I sigh, holstering my knife into my jacket and relaxing my posture.
"Yeah, I imagine we do."
He tilts his head, silently taking it all in.
"Let's go. I know a place near here where we can talk," I say, lifting my bike from the ground. Gasoline leaks all over. This thing is done I guess. I toss it to the side into some trash bins; some vulture will strip it for parts and have a good dinner from it.
I walk to the end of the alley, turning back when I realize I don't hear his steps. He still stands there, stoic, pissed, eyes glued to me, hands now retreated into his jacket pockets.
"Are you going to tell me the truth?" he says, almost in a growl.
I slowly nod in response, biting the inside of my cheek.
With that, he follows behind me. I lead us back to the old brothel. When he realizes where we are, he gives me a look of absolute confusion, eyes wide.
"I'll explain once we're inside." I unlock the back door and head up to the second floor. It's gone back to being an office for the security on site here. The moment I enter, the man in charge, Gram, stands immediately.
"Boss, good to see you."
"Thanks, Gram. Need everyone out, I need this space."
He nods and hastily gathers all his men outside. Once the door shuts behind them, I close all the blinds and flip off my hood, propping myself up on his desk. In front of me is a small sitting area: couch and coffee table.
Bucky is still scanning the room for threats. "It's safe here. You can sit."
He flips off his hood and falls back into the couch, gaze still blazing through me in absolute silence. The only sound is the moans and grunts from the floor below.
After a few minutes of that torturous sound being the only thing we hear, I finally speak, after all, I'm the one who lied.
"Why are you here?" I ask.
He leans forward, the question clearly angering him further. "Why are you?"
"This is where I belong. It's that simple."
"That's bullshit. No one belongs in Madripoor except criminal lowlifes."
"Yeah! That's what I am," I yell.
"No. We were tools, used against our will. Hydra doesn't define us anymore," he replies, slamming his hand on the table, splitting it in two.
I take a deep breath. "We aren't the same. You have good in you, Bucky. I don't. That's why I left our daughter with you, so she could grow up good, moral, normal."
That doesn't seem to quell him at all.
"And by the way, where is our child?!" I demand.
"Oh, now you worry? You take off in the middle of the night, out the window, leaving her to me, and now you worry?" he retorts.
"I did that because it was what was best for her. I left her with you because I thought she'd be safe. Don't tell me I was wrong."
He calms down a little, leaning back into the couch. His tone returns to normal. "No, she's fine. She's with Sam and Sarah."
"Why?"
His eyes widen, and he tilts his head. "Because I had to go get someone, and she's fine with them. Sarah has kids, she knows what she's doing. Probably better than both of us."
With that statement, my anxiety also calms down. We both sit back into the silence, letting it wash over us.
"What happened?" he asks.
I know he only means why I left, but I think it's best I tell him everything. Maybe then he'll see there's no saving me and that Mira truly is better off with him.
So, he sits quietly, listening as I drone on about everything I've done, from how Mira was born in this place, to the work I did, to who I've become: the Crimson Queen, a woman soaked through in blood, probably enough to fill the Red Sea by this point. Maybe him hearing this will make him understand, but it doesn't make my heart hurt any less knowing he will never see me the same.
I don't tell him about the most recent kills with those vials, not meaning to lie, just omitting a little something. I'm not sure what it is yet, and I don't want him turning it over to the government or something.
After I'm done, I pace around the room, letting him soak it all in. His expression is unreadable. I'm not sure what to expect, will he just get up and leave? Maybe arrest me? He's kind of a hero now, so I guess that's his thing.
But the silence gnaws at me for a little too long, like it will eat me alive if it continues.
"Well, say something!" I demand.
He finally looks at me. "What do you want me to say?"
"I don't know, something! Tell me you're disgusted with me, that you hate me. Get angry, break something else. I don't know, just do something!" I scream, frantic, feet jittering.
"I don't think that. I think you do, though," he says in a soothing tone. His eyes are filled with almost sadness, maybe even a little pity.
Why? I am the queen of an empire, a deadly assassin who kills anyone who gets in my way, an indestructible super soldier.
He finally gets up from the couch and comes within a few steps of me, expression unchanged. "I think you painted yourself the villain because you didn't know what else to do. You adapted based on what you knew. You spent what, eighty years awake, killing for Hydra without control. Your ledger is far larger than mine, and you lived through every moment. Mine only feels like faint phantom memories, so I can only imagine what it's like for you."
My fists clench tight, an uneasy feeling rising in my chest, a quiver in my spine. I grit my teeth. I don't need this feeling. "I'm not some scared little girl, Barnes. I'm a goddamn soldier."
"No. You're not. You were a civilian forced to endure a hell far worse than any training could have prepared anyone for."
"I've made a life here, Bucky. I can't just leave my people. Besides, I'm a terrible mother. How could I teach Mira this?"
His expression twists. "You are not a terrible mother. Your exact words just now are proof of that. Just please come back with me to New York. I know it will be hard, but I'll help you through it all. You can go back to being a civilian, or whatever you want to be." He lays a hand on my shoulder.
A vision of a happy home with him and Mira flashes through my mind, the image, the joy, the laughter, a whole life.
But…it isn't me anymore.
I swipe his hand off my shoulder, holding it firm in mine.
"I can't, Bucky. She needs you, not me. Nothing is going to change that."
My heart aches with each word escaping my trembling lips. My face flushes. I strain to hold back tears, tears of the girl long killed by Hydra. Staring into his crystal blues, I see the calm waters I could only describe as home. A place I could rest, be at ease, maybe even happy.
But in this life, that isn't something I deserve.
I reluctantly retract my hand, giving him a false smile, and walk past him to the closed door.
"Vivian," he calls out.
How sweet, to hear my name again, in a delicate, soothing voice, like honey washing over me. In his arms, with that name whispered in my ear… the world could fall away. I could forget everything and go forward. What a lovely thought.
"Thank you for coming. For giving me a chance," I turn back to him, resting my hand on the doorknob.
I meet his gaze, the fight in me melting away just from his presence. For a moment, I think the Winter Soldier is about to shed a tear, maybe he is, but I can't stick around to see it. If I do, my resolve would truly be shredded to nothing.
"Goodbye, James. Take care of our girl. You'll know where to find me now if you ever need anything, and… she's young. Let her forget me. Let her be happy."
I can see him white-knuckling his gloves, the sound of leather straining as if about to tear.
I slip out the door without another word. Outside again, the guards all stand waiting.
"Everything okay, boss?" Gram questions.
"Yes. Let him be alone for a bit. He'll leave in his own time," I say, doing my best to hold back a tornado of emotions erupting like a volcano through me.
I walk off into the cold night of Low Town, knowing this will be the end. With each click of my boot against the cement, I come apart little by little, leaving fragments of myself with every step.
Rain sets in. What good timing.
I lean my head back into its heavy drops, drenching my face. Through the cold rain, no one can see my tears, not even I can feel the warmth dripping after they leave my eyes.