I hope this goes well
'Cause for a long time
I will be living in hell
Away from you
And I ask myself
"Is that something I can do?"
...
We will continue in tune and it will be
Full of the warmth we shared so far
And it wasn't easy to walk into the car
Could you please give me something to hold onto?
Something deep that will remind me of you
- "AWOL" by Broadway
Bucky felt like he was walking through a dream. Things kept happening around him—people talking—moving from room to room—but he felt like he wasn't part of any of it. Even though he was the center of everyone's attention.
Steve did almost all of the talking. When Sharon dropped them off in front of the embassy, he talked to the guards at the door. Once the guards let them in, he spoke to a lady at the front desk, then a string of increasingly important-looking people. He explained over and over again why they were there, claiming refuge because Bucky was in fear of being shot before he could even be arrested for something he didn't do.
It didn't feel real. Any minute now, he would wake up and find himself still lying on the bed in the hotel, preparing to tease Steve about his date and forget all about this bizarre dream.
But the dream kept going. A man in a suit and tie led them to a little room with comfortable chairs around a conference table. Automatically, Bucky sank into a chair, shaking his head when the man asked if they wanted tea or coffee. There was a water cooler in the corner with little paper cups to drink from. On the opposite wall was a map of the world, a faded green sofa, and a plastic tree in a pot.
Just a dream, he tried telling himself. A really boring dream.
The man in the suit left them alone, and Steve started pacing back and forth. "Steve?" Bucky whispered, his voice sounding loud in the quiet room. "Wh-What...are we doing here...?"
"Waiting for the attorney," Steve said, still pacing. He looked deep in thought, his brow furrowed with worry.
Bucky looked down at his hands folded on the table. Maybe he should just keep his mouth shut. Steve looked worried enough as it was—more worried than Bucky felt, in fact. Bucky didn't feel much of anything right now.
After a minute or two, Steve sank into the chair to Bucky's right. With a sigh, he reached for Bucky's hand. "Sorry," he muttered. "My mind's racing. I just wish...we could get some answers."
Bucky nodded. Somewhere out there was a man pretending to be him; for all they knew, he was in the process of blowing up some other high-profile location. It felt wrong to just sit here in this drab, boring conference room instead of chasing him down. And he knew Steve felt the same way.
They didn't say any more until the door opened again. It was a different man in a suit, his dark hair turning grey at the temples. "Jack McFayden," he said, shaking both of their hands and sitting down across the table from them with a reassuring smile. Turning a page in his pad of paper, he put on a pair of glasses and prepared to take notes. "I'm the defense counsel assigned to your case, Mr. Barnes. First of all, could you tell me what's happened to bring you here today?"
"You mean you haven't seen the news?" Bucky muttered.
"Yes, but I'd like to hear the story in your own words," McFayden replied. "Everything said in this room will be kept confidential, so please include as much detail as possible."
"Okay." Bucky cleared his throat. "Uh...there's not really much to say..."
He told his story, such as it was. How he attended the funeral, went back to the hotel with Steve, took a nap, and then woke up to find his name and face plastered all over the news. McFayden asked a few questions to clarify some details, most of which seemed to revolve around where they might find people to corroborate his alibi.
McFayden set down his pen once he had it all down, and took off his glasses to look at both of them with a grim expression. "Mr. Barnes, I don't think I need to convince you that you've found yourself in a very serious position. Because you chose to seek refuge here at the embassy, any authorities will need a warrant and an official invitation before they will be allowed inside, but I have no doubt they will obtain one as soon as possible. Now, you are welcome to remain here at the embassy as long as you like, and we will guarantee your safety inside these walls. However, once you leave, there is nothing more we can do. My advice would be to remain here until we can negotiate an agreement with the authorities to guarantee your safe conduct to a local jail."
"But he's innocent!" Steve protested. He looked like he'd been wanting to say that for some time. "There's no way they could make any of these ridiculous accusations stick."
"Perhaps," McFayden said cautiously. "If they have no forensic evidence linking you to the crime, it'll be that much easier for you to prove your innocence. You will also improve your chances of winning in court greatly by saying nothing to the police now. Everything will come out in court, but if you misspeak a single word now, they may find a way to use it against you. I've seen it happen again and again—if they can disprove a single statement you make, they can undermine your entire defense. Especially for such a high-profile case, I would advise complete silence until the trial."
"The trial..." Somehow, that hadn't clicked in Bucky's mind until he heard the word spoken out loud.
They were going to arrest him. They were going to get a warrant and arrest him, and then put him on trial.
Slowly, he raised his head and looked over at Steve to see what he thought of this.
Steve looked terrified. Bucky wondered if he was supposed to be scared too, but he still didn't feel much of anything.
"This brings me to another point," McFayden said, drawing their attention again. "In most cases like yours, where a U.S. citizen visiting the U.K. finds himself under arrest, extradition is the preferred course of action. Particularly when the crime is one with international impact, such as this one. I believe the CIA will request that you be taken back to the States to face trial, and I'd recommend that as well."
"Extradition..." Steve clutched Bucky's hand again, so hard that his ring was starting to cut off circulation to one of his fingers. "How does that work?"
"Well, there'll be certain paperwork that will need to be processed before that can be carried out." Perching his glasses on his nose again, McFayden shuffled through some of the papers he'd brought with him, pushing several across the table. Steve looked at them, but Bucky couldn't seem to read any of the words printed there. Everything was blurry and unreal.
"I can help that process along as much as possible," McFayden continued, "but it may take a while before everything is in place. In the meantime, Mr. Barnes, you're free to stay here until we finalize the arrangements, or you may choose to allow the authorities to arrest you and take you to a holding cell in a local jail, until your transfer back to New York."
Steve's jaw was clenched tight. "Jail?"
McFayden gave him a small, apologetic smile. "I'm afraid the violent nature of his crime makes that necessary—"
"But he didn't do anything!" Steve half-rose from his chair, his hands planted on the table.
Holding up his hands in a placating gesture, McFayden said, "It's simply a precautionary measure, Mr. Rogers. Once the transfer is complete, the judge in New York will make the decision concerning bail. I'll make inquiries as to bail during your time in London, but I doubt he will qualify because of the perceived security risk..."
They were talking about someone else. Surely, they weren't talking about him. Bucky sat at the table, watching Steve and McFayden continuing to discuss the fate of someone who was going to be arrested. Going to spend time in jail. Going to be put on trial.
But it wasn't him. Right? It couldn't be him. He'd wake up any minute now...
The nightmare kept getting worse. Steve sat at the table in the conference room with his head in his hands, staring at the papers McFayden had left behind when he went to make some phone calls. The papers gave a summary of the information McFayden had already told them, but Steve found himself rereading the same sentence over and over again without taking in any of its meaning.
There was nothing Steve could do now. They'd done everything they could for the time being; now all they could do was wait. It would take time for the authorities to get a warrant, but once they did...
Bucky's going to be arrested. Steve had been telling himself that, over and over, ever since they'd made their decision to go to the U.S. Embassy. He still couldn't quite believe it.
With a sigh, he straightened up and looked over at Bucky. "Hey," he said softly. "How are you doing?"
Bucky shrugged, picking at his thumbnail. "Fine." His hands were trembling, and Steve could feel his knee jiggling nervously up and down under the table.
"Are you scared?"
Bucky shook his head, but just then a violent shudder shook his whole body.
Steve pushed his chair back and got to his feet. "Come here." He guided Bucky over to the old, worn couch beneath the map of the world, and sank into its soft cushions with Bucky close at his side. He was still wearing his suit jacket; neither of them had taken the time to change before coming here. So he pulled off the jacket and wrapped it around Bucky's trembling shoulders.
Bucky pulled his feet up onto the couch and curled up against Steve's chest, pulling the jacket over his nose. He breathed in deeply, shivering hard. Steve pulled him close, wrapping his arms protectively around his best friend. He opened his mouth to say everything was going to be okay, but...the promise felt empty. How could he say that, when he didn't know anything for sure?
Instead, Steve buried his face in Bucky's hair and breathed in the familiar scent. Once again, he tried to think of something encouraging to say. But the only thing that came out was, "I just got you back..."
Bucky let go of the jacket and shifted around to wrap his arms around Steve instead. He gripped the back of Steve's shirt in a death grip and mumbled fiercely, "You still have me. You always will. To the end of the line."
Steve had to swallow hard before he could whisper, "And the line has no end...right?"
After a moment, Bucky pulled back a little and slid the ring from his metal finger. He held it up, turning it over and over, watching the light glint off the part where the metal twisted on itself. Finally, he held it out to Steve. "You better hang onto this for me," he said. "I don't think they'll let me keep it in...jail."
Steve's insides twisted at that horrible word, but he knew Bucky was right. He pulled out his dog tags, which he still wore most of the time, and slid the ring onto the chain. It clinked against the tags. Brother, I am eternally yours right next to Steve's name.
"Least you'll have something to remember me by," Bucky mumbled, staring at it.
"Don't talk like that," Steve snapped, pulling him close again. "This is temporary. You're innocent, and they have nothing real to hold against you. You'll be home again soon."
Bucky rested a hand against Steve's chest, pressing the ring and the dog tags against his heart. "Steve?"
"Yeah?"
"What if I'm...different...after this? What if I come home, and...I'm not the same?"
Steve pressed a firm kiss to the top of Bucky's head. "Not even Hydra could change who you are, Buck. Do you really think spending some time in prison will change anything that matters?"
"I...I don't know..."
"I do." Steve's hand closed around Bucky's, pressing the ring on the chain into his palm. "Whatever happens, whatever changes...one thing will always, always stay the same. I love you, Buck. I love you so much."
Bucky pressed his lips to Steve's knuckles and let out a long sigh of...relief, Steve thought. Acceptance. "Love you too, Stevie. Always."
Sam was busy taking care of Jake and thinking up fun activities to pass the time, so he didn't get a chance to check the news until Jake went down for his afternoon nap. Pulling up the news app on his phone, Sam intended to just glance through a few headlines and then go back to his ongoing job search.
But when the first headline he saw was WINTER SOLDIER BOMBS U.N., every other thought instantly fled his mind. As soon as he skimmed through the article, he immediately called Steve's number.
While the phone rang in his ear, Sam mentally calculated the time difference. It was already night in Europe, and the article had said the bombing had happened in the afternoon. Anything could have happened in that amount of time.
Steve might not even be able to answer right now, Sam realized as the phone kept ringing. Had someone else from Hydra followed them and used the Words on Bucky, like Crossbones had a year ago? If so, Steve would probably have gone after them, Accords or no Accords. He would stop at nothing to protect Bucky and get him back safely. But...this was a lot bigger than the last time the Winter Soldier had taken over. Twelve people were dead, the article had said.
Just when Sam was about to give up, he heard Steve's weary voice. "Hey, Sam. Sorry I didn't call; it's been a bit crazy over here..."
Unable to sit still, Sam started pacing around the common room. "Just tell me what's going on. Is Bucky—"
"I'm here," said Bucky's voice. They must be on speakerphone. "It wasn't me."
"The bomber disguised himself as Bucky," Steve explained. "We don't know who it was, and obviously neither of us were anywhere near Vienna..."
"Hydra?" Sam asked, staring blankly out the window. It wouldn't be the first time they'd tried to pin acts of terrorism on one of them.
"Not sure. Nat's okay, by the way; she wasn't hurt."
In the shock of it all, he'd forgotten that she would have been right at ground zero. Sam drew a steadying breath, wishing irrationally that he could have been there somehow. As if he'd have been able to do anything more helpful than what he was currently doing. "Where are you guys now? If you can say?"
"The U.S. Embassy in London," Steve said. "Our hands are tied until they can make arrangements with the CIA to transfer Bucky back to New York."
Of course they would arrest Bucky. Until they could clear his name—which hopefully wouldn't take too long, considering he hadn't even been in the same country—the authorities would want to lock him up. With a curse, Sam sank into the nearest chair, running a hand across his forehead. "What a mess..."
"I'll say," Steve growled. "I get why they have to consider Bucky a suspect, but they're wasting time when they should be looking for the guy that did do this." He let out a long sigh. "We could use your help if you've got time, though. Bucky was assigned an attorney here, but we'll need a new one back in the States."
"Yeah, of course." Sam practically leapt at the one thing he could actually do from thousands of miles away. "I can look up some contact info for you."
"Thanks. The details aren't worked out yet, but extradition is probably going to happen, and I'd like to be ready as soon as possible."
Sam realized that Steve had been doing almost all the talking. It wasn't unusual for Bucky to say less than Steve, but he usually wasn't this quiet unless he was pulling back into his own head. Which was rarely a good thing. "How 'bout you, Bucky?" he said. "How are you holding up?"
Several moments of silence passed before Bucky's exhausted voice spoke up. "It's...been a really long day. I just...want it to be over."
"Yeah," Sam said heavily. "Sorry, man. I wish it didn't turn out like this."
The three of them sat in silence for a while after that. What more could they say?
Steve couldn't remember the last time he'd been this exhausted. They'd been at the embassy for almost 24 hours by now—Steve was free to go at any time, but he refused to just leave Bucky alone in the midst of such uncertainty. So the two of them waited out the interminable hours while negotiations were made. And of course, everything shut down during the night, and the process stalled until people came back to work in the morning.
Time had lost its meaning. Steve felt as though he'd been staring at the beige walls and mottled grey carpet for years, rather than hours. It was hard to believe it had only been a day since he'd sat through Peggy's funeral.
He and Bucky had each dozed off for a few hours, but it had been a rough night. They'd spent a large portion of it pacing up and down the empty halls, saying nothing but holding tightly to each other's hand. Bucky didn't seem able to relax unless he was right next to Steve.
The worst part for both of them was the knowledge that, very soon, this proximity would be a thing of the past.
They had just finished half-heartedly picking at the Indian takeout they'd been given for lunch when McFayden entered the conference room they'd been holed up in most of the time. He'd been bringing them regular updates on the surprisingly slow process. Steve would have thought it was a simple matter to just move Bucky to a holding cell without shooting him in the streets. But he supposed it was best to go through all the official hoops and make sure they were doing it all by the book.
"Thank you for your patience, Mr. Barnes," McFayden said. "I think everything is in order now."
Slowly, Bucky stood up, his face haggard and shadowed with the night's stubble. "You...You mean...?"
"The police are waiting outside. They have guaranteed your safety in return for your cooperation during transfer to the jail. I should warn you that there's a lot of press..."
Steve stopped paying attention to McFayden when he glanced over at Bucky and saw all the telltale signs of an imminent panic attack. Wide eyes staring at nothing, hands trembling, chest heaving with huge gasps...
"Buck?"
"I need air," Bucky blurted out, pushing past McFayden and throwing the door open.
Steve muttered a hasty apology to McFayden and hurried through the door. Bucky stomped down the hallway, apparently looking intimidating enough that a lady in a pencil skirt flattened herself against the wall to let him pass, watching him with a look of alarm. Finally, Steve caught up with Bucky just before he could march out into a waiting room. He grabbed Bucky's arm and pulled him back, murmuring, "Hey, hey, it's okay..."
Bucky looked up at Steve with wild eyes and choked out, "I...I can't, Steve, I can't do this..." He coughed, clutched at his chest, and drew another wheezing gasp, for all the world as if he were the one with asthma.
"Shhh..." Steve held Bucky's head in place, using his hands like blinders to direct his attention only to Steve. "Just breathe. Breathe with me. You can do that, right?"
Bucky nodded as well as he could, gripping Steve's wrists like they were the only solid thing in the world.
Pressing their foreheads together, Steve breathed slow and deep. He could feel Bucky struggling to match his tempo. "This is just temporary," he said, keeping his voice low and even. "You just have to hang on long enough for us to get you back to the States, all right? Then we'll take care of whatever the bail is, and you can come home until the trial. You only have to wait for...a week? Two weeks? You can last a couple weeks, can't you?"
Steve was too close to see Bucky's expression, but he felt the desperate sob convulsing Bucky's chest as he tried to hold it back. He clutched Steve's wrists tight enough that they were probably going to bruise.
"You can do this," Steve murmured softly. "You're strong enough for this, Buck. You're the strongest person I've ever known."
"Don't...feel...strong..."
"That's okay. It's okay if you don't feel strong or brave. But...do you trust me to tell you the truth?"
"Yeah..."
"Then believe me now: You're going to be okay. It's going to be hard for a while, but you're going to make it. I know it because I know you. I know you better than anyone out there. I know you better than anyone in here." He shook Bucky's head gently. "And I'm telling you now that you are strong enough for anything they can throw at you. Hydra couldn't beat you down forever, and neither could Brad. And neither will this."
At that moment, Steve heard the clicking of a camera shutter. He glanced over his shoulder and saw a young woman standing in the doorway of the waiting room, clutching a large camera with a telephoto lens. She snapped another picture, then lowered the camera with a slightly guilty look.
Steve didn't have the energy to get upset, so he just shifted around to shield Bucky from her view. He caught Bucky's gaze again, noting that he was breathing deeply once more. "I believe in you," he whispered. "And if you don't believe in yourself...then I guess I'll just have to have enough faith for both of us."
Bucky's eyes closed, and he let out a deep sigh. "Promise you'll call...and remind me?"
Steve kissed Bucky gently on the forehead, not caring when he heard the camera click again. "Every day."
The minutes and the seconds were slipping away so fast. His moments of freedom were slipping away as swiftly and steadily as sand in an hourglass. But as Bucky put one foot in front of the other, moving closer and closer to the front door of the embassy, he knew that he hadn't truly been free since that man blew up the U.N. Maybe not since Hydra had first captured him.
The Winter Soldier was the chain holding him back. It had only been a matter of time before he reached the end of that chain.
Bucky's only true regret was that he had to leave Steve behind. They hadn't been apart from each other for more than a day since...since a year ago? He wasn't ready to be separated—and, judging from the way Steve kept a protective arm around his shoulders as they walked through the halls, neither was he.
But neither of them could stop this. It didn't matter if they were ready or not. They just had to deal with it.
McFayden and a couple of the embassy's security guards walked with him and Steve towards the entrance. They were going in a roundabout route through a side hallway, so as to avoid the main waiting room where the everyday business of the embassy was being carried out. Steve pulled him to a stop a few feet away from the front door.
Bucky looked into Steve's eyes, and he knew without either of them having to say a word: This was it. The next time they saw each other, there would be bars between them. Well...figuratively, at least.
Suddenly, a powerful wave of deja vu flooded through Bucky. He had been here before, poised on the edge of the final moment before everything changed. Would they ever see each other again? If they did, would they have lost that instant connection? Would he be able to look into Steve's eyes and know—without effort, without a breath of doubt—what he was thinking?
So Bucky said the same thing he'd said the first time they'd parted like this. "Don't do anything stupid till I get back."
Steve's smile was weak, and his eyes filled with tears—but they were also full of understanding. "How can I?" he murmured. "You're taking all the stupid with you."
Bucky hugged Steve as hard as he could, so that this memory would remain strong in the days to come. "Love you, punk," he whispered.
"Love you too, jerk."
Then he let go and walked out the front door. He kept his back straight and his head high, and he didn't look back. He ignored the frantic flashing of cameras on all sides, the clamoring questions from reporters. He let the security guards lead him through the gate, where several police cars sat waiting for him. He held out his hands and allowed a police officer to lock a pair of handcuffs around his wrists with a click that seemed to echo through his soul. He listened to them telling him he was under arrest, and what his rights were. He let them help him into the back of the police car, and sat back quietly as they pulled away from the U.S. Embassy.
He might be leaving his Captain, but he still knew how to act like a soldier.
It was late afternoon by the time Steve made it back to the hotel. He fought his way through a crowd of reporters at the entrance, all of them wanting his opinion on what had happened. He finally pushed through the revolving door, leaving them behind without saying a word. Thankfully, the hotel cared enough about making sure their customers weren't disturbed to ensure security kept the reporters outside.
Steve finally felt like he could breathe a sigh of relief once the elevator doors closed behind him. He slumped against the wall as he moved upward, closing weary eyes. It seemed so long ago that he'd been standing in this same elevator with Sharon, his insides squirming with a pleasant sort of embarrassment.
Now, he just felt queasy with anxiety.
When the elevator dinged and opened on his floor, Steve dragged himself down the hallway, his mind full of nothing but the thought of collapsing into bed for a few hours. But when he swiped his keycard through the lock and opened the door, he found himself frozen on the threshold.
The door softly swung shut behind him as he stood staring at the hotel room. The covers on the bed were disheveled on one side. Bucky's jacket and tie hung on the back of one of the chairs by the window. In the corner sat Bucky's open suitcase, in which Steve could see a crumpled pile of the clothes Bucky had worn on the plane. The remote sat on top of the TV, where Bucky had set it down when they'd left.
It was like he'd just stepped out for a moment. Maybe, in just a few minutes, Bucky would walk through that door and ask Steve why he was standing around and getting in the way...
Slowly, Steve walked into the room and took off his jacket, hanging it on the other chair by the little round table. He sat on the edge of the bed, pulling off his shoes and tie, swallowing hard against the painful lump in his throat. He was planning to open his suitcase and change into something more comfortable to sleep in...but he just sat there, staring at Bucky's boots in the corner. One lay on its side where Bucky had kicked it off and not bothered to straighten it.
When Steve finally moved, it was only to pull his legs up onto the bed and crawl under the covers. He pressed his cheek against the hollow Bucky's head had made in the pillow, and breathed in deeply.
It was very faint, but he could barely make out the smell of Bucky's aftershave against the scent of the clean pillow. Steve closed his eyes and tried with all his might to pretend that Bucky was there.
Tired as he was, it was a long time before he fell asleep.
Many have become my enemies without cause;
those who hate me without reason are numerous.
Those who repay my good with evil
lodge accusations against me;
though I seek only to do what is good.
- Psalm 38:19-20