Sleep alluded you that night. You were sure you dosed, but nothing solid. No dreams, but you were thankful for that. It was a little after 5am when you decided staying in bed just wasn't going to cut it anymore. Remembering what Bucky said about running the day before, you strapped on some tennis shoes and clothes you didn't mind sweating in before heading for the kitchen to make some toast. He wasn't there, but you weren't surprised when you heard quiet steps on the linoleum floor a minute or so later, the noise only allowed to keep from startling you too severely, you guessed.
"Good morning," you said, your voice sounding strangely loud in the quiet of the early morning. Finishing up with some butter on the toast, you turned around to hand Bucky a slice.
He looked at you a moment, then the offered food, as though it had never occurred to him to eat. But he took it from you as you bit into your own. "You look like hell."
"Aw, Bucky," you replied with a mock pout, pursing your lips, though it came out more vicious than you'd intended. "You certainly know how to make a girl feel good."
An eyebrow raised a fraction of an inch as he bit into his toast, taking a third of it in one mouthful. He watched you as he chewed, waiting.
"I was hoping I could run with you this morning, if that's okay," you finally said. "But if you'd rather be alone, I understand."
He seemed to be considering it, judging by the slight knit of his brow, the thoughtful way he bit and chewed. You waited patiently, running through your head all the other things you could do to pass the time. When he tilted his head to regard you, strands of his long hair catching at the corner of his eyelashes as he licked buttery crumbs from his lips and fingertips, you had to swallow around a suddenly dry throat.
"Stretch."
The commanding tone of his voice made you blink with a start. "What?"
"You need to stretch," he said firmly. Then the corners of his lips quirked up the slightest bit. "I'm not carrying you back if you pull something."
"Deal," you nodded, hurrying to finish your toast.
Once out in the misty gray pre-dawn world, you stretched the way your sister taught you. At least, what you could remember. The air had a bit of a chill to it, early autumn having arrived, and you were glad you put on long sleeves despite the thin material. Bucky stood waiting, arms crossed and throwing you an appraising look from time to time. And it wasn't long before you signaled your readiness with a nod, quickly returned by your companion.
The pace started off easy, Bucky taking the outside as you headed down the road, gravel crunching under your feet. He kept pace with you despite you both knowing he could easily pull away. Not wanting to be the cause of his delay, you picked up your pace. It was nothing for Bucky to adjust, still unaffected. You increased again and he met you. You didn't know what switch flipped in your head, but soon you were running full speed toward the edge of the woods near the road.
Those woods were your playground as a child, you'd run them with your sister like dryads, dodging trees and rocks and bushes, laughing because you were kids and the only darkness in the world then was in movies or under the bed. Maybe something nostalgic about them had called to you through the damp air, beckoning you with hazy memories of summer afternoons in the ruins of the old well house where it was cool and the two of you dropped stones and counted to figure out how deep the hole went. The sleepless, dreamy, broken part of your brain had a spark of hope that you might still find her there, that stepping past the tree line could magically transport you back to the day your hand slipped on a tree branch as the two of you climbed and she nearly dislocated her shoulder trying to save you from falling. And you wanted that, you wanted more than anything to go back to a place before your sister came back from war with dead eyes, anything to squash the memory of not being able to save her. So, you pushed your body to its limit, pumping your arms and legs for all they were worth until you could feel them screaming and still you pushed them harder, your world narrowed down to the path to those woods. Throwing yourself past any reasonable limit, you broke the tree line and kept going, but it brought you no peace.
Only Bucky's voice right beside you, filtering through to your brain where crunching leaves and gasping breath and searing pain had not been able to reach. It was dark and grinding and almost angry, but still he was not winded. "Slow down."
"Stop… holding back," you managed to wheeze out through windblown lips. It wasn't right to turn the tables on him, you knew that, but it was easier. Far, far easier to put your attention back on him when your tiny, impossible hope fluttered away like a ghost among the trees.
"You wanna blow your knees," he snapped hotly, more emotion than you'd ever heard from him before. You couldn't see his face, but you could imagine his brow knitted together over fierce eyes. "Wanna snap a tendon? Is that it?"
"Yeah…," you rasped, trying to laugh without breath, without oxygen reaching your muscles. "Then… you can… put me down… like… a lame horse."
Bucky growled, low and dangerous. "If I pull ahead, will you stop?"
"Yes," you answered, feeling yourself fast approaching the point when your body would just plain give out. With a snort, he pressed forward into your field of vision just as white was threatening to overtake the edge of your sight. He left your side easily and soon he was far enough ahead you could see all of him, loose hair blown back from his face as small branches broke against his arms and chest. There was a wake of kicked up leaves and twigs behind his feet. You couldn't deny how powerful and feral he looked weaving through the trees until he was out of sight.
You slowed yourself in increments, knowing a dead stop would've left you a flailing mess or possibly caused more physical damage. It was difficult, but eventually you were at a muted jog. The sound of the creek pulled you toward it and you followed gladly. Stumbling through the underbrush, you remembered the way. Remembered giggling excitedly as you and your sister set out in search of frogs and turtles, got into scuffles with farm boys, and were chewed out by your mother for dirtying your school clothes. You remembered the way, but time had passed and even a wood you once thought enchanted can change.
There was new growth around the edge of the creek and as you picked your way through on wobbly legs like a new born foal, your foot caught on a lifted root you hadn't seen. It sent you tumbling forward, unable to catch yourself. You landed face first into the bank, barely enough time to turn your head to avoid a broken nose. Thankfully, the river was down and the creek along with it, so only ice cold mud seeped through the front of your clothes and smeared across your face and neck, with little chance of drowning. With a groan, you began to pull yourself up, but your muscles protested. Honestly, the cool wetness felt good to them and you resigned yourself to laying there a moment, catching your breath and letting the thunder of your heart subside.
Tears began to flow then, unbidden, but you didn't care at the moment. Just let them flow and mix with the dirty watery muck you were in. It had been so long since you cried for her, and this was as good a place as any. So long since you let yourself wallow in your own self-pity, and in the mud where you'd made pies with her seemed appropriate. You couldn't help yourself and you definitely couldn't help your sister, how could Sam think you'd be able to help an ex-assassin with memory loss and 70 years to make up? Bucky didn't seem the type to go down that road, but neither had your sister until the very end. Bitterness welled in the back of your throat as you thought about all the things you could have, should have, said and done. But you couldn't change the past, now could you? All you could do was take what you learned and put it to good use. All you could do was try. Try and fight like hell. Just like you asked of Bucky.
You were surprised by your own amused snort when you heard a rustling in the woods. Speak of the Devil and he shall appear. How you knew it was Bucky from the sound of his breath or the pounding of his feet on the soft earth, you couldn't say, but still you knew. You worked your elbows underneath your chest, head turning just in time to see him splashing through the creek toward you. He said your name, voice deep and twinged with concern, and it made your chest ache. You never should have worried him like this.
"Are you hurt," he asked as he hit knelt beside you, gripping your shoulder and helping you roll over. You sat up as his right hand reached to smear mud from your cheek and neck.
"Just my pride," you chortled, not wanting to dwell on the feel of his warm fingers on your skin . He didn't seem amused, but wrapped an arm around your lower back to help hold you up while you got your feet under yourself, letting you use him as leverage and giving you a nudge when you faltered.
You still had a hand on him when you said, apropos of your place and company, "My sister and I stormed the beaches at Normandy here."
Bucky went still against you, so still you had to look up at his face. His lips were pulled thin as he eyed you and you figured you should explain yourself before he thought you'd gone crazy.
"Boys said girls couldn't be soldiers," you informed wistfully. "We showed them. Kids play war all the time. I'm sure they did when you were little too. They play war and sometimes never learn the true cost of it until it's too late."
Clarity danced through his eyes then, like he suddenly understood you even though you weren't sure you understood yourself half the time. He hiked you closer to his side, seeming to know you'd be useless walking on your own, and in a hard voice said "Let's get back."
The walk home was long and quiet, though once you were out of the woods Bucky let you go to move on your own. He stayed close though, prepared to catch you if you stumbled, you were sure. The sun had risen by then, but cloud cover kept the sky gray and the smell of rain was in the air though none had fallen yet. Once at the house you both deposited your shoes on the porch before going in, trying to avoid tracking mud everywhere.
You went straight for the shower, plopping your clothes in the hamper to wash later. Your legs were still jello, but you managed to step into the tub and run the water hot enough to steam the place. It felt good on your muscles, working out the kinks and cramps as you washed yourself. There had been a time when you might've cried in the shower, after thinking so much about your sister. But you didn't this time. You'd left your mini-breakdown on the bank of the creek in those woods and there it could stay.
It was ten or fifteen minutes until you felt clean enough to get out. Stepping into the hall wrapped only in a towel, you found Bucky standing there waiting. "Get dressed. I made breakfast."
And like that, he turned away and left you there, movements rigid. Apparently he was none too pleased with you. Still, he had offered you food and in a roundabout way requested your company. You couldn't deny him. So, you dressed quickly in some comfy clothes as the rain began to pour outside. When you got to the table, he was already there, two plates of bacon and eggs laid out. You sat and started to eat, but you could see the regimented way he cut into his food, the twitch of the muscles in his neck and shoulders.
"I'm sorry I ruined your run," you finally said after finishing a mouthful of eggs when the tension had become too much.
He swallowed, giving you a hard glance. "What you did out there was stupid."
"I know," you nodded meekly.
"You could have seriously hurt yourself," he continued and you were somewhat startled by the sudden anger in his voice though the volume never rose. "And that crack about putting you down like a lame horse…"
He shook his head a little and you took the opportunity to try soothing him. "I'm sorry, Bucky. It was just a bad joke. I never -"
"You were just laying there," he interrupted, jamming flesh and metal fingers alike through his loose hair and propping his elbows on the table, staring through his unfinished plate of food. The very edge of his voice was raw and you were taken aback by the sound of it. "I left you behind and come back to see you face down in the mud, not knowing what happened to you."
"Bucky, I'm sorry," you tried again, leaning toward him and resting your hand on the table near his elbow. He looked up at you, only his eyes giving away any emotion. "I just… It's hard to explain what was going through my head, but remembering my sister and what happened hurts sometimes. I had to let off some steam. I broke down a little. It happens, it's human. But I'm supposed to be taking care of you and I'm sorry if I worried you."
He looked away, giving the slightest of nods as he picked up his fork. You thought the conversation over, until he threw in gently "You scared the shit out of me, kid."
"I'm sorry," you repeated, though you couldn't help the smirk that quirked your lips. "Won't happen again… old man."
He paused with the fork in his mouth, eyes widening just a bit as he moved the food into his cheek to speak. Pointing the tines of his fork at you, he huffed, "You're not funny."
"I'm a little funny," you countered with a raised eyebrow. You lifted your chin, crunching into a slice of bacon with a smug look when you saw the corners of his lips twitch and the skin around his eyes had the barest hint of a crinkle.
"You're a little shit is what you are," he grumbled, turning back to his food. But the tension had eased from his muscles, just as it had from the room.
The two of you finished your plates in peace, though you bristled a little when Bucky insisted on clearing the table and doing the dishes. The withering look he gave you put a stop to any argument before you'd begun. Besides, you were quite exhausted, physically and emotionally, and your bed was calling your name. Bucky only responded with a nod when you excused yourself to try sleeping again. The last thing you remember hearing after your head hit the pillow was the sound of Bucky getting in the shower.
