Maggie's POV

Maggie woke to soft strokes gliding across her forehead and cheek. She leaned into the warmth of the large palm, and heard a harsh sucked in breath as the hand stilled before pulling away. She opened her dark eyes.

The room was dimly lit, but she didn't need much light to make out the man seated on the edge of the bed. He had broad shoulders that were well defined in the faded red henley he wore over another darker t-shirt. What she could see of his face was unshaven, but most of it was hidden by long dark strands. She frowned, trying to remember. She looked around, eyes widening as she realized she was on a bed in a strange apartment. "Where..." her voice was a dry croak and unfamiliar to her own ears. It took a moment, but the memory came: two strange men, the alley, the tall blond slamming her against the brick wall...

"It's all right," he said, his hands lightly gripped her shoulders, holding her gently back against the mattress, the lone pillow again beneath her head. "You're safe."

She looked up into blue eyes. He had been at the mouth of the alley. Let. Her. Go. "You," she croaked again. She swallowed, wincing. "It was you."

A small smile curved lips framed by dark bristle. "It was me," he repeated, his hands a gentle pressure urging her to lay back. "You should rest. You...you've been through a lot."

"Those...those men..." she struggled to form words, and he sighed, letting her go and rising from the mattress. She watched him cross the room to the small kitchen, heard water run, and then he was back.

"Here," he offered the glass, and her hands shook as she reached for it. He sat back on the edge of the bed and brushed her hands aside. He held the glass to her lips. "Drink," he ordered. "It will help."

She drank slowly, the water cool as it slid down her throat. He let her sip slowly, never too much at once. She lightly touched his hand where he held the glass, and he immediately pulled back. "Thank you," she said softly, the words coming easier now but only just. "Who are you?"

He paused a moment, a small frown pinching his brows before he answered, "Bucky," blue eyes lifted to meet her dark ones, "I'm...Bucky."

His eyes held her until she felt a small smile curve her lips. "Thank you, Bucky," she said softly, "for everything." Again, she reached out to him, laying her hand on his only to pull back in sudden surprise as she encountered a smooth leather glove on his left hand.

Bucky rose from the edge of the mattress and returned the glass once more to the kitchen. "What's your name?" he asked when his back was to her.

She looked at his broad back and worried her lower lip between her teeth. He'd saved her, hadn't he? "Maggie," she replied, watching his shoulders relax slightly. "I'm Maggie."

Bucky's POV

He leaned back against the wall, arms folded across his chest as he watched her sleep, her dark hair fanned across the pillow of his bed. Fragile, he thought, watching the slow rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. But she wasn't really. She'd stood up to those two in the alley. And now she was here with him.

He pushed off of the wall and paced over to the kitchen. He was a killer. Hadn't he proved that today? He would wait until she woke, was sure she was well and then see her on her way. He heard the rustle of his sheets and glanced over his shoulder to see her tossing and turning.

His steps took him to her, and he sat on the edge of the mattress. He caught her shoulders, lightly pressing her back. "It's ok," he found himself saying, "you're safe." He wasn't sure if it was the soft pressure or his words, but she relaxed, her face turned toward him. He watched the frown leave her dark brows as her lashes fluttered once, twice, before falling still.

He leaned back, unable to take his gaze from her face, the soft curve of her parted lips. He had the irresistible urge to lean down and press his lips to hers. He reached out before pulling his arm back with a soft whirr.

Another man. Another time. He shook his head then frowned down at his gloved hands. Hands that had killed so many. He closed his eyes, and she let out a soft moan. His eyes flew open, but hers were still closed. The frown was back between her brows. He glanced again at his hands. Maybe, just once. He pulled the glove from his right hand, the hand that was still flesh and blood, and reached for her. It shook a little before lightly caressing her cheek. She nuzzled against his fingers, snuggling so he was forced to open his palm and cup her cheek. He sucked in his breath. It had been so long since he'd touched anyone like this. He pulled away as he felt her stir and closed his fingers over his palm. He could still feel her there, soft and trusting.

"Where..." her voice was a rusty croak, tearing him back to her being there. He lightly gripped her shoulders as she tried to rise.

"It's all right," he said, his hands lightly gripped her shoulder, and he fought back a wince at how small, how fragile she felt beneath his touch. "You're safe."

Her dark eyes met his, and he bit back a groan. He could lose himself in those eyes. They widened after a moment. "You," she croaked, "it was you."

His lips twisted into a small smile. "It was me," he repeated, his hands once again urging her gently to lay back. "You should rest. You..." he paused, shaking away the image of what could have happened, "you've been through a lot."

"Those...those men..." He watched her struggle to form words, and, once he assured himself that she wouldn't try again to get up, he let her go. He felt her eyes on him as he rose from the edge of the mattress and crossed the room. Taking a glass from the drain tray, he filled it with water and turned. Her eyes followed him, dipping to the glass in his hand.

"Here," he offered the glass, and when he saw her hand shake as she reached for it, he easily brushed her hand aside. He held it to her lips. "Drink," he urged, his eyes locked on her lips before lifting to her uncertain gaze, "it will help."

He let her sip slowly, never too much too quickly. His eyes took in all of her...the way one seemingly soft dark brown curl draped along her collarbone...the way her throat moved as she drank... Her hand on his snapped him back, feeling the tender brush of flesh on flesh. He pulled his hand back, bringing the glass with him.

"Thank you..." she began softly, "what's your name?"

That was the question, wasn't it? he thought, a small frown pinching his brows before he answered, "Bucky." His blue eyes lifted to meet her dark ones. "I'm...Bucky."

His eyes held her until he saw a small smile curve her lips. "Thank you, Bucky," she said softly, "for everything." Again, she reached out to him, laying her hand on his only to pull back in sudden surprise as she encountered a smooth leather glove on his left hand.

Bucky rose swiftly from the edge of the mattress, turning his back on her as he returned the glass once more to the kitchen. He looked down at the leather glove. For a moment, he'd forgotten he was different. It wasn't her fault she pulled back. She didn't know he was a monster. "What's your name?" he found himself asking.

She paused, and it weighed on him. She shouldn't trust him anyway, he had decided. He opened his mouth to say it didn't matter when she spoke. "Maggie," she replied in the same soft voice, and he felt himself relax. "I'm Maggie."

End Part Two

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