Chapter 10
“Bucky, get up.” I call his name, only to be met with silence. “Get up!” My pleads echo through the warehouse.
Zemo takes the gun away from my face, making his way towards Bucky instead. He uses his foot to slide the weapon away from Bucky’s body, kneeling down to examine him. He pulls the ICER cartridge from Bucky’s back, turning his body with some effort, and we’re faced with an unconscious super soldier.
“Fuck.” I whisper to myself, my throat feeling scratchy as I start to panic, tears pooling in my eyes. Bucky, why weren’t you paying attention?
“This… is a magnificent creation.” Zemo stands, walking swiftly towards the man who Bucky shot, taking the ICER away from him, not even looking back to help. The man lies flat on his back, letting out shaky breaths as he struggles with the pain, not bringing himself to speak. He knows he’s done for, physically unable to leave because Bucky fucked his knee up, plus, Zemo is a selfish bastard, so he’s going to be of no assistance. I’d feel bad, but he’s part of the reason I’m here. “Kept under lock and key, I assume? It’d be a real shame if this fell into the wrong hands.”
“Fuck you.”
“Hm.”
I can do nothing but watch, as Zemo exerts himself, dragging Bucky towards one of the concrete pillars that hold up the building. The closest one, because Bucky is damn heavy. He works as quickly as he can, unhooking several chains from different machines, taking them to the pillar. Sitting Bucky up against the concrete, he wraps the chains around his torso, effectively chaining him in place. He recognises that rope won’t keep him there for as long, so opted for metal instead. He tightens the chains to a painful level, looking close to restricting his breathing. I open my mouth to speak, but it won’t help, so I refrain.
He checks his pockets briefly, and then moves to his ankles, lifting his trouser leg as he feels something. I see a holster tied to his calf, and I would laugh, if this wasn't the situation we were in. Zemo pulls a knife from the holster, holding it up towards me, shaking his head.
“Predictable, no?”
I don’t say anything, but just look at him through the hair falling over my face, unable to correct it with my hands tied to the chair. With my eyes, I try to relay my thoughts to him, which consist of every possible way I can think of killing him, if I had my freedom.
After an hour or so, maybe more, Bucky begins to stir, and I lean forward, waiting for him to come to attention.
“Uhh… My head.” He groans, squeezing his eyes shut before opening them slowly, blinking a few times to adjust his vision. He tries to move, before realising that he’s chained in place, starting to struggle.
“Hey.” I say, tiredly, getting his attention, and he looks in my direction. “They had the ICER, it was in my bag. I’m so sorry.”
He bows his head, letting out a sigh. “I’m an idiot.”
“You didn’t know, it’s okay.”
“It’s not okay, fuck. Now we’re both stuck here.” He strains against the chains, confusion setting in. “For god’s sake, why am I so damn weak?”
“Inhibitor in the ICER, you’re gonna feel a little weak whilst you’re waking up.”
“Fantastic.” He grumbles. “Now what?”
“Great question.” Zemo pipes up, standing up from where he was sitting on the floor, so he could watch Bucky until he woke up. Bucky didn’t notice him, when his eyes opened, I was the first one he saw.
I’m still shivering, even more so since Bucky blew a hole in the door, and now wind circulates through the building, the icy breeze nipping at my bare skin.
With Zemo’s attention predominantly on Bucky, he didn’t further check the rope that I was cutting into earlier. I start pulling my arm upwards again to loosen it. His attention isn’t on me anymore, his second prisoner is much more precious.
“I want to talk with you, James.” Zemo paces towards Bucky, who eyes him nervously. “You wouldn’t have listened unless you had to.”
“That’s because nothing you say is of interest to me.” Bucky rests his head on the plinth, closing his eyes to express his boredom. I know I shouldn't laugh, but the corners of my mouth turn upwards slightly. But then I remembered.
“Barnes, wait-”
“I have a job for you.”
Bucky tilts his head, looking at Zemo from an angle.
“No.”
“Zemo…” I start. I saw something whilst Bucky was knocked out, enough to make me start to panic.
“Ah, you see, this is where you will want to listen.” Zemo interrupts with a brief look towards me, and Bucky pauses, letting the man speak.
“I need information. A combat drug has resurfaced, first sighted in the nineties, when the Winter Soldier was at his prime, and no doubt was involved in the distribution. I need everything you have on it.”
“I’m not giving you shit.”
My eyes flicker between the two men, and I wriggle against the ropes, my looser arm starting to come free.
“Barnes, I really think it’s best if you just-”
“He’s not getting shit from me, do you understand?” He snaps, head turning quickly to me, and my eyes grow wide. The frustration of not being able to force his way out of the chains is clearly getting to his head, so he’s taking it out on me.
“He has the book!” I yell at him, my chair legs rattling on the floor as I still try to pull myself free, but also out of frustration, too. “Red cover, black star. It’s in his coat pocket.”
Bucky stays stubborn, not giving in to Zemo’s demands. My panic grows, knowing that I saw the Baron reading from the book as Bucky was unconscious. My arms are sore now, but I give one last pull, finally getting my arm free, but Zemo doesn’t take any notice. I think he has bigger plans.
“It won’t work anymore.” Bucky says, and he sounds unsure, like he’s trying to convince himself more than anyone.
“For fucks sake, Barnes, just tell him what he wants to know!”
“I don’t have a damn idea what he’s talking about!”
Zemo reaches into his pocket, pulling out the book. Red cover, with a black star, just like I described. The leather is extremely worn, the paper tattered around the edges, but the words are all intact.
“If you’re not willing to co-operate freely, we can always give it a try. If that fails, I’ll force it out of you myself.”
“Zemo, Zemo! Please don’t.” I plead, and Bucky stays silent. He’s concentrating, trying to block out anything he possibly can, preparing himself for imminent mental torture as he tries to endure those ten, dreaded commands.
And he begins.
“Longing.”
“Zemo, stop!” I cry, listening to the Russian utterance. I start untying the knots around my other arm, so I can free my legs.
“Rusted.”
Bucky takes in a deep breath, closing his eyes, probably trying to imagine anything else other than this.
“Furnace.”
His eyes squeeze together, and he bawls his fists, the vibranium whirring at his side. I hope his strength returns sooner rather than later.
“Daybreak.”
“Stop it, please!” I’d be on my knees if that was possible, begging for him to stop talking. I pull the knots from my other arm away, pulling my arm out of the rope. I immediately get to work on my feet, taking the shoes off my feet before anything.
“Seventeen.”
A guttural cry of pain comes from Bucky’s throat, and I direct my attention straight to him, my hands freezing for a second, watching him pull as hard as he can against the chains, veins prominent at his temples from the stress being put on both his mind and body.
“Benign.”
My shoes are off, and my left leg is almost free, but tears are blurring my vision. I squeeze my eyes to force them out, kicking my leg out of the rope.
“Nine.”
Bucky continues to strain, and I can hear the chains starting to snap, watching the concrete chip from the force.
“Homecoming.”
Bucky pulls his arms out of the chains, using his hands to drag the chains away from his body. Zemo takes a few steps back, a contingency in case Bucky breaks free in time.
“One.”
“NO!” I yell, charging as fast as I can towards Bucky, my hands flying to his ears in a desperate attempt to block out the sound. Among his pain is confusion, and he grabs my wrists, pushing me away as he makes a b-line for Zemo. I reach out to grab his arm, but he’s too strong, the vibranium slipping away from my fingers. Bucky gets a hold on him, ripping the book out of his hand, throwing it away, using his other hand to pin him to the piece of machinery behind him, holding him by the throat. It’s too late, as with a struggle, Zemo speaks out the last command.
“Freight Car.”
Bucky pauses before loosening his grip, taking three slow, careful steps back, his shoulders moving in unison with deep, heavy breaths. Zemo stands still, not looking away from the six-foot soldier in front of him.
“Barnes.” I shout from behind him, watching his bowed head raise to look at Zemo. “Barnes, look at me.”
“Soldat?”
“No, no, no, no.” I mumble, pushing my hair away from my face, waiting for Bucky to say something, anything. What comes is the last thing I wanted to hear.
“Ready to comply.”
My blood runs cold, and a sickly feeling bubbles in my stomach.
Wakanda, the treatment… it didn’t work.
Zemo speaks to Bucky, now the Winter Soldier, in a language I don’t understand, and there’s nothing I can do but watch. I don't want to try and get close to the two of them, but I can’t run, I can’t leave Bucky here alone. The Soldier replies in the same language, but I don’t understand him.
“Thank you, Soldat.” Zemo nods, walking over to where Bucky threw the book, and the Soldier stays in place, but his eyes follow Zemo to his new position. I have to take my chance, so I eye Bucky for a second, catching a glimpse of the cold stare, before running towards the Baron, my bare feet cold on the concrete floor. I don’t even get halfway before strong arms wrap around my stomach, picking me up off the floor. I cry out in surprise, and Zemo picks up the book, turning to face us after I’m pulled away from him, a deadly smirk on his face.
“How did you expect that to play out, Agent?” He asks me, as I squirm in the Soldier’s grasp, one arm around my waist, the other around my shoulders, pinning me in place.
“Tell him to let me go.” I strain, forcing myself to be strong, despite the awful feeling of not being able to communicate with Bucky, despite being held closely to his chest, but for a very different reason than usual.
Zemo speaks to the Soldier in Russian, and I’m dropped almost instantly, to my surprise, hitting the ground on my bare hands and knees. My left hand hits something warm and sticky, and when I look to my left, the man that Bucky shot before lays unconscious. There’s blood leaking from his knee, and it’s trickled to where my hand has just fallen, my palm now soaked in it. I wince, swiping my hand on the concrete, leaving a trail of red from my fingertips in a long line, removing as much blood as I can.
“Soldat, I have all I need. Don’t let her pursue me.” Zemo pockets the red book, before reaching into his other pocket, pulling out the ICER. “Don’t worry, if he lets you live, I’ll let you return this.” He drops the gun at his feet, turning swiftly towards the door. The Soldier’s hand grabs the back of my head, sifting his fingers through my hair, pulling me upwards and holding me in place, my feet planted on the floor. I let my body follow so he doesn’t pull my fucking hair out, and I watch Zemo leave, panting like a dog, held by the scruff of its neck.
“Please, Bucky, snap out of it.” I whisper, squeezing my eyes shut, hoping to wake up from this awful nightmare.
Think, think, think, I tell myself. I need him to let me go, heaven knows what will happen if he doesn’t. I rewind to training with Sharon, racking my brain to quickly run through everything I learnt. A switch gets flicked, and I remember something. I need to get him on the floor, removing the height advantage, also hoping that gravity will assist me.
I turn my body towards him, his hand now cradling the back of my head, and he towers above me, looking down at me with a dull expression. I just need to buy myself some time to get to that ICER.
“Do you know who I am?” I ask, trying my absolute hardest not to look away. It’s hard, when all he’s going to try to do is kill me, and I can’t even begin to think what Bucky will think of himself when he eventually wakes up. Will I even be here to see it?
“No.” He doesn’t even think about his answer.
“Do you know who you are?” I ask. He frowns at me, and although my heart aches for him, I’ll take the distraction right now. My main focus is not dying.
“Sorry, Bucky.” I say to him, before planting my shin in between his legs, kicking as hard as I can, knowing I’d probably not be doing much damage, but it would hurt. As his grip falters slightly, I pull his arm away from my hair, sprinting away to gain as much distance as I can, which isn’t much, taking steps towards the ICER. The Soldier will view this as me trying to follow Zemo, so I know he will do everything it takes to stop me.
Bucky told me to do whatever it takes, so that’s what I’m going to do.
I fix my stance, ducking as a punch flies towards my face, blocking the second with my forearm as I pop back up. It fucking hurts, and I’m surprised it didn’t snap the bone. I’m not going to win in a fist fight, especially not a fair one. I slip underneath the arm I’m blocking, digging my heel into the back of his knee, his leg hitting the floor. He spins around just as quickly, using his other leg to swipe mine from underneath me, knocking me onto my back. I groan, wheezing at the impact, Bucky appearing above me. I roll quickly to my side just as his vibranium fist hits the floor, my eyes almost fixed to it. If his old arm was deadly, I can’t imagine the damage this one will do.
Whilst he’s recovering, I scramble to my knees, pouncing towards him, using all my strength to roll his body with mine, wrapping my legs around his stronger arm, so our backs are on the floor.
My legs are sprawled across his chest, vibranium momentarily trapped between them, but it doesn’t take much for him to wriggle free. I squeeze as tight as humanly possible to restrict his movement, keeping him at bay for as long as I can, but ultimately Bucky is a little bit more than human, and I assume especially so when the Soldier has been activated. He swings his weight to the side, now towering over me, and I quickly plant my bare feet to his chest, met with soft material of his shirt, trying to keep his dangerous hands away from me.
The Soldier’s fingers ghost over my chin and jaw, and I tilt my head back, keeping my eyes on his. In the heat of a battle, a soldier’s eyes should be full of rage, anger, hatred… but instead, there’s nothing. Not a thought, not a feeling, and I can’t stand it. I look away, seeing the gun on the floor, then looking back to the Soldier, pushing more and more weight onto me, my legs starting to shake.
I reach as high as I can above my head to try and retrieve the ICER, but my feet are slipping, and the Soldier’s hands are dangerously close to my throat. I manage to slide the gun towards me, but as I try to get a grip of it, the Soldier leans forward first, pushing it away from me, my legs buckling underneath the weight.
“No!”
His hand arrives straight to my throat, and I can barely breathe, my mouth wide to try and gasp for air. He looks at me, confused, as my body writhes underneath him, clawing at the metal clamped to my neck.
I look to the ICER, too far to reach, and look back at Bucky, who’s frown is only getting larger as his fingers squeeze tighter. He doesn’t even know why he’s doing it.
“Bucky, please wake up.” I manage to squeeze out words to some extent, as I can feel my face getting hotter and hotter, my pulse hammering underneath his hand. For a split second, his eyes flicker, and I feel his grip falter, but he shakes his head with a grunt, keeping his position. Something is stopping him, so if a little bit of Bucky is still in there, it explains why I’m not dead already. He’s holding back.
I move my hand from his, reaching as high as I can towards his face. I can’t quite reach him, and as his fingertips did before, I manage to ghost my own over his jaw, reaching the grown out stubble.
“Buc-ky… it’s oka-” I struggle to speak, and my vision is starting to blur, black spots filling the edges, and all I can hear is my heart beating, slowly, before the Soldier speaks.
“I-I have to do this.”
I feel a single tear roll down my cheek, and my body is too numb to react now, my hand falling from his face, hitting the concrete beside me. I start to accept my fate, that I’m going to die. Not only that, but without enough time to process that this potentially, this is the man that I-
The weight on my throat suddenly disappears, and my body immediately reacts, lungs filling with air as I take a huge breath in, hearing the Soldier slump beside me. I slowly roll to my side, crawling away from him, bare skin scraping on the cold, concrete floor, looking for the ICER. When I can’t find it I look up to see a blurred figure in the room with us. They drop down to me, hands placed at the side of my face, moving my head towards theirs, and I can feel my head being moved slowly from side to side.
My eyes focus after blinking a few times, and I can make out the person in front of me, the one I’d be dead without.
“Sharon?”
She sighs, dropping to sit on the floor, pulling me into her, and my body relaxes, finally beginning to catch my breath.
“Are you alright? How the hell did this happen?”
I pull myself away from her, coming to my senses.
“Zemo.” I say, my voice hoarse from the pressure on my windpipe just seconds ago. I cough as I gasp for air, and I turn towards Bucky, who once again lies unconscious on the floor, this time after trying to kill me, and almost succeeding.
“Well, I assumed that much.” Sharon points out, resting the gun in a spare holster, taking quick steps to Barnes’ position. She crouches down, taking two fingers to his neck, making sure he’s breathing, and nods to herself, standing back up. My legs wobble as I push myself up to stand, and she turns back to me, quickly looking at the dress I’m wearing, probably wondering why I’m dressed so fancy. “Why are you here?”
“I, uh, we-” I point lazily towards Barnes on the floor, sniffing. “We went to dinner. We must've been followed…” I take a moment to catch my breath again, bending over and resting my hands on my legs. I cringe, telling Sharon about the dinner, but it’s not really something that I can hide. “How did you find us?”
“Honestly… The Director told me about the ICER, and I wanted to know where you were going with it. I was suspicious when I traced it here. You should thank your lucky stars that I actually came.”
“Believe me, I‘m thankful.” I huff, standing straight to make my way to Bucky. “He nearly killed me.”
Sharon sighs, joining me. She takes her jacket off, handing it over to me. I thank her quietly, immediately putting my arms through to warm myself up. “So clearly the treatment didn’t work.”
I shake my head, crossing my arms at my chest. I can’t help but feel that I’m to blame. If I hadn’t brought the ICER with me, if I hadn’t been so careless, Bucky would’ve been fine. We would’ve caught Zemo at his own game, but somehow, he’s always one step ahead.
“Sharon, I tried, I did, but the look in his eyes… He-”
“This isn’t your fault.” Sharon speaks, almost like she reads my mind, but I don’t take my eyes from Bucky. It’s funny, he looks peaceful, passed out on the concrete floor. “It’s SHIELD’s. For not finding Zemo sooner.” She takes a look around the room, her eyes stopping on something.
“Who’s that guy?”
I look at the man lying on the floor, the pool of blood coming from his knee.
“Barnes shot him in the knee.”
“What? Why?”
“He punched me.”
“Jesus.” Sharon mutters, sighing afterwards. “I’ll call clean-up. Stay here, I’ll get my car so we can get Barnes out of here.”
Sharon jogs away, momentarily leaving me alone again. I’d kneel down to Bucky, but my knees are terribly sore, after being dropped on them earlier. Instead of wasting time, I look around the room, locating the gun he brought in. Finding it, I bend down to grab the strap, pulling it over my head, the weapon resting on my back. Looking at the piece of machinery Zemo and his men were hiding behind earlier, I see my bag. I quickly retrieve it, walking quickly to where I left my shoes. I put them on, cursing at the feeling, and I hear a car engine approaching. Sharon parks at the entrance, slamming her door shut and leaving the engine running as she makes her way back into the warehouse.
We meet where Bucky lies, both crouching to sit him up, We both strain ourselves, hauling him up with huge effort, finally managing to stand up straight. We take one side each, Sharon on the left, myself on the right, and we will definitely have to apologise for ruining probably the only shiny pair of shoes he owns, as they drag across the rough flooring whilst we drag him to the car. My legs wobble, my heels threatening to snap, but I couldn’t walk barefooted along here, since there’s shrapnel all over the floor from the miniature explosion Bucky made.
“This would’ve been easier if he wasn’t so damn heavy.” I grunt, finally making it to the car, Sharon and I slumping him along the back seat, one leg on the seat, one dangling down into the footwell. His metal arm rests on his chest.
Sharon shuts the door, motioning for me to get in.
“Come on, I’ll take you back to my place, we can lay low there.”
“Wait.” I say, taking in my surroundings. I can hear water. “Where are we?”
“Abandoned storage warehouse under Brooklyn Bridge.”
“My apartment’s in Tribeca. We can go there.” I slip into the passenger seat next to Sharon, hissing at the painful bruising on my neck, the adrenaline starting to wear off.
“Is it safe?”
“I don’t know.” I belt myself in, my head hitting the head rest. “But I’m already on the radar. Shouldn’t let them know where you live in case they’re watching.”
“Alright then,” Sharon starts to drive. “but you need to fill me in on whatever’s going on with you two. Partly because I’m curious, but also, if Zemo knows something, you’re in trouble.”
“Yes, boss.” I smile wearily, peering into the back of the car, Bucky still sound asleep. “He’s not going to wake up and try to kill me again, right?”
She shakes her head, and I nod mine, starting to explain the situation to keep Sharon happy. After all, I definitely owe her something after this.
“Wow.” Sharon keeps her eyes on the road, her reaction to my story as I expected.
“Yeah.”
“Wait, you mentioned your ex. ‘They SHIELD?”
I sigh, swallowing and wincing simultaneously from my pain in my throat. “Was. Sort of.”
She frowned at me, confused, but something dawned upon her. Her mouth opens in surprise.
“Oh no, you were Garrett’s team, right? Please tell me it wasn’t-”
“...We met at the Academy.”
“Ouch.”
The rest of the journey was pretty quiet, focusing on resting up, knowing we had to get Bucky up to my apartment.
“Left here.” I navigate towards my home, Sharon taking my directions, driving pretty quickly due to Tribeca’s calmer demeanour, in comparison to Manhattan, that is.
“How’d you end up getting an apartment in Tribeca, anyway? SHIELD pays well, but not this well.”
“Inheritance.” I say, not wanting to dwell on that topic for too long. There’s a period of silence before Sharon’s next question.
“Is there a doorman?”
“No.”
Sharon hums, as if to say, ‘good’, and I check the dashboard for the time, which reads 03:07.
“Next left, second building on your right.”
The car comes to a halt in an empty space at the front of the building. I take off my shoes, leaving them in the footwell, and before I get out of the car, ready for round two of carrying an unconscious Bucky along the street, I ask something of Sharon.
“Please… don’t mention this to anyone. Not this,” I emphasise, referring to tonight, “I mean everything before.”
Sharon nods, holding the handle on the car door.
“It won’t come from me, but just know that it’ll come out eventually.”
She exits the car and I follow, moving to the back seat. Sharon takes his arms, and I push his ankles at the other side, moving back around to help her.
“You ladies alright there?”
My eyes widen when I hear a voice across the street. A man, maybe in his fifties, baggy clothing, bottle in hand.
“Oh, we’re fine, thank you.” Sharon replies to the man, and we try to quickly hurry inside, as fast as we can go with the extra weight.
“Hiding a body, or somethin’?” The man laughs drunkenly, swaying a little as he takes a swig from his bottle.
“He’s just… really drunk.” I shout, immediately regretting my decision. My throat feels like shit, and I hurt myself even more by straining in pain.
“Huh. Man knows how to have a good time.” The man carries on walking, not taking another look at us, and we get back to minding our own business, dragging Bucky towards the door.
I’d like to personally thank whoever invented the elevator, because we wouldn’t have been able to get him up the stairs if it didn’t exist.
Sharon scoped out the apartment, and it looks safe for now, so we enter, and we dump Bucky on the couch, just about fitting onto it, and we both stand on the spot to catch our breath. I pause for a moment, taking a look at him, a look of pity, but also of guilt.
Trouble seems to surround me. Everywhere I go, everyone I get close to, something terrible always happens.
“He’ll be fine, sweet. Always is.” Sharon consoles me, and I turn my attention to her instead, nodding.
“I know.” I whisper now, protecting my throat. “You know I can’t help but feel responsible.”
“Yeah, and there’s nothing I can do about that, but time will heal.” She extends an arm out to me, resting her hand on my arm for a moment, before taking herself to the other couch, reaching for the blanket draped over the arm. “Get some rest, I’ll watch over him until he wakes up.”
“But what if-”
“He won’t.”
I nod ever so slightly, disappearing down the corridor, into the bathroom. I flick on the light, squinting at the fluorescence. I need to clean off any blood before I go to bed, but I’ll worry about a shower in the morning. I turn on the tap, taking a dark face cloth, waiting until the water is warm to dip it under, squeezing out the excess. I look up to the mirror to bring the cloth up to my nose, my appearance too dramatic to ignore. I stare back at my reflection, turning off the tap as I hear it running in the background. A few strands of my hair still stick to my skin, and I wipe them away, focusing on the redness of my eyes, bloodshot. My nostrils are covered in blood, and there’s a swipe of blood underneath it, where I’d wiped it away earlier. It’s flaky as it dries. My neck looks the worst. It’s red, swollen, sore. It’s going to bruise badly, dark marks already surfacing. I dread to think how the markings will look in a few days.
I check my hand, and there is the streak of blood from my nose. I wipe that off first, then turn the cloth over, wiping at my nose. Turning the tap back on to rinse the cloth, I wipe over my eyes, then the rest of my face, discarding the cloth into the empty bath. I pump some soap onto my hands, washing them, making sure to scrub my fingernails to remove any dirt and debris from the dusty old building. Once happy enough to sleep, I don’t take another look in the mirror, hurrying out of the bathroom, straight into my bedroom.
I remove my dress with difficulty, my muscles starting to ache, and I reach for the pyjamas from the night before, only to be wearing something in case of an emergency. Dipping under the covers, I pray for no nightmares. Tonight was enough.