8-1-0-9

Chpt. 7

     "Got an elastic or clip?" I whispered from my seat on the plane, staring at my loose hair that grazed my shoulders. I wasn't sure who I was asking of, but it didn't matter at the moment. I was too busy replaying what had happened on the trucks in my mind.

I felt my hands push through the dark locks as my head dipped down, leaning its weight onto my knees. I had almost killed the Soldier under Karli's control. She made me think I was to kill Sam and him. That they were my next mission. She took hold of the strings and made me do what she wanted after I couldn't find the strength to. Karli was willing to kill, that much was clear. I could only thank that the Soldier got a hold on me and I hit the pavement, rendering me unconscious.

A few sounds of fabric shuffling let me know someone was walking toward me, but I didn't care who. I closed my eyes, retrieving my hands from my hair to hide my face. A pair of hands gently touched the sides of my head, and I knew it was Bucky the moment the cool metal of his left hand met my skin. He carefully pulled my hair back, doing his best to wrap an elastic around it from his stance in front of me.

This was all my fault. If I had just been more forward, more determined to convince Karli that taking the serum wasn't the answer, that perhaps we could get Madani and the other sick people medicines a different way, maybe we wouldn't have had to fight Sam or Walker. There should be some way that includes a more peaceful exchange, but with my experience in life, I knew the likelihood of anything going the way I wanted was slim. I dug the knuckles of my gloves into my eyes, pushing hard until spots flickered in my vision behind my eyelids. Nico was the only person to have seen me break down because of the guilt I carried with me, the guilt that has simmered and boiled into a hard wall for those few years on the Raft. I wasn't about to cry in front of an old partner from Hydra and a man I once tried to kill years ago.

     "Gale," Bucky softly whispered, dropping down to a knee so he had to look up a little to find my eyes. He prodded me to look up at him with a gentle lift of my chin, and I brushed his hand away with a huff as I leaned back in my seat. "C'mon," he murmured. "I know that look. It's not your fault."

My grin was forced and more pained than I wanted it to be. "It is," I said quietly, feeling my chest grow tight as that familiar sense of self-deprecation settled back in. I was sinking back into my old habit of blaming myself, but now it seemed to all point to be true. "I knew what they were doing wasn't right, but I let them do it anyway. What kind of person does that? Sits back and watches the chaos unfold and seem shocked when it crashes down on them as well?"

He slowly shook his head, studying me with those eyes that seemed to make me squirm under their intensity but also relax in the way they were unwavering and gentle. "Knowing you, Gale, or E-Z, whatever the damn hell you want to be called," he continued in his gruff yet soft tone, "you would be able to see that outcome coming from miles away. So, maybe you can figure out where it'll lead now."

     "A lot of people will get hurt," I murmured, finding the courage to look back into his eyes. "Especially if she can control me so easily, that damn bitch-" I cursed, squeezing my eyes shut tight when the anger and betrayal came back full-force, my breath catching in my throat.

Bucky cut me off by carefully taking my face between his hands, pulling me down until he could press his forehead to mine - something he learned to do when I'd been overwhelmed when I was younger, before Hydra had me play their 'perfectly' loyal, willing pet. They had made him be my so-called 'caretaker', though I gave him the commands once I had been manipulated enough that getting overwhelmed was an internal struggle and not something you displayed outwardly. By instinct, I pressed closer to him, seeking that ounce of familiarity from all those years ago as our noses touched. My lungs released a heavy breath as a single puff, taking in a much slower inhale and catching his scent in the process. Some sort of musk with a hint of spice and perhaps something woodsy, with a faint smell of sweat that lingered from the fight. It was still crazy, seeing him all the same even if I last saw him a decade ago.