"Do you trust me?"
He didn't answer.
"Bucky, look at me." His eyes finally left the wall he had been staring at and met her gaze. "Do you trust me?"
His brows furrowed and he leaned away from her, as if afraid that she might try to reach out and touch him. She had seen those eyes before. Research videos in a dark room filled with machines and scientists.
Charlotte stayed rooted to the spot, making a conscious effort to keep absolutely still. Even without his mechanical arm, she was very aware that a flight or fight response from the former assassin could spell a quick end for her. Cold rivulets of sweat tickled down her back.
"I don't trust myself," he said, an audible note of fear shaking his voice.
She ignored him. "Do you trust me? Because I'm not doing this if you don't."
She watched his chest rise and fall, counting his breaths before he answered. One, two, three…
"There has to be another way," he pleaded.
Charlotte's heart looped in her chest and she swallowed hard. "I wish there was, Bucky. I know you're scared. I promise you won't hurt me. Or anyone else."
He gave her a pained look. "You can't promise that."
They were alone in the empty room together. Three of the four walls were made of solid vibranium-infused compounds, while the fourth was paneled with tinted shatterproof glass, allowing a view of the Wakandan river valley below. The sun was beginning to set and giant brushstrokes of orange and pink clouds splashed across the sky.
Charlotte watched the sunlight play on Bucky's face as he walked over to the windows, his bare feet padding against the hard floor. He wore black cargo pants and a fitted gray t-shirt, with the sleeves tucked where his left arm should be. In her mind she could sense the erratic currents that charged within him, pulling, racing, snapping, breaking. His dark hair shielded his eyes from her, but she knew that he wasn't really seeing the room. None of him was really in the room.
"What happened in the medical wing was our fault, not yours," Charlotte said. "You didn't hurt anyone. You're still not hurting anyone." He briefly looked up at her from beneath hooded brows but said nothing. "You're not a prisoner here. You're not an experiment. And I'm not going to treat you like either. We don't have to do this. It's your choice."
"Why?" He turned to face her and a few thick strands of dark hair fell around his face. "Why not just perform the treatment and get it over with? Why is it so important to you that I make this choice?"
"It…" Charlotte hesitated, stung by the note of panic in his voice. The question caught her off guard and she struggled to find words under his gaze. She looked down at her own bare feet before raising her eyes to his again. They were a cloudy steel gray today. "Because," she said slowly, "this is probably going to be painful. In many ways. And I need to know that you choose this. That I'm not just another captor inflicting torture."
Bucky dropped his gaze, suddenly ashamed that he had questioned her so harshly. Unsure of what to say, he quietly murmured, "Yeah."
Silence settled between them. She searched his fallen face, realizing with a sinking heart that perhaps enough damage had been done for one day. Slowly, steadily, she crossed the room towards him, watching him carefully for any sign of retreat. Bucky allowed her to approach, though his flexing jaw muscles as he clenched were not unnoticed by her.
When she was an arm's length away, she stopped. She took in his broad frame, nearly twice as big as hers, and tried to imagine the ghost of that mechanical arm that once glimmered at his side. The fist of Hydra. The Winter Soldier. She tried to visualize the robotic, heartless assassin, but struggled to see past the broken man before her.
"Do you trust me?"
Bucky looked down at her. Her chestnut hair was braided over her shoulder, though a few loose waves clung to her heart-shaped face. Long, slender eyebrows gracefully framed her bottomless, unblinking eyes. His gaze roamed past her pastel lips down to the side of her neck, where a vein of scar tissue bended away from her ear.
"Yes," he whispered. "I trust you."
Her breath broke free between parted lips. She searched his face a moment longer, and when he said nothing more, gave a slight nod and slowly retreated backwards. Bucky watched her, never breaking eye contact, as a burning dread began slowly creeping up the back of his neck. His right hand clenched into a fist.
When she was in the middle of the room, Charlotte stopped and tried to swallow what felt like her entire heart in her throat. She faltered, unable to make any sound. What if it didn't work? What if it was more than he could endure? Who was she to put him through this?
The hair around Bucky's face was trembling.
She uttered a single word,
"Zhelaniye."
A/N: Bear with me. If I do my job correctly, the timeline will make sense as I write more.