Natasha looked up at Bucky. "Back… to the States? Because, that's cool. I can get you set up in London, or, somewhere in the British countryside. Or Australia or New Zealand if you want to be totally out of the way."
"No," Bucky said, holding Natasha's gaze. "Into the world. Anywhere. I… I can't."
Natasha took Bucky's hand out of the water and put the pot on the floor. She grabbed a towel and gently dried his hand. "Because you can't have the Winter Soldier come back."
Bucky nodded slowly. "The book… the - if anyone does it again… coming back hurts so much, and every time I go under I hurt someone, and I remember everything."
Natasha draped the towel over her lap and pulled out her nail cutters. "We'll find a safe house for you. Somewhere nicer than this. Somewhere quiet, and peaceful."
"No. I - I can't be out there. At all. That's what I'm trying to say."
"I know what you're saying," Natasha said, neatening his nails, "I'm just choosing to ignore it."
"You don't understand," Bucky mumbled, leaning back into the couch.
Natasha put the nail clippers down and tugged on his arm, forcing him to look at her, "No," she said, "I'm the one person who completely understands."
Bucky closed his eyes and leant his head back. Natasha grabbed her nail file.
"I just… All the ghosts," Bucky said, staring at the ceiling, half wishing it would fall in and bury them, half wishing they would never have to leave this place, that he could stay here, safe with Steve and Natasha forever. "In my head, all the time. Everyone I hurt. Everyone I killed. And every time I think I can control my dreams, to stop the nightmares, I start falling off that damned train again."
Natasha carefully filed his nails, concentrating on his fingers. This hand had held the guns which had shot her. Twice. Once in the stomach, once in the shoulder. It had held so many guns, and hurt so many people. This hand that was bruised and scarred and grazed. She put the file down and pulled out a miniature bottle of hand cream, also permanently borrowed from a hotel, and squeezed the serum onto the back of Bucky's hand. She rubbed it in a slow, circular motion, then continued up his fingers.
"Trust me, it does get better."
"Not for me," Bucky said, "I can't… I can't sleep. Even last night, I couldn't sleep."
"I know," Natasha said, "But you did fall asleep eventually. When I was on the phone to Hill."
"Yeah," Bucky said, "And then the voices started screaming and I made them stop but I started falling."
"Well, after we rescue the others, the plan is to go to Wakanda. As Sam would say, they know their shit. I don't know what solutions they'll have, but there might be something."
"I just don't want anyone to get hurt," Bucky stressed, but omitted the final words of the sentence, including me.
"I know."
"But I keep doing it."
"Not true."
"I'm the reason Steve's friends are all in prison."
"I know it seems impossible right now, but they don't blame you. I know them. And I know that they'd do it all again to save you."
"But I don't understand why."
"Because," Natasha said, "We all need to believe we're worth saving."
...
Steve woke up a couple of hours later, and did fifteen minutes of yoga to stretch out his stiff body and to try and get his mind in the game before going out into the other room for lunch. Bucky was back sitting at the kitchen table, and Natasha was cooking, both almost exactly where he left them some hours ago.
"What's for lunch?" Steve asked.
"I'd call it paella, but that's probably cultural appropriation, since this is nothing like paella."
"Ok. What is it then?" Steve asked.
"Uncle Ben's instant rice with tinned tuna, canned spring vegetables, and a sachet of taco spice."
"Ok…" Steve said. "Bit weird, but ok."
"It'll be great," Natasha said. "I didn't bring any refried beans. Now, they would make this meal good."
"What are refried beans?" Bucky whispered to Steve.
"They come in a can," Steve said, "And taste excellent. Though honestly, I have no idea what they are. You have them in tacos. You'll have to try it one day."
"One day," Bucky said as Natasha dished up the lunch.
Once they were finished the meal, the dishes were cleaned up, and Bucky settled back on the couch, Natasha grabbed her coat and beanie. "I'm going out for a bit. Get us some supplies, check the car, check the local conditions. Make sure we can get out of here in the morning. If I'm more than an hour, call Hill," she said, chucking the mobile phone to Steve. "But don't leave the flat."
"You want me to come with you?" Steve offered.
"Nope," Natasha said, pulling on her gloves, "Stay here with Bucky."
"Nat…"
"Steve, we're in Siberia. This is my terrain. I'll be fine. Don't do anything dumb while I'm out."
"There's nothing to do," Steve said.
Natasha winked, and disappeared out the door.
"She's weird," Steve said, sitting down in the armchair.
"She's good," Bucky said, setting the phone on the arm rest. "Have a nice grandpa nap?"
"Ha. Yeah, actually. You have a - nice chat with Natasha?"
"Yeah," Bucky said, "She washed my hair and cut my nails."
"Natasha... washed your hair?"
"Yes."
"And did your nails?"
"My hand smells like flowers."
"And you're ok with that?" Steve asked.
Bucky shrugged his right shoulder. "Whenever they prepped me… there were never any girls. So it's... Yeah, it's ok."
"Right," Steve said, folding his legs.
"Steve?"
"Yeah?"
"I - I gotta tell you something. I've already spoken to Nat. She said I gotta be the one to tell you. And you're probably not going to like it."
"What?" Steve asked, suddenly feeling ill.
"This is my decision. So…"
After forty-five minutes of dealing with nosy locals, and trudging through the snow, Natasha returned to the flat with two bags of goods. She didn't need to ask if Bucky had told Steve what he had told her, one look at Steve's face told her everything she needed to know. He looked exhausted. Drained.
"I've got supplies," she said, setting the bags down on the table and emptying the first. "A pint of milk, four eggs, the newspaper - "
"The newspaper?"
"Don't interrupt, Steve. It has a crossword."
"In Russian?"
"They're not big on other languages out here," Natasha said. "Plus it has the weather forecast. Cheer up, Cap, because in this bag," she said, opening the second bag. "I got you a prize." Natasha pulled out a brown leather jacket and tossed it to Steve.
"Oh, Nat, this is perfect!" Steve said, instantly brightening.
"Can't have you going on a rescue mission in your thermals and a hoodie. Don't worry Barnes, I've got you covered too," Natasha said, grabbing a round sweet out of the first bag and throwing it to Bucky. It landed on the couch beside him.
"Soya bar!" Bucky grinned, using his teeth to peel off the wrapper.
"It's probably best before 1980, but hey, around here, what isn't? Ok, hot chocolates coming up. It's freezing out there and we've got a big day tomorrow, so we need all the calories we can get."
"You really think of everything, don't you Nat?" Steve said, as Natasha took two sachets of hot chocolate mix out of the food rations bag.
Natasha smirked, "It's my job."
...
That evening they went to bed early, Bucky bundled up on the couch, Steve and Natasha in the small bed, both in their thermals, and Nat still in her beanie.
"I don't know whether to thank-you or what," Steve said, trying to get comfortable.
"For what?" Natasha asked.
"This. Everything. I don't know."
"Get some sleep, Cap. Tell me when you do know."
Steve rolled onto his side. Natasha looked at the back of his head.
"What if the rescue doesn't work," Steve said.
"It will."
"It's unlikely."
"You really want me to start on things that are unlikely?"
Steve rolled back onto his back and looked at Natasha.
"I am sleeping beside Captain America in a tiny safe house in Siberia after he got into a fight with billionaire Tony Stark, who also happened to blow the mechanical arm off James Barnes, who, like you, was born in, like, World War One, but looks about 30. And you think pulling off this rescue mission is unlikely? Come on, Steve. Have a bit of faith."
Steve sighed and rolled back onto his side. "I just don't want anyone to get hurt," he said.
"Yeah," Natasha said, "Join the club."