Till the End of the Line

Dawn was almost breaking when Sarah woke from a noise in the bathroom. For a moment she opened her eyes, thinking she could hear the shower running, but then she succumbed to sleep once again. Sarah slept through the alarm that morning, waking at ten-thirty with a sudden jolt. She had an appointment at eleven at the DAR museum, to drop off the quilts she had restored. Still getting dressed as she ran downstairs, she called out to Bucky, who was watching the morning news, that she'd be back around three o'clock, before packing her things and rushing off.

Miraculously, Sarah was only five minutes late. The drop-off took ages, as she had to explain to the DAR museum staff what had been altered, which materials she had used and why, and other such technical nonsense. When she was finally done she rang Olivia, to ask her where she wanted to meet for lunch.
Now that summer was lapsing into autumn, temperatures had dropped significantly. But despite the air being crisp and chilly the sun was casting off pleasantly warm rays that day, so Sarah and Olivia decided to get some take-out coffee and sandwiches and sit by the water at the Constitution Gardens. Sarah had been accustomed to being out of the house most of the time, either for work or to keep up with her social affairs. Ever since she'd let Bucky stay with her, however, she spent a lot more time at home than she normally would. It had also been quite usual for her and Olivia to meet at least twice a week, but since their last meeting almost a week ago they had only texted each other. And as their conversations over text were always very superficial, they had not managed to catch up properly since then.

When they first met, during the opening of the first exhibition Sarah had worked on in America, Olivia had just started as an intern at the Smithsonian. Even though the institution in itself was so diverse and exciting, Olivia had the most mind-numbingly boring job imaginable (at least, in Sarah's opinion). Sarah often forgot Olivia's exact title, or the specific functions it entailed; all she knew was that Olivia had a BA in business administration and that she wanted to run her own museum someday. Now that the last few weeks of her internship drew near, Olivia was starting to get more and more anxious, as she still didn't know whether they would make her a permanent employee when her time was up, or let her go.
As she came from a rather old --and rather wealthy-- family, Olivia didn't actually need the job, or the money: when she turned twenty-one her trust fund opened up to her, and with it came a beautiful three-bedroom townhouse that had belonged to her great-uncle. But despite the fact that, financially, she was basically set for life, she loved working and she loved the Smithsonian, and she wanted a proper career, earned the proper way. Sarah had always found Liv's ambition really admirable, even though she sometimes envied her financial situation.
They discussed the subject for some time, the conversation consisting mostly of Olivia stressing out and Sarah reassuring and encouraging, until the issue had been sufficiently exhausted and they both fell silent for a moment. Sarah fidgeted with the lid of her empty coffee cup and watched the people passing by, feeling quite calm. Then Olivia broke the silence.
"So, how are you? How are things with James?"
For a second Sarah had no idea who she meant by James, but then she remembered.
"Oh, I'm good. Keeping busy…" she began, tugging absent-mindedly at a clump of grass. During their chatting she had almost forgotten her frustration about Bucky's quiet, secretive behaviour of the past few days. She wished she could talk about it, vent her feelings to someone, but she couldn't do that without revealing everything. For a second she considered the relief of sharing what was on her mind, but the consequences of her doing so were just too risky.
"And things with James are going pretty well, thanks…"
She managed to revert back to their previous topic for a while, then said a hasty goodbye before going back home.

When she returned to the apartment, the first thing she noticed was that Bucky was not in any of his usual spots. Normally he would either be sitting on the couch watching the news, or at the kitchen table with Sarah's laptop. But now both the kitchen and the living room were empty. Sarah put her bag on the kitchen table and looked around, a hollow sensation spreading from her stomach. Before she started to panic, however, she noticed the door to the study standing slightly ajar. When she pushed it open and the room came into view she saw Bucky sitting at the desk with her laptop, his back turned to her. Sarah lingered on the threshold.
"Hey…" she said quietly, at which Bucky swivelled the chair around to face her.
"Hey," he replied.
Her eyes travelling from him to the laptop and back, she suppressed the urge to ask him why he was hiding in the study. She was sure he wouldn't give her a truthful answer if she did.
"I'm back," she muttered, gingerly fidgeting with her keys.
Bucky gave a little chuckle, "Yes, I can see that."
Sarah didn't know why she was behaving so awkwardly. The hollow feeling in her stomach had turned into a nervous flutter as soon as she had laid eyes on Bucky, and she couldn't get the memory of their brief moment of intimacy of the night before out of her head when she looked at him. Before she could do or say anything that would embarrass her even more, Bucky told her he'd be joining her as soon as he finished the article he was reading.
"Alright," she murmured, hesitating a second before pulling the door shut.
Even though she had practically slept in that morning, Sarah was exhausted when it was time to start making dinner. She didn't feel like cooking, so instead she ordered a pizza, which she and Bucky ate on the couch while they watched Some Like It Hot.
"You know, she performed for the US marines in Korea a few years before this was filmed," Sarah said, indicating Marilyn Monroe, "kind of like Captain Rogers did, right?"
Bucky shrugged, "I never saw him when he was on tour, he quit when he came to rescue me and the men."
"Bet you would like to have seen it, though: Steve prancing around on stage… I know I would've liked to see that," she said grinning. Bucky snorted, shook his head and took another slice of pizza from the box that lay between them. When it was empty, Sarah placed the box on the floor, and stretched out her legs to rest her feet on the coffee table. As she leaned back into the pillows she shot a sideways glance at Bucky. He still seemed a little troubled, although he no longer looked as tense as he had done before. When she fixed her gaze on the TV screen again she could feel her eyelids drooping. She tried to stay focused on the movie, but the pillows were just too comfortable and warm, and she started slipping away.



He was paying very little attention to the television screen, his mind was occupied with other, more pressing matters. He had managed to stop himself from compulsively drumming his foot on the carpet; the food, and the company, had certainly helped him relax a little.
Suddenly he felt something pressing on his right arm. He looked down to see Sarah asleep and slumped towards him, her head leaning against his shoulder. He turned towards her, shifting a little so that she slipped further down his side until her head was resting on the seat he had just vacated. For a moment he deliberated, but then he made up his mind. Quietly, carefully, he lifted her from the couch. She hardly weighed anything. He paused for a second when she groaned softly in her sleep, then continued to carry her upstairs to her bedroom.
He sat on the edge of the bed, drawing the blankets over her while she gave another small groan, frowning a little from under her mane of dark hair. He knew that frown; knew it meant that she was worried, and he knew he was responsible for it, whenever it appeared. But he didn't want her to worry, especially when she was sleeping. He leaned forward a bit, stretching out his right hand, hesitated, then ran his thumb gently over her forehead to smooth the frown away.

The third man seemed to have come out of nowhere, launching himself on his back. Still struggling to push the second man off of him, he could feel the newcomer's gloved hands closing around his neck. With some effort he managed to deal a blow to the second man's head, causing him to collapse into a motionless heap. Then, reaching round with his metal arm, he pulled the third man off his shoulders, swinging him over his head and throwing him on the ground. While the other two were still out cold, he grabbed the third man by the front of his shirt and pulled him up a few inches, their heads so close together he could see every pockmark and each drop of sweat on the man's face. They glared at each other. Tightening his grip, he said, through gritted teeth: "Where are the others?"
The man snorted disdainfully, "We might have dropped in numbers, but there's still more of us than you can take."
He rammed the man's head on the pavement, then pulled him back up by his throat.
"Answer me!" he growled. But the man simply sneered back at him.
"You think we don't know what you're trying to do? Think you can keep running from us? Well, you tried, but we've got you now," the man snorted, and, still grinning, continued: "hope you enjoyed the pizza… You won't get that kind of luxury when you're back with us."
His eyes widened in horror, and for a moment he almost lost his grip on the man. Clenching his jaw, he bashed the man's head with his own, knocking him unconscious.
He had to get back to the apartment, to Sarah, as fast as possible: he'd promised to protect her if she got into trouble, and trouble had finally found them.