An unconventional trio

She's throwing a temper tantrum

Bucky's POV:

She never came back to bed. Everything in me wanted to push, wanted to go to her, to fix it. But I know she needs time. I glance at the clock on the nightstand. 8:06 a.m. With a sigh, I throw the sheets off and climb out of bed. I throw on some sweats and make my way out to the kitchen.

I pour myself a cup of coffee and turn to face the living room. She's not there. I slowly make my way around the cabin, with no sign of Nova. As I make my way back towards the kitchen, I catch a glimpse of something out back through the window.

It's her. She's sitting in one of the chairs, out by the water, curled up in her hooded blanket. Staring out at the lake. The sunlight hitting her just right. Her beautiful blue eyes, her vibrant hair, her tiny frame balled up into that sweatshirt. She's so beautiful. I just stand and watch her.

Her gaze finally breaks from the water and I watch as she opens the journal that she had clutched to her chest, picking up a purple sparkle pen from the table next to her. After a few minutes, I make my way to the kitchen, grab a Red Bull, and head out to the water.

The soft crunch of gravel under my feet makes her look up. Her eyes meet mine, and for a moment, neither of us says anything. I hold up the Red Bull, a small peace offering.

She holds my gaze for a moment before she starts to place her AirPods back into her ear. "No thanks," she whispers. She turns her music back on and focuses back on the journal in her lap.

Everything in this moment feels like it stopped. She never turns down a Red Bull. For the first time, I'm lost. I don't know what to do here. I stand there, awkwardly holding the can, feeling like an intruder in her quiet world.

I clear my throat, hoping to get her attention, but she's already immersed in her writing, the purple sparkle pen moving swiftly across the pages. Her rejection stings more than I'd like to admit.

Taking a deep breath, I decide to sit down next to her anyway. I place the Red Bull on the table within her reach, just in case she changes her mind.

"Nova," I say softly, hoping to break through the barrier. She doesn't respond, the music in her ears creating an invisible wall between us.

I lean back in the chair, running a hand through my hair, feeling the weight of my helplessness. I've faced enemies on the battlefield, taken on missions most wouldn't dream of, but this—this is uncharted territory.

"I just want to help," I murmur, more to myself than to her. The lake's surface is calm, reflecting the morning sun. It should be a peaceful sight, but all I can feel is the growing distance between us.

Minutes pass, each one heavier than the last. I glance at her every so often, hoping for some sign that she's ready to let me in, but her focus never wavers from the journal.

With a sigh, I finally stand up. "I'll be inside if you need me," I say, knowing she probably can't hear me. I hesitate for a moment, then turn and walk back to the cabin, leaving her to her thoughts.

Inside, the silence is almost deafening. I set the untouched Red Bull on the counter and lean against the kitchen sink, staring out the window at her small, hunched figure.

For the first time, I truly don't know what to do.

I stand there at the kitchen window, just watching her as she writes in the journal. The pit in my stomach is almost overwhelming. My heart is pounding in my chest. I don't know how long I stood there, just watching her, wracking my brain on how to fix this. She focuses so much on that journal. Then suddenly it hits me. And I hate it.

The realization gnaws at me, making my chest tighten. I hate that the answer is so simple, yet so painful. She's pouring everything into that journal, things she can't or won't say to me. It's a barrier, a way to process without my interference.