Just a soldier and his girl-sounds simple, right? But what if Emily, a dedicated Doctor with a talent for saving lives, is suddenly thrust into a whirlwind of global chaos when her father calls her away from her medical career? Years of honing her p...
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I stood beside Steve in the cold, abandoned warehouse, the chill of the place mirrored by the icy power coursing through my veins. Snowflakes danced around us, a reminder of the storm brewing within me, as we stared at Bucky, his metal arm trapped within the unforgiving jaws of heavy machinery. The helicopter's rotor blades echoed above, but all I could hear was the quiet cracking of ice beneath my feet as I tried to hold back the tears.
Steve glanced at me, his eyes reflecting the bleakness I felt. "What's wrong?" he asked, his voice soft, but the concern in it cut through me like a knife. I sighed, my breath a frosty mist in the cold air, and met his gaze.
"Do you think this could have ended differently?" I whispered, my arms hugging myself for warmth, though no amount of heat could thaw the icy sadness settling in my heart.
Steve frowned, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to my forehead, the warmth of his lips stark against the cold that seemed to emanate from my very soul. "Did you see it ending differently?"
I looked up into his eyes, my own glistening with unshed tears. "There was no other way."
He offered me a sad smile, kissing the top of my head again, as if trying to melt away the sorrow that was freezing me from the inside out. "I love you," he murmured, his voice steady and reassuring.
I managed a small, tremulous smile, wrapping my arms around his waist and nodding in agreement. "I love you too."
As we stood there, snow beginning to gather at our feet, Sam approached. His head bobbed towards Bucky, who was now sitting up, his eyes wide with confusion as he tried to piece together the fractured reality around him. I exchanged a glance with Steve, and we moved towards Bucky.
"I told you I didn't kill him," Bucky rasped, his voice strained, his eyes flickering between Steve and me. "Steve."
"Bucky," Steve breathed, his tone heavy with the weight of everything unsaid. Bucky's gaze shifted to me, and for a moment, I saw a flash of recognition, a shadow of the man he used to be.
"Which Bucky am I talking to?" Steve asked cautiously.
Bucky let out a breath, a sad, humorless chuckle escaping his lips. "Your mom's name was Sarah. You used to wear newspapers in your shoes."
Steve smiled faintly at the memory, but I could see the sorrow lingering in his eyes. He looked over at me, and I reached for his hand, squeezing it tightly as if to anchor myself in the moment.
Sam arched a brow. "Just like that?" he asked, bewildered. "We're supposed to be cool?"
Steve nodded, though the sadness in his eyes was unmistakable. Bucky, his expression one of deep regret, looked up at us. "What did I do? Was it bad?"
