Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Everything about the newly remodeled Stark Tower-- Avengers Tower-- Watchtower was silent. 

Bob didn’t like it.

Every door in the place from the huge entryway on the ground floor to the bedroom doors activated by their palm prints slid open on precisely balanced tracks. The elevator rocketed upward or dropped nauseatingly fast on noiseless cables. The lights were automatic, the heating and cooling system hushed, the microwave didn’t ding when it was done, the near inaudible cooking system simply stopped when it was finished and the door didn’t latch closed loud, it notched back into place with the lightest touch. Shoes didn’t squeak on expensive floors, designer furniture didn’t creak beneath body weight, the expansive sound system could have played music at any volume in any room but no one ever turned it on so it stayed silent. 

Sometimes the Tower was so silent, Bob had to wonder if it was real. If he was real. If any of the last few weeks since the Vault had been real. When it was silent too silent, sometimes the submissive thought he was dreaming, thought he’d wake up screaming and trapped in a coffin sized box, thought he’d wake up in the OXE lab again as the scientists pulled a needle out of his arm, out of his chest, out of his spine. 

Sometimes when it silent, too silent, Bob thought he was tripping out, spacing out, lost in the streets chasing his next high, or maybe just crumpled on the bed in his childhood home wasted on the pills he’d taken from his parents bathroom, listening for footsteps on the creaky stairs, knowing it was only a matter of time before his Dad found out about it and came upstairs to--

--came upstairs to--

The Watchtower was silent and Bob hated it. 

It was almost worse though, maybe it was worse, it was most certainly worse when the Watchtower was loud.

And with three different super soldier Dominants, with a Ghost who came through the walls whenever she pleased, with a Dominant leaning Switch like Yelena shouting to make her voice heard in the daily, team wide chaos-- the Watchtower was all too often shatteringly, painfully loud.  

“What are you eating?” Alexei startled him. Bob jumped. The Dominant was noisy all the time and in the echoing halls of the only partially occupied Tower, his sudden appearance was jarring and awful and promptly aggravating the migraine Bob could never seem to shake. 

“I um.” Bob looked down at his bowl, at the soggy cereal turning the milk multicolored and the spoon on the table he hadn’t picked up to try a single bite. “Cer--Cereal.” 

“You are not doing a good job eating it.” Alexei frowned down at him. “You need to eat. Too skinny. You are like chicken. Skinny legs. Scrawny neck. Men need to be robust. Full!” He pounded his chest. “Eat, Bob!” 

“I. Yeah.” Alexei didn’t make Bob nervous the way most Dominants made him nervous, but he still wanted to flinch away from the huge soldier’s disapproval. No matter that Alexei meant well despite his brusque ways, the submissive still wanted to cower, to cringe when he did something wrong.  “Sorry.” 

“Not sorry!” Alexei boomed. Bob flinched. “Just eat! Here! Fresh cereal!” 

A mixing bowl’s worth of the newly designed New Avengers Wheaties landed in front of Bob, accompanied by a waterfall of milk as Alexei filled the bowl to the brim then stood back and folded his arms waiting for Bob to take a bite. He meant well, both his fatherly instincts and the naturally Dominant instinct to provide driving him to hover, to stare, to watch eagle-eyed and close as Bob slowly picked up the spoon and slowly took a bite. He meant well but the zeroed in attention was awful and Bob barely got an obedient bite down without wanting to choke.

“Good!” Satisfied with his ability to provide for the resident submissive, Alexei turned to rifle through the fridge and find his own snack. 

Bob shook his head to stop the reverb of Alexei’s deep voice ringing in his ears and put the spoon down again just as soon as the Dominant wasn’t paying attention. 

Eating was difficult. Bob didn’t think he’d ever had three square meals a day, didn’t know the last time he could count on regular food. The lab had injected him with nutrients, IVs and booster shots to go along with the serum and torture but at the Tower he was expected to find and make his own food from the endlessly stocked pantry and fridge and the decision was difficult. The responsibility was difficult. The expectation that Bob could take care of himself when he’d proven time and time again that he was only ever one bad day away from blacking out, blanking out, losing himself was difficult. 

Bob needed someone to take care of him, but Christ he didn’t even know where to begin to ask. 

Once upon a time he’d been a real submissive, once upon a time back before the drugs got bad and the blackouts lasted longer and before Val, Bob had been normal. He’d been normal and he’d been a real submissive and vaguely in the back of his mind he remembered what it felt to be down and safe and hazy. He remembered what it felt like to be taken care of by a Dominant who had been willing to ease the hurt for a while. It had never lasted. It had never lasted. Near the end when things had been really bad, finding a Dom and going down had been nice but it had whiplashed so quickly into the dark that Bob had given up. 

No sense seeking out settled and happiness when the dark was waiting lurking hovering just there around the corner to take him out. 

Bob didn’t want to make things worse, he didn’t want to make things worse. 

“Bob.” Yelena was sunshine. She came into the kitchen and touched Alexei lightly on the shoulder then turned and smiled sunshine at Bob. She wasn’t Dominant like the super soldier, not entirely, but she wasn’t submissive either, not truly. It didn’t matter. She smiled and it was warm. Bob could need her a little bit and she didn’t crumble beneath how pathetic he felt most days. When she laughed hoarse and husky, Bob wanted to laugh too, he wanted to remember what it felt like to laugh. 

“Yelena.” He sat up. Straightened up. Cleared his throat and picked up the spoon to eat, he wanted to eat for her, wanted her approval and smiling acceptance, she didn’t make him feel like he was a blink away from Voiding or a bad day away from gone. “H-Hi.” 

“Hi Bob.” She smiled sunshine. “How are you?” 

“I--” 

“Hey.” Bucky came through the door. He was huge. Tall and wide and Dominant, super serum and overly intense and Dominant, grumpy and scowling and Dominant and Bob went quiet when Bucky strode stompy past the table and went to the freezer for ice cream. 

The submissive went quieter when John Walker followed Bucky in. Tall and not as wide but just as Dominant. Super serum and hair trigger aggressive and Dominant. Irritable and sneering and Dominant. 

Bob was a little intimidated by Bucky, probably should have been intimidated by John and no one was intimidated by Alexei but three Dominants in the room was too many Dominants and the submissive ducked his head hiding. Hunched his shoulders and stared down at the soggy Wheaties and braced himself for how loud it was all about to get. 

The silence in the Tower was bad. The loud in the Tower was worse. 

“Who in the hell ate my crackers!?” Ava wasn’t Dominant, wasn’t submissive, Bob didn’t know if she was anything. He thought maybe the accident in her childhood had shredded her biology and now she just existed but whatever it was, she existed every bit as noisy and obnoxious and hammering at Bob’s psyche as every one else. “I put them up on my shelf, no one is supposed to touch it!” 

“Food is communal!” Alexei protested and Ava retorted, “No it’s not! You don’t see anyone eating your food!” 

“That’s because his weird Russian granola bars taste like ass.” John drank six protein shakes a day to keep his energy up. The blender rattled when he dragged it from the cupboard. The ice clattered when he grabbed it from the freezer. The plastic wrapper on the brand new giant jar of protein powder crinkled and crackled when he ripped it off and the blender turned on deafening, growling through the ice and chewing through the frozen fruit the Dominant dumped through the top to add to the whole mess. 

Too much. 

“Ava!” Yelena snatched her own box of crackers right out of Ava’s hands, then yelped when Ava simply blurred to her other side and snatched it back. “No! That is mine! You cannot complain about people stealing food and then take mine!” 

“No, I’m with Ava, food is not communal in this place. I ordered a pizza and my leftovers are gone!” Bucky said exasperated and Yelena laughed at him, “You ordered a single pizza and left it in the fridge in a house full of soldiers, Bucky. What did you honestly expect?” 

“I expected to have some of my own goddamn food left over!” 

“Bucky, you should have known to order at least six pizzas! Big soldier like you, like me, we need the calories to stay strong! And food is communal!” 

“Food is not communal!” 

“Hey, someone toss me that bag of walnuts? I forgot to grab it for my shake.” 

“Walker, turn that damn blender down, you sound like you’re mixing up rocks.” 

“It takes a lot of protein to maintain a body like this!” 

“Oh give me a break, you’re one movie night away from having a beer belly.”

“The hell I am!”

Ava and Yelena cackled at the comment. Alexei and Bucky argued about just how many pizzas were necessary and whether or not they each needed their own fridge because apparently someone in the Tower didn’t believe in boundaries. Walker added the walnuts to the shake and cranked it up a notch. 

Too much. 

Bob scrunched down in his seat and tried to tune it out. Tried to muffle it against his ears. Thought about escaping out of the kitchen and back into his room, but his room was quiet and silent and lonely and sometimes that felt like Void, felt like empty, felt like numb and the submissive didn’t want to be numb. 

Too much. 

“Hey hey hey, shut up!” Bucky smacked his hand down on the counter and snapped at everyone when his phone rang shrill and splitting into the kitchen chaos. “Shut up! It’s Sam, I gotta talk to him. Everybody be quiet.” 

“Sam?” Ava raised her eyebrows and Bucky pointed a warning finger at her, “Don’t.” 

“No no it’s fine.” John shut the blender off and made a show of raising both hands. “Let the Winter Soldier take a call from his boyfriend, Captain America.” 

“Jealous, Walker?” Yelena goaded and Alexei roared with laughter, slapped his knees and cackled about John not being Captain America anymore, about John wanting to smooch Sam or Bucky or both. 

John turned the blender back on just to be bitchy. Ava laughed out loud over the noise because the Dominant looked so pissy. Yelena spelled out kissing in a sing songy irritating way and Alexei guffawed about it. 

Too much. 

Bob wanted to disappear but disappearing was alone and alone was bad so he sat at the table and hunched his shoulders. Folded his arms. Knotted his fingers into the worn material of his hoodie and closed his eyes against the noise. 

Bucky yelled something about them all being idiots and stomped out of the kitchen. The blender stayed on. Alexei stayed booming at his too loud level. Ava and Yelena kept arguing about the crackers and snacks and how if Yelena wanted to keep her food separate, she should choose a higher shelf and yes Ava realized Yelena was tiny and couldn’t reach the shelves but wasn’t she a bendy, jumpy little assassin, surely she could hop up and--

“Sam’s pissed.” Bucky was back after only a minute and this time the Dominant looked so serious, the kitchen fell abruptly quiet. Walker shut the blender off and Alexei frowned in thought. Ava set the crackers down and Yelena tapped her fingers at her full bottom lip for a few seconds before asking, “What did he say?” 

“He’s pissed.” Bucky repeated. “About Val. About the new name. About me not calling him for help with--” he gestured towards Bob. “He thinks we’re making a mistake trusting the government to oversee us and when I told we didn’t really have a choice in the matter, he reminded me that last time around he’d broken every rule with Steve and ran for it because it was better than letting corrupt politicians pull the strings. And damn it, he’s right.” 

Bucky dragged his hands through his hair and blew out a deep breath. The other Dominants were quiet waiting, Ava and Yelena quiet watching and at the far end of the kitchen Bob made himself breathe, made himself count, made a physical intentional effort to separate from the too much noise without falling into the lonely quiet and for one two three seconds, it was okay. 

Bob was okay. He sat in his self designated seat slightly back from everyone else and stared down at his bowl and forced himself to eat. To chew. To swallow. He put himself through the motions even though the whiplash of noise and then no noise left his tongue thick, even though his hands shook and the twitch in his eye was back, tugging at his lashes and irritating the delicate skin below his eyes.

But he was okay. The tower was nice. His rooms were nice. His clothes were new and that was nice. It was nice, life was nice, not being a lab rat, street rat, drugged out fucked up sign flipping chicken was nice, it was all fine, it was fine, he was fine, he needed to breathe through the quiet and not panic about the loud and he was okay. 

Sort of. Bob was sort of okay. 

The kitchen stayed tensely quiet while Bucky stood there with hands on his hips and head hanging trying to process the argument with his best friend and no one looked at the submissive. No one checked on Bob. They had no reason to check on him, no reason to think he was blinking a lot all the sudden because no matter how many times Bob blinked, the darkness at the edge of his vision and at the edge of his consciousness stayed hovering, the darkness stayed hovering and if he didn’t blink fast enough, the darkness crept closer, Bob was twitching and couldn’t get himself to eat and the darkness was right there waiting for him every time he blinked and the tense space between too much silence and too much noise made it all worse.

“Bob.” Yelena said his name quietly, said his name carefully. No one else was looking, but she paused to seek the submissive out and check in. 

“Bob?” He was staring blankly down at his bowl. Trembling a little. Yelena frowned and took a step closer. “Hey. Are you okay?” 

Bob was fine.

He was really desperately trying to be fine. 

But. 

“Damn it! Sam won’t fucking listen to me!” 

The kitchen was silent and Bob was pretty sure he was fine but then Bucky exploded and threw his phone and it was loud. The huge Dominant threw his hands up aggressive and shouted and it was loud. Everything was silent but then nothing was silent and Bucky blew up, exploded, kicked off in a show of anger and snapped his phone in half, threw it into and through the newly installed drywall then smacked his left palm down hard on the counter frustrated by the conversation with Sam and bogged down in the misunderstandings and uncertainty about the New Avengers. 

The kitchen had been silent but then it wasn’t silent and nobody jumped. 

Nobody startled. 

A room full of assassins, of Dominant soldiers and Dominant leaning Switches and Ava didn’t startle in the slightest when Bucky blew up because they all tended to blow up when the proverbial straw broke the last strands of their self control and everything bad came crashing in. Nobody startled because to yell and shout and vent before retreating back quiet was very specifically trauma exacerbated normal for them. 

But it had been silent, then quite suddenly not silent and Bob wasn’t a Dominant, his normal wasn’t their normal, wasn’t any normal. He got lost when it was quiet and he got lost when it was loud, so when it was silent then quite suddenly not silent, the submissive’s heart rate rocketed up too high too high too high until the dark rushed in from the edge of his vision and shadows burst from his body and everything shattered into screaming. 

“Bob?” 

Bob was screaming. He was screaming, wasn’t he? Couldn’t Yelena hear him screaming when she moved slowly towards his chair and bent close to peer into his eyes?

“Hey. Are you okay?” 

Her hands were hot against his face. Scalding. Bob screamed. He-- he screamed, didn’t he? Wasn’t he screaming? Surely he was screaming. It was dark and there were shadows and the noise in his head was loud loud loud and at the center of it all he could see hear feel the pinpoint of black growing and expanding. 

Void.

He could feel it coming and calling and clawing, blanketing and muffling and suffocating, he’d been hovering on the edge for days, for weeks and then he was tipping over and falling dropped. 

…Why couldn’t Yelena hear him screaming?

“Oh no.” Yelena stomach roiled sick when she saw Bob go blank, when his soft blue eyes ringed in eerie yellow and every ounce of expression wiped away. He locked down stiff, locked down still and Yelena had seen submissives drop before, she’d watched in real time as the gentler leaning Widows crumbled beneath intensive training, but she had never seen a submissive simply void and since Bob really was a risk for actually Voiding, the moment wasn’t just worrying, it was downright dangerous. 

“Bob.” She put her hand to his cheek. “Bob. Hey, come back to me.” 

“What’s wrong with Bob?” John started to sit down with his protein shake but paused when he saw Bob sitting so still. “What’s he doing right now? Is he okay?”

“I’m not sure.” Yelena crouched down in front of the submissive, hesitated, then set her other hand at his knee, rubbing lightly through the thin pajama pants. “I don’t know. I saw him take a bite of his cereal and then he went still like this.” 

“Okay well this seems terrible.” Bucky picked up the broken pieces of his phone and pocketed them. “Last time Bob blanked out, we all ended up in a House of Horrors. Is that what he’s doing right now? Yelena, is he Voiding?” 

“I don’t know.” Yelena didn’t take her eyes off Bob, staring hard into his unseeing yellow eyes. “Hey.” she tried again quietly. “Hey, Bob. Come on. Come on, what are you doing? You are freaking me out.” 

“His eyes are weird.” Alexei narrowed his eyes towards the unsettlingly still submissive. “Yellow. And something is wrong-- his fingers. Look.” 

Bob’s fingertips were gray. Black. He wasn’t moving, not blinking, not breathing but his fingertips went from gray to black and then as Yelena whispered urgent and worried, “Bob. It’s me, It’s Yelena, can you hear me?”, the black started to spread.

“Oh hell no.” Ava already had her hand at her collar, at the button that would activate her mask and let her phase away in a blink of an eye. “No no, that can’t be good. Why are the shadows doing weird things?” 

“Jesus Christ.” Walker jerked back from the nearest wall when shadowy tendrils unfolded from Bob’s chair and started creeping twisting smudging over the pristinely white walls. On instinct he grabbed for his gun like it would do anything at all, but Bucky clamped a metal hand down on his forearm to stop him, scoffing, “Are you kidding me? You gonna shoot the fucking shadows?” 

“Well what the hell are you gonna do, Bucky?” The Dominant all but leapt for the doorway when the grey nearly black gloom emanating from Bob’s fingertips started taking over the floor, consuming the tile and climbing the chairs. “You gonna stand there and let him Void you?!” 

“I’m sure as shit not gonna shoot at it, John!” 

“You boys aren’t helping!” Yelena called distressed, then focused her attention back on Bob, on the submissive’s blank eyes and expressionless features. “Bob? Where are you? Are you in there?” 

“Yelena, come here, come away from him.” Alexei abandoned his food and started towards her, pushing past Bucky and ducking around Ava with his hand outstretched. “Away, Lena. Last time this happened you threw yourself into the Void and I cannot watch again, come away now.” 

“Look at his eyes, look at his eyes. We’re running out of time.” John cursed. Grabbed for his gun out of instinct, then cursed again and dropped his hands back to his sides. “We’re running out of time. He’s Voiding.” 

“We don’t know that.” Bucky argued back. “Yelena, do you know what he’s doing?” 

“I’m out of here.” Ava activated her mask and tried to phase right out of the room, right away from the crawling shadows and agitated Dominants and terror twisting at Yelena’s face and whatever the hell was happening with Bob. 

But. 

“Shit!” The air was too thick, the atoms too close, the shadows too cloying, and when Ava started to phase, her body vibrated and shuddered then started to tear and Ava screamed. She clawed at her mask so it would deactivate and snapped back to solid, then screamed when every muscle seized up wrong because whatever Bob was doing had altered the very atmosphere in the room and she was trapped. “Shit! What is happening!” 

“Cut it out Bob!” Walker shouted and Alexei roared, “Lena! Away!” but when he tried to lunge for her, Bucky grabbed at him like he’d grabbed at Walker and held him back, ordering, “No! Whatever this is, Yelena helped last time so maybe she can--!” 

“I can’t breathe.” Ava was the first to feel the oxygen seeping from the room, the first to press at her chest and wheeze when her next breath wasn’t a breath at all because the black at Bob’s fingertips had spread to hover fuzzy around the edges of his frame, was lifting off his shoulders and growing, was ripping the air right out of the kitchen. 

“B-Bucky?” Ava stumbled, reached out for the strongest Dominant and gasped, “I can’t breathe-- I can’t--” 

“Fuck.” Walker hit his knees with a thud, face red as he gasped and gasped and not enough air made it into his lungs. “Bob! St-stop! Stop! You’re killing us!” 

“Lena!” Alexie fell back against the fridge, cheeks going purple with the effort of inhaling. “Lena, get away! Get--!” 

“Everyone get out.” Yelena stayed in front of Bob, staring into his yellow eyes and breathing through her mouth, shallow and desperate and fighting the urge to panic as her ribs started to cave in around her struggling lungs. “Everyone get out except Bucky. Bucky, we need you.” 

“The hell--” Bucky was the last one affected, the least one affected, super serum and sheer force of will keeping him conscious and coherent while John and Alexei struggled and Ava wavered on the edge of passing out. “The hell I--” 

“Bucky, goddamnit!” Yelena tried to shout. It came out a strained whisper. “This is your fault. You did this, come fix this, come here!” 

“I didn’t-- I didn’t do anything-- I didn’t--” The Dominant tried to argue but there wasn’t enough air to form the words. “Fuck. F--fuck! Go! Take Ava and go--!” 

John barely managed to get his arms under Ava’s limp form and drag her from the room. Alexei followed coughing and wheezing, stumbling into the furniture and appliances as he staggered for the door. Whoosh the automated door slid shut on it’s silent track when John slammed his hand into the sensor on the other side and Bucky strained his ears listening for the gasps of relief, for the sound of footsteps running because shutting the door from Bob wouldn’t actually stop anything if the unstable submissive went full Void on them but a little distance might delay the inevitable.

“Bucky.” Yelena swayed on her knees in front of Bob, voice thready and head lolling, lashes fluttering as she fought to stay conscious in the oxygen deprived room. “...help.”

Bucky didn’t know what to do, didn’t know how it was his fault the unstable submissive had freaked out, didn’t know how he was meant to help. But he gathered all his strength and pushed against the nearly solid air thickening in the kitchen and in his lungs, set his shoulders and shoved through the shadows clinging to his feet and clenched his teeth groaning as he staggered step by painful step across the kitchen to collapse at Yelena’s side.

“You.” Yelena waved her hand listlessly. Helplessly. “He needs.” she gestured to Bob’s face, to the waxy skin stretched taut across his suddenly overly pronounced cheekbones as if the effort of Voiding was eating him from the inside out. “Dropping.” 

Dropping. Bucky knew that word. Every Dominant knew that word, even back in the forties when nobody understood half of anything about the Dominant and submissive biologies, they understood how dangerous a sub dropping could be. 

And shit. Nobody on the team had been sure Bob was still a submissive on a biological level, Bob hadn’t even been all the way sure he was still a submissive on a biological level. He certainly presented submissive with his mannerisms but that could have just been trauma, that could have just been the drugs, that could have been the result of a life lived mostly in fear and pain. 

After the Sentry program, there was no way to know for sure. Bob’s blood tests had been all over the place with the serum altering his biology, genetic testing didn’t work after someone had been turned upside down and inside out by experimentation, Bucky knew that better than most. His own Dominant biology had been ratcheted up so far by the Winter Soldier program that most submissives couldn’t even look him in the eye anymore, he knew what it meant to have that part of himself fucked with. 

But if Bob really was a true submissive and now he was Voiding out dropping because Bucky had come stomping into the room lashing out yelling and freaking him out because he was angry and Dominant? 

Yes. Bucky’s fault. Yes, the Dominant’s fault. Yes, he had to fix it. 

“He needs.” Yelena’s lips were blue. She couldn’t breathe. The shadows had reached the ceiling, Bob’s body was fuzzing at the edges as if he were ashing the way Bucky remembered ashing after Thanos, it was all terrible. “B-Bucky--” 

“Hey bud.” Bucky didn’t so much as go to his knees as he fell to his knees, crashed onto the ground and pitched forward to plant his left hand on Bob’s chair trying to steady himself. “Hey. Bob. You gotta-- you gotta--” 

It had been a long time since Bucky had been with a submissive, with any submissive. The last submissive had been Steve and that had been before the war when Steve had been small and willing and gorgeous blinking those big blue eyes up at Bucky and trusting him to bring him down safe and settled. It had been a long time and Bucky didn’t know if he knew how to do it anymore, if he knew how to be a Dominant beyond throwing his weight around and intimidating people with just a change in posture but if he didn’t try to fix this maybe they were all going to die so--

So. 

“I’m here.” uncurling his fingers took a Herculean effort. Bucky pried his clenched fist open and held himself back, held his weight back, did not let himself collapse onto the blanked out submissive and carefully carefully struggling carefully set only the very tips of his fingers at Bob’s cheek to whisper the same words Yelena had whispered and cried and shouted into Bob’s ear when they dragged him from the Void the first time. 

“I’m h-here.” he touched lightly, forced his hand to stay open, tried to breathe and tried to see through the shadows darkening the windows to cup his hand at the submissive’s face. “I’m here.” 

Bob screamed at the first touch. Opened his mouth but didn’t blink his blank eyes and screamed. The shadows shuddered from the noise, but Yelena didn’t have enough air left to sob over it and Bucky jerked and flinched and instinctively grabbed for Bob with his left hand to shut him up. He set the cold metal at the other side of Bob’s face and stretched his fingers far trying to cover as much skin as possible, trying to tilt Bob’s head up so maybe he could jostle those unseeing yellow eyes into blinking, Bucky tried. 

Bob stopped screaming. 

The scream cut off all at once. Bob’s mouth snapped shut fast enough to loudly clack his teeth and Bucky swore-- he swore his next breath was just the tiniest bit easier. 

Then Bob blinked.

“Oh hell, you blinked.” The Dominant dragged in a painfully sparse breath. “That's good. I’m here, okay?” he tried faintly. “Bob? I’m here. I’ve--” Breathe. It was easier. “I’ve got you.” 

Bob blinked. On the floor, Yelena managed to prop herself up on her elbow and cough. Managed to sit up a little further and inhale. Breathing got a little bit easier. 

“Hi.” Bucky kept holding on, his left hand covering almost the entire side of the submissive’s face, the fingers of his right hand lightly lightly brushing along Bob’s cheek bone. “You with me, bud? I’m here. Are you with me?” 

“Bucky.” Yelena rolled onto her side, then up onto all fours, head hanging and arms shaking weak. “You need to, he needs--” she coughed again, raspy and hoarse. “Touch him. When we are down, when a submissive is dropped. Need to b-be touched. Touch him.” 

“I am touching him.” Bucky didn’t know how to settle a submissive anymore, but even if he did,  Bob wasn’t normal, this wasn’t a normal drop or a normal submissive, everything Bucky knew from back before Hydra was useless. “I’m trying.” 

“No. He needs.” Yelena finally made it all the way to sitting and she scooted for the nearest chair, pulled herself into it and slumped forward to try and breathe. “You need to.” she twisted her fingers in her own hair and yanked. “His hair. He needs to be grounded.” 

“Grounded.” Bucky knew that. Remembered that. He flexed his right hand uncertainly then slowly slowly slid it up into Bob’s hair, past the heat pouring off the submissive’s temples and into the sweaty, messy waves, then knotted his fingers and pulled.

Bob blinked. The yellow in his eyes sparked terrifying brighter before starting to swirl back towards blue and Yelena whispered something disbelieving and grateful as the shadows on the walls started to fall as well. 

“There you are.” Bucky settled his hand firmer against Bob’s head and tugged his hair again, massaging into his scalp and keeping a rhythmic pull at the longish strands. “You-- you with me?” 

“That’s good. That’s-- don’t stop. He is almost here again.” Yelena sat up and took a full breath, then rubbed her mouth, scratched her chin, gripped the back of her own neck and squeezed hard trying to keep herself from freaking out as the scariest submissive she’d ever met and the most Dominant Dom she’d ever known came back from the brink of something terrifying. “Bob? Bob, can you hear me?” 

Bob’s nearly blue eyes locked onto Yelena over Bucky’s shoulder and she offered him a tentative, relieved smile. “Hi. It’s good to see you.” 

“Y--Yelena?” 

“We’re here. We got you, Bob.” The shadows fell away a little more. “Bucky. Here.” Yelena pressed a hand to her chest and Bucky moved to copy it, spreading his big hand wide across Bob’s sternum and holding him steady. “And-- and like this. Use your left hand, the cold— he’s hot. He needs the cold.” She put her hand at her throat. “But gentle. We need-- he needs gentle.” 

“I can be gentle.” Bucky had worked so hard since Hydra to be gentle. He set his left hand at Bob’s neck and pressed his fingers to the submissive’s pulse, brushed his thumb in soothing strokes over the curve of Bob’s throat and checked in, ”Like that? Is that-- am I doing it right?” 

“Yes.” Yelena nodded jerkily and in the chair with the shadows slowly receding into his body and the fuzziness leaving his frame, Bob nodded too, copying her. “That’s right. That’s right. Now tell him he-- say he is good.” 

“You’re doing real good for me.” Bucky used to be the sort of Dominant who lavished praise on his submissive. Steve used to be the sort of submissive to melt beneath it. War and super serum had changed them both and it had been too long since Bucky had said the words but he watched the darkness fade from the kitchen and whispered rough to the shivery submissive, “You’re being real good for me. Come on back and-- and settle. I’ve got you. You’re being so good.” 

And to Yelena who was rubbing her arms and touching her throat, tugging at her own hair and rocking in the chair hugging herself tight because the Red Room had stripped everything submissive from her biology but sometimes she still felt it all in her soul--

“Yelena.” Bucky didn’t look away from Bob, didn’t stop touching Bob, but Bob was staring locked in at Yelena so the Dominant cleared his throat and raised his voice a little. “You’re being good for me too.” 

“Fuck.” Yelena muttered. “Fuck.” and slumped in the chair with her face in her hands. “Bucky. I don’t know-- I don’t know what to say to that. I don’t know--” 

“Both of you.” The last of the shadows disappeared and the sun shone through the kitchen window again. Bucky let his shoulders drop relieved and told them, “Both of you are being very good. Thank you.” 

*****

Bob slept, after.

Yelena put him in her room. 

“You stay with me.” she decided. “Come on.” 

Bob smiled his little unbothered smile and nodded. He shuffled his way out of the kitchen in his too long pajama pants and baggy shirt and followed her up the stairs to her room where Yelena coaxed pulled bullied the submissive into the bed and tucked him in almost aggressively, pulling the the blankets to his chin and pushing his hair away to check his temperature. As Bob’s eyes fell shut and he dropped off to an exhausted sleep, Yelena repeated, “You stay with me.”

She knew without turning around that Bucky was in her doorway. Yelena could feel the huge Dominant’s presence, could feel his pale eyes on her like a physical weight but she took her time fussing with the blankets, fussing with the pillows, checking Bob’s pulse when he started snoring and only when she was collected and calm and ready enough to face the soldier, did she turn around with chin lifted and expression pointedly neutral.

“What? What do you want?”

“M’just checking on him.” Bucky pushed off the door and moved towards the bed, steps light and movements careful. “Feel like I need to check on him.” 

“Cos it was your fault. You made him drop, it was your fault.” Yelena watched the Dominant get close to the bed, get close to Bob and when her heart clenched up uncertain, she started forward to stop him. Started forward to stop the Dominant, then made herself stop when Bucky dropped heavily onto the mattress and Bob’s limp form rolled towards him. She put her hand to her mouth and quieted what might have been a whimper when Bucky put his left hand on Bob’s chest again, steady and stabilizing and protective over the traumatized submissive’s heart. 

Bob smiled, then. Sleepy. Settled. He was passed out snoring, emotionally and physically wrung out from shattering into a drop then being brought back to himself so quickly, and Bob was always tired, the submissive was always so so tired, sleeping more than he was ever awake since moving into the Tower and when Bucky sat on the bed heavy and grounding then put his palm over his heart, Bob smiled. Just a little. 

“Damn it.” Bucky swallowed hard around the unexpected suffocating ball of emotion clogging the back of his throat. “Damn it, this was my fault, wasn’t it?” 

“Yes.” Yelena didn’t know what to think about the gentleness from the soldier. She didn’t know how she felt about the huge Dominant sitting on her bed, hovering over Bob when she felt responsible for Bob right down to her soul and oh she didn’t know how she felt about the Dominant calling her good. About Bucky checking in with her as if she were submissive and needy and-- and worth taking care of. “It was.” 

Bucky’s shoulders slumped and his seemingly permanent frown etched deeper into his face. “Yelena--” 

“You need a drink.” she decided abruptly. “I need a drink too. Wait here. Do not leave him.” 

“I’m not gonna leave him.” Belatedly, Bucky remembered he should have asked permission to enter Yelena’s room at all, much less to sit on her bed and stay.

Back in the day, back in his day, in the old days a Dominant wouldn’t even approach an unclaimed submissive without talking to their familial Dominant, entering a submissive’s room uninvited was fucking rude, sitting on a submissive’s bed, encroaching on their personal space uninvited was unforgivable, putting his hands on a submissive too goddamn out of it to consent either way was the sorta thing that got a Dominant taken out back and killed. 

Bucky had forgotten. It had been a long time since he’d felt anything close to normal about his Dominant biology, longer since he’d interacted on a personal level with a submissive but barging through Yelena’s door to put his hands on Bob and take up room in her safe space was-- it wasn’t--.

Shit. 

“Sorry.” he said when Yelena came back with two beers. He was taking up too much room in her safe space, on her bed and with his hands on a submissive Yelena felt some sort of intense connection to. “Sorry. I should have asked. To come in. And uh-- to sit on your bed. I’m not your Dominant and I didn’t have permission to--” 

“That is some Old World Dominant bullshit.” Yelena tossed him a beer then slumped onto the floor by the bed and opened her own. Bucky being unsure of his own actions soothed the anxiety rattling through her nerves. He wasn't a Dominant imposing himself, he was trying to do the right thing and Yelena forced herself to breathe, to relax, to trust that the man who had helped save everyone the first time only had good intentions. 

Learning to trust people was hard. Yelena was working on it.  

“If I didn’t want you in here, you would not be in here.” she added after a minute when Bucky kept watching her. “Shut up. It’s fine.” 

It wasn’t fine. It didn’t feel fine. But living in the old Avengers Tower and arguing with Sam about Val and watching a submissive suck all the air out of a room during a drop didn’t feel fine either, so Bucky shook his head, took a drink and counted Bob’s heart beats beneath his palm while the silence stretched long between them. 

“You aren’t a submissive.” He said later, he didn’t know how much later, but the beer was warm in his palm and Yelena’s eyes were closed, her head tipped back against the mattress and hair brushing the very tips of Bob’s limp fingers. “Not a Dominant, either.” 

“No.” Yelena took a drink. Didn’t open her eyes. “I’m not.” 

“You don’t feel like a…” he hesitated. “A Switch. Most of the Hydra people were Switches. Neutral to work with me and the other Soldiers, submissive leaning if needed, Dominant leaning when the situation required. You don't seem like that. Not really.” 

“I am not a true Switch, no.” Yelena took a drink. Wiped her mouth. “The Red Room wanted submissives to mold like— like play-doh. The girls who trained with Natasha, they were all submissives. People trust easier when the one they want is pretty and submissive and eager to please. But then Natasha defected.”

She smiled the smallest bit. “Natasha defected to save her heart, to save her soul, but the Red Room blamed Clint Barton. He is a Switch. Dominant leaning. My sister was the best, but she ran away with a Dominant leaning Switch and the Red Room assumed it was her biology that made her weak.” 

Another drink, this time to cover the hitch in her voice. “My sister was the best. But the Red Room thought if even the best submissive could be turned, then all of us were a risk. So for me, they changed the program. They didn’t want submissives anymore, didn’t want the weakness. Submissives were eliminated. They only kept me because I was the top in my class. They trained me and the other girls to be nothing, not submissive not Dominant, nothing. To be neutral beyond what was natural. Crushed the instincts, the biology, taught us to be something and anything depending on the moment and the mission.”

She shrugged. “If you test my blood and my genetic markers, I am a submissive but in my heart?” 

Yelena shook her head. “No. I do not think so. Not anymore. Maybe I am a Switch. Maybe I am like Ava with nothing, maybe they took it from me entirely like they took everything else. I don’t know.” 

“Hm.” Bucky stared at the black and gold of his hand against the soft blue of Bob’s shirt, then said quietly, firmly, “You were very good helping me out there.” 

“Don’t-- No.” Yelena jerked forward like the words had physically hurt her, flinched from the praise and the phrasing as if it burned at her skin and her soul. “You shouldn’t say it to me like that, you do not need to--” 

“Thank you.” It had been a long time since Bucky had felt like a real Dominant, but with one hand on the sleeping submissive he wrapped his other hand at the base of Yelena’s neck and squeezed. Not tight. Not scary. Just weighted and warm and holding her steady when her entire body went whipcord tense like she was going to run. 

Breathe. One two three. Exhale. Bucky ran his thumb in slow circles against her neck, tapped his fingers in an easy, predictable rhythm so she could latch onto the count, so she could breathe, one two three exhale and settle. 

And, “Thank you.”

Then, “Good girl.” 

“Fuck.” Yelena slumped into it. Crumpled into it. A few words from the overly Dominant soldier left her limp as if a simple ‘Good girl’ had reached into the core of her being and slashed at the strings that held her self control rigid. “I don’t-- I don’t--” 

“Settle.” Bucky kept his voice low. Yelena swallowed and he traced the motion with his thumb. She let her head fall back and he adjusted his palm up to cradle the back of her skull, to keep her steady. “You’re alright.” 

“We did not--” She wrapped the strings of her hoodie around her fingers. “We did not know the Winter Soldier was a Dominant. But it makes sense. The Red Room wanted manipulators. Hydra wanted monsters.” 

“The Winter Soldier was a machine with a list of commands forced into his head.” he corrected hoarsely. “But Bucky Barnes-- I’m a Dominant. Used to be, at least.” 

“Jesus Christ.” Yelena’s laugh was low, wheezy, a half step from a sob. “The way they hurt us. What they took from us. They never expected us to be human enough to notice what we were missing. Never thought we’d escape enough to notice what we lost.” 

“Yeah.” The Dominant kept one hand on Bob, one hand on Yelena and thought maybe the ragged edges of his heart healed the tiniest bit as they both breathed, settled, fell into beautiful softness in his care. 

“...maybe we didn’t lose it all though, huh?” 

****

“Okay.” Ava didn’t waste any time jumping into the conversation and damn near down Yelena and Bucky's throat when they finally emerged from the bedroom almost two hours later. “What in the hell happened back there?” 

“He’s sleeping.” Bucky stated and Ava snapped right back, “I don’t mean in the bedroom, Bucky! I mean in the kitchen! When we all almost died!” 

“Bucky scared Bob.” Yelena spoke up before the Dominant did, pushing past Bucky to claim the comfiest spot on the best couch in the living room and frowning at John Walker when he tried to sit down too. “No. I am sitting here. Find your own spot.” 

“The couch is big enough for both of us.” John sat anyway. “Bucky. Seriously. What happened?” 

“I scared Bob. Like Yelena said.” Bucky eyed the space between Yelena and the other Dominant and wondered if he could-- if he should-- sit between them. Bucky eyed the door and the hall leading to the stairs and the bedrooms and wondered if he could-- if he should-- go and sit with Bob again until he woke up. It wasn’t right to leave a submissive alone to sleep off a drop but Bob wasn’t a normal submissive and that sure as hell hadn’t been a normal drop-- Bucky didn’t know. 

“I scared him.” Bucky sat in the same recliner he always sat in. Alone. Off to the side. Able to see the entire room without feeling like the entire room could see him. He’d always operated best in the shadows. “Bob is a traumatized submissive who’s had a real shitty couple of weeks and I’m…me.” 

He spread his hands, not needing words to explain just why a Dominant like himself had set a skittish, reactive submissive off so quickly and so thoroughly. “He must’ve been already close to a drop and when I walked in all pissed off, it sent him over the edge.” 

“Biology.” Yelena stated flatly. “That is what happened.” 

“Why though?” Alexei wedged his bulk himself between Yelena and John and folded his massive arms over his chest. “Submissives are usually sensitive and anxious, not Melina and Natasha of course, they were fierce women. Beast women. But things are calm here. We have nice room, good food, it is quiet. Peaceful. Why did Bob drop?” 

“Because it’s peaceful now, but it hasn't been peaceful for a long time for him.” Ava put it together before Bucky or Yelena could reply. “Because he almost died several times, maybe did die several times during the Sentry program. The fact that he was in the Vault to be destroyed with the rest of us means he made it through several rounds of experimentation and making it through several rounds of that shit usually means you were unlucky enough to come back from whatever they did to kill you.” 

“We don’t know that for sure though.” John tried to deny. “How would you know--” 

“Because Hydra spent twenty years trying to kill me.” Bucky answered from the corner. “Dosed me up with different serums. Broke bones to see how fast I’d heal. Pushed my limits till it killed me, or until it should have killed me, then they’d revive me and do it again. And I bet.” 

He met Ava’s eyes and for once, she didn’t look away. “I bet SHIELD did the same thing to you testing your phasing, perfecting your suit, managing your symptoms. If the Nazis did that to their soldiers and the supposed good guys did it to their assets,  I'd put good money on O.X.E doing it to the drug addicts they dragged off the street and plugged into those machines.” 

Yelena clicked her tongue in miserable agreement and Alexei patted her knee in yet another a too little, too late attempt at apologizing for handing her over to the Red Room when she was small. 

“Okay, so he’s had a shitty couple of weeks or months or years or whatever.” It wrankled right into John’s soul to so casually dismiss a submissive’s suffering but damn it, he’d almost died in the kitchen because Bob was having a bad day and that was unacceptable. “Join the goddamn club. We’ve all almost died or should have died but none of us panicked cos Bucky was pissy about breaking up with his boyfriend.” 

“Sam is not--” Bucky started to growl, but shut up and just glared instead. “Bob is a submissive. It’s different for him.” 

“And he probably hasn’t gone down or been settled by a good Dominant in years.” Yelena pointed out with the miserable empathy of a submissive who’d never been properly taken care of even once in her life. “When he Voided before, that wasn’t settling. It was a drop. Val tried to kill him and the Void came forward instead. We brought him out of it but not-- not--” 

She made a frustrated motion towards the ceiling. “--up from it. Bucky scared him but we are all to blame. We all should have seen he wasn’t doing good and tried to help.” 

“How would we see that, Yelena?” Ava wasn’t mad, just frustrated. Just scared. “We are all trying to adjust to our new life. We are all dealing with our own shit. And we are not his Dominants.” she pointed at herself. “I am not a Dominant at all. It is not our job to notice a submissive having a bad day.” 

“On a normal day, I’d hate to agree with Ava.” John added brusquely. “But she’s right. Bob’s not my submissive, not my problem. And by the way? If he’s gonna freak out, void out and put us all in danger every single time one of us gets loud you know then maybe-- maybe he shouldn’t stay here.” 

“What?” Yelena’s head jerked up and she bent around Alexei to gape at the Dominant. “What did you just say?” 

“He’s right.” Ava agreed, but held up a hand and shook her head when John nodded at her. “No, don’t nod. I don’t want to agree with you just like you don’t want to agree with me, but he’s right, Yelena. We aren’t doing much right now while Val is figuring out how to make money off our new public image, but we will be doing things soon. And it will be loud. Bucky and Sam will have more lover’s spats--” 

“Seriously?” Bucky scowled, but it didn’t faze her and she barreled on, “Walker is one protein shake away from roid raging, Alexei’s excited voice is a decibel below a sonic boom and Yelena, for someone so small you are very noisy when you get worked up.” 

“Yes and you are the picture of decorum and quiet?” Yelena snapped. “You run from everything, the smallest inconvenience has you disappearing through the walls, sorry the rest of us are human enough to make noise.” 

“If Bob cannot handle a house full of superheroes,” Alexie started hesitantly and Yelena whirled on him, “Alexei! No!” 

“He blacked out and suffocated us, remember?” John wasn’t trying to be an asshole. He wasn’t even trying to be condescending. He was practical and pragmatic and matter of fact when he leaned forward to meet Yelena’s panicky expression. “I get that you’re submissive leaning or whatever and you and him bonded in those shame rooms, but he dropped and almost killed us. Almost killed you. And none of us are his Dominant which means none of us are guaranteed to be able to keep him stable.” 

“Yelena.” Alexei cleared his throat. “None of us would want to send a submissive away, of course not. And I do not trust Valentina. But if she has the resources to keep Bob safe and to keep others safe from--” 

“Stop!” Yelena jumped off the couch and to her feet, and across the room Bucky jerked forward in his seat, only barely stopped himself from jumping up to join her, to calm her, to help. “No stop. Don’t say that, don’t say that. We are not giving him to Val.” 

“Maybe.” Ava picked at her bottom lip anxiously. “Maybe Val could help though. Maybe… medication.” 

“Medication.” Yelena repeated incredulously. “Are you serious? What sort of medication do you think Val would use to keep Bob calm?” 

“It’s not the best idea.” John attemped to mollify her. “But it’s the only one that makes sense. Val put the Sentry program together, I’m sure she’s got antidotes or something too. Something to keep the participants balanced. Bob probably wasn’t the only one to freak out--” 

“He’s not just freaking out! Do not down play it as if it’s just a bad day, this is more than that!”  

“I’m not downplaying anything.” John straightened up and hardened his tone commanding. Ordering. Like a Captain making the tough but right decision, like a Dominant taking charge of a moment rapidly spiraling out of control. “We all almost died in there and I’m sure as hell not downplaying that. If Val has options to help, if she has something she can give him to make it all stop, we should look into them.” 

“Val’s options would put Bob right under.” Bucky spoke up then, his left hand clenched tight into the chair upholstery. “Like Hydra did with me. With the others. The only way to control someone you can’t actually control is to wipe them completely, to lock them down and only let them up under certain circumstances.” 

“Like when it’s time to kill someone.” Yelena’s voice shook. “Like how they unleashed the Winter Soldier to do their bidding, like how the Red Room controlled myself and the others and the moment we disobeyed, they killed us. Forced us to kill ourselves with the protocols implanted into our brains. We cannot let Val do that to Bob.” 

“Surely there are other options.” Alexei spread his hands wide trying to keep the peace. “Maybe medication that keeps him conscious but mortal. Locks his powers away.” 

“And what will we do with someone on the team and in the Tower who is fully and entirely human?” John wanted to know. “It would be humiliating for Bob and annoying for us. What’s he gonna do around here while medicated out of his mind? The dishes? The dusting? It’s bad enough having a submissive we have to tiptoe around just in case he has a temper tantrum, but to medicate him into some docile drooling house wife makes him useless.”

“Is that you told your wife when she got angry at you?” Yelena snarled the words. “You told her she was having temper tantrums and she was useless?” 

“Don’t you talk about my wife.” John’s voice did something dangerous and that time Bucky did stand, got up from his chair and took two steps forward so he was closer to Yelena and closer to the problem. “You have no fucking idea what happened there.” 

“No no tell me!” she snapped. “Because the way you talk about Bob, about a submissive who needs us? That proves you are a shit Dominant. You say we should medicate him, then say he’d be useless, you say it’s bad enough he’s a submissive who has temper tantrums? You are a coldhearted bastard, John Walker. No wonder Olivia--!” 

“Shut the fuck up!” John roared and Alexei lumbered to his feet to warn, “Do not yell at my daughter like that!” at the same time Bucky raced in to grab Yelena and drag her away, “Hey hey, we need to calm down, we can talk about this later.” 

“You can’t call me a shit Dominant just cos I’m not willing to die when Bob has a bad day!” John demanded and Yelena scoffed, “A good Dominant would try to help!” 

“He is not my submissive! Not my problem!” 

“We knew who he was when he dragged him from the Void!” Yelena screeched as Bucky firmly pushed her towards the door. “We knew who he was, knew the risk when we brought him home! We cannot change our mind because we get scared!” 

“Home?” Ava interjected for the first time in several minutes. “This place is a jail, Yelena. A prison built by a psychopath and haunted by the memories of the real Avengers and the expectations no one thinks we can stand up to, this is not home. We live here because outside these walls, we're criminals. Not for any other reason."

“Is not home.” Alexei agreed, then hastened to console Yelena, “I watched you step into the Void once and I could not help. Today Bob almost dragged you in and I could not help again. What happens if next time--” 

“He would never put the shadows on me on purpose!” she argued and Bucky kept an arm like steel around her waist when he added, “Today wasn’t on purpose either, okay? Bob got scared. It was my fault. As a Dominant I should have--” 

“Been able to walk into a room frustrated without setting off the weapon of mass destruction?” John scoffed. “Look, I know we rescued him or whatever, but the fact is, he is dangerous. And not dangerous like we are, but dangerous in a way the world cannot handle and we certainly can’t handle. Yelena, look.” 

The Dominant made a purposeful effort to lower his voice, to drop his shoulders and soften his posture when mascara stained tear streaks on Yelena’s face made his heart twist. Damn it, he was tired of being villainized for being the one with a plan, for being the one with a clear head and focus, everyone acted like he was a fucking monster for making the difficult calls and he was sick of it. 

“Not even the real Avengers lived together.” he pointed out. “Tony Stark was the only to actually live here, everyone else had their own space and they still figured out how to save the world, alright? We don’t have be roommates to be a team and since Bob clearly can’t handle being around a team full of Dominants, for his sake and for ours maybe we can put him somewhere else, somewhere safe. He can get medicine or-- or therapy, there’s chemicals now that help unstable submissives when they need to go down. We can send him to get help and then when he’s better and when we need him--” 

“When we need him.” Yelena wiped at her eyes furiously. “When he is useful, you mean. We let Val medicate him, put him under and keep him chained up, locked down like a dog, like a-- a puppy at a pound until we need him. Until he is useful? That is not what family does! Family is supposed to be there always and especially when one of us needs help!” 

“Family.” Walker’s face twisted up into something ugly. The room went silent. Alexei hung his head and Ava looked away and Bucky braced himself for whatever was coming next. 

“Family.” the Dominant repeated. “Is that you think this is? What you think we are? We aren’t a fucking family, Yelena. Like Ava said, this isn’t a home. We are three super soldiers, a wanted fugitive thief, a former Red Room assassin and Bob. We are three Dominants, someone who is nothing,” Ava flinched from his description, “someone who was trained to be nothing,” Yelena refused to flinch. “And a submissive whose bad days are world ending and whose good days require a Dominant stronger than any of us to keep him steady.” 

“But all of us together can keep us steady.” Yelena pushed Bucky’s arm away and set her jaw. “You said it yourself. Three strong Dominants. Ava who is neutral and can help us navigate the rough parts. Me-- I am trained to adapt to all biologies, to all situations. Together we can keep him steady and we can keep him home.” 

“Still not a family.” John said bluntly. “That line up sounds like the staff at an inpatient clinic, except most of us would probably be patients at the clinic too. This Tower isn’t home and we?” he motioned around the room. “We are not a family. Bob is not our submissive, he’s a liability and a risk.” 

“It hurts him too.” Alexei pointed out gravely. “Bob is hurt when he goes dark. It is not good for him. Not good for us. For everyone’s sake, maybe-- maybe the medicine is best.” 

“Okay.” Bucky pushed a hand through his hair and shook his head. “That’s enough. That’s-- we get it. There’s no easy answers but we’re not gonna fuckin’ fight about this. Enough.” 

“Everything involving Bob is a situation way above our pay grade.” John finished wearily. “No one else wants to say it, so I will. Keeping him here at the Tower is gonna put all of our lives in danger and I’m not willing to do it, not without at least talking to Val about options to contain him or mute him or something that means the bad days don’t end with us all suffocating as he rearranges the oxygen particles or whatever.”

“No.” Yelena dropped into the nearest chair, stunned and horrified and too numb to even fight any more. “No, I won’t agree to that. I thought we are supposed to be together. Fight together and live together but you want to put Bob out, you want to lock him away and medicate him to nothing just in case he is a risk and we all know.” 

She looked up, eyes glistening with tears. “We all know how it feels to be locked away. And-- and trapped. And treated like we are no better than our worst day. Bob needs us, needs to know we are here and maybe when he does know that, the bad days won’t happen anymore.” 

“Yelena--” 

“We are all a risk.” she continued in a near whisper. “We are all dangerous. We are dangerous on purpose but Bob-- Bob can’t even help it. Bucky, you would send him to Val when he can’t even help it?” 

“I’m not saying we should kick him out.” The Dominant gripped her shoulder. “I’m not saying that. But he needs help and maybe— maybe we aren’t the best people to help him. I don’t know how to do settle a submissive, you had to walk me through how to even touch him, how to talk to him. We barely made it through that.”  

“But you figured it out and then you were good.” she insisted. “And you told me I was-- you said me and Bob were--” 

Quieter. “Good. You said we were good.”

“And I meant it.” Bucky’s eyes were sad, his mouth turned down into a frown. “But Walker and Ava and Alexei are right. I’m sorry but maybe—”

“Hey guys.” Bob spoke up from the hall, half hidden behind the doorway, half peeking around to offer one of his slightly spacey half smiles and a tiny wave. “Hey. I heard every one talking. Can I come in or is it you know.” he raised his eyebrows. “Super secret super hero stuff?” 

“Bob.” John cleared his throat. “Thought you were sleeping.” 

“I was. Then. You know. I wasn’t. Hey, is she okay?” Bob’s whole face creased worried when he saw Yelena slumped the chair. “Yelena? Are you okay?” 

He hurried across the room as fast as he could manage without tripping, his baggy pants catching on his bare feet and hair falling into his eyes as he scooted around Ava standing stock still by the couch and past Alexie who couldn’t quite look at him and right by John who was visibly uncomfortable with his appearance. 

“Hey.” The last thing Bob remembered was eating. Trying to eat. There’d been noise and he thought he’d been screaming but then he’d opened his eyes and found Yelena in the darkness, Yelena talking soft at him while someone else-- Bucky?-- held him and settled him and brought him back down.

The last thing Bob remembered was hearing Yelena’s voice before drifting off to sleep, hearing her promise to let him stay so he ignored the weird tension in the room and went right to her side, went right to his knees.

“Yelena?” 

“Bob.” She sniffed loudly and tried to straighten. “Your supposed to be resting, you should go back and slept “

“You’re crying.” Bob’s eyes flickered yellow. Flickered dark. “Why are you crying?” 

“No, I’m fine. Don’t do that, don’t do the flicker thing, do not blink different colors at me. I’m fine. I promise.” Yelena wiped at her nose, at her mouth and shook her head. “How do you feel?” 

“I’m here.” Bob answered simply and Yelena smiled a little, “I’m here too.” 

“Okay.” Bob sat up on his knees and reached for her, buried his fingers into her choppy hair and tugged her forward until their foreheads met. “Well. I’ll stay here until you’re okay. If you want.”

“No I--” Yelena laughed a little, low and hoarse as she mirrored his gesture, framing the submissive’s face in both her hands then slipping up to hold onto his hair and keep him close. “I will stay here until you are okay.” 

“You told me to stay with you.” Bob closed his eyes. “So I will.” 

Yelena closed her eyes too, “Yes. I did. Okay. We will both just stay.” 

They both just stayed, the submissive on his knees and the trained killer who’d never been given permission to be submissive despite what her heart needed holding him tight. The Dominants in the room stayed too, Alexei watching with hands clasped and a joyful grin splitting across his face, John uncertain and wary, Bucky with his arms folded trying to dampen the foreign feeling urge to go to them both. 

Ava was the one to break the silence, to speak up and make the decision for everyone. 

“Well. Those two aren’t letting each other go anytime soon.” she stated calmly. “So even though it goes against every single one of my survival instincts, I guess Bob is staying. No Val and no medication, which means the rest of us will have to make all the necessary adjustments and deal. Everyone on board with that?” 

“Fine.” John backed up a step, backed up a step, had a hard time dragging his eyes away from the gorgeous calm of Bob on his knees and Yelena pressed close enough to share air and forced himself back another step. “But what do we do next time? What do we do if he flips out and Voids again?” 

“I guess.” Bucky had a curious smile on his face as he watched Yelena and Bob, the tilt of his mouth almost affectionate. “I guess we just learn to be strong enough Dominants to keep him settled. And good enough Dominants to bring him back on the bad days. We can do it together. Family, like Yelena said.” 

“Jesus Christ, that's the most insane thing I've ever heard.”

John left. That wasn’t his circus, wasn’t his monkeys. Not his submissive, not his responsibility. They weren’t a family and the Tower wasn’t a home. Bob needed medicine and maybe a goddamn lobotomy and Yelena needed a hefty dose of reality and Bucky and Ava and Alexei standing there were just enabling what was sure to end up as a disaster. John was a Captain, he was a planner, he could see the impending disaster coming and nobody was willing to listen to him because they all thought he was an asshole. 

Whatever. 

But despite his furious internal dialogue and everything practical telling him it was all a terrible idea, John’s stomach still twisted up nauseous thinking of Yelena’s betrayed face when he suggested medicine and his heart stuttered rebellious at the thought of abandoning Bob because it went against everything ingrained Dominant in his soul to shake off responsibility for a submissive who needed him. 

Yelena had said family and John had always thought, had always known that family meant a man and a woman and their children, Dominant and submissive and a house with a yard and a picket fence, til death do they part and working things out and through sickness and health, a family was not a handful of steroid juiced Dominants and a mutated thief and an assassin and a submissive who weaponized shadows when he dropped, it wasn’t. 

…But John stopped at the doorway and paused anyway. Turned back to watch for one more minute and lingered anyway.

Yelena had said family and John pressed at his chest when it felt like his heart constricted with a beat of regret and a surge of longing and despite everything, the soldier let himself stop and watch and wonder.

…what if…?

*****

Chapter Notes:

Boy howdy, welcome to my Thunderbolts Era, y'all. Marvel really was like "I know you're having a hard time feeling connected since we killed off you favorite characters and gave the rest terrible endings, so here. Have a handful of traumatized characters and one beautifully familiar Bucky that you can fix through thousands of words of fic" and tbh, I am HERE for it.

Couple Things:

-Biological D/s verse so alot of instincts and needs and Very Real Dynamics that will affect everything. If you've read my Omegaverse fics, lots of same same vibes.

-Bob's eyes are yellow when he starts to get crazy, gold when he is very very happy, tiny distinction but it will be important later.

-I will put any needed TW at the beginning of every chapter, this will be angsty as not only Bob but everyone else tries to get a handle on their shit.

-If you don't like Walker, give him a chance. If you love Walker, hang on I promise he and the teams view of him improves in this fic. If you're like me and wanted to throw eggs at Walker post FATWS but against our will got dragged into begrudgingly appreciating him as a complex character post Thunderbolts-- you will love his journey here, because I LOVE it.

Find me on Tumblr if you want to chat cos good golly do I have things to say about these characters and specifically this verse.

Cheers to a new fic!

Chapter Text

John Walker was a responsible gun owner.

He inspected his weapon before each use whether at the range or in a mission. Dismantled and cleaned each piece after every use, whether he’d been out on assignment or training at the range.

Weekly, the holsters and cases were wiped down and checked for any splitting seams, any stuck hinges, any compromised locks. Monthly, he rotated his ammunition stores. Every three months or every ten missions, he took his handgun to a gunsmith to have the sights calibrated and the different mechanical aspects examined. 

At the end of every single day, every gun John owned went into a secure safe to be locked away from curious hands or nefarious intruders, there were no mistakes, no accidents, nothing left to chance, he was responsible and at least that part of his life was locked down controlled.

After Olivia left, John started sleeping with a gun under his pillow. 

Not for safety’s sake. John wasn’t concerned about danger. He was a super soldier, Captain America and US Agent, an unstoppable force and an immovable object, the Dominant did not sleep with a gun beneath his pillow for safety’s sake. 

After Olivia left, John kept a gun under his pillow for the other reason. The one he didn’t talk about. The one he didn’t admit out loud even to himself.

After Olivia left, after Val had tried to have him killed then did an abrupt one-eighty and tried to have him rebranded as a fucking Avenger and moved John and the others into the remodeled Watchtower and assumed they would all just adjust and cope and deal, John kept a gun under his pillow for that other reason because he was not in fact adjusting and coping and dealing the way everyone assumed he was.

But because he was a responsible gun owner, a good American, a smart soldier and a Dominant who knew rules and rigidity and routine were the key to maintaining his self control, every single morning John pulled the gun from under his pillow and took it down to the Tower common area to dismantle. To clean. To inspect. 

If his routine bordered on obsessive compulsive, if the act of taking the gun apart and putting it together piece by piece and bullet by bullet was a way of coping with the reason why he slept with it at all, that was no ones goddamn business. 

“It is cool, the way you do the thing?” Yelena stood at the entryway to the common area for several minutes before speaking. She knew the Dominant knew she was there, and she knew he wouldn’t speak first so she stood and watched him methodically, mechanically, meticulously strip the gun to pieces, and only when he began to rebuild it did she say, “When you are shooting.” 

The Dominant took in a slow, measured breath as he emptied and inspected Glock’s magazine. “What thing?” 

“The thing.” Yelena mimed shooting, then yanked her hand sideways with a quick jerk. “The way you eject the magazine when it is empty. I imagine some people find it intimidating. Not me, I think you are posing with it, but that doesn’t meant it isn’t cool.” 

“I am not posing with it.” John denied tersely, but Yelena countered, “Sure you are, because there is no reason to do it. It is not faster, it is not more efficient. A dedicated soldier and real killer would only care about speed, not flash. But you.” 

She did it again, striking a pose with her hands clasped, index fingers extended and thumbs out as if she were holding a weapon, then whooshed them sideways. “You do this. Like the bad guys in the cop shows Alexei watches. They hold their guns sideways and it means nothing except intimidation. Nothing except to prove that they do not have to be focused and serious and trained to kill you. It is the same with you. Intimidation. Posing. Like you think someone is watching.” 

“Clearly you were watching.” John kept working. Methodical. Mechanical. Meticulous. Painstaking. Precise. Predictable. Every step in order, every piece in its place. Controlled. 

“You were trying to kill me. I felt like I should pay attention.” Yelena shrugged. “Do you always sit alone early in the morning and play with your favorite long barrel?” 

“Do you always get up early to bother people?” he returned and she smiled a little bit, “You really are an asshole, aren’t you?” 

“Pot meet kettle.” John set his Glock aside and reached for the box of ammunition he kept in the nightstand drawer. It was a new box. Fifty rounds. Seventeen were in the Glock. Thirty-three were left. John opened the box and counted out all thirty-three to make sure they were all there, none missing, none unaccounted for. “What do you want?” 

“I’m here to apologize.” Yelena waited a beat. “I am sorry for what I said about your wife. About Olivia.” 

For the first time all morning, John faltered, lost his count and lost his train of thought. “...seriously?” 

“Of course.” She pushed off the door frame and wandered closer, moving round about through the huge room so the Dominant didn’t tense up defensive and offensive and snarling the way Walker tended to do the second he felt off kilter. “Why are you so surprised?” 

“You don’t seem like the type to apologize.” John watched her move closer, clocked the casual way she didn’t come right at him, clocked the purposeful way her eyes never left him.

Careful, the submissive leaning assassin was careful around him and in the part of his heart that still stung raw after Olivia’s leaving, John hated that he’d become the sort of Dominant a submissive felt the need to be careful around. 

“No, you don’t seem like the type to apologize.” Yelena took a seat diagonal from him, well within eye sight, not so close as to encroach. “I have been sorry every day of my life since I was old enough to know what it meant to be guilty but--” 

She clicked her tongue. Shook her head. “That is not the point. The point is, I am sorry. How you treat Bob doesn’t mean you were terrible like that to the submissive you loved, and I am sorry for saying it.” 

Silence. The muscle in John’s jaw jumped as he ground his teeth thinking her words through, thinking his next words through. 

“I am sorry you got upset when I said Bob needed to be medicated.” he finally said, but Yelena shook her head, "Try again.” 

“I am sorry if it bothered you to hear Bob needs to be--” he tried again, and Yelena barked a short laugh, “Oh you are bad at apologizing, so much worse than I am. Wow.” 

“I am a soldier, Yelena.” John bit out. “A tactician. I observe a situation, make a plan based on the facts, then execute the plan in a plausible, practical way that minimizes collateral damages and works to ensure the safety and survival of everyone involved. I am not going to apologize for approaching this whole mess from that perspective.” 

Then quieter, “But I am sorry if you-- I am sorry that I upset you by taking that stance.” 

“Mmhm, a tactician.” she nodded a few times. “I’m sure you know how impressed we all are with your problem solving skills up till now. But we are not soldiers, John. We do not need a tactical plan and statistics on collateral damage to help Bob, he needs family and support and a safe place to have his bad days.” 

“Do you know how many of my men I buried after combat? Not in the war, but back when we were home, when things were calm and supposed to be good.” John put the ammunition away. Put the Glock in its case. Started cleaning up the cleaning supplies and re assembling his cleaning kit. Control.

“Kids, Yelena. Some of them did a single tour, came home at twenty two and didn’t make it to twenty three. Others did fifteen, sixteen years in the service, then one day just couldn’t anymore. Got out and went home and tried to make it work with family and support and a safe space but surprise surprise.”

He shut the lid to his cleaning kit harder than necessary, levelled her with a look weighted with the guilt he felt every day as a Dominant who hadn’t been enough safe support to save them. “It wasn’t enough. It didn’t work. They needed therapy and they needed medication, not to be called a 'good boy' and patted on the head.” 

“I think every man probably wants to be patted on the hed and called a good boy, but that is neither here nor there. Did you use it?” she folded one leg under her body and let the other foot swing, her toes just barely brushing the polished floor. “The therapy and the medication. Did you use it when you needed it?” 

“No.” There was no use in denying it, clearly John hadn’t done therapy and now the super soldier serum metabolized medication so fast, it wasn’t an option. “But if I had struggled back then the way my men did, I like to think I would. It was my responsibility as Captain and as a Dominant to keep myself safe because I couldn’t keep my men safe if I wasn’t steady and stable.” 

“You have a responsibility to keep this team safe.” Yelena stated. “That includes Bob. You have a responsibility to keep us and Bob safe and since this is home--” 

“This is not home.” John cut in immediately. “Not home.” 

“Not yet.” she allowed. “Maybe not ever to you. But it is home for Bob. And I want it to be home for me, you know it would be nice for me to have a home that doesn’t have an expiration date like the Red Room or an eviction notice like my apartment because I play my music too loud to drown out the voices when I am drunk. I want to be safe here and Bob is a submissive, Walker, he needs a place to be safe. Not a place to be medicated and sedated and-- and--” 

She gestured fruitlessly. “Muted. Erased. That is what medication does. It mutes us. Erases who we are to make us acceptable.” 

“The right medicine could help.” he maintained. “The right dosage wouldn’t erase Bob but Christ, maybe it would mean he doesn't go shadowy and suffocating without warning. We need to find a feasible option between locking him away in the goddamn Vault and dealing with his Void whenever he has a bad day.” 

“So figure it out.” Yelena raised her eyebrows towards him. “You say you are a tactician, figure it out. You are a Dominant, you know what a submissive needs to be settled, make a plan around those facts.” 

“He is not my submissive, it is not my place to--” 

“It is though.” she interrupted. “It is, because it is all our place to try and help. We all almost died yesterday. We all live here. Bob is not your submissive but he is part of our team. Part of our--” 

Yelena stopped herself before saying family. Every time she said family, every time she said home the Dominant on the couch bristled, his words got short and the tension in his frame snapped tight, John hated those words. 

“I am sorry for upsetting you yesterday.” John stood to his feet. Conversation over. “I know you aren’t a submissive so I won’t apologize to you as a Dominant, and I know you’d gut me if I said something about not wanting to make girls cry so I won’t say it like that either. But my point stands. We need a plan to deal with Bob.” 

“My point stands too.” Yelena stayed sitting. She wasn’t anything close to intimidated by the Dominant but all the sudden John’s flinty eyes looked brittle instead of angry and she thought maybe-- maybe he needed a moment. Maybe he needed to escape. She stayed sitting and gave him the space to breathe.  “I’m sorry for what I said about you and Olivia. And if it matters, I am sorry for what happened between you two.” 

“My fault.” John gathered up his case, his kit, his supplies. “What happened with her was my fault. No need for you to be sorry about it.” 

“Hm.” Yelena let the Dominant get almost to the door before she spoke again, “John, are you scared of Bob?” 

John just kept walking. He counted his steps and counted the seconds and timed himself getting to the stairs and to his room.

Controlled. 

Yelena was wrong. He wasn’t scared of a submissive with world ending bad days, he’d faced unimaginable horrors deployed over seas and the work he’d done for Val still stained his hands bloody during the restless, angry dreams that plagued him the few nights a month he got any sleep. 

But the idea of family, of home and support and a safe space-- it hadn’t been enough to save the good, worthy, strong men he’d served with and fought with and buried. 

How in the hell was it supposed to be enough to save him?

*****

Bob wasn’t brave, he knew that.

He used to be, maybe. Used to be brave before he realized standing up to his Dad only made everything worse, before he learned bullies at school weren’t taking their insecurities out on him, they were just plain mean. Submissives didn’t have to be brave, Dominants were supposed to protect them but no one had protected Bob from the dark and the empty and the Void and he sure as hell hadn’t been able to protect himself, and nothing he put in his veins or sniffed up his nose or swallowed back by the handful made him brave either, so what was the fucking point? 

Being brave and not caring if he died weren’t the same thing. 

Bob knew that from experience. 

But it had felt brave to take Yelena’s hand and run through his Void rooms facing the worst before falling out into the sunshine. It had felt brave to cross the living room area full of tense Dominants to kneel by Yelena like a good submissive and promise to stay.

Bob gathered all his courage and made himself be brave for a third time waiting in the hall outside Yelena’s room so when she woke up, he could ask to sit by her again. Ask to hold her hand again. Maybe if he kept it together long enough without getting lost in the quiet or overwhelmed by the loud, Bucky would come sit with them too and call him good with that Dominant deep voice and heavy settling hand that made Bob safe right down to his bones. 

Maybe. Bob was gonna be brave enough to sit and wait and hope. Sit and wait and hope. Sit and wait and wait and wait and wait…

“Bob.” Ava. She came out of nowhere, maybe through the walls, maybe just down the hall like a regular person and Bob had been too focused on sitting and waiting and hoping to notice. “Bob? What are you doing?” 

“Waiting for Yelena to wake up.” Bob wondered how long Ava had been standing there watching. Bob wondered how long he’d been sitting there waiting. “What are you doing?” 

“Yelena left hours ago. I checked the surveillance tapes, she’s been gone since five this morning.” Ava looked him over briefly, tilted her head and looked him over closer. “How long have you been sitting out here?” 

“What time is it?” 

“After lunch.” 

“I don’t know.” Bob didn’t know. “Why do you check the surveillance tapes in the morning?” 

“I sleep walk. I can’t always control the phasing even with my suit and every once in while I wander. Checking the tapes lets me know where I’ve been and any morning I spent all night in my bed is a morning I don’t feel the urge to scream outside of all the regular reasons I want to scream on a daily basis.” Ava answered quickly, almost absentmindedly, rattling off the unsettling information as if she were recounting a boring anecdote. “What do you want Yelena for?” 

“I wanted--” Bob’s mouth shut with a snap, the words cut off somewhere between his heart and his mouth by a shadowy hand choking at his throat. He tugged the long sleeves of his hoodie down over his wrists, over his hands, over his fingers and shook his head. He wasn't brave enough to be honest with Ava yet. “It’s not. No. I was only--"  

Ava kept watching him. Bob didn’t want to ask what she thought about what she saw. 

“Alright. Come with me.” Ava was there again, close like she’d ran to get to him, maybe she’d phased to get to him, maybe Bob had spaced out in the echoing white hall the way he spaced out in the shower when the water rushed deafening and the space was too liminal and undefined and untethered. “Come on. Let’s go.” 

“What are you doing?” Ava’s hands were colder than Bob expected, grounding and a little bit shocking when her cool fingers twined through his own. “Where are we going?” 

“I’m going to do my hair.” Ava towed him down the hall behind her. “And you’re going to watch.” 

“Why?” 

“Because we all found out in a very scary way that you don’t do well when left alone for too long.” Ava switched directions towards her room, pulling Bob right along too. “You're waiting for Yelena so you didn’t have to be alone today, but she left hours ago and you’ve been sitting there for hours without realizing, so this is me--” she switched which hand held onto Bob to pass her palm over the reader and unlock her door, “--not letting you be alone. So come on.” 

“Oh.” Bob didn’t argue. Didn’t pull back when she tugged him into her room and then through her room and into the ensuite bathroom. “That’s-- oh. Okay."

“Sit right there.” Ava pointed to the huge soaking tub. “Fold a towel on the bottom if you don’t want your butt to go numb. Do you want some water?” 

“Um.” Bob perched awkwardly on the edge of the tub, then slid down and sat on the cool porcelain inside. He started to pull his knees up, but changed his mind and stretched his legs out instead, let his socked toes brush the curving wall under the faucet and rested his arms over the edge. “Sure?” 

“Yes or no, Bob.” Ava opened her mini fridge and pulled out two bottles of water, held them up impatiently. “Make a decision.” 

“Yes.” Ava talked to him like he was normal. Not like a broken submissive, not like an unstable weapon. She talked fast and a little bit impatient and Bob thought-- he thought maybe she talked to him the way older sisters talked to annoying little brothers. It was kinda nice. Sprawling in the big empty tub while she laid out all her hair stuff and hummed under her breath was kinda nice too. Weird and familiar like what friends or cousins or siblings did when they were very comfortable hanging out anywhere together.  

Huh. 

“Yes.” he pushed his toes against the cold basin. “I would like some water.” 

“I’d warn you not to spill but, you know.” Ava smiled quick in his direction. “A little bit in a bath won’t hurt anything.” 

“Yep. Right. Thanks.” Bob opened the bottle and took a drink, held the water in his mouth until it warmed room temperature on his tongue then swallowed in big gulps. “Your room’s different than mine.” 

“Imagine that.” Ava opened a jar of something hibiscus smelling. “It’s almost as if this is my room and not your room, and that’s why it’s different.”

“No I mean.” Bob motioned towards the bedroom. “All the other rooms are white but yours is purple. You have curtains, not blinds. Carpet, not flooring.” 

Ava’s room also only had the one entry door, with hinges at her closet and the bathroom as evidence of other doors removed. The pictures on the wall were geometric and textured and three dimensional. Foot stools and ottomans littered the floor and the bed was piled high with dozens of throw pillows in varying sizes, some with fringe and others with buttons, some thickly artistically wrinkled, others embroidered with vivid scenes. Mirrors were arranged in every corner, on every wall, even in the bathroom everywhere and the room was warm, very warm, might have been uncomfortably warm for someone with normal circulation and a balanced body temperature, was almost uncomfortably warm for Bob because he ran hot too hot after the experimentation, but he wasn’t about to complain.

Nothing in Ava’s room was patterned, nothing coordinated or systematic or arranged, it was random and scattered and unpredictable and usually it would have itched at the submissive’s skin. Usually it would have prickled at the back of Bob’s neck and made the scars at his wrists sting to be lost in so much visual commotion, but sitting almost swallowed up in the oversized tub, observing the purposeful chaos from a settled neutral space, Bob sort of… liked it. 

“Why?” The room was mayhem, but Ava was careful and compulsive setting out her myriad of jars and tubes, combs and picks, hair ties and clips and pins. Bob watched her concentrate organizing the top of the sink and asked, “Why?” and nodded towards the bedroom, the colors and furniture and mirrors and lack of doors. 

“White walls feel like an asylum and doors feel like prison. Mirrors remind me I’m real. Tripping on furniture keeps me present. Texture on the walls and the bed keep me from sinking too far or walking right through.” Ava explained it in the same blasé way she’d explained checking the cameras. The reality of phasing, the unhinged truth of hovering between any number of dimensions at any given time would have cracked the psyche of a weaker person but she coped with color and chaos and space and talked about it as if it were nothing. 

“Does it hurt?” Bob didn’t elaborate. He knew Ava didn’t need him to. 

“Every single second of every single day, yes.” Ava opened a box of dark brown hair dye, a second box, a third. “What about you? Does it hurt?” 

Bob didn’t understand why Ava would have so much hair dye. “Does what hurt?” 

“Being you.” she pulled towels from the linen closet and set them on the sink. “Do you want me to be specific?” 

“No.” Bob tugged his sleeves down over his wrists, over his hands, over his fingers. He didn’t need her to be specific. A drug addict who couldn’t cope. A superhero who couldn’t use his powers. A submissive who Voided on the bad days. He knew who he was and “Yeah.” it hurt more than he could stand most days. 

“I figured as much.” 

Ava’s hair was white when she let it loose down around her shoulders. White at the roots that had been hidden beneath a high bun, thick white streaks disguised under darker hair that had been strategically twisted into braid,  white as if she really were a ghost and Ava smiled small into one of the many mirrors when she caught Bob gaping at her. 

“A side effect of the phasing, right along with not aging normally, sleep walking through walls and dimensions without being aware and an expiration date that could be quite literally any minute if my suit gets damaged or if what is left of my body decides to give up on me.” Calm. Blasé. Ava had lived in pain for too long to stress about the side effects and what ifs and what the fucks of her unasked for ability. “The day I escaped SHIELD, I bought a crappy box of dollar store hair dye and tried to fix it. Tried to fix myself. I hate how it looks and I hate how people look at me when they see it.” 

“I think it’s pretty.” the submissive offered honestly but Ava shook her head, “Looking in the mirror and not recognizing yourself is not pretty.” 

“Right.” Bob touched his own hair, the fried ends and dull color and oily skin at his scalp. “No that’s-- I can see that. Sure.”  

Ava started the water in the deep sink and held her hand under the stream as it warmed up. “Do you want help with that?” 

It took Bob a minute to catch up. “With what?” He was still messing with his hair, still twisting the greasy pieces around his fingers and scratching at his head. Bob snatched his hand away and folded his arms over his chest, knocked his elbows on the side of the tub as he tried to sit up and look nonchalant. He scratched at his wrist and rubbed at his neck and touched his hair again-- no, don’t, he snatched his hand away again so he wasn’t pulling at the tangled mess. 

“You mean.” Swallow. “My hair. Cos it’s ugly.” 

“It’s awful, yeah.” Ava wasn’t unkind, just matter of fact. Detached and unbothered. “I don’t know the voodoo of it all going from bleached blond then back to brown once we got you out of the shadows, but I know it didn’t go from brown to bright blond over night without doing some real damage. Do you want help to fix it?” 

“I don’t-- I don’t know if it was voodoo.” Bob offered a self conscious sort of half smile. “That fixed my hair. It was-- I mean, I don’t know what it was. But voodoo is like--” 

“Bob.” She snapped her fingers to get him back from wandering. Tapped her thigh once, twice to draw his eyes back to her. “Do you want help or not? This is a limited offer and I have limited patience so speak now or forever hold your peace.” 

“Do you always phrase questions like that?” He was a little uncertain. A little incredulous. “Like a threat?” 

“Do you always get twitchy and deflect and change the subject when someone offers to take care of you?” She returned evenly. “Tick tock, Bob.” 

“You.” he blinked at her. Frowned at her. “You want to take care of me? Why? You’re not a Dominant or a submissive, right? You don’t have that-- that biological urge to help?” 

“Oh please.” she snorted at him. “I don’t have to have a Dominant or submissive leaning biology to want to help you. I’m human, aren’t I?” 

“Are you human?” Bob tilted his head and squinted at her, and Ave threw her hands on her hips and challenged right back, “Are you human?” 

“...I don’t know.” The words hurt where they bubbled up from his heart and seared at the back of his throat. 

“Yeah me neither.” Ava deflated a little, her shoulders dropping and voice going soft. “But you know what helps me feel human? Good hair.” she shook another box of hair dye. “So come on. I’ll help.” 

*****

Sitting in the hall alone waiting for Yelena had been endless. Bob didn’t know when he’d sat down and he didn’t know when Ava had found him, he had just sat and waited and hoped and the time hadn’t meant anything at all. 

Bob didn’t know how long it took for Ava do his hair and her hair with all the washing and coloring and trimming and blow drying and styling, but the time wasn’t endless. The moments slid together and blended together and the hours slipped away, but it wasn’t white and echoing and empty stuck in the nauseating uncertainty of desperately needing but not being sure he was wanted, so it was better.

And no, it wasn’t-- Yelena didn’t-- no. It wasn’t that Yelena wouldn’t want to see Bob or wouldn’t let him need her, Bob was sure Yelena with her sunshine smile and soothing hands and fond stubborness would let him need her. 

But Ava brought him in unprompted, offered help tinged with impatience, shamed him for using Dollar Store brand 5-in-1 shampoo/ conditioner/body wash/ face wash/deodorant with a disbelieving chuckle and flick at his ear. When she told him to push his sleeves up so they didn’t get wet and Bob clamped his hands down on the edge of the tub panicking about being seen, Ava didn’t comment but she did make a point of smoothing the sleeves down covering before moving on, and when Bob jerked away from the first pour of water over his hair and face, “Settle down, love.” Ava put her palm on the back of his head so he wouldn't crack his skull trying to scramble away from the tub faucet. “It’s just a little water. Stay with me.” 

Ava was distressingly nonchalant about the awful actuality of her life, but she was gentle brushing the small of Bob’s back until he relaxed leaning over the edge of the tub again so she could wash his hair and it wasn’t Yelena with her hoarse whispered vow to stay and to let Bob stay but it was something else and something extra and Bob thought--

He thought just a few weeks ago he’d had no one but now he had Yelena and a place to call home, he had the Dominant Bucky who had held him down and held him together and called him good and he had Ava who treated him like he was a pain in the ass in the most normal way possible and it was okay. 

It was okay. 

“Just shampoo, Bob. Real shampoo, mind you. Be prepared to have your hair lavishly clean instead of just tolerable.” as she upended the bottle of expensive product into his hair, and, “Conditioner now, yes they are in fact two separate things. Try not to be too shocked when I introduce you to leave in conditioner, hm?” 

Oh no the thought process of it all was okay but the physical shock of water running over his ears and eyes felt like drowning and being on his knees while someone held his head down was reminiscent of his lowest times, of his darkest days with Dominants who didn’t give a damn and when Ava wrapped a thickly muffling towel around him and blocked out the light to soak all the water up, Bob almost screamed. 

It suddenly physically wasn’t okay and he almost screamed. 

But, “This will be easier in a chair and full disclosure, I’ve never done anyone’s hair but my own so I’m afraid I’m going to be less than professional.” Ava sat him in a chair and left her hand on his shoulder while she rummaged for a comb and Bob didn’t scream. 

“You’re going to drive me nuts with all that fidgeting.” A hair tie filled his vision and before he could pick it up or ask what it meant, Ava slid it over his hand to snap onto his wrist all in one quick motion, “There. Fidget with that.” and he didn’t scream. 

Ava wasn’t Dominant or submissive but she lined everything up on the sink so Bob could see and picked up each container, each jar, every comb and brush and the little bowl she used to mix up the hair color, the scissors for a trim and the blow dryer so he would know. She wasn’t Dominant but she knew the routine was comforting and she wasn’t a submissive but Bob’s blue eyes were wide as and he plucked plucked plucked at the hair tie on his wrist so she went slow so he wouldn’t startle and Bob didn’t scream, he didn’t scream and after a while he didn’t think he needed to scream and a little while after that—

Well.

“These are mine.” Hair Day included snacks and Ava held up a package of chocolate raspberry cookies. “Do not touch them. You can have the vanilla and lemon ones because I don’t like them.” 

“I don’t need a snack--”

“It would be a mistake to refuse a snack from my super secret stash, Bob.” 

Bob had never been bullied into eating delicious cookies while someone brushed his hair, and the lingering urge to scream about water towels long sleeves overwhelmed disappeared with each subsequent bite of the sweet treat until he forgot all about it.

He didn’t need to scream, no. 

He breathed breathed breathed when Ava’s fingers dug strong into his hair to massage at his scalp, twisted and tugged and tapped at the hair tie when she combed through the tangles and knots and sometimes it pulled and other times it gave way like relief. The edges of his consciousness fuzzed beneath the repetitive swush swush swush of the soft bristled brush landed low like static in his ears and eventually the cookies were forgotten, the habitual tug at the hair tie on his wrist slowing, and the submissive’s eyes drifted closed, drifted close, not sleeping, just resting, just breathing…

“Whoa whoa, easy does it.” Ava came round to check the hair dye hadn’t smeared all over Bob’s foreheads and into his eyebrows, but she stopped when realized his eyes were only half open, hazy and unfocused and circled eerie yellow. 

“Bob?” she hesitated, hesitated, then set her fingertips at his cheek the way she’d seen Yelena do. “What’s going on? You need to use your words. Don’t go yellow eyed and shadowy on me just cos I insulted your shampoo habits and wouldn’t give you the good cookies. Are you with me?” 

“Hm?” Bob had to work to open his eyes. Struggled to blink heavy lids. His face was warm and heart beat slow, he exhaled and had to remind himself to inhale, he wasn’t sleeping, just resting, just peaceful, just drifting. “Ava…?” 

“Oh hell, look at you. You’re half gone already aren’t you?” Ava didn’t have to be Dominant to recognize a submissive floating the way Bob was floating. He was barely coherent, head lolling and skin flushed and his eyes, “They aren’t yellow, they’re gold.” she realized curious and a little bit awestruck as she bent in and peered closer. “Bob, are your eyes gold when you’re happy?” 

“Mmmdunno.” Bob inhaled. Exhaled. He tugged slow at the hair tie, a lazy percussion on his skin, tap tap tap to match the rhythm of his heart and cadence of each breath, the flutter of each blink. “Been a long time since I was happy for longer than a minute or two.” 

“I know the feeling, but I don’t think my eyes glitter gold and pretty like that even on my best days.” Ava went back to his hair, watching the submissive in the mirror as Bob’s eyes fell all the way closed and he slumped boneless in the chair. “You can sleep if you want, this will take a while to set in anyway.” 

“Don’t want to sleep.” Bob didn’t want to sleep, didn’t want to miss anything about the moment. “M’awake. Feels like I’m dreamin’ but m’awake.” 

“Christ, you submissives can be sweet when you want to be.” she muttered under her breath, then dug deep for a measure of snark to disguise how the show of trust from Bob left her a little shaky and said louder, “Dreaming about having your hair done sounds like boring dreams, Bob.” 

“Don’t dream normally.” he shrugged languidly. “Don’ like to dream, s’too scary. But what--” he sighed, lashes fluttering against his cheek, “What do you dream about, Ava?” 

“Falling.” She readied another towel for another rinse. “I dream about falling. I get restless and toss and turn, then I start falling through my bed, through the floors and into the ground. I dream about getting trapped in the rocks and dirt and never being able to claw my way out, being lost in the dark and no one hearing me yell for help.”  

Bob’s brow furrowed as if he were distressed by her distress and Ava muffled a curse over disturbing the spacey quiet that had settled in the room.

“But it’s--” she tried to salvage it, pursed her lips and tried to be honest, “Alright well, you aren’t allowed to tell anyone I said this, but since moving into this place, I don’t dream very much anymore. This certainly isn’t home and we’re only a team by the slimmest of technicalities but-- but most nights now I just sleep. It’s nice to rest. I think I could learn to like it here if only for that reason.” 

“Don’t worry.” Bob’s smile returned, tiny and tilted. “I won’t tell anyone you like it here.” 

"What do you dream about?" Ava asked after another moment of watching the submissive float somewhere hazy and soft and peaceful. "When you sleep. If you sleep."

"I try not to dream." Bob whispered with his eyes shut tight. "M'worried I'll wake up and realize the bad dreams were reality and I was lost again. I try not to dream but this-- this is nice. Feels like what dreaming would be if I wasn't so scared of it."

"Stay a while then." Ava decided quietly, brushing there and gone at Bob's forehead. "Stay here and hang out in a dream that doesn't make you miserable."

****

None of the three Dominants in the kitchen knew what to think when Ava phased through the walls and right into their midst to hiss, “You will tell Bob he looks nice!” before phasing back out of sight with entirely no explanation and entirely no context. 

“I do not like when she does that.” Alexie frowned at the wall Ava had disappeared through. “She is like the Baba Yaga, beautiful and mysterious but guaranteed to eat a man’s soul.” 

“Isn’t the Baba Yaga a witch who kidnaps kids?” John wanted to know, then shook his head and changed his mind, “I actually don’t care enough about that for a follow up question. The bigger issue is, since when does Ava spend any time with any of us, much less Bob?” 

“Dunno.” Bucky stopped filling in his food delivery order and glanced at the wall where Ava had gone. Bob had been stable since the shadow incident, or at least stable enough. Bucky hadn’t purposely sought the submissive out but he’d sure as hell been keeping an eye on him, watching for shadows, for dark, for any behavior that seemed too alarmingly blank and he was maybe a little bit peeved to realize he hadn’t noticed Ava and Bob… bonding? Was the pissy dangerous thief bonding with Bob? 

He’d been keeping an eye on Yelena too, not because she was a twitchy needy submissive but because the memory of Yelena taking care of Bob while trusting Bucky to take care of them both for those few minutes still lingered in the back of the Dominant’s mind, kept knocking and cracking and breaking through the hard edges of Bucky’s heart until he was itching with the need to try it all again. 

Did Yelena know Ava and Bob were bonding? And what the hell were they bonding over? Ava wasn’t Dominant or submissive so why was Bob drawn to her when he hadn’t come once to Bucky even though--

No. Bucky went back to ordering, concentrating on food instead of torturing himself by thinking through all the reasons why the submissive hadn’t sought him out for balance, and all the reasons why he probably wasn’t the right Dominant for the job anyway. 

“That’s all you have to say?” Walker eyed him oddly. “Bob’s hanging out with Ava and all you can say is ‘dunno’?” 

“What do you want me to say, John?” Bucky kept his eyes on the phone screen. Kept ordering. “Ava and Bob are spending time together. The three of us are spending time together. Why would I have anything to say to that?” 

“We aren’t 'spending time together'.” John retorted, “We all just happen to be in the kitchen at the same time.” 

“Methinks the lady doth protest too much.” Alexei nudged John playfully. “Huh? You get so mad when Lena says we are family, you fuss and say we are not hanging out, but we are! You protest too much, I think,” he tapped his nose. “You secretly love it and are not man enough to admit.”

“I just mean--” John opened his mouth. Closed his mouth. Slanted a look at the overly loud old soldier and tried again,  “I just meant Bucky volunteered to be responsible for Bob. And Ava isn’t a Dominant so it’s weird that Bob is hanging out with her.” 

“We are all responsible for Bob.” Bucky corrected, but John shook his head and took a long drink of one of his multiple-daily protein shakes, “Not me. He’s not my submissive.” 

“The lady.” Alexei winked theatrically. “Protests too much.” 

Whatever denial John was ready to interject into the conversation was cut off as the kitchen door opened and Ava walked through with Bob at her side. 

John shut up, Bucky straightened up and Alexei was the first to speak, raising a huge hand in greeting and sending the submissive his widest grin--

“Bob! You look very nice, my friend!” Alexei had no idea what was different about Bob. The long sleeve shirt and lounge pants looked the same, his facial expression was always a mix of apprehension and weariness, Bob stood with shoulders slumped as if he were small even though he had at least four inches over Ava and he played with a tie on his wrist, couldn’t really meet any of the Dominant’s eyes-- he appeared perfectly normal but Ava was not a woman to be trifled with, so Alexei gave an enthusiastic thumbs up and repeated, “Very nice today! I like the new-- the new uh-- you are new! It is good!” 

“Ahem.” Ava coughed and patted at her hair, inclining her head towards Bob while glaring bullets at John and Bucky. “Ahem.” 

“Bob.” Bucky waited until the fidgety submissive managed to meet his eyes, then nodded firmly approving. “Your hair’s nice. I like it better than what Val did, the dark brown suits you. You look real good.” 

“Thanks, Bucky.” Whatever uncertainty had wrankled at Bucky’s heart hearing that Bob had been with Ava instead of trying to trust him, evaporated when Bob lit up with a grin. He lifted his head and straightened his shoulders and grinned at the Dominant like Bucky’s compliment had made his entire day better. “Ava helped me.” 

“Thank you, Ava.” Bucky said it and meant it and Ava cocked a curious eyebrow in his direction when his voice went deeply serious. Bucky wasn’t about to explain all the fucking insecurities he had about his Dominant biology after Hydra and blood on his hands and so much time out of his damn mind but he tapped over his heart once, twice in a gesture of appreciation for Ava’s support of their the submissive, then elbowed Walker hard and growled, “Be nice.” 

“Christ, Bucky it’s not like I was gonna insult him.” John snarled back, then cleared his throat and offered a polite perfunctory, “The hair’s an improvement. You look--” Walker cast about for an appropriate adjective. “Handsome.” 

“Handsome?” Bob tugged at the tie on his wrist. At his sleeve. He reached to touch his hair and stopped, reached to touch his hair and stopped. “Um. I mean, thanks. I-- okay. Is Yelena--?” 

He looked around the kitchen, the dining room, took a few steps forward so he could see into the living room. Empty. “Where’s Yelena?” 

“She’s been out all day.” Bucky didn’t miss the disappointment wrinkling Bob’s features before the submissive managed to hide it behind a quick half smile and a shrug, “Right. Busy, probably. She's working, maybe?”

“I’m not sure, bud.” The Dominant lowered his voice sympathetically. “But if she gets in, I’ll tell her you’re looking for her.”

“You don’t have to do that.” All three of the Dominants were watching him. Cataloguing him. Studying his hair and clocking all his nervous tics and trying to read him. Bucky was permanently grumpy but his voice was soft like he understood why Bob wanted to find Yelena, Alexei was perpetually nosy and sure to say something awkward if given the time, and Walker looked ready to blurt out some long winded explanation of how he didn’t really mean to call him handsome-- it was too much. Too much attention and interest and spotlight and Bob hunched his shoulders trying to disappear from the scrutiny. “No, it's fine. I’ll see her later it’s not— it’s not—“

“Hey! All you boys cut it out!” Ava spoke up loud, broke the tension in the room with a sharp clap of her hands. “It’s one thing to stare because Bob is lovely, another thing to stare like you’re trying to read his mind or about to say something blindingly stupid or like you’re having some crisis because you called him handsome. Be normal or get out, I don’t want this weirdness while I’m trying to eat dinner.” 

“Oof Baba Yaga is bossy.” Alexei muttered. Bob didn’t understand that reference but Bucky laughed one of his rare, quiet little laughs and the submissive relaxed a notch when the laugh turned into an understanding, permissive short smile sent his way. 

Bob had spent hours waiting for Yelena, but as the Dominants gave way to Ava’s huffy demands and left the kitchen to go exist with all their attitude and aura and presence somewhere else, he wondered if he’d gone to find Bucky that morning, if the Dominant would have let him be needy the way Yelena surely would and the way Ava surprisingly had. 

“You’re hungry.” Ava framed it like a statement as she yanked sandwich fixings from the fridge and bread from the closest cupboard. “Spicy mustard is better than regular mustard.” 

“I feel like maybe I don’t have a choice in whether or not you put spicy mustard on my sandwich?” Bob framed it like a question, sidling close and then closer again so the big echoing empty of the stainless steel kitchen didn’t swallow the leftover warmth of hair day and leave him too cold too quickly.

“You can eat the food I make you and be right, or you can make your own sandwich and be wrong.” she informed him with the same bitchy gravitas she’d shamed him using for five-in-one shampoo. “What’s it gonna be?” 

“I could get used to spicy mustard. Oh and. Here.” He pulled the borrowed hair tie from his wrist and offered it to her. It was a standard hair tie. Black. Stretchy. Ava probably had a thousand of the exact same ones to go with the half a million bobby pins she had in her top drawer, but Bob gave it back anyway.

Stealing from Ava after they’d had such a good day, floating too out of it to remember to behave and maybe inadvertently make the volatile woman angry and erase the quick smiles and easy camaraderie they’d found mid hair wash was the very last thing he wanted to do. “It’s yours. I forgot to give it back. Sorry.” 

“Keep it.” Ava cut the sandwiches diagonally and put them on paper plates. “I have at least a thousand of them, don’t worry about it.” 

“I don’t need it though.” Bob instantly missed the pressure at his wrist, missed the thin line of weight against his skin, but he ignored the urge to scratch and pick at the scars beneath his shirt sleeve and held the tie out again. “My hair’s not long enough to need it s."

“Keep it.” Ava dumped a pile of carrots on the plates, added a monstrous amount of Ranch dressing for dip, then took the tie and stretched it back over Bob’s hand, let it snap snug on his wrist again. “So you have something to fidget with next hair day. It’s either that or I’m gonna get you mittens so you stop biting your nails while the dye sets.”

“Next hair day.” A flicker of hope, a jolt of anticipation, lit like gold in the darkness that stayed hovering just past the edges of his vision. “Really?”  

“It will take more than one session to repair that mess.” She informed him flatly. “And since I’m the only one in this place with any idea of how to handle hair that doesn't involve hacking at it with scissors or gelling it back like a Ken Doll, I guess I’ll have to help you again.” 

“You guess?” Bob sort of wanted to laugh because Ava really was sort of mean but her snarky delivery and huffy reluctance felt nicer than Val’s manipulative motherly ick. She was snappy but earnest and her weird room with too many textures and odd coping mechanisms had been cozier than any and every where Bob had ever landed all those years when he was crashing, burning, falling. Ava had offered, she’d insisted, she’d bossed him around like she didn’t mind being responsible for him even though she didn’t have to be responsible for him. 

Bob didn’t have any family left, but he thought maybe Ava would have been a good big sister so he took a deep breath and smiled until it felt like the flicker of gold at the edge of his consciousness had shifted to fill his eyes. “Thank you, Ava.”

“The gold eye thing is insane.” she decided, then squeezed his hand just once, just quickly, then let go. “And you’re welcome. But if you tell anyone that I dye my hair or where I hide my snacks…?” 

She narrowed her eyes glaring at him, pushed the button at her collar and phased out of the room, through the wall and gone. 

And Bob sorta wanted to laugh so in the quiet of the kitchen that didn’t weigh so oppressively silent as it had only a few days ago, he chuckled to himself and took his spicy mustard mandatory sandwich to the table to eat. 

****

“You Dominants act like it's difficult to be you.” 

Alexei was minding his own business in his own room when Ava ghosted into his space. He was settled on the bed in his favorite pajamas with a half gallon of his favorite ice cream to catch up on another episode of his current show and first he was alone and cozy and then the Dominant was jumping and blustering through a line of sputtered curses when Ava blurred into view and announced, “There’s nothing difficult about it at all!” 

“I don’t-- you should not--” Alexei drew his bushy eyebrows together and glared at her. “This is my room, Ava. It is not polite to interrupt a man when he is watching his crime stories!” 

“Crime stories.” Ava repeated. “Baywatch reruns count as your crime stories?”  

“The plot lines are well developed and the locales are exotic.” He defended. “And I do not care about re runs, I was behind Iron Curtain for long time, this show with the slow motion people and intricate mysteries is brand new to me!” 

“Nothing David Hasselhoff acted in will ever be considered well developed and intricate.” Ava watched unimpressed as one of the stunningly beautiful actresses ran her way down the beach and into an entire generation of boys fantasies in brilliant slow motion. “But. Yelena watches Days of Our Lives on a nightly basis, so maybe terrible viewing choices runs in the family.” 

“What were you shouting about Dominants.” Alexei scooped up a bite of ice cream and shoveled it into his mouth. “And do you want some ice cream? The flavor combinations now.” he kissed the tip of his fingers. “Miraculous.” 

“I said you Dominants act as if it’s difficult to be you.” Ava loved ice cream, but Alexei’s chocolate and vanilla, nut and marshmallow, peanut butter fudge toffee extravaganza was nothing she wanted to attempt so she waved off the offer and continued her previous complaint, “You all walk around like the weight of the world is on your shoulders, the burden of your biology and curse of your ego so much to handle and we all tip toe around respecting how much work you lot put into just existing.” 

“I don’t uh--” the Dominant frowned at her. “I do not understand.” 

“It’s so easy.” Ava scoffed. “So easy, though you all complain about it. Just be nice to them!” 

“To who?” Alexei looked around his room bewildered. “Who are you talking about, Ava?” 

“Submissives!” she burst out and Alexei’s expression clouded in confusion… then cleared in sudden understanding. 

“You spent time with our Bob and now you feel--” he gestured to her. “--the way you feel. Protective. Understanding. This is difficult for you because you are not a Dominant.” 

“It’s not difficult to be nice to people.” she snapped. “I was scared when Bob went shadowy, yes. But you and Bucky and John looked like you’d shit yourself trying to find the courage to calm him down. It’s not as difficult to act like a Dominant as you all make it out to be.” 

“Bob is not a normal submissive, only the strongest of Dominants and maybe many of the strongest Dominants could handle someone like him.” Alexei said gravely but Ava only snorted, “Please. I brushed his hair today and he practically melted. He doesn’t need the strongest of Dominants, he needs someone to be gentle with him.” 

She looked him over and scoffed, “You and the rest of them need to man up.” 

“Uh.” Alexei didn’t know why he’d been chosen to be chewed out for the general behavior of the collective Dominant biology, but a split second later Ava was gone and his show was still playing, so the big Dominant just sighed and dug into his ice cream and went back to watching. 

“I bet Pamela Anderson does not tell Hasselhoff to man up.” he grumbled. “Mean little ghost.” 

*****

The Watchtower was silent when Yelena returned late that night, late enough to be early morning for those who led normal lives where the clock chiming midnight was an important distinctive moment separating one day from another. 

There was no clock to chime midnight in the Watchtower, no noise to differentiate between the day before the day yet to come, Yelena’s life was one single longest day neither punctuated by the missions she ran for Val nor defined by the time she spent alone, midnight meant nothing. 

Late at night. Late enough to be early morning. It made no difference either way. The sun was gone, the moon hidden, the stars cold and distant, it could have been ten pm or midnight or two am when Yelena pushed her palm to the reader on the double entry doors and moved from being shapeless faceless shadowed on the empty streets to being shapeless faceless shadowed in the dark lobby. 

And the Tower was silent. Soft soled shoes were soundless on polished floors and the elevator doors opened noiseless to let her through. She rocketed towards the top floors of the Tower between one hushed breath and the next, inhale and exhale and she touched her stomach when it dropped queasy in response to the high velocity rush to the place where she lived that still wasn’t quite home. 

Quiet doors. Quiet floors. Quiet security system that Yelena had never heard and had never seen but she knew activated with motion as she moved into the common area. Quiet appliances in the quiet kitchen, stainless steel and sharp edges. She’d told Walker she wanted to make a home out of this place, but what sort of person made a home out a mausoleum, out of a crypt, in a place so stiffly sterile not even dust moved in the air?

Even the Red Room had been alive, bloody red and nightmare black and noisy until one by one the girls were eliminated and exterminated and educated to be still but even then, even in stillness, it had never been as silent as the Tower was silent in the undefined hours between undefined days. 

“What are you doing up, Bob?” Yelena heard him come into the kitchen behind her. The air shifted to accommodate the submissive’s size and he walked shuffling, swishing socks on the hard floor. He breathed and Yelena blinked herself back from the timeless lightless space where she’d wandered for hours after her tasks were completed. 

There was blood dried into her fingerprints. Yelena had washed her hands until her skin hurt and it hadn’t been enough to erase the red. 

Go figure. 

“Hi.” Bob tightened his hand at the back of one of the chairs. Nervous. “Hi, Yelena.” 

“It is late, Bob.” Yelena flipped the lights on all at once, ripping off the bandaid and bandage of darkness so she could wash her hands again. Again. “What are you doing up? Are you alright? Why aren’t you sleeping?” 

“I was.” Bob swallowed. “I wanted to wait for you.” 

“For me.” she dried her hands and turned around to face him, leaning back against the sink and folding her arms across her chest. “Why are you waiting for me?” 

“No real reason.” Bob wasn’t a good liar. He shuffled his feet and plucked at the hair tie Ava had given him and didn’t look at her. He’d never won a poker game a day in his life and he wasn’t ever going to if he couldn’t manage eye contact for even little white lies that were supposed to make him feel less pathetic. 

I needed you. 

“You were gone all day.” He shuffled his feet and plucked at the hair tie. Didn’t look at Yelena and plucked at the hair tie. “Working?” 

“Val texted me this morning, I was busy.” Yelena’s eyes dropped to the hair tie at Bob’s wrist and she hesitated. Frowned. He pulled at it again, a third time and Yelena tilted her head to study him closer. He wore socks not shoes, normal. Not jeans and not really pajamas but sweat pants, soft and unrestricting and comfortable for a submissive who wasn’t comfortable in his own skin. Long sleeves always, Yelena knew Bob wore long sleeves always and she knew why he wore long sleeves always but he didn’t ask about her scars so she didn’t ask about his. 

Hair tie, again. Yelena’s gaze settled on the newly out of place black band on Bob’s wrist, then moved up to check the rise and fall of his chest, was he breathing hard, was he anxious, he wasn’t looking at her because his ‘no real reason’ excuse had been a lie and his mouth was tense but the color in his face was pink, the submissive was shy almost blushing and Yelena looked one more time at the hair tie before she put it all together. 

“Your hair.” Bob’s hair was rich brown and wavy, trimmed neat at the ends and fluffy, longer behind his ears and swooping into his eyes. “Did you get your hair done, Bob?” 

“Ava helped me.” Bob smiled down at his feet, glanced up at her and smiled a little wider from beneath his lashes. “We had a hair day. Do you,” her answer suddenly mattered so much, Bob wanted her to smile and like how he looked so he gathered his courage, “Do you like it?” 

“I like it very much.” Yelena pushed off the counter and made her way to the table so she could step close and sift her fingers into the freshly washed and conditioned and colored strands. “It looks so nice, she did a good job. Do you like it?” 

“I--oh.” Bob’s knees went abruptly weak and he stumbled, grabbed for the closest chair and thudded into the seat. “Um.” 

“Do you like it?” Yelena moved between his knees and kept touching his hair, slipping her small hands into the soft waves and shaking them loose, twisting her fingers into the longer ends and tugging lightly. “You should like it, you are very handsome all cleaned up.” 

“That’s what Walker s-said.” he was tongue tied, sprawled in the chair with his head tilted back, wide eyed and a little helpless when Yelena traced his hairline behind his ears and coasted her fingertips down his neck. “Handsome. Guess that’s better than. I mean, I guess I usually look like a street possum so.”

“Yes, you are much better looking than a street possum.” Yelena laughed, hoarse and husky and delighted and Bob shuddered--

--Yelena stopped. 

“Why did you do that, why did you flicker?” She framed his face in both her hands and leaned closer, her smile falling away worried. “What is wrong?” 

“Nothing’s wrong.” Nothing was wrong. Yelena smiled like sunshine and laughed like he was safe with her and the warmth of it made the submissive tremble from the inside out. “Nothing’s wrong. I-- I like your laugh.” 

“Then why did your eyes go yellow like you were in danger?” 

“I don’t know.” He was fine, he was fine, he wasn’t voiding, it wasn’t quiet or cold, Bob didn’t know. “I didn’t-- this is-- I don’t want--” 

“Stay with me.” Yelena instructed the way Bucky instructed, Dominant with her voice low. “I’m here.” she promised the way she always promised, gentle with her voice soft. “Settle. You do not need to flicker like that at me, you’re safe, I’ve got you.” 

“You’ve got me.” Bob’s body shook with it again, the simple reassurance and solemn promise enough to make the submissive quake, to make him lean until he had to clamp his hands on the side of the chair so he wouldn’t fall down to his knees and kneel. “And it’s--- I’m--” 

“There, you did it again, you flickered again.” Yelena looked closer, spread her hands wider across his face until they were nearly nose to nose. “But you know, I do not think they are yellow this time. I think your eyes are… gold.” 

Gold. That’s what Ava had said. Gold and then glittering and then sweet and pretty and Bob held very still while Yelena touched him, kept his eyes open so she could see him and wondered  if she might say all the same things. 

“When you’re happy, your eyes are gold.” Yelena made a curious, encouraging little noise. “Are you happy right now, Bob?” 

He took a deep breath, took a deep breath, took a deep breath and was honest, “Yeah. Yes. A lot right now.” 

“Good.” The gentle pat Yelena gave his cheek was more of a caress, her short nails just barely catching at the line of his jaw. “I prefer happy Bob to shadowy Bob. Do you want a--” 

Yelena pulled away, stepped back from between Bob’s knees and turned around to move back to the fridge and find some food. She pulled away and started to ask the submissive if he wanted a snack too, but before she could take more than a few steps and before she could even finish the question, Bob ran right into her back and nearly knocked her over. 

“Shit.” he scrambled to grab her. “Shit. Sorry. Sorry Yelena, I didn’t mean to-- sorry.” 

The chair Bob had collapsed into was pushed back several inches like he’d lunged forward desperately, Bob was still close too close looming over Yelena’s tiny height even as he folded his shoulders in and tried to apologize, and Yelena looked at the chair then up and up at him to ask, “Bob?” 

“Sorry.” he rubbed at his eyes. Wiped his mouth. Wiped his nose. “Sorry.”  

“What are you doing?” She glanced down at his feet nearly tangled up with hers, the hair tie on his wrist he couldn’t stop messing with, how he leaned almost toppling into her. “Are you okay?” 

“You were.” Bob twisted the hair tie at his wrist until the elastic cut in over his pulse. Breathed. “Gone. All day.” 

“Yes.” she nodded shortly. “Working.”

“I just um--” He scratched at his neck and rubbed at his eyes again. “I thought. I didn’t--” 

He fidgeted. Got twitchy. His skin felt too tight and each breath was too shallow and he’d promised himself to be brave, he’d tried to be brave waiting for Yelena and she wasn’t a Dominant but he thought he’d kneel, thought he’d hit his knees and beg for a soft touch in his hair or her hands on his face again for just a few minutes, just a few minutes, Bob had known he was lost before but he hadn’t known he was starving deprived parched desperate--

“Stay with me.”  Yelena unzipped a side pocket on her pants and pulled out a paracord bracelet, an emergency survival grade cord braided and twisted and folded in on itself to make a bracelet and clipped on her wrist so she always had something available to tie something down or tie someone up. 

“Bob. Are you with me?” the submissive was spiraling, she could see it. His eyes were open but wild, no longer gold but a little bit lost. He was shaking, the delicate muscles in his face jumping, and Yelena fumbled to unwrap the cord, hurrying to undo the braids, “Bob? Here, stay here with me. It’s okay, everything is okay, stay here with me.” 

Yelena was careful taking Bob’s hand, careful not to push the sleeves up too far and expose what the submissive hid on his forearms, careful wrapping the cord a few times around his wrist and then less careful twisting it through his fingers and giving a sharp jerk. 

Bob’s eyes snapped back into focus when he felt the yank at his hands and he looked down confused, “Wh--what? Yelena--” 

“Here.” Yelena showed him the other end of the paracord, then wrapped it firmly around her wrist. “There. See?” 

“What are you--” Bob yelped when Yelena started moving and the rope stretched taut between them before he stumbled forward several steps to catch up. “What? I don’t--” 

“You need to be close.” She moved again. The submissive hurried to follow. “Secure. Like you belong. Remember in the Vault, I tied you to me?” Yelena held up the cord and tugged at it pointedly. “Safe. We stick together. Submissives are safe when they stick together on the good days and the bad days and always.” 

“But you.” The pressure at Bob’s wrist made him light headed but the texture between his fingers locked him down tethered. Not lost. Secure. “You aren’t a submissive.” 

“No, not really.” Yelena’s mouth tipped down into a frown. “But sometimes.” she touched her chest, her heart, lightly. “Sometimes, I need to be tied and secure too. So I’ll stay and you stay and it will be fine.” 

Oh it was permission. The paracord and Yelena’s explanation was permission and invitation and expectation. Yelena was going to let him follow, was inviting him to be close, was expecting him to stay right at her heels. She wasn’t really a Dominant and she wasn’t really a submissive but just then in the kitchen as she gave Bob permission to be needy the way he’d been seeking all day, all year, his entire life, she was very nearly everything and he was stunned speechless for it.

“Here.” she said firmly Dominant with a tug at the rope tied between their wrists. Bob came close following immediately, and she smiled sunshine up into his eyes and touched his cheek, “That is very good, thank you.” 

And when he shuddered like his heart was straining at the confines of his chest ready to burst from the simple pleasure of being seen and being tethered and being allowed, Yelena tapped the tip of his nose and laughed softly, “Fancy hair and golden eyes, hm? What a beautiful submissive you are, Bob.” 

“You too.” Bob wet his lips and reached for her, flexed his fingers around the cord wound through his knuckles and settled that hand at the back of her neck to pull her in and rest their foreheads together. “You’re-- I mean--.” 

Yelena’s eyes fell closed and Bob stared at her close for a long moment before he closed his eyes too. “Can we both just stay a while?” 

“Okay, Bob.” she nodded against him. “Let’s both just stay a while.” 

The restless need in Bob's chest quieted and the hovering dark just past his peripherals lightened at the edges. Yelena breathed and Bob breathed and it wasn't sleeping, just resting, just floating, just together...

Bob would gladly dream every night if his dreams were as peaceful as this.

*****

Chapter Notes: 

Full Disclosure if you’re new to my fics-- these notes aren’t necessary reads at all. I highlight my favorite parts of the chapter, link any significant outfits, locations or easter eggs, maybe dive into the thought process behind certain themes or choices for the characters-- the last line is always a Coming Up tagline for the next chapter but beyond that, it's not necessary info.

For those of you who don’t mind the peek behind the curtain--

The deeper I dive into Walker for this AU, the more I fear I just love him. The pressure he feels as a Captain and Dominant to support his men and the guilt he carries for his perceived failure to save them (and his best friend and his marriage etc) is absolutely crippling. When we struggle, sometimes it's easier to withdraw and Lone Wolf it rather than risk being vulnerable because jfc what if being open means we get hurt AGAIN and that’s where he’s at in this fic. Guilty and scared and not sure if the Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known is worth the healing it might bring to his heart. 

Ava and Bob’s scene-- I’m going to get personal here and tell y’all I am a WOC adopted into a yt family and growing up, my adopted parents had no idea how to deal with my hair. I was embarrassed by the frizz and curls, I used to put it up in a pony tail and not touch it for a week at a time because it was too much work and I didn’t know how to do it. Another WOC at our church started bringing me to Hair Days with her girls and the sisterhood found in Hair Day, sitting perched all over the bathroom while Auntie did one girls hair and we all waited, talking about life while trying not to get burned on the hot comb, picking out beads for our braids-- it helped me celebrate a part of my heritage that was otherwise ignored growing up, it helped me reconcile being a WOC with growing up “white” and the memories are very dear to me. 

Ava’s actress is half Nigerian so you KNOW that girl knows what Hair Day is, an, I like to think at some point, Ava learned to do her hair not just as a necessity but as a way to connect with her mother and her roots. 

Bob and Yelena are STUNNING. I am utterly obsessed with the idea of her tying him to her all the time. He’ll stay and she’ll stay and they’ll just stay together. 

Obligatory mention of Alexei because I laughed at the part where he has no idea what’s different about Bob but Ava is mean AF so he’s just like “yay bob! So nice! So new!” and then again when he’s trying to settle in with ice cream and Baywatch and Ava Baba Yaga’s through the wall to shame him and the general Dominant gender for acting like dealing with submissive’s is difficult. 

Coming Up! Bucky gets a chance to be a good Dominant again, Alexei and Ava bond a little bit while Walker is forced to confront an uncomfortable truth about himself. 

Thanks for reading!

Chapter Text

The highest floor in the over sized, over priced, over quiet Watchtower wasn’t living space. There was no kitchen and communal table, no television for movie nights, no couches or recliners or privacy to be found behind walls and doors and security measures. There was nothing approaching comfort, nothing resembling domesticity, nothing meant to encourage anyone to linger. 

The highest floor in the rebranded, skyline altering Watchtower wasn’t living space, it was public space. The floor to ceiling windows were tinted and shaded to provide favorable light for pictures,  the walls shaped and insulated to offer optimal acoustics for interviews. A soaring set of stairs led to a loft that connected to a separate elevator so the team or Val could discreetly arrive and dramatically enter the space while photographers and members of the press stood below ready to be awed by the theatrics. The bar in the center was purely for show, empty bottles and polished glass and high end stools no one was allowed to sit on. 

Not living space. Public space. Press space. Val’s space. 

“I love it up here, don’t you?” Whenever Val had to visit the Watchtower, her staff brought a comfortable two seater sofa onto the press floor so the powerful woman had a place to sit. They brought a small table for her tablet and her bottle of water, an assortment of her preferred snacks in case she started feeling peckish, a beautifully leafy houseplant for a pop of color in the otherwise bland space. 

Val’s staff didn’t bring along any other furniture or accommodations for the vast room. All press members had to stand, photographers had to crouch, and when Val met with one or more members of her still tentatively established New Avengers, she didn’t really give a damn whether they stood or crouched or sat criss cross applesauce on the ceiling, she didn’t care. 

But, “There’s something so wonderful about neutral spaces.” Val sat relaxed on her couch and sighed up towards the high ceilings. “Anyone can walk in and make it their own with nothing more than a few changes. From undefined to owned. Neutral spaces have so much potential if a person is willing to take charge.” 

“Which is why you brought along that horrid little plant thing, hm?” Ava sat right ontop of the bar, fingers drumming out a bored pattern on the burnished wood countertop, her boots digging into the cushion of an expensive stool. She was neither bothered nor intimidated by Val, not jealous of the comfortable furniture in the otherwise empty room and not irritated by the implication of Val owning the space because she’d added to the space. “What is that, a cactus?” 

“It’s an Aloidendron barberae.” Val answered quickly, smoothly. “An aloe vera plant. Or tree, rather. It’s it lovely? The green is so vivid, it’s almost otherworldly and the healing properties of such a thing--” 

“I don’t care.” Ava cut in. “And neither do you. Why did you want to meet with me?” 

“Do you want to come sit down?” Val’s smile tightened at the edges. “I’m sure sitting on top of that wildly expensive bar top can’t be comfortable and I can promise there are better places for your boots than those custom stitched cushion covers.”

“My options are either squeezing onto that ugly sofa with you,” Ava tilted her head, staring the formidable woman down. “Or sitting on the floor like a damn dog. I’ll stay here, thanks.” 

“You think my sofa is ugly.” Ava didn’t answer. Val let the silence stretch for a minute, two minutes, more minutes past when anyone else would have been uncomfortable, but when Ava only kept looking at her, Val sighed and picked up her tablet. 

“I have a new assignment for you.” She scrolled through the documents Mel had added into her files. “How do you feel about Belize?” 

“I have no particular feelings either way about Belize.” 

“No, of course you don’t.” Val kept scrolling, filtering through the information until she found the pertinent details. “Ava Starr, the Ghost. Master of impermeance. You care about nothing and no one and leave no impression on the places you may or may not have allegedly been.” 

Ava didn’t answer. Val didn’t like it. She hated when Mel chattered in round about ways to find a point, but even that inane noise was preferable to the near disrespectful silence from her most dangerous employees. She’d given the rag tag little team a place to live and erased the felonies and war crimes on their records, the very least they could do was hold up their end of a fucking conversation.

“Hey Ava.” the double doors at the far end of the room swung open on their silent hinges, then smacked loud into the wall behind them as newly arrived and entirely uninvited Yelena made a point of planting her feet and shoving as hard as she could so the doorknobs dented the drywall. 

“Oh boy, look at this neat little interruption.” Val put the tablet down and clasped her hands over her crossed legs. “Ms. Belova. I don’t need to see you today.” 

“I do not need to see you today either.” Yelena was eating licorice, tearing off huge bites of the chemically red candy and waving the bendy piece in the air as she strode towards the bar. “But here we are.” 

“Here we are.” Val ground her teeth together until her jaw ached. “And why is that, exactly? Why are you here?” 

“Because I don’t trust you.” Yelena climbed upa stool like a stepladder, using the cushion to push high enough to scoot onto the bar top close to Ava. “What is with that weird bush over there?” 

“It’s an Aloe tree.” Ava informed her and Yelena’s brows drew together, “Like for burns? An Aloe Vera? Why is it here? Who is setting fires and getting singed? Is that what happened to your eyebrows?"

“Fuck you, my eyebrows look fine.” Ava smiled when she said it. Val blinked a few times because she didn’t think she’d ever seen Ava smile. “What are you doing here?” 

“I told you.” Yelena pulled more licorice from one of the many pockets on her cargo pants. “I don’t trust her.” 

“Yes, about that.” Val raised her voice and lifted her chin trying to gain control of the moment back. “What exactly don’t you trust, here? You don’t trust me to give Ava her assignments? Or maybe you don’t trust Ava to handle them. Which is it?” 

“You.” Yelena tore off a big chunk of licorice, then passed a piece to Ava. “I don’t trust you. End of story.” 

“Well, isn’t this fun.” Val prided herself on being perpetually unruffled but Ava’s passive nonchalance and Yelena’s belligerent eye contact tried her patience right down to the wire. “Group conversation today. Don’t ever let it be said I can’t roll with the punches.” 

Afterwards-- once Val gave Ava all the necessary assignment information while Yelena snacked noisily on a seemingly unending supply of licorice, once Val’s staff came to collect her sofa and side table and aloe tree, once the main elevator emptied out onto the main lobby floor and the smaller, side elevator opened up to let Val and Yelena out onto the floor below--

Afterwards, Ava shot Yelena a sidelongs glance and stated, “You being in there with Val and I was not necessary.” 

“I know.” Yelena turned down the hall and headed directly for the stairs that branched off into their rooms. 

“I’m a big girl.” Ava maintained as she tried to keep up with Yelena’s quick pace. “I can handle Val and her assignments all by myself.” 

“I know.” Yelena repeated mildly, and Ava clamped down at her arm, hauling her to a stop to demand, “Then why did you do that? Why did you interrupt like that?” 

“Because I do not like dealing with Val alone.” Yelena twisted her arm out of Ava’s grasp. “I feel like she preys on me. Like she stalks me and takes notes about me and is always looking for a way to trick me, even when she is writing me a check. Even before the Vault and Bob, I felt like that. After the Vault and after Bob and all the--” 

She motioned around them, behind them, above them. “All the things. After everything. I do not like dealing with her alone. I thought maybe you felt the same.” 

Yelena turned on her heel and kept walking. Ava watched her go, then took a breath and admitted to the hall, to the back of Yelena’s head, to herself, “I do hate talking to Val alone.” and hurried to catch up with Yelena all over again.  

“You gave Bob a hair tie.” Yelena started talking again the second Ava reached her side. “Why?” 

“He was fidgeting while I was doing my hair and it was annoying.” Ava shrugged. “My life and literal physical self is twitchy enough as it is, watching someone else be twitchy is the worst.” 

“Don’t do that.” Yelena shook her head quickly, negatively. “Don’t do that. You know it means something. You gave Bob a hair tie, you know it means something. Why did you do it?” 

“It’s a hair tie, Yelena.” 

“You know what it means to give a submissive something to put on their wrist or around their neck or on their fingers.” she persisted but Ava maintained, “You’re putting too much emphasis on it.” 

“Ava--” 

“Look.” This time Ava stopped. This time she put her hand on Yelena’s arm and made her stop as well. “It’s a hair tie, alright? If it means something to Bob, if he wears it around his wrist for a reason and considers it whatever, then good for him. But he doesn’t have to. Doesn’t need to. Because it’s a hair tie. Sometimes a hair tie is just a perfectly normal hair tie taken or borrowed or given from one normal person to another normal person.” 

“Sometimes.” Yelena agreed seriously. Softly. “But not one of us in this place are normal persons.” 

“Trust me, I’m very aware of how far away from normal our hodge podge team is.” she pursed her lips and blew out a short breath. “But it’s nice to pretend, right? Sharing hair ties is normal. It’s shit regular people do. Friends. Family. It’s a normal thing for normal people and it’s nice to feel that way every once in a while.” 

“You called us friends and family.” Yelena pointed out and Ava rolled her eyes, “No, I said friends and family do normal shit like sharing hair ties.” 

“Like the way you shared one with Bob. A submissive." The corner of Yelena’s mouth tilted in a tiny smile. “The normal thing that doesn’t mean anything else even though it goes over his wrist like a claiming cuff and he wears it every day because he's a submissive and you gifted it to him." 

Ava didn’t have anything to say to that. Yelena cocked an eyebrow at her and only, “Hm.” before turning down the hall to her suite of rooms. 

Ava went the opposite direction to the gym, back down the hall, into the elevator and down several floors so she could work out the lingering irritation of dealing with Val and the lingering melancholy of her perpetual pessimism being constantly thwarted by Yelena’s insistence on bonding. 

“Hey, Alexei.” The supersoldier was lifting weights, grunting and groaning and sweating as he tried to lift the impossibly stacked bar left behind from Bucky’s last workout.

Ava had never cared to learn about the different versions of super soldier serum, but clearly whatever was pumping through the Winter Soldier’s veins was several notches more intense than the serum given to the Red Guardian. Ava had seen Bucky lift that same bar one handed, right handed, not even needing his enhanced prosthetic to heft the weight while Alexei was breathing hard enough to be alarming as he struggled to lift it with both hands and all his strength. 

She smiled a little bit, wondering if Bucky knew just how hard the big Russian wanted to be like him.

“Ava! Hello!” Perhaps finished with his set, more than likely grateful for an excuse to call the attempt over, Alexei set the bar back in place and waved at her enthusiastically. “You have come to work cardio, yes? Calisthenics and the bouncy step class videos with the women in neon colors?” 

“You're off by a few decades, Alexei. The world has moved on Jane Fonda and her leg warmers, I'm proud to say I've never done a bouncy step class video in my life." Ava stripped down to her full length under suit, the fabric made of the same phase-confining material as her armor. She didn’t want to be beholden to Val for anything, but the lightweight suit was damn near perfect, comfortable and breathable and the closest thing to regular clothing Ava had worn in years and she loved it, was reluctantly grateful to Val every single day for it.

Normal. The undersuit made Ava feel almost normal. 

“No see, there you are wrong.” Alexei wandered over as Ava started taping her knuckles. “The world will never move on from Jane Fonda. She was a real woman. We watched her tapes in the prison, she kept me in fighting form!”

“If you say so.” Ava jogged a few steps in place, then shifted her stance and started boxing at the bag hanging by the wall. One-one-two. One-one-two. Jab jab cross. One-one-two. “There was no need to pause your workout to--” 

“Bob’s hair is very nice.” Alexei said then, and Ava tensed for a split second before resuming her count. “It is good of you to help him. A submissive like that, he needs everything and everyone. to keep him settled at all times. He is like bomb, will wipe us out if someone sets him off. But pretty hair?" 

The Dominant smoothed over his thinning gray hair. “Pretty hair helps him feel better. I can tell. You did a good thing."

“I did Bob’s hair because it was gross and oily.” Ava kept counting. One-one-two. Jab jab cross. “It has nothing to do with him being a submissive. I’m not  Dominant like you, I don’t see things the way you do. His hair was gross, I helped him fix it, it's not deeper than that."

“No, it is deeper than that. Because you you see things like--like a mother.” Alexei decided, and she snorted, “So because I’m not Dominant or submissive and I’m a woman, I am automatically Mummy to this mess? Absolutely not.” 

“You misunderstand--” he tried to protest, but Ava spoke over him louder, “No, Alexei. Do not put that on me. I will not be responsible for anyone in this horrid place except myself. I will not be Mummy doing grocery lists and checking in on everyone all the time and keeping track of appointments for the team schedule and ensuring the resident submissive keeps his hair neat and Walker has eighty pounds of protein powder for his shakes. No.” 

“Ava, you are upset for no reason! All I meant to say is--” 

“It is horrifyingly obvious that everyone in this place is one bad day away from jumping right off the balcony and splatting on the street.” Jab jab cross. Jab jab cross. “But I will be good god damned before I allow the lot of you to push me into a place of dependency and responsibility and-- and management because you all refuse to sort your own selves out. My doing one nice thing for Bob doesn't mean--” 

“Ava.” Alexei’s hand shot out to snag her wrist, his hold gentle and strength tempered so he didn’t inadvertently shatter the delicate bones in her forearm. “I meant you see Bob as a person. Not submissive like myself and the other Dominants see him. Not a risk and problem like Val or kindred spirit like my Lena. He is people to you and you take care of him like people. Mother was wrong term, I meant--” 

He frowned. “I meant family, Ava. You are like bitchy big sister, bullying him to wash his hair, giving him the tie so he plays with that instead of picking his nails or scratching his arms. It is good." 

“The way you and Yelena are obsessed with us all being family when the two of you have the least healthy family history I’ve ever heard of, is insane.” Jab jab cross. Ava breathed. “But fine. Bitchy big sister is a better term than mother, I think.” 

“Of course, you know.” he scratched at his chin as if in deep thought. “Mother is not bad, either. There is such a thing as a MILF, yes? In this country, they say a 'mother I’d like to--” 

“Alexei, I am begging you not to finish that sentence.” 

“Is compliment!” The Dominant insisted loudly. “To be called a mother is not such a bad thing, not when you can be mother and a MILF and--” 

“Say it again and I’ll punch you.” 

“I do not think it will be too hard a punch.” Alexei grinned. “Because you are smiling very big now.” 

“Leave me alone.” Ava was smiling, but no smile was big enough to stop her from clocking the huge Russian if he ever called her a MILF again. “Go do something useful, like put more weight on that bar so Bucky has a challenge next time he comes down.” 

“I can lift just as much as the Winter Soldier.” 

“Mmhmm.” Jab jab cross. Ava couldn’t stop smiling. “If you say so.” 

*****

Bob hadn’t slept more than a few hours for three days.

Not more than a few hours a night for three days, no.

Bob hadn't slept more than a few hours total, at all, for three days. 

The days were fine, the days were perfectly fine. The oppressive quiet of the Tower felt less quiet now that Bob didn’t feel invisible, now that he wasn’t a half breath away from screaming, now that the Dominants didn’t crowd into a room overbearing and overwhelming and send him spiraling. 

The suffocating loud didn’t feel as loud now that Ava smacked his hand away every time he tried to chew a hang nail, now that the Dominants including even Walker made sure to lower their voices and temper their reactions less explosive, now that Yelena sat next to him at the table, on the couch, wrapped the paracord around his wrist and around her wrist so he was tethered instead of lost. 

The days were fine. Perfectly fine. So much more fine than the days had been a few weeks, months, years ever ago.

But Bob hadn’t slept more than a few hours total in the previous three days and it was starting to mess with his head, starting to feel like the dark and empty and Void was looming just beyond the edges of his vision, starting to feel like the scars on his arms needed to be scarred deeper. No sleep meant no rest, meant too many hours staring at asylum white walls and watching shadows twist and breathe and gather on the corners, meant itchy skin and scratchy breaths and his skin too tight and soul too big, it was bad.

It was bad. 

Not as bad as it had been before— before. Before when he was running from the sound of his mom's screams and the blunt rage of his dad’s fists. Before when the dark sent him into the streets, the gutters, chasing anything that might make it stop. Before when he’d let asked begged Dominants to make it hurt so he felt anything other than empty.

It wasn’t that bad. A month ago, a year ago, a life time ago, Bob would have been thrilled for a three day insomnia streak that wasn’t that bad. But now he knew how it felt to feel better, so the not that bad felt worse than ever and he snapped snapped snapped the hair tie Ava had put on his wrist as he left wandered bolted from his room to try and find Yelena. 

It wasn’t that bad. But he had options to make it better. Not options like Val and Sentry serum and being buried alive locked in a box at the bottom of the Vault. Real options. Like staying. 

He could stay with Yelena and she would stay with him. 

“Bob.” Yelena opened her door before Bob could knock. Maybe she’d heard his awkward stumbling gait down the hall. Maybe she was heading out the door leaving. Bob hoped she wasn’t leaving. 

“Bob.” Yelena said his name again when Bob stayed quiet. She glanced both ways down the hall then offered him a quick smile. “What are you doing here?” 

“I um.” Bob twisted the hair tie until it cut into his skin. “Hi.” 

“Hi.” She touched him. Featherlight and gentle and careful pushing his hair out of his eyes, tucking it behind his ear. Yelena had to look up and up at Bob because she was tiny. She felt bigger than Bob most days, acted bigger than Bob most days, she wasn’t afraid to take up space and wasn’t afraid of the sound of her own voice, Yelena was a giant in the submissive’s mind but really she was tiny and had to look up and up to touch his face and Bob wondered if – he thought maybe she knew the physical affection made him ache inside. 

“I haven’t slept in a couple nights.” he said first. “Three nights actually.” he said next. “The days are fine.” he said all in a rush. “But the nights are rough. I haven’t slept. And I thought-- I hoped--” 

“Come on.” Yelena didn’t hesitate to grab his hand and tow him inside, swooshing the door shut behind him with a quick press of a button. “You have to sleep, Bob.” 

“No, I know.” he knew. “I’ve been trying.” he had been trying. “I just. Can’t.”  

“Sit.” Yelena pointed to the bed. Bob sat. “Good job, thank you.” 

Bob smiled cos she smiled. Sunshine. He loved her smile and Bob loved Yelena’s room. Ava’s space was specifically purposefully chaotic, textured and colored and haphazard for a Ghost who needed to remember she was human, but Yelena’s room was different. 

The walls were white like all the other walls but the lights were soft, the lamps angled to hide the corners so the room felt cozy. Yelena had minimal furniture, there was space to stretch out on the floor, space to stand in front of the window, space to pace back and forth when thoughts were messy and nights were long and the quiet was too loud. The bed was cloud soft, the blankets weighted, the three dozen stuffed animals she’d collected from her travels piled high in the corner. Her bedroom door closed and her closet door closed and the bathroom door closed, the suite had designated areas with specific purposes and moving from one to another felt like progress, felt like steps forward. 

It was a bedroom perfectly suited for a submissive even if Yelena wasn’t really submissive, not much, not anymore.  Bed, closet, ensuite. Complimentary colors  to soothe rattled nerves. Defined parameters but hazy corners. Plenty of space with protection given by way of closed doors. Stuffed animals because they made her smile. 

Bob smiled cos Yelena smiled. 

Sunshine. 

“What about white noise?” Yelena dressed in layers, each piece with a purpose, each purpose something specific, everything specific a part of her routine, a part of her comfort. She was submissive leaning, even if she wasn’t really a submissive, not much and not anymore. 

“Have you tried sleeping with white noise. Like.” She unzipped her gray hoodie jacket and hung it in the closet. “Whoosh whoosh noise. Water. Wind. Hush hush things.” 

“Water sounds make me want to pee.” Bob stated and Yelena laughed, “Okay, no water sounds. Wind sounds, though. What about the wind?” 

“Wind feels empty.” The velcro at Yelena’s combat style vest scrrrrch’ed when she yanked them open and peeled the heavy material off. The noise rubbed the wrong way on the submissive’s ears. He plucked the hair tie and tried not to think about it. “Wind feels void-y.” 

“No wind and no water.” A long sleeve shirt in a muted shade of green was the next layer. Yelena liked the color but hated the neckline so she’d hacked at the hemmed collar until it sat wide on her shoulders and fell slouchy long when she untucked it from her pants. “Fine. What about music? Have you tried music, Bob?” 

“I–” He hadn’t tried music. He didn’t know the last time he’d listened to music. “No.” 

“Music doesn’t work for me, but it might work for you.” Yelena hated bras and underwires, curved cups and tiny straps that dug into her skin. She hated the implication of sex that came along with the pretty ones, the accusation of frumpy that accompanied the comfortable beige ones, she hated being strapped and stuffed and conformed into anything other than her combat suit. She tossed away the green long sleeve with the butchered neckline and stayed in the cropped white tank that was the closest thing she owned to anything bra-like. “Something classical, maybe. Melina used to say classical music soothes the edges of fractured minds.” 

“I don’t know if there’s any music classical enough to fix the fucked up edges of my mind, Yelena.” Bob smiled when he said it, but he smiled down at his feet, said his words to the floor so he wasn't staring at the white tank top tight against her skin and the shape of her almost bare.

“I think the one song, the one that is performed with cannons in the concert halls." Yelena pushed her pants to her feet and stepped out of them, peeled her socks off and her leggings off and knew without looking that the submissive wasn’t looking so she didn’t bother hiding or hurrying as she pulled a whisper soft pair of shorts over her hips and tied them at her waist. “That could be classical enough to fix your fucked up mind. Cannons."

“You’re supposed to say,” Bob was still smiling at the floor. “my mind isn’t fucked up.” 

“But you and I both know that is a lie.” Yelena touched him as she passed on her way to the bathroom. Permission. She slid her fingers up the line of his neck then over across his cheek and went to wash her face. 

“Why doesn’t music work for you?” Bob looked up from the floor. Yelena’s touch had been permission, no need to keep looking away, she was covered enough to be comfortable, covered enough for him to see. “You said classical music soothes minds, so why doesn’t it work for you?” 

“I focus too much on it.” Clink. Yelena took out her earrings, one after another. Clink into a glass bowl, clink clink clink. “It is a metronome in my head. Time signatures. I know a dance and step to every conceivable rhythm.” 

“Why?”

“Because the Red Room taught us to dance.” Yelena unwound the clunky necklace from around her neck and dropped it into the glass bow. “Life is music, Bob. There is a beat to everything. A measure and time signature and cadence. Breathing. Eating. Walking. Killing. Fucking.” 

Yelena said killing and fucking in the same tone of voice as if they were both bloody and violent and gray like nightmares and Bob wondered-- he wondered.

He didn't ask though. She didn't ask about the scars on his arms. He wasn't going to ask why she said killing and fucking like they were the same.

“A beat and a rhythm to it all.” There was a gun in Yelena’s top drawer, a revolver. Simple and solid and six shots full. She counted out loud, “One two three, one two three, one two three, done.” opened the cylinder to dump the bullets, then reloaded with lethal precision, one two three, one two three, snapped it shut and cocked the hammer back with the barrel pointed at the wall, one two three done. 

“Three quarter time.” She eased the hammer off again and put the revolver away. “I can waltz in a full length gown with a five star general just as easily as I could reload my revolver and put a bullet in his head. The Red Room trained us with music. We are all the most lethal of ballerinas and I hear the music in my head every minute of every day."

“Okay. So music doesn’t work for you.” Bob twisted the hair tie so he didn’t think too long about how deeply sad Yelena’s smile could be. “So what works to help you sleep?”

“I don’t know, nothing ever works perfectly and nothing ever works twice.” Yelena switched to her rings, twisting them off one by one and adding them to the pile of mis matched, randomly collected pieces in the bowl. “Sometimes I train, or walk the city or search the kitchen for late night snacks trying to figure out where Ava keeps those chocolate and raspberry cookies she’s always eating because they look delicious.”

“Huh.” Bob knew where Ava kept the chocolate raspberry cookies but his lips were sealed. “Where did you get that ring?”

“I bought this one the day I escaped the Red Room.” Clink. A simple ring with a YB engraved on it. “My initials, so no one will ever make me forget myself again. I bought it and my vest the same day.” 

She shook her head before the submissive could ask, “Not the one I was wearing today. My other one. I gave it to my sister.” 

“The one who helped undo the Blip?” 

“Yes.” 

Yelena took off the rest of her rings in silence. Bob sat on the bed and watched. 

“Here.” Abruptly, Yelena picked up the ring with her initials on it and tossed it to Bob. “Put this on.” 

“Why?” Bob caught it clumsily, scrambling to not drop the fragile piece on the floor and lose it beneath the bed. “What um– what–?”

“When I first left the Red Room and was my own person again, having that ring and my initials where I could always see them helped me sleep on those first really sucky nights.” Yelena turned the water on in the sink and shook out a washcloth for her face. “Maybe it will help you sleep too. So wear it. Like you wear Ava’s hair tie. Wear it for me.” 

“Really?” Yelena was tiny. Sometimes Bob forgot. The ring that had fit her middle finger only fit his pinky finger and he twisted it uncertainly around his knuckle. “This um. This is.” he stopped. Swallowed. Tried again. “Yelena, this feels like it– like it matters. It feels like a big deal. Your initials and a ring and–” 

“It doesn’t have to.” Yelena hid her nervousness in the act of scrubbing off her make up, the words muffled into the washcloth. “Normal people do normal things like share jewelry.” 

“Sure. Right. Normal people probably do.” Bob twist twist twisted the ring. “But we aren’t normal people. Not even close. And I’m a submissive, so a ring with your initials on it is– I mean it’s–” 

He stopped. Swallowed. Wasn’t brave enough to try again. Quiet fell in the room while Yelena kept washing her face and Bob kept staring down at the ring with her initials branded onto the silver. 

“We are not normal people, no.” Yelena finally agreed. She shut off the water and dried her hands, then folded her arms and leaned against the door frame to study the submissive closely, tracking the dull flush of color settling into Bob’s face and the compulsive tap tap tap of his foot on the floor and the tilt of his head as if he were angling leaning inching closer waiting for permission to accept the ring and let it mean something big. 

“I am not a submissive, Bob.” she said. Bob nodded. “But I understand that giving a submissive a ring with my initials on it matters.”

“So.” Bob’s mouth opened and closed a few times as he tried to find the right words and the right amount of courage to ask, “So is it– is this as big as it feels?” 

“Yes.” Yelena decided for herself, for the submissive, for whatever came next. “It is as big as it feels. Yes.” 

“Kay.” Bob’s smile split his face wide, his eyes crinkling up at the corners then circling gold for a breathtaking few blinks. “I like it. Thank you.” 

“Thank you.” It was a Dominant thing to do, to thank a submissive for accepting a personal item as a gift and wearing it. Yelena lifted her chin and squared her shoulders and repeated, “Thank you for wearing it. You stay there. I’m going to take a shower.”

“You want me to stay here while you shower?” Bob double checked and Yelena didn’t hesitate, “Yes.” 

“Right here.” Bob sat himself a little further on her bed, in the pillows and blankets and the lightly scented space that was hers. 

“Yes.” Yelena waited a beat, then raised her eyebrows, “...yes?”

“Yes.” Permission. Bob was allowed to sit and linger and stay and he wanted to sit and linger and stay. “Yep. I’ll be here.” 

“Good.” Yelena put her fingers to her lips as if about to blow a kiss, then spun on her heel and stripped off her shirt all in one motion, kicking the door to the bathroom shut with a solid thunk as she went. 

From anyone else, the loudly and emphatically shut door would have felt like rejection. From Yelena with her defined room and established spaces and permission, it felt like boundaries. Like rules. Bob took a deep breath in and let a deep breath out and felt the ragged frantic parts of his mind settle a little under the reassuring comfort of boundaries. 

Boundaries meant rules, spoken and unspoken and learned in the moment and Bob had never been a traditional submissive, a good submissive, a stable submissive, but rules were good. Gave him focus. Gave him purpose. He coped better with rules. Yes and no and when he could stay. His space and Yelena’s space and where he could or couldn’t go. Her initials on her jewelry on his skin and he was supposed to wear it every day.

Boundaries and rules and structure after he’d been drifting for weeks in the ill defined liminal space of life in the Watchtower was a relief. Bob leaned into the cloud soft mattress and piled pillows and closed his eyes, pulled the weighted blankets to his shoulders and let the heavy of it sink him into the bed until the rush of water from the shower dulled behind the fluff of pillows around his ears and it wasn’t windy or Voidy or empty but full and cottony and insulating. 

Bob took a deep breath in and let a deep breath out. Took a deep breath in and let a deep breath out. Deep breath in and deep breath out. Breath in. Breath out. Drifting. 

He was drifting. Not down and not kneeling and not spacey floating settled like he so desperately needed to be but close. 

But almost. 

But nearly there. 

Later, the bed dipped as Yelena climbed in next to him but Bob didn’t notice. He was asleep, body limp and face lax, breathing slow and deep with his hand tucked under his cheek, Yelena’s ring gleaming silver where it pressed against his skin. 

“You are a good submissive, Bob.” Yelena whispered as she snuggled beneath the blankets and mashed her pillow to get it to the right amount of comfortable. “But when was the last time someone put you on your knees the right way?” 

There was no answer. Yelena smiled a little before closing her eyes and slowly, eventually, drifting off to sleep herself. 

…and sometime in the middle of the night, hours past when Yelena meant to wake up from her impromptu nap, hours longer than Bob had slept for the past three nights combined, the submissive moved in his sleep and gathered her in, scooping the tiny blond into his arms and spooning around her tight so they were wrapped up together warm beneath the blankets. 

Dream.

****

The nightmare came suddenly. One moment Yelena was sleeping peacefully, slumbering easily, wrapped up safe and sound and blissfully dream free, and in the next moment, she was not. 

“Yelena!”

The nightmare came suddenly. One moment Bucky was resting in his room, not sleeping and not tired but resting mostly relaxed on his bed reading a book he’d stolen from Sam’s sister years previous, and in the next moment Yelena was screaming and Bob was shouting and the Dominant was out of bed, out of the room, sprinting for Yelena’s suite because his submissives the submissives needed him, needed him, it was the middle of the night and they needed him. 

“Hey hey hey, Bob, I need you to look right here, right here, focus on me.” 

The nightmare came suddenly. One moment the Watchtower was middle of the night silent and the in the next moment it was not as Bucky raced to get to Yelena and Bob, as Alexei barreled out of his room hollering trying to understand what was happening, as Ava hit the control all switch to light the Tower up blindingly bright, as John burst into the hall running just as fast as Bucky, just a step or two behind the other Dominant, just as intent on reaching Yelena’s room to help. 

“Yelena, you gotta wake up sweetheart, come on.” 

Bucky got there first. Ava accessed the security camera feed long enough to see Bucky open–break?-- Yelena’s door, then turned the display off. Alexei stopped at the end of the hall once Bucky disappeared inside. John skidded to a halt right outside the door, checked inside to make sure there was no blood, no danger, then turned on his heel and hurried away before Bob or Yelena saw him. 

“Bob! Focus! Eyes on me, I’ve got you and I’ve got Yelena, but you have to stay right here with me, you understand? Right here.” 

Bucky got there first. He clocked the there and gone light on the security camera as Ava watched the feed, saw Alexei stop at the other end of the hall, checked back when he heard footsteps to find John hot at his heels, then opened– maybe broke right through?– the door, and started talking the very second he stepped inside, kept his voice low but his tone firm as he dropped to his knees beside the bed and grabbed for first Bob, and then Yelena. 

“Right here.” he ordered with his left hand wrapped at the back of Bob’s neck as the stressed submissive tried to apologize, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I don’t think it’s me, i wasn’t trying to– It’s not me! I didn’t give her bad dreams, I don’t know what– Bucky, I’m sorry! Lena, I’m sorry, I’m sorry–!” 

“Stay with me, bud. Focus on me, no one’s mad at you.” Bucky tightened his arm click click click and dragged Bob in against him, tucked him right into his chest so Bob’s frantic mumbling quieted against his shirt, then, “Lena? Hon, you’ve gotta wake up. Come back to me, come on.” as he shook Yelena out of the nightmare’s grasp and back to consciousness with his eyes on the shadows getting deeper darker thicker by the second in the corners of the room. 

“Bob.” he said quietly, firmly when the shadows started spreading. “Focus on me. Right here. Are you listening to me?” 

“I didn’t mean– I was only– we’ve held hands and nothing happened, nothing happened, I can control it, I can control touching someone and not Voiding, but this time we were sleeping and I shouldn’t have hugged her, I shouldn’t have– it was too much, maybe I lost control but I didn’t mean to–” 

“Bob, I’m not upset with you,” the lights flickered, the power surged and the entire Tower seemed to shudder as Bob spiraled and the Dominant raised his voice a notch, tightened his hand a notch, got stern and warning, “But I will be upset if you don’t settle down and listen and be good for me.” 

Bob went abruptly still against him. Bucky waited. Bob exhaled. Bucky waited. The submissive knotted his fingers in Bucky’s shirt and nodded his forehead over the steady beat of Bucky’s heart and one two three seconds later, the shadows eased off the walls and the lights quit flickering. 

“Good job, thank you.” Bucky immediately gentled his tone but he kept his hand tight on Bob’s neck, pressing firmly soothing circles over the racing pulse. “That’s very good. Proud of you. You with me? Focusing?” 

“I’m–” Bob screwed his eyes shut. “Yeah. I’m here. Trying to be good.” 

“You’re doing really really good, bud.” Yelena’s eyes were open, cloudy and haunted but open and Bucky set his other hand in her short hair, palming the back of her head and tugging at the choppy strands until she blinked at him. “Welcome back. You okay?” 

“What um–” Yelena’s eyes darted around the room, to the shadows still receding on the walls and the clock reading some god awful middle of the night, to the Dominant on his knees by the bed holding Bob at his shoulder. “What–”

“You were screaming. Must have been a nightmare.” Bucky didn’t take his eyes off her, didn’t let go of Bob, didn’t stop smoothing through her hair. “I came to check on you and Bob. Are you okay?” 

“Yeah.” Yelena wasn’t okay. But she said, “I’m fine. Awake now. I’m fine. Is Bob–” 

“He’s worried it’s his fault.” Bucky kept Bob tucked close so the distressed submissive wouldn’t see the confusion cross Yelena’s face. “You had a bad dream. He is worried the nightmare was because –” he inclined his head towards the bed, the rumbled blankets, the lack of space between their bodies because they’d slept wrapped around each other. “I told him it wasn’t his fault.” 

“No.” Yelena shook her head immediately. “Not Bob’s fault. It wasn’t him.” 

“Not his fault.” Bucky said it again so Bob would hear it, believe it, listen to it. “How are you doin’, though? Tell me the truth this time.” 

“I’m.” Yelena swallowed. The Dominant didn’t take his eyes off her. 

“I’m better now.” She didn’t lie that time. “Um. Thanks for–” The words stuck in her throat, not because she didn’t want to say them, but because she’d been four the last time someone had cared to bring her out of a nightmare. She'd been a child the last time she'd felt safe enough to be vulnerable after a bad dream. Grown up Yelena didn't know how say thank you for a middle of the night nightmare rescue that seemed to heal something small and broken and young in her heart.

There was a good chance Bucky was only there to ensure Bob didn’t Void out dropping stressed and put the entire Tower in danger…  but it felt like maybe Bucky was there for her as a teammate and as a Dominant and Yelena didn’t know what to say to that. 

Bucky watched Yelena’s gaze cloud self consciously, and he took a deep breath, tried to trust his instincts, then pulled her up to sitting on the bed so he could set the tips of his fingers at the side of her face, at her neck to check her pulse, down the length of her arm to cover her hand and squeeze her fingers.

“Okay.” Yelena wasn’t a real submissive, a true submissive, a normal submissive by anyone’s standards, not even her own, but she fully crumpled in relief when the Dominant pressed her hand. “Okay. Yes. That’s–” the stress of the nightmare and the unexpected comfort of safety with the huge Dominant left her swaying exhausted. “Thank you, Bucky. Thank you for–” 

“Look at me right here, I'm right here.” Bucky said quietly, and Yelena’s head jerked up to meet his eyes.

“Good girl.” He released her from obeying, from explaining, from being self conscious with a short nod, then released Bob from leaning on him with a one two tap at the submissive’s shoulders. “Bob. You did real good for me just now, alright? Thank you.” 

“Th-thanks, Bucky.” Bucky pushed his hair out of his eyes and offered a tentative smile to the Dominant before shifting on the bed to check on Yelena. “Um, Lena. Should I–” 

“Stay.” Yelena cut him off. Didn’t give him the chance to offer to leave. “Bob. It’s fine, we’re fine.” She reached over him to fumble in the nightstand drawer for the paracord, wrapped one end a few times around her own wrist then wrapped the other end around him. “Stay.” 

“Yeah. Yep. I’m staying.” Bob laid down when she did, settled into the pillows and took her offered hand and curled in close staying. He thought maybe the nightmare had been his fault, he thought maybe Yelena had been close to tears when Bucky called her a 'good girl', he thought a few years ago, a few months ago, a few weeks ago he would have ran from the room and vomited from self loathing, maybe gone and found something sharp so he could add to the scars on his arms to try and escape the nauseating knowledge that he’d gone and made a good moment bad. 

But there with the cord wrapped around his wrist tethering him to Yelena, with her ring on his finger and with their Dominant the Dominant still kneeling by the bed keeping an eye on them, Bob thought maybe he was allowed to close his eyes and believe it wasn’t his fault, believe he was allowed to stay, believe it was going to be okay. 

“You guys are going to be okay.” Bucky said it out loud to Yelena, to Bob, to himself. He almost reached down and loosened the paracord at Yelena’s wrist where it dug into her skin, but then she sighed and twisted the extra cord between her fingers so the slack pulled tight, and Bob scooted closer across the bed following the tug of the rope on his wrist, and they both smiled with their eyes closed and breathing synced...

...Bucky decided to let it go. 

Bob was wearing a new ring. Well, not a new ring, Bob was wearing Yelena’s ring and that meant something big. Bucky knew it meant something big. He didn’t fully understand the dynamic between Bob and Yelena, hell most days he didn’t fully understand his own part in what they meant to each other and to him as a Dominant, but the ring fit snug on Bob’s finger and looked good shining silver and delicate against his skin and that-- that did something odd and swoopy to the Dominant's heart.

“You’re okay.” he said one more time once he thought they were asleep, then started to stand so he could leave and have a conversation with Walker about the fucking gun John had been holding when he’d come running to check on the situation–

“Bucky.” Yelena opened her eyes when she heard him move. The Dominant froze, but Yelena didn’t say anything else. She looked at him, looked at him, looked at him and Bucky took a breath and swallowed. Took a breath and nodded. Took a breath and carefully, slowly, gingerly eased his way onto the bed, settling at the far end of the mattress with his back against the wall so he could lay his arm across Yelena’s feet and rest his hand solid against Bob’s leg. 

Yelena closed her eyes again. 

Bucky sat on the bed watching the clock turn over minute by minute and hour by hour, content to spend the rest of the night watching over the submissives- his submissives- until the morning sun rose high enough and warm enough to ease the cold dark of bad dreams. 

*****

“Hey Alexei.”

At some point, the Watchtower kitchen had become the gathering room for the team instead of the designated common area.

Two people sitting separately and silently in the common area was awkward, two people in the kitchen at the same time eating or drinking or scrolling through their phones was fine. The common area expected conversation and camaraderie but the kitchen meant a grunt or nod was perfectly acceptable acknowledgement. The common area had been designed by Val from the color of paint to the layout of the furniture but the kitchen was theirs, full of preferred snacks and designated shelves in the massive fridge and haphazard grocery lists and left overs.  

Bucky wasn’t surprised to find Alexei hanging out by the coffee maker when he finally came from Yelena’s suite the next morning, but he was surprised when the other Dominant handed him a steaming hot cup of coffee to drink. 

“Uh.” The coffee cup proudly proclaimed something about an orange tabby cat Not Being a Morning Person. Bucky didn’t comment on the rather frazzled feline or the cartoonish print. “Thanks?” 

“I thought you would be tired.” Alexei clarified and Bucky shook his head, “Don’t get tired.” 

“No, I know. Super soldiers like you and I, we never slow, never falter, that is right.” he nodded sagely. “But I thought maybe your heart, yes? Your soul might be tired. After a night keeping the bad dreams away, even Superman’s soul would be weary.” 

“Sure. Yeah. That’s probably– yeah.” Bucky cleared his throat, then lifted the cup in a cheers. “Thanks, Alexei.”

Bucky’s soul was tired. He’d lived too many years, died and didn’t stay dead too many times, his soul was tired and some days his heart felt sick and navigating yet another version of life where everything was different than it had been only a few years previous was exhausting. He was exhaust–

“Fuck!” Bucky spat a searing hot mouthful of coffee right back out, spraying it all over himself, all over the floor, all over the counter. “Fuck! Alexei! What– what–?!” 

“Is coffee meant for super soldiers!” Alexei protested when the other Dominant swore again and dumped the remaining drink down the sink. “Strong brewed!” 

“That’s not just coffee.” Bucky wheezed as his stomach violently rebelled against the lingering taste, his chest heaving and throat aching as he tried and tried not to vomit. “What the fuck was that?” 

“Well of course there was vodka.” Alexei mused. “And I put in an energy drink, the ones Yelena drinks, the little bottles that promise five hours at a time? Regular caffeine is not enough for the Winter Soldier! You need the extra help!” 

Later, once Bucky was sure the molten temperature coffee-vodka–energy drink concoction wouldn’t burn holes in his esophagus and stomach lining– later, he would laugh about how earnestly Alexei had tried to help. 

For now, he grabbed a fresh cup with no trace of Alexei’s reckless medicinal attempts, filled it to the brim with regular coffee and gulped it back trying to erase the last of it from his tongue. 

But he made sure to, “Thanks anyway.” and offer a watery eyed, perhaps slightly traumatized smile at the well-meaning Dominant. “But uh. I take my coffee just plain. No cream, no sugar. For future reference.” 

“I will remember.” Alexei promised solemnly. “For future reference.” 

“Sure. Yep.” The first cup of coffee went down tough, but the second was better and Bucky let out a deep breath and leaned against the nearest cabinet, his feet crossed at the ankles and shoulders hunched as he sipped his drink. 

“You are good with her.” Alexei refilled his own cup and stood next to Bucky, mirroring the other Dominant’s posture and sipping slow. “With Yelena. With Bob, too. But with my Lena, you are gentle when you do not have to be and when she does not ask. It’s good to see.” 

“I’ve spent enough time being– well.” Bucky’s smile was grim, his eyes dark. “I spent enough time not having a choice in how I acted. It’s nice to have a choice again. You understand how that is.” 

“No. I don’t.” Alexei hmmm’d through another drink. “I do not understand because I was always who I wanted to be. The Red Guardian was not brain washed, not controlled, I was loyal. Unwavering. I loved my country and my job and even when they threw me away to rot in that prison, I was proud to be Red Guardian. Not you, though. You had no choice and now you can choose, so you choose to be gentle.” 

A muscle in the Dominant’s cheek jumped when he clenched his jaw. “I am grateful,” slowly, “I am grateful the Soldier chooses to be gentle with my little girl.” 

Bucky opened his mouth to respond, realized he didn’t know what the hell to say to the oddly emotional compliment, and closed his mouth again. 

“She is not a true submissive anymore, Yelena isn’t.” Alexei said next. Bucky kept his mouth shut. “But she used to be. My Melina is the one who took that from her. Melina’s work. It–” 

He took a drink. Bucky took one too. 

“Both my girls were submissives, Natasha and Yelena.” Alexei’s rough voice warmed with honest affection. “You have never seen two happier, more beautiful little girls. Even though Natasha knew our time as family was work and a mission, she loved it so much. She was so sweet and kind and Yelena was too. They used to play together every day, they had a system of– of whistles, you know? Like words, but a code.”

He pursed his lips and tried to whistle, rusty and hoarse. “They would whistle for each other, they didn’t have to speak to communicate, they were so close to one another. Natasha would hug her here,” he placed his palm to his forehead, “Forehead to forehead and curling Lena’s hair through her fingers. We knew she was submissive, the Red Room did the genetic tests to check, but most children, they are nearly teenagers before the traits are obvious, but not Yelena. Natasha spoiled her and Yelena presented submissive early. She was sweet and so kind, she wanted to serve and I used to hear Tasha,” 

Alexei clicked his tongue trying to chuckle, “I used to hear her scold Lena sometimes, tell her how sometimes serving meant protecting and that’s why they had to practice with the play bow and arrow and the little Nerf gun.” 

“Yelena said after Natasha defected, the Red Room exterminated the submissives.” Bucky ventured, and Alexei nodded, “They wanted to. My Melina, she convinced Dreykov to let her use her behavior program on the strongest girls. Submissives are too empathetic, they feel too much, yes? But if there was no choice, there would be no guilt, no chance for another like Tasha to let her conscience overpower her loyalty. No temptation, no thought beyond obedience, it would be easier on us and easier on the Widows. HYDRA thought the same with you, hm?"

Bucky flinched and Alexei sighed through his nose, “I never knew, not for a long time, I never knew that taking Yelena’s will would take the spark from her eyes. I did not know it would mute her biology to nothing. We were trying to make the perfect soldier, but instead we amputated a little girl, we took her heart away and her soul away and I am sorry for it every day now. Every single day.” 

“How could you give a little girl to the Red Room?” Bucky finally asked what he’d wanted to ask since he’d read Alexei and Yelena’s files, saw the picture of a tiny Yelena dressed in Widow’s black, scanned the notes detailing how their pasts were linked. “She thought you were her real Dad, Alexei. How the hell could you hand her over like that?” 

“I do not know.” Alexei stared into the empty coffee cup as if it held the answers to the awful questions he asked himself in the middle of the worst nights. “I said back then, we all did what we had to, you know? It was my job and my duty and that comforted me in the dark moments. But now..."

His voice trailed off, the sentence left hanging. There was nothing to say, nothing Alexei could offer as explanation, nothing Bucky could muster as comfort. The decades of guilt and wrongs thickened in the air stifling, the question of what next lodged unspoken in the strained breaths, the unimaginable grace of forgiveness too far out of reach beyond the memory of all the Dominant had willingly done for his country, and mired in the consequences of all he’d lost along the way. 

Then, “You are going to talk to Walker.” Alexei framed it as a statement, not a question. “I saw him in the hall. He had a gun.” 

“Yeah.” Bucky dragged a hand over his face. “I know.” 

“What sort of man and Dominant and soldier,” he emphasized, “has demons so mean that he brings a gun to fight nightmares and shadows?

“We both know the answer to that question.” Bucky put his cup in the sink and squared his shoulders readying himself to take on another responsibility towards being the strongest Dominant in their fucked up little family. “But I’m gonna go ask anyway.” 

****

“Why’d you have your gun with you earlier?” Bucky found John in the gym and he shut both the double doors before folding his arms and leveling the other soldier with a look. “In the hall. Why’d you have it?” 

“I heard a scream.” John hefted a hugely heavy cast iron plate onto the barbell of the reinforced weight bench. “Thought there was danger.” 

“Once you realized there wasn’t any danger, why didn’t you stay to help out?” Bucky waited a beat, but when John didn’t even glance his way,  he pressed, “Bob and Yelena were both freaking out, that nightmare Void stuff isn’t easy on anyone. Why didn’t you stay, I could’a used another Dominant in there to keep everyone settled.”

“Not my submissive.” John was blunt, rude, purposefully pointedly not looking at Bucky as he loaded another plate. “Not my problem.”

“Oh, I get it. You’re one of those Dominants.” Bucky nodded like he’d figured something important out, and John finally turned to face him, eyes narrowed and jaw set, “What does that mean? One of those Dominants?” 

“The ones that will protect, but not serve.” Bucky pushed off the doors and moved towards the Captain, posture casual and steps meandering, but blue eyes locked on John as he circled round closer and closer, “You’re the first one to show up with a gun, but can’t be bothered to stick around for the aftercare. You’d break a fella’s neck without hesitating but wouldn’t think to cook for your submissive, or to make sure they get a plate first at dinner.” 

“What if I am?” John rotated following Bucky’s progress across the gym floor so they stayed face to face. “What about it? Is former Winter Soldier former Congressman James ‘Bucky’ Barnes shaming me for not being a service top?” 

Bucky shrugged, “I don’t give a shit if you’re a service top, John. M’just sayin’ it explains alot about you and how you treat Yelena and Bob.” 

“It explains a lot?” John threw his hands up frustrated by the vague observation, prickly and defensive feeling like Bucky was there to say something else. “Like what?!” 

“Like why you’d show up to fight a nightmare and the shadows with a pistol.” Bucky said flatly. “But won’t even let the submissives know you showed up at all, much less stick around to check on them. It’s textbook. You're one of those Dominants. It's fine. Be who you wanna be."

“You don't think it's fine, or you wouldn't be here bugging me about it.” John snatched another plate and jammed it onto the bar bell. “You’re pissy cos I brought my gun to handle a perceived threat the way any trained and responsible soldier would. You’re pissy cos I didn’t help in exactly the way you thought I should. Pissy cos I'm not fawning over Bob and Yelena like you do. Newsflash Bucky, none of that has anything to do with you, so--"

“John.” Bucky stopped on the other side of the weight bench and folded his arms, lifted his chin and stared the other Dominant down eye to eye.  “You sleep on a different floor than I do, a different floor than Yelena does. I get that you’re fast, that serum made you real speedy so I’m not surprised you managed to get down and there fast enough to only be a few steps behind me at Yelena’s door. I’m fucking curious though, how the hell you managed to be a few steps behind me at Yelena’s door with an already loaded gun in your hand.” 

John didn’t answer. 

"I'm not pissy about it." Bucky forged on, “I'm worried about it. Cos before you moved in, you made sure Val okayed the installation of a big ass, top of the line gun safe in your room. Before and after every mission, before and after you go the range, sometimes just because it’s been a few days, you check every single one of your weapons, count out the ammo, make sure they are firing smoothly and every single night– every  single night, you put them all away, lock them all away before you go to bed.”

John didn’t answer. Bucky let his arms drop to his side and asked just once, just quietly, “John, if all your guns are locked up every single night, how did you get outta bed, into your gun safe, load your pistol and get down a floor, down the hall to be right at Yelena’s door all of two damn seconds after I got there?” 

And just once, just quietly, “How'd you get that gun so fast?” 

“That gun.” he flexed his fingers, open and closed, fighting for control. “That gun doesn’t get locked up at night.” 

“Why not?” Bucky knew why. He asked anyway. “Why doesn’t that one get locked up?” 

“Cos it.” John clenched his fists until his nails dug crescents into his palms. “It stays under my pillow. That pistol, my favorite one. Stays under my pillow.” 

“Loaded.” Bucky added and John straightened his shoulders and nodded, “Loaded.” 

“Just in case.” Bucky said softly and John straightened his shoulders, planted his feet and locked his knees and cut his nails into the palm of his hand until the marks bled, so his voice wouldn’t crack and he wouldn’t shake and he wouldn’t break in front of the Dominant when he nodded again, “Just in case.” 

“Shit.” Bucky had already known, but hearing it out loud from John was brutal. Hearing John say it the same way Stevie had said it after Siberia, the same way he'd said it to Sam after Steve was gone and the world was different and he’d been too damn heart sick and soul sick and tired to face another hundred years alone was brutal.

“Shit.” he rubbed his hand over the scruff on his chin. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

“No.” 

Bucky left without another word. John went back to stacking plates on the barbell. The gym was silent, the air was cold, and he was going to work out. He’d lift weights until his arms shook, then he’d go for a run until his arms hurt, then he’d come home–

Not home. The Watchtower was not home. 

Then he’d come back and get something to eat. Maybe he’d call Olivia’s mom and see if they could schedule a video call so he could see his boy. He’d open up the safe in his room and take an inventory, then he’d go to the range and run a few hundred rounds through his service pistol and then he’d–

Clang!

The metallic crash of a heavy plate notching onto the weight bench bar bell beside him made John jump. 

“Alexei made me coffee this morning.” Clang Bucky shoved another plate onto the bar bell, another and another until he’d matched the weight on John’s set up. “Except it wasn’t just coffee, it had vodka and one of those five hour energy drinks mixed in too.” 

“Shit– what?” The reappearance of the Dominant and the unexpectedly absurd description of morning coffee startled a short laugh out of John. “He what?” 

“Yeah, HYDRA couldn’t kill me, but the Red Guardian’s version of coffee almost did.” Bucky eyeballed the two weight benches, then asked, “You need a spotter?” 

“I mean, I’m a super soldier, so…” John was too taken aback to properly scoff or snark or sneer. “I--- No, I got it.”

“Nah, you need a spotter. Come on.” Bucky took up position by the bar and motioned for the other Dominant to get on the bench. “Come on, I’ve got you.”

John thought about it for a minute, for a minute longer and a minute too long, he felt foolish by the time he nodded jerkily and lay back on the bench, arms braced to lift the bar off the catch. 

“Take it easy.” Bucky instructed. “Take it slow. Don’t push it and hurt yourself, I’ll help. I’ve got you.”

“Calm down gym teacher, I’ve lifted weights before.” John exhaled noisily when the full weight of the overloaded bar hit his arms and he could feel the strain clear into his chest and back. “Shit.” 

Breathe, it was heavy but he had it. 

Breathe, it was too much but John was going to handle it. 

Breathe, it hurt and he was shaking and in over his head, but the soldier--Captain--Dominant was in control, he was in control, it was fine, it was fine–

Breathe, the push up was easier, easy, too easy because Bucky closed his left hand around the bar and lifted at the same time and the sudden relief of unexpected help and support shook John right to his core. 

“It’s alright.” Bucky put the bar back on the catch one handed. He didn’t so much as squint with the effort and he didn’t look away from John, meeting the other Dominant’s eyes serious and steady when he promised, “It’s gonna be okay. This all sucks and it sure as hell isn’t easy most days, but we’ll figure it out. I’ll help. I’ve got you.” 

“I don’t need help.” John grabbed for the bar again, but before he took it off the catch, he muttered, “But if I do–” 

Bucky nodded. No words, just permission. No conversation, just acceptance. John slept with a gun under his pillow and he wasn’t ready to sit up all night comforting submissives and he wasn’t calling the Tower home, but Bucky nodded and John gave himself a second to breathe without worrying the weight of the bar, the weight of the night, the weight of his life and decisions and consequences crushing him–

–then nodded back. 

“Thanks, Bucky.” 

*****

Chapter Notes: 

My first draft of this story was fully sub!Bob and sub-leaning Yelena centric with bonus Dom!Bucky because I love him. But the deeper I get into the verse, the more I realize the story has to be about the whole team, and not just the whole team dealing with Bob but the whole team dealing with each other and facing demons and taking steps towards personal growth and ughhhh the more I write the more I love them all so muchhhhh. 

Yelena crashing the Ava/Val meeting just to be bitchy is hilarious. Hashtag girls supporting girls. And I love the differences in Ava and Yelena’s relationship with Bob. Ava and Bob find peace in being normal, Yelena and Bob find peace in embracing their submissive biology. I’m so emotional about the million different ways those two relationships could expand. 

I am obsessed with Alexei. Telling Ava she could be a MILF, lacing Bucky’s coffee– he wants to help but he’s terrible at it and I love him for it. Broke my own heart when he talks about Nat and Yelena and how he was so happy to follow orders and never knew what it cost until it was too late. 

Bucky coming in as a good gentle Dom with the nightmare rescue, we love to see it. Watching him rediscover his Dominant instincts and then adjust to a wildly unstable submissive, a non traditional submissive, and the other Dominants as he takes on the role of Familial Dominant is amazing, I’m having so much fun writing this new version of one of my favorite characters. 

This story keeps bullying me into growing increasingly fond of Walker and much to my dismay (joy) I LOVE the last scene. The dynamic between him and Bucky is so intense and the way Bucky is willing to be quietly physically present so John knows he is mentally/emotionally safe is fantastic. 

Coming Up!: A very Bob and Bucky centric chapter cos Ava and Yelena have already bonded with/gifted the submissive something important to their vibe, and now it’s Bucky’s turn! (what oh what would Bucky gift the submissive as a claim...?)

Chapter Text

Bucky found them in Yelena’s room, the indomitable little blond curled up against her pillows and stuffed animals reading a book, Bob sitting with his feet tucked under her calves, the ever present para-cord tether wrapped around his wrist and wrapped around her wrist keeping them connected.

Bucky hesitated before knocking. He took a breath and straightened his shoulders and hesitated, then knocked once. Knocked twice. He knocked with his left hand so the clunk of heavy fingers against solid wood was direct and loud and enough to bring both Yelena and the submissive to attention. 

“Bucky.” Yelena spoke for both of them. Bob met Bucky’s eyes with a brief smile, moved his wrist enough to tug the cord between himself and Yelena, then went back to his book. 

“What do you want?” Yelena acknowledged the jolt from Bob with a tug of her own. It was communication between them, a silent language all their own. He moved first checking in and Yelena reassured him with an answering pull at the cord, Bob pulled it to ask and she returned the motion as acceptance and maybe even permission. Whatever the bond was between submissive and not-quite-submissive, it had settled and cemented into something wordless and comfortable and for half a second, Bucky felt bad for intruding on something so obviously special.

But. 

“Bob.” the Dominant lifted his chin and waited for Bob to peek at him. “Will you come with me for a while today?” 

“Me?" There it was again, a quick tug on the cord as Bob checked in and a returning pull as Yelena reassured him. “Um. Yes?”

Bucky didn’t respond, not to prod or prompt or coax. An uncertain yes wasn’t a true yes, Bob had answered with a question, he was expecting the Dominant to instruct him in the preferred course of action, but Bucky wasn’t going to do that. He waited patiently watching different emotions flit across Bob’s face as the submissive cycled through doubt and surprise, caution and the barest flicker of hope, then wariness that lit yellow in his eyes for an unsettling beat before Bob ultimately decided with a third pull at the tether, “Yes. Okay. I’ll come with you.” 

“Thank you.” Bucky waited for Bob to untangle from Yelena’s legs and unwrap the cord from his wrist, then once the submissive was standing in front of him twisting Yelena’s ring on his finger and plucking Ava’s hair tie on his wrist, Bucky lowered his voice soft, “Good boy.” 

“Oh.” Bob’s hands dropped to his sides, his lashes fluttering beneath the rumbled approval from the huge soldier. “That’s–” the stiff set to his shoulders gave way and he slumped forward, nearly stumbled instinctively trying to get closer to the warmth in the Dominant’s voice. “Okay, um–” 

“Easy does it.” Bob's reaction was a warning, a red flag, a cause for worry. Every submissive– every well taken care of submissive– would melt sweet when their Dominant praised them, but Bob’s knees had all but given out with the smallest shows of approval and that meant he wasn’t doing as well  as they all thought. It meant he wasn’t doing as well as he was pretending. 

“Right here with me, Bob.” Bucky set a steadying hand at the submissive’s shoulder, then tipped Bob’s chin up so he could make sure the bright blue eyes hadn’t clouded yellow and dangerous and Void-y. “You with me?” 

“Y-yeah. Yep. With you.” From where she sat still curled up on her bed, Yelena frowned at the waver in Bob’s voice, but Bucky shook his head in her direction and tapped Bob’s chin again, “Here, beauty. You right here with me?” 

“Yes.” Bob’s eyes were clear and blue, the tension gone from his frame but his legs steady. “Here with you. But did– did you just call me beauty?” 

“Pretty submissives deserve to be called pretty things.” the Dominant held his chin another moment, staring deep into his eyes until he was relatively satisfied that Bob wasn’t going to collapse if he let go. “Come with me, please.” 

“Yeah. Okay, I’m coming.” Bob turned back to Yelena for one last check in and she flashed him a quick smile. “Be back soon?” 

“See you soon.” Permission. Bob was more than welcome to come back to her rooms once he was done with whatever the Dominant and team leader wanted. “Now go on.” 

Bob went. Bucky made sure to say, “Thank you.” when the submissive made it into the hall and fell into place a half step behind him. “We’re gonna take the long way to the garage. Think you can handle all those stairs?” 

“The garage.” Bob hadn’t even known the Watchtower had a garage. “What uh– what’s in the garage?” 

“My bike.” 

“Your… bike.” 

…what?

Once upon a time– before the original Avengers team had split over the Accords, before Tony Stark had relocated everything to the compound facility upstate, before the Tower had been sold and redesigned half a dozen times before finalizing the sterile, barren design the New Avengers were trying to call home–

Once upon a time before, the garage on the very bottom floor of the Tower had been full of Tony Stark’s flashy car collection, an assortment of limos and town cars for the beautifully terrifying Ms. Potts, any number of random vehicles the team members had been allowed to use whenever they felt like. A tunnel had led underground away from the Tower and opened up somewhere several miles away into the main roads so the occupants could come and go without much notice, there was even a rumour that somewhere beneath or perhaps adjacent to the massive garage was a second storage area full of prototype Iron Man suits that had been discarded for one reason or another, but never fully destroyed. 

Once upon a time before, the garage at the very bottom floor of the Tower had been proof of life in the huge building, proof of occupancy, of friends coming and going, of hobbies and leisure time and joy found in tinkering on classic cars or taking the fancier ones for drives into the mountains or along the coast. 

Now, like so much else about the Watchtower, the garage was desolate. It was cold. Eighty floors down and though neither the super soldier nor the serum-enhanced submissive were sweating after so many sets of stairs, their breath still clouded up in the cavernous space as Bucky pulled the massive doors open and they stepped onto the freezing concrete floor. The sound of the doors sliding along their tracks to cha-chunk lock into place echoed across thousands of vacant square feet, the lights came on row by row click click click cutting through the oppressive dark with wall to wall illumination, and the overwhelming blank of it all made Bob flinch. 

“There’s nothing in here.” Bob didn’t like it. “Isn’t there supposed to be something in here?” He didn’t like it. The room was too big, the concrete too endless, the air too dry and cold and still. The walls stretched forever, there was no paint, no color, no direction or meaning or purpose to the space, it was null and–and Void and it was–

“Settle down.” Bucky set his palm wide at the small of Bob’s back, spread his fingers and dug in enough to snap the submissive out of the wide eyed spiral and stop the tremble starting in Bob’s fingers. “S’alright.” 

“I don’t like it.” 

“I didn’t like it at first either.” Bucky kept his hand at Bob’s back and directed him firmly through the doors and into the garage. “But then I found this office over here, and it feels a lot better in there. Come on.” 

Bob didn’t like it. Every step echoed but the noise was swallowed by the sheer amount of empty, the lack of distinguishing features made their progress into the room seem non-existent, the Dominant’s touch at his back was branding, searing, the only hint of warmth in the frigid space and Bob concentrated on that, on Bucky’s fingers strong through the thin material of his shirt, on the black of Bucky’s boots in his peripherals as he strode forward into the grey abyss.

Bob focused focused focused so he wouldn’t get lost staring at nothing and wouldn't panic wondering if something in the nothing was staring right back. 

“Here.” A door, seemingly out of nowhere. It was metal and gray, nearly invisible in the wall because it hadn’t been painted or framed out or even given a door knob. A numeric pad concealed behind a panel in the wall lit up beeping as Bucky typed in a four digit code and then quite suddenly, they were somewhere. 

“Breathe.” the first time Bucky had walked through the great big nothing of the garage, he’d very nearly had a panic attack. The empty of it had been too surreal, the echo of silence deafening against his ears, it was too much space and too little anything else but then he’d found the door and the numeric lock panel, he’d found the office with it’s comfortingly close walls and lower ceiling, and after a few more adjustments, the office had become a sanctuary. 

Bucky told the submissive, “Breathe.” and didn’t move his hand until Bob breathed in, breathed out, and lost the anxious twitchy tick in his eyelid. “With me?” 

“Yeah. I’m–” Bob breathed. “With you.” 

“C’mon then.” 

The office was less of an office and more of a man cave, not quite living space but nothing like the warehouse sized space on the other side of the inconspicuous door. One wall was full of shelves, bins labeled with various screw and nail sizes, scattered tools and haphazardly organized containers of different liquids, oil and coolant and degreaser and others. A faded floral couch was wedged into a corner, the cushions comfortably sunken with a thickly knitted blanket tossed over the back. A nearby mini fridge had a bulk-buy sized box of snacks on top of it, and a case of water sat next to a garbage can full of empty beer bottles and what looked like a cake box from a Brooklyn bakery. 

An old stereo and stack of CDs shared a small desk alongside maintenance manuals, boxes with shipping labels from various auto parts stores were in different states of open and rummaged through, and parked on a large drop cloth spread out by the far wall–-

Bucky’s bike. 

“Holy shit.” Bob pushed his hair out of his eyes and hurried in for a closer look, whistling under his breath when he got close to the vintage motorcycle. “Where did you get this thing? Isn’t this a–” 

“1942 Harley Davidson, yeah.” Bucky got a bottle of water for himself and one for Bob, then watched with a little smile as the submissive ran reverent fingers over the faded green paint, the white star on the gas tank. “You know anything about bikes?” 

“I used to be really into them, the mechanics of it made sense to me, you know?” Bob traced the spokes on the wheel, the tattered fabric of the attached bag. “How engines work and how to fix them, it was a puzzle and I could solve it when I couldn’t fucking solve anything else. I always wanted to buy one, I always wanted a bike but life and shit got in the way. Buying a motorcycle wasn’t as high on the priority list as buying–” 

He didn’t need to say what he’d been buying instead of saving his money for a motorcycle. “Um. Where did you get this?” 

“You could say…” Bucky twisted his hair into a bun and rolled his sleeves so he wouldn’t get oil and gunk on his shirt. “It was a spontaneous requisition.” 

“A spontaneous requisition.” Too enamored with the bike to realize he’d been rude by not acknowledging the water bottle the Dominant pressed into his hand, too interested and curious to be self conscious about rambling when everyone knew Bucky preferred silence, Bob huffed a laugh and demanded, “How the hell did you spontaneously requisition a vintage motorcycle from World War II? Was it already yours? Or yours back in the day,” he motioned vaguely to the room, towards the sky, to somewhere behind him to reference the time before a young Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes had been turned inside out by Hydra. “Back before?” 

“Wasn’t mine.” Bucky hefted one of the open toolboxes off the shelf and set it on the drop cloth. “I found it the normal place you find shit like this.” 

“The only place to find this would be a collectors garage or the Smithsonian.” Bob joked, but when the Dominant just looked at him, his mouth dropped open, “Did you steal this from the Smithsonian?” 

“Sorta. Kinda.” The spokes on the front wheel were loose, some bent and some disconnected all together. Bucky had been working the last few days on meticulously cleaning, straightening and reconnecting each and every one, and he pulled a new, precisely measured and cut spoke from one of the boxes to fit into the wheel as he admitted, “Okay yeah. I stole it. But I had help.” 

“Someone helped you steal a bike from a museum display.” A normal submissive with a still undefined relationship with a Dominant would have given Bucky space, they maybe would have retreated to the couch with their bottle of water and waited for him to tell the story. Any other day Bob would have stammered and stuttered over his words because the straight on attention from Bucky, the pressure of the clear blue eyes watching him, the sometimes suffocating aura of Dominant hanging so heavy at the broad shoulders was usually enough to make him want to scrunch away small. 

But there in the man cave–office–makeshift garage hidden from the ugly concrete expanse of vacant garage at the very bottom of the uncomfortably un-cozy Watchtower away from prying eyes or extra attention, Bob sat right down on the drop cloth next to Bucky and angled his body so he could listen. He picked up the Dominant’s water bottle and loosened the cap and put it back. He picked up the pack of clean spokes and held it in his lap so he could help if Bucky wanted him to help and asked eager and interested, “Who helped you steal it?!” 

And Bucky paused. Bucky had to pause. The garage-adjacent area had been his quiet spot for weeks now, a place to disappear without actually disappearing, a way to be gone without also feeling lost. He’d been nervous about bringing anyone down to see it but had made the exception for Bob partly out of the recently reappearing Dominant instincts to provide a safe, quiet spot for the resident submissive… and partly because he was lonely in the Tower full of unwilling team members, lonely with Sam upset at him, lonely every goddamn day since waking up and breaking free of Hydra. 

The Dominant was lonely and he’d thought Bob was lonely too. Sure, the invitation to the garage had been mostly for Bob’s sake but oh it made Bucky feel a certain way to have the submissive opening his water and sitting close to listen and grabbing parts so he could be involved and help and be present. 

Felt a certain way towards not as lonely.

Buck had to pause. He took a slow drink of the water the submissive had opened for him, glanced from the box of wheel spokes to the pack Bob was holding on his lap ready and willing to help, then said softly and seriously, “Thank you.” 

Bob lit up with a smile. Bucky went a little tense when he thought Bob’s eyes twitched yellow, but when nothing happened, when the air didn’t get thick and sloggy and the lights didn’t flicker, he smiled back and nodded. 

“Kay, so there’s this older fella at the Smithsonian. Security guard. His name’s Stan but I always call him Mr. Lee cos it doesn’t feel right to call someone that old by his first name.” 

“He can’t possibly be older than you.” Bob pointed out and Bucky snorted at him, “I was raised t’call men that age Mister, so he’s Mr. Lee to me, no matter what his nametag says.” 

Bucky called Stan Mr. Lee the same way Steve had called Stan Mr. Lee. The loyal, dedicated, eccentric old security guard had met Steve back in 2010 when a recently defrosted Captain America had wandered the Smithsonian displays for nostalgia’s sake, grieving for the life he had missed. Bucky had met Mr. Lee four years later after he’d crawled from the river wreckage of the heli-carriers and found himself in the museum staring at a picture of one Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, missing presumed killed in action over seventy years previous.  

Mr. Lee had recognized Steve on sight after decades of attending to and patrolling the Howling Commandos display. He’d recognized Bucky too. Later when both Captain America and the former Winter Soldier came to the museum after hours to sit and talk and remember together, Mr. Lee had made sure they weren’t disturbed, and once Steve was gone, once Sam had taken the shield and once Bucky was left behind alone in a world he didn’t fucking recognize… 

“He told me to take it.” Bucky pinched a bent spoke between his left thumb and index finger and pulled it through ramrod straight. “I was standing there for probably the thousandth time looking at Steve’s old uniform, the replica shield, the obituaries for the boys I’d gone to war with and Mr. Lee came over and told me to just take it. He even unlocked the case for me.” 

“Really?” Bob watched fascinated as another bent spoke straightened out beneath the pressure and strength of the Dominant’s left hand. “What did he do, replace it with another one from the basement storage?” 

“Replaced it with a replica.” Bucky grunted. “There’s only one’a these exact bikes. They kept it in the original condition from when it was brought off the battlefield and retired, all the scrapes and busted stuff and everything. There’s only one of these.” 

“Well, the serial numbers would be different on the bikes, but the 1942 WLA was mass produced and shipped out to troops all across the world.” Bob reveled in the ability to recall the random bits of information he’d learned before life had taken a turn towards needles and substances, but just as quickly as the joy of being clear-headed hit him, it clouded over in a stomach turning jolt of realization. 

“This is Captain America’s bike.” he said slowly. Haltingly. “Steve Rogers’s bike. The one he rode in the war, the model he rides in all the comic books, this is his bike.” 

“Sure is.” Strained, the words came strained from Bucky as he focused on reattaching a replacement spoke. “This is Steve’s bike.” 

“And Mr. Lee gave it to you.” the submissive put a hand to his stomach, to his heart, he grabbed onto the scrunchie at his wrist and turned it tight over his pulse a few times as he studied Bucky’s profile, the new tension to his jaw, the sudden weariness in the corner of his eyes.

“I heard one time.” Quieter. Bob twisted Yelena’s ring around his finger. “I dunno. A rumour. About Captain Rogers being a submissive before the serum.” 

“Yeah.” Bucky nodded shortly. “Mine. He was–” his right hand shook when he reached for the next piece. It had been years and decades, damn near a century and it hadn’t gotten any easier to say out loud. “Steve was my submissive. Before.” 

Before.  

The after went unsaid. No one was sure exactly what had gone into the serum injected in Steve Roger’s veins, no one was exactly sure exactly which part of his DNA it had rewritten to transform the sickly kid from Brooklyn into the All American Prototype for Perfection.

Bucky had always thought Steve was already perfect back when he’d been tiny and scrappy and blushed Bucky called him sweetheart, back when he could settle submissive on his knees by Bucky’s favorite chair for hours...but nobody had asked Bucky what he thought. 

And after Steve got tall, after Azzano, after Bucky fell–

The after went unsaid. But Bob handed the Dominant his water bottle and started to reach out, started to reach out, gathered all his courage and reached out to set his fingertips lightly lightly on Bucky’s knee where the ragged patch of his denim pulled tight against his skin. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Me too.” Bucky held out his hand for another spoke, and squeezed Bob’s fingers when the submissive handed it to him. “Thank you.” 

“You’re wearing his tags.” Quiet, soft, careful. The conversation had shifted, the atmosphere in the cozy space had shifted and Bob lowered his voice, lowered his eyes, automatically to offer Bucky privacy for his thoughts. “Right?” 

“One of these is Steve’s tags.” Usually the silver chain around Bucky’s neck was tucked away beneath his clothes, but there in the workshop it hung out over his chest, three different tags glinting in the light. “I’ve got one of his, one from Sam’s top drawer and one of mine.” 

“Yours.” Bob nudged the water bottle closer again, gratified when Bucky stopped to take a drink. He was helping. “Your old ones?” 

“There were a lot of days I didn’t know who I was, I’d wake up and not know what year it was, what country I was in.” he picked up his wrench to tighten the replaced spokes. “Now a days it feels like I’m trying on lives. Soldier, assassin, congressman, fuckin’ Avenger. The tags help remind me who I really am.” 

“Who’s that?” Bob’s voice caught over a surge of longing for so easy a way to remember who he really was. Tags, were tags all it would take to corral all the scattered pieces of his head into one cohesive sense of being? “Who are you really?” 

“A mouthy kid from the poor side’a the tracks who got drafted into the war and never made it home again.” Bucky sounded exhausted. “So I wear my tags, spend time putting memories back together, and try to stay open to the idea of finding another place to call home.” 

“Here at the Tower?” Bob ventured, and the Dominant’s mouth tipped up into a begrudging smile, “Some days it’s starting to feel like it.” 

The tires on the motorcycle had been worn bald. Tracking down an exact replacement had taken weeks. Bucky set the worn tube aside and reached for the new one, then cleared his throat and said what he’d been meaning to say for weeks.

“I’m sorry for dropping you that day in the kitchen.” Bucky stopped in the middle of reattaching the new tire tube and wiped his hand on his pants so it was clean before he nudged Bob’s chin up so he could see the submissive's eyes when he apologized. “I’m sorry for acting out and setting you off.” 

“The day I–” Bob flushed dull red with the memory of how he’d freaked out, how he’d almost killed everyone. “No, that wasn’t your fault. I was already– Jesus I was already so fucked up, anything could’a set me off, it wasn’t– you don’t have to– it’s–” 

“Bob.” Bucky didn’t let him go. He didn’t let the submissive jerk away from his hold or break eye contact as he mumbled excuses. He held on just tight enough to be commanding and ducked his head, turned and tilted and insisted on maintaining eye contact until Bob was finally looking at him as he repeated, “I’m sorry. As team leader, as a Dominant, as a human being, I’m sorry for setting you off like that. I should’ve been more careful. Should’ve been better.” 

“Why–” Bob swallowed jerkily. Bucky slid his palm around to rest at the base of his neck, tracking the motion with his thumb and stopping over Bob’s pulse so he could count the frantic heartbeats. “Why um–” 

Nobody had ever apologized for freaking him out. 

“I don’t even really remember it.” He finally finished lamely. “I don’t um– when that happens? I can’t even remember what makes it start half the time, it just sorta– sometimes I can be fine and then I’m not, it could be anything, you don’t have to say you’re sorry, it’s–” 

“We all got shit we pretend not to remember.” Bucky didn’t let go, and his heart swooped a little when Bob dropped his head back openly trusting the Dominant to not let him fall. Bob watched him from beneath his lashes, eyes hooded and gaze tinting yellow and fuck Bucky hated how the yellow made his skin crawl, hated how he never knew what was going to make the submissive flicker but he didn’t flinch. Didn’t let go. He held on and didn’t look away and repeated again, “We all got shit we pretend not to remember but that doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. I want you to know I’m sorry for my part in what happened that day and I'm gonna do my best to make sure it doesn't happen again."

“Okay but.” Bob’s hands fell into his lap, arms loose and shoulders dropped as he focused on the rumble of the Dominant’s voice, the strength in Bucky’s hand holding him steady. The room was warm, the acceptance and offered comfort heady enough to be drugging, Bob took a breath and felt like it took a long time to fill his lungs, like it came from his toes and got lost fuzzy somewhere in his body before drifting up his throat so he had enough oxygen to form words in his suddenly cottony  mouth. “B-But you saved me after. So–so–” 

“Bob.” Bucky didn’t let go. Didn’t look away as the glint of yellow in the submissive’s eyes seemed to brighten. Bob was shaky and unsettled, not even the fun bike conversation and open honesty about Steve and apology had stopped the twitchiness, hadn’t eased the weariness, the very second the room got quiet Bob was slipping towards incoherent, clearly the submissive was not okay. “When was the last time you slept?” 

“...I don’t sleep.” 

It had been forty-eight hours since Bob had slept those precious few hours with Yelena then been ripped awake by her screaming. Days before that since he’d had more than an hour or two at most. Months since he’d slept without the aid of something swallowed down or snorted up and injected straight into his veins. Years since he’d slept sober and didn’t wake up at every creak of stairs or click of a door or whisper of a voice. 

“I don’t sleep.” 

“Yelena’s nightmare wasn’t because of you.” the Dominant said then, and Bob’s answering little smile was devastating, “It wasn’t purposefully cos of me, but maybe–” 

“She said it wasn’t your fault.” Words wouldn’t take away whatever responsibility Bob felt towards Yelena’s night terrors and words weren’t enough to take away all the other reasons why Bob didn’t sleep, all the other reasons he didn’t say out loud while he pulled his sleeves down to cover old scars. 

Bucky knew words weren’t enough, but he said it again anyway, “Yelena said it wasn’t your fault,  her nightmare wasn’t because of you, that’s all there is to it.” 

Bob didn’t believe him, but he nodded anyway and after a moment, Bucky nodded too and let go of him. 

“Up on the shelf over there.” Bucky went back to fitting the new tire around the wheel rim. “Grab me that wheel plate. It’s the same color green as the bike, comes in two pieces. Bring them both.” 

“Sure thing.” Having a direction, having something to do was a relief and Bob scrambled to his feet to find the piece, to be good and follow directions. “Anything else?” 

“Come back here and sit by me.” Bucky stated, and from the corner of his eye watched the submissive start nodding in immediate obedience. “I’ll let you know next steps.” 

“Yes–” Bob almost said yes sir. He bit his tongue to stop from blurting it out. “Yes. Okay.” 

“Good job.” Bucky took the pieces, then once Bob was sitting down again cross legged and leaning forward eager to please, “Thank you.” 

There was no clock in the workshop. Bucky had spent too many years of his life losing time, then too many days of the following years obsessing over seconds and minutes and hours slipping away from him, so when he’d hauled shelves and a desk and that second hand couch into the room, he’d purposefully not purchased a clock, not even a small digital one. The stereo was only for CDs, he didn’t listen to the radio that would tell him the time every few minutes, he kept his phone on but face down on the desk so he couldn’t see the display. Unless a member of the team or Sam called and needed him, Bucky was content to sit and work on the motorcycle until he decided he was done for the day. 

He didn’t know how long they sat in front of the partially disassembled bike straightening and re-attaching wheel spokes, rethreading fasteners and sorting washers and bearings and seals, but it was peaceful. 

The submissive sat close enough for his knee to push into Bucky’s thigh and talked quietly about engines, about motorcycles, random tidbits about horsepower and different models, about release dates and changes made to classify the bikes as military issue. He knew so much about it, chuckled self deprecatingly mentioning how he’d cared so much about it before life got super shitty, how he used to read articles about the tech Tony Stark designed for the team and he’d been obsessed with Bruce Banner, the man with a monster who was still a hero and brilliant and had overcome his demons.

He jumped up to get any and every tool or piece Bucky needed and once the Dominant saw Bob’s eyes light up thrilled to obey even the smallest of requests, he made sure to ask again, to make it sound like a command so he could tell Bob over and over good boy, good job, you’re being very good, thank you. 

Bob smiled every single time. Good boy, good job, you’re being very good, thank you. A day with no clocks, with a Dominant who called him beauty and listened to him ramble, a day spent when Bob was clearheaded enough to remember he used to love mechanics and engine work the same way he used to love puzzles and Rubik’s cubes...

Bob smiled every time. All day. Every minute spent in the clockless, insulated safe space the Dominant had carved out of the overwhelming empty of the basement floor of the place none of them were ready to call home. 

Eventually. 

“That’s enough for the day.” Bucky said it as a statement, not a suggestion. He handed the submissive a part to replace on the shelves, then stood to his feet and dusted his hands off. “I’m starving and you are too.” 

“I am…” Bob’s eyebrows raised in brief surprise. “I am hungry.” 

“Your stomach’s been growlin’ for a while now.” A good Dominant would have put a stop to their project the very first time the submissive’s stomach gurgled. But Bob had been smiling and talking and budged in close and Bucky thought maybe a good Dominant would let their submissive sit a little longer enjoying themselves too. “Put that away, I’ll clean this up and then we’ll get some food.” 

Bob was visibly disappointed by the decision to end the quiet hours together and Bucky flexed his fingers a few times debating whether or not to say something, to acknowledge how it had been a good day for him too and to maybe offer another day, a different day. Was this sort of thing better scheduled with as hectic as their lives could be, or would it be easier to just offer and allow the submissive the chance to decline…?

Shit. This had all been easier back when he’d known Steve inside and out and every which way, back when Bucky didn’t have to second guess his Dominant instincts after decades of brutality. 

“Hey c’mere right here.” Bob turned from the shelf and Bucky set a hand on his shoulder, holding tight and squeezing once, twice trying to find the right words. “I want you to–” 

“Yes.” Bob dropped to his knees immediately, almost instantly. He might have knelt or maybe his legs just gave out but either way he dropped and hit the floor, bruised his knee caps on the cold concrete and closed his eyes not from the pain but because the relief and reward of kneeling brought tears to his eyes and he had to blink blink blink them away. 

“Yeah, no, I got it. I want–” he scrambled to do it right, to set his knees wide and clasp his hands obediently and drop his head so he was looking at the floor, not up at the Dominant, not challenging or trying to assert himself, he was being good, he was being good, he was being good. 

“Whoa hey, what are you doin’ right now?” 

Oh no no no he wasn’t being good. Bob froze when Bucky’s deep voice pitched towards incredulous. This wasn’t… good?

“Bob.” Bucky started to crouch in front of him and Bob shoved back, shoved away. He jumped to his feet and backpedaled, both hands held up in front of him and shoulders hunched as he apologized, “Sorry. Sorry, I thought– I mean– I dunno. I thought– you said you wanted and I didn’t– sorry Bucky, sorry s-sorry—” 

“Stop.” the command came loud, whip cord sharp and shutting Bob up mid sentence, mid step, mid apology. 

“Stop.” Gentler, that time. Bucky kept his right hand up peacefully, then held his left hand out palm up and metal fingers curled as he moved slowly, cautiously towards the stuttering submissive. “You okay? You okay to c’mere?” 

“I didn’t mean to.” Twist twist twist Bob twisted the ring on his ringer, the hair ties on his wrist. He scratched at his hands, at his knuckles, at the bend of his elbow hidden beneath his long sleeves. “I thought you wanted.” he chewed nervously at a fingernail, shredding it ragged between his teeth until it pulled too far and hurt. “You said– and I thought– because today we’ve been–sorry, it–” 

“Bob.” All the pieces fell into place all at once just then. The way Bob was hyper affected by Dominants too far in his space, how he fell apart at seemingly the smallest issue, how he stumbled beneath touches and went mute beneath too much attention. 

Yes it was trauma, yes it was everything awful about OXE labs and with the serum, yes it was decades worth of abuse both self inflicted and otherwise, the lack of sleep, the upset and uncertainty of life in the Watchtower, the everything about daily life that ripped ragged at their psyches and souls. 

Yes, all of that. 

But also, “Bob.” Bucky kept his voice quiet, his hand out, his words calm once he finally saw what he’d been too goddamn distracted to see before. “...when was the last time you went down?” 

Submissive. A few hours spent in the presence of a strong Dom, a few hours of casual physical affection and easily earned words of affirmation and the submissive had practically collapsed trying to get to his knees. He hadn’t slept, he wasn’t eating right, he wasn’t coping properly, but beyond that, Bob obviously hadn’t been brought down to settled in weeks. In months. Maybe possibly in years.

Bucky’s stomach churned with a nauseating mix of guilt and anger, protectiveness and helplessness, but he kept his voice quiet and his hand out and asked far calmer than he felt, “Can you tell me? When was the last time you went down?” 

After a breath and a silent mournful curse that he even had to clarify such a thing, Bucky cleared his throat and added, “Without anything extra in your system to get you there. When was the last time you were down and settled in a real scene?” 

“Oh, I don’t. I don’t um.” Bob pulled his long sleeves over his hands, curled his fingers into a fist. “I don’t do that.” 

“You don’t do that.” Bucky thought his ribs might have cracked the way his heart hurt so bad just then. “Not ever?” 

“I dunno.” Ava had cut his hair so it didn’t fall into his eyes anymore but Bob still ducked his head like it did, still hunched his shoulders and angled halfway away shielding himself from the Dominant’s disbelief. “Guess not. My Dad was a Dominant and the way he was, it– growing up around him just fucked–” he made a motion to his temple. “I never figured out how to be with a Dom the right way and then you know, the black outs. The bad days. It all got worse as I got older and I didn’t deal with it real good so.” 

So. 

“I dunno if I’ve ever been down without anything extra," the emphasis was loud in the little room. “helping me get there. Couple times, maybe. Feel like maybe I remember a couple times when it was nice and– and easy but it didn’t last. It never lasted. I always went dark. And.” 

The and didn’t need clarified. Didn’t need expanded on. A couple times maybe Bob had been down and settled with a Dom, but in those early unstable days the dark had hovered too close to his temples and the Void had always been there behind his eyelids and it never lasted. 

He didn’t need to explain. He knew the Dominant knew. 

“I’ve gotten close.” Bob spoke up again when Bucky didn’t, filling the silence so he wouldn’t have to stand there and watch the Dominant watching him like– like–

Fuck Bucky watched him like he was sorry for Bob and angry for Bob and maybe ready to go to war for Bob. Bucky’s whole face crumpled in like he was grieving that Bob knew so many bad things so intimately well, and the submissive thought– he thought he’d never had a Dominant look at him like he was worth grieving. 

“I’ve gotten close.” he said again, head tilted and brows drawn as he tried to decipher Bucky’s expression. “The um– the day in the kitchen when you brought me back from Voiding. When Yelena stays with me for a long time. When Ava did my hair. I got close. But not all the way. Not,” swallow. “The right way.” 

Silence. Bob hated the sound of it. How loud it was. How it clamped at his throat and boxed in at his ears and turned the air to soup his lungs weren’t strong enough to breathe. 

Then, “Do you wanna do that?” There were better ways to ask, more appropriate ways to broach the topic, more traditionally formal ways for a Dominant to suggest a scene with a submissive but hell Bucky was outta practice with all that sorta thing and Bob was miles away from being a traditional submissive, so Bucky scratched his fingers through the scruff at his jaw and offered bluntly honest from the very bottom of his heart, “You wanna be on your knees for me?” 

“I wouldn’t.” Bob finally looked at him, eyes watery and fingernail bleeding and face gone pale and drawn. “Hate it.” 

“That’s not a yes or no answer.” The Dominant needed a yes or no answer. Bob’s behavior and twitchiness and volatility could easily be chalked up to any number of things they knew to be true about his past, but the compounding issue behind it all was Bob’s biology so before Bucky could help, he needed a real answer. 

“I can’t do anything unless you–,” he started, but the submissive cut in blurting, “Yes. Please. I don’t– just tell me what to do. Tell me how to– what do I need to do so you’ll let me kneel? I want to but I don’t know how to be good like that, I’ve never– please. What can I–” 

“Do you trust me?” The Dominant took a step forward, left hand out, palm up and fingers curled waiting. “Right here, look at me right here. Do you trust me?” 

“I trust you.” Bob pushed his sleeves away from his wrist and moved to meet Bucky in the middle of the room, set his fingertips in the center of Bucky’s palm, then exhaled all in a rush and jolted forward to clasp the Dominant’s hand. “I– yeah. Yes. I trust you.”

“Thank you.” Bucky caught Bob’s chin in his other hand and nudged him up until the submissive had to blink blink blink and meet his eyes. “You’re bein’ real good for me right now.” 

“You’ll um. You’ll–” Bob swayed on his feet, compromised with nothing more than a promise of trust between them. “You’ll take care of me?” 

“I’m a little outta practice with this sorta thing, but I’m gonna do my best.” Bucky tightened his grasp at Bob’s fingers when he felt the submissive start to go limp. “You keep breathing and I’ll take care of the rest.” 

“I can do that.” Bob’s eyes fell closed. “Yeah, I can– okay. I can do that.” 

Breathe.

*****

They stayed in the office. The workspace. The little garage. The sanctuary and safe space Bucky had created in the bowls of the Watchtower and now was willing to share. 

“You’re gonna stay right here for me.” Bucky put the submissive on the couch. He didn’t point or motion or gesture. With a firmly worded direction and a firmly clasped hand at Bob’s wrist, he led Bob to the couch, to the correct seat, to the correct spot so the submissive could lean back into the comfortable cushions and also prop up against the supportive arm rest. There was no room for interpretation in his command, no ifs or ands or buts, nothing Bob had to worry about misunderstanding or stress about doing incorrectly, no. 

“Right here.” Bucky put the submissive on the couch. 

“That’s very good, thank you.” He nodded his head when Bob sat down and leaned back and rested supported at the arm of the couch just like he’d been told. 

“Eyes on me.” Bucky waited until Bob looked up at him. “Breathe.” 

All Bob had to do was sit on the couch, keep his eyes on the Dominant, and breathe. 

He could do that. 

Bucky made it so easy to follow the simple directions, Bob didn’t even have to think about it. Nothing conscious. Nothing deliberate. He sat and the couch was comfy, worn in some places and sagging in others and that didn’t make sense, that didn’t make sense because everything in the Watchtower was new and stiff and designer but the couch upholstery was faded floral and the springs groaned beneath Bob’s weight and maybe Bucky had got it from a thrift store and that was interesting, it was interesting to imagine the Winter Soldier, James Buchanan Barnes, ultra Dominant ultra intimidating strolling into a Value Village and picking out a secondhand couch. 

But Bob didn’t have to think about it. Didn’t want to think about it. He sat and it was comfy, sat cos he was obeying, sat and kept his eyes on the Dominant and breathed. 

Bucky moved around the workshop easily. Comfortably. Bob twisted his fingers in Ava’s hair tie and watched the Dominant gather the tools one by one and put them away, rachets and sockets and screwdrivers, the thing he’d used to reattach the straightened spokes, the air pressure gauge for the tires. They plinked into the toolbox, rattled onto the shelf, clunked heavy on the desk and anywhere else in the Watchtower the noise would have echoed, would have reverberated, would have click clack clanged harsh against Bob’s ears but there in the hidden away workshop, the noise was just enough to keep Bob focused. Bucky placed each piece down deliberately, timed the click clack clang of the clean up to some internal metronome and first Bob realized the staccato rhythm matched every few beats with the rise and fall of Bucky’s breathing…

…Then Bob realized he’d subconsciously instinctively changed his own breathing to match the Dominant, to match the noise, to match the purposeful rhythm to their time together that Bucky had so easily set. 

All Bob had to do was sit and watch and breathe.

He could do that.

“Eyes on me.” Bob’s eyes were on him. Bucky said it only to give the submissive something to latch on to. A simple command. A low effort instruction. It was a task Bob could complete without having to try, which meant the relief and satisfaction the submissive got from obeying would come quick and the praise the Dominant fully intended to give out would linger warm. 

“Right here.” Bucky said and Bob nodded, blinked, focused in on Bucky’s face and Bucky’s movements and Bucky made a point of smiling, of audibly humming in approval until Bob sat up straighter on the couch and lifted his chin and smiled right back. 

“That’s very good, thank you.” Order, obedience, reward. The Dominant watched Bob puff up with pride at a task completed, then watched Bob sway a little, sag a little, fall back a little into the couch because the praise made him tremble. 

Sometimes– before– way back when– Steve had dropped like his strings had been cut if Bucky layered on the praise too heavy and too long. If the Dominant sat and talked at the gorgeous little blonde saying all the things Steve was too goddamn stubborn to believe about himself, that he was good and beautiful, sweet and perfect, obedient and anything and everything Bucky could have ever wanted even when he was bratty, especially when he challenged his Dom– those times Steve staggered back into the nearest chair when his legs collapsed. Those times Steve fell to his knees like he needed to be kneeling the way he needed to be breathing. 

Those times Bucky’s heart had nearly stopped stunned at the beauty of Steve’s submission and his balance had faltered overwhelmed by the responsibility of being a good Dominant. 

With Bob there on the couch swaying almost shaking, his blue eyes tinting yellow as his consciousness hovered on the brink of under, his gaze locked on Bucky trusting and waiting and obeying– well hell, Bucky had to brace his hand on the nearest shelf to hold himself steady when the reality of being responsible for a submissive like Bob hit him hard. 

He could have backed down. Could have grabbed his phone and texted Yelena to come help. Bob would have understood, everyone would have understood. Nobody would blame Bucky, former congressman, former Winter Soldier, former prisoner of war, former fucking popsicle only ever thawed out for Hydra’s use– nobody would blame him for backing down from a submissive and situation like this. 

But. 

“Water.” Bucky unscrewed the top from a fresh bottle of water and replaced it with a straw. “I’m going to turn the heat up so you’re warm. Blanket here, you’re gonna kneel here, and I will sit here.” 

The water went on the side table within easy reach, an extra blanket folded once, twice, then set down at the foot of the couch. “Music, not white noise. We’re gonna sit and listen for a while.” 

There were no clocks in the room, but Bucky checked the time on his phone so he could set a limit on their scene, then turned on one of his favorite playlists, the songs all musically similar, the lyrics sang low enough to fuzz out into background noise instead of running round their heads as a distraction. 

“C’mere right here.” No one would have blamed Bucky for backing down from his first scene with a submissive in over eighty years, but the Dominant set his jaw and gave his heart only a moment to miss Steve, then snapped his fingers and pointed at the blanket and ordered, “Kneel.” 

Bob went to his knees willingly. Beautifully. Bucky’s stomach swooped in anticipation and appreciation when the submissive slid from the couch and onto the blanket to kneel in perfect posture, his knees spread and shoulders relaxed, body open and hands resting palm up on his thighs. He kept his eyes on Bucky, breathed when the Dominant did and waited…

“You’re a beautiful submissive.” Bucky said it before he thought it, the words honest and his next inhale ragged. There hadn’t been anyone for him after Steve, there had only been Hydra and cold and pain and waking up over and over in different decades he didn’t understand. A submissive willingly on their knees, openly trusting him to take care of him, not flinching from his hand or cringing from his voice or balking from the bluntly delivered orders was beautiful in a miracle laden second chances sorta way and the Dominant felt unsteady and overwhelmed all over again. 

“A beautiful submissive.” he said again, and when Bob’s yellow circled eyes fell shut and his mouth tilted up in a slow, sleepy smile, Bucky moved to sit on the couch. He took the same spot, same cushion, same seat Bob had and set his booted feet wide so his knee wedged against Bob’s shoulder, grounding the submissive with a line of strength and heat at his side. 

“Findin’ quiet together is real important.” Bucky lowered his voice and leaned forward so the words stayed hushed between himself and Bob. “But you talkin’ to me is important too. I haven’t done this in a long time and I’m willin’ to learn what you need, but for that to happen you’ll hafta talk to me.” 

Tap tap tap. Three light taps at his boot. Bucky didn’t have to look down to know the submissive was asking for permission to speak, Steve had always done the same thing. It was almost eerie how Bob hadn’t had a single decent moment with a Dominant in his entire life, had most likely never had a proper scene or even been settled the right way but he still gravitated towards traditional dynamics and posture the way submissive’s had been taught to do back before.

…later, it would occur to the Dominant that maybe Bob had been so far in his head while Voided that he saw what Bucky remembered, what Bucky appreciated and was unconsciously or maybe purposefully emulating it. 

…later, Bucky would be stunned for about the hundredth time that so unconventional a submissive was willing to be so good for him at the same time Bucky was trying to be good for Bob. 

“Go on, beauty.” Bob didn’t need to ask permission to speak, he could have interrupted Bucky at any time and the Dominant would have allowed it partly for the sake of ensuring their very first scene went smoothly, and partly cos the consequences of ignoring Bob’s needs could very literally be fatal. 

“I don’t.” Bob’s fingers twitched, curled as if he wanted to fuss with Yelena’s ring or Ava’s hair tie. “Don’t want to talk.” 

“Bob–” Bucky tried, but Bob shook his head, “No, I– I want you to do it. Just help me. I’ll be good and I’ll listen but I don’t want to talk. I trust you. I trust you. Please just–” 

“Here.” Bucky made the decision in an instant, was moving before the idea even fully registered. He stripped off his dog tags and picked up the submissive’s hands to loop the chain around Bob’s wrists, then tucked the tags into Bob’s palm and carefully closed his fingers over the cool metal. 

“Hold these.” Bucky squeezed Bob’s hands. “If you let go of these, we’ll stop. I’ll bring you back up to present and aware, or if you let go before you’re all the way down, we’ll stop and try somethin’ else. You hold on until you don’t wanna hold them anymore. This way you don’t have to talk, but I don’t have to worry about doing something wrong.” 

Bob held tight to the dog tags and wondered wondered at a Dominant who was good enough to even tolerate him and his mess but still worried about doing something wrong. Bucky was the first Dominant in a long string of attempted moments with Dominants who treated Bob like he was worth it and worthwhile– how could he still be worried about doing something wrong?

“I’m learning too.” Bucky answered the question before Bob could verbalize it, then set his fingertips lightly lightly at Bob’s cheek and promised. “You hold onto those for me and I’ll hold onto all this,” a vague motion to the room, “for you and we’ll find some quiet together, okay?” 

Bob nodded wordlessly and Bucky nodded too, then sat back on the couch and took a deep breath–

Bob moved. Not much, but enough to be noticed and enough to make the Dominant pause. Bob shuffled and shifted and turned on the folded blankets until he was more or less facing Bucky, kneeling inside the spread of Bucky’s legs and close enough to tilt his head and rest his cheek on Bucky’s thigh. 

And oh. 

“Oh.” Bucky swallowed, swallowed, then set his left hand atop Bob’s head, slid his fingers into the submissive’s hair and tightened his grip just enough to give Bob some pressure. “How’s that? Good right there?” 

Bob didn’t answer, but his hold on the dog tags didn’t loosen and the contented sigh he gave sounded like it came from his soul. 

“Yeah, we’re good right here.” The Dominant breathed and the submissive breathed and the timer on Bucky’s phone counted down from an hour giving them plenty of time to rest and settle and center themselves in the quiet. Bucky clocked the change in weight at his knee when the tension left Bob’s frame and the submissive went fully pliant there on his knees. He saw the perma-wrinkle between Bob’s brows smooth out once the music covered the last of Bob’s conscious thoughts and left his mind empty. 

Bucky couldn’t hear Bob’s heartbeat but he watched the thrum of the submissive’s pulse in his throat slow slow slow and a few minutes later, it wasn’t so much a click as it was a nudge, not so much a snap but more of a shift as the very air in the room seemed to change once the submissive slipped under gone and the Dominant felt the release, the relief, the settling right down in his core. 

“There you are.” Bucky closed his eyes and let himself sink into the quiet right alongside his submissive. “There we are. I’ve got you, I’ve got you.” 

Breathe.

*****

The atmosphere in the Watchtower that night was different. 

“Val’s a Dominant, isn’t she?” Ava sat cross legged on the couch in the common area wearing only her undersuit, no hoodie, no extra thick socks or long skirt over the skin tight material. Her hair was down, the barest hints of white visible closest to her scalp and she glared at the cards in her hand, then at the cards laying on the sofa table as she prodded, “I went snooping through all the publicly available files on her and there isn’t anything on paper about her biology. No blood tests, no hospital records, nothing.” 

“Okay and what did you find when you went snooping through the non publicly available files?” Yelena wasn’t wearing layers either. She sat cozy and comfortable on a recliner dragged close to the sofa table in an oversized shirt she’d taken from Alexie’s closet and a wildly printed, wildly fuzzy pair of pajama shorts hiked high on her thighs as she leaned far over to peek at Ava’s cards, then leaned the other way to see Bob’s cards as well. “Because I didn’t find anything when I went looking. Val doesn’t seem to want anyone to know her biological determination and that is weird, yes? It’s weird.” 

“She doesn’t want anyone to know so they can’t use her biology against her.” Bob had three hair ties twisted around his wrist, Yelena’s ring on his finger and the ever present para-cord wrapped around his forearm and looped at Yelena’s wrist so every time he took a card from the deck or lay a card down, he could feel the tether tighten. He was calm and collected, smiling easy and talking more and both Yelena and Ava were affected by the visible, physical change in the submissive, disarmed and at ease in a way neither had been in a long time despite their general lack of compatible biology. 

“A woman submissive in politics would be laughed out of the room.” Ava picked up on Bob’s train of thought immediately. “And a woman Dominant would be labeled a bitch by all the men she intimidates. If she presents neutral, then the only thing people see is her.” 

“Whatever she is.” Bob started to reach for a few coins from his pile to add to the betting pot, frowned and checked his cards, then changed his mind. “She’s dangerous.” 

“That goes without saying.” Ava clicked her tongue in dismay at her cards, then put two down and picked another two up from the deck. “And as much as it pains me to admit Lena was right,” she rolled her eyes at Yelena. “I definitely don’t like when she’s here. The thing you said about meeting her alone? You were right. I don’t like it and I don’t like her taking over our space like she owns it.” 

“She does own it.” Yelena pointed out, then yanked the tether to get Bob’s attention and prompted, “Those are good cards, Bob. Time to bet.” 

“Well, I don’t like that she owns it.” Ava countered with a huffy sort of noise. “And for what it’s worth, I don’t like that you’re helping Bob, either. That’s cheating. Bob has to learn to play poker the way everyone else does– by repeatedly losing all their money until  they figure their shit out.” 

“Oh, I know how to play poker.” Bob assured her, but Ava scoffed, “You dealt us three cards each and I had to remind you we were playing five card. You haven’t bet once on your own, you’ve either folded every hand or matched my bet and lost the hand anyway and your poker face is so terrible, you actually mouth the numbers as you sort your cards.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m bad at poker!" the submissive tried to protest but Ava laughed over him, “Bob, yes it does! This is categorically the most boring card game I’ve ever played because you are awful at it!” 

“Leave him alone.” Yelena kicked out a tiny foot to knock Ava in the knee. “He is smiling and being sweet and having fun. Don’t pick on him just because he’s terrible at something.” 

“You coddle him, it’s ridiculous and infantilizing.” Ava rebuked with a retaliatory kick aimed at Yelena’s leg, and Yelena kicked her right back with a sharply snapped, “You think I should be bullying him for not understanding a card game?!!” 

“It’s fine.” Bob defused the fuss between the women with a quick tug on the tether and a nudge of his toes at Ava’s foot. “It’s fine if you think I’m boring and bad at poker, this game could always be worse.” 

“Worse.” Ava cocked an unimpressed eyebrow at him. “How could this game be going worse?” 

“We could be playing for real money instead of just coins.” Bob decided, and that time even Yelena scoffed, “Bob, if you were playing for real money instead of only coins, Ava would have every dollar in all your accounts. I am not trying to be mean, but you really are losing in a terrible way.” 

“Maybe.” the submissive allowed with a little smile. “But then I’d ask to play another game,” he arranged his cards, studied the cards on the table, then rearranged his cards again. “And since I’ve spent this game learning that Ava takes a drink whenever she has good cards, sniffs twice when she needs to exchange cards for better odds, shifts her weight left before raising the bet on a good hand and shifts her weight right before raising the bet on a bad hand, I’d be able to call her bluff every time.” 

“Wait.” Ava blinked. “What?” 

“Not to mention.” Bob pushed his small pile of coins into the middle of the table, “I know you don’t have a single face card in your hand, the highest you could have is a pair of nines and even if you discard and pull two more, they wouldn’t be higher than a ten. I have a pair of Kings ,which means if I’d actually been playing instead of just counting the cards and clocking your tells?” 

He lay his cards out in a triumphant spread. “I would have cleaned you out.” 

Yelena’s jaw dropped at the same time Ava shrieked out, “Mother fucker, how did you–?!” and Bob burst into laughter at their shocked reactions. 

“Bob, tell me the truth.” Yelena snatched Ava’s cards and everything left in the deck and rifled through them checking for any face cards and anything higher than a ten. “Are you a secret genius behind those ugly hoodies and fluffy hair?” 

“I dunno if I’m a genius.” Bob’s smile stretched bigger, crinkling at his cheeks and the corner of his eyes. “But now that my head’s feeling better, I’m remembering a few things, sure.” 

“Like counting cards and hustling innocent people at cards?” Ava cried and Bob laughed all over again, bright and delighted and loud enough to catch Bucky’s attention as the Dominant crossed the far end of the common area on his way to the kitchen. 

Bucky grinned when he heard the commotion, grinned wider when Bob caught him watching and lifted a hand to wave in his direction. Bucky waved back and continued on his way, but both Yelena and Ava’s eyes narrowed at the attention shared between Dominant and submissive and as soon as Bucky ducked through the kitchen door, Yelena pulled the tether and demanded, “What was that?” 

“What was what?” Bob collected the cards to shuffle, but Ava warned him off with a quick, “No no, now that I know you were being sneaky, we aren’t playing again. But seriously, what was that? The smile and wave thing between you and Bucky right there.” 

“Normal people smile at each other.” Bob countered, but and both girls promptly argued, “None of us are normal, Bob!” 

“No, I guess we aren’t.” It was the first time that being declared not normal felt more like bonding and less like bullying. Bob secretly loved it. “But–” 

“Bucky took him somewhere today.” Yelena supplied suspiciously, “Where did you go? You were gone for hours and now you are smiling and laughing and being sweet. What happened?” 

“We just spent some time together–” 

“--his eyes are gold!” Ava pointed at him triumphantly. “His eyes are gold. Something good happened. Honestly, Bob. You have the worst poker face.” 

They laughed together again and when the noise carried into the kitchen, Bucky couldn’t help smiling over his shoulder in the direction of the living room before turning back to the wholly unexpected sight of Walker cooking what looked like an entire meal over the stove. 

“Hey.” Bucky propped up against the counter and folded his arms, tone neutral but eyes sharp taking in all the different pans, the seasonings, the assortment of lettuce and vegetables waiting to be shredded for a big salad. “What are you doin’?” 

“What does it look like I’m doing?” the oven beeped pre heated and John put a casserole dish with some sort of meat and finely sliced potatoes on the top rack, shut the door and set the timer then wiped his hands and went right back to stirring gravy without so much as sparing the other Dominant a glance. “I’m cooking dinner.” 

“Sure, sure.” Bucky inspected a bottle of pickled beets curiously. “But since when do you cook?” 

“I love to cook.” The gravy needed to simmer low and thicken up. The salad needed shredded and assembled. The crusty sourdough bread would need sliced and buttered and lightly toasted in the broiler. John mentally reviewed the dishes, methodically jotted down the expected remaining cook times so everything would be done at the same time, took a sip of water and took a minute to wash his hands and braced himself steady, steadied himself controlled so he could face Bucky and confess, “I used to cook for Olivia. You said I was the type of Dominant to protect but not serve, and maybe that’s– maybe I–” 

He cleared his throat. Bucky’s face fell. 

“Walker, listen. About what I said–” 

“No. It’s.” John picked up the whisk again. Took a deep breath. “I am– I was the sort of Dominant to bring my submissive a plate first and made sure she ate first. I cooked for Olivia every weekend when I was home. I learned to make beef stroganoff the way she liked and one time I spent a whole day with her mom learning how to bake the apple crumble she ate for her birthday every year. Once a month, we did new recipes together.” 

John swallowed hard. Bucky moved around him to wash his hands, then set up in front of all the various lettuces and started chopping. It wasn’t as familiar as the gym and muttering confessions between weight sets, but if the Dominant was going to finally open up and say something worthwhile, Bucky was sure as hell gonna listen. 

“Sometimes.” John closed his eyes briefly and wondered where the fuck all his control had gone. His hands were shaking, voice unsteady, it was only cooking, it was only a kitchen, it was only talking about old moments and old memories, why the hell couldn’t he breathe? 

“Sometimes.” he tried again. “Livvie would go all floaty on me before dinner was even finished. We spent time together like that and it–she always said it made her feel the most spoiled, more than presents or anything. So that’s what we did. What I did. Every weekend right up until.” 

Until.

Getting the shield had changed things. Being named Captain America had changed things. The most amazing, most intense, most life changing and eventually worst few weeks of John’s life had culminated in losing Lamar and then it had been– then everything just went–

“I’m sorry about Lamar.” Bucky said quietly, and John answered just as quietly, “Yeah. Me too.”

“M’sorry about Olivia and your boy, too.” The Dominant added, and John’s voice cracked, his control bent, his heart stuttered painful in his chest when he repeated weary and heart sick and sore, “...yeah. Me too.” 

Chop chop chop. Bucky scooped a handful of lettuce off the board and into the closest bowl. Chop chop chop. He added a pile of romaine. Chop chop chop. Carrots sliced paper thin with painstaking precision. Schhhtpop! The can of beets opened and drained and set aside. The Dominant worked at putting the big salad together while John whisked the gravy and temperature checked the chicken baking alongside the potatoes in the oven and tossed an array of fresh vegetables into a skillet with some oil and seasonings and set them to sauteing. 

And silence. The kitchen fell into the same sort of silence the rest of the Watchtower always seemed to fall into. Thick and oppressive and full of words no one was planning to say. Soupy and loud and ringing in their ears. John moved from pan to pan checking and double checking and ensuring the dinner went off without a hitch, timing everything to the exact second, adjusting the burners by millimeters to keep a tight control over the heat. 

Control control control, some days it was all John had left in the world and most days he felt like he didn’t even have that. 

“Bob is your submissive.” The silence broke with a question that was more of a statement, a statement that was more of an accusation, an accusation that didn’t really sound accusatory but instead sounded… melancholy. “Right?” 

“I think of him as my submissive, yeah.” Bucky took the unexpected subject change in stride. He acknowledged yes with a jerk of his head, then gnawed the inside of his cheek a second deciding whether or not to meet the other Dominant’s unexpected honesty with some honesty of his own. 

“I don’t think of him as mine the way Steve was mine, though.” Purple cabbage was boldly bright against the varying shades of green lettuce. The sharply contrasted colors fuzzed together when Bucky’s eyes went a little blurry. Talking about Steve never got easier, not with Sam, not with the counselor, not with Bob that morning and not right then. “It’s uh– it’s different.” 

“Steve.” John temperature checked the chicken for the third time in less than ten minutes, but he paused before whisking the gravy when a jolt of realization made his stomach turn, “Rogers? Steve Rogers?” 

And belatedly, “Shit. He was your submissive.” 

“Yeah.” Bucky grabbed a large tomato for slicing. “Before.” 

“Before.” The other Dominant echoed. “You mean before–” 

Bucky started slicing the tomato.

John didn’t know what else to say to that particular bit of lore. 

“It’s not like that with Bob.” Bucky continued. “How I feel responsible for him. It’s not like how it was with Steve. With Bob it’s more like family. Familial responsibilities and family ties between us. Same sorta thing with Yelena and really, same sorta thing for everyone in the Tower, even your pain in the ass self. I’m team leader, the strongest Dominant– it’s all my responsibility.” 

“Huh.” The gravy was done but the vegetables weren’t and the chicken needed at least another two minutes. John wanted to scream in frustration about the mistakes and lack of precision and timing on his part, but instead he moved the gravy off the burner and turned the heat up on the vegetables and gritted out from between clenched teeth, “I can’t imagine ever having another submissive at all, much less– much less loving them the way I love Olivia.” 

“I get it.” Bucky got it. He’d had years to mourn what he’d lost with Steve and it still cut his throat like gravel to talk about it. He got it. 

“But you know.” John kept cooking. Kept talking. “Family. You know. That’s–” 

Bucky knew, but he stayed quiet and gave the Dominant the time and space to get it all out. 

“Family.” the timer dinged. The chicken was done. John pulled it out and set it on the stove, counted the portions one for each of them and extra portions for the super soldiers. “Family could be nice.” 

“Yep.” Bucky finished the salad and hefted the huge bowl that would feed all of them with enough leftovers for Ava to eat tomorrow for lunch. John had thought of everything for this particular act of service. “Could be nice.” 

The atmosphere was different that night. The Dominants brought dinner out to the common area together, and when Yelena sent Bucky a questioning look, he only shrugged and motioned for her to get plates from the kitchen. Ava cleared the cards from the low sofa table and Bob grabbed a few pillows for the floor so there was room for everyone to sit close to the dishes. 

Alexei came from his room excited to eat and more excited to spy the deck of cards and pile of coins and loudly announce that he was the best poker player in the Tower, he’d spent years as top player in the prison, he could bluff anyone, even an empath. Ava challenged him to blackjack immediately, Bucky shut it down quick because the food was gonna get cold if they didn’t start eating, and when John announced that he’d never played poker because he considered gambling to be a moral failing, Yelena thumbed her nose and booed at him until he tossed a pillow in her direction to shut her up. 

Bob sat by Bucky’s feet, his shoulders pressed against Yelena’s folded legs, with his plate full and eyes wide listening to the noise and conversation. Alexie upended half a bottle of hot sauce on his dish while Ava gleefully ate three different helpings of the huge salad and Bucky made sure to catch John’s eye and raise his eyebrows impressed by just how good the chicken and potatoes and gravy was. Yelena shared her bread with Bob, poker game related threats and promises were tossed around and since no one was layered up, armored up, defensive behind their clothes and suits and stiff posture, the laughter came easy and the conversation flowed smooth and for a while, at least one room in the too silent, too vacant, too big Watchtower was cozy and loud and fun. 

It was… nice. Familiar even to a group of people who’d never truly known what a family meal was supposed to feel like, comfortable enough that when Ava grabbed the cards again, everyone was willing to play a few hands of poker so long as Bob didn’t count cards and Yelena didn’t joke about stabbing anyone who took her money, relaxing enough that went everyone headed off to bed closer to midnight, John put his gun on the nightstand instead of under his pillow. 

It was…nice. 

Was nice the right word for how big it all felt?

*****

“Lena.” Bucky knocked at Yelena’s door before he went to bed that night. She and Bob had gone to bed together and though Bucky wanted to talk to the submissive, he called for Yelena out of respect for her space and her room. “Lena, it’s Bucky.” 

“I know it is you.” Yelena opened the door with her toothbrush in her hand, a foam of toothpaste around her mouth as she motioned him in. “Only one person here knocks with metal fingers.” 

“Touche.” Bucky stopped just inside Yelena’s door, not wanting to disturb the cozy nighttime aura in the room. “Bob. Do you have a minute to talk with me?” 

“Uh, yeah.” Bob scooted to the edge of Yelena’s bed and stood up, pulling the sleeves of his loose pajamas over his hands as he approached the big Dominant. “In here? Or outside?” 

“Here’s fine.” Most Dominants preferred meaningful moments with their submissive to be private, old fashioned Dominants like Bucky had been raised to hoard the intimate moments with their submissives close to their heart as sacred, and under normal circumstances, Bucky would have adhered to those traditions. 

But nothing about anything had been even close to approaching normal circumstances for a very long time, Bob wasn’t a normal submissive and Bucky was eighty years past being a normal Dominant so right there in the open room with Yelena watching curiously from the bathroom as she brushed her teeth, Bucky lifted a chain with a single dog tag from around his neck and held it out to the submissive. 

“Um.” Bob glanced from Bucky’s serious expression to the dog tag, to where Yelena had gone stock still with her toothbrush still in her mouth, and back to the dog tags. “Bucky. What–?”  

“This is my dog tag.” Bucky shook it lightly. “Mine, with my name on it. You wear something from Ava around your wrist and you keep Yelena’s ring on your finger and I thought you’d like–” 

The Dominant stopped. Shook his head. “I want you to have something from me to wear as well.” he corrected after a beat. “It would be real special to me if you would wear it.” 

“But your name.” Bob didn’t reach for the chain yet, his fingers trembling as he flexed them down at his side. “You said you wear the tags to remember who you are, you said sometimes it’s hard to keep track and the tags remind you.” 

“I did say that.” Bucky pulled his shirt collar aside so Bob could see the other chain that still held his other dog tag as well as the ones from Sam and Steve. “And I’ve got mine. I know who I am and this,” he shook the offered necklace again, “Will help remind you who you are.” 

“Who I am.” Bob echoed faintly, and Bucky met Yelena’s eyes just briefly over Bob’s shoulder before nodding, “And where you are. Safe. Home. Taken care of like every submissive deserves.” 

“Oh.” Bob didn’t reach to take the tag but his eyes shocked gold and the big Dominant startled, stumbled back a step before he caught himself and tried to sound calm apologizing, “Hold on, beauty. If this isn’t what you–” 

“Bucky, no. No.” Yelena hurried from the bathroom to grab Bucky’s arm. “No, look. Bob’s eyes aren’t yellow, look.” 

“Not yellow.” Bucky took a step closer, took a step closer, then ducked in close and lifted Bob’s chin so he could see, “...Gold?” 

“His eyes turn gold when he’s happy.” Yelena whispered hushed and Bucky mouthed an incredulous curse, “I kept thinking your eyes were going yellow all day today, kept worryin’ I was doin’ something wrong for you but no, they were turning gold cos you were just real happy?” 

“I didn’t know my eyes did that until Lena told me.” Bob was careful not to move his chin so the Dominant wouldn’t let go. “But yeah. I was happy all day today.” 

“You’re a beautiful submissive.” Bucky let go only so he could loop the chain over Bob’s neck and drop the tag down over the submissive’s heart. “Wear this for me.” 

“I will.” Bob closed his hand around the tag. “I will.” 

“It’s like he peed on you.” Yelena’s hand was very gentle squeezing Bucky’s arm but her words were sharply playful, her nose scrunched teasing as she poked Bob in the side. “The Winter Soldier marked his territory on you!” 

“Okay well, let’s not say it like that.” Bucky rolled his eyes and Yelena laughed at him, “No! I just mean, no one will bother him now. Not with the Winter Soldier’s name around his neck as Dominant. Bob, you are safe from everything now.” 

“Safe.” Bob clutched the tag tight. “Thank you, Bucky.” 

The Dominant only smiled, “Good night, you two.” 

The door closed behind him and Yelena turned around to hold out her hand for Bob, “Come on. Bring your sparkly new jewelry and get in bed.” 

“M’coming.” Bob followed dutifully, turning off the lamps as he went and crawling into his designated spot on the bed. Yelena tucked in close to him, legs tangled and fingers clasped and just before she closed her eyes, Bob promised quietly, “No nightmares tonight.” 

“No nightmares tonight.” she promised back, and left a quick kiss on his forehead. “Good night, Bob.” 

“Night, Lena.” the submissive’s gaze lit gold all over again for a few brilliant seconds before he closed his eyes too, and drifted off to blessedly dreamless sleep. 

*****

Chapter Notes:

Writing this chapter as a platonic scene between Dom/sub was an interesting challenge for me but omggg I am obsessed with how it turned out. Bob being so quick to go under with nothing more than a little attention and affection and how Bucky is stunned basically speechless at having someone trust him to keep them safe? Love them so much. The whole garage scene/drop scene got way longer than I intended but I couldn't let it go!

The poker game scene is so fun. I love seeing Ava and Yelena bonding always but especially with Bob who is so settled and fun. I watched the movie (a thousand times) and got stuck on the scene where Bob is kind of turning a Rubik's cube around in his hands and immediately was like, maybe he really liked puzzles, maybe he was mechanically inclined but then life/trauma/the bad days got so bad he lost that part of himself and is only now re discovring it as he heals.

John opening up about cooking for Olivia ughhh. I did not go into this AU expecting to love him so much but I think I do??

Coming Up: John and Bob finally get a moment!