Amy was losing her mind. It was the only explanation that made any sense. S.H.I.E.L.D. might be gone, but there were still people she could call, numbers she could ring. There was no reason why she had to deal with the man currently sitting on her sofa staring into space all on her own. Except for the fact that she felt an undeniable weight of responsibility towards him.
Thank you, Daddy. Being a Reverend's disappointment of a daughter left a girl with issues. That and Bucky reminded her of all the guys she'd lost in Iraq. Obviously. She saw their ghosts in the tension that radiated from his body. In the way he could never drop his guard. Was never fully at ease. It was as though he was anticipating an attack at every single moment. It was exhausting just to watch him.
But he had murdered Director Fury and countless other agents. Amy couldn't let herself lose sight of that fact in a fog of sympathy.
And yet, he had saved her life.
She rubbed her forehead. Her head was absolutely pounding.
Bucky had been doing the staring thing pretty much since dinner. Amy wondered what he was thinking, but realised she probably didn't want to know. She still had no idea what she was supposed to do with him- and wondered too at what point his patience with her would snap?
She leant her shoulder against the doorframe and sighed. It was growing dark outside.
"I've made up one of the spare bedrooms for you."
Bucky didn't show any sign that he had heard her speak. But that was okay. Amy was getting used to being ignored by him. She walked across the living room and looked outside at the neighbouring houses.
"Do you think anyone knows you're here?" she asked, without expecting an answer.
She liked her street. She liked her neighbours. There was the old couple who lived opposite with their five miniature poodles, and the family next door with two kids and another one on the way. Nice, normal, innocent people, who didn't deserve for her to be hiding a fugitive in her house. She chewed her lip until she tasted blood.
She didn't realise Bucky was standing behind her until she felt the heat of his body at her back. A frisson of fear skated down her spine, at least she told herself it was fear.
"You don't have to move around like a ninja, you know. This isn't Mission Impossible."
"What?"
"Nothing. Never mind." She turned around to face him. Better. Slightly. He was taller than her, broader than her, so very much stronger than her, but at least by keeping him in her line of sight she could fool herself into not feeling completely powerless. "Do you think HYDRA knows you're here?"
"No."
Amy sensed that what he actually meant was 'no, not yet', which had her biting her lip again.
He stood next to her and looked up and down the street, much the same as she had been doing, except she had the air of prey and he was clearly a predator. He gave off the aura of a tiger on the hunt. Amy felt more like a mouse.
He pulled the cord for the blinds with a snap of his wrist that made her jump. They fell shut with a rattle.
"You should stay away from the window," he said, as he left her side and went back to his seat on the sofa. He kept his eyes on her though, their focus now razor sharp. "Because it seems like they don't know you're here either."
Amy returned his gaze warily, not liking where this conversation might be heading.
She wouldn't mind being ignored again right about now.
"Why was HYDRA after you?" he asked.
Amy blinked at Bucky. Another shiver worked its way down her spine. This time icy and penetrating. It seemed to close around her heart and chill the blood in her veins. She rubbed the tops of her arms, and was more keenly aware than ever of the ache in her chest where her ribs were slowly knitting back together.
She sighed heavily, and then sank down onto the soft cushioned seat of an armchair. Defeated.
"Because I helped design the new helicarriers probably."
Bucky's face was a question. One that Amy didn't want to answer. She started to pick at a loose thread on the arm of her chair rather than have to meet his eyes.
"I didn't know about Project Insight, okay? Well, I mean, I knew a little, but only so much as any other S.H.I.E.L.D. agent knew. You said it yourself, I'm an engineer. I like building stuff." She shrugged her shoulders defensively, sat back and folded her arms across her chest. "I wasn't that important to the project."
"Until?"
Amy hesitated. He was pretty good at this, or she was simply desperate to start offloading some of the weight on her conscience. She had been sworn to secrecy, but all of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s secrets were public knowledge now anyway, so what did it matter anymore?
She toyed with the hair of her ponytail and started talking.
"A little over two weeks ago, before- well, everything- Maria Hill, one of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s most senior agents, contacted me out of the blue. She asked me if there was a way to disable the carriers."
"You told her there was?"
"Well, I said there was in theory. I mean, I didn't write the finished code that I assume was used to take them down. I'm no genius." She looked down at her hands, turning them over in her lap miserably. "I'm just- handy with a wrench."
"So you weren't on one of those ships?"
"Do you honestly think I'd have been alive to be captured by that HYDRA guy if I had been?" She smiled ruefully. "I did apply to work on one actually, six months or so ago. I wanted to be their head engineer, but I failed the physical. Thank God."
"Because of your leg?"
Amy's rueful smile became a little crooked.
"I like to think it's because I'm not psycho HYDRA material, but yes, I dare say it was actually because of my leg." She looked down at the offending limb. Bucky followed her gaze and Amy felt the damaged skin start to tingle beneath the denim of her jeans. "You noticed, huh? I thought I'd gotten pretty good at hiding it."
"What happened?"
"You read my story, right? The Humvee I was travelling in got blown up. I came home from Iraq with a ton of metalwork in my leg. But I was lucky, at least I got to come home."
"You sound like you wish you hadn't."
"You're awfully astute all of a sudden."
"I was in a war," he said, as though it was an explanation, perhaps it was.
"Which one?" she asked.
"It feels like all of them."
Amy stared into Bucky's face. He needed a shave. And possibly a haircut. Safer to think about that than the tortured look in his eyes. She would have to go out and buy him some things tomorrow. If he was still here tomorrow. She couldn't keep scavenging through what remained of Dan's old stuff. Although, it wasn't as though having Bucky look even more attractive than he currently looked was going to help the situation. Her situation. She shook her head in an effort to sort her muddled thoughts.
Assassin. Murderer. Remember it, she ordered herself. Except now she had started thinking 'soldier' instead. And that changed the dynamics of the playing field.
"We all have our demons, Bucky." She found herself speaking again, although she was sure she should shut up and stop baring her soul. "I came home hating war. Hating the politics of war and the human cost behind them. I was convinced there had to be a better way. I wanted to save people from living my hell, but all I managed to do was help make things even worse."
She didn't like the way he was watching her, as though every one of her sins was on view to be judged, as though her naivety was a thing to be pitied and scorned.
"You feel guilty," he said, slowly.
"I am guilty."
"What does that make me?"
"An enigma, which I plan on solving tomorrow."
Hopefully. Bucky was damaged beyond belief, but beyond repair? She hoped not. There was hope for everyone, according to her dad. It was one of the few things that they could agree on.
"Okay. Sleep. I certainly need it, even if you don't," she said. She got up from the chair and walked back across the room in search of her bed.
"Amy." It was the first time Bucky had properly called her by her name. She didn't like how intimate it sounded on his lips. He waited until she was looking back at him before he continued. "You have a gun, right? Make sure you sleep with it tonight."
It wasn't a threat, not even a warning, he sounded sad and tired, and that lost look was back in his eyes.
Amy dragged a weary hand across her face.
"Goodnight, Bucky."
