Cold rain was pouring from the blackened, night sky, soaking her to the bone as Samantha Grey ran as fast as her legs would carry her. A lightning bolt briefly illuminated her path, its light extinguishing just when the pounding of thunder made itself known, startling Samantha. Sighing, the woman gathered her bearings and picked up her pace, attempting to slow down her erratic heartbeat. Once upon a time she had relished the adrenaline that running at night in a deserted street gave, but now all she wanted was to reach her crappy apartment. Even after a few months, despite how crazy she knew it to be, she could not shake the feeling of someone following her.
One of his parting gifts, she pondered.
Nights like this, with the wind hurling and hitting her across the face, were what reminded Samantha of her old life. Or better yet, the lie that she'd believed to be her life. For the better part of the last five years she had genuinely become a monster and it was all because of him. To think she still couldn't remember him or even say his name without shuddering was a testament to just how big of a number he'd played on her. Memories threatened to come to the surface and she couldn't afford that. Inhaling deeply, she struggled to regain her equilibrium, to rebuild the barriers that were threatening to collapse. A scream interrupted her efforts.
Had it been real? Or was her mind playing tricks, replaying old scenes?
Stopping, she listened closely, but silence reigned once again over the streets of New York. Just as she'd decided it had all been a figment of her imagination, another scream echoed, this time louder, more desperate.
It could be a trap, tried to reason her rational side, but as usual, the reckless part of her won the battle and Samantha found herself running in what she believed to be the direction of the cry for help. Any doubts about the location were shattered when the noise intensified as she grew nearer. She could distinguish angry voices and a woman meekly begging.
That wasn't something unheard of, especially at night in the Big Apple where street thugs awaited at every corner for the opportunity to pound on helpless prey. Well, tonight she'd teach them to pick on someone their own size.
Heart racing, she took a sharp left and reached her destination. In spite of the heavy rain blurring her vision, she could clearly assess the situation once surprise had worn off. At this hour and on this weather, somebody else had heard the cries for help.
That certain somebody was currently engaged in a fight against six other armed men. Instincts wanted to jump in, help him since it was hardly a fair fight, but the good Samaritan seemed to be holding his own pretty well. Scanning the area, Samantha's eyes landed on a young woman huddled after a dumpster, sobs wracking her small frame. Carefully avoiding the fight, for the moment at least, she made her way to the figure and crouched down at her level. The woman didn't respond or even lifted her gaze to look at her. Placing a hand on her shoulder, Samantha gently shook her.
"You have got to get out of here," she declared loudly as to not be muffled by the thunderstorm raging on. As expected, there was no answer, but the woman did lift her eyes slightly and was now looking at her, with an expression of sheer terror. An expression Samantha knew all too well. One that she'd seen reflected in the mirror countless times before. Shaking it off, she continued. "When I tell you, you run. You run as fast as you can and you don't look back, no matter what you hear."
If not for the little nod, Samantha would have thought the woman hadn't heard her. Turning her attention back to the fight, she focused on finding the right window of opportunity for the woman to slip away unnoticed.
One of the assailants was laying against the wall, unconscious, having seemingly bashed his head on the cement while another one was nursing what appeared to be a stab wound, hands tightly grasping his side attempting to stem the blood flow.
The left four guys, all of which were gathered in a circle around a tall man clad in black, a baseball hat drawn over his face. The good Samaritan, as she'd baptized him in her head, was panting, but did not appear to be otherwise injured. There was something strange about his left arm and the way he moved it, but Samantha could not afford to dwell on it now. With the smallest of motions, he turned his head a bit and looked at them out of the corner of his eyes. Then, unexpectedly, he nodded. It took her but a moment to figure out that he was signaling for them to make their escape. He must have heard her, she deduced.
Without further warning, he engaged the other men in hand to hand battle. If that wasn't a distraction, Samantha didn't know what was.
"Now!" she screamed at the poor terrified girl who couldn't have been more than 21 years old. Out of the blue, spirit seemed to have returned to the nearly catatonic girl who took off at a speed no one would have guessed she possessed. Only after Samantha had made sure she'd put enough distance between them, did she turn to look at the fight. Knives were flying and the good Samaritan was dodging hits that were coming from all directions. He possessed unnatural speed, but that did not mean that he was invincible. Steadying herself, she prepared for the first real battle in over five months and took a step forward, aiming a strong punch at the nearest attacker.
Her intervention must have startled her ally who stopped for a second to look at her. "What the hell are you doing? Get out of here!" he yelled out, his deep voice dripping with barely controlled rage. One of the men took advantage of his carelessness and plunged his knife deeply into the good Samaritan's right shoulder.
Samantha wanted to ask him if he was alright, but her own assaulter reminded her of her first fighting lesson: "Never take your eyes off your opponent." He had taught her that and, like everything else he'd said, Samantha had never forgotten. That was how she barely missed a well-aimed kick to her temple and managed to counter with a strong punch to the jaw followed by a kick to the groin. The man was going down and one last elbow to the neck knocked him out.
Meanwhile, the good Samaritan- God, she really needed to ask for his name once this was over –had incapacitated two of his three opponents, who were quite literally bleeding on the ground. The sound of metal grinding on metal droned out the rain which had mellowed down significantly during the fight. It had been the sound of a knife meeting the man's left hand.
That's when it hit her. He had a prosthetic arm. Somehow, that seemed to ring a bell, bring back some kind of memory, but it slipped though when the sound of a heavy punch drew her back to reality. The last attacker was crawling away from the good Samaritan. Sometime during the fight, his baseball hat had fallen off and Samantha finally found herself face to face with the man. He had shoulder length brown hair that framed his face, giving him a mysterious look, but what really captivated her were his eyes. Sky blue eyes that were studying her and she felt like he could see through every single one of her defenses. His icy stare, no, glare was more appropriate, made her flinch, but she couldn't look away.
"I told you to leave," he finally spoke and came closer to her.
Resisting the urge to take a step back, Samantha stared straight at him. "You needed help and I provided you with it."
"I was handling myself just fine before you came here, girl."
Was this man for real? Sure, he did most of the hard work, but she helped him as well. He was the one who got hurt, after all, and not her. Before she could point that out, a voice of reason she'd forgotten she had, whispered that she was the reason why he'd gotten distracted. Perhaps he was right. A quick glance at his shoulder showcased a hole that was still bleeding quite profoundly in his black jacket.
Seeming bored by her lack of reply, he turned away, masking a grunt of pain and started to walk away. By the time she got her bearings, he was nearly at the end of the alley. The rain had stopped completely and people were bound to pass by even at this hour. She had to get out of here as well before the police came. If she got mixed with the cops, they were guaranteed to find out her whereabouts. That would result in her death.
Still, instead of going in the opposite direction and copy the good Samaritan's actions, she found herself following him. There was something eerily familiar about him and even though she would never admit it aloud, she felt somewhat guilty about his injury. She had been the reason why he had lost his focus. And even more, she could not forget the penetrating, haunted look he had given her before covering up all of his emotions behind a wall of immense fury.
"Wait!" she screamed after him. He didn't turn, but he did momentarily stop. "You're hurt. You need to go to a hospital. I can take you," she offered before her brain could connect with her mouth. What in the world was she doing? This man screamed danger. And she'd sworn she'd steer clear of men like that after him.
"I can take care of myself," he responded and proceeded in walking away from her.
There was nothing else she could say to him and she didn't want to push her luck. Even with all of her previous training, she was convinced she was no match for him. And she didn't want to anger him. He seemed on edge constantly, with barely restrained anger behind his every move. One last sweep of the area, to ensure that nothing had been left behind that would link her to any of this, made her see his black baseball hat thrown on the ground. He'd been in such a hurry to get away that he'd forgotten about it. Bending down, she lifted it up. It was a common hat. One found in every single street shop around here and it didn't tell her anything more about the riveting stranger.
Sirens approaching notified her that someone had probably called the cops and that she had to get out of there. Running out of the alley, she did one last sweep of the perimeter, searching for him, but came up empty. Not even a trace of his presence but for the hat clutched in her hand.
A few blocks down, she slowed down her pace, but could not help but check her surroundings. The man had spiked her curiosity. What was so familiar about him?
And to think she hadn't even gotten his name. "I guess you're still the good Samaritan," she said looking at the hat and glancing around her one last time before entering her apartment.
A/N Hello, everyone! This is my first attempt at writing a Marvel Universel fanfiction so I'm quite nervous about getting it right. I have seen all of the Captain America movies, including Civil War, and I have fallen in love with Bucky and could not get this plot out of my head. Please, let me know if you liked it, so far, at least.