AN: Thank katiesgotagun for the Bucky/Mo cutesy scene in this chapter. And like I said—if there's ANYTHING you want to see, drop a review or message me :) all you gotta do is ask! Also skipped the running, leaving it for the next chapter, and I explain why in the note at the end. Enjoy!
She dreamed about Harper that night. After all the videos, she should have expected as much. She was curled up in the fetal position and woke in a hot sweat. She sat up abruptly, then groaned and buried her face in her pillow, glancing at the clock. It was 2am. They'd be up for their run, soon, something she was not looking forward to at all. She was completely out of shape. This was going to be embarrassing.
The videos hadn't been that bad. They'd brought some sadness with them, yes, but they weren't anything she hadn't seen before. Sometimes, before she'd come to New York, when she'd felt lonely, she would go through the videos and pictures and smile and cry and miss the boys. Dead. All of them.
"Nope," she said, blinking. "Not tonight, Fox."
She was familiar with nights like these and knew she wouldn't be sleeping. With a low groan, she stood and removed her pants, strapping on her running leg so she could practice moving in it before the run. It was stronger, less flexible, added a little more spring to her step. She paced around the room a couple of times before she made her way to the bedroom door, closing it quietly behind her and heading downstairs, noting that the stairs were much easier with this leg on.
She was near the bottom of the stairs when she noticed the music: old music. 40s music. She paused, confused, and edged around to peer into the living room.
Bucky was stretched out on the sofa, her laptop in his lap, his face lit up in the darkness by the screen. She realized he must have been watching the videos she had been watching with Sam. She also realized that she hadn't put her pants back on. Not that she cared much; the flannel button up top went down to her mid thigh, just above where her leg ended and connected with the prosthetic. If anything, that was what she was most self-conscious about. That, and she didn't want him to think her indecent.
She stepped closer, turning on one of the only lamps that hadn't been shattered in the last few weeks. Bucky looked at her, his eyes scanning her up and down, lingering on the leg.
"Couldn't sleep either, huh?" she asked. She'd only met him in the darkness like this once before, and that hadn't ended well. But he seemed different, now. He definitely wasn't the Soldier. She wasn't expecting him to lift his legs and make room for her beside him on the couch, but she came round and sat when he did. "Everything okay?"
"Yeah," he said, putting the laptop to the side and looking at her. "Just—crazy," he said by way of summary, tapping his head, and she smiled.
"You're not crazy," she said. His eyes were on her leg again, and she realized he'd never seen this much of it before. She extended it to give him a better look and he looked embarrassed for a moment before she shrugged. Somehow, she didn't feel as upset when he stared. Maybe it was because he wasn't whole, either.
"Does it hurt?"
"My hips hurt if I'm on my feet a lot," she confessed. "Sometimes the—stump—aches, but it's alright." He was quiet. "What're you watching?"
He showed her the screen, clicking play. "Would you believe I used to know how to do this?"
At this, she laughed softly, shaking her head. "Do you remember?"
"I remember that I could," he said, "sort of. But I don't remember how."
"Oh, come on," she teased, "show me what you got."
"You asking me for a dance, sweetheart?" he asked with a smirk and a wink that made her heart stutter for a moment, and he was different again, in that moment, and he seemed like a man from another time, another place, and she realized it was like a little piece of the old him, shining through like the sun through a storm. She laughed. That face, that look. He didn't show it often, but it was easy to imagine him as the suave man he had been before.
"I'm sure you'd remember," she said. "It's got to be like riding a bike. You don't forget." She watched the video with him, the upbeat music, the smiling dancers. At one point, he mentioned that he remembered having seen one of the movies in the clip.
"You know," she said after a while, after studying his face. "I could see it. I could see you in that time, in that place." He looked at her. "I think it suits you."
"Not sure about the dancing, though," he said. "I'm not sure how well that suits me."
"Oh, please," she laughed. "You could sweep any girl off her feet, remember?"
Bucky shrugged and continued watching the screen, and as the videos went on she watched him grow more and more frustrated. Finally, with a sigh, she took the computer from him and turned it away, pausing the video.
"Come on," she said, deciding. "Stand up. We're gonna try something." He looked confused. "Up," she said imperiously, and he stood. The low lighting was good for what she was about to try, and the room was quiet enough. She did a quick search and found a slower, less upbeat song from the area, making sure the volume was loud enough to hear but not loud enough to overwhelm.
"What are you doing?" he asked slowly.
"You trust me?"
"Sure," he said.
"Good enough," she mumbled. "I'm gonna see if we can't shake a few more memories loose. What do you say?" She studied the dancers in the video as she spoke, and he agreed, sounding none too enthusiastic. "Alright," she said standing. "I needed something to get my mind off things anyway. You ready?"
He nodded slowly.
"Okay," she said. "Close your eyes. It's alright, I'm not gonna hurt you." She understood his hesitation. Eyes closed was a very vulnerable position, but he finally closed them, looking ready to bolt at a moment's notice. "Alright," she said again. "Now take a deep breath. Relax. Focus on my voice, on the music. Go back to that time, that place."
She was quiet for a moment, standing before him, watching him breathe. When he seemed calm, she spoke again. "I'm going to touch you," she warned. "We're going to go through the motions. Muscle memory, maybe it'll trigger something, since you seem so interested in the music and dancing for some reason. Good?"
He hesitated, then nodded. She'd set it to a medley of songs from the late 1930's to early 1940's, ensure that she had a few lined up, unsure of how long this process would take. "Eyes closed," she said. "Remember to focus on the music." She reached out and carefully placed her right hand in his left, the prosthetic, then placed her other hand on his shoulder. He flinched and she soothed him, and he relaxed after a moment. As she lifted their hands, his automatically lifted to touch her waist lightly.
She knew how to dance, of course. Harper had been an amazing dancer, and they'd spent quiet a bit of time overseas watching and imitating dancers to entertain the others. She had never guessed it would come in handy now.
"Now just move," she said softly. "I'll lead, but do what feels right."
He nodded, and his wide mouth was downturned. She applied a little pressure, stepping forward, and he countered the movement and she bit her lip to keep from laughing. "Relax," she said, "you're moving like a soldier. You're not going to kill anyone right now; you're not being attacked. Just listen to the music, and relax."
So many studies had been done linking music and memory. This would work. She could feel it. The music drifted softly through the room and she moved again, and eventually he relaxed enough. It took some time, but she slowly went from leading to being led, and she was glad his eyes were closed so he didn't see her smile. They weren't doing much, a few steps here and there, but it was enough; he had taken over.
She gasped, then, when he dipped her suddenly, flinging her backward with startling force before catching her and straightening her up again. Her fingers dug into his t-shirt and some of her hair came loose from its bun, but when she looked at his face she was startled to find his blue eyes open and sparkling, and a mischievous grin having curled his lips.
"Relax, doll," he said, and his voice sounded different, everything about him was subtly different. There was a confidence in him she hadn't seen. She stared up at him with wide eyes as he winked at her, spinning her out before drawing her back in and she thumped against his chest.
"You—"
"It's coming back," he said with a smirk, and she smiled. The music had picked up pace a little, and she kept up as best she could with her prosthetic, though they obviously weren't going to be dancing the way the dancers were in the video. He swayed her back and forth, earning a breathless laugh as he dipped her dramatically backwards again, snapping her back up. Her hair was a mess, and he snagged a curl and tugged it, watching it spring back into shape before tucking it behind her ear with a flirtatious smile.
They moved in a circle and he closed his eyes again, that crease returning to his forehead. She reached out and smoothed it with her thumb.
"Hey," she said, tapping his forehead, his metal hand reaching up and encircling her wrist. "You can't force it, remember? Just relax."
He nodded, full lips looking heavy again.
"You know," he said after a moment, twirling her a little. "Hot chocolate—I love it."
"Do you?"
"Yeah," he said, "and I didn't know it until you made it today, but I love it. I think I've always loved it. But it—we didn't have much money, before, so we didn't get it often."
"Hey," she said gently, placing a hand on the junction where his flesh met the prosthetic shoulder. "You can have hot chocolate whenever you want, alright?"
He looked hopeful. "Really?"
"Really."
He almost smiled, and he started talking, telling her things as they danced. Things he dreamed about sometimes, the awful things he'd done, and it was like he couldn't stop telling her once he'd started. She gave him a comforting little squeeze and then he started asking her about her friends, about Harper and Brown and Grace, who played the ukulele. And then he suddenly looked very, very dark, and she recognized the look.
"What is it?" she asked, slowing him to a stop. He avoided her gaze. "Bucky," she said firmly.
"It's just—" a muscle in his jaw jumped. "That video—that last one, where you—you—"
"I know, I know. What is it?"
"What if it was me?" She blinked and shook her head.
"It wasn't you."
"How can you be sure? I don't even remember my targets, or why I was supposed to kill them. I just did it. What if—"
"Hey, hey," she said gently, her hand still on his shoulder, her other still laced with the metal fingers. "It wasn't you. They figured it out. The hit on Tony Stark was ordered by his business partner or whatever. It had nothing to do with you."
He looked uncertain. She squeezed his hand. "Listen to me," she rasped. "It wasn't you. And even if it was, it still wasn't you." She placed a hand on his chest and tapped her fingers. "Okay? You weren't responsible."
"Their blood is on my hands."
"It's on Hydra's hands," she countered, and he flinched a little at the name, the movement so subtle she almost didn't notice. "You were just a victim." He was nodding, but his face was still lost.
"I'm afraid to remember," he confessed a few moments later, looking helplessly into her eyes, his one hand glued to her waist. "But the more time passes, the more I can—it's like a wall," he said, "like there was always someone reinforcing that wall, but now there's not and it's just a matter of time until—"
"Bucky," she murmured. "If that wall comes down, you won't be alone."
"I don't want to remember," he said it like a plea.
"I know, I know," she said, giving him a little squeeze, surprised when she felt his chin on top of her head, felt his hand wrap around hers. "Just remember—the good memories will come back, too."
"I don't know," he said. "Those feel farther away, even when I search for them. Maybe they don't exist anymore. Maybe Hydra took them."
"They didn't," she said. "Do you want to know how I know?" She drew back a little bit to look at him, his eyes frantic, desperate for reassurance. He bit his bottom lip. "I know because you know how to dance," she said. "I know because you remember that Steve never danced. I know because you like hot chocolate, Bucky. The memories are there. You're still you, and even Hydra couldn't take that from you."
AN: Blah, okay, okay the next chapter will have their run, I promise! But I wanted to give that more attention, because it'll be important in a lot of ways, and so I figured I'd have this fluffy chapter out to you before I put that one out, because I don't know how long it'll take. Remember to review and leave requests/ideas if you have anything you'd like to see, whether it be a Steve/Mo, Bucky/Mo, Sam/Mo, Steve/Bucky, or whatever moment. Tell me what you want!