What Fades Away

chapter 3: see how deep the bullet lies

CW: description of violence, gore, physical assault....Bucky Barnes being sassy.

He stands silently, the hood of his black jacket pulled down under the guise of protecting his face from the arctic wind blowing through downtown. He is hiding, using the shadows of the brick townhouses and office buildings to obscure him from the eyes of any passersby. His fingers twitch in the pocket of his jacket, adrenaline still pumping as he watches the dark haired woman enter the towering glass building in front of him. There is blood under his fingernails from the last girl, newly dried and still leaving rust stains on the inside of his coat. He reminds himself that he will have to burn the jacket later.

She had been easy to convince, just a college student who wanted to help a stranger while on her evening jog. It was when they entered the dark alleyway that she realized her mistake. He's pretty sure she broke a nail or two trying to pull his arms from around her neck. It was tedious, the sweat still collected between his shoulder blades and his lower back from the fight she put up. Luckily for him, no one even noticed as he hovered over her and watched the light fade from her eyes, his hands wrapped around her throat. That was his favorite part, that little flicker of fear that appears right as his girls prepare to fight for one last breath. Thinking about it while watching his girl makes his cock twitch.

He carved the letters into this one's thigh, tearing through her leggings with ruthless efficiency. It was a shame because he liked her legs. Rusted. Ironic, he thinks, the smell of iron that filled his nose with each cut still lingering like the blood under his nails. That part of his work calls for no hesitation, the blood running over his hands as he moves quickly in the dark. The knife he used now resting at the bottom of the river, thrown from a nearby dock as he hurried to his next destination.

Now, he just watches. She is still standing at the elevator, talking to the man at her left. Sam Wilson. He notices how pretty she looks with her big earrings and her ponytail, the pants she chose tonight accenting all her curves. He wonders what she would look like with her hair down, brown tresses floating over his face while he buries his hands in her hair.

He hopes she watches the news tonight and sees what he did for her.

*********

Bucky is exhausted, the past 24 hours catching up with him the moment he steps through the glass doors of the building's lobby. Getting your ass handed to you still makes you feel like shit, even if you were a super soldier. Despite the exhaustion and what he was pretty sure was a bullet graze on his right shoulder, he would call the mission a success. A senator was being targeted by a group of far-right nationalists, the type of people Bucky fell off a train trying to defeat. After locating them in a rundown apartment on the southside of Washington, it took no time at all to convince them that the senator wasn't worth their time. If they didn't listen, Bucky made sure the men knew he'd be back.

It was late, past midnight. Usually he can count on someone to still be awake, either Parker watching old movies in the living room or Yelena working out in their gym. Even Sam could be found reading files or a book alone on the couch, only a single lamp turned on to help. It became a habit, almost like they were setting up a watch in shifts. It makes the soldier think of when he was stationed in Europe. Instead of sitting in a foxhole with a rifle waiting for Nazis to come out of the trees or around the corner, now the attack could come from anywhere.

As he mindlessly walks off the elevator and flops down onto the couch, Bucky slides down a little, resting his aching head on the back of the grey cushions. Then he hears it: the very faint beating of someone's heart. It's quick, like when you are startled during a horror movie or come around the corner to meet someone you didn't know was coming. A rustling of papers causes him to open his eyes, seeing the dim lights of the kitchen island in his periphery.