A Little Song Bird

I Think We're Alone Now

April 11, 1995

Today is gonna be the day that they're gonna throw it back to you

I hate the bunker. Why he continues to work here drives me insane, and why I have to come here anyway.

And by now, you should've somehow realised what you gotta do

Buck could come on his own for the arm thing, but nope Fury has to show me something. So a long ass plane ride later and some reckless desert driving, the three of us are plummeting hundreds of feet below the sandy dunes in the shiny elevator with a ridiculous security clearance level.

I don't believe that anybody feels the way I do about you now

Saint's comforting weight settles along my thigh as the music croons over the distant screams and Bucky stands within reach, but purposefully not touching.

And backbeat, the word is on the street that the fire in your heart is out

This is how we are now. Lovers yet not, dancing within arms reach but no further. I know him too well, so I know if I asked for more he'd give it, but it's almost worse knowing that.

I'm sure you've heard it all before, but you never really had a doubt

Safe, safe, safe, but I can't hurt him. If he really wanted us, he'd do something... right?

I don't believe that anybody feels the way I do about you now

Never could I stop loving Bucky.... But that couldn't stop him from leaving me. The floor numbers continue to climb at a steady rate, as my fingers play with Saints fur. The farmhouse has been great, along with my work, but there's a hollowness creeping.

And all the roads we have to walk are winding

An unsettling empty thing has settled in my chest since we fell into this odd holding pattern. No more missions together. Now he pilots and I do all the dirty work, his way of defining retired I guess.

And all the lights that lead us there are blinding

The elevator doors are barely open and he's alrighty squeezing through and I feel my shoulders drop.

There are many things that I would like to say to you, but I don't know how

That's become a thing too, he can't stand small spaces with me anymore. Saint's cool nose nudges my palm, urging me into the chaotic space of the large lab. Assistants chat amongst themselves, some machines whir and bang, and then there is the man himself in the center of it all.

Because maybe

Desk cluttered to the brim with papers and gadgets, cluttered with cups of coffee, probably all at various levels of being consumed. His black rimmed glasses sit on the tip of his nose, his black hair distressed as his hand runs through it, while his other holds a well bitten pencil to his mouth.

You're gonna be the one that saves me

Crossing the large space, weaving between bustling assistants, I catch Bucky off with Fury, but the frustrated genius comes first.