Chapter Twenty
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Narcissistic Cannibal | EarlyRise

"What's going to happen to him?"

The Joint Counter-Terrorism Centre in Berlin was a well-fortified compound in the heart of Berlin. With its monochromatic colors, minimalist and efficient architecture, and its cold filtered air did little to feel welcoming. Then again, I was in a windowless cell; metal cot, open toilet-and-sink combo, and nary a handy air vent in sight.

And I was still cuffed — a large metal contraption that acted more like a straight-jacket than a pair of handcuffs, effectively locking my arms together against my chest, elbows bent at a ninety-degree angle. Despite the fact that these walls were a solid foot of impenetrable steel and cement, Interpol decided that I still wasn't contained enough.

But it was better than being locked up in that tiny glass cube like Bucky was.

On the other side of the transparent polycarbonate cell door was Steve — looking haggard, frustrated. With me, perhaps. Or with the ten levels of bureaucracy that he's had to deal with since he, too, was arrested.

But only one of us was truly locked up.

"I don't know," Steve finally replied, sighing in what sounded like defeat. Neither of us liked that answer, but at least I knew he was telling the truth. "They're sending in a psych analyst to gauge his… temperament. Then, I imagine, they'll be sending him to the Raft."

"You mean the big floating gulag in the middle of the ocean that doesn't exist on any official reports?"

"It's not a gulag —" Steve stopped himself, grimacing slightly. "But yes. That's where he'll go."

"Probably a cell for me there, too, I bet," I said, slumping back against the wall on my cot. It was a poor attempt at a joke, but I was more surprised by Steve's sustained silence. He could've indulged me and chuckled; he could've chided me, or reassured me.

But Steve didn't do or say anything. I leaned forward again, frowning. "…Right?"

"To be honest, I don't know what's going to happen to you, Mia," Steve finally admitted at length, his gaze first studying the floor, then rising to meet mine. "Ross hasn't demanded you be prosecuted in the same way he has for Bucky. Or me. Or anyone else that was involved."

I blinked, stunned. "What? Why?"

Steve could only shrug. "No idea. He's not showing his hand too soon."

"Something tells me it's not out of the kindness of his own heart." I said wryly, shaking my head. Maybe I shouldn't be surprised.

"No, I doubt it," Steve agreed, with the faintest trace of a sad smile. "But the fact is, your face has been kept out of the news. You're not associated with any of Bucky's crimes. I don't know if that was intentional on his part or not, but it keeps his hands clean."

"It means he can convince the UN I'm not as dangerous as him," I said, jaw clenching. I wanted to break something, to throw myself against the walls until either I or they broke first. "He could even say he rescued me from the Dora Milaje."

It was only after I'd been detained, along with the Wakandan Kingsguard, did I find out who and what they were. And why they were after me. "Dad didn't plant that bomb. He hasn't killed anyone. You know that."

"I know, I know," Steve said, nodding in such a way that it looked like it hurt. He raised a hand in a placating gesture. "I'm doing what I can, trying to stall. We're trying to get lawyers involved, since Ross is so intent on prosecuting. He can't deny us our rights, especially if he wants to give us a public dressing-down in front of the UN. If Bucky ends up in the Raft, it'll be temporary at best, I promise. I'm trying to get you released into my custody, too. Since you haven't been charged with any crimes, they can't keep you legally detained past twenty-four hours."

I didn't know how long it'd been, but it definitely hadn't been a full day. Maybe six hours at best. And something told me these guys would try to hang onto me as long as possible. "And how's that going for you?"

"Well, it's been an interesting journey through several international departments," Steve replied, pinching the brow of his nose. "As far as anyone is concerned, I'm your biological father. No one's disputed that so I don't think that's the problem."

Which meant my secret was safe. I didn't kid myself into believing we weren't being watched and recorded right now, every word to be saved for a future court date. For Bucky's sake and my own, Steve had suggested he put his own name on all legal paperwork regarding fatherhood. So far, no one had questioned it. In fact, most people were very ready to believe it. I wasn't sure about Ross, but maybe it worked in his favor if he didn't go shouting that fact to the world, either. "Then what is?"

"Well, being arrested means I lose custody rights," Steve chuckled dryly. "Technically I'm not even supposed to leave the very comfortable office room they assigned to me. But that means custody then falls to May, who as we know is not here right now. And I'm not exactly sure if or when they're going to make contact with her, or if it's even feasible she's able to help. Natasha's trying her best, but least to say we're being stonewalled at every turn."

"Which means I might be here longer than just twenty-four hours," I surmised, then thought about it a little more. "Or they'll find someone suitable to take over in the meantime."

"I have a feeling it'll be the latter,"

"Great," I mulled that one over. I wanted to see Dad, but I didn't know how or when, especially as we're being kept separated. Maybe Interpol really did believe I was kidnapped or something, but that wouldn't justify these handcuffs. They were probably going to move me or Dad out at different times, meaning the last I ever got to see him was in that garage; Dad being rolled away in that awful box, barely able to move. "I know it's a big ask, but do you think I could see him? Just once, before one of us is taken away."

Steve's expression didn't give me a lot of hope. His brows furrowed, lips pressing together. "I can try, Mia. That's all I can promise."

It was the best I could ask for. I could only smile weakly back. "Thanks."

Steve smiled back, sad and tired. "We'll figure this out, Mia. It's not the end. I can't hang around forever, but as soon as I hear something, I'll let you know."

I could only nod. It kind of felt like the end. The end of my life as I knew it. Nothing would be the same after this. "Any last words of advice?"

"Sure." Steve rocked back on his heels, giving me one last knowing look. "Don't talk to anyone without a lawyer."

"Ha, very funny," As if I needed a reminder. Still, my heart lurched slightly as I watched Steve turn to leave. How much I'd missed him; how much I hadn't, couldn't say. "And Steve? I — I'm sorry. For running away, and causing all of this, and —"

"It's not your fault, Mia," Steve cut me off gently, pausing to look over his shoulder. "Whatever's going on is way beyond just you and me. But we can talk about what happened later, okay? Fair to say we have bigger problems right now."

"Yeah," I said, my voice small, wilting a little. I still felt terrible, hardly pulling off the greatest apology, wondering how this all went so wrong so fast. And then Steve was gone and I was left alone to my thoughts.

Everything had happened so quickly after the police arrived at the train station. The Dora Milaje had almost fought them, too, but apparently guns trumped spears. Their King had already been arrested and maybe that took priority. I couldn't help but wonder if I wasn't better off at their mercy, instead of falling directly in the hands of Secretary Ross. Only one of them already had an established reputation of flagrantly bulldozing over various laws of the Geneva Convention, and it wasn't the Dora Milaje.

At any rate, I was stuck here. Arms locked together like a head case in a mental facility. This was fine. Totally fine.

"Mia?"

My head snapped up, startled at the small form standing in front of my cell door. I almost couldn't believe it. "Howie? What are you doing here?"

"I'm with my father," Howie said, as if this were obvious. Maybe it was. I haven't been able to see Tony Stark at all, but I was aware he was here. Howie was dressed in the usual; dark hair painstakingly combed, matching pants and jacket combo, although he spiced it up with a regular t-shirt beneath, a LEGO design. Cute. He signed along with his speech, which was muffled by the glass. "He had this thing at MIT, and then the bomb happened, and now we're here." His eyes lingered over me, hands twisting together nervously. "I heard it was about you — I wanted to come. He didn't say no."

"Oh."

"I was the only one that could," Howie added quickly, as if I needed the extra explanation. He spoke rather fast, a gush of words, like he'd been holding it in for too long. "The others wanted to come, too. But Wanda and Pietro got grounded."

"What's going on with the twins?" I asked, rising with concern. Grounded? They were practically adults, who could ground them?

"Tony had them stay at the compound, with Vision," Howie explained, throwing up his hands. "Which is why I am here, all alone. Peter knows you're here but he and your aunt are having trouble finding flights over. It'll be a few days. I think Tony is trying to stall them."

"Why?" I blinked, surprised.

"I think he suspects something." Howie admitted, hanging his head. "He won't tell me what. But I think he thinks something might happen and he doesn't want anyone to get hurt."

"Because of my… situation," I said, amending my wording at the last second. "Then why are you here?"

"He thinks he can protect me."

There was a long stretch of silence. I raised my eyebrows at him. "Can he?"

Howie scowled back, crossing his arms in front of his chest. I didn't fail to notice the metal wristbands peeking out of his sleeves. "I can protect myself. Besides, I'm not afraid of you. I know you wouldn't hurt me. Besides, someone has to keep the team updated, and it might as well be me."

I had to fight a smile at that. Of all the people that were most insistent that the group of us weren't just friends, but a "team" not unlike the Avengers, it was Howie. I couldn't tell if it was just idealism or if he seriously believed that, but it was charming nonetheless. Right now, we didn't feel much like a team. Not with the way I'd been behaving. "Yeah, I guess that's fair. Is there anyone else there at the compound with them?"

Howie shook his head. "Just those three, I think. All the other Avengers are busy dealing with… this. Except for Thor and Dr. Banner, obviously. Still no news on them."

That didn't surprise me in the least. If they had reappeared, I figured I would've seen it on the news by now. "So, they're alright, all the way out there on their own?"

"I think so," Howie shrugged, but he didn't look convinced. "Pietro likes having the run of the place, but I think Wanda and Vision are starting to feel a little… trapped. But with Ross having his nose on them, it's probably safest."

"Probably?" I didn't like the sound of that. "Howie, is there something you're not telling me?"

The boy shifted nervously on his feet, glancing away, then back again. "Everyone's trying to play nice right now, but I'm worried they're not seeing the bigger picture. Tony's afraid of losing the company. Pepper's CEO, but there's still a board, and that could change. He's already started… investing." Howie said it in an odd way, and I leaned in, trying to decrypt his meaning. Howie's gazed wandered around, fingers tapping together as he meandered over the double-meanings. "New stocks and bonds. Private holdings. Backing up files. Making back-ups of back-ups. I've seen it, on his computer. I wasn't supposed to, but… I think they're preparing for the worst-case scenario."

That definitely didn't sound good. New stocks and bonds? Private holdings? I had no idea what that meant, I didn't know jackshit about how businesses worked and I was fairly sure Howie knew that. So, if not that, then what? Was Tony making secret stashes, withdrawing money to safeguard it?

There was no way for me to ask without giving it away. "Well, whatever happens, you stay safe, okay? I don't know what's going to happen to me, but if Ross makes any sort of move, you know what to do."

Howie took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and nodded. "Si, si. I'm sure it'll be fine. It probably won't be as bad as everyone thinks, right?"

"Probably," I said, trying to give Howie a reassuring smile; wondering if I was lying. To him, to myself. The future felt so uncertain. Forget a five-year plan, I had no idea what might happen five days from now. I might end up in prison. I might end up in some kind of black box location. Who knows. "Tell the others I said hi. That I'm okay. And — that I'm sorry."

"Di niente. I'm sure they won't be mad," Howie offered. "I'm not."

"Well, that's nice to hear," I said, but I could only assuage a little of my guilt. It would've been better if I had some kind of answers, some kind of explanation for why this had to happen. That I ran away from something real and tangible; not just a terrible mishap that got way out of hand. "I'm sure if they're pissed, you'll let me know, too."

"Oh, absolutely," Howie nodded seriously. "And with an itemized list of things you can do to make it up for us."

"I expect nothing less."

I heard footsteps, and Howie turned his head, stepping back when a woman appeared. I recognized her — Agent Thirteen. Kate. Or Sharon. Whatever her real name was. "Hey there, kid. I recall telling you not to leave that chair."

"I left it by the elevator." Howie said, all too innocently.

"Yes, I saw," Sharon replied wryly, then jerked her head to the side. "I suggest you get back before some guy with a badge and a buzz cut gets mad about it."

Howie sighed, giving me one last good-bye wave before jogging off. Sharon turned to me, her expression indiscernible. "Just got approval from upstairs. You get a few minutes with Barnes before the shrink arrives."

"Really?" I perked up.

"Yeah, and it might even happen if you get off your keister." Sharon added, tapping the passcode into the door's keypad. It slid open with the slight whoosh of a decompression chamber.

I couldn't gauge whether she was friendly or not, but I guessed by the mildly sarcastic answer that she wasn't completely hostile to me. Considering she was with the CIA, and a part of the team that helped capture us. "I don't suppose you can take these off."

I raised my arms, heavy with the giant cuffs. Sharon just turned away. "Nope."

"Where's Steve?"

"Where he should be, negotiating with the Accords while he still has time," Sharon replied, her tone carefully neutral. I didn't know where she stood on that, but considering she had been one of the few good SHIELD members left, I wanted to believe she'd be on our side. "This whole thing with Barnes has got him distracted. Ross has been able to make a lot of ground while Captain America was out of the way."

She was already walking when I stepped out of the cell, so I had to speed up a little to stay in pace; keeping silent as I took all of that in. Had Steve really spent so much time searching for us that he didn't spend enough time fighting the Accords? "What's going to happen with that?"

"Well, considering the UN bombing killed dozens of people, including the reclusive Wakandan King who made his first public appearance in decades just for this event —" Sharon took a deep breath. "Pretty bad, by my estimation."

My shoulders slumped. "Yeah, I figured."

"His son really doesn't like Barnes."

"I heard."

"We've got him detained, too."

"For now."

Sharon cut me a look as we entered the elevator. "We know what we're doing, Mia. I know it's slow and frustrating — but we'll see it through to the end."

Blinking, I frowned down at her, trying to make sense of those words. Sharon was oh so very careful. She knew, just as Steve did, that we were being watched. I wanted to believe, more than ever, that she wasn't saying this to mock me. I couldn't hear it in her tone. "I just want my family and friends to be safe."

Sharon gave a short bob of her head. "No one's in danger yet. The only one in real trouble is Barnes. Not you, not anyone else. Rogers and Wilson won't be held forever, and something-something diplomatic immunity will probably kick in for the young King as well. I give it a week at best. Maybe not with all their tools and fancy gadgets. But we both know they can operate pretty well without them."

"Even the King?" I asked, confused. I hadn't seen him in action, only saw the strange black suit he wore, the helmet someone carried away. Vaguely cat-like, with feline ear points.

Sharon didn't get a chance to answer before the elevator doors opened. Stepping out into another hallway, it was a short walk into the containment facility — several levels underground, it seemed, where I had been a few above. The place was dark, the air even colder, so filtered my mouth dried in a few breaths. It felt so sterile.

And there, in the center, surrounded by floodlights and probably a dozen security cameras, was the cube-like cell. Dad, locked inside, strapped to a chair with all limbs restrained, as well as his torso. Our footsteps echoed, and then I realized it was just me, walking closer, while Sharon lagged behind. I glanced behind me, and she gave only a single nod. "We'll be watching."

And she was gone.

For a moment, it felt like a gift, to have some privacy, before remembering said warning. Nothing was private. I had to be careful with what I said. Dad looked up when I approached, eyes widening in surprise.

"Hi," was all I could think to say. My voice sounded so terribly small in this great room.

"Hey, kid," his tone was soft, a little hoarse. A few lesions on his face from a fight I didn't get to see. "You shouldn't be here."

"I know." Maybe it was stupid of me to request this, but I didn't know when I'd get another chance. I really didn't want to start crying right now. "I just wanted to see you. One last time. They said they're going to take you away."

Dad nodded like this didn't surprise him. "Some remote location. It'll… it'll probably be for the best."

I was taken aback. "What? You don't mean that."

"I don't know, kid." Dad shrugged, or tried to, with the restraints holding his shoulders down. He looked utterly defeated. "It feels like I've spent half my life running. Something like this was bound to happen eventually. Maybe it's better that it happened now, before more people got hurt."

"But you had nothing to do with that bombing!"

"I know that. And… and Steve will clear things up for them. But I think the world will be a lot easier for you with me out of the way. People can… rest easy a little."

"Rest easy, while there's a crazy bomber on the loose?" I asked, skeptical. I didn't know where this was coming from. What had Dad changing his mind like this. Was it just the reality of being arrested? That Steve was in trouble, too? And I sure as hell couldn't rest easy with the Accords on the table, either. "You and I both know something fucked up is going on here."

"I know." Dad looked away. "I just don't think I'm the right person to handle it. Right now, everything I do seems to make things worse. And I can't forgive myself if it's my actions ruining your life."

I inhaled sharply, summoning words to speak, before stopping myself. My eyes suddenly burned, and I knew I couldn't say anything without it getting emotional. My arms strained against the metal brackets. More than anything, I just wanted to hug him. One last time.

I heard a shuffle behind me. A light cough. I turned, surprised, to see a man in a tweed suit, glasses, beard, standing awkwardly at the mouth of the compound. He had with him a little briefcase, and looked entirely out of place in this room of glass and metal.

The man cleared his throat, speaking with a German accent. "Ah, my apologies. I didn't mean to interrupt. I'm Dr. Broussard, I've been sent here to by the U.N. evaluate Mr. Barnes."

Next to me, Dad's demeanor instantly changed; from withdrawn and guilty to immediately putting up walls, hackles rising. Guarded, unfriendly. I took that as my cue to leave. "Sorry, I'll just head out now."

"Oh, no, I don't mind," Dr. Broussard tried to give me a reassuring smile, perhaps a little intimidated. He wasn't a short man, but he was of a smaller stature than even me. He came around to place his briefcase on the desk arranged in front of the containment cell; gestured to Dad. "If he prefers your presence, if it makes him more comfortable, I have no complaints."

I glanced at Dad, uncertain. He didn't say anything for a long moment, expression completely closed off. At length, he finally mumbled, "You can stay."

"Wunderbar. If you could, miss, please sit at this table. For recording purposes, I believe the UN would prefer an unobstructed view." Dr. Broussard gestured to the single chair at the table. I decided to comply, seeing no issue with it, remaining in direct line of sight with Dad. He didn't look particularly relaxed to me, so I could only imagine how much worse it'd be if I wasn't here.

Dr. Broussard pulled out a clipboard, thick with paper, from his briefcase. I could only catch a glimpse, but I could see a set of information already printed, along with what seemed to be a kind of list. Categories, fill in the blank. As he spoke, Dr. Broussard paced around the table, sometimes behind me, sometimes in front. "We'll get started right away, if you don't mind, Mr. Barnes… Your first name is James?"

Dad didn't respond. He kept his eyes down, head bowed slightly. I didn't know if I should do something, but I got the feeling if I was too involved it might affect his score negatively. If this was indeed some kind of test.

Dr. Broussard waited a long minute for him to respond, taking slow, measured steps. When he didn't, Dr. Broussard sighed. "I'm not here to judge you. I'm just here to ask you a few questions. Do you know where you are, James?"

Again, nothing.

Dr. Broussard paused next to the table on my right. "I can't help you if you don't talk to me, James."

"My name is Bucky." Dad spoke, voice low, like he was grounding out every word against his will.

With that, Dr. Broussard began to pace again. "Tell me, Bucky. You've seen a great deal, haven't you?"

"I don't wanna talk about it." He wouldn't look at me.

"You fear that if you open your mouth, the horrors might never stop." Dr. Broussard surmised calmly, a nod of his head. "Don't worry. We only have to talk about one. Do you recall your whereabouts last Tuesday evening? That would be the twelfth."

"I was in Bucharest. Romania. I have been for the last month."

"And you never left during that time?"

"No."

"Ah, very well. And what about the evening of May 18th?"

Dad blinked. "I was… I was in New York. Why?"

"Because that is the date forensic scientists determined the bomb was planted." Dr. Broussard said calmly, and I straightened in my seat.

I couldn't help it, I spoke aloud, "I thought those photos of him were from right before the bombing?"

Dr. Broussard didn't look at me. "Yes, that was the initial belief. But we came across new information recently, and it's imperative to ask. Now, please, remain silent for the questioning. James, had you ever left New York during that time?"

"I — maybe. I don't think so."

"You don't think so?" Dr. Broussard repeated skeptically, then wrote something down. My stomach squeezed and I regretted speaking up at all. Dad caught my gaze and shook his head, pained. There was nothing I could do.

Still, May 18th. The bomb had been waiting there, this entire time? Why so far in advance?

"Why don't we discuss your family?" Dr. Broussard continued, making another circuit around the desk behind me.

Dad frowned slightly, his face twitching as if he had one of those headaches. "Have I — have we met before? Your face, it's…"

"Familiar?" The doctor cocked a brow. "Perhaps. But rest assured, I've never been one of your targets. Now, if you would kindly answer my question, how long had you known you were a father?"

I only saw the flash of surprise across Dad's face, right before my own heart leapt — and with a great hum, the lights went out. All electricity, cut out, casting the room in total darkness. The only power that remained were the flashing red lights, a terrible shriek in my ears. Some kind of alarm.

No, not an alarm. In my head. Coming from the small metal device pressed to my ear.

I tried to gasp, cry out — but in seconds every muscle locked up, tendons snapping tight, my chest convulsing as I tried to remember how to breathe. I immediately slumped back, only to be caught by a tweed-covered arm, holding me upright.

"Easy now," Dr. Broussard murmured, as I choked, unable to move. What did he do to me? Why? Who was he? "Remember to breathe. It's only temporary."

Across from me, in the containment cell, Dad was already writhing against his restraints. "What the hell is this? Don't you lay a hand —!"

"I wouldn't waste my breath with useless threats, Mr. Barnes," Dr. Broussard spoke, unerringly calm. His other hand stroked the top of my head, like a pet. "She doesn't have much time left. Бунтарь."

Rebel.

My heart skipped a beat. I tried to move, tried to speak, tried to do anything. But even if my arms weren't locked against my chest, my body couldn't respond to me.

"Колумбия."

Columbia.

"No!" Dad wrenched so hard in his seat that one of the restraints cracked.

"Пустой, девяносто."

Hollow. Ninety.

The only thing I could move were my eyes. Not even blinking was an option, all I could do was stare, pleading silently, as hard as I could, watching as Dad started fighting against his restraints.

"Баюкать."

Cradled.

Really fighting — metal pulling and grinding. Even the cell built specifically for him wasn't enough to contain him.

"Mарионетка."

Marionette.

I could already feel it, my mind turning fuzzy at the edges. I tried to fight it. Tried not to listen. But Dr. Broussard was right next to me, speaking right into my ear. Soft and gentle, almost like a lullaby.

"Семь."

Four.

Breathing got easier. Maybe whatever he did to me was already fading. Or maybe I just couldn't tell anymore.

"Hачало."

Threshold.

Metal arm breaking through. Knuckles slamming into glass. Dad gritting his teeth, part anger, part panic. Glass cracking, inches thick.

"Ледник."

Glacier.

His eyes never leaving mine. Shouting something, but I couldn't hear it anymore.

"Завод."

Factory.

Glass shattered to the floor, metal arm now turning to the remaining restraints, trying to pull himself free.

"Are you ready to comply?"

Too late.

"Ready to comply." The words that came out were both there. And not there.

The arm restraints clattered to the floor — at the same time the metal door came flying off the containment cell. A gun appeared on the table. How long had it been there? Where had it come from? It didn't matter. It was in hand, against temple, just as Bucky threw himself out.

Halfway to launching himself at the false doctor, he froze.

"Sehr gut." Dr. Broussard patted her shoulder. "If he takes another step, put a bullet in your head."

Bucky's eyes flicked from her, to the doctor. Breathing hard. Every muscle screaming at him to move. His voice was barely a whisper, gritted teeth. "What do you want?"

"You know what I want." Dr. Broussard said, in a face and voice that felt so awfully familiar. So far away, just out of reach. If he had more time, if he could think straight, if he wasn't so filled with panic and rage right now, maybe Bucky could remember. "I need to speak to him."

"No." Bucky couldn't allow that. The Soldat was dead. Gone. To speak to him? Absolutely out of the question. "You can speak to me."

Where were the guards? Security? Anyone? They should be here by now; at least, that's what Bucky hoped. Steve, Natalia, anyone who'd be able to stop this. To save Mia. Surely the power outage couldn't have halted everyone in their tracks. But Bucky didn't know anything. Nothing was ever as simple as it seemed. It was a fact of life. His life.

"You can't remember," The doctor shook his head, and was so arrogant and sure of his hold on Bucky that he casually walked right up to him. "Even now, you don't recognize me, do you?"

Face to face, inches apart. Bucky could crush his throat, punch a hole through his chest, do any number of lethal acts that would end this in a moment — but he couldn't.

Mia just sat there, silently. Gaze blank as she held a pistol to her own head. Her finger on the trigger, unmoving.

Bucky reluctantly looked back at the doctor; he'd taken off his glasses, and that had helped a little. But not enough. Bucky hated telling the truth. "No."

"Ah, see? You are of no use to me," The man chuckled. "But we have met before. Once. So, I'm not surprised if I don't ring a bell, as it were. It was my father you were more interested in. But that was many, many years ago. All there is left to do is to balance the books."

As he said this, he withdrew a something from behind his back. A red book, a teasing gesture almost. Bucky was still trying to parse through his strange words, but at the sight of that, all line of thought ended, replaced only with fear.

"You don't know what you're asking for."

"I do, actually. And I wanted to do you the favor of looking in your daughter's eyes as it happened." The man continued, his voice low, a little smile on his face. "Make her watch the final moments of her father, as I once had to. Тоска,"

Longing.

"No." Bucky twitched, an instinct, but as soon as he did Mia had moved as well. The tiniest flick of a finger that had his heart his So, throat, and he forced himself to remain still. "Stop. Please —"

"Ржавый, печь." Rusted. Furnace.

Begging. He'd been reduced to begging. Bucky had to swallow the bile that rose up his throat, bitterness and self-loathing. Hands clenching and unclenching, every fiber of his being having to fight his instincts. Fight, flight, none of it was applicable anymore.

"Рассвет, семнадцать," Daybreak. Seventeen. The man spoke at an even, brisk pace. Perhaps he knew how little time they had left.

Someone, anyone. But no one appeared. Bucky could only stand there. Just stand and watch, begging Mia to meet his eyes. Wanting to believe she was still there. He knew she was.

"Доброкачественный." Benign.

He just couldn't reach her.

"Девять." Nine.

"I'm sorry," the words came out choked; Bucky waited too long to say them. Already his fingers were numb. But he had to try. The man was right. Time was short. "Mia, I'm so sorry."

"Возвращение домой." Homecoming.

"It's… it's going to be okay." A lie, a horrible lie. Dragged like a corpse from his teeth.

"Один." One.

Bucky kept his eyes on her. He couldn't stop this, so the last thing he wanted to see was Mia. "I-I promise, I… won't let anything —"

"Товарный вагон."

Freight car.

Watched, as a single tear slipped down her cheek.

And then Bucky was gone.