Fifty
.
XI
Erupts
.
Sitting down at the wooden table, upon the feeble chair that had just yesterday housed the Asset, Bucky Barnes takes a covert glance around the room, noting everything strange and unusual.
His eyes dart from the painstakingly cleaned windows featured on the southern wall, to the neat array of jars lined up along the secure looking spice-rack. His eyes linger on the photo frames and their contents, still significantly startled to see their figures moving.
The dame, Harry, is sat in one, a small child on her lap that shares none of her features -and he's politely ignoring the fluorescent blue hair-, but a smile of pure love matching the one upon her face.
Probably the same child that now sits across from him, with the same shockingly blue hair, covering a face that shares far more of Harry's features than Bucky's perhaps comfortable with.
It's not the fact that they could be mother and son; more that, if they do in fact share that close a relation, then where the hell is the father?
Because judging by their ages, then Harry would've been young, teenaged kind of young, when she had the boy.
Bucky doesn't realise he's staring until the boy wiggles his eyebrows, face steadily morphing until it's a match for the boy in the photo, just with curly, tawny brown hair instead.
His mind all but erupts with questions.
"Teddy, this is..."
The woman trails off, and Bucky pushes down a flush of heat upon realising he's not yet given her his name.
"James Barnes, Ma'am, but most call me Bucky."
She smiles at that, turning back to the boy -Teddy- and a stern look prompts him into returning to what appears to be his default form, the face from the picture with the same electric blue hair.
"Bucky, this is my godson, Teddy."
Godson, right, that explained it.
The kid could change his features, that was pretty swell.
And effective in the field, the Asset supplies from where he sits at the back of Bucky's mind, whispering into his ears. It'd make assassination missions so much easier...
Pushing that thought away -because he was never going back to that, because he was free now, no more war and no more HYDRA, it was just Bucky now- the dark haired male offers the duo as best a roguish grin as he can concoct.
"You're not worried about letting him near me?"
It was a valid question.
Hell, Bucky's worried about the kid -Teddy- being near him, given the fact he can feel the Soldier lurking in his mind.
"He's got an object on him that'll teleport him away if anyone ever makes an attempt on his life... I've, er, made one for you too. It'll bring you back here, if anyone tries to kidnap you."
A small necklace, with a little silver coin on a little silver chain is pushed across the table to him, and Bucky suddenly finds it very difficult to swallow.
"Thank you, Ma'am."
.
XII
Composure
.
Despite the fact she was walking down the street with the most famous ghost of an assassin to ever stalk society, Harry's composure is perfect.
One of her hands is intertwined with Teddy's, and he knows for a fact her other arm is free so that she can reach for her wand at a moments notice.
Bundled up in a jacket, Bucky stuffs his metal fist into the deep front pocket, making sure there's not the slightest glint of silver escaping the fabric cover.
While the reassurance of the teleporting necklace relaxes him significantly, there's still no reason to go out and chance fate. If he's not going to be staying inside, then he sees no reason to not take every single precaution he can, to ensure he brings as little trouble as possible to the woman that has taken him in.
Harry is far too kind, Bucky rationalises, given the fact she's supplying him with food, lodging and all the post-war care he could realistically need.
Insisting he gets out of the house, even though every part of Bucky Barnes wishes to do nothing more than crawl beneath the thick duvet of his new bed and ignore the world.
The soldier though, the Asset desires a mental map of their current location; to note all the points of interest, the most likely places for ambush and snipers.
It's for the best that Harry got him out, even if it's just to join her on the school run.
It's strange, tracking through the snow, watching his boots sink into the white mass and see the footsteps left behind. He's allowed to leave marks, evidence, that he's passed by now, that he exists.
A bark of laughter escapes him before he can silences it, when he notes that Teddy's boots leave behind wolf prints instead of human tracks.
The mouses haired boy, no longer sporting his blue barnet now that he's going out to interact with the rabble, glances over his shoulder and grins wildly at Bucky. It's the kind of smile he'd have worn as a youngster, and it pains him to know he'll never manage an expression of such innocence again.
"So, you're nearly seventy years in the future?" Teddy asks, shuffling his mother to the right so he could address Bucky.
"66, actually."
He'd given the two the bare bones of his story, and while Teddy had absorbed it all with excitement, Harry's eyes had been alight with a pained understanding.
"Well the food's better here; there's no rationing, and we've got loads of chocolate."
Snorting, Bucky reaches over, ruffling the boy's hair with his flesh hand.
Wide, golden eyes glance back at him, before a bashful, pleased smile spreads across the boy's face.
"I'm looking forward to trying it all then."
"Right! Mom can make a chocolate cake for dinner!"
"Any excuse for chocolate," Harry confirms, lips tilting up in a smile as she throws him a look over her shoulder, and Bucky finds himself smiling back.
.
XIII
Jaunt
..
The knife flashes through the air, sinking through the orange flesh in a rapid succession of slices.
Dicing up vegetables is so much more preferable to human fingers.
As soon as they'd returned to the house -12 Grimmauld Place, covered in wards, only one viable position for a sniper shot in through the first floor bedroom that wasn't in use anyway- Bucky had been put right to work.
While Harry went about mixing up a selection of ingredients for a chocolate cake, the former soldier found himself with a collection of vegetables, a knife, and the instructions to cut them all down to size.
For stew apparently.
The repetitiveness of the motions were calming, and Bucky knew as soon as he was one carrot in that Harry had given him this job for that exact reason.
A chance to get his head back on after returning from their jaunt outside.
Harry's whisking something now, the sound of the motion rippling through the room as Bucky finishes up on the last parsnip. He doesn't need prompting, sliding the perfectly square pieces into the pan of water that sits upon the stove.
"Take over with this?"
Harry presses the bowl of cake batter into his hands before he can agree, starting on the seasoning for the stew she's making.
It's an entirely domestic scene, and after the war, after being brainwashed, used and abused, it takes all his focus to adjust to this new setting.
He doesn't have time to even consider brooding over the past, not right now.
Now, in this moment, he can just be.
He's just Bucky, Harry's guest and her spare hands in the kitchen.
It's probably the most innocent thing his prosthetic has ever been used for, and he takes great pleasure in the fact HYDRA's greatest creation is being used for something as mundane as chopping up vegetables.
It seems like it's going to be easy to fall into a routine here, and perhaps that's what he needs right now.
No bloodshed, no battles of wit and war.
Just time to recover, to reorganise himself as a person.
"I tried to keep going after my war," Harry speaks quietly, never looking up from the collection of herbs she's sprinkling into the pot, but he knows he has her full attention, "but you just can't do it. I took a holiday, went away with Teddy just after his grandmother died. It was the best thing I could've done."
She turns the flame on, returning to inspect his work and giving a pleased nod.
"You can stay here as long as you like," Harry informs him resolutely, pouring the batter into a large cake tin.
A few flecks splash up at her slim fingers tips, but she pays them little attention, instead focusing on Bucky to make sure he understands the message.
And he does.
Though their situations may not be perfectly similar, she's here to listen to him, to offer him help.
And right now, that's enough.
.
XIV
Hair
.
Winter blues remain locked in a strange dance with their perfect pair, as Bucky Barnes sits and stares into his reflection.
With the glow the old gas lamps -but not quite gas, magical light- give off, the light catches his eyes in such a way that when Bucky Barnes looks in, it's the Winter Soldier looking back.
It's a terrifying prospect, that the thing HYDRA made him into sits deep within his mind, lingers persistently, like a uncanny childhood fear resurfacing decades later.
A predator, waiting beneath the cover of night, to strike out at the opportune moment.
The image isn't helped by the fact he's got all this damn hair framing his face.
Gathering up the strands in both hands, Bucky twists it back, coming to rest just at the base of his skull and inspecting his visage in the mirror once again.
The shade that curve around his eyes is no longer as noticeable now, though the stubble that has collected over the past few days gives him a mean five o'clock shadow, one that does perhaps a bit too much to highlight his jawline.
Running his flesh fingers over the bristles, Bucky sighs, rummaging through the draws for a hair tie.
He'll have to ask Harry for a pair of scissors; he knows it'll probably be a better idea to let her cut his hair instead, but the idea of turning his back on someone holding a pointed object has the Asset screaming in the recesses of his mind.
He couldn't possible sit through a haircut with the Soldier stalking about in his mind, cataloging every which way he could defend himself, and then, go on the attack.
Bucky refuses to tempt it, to allow the Asset any closer to the surface.
Not when Harry had taken him in, nursed him back to health, and given him his life back.
She'd exposed her greatest weakness to him, informed him of Teddy's existence. Stupidly, she'd shown the Soldier the exact point to target, her soft spot.
While she might be powerful, strong, magical, her godson was evidentially not.
Perhaps he hadn't been trained, perhaps it was something that came with age, but regardless, he was the chink in her armour.
The only thing the Asset would even have to consider was the magic that teleported him out of a harmful situation. A way to circumvent that.
No, he didn't need to do that.
Shaking his head, Bucky glances in the mirror again, taking in the ever so light tan-lines that hinted at where the mask had been. The muzzle that HYDRA had made him wear.
It would be gone soon enough; he was free, no longer their prisoner. He would not be frozen, thawed out only for their own benefit.
The war was over, he was out of HYDRA's clutches; he didn't have to kill anyone anymore.
If he did, then it would be by his own choice.
.
Inspecting the ponytail once more, Bucky leaves to find Harry.
.
XV
Headache
.
Collecting Teddy from his school is a nightmare.
It sets every instinct within him on edge, all these people milling around outside of a building.
He doesn't know any of them, doesn't know their ties, where their loyalties lie. If any of them are at all aware of the games that are played with their lives.
Assessing all those around him, mind racing, deciding their threat level and all the ways in which he could eliminate them, Bucky tries not to let on to how badly his head is hurting.
He fails, because Harry pushes a small vial into his hand, whispering that it was for his headache.
She's done him no wrong so far, and he doubts that she'd undo all of her effort in rebuilding him through a distasteful a method as poison.
Uncorking the little glass, Bucky downs the substance, grimacing at the taste.
It's foul, but he can already feel it working, feel his head clearing.
Feel the Asset settling.
Now that he is back to working at full capacity, he calms, the beating of his heart lessening in its intensity.
Harry stares back at him with her bright green eyes, a puzzled little frown on her face.
It's only when he feels her thin, dainty fingers wrap around the metal of his own that he registers he was reaching for a knife.
She's stopped him from pulling the blade out, which is, evidentially, still frowned upon in public.
"You've got an out," Harry whispers, and Bucky feels he must give her credit for her acting. She's leaning into his side, really close after wrapping his metal limb around her body; to everyone present, they probably appear to be nothing more than a duo of lovesick newlyweds.
He grimaces at the idea.
"You've got an out. All you have to say is 'take me home', and it'll transport your right out of here."That is marginally calming.
Yet, he must grow use to living as a civilian, as a normal person, once again.
Though he is no longer fighting in a war, his mind is not yet acclimatised to such a state of being.
Logically, he knows that he has an escape route, one that none other than Harry and her godson can follow him on.
But, he sill struggles to accept the idea. So long caged, so long beaten down and trapped, seemingly without any way of moving forwards; it pains him.
Harry's thumb is still running over the metal of his knuckles, and though Bucky knows that her magic shields the shiny length, he still angles the arm in such a way that the sun does not gleam from its surface.
His headache might be gone, but a pressure still persists, still lingers, a phantom pain that has ballooned alongside his recently recovered memories.
"I told you earlier, but you're welcome to stay as long as you like," Harry whispers.
.
And while Bucky fails to quite manage a smile, he still feels warm inside.
.
So, I Think there'll be a bit of a time skip from here. Maybe a few months on, into the Spring, early summer of 2012. And we all know the significance of that year, right?
Tsume
xxx