It was about seven in the morning when the two of them got back from his little early morning excursion. Cara didn't say anything else, keeping her gaze away from him, and on the floor. She seemed to shut herself down after her breakdown. He didn't blame her. He could relate, and she could keep her secrets.
Her hand was steady as she unlocked the door. The keys glinted in the dim light of the hall, as she pushed open the door, pausing to look at him.
"I'm not usually like that," she said. "Today's just a... It's just a hard day."
He didn't know what to say, opening his mouth slightly. "I understand," he said finally, settling for the most diplomatic answer, even if it was a blatant lie.
She nodded. Something flashed over her face, but he wasn't quite sure what it was, and she was already turning into the apartment.
As he followed her into the narrow hallway, her red hair loose and swinging down her back, he watched her carefully. She had a story. He was curious. He didn't know if it was the Winter Soldier who wanted answers, or James Buchanan Barnes, or a mix of both. Whatever he was now, he was curious. And yet he knew he wasn't going to get any answers. She didn't strike him as the type to give away her secrets easily. This morning had been a something he wasn't sure he was supposed to see.
She paused in the kitchen, eyeing the cabinets. She glanced down at the keys in her hand, a thoughtful expression coming over her face.
"We should go shopping," she said. He stared at her. "Don't give me that look."
"What look?"
"That one. We need to get more food. And I still need to replace some things from the wreck. And get you your own key."
"Why do I have to come?"
"I want to know more about you."
No, you really don't, he thought.
Instead, he said, "There's not much to know about me."
She raised her eyebrows. "You are a liar."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"There is a lot to know about you. You are a mystery."
"So are you."
"Well, then," she said. "It's decided. We're both going." She moved past him, to her room. "I'll meet you out here in an hour. Get ready."
He didn't say anything, didn't move, just stood, perfectly still in the middle of the hallway. She turned back, gesturing impatiently at his room.
"Go," she mouthed, before walking into her own room. He sighed, stalking into his room. He paused. He was going to go out into public. Maybe he should clean himself up a little. He was covered in dirt, and dried blood that he kept forgetting about. His last shower had been at a homeless shelter in DC, right before he had decided to come to New York.
He slipped back out into the hall, turning into the bathroom, giving her door a glance.
After he had cleaned himself up, he had found his coat and gloves. They weren't for her 'd seen his arm, and hadn't seemed bothered by it (which, in hindsight, did seem strange.. He'd look into later. Observing Fox while they were out would possibly provide more information). But for now, he'd wear them as not to give anyone any more clues that could identify him as the Winter Soldier, the mysterious masked man with a metal arm who had shot up DC.
He was a murderer on the run. Some people wanted him in jail, and some wanted him to become an asset for them. Just stepping out was going to be risky. But he knew risky. He had carried out operations the bravest wouldn't dare touch, not that he had much of a say in the matter. There were not many who could take him on and live to tell the tale, that he was confident about. It was a calculated risk, and he was willing to take it. The worst that would happen would be having to go on the run again. He knew that was going to happen anyways, eventually.
It was a big city, and one more face wouldn't be noticed, as long as he was careful. He looked in the mirror. It was the first time he had looked at himself, since that picture in the Smithsonian. He didn't look much like that anymore, he thought somewhat bitterly. He was a different person, and he still had no idea who that person actually was. His reached up his metal hand towards the reflection, suddenly struck by how similar this felt, to something else. But he didn't remember what. He didn't want to remember. Somethings were best left buried.
A song echoed through the store, playing lightly on the speakers from the stereo. He wasn't paying attention, dragging a basket with him as he followed Cara around.
Well you can hide a lot about yourself,
But honey, what're you gonna do?
And you can sleep in a coffin,
But the past ain't through with you.
Cara turned back to him. "I'm getting your key, I'll be right back. You can get whatever you need. I'll meet you at the register." He nodded, keeping his gaze away from the security camera to his left. She walked off, in the direction of the hardware center, leaving him on his own. He looked around. The store was empty, not many people being up and about this early on a weekend. Something caught his eye. On a rack was a magazine, and on the cover was Steve Rogers.
'Cause we are all a bunch of liars.
Tell me, baby, who do you wanna be?
And we are all about to sell it,
'Cause it's tragic with a capital T.
Let it be, Let it be, Let it be!
The cover read, Captain America: Heroics, or Havoc? Bucky felt a sharp jolt of anger at the title. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, a voice was screaming that all Steve had ever wanted to do was help people, that he didn't care about being a hero. Steve was the man that everyone should try to be like. He didn't know how he knew this. He just did. It had started out like a ghost of a feeling when he had saved him, and had grown stronger with every day.
'Cause we all wanna party when the funeral ends.
And we all get together when we bury our friends.
It's been eight bitter years since I've been seeing your face.
And you're walking away, and I will die in this place.
It was his fault Rogers was getting this. He had caused the havoc, and Steve was getting the blame. The magazine in his hand crumpled as he tightened his grip.
"Bucky," Cara said. He turned sharply to see her standing by his side. She looked at the magazine in his gloved hand. Carefully, she reached over, putting her hand on top of his, loosening his fingers. He let her do it. As she put it back on the shelf. Turning back to him, she placed a small metallic object in his hand. A key. She looked up at him, keeping her hands around his. "Are you ready to go?"
He nodded mutely.
She let him go, and some part of him missed the feeling of her holding him. It had made him feel less alone. She grabbed the basket, pushing it to the register. He followed her. As Cara unloaded the cart, he saw Rogers' face staring back at him again, with the same caption. He reached forward suddenly, turning the magazine around, unable to take the accusing stare, or the stupid words any longer. Cara gave him a strange look.
"You're being weird," Cara said, as she finished taking items out, and placing them in the checkout, paying for it easily.
"You're being weird," he grumbled. He couldn't resist the juvenile response, as he glared at her.
The cashier looked between them. "You two make such a cute couple," she said.
Cara looked up in surprise, as Bucky glanced away uncomfortably.
"Oh, no, we're not together," she said, gesturing between them. She looked at him. "We're just... Friends?"
"Yeah, friends," he said quickly. The cashier gave him a sympathetic look. He shot Cara a confused one. Why the sympathy? Cara tilted her head towards the door, indicating she'd explain it later.
"My mistake," the cashier said, handing him their receipt. He handed it to Cara, who stuck it in one of their two shopping bags. He took it from her. It would be more efficient for him to carry it. She smiled at him, nodding in thanks. "Have a nice day!"
"You too," Cara said pleasantly, walking quickly away. As he followed, he could feel the woman's eyes on them, like she didn't quite belive him.
"Why did she give me that look?" Bucky said, as soon as they were outside. "She looked like she felt sorry for me."
"She probably thought I was friend zoning you, or something" Cara said, laughing slightly.
"What does that mean?" He said.
"It means I just completely killed any hopes of us ever having a romantic relationship. And she felt bad for you."
"Why? What's wrong with being friends?" Cara looked at him. He felt genuinely seemed baffled. She shrugged.
"Good question, and I don't know the answer," she said. He shook his head, falling silent. "Where to next?"
Now it was his turn to shrug.
"We can get stuff for dinner tonight?"
He nodded.
"Right. This way."
Bucky was pushing the cart, as they walked through the small grocery store, leaning on the handle, while Cara walked in front of him, occasionally pulled something off the shelf and tossed it in. She glance back at him.
"Is there anything you want?"
He shook his head. She rolled her eyes, turning back to the front, although she kept her hand firmly on the front of the cart.
She paused, glancing passed him. "There a someone watching us," she said, nodding behind him, "Do you know them?" He resist the urge to freeze where he stood, instead glancing casually behind him. A man, stereotypical in what he thought most agents looked like, black suit, nondescript face. He was clearly an amatuar though, staring right at them, not attempting to hide that he was observing them. Even Cara, with no experience, had seen it.
Bucky looked at Cara. She was nearly expressionless, as was usual, glancing between him and the man. He released the basket, stepping away, as if to distance himself from her.
"I'll be right back," he said quietly. "Stay here." She looked slightly anxious, as she took in his serious expression.
"Alright," she said. He turned back to the man, walking over confidently, who made no movement, to hide, or run, or fight. He just stood there. watching.
Bucky stared at him, feeling every bit of training come back. He felt himself stand taller, and straighter.
"Why are you looking at us?" He said. He felt himself slipping slightly into another accent, another voice. A hint of a Russian one. The man looked at him, tilting his head. The sunglasses kept him from being able to make out his face. The only clue was the slight movements he made.
"Do you know the story of the Firebird? It's Russian, though I don't suppose they ever let you read those."
"Who are you?"
"Well, in a rare retelling every night, a golden apple would be stolen to from a garden. And the king wanted to find out who it was who was stealing it. His son saw the bird, and told the king of it's beauty. The king was transfixed, and he sent his son, out into the world, and the prince found a Wolf. The Wolf, being a creature of winter, did not like the warmth, and lead him right to her."
His head tilted indicating he was glancing behind him.
"Her hair is quite the shade of red. Like flames, don't you think?"
Bucky shifted. "What do you want?"
"Oh, Winter Soldier. Is that how they taught you to get information? By simply asking and assuming I'll answer? Maybe you aren't as good as I thought."
"Retrieving information was never what I was best at.I will give you one more chance. Who are you, and what do you want with me?"
The man looked at him, face unreadable.
"Who says we are here for you, Soldier?"
Bucky fist tightened.
"Keep an close eye on your friend. She is not all that she seems, and if you don't, you might just... Well, you might just lose her."
The lights went out, plunging the small windowless store into darkness. The fire alarm began to flash, illuminating everything in brief sparks of light. Bucky swore, as he spun around, the words about Cara ringing in his ears, although he was hesitant to turn his back on the man, even for a moment. This all seemed to planned, too careful.
There was no one by the cart.
Cara was gone.
"Fox!" He yelled, spinning around to demand the man tell him where she was. But there either. It was like Agent had turned to smoke. He was alone in the aisle. Walking quickly forward, he looked around. There was no one in the store at all. His heart began to beat faster.
"Fox, where the fuck are you!"
"Bucky?" Her voice echoed.
"Cara!"
She was standing in the back, alone as well. He walked quickly to her side.
"Are you alright?"
"Yeah... Just thought I saw something."
"I told you to stay there."
"I thought I saw something."
"What?"
"I don't know. Something."
"Cara, tell me what you saw."
"I don't know. I'm not sure."
He sighed, glancing store was empty. "We need to go. We need to go now."
"Alright," she said. He grabbed her arm, almost dragging her towards the exit, so that they wouldn't be separated from each other, if anything happened. As they stepped out into the sun, he glanced around, pulling his hat down, blocking his face. He walked quickly. They were a few blocks away from the apartment.
If he could get them there, he could figure this all out.
After a few minutes, Cara began asking questions
"Bucky, what's happening?"
"I just have a bad feeling about something.
"Bucky, I want answers."
"Please trust me, Cara. Please," he said, No one was following them. There was no sign of anything usual. The double doors of the apartment were only a few feet away. He pulled her sharply in.
She sighed, "Alright. Alright. But I want answers. Later."
"Okay."
The ride in the elevator was silent, as Bukcy thought about what he had to do. He had to make sure that apartment was secure, that no one was waiting for them. And then, he had to investigate what the man had said about Cara.
"She is not all that she seems."
Cara was a point of interest to others. And that could mean danger. He had to know every varible. He had to, or they would do something to her. Not just to get at him, but because she was special. Special people never lasted long.
And the memory of her hands on his made the idea of that almost painful.
As she opened the door, he cleared his throat.
"Thank you," he said. She looked at him, slightly surprised.
"For what?"
"For trusting me."
She blinked. "No problem."
"No. Most wouldn't. You have no reason to. I don't even have any reason to."
"Bucky. I trust you. I have good judgement. So, trust me on this one."
He was at a loss for words.
She put her hand on his arm. "Just... Not right now, but one day. Trust me."
She turned and left him standing there in the hallway, alone again. He reached into his pocket, pulling out the key she had given him.
Trust me.
He sighed, and shut the door.
Trust me.
How could he trust anyone, ever?
Trust me.
And why... Why did he want to so badly?
A/N: What is it with me and B-Sides from forever ago that will never be heard in stores. Like seriously, I started listening to My Chemical Romance again, and I've been going on writing sprees listening to all the songs. Man, I miss them.
In other news, I updated! *cheers*
And it's sort of long! *cheers again*
And I got to use my favorite trope of being mistaken for a couple heh heh heh.
Thank you everyone for reading, and welcome new readers! Heads up, it's finals week next week, so I'll be panicking. Last update for 2014, probably, so I'll say it now. Happy holidays everyone!
