[complete!]
"𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐘𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐇𝐔𝐑𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔."
𝐌ace Wilcox had a heart full of revenge. For almost her whole life. Because when the person she loved most was killed, her life was turned upside down. She was turned into a killer.
Sh...
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Mace hadn't wanted to leave. They had talked for hours. Sometimes about serious things. Their feelings. She told him about the Red Room. Other times they would laugh about things. Bucky told her about the forties.
She had fallen asleep on his couch, while he was on the floor with a pillow. Mace's hand was hanging off the couch, fingers intertwined with Bucky's.
As she slept, she saw flashes. The Red Room— her training. A man, backed against the wall, very afraid of whatever was standing in front of him. A gun target, bullets repeatedly being fired into the center. Other girls her age, practicing fighting with wooden dummies. Her mother, smiling at her. Another flash— her mother, on the ground. Mace's hands covered in her blood.
"Mace," said a voice. "Macie."
Mace took a sharp breath in and sat up extremely quickly. She let go once she realized it was just a dream.
"Macie, you're squeezing my hand," said Bucky, holding up their conjoined palms— one flesh, one metal.
"Sorry," she said, letting go. "Did I wake you up?"
"Don't think I would have slept for very long anyway," he shrugged. "Are you okay?"
"Fine," she said. She didn't look at him when she replied, instead looked straight ahead.
"Tell me about it," he said, sitting up further.
"So you can be, like, my therapist?" she challenged.
"No," he said. "I don't even tell my therapist these things."
"Then why?"
"Because I care about you. And maybe it'll make you feel better."
"It was a lot of things," she began. "The Red Room." She thought for another moment. "Gunshots," she said. "Lot of gunshots. And... my mother. She was smiling, and then... gone."
She swallowed the lump in her throat.
"You miss her."
"All the time. Only before I would make sure not to show any emotions. Ever."
"I know what that feels like," he said.
"Not showing emotions? Or losing someone?"
"Both," he replied. "Did you know I was the oldest of four?"
"You were?"
Bucky nodded solemnly. "They all thought I was dead. I finally... come back... and they're all gone. I don't get to live or die in peace."
"I'm sorry," she said.
"I'm free of all that, apparently. That's what everyone tells me. But I don't think so. I think it's heavier than ever."
