My thanks to guest reviewers and to all of you who are hanging in there despite the slow updates!
-o0o-
Bucky was exhausted by the time he dragged himself into his bedroom at the end of the afternoon. He'd been peered at, poked and prodded to within an inch of his life by people and machines, though not with the MRI. The MRI tech had gone apoplectic when Bucky took his shirt off and revealed all the metal in the remnants of his arm.
"Why are you even here?" he demanded, and when Bucky just gaped at him, momentarily at a loss to know how to respond, he threw his hands in the air. "Never mind, you are just doing what you are told. It is not your fault; it is that thickheaded psychiatrist. I have told him and told him about MRI machines, but he refuses to understand that the M in MRI stands for magnetic. If even a little bit of the metal in your arm is ferrous, the machine would tear you to pieces and then what would Dr. Lu have to fix? Nothing. He would have nothing because his patient would be splattered all over my machine! Head doctors should not be allowed to ask for tests, that is what I say."
Bucky felt he needed to defend the poor doctor. "I don't think he knew I had metal in my arm. I didn't take my shirt off in his office."
"But it is clearly stated in your records, right here!" He waved his computer tablet at Bucky and jabbed at the screen but turned it away too quickly for Bucky to actually read what it said. "Never mind. Let us get you dressed." He kept on muttering under his breath as he helped Bucky put his shirt back on and was still muttering as Bucky walked away to return to the main examination room.
So, no MRI. But he'd been asked to run on a treadmill, which had garnered quite an audience because, despite lingering chest aches, he easily ran at nearly the same high speeds as the Black Panther.
(Bucky elected not to regale them with tales of the footrace he had run against T'Challa in Bucharest.)
They'd drawn blood and taken a saliva sample, and they'd even taken a sample of his hair, citing that it could tell them all sorts of things about his health even as far back as two years ago, including, if they were lucky, hints of what sort of drugs he had been given by HYDRA. Given how fast his hair grew and that he'd chopped at it now and then to keep it from falling all the way to his waist, he doubted their chances of that, but who knows. Maybe he missed some strands in the back or maybe the HYDRA drugs lingered in the body longer than he realized. The thought hardly cheered him.
They'd tested his breathing, which had involved putting a mask over his face and then immediately after that replacing one of the oxygen-level monitors when the experience came a little too close to what HYDRA had done to him. They'd waved off his profuse apologies and offers to pay for a replacement as they pried the remains of the mangled machine out of the wall and swept up bits of broken glass and plastic from the floor. They'd been too excited at how strong even his normal muscle and bone arm was to care about a piece of damaged equipment.
They'd tested his reflexes (as if knocking the oxygen meter flying wasn't indication enough). His flexibility (yay, showing off his kick-the-ceiling move again). His grip strength (oops, another gizmo cracked to pieces and another stammering apology waved off). They'd stuck electrodes all over his head and looked at his brain waves.
It was all very thorough and they had been incredibly kind throughout, especially over the broken equipment, but in the end he felt on the raw edge of frazzled and absolutely no closer to any sort of healing than he had when he'd crawled out of bed this morning. Dr. Lu had smiled gently, once again reading his mind to assure him that once they had all the test results, they'd be able to work out a treatment plan to get the triggers out of his head. In the meantime, Bucky must be patient and kind to himself and feel absolutely no shame if he struggled to maintain an even keel.
He threw himself down on the bed. No shame. Now there's a knee-slapper. As if he didn't have to swallow a whole cup of shame simply because he could wake up every morning when none of his many victims could.
Steve knocked softly on the door.
Bucky grunted something that he hoped Steve would take as "go away," but must have passed for "come in," because Steve opened the door. Bucky grimaced as he burrowed under the blanket and curled himself around an armful of pillows.
"You okay under there?" Steve asked.
Bucky pulled the blanket aside enough to show his eyes. He shrugged. "'m okay, I guess. Tired."
"It was a long day." Steve looked nearly as exhausted as Bucky felt. He started to lower himself into the chair, but Bucky stopped him.
"That chair is really uncomfortable," he said. "Stretch out on the bed."
"I do that, I might not get back up until morning." But he walked around to the other side and sat down with his back against the headboard. He stretched both legs out with a slight groan. "Strange how tiring it is to sit around in waiting areas."
"Sorry about that. But I appreciate you being there."
Steve shrugged. "You hungry?"
Bucky shook his head. "Too tired to eat."
"How about I fix you a sandwich, at least."
Bucky doubted he could stay awake long enough for Steve to make it back to the kitchen. He curled more tightly into his ball of blankets. "No thanks." He shut his eyes.
He felt Steve pat his head, then the bed creaked and lifted as he got up. If he closed the door on the way out, Bucky didn't hear it.
-o0o-
He couldn't move his left arm.
It hurt. But he couldn't move it. Couldn't move his right arm to rub it. It hurt it hurt it hurt why did it hurt so bad?
A bright light clicked on above him. Face swam into his vision. Glasses. Smug smile. Swiss accent. Zola. "Ah, Sergeant Barnes, you are awake."
His jaw was locked tight. Couldn't speak.
"It would have been better if you had stayed asleep, but no matter. You cannot go anywhere."
A scream was building in his chest. His lungs burned with it. The scream wanted out but he couldn't unlock his jaw.
A high-pitched whirring noise on his left.
He saw the shine of a spinning blade held by a hand clad in red metal.
A hand clad in red metal.
The blade lowered toward his left arm.
Bucky jerked his eyes up to the face again and it was Tony Stark and then they were facing each other in a train with no doors, roaring through a snowy pass…
"You killed my parents."
Stark lifted his hand and a beam of light and fire exploded into Bucky's left arm and the train disintegrated around him and he was falling…
Bucky woke up, his breathing coming in harsh gasps. He fought off the blankets and grabbed at his left arm. The arm that wasn't there. But it hurt anyway. It hurt. There was nothing there but it hurt and then he was crying damn it stop, but he couldn't and the scream that had been caught in his chest came out through his clenched teeth in a high, keening sound like a wounded animal. Then the door flew open and Steve was there, holding him while he shook and choked back sobs.
"Shhh, Bucky, it's okay. I've got you. You're okay. You're safe. Shhh." Steve ran his hand over Bucky's hair over and over. "You're safe. I've got you."
Bucky's words were trapped in his throat again, so he just buried his face in Steve's chest and clung to him until the nightmare finally loosened its grip and the arm that wasn't there stopped hurting.
Steve stopped his litany of soothing words, but he continued stroking Bucky's hair, until finally Bucky straightened. "M'okay," he mumbled as he scrubbed at the tears on his cheeks. He pulled away and sat with his hand covering his eyes. "M'okay."
He heard Steve yank several tissues out of the box on the nightstand.
Steve bumped Bucky's arm. "Here. Blow."
Bucky dried his face and then blew his nose. It was awkward, doing it one handed, but he managed. He pulled his knees to his chest and rested his forehead on them. His breathing was slowly returning to normal, except for the occasional hiccup.
"Bad one, I guess?" Steve asked.
Bucky nodded.
"Need to talk about it?"
He shook his head.
He felt Steve's hand on the back of his neck, large and warm and reassuring. He reached back and squeezed it.
For a long time, they sat like that, quiet, and eventually Bucky's breathing slowed to match Steve's. He raised his head. "Thanks."
A final squeeze of the back of his neck and Steve let him go. "Any time."
Bucky got out of bed and went into the bathroom. He avoided looking at himself in the mirror as he ran the tap and splashed his face several times with cold water. He dried off, then looked back at Steve. "Maybe that sandwich now?"
"You bet."
Bucky followed him into the kitchen and leaned against the counter. He watched in silence as Steve got out bread and mayonnaise and what looked like slices of roast beef. Seeing the sandwich take shape caused the echo of a memory to stir, but he was too tired to track it down and pull it into the light. Turned out he didn't have to.
"You used to love roast beef sandwiches," Steve said. "There was a deli down on the corner that had really great ones. Plenty of horseradish, good bread. So fair warning: this one won't be as good as the ones Mr. Lowenstein made."
Bucky shrugged. It was food. He didn't remember what those long-ago sandwiches tasted like anyway. "Appreciate you making it," he said as Steve handed him the plate. He sat down at the table and took a bite. "S'good," he mumbled.
"I may not be much of a cook, but I can at least slap together a sandwich." Steve brought his own over and sat down across from Bucky. "Oh man, speaking of delis—you remember how sometimes we'd walk all the way across the bridge to eat at Katz's Deli?"
Bucky chewed, then said, "Send a salami to your boy in the Army?"
Steve laughed. "Yeah, that's the one! Man, they had some good corned beef."
"I think… I liked their pastrami on rye?"
"Yep. With plenty of mustard. You'd also get latkes and an egg cream."
Bucky took another bite. Suddenly it wasn't as good. "This ain't that."
"Nope. I doubt they have Jewish delis in Wakanda."
"Their loss." He took another bite.
Steve gave him a long look, then asked, "How you feelin', really?"
"Tired." Foggy and edgy, too, in the way he knew signaled a need to hide away for a good day or two, but that wasn't possible, which only made the fatigue flex its muscles and bear down harder. He took another bite of sandwich so he wouldn't have to talk.
Steve must have sensed his mood, because they ate their sandwiches in silence and even after they cleaned up the dishes and moved into the living area to watch the sun's last rays shining on the mountain, they stayed quiet. Steve disappeared briefly to get his sketchpad and pencils, but as he sat down and put his feet up, all he did was give Bucky a small smile before he started sketching the view.
It was nice. Bucky had been worried that he'd need to fill every moment with chatter, but Steve was just as quiet as he used to be. Bucky vaguely remembered always having a ready comment about just about everything, but that was another man in another lifetime. Steve was the chatty one these days. He watched Steve's hand move with surety and confidence across the paper and knew that when he was finished, there'd be a beautiful pencil drawing of a mountain. He missed that, moments like this at the end of the day when they'd sit on the fire escape and watch the lights turn on around the city. "Glad you still sketch," he said.
"Takes my mind off my troubles. Always has."
"I should probably take up a hobby."
"You used to whittle. Might try that again when you get your new arm."
"Maybe I could learn one-armed juggling."
Steve stared at him for a moment, then laughed. "Just don't break any dishes."
Bucky smiled, then went back to watching the mountain. He slouched lower on the couch and put his feet up on the coffee table. As he listened to the soft scratching of Steve's pencil, he felt a small measure of peace steal into his soul. It surely wouldn't last, but if there was anything he had learned in his two years of freedom, it was to grab those peaceful moments and enjoy them, because the next day held no guarantees.
tbc...
Author's note: Katz's Deli is a real thing, has been since 1899. It would have been a bit of a hike for Brooklyn boys Steve & Bucky but it also would have been an adventure for them. "Send a salami to your boy in the Army" is also an actual Katz's Deli saying, from WWII when they'd ship salami (and presumably other meats) to the boys on the front.