The final chapter and it is a huge one as i didn't want to split it.
Bucky makes a decision after a fraught middle of the night confession.
In a couple of parts in this chapter, i've made a few suppositions. I'm not sure whether Steve knew about the electro-shock Bucky went through after the events of Captain America: The Winter Soldier. Maybe it was mentioned in the file Natasha gave to him, perhaps he guessed but for the purposes of this story, i've chosen to go down the route that he doesn't know or at least didn't know for sure. If i'm wrong then please tell me.
In this chapter, the italics are Bucky's nightmares.
Thank you to those of you who have been following, reading and more importantly leaving reviews for this fic. I've read and appreciated each single one and i have had a blast writing this fic.
Chapter Ten:
I'm a product of my anger, I'm the bullet in a loaded gun…
'Grab my hand.'
Red white and blue. He can see red white and blue.
He tries, reaches for him and sees his expression, the worry in his eyes. He clings to the side of the train carriage, feeling the freezing wind blast against his skin and he stretches, hand out, fingers grasping for contact.
Almost there. Almost safe. Stretches as far as he dares.
Something gives and his eyes widen with fright. Torn away. He's falling.
Hears him shout his name, quickly whipped away by the wind, sees him lunge at him, desperately, all care for safety forgotten but it's too late, he's dropping. He screams his name, eyes wide with fear. Sees him get smaller and smaller until there's nothing there anymore, just white.
Twists and turns and tumbles. Icy air buffeting his body. Screams fade into nothing, burned away by the cold. Crashes against a rocky outcrop, feels pain slice through him, clean and sharp.
Hits the ground. No more.
Clouded memories of moving slowly, seeing faces blur above him, speaking to him. Everything is sluggish, even their voices. He doesn't understand them. Sees red. Realises he can't feel his left arm. Fades out again.
She won't be able to sleep tonight.
Even though she's told Gabe that she's fine, she isn't, not really. The events of the bar are still stuck in her head, sharply focused, easily recalled and remembered. The look in Frankie's eyes when she told him that his family didn't need him whether true or not it pushed him over a very narrow precipice. The horror she felt when she saw that gun, coupled with the very real possibility of history repeating, the brief wondering of whether this time her luck would run out and the bullets would do their job and kill her. She curses herself for her stupidity and her lack of foresight, given what happened to her years before she should've been prepared for the possibility of a weapon being drawn, should've told Callum or Connor to call the cops the moment she saw him but she didn't.
And then Bucky happened.
Gabe called him heroic and he'd looked distinctly uncomfortable at that pronouncement.
His discarded Henley rests neatly folded in her lap and right now she unfolds it and examines the left sleeve, sliding her fingers through the bullet holes punctured through the soft fabric. There are blood droplets sprayed across the front of the shirt from Frankie's nose. She stares at it and wonders again what would have happened if Bucky hadn't been there. Would he have shot her? What about Callum and Connor? The horror sits like a chilly memory in the pit of her stomach. She takes a quick shaky breath and puts the shirt to one side. He didn't, that was the important thing to remember.
Because Bucky happened.
The apartment is quiet at this time of night. Earlier, Alex witnessed Bucky grow quieter as the evening progressed, picking at his food and then finally retreating into the safety of absolute silence. He then disappeared to his room and that's where he's remained.
His earlier initial interest in her took her by surprise, as had how he had listened to her. He didn't interrupt, offer advice or judgement, he just listened, blue eyes passive until she turned on him all of a sudden irritated by it all and he retreated, the defensive walls popping back up. They remained there and she still berates herself for her lack of understanding. He was asking questions, thinking of someone other than himself, possessing the wherewithal to be curious and she all but bit his head off for it. Any bond or connection built between them has probably been weakened if not damaged.
She makes herself a cup of tea, keeps the kitchen light on so that Bucky's room isn't in complete darkness. She peeked in on him earlier to see him sleeping, his back to the room, his metal arm gleaming dully in the partial light. As she left his room she kept the door partially open so she is able to listen out for him if necessary.
She carries her cup back into her room and she settles back on the sofa with a book and hopes that the plot will keep her suitably occupied and away from thinking too much about last night. She doesn't own a television, preferring the peace and quiet. Tonight perhaps, she would have appreciated the distraction.
Name. Rank. Number.
He's been here before.
Grey. Blurred. Fades in and out. His left arm hurts, a pain that's sharp and constant to begin with and sharp enough to keep him semi-conscious but then over time depletes into a relentless nagging throb. Doesn't have the energy to look. Exhausted.
Name. Rank. Number.
'107th, shipping out for England in the morning….'
The look of disappointment in his best friend's face.
'I'm sorry Stevie,' he whispers.
'You haven't called me that since we were kids, Buck.'
His eyes slide open when he hears that voice, clear in his head. Is he here, has he found him?
"Stevie?" he whispers again. Can hear the high pitched whine of something, reminds him of the dentist. Eyes grow wider when pain burrows through his left arm, opens his mouth to cry out, louder this time.
A sharp voice hisses something, the tone irate. People in white coats scurry about like mice.
Blackness rushes to greet him once more.
A low moan echoes around the apartment. It causes her to lift her eyes from the page of her book and listen. Moments tick by, filled up by the silence of a late night. She looks back down, tries to absorb herself back into the storyline until a hoarse cry pulls her straight back out and her head snaps up, eyes wide with unease. He sounds distressed, like an injured animal and it sends a ripple of something down her spine. Another louder one follows, almost a scream, jagged as if literally torn from his throat and it makes her toss the book to one side and go running to his room.
He can hear it, the sound it makes, the hum of the hydraulics, the hiss and crackle of energy. Braces himself. He won't cry out this time. He knows what's coming. Flinches anyway against the pressure he feels against his head. Powerless to stop the tears that flood his eyes as the air heaves in his lungs. He's panting, trying to quell the panic that's rising. Closes his eyes against it all. Sees flashes of white behind his eyelids, arcing and fluctuating. Bites down hard on the mouth guard pushed between his teeth. Screams in sync with the pain that bursts and pulsates through his skull. Never ending. It roars through his brain. He thinks he can hear frantic bleeping, the machines that monitor him going into some sort of panic mode. They're watching him, those men in their little white coats and their bow ties, observing, taking notes and making adjustments for next time. Next time.
"No…No…" she hears him moan as she enters his room and in the partial light she sees him half upright, trying to get out of bed but the sheets are tangled around his legs. She can hear the metal arm whirr as he fights against something only he can see.
Alex whispers his name as she goes to him. She pulls the sheets free and catches onto him as he almost falls off the mattress. She steadies him, hearing his breath heave in his chest, a frightened gasp caught the back of his throat. His eyes are open but they're opaque, lost in whatever nightmare that's holding him prisoner.
"Can't breathe…can't…" His voice, thickened by sleep lowers to a mumble.
He's breathless, air whistling in his lungs, trying to take a deep enough breath, his hands come up to cover his face and he claws at his skin as if trying to pull something free. His hair is tousled over his fingers.
Lost in panic.
People are running for their lives. Scattering like leaves caught in the wind. He pays them no heed. He knows his mission. Her. She's his and he'll eliminate her. The firecracker red hair brushes against a memory, faint, not strong enough for him to question it but it's there, like a muscle twitch.
She's hiding. She almost deceived him earlier but not now, now he has her in his sights. He stands on the roof of the abandoned car and he takes aim.
Hears the running footsteps at the last minute, sees him out of the corner of his eye. Red white and blue. Throws a desperate punch and the clang of metal against metal reverberates through to his shoulder.
"Hey, hey…you're safe Bucky, it's Alex…you're safe." She lowers her voice as she crouches down in front of him. Her hands come up to cover his, tightening her hold on them very slightly. Slowly he lowers them and looks at her or at least he looks in her direction but again he's not really seeing her. Bad dreams are tangled together in his mind, cobwebby and sticky. She lets go of his hands and touches his face, feeling heated sweat soaked skin, the scrape of stubble against her fingertips. Instantly he jerks back, shoving her hands away as if the contact burns but she stays still, waits a beat and carefully she touches his face once more and this time he doesn't react, allows her the contact but she can feel the tremors that dance along the surface of his skin.
Faces. So many faces that flicker through his mind like a slideshow. Names he no longer remembers, from missions given to him that he can't readily recall. Instructions. Sanctions. Extractions. Executions.
Snap. Snap. Snap. Never ending.
Mission. Wipe. Mission. Wipe. Cryo when he's no longer needed.
Dark. Cold. Quiet.
Until the next mission. Until the next target.
Target sighted and acquired.
He's on the roof of an apartment building. The subject of his mission; Fury, Nicholas J. He failed the first time, confirmed death is still expected and he's still within the time frame. He doesn't stop until the mission is completed. He's across the street now; saw him enter the building unseen by all but him. He waits for him to show his face but he remains hidden. That's not a problem for him. He's patient. He can wait for however long it takes.
Til the…
Then he hears the purr of the motorbike engine.
"…Gotta go…" he continues to mumble and goes to move again. She hears him wheeze, his eyes wide. Fearful. Blind. She places her hands on his shoulders, holds him still, feels the tension in the muscle and is surprised when he doesn't push her away or shake her off.
"They'll…find… me…" He can barely get the words out. Her hands leave his shoulders and she gently strokes his face, carefully brushing back the strands of dark hair that cling to his skin.
"Who will?" she murmurs. His eyes wheel around the room, as if searching for someone or something.
"They...they'll know I'm not… they'll take me…'way…put that thing on me…again…" He makes eye contact now. "I gotta…." He begins to move off the bed once more and it takes all of her strength to keep him still. He struggles this time, albeit weakly.
"M…mission…report…they'll…wanna a mission report…but I failed…I failed…" he moans, his voice low and anguished.
Grabs onto his shoulder harness and kicks for the shore. Hauls him onto drier land and lowers him down, watches his eyes roll beneath their lids, water dribble out of the corner of his mouth.
'You know me.'
'No I don't!'
But he does. Somehow.
"Ssshh Bucky, it's okay, it's okay. There's nobody here. Tell me, what thing…" Keeps her voice low and soft.
He pauses, looks at her but still doesn't seem to see her.
"Machine…they put a …machine on… my head…my face…it hurts…" His face twists, crumples almost as he obviously remembers how much.
"Why?" she continues, keeping her voice as quiet and as soothing as possible. She sees tears swell in his eyes, leak out.
"To keep me… in check…make me obey… forget…" he confesses, his breathing becoming heavier, more laboured. Scared. She quietly hushes him and watches as he settles, expects him to wake up but he doesn't, he's locked in tight.
"Forget what?" Alex waits, heart beginning to pump, for his answer.
"All of it…me," he answers simply and more tears fall.
Alex's eyes go wide with shock.
"Who Bucky? Who would do such a thing?" She can't keep the horror out of her voice so doesn't try to.
He's trembling now, biting his lower lip as if debating whether to share this secret with her.
"Hy…Hydra." His voice is a ragged whisper.
Alex stares at him, stunned almost beyond comprehension.
Hydra?
"What did the machine do that made you forget?" she asks him.
"…Shock…shocked…head."
Alex blinks as she absorbs this. "Shock… you mean…electric shock?"
He just nods, a tiny almost imperceptible movement.
"Oh my God," she whispers to herself. "Hydra did this to you? Why?"
She has a very good idea why but she needs to hear it from him.
"C…control. They kept me under…control….and they'll find me… I need to go…they'll take me away…again. Can't…." He begins to move once more.
She reaches for him once more, hands cup his face, holding him still and her thumbs brush away the tears that stain his skin, rasp against the stubble covering his jaw, the lower part of his face. Her heart thuds in her chest, her throat all of a sudden thick and she feels tears of her own burn close.
"I promise you that you're safe here Bucky, I promise you. No one will find you, I swear," she whispers and she brushes his hair out of his eyes again. Feels how he still trembles beneath her grasp. Sees his eyes begin to clear. Awareness begin to dawn.
She lowers her hands to his shoulders once more and draws him up against her. He doesn't fight her, it seems to have gone out of him as he rests his head against her shoulder. She gently hushes him as she would a child and strokes his hair, feeling the softness of it beneath her palm. A moment or two passes and he lifts his head up and he looks at her.
"Alex," he whispers as if finally recognising her. Despite the heavy weight in her chest, she smiles softly at him.
"Hey Bucky."
She watches how he takes in his surroundings for a moment or two before looking back at her.
"What happened? What did I do?" His voice is husky.
"Nothing bad so don't worry. You had a nightmare, a night terror, you're kind of awake but you're not. You called out in your sleep, I think last night's drama may have triggered you. You're okay now. You're safe here, do you understand me?"
She decides not to tell him that he'd talked about a machine that used electroshock to control him. That piece of information sits like a lead weight in her chest. Maybe he'll remember it or maybe he won't, she isn't about to remind him of the fact.
She sees him gently nod.
"Do you think you could try to sleep a while? I'll stay with you if you want me to," she suggests though she fully expects him to refuse, both sleep and the offer of company. He turns his head and looks back at the dishevelled bed before returning his attention to her. His eyes scan her face.
"I'm sorry," he murmurs.
She offers him a soft smile. "There's nothing to be sorry about. Come on, lie down, try and relax."
"You'll stay?"
"I'll stay," she promises.
He lies on the mattress facing her. She sits on the floor beside his bed and she stares back at him and she has the slightest of smiles on her face.
"Can I ask you somethin'?" His voice is low in the silence.
"Sure. What do you wanna know?" she answers, voice equally soft.
Bucky observes her for a few seconds longer.
"What you went through…what happened to you…how did you get through it afterwards, to get it to make sense…to get where you are now…."
"Sane?"
He sees the faint tilt to her mouth. "Yeah, I guess."
Alex seems to pause and then she quietly sighs.
"I wrote it down. Kinda like a diary. Everything used to tumble and roll around inside of my head and fester and drive me a little crazy so Angie suggested I write it down and then at least it wasn't inside of here…." She gently taps a finger against the side of her head.
"Did it help?"
"It did, strangely enough. I thought writing it down would resurrect some awful memories of that time but it didn't, not really. It helped me find some kind of order in the insanity of it all and eventually it made me realise that there was nothing I could do about what happened, that it was out of my control and I wasn't responsible."
He watches her, sees how her eyes soften slightly.
"I still read them sometimes but not as often as I used to. They're a reminder for me that my life was crazy back then but I got through it. Don't get me wrong, it was hard at times but I survived. I got through all of it."
Gunfire cracks the air.
"A mission well accomplished Soldat,"
Soldat looks down. Sees red pooling around the still pale figure.
He then looks back at the girl standing beside him. She's also looking down at the prone figure. She has blue eyes, long blonde hair tied back.
He follows her lead, looks back down at the person on the ground.
Blonde hair, closed eyes, two bullet holes. Red white and blue. Abdomen, sternum left hand side.
Soldat frowns. 'For all you know I could be everything that your brother is worried that I am'
She looks at him. No expression on her face.
'Are you?'
The body on the ground tickles at a numbed memory.
"I knew him," he murmurs.
Blue eyes open wide and fix on his face. No expression, no judgement. Waiting for something. Recognition?
Soldat looks back at the girl. Her white shirt is stained red at the sternum and abdomen, the stains slowly expanding beneath his gaze. She pays them no attention
'I don't want to be.'
Hears her sigh. Sees the slow shake of her head, disappointment now visible. She's disappointed in him.
'Wipe him then start over,' she instructs.
Soldat stares at her with wide eyes, feels betrayal surge through him at her instructions.
'But you promised. You said I was safe here, that no one would find me.'
'Then finish it and you will be.'
His mind goes blank. He lifts his weapon, a pistol and he aims.
'Ready to comply.'
Eyes burst open on a gasp of air, the gunshot echoing in his mind. Weak pale light filters into the room. He stares up at the ceiling, heart pounding in his breast, gasping quietly in the silence. Tries to pull oxygen deeper into his lungs, blinks away the moisture in his eyes.
A nightmare, that's all it was.
It wasn't real. It wasn't real. It wasn't real.
Silence reigns but he listens anyway. Just because it's quiet doesn't mean that they're not coming for him. He can't afford to let his guard down, not for a second. Lifts a hand and wipes at his face and then turns his head. Sees the top of her head leaning against the mattress. Slowly, carefully he sits up, watching her, waiting for her to react, to wake up but she doesn't. Slides off the bed and gets to his feet.
He remembers last night in fits and starts. Recalls her touching his face, stroking his hair, whispering reassurances to him, telling him he's safe.
'What did the machine do to make you forget?'
The machine. He told her about the machine? His stomach drops and he goes cold. Slowly turns his head in her direction once more, eyes wide. Did he tell her anything else? He's tempted to wake her and demand that she tell him but he doesn't. She's asleep, she's exhausted.
He's put her in danger; she's in peril knowing anything about him. There are eyes and ears everywhere, the wrong word said, she doesn't know who could be listening. She could disappear, they could come here for him. They're everywhere, ears and eyes everywhere.
He feels panic form and swell inside of him. He needs to go. He needs to get out of here, leave her behind. Leave her safe. Go now. He's always planned to do so but now it's urgent. He needs to go now. Leave it all behind.
Compromised. Danger. Leave.
He should never have agreed to stay here in the first place, he's put her in danger, grave danger and if he stays he'll only succeed in destroying everything she's managed to build up if Hydra or SHIELD come for him. They will tear her apart in their mission to find him.
He dresses quickly and efficiently; jeans, a t-shirt, a grey button down shirt, a hoodie over the top of it. All the while he keeps a wary eye on Alex, fully expecting her to wake any second and ask him what he's doing but she doesn't. She's exhausted, still doesn't move. He carefully opens the wardrobe doors and sees a jacket hanging up. He removes it from the hanger and examines it; some sort of canvas, denim material, faded and well worn. It looks big enough to fit him, to hide his left arm from view. He slides it on and finds that he's right, it does fit and it's comfortable across the shoulders. He sees a black ball cap on one of the shelves and picks it up, examines it. Plain, no emblems or recognisable features. He folds it up and pushes it awkwardly into the back pocket of his jeans. Selects another pair of jeans, t-shirt and a shirt similar to the one he wore yesterday but this one is red. He likes the colour. He carries them out of the room, moving silently.
He returns to the room he's occupied for the past few days. Alex is still asleep, slumped on the floor, leaning against the mattress. He regards her, frowning mildly. It doesn't look comfortable. He takes a step towards her and then halts, biting his lower lip. He doesn't want to leave her there like that. He takes a silent deep breath and approaches her. He crouches down and slowly, carefully scoops her up. He straightens up, feeling her head loll against his shoulder. He pauses and watches as her eyes roll beneath their lids, wondering what he'll say to her if she wakes up and finds herself in his arms like this. She settles again and he quietly exhales in relief as he gently lies her on the mattress, pausing again as she mutters beneath her breath and rolls onto her side, facing away from him. He carefully straightens, watching her until she's still and he reaches for the blanket kicked to the bottom of the bed and he draws it up until it covers her shoulders. Watches her sleep for a moment longer.
He hears what sounds like the quiet squeal of brakes coming from outside. He goes to the window and looks out but sees nothing. His heart jumps when he hears the slam of a vehicle door.
They've found him, they're here to take him back. Compromised. Need to disappear.
He glances back at Alex and then leaves.
Alex isn't sure what it is that wakes her up but as she opens her eyes she realises that she's not where she was before. She's lying on Bucky's bed and she has no memory of getting there. She blinks and rolls onto her back and stares stupidly at the pale blue blanket that covers her to her shoulders. She doesn't remember that either. She sits up, pushing it down and she listens. The apartment is silent, she can't hear him.
She climbs out of bed. "Bucky?"
No response. She heads to the kitchen, passing the bathroom on the way, the door open and it's empty. She wonders whether he's taken it on himself to fix himself a cup of coffee or a glass of the juice he seems to like or maybe even a bowl of cereal but she pauses at the entrance and sees that the kitchen is empty too. She frowns.
"Bucky? Are you here?"
Is he hiding somewhere, in the grips of another anxiety attack perhaps? She heads to her room. There's no one there either.
"What the…"
Pads back into the kitchen and it's when she sees her medical instruments neatly piled on the counter top that she realises that the bag they are usually in is missing and that Bucky has gone too.
A long sigh empties her lungs and she swallows against a thickened throat. She knew this was going to happen, that his stay here was always going to be temporary but the fact that he's disappeared without saying a word to her strangely stings.
Callum glances behind her when he sees her come into the bar later that morning.
"No Bucky this morning?"
Alex shakes her head. "He's gone."
Sees Callum's blink of surprise. "We knew he wouldn't be staying for long Cal, he must've left somewhere around dawn. I woke up and he was gone."
"Without saying goodbye?"
"Somehow he doesn't seem to be the type for farewells. He's gone. It happens." She gives a shrug, projecting nonchalance but in truth it still hurts a bit.
He was unlike anything or anyone she's ever met or helped before and he intrigued her on several levels. Her mind goes back to his whispered confession, about a machine that shocked his brain to into obedience. On the one hand she wants to dismiss it as a fanciful story but on the other his whole demeanour since they met suggests that he's telling the truth because it's so fanciful. The memory loss while she put it down to whatever benzo he was coming down off, a jolt of electricity through the brain would have the same effect as revolting as it sounds. The thought that anyone could do a thing to another human being makes her feel sick.
"Is it true?"
Alex looks at Mary from the opposite side of the bar.
"Is what true?"
"That Frankie was here last night and that he threatened you with a gun and Bucky put him down?" Her eyes are wide with fear, her body thrumming with tension.
Alex regards her for a minute and then she sighs, glancing at Callum before she comes around the bar to stand beside her friend.
"Yes, to all of it. Bucky put Frankie in the hospital, he needs plastic surgery to repair his eye socket but he won't be pressing any charges, Gabe took him in, told them he found him lying in the street and Frankie won't dare contradict that."
"Because he was in the bar with a gun and he'd have to explain why."
"The restraining order. Under any other circumstances I would've had his ass thrown in jail but Bucky…and y'know…" she shrugs. Mary nods. The less dealings with the law, the better.
"Connor says he hit him with his metal arm…he has a metal arm?" she whispers and Alex rolls her eyes.
"I'm gonna have to talk to Connor about privacy again it would seem. You know our rule, we don't talk about the people that we help outside of this building. I know it was with you and you're part of the family but you don't know who will overhear your conversation and make connections." She pauses. "But yes, he's right and that's all that will be said on the matter. Bucky's privacy is important."
"Is he okay?"
Alex's eyes widen. "Bucky or Frankie?" she enquires.
"Bucky obviously, I don't care what happens to Frankie, he comes at you with a weapon and he gets what's coming to him."
Alex smiles a little at her friend's newly discovered gumption.
"Okay I guess. Bucky isn't here anymore, he left this morning."
She sees her look of surprise. "He was only ever going to stay for a few days until he got stronger. He obviously felt strong enough to move on."
She tells herself that the more she keeps saying this then the quicker she'll begin to believe it.
It takes a couple of weeks for life to get back to normal for Alex. When she's out of the bar, she doesn't know why but she keeps an eye open for Bucky and there have been a couple of times that she swears that she sees him but of course she never does; a glimpse of someone like him out of the corner of her eye that when she actually looks is either someone else or nobody at all. It takes her a little while to not react each time the door to the bar opens, to look for him when she returns to her apartment, to finally accept that he's gone and that he's gone for good.
But she can't get the thoughts of the machine out of her mind and his claim that he was tortured by Hydra? She hasn't shared this information with anyone, not even Gabe and it sits inside of her like a bomb waiting to go off.
"Alex, there are a couple of guys here asking to talk to you," Connor tells her late one afternoon about a month after Bucky's departure. She frowns at him and then looks over her shoulder, eyes glancing over the variety of clientele present.
"Tall blond dude, black guy at the bar. Is that…"
Alex looks over her shoulder and sees them standing at the far side of the bar, away from the other customers watching her steadily, unembarrassed at being caught staring. She quietly sighs.
"Captain America? Yeah." The other guy she doesn't recognise.
Her eyes flick back to Connor. "Did they say what about?"
Connor shakes her head. "You don't have to talk to them if you don't want to."
Alex looks at them again, her expression speculative. "Yeah, I think I kinda do. Hold the fort for a while will you?"
"Sure thing," Connor agrees and watches her as she heads out from behind the bar and approaches them.
"Miss Wells?" the tall blond one, Captain America, begins. Alex regards him.
"It's Doctor and yeah, that's me."
"You're Gabe's little sister?" the other guy comments and Alex turns her head and she looks at him. "I'm Sam, Sam Wilson, from the VA. I know your brother."
Alex's eyes lighten. "So you're Sam. Gabe's mentioned you a few times." She returns her attention to his companion. "You're Captain Rogers."
"Steve."
"And I'm Alex. What do you want to talk to me about?"
She sees how Sam and Steve exchange a look.
"It's kinda awkward…and personal. Is there anywhere we could go and talk privately?" Steve requests.
"Sure. This way," Alex replies and beckons behind. She turns and heads to the kitchen, aware of them following her.
The room is empty.
"Coffee?" she asks, indicating that they should sit at the table and she heads for the coffee pot as they do.
She pours coffee into three white mugs and carries two of them over, placing them in front of both men.
"Cream? Sugar?"
"We're good, thanks," Sam responds. Alex returns her attention to Steve whose eyes are taking in his surroundings. She goes to collect her mug and then sits nearby, holding it between both hands.
"What do you want to talk to me about?" she enquires. She has a feeling she may know. Steve turns his head and looks at her. She's struck by his resemblance to Callum; similar build and bone structure. Apart from eye colour they could almost be brothers. No wonder Bucky reacted to Callum the way he did.
"James Buchanan Barnes," Sam begins.
Alex glances at him. "I'm sorry, who?" she replies.
"Also known as Bucky," Steve adds.
"I don't know who that is."
She watches as Steve regards her for a long moment and it takes her everything she has to not drop her gaze. Then he quietly sighs and reaches inside of his jacket. She sees him take a light brown file, the corners slightly curled over, out and place it on the table in front of him. He opens it and extracts a photograph, small, a little bigger than a passport shot. He then pushes it across to her, watches as she picks it up. Her heart gives a jump when she recognises Bucky's face, a different somewhat younger Bucky clad in what looks like an old fashioned uniform, a peaked cap tilted almost rakishly on his head. There's a glint in his eye that she's never seen before, a very slight tilt to the corner of his mouth. This man shows nothing of the man she remembers, of that shell of a human being. She hands the photograph back to Steve and she shakes her head once more.
"Sorry."
"You're sure?" Sam interjects sharply. Alex sends him a calm look but says nothing.
"You heard about what happened to the Triskelion building? Project Insight?" Steve begins, more of a peacemaker than his friend it would seem.
"Yeah, of course, who hasn't and it was literally ten minutes away from here," Alex answers with a shrug.
"Bucky was involved in that. He was last seen about ten minutes away from here. He looks kinda different from the photo I showed you, his hair is longer now and he wasn't wearing that uniform. He was in black; black leather jacket, combats, may have been armed. You will have noticed his left arm. He may have been injured, right arm," he continues, watching her carefully.
"What has this got to do with me?" she asks him.
"We know you help people Alex, Gabe has mentioned it before though before you start, no names have ever been mentioned," Sam interrupts and she slowly widens her eyes.
"Before I start? So I offer help to those who need it and in return for a place of safety they're offered anonymity as well as a place to heal. We don't ask for their backstory or their history. They stay a few days or a few weeks when they don't want official channels involved."
"You helped Bucky?" Steve asks and once more she looks at him, hearing his hopeful tone but doesn't answer and instead he rolls his eyes and pushes the folder across to her.
"He's my childhood friend though right now he doesn't really remember me. He needs help, my help," he tells her. Alex looks down at the folder, at the Cyrillic writing on the cover, old fashioned fountain pen ink, a little faded with age. She flips it open and sees the photograph that's pinned to the inside cover. A man with overlong dark hair in a container of some description. His eyes are closed and as she examines the black and white picture more closely, she realises that he's frozen, there are ice crystals inside of the small window. Her eyes go wide with shock when she realises that it's Bucky.
"Is he…"
"Frozen? Yeah, cryogenic stasis to give it its official name. Bucky was born in 1917. We grew up together, we served together. He was presumed dead in 1944 when he fell from a train during a Howling Commandoes led mission. I found out recently that he's been a Hydra assassin, active for the past fifty years. When they didn't need him, they kept him like that." Steve's voice is flat, emotionless. Alex lifts her head and she looks at him and she sees that his eyes are so sad. She flicks a look between him and Sam who regards her steadily, as if daring her to mess them around any further.
"Brainwashed," she tells him and sees how Steve's eyes suddenly spark with interest.
"So you have seen him?"
Alex pauses for a moment, her gaze still bouncing between them fixing upon Steve as he shifts in his seat, sitting forwards, his expression becoming earnest.
"We want to help him Alex, I promise you. Everything I've told you is the truth; I've known Bucky all my life, we served together in World War Two, he was part of the Howling Commandoes. It's all there at the Smithsonian if you need further proof," Steve presses.
She bites her lip and then sighs.
"I usually don't do this, a place of safety includes anonymity and we tell absolutely no one that they've been here unless they want someone to know but yes, Bucky was here," she confesses. She sees how the two men look at each other. "He stayed for four days and left a month ago. I have no idea where he's gone, literally none."
"How did he seem?" Steve's voice is soft, almost relieved.
"Initially? Confused and in pain. His right shoulder was dislocated, Gabe and I fixed it. He healed very quickly, almost too quickly."
"He's a super soldier, like…me. He has accelerated healing," Steve tells her in a low voice.
"Did he say anything about what happened to him?" Sam enquires and she shakes her head.
"He said very little while he was here. The only things he shared with me voluntarily was his first name and that his mother drank tea from a pink and white tea cup though he couldn't remember her name."
She sees the faintest glimmer of a smile cross Steve's face at this piece of information.
"She did, Bucky bought it for her. He was very close to his mother," Steve supplies.
"There's something else I think you should know if you don't already. You said that he doesn't remember you. When we found him behind the bar we noticed that Bucky was suffering from a degree of memory loss and he also began to go through a kind of withdrawal process that we thought was perhaps from a benzodiazepine dependency; stomach pains, muscle cramps, nausea and some vomiting as well as chills. We asked him what he was withdrawing from but it was obvious to us that he wasn't sure; he kept looking at the back of his hand when Gabe and I asked him but he never answered us because we don't think he knew. "
She then pauses.
"But there's more," Steve prompts and she looks at him and he sees her worried expression.
She sighs shakily and slowly nods her head. She sits back in her chair and stares at her coffee cup for a moment as if organising her thoughts.
"The last night he was here, he had a nightmare, it was a bad one, he didn't know who or where he was and in the middle of it all he told me about a machine… he said it was used to control him, keep him compliant." She pauses, bites her lip as she remembers how scared he was as he confided in her. Sees how both men frown and exchange another more wary look.
"What kind of machine? Did he say what it did and how exactly it controlled him?" Sam asks.
Alex pauses and then takes a slow, deep breath.
"He told me it went on his head and that electroshock was used. He said it…hurt." She swallows, feeling tears threaten.
Absolute silence drops in the room.
"My God," Steve murmurs and Alex looks at him, to see him so pale he's almost grey, how he clenches his jaw so tightly, she can see the muscle twitch.
"His file suggests that coercion was used, I mean it had to be given how long Hydra had him, the fact he didn't recognise me or even his own name. I just didn't know how, not for sure." His voice lowers as he glances away, frowning slightly. Beside him Sam is quiet, pensive, absorbing this information with him.
Alex straightens a little in her seat. "I'm inclined to believe him, something as horrific as that you don't make up." She remembers the absolute fear on his face. "It would perhaps also better explain his memory loss and maybe why he didn't remember you, you say you were best friends?"
"Since we were kids," Steve murmurs and she can see that he's still lost in what she's provided him with.
"I also suspect that the people who held him…Hydra also used benzodiazepines to keep him calm, under control because I could imagine the electro shock could and would cause him to become…erratic." Alex sees how Steve frowns at this, eyes distant, a million miles away.
"But I think he was starting to remember you though," she continues and watches how Steve's eyes snap back to her face, brighten just a little bit. "Your name means something to him but I don't think he knows how or why just yet. So take a little comfort from that. I hope that you find him, I really do."
Nobody pays attention to the quiet young man as he makes his way through the exhibition.
He keeps his hands pushed into the pockets of his jacket as he walks. The place is busy as Alex said. Today seems to be no exception.
His eyes skim the faces as they get close to him, some of them look at him but it's barely a glance, hardly registering but he still feels a frisson of something close to nerves each time, a fluttering in the pit of his stomach. Do any of them recognise him? Do they know who…what he is? They swarm around him like insects, some of them brush against him in their quest to get by and it takes all that he possesses not to freeze in his tracks, turn tail and push his way out of there. He tries to filter out the hum of conversation that buzzes around him, above him but it's difficult, he's out of practice. Instead he endeavours to keep his head down, hunches his shoulders a little and tugs his baseball cap a little further down over his eyes, careful not to make deliberate eye contact with anyone. To make himself forgettable, as small as possible.
Nobody pays attention to the quiet young man as he slides into the exhibition on a swell of visitors, most of them glowing with curiosity, eager to learn about the history of Captain America.
He retrieves a leaflet from a plastic display that announces the exhibition and he looks down at it, at the face of the man painted on the cover. He flips it open and sees more information and he stares at it. Waits for a memory, any memory to emerge but nothing clicks. Just static where his memories should be. He huffs out a quiet sigh, folds it up and pushes it into his jacket pocket to pore over later. Maybe he's just trying too hard and it'll come back to him if he doesn't try to force it to.
He's careful to make note of any and all cameras, scoping out potential blind spots, keeping his head down, his face turned away, the brim of his cap shielding his face from the too curious.
He shouldn't be here, they might be here, waiting for him to show his face and apprehend him and take him away, back to that place. He should leave, take the opportunity to disappear completely, he knows how to but he has to do this. When Alex mentioned this place to him he knew that he had to visit it for himself, to see. He has to see it all for himself, find out whether his story is true or not. Whether the man in his sketchy memories existed or is just another hallucination.
Curiosity and the need to know for sure propel him forward.
He stops in front of the memorial, towering up in front of him, a gleaming glass obelisk. An unsmiling face gazes back at him, it's supposed to be familiar, he's supposed to have that moment of recognition, that a-ha moment but he doesn't. There's nothing there, no connection, no instant recognition. If he wasn't able to see his reflection in the glass then he wouldn't recognise this man. It's him but then again it isn't. It can't be. This man is dead, has been dead for seventy years.
A disembodied voice announces that Bucky Barnes was the only one of the Howling Commandoes to give his life for his country. This Bucky Barnes. Him. Not him. This Bucky Barnes is different, the opposite of the hollow eyed man who stares back at him.
Words are etched into the smooth surface and his eyes skim over them and he pushes his hands tighter into the pockets of his jacket to stop himself from reaching out and tracing the words with his fingers. As if the act of doing so will input the missing memories into his cracked brain.
…Grew up the eldest child of four….
…an excellent athlete who also excelled in the classroom…
…Barnes and the rest of the 107th shipped out to the Italian Front…
…captured by Hydra troops later that Fall…
…endured long periods of isolation, depravation and torture…
'Sergeant Barnes'
Flinches. Eyes dart around, bouncing over the variety of faces nearby. No one is watching. No one is paying him any attention. No one is close enough. The back of his neck prickles anyway, sending a shiver of apprehension down his spine.
…liberated by none other than his childhood friend, Steve Rogers, now Captain America.
A Fallen Comrade….
I wasn't fallen, I wasn't dead.
They took so much away from me. Scooped me out, stripped me of everything, left behind this shell.
He stares at the picture, at the likeness. It claims to be him, James Buchanan Barnes. His date of birth, 1917 and the date of his death, 1944.
I'm not dead. I'm not alive. I'm not sure what I am.
New York City.
He sits in his tiny little room and for a moment he listens. He can hear the howl of sirens outside his newspaper covered window and he listens with half an ear as he places the notebook on the rickety table in front of him. Stares at it for a long moment, ignoring the heavy thud of his heartbeat in his chest. His hands are shaking slightly as he opens it to the first page, the lined paper unblemished, unmarked. Wedged inside is a picture of Captain America from the pamphlet he'd picked up from the exhibition. He glances at it as he reaches for the cheap black ballpoint pen that rests beside the book. He takes a deep shaky breath.
Write it down, Alex said. He frowns as he begins to tune out the static clouding his brain.
Presses the nib of the pen onto the pristine paper and begins to write.
'My name is James Buchanan Barnes. Bucky.'
END.