Bucky ran. He didn't know where he was going, just away from that apartment, where he and his best friend had lived, until he had gotten that damn phone call.
He hopped on his motorcycle, and drove off, ignoring the honks of cars and curses of people.
It hurt. It hurt like fire, or ice, or a knife. It hurt like hell. Wanda didn't know where she was going. She just had to get away from the people dressed in black, whispering about how he had died a hero.
But her brother hadn't been a hero. They had been thieves, pickpockets. It's how they got food on the table. But then the cops had come, and they had shot, and a kid had run in the path of the bullets.
Pietro had jumped in front of him, and well...villains had no right to be heroes.
She was so caught up in her misery that she didn't see the motorcycle coming.
He nearly killed her. Luckily, Bucky had quick reflexes, and he managed to veer off so the motorcycle only grazed her. She still fell over, but at least she wasn't dead.
He hopped off his bike and hurried to help her up.
"Thanks," she said. Her body might have been okay, but her eyes were dead.
This man had dead eyes. They didn't have any light left in them. She brushed off her black dress she had borrowed from a relative. The man sighed.
"My name's Bucky. I'm sorry, are you hurt?" She smiled grimly.
"I'm Wanda. And the only place that hurts right now is my chest," she said. He nodded, like he understood.
Then he spotted the cut on her arm.
He sat Wanda down, pulled a Band-Aid from his pocket, (it never hurt to be prepared) and put it on the wound. She rubbed her arm.
"Thank you," she said. Same quiet voice as before.
"Don't worry about it, it was my fault," he said hastily. She shook her head.
"I should have watched where I was going." They traded apologies, until they both got tired.
"I was trying to make the grief hurt less," Bucky explained. Wanda looked up.
"How'd they die?"
"He was a cop. Criminal shot him."
Wanda sighed.
"He was a criminal. Cop shot him."
They both sat in silence, until here was a yell from her aunt's house. Wanda stood.
"I got to go back," she said. "Thanks for the Band-Aid."
He stood too.
"Thanks for talking," he said, shaking her hand. She smiled and kissed his cheek.
"Want to go get dinner tomorrow?" She asked, pulling her number from her pocket. It never hurt to be prepared.
He smiled.
"Ok."