Red

Part 28

Bucky

It's been a few quiet and tense weeks since Mallery's attack and her self-defense against John that ultimately led to his death.

We've all been walking on eggshells, but as the days pass and there are no calls from the police with follow-up questions, Mallery's mood seems to ease up ... if only slightly. She's still jumpy, and I know she's not sleeping much. I've referred her to Dr. Raynor, but as far as I'm aware, she hasn't called yet.

Sitting at my desk in my office, trying to concentrate on work, I'm distracted by my phone buzzing. Laura Barton's name is flashing on the screen, and I take a deep breath before I answer. "Hey, Laura."

"Hi, Bucky. I'm about to call Mallery and tell her, but I wanted to give you a heads up," she begins. "Officially, there will be no charges pressed against Mallery. They're calling it self-defense—"

"Which it was!"

"I agree. I'm just telling you." I can hear her shuffling papers around. "They'll also be releasing her apartment. So, she can go back and collect her things or hire someone to come in and clean it."

"That's it? After everything, that's it?" Leaning back in my chair, I run a hand through my hair. It doesn't feel like enough, even though he's dead.

"That's it. Sometimes, things work out the way they need to." She clears her throat. "I spoke to the judge; he would have ruled in our favor, but he may not have given John adequate jail time. It doesn't do any good to dwell on it, but it's hard to let it go."

"When are you calling her?" I glance at my watch, checking the time.

"I was planning to right after I get off with you, why?"

"I could be home in an hour. Can you hold off a little bit? Then I can be with her when you call?"

"Sure thing. Take care of her, Bucky, and yourself."

"Thank you, Laura. Talk to you soon." I disconnect the call and make every effort to wrap things up at work so I can get home. When I'm finally able to leave for the day, I shoot off a quick text to Mallery to let her know.

When I get home, I find Mal in my office, sitting at my desk, talking on the phone. I walk in and immediately start to back out, but she waves me over. "Thank you for speaking with me today, Dr. Raynor. I'll call the other therapist you suggested and set up an appointment. Thanks again." She disconnects the call and smiles up at me weakly. "Hey, you're home early."

"You probably didn't catch my text while you were on the phone." Dropping my briefcase by the desk, I lean down to kiss the top of her head. "How did that go?"

"Um, good. She doesn't think it's a good idea for her to see me and you though, so she recommended someone who has experience with domestic abuse victims and survivors." She shrugs, fiddling with the ink pen in her hands.

"What do you think about it?"

"I want to call and make the appointment." Her voice is a strangled whisper; I know how hard this is.

"Why don't you do that while I go change." I shoot her a grin. "When you're done, I can tell you all about my day."

I leave her to her business, giving myself ample time to sift through the mail, change my clothes, and grab something to drink. By the time she emerges, I can tell she's been crying, but she smiles widely, and somehow, I know while we still have a long way to go, she's going to make it through to the other side just fine.

**Red**

Mallery refuses to go to the building in Brooklyn, and since her new therapist supports that decision, I don't put up a fight. Armed with a list of the things she can't live without, I meet Steve at the apartment, only to find him reaming out Rumlow and his crew. When he pauses for a breath, I jump in, pulling him away.

"What is going on?" Steve is the gentlest person I know, but when it comes to his family, there's only so much he can take before he turns into an absolute beast.

"We should fire all of them," he mutters, not bothering to spare a glance at the crew still assembled but listening to Brock as he quietly tries to calm them down.

"Why? It's not their fault he got in here, Steve." I shove him gently. "I get it, but this isn't the answer."

"He was on their crew, Buck. Under an assumed name, and the background check passed. He broke through the drywall in the neighboring unit and burrowed through to get to hers. He made a tunnel to her! They should have known." With his massive arms crossed over his chest, he heaves a sigh. "I should have known."

"He was on the crew? Is that how he knew how to get in?" I look over at Brock, and when I catch his eye, I wave him over. "Brock, he was on the crew?"

"Uh, yeah. You remember I said I had to fire one of the guys?" Rumlow looks nervous speaking in front of Steve, but I nod to encourage him to continue. "Well, Roger Harrington was an alias for John Walker. He passed all the background checks. His license is in that name! I had no idea ..."

I shake my head. "This isn't Rumlow's fault or yours; it's mine. I had a chance to look at this guy when they fired him, and I didn't. I could have stopped all of this."

Steve pulls Brock away, and I can barely register the two men talking. I'm hit with a wave of guilt like nothing I've ever felt before. If I had taken a look at the stills Sam captured, Mallery wouldn't be dealing with the guilt of having taken a life. Sam wouldn't have a concussion, Melinda

wouldn't have a broken arm and clavicle, and John would just be locked up.

I feel like I can't breathe, and everything seems to be getting smaller, tighter around me until Steve walks back up to me and points out what should be obvious. "It's John's fault. He's the only one to blame here." Steve helps me calm down, telling me about Nat's latest food cravings and how these seem to be earlier and more severe than they were with Grant.

My breathing slows, and Steve claps a hand to my back. "We have to move forward. No more asking 'what if?' He's gone; it's over."

We spend the next couple hours packing up Mallery's belongings, sidestepping the broken items and blood stains on the loveseat. When everything is loaded into both of our cars in the garage below, I ask Steve if he still wants to go through with our plans for the building.

"I want to. I still think it's a good idea." Shaking his head, he sighs. "Maybe we should just finish the remodel and go from there."

We drive to my apartment in our cars with me wondering what the future holds and how different everything will be now. Mallery helps us unload all of her stuff, and Steve doesn't make any comments when he notices her taking everything into my bedroom. She didn't ask me to take her bed apart and bring it, so it seems that this is a permanent stay, at least for now.

"You guys should come over for dinner this weekend," Steve tells us after we're finished unloading, and he climbs back into his car. "Grant misses you, and we should spend as much time together as possible."

Mallery pokes her head through his open window, wrapping her arms around his neck. They share a moment, and I start to walk back to the elevators before she catches up to me. "Thank you for going over there today. I knew I wouldn't be able to do it."

I wrap an arm around her waist as we enter the carriage, and she hits the button for our floor. "I already told you I'd do anything for you, Red."