Whatever It Takes

Chapter 22 - Worth A Shot

Washington, 2014

It takes a while for you to come round, but eventually Sam manages to convince you to take a shower. Letting everything that's happened in the last 24 hours wash away, you're now just standing under the water, hoping it'll also take away the stain the nightmare has left in your mind. As you're about to get out another wave of memories crash over you.

Standing in the Red Room, fighting the metal-armed man, the man you now know is the Winter Soldier, but he's holding back. This is just a training session; Madame B and other KGB agents on the sidelines, rating your performance. You take the opportunity given to you to jump on his back, trying to garrote him; he slams your back into the wall, grabbing you by the hair and pulling you forward, crashing you to the ground. Before he can react, you've grabbed his right arm, wrapping your legs around it to bring him down, rolling to save him landing on you, twisting his arm behind his back and digging your knees into his back. In frustration, his strength finally comes through, easily breaking the hold you have on him and before you can stand he has grabbed you by the throat and slammed you into the wall once more; sliding you up the wall to meet you eye to eye, metal arm applying just enough pressure to hold you in place. A single tear runs down his face before he loosens his grip, letting you fall to the floor, coughing. "She didn't yield soldier," someone shouts. The Winter Soldier stands to attention, before walking back to the centre of the room. "Again."

Shaking it off, you dress in the clothes Sam has let you borrow before heading to the kitchen, where he's arranging plates at the table. "I hope you like pizza," he asks. "I figured you'd be starving. I didn't know what else to get." Smiling on the inside at the gesture, even though you're not hungry, you run a hand through your wet hair before sitting down, Sam grabs two bottles of beer, sliding one over to you. "Feeling better?"

You nod in silence, knowing that he's eventually going to ask you about it all, taking a long chug from the beer bottle, giving you time to decide whether to just tell him or not. Trusting people wasn't easy, but there was something different about Sam, something that just made you feel safe. "Thank you," you murmur, looking down at your lap.

"Not a problem," he smiles warmly before sliding the pizza box over to you. "Now, eat." You reluctantly take out a slice, taking a small nibble. Looking over at the clock you see it's nearly 10pm.

"I didn't mean to sleep that long, you should have woken me when you got back."

"And what kind of gentleman would I have been to kick a gorgeous woman like you out of my bed." He laughs. "Besides, you looked..." he hesitates. "You did look peaceful."

"I'm sorry if I scared you, I just have...bad dreams."

"I got that. You want to talk about them?"

"Not really," you hesitate. "But I guess I owe you some sort of explanation."

"You don't owe me anything, except maybe a smile." He winks at you as you meet his eyes, which means you can't help yourself, you let out a little laugh. "There she is." He grins, making you smile even more.

"You have a real knack for the ladies Wilson, I'll give you that."

"I try," His tone changes as he leans forward taking your hand again. "Like I said before, don't fight it Sasha. It's only going to make it worse. Doesn't have to be everything, but focus on one thing and try and let it out."

"I don't need your sympathy Sam," you snap, pulling your hand away. "As soon as it's daylight I'll be gone, you don't need to worry about me."

"I'm not here to give you sympathy, but fighting your feelings isn't going to make the problem go away. And from what you told me earlier, until you hear from Rogers, you're not going anywhere." You sigh, taking another long drawn swig of the beer. "We don't know each other, but this is something I deal with every day. I'm not here to judge: so try me."