A Birdie Lost in Time | Bucky Barnes

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The car was silent as they made their way through Manhattan streets, with Bucky doing his best to drive smoothly, and Marlow making sure Sharon wasn't losing too much blood.

"Where from here?"

Sharon peeked through the window, eyes tracking the neighborhood. "Straight for another block, then turn left. My place is number 1497. It's on the left."

"Can I check?" Marlow asked gently, nodding to the sweater.

As Sharon lifted it away slightly, Marlow noted how the blood was clotting. "The bullet didn't go through, did it?"

"No, it's still in there," Sharon groaned as the car same to a stop in front of a townhouse.

"Do you have a medical kit inside? Our Band-Aids aren't going to cut it."

"Yes. And my guy can be here in fifteen minutes to patch me up."

"No need, I'll do it."

The driver's side rear door opened and Sharon shifted, letting Bucky help her out. As Sharon was getting her bearings, Marlow followed.

"You have a key?"

She shook her head, "The code is 6616."

Marlow nodded and headed up the steps, punching in the numbers before pushing in and flicking the lights on. She left the door open and continued in, finding the kitchen at the back of the open concept house.

"Where's the medical kit?" she called as she started searching cupboards.

There were mumbles from behind her before Bucky answered, "Pantry."

Turning to the frosted glass door beside the stove, she pushed in and scanned the shelves until she spotted it a few feet away. She nabbed it and went back into the kitchen, hurrying to where Bucky was helping Sharon onto the counter.

"Let's see," she ordered, eyes jumping from where Sharon was pressing the sweater into her side then up to her eyes.

Sharon hesitated a moment, but eventually pulled the sweater away and lifted her shirt.

Marlow leaned in, eyes scanning the wound. "I'm okay to touch you?"

"If you're gonna fix me, yes, you can touch me."

She nodded, peeking around Sharon's back before pressing a hand to where the bullet would have exited. The skin wasn't hot, and there wasn't any bruising.

"I don't think it's hit anything major," she mumbled, gauging where the bullet was. "It's staying in. Taking it out is too risky here—lay down."

"Yes, doc," Sharon muttered, turning carefully before laying back.

Marlow unzipped the case, grabbing a few antiseptic wipes and the bottle of saline.

After wiping as much blood as she could from around the wound, she sent Sharon an apologetic look as she uncapped the saline. "Can you turn onto your side?"

She did.

"Breathe through it, okay?"

Sharon nodded and Marlow took the permission, pouring the solution over the wound and bringing a deep groan from Sharon as her head fell back, jaw tight and eyes shut.

"Sorry," Marlow mumbled as she finished, "you can lay back again."

"Not as bad as rubbing alcohol."

That was the next thing that Marlow grabbed; that, then gloves, forceps, needle holder, and suture.

She uncapped the alcohol and poured it over her hands, and then the forceps and needle holder, before pouring a little onto the plastic packages of the gloves and suture. When everything was dry, she opened the gloves and slipped them on, then carefully ripped open the suture packaging. She took hold of the small, rounded needle with the holders and leaning toward Sharon to examine the area.