"This still just… doesn't make sense to me," Bucky mutters, his voice low, hands clenched tightly around the steering wheel.
Tessa glances over at him, notes the way his eyes squint perilously through the too-bright afternoon sun as he tries to focus on the road ahead. "I don't know why you refuse to wear sunglasses," she teases with a crooked grin and subtle shake of her head.
He glares over at her, more confused than upset. "I thought that they were… enemies," he goes on, completely ignoring her jibe. "The X-Men and… what did you call them?"
"The Mutant Brotherhood," she responds with an irritated huff as she faces forward and slinks lazily down her seat. "And they were. Are?" She uses a single pointed finger to slide her own sunglasses back up the bridge of her nose and then pulls in a long, weary breath. "They'll probably go back to fighting each other soon enough. But for now…" Her entire body twists awkwardly in the seat, lap belt riding up past her hips as she shifts further down while turning to face him. "Now we have to play nice, I guess."
He glances at her out of the corner of his eye. "What are you doing?" dripping from his lips amid a short chortle. By this point, her knees are very nearly on the floor of the car, hands folded delicately beneath her cheek as she rests her head on the center armrest and stares up him. He reaches over and plucks at the crossbody portion of her seatbelt, which she has tucked haphazardly up under her right arm. "If we get in an accident, that thing's gonna take your head off."
She lets out a long yawn and blinks her eyes shut. "Don't get in an accident."
Another quick laugh escapes him, causing her own face to split into a sleepy smile. But her grin is short lived, falling quickly away the moment her husband's hand wraps around her arm and begins to haul her upright. "Ugh," she moans, turning to jelly in his grip, refusing to reposition herself.
"Would you sit up?" he tries, frustration beginning to seep into his voice the more she resists, forcing him to manhandle her with one hand while steering with the other. "Just… sit… like a… normal… person!"
She finally relents, still heavily slouched, but mainly in place in the plush leather seat. "I'm bored," she complains loudly. "You could've at least let me drive. The location is inside my head after all."
He turns a slow, withering look on her. "You're half asleep and you want me to let you drive?"
Her face splits into a scowl, arms wrapping tightly around her middle in a sullen pose. "You didn't even need to come!"
"Yeah," he mutters blandly, returning his attention to the road. "Sure."
Another exasperated harrumph rolls up her throat as she tightens her grip on herself. She opens her mouth to speak – no doubt to let loose some more unnecessary, sulky nonsense that would undoubtably get her into trouble – but gets cut off by the ringing of Bucky's cell.
Steve's name pops up on the handsfree display, blinking at them like a harsh beacon. They share a quick look, then a shrug, and Tessa reaches out to hit accept.
"Well, if it isn't my guardian angel," she intones brightly – and a bit sarcastically. "My knight in shining armor. My… stem cell benefactor."
Bucky rolls his eyes as he continues to squint past the sun. "Hey, Steve," he greets plainly.
"Hey," comes the reply through the speakers. "Where are you guys? Bruce said you took off on some kind of last minute vacation?"
"You cured me, Steve," Tessa chants with a cheerful cadence. Then, voice dropping an octave, "But that place was going to kill me."
A disappointed sounding sigh emanates from the other line. "Well, Bruce is pissed… practically green. He said he didn't sign off on you going anywhere."
She lets out an irritated psh. "He doesn't need to sign off. He's not in charge of me."
"Uh, he kinda is," Steve argues pointedly. "And if he doesn't think you're well enough to go…"
"I'm just taking her on a weekend getaway," Bucky interjects, side-eyeing Tessa with an expression that clearly states, even more so than his nervous energy does, I don't like this. I don't like lying to him. And he's right.
She sticks her tongue out in a peevish reply as Steve counters with, "It's Wednesday."
Bucky rolls his eyes. "You know what I mean." His fingers slowly flex on the steering wheel, relaxing and white-knuckling in turn as he speaks to – lies to – his friend. "It was just a little crazy there… everybody running all over the place. And Tess kept trying to sneak down to the store room to go through files." He turns to her with a raised eyebrow, an accusation based on the one time she tried to take off a few hours ago. She returns his glare with an overly dramatic eyeroll of her own. "I think getting away for a bit would be good for her."
"Yeah, well…" he sputters for a moment, and the two of them share a quick grin, each picturing the same thing… Steve shifting his weight anxiously from foot to foot, one hand on his hip as he thinks on what to say, an annoyed huff building in his chest. Tessa has to bite her lip to keep from laughing aloud when that huff actually sounds through their speakers. "I know that probably feels like a good idea, but…"
"It's just a couple of days, pal," Bucky states simply.
"I don't think…" A loud sigh drifts to them next, and this is less amusing and more… worrisome.
"What?" Bucky asks, voice dropping an octave. "What is it?" He shifts in his seat, pulling himself staunchly upright. "Ross?"
There's a long beat on the other line as they await the reply. "Yeah," Steve says finally. "Yeah, I really think you guys should come home so we can talk."
"Or you could just tell us now," Tessa snipes, narrowed eyes boring a hole into the center display where his name still shows.
"It's just…"
"Steve," Bucky breathes out, his hands tightening on the wheel as he chances a glance over at his now nervous-looking wife. "Just say it."
There's a long inhale on the other line as he prepares to speak. "It's not good, guys. Ross admitted involvement… he wasn't shy about it at all. Because it's all… I don't know," he scoffs suddenly, voice taking on a bitter edge. "It's all on the up and up. It's legal. Everything they're doing – Ross, the Canadian government, our government… hell, a dozen other governments – it's all been authorized. Sanctioned." They can almost hear him shaking his head despondently from all those miles away. "I don't know… I don't know what we can do…"
Bucky's face twists in a sudden rage. "They murdered people. Kids! What the hell do you mean, it's sanctioned?"
"I don't know, Buck. People signed off on it. Ross said that everyone at that facility – at any of the facilities – they all volunteered. And yeah, we know that's a lie. But… he gave us some more names, some more documents. Everyone signed off on this. And… it's not just this program up in Canada. There are others. And at least one woman we talked to – a senator from Florida – was more than happy to tell us all about the detainment centers being built for mutants and inhumans outside Tallahassee." The air in the car grows thick and still, even with the fan blowing lightly across them both. A small, almost meek sort of grunt – a hopeless kind of sigh – reverberates through their speakers before Steve finishes with a subdued, "I just… I don't know…"
Bucky turns to look at Tessa, watches as her oddly emotionless face continues to stare blankly out the windshield. She says nothing, offers no reaction. And he knows why. She's not surprised at all. Sanctioned experiments, authorized super soldier programs, shiny new camps and prisons, all formed to better allow humanity to fight off the mutant scourge. His heart drops as he realizes he's not surprised either.
"I really think it'd be best for you guys to come back," Steve's voice interrupts the solemn silence. "Come home."
Tessa twists her head to meet her husband's gaze, a resolute glean to her eye. And he gives a short nod before saying simply, "We'll be home in a couple days," and pressing the screen to hang up the call.
000
Tessa had never really known the Brotherhood personally. All of her knowledge of them came from various tall tales, gossip and rumors round the school, and a single skirmish that involved the most traumatic moment of her life thus far – ending the Phoenix's possession of Jean Grey. But, truth be told, while she vaguely recalls that a hundred or more mutants had bounced around in her periphery that day, waging war on one another in a thick, cold forest, all that Tessa can recall of that fight now – all that she sees in her memories and dreams… nightmares – is Jean's face.
So… she's not entirely sure what to expect when they pull up to the little tucked-away community, well off the beaten path up in rural Maine. She's not sure who she'll see, who she'll recognize… who she should fear and stay the hell away from. She had already warned Bucky – who, obviously, adamantly insisted on going with her – to do his damndest to hide his metal arm from the tall, older gentleman in a helmet. But other than that, she simply didn't know enough about what they were walking into to be able to issue out any additional warnings.
But whatever expectations she had been slowly mulling over in her mind for the past several hours as they drove up the windy backroads to this muddy little outpost, none of them matched the calm and quiet – downright peaceful seeming – commune that they pull up to early that evening.
The sound of car doors lightly shutting echoes through the still, spring air as they slowly, cautiously step out onto the gravel driveway and look around for any familiar face amid the few loitering – entirely normal looking – people. Bucky crosses in front of the sedan – easily swiped from the small fleet Stark kept at the compound – and steps over to Tessa's side, draping his arm around her low back as they move towards what appears to be the main house – a large two-story cottage jutting out from the rows of small cabins extending down into the woods.
"Reminds me of Siberia," he mumbles vaguely into her hair as he tugs her close. The utterance earns him an entirely perplexed glare from the woman by his side. "In summer," he corrects with a shrug before letting his cautious gaze once again trail out along the thick edges of the woods. "But it's just as quiet and…"
"Creepy," she supplies with a huff.
He pulls to a stop at the bottom of the wide stairs leading to the front porch of the house, halting her beside him. "I was going to say… rustic."
The screen door above them flies open with a harsh screech and a familiar, grizzled, plaid-clad man steps forward. "Bout damn time you got here," falls from his lips in an annoyed grumble. And Tessa's face immediately splits into an eager smile.
She pulls away from Bucky's side – despite his quick tug and sigh of protest – and bounds up the steps, throwing herself face first into Logan's broad chest. He shows no hesitation in pulling her close, wrapping his strong arms around her and swiftly – not at all furtively – breathing in her scent. It's something he's always done… as a tracker, as the Wolverine, he's always had a habit of smelling – of pulling in and deciphering all of the olfactory clues, of holding tight to any recognizable scents that linger in the air… or on the people he knows best. It might seem a strange habit to those not acquainted with him. But to Tessa, it's sweet… endearing. And it's part of the reason she feels a slight squirm of delight in her gut every time her husband does the same thing… holds her close and inhales her scent to calm his nerves and remind himself that she's still there, still her.
It's just a breath of a moment before he pulls away, hands falling to her shoulders to hold her out at arms' length. His brow furrows as he looks her up and down, assessing eyes scanning her face, her body, ticking up briefly to take note of the man now looming over her shoulder. A small, subtle growl escapes him as Bucky steps closer, once again reaching for his wife, folding his fingers possessively over her hip. Logan swallows thickly, his gaze returning to Tessa's face. "You look like shit," he says without preamble.
She shrugs, smile twisting into a smirk. "You always look like shit."
He rolls his eyes and takes a step back, holding the screen door open with his hip as he cocks his head to the left, a wordless invitation – order – to enter the house. "Most of the Brotherhood," he snipes, snarl evident in his tone at the final word, "stays out in the woods. Which is fine by me." The door snaps shut behind them, Logan continuing to herd the couple down the dark hall, looming in the rear. "These past few months, living here with these people, it's really helped remind me why I hate them so damn much."
Tessa stops short and tosses over her shoulder, "You hate everyone so much. Crotchety old man…"
He drops an open palm to her shoulder and tightens down his fingers just enough to earn a – mostly joking – grimace and squeak. "Move," he directs, giving her a little shove toward the light at the end of the hall.
They step into a huge, brilliant white kitchen, every piece of it – from the worn formica to the painted cabinets, from the large oak dining set to the nearly ancient appliances, from the slowly spinning ceiling fan to the lightly patterned curtains blowing in the breeze from the open windows – just screaming bucolic farmhouse. A tingle of excitement pulsates up Tessa's spine as she takes in the subtle beauty of the place.
"Yes, yes," a lightly accented voice calls out from the corner, very clearly reading her thoughts. "It really is rather lovely here, isn't it?"
"Aside from the company," Logan grumbles lowly before crossing over to the table and dropping heavily into a seat.
Professor Xavier wheels over to the dining set as well, waving his hand casually as an indication that the couple should join them. They do, Tessa taking a seat next to the Professor, who's positioned at the head of the table, and Bucky scooting his chair – loudly as it drags across the tile floor – as close to her side as it will go.
"Where's Storm?" Tessa asks, a put-on casual tone overlaying the hesitation in her voice as she asks for – if nothing else – confirmation that her dear friend is still alive and accounted for.
Logan's chair creaks as he shifts his weight. "She's out doing recon with the metal head."
Her head snaps towards him, eyes wide. "Magneto?"
He merely nods, arms folded tightly over his chest. "Bobby's with them too. Along with a few other… less desirables."
The Professor lets an annoyed breath seep slowly out through his nose. "Logan, you must find it in yourself to be more accepting of those who chose the Brotherhood. Like it or not, we are all in this together now."
He issues out a loud snort before leaning forward and turning back to Tessa . "You know," he intones, voice taking on an almost playful quality. "Your old boyfriend is here… out there somewhere," he says with a wink as he jerks his chin towards the wide open windows and the woods out back.
She glances that direction, feeling a sense of calm and peace wash momentarily over her as she breathes in the energy of the softly swaying trees, the lightly rustling leaves. "Yeah," she murmurs simply before turning back to him. Then with a sly brow raised, she lifts her left hand into the air and wiggles her adorned ring finger. "I'm a married woman now."
He rolls his eyes and very nearly growls again. "I heard." Then he turns to Bucky, threatening glower twisting his features. "What are you, 100?"
Tessa snorts in response, not even giving her husband the chance to respond. "You're one to talk, old man."
He cocks an eyebrow and shifts his stare back at her, his scowl – slightly – melting away. "Yeah, but I never tried to fuck you, did I?"
"Logan!" Xavier shouts across the table, eyes wide and expression aghast.
But he goes on as though the startled chide never reaches his ears. "Or any of the other kids at the school."
Another snort, this one more amused than the first but equally as derisive. "What about Jean?" she shoots out, accusing note to her voice. "You two weren't exactly in the same age bracket."
He leans back again, smugly folding his arms across his chest. "Yeah, well, I never fucked her either."
The Professor drops his head in dismay. "Must we?" he very nearly begs.
Bucky's brows knit tightly together and he leans into Tessa, whispering in her ear, "I thought Jean was with your brother."
Logan pivots his gaze to the man at his right. "She was. And they were real happy," he smarts, a snort – surprisingly similar to the one that all too often emanates from Bucky's own wife – quickly following. "Right up until she exploded him into a million little pieces."
"Logan, please," Xavier begs again, his arms flailing wildly as though it might somehow help him to regain control of the room.
He merely chuckles, the low, eerie grumble slowly gliding up his throat. Then he raises a brow once more and leans forward, a furtive curl to his lip as he locks onto Bucky's eyes. "Better watch out for that," he tells him simply. "Tearing people apart is kind of the Phoenix's MO. And we all know where that monster's hiding out these days."
A look of fury flashes across Bucky's face. "Monster?" he bites out through tightly gritted teeth.
Tessa steels herself, pushing back on his sudden, heated energy. "Relax," she tells him pointedly. "He's just trying to get a rise out of you." She shoots a quick, reprimanding look at the seemingly amused man at the end of the table. "This is why no one likes you, you know?"
He issues out a harsh psh, complete with a dismissive wave of the hand. "Everyone loves me. It's fucking terrible." He pivots back to Bucky, snarling smile on his face. "In this day and age, guess even monsters like us can find love."
Tessa can actually feel the low growl building in Bucky's chest before she hears it filter into the air. "Stop it," she tells him sternly, popping him in the shoulder with her own. A deep, threatening sort of grunt bubbles out from Logan too as his stare remains trained on her husband, eyes narrowing dangerously. The super soldier returns the menacing look, and all at once she finds herself rolling her eyes, letting out a loud huff, and smacking Bucky upside his head. It does the trick, pulling him swiftly from the little animalistic standoff, and he spins to face her, surprise painted on his features. "Do not be like him," she orders bluntly.
His eyes soften as he gingerly brings a palm to the back of his head. "That hurt," he bemoans pathetically.
She rolls her eyes again and bites back a grin. "It did not."
His lips pull into an exaggerated frown and she works to stifle a laugh. But it isn't lost on her that the moment he catches Logan shifting from the corner of his eye, another cross look overtakes his face and he sidles even closer to her, his hand dropping to her knee beneath the table as his hip scoots over to the very edge of his chair. But before she can say a word – either to calm her husband or to, once again, admonish Logan – Professor Xavier reaches out and lightly grasps her right hand with his own.
"What can you tell us," he starts, a thick shock of soothing energy billowing out from his fingertips and winding into her core, "about what they did to you?"
She cocks her head at him, look more curious than anything. "I thought you knew."
He releases a small sigh. "I know what I felt from you. And from others. And I know what Bobby told us when he arrived. But…" his face drops, gaze falling to the oak tabletop. "We haven't encountered anyone who was there… anyone who survived."
She nods, suddenly grateful for the calm that he just bestowed upon her. She uses it to quell the newly rising fear and pain, the memories flooding to the surface as she works to recollect what happened to her – to sift through all the still-disparate shards of memory in order to find and fit together the pieces she's willing to share. "Well," she says after a moment, licking her lips hesitantly. "I was held in…" Her face twists in confusion and she glances over at Bucky, looking for his aide.
"Nunavut," he supplies simply. "Near Manitoba." His lips quirk into a swift, reassuring smile for her before he glances over her shoulder at the Professor. "The site in Nunavut is where she escaped from. Then we found her in Manitoba. Still not sure how she managed to get there…"
"And that site," he begins, words slow and methodical. "That is where the Phoenix was… let loose?" he asks.
Her eyes tick away for a brief moment. "Yes. There's no one left there," she states, slight blush creeping up her neck and burning at her cheeks. "I killed them all."
"Good girl," sounds from the other end of the table as Logan offers a stiff, albeit satisfied, nod.
Xavier pays him no mind, remaining wholly focused on Tessa. "And what did they do to you there, my dear?" he asks, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. "What did they do to cause such a thing?"
"Well," she starts again, his words turning over in her mind. What did they do to cause this? Because they did, right? Cause this? All of this? Sure, she committed the… horrific act. But they had caused it. She pulls in a long, deep breath. "For a while they just tried to get information. They waned me to tell them about the inhibitor… the one that Hank and I discovered when… when we were trying to help Proteus." Her head drops as she breathes out, "Kevin."
The Professor nods, knowing all about that dark time that ultimately resulted in his own loss of a dear friend. "And you told them nothing, I imagine."
Wide eyes shoot up. "Of course not! I would… I would never do that."
He gives her hand a firm pat, reassuring smile stretching across his face. "I know, my dear. I know."
Her head begins to shake, the movement almost involuntary, reflexive, as she continues to think back about her time in captivity. "They wanted it… I'm sure they wanted the inhibitor itself too… but they really wanted to know how we managed to isolate MGH."
"Makes sense," Logan grumbles. "Bobby said they're trying to give people mutant powers… seems like a good way."
She nods and opens her mouth to continue speaking, but is quickly cut off by the man by her side. Bucky squeezes her knee again, hand shifting up slightly so that it clings to her thigh, as he says, voice low and deep, "They tortured her for it. Beat her. Broke her. Starved her. Everyday for months."
Logan's eyes take on a sudden dullness, and she feels an almost panicked energy shoot out of him. It's the kind of sudden, stilling fear that she feels roll off of Bucky when he wakes from a night terror, sputtering blindly in the dark. It's the energy that arises – from anyone – when suddenly thrust back into a space that reminds them of the worst horrors their lives had to offer. It's flashback fear.
The Wolverine's teeth grind together, his jaw gritting tightly, and he bites out, "Torture?" as though the word itself is the most vile thing on the planet.
Tessa nods and reaches out with her free hand, drops it to Bucky's wrist and squeezes tightly, a wordless command to be silent, say no more. "But I still didn't tell them anything, so…" She issues out a blithe shrug. "I guess they decided to put me in the production line."
She turns back to the Professor, eyes shutting in a single, long blink as she internally shoves back on the tumultuous energy still free-flowing from Logan. She's felt this PTSD vibe from him many times before, and she's more than well aware that he's capable of dealing with it without her intervention. But that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt her to force him to fend for himself in a moment of need – a moment of pain. Xavier seems to notice this, offering her a conciliatory smile and nod once she looks back up at him.
"The… experiments," she begins again, training her eyes – and her focus – just on him. "They were designed to pull as much MGH as possible. They figured out a way to stimulate the hypothalamus… I'm still not sure how exactly. But they artificially boosted MGH production… and then they went in and… harvested it."
"Harvested?" Logan chokes out from behind. "What the hell does that mean?"
Without turning to face him, she replies, "They waited until the influx hit, and then they pulled blood, CF fluid, bone marrow…" She shakes her head absently once again. "After a while, the hypothalamus would start to… burn out, and the influx of MGH from each session would wane. That's when they started pulling from tissues. According to the documents we found, anyway. Eventually, the subjects would die – most likely from complications stemming from the hormone imbalances caused by the hypothalamic damage. And then they'd send their bodies off to another location for a final harvesting where they'd pull any remaining MGH from fatty stores and, well, the brain." She lets out a quick huff, signaling the end of her diatribe, and her eyes seek out the Professor once again.
He nods, slowly, stiffly, and asks in a low, pained voice, "This other location… this is where Kitty was found? And the others?"
Her mouth bobs open and shut for a brief moment – tongue and lips unable to adequately form words – and she slowly spins to face Bucky. He looks up at the Professor and gives a single, definitive nod. "We stumbled on a base in Yukon. Found a lab filled with bodies. That's where we found them," he tells him in a solemn tone. "I recognized Kitty… and some of the kids…"
Tessa turns quickly back to Xavier, almost panicked look on her face. "The Canadian military came in and took over," she issues out hurriedly, craning her head back towards Bucky. "Right?" Before he can respond, she spins back. "We would've brought them home," she tells him, a pained quality to her voice. "James would've… he would've brought them home… or to our home… if he could have."
Beneath the table, Bucky gives her leg another firm squeeze as he states, "We tried to… they wouldn't let us take any of the bodies. And at the time… Tess was still missing. We knew the military – the Canadian government – was involved. We had to play nice."
Logan's chair shifts as he leans forward, stiffly resting his elbows on the table. "Well, we're done playing nice. We're getting our people back… whatever's left of them. And nice isn't even on the table. It's time to play dirty."
000
Storm, Bobby, and Magneto – and wasn't that just the strangest threesome Tessa had ever had to fathom – were set to be back the next day, along with whichever other Brotherhood members had tagged along with them. The plan was mostly set. They had simply gone out to get a bit more intel, fill in a few of the wider holes, and to confirm – before troops were officially given their orders – the areas of attack.
Xavier hadn't given them much in their little welcome talk earlier. He told them that there were four sites they'd been monitoring, four sites they planned on sending teams of X-Men to, along with Magneto's people and whichever non-affiliated mutants were willing. So far, each team consisted of just ten to fifteen people, hardly enough to squelch a program put on by the Canadian military, especially when backed by most of the free world. But they had split their people up based on their powers, choosing the gifts that would be – hopefully – the most useful, most helpful, for the plan put forth for each location.
The plan – or plans – however, seemed weak at best. Granted, not all of the intel was back yet. But Tessa could tell – just from the way Logan and Xavier talked over one another while relaying the details – that this was likely to be a rather improvised operation, much like they so often were with the X-Men.
She knew, the moment Bucky cleared his throat to speak, that Sergeant Barnes was going to flip his lid over their lack of preparation and strategy.
He began to ask in-depth questions about the scouted sites… ones for which they had very few answers. He grilled them on tactical specifics… and received little to no details in return. He asked for schematics and plans, photos and footage of the sites they were planning to raid. But even then he was met only with blank stares.
Finally, the Professor had pulled away from the table, waving a dismissive hand through the air as he smiled and said, "You two should get settled. We can discuss this more tomorrow when the others return."
And he called in a vaguely familiar looking teenager girl – who must've been a student at the school – to whip them up some dinner and show them to one of the empty rooms upstairs. The girl very nearly cooed at Bucky the entire time she made their sandwiches, going on and on about what she'd read of the Howling Commandoes in history class and how brave she thought they all were. Her words were mottled with dreamy glances in his direction, doe-eyed fawning leading to breathless giggles as she muttered in the end, "I always thought you were the bravest of all."
And damn if he didn't eat that up.
"I'm just saying… you're old enough to be her great grandfather," Tessa chides with a playful lilt as she continues to rummage through their quickly thrown together bags in search of her gear.
Bucky stops his slow inspection of the small bedroom and turns to scowl at her, bright blue eyes looking a bit hazy with the free-flowing aggravation. "I wasn't flirting with a sixteen-year-old," he repeats, tone getting a bit heated this time. "She's a kid, Tessa."
"Yeah, that's what I'm saying." She tosses her Stark-issued tac suit out onto the bed and frowns down at the now empty duffle before glancing over at his bag. "How do you have like 100 pounds of tactical gear all nice and neat in your one little bag and I can't even find my boots in here? Do you think I forgot them?" She shifts nervously from foot to foot, face twisting. "I wouldn't have forgotten them…"
He cocks a brow and peers down at the variety of items now littering the bed – several sweatshirts, a pair of bunny-ear slippers, a small clump of wadded together socks and underwear – and he mutters, "They're in the car. I grabbed them on the way out the door… after you forgot to pack 'em."
"Oh." Her gaze shoots up to meet his. "Good. Thanks."
"No problem," he shrugs with a grin before dropping heavily down to the edge of the bed opposite her. His head bows, gaze tracing along the old wooden slats of the floor as he lets out a tired sigh. "Are we gonna talk about this?"
She shoves everything haphazardly back into her bag – save the sleek, black suit and a sweatshirt that she quickly pulls on over her head. "Talk about what?"
He releases another long sigh and turns to face her, pulling his knee up onto the bed as he swivels. "That plan," he begins, brows shooting up into an incredulous expression.
She waves him off with a flippant hand. "They haven't figured everything out yet… so what?"
"Baby, they're gonna get themselves killed." He reaches out and runs his fingers lightly over the sleeve of her suit, still splayed out on the bed. "They're gonna get us killed."
She flops down onto the mattress with an exaggerated sigh. "This isn't the military, James. I don't know if any of them have ever been in the military actually. We don't plan missions like you and Captain Tight Ass do."
"Oh," he intones, scowl pulling at his features. "So you think it's a good idea to just… wing it?"
"I think we can probably get away with it, yeah."
He shakes his head slowly, deliberately, lips pressed tightly together as he plans out his words. A sharp breath escapes him and he levels her with a serious stare – the kind typically reserved for his lectures to the support team. "We're going up against military personnel," he begins, voice steady and firm. "They've done almost no recon on these installations. They have no clue how many people are there, what their habits are, what kind of weapons they have, when their shifts change. Who is there? They're expecting us to go in blind… with no plan of attack aside from… attack."
"Well, we happen to be pretty good at attack," she counters with a wiggle of her brows.
His face never changes, her attempt at humor not fazing him in the least. "For all we know, they have people there who have powers too. That's the whole point of this project, Tess… to build soldiers capable of doing the same things you can do."
"No one can do what I can do."
"I'm being serious."
"So am I."
He shakes his head again, this time reaching out for her instead of her fallen tac suit. His fingers wrap loosely around her wrist, glide down to her hand before giving a little tug. "I'm not letting us go in blind. I don't care how powerful you are, I'm not letting you walk into something without us knowing more and putting together a real plan."
She says nothing, despite his utterance of I'm not letting you, sending a spark of contrarian spite through to her core.
"I think we should call Steve," he says softly, fingers tangling in with hers. "And Romanov. Maybe even Sam."
"So the whole team," she bites out before looking up at him. "I thought we agreed that this didn't involve them… shouldn't involve them."
His head continues to shake, this time more expressly. "No, I agreed that we wouldn't say anything to them until we heard everyone out here and figured out their plan. And we did that… and there is no plan."
"So we should just… call in Captain America and have him set one up?" she asks, annoyed tilt to her brow. He bites down on his bottom lip and gives a quick shrug in lieu of yeah. She lets out an irritated growl and rises from the bed to pace along the squeaky old floorboards. "They can't even…" she begins, tightening and clenching the fists hanging by her sides. "They shouldn't…" She spins on him, hands flying up to her hips, lips pressed together in an expression of exasperation. "The Avengers have to operate under government oversight," she says finally, voice taut. "This would not be cleared by any kind of committee." She blows a stiff breath out her nose. "James, they can't help us."
He too rises, taking the two large steps needed to put him right before her. His hands fall to her shoulders, thumbs gently stroking along the worn fabric of her thick sweatshirt in an attempt to calm the obvious tension that has her – once again – nervously shifting from foot to foot. "I didn't say we should call the Avengers," he tells her, his tone low and soft. "I said we should call Steve."
Her gaze lifts up to meet his, a hint of confusion in her eyes as she slowly assesses his level of sincerity. "You're insane," she mutters dully into the small space between them. A tiny, bitter smirk pulls at her lips. "You think Steve of all people is going to help out with this?"
"Yeah, I do," he says with a tight nod and a raised brow.
She pulls away from him, stepping back so that his hands fall from her shoulders, and begins pacing once again. "He's… Captain America," she mumbles, almost to herself. "Champion of justice and… and…" She spins wildly back to him, eyes wide. "Babe… we are way off the reservation here."
"I know."
"I mean… what we're talking about… this isn't… we're not…"
He approaches her again, striding over and pulling her trembling hands into his own. "I know what this is," he says softly, gaze oddly imploring. "I know this isn't just a rescue opp. I know we're not just gonna shut down a single facility. I know none of this is going to be sanctioned by anybody." He lets out a short, stilted breath. "I know we're about to become wanted criminals."
Her fingers twist in his grip, tugging on both his warm flesh and cool metal digits, grasping them tightly as she looks deep into his stormy gray eyes. "We're going there to kill them, James. All of them. Or… as many as we can get to. We're going there to end this."
He nods and slowly licks his lips. "I know."
"And you think that Steve would allow that?" she asks, voice dripping with incredulity.
Another nod, this one tighter. "I do." He slips his right hand free from her grasp and brings it up to gently tuck a lock of hair back behind her ear. A soft but fleeting smile rolls over his face. "When you were gone," he starts, small hitch in his breath at the words. His eyes drop from hers for just a moment, shifting to her pale, thin fingers still wrapped around his metal hand before coming back up to meet her curious gaze. "Steve did everything he could to find you. He didn't sleep. He didn't…" A deep sigh pulls from his chest before he goes on. "I've always known he'd do anything for me. He disobeyed direct orders more than a time or two to pull me out of a jamb. Hell, he basically commandeered Howard Stark to have fly him to some Hydra fortress so he could rescue me on his own," he says with a smirk that brings the smallest, softest smile to her face as well. His hand slowly trails from her hair down to her cheek, fingertips dancing lightly over her pale skin, thumb tenderly pressing into the center of her bottom lip, all the while, his eyes remaining cemented to hers. "I know he would do anything for you too."
Her shoulders drop as an exhausted-sounding sigh slowly seeps out of her. Bucky's hand falls idly down to her collarbone and she brings her own up to wrap around his and give a firm squeeze before muttering, "If he thought it was right, maybe. If what we were doing fit into his concept of right."
He shakes his head absently as the pad of his thumb begins to stroke along her clavicle, gaze following the slow motion. "He was there, baby," he says, voice low and sincere. He lays his palm flat upon her flesh, feels the way her bones protrude, sickly and gaunt. "He saw the people there… Kitty… the kids." A tight breath escapes him, face pulling into a deep scowl. "He saw the footage of what they did to you." His eyes flash back up to meet hers. "He knows what's right."
"He stopped you from killing Atkinson," she argues blandly.
"Technically, Romanov did," he corrects, slowly stepping away from her and returning to their gear laid out on the bed. He begins to repack the few things she'd pulled out of his bag while searching for her boots – a single Glock, shiny and new; a rarely used thigh holster; a leather-wrapped bundle of throwing knives. "They didn't know what was going on then anyway," he mutters with a shrug. "Didn't know what she did." He checks the safety on the Glock, checks to make sure it's loaded too… because what use is a gun without bullets? Then he drops it back into his duffle and turns to face her eerily unmoving form. "He let you scramble her brain," he says with raised brow and a brazen lilt.
A fleeting smile rolls across her face before being replaced by a look of utter solemnity.
"I trust him," he tells her with a single, firm nod. "And Romanov. Even Sam." His eyes lock onto hers, once again imploring. "I trust all of them. And if we're gonna do this… I need to have people I can trust."
"You don't trust me?" she asks, hint of teasing to her voice.
A crooked grin washes over his features. "With my life," he returns before cocking a brow at her. "But not with putting together a mission plan, no."
She nods slowly, pulling her gaze from his as she meanders just past him, over to the bed. Her eyes and fingers both trace along their gear… her suit, his boots, a heavy tac jacket Tony designed for her years ago, Bucky's still-open duffel with the sinister looking handgun poking out. Her face twists into a deep frown and she spins around to drop heavily onto the edge of the bed, her head falling helplessly into her hands.
Bucky lets out a long, shaky sigh and lowers himself down in front of her. He edges in between her knees as he kneels before her, saying nothing, just waiting. Eventually, she too issues out a deflating sigh, jerking her head upright, hair whipping wildly back. And she steadies her gaze on his.
"If you really want to bring Steve in on this," she begins, solemn pitch to her voice, "you have to prepare yourself for what he'll see." He cocks his head curiously at her, forehead furrowing, and she huffs out a harsh breath. "Even if he… thinks this is right… even if he wants to help and he puts together a plan for us…" She shakes her head slowly to-and-fro, deep green eyes never straying from his. "This won't be like any mission he's run before. This'll be… different."
His eyes narrow and he shifts a bit restlessly in front of her. "What do you mean?"
"You told me," she starts after a long, silent moment. "You said that what I did… to those people…" Her eyes veer away, ticking just briefly over his shoulder. "You said it was okay. That they deserved it."
He nods slowly, brow furrowing further as he watches her with something akin to cautious interest. "Yeah. I did. Because they did deserve it."
She mirrors his nod, pulling the corner of her bottom lip in between her teeth and working it nervously. "I remember," she states slowly, words flowing loosely out of her as her gaze takes on a faraway feel. "I remember… cleaning it off… the blood and…" Her eyes blink tightly shut, head dropping a bit as it begins a sullen shake. "I was in a shower… somewhere," she goes on, tone hazy and distant.
A small smirk pulls at the corner of his lips. "Yeah," he tells her, comfortingly smoothing his palms up and down her thighs. "Stark said the cops up there found you after you broke into someone's house and stole some clothes." Her head shoots up – surprise emanating in part from this thing she had done, which she has very little recollection of, and in part from hearing his voice at all, so lost was she in her own world. He gives her a reassuring nod, knowing better than anyone that sometimes that's the most helpful thing you can do for a person straining to sift through lost memories.
It becomes a bit clearer then, the time she was recalling. The feel of icy cold pricking her red hot flesh. The sickly pink swirl of blood-tinged water traveling down the drain. His soft, silent breaths huffing pitifully onto her neck. No, she thinks, head shaking slowly, cautiously as she pulls at the memory. No, that was something… different.
"I helped you in the shower," she murmurs absently, tugging on the thread. "After a… bad mission." She looks up and locks onto his eyes, the stormy gray orbs that hold both confusion and – after the briefest of moments – reticent recognition. "I had to undress you," she goes on, reaching out to run her hands up along his forearms. "And bring you in the shower." Her soft palms slowly hike up to lay atop his shoulders. "And… wash you."
He knows exactly what she's talking about, remembers that mission – and the few days it took to recover from it once he got home – all too well. He remembers her gently peeling off his tac gear, helping him step out of his heavy boots and pants thick and sticky with blood. He remembers the feel of her fingers – gently scrubbing at his scalp – and the smell of her shampoo… and the vanilla bodywash she knew he loved best. He remembers feeling stiff and rigid, even as the hot water worked to melt his muscles. Even as her hands worked to knead life back into him. And he remembers the blood, staining the tile at their feet, coming off of him in dried clumps and flakes as he let her wash it all away.
He nods, simply, stiffly. "Yeah," falling from his lips in a near whisper.
Her deep green eyes bore into him, a sincerity – a ferocity – blooming the longer she stares. "You called yourself a monster," she says, tone easy despite the weight of those words. "And I told you, you were wrong."
He blinks languidly, not quite looking away, but striving still to give himself a break from her intense stare. And he nods again, all the response he has to give.
Her hands slide up to his neck, a small chill brought on by her cold fingertips, reverberating down his spine. They continue up to lightly cup his jaw, then splay wide on his warm, stubbled cheeks. "Maybe I was the one who was wrong," she mutters softly, still staring deeply into him. "Maybe that day… that mission…"
He reaches up to lightly grip her wrists, not yet tugging her hands away, but certainly about to. Of course she was wrong. He knew it then. He knows it now. He had been a monster… for so damn long. And that part of him was never going away, not completely. And thinking about that fact – thinking about being that monster he once was – while her fingers gently caress his face, causes his stomach to roil and churn. "Stop," he breathes out, voice weak and low.
"And maybe I'm a monster too," she croons, giving him a small, sad smile as she resists his gentle tug at her wrists.
He shakes his head. "Don't say that."
She tightens her grip on his face to still him, pulls his drooping gaze back to her. "When Logan said that," she states, enunciating each word crisp and clear. "When he said monster… he didn't mean it as a bad thing." The distant, pained look in his eyes sends a stab of guilt through her chest. But she doesn't stop, her voice bordering on stern when she tells him, "Sometimes we need monsters. To fight the battles that men can't face."
He locks onto her stare for a long, silent moment, his own crystal blue eyes unblinking as they bathe in that bitter revelation. "That's something Hydra would say," he murmurs tensely.
She drops her hands from his face, untangling her wrists from his loose grip as she leans back just a bit. "When we do this… when we go in there…" Her head begins a slow, steady nod, as though encouraging him to follow along, to understand what she's about say. To accept it. "We're going to need the Wolverine. We're going to need the Phoenix. And Supernova." A short, shuddering breath quakes out of her as her fingers twist and catch on his, grasping his hands tightly. "On the ground… we're going to need the Soldier."
He says nothing, his expression still and stoic as he continues to stare deeply – dejectedly – into her eyes.
"I don't want to ask that of you," she goes on, tears beginning to prick at the corners of her eyes. "I would never…" A single, long blink and two wide, salty streams begin to spill down her cheeks. "But for one day," she issues out lowly, looking intently at him once again. "For one day… I need you to let that monster loose. Can you do that for me?"
He pulls in a long, ragged breath, bottom lip bobbing as though about to speak. His eyes leave hers, moving to traverse her face instead. That beautiful, perfect face he loves so damn much. His gaze skims over her full lips and defiantly pointed chin, up to her angular cheekbones, still looking sallow and cut from what they did to her.
Monsters. He leans in and kisses away her tears, salt pocking his bottom lip even it rolls lightly over the tiny raised cords of flesh that mar her otherwise pale and flawless skin. They're all monsters.
"I would do anything for you," he breathes into her, nose nuzzling at her own, tracing lazily down its length until the very tips of their noses brush. "Anything."
She nods, her forehead gently colliding with his before resting on it, the two of them pressing firmly into one another. "Just for one day," she murmurs lightly, her breath tickling the corner of his mouth.
He nods as well, a barely perceptible movement. "One day," he repeats softly before pressing a chaste, yet desperate, kiss to her salty lips.
Author's Note: Whew! It was another looong one. But on the plus side... the X-Men are back! Well, some of them, at least. You're probably all starting to see where this is heading, but I'd still love to hear your predictions about what lies ahead. Thanks for reading!
