Notes:

Well, here it is, the much anticipated sequel to In Search of Winter.

A big thank you to my Beta ktravierso, who put up with a great deal while I tried to break this story.

Tempest

Chapter 1: Glass Houses

Bucky sat on the couch with his hands clasped between his legs, taking long slow breaths as sunlight filtered in through the closed curtains, splashing brightly on the rug in front of his bare feet. He could feel his mates in the next room, busy getting dressed, and their busy lives. Bitterness swelled up in the back of his throat, busy lives that his very existence was disrupting, and he couldn't even really bring himself to care. He ran his hands through his hair, knots catching at his fingers as he tugged them through without thinking, clumps of bed mussed hair sticking in the plates of his metal fingers. His head ached and his stomach was tight, and he couldn't get their thoughts out of his mind. He felt every touch, every warm, kind feeling pulling at him, begging for him to give in. Years of compulsory discipline under Hydra forced him to resist, push away from the relief they kept trying to tell him would come with acceptance. He ripped the tangled bits of bed tossed hair from his hand, and shoved his fingers back through his hair; the sharp sting of strands pulling free from his scalp helped him focus on resisting the warmth that the bond created.

Darcy strolled out of the bedroom, her cutoff denim shorts showing off the long expanse of her legs, beautifully rounded and begging to be touched. Bucky watched as those legs made their way over to him, where he was hunched over on the couch, curled over his spread knees. He could clearly see the trio of freckles that stained the skin just over her right knee, the only blemishes on her otherwise flawless peaches and cream complexion. She gently ran her fingers down the side of his face, giving them the contact they both craved, and helping to push the boiling tension in his mind to retreat just a fraction, enough that when she lifted his chin, he didn't wince at the movement and caught her eyes looking down at him. The warmest blue green, like the ocean on a clear day. "We'd all feel better if you stayed all night, Buck." Darcy had a smile on her lips, but the corners were strained, like she almost couldn't bear to hold the expression in place.

"Had a nightmare, princess," Bucky growled, he had nightmares every night, driving him from the Hawks' bed and onto the couch, where he would watch the sun rise as he tried not to notice their peaceful sleepy thoughts drifting over the chaotic riot of feelings that tumbled through his mind. He couldn't quite bring himself to slink back off to Steve's apartment in the middle of the night, where his room technically was. Not that he had anything but borrowed and bought clothes there, things that had been acquired for him since he'd been brought back from the Himalayas with the Hawks.

He leaned back on the couch away from her soft touch, folding his hands over his eyes, and pushing into the sockets, causing starbursts to explode behind his closed lids. "Didn't want to wake you." He could feel them both watching from the back of his head as he dreamed, as the horrors played though his mind; an endless procession of the dead, paraded before him in macabre displays of his sins. "Didn't want you to see."

He could feel her weight fall down onto the cushions next to him, her smaller fingers prying his hands from his face, as her mind curled around him, the warm light of her innocence breaking through the darkness that lived inside of him. "It's a lighter load if you share the burden," her mind pushed warm thoughts at him, days at the park and laughter between friends and lovers, the strength in their bond that the Hawks shared. But underneath, he could feel cold concrete walls and a thin mattress, terror soaking the corners of her mind just beyond the beautiful imagery she called up for him to see. It reminded him that even his bond mates weren't free from the horrors he'd reaped on the world. They'd been taken to replace him, and now they were all caught in the cage that Hydra had made. "We can help."

"No, you can't," Bucky pushed off the couch and stalked towards the kitchen, pulling down a mug from the cabinet. He poured freshly brewed coffee into the chipped purple mug and took a long deep breath, trying to ignore the way it shuddered in his lungs. The coffee smelled so different from the sludge he remembered during the war that he'd drunk out of a battered tin cup. It tasted like liquid gold, and was almost hot enough to warm him from the inside before the biting cold settled back in his stomach.

"I can't force you," Darcy shrugged and kicked her feet up on the coffee table, her back to him. They'd done this dance before, every morning since the day after the Hawks' wedding, all varied aspects on the same theme. They wanted to help, but he couldn't stand their invasions into his mind, not after he felt like he'd just gotten his own thoughts back, only to have them taken away, however inadvertently, again.

"You already did," he dumped his mug in the sink, not caring if it shattered. He slammed out through the front door, still only in his low slung sweatpants. The door shuddered in his wake as he stalked down the hall; pushing away the hurt he'd left Darcy with, not wanting to deal with how deeply it affected him.

Bucky quickly made his way across the living room in Steve's apartment on silent feet. The first bedroom door was closed, but a vein of light trickled out from the crack at the bottom, letting him know that Steve was awake. The former Asset prayed silently to a god he was sure no longer listened, that the man behind the door wouldn't open it, that he could just get behind a closed door, alone, so he could hide from the world. His eyes never left the small spill of light, even as he slowly turned the handle of the guestroom door, his room. He slipped inside and closed the wooden barrier between himself and the rest of the world, using as much care to close it silently as he had in opening it.

Distantly, he could feel Barton comforting Darcy. At the back of his mind he could almost taste their salt stained kisses on his lips, as he slowly sank down on the floor, his own tears falling down his cheeks and soaking into the knees of his sweats, as he curled up and tried to push it all away.

A knock on the door startled him from his thoughts, rattling the door, making the pull in his mind become more insistent as the headache bloomed darkly. "Hey, Buck?" Steve called through the door. "You alright in there?"

"Go away," he called back, his voice scratching at the back of his throat as he forced the words out. He rubbed his eyes over his upturned knees, letting all traces of his tears soak into the heather grey pants. "Just leave me alone, Steve."

"I'm here if you need," he could feel the other man sigh as he slowly walked away.

Bucky sat there on the floor for another moment, a deep breath rattling in his chest as he tried to only feel his own thoughts. He knew it was impossible, but it was all he wanted. After seventy odd years of other people's ideals being forced into him, he just wanted to be alone to rediscover his own mind. He pushed himself up off the floor and stumbled into the bathroom, as the pressure in his head made it harder to function. He shucked his pants off, and tossed them back through the door to the bedroom, leaving them lying in a heap. The ice cold shower spray momentarily drove the Hawks from his brain, his entire being focused on the shock of his breath being forced from his lungs by the stinging cold. He let the icy water cascade down over the back of his head, letting his hair stick to his face and catch against the day old stubble he couldn't be bothered to shave off his cheeks. He only wanted to be alone, and that would ever be an option again. If only Steve could have left well enough alone.

Clint's soft kisses did nothing to quench the flow of frustrated tears that dripped down Darcy's face. They'd been trying for weeks to help Bucky, but they were both quickly starting to fall under the pressure of their third's heavy burdens. He cupped her cheeks and tried to brush the tracks of tears away, his own eyes swimming as he looked at her. "It'll get better," he mumbled against her lips, licking the salty wet from his mouth. "We'll figure this all out."

"We keep saying that," Darcy let her forehead rest against his, and tangled her left hand with his, letting their wedding rings click together. "He's pushing more and more away," she ran her thumb over the smooth silver band on his finger, a twin of her own. "He barely touched either of us before he disappeared into the living room last night." Her shoulders slumped as she took in the strain that was pulling at her mate. He felt the burden of Bucky's distance more than she did. "I'm scared of what could happen if he doesn't try."

"It's time to talk to Sam, Darce," Clint sighed. They'd both decided they would rather keep others out of their bond, but it had been long enough that it was time to admit that they couldn't help Bucky on their own. "Please." Darcy just nodded. He kissed her once more, gently before he stood up, and walked back into the bedroom.

Tension pushed down on her as soon as he stopped touching her. She missed his warm calloused fingertips on her skin like a living ache in her stomach, the way they'd drag over her and bring her to the heights of passion, the way he'd rain kisses down her back as they laid in bed, or simply ran the tip of a single finger down her spine.

With Bucky's admission that he could feel their contact with each other, all extraneous touching had stopped. Small kisses and quick touches replaced hours of lovemaking, nights of losing themselves in each other, and that loss was slowly killing both of them from the inside. Their relationship was born of being a part of each other in every way, and now, three weeks married, and they could barely be in the same room together, lest they forget that their unwilling partner could feel them, too. Darcy looked at the closed door to their bedroom with one last sigh and pushed off the couch to head towards the labs. She poured a travel mug of coffee and grabbed her keys, resolving to clean up the broken pieces of Bucky's mug when she got home. They needed a solution, either a way to help Bucky, or break the bond, and soon, before they destroyed each other. She was just worried that with the loss of the bond, she'd lose Clint, too. The apartment door closed behind her, and felt like an ending, making tears slip down her face. Maybe Sam would be able to help; maybe she could save their bond and her new marriage, and Bucky, too. It felt like too many maybes.

Her phone beeped as she dumped her bag on the lab table. She opened the text. "You know I love you no matter what, right?" Clint had sent, a little purple heart after the text, making her smile through her tears, a tiny hiccupping laugh breaking the tension in her chest.

"Always and forever?" she sent back, adding the same purple heart.

"Bond or not, my darling," Darcy covered her mouth with her hand, and sobbed clutching the phone in one hand.

Notes:

Let me know your thoughts.