SHADOW

CHAPTER 13

The tarmac of the parking lot echoes beneath my trainers as I walk towards my car. Night has long since fallen and my whole body feels sore, even though after my meeting with Doctor Quick Natasha only had me in the shooting range. Still, my left shoulder protests loudly underneath my bag strap and my back feels stiff from standing so rigidly for so long. She had me shooting with a variation of different firearms; from snipers to machine guns to pistols, and I think my ears might still be ringing from the noise.

I unlock my car, sling my bag into the back and climb into the driver's seat. Then I scream and swear loudly. Bucky is suddenly standing directly in front of the car, where he hadn't been only seconds before. I have to admit that for a moment a thrill of fear goes through me – his gym vest leaves his metal arm exposed and the shadowing in the parking lot – the hair falling into his eyes – his absolute stillness - all make me think of the Winter Soldier and not Bucky.

I push open my car door and get back out slowly and carefully – the door slams behind me, too loud in the silence – and I walk hesitantly towards him. I can't help the way my heart starts to beat a bit more rapidly; there's something about Bucky – perhaps there always will be – that feels dangerous…feral, almost.

"What do you want?" I ask, stopping a little way away as if we're in some kind of Western stand off.

"…You'd leave me to die?" He says, quietly, pointedly.

I exhale loudly as if his words have physically winded me, unprepared for the number of emotions that rip through my body – predominantly guilt, mixed with a large amount of confusion and panic. "What? No! Of course not! I mean – I…." I press my palm to my brow line, trying to collect my thoughts, and squeeze my eyes shut in frustration. "I just – I'm so stupid, Bucky. I say these things that I don't mean! I don't know what to do or what to say or what to think about any of this. I'm completely freaking out here." I grit my teeth as hot tears well up in my eyes: "I don't think I'm ready for this and – and – I've got to somehow tell Mom I'm leaving and I've got to worry about training and now I've apparently got to worry about you dying, too –" Though we started off with a considerable amount of space between us, I've somehow been pulled towards him like a magnet. I let my forehead fall forwards and connect with his chest, watching teardrops roll from my cheeks onto his vest. Gigantic sobs rack my entire body and I'm entirely unsurprised. I was about due another melt down. I suddenly feel untethered – like I'm spinning alone in space and everything is just too big for me. "Can you h-hug me?" I hiccup out, knowing that physical touch is the only thing that will reassure me right now.

He hesitates – his entire body awkward and stiff – and then I feel his arms encircle me. I shuffle in closer to fill in the space between us and bring my hands up to rest on his chest. Automatically I feel cocooned – safe…and by degrees I feel his body relax against mine.

"You should know by now not to pay attention to anything I say," I tell him, with a wry, albeit watery smile. My breathing is coming out more normally now as I begin to calm down. "It's all bullshit."

Somehow, I know he's smirking even though I can't see his face. "I'll keep that in mind."

I feel his chin rest on top of my head and we stand like that for a full minute before I pull away, rubbing at my nose with my sleeve – my eyes probably all puffy and red.

"You need a ride home?" I ask him, swiftly attempting to steer the conversation to a more neutral, less awkward topic.

Bucky looks towards a black motorcycle parked a little further down from my car. I raise both eyebrows in appreciation. "I'll be okay."

"Alright…" I scuff my heel against ground awkwardly. "I'll…see you tomorrow, I guess."

When I turn to leave, however, he grabs my arm (I notice how he's always avoided touching me with his metal hand), stopping me. "Sleep well, Alex," he murmurs, his voice husky. His eyebrows are furrowed slightly in a way that makes me want to reach up and smooth them back out...he always looks too troubled.

I blink – having expected him to say something like 'we're going to be okay' which would have been sweet, but a lie – and then my eyes widen as he does something I definitely don't expect him to do: he presses his lips to my forehead softly – lingering for just a second too long – before he walks away and kicks his motorcycle to life.

I'm still standing stupidly in the middle of the parking lot as I watch him drive away.

When I pull up at my Mom's house I can see that the kitchen light is on, despite the late hour - filtered golden through her flowery curtains. Her shadow flits about inside – she must've had a late shift at work – and I rest my head back gently against my seat and just watch her move round for a while.

My mother…strong, independent, one-track minded to a fault – how can I possibly do this to her again? After she's spent so many months attempting to nurse me back to health – loving me in spite of everything. She loved me where my father couldn't – knowing her daughter was a killer, a glorified assassin – and yet she never treated me any differently. I was always just her baby girl. Her only child.

I must be cried out for today because instead of tears I only feel a dull emptiness in my stomach.

Though I open the front door soundlessly, the floorboard under the doormat creaks loudly beneath my foot as it has always done since I was a child, bringing my mother into the cramped hallway. She's wearing kitchen gloves and clutching an all-purpose bottle of cleaning spray – I wonder how she can possibly be wiping down the kitchen at this time of night.

"You should be in bed," I sigh, shutting the door behind me.

She folds her arms. "I just got in from work. What are you doing trying to creep into the house at this time of night?"

"I'm not creeping." I throw my coat and bag over the banister at the bottom of the stairs.

"Have you been on a date with that nice boy again? What's his name…Sam?"

I pull a face as I slide past her and into the kitchen, setting the kettle to boil. "Okay, firstly, I'm twenty-nine, Mom, the guys I date are not boys they're men – and secondly, me and Sam aren't seeing each other. We're friends."

"Well excuse me for thinking you had a love life, Alex – God forbid" my mother shoots back, irritably, as she sits down at the rickety dining room table, stripping the kitchen gloves from her hands. "I've been waiting years for you to meet someone."

"What if I'm fine being a bitter party of one?" I ask, unable to help myself from goading her further as I fix myself up a tea.

I let her bluster for a solid ten minutes, not really listening – just watching and enjoying the fact that she's there and here for me and just…Tanja. Other mother's would have noticed quickly when their daughter's stopped listening, but my mother specializes in hearing what she wants to hear and seeing what she wants to see, so it's not until I set my mug down and walk across the room to slide into the seat opposite her own that I manage to cut her off.

"Mom just…hold it for a second, okay?" I say, reaching across the table and taking her hand. "There's something I have to tell you and – and you're not going to like it."

She looks at me shrewdly, her lips pressed into a thin line. "This wouldn't happen to have anything to do with where you've been for the past month?"

I have the grace to look sheepish. "You noticed?"

"Of course I noticed! You've been unemployed for a year – you think I wouldn't notice when you're suddenly out of the house dawn til dusk every day?"

The back of my neck heats up as I flush. Some spy I make – I can't even fool my own mother. "…yeah," I admit, "…it's everything to do with that."

She sighs, leaning back in her chair – her hand slipping out from underneath mine – and abruptly there's a world of space between us. "It's S.H.I.E.L.D, isn't it?" she says, her voice unusually quiet. She's no longer looking at me – her gaze travelling to a spot somewhere over my shoulder.

"Mom…" I whisper, trying to take hold of her hand again, but she withdraws them from the table and folds them tightly in her lap, out of my reach.

"How can you do this to yourself? To me?" she demands.

"I –"

"- after you spent so long trying to heal – to get better!"

"You don't understand, this is me healing."

"No," her eyes refocus on mine and I'm taken aback by how angry she suddenly looks, "this is you being self-destructive. You're throwing everything away, Alex! Can't you see that?"

"The doctor's cleared me."

"Don't make me laugh," she snaps, waving a hand at me. "Those doctor's will say whatever they need to if it means getting you back into the field – look me in the eye and tell me you feel like you can go back to that life."

I look into her eyes – almost the precise shade and shape of my own. I see the raw anger, hurt and fear in them and force myself to accept her pain. That I caused it. It is now my job to create pain. "I can go back go back," I promise.

I know something in my voice must have convinced her because she pushes away from the table forcefully and sweeps up the stairs without another word.

A/N So Megan1130 you were wondering how Bucky would respond….?

I think this is a really hard thing for Alex to do, and for her Mum to hear. I wanted to show the emotional repercussions of life as a spy – which is that you tend to hurt those around you whether you like it or not.

Please review! There are some funner, less angsty scenes to come – I promise.

Last Of The Lilac Wine