Panting, Samantha woke up from the clutches of yet another nightmare. Nearly dying and being forced to perform surgery in her living room had brought back memories from her past. Memories of him, of how he had destroyed her life, memories she fought to keep at bay every waking second. One glance at the clock showed that it was only five in the morning, but there was no way in hell she was going back to sleep and risked seeing his face.
Careful not to wake the peacefully sleeping man on her couch, Samantha headed for a quick shower. Hot water usually made her relax, but today it didn't seem to do the trick so she turned up the heat, scalding rivulets now cascading down her back.
Unwillingly, her eyes travelled to her stomach and stopped right below her ribs. The burn mark there had long healed, but the scar still looked the same. The jagged contour and what it represented would never change. It was disgusting and it made her sick.
Death. That's what it stood for. Deaths she'd been responsible for.
A sob escaped her lips and she had to swallow down bile. What she did could never be undone. Any good deeds would always fall short in making up for those years. Tears mixed with scorching water rolled down her face and Samantha had to support herself on the wall just to keep upright. Remembering invariably turned her into a mess. A broken mess of a woman who, once upon a time, used to bring fear to those around her. If only people could turn back time and not make stupid decisions guided by a youthful desire to make a difference.
She had made a difference, alright. Countless faces flashed before her eyes. Lives ruined with her very hands. This scar, Samantha's fingers clawed at it, this wasn't punishment enough. Sometime during those flashbacks, the woman had fallen victim to the convulsing whimpers, collapsing to the floor.
The water had long turned cold by the time she reigned over her emotions again. Well, at least as much as she was capable of these days. Drying off and avoiding the mirror until she was fully dressed, she exited the bathroom.
To her surprise, alert blue orbs were waiting for her when she opened the door. Sunlight was beginning to seep through the curtains, casting somewhat of a halo around the man's dark hair. Yesterday's clothes were still worn, but James appeared to have cleaned up a bit. Color had somewhat returned to his cheeks and no pain was visible in his movements. All in all, his recovery appeared to have exceeded her expectations.
"I'm sorry if I woke you up. I didn't mean to," she apologized, her voice scratchy from all of the crying.
"It's alright. I don't sleep much anyway," he shrugged it off.
Neither do I, at least not without alcohol, she nearly replied. Biting her tongue instead, she nodded, but James kept his gaze trained on her. "Is everything alright?"
Was that concern laced in his voice? Panic flared in Samantha's mind. Had he heard her pitiful fit of crying in the bathroom? Nerves gripped her and all she could do was turn her head away, composing herself and fighting to keep his maniacal laugh away. "Would you like some breakfast?" exhaling shakily, she continued to avoid him, hoping he would take a hint and drop it.
Moments passed in which he seemed to ponder what to do before he graciously accepted her offer and quietly followed her to the kitchen.
Avoiding the elephant in the room, Samantha opened the fridge and cupboards and inspected them for any traces of food. "So, all I have is some orange juice, cereal, yogurt and milk," she smelled the carton's content to make sure it wasn't expired and scrunched her nose at the wretched odor. "Forget the milk," she threw it in the garbage. "How about some coffee or tea?"
"Tea would be nice, thank you," Bucky politely replied.
Surprised, the woman looked at him. She would have pegged him for a coffee kind of guy, but lately, she'd been proven to be a terrible judge of character so making assumptions was probably wrong of her. Fixing them both a cup of Earl Grey and some yogurt with cereal, she sat down at the table next to James. Neither one of them said anything at first, both deeply interested in their poor breakfast before Samantha, never one to stand for silence, broke it.
"How are you feeling?"
Irises the color of steel turned her way. "Much better," something resembling gratitude covered his face.
"That's good," Samantha who hadn't interacted with a human being aside from the bookstore in months clumsily offered. "I can check the wound again later. See if it's not infected."
"Thank you, but that won't be necessary."
With that one polite sentence he had effectively cut her off. Although she agreed with his assessment, patronizing attitudes had always annoyed her. That is precisely why she brought up the next topic, even though she had guessed he wasn't too keen on discussing it. "By the way, there's something I've been meaning to ask you."
Seeing as he did not outwardly protest gave the woman the confidence needed to proceed. "What happened last night? When I left you were fine." That reminded her of strong, deadly hands tightly wrapped around her neck and her own palms unwillingly went up to her throat.
Bucky followed her movements, jaw clenching and knuckles turned white around the table when he spotted dark purple bruises marring her skin. They would be a pain in the ass to cover and, of course, it had to be a sunny day in New York where a turtle neck would mean asphyxiation. Speaking of, why was he still wearing a jacket inside her apartment?
"Well, are you going to answer me? What are you staring at so intently?" confused, Samantha followed his pupils' direction. "Oh," she quickly realized. "I told you it is fine. Don't worry about the bruises. In fact, if you want to make it up to me, even though I already forgave last night, you can tell me what you were doing last night." It wasn't right to squeeze information out of him by this kind of emotional blackmail, but she justified it by telling herself she needed to know who was residing in her house.
With super speed, James focused on the empty bowl of cereal. A debate seemed to be raging inside his mind. Giving him the space she assumed was needed; Samantha grabbed the dishes and headed for the kitchen sink. If he wanted to, he would tell her. If not, well, she wasn't one to judge others for keeping secrets. Too many of her own weighed heavily on her heart. While washing and rinsing the cheap utensils, no answer came from James.
"There are people after me. Bad people. The worst kind." He softly said just as Samantha was sure an answer wouldn't be provided. Confident that he wouldn't take kindly to any kind of reassuring attitude, she kept her back to him and went on with her task. Apparently, her choice was the right one because Bucky continued. "They were following you, most likely to get to me."
Unintentionally, fear gripped her. Somebody had been following her? Had he found her already? Pushing those irrational thoughts away, Samantha focused on what James was really saying. Those people had been after him, not her. Most likely echoed in her mind. "Did- did you kill them?" hesitantly she questioned.
The creases around his eyes. Jaw tightly shut. The thin line his lips formed.
They all screamed his response.
"I see."
Samantha knew she should feel more than relief, a sense of right and wrong and the notion of when the blurred line between them was crossed, but she couldn't. Because he had eliminated a threat she wasn't sure she could have dealt with. After all, she didn't do that anymore. Of course, he had committed murder, but wouldn't they have done the same to her? Those deaths had prevented her own and the only feelings that came were relief and gratitude.
"I'm sorry you got dragged into all of this, Samantha. I apologize that you had to catch a glimpse of my world."
If only you knew, Samantha contemplated, if only you knew that I have been a part of this world long before you showed up.
"It's not your fault, James. Thank you for not letting them come after me. I know you had no obligation to save me, but then, neither did you have to rescue that girl in the alley. My nickname does fit after all," she smirked. "You are the good Samaritan."
The petty joke alleviated somewhat the gloomy mood in the cramped kitchen. Not willing to let James dampen their spirits again by bringing up the moral compass she was now convinced still lacked, she diverted the conversation in a more positive direction. "I have to go to work in an hour or so, but you are free to stay here. "
Sure, she had meant to be optimistic and enhance his disposition, but offering him her apartment was a tad unexpected. Strangely, after a few seconds on intense analyzing, the conclusion was the she really didn't mind him being there.
"I'm not sure that's such a good idea."
He seemed to nonverbally state that he wasn't a safe option. Sure, he screamed danger, but he'd killed for her. The least she could do was give him a roof over his head. "You're hurt. Because of me. Please, it would make me feel so much better if you stayed here until you recuperated." Tentatively her small hand rested on his shoulder and squeezed lightly.
Wide brown doe-like eyes shined with concern over him. So much like Steve. He couldn't say no to them. He couldn't bear disappointing them once more. It would be like hurting his best friend all over again. Moreover, for the second time in his life since being captured, somebody was treating like a person. Sure, there had been hesitation, but no fear even after what he'd done to her. The only thing the woman emanated was genuine concern and that made up his mind. "I'll stay," he finally voiced his approval.
The woman practically jumped up in happiness after hearing him. For a moment there, Bucky almost believed she would hug him. Thank God that sense seemed to enter her system because she merely flashed him a smile a hurried to get ready for work.
But would he have genuinely resented Samantha's hug? The answer frightened Bucky Barnes because he couldn't afford to make friends. His life could never be graced by friendship or love again. No, those saving graces were reserved for heroes. Only they got to ride off into the sunset on a white horse and enjoy their happy endings.
And he had turned into the villain a long time ago.
Samantha beamed at her last customer for the day. A giddiness she hadn't experienced in months was guiding her every move. Finally there was someone to talk to at the end of the day. Someone who wouldn't look at her with disappointment, hate or disgust. With a bounce in her steps, Samantha made her way to a cheap clothes shop and picked a pair of jeans and a few t-shirts for the man residing in her apartment, hoping that she would get the right size. Then, surprising herself once more, headed into the supermarket and bought more food than it had ever graced her fridge, some beer and two bottles of wine.
By the time she was done, bags hanged heavily from both hands as she headed home. The door to the building was still wide open, but that didn't bother her this much today. No, another human being's company brightened her cloudy, miserable life. Not being alone allowed for the demons of the past to stay hidden, in that dark corner of her mind only reserved for him and this was one day that she refused to let him ruin.
"I'm home," she announced as she opened the door and flung the bags on the kitchen table.
Moments passed in silence and Samantha suddenly felt like a fool. Of course he would leave the first chance he got. Why would he wish to stay with the crazy stranger who has a fit of crying at five in the morning in her own bathroom?
"Damn it, Samantha, you never learn, do you?" Angrily she started to unpack the two frozen pizzas, tossing them in the freezer.
"What did the poor food ever do to you?"
The sound of the husky voice she knew too well by now stopped her in her tracks and left her mouth wide open in shock. James was staring at her, teasing smirk of his face, holding her copy of Crime and Punishment.
Cheeks burning, she ignored his picking on her, grabbed two of the bags and tossed them at him. Inhuman reflexes ensured that he swiftly caught them with his metal hand. Curiosity danced in his eyes "I bought you some clothes," she answered his unspoken question sulkily ignoring his as much as possible. "I hope they fit."
Was that a laugh he huffed before resting the tattered book on the counter and sliding past her to the bathroom to change? The rage she'd felt had now given way to embarrassment. Hopefully, he hadn't connected the dots and realized that the reason behind her anger was his presumed absence. Though, with her luck, that was improbable at best.
Taking out one of the abused pepperoni pizzas out and tossing it in the oven, she was hit with another dilemma. Such a menial one, that she'd forgotten the last time she had been in this position. Probably back when she had been a teenager and helped her aunt set the table. She had bought beer and both white and red wine and for the first time since renting this apartment, alcohol had barely any room left in her fridge. What would James want to drink with pizza and would he want it chilled?
Grabbing both bottles of wine for the man to inspect, Samantha knocked on the bathroom door. A muffled "Come in," prompted her to enter. James lied in the middle of the room facing the mirror. A new pair of faded blue jeans hung loosely on his hips and a simple black t-shirt revealed taut muscles. He looked so much better now and a compliment rested on the tip of her tongue.
Until her eyes caught sight of his metal arm. Sure, she knew of its existence, but had never seen it before. The advanced technology was unmistakable and even if she wished to delude herself, the red star painted where his shoulder blade should have been left no room for doubt.
Gasping and taking a step back, the wine bottles tumbled from her hands, shattering into millions of shards of glass, crimson liquid mixing with pale yellow one, creating a rose hue on the grey marble. It resembled diluted blood. Like the one that had slowly dripped out of her as he punished her.
"I…" no words came and Samantha fled the room ignoring the confused cry that followed her.
Warm tears were now leaving their salty tracks on her face as a panic attack was rearing its ugly head and she fought valiantly with deep breaths to stop it. She had never been officially introduced, but he had told her enough stories to recognize that mark anywhere.
It belonged to Bucky Barnes known as the Winter Soldier.
James was the Winter Soldier.
She had welcomed him into her house even after swearing not to do that ever again. How could she have been so stupid? Just as well, she could have welcomed him into the house.
Unwillingly, her hand clutched the scar on her abdomen.
HYDRA. Her good Samaritan was HYDRA.
The very people that she'd been running away from.
A/N: First of all, I would like to think everyone who added this story to their favourite/follow list. You have no idea how much this means to me. Now, I really hope that you liked this chapter because I struggled really hard to keep Bucky in character during his interaction with Samantha and I hope I managed it, at least a bit. I promise the action will pick up, starting with the next chapter and you will get some answers as to what Samantha's past is ;) If you did enjoy it and have the time for it, please leave me a review because they motivate me to write faster and better and even if you didn't like it, tell me why. Any kind of feedback is apreciated ;)
