Doll. // Bucky Barnes X OC

THIRTY-FOUR

The quiet doesn't end when they finally pull apart.

It lingers.

Bucky is still holding her when the world resumes—arms around her, one hand splayed warm and solid at the small of her back, the other resting at her nape like it belongs there. Melany stays tucked against his chest, forehead resting just below his collarbone, listening to his breathing even out. Not forced. Not controlled. Just... human.

That alone feels dangerous in a way she can't name.

His thumb moves, slow and absentminded, tracing the line of her spine through the thin fabric of her shirt. It isn't possessive. It isn't hesitant. It's grounding—like he's reminding himself she's real. Here. Still with him.

"You don't have to hold yourself like that anymore," she murmurs softly.

Bucky exhales through his nose, a quiet huff of something almost like a laugh. "Gonna take a minute."

She tilts her head just enough to look up at him. His eyes are still dark—not wild, not guarded. Just deep. Focused entirely on her.

"I know," she says. "I'm not going anywhere."

That does something to him.

His jaw tightens, not with restraint this time but with feeling. He leans down, brushing his mouth against her hair, her temple, the soft skin just above her ear. It's a kiss without hunger, without urgency. Pure acknowledgment.

When he pulls back, his forehead rests against hers.

"I kept thinking..." His voice is low, roughened from disuse and emotion. "If I stayed steady, if I didn't react, they'd get bored. I didn't realize how much it was costing you too."

Her hands come up, resting flat against his chest. She can feel his heart—strong, sure, no longer spiking at phantom threats.

"You didn't cost me anything," she says. "You trusted me enough to let me see it."

His eyes close at that.

For a moment, neither of them moves. The lab is quiet around them—no hum of oversight, no subtle pressure in the air. Just fluorescent lights and the distant thrum of the compound doing what it's supposed to do: nothing.

Eventually, Bucky's hands slide down her arms, fingers lingering at her wrists before he lets go. Not because he wants to—because he's choosing to breathe before the want takes over.

"We should... probably not stay here," he says gently. "Steve's gonna come looking for me."

She smiles faintly. "You say that like you don't want him to."

"I love the guy," Bucky replies dryly. "Doesn't mean I want him walking in on this."

She laughs, soft and relieved, and it feels like the final crack in the tension they've both been holding. He steps back just enough to give her space—but his hand stays linked with hers, thumb rubbing slow circles against her knuckles.

They walk together.

-

Steve does, in fact, find them.

He's leaning against the railing outside the lab corridor, arms crossed, posture casual in a way that doesn't fool anyone who knows him. His eyes flick up the second he spots them—and soften immediately.

"Hey," he says.

Bucky stops automatically. Old reflex. Then catches himself and straightens, shoulders loosening. "Hey."

Steve's gaze flicks between them. He doesn't comment on how close they're standing. Doesn't comment on the way Melany's hand is still tangled in Bucky's. He just nods once.