Till the End of the Line

They drove until the sun came up. Mountains were visible on the horizon, forest stretching as far as they could see. James navigated the truck over a narrow path through a thick patch of pines until they reached a clearing near the edge of a vast lake. They hadn't passed any houses yet, but now a little cabin came into sight. The cabin was overgrown with ivy on one side and little shrubs of evergreen were planted around it. A thin, sandy path led down from the front door to a small wooden jetty on the lake, where a shabby blue skiff lay bobbing lazily on the water. Even though she was incredibly tired, Sarah couldn't help but stare around in amazed excitement when she and James took their bags out of the truck and walked up to the house. The interior matched the rustic surroundings; a small, old-fashioned sofa and an armchair stood in one corner around a coffee table beside a fireplace, the other side of the room was occupied by a large dinner table and a kitchen counter. There was a little television in the sitting area, with a turntable and a few records, and a small bookcase was set against the wall next to a door that led off to the bedroom.

While Sarah carried her things into the bedroom, James seemed to be checking the rest of the house. At the sight of the big, comfortable brass bed, Sarah could feel her eyes drooping.
"James?" she called out, and he answered with a noncommittal noise from the other room, "Is it alright if I take a nap? I'm knackered…"
"Sure," she heard him call back.
She dropped her bag at the foot of the bed, lay down, still fully clothed, and drifted off.

It was around midday when she woke up again by the sound of birds chirping outside. For a moment she stared around, disoriented. She had been so far gone that she had forgotten where she was, why she was there and what had happened on the way over. Her eyes travelled through the room, from the window over the head of the bed that was flanked by white curtains, the nightstand with a little old-fashioned lamp on it, to the dark wooden wardrobe against the wall opposite the bed. Yawning, she got up and made her way over to the wardrobe, opening one of the doors to look inside. She found a couple of old coats on hangers and a few clean towels on the shelf above them. A door on the other side of the room led to a bathroom, and so, taking one of the towels, Sarah went to take a shower.

Half an hour later, Sarah emerged from the bedroom to find James sitting on the sofa, watching the news on the television.
"I made coffee," he said when she came into the room, gesturing at the kitchen counter without taking his eyes off the TV. Nodding, Sarah walked around the dinner table to get to the stove, taking a mug from the cupboard and pouring herself some coffee from the percolator.
"What have you been doing?" she asked as she sat down on the armchair opposite James.
"Checked the place out, got some firewood," he answered, his eyes still fixed on the television.
"So, do you think we can stay here?" Sarah asked.
"Sure, it's a good place to lay low, for now."
"'Good'?" Sarah repeated, laughing, "Come on, this place is fantastic!"
"The roof needs some work," he replied, placing his empty coffee cup on the little table between them. Chuckling, Sarah shook her head, got up and walked to the window next to the front door, carrying her mug.
"Who cares about a roof when you have this view," she thought, feasting her eyes on the trees surrounding the shimmering lake and the mountains in the distance.

They spent the remainder of the day cleaning up the house together and unpacking their supplies. As Sarah put the canned food in the tiny pantry she discovered a door next to the washing machine that led outside.
"You found the backdoor," James said, leaning against the pantry door.
"That could come in handy," Sarah thought out loud, following James out to the kitchen. "Have you put your things in the bedroom yet?" He shook his head.
"I can sleep on the-,"
"Before you say you're sleeping on the sofa, you might want to take another look at it," Sarah interrupted, walking over to it and lifting his duffel-bag from it, "because even if you did fit on this thing, you will have a sore back and a stiff neck every day. So, unless you want to intentionally hurt yourself, we might as well share that massive bed over there." She gestured at the brass bed in the other room that was visible through the open door. When James gave no reply, she strode past him, over the threshold and deposited his bag next to hers at the foot of the bed.

The next day James was, as usual, already up when Sarah awoke. He didn't seem to be anywhere in the house, so after a quick shower and some breakfast Sarah went outside to look for him.
Standing on the doorstep, she turned the collar of her jacket up against the cold breeze and wrapped her arms tightly around herself as she let her gaze roam over the beautiful landscape. James stood near the edge of the lake, stacking logs on top of each other until they reached up to his shoulders. He looked around when Sarah came to stand beside him.
"What's this?" she asked, nodding her head at the stack of logs.
"A target." Sarah frowned, glancing from him to the stack and back. "It's for you to practice on," he explained, bending over and picking up a gun that was lying on the grass next to the logs, the same gun Sarah had used before. She looked down at it and, although a little hesitantly, took it from him when he held it out, then followed him as he strode a few yards away from the target.
First, he explained how the mechanism on the inside worked and showed her how to load. Then he helped her to stand correctly, gently pushing her arms or shoulders into the right position whenever necessary. Once she was standing right he showed her how to aim.
"Alright," he said when he was apparently satisfied with her stance, "now fire."
Sarah swallowed, running her finger nervously over the trigger.
"Breathe," he said.
Sarah breathed in, then exhaled slowly and tried to focus on the middle of the top log. She pulled the trigger, flinching at the bang that followed instantly. James jogged towards the stack, Sarah following a moment later. She had missed, the bullet wasn't anywhere near the logs.
"Keep your eyes open. Don't look away," James said calmly, "you're always going to miss if you don't stay focused."

They practiced a few hours every day the rest of the week. Sarah turned out to be a slow learner; she kept missing or only grazing the logs. She blamed her incompetence on nerves, figuring that her first experience with a gun had traumatised her too much. But, even though this was true to some extent, she couldn't ignore the fact that having James so physically close to her when they were practicing also interfered with her concentration.
Whenever he touched her to adjust her grip or her stance, or leaned in close to check her aim and mutter instructions in her ear, she'd feel a little flutter in her stomach and her mind would wander off. She had hoped that both the nerves and the flutters would get less after a while, once she got used to practicing, but even during the fifth session she was still distracted. Although slow, she was progressing a little. That day she only missed twice, and grazed the log on all other attempts.
"Okay, one more time and then we'll call it a day," James said while he touched the place where the bullet had chipped the wood. Sarah nodded, loading the gun as she backed away from the target once more. When James had caught up with her, she positioned herself, took a deep breath, aimed and fired.
Besides the usual noise of the report she heard the sound of wood cracking. She gave a little cry of surprise and ran after James to see the outcome: the bullet was wedged into the wood, on the side of the log, far from the centre where it was supposed to go, but nevertheless it wasn't a miss and it wasn't just a graze.
"Nice way to finish for today," James said, taking the gun from Sarah, smiling slightly at the look of surprise that was still etched on her face.

After dinner, Sarah sat on the sofa with a cup of tea while James did the dishes, staring at the dancing flames in the fireplace. When he was done cleaning up, James came to sit next to her with the laptop in his hands.
"Are you going to disappear all night again?" Sarah asked, glancing at the laptop. He had taken up his old habit of searching the internet for hours on end, which hadn't bothered her that much before, but now that she had very little to entertain herself with it was becoming increasingly more irksome.
"Uh," he said, apparently surprised, "No? I suppose we can do something together, if that's what you want?"
She nodded, taking the laptop from him, "We still have a lot of films left on the list," she said, selecting a movie and putting the laptop on the coffee table in front of them. James sighed, half amused, half exasperated, and leaned back into the sofa as the opening tune of Disney's One Hundred and One Dalmatians began to play.

Sarah was already lying in bed while James was doing his round of the house. When he finally joined her he said: "I still don't see why you'd think it was important for me to see that movie."
"It's important for your cultural education," Sarah said, sniggering.
"What is the cultural significance of a cartoon about talking dogs?" he asked, turning on his side to look at her.
"It's just one of those films you should have seen at least once," she said, still sniggering, "you're American, Disney is part of your culture whether you like it or not." He gave a small chuckle too, now. "Besides, Cruella De Vil is a classic villain and she deserves to be watched."
"So you like the villain?"
"Every story needs a good villain."
James frowned.
"What do you mean by a 'good villain'?"
"Well, Cruella is mostly just entertaining, but she doesn't have a very good reason for doing what she does. She's just greedy. I suppose that a good villain is someone you can relate to, when it makes sense for them to be evil… you know?"
"But then they wouldn't be a villain."
"Maybe… Maybe there's no such thing as a real villain."
"I don't think so," he retorted, still frowning, "there's not always a good reason behind someone's actions."
"Perhaps not from our point of view…"
"So you're saying everything can be justified?"
Sarah thought for a moment.
"I suppose, but it just depends on your point of view." James' hand suddenly shot up to his left shoulder, his fingers closing convulsively on the place where the metal was welded to his skin. Sarah followed his movements, then gave a little gasp. "I'm so sorry," she said quickly, reaching out to touch his hand, "I just meant that, even though we might think that someone is evil, they might think they have a very good reason for their actions."
"So if they don't have a good reason for it they're a villain?"
"Yeah, I guess…"
James turned his eyes away from her, nodding and grimacing.
"No… no!" Sarah reached for him again, shifting to sit on her knees. "You didn't want to do the things you did…"
"But I did them, and I didn't have a reason."
Sarah turned his face to hers.
"But you didn't want to…" His eyes still turned down, he tried to push her hand away, but she wouldn't let him. "Why can't you see it?" she muttered, "You're not a villain, you never were… Never!" He glanced at her, his expression still cold.
"It's alright," he finally muttered, managing to push her hand away and turning on his other side. Bewildered, Sarah stared at his back, trying to think of something to say, but nothing came to her. Sighing slightly, she laid down on the pillows too and switched off the light.

A sudden, sharp pain in her ribs, as if she'd been hit with a mallet, woke Sarah up in the middle of the night. She sat up with a jolt, wildly searching for the light switch. Bucky lay writhing and wailing beside her, the duvet thrown off of him, gasping for air between each cry. Sarah quickly scrambled to her knees, trying to pin his flailing arms down.
"James!" she muttered, grabbing him by his shoulders. "Wake up!"
He opened his eyes, breathing heavily, his hair sticking in strands to his clammy face.
"Are you okay?" Sarah asked softly, leaning over him to wipe his hair out of his eyes. James only stared at her, his eyes wide and his mouth slightly open. "I'll get you some water," she said, letting go of him. But before she could get up she felt his hands on the sides of her face, pulling her back to him and a split second later his lips were on hers.

For an instant Sarah had no idea what was happening, until her brain caught up with the rest of her and she leaned in closer, closing her eyes and wrapping her arms around his neck. Still kissing her, James straightened up, lowering Sarah into the pillows instead. He broke off after a moment and they looked at each other while he hovered over her. Sarah tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear. Bucky frowned, looking as if he wanted to say something but apparently deciding not to. She still felt his hand on her cheek, his metal hand somewhere on her waist. But then he let go of her, sitting up straight again. Sarah propped herself up on her elbows, looking at him in surprise, just as speechless as she had been a few hours before. He ran a hand through his hair, his eyes on his knees. Then, without saying anything, he lay down with his back turned to her again. Sarah looked at him, utterly puzzled: what the hell had just happened?