"You don't undertand," I say as I shove all of the clothes from a random drawer into my suitcase. I barely look at what I'm grabbing in my haste to leave this dingy apartment. "If he's looking for me, he's going to find me. I have to move now."
"You're being dramatic. You are very good at hiding," Marcus replies casually. He's leaning up against my muddy brown wall picking absently at his cuticles. "Remember when I was looking for you for six months? You were hiding right under my nose the whole time and still you eluded me at every turn."
"He'll find me."
"I didn't," he argues, shoving away from the walls and looking out the window. "And I know you better than anyone." I scoff and pause long enough to catch him prying apart my blinds. I practically fly across the room and slam my hands hard against his, yanking his fingers away from the window. "Ow! Kit, what the fu-"
"Do not. Open. These blinds." I squeeze his fingers tightly as a warning before releasing him.
"Jesus Christ." He slinks away from the window, massaging his hand. "Has any one ever told you that you're kind of crazy? I've never seen you scared before, Kit. This guy must be terrifying."
"You have no idea." Just as I'm rummaging through another drawer I hear a motorcycle turn onto my street. I freeze with my hand on the drawers knob and listen carefully as the bike makes its way slowly down the road. Abandoning my suitcase I carefully move back to the window. With a glance back at Marcus, and a deep breath to calm myself, I peel down a section of the blinds; just enough to see the street below.
"Shit," I mutter. The bike below me, even without its rider, is unmistakeable. "Marcus," I turn on my heel and keep my voice low. "It's been nice working with you."
My plan was to use the fire escape and hit the ground running before my uninvited guest arrived. Unfortunately, my timing was just a bit off. Before I can get the chance the front door explodes open and a man dressed in all black stands before me. The masked intruder doesn't even look at Marcus, hopefully just knocked unconscious by the door, as he steps over his body.
"You cut your hair," I quip. Gotta buy some time. Stall so I can get around him and out the door.
"Games stop here, Kit," his voice is muffled by his mask, but I'd recognize that voice anywhere.
"But they've barely begun." He is standing before me now, towering over me at a poor attempt to intimidate me with his size. He should know better. The second he clamps his hand around my right bicep, I grab onto his elbow with my left hand and shove down as hard as I can. As he loses his footing just a little, I use the momentum I've created and the leverage to swing myself into the air and away from him. He's quick though and before my feet have the chance to touch the ground, he strikes out and lands a blow to my left foot. I hit the ground hard and skid across the floor. The impact with the ground forces the wind from my lungs.
Gasping, I scramble away from him. I have to get up. If he gets ahold of me on the ground, I'm done. I'm a good fighter, but his size lends him an advantage if I can't regain my feet. As I begin to catch my breath, I feel him grab onto my foot and yank me backwards. My forehead slams into the wooden floors as I slide across the floor and he flips me onto my back before sitting on top of me. His knees squeeze my hips painfully and holds me in place. I still have full range of motion with my arms so I begin to swing.
"You aren't in trouble!" He yells, batting my hands away. The way he has me pinned to the floor says otherwise.
"You've been hunting me for weeks and I'm supposed to just trust that?" I say as I continue to struggle free. As he grabs my left hand and leans forward for my right, I slug him across the chin. The force of my blow whips his head backwards and sends his mask skittering across the floor. The moment he leans back just the slightest bit, I bring my knee up hard between his legs. He crumples beside me and I'm on my feet instantly, running towards the hole that used to be my front door.
Just as I'm about to cross the threshold I'm pulled backwards by my hair and slammed up against the wall. Fury burns bright in my opponents eyes as he glares at me. His left arm presses tightly across my shoulders and pins me to the wall, my long black hair twisted around his fist for an extra hold. He has one leg between mine and I can feel the sharp angles of his hip as he holds me in place. I'm stuck, and I know it. And the glint in his steel blue eyes tells me he knows it too. I hold his glare as we both catch our breath, vicious satisfaction fills me as I see the bruise from my fist across his cheek.
"So," I say coyly. "Are you happy to see me, Bucky? Or is that a gun in your pocket?" Without breaking eye contact with me he brings his free hand up towards my head and I feel the bite of cold steel against my temple. And I, unable to stop it, smile.
"You broke my mask," he accuses as he slowly releases me.
"It looks stupid on you anyways," I roll my shoulders. I can already feel bruises blooming across my skin. I will feel each of his blows in the morning.
"I liked that mask."
"I liked my door." I gesture towards the giant hole in my wall. "And my friend." I toe Marcus' shoulder and he groans. Good, I think. He's alive. Bucky shoots me a skeptical look.
"You know you have to come with me right?" I sigh. This isn't a question or a request.
"I'm going to complain the whole way." He rolls his eyes and strides passed me, leaving me with no option but to follow him.
"The bike is loud. Complain all you want."
He wasn't lying. I can't hear anything over the engine as we whip haphazardly through the thick Istanbul traffic. Bucky expertly weaves the bike between the other vehicles, moving so quickly I become queasy. We eventually pull away from the main roads and travel down a dirt path until there are no buildings around us.
Off in the distance I see a jet sitting in a field. I groan. I hate flying. When we pull up just beside the death trap I slide off the bike and shake out my arms. My shoulders twinge from where Bucky held me.
"Hello!" A man in a suit greets me as we walk up to the door. "I'm Happy." I barely look a him as I walk up the ramp.
"Well that makes one of us," I mutter. I catch a glimpse of a smirk on Bucky's face and scowl as I sit down and begin buckling into a seat. "Why aren't there more straps on this thing?" I demand, gesturing towards the flimsy lap belt. This thing is supposed to make me feel secure?
"Don't worry about it, Miss Evans. When we're in the air you'll see. This jet is smooth."
"We're not in a military plane, Kit. No jumping out of this one." Bucky avoids my eyes with this callback to our past as he leans back in his chair. I narrow my eyes at him, wondering if he's reliving the same nightmares I am. At the front of the aircraft I hear Happy say something about taking off and I tug roughly on my lap belt. This time Bucky lets out a loud laugh.
After three hours in the air I begin to get antsy. I hesitate only briefly before unhooking my belt and heading back for the toilet. On my way there I make the mistake of looking out the window. As I'm peering into the clouds, we hit a rough patch of air and I fall against the wall as the jet lurches roughly. My stomach turns and I barely make it to the toilet before vomitting.
"Take this," Bucky holds out his hand to me as I slowly sink back into my chair.
"What is it?" He drops a small white pill into my palm.
"It's poison." He rolls his eyes. "It's for motion sickness. Take it. We still have six hours left."
"Six?!" I groan and swallow the pill dry.
"You know, for such a decorated hit man, you have a weak stomach."
"I'm not a hit man. I'm a bounty hunter." He quirks an eyebrow and I shrug. "And sometimes that bounty is some scumbag's life. Don't act so high and mighty. You guys do the same thing." Out of the corner of my eye I see Happy tilt his head toward us almost imperceptibly. Listening.
"They don't kill innocent people." I note that he doesn't include himself with the group. They are still 'them'.
"Please. Look me in the eyes and tell me no innocent lives were lost in New York. Sokovia. London. Wakanda."
"That's different."
"Since leaving Hydra, I have not killed one single innocent person," I lean towards him, crossing my forearms over my knees. "Your ledge is nowhere near as clean as you'd like to believe. I know what you want from me, and I'm not helping you." Unphased, Bucky leans back in his seat once again.
"I think you'll find Stark to be pretty persuasive." He offers no elaboration and his breathing slows. Feigning sleep. He doesn't trust me enough to truly fall asleep. Probably thinksI'll try to kill him. I glare at his still form a few minutes longer before leaning back in my own seat. My eyes become heavy and the fog that fills my brain slowly makes me think that he gave me something more along the lines of a sedative and less of an anti nausea medication. Whatever, I don't care. I succumb to the drowsiness and before I know it I'm jolted awake as the jet's wheels connect with the earth once again.
I rub my eyes and fumble with the lap belt, my vision blurred with sleep and my hands clumsy from whatever Bucky dosed me with. Bucky stands and with barely a glance down at me reaches down and swiftly unsnaps the belt. I grumble about not needing help but I doubt he hears me; he is already stepping off the plane. I stall as long as I can, but since I have no belongings to gather I finally have to follow suit. The setting sun is disorienting as it was nearly 8pm when we left Turkey. It feels like time stopped completely.
"Well, well, well," I hear a familiar voice off to the side. "If it isn't that little girl that used to throw rocks at my bike in Brooklyn." Steve Rogers himself steps into the light being cast by the jet and grins at me. I can't help but return the smile, despite my growing unease with being on US soil.
"The voice cheks out," I reply. "But you sure don't look like that scrawny target from Brooklyn." Steve never breaks strides as he approaches me and scoops me into a tight hug. "It's nice to see you, Rogers."
"You too, kid. It's been a lifetime." He sets me back on my feet. "Bucky says you didn't bring any clothes or... anything."
"Well someone blew up my house," I say loudly as I peer around Steve's frame to glare at Bucky.
"If someone hadn't had me chasing them around Turkey for six weeks maybe it would've been more cordial."
"Let's head inside, shall we?" Steve interjects. "We'll get you new stuff." He throws a massive arm across my shoulders and steers me towards a massive house just a few yards away from us. "It's late, so I asked Wanda to lend you some pajamas. You can settle into your room and we'll catch up in the morning."
"Steve, I'm not staying here." The phrase 'your room' puts a sour taste in my mouth. "You know I can't." His eyes soften as he looks down at me.
"We'll talk about it in the morning, okay?" We stop at the end of a long hallway and he pushes open a door. "Just... stay until morning. We'll talk then. Trust me."
"I'm wanted for treason," I argue. "And given your very... intimate relationship with the government, I don't think this is the place for me."
"I know what you're wanted for. We're willing to offer you immunity. We'll go over it in the morning." I nod my head and I'm sure it's the sudden fatigue I feel that pushes me to agree, because there's no way in hell I'm staying.