Mosaic (Bucky Barnes X OC / Winter Soldier x OC)

Chapter 2: Bucky Barnes - Pulled Pork Sandwiches (Part II)

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18 days.

I've been sitting in this park for two and a half weeks.

There hadn't been a whisper of the target. The information said that she would show. It said that it'd be rare. But that she would definitely show.

I could feel myself doubting the information I found. It was irking.

Then, there was the young woman. Munching hungrily on a pork sandwich. Practically inhaling it. As if she hadn't eaten in days.

She'd pop into the park every other day. There'd be a small greeting from her. She'd ask what I wanted. A shrug was always my response. She'd return the gesture, skipping away.

Five meals she'd bought for me now.

It was no longer just her routine. It was becoming ours.

It was nice.

The silent meals. The small exchange of words. It gave me hope. That I could do this. That I could overcome this. Whatever that was done to me. For what I've found out to be decades.

They had me for 70 years.

"That hit the spot," the young woman laughed. Sitting back against the bench. Tossing the balled up wad of paper and sauce right next to the trashcan. Her lips pursed into a frown. Long legs kicked out to bring her onto her feet. "Damn. You're better at this."

A small game between us.

I had never missed the can. A simple shot. Helped that I was closer than she was.

Her dainty finger snatched up the wrapper. Only to miss again. "Oh come on! I'm right next to the fffff...ish...?" Her voice faded.

Her eyes followed a pint-sized blond child racing past her. Gray eyes rolled. Slim shoulders sagged. She picked up her garbage once more. Properly disposed of it with a hand on her hip.

"You look exhausted, Buddy. Have you been sleeping well?"

I shrugged.

I haven't.

The nightmares. The faces. Faces that were familiar. Faces that were splattered with blood. Faces frozen in horror. The faces of the dead I left in my wake.

A question passed over her features, but she shook her head.

That was when I noticed it. Something over her shoulder. The little blond boy who had cut off her words. He was running up to a black SUV with a blonde woman seated inside.

I shot up onto my feet.

But the door had closed. The car was driving away.

I couldn't chase after it. Not without raising questions from strangers. I haven't seen people run that fast. Not since the man on the Helicarrier. I doubt most people could run that fast.

Then there was the weapon fused to my shoulder. The damage done to it. The pain would only hinder me. If only it could heal. Like my once dislocated shoulder.

The blonde woman. It could have been her. She could have been the target.

A barely familiar feeling of lightness invaded my chest. Hope. There was still hope. Hope that I could be free.