8-1-0-9

Chpt. 9

I let both men walk ahead of me as the teen opened the door for us to enter, the scent of leather and spices a lot stronger now that we were inside. My heartrate was increasing at a steady pace as I put on my best face of indifference to seem like I wasn't having a nervous breakdown, or that I had no idea how this was going to play out. Definitely with some names, or special choice of words. After all, we did try to kill the guy, so there weren't going to be any friendly hugs or moments of smiles and laughter.

     "Today's your lucky day," the boy said, stepping aside for us. "He said he wanna see for himself."

Sam was to my right and Bucky to my left, my head down and avoiding the old man's gaze. The kid stood off to the side, simply listening to how our conversation was going to go. Isaiah was at the end of the living room we walked into, his back to an intersection between another room and what I guessed was the kitchen. He had aged since last seeing him, but if wasn't for the serum he wouldn't be here at all. We'd be visiting a cemetery.

Bucky walked halfway into the room before stopping, and I gripped the metal around my wrists a little tighter. "Isaiah," he greeted quietly.

     "Look at you," the man grumbled, his voice raspier than the last I heard of it. What seemed to be a permanent frown was etched on his features, giving him an intimidating look that was just as intimidating as I knew he was.

     "This is, uh, Sam," Bucky continued, looking over his shoulder. His gaze caught mine and I shot daggers at him; a warning to not call me out. He got the message. "Sam, this is Isaiah. He was a hero. One of the ones Hydra feared the most, like Steve. We, uh, met in 'fifty-one," he went on, sending me another look before turning back to Isaiah.

     "If by 'met', you mean I whupped your ass and the girl's, then, yeah," he growled. "Don't think I don't see you, little miss Eight-one-zero-nine," Isaiah shot out, emphasizing each number with malice and I reluctantly lifted my head and pushed away the loose strands of my hair behind my ears. "You've grown. Last I saw you were no more than this man's waist," he added with a gesture at Bucky, and I swallowed hard against a dry throat.

     "Her name's Gale," the latter man spoke. He seemed very defensive when it came to that, but all I felt I deserved to be called was nothing more than a serial number.

Isaiah scoffed the name under his breath. "We heard whispers they were on the peninsula," he continued to Sam, "but everyone they sent after them, never came back. So the US military dropped me behind the line to go deal with them," he hissed, the word emphasized with an amount of pain lingering in his tone. Bucky and I knew it wasn't a pretty memory. "I took half that metal arm in that fight in Goyang, almost at the cost of the air in my lungs," Isaiah muttered with a jab in my direction. "But... I see he's managed to grow it back." He paused, his frown deepening with a small shake of his head. "I just wanted to see if he got the arm back, and if that young lady's still the same. Or.... if they'd come to kill me."

Bucky shook his head this time, and I had to turn away at his words. "I'm not a killer anymore," he almost whispered, but we knew that Isaiah would've heard it regardless.

     "You think you can wake up one day and decide who you wanna be?" He spat. "It doesn't work like that. Well, maybe it does for folks like you."

I fidgeted with my bracelets and shifted on my feet, studying the hardwood floor beneath them. Hell, I felt so terrible about this whole thing that it felt like merely wearing my shoes in his house was going to get me killed. "Isaiah, the reason we're here, is because there's more of you and me out there," Bucky told him. "Not as strong as her, but us."

     "'You and me'," Isaiah echoed, his voice mocking and venomous.

     "And we need to know how," the Soldier finished.