A/N (the first): I'm about to dive neck-deep into Camp NaNo (I'll be working on the story that follows dancing with the demons) so decided to post the first half of this story now instead of waiting until the other half is complete as I may not get back to it for a while.
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Title: two sides
Author: A. X. Zanier
Status: WIP
Rating: R (Language, violence, sexual situations, the usual)
Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Pairing: Mostly Bucky/OFC
Disclaimer: a) The characters and basic story ideas of Captain America/Avengers/et al are the property of others including, but not limited to Stan Lee, Marvel Studios, Disney Studios. Any additional characters or story ideas are mine. I make no money from this intellectual exercise. b) This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any opinions or views expressed herein do not necessarily reflect those of the author and are used for storytelling purposes only.
Series: another spin-off from the only hero left
Spoilers: Oh hell yes. Any part of the MCU is fair game.
A/N (the second): Much like March 10th, 1917 this will have some minor spoilers for upcoming chapters of the only hero left, but can most certainly be considered a stand alone as it did not fit directly into that story. Mostly fluff. Some angst. Life is hard. Friends make it suck less.
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"There are two sides to every question." - Protagoras (485 BC - 421 BC), from Diogenes Laertius, Lives of Eminent Philosophers
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side a
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Rinn's POV
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The first warning we had of their return came with the distinctive rumble of an incoming quinjet. I foolishly permitted it to distract me for an instant and took a foot to the side of my head for the trouble. It didn't hurt, not really, and I recovered quickly enough to turn the fall into a roll and gain my feet. The trainee standing there looking shocked that he'd connected a move I'd dodged every previous attempt.
"Hold," I barked and he looked crestfallen, probably thinking I was angry for his success. I quickly assured him. "Excellent." I gave him a half-bow to acknowledge his ability then glanced up at K'Tana who also stared at the sky. Not that we could see much, the edges of this practice ring surrounded by trees nearly as old as the castle which blocked our line of sight to the hanger we'd rigged for the 'jet.
I tapped the comms behind my ear. "Dio, why no heads up?"
"Apologies, Mistress," he responded in a perfect imitation of K-9. I had begun to regret encouraging him to watch Dr. Who. "I am currently unable to communicate with my counterpart on board the quinjet and they remained cloaked until within the valley."
Well, that couldn't be good. If the communications array had been taken out, even with my 'bots to complete repairs on the spot, the damage had to be severe. "K'Tana, have the med team on standby. We might have injuries to deal with."
"On it," she assured me and disappeared from her vantage point above the class.
She had appeared within hours of Nomad leaving, not wanting to leave Cyko alone and unprotected for any longer than necessary, though I remained uncertain if it had been her decision or T'Challa's. Still, I appreciated her assistance both with keeping me and mine alive and help with the trainees, who had wanted to join Steve on this rescue but were too green by miles. There had been three repeats this time and they had all volunteered and Steve had accepted with only minimal reservations.
Main reason due to the limited space on the quinjet. We only had the one and could not fit a dozen Wakandan warriors on board along with the necessary rescue gear.
Which is why I had been working on getting us more. Not from Tony who would be an ass and hand them to me on a silver platter no matter how pissed off it would make Ross… though, truthfully, that would probably just encourage Tony more.
No, I had gone to T'Challa. I offered him some of my newer designs, ones Tony had never seen, and begun negotiations on, not only building them but getting some existing ones for our use. Yeah, I had free use of Stark private jets, but I always felt like a shitty friend when I used them. I wanted to pay my way in this world, not subsist on handouts from friends. Hell, I could afford to buy my own jets, I just didn't want to have to deal with all the upkeep and, these days, potential corruption of the systems.
The last thing I needed was for the pilots to be working for AIM and take me to another undisclosed location.
So I flew Stark and thanked him as graciously as I could manage every time.
Steve would flip his shit if he knew I had gone behind his and Nomad's back to acquire us more transport, but they were not yet equipped to stand on their own. So I would continue to assist, but only until certain they were ready and then I would shed a tear or two and watch them go.
Steve still not entirely certain of this new path he'd chosen, not as sure as me anyway, and I would happily handhold until that day came.
"Miss?" The trainees had all gathered around me, the sound of the quinjet now a roar on its final approach. It passed over the training field, cloaking device off and the damage evident. It had taken some serious hits from some serious weaponry over the last few days.
"Hangar now. Be prepared for triage."
"Yes, ma'am." My sparring partner spun about taking charge of the trainees without hesitation. He began barking orders in Wakandan, the rest responding without question or argument, though a couple glanced my way. I gave them quick nods, agreeing with the division of labor he'd set up.
They all moved.
I ran for the hangar.
I arrived as the 'jet wobbled its way to the ground. When the engines cut out unexpectedly it dropped the last several meters and hit hard enough for us to feel the earth shudder beneath our feet. It clearly would not be rolling into the hangar under its own power.
Nothing moved for so long I seriously debated the merits of banging on the damn door to get their attention. When it finally opened I understood why it had taken so long since Steve and one of the Wakandan's were pushing it down, the motor dead for whatever reason. Once low enough Steve gave a massive shove then jumped on the not quite horizontal surface sending it into the turf with a whoosh of air and a solid thud of metal to the ground.
I wanted to snark about breaking my bird, but then I got a good look at Steve and swallowed my words.
His kevlar and vibranium lined armour had been damaged beyond easy repair. The black material shredded so badly you could see skin beneath. Not the bright blue compression shirt that should be there, but skin. Bruised and bloodied flesh that had just begun to heal.
"Holy shit," I breathed out. I rushed forward as the Wakandas stumbled out, looking marginally better than Steve, which meant he'd made certain to take the brunt of the damage to protect the far more fragile normal humans. "I thought this was a rescue?"
"So did we," Sam griped as he stumbled down the ramp, Wanda next to him. Sam limped, his knee clearly swollen and in need of medical attention. Wanda didn't look much better. Half her face a bruise, the white of her eye red with blood instead of her power. Her hair on that side looking as if it had been burned off, half the length gone, the red jacket missing the arm, also burned away, the skin red and raw, but intact for the most part.
"Son of a bitch," I muttered. "Gurneys, now."
Wanda shook her head. "We can walk."
"Speak for yourself, Witch," Sam grumbled as two of the trainees appeared by his side, taking his weight. They laced their hands together behind Sam and lifted him up in their arms with ease.
"Your wings?" I asked, hoping like hell he hadn't been shot out of the sky.
"Damaged, but repairable, I hope," the pain etched into his voice.
I turned to Wanda who refused to allow another pair of trainees to carry her. "Stay by her side, but if she can walk on her own, let her."
They nodded and Wanda gave me a grateful if weary smile. "I am tired, but not yet dead, I think."
I set a hand on her shoulder, the one that appeared to be undamaged and gave her a gentle squeeze. "You will let them examine you, yes?" I wanted to make it an order but knew better. Wanda and I got along well enough, but I most definitely did not see myself as her boss. Friend, yes, so I did what a friend would do, showed my concern and fear for her health.
She nodded. "Of course. I.. I will want to talk about this, but you have others to deal with first."
I had no idea what she meant, but would always make time to talk to her. She knew I could be counted on to keep her secrets and that I would also understand the complications that came with this superhero gig. "Wanda?"
She shook her head and staggered away with the trainees by her side. Both men well over six feet tall, and each more than capable of carrying her, quite possibly with one arm. Instead, they trailed along only offering assistance when she stumbled over the uneven ground in her exhaustion.
I turned back around to find Steve had reappeared on the ramp, slowly walking towards me. "What the hell happened?"
"Later," he told me, his voice laced with worry and anger. "I promise I will tell you everything later."
I wanted to argue, but James appeared then. He stood at the top of the ramp, in the deep shadows of the quinjet, head hanging down, his entire posture that of utter despair.
Then he lifted his head and I instantly knew James had left the building and he'd given over control to the Soldier.
His eyes locked on mine and he stalked over to me, his body almost rigid in his efforts to control whatever mess currently beat violently on the walls in his mind. Steve shifted until behind me and I could feel his body tense. Afraid James… the Soldier would hurt me.
I knew better.
He stopped in front of me, watching me with a wary gaze that I refused to look away from. An alpha challenge of sorts. One I had never backed down from before. No chance I would start now.
He didn't back down either, didn't lower his eyes in submission, just closed the remaining distance between us and set his forehead on my shoulder hard enough to make me grunt and lock my knees to keep from being driven down to them. His hands found my waist and then slid around me, pulling me against his body. The uniform with its gear not exactly comfortable, but I didn't care. He needed me and I would do whatever necessary to help.
Steve shifted around so I could see him. "Steve, what-"
James' arms squeezed and he growled softly, and I shut up with a squeak. I set my hands on his waist, hoping he could even feel it through the body armour and just raised a single eyebrow in question at Steve.
"Not now," he mouthed, making it damn obvious that speaking would be bad. How bad was the real question? "Will you stay with him?"
I nodded, barely, but enough for him to sigh in relief.
"Captain Rogers, if you would, the med team is ready for you." K'Tana wisely spoke in a tone that suggested there would not be an option to refuse.
He gave me a world-weary smile and followed her towards the castle leaving me ostensibly alone with James. Others had stayed behind, unloading the damaged quinjet, and, while not interfering, they did glance over at us often, as if to make certain that I remained unharmed.
I simply held James, wrapping my arms as firmly about him as his were about me. Assuring him I was here and would stay until he decided the time to move had come. I didn't speak. What words could I say? Not knowing what had happened anything I said would be nothing but pablum and quite possibly do more harm than good.
I closed my eyes and ignored the world about us, ignoring the weight of the Soldier that I held, the heat of the sun on my back, the sounds of others trying to determine what had occurred without asking any of those there directly.
"Mistress?" Dio queried as softly as he could through the comms.
I clicked my teeth to acknowledge him not wanting to disturb the fragile hold James had on reality at the moment.
"There is a storm coming. You will need to head inside within the next fifteen minutes."
As if on cue distant thunder rumbled. James flinched, his hold tightening for an instant, enough to force a sound from me in reaction. It hadn't quite hurt, but any tighter and I might get a few broken ribs and that would make him feel that much worse.
Whatever had happened, and something had clearly happened, it fell under the heading of bad. All caps and a dozen exclamation points. I shifted my hands to his abdomen and pushed gently. He loosened his grip but didn't raise his head, instead, turning it to press his lips to the side of my neck and breathe in deeply.
I raised a hand to settle on the back of his head. "Sweetheart, we need to head inside if you feel up to it."
He didn't growl, didn't tighten his grip, but also didn't respond.
With all due care, I took a half step back, actually surprised he let me, cupped his cheeks and encouraged him to lift his head and meet my eyes. "Trust me?" I asked cautiously.
He blinked twice, three times then nodded slowly as if unsure his voice would work. Now that I had a moment I looked him over. His uniform not nearly as abused as everyone else's had been which meant… At a guess, he'd been nowhere near the literal firefight that had injured the others. Not that he was unhurt. Dirt and blood smeared his face, neck, and uniform, but overall he seemed unharmed. I wouldn't know for certain until he told me.
Whatever had happened it had been hellish and left him unable to function as James Barnes.
I took his hand, his left hand, ignoring the dark red stains adorning the metal and encouraged him forward. He followed, not fighting, but seeming unable to manage much more than a reluctant shuffle.
We beat the rain by mere seconds, the downpour arriving with a bright flash of light and the crash of thunder near enough to be felt through the solid stone walls. I debated for a moment where to take him, nixing the med center instantly. He had no interest in being near anyone else right now. Hell, I had to admit not understanding why he'd come to me. It should have been Steve. His best friend. The man who knew him better than anyone else on the planet, and yet… yet he had come to me.
Of all people. Me.
And that… that terrified me.
But it wouldn't stop me from doing everything in my power to put him back together.
I headed to my room, figuring he would need the distance from his life, from James, to get his head screwed back on in the right direction. The Soldier might be lurking behind those blue eyes, but his actions were all those of Bucky. The one Steve remembered. Not the braggart, but the gentle soul who cared far too much about others to ever be healthy.
Diogenes turned on the lights when we entered my suite, but kept them dimmer than normal. He'd been silent in my ear, usually, he chattered at me all day long unless I requested some peace, but today he seemed to understand that my attention had to be on the situation at hand. He could be quite odd on most days, but occasionally showed the genius behind the caricature exterior. He might not understand pain, physical or emotional, the way humans did, but he'd learned enough to recognize it and school his reactions and responses accordingly.
Rain pounded against the window and french doors, the sky outside dark except for those flashes of light as the ferocity of the storm lashed at the solid stone walls. The fury outside seemingly reflecting the turmoil roiling within the man standing beside me.
James froze in the middle of my living room, head swiveling as he inspected the surroundings as if he'd never seen them before. Then again, he, the Soldier hadn't, not while in the foreground. I released his hand and shifted to stand in front of him. "You are safe here."
His eyes narrowed, but he didn't argue.
As I watched a trickle of blood slipped from the gloved fingers of his right hand and onto the floor, which meant he had an injury that I'd missed and that had yet to heal.
"C'mon," I said, taking both of his hands into my own and backing towards my bedroom. He resisted for a moment, the look on his face shifting almost as if there were an argument going on behind those baby blues, but eventually, he trailed along, lips set in a thin line of disagreement, but his eyes looked haunted.
I dragged him into my bathroom and, beginning with the weapons belts and holsters, stripped him. He did little to assist, shifting only as necessary to remove boots and pants. I found the injury as I tugged off the snug uniform jacket. The shoulder with an impressive slice through the material, which should not have been possible given the vibranium alloy within it. I had no clue what had caused it, but it had gone through the material like a hot knife through butter. The wound beneath a four-inch long cut that had only been held shut thanks to the pressure of the armour.
Once it and the shirt had been removed it bled freely, but not worryingly so. Whatever had done the damage had barely hit the muscle, not deep enough to do more than bleed like crazy once exposed to the air.
I switched on the shower, keeping the temperature moderate and urged him under the falling water. Then I stripped down to my sports bra and panties. This had nothing to do with sex, which had happened on more than a few occasions in this very location, but the athletic wear would get heavy with the water so I shucked it.
Right now I doubt he'd care if I wore a pink party hat with matching tutu.
I grabbed the first aid kit, taking the bottle of iodine into the shower with me. The water had already removed the worst of the dirt and detritus, which permitted me to examine him for any other serious injuries. He remained still, only his head moving as he watched me with a wary gaze, not entirely trusting me in his current state of mind.
Or so I presumed.
The Soldier didn't trust anyone really, which kind of begged the question why he'd turned to me for seeming solace.
I cleaned the wounds with the iodine, not getting even a flinch or hiss from him in reaction, just those eyes watching me and blinking away the drops of water that clung to the lashes.
As I cautiously examined the shoulder wound, debating the merits of stitches versus multiple butterfly bandages to hold it shut while it healed he suddenly spoke, "You're still dressed."
"Well, sort of," I agreed, the little I wore not really hiding much from him. He'd seen it all before, so it wouldn't have mattered had I stripped naked. "They'll dry."
He rumbled deep in his chest. "I need to get out of here."
I didn't argue, just shifted out of his way. He stopped in the middle of the bathroom, water and blood dripping from him and forming puddles about his feet. His gaze swung about as if looking for danger in the corners or in the linen closet. Not that there could be anything to find. Just the ordinary bits and pieces of my mostly ordinary life. The exciting parts, those that put life and limb at risk, not often occurring in the bathroom.
I turned off the water and stepped out. I grabbed the biggest towel I had and handed it to him. He stared at it for a long moment before taking it and methodically drying off. I grabbed another to wrap about myself, the cool air of the room making the wet clothes feel icy cold in seconds, then wrapped my hair up in another, getting it out of the way for the time being. I'd deal with my needs once I had James patched up and settled.
The towel about his waist, I encouraged him to sit at the vanity while I cleaned the blood away, dried the area, and applied the bandages. He sat there silent the entire time, head tipped down, seemingly staring in fascination at the stone floor. I taped gauze over it, as it continued to ooze blood, but since it would heal quickly now, didn't worry overmuch. I trotted into my bedroom where I had a stash of his clothes. I hadn't planned it, but he spent just enough time in my rooms that it made sense, plus I had a tendency to steal clothes, so I had a few tees and some of his shorts that would do for the time being. I seriously doubted he gave a flying fuck what he wore at the moment.
The storm still lashed at the walls turning the late afternoon into near darkness even though sunset remained hours away. The turmoil being wrought by nature somehow reflecting that going on inside the man in the next room.
I spun about to find him right behind me. Internally I jumped half a mile and there may or may not have been a startled eek pulled from me unexpectedly. His eyes narrowed, almost as if seeing me as a potential target for having shown weakness.
I shoved the clothes at him. "Put these on."
He cocked his head slightly, his lips twitching as if amused.
"Soldat." Not a question, not a name really, more an acknowledgment. I knew who stood before me and wanted to remind him of that fact.
"Da, Zhelanyie, as you wish." He chuckled darkly as he stepped aside.
I made my way into the bathroom to dry off and deal with the sopping wet mess my hair had become. I vainly attempted to get the snarls out, a consequence of just getting it wet and not taking the time to use a conditioner, when he suddenly pressed against my back. His head rested against mine, that odd sense of desperation hanging over him again. My distraction of near nakedness not nearly enough to keep the memory of what had occurred at bay for long.
I set down the brush and reached about to find his hands. "I'm here."
"You're wet," he mumbled.
I huffed out a breath, his choice of words would be far more interesting in a different situation. You know, not one where I had to hold the cracked remains of his fragile psyche in my fumbling hands. I wanted to fix him, but without understanding what had happened I had no clue how. So I would do as I always did and follow my instincts, give him what he needed in this moment and hope like hell that it helped in some small way.
My Gramps had always been impressed with this talent of mine, where I had always found it a burden. Time away from my work, from my designs, from the visions in my head that required an escape. And yet… yet this gift seemed to be what those about me required most.
I occasionally wondered if any of them liked me for me.
I swallowed down my sudden ire and sense of pride. I couldn't afford it right now. "James-"
He grunted as if kicked, arms tightening about me and discouraging me from continuing my sentence.
Clearly, he did not wish to be called James at this moment.
So, unsure who stood before me, I called him nothing at all.
I encouraged him to loosen his grip, which he seemed quite reluctant to do, but once accomplished simply turned about in his hold. He refused to meet my eyes, head tipped down and most likely ignoring the view of my cleavage. I rested my head against his, my lips near his ear.
"Let me help you."
If he reacted he did not let it show, but given there'd been no refusal I stepped back, out of his hold and took his hand. He didn't argue, didn't fight, simply followed where I led as he had done earlier, his demeanor dark and brooding, more so than his usual wont.
I encouraged him to lie down in my bed, let the towel drop and climbed in with him the little I wore as wet as my still snarled hair, but if he didn't care, then neither would I.
He curled into me, face in my hair, arms about me, our legs tangling together under the covers. He heaved a great sigh, holding me tight for an instant, then melted. His body going soft for the first time since I'd seen him at the top of the quinjet ramp. Letting go of whatever had happened for the moment to just be.
I ran the fingers of one hand through his hair, the other gripped about his left wrist and held on tight, giving him the time to process the madness currently consuming his mind.
A couple hours went by before Dio interrupted his recitation of the damage done to the quinjet and personnel with, "Captain Rogers is in your kitchen and has requested that you join him." His voice changed from the computer from Galaxy Quest to Gideon, the time traveling ship from Legends of Tomorrow.
I sighed softly. I knew I'd come to regret giving Diogenes free rein with the Roku.
"Of course he is," I muttered. "Tell him I need five minutes."
"Yes, ma'am," Dio agreed far too amicably, "shall I start coffee too. Perhaps make scones?"
And there came the snark I knew and loved. "Just tell him, please."
The ensuing silence from the comms didn't guarantee he'd done as requested.
I turned to James, who had barely moved since falling into something vaguely resembling sleep, kissed him lightly on the forehead, and then untangled myself from him. He grumbled and shifted as if looking for me. I reached out to run my fingers along his cheek and he settled, though I doubted it would last for long.
I went to my bureau, shucked the still damp workout wear, grabbed something far more suitable to the current situation, and swiftly changed into them. Steve wouldn't care what I wore, so long as I had something on. He'd seen me naked before, but only due to circumstances at the time. He preferred me with my clothes on. Unlike James, which I kind of appreciated.
So when I stepped out of my room I wore my usual sleep wear, brushing the last of the knots out of my hair. Thankfully it hadn't grown past shoulder length, but the snarls had still been impressive, even by my high standards.
As Dio had told me, Steve stood in my kitchen staring out the window admiring the vibrant red of the sunset. The storm had passed while I lay with James and Dio had recounted the mess they'd made of my 'jet. He rolled a glass with dark amber liquid between his hands, a bottle of my better bourbon open on the counter. I didn't mind him dipping into my stash too much seeing as he'd bought that particular bottle for me. Though he could share, given how hard that particular one was to come by.
"I thought it was a standard rescue mission?"
He twitched. A rare event given his enhancements. How deep in thought must he have been to not hear me approach?
"So did we," he responded, not turning to look my way; just brought the glass to his lips and drank half the contents.
"Steve-"
"Turned out to be a trap."
I sucked in a sudden breath in shock. Not that traps hadn't been laid out before. "Crossbones?"
He shook his head. "I wish." He reached out for the bourbon and refilled the glass. He couldn't get drunk, but he obviously wanted to achieve that state and quickly. "No. Some mercenary group who thought they could make a name for themselves by taking down Nomad. Apparently, there's a hefty bounty on all of us."
I knew that. Hell, knew several bounty requests existed. The whats and whos varying greatly. I just honestly thought no one would have the balls to try to take on three former Avengers and The Winter Soldier. Hell, the only one of them that would be easy, and by easy I meant the least difficult not actually easy, to take down would be Sam. The only truly mortal one among them. And truthfully the only real interest in Sam had been his Exo module.
And they hadn't been alone. Three damn near fearless Wakandans had gone with them. Each one tough as nails in their own right, together they could face off pretty much anything without breaking a sweat. And they'd been hurt as well, just not as bad as Sam and Wanda.
I made certain Steve had always been briefed on anything new regarding danger to him or his team. How I missed this I had no idea. "What happened?"
He sipped the drink before answering. "The dam break was real, but not natural I'd be willing to bet. We were digging out the town when they ambushed us." He stared at the liquid in his glass, not willing to meet my eyes quite yet. "Their first volley damaged the quinjet and trapped us. Then they just kept firing at our location."
I didn't move, his posture screaming his need to be held together, but his tone, his eyes… they carried a dangerous pain that kept me away. He wanted to hurt, to feel every bit of torment that telling me brought screaming to the surface. He felt responsible for everything that had gone wrong and, I suspected, gone right.
"Sam got hurt when trying to scout a safe route out. Shot him right out of the sky." He shook his head, eyes closing for a long moment. "Wanda and the Wakandans… protecting some of the locals. The third RPG too much for her, she took the brunt of the explosion-" He came to a sudden verbal halt, downed the contents of the glass, poured more and drank that as well.
"They had us pinned down. Had weapons our armour couldn't stop and had no intention of taking us alive. Not that I cared about me, but the locals… they would be killed one and all to cover up the mess us being tougher than expected had caused."
He turned and met my eyes, his haunted with the memory of what he'd done.
He didn't say a word for long minutes giving me time to run through all the scenarios possible. If he… they wouldn't leave the locals, the innocents behind, would protect them until unable to any longer. Had done everything in their power with the wrong gear and probably limited weapons. I mean, they went in with rescue gear, if they had anything other than knives and shovels I would have been surprised. Which left… "How did you get out?"
He shivered in the relative warmth of the room. "No way all of us were getting out of there, especially with two of us hurt bad enough to need evac, but one? Yeah, with the right distraction we could get one of us out."
I thought back to their conditions when they'd arrived. He'd explained Wanda's and Sam's injuries, but not his own. "You played distraction."
He nodded, gaze returning to the darkened view out the window. "N'dolo helped, but tactically it was the only real option. So, I told Bucky to get to the high ground to take as many of them out as possible."
I swallowed hard. Bucky Barnes had been one hell of a sniper back in the days he ran with the Howling Commandos, a skill that had been warped and improved during his tenure with Hydra. "No, you sent the Soldier," I argued and knew my words to be the truth.
James would have gotten the job done well enough, but the Soldier… he didn't fail and worked with a frightening efficiency.
Steve looked over at me, guilt in his entire bearing. "Yes."
Okay, that explained a few things. Though why the Soldier had still been in control when they'd gotten back here baffled me. "What else happened?"
Steve sighed heavily, running one had through his hair. "When the mercs realized we were picking them off one by one they took hostages… children and threatened to kill them if we didn't surrender willingly."
"They'd have been better offer negotiating their freedom."
Steve nodded in agreement. "I probably would have let them leave if they'd taken that tack."
I moved to stand before him, he needed my presence to finish this. Needed to know I would forgive him for making a decision that he believed to be a necessary evil. "How many did they kill?" To most of those outside the reality SHIELD, the military, and the Avengers lived in they would have never even come to the conclusion I had. But I wasn't an outsider, not really, I had all the stories in their full graphic horror from my Gramps and war, no matter the flavor, always ended in blood and death. This war that Steve fought under the guise of Nomad no different. He still battled for honor and honesty and truth, even though all of those were a hard thing to find in this day in age. He refused to back down in his almost archaic compulsion to do what was right and always paid the cost himself where he could, only rarely sharing the burden he bore with others.
I felt honored to be among those few he truly and without a doubt trusted.
"Just one. Sliced her throat as we watched. All of ten years old. Bucky-" he choked on his friend's name, swallowed with obvious difficulty then continued on. "The Soldier fired a single shot, through the girl and took the son of a bitch down.
"Then he hunted the rest of them down and killed them." Obvious, I supposed, no way the Soldier could have permitted a single one of them to live, but the deaths, which would have meant little to the Soldier, would have broken James. He no longer wished to kill, only did so out of absolute necessity, which thankfully had been rare.
Until now.
And Steve had ordered him to do so.
Little wonder the man felt such guilt.
Even less wonder why even with the Soldier steering the ship his eyes looked haunted instead of cold.
I set a hand on Steve's arm, intending to take the glass from him and give him the hug he almost felt ready for when a voice intruded.
"Laurin?"
I poked my head out of the kitchen to see James standing the doorway of my bedroom, rubbing one eye, hair standing up oddly on one side thanks to drying mashed into my chest and shoulder. It would have been comical if I hadn't looked him in the eye and saw the last person I expected staring back at me.
Bucky Barnes gazed out of the soulful, pained blue eyes.
Not James.
Most certainly not The Soldier.
Wonderful. Just fucking marvelous. Just what the poor man needed; another personality floating about in his mind. I'd suspected this to be possible based on his most recent neural map, but hadn't expected it to happen so soon. Then again, this situation might very well have been enough to fragment the personalities buried in his mind. Not in full Sybil fashion, but more of an amalgam. The Soldier and James having traded control with ease in the months I'd known him, but Bucky… the original owner of the mind and body…
This in no way could be a good sign, but I had no idea how to fix it.
At least I had some understanding as to why.
"Hey, sorry, we didn't mean to wake you." I stepped into full view dragging Steve along with me.
Steve refused to meet his friend's eyes.
Son of a bitch. Steve blamed himself for his friend's current messed up mental condition, rightly so in my opinion, but at the same time, it had probably been the only feasible tactical decision to make.
"When did you last sleep?"
Steve grunted as if kicked. "A while," he finally admitted.
And he'd been hurt and needed to heal. Sleep sounded like the best remedy at the moment.
I didn't feel tired so much as worn down. Holding together a bunch of heroes when they broke took a lot of energy from me. The fact that I had to do it drove me nuts sometimes. I couldn't not help them. Could not deny them the comfort or the understanding ear that eased their pain even as it only added to mine.
"Come on." I tugged him forward and he managed two steps before balking. Digging in his heels and forcing me to stop.
"I have stuff to do. Checking on Wanda, Sam, and the others. Figuring out how the hell I missed this-"
"All of which can wait six hours. They have the best care possible and I sicced Dio on the the problem ages ago. He'll wake us if anything of importance happens." I cupped his cheek with my free hand. "You need to rest and reset. Go at this with a fresh perspective in the morning."
He knew I was right, but wanted to argue, wanted to get to it now even though his mind would fail to focus for more than few minutes at a time, the need to wallow in the mistakes taking precedence at the moment. And that was not such a good thing.
He glanced up at Bucky, all sleepy and looking so fucking young it was scary. They both needed the comfort and peace I could somehow grant them for a few hours.
I led him another couple steps towards the bedroom before he locked his knees and resisted any more forward motion. "I.. I don't have anything to wear."
I rolled my eyes. "Seriously? That's the only excuse you can come up with?"
He ducked his head then followed me without any additional argument. I stopped next to Bucky, I couldn't think of him as James right now and kissed him on the cheek. "You too," I told him, making it clear we'd all be in that bed together.
Bucky bobbed his head, cheeks pinking ever so slightly, but didn't argue, just shuffled back over to the bed and settled onto it, taking the spot my clothes and hair had surely left damp, but not seeming to care. He did flip the pillow over, but nothing more. Just waited.
I went to my stash of stolen clothes and pulled out a t-shirt belonging to James; the fit would be close enough, and another among my never ending pairs of shorts and cut-off sweats that I seemed to collect. I tossed a pair of the latter at Steve along with the tee, who caught both and did little more than stare at them.
"You can change in there, buttercup, if you're worried about your virtue." I waved at the bathroom door. I'd seen the man naked any number of times, but he still played the shy card when with me. More his own personal morals than mine, of course, but lucky for him I still found it cute instead of annoying.
James, on the other hand, once we'd crossed that particular line, hadn't given a great god damn. Stripping in front of me with a casualness that suggested he'd never really had a reason to be modest. Or perhaps given the opportunity to be. I doubted his handlers cared if he'd rather not be buck naked in front of a room full of strangers.
No, his existence had been pretty much shut up and Soldier for the majority of it.
And let's be real here, he had nothing to be embarrassed about and, based on stories from Steve, had been damn proud of his looks long before Hydra messed with his mind.
Steve, on the other hand, still had self-image problems. I swear to god that when he looked in the mirror he still saw that skinny runt who had been pushed around and called names and told he'd never be worth anything, including giving his life for his country. Worthless.
He stood near the top of the list of the best people I knew. Kind, and selfless and willing to sacrifice anything not just to get the job done, but for friends. Hell, for total strangers in the right situation. This one a prime example of that.
He turned his back grumbling but didn't avail himself of the bathroom, not able to back down from my challenge. When his shirt came off I could see the damage he'd taken in the form of dark bruises, scrapes, and stitches all over his torso. Any normal human would be bedridden in pain, or a really good drug high. Steve, my idiot, just kept going. Kept pushing. Kept holding up the weight of the world on those broad shoulders no matter how heavy the burden became.
And there were days I knew the weight weighed upon him, body and soul.
T-shirt on, he pulled off the pants and got into the sleep shorts; the boxers barely seen he moved so fast. Then he neatly folded his clothes and set them atop the bureau before turning about, hands on his hips.
"What?" he all but whined.
I strode over to him and wrapped my arms around him, mashing my face into his shoulder much as James had done to me earlier. I wanted to take some of that burden from him, as much as my comparatively weak shoulders could handle, show him he was not and would never be alone in this.
To save him as much as he saved others.
It took a moment, but he gave in, holding me with a desperation that matched the guilt and anger he currently buried deep inside. He tucked his face against my neck and sighed raggedly, not willing to speak for fear of the dam breaking, the flood of words and emotions that would follow too great for me to contain. Or so he feared.
He worried that one day he would say or do the wrong thing and chase me away. That I might look at him in disgust and horror for the necessity had been forced upon him.
And since he would outlive me by centuries quite possibly I did all I could in this moment to assure him that someone cared, regardless of what he had done.
When he shuddered unexpectedly, I recognized for the what it truly was: exhaustion.
"C'mon, you. To bed."
He straightened, looking me in the eye as if prepared to argue, but instead nodded, the aching need of the solace unconsciousness could grant calling to him. He wanted to forget, if only for a short while. To shrug off the burden of command and hand it to another, to give up that rigid control he always maintained if only for a short amount of time.
And that fact that he not only could but did when with me damn near brought tears to my eyes. I fought them as I encouraged him over to the bed and to lie down on the side opposite Bucky. He started to shift towards the middle but froze when I shook my head. Instead, I moved to the end of the bed and crawled up between them.
I couldn't help but feel at least a touch of amusement at the situation. How many women and no few men had dreamed of exactly this. A supersoldier sandwich with themselves in the middle. Sadly this version would in no way be as fun as those elusive fantasies.
I wiggled under the covers, Bucky's wary gaze on me the entire time. I curled up against Steve's shoulder, one of his arms curling about my waist. He kissed me on the forehead and then shifted until reasonably comfortable. The instant he stopped moving Bucky rolled, his head impacting my spine between my shoulder blades, his legs tangling with mine, his left arm also wrapping about me, though lower that the one already there.
I tried to suck in a deep breath only to fail. The weight on my back preventing me from being able to do so. I didn't complain though, the contact easing the tension in him instantly and permitting him to relax and begin that slow slide back into the land of Nod.
Steve's chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, the muscles under my cheek softening with each exhale as he permitted himself to drift if not actually fall into sleep.
I lay there listening to my two boys breath for a fair fifteen minutes, waiting for the inevitable nightmares to begin and mentally placing bets who would be first when Dio spoke up.
"Shall I continue now?" He sounded all kinds of put out for having been interrupted earlier.
I sighed softly, given I hadn't planned on sleeping anyway, I might as well work I suppose. "Sure."
Dio picked up right where he had left off, but I didn't hear a word of it. No, I pondered the ramifications of the man lying on my back having three distinct personalities battling for dominance in his mind.
And that it might be my fault.
I had no clue if we'd be able to put that particular genie back into its bottle.