Certainty (A Bucky Barnes Fanfic)

━◦○◦1.3: Swim Party◦○◦━

episode 1 - New World Order

It was late.

Shamara heaved a long sigh and pushed back from her desk, stretching in the cool night air floating through the open window. She sat in the apartment's public office. No one else used it except Angie for small, random projects that didn't take much time. It was practically her own. The room was thin and narrow, with glass-paned French doors into the main-floor lounge. Even though Shamara only used the office for her telemarket translation work, the glass doors made her uncomfortable. Her spy habits still made her second guess herself when someone could feasibly look over her shoulder.

She scratched the back of her neck. Her feet were on fire. She had taken her shoes off at the door (Arab traits die hard,) but heat still itched through her legs and hands. Gosh, I pray this isn't the start of withdrawal symptoms. If it is heat . . . I'm going to go crazy. Shamara rubbed her thighs. Maybe my aversion to heat all this time has been a withdrawal sign.

She couldn't remember if she ran hot while sedated. Some feelings were clearer than ever in hindsight; some were numbed. She wished more of them were numbed.

She looked back at her computer, a big desktop one. It was not new but not slow, so she was able to work from it. But work had ended at six. It was now nearly eleven. She had spent the hours after work searching for the drug that had once sedated her . . . without actually searching. She had looked up what she remembered the symptoms being like when she woke with an IV in her arm. Looked up how her colleague described the withdrawal. But she had found nothing. She was beginning to think it was something Hydra invented, which she should have known.

She rubbed her feet together, groaning as the itching worsened. She rolled the office chair back to the computer. What drug withdrawal makes your feet itch?

Yeah, nothing. For her anyway. This was awful. A knot swelled in the pit of Shamara's stomach, and she chewed her lip. She cleared her history, shutting the computer off. She gathered her things, put on her shoes, and stepped out of the small room.

But shoes and walking made the itching turn to needle-sharp pain. Shamara gritted her teeth, pausing in the hallway. She glowered at her feet, so distracted, she didn't notice the footsteps until it was too late.

" . . . what are you doing?" Bucky asked.

Shamara's head shot up, "I -. Are you okay?"

He looked like he had been punched in the gut. His face was practically torn open with guilt, and his eyes were hollow. Shamara had seen how bad he was at controlling his expressions, but this was on another level.

" . . . need to clear my mind. Swim for a bit," Bucky ran a gloved hand through his hair.

"You aren't going to drown yourself, right?" Shamara tried to keep her tone light, but she was completely serious.

The kind of despair on his face was dangerous. Did his date go that badly? What the heck happened?

"Unlikely," he gave a cynical, humorless smirk. "After my life, I'd better pick something more spectacular."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Or dramatic," Bucky looked past her, his eyes darkening again.

"Jump on a grenade or freeze to death?" She drawled.

"One, I'm not Captain America. Two, I already tried that."

"Russia?"

"Switzerland. Russia too, I guess."

He was not doing well. If he was being that honest and open, he really didn't care anymore. Shamara shifted her weight, curling her toes as the itching continued.