LEGACY: a bucky barnes story

Chapter 20 - Peril

We arrived at the motel half past three a.m. Bucky had released me from his grasp on a dimly lit road before finding ourselves amongst busier avenues. My stomach threatened to eat me from the inside out by the time we had gotten our keys and slipped inside the suite. I dropped my key and remaining cash on the TV console before turning to him.

"As much as I'd like to sleep, I have to eat something. There was a vending machine at the bottom of the stairs—do you want anything?"

Bucky wearily shook his head, and the growling of my stomach stopped me from pressing further. I shuffled down the motel stairs in the eerie quiet lot.

As I settled on a package of Smartfood and Red Vines, I paused. A payphone stood ten feet away. I leaned to retrieve my snacks and head toward the booth. Before I could take a step toward the phone, a nauseating chorus of whistling entered my ears. From what I could tell, the band crept up from behind me.

"What's a fox like you doing out in the big, bad hours of the night?"

My palms began to sweat and my heartbeat quickened, but I stayed facing the vending machine.

"Hey, baby, I asked you a question: what're you doing out so late?"

After a rapid gulp, I urged my rubber-like knees to turn around. I was greeted by four foul lowlifes—one of which stood barely two feet from me. Laced with a mixture of foul odors—cigarettes, marijuana, and liquor—their kingpin sauntered in to close our already small gap.

"Does your man know you're out?"

I lifted my gaze and straightened my posture, then started to walk back toward the stairs—trying desperately to hide my limp. Before I could take a few steps, my breath stopped as an aggressive hand seized my shoulder. I winced achingly as his grip threw me around to face him. With his face inches from mine, I caught a glimpse at his array of blackened teeth as they breathed horrid air at me.

"You wanna play hard to get, huh? Well, lucky for you, I like it when she fights a little—but I can't wait much longer to get inside, baby." His schmucks snickered as they started to creep towards us.

"I don't want to hurt you," I warned.

"Hittin', spankin', shit's all on the table, blondie—we can get real freaky," he sneered.

"I tried to warn you."

I landed a throat jab and a knee to his groin. Having to brace on a leg torn not thirty-six hours ago, I staggered to remain in fighting position. As he crumpled to the ground, I targeted his merry men. I inflicted a swift elbow to the nose of the first jagoff, but another scumbag promptly snatched my waist. I flung my arms and legs, ignoring the shooting pain. One of them noticed the strain in my shoulder and leg. He grabbed my ankles, only losing the uninjured leg for a moment as I flailed. A second man took the restraint hint and snatched my wrists, pulling hard on my shoulder. I started to shriek in pain, only to have the reeking hand of a bruised ego slap my mouth shut.

"You're a feisty one, aren'tcha? This'll be even hotter than I thought," he mocked. My eyes widen as a figure emerges from the shadows cast by measly motel sconces.

The fifth figure emerges and sweeps the feet of the two farthest men—the jagoff holding my ankles dropped in the process. I yelped as my feet hit the ground, sending throbbing shudders through my leg. I let out another yelp as the man holding my wrists dropped me and ran to aid his cohorts. Their figurehead went to attack the unknown assailant, forcing the fifth man to step into the light. From my position on the ground, the anonymity of the man dissipates as I recognize brown, shaggy locks.

Bucky grappled with two assailants coming from both sides, throwing punches, and dodging pathetic assaults. After landing several high kicks and powerful blows, the pathetic lackeys cowered behind the chief weakling. My liberator strutted up to the boss and seized his throat with bionic fingers clasped ruthlessly. With the man suspended off the ground, Bucky pulled his face inches from his chocolate brown shags.

"Leave. Or I kill you where you stand."

He dropped the writhing kingpin with great force. Without hesitation, the miscreants and their cowardly boss scurried off into the night. The pounding of my heart continued to ring in my ears as Bucky approached me. He crouched to look me in the eyes, extending a hand.

"Are you okay?" he spoke softly.

I took a deep breath and clasped my hand in his. "No—but I-I will be."

He nodded and leaned over to pick up my scattered snacks. Pulling me up to stand, he wrapped his other arm around my waist and guiding my clasped hand around his neck. I took one last glance at the motel payphone before we hobbled up the stairs and retreated inside our room. He gently set me down on the bed and laid my snacks nearby, before positioning himself on the chair opposite me. He pulled in close with his hand outstretched to check my bandages.

"I don't think they're too bad—"

"Those animals ripped off your shoulder gauze," he hissed. His voice softened. "Please, JJ, let me help."

I looked up into his sorrowful eyes, noting the painfully obvious guilt. Internally, his guilt matched my own as I mulled over the call I almost made. But something about him using my nickname struck me. It felt good—almost right. Until now, only my family called me JJ. I reached my hand to touch his arm, to which he flinched. I gently removed my hand but continued to look toward him.

"Thank you."

He hummed back but did not speak. "Bucky?" I asked. His eyes raised to meet mine. My stomach leaped. "You've done a lot to save my ass, and I want you to know I'm truly thankful."

He nodded once again, a small smirk growing on one side. "I saw a store not far from here. Will you be okay while I go restock our supplies?" he asked.

I nodded. Bucky promptly stood and turned to leave. As he gently shut the door, I laid back onto the bed and pondered the payphone. That may have been my only opportunity to call for help. But Bucky was my help. He is my help, and he's saved me on multiple occasions—the latest being regrettably traumatizing. But S.H.I.E.L.D. would likely have made a different decision. Everything in my training said make the call, the stress heightened by my proximity to the motel bedside phone. But something in me couldn't reach for the handset.

But why not?

I exhaled with great frustration. I peered at the clock, a startling 4:07 a.m. blared bright red. I sighed and resigned my eyes to close. Waking within a groggy moment in the early morning, I turned over to see Bucky—asleep on the floor at my bed's edge.