Friends with Fire // Bucky x Oc (Discontinued For Now)

• 16 •

“Thank you for coming,” Rogers says, truly sounding genuine.

“Against my better judgment I agreed,” I respond, folding my arms over my chest.

I see him take a deep breath and relax his shoulders. “I think we can help each other,” he says, watching me closely.

I glance at Parker and Stark who are standing nearby, watching our exchange. “In what manner?” I ask, looking back at Rogers.

Rogers and Stark exchange a look before their gazes return to me. “Hear me out before you say anything,” Rogers says.

“We’ve been a bit short-handed around here recently and could use an enhanced person like you.” I open my mouth to protest but Rogers holds up a hand to show he’s not done. “I know you’re probably going to be quite averse to this idea but we assumed that you can’t go back to Italy or you would have done so already.”

“So you’re asking me to join the Avengers?” I ask, raising my eyebrows in disbelief. “Even after what I’ve done?”

“We realized that you didn’t have a choice when you killed Jackson and after finding out about the microchip it felt unfair to punish you for his death.” I can see a spark of sadness in his gaze at the mention of Jackson Lees but it disappears quickly.

“What’s in it for me?” I ask after a few seconds of contemplation.

“What do you want from it?” Rogers counters, his tone curious instead of prodding like I thought it would be.

I stare at him for a long few seconds and can’t help but admire his features. He really is quite attractive, I think to myself. The only times I had seen him had been on TV and social media, and when I had been in that underground holding cell I had been too upset to pay much attention to how he looked.

“The one thing I want most I know I’ll never be able to achieve,” I say, instantly regretting doing so.

“And what is that?” Rogers asks. The exact question I didn’t want him to follow up with.

“Peace. And to stop having to fight,” I murmur, irritated at the embarrassed blush that rises to my face.

One side of Roger’s mouth quirks up in a sympathetic smile. “I can’t promise that. But I can promise that you’ll be looked after here and you’ll be protected.”

“Tempting,” I say shortly, refusing to let myself get emotional right now. My phone starts buzzing and I remove it from my pocket, my eyes going wide at the name on the screen. “I’m sorry. I have to take this call,” I say, hurrying outside. I jog down the steps and a few feet down toward the helicopter landing pad before picking it up.

“Reese,” Olivia’s voice greets me in Italian.

“What the hell happened?” I snap, repeating the sentence in Italian, not bothering to greet her in turn.

“An issue,” Olivia responds, her voice a bit wispy.

I pause, thinking. “Where are you?” I ask, getting suspicious.

There’s a lapse of silence before Olivia murmurs, “Is that purple? Oh, no, it’s blue… Sorry, what?”

My breath stutters out. That phrase, which I never thought I’d hear, sends a shiver down my spine. At the orphanage, but more so when we started training, we were told that if a situation was compromised or as a warning to someone we were talking to, we were supposed to ask a question with the word purple. I

had thought it amusing at first but then realized how plain and simple it was, and how useful it could be. I just never thought I’d be hearing that sentence come from Olivia.

“I’m gonna need to call you back,” I respond, cringing at how strained my voice sounds. I immediately hang up and hurry over to one of the nearby trees. I stare apologetically down at my phone before placing one half on a tree root and holding it down with my foot before quickly stomping down on the other half, snapping it in half.

I flinch slightly at the crack and very carefully pick it up. I pry my glove off with my teeth and light a small fire in my hand, quickly increasing the temperature. After a few seconds of my queasiness strengthening along with it, I drop the tattered, barely attached halves, of my phone into my palm.

My stomach lurches from the length of time I’m sustaining the fire and I have to hold down my gut’s attempt to upchuck a few times, relieved when I can stop the fire. I place the burnt, crumbling pile that used to be my phone down for a moment to replace my glove before picking it up and walking back into the Avengers’ building.

I find that no one has moved from the living room, though Rogers and Stark have seated themselves on separate couches while Parker stares, wide-eyed, out the massive windows.

Upon my approach Rogers quickly stands, looking hopeful. “I’ve thought about it, as well as dealt with that phone call, and I accept.” Rogers’ face lights up. “But,” I say sharply, making them all aware I have more to say, “I need to go get some things.”

“That can easily be arranged,” Rogers responds, a small smile on his charming face.