Red

Part 5

Bucky

It takes 90 minutes to get us ready to go into the city. She's barely spoken to me the entire drive into New York, just responding to my remarks. Once we're moving down Fifth Avenue, Mallery sinks down into the seat, crossing her arms over her chest. "Are you okay?" I ask as we pull into an underground parking garage.

She looks over at me as I pull into my parking space. "I just always feel like I have to be on guard when I'm in New York."

"That sounds exhausting."

She nods. "I've thought about what you said. About the protection order?"

I wait for her to continue, turning off the car and shifting to look at her.

"I want to do it. Whatever I have to do ... I'm in." She exhales deeply, and I smile. I can feel the tension of the morning and the car ride ease off a little. She's always been the bravest, strongest person I've known; she gets it from her mother, from her brother. I'm glad to see it's still there.

"I'll help you." I reach over, giving her hand a squeeze. "We'll go at whatever pace you want, but I'll help."

"There's some stuff you might hear or I might tell you and ... I don't want Steve to know," Mallery looks stricken with fear. "Bucky, there are some things he can't know about. I don't want to think about what he'd do if—"

"Hey, Mal." I take a deep breath, and she mimics me. "I won't keep secrets from Steve. He's my best friend and your brother. But I won't offer up any information that he doesn't already have. I won't gossip with him about you. I won't lie to him if he asks about you."

We're both silent for a few minutes until I clear my throat. "What did he do, Mallery? What did John do to you?" I want to gather her up, whisk her away to a place where there's no pain, where he can't ever reach her again. My jaw clenches, and I have to remind myself to breathe.

There's a racking sob from deep in her throat, and she buckles under the weight of grief. "He broke me, Buck."

**RED**

Mallery is crying in my car as I'm pacing in the garage, clenching my fists over and over again. She didn't say the word, so I don't want to think ... I don't want to think about the implication that she laid out for me, but I don't know what else it could be.

There's a cigarette butt on the ground, and I smash it with my heel, grinding it to dust under my sole. I don't hear her exit my car or come to lean on the trunk, watching me. I don't hear her breathing slow down, but I sense her watching me. She used to always watch me before; when she was little and Steve and I would play at their house or the park, she would tag along. She watched me when I hit junior high and puberty struck, and she watched me in those short years during high school when I was still some punk kid from Brooklyn before I had a plan.

I swing my gaze over to meet hers, willing the feral animal inside to still. My left hand is still clenched tightly, and she walks over to me slowly and reaches for my hand to pry open my fingers. This is the first time in my memory that she's ever held this hand.

She wasn't there when I woke up in the hospital in Germany; I hadn't expected her to be. I had hoped that after I got transferred back to the States, she would be there for me at Walter Reed. They had made an exception for Steve, and he had been by my side for the duration: pre-op and post, physical therapy, and when I was officially discharged and went home to New York.

I never saw Mallery in Bethesda.

Her delicate fingers are tracing the golden grooves on my arm; the circuits that run across the vibranium, a stark contrast to the black metal. "I remember when you were still sedated, after your surgery." I whip my head up to look at her, but her head is still bent over our joined hands. "Your hand still reached for mine. Your fingers would still lace with mine. Even this hand; when they weren't sure if it would take, in your sleep you found me."