Bucky was better at helping Russell than I was. He could help him get to the bathroom and help him shift positions without hurting him. So he offered to take over and I went back upstairs to take a shower.
The water went cold and lost pressure quickly, but I stayed there for a while anyway. Cleaning up the day before hadn't been enough to wash away the past two months. It felt therapeutic to smell like floral shampoo instead of blood. But I only had one change of clothes and didn't want to wear them again.
Bucky's comfort made it easier to relax. I could walk back to the room in nothing but a towel and not be afraid of being intercepted. Let alone by someone who wanted to hurt me. I could hear Dana's voice downstairs and the sounds and smells of cooking food. Even though I knew how to detect his mask, Bucky was better at blending in than I was. He'd spent seventy-odd years of his life a living weapon. And now he was downstairs making an old woman laugh. He'd spent his mornings making friends with a bunch of goats and dogs. And I was upstairs in a bedroom, wrapped in a towel, trying not to think or feel.
He must have suspected that I'd feel that way because I heard him on the stairs and then he gently knocked before peeking inside.
"Mind if I come in?" he asked. "I have clothes for you." I was sitting at the end of the bed with my back to him. I had to look over my shoulder to see him. I nodded so he stepped inside and shut the door. He set the folded clothes on the bed. "They're Dana's this time. She thought you might feel better in something clean." I nodded and turned back to the wall.
"I appreciate it," I said. He hesitated to leave me alone.
"Jo?"
"Mm?"
"Do you want to talk? I know I'm not very good at it." I shook my head and looked down at my fingers.
"I don't really want to talk." He took a seat behind me anyway.
"Can I…?" I looked back at him. He nodded toward the towel wrapped around my chest. I looked away and let it fall to my waist. He moved my wet hair over my shoulders and touched his fingers to my skin, gently grazing a small inch of my spine. "What did they do to you?"
"They were trying to wake it up. Testing its tolerance for pain, I suppose. Wanted to see how much they could get away with before it acted."
"You remember?" I shrugged.
"Bits and pieces. She was in my head a lot. It's hard to sort it all out."
"You're covered in scars. More than you had before."
"I know."
"Jo—I meant to ask before—but I didn't know how to get the words out." He hesitated again. "Did they—do things to you? You know what I'm asking."
"I don't know," I admitted. He took a deep breath and leaned forward. His hand gripped my boney hip and I felt his lips on my skin. My eyes closed and even though I couldn't find any words, I didn't want him to let go.
"I'm sorry," he said, pulling away. His hand moved from my hip and I wished he'd left it there. Though I couldn't ask him to put it back.
"What for?"
"I should have found a way sooner."
"It's not your fault. At least I'm still me."
"You're you but you're…." He didn't finish. "I should have done something. Shouldn't even have let them take you. I walked right into their trap." He knew as well as I did that Russell and Graham would probably both be dead if he'd refused to let me go.
I left that unsaid and pulled the towel back up around me. Then I turned to face him. He was leaning on his arm and it put him at the perfect level for me to lean forward and kiss him. Our lips met harder than I meant to, and his eyes squeezed shut like he was in pain. But his metal hand moved to my shoulder and his fingers dug into my skin. I pulled away before it could go any further and waited for him to open his eyes again.
"I'm still me," I told him, running my finger down the length of his jaw. But I couldn't meet his eyes. "I remember everything. I still feel—everything." I finally looked at him. "They couldn't take that away from me." Then I climbed off of the bed, scooped up the clothes, and left to get dressed in the bathroom.
