" – all I'm saying is, bondage adds a little spice when things have dulled down in the bedroom, you know?"

The doctor took a quiet breath in, phone pressed against her ear and patience wearing thin. "Um, okay, thanks but uh..." she tried for words, staring out the window with furrowed brows. Tony managed to both confuse the heck outta her, but also make perfect sense at the same time. "Um, aren't you guys undercover right now? You know, very secret, hush hush, no random calls to your sarcasm bro?"

Across the world, but sadly only one phone call away, the genius snorted. "Yeah, but I'm bored. Plus, the sexual tension winterboy's carrying in his pants is making me uncomfortable. That's saying a lot," he announced. "Nothing, I repeat nothing, makes me uncomfortable besides children."

Oh god, what did she do to deserve this? Samara sighed, blinking hard when her eyes threatened to droop close. The light from the still awake city was almost blinding, bright and burning her eyes the longer she stared. "Tony, sweetie, it's one in the morning," she voiced soothingly, rubbing at her abused orbs and glaring at the open curtains. This was why she slept with her curtains closed.

Closed.

Wait, why the hell were they open?

Tony made a disinterested sound, tearing her back into reality. "It's only about three in the afternoon for me," he confessed, slurping something – coffee without a doubt, she'd stake her fortune on it – as he paused. "I'm meant to be staking out some small market stand that's selling imitation handbags. Crossbones, the cheeky bastard, is stuffing 'em full of that compound we're after. I don't think he should be focusing on selling designer purses though, from what I can see his talents don't lie in fashion. Those things are ugly. You want one?"

Samara blinked into the darkness of her room.

The billionaire couldn't hear her confusion sadly, his voice continuing in an amused drone. "It's this hideous snakeskin thing? I really hope he isn't charging people for the bag? Bloody cheap bastard. If I saw that monstrosity, I'd count my losses and go home. Compound or no."

Pushing back the covers, the woman wobbled to her feet, yawning widely into a hand. There was a very low chance she'd be allowed to sleep now that the man had dug his claws in. "How are you guys gonna get your hands on one then?" she murmured, tugging hard on the door to her bedroom. It stuck, and she frowned down at it, canting her head in curiosity. "The guy selling them will probably recognize you."

"He won't recognize Buckaroo though…"

Samara tipped her head back in a drawn-out sigh, yanking hard once and stumbling when the door flew open. The frame cracked like thunder, and she winced, running her hand over it in apology. "Are you sending my boyfriend into the fire? I don't approve."

Tony barked out a laugh. "I refuse to send anyone I love near fire, thank you very much. Have you seen what fire did to Crossbones? Got a face even his mother won't love," he mocked, amusement strong in the smooth tones of his voice. "I'll admit, the mask he's got can be annoying because punches hurt you more than him – but I'm glad he's covering up his face. Looks like someone spilt lasagna on him."

It was the doctors turn to laugh loudly, feeling along the wall until she hit the open plan of her lounge. "That mental image will help me one day, I'm sure," she allowed, padding towards the fridge and consequently, the cake that lied within. "Hey, you got the others on comm?"

"But of course," Tony promised. "Got something you want me to pass along?"

Samara hummed. "Invite 'em over for dinner, would you?" she asked, rummaging around the cool box until her hands hit tupperware. "The hospital gala I went too? They sprung a raffle on us, donations for noble causes and shit. I bought a bunch and won – so long story short, now I have about five leg roasts and I'm scared. Help me?"

The genius made an excitable sound, something she almost wanted to call a childish squeal. "We're always game for free food," he declared, and his voice muted slightly as he spoke to the others. "Yo, I got Barnes' better half on the phone. We've been invited to dinner."

Samara couldn't hear the replies, being without the communications unit they were conversing over, but she could judge what they were by the man's reactions. There was a lot of defending on his part, so there must have been threats galore – I need that limb to function the suit, you can't take it away from me – and the squeaky way his voice pitched showed they weren't friendly ones.

"I am going to take that as a yes," she decided, moving to sit down at the table and pick at the mud cake she'd pinched. It was the only reason she went to those blasted private functions every year, and she'd been damned if she left without a slice. "Oh god, I forgot how good this was. Tony, I need you to buy a catering company for me, consider it an early birthday present."

Her words were met with silence.

Frowning, she pulled the phone away from her ear, checking to make sure it was still working before listening once again. "Tony, you there?" she questioned, voice a little louder. "Hello? Come on, the threats can't be that creative."

Her words barely had time to settle when metal hit the table, dragging along the surface and ripping a scream from her throat. It took her less than a second to vault away from the sound, her phone crashing to the floor and her heart following soon after. There was a man standing in her kitchen – thin smile and posture proving it wasn't anyone she knew.

Well, shit.

A large hand waved at the mess of metal on her dining table, and her eyes flickered down for less than a second to take it in. There were lights, and buttons but that was all she recognized. "It is signal blocker," the stranger declared, accent thick. "I do not think you will be making call."

Breathing hard, the doctor gave the beeping device a longer look, lips moving without sound. "I don't…" she shook her head, trying to clear the confusion. There was only one man allowed to sneak up on her in the dark and this wasn't him. "Who are you? How – how the fuck did you get in here?"

The man shrugged broad shoulders – hah, my boyfriend's ones are bigger – and moved to sit down. "I am nobody you know," he replied easily, resting both hands on the table. "I used garage, came in as you parked your car. Hid. Waited."

Samara shifted her weight, the small bite of cake wrestling about in her gut. "You waited a while..." she whispered, taking a pointed step back.

"Two hours," he announced. "Not long. It was manageable."

Samara clenched her fists, feeling painted nails digging into her palms. "I'm glad. I'd hate for you to get bored. Now, how can I help you?" she asked pleasantly, keeping her chin up and the eye contact steady. That was the trick or so she'd been told, it was all confidence and bravado.

If you want someone to believe you're calm, try not to let your gaze fidget.

The man gave the empty room a pointed look. "I want the asset," he drawled carefully. "But he did not return with you, and he is not in house. Your partner has many enemies, you are aware, yes? Hydra has many enemies."

"He's not working for them anymore," Samara informed him slowly, swallowing past a distressed sound. "He got let go."

The man narrowed his eyes in displeasure. "I did not say he worked for them; I simply said they have many who dislike them. Allies they betrayed," he corrected, and one hand darted out to grab the abandoned cake. "When they betrayed us, they used the soldier, did you know? We understand he was only a lackey, but now he works for superheroes." The displeasure increased with the word, and the man took a hearty bite of chocolate. "He is idiot."

Samara let her eyes drift away, searching absently for her abandoned phone. It may not work in the house, but she had a car and the ability to run if need be. It would be embarrassing – her pyjamas were really an oversized shirt; she resorted to stealing from his dresser whenever he left for missions, it smelt like him – and if anyone caught her she'd never live it down, but it would be worth it.

"We did not want him dead when he worked for Hydra. It would only be waste. But now he works for Avengers, we have problem," the man said lowly, watching her from under a sharp brow. "Where is asset?"

"You want me to tell you where he is…" she started, frown growing. "So, you can kill him?"

The man's head dipped in a nod.

Samara rolled her eyes. "You didn't think this through, did you?" she taunted, crossing her arms against her chest. The phone was about two feet in front of her, the battery spilling out but it was a quick fix. "You're not expecting me to answer though, right? If you are, shit man, I would've betrayed you too because you're a fucking idiot. Hydra might have been assholes, but they were clever assholes."

Was displeasure all this guy could feel?

"You want to kill my boyfriend, and you expect me to help you because…" Samara slowly gestured to him, waiting for him to finish her sentence. "Come on, I'm drawing a blank here, help me out. I'm meant to betray him, why? What's in it for me?"

If he said the cliché line of – "You get to live another day," the man threatened. "Do not tell me and I will kill you as warning."

He actually said it? Samara gave the man a sideways look; he was a special kind of stupid. "As a warning that you're coming? Oh yeah, because he'll be even less of a threat if he knows," she snorted, hiding the fear beneath cockiness. There was a low chance she was going to survive the next twenty minutes, but she'd be damned if she let him know her train of thought. "Let's kill the assassin's girlfriend, because that won't end badly for anyone."

The man tilted his head back, staring at her down the length of her nose. "You are trying to convince me your death would be bad. It will not work. It would hurt the asset. His final moments would be in pain. That is not bad, but good."

"You are not threatening, but cliché," she muttered back, mimicking his accent with a small snort. "If you were gonna kill me, you would've. I know how this bullshit works. You want something, so I'm going to continue breathing until you have it."

The man had the audacity to chuckle. "Ah, I see why the asset adores you," he realised. "A pretty face hiding razor wit."

Samara pulled an ugly face, openly moving to grab her phone and tsk at the damaged case. "You owe me a new phone, asshole," she grumbled, shoving the battery back in and pressing against the idle screen. It chimed lightly as it turned back on, and she breathed out a small sigh when the new light revealed no chips or cracks in the glass. "Oh, maybe you don't? Hey, random question; should I go Apple or Stark? I feel like – like that's a knife."

And it was, shining and gorgeous, and resting innocently on the table top between them. He hadn't lifted it against her, or pressed it against skin, but the threat of it was thick in the air around their heads. He'd use it if he thought he had too.

Try and keep you words short and to a point. Don't add in comments that aren't needed.

"I've seen bigger," Samara shrugged, because that comment was needed – Bucky's ethereal voice be damned.

The blade screamed along the wood, leaving a burning mark. "I want the asset, but this is something you already know," he started his spiel, pushing up from the table and placing both hands in the small of his back. It was a typical villain move, and she was waiting for the song and dance to start. "It is a location, that is all I want. You give me location, I take my leave."

Samara opened her mouth to argue, but the phone in her hand started vibrating. "Uh…" she peered up at the other man. "What happened to your signal blocker thing? Shouldn't it be…" Her fingers flitted awkwardly at the metal. "Signal blocking?"

With a frown the man picked it up, studying the flashing light curiously. "Why is the light red?"

Samara sighed. "I don't know?" she droned. "Try turning it off and turning it back on again?"

The man pursed his lips, nodding absently and mouthing something under his breath. Samara let him work, smiling awkwardly when he actually listened to her instructions. Damn idiot didn't know a thing about phones, did he? It wasn't exactly common knowledge, she supposed, not all people were aware that phones could in fact, vibrate on demand. Funny little world.

Samara stared down at the phone nervously, waiting until all the lights turned dark before holding down the third button. The dial tone was muted but she could hear it well enough to know it was ringing.

"Samara? Are you okay? What happened? Your phone die?"

The doctor cleared her throat to cover the smooth voice, giving a wide smile. "You could always wait for the asset to return, you know," she pointed out, gently moving to drop her weight in the nearest chair. Feigning a yawn, she rested her chin in her hand, letting her phone sit against her cheek. "I mean, if you wanna kill him why not show some patience? Killing me is only gonna make him cranky. Oh, and the others have grown… attached, you understand. The Winter Solider is one thing, but do you really wanna get on Stark's bad side?"

Tony never needed to be told twice. "Ten minutes. You'll have back up. Ten minutes okay, teen wolf?" he whispered, the words barely audible. "Just hold on for a little longer. Count to sixty ten times or – or do a crossword puzzle."

Samara watched the lights on the signal blocker start working again, and prayed that ten minutes really meant ten minutes.

The machine always hurt. It was a weird pain, like an ache behind his eyes, but he never dwelled on it for longer than a second. He could only try to identify it but before any cognitive thought could pass through his mind, the agony started anew.

It would hurt, and somewhere through the pain there would be words…

The soldier didn't know what the words were. Like the pain, they were present but he didn't understand them anymore than he understood the burning along his shoulder or the chill in his bones. They were there, and that was all he needed to know. He wasn't meant to question things, because questions caused more pain and more pain caused more questions. It was a cruel cycle and they laughed every time he repeated it.

"Good morning, soldier." The drawl was another thing he knew, a familiar lilting voice that would disappear sometime during the next few missions. That was their cycle, but he never found it as humorous as he should've.

The soldier turned his head, taking in the red hat and military garb. There was no use in answering.

"I have a mission for you," the man smiled disarmingly, not meant to soothe but to mock. "We were working with a group – a low life gang – and they've outlived their purpose. They're now a danger to the world we're creating. You will take them down."

His muscles were twitching through the aftershocks, and it was with a small start that he realised the pain had ended. He had no time to think on it however, his mind already boiling over with one word. "Mission?" he grunted, straightening up and hiding the wince when his muscles protested. Distantly he registered the sound of a gun cocking as he moved. "I'm ready to comply."

The mission parameters were simple enough. The low-life gang would know who he was, they'd let him in, and once he reached the centre of their operations, he needed to start tearing it down. Once everything was destroyed, he needed to remove any evidence of his presence and then disappear.

He was good at that.

The soldier was granted access like they said he would be, his motorcycle left outside the warehouse and his gun left hiked upon his back. He'd almost expected them to take it away – not that he'd need it – but they'd barely looked twice at the metal. It would only make things easier for him, and painless for them. They didn't realise it, but they'd done themselves a favour.

The kingpin, leader, whatever the title was, was younger than he assumed he'd be. There were no grey hairs, no wrinkles, but there was experience. It showed in the way his shoulders sat.

He said something, but the soldier didn't bother to listen. He pulled the gun from his back and got to work.

As he'd thought, the mission turned out to be quite simple. They'd only been a small gang, starting in the world of organized crime and backwater dealings, and had nothing more than a dozen men on site. He'd dealt with more numbers before, and he'd done so with less bullets.

It wasn't until he ventured up the stairs that he hit something not so simple. He'd barely managed to find the staircase in the first place – as well hidden as it was – but stomping up them only confused him. There were two people at the top, both without weapons, and both not exactly in the position to fight back if he ran at them.

The brunette woman was cradling the child close to her breast, one hand messing in his hair and the other shielding almost all of his back. The soldier spared them a short look, checking over the room as they whimpered at his close quarters.

"P-please…"

The soldier turned at the words, face impassive and hidden behind a black mask. He sincerely hoped she didn't expect an answer. She was lucky enough he was even acknowledging her, not to mention that he spoke her native tongue.

"He's only two, j-just let him go…"

Let him go? What was he going to do with a child and his mother? He had no need for them and judging by their fear and the lack of weaponry, they weren't entirely versed in the world they'd stumbled into. What was the relation? How were they here?

The soldier quirked his brow, wondering if she could read his curiosity through the mask. When all he received was more sobs, he hesitated, silver fingers coming to tug away the black mask. "Why are you here?" he demanded shortly, tightening the grip he held on the stolen pistol. It was nice enough craftsmanship that he was tempted to take it back with him.

The woman bit her lower lip. "My husband h-he said it w-would be…" she whispered, shaking her head. "We needed the money. I w-was pregnant we…"

The soldier blinked. "Do you understand what is happening? What your… husband does?"

"I told him I don't want to know," she admitted in another whisper, cradling the child's head. The youngling made a sound, not quite managing words but managing to form gentle cooing. "I was only here because Stephen took his f-first steps and I wanted him to be a part of it and – "

The soldier made a disinterested grunt. "I don't care."

There was still babbling behind him, from both the woman and the child, but he didn't pay it any attention. The room was clear from what he could see, and without anything to warrant his presence, he was going to leave. The child and its mother weren't part of the gang, so they weren't part of his problem. His instructions didn't include family.

Spinning on his heel, he cracked the mask back into place and stormed down the stairs, leaving the mother and child behind him.

Samara struggled to keep her leg from bouncing, biting down on the nervous instinct whenever the man peered her way. He hadn't said much since the signal blocker had come online, and she'd consequently lost her only lifeline, but he seemed content to continue… waiting?

The doctor wasn't entirely sure what he was waiting for but she left him to it. Their only problem would be if he was waiting for the asset because fuck, she'd need to offer him accommodation if that was the case. Bucky wasn't due back for at least another week.

But then again, seeing as her backup would be arriving any second, maybe that's what he was waiting for? He can't have thought she'd be left unprotected, right? Dating the world's most renowned assassin put quite the target on her back, so it would be hilariously stupid if she was left without protection whenever he flew away on world saving missions.

Samara blinked – they totally left her protection, right?

"I did not catch your name," the man suddenly mused, and it took her a few beats to realise he'd been studying her as she thought. Hopefully he hadn't caught anything useful on her features. "Masons was written outside, but I assume that is surname?"

Samara swallowed, licking chapped lips before answering with a clipped; "I don't go around sharing personal details." It was the first thing to come to her mind, and luckily the other only thought it was amusing, letting out a light laugh at the words. "It's bad for business."

He nodded. "What if I give name first?" he offered, both hands reaching out in a placating gesture. "I am Stephen."

Her eyebrows went up, surprise clearly written in the lines of her face. "I, yeah, I wasn't expecting that," she admitted, shrugging shamelessly. "With such a thick accent, I was expecting something a little more traditional, or cliché?"

Stephen seemed to agree with her, his head dipping in acknowledgement. "Russia was where I grew up, yes, but mother was not of blood," he revealed, not apparently caring that he was sharing personal information. He probably thought she wouldn't live long enough to share it with anybody. Joke was on him when she did and, and actually, as soon as backup arrived that was what she was going to say to – "My name was that of her fathers. He passed away before I was born. She honoured his memory with me."

Samara blinked, finding the conversation rather dull. "Uh, that's nice? I'm named how I am because…" she paused, shrugging. "I think it was dad? He probably heard it around somewhere, and had a lightbulb moment."

"What is name?"

"None of business," she countered without falter, narrowing her eyes and looking out the window. It wasn't averting her eyes if she was only looking for her backup. "You're gonna kill me remember? Screw you if you think you deserve to know anything about me."

Stephen leant back at the aggression, lips turned down in displeasure. "That is not polite," he tutted, waggling a finger in her direction. It almost made her feel reprimanded for being rude, but then the knife blinked in the light and she suddenly didn't care much. "Your father did not have a lightbulb moment about teaching you manners, did he?"

Samara opened her mouth to argue, but stilled, lips pursed. "You turned that back on me?" she realised, nodding in admiration. "Dude, nice. I'm almost impressed. Almost being the key word, of course."

"Of course," Stephen agreed smoothly. "Why do you keep looking outside, beautiful one?"

The pet name made every hair stand on end, her stomach churning in concern. It was never good when they thought she was beautiful, when they realised she was a tiny female with no protection against the desires of others. "It's one in the morning, and I either look at you or outside. I don't particularly like you, so I picked outside. Why do you keep looking at me?"

Stephen canted his head from one side to the other, lips parting to reveal sharp canines. "You are… attractive. I understand why he would pick you above all others. You are smart and a trophy. You no doubt sound glorious as you are fucked, yes?"

See? It was never good when they thought she was beautiful.

"You wanna try and make your plan a little less obvious there Romeo?" Samara snapped weakly, her voice shaking slightly, enough that he noticed and only grinned wider. "You bad guys are all the same, aren't you? Unoriginal as heck."

Stephen stood, but she refused to react, only swallowing hard when he grabbed the knife from her reach. "I will leave you alive," he promised, circling the table until he hovered behind her seat. It took all she had not to tremble when a hand hit her shoulder, not to whimper when it toyed with the sleeve of her shirt. "Do you think it would hurt him to see an enemy had… used his woman?"

Samara steeled her nerves, eyes burning but refusing to let any tears form. "I would rather die, thanks."

His breath hit her ear, the foul smell not taking long to travel to her nose. "Oh, I know. It only makes me want to hurt you even more in this way," Stephen purred, the cold blade now travelling from her collarbone to the edge of the shirt, leaving a paper-thin red line behind. "Now… where? On the table where you eat? On the bed that you share?..." he listed, pressing harder to try and cut through the shirt.

The pressure only succeeded in cutting her however and she winced at the feeling her skin splitting open, blood lazily dribbling around the curve of her breast. "I might wait for Bucky then we can fuck on your corpse," she hissed, refusing to admit she was absolutely terrified.

Torture. Oblivion. Death. Unconsciousness.

Those were things she wanted more at the moment then his hand slowly circling around to sneak under the shirt. Samara would rather a bullet in her brain than his hand rubbing up the bare skin of her thigh, would rather pain than the monster pawing at her waist and line of her hips.

Samara almost screamed when he rubbed the cotton of her underwear, not caring that the wound on her chest opened under the knife, not caring that she heard her phone shatter as she threw it away in her hurry to get over the table. "Don't you dare touchme," she heaved, feeling minutely safe with the table between them. "Don't you dare!"

Stephen grinned, the charming personality disappearing under venom. "Where is the asset?"

"Don't fucking touch me," Samara almost sobbed, noticing but not caring about the stinging pain on her skin. "He is going to make you beg for death, you psychotic fuck."

Stephen shook his head, reaching behind his own body to pull out a small blade – a butterfly knife, her mind supplied. "I'm going to make you beg for death," he corrected slowly, smiling almost sweetly. "I might record it too. Do you think the asset wants to see what I'm about to do to you?"

In the space of a second, the knife left his hand and her shoulder exploded into agony. "Ah!" Samara cried and dropped like a weight, barely registering the man vaulting the table until he'd grabbed her waist and thrown her against the counter. "Get away from me!" she screamed, panic burning through her veins like molten lava when his hands tore at her shirt – at Bucky's shirt. "Please no…"

The monster posing as a man didn't seem to care, breathless when he revealed skin. "I might record this for me as well, actually…"

God, it would hurt her assassin to see it and she hoped he knew better than to watch whatever home movie was made tonight. Samara closed her eyes as a sob cracked through, one last ounce of strength going into driving her knee up in one fluid movement.

Her chest ached when the hit landed, the man falling to the ground with a groan as she scrambled to create distance between them.

Her shoulder hurt, worse than the super solider slamming metal against her ribs, and slowly she pulled out the knife. It wasn't what she should've done – the knife was effectively plugging the wound and stopping her from bleeding out – but she stared at the crimson blade, blinking almost owlishly before another groan caught her attention. The bastard was still on his knees, whining and holding his fucking nuts like a coward.

Samara breathed out slowly, her right arm limp as blood trickled down to drip from her fingertips. "Fuck you," she whispered, drawing the knife up and slamming it into the side of his neck.

It was probably going to haunt her… like shooting the doctor had…

"Rot in hell," she growled, watching him slink to the floor almost anticlimactically as he gurgled on his own blood. It was about then that she fell as well, legs unable to hold her up anymore, and her mind losing control as white hot pain took over – all her weight landing on the injured shoulder, and a scream tearing its way up from her throat.

Count to sixty ten times, she heard distantly in her mind, eyes locked on the unseeing ones staring back before they rolled back into her head.

Seconds. Minutes. Hours. Days. Weeks. Months.

How long exactly had it been since she passed out? There were faint sounds around her, but she couldn't quite open her eyes yet, the muscles not listening to her weak commands despite how much she begged. It was bad to be unseeing right now. There was a man in her home, a man that was going to violate her in the worst way possible, she had to wake up, she had to wake up, she had to wake up, she had to –

Samara groaned when she finally opened her eyes, faintly shocked to see her chest lifting with every breath, stunned to find a soft mattress when she fisted her hand in the sheets. Hadn't – hadn't she passed out from shock in her kitchen? Her kitchen wasn't lined with mattresses was it?

What, fuck, was it?

"Look who decided to wake up." The warm voice was familiar and tight with some weird emotion, and she slowly turned to met blue eyes, almost hazy as to why she was looking at them in the first place. Bucky was on a mission, he wasn't meant to be in her mattress kitchen. "Good afternoon, Sam."

Samara shook her head. "It's night time," she whispered, remembering that much. "One in the morning."

Bucky's lips twitched. "It's not night time gorgeous, it's day time," he corrected, approaching her slowly, like she was a wild animal – which she wasn't, at least at last check. "Can I touch you, Sammy? The doc said I should ask because…" Those blue eyes shut down, almost like the man knew how obvious his emotions were in them. "What happened?"

Samara frowned. "You didn't see the video?" she wondered faintly, because wait, wasn't... "Stephen said he was going to record it and show you. He didn't show you? He said he might keep it for himself…"

Bucky looked furious for a split second before it was smoothed over, calm written on every line. "Stephen is dead."

It was probably going to haunt her… like shooting the doctor had…

The woman remembered that now, the way his skin had split under the knife, like when you drive down into warm butter. "Oh. I killed him," she whispered, waiting for the horror to dawn on her, the shock to settle like ice in her veins but...

Samara frowned heavily. "I don't care?" she realised dumbly, looking over to bright eyes. Bucky's lips were twisted in confusion, but when she shrugged, he only quirked a brow. "I'm hungry, can I have something to eat?"

Bucky smiled, his entire face an odd sheen of relieved pain. "Anything you want," he promised, hesitating as he placed a hand on her forehead. "How are you feeling first, gorgeous? They had you on some strong painkillers and the doctor said it might screw with your stomach. If you're hungry though I guess you're not nauseated? How's your shoulder?"

"I'm fine..." Samara yawned, and oddly enough the words rang with truth.

Stephen was dead by her hand, but the little bastard had deserved it, had threatened not only her life but that of the person she loved most. Part of her regretted it, some quiet echo in her mind mourned her innocence, but the other voices of content relief were far louder. Regret was drowned out – besides this was the second man she killed. Samara was basically a pro now.

The doctor said as much while her assassin talked to a nurse about her lunch. Bucky snorted and came back to her side, curiosity written on the lines of his face. "Only two? I'd call that luck not skill."

"If I kill you, that makes three..."

Bucky gave a warm, almost proud smile. "That's make you dead," he whispered, leaning closer to press a soft kiss to her lips.

Just as she was getting comfortable, leaning into the kiss like the touch starved idiot she was, the assassin shot back with horrified blue eyes. Sam wanted to ask what was wrong, wanted to look around and find what scared him so badly, but it hit her before she'd even opened her mouth.

Stephen has touched her. She was ruined.

Samara gave a thick swallow, waving a hand when he reached out for her. "It's okay," she muttered, coughing when the words came out choked. "I'm sorry."

Bucky was shaking his head slowly. "Jesus no, I'm the one who should be sorry," he growled, running a hand roughly over his tied back – oh, was that a man bun? – locks. "I was meant to give you space and of course the first fucking thing I –" A soft snarl cut the words short. "I hope I didn't make you uncomfortable."

Samara blinked dumbly. "Repeat that?"

"Your shirt was torn. You had no pants. The – " Blue eyes drifted close, his entire face spasming into something almost inhuman. "The rape kit came back negative for any... anything... but that doesn't mean he didn't..."

Oh.

Samara leaned forward, hissing out pain through her teeth. The sound only made the man rush to her, grasping her hand pushing her back with exaggerated care. "He didn't," she whispered, grimacing when she landed oddly on her injured shoulder. "He tried – he tried, and I was terrified but..."

Soft lips pressed against the crown of her head. "But he didn't."

"You're not him. You're allowed to touch me," she promised quietly, sighing when his free hand moved to scrap over her scalp. "I'm not scared of you, or of the doctor touching me. I stopped him and if anyone tried again then – "

Bucky happily took advantage of her words, pressing a hard kiss to her lips, showing what he'd been holding back. "They won't. If they do, I'll be there to kill them with my own hands. If I'm not, then don't doubt another one of us will," he swore, humming as he peppered kisses up over her face, not caring when she squirmed and laughed. "You, my danger magnet, are getting sparring lessons."

Samara pushed his face away with a torrent of childish giggles, wiping her face. "You really want to teach me how to fight? What happens if we get in a disagreement one day and I swing a punch? Huh? Dumbass."

"I'll fix your helplessness, darling, I didn't say anything about fixing your stupid."

Samara felt oddly gleeful to even hear the backhanded compliment, to be able to see that gorgeous fucking smile again. "You're a right bastard," she teased without heat, unable to stop grinning. Yes, that night scared her and being alone for a while was going to suck. Yes, her shoulder was aching like a bitch, but the wound would heal. Yes, this was a terrifying reminder of what being with her assassin could bring to her life.

But she was still kicking, and she had him beside her. It didn't matter what happened to them both if this was where they ended up afterwards, still smiling, still happy, still –

Samara felt her cheek twitch. "Buck. What's that."

Bucky turned to follow her pointed finger. "Oh, that?" he shrugged, going to the door when the nurse brought in food. It didn't matter that he dangled the plain bagel in front of her, she wouldn't pay him any heed. "What's wrong with it? Tony said you'd like it."

The doctor only continued to stare.

The handbag stared back.

Here we go, another century and another chapter! I would update more but I work far too much and have far too much to do. I'll try to do better, but I can't promise anything either, sorry sweeties.

Taila xx

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