Chapter Four
They'd arrived without incident at the cabin, Bucky silently staring out the window the entire drive. They passed through town, following the winding road several more miles before Sharon turned off onto an unmarked drive, which itself was at least two miles long, curving through the woods until they reached her grandparents' cabin.
Under normal circumstances, Sharon would have been excited at the prospect of an extended stay in the two-story cedar-shank home. But these were far from normal circumstances and she wasn't exactly sure what she was even supposed to do with herself or her charge.
Look after Bucky, her aunt had said. Protect him. As far as Sharon could tell, the Winter Soldier could probably didn't need much in the way of protection from any assailant - but he did need looking after.
Though he was an adult - a ninety-plus-year-old-adult, she reminded herself - Bucky was more like a scared little boy testing his boundaries and experiencing the world for the first time than the calculating weapon she knew him to be. She'd never given much thought to what kind of mother she'd eventually be but taking care of Bucky seemed like a trial run.
It had been some years since Sharon had been up to the cabin, though her parents made regular use of it since her grandparents' passing. The outside had changed little since her childhood, when she'd spent weeks at a time with her parents or grandparents. There'd been renovations and improvements to the kitchen and bathrooms, but her grandfather's study, the three bedrooms and her grandmother's gardens remained as ever.
As they unloaded, Sharon gave Bucky what used to be her parents' bedroom at the end of the hall and stowed her things in her grandparents' old room with its own bathroom, leaving the room she and her cousins had shared for storage of Aunt Peggy's crates of former SHIELD secrets.
She left the still-silent Bucky to explore the cabin on his own while she evaluated their supplies. Her parents had spent their anniversary there only a month before so there was a decent supply of dried and canned goods to supplement the few groceries she'd brought from Virginia. She wanted to make a run to town for the perishable items they'd need and debated leaving Bucky on his own — but he seemed disappointed when she suggested it.
The run to town for supplies was uneventful, save for the butcher recognizing Sharon and asking about her parents and Aunt Peggy. He assumed Bucky was her boyfriend and the Winter Soldier did not shy away when she took his gloved hand in her own to cement the assumption.
Their act seemed to mollify the butcher and they returned to the cabin, where Sharon fixed sandwiches for lunch, set a stew on the stove for dinner and wondered just what she was supposed to do with her bionic fugitive.
For his part, he seemed content to follow her around as she used the washer and dryer to freshen the bedding, gave the bathrooms a once over and took care of the dust in the den.
By the time night fell, Sharon and Bucky sat in the freshly cleaned and cozy living room in front of a low fire sipping hot chocolate she'd impulsively made to ward off the chill of the storm system moving over the mountain.
It was after midnight, with fat snowflakes falling unseen outside, when the screams had Sharon running from her room, gun in hand, as she barged through Bucky's door.
The Winter Soldier was still asleep and obviously embroiled in some sort of terrible nightmare. Sharon slid her gun back in its holster and set it on the dresser near the door before turning back to the thrashing Bucky, the blankets tangled at his waist and his chest bare.
She approached, calling out his name, but he didn't respond.
Cautiously, she approached the bed only to have him grab her by the arm and yank her forward. He pinned her to the mattress, his right hand around her throat, the mechanical one digging into the shoulder she was certain he'd dislocated. She struggled against his grip, called out his name, but he was unreachable in his rage.
He screamed again, the anguish in his cries like nothing Sharon had ever heard before, and pity overcame the panic she felt. She ceased her struggles and tried to keep her voice even and soft as she spoke to him in soothing tones, like trying to calm a frightened animal.
Slowly, Bucky seemed to wake from the nightmare and recognize Sharon for the first time since she'd entered the room. He released her, scrambling away and cowering at the end of the bed.
Sharon pushed herself up gingerly, her chest, back and shoulders burning with the pain from her definitely dislocated shoulder. Against all logic, as Bucky was the one to cause her injury, she moved toward him laid a cautious hand on his shoulder.
At the contact, he looked up at her and collapsed into her, lowering his head and sobbing into her embrace.
Her heart breaking for him, for what he had endured and for his continued struggles, Sharon brought her good arm around him and held him until he fell into an exhausted slumber.
She woke hours later to find a still sleeping Bucky curled into a loose ball beside her. His face was relaxed and his breathing even; she assumed he'd finally escaped whatever demons had assailed him for the night.
Slowly, gingerly, she pushed herself up with her good arm, trying not to wake Bucky or jar her injured shoulder even further.
She got to her feet and caught sight of herself in the long mirror over the dresser. Her shirt was torn at the neck, revealing the bruises at her throat. Her arm hung limp at her side, obviously absent from the socket it should have been housed in.
She crept from the room as quietly as she could manage, grabbing her gun and holster along the way, and waited until she got into her own room before she left out the painful breath she'd been holding.
The good news was that she could relocated her shoulder herself — she'd done it before — but the bad news was that it was going to hurt. And it did, slightly more than she'd banked on, but the searing pain was already banking back to a low simmer by the time she'd finished.
After a very cold shower to help with the swelling, she carefully pulled a turtleneck over her head and stepped into a pair of slacks. She studied herself in the mirror again, hoping the tall neck of her sweater would hide the damage done in the night. She didn't know what the realization that he'd hurt her - again - would do to Bucky's fragile state of mind which, as it turned out, was far more delicate than she'd even guessed.
While Sharon finished dressing, a shirtless Bucky arrived in the kitchen before her and wondered what he was supposed to do. He didn't know how to cook; he barely knew how to do anything for himself, really. His handlers had fed him, clothed him, taken care of him. His focus had always been his target, only his target. Everything else was done for him.
Including food.
He looked at the refrigerator, the cupboards, and knew there had to be something edible in them. Before he could look through either, though, Sharon came in.
There was something different about her he could not identify it. She seemed cheerful, though, as the reached into the cupboard and started talking.
"It's cold and we've got snow out so I'm thinking oatmeal," she said, more for her benefit than his. As she'd learned yesterday, Bucky wasn't much for idle chitchat but so far hadn't minded her supplying the conversation. "I warned you, I like to cook but I don't have the time to practice so you're stuck with the things I know. Oatmeal is one of them and, frankly, it's good comfort food and I think we could both use a little comfort."
If he wondered what that meant, he didn't let on, and continued to stare as she moved around the kitchen, getting a pot and water and more things from the cupboard.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
"I'm making oatmeal," she said.
"No," he said, frustrated that she didn't understand. "What are you doing. There, with the water."
"I need boiling water to cook the oats. Then I'm going to add butter and cinnamon."
"Why?"
"Because it will taste better that way."
While the water boiled, she stepped over to him, leaned against the counter.
"Does your arm bother you?" she asked.
His frowned. "It's my arm," he said defensively yet with a hint of sadness.
"No," she said gently, pointing a finger at her own arm. "Does it chafe — itch or burn right here?"
He nodded.
"Sit down," she said.
"Why?"
She smiled."I want to rub this —" she held up a small container she'd had in her pocket "— on your shoulder."
"What is it?" he asked, even as he sat.
"It's eye cream. Very expensive eye cream, as a matter of fact, but it's very soothing and should help the chafing on your arm." She took a small amount and rubbed it on the puckered skin. "I noticed the skin looked irritated and I didn't think to add any lotions or ointments to the med kit I brought along. This will do until I can make another trip to town and get something."
The cream smelled — good or bad, he wasn't sure —but his arm felt immediate relief where she had rubbed it.
When she was finished and put the cap back on the container, she asked, "How long has it been like that?"
"I can't remember," he said, unable to think of a time when it hadn't bothered him and he'd just gotten used to the discomfort.
She returned to the stove top, stirred the oats into the boiling water, reduced the heat, covered the pot and turned back to him.
"The next time it bothers you, let me know. I can't help you if I don't know what's wrong."
The rest of their second day at the cabin was quiet; almost too quiet, really. The very benefit of the cabin's isolation meant there wasn't much by way of distraction.
They'd taken a walk, Sharon dressing Bucky in warm clothes though he insisted he didn't need them, and explored the surrounding woods under a blanket of fresh snow.
When they returned to the cabin and Sharon led them through the back door off the kitchen, she asked if Bucky wanted to cut more firewood - partly because she was in no condition to swing an axe and partly because he could use something to burn off the anxious energy that had been building since breakfast.
She hoped that the physical labor would help and used that time to come up with more activities to keep him busy.
After lunch, she looked through an old trunk in the den and found one of those impossibly tiny, thousand-piece puzzles her grandmother had enjoyed. Hoping to engage Bucky in the activity, Sharon scattered the pieces on the dining table and started the painful process of assembling the outer border, which she often found to be the only part she could do.
After some hesitation, Bucky sat across from her and started pulling pieces toward his side of the table.
They worked in amicable silence for a while when the section Sharon had been working on slid across the table away from her.
She looked up and couldn't believe her eyes when Bucky added her tiny collection of completed pieces to the two castle turrets and moat he'd assembled — more than half of the puzzle done in the time it had taken her to do a fraction of it.
He looked up at her, as though not sure if he was about to be praised or punished.
"That's really good, Bucky." Sharon smiled encouragingly, tamping down the anger she felt at Pierce and Zola and anyone else responsible for the broken man before her. James Buchanan Barnes was a hero and he'd been twisted by cruel men to perform even crueler deeds - so much so that he couldn't complete a jigsaw puzzle without fear of repercussions.
No wonder the man had night terrors.
She couldn't tell how Bucky felt about her praise but he focused on the pieces before him and continued assembling the puzzle to completion.
She congratulated him on finishing the image and then drew back when her growled - actually growled - at her for trying to disassemble and put the puzzle away.
"It's okay, Buck," she said and slid the completed castle scene to one edge of the table and set another box of pieces in front of him.
He dove right in and she just sat and watched as he put together the enchanted forest scene.
In the middle of piecing together the unicorn drinking from the waterfall, Bucky took Sharon by surprise when he thanked her for helping him sleep.
"I didn't think you knew I was in there," she said, wondering if he remembered hurting her.
He shrugged.
"Would you like me to stay with you tonight?" she asked.
He only nodded and went back to his enchanted scene. By the time she convinced him it was time for bed, his six completed puzzles covered the dining table, half of the kitchen counter and coffee table in the den.
Author's Note: Boy, long chapter and lots of exposition. I hope it wasn't too painful as it's been through many rewrites and was in fact several chapters mashed together in hopes of moving along to the action sooner.