Do You Trust Me? // Bucky Barnes

1

Three Months Post-Blip

Ava

Somewhere in the distance, above the murky haze of dehydration that cloaked her mind and dulled her senses, was noise. Ava knew she should move. She knew her body should respond to the familiar cracking of gunfire with something other than apathy. She knew she should hide, or cry, or beg for mercy in this new, unforgiving world. She knew it all. But she lay there, her head on the dried and cracked earth, her skin bruised and torn from weeks and months of torture and degradation, and she waited for it to come. She waited for the end.

"Sergeant Hall?"

 A murmur far away. A voice she did not know.

"Sergeant Hall. If you can hear me, keep your head down."

Clicking. Or beeping. Both? She did not understand. Her mind swam in the confusion of this fresh wave of terror and her eyes blinked back against the burning heat of the sun, streaming through the rusted bars that held her hostage. 

A figure loomed over her, separated from her by the bars, and her heart sputtered into a pitiful race. His uniform. This was a soldier's uniform.

The blinding light of the sun was dulled for a moment by a cloud of grey and brown dust; sand thrown into the air by something she knew she should have known but could not place. And the figure was closer now.

A bomb. Her ears were ringing because he had detonated a small bomb. And he had opened her cage.

"Sergeant Hall? I've got you. You're safe now." She blinked up at him as he lifted her from the floor and her eyes began to roll back in her head. 

"Wh-who are you?" Her voice scraped at the dried walls of her throat, aching and tightened by heat and a lack of water, and she choked on each breath her lungs tried to pull in. She was drowning on dry land. "What happened?"

The soldier did not answer. He simply moved. Another lead the way, shielding them from harm as he fired off bullets at people Ava knew were hiding in plain sight, and Ava shivered in this man's arms. 

Looking at him she tried to focus. She tried to keep her eyes open and her mind alert. She focused on his face. He was young and blonde and his eyes were a deep, whiskey sort of amber brown. He didn't smile. He didn't look at her. He kept his eyes ahead and Ava followed his gaze. 

A ladder floated in the space before them. No. It didn't float. It had been dropped. As Ava's eyes climbed every rung and every step of her means of escape she felt the familiar tug of something she hadn't dared to dream of in over 28 days. She felt hope. Hope that became painfully beautiful at the sight of a helicopter hovering overhead.

"Strap in," the soldier ordered, placing her on her feet and shoving a harness towards her. She fumbled as her hands shook and her fingers, frail and aching, struggled to latch onto the clip and the soldier stepped forwards. His fingers wrapped over hers, guiding her to the correct loops and assisting her as she found herself unable to fold her fingers into a shape she could use. His eyes met hers for just a fraction of a second before he wrapped an arm around her waist and tugged the ladder they had stepped onto. "I have the Sergeant." He spoke to the wind.

As they were lifted, Ava's eyes roamed over the grounds of the camp that had appeared over night. She watched as the place that had held her captive, the people that had pushed her to do what she did not think she could ever do, they all disappeared. She watched as the world she had left with no warning, and returned to with no understanding, shifted beneath her once more.

One Year Post-Blip

Bucky

"That's three hits in as many months, Sam." Bucky threw the shield across the yard, watching as it ricocheted off of a tree and span back to his partner - Sam Wilson, the new Captain America - as  a deep frown settled over his features, marring the once smooth planes of his face with lines of worry and anguish. In the twelve months since he had returned to the world, Bucky had not known peace. He had not known rest. He had not known happiness.

"We knew this was coming, Buck." Sam's voice was controlled and measured. It was the voice of reason and logic. "With the Flag Smashers out of action, someone was going to step up. It was never a question of if, Bucky, just when."

The weight of Sam's words seemed to fall onto Bucky's shoulders like the world itself. It crushed the ideas of peace and patience that Bucky had worked so long to forge. It buried the sage wisdom and council of voices he had learned not only to trust, but to cherish. It decimated his dreams for what could have been if he, like his best friend, had chosen to walk away.

"I know," he admitted with a sigh. "It doesn't mean I'm ready for the fight."

Sam nodded as he threw the shield once more.

"Sharon called," Bucky stated as the vibranium plate span it's way back to him. "We're meeting in an hour to see what she knows. You ready, Cap?"

As the shield came to a stop, colliding with Bucky's outstretched metal hand, Sam stood a little taller.

"Let's do this."