Chapter 5
I stand outside his bedroom, pacing the hallway and turning the ipod around in my sweaty palms. The doctor is checking Bucky's vitals one more time. Then I'll go in. I will finally meet my patient. Well, besides the one time I nearly got killed. Hopefully that doesn't affect our relationship to much.
The door opens and the black doctor, aka, Marc Greene, walks out. He says in his heavy Wakandan accent, "He's doing good. You can go in now." His stride is long as he starts down the hall, but Greene then turns back toward me. "Good luck."
"Thanks," I respond.
I stare at the door. This is the beginning of a long journey, and I'm nervous. But I open the door, hesitantly, nonetheless.
Bucky's room is just like mine: white and simple, although, his windows are closed. The soldier's long form is laying across the once crisp bed. Changed into a black shirt and sweatpants, Bucky's skull is rested against the headboard. His eyes are closed, but when I step into the room, my feet stepping lightly on the hardwood floor, they snap open.
"Hi," I say timidly. But then I realize it's time to get into business mode. Business mode is different for me, however. I'm required to act as a friend but it still means being the initiator. It's not in my nature, however, to be extremely forward. So this added pressure just adds more butterflies to my stomach.
I strive forward with feigned confidence, walking straight up to him. Grabbing his hand and shaking it, I'm a little taken aback when he doesn't reciprocate the action. Rather, Bucky pulls his hand away, his dull eyes steering clear of my face. Sucking in a breath, I try to muster up a good introduction. "Um, Hi. I'm Ella Walin." Obviously. "I'm going to be working with you these next few months. This is just an introduction, though, considering all you've been through today."
"Right," Is all he says in reply.
I try forcing myself to be engaging. But, my mind blanks and I've basically lost any good communication skills I once had. If only he would communicate! The regret from earlier's incident emanates from him: Bucky won't make eye contact or bodily contact, and seems as if he's trying to ignore my existence. And by ignoring me, ignoring what he did.
"Yes. Um, so I brought you something." Stuff! People like stuff. So, give people stuff, equals people like you. Logic. I hand him the ipod.
He stares at it and asks blankly, "What is this?"
Oh, right. I guess since Hydra had him, Bucky didn't get to see a lot of everyday modern technology. "It's an ipod," I clarify. "It plays music."
"Oh." Is all he says. He and Natahsa: both not big talkers. I decide to not give him personal space, seeing as he isn't feeling any more comfortable with me standing across from him.
Bucky shirks back slightly when I plop down next to him on the bed, but I don't care. I take the player from his hands, and the little screen lights up with some African name. "On it is music that will help orientate your brain and nervous system." I explain, showing him how to use the ipod at the same time. "It's difficult for people to talk about their experiences when everything has been messed with. But don't worry, it's not all spa music!" I throw in an odd chuckle. "I put in a couple of my favorite songs." I crack out a friendly smile, but Bucky just continues to look at the piece of electronic in my hand. Hopefully he really likes Twenty One Pilots. Then maybe he'll like me because I introduced their music to his now-TOPless ears. "You probably didn't listen to much when you were on the run."
"Sometimes the radio, but it was all Bulgarian rap, so it was hard to understand." Bucky replies. I laugh, and his blue eyes look up at me. He (finally!) breaks out the first grin I've seen from him.
I feel like I should take advantage of this moment, so I ask, "I know that this is kind of uncomfortable, but I would like to know if you remember anything from your past? Just so that I know we can start from there."
"I remember some things." Is all Bucky responses. But that answer is too vague for me. "Like… what?" I ask.
"Everything that was in that file." He replies flatly. Bucky seems to be avoiding the question, not that I'm really surprised. I doubt that we'll get far on the first session.
It's been a long day for him, so I slip off the bed. My red flats land softly on the rug. "Well, I'll see you tomorrow. Oh, and here are some headphones." I toss him the white wires and walk out of the room.
When I shut the door behind me, I'm glad to be out of there. First meetings are always awkward, and that one was not the worst. A lot of people, when they meet me, immediately go into a rant about some random, awful thing that has happened to them. Silence is not the worst, believe me. But the aura of darkness that shrouds his room… It sounds kind of crazy, but that's really the only way I can describe it.
I walk down the hall, thoughts racing through my mind, when I hear voices. Something inside me makes my feet stick at the end of the hallway. T'Challa and Steve's soft murmurs can be heard from my spot behind the wall. This place is just so full of secrets that I long to understand, that eavesdropping is a risk I'm willing to take.
T'Challa is speaking, his voice calm. "...I'm just saying Steve, she might not be able to help him. I tried to kill your friend, and as retribution I offered for you to stay here. Mr. Barnes and my father were both victims. I know the good you can do and your loyalty is something I admire. But, it got you and the rest of your Avengers labeled as fugitives."
"What are you trying to say?" Steve asks, his tone serious (it almost always is). I lean in closer.
"If Mr. Barnes goes out of this facility, the government will take him, then the rest of you will be captured, too. Whether the information comes from his mouth by way of torture or recompense, I do not know. If Ms. Walin cannot help him, you may have to think of an alternative."
"Like locking him up?! Putting him back in cryo?! I knew what I was doing when I helped Bucky. All of us are fugitives, I know that. I got Wanda, Clint, Scott, and Sam out of Starks prison because I thought we could do some good. Buck has control, and if he does goes AWOL, for whatever reason, I can assure you I won't let them go down with him. Only me."
"But the team needs you. You are the leader of your people, your family. Captain, you can't-"
"I AM NOT A CAPTAIN ANY MORE!" Steve's booming voice echoes down the hall. " THERE IS no FAMILY! I know d*mn well that this is no family! What this is- it's war! Constant and never changing. You know," A dry and heartless laugh escapes Steve's lips. "I persuaded Clint to come here and now he's lost his family. I never left the war behind me one minute; instead I brought it to each one of these people! I teared apart families- it all started with me!" His shouts are loud and forceful; pain emanates from his voice. "I can never have a family, and now they never can." Steve gestures around him. "Don't you think it kills me that I drug all of them into this because of Bucky. I don't regret what I did, but now everyone is more broken than before. So don't you dare tell me that they need me, that this is some kind of team. I'm not Captain America," Steve says again, the volume of his voice lowered, as if sealing in the point; welding the phrase into his brain. "And I'm not this team's leader." Steve gets close to T'Challa. "I don't know what I am, but I know what we're not. The Avengers were Tony's; it was never mine. The only thing that matters is that these are individuals who have given their life to help humanity; they are the hope, not the team. Together the Avengers rose, and together we fell. I won't let that happen again. Each person in this compound has to make their own choice."
"And you think forcing Bucky into that procedure, and now months of therapy, is a choice?" T'Challa questions, his eyebrows raised and his accent heavy.
"The only thing that I know is if I lose Bucky again, then everything I did, everything I ever fought or stood for, is gone. And if I lose that, I'm better off back in that ice."
And with that mic drop, Steve leaves T'Challa standing there. Steve's walking my way, his head down, staring at the white floor. I don't want him to know I was eavesdropping, so I run down the hallway to Bucky's bedroom door. I was going to pretend like I was just coming from there and not go in, but Bucky stands in the entryway.
He looks surprised to see me. I am surprised to see him out of his room. "Shh," I whisper, putting my finger to my chapped lips. I slide past him and into the dim room. A confused expression coats Bucky's face. He looks back out the door frame, where I see Steve just passing the hall. My quick exhale turns into a huffed laugh.
"Sorry. I haven't eavesdropped much."
A look of understanding dawns on Bucky's face. "Oh, well I'm sure Steve made it easy for you." I raise my eyebrows and concede. "You're not wrong."
"Whenever Steve went on a blind date I set up for him, I would always sit two tables down, watching him from behind a menu." A dreamy expression befalls Bucky's face. The faraway look displays his distant thoughts of the past. He chuckles and continues, "Steve can have a loud voice, especially when he's nervous."
Ah, so it seems he does remember more than he's let on. "Did he know?"
"He pretended not to, but he did." I laugh, and Bucky cracks a grin. His blue irises sparkle. I push myself off the wall, and say, "I best be going. Steve's going to wonder how our meeting went."
"Wait." Bucky blocks me with his one arm, but wobbles slightly. He seems so uncomfortable with just one upper limb. All those years so heavily relying on his strong, metal arm… It must be incredibly disorienting to have the thing you once depended so much on, to be taken from you. "What did they say?" Bucky questions, steadying himself.
Alarms go off in my brain. Bucky doesn't need to hear any of that. Steve had just said so much… I couldn't even process it. My head picks through it's small box of excuses, only to come up with an incredibly lousy one. "Just things."
"Please. I think I deserve the truth." His eyes probe me.
Bucky's right. But it's not my truth to tell, nor one I think he needs to hear. "It's not my place to say. Ask Steve."
Bucky gives me a dubious look. "You really think Steve would tell me something that he thinks is to hard for me to hear? Whatever it is, you're the only person who can be straight with me. Right?"
What a move. Of course he knows that I want him to trust me. And he's using that to get information from me. It's not hard to tell he was an assassin for years.
"It's just…." I decide to say it like you would rip off a bandage: all at once. "T'Challa is afraid I can't help you and that you go AWOL and leave the compound." Bucky's expression remains passive. "Steve, of course, said he would stand by you no matter what." Like a loyal labrador. I leave out the bit about it being partially his fault for the Avengers being fugitives. And that Steve seems to have lost part of his identity.
But Bucky seems to sense it anyway. "So T'Challa thinks I'll be dangerous. He's right." Bucky removes his hand from the wall, allowing me to pass. His square jaw is clenched, framed by his messy, brown hair. I want to say something, but it's evident he won't listen to me.
I walk out the door, but glance back. My entire body is urging me to say something. I quietly whisper under my breath, "You have control."
With a quick bang, the door closes at my back. Steve catches me near my bedroom door. When I see him, it's like looking at a different person. Nothing has changed since I met him, but now I see through his serious veneer. I attempt a small smile. "How did it go," Steve questions. Concern paints his face; his strong jaw is tight. He clenches it just like Bucky.
"It was fine." But I think I must grimace, because Steve immediately questions, "What's wrong?"
I look up and down the hall. "Come in," I gesture to the inside of my room. When I shut the door behind me, Steve immediately gives me an expectant look. I finger the crinkled pages of my notebook, and sit at my desk. "I umm.. Heard you. Talking to T'Challa. I had to tell Bucky."
"You.. what?" Steve whispers.
Oh no. I didn't mean to make him upset, but it was inevitable once his and T'Challa's words entered my ears. "I'm sorry Steve, but he knows you believe in him. Listen, I have a plan now. And none of this was ever going to be easy. It doesn't change anything, just the fact that you are imperative to his recovery." Steve stands there, his head bowed. "He needs to understand that he is valuable to the team, not a burden."
Nobody can prove to Bucky that he is invaluable. He has to know that from within, no matter what anyone else believes. Bucky has worth to the world far beyond what he can see. We are only here to help expand his horizons.
"And how can I do that, besides what I've already done?" Steve proclaims.
"Involve him. Treat him like he's not going to break. He's not ready for any missions yet, but when he is, take him. I have a plan, but it will take some time."
"Fine." Steve walks out of the room.
I fall on my bed in unison with the door closing. What can I even do? Steve has lost his identity. Clint- his family. Wanda- her belief in herself. Bucky- his memories and life.
What struck me so hard was the fact that Steve never could live a normal life. None of them could. They gave up their lives for humanity, and look where they are now. I knew this already, but when Steve broke out in passion and fury, I saw that my suspicions were not only true, but really felt.
After the fight for his country was won, Steve never stopped fighting until he found Bucky. In a short matter of years he lost and found everything that was ever important to him: He lost Bucky, than Peggy; only to find them both- but they didn't remember him. And it didn't stop there. Steve lost them yet again. Peggy died (Sam told me), then Steve found Bucky, only to realize that the charming, brave, man he once knew, was lost. Bucky is buried so deep in regret, that he can't be that persona of the past.
And I once thought Captain America was perfect. There is no such word. Nowhere in this world have I seen anything so deeply miserable. As I lay there, on this sickly white bed, tears fall down my face. I can't help these people. Desperation wells inside me. Everybody in this whole place is broken, one way or another, and so am I.
A sob escapes my lips and every inch of my being wants to run away from this place. I CAN'T DO THIS. Repeats over and over inside my head. That feeling of complete and utter defeat overwhelms my body (a similar feeling that occurs when doing a really frustrating math problem).
And I haven't even started.