Chapter 5: The Lull

Bucky relaxed slightly when Steve left to shower. Last night had been…interesting. It felt different having someone else around and just engaging in conversation, watching a movie, doing things that felt vaguely familiar…normal, he figured. He hadn't done any of those things for over 70 years, and he couldn't even remember what it was like when he had been a normal person doing normal things.

The nightmares last night weren't new, just unrelenting. Every time he closed his eyes, they were there. The operating table. The chair. The needles. Faces of people he'd murdered.

He wished he could swap memories—remember his life from before and forget everything after 1944. Start fresh, but he knew that was impossible. He raised his metal hand and looked at it. Even if someone could wave a magic wand and make him forget, the metal arm with the red star branded on it would always be there as a tell-tale symbol of what he'd become.

He tried to push the dark thoughts to the back of his mind. He made the bed and hopped into the shower, taking a quick one this time around, then searched in the dresser and pulled out a pair of jeans and a gray long-sleeved shirt. Steve said he would be back, but Bucky wasn't sure when, so he decided to make good use of his time and retrieved his journal.

He sat on the floor in front of the bed and wrote down the things he'd remembered last night, along with the information Steve had given him. His left shoulder ached a bit more than normal and he rotated it a few times as he scribbled on the page. When he finished writing, he paged through the journal, his eyes scanning previous entries, searching for commonalities. Steve's return interrupted his journal review. The man looked every bit like America's wonder boy—fresh and serious, wearing jeans and a blue button-down, long-sleeved shirt.

"Hey." Bucky snapped the journal closed and placed it on the bed as he got to his feet.

A man and a woman followed Steve into the room. The woman closed the door behind her. Her long black hair and Korean features made Bucky figure she was the Dr. Cho Steve had referred to. The other man was much older, with unkept white hair and glasses.

Dr. Cho had an air of confidence about her. She wore a black, long-sleeved shirt and gray slacks and carried a small black bag in her hand. She held her shoulders straight and moved with purpose in her steps. Her eyes studied him immediately, assessing. He felt like a lab specimen already. It raised the hair on his arms.

"This is Dr. Cho," Steve pointed to her, "and Dr. Abodon," he gestured to the man. "They're here to help you."

Dr. Cho moved forward. She smelled faintly of lilac and mint. It wasn't an unpleasant smell, but it didn't sit well with his stomach.

He didn't realize he'd moved and his back was against the wall until Dr. Abodon spoke.

"Dr. Cho, perhaps we should give Mr. Barnes some space," the older doctor suggested.

"My apologies." Dr. Cho took a few steps back. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Sergeant James Barnes."

Bucky felt the slither of pain in his skull and the memory of the chair set the neurons throughout his body tingling. Over time, the reaction to his name was becoming more bearable. Perhaps the doctors could help him overcome that unwelcome 'gift' from Hydra.

"Bucky, Dr. Cho has worked with us before," Steve reassured. "Dr. Abodon comes highly recommended, and both have been thoroughly screened. You can trust them. They're here to help."

Bucky didn't like doctors. Too many of his nightmares involved them. Doctors branded him with the arm, doctors operated on him repeatedly, stuck needles in him, cryogenically preserved and defrosted him over and over again.

Doctors turned him into a monster. He knew his only hope of unbecoming that monster also rested with doctors. He'd have to trust them if he wanted to get the Hydra program out of his head. Steve seemed to trust them both. That had to be good enough for now.

Bucky forced himself to take two steps closer to the doctors, but he could not bring himself to extend his hand. He knew it was customary, something people did when they first met—he remembered that—but touching people casually in a social way still felt alien to him, and touching a doctor set his nerves on edge.

Dr. Abodon gestured to the couch. "Would you like to sit down so we can talk?"

Bucky complied, picking the far end of the couch closest to the wall. Doctors Cho and Abodon took up the two armchairs on either side of the couch.

"Would you like Captain Rogers to stay or leave?" Abodon asked.

"Stay." The word left his mouth instantly. He was grateful for the choice. He didn't want to be alone with the doctors, locked in a room without means of escape.

The irony wasn't lost on him. There were only two of them, and they looked like normal human beings. He could easily overpower them, kill them, even. Yet, he considered them the threat.

"I'll be over here." Steve sat on one of the barstools in the kitchen.

Bucky glanced over at him. The distance between them was only a few feet, but it felt like miles.

"So, what would you like us to call you?" Dr. Abodon began.

Bucky shifted in his seat and looked back at the two doctors. "My name is Bucky." He'd repeated that so often in his head over the last several months as a reminder that it was always on the tip of his tongue.

"Okay, Bucky," Dr. Cho began, "How much do you remember about your past?"

She reached into her black bag and pulled out a digital notepad and large stylus.

"A lot of it is starting to come back. It's still fragmented."

"You've been writing it down in journals?" she asked, glancing over at the bed where the black journal rested.

"Yes." Bucky eyed the journal. He suddenly felt protective of it in their presence. He shouldn't have left it in the open.

"We don't need to go over all that right now," Dr. Abodon said, casting a glance at Dr. Cho, an unspoken message that was obvious to Bucky.

The two didn't agree on something.

"What I'd like to talk to you about," Dr. Abodon said, "is what happened back on the Quinjet. I understand you tried to take your own life."

Bucky didn't want to talk about that. He focused on a point on the far wall, aware of Rogers breathing behind him, slow and steady but otherwise silent.

"Was that the first time, or have you tried to take your own life before?" Dr. Abodon continued.

"I don't want to talk about it," Bucky answered, his tone flat.

He saw Dr. Cho write on her notepad.

The doctors were supposed to help him get the Hydra crap out of his head, not psychoanalyze why he'd raised a gun to his head. They couldn't understand. What he'd done was try to put an end to Hydra's Winter Soldier. It was the only reasonable thing to do. Better dead than in their hands again. That was something no lab coat could understand unless they'd been on the receiving end of Hydra's twisted brutality.

"I understand. I just want to assess your current mental state."

Bucky looked directly at the doctor. "Irrelevant."

"Why do you think that's irrelevant?" Abodon leaned forward in his chair.

"Are you here to help me get the Winter Soldier program out of my head?"

Dr. Abodon nodded. "Absolutely."

"How?"

"That's part of what we're going to be assessing. But first, can you answer a question?"

Bucky stared at the man. It depended on the question.

Dr. Abodon ignored the silence and continued. "Do you still have thoughts of wanting to end your own life?"

Bucky leaned forward, his shoulders stiff, his voice flat. "If Hydra captures me, yes. To avoid them turning me into the Winter Soldier and killing more people, I'd take the first chance I got."

"Have you tried it before?"

"Yes."

"When you were a prisoner of Hydra?"

"Yes."

"How about during the past several months, after you escaped?"

"Other than on the Quinjet, no."

"Did you think about it during that time, after your escape?"

Bucky took a breath. "Yes."

"What were the circumstances?"

"To avoid hurting anyone."

"Do you think you're a danger to people?"

He tilted his head incredulously at the doctor. "I know I am."

He pushed himself off the chair and retrieved his journal, tucking it in the back waistband of his jeans and looking at Doctor Abodon. "I don't want to die." He didn't like how his voice quivered on that last word. He avoided looking at Rogers. "Neither did anyone that Hydra made me kill. That program is still in my head. As long as it is, Hydra can control me, and that makes me a danger to people."

"One final question on this subject," Dr. Abodon promised. "Since you've gotten here, have you thought about ending your life?"

"No."

"Okay. Thank you for answering my questions," Abodon leaned back in his chair. "I know they weren't easy ones. I needed to assess your risk level. I understand the circumstances of your last attempt were unique. I don't think you're a suicide risk, but it's my duty as a physician and mental health professional to evaluate such risk."

Dr. Cho draped her arms over the sides of the armchair and shifted to look over at him. "How are you finding the accommodations? Are these recliners comfortable enough? The bed?"

"They're fine." He moved back to the couch and dropped into a cushion.

"We'd like to know, as a baseline, where your memory is at," Dr. Cho told him. "Since you've been keeping a diary, that's helpful. Would you consent to allowing us to copy them?"

"No."

Dr. Abodon spoke next. "They would prove helpful. What if we didn't copy them but simply reviewed them in your presence?"

Bucky eyed the doctor. The journals contained everything of the man he used to be. They also contained the names and even some faces of Winter Soldier victims. Everything he could remember from his time before and during Hydra was in those books.

"No."

"For us to be able to effectively help you," Dr. Cho began, "you'll need to trust us."

"That will, we hope, come in time," Dr. Abodon added. "I realize that, after everything you've been through, trust can't possibly come easy. We can take this slowly, whatever time frame you're comfortable with. However, we would like to start with some X-Rays, maybe CAT scans, depending on whether we see anything on the X-Rays. We're also working out the feasibility of taking an MRI of your brain if the other imaging scans are clear. Do you know if Hydra implanted anything into your body, other than the arm, of course?"

Bucky remembered the table. The clippers shaving his head. The sound of the drill.

His fingers went to his skull, feeling along the surface. He couldn't detect them, but he was pretty sure they were there. "They put something in my head."

Dr. Cho leaned forward. "Do you know what?"

"Some kind of probes or fibers. I don't know."

"How many?"

"Six, I think."

"Are they still there?"

"I have no memory of them being removed, but I still don't remember everything Hydra did to me."

"Would you consent to a cranial scan so we can determine whether they're still there and get some images of your brain?" Dr. Abodon asked.

Bucky took a breath. If he wanted to be free of Hydra's program, he knew he needed to comply, and he certainly wanted the implants out of his skull. He nodded.

"Great," Dr. Cho interjected. "We could do that later this afternoon. Would that work for you?"

They were wasting no time. Bucky glanced back at Steve. It looked like he felt ill.

"Okay." Bucky turned his attention back to the doctors.

"Would you consent to a brief physical exam?" Dr. Abodon asked.

"I'm functioning well." Bucky said.

"Okay," Dr. Abodon nodded. "The exam can wait."

Bucky sat through the rest of their questions. It felt like an interrogation, in some ways. Other times, he felt like a test subject again. He was relieved when they both stood and told him they would return in a couple of hours to take him to the imaging room.

-0- -0- -0-

Steve reconvened with the doctors in the conference room. Stark and Romanoff were present for the briefing. Both knew Bucky—at least the version of Bucky from a decade in the future. They cared about seeing this Bucky make it to at least that level of recovery.

Tony and he had talked privately about Wakanda. Tony sent out feelers, but Wakanda was isolated and reclusive. So far, they had no luck with the Wakandans. Tony wasn't even sure how they'd helped, but he knew the daughter of the King was involved.

She was only a girl, however, still in her teens. Steve wasn't sure how such a young person could help in this situation unless she had enhanced capabilities.

Wanda.

The thought occurred to him. He'd never considered it before. Wanda had easily freed Dr. Cho from Ultron's control. Could she free Bucky from the Winter Soldier programming? He'd have to talk with her about that possibility.

"The good news," Dr. Abodon began, "is I don't think we have to worry about Barnes making another suicide attempt in our custody. I believe his last attempt was situational because he believed Hydra had re-captured him. In fact," he leaned forward, placing his palms flat on the table, "I wouldn't normally say this, but I consider it reasonable. He seemed focused on not wanting to hurt people. He didn't mention not wanting to be tortured or put in the cryochamber, or any of the things a POW might be expected to talk about. He's troubled by what Hydra made him do, and his aversion to killing innocent people is consistent with the experiments laid out in the book. Wiping Barnes' memory was only one step, from what I read. Erasing someone's memory won't necessarily mean they'll kill on command, and that was the case with Barnes. He continued to resist even after multiple ECT sessions. Programming him to kill using code words that induced a compliant state was the next critical step. I think any one of us, in his situation, would have considered ending our lives as the only viable way out of an impossible situation."

"And he doesn't trust us," Dr. Cho said. "We'll have to work on gaining his trust if we're going to be able to really help him. Perhaps you could assist with that, Captain Rogers? He definitely seems to trust you."

Dr. Abodon nodded. "Yes. He sees you as a safe person. The fact that he asked you to stay speaks volumes."

Steve took comfort in that. Bucky knew him. Even if he didn't have all his memories back, the relationship they'd developed growing up in Brooklyn and fighting alongside one another on the battlefield survived.

"I'll do whatever I can," he told them.

"We will take things as slow as we can. It's understandable that he doesn't trust us yet," Dr. Abodon added. "He hasn't had any reason over the past 70 years to trust doctors."

That thought turned Steve's stomach. It had taken everything he had not to rush in when Bucky backed himself against the wall. He saw fear in his friend's eyes then, but a few moments later, that stoic mask fell, and the Bucky he knew vanished.

"Imaging room is a go," Tony announced. "Brand new state of the art scanners, an enhanced CT, and a 3D MRI machine."

Steve felt reassured that they were making progress, getting closer to actually doing something to help Bucky. "Doctors, what are your assessments of his psychological state? Back there, he was stoic again, almost…robotic. It happened last night, too. We were talking, and I saw glimpses of the old Bucky. Then, I messed up, I think. I referenced something he'd said to me. It was part of what broke through to him on the helicarrier. I asked if I could stay over, told him we'd put the cushions on the floor, I could shine his shoes or take out the trash. It was a joke he used to make with me, whenever I'd crash at his place. After that, he shut down."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Dr. Cho said. "I do think it best to avoid talking about the past with him unless he brings it up."

Dr. Abodon swiveled absently back and forth in his chair, his brow furrowed. Despite his age, he looked almost like a restless child pondering options. "I will need some more time with him to give a more decisive assessment, but I don't think what we're seeing is dissociative identity disorder. He's very much aware of who he is, and while he does have some basic dissociation with his emotions and what's happening, he doesn't seem to exhibit changes in memory or present as having an altered sense of self. I think it's simpler than that and related to his Hydra conditioning. The Winter Soldier is described as emotionless. I've reviewed some of the footage of the bridge and the Triskelion. The soldier moves deliberately, mechanically almost. What Hydra did to him involved not only suppression of his memories, but suppression of his emotions. I believe he falls back into that whenever emotions threaten to overwhelm him. It reinforces what we discussed before. His brain just isn't used to processing emotion, anymore. It's been suppressed for so long. Whenever emotions or memories did break through, they subjected his brain to electricity and reconditioned him. That's my working hypothesis, anyway, based on my review of the red book and observations of his behavior thus far."

"I know he's sensitive about the journals," Dr. Cho said, sitting back in her chair, "but if you can convince him to let us at least review them, they could provide us with valuable information about the extent of his current memory loss and psychological state. It will also help us to see how his memories are returning—how fragmented versus how complete the memories are, and if he's remembering emotions or more facts and figures."

"Dr. Cho makes some good points, and I have to concur. However, if he's reluctant to let us review the journals, then I don't think it's worth pushing. It's important that we honor his wishes and give him as many choices as we can. He hasn't had that in a very long time. We can get similar information by talking with him, depending how comfortable he gets with us and how much he's willing to share. I'm hopeful that, since he took the first step by asking for help, he's motivated to keep working with us to get to the goal he so obviously wants—control of his mind back."

"I'll talk to him about the journals," Steve said, "but I won't push."

"You mentioned earlier that he had a nightmare?" Dr. Cho asked. "Can you estimate how much sleep he got?"

Steve shrugged. "I have no idea. He was pretty quiet. When I woke up, he was out of the bed, both times."

"It might be best if you give him some space overnight," Dr. Cho suggested. "He's probably feeling vulnerable, and it's obvious he's a very private man. He might not feel so self-conscious or worried about waking you when he has more nightmares—and I think it's safe to assume that he will."

Steve figured she was right. He wanted to spend the first night keeping tabs on Bucky, but he knew he needed to give his friend some space. "Understood." He managed a smile. "The recliner's comfortable enough, and I've slept in worst places, but I've finally gotten used to my bed, and I kind of missed it last night."

"FRIDAY's got it under control," Tony interjected. "If it looks like your Bucky buddy needs help, she'll alert us."

"I will indeed, Captain Rogers," FRIDAY answered.

"There's another issue I want to discuss," Steve said. "I don't think we need to keep Bucky locked in the room. I understand limiting access to who goes in, just as an added security measure, but he's not a threat to anyone, at least not without Hydra around. He should be able to leave his room and enjoy the rest of the complex."

Dr. Cho shook her head. "I can appreciate your perspective, and in any normal situation, I'd agree. However, in his case, keeping him in the room for at least a couple more days—just for observation so we can be sure—is the most prudent course of action. Dr. Abodon?" She looked over at the older man. "Would you agree?"

He tilted his head. "Well, it's a fine line. Most psychiatric holds are 72 hours. Seventy-two hours is prudent. Keep in mind that no one really knows he's here. There's no court order. He's a human being. We really should tread carefully. This is novel territory, I know. I'm rambling, sorry. Yes, I can agree to 72 hours. After that, if we don't see any sign that he's a danger to himself or others, I think we need to let him have his freedom."

"What if he chooses to leave the complex completely?" Natasha finally spoke up. She'd been a silent observer thus far.

Steve was interested to know what she thought. Out of everyone in the room, she could understand what Bucky had been through the best.

"I don't think he will," Steve answered. "He wants help. But if he does," he took a breath, "I don't think we can let him."

He hated to say it, but with the Winter Soldier program in Bucky's head, he was a danger. If he left the complex, especially with at least one agent from the future roaming around, there was a decent chance he'd end up back with Hydra. Steve couldn't let that happen.

-0- -0- -0-

Bucky was relieved to have the studio to himself again, though he knew FRIDAY was always spying on him. He felt like a zoo animal. They'd created a comfortable habitat for him, kept him fed and watered, and given him several keepers.

He went to the record player and leafed through the collection of vinyl records. Most of the albums were from the 30s and 40s. Some he recognized, and each time he did, it lifted some of the anxiety that had hovered over him after the visit from the head doctors. Some albums were from later decades. He read the dates and artist information on the jacket of each one. There were the Beatles. Elvis. Marvin Gaye. James Brown. Aretha Franklin. The Supremes. The Rolling Stones.

He picked one from the 40s that seemed familiar—Stardust by Artie Shaw—slipped the record from the sleeve and placed it on the turntable. Even the motions felt familiar. As he lifted the needle and set it on the outer edge, he knew he'd done this many times before. He turned on the machine. A brief moment of static filled the air—the sound of the record moving beneath the needle without music—and the tingle of anticipation played at the back of his skull.

When the music started, he instantly knew the melody. He'd slow danced to this with a woman. She had brown hair and green eyes. She smelled of jasmine and rose. He'd commented on the scent. She told him it was a new perfume, and he placed his nose against the crook of her neck. She giggled playfully, then smacked him lightly on the side of his head.

He smiled at the memory and sank to the floor, resting against the wall, his legs sprawled in front of him as he listened to the music. He grabbed the journal from the waistband of his pants and scribbled down the memory, sketching what he could remember of her face and the dance floor. There were tables, chairs, and a band playing at the end of the room.

He wasn't as good with sketching as Steve, but he'd always been able to draw better than the average person. The album cover put the song at 1940. He wrote that date in the journal. Four years before he "died."

He tried to remember the woman's name but couldn't. Steve mentioned he had one serious girlfriend. Was it her, or had it been someone else? Maybe his sketch was good enough that Steve could recognize her, but drawing from a memory was always fuzzy—especially pre-serum memories. Unfortunately, the post-serum memories of his victims' faces—the ones he remembered—were crystal clear in his mind. Those were memories that seemed to come faster and easier, and they were the ones he least wanted to remember.

The door to his room opened, and Steve walked in, the two doctors behind him. Steve met his gaze, then looked at the turntable and smiled.

"Arty Shaw," Steve said, moving into the room.

Bucky closed the journal and tucked it back into the waistband of his pants. "Yeah. I remember this one. I was dancing with a woman. She had brown hair and green eyes. Do you know who she was?"

Steve leaned against the back of the couch. "I'm not sure I should say." He glanced at Dr. Cho.

The doctors hovered just inside the closed door. Bucky eyed them skeptically, but they seemed content to stay across the room. For that, he was grateful, but he really wished they'd stop telling Steve to withhold information from him.

"I think the name of an old girlfriend is probably safe territory," Dr. Abodon said. "Wouldn't you agree, Dr. Cho?"

She hesitated a moment, then nodded and smiled. "Of course. I can't see any harm in that."

Steve gave a relieved sigh. "Gloria. I think her name was Gloria."

"Was she the serious girlfriend you mentioned?"

"No. You dated her for a while, but only a few weeks. She moved to New Hampshire, I think."

Bucky nodded gratefully, then scrunched his nose. "Well, at least it wasn't Jersey."

The chuckle Steve gave at that erased the remnants of the anxiety that had lingered after the morning session with the doctors. Since they were hovering at the door now, Bucky figured it was time for the imaging session. The thought of it threatened to dampen the good mood he was in, but it was necessary.

"If you're ready," Steve said, "we can head to the imaging room."

Bucky pushed himself to his feet and stopped the turntable. "Sure." He took a breath. "Might as well. My schedule's clear."

Steve raised his eyebrows and grinned. "Was that an actual joke?"

Bucky couldn't help the smile that played on his lips. "Maybe."

He eyed his pack sitting on the floor near the kitchen counter. It held the other journal. With the doctors sniffing around, he didn't want to leave either journal out in the open, but realistically, he didn't think there were many effective hiding places in the room that a determined person couldn't find.

He strode across the room and grabbed his pack, taking the journal from his waistband and stuffing it inside, then zippered it closed. He laid it back on the floor where it had been, but at a 45-degree angle, with the bottom corner five inches from the end of the kitchen island.

If anyone moved it and didn't put it in exactly the same place in the same orientation, he'd know.

"Okay," he looked up at Steve, "Let's go."