The author would like to note that this is just fanfic and is not in any way financially profiting from this particular fic.
Chapter Three: Baffled Expectations
He was awake before Ramirez arrived in the barn the next morning. Waiting, bracing for what was to come. Wondering what retribution he would receive for yesterday's blunder. Planning his next move. If he could manage to move at all.
"Good Morning Ladies and Gentlemen" The woman announced cheerfully, shoving the doors open. He could hear her footsteps fall heavy as she walked over to the radio wedged precariously on a shelf and flipped it on. It crackled to life before the station came in, and Tejano music filled the barn as she collected the feed buckets. "Good morning Shadow." She greeted the massive Clydesdale first. "Mrs. Honey-oats, Mr. McSmush, Countess Peachy Pie..." Down the line, she went dumping a bucket of morning oats into the troughs. Each of her horses had unusual names, things sounding like storybook characters rather than belonging to the massive creatures inhabiting the barn.
Over the sound of eight massive animals chomping on their breakfast, he could hear her slowly approach the stall he was occupying. There was the rustle of a plastic bag and the clink-thud of something being slowly set on the wood floor. Then a breathless pause before she walked to the office.
He didn't budge. Would she be angry about what had happened yesterday? She hadn't seemed upset, but he had been in the middle of something very personal between her and James. What would she do as punishment? Would she cut him off as a consequence? Make him fend for himself? It only made sense. Hydra had done worse for less. Being in the wrong place at the wrong time... He did all he could not to shudder at the very thought.
He waited until she'd led all the horses from the barn before he made his way to the stall door and peered out. He frowned at the plastic grocery bag that sat outside the door. Pulling it into the stall, he retreated to the back of the stall before opening the bag and surveying the contents. There were two large bottles of water, a sleeve of crackers, and the thermos of broth. She'd also included tortillas like the day before. He paused, at the sound of her approaching footsteps. "Hey." She called out, "I'm going to placing round bales, Suzanne is going to be here in a little while. She's not going to bother you in here. There shouldn't be anyone in here today." Ramirez paused. "Sorry about yesterday. That was..." She hesitated, trying to select her words carefully, "unexpected." She decided finally.
He didn't respond. What was there to say? He was the intruder. Why was she apologizing to him? She should be angry with him. There should be consequences. Only she wasn't angry. Or even upset. She'd included more food today than she had yesterday.
"Have a good day." She said slowly after a moment and walked from the barn.
He waited until her footsteps had disappeared before he unwrapped the tortillas she'd left for him. He ate slowly, taking careful, measured bites out the tortillas. The broth and crackers he'd save for later. Had she made them fresh? Why would she make fresh tortillas for me? He pondered taking another bite. The ones yesterday had been warm. Perhaps she had made a large batch. Was she cooking just for him? Surely she had a family or someone in the house with her that she was cooking for, and he was just getting her leftovers. That had to be it. Why would she make food from scratch for him?
It's only me. That's what she'd said. But then she'd also said that she'd never taken her husband's name. Did she have a family? Or was she actually alone out here?
He shook his head, immediately regretting it as it made his vision spin. Then, just as quickly his stomach turned. Stumbling to his feet and from the barn, he made it to the outbuilding's toilets just in time to throw up the meager contents of his stomach.
Shit. He spat into the commode before flushing. His whole body shook, his stomach twisting and contracting. Rising slowly, body aching in complaint, he went to the door and locked it. Returning to the sink, he alternated between splashing cool water on his face and rinsing his mouth to get the taste of bile out. He ran his tongue over his teeth and paused. After a moment he turned to the lockers. Rummaging through them, he retrieved a toothbrush still in the package and an unopened tube of toothpaste. The mint tingled and burnt, but the sensation of clean teeth after not brushing them for a while made him feel human. Perhaps he'd even venture to say normal. Turning off the water and wiping his mouth, he glanced in the mirror, catching his gaze in the reflection only a moment before his eyes darted away again.
Barnes is the only commando to give his life in service of his country.
He'd seen the dead man's memorial. Seen the photos and video of Barnes and Steven Rogers in the Smithsonian. Even now he could see the dead man's eyes in his reflection. So the question persisted. Could he be James Buchanan Barnes? Could he be the man that Steve Rogers thought he was?
Or had James Barnes died in 1945 like the museum had said and had someone or something else taken his place? How could he possibly know? The woman's words from the day before came drifting back. Choice. Could he really choose to be James Buchanan Barnes? What did that mean? What did it mean to be James Barnes? James Barnes was a good person. He, the soldier, decidedly was not. Could he simply choose to be James Barnes? No one wakes up a good or bad person. That's what she'd said. Yes. But that didn't apply to him. That couldn't apply to him. He didn't get a choice. Not in that. Not until he knew that hydra couldn't crawl back inside his skull and make him forget.
He froze at the sound of an approaching vehicle. Suzanne. The woman had said Suzanne wouldn't bother him in the barn. Pulling on his gloves and unlocking the door he started toward back toward the barn, but stopped, watching as a battered pickup truck pulled up the drive hauling an empty horse trailer behind it. To his surprise a slender woman with frizzled gray hair climbed out and looked around, leveling her gaze on him. "You boys are out early." She said, with the voice of someone who'd smoked six packs a day since she was twelve. Looking about as weathered and beat up as her truck, she leveled him with a piercing gaze, which could have rivaled his own.
"Ma'am?" It was all he could think of to say.
"You must be new, I'm Suzanne," The woman approached him, extended her hand out to shake his. He took the woman's spidery, bony hand, and shook it. Her grasp was firm and strong, her gaze direct and earnest. This was a woman who'd worked every day of her life and wasn't about to take shit from anyone. Him included.
"Matt." He answered the unasked question, cringing internally as he did. Matt? Why Matt? It was the only name he could think of at the time, and now he was stuck with it, at least for the time being. It was a cover, and he would make it work. Besides. What was he supposed to say? James Barnes? Bucky? That wasn't his name to claim, not yet, maybe not ever.
"Good to meet you, Matt. She normally doesn't have her volunteers out this early, is she around?" Suzanne asked brusquely.
"She's out placing round bales. I can go get her if you want," He offered, wanting more than anything to get out from under this woman's sharp and scrupulous gaze.
"I don't think that's going to be necessary," Suzanne replied, motioning behind him with her chin.
"Suzanne!" Ramirez's voice reached them from some distance away. "Give me a minute; I'll be right there."
"Take your time; just talking with Matt." Suzanne returned her full attention to him. She looked him up and down. "I take it this is your first time out. She hasn't even gotten you a shirt yet. Come on, need to get you properly outfitted." She started toward the outbuilding and motioned for him to follow. He glanced between Ramirez and Suzanne before following the older woman. What choice did he really have? They came to the outbuilding, and Suzanne entered, digging through the many drawers inside.
"I think this will work." She said shoving a shirt at him. It was a grey long-sleeved shirt, with a logo on the chest. He looked up and met Suzanne's expectant gaze.
"Thanks." He said.
"No problem kiddo." She said, walking past him and toward the woman who was standing beside the secondary enclosure where a single grey horse was watching them nervously.
When he was sure that Suzanne and Ramirez were occupied in their task, he slunk back to the barn stall and sunk back down in the hay. He spread the shirt across his lap. It had a logo on the left side, a brand, the words Last Chance Ranch surrounding the brand. The best he could figure it was an L with an R on the inside of the L, and in inverted C. It still didn't give him any indication of what exactly this place was or why exactly the woman had volunteers. She was obviously running some kind of charity organization, community service type thing. But how exactly everything fit together was still a mystery. He squeezed his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose as his head continued to pound, and strained to listen to the conversation between Ramirez and Suzanne.
"Come to check on our boy?" Maggie greeted Suzanne as they both reached the gate.
"Yeah, figured it was time for a check-up on that shoulder wound." Suzanne agreed climbing into the enclosure.
Suzanne did her visual evaluation, and then wordlessly they retreated back to the fence.
"How's he looking?" Maggie asked when they were both on the other side of the fence.
"The shoulder looks like it's healing, no irritation or any major issues with mobility that I can tell," Suzanne said.
"That's good to hear." And it was. Since Suzanne had brought him in, she'd managed to get some weight on him and watched as his body had stitched itself back together after years of abuse and neglect. But that wasn't why Suzanne was here. Suzanne was notoriously overbooked, and wouldn't stop by here just to check on Ghost, not unless Maggie had asked her to. Maggie paused, chewing on the corner of her lip. "Why are you really here Suzanne?"
"Heard Junior came by yesterday."
It wasn't a question. "Yeah, unfortunately." Maggie rolled her eyes.
"You alright?"
"Yeah."
"His daddy should've belted his ass, spoiled brat." Suzanne shook her head.
"Little late for that, anyway not much we can do."
"I heard from Senior that your volunteer 'bout scared the piss out of the little man," Suzanne replied, watching Maggie's expression for a reaction. Maggie didn't say anything. "News like that travels fast."
"Well, nothing he didn't deserve."
"I'm not disagreeing. I'm glad you're okay." The older woman smiled, squeezing Maggie's shoulder. "I'm grateful. You deserve all the help you can get, and if it keeps Junior away then all the better."
Maggie returned the smile. "Well, whatever works right?"
"Damn straight." Suzanne nodded firmly. She paused. "What's your plan for when he raises your hay prices again?"
Maggie hesitated. What was she supposed to say? That she hadn't had a plan for at least two years and had been winging it? That she was at any given point ready to throw in the towel and call quits on the whole thing? She couldn't admit that to this woman. Mainly because she knew if she let on how bad it was she might start crying and never stop. "I hadn't really put much thought into it." She admitted finally. "I know he's going to. It's just a matter of when. I just." She broke off, rubbing her forehead.
"You need a plan, kid. Particularly since it sounds like Junior is getting aggressive," Suzanne warned.
"I know Suzanne. I know." She sighed, feeling a slight hitch in her chest, a lump threatening to form in her throat.
If Suzanne noticed she didn't say anything. "Well. Fortunately, Roberts doesn't have a vendetta against me, so if it comes to it, I can let you have some of my hay until you figure out a solution to your pissing match with the little bastard."
"He started it." Maggie protested.
"Doesn't matter who started it dear. All that matters is you keeping this place afloat." Suzanne glanced down at her watch. "I gotta go, let me know if you need anything, or if the old man's condition changes any." She said motioning to the horse enclosure.
"Yes, ma'am." Maggie nodded.
"I'm not a ma'am," Suzanne said.
"Yes, Suzanne." Maggie stuck out her tongue.
"Good. Better." Suzanne grinned.
"Have a good day."
"You too."
Maggie waved as Suzanne drove back down the gravel road and disappeared. Turning to the picnic bench just outside the enclosure, she removed a small note pad from her back pocket. Her stomach twinged, the telltale sign that an anxiety attack was forthcoming. Things were only going to get worse. She knew that. She'd known that the moment Jack-ass Roberts had shown up early day before yesterday. Perhaps it was just the fact that Suzanne was acknowledging her worry and concern about the situation.
'Cross that bridge when we get to it Mags.' She could practically hear him say. She sunk down on the bench, and immediately touched the chain around her neck, turning the silver cord between her finger and thumb. Yeah. But you aren't here to be a part of we. It's just me. What the hell am I supposed to do?
Maggie exhaled sharply, pulling the pencil from her hair, and made notations on her to-do list. Returning the pencil to its place, she let her head rest in both hands, taking deep long breaths. It was nine a.m. She still had the whole day ahead of her, and the to-do list was only going to get longer.
He exhaled as the truck drove away, glancing down at the t-shirt still clenched in his hand and counted to ten.
Rising to his feet, blinking away the dark spots that danced in his vision, started outside back toward the outbuilding to return the shirt. He wasn't one of her volunteers, and he seriously doubted that she would want him anywhere near the horses or anyone else for that matter. He was a threat without getting a thousand-pound animal involved. He was halfway to the outbuilding when he paused to observe Ramirez, who sat stooped at the picnic table, slowly writing on a scrap of paper. He craned his neck. It looked like a to-do list, some numbers, and figures in one of the corners. Although, if it was a to-do list, it was more than any single person could ever handle.
Volunteers, perhaps? He glanced around. Suzanne had said that they weren't normally out this early. But it was verging on 9:30 almost 10:00 am, and there wasn't anyone that he could see. Was it just her? And that ridiculous to-do list?
"So Matt." The woman said slowly looking up and turning to face him. "That's Suzanne."
What was he expecting him to say? He wasn't entirely sure, but she was watching him, as closely as he was watching her. She was gauging his reaction, trying to draw him out.
"She's my vet. She's around here with some regularity." She said explained, almost breathless as if trying to find a way to fill the silence.
He nodded. "She gave me this shirt." He said after a moment glancing down at the shirt he was still holding it in his hand.
"Oh. She must've thought you're one of my volunteers." Ramirez said brightly.
"Volunteers?" He echoed.
"The Ranch." She said motioning to the Last Chance Ranch t-shirt. Again he said nothing. "It's an equine-assisted therapy ranch." She explained quickly. "Specifically for veterans. It's a non-profit, run by yours truly, Suzanne, and a rotating group of volunteers, mostly veterans, but I do try to work with ex-cons."
So he wasn't the first likely to stumble into her barn. And she was used to working with former soldiers and criminals. That would explain the supplies in her outbuilding and her lack of surprise at discovering him in her barn. Still. It told him very little about her. Who the hell was she? And why was she so eager to help out these outcasts? To help him?
"You're the only one out here?" He asked.
The woman tensed and it was only then did he realize what a threatening question that was. He took a step back, trying to make himself appear somehow smaller. Somehow less of a threat to her and her livelihood. He was a threat. His very existence was dangerous, but he didn't want to kill her. She'd given him a cover, albeit a flimsy one that wouldn't last long, but it was a cover he could use for the time being. But through her nonverbal response, it confirmed at least one question he had about her. She was alone out here. There was no one else. Was that thy Roberts had tried to hurt her? Because he knew or at the very least had thought that she would be alone out here when he came to harass her? It was logical. It made sense. If he was going to torture or kill someone, it was always best not to have an audience. Somewhere isolated, with minimal chances of being interrupted.
He blinked, realizing where his mind had just gone. The woman was watching him uncertainly. "Seems like a lot for one person." He managed after a moment.
This, fortunately, seemed to defuse the situation. "Well. I do have help." She smiled weakly. "But yeah. It's a lot." She sighed. "Well. I should get back to it." She turned back to her work at the bench returning to the too-long to-do list and taking a sip from the coffee cup that had long ago lost all trace of warmth.
He nodded, moving slowly he set the t-shirt beside her. He had no reason to keep it. He wasn't a volunteer out here. He couldn't help her. He couldn't even help himself. What use could she have for someone like him?
She put her hand on it, and paused, looking up at him. "Keep it." She said, picking it up extended it to him. "At the very least it's something you can change into if you wanna wash what you're wearing."
He hesitated a moment. There was no expectation that he should help her; there wasn't even an ask in her remark. She had more than enough reason to ask. The state of that to-do list was enough to make anyone want to ask for help, particularly if someone was freeloading in your barn. No comment about repayment, no remark about making himself useful. It was just an extra t-shirt if he wanted to wash the clothes he was wearing. She was helping him, protecting him without expectation of repayment. She was doing this not out of a sense of obligation but because she genuinely wanted to help him.
He took it, mumbling his thanks and she nodded returning to her to-do list.
A/N: Okay full disclosure. I absolutely love Suzanne and I think everyone needs a Suzanne in their life. Meanwhile, Ramirez is an absolute hot mess. Poor Bucky has no idea what to do with both of them.
Sorry, this one was a bit shorter, but more length to come next chapter! (I hope). R&R!
