolf,” he stammered, the humanity beginning to return to his tone. I pressed on.

“Many people call you that here, but that is not your name. What is you name Sergeant?” I asked gently, my hands moving from his face to his shoulders, one hot flesh the other cold metal.

“My name is Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes,” he said finally, “but you can call me Bucky.” I smiled and stepped away.

“Welcome back Bucky, we missed you.” As Bucky began to notice his surroundings the recognition of what must have happened registered in his eyes and he sighed, looking toward the window where he knew people were observing him from.

“I am so sorry.” Then he looked at me. “How did you get here?”

“I heard you might need a friend, but the boys were still asleep, so I had to come instead.” I winked at him. And a corner of his mouth turned upward in a very charming way.

…

The next few weeks were slow but I sensed that the first night in the capitol had been a breakthrough for him. I stayed on and helped to observe his progress. Most of his episodes now took the form of dreams. They had been apprehensive about letting him sleep in private, converting the lab to a bedroom instead where he could be observed. After much discussion and advocacy on my part I persuaded them to move him to a suite with two rooms. He would stay in one and a doctor or carer could stay in the other, with guards waiting outside if desired. Bucky seemed okay with this transition so we moved ahead with the plan.

I returned to my quarters a while later only to find guards hauling my things out, worried I had done something wrong I rushed over to find out what was being done. “We were instructed to move your things to the experimental suite with Sergeant Barnes, Ma’am,” the guard replied.

With more questions now, I followed the guards hauling my few belongings down a series of halls. I met the doctors I had been working with outside of the suite they had been outfitting for Sergeant Barnes. After the appropriate greetings were made, I jumped right in, “So whats this about my things being moved?”

“Well, ma’am,” one of the doctors began, “as you have suggested we are trying to make this arrangement as comfortable for sergeant Barnes as we can. Since we will not be surveilling him in these quarters we decided we needed someone to be with him at all hours. We thought you fit the bill.”

“Hmm, I see.” I stammered, “Im sorry but I still don’t understand.”

The doctor looked at me with sympathy. “Well, for several reasons, putting someone else in there is a good will gesture, hopefully the Sergeant will believe us when we tell him we aren’t surveilling him if there is another way of monitoring him that he can see. Furthermore, you have had the most breakthroughs with him, he seems comfortable with your presence and therefore you are the best option for him to establish healthy rest patterns. And none of our people were especially keen to do it.”

Well that was quite an explanation. All I could do was repeat myself, “I see.”

…

I had grown used to living in close quarters with people I didn’t know that well since my stay in Central Africa. People liked to live simply, spending most of their time outdoors and retiring in the evenings to small shelters. But this felt different. The space I shared with Bucky was spacious and much grander than either of us was comfortable with. We each had our own suite with a living space separating them. We were both happy to be out of there during the day. I would return to the village several days a week and continue to work with Mama Hassan and even make a few rounds with her. Those were the times that felt most normal. I would return and receive reports from the doctors and scientists working with Bucky.

He also looked worn out by the end of each day, I was not comfortable with the poking and prodding they did to him, but when I asked him, he was insistent that he trusted them and that he had to develop patience and endurance of mind if he was going to be able to function in the world again.

I supposed he was used to these ultra clean, militarized spaces, but I had first met him as the White Wolf, clad in herder blankets and tanned from the African sun. When I looked at him now, it was as if he had lost his wolf.

I awoke before my alarm one morning, the sun not yet up. I tossed around a bit but soon gave up on the thought of returning to sleep. Pulling on a pair of sweat pants and an undershirt, I shuffled into the living room. I prepared some coffee and was humming to myself. I turned to grab a mug from the cabinet and froze, noticing for the first time the outline of a figure looking out of the great window on the other side of the room. From my distance he looked like a statue, solid, firm, immortal. Cautiously I moved closer.

He was clad in sweat pants similar to the ones I was wearing, but he had no shirt. His metal arm glowed in the soft light beginning to peak above the mountains. I stopped a few feet from him and we watched the sun come up together.

“They say Wakanda has the best sunrises,” Bucky said, breaking our silence, “I have seen a lot of sunrises.” He raised his flesh hand and laid it on the window, like he was trying to touch the sky as it burned gold, and red, and purple. “The sunrises are also beautiful in Siberia. The difference is, you wait and you wait and finally, the sun rises and you are so relieved that it has risen that however it looks, it is the most beautiful thing you have ever seen. Here, the sun will rise every day, and yet every day, it is the most beautiful thing.”

“I think you were a poet in another life Sergeant,” I said. He glanced over at me then looked down with an embarrassed smile.

…

That afternoon the reports showed some regression in his responsiveness. I suggested that it may just be fatigue, that before they reattached his arm he did well living in the village, perhaps a return to that environment would encourage him. They were not yet ready to release him, even for a few hours, among civilians, but they consented to a few days of rest.

I delivered this news to him that evening. He nodded and retired to his quarters like he always did. I knew he didn’t often show emotion, but I thought he would be happier, or relieved, or something. I made myself dinner, and continued to think it over, had I overstepped?

Having worked myself into an anxious tizzy, I rose and walked to his quarters, knocking gingerly on the door. I waited a few moments and he did not answer. I knocked again and the door opened quickly, startling me, as did the figure on the other side.

“Ma’am,” said Bucky, a towel wrapped around his waist and his hair still dripping from the shower.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I am disturbing you, I-“

“No it’s fine, hold on.” He closed the door and a few seconds later opened it again, he was now clad in his sweatpants and was pulling a black t shirt over his head. “What’s the problem?”

“Oh, um, no problem, I just wanted to check with you about the next couple of days. It is difficult for me to tell what you are thinking and I hope I didn’t make a call that you are uncomfortable with.”

He shifted his weight so that his metal arm leaned against the door frame above us. “I don’t do well with being idle. That’s all.”

I nodded, “So then I guess we will have to keep ourselves occupied for the next few days.”

His eyes clouded for a moment, “I have to stay here then?” He asked, sounding let down.

I wiped the smile off my face, realizing his frustration, despite how gamely he was taking all of these regulations and precautions. “Im afraid so, but I promise, it will be a break, we will find ways for this to be easy going and un-stressful.”

He nodded, “After all the time I spent avoiding you, I now have to find a way to be with you non stop for two days.” The words caught me by surprise. I had by no means forgotten our early interactions in the village, but our situations had changed. I opened my mouth to speak but I caught his eye and there, in his icy blue stare, was the Wolf again. And I was the one locked in his gaze. I backed away, realizing how big this man really was and how much damage he could do before help came, end even after it came.

“S-sergeant,” I stammered as he moved to close the space between us, but I kept backing up till the back of my legs ran into some piece of furniture. “Sergeant Barnes, tell me, what is it that unsettles you? What am I doing?” He stopped mere inches from me.

“I can deal with the Wakandans, I’m in their home, they keep me here for the sake of their own people. They seek my rehabilitation because of their King. You? I know nothing about you. You insert yourself here, you know more, you have more success, you become indispensable. I’ve dealt with your kind before, you think I don’t know what an invader looks like, the tactics of kindness?” He was leaning over me now, his hands gripping my arms. These last words he whispered into my ear. I had seen many things in my career, but I had not anticipated this.

“I- I’m not indispensable, and if this is success it doesn’t feel like it,” I sob, all pretense of composure gone. He had shaken something loose in me that I hadn’t known was there. “You think we are so different?” I paused, more sobs racking my frame. “Everywhere I go, every country, every situation, there is distress, and it’s my job to discover it, to dig it out of the rubble and ashes of long since faded tragedy. I bring the possibility of healing but only after a journey of pain and sadness.” I gasp a few times, taking in deep gulps of air. “Bucky,” his grip has loosened and I feel dizzy so I raise my hands to his chest to steady myself as he meets my eyes.

Embarrassed by my loss of composure, I step away from him, scrubbing my eyes with the heels of my hands. “Um,” I clear my throat and bravely look up just above his hairline, avoiding his eyes, “I apologize Sergeant, that was very unprofessional of me. I must insist that we continue this conversation tomorrow, I need some time to collect myself.” I turn away from him, striding quickly to my door but I feel a hand close around my arm and I stop again, feeling exactly like the fake he had just called me. All I wanted was to be back in the village with Sarah, with people who know me, where I felt safe.

I could feel him trying to get my attention but I couldn’t do it, I couldn’t look at him, nor could I leave, so I sank to the ground, wrapping my arms around my knees and hiding my face, more tears blurred my eyes. And then I hear shuffling behind me and something sturdy leans against my back. Slowly I calm myself, allowing my muscles to loosen slightly, my back to straighten, and my vision to clear. As I look around me I see that I am seated in front of the great window. I peer at my reflection, blinking a few times as I realize what the pressure is at my back, Bucky has sat down behind me, leaning his broad back against my own.

Neither of us speaks as we stay there, staring out into the darkness of night.

…

I blink in the morning light, disoriented at first as I remember the events of the night before. I couldn’t remember going to bed, I wondered how I got here. Even more curious was the smell coming from the kitchen. Tentatively, I crept out of bed and cracked the door to my suite, breathing deeply the smell of bacon. It had been a long time since I had eaten food from America. Where did it come from? I hadn’t ordered anything and the Sergeant usually ate special nutrient rich food prepared for him.

But drawing closer, I saw he was there over the stove, also still in his clothes from the night before. I kept my distance, my hand not straying far from my door knob. The tension of the night before seemed to have dissipated, but I had been working with PTS too long to trust that feeling.

“Good Morning,” Bucky called to me as he turned off the burners and dished up two plates of eggs, bacon and toast. He placed them across from each other at the table, then walked towards me. He looked tensely at the floor for a moment before he spoke, “Food from home always helps with my bad days, I thought you might like a little reminder of your home this morning.” He gave me one of those rare lopsided smiles. Then not waiting for me, he returned to the table, letting me make my own way there if I wanted.

I followed at a distance, finally taking a seat after he had settled in. He was a very good cook.

The food was good, the conversation not so much. I still felt tense and was worried about our argument the night before.

I had cleared my schedule for the next two days so that I could be present for the Sergeants two days off. I thought it might be nice to stay in for a weekend, but now I was petrified of rattling around this space with him.

After breakfast I pulled out my laptop, deciding that if this wasn’t going to be relaxing I could at least get some work done. This particular soldier came with a lot of paper work so I retrieved my laptop and settled in on the couch. It wasn’t long before some slow jazz began to float out of the speakers. I looked up and Bucky was walking toward me. “Maggie, would you dance with me?” Confused, I closed my computer and stood, taking the hand he offered me.

He drew me into his chest, his metal hand holding mine and his other hand on my lower back. “It turns out that I haven’t done much apologizing in the last fifty years,” he said quietly, his words vibrating his chest. “So now is as good a time as any,” he persisted, stepping away from me for a moment. “I was out of line last night, I’m sorry.”

I sighed, “Unfortunately, you must not have been, I think you hit a nerve, I usually have thicker skin than that, and I knew you were agitated, thats why I pushed.” He shook his head.

“That is not an excuse for my actions, and don’t think I haven’t noticed that despite how scared you were, you didn’t call for the guards.”

I could think of nothing to say, so we just moved together, swaying with the whims of the horn in the background.

…

The first day was quiet, we each kept to ourselves, Bucky doing some exercises in one corner while I continued my work. In the early evening my stomach rumbled and I swear the super soldier must have heard it because not a minute later he came over and asked if he should cook dinner. I suggested I might since he had cooked earlier, and he countered that we should do it together.

Rattling around in a kitchen with a huge man was not something I was used to and this particular man took up a lot of space. Many times he reached over me to grab things out of the high cabinets, his torso brushing my back ever so slightly, the clean scent of him cutting through the smells of the food cooking.

Finally I couldn’t stand it anymore and I suggested we watch a movie while we ate and Bucky agreed. So I readied the screen as Bucky finished up in the kitchen. He joined me on the couch a few minutes later. I had no idea what kind of films he would like but was surprised when he continued to point out the horror movies.

“Um, are you sure? They are pretty intense, I don’t want you to be set off by something in one of them,” I said hoping that wouldn’t offend him.

“Oh, are they?” He asked, “they are so bad, they get everything wrong.”

“I see,” I reply. Sighing, I decide they must not make much of an impression on him so I made my plate and sat on the side of the couch as far away as I could. I wasn’t afraid of him, but I kept getting this feeling when he was close to me. I couldn’t place it, and while I was too scientific to always go by my instinct, I had done this job too long to ignore it.

I lost my appetite a few minutes into the movie, distracted by the suspense on screen. At the first jump scare, I did just that, flinching and letting out an “oh.” Bucky tilted his head towards me and cocked an eyebrow. Was he laughing? I rose and gathered our dishes, trying to collect myself before returning to the film.

“Hey, we don’t have to watch this if it’s scaring you,” Bucky called over to me pausing the screen.

“No its okay, thats the point right?” I said as I returned to my seat on the couch. The light was fading outside and the room grew darker. At the next scene I reached out searching for something to hold on to in my frightened panic. The closest thing was Bucky’s metal arm. Realizing I may have really invaded his space I released it quickly, apologizing. To my surprise he rose and moved to the other side of me, offering up his other arm. Touched by the gesture I wound my hand around his arm, very conscious of the rippled muscles that moved under his skin.

The sound system was top notch and effectively immersed us in the scenes. Bucky loved it, but I was at my wits end, and by the time the credits rolled I was practically sitting in Bucky’s lap, my head pushed into his chest, avoiding the images on the screen. “Hey,” he said, gently placing his metal arm on my back, laughing again, “Its over you can look up.”

“Turn the lights on first,” I mumbled into his shirt. So he shifted my weight back onto the couch and rose to find the light switch. Once the room brightened I uncurled, looking around me nervously. “Great, now I’m going to be sneaking around every mirror and window till I can forget I ever saw this movie.

“You could have told me you were such a light weight,” he said shaking his head in mock shame.

“Well, its your vacation. I figured you deserved to pick your own damned movie. But don’t worry, I won’t make that mistake again,” I said. I glanced at my phone, it was barely eight, too early to make my excuses and go to bed. So now what?

“Well then,” Bucky said as he stretched up to a high cabinet in the kitchen, “Since I stressed you out with my movie choice, I guess it’s my job to relax you again,” he said, holding up a bottle of red wine. Too emotionally drained to object, I moved closer.

“Fine, but officially this didn’t happen.” He winked at me as he uncorked the bottle.

…

We had just emptied the first bottle and I was feeling good, having throughly forgotten the terrors of Hollywood proportions that had so disturbed me an hour ago. “You want to dance again?” I asked, feeling looser and a little flushed. “I doubt two glasses of this has helped my moves, but I know it feels like it has,” I gave Bucky a winky smile. He had put the slow jazz back on and the bawdy rhythms made me antsy.

He came closer to me and held out his hand. “Dancing to jazz is still the most transgressive act a person and do,” he said as he pulled me into a turn. I smiled at this.

“I think you are showing your age a bit grandpa,” I replied.

“Nonsense, I’m as timeless as this music.” I looked up at him intending to say something smart but stopped, transfixed by his intense grey blue eyes. They were kind, and deep, and loving. I couldn’t fathom how a man with such kindness in him could have been such a killing machine. And that was it, he couldn’t be both. That was his burden and what got him out in the end, the kindness in those eyes.

I placed my hands on the sides of his face, running my fingers in the scruff on his cheeks. His arms brought me closer till we were pressed against each other. Letting my fingers run through his dark hair, I pulled him down to my eye level. I wanted to let him know I understood, that I saw the great effort and care and loss he has endured. But I couldn’t do that. So instead I brought my lips up, gently pressing them to his forehead.

Instead of releasing me, he stayed close to me, our breath mingling until I felt soft hesitant lips tenderly brush against mine. I felt lit up on the inside, I reached up for more but he pulled away. “You have had a couple drinks, this can wait till morning.”

He ushered me to my bedroom door, making sure I made it there all right, but he stopped there, the ex assassin held back by the flimsy boundary that was my door frame.

“Will you stay with me tonight? I- I just don’t want to be alone in this big space.”

“You know for a woman who travels the world seeking out war zones, theres a lot of things that scare you.”

I smiled tiredly, “I know, thats why I’m good at it.” Turning from him I flopped on my bed, getting comfortable, and waiting for him to make the next move. I heard rustling at the foot of my bed and then the mattress dipped behind me and the warm bare skin of the White Wolf settled at my back. I curled my legs up and guided his hand to rest just below my bottom. He nestled into the back of me, his scratchy cheeks resting on the bare skin of my neck.

…

I awoke to movement under me. Disoriented for the second night in a row I opened my eyes, remaining still as I waited to see what the rustling was. My eyes widened as the thing beneath me grunted in a low voice and circled my back with his metal arm. I recalled the strange events of the night before and balked at all the possible consequences of my actions. But then Bucky shifted again and I became aware of how big he really was. His barrel chest was broad and slightly damp with sweat, and he gripped me to him with real intensity, even in his sleep, and I couldn’t help but think all the possible HR issues would be worth this sweet moment.

“Are you also pretending to still be asleep?” A scratchy voice vibrated in my ear. Bucky peered up at me with one eye open, the other still closed.

I laughed a little, “not exactly, I think I’m paying a heavier toll than you for our night cap.”

“Yea I can’t get drunk.”

“Well fuck,” I replied, “thanks for the warning. I’m not going to worry about keeping up with you anymore then.” He laughed and squeezed my middle as I propped myself up to look at him, an elbow on either side of his chest.

His eyes were the same as they were last night, the wine hadn’t lied to me. In the cloudy morning light they almost seemed to glow.

“You are so beautiful,” he said, bringing his hand up to my face and running his thumb over my eyebrow and down to my ear. I looked down, uncomfortable with the compliment. I had been living a life of simplicity and necessity here. My hair was shorn, my face and arms tanned darker than the rest of me, I hadn’t worn makeup in several years. I was not particularly self effacing, I didn’t think I was ugly nor did I struggle with self loathing, I just hadn’t realized how apart from my physical body I had become. I chewed on my lip as I looked at Bucky.

“Thanks,” I said. Then I rolled off of him, sliding to the edge of the bed and sitting up. The sky was heavy with dark clouds and I could already hear the thunder rumbling from the far side of the mountain. Bucky sat up and scooted next to me.

“Well I won’t miss getting caught in heavy rains this season,” he said and I chuckled and nodded in agreement.

…

I hadn’t realized how difficult it would be to avoid Bucky on this second day of rest. Besides being stuck in the same space with him, the torrential rain and deafening thunder made me want to do nothing more than cuddle up with one particular heat producing ex-assassin. I compromised and settled into the couch with a cup of coffee and a book instead.

Behind me I could almost hear the pattern of Bucky’s feet wearing into the floor so intense was his pacing. A few times I managed to catch onto the plot of my book and let it absorb me, but I was drawn out of it again and again by the little sounds he would make, a cough, a loud sniff, a squeak of his shoe. Finally I shut my book and pinched the skin between my eyes, trying to keep my composure.

“Bucky,” I said in a measured tone, “is there something on your mind?”

The pacing stopped. “Why do you ask?”

“Well,” I began, “you are acting a little bit like a lion in a cage.”

“Oh, sorry, I just- I guess I’m not used to having all of these hours to myself. I feel like I’m rattling around in here.” I stood, casting off the layers I had been nesting in.

“Well, is there something we can do together? You have missed a lot while you were… you know,” I paused uncomfortably, but he said noting so I soldiered on. “There are movies, books, games, that are incredibly important to the social world that you should become aware of.”

“Just not horror movies?” He asked with a hint of a crooked smile on his face. “Yea, maybe save those for some of your super friends, I don’t have the strength for them.” I felt my face grow hot as I recalled the intimacy of the previous evening and how I would gladly do it again. “Well, what are you reading?” He asked, calling my attention back to the present.

“Ah, a decidedly not hip novel,” I said waving the book in his direction, “it’s Thomas Hardy.”

“Well I was never much of a reader in my younger years,” he said taking the book from me and flipping through the first few pages. “Read it to me?”

So there we were again, piled onto a couch that was way too small to offer us adequate distance apart. I leaned my back against one arm with my legs pulled up, perhaps I thought they would serve as an extra barrier between the two of us. Bucky sat on the other end and nodded at me to begin, so I did.

I loved reading, and Bucky was an attentive listener, he would interrupt every so often to ask a question and we would discuss together what we thought the imagery might mean or what a particular character trait indicated about the plot. I hadn’t noticed that we moved closer together or that I had stuck my feet under his leg when they got cold, or when he pulled them on his lap.

I had been reading for so long that I was beginning to lose my voice. Looking up I was going to suggest we break for dinner when I was startled by the same intense gaze he had given me the night before. “Maggie,” he said, “I want you to know that I hold you in the greatest professional regard. I think you do incredible work and are an excellent leader.”

“Uh, thanks?” I replied.

“I need you to hear this from me now because I don’t want you to question it later.” He said cryptically.

“What is happening later?” And like I weighed nothing he pulled me into his lap.

“Well,” he murmured into my ear, his muscular arms pulling me into his chest, “if you are okay with it, maybe more of this?”

He sounded so nervous, like a teenage boy even, not the capable and controlled man I was coming to respect greatly. Moved by his vulnerability I sat up straighter, pulling his face into my neck, feeling like I wanted to cover him completely with my body. His lips pressed against the hollow below my neck and I sighed, enjoying the contrast of soft lips and his scratchy beard. I pulled my hands through his hair listening to him growl deeply. The wolf contented for the moment.

I shifted my weight so that I was straddling his lap, a knee on either side of him. His hands began to explore under my shirt as I lowered my head to kiss him. He was intoxicating and maddening, insisting on doing everything slow. Sensing my frustration he spoke, “You have no idea how long it’s been since I have held a woman, and I’v never held a woman like you. So I have to take it all in.” But he flipped us in the same breath so that he was laying above me, his solid weight a comforting pressure and I needed him closer. We pulled layers off of one another till we were in our underwear. It was at this crucial moment that I felt him stop, his movements becoming stiff and tentative again.

“Bucky?” I asked, he sat up, scooting out from under me he sat with his arms against his knees. I felt a wall thicken between us again and I knew I had to get through to him or we would lose this connection. So gently, slowly I reached out to the closest part of him, his metal arm. I ran a finger from his shoulder to his wrist. He didn’t react, so I scooted till my leg was up against his.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, “I just don’t think I’m ready for- for that yet.”

I couldn’t help but smile. I never would have guessed this solid, quiet man would be so honest and sweet. I reached my hand up to the back of his neck and let my fingers tangle in his hair. “Hey, thats okay,” I turned his head so that he had to look at me, “Really. What I want from you is whatever you have to offer.” I looked around the room at the grand space around us, “Bucky all of this is about helping you offer more to the world. Don’t wast your time with what you think you should be doing, do what you can, because you are different than any other man, any other person I have ever met.”

…

I was up before the dawn again, yawning I gathered what I would need in my small bag and headed up the mountain towards the lake. The walk seemed shorter each time I took it, and I arrived at the edge of the water just as the sun was peaking up, casting gold light into the reflective water.

“Came for the view?” I turned and smiled at the figure that was lumbering toward me. He looked at ease here, his shuka wrapped tightly around him.

“Well if it isn’t the White Wolf,” I said welcoming his embrace. He stood behind me, his strong figure leaning comfortably on me, his arms wrapped around me.

“Just call me Bucky,” he said into my ear before planting a kiss on my cheek.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #wakanda #white wolf #fan fiction #james buchanan bucky barnes #wakanda forever #marvel #mcu x reader #marvel cinematic universe #bucky x female character

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thesameasbe4 · 3 years

Text

Harry in London

*Loosely inspired by the British Miniseries The Bodyguard. Cameo appearance by Richard Madden’s streak of gray hair. Explicit language and some sexual references.

We had passed each other many many times. I think I even spoke a few brief words to him here and there, polite greetings and the like. In this way it was strange then to feel like I had seen him for the first time. “Sarge,” I had heard some of the other security call him. I wasn’t particularly familiar with British Policing but he did seem to be the one that others reported to on our security detail even though he worked along side them.

I was uncomfortable with the idea of personal security at first, unsure why an international consort of social welfare experts needed such a thing, until we encountered our first protest. It turned out that almost every political platform could find a reason to disagree with this initiative. There were complaints about taking British social practicum into the international sphere, disagreements about our inclusion of family planning and safeguards sensitive to immigrant welfare. The list never stopped. A few weeks into our stay we learned that there were also death threats targeted at several of us individually. That was when I first officially met Sergeant Collins. They started the day off by pairing each of us with a personal protection officer who, from that time forward, would be with us from the moment we stepped out of our residences till we returned there in the evenings. The Sergeant had stepped toward me, introducing himself and I did the same in return, putting on a display of politeness but distracted by the work we had yet to do that day.

At lunch, I dragged myself down to the lower floor courtyard, a paper cup of coffee steaming in one hand and a pack of cigarettes in the other. I lowered myself to the ground against the wall, sloshing coffee over my fingers. “Fuck,” I muttered, remembering suddenly that I had a horrid headache. I set the cup down on my right side and tossed the pack of cigarettes down next to them. I wiped my stinging hand on the fabric of my black pants and drew my knees up so that I could rest my head on them for a few moments.

“Are you all right Ma’am?” An emotionless voice said. I looked up, startled that I was not alone as I had thought. The sturdy figure of Sergeant Collins stood in the doorway of the courtyard. I took another deep breath, this one a little more exaggerated than the last and rolled my eyes up at him.

“Yes Sergeant, I’m fine thanks. It’s just been a long day, and it’s not nearly over, ” I said on an exhale. I brought the cup of coffee to my lips and took a heavenly sip of the dark brown liquid. I had the forethought to pack my old dorm coffee pot from so many years ago, anticipating a lack of American style coffee in work spaces, and I had been right. Tea and instant coffee would not get me through these high stress days, and so I brought my own solution, something I was well known for and one of the reasons I had the honor of serving on this initiative. Though I did receive my fair share of ribbing based on my very Southern American preference for black drip coffee.

“Are you allowed to sit while on duty Sergeant?” I asked, inviting him to join me with a nod of my head.

“Sometimes, Ma’am, if it’s appropriate.”

“What would make this an appropriate time for you to sit next to me?” I asked taking another sip of coffee.

“Well Ma’am, firstly if I’m not interfering with your work duties or personal wishes, and secondly if it is advantageous or inconsequential to your physical safety.” I had never heard him string that many words together, and I was startled by the brusk Scottish tone of his voice.

I raised an eyebrow at him. “Well we are still within a secure government building and I am inviting you to join me because it’s weird for you to stand over me. Is that sufficient reason for you to join me?”

Interestingly, he cracked a smile at me and then took a few measured steps toward me and lowered himself to the ground. I noticed the special care he took in making sure his fire arm was still safely holstered in the belt at his waist. He kept a professional distance between us, but it was the closest we had ever been to one another besides the few times he held car doors open for me.

I studied his form. From far away all of the PPOs looked put together and slick, but up close he looked uncomfortable and lumpy. He wore a well tailored suit, but there was an intercom wire attached to his collar and threaded down the back of his shirt and clipped onto his trousers. He also had an ear piece in the left ear, which was closest to me. His chest was unusually stiff and wide, which led me to assume he had a bullet proof vest under his crisp white collared shirt.

“Want a smoke? I asked, offering him the pack.” He shook his head.

“No thank you, Ma’am.” So I dropped the pack again. Instead I held out my hand to him.

“Lucy, I’d rather you call me Lucy, at least when we are alone,” I said to him. Hesitating only for a moment, he took the hand I offered and shook it twice firmly.

“Harry,” he replied. Our movements stirred the air just a bit and the faintly masculine scent of old spice teased my nostrils. I turned to face forward again so that I wouldn’t stare too hard at him. I had assumed that he was middle aged because he was the Sergeant, but up close he appeared to be in his early thirties. “Don’t let me interrupt you Ma’am, go and have your smoke.”

“I don’t smoke,” I replied and we both fell silent.

Finishing my cup of coffee, I rose and dusted myself off as I waited for Sergeant Collins to check the door and open it for me.

The day faded to late afternoon and then into early evening. Much of the day had been set aside for meetings and I was throughly spent. Our final decisions were made for the day around six and I was already thinking about what I would make for dinner and coaxing myself into believing that I had enough energy for a short workout as well.

As we filed out of the conference room I sought the dark shape of Sergeant Collins amidst the line up of PPOs. He nodded to me and stayed where he was, patiently waiting for the halls to clear before moving toward me.

“You mind if we take the stairs instead of the lift?” I asked. He spoke a few words into his collar and then waited while I assumed someone was responding through the receiver in his ear. I was about to interject that if it was any trouble we could just take the lift, but he nodded in assent and we headed the opposite way down the hall from the cluster waiting for their turn down to the ground floor.

I was itching to get some of the wiggles out after being seated for so long and I relished the faint strains on my quads as we made our way down the five flights of stairs. It is hard to explain what happened next, my brain recalls only fragments of it at a time. I remember bursting out of the stairwell and into the building lobby slightly out of breath and then being tackled by a huge mass behind me. I hit the ground hard, slamming my jaw on the tile floor and I felt my knee pop. All around me there was a deafening noise and an abrupt wave of heat followed by screams and the hectic whining of the fire alarms.

“Lucy… Lucy!” I heard in my ear, “can you hear me?” I nodded, realizing that the heavy weight on top of me was Sergeant Collins. “Stay here, don’t move at all, I am going to assess the situation and then come back for you. I won’t be long.” I felt the weight shift and then lighten as he rolled off of me and staggered to his feet.

I stayed there, inhaling thick smoke, systematically wiggling each of my body parts. As far as I could tell I was in one piece.

A few moments later a strong hand reached down and grabbed my arm. Startled, I tried to wriggle out of the grip. “It’s me Ma’am,” Harrys voice cut through the smoke and alarm bells. “Come, there is a car waiting out the back entrance. Can you stand?” I scrambled to my feet, wincing at a sharp pain in my knee but gritted my teeth and allowed the Sergeant to guide me back into the stairwell and through a series of emergency exit doors. Hesitating just inside the final door, Sgt. Collins spoke into his collar, waiting for some kind of signal before he stepped out into the fresh air. From my vantage point behind the Sergeant I was still able to see a black SUV pull up and brake hard a few meters away from our exit. As it halted abruptly, the back door swung open and another PPO got out and made a signal in our direction. Sgt. Collins gripped my arm and ushered me out into the cool air. We walked quickly to the vehicle and I climbed in, Sargent Collins following me into the back seat.

“Ma’am,” a sturdy female voice caught my attention from the driver seat, “have you any need for emergency medical assistance?” I blinked a few times, unsure of what to say.

“Um, I don’t think so. I’m a little battered but I don’t think I’ve got anything major thats wrong.”

“In that case, we will drop you off at your safe house. A detail has been sent to screen your belongings for hazards and then they will be brought to you at your new location.” I nodded, unsure of how one was supposed to react in a situation like this. “Sometimes you don't notice you are hurt until the shock wears off,” she continued, “Sergeant Collins has the appropriate training to treat any minor injuries you may discover you have and a trip to the doctor can be arranged for tonight or tomorrow if that becomes necessary.”

The rest of the ride was quiet. I had no idea where we were, although I was still unfamiliar with London in general. Finally the vehicle glided to a stop and Sgt. Collins stepped out and held the door for me. It was now too dark to see anything and there were no lights on the outside of house, just the headlights from the SUV. Collins stopped me at the front door and he proceeded to check each room, shouting “clear,” as he finished his inspection of each one. Finally he returned to the front door. “Ma’am, it is safe for you to go in now. I will be waiting here with you at least for the time being. Would you prefer it if we arranged for a female officer to stay with you over night?”

“Um, no, I trust you, it is fine, I just want to be as little trouble as I can,” I replied hearing an unfamiliar tremor in my voice. Sergeant moved aside, allowing me access to the interior of the house. I wandered through the little rooms without much purpose while the two PPOs spoke quietly to each other on the front stoop.

I managed to find a few light switches and flipped them on. There was a kitchen and dining room all in one with a sitting area just beyond and a short hallway that I gathered led to a bedroom. I went to the dining table and pulled out a wooden chair and sat down. In the light I noticed that I had little scratches all over my arms and my clothes had small holes in them. There wasn’t a lot of blood but there was enough that I felt my hands tremble as I felt around, trying to locate the source of it.

I didn’t notice that Harry had come into the house till he pulled out a second dining chair and sat across from me. His clothes were torn similarly to mine, and I could see that he had a nice sized cut on his eyebrow. “You’ve got a few cuts on your face,” he said to me. “May I bandage them?”

“What happened?” I asked, ignoring his question.

He sighed and leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees. “Someone detonated a bomb.” Pausing, he looked at me, waiting for my response. I had assumed as much, I mean, I had heard it, felt the blast, if just the very outer bit. So I returned his gaze, though I suspected my eyes were a bit harder than his. “I don’t have many details, I expect you will be debriefed in the morning.” He sat back, sighing.

“What do you think though?” I asked. He shifted, pulling at his shirt like he was just noticing the warmth of the room.

“I can’t confir-“

“I know,” I cut him off, “but what do you think?”

He was silent for a moment, meeting my cold stare again before he finally replied. “I think if they wanted all of you dead you would be.” He stood and turned his back on me, reaching into a cabinet and pulling out a bottle of brown liquid. From the drying rack he took two glasses and poured a little liquid into each of them. “This was hate mail, not attempted assassination.” He placed a glass on the table in front of me. I picked it up gingerly, half expecting it to blow up in my face as well.

“So what happens next?” I asked quietly. The Sergeant let out a sigh and met my gaze as he downed the contents of his glass. Closing my eyes for just a moment, I did the same.

We remained silent as he then proceeded to inspect my injuries. Though I insisted I was uninjured, as my shock faded, it was replaced by a dull ache in my jaw and a sharp pain in my knee any time I tried to put weight on it. He stuck a few bandaids on my face and gave me some paracetamol which I washed down with another shot of whiskey. He showed me the bathroom and the spare clothes already laid out in the bedroom.

“What about you?” I asked stopping him in the doorway of the small bathroom.

“Ma’am?”

“Lucy, please,” I said without thinking. He looked straight ahead, just over my hairline, as if that mask of professionalism would erase the intimacy of our now entangled reality. “You are bleeding, may I clean your cuts?” I stared at his face, willing him to look at me. Finally he looked down and met my gaze, his eyes softened.

“Thank you, Lucy.” So we returned to the kitchen where the first aid kit still lay open on the table. He sat down as he had before and I fumbled with an alcohol swab determined to stop my hands from shaking. I could feel him watching me and my frustration grew as hot wet tears squeezed out of my eyes unbidden and unnecessary.

And then his warm hands were covering mine, stilling them. His touch calmed me and I drew in a slow breath. I remembered how far from home I was, how alone, only working and working.

My gaze settled again on the Sergeant, who, I noticed, was still wearing his suit jacket which was badly shredded, since he had weathered most of the impact from the explosion.

“You don’t know me,” I said, my brow creasing as I dabbed at a cut on his forehead.

“I’m sorry, I don’t follow.”

“Why would you put your life in danger for someone you don’t know?”

“It’s my job.”

“But what about your family?”

“I don’t have any.” I paused my barrage of questions.

“But what if I’m a bad person, you don’t know me. Why would you risk your life for someone you don’t know?”

“It’s my job.”

The tears were flowing freely down my cheeks now. “And if someone was shooting at me, what would you do?”

“I would move you out of the line of fire, using my own body if I had to.”

I let out a sob and I sank to my knees on the ground, he followed. Blinded by the moisture in my eyes I grappled with his jacket, trying to tear it off. “I want to see it,” I spat through my soggy tears. “Let me see your vest.” He had been trying to still my hands, but at this demand he released my wrists and helped me pull off his jacket and held still while I fought with the buttons on his well tailored but now ragged shirt. Finally they were all undone and I couldn��t really recall what it was that I had intended to do, so I placed my hands on the hard surface of his ballistic vest. It was white and started high up on his chest. I started there, running my fingers over the top seam of the thick material, then I followed it out, to where it ended on his taught shoulder muscles, and then tapered down just below the bottom of his rib cage. I circled my arms around him so that I could feel the back side of it as well. Realizing that I was looking for punctures in the material. I found what I had been dreading close to his left shoulder blade, a shard of glass dug in deep. I pulled and pulled but it wouldn’t come out. Finally I felt his body resisting me and I sat back on my knees.

Not breaking eye contact with me he undid the velcro under each arm and lifted the vest over his head.

I jumped at the knock on the door. “Stay here Ma’am.” Harry said, resuming his professional tone, despite being dressed in only an undershirt and his slacks.

It was the other PPO from earlier arrived with a medic who checked the work that Harry had done on me, providing a knee brace that I should wear when I needed to move around. After that I excused myself and took a long hot shower.

…

I awoke slowly the next morning, my mind fuzzy and my body sore. Shifting uncomfortably in an unfamiliar bed, I slowly recalled the events of the night before. Eventually I thought to check the time but could not locate my phone anywhere. Easing out of bed I searched the unfamiliar room but to no avail. I thought it might be in the kitchen where we had first sat upon arriving, I made for the door but realized just in time that I was dressed only in a large t shirt, no pants and no bra. Turning to face the room again, I saw only my clothes from the night previously strewn about the floor, which were in tatters and covered in blood.

I saw a towel draped over a chair so I grabbed it and wrapped it around me. Tiptoeing down the hall, I made my way to the living room area. Harry was sitting in a lounge chair, looking not at all relaxed as he stared at a tv screen showing footage of a building up in flames. Fascinated by the violence of the black smoke and the red fire, I moved closer. “God, is the building even still standing?” I muttered, and was surprised at how quickly he stood and turned around. I must have been quite a sight, because he relaxed when he saw me standing there pitifully wrapped in a towel still damp from the night before.

“Good Morning,” he said. “Your things were delivered earlier this morning. They are in the kitchen.” I swiveled to see three half full black garbage bags sitting on the kitchen floor. I moved towards them. “You may want to put on something comfortable,” he said to my back, “you can’t go in to work today.” I gave him no sign I had heard what he said, but I rummaged through my now rumpled clothes and came out with a pair of dark wash jeans and a light knit sweater.

I returned to the bedroom to make myself presentable. I peered into the floor length mirror and frowned. The left side of my face looked like I had been sprayed with brown paint from the micro cuts that had sliced into my skin. I also had a growing dark splotch under my right eye which I expected would bloom into a full on shiner by the end of the day. My shoulder length black hair was frizzy and knotted, but I didn’t know where my brush was so I ran my fingers through it a few times before giving up, not wanting to look at my damaged face anymore.

Harry had said I couldn’t go to work today, so I suspected the next best thing to do was to make coffee. I nosed around in the kitchen, unsurprised to find that there was no coffee maker, just a kettle and a half of a tin of brittle brown pebbles. Happy to grumble about something normal, I set the kettle to boil and located the cupboard of mugs. As I waited I recalled that I had originally come out to look for my phone.

“Sergeant, have you seen my phone lying anywhere? I’m not sure what happened to it last night.” There was a sound of old creaking wood as he rose from his position in front of the news and joined me in the small kitchen area. We each retraced our movements the night before but to no avail. During our search I couldn’t help but notice again his various scrapes and bruises. There was a long gash that went up into his hairline as well as some of the smattering of tiny cuts that I had on my face, but his were thicker and though his new crisp white collared shirt obscured his torso, I guessed that they continued down his arms and neck.

“Its likely it didn’t make it out of the building,” he said. We discussed this possibility and I realized that if my phone didn’t make it out, neither did my wallet or passport. After a number of expletives on my part, he excused himself to make a call.

The kettle boiled while he was out and so I poured out two steaming cup fulls of hot water. In one I spooned a few sad lumps of brown instant coffee and in the other I plopped a tea bag, a drop of milk and one sugar.

“Okay,” he said, reentering the house and bolting the door behind him. “Here’s the plan, someone will be brought over from the American embassy to take some information from you and they will hopefully be able to get you a new passport by the end of the week. My colleague from last night, will also be returning to take our statements about the events yesterday.” I nodded and handed him the mug of tea. He took it from me with a lift of his eyebrow and brought it close, as if inspecting it. Then he sipped it, his face changing to amusement. “How did you know how to fix my tea?” He asked.

I just shrugged, “What? You think you are the only one who notices details? I’ve got nothing better to pay attention to during all those long winded meetings than what happens at the tea station.” I sipped the dark sludge in my cup.

He nodded as he took another sip.

The embassy clerk came first, looking a bit wide eyed at the two of us, reminding me again how close we had come to death. I gave him all the information I had and we coordinated for the rest of it to be sent to the embassy from the United States. The fidgety man assured me that it would all be processed as quickly as possible and that I should expect new papers by Friday. I stood to shake his hand and then Sgt. Collins showed him out and watched the armored vehicle leave.

The other PPOs arrived not long after, bringing gifts. The woman PPO who had driven us here the night before, Davis, I think was her name, arrived with large cups of real coffee and a bag of groceries, on the very top of which was a box of croissants. She set it all down on the table and slid a coffee over to me as well as a croissant. I ate and she and Sergeant chatted for a while till I was done. Sensing a shift in the atmosphere, she turned to me and laid out the situation as they understood it to this point.

I was the only international on the task force that had not been hospitalized, likely because they had targeted a spot close to the elevator, not the stairwell. One of my colleagues was in critical condition but stable and all the others were suffering from topical injuries such as burns and shrapnel and all were expected to recover. I was to continue to remain in this safe house for several more days as an investigation took place. Sergeant Collins would remain as my PPO as long as I was comfortable with that. A new cell phone and any other equipment I would require would be provided to me.

I gave her my statement and Sgt. Collins retreated outside with her for quite a while. While they were away I dug into the bag she had brought. There were a few groceries as well as a chocolate bar, a bottle of wine and a pack of cigarettes. I studied the box of smokes, curious about why she had thought to include them.

…

It had been a while since I had done absolutely nothing. Idleness never looked good on me. I had picked over the sparse book shelf several times already that morning, finding only two novels that looked palatable, only to discover they were too smutty to stomach in my current state of emotional and physical frailty. I had unpacked my things in the small bedroom at the back of the house and then reorganized them.

Mid-afternoon, a gentle rain settled over the house and I finally sunk into a chair in the kitchen. My knee was throbbing so I hobbled to the freezer and found a pack of frozen mixed vegetables that I laid on my knee. The PPO agent had offered to get me set up to work from this location immediately but warned that no one else was up to it, so I told her to get me connected whenever the rest were healthy enough to begin working again. Sergeant had left for a few hours earlier and Davis remained in his place. He had returned with a neat little overnight bag hanging from his shoulder. The rest of the time he either lingered next to the door, muttering into his earpiece or he would pace in a loop around the kitchen and living room. He didn’t speak to me really, but now in this small space together, it was hard to ignore him. And it felt silly.

“Are you allowed to sleep while you are on this assignment Sergeant?” I inquired when I finally couldn’t take the pacing any longer.

“Of course Ma’am,” he replied, turning to give me his full attention.

I nodded, “Then is there a second room for you somewhere that I missed?”

Resuming his mantle of professionalism, he raised his gaze to just above my hairline, “no Ma’am, we did not have a house available at this time that is more suitable to the situation.” He didn’t answer the question.

“So where do you sleep?”

Still gazing beyond my head, “On the couch Ma’am.”

I closed my eyes and sighed. “I know you will refuse, but I just want you to know that I would gladly give up the room for you.”

“Thank you Ma’am, thats very kind.”

“I mean, you did all the hard work, you did your job for sure, kept me safe, had to react under severe stress…” My words faded away, I wasn’t communicating what I was trying to. Sergeant remained standing at attention as I floundered to gather my thoughts. “Why did officer Davis bring a pack of cigarettes if neither of us smokes?” I blurted finally.

Sergeant Collins raised that one eyebrow again and if I wasn’t mistaken, a faint look of amusement settled on his face. “Ma’am, she brought them because you have led everyone to believe that you are a smoker.” I continued to look at him quizzically, so he continued, “When I was first assigned to you I was briefed that you took up to four smoke breaks a day.”

“Oh right,” I had discovered within the first week of working in London that only the smokers ever actually got fresh air during the day, everyone else took their lunches and breaks in sad corners of the break rooms or at their desks. So I had walked down to a corner store and purchased a pack of cigarettes, and like magic, any time I wished to be left alone, I would grab it and make my way to the courtyard. The Sergeant was the only person who knew I never actually smoked any of the cigarettes. I lifted the pack off of the table, “Any chance I can scoot out the back while I smoke one of these?” I swear, I could hear him itching to roll his eyes, but he gamely refrained.

“Of corse, Ma’am.” So he did a quick sweep of the fenced in garden at the back door and then stood aside to let me out. It was still gently sprinkling but I was happy for it. The back stoop was covered so I sat there, rubbing my hands up and down my arms, having forgotten that it was late November. This back garden had a lovely peaceful, very English feeling that I hadn’t ever gotten in the flat I was provided in the center of London. There were some over grown roses climbing up a disheveled trellis in one corner, a few garden chairs and a little table on the other side. Acting on a whim I stood and stretched, reaching my hand out to test the rain. The sky was darkening and the drops grew more frequent. I stepped out from under the back stoop, hobbled to the center of the small yard, feeling the drops plop onto the back of my neck, I stood there unmoving, waiting for the steady fall of rain to penetrate my clothes and shock my system with their cool wetness.

It felt good on my face, cooling the skin that was scabbing over. As the water ran over me I remembered the weight of my arms, my head, my back and legs. I breathed slowly, aware of the small stream of water running off the tip of my nose. I didn’t hear him move closer, but his warm hand on my shoulder did not make me jump. I noticed he had a days worth of stubble on his cheeks and neck, already obscuring some of the scabbing on his face. And the rain caught and was lost in his dark curly hair, a streak of it already greying on the left side of his head. I had a sudden urge to touch that streak of hair. I wondered what he would do if I did.

“Come inside, Ma’am, you’re getting wet.”

“I prefer it to the heat,” I replied.

“Ma’am, really I insist.”

“I can’t,” I said, exasperated and wanting to be left alone.

“I’m also getting wet Ma’am, please can we go inside.” I tilted my head, gazing at him through the sides of my eyes, enthralled both by his dark silky voice and by what he said. What did he think he knew about me that would make me more inclined to save him discomfort than myself? So I asked him.

“Am I really that persuadable?”

“Sorry, Ma’am?”

“You think I will value your discomfort over what I need?”

“Is that so, Ma’am?” He asked, evading my query with his own. I watched the rain falling heavily on him now. His hair was flattening and streams of water poured off the hems of his jacket. I imagined his shoes were filling with water also.

I sighed, “Fuck, I guess so.” Turning away from him I moved toward the door.

As I reached the cover of the stoop I pulled the now drenched sweater over my head, realizing too late that I was not wearing a shirt underneath. My eyes widened and I glanced at the Sergeant who was behind me. At my look he turned around quickly, allowing me a moment of privacy to right myself. I rung my sweater out and bounded inside the little house, closing and locking the door to the bedroom, which I was now ashamed to have since I knew the Sergeant was confined to the couch.

I took my time slipping into some stretchy leggings and a loose fitting shirt. I noticed in the long mirror that my hurt knee was much larger than the other one and I winced as I pressed on it. I hobbled back down the hallway, intent on the bottle of paracetamol in the kitchen. Rounding the corner my eyes were arrested by the half naked figure standing in the living room. I stepped back into the hallway quickly, not wanting another awkward encounter with Harry, but it was too late, he had already heard me and turned to look at me.

“Apologies, Ma’am, I thought you would be in there a while.”

“Oh, no,” I said hurriedly, my voice too high, “This is your space, after all. I should have given you more warning.”

“Not at all Ma’am,” he replied stiffly as he pulled a tight shirt over his head, obscuring his torso. But he wasn’t fast enough to keep me from noticing the marks and scars all over his back. I hadn’t looked very hard, but while some appeared to be from our recent bombing, others looked like long healed scars from some other event in his life. My gaze slipped to the kitchen as the kettle whistled.

“Ah, I was making tea,” he said, walking over to the stove and cutting the fire. “Fancy a cuppa?” He asked, already filling two mugs with steaming water. I joined him in the kitchen, sitting with my aching knee propped up on a second chair. “How do you take it?”

“Just milk.” I said, gritting my teeth as I massaged my knee gingerly. He placed the cup in front of me and remained leaning against the counter top.

“May I check it?” He asked, nodding at my swollen knee. I nodded in unperturbed assent. He swiftly but carefully lifted my leg high enough that he could slip into the chair I had propped it on. He sat so that my calf way strewn across his lap. I quieted my breathing as he poked and prodded at my poor knee.

“What are you looking for?” I asked in a gasp, realizing I hadn’t been breathing.

“I’m just checking again to make sure there are no obvious fractures or a dislocation.”

“Do you think I need to see a doctor?”

“I am going to schedule an appointment for tomorrow.”

“I’m sorry I ruined your suit,” I said.

He raised an eyebrow at me. “Not at all, Ma’am, it’s my job.”

“Please call me Lucy,” I said. He opened his mouth to respond so I cut him off quickly, “I mean you saved me from a fucking bomb, you’ve at least earned that. It’s so weird you have to call the people you guard Sir and Ma’am, I’m not your boss, just the pathetic person who can’t look after herself.”

He was outright smiling now. “Well Lucy, I have no doubt you can look after yourself, I’m here so that you can focus on other things the rest of us aren’t bright enough to deal with.” I was transfixed by the hollow of his collar bone, the way the skin over it stretched when he breathed and spoke. And his hands were still on my leg, one of them on the rounded part of my calf, the other just barely above my knee. “And while I officially have no opinion on the matter,” he leaned in conspiratorially, “I appreciate your American sense of earning respect rather than inheriting it, something the Scots and the Yanks have in common.”

His hands moved over my leg, a non invasive gesture meant to be reassuring but the touch made my stomach flip. We sat amicably like this for a while, sipping tea and listening to light rain hitting the low roof of the house.

“Now,” Harry continued, “shall we take another smoke break?” The sun had sunk low in the sky and the light appeared orange in the still cloud filled sky.

“Sure, but only if you promise not to follow me into the rain this time,” I made a funny noise as I hoisted myself into a standing position.

“I can’t do that Lucy.”

“Then I guess we are both lucky it has stopped raining.”

…

This time we sat closer together, squeezed beside one another on a single step of the back stoop, taking in the bright cool air the rain had pushed in. Harry had given me more paracetamol by orders of the doctor I was to see the next morning and it was making me a bit drowsy. I yawned and felt my body lean into Harry’s sturdy form.

“Shall we go back inside?” He whispered, I grunted in the negative. Now only half conscious, I thought I felt a rumbling laughter in his chest and then an arm slip behind me as my muscles loosened and relaxed.

And then I was floating, my feet weren’t moving but I was gliding down the hallway to the bedroom. I opened my eyes and looked up to see Harrys stubbly jaw looming over me. Was he carrying me? I didn’t want to throw his balance so I remained still as he negotiated the door gracefully and laid me out on the edge of the bed. As he leaned over me, I reached up and grabbed a handful of his stretchy shirt material. He hovered above me, waiting patiently.

“Stay,” I whispered. To which he shook his head and began to pull away. So I pulled again and he let me, remaining suspended above me.

“You know I can’t,” he said.

“I just don’t think I can stand to be alone right now. Please stay.” The words were difficult for me and I avoided his gaze. He sighed heavily. I sat up slowly, still groggy, “you said you would follow me into the rain.” My hand bunched tighter into his shirt, dreading the moment he would move away from me.

He sighed one last time then knelt down, removing his shoes with a resigned expression. Straightening again he sent me a defeated look. Then gracefully, he climbed over me and gingerly laid in the center of the bed, leaving a wide gap between us. We laid on our sides facing each other, his head at the height of my shoulders. Again I had the urge to stroke that streak of grey in his hair, and so I did. Tenderly, Harry ran his hand along the silhouette of my body, starting at my ear and moving down to my shoulder and side and finally stopping on my hip.

We were magnetic as we moved closer to each other. I pulled his head into the safety of my chest, his stubble a raspy comfort against my skin and our legs entangled. In silence we lay there, feeling each other breathe. We may have fallen asleep though the line between consciousness and unconsciousness was not immediately apparent. After a long while he stirred and rolled off the far side of the bed, making his way to the toilet.

When he returned he paused and removed his shirt, letting it fall to the ground before again joining me. As he lay back down I shifted, laying my head on his torso. He was very warm and I put my ear to his chest, listening for all the sounds a body makes as it works to keep living. “Am I hurting you?” I asked quietly.

“No,” he whispered, running his hands down my body again till they found my bottom. I propped myself up above him on my elbows, caressing the recent bruises and wounds, tenderly tracing the old scars.

“Tell me about Scotland,” I said.

“Hmm, what do you want to know about Scotland?” He returned.

“Only the good bits,” I said. He smiled gently as he coaxed my good leg up, bending it around his hip in a sort of half straddle and I lowered myself again to his chest. I listened to his stories about a lush green land of great promise and adventure as the words carelessly rumbled out of him.

…

I hadn’t expected to be so jumpy when I got in the security vehicle. I got in and slid to the very center seat, a hand planted firmly on each side of me. I stared straight ahead the whole time, ignoring the dizziness from the sharp turns.

The consult from the doctor confirmed there was nothing broken, but the hard fall had slightly dislocated my knee which was promptly reset and I was warned that it would take several weeks to heal. I was sent home with a heavier brace and instructions to take over the counter pain meds for swelling.

We returned to the house and were met with a second security detail that had come with equipment for me to work remotely. I dove into it with manic energy. Indeed there was little that could be done as the other internationals were still recovering from burn trauma. So I prepped all the materials I could think of that we would need in order to resume our work. Harry placed a cup of tea next to me which I drank, but I ignored the lunch delivery, feeling like my eyes and hands could not keep up with the speed at which my brain was moving.

“Ma’am,” I heard someone say from far away. “Lucy,” who was that? “Lucy!” I flinched when Harry’s hand touched my shoulder. “Perhaps you might take a break now, you haven’t eaten at all today.”

“No, no I have to get this done,” I replied, turning back to the computer.

“It is common to feel strong bursts of energy and fatigue after an event like the bombing,” he continued.

“Really?” I continued to stab at the keyboard. “Then I guess I’m fine, if this is a common reaction.”

“It’s common, it’s not fine.”

I slammed the laptop shut, pushing the heels of my hands into my temples, God my head hurt. My chest heaved with sobs. I felt him move closer but I needed air, space, I lashed out, feeling my hand connect with his ballistic vest.

I took off down the hall toward the bathroom, seeking a place he couldn’t follow me. But he caught up with me, securing his arms around my shoulders, immobilizing my arms. I continued to sob for several minutes. He continued to hold me like this till I quieted and stopped fighting and sagged weakly against him.

“What do you say we get some food and water in you now?” I nodded and we returned to the kitchen. I ate ravenously, with Harry looking on like a cafeteria lady from grade school, making sure I ate all my greens.

“Why do I still feel out of control?” I asked, “Why can’t I just move on?”

“Well it hasn’t been that long, barely two days. If anything I’d say your actions today are very much fitting with the magnitude of the event. In fact you probably deserve a few more temper tantrums.” He looked at me and valiantly fought off a smile. I stabbed a tomato with my fork and pouted, not quit ready for joking yet.

I narrowed my eyes at him thoughtfully. “Clearly you have been in situations like this before.”

“Clearly,” he repeated back.

“So when should I expect you to throw a tantrum?”

“Probably not this time, but I have before.”

“Why is this not hard for you?”

He sighed, “in my perspective, we did it, we survived. That’s not always the case. I did my job well and I am continuing to keep you safe.” He leaned over and touched my hand. “It’s a win.” He leaned back in his chair.

I stood abruptly, taking the few steps to where he sat. He didn’t move, just looked at me, challenging me. I moved even closer, my legs now straddling his lap. I thought he would again assume that distant look and excuse himself, but instead his hands reached up, urging me down closer to him. I sat, wrapping my arms around his neck and he brought his head close to mine, our foreheads touching.

“I don’t think this is keeping you safe,” he murmured to me.

“It’s hard to tell what is safe,” I mumbled.

“So for now all we can do is react.” I made a noise of agreement as our lips connected. We pulled each other in closer, unable to touch enough, to feel enough. His lips were searching and needy. Never had I needed to be touched so badly. I wanted to be shielded by him and yet I wanted to draw him in tighter, protecting him from the dangers he saw every day.

His lips moved lower, caressing my neck and collar bone as I wrestled his jacket and shirt off his body. I kept removing layers till there were no more to remove. He responded in kind, lifting my shirt over my head then drawing me close to him in a warm embrace, like he wanted to cover me completely. “Harry,” I whispered after several long seconds. Then again, “Harry,” and he responded.

“Lucy.”

Pulling out of his arms, I stood and stepped away. “I want this, I want you, and I don’t want either of us to have regrets.”

He rose out of his chair gracefully, stepping close to me. “I cannot regret any time with you.”

“And tomorrow? In a week? When I have finished this job?” I gulped, bile rising in my stomach just thinking about leaving.

“I don’t think I can let you go.”

“Will you take me to Scotland?” I asked as I wrapped my arms around his waist. He leaned his forehead against mine, “Only if you let me stand in the rain with you.”

#bodyguard #short story #fiction #fanfic #the bodyguard #imagine #romance #british #scotish #richard madden #sergeant budd #david budd #keeley hawes

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