II: Praying
Six months ago
The sun had long risen, its slanted rays peeked in from the windows and painted the walls with light. She was still in bed, wrapped in a threadbare sheet. A knock at her door broke into a quick-to-be-forgotten dream.
"Emma, food." Heavy footsteps creaked toward the further end of the hall and down the stairs. Very talkative, that one, she thought to herself as she sat up in bed. She ran her hands through her hair, making sure her fingers grazed her scalp as closely as possible. Emma had a thick head of hair, both a blessing and a curse. On one hand, she could sculpt her mane into a multitude of beautiful and intricate styles; on the other, the amount of shampoo and conditioner she needed was horrendous, and frankly, a luxury she could not afford. She ran her hands through once more, this time a bit more slowly: it only felt greasy near the scalp, the rest still had enough life left in it for at least another two days.
She pulled the sheet off and swung her legs over the bed, bracing herself for the inevitable. Gently. Tenderly, she reminded herself. Her feet dangled above worn wooden flooring that had seen better days. She grimaced as she slowly stood and stretched, jolts of agony jumping from the arches of her feet. Stilettos were torture devices invented by men, she surmised.
The smell of cooked ham and buttered bread invaded her senses and stirred her stomach into a frenzy of growls. As she stood still to breathe it in for a moment, she clearly heard the scratch of a needle hitting the grooves of a record.
Emma smiled. It wasn't much but this was home.
She pulled her hair into a makeshift top knot and surveyed the damage: clothes were scattered in every direction, as if a family of ten shared this one small slice of a room. The black dress from last night was crumpled in a corner. She wrinkled her nose as she kicked it underneath her bed. Out of sight, out of mind. Picking up an old gray shirt, she slipped it on over herself and pulled it down till the hem hit mid-thigh. This would do, it was too early to be concerned about decency. She made her way to the end of the hall and down the same set of stairs Wolf had descended after knocking at her door.
A table full of food greeted her: sliced fruit, thick cuts of bread, strong coffee. It was a dream come true. Wolf was staying true to his name, sitting at the end of the table to himself and scarfing down bread and ham. His only acknowledgement of her existence was a barely perceptible head nod. He was pissed at her about last night. She loved Wolf but he was often cold and distant towards her if she didn't do exactly what he wanted. She could play this game, better than him too. Emma coolly made her way around him without looking at his direction, a feat in such a cramped kitchen.
"About time," said a voice from around the corner. "We thought you were already gone for the day!"
Picking up a plate, Emma peeked around and grinned. "Not without your famous ham." Felix was at the stove, cooking up a storm she wouldn't dare interrupt, returning the smile. He had always been her favorite. He began to sing along with the song playing from the record player. It was one from a record he played often, some American band called The Rolling Stones.
She piled her plate high, reaching over Wolf's plate to grab a knife and smear jam over a piece of bread. She glanced between the two as she did so – one constantly sulking, blonde, short but stocky; the other perpetually enthusiastic, brunette, tall and lanky. It was hard to believe they were brothers sometimes.
Wolf caught her contemplating. Not for the first time, she wondered if he could read her mind and simply kept it a secret. It would be so like him, keeping an ace up his sleeve. He took a slow sip of his black coffee and set it down harder than necessary. Emma stopped chewing, her stomach closing itself in like a vault. He was going to do this now. "Felix," he barked. "Fucking turn off that shit." The music abruptly ended and Felix came to stand near the table, frowning. She sensed his discomfort mixing in with her own. "We have to talk about last night."
"No." She stared at him, brown eyes meeting his blue. "I can't do it." She turned to Felix, hoping he would back her up but he quickly averted his gaze. "We can't do it."
"There's 3 million euros-"
"Fuck the money," she pleaded. "We're no different from the people we ran away from if we do this." She went back to Felix, "Felix, say something." He shook his head, running his hands through his hair.
"Emma," Wolf leaned forward, his shoulders tense. "How do you think we're going to keep running without money?" He paused and whispered, "Who do you think they're going to go after if we say no? They will find others to do their dirty work and our heads will be the first ones on the list."
She glanced back and forth between the two again, shocked and angry. Ah, there was the similarity. They were both cowards. She slammed her hands on the table, standing up to leave. "Fucking unbelievable," she muttered under her breath. She walked into the adjacent living room and grabbed a pair of older jeans she had left in there a few days ago while folding laundry. She shimmied into the slim material, tucking the loose shirt in. She grabbed a pair of ancient gray loafers by the door.
"Emma," she heard Felix call over in the kitchen.
"Stop," Wolf said quietly. "Let her think about it."
The words caused something inside of her to snap in burning fury. The coffee pot on the stove shattered as she opened the door. "Fucking mature!" Wolf yelled as she slammed it shut and started off in a quick walk.
Tears burned her eyes as she put distance between herself and something unspeakable she was sure she could never do. A few minutes later, Emma realized she hadn't grabbed a jacket. The heat of the battle had worn off and the weary London weather began to set in. The sun was peeking through an armada of clouds and the wind was still but the permanent damp chill crept into bones. They had been living here for two years now, a big move from Florence. She wistfully remembered the hours she had spent reading books in the garden with a bottle of wine next to her. Felix had perfected a pasta recipe they had loved in a nearby restaurant. Wolf had met a girl and even brought her around for dinner once. She had thought it would be a definitive, their paradise out in Florence. And why not? They had scraped out of enough fights to deserve it. She knew now it had been a lull in the action. They would never be free.
Her left hand clasped her right forearm, covering a small tattoo that read XA003 beneath the crease of her elbow. Wolf and Felix had similar ones except for a difference in the last number.
They could never be free.
Emma sighed deeply and crossed her arms, now deeply regretting her decision in attire. A young couple passed her. Their laughter and evident happiness only a blip on her radar that nevertheless left a sour taste in her mouth. A bitter twinge overtook her as she considered the cards she had been dealt; some people worried about their mortgages or when they were getting married. She was twenty-four and hadn't given much thought to either. An actual home of her own? It was difficult to imagine. Marriage was an entirely different beast she wasn't ready to approach. As if on cue, tolling bells broke into her momentary quarter life crisis.
A piercing church tower beckoned in the near distance. The echoing sound should have been ominous against the background of an impending thunderstorm yet she felt soothed. She had found sanctuary within a church in Berlin, shortly after running away with Wolf and Felix. Maybe she could find it again now that she needed it most.
She was almost inside, admiring the gothic architecture, when an old woman stopped her at the entrance. Her papery skin danced above the blue veins in her hand as she shakily held out a thin red wax candle and gave a toothless smile. What was left of her snowy hair was tied back, the shorter strands curling up near her ears like horns. She gave the impression of a frail bird. Emma began digging in her pockets for change when the woman shook her head and pointed inside.
"I'm sorry," Emma started. "I don't-"
The old woman smiled again, candle still held aloft. Take it, dearie. The woman said. We all need a light in the dark.
Surprised but curious, Emma gave a soft nudge. Thank you.
She gave a nod. Go and find what you're looking for now, love. Go on.
Emma took a few steps forward and looked back. She knew there were others besides herself and Wolf but it still amazed her to find someone new. They had been labeled different things throughout the decades: Alphas, Inhumans, Indigo Children. These days, they were called Enhanced. It didn't change the fact that they were regularly hunted, highly sought-after weapons. Her heart grew heavy. She hoped she could forget the old woman's face.
Her footsteps resounded in the quiet and cavernous temple. The first peals of thunder rolled outside, startling her. It was very dimly lit by a few candles further in front of her, at the steps of what she guessed was the altar. Emma realized she wasn't sure which domination the church belonged to before quickly deciding it didn't matter. They were all meant for the same thing.
As she walked past the empty pews in the back, her eyes began to adjust to the dark. She saw she wasn't the only one taking shelter. Someone was bowed forward, a cap pulled low. Lightning flashed and she caught a glimpse of gloved hands holding an unlit red candle, an identical twin to hers.
She took a pew on the opposite side of the stranger as the rain began to pour down in sheets. She stared ahead, squinting. She couldn't make out much beyond the candlelight. That was appropriate; if there was a god she was praying to, she wasn't sure if they were there. Still, she felt the need to say something. Surely if there were some higher power out there, she would get a response. Emma took a deep breath in through her nose and let it out slowly through her mouth. But what should she say?
I'm sorry for everything that I've done.
She snapped to attention. Whose voice was that?
I regret everything I can remember. And what I can't.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the stranger shift. Was it them? There was a deep remorse emanating from them, each wave growing stronger. She had accidentally tapped into it.
I want to take it all back like it never happened. I don't deserve forgiveness and I know I should pay for what I've done… but I can't bring myself to pull the trigger.
Emma pulled back. This person was suffering. Tremendously. She tapped at her candle with her forefinger for a moment, considering her options. She could leave and pretend she hadn't heard anything. Or…
She stood up and made her way towards the lit candles near the steps at the front. She dipped the wick of her candle towards a flame and watched as it replicated. She walked back to the stranger and cleared her throat.
"Excuse me."
The figure moved ever so slightly in response.
"Would you like a light?"
A light in the dark.
The very little sunlight that had poured through the stained-glass windows of the church was long gone. It was practically night. The intermittent lightning flashes reminded her of a lighthouse, the revolving beam calling out to lost ships. She squinted but could make out nothing more than a dim and solitary outline in front of her. An outline that did not acknowledge her at that. She was suddenly glad for the downpour otherwise the silence would have been deafening. She was about to turn around and leave when the person held out their candle, its wick coming into her view. She tipped hers forward and paused to let the flame catch. Emma was caught off guard to find a handsome man sitting in front of her. His dark hair brushed against his shoulders and it had been a few days since he last shaved. He had a straight nose, a sharp jawline, and a full pout; he was like those models she saw on magazine covers who could cut diamonds with their abs. More importantly, she doubted she would stop swooning over those big blue eyes any time soon. He studied her with piercing intensity. She quickly drew back her candle, aware that she was not at her best. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear in vain.
"Thank you."
And he speaks, she thought. "You're welcome."
The thunderstorm was still raging outside but she felt flustered enough to take her chances. She blew out her candle and paused for a moment before setting it down near the entrance. Someone else could use it. Thunder roared above, an injured beast claiming everything the darkness engulfed as its own. If she had thought the walk here was bad, it was nothing compared to what she was going to face now. Emma grimaced. Or what was waiting for her. She began the run home.
Inside the church, Bucky sat in silence but his mind was churning away. He hadn't spoken a word in weeks. It didn't bother him. He didn't have much to say. The way others looked at him when he did venture out in public also put him off from trying to start conversation at all. Bucky knew it could have been his questionable, and admittedly scruffy, appearance but he couldn't get away from the voice in the back of his head. You're a monster and they can sense it. They know.
He flinched, hating how it all came back to him like a punch in the gut. Flashes of hundreds (no, thousands) of faces inundated his mind. He had created an ocean of blood and he was drowning in it. The flashes stopped on one face. There had been an old man. A gray old man, with blood trickling down his left temple, that had stared at him with a gleam of recognition.
"Sergeant Barnes?"
Bucky closed his eyes. He would give anything to escape this hell. He deserved to burn in it; but he longed to be free.
He glanced at the altar, where a single cross stood. He hoped for redemption.
The flame in his hands flickered and died.
Felix gave the floor near the stove another sweep with an old broom. He kept finding shards of glass with each pass. He sighed. Since day one, Wolf and Emma were constantly at odds with one another. They got along most of the time but their fuses were too short. When an argument sparked, it ignited. The result was, for lack of a better word, explosive. It would be fine if they weren't Enhanced, like him. As it stood, they now needed a new coffeepot.
He glanced at the blackened oven. It had burst into fire just as Wolf blew a gasket after Emma left.
"They're going to tear this pile of shit apart before it falls in on itself," he muttered to himself.
The door slammed open, the wind and rain rushing inside. For a moment, he thought it was Wolf but that was impossible. He had left for the bar not long after the oven fire was extinguished. He wouldn't be quick to return.
It was Emma. Her hair and clothes were dripping water while her skin was covered in goosebumps. He could hear her teeth chattering as she stumbled towards the stairs.
"Emma," He called. He needed to apologize before she disappeared to her room. He should have backed her up earlier.
She appeared around the corner, twisting a towel through the ends of her hair. Her eyes fixed on his. "Yes?"
Felix felt his heart beat a bit faster. He had been in love with Emma for years now, since they were children. But it was one of those sentiments that was better left unspoken. The feeling wouldn't be reciprocal. He knew that. It stung but he could live with it. He hated whenever Wolf elegantly brought the subject up. It happened from time to time, often when they were drinking together.
Make a fucking move. Or someone else will.
It's not like that.
You have no balls.
"Felix?"
She was an attractive girl, with universally appealing bright brown eyes, high cheekbones, and full lips. Fairly small in stature, she made up for it with her svelte figure. Her skin was fair; she wore a sun-kissed tan during their time in Florence but it was long gone now. Her dark brown rope of hair was beautiful in the light, where the copper undertones of her hair flared to life. Emma was lovely in her perfections. Yet he found he preferred her flaws. She had a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. He could still trace the faint scar on the Cupid's bow of her lips. His gaze went to the spot on her forearm where they had all been marked in ink.
The bastards had branded them like cattle.
A snap of fingers in front of his face brought him back from dangerous territory. Emma was staring at him, her eyebrows knitted together.
"I, uh," Felix cleared his throat. "I wanted to say that I'm an idiot, for earlier, during breakfast. I should've… said something." He scratched the back of his head, feeling beyond awkward. He was distracted by her wet hair and flushed skin.
She waved her hand in a dismissive gesture and laughed. "It's fine. I can handle Wolf on my own."
He gave a shy smile. "You shouldn't have to."
"You're sweet, Felix." She smiled back. "Never change." With that, she went upstairs and left Felix standing there, locking away the love he had for her back in his heart and closing the door.
A few blocks away, Bucky was climbing stairs at around the same time Emma was. His set was within a decrepit apartment building, full of mold and peeling wallpaper. He jogged up the last few metal steps, setting off puffs of rust under his heels.
He made it to the second to last floor and took a right. He stopped at the unit on the corner with the faulty door. He fished for a silver key in his jacket pocket and jiggled the knob to the left twice before turning right to open it.
From far away, he heard a small voice say, "It's got character, Buck."
An eight-year-old Steve Rogers was walking towards him with a ridiculously large bike he could barely hang on to. Well, he supposed it was a bike. It looked more like a death trap. Especially with the way the thing squealed in protest, like it was begging to be taken to the dump and put out of its misery.
Bucky wrinkled his nose. "Whaddaya doing with that piece of junk?"
Steve grinned, his arms shaking from the effort to keep the bike upright. "It's not a piece of junk. It's a Schwinn. Got her from one of those older kids that's always hanging around the diner on 5th. They only wanted three dollars."
"Steve," Bucky chided. "They robbed you like a sucker. That thing isn't worth the time you took to bring it here."
"Aw, come on. It's got character, Buck." Steve shook his head, quickly correcting himself. "And it's not an it, it's a she." He grunted, setting the bike down gently on the front lawn. "You'll help me clean her up, right?"
Bucky was skeptical they would be able to do much besides heave it to the trash by the curb. But when he looked at Steve's face, expectantly waiting that his best friend would always have the answer to everything, he found he couldn't say no. "Come on, my dad should have some stuff in the garage. We're going to need a lot of elbow grease to get this old dame going again."
"That's what we'll name her!" Steve shouted. "The Old Dame!"
Finally, he thought. A good memory.
He closed the door behind him and flicked on the light switch to his right. A full-sized bed, neatly made, was the first thing in front of him when he entered. To the right, a small table with a solitary chair. He eyed the bag of chips (no, they were called crisps here) on top of the refrigerator as he started to remove his gloves.
His left hand gleamed as he took off his cap. Normally, the sight of it was enough to upset him. Even when he was alone, Bucky did his best to cover it up. It was the smoking gun, so to speak. The biggest reminder of what he had once been under HYDRA's command. However, he would not dwell on it today. He had shelter, he had food, he had a good memory to keep him warm during the night; he would fight against the past tonight, it wouldn't overtake him. He wasn't the Winter Soldier anymore. He was… well, he was still figuring that out.
Bucky let the soaked jacket fall to the floor in a drenched mess before peeling off the dark red long sleeve shirt underneath. He had stuck to a strict workout regimen to keep himself lean and ready to fight or run, whichever made more sense at the time. His diet wasn't as strict – for the first time in decades, he could choose his meals. He was making the most of it, taking in the miracles of modern cooking. Everything had been boiled in his day.
In my day, he thought. His mouth filled with the familiar aftertaste of bitter self-pity. The statement was echoing around the hollows of his mind, bouncing off the blurry faces of his family, his friends, and all the people he had ever known. Not for the first time, loneliness began to sink its claws into him.
He glanced at the jacket on the floor. Bucky had stuffed two red wax candles in his left pocket, the burnt wicks sticking out to wave hello.
At the pub across the street, Wolf was also saying hello. To his fifth shot of whiskey, that is. He gave a grunt as the liquor burned like dragon fire before mellowing down his esophagus where it curled into a warm glow in his belly. He motioned with two fingers towards himself at the bartender behind the counter.
"Keep them coming," he muttered. He plunked down a wrinkled ten euro note.
The bartender shot him an uneasy look but poured another three shots. He knew when to keep his mouth shut when there was a paying customer. Or when a man had a death wish. This poor bastard happened to fall into both categories.
Wolf took one of the shots in his right hand, swirling it around a bit, that liquid gold caressing the rim of the glass as he did so. He was the only one sitting right at the bar tonight, his balance on the stool negatively correlating with the amount of liquor he was ingesting. The mirror behind the bartender reflected a good portion of the pub behind Wolf, effectively letting him watch his back. A cherry wood paneling plastered the walls, the color nicely offset by the low lighting provided by the Edison bulbs hanging above each table. The pub was mostly empty except for a few stragglers here and there. Certainly a rarity on a Friday night. The storm was a good excuse to stay sober tonight or do some at-home drinking.
Not Wolf. He would rather be anywhere than back home right now.
He put the shot down and ran a hand through his short blonde hair. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and winced. His eyes were bloodshot, his face sallow and tinged with a gray shade. He looked like a corpse, fresh from the kill. He involuntarily shivered at the thought.
He would be the one bringing in bodies soon.
Without hesitating a second longer, he took all three shots in front of him, one after the other. "Fucking shit." A sharp pain pierced beneath the layers of muscle and skin near his right eyebrow.
Wolf pressed the heel of his palm against his temple and grimaced. By protecting the three of them from their deaths, would he lead them to something much worse? Something they could never come back from? He loved Emma and Felix, so fiercely it was more than he could put into words. But it was this devotion that had cost him to make a choice.
They needed protection from Hunters. They would bow down to the most powerful Enhanced they had ever met. In exchange for their lives and protection (and a good sum of money), they would bring in others like themselves. Dead or alive.
Emma had immediately protested, shooting up like a rocket, shouting, You better fucking kill me now! She was a good person, that Emma. It was easy to see why his brother would follow her to the ends of the Earth like a lovesick dog. Which made him feel more like shit for the way he was treating her.
"Wear the black dress."
Emma scrunched her nose, disgust plainly written on her face. Felix sat next to her at the kitchen table, looking uncomfortable.
"Come on, he likes that one." She wouldn't win this battle and she knew it. Emma rolled her eyes and grudgingly went upstairs to search for the offending garment. Felix opened his mouth as soon as Emma was out of earshot to protest on her behalf but Wolf held up a hand to cut him off. "If he's distracted by her, he's less of a threat."
His brother frowned. "She's the distraction now?"
Wolf snorted. "As far as you're concerned, she's always been the distraction."
The table shook but no one had made a move. Wolf stared at him with open surprise. A thin trail of blood crawled from Felix's left nostril. He dabbed at it, looking shocked himself.
"Well," Wolf muttered. "I'll be damned. You do have some fight in you after all." He stood up from the table, clapping Felix on the back. He rounded the corner and shouted up the stairs. "Emma, stilettos."
An indecipherable screech of rage resounded throughout the house.
He would make it up to the both of them. As soon as this nightmare was over, they would disappear from the face of the fucking planet. They would go to Iceland to buy their freedom. He had heard rumors of an Enhanced in those parts: a woman, a legendary hacker, that could make it look like someone had never been born. No records, no digital fingerprint, nothing. And once that was done, they were going to do whatever the hell they damn well pleased. Wolf paused, the thought of Florence crossing his mind for the millionth time; he could apologize to Valeria for leaving so suddenly. He could… they could-
A blinding flash of heat split his head in half as it met the edge of the bar. He was too dazed to immediately notice the meaty hand closed like a vice at the base of the neck.
"One more for good measure."
The second smash against the bar was sickening. The fresh blood flowing from the newly made gash made a sound - twack.
"That will do it."
The nameless claw released him and he lost his balance, falling flat on his back off the stool. The back of his head suffered a third blow from the whiplash of gravity.
"Fucking hell," he gasped.
A deep voice growled out, "Fucking hell, indeed." A clap, then the slow sizzle of hands being rubbed together. Wolf slowly registered the wisps of expensive cologne and the click of leather shoes as a man approached him. A pale hand reached out and Wolf wildly thought it looked like the skeletal hand of the Grim Reaper. The man pulled him up by the front of his shirt and Wolf saw he hadn't been wrong. Death had come. Cold steel eyes buried their gaze into him. "We have business to discuss."
Back at home, the only business Emma had that night was figuring out how to go to sleep. She had climbed into bed, closed her eyes, but her brain refused to close shop for the night. After some tossing and turning (and eventually a few minutes of yoga and a playlist), she had resigned herself to another bout of insomnia. There was a nagging thought wandering through her, leaving a slimy trail wherever it went: Could she do this?
Emma reached for the top drawer of her bedside table where an unopened red packet of Gauloises greeted her like an old friend. She had given up smoking years ago but she still carried it around, waiting for moments like this. She took the pack in her hands, spinning it around and tossing it from hand to hand as she sat on the bed, miles away from her body.
She closed her eyes to study her options. She was suddenly in a white room, standing in front of a shelf that held different colored glass orbs. They were heavy, resting on a wooden carving of a clawed hand. She gingerly picked up a red one, the fiery tones shifting angrily inside. If she didn't cooperate, Echis would come for them. He wouldn't kill them right away, he wasn't kind enough to do them the favor. Emma turned the orb in her hands, peering inside. She saw the three of them frantically throwing their possessions in packs, gearing up to run away, the door of their home was ripped open, Wolf yelled, Felix shouted, Emma screamed. She backed out of the vision. No, they wouldn't have enough time to run away if they refused.
Sighing, she replaced the red orb and picked up the one next to it. It was a stunning shade of emerald. She glimpsed a man on his knees, begging for his life as Wolf stood behind him, a knife in his hand. Emma jumped, quickly returning that one back in its place.
She glanced between the two orbs. Quite a selection.
She covered her face with her hands, ready to scream in frustration, when she heard the distinct whoosh of a new choice. She lifted her head to find a third orb had appeared next to the other two, this one a beautiful azure. Hungry for anything, Emma grabbed the orb and looked inside. A cloudy image of two red wax candles floated in front of her; it dissolved before she could wonder what it meant.
"Not much," she said aloud, frowning.
A shuddering breath and she was back in her room, still sitting cross-legged on top of her bed. The rain steadily pelted the walls and windows. It was as stormy here as it had been in her head.
"Now what?" she muttered. The pack of Gauloises in her hands winked at her. She paused for a moment before ripping it open.
Author's note: I've smushed what was previously chapter 3 into this chapter as well. Nothing has changed content-wise. The line break after Bucky's moment in the church is the end of chapter 2 and the beginning of what was chapter 3. If you were caught up, you've missed nothing so far!
I hate writing short chapters (2k words or less). I'll be making an effort to combine chapters in my drafts to avoid deleting/rewriting after chapters are posted. Thanks!