I'm not what most people would call a damsel in distress. Where I come from, with the condition I have, I tend to save myself just fine most of the time. But I can't deny that the moment those arms slide around me, the relief is so palpable that a sob actually bubbles up from my throat, muffled against the wet collar of Bucky's shirt.

I wasn't drowning, I would have eventually made it, but I'm just so damned glad to be out of that water.

"I don't know what happened, I don't— I was just there, and I— Oh my god," I pant out, allowing myself that fragile moment, that open vulnerability as I clutch at him. But then I hear more cries, blink damp lashes over Bucky's shoulder and see again the people there on the shore, and swallow it down as well as I can.

"Is anyone hurt? Are you hurt?" I swing back, wide eyes meeting his as I pet the wet hair from his face. He looks okay. Mostly okay.