A Rainstorm
Bruce loved thunderstorms. They were calm in the way all rainstorms are, punctuated by brief moments of utter mayhem. Perhaps in that way they reminded him of himself. During one such storm he was just settling down in his favorite armchair with a cup of tea and the newest dissertation on particle physics when he realized he wasn't alone. In the shadows in the corner of his library--if you could call the small room filled with books a true library--stood a figure dressed in black. Bruce thought he caught the silvery glint of metal from the figure, but it was difficult to tell. He set down the cup of tea and took off his glasses.
"I don't have anything you might want to steal." He stated calmly, standing up from his armchair. He really didn't want to ruin his apartment, he had just paid rent the month and the landlady was nice, but if this intruder didn't leave soon, bad things would happen. "In fact, it would probably be best if you just left the way you came. I won't call the police." The figure took a step towards Bruce, and stumbled. The figure didn't fall, but Bruce was surprised. The figure took another step and now she--Bruce could tell now--was illuminated by fireplace. He had been right about the glint of metal, the mysterious intruder had a metal arm.
"Bucky. The hell are you doing here?" Bruce demanded, feeling his heart rate drop. She wasn't a threat. Not really. Then Bruce noticed that she was clutching her stomach with her right hand, and blood was spilling between her fingers. She was wearing her goggles and mask, but Bruce felt like she was making an expression of pain. He rushed over and caught her just as she fell to her knees. "Well shit." Bruce wasn't strong on his own, but he wasn't reliable enough as the other guy, so he did his best to half-carry, half-drag Bucky to his bed. He laid her down and gently removed her goggles and mask. He had been right, Bucky was biting her lip so hard that she had started to bleed, and her eyes were welling with tears that were spilling over her cheeks, making great rivulets of black. "I'm going to call an ambulance." Bruce stated quietly, watching Bucky's blue-green eyes as they widened. She shook her head vehemently 'no'. "Ok. Can I at least call Steve?" Bruce received the same treatment. "I'm going to help you on my own then. And that means you're going to have to take your hand away and let me have a look. Is that good?" Bucky nodded slowly and with a short gasp, moved her hand away from her stomach. Bruce let out a low whistle. She was wearing the best bulletproof vest not even on the market, but there was a distinct tear where the bullet had gone in. It was probably armor-piercing, which meant it could have been a through and through, or it was stuck on the other side of the vest. Bruce worked quickly and soon the vest and her one-sleeved jacket were removed and Bucky was left in a black camisole that was dampened red with blood. He felt beneath her and sighed with relief when he felt something cool and metal. At least the bullet wasn't stuck inside. "Ok. Bucky. I'm going to need you to help me out. Take this hand," he lifted her left hand gently and was surprised by its weight. The metal arm was much lighter than he had expected. "And push down on the wound. I'll be back." Bruce sprinted to the bathroom and washed his hands, grabbing sutures, a needle, antiseptic, tweezers, and all the gauze he owned. By the time he returned, he could see that the blood had started to soak into the bed from the exit wound. "Hi. I'm here. Ok. You can take your hand away now." Bucky followed his instruction and there was a small whirring sound as she moved her arm away. The hand was covered with blood, and in a brief moment of fancy, Bruce wondered how many other times it had been equally stained. He shook away the thought and carefully began to roll up Bucky's camisole. She winced and gave a short gasp as he pulled it away from the wound, but held very still. Bruce soaked some of the gauze in water and antiseptic and began cleaning away the blood. The bullet hole was ragged and still bleeding, but not enough to indicate that the bullet had hit any major arteries or veins. He would be able to sew it up without fear of internal bleeding, which was lucky. Bruce didn't have time to wait for anesthetic to kick in, so he began with the sutures. That part was easy and Bucky didn't seem to notice the additional pain. Bruce just hoped that she hadn't gone into shock. He taped a fresh piece of gauze over the wound. "How you doing?" Bruce asked and Bucky gave him a grimace that was probably supposed to be a smile. "Great. Now, I'm going to flip you over. Ready?" He pushed the bulletproof vest off the bed and Bucky nodded. "Ok. One. Two. And three." He carefully rolled Bucky onto her stomach, careful not to burst her stitches. As always, the exit wound was worse than the entry. It was larger, messy, but luckily it hadn't removed any large pieces of flesh. Bruce planned to follow the same procedure as before, clean, suture, gauze, but then he noticed something inside the wound. It was small, about the size of a pill capsule, and made of metal. Bruce cleaned the tweezers as much as he could with the antiseptic, and pulled it from Bucky's back. She made a short hissing sound that was mostly muffled by the pillow. Bruce swore. He knew that these spy agencies sometimes tagged their agents, but he was surprised that SHIELD would stoop so low, especially with Bucky. She had already had her privacy violated--for seventy years--and she didn't deserve any more. In fact she deserved to retire, but nobody managed to convince her of that. Bruce set the capsule next to the bullet on the bedside table and cleaned up the wound. He was just taping extra gauze to Bucky's back when she mumbled something into the pillow. "What did you say?" Bruce asked gently, and she mumbled it again. "I'll roll you over again, then you can tell me, but I don't want you speaking too much." He carefully rolled Bucky over and she gasped again as she settled.
"Don't. Don't tell anyone." Bucky whispered, her eyes flickering to the bedside table where the capsule lay. There was something very serious in the tone of her voice that made Bruce not even question her reasoning. She knew something he didn't.
"I won't. I promise." Bruce replied quietly, then sighed, "Let's clean you up. How does that sound?" Bucky nodded. Bruce cleaned his hands, then went to his closet and chose an oversized grey t-shirt. He returned to find that Bucky had fallen asleep, her breaths ragged but steady. Bruce relaxed a bit and fetched a pair of scissors from his desk. He hoped that Bucky didn't have a personal attachment to her camisole, because he carefully cut it off of her and set it aside. Her bra was a mint color and lacy. Bruce, despite everything, laughed to himself. He hadn't expected the Winter Soldier to have girly underwear. Bruce shook his head, then gently washed off the rest of the blood and the eyeblack on her face and dressed Bucky into his grey t-shirt. He removed her boots, changed the sheets beneath her, then went to work on the various holsters and straps over Bucky's cargo pants. He made a small pile of her knee pads and other straps on the floor, and another pile for all of her weapons. There were so many. She had four knives, and then an extra one in her boot, one handgun on each leg, and another automatic type of weapon--Bruce wasn't really an expert on guns, though he was an expert on being shot at--and although Bruce couldn't be sure, Bucky also seemed to have a garrote and what appeared to be a tranquilizer gun and a taser. He decided, other guy or no, that he did not want to meet her in a dark alley. Content that she was as comfortable as possible, Bruce made another cup of tea and brought the dissertation to the bedroom. It already felt like a long night, but it had only just started. Bucky had to be watched lest some complication arise in the night. He was just about to start reading when he remembered the capsule. He made a bowl of warm water and dropped the bullet and the capsule inside. If they were lucky, the bullet would be traceable--but Bucky herself used unmarked Soviet bullets, so the odds were that whoever shot at her would use similar precautions. But the capsule was something else entirely, and when Bruce held it between his fingers he was surprised to find that it looked brand-new, with no trace of any corrosion or marks. If Bruce didn't know better, he would have thought that Bucky had recently planted the capsule in herself. But that was ridiculous, he had found it in her back. But maybe--and this was a stretch--that capsule was why Bucky had been shot in the first place, someone had been trying to destroy it. Maybe the bullet had just pushed the capsule to her back. But that felt like a bit too much speculation. Bruce would ask her in the morning. He set the clean bullet and capsule on the bedside table, sat in his chair, and drank some of his tea. Now he just had to wait for her to wake up.