𝙾𝚗𝚎 𝙿𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚝 𝙵𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝙼𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚘𝚗 ~ Bucky Barnes

20. 73 HOURS REMAIN

Imogen occupies a sturdy wooden chair at the kitchen table, her eyes transfixed on the swirling steam wafting from the ceramic mug clasped between her palms. The gentle embrace of late morning sunlight filters through the delicate lace curtains, infusing the room with a tender, golden hue. This safe haven, nestled within the tranquil expanse of the English countryside, offers respite amidst the chaos that has become her reality.

The night has passed since the harrowing ordeal she and Bucky endured in Paris, yet the looming threat persists, a relentless reminder that time is a merciless adversary. Sam Wilson, his countenance etched with concern, stands nearby, his imposing figure leaning against the worn countertop. Arms folded across his chest, he regards Imogen with a somber intensity. He had arrived mere hours ago, joining Natasha and Imogen in their weary return, their burden heavy as they ushered Bucky into the confines of this secluded sanctuary, leaving him to recover on a threadbare couch in an adjacent room.

"So he attempted to leverage your contract with Natasha's?" Sam inquires softly, struggling to wrap his mind around the whirlwind of events since Bucky's unexpected confrontation with him back at the precinct, an altercation that ignited a frantic manhunt spanning New York for both Grey and Barnes.

"Sort of," Imogen replies with a weary sigh, her head shaking in disbelief. "Look, I'm grateful you came here, alone. I was uncertain about what course of action to take, but Bucky and I are still bound to fulfill our obligations."

"Fuck the contracts, Imogen," Sam interjects, his gaze piercing as he locks eyes with her, a fervent intensity underlying his words.

Imogen meets Sam's gaze, a mixture of determination and resignation in her eyes. "I wish it were that simple, Sam," she says, her voice tinged with regret. "But you know as well as I do that we can't just walk away from this."

Sam's jaw tightens with frustration, his brow furrowing as he struggles to comprehend the gravity of their situation. "I get it, Imogen. I do," he says, his tone filled with empathy. "There has to be another way. But for now, you both need to run. Together."

"Together?" Imogen's incredulous tone nearly borders on amusement, though her expression quickly sobering as she raises a skeptical eyebrow at Wilson. "Are you forgetting the shit he pulled back there? He shot at me, Wilson. He was fulfilling his contract. He won't run," she concludes, her voice tinged with a hint of resignation, a flicker of disappointment shadowing her features.

"No different to how you were willing to take the hit on him, with your friend, Natasha." Sam counters with a nonchalant shrug, his expression unyielding, unimpressed by Imogen's protestations. 

Natasha, realizing the urgency of the situation, seizes the opportunity presented by Sam's arrival to make a swift escape, understanding that Hydra will soon be hot on her trail after discovering her continued existence, thanks to Bucky. With a head start and a newfound determination, she disappears during the early morning sunrise, leaving behind a weight of uncertainty in Imogen's heart.

Imogen's jaw clenches at Sam's words, a surge of frustration coursing through her veins like wildfire. "But I never actually took the damn shot!" she counters vehemently, her voice rising unintentionally.

Meanwhile, the sudden escalation in Imogen's tone rouses Bucky from his slumber, his eyes snapping open as he lies on the couch and Milo stirs at his side on the floor. He feels the familiar throb in his shoulder and sits up slowly, wincing in pain as he assesses the damage. His gaze falls upon the neatly stitched and bandaged wound, a silent testament to Imogen's care upon their arrival at the safe house.

Bucky's gaze drifts to the table beside him, where a bottle of painkillers and a glass of water await his weary grasp. With a grateful sigh, he reaches for them, acknowledging his ex-lover's foresight with a silent nod of appreciation. Milo, ever loyal, rises from his spot on the floor, stretching before nuzzling his head into Bucky's lowered hand, eliciting a fond ruffle of fur from Barnes. "Hey, boy," he murmurs quietly, his voice gravelly with exhaustion.