A Birdie Lost in Time | Bucky Barnes

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As Marlow and Bucky made their way back through the halls, she subconsciously guided them to her room. She didn't like the thought of going to the office or the room across from the med room, and she especially didn't want to go to the med room. There was something unsettling about its openness, like she was unguarded. Vulnerable. Her room was safe and familiar.

To her at least, because when she'd dropped onto the far end of the bed and nodded for Bucky to follow, he hesitated. Even after she insisted, Bucky shook his head and settled on the ground with his back against the bed, while Marlow curled into the corner with a blanket.

With the tablet propped on top of the plastic bin, they sat and watched Pretty Woman; something that was easy going enough and somewhat familiar. She'd seen it years ago, and while she warned it may have been a little... vulgar compared to the romance movies he'd liked way back when, he assured it would be fine.

And it seemed like he was.

She found her gaze wandering to him every so often, to the small smiles and the subtle looks of surprise. There were a few times where she thought that those were more entertaining than the movie itself, especially when his ears turned a light shade of pink at certain scenes.

And although she did her best to focus on the budding relationship between Vivian and Edward—or of the bob of Bucky's Adams apple when Edward pressed a kiss to Vivian's stomach as she laid across a piano—she found the lack of sleep from the night prior catching up to her. Her eyes watered in attempt to keep them open, and in a short reprieve, she let them shut.

She hadn't realized she'd fallen asleep until she heard quiet rustling in front of her, and when her eyes opened, she found Bucky placing the now silent tablet face down onto the box.

With furrowed brows, she straightened, catching his attention.

"I didn't want to wake you up," he mumbled, his eyes flicking down to the blanket then back up to hers. "Go back to sleep."

Being too tired to argue, she nodded and ran a hand over her face. "Thanks for staying with me."

He sent her a small smile and stood, eyes not straying from hers. "Course. See you in a little while."

Between bats of her eyelids, he'd disappeared and shut the door, and it was only another moment before she pulled the sheet back and laid down, letting herself drift off again.

⁂

She had to run.

She heard voices, guttural and accented, and she heard growls. The clanks of weapons. The cries of the wounded.

She was running. But she needed to be faster.

Gunshots rang around her. People yelled at her to stop. She couldn't tell which language they were speaking in, but it was a mess of noise and she had to run faster!

Something wrapped into her hair, yanking her backwards roughly. Her back hit the ground and she scrambled to get away, but she was held down, the sound of footsteps—so many footsteps—coming closer.

Her eyes opened and she threw herself up with an airy yell, eyes searching the room for threats.

Dream, she thought, just a dream.

But she jumped at the hollow knock from her door. That was real, and as she pressed her back against the wall, her mind was successfully convincing her that the threats from her dream were somehow bleeding into her reality.