Chapter 22: Release

August 29, 2014

Winter wasn't sure he knew how to be around Summer anymore.

It was scary easy to fall into a pattern at the villa - they had their shifts at night, keeping watch for anyone coming up the drive or down the mountain. They made their way once to the town nearby to get supplies; it was big enough to have what they needed and keep them anonymous, but small enough that they didn't feel overwhelmed by the crowds. It was supposed to be a quick trip to get enough to last them a couple days while they developed a plan, but their hands seemed to grab things of their own accord, and their bags were fuller than they'd been...perhaps since the last time they were here, in the '40's.

The villa gave them a false sense of security that both of them acknowledged, but weren't willing to give up. And spending so much time in such a familiar place left them feeling things they hadn't felt in a long time, and seeing things in their dreams that for once weren't the horrors from their recent lives. They were caught in a weird limbo between their old selves and their current ones. At times, Winter looked at Summer and saw the assassin, the machine, the asset that he'd worked with for the past however many decades. But then sometimes, in the early morning when the sunlight bathed her face, or when she cooked meals for them in the evening, he saw her as she used to be, and it made his heart thrum painfully but left it aching for more when the moment passed. And sometimes, when she caught him looking, he thought she felt the same way too. But he also knew that it was up to her to initiate it. That was the way it happened the first time through too, allowing her to lead. It was barely in his nature then, and nearly nonexistent now. It was only the knowledge of her importance that gave him the patience, and the deeply rooted loyalty that told him this was the right course of action.

After a week, they had to make another supply run. And the next week, another. This one he did alone, once again focusing on getting the essentials even though his subconscious seemed to pull him towards other things. They did not need wine, or cheese, or little bundles of herbs. These things were unnecessary. So why did he feel like he was supposed to grab them? In the end, he was able to overcome these urges, shoving them down the way he shoved down the fear when he woke from a nightmare. He still had dreams about the chair, or the lab coats, or the men with the scalpels. But those were not the dreams that left him gasping for breath, his heart nearly hammering out of his chest. No, that came from the dreams where an unknown enemy dragged Summer away from him into the dark, and no matter how fast he ran he could not catch up to them. He did not fear death. He only feared losing her.

He took an alternate route back to the villa, as convoluted as he could manage in order to lose any tail that might be on him. But no one was following him this time. There were no scouts, or agents, or operatives. There were just tired Italians, going about their evenings. The villa seemed empty at first as he walked up, but then again it always did. The front door was open, but not because of intruders; Summer insisted on keeping the doors and windows open, since there were no viable sniper positions at the front of the house. He knew how she felt, considering he felt the same - he didn't like being closed in if they didn't have to be, and the sunshine and breeze felt nice. The third day they were here they swept all the floors and wiped down all the counters, fighting through who knows how many years worth of dust and making the place habitable again, at least for the foreseeable future.

He found Summer in the kitchen, the sunset making her hair seem extra golden as it spilled through the open windows. She stood at the kitchen island, her brows pinched in concentration as she stared at a small bag of flour and two eggs. He'd assumed she was just going to make the eggs for supper while he was out, but the stove was off and nearly everything was the same as when he left.

"Alright?" he asked, going to place the bags of supplies down on a different counter. She didn't glance up at him, instead just looking at the ingredients in front of her.

"Trying to remember something." she replied, her attention never completely shifting from the items in front of her. He came to stand next to her, looking down at the eggs and flour as if they held some long hidden secret. Whatever she was trying to remember, it was her memory and hers alone.

"Don't hurt yourself." he said, only the vaguest amount of sarcasm painting his words. Of course she caught it, sending a glare at him out of the corner of her eye. He lifted one corner of his mouth in a smirk before pushing away from the island, turning on the stove so he could make coffee in the ancient little percolator they'd found buried in the back of one of the cabinets. It had required a sturdy scrubbing, but now it too gleamed in the evening light as Winter set it to work. Behind him, he heard the crinkling of the bag of flour as Summer carefully opened it, her movements slow and hesitant as she tipped it over and spilled some of its contents directly onto the island. The flour formed a small mountain, the finer particles of it dancing in the sunlight coming through the window. He stopped, watching as she tried to piece together her memory. What are you making? He wanted to ask, but didn't want to risk interrupting her.

Her hands paused over the flour mountain, then she carefully touched the top of it. She only used one finger at first, adding two more as she remembered how to make the mountain into a basin. She moved deftly, her body remembering the movements that her mind did not. She picked up one egg, carefully cradling it in her hand. He knew she was testing the tensile strength of the shell, making sure she wouldn't hit it too hard. He still did it every time he made them. One swift crack against the counter and the shell broke, just enough for her to pry it apart and drop the egg into the well. She repeated the gesture with the second one, then stopped as she tried to recall the next step. He wished he knew what it was so that he could give her the information, but whatever she was doing was lost on him.

The lapse only lasted a few moments, then she began pinching at the eggs, breaking the yolks and mixing them with the whites. Then she started stirring, ever so slowly incorporating the flour from the area around the eggs. The white flour was first a stark contrast to the yellow of the eggs, but it quickly incorporated into the mixture. Soon, it was too thick for her to just mix by stirring, so she started folding it together until it was all one cohesive, yellow mass. Something tickled at the back of his mind - he was so close to figuring out what she was making, to remembering what she was doing. She kneaded the ball of dough, her hands flexing as she made sure not to put too much strength behind it. It was such a simple movement, and yet he was completely transfixed by it. She finally stopped, leaving the dough on the countertop and covering it with a towel. When she turned to him her eyes immediately met him, as if she knew that he'd been watching the whole time. A different man might be embarrassed, but Winter just looked right back at her.

"Is the coffee ready?" she asked, bringing him out of his reverie. He tried to bring the blood back to his brain from where it was tingling in his arms and legs, reaching back to grab the hot percolator by its metal body and pouring the steaming coffee into the waiting mugs. They were old and chipped, just like the rest of the dishware they'd found in the villa, but they were functional. He handed one of them to Summer, who also ignored the heat and took a long sip of it.

"What brought this on?" he asked, nodding towards the dough on the counter. Summer glanced at it, as if she'd forgotten for a moment that it was there. She idly wiped a stray bit of flour from the counter, watching as it fell towards the floor. The floor that they'd just swept. Winter chose not to comment on that.

"Had a dream." she said finally, shrugging and taking another sip of coffee. "Different than the usual ones. Wanted to see what would happen if I acted on it."

"Food of some sort." he said. She nodded, tapping her mug for a second before shifting her focus to the groceries.

"Busy at the market?" she asked, putting her coffee down so she could organize what he brought back. It was mostly non-perishables, things that they could pack up at a moment's notice and would last them long enough to get to their next stop. But there were also a few fresh items; objectively, they knew that fresh fruits and vegetables were beneficial for their health, despite their inconvenience. It was irrelevant that they really enjoyed the flavors.

"No." he said. The single word filled in all the follow up questions: no, there were no signs of Hydra. No, he wasn't followed home. No, they have nothing new to worry about for the time being. She nodded, picking a few of the vegetables from the bag and rinsing them in one of the bowls of clean water on the counter. The villa no longer had reliable plumbing nor running water, but there was a stream nearby that ran relatively clear, and a stove where they could boil the water. Winter didn't like just keeping bowls of it around, but that was what they would have to do for now.

Once she finished washing, she moved to get a pan, putting it on the stove and carefully measuring some oil into it, then followed that with a small pot with some of their precious water set to boil. Winter chopped the vegetables while she was doing so, the knife glinting with every quick motion. It only took him a few moments before they were ready, all in small, equal pieces on the countertop. He dipped the knife in water and then wiped it on his pants, not thinking about the difference between wiping water and blood off the blade. He left the vegetables for her, and she deftly scooped them up and put them in the waiting pan. Then she went back to the island, this time armed with a long wooden cylinder - a rolling pin he realized, the word coming to him after a second - and got the dough out from under the cloth.

The sensation in the back of his mind came back as she started rolling the dough onto the counter, making it as thin as possible. He'd seen this before, seen her do this before - but what was it? He felt like he was looking at it from the wrong angle. He kept his eyes on her as he walked around the island, trying to find the moment when the memory clicked into place like a puzzle piece. Summer didn't stop her movements, but her eyes did glance up from her task periodically as she tracked his movement across the kitchen. He finally stopped next to the stairs, nearly hidden in shadow. He saw her as she was, yes, but now there was an overlay of the past version of her. She hadn't been alone then - there'd been another woman with her, though Winter could not remember her face. He could only remember her voice.

This make your sergeant happy. In the past, Summer had blushed at the comment. When she had rolled the pin across the island, she listed to one side. She'd been injured then, or recovering from an injury. Now, she stood ramrod straight, though her movements were just as slow and calculating as before. She paused, leaving the sheet of dough on the island so she could stir the food in the pan before it burned, then returned to her task. She carefully rolled up the flattened sheet, then used her knife with quick cuts to form long strips. Pasta. That's what she was making. When was the last time they ate pasta?

Her movements were more confident after that, dropping the strips into the boiling water and removing the other pan from the heat. Not ninety seconds later she reached in with her bare hand, pulling the cooked noodles from their watery depths. The pan hissed as the extra water hit it, steam rising from it and making her face flush. A few more reaches and a quick stir later, and supper was ready. She poured it onto the waiting plates, making something that looked more like a meal than anything they'd made the past few months. She slid one of the plates to the opposite side of the island, along with a fork. That was to be his portion. She was already eating by the time he got to it, despite the obvious temperature. He followed her lead, twirling the noodles and spearing the vegetables to form a bite.

The Italian woman in the past had been right. This did make him happy.

He must have stopped for a moment, because when he came back to himself Summer was looking at him with a question on her lips. He couldn't quite decipher the expression on her face, and when she spoke, it was only one word. "Good?"

That wasn't the word he would use to describe this, but it was the best one he could come up with at that moment. "Good." he replied, and this time he could tell her expression - relief. A warmth rose in his chest, not due to the heat of the food, but from the whole situation. Homemade meal. Sunlight in the windows. Summer, at ease across from him. Part of him knew that this was just a blip in their timeline, that death and destruction were sure to find them again. This was as much a dream as the ones that occasionally visited him at night. But it was a good dream, and he was going to hang onto it as long as he could.

"Thank you. For making this." he said as they finished, making Summer's hand pause from reaching across the island for his plate. "I'll wash."

"You're welcome." she said automatically, though a bit surprised. "I can help."

He shook his head, keeping his mouth shut to prevent himself from commanding her. They were an equal partnership now, he wasn't in charge. "Get some rest. I have first watch." he said instead. His instincts wanted him to hold her, to show his gratitude with affection. But that might send her fleeing, and he could not afford that. She nodded, looking like she wanted to say something more, but instead opting to turn and head for the stairs. He tracked her movements in his mind's eye, hearing her barely-there footsteps as she crossed the landing down to the last bedroom on the right. The sun was well below the horizon now, it's last rays painting the sky red and blue and purple. Were the colors always this bright? Or had he simply never paid them attention before?

It was dark by the time he finished cleaning the kitchen, a vague sense of annoyance rising up at the flour on the counter. This was not the first time he'd cleaned this up, that was for sure. He wanted to make sure that the room was spotless, but even with his enhanced senses he was unable to see it all in the dark. It would have to wait until the morning, then.

His footsteps were nearly silent as he went upstairs. Summer had lit the candle for him, and its low glow flickered from the open door. She was already asleep with her head turned away from the light, but had set up their best distance rifle for him at the open balcony door. He felt the same warmth as earlier as he noted the line of her jaw, and the curve of her waist, and the twitch of her fingers as she grasped the blankets just on his side of the pallet. In another life, he could simply lie beside her and take her hand and join her in sleep. But tonight, he blew out the candle and took up his position by the window.

The night was dark, the moon hidden by thick rain clouds that seeped their way into the sky over the past next hours. The air was heavy, but not in the same way it'd been in Florida. When the clouds finally burst, he didn't feel like he was drowning. Instead, it felt like a release, some sort of long-forgotten cleansing ritual. Lightning peppered the sky occasionally, but it was so far away that he barely heard the thunder that followed it. Summer shifted in her sleep and Winter allowed his attention to move from the path outside to her. She made a low noise in her throat, and initially he thought she was having a nightmare, reliving some of the pain Hydra put her through. She made the noise again, rolling onto her back and taking a deep breath, her chest rising. Once again, he found his body reacting before his mind did, recognizing that she wasn't, in fact, having a nightmare. No, she was having a very different kind of dream. He wondered if he was in it.

He looked back out the window, cursing himself for these thoughts and his body for betraying him. Summer was quiet behind him for the time being, and the cool wind blowing in from the rainstorm helped to calm his sizzling nerves. He gripped the rifle tighter, as if that would help ease the tension that had sprung up so readily. The sound of the rain gave him something to focus on besides the shift of the blankets behind him, and it was just loud enough to cover up her murmuring. But then the rain lulled, just for a moment, and he heard it.

"Barnes." Summer breathed, making him snap his eyes to her. It was the first time she'd said his name - his supposed real name - and it wasn't in malice, or the bark of an order. It was marked, somehow, with pleasure.

He silently put the gun down and moved towards her. He shouldn't wake her, he should keep his post, but some buried instinct was driving him so strongly that he ignored protocol completely. Her chest was rising and falling quicker now, and he could practically hear her heartbeat rising in time with the rain. He reached out, hesitantly, and laid a hand on her arm, feeling how her skin was uncharacteristically warm. Her eyes flew open at that moment and she sprang off the pallet to leap on him in attack. He responded quickly, using her momentum to roll her underneath him. She, in turn, used that momentum, rolling them again so that she was on top, her legs straddling him. Her hand was at his throat; his knife was at hers.

Her breaths were short, and her gaze strong even in the minimal light. Her eyes looked dark when the lightning flashed, but not in the way he was used to. He could still feel the heat radiating from her, her legs squeezing his hips ever so slightly as her eyes held his, a question in their depths. He held his breath, watching as she shifted and gasped with the contact she didn't realize was present. He lowered his knife, leaving himself open, unarmed, and in her hands. He wanted to pull her closer, but he didn't dare move.

"Take what you want." he murmured, his voice barely registering over the sound of the rain. She moved again, feeling him underneath her and discovering exactly how his body was betraying him. She moved closer, her hand finally letting go of his neck and coming to rest on his chest. It was exactly like it was back in London, except this time she didn't move away.

"Do you know what I want?" she asked, a subtlety in her voice. He nodded; he may have been brainwashed, but he hadn't forgotten one of the more basic human impulses. Her nose brushed against his, a tender moment of affection. They'd had a few of these before, but not this close. She still looked at him with a question, and he nodded again, turning it into something akin to a nuzzle. Then finally, finally, she kissed him.

They both remembered kisses from before. They even remembered kissing each other. But this was something completely different. Every place where they touched felt alight; their lips barely grazed each other, but it felt like the first taste of water after living in a drought. She pressed up against him eagerly then, and his hands went to her legs, gripping her thighs tightly. Each time she moved against him it made her legs twitch and squeeze, and he wanted nothing more than to make her respond bigger, more. Something broke in them, liberating them from one of the chains that Hydra had tied around their necks. They were free to feel good again.

Her hands ran over his chest before pulling him roughly flush against her. His hands were at her back, squeezing her tightly to him. Suddenly, after weeks of tiptoeing around each other, they couldn't get close enough. He pulled at the hem of her shirt, having to fight it through the closeness of their bodies in an effort to get it up and over her head. He took advantage of her momentary blindness, latching his lips onto her neck. She gave a noise of surprise at first, and for a moment thought to push him away, but then the sensation sank in and she found herself holding his head there, encouraging him to continue. He did not bother being gentle; any marks he left would likely be healed by morning.

Soon she grew tired of the fabric of his t-shirt chafing against her stomach, and clawed at it to pull it off of him. Lightning flashed again as he did, his metal arm gleaming as he threw the offending article of clothing to the side. His lips returned to her neck, then dropped lower to her collarbones. The chill of his metal hand sent goosebumps over her skin, but she didn't care. She was more focused on how he pushed up her sports bra just enough to expose the soft area underneath, his tongue going to explore the most sensitive parts of her. A brief moment of feeling overwhelmingly exposed was quickly replaced with an overwhelming pleasure. And no matter how wonderful things felt, she wanted more.

She pulled away from him, his lips detaching from her with an audible pop. He let go of her, stopping his motions immediately in the case she had changed her mind. While he was so aroused he thought that his whole body might explode, he was not going to force her into anything she didn't want. Hydra had already done that to her - to both of them really - too much. But she wasn't scrambling off of him to put space between them. In fact, she was already missing the warmth of him against her, and the pressure of his hands holding her. She started pulling at the strings of her boots so hard that he could hear the fibers straining, and he realized that she was simply undressing further. He quickly followed her lead, nearly tearing his boots and jeans in an effort to get them off.

It was not the first time they'd been naked in front of someone since forced into servitude. But it was the first time they'd chosen to be naked with someone, and there was a brief moment of vulnerability, where they realized that maybe, just maybe, they were still people, and not just weapons. Summer climbed back on top of him, but this time her movements were slow and deliberate instead of frantic. She wanted to take note of every point where his skin met hers, of every noise that he made and every movement that he took. Winter had the same thought, and took the time to run his hands over her legs, up to her waist, over her ribs and then up to her face. She'd been running the show this whole time, but he took this one moment to initiate a kiss - and she allowed it. Their intentions were obvious at this point, and their physiological readiness just as much so. Flashbacks ran through Summer's mind as she hesitated - but then, when it came to Winter, when had she ever hesitated?

"Yes?" she asked, rocking her hips against his and eliciting a groan from him. She wanted to hear it again.

"Yes." he breathed, gripping her behind and pulling her closer.

Sliding into her was as easy as sliding into a warm bath, and just as satisfying and comforting. Their senses were going crazy, their enhancements only accentuating every bit of pleasure that each step elicited. When she started rocking her hips they both nearly saw stars, and she forced herself to slow down before they completely lost control. Their training wouldn't allow them to be loud, but a quiet whimper of a moan escaped her when his thumb found a spot between them, right above where they were joined. She knew she would have bruises where his metal hand grasped her, but she didn't care; if anything, the bit of pain mixed in with all the goodness only heightened her response. He continued his ministrations, guiding her into a faster rhythm that was leaving them both panting. She leaned back to give him more room, resting her hands on his thighs as she followed his instruction. The new angle found something in her that made her breath catch and her hands clench, and now she didn't need his encouragement to pick up the pace. Sweat glistened on their chests despite the cool air of the night, their quiet breaths just loud enough to be heard over the storm. She felt something building low in her abdomen, foreign and yet familiar, and chased after that feeling until something coiled tightly within her - and then released.

Relief the likes of which she'd never known washed over her, and she quickly changed her position to clutch Winter's shoulders, her motions stuttering and slowing as she rode it out. When the feeling left her she slumped against him, holding him tightly to her as her affection bubbled up within her. She couldn't say she loved him - she didn't know if they were capable of love anymore - but she'd never trusted anyone like she trusted him, and she never would again. He held her tight for a breath, letting her have her moment, but she could still feel him quivering, trying to keep himself still until she'd calmed.

"May I?" he asked, his voice muffled by her shoulder. She did not trust her voice and nodded instead, humming lowly as he kissed her neck again. The gesture helped her body switch gears again, easing the oversensitivity and relaxing the parts of her that were beyond tense just moments before. His metal arm wrapped around her waist, easily holding her to his chest as he rolled her onto her back and settled atop her. The deep pressure of his body on hers was welcome, helping desensitize all the nerves that were lighting up like fireworks. There was some soreness as he started moving again, but it was neither bothersome nor unwelcome, and once she fully came back to herself she wrapped her legs around him, crossing her ankles at his low back and giving him the reins. He needed no further encouragement, burying his face in her neck and thrusting with a deliberate speed. She knew there were things she could say, things she could whisper in his ear that would hurry his release, but they were all lost to her at that moment. All she could focus on was the way he moved, and the sounds he made, and how for once everything they were doing seemed right.

He could feel his end fast approaching, and while he thought he maybe should tell her or warn her, he found his voice was caught in his throat. All of his brain power was split between the sensations around him and trying not to harm her on accident, though he knew she was as unbreakable as he was. She tilted her hips and squeezed him just right, letting him go just a little bit faster - and that was all it took. His rhythm stuttered and changed as he peaked, her hair muffling the groan that escaped him as the good feeling spread through his whole body. They'd been denied a lot of good things when at Hydra, and they'd encountered a lot of good things since they'd walked away, but the feeling of holding her close and experiencing this again might just be the best thing in recent memory.

She held him tightly as he slowed to a stop, both of them fighting to catch their breath. They didn't want to let go of this moment, at least not yet. Right now, they almost felt like their old selves again. When they let go, they'd have to go back to being Summer and Winter. And so she held onto him, just a few seconds longer, and his arms maneuvered underneath her to embrace her back.

He didn't immediately get up, instead just rolling off of her and onto his back. He could feel his sweat, and was glad that they'd swept the debris from the floor. Their hands barely touched, and neither one of them moved until a firm breeze blew through the window, replacing the smell of sex with the cool refreshment of the earth after a rainstorm. The rain had stopped, the last of it dripping from the roof and onto the gravel below like a jazzy staccato, the soundtrack to their night.

Summer was the first to sit up, reaching for her discarded clothing and pulling them back on. She turned to Winter, who was resting with one hand behind his head and watching her. "Alright?" she asked. A grin ghosted across his face and he nodded.

"Alright." he said, still not moving. Then, surprisingly, he added, "Could use a cigarette."

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, she found herself craving one as well. "Should have gotten some today." she replied, strapping her boots back on. She had the urge to kiss him again and pushed it down - but then she wondered, why shouldn't she? She crawled over, leaning down to press her lips to his one last time. The movement still felt forbidden, but the gratification far outweighed it.

"Hindsight." he murmured as she pulled away. She gave him an annoyed look, pushing back so that she could take up the position at the window.

"Go to sleep. It's my turn for watch." she said. He didn't reply, only nodded and dressed before settling down on his side of the pallet. After a couple hours, she noticed that his breathing was deep and even, and he actually hadn't moved in that whole time. Lucky bastard.

The moon allowed her to keep a good eye out, and her vision felt clearer, her head steadier. Sex wasn't a cure-all, she knew that. But it had been something they wanted in order to undo some of what was done to them. It wouldn't be a one time thing, and she didn't want it to be. Winter was her everything - and she wanted all of him.

Their position in the villa was perfect, defendable. But they couldn't defend against infrared goggles, especially those designed to work miles away. The villa was good for now. But it would not be good forever.

Always pee after sex, y'all. None of us have super soldier immune systems. But yay for the loves getting some intimate time!

Thank y'all SO much for your reviews, they seriously inspire me to keep this stuff going! Side note, do y'all normally like when authors reply? I'm always nervous to cause sometimes I'm not the most eloquent in conversation, but if it's something y'all want then I can definitely try!

I hope you enjoyed this chapter and are staying safe during all this craziness! Please let me know what you thought!

-XM