Chapter 5
Marina was hungry when she woke up, which he had supplied for. She looked less grey, color - as much as she had - returning to her face.
He waited until she was done eating, done making sure the two children ate. Tried to parse the little hints of himself he couldn't help but see.
The conversation was brief, calm, ended with Yelena out the window to scout and find transportation that could fit all of them. It ended with Marina bringing the children and the pet cat close, arming the girl.
Arming Becca. Because Evan was too small, untrained, untouched.
Something of him that was untouched.
"Why do I get the feeling none of them like me?" Sam asked, voice quiet.
He glanced at him, wry, putting everything he owned into four equally spread out duffles. "Could be the Russian."
"No, Nat did that when she was irritated. They trust you, though." Sam was watching him, thoughtful, one hand hitched on his hip.
The part of his brain that needed a handler, no matter what T'challa and his people said, the part that had accepted Steve handing him to Sam like a battered, unwanted paperback - no.
He swallowed back the sour taste of bile. "Similar backgrounds." He managed, gaze following Marina for a moment.
"Similar, but not the same." Sam stated. "Nat never said there were more of her - she mentioned the sister, once or twice."
Kudrin's daughters were all sisters in a way, Dreykov had made sure of that. He had taken what Kudrin had started and made it somehow worse, more rotten. He was watching Marina again, watching her explain things to Becca in a soft voice, fingers pressed gently against her shoulders to focus the little girl.
"So why you?" Sam looked at him.
He could remember Natalia, remember her in a way that had nothing to do with her after she left. Remembered long limbs and knives coming inches from his face.
A shrimp. Short.
He wasn't meant to make value judgements on the girls before he saw them fight, but this one was small. Something tugged in his chest, a wild urge to scoop her up and toss her in the air - she would shriek, maybe, and beat on his head and shoulders, laughing voice, laughing 'James, James, PUT ME DOWN.'
"Begin." The voice of the handler cracked out.
She was limber, faster than he expected. But he had years, and reach, and muscle on her. It was over quickly, his hand holding her down hard to the mat. He could feel the other girls watching - sometimes, sometimes the order came.
Don't get attached.
He wasn't allowed to get attached, they would wipe her away like they had all the others.
She dug her hand into his, thrashing, wild eyed. She knew the other command could come.
And then she stung him, the little bee, a brief shock that caused his hand to spasm and allowed her to slip away - moments, maybe, but he was surprised. Impressed.
A clever girl, to hide her advantage.
The handler called a stop.
But he knew he would work with her again.
"-Ky, Bucky!" Sam's voice was steadily rising, sharp, pointed.
The sour taste was back. She was dead, gone. Lost.
Natalia had fallen. He had not been there to help her.
"I'm fine." He ground out, trying not to flinch away from the hand moving towards his shoulder.
Marina had stopped talking and was watching them, eyes narrowed.
No, they didn't trust Sam. He doubted they ever would, there was no way to tell them the story that would matter.
Handlers. Released into custody of. They knew that play.