"Ouch!" Bucky roars as I run my hand across the length of his right shoulder.
"Well you're the one that got shot!" I fire back. The bullet got lodged in his shoulder and the wound was already infected, despite the fact that they came straight back to headquarters. "How is it that a super soldier comes back with a wound like this?"
"I don't know," he flinches. "That burns. How did you learn to do this? And when?"
"Biological manipulation. One of the first things Wanda showed me. She says I'm better than she is." I can't help the note of pride that seeps into my voice as I remember her saying this to me.
"You are," she comes to stand beside me. "We all have our strong points. This bullet must have something on it, or in it, that is preventing you from healing, Bucky." She examines his arm just as I did and nods to herself, in confirmation.
"Okay, Bucky. I'm going to pull the bullet out now. This is going to hurt."
"Every bit of this has hurt." I roll my eyes and focus on the bullet, picturing it's fat, round body in my mind's eye. I find it lodged in at an upwards angle just below his rotator cuff. Before starting, I look up at him to find his eyes on mine. He smiles softly and nods once, permission to start.
"Want something to bite on, Buck?" Sam's voice barely registers to me as I focus once more on the bullet. I give a test tug on its small metallic body and feel Bucky tense beneath my hands.
"Sorry," I mumble.
"Don't apologize, just get it out of me." His teeth are clenched together and his voice is strained. His arms shake for just a moment before a soft red glow envelopes them, Wanda is restraining him.
"Count of three. One.. two.. three!" Without another thought I yank as hard as I can and the bullet rips its way back through his muscles and ligaments and lands in my outstretched hand. I grin from ear to ear, proud of myself for retrieving the bullet. Bucky barely made a noise and if it weren't for the sheen of sweat dripping down his face, or the ragged breathing, you wouldn't know that I just ripped a bullet through an already sensitive wound. "There's definitely something on this," I turn it over in my hand before tossing it to Sam.
"It doesn't look like any bullet I've even seen either," he muses. "I'm going to send it off to be analyzed.
"By who?" He doesn't answer me, instead he just walks out of the room.
"While you're here, Bucky..." Wanda smiles at the still ashen soldier between us. "Wanna help with some training?"
"Do I have a choice?" His voice is shaky.
"No," Wana says, scrunching her nose slightly. "Sloane, I want to show you something." She steps behind Bucky and with a flourish of her hands, his eyes glow red before becoming blank.
"What'd you do to him?" I step directly in front of him and lean down to peer into his eyes. I wave my hand in front of his face and he doesn't blink.
"It's called reality warping." She snaps her fingers in front of him. "He's in a field of wildflowers right now. Can't see or hear us. Because of Bucky's past, it is much easier to manipulate his reality. Alternately, I don't let his subconscious take over and place him somewhere that could be potentially dangerous for him, and us. Usually I would let someone's brain take them through their worst fears," she paces behind him again and places her hands on his shoulders, her eyes distant. "It just doesn't seem right to do it to him. His past..." her voice trails off. She clears her throat and shakes her head as if to clear it and waves her hands by his temples again. His eyes clear almost immediately. "Wanna try?"
"Er, maybe later." And on someone less volatile and damaged, I add to myself. Bucky rocks clears her throat awkwardly.
"While we wait on Sam, wanna practice some hand to hand combat?" Wanda excuses herself from the room and I shrug.
"Sure."
The warehouse is much larger than I had originally thought. On the opposite side of the building is a large training arena. The room doesn't hold high end machines, instead it is home to a few mats that have seen better days, a row of punching bags hanging from the ceiling and a weight bench.
"I'll take it easy on you," he jokes as he unbuttons his shirt, revealing a tank top underneath. "No magic."
"That seems a bit unbalanced to me," I lift an eyebrow as we begin to circle each other.
"I don't have magic."
"I don't have super soldier serum in my veins," I counter.
"There may be instances where your powers will be blocked. No one can remove the serum from my blood." He steps towards me and grabs my elbows, moving my arms up so that my hands are protecting me face. "Keep your hands up here. I'd hate to see this face damaged. As soon as you see me move, throw this arm," he taps my left forearm. "Across your face and brace yourself." I nod as he steps away from me once again. After just a moments pause, I see his bicep tense half a second before his fist is coming towards me. I throw my arm up just as he had shown me and stop the blow from meeting its mark. "We'll practice a few more defensive moves before I speed up."
He spends forty-five minutes showing me how to protect myself against his physical attacks. "Always use your attackers weight against them. You're small, and they won't expect you to put up a fight." He had told me. After he was satisfied with my technique and form we bagin to spar. I understand now what he had meant when he said he would speed up. I didn't notice before that he was practically moving in slow motion. So when he throws a left jab at me I barely have time to get my arm up. Even though he is obviously pulling his punches, I gasp from the pain of his metal fist making contact with my bare forearm. There will be a bruise by this evening. Despite my gasp of surprise, Bucky does not slow down. Instead, he takes advantage of my distraction and grabs me by the other arm and spins me around so that I am ancased in his arms. My hands fly up to his arms, one wrapped tightly around my ribs and the other across my throat.
"Not bad for your first spar," he whispers in my ear, his voice teasing.
"It isn't exactly a fair fight." He doesn't loosen his grip around me.
"No fight is a good fight."
"Yeah? Good to know." I wrap my left hand around the exposed flesh of his right arm and manage to just barely touch his neck with my right fingertips. Before he can even react I feel the fire beginning to form in my fingers.
"Hey!" Bucky immediately releases me. "When did you learn that?"
"A few days ago." I smile at him.
"Now that wasn't fair." He reaches up and rubs his neck where a welt is already forming.
"No fight is a fair fight, Buck."
The next few days become a blur of psychic training with Wanda and physical sparring with Bucky. To my surprise, the physical training is easier, and way less draining, than the mental. Wanda begins pushing me harder and harder. Maybe that is why when Bucky and I are sparring on my thirtieth day in the warehouse I am more aggressive than usual.
"Everything okay, Sloane?" He asks, winded from a punch I managed to land straight to his ribs.
"Yeah, perfect. Why?" He grabs me by the shoulders and spins me so that my back is against his chest and his arms are wrapped around my abdomen. This is a move I have come to expect from him, it's his go to when he wants to completely incapacitate me.
"You seem tense." After struggling, and failing, to pull his hands apart I try a different approach. Bending forward and shifting my weight away from him, I throw an elbow back and feel it connect with his jaw. At the same time, I spin out of his grasp, keeping hold of his right elbow to stabilize myself. Before he has the chance to recover, I grab his shoulder and push downwards as I simultaneously draw my knee up to his gut. When he bends forward, I kick the back of his knee and shove him towards the mat.
"Good work," he grunts. "I think we're good for the day." Forgetting my frustrations, I smile as I stand over him.
"You weren't expecting to get your ass kicked by a girl today, were you?" He smiles and I realize that I'm about to pay for my cocky attitude. Before I can move away from him, his left hand shoots out and I feel metal connect with my ankle as he sweeps my feet out from under me. I fall unceremoniously to the ground, the impact winding me. I gasp like a fish out of water trying to catch the air that was forced from my lungs.
"What's wrong? Really?" His blue eyes pierce mine and I know he won't let up. I weigh the options. I can lie to him, which is easiest. Or I can tell him the truth about the man that stalks me in recurring nightmares. Or, I can give him a half truth.
"I'm tired, Bucky." This isn't a lie. I'm exhausted from the nightmares that keep me up at night. "Every day we train, I haven't been outside in weeks. And no offense to you and Wanda, but I'm tired of only talking to you. Does Beth know I'm okay? Is Beth okay?" Sighing, I sit up. "You guys might be used to this stuff, but I'm not. And I'm not doing too well at the adjusting thing. I want to go somewhere, do something. I feel like we're wasting time. What's going on in Russia? Where is Sam? We're just standing still here." He sits up and studies my face.
"I'm sorry, Sloane. I don't think any of us considered how hard this would be for you. You've lived a civilian life your whole life." I look away from him. A civilian life. A life my parents tried to build for me, despite my abilities. They went to such lengths to preserve normalcy in my life and yet here I sit. Hunkered down in a warehouse with another psychic, the Winter Soldier, and Captain America. "Hey," he grabs my chin and pulls gently so that I'm facing him. " I really am sorry. I'll go check on your friends."
"That's okay," although I appreciate the offer, it just isn't the same. Bucky stands and grabs me by the hand, pulling me to my feet. "I'm sure she's fine. I'm just tired of seeing nothing but gray walls."
"I understand. Are you sure that's the only thing bothering you?" He slings his arm over my shoulders and leads me from the room.
"Yes," I lie. He buys it.
When Sam finally returns, he has a full report on the bullet that I pulled from Bucky's shoulder.
"The residue left on the bullet is... something we've never seen before. It can completely debilitate you, Bucky." They share a long look. "It seems like it was developed with you specifically in mind."
"What is it?"
"We're calling it anti-serum." Sam shrugs.
"Clever," Bucky's voice is void of any humor.
"We don't know exactly what it is, or how it works. We know from this bullet that it can cause rapid infection and prevent you from healing properly. Had it been left in your arm for much longer, it is safe to assume it could potentially permanently weaken you." A heavy silence falls on our group as we each process what that could mean for him.
That night my sleep is uneasier than before. It isn't just my usual nightmares tonight, they are swirled with scenes where Bucky is injured beyond repair. I must watch him die a hundred different ways before I finally give up on sleep and head for the kitchen, hoping a little midnight snack will help calm my nerves. I flip the light on and Bucky is sitting at the island, staring into space with a bowl of cereal in his hands.
"Hey," he barely glances over his shoulder when I walk in.
"You couldn't sleep either, huh?" I grab a bowl and sit next to him, pouring myself some cereal.
"I don't usually sleep very well. Nightmares from a lifetime ago, you know?" His mouth twitches slightly but he doesn't look at me.
"I can't even imagine." We eat in silence for a while. "So, do you often come to the kitchen and eat a bowl of cereal, shirtless on top of the counter?"
"No," he finally peels his eyes away from the wall and looks at me. "Sometimes I eat ice cream."
"Cheers to that," I say and clink the rim of my cereal bowl with his. We finish our bowls in silence before we each stand and flip the lights back off in the kitchen. "Goodnight, Buck."
"See you in the morning." With his right hand, he grabs my shoulder and gives it a slight squeeze. And with that small touch I understand the nightmares focusing so tightly on his well being.I run my hands up my arms, trying to get the goosebumps to leave and head to my bedroom, hoping that the butterflies in my stomach will permit me to sleep at all tonight.