AN: I think over the summer I said I'd be writing a Winter Soldier fic. Well... here it finally is, and that's just to get myself to finish the darn thing. (I'm half done, never fear). Enjoy!

You're A Hard Soul To Save

Part I: Men of Stone

I wake up to a text from my mother, telling me she's going to be away for a few days –work related stuff. After making a mental note not to head over to her house after church tomorrow, I go back to sleep. It's Saturday, and no one should be awake at seven a.m.

Around nine-thirty I wake up to a bird chirping outside my window and decide to get up. I make myself coffee and make a mental note to do my laundry, just like every other day this week. "Devon, get it together," I mumble around a yawn.

Since leaving college and getting my own apartment, I've started talking to myself. After living in a dorm packed with other girls, I got used to hearing music through the walls and excited screaming at two in the morning. It's really quiet now, and sometimes I don't know what to do with myself. I turn on an instrumental playlist on my iPod and check Facebook –and then I remember Mom texted me.

I read it again. "Please remember to walk Ruby and feed her at least once a day." Ah, yes. I check the time, and as it's only a quarter to ten, I feel like I'm doing okay. I get to pet sit when Mom leaves on "work related stuff." That's code for top-secret-government-doings that she can't tell me about.

It's always been a part of who she is; sometimes she'd come back with bruises or a busted lip. For my twelfth birthday, she arrived just in time to cut the cake with her arm in a sling. But I trust her to come back. I'd always stay with aunt Susan when I was younger, then she'd have Mrs. McCollum from next door look in on me when I was old enough to stay home alone. It's a little weird, though; this is her first trip in a couple months. I swallow another mouthful of coffee and text her back: "I will. Be safe, love you."

There isn't an answer, but I don't expect one.

After I finish the coffee and leave the cup in the sink (where it joins the other five from this week) I consider putting on clothes and acting like a real human being long enough to check on Ruby and pet her some. I yank off the pjs and throw them on my bed, pulling on old sweatpants I cut off at the knees, a sportsbra, and a t-shirt. Sometimes I missed that yellow lab really bad at college, enough that I'd skype home and ask for Mom to show Ruby the laptop, or if she wasn't feeling like cooperating, Mom would send me a million pictures. It was not fun during the summer when Ruby sat on me in the middle of the night and made me overheat, or farted on me. But she's been our dog for ten years, and she's a great dog.

I double check that no one is begging me to cover their shift at the hospital reception desk (I'm a sucker like that; I'm horrible at turning people down) and grab car keys and my phone, shoving my feet into my Chaco's on the way out the door.

I wave at the Mrs. Gallagher as I pass her on her porch, covering my huge yawn.

"Good morning, Devon," she says, smiling and holding a cup of tea.

Dang it, I already want another cup of coffee. "Morning," I say with a smile.

Sliding behind the wheel of my blue sedan, I blast the Beatles and the Monkeys as I pull out of my apartment complex. I'm only about twenty minutes from the house I grew up in, and I like that. Like if the apartment just isn't feeling like home, I'm allowed to go home and ask Mom if I can watch the news or some tv show with her for a while.

No, I haven't spent the night. But I have thought about it. But I just hit five months of living by myself after graduating college, and I don't want to break my streak just yet. Maybe for Thanksgiving or Christmas, when there's a lot of family in town and I want to be around the hustle and bustle of life going on.

I yearn a little bit for winter as I step out of my car into the hot Texas morning, already in the eighties and probably shooting for the nineties. It's been one of the really hot summers, and we haven't gotten rain in ages. When I unlock the door, Ruby's ridiculously glad to see me, trying to jump up and lick my face and brown wavy hair even though she's getting arthritic. I sit down and cuddle her for a bit, letting her wash my face –something I forgot to do this morning. Whoops. Then I go to the kitchen, refill her water and food bowls, and run a wet dishcloth over my face. Dog drool and I, while agreeable, are not long-term simpatico.

"Let's go, Ruby," I tell her, snapping on her leash. She wags her tail and smiles at me, eagerly heading into the sunshine and sniffing all the trees and bushes like they're new to her. Sometimes I wish I could look at the world like a dog and just accept the wonderful things as they come. Alas, I'm jaded. But I do try, sometimes.

We lap the neighborhood once, and I'm a little ticked that I've only got my license with me, otherwise I could've stopped at the coffee shop at the beginning of my old neighborhood and been "that girl" with the dog and checked to see if there were any cute baristas while getting another cup of coffee. But I tell myself I'll make a cup at Mom's house, because she's got good coffee, like Starbucks and such, while I've just got whatever's cheap because I've got to pay rent and maybe do something about those student loans, you feel? I scratch Ruby's head and she huffs, leaning on my leg.

"Yes, it is hot," I agree, cutting through some of the scrubby, undeveloped land beside the neighborhood to get back quicker.

On second thought, maybe I'll head over to Mom's after church anyway –to feed Ruby, obviously, but maybe I'll give her a bath in the backyard and then turn the sprinkler on for her to play with. Maybe I'll bring my suit, too. Maybe –

Some huge military-looking vehicle with off-road capabilities pulls off the main road and guns its engine, heading straight for us. "What the –" I haul on the leash, trying to get out of the way, and Ruby yelps as we bolt for safety –but where is safety?

What the hell do they think they're doing? Popping noises –dirt splatters –are they shooting? Something hits me in the arm and I trip, tumbling facedown into the dirt.

I can taste the grit in my teeth. Am I dying? Am I shot? I felt impact –but the world tilts, and I feel sick.

Drug. Drugs. I'm drugged.

Booted feet stamping through the dry, yellow grass. Ruby's barking –growling. Leash. Still got leash. I drop it. "Go on," I shrill, trying to find her in the swimming colors all around me. "Go –go –"

Someone's black-gloved hand enters my line of sight, and I see her. Ruby. Teeth bared. Going for the hand. The hand reaching for me.

Pop.

A whimper.

What is happening.

The darkness closes in.