*Back again. I didn't mean for there to be a hiatus but I've been busy. Sorry for the long wait. This chapter is a tad shorter than usual but I wanted to put something up. I'm not giving up on this story so don't worry : ) There is more Buckanie romance to come. Also, Civil War just came out. Haven't seen it yet, but I can't wait to see more of the Winter Soldier and Cap.*
-Continuation of flashback, unspecified date, October 1943-
German planes circled menacingly overhead, like starved vultures waiting to descend upon dying prey. The pilots were likely waiting for the order to commence another bombing. Acrid smoke rose to form ghastly black clouds that choked out the last precious rays of daylight. As a hellish blaze consumed the fortress of Azzano, Schmidt's sinister words resurfaced from her memory. Hubris cannot be tolerated. They must be reminded that they are not invincible. Under siege by German forces, the men of the famed 107th Infantry Regiment were certainly aware of their mortality. If their formidable reputation was to be believed, they would put up one hell of a fight the moment German boots marched on the fortress.
Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes hadn't budged since he landed on Melanie at the bottom of the hill. Crumbled leaves were stuck in his thick brown hair, and his once pristine uniform was filthy and wrinkled. A small scratch marked his cheek; a superficial injury he must have received during their tumble. Disheveled as he might have been, none of that took away from how incredibly handsome he was. Movie star good looks aside, his actions impressed—and baffled—her the most. The man had no clue who she was, yet he had risked his own life and limb to save her from being blown to smithereens.
"Pardon me," he spoke politely, although he was a bit winded. "I don't think we're acquainted. Sergeant James—"
"James Barnes," she interrupted out of impulse, while mentally kicking herself for it. The name had slipped out a second time. She paid close attention to his reaction, unsure how to go about explaining why she knew his identity. Keeping her mouth shut was never a skill of hers, even when it was in her best interest. "I know."
His dark brows knitted together as he scrutinized her, wracking his brain to recall whether or not they had encountered one another before. "Well, I know we haven't met," he concluded.
He opened his mouth to say more, but had to glance sharply upward at the sound of roaring engines. A German plane zoomed directly overhead, perilously close to the tree branches. It left a trail of noxious smoke in its wake before crashing only a dozen yards away; it appeared that the survivors of the bombing were retaliating against their attackers. Mouths agape, the two on the ground stared in the direction of the crash, knowing they had both dodged death a second time.
That revelation only fazed Barnes for a moment because he recovered quite well. Managing to crack a smirk as he commented offhandedly, "I never forget a pretty face."
The dazzling smile he flashed her was unexpected, to say the least. Momentarily rendered speechless, she was appalled that he had the nerve to flirt with her on a battlefield where his comrades were already suffering casualties. He either fancied himself a ladies man, or he had a peculiar sense of humor. In any case, she decided his close proximity was no longer tolerable.
"Something to remember me by," she taunted spitefully. A sharp jab to his ribs effectively prompted Barnes to recoil, pushing himself up into a kneeling position that was still too close for her liking. Planting her boot on his broad chest, she delivered a forceful kick that sprawled him out flat on his back. He grunted as the breath was pounded from his lungs and as he laid there choking, Melanie smoothly rose to her feet and proceeded to circle him.
Do not disappoint, Miss Dampier, that chilling voice repeated in her mind. She shivered as if Schmidt were there invading her personal space and whispering aggressively in her ear. Hydra has no tolerance for weakness. That not-so-veiled threat had conveyed what her life meant to her so-called comrades; failure would be a death sentence.
Clutching his sore chest and gingerly prodding his ribs to test if anything was broken, Barnes eventually pulled himself together and stood. He eyed her with freshly-instilled distrust, but he seemed more guarded than hostile. There was no contempt in his voice when he spoke. "Looks like you're not on my team," he said, unable to misidentify her uniform as his eyes lingered on the HYDRA symbol imprinted on her belt buckle.
The implications of that simple observation rubbed her the wrong way, making her feel oddly defensive. She resented being compared to those brainwashed drones serving the corrupt Nazi Regime, and loathed the fact she was contracted with HYDRA. None of that could be helped; she had signed the contract of her own volition, and the terms were binding. Rather than dwelling on the guilt already festering inside her, she cracked a smirk at the noticeably unnerved sergeant.
"Be a doll and kick your weapons over to me," she requested coolly, while she pulled the sword from her hip. Languidly twirling her wrist to artfully display the deadly blade, she tossed in a threat for dramatic effect, "This doesn't need to get bloody."
"I don't suppose you're taking me on a date, then?" he retorted wistfully, sticking to his smooth-talking persona. He had already figured out her intentions and hid the anxiety remarkably well. He was separated from his brothers in arms, alone on the field. He could be gunned down by the first Nazi soldiers to slither from the smoke permeating the air around the trees. She had to hand it to the man; he was pretty damn brave.
"Afraid not," she replied, almost sounding disappointed herself. It truly was a shame they both had to be at odds; she wondered how different things could be under more pleasant circumstances. Could they have exchanged friendly words, perhaps gone out for a leisurely stroll enjoying one another's company? Shoving those silly imaginings aside, she berated herself for losing focus and narrowed her eyes at her momentarily-non combative target. "Weapons. Hand them over," she ordered more harshly than she intended. Pleasantries no longer mattered while standing amidst a chaotic war-zone.
Barnes met her fierce stare with caution, refusing to move for a moment as if afraid to provoke her. Then his hand reached a bit too quickly for the gun strapped to his hip. Whether or not he planned to shoot her, she wouldn't allow him to gain the upper hand. Melanie reacted out of impulse, lunging forward to slash her sword with expert precision. Hissing through his teeth at the sensation of a blade slicing his flesh, he reared back several paces until he put enough distance between them.
Blood dripped from his hand onto his boots as he lifted it up to inspect the damage. Then his eyes searched the ground somewhat desperately until they rested on the gun at her feet. His shoulders slumped a bit as he heaved a dejected sigh. When he made eye contact with her, she couldn't help but smirk while she tauntingly kicked the gun hard; airborne, it flew several feet away before skidding across the ground out of sight, concealing itself beneath a blanket of decaying leaves.
Without his gun, Barnes resorted to his army knife. While the sharp, slightly curved blade was deadly, it couldn't compare to the dexterity and fluidity of her sword. He seemed to realize that, because he looked rather hilariously unimpressed with his own weapon. As if realizing he had no chance, he tossed his knife aside.
"You're pretty quick with that sword," he commented in a tone of admiration, "Suppose you could have chopped my hand clean off, if you really wanted to."
What the hell is he playing at? Melanie wasn't opt to believe he would accept defeat so easily. That comment of his only doubled her suspicion. With a quickness he was hardly able to compete with, she pounced on him. Her palm struck his chest, causing him to stagger backwards into a tree. He managed not to crack the back of his skull against the trunk, but was too busy recovering his balance to counter her attack. Her blade struck the bark dangerously close to his neck and she held it there, with no need to strike him again. She had his undivided attention as he simply stared at her in stunned silence.
"Who is to say I won't?" she asked coldly, glaring at him. "You have no idea what I'm capable of."
Her words seemed to affect him in some way because he looked pensive, regarding her with a strange look she couldn't quite read. "You're right. I don't know you. At least tell me your name, before you slice off my ears," he cracked a smile as he said that last; he truly did have a peculiar sense of humor.
None of their conversation should have happened; she should have jabbed him with sedative the moment they landed at the foot of the hill. She found herself interested in what else he had to say and that could be a fatal mistake. He could very likely be stalling her with his charms, and against better judgement, she decided to humor him. Unable to fight the smile fighting its way through her resolve, she began, "Mel—"
Her introduction was rudely interrupted by the unmistakable sound of a gunshot. The super soldier serum had perfected her body's capabilities, but unfortunately, it hadn't made her impervious to bullets. The explosive pain of a bullet lodging itself in her shoulder-blade was evidence of that fact. The impact caused her to involuntarily jolt forward against Barnes; she clung onto him out of instinct to keep herself from falling. It wouldn't have shocked her if he shoved her off, but he immediately caught her in his arms and lowered her to the ground. While cradling her head in the crook of his elbow, he drew a spare gun he had hidden somewhere beneath his jacket. He aimed toward the direction the sniper fired from. How he glowered down the sights, frowning deeply, one would think he cared if she lived or died.
"Sergeant, don't shoot!" a male voice called, before a rather lanky man emerged from behind the tree where he had taken cover. At first he was only a dark figure sauntering forth from the gloom, but once he was close enough she could distinguish his features. The American soldier had to be close to her age, no older than twenty, with short cropped blonde hair and a strange accent that perplexed her. "What are you doin' out here?" he asked, clearly speaking to Barnes. He clutched his rifle at the ready while he kept his head on a swivel for any enemies that might present themselves. "The Nazis destroyed half the fort! We're pullin' out before they drop any more of those goddamn bombs."
Barnes had lowered his gun the moment he recognized his comrade, but he looked anything but pleased by the circumstances. "You go ahead, Franklin," he told him. "We'll be right behind you."
"Are you pullin' my leg?" the man questioned, looking at him as if he was hard pressed to check his superior officer into a sanatorium. He eyed Melanie with distaste. In response, she sent a furious glare his way, internally debating whether she should cut off the offending hand that pulled the trigger. That would be fitting retaliation as far as getting even.
"I'm not leaving her like this," Barnes declared adamantly. His chivalry grated her nerves; she hated being indebted to people. That was exactly the kind of sentiment that caused her to become tangled up in her contract to begin with.
"Just... save yourself...dumb bastard," she hissed at him with as much venom as she could in her wounded condition. Sweat had soaked her messed hair to her forehead as her temperature rose, fever attempting to fight off the invading foreign object still lodged somewhere in her flesh. It had missed her lungs and heart, but her shoulder-blade was on fire and there wasn't enough adrenaline in her body to numb that pain. Without permission, tears were streaming from her eyes and she could hardly take a proper breath without whimpering. In other words, she was pitiful and incapable of defending herself. If she was left alone, she would surely be killed—if she didn't just bleed to death before anyone could put her out of her misery.
"Sorry ma'am, but like I said, I won't leave you," Barnes replied, before asking rhetorically, "What kind of man would I be?"
Melanie bit her lip to contain her distressed cry as he hoisted her up bridal style. "A smart one," she retorted, perhaps too quietly for him to hear as his attention was torn away by the sound of soldiers approaching. At least a dozen, heavily armed shadows were combing the forest nearby for fleeing survivors. They were shouting menacing things in German that Melanie had no desire to translate for the two Americans.
"Come on, this way!" Franklin said urgently, gesturing with his gun in a direction that led west from the burning fortress. Melanie reluctantly clung to Barnes as he jogged after his comrade, glancing worriedly over his shoulder as the shouting only grew louder.
"Where...a-are you …taking me?" Melanie had managed to ask between her ragged breaths and clenched jaw as she fought to hold in her complaints. Barnes, despite his clear efforts to be careful, jostled her more than once which only inflamed her wound.
"There's an outlying building nearby. We can take cover there," Barnes answered. "Don't worry—we'll make it."
"If we don't all get shot in the back first," she quipped smartly, glaring at the back of Franklin's head, speaking loudly enough for him to hear. He ignored her, focused on his responsibility of properly navigating the path to their supposedly safe shelter. For all she knew, they could be taking her prisoner and she would have no hope of escaping in her current condition.
Her dark imaginings, born of the horror stories she had heard of women taken prisoner, were enough to make her sick. She hadn't survived twenty years by putting her life in the hands of strangers, certainly not enemy soldiers. Her fist caught Barnes in the throat, enough to stun and temporarily incapacitate him. He dropped her out of reflex and she immediately regretted it as her wounded shoulder collided with solid ground. While Barnes choked, gasping for air after the blow to his throat, her agonized scream alerted all within earshot.
"What in Christ's name?" she heard Franklin exclaim from a few steps away. He spun around to observe the aftermath of her attack on Barnes. She swore in German, knowing he had the advantage since he was the one with a rifle and two fully functioning arms. When she rolled over onto her uninjured side, clenching her teeth so hard she hoped they wouldn't crack, she saw him pointing his rifle at her. His finger curled around the trigger.
"Don't," Barnes cried in a raspy voice, staggering over to intervene by grabbing the rifle. It fired past Melanie, hitting a German soldier who had just spotted them. The two watched the soldier collapse onto his knees before toppling face-first to the ground, awestruck by how well the misfire worked out. Then Franklin turned a rebellious glare on his commanding officer.
"With all due respect, sir, you have lost your mind," Franklin said. "I don't know about you, but I enlisted for two reasons. One, to make my daddy proud. And two; to kill Nazis."
"Not her," Barnes warned his insubordinate.
At that point, blood loss was making her delirious. Meanwhile, she had lost interest in the two men arguing over whether or not she should die, her eyes drifted to the forest behind them. Through the haze of smoke, she glimpsed Nazi soldiers marching with bulky weapons in their hands. Fire spewed forth, engulfing the men who weren't swift-footed enough to escape. Melanie wanted to cover her ears when she heard the tormented screaming.
The two bickering soldiers fell silent and beheld the horrific scene taking place not too far away. Barnes' face drained of color as his eyes widened, while Franklin grimaced in disgust.
"Run off into the sunset with your Nazi dame," Franklin told the Sergeant, stepping back to raise his rifle. "I'm going to take out as many of those bastards as I can."
Barnes failed to catch hold of his arm as he ran foolishly into battle. "Franklin! Fall back!" he shouted after the headstrong soldier. He put a foot forward to chase after him, but hesitated, his eyes falling to Melanie who was still bleeding on the ground. There was a conflicted look on his face. He could loyally follow his comrade to a certain but heroic death, or he could abandon him and rescue Melanie instead. Go with plan C; to hell with everyone, save yourself, she wanted to tell him, but she was losing her grip on consciousness.
His dilemma was solved when Franklin reached the German soldiers. He managed to shoot one of them and snap the neck of another, before he was knocked to the ground. The Nazi retreated a few steps before lifting his flamethrower. Franklin had enough time to scramble to his feet, but that was it. Sergeant Barnes could only stare in helpless horror as his comrade collapsed to the ground, engulfed in flames. He tightly shut his eyes and tore his attention away from the carnage. Unable to do anything for his fallen brother in arms, he knelt down beside Melanie.
"We need to take cover, before they spot us," he said, pale-faced and misty-eyed after what he had witnessed. The last thing Melanie was aware of was being lifted off the ground. Pain no longer registered. She welcomed the numbing void of unconsciousness like an old friend.