A/N: Spoilers for H.P. Lovecraft's "The Colour out of Space" which can be read online here for free: .
Flowers for Algernon can be read online here for free: .
The playlist to watch Flowers for Algernon free online: playlist?list=PLPiva6H6BJbIRZYX_tGB3kkrhh0qO3LkE
If any of the links don't work let me know and I'll try to update them or remove them.
Kat shed silent tears as she flipped through the Hydra files at three am. She didn't think it was possible for such horrid things to be one to a human being and have that human being live to tell the tale, yet there they were.
Subconsciously, she reached out and took Bucky's hand if only to provide his some human comfort. He had been so isolated and alone for so long she felt it was only right.
The door softly opened and she dropped her hand, not knowing who was on the other side as they were concealed in darkness.
The figure stepped closer and she saw Steve with two cups of coffee. "After you asked Tony for the files I figured you might still be up. Coffee?"
She smiled and sipped the coffee gratefully. "This is two creams no sugar. This is exactly how I like my coffee, how did you know this?"
"I'm a psychic," he winked. "Nah, I'm just kidding. I asked Sam, he left around midnight."
She nodded distractedly, watching Bucky in sadness.
"So you finished them, huh?" Steve implored, noting the way she looked at Bucky.
"Yeah," she muttered.
"What did you think?"
"I think I'm conflicted between screaming, crying, and punching something," she admitted.
He chuckled, nodding in understanding. "After I read it I broke six punching bags."
"And I thought I cried reading Flowers for Algernon," she sighed. "How could a human being do this to another human? It's sick, it's twisted, it's downright fucked up. I knew Hydra was bad but- Jesus."
"I know," Steve muttered, staring into his coffee cup. " Flowers for Algernon ?" He questioned.
"Yeah," she nodded, then remembered the story came out in the fifties. "Shit-uh it came out in the fifties. Sorry."
He shrugged. "It's fine. I'm still making it through my list. Should I add it?"
"Yes and no," she decided. "I mean it's a total tearjerker but the story itself is wonderful. It's about this man who is in his late thirties and not really mentally developed. He has difficulty with spelling, grammar, and language in general and he takes part in this experiment that is supposed to make him smarter. Algernon is the name of the mouse they try the experiment on before him."
He nodded. "Sounds good, I'll add it to the list."
She smiled. "The movie isn't worth adding in my opinion. It's nice and all but they focus more on the relationship than the actual development of Charlie, the main character, it still made me cry but," she shrugged. "Not worth it."
He smirked. "Well, thanks for the recommendation."
She grinned. "Not a problem. Now, I was actually meaning to ask you something. Do you think you could tell me anything you know about Bucky? I mean I know the general information, but what were his favorite songs? What did he like to do?"
"Oh," Steve sighed, leaning back in his chair. "He was the stud of the town. Had girls left and right lining up at his door. It used to intimidate the hell out of me because Bucky was like this bigger brother to me and looking up to that was overwhelming, to say the least."
She giggled. "Did he have anybody special waiting for him when he came home?" She glanced over at Bucky, raising an eyebrow. He spent most of his time shirtless and quite frankly she could see why all the girls in Brooklyn were chasing after him. He was gorgeous, but she knew he had the brains and charm to keep the girls there.
"No," Steve shook his head. "All those girls and he never found the one."
Kat caught herself staring at him longer than a doctor should stare at her patient and automatically turned back to Steve. "What about personal interests? He couldn't have just loved girls, though I do know some guys like that…," she trailed off.
"He liked music. Sinatra mostly."
Kat's jaw dropped. "He likes Sinatra?!"
"Yeah," Steve raised an eyebrow. "Why?"
"I was raised on Sinatra! I fucking love him!" She exclaimed only to be met with a low groan from Bucky. "Sorry" she whispered, her cheeks pinkening. "But anyway, I loved him with Tommy Dorsey Orchestra. I literally used to hum Blue Skies around the house when I was like seven."
He chuckled. "We saw them live."
Her jaw dropped. "You're kidding."
He shook his head. "It was a fun night. I didn't really like Sinatra but Tommy Dorsey's Orchestra made up for it."
She rolled her hands and held up a hand to Steve's face. "I can't- I can't handle this right now. You didn't like the guy who's music shaped my childhood ?"
He shrugged nonchalantly. "I was more into Glenn Miller."
"Oh, you've got to be kidding me. Moonlight Serenade? Really? I mean sure it's good for a dance, maybe, but honestly?"
"You sound exactly like Bucky," he stated firmly and she grinned.
Internally, she was screaming but she remembered what Sam said about keeping her cool and tried to breathe.
Then, a thought popped into her head. "What about Tommy Dorsey with Buddy Rich? Did you guys go see them? 1942? Hawaiian War Chant?"
"Yeah, yeah, I think I remember that. Buddy Rich wasn't bad."
"You're killing me, Steve. Buddy Rich is a great fucking drummer. Like that man made me see drumming as more than just banging sticks everywhere"
"Bucky said he liked Buddy too."
"Thank God, I'm not in a room with two idiots and instead just one."
He laughed. "Gee, thanks."
She giggled. "Was there anything else? Books or movies maybe?"
"Yeah, he mentioned one guy uh-Lovelock?"
"Lovecraft," she corrected. "Though James Lovelock is a real man and a brilliant scientist, I feel like Lovecraft would be more likely."
"That does sound more familiar," Steve admitted.
"I only own one story from H.P. Lovecraft. Colour out of Space. Most of his stories give me the creeps," she shivered. She didn't mention Lovecraft was blatantly sexist and racist at times making her furious with the story itself.
"How do you know all of this?" Steve wondered.
She smiled sheepishly, dissolving into her seat in a bit of embarrassment. "I'm a bit of a history fanatic, and beyond that, I just like learning about the world. My mom used to call me this big sponge just absorbing everything around me." She glanced down at her coffee cup sadly.
"I take it that's past tense," Steve presumed by the way her body slumped at the mention of her mother.
She nodded numbly. "Car crash made me an orphan." She took a deep breath. "It's alright though because I got to spend so much time with them. I used to be sad all the time wanting more and more time with them, but thinking on it now I got more time than most people could even wish for. So, while it sucks, I'm grateful. I grew up with them. Not a lot of people can say that about their parents."
He smiled. "That's really nice of you."
She smirked. "Yeah, I like to think so."
Bucky began to mumble something in Russian in his sleep and she darted over to his side. She felt his forehead to make sure he wasn't burning up in his sleep before slowly comforting him. She spoke to him in Russian, slowly lulling him to sleep again.
"Why did you do it?" Steve wondered.
"Do what?" She chuckled. "Speak in Russian? He just seemed more comfortable with-"
"No, I mean why did you become a doctor? Were your parent's doctors?"
"My mom was a surgeon and my dad was a scientist, but they're not why I did it. I guess I wanted to feel like I was bringing some good to the world. Life kinda chews you up and spits you out and leaves you with all this leftover damage. I helped myself heal from it, I feel like I should help other people who might not be able to do the same."
"I like you, Kat Hastings."
"I'd say I like you too but within the span of an hour you insulted two musicians I hold very near and dear to my heart," she replied coolly as she sipped her coffee.
"Oh, he chuckled. "Is that how it's going to be?"
She laughed.
"Well, kid, I have some choice words for-," he began.
"Shut up," Bucky mumbled.
Kat nodded to the door and her and Steve headed out, closing the door softly behind him.
"I feel kind of bad," Kat confessed. "This is probably the first restful sleep he's had in awhile and there we were talking noisily through it." She sighed. "Tell you what? Can you hand me a list of all the musicians, and movies and whatever you remember Bucky liked sometime after breakfast? I'm gonna head to bed."
Steve nodded but seemed confused. "You just had a cup of coffee."
"Psh, that's nothing. I've had coffee for so long, one cup will barely make me feel a buzz."
He chuckled. "Okay then. Night."
"Night."
She headed back inside and yawned, rubbing her eyes with her fist, much like a child before taking off her sweater and Converses. She grabbed her duffle bag and headed into the bathroom to change into some pajamas.
She debated whether or not she should keep her father's dog tags on. Usually, she hardly ever took them off but considering who she was sleeping next to it would probably be best if she didn't give him an easier way to choke her.
She sighed as she took them off and kissed them before heading back into the bedroom where Bucky was seemingly asleep. She giggled as his sleeping frame. That is so fake. She used to fake sleep all the time at family reunions as a kid so nobody talked to her, she knew fake sleep and Bucky was most likely watching her.
She rolled her eyes. The action was so middle school boy and yet she found herself smiling as she crawled into the cot the Avengers had laid out for her.
"Good night, Bucky," she muttered and she heard him shifting around in surprise for a few moments before eventually relaxing.
"Good night."
The next morning she awoke to find Bucky by her cot fingering her dad's dog tags.
For a moment, she worried that she would be in serious trouble for not putting his restraints on before he went to bed but she quickly dismissed the matter. He hadn't caused any trouble so it shouldn't be a problem.
When he noticed she was awake and watching him, he quickly put the dog tags back where he found them like a kid caught with his candy in the cookie jar.
"No, it's okay. You can look at them. It's not like they're mine," she shrugged and he slowly picked up the tags once more, staring at her the whole time as if she were going to yell at him and smack his hand for doing something she said he could do.
"I used to have these," he muttered. "They took them. I don't know why."
She watched the way he held the dog tags, clutching them so tightly she worried they may cut his hand open. His other hand, the one that wasn't holding the dog tags, was shaking violently.
"You can keep them," she offered and his head whipped to meet her eyes in surprise. It seemed he couldn't quite comprehend the kindness she was showing him. "They're my dad's but, he'd want you to have them." She nodded to him and he showed a ghost of a smile.
"Thank you."
"No problem." She sighed as she got up from the bed and Bucky automatically averted his eyes when he saw her short pajama shorts. She chuckled. Forties guys. "I'm gonna go take a shower then get some breakfast." She thought about the other night when he seemed annoyed with having to make a decision for food.
It was possible that instead of giving him the newly found right to decide, she should take this in baby steps.
"Would you like eggs or pancakes?" She said and he looked up at her in surprise again.
"Uh, um I don't really remember pancakes."
She smiled. "Perfect. I can make the Hastings special. Be back in a jiffy."
She went to take a shower and when she got out, she headed to the kitchen and saw Steve and Sam already awake. Steve was making something that she could already smell burning and Sam appeared as though he'd rather be eating anything else.
She chuckled and hopped over towards them.
"Hello, boys," she said as she pulled out two plates.
"Hey, how is he?" Steve asked. She sighed and knew she had to be completely honest with Steve. After all, if it was her in his shoes she would've wanted to hear the same, no matter how bad it was.
"It's on and off. This morning he was kind of shaky and I'm worried he was awake early because he had a nightmare but other than that not terrible."
Steve nodded and she pulled out all the ingredients for Hastings special pancakes.
Just like dad used to make every Sunday.
Given it was a little bit more difficult because she didn't have the chance to prepare the batter the night before, but she would make do.
"Hold on," Sam froze. "Are you making the Hastings special?"
"Yep," she announced as she swung around and grabbed the cinnamon.
"Just a dash of cinnamon, Kathy. More and your mother will toss the pancakes in the trash before you can even ask her if she liked it," Kat's father whispered in the eleven-year old's ear.
"Untrue!" Her mother protested. "You better watch out for your father, Kathy. He's a liar, and you know what we say about liars."
"They deserve to go down the crap toilet!" She exclaimed proudly with her mother.
"Hey! I didn't say a word!" He protested.
"He's a two-time liar!" Kathy announced.
Her mother placed her hands on her hips. "Oh, those get the toilet with barf in it."
"Ew!" The little girl giggled as her father groaned.
"Can I have some pancakes?" Sam asked desperately.
She grinned. "It depends. Did you get the stuff I asked for?"
He held up a green duffle bag. "It's all right here. And quite frankly you own way too many crop tops and tights."
She snatched the bag out of his hands and rolled her eyes. "Show me where I asked for your opinion. Did you let Rufus out and feed him?"
He nodded. "Oh and your grandma called. She says that she met another guy at the nursing home and she swears this time he's the love of her life. Dr. Cartel called again, she said you haven't been coming to your sessions."
"I asked you to let my dog out and grab my stuff not go through my personal calls. Though I don't really mind about Mama, she gets a new boyfriend at the nursing home every other week."
"Good, cause Dr. Cartel called me."
"You have a doctor?" Steve frowned.
"Yeah," she sighed, raking her fingers through her still wet hair. "It's a long story and he made me get her," she jabbed her finger at Sam who raised his hands in defense.
"Don't blame me! You needed her!" He insisted.
She rolled her eyes. "Tell her I'll see her this Saturday if it means you both stop bugging the living daylights out of me."
He chuckled. "Deal."
She pushed a pancake onto his plate beside the burnt toast. "Remember not too much syrup or else it tastes funny."
"I've been coming to your house for pancakes since I was ten. I remember."
She smirked.
"Hey, can I have some?" Steve asked.
She grinned. "I thought you might say that." She pushed a pancake onto his plate. "Don't put too much syrup or it'll be too sweet and you'll lose half the flavor. I also made enough for the rest of the team in case Steve's wonderful cooking doesn't woo them. Be a dear and tell the others for me. I'm gonna make some coffee and bring it to Bucky."
She did exactly that and struggled immensely opening the door with two plates, two coffee mugs and cream and sugar.
She stood back and huffed at the door, working out how she could approach it. She bit her lip and tapped her foot when she had a lightbulb moment.
She was a waitress one summer when she was sixteen before she got fired for dropping food on customers all the time. She could handle this.
She really hoped she didn't spill the food on Bucky.
Kat took a deep breath and readjusted everything before heading inside.
Bucky watched her with wide eyes as she placed his plate and black coffee in front of him and placed her plate and coffee beside her bed.
She handed him the cream and sugar and sighed. "Don't put too much syrup on it."
"Thank you." He said awkwardly, staring down at the pancakes as if it were the greatest gift anyone had ever given him.
Kat grinned. "No problem."
She started eating, and he stared at her in surprise.
"What?" She asked.
"Why are you eating with me?"
"Do you want me to go eat with the others? Because I will if you feel uncomfortable," she offered.
He looked down at the dog tags. "Yes," he whispered.
She smiled and hopped up before quickly sitting down. "Oh, I should not have done that," she moaned, holding her tummy.
Bucky glanced over at her and couldn't help but smile slightly at her face. She looked like an upset young child. It was adorable.
"Give me a minute. Note to self, never stand up quickly while swallowing," she sighed before getting up slowly. "Okay, I'll be back later for our session. If you don't want to talk my friend brought over Colour out of Space by H.P. Lovecraft and we can read it if you'd like."
He nodded and she walked out without another word.
She heard the laughter echoing from the kitchen down the hall and smiled as she walked over to the Avengers.
"What's so funny?" She asked.
"Did you hear about Sam getting attacked by a guy the size of a tic tac here?" A red-haired woman she presumed was the famed Natasha Romanov or Black Widow asked.
"Oh, yeah," she giggled. "And the tic tac won."
There was another burst of laughter and she grinned.
"What are you doing here? Weren't you supposed to be with Bucky?" Steve grew concerned and it showed on his face. Like that overprotective parent who worries every time they don't know where you are for five seconds.
"Relax, he's okay. It's no big deal."
"Then why aren't you with him?"
She rolled her eyes and smiled at the Avengers. "Is he always like this?"
"Almost always," Natasha nodded. "We have to remind ourselves that he's the grandpa here."
She giggled and turned back to Steve. "I don't know how much he wants me to tell you, but he's not exactly comfortable with eating around some girl he hardly knows which is perfectly understandable. I'm going back in when I'm done eating."
He nodded before taking a deep breath and resuming eating.
"It was then that I heard the story, and as the rambling voice scraped and whispered on I shivered again and again despite the summer day. Often I had to recall the speaker from ramblings, piece out scientific points which he knew only by a fading parrot memory of professors' talk, or bridge over gaps where his sense of logic and continuity broke down. When he was done I did not wonder that his mind had snapped a trifle, or that the folk of Arkham would not speak much of the blasted heath. I hurried back before sunset to my hotel, unwilling to have the stars come out above me in the open; and the next day returned to Boston to give up my position. I could not go into that dim chaos of old forest and slope again, or face another time that grey blasted heath where the black well yawned deep beside the tumbled bricks and stones. The reservoir will soon be built now, and all those elder secrets will be safe forever under watery fathoms. But even then I do not believe I would like to visit that country by night—at least, not when the sinister stars are out; and nothing could bribe me to drink the new city water of Arkham," Kat read.
"It all began with the meteorite," Bucky whispered.
Kat looked at him momentarily before offering him the book. "Do you wanna read it?"
He shook his head. "No, I like hearing you read it. You have a nice voice."
"Well, this is the first time you've heard me speaking for a while," she giggled. "Are you sure you don't want to read?"
"No."
"Okay," she sighed. "Where did I leave off?"
"Ammi had just told him the story."
"Oh!" She watched him cautiously. "Do you remember how it ends?"
"The family dies," he said coldly.
"Is that all you remember?" She implored.
"That's where I stopped reading."
"Why? Just because the family died?"
He nodded. "It didn't seem like a fair ending, so I stopped reading. I knew it was going to happen all along so I didn't see a point."
"Ah, Bucky Barnes just like you I don't believe this story has a sad ending," she flipped to the end of the story and Bucky just simply sat there and stared at her.
Clearly, she did not know anything about him if she thought he had a chance at a happy ending.
"It was just a colour out of space—a frightful messenger from unformed realms of infinity beyond all Nature as we know it; from realms whose mere existence stuns the brain and numbs us with the black extra-cosmic gulfs, it throws open before our frenzied eyes.
I doubt very much if Ammi consciously lied to me, and I do not think his tale was all a freak of madness as the townfolk had forewarned. Something terrible came to the hills and valleys on that meteor, and something terrible—though I know not in what proportion—still remains. I shall be glad to see the water come. Meanwhile I hope nothing will happen to Ammi. He saw so much of the thing—and its influence was so insidious. Why has he never been able to move away? How clearly he recalled those dying words of Nahum's—"can't git away . . . draws ye . . . ye know summ'at's comin', but 'tain't no use. . . ." Ammi is such a good old man—when the reservoir gang gets to work I must write the chief engineer to keep a sharp watch on him. I would hate to think of him as the grey, twisted, brittle monstrosity which persists more and more in troubling my sleep."
"That wasn't much better," Bucky grumbled.
"No, but it didn't end in death."
"Every story ends in death."
"No, no I can't agree with that. If that was the case then there would be a lot less hope in the world than there is."
"Hope? Hope is just a fantasy for people who refuse to see how much life can take," Bucky spat. He was angry. Really angry. He had no hope. If hope was real he would have been rescued from that Hydra base ages ago and had been able to live a nice quiet life. Instead, he had been forced to endure a living nightmare.
"No, Bucky, hope is for people who refuse to believe that this is all there is. That it's not just death and destruction. I think every story ends in another story. We're all just stories, in the end, being told to grandchildren or friends kids or to the world. We live through stories, just like Nahum and his family are still alive through this story. They're alive in our memories and imaginations."
Bucky eyed her cautiously. "Why are you doing this?"
"Doing what?"
"Treating me like a person. I'm a thing. I've done things that would keep you up at night in fear of me."
"I've read what happened, Bucky. All of it."
His eyes widened and he looked at her in shock. "Then why are you being nice to me? I don't deserve kindness."
"Again I'm gonna have to disagree with you. I think after all this time you of all people deserve all the kindness I can give you."
"Why?" He asked again. After he had done all of that why should he be treated with kindness?
"Because it's what good people do."
He smiled slightly at that before he grew angry and distant again.
"How about I pull out a new book? Flowers for Algernon?" She offered. "It's one of my favorites."
He stared at her as if he couldn't quite understand her. Like she was a puzzle that he was visually trying to put together and not quite getting it "What's it about?"
"It's about this guy named Charlie Gordon. Charlie is a 32-year-old developmentally disabled man who has the opportunity to undergo a surgical procedure that will dramatically increase his mental capabilities," she read the summary.
He thought for a while before sighing deeply and nodding. "Okay."
