The Unforgiven

Chapter 11: Missions

Clary

I woke before Bucky, the early light streaming in the windows. I looked away from the windows, to where Bucky was still asleep on my left. I studied him, how he looked so peaceful. The years of pain and torture he endured seemed to vanish while he slept, showing the young Sergeant Barnes from Brooklyn, not the Winter Soldier. He stirred as if in response to me being awake, but he didn't wake. His expression changed as he mumbled, "No, get back. Get away from her. Please!"

"Bucky?" I questioned, lifting my head to look past him at the door, wondering if there was someone there. I checked my other side, then looked back at Bucky, as there wasn't anyone near us. "Bucky?"

"Don't touch her!" Bucky begged. "Please! Take me!"

"Buck," I said, shaking his arm. "Hey, wake up. Bucky!"

It took him a minute to finally open his eyes, and when he did, he breathed out a sigh, hugging me tighter. "You're okay," he whispered, moving his head to my shoulder. "They weren't here. You're okay, you're here. It was a dream."

"Yeah, I'm here," I told him, kissing his forehead. "It wasn't real."

Bucky's eyelashes brushed my neck as he closed his eyes, his breathing slowly evening out as he fell asleep again. I had been planning on getting up, but I didn't move, not wanting to wake Bucky up. I looked up as the door opened about half an hour later, Steve leaning in. "Morning," he said softly.

"Hey," I replied, glancing down at Bucky, waiting to see if Steve woke him.

"I figured he'd be with you," Steve said. "Just so you know, he's a cuddler."

"I've noticed."

Steve chuckled, gently closing the door as he retreated into the hall. Bucky stirred, releasing his hold on me as he flipped onto his other side, clutching a pillow instead. I slipped out of bed, making my way out of the room and downstairs as quietly as I could. Steve looked up from where he was talking to Carl as I entered the kitchen, stretching. Carl slid off the stool he was sitting on, pouring freshly brewed coffee into a cup and sliding it across the island to me. "Hot and black," he said. "The way you always liked it."

I thanked him, drinking my coffee while Carl and Steve ate cereal. Sensing Steve staring at me, I lifted my gaze, only to find him staring at my arm. I shifted in an attempt to hide it, but it was harder to in a t-shirt than it was in a jacket. "Sorry," Steve apologized. "It's just... I was wondering—"

Carl looked up from his cereal at that, then glared at Steve, cutting him off. "She might not want to talk about it, Cap. You of all people should know."

"It's okay," I told Carl. "Really, it is. After last night, I don't think I have any room to object to questioning."

"Clary, is it okay if I ask about your arm?" Steve questioned. "I know you're uncomfortable with the arm, and..."

"What do you want to know, Steve?"

"Can I ask how you lost it? Your real one?"

I didn't look up from my coffee as I said, "I was bit. It's how I wound up with Hydra. Sokolski and another guy saved me. I don't remember anything after that. I barely remember that."

"Sokolski?" Carl repeated.

"My handler. The one in charge of me. Looking back on it, I wonder why I never realized he looked like Rick when I first met him. Maybe it was the shock, the fear." I throw back the last of my coffee, passing the mug over to Carl as he could reach the sink from where he was sitting. "Do either of you know where Daryl's at? I had this dream last night... I'm not sure if it was a dream or a memory. I needed to ask him."