for bucky.

[marriageable]

[ She should really be heading home.

It’s the same thought she’s been having for the past hour — everybody else had filed out long ago, the hour hand on the wall ticking past eight. The museum had been closed three hours past already; she was sure to hear it from her mother for being late again to supper. It was not like Daphne to be late anywhere, save for the acceptable tardiness when one was being fashionable, or giving the host time to freshen up.

But she likes her job, and she really doesn’t mind the tasks handed to her; she’s the youngest of the curators, after all, eager to prove her worth.

Even if not absorbed in her work, she would think anything of a creak, or a shuffling noise in the distance. Maintenance came in at night, and old buildings make all sorts of noises.

None of it registers, until she shoulders her purse and flicks the lights off. A rustle, followed by a thud. In the dim hallway, she casts her eyes over toward the open door to the director’s office.

Something stills her from moving forward, but she calls out anyways, because it’s nothing, naturally, just another weekday night — ]

I’m heading out now, Dr. Porter. I’ll see you in the morning.

Comments

[ostavil]

( He doesn't think he's ever kissed anyone or had a woman and certainly not bonded a mate. He doesn't remember. He doesn't know. Some things just come to him in snatches that he thinks are memories and then they are all wiped clean and smooth again.

He's shy about kissing her too but his instincts have him trying to initiate it anyway, lips brushing against her hair. )

I have nothing that is mine. I don't even have a name.

[marriageable]

[ She peers up at him with sleepy eyes, a milk drunk kitten. His knot has calmed her, relaxed her completely and somewhat addled her brain. She’s still mostly omega, not Daphne, but her higher brain functioning assumes he’s being metaphorical. ]

You’re Alpha, [ she reminds him, sweetly. ] What else do you want to be called?

[ostavil]

( He smiles at being called Alpha because that, at least, is an identity he can cling to. When she asks him what he wants to be called, he looks away a little. )

I have no name. They call me zimniy soldat.

[marriageable]

[ His smile is a pretty thing, and her heart leaps, omega giddy. That smile was for her. She reaches to trace his mouth.

Her brown furrows. It sounds Eastern. ]

I don’t understand. What does it mean?

[ostavil]

It means Winter Soldier. It is all I am. I kill who they tell me to kill and I retrieve whatever they tell me to retrieve. If I fail, they punish me.

( This is the first time he's ever told this story to anyone at all but it feels safe to tell it to her. He feels like she won't spill his secrets. He does worry for her safety, however, because they are relentless. )

There aren't supposed to be witnesses...but I couldn't hurt you. They couldn't make me hurt you.

[marriageable]

[ She goes pale. Not even his knot can stop the horror that begins to roll off of her, a whimper in the back of her throat, crowding closer to his arm. Making herself smaller under him, prey to be protected. Rather than be scared of his ability to kill, because she knew that already, that’s reassuring for her omega — he would kill for her. That feels true. But everything else sounds of danger and scares her. ]

[ostavil]

( She's recoiling from him and what he is. He isn't Alpha any longer, he's the soldier, and that is something to be frightened of. He doesn't want her to be afraid and he hates that he doesn't know how to soothe her. )

I don't want to be this. They made me this. They control me. I want to keep you safe from them. They already hurt me, what's one more turn? I could not let them hurt you. That's why I had to take you with me.

[marriageable]

[ She has no choice but to listen. What he says sounds like Latin to her, somebody sheltered completely from all violence.

Daphne squirms beneath his body, squeezing her eyes shut. It doesn’t stop him. At last, she whispers: ]

Then don’t be. Don’t let them hurt me. Please. [ Her voice breaking. ] Please don’t hurt me.

[ostavil]

I won't let them hurt you. I won't let me hurt you. They have...there are words they use to control me, to lock my mind in so I can't think. It isn't like that around you. I chose not to hurt you because I could choose it. You belong to me.

( All of it tumbles around in his mind in a confusing blur and the only thing that makes sense is their bond as mates. Nothing else. He can blend into the world but he isn't of the world. Not any longer. Not ever, possibly. )

When I scent you, their control disappears.

[marriageable]

[ Confused does not begin to cover it. She hadn’t known she was an Omega until a while ago; much less having to compute everything he’s saying, and that he still, she knows, made her come with him by force and threat.

The last part doesn’t seem so bad now. He seems to have a reason, maybe some remorse.

She likes the part about her scent. It swells pride in her. (Normal Daphne will find the whole thing horrifying, and curse the stupidity of a fucked out omega, but she’s more or less vacated the premises.)

She’s been avoiding his eyes, but she peeks up now, the color returning to her complexion. ]

I belong to you. You knew that when you scented me? That quickly?

[ostavil]

I have never smelled an omega before. Not before you. Not like you. I don't know if I had before and they took it from me - I don't have any memories.

( He lives in the present only because that is where he operates. There is nothing of the past or future in him. )

I was no one and then I was Alpha. That is all I know.

[marriageable]

[ Does that make her special or not? Her omega frets. If he’s speaking the truth, it doesn’t sound like it. You were simply available. That’s all. Her eyes begin to water, overwhelmed, taking in a shuddering breath. His own chaotic thoughts and emotions seem to be channeled into her. ]

[ostavil]

( She is crying. He has to soothe her and he doesn’t know how; is he a bad Alpha? Does she hate him for all of this? He lifts his hand to her face and touches it lightly. )

You are special to me. I think they prevent me from smelling people at all. I still smell you, omega. Do you still want to be mine?

[marriageable]

[ The warmth of his hand soothes, but she continues to cry, though she turns her cheek into his palm and nods. It’s the size of her face. She feels small and smaller with him, but in a way that makes her feel safe, against all odds.

He had asked her what she needed before. That he would provide. She sniffles. ]

I want you to hold me. Please?

[ostavil]

( He’s able to withdraw from her which means he can roll to his back and gather her up into his arms to lie against his chest. She wants to be held and he wants to hold her.)

Mine now.

[marriageable]

[ Comfort is found now that she’s being indulged, his chest sheltering her back. She makes a noise close to happy. She doesn’t like that he’s not knotted to her anymore, but this will do. Her appetite has been (momentarily) whet.

In his arms, she’s safe. In his arms, everything he just said seems to be, not less important, but less pressing and threatening and immediate. She can chew on it. After a while like that, she speaks up. ]

What if I gave you a name?

[ostavil]

It would be the first name I have ever had. I would like it if you gave me a name but I would also like your name in return.

( Then this could be a little more real, he thinks. )

[marriageable]

[ It seems a momentous task, naming someone, but she’s pleased that he trusts her with it. Her mind is already at work. She presses her cheek against his smooth metal arm.

The matter of her name — ]

Oh. It’s Daphne.

[ostavil]

Daphne. Your name is from a Greek myth and is at least two thousand years old. I like it. It suits you very well.

( Sometimes he simply knows things like languages or how to repair vehicles or more esoteric things like history and science. He doesn't know why he knows them, he just does, and it feels natural to tell her this and show her that he is more than violence. )

[marriageable]

[ A surprised smile touches her lips, turning her head to look up at him. Appraising. From the look of him, she wouldn’t have assumed he knew the lore. ] Yes. That is correct. [ She settles back against his chest. She knew the myth by heart. Could tell it in her sleep. ] She was a naiad, so the legends say. The great god Apollo was enchanted with her, and chased her across the earth. But it was a cursed love; she couldn’t return it because Cupid had vexed her to deny all men.

[ostavil]

You are beautiful enough to be a naiad, Daphne.

( He has a name now and he will use it as much as possible when he can. )

[marriageable]

[ Daphne preens. It is not the first time she has been called beautiful, but never has anyone been so poetic about it, and none of those compliments had ever come from her alpha before. Her scent flares with arousal. ]

Do you really think so?

[ostavil]

I do. Would Alpha lie to you about that, Daphne? I would never lie to you if I could help it but definitely not about this.

( Holding her soothes him in a way he hasn't been soothed in his whole life, he thinks. )

[marriageable]

[ She’s pleased by that reply, too. She is not especially vain, she believes, at least she does not find vanity to be very flattering and her siblings never let her get away with it, but she is contented that he finds her pleasing to look at.

She reaches to trace the bite wound on her neck, right into her scent gland. It reminds her how entirely new this is to her. ] I don’t know very much about alphas, if I’m being honest.

[ostavil]

Neither do I. I only know you.

( Things come to him in strange ways - scraps of knowledge, languages, how to fight and shoot. He doesn't know how he was taught these things but he knows them. He doesn't know who he is but he knows that he will protect Daphne with all he has. )