Possibility of Tomorrow - 4

 

Cont...

It took them an hour to get their stuff and make it down to the docks. Nat's contact was there unloading whatever it was he was transporting. He let them put Steve in one of the bunks. There were only four bunks, but Bucky was fine with sleeping on the cot. Once they had Nat and Steve settled. Bucky turned to Wanda, "Do you feel comfortable?" 

Wanda paused before nodding, "Yes, why?"

 "Watch them. We'll be back before the boat leaves." Bucky said, grabbing Sam's elbow and his weapons bag, headed for the door. 

"Where are we going?" Sam asked, baffled.

 "To catch that shooter," Bucky said, shouldering his weapons bag. 

"I thought you said they went out the window," Nat recalled.

 "Yeah, they went in like a diver too. I'm just going to check." Bucky loaded his handgun.

 "We leave in an hour and a half." Sam tried to reason.

 "Then we better hurry up," Bucky responded, finished reloading and heading out the door. 

Sam mumbled darkly under his breath and reluctantly followed. Bucky was walking briskly by Sam's standards as he left the boat and headed down towards the commercial warehouse area. 

"You don't even know if they're still alive." Sam reasoned. 

"Call it a hunch," Bucky responded shortly.

 "This is insane. They jumped out of a fourth-story window into the dock water. The chances of them being alive are against you here." Sam reasoned as they slowed their pace, walking along the waterfront that was getting progressively shadier. 

Bucky stopped suddenly, turning to Sam, "Four stories isn't that bad. I've seen professional divers jump off of aircraft carriers and survive. Darn, I've jumped off higher and been fine. They went in like a diver. They're here somewhere."

 Sam grumbled but stopped complaining. They walked about thirty minutes before Bucky stopped again. Tapping Sam on the shoulder, he pointed at the dark spots on the ground, "There." 

Sam looked at the dark trail that led into the warehouse next to them, "Blood?" 

"I knew I nicked them." Bucky pulled out his reserve weapon, holding it out to Sam, "You're my backup." 

Sam took the gun, checking it before nodding. Bucky pulled out his own weapon and opened the side door that was surprisingly unlocked. Gun first, he came in sweeping the room. Sam followed in suit, watching Bucky's six, closing the door on the way in. 

They cleared the back before coming to a problem; there was a second level. Sam took the stairs, and Bucky kept going below. There wasn't anything. All there were was moonlit spots on the floor. The second level creaked as the wear and tear of rust and age showed its signs. 

Bucky was completely thrown off when someone's full weight landed on his back, throwing him forward. His gun went skittering away into the darkness, great. 

Throwing his head back, he felt his skull connect with someone's jaw. There was a cry of pain and a moment of shock that let him reach back, latch onto an arm and pull. As he pulled them off his back, he twisted the arm putting tension on it. 

The person came tumbling off his back, landing in a heap on the floor. A moment later, his legs were yanked out from under him, sending him to the floor too. They wrapped themselves up around his torso, leveraging his right arm out of reach of his left. 

Kipping his body up by his legs, he jumped to his feet and threw the person off him and into the cleared area. They held on tighter than he expected, yanking him with them. Now they were no longer wrapped around him but still holding onto his right arm. 

That was when he saw the glint. Throwing his torso back, the knife missed barely. As they came back for another swing, he grabbed their wrist with his left hand holding firm before driving his foot into the back of their right knee, sending them down to one knee. At that moment, he retched the knife out of their hand, letting it clatter to the floor. 

Before he realized what was happening, they had driven their knee up into him. Luckily they miscalculated, but they did hit his diaphragm, sending his lungs into spasms. Maybe that had been the plan. 

He doubled over, giving them the chance to yank out of his grasp. They got their left hand out of his right, his left not so much. Yanking the hand he did have forward, he twisted it around, so it pressed into their back. There was a crack and a cry of pain. 

Then he was flying head over heels. They had thrown him over their shoulder with their broken arm and non-dominant hand. Dang.

They crawled for the knife on the floor, and Bucky rolled over and grabbed his gun that had gotten away before.

 They both turned around at the same time. The shooter deflated at the sight of him with the gun dropping the knife and putting their one hand up. 

That was when he really got a good look at the shooter. It was a girl, dirt brown hair, small frame. Bucky got up, still pointing the gun at the girl. 

She couldn't be more than sixteen, maybe less. She kept her right arm next to her chest and her left to prop her up. Her hair was stuck to her skin, as was her clothing. She was soaked to the skin and two shades paler than any person should be. 

Her side where he had nicked her seemed a lot worse than he had initially thought since she grimaced when she shifted. But her eyes were what got him, she looked him straight in the eye, and her's were hazy like there was a sheen on them making them dull. She looked up at him like she had given up, resigned, "Just kill me." 

She whispered it, but it hit Bucky in the gut with how much conviction was in that tone like she actually wanted him to. She was asking him to kill her. A kid was asking him to kill. She shook her head slowly, movements sloppy and disoriented, "Please, just kill me." Her voice was slurred and breathy, giving him the impression something was wrong. 

Bucky slowly lowered his gun as did Sam, who was behind the Girl, "I'm not going to kill you." 

She looked up at him, eyes full of pleading and confusion before she flopped, backward eyes closing. Bucky rushed forward, a sense of panic flooding through him. He checked her pulse, "She's alive."

 "What in the world, man?" Sam shook his head, coming closer, "She's younger than Wanda."

 "Yeah, we need to get back before that boat leaves." Bucky prioritized, holstering his weapon and picking the girl up in his arms. 

"Should we check for her stuff?" Sam suggested as Bucky settled the Girl's head on his shoulder. 

"I don't think we have the time." Bucky pointed out. 

"True." Sam agreed. They hurried back down the docks to the boat. They got on and hurried to their bunks. 

"What in the world?" Nat gasp when they came in.

 "She passed out after I broke her arm. I'm really hoping she doesn't have a blood clotting deficiency." Bucky explained, setting her on Nat's bed. 

"You broke her arm?" Wanda asked, confused.

 "She was fighting back. It was a split-second decision," Bucky explained, settling her down. 

"She's soaked!" Nat snapped as the Girl got her bed wet. 

"Look, we can talk when she isn't bleeding out," Bucky suggested sharply. 

"We need to get her out of her wet clothes first." Nat prioritized. 

"Out." Wanda shoved Sam and Bucky out of the small room as she and Nat re-dressed the Girl.

The boat jerked as they stood in the hall. "We're leaving port." Sam realized as the boat rumbled to life under them. Looking out the windows, the boat pulled out of the docks, crossed the bay, and headed into the Mediterranean. 

"You can come back in now." Wanda poked her head out of the door. The two women had managed to get the girl out of her wet clothes and into some of Wanda's. The Girl was so small for her age that the clothing swallowed her up. 

"She's skin and bones. Malnourished and dehydrated. I also noticed this," Nat brushed her hair back, and without the traditional shawl wrapped around her face, you could clearly see the angry, inflamed, red skin that covered her nose and mouth. 

"A rash?" Sam asked, trying to figure out how to treat her.

 "More like continued rubbing. It's just around her nose and mouth."

Nat motioned to where it was on her own face.

 "Like an oxygen mask?" Sam leaned over to look closely.

 "An older one, possibly." Nat nodded. 

"Okay, let's set her arm and wrap her side, then I'll get her and Steve some IVs." Sam decided. 

The Girl didn't even flinch, let alone wake when they set her bones back in place. Through the whole ordeal of stitching up her side, she didn't move either. It was almost like she was dead other than the fact her chest rose and fell steadily. 

"Why is she not reacting?" Nat asked aloud. 

"I don't know that was bugging me too," Sam said worriedly. 

"There was something up with her eyes." Bucky offered. 

"Like what?" Sam looked over at him. 

"They were hazy like she was looking through something." Bucky tried to explain. 

Sam frowned and leaned over her peeling back one of her eyelids, "She's drugged." 

"That would explain her non-responsiveness." Nat nodded. 

"She was cognitive when I found her," Bucky noted. 

"That I can't explain, but it explains the rash around her face. It's probably breathable, and with the rash, it's likely she's taken it before." Sam got up.

 "What does that mean?" Bucky asked, feeling protective for some reason. 

"It means I can't do anything. We'll keep her hydrated and warm, but other than that, there's nothing I can do. I'm not equipped to deal with a withdraw." Sam said somberly. 

Bucky could hear the underlying message; she might not make it. Bucky nodded slowly, the gravity of the situation landing on him, "Okay. Nat, you can take the cot. I'll sleep on the floor. Do you need any help with the saline drips?" 

Sam shook his head, "No, I got it." 

He left to take care of that, and Bucky moved his bags off the cot for Nat, "There."

 "Are you sure? You're still healing." Nat asked, making sure. It was more like, are you sure you want to sleep on the floor when we both know that will make the nightmares that much worse? 

It didn't matter; Bucky wouldn't be sleeping tonight anyway, "I'll be fine. The super factor holds pretty well when it comes to healing." 

Nat gave him a look that said she didn't buy it but sat on the cot anyway. 

Wanda leaned over the top bunk's rail, "Why did you save her?" 

Bucky looked down at the sleeping girl, pale as a sheet, and asked himself the same thing, "I don't know. She looked at me, and I look at her and, I don't know." 

"You saw yourself." Nat finished softly. 

Bucky looked over at her and wondered for a moment how she knew him better than he knew himself, "I guess I did." 

Wanda nodded slowly, "I think you did a good thing." 

Warmth filled Bucky's chest that he was quick to squash down, "I broke her arm, I'm not sure that can classify as 'good.'" 

"You saved her. That is the definition of good," Wanda said, simply rolling overlaying in her bed, presumably going to sleep. Bucky stared at her bunk in shock at how simple she thought it was. 

"She's right, you know." Nat said quietly as to not wake Wanda, who had gone straight to sleep, "I know it doesn't feel like it, but she's right." 

Bucky didn't answer but found himself tucking the blanket tighter around Wanda. Leaning down, he tucked the girl in as well, giving up what would have been his blanket. 

Sam slipped back in, hooking the Girl and Steve up with IVs. The bandages were holding, so Sam left them be. "I'm going to bed, don't wake me unless we are being attacked or someone is bleeding profusely," Sam muttered, climbing into his bunk.

 Nat rolled her eyes exaggeratedly but then yawned. She gave Bucky an apologetic smile as she laid down. Soon it was quiet save for everyone's even breathing. 

Bucky slowly sat down, leaning against Steve's bunk as he looked at the Girl. He honestly didn't know what had possessed him to save her; he'd just looked at her and saw the desperation in her eyes as she pleaded with him to kill her, and something in him had reached out. Nat was right; he had seen himself, that self that had fought and clawed and screamed, in her. Wanda had also been right; deep inside him, he had wanted to go something good for once. He could never atone, but he could try. 

Pulling out his journal, he wrote. Words tumbling out of him as he tried to nail down the feelings that were rioting inside of him. That feeling- instinct he'd felt to save her. The certainty he'd felt that she had been alive—that moment on the train tracks staring at her as she left. The rush of emotions was overwhelming and going nowhere. Giving up, he put his journal away, checked on the others before slipping out of their room. 

It was a skeleton crew working in the middle of the night as he made it topside. The air was cold right off the Sea, and Bucky wished he had grabbed his jacket. Then he remembered the knife rip and decided he was better off without it. Leaning against the bow, he looked out across the dark water and wondered how he'd ended up here. 

His whole life had been a whirlwind of half-lives that had never been finished. First, the boy from Brooklyn who was too young and naive to even consider much less understand what could happen in his life. Then the Army Sergeant that was battle-weary and terrified out of his wits that he no longer felt when he pulled the trigger.  The Assassin simply hadn't felt at all (that was the biggest lie Barnes had ever told even as he tried to trick himself into believing it). Now the Fugitive in a world where nothing matched what he expected and everything was wrong. He wondered for a fleeting moment how many other people he had been in his lifetime. Perhaps enough to fill a graveyard with people he had been.

 He didn't know why he had saved the Girl. All he knew was he had looked at her and felt this call inside of him that said he could be more, better, that she needed help and he could give it. So he'd saved her. There was no doubt in his mind that without the warmth and help Sam had given her, she'd be dead. 

"I thought I'd find you out here." Steve hobbled over to Bucky, holding his IV bag. 

"You got shot. You're supposed to be resting." Bucky scolded, checking to make sure that Steve's IV was still in. 

"Only twice. I'm fine." Steve waved off the concern, "What's up with the girl in the bunk over?" 

"She's the shooter," Bucky said, looking back out over the water. 

"She's young," Steve murmured. 

"Yeah."

 "She got a name?" 

"Passed out before I could ask." 

"What's up with the IV?" 

"Trying to flush whatever drug she's on out of her system." 

"She's drugged?" 

"Yeah. Not sure what." They both stood in the cold air watching the water lap against the boat as they plowed out into the darkness. 

"She asked me to kill her, Steve." Bucky didn't know why he said it, but it felt good to get off his chest, "She looked me in the eye right down the barrel of a gun and begged me to kill her." 

Steve had turned to look at him now, and all the words and feelings that would normally go onto a page tumbled out, "I don't want to fight, I don't want to kill. I don't want blood on my hands. And she was looking at me the same way I looked at others for so long, that look that begged for anyone to put you out of your misery, that hopelessness that makes you think that death is the only way out. And I realized I could do something." 

"So you saved her." Steve nodded. 

"I don't why. I just did."

 "It's who you are. Instinct." Steve shrugged, "It might never make sense but for her, it made all the difference." 

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