Trigger warning: domestic abuse
Jak did not curtsey. She could barely gather the energy to stand up again after she fell. Her heart was racing, her ears were ringing, she felt cold and hot at the same time. Though she didn't remember what the last meal she ate was, she could feel it threatening to come up again.
"How?" She rasped.
"How to curtsey? You can't expect me to know, daughter, I've never done it before. A bow will suffice if you truly cannot remember," he glared at her, as if he were the one who had reason to be angry with her. As if he were the one who'd been abused for his whole life, forced to move around, punished for the smallest acts of rebellion, and then thrown into chaos when she faked her death, rather than the other way around.
"How are you alive?" She managed. When she was a child, he prided himself on being a patient man, but such patience never extended to his daughter or her mother. Still, she would not bow to him, not after so long. Not when she could hardly believe he was alive.
"You thought the so-called super soldier had truly defeated your powerful father?" He scoffed, "I am disappointed you have such little faith in me."
"Where have you been for the last seventy years?!"
"I've been doing what I always do. Surviving. Moving from place to place. Gathering my assets," he took a step closer to her and snatched her chin, tilting her face to examine her, "Now that I have you back, we'll begin the real work."
"What do you mean?" She pulled away from him and studied his face. He had not aged since she'd seen him die in 1944, if anything, he almost looked younger. She remembered him as looking like a man in his late forties, always old enough to be her father. Now, he looked a decade younger.
"Come on now, Winnet, your mother always assured me that you were a bright girl," he crossed his arms. When she had no response for that, he simply rolled his eyes. "I suppose you are in shock. It is understandable that you cannot think at full capacity right now. You are probably hungry as well, yes?"
Jak opened her mouth but didn't say anything.
"We will have brunch together and if you behave yourself, I will fill you in on the details of the past seven decades," he looked at her clothes, "But no daughter of mine will wear farmer's clothes to the table. Put on something more suitable before coming downstairs. My soldier will show you the way down once you are ready. Winter Soldier, escort my daughter to the dining room once she is adequately clothed."
"Yes, sir," Bucky said from the doorway.
"Winnet, take no longer than ten minutes. The eggs will get cold otherwise. You know how I feel about cold food. And tardiness."
He left. Jak fell back into the chair and blinked a few times. Bucky waited until her father was out of earshot and then stepped into the room. He crouched down in front of her chair and looked up at her with concern.
"You okay?"
"No," she whispered, "Not even a little bit."
"So… he's your dad?"
She nodded.
"Doesn't seem like the type to play catch on the weekends or help you learn to tie your shoes," Bucky remarked, "Has he always been so harsh with you?"
"He's supposed to be dead," she whispered frantically, leaning forward and gripping the armrest. "Steve Rogers incinerated him in 1944! I watched him turn to ash! I cried for days about it. My mother was distraught. But I never wanted him back. Even when I watched him burn, deep down I was happy to see him go."
"Well, he's alive. I can confirm he's not a ghost. Or if he is, he's a really solid one."
Jak nodded and then looked down at herself. "What am I supposed to change into? I don't have access to magic to change my clothes. I need to get dressed and get downstairs. If the food is cold…"
On the occasions that Jak and her mother would serve her father food- when he wasn't eating dinner at an important colleague's home or off in another country- her mother always said "if the food is cold then you'll be colder". Her father only complained of cold food once, but that was enough. Jak had been made to sleep outside that night, in the winter, with nothing but a few blankets and a doorstep.
"Let's check the dresser," Bucky got up and quickly walked to the heavy piece of furniture. He opened the drawers and, sure enough, there were plenty of clothes inside. Jak jumped to her feet, old fear of being punished for disobedience setting in like an unwelcome, but familiar acquaintance. It was easy to fall back into the terrified urgency of trying to keep her parents happy.
She quickly assessed the clothes in the dresser. Several clean blouses of varying shades sat in the top drawer and neatly folded knee length or longer skirts sat in the bottom drawer. All of them were about sixty years out of style, as were the underthings in the middle drawer, but she did not hesitate to pick out something appropriate for brunch with her father. With Bucky standing by the door, she pulled on frustratingly scratchy stockings, a pleated blue skirt, and a white button up blouse with a rounded collar.
"My hair," she muttered, catching a glimpse of herself in the silver-backed mirror on top of the dresser, "Shit. Is there a hairbrush in here?"
"I didn't see one," Bucky stepped back into the room and helped her look around. They didn't find anything to help tame her hair so she combed through it with her fingers to the best of her ability and then tied it off with a hair tie from her wrist. It did not look as presentable as she would have liked, but there was too little time to do anything else.
In the past, she would have scrubbed her face and hands before daring to appear before her father, but there was no bathroom or washbasin that she could see and there wasn't enough time. There also were no shoes to match the clothes, which left her with the option of stocking feet or her work boots. She decided on the boots, despite her personal preference of no shoes inside a home, because she knew her father would find stocking feet childish.
"You look fine. It's been about seven minutes. Let's get you downstairs," Bucky gently pushed her shoulders toward the bedroom door. Jak let him direct her the whole way. All she could think to do was set one foot in front of the other as he led her to a fine dining room and pulled a chair back for her. She managed to remember not to sit, as her father was not yet in the room. Her mother had made her stand for hours by the table once, while they waited for him to get home for dinner. He arrived late that night, smelling of some woman's sickly sweet perfume, claiming to have already eaten.
Thankfully, Jak only had to wait a moment before he stepped into the dining room. He immediately appraised her appearance. His eyes lingered on her shoes, but he did not comment. Instead, he sat down and began to serve himself from the many platters of breakfast food at the table. Once his plate was full, Jak carefully scooped what was left onto her own plate, being sure not to take too much in case he wanted seconds. She was hungry, but knew better than to start eating until he had. And this, he put off with conversation.
"You look like a kicked dog," he remarked, "You're practically trembling."
She folded her hands in her lap and wondered how she could fix this problem without breaking from the meek demeanor she'd always worn in her father's presence. No answer came to mind, so she continued to stare down at her hands.
Her father sighed heavily and picked up his fork. He pointed it at her. "I suppose you are still in shock. Would it help if I explained a few things to you?"
"I still don't understand how you are alive," she said, looking up at him. She was never supposed to look him in the eye unless he told her to, but she had to stare. She had to see that he was really standing before her.
"I will explain the intricacies of that in due time," he told her, "But suffice to say, I survived Captain Roger's attempt to end me. I was, of course, severely wounded and many had given me up for dead. You and your mother included."
"I watched you burn away to nothing!" She exclaimed. "I saw your flesh sizzling on your body! I saw your bones blacken and crumble!"
"That sort of talk is not appropriate for the breakfast table," he scolded, "We will leave that discussion for later. After Captain Roger's left me, I knew that returning to Hydra would be futile."
Jak saw Bucky flinch at "Hydra" out of the corner of her eye.
"Johan Schmidt was doomed the moment he made himself a target of the SSR. And then he was stupid enough to accidentally take this one," her father pointed to Bucky, "as a prisoner of war. He could have easily found out about his friendship with Captain Roger's and then either thrown him into the wilderness or killed him and been done with it. But Roger's had hope that Sergeant Barnes was still alive and it all fell apart from there."
"Hydra survived though," Jak said, trying to keep any argument out of her voice. "They continued on for years."
"And would have won over the world if, again, Barnes hadn't gotten in the way."
Bucky's face was as unmoving as glass. His eyes stared ahead blankly.
"But, of course Secretary Pierce sent Steve Roger's best friend right into his arms and now Hydra has fallen a second time," her father shook his head, "Honestly."
"So you did not return to Hydra," Jak tried to keep the story on track, recognizing that her father might be about to go on a tangent about how impatient mortals could be. About how "today's men" were constantly running head first into idiotic ideas. She'd watched her mother skillfully cut off such tyraids for years by steering her father back to the original topic. "Where did you go?"
"When the war ended the Americans were drunk off their victory and self righteousness. It was not difficult to pretend to be a refugee and get out of Europe. Since you've seen me last, I've been building myself back up. I run several companies, am in the ears of politicians across the globe, and out here, in these woods, I can hone my magical abilities. I am more powerful than I ever have been."
Jak supposed she was supposed to express awe or congratulations at this, but she was too terrified to do so. Her father had always been involved with the great powerhouses of the world, but in the modern age, with technology and years of experience at his disposal, he was most likely untouchable for any authorities who might suspect him of anything illegal.
"And you," he finally took his first bite of food and Jak quickly followed suit. Once he chewed and swallowed he pointed his fork at her again. "You have been scrubbing toilets for the very man who sought to destroy me. I am greatly disappointed in you, Winnet."
"Mother and I… we were left alone. We had no money and no purpose for years," Jak said, treading carefully. She could not blame him for her shortcomings. "When the opportunity presented itself, we tried to get revenge for what was done to you, but the Avengers killed-"
"Not just the Avengers, though, right?" He jabbed his fork into the table and it stuck. Jak flinched as he intended. "I heard a rumor that my own dear daughter struck a deal with those Avengers. Those trifling, brightly clad idiots made a bargain with you, did they not?"
"Father, I had no choice-"
"Then you weren't looking hard enough. You weren't thinking or strategizing like you were taught to do. You gave in so easily to their seductions and killed your own mother."
She took a deep breath and remembered that day. How she had broken free of her mother's control for just long enough to realize her miserable life would never change, not for all of eternity. She would be stuck as a mindless puppet until the end of time unless she agreed to help Steve Rogers make her an orphan. It had been the most painful thing she'd ever done, but it had been the best choice she ever made. She did not regret it, even in the face of her father's rebuke.
"I did," she replied, gripping her fork tightly and straightening her posture, "I burst her heart inside her chest and collapsed her lungs."
"I loved your mother," he replied darkly, "For many years, she was the only woman I loved. I had tried for centuries to produce offspring and only a handful of human women were ever able to bear me a child. And none of the beautiful wretches before your mother had given me a child who also inherited my power."
Jak knew that, in the countless years her father had lived, she could not have been his only child. Yet, she'd never heard it confirmed. Neither of her parents ever mentioned that she had half siblings lost to time. Had they been as long lived as she? Were any still out there? Or had their mothers left them in the woods and they had not found their way back?
"I loved my mother too," she replied to her father, "She was all I had in this world and I killed her. I miss her, but I will not apologize for what I did."
"Good," he said.
"What?"
He shoveled food in his mouth and chewed it, smiling at her startled expression.
"I loved her, but she became a bit of a nag as time wore on. She seemed to think that, because I loved her, I had to be faithful to her," he laughed, "She begged me time and again to pay her more attention, to spend more time with you, to play house. But I have never been the sort of domestic man she wanted and I grew tired of her asking. Besides, I suspected she was close to using her magical manipulations on me to influence me. I could not have that."
Jak stared at him. The words coming out of his mouth made sense, but she had never expected to hear them. Her mother only ever sang his praises. He had never been as kind to her, but he'd never described her like this.
"I'm glad you killed that whining, conniving bitch," he frowned, "But you did not use my gift. You know I am not one to give presents frivolously, Winnet."
He was talking about the box of bones. She had nearly forgotten. The memory of the box still pricked pain in her mind, but now that he mentioned it, she remembered opening it and finding that grinning skull. Her mother. Dead only three years.
"No matter, we shall use her bones together," he told her, "Once I can trust that you will use your magic responsibly. Right now, I fear you may lash out with it. I'll give you time to get used to me again and then we'll grow your strength. We'll make you nearly as powerful as I am and you shall be my right hand. As you were always meant to be."
"I will not desecrate her remains," Jak replied.
"It's hardly desecration," he rolled his eyes, "But that is not important right now."
He would not say what was important right then or what she would be his right hand for, instead finishing his breakfast in silence. Jak did the same, though her appetite had decreased after their conversation. Once they were done eating, he stood and gestured for her to follow him into a fine parlor in the house. He sat in a wingback chair that almost looked like a throne and pointed at the footstool in front of him. She knew he wanted her to sit on it, to be lower than him and have to look up at him. In years gone by, she would have. After all, it was not her place to be on equal footing with him, not back then. Not twenty minutes previous either.
But now, with the shock wearing off, and the reminder that she had already killed one of her parents to gain relative freedom, she did not wish to sit like a small child at his feet. And a small, unimportant voice, said that she did not want Bucky to see her groveling. For those reasons, she sat on the musty smelling sofa across from her father. He narrowed his eyes, but did not reprimand her.
"I'm sure you are overwhelmed with everything you have learned today," he said, "I will not ask much more of you before you return to your room until dinner. But one thing we must discuss is your name."
"My name?"
"We must give you a new one if you are to work with me from here on out."
"Why can't I be Jaklyn Baker?" She asked. It was not her favorite name, but she was used to it. She'd used it for fifteen years. It was the name that… someone called her. She couldn't remember who and trying to remember brought pain to her head that doubled her over.
"Ah, trying to probe your mind for things you no longer need to remember, are you?" Her father tsked, "It would be better to leave those things alone. They are not relevant to the life you will now lead."
"I want my memories back," she managed to say as pain rocketed down the back of her neck and stabbed each vertebrae. "Please, Father."
"I have blocked them for a reason. Do not question me or you will invite more pain."
"Gah!" She clenched her fists and gave up reaching for the memory of a man who called her Jak. She had managed to pry one small detail away though. Whoever he was, he not only called her Jak, he called her a pet name. Elskan mín. And somehow, she knew that it meant my love.
"Now, what names have you gone by in the past seventy years? We can have no repeats. There must not be any connection to you."
"Why can't I stay as Jaklyn?" She asked again.
"Jaklyn Baker is the Avenger's cleaning lady," he scoffed, "And very soon, Jaklyn Baker will be one of the many young women in America who disappear and are never seen again. The government thinks Tony Stark was bringing you to Manhattan. Tony Stark thinks the government has you in their custody. It will be some time before they realize you have vanished and that there is no trace of you and no real records of Agent Feuer."
"They'll try to find me," she warned him.
"Try being the key word. They will not find you. And soon they will forget about that odd little pink haired janitor who they used to know. Perhaps someday, they'll stumble across your missing poster and feel a twinge of sadness, but they will have other, more important things to worry about. And so Jaklyn Baker will be left behind and you shall rise as someone new."
"I don't want to be someone new," she crossed her arms.
"Do not be petulant. You will do as I say."
"No."
He gaped at her, as shocked as she was for a moment. Jak saw Bucky tense in the corner of the room, watching her father warily.
"Your stubbornness has never gotten you anywhere," he reminded her, "I suppose you recall the last time you told me 'no'?"
She did not, but slowly the memory came to her. He had betrothed her to an ancient old man with an extensive shipping network and wealth beyond imagining. She had refused to wed the liver spotted, blad, wrinkly man, calling him "odious" to his face. The shipping magnate had slapped her, torn up the marriage contract, and moved on to an even younger, even less willing bride. Jak's father had beaten her for an hour and instructed her mother to lock her in the cellar to hide her bruises until they healed naturally. Jak disobeyed him again by using magic to heal herself and he replaced every bruise she erased by beating her a second time and tossing her back in the cellar. From then on, her parents had decided that her mother would keep careful control over Jak's behavior by any means necessary. Magic included.
"I assure you, darling daughter, my temper has not changed since then. When was that? 1890 something?"
"1901," Jak replied, "We were in London. Queen Victoria had just died."
"Oh yes, what a wonderful time for the world to get that hag out of the driver's seat of the British Empire."
"The British Empire didn't last much longer after she was gone," Jak reminded.
"Probably because she ruined it," her father waved the matter away, "That is besides the point. Choose a new name or you won't have any supper."
"No."
He scowled at her and took a pen from his pocket. Orange magic flared around the pen and it grew into a sturdy cane.
"Choose a new name, Winnet, and I will spare you the rod."
"I am not a child," she said, standing up. He lazily flicked his wrist and magic enveloped her, bringing her to her knees and lifting the backs of her hands up. No matter how she tried to wriggle away, the magic held firm and she was forced to stay still as he hit the backs of her hands with his cane. She winced, but did not cry out.
"I had hoped this would be a happy reunion, but you've ruined it," he clucked pityingly, "Now I'm going to break the bones in your hand to remind you that you will always listen to your father. I'll heal it tomorrow, of course, but I'm sure it will hurt in the meantime. Unless you've changed your mind?"
It was not worth breaking her bones and Jak knew that. But if she backed down now, she would find herself living in fear of him until one of them really did die. And that would be far longer than she wanted to wait to be free again.
"I have not."
"I'm starting to think your mother was lying when she said you were a bright girl," he raised the cane again and began to bring it down, but a hand shot out and caught it, wrenching it away from her father.
Bucky held the cane between himself and Jak's father like he was a knight and the ancient man in front of him was a dragon. But he did not keep the cane for long, snapping it in two with his metal hand.
"I suspected you might be in your own mind again," her father raised his hands, magic twirling around his fingers. "No matter. I'm tired of looking at you anyway. You'll go back into your cage and later we'll reset you."
Bucky dodged the magic well and leapt forward, putting his metal hand around the other man's neck. All he had to do was squeeze to break his neck as easily as he'd broken the cane. It seemed like he was about to, but Jak's father managed to place a hand on Bucky's forehead and use magic to knock him unconscious. The soldier fell to the ground.
"Right. That's quite enough excitement for one morning. Winnet, since you refuse to select a name, you shall be… Jessica Fenice. I am Uriah Fenice. I'll have the paperwork drawn up."
"I don't want to be Jessica Fenice. I want to be Jak Baker," she said through grit teeth.
"Jak? Is that what people have been calling you?" he shook his head, "Absolutely not, Jessica. Now go to your room or I'll block off more memories. You are lucky I am not making you forget that you were 'Jaklyn Baker' all together."
His magic released her and she shakily made her way back to the room she'd woken up in. Once inside, she left the door open, but a blast of orange magic closed and locked it. She sat down on the edge of the bed and anxiously wondered what would become of Bucky. He was her one chance to get away from her father and he had just ruined that chance by coming to her rescue. And now he was out cold on the floor and probably going to end up in a cell.
A voice in her mind whispered that it was all her fault. That she should have just listened to her father and been a good daughter. Surely life would always be easier if she was a good daughter. This voice sounded an awful lot like her mother.
But another voice, the most beautiful man's voice she'd ever heard, applauded her for her stubbornness and defiance. This voice encouraged her to keep fighting and find a way out. This voice called her elskan mín with tenderness that nearly made her scream for wanting to remember him so badly.
A note from the author: Long chapter! Hopefully you don't mind so much of Jak's backstory. I know it can be boring to read OC heavy chapters. Thanks for sticking with me this far!
Until next weekend!