Apologies

Day 4 at The Retreat

Sam found Bucky sitting outside. The Falcon's first estimation of the moment was that Bucky looked like absolute Hell. Dark circles under his eyes hinted at a sleepless night before, but the drawn-down frown hinted that something more was on his mind.

"Hey," Sam called out as he approached the porch. "If you're just gonna sit there, then you can help unload the supplies." His own arms were laden down with totes full of groceries.

Bucky shook himself, and muttered something incoherent before heading towards the Quinjet. Something was definitely wrong if Bucky wasn't coming back at him with some kind of sharp retort. When he juggled the bags enough to successfully try the door, Sam wondered if Bucky's dour mood was because he'd lost the girl already.

But the door opened on it's own after his first failed attempt, opening up to reveal Taylar inside. She had the same sleepless expression, but she managed a smile when she recognized Sam's face. She took one of the bags from his arms, before stepping aside to let him in.

"How you holdin' up?" Sam asked as he headed towards the kitchen with her. He figured he already knew the answer. That smile had been pale and drawn, completely lacking the dimples he'd gotten used to, or the sparkle in her green eyes.

Shrugging one shoulder, Tay tried that smile a second time, managing a little better. "I'm holding. Did they say anything about how long I'd be sequestered here?"

"Naw. They need to give Chesterfield time to recover before they can file the injunction." He didn't think anything of the comment as he started to unpack the groceries from the tote. Only when he noticed Taylar staring at him open-mouthed, did he realize that she might not have the whole story. "Since you came forward, six other women have filed harassment claims against him."

Stunned, Tay leaned back against the counter, folding her arms around herself. "Six?" she echoed numbly.

"Yeah, and they think more are going to come forward before the weeks out. SHIELD brass says you're the key witness. They want to nail his ass to the wall."

"Hey, language. There's a lady present." Bucky caught the tail end of Sam's statement, and automatically felt the need to defend Taylar's sensibilities.

Sam glanced sideways at her, expecting a string of expletives from the girl. But instead, she'd folded in on herself, bowing her chin to her chest, and refusing to look up. Confused, Sam put a questioning glance at Bucky, as the supersoldier set down four more bags of groceries. A slight shrug told Sam more than he needed to know.

"Alright, what happened while I was gone? I leave you two alone for a day?" Sam gestured between the two of them, as if that were a good enough explanation.

Bucky opened his mouth to explain, but closed it again without saying anything. Reaching into the nearest grocery bag, Bucky came up with a mesh bag full of oranges.

"So what, neither of you are going to talk?" Sam reached out putting a hand on Taylar's shoulder to get her attention.

Instinctively, she uncrossed her arms, grabbed his hand and twisted, torquing his elbow and putting him in a precarious position. Impact to his arm would break it, in multiple places. But Sam was less worried about being broken and more concerned with the livid purple ring of bruising around her wrist. As soon as his attention focused, she dropped his hand and retreated.

"Taylar! Wait!" Two steps into following her retreat, Sam was stopped by an unforgiving grip around his arm. Rolling his eyes around to Bucky, Sam put on his best glare. "You best have a damned good reason for stopping me."

He didn't want to give Bucky a spare inch. The guy looked like someone had just beaten his favorite dog. Letting Sam's arm go, Bucky scrubbed the back of his neck and turned away.

"She's got good reason to be mad at me." He admitted. Sam arched a brow and waited while Bucky played the pity party. Setting both his hands flat on the counter, Bucky studied the black and gold metal of his left hand critically. "Good news is.. she can't control anyone. Bad news is... she can make you live right through your worse fear."

"And you know this how?" Dubious was the best tone to wear at the moment. Bucky would shut down if he thought he was being patronized. The dude had nightmares that made normal people's fears look like cotton candy.

Bucky just gestured to the computer set up across the living space. The Retreat had a full suite of security cameras both inside and outside. No one had to explain to him that this assignment was as much about giving him time and space to get his own head on straight, as much as it was about keeping Taylar safe. While Sam headed over to watch the events that unfolded last night, Bucky busied himself with sorting through supplies.

Sam was quiet for a long while after watching the video. He'd seen that kind of terror on Bucky's face before; he knew what it meant. But he also had to consider the ramifications, too. There was hard proof now that her powers were beyond the suspected latent abilities that SHIELD had listed in her file. There was no way he could get away without giving this to Cap, who would in turn give it to Fury, most likely. Sam warred with himself as he set the video files to copy to copy over to Stark's secure servers.

"So, you gonna apologize to her?" Sam asked when Bucky dropped himself onto the couch with a huff. At least groceries were put away.

"Hard when she won't look me in the eye." Bucky fixed his eyes on the window, and blue skies beyond. The corners of his mouth twitched downward as he realized just how miserable his actions would make the next few weeks.

Rubbing his jaw, Sam weighed his options. He didn't much like Barnes, but he still didn't like seeing someone struggle. Plus, Steve loved the guy. And Steve had a rare gift of seeing the best in people. "Want me to talk to her for you?" The question was touched with reluctance. But Sam knew the two of them had to get along until Taylar was cleared to return to SHIELD. If she was going to be allowed to return to SHIELD.

Bucky was nodding, the request silent and unspoken. With a sigh, Sam pushed himself up out of the computer chair. "Why don't you get breakfast started? You... do know how to make eggs right?"

Bucky's eyes narrowed as he shot a perturbed glance over. "Of course I can make eggs." There was the biting sarcasm. Sam muffled a smile as the former assassin stalked over to the kitchen.

He gave Bucky a minute to get involved, before he knocked gently on the bedroom door. The Retreat was set up great for a single occupant. Even two people, if someone didn't mind sleeping on the most uncomfortable couch in the world. But three got crowded.

"It's Sam. Can we talk?" He leaned close to the door until he heard the muffled response. Taking the invitation, he stepped inside, and made sure to close the door behind him. "Barnes is making breakfast. You wanna tell me your version of what happened last night?"

He sat on the edge of the bed, keeping a safe distance away from her. He'd dealt with wounded warriors before, and her posture screamed damaged at him. She sat wedged into the corner the bed was shoved up against, with her arms wrapped around her knees. Somehow the posture made her even smaller than he remembered her being. Those livid purple bruises around her wrists stood out like garish scars against her pale skin.

"I hurt him." Taylar confessed quietly. Sam swallowed a chuckle at the mental image of this five-foot-nothing going up against Barnes. He knew not to discount short girls. Natasha regularly kicked his ass, and she only had a couple inches on Taylar.

"I made him raw. Like I tore a scab off, and he's bleeding freely but he's not bleeding cause it's all in his head, and it's my head and I can't shut it off... I used to be able to shut it off." She took a deep shuddering breath. "Sometimes I think it's under control and then he looks at me and I hear it again, and I feel what it was like.. he's so scared of losing himself, Sam. Of really, losing himself."

Refraining from looking toward the door again, Sam focused on her. "You didn't do it on purpose. He gets that. Just like, I don't think he hurt you on purpose either." Sam held his hand out, gesturing for her to take it. "It was an accident. That's all. Accidents happen. It's how we handle those accidents that matter. You can either live in fear of another accident, or you can forgive and accept, and move forward with the life you want."

Instead of reaching for him, Taylar hugged herself tighter. "I don't have control. I'm just going to keep hurting people beca-" Understanding lit her face for a moment, a mixture of both shock and gratefulness. "That's why I'm here. Because I don't have control.. not.. not because of Chesterfield."

Sam approached the topic carefully. "You're here because it's the safest place we know of. Banner built this place to withstand his other half's worst moments. Cap thought it might be a good place for you get your bearings. And yes, maybe, gain a little control." He wagged his head back and forth a little as he looked at the ceiling, picking his next thoughts individually. "I think, that it'll do you both a world of good to get apologies out in the open. I know you think it's your fault, but it's not, okay?"

Hesitantly, she nodded, unfolding one hand enough to tuck a curl of honey blond back behind her ear.

"You want me to send him in? Or you want to come with me to the kitchen? He's making eggs. I gotta feeling he's the kind of guy that burns coffee though. No telling if they'll be edible." The joke got the desired effect, for a moment, Taylar's pretty face split into a smile, twin dimples in her cheeks flashing out. "And next time I come back, I'll bring you some better clothes. You look like you're twelve in that get-up."

That got a chuckle out of her. As Sam stood, he offered that hand a second time. This time, she took him up on it, letting him help her off the bed. He took a moment to turn her hands over in his grip, studying the bruises that ringed her wrists. They were definite hand-prints. Irritation at the events threatened to sour his mood, but the small hand in his squeezed.

"I'll heal. Honestly. It looks worse than it feels." Sam couldn't tell if she was putting on a brave face, or if she was telling the truth. She gave his hand another squeeze before smiling up at him. "I think I'm ready. It's... easier, cause you're not noisy." Sam arched a brow at the comment, and she used her free hand to gesture around her head. "In here...you're even. Calm. It's easier to focus."

"Good to know." Sam pulled the door open for her cordially, but as soon as she walked past, he frowned to himself. She was going to just love Banner. He just had to figure out how to explain all of this to Steve.

Those thoughts fled his head as he sniffed and smelled the off-putting stench of burning eggs. Scrambling, Sam moved Taylar out of his way as he bolted across the cabin. "Tell me you didn't! How did you burn scrambled eggs?"

Raising his hands in surrender, Bucky backed away while Sam pulled pans and spun switches on the stove. A thin thread of amusement colored Sam's tone as he griped about how he should have known better. Bucky's smirk faded when he keyed to movement in his peripheral vision. Taylar had stayed put where Sam had moved her too, a point roughly equally distant from both the bedroom door, and where Bucky had retreated to.

The cabin wasn't big, after all. He swallowed, and rubbed his neck, studying the throw draped over the back of the couch with intensity.

"Are... are you okay?" Taylar broke the quiet first, stepping forward enough to rest on hand on the opposite end of the couch from where Bucky stood. "Last night.. I didn't mean.. it wasn't my intent-"

"I know. It's okay." Bucky offered a melancholy smile, mirroring her stance by resting his metal hand on the back of the couch. It was only six feet, but at the moment, the distance felt insurmountable.

"It's not okay. What I did. What I put you through. You've been through enough. I'm sorry." As soon as the words were out, Taylar felt better. It took her a second to realize it was because he'd needed to hear them aloud, just like Sam thought.

He edged forward a bit more, being sure to keep his hand on the back of the couch. For a moment, there was raw hope in his eyes. If he could make a friend, an actual friend, outside of Steve, and maybe Natasha, maybe, just maybe, he could feel like himself a little more. "I'm sorry about the bruises. It's... easy to forget my strength."

Her smile lit up her eyes this time. "You forget. With that?" She reached out, tapping her fingers against the dark metal of his hand. The pressure sensation in the prosthetic arm still felt strange to him, and his fingers twitched.

He felt himself echoing her smile. "What can I say? I'm right-handed."