Chapter 8: Shared Trauma

Natasha hovered at the doorway to the Veronica room, her hands filled with a breakfast bag and coffee. Sam had given her the gist of what happened last night—that Barnes remembered everything, all at once, apparently. Sam hinted that perhaps she might have an idea of the type of trauma Bucky experienced. She had some idea—not at that level and certainly not for that long—but she was probably the only person in the complex who understood what Russian agents and scientists were capable of.

"FRIDAY, are they asleep?"

"Captain Rogers is awake. Sergeant Barnes is asleep. I have announced your presence at minimal volume. You may enter."

The door opened, and Natasha entered. She spotted both men on the floor near the bed as she put the bag of breakfast burritos and the container of three coffees on the kitchen island. Her shoulder was stiff and sore after yesterday. She'd slammed into it twice—once after the explosion and the second time when Barnes rammed her out of his way after she tried to intercept.

Despite the ache in her shoulder, she couldn't help but smile at the image the two men presented. She'd never seen Rogers looking so disheveled, not even when he went up against Barnes on the bridge. His bangs were over his forehead, and a few pieces stuck up straight and to the sides. He was wearing his Captain America uniform pants, but the top part of the uniform was bundled on the floor nearby, leaving him dressed from the waist up in only a thin white undershirt. A large gray towel was draped over the end of the bed.

Barnes was splayed on his right side, his head resting on Steve's thigh. Steve raised a finger to his lips and then, very slowly, grabbed his uniform shirt, eased himself from beneath the sleeping man, and replaced his thigh with the shirt. Barnes stirred briefly but gave no signs of waking.

Steve got to his feet and stretched for a moment, then made his way to the counter and slid onto a barstool. She handed him one of the coffees, and he gave her a grateful smile.

"Thanks," he whispered.

"You two were cute." Her voice was barely a whisper. She glanced at Barnes, but he seemed undisturbed.

He cocked his head and shot her a look. "We used to have to huddle on missions, sleeping outside in the cold. Dum Dum was a hugger, but at least he ran warm. He did wake up a few times with a sharp elbow in his gut."

Natasha smiled at that image, a bunch of tough guys huddled on the ground somewhere in the middle of a warzone. Then she remembered why she was there, and her smile faded. "How is he?"

Steve sighed. "I don't know. Last night was…rough. On one hand, I feel like I have my friend back—all of him—but I know he's not the same guy, and the stuff he's remembering is…" Steve's voice faded for a moment, and he shook his head, "…I don't know how to help him through this. I'm trying to imagine what I would feel if I were in his place, remembering doing the things that he's done, and I'm not sure how I'd be able to live with myself…even knowing I had no choice, that it wasn't my fault."

Natasha slid onto the barstool and took a sip of her coffee. It was strong and just sweet enough. She glanced behind her. Barnes still appeared to be sleeping soundly. After last night, he needed it.

"I'm pretty sure," she began, keeping her voice as low as possible as she looked at Steve, "there's nothing covering anything like this in all the mental health manuals or textbooks. What they did to him hasn't been done before to anyone, I'm pretty sure. Let's hope not, anyway. It's okay if you don't have the answers. None of do. All we can do is try. He seems like a resilient guy. He got through it. You and I met him."

Steve nodded. "A little less than a decade from now. I know. I keep trying to remind myself of that. I wonder if that version of Bucky got his memory back all at once or more piecemeal…and from what I could figure out, it sounds like he did it alone."

"And he survived and got through it," Natasha said. "The guy sleeping over there," she jerked her chin in Barnes' direction, "he's the same guy, just with different circumstances. Difference is, we found him a lot sooner. We're here to help him."

"Yeah, and we almost gave him over to Hydra."

Natasha sighed. Rogers really had a penchant for self-flagellation. "Well, look at the bright side. We destroyed that Hydra cell, and as a bonus, it looks like one of the guys who ended up not breathing was probably our future Hydra agent. He looks about ten years older than he should, and FRIDAY was able to locate his current doppelgänger in Pennsylvania."

"That is good news. I hope he's the only one."

"You're ever the optimist, Rogers." Natasha took another sip of her coffee. "You have your friend back. Somehow, both of you made it to the 21st century together. That's something."

She felt marginally victorious when Steve gave a soft smile. "That's true. The circumstances are hell, and I wish he'd never gone through any of that, but I missed him, and I'm happy he's here. And," he breathed deeply over his cup, "I feel guilty about that, too….that I'm happy he's here, knowing what that means."

"Geez, Rogers," she gave him a light slap on the shoulder with the back of her hand, "lay off and cut yourself some slack. You're as human as the rest of us, just a little beefier."

He chuckled at that. "Thanks, Nat."

She heard a stirring from the floor across the room and winced as she glanced at Barnes. He was sitting up, rubbing his left shoulder where the metal met the flesh and blinking at them.

"Damn. I think we woke him up," she muttered, then gave Barnes a wave. "Good morning."

Steve turned on his stool, obviously studying Bucky, a bit of uncertainty in his eyes. "How are you feeling this morning, Buck?"

Bucky dropped his gaze to the crumpled red, white, and blue uniform top and picked it up with his right hand. "I think I drooled on this."

Natasha heard Steve breath an audible sigh of relief. "It's okay. It needs laundering, anyway. Nat brought coffee and breakfast."

Bucky pushed himself to his feet and shot a self-conscious glance at Nat. "Thanks."

"You're welcome."

Bucky padded to the bathroom. A few moments after he disappeared, his alarmed voice shot out. "Jesus Christ!"

Steve was off his stool immediately and flying into the room. Natasha followed, too curious not to, though the tone of the exclamation didn't make it sound like anything life threatening.

She stopped near Steve in the doorway. Bucky was at the sink, standing in front of the mirror, gazing wide-eyed at his reflection. He ran his hand over his shaved head, his fingers brushing over the unfinished short patches of hair.

Bucky glanced at them. "I look like a walking science experiment."

Natasha eyed him sympathetically. They had done quite the hatchet job on his hair. "If you want me to, I can round up some clippers and let you finish the job, even it all out."

He nodded at her. "Thanks."

At the back of the sink was a shelf with toiletries and a toothbrush. Bucky grabbed the brush he'd obviously used before and set about brushing his teeth. They left him to it, heading back to their coffee and breakfast at the counter.

"FRIDAY," Natasha spoke into the air, "can someone bring us electric clippers?"

"Aye," came the A.I. reply.

Steve slid back onto the barstool, reached into the bag, and pulled out one of the wrapped burritos. "Are any of these up for grabs?"

"They're all sausage, egg, and peppers." She reached in and grabbed one herself. "Pretty good little place."

"Thank you." He unwrapped his and took a bite, then gave an appreciative nod as he swallowed. "It hits the spot. How are Wanda, Abodon, and Cho?"

"Wanda is recovering," Natasha replied. "Fractured wrist, minor concussion. Nothing major. Abodon has a broken ankle, also had a concussion. Both are on the mend, thanks to Dr. Cho's particular skillset. As for Helen herself, they didn't hurt her much. A little roughed up, some bruises on her face and wrists. She's mostly just shaken up. She barely had any time to breathe after her close call with Ultron, then this. I hope this doesn't scare her away completely. She's an asset to have in our corner."

Natasha felt for Dr. Cho. She was a scientist—certainly not used to deranged robots and Hydra agents. She lost several of her staff and a couple of good friends during the Ultron fiasco, but Ultron hadn't scared her off. Hopefully, this latest experience wouldn't, either.

"I hope she sticks around," Steve agreed, "though at this point, I wouldn't blame her if she headed back to Seoul and blocked our numbers."

Bucky emerged from the bathroom. "Smells good, whatever it is," he muttered, glancing furtively their way.

"Coffee and breakfast burrito." She removed a foil-wrapped burrito and slid it to the edge of the counter, then pushed the remaining cup next to it. "All yours."

Bucky stood opposite to them at the counter and grabbed the coffee cup, bringing it up and taking a sniff, then an exploratory sip.

"It's good, thank you. Needs heating up." He turned to the microwave and eyed it for a second. "Um, never actually used one of these." He glanced back at Steve and raised his eyebrows. "Help."

Natasha smiled. Even though she'd spent time with Barnes' future self, it was still surreal seeing the man she'd come to know as the Winter Soldier—the one who had almost taken out Steve, Sam, and her on the bridge just months ago—struggling with something as simple as a microwave.

She got off her stool. "You never used one of these during the past few months? Motel rooms? The safe houses you were hitting?"

Bucky shrugged, watching her as she opened the door, grabbed his cup with the arm that hadn't taken a beating, removed the lid, and set it inside. "No. I used the stove, if they had one, or just bought stuff at farmer's markets, stores, or fast food places."

She closed the door and pointed to the control panel. "Cook time. Or just use one of the easy ones—see here? Add 30 seconds. You keep pressing it for however much time you want. Or if you can press 'cook time' and then punch in the time. Just don't put anything metal in the microwave."

She set it for 60 seconds and the microwaved hummed to life.

"What'll happen?" Bucky asked.

"It'll spark and then catch fire," Steve said. "I made that mistake. At least here, FRIDAY will put it out, but you'll be out a microwave."

Natasha grinned. She didn't know Steve had a mishap with the microwave while he was getting oriented to the modern era. She wondered what other things she took for granted that seemed new to them. Barnes was obviously familiar with modern weapons and cell phones, but a relatively simple Keurig machine had posed a challenge for him.

"Do you know how to use the Internet?" she asked.

Bucky gave her an insulted look. "It's kind of hard to travel without knowing that. Yeah. I figured it out. Wasn't easy, though. That wasn't something Hydra ever taught me. They just transported me like cargo wherever the hell they wanted me to go."

His voice had gotten a hard edge to it just as the microwave dinged. Saved by the bell, Natasha thought, as she retrieved the cup from the microwave.

She met his gaze as she handed him the cup. "Hydra has a lot of human beings it considers equipment. Few get out."

He tilted his head and gave her a hard smile as he took the cup. "Guess I'm lucky. Thanks for the assist." He worked on the coffee and unwrapped his breakfast burrito.

She wasn't sure whether he was talking about the coffee or the night before, but the emotion behind his blue eyes was something much darker than gratitude. She knew the sharpness in his tone wasn't directed toward her.

She gave him a once over with her eyes. The wounds on his arm were almost healed. Only a faint ring of redness remained around his wrist and the gash on his bicep was a thin line.

Her own injuries would take a bit longer to heal. It might be worth paying a visit to Dr. Cho, she mused, but the woman had her hands full, and Natasha's own injuries would heal given time and rest. She'd certainly had enough experience with bruises, fractures, and torn ligaments to gauge the type and level of pain and figure out what did and what did not need medical attention beyond basic first aid.

"How's the arm?" Bucky asked.

She cocked an eyebrow at him. "You read minds?"

He grimaced. "Not minds. Bodies. You've been favoring it, and I remember slamming you pretty hard yesterday."

"It's fine." She gave it an experimental roll to work out some of the stiffness. "It'll be okay."

"Has Dr. Cho looked at it?" Steve asked.

She flashed a small smile his way. "Not yet. She's been a bit occupied trying to put on a brave face after her ordeal while helping out the others who are actually injured."

"You could have one of the techs look at it," Steve suggested. "Brian, maybe."

"Maybe," she conceded. "Anyway—"

"Sam Wilson is at the door," FRIDAY announced.

"Let him in," Steve said, and the door opened.

Sam walked in, carrying a pair of electric clippers. "Room service."

"Thanks." Bucky walked up to the Falcon, took the clippers, and disappeared back into the bathroom.

The low buzz of the clippers filled the small room. Natasha looked at Steve. "So, I hope R&R is the only thing on our agenda for today."

Steve nodded. "That and checking in on our recovering friends."

"Abodon is awake and annoying the med staff." Sam said. "After Cho worked her magic, he's practically good as new." He tilted his head toward the bathroom. "How's your friend?"

"I honestly have no idea." Steve sighed. "I mean, he's walking and talking and hasn't said a word about last night other than mentioning his run-in with Natasha."

The sound of the clippers ended, and they all grew silent as Bucky walked out. He ran his hand over his shaved head and grimaced. "Well, I won't have to deal with hair in my face, anymore."

"Good morning, kiddos." Tony Stark marched in, looking fresh and energetic in jeans and a long-sleeved navy-blue Henley. He set a pair of small, round devices on the kitchen island. "Happy birthday, Merry Christmas," he waved a hand in the air, "whatever, Barnes. These are for you. Love the new look, by the way."

Bucky gave Steve a quizzical glance, but Steve simply shrugged. Natasha eyed the devices. They looked like black cones, each one a little smaller than a blueberry but slightly longer than wide, broader on one end than the other, with a hollow center.

Bucky picked one up and inspected it. "What is it?"

"Earpieces. Set them in your ear, you'll forget about them, "Tony said. "They won't interfere with normal hearing, but they'll detect those 10 little Russian words. If the first two words are uttered in sequence, the earpieces will activate and generate sound that overloads—but won't damage," he held up a reassuring hand, "—your eardrum. Essentially, it'll drown out the rest of the string of words. Not a permanent fix, but it should do until we can figure out how to get that crap out of your head. Battery needs recharging once a week. Once they're in, they'll be a little difficult for you to get out by yourself, but there's a small pull tab you should be able to reach either with your fingers or tweezers. They set down in your ear canal—easy for anyone else to remove who knows they're there. You can even leave them in when you shower, if you want, but they probably should come out to avoid water build-up and ear infections…if you can even get ear infections, that is."

Bucky stared down at the small device sitting on the flesh of his palm and took a breath. When he looked up, his eyes held a glint of raw emotion. "Why are you doing all this for me? I killed your parents."

Tony straightened, looking unusually serious. "So they can't make you kill anyone else's." He leaned an elbow against the counter. "Do you want to test them out?"

A flicker of panic crossed Bucky's face. "Here? Now?"

Tony shrugged. "Why not? I'm sure they'll work, and if they don't, you have four Avengers around. Plus, you'll listen to whoever says the words, so, as long as it's one of us, no problem, right?"

"It doesn't have to be now," Steve said. "Thank you, Tony. The earpieces are a great idea, but it can wait, of course, Bucky. I think it's safe to say no one from Hydra is getting near you now."

Bucky's gaze drifted over the group, then dropped to the small device in his hand. He was quiet for several seconds, then looked directly up at Steve. "You say the words."

-0- -0- -0-

Bucky sat in one of the armchairs. The devices were nestled in his ears. He could barely feel them. He wouldn't even believe they were on, except that Tony insisted they were always on.

Tony already had a list of the words on a folded piece of paper—unusually old-fashioned for Stark, Bucky pondered, but at least paper couldn't be hacked. He was grateful for that. The last thing anyone needed was the words that would control his brain falling into some hacker's hands and sold to the highest bidder.

Tony, Sam, and Natasha were a few feet away, clustered around the kitchen island, nearby in case anything went wrong. Steve sat in the other armchair, facing Bucky. He held the paper with ten Russian words in his hands, spelled phonetically.

Steve looked uncertainly down at the paper, then back up. "Are you sure about this, Buck?"

He wasn't, but it was better than the alternative. If the devices didn't work, the only person who would be able to command him was Steve. He trusted Steve.

Bucky took a breath. "Go ahead. I'm as ready as I'll be."

Zhelaniya…

Bucky felt the instant shift in his brain and the twist of panic in his chest.

Rzhavyy…

A ringing filled his skull, pressure built behind his eyes.

Something barely audible but high-pitched filled his skull, almost like daggers slicing through his eardrums and into his brain. He flinched and brought his hand up reflexively. He saw Steve's mouth moving, but he couldn't hear the words. The only thing he could hear was the high-pitched sound.

It gave him an instant headache, but it was manageable.

He assumed Steve said the last word because the sensation in his ears stopped. The headache lingered but receded slowly.

Steve leaned forward. "Bucky, are you okay?"

Bucky could hear him now. Relief so profound and sudden washed over him that it stole his breath for a moment. He tilted forward and buried his head in his hands.

"I'm fine. The earpieces work." He chuckled, almost sobbed.

A Stark had helped save him a lifetime ago by flying Steve behind enemy lines—and paid for that act of bravery with his life decades later. Now, a Stark—the son of the man he'd killed—was helping to save him once again. After everything Hydra had done to him, and after everything he'd done, he wasn't sure he was worth it. Too many people had already been injured or put in jeopardy because of him, one man. He felt guilty that he wanted some version of a life back so damn much that he was letting them help.

"Thank you." Bucky didn't trust his voice for anything more.

-0- -0- -0-

Steve, Natasha, Tony, and Sam clustered around the conference table. Dr. Cho sat at the other end. Her wounds had been tended to by her staff and the portable regeneration cradle in the lab. Steve was relieved they'd gotten both her and Bucky out alive. Tony's independent streak had paid off.

She'd told them she'd been kidnapped in Seoul on her discharge from the hospital after Ultron shot her and most of her staff. They didn't do much to her other than rough her up a bit and ask her questions about regeneration technology and the level of her association with the Avengers. She told them enough to keep them from executing the threats to cut off fingers, but she fudged some of the details.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know they were using what I gave them to infiltrate the compound and kidnap Barnes," she told them.

Steve shook his head. "You have nothing to apologize for, Dr. Cho. I'm sorry your association with us has cost you…twice." He took a breath. He needed to ask the next question, but he wasn't sure he wanted to hear the answer. "What did they do to Bucky?"

She closed her eyes briefly. "They were going to perform brain surgery—a procedure to remove what they called the virus personality. They ordered him on the table, and Barnes obeyed. He was robotic about it. I now know why. One of the men had a huge cattle prod and mentioned payback for the Hydra agents in Hungary. He, uh…" she cleared her throat and rubbed at her healing shoulder. "I saw him slip it up the leg of Barnes' briefs."

"Jesus, what is it with these sadists?" Sam muttered.

Steve clenched his jaw and took a slow breath through his nose, forcing down the swell of rage and guilt in his chest. He'd promised Bucky the complex was safe. It turned out not to be, and Bucky had paid the price.

"Barnes must have a high pain tolerance," Cho continued, "because he took it stoically for what felt like a few very long seconds, until the byeongsin adjusted it. It was hard to watch. Barnes passed out. They started shaving his head, but he regained consciousness and that must have broken him out of the programming. He fought them. He managed to free his metal arm, and you know what happened after that."

"Yeah, one secret GPS device away from a lobotomy." Tony flashed a dark look at Steve. "We almost screwed this one up. I'll make sure those assholes never get close to infiltrating this complex again."

Steve knew what "this one" Tony meant. This timeline. This version of Bucky. Twice now, things had almost ended in disaster.

-0- -0- -0-

Dr. Cho periodically glanced at the man on the table in the lab as she took another look at his scans on the screen. Like Rogers, he was almost a century old. Their last meeting hardly qualified as an introduction. She'd only known—from an academic perspective—what the Winter Soldier was, and only after the Avengers had asked if she might be able to help rehabilitate him if they managed to bring him in.

Frankly, after Stark's mad science experiment with Ultron that ended up costing the lives of several good people on her staff, she wasn't sure getting involved was a good idea. But the science was unprecedented, and after her experience with Ultron, she knew just how much of a violation it was to have one's will be overridden—to be used as a slave, compelled to do the bidding of another.

The man in front of her had been used like that for over 70 years. According to the scans that she'd reviewed and the information in that red book, he'd been surgically altered, experimented on, tortured, and subjected to abuses that no animal—human or otherwise—should ever have to endure.

He sat on her exam table, bare-chested, shoulders slightly slouched, head shaved thanks to those butchers, with apprehensive eyes that tracked her every move. She'd only gotten a small sample of some of the abuse he'd been subjected to back in the Hydra lab. She could have gone her whole life without seeing someone tortured in front of her eyes. It had only lasted a couple of minutes, but she was sure she'd remember the sound of his screams for the rest of her life.

She couldn't help with his psychological trauma. She wished she could, but it wasn't her specialty. That was Dr. Abodon's field. What she could do was evaluate his physical status, neurological condition, and determine what her regeneration technology could do for him.

Unfortunately, the primary regeneration cradle wasn't quite finished being rebuilt. They would have to make do with the portable regeneration cradle until the main unit was completed.

She moved away from the bank of computers and monitors and pulled a chair in front of him, sitting down and looking up at him, a tablet in her hand synced to the computers. "Sergeant Barnes-"

"Bucky is fine. I'm not a sergeant anymore." There was both a hint of sadness and relief in those words. His eyes studied her. "How are you doing?"

She smiled. "Well, I've been better, but all things considered, I'm okay. They didn't hurt me much."

A muscle in his jaw twitched. "They took you to get to me. I'm sorry."

"It wasn't your fault. Besides, I think they were as interested in my regeneration techniques as they were in you."

He seemed to consider that for a moment, then extended his right hand. "Well, I'm happy to finally get to meet you—the real you—this time."

She smiled and shook his hand. "It's nice to meet you, Bucky." She took a breath and readied herself to get to the unpleasant business. It was awkward, considering everything that had happened, and she realized, under normal circumstances, she'd recuse herself from treating him.

But the circumstances weren't normal.

"So," she began, "I saw what they did to you the other night. Are you in any pain currently?" She wasn't sure how powerful that device had been that they used on his genitals, but it was like no cattle prod or stun baton she'd ever seen and was obviously modified to affect a supersoldier.

He shifted uncomfortably and cleared his throat. "A little. Not too bad. I heal quickly."

"I know. I didn't even have to use the cradle on your wounds." She eyed the barely visible marks on his right wrist, bicep, and legs.

Her exam was interrupted by a voice over the intercom. "Ulineun jaegeon-ui 2dangyeleul wanlyohaessseubnida."

She smiled. Phase two of cradle reconstruction was complete. "Naega yeogi kkeutnamyeon geogieiss-eulgeoya." She'd be there as soon as she finished with her initial evaluation of the man in her lab.

Her patient tilted his head toward the door. "Dangsin-i gayahandamyeon, ulineun igeos-eul najung-e hal su issseubnida. Nae iljeong-eun kkwae yeollyeo issseubnida." If you have to go, we can do this later. My schedule is open. The words were almost flawless Korean.

She was pleasantly surprised. "You speak Korean very well. Did you spend time in south Korea?"

His brow furrowed. "I didn't realize I spoke Korean until just now." He cocked his head. "I spent a little time there, during the, uh, Korean war."

Oh. She knew in her head he had been born in 1917, but it felt weird that someone from her grandparents' generation looked so young.

"Your memory has returned in full, I understand?" she asked.

He sighed. "I remember everything, I think, but I don't always know what I remember until it comes up."

"Do you remember what other languages you speak?"

He glanced upward in thought. "Uh, besides English, Korean, and Russian…there's Spanish, French, Japanese, Chinese, German, Hungarian, and Romanian. I'm not sure what else. Maybe a few more. I guess I'll know when it comes up."

Wow. She was impressed that he learned so many languages fluently in the years he'd been taken out of cryo for conditioning and missions. Most people were lucky to learn one or two additional languages in their lifetimes. A few gifted people could become proficient in more than four languages during their lifetimes. He'd learned well over ten in perhaps a decade—since he didn't look over 40—and she knew from his record that he'd been captured by Hydra at 27 or 28, depending on which source you were looking at. His was a record of contradictions. Perhaps she'd ask Rogers, just to satisfy her curiosity.

Her best guess was he'd spent no more than 10 years total out of cryo over the past 70 years. She could check his telomeres and other bio markers to pinpoint his physical age more precisely, although there was no way to know how the serum or other experiments Hydra performed on him might have affected those biomarkers.

"Do you know how old you are, physically?" she asked.

He shook his head. "No, not really." He glanced at the doorway to the lab. She looked over but didn't see anything.

"Late thirties," he continued, "I think…I know mission dates, but there were times, especially early on, where they kept me in a room, no windows or clocks, and I lost track of how much time passed. Or they'd try some new drug or cocktail on me that made everything…weird. And, of course, after they put me in the chair, sometimes, things got fuzzy."

"Can I come in?" Steve's voice came from the doorway.

She glanced back at him. "Of course," she replied, realizing that Bucky must have heard him coming.

The earpieces Stark provided obviously didn't interfere with Bucky's hearing. She wondered just how sensitive his ears were. From the expression on Rogers' face, she gathered he'd heard at least the last part of the conversation. He moved into the room and took a seat near the bank of computers and monitors.

She looked back at her patient. "I should of course ask if that's okay with you."

Bucky nodded, and she noticed the lines around his eyes softened and some of the tension left his shoulders. She knew from her debriefing and his file that he wasn't comfortable around doctors or undergoing physical exams. She knew why, and she didn't take it personally. She made a mental note to try to schedule his follow ups for times when Steve was available since Bucky seemed reassured by his presence.

She set her tablet on the table next to him and turned her attention to his left arm, eyeing the scars where the metal met flesh. "I spoke with Dr. Abodon, and I understand the arm causes you pain?"

"Yeah. I'm used to it. I barely notice it, anymore."

She raised her hands. "May I?"

He nodded. "Carefully, she felt along the ridge of scar tissue, probing the muscles and ligaments below. "Let me know if anything hurts."

He identified areas that were more sensitive, and she made notes on her tablet. "I'll need to do a scan of the arm, but I think we can use the regeneration cradle to help repair some of the damage. I know Stark is working on designs for a new arm if that's something you want. I know we can do a lot better than this clunky, heavy thing and hopefully alleviate the chronic pain it's causing you."

She saw something flash in his blue eyes—a mixture of emotions. She wasn't sure what, but it gave her the sense that he wasn't used to being part of these types of conversations. In the past 70 years, she doubted anyone had ever asked him what he wanted or how he felt.

So, despite his penchant for silence, she committed to making sure she did or assumed nothing about what was best when it came to his treatment. "Bucky," she leaned forward in her chair and made eye contact with him, "do you want us to try do something about the metal arm and the pain it's causing you?"

He dropped his gaze from hers to the metal hand, clenching and unclenching the fingers as if trying it out for the first time. "As far as I'm concerned, you can cut the damn thing off of me right now."

She glanced at Steve, caught the flash of ire in his eyes, and made a mental note to let Dr. Abodon know that Barnes might have some unresolved psychological trauma associated with the loss of his arm and the bionic limb. Her eyes went to the red star on the metal. It was obviously intended by the Russians to mark him as their property.

"Well," she replied, "not now, of course, but I'll talk to Stark and Abodon about how soon we can get you a better prosthetic. By the time we're finished, you might really be the six-million-dollar man."

He tilted his head at her. "Six million for an arm? Are you kidding?"

"It's a joke," she said, realizing her patient didn't have much knowledge of pop entertainment history. "A reference to an old T.V. show. I have no idea how much Tony spends on his gadgets, but one arm is nothing compared to the number of clunky metal suits he has. The trick will be assessing and repairing the damage to your shoulder and integrating the new arm to your nervous system. There's also the matter of getting those implants out of your head."

James Barnes was proving to be quite a project.

-0- -0- -0-

Tony was happy to hear he'd be able to bring his design to life sooner rather than later. As he looked at the two people in front of him, he knew he'd have to be more careful than usual with his words. One of the two had a stick up his butt all the time and the other had no idea about the latest adventure involving time travel and a brief trip to the future, where Tony had gotten a look at one very cool vibranium arm.

"So," Tony spun a couple of times in his chair, a holographic projection of an arm hovering in mid-air behind him, "Buck Diesel finally decided to dump that clunker of an arm, huh?" He smiled at Steve and Dr. Cho. "Turns out I've been tinkering. It needs to be lightweight to minimize stress at the attachment point, but strong, because…" he waved a hand in the air, "if he's going to end up in the band, he's going to need to represent, and that means looking cool."

Steve tilted his head. "We haven't even talked about him being an Avenger, and I think it's too soon to have that discussion with him. He needs time to figure out what he wants."

"Yeah, yeah, of course," Tony said.

"I used the regeneration cradle to make Vision's body." Dr. Cho said. "It's too bad we don't have more vibranium. It bonds to tissue perfectly, and I could create an arm for him out of synthetic nerves and vibranium."

"About that," Tony hung his pointer finger in the air, "uh, you see, Ultron used a lot of vibranium in Sokovia—" he took a breath, "—yeah, my fault, I know—but when it blew, all that vibranium survived. As part of the cleanup efforts, I might just have a bit extra laying around here." He looked at Steve. "I kind of had it in mind after our last little, uh," his gaze darted to Helen Cho, "adventure."

He'd love to tell her he'd time traveled, especially after some of her earlier barbs about his clunky metal suit and not having time to party. There was nothing like a little time travel to make a fellow nerd genius jealous, but they'd decided the time travel thing had to remain on the downlow for now.

However, now that he'd seen the arm future Barnes had, it was his mission to outdo it. Unfortunately, vibranium was the best material for the arm—strong and lightweight, virtually indestructible, and its ability to absorb, store, and release energy made it the perfect material to integrate with the human nervous system. That was Dr. Cho's specialty, however. He was just the mechanic.

"How much vibranium do you have?" Dr. Cho asked.

Tony tilted his head. "Right now, enough for an arm and maybe a cool bracelet. Not anywhere near as much as I'd like. I wanted to tinker with it for some upgraded suits. Cleanup efforts are ongoing, so hopefully we'll recover more." He jerked his head toward Cho. "So, what can you do for our boy?"

"I'll have to scan his chest and shoulder to see what we have to work with. I'm hoping to be able to actually generate some new tissue for the attachment rather than cut further into him." She grimaced, and Tony cringed inwardly at the mental image.

So much of Barnes' shoulder and chest had been carved away over the years that he wasn't sure how much more flesh could be taken without killing him. He'd caught a glimpse of one of those surgeries on the footage recovered from the Hydra computers. Some images hit too close to home, reminding him of waking up on the operating table in the dark cave years ago, so he'd stopped watching it and let Friday catalogue the rest. He wondered how many surgeries like that Barnes had endured. Steve didn't know about the videos, and Tony looked at the man for a few seconds, debating whether to tell him.

Steve would want to know. What Tony didn't know is whether Steve would insist on watching the footage. He knew the man well enough to guess that answer as yes, but no good would come from watching it.

Rogers already had issues with his lack forthrightness—rightly so, Tony mused. Sokovia was on him, completely. Too many lives had been lost because of his almost world-ending fuck up.

Shit.

They were trying to be a team, so he'd play ball. "Just so you both know, we recovered some footage from the Hydra cell the other night."

Steve stiffened. "What kind of footage?"

Tony glanced at Cho. "Of you, Doctor," Tony said, "after they brought you into the room. Some of Barnes as well—the payback you mentioned they gave him for Hungary, not very long, because we arrived shortly after. In the nick of time, too. There's also older footage. It looks like there are a couple of segments—about five minutes total—from the 40s and 50s. It's deteriorated, grainy. But there's some clearer stuff from the 80s and from Pierce's session with him last year. My advice, Cap, don't watch it. That's Dr. Abodon's job, and he's already reviewed it all."

Steve was very still, but his eyes never left Tony. "Did you watch it?"

"Some of it, but I decided I didn't need those images in my head. FRIDAY catalogued the footage. There's 46 minutes total, so obviously not everything Hydra has on him. The book has more details that are useful to the doctors. The footage is just…experiments, portions of conditioning sessions, mission reports, and one of the surgeries. Something you should know, don't call him James Barnes. They conditioned his name to evoke pain to avoid triggering his memory."

"I called him by name on the helicarrier," Steve said, his eyes distant. "He lashed out at me." He took a breath and met Tony's gaze. "I want to see the session with Pierce."

The look in his eyes told Tony it was a done deal. "FRIDAY…."

"Bringing it up," the A.I. replied.

The holograph of the arm morphed into a mid-air projection. Bucky was sitting in a chair in a bank vault, surrounded by monitors and men in white coats. A large machine was attached to the chair. Armed guards were nearby.

One of the men was working on Bucky's metal arm when it swung out and sent him flying across the room. The other men scattered, and the guards raised their weapons. Bucky was tense, leaning forward, both hands clenched into fists.

They watched as Pierce entered, asked Bucky for a mission report, then slapped him hard when he didn't answer. Tony had already seen this footage. It was most relevant to what had happened with SHIELD and Hydra, and it confirmed what the doctors believed—that Barnes' memories had to be repeatedly wiped.

Tony watched Steve's reaction. He was as tense as his friend on the screen. A muscle in his jaw twitched.

"The man on the bridge…Who was he?" Bucky asked.

"You met him earlier this week on another assignment."

"I knew him."

That pumpkin-faced asshat Pierce went on to talk about shaping the century and Hydra giving the world freedom. Tony had been otherwise engaged during the whole fiasco with the helicarriers, but he was had never wanted to punch a hologram more than the moment he first viewed this footage.

He still wanted to. He could only imagine what Cap was feeling. He also knew the worst part of the footage was about to come up.

"But I knew him." Bucky's holographic image said, emotion breaking through, and for a moment, the Soldier was gone, and there was just a sad, confused man surrounded by a bunch of assholes.

"Prep him."

"He's been out of cryo freeze too long."

"Then wipe him and start over."

Two white-clad figures walked to either side of Bucky and pushed him back against the chair. One held a bite guard in front of him. For a moment, he sat there, unmoving, then he opened his mouth, and the scientist inserted the mouthpiece.

It was obvious Bucky knew what was coming, and he was resigned to it.

The machine whirred to life, and Bucky flinched as restraints closed around his arms and the circular attachment shifted into position around his head. His chest heaved. His face betrayed the human being behind the soldier.

He looked terrified.

The metal halo grasped his head. His screams were gut-wrenching. They continued for ten minutes and fourteen seconds.

Dr. Cho closed her eyes. Steve watched it all, his fists clenched, a mask of pain on his face and a shimmer in his eyes.

When the session ended, the chair tilted forward, and the headgear retracted. Bucky was panting, his eyes glazed but showing a mix of emotion Tony couldn't quite identify. Pierce was there again, the red book in hand, reading the words, and they watched as the sliver of humanity faded, replaced entirely by the Winter Soldier.

"FRIDAY, kill it," Tony ordered.

There was a silence in the room, then Steve swayed and grabbed the edge of the table. It broke in his grip. "He went through that and worse for 70 years, over and over again," His voice was low, strained, "because I didn't get to him in time. Because I left him for dead. I went back, but I couldn't find his body, and I just left him to go through that."

"You couldn't have known," Dr. Cho said. "Captain Rogers, maybe you should talk to Dr. Abodon, too."

Steve glanced at her. "What about you? You've been through a lot in the past few weeks. Hydra has created victims all around."

She smiled at him. "Maybe I will." She tilted her head to where the hologram had played moments before. "But compared to what they did to him, they gave me the royal treatment. A little roughed up in the beginning, but mostly they just kept me restrained in the chair. A couple of bathroom breaks. Food and water. The basics."

Tony felt a pang of guilt. He'd pulled her into the Avenger craziness. What happened to her was his fault—especially with Ultron. That was all on him.

"You know, I have a lot of unresolved issues, too," Tony said. "Maybe we can do a whole group therapy session with him." He was half serious.