𝗕𝗨𝗖𝗞𝗬 𝗕𝗔𝗥𝗡𝗘𝗦 𝗢𝗡𝗘 𝗦𝗛𝗢𝗧𝗦

5...4...3...2...1

SONG REQUEST FOR THIS CHAPTER: LET THE LIGHT IN by LANA DEL REY

HAPPY NEW YEAR! I hope everyone's year has been what they wanted and that they have an amazing new year! See you all in 2026.

1, 124 Words

The safe house had never been meant for comfort. It was a square, concrete box wedged between two abandoned storefronts on a street that used to hum with life before the evacuation orders. Now the city outside was quiet in that eerie, held-breath way, snow drifting sideways past broken streetlights like ash from a dying fire.

I sat on the floor with my back against the wall, knees pulled to my chest, listening to the wind rattle the loose metal on the roof. Somewhere above us, something clanged and then went still again. The power had gone out hours ago, and the single emergency lantern we'd found had finally flickered its last warning blink before dying. Now the only light came from the moon through a cracked window and the faint, stubborn glow of Bucky's phone screen as he checked it for the hundredth time.

"Still nothing," he muttered, more to himself than to me.

I didn't answer right away. The radio at my side crackled, static surging and falling like a restless tide, then settled into silence again. We'd been waiting for instructions since the mission went sideways—longer than either of us liked. The extraction team was delayed. The backup plan was delayed. Everything was delayed, except the cold.

"It'll come," I said finally, because saying it out loud made it feel more real. "They won't leave us out here."

Bucky nodded, jaw tight, eyes shadowed. He was sitting across from me, metal arm resting against his knee, the other wrapped around his jacket like he could physically hold himself together if he tried hard enough. Even in the low light, I could see how tired he was. Not just mission-tired, but the kind of exhaustion that sank into your bones and stayed there.

This mission had been supposed to be quick. In, retrieve intel, out. But complications had a way of multiplying when you least expected them, and now here we were—two Avengers in a forgotten safe house, cut off from the rest of the team, waiting on a radio that refused to cooperate.

I shifted, rubbing my hands together, breath fogging in front of my face. "It's freezing."

"That's an understatement," Bucky said, a hint of dry humor slipping through. "I think my eyelashes are going to snap off."

I huffed out a weak laugh. He watched me for a moment, then stood, shrugging off his jacket. He hesitated only a second before crossing the room and draping it around my shoulders.

"Hey—" I started.

"I've got another layer," he said, already turning away. "And the metal arm doesn't feel cold, so I'm good."

That wasn't entirely true, and we both knew it. But I didn't argue. I just pulled the jacket tighter, grateful for the familiar weight and the faint scent of gun oil and laundry soap that clung to it. When he sat back down, closer this time, the space between us disappeared without either of us really deciding it should.

The radio crackled again, sharp and sudden. We both jumped, leaning in as one, hope flaring—

—and then it faded back into static.

Bucky exhaled slowly. I felt the sound more than I heard it, the way his breath seemed to carry the weight of a hundred unsaid things. I nudged his knee with mine.

"You okay?" I asked quietly.

He glanced at me, then away. "Yeah. Just... not great with waiting."

I smiled faintly. "Funny. Could've fooled me."

That earned me a sideways look and a ghost of a smile. "You're one to talk."

Silence settled again, thicker this time. The cold crept in around the edges of the room, seeping through cracks in the walls, wrapping itself around us. Without really thinking about it, I leaned closer, shoulder brushing his. He stiffened for half a second, then relaxed, shifting so our sides pressed together. His metal arm rested behind me, a solid, reassuring presence against my back.

"Is this okay?" I asked.

"Yeah," he said immediately. "It's... good."

We sat like that, sharing warmth, listening to the building creak and the wind howl. Time stretched, elastic and strange. I checked my watch, the face glowing faintly in the dark.

11:55 PM.

"Huh," I murmured.

"What?" Bucky asked.

"It's almost New Year's."

He blinked, then let out a short, surprised laugh. "You're kidding."

"Nope. Five minutes."

He shook his head slowly. "Figures."

Something about the moment—the cold, the quiet, the fact that the world was about to turn another page while we were stuck in this forgotten corner of it—made my chest ache. I thought about the year behind us. The missions. The losses. The small victories that never made the headlines. I thought about Bucky, and how much he'd carried, how hard he worked just to exist in the present.

I glanced at him. His eyes were closed, head tipped back against the wall, breath steady. For a second, he looked almost peaceful.

"Hey," I said softly. "You wanna... count it down?"

His eyes opened. "Here?"

"Why not?" I shrugged. "Doesn't matter where you are when it happens. It's still a new year."

He studied me for a long moment, then nodded. "Okay."

I turned my wrist so we could both see the watch. The seconds ticked by, loud in the silence. Without thinking, I reached for his hand. His fingers were cold, rough, familiar. He tightened his grip around mine, grounding and real.

"Thirty seconds," I whispered.

The radio crackled again, as if it wanted to be part of the moment. Static hummed softly in the background, like a strange kind of music.

"Twenty."

Bucky's thumb brushed over my knuckles, absent, steady.

"Ten."

We counted together then, voices low and almost reverent.

"Five."

"Four."

"Three."

"Two—"

He turned his head to look at me. In the dim light, his eyes were clear, earnest.

"Thank you," he said quietly. "For... this year. For being my safe space." My breath caught. "And," he continued, voice firm despite the emotion threading through it, "in the next one, I want to be that for you. If you'll let me."

Before I could answer, the second hand hit the top of the watch face.

"—One."

Midnight.

Outside, somewhere far away, I thought I heard a muffled boom—fireworks, maybe, or just my imagination filling in what the world was supposed to sound like at that moment. I squeezed his hand, heart full and aching all at once.

"I'd like that," I said softly.

He smiled then. Really smiled. Not the guarded curve of his mouth he usually wore, but something open and warm and hopeful.

"Happy New Year," he said.

"Happy New Year, Buck."

The cold didn't feel quite so sharp after that.

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