Bound Within My Heart

Voodoosgirl

Summary: Canon Divergent: A year has passed since Bucky came out of cryostasis in Wakanda. The trigger words are neutralized thanks to Mother, the Black Widow operative that planted them nearly seventy years earlier. His self-imposed mission of atonement stumbles forward wrapped in a host of PTSD symptoms, a seizure disorder compliments of Hydra's mind wipes and a Voice in his head that he has come to tolerate, for the most part.
Steve and Bucky have moved from friends to lovers but the relationship faces mounting pressure from medication side effects, Bucky's insecurities, disagreements about missions and ill-timed late-night calls from Tony Stark. Bucky finally breaks and heads to Russia on a quest for redemption that brings him face-to-face with a powerful oligarch and his own violent past.

Notes: Hello Dear Readers!
This story picks up where "Sometimes Darkness Will Show You the Light" left off. I plan on weaving in backstory so this can be read as a stand-alone. I work hard to post on a regular schedule. Feedback and constructive critiques are most welcome! Thank you! 3

THE CALL

"You used to have balls Soldier." The hissed comment tickled his eardrum.

"I got balls, pal. Don't you worry about that." Bucky mumbled the words against the lip of a bottle, "I got all kind of balls." The tilt of his head back, followed by his raised hand, let the cold liquid flow into his mouth. The smooth creaminess washed across his tongue, caressed his throat and sent a flush of warmth to his skin.

The yellow-hued dimness of a dingy safe-house crept across his memory; broken bones, blood and sweat, pain that shook even his enhanced body. Angry Russian words from faceless men forcing the harsh taste of cheap vodka across his lips as rough hands pressed down on his body.

He swigged down another deep gulp.

"Really? In case you haven't noticed, said balls are literally frozen to the hood of a pickup truck, Stolichnaya vodka tucked between your legs instead of Steven Grant Rogers, and you're contemplating throwing your inebriated ass at the feet of Iron Man. Those balls are shriveling by the second."

Bucky shook his head. It helped clear the snow from his hair but didn't do much to dislodge his tormenting internal monologue. It never did. A muttered response "Shoulda done this in Siberia, way overdue," went ignored by his inner companion. He brushed soaked hair from his face and raised the night vision goggles to study the sprawling complex below his vantage point on the side of an old access road. The left to right then back again scans lingered at one spot, a visual speed bump on the path of his self-imposed quest for atonement. The giant A on the side of the building was apparent to his eye despite the fog of two quarts of vodka and a cascade of falling snow.

"Look at you, the pathetic embodiment of existential angst aspiring to a noble yet futile self-inflicted punishment while wallowing in a heaping pile of paranoia. A far cry from our glory days raining down unapologetic chaos without a free-will induced thought crossing your mind. Mother would be digging in her trunk for her favorite stun prod. You remember her, right? That saint of a woman who helped create the Soldier nurtured your glorious career, protected you from that red-faced rival, Alexei Shostokov from the Red Room all those years. She's the one you dumped in that wasteland prison a few months ago. You ungrateful cur."

"Correction. Not Mother." He tapped the bottle to his temple. "Gieta Sokolov. Black Widow extraordinaire, mistress of the Red Room, master of psychological conditioning, the creator and the destroyer of the words in my head." A raised bottle salute towards the Northern sky, his slurred speech dampened by the falling snow, "May you rot in that puke green cell for whatever years you have left. Not a lot since you're an old vulture of what 90 years? Good, hope you live to 120 stuck in that shit-hole where I left you." A head tilted back let the final drops of vodka slide down his throat. He lobbed the bottle to land silently in the nearby woods.

"Agent Sokolov didn't un-trigger your brain so you could addle it with cheap alcohol and freeze to death five miles from that quaint house the Captain retrofitted as a Nomad lair. If you die out here, Wilson's going to take your bed, your Captain America sleepwear, the stash of Thin Mints, and all your guns. Knives too. Greedy bastard."

Bucky squeezed his eyes shut against winter's bite of wind that tore across the hilltop, pulling the tears that come from the cold, he tugged his hood onto his head. The numbing wash of alcohol dulled the frigid temperatures tamped down his hearing and pulled his vision into a darkened blur of mist and shadows. It did nothing to quiet the Voice in his head.

His reconnaissance of the New Avengers Facility had devolved into an exercise in self-loathing fueled by guilt, comforted by the cold and drowning in enough alcohol to put Wilson under the table for a week. A fact that brought on a perverse sense of pride. He replayed the events from three nights previous that lead to his frozen midnight vigil:

—

"There, right there." Bucky's graveled rasp urged Steve onward, rough-skinned hands maneuvered his willing body to gain deeper penetration. Metal fingertips left a fleeting scar of disrupted flesh down Steve's back; it dragged out a low hiss of pain. The slap of flesh colliding, mingling breaths and moans, the rhythmic complaint of the bed with their ever-quickening movements filled his mind and pushed aside the Voice's relentless commentary, a few moments of reprieve. They were very nearly at their climax when the phone rang and kept ringing. And ringing.
Bucky's groan reverberated against Steve's neck, "For fuck's sake, it's 3 AM. Who the hell is calling you at 3 AM."
Steve tried to keep going but the moment was lost as Bucky squirmed to free himself from beneath him, he rolled towards the phone, "Us. Someone is calling us. We all live here, remember, you, me, Natasha and Sam."

"One big happy family." Bucky threw a hand in the air, "I'm not taking any calls, thanks since I'm still wanted in a hundred and seventeen countries." The anxiety that bubbled under his every waking and not-waking minute urged him into his clothes. The ever-present Beretta tucked in the back of his jeans; he settled on the floor, knees drawn up, fake-ignoring Steve's side of the conversation which started with, "Tony," and ended exactly nine minutes later with an emphatic "Stark." He was unable to get another word in between.

Their silence hung for seconds longer than it should have.

Steve turned on the lamp by the bed, and started, "That was Stark."

"No shit."

"Right. He got the Hydra data from the Boston mission. The data you retrieved. He wants to talk."

"At 3 AM? He calls you to talk about a data dump we did three months ago. I thought he was a genius. It took him three months to figure it out?"

"He wants to meet." Steve didn't miss the subtle tension that grew across Bucky's shoulders, "With me. To talk."

"And you're gonna go? After all this time, and what happened, the Accords are still in place. He could just as easily take you in."

"He's not going to take me in." Steve pulled on his jeans and crossed to kneel in front of Bucky, he brushed his hair back from his face, "We dumped those files into his servers remember, we trusted him to do the right thing, and he has. There are good leads there he wants to talk about it."

"Give me a break." Bucky ducked his head from Steve's hand, "Three months is a lifetime in my world. What was left of Hydra went underground, anything worth following should've been dealt with days maybe a week after we dumped it. Not three months. No. You can't go. I don't trust him."

Steve wrapped his hands around Bucky's bare feet, "I do." He studied the worried look then added, "I'm not saying a word about you if that's what this is about."

"No. Not about me." He let his head fall back against the wall. "Where and when? I'll track you. Got your back. I won't let him take you. I promise I'll kill him if he touches you."

"No killing. You swore an oath remember, besides I can take care of myself."

"Bullshit. It's my job to watch your back. Where?"

"At the Avengers Facility," Steve ran his hands up Bucky's calves to rest on both knees, "Tomorrow morning."

"New York City? Tomorrow? We'll need Fury's chopper."

A long deep breath helped Steve steady his hands as he slid them onto Bucky's chest, searching for the heartbeat that thrilled beneath his fingertips. He braced for the response, "Ah, no. Not the city. It's in Upstate New York. About fifteen minutes from here. Stark lives right down the road."

"There are only three good reasons for him to call at 3 AM, somebody died, somebody needs to die, and phone sex. Maybe four reasons; clandestine planning to give you up to your arch enemy but that violates your anxiety-driven OCD rule of only numbers divisible by three, so we'll forget that last one for now. It does need to be said again, why the hell didn't the good Captain tell you that Stark lived so close you might have haggled with him over the arugula at the local mini-mart?"

"Not Captain," Bucky mumbled and flopped back on the hood, blinking against the falling snow, arms spread wide, chewing on the inside of his lip. He launched into a fair imitation of Steve's tone and cadence, yet laced with an undercurrent of sarcasm, "You were so vulnerable, Buck, unstable, you ran when Sharon and Fury contacted us, that old Widow handler from your past kidnapped you, tortured you. Pal, you fucking tried to kill yourself. I wasn't gonna tell you that Stark's complex was five miles away. Not until you were better. I'm sorry, but I did what I thought was best to protect you."

The groan that followed was as much a comment on Steve's excuse as it was for the effort to sit up. The slide from the hood fell into a stumble, he caught himself on the fender and steadied the spin in his head. "Fuck, let's get this over with, hiding behind Steve all this time, thinking I could avoid paying the price for the shit I did." He dropped his head to the cool of the windshield, "Stark deserves this for what I did to him. I deserve this. What an idiot, thinking Steve and I could, you know, be together. Acting like nothing happened." He rolled his head to cool the other cheek on the glass. "You're right; I hate it when you're right, no balls. Gonna do it. Give myself up. Let Stark have what he wants." He held onto the truck as he tripped his way towards the driver's door.

"Soldat, You're a free man now, free will, free samples, free to be...you and me. All those decisions now on you alone, so much responsibility. The smorgasbord of life, making choices, living with the consequences of ignoring the sage advice of SGR, abhorring the scolding looks of the Good Widow, mocking Sam-the-Other-Boyfriend-Wilson`s cruel yet insightful commentary.
You. Are. A. Free. Man. Or child as the case may be argued.
Remember last week, your snarking insistence on trying an all-you-can-eat buffet while scoffing at their advice. Who knew nine trips to the shrimp boat coupled with six bowls of mac and cheese and 12 jalapeño poppers would end in super-serum puking? Points for keeping it all divisible by three, at least your OCD numbers fetish remains intact. A perfect example of free-choice without heeding good counsel. I particularly enjoyed Romanova holding your hair off your face in the men's room while protective Steve Rogers stood guard. Glory days indeed."

The firm tap of his forehead to the door didn't' help him fathom what the Voice was getting at or dislodge its manic advice.

"Short answer: Bad idea to face Stark now. You're drunk. Bad form."

Bucky nodded as he climbed into the front seat, the fumbled search for the keys ended with them on the floor. "Too late, I'm doing this, and I'm not gonna take advice from a damn auditory hallucination." A sprawl across the seat, he pawed the floor in the darkness.

"Or this is all about your dick. You can't get it up so, therefore, distract Steve with this piss-poor plan of surrendering to Stark."

"I am not discussing my sex life with the imaginary Voice in my head. Sorry." His fingers snagged the keys.

"So I'm right. You're being avoidant."

"Of you, yes. Of Steve, no." The engine whined its protested start.

"We haven't tried all the Ben & Jerry's flavors yet."

"We?" He mumbled, "There is no we but me and Steve."

Bucky sped towards the main entrance to Tony Stark's New Avengers Facility. The truck's rear end slipped and slid on the ice-covered roads, bouncing against the snowbanks as he headed for the fate he believed was inevitable. The headlights danced their jigging reflection off the narrowed roadway as he jerked the wheel to compensate for every slipping loss of traction. Wet streaks of sleet streamed sideways off the windshield, pushed by the clicking, rhythmic motion of the wiper blades. His thoughts fell under the mesmerizing spell of alcohol, snow, and darkness.

"Then think of Steve. You'll never see him again. Never feel his gorgeous firm body lying on top of you, he'll never use the handcuffs; remember how hot that was even if he fake locked them just to be respectful of your PTSD. You won't ever hear him groan your name when he comes, never feel him inside of you again…"

"Enough!" The sudden motion of slammed on brakes, lurched the truck sideways to spin a full circle and a half when the tires refused to grip the snow-packed roadway. It pinballed back and forth, bouncing off the remnants of plowed snow, slamming through a line of mailboxes to finally come to rest perched on a snowbank yards from the facility's front gates.

Bucky gripped the steering wheel, heart pounding into his temples, he sucked in a halting breath and pressed his forehead to his hands. "Nothing's gonna shut you up is it? Not getting drunk, not sleeping, not meds, not sex, nothing." His metal fist closed and shot towards the dash, only to stop a hair from connecting. A shiver tore through him, he reached into the glove compartment and dragged out the Beretta. The cold metal clung to his flesh hand; his finger caressed the trigger for a heartbeat, so familiar, comforting; he tossed the gun to the floor. His whispered, eyes closed begging request, "Please stop torturing me. Please let me go'" was futile. He let his head fall back against the headrest, "Never thought I'd miss Hydra; miss having my brain fried into nothingness but it was the only thing that shut you up."

"Hydra's dead and gone. Thanks to your self-righteous mess in Boston that masqueraded as a pathetic first step at redemption, the one true family you've had for seventy years are scattered to the wind. Let's face it Wilson called it. The Barnes Redemptive Mission Debacle. You still owe Fury one hundred and fifty-five million dollars for the damages to the historic underground trolley system there."

Bucky swallowed hard as he raised his head. Even as his own thoughts rose and faded they were inextricably wrapped around the Voice's monologue. Like some parasitic invading species that burrowed into his brain to curl its insidious tendrils around each delicate nerve. The Voice wouldn't go away. No hope for ever extricating himself. He pushed it aside and did what he felt was the next right thing. He slid down the snowbank and stumbled up to the gates of the New Avengers Facility. The surveillance camera spun its lens towards his approach, he hesitated, then pressed a metal finger to the call button and waited.

"Speaking of being a screw-up. Fury's still pissed about the chopper you stole; Wilson bet Romanova that you wouldn't last three straight months on the medications and Nomad is already looking for a new boyfriend. You heard him whispering on the phone; the jerk, he knows how paranoid you are. He's interviewing your replacement with you sitting right there. Oh, and Wilson's going to pitch a fit over your using the truck as a slalom sports vehicle - again."

"Buck, you here?" Steve's hand slid across the cold sheets, the empty space next to him crept into his dreams and pulled at him to wake whenever Bucky left their bed for too long. The door was open enough to let in the hallway light, he searched the shadows of the room. There was no form curled in the corner, no figure staring out of the window.

His last remnants of sleep were quickly chased away by the intrusion of a phone. A rush of worry pushed him to scramble to answer. The caller left no room for formalities and launched into their terse and loud statement. The click to end the tirade could be heard across the bedroom.

Natasha and Sam stood in the doorway staring at Steve as he stared at the phone.

Sam opened, "Let me guess, he's been picked up jaywalking and the cops want his parents to come and get him. I say let him learn his lesson and leave in the slammer overnight. Nothing like the drunk tank to teach a kid a lesson."

A well-placed elbow from Natasha ended his sentence.

"Very funny, not appreciated." Steve jumped up with a sheet wrapped around himself. "Do you mind?" He waved them out of the room.

She offered a more supportive approach from the hallway, "Where is he calling from and how much trouble is he in?"

Sam threw in over her shoulder, "And how much damage to the truck?" Which won him another elbow.

"That was Stark. Bucky's at the Avengers Facility demanding to be let in."

Dark grey snow clouds gave way to a stripe of brightening blue as the morning light crept into a new day. Bucky knelt before the looming metal gates where he'd finally stumbled to his knees after spending far too long humiliating himself at the doors of the Avengers Facility. In the hours he'd paced and prowled, demanded and begged no one had spoken or responded to his presence. Only the blinking red light and the faint whirr of the camera that followed his every move kept him company in his quest to see Stark.

Time passed him by as his legs went numb from the cold and awkward position, wet tendrils of hair covered his downturned face, and snow soaked clothing clung heavy to his skin. Even the Voice had gone silent, the one upside to his ill-thought out plan of surrender. Bucky shivered quietly, his body and mind in a welcomed state of numbness, he never heard Steve drive up, or call his name. The flinch was slight when familiar arms encircled his shoulders in the kind of possessive embrace only Steve was allowed to give him.

"Buck, what are doing here?" Steve buried his face against his neck as he knelt behind him. "This isn't the way."

A shiver shook his body with the first muscle twitch he'd made in hours. The whispered words close to his ear, warmed the deep cold of his skin, "Come home, Buck. Let's go home." The coarse hairs of Steve's beard rubbed along his cheek, pulling a shaky breath from the prickling intrusion. He wrapped his hands around Steve's.

"How did you know?" Bucky's voice stuttered through clenched teeth.

Steve rubbed hard along his arms, pulled him to his feet so they faced one another, "He called me. Saw you on the surveillance camera."

Bucky turned towards the gate, "Why didn't he come out, face me. I want to do this. I need to do this. I killed them, time to face the music."

"He's not here. Staff saw you. They called him. He called me." A tug on his sleeve pulled him towards the car, a protective arm around his waist, Steve didn't hide his touch from whatever prying eyes might be around. "Let's get you home, warmed up." He let a long hard stare linger on the surveillance camera before taking the driver's seat. The iris of the lens spun to refocus, the blinking red light flashing its subliminal message as he headed back down the road towards home.

Bucky sighed and leaned on the window when they passed the truck teetering on the snowbank, "Wilson's gonna be pissed."

"He'll get over it. You're keeping him young. Always pissing him off, otherwise, he'd be in the recliner channel surfing." A subdued shared laugh came to an end when they saw Natasha wave them down at the airport road.

"Sorry boys, change in plans," She tossed two bottles of water in Bucky's lap, "Stark called. There's a hot lead on a shipment of Chitauri based weapons heading into Cartagena, Columbia the quinjet is gassed up and ready to go, I've got your go-bags in my car."

Bucky stared straight ahead and muttered, "This is payback," as they followed Natasha to the tarmac.

Steve added, "Without a doubt."He kept his worry close as he glanced towards Bucky and replayed the call from Stark, "Your boy is stalking me, Rogers. When I'm ready to take what I'm due it'll be on my damn terms, not his. I don't care about his quest for atonement. Call him off before I toss a net over him and ship him off to the Raft."