let's go dancing → barneswald

iv. you take your heart and walk away

Everything had been perfect. Life was smoothly rolling along, with only a few dangerous missions on Bucky's part and multiple "We can shag later - I'm grading papers" from Clara. They fit each other like the perfectly tailored gloves Clara had worn to Steve and Sam's wedding. Which meant that, of course, it was all bound to go to shit sooner or later.

(As it turned out, it was sooner.)

It was a wonderful summer night, the kind when there was a light breeze and a full moon, the kind when all the good things happened, the kind when everything unexpectedly went bad.

Clara rushed out of the restaurant, choking back sobs, her heels clattering against the pavement as she ran back to her apartment. She replayed their conversation in her head over and over again.

"I'm not ready," he'd said. "I don't trust myself."

"But I trust you."

"I'm sorry, Clara."

And now she was running through New York, hating herself for pushing Bucky around, for forcing him to do something he wasn't comfortable with. Hating herself for hurting him. Hating herself for running away.

But now that she'd started running, she couldn't stop. She had to pack a bag, maybe call the Doctor and go live five hundred years in the future where there was no way she would bump into Bucky Barnes.

"I'm sorry, Clara." The Doctor's voice sounded muffled and a little anxious. "I can't come get you."

"Why not?" she snapped. She was standing in her front hall with a suitcase at her feet. "It'll just take a moment. Besides, you have a time machine."

"It's...it's not that."

"What is it, then?"

"I'm sorry," he said again. "Listen, I have to go."

And the line went dead.

Clara was used to him being snippy, but usually she was snippy right back, and this was a whole other level of impolite. She made a noise of displeasure and kicked at her suitcase. It tipped on its side, bringing a potted plant down with it. If the Doctor wasn't going to help her, she'd have to ask someone else. Preferably, someone who wouldn't ask too many questions. She went to sit on her couch and weighed her options.

She could go to someone and ask advice, maybe Natasha or Pepper - except someone who didn't know Bucky was probably better. She considered calling up one of her friends from England, but they were from her Other Life, they were from Before Bucky, they knew Danny and would do things like ask, "So how are you holding up?"

She didn't need that right now. (Besides, it's not like she'd spoken to them since she left. It's not like she'd bothered to tell anyone about Bucky, or New York.)

So what could she do?

Her phone rang suddenly, making her jump out of her seat in shock. It was Steve.

Clara set it back on the table. She could imagine Steve spitting venomous accusations at her through the receiver, telling her she'd pushed Bucky too far, she hadn't been careful like she'd promised, she'd hurt him...and she wouldn't be able to do a thing to defend herself. Every single word he would say would be the truth.

Her home phone rang a few moments later. Steve again - or Sam. Getting it from Sam would be even worse: he was the first one to let her into their little circle when Bucky had brought her home for the first time.

"Guess I'm not the new boy anymore," he said jokingly. "That's your job now."

She couldn't imagine what he would say to her, but she didn't want to hear the tone of voice he used with his opponents.