Clang!
I felt the woosh of a bullet pass by me, my hair standing on end.
I didn't hear his gun—silencer?
I looked down, checking for blood. No pain. I wasn't hit.
Turning, I saw the bullet hole in the cabinet.
What the hell?
Spinning back around, I saw him—the shooter. A man, face hidden, body covered. He was crouched defensively, a small shield strapped to his forearm. It curved at the wrist and came to a subtle point at his hand. Looked secure—tactical.
I don't think he shot me. Technically, I think I shot at myself.
Still, I raised the gun again. It was all I had.
"Who the hell are you?"
"I know you don't know me." He slowly lowered the shield from his face. Under the dark hood, his features started to emerge.
"You're... Captain America."
"Yes; Are you Elizabeth?"
I hesitated. Bucky knew him once—the old him. He trusted him. But who knows if he still does?
"No. I'm Emelia." My gun stayed trained on him.
"You don't trust me. Buck said you wouldn't." He raised his hands beside his head, calm and slow, as if surrendering. "I'm not here to hurt you."
"What do you want?"
I'd basically admitted to being who he was looking for, but I didn't think this man was a killer. Not based on what Bucky told me.
"Bucky asked me to come find you. To make sure you were okay. And to give you something."
It felt like a hummingbird was stuck in my chest—fluttering wings beating against my ribs. My heart was racing.
"What is it?" I asked, eyes scanning him. I didn't see anything.
"It's in my pocket. Don't shoot me again, okay?" He moved slowly, reaching into the back pocket of his jeans and pulling out a small letter envelope. He extended it toward me.
"What is that?"
"A letter. That's all I know." He offered it carefully. "I'm not going to hurt you. I promise."
I lowered the gun, snatching the letter from his hand, retreating back a few steps.
He relaxed his arms and walked casually over to the window, glancing out. "You chose a beautiful place to hide," he said, parting the curtain to admire the city view.
"Yeah… How did you find me?" I asked, placing the gun on the counter.
"You took Bucky's knife with you, right?"
My eyes shot toward the bed, to the hidden spot where I'd tucked it—between the frame and mattress.
"Bucky said he put a tracker in the handle. Gave me the information to find it. He figured if you found it, you'd take it with you."
Damn that man. He left it there on purpose—right where he knew I'd go when packing my bag.
A grin crept across my face at the thought.
"Took me longer than I'd hoped to find you," Steve added. "It wasn't exactly deadlocked on your location."
His back stayed to me, shifting to lean against the wall, gaze still out the window—giving me space, like he knew what this letter meant.
I turned my attention back to the envelope. My name in Bucky's handwriting.
And just from that... I felt everything.
Anger: How could you not come for me?
Relief: He's okay.
Sadness, confusion: Why Steve, and not you?
Joy: You remember me.
My hands trembled as I opened it.
Dear Elizabeth,
I'm sorry I couldn't come myself to get you. A lot has happened in the week I've been gone—
(He's been gone so much longer... it really did take Steve a while to find me.)
—but first, know that you can trust Steve. I trust him. He'll keep you safe.
By now, you've probably seen the news about me. I didn't kill anyone.
But I did lose myself for a bit. Everything Hydra put inside me is still there. I can't trust my own mind. I hurt people. I can't let that happen again.
King T'Challa agreed to help me—he offered as a form of reparation for trying to kill me. I'm going back under. While the Wakandans work to get it all out of me.
I wish I could have seen you one last time. But if I had, I would've never been able to do this.
I made you a promise—and I intend to keep it. I said I'd protect you. The King has agreed to grant you asylum in Wakanda in exchange for work. Nothing illegal. Honest work.
No one can hurt you here. Wakanda is one of the most secure, hidden nations in the world. You won't have to hide anymore. You can be free.
Steve will bring you, if you decide to come.
I hope you do. I want your face to be the first thing I see when I wake up. I want to know you're safe, happy... free.
I love you, Elizabeth.
Save me a dance, okay?
I'll see you soon.
Tears streamed down my cheeks, soaking into the paper. He's alive. He's safe.
A small chuckle escaped me. That man loves to dance. He never said it outright, but I knew. Every time we went out, he'd linger by street performers—swaying gently in rhythm.
I asked him once if he wanted to dance. I had music on my laptop.
A spark of joy lit his eyes… then vanished, extinguished by a glance at his arm.
"I need two hands to dance. Maybe someday," he'd said, changing the subject.
I looked up. Steve was still watching the window. I wiped my tears.
"So, Wakanda, huh?" I said, voice still shaky.
He turned to face me. "He's safe. And they'll help him."
"How do we get there?"
"There's a quinjet outside the city. We can leave now—be there in a few hours."
I looked back down at the letter.
Was this the right choice?
I guess it didn't matter. All I was doing here was hiding. Hiding somewhere else wasn't so different.
But I'd be closer to Bucky. I could see him. That peaceful sleeping face I loved so much.
A soft smile spread across my lips. I traced my finger over the words he wrote.
I love you, Elizabeth.
I'd never known what love really was.
Maybe this is it.
The yearning to be near someone—even in silence.
Their scent, the most calming thing in the world.
The sound of their heartbeat, a melody I want to dance to for the rest of my life.
Someone you trust with your whole being, even through just a few words on a letter. Features you memorize over time—so well that, even in a crowd, I'd know his shoulders, the tint of his hair.
If this is love… then I love you, Bucky Barnes.
"Let's go," I said, meeting Steve's eyes. "Take me to him."
I packed what I needed—clothes, the knife, his notebook, my puzzle book, the red nail polish. I grabbed a bit of cash. Just the essentials.
I left the gun behind.
I trusted Steve.
I destroyed the fake ID. I didn't need it anymore.
We left that night, under the cover of darkness. In the quiet of the streets, the only sound I heard was the pounding of my own heart—echoing down every alley we passed.
I'm coming, Bucky. I'll be there soon.