Once again, many thanks to those still reading, still liking and still dropping me a thought or two. Always appreciated.
Taking a tiny side step from the angst in this chapter but normal service will be resumed shortly ;)
In this chapter Bucky makes a discovery. As always, errors are my own and unintentional. Thoughts always welcome.
I'm a swallower of anger…
Chapter Seven:
"Was that Bucky I saw just now?" Gabe enquires, watching her as she puts her medical bag away.
"Yeah," she confirms.
"He's on his feet, that's encouraging."
He notices the empty tea cup on the bench alongside her own and points at it. "So is that."
Alex looks at it, then goes to it and she picks it up and carries it to the sink.
"And it's stayed down, which is even more encouraging as he couldn't even tolerate water a few hours ago."
"Really? That's quick."
Alex shrugs. "He said he heals quick and he wasn't kidding, his bruising has also gone. All of it."
She glances back at him and sees his look of surprise.
"How is that even possible?"
She slowly shakes her head, "I don't know." She then takes a deep breath and regards him.
"You don't have to be here all the time y'know, Bucky and I are getting along just fine, hasn't tried to murder me in my sleep or anything."
"That's not even funny Alex," Gabe replies, his voice low.
"No, you're right but we've been okay today apart from the incident with Callum. I mean it's been rough at times, muscle pain and vomiting seemed to have been the worst problems but the pain seems to have gone and vital signs are stable." She doesn't mention the incident after the flashlight and what happened after it.
"He had his hand around Callum's throat."
"It was a hallucination, you know they can happen. Do you have any idea what he could've been withdrawing from? I was thinking perhaps a benzo dependency but I'm not completely sure. It would explain why he still doesn't remember and why he also swears he isn't an addict."
She thinks back to how he looked at the back of his right hand when she initially mentioned withdrawal and thought perhaps an intravenous drip of some kind but there's no sign of scarring or markings of any kind on his hand and she can't understand why it would be given like that, injection yes but in the back of the hand? Under what circumstances would it be administered like that?
"And most addicts become expert liars, Alex," her brother reminds her.
She gives a half-hearted shrug. "They do but he doesn't play like an addict and if he's lying then he should be on the stage because he's the best damn one I've ever seen. You get to recognise them and he's just not coming across as such. He hasn't had any cravings for more, hasn't made any attempt to get out of here to score, hasn't asked for more to make him feel better. He still won't accept pain killers." She pauses and bites her bottom lip.
"I'm still going with the idea that he doesn't know what it was or what it is he's coming down from and that to me suggests a benzo dependency, some can cause some degree of memory loss, amnesiac like symptoms, it's rare but it's been known to happen. Remember how he looked at the back of his hand when you asked him what he was coming down from, the expression on his face? He couldn't remember. "
"You know what that suggests, don't you?"
Alex lifts her eyes to her brother's face, her expression becoming troubled and she just nods.
Control.
The sun is barely peeking over the horizon. He stands at the window, resting his elbows on the sill and he stares out across the rooftops, staring at nothing in particular. He lifts his eyes upwards, seeing the various shades of orange and pink and blue; he can still see stars dotted here and there up high on the darkest edges but they fade away the closer to the horizon he looks. It's quiet at this time of the morning but it won't last for long.
He's feeling restless, didn't sleep all that well through the night, woken up several times from nameless unspecified dreams, amorphous shadows lurking in the corners of his mind, a vague threat hanging in the air. The agitation scraped at his skin until he finally gave up trying and has spent the time til sun rise taking in the landscape in front of him, staring up at the stars. Waiting for some semblance of calm to claim him.
Sitting on the fire escape, arms wrapped around upturned knees, staring up at the navy blue sky, those tiny lights punctured through the night time fabric, blinking and twinkling. He's often wondered what else is up there, whether there's someone like him on another far away planet staring up at the same kind of stars and wondering about someone like him.
"Whaddya doin' out there Buck?" The voice is quiet, far away.
"Just contemplatin' the meanin' of life Steve, that's all'
'Can't you do that from inside, you're lettin' all the cold air in, the place is freezin''.
A long inaudible sigh. A roll of the eyes. A moment of guilt. The cold damp air will affect his lungs. He should've remembered that.
'Yeah yeah, gimme a minute.'
"Bucky?"
He flinches when he hears her voice, turns his head and sees her standing in the door way. Wonders what she's doing awake so early.
"Hey," she greets quietly but doesn't come in. He straightens up and turns more fully around
"Hey." He feels every kind of awkward facing her after yesterday. It still sits uneasily inside of him that he crumbled like that in front of her.
"Do you feel like something to eat? I'm about to make breakfast."
He looks at her, framed by the light spilling out of the kitchen. She wears a robe over pyjamas of some description and her hair isn't tied back any more, it tumbles loosely over her shoulders.
He just nods.
She's moving around the kitchen when he enters. He watches her open cupboard doors and take out a variety of cooking implements; pans, bowls that sort of thing and arrange them on the countertop beside the stove. She turns and sees him hovering in the doorway and she smiles at him, a warm sunny kind of smile that makes him frown back.
"I was thinking of starting you on something light this morning. While it's wonderful you were able to keep down the tea you drank last night, solid food may have the opposite effect. You hungry?"
He recognises that he's starving and his right hand smooths across his stomach at the realisation. She notices the movement and she smiles again.
"How are you with eggs?" she asks him and sees him frown once again.
He just shrugs. "Okay I guess."
Her eyes widen with mild surprise. "You guess? You don't know?"
He shakes his head, walking slowly to the kitchen island and he sits on the stool there. No questions. He's been waiting for her questions about yesterday evening. Everyone has questions, don't they? He bends his head, pulling the fingers of his right hand through his hair. He hears a door open and close, hears the jingle of bottles bumping together and then a glass of orange juice materialises in front of him and he lifts his head and looks at her.
"Vitamin C, good for you. Drink," she urges and carries the carton of eggs she's also retrieved to the stove. He quietly sighs and looks down at the short squat glass, picks it up and takes a tiny experimental sip and feels the cold citrusy tang explode on his tongue. He takes another bigger sip, savouring the taste of it in his mouth.
It's then that he notices the newspaper folded in front of him. He frowns and reaches across and carefully slides it closer to him, unfolding it. The headlines scream at him in inch high black lettering the events of the Project Insight disaster. He takes in the photographs; the Heli Carriers partially submerged in the Potomac, broken, blackened and burned hulks of metal, billions of dollars turned into glorified junk.
His mission. To stop him. No matter what. One last time. It's what is required of him. Failure is not an option.
Help shape the century.
He failed.
He doesn't realise he's shaking until he turns the page and he takes in the rest of the headlines. Tall black lettering literally screaming about the infiltration and subsequent collapse of SHIELD. His eyes slowly widen when he sees the black and white photograph of the man with hair he somehow knows is brownish blond, eyes that he also knows are ice blue and just as cold and cruel and merciless; eyes that have borne into his demanding a mission report, the back hand felt across his own face when he didn't immediately comply. The taste of blood in his mouth ignored by thoughts of the man on the bridge. Thoughts he vocalised and was then punished for.
He frowns.
A man who could charm world leaders into giving him what he wanted and then just as quickly order their destruction. The breath catches in his throat and he pushes the newspaper away from him, as if physically burned by it.
'Your work has been a gift to mankind. You shaped the century.'
By killing, maiming and carrying out the dirty work of ambitious greedy men, perhaps it was. Perhaps he did. Whether he had a choice or not, he did it. Doesn't remember names and over time the faces become blurred together. Missions are just that to him; targets that once he's wiped are forgotten or relegated to fuzzy half memories. The machine obliterates everything else; any memories, any guilt, any emotion until all he's left with is the residue and this overwhelming feeling of disconnection.
Wasn't he known as a ghost story?
Living in a netherworld. Invisible. Unknown. Rumoured.
"Alexander Pierce."
Her voice startles him out of his spiralling thoughts and he looks at her blankly. She's whisking eggs in a bowl, looking at the newspaper over his shoulder. Hadn't even heard her approach.
"What?"
"The guy whose picture you were just looking at. His name is Alexander Pierce, much revered elder Statesman. Or at least he was. He's dead now, found in the ruins of the Triskelion, two bullets to the chest." He watches as she slowly shakes her head. "Fitting end for him, the traitorous bastard."
"How… how do you know about that?" he asks. She looks at him.
"It's all over the news. Something on that scale, how could it not be? Didn't you notice it, see it? We're not too far from the river here."
He doesn't answer, looking back at the newspaper.
Pierce is dead?
He wonders who else went down with him, maybe they all did? Would anyone be searching the bottom of the Potomac for him or would they readily accept that he too was a statistic? He takes a deep shaky breath. He can't get too complacent. It could take weeks before anyone within the inner circle realises, before anyone joins the dots. They could already know and be searching for him right now.
Watches him plummet with the rest of the detritus that rains down around them. One moment he's beneath him, face bruised and battered, urging him to finish it, the next a large chunk of debris tumbles past, crashing through the wreckage, taking him with it almost as collateral damage. He watches him fall, growing smaller and smaller within the chaos.
Follows him down, grabs his shoulder harness and kicks for the shore. Drags him out of the water and looks down at his battered face. Leaves him there, to go where he doesn't know.
The thought of finally being free? It's almost too much for him to contemplate. He watches as Alex goes back to making breakfast before he reaches for the newspaper a second time and he begins to read the story again. His eyes pause on a photograph at the bottom of the article, small and almost out of the way. A tall blond man, clad in blue and white and red. Checks out the name typewritten underneath.
Steve Rogers: Captain America.
He frowns slightly as he absorbs this piece of information. Steve…could this be the man on the bridge? It's the same name he called Alex's friend according to her though he doesn't remember that.
'I thought you were dead'
'I thought you were smaller'
Someone just as blonde but shorter, thinner, sicklier looking.
His eyes go back to the photograph in disbelief. How? How is it the same person?
He flinches when a plate appears beside his arm.
"You know there's an exhibition dedicated to Captain America at the Smithsonian? Huge crowds every day, very popular."
Bucky lifts his head and looks at her as she sits opposite him.
"You ever been there?"
She shakes her head. "Too busy mostly but it's supposed to be very good." She looks into his eyes. "Try and eat something, you've gone awfully pale again," she tells him and he looks down at his plate once more, at the silverware beside it. Eggs. She said she was making him some eggs. He pulls the plate across, glances up at her again.
"Thanks," he mumbles.
"You're welcome," she tells him.
As she eats her own breakfast, she keeps a surreptitious eye on Bucky and notices that he eats the same way as he had the day she found him. Those same expressions travel across his face; caution, curiosity and finally bliss. He's decided that he likes eggs and she hopes to God that they like him. Drinking tea and eating solid food are two decidedly different things and she hopes his stomach is agreeable to the idea of the more solid stuff. Watching him get to his feet and carry the empty plate and glass to the sink, she thinks that perhaps it is.
"You'll feel better after a shower," she tells him, handing him the washbag that has ended up on the floor at the bottom of his bed along with the towels she placed there prior to his arrival. He regards her, eyes somewhat blank with surprise. He hasn't washed, brushed his teeth or changed out of the jeans and t-shirt since he got here.
"And while you're in the shower, I'll change your sheets. Come on, I'll show you how everything works, it's really easy." He watches as she turns and heads out of his room and he has no option but to follow.
The shower is over the tub, a plain white shower curtain pulled to. He stands beside her and watches her as she shows him which buttons to press and which buttons to turn to alter water temperature. She then looks at him and smiles and sees the mild frown between his eyes and her smile begins to fade.
"You don't have to do this right now if you don't want to," she tells him and he seems to snap to.
"It's fine." His voice is low and filled with tension.
She sends him a worried look as she takes the washbag from him and opens it up.
"The shower gel, shampoo and soap are all unscented, it helps prevent scent triggers. People can react to all different kinds of things, different stimuli; tastes, scents, sensations so I try to cover all bases and keep stuff like this as simple as possible. There's also a razor and shaving gel in there too if you want to shave, as well as a new toothbrush and some paste." She places the bag back on the towels he still carries and looks back into his blue eyes.
"There's plenty of hot water too, so take your time, don't worry about using it all up. Any questions?"
Bucky just shakes his head, watching her as she leaves him alone. Feels a little overwhelmed and he isn't sure whether it's the thought of taking a shower or by Alex herself. She's a force of nature.
She can hear the hiss of the shower while she strips down his bed, replacing the soiled sheets with fresh ones, working quickly and methodically and she's done by the time the shower shuts off.
The sheets are bundled up in her arms and she's on her way out when he emerges from the bathroom, followed by clouds of steam. He's clad in just a towel around his waist, his clothes in his arms and another towel across his shoulders. Droplets of water cling to his skin and his hair is towel dried and tangled and pulled back from his face. She notices that he hasn't shaved. Her eyes widen marginally as he comes past her to go into his bedroom and she's reminded just how tall he is and how wide his shoulders are. He's powerfully built; she believes the correct term is muscles on top of muscles. She swallows against a suddenly dry throat before she pauses in the doorway and looks at him.
"I've left some clean clothes for you on your bed. I have to go downstairs in a little while, someone that I've helped in the past is calling by on an errand and I need to see her. I was wondering…whether you'd like to come with me."
She waits. Watches as he slowly turns and looks at her.
"I mean you don't have to and I'm only going downstairs so if you want to stay here then that's fine, you probably want to rest up some more anyway." She turns to leave, wondering what on earth possessed her to ask him that.
"I'll come with you."
His answer stops her in her tracks and she turns back around to look at him.
"Really?"
He shrugs wide shoulders. "Sure. When are you plannin' on headin' down?"
"Half an hour or so. Her name is Mary, the person I'm meeting."
Bucky slowly nods as he absorbs this information. "Okay, I'll be ready," he promises. She smiles at him once more and disappears.
She watches him emerge from his room. He's clad in clean jeans and a long sleeved light blue Henley shirt she pulled out of the wardrobe while he was taking his shower. She dropped a grey t-shirt on top of it and hoped they fit. She's glad to see that they do. His glove is back on his left hand. His hair has been finger combed into submission. He's also wearing the lace up boots she dug up for him.
"They fit okay?" she asks and he looks down at them and just nods.
"That's good. Your other boots don't have a size on them so I had to guess. Are you ready?"
Another nod.
He watches her unlock the door and open it and he ignores the subtle pounding he can feel in his chest. He's nervous, doesn't know what to expect downstairs, what kind of an impression he'll make if any. It's on the tip of his tongue to change his mind, to stay in his room and hide for a little longer, gather his wits and plan what he's going to do next. He knows that he can't stay here for much longer, he'll need to move on and soon. Sooner or later someone's going to take a closer look at him, at his left arm and realise he's different to pretty much every other guy around. Alex says they operate under the radar and he doesn't want to bring any unwanted attention on her and what she does. He follows her out of her apartment, sticking close.
His heartbeat grows louder in his ears as he follows her down to the bar and the back of his neck prickles. His eyes scope out his surroundings. Quiet. No one around. Doesn't realise he's clenching his fists until he feels himself begin to relax.
They pause at the bottom of the staircase and she turns and looks at him.
"Are you okay?"
Not really but he nods anyway.
She continues to look at him. "The moment you feel like you need to leave, tell me," she instructs and he nods a second time before his eyes scan his surroundings one more time; entrances, exits, quick getaway strategies, all being assessed and being put into place.
"This way," she continues and they turn right.
He sees the large dark wood oval shaped bar in the centre of a spacious room. Right now it's empty, tables clear, chairs neatly pushed in. There's a guy behind the bar, tall, blond and he's wiping at the surface with a cloth, another one tossed over one broad shoulder. He lifts his head when he hears footsteps and briefly smiles at Alex. Bucky falters slightly as they approach the bar. Another face glitches in and out for a heart stopping second but disappears before he can fully recognise it.
"Hey," Alex greets, resting her elbows on the shiny surface. He glances at her and offers another slower smile.
"Hey yourself." He sends a look Bucky's way. "Good to see you looking more…"
"Well?" Alex interrupts and he looks back at her.
"Yeah."
Bucky looks at him and notices the dark bruises that ring his throat, recognises the thumbprint sized one below his left ear and feels a twinge of guilt. Vaguely remembers someone being in the apartment yesterday. He glances at Alex, shifting slightly on his feet, fighting against the overpowering need to disappear.
"Bucky, this is Callum. Callum, Bucky," Alex introduces and she watches as both men stare at each other. Then Callum pulls the dishtowel off his shoulder and wipes his hands briefly before holding one out to him.
"Good to meet you Bucky," he tells him, his voice low but level.
After a second's hesitation, Bucky reaches across and takes it, gives it a brief shake.
"You too… listen… about… yesterday…"
Callum waves him away. "It's fine, Alex explained it to me, flu does strange things to a guy. You look a lot better. This?" He indicates his throat, "This will heal."
Bucky just regards him, completely taken aback by Callum's easy forgiveness. It's nowhere near to being fine by him but he'll accept it.
"Any sign of Mary yet?" Alex asks Callum.
"She's on her way, said she'll be here shortly," he answers, watching as she slides onto one of the stools. He reaches beneath the bar and lifts out two white mugs and places them on the bar in front of them. Bucky sits down beside Alex and watches as he picks up a coffee pot from behind him and fills them, pushing both their way.
"A word of advice though, she sounded a little twitchy when I spoke to her last night when she called to let me know she was coming by this morning."
Alex picks up her cup and takes a mouthful of coffee. "You think Frankie is on the scene again?"
"God I hope not, it took her months to find the courage to finally leave his useless ass. I asked her but she didn't give me a straight answer," Callum replies.
Alex sighs roughly, her fingers tightening around her coffee cup.
"How did he find her?"
Callum shrugs. "I don't know. If he is sniffing around, I know he can lay on the charm if and when it suits him. Wouldn't be the first time he's done this."
Alex frowns. "I hope to God you're wrong Cal. He threatened to kill her the last time."
The door to the bar opens and it doesn't escape Alex's notice how Bucky flinches at the noise. She turns her head and sees two people come through. Mary and Connor. They're both carrying large bags. Bucky watches as Alex slides off her stool and approaches them both. He picks up his coffee cup and takes a contemplative sip, feeling the bitter brew scorch his tongue. He doesn't take his eyes off her.
Mary is tiny in height, barely five feet tall with short choppy brown hair and wide hazel green eyes that Alex knows sparkle when she's happy. Today though, they're dull, void of any kind of emotion and she feels a sinking sensation in her gut. Callum might be right about his hunch that Frankie is sniffing around again. Connor takes the bag off her as Alex goes to hug her, feeling her arms slowly slide around her, holding her close for a second before letting go and taking a step back.
"How are you Mary?" she enquires gently. The smaller woman's responding smile is quick but it doesn't quite reach her eyes.
"I'm okay Alex. What about you? Callum said you were busy with someone new." She sneaks a peek around her and sees the guy sitting at the bar opposite Callum, sipping from a white coffee cup. He looks to the outside world to be calm and at ease with the world but Mary recognises the tension behind his eyes, the set of his shoulders, how he takes in his surroundings. Their eyes briefly meet and hold before she looks away, returning her attention to Alex.
"I'm fine, that's Bucky at the bar with Callum." She doesn't offer to introduce them, Mary is still pretty skittish around new people, there are very few souls that she trusts.
"I managed to complete everything that you asked me to. Do you have anything else?"
"Not right now but that's just because I haven't been out looking for the past few days. You're so good at what you do Mary, Gabe would sell his soul for your sewing skills." She slides an arm across Mary's shoulder and leads her to the bar. Connor is behind, carrying both bags which he places on a couple of stools at the bar.
"Hey Mary, would you like some coffee?" Callum enquires with a gentle smile. Mary casts a nervous smile Bucky's way before she nods and takes a seat, careful to maintain a safe distance from him.
"Mary, this is Bucky, he's my newest someone," Alex introduces. Mary looks across and sends another quick, nervous smile Bucky's way. He doesn't smile back, just nods but his eyes hold hers for a minute longer. Alex takes the stool between them, in effect creating a barrier between them and she looks his way for a moment.
"Mary is a seamstress of inestimable quality. I go to Goodwill stores and thrift shops around and about and pick up clothing for next to nothing and then I call Mary, we talk about what needs to be done to improve them and she takes them away and she does it. She's really talented, makes her own clothes and those for her kids, she's the absolute best." Alex looks at her and flashes her a smile, seeing how she flushes pink, a shy smile crossing her face.
"Which reminds me…" Alex reaches into the front pocket of her jeans and pulls out a thin wedge of cash. She pushes it across the bar Mary's way and sees how her eyes widen.
"Oh…I can't…" she stammers.
Alex nods. "Yes you can. Your work is always outstanding. Take it, you've earned it."
"But you haven't even checked it, it might not be what you wanted," Mary responds. Alex regards her for a moment and she recognises the fear rising in her friend's hazel green eyes. All but feels the anxiety vibrating off her skin.
"I know it will be and why is that? Because I trust you and because I know you do good work. Take the money, you've earned it." Alex pushes the bills closer to her and watches how she slowly picks it up, sees the denomination of them and if at all possible, her eyes go even wider. She drops it, shaking her head.
"There's far too much here, I can accept this," she whispers. Alex doesn't say anything for a moment, instead she fixes her with a steady look.
"Then why don't we take the clothes out to the communal kitchen and we can go through each item?" she suggests. After a moment, Mary nods and slides off her stood. Alex follows, picking up the cash on her way. She first of all looks at Callum and her expression is serious and then she turns her attention to Connor who still has both bags in his possession. She just nods and he follows them both inside. Bucky turns in his seat and watches them leave before he looks back at Callum, who picks up the coffee pot and refills Bucky's mug.
"They might be a little while," he tells him. Bucky looks down at the mug and frowns when he feels that tight knot that's been resting in his chest squeeze fractionally.
"Why?" His voice scrapes against his throat as he looks up and into Callum's brown eyes and sees the brief look of confusion.
"Why what?"
"Alex. What she does. Why?"
Callum lifts his own coffee cup and takes a mouthful, the silence stretching between them. Bucky taps the fingers of his right hand against the side of his own mug and waits.
"It's just what she does. Everyone here, me, Connor, Mary? She's helped us all in some capacity."
"She doesn't know…me…but…"
"She has her reasons man but it's not my story to tell. Maybe you should ask her."
Bucky picks up his coffee mug and his frown still doesn't completely dissipate.
"Maybe I will," he murmurs.