Chapter 4 - A Just-Barely-Not-A-Monster Ex-Assassin

It was such a bad thing.

Bad enough that when he stretched out on his (sadly blanket-less) bed, all he could do was stare at the ceiling and listen to his rampaging heart rate.

He had been off the radar screen, or so he'd thought, but now he was on the edge of it again. Maybe just on the edge of the good guys' screen, but still… a whole lot of potential "they's" apparently knew he existed and knew where to find him.

Run. You gotta run. Get away. Get off the grid again and make sure you stay off.

He sat up. Enough of the corner streetlight's glow struggled past the plastic bags over his window to turn his familiar room into a potentially foreign landscape of shadows. But he knew this nighttime vista just as well as when the room as washed in full daylight. He knew no one was in the room with him. The tunnel door was locked and the regular door was dead-bolted from the inside. He was alone.

But he still felt like eyes were watching him.

What if Fury had left a bug?

His heart rate amped up another notch.

Damn it.

He got up. Pulled the light string. Harsh but reassuring warm light from the bare bulb flooded the room. He looked at the ceiling. Rows of wooden joists, ductwork and pipes… there could be a pinhole camera in any of it. Likewise, plenty of hiding spots for listening devices. Since he didn't have any kind of scanner, it would take a whole day to go over every nook and cranny.

Did it really matter, though?

HYDRA could find him simply by watching his movements on the street. They wouldn't bother with passive surveillance devices; they'd just barge in, speak a shutdown code word and stuff him into the trunk of a car. Same with SHIELD, though they probably didn't know any code words or surely Fury would have used one. And if either organization—or others, say the CIA or NSA—listened in because they thought he was regularly entertaining spies, they were in for a disappointing and boring surveillance session.

Of course, he might talk in his sleep. Who knows what he might say about his past. He certainly didn't. So maybe it wasn't out of the realm of possibility that someone might be passively listening in.

He'd have to go over the entire thing, inch by inch.

Or he could just… leave.

He grabbed his coat and hat, pulled on his gloves. Then he looked from the more conventional exit to the rest of the building to the tunnel door.

Did he want to leave leave, or just get out of a room that was feeling more stifling by the minute?

Nah, he didn't need to hit the road. Too premature for that level of panic. But the walls felt like they were closing in, so he unlocked the chain and the deadbolt and headed up the steps, bypassing as always the one that creaked. He hesitated in the foyer, but instead of heading out the front door to the street, he went out the back door, the one that opened into the alley with its three dumpsters where probably some homeless person was sleeping—or a HYDRA agent was lurking. He cautiously approached the first one. Flipped open the lid.

Nothing but trash.

Same with the other two, and no one lurking behind or between.

He started breathing again.

He hopped atop one dumpster to grab the retractable ladder for the fire escape. He pulled himself silently onto the first landing, then climbed on until he reached the ladder that curved over the parapet to the roof itself. He clambered over. His feet crunched against the gravel layer of the roofing. He noticed several bare spots where the tarpaper showed through—though no one had complained about leaks yet, might be time to talk to Mr. Franklin about a roof inspection.

Mr. Franklin. Fury's cousin. Probably a secret member of SHIELD.

Should he stay on here, keep working for him like he was the ordinary disabled vet they both knew he wasn't? Or should he call up Franklin and have one of those awkward "I know you know who I am" conversations, and let the chips fall where they may?

Damn it. He liked it here. He didn't want to leave. Not yet.

He was probably overthinking it. Mr. Franklin obviously knew his real identity and hadn't kicked him out, so maybe there wasn't anything to fear.

Yeah, and maybe Steve Rogers could talk to women.

He walked over to one of the chimneys and sat down at the base of it. Not that there was any residual warmth coming from it. Not like the old days, when chimneys vented heat and smoke from fireplaces and coal-burning stoves, enough smoke to smudge the sky in a haze of gray and brown soot in the winter.

"Hey, Steve, look… it's the Big Dipper," Bucky said as he pointed. It was a rare clear night, perfect for trying to find stars. Cold air blew frigid against his face, but the bricks at his back were nice and warm. "And there's the North Star. Imagine if all you had to navigate by was the stars. You'd get completely lost."

"Would not. I'd have you to show me where to go."

"What if I'm not there?"

"You'll always be there, Buck."

Bucky threw his arm over Steve's shoulder. "Damn right I will be, punk."

His throat knotted up. Damn it. He was supposed to always be there for Steve, but then the war came and the Army called and…

Well. Steve ended up not really needing him, anyway.

He sniffed. Thought about warm chimneys and folks huddled on the roof. Sometimes when he or Steve went up top to look for falling stars, there'd be a hobo next to one of the brick stacks, just sleeping, minding his own business. No danger to two little boys who had snuck out of their rooms to stargaze.

Bucky missed those days. Lot easier to be a wandering homeless person back in the 1930's than it was in the 2010's. Hell, it was even easier to say what you were: a hobo. These days, he was pretty sure you weren't supposed to call people hobos, even if you were one.

Although that really wasn't all he was. He was a genetically-altered, fugitive super soldier with a cybernetic arm. How's that for a mouthful.

He pulled off his left glove and flexed the metal fingers. Fury's words came back to him.

"If that shiny metal arm goes on the fritz, I'll be at the other end any time you call. Night or day. No strings."

Bucky raised the arm up over his head. It let out what was now its usual grinding squeak. Be just his luck that a malfunctioning metal arm would be what forced him to accept whatever strings Fury would put on getting it fixed. Because with Fury, no matter what he said, there would be strings. So many strings.

He tugged the glove back on and crossed his arms, tucking each hand under the opposite arm. Didn't need to keep his metal hand warm, but it felt more balanced to tuck it under just like the right one. He stared across the rooftop. Not much to see, sitting on his ass like he was. There was a two-foot high brick parapet all the way around the rooftop. Above it, he could make out antennas, satellite dishes, chimneys, the tops of some trees and a distant television tower's blinking red lights, but other than that, not much. All but the brightest stars were washed out by ambient light.

If he were in Indiana, he could see the stars.

Maybe he should backtrack, retrace his route here from Washington, DC. Settle down in some abandoned farmhouse in the back of a cornfield in the land of Hoosiers.

Trouble with that was there might not be any handy food banks or… oh, wait. He didn't need food banks anymore. He had money. He could buy a farmhouse, fix it up. Live a quiet life as a farmer.

Yeah, that wouldn't work. He didn't know anything about growing crops and wasn't especially keen on learning. Sounded boring as hell.

So what did he want to do with what was likely to be a very long life? He'd read in the Smithsonian Captain America brochure about how the serum was slowing down Steve's aging process. Bucky was willing to bet that whatever changes HYDRA made to his own body would probably keep him young a long time, too. That could be a blessing or a curse. Lots of years to live with regret. But a lotta years to make amends.

So was he a glass half empty or half full kinda guy? Would he spend his life wallowing in regret and shame, or step out into the light and do some good?

Seems like he had been an optimist, back in the day.

He wanted to be an optimist again.

Wasn't sure how to do that, given all the garbage in his brain, but… seems like if he wanted to do good in the world, he'd first have to start by accepting the idea that the world was worth the trouble. Had to set aside the fear that every person who looked twice at him was secretly HYDRA. Had to learn that the entire world wasn't as evil as the people who'd made him into a killer.

Had to figure out how to convince the world he wasn't that killer anymore.

Hell, had to figure out how to convince himself that he wasn't the monster anymore.

He picked up a piece of gravel and threw it at a broken brick in the parapet some thirty feet away. It hit dead center.

He always did have good aim.

He leaned the back of his head against the chimney and shut his eyes. The Avengers could probably use a sniper. Could definitely use his strength and his skills with his metal arm. He could punch out a lot of bad guys, both here on Earth and… he guessed… out in space.

Out in space.

What the hell. That was another thing to get used to. Space aliens. It had all been fiction when he was a kid, but apparently aliens were a real thing now, and wasn't that a kick in the head. Yeah, he imagined if there was another alien invasion, the Avengers might be happy to take anyone they could get, even a just-barely-not-a-monster ex-assassin. Six against Loki's army had been a little overmatched, even though they managed to win. Something bigger comes along, they'd need more than just those six. Maybe he could work with that Hawkeye guy, sniping from the rooftops. The big green guy wouldn't need his help, and neither would Stark, with his fancy suit. But Steve, the arrow guy, that Wilson guy with the wings, and that redhead, they might need…

He frowned.

That redhead. Black Widow, she called herself.

Something about her tickled a memory, but try as he might, he couldn't bring it into focus. It was like remembering only part of a dream. He saw red hair. A room awash in red light. Blocking kicks and punches… and his own voice saying, in Russian, "Faster. You're too slow."

But that was it.

Had he trained someone who had looked like her?

Probably, though he doubted anyone in his past was as beautiful as the Black Widow. He'd seen the news footage, watched the graceful way she fought….

Yeah, she was something else. If there'd ever been someone like her in his past, surely no amount of HYDRA mindwipes could erase that memory.

He sighed, then shifted a little. His butt was growing numb. Should probably go inside before frostbite set in. Not that he couldn't heal up from frostbite within just a few hours, but it'd be an uncomfortable few hours that he'd just as soon not endure. He stood up, grunting a little. Even Winter Soldiers get stiff sitting motionless on a cold roof for too long. He retraced his path back down the fire escape and through the back door of the building. The hallways were silent. Not even any thumping bass from Jackie's apartment.

That reminded him that he still had to retrieve the Tarzan books, so he detoured to landing where they still waited, undisturbed. He tucked the box under his left arm and made his way down to his apartment.

No one waiting this time.

He set the box on the table and then sat in the chair. He took his gloves off and stuffed them in his pockets, then took off his boots. He put them neatly side by side next to the chair, but he left his socks on. He also left his coat on. He stretched out on his bed, curling onto his side so he could look at the box of books. Wondered if reading them would unlock more memories, maybe even good memories.

Probably.

If nothing else, he could lose himself in a warm jungle for a few hours. Fury and all the complications his arrival brought were problems he could deal with after the sun came up. He glanced guiltily at the copy of The Hobbit. He should probably finish it first, but the siren call of jungle adventure was irresistible. Poor Bilbo would have to wait.

He got out of bed, grabbed the first book in the series, then settled in to read.

~The End, for now~