‹ Prequel: Monster
Sequel: From Darkness

Hell Bound

Twenty-Five

Later, I was lying on Bucky’s chest in bed. We hadn’t spoken for a while. I lay there and listened to the sound of his heart beating until it returned to a normal pace. Then we stayed, only occasionally moving to run our fingers over each other’s skin. I wasn’t sure how long it would be before Graham returned, but I wanted to take advantage of every second we had alone.

“Buck?” I asked after a long time.

“Mm?” he replied, running his fingers down my spine.

“How did you know there was something more going on?” I lifted my head so I could look down at him. His brown hair was even messier than before, my fault, but his blue eyes were bright and lazy. He moved his hand to my face, gently dragging his knuckles across my cheek and into my equally tangled hair.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“Everyone seems to think they just want to use me against you. Everyone but you.”

“If I’d stayed with them, I never would have remembered you. But they had no use for me anymore. Except to bring you in. To hurt you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“They were going to execute me. They kept me alive for you. When they sent me after you, they didn’t tell me what they needed you for. Just that you were important. They called you a vessel. I knew it was likely going to be my last mission. They told me not to let you speak, and if you did, not to listen. They said you’d try to manipulate me. You had powerful connections. I didn’t question it.”

“But something got through to you.”

“I—attacked you—because I wanted to keep you from speaking. Stark blocked you, and something happened. Familiarity. I don’t know. Something didn’t feel right. You talked to me like you knew me.” He shook his head. “I think I always started to remember. I was becoming more reckless. Harder to control. I was no longer useful to them. Unless I could bring you in. And when you recognized me, I realized they were using me to hurt you. Which meant I had to be important to you.”

“And you left?”

“I never went back.”

“You started asking questions.” He nodded.

“I wanted to know what our connection was. Things became clearer the longer I spent away from them. I didn’t know anything for certain until I came back here. Everything about this place feels familiar. And then I saw you, and I knew you were important to me too.” I rested my head on his chest again and traced my fingers over his skin as he spoke. His arms wrapped around me, and I felt safe and content. “There are so many holes in your past. So many missing pieces. Lost memories. I don’t know which are real.”

“What makes you think they still want me? Even if they can’t use us against each other.”

“Because of the scientist who jumped off a bridge. There are too many similarities between the two of you. So many connections. They were after her because she took something from them. They needed her alive. She had no connection to me. It was beyond me. I can’t get enough information about her to figure it out. Her past—is as difficult to access as yours. Only worse, because she doesn’t have military records.”

“What’s your theory?”

“I think you were connected to her in some way. She left something behind. Something only you can access. If Russell was her husband, then it’s likely he was the one tampering with your records to throw them off your trail. He recruited you. And if what you’re saying is true, that you killed them, and he shot you? Then he might know exactly what they want you for. He’s been keeping them off your trail. Until I turned a spotlight on you.”

“They had me, though,” I reminded him. “I worked for SHIELD.”

“They either didn’t know they had what they were looking for—or they didn’t need you yet.”

“What kind of similarities do I share with her?” I asked. He moved his hand back down my spine, trailing his fingers up and down several times before answering.

“It took me a long time to come up with—what I believe—might have been her real name. Beata Weisberg. I think you know why that’s significant,” he explained.

“Say it.”

“Weisberg is your mother’s maiden name.”

“Is that it?”

“She died the day before you were born. August twelfth. Nineteen-eighty-five. In Cleveland.”

I pulled away from him and sat on the edge of the bed. The mattress shifted. He moved to my side and rested his head on the pillow beside me. He touched my back with the back of his knuckles and pressed his lips against my bare thigh. Not quite kissing me, but comfortable and intimate enough so that he might as well have been.

“I know what you’re thinking,” I said.

“It’s not for me to speculate,” he decided.

“That doesn’t mean you aren’t.”

I took a deep breath and let it go. Then I stood up and turned around to face him. I still wasn’t wearing any clothes, but I really didn’t care. For probably the first time in my life, I felt comfortable like this. I’d been with people a lot longer than I’d even known him, and I’d never felt this comfortable. But I’d also never opened up to anyone the way I had to him. I’d bared my entire soul to Bucky without even realizing I’d done it.

And to be fair, he was as naked as I was.

“I’m hungry. Are you hungry?” I asked. He leaned against his hand and looked slightly irritated again.

“Not really,” he replied. The flat tone reappeared. I turned around to find my clothes.

“I need—coffee.”

“Johanna.”

“Maybe some waffles.”

“Jo.”

“I think there’s still a can of whipped cream in the fridge. I’ll have to check.” I yanked on my sweatpants and reached for my shirt. I was halfway to the door when he spoke again.

“You can’t avoid it forever, you know?”

“I just need some time to process, alright?” I decided. Then I stepped out into the hall and pulled the shirt on over my head.