Chapter 10

Until Proven Innocent

"We can't stay here for too long." Chelsea looked away from the blood in the sink, her blood, to her own face in the mirror. Her cheek was cut and bruised and her lip was split, but it would heal. The collapsed tunnel at the American/Canadian border...that was another story.

Bucky sat on the edge of the tub, a panel open on his left arm and he poked around it with a small screwdriver in his right. "I know. You should rest."

She sat next to him, taking the tool, "We both need rest."

He snatched it back, "I'll take first watch."

She put her hand over his and spoke calmly despite his stubbornness truly annoying her, "My grandfather said you could be a real ass sometimes." He stopped fussing over his arm and let her tighten the screws. When she finished she asked, "Do you remember how this happened?"

He stood and moved to leave the bathroom, "I just remember blood and snow, then some sort of hospital."

"You fell." he turned to her, "You fell off a train. It's the accident that lead everyone who knew you to believe you were dead."

Bucky was slightly dumbfounded. He didn't even know that much about himself. But this is what he wanted. Jogging her memory would lead her to being able to jog his. Chelsea tried to read his expression and just took a deep breath, "My grandfather told me that story a million times. He was there and I think out of everything that happened during the war, your death stuck most."

"The man in the picture you show'd me."

She nodded, "Yeah, that's him."

His death meant something to someone...someone more than just Steve Rogers. It was strange to hear, "I don't remember him."

Chelsea took a moment to pull a black t-shirt over her grey sports bra. Her hair sprouting from the neck of the shirt like a cloud before her face was seen, "It's ok."

"I want to."

She threw a quick smile down into the duffle bag, "One week into basic training you guys hit it off over the idea to fake colds to get closer to a nurse working on the base."

"That's genius man. I've just been holding it in my hands."

Bucky chuckled as he leaned over his cot, swirling his thermometer in the bowl of hot water the nurse left next to his bed. He popped it back into his has mouth as she returned and tskd at the high temperature. "Looks like you'll be staying with me for another day Mr. Barnes."

She fussed over is chart and he motioned to his new friend to try the bowl before she turned to him. Gabriel Jones reached over, swirling his thermometer as well.

"Alright Mr. Jones, how are you feeling?"

He slapped on his best pout as she took the instrument, "How terrible. Get some rest please. I'll come back in a moment with some water for you."

As she walked away both men shamelessly watched her before introducing themselves, "Gabriel Jones."

"James Barnes, but my friends call me Bucky."

"Remember him now?"

He nodded, his expression still solemn. He sat at the end of the bed and could hear her putting a pistol slid it under the pillow and climbed onto the bed. Laying on her back, one hand on her now properly treated and bandaged gut while the other rested on her forehead. "Wake me in two."

She was obviously more tired than she'd expected and she found herself welcoming his chivalry or stubbornness; whichever afforded her the time to rest. She woke with a start, her jaw clenched so tight her teeth ached. "Has it been two?"

Bucky was still at the foot of the bed. His elbows on his knees. Chelsea noticed he hadn't even at least turned on the television. "One and fifteen."

The woman sighed, standing and stretching. She went to the duffle and assembled a rifle. The clicking, clanking metal was the only sound for a few moments. Bucky watched her prop it against the window sill before she pulled up a chair. "You really should at least lie down. " she urged.

He rolled his neck as he stood and pulled off the navy long-sleeve he was wearing. He went to the same side of the bed, probably still warm, and laid on his back also, putting his right arm behind his head and feeling the pistol digging through the pillow to his wrist. "Did your grandfather tell you any other stories about me?"

Chelsea didn't pull her gaze from the window, "Yeah. Quite a few. I'd sit at his chair and listen as long as he'd let me."

"...can you tell me more?"

She glanced at him, catching his gaze in that split second and feeling her heart pound. "Of course I can."

"Same story as before, white male and African American female. They were approached by security and then...well..." Sam motioned to the rubble around them.

"Was anyone hurt?" Steve asked.

"Eight men, but no one died. Looks like the only casualty was the pilot who seemingly went back for your Agent Jones."

There was no seemingly. In attempting to track Chelsea they'd learned she'd come into US airspace in a Quinjet and that the pilot assigned to the craft was missing. It only made sense that he'd been killed. The onboard computer showed an odd flight pattern, doubling back to Russia and the US again before it was landed and abandoned.

"Where are they going?" Steve asked himself aloud.

"My best guess is a boat, maybe a freighter or something, get to Europe and attempt to disappear."

It was a solid plan, and it made the most sense. "We just have to hope they didn't leave already. We're two hours behind this incident."

That made it 6 am, prime time for ships to be leaving port.

"Maybe we'll get lucky."

"Are you sure about this?"

Chelsea took a deep breath as she zipped her black leotard to her chin and proceeded to check weapons before attaching them to her person. "Yeah. I'm already a traitor... and a murderer." She stopped for a second and shook her head, "I can at least keep them off your tail."

"There is no them anymore."

"But there is. Always will be." Her baton buzzed weakly as she tested it. She still strapped it to her pant-leg, "At least if I go down your location goes down with me."

"And if you don't go down?"

She looked Bucky in the eyes, "It's still better if I don't know where you choose to settle."

"You said your mission was to help me."

"It is. How many missions have you gone on with every detail?"

Few. Very few, was the answer. The loud horn of the ship made them both look up. Bucky was the first to look down, at her. "Thank you."

She smiled, "No problem."

"It's quiet." Sam noted that save for the machinery there didn't seem to be anything else really happening at the Canadian Port.

Steve agreed, "Dare I say too quiet?"

"They could be gone already."

"Or this was never their plan."

"It was." The voice above them lifted their gazes to the top of a metal shipping container. Chelsea jumped down to the gravel, "You're just too late."

Sam stepped forward but Steve stopped him, "What happened?"

"I saw some things, experienced some things, felt some things...all not very pleasant." She stood her ground, chin held a bit higher, clutching her baton at it's shortest length in her hand.

"Why did you run?"

"I didn't know who I was at first. And even still, are you here to just slap me on the hands? I don't think so."

"Where is he?"

"The pilot I killed?"

"Bucky."

Her gaze moved to Sam then back to Steve, "Who?"

"Chelsea, please."

For a second her gaze softened. "I'm sorry. He's gone."

Steve wasn't satisfied with that answer and turned to Sam, "Check around."

The woman threw something as they tried to split. Sam wandering off and Steve approaching her. The item stuck to a metal container, right next to Sam's head and started to beep. The explosion was small, but big enough to let them know she meant business. Steve picked up speed and came at a run.

Even at his speed, she leapfrogged him, pressing a spot between his shoulder blades, "Whatever they did to me upped my game just enough, Captain. Don't take me too lightly."

It hurt but he rolled his shoulders and tried to ignore it, "They? Who's they?"

"Hydra."

His concern was back, "What did they do to you?"

"Don't worry. They didn't turn me. Just gave me a little more focus." Her heel caught Sam in the jaw and his counter to her ribs was thrown off just enough that he didn't break one. She forced a deep breath through the pain and jabbed him in the chest with her baton, using the force of its extension. There wasn't enough charge for a knockout, but it did the trick.

Chelsea chanced a look at the water. It was gone. The ship he was on was long gone.

Steve grabbed her from behind and picked her up. The move pissed her off and she kicked Sam as he came to help, then threw her head back to catch Steve in the nose.

He let go and there were two simultaneous clicks. Both men looked into pistol barrels and backed off. Putting a few feet between them and the woman.

"You aren't going to shoot us."

The bold statement and step forward awarded the Avenger with a bullet in his upper arm. "I remember you trying to be my friend... but you must not know me very well."

"Why are you doing this?"

"Does it matter?" Sam shouted, tired of getting kicked in the face, and really upset at having the gun pointed at him. He had suggested they not go empty handed, now look at them, "She just shot you! Why do you trust her?"

"Because she's my friend. And I know she has a good reason, I know he's a good reason."

The woman felt her eyes burning, "I just want to protect him."

"Where is he going, Chelsea?"

"I really don't know." tears fell but she kept her arms raised, "I told him not to tell me. I'd keep you at bay until he was out of sight."

Sam looked around. There were no ships on the water. The ex-shield agent seemed to have her full focus on Steve, but he dare not move. Then he saw it, the falter in her stance and the bloodstain on her leotard. An old wound maybe?

He signaled to Steve, subtly.

"There is no Shield anymore, isn't necessary."

She shook her head, "There will always be a Shield or a Hydra. Always." Both her arms lowered to her sides. The guns hit the gravel and something else fell with them, "I can protect him if I'm not around, I can pay for what I did."

A beeping sent Steve in her direction and he felt her waist in his arms before there was a blossoming heat around his ankles.