The Winter Soldier has started a solitary life for himself in upstate New York, but is encountering some unforseen complications in the process.
Cleo had to take off to work, but been worn to secrecy about their neighbors bionic appendages. Joy called in sick. She explained to her manager that her neighbor had no one and was on the verge of a fever induced seizure, and since she had some medical training she felt that she couldn't leave him.
Bucky was miserable in the cold bath. He was shivering already from chills, and now he was in his underpants, in front of a strange woman, in cold water. The water had blood in it too.
"I probably should have bandaged you up first, but your fever was freaking me out." Joy came into the bathroom, and took a seat on the floor near the tub. She reached out a hand to feel his forehead. His fever dropping, his reflexes were coming back. Fast as lightning, he grabbed her arm before she could touch him. She gave him a startled look.
He dropped her arm. "Sorry. I'm really sorry. I'm just… a little uncomfortable."
She rubbed her wrist. That metal arm was strong. "I guess you've probably been through a lot. Put you on edge. But, I'm not planning on hurting you, so don't go all PTSD on me all right?"
"PTSD?" He asked her. She rolled her eyes. He was delusional- wait a second. She recognized this man.
She stood up, backing away from him. "I saw you… I saw you on the news." She kept backing up. "A few months ago." She was at the door now. "It's the arm. I recognize the arm. And the hair." She had to get out now. This man was a killer.
She dashed out the bathroom door, grabbing her purse, and hightailing it to his front door. She was about to turn the knob and leave when two strong arms grabbed her from behind and pulled her back. She tried to scream, but a hand covered her mouth. He whispered something to her. She thought it was in russian.
She struggled more, and landed a solid punch to his nuts. He dropped her for a second, but had her back in his arms again quickly.
"I don't fucking speak russian." She muttered through his fingers.
He seemed to snap out of his haze. He let her go. "I'm not going to hurt you." He stood in front of her, dripping wet, covered in cuts, in grey boxer shorts. "I'm not that man anymore. You can't tell anyone. They'll make me go back. They're looking for me." He looked scared. It almost killed her to see such a strong man look so broken.
Part of her wanted to run to the nearest police station and rat him out. And part of her wanted to find out what was going on.
"Who's looking for you?" She asked.
He shrugged dejectedly. "I don't know. The Russians. Shield. Hydra. Everyone. Or no one. Maybe they think I'm dead. They spent a lot of money bringing me back though. They won't give up so easily."
This was all a bit much. Joy focused on what she could handle. "You cut yourself up on those glasses pretty badly. Let's bandage those wounds." She found a small first aid kit under the sink, and applied antiseptic to his cuts, and bandages to the ones that were still bleeding.
Bucky hadn't had anyone be kind to him in a long time. Decades, really. He sat patiently while this strange girl tried to fix him. She didn't exactly dote on him- she was more matter of fact. But she had a gentle touch.
There was a bad gash on on his right shoulder. "You're going to need stitches." She told him. "This won't heal. Stitches mean a hospital."
He shook his head. "I'll manage."
"You're going to stitch your own arm up?" She asked. The answer was soon to follow. She wasn't sure if it was the hottest thing she had ever seen, or the grossest thing she had ever seen. A man giving himself stitches was, well, manly.
Bucky could feel her eyes on him. It made him uncomfortable. It shouldn't have. Back in his day, he'd been a hit with the ladies. They'd loved him and he'd loved them. Of course, he had never been dragged into a bathroom, thrown in a freezing tub of water, and stripped by one before. That made it a bit awkward. His fever had broken, though.
"So… I read on the news that you… well, they don't know what you are. But you killed Nick Fury. And you tried to kill Captain America."
Bucky slowly nodded, and shame flashed briefly across his face. "I've killed a lot of people." He tied off the floss he'd stitched himself up with, and cut the end off. "It's a long story."
Joy sat down on an ugly orange chair across the room from him. "I called out from work, and you're fever isn't gone. I need to keep an eye on you. I've got all day."
Surprisingly, Bucky was glad about this. It had been months, but for a few hours now, he wouldn't be alone.