[oom] you don't need to save me, but would you run away with me? // Part 2

[from_the_outside]

It's a long, long week. 

All the weeks here are long. She's been exhausted since she first arrived, and it hasn't gotten any easier – she's just gotten used to it.

What she isn't used to is watching what it does to Bucky.

He keeps busy, vanishing shortly after breakfast and not reappearing until well after dark, sometimes not until close to midnight. That doesn't mean she doesn't have eyes on him – she has eyes everywhere in this city. Some of what he gets up to he tells her about. Some of it she sees or hears about.

Some she only pieces together after the fact.

For example:

Four days into his stay she sees a flurry of alerts and messages about a gang of thugs that had decided to tangle with him in a Lowtown market. The videos of him throwing them into plate glass windows and walls and storefront doors travel through Madripoor like wildfire.

And then there are the rumors. It's public knowledge he killed Cade and that he's been seen with the art dealer: what no one knows is why, and the whispers grow steadily more frenetic as the week rolls on. The general consensus seems to be that the art dealer had Cade disposed of in order to help her own climb to power. More than one person attempts to contract him for help with an unsolvable problem. No one manages to hire him. No one seems to know what he wants.

Worse is that as the power dynamic between those on the lower rung vying for Selby's position fluctuates, he deliberately allows himself to be seen more often, delves more deeply into Madripoor's seedy shadows. She doesn't understand until her security catches a would-be assassin she saw coming a mile away, and then she realizes: his involvement with her, with Cade, has painted a target on her back.

So he's decided to paint a larger one on his own.

He loses weight. She pushes breakfast and dinner at him, but he eats mechanically, hardly seems to notice. The lines drawn on his face seem carved into rock. He stops smiling except occasionally when they're alone in the middle of the night, or when his phone pings with a text from Sam.

On the fifth night, he stops sleeping. 

He wakes up from a nightmare he refuses to talk about, and for the next few days she doesn't see him sleep at all. He's catching catnaps like he used to back in the Winter Soldier days, she thinks, but she's not sure. Every day he's a little quieter, a little more grim.

Which is why it's so strange that her apartment is completely filled with flowers.

Everywhere she looks now, there they are: large, expensive bouquets in fancy vases on nearly every available surface. He's had one delivered every single day, and every day she hates herself a little more for bringing him here. Every day he tells her come home with me.

Every day she tells him I can't. And he looks at her with those determined, weary eyes, and her heart breaks a little more.

It's a little over a week after he'd first arrived that she's hosting clients again. The party hasn't even started, and she already wishes she had a drink.

(There weren't any flowers today. She wonders if that's a sign.)

Comments

[nerves_of_ice]

It's one of those days where nothing goes right - which, he thinks, grimly, suits life in Madripoor just fine. At least before it all went wrong today he'd managed to check up on both Alice - who's fine and doesn't seem to have been touched by any of the fallout from Cade's death - and the street food vendor who's accepted him calling her Nenek, because they both know it's safer for her than him knowing and using her name. The strategy he'd implemented after she'd warned him of poison seems to have worked - no one, as far as anyone can tell, has enough of his favor to be able to slip a knife into his back.

Except for the art dealer, and he's doing everything he can to mitigate that.

That doesn't stop people from trying, and today's one of the days where he's glad that he's driven Sharon's security into near madness over the past week upgrading her systems. It means that when someone tries to take him out by spiking the front wheel of his stolen motorcycle he doesn't have to worry as much about what might happen if this time they're successful.

They aren't, of course, and he's pretty sure the video of him slinging the cycle around with his left hand and smashing it into the would-be killer, sending them back through a clothing stall and into a heap of broken cart, broken wall, and broken murderer will make the rounds in seconds. Bucky stands still in the middle of the street and casts cold looks at everyone watching before he stalks off through the crowd and disappears into an alley. He's gone before anyone can follow him.

Without the cycle, he's late getting back to the penthouse before the event. He walks in with just enough time to shower and get changed into something that's not ripped and torn, and it's not until the scent of flowers hits him that he realizes he hadn't made time to have a fresh bouquet delivered today.

Fuck. Bucky sighs, exhausted, and closes the front door behind him.

[from_the_outside]

She's already dressed, and when the apartment door closes she walks out into the main room, flipping through something on her phone. "Hey," she says, with clear relief. "Where –"

The relief in her face shifts in an instant to surprise and then horror, fear spiking in her chest as she takes in the shredded jeans, his exhaustion.

"What happened?" She's already nearly to him, reaching for his shoulders, his chest, his arms, making sure that he's in one piece even as she looks him up and down. "Are you okay?"

[nerves_of_ice]

"I'm fine. Sorry I'm late."

He lets her pat him over, knowing she won't believe him until she sees for herself. He doesn't think he's lying, either; the now-ruined jeans had protected his hip and leg from anything other than a bad case of road rash, and that'll heal quickly enough.

[from_the_outside]

She shakes off his apology, reaches to cup his cheek briefly with one palm before stepping back. "You could stay up here tonight," she tells him, already knowing he'll disagree.

He has every time she's suggested he take a step back, but she keeps suggesting it, because she doesn't think she's ever seen him look this tired. "Relax a little. Have some supper, take a long shower. I'd be back before you know it."

[nerves_of_ice]

"No." He says it very gently, but without an ounce of give. Despite the weariness in his eyes, his lips curve in the faintest hint of what might once have been a smile.

"I'll get cleaned up. It won't take me long. Don't go down there without me."

Without waiting for an answer, he walks toward the bedroom and the shower.

[from_the_outside]

She watches him go, arms folded, and doesn't leave her spot by the door until she hears the shower running.

It's less than a minute before she finds what she's looking for: a video of Bucky's motorcycle skidding to a halt, of him smashing the cycle into his attacker. Another minute finds the post the would-be assassin had made admitting to the plan and suggesting he'd been contracted by the Power Broker himself to take the Winter Soldier out.

The Winter Soldier, and the art dealer bitch.

She traces him back to one of the Lowtown candidates, makes another note in her file, and sighs. They're trying harder. And she doesn't know if she'll be able to make it stop. Even if she manages to replace Selby, these snakes have been whipped up into a frenzy: there's a turf war coming, and she and the gallery are right smack in the middle of it.

And so is Bucky. Who refuses to leave.

[nerves_of_ice]

He checks the room for any sign of disturbance and doesn't strip out of his clothing until he's done both that and made sure there's no one hiding in the ensuite. He does it automatically, old habits returning. He lets them - what else can he do? It's what's going to keep Sharon alive.

Bucky steps into the shower without waiting for it to warm up and doesn't even hiss at the sting of the water against scrapes and bruises as he scrubs the dirt off. They don't matter. He's had worse. Far worse.

As he cleans up, as he walks back into the bedroom and digs through his things for whatever he's got that'll be close enough to fancy to serve for this party, his mind keeps running through the options. He already knows that the most reliable thing would be to take initiative. Eliminate the competition; eliminate the threats. All of them. And if he does that, he'll never be free of the Winter Soldier. Not ever again.

He just doesn't know anymore how long he can hold out before there's no other choice.

[from_the_outside]

Her phone vibrates as she's finishing up her notes, and she frowns as she reads the message.

Fenec & Anders here, it reads. No sign of Snowy Owl.

Snowy Owl. Mateo Esparza, the number one contender on her list. So called because he'd perfected the art of the sudden, silent attack.

(She's not sure exactly where the 'snowy' part came from. Ironically enough, he has a remarkably sunny disposition for a man in his position.)

This isn't good. The two top Hightown candidates here; Snowy Owl god knows where – it's a set up. Has to be. The question is, what's his plan?

And who, exactly, is he going to be aiming for tonight?

[nerves_of_ice]

When he walks back into the main room, he's wearing his boots, black jeans and his leather jacket over a black t-shirt.

"Ready," he says.

[from_the_outside]

She glances over at him and rises as he comes towards her. "Good," she says, and it could be in reference to any number of things. She shows him her phone.

"Something's up. I'm not sure what, but we'll need to be ready for anything tonight."

[nerves_of_ice]

It's a good thing the earlier attack hadn't worked, he thinks, as he nods to Sharon. If it had, she'd have been -- not defenseless, not even close, but--

"Looks like," he says, quietly, and looks up at her.

[from_the_outside]

She looks into his eyes and thinks: this place is killing you.

Doing its best to rip out his hard-won soul the way it's been ripping at hers for six long years.

She reaches for one of his hands, squeezes it lightly in hers. "Let's go," she says, soft, and hopes that once this event is over he might, this time, allow himself to sleep.

[nerves_of_ice]

He squeezes back, then releases her fingers and moves to the door ahead of her, so that if anyone's planning to take a shot it'll hit him and not her.

There's not a single one of the guests on the list for tonight's event that he trusts even the slightest bit. At least at the auction, there were people who were just foolish; social climbers with aspirations and not much else.

Not tonight. Tonight's designed to preview something special, and invitations were hotly sought among the players and power-seekers. When Bucky'd first heard about it he'd thought he'd crack a tooth from how hard he clenched his jaw.

For that reason, along with everything else over the past week, he's on higher alert now than he's been since arriving in Madripoor.

[from_the_outside]

The gallery has rarely, if ever, been this empty, but it's for good reason. Every one of the guests who paid to come tonight did so in order to see only one item: the 1903 Royal Danish Egg, missing for almost one hundred and twenty years.

It's astonishingly beautiful, ornate and ostentatious in the same way as her penthouse upstairs, all white and gold and blue enamel. It sits in pride of place in the dead center of the gallery floor, perfectly lit, surrounded by a shatterproof glass case, and wired up with more security measures than anything else in the whole building, herself included.

It's why the big boys have come out to play. The auction for this piece will hit a fever pitch; the bidding will start at $30 million and she expects it to at least double.

But first she needs to prove it's the real thing, so she wanders the small crowd, chatting with her guests and providing the provenance whenever asked.

"It really is magnificent," says someone behind her, and she turns to see Mateo Esparza, the Snowy Owl, gesturing towards the egg with a glass of champagne. He smiles at her, all warmth and charm. "Almost as magnificent as you, my dear."

"Mateo," she says, just as warmly, and allows him to press a kiss to the back of her hand. "I almost thought you weren't going to make it."

"And miss this gathering of our peers?" he asks, glancing around the room. "I wouldn't dare."

[nerves_of_ice]

They'd discussed this, and he hadn't even disagreed. He can't hover over her like a bodyguard all night - that would be both detrimental and dangerous. It's not going to keep him from making sure he has an eye on her at all times, however; he just has to be strategic about it.

Bucky drifts through the edge of the crowd, keeping the egg between him and Sharon most of the time. He lets his glance shift to something cool and acquisitive when he studies Fabergé's art, and makes sure to keep his expression neutral as he does.

It works. It's not long at all before he hears the voice from behind him. "I didn't realize you had such an interest in art." His expression doesn't change as he turns to face Lin Chao, noted Hightown real estate mogul. "Nobody ever mentions that when they talk about the Winter Soldier." His smile is that of a shark: sharp and filled with teeth.

"This is one of the great lost treasures of Russia," Bucky informs him -- in perfect Russian, studying the other man's expression as he does before he switches languages, politely. "How could I not be interested?"

[from_the_outside]

The thing is, she likes Mateo. He's by far the smartest of the bunch and not unnecessarily cruel: his nickname comes as much from the precision of his strikes as from the silence beforehand. His ambitions are tempered by his good sense and logical thinking. He's far and away her first choice to replace Selby.

But he came late. And there's no way that's a good sign. "Are you thinking of adding to your collection?" she asks him, and he laughs.

"Me? I could not afford even that little gold elephant on top of the egg," he tells her. "No, no, I am here for appearances only. And to see you, of course."

"Of course," she agrees. "It's a shame: I'd rather this go to someone who could appreciate it."

"I'm sure it will," he replies, all politeness, and lifts his empty glass to her. "Excuse me, I must freshen my drink."

Her smile fades slightly as she watches him head towards the bar, but only until the next guest calls her over and she goes to listen patiently to the woman's questions.

[nerves_of_ice]

He hadn't kept his voice low when responding to Lin Chao, and as a result word spreads quickly. He can mark the passage of the news by quick whispers and curious, greedy stares.

Bucky accepts a glass of champagne from one of the circulating waitstaff, holds it in his right hand, and doesn't drink. Slowly, he continues to move back and forth across the room, studying the people more than the art, watching for signs of trouble.

[from_the_outside]

There's a degree of pleasure she's learned to take in this part of the cover; she's good at it and there's some satisfaction in knowing so. She makes sure to speak to each of her guests, to answer questions, to encourage everyone to have more champagne, to stoke interest in the upcoming auction for the egg. She keeps half an eye on Fenec, Mateo's newest ally, but sees nothing out of the ordinary.

Anders, on the other hand, looks nervous – but then, he should. She'd hate to be in his shoes. As usual, he's drinking soda water and lime rather than champagne – she's never seen him touch a drop of alcohol.

Everyone else relaxes markedly as the evening wears on. Whatever their ambitions, most of them have more in common than not, and generally speaking their quarrels are professional, not personal.

It's a strange pit of vipers in which she's found herself, but she's made it work.

So far. Until now. Until she had to watch what this new world of hers is doing to Bucky.

[nerves_of_ice]

Most people are more comfortable by now, settling into social chatter. A few look tense, including Anders, who just looks nervous. Bucky leans back against the outside wall and studies these few more carefully than anyone else, trying to see if--

"It's a shame." The woman who's standing nearby is silver-haired and the very image of a wealthy society matron. She's attended by a man half her age that Bucky evaluates and dismisses in an instant, and her gaze is bright and intrigued. "I don't suppose you'd let me touch it?"

He stares at her as she gestures at his arm.

"No."

"Are you sure? I'm an engineer, you see, and I'm just dying to see how it works."

"No," he says, a lot flatter than before.

[from_the_outside]

Mateo has been enjoying himself; when she goes to the bar to check on the champagne, he's bright-eyed and pleased. "A rare event," he tells her, toasting her with his glass, and she smiles back.

"A rare item," she reminds him, and he laughs. "One day you will have to share your secrets, no?"

"No," she says, and he laughs again, coughs, and takes another sip of champagne to clear his throat. "It's –" he begins, but coughs again. And again, his face turning slightly flushed.

He's not the only one. She can hear coughs now from almost everyone in the room, and she's starting to frown when a tickle starts in her own throat and she doubles over with a hand on the bar, coughing uncontrollably as her lungs begin to burn.

[nerves_of_ice]

He realizes what's happening almost too late. The cloud of gas rolls through the room, bringing coughs and gasps and panic in its wake, and as it does he sees Anders slip a black nitrile mask on over his nose and mouth and head for the door, sees Sharon collapse forward over the bar--

CRASH! The large picture window was made of double-thickness bulletproof glass, but it's no match for him. Bucky slams his left fist into the window over and over again until the glass shatters and explodes outward and fresh air rushes in. He dashes to the next window and repeats the process, desperate to clear the poison, then turns to run to Sharon.

[from_the_outside]

Later, she'll be grateful for whatever providential thought told her to go to the bar and check on the champagne, because she and Mateo ended up on the far side of the rolling cloud of gas.

It gives her just enough time to slide herself over the bar and collapse on the other side, gasping as her fingers scrabble for the switches she knows are here. She hears the crash of breaking glass and feels a swirl in the air, but it's not enough: the coughs are beginning to settle into a horrible silence and her vision is tunneling.

She knocks aside a few bottles and slams her hand down on the touchpad behind them, reaches into the compartment in the bar that opens and hits two switches in a row. There's a pause, and then the fire suppressant system actives, showering the room with a neutralizing agent as unseen fans kick into high gear with a roar to clear the air. She coughs again, breath rasping in her chest –

But breathing. Which is more than she can say for many of the others.

[nerves_of_ice]

Chemical suppressant pours from the ceiling as he tears through the room and vaults over the bar, and he feels his heart first stop and then start beating again as he realizes she's still alive. She'll need medical attention, they all will, those who're left, but she's alive, and she's going to be okay.

And Anders is fleeing. His expression hardens. "Stay alive," he orders her, as the security team finally, finally bursts into the room. "I'm going after him. He won't escape." He stands up as the security chief reaches them, and then he's running at top speed for the door.

[from_the_outside]

She takes a deep pull of oxygen from the mask her security chief presses against her face and leans on him as she stands, her legs shaky, her eyes watering, her throat raw and burning –

But she's alive. And so, she realizes, is Mateo. Her security is helping him up, pressing a similar mask to his face as he leans on the bar. The others...

A few are moving and obviously conscious. Others are breathing shallowly. The rest, not at all. She leans on her security chief and heads into the center of the room to take stock. "Airlift the worst," she tells her chief, pausing in the middle of the words to cough. "Get them all to the hospital. Do it now."

A hand lands on her shoulder: Mateo's. She turns to him as he removes his oxygen mask and coughs, clearing his throat. "I can help," he says.

She nods. They'll need all hands on deck for this.

[nerves_of_ice]

The car squeals away around a corner as he reaches the front of the gallery. He's already running after it as he checks the tracking device report to confirm - it's Anders. Headed back to the bolthole he thinks no one knows about, most likely.

Bucky switches directions, vaults along the side of one bridge, and uses the maintenance cable there to swing himself up onto the sky road he's been teaching himself all week. From there, he chases after the vehicle from above, moving easily fast enough to keep pace unseen.

It means no one else is expecting it when Anders' driver pulls up in front of the secret warehouse apartment and the Winter Soldier drops out the sky onto the car with crushing force, shattering all windows, crumpling the doors into uselessness, and buckling the roof with a hard strike of his fist.