Chapter 14: Regression to the Mean

The Princess Bride wasn't so bad, Bucky decided. He probably wouldn't watch it again for a long time, but it wasn't bad.

Sure, there was an initial adjustment period, considering he hadn't seen a film since 1942. Back then, everything was on a projector, it was hit or miss if the sound lined up correctly, and he would spend way too much money on concessions in an effort to impress his date. Now, everything was digitized and easy to access in the convenience of home. Color was expected. And the girl he was sitting with had purchased the pizza and supplied coffee. That didn't sit well with him. Next time, he would just show up with the pizza.

The torture scene shook him, straight to the core. He couldn't deny it. It brought his memories so close to the surface that at one point, he was afraid he was going to sink into them. He could feel them, clawing up his throat and sinking their teeth behind his eyes. The only thing that kept him from being paralyzed in the clutches of his memories was the ample distraction Mika had given him. He'd focused on her voice as she asked him about his drink, the floral smell of her hair as she walked by, the sound of the coffee maker as it heated the water and spat it out. Anything to stave off the monster that lived in the shadows of his mind.

He hadn't been in the Machine in over a year, but he still remembered the agony of it. He still had phantom pains shoot through his head and down his spine, still felt his ribs lock up and his lungs freeze. The frequency of these moments was decreasing, but they still happened. Everything still happened. He knew that it was going to take a long time to normalize, that he would never achieve the place he was in before the War, before Hydra took him. But hell, tonight he'd been ready to jump out a window just because of a pizza delivery kid.

But the man in black - Westley, as Mika had so emphatically corrected him - gave him an odd sense of...what was this, hope? It didn't feel quite like hope. But maybe it was the closest he could get to it. If Westley could get kidnapped by pirates, transform into one himself, and survive life and death to get to his happy ending, maybe he could too. Well, he never expected a happy ending for himself. But a decent ending, a quiet ending - maybe that was still possible.

After he left Mika's, he didn't go back to his own apartment. Instead he made his way outside, the cold night air making the skin of his face tingle. He took a cleansing breath, the cold making his chest ache for a moment. It was good. It was relaxing. A few flurries drifted down occasionally, but it was too warm for anything to stick. December was right around the corner, and he was sure snow would come with it. He started walking north, eyeing any changes in the neighborhood. They'd trimmed the trees in front of the butcher down the street. The small animal hospital further down had new pictures in the window, displaying the "pet of the week." The thrift store three blocks down had a new smell, just like it did every time he walked by.

He'd been too forthcoming tonight with his remarks. He'd admitted he was immune to all poisons (though there was a very real possibility that was inaccurate, he didn't know how strong the doctors had made him). He'd demonstrated a clear emotional response to portions of the film and was unable to mask them. He'd shown unmistakable vulnerabilities and weaknesses that Mika could capitalize on, if she so chose. But he remembered her face as she vaguely recognized what was going on in his head, the way she'd literally stood between him and the television in an effort to block the stimulus. Her heartbeat had risen during the exchange, but not in the way it did when people were lying - though, he wasn't quite sure what another reason might be. He'd been compromised, obviously, and any skilled assassin would have jumped at that. But she hadn't. The likelihood of her being a Hydra agent in disguise was down to four-point-two percent.

He turned at the ten kilometer mark. It was easy to cross the streets now that it was late and cold; most everyone was at home, snuggled in their blankets and preparing for the work week ahead. But Bucky was outside, scouting his perimeter and noting anything that may seem important. The lion outside the bank had been scrubbed clean, the concrete a light shade of grey again. He idly wondered if the two French girls were able to find their hotel the day before. He passed by Mika's gym, by several quiet restaurants, and the few department stores that peppered the area. As the hours passed, he made his way by apartment building after apartment building, ears always listening for any sign of trouble.

He did this every night he was off, making his way around the city and checking...everything. He was always mollified by the quiet and the cold, the environment helping his senses to sharpen. It gave him something to focus on besides the jumbled thoughts and memories that were constantly rolling around his brain. He had yet to run into any sort of situation that may require intervention, but he was always ready. This was how he was to repay his debt to society or God or Karma or whatever was in charge. He didn't consider himself a good man, but he'd try to pretend to be one. Then maybe, when he died, he could be at peace.

Three quarters of the way around his circle, he stopped. A large church loomed into the night sky, the stained glass windows dark. The moon reflected off them, making them gleam in the darkness. Every time he passed this church, he stopped for a moment. He remembered that he used to go to church, before the War. On Sundays, he and Steve would sit in the hard wooden pews, Mrs. Rogers staring daggers at them as they tried to whisper back and forth. He couldn't remember the conversations they had, or what the priest was saying up at the front - had it been in English? He couldn't tell. As he stared now at the building in front of him, he felt a familiar pull in the back of his mind. He could almost hear the bells ringing, almost feel a slender hand on his arm as if Mrs. Rogers were there, holding onto him as he helped her up the steps. He was startled to find he had one foot on the stair in front of him, as if there was intention for him to enter. This was the closest he'd ever gotten to the doors.

Bucky quickly stepped away, continuing on his route. Even if he didn't know if God was real or not, he wouldn't taint such a holy place by the blood on his boots. He did not belong in such a place.

He finished his circle, returning to his building just as the clock turned to three. Most of the residents were sleeping as he passed, though the college-aged kid on the seventh floor was still awake. Bucky heard him muttering to himself, naming muscular attachments and neural innervations. He must be studying. His own apartment was quiet, with no change in smell or station since he'd left some time before. The faint scent of oranges still clung to the air; when he'd chosen it for the next step in his rehabilitation, he didn't realize they would be so fragrant. And he hadn't realized that fragrance would bring back so many feelings.

We used to eat oranges as dessert. He'd written that in his journal a few nights previous. And he had to admit, when he was actually able to salvage a wedge from the carnage of his self-imposed physical therapy, the flavor hadn't overwhelmed his senses with sweetness like the confections he'd tried with Mika. It was light, and tangy, and made him feel that odd sense of normalcy that he'd been looking for ever since he'd escaped from his prison. No true memories had surfaced, but certain sensations did. Bright sunshine, warm on his face. A busy street, people pushing past him as he walked. Laughter from a friend, the sound intermingling with the hubbub of the city. The tangy citrus scent cut through the grimy smog from the cars. He picked up the last orange from the bunch, carefully holding it in his prosthetic hand as he peeled it with the other. He could feel the mechanical nerves firing, trying to lock in the strong grip. The orange was softer than the apple; he could see the flesh bending and squishing as he tried to maintain a steady pressure. He managed to get the entire peel off this time, and quickly cupped his left hand so the intact orange would settle into his palm. He let out the breath he didn't realize he was holding, eyeing the fruit. He didn't trust himself to separate the wedges yet, but at least it was peeled. He tipped his hand, letting the orange tumble onto his counter before using just his right hand to pull the wedges apart from each other. One step closer.

Bucky hadn't expected to see Mika until the following Saturday, but he was surprised to run into her early Wednesday morning. He was on his way back from getting the daily newspaper, whereas she was on her way...somewhere. She was moving very quickly, and was not exactly dressed for the elements. Why hadn't she dressed properly? Was she leaving in a hurry? Was there an emergency at the apartments? Her face didn't betray any impending doom, only the vague fatigue from the hour and mild annoyance at the temperature. Her face brightened as she spotted him, giving him a big smile.

"Morning, Bucky." she said, her arms wrapped around her middle.

"Everything okay?" he asked quietly, his eyes scanning the area around them for danger. He slipped out of his heavy outer layer, handing it over to her. He thought her lips might be turning blue. She took it gratefully, pulling it on quickly.

"Huh? Yea?" she said, confusion coloring her face. She gazed at him expectantly, and he realized after a few moments that she was waiting for an explanation for his question.

"Looks like you left in a hurry." he said shortly, not wanting to overwhelm her with the full train of thought he'd ridden. No need to put undue stress on her when clearly nothing out of the ordinary was afoot. She looked down at her outfit, then back to him.

"Oh, yea. Forgot to go grocery shopping, so I was just running around the corner to get breakfast." she clarified. "Care to join?"

"I already ate." he said. It was the truth, as he'd eaten one of his protein bars about an hour before. He found they seemed more tasteless nowadays, less appealing. He didn't think he had the capability of getting tired of something, but apparently it was still a possibility. Her face fell slightly, making some feeling stir behind his sternum.

"Oh, well maybe next time." she said with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. She started to take his jacket off, and the feeling in his chest got slightly more constricting. He had an idea. A terrifying idea, but an idea nonetheless. He held his hand out to stop her motions, implying she could keep it on.

"I could use a cup of coffee." he said quietly. His heart jolted for a second as the thought of unplanned social interaction settled in, but he took a deep, calming breath. Based on the foot traffic that passed by in the morning, the place on the corner wouldn't be busy until closer to the eight o'clock hour. Clearly she had not planned to be out that long. He wanted to do this. He needed to do this.

Mika smiled again, this time a little more genuine. "Excellent! I'll be quick, I promise. I've gotta be on a call at half past seven." she responded, turning and continuing her quick clip towards the bakery. Bucky easily caught up and fell into stride next to her, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans. Sirens sounded down the street, and he instinctively ducked his head down and away from the road as it passed, hiding his face with his baseball cap. She glanced his way for a moment, but her face didn't betray any notice of the situation. She might have been looking past him at the passing police car. When they made it to the bakery, he went to claim a table outside, but Mika looked at him incredulously.

"What?" he asked lowly. She was looking as if he'd grown an extra head. He suddenly felt the urge to run his hand over his face and make sure there was nothing unexpected there.

"Bucky it's negative a hundred degrees out here." she stated. It was an exaggeration, of course, but he did estimate the temperature to be around zero degrees centigrade. Nothing remarkable.

"It's not that bad." he said. Her hand briefly moved, as if she were going to reach for him, but she changed her mind and adjusted the too-long sleeve of his jacket.

"I know you prefer to be outside, and I'm with you on that, I really am," she started, giving him a very sympathetic look. "but if I sit outside today, I'm going to freeze to death. Right in that chair. My body will become an art installation that will be removed in the spring when it thaws. There will be a plaque next to me that reads 'Having Breakfast With A Friend' and say that you were the artist."

"That's...a dramatic description." he said. He thought of telling her that it would take multiple hours before she truly froze to death, and that before that she'd experience loss in coordination and cognitive processing (among other symptoms) before falling unconscious, but decided it would be one of those things that normal people wouldn't want to know.

"I get dramatic when I'm freezing my balls off." she said, and he couldn't help but let out a brief laugh at her turn of phrase. She was lightly stomping her feet, as if trying to get feeling back in them. Bucky didn't want to sit inside, he really didn't - but if Mika was going to be physically miserable (and it seemed like that would be the case), then perhaps he could handle it, just this once.

"Very well." he said, moving and pulling the door open for her. Immediately the scent of sugar and butter hit his senses, and he regretted his decision.

The owner greeted them with a warm smile and a boisterous hello, showing off her newest creations behind the glass. Bucky declined them with a polite smile, instead requesting her biggest cup of coffee. She happily obliged, trading the drink for a few notes before turning to Mika. His companion ordered a pastry that he didn't recognize, as well as a drink that didn't make sense to him. Who would put pumpkin in coffee? He took his cup and looked around, trying to find the best tactical position to set up. Ideally, they'd be outside. But Mika had already shot that idea down. The back corner? No, only one door that he could see. There was possibly one in the kitchen, but he couldn't be sure. The middle? No, then if there was a back door, someone could come from behind. The right front corner would have to do; it put the door closest to his metal hand, and allowed him to see through the large windows while providing him with at least a little bit of coverage.

He sat down, Mika joining him moments later with her plate and her cup. The spices from her coffee were sharp, and reminded him of autumns past. Just like with the oranges, no specific memories came to mind, only faint feelings. It smelled like a holiday, but not Christmas. He couldn't quite put his finger on it.

"Did you just get off of work?" Mika asked, carefully biting into the pastry she'd purchased. She was careful not to let any of the sugary crumbs fall on his jacket.

"No, got home around three. Just woke up a little later than usual." he explained, taking a long drink from his coffee. The sharp bitterness made the sugar laden air more bearable.

"Woke up a little - oh my god, Bucky, how do you not sleep all day?" she asked, her eyes wide. He shrugged.

"Just don't." he said. How could he explain that he'd been trapped frozen in sleep on and off for years at a time? That for seven decades he had no concept of day or night, only pain and darkness and death? That if he slept for too long, his memories as the Soldier played so vividly in his mind that he was afraid to wake up and be Him again?

"You need to sleep, it's bad for your health not to." she said, her face colored with concern. He shook his head, his version of waving off her comment.

"I'll be fine." he replied. I'll heal. I'll live. Just like I always do. She gave him a pointed look.

"Uh huh. Sure. That's what they all say. And then all of the sudden you're half naked and trapped in a lab room between a wall and a desk with an uneven centrifuge and second degree burns." she said quickly. Bucky perked an eyebrow, her description painting and odd picture in his mind. Before he could ask any questions, she followed up with, "That was Elena, not me. And to be fair, it was during finals."

"I'll, uh, try and sleep more." he conceded, and she gave him a triumphant grin. Of course, he knew in his heart that his sleep schedule would be the exact same, but he'd at least think about it.

"Good." she said with an emphatic nod. She took a sip of her drink before turning back to her pastry, which was already nearly done. Bucky took a cursory glance through the windows and to the back of the shop, noticing that instead of the young boy helping out the owner, today it was a young woman. Someone new. He decided to keep an eye on her, just in case.

"Busy day at work today?" he asked, remembering her comment about "a call" earlier. He wasn't quite sure what that was supposed to mean, but figured he could rely enough on context clues to continue a conversation. Mika nodded, finishing off her breakfast.

"It always starts picking up about now. They'll make me actually go into the office starting next week. Things always get crazy at the end of a quarter, and especially crazy at the end of the year." she said, holding her cup with both hands and sipping away at her drink. "Do you have a busy season?"

"Nah. Busy all the time, I think." he said. At least, it had been busy for the six months he'd been working there. He assumed things would continue in that trend.

"Busy isn't so bad. Helps the time go by faster." she said, gazing out the window herself. The sun was poking between the buildings, painting strips of gold across the street. She checked her watch, startling and downing the rest of her drink with a wince at how hot it was. "Speaking of which, I gotta get back. You ready?"

"Yes." he said, also finishing the rest of his coffee and getting up with her. The cold, clear air outside was refreshing to him, but Mika let out an emphatic swear and bundled further into his jacket, a move which made him chuckle. She set a glare his direction, which was even more comical given how big his coat was on her.

"Some of us weren't built like a hearty Russian bear, okay?" she said, shivering for good measure as a breeze passed through. She was walking fast back towards their building, faster than he'd ever seen her walk before. She really could be quite speedy when she tried.

"Need more meat on your bones." he quipped. The line felt right, but his delivery felt wrong. In his past life, he would have playfully pinched her arm, maybe even tickled her ribs. He could feel the muscles of his arms tighten slightly, one corner of his mouth lifting in a grin as the ghost of his previous self passed through him. But instead of initiating contact, he kept his hands in his pockets, walking with a respectable distance between the two of them.

"There's plenty meat on my bones, thank you. I just need a few more outer layers." she said, wrapping his jacket a little tighter around her to make a point. He moved quick up the steps as they reached their apartments, scanning them into the building and opening the door for her. She nodded her thanks, letting out a dramatic sigh as the warmth circled them. He let her lead the way up the stairs, staying to her side and slightly behind her in the event that she stumbled. Even if she'd never actually taken a tumble down the staircase (that he knew of), he still placed himself in a position to catch her if she fell. At first, it was a conscious decision. Now, it was just a habit.

She peeled his jacket from her shoulders as they reached the top landing, handing it back to him. "Thank you, again. I promise I'll start preparing more for the weather." she said. She crossed her arms over her middle, as if she were still cold. He thought to offer her the jacket again, but figured she would have one in her apartment that she could use, one that was more suited to her.

"Not a problem. Cold doesn't bother me." he said with a shrug. Back during his days as the Soldier, he was never given more than what was necessary to keep frostbite from setting in. Even then, he had very vivid memories of fingertips and toes painfully growing back.

"Whatever you say, Elsa." she replied, earning a confused look from Bucky. Who was Elsa? Did he look like this Elsa? Was Mika having a stroke, with resulting prosopagnosia? She let out a sigh at his expression, adding, "I guess I'll add Frozen to the list."

"Oh." he said, realizing that she was once again making a reference that he didn't understand. "Sorry."

"Don't be sorry. I'm impressed you've gone this long without having to hear that damn song." she said, raising her eyebrows. She seemed vaguely annoyed, but he was just more puzzled. Song? He thought they were talking about a movie. Where did the song come from?

"If you don't like it, then why would we watch it?" he questioned. It was getting easier to accept the we part of his statement. It may take a thousand repetitions before he'd actually believe that Mika wanted to be his friend and spend time with him, but he'd repeat it a thousand times if it meant moving towards a normal life again. Normal people had friends. Normal people "hung out." Normal people watched movies together. Normal people did not hide in caves and hoard weapons, or live in apartments alone and speak to no one. He wanted, desperately, to be somewhere within the realm of normal.

"Because unfortunately it has become very popular, and I would not be providing a thorough movie education to you if we left it out due to my bias against it." she said matter-of-factly. The answer was not exactly surprising; once Mika got an idea into her head, she seemed to be pretty stubborn about it. He let his mouth tilt up in a grin, letting out a brief snicker.

"I guess add it to the list then." he agreed. She nodded emphatically, going to her door and unlocking it.

"Excellent. See you Saturday?" she asked, slowly backing through the open doorway. He remembered she needed to go to work.

"Saturday." he concurred, turning to his own door. He heard her door close and the sound of her feet behind it as she moved quickly across her apartment. He checked his watch to find it was a minute until her call - she was nearly late. Nearly.

His apartment was as dark and silent as when he left it. One day he might remove the coverings from the windows, but not today. He laid his jacket over the chair before sitting down at the little table, pulling forward his journal and opening it to the first page. The first few pages were routine now, the words comfortable and familiar. They didn't feel new anymore, didn't feel like they were going to topple out of his head at any moment. The later pages still felt like that, but he was getting better. One day at a time, he was determined to get better.

Once he finished with his journal, he pulled out the newspaper from that morning. The front page detailed a political scandal, which made Bucky relax. He'd made it another day. Surely if someone found the Winter Soldier, it'd be front page news. But this morning, he was safe.

He had another protein pack before he went to work, but found it even more unsatisfying than his breakfast. He considered going to the cafe down the street, where the waitress had slipped him her phone number, but decided against it. He didn't want to run the risk of having someone recognize him. And he also didn't want to explain why he hadn't called. So he ate his protein bar and slid on his jacket, letting the faint scent of flowers surround him as he walked to work. He'd forgotten how nice floral scents were. Everyone else milling about the streets during shift change were stuck in their concrete jungle, but he was walking through his own little garden.

Usually he was one of the first to arrive for the night shift, but today Hugo and Ion had both beaten him. He walked past them to his locker at the end, giving them a pointed nod by way of greeting. A note on the bulletin board said that Ronaldo was out sick - the other men would have to pick up his portion of the work. Might as well, Bucky thought. Extra work didn't bother him. Once the locker door was open, he tucked in what little gear he brought with him. As he slipped his jacket off, he noticed a long, dark hair stuck to the sleeve. He gingerly pulled it from the material, holding it for a second. It was definitely too long to be his; it must be Mika's. He didn't want to drop it and leave her DNA in a place she'd never been to, but what else could he do? He could see Hugo and Ion looking at him from the corner of his eye; normal people would drop it. He didn't need them to question.

"Your girl's hair gets everywhere too?" Hugo asked as the dark strand fell to the floor. Could they still see it? Bucky could still see it. But they were looking at him, not the floor.

"Don't got a girl. Just a friend who was cold." he muttered, hanging the jacket in his locker without a second thought. He wondered if they could smell her flowers as well, or if that was just his enhanced senses.

"Uh huh. Bet you're 'just friends' alright. You realize the objective is usually to take clothes off, not add more, right?" Ion teased, raising his eyebrows in a suggestive manner.

"Not always necessary." Bucky retorted, trying to hold back his grin and keep his face serious. Ion made fun of him more than the other guys, and Bucky always felt a sense of accomplishment when he stunned him into silence. Just as he was hoping, Ion was gaping like a fish, trying to come up with a response as Hugo let his loud laughter ring through the locker room.

"He's not wrong." Hugo said, his words barely intelligible due to his laughing. Bucky pulled on his gloves, heading towards the back to punch in for the night as Ion continued to sputter lame attempts at comebacks.

"You need to use your imagination more." Bucky added, slipping out the door to the warehouse before either man could respond. Hugo's laughter followed him into the open space, muffling once the door fell shut. The smirk on his face lingered as he began unloading and stacking. It had been a good day for him, the best day he'd had since he'd escaped a year ago. He could never get complacent - no, he'd have to be cognizant of the world around him until his dying day - but maybe he could have a life. Maybe he could make it work. And if it didn't work here...well, he'd never been to Croatia before. That could be back up plan number one.

As he walked home in the dark ten hours later, with the sleeping city around him and the clear night watching over him, he found himself hoping Croatia would only ever be a contingency. He rather liked Romania, and wouldn't mind staying there for as long as they'd let him.

Thank you so much to everyone who read this lil story, and to those who have faved/followed and especially commented! I love hearing your thoughts on this lil mess I'm working on, and I hope you're enjoying it as much as I am! I'm trying to do less overlapping between the two POVs, so let me know what you think!

Also it's my birthday, and I'm shamelessly using that to ask for your reviews. Hope y'all enjoyed this chapter!