HIS NAME IS BUCKY
Synopsis: When grabs her he expects her to scream or fight him or something that normal people do when they see him. He is a killer, and he knows that but it doesn't frighten her. She just treats him like a human being. When he asks her why? "You aren't the first man to attack me." He tries to leave it at that but discovering who he is sits on par with the small things that she slips out.
Emilie thinks he's better than he thinks he is even when he is pressing her about herself and what happened to her. He's something special. She figures it's a painful sacrifice when it comes to helping the lost soldier who is intensely calm for a man with so little memory and years of blood caked on his hands. He's helping her too, not that either of them realize that either.
/
This started as a little thing and has expanded in ways that I can't count. That's what happens when I let a story sit for too long on my brain and then take my time to make something of it. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this thing.
Much love,
Day
1/3
Her first introduction to the WINTER SOLDIER or the man with the wild eyes as she had come to call him in her mind was the day she decided to take a run through the backstreets that were closest to her home and the safest to boot. It became clear when a gloved hand wrapped around her waist and pulled her down an alley that maybe not even the roads you called home were safe anymore.
She had glanced at the newspapers of course, and seen what covered the front page only to go to the comics section that was minimal for a Sunday. The front page was more often than not covered with travesty and while she was aware of the horror of it, she didn't wish to be involved in it too much. She liked to think everyone had a chance of having a normal life and having a happy one at that despite of what was plastering the newspaper and talked about daily on the television in the early mornings and the late nights. She preferred to try to find a safe balance between staying completely out of any trouble if she could.
Damn it if she hadn't had her fair share of troubles from the past.
However, when she looked into the eyes of the Winter Solider. The man that had a profile on her newspaper late that evening she had been scared for a brief moment before she settled and really looked at him. He wasn't all that scary in the dark. She had been the kind to feed strays that came to her door on a good day and even buy a sandwich for the man who sat on the intersection by the grocery story she frequented. Everything was cute until you really looked at it.
She could vaguely remember a small paragraph about the man with the codename. He was supposed to be avoidable at all cost due to his danger to civilians and the recent trouble with attacking one of the most noble and loved men in history; Captain America also known as Steve Rogers. She hadn't been able to avoid him it seemed, and the idea that he had tried to kill Cpt. Rogers weighed heavily on her mind. Yet, right now that was not her main concern. Something felt off about this and him.
When she looked at his intense eyes that glowed with the dim lighting of the street lamp that was posted a few feet away from them, and the clothes that barely fit him she only saw a man who was in panic and needed a hand.
So what did Emilie Timothy do? She reached for his arm even though it was pressing into her side casing her to the brick will. Pain was irrelevant when there was someone else in distress in her company, and he recoiled from her – only a small fraction, a millimeter at best.
He huffed, turning his head away from her before hearing her speak to him.
This was the first time he felt something that he as a human being was supposed to feel. Something that wasn't triggered by the agony of the pulses that scrambled his brain. It was foreign but he felt good because of it. It was strange, her voice that is. It was quiet, and curious and he felt stunned at not only the sound of it but what she asked him.
"Are you okay? Can I do anything for you?"
Like an ape in the wild that wasn't sure whether or not to trust a human, he moved closer to the woman with the honey auburn hair and leaned close until he was nose to nose to her. He looked for the signs of fear that he was used to, she smiled at him then and something clicked inside him.
"Okay."
Emilie wasn't sure what that meant so she asked him, "Um, what do you mean? Sorry you're not exactly clear."
She watched him swallow quickly as he looked at her. "You offered to do something for me. I need something." The word help wouldn't make it past his tongue. It seemed lost on him, he had done such much lately that it felt wrong to even ask this. If she asked him he would leave her here. There was something off about her, something he couldn't have seen when she passed the first time. However, he felt too centered right now to even try to put a name to what it could be. He watched her now, closely.
Emilie bit her lip as she surveyed him closely. She didn't stray from his face mostly because she didn't know if he would react well to her trying something that he didn't understand. She didn't say anything at first. This whole situation was pretty bizarre. An image flashed in her head that almost made her hesitate, she tossed it back into her head where it stayed. It wasn't the time to have a complete breakdown even if a dude with a metal arm was pressed against her. If her grandmother was still around she would have been calling her stupid for even thinking of helping someone who was seen as a menace to the world at large but sometimes the papers were wrong. In this case she hoped they were very wrong.
"My house is on the left side. It's better if we talk there. People aren't out exactly but…" The soldier seemed to understand what she was trying to say so he grabbed her arm as he backed up and turned her so that they could begin walking in the direction that she indicated. She knew this probably wasn't any better but he didn't seem to think so. She went along with it. It wasn't like she had a choice in the matter exactly. He probably had weapons on him.
His eyes were shifting everywhere as she led on. He was probably looking for targets and making sure that there weren't anyone noising around. Right now, there weren't many of them, she knew but she prayed that no one would be watching. She would hate for anyone to get harmed because she decided to help a guy out. Granted he was a guy who had pulled her into an alley when she was probably the first person to pass by him.
At some point as they headed down the path of Miller Avenue she had forcibly made him bring his hand down to the side so that it wasn't so obvious that he was holding on to her in that way. She didn't think it was the wisest decision to tell him that this wasn't the first time that she had been in a situation like this but he would find out fairly soon. Her mind had already begun to make a battle plan once they were in the safest environment of her house.
214 Miller Avenue was were a fairly large house that sat next to two hedged covered homes. Emilie found herself almost grateful for the two families that hadn't gotten around to clearing away their gardens. It was the fall so not that many people were itching to snip away hedges. She moved away from him slowly and reached for her key in her pocket which alarmed the man with the metallic arm for he was breathing down her neck as she made a grab for it. "It's just my key. I don't keep knives on me like some people." She huffed not daring to look at him though she could feel his eyes on her every move. She quickly unlocked the door before rushing inside with him close on her trail. She locked the door, exhaling deeply as she turned to stare at him. He was still standing near her as if she would do something stupid like make a run for it.
Where the hell would she go? This was the safest place to her. It was her home.
"Feel free to sit. I'm parched, I need water. Would you like some?" She smiled at him a little. His face was made of stone as she slid past him to walk towards her kitchen. He didn't follow her thankfully, as she got a bottle of water from her fridge. She made quick work of drinking some from it.
She looked around her kitchen a minute. It was clean apart from the dishes in the sink that she had planned to do when she got back from her late night run. Her eyes caught the knives that sat in the block and her plan from earlier came back to mind. She took another swig out of water bottle before grabbing one of the knives and hiding it in front of her but low enough that it wasn't visible to anyone that walked into the room as she posted against the island in the center of the room.
Emilie called out to him slowly, "Are you sure you don't want anything?" Her voice was calm though she felt the familiar sensation of nervousness settle in at being in the same similar situation as two, maybe three years ago. She breathed in and out as she heard his boots against the wooden floor as he followed the same path to the kitchen as she had.
As he appeared she threw the knife at him only for him to catch it as it nearly grazed his ear. He tilted his head to the side as if to ask her what she thought she was doing. He didn't say it though but he stepped closer to her and tossed the knife back at her making a similar motion, except it made its mark as it slid across her ear, taking strands of her hair in the process and landing at the wall behind her under one of the cabinets.
He watched as she touched her ear, looking at the red ooze of blood that began to drip slowly from the shell of her ear. She turned away from him as he moved around the island and towards her again. She ignored the tightening of her chest as she made a grab for one of the towels on the handle of the oven.
"Are you one of them?"
His voice had an edge to it. He bite ever word as he enunciated it perfectly, trying to make sure that she understood him. She didn't like it but she didn't answer him. She wasn't sure what he was talking about. She peered at him trying to gauge whether or not she should try to leave the room and risk him coming after her or if she even had to do that at all. His hands were curled at his side. He looked tense and more so furious at her.
"What do you mean? One of who?"
"You threw a knife at me. You must have a reason. Are you HYDRA? They can blend in with anyone who's to say they haven't used civilians as well."
HYDRA
She had heard that name before. She shut her eyes trying to pinpoint where she had heard it before. It wasn't very helpful, she couldn't think with him so close to her. He didn't scare her exactly but he gave off this vibe when he was angry. She had known him for only ten minutes but she knew that was probably long enough for her.
"No. I've heard that name before but no. I'm ordinary. I needed to see something."
"What?" He muttered.
She didn't know if it was the confusion in his voice that made her look at him or if it was the idea that he could probably kill her in two seconds flat that made her want to look at him. "You're not the first man to attack me. I wanted to see how fast you were." That was all the information she felt like sharing, she walked out of the room.
-x-
He didn't know what it was about the woman but hearing her tell him that she had been attacked before by someone who wasn't an assassin (at least he figured that) made him feel odd. He had picked her out of the stragglers who were still out so late on the streets because she was on her own. She had also been running so if he needed her to get out of a bad situation she at least had a chance. He didn't know if he would need to dispose of her in the long haul. A part of him hoped not. There were already a long list of bodies in various points in time that he couldn't exactly remember that were already on his hands. One more wouldn't hurt but he also knew that wasn't true. He was searching for something.
He honestly didn't know what he could get out of her. She had offered to aid him but then she turned around and tried to throw a knife at his face. It was highly confusing to him. If this whole mess with the man in the stars and stripes wasn't enough of a hassle and the lack of memories of who he really was then she was another piece of it. It was just his luck that he had chosen her.
She did seem different than the other people he's had to deal with as the killer that he was. He had seen his fair share of men and women who had pleaded for their lives just as he was about to pull the trigger or slice their throats open with his knife but she was different. He didn't understand why she's done anything at all to help him, even if it was just taking him to her home.
He stayed in the kitchen for a few more moments before moving to the sitting room where she had left him at first. She was sitting on the couch with her head in her hand. She looked worse off than when he had taken to throwing the knife back at her. She should have ducked, he had given her at least a second to do so, yet here she was on the couch looking like she might have a break down or cry. Possibly both. He hoped for his sake that neither of those things happened.
He couldn't remember if he had even consoled a woman before in his past life as Bucky Barnes. He could barely remember the pieces of himself that were wholly considered to be good. A small flash entered into his head then of a cleaner version of himself with his arm around the man in blue who was much tinier, giving him words of sympathy. He looked at the woman again and saw her staring at him. She didn't look too bad anymore but she looked curious.
"What's your name?"
He didn't know if he should answer her at first.
"I rather not refer to you as what they have you listed as in the paper. The Winter Soldier." Her fingers on the left hand – the one that wasn't pressing to her ear with the towel used air quotes around his alias. "What should I call you?"
He folded his arms as he thought about it for a moment. He knew who was supposed to be. This James, but he didn't know if he could connect himself with it. "I'm not sure. I'm still trying to figure out the answer to that."
"You don't know who you really are outside of what the papers say?"
He shakes his head. "I haven't read them but I know who Steve Rogers thinks I am. Who I'm supposed to be."
He couldn't grasp why he was talking so much currently. She was a stranger, and he was a stranger to her but her eyes told him another story. She would listen to him. She would ask questions and he wanted to know why it was so easy for her to do that. Her ability to switch from breaking down to this other woman who filled the same shell as the one who stared at him with those eyes.
"Who is that?"
"His name is Bucky."
She takes the towel from her ear and looks down at the red that is covering the corner of the towel where she pressed it against her ear. He can't see what she's thinking. Her hair is forming a curtain of concealment from him.
He can see the way she swallows. Her body shakes as she slowly centers herself. He wonders if it's something connected to the name. Bucky. Did she know him? No. He rejects it immediately. He's been frozen so many times that this woman who doesn't even look a day over twenty five if that would remember who he had been or who he had become in the process. He had so little memories of time as either but he would hope he would remember her.
"Do you want to know who you are?" Her voice is quiet again, like back in the alley. He decides he should probably sit down so he sits ever so carefully on the other couch which is more like an overgrown chair. He settles down into it, and finds it a bit too comfortable but doesn't move to get up. He can hear the sigh release from his lips but he doesn't say anything at first.
She's the one watching him as he stares down at the silver arm and the flesh one that he has on his lap. He knows that she's just a stranger but something tells him that not only will she be able to help him even just a small fraction but that perhaps he can help her too. He doesn't know why he wants to, or how but it's just a small feeling he has. Perhaps it's who he's supposed to be peeking through all the bloodshed and mayhem. He has no idea but he's resolute in it.
He doesn't know if he can say anything else so he just nods. Yes. He wants to know.
"Okay." She tells him. "I'll see what I can do. I'm not exactly a genius or anything but I can try my best."
He grunts in appreciation. He tilts his head up and sees the way her face brightens a bit, she's trying not to smile.
She gets up though when she notices him staring. "You can take the couch. This house might look big but it's actually doesn't have too much space. Most of it is out back." She almost leaves him in the room but seems to think better of it. "I'm Emilie by the way."
"Emilie…" He tests it on his tongue, trying to memorize it as she makes to actually leave him this time. He watches her cut through a corridor between the kitchen and another room. He is tempted to follow her so he can have a proper look around but he stalls. She didn't give him much time to follow anyhow for she comes back with a stack of blankets and pillows. There are also clothes on top of the pile.
"In case you want to shower." She mumbles to him. She doesn't tell him that he has to but he feels like it would be a good idea anyway. He doesn't remember the last time he bathed himself. He recalls being hosed down a few dozen times. None of it on his own.
"I'm going to use my own in my room but if you need anything. The other bathroom is the first door on the right. There should be towels and soap in there. I'll make sure before I go." She ends as she turns back around and goes back the way she came. Something seems off about her but he ignores it as he stands and takes the clothes and follows where she went down the corridor to the first door as instructed. He's better with directions than anything else. Probably do to the fact that that's how he is programmed to deal with situations. Follow this and everything will be fine. She had left the thought open to him though. He had a choice now.
Emilie bumped into him as he found the door though. She was checking as she said she would. She looked shocked to see him so soon after but she slid out of his way anyhow and went further down the hall. He waited to hear the door close before entering the bathroom.
It was a small bathroom, but it had everything he needed. The towels were in the cabinet right behind the door and toilet was near the tub. He was quick about cleaning up. He gave his hair a thorough scrub and made sure he had given himself a good clean before drying off and getting dressed. It was more methodical than anything else but somehow the action of getting clean made him feel less tense.
He took a look in the mirror afterwards. He didn't know what he was expecting to see. The face of the man they called Bucky. He looked away, taking time to toss his towels in the bin by the door and taking his clothes with him. Like Emilie had hinted at he had been carrying weapons with him. He had used his bare hands to grab her but he was equipped with enough that he could take someone out if he had to. Maybe even everyone on this street, if necessary.
He made sure to wrap his clothes tightly as he made his way out of there and back into the front room where the couches were. He noticed she didn't have a television. Most people nowadays did.
Nowadays.
He shut his eyes for a moment, stilling himself. He sounded like an old man. In theory he supposed he had to be. Every time they took him out of the chill of the cyro-sleep he was faced with a different take on the world, and every time there was something different. Except now he was stuck here. He didn't want to go back. He felt tense and the rage building every time he thought of going back to the madness of HYDRA or SHIELD. He didn't know where he was supposed to go but he knew the first thing he needed to do was deal with himself and figure out what he could.
He had someone willing to help him now. He only hoped what he was looking for could be found.
He sighed, trying to rid the thought of failure from sticking with him. He had failed in the past couple days and that was still with him. He couldn't stand to think about what else he could fail at now. So, he took the blankets and pillow and built a wall around it and shut his eyes for the night. He didn't know the last time he rested properly.
He hadn't slept in days, he was aware of that.
It came easy now though and it was relieving.
-x-
Emilie wakes to the darkness and the silence of the early morning. It's 4am and she almost forgets about her house guest in the living room. She almost wants to forget the fact that she's harboring a fugitive (at least she thinks so) who is a master assassin with several weapons that he's probably holding right now. He could kill her, this is really the first time she really takes the time to think about it.
She realizes that it doesn't bother her. What happened a few years ago cemented her care for her life. Or the lack of caring for it. She moved because she was breathing not because she had a choice. She supposed that wasn't true. She managed to get herself out of it, didn't she?
No one had been looking for her, the only person who had been happy to see her was the woman who lived next door. Mrs. Littleton, an old widow with a sweet Labrador who had made a mad dash for her when she fell into the hedge on the right side where his master lived. All the lights on the street had come on that day.
She sighs now, closing her eyes and rolling over. There's the photo of her brother on her nightstand. She doesn't remember much of her parents but her brother is the one person who mattered. She hadn't heard from him in years. He used to send letters but the last one came right before the pain started. She stopped herself from thinking about him. It always made her sad.
She fingered the photo briefly before rolling back over and trying to calm the ache in her chest.
Emilie must have fallen asleep again for the next time she woke it was sunny and her alarm had gone off. It's Monday which means she's supposed to work. She slowly slipped out of bed and changes into normal clothes. She decides that she doesn't want to go in today. It will seem odd to everyone else but she needs a day to settle The Soldier.
She realizes that she doesn't think she would feel right leaving him here.
To her surprise he's sitting up when she passes by the corridor. He looks better than he looked last night. A good washing will do that, a voice told her. She doesn't smile at him and he doesn't say anything as she goes to the kitchen and puts the coffee on. She spreads out on the island as she waits for the coffee.
She's nearly pulling out her hair by the time she hears the nearly silent shuffle as he enters the room. "Coffee?" She asks as she stands up straight and turns back around to the cabinets and fishes out one cup, and then another when she hears his grunt. It's a weird reaction but she kind of almost smiles at that little noise of his.
They wait in silence but when the drip stops and the machine makes a little happy alert to let whoever is around know that it's okay to take the pot off, she moves quickly as if it's just like breathing.
Most mornings Emilie goes without coffee but today she feels that she needs it. Today feels like it's going to be worse for wear. She can just feel it. She almost blames the fact that she started thinking of Ethan so early on. She misses him, but tries not to let it take over what she is supposed to be doing for her guest.
She pours two cups before taking the creamer and sugar from the cabinet which is a little too high for her but she manages just fine. She thinks nothing of the fact that the man in her kitchen is taller and could have probably reached it just fine. He's posted to the entrance leaning casually against the door.
One arm folded across his abdomen as his other metal one hands to the side. He pushes himself off when she places his cup closer to him and takes a step back. She gestures to the sugar and other things that he could add to suit his taste but he simply takes the cup in his hands and tosses it all back.
It has to burn, she tries not to get too excited about that but he simply places the cup back in the place where she set it. She stares at it for a second as she adds a little sugar to hers and takes her first sip.
As she's relishing the warmth that is slow to start on her tongue and flow to the rest of her body he forms a question. It's nothing too out of the ordinary. "Don't you work?"
"'Course. I'm taking a day."
She expects him to take that as a final answer but he seems to want to dig deeper. Emilie just wants a few seconds to herself but she should have realized last night that that was only a wishful thought. He doesn't know her, nor does she know much about him. "Can you afford to do that?"
"Yes." She quips as she takes his cup and places it in the sink and goes for another cupful of her own.
He is silent for a few moments as she enjoys her second cup. He seems like a silent type of person so she isn't too bothered by the quiet, she is used it being on her own so much. "I'm sorry that I don't have breakfast for you. I'm not in the mood to cook exactly. Not in the mood to work either, but I did agree to help you." She shrugs. She hates these days. She longs for the quiet, the solitude of being on her own but there is something almost comforting about having someone there to keep an eye on her when it should be the other way around.
When she slips by him, she feels his stare linger a little more than it should. She doesn't look to see what look he carries now as she grabs her bag that is by the door on a hook. "I'll be a few hours. You're welcome to peruse anything that is in the fridge or watch the television."
Before she can think of anything else that he could possibly do, she ducks out.
Bucky hears the click as the lock clicks in place.
He was right to think that there was something off about Emilie. It's more than just a feeling, he saw it then in the kitchen.
He doesn't make it a habit of snooping into people's things but the whole suspicion thing is a new thing to him. He wouldn't have thought twice about anything he was told prior to being sent to kill Steve Rogers. It's just his luck that his apprehension is worse now than it had been months ago. He wants to know everything, even if it won't help.
He starts in the living room where he slept. He spends less time there as there isn't much to look through. Emilie has a wall that contains a small bookcase with vinyl records on it in a random order. He reads off a few of the titles but doesn't see anything of interest there as he looks at the paintings that sit on the walls above the bookcase.
Both of them are centered on the sea. He thinks their nice to look at but doesn't see anything particularly telling about them. It's possible that she picked them up because they were appeasing to the eyes. It wasn't that important so he moved down the corridor not looking back.
Emilie had left and she claimed that she wouldn't be coming back for a few hours. That was enough time for him to do what he needed to do then settle back down on the couch.
He came back out her room frustrated and more confused than he had been when he entered it. There was nothing of use there either. She either threw away everything that held any significance or didn't keep anything like that at all. He couldn't wrap his head around why.
She had a laptop sitting on the counter that he briefly thought about combing through. Most people put their lives on those but he didn't think that she did. If she didn't keep anything worth looking into in her house then she wouldn't trust a computer to save those mementos either.
There was that photo in her room though.
He backed track to it. It was a photo of a man, who was a few years older than her if he had to guess. He didn't think he was a lover, however. They shared a few significant features that had him leaning more to him being a sibling.
He decided to look more into the photograph and took it out of the frame that she had put it in. There was a year on it that was about ten years ago. There was also a name scribbled on it.
Ethan, Summer of 2004
He put the photo back in the frame and sat it back where he found it. He wasn't sure what he could do with that yet, but filed it away for now.
Bucky didn't know what to think of Emilie now. There wasn't much to go on on the surface. She seemed genuinely not afraid of him or completely bothered by the fact that he had a metal arm. However, there was something that he saw that reminded him of well, himself.
The sad disposition that was trying not to make seem like a big deal. He wasn't sure if this was just a mood swing of some kind, but he would watch out for it as long as he was entangling himself in her life. He would try to be in and out of it if he could help it.
A few hours turned into nearly eight.
The first thing she said when she stumbled into the house with what appeared to be a busted up lip and soaked clothes was, "Give me a minute. I need a minute." Before she dropped her bag by the door and rushed through the corridor and into her room.
-x-
It's cold. This is the first thing she feels when she awakes. It takes her longer than usual to want to move even though she knows where she is or why she's there in the first place. She also knows she's not alone. She's not as cold as she should be. There is something else covering her naked skin besides the fluffy towel she had around her middle before she was hit by the trauma again.
She doesn't know how to express to him what had happened or whether thanking him would be better.
Emilie opens her eyes anyways and looks over at him. He's sitting by the sink across from her. One leg bent up, his metal arm thrown over it as he looks at her.
It takes her another moment to realize just how much of the arm she can see but it doesn't matter really right now. She takes a deep cleansing breath before closing her eyes for a few seconds as she speaks to him. "People think I'm crazy or ill but if I had to tell them that I had a fit in nothing more than a towel while in the company of a trained killer well, they'd still think I'm crazy." She was sitting by the end of her statement and then she was slipping through the door and towards her closet.
He had come into her en suite when she took too long to come back.
Well, she decided he did want to know what she had found out about him and she couldn't let him wait much longer. So she was quick about pulling on a camisole, an old flannel that belonged to her brother and some denim shorts - all of which were the first decent items of clothes that she could find.
In turn she took a brush through her hair and then headed out to the front of the house which thankfully was where he decided he wanted to be while she was getting dressed.
Bucky could see how shaken up and tired she was but she still had a slight determined feeling to herself as she took her computer and sat at the wooden table that was wedged between the kitchen and the living room. He stood behind her as she booted it up and muttered, "This little drive holds everything I could find on you, The Winter Soldier, and your friend Cap." She waved the little stick in the air for a moment before sticking it in a port on her laptop.
He had been waiting for this all day but something made him want to wait to read about what she had found on him. Call it hesitation, but he had been concerned when he found her convulsing on the linoleum of her bathroom floor.
He had gone into a panic internally. He had never had to deal with a person who did something like that before. He didn't even know what it was exactly.
He moved the laptop away from her. Shutting it first before sliding it to further section of the table. "Hey!" She swiveled around to look at him, glaring partly with a frown on her face. The soldier was quick to follow her movement by caging her in with his arms on each side of the chair. "What the hell was that in your bathroom? It's not normal. I figured you'd be a fairly scared human but you have barely given me anything that read 'I'm fucking scared of you, you filthy assassin'. You said people think you're crazy. Why is that?" He spluttered out.
She swallowed but apart from that she was letting nothing show. "Why does that matter? It's not exactly relevant. I need to show you what I found. That is why you're-," he cut her off by turning her face back to him as she had started looking at her computer as if it would save her from his questions. From his pissed off spouted questions.
"I need to know everything. About you. About me. I cannot be in the dark about it anymore. I think I've had enough for about 70 years."
Emilie licked her lip as she looked at him. She reached for his hand that was still resting against her face. He moved it before she could touch it and she was speaking before he had could do anything to make her talk. He could he knew. He was still in her space. "You don't scare me because I've been around someone like you before but you're nothing like that man. He nearly killed me. You have had plenty of chances to kill me and maybe you will once I give you the information but I'm not afraid of dying. I've already been to hell already."
She can tell he doesn't quite know how to deal with that. He just stares her down another moment before moving back and walking over to where he pushed her laptop and sliding it back to her. He stays over there, turning his back to her. She opens up her laptop and begins opening up the files and arranging them on the screen. This isn't a StarkBook or whatever Tony Stark equivalent there is to her old Gateway but she manages to set it up nicely for him.
"One more thing before you get started..." She waits a minute, waiting for him to give her some kind of sign that he's listening. He gives her a gruff mumble that has no real meaning before she continues on. "What you saw back there is my mind's way of reminding me that I went through it and I still have scar tissue that hasn't healed yet."
His question surprises her. Not just because he's still talking to her but the way he sounds when he says it. "How long has it been since...?" He doesn't have to point out what. She suspects he would like to know what exactly, but she wouldn't even know where to get started on explaining to him how much pain and torture she had experienced.
"Three years next month." She ignores his eyes as they train back on her and she turns the computer so it's angled towards him. She gestures to him to have a go at it.
He takes a seat a few spaces away from her and takes the device closer to him and he just gazes at it. She had set it up so that all he had to do was scroll down the document to read everything that she found. There were hours of reading material.
She moved from where she was sitting in order to go fix her something to eat. She would fix him something too, not that he would be too worried about that when his focus was clearly on learning more about himself. The one thing the paper hadn't said, she had managed to make herself read the short columns that she could while transferring much of the information was how he had ended up losing his life story. They had labeled him as a dangerous man but little else was told.
She had read a few of the articles but had decided that anything else she could ask him later.
There was one thing that she did want to ask him however, "You speak Russian?"
The Soldier for his part was quick and muttered something at her from the table while she made sandwiches in the kitchen. It wasn't English that was clear. "What was that?" She peeked over from inside the kitchen.
He turned, his fingers that were on the keys to control how fast the information slid across the screen for him to read halted as he stared at her. "I said, 'What does this tell you?' Yes. I speak it." Then he turned back to the laptop and resumed reading.
She doesn't know why she asks this of him. Call it curiosity if you will. "Will you teach me some of it?"
He doesn't say anything until she sits a plate well in his reach. "Why?"
She circles back around to get water before sitting in the spot she had been in before. "I'll probably never use it but it couldn't hurt to know a little of another language. You find it useful, don't you?"
His shoulders raise as he shrugs. "I guess. I don't remember how I learned it." He grumbles before reaching for the sandwich that she had left for him. He takes a bite out of it. Stares at what it is, she takes the fact that he takes another bite that he likes it. It's nothing fancy, ham and cheese, tomato and lettuce on wheat with a splash of mayo. A few chips on the side. Not exactly healthy but filling if nothing else. She needs to go shopping on the next spare moment she has.
When he's done, he pushes the plate to the side. She grabs it as she did his coffee cup earlier and heads to the kitchen. She hears a delayed 'thanks' as she passes by him. It makes her smile a little.
The sound of the door jiggling a little makes her stop as she begins to wash the dishes. He's right behind her within a second. "Don't move." She feels the force of his metal hand as he carefully pushes her down onto the ground and then he's out of there. It's much gentler than she figured it would be. He's much more controlled than she thought he would be.
She doesn't know where he is, but she waits to see if whoever it is leaves or gives up. For the life of her she can't figure out who could be at the door. Then the lock unlatches and someone comes in. Her heart is beating in her throat at this point. For the briefest of moments she's wanting to make a dash for the knives in her block. She's good at using them on people who aren't The Winter Soldier, she thinks.
The sound of feet moving sways her attention from the knives before a familiar voice pans through the silence. "What are you doing on the floor? Did you forget that I was bringing the movie over?"
Emilie quickly gets to her feet and runs a hand through her hair as she tries not to look past Greg-comma-Jerry to see if she can find the man who had been so quick to protect her and then run away. She focuses long enough to apologize. "Sorry, it must have slipped my mind. I haven't been feeling all that well and I called in this morning." She lets out a controlled sigh and tries to seem defeated, it's not too hard to do with the way today has gone.
"Damn. I probably should have called. It did worry me not seeing you at work and all. Thought you were just flaking or something. No one actually likes coming in the first of the week." His short cropped hair shakes as he turns all the way around but stops. "We could do this another night, if you prefer?"
"I think that would be best." The half lie sort of spills out of her mouth. She doesn't know what she's doing but she knows that she has to get Jerry out of her house. It isn't clear if the Soldier is even still in here but she'd rather be safe than sorry. "I'm sorry about this again. It's just been a bad few days." Again, she isn't completely lying. Before the man with the metal arm grabbed her last night, there were the slew of days when she felt horrid for several different reasons. It was like the morning picked back up on that.
"It's fine. Give me a call in the morning and let me know how you're feeling."
"Okay." She sniffles, it isn't until then that she realizes just how watery her eyes has gotten. Her chest feels a little tight but she manages to keep it together long enough to hug Jerry at the door.
It shocks her into a staggering sway when she feels something sharp press against her side as Jerry embraces her. There is the sound of glass breaking but after that she blanks.
-x-
Emilie's laughter wasn't comforting to Bucky. He had stayed hidden in her room for only half a minute as they talked but he hadn't felt comfortable in there. In the same way that he didn't feel okay with it when she was changing earlier after her episode in the bathroom. He was careful as he slipped near entrance of the hallway where he could see them closely.
He had noticed the small object in this Jerry's hand right before he embraced her but he was farther away than he needed to be when he plunged it into her skin. He is quick enough to make sure that there isn't too much damage done to her body even when she hits the glass table that is wedged in between the large chair that he liked entirely too much and the other couch that he realized she preferred to sit on. He laid her at an angle that was comfortable before Jerry realized that there was someone else in the room.
He kicked him in the shin as Jerry started to open the door. Bucky had already pulled the knife that he had stowed away in the waist of his pants early on and charging at him. "Who the hell are you?" Jerry asked, eyes wide as he saw the shape of the knife that he had pressed close to his clavicle. The syringe had been dropped when Jerry had let go of Emilie.
Instead of answering him, he decided to just knock him out with a maneuver that he rarely got to use. A part of him hissed because he hadn't coated the floor with the man's blood.
He was supposed to be Emilie's friend. At least that's what it appeared for a brief moment. Whoever this Jerry was, Emilie couldn't be allowed to trust him anymore. He quickly dragged him over to one of the chairs in the room, and finding something to lock him in place before heading back to where the unconscious home owner was. She had definitely harmed herself in some way when she fell back.
He wasn't great at medicine or patch work but he made a judgment call fairly quickly when he realized just how much blood was on the floor and his hands as he checked on her head and the puncture wound that was a little shy of her hip. He knew that it would be weird to explain that he had even touch her in any way that involved lifting up clothes but he had a priority to make sure she didn't die.
It was something he had never experienced before. The want to help someone. He had the urge to kill people (by order and demand). He knew he could have left her there but he had already handled her and if the cops got involved they would find out that he was there. There were already people after him and if she had read even an ounce of the part of the documents that entailed his involvement with the murders that he had committed he didn't understand why she had been so willing to continue to help him.
He ignored the thought for now, as he hoisted her up into his arms and opened the front door. She couldn't stay here. He couldn't do much else here either. He had managed to grab her keys and the flash drive with all his information on it before leaving.
It shouldn't have surprised him that he knew how to drive. At some point, he had to have learned. It was automatic and this tiny part of him was a little shaky as he moved them out of the neighborhood. He had made a note of all the facilities that were important in the D.C. area when he had been searching for an easy way in and out of places.
There was only one place he wanted to go and he would have to enforce some of his training to get inside.
It was easier than he thought it would be as long as he kept his head down and told a few lies.
"Are you related to her?"
"A very distant cousin."
"Does she have any family?"
"None that she bothers to keep in contact with apart from myself."
"We will let you know when you can see her."
He had nodded, pretended to be distraught by the blood on his hands. Her blood. Then they had let him borrow some clothes from the staff supply. He kept his smiles into polite territory even though he was feeling a little bit more than mischievous. Appearances were everything weren't they?
When they called him back to go see her in recovery Emilie was still asleep as he expected. He had made a small trip back to her house for a small bag of things that held her necessities in it and to have a talk with Jerry Greg as he learned was his full name. He was still alive when he left him a few blocks over.
He was usually less controlled when it came to his marks. He couldn't afford to be reckless. As a rule for Emilie's sake he kept the bulk of it out of her house. It looked just like it did when they entered it minus the dishes and a broken chair. She'd be able to go back to it in a few days when she was better.
He had gotten enough out of him to be useful for whatever Emilie decided she wanted to do. He decided to try to distance himself from her. He only known her a day and he had already nearly gotten her in some deep shit. Greg Jerry, Jerry Greg – whatever the hell the guy's name was as he suspected someone who had been approached about finding out information from Emilie about his whereabouts. He had done it for money, of course.
He couldn't have done it for love or something cliché like that. Sometimes he hated people for reasons that didn't involve dossiers or illegal acts but this was fairly close to that if he had to guess. It did remind him that he was about to give the woman a reason to actually be scared of him. He also seemed to realize that she might find a way to twist it into a positive light. There was something the guy had said just before he dragged him out of the house that made him think that Emilie had a different perspective on things than normal people were supposed to view things.
"She kind of gives you this look sometimes that make you want to protect her from getting treated wrong again. You just met her but she slips up sometimes and you just know that she's been in some shit that she hasn't properly dealt with. Fucks her up. You've got that look too but it's different. You're not Emilie."
It made him think very briefly about why he was going so far to protect someone he only knew for 24 hours.
He sat with her and was there when she woke up all of six times. Each time she was spluttering about something very difficult for him to stomach. The last time featured her waking up choking on air. He moved to focus her this time. All the other five times he was quiet as he listen to her until she rolled back over and slept. It was almost time for him to leave. Visiting hours only lasted so long but he was going to stay. He knew a way.
He used his right hand to touch her cheek. "Hey." He sighed.
She looked like she was crying. She wasn't but her eyes were really watery and she took in shallow breaths as she looked around a bit before she looked at him. "Where am I?" She asked quietly. There was this look about her that made him think about what Jerry had said, and what she had been spouted out to him.
"The hospital." He cleared his throat, unsure how to begin to start discussing what she had relayed to him in her half drugged self.
He moved away from her slightly as she tried to sit up but he pushed her back down. "No. Don't move."
His words seem to trigger something in her. "Shit. Jerry was there. What happened to Jerry?"
Bucky sat back a second. He knew he had to tell her what he had done but perhaps he should tell her slowly. "He sedated you. You hit your head on the table, lost a bit of blood. Does your head hurt?"
His throat was starting to hurt from how much talking he was doing. He didn't talk. Not The Soldier. He wanted to put her worries to the side for a moment. This wasn't something he was comfortable with doing at all.
"Not as much as the rest of my body. Thanks for making me stay put." She looked around to the other side of the room for a moment as if thinking there was something there before turning back to Bucky. "I feel like crap."
He nodded. "A very heavy sedative. High grade military kind of stuff, he was supplied with it."
"Who could give that to him? We do temp work. We don't have access to that kind of stuff." She closed her eyes for a moment and he decided that she was either struggling with staying awake or was in pain. Or it could have been something mentally going on that dealt with how she had woken up.
He decided to leave it for now. He needed to explain a few things to her.
"Someone wanted him to find information from you. I suspect it was about my whereabouts. The vial that he used was something I've seen before."
"With HYDRA?" She rolled her head back over in his direction blinking rapidly to try to focus on what he was saying.
"Or SHIELD." He nodded.
"Do you hate them too? I get why HYDRA…" She stopped for a full second, shutting her eyes again and he watched her swallow slowly. "SHIELD wasn't bad before, or they weren't supposed to be."
He was really distracted by her reactions. It wasn't the subject matter at all. So, he made it the subject. "You said some things."
"When?" She nearly bolted right up as she jerkily answered. He folded his arms as he leaned against the wall that was closest to where she was laying.
"You woke up a few times."
"Don't remember. It wasn't important." He could see the way she was starting to shrink up and shut down. It gave him this small flash of a memory. A woman who he mirrored in a way. The quiet smile that she gave a younger version of him as the drip in a hospital room that was much smaller than the one he was sitting in currently. She was in pain but she smiled and reassured him that all would be well.
He tried to keep the flinch out of Emilie's line of sight. He itched to scratch at his head. It made him feel a little fuzzy but he pushed through it to negate her claim. "This Luke person…" He began only for her to stare at him with this look on her face. This was the look Jerry was referring to. It was full of fear, and hate and death. It was pathetic and all-consuming and desperate for him to stop. Stop probing into matters that didn't concern him.
His tongue glossed over his bottom lip as he waited.
"Please. Stop." Her words were slow and quiet in a slight slur that all came from the drugs that she had been sedated with. She wasn't bad off but there had been blood and they had been thorough. He had checked over her head while she was unconscious. He didn't trust them. He didn't trust anyone really.
"What did he do to you?" He grunted as he caught her eyes again.
Emilie realized that it wasn't asked in a sympathetic tone. The Soldier was anything but sympathetic to anyone. He had a list of things that he had endured that he could recollect that was far worse than anything than anyone else had ever experienced. He did feel a little shot of something in his chest as he watched as she pulled at her hair as she sat with her legs propped up close to her chest. She was so quiet that she frightened him.
It was a different kind of fear. She was in pain but it wasn't anything that could be easily fixed. Especially not by him. He didn't even know what he was doing here. Why he was trying to be as close to a friend as he could to Emilie. He didn't know where the instant need to comfort came from.
Was that Bucky's natural reaction to people who he cared for being in turmoil? He had a flash drive in his pocket that contained more information on who that man was and who the person he was as the Soldier but it would never tell him how to handle things like this. It would never make it easier for him to stand idly by and not be able to be sure how to proceed with the emotions. He had been turned off for decades.
He was screwed up and he knew he was the last person to need to try to offer advice. So he didn't even try but he kept his eye on her as she trembled and shook and wept before finding a slight amount composure and answering his question. It was quicker than he thought it should be, the swift transition from broken to okay. She was easy to confide in a man who knew little about himself and that was probably the tell-tale of why he was here.
"I don't know anymore."
She had looked at him as she said it. Eyes swollen and all, with that look on her face that was supposed to make him feel something. Against his better judgment he did feel something. Something earth shattering and numbing that he couldn't put an emotion to. It was just there just as he was looking in from the outside.
He offered no words of apologies for what she had endured, or what she still held onto from whatever had happened to her – she had given him small details, as he grabbed the chair that was against the wall. He had been sitting in it for a couple of hours. He turned it around so the back of it was facing the bed as he drew it closer to the side of the bed and sat on it with his arms thrown across the back as he sat with her.
If he were to sleep he knew that he would hear her cries. They reminded him of something from far away.
For now he wouldn't think. He would focus on the details of what she would share with him. He was offering the chance.
"Remember what I said. I don't want to be in the dark anymore."
Emilie watched him as she wiped her face and tried to regain some of her dignity after having a complete breakdown just from Bucky speaking a name. She took a few breaths as she weighed her choices. He wasn't going to get up and leave her currently, she realized. He wanted to know her pain for some reason. She didn't think they were linked in any fashion. That's not what this was about and she couldn't bring herself to think that he was doing this out of the decency of his heart.
The Soldier, the one that tried to kill Steve Rogers and brought down a large security operation under orders was at the forefront but she think she could see someone else peeking through.
He was doing more than he was trained to do. He had protected her, he got her to a safe place when he weighed his own options and chose to get her out of it alive with minimal scarring. He could have left her but he didn't. She would take that as a small gift.
She owed him.
"Okay," She croaked. She rocked a little in the bed as she tucked her legs closer to her body. "I want something in return."
He was silent but he was listening, his eyes flashed for just a second. She could see the glint of his metal arm in contrast with the scrubs he was wearing. They looked odd on him but she supposed her brother's clothes had gotten bloodied when he had carried her.
"You have to tell me what happened to Jerry. I know I shouldn't care, he was going to torture me I guess."
She waited. There was a few solid moments of silence before he broke it with his one word answer. "Fine."