The sixth postcard Bucky sent was of a French vineyard.
I think I'd like a garden, sweetheart. Though I can't imagine my fingers are very green.
It was the fifth morning in a row that Bucky had walked the cobbled streets of the small market town. Steve and Sam were busy running surveillance for Fury. It was like the stakeout of Dungeness all over again, except it was the decommissioned Superphénix nuclear power station that was the focus of their attention this time.
Steve granted them each a couple of hours every day to leave their post, stretch their legs, and bring back some food. For reasons unbeknown to Bucky, he was responsible for breakfast. He didn't complain. It gave him a short period of solitude to prove that he could function without a keeper. He kept his hands in his pockets. Was careful to stay alert. Didn't allow his mind to wander. Much. He did tend to listen to his MP3 player whenever he was alone.
He caught sight of his reflection in the window of a little pâtisserie as he passed by. His hair was getting longer. He hadn't succumbed to the pressure to cut it yet, but he had taken to tying it back in an effort to appease Steve.
The market stalls that lined the street sold mainly food. Fresh fruits and vegetables. Local cheeses and warm fragrant breads. There were a couple of traders who sold nothing but wine, and, bizarrely, one incongruous jewellery stand.
It was opposite this stand that Bucky's footsteps tended to slow. It was the peeling name on the front of the stall that had first caught his attention. L'étoile d'argent. He didn't speak much French, but the faded image of a silver star was an excellent clue as to the meaning behind the name.
Amy had once spoken to him about the painful reminders that were carved into her body. He didn't envy her those scars, but no one had carved anything into her skin quite like the Soviet star that he bore on his left shoulder.
Like a maker's mark. A brand of ownership.
It bothered him less than some of the horrors that dogged his steps.
Because the power behind a symbol could be changed, reinvented, and a star, well, a star could mean just about anything.
There were worse symbols to carry.
HYDRA's, for example. The ugly pin that Steve persisted in keeping from Dungeness frankly gave Bucky the creeps.
"Bonjour monsieur."
The elderly gentleman sitting behind the jewellery stand inclined his head ever so slightly in Bucky's direction. He did this every morning, but something felt different today.
Bucky crossed the street and the old man's wrinkled face creased more deeply as he smiled.
"Que cherchez-vous?"
Bucky gave a slight shrug of his shoulders, managed to summon half an apologetic smile in reply.
"Yeah. Sorry. My French is a little rusty."
"Ah, Américain?"
"Depends who you ask."
"Pardon monsieur?"
"Nothing. It's- nothing."
Bucky shook his head. It was still hard sometimes. Remembering who and what he was... had been?
He ran his eyes over the collection of jewellery on display. Glad of the distraction. Rings, bracelets, earrings, necklaces. It was hardly Tiffany's, but then it wasn't like he had money to burn. Fury had provided him and Steve with new clothes. Equipment too. Somehow. Weapons, mainly, for all three of them. He had been less keen on furnishing them with cash.
"You 'ave someone in mind?" asked the Frenchman, focused squarely on the sale he sensed.
Always.
Bucky had never seen Amy wear a pair of earrings. And he assumed a bracelet would get in the way of her work. That was probably true of a ring too. Though he thought he might persuade her around that difficulty one day. But it was a necklace that he owed her.
She had given so much and asked for so little. He wanted to send her something. A gift. Something more substantial than paper and ink. Something with meaning. With gravitas. Because he thought maybe, just maybe, a little possessive part of him wanted her branded too.
His seventh postcard wasn't a postcard at all.
It was a plain white envelope that contained a fine chain and a star-shaped silver pendant.
There were no words. He trusted she would know what it meant.
"This isn't getting us to Azzano."
Bucky felt compelled to state the obvious. He did this at least once a day. Perhaps it was the reason why Steve had finally agreed to enter the plant tonight. Fury hadn't been in touch for nearly two weeks, which suited Bucky just fine. He had infinitely preferred life in Europe when it had been just him and Steve. Sam was a tolerable addition, but Fury was still an unknown quantity.
"It's on the way to Italy," said Sam. He offered Bucky a smile, and a shrug that was constrained by the Falcon wings that he wore. "Kind of?"
"HYDRA's interest in nuclear technology is worth a few detours," said Steve, leading from the front.
"I thought it was gamma radiation that they were playing around with?" Bucky asked, sighing.
"That doesn't make it any better."
Bucky didn't believe he imagined the way that Steve flinched as he spoke.
He glanced at Sam, who shrugged again, nonplus this time.
"Whatever they were doing here. They're not doing it now."
"Fury thought Creys-Malville was important," Steve replied.
"I thought Fury wasn't in charge anymore."
Steve shot a look over his shoulder.
Bucky shut up.
The plant was empty. As expected. And yes, a little unnerving, with its long dark corridors and narrow echoing staircases. The thick shadows could trick the unsuspecting late night visitor into believing they were being followed. The moon was full. The sky clear and star studded, negating the need for flashlights. Bucky had been tasked with the job of rearguard. He kept a keen watch for any impending trouble.
He wasn't expecting trouble.
So the scuff of a boot somewhere down the other end of an inky black corridor brought him up short. The hair on the back of his neck prickled, and that was when he realised the truth.
The silence that surrounded them- it wasn't the silence of nothing.
It was the silence of something. Or someone.
Watching. Listening.
Bucky increased his pace by a casual fraction. His heart picked up a beat or two, as adrenaline flooded his body. The outer wall of the building was on his right. He moved to Sam's left, keeping his own body between Steve's friend and the unidentified threat that was hiding in the darkness. He was suddenly very glad of the weight of Fury's gun in his hand.
"Steve."
"Yeah?"
"You remember the Murphy brothers?"
Steve glanced over his shoulder, confusion written across his face.
"Yeah. They beat me up every day for a month after you broke your arm playing baseball. Used to stalk me and jump out from- oh."
Bucky recognised the sound of the safety being disengaged on a grenade launcher.
He pushed Sam out of the path of danger and hit the ground hard. The wall behind him exploded, ripping a hole in the building that opened it to the night. Bucky picked himself up off the floor. Ears ringing with the sound of the explosion. He fired his gun in the direction that the grenade had come from- had no idea if he hit anything.
Anyone.
He definitely hadn't hit everyone.
Because a volley of return fire was shot back at him. He rolled out of range of the bullets.
"Steve?"
Bucky looked to his friend, hesitated, wondering if he needed to wait for an order. Were they fighting or retreating? The plan had been to get in and out without being seen. None of them had doubted that it would be a success, so the rules of engagement had never been clearly defined.
"Is this HYDRA?" asked Sam, pulling his weapons.
Bucky answered with one curt nod.
"Then we take them down," said Steve.
A second explosion followed the first before they could coordinate an attack.
This one came out of nowhere.
Out of nothing.
It filled the corridor with blue light and static. There was no pain. Not immediately, but Bucky felt himself drop to his knees. Didn't entirely understand why. He pressed his fists to the floor. Struggled to focus his thoughts. And it was a struggle. Like trying to tune a radio and getting only white noise. A small seed of panic took root. He remembered this feeling.
He couldn't- he couldn't-
The voices inside his head were screaming. Disjointed. A harsh cacophony of German and Russian that was drowning out a softer thread of English.
A woman was calling his name.
He recognised her voice, which was when the pain started.
He should have known that it was coming.
It was a sharp, red hot poker that drilled right through his head. He was the one screaming now. Fighting. Desperately. Not to fail. Through the agony and the fear, he struggled to find the safety line that kept him bound to the warm light that flickered in the darkness. Held on. Tighter than he had held onto anything in his life.
It seemed never ending, and then, as suddenly as it had hit, it vanished.
The pain receded. In a hiss of steam and vapour.
He couldn't move. Felt drained of every last drop of strength. It was over. Was it over? He didn't know. Anything.
He blinked. Carefully. Those cracks in his mind. That shattered glass. All blown to pieces.
"Recalibration complete, sir."
He blinked again.
"Get up."
He didn't even know what language was being spoken.
But he understood it.
So he obeyed.
There were twelve men standing in a semi-circle around him. At his back was a hole in the wall. A sheer drop on the other side. He could feel the whisper of the wind on his skin. Took on board every last little detail of his surroundings. He swayed. Dizzy. Weak. He was looking at the world through a thick fog. Yet the beat of his heart was curiously calm. He should be more afraid. But that pinprick of light hadn't left him. It burned. Slowly brighter. Illuminating the dark recesses of his mind.
"All right, first test, soldier. What's your name?"
He turned towards the man asking the question.
There was something familiar about his face.
Something cruel and slightly vacant.
His eyes drifted to the pin on the man's lapel.
"Answer me."
"Bucky!"
The reply did not come from his lips.
Who the hell is Bucky?
The memory rolled across his tongue but he didn't give it life.
Instead, he caught it. Held it. Tugged a thread and watched it unravel. The light seemed to catch it- a spark hitting a fuse that zipped through his head like a lightning bolt.
Sergeant. 32557038.
That was the correct response. The one that he had once been trained to give under interrogation. But the man standing in front of him smiled at his silence. Seemed to take it as some form of victory. Anger kindled in his chest. Sharpened his focus. And quashed his doubts. He knew what he had to do. Knew he had to do it alone.
"Second test. Kill them."
He identified the targets.
Two targets. Plus ten soldiers. Nine of them with their weapons pointed at either his head or his chest. He was going to die if he didn't get this right.
"Come on, Bucky! Fight it!"
Who was to say he wasn't fighting already?
He turned towards the blond man.
Raised the gun in his hand.
And fired.
The air disturbance from the bullet ruffled Steve's hair. Missing his head by millimetres. The slug itself hit the fire alarm on the wall ten feet behind Steve's back. The building was pierced by the deafening sound of the siren. In the split second of confusion that followed, Bucky turned, dodged and fired again. HYDRA soldiers started to fall. One by one. Faster when Steve and Sam joined the fight.
"You jerk."
Steve grunted the affectionate insult through the din.
"Sorry."
Bucky almost smiled. He'd try understanding exactly why his mind was still his own later. For the moment, he was a little drunk on relief. It was a shame then that lifting so much as a finger took such immense effort. He needed time to gather his strength. Time that wasn't available.
He blocked a punch and threw one soldier into Steve's shield, before moving to grab the commanding officer by his shirt collar. He lifted the man off his feet and stared into his cold grey eyes.
"James Barnes. Look him up if you live through the night."
The man curled his lip.
"I've no intention of living through the night," he spat, shouting to be heard over the alarm that was still sounding. "The Baron has authorised your death on the failure of your repatriation. This building is rigged with enough explosives to take down the entire structure, so do enjoy your last twenty seconds of life, James Barnes."
He pulled a detonation device from his pocket and didn't even hesitate to press the trigger.
Bucky was stunned into inaction for a moment. The only saving grace was that this building didn't house the plant's old nuclear reactors.
"You'll die too. And your men."
"To die for a just cause. There is nothing more glorious."
"Steve, new problem!" Bucky yelled, slamming the man down onto the ground.
The few HYDRA soldiers still standing started running, as if they had a chance of escape.
"I heard." Steve sounded concerned. "How are you doing?"
Not great. His head was spinning. The siren wasn't helping. His body just wanted to collapse. But Steve and Sam still needed his help. So somehow, through sheer wilful defiance probably, he was pushing past his limits.
"Bucky?"
"Can we stop it?"
"No."
"Then we have to jump."
Steve looked grim.
How many floors up were they? Fifteen? Twenty? It didn't really matter. It was too many.
Ten seconds.
"I can give you a hand."
"No, Sam. There'll be too much debris. You go, we'll follow," said Steve, repositioning his shield on his arm. He stared at Bucky. "In three?"
Bucky raised an eyebrow. Like they had three seconds to spare. He watched a reluctant Sam take flight.
God. He hated falling. But he hated the thought of dying a whole lot more.
The realisation came with swift biting clarity, as he fell into step beside Steve, took a run up to the gaping hole in the wall. His foot hit the crumbling brickwork and launched his body out into the black night air. This was going to hurt. But probably not badly enough to kill him. Strange. How it was her life and not his own that flashed in front of his eyes.
The building at his back exploded with a roar as the ground rushed up to meet him. Missile-like fragments of masonry filled the air. He actually managed to use a couple to slow his descent, although a third slammed into his right side.
Something cracked.
Bucky's vision blurred. He stopped breathing, but he still managed to hit the ground on his toes, and brace his left arm to absorb the impact. Pushed his body forward and rolled, a fluid movement that almost certainly saved his life. He was on his feet and running without pause. Didn't even break his stride as he grabbed Steve and dragged him up off the ground. Steve, who had elected to use his shield to break his fall. Sam was still in the air, trying to dodge bits of falling building while providing them with aerial cover.
"Run!" he yelled.
They were running. And the building was still exploding behind them. The heat of the fire scorching their skin. Huge chunks of masonry falling like rain all around them.
The sudden barrage of gunfire, Bucky could have done without.
His leg gave out momentarily as pain smashed through his thigh. His knee hit the concrete, but in the next moment he was up and running again. Steve's hand pushing him forward.
"Left, left, left!" Sam shouted directions from the air.
Bucky raised his head to see if he was serious.
Steve grunted in pain beside him, and Bucky took stock for long enough to fire two shots. His aim was off. Only one bullet found its target.
They kept going, scaled the perimeter fence and raced through the woodland on the other side. Feet pounding. Blood pumping. Lungs burning. They battled through thick undergrowth until they reached the Rhône. The river here was wide, the current fast and treacherous. Neither man checked his pace before he hit the water in full retreat.