The morning, like all mornings, broke with the sun in the east. The difference between all other mornings and this one was that Bucky Barnes was excited to meet it. He had barely slept; only Margery's instructions made him attempt it. Eventually though, at about 5 am, he could pretend no longer. He decided to get a work out in and was in luck that the gym was completely empty.

He was coming back nearly 2 hours later when he found Margery in the kitchen drinking tea and reading the red notebook. The smile that was on his face faded somewhat at the sight of not only the red book, but the sight of Margery reading its shameful contents.

"I don't know what you're going to find in there that will help reverse what they did." He began. She looked up at him from across the counter. "Other than that being my instruction manual, the rest is just past missions."

She seemed to be considering her answer carefully. After a moment she carefully marked her place, closed the notebook, and put it down between them. "I know that you hate the things you did as the Winter Soldier, Bucky. The last thing I want to do is remind you of those times." He waited for the 'but' to come. "But, within the contents of this book could be an answer to unlocking your conditioning."

"I just don't want you to know everything that I did. I don't want you to look at me like the rest of the world does: like I'm a rabid animal, capable of anything."

She leaned across the counter then and took his one flesh hand. She held it tenderly, turning it palm up and running her fingertips over the calluses.

"Bucky, I know better than anyone who you really are. I know the difference between you and the Winter Soldier, whether you know it yourself of not. When I read this book, I don't see you doing what is described. I know it was your physical body, yes, but not your true mind. It was never who you actually are who did those things. I don't see you in a darker light than I did before I read any of it. If anything, I see you as stronger because you have endured so much mental and physical anguish but still are willing to work for your future."

Bucky stared into her eyes and knew that she was telling him the absolute truth.

"And speaking of that…" she deferred while letting go of him.

He smiled again and said, "Let's go, doc."

Twenty minutes later and they were ready to begin what they started the day before. This time though, Bucky was lying down on the couch with her on the footstool next to him. Margery began reciting the words once again. Bucky had almost identical reactions this time.

Despite his resolve, Bucky only made it to the eighth word once again.

XXXXX

Days past in much the same way as that first; wake up, try again, fail, rest, and repeat. After a week of this pattern, Margery began gently prodding Bucky about what exactly was happening while she read the words.

They were together in the kitchen. She was sitting at the counter painting her nails while he cooked. Margery was pleasantly surprised to find that he was actually gifted in the kitchen. She was taking advantage of this moment when he was thusly occupied with cooking and she was seemingly only partially focused on his answers due to her manicure.

"What's going on inside when you hear the words? Like, what are you actively thinking about?" She inquired of him.

He was slicing vegetables and didn't look up to answer. "Mainly, that I need to keep it together and not give in."

"Is that all?"

He paused a moment to deposit said veggies into a pot before moving on to his next task and answering her. "No. I'm thinking about how much I want to stay myself."

Margery made a faintly interested noised of understanding. She had an idea that she had been playing with and wanted him to give her the right information to confirm it, without putting pressure on him.

"Well…" he chuckled a bit. "I think mostly I'm trying not to scream."

There it was.

Despite the week of failures, Bucky had not lost his optimism. He had committed to the path they were on and everything that ultimately went with it. He would stay the course and follow Margery's small adjustments. Now it was time for a large one.

"I've been thinking that you should try to think of positive images that are connected to the words while I say them." She said this casually as she fanned her nails dry.

"Positive images?"

"Yes. We know that the words were forced into you brain for the purpose of repressing your free will and amplifying your suggestibility. We have assumed that this was done using negative image correlations." As she explained Bucky carried on cooking but his movements were slower, as if concentrating more on her words than his task. "We don't know this for sure, but if it were true we don't know what those images were and why they were selected in correlation to the words. But in principle, that's what was done. So, why not create your own counter-images to focus the transition during the word recitation? So you combat the residual images left in your mind by retraining the pathways to the positive. The positive that you choose and which represent the current you… so you stay yourself."

"Would it matter what I chose?" He asked quietly.

"No, so long as they were powerful and meaningful to the words."

He smiled. "Alright, let's give it a try."

And so, while they ate dinner they formulated a plan. Bucky would take the next two days to both rest his mind so they could start fresh, as well as create his images in his mind so that they would be easily reached.

XXXXX

Bucky thought long and hard about those words and what he could think about to make them positive. As he thought about positives, the reasoning of why those words were chosen in the first place became more apparent to him. Thinking of a word and searching his memories for something connected to it, inevitably brought a memory of fear or pain before it could bring the positive. Yet, he persisted in searching his mind for answers he hadn't realized he needed.

He stayed in his room over those two days. Margery would bring him food and then quietly slip out of the room. She recognized that he needed to do this alone. Each time she came in and out he would sit and stare at the door, inhale the lingering smell of her perfume, and think about the luck that he had. She always seemed to come in just as he was beginning to be lost in the bad memories of his past, getting trapped within the misfortunes of his existence. Yet, despite all the terrible things that had been done to him and he had done himself, he was undeniably lucky. He had someone who truly cared for him. And she was as beautiful to him as a sunrise after the darkest of nights.