February 21, 2014
"So," Tony said, looking around at the gathered inhabitants of Avengers Tower as they sat spaced around the common room coffee table. "Let's talk about the monster in our basement."
That, predictably, did not make anyone look more relaxed. Steve's mouth turned down, Banner dropped his face into his hand, Sam cocked an eyebrow and Pepper looked heavenward.
"He's on the eightieth floor, Tony," Maggie pointed out. Her hands were pressed between her knees.
"Anything below the penthouse is the basement," he said flippantly.
It had been several days since Maggie and Sam got drunk together in her workshop. Maggie had been steadily organising a plan for Barnes since then, though she avoided the detention level at all costs. Tony did too. J.A.R.V.I.S. kept up a constant stream of observation on the cell and provided them with data to pore through with a sick kind of fascination.
Maggie had brought Pepper in on her plans early on.
"Pepper," she had said, springing upon the woman when she stepped out of the elevator after a long day of managing Stark Industries through yet another crisis. Stock had risen after the SHIELD disaster, but public scrutiny was high. "You're a very organized person."
"Yes," Pepper had said tiredly, kicking off her shoes.
"You're also very good at hiring the right people for the right job."
"I've been known for that, yes."
"How do you feel about helping me put together a… medical team."
She'd frowned. "For the Avengers? I thought we already had medics on staff."
"No. For Barnes. Because let's be real, he needs a team."
Pepper, bless her, had agreed straight away. Today, she sat with a stack of files in front of her, the most prepared person Maggie had ever met.
Bruce had been slightly trickier to bring on to the project. He had been quietly looking out for Maggie ever since she got back, plying her with tea and making sure she ate, and checking on her healing injuries. The day after she and Sam got drunk together, Maggie had cornered Bruce and asked for his advice.
Despite protesting that it wasn't his area of science, it turned out that Bruce had quite a few suggestions when it came to trying to help the supersoldier in their detention level. Maggie had given him the Winter Soldier file and all her data on the Memory Suppression Machine and cryogenic chamber, and after studying it all Banner had reached out to an old associate at Culver University, a clinical neuroscientist, to ask his recommendations on the top specialists in traumatic brain injuries and complex trauma. Banner had also been the one to suggest bringing in an endocrinologist, since Barnes's hormones might have been damaged by the cryogenesis and whatever long-term medications HYDRA had been giving him.
Barnes himself had not made much progress.
Steve had been into the cell a couple more times, but his presence just seemed to upset Barnes, who said very little to him. Barnes had had two more meltdowns - in the first one he bent the metal frame of his bed, and during the second one he'd seemed at risk of hurting himself, screaming as he woke and clawing at his head. Tony had authorized J.A.R.V.I.S. to speak to Barnes.
Barnes had practically leapt out of his skin the moment he heard the disembodied voice, but he'd stopped trying to hurt himself. He'd relaxed further when J.A.R.V.I.S. explained that he was not a real person, but an artificial intelligence.
But despite that small success, Barnes didn't really speak to J.A.R.V.I.S., and he flinched every time the AI spoke.
Maggie herself had not been having restful nights either. While tracking the Soldier she had been at the peak of her determination and focus; but now she slept shallowly, often waking in a cold sweat or wincing at a muscle cramp from tensing in her sleep. Memories and images haunted her dreams, and though she couldn't remember them when she woke up, they left her with an uneasy fear prickling the back of her neck the rest of the morning. Her injuries from the fight were healing slowly, even though Barnes had completely recovered. Perpetual shadows hung under her eyes.
Slowly, Maggie's plan had gained traction. And now she had finally gathered Steve, Tony, Sam, Pepper, Bruce, and herself in the same room - and Tony was at risk of blowing it all before they even got started. She didn't judge him too harshly; he'd had several rough days, swinging between wild bouts of adrenaline and invention, and long periods of hiding himself up in his room, sometimes with Pepper, sometimes without. She was pretty sure this was the longest time he'd been in a room with Steve since he'd gotten back.
"So," Maggie began. She cleared her throat. "I think we can all agree that Barnes needs some serious professional help. And I think we've made some good progress, right, Pepper?"
Pepper nodded. "We've secured the services of a psychiatrist who I think is uniquely situated to support Barnes."
Steve leaned forward, interested. He'd been glued to the cell observation window, so he hadn't heard this latest development.
"Her name is Doctor Raynor," Pepper explained, sliding a personnel file onto the table which Steve picked up and began scanning through. "She's good. She had a background in medicine before she joined the forces, had a decade of seriously impressive action before she got out. Then she retrained as a psychiatrist, and she's been practicing for a couple of years - she topped all her classes, and her doctorate thesis on complex PTSD treatment for POWs is already being taught in universities. She's top of the line. She's going through the NDA process now, which is stricter than anything SI has set up before. I think she thinks she's going to be treating Tony," Pepper finished wryly.
"Hey," Tony said. "I've already got a therapist."
Maggie blinked. She knew this, but she still felt surprised every time Tony talked openly about it.
"And we're working on bringing in other professionals," Pepper continued, "thanks to Sam's connections at the VA, and Bruce's colleagues-"
"It's all… good," Maggie interrupted awkwardly. "But I… before we make any more progress, there's something that keeps coming up."
Every single one of her conversations over the last few days had ended in a very simple dead end.
Tony snorted. "You can put together the dream team," he said glibly, "but it won't mean a damn thing if Barnes can't handle being in the presence of another human being. We've got no clue what he wants, or how he'll react. He's a lion in a cage."
"Exactly," she said, leaning back. "It's hard to get any gauge on how open he might be to receiving help when he freaks out whenever Steve walks in. And he mostly ignores J.A.R.V.I.S."
There was a long silence.
"He managed a month on the run by himself, right?" Pepper said. "He didn't attack anyone, did he?"
"No," Maggie conceded.
"We can't send civilian scientists into that cell without being 100% sure of their safety," Sam said firmly. He'd been an advocate for Barnes in the past few days, but it was still very clear he didn't much trust or like him.
"Obviously," Tony said.
"A lot of the specialists we've discussed will need scans and data that require using specialized medical equipment," Banner added, "but we can't risk bringing Barnes out of the cell, and we can't bring that equipment in to him. That's not even considering the fact that he likely won't hold up well to having machinery used on him," he finished, with a glance at Maggie.
"I think the first priority should be getting him in with a psychiatrist who knows what to look for," Sam said.
"This should be Bucky's choice," Steve burst out, then appeared to restrain himself. "I really do appreciate you organizing all this, but it should be up to him whether-"
"Oh yeah, why don't you just pop down and have a chat with him about it then?" Tony asked. "I'm sure that'll go real well-"
Steve's head snapped toward Tony, a stormy expression on his face.
"I'll do it."
Steve and Tony's budding argument died in the air. Everyone turned to stare at Maggie. She half wanted to stare at herself. She hadn't even considered the words before speaking them, but now that she had…
She released her hands from between her knees and leaned back, her chin rising. She nodded to herself. "I'll talk to him."
"What?" Tony said.
Steve frowned. "I don't know if that's-"
"I brought him in," she said evenly. "I'll be the one sending civilians in to deal with him. I won't be comfortable doing this unless I'm sure he doesn't pose a risk."
"Maybe someone more neutral-" Sam began, but she held up a hand.
"The psychiatrist is neutral. But first, we need to make sure they'll be safe."
A ringing silence followed.
Finally, Pepper leaned forward. "Alright. I'll call Doctor Raynor."
February 23, 2014
Stark Tower Detention Level
"You need not be afraid, Ms Stark, all the necessary safeguards are in place."
Maggie stared at the cell door in front of her: thick, sturdy metal with one of the most secure locking mechanisms known to engineering. "I know, J.A.R.V.I.S.," she said. "I'm not afraid."
She wasn't sure if that was strictly true, but she certainly wasn't afraid for her own safety. That wasn't what was keeping her frozen on this side of the door. If Barnes tried to attack her, the whole room would be dosed with an instant-acting sedative. Maggie half wanted it to happen. She could do with a good sleep, and she reckoned if she held her breath she could get in some good punches before the sedative knocked her out.
She smoothed down her blazer, taking long and slow breaths. She had dressed for power today: a sharp burgundy suit, heels, her hair pinned back and her eyes sharp. She only dressed like this when she was trying to make a point. She wasn't sure what her point was today, though: maybe to show Barnes that even without her Wyvern uniform, she was still in control.
"Ms Stark-"
"Open the door, J.A.R.V.I.S."
The dark metal door slid open almost soundlessly the second she finished her sentence.
Barnes sat on his spartan bed, looking at his hands, but at the soft sound of the door opening his head jerked up. When he saw Maggie standing in the doorway something in his eyes tightened. Maggie half expected him to lose it, like he had with Steve, but he just stayed very still, watching her. His stubble was starting to look a little wild, and his eyes were sad. His shaggy dark hair hung around his face.
Maggie stepped into the cell, her shoes clicking on the cool floor, and the door slid shut behind her.
For a long few moments, Maggie and Barnes looked at each other. Maggie sized him up, trying to find any hint of aggression or loss of control. He seemed a little surprised to see her, but not overly defensive. His eyes were watchful. She kept her own face cool and neutral, ignoring her racing heartbeat.
"There's a psychiatrist coming in," she finally said. Barnes's eyes widened slightly. "What are the odds of you attempting to knock her head off her shoulders?"
Barnes grimaced, but to his credit he didn't break eye contact. "I don't know if I'm the best one to make that judgement." He let out a breath. "But if it makes any difference, I don't want to hurt anyone."
She raised an eyebrow. That was the most words she'd heard him string together. "How often do you lose control?"
His eyes darkened, probably accurately piecing together that she was aware of the times he woke and paced the room, the Soldier in his eyes, until he came back to himself. "Seems like you might be keeping count," he said. He took a deep breath, then shook his head. "Usually only when I sleep, Less and less, recently."
"Hm."
He looked up again. "I didn't realize it was you behind…" he gestured around at the room. "All this."
"Who did you think it was?"
He shrugged. "SHIELD, maybe. Steve."
"SHIELD died with HYDRA," she informed him, and was surprised at the look of sheer relief that flickered across his face. "And Steve is… hurting."
The relief gave way to guilt. A long silence passed. Maggie wasn't sure why she didn't just leave. She felt fascinated by the emotions flickering across his face. This was different from watching him through the glass. He wasn't desperately trying to get her to leave, like he did with Steve. She wondered if it was because he didn't think he could hurt her, or because he didn't care if he did.
"Why're you doing this?" Barnes eventually whispered. "Could've just locked me up. Could've just killed me. Why… try to help me?" He looked directly into her eyes, unafraid, and Maggie just stared back.
She took a long breath. I don't know. She swallowed. Because I found a metal chair and a base full of pain. Then her eyes narrowed. Because you killed my parents and I want you to feel guilty for it for the rest of your life. She cleared her throat and physically shook away the cruel, vindictive thought.
Barnes was still watching her, apparently just as fascinated by the emotions on her face as she was with his.
She finally settled on: "The psychiatrist will come in soon," and walked out.
He let her go without another word.
The second the cell door slid shut behind her, Maggie collapsed back against it, her eyes screwed shut and her breath gusting out of her. She reached up and pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes, not caring that she was smudging her nice sharp eyeliner.
Regardless of anything else that had happened in there... she felt reasonably sure that Barnes would not try to hurt the psychiatrist.
After several long moments to collect herself, she strode into the observation room. Steve stood by the window, his hands in his pockets and his expression pensive. He looked over his shoulder at her. Beyond the glass, Barnes was still staring at the closed door.
"I muted the mics, I couldn't hear anything," Steve said defensively. "But it… that seems like it… went well?"
Maggie didn't have the energy to try to explain how it had went. She just jerked her head at him. "You can't be in here."
"I'll keep the sound off, but-"
"J.A.R.V.I.S. will alert us if there's any trouble, no one needs to be in here." Her brow furrowed. "No one should."
Steve held her gaze, then nodded and followed her out into the corridor with only a single glance back at his friend.
Maggie heard voices and looked down the corridor to spot Pepper, standing beside an older woman with dark hair in a bun and a lined face, wearing a business-casual outfit in earth tones. She looked no-nonsense and stoic, and as Pepper briefed her, to her credit, she only looked slightly horrified. She was nodding, though, and drew in a steadying breath.
Maggie led Steve away.
The next time the cell door slid open, Bucky was ready for it.
The woman in the doorway wasn't what he expected; she had a thin, pursed mouth and focused eyes, held a paper file tucked under her arm, and wore shoes meant for running, not business.
Bucky's heart was pounding at the entrance of a stranger into this space, but he didn't - he didn't want to hurt this woman. He didn't want to scare her, either. So he sat on the edge of his bed, hand on his knee, and sweat rolling down the back of his neck. When the cell door slid shut behind the woman his anxiety spiked.
It had already been a lot to see her again: Margaret Stark. She still looked at him with fire in her eyes, though she tried to hide it. He now realized that not only had she spared his life, but she was the one who owned this cage, and now she was… trying to help him. He didn't understand it at all.
Her wrist had been in a brace. He'd done that.
"Hello," the woman said. Stark had called her a psychiatrist, which he knew was something to do with minds. The woman looked around, but there was no chair in the cell. So she stood just inside the door, her hands loose by her sides. "My name is Doctor Christina Raynor. What may I call you?"
He didn't respond.
She inclined her head. "That's alright." Her tone was clipped, matter-of-fact. She frowned and looked around again. "I'm going to sit down, my back isn't anywhere near good enough these days to stay upright for any length of time." She sat right there on the floor, tucking her feet by her hip. Bucky was surprised she would admit and display weakness in front of him.
She cleared her throat and met his eyes. "Now I've been told a bit about you, you and I both know that. But I'm going to take my lead from you, here. I get that you may not want to talk, and that's fine, I hope you'll feel comfortable opening up in time. To start, though, I would like you to think: on a scale from one to ten, how likely are you to try to kill me right now?"
Bucky couldn't help his surprise. His brows lifted.
"I don't mean any offense by the question," Raynor said. "I'm a psychiatrist, I work with soldiers and veterans. Usually the ones who are very highly trained, and who have been through a lot of shit. This isn't the first time I've asked a patient this question. So - and you can use your fingers - one to ten. What's it going to be?"
Several long moments passed. Doctor Raynor looked frankly back at him.
Slowly, Bucky curled his thumb and pinky finger into his fist, and showed his hand to Raynor.
"Three," she nodded, sticking her bottom lip out consideringly. "I can work with that. Thanks for letting me know. So, let's get started."
J.A.R.V.I.S. directed Doctor Raynor to an office space on the level below the detention cells when she was finished. She walked into the room to find Pepper, Steve, and Sam sitting at a conference table, and Maggie leaning against the far wall by the window. Tony had refused to come.
"Ms Potts," Raynor said, coming to sit at the table with an evaluating glance around the room. She clearly recognized Steve and Maggie, but said nothing.
"Thank you for coming," Pepper said gratefully, reaching out to shake Raynor's hand. "This is Captain Rogers, Sergeant Wilson, and Ms Stark." She gestured to each of them in turn, and they inclined their heads. "How did it go?"
"We didn't talk long," Raynor said, cutting right to the chase. "He didn't talk at all, really. I explained what I do, and what I can help with." She drew in a breath.
"Can he… can you help him?" Steve asked, leaning forward.
"Everyone can be helped," Raynor said, stating it like an obvious fact rather than some idealistic mantra. "He's clearly been through a lot, which I'm sure I don't know the half of, but… yes. I can help him."
Steve ran a shaky hand over his face.
Raynor looked to Maggie, who was watching the tiny cars driving up and down the street below. "For what it's worth, I think you're doing the right thing. Routines and structure are a good start, so the regular food deliveries and the lights dimming at night helps. Obviously in an ideal world I'd want him in a psychiatric facility, but I understand why that's not possible." She cleared her throat. "He's not able to express wants right now, so I'd like to start introducing him to options - providing two different choices of meals, for example, or a selection of three books. I understand there's an AI who could facilitate this. And books and other forms of media are crucial: he needs interaction and distraction."
Steve nodded, encouraged.
"Additionally, I'd suggest using the AI to ask his permission before entering the cell, so he's able to see it as a safe space. Obviously this may not always be possible."
Raynor continued to run down her list of suggestions and things she wanted to build on in future appointments. Pepper nodded along politely, and Sam seemed impressed, and Steve looked like he wanted to kiss Raynor. It was clear she knew what she was doing.
When Raynor appeared to bring her suggestions to an end, Maggie pinched the bridge of her nose.
"Done," she said.
Raynor looked up. "To which part?"
"To all of it. I'm going to put together a team to work on this with you, Dr Raynor. A top shelf neurologist, a sleep specialist, and a couple others. Barnes needs help, but he also needs… advocates, who aren't responsible for imprisoning him. Do you think you can do that?"
Raynor's eyebrows shot up. Everyone else in the room stared at Maggie. "Of course," Raynor said. "I've got those contacts in those fields, if you'd like me to reach out."
Maggie nodded tiredly. "We've made a start, but that would be good. I… have you… have you got this?" She barely knew what she was asking. But the strain of trying to protect Barnes's sanity was wearing on her. She knew it was too much for Tony.
Raynor nodded curtly. "I've got this."
Maggie let out a shaky breath, and fought off the instinctive urge to cry. So she just said: "Good. You're hired," and left the room.
The next morning, Tony cornered Steve when he returned from his early morning run.
He'd had J.A.R.V.I.S. make a careful schedule of how the Captain spent his days, so he could find a good time to ambush him. Steve's schedule was a little chaotic these days, but it was clear he had several routines he liked to stick to: the early morning run, three square meals (no doubt to keep up with his insane caloric intake needs), and visiting the cell observation room at least twice every day.
Steve's eyes widened when he walked into the corridor leading to his suite and found Tony standing in his way.
"Tony," he blinked. His surprise was understandable - Tony had been pretty obviously avoiding him for days now.
Tony was never usually one to avoid his problems. In fact, most people would have said that he had an unhealthy habit of launching himself at his problems head-first. But he just couldn't bring himself to speak to Steve until today.
He'd been having some pretty long talks with Pepper about it all, and his therapist, since he didn't want to overly burden Maggie. But really, what were you supposed to do when you found out your parents were murdered by a brainwashed assassin from the 40s? There wasn't exactly a well-reviewed self help book for the situation.
He was… managing. For the most part. Mostly by avoiding Steve, and definitely by avoiding thinking about said brainwashed assassin. Though Maggie had given him access to a translated Russian file that had put a lot of things in perspective.
But now, he planted his feet and faced Steve. "How long have you known?"
Steve's face fell, but he drew his shoulders straight like a good soldier, as if he'd been expecting this conversation. He wore tracksuit pants and an under armour shirt, and his hair was mussed. He let out a breath. "Do you want to come inside?" he asked, gesturing at his suite door.
"No."
Steve nodded. "Okay. I assume you're asking how long I've known that-"
"That your old pal murdered my mom and dad, yes," Tony said, successfully managing not to flinch at the words.
Steve didn't flinch either. He met Tony's eyes. "I figured it out after I went on the run from SHIELD. Nat and I, we ended up at an old SHIELD base in New Jersey, found a hidden room at the very bottom of the base and… it turned out an old HYDRA scientist, Arnim Zola, had uploaded his consciousness into the computer banks there."
"Bullshit."
Steve just spread his hands, as if to say well, that's what happened. He went on: "Zola spoke to us. He was just playing for time, really, so Pierce could send a missile strike, but he was taunting us - taunting me. He didn't say it outright, and I didn't know anything for sure, but I realized that there might be more to Howard and Maria's deaths than I thought. And then with how Maggie was about the Winter Soldier-"
"How she was?" Tony echoed, shifting his weight.
Steve's brow furrowed slightly, and he looked down. "She was… driven. In a way I've never seen before. Natasha noticed it too, said it was unusual." He drew in a breath and looked up. "She wanted to kill him, Tony. No question about it."
Tony held his gaze.
"So I… I tried to protect him from her," Steve said, running a hand through his hair. "I lied to her. And I tried to stop her going after him. That's when she told me - what he did."
Tony nodded slowly, his jaw working. "If Maggie hadn't told me," he said, "would you have?"
A long silence passed. Steve, at least, had the decency not to look away.
"You wouldn't have," Tony realized. His gut burned. This was why I haven't spoken to him, he realized. Because he knew Steve. And Tony's anger was always like an iron hot off the forge - it needed time to cool before it could be moulded. He turned away. "He killed my mom, Steve. He - he-"
"I'm sorry," Steve said in a voice far softer than before. Tony didn't turn to look at him. "I don't know if I would have told you," he said honestly. "I wasn't sure until Maggie told me, and…"
"And you wanted to protect Barnes," Tony said stiffly.
"He's my friend."
"So am I."
Steve didn't reply. And, briefly, Tony considered turning and hitting him. It'd hurt him more than Steve, really, but it might feel good. But Steve wouldn't hit him back, not in a million years, and then that wouldn't feel so good. He clenched his fists by his sides, shaking and angry and not sure where to put it all.
He whirled on Steve. The supersoldier stood in the same spot, his expression wrenched. Tony knew the position he was in, torn between wanting to protect his oldest friend and wanting to support his new ones. Tony just didn't have the room to care right now.
He drew himself up. "You can't be mad at Maggie."
Steve blinked. "I-"
"No, no," Tony said forcefully. "You just - you just can't. She… she was five years old." Steve's expression broke. "After that car crash, after everything she saw, that little girl dragged herself along the road for a mile until she found somebody to help her. She had nerve damage, burns, and a broken leg, and she dragged herself. She was five. That fact alone has haunted me for two decades, but now I know she'd also just seen-" Tony cut himself off before his voice broke, and he stared furiously at Steve for a few long moments. Finally he recovered himself enough to say: "And you - you're supposed to be her friend, and you can't be mad at her for this. No one can be."
Steve held up both hands. "I'm not."
"Oh," Tony said. He blinked. "Then why'd you let me say all that?"
Steve sighed. "Because I think I needed to hear it anyway."
"Right," Tony said speculatively. "The guilt complex. Maggie told me about that."
For another few long moments they stood there, Steve looking willing to take whatever Tony hurled at him. That was his way, really: he'd put himself on the line to protect just about anyone except himself. For a horrible second Tony thought about going downstairs to the detention cell, to hurt Barnes: to fulfil that instinct that had surged up in him the second Maggie told him the truth, and partly to punish Steve for - for knowing, and not saying. For choosing his friend, instead of Tony and Maggie. Steve might fight back if Tony went after Barnes.
But the instinct passed. Because Maggie had let it pass, too.
He wished he had her strength right now.
He pointed at Steve. "You and I are not good," he said shortly. "I don't trust you, and I'm going to be bitter about this for a long time."
Steve nodded solemnly. "I know. I'm sorry, Tony." He took a breath. "I can leave-"
"Don't do that," Tony said. "You stay here, and you help. And you do right by Maggie. And you - you help us fix this."
He nodded again.
Tony's mind whirled. "And you do my dry cleaning-"
"Your dry cleaning is automated," Steve said, in that dry, unsmiling way he had.
Tony jabbed his finger again, but didn't have an argument for that.
"I've never held a grudge before," he said finally. "This'll be a new experience." And with that he turned and strode away, leaving Steve alone and heavy-hearted in the corridor.
Days passed. Things were strained in the Tower - Tony barely spoke to Steve, and Maggie barely spoke to anyone, though she found that no single project could hold her attention for long. Sam came and went, trying to figure out what his life looked like now.
Maggie and Tony were in Tony's workshop one morning, subdued, when the door slid open to reveal Rhodey in his Air Force uniform.
"Rhodey," Tony blinked. "Where have you been?"
"I've been out on a mission. A War Machine mission. Don't worry about it," Rhodey waved a hand frustratedly. "Listen, Tony, I really need an update on what the Avengers are doing about HYDRA, the Forces are scrambling-" he then spotted Maggie, who stood on the other side of the room trying to pull apart a hard drive with her one functioning hand.
"You're back!" Rhodey exclaimed, his face lighting up as he strode across the lab toward her. "Jeez, kid, Tony said you'd gone AWOL after everything with the Triskelion, when did you-"
He'd come close enough to hug her now, his arms out, but he hesitated when she skittered back, putting the worktable between them.
A few moments of silence passed.
Maggie swallowed. "Sorry," she said. "It comes and goes, the hugging thing. I, uh…" she looked to Tony.
Tony grimaced. "We've been a bit preoccupied, Rhodey."
Rhodey set his hands on his hips. "I'm sorry, is there something more important than the destruction of one of the country's most important intelligence agencies going on?"
"Kinda," Tony said. "You can't tell your Air Force buddies, though."
Rhodey hesitated, then sighed. "Another thing to add to the list, then. Out with it."
Tony set his hands down on his workbench, drew in a breath, then looked up. "How good is your World War 2 history?"
Maggie abruptly realized that she couldn't be here for this. She straightened stiffly and headed for the door, ignoring Rhodey's curious look.
Rhodey found her an hour later in her workshop, his face grim and haunted. He made a move toward her when he spotted her, then remembered himself, and paced over to sit on the stool opposite her workbench.
He leaned his elbows on the workbench and looked down. "I don't know what to say."
"Neither do I, really," she sighed.
Rhodey let out a long breath. "Tony said you've been looking for this guy for most of your life."
Maggie nodded silently. She and Tony had had several more conversations about it all, since that day in the mansion. She'd told him about the man in Russia who tried to kill her, and the old Soviet general who'd first given her the name Zimniy Soldat.
Rhodey's eyes lifted to take her in. "I am so sorry, Maggie."
She avoided his gaze. His empathy was honest and straightforward, and she didn't really know how to accept it.
He rubbed his forehead. "This is a mess. You shouldn't have to be the one taking care of all this, Maggie, it-"
"But I am," she said. "And that's that. Besides, it's mostly getting handled by other people, now." Dr Raynor was scheduled to come in three times a week, though they hadn't managed to confirm any other specialists yet.
Rhodey was still looking at her with warm, sorrowful empathy. "What can I do for you?"
She finally met his eyes, and almost said tell me who I am. Because she didn't know any more.
Instead, she said: "Take me flying?"
He smiled. "Okay, kiddo. Jets or suits?"
She thought about it. "I haven't fixed my wings yet." Her eyes flickered to the far end of her workshop, where the dented wingpack was displayed. She'd been struggling with whether or not to fix them at all. The Wyvern had been born for the purposes of her mission, and now it was over…
She shook her head. "I'll fix them. But then… yeah, suits."
"You're on."
Tony had told Happy everything as well. Happy, as Head of Security for SI, was not happy about having the Winter Soldier in the building. And learning the truth about the Stark parents had sent him into a strange mixture of overprotectiveness and sensitivity when it came to Tony, and especially Maggie. He wanted to be informed each time she left the building, and he started appearing by her side to help her walk down stairs, or open doors for her, as if she were a young invalid again. It was irritating, but Maggie didn't begrudge him for it. She knew in Happy's mind that this was a tragedy that he had failed to protect her from, even though he hadn't known her at the time.
March, 2014
With Dr Raynor's guidance, and the help of other specialists, Barnes began to show signs of improvement. He talked more. They developed a specialised diet to meet his nutrition needs. Maggie didn't know what he and Raynor talked about, or didn't talk about, but things began to change. With the selection of more clothes, Barnes began dressing himself in more than one outfit. He shaved his beard once, but it grew out again. A small collection of books grew in his room including notebooks, which he spent most of his time scribbling in.
Maggie didn't have access to his diagnoses, but she knew they'd successfully managed a brain scan thanks to an experimental new device that Banner had collaborated on. She didn't know the results, but the neurologist had seemed surprised, the last time she'd seen him.
She kept track of Barnes from afar, torn between wanting to pretend he didn't exist and wanting to know every single facet of his progress. Tony was the same, though his focus seemed to be more on monitoring Maggie as if she were likely to dissolve into tears at any moment. Sam was the only one who really seemed to notice how much Maggie was helping and monitoring from a distance. He checked in on her when he was at the Tower, though he still refused to bring in his wings.
One afternoon Maggie and Sam were having a drink together in the common room, while Steve was downstairs in a meeting with Maria Hill.
Maggie had run into Maria a couple weeks ago and done a double take. "The hell are you doing here?" she'd managed to get out.
"I work here now," the dark haired woman had said evenly. "Head of Avengers Operations. Not super happy about you bringing the guy who shot my last boss into the Tower, by the way. But Stark told me not to bother you about it."
Maggie had stared at Hill, until she finally said "Okay" and walked on.
She didn't know what Steve and Hill were discussing now - probably Avengers stuff, but she didn't really have the energy for that at the moment.
"How's he been sleeping?" Sam asked her, drawing her attention back. He didn't say Barnes's name, but she knew who he meant.
"Like a baby," she said. "And by that, I mean he wakes screaming every few hours."
Sam shot her a look, and she wilted.
"Sorry. Bad joke."
He sighed. "You don't need to apologize. I think you're entitled to a little dark humor." He eyed her more closely. "How're you doing?"
"Fine," she said automatically. "Keeping busy." There was lots to be busy with - her actual job at SI, for one thing, as well as working through the HYDRA data leak to identify bases and persons of interest. It reminded her of her old Wyvern days.
"I bet," Sam said doubtfully. "No one expects you to be fine, you know."
Maggie tried not to let her hackles rise.
Because Sam was right, of course. Physically, she'd almost completely recovered from her fight with the Winter Soldier in Peru; her wrist brace was set to come off in two weeks, her bruises and cuts had faded, and she'd lost her sickly, haunted appearance.
But somehow she had only gotten worse. Old fears had bubbled up as the days and weeks went on. At first it had just been physical touch. But a few weeks ago she'd passed a burning trash can downtown - not an unusual aspect of living in New York, but the sight and sound of the flames had made her nerves prickle and her gut churn, and she'd had to leave quickly. She hadn't been able to sit in a car since last month. She'd get as far as putting on her seatbelt, which felt like a restrictive band across her chest, before she had to unclip herself and scramble out as quickly as she could. Tony had grabbed her arm in excitement recently and she'd nearly hit him on pure instinct.
It was as if finding Barnes had opened up a box she'd kept locked since childhood, and fear began to seep out like poison. Most recently the medical areas of the Tower made her nervous, as if everything she ever should have been afraid of as a child was finally catching up with her. The gleaming white surfaces and sharp metal tools in plastic packaging in the medical wing made her shiver, and she felt defensive whenever someone stood behind her, where she couldn't see them. Her workshop was slowly going from a place she'd felt comfortable in to a place that made her nerves jangle and alarm.
Maybe now that the fury has stopped swallowing up everything else… I'm finally experiencing what it is to feel. It was terrifying. Maggie could barely go outside some days, for fear she'd try to kill some stranger for brushing her arm, or curl up into a ball and be unable to move. Her bedroom had become her safe space, with its wide windows looking out over the forest of the city. She swung between sleeping for hours on end, or being unable to sleep for more than two or three hours at once.
"I am fine," she said to Sam, unconvincingly. "I just… don't really know who I am. Without…"
"Without your mission."
She looked up at him sharply. Is he a mind reader?
Sam shrugged. "You mentioned something like that a while ago. And it's understandable - if you've spent your whole life driven toward a particular goal, once that's taken away, whatever it is, you're bound to feel… well, I don't know how you feel. I was going to say lost."
Maggie shifted uncomfortably. She didn't like how clearly Sam could see her.
"But I do think it's pretty incredible what you've done since then," he went on sincerely. "A lot of people wouldn't have been able to help Barnes the way you have. A lot of what goes into healing is time, effort, and money, and you've given him that in spades. I see you trying to help out everyone around you, and it's great, but…" Sam drew in a breath and cocked his head at her. "Maybe consider spending a little time and effort on yourself."
Maggie clenched her jaw. "I'm doing okay, Sam."
He held up his hands. "I'm not telling you what to do. I'm just saying… help is there. And I know it's a cliche, but asking for help is hard. It's also one of the bravest things you can do."
She eyed him for a long moment. "I'll take it under advisement."
He inclined his head. "That's all I ask." He leaned back and sipped the beer she'd offered him. "By the way, Barnes has apparently agreed to see Steve again, after his last session with Raynor. Steve asked me to run it by you."
Her eyebrows flew up. "Really?"
"Yep, I guess he thinks he's ready for it. It's good timing, too, since Steve was getting all sad."
"Good timing?"
Sam ran a hand over his jaw. "It's Barnes's birthday tomorrow."
After their talk, Maggie decided that Sam had been at least a little bit right. If she looked at it logically, she could admit that there were aspects to her life that were hurting her. It would make work difficult if she ended up not being able to step foot in her workshop at all. So she began looking into ways she could fix it herself.
That evening, she tried some strategies. Meditation seemed to have the opposite effect on her when she tried it; rather than emptying her mind, stopping and sitting only made thoughts and feelings rush in, overwhelming her. Yoga was alright, reminding her of her gymnastics days, but it didn't stop the fears bubbling up around her.
She decided to experiment with exposure therapy by confronting her fears. She lasted three minutes in the passenger seat of a car in the Tower garage before she tipped out the door, drenched in sweat and gasping for breath. She tried to be more affectionate with Tony and Pepper when they had dinner together, purposefully letting her elbows and knees brush against theirs, and allowing Pepper to hug her at the end of the meal, but the interactions left her so wound up that she paced the length of her bedroom a hundred and thirty three times before she could think about anything other than the hot, itchy feeling across her skin.
That day and the next she decided she needed more research. She spent her time reading up on therapies in an effort to understand how to unravel this mental and emotional problem that had crept up on her, but did not share it with anyone else. She needed to be okay. She needed to be capable, reliable Maggie Stark, or the world would fall down around her.
Cell A
"Sergeant Barnes, Captain Rogers is requesting access to your cell."
Bucky looked up at the roof, as was his instinct whenever the AI named J.A.R.V.I.S. spoke. He'd come around to the disembodied voice - it was nice knowing that the AI could not bleed, or feel pain, or die. It was a neutral presence.
Then Bucky's gaze turned toward the cell door. He'd been in here about a month, now, and despite the cramped quarters he felt steadier now than he had a month ago. He suspected part of it was just having more time and distance from HYDRA, but Dr Raynor had helped a lot, too. He still didn't talk a lot in their sessions, but something about their sessions made him feel… a bit like a person again. She didn't treat him like a machine, or even like a soldier. She wasn't gentle, but the practical, capable way she approached things made healing seem like something achievable.
She'd taught him a lot about cognitive reappraisal, and dissociation, and repression, and trauma, and lots of other fancy psychoanalytical terms that kind of reminded him a bit of his hazy memories of science class at school. That had been a nice memory to get back. He didn't much like their sessions, but he had to admit that Dr Raynor got results. Even when it felt like he was taking two steps forward and three steps back, he lost control less often, and regained and retained more memories, and sometimes he could even attempt putting his snarled, dark thoughts into words.
It hadn't just been Dr Raynor, either. A neurologist who asked to be called Tim had done a brain scan, which apparently showed that Bucky's limbic system was healing from a pattern of significant physical trauma from the Memory Suppression Machine. Apparently that kind of healing shouldn't even be possible, but Bucky supposed that was down to the serum. It was strangely comforting to know that even though it was all technically in his own head, there was physical damage to explain his messed up mind. Tim had also noted some abnormalities in his brain chemistry: something about serotonin and melatonin and reuptake inhibition, which Tim said was a symptom of depression and/or PTSD. Bucky already knew he had both of those, thanks to Raynor, but it was nice to think of it as chemistry, and not something fundamentally broken inside of him.
He'd been feeling strangely objective about it all recently, despite the nightmares and the waking up screaming and the occasional days he couldn't bring himself to move. Now that he didn't have to be on the run constantly, his body occasionally just gave up.
He and Raynor had been talking about Steve for the last week or so. She wanted him to open himself up to more people who weren't medical professionals. Part of Bucky wanted to see Steve - he might not entirely understand it, but he remembered being Steve's friend. He couldn't untangle those memories from the core of himself. But the other part of him wanted to keep Steve as far away from him as possible.
So now, he drew a deep breath and pressed his back against the far wall to steady himself. "Let him in, J.A.R.V.I.S.," he croaked.
The door slid open. Steve stepped inside a second later, wearing jeans and a t-shirt and his hair combed neatly. His expression as he looked at Bucky was cautious, but hopeful. Their last meeting had ended with Bucky begging him to leave.
Bucky looked at the man he'd known as a friend in another life, and catalogued his weak points: Exposed neck. Non-defensive stance. Unarmed. Impractical clothes for combat. He tried to stop the instinctive scan, but it was as natural as breathing.
"Do you know me?" Steve asked.
Bucky couldn't quite look him in the face. "You're Steve." A long silence passed. "Your mom's name is Sarah. You used to put newspaper in your shoes."
Bucky couldn't see it, but Steve's mouth twitched with a smile. He moved to the pair of chairs in the corner of the cell (which Raynor had requested), and sat down. Bucky didn't move. "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable, coming in here before Bu - uh, before."
Bucky looked up at him. "You can call me Bucky."
Steve's face creased with relief. "You want to be called that?"
"'S my name."
"You remember?"
He tilted his head. "More and more, every day. Writing it down keeps it all straight." He tapped one of the many journals stacked on the box at the end of his bed. Then he looked up. "I'm not safe, Steve."
Despite himself, Steve smiled. "I kinda got that, Buck."
Bucky rolled his eyes. "I mean - to you. To other people. I don't… Raynor keeps pushing me to do better, to do more, and I'm trying, but you don't understand-"
"You're in the driver's seat, Bucky," Steve said with spread hands. "You set the pace, here. If you don't want to do something, say the word. If you want me to leave, say the word. But I don't believe you'll hurt me."
Bucky looked down. "Just as stubborn as ever," he murmured.
Steve smiled. "You know what day it is?"
"Yeah, uh… my birthday."
"You don't look too bad, for ninety seven."
Bucky's brow furrowed.
Steve sighed. "You've got time, Buck. Time to heal, time to do what you want. You're safe here."
He finally moved. He stepped away from the wall, even though his back tingled, and slowly circled to sit on the edge of his bed. He couldn't look directly at Steve, so he focused on his shoes instead. "I don't know if I deserve all that," he murmured. "You - you know what I've done. Who I've hurt."
"That is HYDRA's fault," Steve said firmly. "Not yours."
"But I still did it," he said in that same low, level tone. "Your… your friends. You shouldn't protect me-"
"I haven't lost any friends," Steve said just as resolutely. Bucky looked up at that, curious. "And you don't need to worry about me."
There was a long silence. Bucky could feel his heart rate climbing, and tried to remember the tactics Raynor had given him.
"Do you want to get better?" Steve asked in a voice so soft he was almost whispering.
Bucky's fist clenched by his knee. "I don't know if I deserve to."
"But do you want to?"
His eyes darted. He didn't know the answer to that. He - he didn't even know what better looked like. Not dangerous? In control? Both seemed impossible.
Steve seemed to see that Bucky was getting overwhelmed, because he cleared his throat and shifted.
"I, uh, I brought some cards," he said, pulling a deck from his back pocket and waving it at Bucky. "Thought you might want to play."
Bucky stared at the cards. If he thought hard on it, he thought he remembered… the flip and slide of cards in his hands, two flesh hands, and the flicker of firelight and the smell of cigarette smoke. Laughter. "I don't… remember any games."
Steve's mouth quirked. "I'll teach you the rules. You taught 'em to me in the first place, it seems only fair."
"How did it go?" Sam asked Steve later, as they stood out on the flight deck looking over New York City. Steve's elbows rested on the edge of the glass barrier.
"Really good," Steve said, trying to pick out buildings he knew in Brooklyn. "It's… he's quiet, but he knew me. I think he liked hearing what I've been up to, since I woke up. I… I never thought I'd get the chance to tell Bucky all of that."
"That's good," Sam said sincerely. "I just… remember that he's not the same guy you knew back in the war, Steve. He's been through a lot-"
"I know," Steve said with a nod, turning to him. "He can be whoever he needs to be, Sam, he can do whatever he needs to heal. It's just…"
Sam's mouth quirked. "It's good to have your friend back."
"Yeah," Steve said, relieved. "Exactly that."
A week later, late at night, Bucky was writing in one of his notebooks as J.A.R.V.I.S. the AI played old music from his childhood through the cell speakers. Sometimes, if he didn't pay too close attention, he could remember some of the lyrics.
Bucky was trying to piece together the week before he had run from HYDRA at the Triskelion. It was tricky, especially since he'd been wiped twice in short succession, but he thought he had a more or less coherent timeline of events mapped out. He remembered fighting Steve under the overpass, and remembered malfunctioning - until the Director had decided to wipe him again. Alexander Pierce.
Steve had told him Pierce died at the Triskelion. Good.
He'd had a not-so-great week. Steve had let slip that HYDRA was not completely dead, but that fragments of the organisation had scurried back into the shadows to bide their time. Bucky had had what he knew, from his sessions with Raynor, was a panic attack. Steve had been good about it, talking him through it without touching him, but it had drained a lot of his energy and felt like a blow to his good progress.
HYDRA is still out there, was his recurring thought now. He looked at his limp metal arm, which he'd taken to propping on his lap so it didn't pull on his shoulder.
The music faded out. "Sergeant Barnes," said J.A.R.V.I.S., "I have an access request for your room. Do I have your permission to open the door?"
Bucky frowned and stood up. He closed his notebook. "Who is it?"
There was a long pause. Bucky supposed J.A.R.V.I.S. was talking to whoever was on the other side of that door. Dr Raynor said that J.A.R.V.I.S. had been programmed to only open the cell door if Bucky granted permission - unless there was an emergency. It could be anyone on the other side of that door. Steve had told him he was in Avengers Tower, but that didn't really mean anything to Bucky.
Finally, J.A.R.V.I.S. spoke. "Mr Stark."
Bucky went cold. He knew, from the operational information he had been programmed with, who the Avengers were. He'd surmised that they were Steve's friends. He knew that Ms Stark - the Wyvern, Level 5 Target - was behind him ending up in this cell, with all his doctors. He still didn't understand that, but he hadn't considered that Mr Stark - Iron Man, Level 5 Target - would be here too. Bucky had never met him. But he knew exactly what he meant to the other man.
Bucky opened his mouth, looked at the roof, then closed it again.
"Do I have your permission to open the door?" J.A.R.V.I.S. repeated.
Bucky's mind whirled. He wanted to question J.A.R.V.I.S., but every question he could think of seemed pointless, or worse, cowardly. So he drew in a breath, backed up against the far wall, and then swallowed.
"Yes," he murmured.
The door slid open.
Tony Stark did not immediately enter the room. He stood in the doorway, his hands in the pockets of his trousers and his dark eyes instantly finding Bucky on the other side of the room.
Bucky recognized him, he realized. He must have been shown a photograph of the man at some point or other in his recent programming. He had dark hair and eyes, with carefully trimmed facial hair and a purposefully casual posture. But Bucky could see the coiled tenseness in his frame, the way his hands in his pockets were curled into fists, the intense way Stark stared at him. He had similar features to his sister, Bucky realized, and also to - to Howard.
For a few long moments they just looked at each other.
Then Tony Stark stepped into the cell. The door slid shut behind him.
It felt like he'd brought a thunderstorm into the room with him. The air crackled and thrummed, like something was about to happen.
"My sister," Stark began, "says you're the one who killed our parents. I believe her." The words fell like a heavy blow in the room. Stark didn't take his eyes off him. "But I need to hear you say it."
Bucky was already back there: the burning car. The gravel under his feet. He took a shaky breath and his voice cracked when he said: "I did it."
He watched the rage peak and crest in Stark's expression, like an inferno consuming a building, but the man didn't move a muscle. He just stared at Bucky with eyes glittering with hatred.
"Do you even remember them?" he whispered.
"I remember all of them," Bucky choked out, closing his eyes. They had been the first to return, when he was on the run - every screaming, begging, helpless face. They'd returned before he remembered what his parents looked like.
Stark's voice was a knife. "Tell me."
Bucky opened his eyes and looked into Tony Stark's face, confusion and guilt warring in his mind. "Tell you?"
"Tell me how you killed them." A muscle flexed in his jaw.
Bucky felt his eyes darken. "You want to hear about that?"
"I need to," Stark gritted out. "And I don't want to put my sister through that again. So. Tell me."
For another long moment, they stared at each other. The room crackled with energy; Stark's hatred and the sheer pain of memory.
But then Bucky nodded. "Okay."
And he told him. Bucky held Stark's eyes and told him what he remembered: he told him how he shot out the tires of the car. How Howard recognized him - Tony Stark flinched when Bucky used his father's name - and how he had used the metal fist. Once. Twice. About how he had propped Howard back into the driver's seat, and how his wife was next. That she'd been awake.
"I didn't even look at her," Bucky choked out, unable to help the tears in his eyes. They felt selfish. He had to press his back into the wall to keep upright. "Right as she died, I heard…" he swallowed. "I heard the girl - Margaret - telling me to stop."
Stark's eyes had closed, but he was still listening.
"I dragged her out of the car," Bucky went on, then frowned at the swirling, flickering memory. "No - I meant to, but she - she ran. I caught her." Stark flinched.
Bucky frowned, trying to collect the memory together. He remembered talking to the small girl with the burning eyes. He remembered her looking up at him. You are my mission now.
But he didn't know how to explain it. "Things got… complicated," he tried. "I had orders, but I… I remember thinking malfunction, and I left."
Stark's eyes opened and he frowned. "Malfunction?"
Bucky rubbed his forehead. "It's… sometimes hard to understand what was going on, in my head," he said honestly. "I think I… remembered something. Or felt something. I don't know." His pulse was skyrocketing with each sentence, though he knew he needed to stay in control for this. Stark was owed answers.
"So you, what, you left her there?" Stark said in a voice shaking with anger.
"Yes," Bucky said. He knew… at the time, that had been going against programming. Stark made it sound despicable, and Bucky supposed it was, but at the time it had felt… as close to kindness as the Soldier was capable of.
For several long moments Stark stood there, absorbing Bucky's words. Then, as abruptly as he'd come, he turned and strode out, the door swishing open silently for him. The last glimpse Bucky had of him was his back, with his hands in fists by his sides.
When the door shut, Bucky lurched away from the wall and into the bathroom, nearly denting the wall in his haste to get to the toilet. He heaved up his dinner, shaking from head to toe, and fire flickered behind his eyes.
Dr Raynor appears! I'm taking a few liberties with her background, but I think its feasible for her to be practicing psychiatry by this point in the MCU timeline.
Also! One of my readers made an absolutely GORGEOUS piece of fanart of Maggie, if you go find this story on Archive of our Own (this chapter) you'll be able to see it :)
Reviews
Nina: Thanks very much! Steve is still the same Steve in my story, but the circumstances are very different, which means things probably won't go as badly for him. I hope you enjoyed this chapter!
themugglepadme24: Hopefully you liked the start of Bucky's rehabilitation this chapter! Things are happening ;)
DBZFAN45: You are very right that Maggie has to figure out what her mission is now! I'm glad you liked all the character interactions last chapter, it's so fun to bounce all these different feelings and characters off each other :) Hope you enjoyed this chapter! See you next week x
EchoMoment: Sometimes you just gotta get drunk with your new friend at a time of emotional crisis. Hope you enjoyed this chapter!
shorttrooper: Thank you so much for your kind words! I'm glad you liked that line, I wasn't 100% sure about it but I've got plenty of crying experience and it felt right haha. Thank you for being such a lovely reader!
Aqua: Ahhh what an amazing review thank you so much! I'm loving that you're picking out these things like Maggie still struggling with keeping secrets, and her feeling weirdly responsible for Bucky. Those themes came back in this chapter and will keep cropping up! It's interesting what you said about Maggie bringing Bucky to humanity because he just might deserve it - I think she thought something pretty much exactly like that this chapter! I'm so glad you liked the slightly fluffier/more wholesome moments last chapter, it's nice to have some people reconciling. Hope you had a great week!