"Probably forgotten about it by now," Steve interrupted. "He's a good kid, a smart kid, but a little scatterbrained. More than likely, he took a quick look and moved on."
Bucky shut the door behind him. This room was bigger, there was a large shelf filled with books. A blank sketch pad and some pencils lay on the table. He decided not to check out the room. So far his poking in corners had revealed nothing new. Steve sat down and picked and the pad and a pencil and doodled on the paper. Since he seemed at ease with the situation Bucky perused through the small library. He pulled a book down, A History of the English-Speaking People by Winston Churchill. He ran his fingers along the spine; it felt real enough. Opening it up it could fool him into thinking this was a brand new book.
"This is weird," he said. "All the books I've wanted to read but never got around to so I could catch up on things I missed. So the war was almost the same where you came from?"
"Pretty much," Steve said. "The outcome was the same. We won."
"Does this mean they read our minds?" Bucky wondered out loud. Steve was drawing the interior of the room, intent on his sketching. "So I guess they know… about us."
Steve put the sketchbook down and took a long hard look at Bucky. "You need to stop being so paranoid. It's not like the world will explode if someone finds out we're together." He got out of his chair to join him by the bookshelf. "If anyone is out there watching us, or listening in, I'm in love with James Buchanan Barnes and I don't care who knows," he spoke to the ceiling. He pulled Bucky toward him and gave him a hard swift kiss.
Bucky pushed him away just as roughly. "It's not funny," he said. "What if this place has some kind of taboo?"
"Then we wouldn't be here," Steve said. He took a step back and crossed his arms. "You've been through a lot. Tough childhood, you fought in WWII, then you go missing, get frozen, brainwashed and forced to do despicable things, then when you realize what you've done, you turn yourself in, and after an act of heroism, you picked the simple life in a place where you could live like a prince."
Bucky replaced the history book and pulled another random book off the shelf and turned back to face Steve. "Is there a reason you're going over my life story? I was there, I know what happened."
"I'm saying you went to hell and back and here you are, a well-adjusted human being. It's almost a miracle, to see you here and now, in your right mind. You're a showcase for resilience, an inspiration for people enduring difficult times, but with that one thing, your orientation, you're almost a petty, petulant child, the way you insist on keeping something secret that…"
Bucky threw the book down on the table, crossed the room to sit on the bed. A scent like fresh flowers filled the surrounding air. "You said you weren't going to push it."
"I'm not pushing anything. You need to realize that our friends are our friends. They won't care, they'll understand…"
"Why were you beating up on Tony?" Bucky asked, changing the subject like he always did when Steve touched this nerve. "What did he do?"
Steve's mouth hung open in surprise. "I don't want to talk about it."
"So, there's issues on both sides we don't want to work through," Bucky said. "Why won't you tell me?"
"It's gone. It's over. I like to pretend it never happened. It's kind of fading away now anyway…"
"But it did. The other guy killed his parents. I guess your guy didn't take it so well?"
Steve sighed. He crossed the room to sit beside him on the bed. The scent became stronger, it wafted through the air, re-invoking a memory. Bucky faced Steve, their argument forgotten. A sense of overwhelming love washed over him. He needed to be close to him, to touch him and feel his touch. He reached out to him. Steve's arms wrapped around him, pushing him backward on the bed. He returned the embrace burying his face in his shoulder. He was warm, so warm. His hands dug into Steve's back, aware of Steve's fingers on his body.
"I love you," Steve said, pulling Bucky's face back, kissing him hard. This was so different. It was almost if they were doing this for the first time.
"I love you," Bucky moaned. Steve was on top of him, his tongue in his mouth, on his neck, their hands clasped tight together. The sensation of the outline of Steve's body against his became a mirror image of Paris, the other Steve, being held down, a moment's panic. He couldn't do this. It was like an out-of-body experience. It was happening to someone else and he couldn't focus on the here and now. He shuddered at the idea but didn't want to be unfair to Steve. Maybe he should just shut this out and concentrate on something else. Think about something else, anything. Just go through with it even if it meant risking the horrible depression that might come afterward. Steve grip tightened on his metal hand. Before Bucky could say anything, short electric shocks started somewhere deep in his metal arm, just like before but not as powerful. The energy rushed down to his fingers…
"What the hell!?" Steve pulled back and fell over on the other side of the bed. "What the hell was that?" He repeated.
"Are you all right? Damn it, Steve, I'm sorry. That was an accident." The guilt was real. If he hurt him—Steve held his hand so tight he had accidentally activated the taser.
"Yeah, I'm ok. Just got shocked by... something." He got out of bed and paced around the room. Bucky wasn't sure if anyone could overhear them so he joined him, throwing his arms around his waist and pulling him close.
"I'm so sorry Steve, that wasn't supposed to happen…"
"What did you do?" Steve asked. "No need to go to extremes. All you have to do is say no..."
"It's wasn't that, it's my arm," Bucky whispered in his ear. "I asked T'Challa to enable the applications, not to kill, just to shock. I'm so sorry."
"You did WHAT?"
"Keep your voice down. The walls might have ears. I didn't like us being defenseless, ok? I haven't had a time or place to train with it. You accidentally set it off… while we were…"
"Yeah, about that. What happened? I mean, I love you, but now's not really the time..."
Bucky let go of him and walked to the bed. The faint floral scent was still there, bringing with it an intense desire to pull Steve close and get lost in his embrace again, He backed away and the sensation left.
"The scent is some kind of aphrodisiac."
"What? Our captors are a bunch of voyeurs?"
"No, nothing like that. I don't think they care about our love life or in our case, lack of one. It's a tactic. They capture someone, make them comfortable, give them what they want… like Peter's computer and the games. That keeps him and Wanda occupied. Bruce and T'Challa have their mystery and we…"
"I guess what we do, and who we are, isn't taboo here."
"It's classic. It's something the consortium did when they wanted to win someone over to their side. It's an illusion of safety. Give them something to feel good about. We're not the first people they've brought here. They've done this before."
"Stockholm Syndrome…" Steve said.
"What's that?" Bucky asked.
"A situation where a hostage takes on the side of their captors. That might be what they want us to do. We can't let this cloud our minds. If they've done this before, what happened to the other people?"
"I don't know. I don't think we should go back over there, but we have to sleep."
"We'll do this." Steve walked over and pulled the mattress off the bed, placing down on the other side of the room. He laid down on it. "Remember, like when we were kids. I don't smell anything over here."
Bucky laid down beside him and stared at the ceiling again, going over their situation, again and again, testing out theories and dismissing them. The image of Steve falling off the bed intruded, making him burst into laughter.
"It's not funny. That hurt!" Steve said. "I can't imagine what it would do to a normal person!"
"I know, and I'm sorry but, yeah it was. Funny, I mean. Right in the middle of things and another ' what the hell was that? ' moment. Too bad we can't tell anybody."
"I wouldn't be so sure of that. We have to let the others know, so they can be on their guard."
"That's blackmail. You wouldn't…" Bucky turned and half sat up on the mattress.
"I probably won't, but I'll keep in reserve. Be extra nice and I won't go into detail..." Steve put his clasped hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling, a smile playing around his mouth.
"I'm always nice to you!" He moved closer to Steve so he could whisper in his ear. "Since you found out my secret, what did T'Challa do for you?"
"I had him send a signal out to Thor and come back with a tracking device and he apparently got away with it. It's a long shot. Thor's got his own problems and may not be able to help, but he's out here somewhere and we need someone to know where we are…"
"That's smart. Good strategy. Wish I'd thought of it…"
"So do I, instead of this. Come here," he said. Bucky rested his head on his shoulder and draped his arm across his waist.
"So… did you want to keep going?" Bucky asked.
"Didn't get that far, to be honest, I got shocked out of the moment, but don't worry about it. I told you, if it becomes a thing, I'll let you know, and then we'll deal with it," Seve said. "And I'm sorry. That was a lot like what happened in Paris. Your Steve didn't mean any harm. He honestly thought that was the way things were supposed to go and when it didn't, it confused him. He hated not having answers and he was sorry he never got a chance to tell you that."
"You're right. He hated unanswered questions," Bucky said, turning over on his back and stare back at the ceiling. "It confused the hell out of me. Still does."
"Except now you know, and I know, no need to worry about it anymore."
Bucky stayed away long after Steve drifted off, his mind full of tactics. In between possible strategies his mind wandered into more personal areas. He wondered how his present companion knew what his Steve thought...and felt.