Disclaimer: Just for fun, not for profit. Bucky Barnes and Natasha Romanov are property of Marvel. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Day 36

Empty beds in a state-run facility didn't stay empty for long. After Travis left, a tall, lanky man arrived on the unit. He wore sunglasses indoors, even at night, and carried a Bible around with him like a security blanket. Bucky attempted to engage him in conversation once, but after getting a disjointed rant about demons trying to take over the world and the coming of the end of days, he gave Paul a wide berth instead. Rob left a few days later, and the next day a new face arrived. He looked young, broad-shouldered and strong. Bucky's first impression of him was that he seemed exceedingly… normal. He found himself wondering why the kid was there. He was well-groomed, well-spoken, and seemed at ease, smiling at the nurses as they checked through his belongings. Bucky took note and filed his questions away for later. He would figure the new guy out soon enough.

"…and it was like that… every time they woke me up." His voice was soft and strained as he stared at his hands folded in his lap. Deborah sat silently across from him, not even moving until it was clear he was finished talking. Then she shifted slightly in her chair, dabbing surreptitiously at the corners of her eyes.

"And then they would send you on missions like that?" she supplied. He nodded.

"Sometimes it was like being stuck in a nightmare that I couldn't wake up from, where I would watch myself do things but I couldn't do anything to stop it, change it. Other times, it was just… nothing. I would wake up again the next time with no memory of the lost time, what I'd done. And sometimes it was in and out, where I would be there for flashes, and then dark again." He couldn't look at her. For some reason, it was easier to talk about what had been done to him than what he remembered of the things he'd done while under their influence. Even the things he hadn't been conscious for came back to haunt his nightmares.

"Have you ever had one of those… episodes without them using the trigger words?" she asked him next. He looked up at her with horror and surprise.

"Is that… do you think that's possible?" he asked. His mind reeled. The thought that he could conceivably lose control and go on a violent rampage without anyone else triggering it made his blood run cold and his stomach lurch.

"I mean, there is a name for what you're describing," Deborah said carefully. "It sounds like a dissociative episode. They are usually caused by a person being exposed to enough trauma that the mind kind of… fractures, splits. As a way to cope. But I've never heard of anyone that had it done to them deliberately. It almost sounds like they purposely created enough trauma to split off… a piece of you that they could control." Bucky contemplated her words and slowly nodded.

"That makes sense," he replied meditatively. "I wouldn't agree to help them voluntarily, so they found a way to… ensure my loyalty." Deborah gave him an incredulous look.

"I mean, yes, from that perspective, it might make a brutal kind of sense," Deborah conceded. "But Bucky, that's absolutely horrifying. Even in wartime, when prisoners were tortured, it was to get information or to make an example. The pain and suffering were a means to an end, secondary to their purpose. In your case, the pain and suffering was the entire point. From a human perspective, from a psychological perspective, that might be the cruelest thing I've ever heard of. The fact that you weren't driven completely mad is… impressive. Some might even say miraculous."

"Even so, I am here," Bucky pointed out dryly, gesturing to the building around them. Deborah nodded.

"You are. You are here, in this room, with me, having a calm and rational discussion about the awful things that they did to, quite literally, break you. Your resilience is, quite frankly, astounding." She leaned forward earnestly and waited for him to look her in the eye. "You are far more than what they did to you, Bucky." Bucky scoffed quietly and dropped his gaze back to the floor.

"If you say so," he murmured. She nodded emphatically.

"You are," she affirmed. "And I think that you've already made progress. The more you talk about what was done to you, the less power it will have over you. Maybe by the time you're ready to leave here, you'll be able to actually feel like a part of society."

"If they ever decide that I can leave," Bucky grumbled. Deborah smiled.

"I don't think that you need to worry too much about that," she murmured, then glanced at her watch. "Looks like that's time. See you again on Wednesday."

"Right," Bucky grunted, and stood up.

Dr. Greenmyer sat back and regarded Bucky calmly. He folded his arms over his chest and returned the doctor's look.

"Nothing?" Dr. Greenmyer asked dubiously. Bucky shrugged.

"Not that I've noticed," he replied. Dr. Greenmyer steepled his fingers and looked over them at his patient.

"So, no side effects, but you're not sure if it's helping, either." Bucky nodded agreement with the doctor's summation. "You know, the nurses have noticed a change. They say you're less withdrawn, less reactive, brighter affect… not such a depressed expression."

"And they are the experts on how I feel, not me?" Bucky replied tersely. Dr. Greenmyer shook his head with a chuckle.

"No, of course not. But they do have experience, and they're good at noticing things like that. You're already at the top recommended dosage. We could leave it there for a couple more weeks, see if you start noticing more benefit from it. Or, given your unique physiology, we could increase the dose and see if that helps you to feel more of a difference." Dr. Greenmyer looked expectantly at Bucky, who blinked.

"You're… asking me? I'm not an expert in medications," he asked after a long moment's pause made it clear that the doctor was waiting for a response from him.

"No, but you are the expert on your own experience, how you feel, and what you're comfortable with," Dr. Greenmyer pointed out. "We don't have to make any changes today. If you want to wait another week, we can do that. It's not a race. And nothing we decide is final, so we can always make changes later. So, what are your thoughts? Should be increase the dose? Or give it another week or two?" Bucky blinked at his psychiatrist.

"Well, I mean… I guess I assumed the standard doses wouldn't really work for me," he admitted slowly. "Alcohol doesn't affect me, so I didn't think medications would do anything."

"So, what I am hearing is that you believe an increase in dose would be helpful," Dr. Greenmyer summarized. Bucky shrugged.

"Maybe. We'll see," he responded noncommittally. "Worth a try."

"And the prazosin?" Dr. Greenmyer prompted. "Have your nightmares improved at all?" Bucky sighed, hesitated, then shook his head. "It seems that's due for an increase as well, then."

Men's group was unpredictable. Sometimes it was dominated by jokes and raucous laughter, sometimes more serious discussion of current topics or things that were on people's minds. Occasionally it veered into deeper waters. Tyler, a program therapist from Bravo unit, came over each week to run the group.

"Okay, guys, just a quick reminder that everything in this group is confidential. Nothing discussed here is discussed outside of group," Tyler began. "Also, let's keep it respectful." He looked pointedly at Alec, sitting across the circle from him. Alec spread his hands defensively.

"What? Why do you look at me when you say that?" he protested.

"It's just a reminder of the rules, Alec," Tyler replied calmly. "If you feel like it's personally directed at you, maybe you should consider being on your best behavior. Then you can be sure it doesn't pertain to you." Bucky smothered a smirk. "We have a new face in the group tonight. What is your name?" Tyler asked to the new arrival from this morning.

"Colin," he introduced himself.

"Welcome, Colin," Tyler replied. "Is there anything you want to share with the group?" Colin shrugged.

"Well, you know. I'm here. Really, it's mostly a big misunderstanding. My girlfriend said that I was partying too much, we get in a fight, and next thing I know, I'm in the hospital and she's telling everyone I'm crazy, and that I attacked her." He rolled his eyes. "Women, am I right?" A couple of the other guys muttered agreement. Bucky held his tongue but had his doubts. Tyler's expression was far from convinced as well.

"Okay," Tyler remarked. "So, let's check in. We'll go around the circle and everyone introduce themselves for Colin, then tell me two things you're thankful for, and one topic you'd like to discuss in group this evening. Bucky, do you want to start us out?" He gestured towards Bucky, who raised his eyebrows, but then shrugged.

"Bucky," he grunted in introduction. "Two things I'm thankful for would be… modern medicine and friends." He didn't elaborate on either of those things. "Nothing specific I want to discuss." Tyler looked slightly disappointed but moved onto the next person. The group slowly warmed up and gained steam. It seemed that even Alec was on his best behavior tonight. Tyler deftly guided the group from one topic to another, not letting any one person dominate the conversation, encouraging those who were hesitant to speak up. He still couldn't manage to get Bucky to say more than a handful of words at a time. The group time was winding down when the program therapist turned his attention to Tim.

"Tim, you've been unusually quiet tonight," Tyler noted. "Is there something on your mind? Anything the group could maybe help with?" Tim scoffed softly and shook his head.

"I don't think so," he grunted, but took a deep breath as he shifted in his chair. "This is just… a hard day for me, is all."

"Why is that?" Alec asked, somehow keeping the smarminess out of his tone. Tim folded his arms over his massive barrel chest.

"Today's the anniversary," he rumbled, then paused. Silence settled over the group as they waited for him to gather his thoughts. "Twelve years ago, I was tweakin' out in my Mustang when I blew through a red light and ran over a woman." He heaved a heavy sigh. "She didn't make it." He stared at the floor intently, as if wishing he could disappear into it. "Most of the year, I can try not to think about it. But this date is burned in my memory. Every year, I swear I'm not going to let it affect me. And every year, I can't get it out of my head." He shook his head and rubbed a hand over his face. "Up until then, I managed to convince myself that using wasn't hurting anyone else. But after that night, I couldn't lie to myself anymore." He shook his head. "After all this time, you'd think the guilt would fade. Maybe it never will."

"Not really." Everyone turned in surprise to look at Bucky as he spoke. Usually he just listened, and rarely contributed. "Sometimes it seems like it's fading, but then something reminds you, and it ambushes you out of nowhere." He frowned thoughtfully. "I think at this point, I would be more worried if it stopped bothering me." Tim raised his eyebrows at him.

"You've killed someone?" he asked, a note of skepticism in his voice. Bucky raised an eyebrow. He must have overplayed the impression of harmlessness in his time on the unit.

"A few," he hedged in understatement. This earned him a few surprised looks, and he shifted in his seat. "I mean, I was in the army."

"How long ago were yours?" Tim inquired. Bucky hesitated. Advertising his age seemed imprudent.

"Sometimes it seems like a lifetime ago," he replied cryptically. Tim raised his eyebrows at the non-answer. The room fell silent

"That's our time for tonight," Tyler said with a glance at the clock. "Thanks, everyone. See you next week." Slowly, everyone stood and left the room. Tyler caught Tim before he headed out the door, engaging him in quiet conversation as the room emptied out.

"Bucky, you have a visitor," Reyna called as she walked by with the rounds board. Bucky frowned. Steve had said he wasn't going to be able to visit for a few days.

"Who is it?" he asked. Reyna shrugged.

"She didn't say. I can let you in," she offered.

"She?" Bucky repeated. Reyna nodded and gestured for him to follow her. He caught a glimpse of red hair and felt as if his heart skipped a beat. Reyna unlocked the door to the visitor's room and opened it. Bucky stepped hesitantly through.

She was standing facing the window, her arms folded over her chest, the setting sun catching her hair and turning it into a flaming halo. She looked over at him, her expression uncertain. He stared at her warily.

"Natalia," he rumbled guardedly. Her eyes widened.

"So you do remember," she breathed.

"I remember… one bright spot in a lot of darkness," he confirmed. "The details are still a little hazy." She took a deep breath and looked down. Bucky gestured to the chairs in the room. "We don't have to stand, you know."

"Right," she sighed, and sat in the chair closest to her. Bucky lowered himself carefully into the seat across from her. "This place isn't quite what I expected. From how Steve talked about it, I half expected them to be torturing you."

"No, they keep that to alternate Tuesdays," he replied dryly. She shot him an incredulous look. He chuckled. "Did you come here just to see what I remembered, or did you have another purpose?" She looked away, glancing out the window.

"I wanted to see you," she admitted after a long pause. "To see… if you were okay."

"Depends how you define okay," Bucky replied curtly. She raised an eyebrow at him. He shrugged. "I'm still here. So there's that." She stood and moved to the chair next to him. He watched her intently, unsure if the odd feeling in his stomach was anxiety or something else. She reached up and caressed his cheek, and his breath caught in his throat. Her lips brushed against his, and his head spun with the smell and taste of her. A knock on the window made him jump and shattered the mood. The aide standing outside the room shook her head at Bucky.

"Boundaries." The reminder was mostly muffled by the window, but the message was clear enough. Bucky rolled his eyes and shifted his weight away from Natalia.

"They aren't fans of… physical affection here," he grumbled. Nat sat back in her seat, hands raised innocently as she glanced over her shoulder at the aide. He thought he read annoyance in her expression, but he wasn't sure.

"I was just hoping to maybe jog your memory," she said defensively, crossing her legs. Bucky cocked his head to the side.

"Consider it jogged. But, Natalia, if you came here for… anything else…" He shook his head. "I don't have anything to offer. Not here, not now. I'm not good for anyone right now." Perhaps ever, he added silently, thinking ruefully of Megan.

"I thought the same, once," she replied, disappointment in her voice. "But you're probably right that this is neither the time nor the place. Not to mention the… complications." She smiled at him suddenly. "Still, old friend, we have a lot of catching up to do." Bucky nodded slowly.

"That we do."

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