Chapter 40

Dresden, Germany

Spring 2016

He needed to…not escape, but he needed to get out of there. He needed time alone.

He…God, she thought it was her fault! Bucky felt sick.

It was jarring in the worst possible way.

Nadya—Nadine felt responsible for what had happened all those years ago.

Even disoriented as he'd been coming to in the abandoned factory Steve had secreted him away to after what happened in the JCTC, assaulted as he was with the reemergence of the disjointed memories from what he'd done while once more at the mercy of HYDRA's damned programming even as his mind was struggling to reorient after being scrambled—even if only partially as compared to how it used to be—once more? The realization that one of his worst nightmares since coming out of his programming in DC had become reality? That his programming had been activated again and he'd once more been forced into becoming little more than a human machine bent on violence and destruction? Even that hadn't shaken him as much.

Hell, only the revelation that he hadn't imagined Iris' presence back at the JCTC and the assurance that she was safe and unhurt had came anywhere close.

That had been a relief beyond any he could've hoped for after what he distantly remembered happening. But as his scattered thoughts and memories had reorganized once more and the sequence of events had come back into focus, that relief has dimmed considerably to a small beacon of brightness amid the grim reality of what he'd done.

What he'd been forced to do…

How he'd hoped…

Of course, the hope that he'd never again have to experience the forceful subjugation of his body and mind to his programming had been beyond his grasp. He'd always expected it would happen eventually, but he'd fought to stave it off for as long as possible. To keep out of reach of anyone who might try to use him that way. And when it had become clear that it was about to be forced upon him once again? He'd fought it for as long as he could.

Of course, it hadn't been enough. He was stronger than he had been thanks to his time out of cryo, time without the agony of the memory modifications and the time he'd had to begin rebuilding his sense of self, but he still hadn't been strong enough.

But still…Bucky had never been one to just give up.

A futile fight as it had been, he'd fought regardless, even when the cruel hooks of those damned words had latched with remorseless, familiar efficiency into his brain, dragging him down so deep within the furthest confines of his own mind as his programming took over that his conscious mind had only just been aware enough to watch, helpless, barely comprehending what the Winter Soldier—what he was doing.

One that was all the more crushing when images of the people he'd hurt flooded his mind's eye.

It was at least a small consolation to learn that he hadn't been wholly consumed, managing at least a flicker of awareness, of control. Enough to react, instinctive as it may have been, to try in however small a way to protect Iris from getting caught up in the middle of his rampage. Not that he could entirely fight the lurching, wretched feeling that he might have injured her to do it.

But she was safe, now. That was what mattered. Steve's companion, Wilson, for all that he managed to wear at Bucky's patience, had made sure of that, and for that he was grateful. More grateful than he could say. Certainly more grateful than he seemed capable of showing at the moment. There was simply too much else on his mind.

And with his mind in the state it was just now? He was still cognizant enough to know that was not a good thing.

Not with the doctor and the threat of the other Winter Soldiers being activated hanging over their heads.

He bit back a frustrated sigh, roughly carding a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his face.

Of all the things he'd expected when he'd first seen that damning surveillence photo in the paper back in Bucharest, the one calling for any tips of his whereabouts, this was not it. Truthfully, he hadn't known what he'd expected.

Just something bad.

He'd certainly expected the team of Special Ops. soldiers. Or at least, resigned himself to the simple fact that something of that sort would eventually be coming for him.

He'd just thought he'd have a little more time.

He hadn't expected Steve, though. Even if he probably should have.

A small, desperate little part of him had hoped…but he'd immediately dismissed the idea that Steve would magically appear.

And yet…

It was a hard feeling to describe, seeing Steve standing in the tiny kitchen of the old safehouse he'd been squatting in. There probably would've been a profound relief there, had it not been overshadowed by the doubt that he was actually there, or the wary uncertainty of why he was there once he'd been forced to cede that it was real.

It had quickly turned to dismay that Steve had been there, though, as the telltale sounds of a Spec. Ops. team had begun sounding through the thin walls and ceiling of the apartment safehouse he'd appropriated. Dismay that his oldest friend was willing to sacrifice himself in what Bucky had already known then would be a futile attempt to help him. Dismay and a tight feeling in his chest that he had distantly recognized as disbelief and admiration for the man.

Despite knowing that he hadn't been worth Steve and his companions getting arrested, Bucky had been…glad to see Steve. Heartened, even. Bolstered by the very idea that, despite everything, despite a certainty that he wasn't, his best friend still believed him worthy of saving.

He'd even felt strangely, bewilderingly…euphoric at the sight of him. Which was distressing in its own way.

Until, of course, everything else had been quickly consumed by dread.

Ultimately, there weren't words for the overwhelming wash of emotions that had broken over him when he'd found Steve waiting for him in his apartment.

But it had been nothing compared to the sheer strength of the relief that had bowled into him when his disorientation had faded into a measure of clarity back in the factory and he'd realized that Steve was there waiting for him to come 'round.

And that, once more, Steve gave no thought to the fact that Bucky had—again—tried to kill him. That he knew Bucky had so very little influence over his actions when his programming was activated despite his desperate efforts to fight it off.

That to Steve he was just Bucky, and that was all that mattered.

Just like how, even once he'd become Captain America, Steve had still been Steve to him, and always would.

In a strange, even poignant and certainly tragic way, it had almost felt like nothing had changed…even though everything had.

Just like all those years ago in Austria, Steve had come to Bucky's rescue. More than once. Just like how Bucky had used to come to Steve's when they were kids.

And how had Bucky repaid him?

By throwing him down an elevator shaft and nearly crushing him with a helicopter when lost within and utterly consumed by the Winter Soldier.

And still he had the nerve to be comforted that Steve had stuck around when it was the last thing he deserved…

He grimaced, hands tightening once more into fists as his memories began to lose their cohesion again, images from the War, DC and even those of the last day or so in Bucharest and Berlin blending and shuffling, making it hard—almost impossible—to tell what was now and what was memory. What was real and what wasn't.

Who he even was…

His jaw clenched as he fought to drag in a long, slow breath, desperate to calm the panic that always inevitably came with the confusion brought on when his fractured mind did this.

After a long, fraught moment, his breathing began to slow for real, some of the tension in his frame loosening as he came back to himself. Bucky sighed heavily, eyes once more sharp on his watch out beyond the safehouse. The fact that he had a purpose in his solitude—keeping an eye out for any hint that their location had been compromised, unlikely as he suspected that would be—helped a great deal.

It certainly helped balance out the gravity of his thoughts.

Especially after the last few hours.

Getting a chance to finally have a few moments with Steve had been…well, not nice, exactly. Still, he was immeasurably grateful that it had been Steve he'd talked to first. For a few minutes there, he'd let Bucky feel normal again. Like he was himself again. It had felt so damn good to banter and joke with Steve again, the way they'd used to another lifetime ago.

Especially given everything that Steve had likely felt duty-bound to ask over the course of their conversation. Not that Bucky could blame him. As he'd been putting his mind back together, after all, one of the many things he'd struggled to make sense of and at least attempt to come to terms with had been what happened back in the Red Room all those years before. To find some semblance of…not understanding exactly, but something similar over what had happened between him and Nadya. To at least accept what he'd done even if he was unable to truly make peace his part in it.

But hard as having Steve confront him about that, understanding and sympathetic as he'd been, it hadn't compared to how hard it had been finally finding himself properly facing what had happened with Nadya herself.

It was something he'd never dared dream he'd have a chance to do.

And for all that it was one of the hardest things he'd ever had to confront in his life, it had still felt…good.

Cathartic.

Brutal and utterly gutting, but still almost…liberating. His stomach twisted at the thought. How was that right?

How was it, that despite what had happened, what he'd let happen to the poor woman all those years before, what he'd done to her, he still felt—somehow—unaccountably lighter after seeing her again? It couldn't be from absolution, though it had been given by the blonde assassin without hesitation or reservation. At least not wholly.

Absolution only came when it was deserved, and he was sure he didn't deserve it. Not after everything he'd done in HYDRA's name.

Perhaps it was just from finally having been able to acknowledge it. Properly. To sit down with her and own up to what had happened. To finally properly tend to least one of the festering, weeping wounds on his psyche by confronting one of the many wrongs he'd committed, giving it a chance to heal even knowing it would scar.

To maybe even find some small measure of closure, likelihood of true redemption aside.

Or maybe it was simply from seeing her in person, alive and—for the most part—whole. To see the proof in front of him, proof he could hear and touch and interact with that he hadn't been able to get from a washed-out TV screen, that she had made it out. That she'd survived…even thrived if what little he'd put together about her life since that Siberian winter night was even half-true.

That his one, small attempt to atone for his actions toward her while under the control of his programming by letting her escape hadn't been for nothing.

That he'd actually been able to help her in some small, yet significant way after all the damage he was sure he'd done.

While he'd never taken an ounce of pleasure from killing, it was a grim reality he'd resigned himself to a long time ago. The War had made him a killer long before HYDRA had gotten their claws in him. He'd been a sharpshooter, after all, and while he'd taken a measure of satisfaction in those kills, knowing without a doubt that the men he'd crossed off would've only killed others, his teammates and friends included, he'd never wanted to purposefully end lives.

It was probably why, despite being able to shoulder the burden well enough, the faces of those he'd murdered as the Winter Soldier haunted him as those he'd killed in the War didn't. There was a difference, between killing in war and the horrific acts HYDRA had ordered him to commit.

It was also probably why what had happened between him and Nadya in the Red Room had haunted him in a way the dozens, hundreds of kills to his name didn't. Because of how close it came to unforgivable crimes that turned his stomach to even think of someone inflicting in another.

Because, unlike so many of the deaths on his hands, he hadn't been explicitly ordered to do what he'd done when alone with her in that place. What had happened between them had been borne of his own most basic, primal urges and he hadn't been able to control it. He'd been helpless to control it, shattered as his mind had been.

He should have been able to fight it…

And until that day in Bucharest? When the news of what had happened in Lagos, Nigeria had broken and he'd seen her for the first time since that night?

He'd been so sure that her death was on his shoulders as well. That, in fighting through his programming to let her go despite his orders—he'd been almost desperate to give her a chance, no matter how slight the part of him that resisted HYDRA's control knew it to be—all he'd done was delay the inevitable death sentence her desertion warranted.

Hence the depth of his shock to see her on the TV standing next to Steve. Enough so that he'd nearly thought his grip on his mind had slipped, unable to wholly believe that she could possibly still be alive. That it had been little more than a fabrication of his broken mind. A confusion of scattered bits of memory and images and his ghosts, congregating together to make him see things that weren't there.

Then, once he'd realized she hadn't been a figment of his entirely too convincing—given the current condition of his mind—imagination? That his subconscious wasn't torturing him with manifestations of impossible hopes? His control had nearly faltered once more, relief surging forward to war bitterly with remorse and guilt as he processed that Nadya had, in fact, eluded capture and death after her desertion from the Red Room.

And somehow, he hadn't been as surprised as he might have expected when she'd been there in Bucharest, which was a shock in and of itself. Oh, he'd still been stunned to see her in that tunnel, barely ten yards from where he'd been pinned to the pavement, but he hadn't had to fight to believe she was real. Not after all the work to accept Steve was really there.

Instead, the initial shock at her survival having presented and been subsequently processed already since he'd seen the footage from Lagos, he'd found himself questioning why she was there rather than that she was really there more than anything else. That and finding himself wary and anxious over the development.

And guilty…always guilty…

Here was yet another person risking everything for him…an act he couldn't quite fathom, despite the rational—and emotional, in Steve's case especially—reasonings he'd since been presented with. Despite having learned she felt otherwise, she didn't owe him anything.

Certainly not at the expense of her own freedom…or her life.

He inhaled slowly again, fighting to calm the anxious tremors in his chest once again.

How in the world had the woman—really little more than a girl then despite her age, he was reminded with a familiar flash of self-reproach—he'd known and let go all those years ago in that dreadful Siberian training facility ended up working with The Avengers, with Steve? He hadn't had enough presence of mind back when he'd seen the footage to wonder then, but seeing her charge in on that bike?

Seeing Steve back her down when the operative in him had recognized that she'd been a hair's breadth from instinctively unleashing every deadly skill she possessed to protect herself and get out of there?

He couldn't fathom what had led to that. Oh, he could understand why. Seeing them interacting since that moment in the tunnel? It was clear as day that Steve cared for the blonde operative and she for him. Regardless of the damage done to his mind and the decades that had passed, Bucky still knew Steve.

And Steve still got that same look on his face when he had it bad for a dame.

Nadya was no exception.

If anything, it was all the clearer with her. Bucky wasn't even sure it had been that obvious with Peggy Carter, and everyone and their mother had known Steve had it bad for the sharp British agent.

But how? He couldn't quite wrap his head around how their paths could possibly have crossed. He supposed there was some logic, especially once he'd made the connection between Agent Romanoff and the tough little redhead Nadya had been close to back in That Place. Close as they had been as girls? Perhaps it was logical that, eventually, Nadya would've sought Romanoff out. And since Romanoff was a member of the Avengers as Steve was? It was reasonable, he supposed, that their paths might eventually cross and even align. He'd thought over it a great deal, especially once Nadya had rejoined them just outside of Berlin; once the lingering dread that she hadn't gotten out of the JCTC because of their fight had been put at ease, consideration over her involvement in his 'rescue' and her presence in Steve's life in general had come much easier.

But reasonable as his musings seemed, he'd been nearly dying of curiosity to hear the actual story, but he'd kept his mouth shut as long as he could. He'd long since learned—incidentally, granted, given that until recently he hadn't been able to ask—that observing, while not always as efficient, was often just as effective and usually far safer.

Not that he'd been entirely able to keep his curiosity to himself forever. Even if the answer he'd gotten hadn't been the most satisfactory; joining the Avengers for a mission because of her link to Romanoff and sticking around after it was over. But, it was an answer and it was more than he'd had any reasonable expectation of getting even a couple days ago.

Perhaps someday, he'd press for more details.

If he ever managed to earn her trust, that was. He could well imagine she simply felt too uncomfortable to share details of her life with him. It was fair. In her shoes, he wasn't sure he'd want to share much of anything about his life to someone with his past and problems, either. Really, he couldn't blame her.

If she was anything like him? If her experiences under HYDRA's thumb had paralleled his as he suspected they had? Trust was a luxury that had been stolen from her a long time ago.

But at the same time, his gut told him there was more to it than that.

He couldn't help the distinct feeling—instinct, really—that there was something she was keeping from him. And he'd long since learned to trust his instincts. They'd been the one thing left him that had survived to surface amid his programming—probably because the were useful as well as generally impersonal—and they'd kept him alive through a great deal, both before and after his break with HYDRA.

So he was fairly certain he was right in his feeling that there was more Nadya hadn't said. More than that, he couldn't quite fight the feeling that it was something she felt she had to say. There had been a couple moments when she'd hesitated, leaving him sure she'd nearly said one thing only to carefully say something else, instead. That there was something more. That was what left him unsettled about her reluctance.

What hadn't she been able to get out even after opening up, after letting herself be so vulnerable around him despite, well, everything?

Because for the life of him, he couldn't imagine what it could be. She'd already made her apology for her perceived fault in what had happened between them, virtually blameless though he considered her to be. She'd admitted to knowing about Iris. Her feelings for Steve had been made clear, so she wasn't hiding that she'd fallen for his friend from him in any misguided attempt to shield his feelings or out of fear for his reaction.

What else could it be?

Unless he was just misinterpreting her reluctance to let go of her feelings of responsibility over what happened all those years ago. That was even more understandable, come to think of it. That he could certainly understand.

When she'd appeared next to the new Agent Carter and Steve back under the overpass? As relieved as he'd been to see that she was okay, Bucky hadn't been entirely able to suppress the feeling of dread that had begun knotting in his belly. There was a lot of guilt felt on both their parts, he'd since come to realize, and as he'd admitted to Steve and Nadya both, now, he didn't see himself as innocent either, no matter that his mind hadn't been fully his own. Not when he remembered what had happened, not perfectly per se, but clearly enough to know that she hadn't had any more real choice than he'd had. Not remembering the way she'd looked up at him with wide, unreadable eyes anytime after…or the way she'd looked vaguely sick despite the impassive set to her features when her training mistress had congratulated her for completing her assignment with him no matter her protests.

Or the silent tears that had spilled over into the freezing air that night when she'd been so sure he was about to kill her, only to tell her to go.

Though, looking back? Knowing now that the way she'd always looked at him after had been borne of the same brand of self-reproach and guilt he'd felt all these years over what she believed she had done to him rather than fear and horror at what he'd done to her? Perhaps…no…there was still no escaping the guilt and remorse that ate at him over their illicit encounters and what he and his unconscious urges had put her through, unintentional—and reluctant, so far as his conscious mind was concerned, no matter how willing his subconscious had obviously been—or otherwise. No matter that she'd made it clear she believed the burden of guilt lay on her own shoulders.

It was why he also trusted the instinct that told him she was probably experiencing the same internal struggle as he was, in trying to reconcile years of guilt with the fact that the other held no grudge. That each of them felt the other was more the victim and themselves the one who should've had control enough to resist.

It was enough to severely test his hold on his fluid mind, that was for sure. It was making memories of those days, from their encounters—their escape together within a few moments of desperate passion from the cold, cruel realities of their situations—to the training matches to that brutally cold night in the garage seem all the more present in his mind. He sucked in a shaking breath, eyes squeezing shut as he forcibly reminded himself that that was the past. That they were distant memories and done with.

That he wasn't living a delusion. That he really was here, in this safehouse with Steve and Nadya and their companion, Wilson. That he was secure, safe even.

That his nightmares, while built on memories, were just that—nightmares—not reality anymore.

That his fractured mind was a little less tumultuous than it had been.

That his mind was his own again.

And slowly, his chaotic thoughts began to settle back into some semblance of order, memories falling back into place and his anxiety at being lost subsiding enough that he could think straight again.

He inhaled deeply, sharp eyes once more scanning the slowly lightening streets for anything out of the ordinary.

But Nadya's diligence and skill at hiding her tracks—and them—had more than proven effective. There wasn't even a hint, a flutter of unease to suggest they were anything but secure.

Perhaps once his Winter Soldier programming was permanently deactivated. Perhaps then, she would be able to learn to trust him.

Hell, maybe then he'd be able to trust himself, again.

Then, maybe…just maybe… Warm, compassionate hazel eyes flecked with gold and grey surfaced like the first tender rays of dawn in his thoughts.

Maybe he'd be able to prove himself worthy of the devotion Iris had proven she felt for him.

Maybe he'd be able to prove worthy of Steve's unwavering loyalty or Nadya's forgiveness. Of the absolution she seemed intent that he'd already been given.

Maybe…

He looked down to the thin, red leather-bound book clutched in his hand. The book he'd snatched up as he'd slipped away from Steve and Nadya to give himself a chance to hold his fluid mind back from the brink of sliding from his grasp. Maybe…now? Now that he held the key? Now that Nadya had handed him the key to finally freeing himself for good?

Maybe he'd actually be able to have a…a future…

Genuine hope flickered to life in his chest. Hope that he might actually, truly, be able to hold onto.

And despite himself, a small, determined smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as his fingers tightened.

Yes, there was actually a chance now.

And he would hold onto that with everything he had.

He would fight for it with everything he had.

A/N: So, for the last few chapters (pretty much since Bucky re-appeared) I've been getting questions and comments wondering if (or even outright asking for a chapter on) what Bucky was thinking through all of this. Not gonna lie? I laughed when I got the first of those and at every one after just because I'd already had this chapter written and ready to go. ;)

So I hope you all enjoyed!

And I just have to say (again, 'cause I can't say it enough) my reviewers are really the best! I was not expecting so many of you to understand why so quickly and even prefer that Nadine didn't tell Bucky about Nina last chapter! As I said in my responses to many of you, it was a hard moment to go through with even though I've known it was precisely what needed to happen. So even though I've said it already, thank you so much for being wonderful, lovelies, all of you, whether you agreed with the Nina issue or not! If I could hug you all, I totally would. C:

Thanks for reading! Don't forget to Review!

See you all next time!

Guest Reviews:

Jag: Yeah, it was a tough moment not to cave on and part of me is right there with you. But there was a reason! Some of that reason was covered this chapter, even! Lol! And yes. She is rather stubborn, isn't she? Sometimes I just want to smack her for it. Hahaha! Thanks for reviewing!

Jo: To be fair, her plan for what and how to say what she wanted to say to him (including Nina) did get a bit derailed by Bucky himself. lol! Not to mention it got a bit more intense than she was anticipating, which is bound to make anyone forget something important. And don't worry, it is coming! I've have the moment when he finds out planned in detail since I started writing this story! Thanks for reviewing!

Guest: lol! Well…more than one job, but yes that was important, to be sure. But hey! The story's not over yet! I didn't just do it for the sheer sadistic heck of it, I swear. There is method to my madness! ;) Thanks for reviewing!