Translation of Tatsuya Endo's Interview with Katsumaru: (You can read the original here X)
Katsumaru: My wife and child are both big fans of "Spy x Family", so they were both excited for me to be able to meet you today. Why did you choose the theme "Spy" in the first place?
Endo: I didn't have any particular desire to draw a spy story or something like that, but I had always liked military kinds of things and was interested in war related things, so when I combined those aspects with the theme of "lies", it naturally ended up as a spy story. However, I haven't seen many spy movies, and for movies like "007", I've only seen one or two of them.
Katsumaru: What? Really? The information about spies that appears in the story, even for someone like me who's been an avid follower of the genre, gives an impression that it's very well thought out. How on earth did you acquire such knowledge?
Endo: Most of it is from books. And then some of it is from documentary films and the likes. There was an old movie called "Shiri" (This is a 1999 Korean film), it's about the battle between North Korean Special Operation Forces and South Korean Intelligence Agency. I liked that very much.
Katsumaru: The setting, in which the husband, Loid, is a spy and the wife, Yor, is an assassin, reminded me of the movie "Mr & Mrs Smith"
Endo: When the series was just starting, I see that title being mentioned a lot in the comments, but to be honest I've never seen it before....(Laughs). I didn't have much time to prepare for the serialization, and since it's a comedy, I thought I didn't have to be that particular about the settings as I drew it. I incorporated the knowledge I had gained from books, but since it's still a manga, I kept the "No way, that's impossible" aspects to it.
Katsumaru: I think it has a really good balance between realistic depiction and entertainment. Spies are part of everyday life, and some of them even established a "fake family" as in "SPY X FAMILY". In reality, there are cases where married couples had been living together without realizing that their husbands are spies.
Endo: That balance is what I pay the most attention to. I guess you can say it's a process of determining the "minimum level of reality" in each scene.
Katsumaru: How concerned are you about the difference between "reality and manga", Endo-sensei?
Endo: This one is difficult. It's a case by case basis, but in manga, there are many parts where I can just go "let's fake the reality at this part for the time being". When you're working alone, you don't have time to do research about this or that fact. However, in anime, you have to create much more detailed settings, so there isn't much room to put on tricks. When the anime team would ask me "What would happen in this part?" I would often reply with "I'm sorry but I haven't thought about it yet...." (Laughs).
Katsumaru: Have you not strictly defined the scene or time period the story is set in yet?
Endo: I had the image of the period setting somewhere between the 1960s and 1970s. I'm trying to explore what I can do with the technologies in this era thinking "This technology might be possible". I also have softened the reality of things, such as the political form. The cold war between the East and West is also part of the motif, but if you just tell the readers that "it's a conflict of ideologies" , it won't make sense to them. So, I put it into a form that is easy to understand as a manga, there are also some parts that I, myself don't know about after all. Similarly, in the real world, for example, spies probably have very few horizontal connections, right? Like for security reasons. However, as a manga, in order to develop the story, it was necessary for me to depict conversations between spies. All the more that this is a comedy story, so it wouldn't work without conversation. It's difficult to find the right flavor between the two.
Katsumaru: It's pretty unique that you came up with the name "Dalc" which is similar to the name of the currency "Mark" (It's Deutsche Mark which is no longer in use since 2002) used in Germany.
Endo: It's actually a combination of "Mark" and "Dollar". I often use names of places and buildings that actually exist in real life. However, I have a pretty bad memory, so I often ask myself later "Where did I get the name of this place again?" (Laughs)
Katsumaru: Is there any expert historical research or supervision of intelligence agencies involved in this?
Endo: I basically think about all the detailed settings all by myself.
Katsumaru: Since the real-life aspects are well-constructed, I thought an expert in international politics was involved in supervising this.
Endo: There are also some readers who read too deep into the historical situation, but I didn't actually put much thought into the details in writing the story. This is just a fictional country called "Westalis and Ostania" after all.
Katsumaru: In "Spy x Family", there are some Russian-speaking names such as "Anya" and "Yuri" that appears, but spies in that country uses more analog method. For example, "flash contact", in which documents are handed over to another person as they pass each other, or a "drop dead", in which documents are hidden in an agreed-upon location and later picked up by a colleague. There is also a method for communication. Although this method is considered extremely inefficient, it is sometimes considered to be highly secure because it prevents interception of communications.
Endo: So there's still that kind of analogs even now huh? Now that technology has developed and everything is digitalized, I certainly think it's much safer now. In other countries, there are organization such as M16 (United Kingdom Secret Intelligence Service) and CIA (US Central Intelligence Agency), Japan also has organizations with such characteristics.
Katsumaru: The "Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department Public Security Bureau (Public Safety)", where I worked, is the counterintelligence arm of Japan. In "VIVANT" (It's a 2023 Japanese Drama), which I supervised, Hiroshi Abe and Ryo Ryusei are playing roles with these type of characters. We have obtained as collaborators people who have a lot of information and people who are in position to meet various people such as reporter.
The only problem was that we didn't have enough people. The CIA has a large number of subordinates under it's station chief, and a large budget. When I was temporary transfered to a Japanese embassy overseas, I was alone, my budget was limited, and I was also reponsible for issuing passports, so there is no doubt that working at an intelligence agency overseas with better environment had allowed me to concentrate more on my mission.
Endo: Do you hire locals overseas?
Katsumaru: There are times when we ask locals to work with us by paying them a reward. Or, we can ask them to connect us with people who has information. The Public Safety is very good at finding and training people who can bring good quality information and can do good work.
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Strange Job Swap
“Oh it's beautiful!” exclaimed the customer waiting in line. I handed her a nicely decorated cake for her son's birthday.
“It's no big deal. Just doing my job.” I acted like it was no big deal, but really I was gladly accepting the praise!
“This is perfect though. Have you considered being an artist?” she replied with a slightly more serious look.
“Yes I have actually…but the job market is tough.”
“Aww you'll get there eventually! Don't give up! Well anyway, you made my day so for that, thank you!”
“You're welcome.” I was a bit sad though, because she was right; I SHOULD be an artist. I recently earned my bachelor's degree, but yet I was still stuck in this dumb hick town, working as a grocery store cake decorator. I may have been good at what I do but I wouldn't want to do it forever!
At least my co-workers are pretty decent, especially my fellow bakery buddies, Chase, Amber, and Domingo. Amber was cool and didn't take anyone’s shit, which is why I loved seeing her because I didn't have much confidence when dealing with unruly customers. Domingo was very sweet, and even though he didn't speak very good English, he's hella good at his job. And Chase, well…he's hot! His bleach blond hair somehow always caught the light at a perfect angle. I don't know how I even kept my focus when he's working next to me.
At the end of my shift, I clocked out, and decided to buy a couple groceries like I normally did. I scanned everything at the self-checkout, put the receipt into one of my bags, and started walking towards the exit. The store had 2 exits on either side of the front, but I only took one because the other had a certain asshole at it - Richard.
The greeter position was removed a long time ago, but they bring it back for employees that have been injured or are too old, so that they can keep their jobs. Now this old guy named Richard had surgery a long time ago and became the greeter while he recovered. But yet he never went back to his old position.
He always stays at one specific entrance, and the reason I hated him so much was because he's racist. Part of his job has him checking customers’ receipts to make sure they didn't steal anything, which seems pretty unnecessary when you have those anti-theft machines at the exit. But I've seen him. The only people he checks the receipts for are minorities. It's not a subtle thing either; he’s super friendly, greeting and saying goodbye to all the white people passing but when it comes to someone who's not, his demeanor suddenly changes.
My luck must've run out today, because I found the sliding glass doors at my usual exit were broken and currently being fixed. The area was blocked off by a barricade, and I knew there was only one other way to leave. I headed over to the other exit, and there Richard was, waving goodbye to a white mother and her toddler. He was wearing his typical gray uniform shirt that was clearly too small, because you could see his gut and nipples trying to poke through. Gross.
I moved through the aisle, trying not to draw attention to myself, but it was all for nothing because right on cue, Richard walked up to me and gave a great big (and so obviously fake) smile.
“Hello sir, can I see your receipt please?”
“Richard, it's me, Marco. I work in the bakery. You've seen me a million times before.” His smile suddenly faded, and his eyes narrowed, as if every ounce of happiness in his body just vanished.
“That's no excuse. How do I know you aren't stealing?”
“Because I want to keep my job?”
“Don't backtalk to me. You seem awfully suspicious today.” He then reached for his walkie talkie and started to page a manager. I really was able to walk out with no repercussions because I truly didn't steal anything, but there's a chance he would page the Asset Protection lady, who was almost as awful.
“Hello? Is anyone there?” Nobody answered him. Thank god.
“Am I free to go now?” I said happily. The anger returned to his face.
“Just don't let me catch you stealing again. Or there'll be consequences!”
“Yeah…suuuure.” I walked out the door, into my car, and back home. I can't believe some people honestly. I was so sick of this town! I needed to move away real soon.
When I got home my dog, Kenny, was excited to greet me as usual so I let him outside to do his business while I got into my running clothes, prepping for a run. As I let Kenny back in, I went to check the mail and found a weird envelope in between the bills and spam. I opened it up and it was a letter addressed “to whom it may concern”. I threw it away without a second thought but Kenny suddenly ran up to the trash can, took it out, and placed it back in front of me.
“You really want me to read this, don't you boy?” I said cheerily as I patted him on the head.
“To whom it may concern,
Are you struggling with your current job? Unhappy with the life you have? Well I have just the cure for that! We are now selling happiness inducing coins for only $1 with free shipping! One flip of this coin will guarantee you will soon get a job you love! Get it fast before it all runs out! Just follow the link on the back of this letter if you are interested.” - VV
I wondered who or what VV was supposed to be, and $1 with free shipping sounds too good to be true, so this seemed like a scam. I also wasn't a superstitious person, but for some reason my gut was telling me that this was a good idea. Kenny seemed to think so too as he was wagging his tail under the table and I read. I followed the link listed on the back of the page, typing in each random letter and number combination into my phone and ordered the lucky coin. I went to bed that night feeling a little more hopeful.
The next day at work was just like the previous day, only the door was fixed so I didn't have to walk out the exit Richard was standing at. We did make eye contact though, and he shot me a dirty look. I got home to find that the package had already arrived, which was awfully quick. I cut open the box and inside was a golden coin with a picture of a brain on it. The other side had a picture of a person with their arms spread wide. It was a really weird design. I read the instructions.
How to use:
Flip the coin
No matter what side it lands on, you'll be guaranteed happiness in your new job!
It sounded so lame, but I followed the instructions anyway. I flipped the coin the air, and slapped it on the back of my other hand. Tails. Nothing happened. I guess it was just $1 so it wasn't a huge waste of my time. It's pretty cool looking so maybe I could display it on my dresser or something.
I felt especially tired the rest of the night, but I was fine because I had a day off tomorrow. I was gonna go to the park with Kenny, as well as do a few errands. I was just glad I had time away from my job.
The next morning my alarm went off for some reason. I must've accidently set it by mistake. The weirder thing was Kenny wasn't there. Normally at the sound of my alarm, he comes running from wherever he was sleeping, and jumps on the bed to get me up. But there was nothing. When I started to truly wake up and become more alert, I realized that my alarm was set to the default or something. Instead of my usual calming piano, it was an annoying ringing. I opened my eyes to see what was happening. My vision was blurry, but I could tell I wasn't in my own room.
What happened? Did someone kidnap me? The alarm clock wasn't even on a phone, but rather it was an actual alarm clock. I had no idea what was going on, but I reached over to turn it off so I could think. I'm certain I must've been kidnapped somehow but why? And why would they set an alarm clock? I couldn't see but felt around the nightstand for a clue and found a pair of glasses. When I tried them on, just like that, my vision returned to normal. I had perfect vision before! Why did I suddenly need glasses? I reached up to scratch my head and found my hairline was incredibly receded. I was balding! I looked down with my now clear vision to find an even worse fact. I was chubby!
I sat up and stared at the foreign gut and two large man tits, as well as numerous graying chest hairs. I ran my hands through the hair, pinching them to make sure they were real. I pinched the tits as well, and felt sensations I've never felt before as they wobbled when I let go. I ran my hands through my face and felt a mustache and double chin, and began feeling nauseous at the thought of what I actually looked like. I didn't see a mirror in the room so I walked out the door trying to find a bathroom. The fat jiggled all around as I ran.
I got to the bathroom and nearly puked on the spot when I saw who I was. Richard. Oh god no. Of all people, I had to look like this racist bastard? I stared at myself and grazed my hands along my face. Suddenly I felt angry and started pinching it instead, as if I was doing the same thing to the real Richard, but denial didn't help; that was my face and it hurt. I touched his mustache and pinched it, as if it would come off.
Just then I heard the doorbell ring. I didn't want to interact with anybody looking like this but until I figured out how to fix it, I knew I had to pretend to be Richard. I answered the door to find the mailman.
“Howdy Rich! Woah uh.” He stared at my chest. I forgot I was still shirtless. Having this much fat hanging from my body was almost like answering the door naked. “I see you've lost some weight!” he said, obviously lying.
“Oh uh, thanks.” I replied, trying to imitate Richard’s voice, which was pretty easy considering I've mocked him before.
“Well anyway, not much today; just a letter.” He handed me a letter with a purple stamp on it.
“Well uh see you tomorrow!” The mailman went on his way and I closed the door. I opened the letter and found a note similar to the lucky coin advertisement.
To whom it may concern,
Good morning! I trust that your lucky coin worked well? Welcome to your new life! As promised, you now have a job that you love. Unhappy with the results? Just flip the coin once again, and make sure it lands on what it landed on before! If not, however, your fate is sealed. Best Wishes! - VV, Venefica Viola
Shit. They're not lying though. Richard did love his job. And since I was in his body, I now had that job! But who is this Venefica Viola? It sounded like Latin somehow. I walked back to the bedroom to find Richard’s phone. Luckily he didn't have any lock screen pin so I could easily get in. I searched for a translator, dodging the random pop up ads that were everywhere on his phone and looked up Venefica Viola.
Violet Witch. So magic is involved somehow. I needed to get my coin back so I could undo this! It must still be at my own house. Shit! I just realized why the alarm clock went off. Richard worked today! He had perfect attendance and never uses his PTO, so not going in was gonna look suspicious. I glanced at the clock and realized I only had 20 minutes.
Even though I'd love to see Richard be humiliated by going to work in his underwear, I decided that it wasn't worth attracting attention so I looked through his clothes to put on a work uniform. I found a pair of boxers and accidently flashed myself when I completely forgot I didn't have my own dick either. It was all wrinkly, but honestly a lot bigger than I thought. No. I was not about to get horny over Richard's dick! I found what he normally wore to work and put the rest on. I found tucking the shirt was more difficult than usual, as I had to pull it over my belly.
I guess I could make this work…for now. I hated to admit it, but Richard wasn't all that bad looking. It was his personality and habits that made him so repulsive, but now that I was in control of him, he didn't look all that bad. Maybe I could even turn things around for now and do something nice for the people I know he hates. I grabbed the car keys on the nearby table, and drove to work.
I walked in the store, put Richard's nametag on, and clocked in. I nearly started walking to the bakery area but stopped myself. I guess I'm really going to have to be a greeter for a day. This feels humiliating. I made my way to the front entrance and just stood there, waiting for customers to enter or exit.
Soon enough customers began arriving and I tried my best to act like Richard, though one customer asked if I was all right because I guess I overdid it. I didn't ask any customers to show their receipts though, because I might as well take advantage of being a greeter. I noticed Domingo at the checkout and when he bagged up his groceries, he approached me first instead of the door. He hastily grabbed his receipt and started showing it to me. I wasn't about to let this happen.
“No no it's ok. You don't have to show me the receipt anymore.”
“No?” He looked shocked.
“Checking receipts is stupid anyway. I don't need to do it anymore.”
“Really? I can go?”
“Yep! Have a good day.” It was unnerving seeing him so scared at the sight of me, but he smiled like normally did as he put the receipt back in the bag and walked out.
As I moved towards the break room to take my break, I noticed someone who looked awfully familiar walk through the door. It was…me! I mean Richard. It must've been; if I was in his body, he must've been in mine. It became more obvious by the way he was walking, taking big steps as if he was used to having his gut swinging around…like mine was now. God I hated this. I had to talk to him to sort things out. He smirked as I approached.
“Hey!”
“Oh it's you. I mean me. I mean,” he paused for a second and rounded his mouth into an even bigger smile, which looked uncanny with my face. “The old me.”
“What do you mean ‘the old you’”?
“Well seeing as I'm much younger now, while you're much older, I think the term is appropriate.”
“Well yeah, but not for long. I'm going to switch us back.”
“Oh no you're not! I may have preferred being white, but I’m enjoying youth again! Oh, and don't worry. I saw that coin thing and that letter this morning, and I made sure it would never see the light of day again. You got that…Richard?”
He called me that in the same mocking tone that I always use to call him. I can't believe this!
“Y-you can't do this! I had a future!”
“That's my future now old man. You know maybe I could be a model with these looks. Maybe make one of those, what do you kids call it? OnlyFans?”
God no, I'm an artist, not a pornstar. He can't do this!
“The greeter is a real fun job, Richard. Enjoy it. You're hired!”
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Love is a Choice (chapter four)
Main Navigation || Bucky Barnes Masterlist
“Love is a Choice” Masterlist
Pairing — Bucky Barnes x Agent f!Reader
Series Summary — In your experience, relationships only bring drama and heartbreak, and you want absolutely none of it. That is, until an act of sheer recklessness brings Bucky Barnes back into your life.
Warnings — Just more angst, more flashbacks to Reader’s time with the KGB/Hydra, oh, and did I forget angst? There’s a shit ton of that, if it wasn’t clear.
Love is a Choice
Chapter Four
It’s said that as long as you could still feel the cold, it meant you would live yet another day.
So, when you first saw him, you thought he was the grim reaper.
Standing in a darkened corner of your cell, his silhouette was apparent even in the shadows. You almost breathed a sigh of relief, despite the pain, thinking that the sweet respite of death had finally come to claim you. As you laid there on your side, momentarily abandoned in your cell, still sore and bleeding, all you could feel was warmth.
Maybe he would make your death quick and painless, you thought. When he stepped into the light, he moved so slowly and quietly, you couldn’t even hear his heavy boots on the frozen concrete. He couldn’t have been human, you thought. There was simply no way.
The dim moonlight illuminated the reaper’s face, revealing to you long shoulder-length brown hair and bright blue eyes, ones that looked impossibly sad. Almost like he had seen too many things that he could never quite say, especially not from behind the mask that covered the rest of his face.
Regardless, it was like you could hear them.
Your eyes watered, despite yourself, because you think he can hear them too, echoing in waves straight out of your weary heart. It had been a very difficult life, indeed, but you thought it was a worthy death. Natasha’s secrets, the very little that you knew, would die with you. Your sister would be free. Now, it was time for a long and peaceful rest. Didn’t you at least deserve that much?
But he always stood there, unmoving and silent, as if simply waiting for you to die. You didn’t mind; it was so much better than dying alone, after all.
And it seemed like even Death had a heart, because one day, and you don’t know when it started, his cold indifference melted away into something you hadn’t seen in a while. The last time you saw it, you found them in the emerald green eyes of Natasha Romanoff.
Understanding. Regret. Maybe even compassion.
While your captors tried to pull your most precious secrets out of you, the reaper would avert his gaze, his shoulders stiff, his one good hand balling up into a fist at his side. His nails bit into the palms of his hands, drawing blood of his own, droplets of red drip, drip, dripping onto the concrete.
And whenever you weren’t being watched, you were being held with a pair of conflicted hands that seemed to sew you back together at the seams. Your lungs would deflate slowly, the air you’d been holding hostage released in a quivering sigh. It would disperse into the room, mingling with the faint scent of gunmetal and leather that clung onto your only companion like an old war medal—a constant reminder of battles fought, of lives irreparably altered.
The stifling cloak of isolation would lift, unravelling thread by painstaking thread as you allowed yourself to acknowledge the simple truth reflected in the stranger’s gaze: you were not alone in your suffering.
A silent communion began to form, its foundation built on the remnants of shattered lives and unspeakable pain, daring to be pieced together once more. Your eyes would meet and there was, despite yourselves, a glimmer there, shining through the dampness of unshed tears—a flicker of hope that danced like a fragile flame.
His palm against yours became an anchor in the cold stillness, his touch a whisper of solidarity that spoke volumes more than words ever could.
But you knew better than anyone what cruelty Hydra and the KGB were capable of, and you realized with each passing moon, that this man was just like you. He was just as helpless, wanting desperately to break the cycle of despair, but unaware as to how or whether he even could.
It was enough, however, to know that he wanted to save you. You wanted to save him, too. And nothing like that had ever happened before Natasha, or since. Despite your bleak reality in this underground cell, you could still recognize specialness whenever you saw it.
Especially when he removed his mask for you, guided your icy fingers to the rugged lines of his face. The stubble along his jaw seemed darker against his pallid skin, the weight of his past evident in the weary tilt of his head.
He never spoke, your reaper. Words weren’t needed here, not when he looked at you like that, not when you knew how he punished himself for being so powerless in the face of your misery.
And certainly not when he made a sacrifice that wrecked your heart. You woke to rumbling walls and falling dust, the sounds of distant explosions and gunfire, before you heard her.��
“Wake up now, kroshka,” her gentle hands were on your face, a gasp of a sob escaping her lips when your eyes met. “There you are, little sister. I’m here, I’m sorry it took so long.”
But you wanted to scream in agony, wanted to demand to know why she would do something so reckless as coming back. You wanted to beg her to go before the guards came back, but no sounds came out when you opened your mouth. Your throat was dry and hoarse, your arms too weak to fight her off as she picked you up in her arms.
“It’s going to be okay now. I’m going to take you home.” How could someone so slight be so strong, you always wondered. But your eyes began to close again, your body unable to resist the warmth of hers. And despite how much you wished she would leave you behind and save herself, you were secretly overjoyed to see her.
But it was only when you were halfway out of the cell that you remembered. Your eyes snapped open, your reaper watching silently from the shadows as you went. He nodded, as if telling you it was okay to go, but you grabbed desperately at Natasha’s arm.
You tried to croak her name, to tell her that there was someone else here who needed saving. But all you could do was open your mouth in a rasping scream, and Natasha mistook your cries as ones of anger directed at her.
You reached out behind her, heart sinking as your reaper soundlessly stepped between you and the swarming guards just as Natasha rounded a corner. Silent sobs wracked your body, tears dripping down your temples and onto Natasha’s shirt, knowing that if the roles had been reversed, your handlers would have killed you for such a thing.
The last thought before you passed out were of him, of eyes so blue they reminded you of clear summer skies and crystal ocean waters.
And when you opened your eyes again, finding yourself in an unfamiliar hospital room, you thought he was long dead. You mourned him as Natasha introduced you to her friends. You thought of him often as you began a new life, telling yourself you’d honour his memory and sacrifice.
But when Steve handed you a file one day, crinkled all around the edges and stamped with fading Russian letters, all the breath was stolen from your lungs when you flipped it open.
You thought you would die right then and there.
The devastating details of Steve’s childhood friend, one James Buchanan Barnes, were all there, transcribed onto two letter-sized pages of black and white. You stared hard at a series of old photographs, of a young handsome sergeant who still smiled, of the Winter Soldier, frozen in time inside a cryogenic chamber.
And after all those years of bloodshed, after a literal lifetime of agony, smoke, carbon, and flame, as the two of you finally stood in the same room again, only one of you remembered.
In fact, he looked right through you, as if you never existed at all. And while you knew full well that it wasn’t his fault that he couldn’t remember, you couldn’t help the wave of resentment that washed over you, nor the immediate surge of regret that would follow.
He looked like a frightened child standing in that room, eyes wide and mouth slightly parted as if he might scream, and you could no longer will yourself to be angry.
This man had saved your life, even though he had been given every possible reason not to. You resolved right then to never tell anyone, that the truth would die with you one day. Bucky would never have to know that you had met before; it was your way of atoning, of thanking him for a gesture that had meant everything to you but now meant nothing to him.
The Soldier who had offered you a tiny morsel of affection and sympathy in a place that normally held none was no longer there. The look in his eyes were blank, compared to the raw, aching thing in your chest that had been shaped by his absence, by what you thought was his death.
Despite the longing, the undeniable pull despite the chasm of history and time that lay between you, Bucky had felt nothing for you in that moment.
But still.
Still, you fell.
Because it was impossible to know who Bucky Barnes was—for real—underneath all that trauma, and not love him.
He had a crippling sense of humour. His comedic timing was brilliant, if you were being honest. Always prepared with the best quips, paired with just the right amount of sarcasm, complete with a hint of a smirk that hinted at the mischievous boy he used to be.
He painted in secret. He never told anybody, but every so often you could smell the scent of acrylics lingering on his clothes. You liked to imagine him in his room, mixing colours on a palette, painting whatever came to mind.
Sunny yellows, peach pinks, and creamy oranges for sunsets. Soft lavenders, mint greens, and deep crimsons for the most delicate flowers.
Sky blues, for the shade you’ve always believed his heart to be.
He liked to read. And what you particularly loved about Bucky is that he was indiscriminate when it came to choosing his reading material. You found notes scrawled in the margins of books that he’d leave all over the compound, on the pages of romance novels, science fictions, fantasies, and thrillers.
A lot of the time, the notes weren’t even comprehensive. You would smile to yourself when you found a simple exclamation mark next to a passage in Frankenstein, or a heart hastily scrawled beside a particularly breathtaking paragraph in The Song of Achilles.
He tried to pretend like he didn’t, but Bucky cared. You could see it in the way he smiled at Steve, in the way he awkwardly but warmly patted Wanda on the shoulder on her bad days, in the way he put up with Clint and Sam’s good-natured teasing, and even in the way he could never quite look Tony in the eye.
He cared with his whole being, this man. And it was why you couldn’t tell him. Eventually, he had come to care about you too. He would gaze at you a little too long, as if he could recognize, not you, but the sorrow permanently etched into the tired lines of your face.
He started standing a little closer to you, in elevators, meetings, in the quinjet just before your next mission. His eyes started scanning rooms and hallways whenever he entered, letting out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding until they landed on you.
He started calling you by your name. Something told you that was particularly important to him. With each time your name left his lips, emotion crept under your skin, with one in particular threatening to breathe new life back into your weary lungs.
But there was a very real problem. The further you fell, the more he broke your heart. How could someone be your life-saving solace and the source of your heartache all in one fell swoop?
And the worst part wasn’t that he had ultimately left without even a word of warning, not even a note hastily scrawled before his departure. It wasn’t the familiar pang of hurt when it occurred to you that Bucky didn’t feel even an ounce of what you did, or that you weren’t high enough on his list of priorities to even think about telling you himself, or that you had to find out about his plans through someone else.
No—the worst part was, while the Winter Soldier had saved your life, Bucky Barnes made you want to live. As far as you were concerned, that was his biggest and only sin.
So, you pull away from his hands, one warm and one cold against your back, the ones that make you feel things you thought you put aside a long time ago. Hands that could turn back time, make it feel like you’d never been hurt in the first place. Ones that could piece your heart back together if you would just let them.
These are the hands that you could belong to, if only you could be brave enough to run towards him instead of away.
But you aren’t.
“How long was I out?” The air in the room shifts as you shift back on the bed, angling your body away from him and pulling the quilt back up to your neck, creating a chasm in the room that feels like miles.
“Almost a full day,” he replies, sitting statue-like, a figure carved out of remorse and rugged edges softened only by the firelight. His jaw tightens, a muscle twitching as you try not to make eye contact, each passing second of silence landing like a hammer to your heart.
You always told yourself that you could live without his love, you never dreamed of having that. But the one thing you can’t live without is his happiness.
You’ve gotten used to the pain and the hurt, but it was time for him to put all of that in the past. You don’t even want to think about the devastated look he’d give you if he ever found out about the past you share, that you were the only one still cursed to remember.
And while it hurt to see him leave, you knew how suffocating New York had become for him. The pursuit of his peace of mind took priority, and you knew it was the hardest thing he’d ever done. Saying goodbye to Steve, leaving behind the place that used to be home, and turning his back on an ever persistent sense of duty.
You know that if he knew, he would have stayed. But that wouldn’t have been right. You weren’t, still aren’t, a person strong enough to stand at his side, not when you yourself are falling apart.
Bucky lifts his hand, a hesitant gesture, into the tension-filled air. Every instinct tells you to bridge the gap, to erase the cool expanse of sheets and distance with the warmth of your touch. Because he’s here now. He’s here, breathing, and real, and you want to hold him and never let go.
“Please,” you hear him say, his voice breaking at the last second. You lift your head, his eyes meeting yours like a tumultuous sea meeting an immovable cliffside as you fight to keep your own gaze neutral. You find the weight of a hundred things unspoken in the beautiful lines of his face. “I can’t change the past, but I’m here now. Darlin’, if you’ll let me, I’m here.”
You clutch the quilt closer to your chest, wanting to both hide behind it and throw it off you, to pull him close and feel him against your skin. But once bitten, twice shy, you hesitate to say or do anyhing. His hand descends slowly, but not onto your shoulder or your hand, but back onto the cold sheets.
“Back then,” he continues, voice a gravelly whisper, “I wasn’t myself… not really. The Winter Soldier… well, you’ve read my file. He did things. Things I can’t ever forget.”
His eyes meet yours, dark pools reflecting the torment of countless sleepless nights. Your chest tightens, recognizing the ocean of sorrow that thunders inside him, the one that is reflected back at you whenever you look in the mirror.
“But here…” he trails off, as if not quite knowing how to explain. But you already know; nightmares like your very own, fragmented and splintered, must follow him like ghosts. And right on cue, his cat hops off the headboard where she’d been lazily lounging, laying down on the bed across his metal arm.
Here, he isn’t unbearably lonely or painfully out of place. Here, there are no expectations, no pressure, of what’s normal and how to get back there. Here, he could just finally be.
Despite yourself, the hardened ice around your heart softens into a gentle stream. Bucky does indeed look healthier now, his skin no longer waxy and almost grey from a chronic lack of sleep. His eyes are no longer sunken and hollow, but clear and bright despite the dreary northern climate.
Nothing else matters now except for protecting the peace that he’s found here. You will do anything to keep it.
You take his hand.
A few hours later, after a short nap, Bucky lends you some clean clothes and feeds you some warm broth before redressing your wounds. You watch him as he goes back to his baking, which had been interrupted yesterday with your unexpected arrival.
He hunches over his task, shoulders broad and imposing even in repose, the room lit by the soft glow of a single oil lamp. A five o’clock shadow darkens his jaw, lending him an air of ruggedness that belies the careful attention he gives to his pastries and doughs.
Across the room, you inspect the cuts on your forearms, your movements deliberate as you dab at a particularly nasty one with a cloth. Bucky’s stitch work is impeccable, but there wasn’t much he could do about the pain as you try not to wince with each touch of the cloth.
“Careful,” Bucky’s voice is quiet, almost lost in the cabin’s stillness. “That one looks deep.”
“I’ve had worse,” you tell him, your tone a lot less clipped than it was earlier. Bucky offers a half-smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Alpine diffuses the tension with a soft meow, as if begging for attention. Bucky lifts both his hands with a rueful smile, they’re both covered in flour, so she hops off the countertops and hobbles over to you.
You pat at her back awkwardly, but enjoying the softness of her fur between your fingers. The corners of your lips are pulled up by some invisible force as she bares her belly to you, something you can only describe as joy.
But the fragile peace is shattered like glass as the sounds of the first gunshot splits the air. The sound is distant, but also unmistakably close, reverberating through the trees. You freeze, your fingers flat on Alpine’s stomach, her paws curled around your hand.
Then, there’s another. And another.
Bucky’s head snaps towards the window, loaf of unbaked bread forgotten, as a bloom of orange fire paints the night sky. Your free hand instinctively goes to your side, seeking a weapon that isn’t there. You let out a quiet curse before you look towards Bucky, your eyes meeting in alarm.
“Hydra,” you murmur, the name a curse on your lips, a reminder of a past that just refuses to die and stay buried.
“What? But Steve went to the base, said he took down every single one of them there.”
You curse again, running a frustrated hand through your hair. “Some of them must have followed me here. Maybe even called for reinforcements on the way, who knows.”
“Shit,” he says as your gazes hold for a brief second, sharing a wordless understanding. There is time for pain, for grief, and for the tender blooming of something new later. But not now. Now, there is only survival.
In the next breath, the cabin is a flurry of movement. You pick Alpine up just as the world outside the safe house erupts into a frenzy, but within its walls, time seems to slow as your instincts take over.
With a swift motion, Bucky grabs the radio and barks into it. “Steve, we need an ETA. Our location is compromised; Hydra agents have got us surrounded.”
“Damn it!” Steve’s voice rasps over the comms. “Hang tight, we’re only about twenty minutes out. The storm is starting to clear, but not fast enough—”
“Just get here fast!” Bucky doesn’t have time to say more, dropping the microphone and heading over to a hidden loose floorboard in the corner of the living room, pulling out a rifle and a box of ammunition.
“Kitchen counter, now,” he orders, voice low but piercing, eyes scanning for any sign of movement through the dirt-streaked window. Your response is immediate, knowing that you’re of no help to him with the extent of your injuries, but he still slides a loaded pistol across the floors in your direction.
You grab it, folding your body behind the makeshift barrier with practiced ease, but your heart thumps harder and faster against your ribcage at the sinister drumbeat of boots on the forest floor outside.
“Bucky,” you whisper, pulse racing. The sounds are close—too close, too loud, too many. Much like you were back at their base, there are too many of them and not enough of you. “We’re outnumbered.”
The way his brows knit together tells you he knows you’re right. The two of you alone can’t hope to fight your way out of this. You have twenty minutes before the team arrives, but who knows if you even have that long.
Bucky shoulders his rifle, quickly crossing the living room and pulling you out from underneath the counter. Instead, in one of the back bedrooms, he pulls aside the four-poster bed and the ornate rug underneath it, revealing a hidden trap door.
“Get in,” he orders after yanking it open, and with Alpine still cradled in your arms, you carefully lower yourself into the crawlspace. “Got your gun?”
“Yeah, right here,” you tell him. Bucky then tosses a blanket down after you, a welcome respite against the dank and musty interior. You wrap it around yourself before pushing yourself into the corner, careful not to pull too much at your stitches, making as much space for him as you can.
But your heart drops when you realize he’s not moving, one hand braced against the door. “What are you doing?”
He looks down at you, swallowing hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down nervously. “I need to buy us some time until Steve gets here.”
“No,” you growl, letting Alpine drop out of your arms and onto the floor. You reach out to grasp his arm, the movement tugging at your stitches painfully, but you wrap your fingers around his wrist the best you can and pull hard. He doesn’t even budge. “Get your ass in here, Barnes.”
“Yeah, and who will move the bed back? They’ll find us in seconds—”
“You’re not going out there alone. There’s too many of them!” You hiss, trying your best not to shout.
“We don’t have enough bullets between the two of us.”
“I don’t fucking care!”
“Darlin’—”
“Don’t darlin’ me. You are not going.” Your voice cracks, tears suddenly blur your vision, surprising you that you’ve still got any left. “You can’t.”
“Come on, I’m a super soldier,” he tries to grin, tries to lighten the mood with a joke that just falls flat. “I’ll be fine. Piece of cake.”
“Please,” and for the first time in a long time, you are terrified. Fear grips your throat, seeps into your lungs, and every breath you manage to draw feels ice cold. “Steve will be here so soon.”
“We’re out of time, doll.” He says, like it isn’t the most devastating thing he could possibly tell you at this moment. But he proves you wrong once again, in a single instant breaking down every single wall you’ve ever built around the pieces of your soul, brick by perfidious brick: “I love you.”
You blink, wondering if you’ve heard him wrong. Are you filling in the gaps with your own wishful thinking?
“I love you,” he repeats, brushing some of your hair out of your face. His forehead touches yours, his hand cradling the curve of your jaw.
“No, you don’t. You’re just saying that to get me to shut up.” You bite back, not wanting to hear it. Not like this. The man just chuckles, like he’s talking to a pouting child, as if he knows your bark is worse than your bite.
“Listen… I need you to know, leaving New York wasn’t about not wanting to be with you. It was about being someone worthy of standing next to you.”
“You’ve always been—”
“So, what kind of man would I be, sweetheart,” he smiles again, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, where tears brim at the edge of his lashes. “If I didn’t do everything I could to keep you alive?”
“No, you can’t.” You beg, because despite his earlier claims that he’d be fine, it sounds like he’s saying goodbye. You don’t know if you can handle another one of those.
“I don’t know why he did what he did. Galloway, I mean, and I’m definitely not sorry that he’s dead… but he did one thing right: he kept you alive out there. He kept you alive long enough for me to meet you.” He lets out this breathless laugh, brushing away some of your tears, mixed with some of his own. “Can’t let a Hydra agent outdo me, can I?”
“Don’t do this to me,” Not again, not again, not again.“Stay!”
“I love you,” he says again in response, accentuating each word with a kiss to each cheek, and then one firmly on your lips. He pulls away, eyes searching yours for another few beats of silence, as if he’s committing your face to memory. “Sometimes, I get the strangest feeling that I have for a really long time.”
Then he pushes your hand away, closing the trap door on top of you with a dreadful thud. You hear the latch being flipped shut, the furniture being moved back to its usual spot, hiding your existence away from the world and all impending danger.
You scream, but your cries get muffled against the floorboards, under a hailstorm of bullets, and the dreaded clashing of metal against metal.
Bucky Barnes is a terrible man.
One who repeats history.
One who always tries to repent for sins that aren’t his.
And worst of all, one who may never know that you love him too.
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Notes — Okay, so events are moving pretty quickly, but I did say I didn’t wanna drag this out for too long lmao, and it was always intended to have only five chapters. The last chapter is coming soon! I'm hoping to have the finale posted on Friday.
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