The first thing he felt was the cool breeze of a fan. It felt good on his sticky, sweaty skin. Then the sound of the fan whirring—that smooth, steady, quiet noise—reached him and together, the sensations created a pleasant in-between state where he hovered between sleeping and waking. His sweaty skin and the sound and feel of the fan made him remember boiling hot summer afternoons lying on his bed in his apartment in Brooklyn, window open, white curtains blowing in the weak summer breeze, trying to fall asleep. There was a time in summer, right after lunch and before evening that the entire city seemed to fall asleep and Bucky loved those times more than anything because it was the only time he had a good excuse for being alone. Otherwise people—friends from school, girls interested in him—were constantly calling on him, inviting him to parties and events. And then there was Steve; Steve never needled Bucky to go anywhere with him but Bucky knew he'd follow Steve wherever he went. Thankfully, even Steve took naps during these hottest hours. Bucky didn't know if he could stand dragging Steve away from fights when he felt like he was a piece of fudge melting into the sidewalk.
And so Bucky drifted in this twilight state, knowing he wasn't Bucky Barnes in the 1930s anymore—but still hoping that if he opened his eyes, he'd be laying on his own narrow bed and staring out a window with white eyelet curtains that his mother forced him to put up. He hoped this had all been one bad, horrible, very realistic dream. That Steve had never become Captain America. That neither of them had gone to war. That they would both get to grow up in the century they were meant to.
But there would be one bad thing about being back in the 1930s… There would be no—
"Soldier, are you awake?" The whisper came from right beside Bucky, soft as dandelion seeds being blown away on the wind and he shifted and groaned. "You need to wake up," the voice whispered.
"Go away," he mumbled, trying to shift so that his back was to the voice.
"I know you want to sleep," the voice said, "but you need to drink something."
His eyes slowly opened and he blinked a few times, rubbing them. It had been so long since he'd had a dreamless sleep, he actually felt somewhat well-rested despite having a pounding headache and his mouth feeling as dry as the Sahara.
He turned his head to the left to see Ari kneeling right next to him. She was holding a large bottle filled with bright yellow liquid. "Sit up," she said.
He slowly sat up and she handed him the bottle along with a pill. "Drain it," she ordered. He was in no mood to argue so he obliged, knocking the pill back with the entire bottle. When he was done, he wiped his mouth with his arm and she took the bottle from him. "Let me check your face," she said. Without waiting for him to reply, she had checked his eyes, pulling his lower lids down to examine his conjunctiva and had pulled his mouth open with one finger, shining a penlight into his mouth. "Okay," she said. "Go back to sleep. You're exhausted."
"You're not mad at me?" he asked sleepily.
"We'll discuss that later," she said briskly. She got up and walked away and he fell asleep again, falling back down against the pillow.
When he woke up this time, he felt less groggy. He sat up so quickly that his vision went dark for a moment and his head spun and he put his head in his hands and breathed deeply until it passed. This was odd—normally his body was immune to such things. He must have been sicker than he thought. When he was fine, he blinked and looked up, rubbing at his eyes and face. His body felt stiff and sore and his mouth and eyes felt scratchy and dry—but otherwise, he felt fine. He was laying in a queen-sized white bed in a room with pale lavender walls and different vintage, antique mirrors hanging everywhere. Ari's room at her apartment. He swung his legs out of bed and stood up, steadying himself by hitting the wall, and almost knocking into her nightstand, catching her lamp just in time. He felt an overwhelming sense of déjà vu when he thought about the first time he had ever woken up in Ari's old house. It had gone similarly to this as well: he had woken up ill and gotten clumsily out of bed and smashed…what had it been? A porcelain swan?
Before he had a chance to remember, someone knocked at the door and then it swung open to reveal Ari. More déjà vu—she had done the same thing the first time he had woken up in her house. However, there were differences—her expression had been bright then and she didn't look very pleased right now. "Good, you're awake," she said, walking over to him and examining his face. "I thought I heard something…"
"I fell into the wall," he said sheepishly.
"I gathered," she said. "Get washed up and come out. I have food." She shut the door behind her on the way out and unease pricked softly at Bucky. Had her words been shorter than they usually were? Had her eyes been a colder blue than their normal color? He could normally read Ari very well but either his radar was off or she was doing a very good job of hiding something, because he couldn't tell.
He washed up in the bathroom, washing away dried sweat and noticed some clean, freshly-laundered clothes folded on the toilet seat lid. He threw them on, kicking his dirty clothes from the mission in the corner. They still had dark, brown-colored bloodstains on them, hard to see against the black cloth. He was wearing a loose white t-shirt now and gray sweatpants with a black strip running down each leg. He braced his hands against the bathroom sink and leaned forward, looking at himself. He didn't consider himself vain but somehow he always ended up staring at his own reflection, searching for something.
Upon entering the main area of the apartment, he noticed that the coffee table in the small living room was littered with empty water and Gatorade bottles, a bottle of Tylenol, and a pink plastic basin which sat on the ground. Bucky's stomach lurched slightly. Had he vomited? He sincerely hoped not; how embarrassing…
Ari clicked her tongue and he turned to see her putting down a large bowl of soup and a plate with a some bagels smeared with butter on them. "Sorry," she said apologetically, as he sat down. "I didn't have any fancy bread, so bagels will have to do, I guess."
"It's fine," Bucky said, not really caring what kind of bread he ate—all he cared about was getting some carbs and energy into his body. His stomach was aching with hunger. He tore into the food while Ari slowly eat, seemingly to almost move in slow motion. Her movements were precise, slow, and unwaveringly delicate. It was like she was forcing herself to eat. In between frantic spoonfuls of soup (and trying his hardest not to slurp like a savage), he noticed the taut veins in her hand, the tight set of her shoulders.
She was angry.
Bucky wasn't one for tact but he was trying to make more of an effort to act normal now, so he decided to start gently. "Are you angry?" he asked pleasantly.
"No," she said shortly.
Well then. He stared down at his soup and the noodles seemed to float together to form the word HYDRA. He gritted his teeth and then snapped, "Yes, you are. Don't lie to me. Why are you angry? Is this still about McGuire?"
She was silent, merely stared at him while slowly twirling her spoon with her fingers, flipping it lazily round and around her fingers. Her mouth seemed tightly sealed shut and her eyebrows were straight, frowning.
"Dammit, Ari," he said, rubbing his forehead to try and get rid of the throbbing. "You need to seriously stop being so—"
"This isn't about McGuire!" Ari's fist came crashing down onto the table, making soup slop out of both of their bowls and Bucky started in alarm, not expecting this kind of reaction. "This is about you and what you are doing to yourself!" The dam had broken and her fury couldn't be contained now. She stood up and kicked her chair aside, striding behind the island counter and slamming her hands flat on it. She leaned forward and glared at him. "Do you think I give a damn about McGuire?! In the long run? Do you, Soldier? Because guess what, maybe you think I'm some sort of soft-hearted incompetent weakling moron—"
"I don't think that," Bucky said hotly, immaturely shoving his bowl aside so hard it completely overturned, spilling soup everywhere. No one noticed or cared. His hands ached to lash out, to destroy something, hurt someone, do anything to make this frustration go away. He remembered once destroying a small tree because of a similar type of frustration and nearly snorted with inappropriately-timed laughter when he remembered Ari's advice: journaling. Yeah, because Bucky Barnes could really just sit down and pour his heart out into a journal and everything would be okay…
"Why are you ruining everything?" he found himself meanly saying. "Everything sucks—and you're one of the only people who makes it all okay, and now you're ragging on me too, as if it isn't enough that every damn person at SHIELD still thinks I'm some sort of psychotic killer who's going to turn on them one day—"
Which you might, Winter Soldier, his mind whispered. Watch your step.
"I'm not ruining anything!" Ari shouted angrily. "I'm not ragging on you! You're ruining everything by ruining yourself! I don't give a crap about McGuire but I sure as hell give a crap about you, and I worry when you go around thinking killing is the answer to everything! It's not, and it's not going to give you any peace! And I worry that you don't apparently drink or eat or take care of yourself, because you had an extreme case of dehydration and heatstroke and I'm guessing it takes a lot of neglect to bring a super soldier down, right?" Bucky opened his mouth confusedly to respond but he had nothing to say and Ari barreled right on. "And I saw the look on your face when I mentioned nightmares! I thought they were just normal but what, are they something more? Something serious? And you didn't tell me? Why? What is wrong with you? Why are you—"
And Bucky was horrified to see her eyes were glittering with tears now and her voice was starting to shake.
"—trying so hard to kill yourself when you just escaped from HYDRA doing it for you?" she finished, her hands frantically tapping out nonsensical rhythms onto the countertop as they trembled slightly.
She really was panicked. He could see that now and it shocked him. He'd assumed she was purely angry because he'd killed McGuire and she, being Ari Madden, had tried to see the good in McGuire and wanted to bring him in—but he was wrong. She didn't care about that, or if she did, it was only a small percentage of her anger. She was worried about him and apparently she now thought that he wasn't confiding in her because he thought she was a weakling.
Before he could go around the counter to her to comfort her or say something to reassure her, someone hammered on Ari's door, making them both jump a foot in the air, and shouted, "Will you two shut the hell up! Some of us are trying to live life without hearing your lovers tiff!"
Bucky and Ari looked at each other, a little unsure on how to proceed now that the momentum of their spat had been lost, but before they could move, the person banged on the door again and they both jumped again. "I'm still here!" they yelled through the door. "I'm serious! I'm trying to sleep before my night shift and if I hear any more garbage coming through to me—I swear to God—like it's not enough that those damned Greeks won't stop singing at the top of their lungs below me—"
Ari's lips, which had been firmly pressed tight before this, began to tremble and her knuckles whitened as her grip tightened on the counter. She looked like she was either going to start laughing, or start crying again.
"—I swear, I will SIC MY CAT on the next people who disturb my sleep!" The person's voice had risen to a furious scream and Bucky couldn't help himself: he let out a snort of laughter. And then Ari's trembling mouth cracked and suddenly they were both laughing, Ari bent over the counter with helpless giggles and Bucky collapsing back in his chair and covering his eyes while shaking with silent laughter.
After a few moments of paroxysmal laughter, Bucky finally shook his head and whispered, "Are they gone?" His throat felt rough and scratchy from the heatstroke, from raising his voice, and now from his laughing fit.
Ari tip-toed to the door and opened it a crack, peering out. She shut it and then slid down the door, collapsing on the floor, wiping her eyes and chuckling. "Yeah…they're gone…"
Bucky walked over and sat down next to hear, leaning against the door. They sat in silence for a moment and then he said, "I don't think you're weak. I'll never think you're weak. You're the strongest person I know."
"Thanks," Ari said quietly. "Sorry for…you know…losing my cool. That's not like me."
"No, it's not," he said, "which is how I know I must have seriously freaked you out. So…I'm sorry again. I didn't realize I was shutting you out. Guess I'm still used to dealing with stuff on my own. You're right, I need to…try to find another way…without killing as much, at least…"
"It's just for your own good," she said. "Because if there's one thing killing does, it chips away at your sanity."
Hearing her word it that way—so personally—Bucky was suddenly hit with a thought: was Ari speaking from experience? She'd killed a few people since she joined SHIELD. He knew killing was hard for her, but maybe it was harder than he'd realized…?
Before he could ask if she was okay, she said, "And the nightmares?"
"Oh." He paused. He knew he had just apologized for shutting her out—but the nightmares still felt too raw to talk about right now. Plus, now that he was considering that Ari's own sanity might be hurting, he didn't want to burden her anymore. So he chose to lie. He didn't like it and he knew it would come back to hurt him, but he couldn't stop himself. "It's nothing," he said quickly.
Ari threw him a look, blue eyes narrowed. Her expression was very clear.
"I'm serious," he said. "I am having nightmares, but no more or worse than I did at your home or…at any point, really."
Lies. So many lies. The nightmares were awful, more poisonous than anything he had ever experienced. Just thinking about them was making him sweat at the thought of closing his eyes and succumbing to them.
But Ari didn't need to know that.
"You sure?" she prompted softly.
"I'm sure," he said. She gave him a sideways glance that clearly said she didn't quite believing it, but mercifully, she let it go for now.
"And you'll take care of yourself from now on?" she suddenly asked sternly, sounding a bit like a mother. "Because if you don't, I'll be forced to take care of you all the time and you probably won't like me hovering around twenty-four seven."
I don't think I'd really…
Bucky shook the dangerous thought out his mind and said, "I'll take better care of myself. Happy, nurse?"
"Satisfied, not happy," she corrected. "I'll be happy when I see you're actually taking care of yourself. Until then, I'll be on your case."
"And what about you?" he accused. "You fine with what I did to McGuire?"
Ari hesitated, staring straight ahead of her. She looked like she was struggling with her words. Finally she said, "Yeah…I'm fine."
Bucky raised an eyebrow and gave her the same look she'd given him earlier when he said his nightmares weren't bad. "You're sure?"
She raised an eyebrow back at him and said, in a slightly challenging, chipper tone, "Yep. Perfectly fine." Her expression was even clearer this time: We're both hiding things and we both know we're hiding things—but hey, fair is fair. You don't tell the truth and neither will I, then.
Bucky could live with that for now.
He got to his feet suddenly, ignoring the head rush that made the floor beneath him seem to wobble slightly, and hauled Ari to her feet as well. "So what now?" he asked.
Ari folded her arms and glared at the table where he'd made a mess of the food. "Now I clean that up and make more food. You need to eat. So do I, in fact. I'm starving."
"Should I go home after?" he asked.
"Forget it," she said. "It's late. You can go home tomorrow. Hey, Steve stopped by earlier," she said as she began to clear up the table. Bucky grabbed a paper towel and helped. "He wanted to see how you were doing but you were so out of it that there was no point. He went home, but not before letting me know that we're being called into 24 Pryde tomorrow. No excuses. They gave us a full 48 hours but that's all we get, apparently."
"That's fine," Bucky said. "That's more than enough." He cracked his knuckles and said, "I can't wait to get my hands around Bauer's throat."
Ari looked alarmed. "What? Why?"
"Because she's the moron who sent us in blind," Bucky growled. "She didn't ask for any proof of the story the double agent sold her and she nearly got all of us killed—for nothing!"
"That doesn't mean you can kill her, Soldier." Ari rolled her eyes and turned the stove back on to re-heat some soup. "Like I said: you can't just kill your way through life."
"I wasn't going to kill her," Bucky protested. "Just put my hands around her neck and squeeze a little—"
"No." Ari set the food back down on the table and then said, "Wanna watch a movie? If you're feeling up to it, I mean. We haven't watched one in ages. And no," she said, seeing him open his mouth, "we are not watching Game of Thrones. You're ahead of me. I don't want spoilers."
"You're so slow," he grumbled. "In real life and TV. Hurry the hell up and catch up because I need to discuss this with someone."
"Talk about with Natasha, I'm pretty sure she watches it for tips on how to kill men," Ari said, dropping to her knees and rifling through her DVDs. "Hmmm…what's new…what is new…new, new…new, new new…"
"Hey, Ari?" Bucky said.
"Yeah?" she called back absentmindedly. "New…nope, this isn't good…new…"
"Shut up."
"Sorry. Aha!" she cried, holding up a DVD in victory. "Not new but it's something everyone should see! Jurassic Park! Have you seen it?" Bucky shook his head and Ari made a gleeful noise. "Dinosaurs! Eating people! Come on, bring your food over here, let's watch!" She vigorously patted the sofa next to her and Bucky couldn't help but smile at her enthusiasm as he vaulted himself over the couch, landing next to her. His head and body still ached but he was going to try and relax and enjoy himself a little bit, because if what Ari said was true—that they were being called in tomorrow—he had a feeling that he wasn't going to get any peace and quiet for a while. After a year of near-misses and random missions, now it seemed like strange things were picking up speed again: Steve's cryptic warning, his latest encounter with HYDRA…
He needed to be ready for what came next.
A/N: Shorter, slightly fluffy chapter! Sorry for the delay, I got caught up in school and then when break started, I sort of had a moment of…writer's block when it came to this story. I struggled in what direction I wanted to take it in (which is why this chapter is so short). But I think I've got it now, so the interesting things should be happening in the next chapter (which will definitely be up sooner this time). Also…I've been working on a short story about Steve Rogers. Definitely not as long as a proper story but it'll have a few chapters. I'm going to finish the whole thing so I can post the chapters in a timely fashion, so be on the lookout for that, if you'd enjoy that sort of thing.
