Subject X (Winter Soldier X Reader)

8

There was no telling how long I had been asleep for. I groaned, rubbing my still sleep heavy eyes. I sat up in my bed and looked around. The door to my room was wide open, breakfast on the floor. It had to have been at least late morning. My first instinct, shower. I felt disgusting, sticky, and grimy from the torture of the day before. Thank goodness that this place had hot water, because I don't know if I could survive taking a cold shower. Even if it only lasted for 10 minutes.

I stepped out of the shower, drying myself off with a towel and making my way over to my bedside table. I furrowed my eyes together at the new addition of clothing that I had received. A single pair of grey sweatpants. I smiled to myself, feeling relief and excitement flood over me while I slipped them on. They weren't the most comfortable pair of pants in the world, but they were much better than having to wear the training clothing all day. I put on the white tank top as well with the sweatpants and made my way over to the breakfast.

I picked up the tray, it was cold. Two pieces of toast, some bacon and rubbery looking eggs. I guess the luxury meals were done for. I picked up some bacon, chewing on it reluctantly. One piece was all I was able to stomach, I wasn't hungry at all.

My mind wandered to Bucky, our conversations from last night. I smiled as I did so. I did most of the talking, telling him about my experiences in the red room and some things I remembered from my childhood. He seemed to enjoy them, hanging on to my memories to fill the void of being unable to remember his own.

I walked to the doorway, looking up and down the barren hallways. I stepped out, putting my hands in my pockets as I walked. I had an entire day to do anything that I wanted. In all honesty, there wasn't much to do here to begin with. I don't remember the last time I saw the light of day, and there was no way I was going to be able to find it any time soon.

My feet walked me to the gym, opening the warehouse doors and stepping inside. The florescent lights hummed overhead and the large door behind me echoed as it shut. I looked over at the weight benches for a moment, thinking to myself, then over at the wall of weapons. I walked that direction, approaching the wall and looking up at it. My hand traced over the different weapons as I walked, deciding which one to pick up. I finally reached the end of the wall, unsatisfied with my choices.

I looked to my right, seeing the long hallway that had a clothes-line contraption on the inside and headed over there. I peeled a paper target from the wall, clipping it to the line and sending it out about 20 yards. I picked up a small handgun, a Glock 43 to be specific. I picked up the amo, loading the magazine up and setting it back down on the table.

I took a deep breath in, closing my eyes as I did so. When I opened them again, I snatched the gun off the table, quickly unloading the clip into the dead center of the heart of the person outlined on the paper. When one bullet was left in the chamber, i aimed it up and fired the last bullet into the head of the target.

I rested my hands down, putting the gun back on the table and sighed gently.
"I thought I might find you here."

I nearly jumped out of my skin, instinctively grabbing the gun that's as on the table before i even turned around to see who was behind me. It was Bucky, standing with his hands in his pockets and a cheeky smile on his face.
"You can't just go sneaking up on people like that." I warned him, releasing my death grip on the gun.

Bucky put his hands up in surrender. "Not my fault you couldn't hear me. What are you doing anyway? It's our day off, why are you doing more work?" He tilted his head at my question, his hairs flopping over to the side of his face.
I smirked a little while also letting out a chuckle.
"When you find something fun to do here, let me know."

It was Bucky's turn to chuckle now. "I guess you're right." He stood for a moment, rocking on his toes while looking around the room, either looking for something to say, or contemplating on saying anything at all.
"I was thinking, maybe we could go to the library. Good day to brush up on some German." He winked. I knew exactly what he meant, the library was the only place I was certain was not bugged, we could talk freely without being bothered by anybody.