Chapter 18: Instinct

August 1, 2014

Winter remembered there being a lot more crime the last time they were in London.

Of course, it took him a while to realize that perhaps he thought there used to be more crime because that was all he could remember from that time. So much had changed over the past few decades that trying to recall memories left him with nothing more than a headache and deep, internal frustration. Something had changed in Summer ever since the day at the bakery. It wasn't something obvious; her face was the same, and her voice was the same. But there was something different about the way she moved, and the way she looked at him. When she slept at night she still had nightmares, but she didn't lay rigid on her back. Instead, she curled up on her side, somehow knowing which side to lay on so that she was always facing where he was in the flat. Some emotion burned in him whenever he noticed these things, and as he walked the perimeter one warm afternoon he finally recognized it - envy. They'd decided to make a difference, in themselves and this world, but she was a step or two ahead of him. And some deeply buried competitive nature didn't like being behind.

He stuffed his hands into his pockets, effectively hiding the glove needed to cover his metal hand. The sidewalk was busy at this time, packed with second shift workers making their way out and kids of all ages making their way home after school. He hated coming out at this time but made himself do it, both to check for any impending threats and to desensitize himself to the stimulus. His instinct was to hide away, to protect himself from the sensory overload, but for once he needed to not listen to his gut.

A certain shopfront seemed to call to him, and his feet slowed without him telling them to. Now it was a coffeeshop, the small area bustling with kids yelling over each other and consuming unnecessary caffeine and sugar. But he knew it hadn't been a coffeeshop the first time he'd been here. He stared at it for a long time, trying to see the signs of previous owners etched into the big glass window at the front. What had it been, before?

You know you can come inside and look, if you like.

The voice, an inkling of a memory that hadn't fully materialized, was of an older gentleman. Winter remembered a warm smile, and a feeling of...shame? Disappointment? He couldn't quite decipher it.

I don't have enough money to go inside quite yet. That had been his response, he was sure of it. But what had the old man been selling? What was in the store that Winter found himself stopping multiple times to look in the window? He stared at the glass now, not thinking about the people inside that might think he was looking at them. He was so close to a memory that he could taste it, and after a few days of fruitless searching in the recesses of his mind, he wanted nothing more than to finally grasp it.

Do you have the girl?

The words themselves could mean anything - a target, a kidnapping, a ransom. That's what they would have meant to Winter. But what had they meant to James Buchanan Barnes?

A teenage girl walked by, the sequins of her top glittering in the sunlight. The sparkles reflected in the window, and though she didn't notice him as she walked by, he definitely noticed her. Finally he was able to remember the golden paint on the glass, Hoffman's Fine Jewelry. Beneath it, rows of blue velvet boxes with all sorts of treasures glittering from their depths. The pieces changed every few days as certain ones were purchased or retired, and he always stopped to check them. He thought of Summer, but not as Summer - he saw her smiling, teasing him about something, giving him a look that made him feel like he couldn't breathe.

If you have the girl, you'll find the money.

The old man had been so certain, and in the memory Winter was too. He had a goal in mind, and he never gave up on any of his goals. He knew what James Buchanan Barnes had been after in that jewelry shop, but he refused to acknowledge it. Those thoughts were too foreign and too personal, and made him feel exposed in a way that sent a stream of panic through his veins. He ducked his head and turned away from the window, continuing along his practiced route. He had some time to make up; if he didn't return at the normal hour, then Summer would get concerned.

The sidewalk cleared as he veered off into a neighborhood, the small houses all lined up to create a perfect hiding place for a long term Hydra operative. But there were no For Sale signs in the yard, nor any signs of moving trucks. If they'd moved in, it had been sometime between the routes he and Summer shared. Most of the sidewalk patrons were kids of varying ages, the older ones looking out for the younger ones as they made their daily trek. They ran up drives to the brightly colored fronts, calling out to parents and siblings and pets until their voices were muffled behind the closed doors. None of them took a second glance at him; none of them knew that an assassin walked in their midst.

But he wasn't an assassin, not anymore. At least, that's what he and Summer told themselves every time before they went to sleep, and the moment they woke up. Their lives were their own now. They didn't belong to Hydra anymore, they only belonged to themselves. And each other. That pull between them, deep and quiet and constant, tugged a little stronger at him every day. He did not vocalize it, but he found himself almost hoping that Summer was experiencing it as well. He had not hoped for anything in a very long time.

He finished his walk of the neighborhood, turning to the back streets to pass by the nearly empty park. It wasn't a particularly popular place - three of the four swings were broken, most of the ground was bare and brown, and the playground equipment looked like it might have been erected even before he came to London the first time. The one regular - a boy, probably in his late teens and dressing often in black - was in his usual spot under a large tree. His big headphones rested around his neck, but Winter could hear the music that was still playing from them. A large sketchbook was open in his lap, his pencil making quick motions as he sketched on the page. All this was normal. What was not normal was the group of three boys walking towards him, their laughter loud and forced and the cigarettes in their hands short and cheap. They walked like animals that wanted to be predators, unaware how far down the food chain they were. And unfortunately, he saw the moment where they spotted their prey.

They called a greeting to the boy under the tree, their sincerity so fake that even an emotionally stunted super soldier could see that it was contrived. The boy under the tree knew this as well, sparing only a glancing glare in their direction before moving his attention back to the sketchbook. The boys didn't care for that, flicking their cigarette butts into the grass (a fire hazard if Winter ever saw one) and making a beeline towards him. Winter altered his pace and trajectory slightly; he did not plan to intervene, but he would if he needed to.

"What have we here?" the first boy, obviously the leader, snatched the sketchbook from the other boy's hands before he had time to pull it away. Winter assumed he had poor reflexes, but he stood quickly, his hand shooting out after the book. Unfortunately, the other boy was still faster.

"Give it here." the boy said, lunging once again for his book. The leader snapped it closed, tossing it to one of his friends with a laugh.

"You need to be faster, Lyle." he said as his second in command started flipping through the pages, uncaring of how it might need to be handled delicately. He found a page he particularly enjoyed, letting out a whistle and turning the book sideways.

"Lookee here, boys. We've got ourselves some nice titties." he said with a laugh. Lyle (if that was his name) flushed red, turning on his heel and going to grab the book again.

"You little freak! Drawing your own porn?" the leader added, easily catching the book as his friend tossed it back to him. He quickly scanned through the pages, trying to find the one of interest.

"It's not - it's art -" Lyle tried in vain to defend himself, flustered by both the interruption and the comments. Winter got the feeling he did not share the contents of his sketchbook with anyone. His answer made all three of the other boys laugh, mocking him in high pitched voices.

"Art? Is that what they're calling this filth?" the leader said, finally finding the right picture. His eyebrows shot up in mock shock. "Oh ho ho, it's a miracle these pages aren't stuck together - any more tits in here?"

"Fuck off, Thomas-" Lyle made a valiant grab towards the book again, only to have it thrown by him to the third boy. Thomas laughed gleefully as Lyle made a grab, missing by a foot. The boys stopped teasing about the art and instead started tossing the book back and forth, an annoying game of monkey in the middle. Winter wandered a little closer; they hadn't noticed him yet, but they were probably about to.

"Come on, you can do better!" Thomas said at one point, throwing the book long before Lyle even got to him. Lyle didn't change his movements, instead going straight up to Thomas and shoving the bigger boy for all he was worth. The two other boys let out low ooh sounds, the mirth in Thomas' face changing to something more malicious. "Oh yea? You want to play that way?" He shoved Lyle, making him stumble back a few paces. His two lackeys caught him easily, slingshotting him back towards their friend. Lyle, to his credit, tried to go for Thomas again, but was interrupted by his fist colliding with his face. Blood spurted as his lip split, and this time the two other boys let him fall to the ground. Thomas looked rather proud of himself for someone who was participating in a rather unfair fight, and Winter started silently sneaking up to them.

Lyle wiped the blood from his lip, smearing it over half his face as he pushed himself to his feet. One of the other boys kicked him from behind, effectively costing him of his balance and sending him back towards his main opponent. He was able to dodge the first fist that Thomas swang at him, but the second came just as fast, this one hitting him in the cheek. A stupid place to punch, if anyone were to ask Winter, but effective as Lyle paused to check his eye. Thomas took the opportunity to shove him with his foot, sending him back onto the rough ground. Winter saw as his stance shifted; he was done punching, and was going to start kicking. It was time to intervene.

"This hardly seems like a fair fight." he said, just loud enough for the boys to hear him. They all startled, not realizing before that he was there. Lyle stayed on the ground, suspicious of this newcomer but also welcoming the distraction. Thomas was the first to recover, putting up a brave front. He didn't realize all the minute tells of his face, or how his heartbeat stuttered when he saw Winter. He was afraid of him, but would never admit it.

"Fuck off, old man, this doesn't concern you." he said, sneering. Winter perked an eyebrow at that; he knew he appeared somewhere in his thirties, though Thomas wasn't wrong - last he checked, his chronological age was nearing one hundred.

"It's three versus one. I'd say he needs another person in his corner." he replied, easily matching the boys' accent. He still spoke quietly and confidently, knowing that the cool unease of his appearance would be more rattling than if he were yelling.

"You'd still be one down." one of the other boys said, as if that mattered. Of course, they couldn't know that Winter was trained in multiple forms of martial arts, but still.

"I think I can help just fine." he said, never looking away from Thomas. "Leave him be, and we won't have any trouble."

"You're already starting trouble." Thomas replied, with all the gusto of an idiot teenager. He turned on Winter, ready to fight. "I said to leave us alone." He moved to shove Winter, but he firmly held his ground and barely shifted when the force was applied. Thomas furrowed his brows and went to shove again, but ended with the same result. This time, Winter snatched his hand, turning his wrist in a way that sent him to his knees. "Ah! What the fuck?!" Thomas screeched, all his bravado gone.

"I'll break it." Winter said calmly. The other two boys looked to each other, wondering if they should intervene and obviously (and rightly) deciding that they shouldn't. Lyle looked like he didn't know whether to be afraid or amused.

"You're a fucking psycho!" Thomas yelled, his voice shaky and his face pale due to the pain. Every time he struggled, he only got more entangled in the hold.

"Yes." Winter said, as if he'd commented that the sky was blue or the earth was round. "Have you learned your lesson?"

"Fucking let me go!" he cried, making Winter increase the hold just slightly.

"I asked you a question." he said, letting his voice drop to the cold timbre that he reserved for interrogations. "Do not make me ask again."

"Yes! Jaysus fuck I'll leave the fucker alone! Fuck!" he seemed to lose most of his vocabulary due to the pain, but Winter was still satisfied with the answer and let go of his hand. Thomas dropped for a second before scrambling up, putting as much space between himself and Winter as he could. He threw a scathing look towards Lyle and a middle finger at Winter before turning sharply, holding his injured arm and not bothering to check if his friends were following as he stomped away. The boy holding the sketchbook remembered that it was in his hands, dropping it unceremoniously on the ground before following after the others.

"You alright?" Winter asked Lyle, putting his hands back in his pockets and maintaining the distance between them. Lyle spat out some blood before once again struggling to stand, the skin under his eye already turning a dark purple.

"Yea, yea I'll be fine." he said, his voice cracking midsentence. He cleared his throat. "Uh, thanks. For that."

"No problem." Winter said, giving him a nod before turning to continue on his route. Lyle took a step towards him, making him take an instinctual step away.

"Wait, uh, sorry, I just…" Lyle trailed off, and Winter wondered if he was embarrassed or scared or both. He took a breath, steeling his resolve. "What you did, with his hand? Can you show me that?"

"You do not have the requisite reaction speed." he said shortly, and Lyle actually flinched as if he'd threatened physical harm. Winter thought suddenly of the man on the bridge - Steve - and how he used to get into trouble all the time. That was mostly what he remembered about him: getting into fights because of him, or getting him out of fights. Though Lyle looked nothing like Steve and the situation was not exactly similar, he couldn't help but be reminded by him. I gotta stick up for the little guy, Buck. Steve had told him that once, apparently unaware that he himself was the little guy. This must have been the reason Winter thought to stop in the first place.

"Well is there something - I mean, never mind." Lyle said, shaking his head and going to pick up his book. He was obviously in pain, but didn't seem too keen on going home. Winter knew he should turn and leave, but something rooted his feet to the ground. It was probably the same thing that had done it in front of the shop earlier.

"I can show you a different maneuver." he offered, his voice so quiet he wondered if he'd even said it aloud, and if Lyle would even be able to hear it. But the boy stopped and looked to him again.

"Really?" he asked, half hopeful and half suspicious. The way he stood told him that he hadn't had anyone stick up for him, at least not in a long time. Winter nodded, his brain whirring as he tried to figure out how to teach the boy without setting off his own reflexes. Lyle came to stand in front of him, waiting eagerly for the instruction. Winter pulled his metal hand from his pocket then changed his mind, instead holding up the flesh one.

"First, let me see how you punch." he said. It was a simple but vital part of defense. Lyle made a face but didn't question him, sending his fist in a wide arc before weakly contacting his palm. "That was ineffective. Try again."

"I don't wanna like, hurt you." Lyle offered, and Winter felt the expression that he made at the sentiment. When was the last time someone didn't want to hurt him? He quickly schooled his face back to neutral, hoping the moment didn't give the kid too much insight.

"You can't." he replied, nodding towards his hand. "Go on. Try again."

Lyle swung again, this time with a little more intent. Winter easily absorbed the force of the hit; it was better, but still not good enough. "You have too much extra movement. Think of it less as a swing, and more as a strike." he said. Lyle nodded, snapping his fist out towards Winter's hand in a straighter movement. This time, Winter was able to hide his surprise. He had not expected the boy to pick it up this quickly. "Exactly." he said.

"So I just go for his face like that?" he asked, as the proper way to throw a punch wasn't golden information. Winter had the urge to roll his eyes, a feeling he hadn't experienced in a very long time.

"The face has too many bones. You are more likely to injure yourself than them." he said. He tapped his abdomen, the area just below his sternum. "You want to hit here. It's a bigger target, and softer. Plus, it will make it difficult for him to breathe."

"Right. Got it." Lyle said, actually seeming to soak in the information. But Winter wasn't finished.

"When he's doubled over, aim your elbow for the area just lateral to the second through the sixth thoracic vertebrae." he said. When he got nothing but a blank look in return, he sighed heavily. "The area between the spine and the shoulder blade."

"Oh. Right." he said nonchalantly, as if this were common knowledge and he'd simply forgotten for a moment. Winter smirked. "But isn't there a lot of bones there?"

"The sympathetic chain runs along the anterior aspect of those ribs." Winter explained, once again getting a look that said the details were above the kid's scope. "It'll fuck up his rhythm." he said, figuring that was the best way to describe an assault on the sympathetic nervous system. This kid didn't care about neuroanatomy; he just wanted to know how he could win a fight.

"So hit in the stomach, then smash the ribs." Lyle reviewed, pointing to the relevant areas on his own body. Winter nodded; though the boy was relatively unathletic, he was a quick study. Just like Steve. "Got it."

"Good." Winter said. This time he did turn and start walking away, his mind starting to buzz as bits and pieces of his time with Steve started coming to the surface.

"Hey! Wait!" Lyle called after him. Winter almost didn't stop, knowing that the more time they spent face to face then the more time he had to recognize him. But he did slow, turning his head so that the kid knew he was listening. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that he was still in the same place. "Thanks. For your help."

"You're welcome." he said. If the boy had anything else to say, he would have to hold his peace. Winter set off at a brisk pace, walking purposefully away from him and back towards his route. He was well behind now; would Summer be worried, when he didn't return at the correct time? He didn't have time to think of it, instead trying to split his mind between taking in the details of his surroundings and trying to hold on to the memories as they came back up. There was nothing full, more just glimpses than anything, but many of them unlocked in rapid succession. He would have a lot to think about tonight.

Turns out, Summer was concerned at his timeliness. When he unlocked the door and entered the flat, he found her standing in the living room; it was the perfect spot so she could see through the windows on either side of the flat, as well as the door. Her stance suggested that she had been pacing.

"You're late." she sounded relieved as she spoke. He could hear all the things she left unsaid: late means punishment and I didn't know where you were and maybe, just maybe, I was afraid you were hurt. Before, late always meant disaster in one way or another. But today, just like it had the day Summer went to the bakery, it just meant late.

"There was a boy. Others were harming him." he said, unsure of how exactly to explain the whole interaction and how it made him feel. She took in a breath, something in her face changing as she stood up a little taller.

"And you stopped them?" she asked. She didn't sound like she was asking for a mission report; she was asking because she wanted to know. Taking time out for civilians wasn't even a thought in their heads whenever they were wiped, but now it was slowly becoming a common occurrence. He nodded.

"He needed help." he said, unsure why he felt the need to defend himself to her. One corner of her mouth lifted in a smile, and she looked at him with something between pride and affection. He was starting to get it, starting to catch up to her. They were both unsure if their goal of helping people was realistic, if they'd ever be able to do anything to try and counteract all the wrong they did. But one day at a time, they were making it happen.

"Food is ready." she said, the knot between her shoulders releasing now that she knew he was safe, and the reason for his tardiness. She walked towards the kitchen, passing much closer to him than she usually would, so close that her left hand brushed his as she came even to him. He grasped her fingers, hard at first and then with a soft grip, one that she could easily pull out of if she wanted to. But she let him hold her hand, their arms flush against each other. He ran his thumb over her fourth finger, for some reason believing that something should be there. Her eyes softened, and she leaned her forehead against his. Once again, he felt like he understood her words even though she didn't say it out loud.

We're doing okay. We're getting better.


Who would have thought that the Winter/Summer chapters would be less stressful than the Lu/Bucky ones? Oops!

I seriously can't thank y'all enough for the kind words left on the last chapter. I love seeing the same names pop up and hearing your thoughts, and get super excited when new ones come too! Any reactions to this lil piece of work are always welcome!

Hope y'all liked this chapter, please let me know what you thought!

-XM