AN: Thank you so much to everyone who's been sticking with this. I can't tell you how much I appreciate it. I hope you guys enjoy this chapter, a sort of reintroduction into what's coming. Nothing too major, exploring character relationships and setting some groundwork. Can't wait to post the next one! We'll be seeing Bucky taking huge strides in the next few chapters, and a small victory in this one…
You had to recognize and appreciate the small blessings when they came to you. The little, everyday things that you wouldn't otherwise take note of. That was something Sam had taught her in group, what seemed like ages ago. This blessing came in the form of a full night's sleep, uninterrupted by nightmares, panic, fear.
That was today's little miracle: a peaceful full, night's sleep.
It was still unreasonably early, but in the week that had passed since the attack, she'd gotten more familiar with her new home. It was a little after 5AM, meaning that the coffee shop down the street was freshly open. The boys were usually early risers; they were probably already out on their morning run. Knowing that today was going to be a long day, given the lesson plan she had for them, Mo groaned a little and rolled over, twisting herself up in her sheets and smothering her face in her pillow.
She felt good. It was amazing what good rest could do for a person. She smiled a little to herself, stretching like a cat, her butt up in the air, pressing the stump of her leg into the mattress.
Coffee, she urged herself, sitting up, pushing the tumble of hair out of her face. As it turned out, no one living in this place could make a decent cup of coffee, which meant if she wanted anything drinkable, she had to actually get up, go out into the public, and buy some. She wasn't all that keen on the idea, but she definitely needed the little booster.
With a sigh, she swung her leg-and-a-half over the bed and stood, slipping on a pair of loose workout shorts, a bra, and an ARMY sweatshirt. She hopped (literally, given that she hadn't yet strapped on the prosthetic) into the adjoining bathroom to wash her face and brush her teeth, tying her hair up in a sloppy knot. Glancing at herself in the mirror, she looked like she was ready to go for a run, which was laughable. She didn't run anymore; her softened stomach could attest to that fact. It wasn't that she couldn't run; she had a running leg, in fact, but she didn't like using it. She didn't like the feeling of everyone staring, and it wasn't all that comfortable anyway.
Using the wall for balance, she hopped over to her bed and strapped the prosthetic on. It was a plain thing; flesh colored up to the knee joint, the lower half just a steel bar with a clunky foot at the end. Compared to Barnes's weaponized arm, it was almost comical, and she was envious of the bionic legs that were coming out. However, in order to afford it, she'd have to sell an arm and a leg, and she was already short on those as it was.
She smiled a little, opening her door and closing it softly behind her. Sure enough, Sam and Steve's door was open, indicating that they were out on their run; Barnes hadn't come out of his little bathroom home yet. She snatched the keys off the counter and headed out, enjoying the feeling of the brisk morning air on her sleepy skin.
They'd fallen into a sort of routine since she'd arrived. Sam and Steve would wake up, leave her to sleep, and go for their run, leaving her alone in the apartment with Bucky only after she'd convinced them it was fine. Both of them normally slept in anyway. Lately, though, tired of feeling like a lazy bum compared to the ultra-fit, ultra-active soldiers, she'd taken to attempting to rise earlier herself, prompting the need for coffee.
So, most mornings, she would go out, grab a cup for herself, come home, and cook breakfast. The boys ate a lot as it was, but after their runs they were like a couple of ravenous animals. Bucky didn't eat as much, and it showed in the hollows of his face, his slightly-too-slim build, in the way his clothes sort of hung off of him. She'd made it her goal to stuff him with as much food as possible, and this morning was no different.
She cooked tons of eggs. Eggs and eggs and more eggs. And bacon. Sausage. Pancakes. She loved cooking; it wasn't off-putting for her. She enjoyed doing it when she wasn't asked to do it. She'd plugged in her iPod; Elvis's "Can't Help Falling In Love" was drifting lazily through the kitchen, and she sang along softly. It was one of her favorite songs; she had a ton of wonderful memories, memories that were now slightly painful: Grace, a private, had learned to play the song on his ukulele—she couldn't listen to the song without seeing his face.
When Sam and Steve returned, Sam a sweaty mess, Steve looking smug, she greeted them with a little smile and a wave of her spatula.
"Grub's on," she said, and Steve thanked her as Sam snatched a piece of bacon. "Get out of here," she snapped. "You stink. Go shower."
Sam would use her shower, as Bucky had taken up residence in the other one, and Steve would wait until he finished, just like always. Steve wandered around the kitchen, cleaning up her mess; she was a messy cook, that much she would admit.
"Oh, hey," she said, turning the volume of the music down; it had changed to another soft, acoustic song. "Coffee for you."
"Thanks," he said with a smile. "You don't have to do that—you don't have to do any of this, you know."
She shrugged. "I don't like feeling like I'm not doing anything," she said, flipping a pancake. "You guys get up all early, running around, and I'm sleeping? Nah."
"You're doing more than enough," Steve said, taking a sip of his coffee. His brow furrowed. "This is good. What is this?"
"White chocolate mocha," she said. "You like it?"
"It's different," he said. "But yeah—Oh, hey, Buck."
Mo turned around. A lot of the tension between them had dissipated since their incident a week ago, leaving her feeling safer in his presence than she had even before it had happened. It was like a wall had been broken down.
"Mornin'," she said. "Coffee for you." He padded into the kitchen. She noted that his sweatpants hung loosely on his body, the old t-shirt seeming to swallow him up. His hair was greasy. There were bags under his eyes.
He screamed in the night sometimes. No one mentioned it to him. She was still deciding what to do about it, but it was one of the many reasons she'd been so pleased at last night's uninterrupted slumber.
"Thanks," he said, grabbing the cup labeled Barnes.
"Don't mention it," she said. "Oh, and it's decaf. Caffeine plus anxiety isn't really that great of a mix. No more caffeine for you."
He took a sip of the coffee and shrugged one shoulder, leaning on the counter beside Steve. He didn't seem at all interested in the food, just stared blankly at the comical amount of bacon she'd cooked up. She was used to this; used to the zombie-like blankness in his eyes. She wanted, so desperately, so see a spark of life there. He took another sip of his coffee.
"So," she was saying. "Today I was thinking I could show you guys how to handle certain situations. Like flashbacks. I'm going to teach you some grounding techniques, and I'm going to teach you, Barnes, how to hold on to reality. It'll be fun."
Barnes huffed through his nose and Steve nodded. Mo glanced upstairs. "Steve," she said, "could you tell Sam to hurry, please?" Which was her nice way of asking him to leave the room so she could talk to Barnes.
"Sure," he said, his eyes uneasy. He still didn't like being asked to leave. But he headed upstairs all the same, and once he was out of earshot Mo looked at Barnes. He met her eyes, his eyebrows arching.
"What?" he said.
"When was the last time you showered?"
"Excuse me?" He looked startled by the question and mildly offended.
"I'm serious," she said, eyeing his greasy hair. "You need to shower."
He glared. "Not that it's your business," he said, "but I do shower."
"You live in the bathtub," she pointed out, flipping and plating another pancake. "And I've never seen you go up into my room to shower."
He avoided her gaze, scratched the back of his head, looking uncomfortable. She sighed a little and softened her voice. "Look," she said, "I'm not trying to embarrass you. Trust me, I get it. But take a shower. I promise you'll feel a little better."
Barnes avoided her gaze, his mouth heavy.
"Barnes?"
"Alright," he nearly snapped. "I—Alright, okay? Lay off."
"Today," she urged. His eyes cut to her, more lively than she'd seen them in a while.
"I said I would shower," he growled, and she raised her hands up in surrender.
And he kept his word. As soon as Steve came back downstairs, hair fluffy, eyes bright, Barnes stalked past him and up the stairs. Mo grinned triumphantly as Steve watched him go.
"What was that about?" Steve asked. Sam, who had joined them, stole another piece of bacon.
"He's going to shower," Mo said off-handedly, and Steve and Sam exchanged a glance.
"Thank god," Sam said lowly. "Look, I wasn't gonna say anything, but he was starting to smell."
"Sam," Steve said sternly.
"Sam," Mo said, shaking her head. "Don't embarrass him, and don't mention it, okay? You know how it is."
"Yeah, I know," Sam said.
Mo and Steve were plating the food when Barnes came back downstairs, dressed in a fresh pair of sweats and everything, his hair freshly washed, pushed out of his face. He didn't meet anyone's eyes as he walked right up to her and helped her put eggs on the plates, and she noticed that he smelled considerably nicer, his skin fresh and clean-looking. She caught his eye briefly and smiled, sitting across from him at the table, next to Sam.
"Oh," she said, standing again. "I forgot. I've got books." She headed upstairs, which was always a bit of a task, and gathered the books in her arms. She hesitated at the stairs, knowing without a free arm to lean against the wall for support, this would be a difficult task. She bit her lip and huffed out a breath, then leaned her shoulder against the wall and started slowly down.
"You alright up there?" Sam called.
"Yeah," she said, taking the steps one at a time. She'd nearly made it to the bottom when she stumbled, throwing an arm out to catch herself and loosing a book. It landed on the floor with a loud, startling thud, and without missing a beat she called: "Everyone okay?" meaning Barnes, who called out to confirm a moment later.
Steve, of course, was already on his feet, gathering the book for her and sweeping the rest from her arms, proceeding to allow her to use his bicep to help herself down the stairs. Feeling her face heating up, and returned to her seat, head down, fiddling with her hair.
She still hadn't really gotten used to Captain America.
"So," Sam said, "you giving us homework or something?"
"No," she said. "Not really. But I wanted to show you guys some stuff that I think you should know." Sam and Steve were eating as she spoke, and she went on, noting that Barnes was pushing the eggs around with his fork, although she did notice that he looked less moody than usual.
She'd come up with a form of nonverbal communication, reserved specifically for Barnes so as not to embarrass him. She nudged his foot under the table and he glanced up at her, and she used her fork to point sternly at the food. He glared at her and she gave him a look, and he rolled his eyes at her, stabbing an egg and sticking it in his mouth, giving her a wide, sarcastic smile as if to say: "There. Happy?" to which she smiled a little and bobbed her head.
If Sam and Steve noticed, they hadn't mentioned it yet, and she appreciated that.
"So I think we've done a pretty good job at stabilizing the house," she said, pointing to a line in the book. "Reducing triggers and whatnot. But sometimes things still happen, so you guys need to know how to handle him if he has a flashback."
They'd been doing well. He hadn't had a violent one since that night, and the others seemed to come over him and pass without incident. Later, he could come to tell her what had happened. She went on to explain grounding techniques, like using the ice, describing the surroundings, and keeping him in a safe area where he couldn't hurt himself or anyone else until it was over. Sam was nodding along and Steve looked enthusiastic, eyes alight, mouth quirked in a half smile. Barnes just looked uncomfortable.
They'd eaten all their food, even Barnes, though he'd taken a smaller portion, but she reminded herself about the little victories. She even had them practice a little, on her, of course, the grounding techniques, and Steve caught on pretty quickly.
"So," she asked after a while. "What do you think?"
"I think we've got a handle on it," Steve said, looking at Barnes optimistically. Mo bit the inside of her cheek as Barnes shifted away from him, only just slightly. He was staring at his metal arm, moving the fingers slightly, his full mouth downcast. Mo caught Steve's eye and gave him an encouraging little smile, lifting one shoulder.
"How are you feeling, Buck?" Steve asked, flipping through the pages of one of the books she'd brought. She had taken the dishes to the sink and was washing them with Sam's help. Barnes didn't reply, and Mo looked over her shoulder, slightly startled to find that his blue eyes, suddenly wide and intense, were focused intently on her. She turned around slowly, glancing around, looking at Steve, who looked mildly upset, confused.
She met Barnes's eyes again. They didn't waver, just stared intently into hers. "Barnes, come help me with the dishes." Which meant that everyone else needed to clear the room. She had a surprising amount of authority here.
Barnes stood abruptly and traded places with Steve, and Mo caught them exchange a look, Sam tossing his hands up in the air, shaking his head, muttering, "This woman, coming into our home, bossing us around. Who's idea was that?"
"Shut up, Sam," she sighed. "Go play outside."
"Come on," Sam said petulantly to Steve, sending Mo a playfully withering glare. She gave him a hard look as they turned and left, and she focused her attention on Barnes.
He was holding a dish in his hand, running it under the tap, but that was it. It was like someone had pushed pause on him, and he was eerily still, his eyes trained on the water dripping off the plate. His face was blank; he was gone.
"Barnes," she rasped softly, and he blinked, looking at the plate in his hand in confusion, then turning his eyes to Mo's. He looked lost. She snatched up a dish towel and wiped her hands on it, turning around to lean her back against the counter.
"It's blood," he said, showing her his metal hand, eyes tracing the water droplets.
"It's not," she said calmly. "It's just water."
He squinted his eyes, his eyebrows knitting together as he sucked on his lower lip. A vein pulsed in his forehead and he made a soft, frightened noise in his throat.
"C'mon," she urged gently, taking a step closer. He looked at her face, his eyes still lost. He blinked a few times, his eyes switching between the water dripping from his hand to her face, and finally he released a breath. She smiled. "Good job," she said warmly, and he looked around the kitchen. "What was it this time?" She hadn't noticed any triggers.
"Him," Barnes said. "His—voice."
She wasn't sure why it took her so long to realize that Steve, himself, just existing, Steve was a trigger. She sighed, handing him the towel and he wiped his hands. They shook slightly. Suddenly, he eyes, sharp, piercing, sliced up to meet hers.
"I want to kill him," Barnes confessed hoarsely, looking at her desperately.
"Alright," she said calmly.
"Alright," he echoed. "That's all out have to say is—alright?" He scrubbed his hand, still damp, over his face and jerked it away suddenly, looking at it in horror. "Are you sure there's no blood?"
She could sense the meltdown coming. She took his hand and ran her fingers over the dampness, holding it up for him. "Water. See? Just water, okay?"
He nodded. His grip on reality right now was loose at best, she knew. She waited a moment, then said: "You want to kill him?"
His upper lip twitched, the echoes of a snarl, his eyes glinting. "I hate myself for it," he said. "But sometimes I can't control it. It's just this urge, and all of a sudden I want to get my hands around his neck, or stick a knife in his throat, or—"
"Okay, okay. It's okay."
"It's not," he said. "What if I—"
"You won't," she soothed. "You're gonna be okay, Barnes. You're doing so well." He shook his head with a bitter laugh. "You are," she urged. "You just got yourself out of that flashback, just now, all on your own. It's not easy. He was your mission, after all—killing him was your reason for existing. Those instincts won't go away overnight."
"Don't coddle me," he snapped.
"I'm not," she bit back. He groaned.
"Don't leave me alone with him," Barnes said, his eyes searching hers, suddenly desperate. "I don't trust myself. Please."
"I won't," she said. "We'll fix this, okay? But you're doing well, Barnes, I mean that. I wouldn't say it if I didn't."
He looked at her then, his eyes suddenly vulnerable.
"I want to get better," he whispered. "I don't want to hurt him." Those words were loaded; he didn't want to kill him, or harm him, or disappoint him.
"I'm going to help you through this," she said confidently.
"I don't want to hurt anyone," he said softly. "That's—it's all I know how to do anymore." The look on his face nearly broke her heart; it was almost like she could see the old Barnes struggling to break through.
"You won't," she said.
"How did you do it?" he asked suddenly. "You—you lost everything, and here you are, and—sorry. That's—that's insensitive, isn't it? I don't even know anymore."
She blinked at him. "It doesn't get easier," she finally said. He seemed to be waiting for her to finish the statement, to soften it, but she didn't. "You just get stronger. You'll find your own way. And, in the mean time, I'm just here to help. I'll keep Steve away if that's what you need. I just need you to be honest with me."
He nodded. "Thank you," he said.
"I'm on your side, Barnes," she said. "Alright? Understand that. I'm putting you before anyone else, but that means I need you to communicate with me. I can do the hard stuff. I'll tell Steve to get lost if I need to, but I just need you to talk to me."
"I can do that," Barnes said.
"Good," she said, pushing away from the counter, slapping a plate into his hand. "Finish the dishes. I'm gonna go talk to Rogers."
AN: Of course, I love reviews. Again, a million thanks to you guys for sticking around. Just like when I started, I'm not sure if there will be any romance. But feel free to leave your opinions on that in a review, I want to write what you guys want to read!
Next chapter up soon! :)