Crimson Love

Chapter Nine | 1955

"Soldier, do you copy?"

My gaze turns to Winter as he replies to his superior through the communication device.

"We have him in our sights." Winter says.

"Take the shot."

Winter looks to me and gives a simple nod. I turn back to the sniper's scope and take aim. I pull the trigger. The silencer on the gun keeps the noise down as the bullet tears through the man's head. I jump up from the ground and grab the sniper as I unscrew the pieces and stuff them into the briefcase by my feet.

"Let's go princess." Winter says and I hurry over to him as I hold onto the case.

He wraps an arm around my waist as I put my arms around his neck and he jumps from the roof of the building, landing on a balcony. He kicks open the glass doors and they shatter from the impact. We run through the abandoned apartment building and escape out the alley, Winter's bike hidden under a torn tarp.

He rips it off and straddles the motorcycle as I toss the case strap over my body and throw the case to my back as I climb on the back of the bike. The rumble of the engine starts immediately and then we're speeding down the road as police sirens sound in the distance.

_______

"You were sloppy." Viktor growls as he backhands me.

"Soldier." Viktor snaps and Bucky straightens as he's called forth. "Teach her a lesson." Then he's gone and I'm left alone with Winter.

He looks apologetic as he steps in front of me. I steel myself, rolling my shoulders back and then his fist is coming toward me.

I'm silently crying as I lay on the ground of my room with fresh bruises. Winter left after he disciplined me. I don't have the strength to drag myself up to my bed. Hours later and my door creaks open. I look up at the dark mass of muscle and turn my gaze back to the floor as Winter enters the room and sits on the ground across from me.

"Does it still hurt?" He whispers.

"No." Yes.

He nods slowly.

"Not like you had a choice." I add quietly.

"I could have said no."

"Then you would have gotten a beating."

"I don't like hurting you. I don't like hurting people." He mumbles more to himself than to me. His brow furrows as he speaks, something unknown in his voice.

"Do you dream?" I ask and his eyes meet mine with a cloud of confusion.

"I have a dog named Oliver in my mind. I find comfort in holding him. He's my friend." I tell Winter.

"I can bring Alpine to you?" Winter offers.

I shake my head.

"That cat hates me." I chuckle dryly.

"She likes you." He speaks.

"She loves you."

"She's my friend." Winter whispers.

There's a moment of silence between us.

"You're going to get in trouble being in here." I whisper.

Winter shrugs.

"You should go sleep, we leave early." I try again.

"I don't sleep. I can't." He mutters.

"Please, I don't want you to get in trouble Winter."

He nods as he stands up and walks to the door. He looks back at me for a second. "The sun will come."

"The sun will shine." I whisper back in the darkness.

_______

"How far?" I inquire, my eyes scanning the details on the map spread out before us. Winter and I stand in our motel room, the dim lighting casting shadows across the worn carpet and peeling wallpaper.

"Ten miles from here. The conference is being held at two o'clock. We'll be ready across the building. I'll take the shot," Winter explains, his voice low and steady. He pulls a can of cold dinner from his bag, his movements precise and controlled. With a deft twist of his bionic hand, he pries open the can and retrieves a spoon, beginning to eat the soup from the metal container.

I take a can from my own bag, handing it to him. He effortlessly opens it and hands it back to me, his eyes fixed on the task at hand. I find a small spot on the dingy motel room floor and sit down, my back pressed against the peeling wallpaper. The scent of the canned soup fills the air, but my stomach churns with nerves. I know from experience that I can never eat the night before a hit. It always makes me sick, and I end up tossing everything up anyway. Winter hates it, always telling me I need to eat.

I strip myself of my clothing until I'm left in just my undergarments, the cool air of the room prickling my skin. I climb into the large, worn bed, the sheets slightly scratchy against my body. Winter finishes his meal soon after, discarding the empty can, and sheds his clothes until he's only in his underwear and a white short-sleeved shirt, which he always wears under his suit. He joins me in bed, his body warm against mine. I close my eyes, trying to calm my racing thoughts, but the weight of the upcoming mission presses heavily on my mind.

"I don't know how much longer I can do this." I whisper, my voice heavy with exhaustion.

In the dim light, Winter's eyes meet mine, filled with a mix of understanding and weariness. We still retain fragments of our personalities and memories, but they are broken and unreliable. Like trying to piece together a shattered mirror, our memories are distorted and sharp, cutting us when we try to grasp onto them. The pain is unbearable, and we find ourselves screaming for hours, our bodies wracked with agony.

The only respite is in sleep, in the dreams that take us away from this reality. Our minds wander and create fantastical stories from the fragments of memories that float around like ethereal wisps. It's the only time we're allowed to hope, to pretend that we are different people living different lives.

"The sun'll come out, remember?" Winter speaks softly, his voice a gentle reassurance.

I smile, the weariness lifting momentarily. "The sun'll shine." I reply, my voice filled with a flicker of hope.