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JUNE 18TH, 1981
CYNTHIA CLOSED HER door behind her softly. The previous night she had come home, she had accidentally woken up a few neighbors.
But it wasn't her fault, she was new to this apartment building. Getting used to this new strength that had come with the healing factor. And since that night she had managed to clean herself up and run away from the Winter Soldier, she had been going down to gyms at night and training herself. No way in hell was she going to pay for a gym membership of sorts.
Not when she didn't have any money for that.
Turning on few lights as she went through the penthouse, Cynthia felt relieved that she was finally recovering from the insomnia she had developed from the intense training her father had put her through. Scaling the walls with her hand, Cynthia stopped in the kitchen doorway, frozen in fear at the tall figure dressed in black that was ransacking her fridge.
"Who are you?" Cynthia asked carefully. The figure paused, standing up straight, and turned their head. Cynthia instantly recognized the Winter Soldier's face. He turned, closing the fridge, and walked over to the table quietly. In a harsh and quiet voice, the Winter soldier replied, "I hope you don't mind I helped myself to your fridge."
Cynthia looked at the half-full cup of water that was next to another full glass of water that rested on the table. She blinked, and again carefully asked, "Are you the Winter Soldier . . . Or . . . Or Bucky?"
The Winter Soldier's eyes narrowed at the name Bucky. "Don't say that name. Bucky. I'm . . . Not him."
Cynthia walked across the kitchen and towards the table, where he sat. "Can I give you a nickname, then?" She asked. "Because Winter doesn't really roll off the tongue that well, and soldier sounds a bit harsh."
He was silent once again as he took a drink of his water. His mask was sitting next to his foot on the floor. Clara sat quietly as she thought for names. Small, simple. Easy off the tongue.
"Win," Cynthia said, startling the both of them with the loudness of her voice. "How does Win sound?"
The Winter Soldier sat back and thought about it. "Win rolls off the tongue easily, and it feels nicer to say." Cynthia rambled.
"You can call me Win," Win decided, "Just so then you'll shut up."
Cynthia let out a small huff; saying, "If you broke into my house to shut me up, you're going to have to try harder, Win."
That caused Win to crack a small, smug, half-smile. "I'm starting to like you more, Cynthia. Maybe I was wrong to have tried to kill you."
The light in Cynthia's eyes burned out. "We had to find out how my powers worked, didn't we?" She joked weakly. "You . . . Had orders. And you followed them."
Win got quiet as well. "You know, I actually thought you were dead until I saw you leave the building earlier."
"Ah, stalking me accidentally?" Cynthia quietly teased.
"Something like that," Win replied.
The two then sat there, silent. Win was deciding whether or not he should rebel and spend the night. He couldn't remember the last time he slept. In an actual bed, too.
Out of the corner of his eyes, he watched Cynthia and her movements. She was no longer walking as boldly as she was when she was first injected with the serum; just walking normally, like anyone else. Most likely to pass herself off as someone normal. Someone part of the crowd.
Her hair hadn't faded a bit since he last saw her with it before he tried to kill her. And for some reason, every single time his mind was wiped . . . Her blood stained hair was always in the back of his mind. Her screams echoed in his mind at night.
"Well, you're deep in thought," Cynthia said. She was looking at him this time, in a look that made Win finally feel okay for once.
"I . . . " Win trailed off. What was that saying, again? A penny . . . for your thoughts? The saying felt familiar, so familiar, like he had told it to someone before, but... He couldn't remember who he had told it too, though. The thought was starting to drive him crazy.
"Penny for your thoughts?" Cynthia asked. Win's eyes flickered over to her, who was sipping water out of her cup. "Come on, I'll tell you mine."
Win thought about it for a second before giving up and saying, "I can't get the image of you and that . . . Healing machine out of my head."
Cynthia paused, before finishing her glass of water and swallowing. Bringing the cup away from her mouth, Cynthia said in a quiet voice, "I can't stop thinking about how you managed to break into my home without setting off any alarms."
This time, Win smiled slyly. "It was actually pretty easy, since your windows don't lock. And why should I punch my way in here, when I could walk on in?"
"You break it, you buy it." Cynthia got up from her seat and went over to the fridge, getting the small cooler of water out and pouring herself a cup of it. "Now get out."
Her tone of voice startled Win. "I don't take orders from you," Win snapped, and Cynthia closed the fridge, going and looking out the window. The moonlight cast light on her face, and Win saw her smiling slightly as she held her cup close to her lips. Her left hand held her cup; the other lay slack next to her side, but she was discreetly reaching into the drawer nearest to her.
She didn't say anything or even glance at Win as he walked towards her. It was startling how calm she was with him now towering over her.
Before he could react, or even blink, Cynthia slammed a needle into Win's exposed neck, and he groaned, grabbing his neck as she pulled away, taking the needle with her. He stumbled back, falling into one of the chairs, and pulled his hand away from his neck, that burned. No sign of blood.
"What the hell was that?" Win snapped.
"Something that will make you more self—aware," Was all Cynthia replied. "Now . . . Get out."
Win didn't say anything more as he quietly picked up his mask, and closed the door of her apartment after him.
