Winter's Toy

7

     The metal door swung open suddenly, as the he stumbled in, clutching at the left side of his abdomen. You could see his jacket was slick, he was grimacing as blood flowed over his fleshed hand. Suddenly he dropped to the floor in a heap, he was breathing hard as he tried to push himself up from the floor.
    You rushed from your spot to him, sliding your body under his under injured side. You helped him up and over to his cot, the smell of copper flood your senses. He flopped on to the cot, hand still pressed tightly to his side. You made a grab at all the buckles to his jacket and he stopped you, hard eyes glaring up at you.
     "You're hurt, let me help." You said to him, his face contorted in confusion.
     You tried again for the buckles and this time he didn't stop you. One by one you in did them and opened up the front of his jacket, you could see the tear the black shirt underneath. You pulled the shirt up on his chest, an angry bullet hole in his side oozed freely.
    "Jesus, I have to get you medical supplies." You stated breathlessly, getting ready to turned when his hand seized your wrist.
      "The bag on my hip." His words raspy, as he let go of you.
    You reached over his body, opening the small bag. You pulled vials out, and a needle and thread out, obviously he had been through this before. You examined each bottle carefully but you couldn't understand what they said.
    "It's in Russian, I have no clue what any of these are." Frustration coming through your voice, shaking hands holding the bottle ups. The Winter Soldier reached up placing his hand on yours.
     "This one, sterilizer. First getting the bullet out." He instructed you, you looked down at him in horror. "You have to.. use your fingers, then sow it up."
     "Oh, Okay." You took a deep breath, you pushed his shirt up high on his chest, seeing how muscular his was for the first time.
     You placed one hand around the opening, pulling the skin back as more blood poured out. You heard him hiss, your eyes flickered up to his face. His bottom lip between his teeth, his eyes screwed shut.
     "I'm sorry." You said as you quickly sunk two of your fingers in the hole. You heard him punch the wall as you moved your fingers around feeling for the metal that was buried somewhere in his torso.
     It felt like forever till you felt something smooth, you wiggled your fingers till you were able to pinch it between the tips of your fingers. You pulled it out, a sick sucking sound as you pulled your fingers out. It plonked to the floor as you dropped it, blood began to course out. You grabbed the vial he had told you to used, opening the top and pouring it in.
     You snagged the needle and thread from the spot on his chest you had laid them. With trembling hands you attempted to thread the string into the eye. You kept missing, frustration starting to set in. Gently he lifted his hands to yours helping you thread the needle.
     You looked down at him, his eyes met yours. He nodded as you brought the needle down to his skin. You closed your eyes and took a ragged breath. You steeled your hands, before piercing the skin, you heard him take a sharp breath.
     "I'm sorry." You whispered as you continued, pulling the needle through hole to the other side.
       You stepped into the darkened room, not bothering to flick on the lights. You made your way over to the bed, laying down, trying to remember more. Your brain was so foggy these days, you knew there was more to it.
     You sighed to yourself, gently resting your hand on your knife, his knife. The one he gave you before he left. It's seemed like a lifetime ago, more then the year it had actually been. It was a side effect of the drugs they had pumped into your system, the electric shocks they had administered while they did it.
    You cringed, you couldn't go back. When they ordered you on this mission, the one to bring him back you felt relief. You knew there would be only one outcome, either his death or yours. And you knew your soldier, he would go without a fight.
     You played with obsidian tear drop necklace as you searched your memory for more.
     "Why?" He asked, still laying in his cot, the wound completely sown shut. You sat on the floor next to him, knees bent up, arms resting on them, your back to him.
    "Why what?" You asked back softly, feeling completely drained. You looked at his blood that covered your hands, still processing that you had pulled a bullet out of someone's body, let alone his.
    "Why did you help me?" He was confused you could hear it in his voice.
     "I couldn't just let you sit there in pain and bleeding everywhere without trying to help."  You replied, shaking your head.
     "You didn't have to." He stated.
      "You're right, I didn't. But I did, cause that's who I am, whether or not you hurt me, I'm a good person and I'm not going to let my circumstances change that." You said, sighing heavily. "You may be a killer, but I'm not. And if you died without me trying to help, that would make me a killer."
      "But they'll have me kill more, and now those deaths are on your hands." His voice turned cool.
     "No, you choose to kill. You can always not kill." You leaned back against the cot.
     "I don't have a choice." His voice took on an edge, you glanced over your shoulder at him. He had stripped off the jacket and shirt after you had finished stitching up the wound, his bare chest covered in his own blood.
      "You always have a choice." You tell him softly, his eyes flicked over to you. His hand reached out, gently lifting your hair that was resting on your shoulder.
     "No, I don't." He said softly, his fingers toying with your hair so gently.