Hey everyone! Here is the Epilogue, but by no means the conclusion, of Buzzkill! It's longer than the normal length of my chapters, but I promise it's worth it. Feel free to read this in a couple of different sit-downs. Thank you all for your lovely comments. Enjoy. :)
Emotion loomed dangerously low over Ruth's head. It was like a shadow that reflected off of her without getting too close; at least not anymore. Over the seemingly infinite time since Ruth left James to go to Sweden, emotion faded, but staying just close enough to be a threat that could show itself at any moment.
It was the perfect spring early afternoon. The sun shining gently on Ruth's face as she walked down the straight-shot street to a pub she goes to on a regular basis now. She doesn't go everyday, trying to avoid creating too much interest from the bartender about her life.
The small bell on the door chimed as Ruth walked in, her jacket secure on her body with her bag slung across her shoulder. She ordered some tea from the bartender, paid for it, thanked him, and walked with soft footsteps on the hardwood floor to her usual booth. Ruth slid across the leather seat, pulled her bag close to her, and began to drink the hot tea to warm her up.
In the earlier days of coming to this diner, and on a day where she felt she just couldn't escape the grief of her past, Ruth ordered a shot of whiskey for the first time in her life.
Alcohol was forbidden at the facility in Sweden because of how it affected their minds. To prove her point, when they turned fourteen, the Woman made Ruth and Ryker drink so much vodka in one night that they were sick for days. Glass after glass they were forced to drink the vodka down like water. That night made even the smell of alcohol revolting. But now, Ruth was desperate for some relief that she had been told alcohol provided.
The first sip was brutal, the burning taste vividly reminding her of convulsing on the bathroom floor in the facility six years ago. But still, Ruth drank. After shooting the whiskey down, Ruth waited for the buzz, but it never came.
The alcohol did nothing.
She drank down three more shots, each time waiting for something to happen, but nothing did. Already full of anger and emotion, tears of frustration welled up in Ruth's eyes. All she wanted was for it to go away. She just wanted it all to stop.
From then on, Ruth stuck with her tea, hoping something, anything would take the madness away like James did.
In the past year of being alone, when Ruth wasn't at the diner, she sat on the bench of a park straight across the road from her family's house, observing them as they went about their day. Everyone in that Rogers family was still alive and well, going about their days normally as if nothing was hindering them. Once, feeling brave (or rather, feeling lifeless) on a snowy winter evening, Ruth walked down her delicately-lit childhood street to the Rogers house. Her feet cold with boots soaked with snow, Ruth stood motionless just across the street from the front door, her heart beating so rapidly in her chest that she felt faint. Her breath forming cloud-like wisps in front of her face as the winter chill froze her nose. Moments passed, and Ruth tried, but couldn't take another step towards the house. She had a plan to walk up to the door asking for donations to a made-up charity, knowing they wouldn't recognize her anyway; but she couldn't do it. Instead, Ruth turned solemnly, walking away from the Rogers family home as they gathered in the living room with the soft light of the fireplace showing the smiles on their faces.
Grief from everything that had happened this past year came as a sudden shock to Ruth now that she was alone. She was thankful for the cold months. They gave her an excuse to stay inside and hide herself from the world.
It was difficult for Ruth to even find the motivation to walk to the shops to get food for herself. Even on the sunniest days, Ruth felt nailed down with hopelessness. A burdensome, somber weight held her to the ground, keeping her secure in her sleeping bag with no plans to leave. Her body heaved as she wept with an overwhelming frustration and desperation to want to leave this place. Each night that she slept brought back terrors that grew increasingly terrible as the days went on. Practically every night Ruth would wake up suddenly, drenched in a cold sweat while her mind screamed fiercely at her. After only four months of being away from James, the voices and lurking shadows would jolt her awake, her hands shaking as she curled herself into a ball, holding onto her legs while they're tucked up against her chest.
Ruth just wanted it to stop. Her mind swelled, her brain pulsing with shooting daggers sending pain throughout her body. The serum was still taking over her. That's what this was, right? The serum?
Everyday was a battle with her own mind. The worst part was, she didn't know who was winning.
Approaching the anniversary of Ryker's death, no matter how many times she would try to convince herself, Ruth couldn't go to Norway to find his mother's grave. She seemed to come up with every excuse as to why she couldn't leave the city. Truth was, she couldn't make it past the guilt. On the exact anniversary of his death, Ruth finally convinced herself to look through the first couple pages of Ryker's file. There were only mission reports and methods of interrogation. Everything else must be on the digital files, Ruth thought. There's not a way I can read those here...
Though she was away from James now, she was still too close. Ruth could feel the impending dread that he was another weakness waiting to be executed.
Ruth and James' letters back and forth to one another started a week after Ruth arrived in Sweden. Though she wanted to send a letter sooner, her mind was fighting with her to not send a letter at all. Their communication would be cut off completely if she just didn't say anything. Then, he wouldn't know where she was. To compromise with herself, she kept it short.
Dear Clyde,
I've arrived in Sweden and have a nice place to stay. The address to return letters will be written on the back of this envelope.
Hope all is well,
Bonnie
Ruth had gone through several drafts just to write out such a simple letter. It was difficult, only a week had passed and in a way James felt like a stranger to her. Keeping the promise to herself, Ruth grabbed some of the money that had here in Sweden through a secret bank account she could access from any ATM, and put it in the envelope along with the letter to send to James. She knew he would need it. Only a couple days later, Ruth received his reply through her apartment mailbox.
Dear Bonnie,
I'm glad you've found a place to stay. It's probably nicer than what we had here...
How's the weather over there? A snowstorm blew in a couple of days ago over here that made it difficult to want to go outside.
Hope to hear from you soon,
Clyde
By the way, no need for such formal letters. I'm not the Queen.
Ruth couldn't help the smile that emerged on her face at his reply. It still made Ruth's heart ache at what James must still be thinking about her leaving. She couldn't imagine the apologies running through his mind now if he thought she left because of something he did.
Ruth's letters back to James were now increasingly turning into as casual of a conversation as they would've had back in Bucharest. As the weeks went on, the letters became longer. Mutually knowing that any of their letters could be taken and/or read by someone, Ruth and James never talked about their memories or experiences from their pasts. Instead they talked about the weather, their towns, movies, anything just to write back and forth to one another. As the grueling weeks went by, Ruth felt as if she only lived to receive James' letters. Her isolation in the big city went on hold when she read what James wrote.
Ruth knew she was already far past what was logical in how much communication to keep with James if she truly didn't want him to become another weakness. And yet, the letters seemed to be the only thing keeping her sane. It provided that smallest moment of normalcy and comfort that she was desperate to hold onto. Ruth was more and more willing each day to do whatever it took just to feel like she could go on another week. Going and sitting down in the diner and saying a couple words to the bartender became more of a necessity.
She had never been like this before. At the facility in Sweden, she could go weeks without saying a word, she was trained to. Now, going a whole night without someone around her became maddening. Ruth was so close to going back to Romania, to feeling better again. She wanted to feel peace and a comfortable silence within her mind. She didn't want to have to drink so much tea just to have an excuse to show up at a pub in downtown Malmö.
But running away from James wasn't enough to stop the dependency, she needed to stop the letters. Ruth knew she couldn't make up a good enough excuse to tell James to stop writing to her completely. Plus, if she did, he would probably think it was because of him. She couldn't let him think that way. Instead, she would just reply later and later each time, even if their letters were just as long as before.
Just as Thanksgiving came around, Ruth wrote a letter to James suggesting that they don't write as often to each other to lower the suspicion, just an update every once in a while to check in and say some news. In only a few months, they had written dozens of letters back and forth. And although that was a valid point, Ruth just couldn't tell him it was because she was eventually going to only write him once a year. Then maybe, never at all.
For Ruth, Thanksgiving was difficult, but Christmastime was brutal. As soon as the bright, shining lights lit up the city and the snow, she couldn't help but overflow with emotion. She had long forgotten what Christmas was like. Ruth couldn't even remember one happy moment with her family before she was sold to the Woman. Last Christmas was the happiest she could ever remember being in her entire life. For the first time since she could remember, she had a few hours, even a whole day where she was content and didn't have a shred of worry about tomorrow. And now, she was alone and vulnerable. She couldn't even send a gift to James because it would be too much of a risk. They were still due to send an update for each other, but Ruth just didn't know what to say.
A week before Christmas, she received James' letter. But the picture tucked in the envelope along with the letter threw Ruth off completely. Before reading the note, she pulled out the picture to see an image of James with a cheesy smile on his face, standing in front of a Christmas tree in the city, holding the camera out in front of him to take the picture of himself. Ruth couldn't help but grin out of happiness and disbelief of James actually putting a picture of himself in the mail. Studying his face, Ruth was relieved that he looked healthy. The cold put a little color on his face while he was bundled up with a couple sweatshirts with a hood tight over his ball-cap. She then pulled out the letter,
Dear Bonnie,
Merry Christmas! The lights on all of the trees here in the city are fantastic, so I had to take a picture of them. I know you're probably going to be mad that I sent a picture of myself...but hey, you can't yell at me from three or so countries away!
I do miss you though, Bon. I hope you're doing ok.
James continued on in the letter giving an update about how things were in Romania. In short, it was all alright.
Ruth knew she couldn't send just a letter back now. The only problem was how she was going to get a picture to send to him. Even though it was winter, Ruth saw many tourists walking throughout the snow-covered seaside city taking pictures. All she would need to do is position herself in the right part of the city center where she could wait for someone to pass by with a polaroid camera and hopefully convince them to take a picture of her.
Ruth sat on a small bench along the edge of the city center for hours, bundled up in sweatshirts with her jacket zipped up all the way, looking similar to James as a hoodie was held securely over the cap that she was wearing.
As the morning silently passed by, sitting quietly as snow gently fell around her, Ruth finally spotted a family of four walking around the large aged bronze statue that sat in the middle of the square, surrounded by stone steps where many people would sit around to chat and read during the summer and fall months. To Ruth, the family were obviously tourists, and the youngest held a colorful polaroid camera; perfect.
Mustering up the courage, Ruth changed her personality in an instant to become a character like she had done so many times before, thinking of a short backstory within seconds. She stood and strode confidently over to the family, changing her gait slightly to sway her hips just a little more.
"Excuse me!" Ruth shouted to the family in a pleasant voice as she walked up to them.
They turned around, hesitating a bit.
"I'm sorry, do you speak English?" Ruth asked, already knowing the answer. She raised the pitch in her voice slightly, highlighting the fact that she had an American accent.
The husband and wife both nodded, the lady spoke up, "Yes we do. We're from Michigan, actually, in the US." She gave a reassuring grin.
Ruth smiled wide with a fake relief, "Oh, good, I'm from DC." She extended her hand to shake the lady's hand.
"You're on vacation here, too?" The lady asked, shaking Ruth's hand, trying to initiate conversation, which Ruth really didn't want.
Ruth kept her smile, "Yeah, touring Europe before I go to college." She put her hands in her sweater pockets. "I'm sorry to bother you, I just saw that you had a camera," Ruth motioned to the polaroid in their pre-teen daughter's hand, "and I was wondering if I could pay you for a picture of me in front of this statue? I completely forgot my camera back at the hotel and the snow right now is just perfect."
The daughter hesitated, but the mother didn't. "Oh sure, hun, we can do that." The lady said something to her daughter, the girl rolling her eyes slightly. "Just stand in front of the steps there," the lady said, her daughter holding up the camera.
Ruth lightly jogged over to in front of the statue and held her arms outstretched in an exaggerated pose. A wide, overzealous smile on her face.
"One, two, three..." the camera clicked, and a couple seconds later, a little underdeveloped photo came out of the polaroid.
Ruth pranced back over, handed the family a fifty krona note, got the picture, said thank you, and strode off and back to her apartment.
As soon as she walked through her door and into the small, one-bedroom space with only the basics within, Ruth rushed over to a kitchen counter where she kept her notebook and began on her letter back to James. The sunlight that peeked through the window next to her shined onto the paper as Ruth hurriedly wrote, quickly detailing an update along with a response to his letter.
Dear Clyde,
Oh, I won't be mad at you for possibly risking your life and location, as long as you don't mind me doing the exact same. Enjoy this equally festive picture that I had a stranger take for me after I paid them a few krona. But hey, you can't yell at me from three or so countries away!
Merry Christmas, Clyde. I hope you're doing as well as you look in the picture.
Ruth signed the note, put it in an envelope, put the picture inside, wrote James' address, sealed it, and went back down the two flights of stairs in her apartment building and down the street to the post office.
On Christmas morning, Ruth sat alone on her simple spring mattress wondering if James had received her letter yet, and wondering if Christmas this year would be any easier for him than the last. She knew that if he listened to her advice about only sending about a letter a month, then she wouldn't even get a reply from him until after the new year.
Now, on the calm spring day a year and four months since she left James, Ruth's mind swelled with questions, thoughts, and the darkness she had become familiar with, struggling to go back to the feeling of being as an orphan with no one to turn to.
It was typical, Ruth found out, for the diner to be quiet in the early afternoons. Most people would swarm in as they left work, desperate for a drink to erase the week behind them. Ruth would stay just long enough to slowly drink her tea, even if it turned cold, to watch the local news, then walk back home before rush hour. It was a routine. The monotonous routine was the only thing to keep her mind and body moving forward. If she stalled, her mind would collapse on her and she would be completely content with wasting away to nothing on the floor of her apartment while darkness consumed her. The hope that sat patiently in the back corner of her mind pestered Ruth every now and then, causing her to listen and believe in something joyful for the future. She knew it was pathetic to see the future as anything besides a cliff, but the hope envisioned a soft landing waiting for her at the bottom.
For Ruth, today felt like one of the days where she would stay just that little while longer at the diner drinking her tea. She felt the warmth of the increasingly hot spring day crawl up on her back, feeling heat rise to the tops of her cheeks as the steam from her tea kissed her face, but she never took her jacket off. No one needed to comment on the noticeably deep, bruised, and scattered scars that were dashed across her arms and wrists from both the Hydra and Sweden facilities.
The Woman liked scars. She trained agents that were kept mostly in the shadows. As long as Her agents didn't have any markings on places that could be easily seen (such as their hands, neck, and face), they could be marked up many times over. As Ruth grew up, no one in the facility saw their scars as something ugly. But no one thought they were beautiful either.
Only two other people were sat in the diner with Ruth, both at opposite sides of the room from her. A couple of small, flatscreen TVs were mounted up above the bar. One was playing the local news, and the other played a soccer game from last night. Ruth slowly drank the calming tea while absentmindedly listening to the news. It was something to listen to to give her mind a break from the silence.
Suddenly, the tone of the reporter changed as he stated the "Breaking News" that had just come up. Ruth turned her head and lifted her eyes to the screen to listen, the reporter's speech jumbled as he sped through his words. He announced that the world leader gathering in Vienna for the signing of the Sokovia Accords had just been attacked. A bomb had blown up the whole front of the building. Among those killed was King T'Chaka of Wakanda.
Ruth felt her heart slow. How could this happen to this kind of event? Who could have pulled that off?
Just after, the man reporting announced that they had a suspect.
"Officials have released a video of this suspect. He has been identified as James Buchanan Barnes, otherwise known as the Winter Soldier. An infamous Hydra agent linked to multiple acts of terrorism and political assassinations..."
All around her became still. Ruth's heart lurched, the room completely being drowned out around her. Her heartbeat now pulsed in her ears, her mind swelling with anxiety and horror.
The news broadcasting paused the video at a moment where the man turned his head to reveal his face to the camera.
It was him.
It was James.
"If anyone has any information on where the suspect could be, or if you have seen him, please call your local authorities immediately, but do not approach. He is suspected to be armed and is extremely dangerous," the reporter continued.
Ruth couldn't breathe. Tension gripped Ruth's back and shoulders as she desperately studied the picture on the screen as if it would tell her all of the thousands of questions swirling around in her mind.
It was him, but she couldn't believe it. It didn't look like him. In this picture James was significantly thinner. Was he that thin when he took the picture of himself but it just didn't show? Was he not eating? He was in Romania, how did he get to Vienna? Why did he do this job? Who hired him? He would never have done that, not now. Ruth's gut wrenched as nausea hit her. Did someone find his activation words? Was he being controlled? Now, people were looking for him as a mission. If he was still in a big city, he could be dead in a couple of hours.
Ruth couldn't wait any longer, she had to leave.
With adrenaline coursing through her body, Ruth slid out of the leather booth and ran out the door without hesitating another moment. She held her messenger bag close to her body as she jogged down the sidewalks to the central station. It was about a twenty minute walk from the station to her apartment, so Ruth knew that if she ran steadily that she could get there in just a few minutes.
She needed to get to Romania as quickly as possible to find James before someone else did. Ruth knew she couldn't go to an airport. There was way too much security and not enough time for her to wait to work something out. Even if she knew how to contact the Captain for a private plane, she has no idea where in the world he would be at this moment. A bus or train was the way to go, whichever was fastest. The problem was, even on the earliest train or bus, it would be a solid twenty four hours before she made it to Bucharest. James could be long dead by then. It took everything inside of her for Ruth not to break down and lose control. Desperation clung to her chest, urging her to run faster as she entered Central Station.
Finally slowing down, Ruth walked up to a ticket booth by the entrance, completely ignoring her surroundings and whoever could be watching or following her. She didn't care anymore.
The lady at the booth greeted Ruth with a smile, asking how she could help today. Ruth tucked her hair behind her ear, finding it hard to say anything. Her eyes darted around the booth as if she could find any information that she would need. With a shaky voice, Ruth asked the lady what would be the fastest route to Vienna. Ruth knew she could easily get to Bucharest from there. Plus, it would be where she could get the latest news updates about the bombing. The lady replied that a train would be multiple stops and would be well past a day's journey, but that there was a bus leaving in an hour that would drive straight through Vienna and onto southern Europe, stopping occasionally, and it would take just over half a day if the traffic was good. Ruth just nodded, telling the lady with a faint voice that she would take the bus. If it continued to southern Europe, she could most likely stay on and ride to Bucharest.
Ruth's hands trembled, the floor beginning to sway beneath her as she fished some money out of her bag. The withdrawals seemed to come back a little at a time since she left James.
"Miss, are you alright?" the ticket lady asked in Swedish.
Ruth looked up suddenly, nodded quickly, then turned back to her bag and grabbed the money, not able to get any words out.
"Do you have some family in Vienna?" the lady spoke low, her voice quiet.
Ruth now looked into the lady's eyes, her own becoming warm. "Yes."
"You poor thing. It's horrible what happened over there. Have you tried calling them?"
Ruth nodded, still distraught. "I did I...I just...can't reach them," she lied. It was true that she couldn't reach James if she tried, but if only the ticket lady knew that Ruth's family was the suspect.
The lady handed Ruth her tickets and information, "They'll be alright. Keep telling yourself that, ok sweetheart? It's going to be alright."
Ruth just nodded with nothing else to say and scurried off to wait for the bus, not even able to fake a smile.
For the whole hour that Ruth sat in anticipation for the bus to arrive, all that seemed to show on the TVs around her were news broadcastings of the explosion in Vienna. She wasn't a stranger to seeing catastrophe around her, even before she went to the facility in Sweden. But what made it unbearable were the comments from the few people around her. They spat and cursed James for what he did. If only they knew, Ruth thought to herself. If only I knew.
Multiple stops were made within the twenty three nauseating hours that it took to get to Bucharest, each to pick up some more people or drop someone off. Each person who passed by Ruth's seat looked at her as if she were a ghost, a passing memory.
Ruth vowed to herself to not leave the bus unless completely necessary. She had food and water in her bag, there was a bathroom on the bus, she didn't need to leave until she was sure there would be an update in the news about James. Once in Vienna, the two minutes that it took Ruth to run off the bus to the closest newspaper stand was filled with adrenaline that kept her going. She found that the bus usually stops for about fifteen minutes before making sure everyone was on and ready to go, but she couldn't be too careful. Even the TV's within the bus stop building didn't have anything new to say about the attack, and said that James was still on the run. His avoidance of the authorities brought immense comfort to Ruth, but terror to everyone around her. She just wanted this to be over. She wanted him to be ok.
Many times throughout the bus's stops to Vienna, Ruth thought about running off the bus to find James somewhere in Austria, but logic kept her sane. She wouldn't have a clue on where to look for him if he even did it. Besides, he didn't do it, right? He wouldn't. This wasn't the James she left back in Romania. Ruth would sooner see herself doing this bombing than him. She was the monster of the two of them. Why did they have to blame him?
The last twenty minutes to Bucharest crawled by at an unbearable pace. Ruth gripped onto the empty seat in front of her, her knuckles white, clinging onto her sanity. At the exact moment that the bus stopped, Ruth was out like a bullet, sprinting through the station to get to the street. TVs around her within the building blared the news, each saying that the suspect had been found. She couldn't hear anything more than that. She didn't want to. All she could think was dear God, have it be someone else.
It didn't matter who was watching her, she had to get to the apartment, and she knew the exact path to take. Her lungs burned within her chest, her body moving faster than her mind could control. She just didn't want to be too late.
Ruth slowed as she made her way up to the entry of the apartment. Multiple service vans parked outside. At least they weren't police cars. Just inside, she recognized the landlord standing in the hallway in front of the winding stairs talking to the different guys from the service vans. She quickly scurried past and hoped the landlord wouldn't stop her. All he did was glance over, telling Ruth to be careful of the rubble upstairs.
Past the lobby, Ruth darted up the stairs as fast as her legs would allow, the infinite staircases having a terrible effect on her already-fatigued body. The hunger that once gnawed at her now dulled into a nausea full of anticipation and fear. It was pure adrenaline that was getting her through the pain and up the stairs. Her body began to slow after Ruth made it up a few floors, her mind taking in the chaos she was seeing. Walls were bashed in with bullet holes decorating the sides along with the falling plaster. There was a whole iron railing taken off of its hinges and bent down to the floor. Was that him?
The more Ruth made her way up the stairs, the more the destruction within the building escalated. She couldn't break down now...she was so close. With every last effort, Ruth made it up the last couple of stairs and to the apartment door.
She stopped dead in her tracks.
Not only her body and mind, but the world seemed to freeze around her. She couldn't feel her heart beating. She couldn't feel herself breathing. She felt dead.
He was gone.
Everything was silent. Warmth filled her eyes as she looked around the room. Gun shots and holes in the walls heavily decorated the grim space, splashes of blood accompanying them. In a wave of emotion, reality crumbled the wall that Ruth held up to guard her fading hope as her legs gave out to the floor, her emotional and physical exhaustion catching up to her.
James was gone.
Ruth clutched her chest as it tightened with pain, her other arm holding herself up from completely collapsing to the ground. In some distorted version of her life that was in the back of her mind, Ruth thought she would see James again. That some how, in some way she would be able to get away from her hell and talk to him again...and he's gone.
The loss now burdened her like it did with Ryker. Everything went dark, an impending horror of a cloud standing over her. It was complete isolation. Ruth knew that there was no way that authorities would come in here, raid, and leave James alive. As soon as they could, they would kill him. She knew how it worked. There was no one to advocate for him and tell what he's been through. For a brief moment, she thought about Steve Rogers. What would he have done? Where was he?
Moments passed. Ruth took a deep breath and used the wall beside her to stand up. Taking just a couple steps, she took in more of the apartment around her, trying to piece together what might have happened. A part of the low, thin bookshelves along the wall were still standing, the rest destroyed as if it had been crashed into, shards of wood scattered in front of her feet. She walked slowly across the scuffed, broken wooden floors as remains of ash and gunpowder filled the air. Different papers and wrappers were scattered across the shelves where her and James once kept their simple CD player. She saw a small, leather bound notebook sitting on the middle shelf, ash laying a fine layer on cover. Ruth grabbed the notebook and held it in her hands, quickly skimming the pages to see if they had been written in, but it was empty. A brand new notebook that James had never gotten to. She wondered how many notebooks James had gotten through in the two years that he had been here in Bucharest.
After tucking the notebook in her bag, Ruth took a couple steps forward to the floorboard where James used to keep his backpack full of memories. There was a gaping hole where the floor had been smashed for someone to grab whatever was inside. She knelt down to look for anything that may have fallen out, but there was nothing. She just hoped it was James who somehow gotten to his backpack before anyone else could get to it. Everything was in those notebooks.
Emotion warmed Ruth's face, dangerously close to crying again. She walked over and studied every detail of the kitchen as if it were an open book of how James' life had been since she was away. As she looked more, there seemed to be plenty of food to keep him healthy. Ruth didn't know how he lost all of that weight.
Turning her back to the fridge, Ruth wanted to look for anything James may have left behind. A piece of paper caught Ruth's eye laying at the bottom of the kitchen island. She knelt down, reaching her hand a little underneath to grab the notebook that the paper stuck out of. Her's heart skipped a beat. Pulling out the notebook, she could already see it had been written in. Small, colorful tabs stuck out the side marking pages for his mind to remember. She had never read any of James' notebooks, and she never wanted to without his permission, but grief took over. Ever since his death, Ruth had hoped Ryker had left something, anything for her to read that would give her some sort of clarity from the guilt that loomed over her.
Even though it was just her now, and the notebook sat comfortably in her hands, Ruth hesitated. She flipped through the first few pages, barely seeing the writing within, then landing on a page with something she recognized stuck inside; the pamphlet from the Captain America exhibit in the Smithsonian. Ruth didn't even realize James had kept it. This must have been a notebook he was currently working on, or had just come back to.
Realizing how much time she had spent up here, Ruth closed the notebook suddenly and stuck it in her bag that was still slung across her shoulder. She just couldn't bring herself to read the notebook, not right now.
Debris covered Ruth's shoes as she walked across the room to the doorway. She stopped, then turned to look back at the apartment one last time as another chapter in her life that would soon fade away into an impossible existence just as the facility in Sweden had done.
Time seemed to skip by as she made her way down the stairs, her body too tired to stop and rest from the exhaustion of running up these stairs just a few minutes ago. Ruth didn't even look at the people still standing in the lobby as she walked past and to the sidewalk. It was a feeling of being completely and utterly empty. Her reality a dream she couldn't quite grasp onto.
Ruth thought that maybe, eventually, she would be able to change things. She thought that even though James would be inevitably hunted by whoever would want to get their hands on him, that Captain America would find his best friend, and James would be safe. And maybe, just maybe, once James was protected, Ruth would try and find him again. Maybe, just maybe, her cousin she had never met would forgive her just enough to be taken in too. She didn't care if SHIELD, the real SHIELD, would put her in a prison. Anything was better than being alone. But it was all a lie. A childish fantasy put into her head by whatever god-awful childlike wonder that was still somehow in her mind.
This time, the pain was unbearable. Ryker's death killed Ruth. The haunting memory of him waving over her constantly like a storm reluctant to pass, the grief weighing her down. But James' death destroyed her. Even if you asked Ruth why James' death hurt her worse than Ryker's, she wouldn't be able to tell you. Ryker was her family, a source of love that was greater than anything she had known. But James felt like so much more. He was her home, her safety. Even with his nightmares and blackouts, Ruth never once felt in danger around him. She left James because she felt that she was the danger. Ruth was appalled at the hope in the back of her mind that told her James could still be alive. What good has hoping for something done for her?
The moment Ruth stepped through the door of her apartment back in Sweden, seemingly every emotion drained from existence within her. She was numb.
She took out her stationary, and began to write a letter. The chill from the unusually cold morning slowing her movement down, her eyelids heavy with exhaustion. On the front she wrote out the name "Steve Rogers" along with the address to his last known apartment that she had found out about long ago, purposefully doing so to hope he would read the letter and get the hint. She left where she would normally write a return address blank. At the top of the letter, above James' coded name, Ruth drew a small red star.
Dear Clyde,
I'm not sure how to write this, especially not in English. There's nothing really more that I can say over a letter, but I'll try.
I hope you know that you were never a danger to me. I left because you trusted me, and the terrifying thing is that I trusted you too. Even though She is dead, there could be plenty others, including Mage, that could turn me against you. And I can't let that happen.
I'm not sure if you're alive, and if you are, I don't know if you're safe. But I know that if this letter goes to the right person, and if you're alive, he'll give this to you, and you'll know how sorry I am for everything I've done. More than that, I hope you know how thankful I am for everything you've done for me. You've saved my life in more ways than one.
This is the last letter I'll send at my current address. Starting tomorrow I'll find a new place to stay to make sure they don't find me. I don't know how long I'll be able to keep out of their sights, but I'll hold on as long as I can.
If, and only if after you're safe, you want to find me, I'll be at the place where I died.
I'm sorry for everything.
Bonnie
Maybe one day we'll see each other again while at a fruit stand looking for plums or at the Smithsonian trying to find out more about ourselves, because it's as you said when we first met, "I'm just like you".