"Tell me what else can I do
What more have I left to prove?
That I am what you need
Still I will hold on to your heart
Through the chaos and the dark
When your eyes fail to see"
Brooklyn Navy Yard. NYC. April 2014.
Bucky followed closely behind Barton as they stealthily made their way to what Barton referred to as the "Quinjet." After weaving their way in and out of various crowded construction sites, Bucky observed what appeared to be aircraft at the edge of one of the dry docks.
"That thing looks like a tin can."
He slowed down slightly. A slight whimper came from below. He looked down at the woman in his arms. The color had drained from Sawyer's face and she began to breathe rapidly. He picked up his pace; he wouldn't lose anyone else on his account. He didn't want to be responsible for hurting anyone else.
As they approached, the jet's engines ignited, adjusting the wingtips. The rear hatch lowered to the ground. Clint jogged up the ramp with Bucky close behind. "Put her on the table, elevate her feet if you can, she may be in shock." Clint ordered as he jogged to the cockpit, "I'm going to take off; I'll be back to help as soon as I put in the coordinates."
Bucky gingerly sat Sawyer on the table, removing the trench coat now sporting a huge hole near the waist and her laptop bag. The jacket of the Tactical Suit looked undamaged. He unzipped it and carefully removed it from her shoulders. He knew she wouldn't want it damaged in any way, not after the trouble they went through to get it. Only then did he notice Sawyer had only worn a bra underneath the jacket. In an attempt to be respectful, he averted his eyes. But for a split second, he couldn't help but marvel at how beautiful she was. Her auburn hair had waved with the dampness of the air. It framed her heart shaped face perfectly. He noted a few tattoos along with a smattering of freckles on her upper arms and chest. Her rosy plush lips parted ever so slightly. He gently laid her down on the table, noting how soft and smooth her skin was. He bunched up the trench coat and placed it under her feet.
The floor shuddered beneath him as he reached up tugging an oxygen mask down from the ceiling. He gently brushed her hair out of her face before placing a mask over her nose and mouth. The shuddering ceased as Clint made his way back into the main cabin, placing his bow and quiver into a locker marked "Barton."
"Whoa, she wasn't kidding about the Tactical Suit," Clint marveled, examining the suit's jacket
"Yeah, we kinda took it from the Triskelion," Bucky confessed.
Clint cocked an eyebrow, "Last I checked that place was crawling with HYDRA agents."
"Yeah, we found that out rather quickly," Bucky smirked. "It was her idea."
"Of course, it was." Clint snorted. "Let's see the damage."
"She took the hit in the back on her right side. Help me turn her over." Clint and Bucky gingerly turned the woman over onto her stomach, making sure the oxygen mask stayed in place. A blue tattoo of a symbol in the shape of a wing on her left shoulder blade caught his eye first. He had seen that symbol somewhere recently. His eyes traveled down to a bright red welt the size softball angry against her skin. The bruise that would result from this would be a nasty one. In the middle rested a deep laceration about 2 inches long; blood had begun to clot around it.
"Son of bitch," Clint breathed.
"Must have been a high caliber round probably from a sniper rifle," Bucky said inspecting the wound.
"The problem is whether or not she is bleeding internally. The third drawer has antibiotic syringes. Inject one in her upper arm. I'll scan for any internal injuries."
Bucky rifled through the drawer and grabbed a syringe. He looked to Clint for confirmation before prying off the cap and injecting it into Sawyer's upper arm.
Clint grabbed a portable ultrasound and gently ran the probe along the injury. He eyed the tablet carefully for a moment. "Well, good news, no internal bleeding that I can see," he replaced the probe, "She got lucky. We will need to keep an eye on it though." Bucky breathed a sigh of relief, tension leaving his shoulders. Clint smiled, he grabbed another syringe and injected it into her other arm. "Pain meds, it's gonna hurt like a bitch when she wakes up." He handed Bucky a suture kit. "You good to stitch her up?"
"I can do it," Bucky nodded, taking the kit, drawing a stool near the table to sit down.
"I need to make a quick call; I'll bring you back an ice pack."
Bucky nodded. "Can you see if you have an extra shirt? She is going to be pissed if she wakes up in her underwear."
"Sure thing," Clint chuckled, "Antiseptic wash, bandages, and gauze are in the second drawer."
Bucky carefully cleaned the wound, just as Sawyer had done for him the other day. He then made careful tight sutures. His mother had worked two jobs, so she didn't always have the energy to mend his or his sister's clothing. So, he had taught himself how to sew. He was meticulous, especially with his sister's clothes, and tried his best to keep them looking new. The appearance of a new memory without a trigger startled him, but it seemed genuine. As he made the last stitch, he admired his handiwork.
"Not my best work."
She would have a scar; hopefully, it wouldn't be too noticeable. However, something told him Sawyer wouldn't mind having a battle scar. "It would make a good story someday," he could almost hear her say. He placed some gauze over the stitches and then wrapped bandages around her waist a few times.
As Bucky finished securing the bandage, Clint returned with a t-shirt and an ice pack. "I grabbed this from Nat's locker. She won't miss it." He helped Bucky turn Sawyer back over. Her color was back; Bucky removed the oxygen mask. Both men lifted Sawyer into a sitting position where Bucky gingerly slipped the t-shirt onto her body before laying her back down on the table on top of the ice pack to calm the swelling. Clint grabbed a nearby blanket and draped it over Sawyer. Covered with a blanket, the young woman looked as if she were only sleeping. Her features were soft, mouth slightly agape. Her breathing remained even. Bucky stared at her, absentmindedly moving a strand of hair out of her face. His metal thumb grazed across her cheekbone tenderly.
"Sweet dreams, gorgeous."
Clint put the medical supplies away with a smirk. "Come on, Romeo," he teased, "let's leave her be. She'll call out if she wakes up." Bucky ducked his head trying to hide the redness that spread up his neck and ears. He only nodded following Clint to the cockpit.
The sky was dark. The full moon's light reflected off the scattered clouds as they flew by. He could make out the lights of a city below. "Where're we headed?" Bucky asked, taking a seat on one of the pilot couches.
"A safe-house," Clint answered, offering Bucky a bottle of water. "We'll be there in about an hour or so." Bucky tensed slightly. "Don't worry, it's not S.H.I.E.L.D. associated. No one will know you are there," Clint assured, noting his discomfort.
"So you know who I am?"
"Of course, you're all over the news. Plus, I saw you blocking gunshots with your hand. Kinda a dead giveaway."
Bucky huffed a laugh.
"Also, Natasha told me about her encounter with The Winter Soldier back in '09 and I have read some of your files she so graciously dumped onto the internet. Probably not her smartest move...There are lots of people lookin' for you."
Bucky looked at the floor. "So why not turn me in?"
Clint sighed, "Because I know what it's like to be afraid of your own mind...and I've known Sawyer for a while. She was my point person to drop off any intel I gathered from my mission for analysis at S.H.I.E.L.D. She's family." He smiled taking a sip of his water. "And, she seems to trust you, and if she trusts you, then so do I."
Bucky was confounded at how easily the word "trust" was thrown around by the various people he had gotten to know over the past few days. And how he had done absolutely nothing to deserve that trust. It was difficult for him to accept that people wanted to help him even though they would gain nothing in return.
Bucky simply nodded. "Thanks, Barton."
"No problem, pal."
The Avengers Quinjet. Somewhere Over The Midwestern United States. April 2014.
A slight shift of her body and the feeling of someone's hand on her hip awakened Sawyer. She gave a sharp inhale sitting up frantically and moved to back away.
"Hey! Hey! Hey!" a man's voice soothed. "Sawyer, it's me, Bucky."
"Bucky?"
She blinked a few times; her eyes adjusting to the light until Bucky came into focus. His brow furrowed. His hand rested gently on her shoulder to slow her movements. His metal hand gripped an icepack near her hip.
"Sarge," she breathed, her voice hoarse.
"Hey, doll," he smiled, crinkles forming around his eyes as he did so, "You gave us quite a scare back there."
It came rushing back. Visiting Steve's old apartment. Discussing one of Bucky's memories. Getting shot. The firefight. Her struggle with Rollins. His violation. Rollins with an arrow in his neck. The pain. Sawyer's hand moved to her side. She felt bandages under her top. A top that was not the one she had been wearing. This was a navy t-shirt with a logo in the shape of an "A" on the pocket. She took a deep breath, looking up to Bucky again.
"How bad?"
"You're gonna have a hell of a bruise. The impact of the bullet also split the skin open and you needed a few stitches. No internal bleeding. Guess the suit did what it was supposed to."
Sawyer nodded, "Good thing I grabbed it then." She let her eyes wander to take in the new surroundings. The air was cool. White noise was ever-present. The metal walls were lined with metal lockers with the names Thor, Banner, Rogers, Romanoff, Barton, and Stark. "The Avengers Quinjet?"
"The one and only." A voice came from behind her. "How you feeling, Nightingale?"
"Sore and tired." She winced slightly as she turned to face him.
"I'll bet," Clint said, putting his hand on her other shoulder, giving it a slight shake. "I gave you some pain meds so it shouldn't be too bad for a little while. I'll get you some more pills when we land."
"Where are we headed?" Sawyer looked from Clint to Bucky.
"Barton's taking us to a safe-house, one that's not associated with S.H.I.E.L.D.," Bucky assured.
"So, I take it you know who he is?" she asked Clint.
"Oh yeah, we had a nice chat while you were passed out." Clint smirked.
Sawyer grimaced and rubbed her forehead. "How long?"
"Eh, a little over an hour or so. We will be landing soon. We can talk more there." Clint said patting her shoulder. "Take it easy, will you?" He looked to Bucky. "Don't give the Sergeant here any more reason to worry." Sawyer looked away, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks. She heard Clint chuckle as he walked toward the cockpit.
A few moments of silence passed before Sawyer looked to Bucky again. He started at the floor, his forefinger and thumb circling each other once again. Something she noted he did when he was anxious. Sawyer reached out and touched his shoulder. His eyes closed. "Are you okay?" she asked.
He looked up, a slight frown on his face. "I mean we've been shot at multiple times in the past 72 hours…I don't want to put you in any more danger."
"Sarge, we talked about this," she intoned.
"I know…I just can't help but think it's my fault…It's not fair to you."
"It's not your fault in the slightest. If anything, if you took the hit, I did who's to say that we would even be here right now? We could both be in HYDRA's custody. I knew what I signed up for when I joined S.H.I.E.L.D. and when I made my promise to help you."
"But-"
Sawyer held up her hand. "Don't ask me to break my promise, James." she breathed, holding his gaze, "Please…"
He sighed, returning her gaze, and nodded slightly.
Sawyer smiled. "I told you, you can't get rid of me that easy."
He chuckled, "Wouldn't dream of it." He moved his metal arm to his shoulder and gave her hand a slight squeeze.
"Well, if you two are done making eyes at each other, we are here." Clint's voice came from behind them.
Sawyer and Bucky flew apart. She gasped at the sudden movement. "Agent Barton, if you make me rip my stitches, I'm gonna shove one of your exploding arrows up your ass," she said through clenched teeth.
"Who says I am not into that sort of thing?" Clint said, lowering the Quinjet ramp.
Sawyer gave Clint the finger as Bucky helped her down from the table after grabbing their gear. she leaned against him for support unsure of how her back would react. Taking tentative steps, she made her way down the ramp. Bucky's arms wrapped around her shoulders.
It was nighttime wherever they were, but the moon gave enough light for them to see a lone farmhouse surrounded by open fields and a large barn. Lights shone from inside. Sawyer could make out the front door opening revealing a lone figure standing in the light. They waved and Clint waved back. She shot Bucky a questioning look and he shrugged. They made their way up the path through a metal gate as Clint bounded up the front steps.
"Honey, I'm home!" he called cheerfully. Greeting the figure with a kiss. Sawyer raised an eyebrow as Bucky helped her up the steps. "Sawyer James, this is my wife, Laura."
Bucky smiled slightly, extending his right hand, "Nice to meet you, ma'am. Please call me Bucky."
Laura smiled warmly as she shook Bucky's hand, "Then please call me Laura." She turned to Sawyer. "I've heard nothing but good things about you, Sawyer. I can't thank you enough for keeping him in line when he was at S.H.I.E.L.D." She leaned in to give her a small hug. Sawyer smiled.
"I bet not as good as you," Sawyer chuckled. "It's good to meet you, Laura."
"Come on in," she waved them inside. "The kids are at their grandparents so we can have the grown-up talk without being uninterrupted."
"Kids?" Sawyer balked as they walked past Clint following Laura into the house.
"Two actually," Clint said.
"Two?!"
He nodded, laughing as he shut the door behind him.