pennysheets | For Sabetha

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For Sabetha

It's been five days since he missed their rendezvous, vanished from all their usual haunts. Even with her connections and skills, it took that long for her to find this little sliver of HYDRA and find its root. The building Sabetha traced them to looks abandoned from the outside, an old hospital in a rural part of Russia, now overgrown with weeds. But the lock on the gate is new, and she'll note subtle security cameras. Not beyond her skill, though, particularly if she takes the time to note when guards arrive-- out of a dirt track in the back, not the main road-- and takes out one with the right size to steal her uniform.

She can sneak inside to the modern lab below ground, and she can slit the throat of the guard outside the white-tiled cell, and she can put said guard's eye to the scanner to open the cell, but inside she'll find not her twitchy but implacable companion in murder and thievery, but a blank-faced weapon that lunges for her as soon as she pokes her head in the door.

It's been over twelve hours since they last refreshed his programming, but it still rattles around in his skull. They don't have a Chair here, but they do know the Words, and it's only a matter of time before they reassemble a Chair to complete he recalibration. To make him truly mission-ready.

Something inside, deep inside, where the Words can't touch, doesn't want that. But he can't help but feel his body grab for the intruder, knowing his duty here, knowing he can only go with his new handler. She'll have to be quick on her feet to avoid him, but it's not impossible: they also haven't fed him in those five days, in the hopes of keeping him easier to handle if the brainwashing fails, and he's not nearly as fast or as strong as he ought to be.

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He stirs once during the drive, but only fitfully, and then sinks back down after only a bleary look around. When the car stops, he twitches fully awake at last. And actually finally realizes he fell asleep, and left Sabetha to drive alone for hours. Nevermind that he obviously badly needed it.

"Are we. Did I. Ugh." He knuckles his eyes and smothers a yawn, looking a lot more human than usual in the motion. "Sorry. We're there? I can. I can do the perimeter check." Now that he's awake, he doesn't think he could settle if he didn't do it himself, and also, it can make up a little bit for konking out on her.

"Oh, good. I was starting to wonder how I'd get you inside," she says, tone only slightly tart. She gives him a searching look, then nods. "I'll put some food on."

She glances towards the horizon, silvered faintly with the promise of light - this time, from sunrise and not from flame. "Breakfast, I suppose."

He doesn't exactly squirm under her look, but his gaze does slide away from hers, like it does when he's uncomfortable being looked at. He's gotten better at that since she's met him, but sometimes it's still a bit much. Which means he definitely spots the lightening sky.

"Breakfast it is. I'll help when I finish the sweep." Because she deserves to rest, after breaking him out, fighting with him, and then putting up with a long drive to get here.

He considers touching her, but in the end, just levers himself out of the car and starts prowling around the building. Cabin or suburban house or apartment building. He feels better than he did before the snack and sleep, which isn't saying much, but it says enough.

It's a cabin - a relatively remote one, though it stands in a wide enough clearing that there's no chance for anyone to drop directly from the trees onto the single-story building. The drive is narrow, more right-of-way access than a real road. It isn't Sabetha's ideal - she's a city creature at heart, made for bustling spaces and ample access to people - but it's the sort of place where it would be easy to go to ground for a while.

And it's a place she's clearly had for a while, though she's never had occasion to bring him here - never, perhaps, worked a job messy enough that it was necessary. There are layers of sensors as he prowls the perimeter, melding almost seamlessly with the territory.

Inside, Sabetha does a quick sweep of her own before she busies herself with the business of preparing a meal. She tackles both tasks with equal seriousness.

It's not really his preference, either. A city is familiar. A city has background noise and light even in the middle of the night and cars to jack and multiple escape routes that aren't into wilderness. The past life he only remembers in shreds at a time was in a city, he thinks.

But if he must be in the wilderness, this isn't bad. There's space around the house. There's a sophisticated security system. There's sightlines. Knowing Sabetha, there's probably a second car a mile away out the back door. He can stay here without freaking out too much, he thinks.

Especially if they can come up with a compelling distraction.

He prowls through the front door about ten minutes later and does a second sweep of the inside. Just to make sure. He knows she's already done a sweep, she's thorough like that, but unless he does one too, he'll never settle. At least he's too tired to make the paranoid, exhaustive search he's done on occasion before, checking behind shelves and inside furniture. This is just windows, vents, and doors, before he comes up beside her in the kitchen, to see what she can put him to use doing.

There's sausage already sizzling in the frying pan, and the faint scent of some sort of biscuit baking in the oven. Sabetha is busy chopping vegetables for omlets, though she pauses to set the knife down when he comes up beside her, turning and rising up on the balls of her feet to give him a quick kiss on the cheek, as though in assurance that she hadn't had second thoughts while he'd been dead to the world.

"Finish up with these?" she suggests, sliding the cutting board over in front of him.

The kiss surprises him into a little smile, and he lifts one hand as if to brush her cheek, hesitates, then completes the motion after she turns away to collect the cutting board, touching her hair instead. It turns into a slow stroke to the back of her neck, and he leaves it there for a second before turning to the vegetables.

"Yes ma'am," he says, still smiling just a little.

He makes short work of the vegetables (maybe steals a bite of one in the process), then takes the initiative to hunt down dishes and silverware and checking for something to drink. Water bottles are all well and good, but maybe there's tea... coffee is not a great idea, he thinks, when they're both exhausted.

She makes a small, pleased sound at the brush of his fingers along her neck, and her answering smile holds a hint of mischief, a hint of promise.

But only a hint - the first and most important order of business is still keeping body and soul together, and she leaves him to the vegetables and sets another pan warming before pulling out butter, jam, cream for the table.

There is tea in the cupboard, and while coffee is more prominent - no surprise, given the hours they both tend to keep - what's there is loose leaf, a pleasant indulgence, warming against the chill in the the shadow of forest and mountain.

That's a very nice smile, and he files that memory away to keep.

Bucky is in fact very fond of coffee, for all it doesn't do much for him, and usually? Tea is considered for old women, mostly jokingly. Today it seems appropriate. He sets about preparing that for them while she finishes up the meal, deftly moving around her and occasionally passing her things she needs as necessary, without her having to ask.

This particular dance is familiar. They've shared meals many times, often take-out but just as often cooked in at whatever place either of them has rented for the job they're on. Half of what he knows about cooking he's learned from watching her. It's a pleasant thing to learn, even if he's sure he'll never be very good at it and mostly lets her handle it unless she's too injured or busy or just gives him that look that says he'd better not expect coddling out of her that day.

Maybe later he'll try to come up with something for her. That might not be enough to make up for rescuing him, but it'll be a start.

She hums quietly as she cooks, as they fall into a familiar rhythm. Never quite a whole song, just pieces here and there, absent snatches of music.

It's not too long before the last timer's gone off, and she has the food laid out on the simple wooden dining table. There is, at a glance, more of it than one might expect for only two people. Taking into account a super-soldier's metabolism, it is perhaps more accurate to say there's just enough.

It settles him, the familiarity. The music. The smell of food. He feels more like Bucky every moment.

And this time when he sits down, setting her tea in front of her place, he brushes her hand and runs his fingers along the back of it. Flesh ones, because metal is probably not as nice, and he definitely can't feel it as well.

Then he tucks in. And he will, as she probably guessed, demolish everything she intended for him. Single-mindedly, once he gets started, because he feels hollow now that he's made aware of it, and in a safe enough place to consider it.

She is, unsurprisingly, done well ahead of him, and rather than sit and stare at him, she sets about clearing the serving dishes that have already been emptied and tidying the kitchen area. Always in sight, always within easy reach - occupied, but not absent or inattentive.

She's not a fighter first. She never will be. But she's a damn good shot, and while there's next to no chance that they were followed, and even less that anyone would be able to breach the perimeter without them having solid warning, she's there to watch his back.

He pays attention to her, in a distracted fashion, listening to her footsteps and her dishes in the sink. And he finally settles back with his mug in hand to look over his shoulder at her.

Then he holds out his free hand in her direction, again, much the same as inside the HYDRA compound, as if he's searching for something to touch. "Sabetha."

There is something in the gesture that strikes her as just a little lost, and that's enough to overrule the annoyance she might otherwise feel at being beckoned. And so she abandons her task for the moment, and circles the counter to slide one hand into his, fingers lightly stroking his wrist before they settle into his palm.

Her other hand lifts to brush his hair back; it is not the first time she's had the temptation, but unlike the occasional late night spent poring over plans for long enough to make her begin feeling fanciful, this time, she doesn't feel the need to restrain herself.

"Feeling better?" she asks quietly.

He's still feeling out how this works, honestly, trying the things he's tried before and seeing if they still land. More bold experimenting can happen they're both not liable to fall asleep in the middle of it. So when she puts her hand in his, he brings it to his mouth again for a little kiss, because they went over well the last time he tried it.

And the hand through his hair is... nice. He's going to have to try that on her, too, maybe it's not just a him-thing.

"Yes. Thank you," he answers. Then, "You got me out. That had to be. Hard. I think the dishes can wait until you've got the chance to rest, too."

A small smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. "My father's ghost will haunt me for the rest of my life for allowing it, but you may be right," she admits.

It had been hard, and she's running close to the end of her reserves, with no more rage and worry to drive her forward.

She runs her fingers through his hair again, then traces the curve of his ear and down along the slope of his neck. "But we should both get cleaned up before we're dead to the world for a solid day, hmm?"

That touch should be threatening, so close to his throat. It isn't. It kind of makes him want to tug her down across his lap, instead of push her away. He doesn't, because manhandling Sabetha is not a thing he's going to do. Not without express permission, anyway.

But he does give her a slow blink and a tilt into her touch. "We should," he agrees solemnly, twining his fingers into hers. "There a decent bath in this place?"

Her smile broadens as he leans into her touch, taking on a slightly playful edge. The slow trail of her fingers continues down to his collarbone, then dips to follow that down to the collar of his shirt.

"I won't say I took this place for the bath," she says. "But it was definitely an incentive."

She tugs lightly at their joined hands, more invitation than demand.

That sounds intriguing. And also like a thing he really wants to test out. Maybe with Sabetha? He doesn't think he's ever done that before, unlike kissing, but mostly because... the bathtub had never been big enough? Hmm.

Getting out of his dirty clothes and getting really warm for the first time since HYDRA got their tentacles into him again comes in at high levels of want, too.

So he eases up to his feet at her urging. "How about we take a look," he suggests.

"Yes," she says, fingers lingering at his collar for a moment before her hand drops away so she can turn and lead him to the bathroom. "Let's."

It isn't far to go - the cabin is roomy enough to not feel claustrophobic even if they spend a week or so lying low, but not enormous. The main bath is shared between the two rooms she's designated as bedrooms, and there is, as promised, an excellent bathtub, sunk into the floor and easily large enough for two if they're not shy. Certainly large enough to soak out the aches of a rough mission, which had been more the point when she'd acquired the place.

Sometimes, it's the simple pleasures that are the most important.

That is in fact one of the better baths he's ever seen. There's a moment where he actually considers chasing Sabetha out just so he can properly enjoy a long soak. And then he'd probably fall asleep again.

It's brief, though. Because he also kind of doesn't want to let Sabetha out of his sight.

So he turns to her, and asks, "Stay with me?"

"I'll stay," she says, and perhaps she dislikes the idea of letting him out of her sight for too long just as much.

"If you ask nicely, I'll even wash your hair for you."

"I will ask very nicely," he promises, voice going to the particular polite deadpan that it usually does when he's actually making a joke. Then he brings both hands up to her face, telegraphing the motion clearly so neither of them can be surprised, and steps up to kiss her forehead, first. He adds, still deadpan, "Because. My hair really needs a wash."

She laughs, low and warm, and lifts both of her hands to cover his. "Impossible man," she says, more than a little fond. "Go on."

"Yes, ma'am." He brushes her cheeks with his thumbs, one warm and soft and one just a little cooler than room temperature and smooth, then slips away to start the water. Then he sits on the toilet lid to start wrestling off his boots. The thought comes to him, without much context, that it is decidedly unsexy to fuss with boot laces.

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