The Shadow [a marvel fanfiction]

The Winter Soldier: Chapter Eight

They stood on Sam Wilson's doorstep tired, sweaty, and covered in dirt and the occasional bit of blood. Marie gave the veteran a weak smile as she trudged past him and collapsed onto a kitchen stool. She pressed her cheek against the cool countertop and sighed.

Her muscles ached. A dull pain throbbed in her head and pulsed throughout her body. She was exhausted. She struggled to find the motivation to keep them open; she was more than happy to fall asleep laying on top of Sam's counter.

"There's two showers upstairs. You could definitely use them."

Steve's response didn't register in her muddled brain. Marie listened to the sound of Natasha's lithe footsteps and Steve's heavy thuds fade upstairs.

"Please don't get blood on my countertop."

Marie let out a breathy laughed and peeled her cheek off the granite.

"S-Sorry," she murmured. She cupped her cheek in her hand and watched him rifle around various drawers and cabinets through hooded eyes.

"What happened?" Sam set a first aid kit on the counter.

"I'm-I'm still trying to-to—trying to figure that out."

Sam nodded. He pulled out alcohol swabs and gently turned her to face him. "Don't move."

Marie smiled slightly. "Trust me, I don't-I don't think I could even if-if-if I wanted to."

He dabbed at the different cuts and scrapes that adorned her face. Marie barely noticed the sting. Sam paused when he came to the red, raised bump on her neck. It radiated heat.

"What's that?"

"Some-Some kind of injection. It blocked m-m-my powers."

Marie pushed herself to stand. She braced against the counter, knuckles white, and waited for feeling to re-enter her legs. "I-I can do the rest."

"Marie, it's fine. Sit down."

"No, Sam. I've got it."

"Don't be so stubborn—"

"I'm not being st-st-stubborn," she snapped. "I can take care of-care of myself. I'm not a child."

Sam's warm, concerned eyes scrutinized her. "I know you're not. You've been injected with some weird-ass chemicals and you're on the run, but you don't want to admit defeat. Trust me, I get it. Let me help you."

Marie's gaze fell to the counter. She always pushed others away. She dealt with her injures alone; that was how she had always done it. She didn't need help.

"I'll keep this up until you pass out."

Her shoulders slumped. She unfurled her fingers from the counter. With her head down, Marie reached for the hem of her scorched sweatshirt and carefully rolled it up her torso. Her ribs screamed in protest as she tried to pull it over her head.

Hands gently took the material from her and maneuvered the rest of the sweatshirt off her.

Maire stood silently before Sam, her battered and bruised torso exposed. He gently sat her down on the stool and unwrapped her makeshift bandage around her ribs. A hideous black and purple bruise splashed across her side.

She finally broke the silence. "You're not going to-going to ask any questions?"

"No," he paused and glanced at her, "but I am jealous of your toned stomach."

A smile cracked through her sullen exterior. Sam carefully prodded the bruising, nodding to himself and answering his questions. Yes, they were definitely broken.