Disclaimer: I do not own anything Marvel/Captain America except for copies of the movies. Original characters are original. Feedback is appreciated!
Friendly reminder that the rating on this is a strong T (may increase to M later, but not yet). Adult/dark themes definitely applies to this chapter.
Thanks to NotMarge and StrangeWinter for their reviews!
Despair
Steve was getting dressed in his room when the door swung open and Bucky burst through with a wide grin.
"Steve, let's go out tonight. My treat, I'm celebrating," he announced. Steve tugged his black shirt down over his flak vest.
"Buck, you don't have any money," he reminded his friend.
"Then I'll pay you back," he replied stubbornly. "I still want to celebrate."
"What are we celebrating?" Steve asked. Bucky stretched his arms out, palms up.
"I've been cleared. The Winter Soldier is no more. Or…reintegrated, or something. Nobody is going to be able to take over again."
"That's great news, Bucky!" Steve grabbed his shoulder affectionately. "I'm definitely down for a celebration. But, ah, I can't right now. We're heading out in fifteen minutes. We got a tip there's going to be a raid on one of the vibranium warehouses. We're hoping to find some evidence of who is behind these raids this time."
"Didn't Nyssa predict them after talking with Sturdy?" Bucky recalled. Steve nodded.
"We're pretty sure that's where it will lead, but T'Challa isn't too eager to declare war on Italy. We have to trace it through a few layers before we can make accusations. The rules are a little different in peacetime." Bucky shook his head.
"Fucking politics," he muttered. Steve snorted and nodded his agreement.
"Yeah, basically."
"No uniform anymore," Bucky noted. Steve shrugged.
"I'm not Captain America anymore. I'm… just one of T'Challa's goons."
"Like you would ever be just someone's goon," Bucky scoffed.
"Well, they do let me do a fair bit of planning, too," Steve admitted.
"Funny, I thought they were smarter than that," Bucky said with a smirk. Steve shot him a dirty look. "Maybe I could come with you tonight. I'm sure you could use my help." Steve considered it for a moment, but then shook his head.
"It's not really up to me. I'm sure you'd be helpful, but first you need clearance. Last time I mentioned it to the king, he felt it would be preferable if you had… both arms first." Steve glanced at the clock. "Look, I'll talk to T'Challa about it. Maybe you can come on the next one." He pointed at him as he headed out the door. "We'll be getting back late, but tomorrow, I'm all yours, I promise."
"Just don't do anything stupid before then," Bucky called after him, his smile a teasing half-grin. The door closed behind Steve, and the smile dropped instantly from Bucky's face. His shoulders sagged, and he sat down heavily on the edge of the bed.
Nyssa sat bolt upright in bed, eyes wide. It was still pitch black outside, and her room was quiet. Taking in her breath sharply, she got out of bed and sprinted out of her room in her nightclothes, not even bothering with her robe.
"No, no, no," she whispered, the word punctuating her steps as she rushed barefoot down the hallway. As she opened the door to Bucky's room, it clinked against empty liquor bottles scattered on the floor. She frowned, slightly confused, as he didn't feel intoxicated. "Bucky," she called softly, "Are you… drunk?"
"Not even close," came the reply. He was sitting on the floor in the corner, his back against the wall. He smiled at her, but there was no humor in his expression. "They took that from me, too." Stepping over the four… no, five… empty bottles, she crossed the room and crouched down next to him.
"Give me the gun, Bucky," she said softly. He stared at her for a moment, then rolled his eyes and pulled the pistol out from behind his back where he'd hidden it when she came in. She took it from him and quickly ejected the clip and emptied the chamber. He narrowed his eyes at her.
"Do you know how long it took me to load that one-handed?" he grumbled.
"Three times as long as you would have done it with two hands, and half as long as it would take a civilian?" Nyssa guessed. She rested her hand on his leg. "Bucky, what your mind is telling you right now is lies."
"Oh, so there aren't 172 people dead by my hand?" he bit out. Beneath the angry sarcasm was a forlorn note of false hope that maybe, just maybe, everything had all been a terrible nightmare. Nyssa's eyes shone with sympathetic tears.
"Unfortunately, no, that part is true," she whispered. "And that is a heavy burden for anyone to bear, but killing yourself will not bring them back. I'm talking about the part that is telling you you're worthless and will always only be a killer. The part that says you're irredeemable. The part that says it will always feel this terrible. The part that says that killing yourself is the answer." Bucky stared down at the floor, not meeting her eyes.
"Don't have any better answers," he mumbled.
"You will. You don't have to have it all figured out tonight, or tomorrow, or even this year. If you end it all now, then Hydra's legacy is yours – death, chaos and destruction. But your life is yours now, Bucky. From now on, you decide what you're going to leave behind. You decide how your story is going to go. You decide who you are now. After everything you've been through, everything you've done to reclaim yourself, please… don't give up now. Grieve those you killed. It honors them, and it will help you move forward. Let the dead remain in their graves. There is no need for you to join them yet. You mean to save others the burden of having you around, but that is a lie too. If you end it, you will be the cause of the pain you mean to spare them." Bucky sighed and shook his head.
"Steve doesn't even need me now," he said mournfully.
"He hasn't needed you to protect him for a long time, it's true," she conceded. "But there are things more important than protection that nobody else can give him. You know how much he gave up for you." Bucky closed his eyes and nodded, adding yet another item to the mental pile of debt upon his spirit. "That's not something to feel responsible for. It's simply a measure of how much he values you. Which might be a better measure for you than how you were treated by Hydra." He looked back up at her. "I know you feel broken right now. You've been through hells that would destroy anyone, and you endured it for so long. Do you know how strong, how resilient a person has to be to go through something like that and still be… even marginally intact? They never did break you completely." Bucky eyed her doubtfully but remained silent. She took a deep breath. "I know there's nothing I can say that would change your mind right now, but maybe you could let me show you?" She held her hand out towards his. He looked at her for a long, long moment. She met his gaze patiently. Looking away, he sighed, then put his hand in hers. He was somewhat surprised when she turned his hand palm-inwards and pressed it into his chest. He could feel his heart pounding into his palm, while her hands were warm and soothing on the back of his hand.
"Close your eyes," she whispered, and he obeyed. At first, he saw nothing more than darkness, but he could feel her pulling his attention inward. The darkness gave way to a flickering light in the distance, almost like a candle, but it quickly grew larger as it drew closer. The white glow was obscured by dark shadows shifting across its surface. Some of them were so dark and thick, the light seemed to almost completely disappear, sucked away into a black hole. Bucky frowned.
"What is this?" he asked.
"Pick whatever term you feel comfortable with," she replied. "Your soul, your spirit, your heart… this is you, Bucky." He watched the dance of darkness across the light with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.
"Is this supposed to make me feel better, to show me the evil inside me?" he asked.
"Oh, no, that isn't evil." Her voice had an odd catch in it, and she paused. When she spoke again, he could hear the sorrow in her voice. "That's pain, Bucky. It affects you, but it isn't you. Push past it." He hesitated a moment, drawing closer to the shadows that obscured the light. As he passed through them, he could feel shame, guilt and grief pressing in on him, making it hard to breathe. Then he emerged on the other side, and the weight lifted from him. The bright light was almost blinding, but he stared into it as if hypnotized. "You are stronger than what they did to you. Your past doesn't have to define you. You have had to face great evil, Bucky, but there is still good in you." He opened his eyes and stared at her tear-streaked face, inches from his. She reached out and cupped his face in gentle hands. "You didn't deserve it. You didn't deserve any of it." He wasn't sure whether it her words or the gesture of comfort, but he felt the tide of his emotions rising, threatening to sweep him away with them. The dam that had been so carefully maintained for so long began to crack and crumble. He found himself clinging to her like a life preserver as he wept, tears of shame and regret commingling with grief and rage. Her arms circled around him, keeping him safe in the storm, and he was surprised at their strength despite her size. Finally, the tempest subsided, leaving him drained and empty, the intense maelstrom of emotion replaced only by exhaustion.
Nyssa continued to hold him after his arm around her grew slack and his ragged gasps became deep and regular. Her arms tightened around him as she closed her eyes and let her own tears flow. Drawing in a deep breath, she slowly lowered him down to the floor. Moving silently, she covered him with a blanket from the bed, then knelt down by his head. His sleep was starting to become restless, but she rested her hand lightly on his face.
"No nightmares tonight," she whispered, sending him into a deep, dreamless sleep.
