III: Chance
He was always presentable. Tonight was no different. He wore a crisp black suit that was tailored to perfection. He was clean shaven with his dark hair slicked back. As she followed Wolf and Felix into the plush booth, Emma supposed he would have been attractive in another life. There were traces of the handsome man he once was: a chiseled jaw, broad shoulders, strong hands. These were things Emma would have normally found appealing but there were other features about Echis that eclipsed his blessings. His skin had a waxy tinge, making him look a notch less than human. He slipped enough into the uncanny valley to make her uncomfortable.
And those eyes.
When Wolf had showed her the files he had managed to snatch from a recent raid, there was a photograph of Echis as a subject. His eyes had been brown then. They were now a chilling shade of flint. 'The injections,' Wolf had explained. 'They change you.'
"Ah," Echis clapped his hands once and rubbed them together a few times. It reminded Emma of a snake hissing in anticipation of a meal. "My favorite trio." He lingered on her, flashing a sinister smile. "Mademoiselle Emmanuelle, lovely as ever."
Emma's stomach twisted. To her left, Wolf gave a small nudge with his right leg. She cleared her throat. "Thank you."
The classical music playing in the restaurant was low and the hum of quiet conversation buzzed around them. An air of exclusivity mixed with the scent of buttered lobster and strong wine. These were refined people with posh tastes. They wore silk dresses or designer suits and slept in luxurious mansions that were too cold and sterile to be called homes. Emma had immediately felt out of place as soon as they arrived. Still, there would always be a pecking order, even in these circles. The restaurant was split into an upper and lower level. Those on the second floor were the shot callers. They looked down from their booths by the balcony at the peasants seated beneath them at round tables.
Wolf dug into his pockets and pulled out a small plastic bag, almost the size of his thumbnail. Inside, was a miniscule computer chip. They had gone through hell to get it – weeks of following leads, getting to the right people, and finally raiding the HYDRA storage unit. It had been a treasure trove of secrets but they had been interested in this one specific bit. Echis paid them very generously for these retrieval assignments. More importantly, he kept the Hunters away.
Still, it bothered Emma that they did his dirty work. He would dispose of them eventually, she was sure of it. The three of them, they were a bargaining chip in a bigger game he was playing. The whole thing sickened her. Wolf insisted there were worse things to be paid for, so she went along for the ride.
Besides, they never hurt anyone. They were in and out, only digging for whatever piece of information Echis wanted.
It was harmless.
If I knew then what I know now, she thought grimly. She gave one last drag on her cigarette before tossing it to the ground and snuffing it out with the heel of a nearby shoe. The clock across the room announced it was a quarter past one in the morning in bright red numbers. She was too restless to sit here for the rest of the night and watch the minutes tick by. Emma gently padded out the door and down the hallway, her bare feet making little noise as she descended the stairs. She had promptly changed out of her wet clothes at the first opportunity, swapping them for cozy black sweatpants and an old green shirt with a hole near the shoulder. She thought back to the women she had seen the other night at the restaurant, with their stupidly expensive designer dresses. A Dolce & Gabbana girl she was not.
The interior of the house was lit by the occasional flash of lightning. She worked well in this semi-darkness, searching through the kitchen cupboards and pantry. As she set the kettle on the stove for a cup of tea, Emma saw Felix laying on the couch. His snoring was almost drowned out by the pelting rain. Almost.
"Wolf isn't home," she whispered to herself. It wasn't odd for him to be out late but it was unthinkable of him to be apart from Felix. She was sure they had gone out together after she had left. After all, the two were practically inseparable. Emma came and went, she was a part of the pack but only because she was allowed to be. There weren't any blood ties to keep her there.
The statement nestled itself into her brain, curling up like an insidious centipede. She could make a run for it now. If Wolf and Felix wanted to dig their own graves, why should she do the same? A mental image of wax candles enticed her, calling out to her even though she couldn't pinpoint why.
Felix gave a particularly loud snore, startling her. She smiled, walking over to where he laid on the couch. Maybe they weren't blood, but they were her brothers, weren't they? They irritated her beyond disbelief but she couldn't imagine life without them. They had lived and escaped the horrors of their childhood together. She would face the horrors waiting for them now as well, although she wasn't sure they would live to tell the tale this time. Emma brushed back a piece of hair that had fallen over Felix's forehead, only briefly registering the squeal of tires outside.
Voices shouted over the noise of rain and burning rubber. She perked up as she heard an unmistakable cry of pain, a thump, and a vehicle peeling off at high speed. Felix shot up as Emma opened the door to peer outside. A man was lying face down in the middle of the street. His right arm was crumpled and bent at an odd angle. Her breath hitched in her throat for a moment. "Wolf!" she screamed and ran to his side, her clothes instantly cold and heavy from the unrelenting storm.
She hadn't noticed Felix followed her out of the house. He appeared from thin air, deftly flipping Wolf over on his back, and pulling his head into his lap. Wolf's nose and upper lip were coated with clumps of dried blood. A purple bruise was beginning to blossom across the right side of his face. Her fingers searched for a pulse near the base of his neck.
"Is he alive?" Felix hovered above him, shielding his brother against the onslaught of water and hail.
Emma nodded. She wouldn't tell him the pulse was weak. "We have to get him inside!" They both turned to look at his twisted arm but said nothing. Felix threw Wolf's left arm over his shoulders and slowly began to stand while Emma supported Wolf on his right, wrapping her left arm around his waist and avoiding his broken limb as much as possible.
As they slowly shuffled inside the old house, Bucky was laying down on the bed in his apartment. He felt anxious about sleeping on a mattress, like he was going to sink in at any moment. It was too… comfortable and soft. Sighing, he grabbed the pillow underneath his head and moved to the floor. He let out a breath of relief at the feeling of solid ground beneath him. He originally started off on his back, closing his eyes and pretending he felt sleep coming on. As minutes trickled into hours, he tossed to his left, then his right. He let out a growl of frustration and rolled onto his back once more. Staring at the water stained ceiling above him, insomnia greeted him like an old friend.
A man in an expensive suit lay on the ground at his feet. His fingers were heavy with gold rings.
"Please don't kill me! I have children!"
The Winter Soldier stared him down with cold indifference. The man saw his fate was sealed and began to weep.
Bucky sat up, his right knee rising to meet his elbow. He rested his forehead against his right hand. Insomnia had brought his other friend: guilt. It was true, his body had operated like a machine running a program while the small fragment of humanity that remained inside of him screamed for help. Still, that wasn't an excuse. He should have done something. People died because he hadn't been able to break through HYDRA's brainwashing.
He was a failure.
He was an accomplice, a willing participant to the innumerable slaughters the Winter Soldier had committed. He was damned, he was a complete abomination, he was-
He wasn't going to do this tonight. He got to his feet and strolled toward the round dining table to his left, pushing it a few inches until a loose floorboard popped up ever so slightly, free from the pressure of the table's gravity. Gently, Bucky wiggled it back and forth until the board had enough leeway to reveal a journal, a backpack, and a gun. He grabbed the journal and pulled a flashlight out of the backpack before positioning the floorboard halfway back to its original position. He settled back onto his spot on the floor, shone the flashlight on the first page, and began to read out loud.
Softly, he said, "My name is James Buchanan Barnes but my friends called me Bucky."
Yes, a small voice agreed in his head. He was Bucky. Not past Bucky, not 1940s Bucky, but an in-progress Bucky. It would do, for now.
"I had a best friend," he continued. "His name was Steve."
In his mind's eye, he saw a skinny kid holding up a monstrous bike, smiling brightly at him; then a frail young man in a suit, nervous about a double date; then a tall stranger with a familiar voice asking him if he was ready to follow Captain America into the jaws of death.
"Hell no. That little guy from Brooklyn who was too dumb to run away from a fight. I'm following him."
Bucky opened the journal wider, letting the pencil he had tucked between the last page and the back cover drop out into his hand. He flipped a few pages ahead, where he had started a small section for drawings. They were often nonsensical images, at least to him. The first one was of a ferris wheel by a body of water. The next, a boxing ring. He knew these must have been places he had visited but they flashed by so quickly he couldn't grasp the context. The third and most recent drawing was still in the works. It was a little boy sitting on the ground, his face hidden from view. He was stuffing great handfuls of crumpled paper into shoes. Bucky positioned the flashlight between his neck and shoulder and began adding details here and there. The boy had been wearing shorts that went to his knees. Suspenders attached at the front and back of the waist assured they would stay in place. The clothes were too big for a boy his size, even if they were made for a boy his age. There was an open doorway behind him, streaming rays of sunlight illuminating a dark room. By the door, an old pair of men's work boots collecting dust. Bucky took a second to evaluate the picture and felt a swell of pride. He was getting better at recall.
A flash of lightning and then the strike – the building shook against its rage. Bucky returned the journal and switched off the light. He wished he could switch off just as easily. He laid there on the floor, watching the shadows dance on the walls and ceiling for what felt like hours. Eventually, his eyes felt heavy and he began to have a sinking sensation. Almost like he was falling.. falling…
The snow fell in thick clumps, not bothering to arrange itself into delicate flakes. Bucky let out a shaky breath. He watched as it condensed into a small bit of fog and then quickly dissipated before his next breath replaced it. His skin was jaundiced and stretched tight over his bones. He put his left hand over his stomach in an attempt to quiet the never-ending rumble and brushed by his jutting ribs on the way. He hadn't looked in a mirror for months now but he would hazard a guess that he resembled a skeleton more than a person.
He would kill for a cheeseburger right now.
Who the hell was he kidding? He'd give his arm just to stand next to a burger these days.
"Barnes," Dugan called behind him. "Stop slacking off."
Bucky stayed where he was, staring out a barely open window, desperate for fresh air. He wasn't exactly sure where HYDRA was keeping them but he saw a mountain range close by.
'Good place for a POW camp,' he darkly mused. 'If we try to escape, we're popsicles.'
A hand on his shoulder made him jump and turn. He hadn't heard Dugan's heavy footsteps above the rest of the racket going on around them. The other POWs were working on a sophisticated piece of machinery, courtesy of HYDRA. The rumor was they were building a plane but no one had ever seen a plane like this.
Dugan squinted, his mouth barely moving. "They're watching." He whispered.
Bucky focused behind Dugan. There were two HYDRA foot soldiers staring right at him, muttering a few words back and forth. He managed to catch one word by reading their lips, one single German word repeated over and over: sterben.
Dying.
He was dying.
Well, he had made it this far, served his country, and kicked some Nazi ass. Would they at least have mercy and give him over to the firing squad? He had an odd but brief impulse to laugh as he imagined himself marching right on over there, fanatically smiling and yelling, 'Yes sir, you're right! I'm a dead man walking!'
Dugan gave him a good shake. "Bucky, snap out of it before-"
It was too late. The two HYDRA soldiers were coming towards them.
A baby was crying in the distance.
Wait, that wasn't right… there were no babies around these parts. His head spun wildly as the soldiers grabbed him underneath his arms and dragged him away. He thought he saw a young woman, holding what he assumed was a swaddled infant. She was completely out of place yet no one seemed to notice her. He blinked twice but there was no mistaking it: there was a gaping exit wound at the side of her head. They stared at each other as he was taken through the double doorway, her painted lips parted to scream as the bundle in her arms began to stain the white linen with red.
Bucky jerked awake, the sound still reverberating in his ears. He was covered with a sheen of cold sweat. The gray shirt he had gone to sleep in was soaked along his chest and down his back. His throat felt like it had been scraped raw by a couple of rusty razor blades. Had he been the one screaming? He ran a hand through his hair. His heart was a car picking up speed, racing towards a cliff. He steadied his breathing.
It's in the past, he thought. Don't think about it. It's in the past, it's in the stupid past.
It was his mantra whenever shit hit the fan - it was all in the past. It was tough to wake up every morning, knowing he was alive and had to make something of himself. It sounded simple: create a new life, be a good person, earn your worth. But it proved a daunting task. He had to constantly look ahead when everything kept pulling him back, back to the nightmares he had created. It was difficult but he found if he kept reminding himself to live in the present and build towards the future, it became slightly bearable to move forward. Having a routine helped.
He glanced at the clock on the wall. The hands announced it was just past six in the morning. His first work-out session of the day started at five-thirty every morning. He was a bit behind schedule. Pulling off his shirt, Bucky tossed it in a nearby laundry basket. He didn't have a full wardrobe but he kept a few things around when he could lie low in one place for a while. He had been in London for almost a month now. He guessed he could stay another month at most without blowing his cover.
He grabbed a belt near the basket and looped it around an old exposed beam on the ceiling. He wrapped his right hand once around the end he was holding onto and gave a tug. After he was assured his upstairs neighbor wouldn't be coming down for a surprise visit, Bucky easily hoisted himself up and down using his right arm. His own body weight was a good challenge; his left arm was dead weight when it wasn't in use. He continued doing pull-ups, repeating the motion as he idly wondered what he would choose to do today.
Life for Bucky had begun again after the battle on the Triskelion above D.C. And living again meant autonomy, a tricky concept for someone who hadn't even had a name for decades. So he set a major ground rule: he had to make at least three decisions for himself every day. At first, he used his three strikes for food only. Did he want to eat an entire pizza for breakfast? Yes. Did he want to try Thai? Yes. Dessert? Hell yes. After making food related choices had become second nature, he slowly extended it to other aspects of his life. Did he want to take a walk? What should he read today? There were so many tv shows and movies now; which did he want to watch? These were little things but they were the things that had given him control over himself once more. He was Bucky, whatever that meant now.
As he wrapped up his routine and took a quick shower, he was still debating how to use his three choices for the day. He wasn't particularly up for breakfast just yet, the nightmare was still too fresh in his mind for his uneasy stomach. Bucky pulled on a pair of dark jeans and a black long sleeve, gazing out a nearby window. The clouds had long left and the sun was enjoying its chance to shine. The pavement was still wet and he could see that the street was partially flooded. It was still early. Being a Saturday, there weren't many people out. They were all still at home, nursing hangovers from the night before.
A walk it was. First choice of the day. It's a start, he thought.
He grabbed a pair of running shoes and black gloves that had both seen better days. He debated wearing a jacket on his way out but decided it might look suspicious, as if the cap and gloves he wore weren't calling him out already.
Bucky took the winding steps down at an easy pace. Average rate, that was his other mantra. The average American man takes 109 steps a minute. The average human male can reach speeds of up to 15 miles per hour. He was anything but average but he had to keep appearances while he was in public. He took a left at the front of the building, going on a well beaten path in his mind. He knew all the streets, alleyways, and roundabouts within a twenty mile radius of his apartment. The church was the exception; he had stepped out of the safe circumference of his perimeter yesterday night. It was… out of character for him. But it had been a big development, it had been a major choice. His choice.
As Bucky kept a good (average) pace, the aromas of a nearby food stall wafted by on a delicate breeze. He stopped, taking a moment to appreciate it. Spicy, tender beef. His mouth watered. An accompanying sizzle accentuated the scent, a bold exclamation point at the end of a delicious sentence he was ready to pronounce. There was food back at the apartment, the reasonable part of him reminded. He didn't need to spend money he didn't have.
Another sizzle.
Damn it all.
He ordered one of the specials: a take out box filled with fluffy white rice, topped with a generous portion of succulent beef drenched in an aromatic stew, and a side of crisp spring mix vegetables. Bucky had barely paid before he was scarfing it all down on a nearby bench. Slow down, average pace. How fast does the average person eat? Who the hell cares?
After he had stuffed himself and began picking at the last few bits, he heard a small whimper. A shaggy dog had approached someone else at the food stall. He was a medium sized dog, obviously a stray but not aggressive. He was covered in cracked mud, the aftermath of yesterday's storm. Even though the dog seemed friendly, no one was charmed by the mutt. He was promptly shooed, running a few feet away but cautiously trying to approach the stall again. Without thinking, Bucky gave a whistle. The dog's ears perked up and quickly came to sit at his feet, happily panting now that he was noticed.
"Here," he told the dog, setting down his leftovers on the ground. He couldn't help but smile as the dog's tail went wagging into double time, eagerly lapping up scraps of meat and rice. Bucky stood up and put his hands in his pockets, thinking about going back to the apartment, when he felt a nudge at the back of his leg.
The dog gave a short bark and licked his left hand. Bucky hesitated before kneeling down to give a scratch behind the ear. "Good boy," he said before standing up to leave again. But the dog wasn't having it, not at all. He followed confidently next to Bucky, as if they had planned this little meet up for months. Bucky didn't have the heart to turn the mutt away, not after how faithful he turned out to be. Just tonight, he thought, a bath and a bed for the night and tomorrow he would be off to a rescue shelter.
Instead of going back to the apartment right away, Bucky wandered around the city with his new companion. He enjoyed the crisp air, the blue sky, this simple act of freedom. There were more people out and about now that early morning had passed. He was surprised to find he wasn't as jumpy as he would normally be in a crowd. He glanced at the dog next to him, who had reassuringly nuzzled his hand throughout the journey. Well, maybe there was something to be said here.
He noticed about halfway there that his feet were taking him back to the church. He wasn't entirely sure why, but he wanted to go back for a second visit. His gut told him it was the right thing to do today. Choice number three, he thought, and it's not even noon yet.
As they neared the entrance, Bucky felt his pockets for spare change but he didn't see the old woman who had given him the red candle the other night. He had hoped to repay her. Bucky took a seat in the pew at the very back of the church. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Something about this place was soothing to the soul and quieted the voices in his head that called out to him. He hoped to lose himself in the silence for just a few moments of bliss. However, he had no such luck. His new friend had settled down near his feet, splayed out on his side and content as could be. Without warning, he took off like a bullet towards a pew further up front and on the opposite side.
Emma laughed when the energetic dog practically jumped into her lap. He rolled over, politely asking for a belly rub which she agreed to. She quickly wiped her tear stained face when she saw the owner approaching out of her peripheral vision. It was the man from the other night.
"Your dog likes mud," she smiled and picked a few chunks out of the pup's ears.
Bucky shifted from side to side, hands in his pockets. "He's not my dog." At her questioning glance, he added, "He came up to me this morning. Been following me around since."
"He's a stray?" Emma stood up and gave him one last scratch around the ears. "He's friendly, he must have run away from someone." When Bucky said nothing, she started to walk away. "See you around," she said, more out of habit than sentiment.
Bucky's fingers brushed up against what was in his pockets. When had he taken them out of his jacket? He couldn't remember. "Wait." He pulled out half of a red wax candle and held it out. "You left this behind."
Emma could only stare at the piece. That was the third image she had seen last night, the red wax candle. She wasn't great at reading fates but clearly this person would be involved in her life. It was up to her to decide how. A friend was better than an enemy, especially in these times. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name."
He hesitated before a familiar face came to mind. "Steve."
It was her turn to pause. She didn't believe him. His mannerisms, the way he moved, how he spoke. None of it screamed Steve. But that was fine, she wouldn't prod. She took the broken candle from his outstretched right hand and slipped in her own, squeezing gently. "Emma." They met each other's eyes and a flash of heat ripped through her. He was absolutely thrilling to look at, wasn't he? She became very conscious of the fact that she was in a pair of jogger pants, her faithful but worn green tee, and the same loafers as yesterday. Her eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep and her earlier crying spell. Her hair was sitting in a tangled knot at the top of her head in a style that should have been called 'can't be bothered'. Fucking hell, she was a mess. Wait, was she still holding his hand? Oh shit, she was. She awkwardly took a step back and thankfully the dog was kind enough to direct attention back to himself with a bark. "And yours?"
"He doesn't have a name," Bucky said, not sure if he was still talking about the dog or himself.
Emma leaned down giving the pup another scratch. "Everyone needs a name. How about… Chance?"
Chance licked her hand in agreement.
"You there!" All three turned towards a very angry, very balding maintenance man near the altar. "You must be daft." His face scrunched as he took in Chance's shabby coat. "Bringing a mutt like that in the house of God!"
Bucky felt a brief moment of panic but was eased when he saw Emma flash him a mischievous smile. "Sorry sir," she called out. "We didn't know God hated dogs, we'll be on our way." She grinned and motioned outside. "Come on."
Chance leaped at the front to lead his newly formed pack. He proudly cleared the path for Emma and Bucky as they exited the church. Bucky felt a jolt as he realized that, for the first time in years, he was walking alongside someone who simply wanted his company.
Author's notes:
It begins! Doesn't it feel like Bucky needed to have a dog in the MCU?