Chapter 12
My body jolts forward before my eyes have a chance to open, and I scramble for the gun, flicking off the safety as I point it into the empty doorway.
My heart pounds and my chest heaves, and I blink to clear my eyes from sleep, clicking the safety back on while setting the metal on the blanket.
“Fuck.” I hiss, trying my best to lower my racing heart rate. Stupid dream.
He was right there, in the doorway, a vibranium hand settled at his side, a pistol in the other, and I was looking down the barrel.
I pull the phone from my pocket to check the time. It’s only been a couple of hours, but at least I’m a couple of hours closer to getting out of here. I swing my legs out of bed, taking myself to the bathroom.
I find myself standing limply in front of the mirror, toying with the soft material that’s wrapped around my throat, concealing the damage from my sight. Bruising already peeks over the top, but I know the worst is yet to be revealed. Instead of pulling the material down towards my collarbones, I relocate my hands to the hem at the bottom, taking my shirt off completely.
I stare at my reflection in front of me, taking in a shaky breath at the sight. I expected bruising, but not like this. Tilting my chin towards the ceiling, leaning slightly to the left, I’m faced with four purple stripes, roughly in the shape of large fingers, printed into my skin. I gently trace my fingers over the marks, the difference in size in comparison to the bruises making me shudder. Slowly moving my head to the opposite side, my fingers follow, moving to the left. The general area is clearer, but his thumbprint is visible underneath my jawline.
I catch a glimpse of the tears welling in my eyes as I whimper, looking away from the mirror. My right forearm is swollen from the punch I blocked, the bruising blooming from the most delicate part. It’s like a watercolour painting, but if the artist had spilled the water from the cup that held their brushes, all over their work. It doesn’t feel broken, but even still, better for my arm to take the impact in place of my nose.
I look back to the mirror again, but this time to glance over my shoulder, at my back. The skin is broken, grazed and sore from writhing around on the concrete floor, under the weight of a super soldier, but it wasn’t Bucky, not really. I have to keep telling myself that. His body was a vessel which caused the extent of my injuries, but it wasn’t his mind, his soul. If it was up to him, he’d have taken me home, my back comfortably pressed against a plastered wall, or better still, atop a mattress.
The sight of my injuries has heightened my awareness of the pain that they bring. Salt from the tears falling down my cheeks sting the cuts around my mouth, from when I was punched by that one bodyguard, the one I enticed when tied to the chair. Miraculously, my face came out relatively unscathed. I lightly wipe the tears from my eyes, turning towards the shower behind me, turning on the hot water. I remove my socks and shimmy my jeans down my legs, stepping out of them. Partly formed scabs litter my knees, from when I was dropped onto them. I swallow painfully, and remove my underwear before stepping into the shower.
I let the water flow over me, stinging the open skin, but after a while, the heat helps me to feel numb. I reach for the toiletries on the shelf, grateful that some had been left. I didn’t think to collect my own wash bag from the bedroom. I didn’t plan to shower until ten seconds ago.
I scrub at my scalp for a good few minutes, zoning in and out. After god knows how long, when I finally start to feel clean, I step out of the shower, reaching for a towel, bundling myself into it, making my way back to the bedroom.
I dry myself off, and reach into my bag, changing into something more comfortable. I pull Bucky’s hoodie over my head. I can’t help but wear it. I scrunch my hair with the towel, getting rid of some moisture, but I leave it at that, not caring to dry it.
I take myself downstairs, diverting my attention to the small bookshelf, and I scan over the selection of books, picking a random one out to read. I slump myself down on the couch, setting the gun and phone down on the coffee table in front of me, opening the steaming bag of popcorn that I pulled from the microwave, and I open the book in an attempt to relax for a while.
Bzzz.
Bzzz.
I pry my eyes away from the book, which turned out to be quite an interesting read. The phone vibrates on the table, shuffling along as it rings.
I reach over to grab the device, holding it to my ear.
“Sharon.” I speak, moving the popcorn from my lap to the table.
“Hey, how you holding up?”
“Better, thank you. How’re things? Any update?” I blurt, my voice still strained, but slightly better from the hot steam from the shower.
“No sign of Barnes or Zemo. Chasing a few Zemo leads but not sure where they’ll take us. Did you hear anything else last night, at the warehouse?”
I rack my brains for a moment, thinking about what Zemo was asking of Bucky, while he was chained to the post. Shit, the combat drug. Did I not mention that?
“He talked about a combat drug, surfaced in the nineties. Clearly something he thought the Winter Soldier would know.”
“Why would the Winter Soldier know about that?”
“I don’t know. They spoke in Russian. Zemo must have known that I wouldn’t understand.”
“Alright, I’ll keep you posted.”
“Wait, Sharon.” I add quickly before she hangs up. “I wanna help. I don’t want to be stuck here doing nothing.”
“It’s not safe while Zemo’s still out there.”
“He can’t hurt me anymore than he already has. Please, even if I’m back at base, let me do something.”
I hear Sharon sigh down the other end of the call.
“Tomorrow. Stay put just for tonight, just in case, I booked that safe house in case Barnes went back to campus, but it doesn't look like that’s going to be the case. I’ll pick you up in the morning.”
“Thank you.”
I put the phone down, settling back down to read my book.
Finishing the last page, I stand up, putting the book back onto the shelf, stretching my limbs out. The sun is going down, and my stomach is growling. I head to the kitchen, looking through the cupboards yet again, knowing that there wouldn’t be anything new in there since the last time I checked, nothing I wanted, anyway. The thought of walking to find something to eat enters my mind, but I shake it away, knowing I shouldn’t leave…
Five minutes later, I jog upstairs to grab my shoes, phone, and weapons, arming myself for the short journey. I arrive back downstairs, reaching for the key, doing a quick scope of my surroundings out of the window, before slipping out of the door and locking it behind me, heading into the dusk.
The streets were fairly quiet, but I pulled the hood over my head anyway, setting it back slightly so I still have a full peripheral view. I don’t have the power to check Google Maps for the best places to eat, given that I only have a burner phone, and my personal one is still at the apartment, so I decide to walk for a little while until I find something. As I walk, I remember the Chinese restaurant, but I don’t have a taste for it. I passed a convenience store earlier, so I turned in that direction. I need something I can grab and go, not really having the option to sit in and eat somewhere. I shouldn’t even be outside.
The door opens with the ding of a bell, and I slip through the door.
“Hood down, please.” The kid behind the counter calls, monotonously, like he says it a least once an hour. I roll my eyes, before pushing my hood away from my face. After picking up a cup of coffee, I scan the aisles, grabbing a few things to take back to the safe house, dropping them on the counter, reaching for the cash in my pocket to pay, trying to avoid eye contact, and also any security cameras above my head, without looking too suspicious.
“Fourteen eighty-seven.”
I pull fifteen dollars from my pocket, exchanging it for the bag on the counter.
“Keep it.” I mumble, looking up slightly to grab the bag.
“Jesus, what happened to you?” The kid asks, looking at me, and I quickly look down again.
“Car crash.” I lie. He looks at me, inquisitively, rightly knowing it had to be something more. I could be rude and tell him to mind his own fucking business, but I just think it instead. I quickly grab my stuff and walk away before he can argue against it.
I leave the store, burning the roof of my mouth on my coffee as I take a sip. I transfer it to my other hand, where the bag is hooked in the crook of my elbow, leaving myself a free hand.
Strangely, I walk most of the way back without seeing a soul, the only person around strolling on the opposite side of the road. I peer over without moving my head, just my eyes, but I can’t see much of them, because they’re dressed similar to me. Dark, baggy clothes, consumed by the night sky.
When the next set of traffic lights come up, I see them stop to cross over, and as I continue walking, they end up slightly behind me.
They follow me the rest of the way, which makes me start to get a little nervous. I don’t look over my shoulder, not wanting to show any apprehension, keeping the same pace. I listen carefully to hear what type of person the footsteps belong to, and if they’re getting closer to me or not. They’re fairly quiet, maybe wearing trainers. Their steps are less frequent than mine, but keeping at the same pace and distance, which means my legs are shorter than theirs. Even so, I can almost guarantee that mine are more powerful.
Reaching the street where the safehouse resides, Instead of turning the corner, I keep going, not wanting to give away my position, in case my suspicions are correct. I plan to walk down the next street, letting the person behind me pass by. Only then will I know whether they’re following me or not, and if they do, I’ll follow the street to the end, isolating them from whoever else may lurk in the shadows, creating my own advantage.
I take a sip of my coffee now that it’s cooled down and I turn down the next street. I wait to hear the footsteps behind me, to confirm that I was being followed, but the footsteps have stopped. The noise I hear now is much louder, as the person calls out.
“Hey, get off m-”
A thud interrupts the person’s words. As I find the courage, I rush back around the corner. I’m faced with a body, propped up in a slump against the wall. I place what I’m holding on the floor, pulling down the person’s hood.
I don’t recognise them, but I don't think I expected to. They could be a friend of Zemo’s, some random pickpocket, or they could just be someone that was trying to get home, who happened to be going in the same direction as me.
I don’t see any excessive blood, only a small amount coming from a fresh cut on their bottom lip. I put my fingers to their neck, making sure they aren’t dead, and fortunately, they’re still alive. I panic regardless, knowing who could’ve done this and have been able to disappear so quickly.
Damnit.
I sigh, taking down my hood, scanning for any signs of him. Squinting towards the dark spots of concrete where the street lamps don’t quite reach, but I see nothing. It’s like he wasn’t even here.
I’d like to check the unconscious person’s pockets quickly, looking for any signs of identification, but I’m smart enough to know when to give up. I pick up my stuff, pacing back to the safe house. I feel bad for leaving them on the street, but I’m trying to tell myself that they were out to get me, to ease my guilty conscience. I can’t risk staying out here any longer, especially considering Bucky’s potential instability. A super soldier’s erratic behaviour is not something I can risk right now.
Making it back to the house, I quickly unlock the door, looking over my shoulder as I do so. I carry out the mundane task of checking each room as I enter, and with a sigh of relief knowing the building is secure, I make my way back to the kitchen, finally getting to eat some of the food that I risked my safety for.
The phone rings when my mouth is full of food, almost choking from the surprise. I grab the phone, squinting at the screen to read the caller ID, or lack of.
The phone beeps as I press the green button, answering the call.
“You said you weren’t contacting me again.”
“I lied.”
“Why are you following me?” I answer abruptly. I set my food down on the coffee table in front of me, swapping for a weapon, standing to peer through the blinds covering the living room window. “How do you even know where I am?”
“You weren’t supposed to leave the safe house.”
“I asked you a question.” I say sternly, after being ignored, again. I scan my eyes up and down the street.
“Traced the call. I knew you’d leave, wanted to make sure you were alright.”
I sigh, so he continues, knowing that I’m dissatisfied with his reasoning.
“You’re hurt, I helped you out.”
“I don’t need your help.”
“I could hear his heart rate increasing the closer he got to you, he wasn’t innocent.” Bucky’s voice strains. I can’t lie, hearing confirmation of my suspicion was comforting, but I’m not in a position to appear thankful. I can’t be soft around him, not after what he said earlier.
“And I would have handled it.” I can feel myself getting agitated, so I take a breath, still looking out of the window for any sign of him. I don’t think he would risk being here. “Look, we shouldn’t be talking. You’re lucky I haven’t told Sharon.”
“Oh, so you’re Sharon’s bitch now.” His voice raises again slightly, not letting me forget about his wicked tongue.
“What if Zemo got to you again? Huh? I’d be dead, or worse.” I argue back, my voice still hoarse from the damage that the Winter Soldier did. I make the decision to back away from the window, setting my weapon on the table and taking a seat.
“I would never-” Bucky tries to argue, but he knows it won’t go anywhere. He’s already tried to resist Zemo once, and he failed. “He doesn’t need me anymore.”
I point out the gaps in his memory since the incident, and he pauses for a moment, clearing his throat.
“You’re right, I’m sorry.”
“Go home, Bucky. Pretend you don’t know where I am. It’s best for us both.”
“What’s best for me, is to keep you safe.”
I want to scream. It takes all of my might not to tell him the address and invite him in, and squeeze myself so tight to his chest that we fuse together.
But I know I can’t do it to myself, or him. Sharon was right this morning, Bucky seeing me in my current state won’t help him, but it doesn’t make this any easier to navigate.
“You were right, what you said before.” I swallow, trying to ignore the intrusive thoughts rushing through my head. “If you want to keep me safe, forget about me.”
“Wait, I-”
I force the device away from my ear, ending the call, slamming the phone onto the table.
Damage done.