Chapter 25: Longing
Steve was in awe. Shuri's lab put even Stark's to shame. Purple script floating within transparent panels lined an elegant hallway. He didn't recognize the characters but assumed they were Wakandan.
He followed Shuri into a large cavern. Two white, glowing mannequins stood near a wall. They caught Bucky's attention, who drifted toward them. Steve couldn't tell what material they were made from, but he'd never seen anything like it.
Bucky stopped in front of them, his head tilted quizzically as he reached a hand up…
"Don't touch anything," Shuri cautioned him.
"Sorry." Bucky dropped his hand as though caught stealing a cookie from a jar and hurried back to Shuri and Steve. His wide eyes roamed the lights and panels in the futuristic cavern, jaw slack.
"This is…something else," Steve remarked.
Shuri stood at a workstation. Her hand swiped across a panel and a holographic display of characters like the ones Steve had seen moments ago appeared in the air. They morphed into numbers and letters.
Steve recognized them as equations, but beyond that, he was clueless.
"This is the algorithm I developed."
Bucky nodded as though the string of numbers and letters made sense to him. Steve suppressed a smile at the expression of wonder on Bucky's face. It made the man seem younger than his years, like a child discovering something marvelous for the first time.
The holographic display shifted to an image of a human brain.
"To remove the Winter Soldier programming, I'll have to identify and destroy the neural pathways involved," Shuri explained. "During our previous session in New York, I was able to gather general data on the nature of the neural pathways involved in the Winter Soldier programming. The materials Rogers provided revealed that many of their experiments on mind control focused on the basal ganglia. However, for the level of conditioning Hydra subjected you to, multiple pathways must be involved."
"The previous sessions didn't go so well," Bucky reminded her. His expression indicated he wasn't looking forward to a repeat.
"I know." Her eyes conveyed apology. "Here, we can take greater precautions and, of course, have Wanda present at all times. The new algorithm will be able to identify and categorize the pathways with greater scope and detail. As I mentioned when we last spoke, there is risk involved. The algorithm minimizes the risk by identifying the neural pathways associated with the conditioning. Any pathways that are also associated with other memories will remain untouched. If the algorithm cannot isolate standalone pathways related to the conditioning, you will have a decision to make."
The grimness on Bucky's face made it clear he understood. "Lose memories or keep the Hydra programming?"
Shuri nodded.
Bucky nodded decisively. "Memories go. I can't live with the Hydra programming long term." He looked to Steve. "As long as I remember you and who I am, I can deal with losing anything else."
Steve did his best to look reassuring. "It's gonna be okay, Buck." He hoped that didn't turn out to be a lie.
-0- -0- -0-
They started the first session after breakfast the next morning. Shuri removed the subdermal earpieces in his canal—quick and painlessly. Bucky was on his back on the exam table, staring up at the dark, cavernous ceiling of Shuri's design lab. A team of scientists and Dora Milaje were present, along with Steve and Wanda. Neural scanners were stuck to his temples, and his metal arm was on a nearby table, just in case anything went wrong.
"I'm engaging the vibranium restraints now, Bucky," Shuri told him.
He nodded. As the cool vibranium flowed over his chest like a stream of water and solidified into a solid mass that hugged his bicep and chest, he closed his eyes and willed himself calm. A moment later, he felt the same thing on his calves.
He listened to Shuri give instructions to her team as he tried to suck air into his chest, but the vibranium was oppressive, stopping him from filling his lungs completely. He struggled under the restraints. Something nearby began beeping rapidly.
"Let me out, please!" he opened his eyes, trying to squirm out of the vibranium, but its hold was solid. "Let me out!" The words tore from his throat as a growl.
The restraints vanished and he was on his feet, stumbling away from the white-clad scientists, until he crashed backward into a table. Objects clattered to the floor.
Steve was suddenly in front of him. "Bucky, look at me. You're okay. Breathe. Easy, buddy."
Bucky gripped the edge of the table behind him and nodded, feeling calmer now that he was upright and able to fill his lungs with air. His gaze drifted to the stunned eyes around him—dark faces in a sea of white clothing. Three Dora Milaje stood at ready, spears gripped firmly in their hands. Wanda was in the corner, looking concerned but otherwise staying out of the way.
"I'm sorry." Bucky looked at the table. He'd already dealt with being restrained several times. It was never pleasant, but he managed to endure it out of necessity. He wasn't sure what caused the panic attack this time.
"Don't worry about it." Shuri's voice was gentle. "This is a new place with strangers. The unknown can promote anxiety. "Will it help if we use restraints only on your arms and legs?"
"Yes, I just…" he took another deep breath, "…need a minute."
Three minutes later, when his breathing was calmer and his heart no longer felt like it would break out of his chest, he was back on the table.
"The restraints will cover most of your legs and arms," the princess explained. "The increased surface area will reduce the pressure and lower the chance of you injuring yourself should you resist during the session."
Bucky cleared his throat. "Understood."
A moment later, the vibranium flowed over his arms and legs like sleeves and then solidified. He took a deep, steadying breath, and the lack of pressure on his chest helped him maintain calm. He tested the strength of the restraints. They'd hold.
"Bucky," Shuri began, "I'm going to start with base readings. Just like the last time, the neural scanners will induce a trance-like state, similar to a light sleep. To start, think of another memory from before you left Brooklyn for the war. Perhaps something from a timeframe we haven't previously covered—your early teens?"
Bucky closed his eyes and cycled briefly through what he could remember of his teenage years, trying to find a memory that wasn't too personal. If he had a choice, with his memories on display for a lab full of strangers, he preferred to keep the parts of himself that survived Hydra closely guarded.
He thought of stickball in the alley between apartments a block away from home. He was 13, working on Steve's batting skills so the kid could hold his own in a game.
"Lift your left foot, this time!" Bucky coiled into his pitch and threw the ball.
Steve swung, and the clap of the stick against the ball rang dimly in the alley. There was little strength behind the swing and the angle was down. The ball hit the ground, bounced, and smacked against a metal trashcan.
"Okay, that's better!" Bucky encouraged him. "You hit it this time. Aim your swing up next time. Here, let's switch. I'll show you."
Bucky walked up to Steve and took the stick, handing him the ball. They swapped positions.
"On your pitch, remember to rock back and don't snap your wrist," Bucky instructed.
Steve gave a determined nod, and the ball sailed toward Bucky. He swung hard, keeping the stick parallel to the ground going in and curving upward at the end. The ball sailed over Steve's head and rolled out the far end of the alleyway. A man in a suit walked by at the same time, accidentally kicking the ball into a parked car.
The man startled and peered into the alley at them. "Hey, boys, get over here!"
"Time to go!" Bucky dropped the stick and ran out the opposite end of the alley. Steve's footsteps thrummed on the ground behind him.
-0- -0- -0-
Steve smiled as he watched the holographic childhood versions of themselves run down the sidewalk, the man's voice hollering after them.
He looked to Shuri. "We didn't have digital devices. Playing stickball in the streets and getting into trouble was pretty much all we had to do."
"My sympathies," the princess teased, returning her attention to the holographic display. "I'm making adjustments to the scanners to allow him to respond to suggestions."
"Like hypnosis?" Steve asked.
She glanced at him. "If it helps to think of it that way, sure, but no." She flashed an impish smile at him.
Steve tried not to let his ego take a hit at being talked down to by a fifteen-year-old girl.
Shuri's hands flew over a tablet on the table near the holographic display where their younger selves were barreling into Bucky's apartment, laughing. "Bucky, think forward through your teenage years, high school, graduating, the war, like fast forwarding through a movie."
She looked at Steve and lowered her voice. "With the data collecting from this session and the ones in New York, I'm hoping to identify as many of the neural pathways associated with his pre-Hydra memories as possible. These will be fed into the algorithm and protected."
Steve watched as the holographic images shifted into a chaotic whirlwind of moments. Bucky's fight with Davie Walsh over a girl—Beth. Jumping into the fray against a hulking guy pummeling Steve in an alley. That fight had started because Steve saw the man hassling a young woman. He told him to back off. Then he found himself in a dark alley getting the crap beat out of him until Bucky came running. Someone must have given Bucky a heads up because he arrived out of breath with fury in his eyes.
Then Steve watched as a holographic highlight clip of their high school years played. Baseball games. Football. Boxing. Bucky tried his hand at lots of sports. Watching Steve's high school barbershop quartet performance. Graduation. Various holidays—Halloweens, Thanksgivings, and Christmases. Birthdays.
Steve's gaze went to Bucky on the table. A soft smile played at his lips. The edges of his eyes crinkled. He looked content, almost happy.
"I almost wish he could stay here…for a while," Steve muttered.
Shuri's voice was soft when she answered. "He had a good life before the war."
Steve nodded. "Yeah…" He took a deep breath, thinking about all the things he and Bucky lost because of war. "He did."
The hologram continued, and Steve watched the night before Bucky deployed play in the air. The World's Fair. The Stark demonstration. His quarrel with Bucky over the falsified papers and trying to enlist. Bucky's night of dancing with the ladies. Saying goodbye to his parents. The front lines.
Moments continued to play—some merely blurs, more significant ones slowing to real time. Bits and pieces of the war. A cute nurse. Getting reprimanded by a commanding officer. His promotion to sergeant.
Bucky and his men were taking fire. A blond kid next to him took a hit in the chest. The image shifted to Bucky over him, his hands over the kid's chest, full of blood. Calling for a medic, telling him to hang on, as blood gurgled from the kid's mouth, looking up at Bucky with terrified eyes that finally went blank.
Steve barely had time to process that before the image shifted to another battle. This time, a tank spewed glowing blue energy, destroying an entire battlefield of men—German and Allied soldiers alike.
It swung toward Bucky, who yelled, "Duck!"
The next image was Bucky in the German prison. Quick images of soldiers being forced to work, beatings, executions. Bucky coughing, wheezing. Being dragged from a cell. Strapped to a table. Zola's face. A needle. Bucky screaming.
Steve closed his eyes and willed himself calm. He knew this happened. He couldn't change it. The screams continued. Bile rose in Steve's throat. He swallowed quickly.
The screams stopped, and Steve opened his eyes to see himself standing over Bucky. It was the rescue when he'd pulled Bucky off Zola's table.
He watched the blur of memories. Schmidt pulling back the mask of his face. Bucky's incredulous "You don't have one of those, do you?" Bucky's precarious walk across the beam before it crashed into the flames below. Steve telling Bucky to get out of there. Bucky's adamant scream, "Not without you!"
Their trek across Austria was a blur of moments. The triumphant march into camp slowed to real time, with Bucky yelling, "Let's hear it for Captain America!"
Steve smiled at that memory. Bucky was proud of him. After all the years Bucky looked out for him, he was able to return the favor. It was one of the best moments of his life—having his friend back, the dawning shock of realization that his crazy plan had worked and they'd actually made it back to camp.
The next images were quick bits of Howling Commando missions. Then the train. Steve took another deep breath and steadied himself. He knew what was coming next. He watched it unfold, his chest tight.
He forced himself to keep watching as Bucky fell—an impossible distance—slamming into rocks. More screams. Then the image went blank. When it came back, there was snow and trees. Blood. A gurgled cry.
Then Russians in beige jackets. Paratroopers. Russian words. He heard one of them say "Zola."
"Can you translate this?" Steve asked.
Shuri nodded, her fingers danced over the console.
"This must be the guy." One of the Russians barked. "Right where Zola said he'd be."
"He's still alive. It must be. No one else could survive that fall."
"Hurry. Our orders are to keep him alive. He's the only subject who survived the serum. The procedure must be continued."
Hands grabbed Bucky, dragged him. His eyes focused on the bloody stump of his left arm, leaving a trail of crimson behind him before the image went blank.
"Son of a bitch." Steve blinked against tears, but they fell, and he scrubbed a hand over his face. "Zola… he must have had a Hydra contact inside the Allied camp. He knew that Bucky might be alive. He told them where to find him." The seeds of Hydra's infiltration into SHIELD had been planted even before SHIELD started.
His fist came down on the table hard enough to smash solid wood, but the table held. He wondered if it was vibranium. He desperately wished he could go back in time and beat the smug look off Zola's face.
Why hadn't he figured that out? He knew Zola experimented on Bucky and other men. He knew the Germans were desperate for a super soldier serum like Erskine's. Bucky must have been showing some signs of enhancement. He didn't seem any stronger than usual, but he did recover quickly once Steve pulled him from the table, getting his feet under him quickly and managing to keep up as they escaped. Why hadn't Steve noticed? He should have gone back sooner, searched harder. He should have beaten the truth out of Zola.
Hell, he should have jumped off the train after Bucky. If Bucky survived it, so could he. If he'd grabbed his shield and launched himself right, he would've made it. He would've been there to get Bucky out and tear through anyone Zola sent.
Steve looked at his friend on the table. Bucky's face was contorted into a mask of anguish.
I'm sorry, Bucky. You never failed me, but I failed you. Please forgive me.
Shuri's voice interrupted his self-reproach. "Bucky," the princess began. "I want you to think about the first time you remember hearing the Winter Soldier code words in the activation string."
Steve stiffened and eyed Wanda. "Be ready," he told the young Avenger.
Wanda gave an acknowledging nod.
"Are you sure about this?" Steve asked Shuri.
Shuri's expression conveyed her doubt, but her words were firm. "I need to trace the neural pathways involved in Hydra's programming, starting with the first session of his conditioning."
-0- -0- -0-
He was restrained in the chair. Metal clamped around his head. The machine hummed to life. Current ripped into his skull and snaked through his body. Its bite was so intense he couldn't scream, couldn't breathe.
Then it stopped, and in that moment of relief, a word—loud and firm—rang in his ears.
"Zhelaniye," Longing.
His pants and leg were warm and wet. The smell of urine filled his nostrils.
The current hit him again, slightly less intense, but unrelenting in its agony. His body went rigid, seizing against the onslaught.
When the current stopped, another word took its place. "Rzhavyy." Rusted
He felt wetness on his cheeks, salt on his tongue. The current resumed, reduced enough that it allowed the scream to escape his throat.
It stopped again, just long enough for another word. "Semnadtsat." Seventeen.
"Please…" He barely got the word out when the current assaulted him again.
When it stopped, another word. "Rassvet." Daybreak.
No, he begged silently, knowing the electricity was coming again.
It hit. His chest arched. The metal restraints dug into his right arm and his legs. Then it stopped, and he collapsed against the back of the chair.
"Pech." Furnace.
He screamed again as the current tore through him, slightly reduced yet again, but still brutal and overpowering. Why were they doing this?
When it stopped, he heard, "Devyat." Nine.
His thoughts were thick, hazy. Who were they? Why were they doing this?
Again, the current. Then another word brought blessed relief. "Dobroserdechnyy." Benign.
Where was he? What was happ-?
The current hit again, and he gritted his teeth. It wasn't so bad. He could get through it.
It released him, and he sucked in a deep breath.
"Vozvrashcheniye na rodinu." Homecoming.
The current resumed, tolerable, and he breathed through it. Then it stopped.
"Odin." One.
When the current returned, it was blessedly weak—a mere tingle through his head and a small ringing in his ears.
It ended with the words that brought total relief. "Tovarnyy vagon." Freight Car.
He looked through blurry eyes at the figures around him. Dim lights shone overhead. Men carried guns, pointed at the floor. A figure approached. The rim of a glass touched his lips, bringing cool water. He gulped it greedily, then it was pulled away.
"Soldat, are you ready to comply?"
He blinked up at the figure. "Who are you?" His voice was weak, barely a croak.
The figure turned and raised a hand. "Opyat' taki." Again.
-0- -0- -0-
Steve's knees had given out and he was slouched in a chair, doing his best to keep his shit together as he witnessed Bucky twitch on the table and listened to his screams in the projection.
On the last word in the hologram, the words "ready to comply" slipped from Bucky's lips on the table, even as the display played the last bit of the memory. The Winter Soldier was active. Steve's brain swirled with urgent thoughts as he stared at the blank eyes of his friend, focused on the ceiling above.
How many times did they do that to him?
Why didn't I go back for him?
Does Shuri know what she's doing?
How did his Winter Soldier program get activated while the memory continued to play?
Who the hell is that Russian asshole, and is he still alive so I can put my fist through his face?
Steve cleared his throat and forced himself to his feet. The hologram ended, and Bucky remained staring blankly at the ceiling.
"What's going on?" Steve asked Shuri. "How is the Winter Soldier activated but we were able to see the rest of the memory?"
Shuri's attention remained on the tablet in her hands as she answered him. "After the last incident where the Hydra program was inadvertently activated, I modified the algorithm feeding into the neural scanners. It's able to directly access neural pathways associated with Barnes' memory, independent of the Winter Soldier programming."
"What?"
She looked up at him. "It can access the memory directly. His memories haven't been wiped. When he's the Winter Soldier, James Barnes is suppressed. You might think of it like a deep dream state. One part of his brain is functioning as the Winter Soldier. The other part is in a deep trance, suppressed, minimally aware."
"So, we're seeing the Winter Soldier, but the neural scanner is reading Bucky?"
Shuri tilted her head. "That's close enough."
"Is he feeling any of what he's remembering?"
Shuri shook her head. "He should not be in any physical pain." She took a deep breath, and her expression grew apologetic. "Unfortunately, the mental state the scanner places him in causes him to re-experience the event. Suffering is a function of the mind, not the body."
"What does that mean?"
"His body might not be feeling the pain, but his brain will think it's real—as if he were having a vivid dream."
Steve walked over to Bucky, whose blank blue eyes snapped to him.
"Are you telling me this is traumatizing him all over again?" Steve asked Shuri.
"No more than a vivid dream… but to some extent, yes." She sighed heavily. "If he were more conscious, the neural pathways would be cluttered with conscious thoughts, and it would be impossible to isolate the ones exclusive to his conditioning."
"Can we get him out of this?" Steve asked.
Bucky continued to stare, but there was no recognition in his face.
"Bucky, do you know who I am?" Steve asked.
"I am attempting to." Shuri's fingers danced over the tablet.
The neural sensors on Bucky's temple beeped, pulsing with a soft purple light. Bucky flinched.
"Buck?" Steve prodded, hopeful.
"You're… my mission," Bucky responded, a note of uncertainty in his eyes.
The confusion in his gaze vanished, and Bucky began to test the restraints. They held. He gritted his teeth, a growl in his throat, as he struggled. Then he screamed—frustrated, angry—and slammed his head back against the table.
Steve looked up at Wanda. "Can you break him out of this?" He looked at Shuri and asked, "Any problem with her trying?"
Shuri shook her head. "Go ahead."
Wanda stepped up to the table and extended her hands over Bucky's head. His eyes went wide as the crimson energy spread from her palms. A frantic beeping rose from the tablet in Shuri's hands.
"His heartrate jumped," Shuri told them. "He's afraid."
"Bucky," Steve began, "she's not going to hurt you."
"This won't hurt." Wanda told him. "I promise."
The frantic beeping continued, and Bucky struggled against the restraints, another angry scream tearing from his throat. Wanda placed her glowing fingers alongside Bucky's temples near the sensors. His eyes flared red briefly, and his struggles died.
Wanda gasped, stumbling backward. Steve caught her before she lost her balance.
"What's wrong?" He steadied her.
The gloom darkening her face stole his breath. What happened when she touched Bucky's mind?
She shook her head. "Sorry. I saw…" her brow furrowed as she looked at him. Tears welled in her eyes and spilled onto her cheeks.
"What?" Steve prodded.
Wanda looked at him. "That poor man. I'm sorry. It just took me by surprise." She straightened and nodded. "I'm okay." Then she moved up to Bucky and placed her fingers at his temples again.
As Bucky's eyes flared with the crimson energy, Wanda gasped but held firm. A moment later, Bucky blinked, and Wanda sagged, gripping the edge of the table for support.
"Wanda?"
"I'm fine." She moved shakily away, giving them space.
Steve looked down at his friend. Bucky's eyes were on him, wet with tears that flowed silently down the sides of his face.
"Bucky, are you back?"
"Yeah." Bucky closed his eyes.
Shuri walked up to the exam table. "How are you doing, Bucky?"
"Fine."
He didn't sound fine. Steve wasn't sure what time it was, but he knew they'd been at it for at least a couple of hours. "How much longer for today?"
"I've blocked my schedule for the entire day," she said. "Tomorrow is a day of rest for the three of you. We'll resume the following day."
"Keep going." Bucky looked up at them with red-rimmed eyes. "Let's get it over with as soon as possible."
"How much do you remember of the session?" Steve asked.
"Bits and pieces."
From the pallor in Bucky's face and his gravelly voice, Steve wasn't sure powering through was a good idea. "You sure you don't want a break?"
"Just do it."
Shuri nodded. "I believe the worst for today is already behind us. Next, I'll ask Captain Rogers to work through the activation sequence in reverse, cataloguing your brain's response to the words out of order."
-0- -0- -0-
Tony eyed the box wrapped in brown paper as the scanner hovered over it, whirring softly. It arrived, signature required, addressed simply to "James," with a Shelbyville, Indiana return address. It was almost certainly from either James or Becca Proctor, but one could never be too careful before opening an unexpected package, especially where James Barnes was concerned. He wouldn't put it past a Hydra straggler to send a surprise.
A holographic projection of the contents appeared in the air.
"Hmmmph."
"Shall I send a message to either Captain Rogers or James Barnes of the delivery?" FRIDAY asked.
"No, no." Tony swiped a hand through the projection, ending it. "I'm saving this for a welcome home surprise."
-0- -0- -0-
Wind and rain battered the window. Bucky lay in bed listening to the storm. The only other sound in the room was Steve's soft, steady breathing from the other bed.
Sleep eluded him. The night was too quiet and the room too dark. It left him with nothing but his thoughts, and those were as black and stormy as the Wakandan night.
He had a headache. The neural sensors remained on his forehead. Shuri said they'd help with his sleep hallucinations and record any such disturbances so that she could devise a treatment plan.
He'd have to sleep for them to do their job, and sleep wasn't coming anytime soon. The darkness felt like its own entity, malicious and ethereal. The mattress and pillow beneath him reminded him that he wasn't in a Siberian bunker.
He wasn't curled on a cold, concrete floor in a locked, reinforced room. There were no scratches from rodents scurrying behind the vent in the ceiling, or unseen pests brought in from supply crates crawling on him.
There'd be no footsteps approaching from outside, slow and heavy. No cocked rifles. No cattle prods, so big they could barely shove the tip of it in his mouth….
He curled beneath the covers, listening to the storm and Steve's breathing and trying to push away the memories, but his brain wouldn't shut down. The session with Shuri had reawakened the past, and if he slept, he'd be back there.
Dreams were like Russian Roulette. He never knew where the chamber would land and what would be inside it when the hammer struck.
The storm lingered as day broke. Bucky slipped out of bed, placed the neural sensors on the dresser, and did his morning business in the bathroom so Steve could have it to himself when he woke. Then, he padded back to the living area and quietly retrieved the other book he'd brought.
Dune.
By the time Steve woke up, Bucky was 50 pages into the novel.
Steve slipped out of bed silently, giving Bucky a lingering glance, then disappeared into the bathroom. He emerged freshly showered twenty minutes later, dressed in boxers, with a towel draped around his neck, just as a knock at the door indicated breakfast had arrived.
Bucky answered the door, thanked the young man who wheeled the cart inside, and grabbed piled chunks of meat and flat bread on his plate.
"I won't ask you how you slept," Steve began as he made a plate for himself and sat into the armchair near the window. "You were up most of the night, weren't you?"
Bucky frowned as he studied his food. He thought Steve had slept soundly through the night. Apparently, not. "You were awake?"
"On and off."
He wondered how Steve could tell he was awake. He kept to the bed and stayed quiet.
"How could you tell?"
"You shifted in the bed. Your breathing was fast at times."
"Sorry if I woke you."
"You didn't."
They ate the rest of their food in silence, then Bucky returned to his reading.
"Good book?" Steve asked.
Bucky shrugged. "I just started it." He wasn't in the talking mood and hoped Steve got the hint.
"You know they make tablets now that can store hundreds of books."
"I didn't, but I like the feel of a real book."
"I know what you mean. I'd go for a run, but we're not supposed to leave our rooms. I guess that leaves TV or reading. Where's that other book you brought?"
Bucky jabbed his chin toward his pack on the floor. "Help yourself."
Steve did, and they spent the next few hours quietly reading. Before dinner, Steve worked out in the room, doing pushups, squats, and jogging in place while Bucky flipped through the streaming offerings on the television. A night without sleep left him drained, but Steve had enough energy for them both.
Steve went through his routine at a frantic pace until he was breathing hard. It was obvious something was bothering him. Bucky had an idea what it was, but it was a topic he didn't want to talk about.
During dinner, Steve broached the subject.
"I know you don't remember everything about the session in Shuri's lab," Steve began, seated in the armchair, a plate of fish and vegetables on his lap.
Bucky ate silently. He remembered very little of the session, like glimpses of a dream. Steve, Shuri, and Wanda had seen it all, and Bucky didn't dare wonder too hard about what they'd witnessed, or he wouldn't be able to go through with tomorrow's session.
"Zola told the Russians where to find you," Steve continued.
"I know."
He'd heard Zola's name several times, even remembered Zola standing over him with the Russians, but he wasn't sure whether that was real or a hallucination. Zola had been captured by the Allies. It was the only solace he'd been able to find—the mission had succeeded.
Steve exploded out of the armchair. His plate sailed across the room and shattered against the far wall. Remnants of food stuck to the wall and slid to the floor.
Bucky remained still, his eyes tracking his friend.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," Steve said quickly, scrubbing his hands over his face as he paced. "I should have questioned Zola about what he did to you… pushed my way into the interrogations sessions. I should have searched for you sooner, never should have given up. All that time, he knew where you were. He knew you might have survived. There was a leak right under our noses, and we didn't know."
Steve's word gushed from him like water from a broken dam. Bucky listened, riding it out. He'd seen this side of Steve a handful of times.
"I wish I could go back and do it differently," Steve continued. "I want to pummel his smug face, but he's dead. They're all dead, and there's nothing I can do. God Buck," he ran his fingers through his hair. His mouth hung open as if he were struggling to find the right words, then he shook his head, sank to the edge of the bed near Bucky, and dropped his face in his hands. "Oh, God."
Bucky witnessed the enormity of the past 71 years overwhelm his friend. He understood the feeling.
"Hey." He set his plate on the dresser and sat next to Steve. "Don't do this." He slid his arm across Steve's broad shoulders, remembering when Steve was so small Bucky could wrap his entire arm around him. "None of this is your fault. We both did the best we could. We beat the odds so many times that they were bound to catch up with us. I made my choice when I picked up that shield on the train. So did you when you crashed the plane into the ice. We're just two guys who keep doing things that are incredibly… stupid."
Steve gave a sharp chuckle and looked up. "We sure as hell do." His smile faded, and he shook his head. "How do you do it, man?"
Bucky knew what Steve was asking. "Repression. I don't think Dr. Abodon would agree, but it's the only thing keeping me from being a total basket case." He gave a quick, lopsided smile. "Don't tell him I said that."
"You're one of the strongest people I know. What you went through for seventy years, what they did to you." His voice cracked, and he took a quick breath. "Hell, Buck, they did everything they could to erase who you are, but they couldn't. You survived. If our places were reversed, and I went through what you did, I don't think I'd have survived."
Bucky felt unworthy of Steve's words. His cheeks grew hot, and he looked away. "I didn't have a choice about surviving. Believe me, I tried not to."
"You did have a choice. Who you are survived Hydra. I know you're not the same. Neither of us are, but I know you well enough, man. The essence of who you are as person is still there. You had a choice when you walked away from Hydra on the riverbank. You had a choice when you were on the run. You have a choice now. You're choosing to do the work, and I can only imagine what it took for you to make those choices. You always said no matter how many times I got knocked down, I kept getting back up. Look at you, man. You keep getting back up."
From the heat he felt, Bucky was pretty sure his entire face was red. There were only three people in the world whose approval ever mattered to him. His folks and Steve. He didn't feel strong, and some days he barely felt like he was surviving, but Steve's faith kept him going. He could've given up long ago and forgiven himself for it, but Steve refused to give up on him, and he couldn't bear the thought of letting down the only person in the world who still believed in him.
"Thanks, man." Bucky offered a weak smile. "I'm supposed to be giving you the pep talk." He tilted his head toward the remains of shattered plate. "Or did you just really hate the food?"
"Shit." Steve gave a self-conscious grimace and hurried to clean up the mess.
-0- -0- -0-
The following day came after another sleepless night for Bucky. His stomach was in knots, and Steve had the good grace not to comment on his lack of appetite over breakfast or the obvious fact that he looked like Cesare, the somnambulist servant from the German silent horror film he and Steve had snuck into when they were kids.
He slid onto Shuri's table and took a deep breath as the vibranium restraints slid into place. The neural scanners on his temples itched, and he wrinkled his nose against the irritating sensation.
Steve's face appeared above him. "You okay, Buck?"
He swallowed and hoped his voice sounded steady. "Yeah, sure. No sweat. All I have to do is lie here, right?"
Shuri and her team were clustered around the control panel. Wanda had her usual space out of the way against a far wall.
"We're all set," Shuri began. "Today, we're going to isolate each code word and attempt to determine whether there is any overlap in the neural patterns."
"What does that mean?" Bucky asked.
"I'll take you through the words one at a time. After I say each word, the neural scanner will compare the firing synaptic patterns to previous sessions to determine similarities. Active synapses associated with memories not related to the Winter Solder activation will be identified and protected, hopefully leaving only the active synapses exclusive to the program."
"Then what?" Steve asked.
"Then, we'll schedule microsurgery to destroy those neurons," Shuri answered.
"What about regeneration?" Bucky asked. "Dr. Abodon believes Hydra already tried that and failed because of the protective nature of the serum."
"The electricity damaged parts of your brain, specifically the ends of your neurons and the synaptic connections, but only miniscule portions of your brain were actually destroyed, as evidence by the nodules of scar tissue. The serum creates a protective environment for your cells. Our technology can identify and completely eliminate the neural pathways involved in the Winter Soldier program."
"Permanently destroying parts of his brain?" There was heaviness in Steve's voice.
"Yes, but miniscule sections," Shuri clarified, "and I'll do a few at a time, with a day in between, to catalogue adverse effects."
-0- -0- -0-
Zhelaniye. Longing.
His mother's blue eyes. His father's teasing voice. The smell of banana bread. Snowball fights with Steve, warming up inside with hot cocoa. Yelling at his sisters through the bathroom door. Fighting over the last biscuit at Thanksgiving. Opening presents on Christmas. Dancing. Coney Island. Hot dogs.
Going home. Seeing his family again. Hanging out with Steve. An end to this goddamned war. Waking up to realize this was all a bad dream.
Longing. Desire. Need.
An ache in his chest so profound it consumed him.
"Think of home, and you will be there." A deep voice with a Russian accent.
Kindness laced with lies. Making promises Bucky knew would never be kept. Offering escape. Relief.
It was dark. A scream pounded through his skull. His throat was fire.
"What is it you long for?" The voice asked, profoundly gentle. "Home? Your family? You can see them again, just think about them. They are there, waiting for you."
His safe place. Home. A dream born from desire, a separation of mind and body.
The pain ended, and the smell of banana bread filled his nose. He tasted it. Sweet. Vanilla, walnuts, and cinnamon.
Bucky opened his eyes. It was quiet, except for a subtle background hum of machinery. His mouth was dry. His cheeks were wet. His head hurt, and there was a big, black aching hole in his chest.
He really needed to pee.
"Bucky?" Steve's voice was soft, almost hoarse. His face appeared above. His eyes were rimmed with pink. "We're breaking for lunch. How are you feeling?"
Lunch? "What time is it?"
"About one o'clock."
Five hours. He barely remembered going under.
The vibranium restraints vanished, and Steve slid a hand under him, helping him up. He felt shaky. He really shouldn't have skipped breakfast.
Shuri walked up to him. The others in the lab were silent, their gazes turned away. Wanda was seated on a chair, studiously checking her phone.
"What happened?" Bucky asked the princess.
"It was more difficult to isolate unique synaptic patterns than I anticipated. The first code word is linked to deep personal memories. If they are all linked in a similar fashion, this process will take significantly longer than expected."
Bucky dropped his gaze to the floor. He had been prepared for this. "You can't get the Hydra program out of my head." He spared her having to say it.
Shuri shook her head. "That is not true. I believe I can. It will simply require more finesse. I have identified an infinitesimal cluster of neurons that are activated with the first code word and do not appear to be associated with other memories. One hundred and fifty-two neurons, to be exact."
Bucky's head felt like cotton, but her words restored a sliver of hope. His stomach grumbled.
"Let's get food into you." Steve said.
"Sounds good. Bathroom first." He was so damn tired. He could barely push himself off the table and keep steady on his feet.
Shuri pointed the way. Steve hovered at his side.
Bucky held up a hand. "I got this, man."
Thirty-three minutes later, he'd emptied his bladder, splashed cold water on his face, and forced down a plate of food. When it was time to get back on the table, he stopped two feet away. He didn't remember anything from the morning session, which was different than the other day when he'd been able to recall flashes of images, like fleeting dreams.
Still, he couldn't seem to make his feet move.
"Buck?" Steve's hand was on his shoulder. "Do you need more of a break?"
"We can resume tomorrow," Shuri suggested.
"No." Bucky took a deep breath and forced himself to slide onto the table. "Let's finish whatever we need to for today."
-0- -0- -0-
Rzhavyy. Rusted.
The door of the cryo chamber closed. He saw himself reflected in the glass. His metal hand could break through the door. He reached out.
He heard the hiss of a valve opening, releasing gas…
A voice spoke softly. Russian. He couldn't make out the words. His skull pounded.
His metal arm turned red-brown before his eyes. It spread, taking over his body. He tried to scream. His throat was frozen. His eyes stared blankly ahead. His reflection was bronze.
He wasn't flesh. He was all metal. Not human. A machine. Dead.
The words suddenly rang clear in his head. "Vy mashina. Vy pervaya gidra. Bez nas vy ni k chemu ne rzhaveyete." You are a machine. You are the Fist of Hydra. Without us, you will rust to nothing.
-0- -0- -0-
Semnadtsat. Seventeen.
The year of his birth. 1917.
"Tvoya sud'ba predopredelena. Yy vsegda byl gidroy." Your destiny was set. You were always Hydra. The voice was gentle. Benign. Like a father welcoming him home.
-0- -0- -0-
"Bucky, wake up."
He opened his eyes. His ears were ringing, a pressure behind his eyes made him squint against the soft lights overhead.
Steve's blue eyes peered down at him. "How do you feel?"
Bucky's mouth was dry. He licked his lips. His mind was in a fog. "Thirsty," he croaked.
"Can we get some water?" Steve asked someone.
Bucky sat up and swung his legs over the side of the table but didn't try to stand. His lower back hurt from being on the table so long, and he rubbed deeply at the stiff muscles.
Shuri appeared with a glass of water. He took it with a grateful smile and gulped the cool liquid greedily.
"Is the table uncomfortable?" Shuri asked him.
His parched throat felt better. "Just a bit stiff from laying on it all day." He looked around for a clock but didn't see one. "What time is it?" He set the glass next to him and squeezed the bridge of his nose.
Warm hands touched his temples, startling him.
"Sorry." Shuri punctuated the word with an apologetic smile.
He eyed Shuri as she removed the neural sensors.
"It's seven in the evening. How do you feel?" she asked him.
"Weird." He closed his eyes. He was still so tired.
"You haven't been sleeping," Shuri stated matter-of-factly. "I'll make some adjustments to the neural sensors. Continue to wear them. With the modifications, they'll help induce deep sleep."
He nodded. "Okay."
"Ayo will escort you to your rooms," Shuri told him. "Dinner is on its way. There is no session tomorrow. I suggest you sleep in as much as you can. You look pale, even for a white man."
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
I hope everyone had a lovely holiday, and I wish you all a wonderful New Year. I adore getting comments/reviews, so don't be shy! I love hearing what you loved, if something confused you that you'd like clarified, and even any typos or oops that you notice.
