Warnings: Mentions of torture and talk about Bucky's traumatic past, thoughts of self-harm
4 Days Before Christmas
It was dark on the edges of the town. No more twinkling lights to cover up the true nature of the city. Ozenik's tires crunched against the gravel as he stopped the car a short distance from a grim-gray abandoned warehouse. Chanel was aware that he had been talking–something about Central Park and the motorcycle he had left for her–but she wasn't listening. She had to remain focused or risk completely falling apart before even stepping inside. She was well versed in shutting down, turning herself into the efficient, ruthless soldier she needed to be. Her fear was securely locked away, and as she opened the car door, Ozenik shoved a gun in her hand, mumbling something about how Helmut would have insisted.
The icy wind should have cut straight through the thin red henley that draped her body, and her legs should have shaken in the black biker shorts that barely reached her thighs. But the cold didn't register in Chanel's hyper-focused mind. After quickly taking out a few guards at the back of the building, Chanel climbed a ladder to the roof and slipped inside through a fire escape. She paused briefly to listen for any sign that they knew she was there and when she heard none, she ran down the stairs and pulled open the first door she came to.
It led her onto the second-level walkway, high above the old machinery and left behind boxes. As her eyes adjusted to the dark, Chanel made out moving shapes below her. Tracksuits were crawling all over the place. Silently, she crept across the metal walkway toward the other side of the warehouse, where she could see light coming through the cracks of a closed door. She froze when she heard screaming, and the men below her all sprinted toward the door.
"He's out of control again!" A bloodied man stumbled through the door Chanel was standing above.
Bucky.
Chanel breathed a sigh of relief—she had at least located him. Target detected. Next step–acquire.
"Give him another dose! Idiots!" Hanna's nasally voice almost distracted Chanel from her disciplined thinking.
Bucky groaned, and everything went silent.
What are they giving him?
A heavy door slammed shut, and automatic locks slid into place. In the silence, Chanel could hear Hanna's heels clicking against the cement floor–she was pacing. Then she heard Bucky's faint crying, barely a sniffle, and her vision went red.
Bucky held his breath for as long as he could, hoping the aerosol drug would dissipate. He couldn't go back under–he needed to get out–get to Chanel. But, his vision was already starting to go dark around the edges; the people in the room faded into background noise as he sank to his knees in the cage they had locked him in. He was briefly aware that he was being lifted off the floor and placed back into the chair he had just escaped from. A needle inserted into his vein as buckles went around his limbs to lock him in place. And then he was gone.
He opened his eyes–Chanel had been yelling, but he didn't know what she said. He turned his head and found her. A look of disgust was on her face; her suitcase was in her hands. She was leaving.
Bucky panicked, jumping up to stop her, but she pushed him away, throwing off his already shaky balance and knocking him to the floor.
"I don't want you!"
"Chanel–wait, what did I do?"
Chanel laughed, turning back to him. "You really thought I could love you? You're so–so broken."
Bucky scrambled to his feet, trying to follow her out the door, but he felt like he was running in sand. He couldn't move fast enough. Suddenly Sam appeared in the hall, blocking him from reaching Chanel.
"Sam, please! I can't lose her!"
Sam scoffed, crossing his arms. "You already have. Don't bother coming on the mission, either. I can't trust you."
Bucky's head hurt; he finally tore his eyes away from Chanel and looked at Sam.
"Sam, please. I'm sorry."
"You really thought we wanted you on the team? That you could just pretend you're not a monster?"
Sam turned and left Bucky, joining Chanel at the elevators down the hall.
"Wait!" Bucky couldn't stand any more; something was dragging him down. He tried to crawl toward them but was stopped when Yelena stood in his path.
"Yelena, please help me—please."
Yelena squatted down to look him in the eye. "I remember you—I was only eight years old the first time you came. Do you remember me? Or do all the scared little girls you trained just jumble together into one terrified face?"
"I'm sorry," Bucky sobbed–barely able to see Yelena's face through his tears.
"Zhalkiy," Yelena spat before turning on her heel and joining Chanel and Sam in the elevator.
"No," Bucky again tried to get to his feet, but he couldn't move. "Don't leave, please, I'm sorry!"
As the elevator doors shut, Bucky couldn't breathe. His chest was too tight, his heart beating too fast. His vision blurred again, and he didn't know if it was from his tears or something else. When he opened his eyes, he was on the floor of his apartment–all of the Christmas decor and Chanel's spirit stripped from it. He sat alone on the bare floor, his arms wrapped around his knees as he stared into the darkness.
Alone. Eyes rimmed red, nothing to listen to but his own hiccups and sniffles as he tried not to cry again.
This is what he knew he deserved.
A frustrated sigh from the other side of the room made Bucky jump–someone was here.
"You tried to tell me–guess you were right after all."
Happy tears sprang to Bucky's eyes as he recognized Steve leaning against the door frame.
"Steve? What are you doing here?" Bucky jumped up, smoothing his shirt down and wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. "Wait, what are you talking about? I was right about what?"
Steve sighed again, his mouth forming an irritated line. "What do you think?"
His exasperated tone made Bucky flinch back.
"You weren't worth it. Why do you think I left? Did you really expect me to wallow in the darkness with you? I deserve to be happy."
"Steve, I–" Bucky choked back a sob, looking down at his feet. "Please don't leave me," he whispered, but when he looked up, Steve was already gone.
Chanel channeled her anger into her efficiency. She leaped from the walkway, landing on the shoulders of a surprised man below her–she should have been quieter, but she didn't care anymore. Her kitchen knife sloppily sliced his neck, and she fell to the floor with him, rolling to her feet just in time to cut her blade through the next attacker.
Somehow over the crunch of bones, the wet, slick noises of her knife penetrating skin, and the screaming, she could still hear Bucky's tears. Time felt like it was slowing down with each pump of adrenaline that flowed through her. She wasn't moving fast enough, though the pile of bodies behind her as she pushed through the door would suggest otherwise.
The sight of Bucky, locked in a cage, bleeding, crying, stopped Chanel in her tracks. Her fear sat in the back of her throat, threatening to take over. Her lip trembled as she started to take a step toward him.
What did they do to him?
It didn't make sense—she knew Bucky wasn't the killing machine he could be, but he would never hold back this much. Something was very wrong.
"Put your weapons down, or I'll make it worse."
Chanel quickly turned away from Bucky and faced Hanna's pointy face, and her rage returned. All the things she had thought about saying to the bitch tangled together in her throat and came out as one sharp cry before she attacked.
Like a lion hunting its prey, Chanel only saw Hanna's less than smug face as she slashed through the Tracksuits blocking her path. Her rage blinded her as she chased Hanna through a maze of boxes and conveyor belts.
"I thought you wanted to talk?! Stop running!" Chanel fired her gun, hitting Hanna's calf.
Hanna's screaming briefly gave Chanel a feeling of relief; she wanted the bitch to hurt.
She was caught off guard when two pairs of strong hands grabbed her from behind and yanked her to the floor. She looked up–two cavemen-looking grunts dragged her across the floor as she struggled.
These were not the normal Tracksuits she was used to–this must be the special reserves. She wondered if these were the two that took Bucky, and as they dragged her toward his cage, she fought harder. They pushed her up against the glass, and Chanel closed her eyes–Bucky was still crying. She had never seen him cry like this. His chest was covered in so much blood she couldn't tell where the wounds were.
"What did you do to him?!" Chanel struggled again, but it was useless.
Now that the threat had tampered, Hanna reemerged, limping toward them with the help of another one of her men. But her confidence was still shaken as she walked past the dead bodies Chanel had left behind.
"Bring her over here–we need to talk," Hanna said through grit teeth.
The men lifted Chanel and sat her across from Hanna. She had the same sharp features that Stephan had, the same sparkling green eyes and arrogance. But she was missing the natural power, the ability to make everyone want to drop to their knees and do whatever he said. She was flailing, a child playing an adult's game.
As soon as the large hands holding Chanel down released her, she lunged at Hanna, almost wrapping her hands around her throat before she was pulled back into her chair.
"I'm gonna kill you–"
"Shut her up," Hanna waved a hand, and one of the men slapped Chanel across the face.
His ring tore into her cheek, and Chanel clenched her fists to keep from giving them the satisfaction of a reaction. Her eyes focused on the blood soaking through the cloth wrapped around Hanna's leg, trickling down her shin and staining her pink shoes.
"I'm going to kill you–you fucking bitch," Chanel met Hanna's eyes.
"Fine," Hanna sighed, trying to keep her composure. "Do him again–she'll like that."
Chanel turned her head toward Bucky just as he started screaming again. He broke through his restraints, and Chanel thought maybe things were turning in their favor. But he remained where he was like he was still strapped to the chair, his flesh hand clawing his left shoulder like he was trying to rip it off.
"What are you doing to him?!" Chanel couldn't look away, but Hanna forcefully turned her face towards her.
"It's a little drug cocktail–my friend, think you know her, had it made just for him. With my help, of course."
Chanel furrowed her brows.
"Money," Hanna rolled her eyes. "After you killed her last scientist, she found a new one–apparently Hydra had a lot of secret projects that are still out there. I believe this one," Hanna pointed to a container full of red vials. "Is supposed to mimic the mind control one of their super twins could do with just her fingers." Hanna wiggled her fingers in Chanel's face. "I don't know what he's seeing, but we hardly touched him." Hanna forced Chanel's head back in Bucky's direction. "I mean, yeah, we had to torture him a bit, just some light electric shocks–calm down," Hanna paused, waiting for Chanel to stop moving. "But most of that he did to himself."
At first, the physical pain was almost a relief from the ache Bucky felt watching Steve leave his apartment. But then he realized where he was–he could hardly see, but he could hear. He could hear that crude saw buzzing to life. He could smell the blood and the alcohol, a hospital? No, this wasn't a place for healing. He knew what was coming; he tried to escape, he always tried–ripping through his restraints was as far as he got every time. He tried not to scream; he didn't want to give them the satisfaction, didn't want to see that secretly pleased glint in their eyes as they took him apart and put him back together again. But as the teeth of the saw dug into his skin, through his muscle, and touched his bone, he had no choice–he would bite his tongue off otherwise. And there was that fucking sick smile on their faces–they wanted him awake, they wanted him to hurt, to beg for death.
He woke up again, cold and alone and in so much pain. His left shoulder screamed under the weight of something foreign, and when he looked down and saw it–saw the silver shining in the moonlight, he screamed again–he had to get it off–get it off.
Chanel fought the urge to cry–now was not the time. "You have me! Stop it! Let him go!"
Hanna waved her hand again, and eventually, Bucky quieted down to a soft whimper behind them.
"You fucking crazy bitch–I didn't kill Stephan! If Manfred hadn't done it, the Power Broker's men would have."
Hanna sat back in her chair, unimpressed.
"What did she tell you, huh? How exactly did I kill him?" Chanel's leg bounced up and down, she was losing her patience, and she didn't have time for this conversation.
"You shot him–all he ever tried to do was take care of you, and you betrayed him over and over and over again. I tried to warn him–"
"I loved him!" Chanel was caught off guard by her own hysterical scream. Facing Hanna was too much–reminded her too much of him of the guilt she still harbored. "He would have destroyed me, and I still loved him! I had to watch him die–"
"Shut up!" Hanna stood from her chair, wincing as she nervously paced. "We're done talking."
"Good," Chanel sniffed, swallowing her tears. "Just kill me then, get it over with."
"Oh, I'm not going to kill you–who do you think I am? She should be here soon. My job was just to get you here."
Chanel perked up. "The Power Broker is coming here?" She laughed.
"What?" All confidence ripped from her, Hanna turned in Chanel's direction, not even attempting to hide the worry on her face.
"You really are stupid. You have no idea who you're dealing with–you do realize she's probably hoping that I kill you before she shows up so that she doesn't have to do it herself?"
Hanna pressed her lips into a thin line, unconsciously taking a step backward.
"I'll make you deal–I won't kill you if you let Bucky go and give me a name. Right now." Chanel paused for only a second. "Now, Hanna!"
Hanna jumped, a soft squeak leaving her throat, and Chanel knew she had her. But before Hanna could say anything, a large black and red disc flew over Chanel's head, and Hanna screamed, barely ducking out of the way.
"You've got to be fucking kidding me," Chanel groaned before taking down the men restraining her while they were distracted by the Captain America knock-off running in their direction.
Walker grabbed his makeshift shield and turned to Chanel with a friendly smile. "Prince Charming to your rescue."
"What the fuck are you doing here?!" Chanel yelled; she wanted to hit him, but there was no time; Hanna was limping away.
"Saving your ass–Yelena called–you're welcome," Walker sighed exasperatedly as he watched Chanel grab a handful of Hanna's hair and yank her to the ground.
"Jesus Christ, Yelena–just shut up and be useful, go get Bucky."
"A please would–"
"Go!"
Chanel turned her attention back to Hanna as Walker ran off. "Name. Now."
"It was really Manfred?" Hanna, eyes full of tears, looked up at Chanel. "Why?"
"He—" Chanel faltered, the night rushing back to her in quick flashes. She swallowed thickly, Stephan's face, another forever still portrait in her mind. "He would have killed me."
The women stared at each other for a moment—Hanna knew her brother, despite how distant they were—she knew.
"I'm sorry," Hanna choked out, starting to hyperventilate.
"No, get your shit together! I need a name, now!"
Hanna's lip trembled as Chanel pressed a blade against her throat. "I don't know, I swear!"
Chanel pressed harder. The more Hanna cried and apologized, the angrier Chanel got. Her voice was raw, an open wound pumping blood with each word she screamed in Hanna's face.
Hanna could have told Chanel the name by now, but she wouldn't have heard it—one phrase was repeating in her head. Kill the target.
Chanel refused to see the whisper of Stephan in Hanna's eyes.
Refused to acknowledge her tears.
Not human.
Kill the target.
"Hey! Get on with it already; Bucky needs you!" Walker's voice cut through everything as if ice water had been dumped over Chanel's head.
Bucky needs you.
Chanel lowered the knife, turning her head toward Walker's voice. He had the glass door open but was refusing to step inside.
"Run. Stay hidden." Chanel barely glanced at Hanna as she spoke. The fear she had locked away seeped through the cracks of her resolve. The mechanical, ruthless soldier dissolved with every frantic step Chanel took in Bucky's direction. This wasn't a mission. This was Bucky. The love of her life, and he needed her.
She ran faster, tripping over bodies as tears blurred her vision. "What are you waiting for?!" Chanel roared at Walker.
"He's unstable! I don't know what I'm walking into here."
"Such a big help; I'm glad you're here," Chanel shoved him out of the way.
"You're insufferable. I already took out all of the guards outside and saved your ass–"
"Yeah, and ruined my shot at the Power Broker, you fucking idiot." Chanel rushed through the door to Bucky's side. She haphazardly yanked the IV out of his arm, and he immediately sat up, gasping, his eyes wild and confused.
"Bucky," Chanel couldn't touch his chest; he was too bloody; her hand gently settled on his face instead. "Bucky, baby, it's me," she said softly, mustering what little strength she had left to keep her shit together. "You're safe–it's okay. I'm gonna take you home."
Bucky slowly turned his head, his breathing returning to normal as he took her in. "Chanel?" He stumbled off the table, wrapping his arms around her as he sunk to the floor, still too weak to stand. "Chanel, I'm sorry," he nearly sobbed, but he was out of tears. "Please, don't leave."
Chanel winced when he squeezed her tighter and tighter; his bloody fingernails dug into her skin like hooks. "I'm not going anywhere, baby," she gasped as Bucky sunk his hooks in deeper. She tried to hold him just as firmly. "I've got you. I'm so sorry, Bucky. So sorry."
The heaving of his chest slowed, but his grip on her didn't lessen.
She looked up at Walker, helpless underneath Bucky's weight. "Help me–please."
Walker stepped into the cage and reached out to help Bucky stand up. Chanel put her hand up, stopping him.
"Hey, Bucky–" she smoothed a hand through his hair until his wide eyes finally looked up at her. She tried to offer him a soothing smile, but the movement felt like it was ripping her face open. "Walker's here; he's gonna help us get out of here, okay?"
Bucky simply nodded, too tired to do anything else.
"You gotta let me go, baby; I'm not leaving you, I promise."
Bucky furrowed his brow slightly, and Chanel reached around to gently pry one of his hands off her side. He hadn't realized he was holding her so tightly—he couldn't fucking think. He just let her remove him, fighting the urge to never let go.
Walker lifted him off of her, placing one of Bucky's arms around his shoulders so he could help him walk. Bucky's vision went white, pain shooting through every nerve ending he had.
Chanel stood up, trying to stop her body from shaking, but she was covered in Bucky's blood, he was acting like a zombie, and it was all her fault.
3 Days Before Christmas
Chanel tried to wipe off as much blood from Bucky's chest as she could while Walker gave Ozenik directions to the nearest hospital.
"Take me home," Bucky protested weakly.
"You have to go, Bucky–we don't know what they did to you." Chanel pushed him back against the seat, giving up with the cleaning, and instead held the towel against his chest to stop the bleeding of the more severe wounds she had found.
Chanel tried to stop the shaking of her hands, but she knew Bucky noticed; he was slightly more lucid now. He grabbed her hand, making her look up at him.
"Home. Please."
"Fine," Chanel sighed, turning her attention to Walker. "Take my phone and call Sam, tell him to call Banner."
Bucky groaned, and Chanel shushed him.
"Quit being stubborn, Barnes."
"Stubborn," Bucky chuckled with no humor. "I thought we were supposed to be on vacation?"
Chanel's mouth went dry; he was quirking a tired eyebrow at her, and she begged herself not to cry.
Bucky closed his eyes, exhaustion taking over. "Why didn't you tell me? I knew–I knew something was wrong." Bucky shook his head, his brow furrowed in frustration. "You could have–" He swallowed thickly, pushing away the images of waking up and finding her dead–too late.
"I'm sorry," Chanel whispered, her voice catching before she snapped her mouth closed.
He was quiet the rest of the ride, and Chanel tried to control her breathing–she knew he could hear every hitch, every erratic beat of her heart.
Finally, they pulled up to the apartment building, and Walker helped get Bucky upstairs.
"Ah fuck," Chanel groaned. She had completely forgotten about the fort they had built in the living room. Bucky's mattress was on the floor instead of his bed where it should be.
Walker snorted, and Chanel glared at him as she quickly tore the fort down and maneuvered the mattress back into place. Ozenik, the blessing that he was, helped her make the bed and lay out towels before Walker guided Bucky to lay down. Chanel looked down at her own bloody clothes and wished she could get Bucky into the shower. Maybe a bath, but she couldn't possibly get him in and out.
"Want me to–" Walker interrupted her thoughts.
"You can go now," Chanel snapped.
Walker threw up his hands and left the room.
"Bucky," Chanel brushed her thumb over his eyebrow, "are you in pain? What can I do?"
"Just don't leave," Bucky's voice was barely audible as he clenched her arm tightly. "Please, don't leave."
Chanel stared at him, confused and angry and so guilty. "What did they do to you?"
She heard her voice and felt her vocal cords make the sounds, but she didn't want to know the answer.
Bucky didn't want to tell her, closing his eyes as a few tears fell and he pulled her closer.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
Shame washed over her, creeping into every crevice of her brain, making her want to bolt from the room.
"I'm sorry–"
"That's not an answer."
"I–I was handling it. I didn't want you to get involved in another fight–I don't want you to ever have to fight again," the words were tumbling out of her mouth faster than she could think, "I just wanted you to have a nice, normal Christmas."
When Bucky didn't respond, she finally looked at his face–he was angry, and all of her excuses, the ones she had given to herself over the past month, suddenly felt so stupid. She was so stupid.
A knock on the door deflated the tension slightly, and Bruce stuck his head in. "Hey, uh, Walker, let me in."
Chanel sat up quickly and ushered Bruce inside the bedroom, explaining as much as she could.
"Bucky, can you tell me more about what happened, about what they gave you?" Bruce leaned over Bucky's chest, stitching up the deeper wounds.
Bucky glanced at Chanel, and she could see in his eyes that he didn't want her there for this. She quickly turned on her heel and left the room.
"Is he okay?"
Chanel suppressed an annoyed growl at the sound of Walker's voice. "I thought I told you to leave?"
"What is your problem?" Walker walked quickly toward her.
"Just because you were helpful here doesn't mean you're a good guy," Chanel turned away from him, rummaging through the fridge for something to make Bucky. "You think I've just forgotten about you nearly killing me? About you murdering someone with Sam's shield?"
Her anger at herself, fear, and guilt were bubbling toward the surface and were being directed right at Walker.
"Hey, I didn't show up tonight out of the goodness of my heart if that's what you think. I don't care about him, and I certainly don't give a fuck about what happens to you. I had a job to do."
Chanel scoffed; now he was sounding more like the Walker she knew. "Yeah? And what exactly was that? Why would Yelena have called you?"
"She didn't. Our boss did."
"Val?"
"Good, you already know her. I'm here–saving both of your asses–because she wants to meet with you. I tried to tell her you weren't the right fit, but she doesn't listen to anyone but herself." Walker slid a card across the kitchen counter.
Chanel picked it up, turning it over, "there's nothing here."
"Dramatics. She'll call you."
"So what–I owe some kind of debt now? I didn't ask you to show up!" Chanel lost control of her voice, yelling too loud for a second before lowering it again. "I didn't ask for this, whatever this is."
"Like I said, I don't care. I suggest you answer when she calls."
Walker slammed the door closed on his way out, and Chanel ground her teeth together, cursing both him and Yelena. She didn't have time to think about wringing Yelena's neck though–she tentatively went back to the bedroom just as Bruce was sticking a needle in Bucky's arm.
"What are you giving him?" She asked in a hushed voice, keeping her distance.
"Just something to help him sleep." Bruce finished up, and Bucky's eyes were already slipping closed.
Chanel stood in the doorway until Bruce made his way over to her. "Is he okay? What did he tell you?"
Bruce looked over his shoulder warily, and Chanel led him to the living room.
"First of all, he's going to be fine."
The news didn't relax Chanel as much as she had hoped.
"He asked me not to tell you anything else," Bruce stepped toward the front door when Chanel's face turned angry. "Just make sure you're there when he wakes up, okay? He's had other people in his head too much, and he needs something to ground him."
"Bruce," Chanel tried to stop him, but he was already halfway out the door.
"I left my number; call if anything happens."
And then he was gone, and Chanel was standing in the open doorway, confused and scared to go back in that bedroom. Bucky needed her, but this was all her fault. The anger on his face earlier told her everything she needed to know. She should leave–she would, but after he was okay. She wouldn't let him wake up alone after he had begged her to stay.
Chanel didn't go back to the bedroom; she kept herself busy in the kitchen for as long as possible. Cooking calmed her to some extent; focusing on chopping and measuring ingredients kept her mind focused on something other than her dead-to-the-world boyfriend in the other room. Once she ran out of food to cook, she swallowed her fear and went to the bedroom. Bucky was still asleep in the same position they had left him in. She carefully untied his shoes and slipped them off, throwing them somewhere in the dark. She pulled his jeans down his legs with a bit of effort and maneuvered his body underneath the blankets. She cleaned his bruised and bloodied face with a warm washcloth until he looked a little more like her Bucky.
She didn't sleep and whatever Bruce had given Bucky thankfully kept him from hearing her tossing, turning, pacing, and crying.
Every time she looked at him, she wanted to scream. He would heal fast–physically. But the damage was done.
What did they make him see?
Her eyes wandered over the stitches on the left side of his chest.
Hydra? The torture?
Her mind raced, creating horrific scenarios–she didn't really know what all had been done to him while he was under their control. He could have been seeing anything. Reliving a pain he had worked so hard to get away from.
Her hand reached out to touch the scars and new wounds on his shoulder—how he actually got the metal arm never occurred to her until now.
It was the 40's how could they have possibly attached it in a humane–
She jerked her hand away from him, digging her nails into her palms as hard as she could.
She hated herself.
She wanted to hurt.
Hours passed as the night seemed to drag on and on. Her willpower to keep herself in the bed, hugging herself as tight as possible, instead of going into the bathroom to find one of Bucky's old-fashioned razor blades was slowly slipping.
The sun would be up soon, her feet hit the cold floor, intending to make breakfast for Bucky, but the next thing she knew, she was standing at the bathroom sink.
She looked down at the blade in her hand and then at her reflection in the mirror. Bile rose in the back of her throat.
"Chanel?" Bucky's sleepy but panicked voice made her look away from herself.
"I'm here," she croaked, quickly stuffing the razor back where she found it. "I'm here."
She pulled herself together and opened the door. "Don't get up!" Chanel rushed to him and pushed him back down onto the bed. "You need to rest."
"What happened? Bruce was here and then–then I woke up."
"He gave you something to make you sleep."
Bucky frowned at the tone of her voice–she was standing too far away, closed off.
"What's wrong?" He tried to say more, tried to sit up again, but his throat felt like he had swallowed knives, and his head was pounding.
Chanel ignored his question; she should be happy that he was awake–and she was. But it also meant that soon the night would come rushing back to him, and he'd remember what she did. He'd remember that he was suffering because of her, and that would be the end. He'd yell and tell her to leave, and she deserved it; she knew that–but she didn't want to face it all the same.
"Um, can I get you something to eat? Do you feel okay? Do I need to call Bruce?"
Chanel paced around, mindlessly picking up the room as she rattled nervously.
Bucky's head throbbed with each erratic movement she made. "Can you just come here?"
Chanel stopped, looking at him for only a second before she averted her eyes back to the dirty shirt in her hand. "I'll make you something to eat, lay down."
Before Bucky could argue, she was gone.
This continued for the rest of the day until Bucky couldn't take it anymore. She had apologized so many times she was starting to sound like him, and he swore she hadn't touched him all day.
He got out of bed, feeling more or less fine physically, and found her baking his favorite chocolate cake in the kitchen.
"What are you doing out of bed?" Chanel sighed, not looking away from her cake batter.
"I missed you," Bucky muttered, going to wrap his arms around her.
Chanel flinched, moving away from him before he could touch her. "You need to rest, I–"
"I'm fine."
"I'm trying to make sure you don't die. Can you just listen to me?!"
Bucky reeled a bit from her sudden outburst. He watched her, looking for clues to what she was thinking. She cracked an egg, nearly shattering it and leaving bits of shell all over the counter.
"Can we talk about it?" He finally said in a quiet voice.
Chanel's shoulders slumped; the tears she had been trying desperately to keep at bay started to fall down her cheeks as she mumbled another apology, never stopping the stirring motion of her wooden spoon.
Bucky had had enough of the apologies, enough of her avoiding him; he didn't understand.
"Please stop." He pinched the bridge of his nose, and when she still wouldn't look at him, the last piece of his sanity slipped away. "Just stop!"
Chanel jumped when Bucky shouted and pulled the spoon out of her hand. Her watery eyes were wide as she took in his face; she couldn't tell if he was angry or sad or scared. He was just staring at her like a caged animal, seconds away from losing it.
"Do you–" Chanel swallowed thickly, and she closed her eyes. "Do you want me to leave?"
Bucky's hands wrapped around her arms, hard. "Don't," he pleaded. "I need you."
His lips pressed against hers, needy and desperate, but she pushed him away. This wasn't how he was supposed to be reacting. He must still be out of it–maybe he forgot what happened. All she knew was that he wasn't supposed to be looking at her like he still loved her; he wasn't supposed to be touching her, kissing her, begging her to stay.
"How can you still want me?" Chanel's voice shook as she clung to his shirt; the only thing keeping her from falling to her knees was his arm wrapped around her waist.
"What are you talking about, doll?" Bucky tried to pull back to look at her face, but she was clinging to him too tightly. He wrapped his arms around her and carried her to the lounge chair in the living room, sitting down with her in his lap. "It's okay, you're safe now, I've got you," he whispered against her hair, holding her close.
Chanel couldn't speak; the sobs wracking through her chest were too powerful. But Bucky's words made no sense–she had to tell him, had to remind him what she had done.
"B–b-bucky, I–it's my fault," she spoke through gasps of air, trying to make her hands release their grip on his shirt. "You don't remember."
"That's what this is about? You think what happened is your fault?"
Chanel sat up, not bothering to wipe the tears from her face. "The Tracksuits, they were after me, and I didn't stop them–"
Bucky shushed her, eventually putting his hand over her mouth to make her stop. "I didn't forget, doll. It's not your fault."
Chanel shook her head about to argue when Bucky's lips were on her again.
"Bucky–"
"Stop blaming yourself; I need you," Bucky muttered, pulling her closer to his chest. "How could I still want you–how could you even ask me that? You're all I want–always."
Chanel processed his words slowly–she hadn't even considered this. Of course, Bucky would be ridiculously understanding; of course, he would try to comfort her when he was the one that was hurt. Of course, he would still love her.
Chanel was crying again, this time her arms wrapped tightly around his waist."I love you–I'm so sor–"
"Don't you dare apologize again," Bucky cut her off. "Unless it's for scaring the shit out of me," Bucky lifted her face to kiss her again, returning to his needy, desperate pace. "I was so fucking scared something would happen to you."
His hands were under her shirt, his lips moved to her neck–suddenly, new emotions were racing to the forefront of Chanel's heart. With her guilt partially lifted, the adrenaline from the previous night came rushing back.
"Bucky, I need you," her voice sounded panicked as she kissed him hard, forcing her tongue in his mouth while also trying to pull his shirt over his head.
They both gave in to what their bodies were telling them; they needed to be close, closer–Bucky was trying to carry her to the bedroom, but she pushed his sweats down and wrapped her hand around him.
"Now, Bucky, now."
Bucky nodded breathlessly, pushing her against the wall in the hallway. Only moving away from her lips long enough to rip her leggings from her body and line himself up with her wet heat.
"Shit, condom," Bucky choked out, but Chanel shook her head, digging her heels into his ass to push him further.
"Don't care–now! I need you!"
"Fuck," Bucky didn't care anymore either. He needed this too badly. The ache in his chest was stitching itself back together with every thrust of his hips, with every moan and mutter of I love you Chanel let out against his lips.
"Never gonna let you go," Bucky mumbled as the familiar pink afterglow hue dusted Chanel's cheeks.
"I'm yours, baby," Chanel sighed, her post-orgasm haze taking over.
"No, 'm serious, doll." Bucky tried to focus his thoughts as he chased his own high, his hips starting to lose their rhythm and the pleasure stealing his words. All that would come out of his mouth were incoherent groans.
"I got you, I got you," Chanel whispered, and he realized he was crying.
Their bodies stayed pressed tightly together. Their erratic heartbeats thudded against each other until they slowed, the adrenaline done running its course.
"Move in with me."
"What?" Chanel made her eyes focus on him. "Are you serious?"
Bucky nodded, supporting her with one arm while he pulled his pants up and took her to the bedroom.
"Move in with me–or I'll move in with you–where do you live?"
Chanel laughed at that and the serious look on Bucky's face.
"How do I not know where you live?" Bucky flopped on the bed next to her, pulling her to his side.
"Well, it's complicated–I don't really have a permanent residence, I guess. But Delacroix will always be home."
"So let's go, let's move there."
Chanel sat up on her elbow. "Bucky–" Chanel studied his face–why was she going to argue? He was being earnest. He loved her. "Yes," a smile spread across her face before she kissed him. "But not Delacroix, here. I like it here, with you."
Bucky swore he'd never been happier–not on his 8th birthday when his ma and pa surprised him with a shiny red bike, not the day his sister Mary had brought home a stray cat and ma let them keep it, not the day he had found the courage to hold Steve's hand in the privacy of their barracks, and hadn't been rejected like he feared. Not even the day Chanel had told him she loved him compared to this–the pain in his chest was replaced with this new feeling–a pleasant ache, a longing–how was he longing for her when she was right here?
"God, I love you so much." He should say more, but he couldn't find the words.
"You know I love you more," Chanel teased, pecking his lips before laying back down on his shoulder.
1 Day Before Christmas
Sleep consumed them for almost a full 24 hours. Bucky only stumbled out of bed once to chug two bottles of Gatorade and go to the bathroom. Chanel barely stirred, only moving to burrow closer to Bucky's side. Eventually, her stomach growled loud enough to jolt her awake, and Bucky was out of her arms and in the kitchen faster than she could process what day or time it was.
Still, they remained in bed, no tv, no talking, just basking in the relief of being together again. They tried to extend the feeling for as long as possible, but they both knew the conversation needed to be had.
Bucky held Chanel closer to his chest, clearing his throat before speaking. "I don't remember what happened after you got me out–Stephan's sister, where is she?"
"I didn't kill her," Chanel said defensively.
Bucky simply rubbed his thumb over her bicep in tiny circles until she relaxed.
"I don't know," Chanel sighed. "I let her go–I was only focused on you. If she's smart, she's in hiding."
Bucky nodded, pressing a kiss to her neck. "And Ozenik? Where did he come from?"
Chanel smiled slightly. "Helmut sent us a guardian angel. He called–the day we got here. Warned me, and I didn't listen."
"Hmm, we should send him a Christmas gift. Can we send gifts to The Raft?"
Chanel looked up at him, he was trying to keep the mood light, but she couldn't help sinking a bit.
Bucky could feel it in the way she loosened her hold on him; he could see how her eyes glistened with unshed tears.
"It's okay, you know–those men you kil–they would have hurt you. They would have killed us both if you hadn't done what needed to be done. But I'm sorry they made you do it."
Chanel nodded against his chest; she swore she couldn't possibly fall anymore in love with him. It would be so easy to stay in this moment, accept his love and forgiveness, and give it back twice as hard. But she needed to know.
"Baby–" she started tentatively. "Can you please tell me what happened?"
She could feel his whole body go rigid against her. "It's in the past."
"I swear I'm not gonna spiral again–I just need you to tell me."
Bucky took a deep breath, "they came out of nowhere. I was focused on trying to get to the restaurant before they closed, and I was thinking about you, and the next thing I knew, I woke up in that cage. They, um, the arm–it's got one weakness, electricity. It goes straight through my arm to my nerves, and I couldn't fight them."
Chanel tried to pull away from his chest to look at him, but he held her still.
"It's easier if I can just close my eyes."
"Okay, baby, I'm here," Chanel whispered, bringing his hand to her lips.
"The drug, I don't know what it was or how they got it, but I was in the cage, and then I wasn't. I was–" Bucky swallowed and continued with Chanel's encouraging kiss to his hand. "I was here, but you were leaving, and Sam and Yelena too–you guys said you didn't want me anymore."
Bucky's voice had gotten so small Chanel had to hold her breath to hear him. Her grip tightened around his wrist, unconsciously telling him she wasn't going anywhere.
"And Steve too–Steve said the same thing."
Chanel could hear the tears in his voice, and she wanted nothing more than to show him how untrue that was, but she could sense that this wasn't it–there was more.
"And then I would be back with Hydra, on ice, off ice, on the operating table."
"Operating table?"
Bucky nodded; he knew he shouldn't say more; he should spare her the details. He never told anyone but Shuri, only because it was medically necessary. Steve never wanted to know. Every time Bucky tried to tell him about what he experienced, Steve shut it down. Steve meant well, thinking it would be best for Bucky to forget, thinking he was sparing him from reliving the worst moments. But, he couldn't forget, and he wanted someone to know what they did to him. He wanted someone to at least try and understand.
"When I fell off the train, my arm wasn't completely gone. They–cut the rest off."
Chanel bit her tongue hard to contain the sob threatening to come out.
"They laughed when I screamed," he hugged her body tighter, curling in on himself. "It felt like it went on forever, and I didn't understand why–why I wasn't passing out from the pain–why I wouldn't just die."
Chanel couldn't stop herself now; she sat up, kissing him wherever she could reach. She pulled him closer, wrapping her legs and arms around him tightly as he shook and sobbed against her.
"It's okay; you're safe; it's okay," Chanel repeated soothing words directed at him and herself as she tried to keep her promise not to spiral again. "I'm not leaving, Bucky. I'm here. I'll always be here."
That's how they fell asleep again, clinging to each other for support. Until a knock on the door woke them up from their midday nap.
"Sleep, I'll go see who it is," Bucky mumbled with a kiss to Chanel's forehead.
Chanel grabbed his hand, forcing herself up. "No, I'm coming."
Sleepy-eyed, with wild hair and only half-dressed, they walked to the door in a trance.
The shout of "Merry Christmas!" made them both jump back a bit when Bucky opened the door.
"Oh god," Chanel winced when the carolers launched into Jingle Bells, clearly not concerned about her and Bucky's state of dress.
Bucky started laughing, his hand running over his face before looking down at Chanel's grumpy one. "Doll, it's Christmas Eve–"
"Oh fuck, it is."
Chanel's eyes widened, and Bucky could tell she was about to panic–over what he wasn't sure, but he simply wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her to his side, swaying gently as the carolers continued their joyful song.
A/N: It's been a while! I just want to say thank you to the readers who expressed their love for this story when I was in doubt. I still needed to take a step back but I'm so excited to have this new chapter finally out. I have two more Christmas chapters planned and then we are moving on with the story. There is a lot of drama left so sit tight!