Numinous »« Bucky Barnes

EPILOGUE

apaixonar (v): to fall in love with someone or something; the act of falling in love.

Marianne Adley.

With just the mention of her name in his head, all sorts of memories come flooding back, overwhelming him for a moment. It's been like this for a while, picking through new things that enter his brain, storing them to think about just before bed. It helps with the nightmares, keeps them at bay.

Most of the time, at least. There are times where he can't help it, times where he's thinking about the memory and a rush of hate courses through his veins, for himself, for HYDRA, even for Steve sometimes. If he hadn't gone to war, if he hadn't joined the Howling Commandos, if he hadn't fallen off that stupid train, maybe he would have had a long and happy life, something fulfilling, something to be proud of, with the person he loved – loves – most in the world.

Marianne warned him not to dwell on what-ifs.

"Actually, I was playing ping-pong with myself in your anterior cingulate cortex. I lost. It was... very sad."

A memory comes rushing, one of the sessions a while back when Doctor Raynor was speaking to him about his life choices and what to do next, about him and his small notebook which he keeps in his pocket full of amends, the amends he went through with the woman. Marianne.

Raynor told him that the anterior cingulate cortex was responsible for empathy, impulse control, emotion, and decision-making. In the end, it makes sense Marianne was playing ping-pong there. She always had a way with making his mind go haywire, causing him to second-guess everything he did.

It's been a while – he stopped counting the days, the hours, after a week passed since her goodbye – yet he's still overcome with loss with every step he takes, going through the motions all over again. And this time he doesn't have a Marianne to help guide him through it, and he can't help but feel like he's lost himself all over again.

Outside, the sun is showing signs of peering out again, the January cold starting to let up early as he heads out, jacket zipped up, dog tags peeking out from under his collar. It makes sense, now, why Marianne wore dog tags. They were Bucky's.

After he was saved from that HYDRA base, he stopped wearing them. He's not quite sure why, considering soldiers were supposed to wear them in case they were killed in action. Perhaps it was him trying to show Steve he believed in him, and that he'd come home if his best friend was in charge.

Marianne had them, it turns out. Bucky had done a little digging. When he was out of the ice and his pardon was set in place, they'd returned the dog tags to him, claiming they were kept safe. She was wearing them when she passed away. Steve must have returned them to her, and after her passing they were kept in safekeeping.

At least he still has something that she had back then, some way to connect them.

Bucky's not quite sure of where he's going. Out. That's all he had in mind when he suddenly got changed and grabbed his shoes. He has no therapy today, or any plans with Yuri to go Izzy's – it's not a Wednesday, after all. He just knew he needed to leave the apartment, get some fresh air. A gut feeling, or maybe it was Marianne guiding him, like she always does.