The Soldier's Return (A Bucky Barnes Post-Civil War Fanfiction)

15

I'm fully awake by the time we land, and my body is on high-alert. Holding my hands in front of me defensively, I take the lead while Bucky's behind me with a machine gun. I hear voices, and I instantly recognize Stark's.

I look at the ceiling, where I spot Clint and Sam. I see a slight movement on the ground where Scott is getting into place in his suit. Wanda is around the corner opposite to us, and T'Challa, who has decided to join us, is with Wanda. We all have set targets. I wait for my signal, which is when Clint fires an arrow that explodes in a smoke screen.

As soon as the arrow strikes the ground, we go in. T'Challa races toward the flash drive, and I search out Peter Parker. I find him quickly as the smoke wears off, grabbing onto his blood. He looks at me.

"Hey! Wow, you're even prettier up close!" he exclaims, and I roll my eyes.

"Be glad Bucky didn't hear that," I remark, forcing him to wrap himself in his own webs. I stick him to the wall, and he shakes off his mask.

"Why would he care?" Peter asks curiously, sounding a little nervous.

"He doesn't like to share," I smirk. "And he definitely doesn't like when people look at me for too long. See you around, Parker."

With that, I run back in to join the fight. I spot Rhodey flying high, aiming guns attached to his suit. My eyes widen, and I try to focus in on his blood. I feel a blockage, and I start to get nervous. I pull harder, trying to get complete control. I flinch back when the paralysis in his legs doesn't allow me full control, but I still keep trying. Only when I see him click the safety am I able to get control, but I'm one second too late. As I grab him, he fires two bullets. My control makes his body spasm, thus sending the bullets in a different direction than intended. I hear a pained yell, and I, without thought, run to the source. Ten feet away, I spot my worst nightmare: Bucky, lying with two bullet holes in his flesh. One is in his chest near the ribs, the other in the side of his stomach. I run to him, falling to my knees to try to stop the blood from flowing out.

"Hey sweetheart," he groans through the pain. "Come to say your goodbyes?"

"You're gonna be okay," I mumble. It's like everything around me has stopped. "You're not going to die, I promise."

"Pretty big thing to promise."

"Shush. Save your energy," I instruct, concentrating on his stomach.

T'Challa spots the scenario we're in, and he yells to Steve that he's taking us back, that he'll send another plane for them. Bucky is carried by his former nemesis to the plane, where I'm told the flight will take two hours at top-speed. I decide I can keep Bucky alive for that long, as the bullets didn't hit anywhere close enough to puncture something vital. The main issue right now is blood loss.

"I'm so sorry, Bucky," I whisper through tear-filled eyes.

"Not your fault," he mumbles tiredly, clearly in pain.

"Yes it is, I think. I didn't get Rhodey under control soon enough.

By the time I go to reply, he's already passed out from the pain.

•••••

"Claire, it wasn't your fault," Steve tries to tell me hours later. Bucky's out of surgery, but he's still fast asleep from the pain killers.

"Yes it was," I say fiercely. "I should have been able to get ahold of Rhodey sooner. But no, because of my powers, Bucky got shot. It's my fault."

I'm shaking slightly as I try not to cry, but it's difficult. Steve wraps his arms around me, hugging me comfortingly.

"He doesn't blame you, Claire, and neither do any of us. You did your best. For all we know, you could have saved Bucky's life. What if Rhodey was aiming for Bucky's head or his heart, you know?" he says soothingly, but I don't reply. I should have been able to get full control immediately, not right at the crucial moment.

I come to the conclusion that I'm too dangerous. He got shot because my powers wouldn't work. It was my fault. I need to go someplace where my lack of control over my powers won't hurt anyone else who trusts me to have their back.

I have to do something, and I think I know what that is.

"Thanks, Steve," I settle on, not wanting to hint at my plans.

"Of course. You should probably get some sleep pretty soon, too," he says, and I nod. I look at Bucky before leaving with Steve.

Once I'm safely shut in my room, I grab my backpack and get to packing. I have to hurry. I go to the closet and pull out a flannel, a camisole, sweatpants, a pair of skinny jeans, and my leather jacket. I quickly pack them, shoving the items into my backpack. Next, I pack a hairbrush, my makeup bag, a toothbrush, deodorant, and my journal. Finally, I take a wad of euros from my desk and put them in the bag.

After changing into a fresh outfit, I take a seat at my desk. I write out a letter in the most careful script I can.

Bucky,

I never meant for you to get hurt. I am so, so sorry. But it won't happen again, I promise. Because I'm leaving. As much as I endlessly crave feeling your warm hugs and hearing your calming voice, I have to go. I have to learn to control my powers better so I won't let you down again.

I just want to say thank you. You made me feel loved and cared about every single day, and I will always be grateful for that. You gave me worth again. Whether I'm here or not, you'll always be my sun, and I hope I'll still be your moon and stars.

I fell for you so hard and so fast, Bucky Barnes. Even if you don't feel the same, I still thought you should know. You're it for me, and nobody else will ever be able to fill those shoes.

I'm sorry for the tear stains. This is- I just thought this letter would be easier to write, you know? But I guess saying goodbye never is. I'm all packed and will be long gone by the time you read this. I should warn you that I may or may not have grabbed one of your hoodies. I'm sorry- I just need something to remember what it was like before I screwed everything up.

I love you, James Buchanan Barnes. I love your eyes, I love your voice, I love your metal arm. I love the way you say my name, I love your quiet sense of humor, I love how protective you are over Steve and I. I love your accent when you speak Romanian even if you don't know I hear you, I love your compassion, I love everything about you.

Please don't forget me, because I know I'll never forget you.

-Claire

I read it over at least twenty times before folding it and placing it into an envelope. I write Bucky's name on it, and I sneak into the medical wing. My backpack on my back, I slip into Bucky's room. He's asleep, likely still tired from all the anesthesia they gave him before his surgery. I set the envelope on the side table, and I hesitate momentarily before brushing my lips against his.

I need to know what it's like, just one last time.

I swallow my nervousness and kiss him gently. I relish the few seconds my lips are on his, because I know it'll never happen again.

"I love you," I whisper to him before I force myself to leave the room. I know that if I don't leave now, I never will. Maybe I'm overreacting, but I can't risk him getting hurt again because I'm not capable of doing my job.

Goodbye, Bucky.